The Harder They Come (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Harder They Come (1972) -- P. Henzell

Rastaploitation! But also a low-budget almost verite look at Jamaica in the early '70s. (2010 Review). 

Lucifer Rising (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Lucifer Rising (1972) -- K. Anger

In the new Anger set from Fantoma (Vol 2). Amazing and delirious -- all the tropes are here. Seems to be a new 1981 version with great Bobby BeauSoleil score (recorded in prison). Not as warped as Invocation of my Demon Brother--the first take on this theme (and its Mick Jagger Moog mind melt) but more watchable without a seizure. (2008 review).

Love in the Afternoon (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Love in the Afternoon (1972) – E. Rohmer

The last of Rohmer’s Six Moral Tales finds Frederic, a young businessman, reflecting on his life after three years of marriage. His internal thoughts are narrated in voiceover.  He thinks about women and his attraction to them in the context of his fidelity to his wife which he is proud to honour. They have a very young daughter as well.  Frederic’s life has become bourgeois but he sees himself as a sort of urban cat, prowling around in the afternoons.  When an old acquaintance, Chloe, returns after a six-year absence overseas, she provokes him and challenges his views about relationships.  She is rootless, flitting from job to job and from man to man, clearly independent and willful and sexy for that reason.  Frederic finds himself drawn to her and they set up rendezvouses on certain afternoons, physically chaste though emotionally all over the place.  Rohmer is good at getting into his male characters’ psyches, undermining their confidence and throwing moral dilemmas at them.  We don’t really get inside the women but they are treated as mysterious and special.  Rohmer’s films are naturally all talk but they can be exhilarating and refreshing.  We don’t know where Frederic is heading but the conclusion of the film feels to be his choice, made freely and autonomously and Rohmer respects it (as he respects his audience and his vision).

  

A Warning to the Curious (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

A Warning to the Curious (1972) – L. G. Clark

Filmed for the BBC as part of their Ghost Stories for Christmas series in the early seventies from a story by M. R. James.  I found out about this from the BFI’s review of British folk horror (located here: http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/where-begin-folk-horror).  An archaeologist visits Anglia to find one of the fabled three crowns that were buried to protect the realm; of course, disturbing them is bound to bring bad luck.  In this case, the crown is haunted by the ghost of the last remaining member of the family that charged themselves with guarding the burial site.  The ambience is spooky (all lonesome beaches and deserted woods) and occasionally creepy as hell and even scary if you have the lights turned out and put yourself into the “spirit” of things.  I’m reading Lovecraft at the same time and the mood can be similar (although H. P. does go gruesome more readily). A treat. 
    

  

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972) – L. Buñuel

Luis Buñuel is up to his usual tricks here, trapping six members of the bourgeoisie in an endless cycle of interrupted dinner and luncheon dates and using the occasions to inject a healthy dose of surrealism and satire into the film.  So, there is no plot to speak of but a steady stream of jokes – some of them “in jokes” such as Fernando Rey secretly being a drug dealer (as he is in the contemporaneous French Connection).  At several moments in the film, minor characters interrupt the action to describe vivid and haunting dreams that they have had (apparently dreams that Bunuel himself really had) and then, later, the main characters take turns waking up in the middle of certain anecdotes, suggesting that it has all been a dream and/or a dream within a dream.  Commentators have noted that most of the interruptions in the film stop the characters from enacting their deepest motivations (for eating, drinking, sex, etc.) so perhaps Buñuel really is a wily old bastard subjecting them to this – or perhaps even deeper he is telling us how society’s conventions (which the Bourgeoisie love) stand in the way of real fulfilment.

Red Psalm (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Red Psalm (1972) – M. Jancsó

Miklós Jancsó’s Red Psalm is a psalm, or hymn, to socialism, featuring song and dance in a Hungarian meadow. Jancsó uses long takes with choreographed comrades in peasant dress (or nude) and a wandering minstrel on guitar.  They are opposed by the military and by the church – and of course by the oppressive land-holding classes.  The Internationale is often sung.  Socialists die in their conflicts but they also win over and sometimes kill the opposition.  All of this is staged theatrically in the meadow.  There is no plot but only the message (although apparently this is based on a real peasant revolt in the 1890s).  At times, there are hundreds of actors.  The shots are incredibly long and the camera moves from group to group, high and low, weaving between people and the many horses that are ridden amongst them; any mistake would have meant starting all over again.  The film is often beautiful, including a shot of a burning church and another of a stream running red with blood.  Indeed, there is much symbolism, highlighted by red ribbons…and blood. Solidarity is strong and compelling here in 1972 – the only sad and sombre note is that their optimism (underscored by an awareness of the difficulty of the struggle) has not been realized more than 40 years later. Instead, things appear to have gotten worse not better for the cause. Viva la revolution!

