Variety Lights (1950) *** - A perfect distillation of the type of film Fellini would strive to make for the duration of his career- a wandering sense of the journey being more important that the destination.... a focus on common creative types (this time a traveling, scrappy troupe of performers).... and the ever present tug of respectability and higher class threatening to soil the salt-of-the-earth facade of his men and women. Co-directed with Alberto Lattuada, "Variety Lights" is a neat encapsulation of Fellini's unique vision.
The White Sheik (1952) *** - In one scene that takes place on a beach as runaway wife Wanda (Brunella Bova) sees her starstruck dreams towards handsome actor Nando (Alberto Sordi) fade away, the wind sounds just like it does a decade later in "81/2". And that's the most interesting thing about "The White Sheik". It is a delicate and often very funny comedy, but it's also an illuminating blueprint for so many themes and motifs that would dot the Fellini landscape for years to come. Not to mention, it introduces us to Cabiria (Giulietta Masina) who would later get her own (sorrowful) account of life in Rome.
Love In the City (1953) **- For his part in the omnibus film about a swath of people living and loving in Italy, Fellini's portion is nowhere near the best. Anyone matched against Antonioni usually loses in that regard. In fact, after seeing it last week, I can barely remember what his was about outside of a few long tracking shots.
I Vitelloni (1953) **** - An episodic film about friends living on the edges of crime, poverty, adolescence and developing macho swaggering, "I Vitelloni" feels like the type of film everyone from Martin Scorsese to John Singleton has emulated decades later. Fellini makes it appear pure and effortless. It's the best of his 1950 era output.
La Strada (1954) *** - I"m not as enamored of this film as many, but it's hard to deny the great performance of Giullietta Masina portraying the downtrodden protagonist that Fellini would return to over the decades. Opposite her, Anthony Quinn as the brutish surrogate father/boss/lover is also perfect.
Il Bidone (1955) ** - Fairly one-note exploration of redemption as a trio of con men receive their comeuppance due to family ties.
Nights of Cabiria (1957) ***1/2 - Actress Masina is back for more brutality by Fellini as a woman dealing with a very harsh Rome. Her subtle reactions and facial expressions- as the neon glitz world around her pushes onto her shoulders- are small revelations in a character study that dares to examine the falsehood of the culture around the character rather than the character herself.
La Dolce Vita (1960) **** - One of the formative films of my young movie-watching life (when I was 15) in which I realized foreign films just have the pizazz and life that American films often don't deliver. The careening moods and audacious sentiments that barrel off the screen felt (and still feel) like someone striving for a complete abandonment of realism and simply exploring whatever wistful memory or thought springs before them. One of the seminal films.
8 1/2 (1963) **** - Much like "La Dolce Vita", the first time I saw "8 1/2" I recognized this as something completely "anti" of everything I'd seen up to that point. Remarkably lucid about mining the depths of sinking creativity and a visually dazzling film whose main concern is to disorient as much as enlighten, these two films deserve to be studied as masterpieces for centuries to come.
Juliet of the Spirits (1965) *** - I imagine this is as close to a straight up horror film that Fellini would ever make. One can only drool over the possibilities. His first color film, Fellini held nothing back in contrasting colors and images and the final delirious parade of images (as the habitats of Giullietta Masini's head come pouring onto the screen) feature some absolutely creepy incarnations. If it feels like a feminist version of "81/2", so be it. It does lag in portions, but the overall scope and image-making are wondrous.
Spirits of the Dead (1968) ***1/2 - Fellini's portion of this compilation film (liberally borrowing from an Edgar Allan Poe short story) "Toby Dammitt" is essentially a 40 minute mental breakdown of a British actor (Terence Stamp) visiting Italy and falling into the throes of alcoholism, depression and manic paranoia. It's certainly a Fellini vision, swirling with garish colors, clownish characterizations and evil incarnate in a pale-faced nymph kicking a ball around. Describing it just doesn't do it any justice.
Satyricon (1969) ** - I think this could've only been made in 1969. Based on ancient short stories, it's really a film of Fellini gestating his urges and visual delights onto the screen in what would mark his more ribald period of heightened mood, artificiality and visualized dream-states. The story, to speak of, concerns a young man's search for his child lover through a landscape of highly designed sets with all sorts of grotesquery and embedded mythical figures. It doesn't make much sense, but I get the feeling its meant to be ingested rather than enjoyed.
