Aliens (1986)

 

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Aliens (1986) – J. Cameron

In preparation for a family visit to the Deep Space escape room at Ukiyo.com.au (courtesy of Nanna & Vaari) – and because I recently played Alien: Isolation (the survival horror videogame) – I rewatched this sequel to the original Ridley Scott 1979 horror sci-fi classic.  This time with James Cameron at the helm (fresh off his success with The Terminator, 1984), the franchise takes a distinct turn to the action film, as a group of marines (including Bill Paxon, Michael Biehn, Jenette Goldstein, and synthetic Lance Henriksen) are sent to THAT planet, where a human colony has now disappeared, approximately 57 years after the first film. Ellen Ripley (played again by Sigourney Weaver) has been on ice in hibernation all this time on the Nostromo’s escape pod but, ultimately, is encouraged to join the rescue mission (by slimy corporate shill Paul Reiser) after a traumatic recovery period on Earth. When they arrive on LV-426, they find only 9-year-old Newt whose parents and brother have been killed, along with all of the colonists (except those used for incubating offspring), by the swarm of aliens that has infested their base.  And with that premise in place, the rest of the film is one long fight between the space marines, Ripley, and the aliens (including their queen), with a few subplots for character development along the way.  Cameron ups the tension and plays up the “maternal instinct” angle by mirroring Ripley (with Newt standing in for her now dead real daughter) and the alien queen.  It’s a relentless ride, although not quite up to the spooky-scary benchmark set by its predecessor.  If I recall correctly, none of the subsequent films in the franchise are as good as the first two.

Blue Velvet (1986)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Blue Velvet (1986) – D. Lynch

In memory of David Lynch who passed away yesterday, I pulled out my DVD of this film which I hadn’t watched in years. My recollection, which may or may not be accurate, is that this film was first brought to my attention by my mother who had either seen it or read about it (I was 18 years old when this was released).  This is fitting in that the film itself features a protagonist, Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan), who is also poised just at the boundary of childhood and adulthood, as I was.  Nearly 40 years later, what leaps out at me is that the movie is about those first steps outside of the safety of the family home (or the womb itself, if you will) where things are more unruly and there is freedom to follow any course of action, advisable or not, by following one’s own impulses.  There is inherent risk in this.  (Forty years later, I am also thinking as a parent of a teenager). Not everyone is so unfortunate to run into a Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper) but the risks are real and danger is out there for the finding.  Jeffrey and his accomplice Sandy Williams (Laura Dern), daughter of the local police detective, get more than they bargained for when he finds a severed human ear in a field and they follow clues to the apartment of lounge singer Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini).  She is in serious trouble and seriously warped/traumatised but Jeffrey makes the impulsive decision to get involved with her – which brings him into the sphere of evil Frank Booth. Most reviewers focus on Lynch’s depiction of a “dark underbelly” of an otherwise normal looking white-bread America and that’s definitely a key theme here – but the underbelly that Lynch creates is likely a lot weirder than any real underbellies you could easily find. Dean Stockwell vamping to Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams” is but one well known example. That aside, this film actually makes more sense than most of Lynch’s other output in that the plot does not contain as many non-sequiturs or befuddling jumps (such as in Lost Highway or Mulholland Drive). Interestingly, it does foreshadow themes and choices that would reappear throughout Lynch’s oeuvre (from sound design, music, and art direction to characters, places, and that sense of the mysterious he achieves so well). Looking back now, I remember my college dorm-mates quoting Hopper’s “Pabst Blue Ribbon!” line – and even seeking out the brand in homage. For all the risks we ran back then, ready to explore the unruly world, we were lucky that our impulses (which might have been normal and psychologically, evolutionarily, biologically motivated) didn’t lead us too far astray and/or that we were able to return to safety, just as Jeffrey does. (I’m speaking for most of us).  Thank you, David Lynch, for the deep thoughts and weird images.

