The Sea Hawk (1940)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Sea Hawk (1940) – M. Curtiz

Another rousing swashbuckler from director Michael Curtiz and starring Errol Flynn.  This time Flynn is a pirate captain working for Queen Elizabeth I, plundering Spanish ships and freeing the galley slaves that have been entrapped by the Inquisition.  At his side is Alan Hale and others who may be familiar from earlier similar pictures.  However, The Sea Hawk is a slight notch down from Captain Blood (1935) or especially Robin Hood (1938) because Brenda Marshall makes a duller love interest than Olivia de Havilland (Flynn’s usual starring partner) and Henry Daniell is wicked but not quite as wicked as Basil Rathbone.  Both of these stellar co-stars turned this picture down to seek different horizons.  Claude Rains is here but with little to do.  Still there is no denying the thrilling adventure scenes, often shot in the giant Maritime soundstage at Warner Brothers where giant sailing ships battle each other and men leap from one to the other cutlasses drawn.  Erich Wolfgang Korngold’s score undoubtedly adds to the effect. 

Spotlight (2015)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Spotlight (2015) – T. McCarthy

Investigative journalism can be exciting -- and Mark Ruffalo, Rachel McAdams, and Michael Keaton, among others, help to make it so.  Taking a page from All the President’s Men (1976), director Tom McCarthy tells us the story of the Boston Globe’s Pulitzer Prize winning exposure of the Catholic Church’s cover-up of an epidemic of paedophile priests.  The story is still reverberating today and around the world.  Despite the absorbing nature of the hunt for clues, evidence, or a smoking gun, at its heart this is a profoundly depressing story.  After all, it is child sexual abuse we are talking about.  Howard Shore’s music is suitably downbeat and ruminative.  The actors temper their zeal with gravity.  Yet, is the issue really given enough of a serious treatment?  Viewers may be able to focus on the newspaper room without having to think too carefully or clearly about abuse, even though we hear victims describe their experiences and are told that many have committed suicide or engaged in self-defeating behaviour.  Not that I’d want to watch a more harrowing version of this – so perhaps the journalistic thriller genre is the best way to bring the issues into the public eye (if they weren’t already).  McCarthy and Josh Singer won the Oscar for their screenplay, which is all talk but engaging and not sensationalistic, and of course the film won the Best Picture Oscar as well.

Distant Voices, Still Lives (1988)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Distant Voices, Still Lives (1988) – T. Davies

It has the quality of old photographs, fading and somewhat discoloured – and when they sing the old songs, memories are surely evoked.  This is obviously director Terence Davies’ goal in this reflection on his family’s life in working class Liverpool in the 1940’s and 1950’s. But we aren’t treated to rose-coloured nostalgia; instead, things are often tense and even brutal. His father (played by Pete Postlethwaite) is surly and violent, beating the kids and his wife, leading to questions after his death about why mum ever married him.  These early childhood experiences make up the first half of the film (“Distant Voices”), revealed discontinuously, evoking emotions more than revealing specific details of life – perhaps emotions are what chiefly remain decades later.  The second half of the film (shot two years later) sees the three children grown up and starting their own marriages, often meeting in the pub with a gang of close friends and their mum.  Other tensions arise, similar and different to those in the first half but now the spirit of community seems to enter as a protective factor (of sorts).  Singing in the pub is a spirited, perhaps escapist, activity but tender feelings well up even as the cast expertly portrays the often ambivalent relations they have with each other or with their friends, growing distant.  Are these still lives? Perhaps Davies sees them as not learning and building from their past experience. But still there is some life spirit here that isn’t being quelled, that comes through, yes nostalgically, but with enough power to think that Davies became the poet that he clearly is through these foundational experiences (both good and bad).

  

Now, Voyager (1942)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Now, Voyager (1942) – I. Rapper

The title comes from a Walt Whitman poem about unfulfilled desires -- and Charlotte Vale (Bette Davis) has them.  She’s been held back (all the way into her thirties) by her domineering mother, so much so that she plays the first scenes of the movie in ugly drag (with unruly eyebrows) on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, Charlotte’s sister-in-law brings sensible psychologist Dr Jacquith (Claude Rains) into the picture and he rightly identifies, as Carl Rogers might later deduce, that internalizing her mother’s expectations for her is the crux of the problem.  So, he proposes that she escape away on a South American cruise – where, transformed miraculously into the Bette Davis we know, she meets and falls in love with, an unfortunately married man played by Paul Henreid.  I wonder why the most emotionally stirring films are always about those impossible loves that are never to be, never fulfilled (although there are some innuendoes here about a stormy night in Rio), never ending in a life-long pairing.  Is it because these possible futures remain in the land of “what might be” keeping expectations and dreams high, even when all loves that do result in relationships must crash down to reality and become an everyday, if not humdrum, thing?  Thus the sad dreams continue, unchecked by life.  Charlotte manages to sublimate her longing for Jerry (Henreid) into a mothering instinct, taking over guardianship of his younger daughter for whom her own mother seems to hold no interest. An unusual arrangement to be sure, and probably one that would not, could not, exist today.  So, Davis takes it on the chin, as she does in so many movies, but she comes through tougher than before. With its sweeping Max Steiner score and numerous touching and portentous moments, Now, Voyager, ends up being inspiring to those who want to take control of their own lives and navigate to the points beyond where they might currently be stuck. Onward!   

