Battles Without Honor and Humanity (1973)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Battles Without Honor and Humanity (1973) – K. Fukasaku

One of the key Yakuza films that sought to shatter the myth of chivalrous behaviour amongst gangsters that had heretofore been portrayed in film and to replace it with its opposite: betrayal, paranoia, greed, and, yes, a lack of honor and humanity.  This was the first big hit for director Kinji Fukasaku (later famous in his old age for Battle Royale) and star Bunta Sugawara and it spawned four sequels.  Not surprisingly, the film is extremely bloody and brutal, as we follow the Yamamori family’s birth, rise, and eventual splintering.  Nothing is glamourized: from the early days of the post-WWII black market to the later days of entrepreneurial business ventures jointly operated with politicians, central characters are just as likely to get rubbed out by a backstabbing surprise attack.  Although, at first, I thought I might get lost trying to identify the myriad sub-bosses, eventually I was able to grasp the various players and the Shakespearian machinations of the plot (thanks also to the subtitled announcements of each character’s death, accompanied by a fanfare of trumpets). Gritty, violent, not for all tastes, but a touchstone in this genre.     

La Femme Infidele (1969)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

La Femme Infidele (1969) – C. Chabrol

Of course, Rohmer and Chabrol wrote a classic book about Hitchcock, so it should come as no surprise that this thriller by the latter contains an extended homage to Psycho.  Chabrol has also adopted the Master’s wicked wit and, more than once, the audience is teased and tormented because they have been led to identify with a guilty party.  Indeed, who wouldn’t identify with Michel Bouquet, the possibly cuckolded husband who hires a private detective to discover whether his wife, Stephane Audran, is cheating on him.  As with Hitch, the little moments matter, as each unfolding situation involves tensions and dynamics beneath the surface action that only those privy to each character’s secret knowledge can fully comprehend – and in this case, both husband and wife have secrets.  Their marriage may be strained but when they become complicit in each other’s secrets, perhaps this bolsters it?  Not a particularly deep movie, but a wicked, witty, absorbing thriller for those who like the screws tightened.

Destry Rides Again (1939)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Destry Rides Again (1939) – G. Marshall

Jimmy Stewart seems an odd match for Marlene Dietrich (although apparently they had an affair in real life); the two stars bring their well-known personas to the American West, contrasting comically with the usual genre trappings.  He’s the new deputy sheriff, full of droll winking stories about people he knows and their experiences that taught him lessons.  She’s the tough saloon singer who is also involved in a poker game swindle organized by town “boss” Brian Donlevy (who would play similar roles in the noir context later).  The film, under George Marshall’s even-handed direction, bookends the action with both prologue and coda, showing the town of Bottleneck before Stewart arrived and then after he’s cleaned it up (with his pacifist law-abiding ways).  Despite all of its eccentricities (Mischa Auer as a Russian cowboy, Charles Winninger as the bumbling banjo-playing sheriff) – or perhaps because of them –- the film works.  If you close one eye, it’s a Dietrich picture; close the other and it’s Stewart’s. 

Songs from the Second Floor (2000)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Songs from the Second Floor (2000) – R. Andersson

After watching Andersson’s second “modern” work, You, the Living (2007) about six years ago (on an airplane), I wrote in my notes “pastel absurdity” and gave it 4.5 stars.  As in that film, this earlier one is a tale told by anecdote: Andersson sets up his frame as a painter would the canvas and then allows the action to unfold in long shot within it, then he sets up the next frame/scene in a different space, and so on.  Extreme care and attention are paid to color (more muted than pastel here, but with the occasional splash of orange or red), lighting, and the balance of characters and objects in the space (some in deeper focus).  However, in Songs from the Second Floor, there is a narrative of sorts, with recurring characters encountering an array of tragicomic situations that document (more or less) the frailty and vulnerability of we humans.  One character even utters the (translated from Swedish) phrase, “It’s tough being human sometimes”.  There are some bloody scenes here (those splashes of red) as people encounter physical peril, but a lot of the pain and suffering is emotional (as in life). However, despite all the woe, Andersson’s film is darkly funny; someone made a reference to The Far Side cartoons, and perhaps that’s not too far wrong.  As with other “existential” films that highlight our shared human concerns, seeing people deal with all this (and then laughing?) somehow makes life feel more invigorating.  I am excited to see Andersson’s newest feature, A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (2014).