The Clowns (1970) *** - It makes sense that Fellini would begin the 70's with a rollicking (faux) documentary about the life of circus clowns, represented both in real life and obscure, unearthed silent films. Since most of his later films resemble the carefully controlled anarchy of the antics inside a circus ring applied to his beloved Italian hagiography real and imagined, it's an apt metaphor for everything that would follow in his career. It's also a diverting, charming effort that ends on gracious melancholy.
Roma (1972) **** - It's difficult to call "Roma" episodic. It's a film that doesn't follow a true narrative arch and although its mostly rudderless, it does feature two anchors that continually pop up throughout the film to provide some semblance of characterization. One of them is a young man who gets to observe the chaotic assembly of people eating dinner in the town square or the unusually deconstructive nature of how brothels in Rome work... the first for the lower class and the second for more 'monied' men. The second (sometimes) constant piece of "Roma" follows a camera crew as they film around the city, providing two of the film's most stunning technical achievements including a hectic film shoot along a rain-soaked Rome highway and the other a mystical, transfixing venture beneath the city where a construction crew accidentally discovers centuries old artwork. Of course, their presence and the exposure to air subsequently destroys the work and casts a rapt commentary on so many things at once. Everything else in the film plays as if the city itself belched up its own memories, feelings and ideas mixed with the circus-like atmosphere of a filmmaker of Fellini's attention. It's at once wondrous and frustrating and maniacal. It's also one of Fellini's best.
Amarcord (1974) ** - Attempting some of the same distillation of nostalgia and memory that glittered so vibrantly in "Roma", Fellini's follow-up "Amarcord" falls short due to its less-than-memorable set pieces and chaotic nature that feels, well chaotic and encumbered by an overall sense of trying too hard.
Casanova (1976) *1/2 - Orgiastic pageantry aside, Fellini's interpretation of the legendary Casanova is quite the bore. As the leading man, Donald Sutherland feels miscast and the film's feeble attempts to solicit any character arch are just as cartoonish as the overall tone and tempo. Points do go for the genius set design, though, in which gently ruffled tarps serve as swooning oceans and one scene involving candle-lit chandeliers being rotated and expunged.
Orchestra Rehearsal (1978) *** - Hinged somewhere between his usual manic exploration of society and the acidic explosion of absurdity borrowed by current filmmakers such as Yorgos Lanthimos, "Orchestra Rehearsel" begins as a faux documentary about a day in the life of various musicians at practice and then turns chaotic. The orchestra revolts. The conductor begins speaking German. People lash out. All in the name of magic realism/fascism, "Orchestra Rehearsal" may not completely gel as a whole, but its fascinating to see Fellini try.
City of Women (1980) ** - A bit embarrassing at times for the way it attempts to reconcile the gender divide and ends up purporting the worst cliches of both sides, "City of Women" is ambitious and self-reflexive, which gives it some chutzpah. But not much else.
And the Ship Sails On (1983) ***- Fellini characters cloistered together on a cruise ship... meaningful siphons of the country itself.... a ragged and busy aesthetic. "And the Ship Sails On" seems to inhabit the best and worst of Fellini's career.
Ginger and Fred (1986) ** - A way to look back on two of the stars Fellini spent his youthful days with (Mastroianni and Giulietta Masina), "Ginger and Fred" concerns itself with a once popular dancing duo making a comeback 40 years later on a variety TV show. Lots of backstage conversations and blustery emotions are on hand again, but this time, the film feels flat and tepid. The chemistry (or lack thereof) between the ace duo is also disconcerting.
Intervista (1987) **1/2- Partly generated to celebrate the anniversary of Cinecitta, Fellini's faux documentary glides across the back lots of the famed studio where lots of pandemonium ensues. It's a film that sounds more interesting than it really is- juggling a Japanese documentary crew's wide-eyed enthusiasm, a naive reporter experiencing all the chaos and Fellini dipping into past glories (Marcello Mastroianni and Anita Ekberg) to create a sweet but at times overbearing reverie.
The Voice of the Moon (1990) *1/2 - Not quite the magnanimous way we hoped Fellini would go out, his final film (starring Roberto Beningi as yet another male protagonist slipping through the currents of Italian memory and time) is a confused, fairly oafishness take on many of his previous (and better) films. Beholden to a variety of characters- often following them for long stretches of time with lots of talk going on- "The Voice of the Moon" staggers and replays so much of Fellini's oeuvre that it becomes a cliched mess.