Stand By Me (1986)

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Stand By Me (1986) – R. Reiner

I have never watched this film before.  Why has it taken me so long? Perhaps seeing a movie with kids in the lead never seemed like my thing (as a grown up).  Or I worried that Rob Reiner or Stephen King might combine to make middle of the road fare? Maybe I wasn’t ready for another film looking back at the 1950s for nostalgia? Whatever the reason, I probably shouldn’t have waited so long.  As narrated by Richard Dreyfuss, this is a wistful but realistic look at four 12-year-old boys who head up the railroad tracks for a chance to see a dead body (over the course of 24 hours or so).  The dead body is really just the MacGuffin when what we really get is some robust interaction between boys before puberty sets in.  Wil Wheaton, River Phoenix, Corey Feldman, and Jerry O’Connell manage to define certain types while still being natural and demonstrating camaraderie.  There’s cussing and gross outs and run ins with a tough older gang (led by Kiefer Sutherland).  Perhaps there are lessons to be learned (for the boys, if not us), particularly about friendship.  I strained to remember my 12 year old self but got mostly flashbulb memories and rarely full interactions. Still, that’s probably the starting place for a screenplay such as this.  I probably couldn’t do better (for the ‘70s, of course). Or perhaps, my weird film wouldn’t be as popular…

 

Dust in the Wind (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Dust in the Wind (1986) – H.-H. Hou

Do the early films of the great Taiwanese director Hsiao-Hsien Hou qualify as “transcendental”, referring to Paul Schrader’s description of films by Bresson, Ozu, and Dreyer?  (I haven’t read the book so how would I know?). The other term I see bandied about is “spiritually significant” – but I’m not sure whether this is something different from humanism and whether films that harbor no religious connotations, symbols or meanings count (after all, existentialism is a humanism!).  Which is a long way of saying that this quiet story about two teenage lovers who leave their rural mining community for the big smoke of Taipei and face ups and downs there has qualities that make its themes seem to rise above the text to become more universal and yes, affecting.  But it takes a long time for this transcendent feeling to arise (nearly the final minutes of the film) which is not to say that what goes before is boring or superfluous (instead it is necessary for us to earn the conclusion, I think). Indeed, Hou’s style, which manages to use colour, framing, and background subtly and artistically, even while in neo-realist mode, makes the journey worthwhile.  I think I need to revisit his other great, perhaps greater, films of this period (e.g, A Time to Live and A Time to Die, 1985; The Puppetmaster, 1993) and to seek out those I have not yet seen.  Transcending one’s own existence is a balm for troubled times (all we are is the title of this film, after all).

  

Down by Law (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Down by Law (1986) – J. Jarmusch

Jim Jarmusch follows Tom Waits, John Lurie, and Roberto Benigni from the streets of New Orleans into jail, then out of jail and into the bayou.  So, it’s a road movie of sorts, aided immensely by Robby Müller’s gorgeous black and white cinematography. The images range from extremely low-key high-contrast (New Orleans at night) to low contrast (shades of grey in prison and in the woods at the very end of the picture).  Just a delight to look at.  Of course, the script meanders in laid-back Jarmusch-style, allowing the actors to establish their characters and to emit often funny dialogue (probably improvised at times – though showing the director’s proclivities: the Italian loves Walt Whitman).  Tom Waits (“Zack”) is relatively restrained (given what we know of his verbal abilities) as a DJ framed for stealing a car (or worse) – but we do get some good patter from him and his acting is top notch.  John Lurie (“Jack”) is sullen as the pimp (also set up) who forms an adversarial friendship with Waits.  But Roberto Benigni (“Bob”) is riotous as the Italian tourist (in for murder with an eight-ball) who lets loose with absurd English expressions and also engineers their escape (and ultimately their way out of the swamp).  So, is it an homage to the prison films of the Thirties? That might be a stretch.  Is it something more existential about life and how to live it? Probably not.  Is it a chance for this team to stretch out and show their talents in a memorably funny (and sad and beautiful) picture? Definitely yes.

