The first thing that Romero’s original low-budget zombie
flick has going for it is that you feel that it could really be happening – the
characters do the things you expect them to do, if facing this (otherwise
implausible) scenario. The second thing is that Romero manages to sneak some
social commentary (chiefly about race relations) into what would have been
expected to be just grindhouse fare. The third thing is Pittsburgh – it just
feels like a place where a zombie manifestation could happen. Dawn of the Dead, the first sequel, may be
even better, although the franchise loses steam after that. If you’ve only seen its more recent
descendents (or remakes), you really owe it to yourself to check out the opening
salvo.
Jean-Pierre Melville is one of my favourite directors –
his films typically combine elements of film noir (gangsters, heists) with the
technique of Robert Bresson (an existential focus on process) and an obsessive commitment
to particular colour palettes. I have seen Le Samourai, starring Alain Delon as
a lone wolf hitman, countless times, having once owned it on VHS. However, only last night (after watching it
again and reading an interview with Melville), did I think that the movie had
another more mystical reading than the standard surface understanding. More
specifically, I had never thought that the pianiste, Cathy Rosier, who
witnesses Jef Costello (Delon) executing his contract (a club owner) might
actually be Death herself. One remembers
that Melville worked with Cocteau early on (Les Enfants Terrible, 1950) and was
perhaps influenced by the latter’s Orpheus (also 1950) in which Death is also
personified. In any event, to reconceptualize Jef as infatuated with his own
death rather than the piano player is almost to see a different film (and one
where the ending is somewhat even more satisfying). Of course, the
straightforward reading of the film still works too, with Jef compromised when he
is seen by witnesses and confused when his no-longer-airtight alibi still holds
up (his pursuit of Cathy to understand why she didn’t dob him in and their
subsequent triste is the alternate explanation for his final act). As with most Melville films, there is great
pleasure here in following Jef’s methodical actions as he comes to terms with his
situation, fleeing the police (led by crafty Commissaire François Périer) and
contending with his double-crossing employers. Delon remains cool
throughout. A masterpiece.
Director Alexander Payne and actor Paul Giamatti
previously teamed up for Sideways (2004) where the actor played a similarly
bummed out but know-it-all character touring California’s wine country. Here,
decades later, he’s the misanthropic classics-spouting history teacher, unloved
by students and colleagues alike, stuck baby-sitting students whose parents left
them at boarding school over the 1970 Christmas break. Payne and screenwriter David Hemingson do a
wonderful job fleshing out the characters of those stuck at Barton School which
also include Da'Vine Joy Randolph’s school cook Mary Lamb and Dominic Sessa’s troubled
student Angus Tully. As in Payne’s other
films, the film advances via humorous episodes (a sporting accident, a
Christmas party, a trip to Boston) and the characters’ relationships with each
other deepen and they learn something about themselves too. But Payne avoids the saccharine by ensuring
that the proceedings are adult and authentic feeling. He (and his team) also captures the time-period
not only with perfect set-decoration/art-direction/cinematography (think The
Paper Chase) but also in the social, race, and class relations depicted (amiably
defiant of norms in some cases perhaps). Bittersweet is the dominant flavour here but
that’s not to say that your heart won’t also be warmed. So good.
Having just watched Anatomy of a Murder (1959) with my
Dad, I can definitely see the family resemblance with Justine Triet’s Oscar-winning
Anatomy of a Fall. Both films
deconstruct a central death with exacting forensic/clinical investigations
leading to high-profile court cases with fallible defendants (Ben Gazzara in
the older film, Sandra Hüller in the newer one). They differ in the way that Otto Preminger
focused more on Jimmy Stewart’s lawyer, whereas Triet honed in on the relationship
between Hüller’s Sandra Voyter and her blind son Daniel (Milo Machado-Graner)
who is the sole witness able to tell the court whether his father was killed by
his mother. Court cases in France do not
seem to follow the same rules as those in America, with the defendant (as well
as the defense team) freely interjecting (and/or being asked to comment) while
the prosecutor questions witnesses. Evidence mounts and seemingly supports a
strong case against the defendant – or does it? Hüller, who was so good in Toni
Erdmann (2016), is fascinating here, ably allowing us to doubt her while
remaining hopeful that she didn’t do it.
Absorbing throughout. It won the Palme d’Or at Cannes.