Unable to view: Boccaccio '70
Showing posts with label directors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label directors. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 29, 2019
Thursday, May 24, 2018
An Appreciation: John Ford
Straight Shooting (1917) **½- Ford’s first still available film, most interesting for its milieu and yes, some shots of people in and out of doorways that would qualify as his visual motif for decades.
Bucking Broadway (1918) *** - Strong early effort that combines melodrama and romance as a cowboy (Harry Carey, who’d act in so many of Ford’s earliest silents) tries to marry the daughter of a landowner. Cutting back and forth between the frontier and urban landscapes, “Bucking Broadway” builds to a terrific conclusion.
By Indian Post (1919) ** - Short (only 13 minutes) trifle that plays with the prejudices of Native Americans to instigate a bumbling comedy that sees a cowboy run away with the daughter of a wealthy landowner. A if Ford didn’t get this out of his system with the previous film.
Just Pals (1920) **½ - Covers all the bases of extended melodrama, heartwarming friendships and dastardly collusion to make a hero out of the town bum and his equally downtrodden young friend.
The Iron Horse (1924) ***½ - Masterful telling of the building of the transcontinental railroad from the Great Plains to Northern California. What begins as an intimate examination between a dead father’s dream and his son’s legacy to endure that vision becomes a mosaic portrait of sweaty western living and frontier life, complete with shadowy landowners, upright workers and beautiful childhood sweethearts. It also features plenty of sweeping vistas (such as two people calmly standing amongst a throbbing horde of sheep and dour faces atop a slow moving train) and Ford’s first real handle on depth of field and panoramic landscapes that often dwarf the people in them.
Lightning’ (1925) ** - Still stuttering through amiable and ordinary narratives, “Lightnin” follows a drunkard who straightens up and flies right to help his family save a hotel built on the California/Nevada border. Yes, it’s about as hokey as it sounds, but Ford’s distrust of American elite and his overriding affection for the common man/do-gooder professional is slowly becoming a theme in these early films…. Themes that would transfer onto the American frontier in later films. Not on DVD.
The Shamrock Handicap (1926) ** - Inconsequential film except for its Irish-American milieu and personalities. Even that, though, pales when dealing with a horse jockey and his entrance into the world of American horse racing.
Three Bad Men (1926) *** - Expressionism has begun creeping into Ford’s visual style, none moreso engaging then the first appearance of the titular 3 bad men, shadowed against a cliff and overlooking the territory they aggressively hunt upon. Even better is the grand opening of the west sequence, complete with an Odessa-steps like abandoned baby in the midst of the charging horses. It’s a film that hits all the right notes of compassion, humor and thrilling action.
Riley the Cop (1928) ** - There's one shot of someone watching something else happen in a reflection that's tremendous. All else, pretty forgettable comedy.
Hangman’s House (1928) *** - The best aspects of “Hangman’s House”- a film which involves an array of subplots including genteel love, awol Irish soldiers seeking revenge and the dastardly bad guy Ford loved to root against- are the allusions to the IRA and its subtle, shadowy staging of men living by a strict code of conduct brought out later in “The Informer”.
Four Sons (1928) *** - A downer of a tale about the hardships and fatality of four brothers at the outbreak of World War I, but its not a cheap or exploitive melodrama. The way in which Ford overlays the ghostly images of a mother’s four boys- eating and having fun at a dinner table as she remembers the better days- reveals the growing confidence in Ford’s visual style.
Salute (1929) * - Completely devoid of any authentic feeling of ownership or specialty, I can only imagine Ford was so engulfed with the technicality of sound that he forgot everything else. The story- about two brothers competing against one another in an Army/Navy football game- features so many diversions and lifeless anecdotes that it can be forgotten in Ford’s oeuvre. Not on DVD.
The Black Watch (1929) **½ - Adventure yarn that sees British soldier Victor McLaglen go undercover and tangle with Myrna Loy in the Arabian desert. What’s most striking about “The Black Watch” is Ford’s dispassionate mise-en-scene of soldiers opening fire on a crowd of opponents or the attention to ritual as a group of men sing songs before going to war. It’s not one of Ford’s early best, but its competent.
Born Reckless (1930) ** - When one hears modern cinema making fun of the stilted, dated dialogue of the 20’s and 30’s, “Born Reckless” surely stands as the placard for that fun. Full of lines like “you couldn’t keep your nose clean” or “I tell ya they’ll never frame me behind bars”, it’s a film that shoehorns a lot of material into its slim 76 minute running time, mostly centering on the life of hoodlum Edmund Lowe and his aversion to “going straight”. I’m sure it meant serious business in its day, but its like watching a comedy now… and Ford and company still don’t seem to have a firm grasp on the technicalities of sound and movement, which is to be expected.