The Singing Detective (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Singing Detective (1986) – J. Amiel

This six-episode British TV series from the 1980s written by Dennis Potter is heralded as some of the best TV of all time.  From the very opening scenes, when we meet Philip Marlow (Michael Gambon), but not _that_ Marlow (no E), in his hospital bed with severe psoriasis, the script keeps us off-balance.  Who expected a bedridden hero covered in a horrible scaly rash? He’s a writer of detective stories rather than a detective himself, but as he lies in bed, we see the plot of his novel (The Singing Detective, of course) that he is slowly rewriting (potentially to be made into a film) in his head.  These two narratives are then interwoven with a third, showing Marlow as a young boy and the events that happened to him, events that begin to make sense as having led to his (psychosomatic) physical condition.  At times, the characters in the different narratives seem to influence each other (and indeed some of the same actors feature in each thread). At the hospital, Marlow, always a sarcastic bloke, finally begins seeing a psychiatrist (Freudian no doubt) and this leads to his slow recovery.  Indeed, the various plots begin to resolve themselves as he slowly identifies and solves the issues of his life.  This detective is solving his innermost mysteries – and of course, he also sings (songs from the twenties, thirties, and forties) or rather lipsynchs, as do many of the supporting characters (a Brechtian device to be sure).  The only blot on the overall package is the 80’s TV production values and the less than sharp DVD quality.  But that’s a very minor complaint when we are talking about such a peculiarly fulfilling program as this.

The Green Ray (Summer) (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Green Ray (Summer) (1986) – E. Rohmer

Eric Rohmer’s films are unique.  We observe French people talking about their lives and loves.  Often they are confused about what to do.  Here, he presents a sort of character study of Delphine (Marie Riviere, who apparently improvised enough of her part to warrant a screenwriting credit), a woman who is indecisive, even avoidant, when it comes to meeting men and starting a relationship.  She is principled and wants things on her own terms but she is desperately lonely as a result and prone to crying.  Yet the film is light-hearted and depicts Delphine’s attempts to have a holiday (first in Cherbourg, then the Alps, then Biarritz).  We meet other women who do not seem to have her problems, easily meeting men, or accepting them because of lower standards.  The title invokes a proverb suggesting that when one witnesses the last green ray of the sunset (described by a group of older people Delphine eavesdrops on), then one will gain insight into one’s own heart/purpose and that of others.  The film is the fifth in Rohmer’s Comedies and Proverbs series.  Don’t come looking for plot but instead be prepared for a wistful even frivolous look at those early days when life hadn’t yet settled. Charmant.

Manon of the Spring (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Manon of the Spring (1986) – C. Berri

The sequel (or really the second part) to Jean de Florette (1986) picks up the action maybe 9 or 10 years later, when Daniel Auteuil’s intellectually impaired flower farmer has taken over Depardieu’s land and, with the benefit of the now-unplugged spring, is doing reasonably well.  Depardieu’s daughter, played now by Emanuelle Beart, is a goatherd who keeps her distance from the town, although she does catch the eye of the new teacher, as well as the eye of Auteuil.  Yves Montand, perhaps the only character who we can “read” (because his thoughts are deeper and he reveals them in his speech), is still standing back orchestrating his nephew Auteuil’s life, encouraging him to pursue Beart to keep his family name alive.  At first, I felt that this second part was merely a retread, with Beart now turning the tables on Montand and Auteuil and the villagers by stopping up their water supply.  The countryside was still gorgeous and the village life of the 1920’s (or thereabouts?) still rustic and authentically portrayed (as far as one can tell).  But when the plot takes a sudden twist (or two), the results now seem Shakespearean or at least fabulistic, adding gravitas which had been absent until then.  Seen in combination, the two parts do work although one wonders whether, with judicious editing, they might fit together as one long single film; that said, I gladly took two shorter sessions.  Now, I think I might try to track down the Pagnol originals (of which these were remakes).