Japan’s entry for the Best International Oscar was
their first directed by a foreigner, in this case, Wim Wenders (Wings of
Desire, 1987). Koji Yakusho (Cure, 1997;
Shall We Dance, 1996) won Best Actor at the Cannes Film Festival in 2023 for
this film. He plays a cleaner for The
Tokyo Toilet company who services restrooms in the Shibuya area. But these are
no ordinary toilets! The film’s idea
itself apparently originated with these architect-designed toilet blocks that
were created for the 2020 Olympics – after the pandemic overshadowed
everything, the feeling was that the toilets did not get enough attention. So, a commission was offered to create a
documentary to highlight their uniqueness, but when Wim Wenders won, he decided
to create a fiction film instead. (Wise choice). We follow Yakusho’s daily routine in detail
and learn that it rarely changes. He is
a man who clearly takes pleasure in the simple things of life and is conscientious
about his work and his life. He also listens to cassette tapes of sixties music
and reads classic novels. He has a
particular interest in photographing trees (or one particular tree). Wenders takes a minimalist approach (this is
slow cinema) with some experimental flourishes to represent the dreams of Hirayama
(Yakusho), which unfold like abstract shadow plays. Gradually, we learn more
about Hirayama as a result of his interactions with other people (although his
routine shows him to be a loner who barely speaks). There is a mystery of sorts
here although many will feel the movie to be virtually plotless. The final shot
(or nearly final shot) is likely to be the one that garnered Yakusho his acting
awards and Wenders holds it long enough for us to ponder the character’s
motivation and emotions. After the credits, Wenders offers an insight that
unlocked the film for me: "‘KOMOREBI’
is the Japanese word for the shimmering of light and shadows that is created by
leaves swaying in the wind. It only exists once, at that moment.” I’m pleased to see Wenders’ success after a
number of years when his documentaries outshone his narrative films. Highly
recommended.
I’ve been following director Hirokazu Kore-eda since I
first caught After Life (1998) randomly in London in 1999 (and soon after found
his breakthrough film Maborosi, 1995, on VHS). He is probably best known now
for Shoplifters (2018) which won the Palme d’Or at Cannes that year. He’s
become an expert at the shomin-geki (family drama, or “common people” drama).
In many ways, Monster, Kore-eda’s return to Japanese film-making after stints
in France and Korea, falls into this genre too (but may also represent the
classic coming-of-age story).We begin
by following Sakura Ando’s single mother who becomes increasingly concerned
with the experiences of her son Minato (Soya Kurokawa) at primary school when
he comes home with a bloody nose and hurt ear.He tells her that the teacher hit him and called him “Pig Brain”.She confronts the principal who instructs the
teacher to make a formal apology to the parent, but without quite admitting everything.This agitates the mum who takes legal action
against the school.But the truth is not
so simple (as is often the case in Kore-eda’s films) and we are subsequently
treated to two more versions of events before settling in to see things from
Minato’s point of view. Without giving too much away, let’s just say that the
film transforms into a story about societal norms, constraints, and prejudices –
the way some people may be seen as monsters and may even self-stigmatise
themselves as monsters. But freed from these shackles, in a separate reality,
love can prosper. Although ultimately the film decides to move on from its
promise of a Rashomon-styled tale of subjective perceptions, the resulting
focus on primary human relationships (despite verging on the overly sentimental)
offers a triumphant conclusion. Unfortunately, the world we know may not allow
this euphoria to be sustained.
One of the first DVDs I ever bought, but it has been
ages since I watched it. James Mason
stars as one of the leaders of the IRA in Belfast, Johnny McQueen, who has been
hiding out after escaping from prison but is now planning a payroll robbery in
order to finance their operations. Yet from the start things don’t go right – Mason
plays McQueen as tentative and uncertain and director Carol Reed (later famous
for The Third Man, 1949) uses expressionistic touches to show McQueen’s
wooziness as he gets into the car to head to the job. Of course, the subsequent heist suffers as a
consequence and McQueen kills an innocent employee during the escape while also
being shot himself. He then falls backwards out of the getaway car, with his panicked
partners leaving him passed out in the road.
From there, the movie depicts McQueen’s journey through the snowy night
in Belfast, encountering numerous supposed loyalists and other friendly souls,
none of whom assist him enough to help him back to safety. At the same time,
McQueen experiences delirious hallucinations, as he is both dying and coming to
terms with his crimes. There is a burning spiritual fever in Johnny as he
attempts to avoid the police dragnet – but to what end? Kathleen Ryan is in
love with Johnny and wants to rescue him, but neither she nor anyone else can
see a way forward beyond Johnny’s pre-ordained fate. Reed and cinematographer
Robert Krasker shot the film as a blend of postwar neo-realism (the slums of
Belfast), film noir (the chiaroscuro lighting and dark themes), and expressionism
(McQueen’s visions distort reality). To me, the film seems to share structure
and themes with Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man (1995), which also follows a man on a
journey from life to death, offering a critique of society on the way. In both
films, humans struggle with difficult moral decisions where right and wrong can
confusingly depend on the eye of the beholder. Yet, at the end of the day, as the police
inspector hunting Johnny succinctly states, for him, there is neither bad nor
good, only innocence and guilt.