The Brat (1930) ** - A time capsule of 1920's America as any you'll ever see, complete with boisterous New Yawk dialect and a simple view of the gender wars. It does eature one nifty little tracking shot, though.
Men Without Women (1930) *½ - If this film had just been about the heroics onboard the submarine in the second half, then we might have a terrific short film. Otherwise, the first half with the sailors on leave (and a film that alternates between silent and sound film) feels overtly pointless. Not on DVD.
Up the River (1930) **½ - Perhaps best regarded as the most innocent prison picture one could imagine, “Up the River” is pretty entertaining as complete fantasy comedy in the way hard nosed prisoners commingle both with each other AND the warden’s ten year old daughter, Plus, they all love baseball! Never mind the fact that Spencer Tracy escapes every prison they seem to incarcerate him in, then welcome him back with smiles and cajoles each time he’s caught. It’s best to shut off the mind and take this film as some alternate reality 1930’s comedy and just go with it.
Pilgrimage (1930) *** - Growing in emotional complexity and scope, “Pilgrimage” is a solid (almost impressionistic) tale of an elderly woman (Henrieta Crosman) traveling to France to visit the grave of her dead son during World War I. It often slides into easy sentimentality, but its soft images and mother-son dynamic that would become a staple of Ford’s cinema for years to come are intact.
The Seas Beneath (1931) ** - A submarine film that rarely goes beneath the surface, choosing instead to stay focused on the personal subterfuge that occurs on land after a group of American naval men encounter their German foes in a port town. An awkward flirtation between American George O’Brian and the sister of a German U-boat captain (Marion Lessing) only complicates things. The shots of a fixed camera on the deck of a submarine actually rising and falling beneath the water is pretty cool, though. Everything else, not so much.
Arrowsmith (1931) ** - There’s not much distinctive about this medical drama starring Ronald Colman as the titular doctor giving his life to medical research. Filmed in bland medium shot, the most exciting thing in it is the Fritz Lang-esque medical corporate office that looks like a leftover set from “Metropolis”.
Air Mail (1932) *½ - Set largely in and around a mountainous air mail plane station, Ford’s spirited view isn’t microscopic enough to allow any one character to stand out (even though there’s the usual romancing and divergent personalities) or dynamic enough to care about the final dashing plane rescue. All around a bust. Not on DVD.
Doctor Bull (1933) **½- The first of two films starring Will Rogers as an important social figure within a lazy suburban town (followed by “Judge Priest”), the folksy attitude of the entire film is whimsical but far from anything outstanding in his career.
Judge Priest (1934) *** - Better than “Doctor Bull”, despite some atrocious racism and yet another appearance by Stepin Fetchit, Will Rogers this time portrays the town judge, trying to survive personal attacks from political rivals while maintaining honesty on the bench. The final trial- lackluster in its realism of course- is out shadowed by the film’s more pointed memoir style of its writer Irvin S. Cobb and quite an odd reverie for Civil war veterans.
The Lost Patrol (1934) *** - Nifty, claustrophobic little effort that, ironically, takes place in the desert as a troop of British soldiers are cornered by a sharpshooting Arab tribe. Though it does drag in a few spots, its very fun to see Bela Lugosi in a non-horror film role and Ford manages to wring every drip of sweat and dust out of the scenario.
The World Moves On (1934) ***½ - Spanning a century in the life of one family business and their counterparts on 4 continents, Ford makes this seemingly sprawling narrative seem quite intimate in the way he focuses on the relationship between Franchet Tone and Madeleine Carroll as romantically entangled souls. Eventually broken apart by World War I (including some devastatingly staged battle scenes that amplify war is nothing but explosions and dirt), “The World Moves On” is an apt title for a film that opens and closes on a wooden crucifix.
The Whole Town’s Talking (1935) **½ - If nothing else than for its visual trickery, “The Whole Town’s Talking” stands alone in the early Ford canon. Edward Robinson plays a dual role- one as a mild mannered businessman and the other as an escaped mobster- and the ramifications their appearance has on the entire city. Mildly amusing at times but dreadfully dull at others, it’s a mixed bag.
The Informer (1935) **** - Ford’s first real masterpiece, it’s a powerhouse of borrowed German expressionism combined with the deep moral complexity that didn’t quite exist in films just yet. The heights Victor McLaglan reaches in desperation, exasperation and misguided ambition as he stumbles towards a confession falling out of him is exceptional.
