Hard to Be a God (2013)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Hard to Be a God (2013) – A. German

This is truly “film-making as commitment” (to an alternate reality) and not for the faint-hearted.  Russian director Aleksei German, a contemporary of Tarkovsky, in his final film, uses another sci-fi novel by the writers whose work was filmed as Stalker (by Tarkovsky, 1979) to barf up an insane vision of Hell.  But oh! what a terrifyingly beautiful hell, if there be beauty in an image (in rich B&W) no matter how disgusting or degrading!  And Hell it is, because we are asked to observe (nay, almost participate in) a medieval culture undergoing a purge of its intellectuals, with an assortment of Churchmen and members of The Order swarming like ants over everything.  Above it all, sits Don Rumata (Leonid Yarmolnik), covered in less filth than the rest, and often wearing some cool looking armour -- and occasionally blowing a soulful saxophone. Yes, really, because it turns out that the Don is actually a scientist from Earth and, despite their resemblance, these medieval times are not on Earth but instead on another backwards planet.  What the Don is up to is hard to say.  Other reviews suggest that, despite the prime directive, he is actually hoping to bring on the Renaissance (or at least stop the purge of “wise guys” – the subtitles call them this). To me, he seems to roam royally through a mud-stained city, above the fray (as I said), but occasionally getting right into it, snorting some mud (no really), pushing his slaves around or joking with them, wryly bearing witness to the dozens of hanged men and piles of rotting corpses on the ground.  He is rumoured to be descended from gods himself, treated with awe and respect, and perhaps therefore immune from attack.  He is able to thwart all those who do harbour malice against him – and we are glad because he seems a rather charming fellow. But he is immersed in a surreal, sensuous, even nonsensical world – and clearly knows it – but he does not let on what it is all about, nor does the director, and all the helpless viewer can do is take in the sordid experience with astonished admiration for the intensity of the vision and craft behind it all. The Don doesn’t want to leave (back to Earth) and maybe neither do we, despite the three-hour length.  I kid you not.

The Innocents (1961)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Innocents (1961) – J. Clayton

This is a great Gothic ghost story, a retelling of Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw (1898), with Deborah Kerr as Miss Giddens, the new governess to two children who she comes to believe are possessed.  “Comes to believe” are the operative words here, because the film never provides us with any certainty – although we see what seem to be ghosts, we suspect that they could be figments of Miss Giddens’ overactive imagination (something foreshadowed at the very start of the film).  This is also a serious haunted house film, because the setting is a country manor, a big empty one with many rooms that require Miss Giddens to wander long hallways with only the glow of a candelabra at night.  The high contrast black and white cinematography is truly impressive (from Freddie Francis, later a minor horror director in his own right), making the dark seem darker.  Even the daylight outdoor scenes are creepy, particularly down near the lake, where Miss Jessel makes her first appearance.  Truly, director Jack Clayton has managed to gather all the correct elements together for a high water mark in the genre. Even the child actors, who can so easily put one off, have hit the right tone here.  I understand that Deborah Kerr thought this was her best performance in a film, which is saying a lot. It has quite the punchline. Save this for a dark and stormy night.

The Seventh Seal (1957)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Seventh Seal (1957) – I. Bergman

It had been a long time since I watched The Seventh Seal – decades, for sure.  So, I approached it with fresh eyes (and with a recent history of Bergman watching, due to the Criterion boxset I received for my birthday in 2018 – thanks Mom!).  The opening scenes are truly stunning – Max von Sydow on the rocky beach with the sun setting, confronted by Death (Bengt Ekerot) and challenging him to a chess match (to delay the inevitable). But then we are back on the return journey (from the Crusades) as von Sydow’s knight (Antonius Block) and his squire (Jöns, played sublimely by Gunnar Björnstrand) return to civilisation (as it is in the 14^th century).  There, they encounter a small troupe of actors (Bibi Andersson and Nils Poppe, chief among them) and decide to travel together back to Block’s home where his wife may or may not be waiting.  However, Death follows them each step of the way, ready to play his next move.  All the while, Bergman questions God’s existence, our faith in deities, and the cruelty of existence (Death is busy because of the Plague).  Block is clearly tormented but his pain is eased when he encounters the happy actors’ troupe, suggesting again that it is human relationships that are the way to salvation (as opposed to the ascetic sacrifice and self-flagellation suggested by other religious supplicants in the film).  Bergman claims that he used this film to come to terms with his fear of Death and given the support from various churches for the message here, it could be assumed that an afterlife has been confirmed (and the dancers following Death at the end are happily on their way to it). However, Death himself proclaims not to know and perhaps another reading of the film is a more existential one – that we need to make the best of the time we have here, treasuring the moments we share with others and taking responsibility for our (moral) actions, rather than pursuing pointless quests in the name of God.     