  

Jean de Florette (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Jean de Florette (1986) – C. Berri

A prestige picture, no doubt, and the images are “painterly” with a masterful use of light.  The French countryside may have never looked better. The acting is also superb -- by Daniel Auteuil, Gerard Depardieu, and Yves Montand -- as you would expect.  Auteuil plays a none-too-bright farmer who, under the sneaky guidance of his uncle (Montand), covets the land inherited by Depardieu which has fertile soil and a hidden water source, a spring, which Auteuil and Montand manage to stop up before he arrives.  So, Depardieu has a Herculean task ahead of him, to create his envisioned rabbit farm (150 rabbits per month) and sustainable “kitchen garden” with marrow enough to feed that many hares – without water.  Or without water independent of the rain that he hopes will fall, but doesn’t because of an epic heatwave and drought.  Such is the plot and it creates enough suspense and tension to carry the film.  However, I felt that we were looking at these characters and their predicaments from the outside and never really from the inside; even the relationship between Auteuil and Depardieu, which grows closer and creates tension that threatens to undermine the Montand/Auteuil plot, never feels particularly “real”.  But these are minor quibbles if one observes this film as the art object it was meant to be.  Engaging but not enthralling – but I say this before seeing “Manon of the Spring”, the sequel and second part of the story, which is clearly anticipated and which may resolve the arc of the story more satisfactorily.

  

A Better Tomorrow (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

A Better Tomorrow (1986) – J. Woo

I discovered John Woo back in the early 1990s as Hong Kong Cinema broke into the US arthouse/cult theatres (with Jacky Chan leading the way).  Woo’s films were all about slow-motion bullets flying between stoic guys on either side of the law who nevertheless identified with each other and felt deep loyal (even sentimental) emotions for their friends/family and sometimes foes (all men – women are sidelined here). Although his work would come to fruition with The Killer and Hard-Boiled, A Better Tomorrow was his first big hit (produced by Tsui Hark who has a funny cameo here).  Set in the world of the HK Triads, the film stars Ti Lung as a key deputy in a counterfeiting ring with a younger brother (Leslie Cheung) who is a cop on the rise and a best friend (Chow Yun-Fat) who is the gang’s top gunman.  When Ti finally gets caught and thrown in a Taiwan prison, he decides to go straight to honor his father’s wishes and to make good with his brother.  Of course, the gang won’t let him and his ties to Chow (who has fallen in stature within the gang but wants to stay in – or to compete) make this harder.  Woo controls the tempo expertly, mixing huge close-ups that heighten the emotional intensity with bloody shoot-outs set to pulsing music – and we feel the impact of the things that happen to these guys.  The 80s clothes and cinematography (complete with Woo’s eye for color and composition) and occasional cheesy music somehow enhance the tension between sentimentality and violence.  But it is the characterizations by Ti and Chow (and to a lesser extent Cheung), stoic yet sentimental, that really draw you in – with Woo’s expert guidance.      

The Sacrifice (1986)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Sacrifice (1986) -- A. Tarkovsky

Tarkovsky's final film is also the last of his features for me to see, although I'd seen some "making of" footage of The Sacrifice in Chris Marker's Tarkovsky doc. As usual, there is a sense of true mystery here, of the unknowable (or occasionally the unfathomable), of a spiritual yearning.  But a number of factors heighten the pitch: 1) Tarkovsky was dying in exile; 2) he made this film under the auspices of Ingmar Bergman -- in Sweden, using Bergman's cast and crew; and 3) the movie is about the end of the world, due to a nuclear war.  Erland Josephson is given a chance, after offering an incredible sacrifice, to save the world. It takes a long time to reach that conclusion and the first half of the film drags (unless the philosophical postman is present) but the elemental imagery (earth, wind, fire, and water, sometimes in a single shot) and echoes of his earlier films in the second half do captivate. Anguish is palpable, but don't let that scare you way from this profound meditation by one of cinema's greatest.