Steamboat Round the Bend (1935) *** - Breezy comedy that pretty much ignores the common sense rules of how the real world actually works after such a deadly serious film like “The Informer”, this marked the final collaboration between Ford and actor Will Rogers. Sure, let’s delay a hanging to watch the boat race. Of course we can hitch an anchor to a fellow ship and they never notice until the morning. If this weren’t delineated as a parody of river life existence from the very beginning, I’d call foul.
The Prisoner of Shark Island (1936) ***½ - Beginning on a figure that Ford would revisit later in his career (Abraham Lincoln), the film only uses his assassination as a springboard for an action adventure prison-break film that’s constantly surprising and entertaining.
Mary of Scotland (1936) *** - Far from a stiff, Masterpiece Theater style of drama, Ford’s telling of the infamous Mary Queen of Scotland tale feels modernized with 30’s melodrama, mostly because of Katherine Hepburn’s leading role as the mischievous, irreverent lady… full of acidic jabs and a natural independence from the male flotsam. Entertaining and swift moving.
The Plough and the Stars (1936) ** - Very short (just over an hour) film about the separation of man (Preston Foster) and woman (Barbara Stanwyck)through the call of duty for the Irish Army. Seeing it on a very rough print with fading audio probably didn’t do the film any justice, but it’s a relatively flat and lifeless affair.
Wee Willie Winkie (1937) *½ - Shirley Temple has two levels of cuteness. Precocious cute and pouty cute. I can’t stand either one of them, therefore, Ford’s partnership with her as a little girl spending her days in the confines of a British military base in India (and based on a Rudyard Kipling novel) grated on me from the very beginning.
The Hurricane (1937) *** - Partnered with the previous year’s “Wee Willie Winkie”, “The Hurricane” is Ford’s foreign adventure duo, this time charting the doomed relationships between South Pacific island natives and the British government when one of their own (John Hall) gets imprisoned for hitting a white man. Human feeling gets (literally) washed away in the second half when Ford flashes his filmmaking brawn and the titular natural disaster takes over. Impressive in theatrics, less so in its human interaction.
Four Men and a Prayer (1937) *** - The Hardy Boys-meets-Clue as four brothers try and solve the mystery of their father’s death right after being dismissed unfairly from the military. Things pick up dramatically in the second half as adventure and Third World realpolitik combine to create an action-filled whodunit. Also, Ford is yet to meet a firing squad inadvertently opening up on a crowd he doesn’t like.
Submarine Patrol (1938) *** - If one gets past the quite annoying main character (played by Richard Greene) as rich playboy turned semen just for the fun of it, then “Submarine patrol” is a solid actioner. As close to a World War II movie Ford ever made (alongside “They Were Expendable”), perhaps because he saw the brutality and savagery of it up close and personal through his own service, “Submarine Patrol” features some startling seafaring action and a cast of motley crew members that makes the whole thing quite entertaining.
Stagecoach (1939) ***½ - Much as its lauded as a masterpiece, watching it in succession with Ford’s other films, “Stagecoach” does feel like a huge leap forward in his career. Sure, the technology is better, but it’s a film whose fluid, expressive camerawork says just as much as the acting or narrative. The way in which Ford glides behind a table of people, segregated by class…. Or the jarring quick zoom onto John Wayne’s first appearance…. Or especially the Apache attack that feels weightless and implanted right in the action…. All of this exemplifies Ford leaving the shadows and adventure stories of the 30’s behind and focusing on something grander.
Young Mr. Lincoln (1939) **½ - Portrait of an iconic American figure through the generous fragments of his early life, dominated by a pro-bono case for a poor family whose two boys are accused of murder. As Abe Lincoln, Henry Fonda teams with Ford for the first time and his “gee whiz” homeliness is on full display, which negates a bit of the film’s heartiness and replaces it with undue folksiness.
Drums Along the Mohawk (1939) *** - Notable for being Ford’s first color picture, “Drums Along the Mohawk” is a sturdy but somewhat formulaic tale of Revolutionary American life with Henry Fonda and Claudette Colbert as the virginal couple trying to adjust to frontier life, full of Indian attacks and colorful personalities. Mostly forgettable with the exception of some tremendous sound design that features the booming echoes of guns being fired among some tall trees.
The Grapes of Wrath (1940) ***½ - Cultural and social commentary aside, “The Grapes of Wrath” is a film teeming with heart, sweat and layman’s pride. Not since “The Informer” has Ford felt so attuned with the atmosphere of the times.