Burning (2018)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆½

Burning (2018) – C.-D. Lee

I hadn’t heard of director Chang-dong Lee but this film received rave reviews and a quick look at his past films suggests he is touted as a masterful auteur.  My reaction to Burning confirms that this assessment is spot-on (I’ll have to peruse his back catalogue).  The film begins with the first meeting in Seoul between our central protagonist, Jong-su Lee (Ah-In Yoo), and a girl he used to know from junior high, Hae-mi Shin (Jong-seo Jun), back in their rural town, Paju.  Jong-su is clearly interested in the attractive Hae-mi (who admits to having had plastic surgery) but he is awkward and shy.  Nevertheless, she shows interest and he ends up watching her cat while she takes a trip to Africa.  When she returns, she apparently has a boyfriend, Ben (Steven Yeun), a rich playboy type with a Porsche.  Jong-su is jealous but has other problems to deal with – his father has been arrested for striking a government official and Jong-su has to return to look after the cows on the family farm.  When Ben and Hae-mi visit him there, the evening turns weird and Jong-su starts to have suspicions about Ben (which are exacerbated later when he finds he can’t get into contact with Hae-mi).  The film slowly begins to morph into a thriller – Jong-su tails Ben to find out his actions and becomes rather obsessive.  Is he right? Is he wrong? There is a lot of ambiguity here.  As has his countrymate Bong Joon-ho (e.g., Parasite, 2019), Lee focuses on class differences here, with a stark contrast between Jong-su and Ben (and Hae-mi).  The pressures on the poor, especially poor women, to maintain a certain image (with make-up, plastic surgery, credit card debt) are alluded to and there is no disguising the way that Jong-su has trouble fitting in with the jet set.  Fantasy, jealousy, and frustration are all intertwined here (but never verbalised by our stunted protagonist who surprisingly seeks to become a writer, citing Faulkner as his favourite author).  Methinks that these problems of economic inequality are not limited to Korea alone.   Beyond these meaty themes, the film contains a number of ecstatic moments brought about by the combination of transcendent imagery, jazzy music, and a sure hand on the throttle (editing, direction).  Highly recommended.

Tokyo Story (1953)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Tokyo Story (1953) – Y. Ozu

In revisiting Tokyo Story (named the third greatest film of all time by Sight and Sound in 2012), I find that perhaps it is not my favourite Ozu film, after all (potentially because it is somewhat atypical), despite it being a masterpiece.  Having seen so many Ozu films, I think I like their prototypic features which might not actually be present in all of his films.  Here, we do find the camera resting statically at a low angle, akin to a person sitting on a tatami mat, and yes, there are many shots of characters speaking directly to the camera that are not “matched” properly or paired with reaction shots.  There are also the occasional “still life” shots between scenes (but seemingly fewer of these).  However, there are no splashes of red in a perfect colour design (in this B&W film). And although we have Chishu Ryu in a central role (as the elderly father/grandfather), he shares his screen time and his fate to a large degree with Chieko Higashiyama who plays his wife (the elderly mother/grandmother); I am much more accustomed to seeing him as a widower father to daughter Setsuko Hara (but is this true only of Late Spring and not other similar films like Early Summer?).  Setsuko Hara is here and in the same loving daughter role – but the twist here is that she is not blood-related but instead the daughter-in-law (whose husband died in the war).  The film’s plot sees the older couple’s actual children ignore them when they travel to Tokyo (from distant Onomishi, near Hiroshima) and only Noriko (Hara) is willing to take care of them.  (The plot is reminiscent of Leo McCarey’s classic tearjerker Make Way for Tomorrow. 1937).  But Noriko is less strong-willed than in other Ozu films – when asked to criticize the adult children’s bad behaviour (and the older daughter played by Haruko Sugimura is particularly mean-spirited), she defends them and the way that children grow away from their parents, turning to attend to their new families, by saying it is a fact of life, albeit one that makes life disappointing.  (This may be the point where I cried during earlier viewings).  I would have thought that Noriko/Hara would have fought (perhaps vainly) against this injustice, but perhaps we only realise very late in the film how fragile she herself is. These subtleties and nuances are likely among the elements which elevate this particular film – along with its poignancy and genuine feeling for its central characters – but the fact that it feels a little atypical may be one reason why it is easier to single it out for praise (otherwise how could one choose between all of those other great, but very similar, Ozu films?).  Of course, this is a must see.

Happy as Lazzaro (2018)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Happy as Lazzaro (2018) – A. Rohrwacher

Very mysterious film from Italian director Alice Rohrwacher that starts out as an homage to Olmi’s The Tree of Wooden Clogs (1978) about the life of sharecropping peasants in rural Italy but soon turns into something else (Something Else!).  The peasants farm tobacco for an imperious marchesa (and clearly Big Tobacco has some soul-searching to do) but they are always in debt, unable to leave their small village of Inviolata.  Although we start wide with a look at the whole group (women and children most of all), soon Rohrwacher focuses in on Lazzaro (note the Biblical name) who is a humble, kind, perhaps simple-minded, nearly saintly, young man (played by Adriano Tardiolo) who is exploited by others but harbours no animosity toward anyone.  When the Marchesa’s spoiled son befriends him (sort of), Lazzaro lights up and starts to neglect his work in order to serve this heir to the fortune, Tancredi.  Then, there is a very sharp tonal shift to the film and I would be doing you a disservice to disclose it; let me say only that we are asked to contemplate how the economic inequalities of the past might be continued to the present day (what form would they take?).  We might also be asked to ponder WWJD.  But I haven’t quite pieced everything together – surely the themes of the film, explicit or implicit, reverberate far beyond its provincial setting.  Above all, however, it is a delightful film, that manages to blend Olmi’s sad neorealism with some inspired magical realism.  Have a look!