  

Fat City (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Fat City (1972) – J. Huston

John Huston captures a feeling here, helped tremendously by Kris Kristofferson’s version of “Help Me Make It Through The Night” which plays over the opening credits and then lingers.  Yes, you’ve got it, this is a snatch of early 1970’s melancholia about down-and-out people going nowhere. Stacy Keach is a revelation as the has-been boxer at the center of the picture, falling in with drunk Susan Tyrrell (loose and sloshed) and encouraging impossibly young Jeff Bridges to take up fighting.  He’s deeply ambivalent about his dreams, probably realistically so, seeing that he’s screwed up too much – that last weird zoom shot tells a lot.  So over 90 minutes or so, we get a look at the flophouses, bars, fruit-picking operations, and of course boxing rings and gyms of Stockton, California, at its most run-down.  I’m hooked on this feeling. 

Cries and Whispers (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Cries and Whispers (1972) -- I. Bergman

Excruciating to watch, but utterly mesmerizing -- this is Bergman's strange tale of a woman dying of cancer (Harriet Andersson) in a completely red mansion in turn-of-the-20th-century Sweden. Her sisters, Karin (Ingrid Thulin, a repressed intensely negative presence) and Maria (Liv Ullmann, a fleshy indecisive and insecure presence), and her maid, Anna (Kari Sylwan, a motherly nurturing presence), are tending to her day and night.  She is occasionally lucid, occasionally in severe pain, occasionally unconsciously rasping.  In turn, we learn some past memories, internal anxieties, and current concerns of each of the characters who all have serious problems communicating with each other and their spouses.  It's painful.  However, the color palette (red and black, dominating) and the structure, full-of-close-ups and fades to red, make this unusual and experimental, and therefore exhilarating.

Aguirre the Wrath of God (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Aguirre the Wrath of God (1972) -- W. Herzog

In recreating this 16th century expedition by Spanish conquistadors to the Amazon, Werner Herzog has created something very special.  A film of incredible images of great beauty that possess even greater power because we know that the team of film-makers and actors endured hardships to create them.  They really did climb down that mountain, ride the rafts (with horse and monkeys) in the rapids, and endure the mania of Klaus Kinski.  The music of Popol Vuh, while not as awe-inspiring as in other Herzog films, adds to the trance-inducing atmosphere of some scenes.  Worth the trip.

The Godfather (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Godfather (1972) -- F. F. Coppola

Revisited after 20 years and now on blu-ray, The Godfather really is as good as they say.  I was reluctant to give Coppola's much heralded blockbuster five stars, but his direction is masterful (not showy, but perfect in its moods and mise en scene). Brando shows why he was considered such a talent and Pacino underplays everything (which is pretty amazing considering his subsequent rip-roaring style).  Ah yes, this is a tale of an Italian-American crime family and their efforts to stay on top of the gangster hierarchy.  Some say it is a metaphor for capitalism and it isn't too much of a stretch to see Michael Corleone's ruthless actions as akin to the hits carried out by Wall Street in hostile takeovers everyday.  They make you an offer you can't refuse -- and it's business, not personal.

The Last Picture Show (1972)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Last Picture Show (1972) -- P. Bogdanovich

Judging by Bogdanovich's later career, this amazing picture seems almost an accident of fate (or the unique convergence of talents). A tale of small town Texas and the human relationships (social and sexual) therein. It feels authentic or naturalistic but this is probably a product of the superb acting carrying the script (which skirts the edge of melodrama and hits the downbeat). Jeff Bridges and Cybil Shepherd are so young; Ben Johnson, Cloris Leachman, and Ellen Burstyn all won awards, justifiably.