The Long Voyage Home (1940) ** - Based on Eugene O’Neill stories, Ford fuses them together as the crew on board a ship during World War II transport dynamite back to England. It actually sounds more exciting than it really is. Getting bogged down in consummate drinking…. Or the wish to drink…. Or the fighting between men as they drink…. Its pretty depressing human nature.
Tobacco Road (1941) *** - Quite the odd beast from Ford. Based on a play (re-written by Ford compatriot Nunally Johnson) about an impoverished family in Georgia, “Tobacco Road” plays like a farce “The Grapes of Wrath”. Hysterical acting and dubious narrative shifts eventually won me over, though, and I went with the film’s pretty crazy tone.
How Green Was My Valley (1941) ***½ - It’s hard not to initially see “How Green Was My Valley” and recognize it as a clichéd piece of family drama spanning the short lifetime of a coal mining Welsh family… then realize this is the template for such moving family dramas to come. Handled with genuine empathy and a strong sense of setting and place, it’s a film that earns its gut-punch ending of finality and lost innocence.
They Were Expendable (1945) *** - Made immediately after his return from service in World War II, “They Were Expendable” follows an array of Navy men on torpedo boats and their continual displacement as the war rages closer to them. Hewing much closer to examining the personalities and irreparable damage done to the human body during war than outright action (which there’s very little), it’s a film that’s probably more anti-war than anything else. Nicely fatalistic is the doomed romance between John Wayne and Donna Reed. In earlier Ford films, this might have had an happy ending. Not so much here.
My Darling Clementine (1946) *** - Classy telling of Wyatt Earp’s assimilation and partnership with the abrasive Doc Holliday in the crime-laden town of Tombstone. I know this is probably sacrilege, but Kevein Costner’s expansive “Wyatt Earp” remains my favorite variation on this story. Watching Henry Fonda lean back in his wooden rocking chair and twiddle his feet against the post beam is an iconic moment though.
The Fugitive (1947) *** - Bearing a striking resemblance to Shusaku Endo's novel "Silence", Ford's rendering of a Catholic priest (Henry Fonda) forced into hiding when the Mexican army wants to wipe out Catholicism in their country is heartfelt and full of striking imagery. I think the most purely visceral shot of Ford's career may be this film's final shot, which description can't do it justice.
Fort Apache (1948) **** - Besides being a visceral western, “Fort Apache” is one of Ford’s most dense efforts, tackling both the shifting façade of the west and the inefficiency of man’s dominant presence in said landscape. The dominance is embodied in Henry Fonda’s curt, by-the-book colonel who takes over Fort Apache and not only alienates young love between his daughter (Shirley Temple) and her suitor, but everyone else en masse. His deliberate adherence to old-school methods of fighting a band of Apache Indians also ends up with disastrous results. Expertly framed and paced, “Fort Apache”- like his later masterpieces “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” and “The Searchers”- dares to question the mythology of the west and the place of man within it.
3 Godfathers (1948) **½ - Good natured western, but it seemingly wears its religious allegory out pretty quickly. The sudden pivot from a straight up bad-guys-chasing-good-guys-western to paradoxical life altering discovery is jarring for 1948. Ford overdoes it a bit in the finale however.
She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) ** - Perhaps this is a victim of my own lofty expectations after all these years, but its amazing how much this film doesn’t do. As a companion study to “Fort Apache” and one leader’s surreptitious finale (one in death the other in retirement) , the film registers well. As an involving narrative (or development of deeper themes) I pretty much missed the point. Lots of posturing within Ford’s Monument Valley setting but little in the way of emotional or character investment. I didn’t care one flip about any of it… or anyone.
When Willie Comes Marching Home (1950) **½ - Slight comedy about a man whose posted to war duty in his own hometown. Themes of emasculation hiding behind broad comedy feel a bit out of place after Ford’s more trenchant, respectable works on World War II.
Wagon Master (1950) *** - I kind of wish Ben Johnson would’ve been the man for Ford that John Wayne became. Alas, revisionist history, but he still steals the movie as one of three cowboys helping a Mormon group of settlers traverse dangerous Indian country.
Rio Grande (1950) ** ½ - Taking place in the same universe of “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon”- insomuch as Victor McLaglen again embodies his role of Quincannon- “Rio Grande” suffers mostly from the derivative devices of other Ford films. Monument Valley…. U.S. cavalry solders and their squirmish with local Indians…. John Wayne posturing….. It all looks good but feels like the continuation of something else.
