Sunday, 14 July 2019

Vampyr (1932)


☆ ☆ ☆ ☆


Vampyr (1932) – C. T. Dreyer

Dreyer’s first sound film doesn’t contain jump scares and it isn’t as overtly spooky as Murnau’s earlier Nosferatu (1922) but it is quietly disorienting in its own special way.  For example, Dreyer (and cinematographer Rudolph Maté, later a noir director) don’t follow the usual rules of continuity, thereby making it difficult for viewers to get a proper layout of the houses where the action takes place.  The main protagonist, Allan Gray (played by “Julian West” a.k.a. Baron Nicholas De Gunzberg, the producer of the film), a student of the occult, stumbles throughout the film, turning corners and spying through windows into locations that contain some possibly supernatural things.  For example, the first part of the film shows us many disembodied shadows on the ground or wall, sometimes clearly divorced from their “human” counterparts.  But the real plot begins when an old man stumbles into Gray’s room and thrusts a package into his hands only to be opened upon his death – which of course soon happens.  The package contains a book on vampires, their habits and how to kill them.  But the vampire in question isn’t a suave Lugosi-type but rather a rather tame looking old woman who nevertheless has the local doctor under her control and has been sucking the blood from the daughter of the old man who died.  With the help of an elderly servant and the second daughter, Gray helps to eradicate the threat.  Although the German censors cut some of the most dramatic scenes (pounding the stake through the heart and the doctor’s horror as he is suffocated under pounds and pounds of flour in an old mill), these are available as extras now.  Perhaps not as potent as Dreyer’s other major works (The Passion of Joan of Arc, 1928; Day of Wrath, 1943; Ordet, 1955; and Gertrud, 1964 – all highly recommended), this is still worth a look for its strangeness alone.

Saturday, 13 July 2019

The Lovers (1958)


☆ ☆ ☆ ☆


The Lovers (1958) – L. Malle

Louis Malle’s second feature with star Jeanne Moreau begins in an upper class Dijon villa (complete with Gaston Modot as servant) where she is not very happily married to Alain Cuny, publisher of the local newspaper.  Instead, she visits her childhood friend now living in Paris who is a member of the snobbish class and starts an affair with a champion polo player.  Things proceed in this fashion until her husband suddenly demands that they have her friend and lover over for the weekend.  Heading back home ahead of them, Jeanne’s car breaks down and she is picked up by Bernard (Jean-Marc Bory).  Soon, they are all dining at the country house and inevitable tensions arise.  The third act of the film caught me by surprise (and led to charges of indecency in the US at the time).  Yet, Malle doesn’t pass judgment on Moreau and her choices.  Truly, this is the beginning of her image as an independent liberated woman (see also Jules and Jim, 1962, and Malle’s earlier first feature, Elevator to the Gallows, 1958, with its great Miles Davis score).  The black and white cinematography by Henri Decaë is also beautiful with a nice tracking shot at the printing press.  A forerunner of the New Wave?