Night has a Thousand Eyes (1948)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Night has a Thousand Eyes (1948) – J. Farrow

Beer may have helped but I really enjoyed this supernatural film noir from director John Farrow.  Edward G. Robinson stars as Triton, a phony psychic answering questions posed by members of the audience (aided by his erstwhile assistants), who starts to have real visions of the future.  Although he manages to warn people about (but ultimately not prevent) a few tragedies and help his friends win big at the races, Robinson’s visions alarm him and lead him to despair and the life of a recluse.  Only later, when he foresees the death of his former partner and then the subsequent murder of that man’s daughter, does he emerge from hiding.  The film then plays out according to his visions, despite police detective William Demarest’s disbelief.  Creepy and weird and noir, just the way I like ‘em (although I’ll admit that some of the supporting actors could be stronger). 

Night has a Thousand Eyes 1948 - Edward G... 投稿者 filmow

The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) – W. Wyler

I usually tread carefully around multiple award winners (seven Oscars for this one), just because they sometimes err on the side of cloying sentimentality and populist opinion, losing some edge in exchange.  However, this is not true of The Best Years of Our Lives, the story of three servicemen returning from WWII to uncertain futures back in the US.  Indeed, the title itself is ironic. Under ex-Air Force officer Willy Wyler’s direction and following Robert E. Sherwood's script, the film pulls no punches in its uncompromising view of the difficulties facing those returning from war, whether they be blue collar (Dana Andrews), middle class (Harold Russell), or better off (Fredric March).  After falling in together on their way back to “Boone City” (a stand in for Cincinnati, more or less) from points overseas, the three leads stick with each other and we follow their intersecting paths.  Russell has lost both hands (true of the actor as well as the character) and has trouble accepting his girl’s love thinking it only pity. March takes to drinking and has a run in with his boss at the bank over small loans to returning G.I.’s (but he has the support of his lovely wife Myrna Loy and daughter Teresa Wright).   Andrews suffers from PTSD, discovers that his war bride is a party girl who wants no part of him now that he is broke, and can’t even keep his old job as a soda jerk at the drugstore (now taken over by a corporate chain – a sign of things to come).  Although the film follows these men (and their families) long enough to see them start to adapt, I agree with critic Kent Jones that there is plenty of evidence that things may not go well for them in the future.  And as critic Jonathan Rosenbaum points out, the film offers an eye-opening vantage point for the real lived experiences of that generation, quite different from the burnished brass-plated nostalgia that often passes for reality.  Moreover, I fear that society continues to offer an insensitive cold shoulder to our returning vets and ever will it be thus. This film could offer a useful corrective.

Muriel, or the Time of Return (1963)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Muriel, or the Time of Return (1963) – A. Resnais

Another puzzle film from Alain Resnais, his third feature (after Hiroshima Mon Amour and Last Year at Marienbad).  As in the earlier films, the trick is to try to piece together the “facts” of the narrative from the behaviors shown and the statements of the various characters.  However, as in real life, these “clues” may be subject to duplicity, randomness, irrelevance, transience, and so on.  That is, our actions, statements, and, yes, thoughts and feelings may hold little bearing for our true pasts, presents, or futures.  To put this another way, we are all impacted by real and faulty memories of our pasts, current perceptions (also accurate or misbegotten) of the situations and relationships we find ourselves in, and motivations and expectations for the future (realistic or unrealistic).  So, trying to pinpoint the psychological experience of another person from the outside seems an impossible task.  Of course, this is exactly the task that Resnais sets for us in Muriel.  Unlike other film directors, he refuses to “set the stage” and provide exposition that tells viewers the facts of the story that they couldn’t otherwise know.  True, some of our other better directors (such as the Iranians Farhadi or Kiarostami) force us to figure out what is happening and leave room for subjectivity in their equations, but no one engages in as much wilful misdirection as Resnais, while somehow remaining true to how people really experience their lives, in bursts of disconnected cognitive and affective experiences.  Resnais’s editing style follows this logic, with an array of jump-cuts and non-sequiturs thrown in amidst the more straightforward (but still strangely detached) narrative sequences.  The plot, for what it is worth, revolves around Delphine Seyrig’s antique dealer who summons an old lover from the past to visit her in Bologne.  He has (apparently) spent 15 years in Algeria, from where her stepson has just returned after a stint in the military.  Over the course of the film, we and they try to reconcile their conflicting memories of their shared past, to navigate their current interactions and living arrangements, and to understand what is possible for their future together (or apart). Meanwhile, the stepson has to cope with traumatic memories of the torture of a girl, Muriel, that he witnessed during the war.