The Quiet Man (1952) ***½ - Perhaps it’s the Olive Films blu-ray transfer, but this film had me gasping about 5 times within the first ten minutes on its glorious beauty. The entrance of Maureen O’Hara, spying the lanky John Wayne in the distance and then slowly shuffling out of the frame, feels like a beautiful way to transcribe the immediate love/hate between the two. Outside of their tumultuous relationship (hindered mostly by O Hara’s brother played by Victor McLaglen), Ford gives preeminence to the swooning, brazen and ebullient personalities of village settled Ireland without a hint of cynicism.
What Price Glory (1952) ** - Odd combination of war movie and screwball comedy with James Cagney and Dan Dailey as two soldiers who really don’t get along, often coming to blows while their men watch on.
The Sun Shines Bright (1953) *½ - A continuation of “Judge Priest” stories with Charles Winninger in place of Will Rogers, and this one is just plain bad. It’s first half- full of awful racial stereotypes and good ‘ol boy reverie between Civil War soldiers does nothing to endear the viewer. The second half fares a little better, if only because the mood lightens a bit.
Mogambo (1953) ***½ - Outside of it adventure story background (including a safari game master and his exotic African backdrop) in which Ford feels at home with a certain type of western expansionistic atmosphere, “Mogambo” doesn’t really need that crutch as its central concept of two women (the beautiful Grace Kelly and Ava Gardner) vying for Clark Gable would have been marvelous enough on its own. Oh, to be Clark Gable.
The Long Gray Line (1955) - **** - Ford revisits one shot over and over throughout his epic portrayal of an Irish immigrant (Tyrone Power) who finds his home for fifty years as a father-figure to cadets at West Point in the early twentieth century- the shot being a dusk embattled street with people either coming or going, and someone watching intently from the porch of a house. It’s a central idea in a very powerful, sensitive film about the process of time, the futility of war and the uniquely moving surrogate family that forms due to the simple presence of a gentle figure in a landscape. Plus the relationship between Power and wife Maureen O’Hara is pure greatness. Her death gently composed in the frame of (yes, you guessed it) a doorway.
Mister Roberts (1955) **½ - Really more of a seafaring comedy as good natured Henry Fonda does moral and verbal battle with hardnosed captain James Cagney at the helm of a cargo ship, “Mister Roberts” features very little of Ford’s trademark. Perhaps because Mervy LeRoy ultimately finished the picture, the whole thing feels a bit stretched out and episodic. A young Jack Lemmon doing his thing way before old Jack Lemmon is interesting though.
The Searchers (1956) **** - Ford’s pretty much agreed upon masterpiece, it’s one of the rare films whose reputation doesn’t do it justice. I saw it for the first time when I was 14, pouring through those Sight and Sound Ten Best films of all time lists and its ingrained itself into my memory ever since. Brutal, complex and riveting.
The Wings of Eagles (1957) **½ - I suppose the first half of dick-swinging and machismo sets up the second half for John Wayne (portraying real life Navy man and screenwriter Spig Wead) to reconcile this lifestyle and settle into a contemplative state of old age. Regardless, that first half almost ruins the (much stronger) emotional catharsis. Maureen O’Hara is also wasted. I almost would’ve loved to see a film just about their tumultuous relationship, but alas, this is swinging for the fences to idolize an old friend of Ford.
The Rising of the Moon (1957) ** - Triplet of stories that are far more engaging thanks to the Irish scenery than any real characters or storyline.
Gideon of Scotland Yard (1958) **½ - What a day for Chief Inspector Gideon (Jack Hawkins) of Scotland Yard, who has to deal with crooked cops, murder and a payroll robbery all in one day. Handled deftly (if not fairly pedantic) by Ford, the film is worth watching only for his handling of the stiff, tight-lipped manner in which most British film of the 50’s and 60’s were shrouded in.
The Last Hurrah (1958) ** - Watching Spencer Tracey move methodically around the set is always a joy to behold, his frame hunched and his eyes in somber thought. He does a lot of that as a righteous politician trying to hold off the new breed of media savvy candidates running against him. Outside of his performance, “The Last Hurrah” is an especially dry and stoic affair, though.
The Horse Soldiers (1959) *** - A return to the western after a few years of embroiling himself in personal stories of gallant men, “The Horse Soldiers” works best when examining the push-pull relationship between warrior-like Wayne and the strong headed doctor played by William Holden. Their personal conflict- as it often does in most of Ford’s westerns- provides more conflict than the seemingly suicidal Confederate ranks that continually throw themselves at the horse soldiers. Solid stuff.