 

The Insect Woman (1963)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The Insect Woman (1963) – S. Imamura

Japanese director Shohei Imamura (who continued making movies into the 2000s) famously said that his films were “messy” and it’s true.  Although afterwards it is possible to trace a narrative line and to consider the point and purpose of events, during the film itself things can be quite unpredictable and sometimes strange.  The Insect Woman follows Tome from her fatherless birth in the countryside in 1918 through WWII where she was forced to work for the landlord (and sleep with the landlord’s son) on to the 50s where she was, in succession, a factory worker and union leader, a maid, a prostitute, a pimp, and a cleaning lady.  Imamura sees her as a pragmatic survivor, much like an ant or a beetle, scurrying about protecting her self-interest and occasionally working for others when it suits her ends. Her daughter (also born out of wedlock, like the two generations of women in her family before her) seems to have similar characteristics, also managing to use her wiles to achieve her own goals: this time, she deceives her sugar daddy (the same business man who “kept” her mother) in order to get money to start a collective farm.  In the end, we see Tome scurrying about in the dirt, like an insect, hitting home the entomological theme.  As sociological commentary, Imamura’s film is intriguing but a bit unclear – is this a feminist film, showing the spirit of women to overcome obstacles, even those put in front of them by the patriarchy? If so, Tome’s willingness to exploit other women (and to do so in a mean-spirited way) flies in the face of that, unless it is to say that this horrible social system corrupts all those who try to achieve some measure of equity and even comfort.  Perhaps that’s it.    

  

Phoenix (2014)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Phoenix (2014) – C. Petzold

Many are referring to this film as a contemporary film noir (neo-noir) but I’m not sure I see it.  Yes, the plot has strong similarities to the “returning veteran” subgenre, in which somebody like Alan Ladd returns from war to normal society and has trouble fitting back in, although in this case our protagonist is female, Nelly Lenz (played by Nina Hoss), a Jewish survivor returning from Auschwitz to the decimated German society of the 1940’s. This might make the film even darker than the typical noir, in fact.  Clearly, she has trouble fitting in, particularly because her face has been destroyed and subsequently rebuilt by a plastic surgeon.  She doesn’t quite look like herself, so even her husband doesn’t recognise her when she finally finds him.  So, she keeps her identity a secret.  He may or may not be trustworthy and might even have betrayed her to the Nazis.  When he suggests that she pretend to be his lost wife (presumed dead) so that he can apply for her fortune (held in abeyance by the Allies), she plays along (strong shades of Hitchcock’s Vertigo here).  Those that would hail this a noir seem to think that Nelly might either be out for revenge or might truly wish to subjugate herself to her husband, but Nina Hoss’s fragile performance never seems to suggest the former (to me), thus undercutting the noir edge. True, the final scene, a superb culmination of all that has gone before, grants Nelly more power/confidence, but this seems to well up in her rather than be suddenly revealed as a well-protected secret.  A separate strand of the plot also sees Nelly in counterpoint to another Jewish woman, possibly lesbian, who wants to resettle in the new Jewish state to be founded in Palestine, but in this case, Nelly cannot commit perhaps because she is still in the sway of her husband (or at least has unfinished business with him).  Apparently, this is the sixth collaboration between director Christian Petzold and actress Nina Hoss which suggests a back catalogue ready for mining.  

 

Double Suicide (1969)

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Double Suicide (1969) – M. Shinoda

This is Masahiro Shinoda’s high concept staging of a bunraku puppet show with actors instead of dolls (but retaining the figures in black who control everything).  The result is as highly stylized as you would imagine and starkly shot in high contrast black and white with Toru Takemitsu’s minimalist score aiding in the effect.  Based on a tale of doomed lovers by Chikamatsu (also a favourite of Mizoguchi’s), the plot sees Jihei the paper merchant and Koharu the courtesan drawn inexorably to the fate announced in the title of the film.  Even knowing what will happen, it is impossible to look away.  Jihei’s wife and two children are also dragged into the drama (as are his brother and her father).  Everybody is so wrong-headed but erotic compulsion cannot be denied.  The poor puppeteers in black can only look on in sympathy and horror (even as they occasionally assist the players); this adds another odd layer to the proceedings. The only other Shinoda film I’ve seen is Pale Flower (1964), a striking yakuza drama that is well worth your time.

 

  
Double Suicide (1969) [Trailer] from Art Theatre Guild on Vimeo.