Sergeant Rutledge (1960) **½ - The only reason to see this film is for Woody Strode as the pillar of a man accused of murdering a Caucasian woman. Told in hamfisted flashback as the trial plays out in military court, like most Hollywod films of this time period, its ludicrous enactment of a courtroom and perfectly scripted interruptions of “I object” or long pauses feels disingenuous.
Two Rode Together (1961) ***½ - As the titular men who ride together, James Stewart and Richard Widmark make for a compelling duo as they seek out kidnapped children from a band of Indians. Unlike “The Searchers” and that film’s seething resentment of identity and the passage of time, “Two Rode Together” is terrific because it begins in once place, meanders a bit and fleshes out its characters (and their love lives) in another, before returning to its central idea of what exactly is a “savage”. It’s a very good late Ford film that probably doesn’t get the credit it duly deserves.
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) **** - There aren’t enough platitudes to extend to my very favorite of Ford’s films….. An incisive and smart demystification of storytelling, attitudes and the very foundation of Ford’s many westerns.
How The West Was Won (1962) ***½ - Though Ford only directed portions of this alongside Henry Hathaway and George Marshall, it’s a terrifically expansive view of America shifting its priorities and ideals westward. It actually strikes quite brilliantly at the heart of themes Ford had been gestating for years and its ironic that he directed the “Civil War” portion while Hathaway and Marshall chiseled away at the more laconic and humane elements of the story.
Donovan’s Reef (1963) *** - A bit of comic relief from Ford as a New York socialite travels to a sunny island and falls in (regrettable) love with journeyman John Wayne. There are some allusions towards the discrimination of “native people”, but overall it’s a fairly forgettable exercise.
Cheyenne Autumn (1966) **½ - Ford’s last western deals with Wayne’s calvary unit making their way through stronghold Confederate country to reach a Louisiana port and sail home. Hindsight is 20/20 of course, but even that revisionist magnifying glass yields little grandiosity in the film. It does its job and that’s that.
7 Women (1967) *** - As his final fictional effort, Ford lines up a dandy. Subverting his lifelong obsession with the masculine mythmaking of the West, “7 Women” focuses on, well, females as they struggle to survive an Asian invasion of a missionary. Each woman is given strong personality and the film, while not exactly illuminating as a beacon for feminine equality, gets points for never widdling down its violence or aggression towards its female protagonists.
Chesty: A Tribute to a Legend (1976) ** - I’m not sur e how much of this Ford really “directed” besides placing a stationary camera on John Wayne talking mixed in with some fictional re-creations of military training, all in the name of supreme respect for Lewis “Chesty” Puller. Ad Ford’s final film, it has to be seen, there’s just not much there.
Unable to view: Upstream, North of Hudson Bay
Bucking Broadway (1918) *** - Strong early effort that combines melodrama and romance as a cowboy (Harry Carey, who’d act in so many of Ford’s earliest silents) tries to marry the daughter of a landowner. Cutting back and forth between the frontier and urban landscapes, “Bucking Broadway” builds to a terrific conclusion.
By Indian Post (1919) ** - Short (only 13 minutes) trifle that plays with the prejudices of Native Americans to instigate a bumbling comedy that sees a cowboy run away with the daughter of a wealthy landowner. A if Ford didn’t get this out of his system with the previous film.
Just Pals (1920) **½ - Covers all the bases of extended melodrama, heartwarming friendships and dastardly collusion to make a hero out of the town bum and his equally downtrodden young friend.
The Iron Horse (1924) ***½ - Masterful telling of the building of the transcontinental railroad from the Great Plains to Northern California. What begins as an intimate examination between a dead father’s dream and his son’s legacy to endure that vision becomes a mosaic portrait of sweaty western living and frontier life, complete with shadowy landowners, upright workers and beautiful childhood sweethearts. It also features plenty of sweeping vistas (such as two people calmly standing amongst a throbbing horde of sheep and dour faces atop a slow moving train) and Ford’s first real handle on depth of field and panoramic landscapes that often dwarf the people in them.
Lightning’ (1925) ** - Still stuttering through amiable and ordinary narratives, “Lightnin” follows a drunkard who straightens up and flies right to help his family save a hotel built on the California/Nevada border. Yes, it’s about as hokey as it sounds, but Ford’s distrust of American elite and his overriding affection for the common man/do-gooder professional is slowly becoming a theme in these early films…. Themes that would transfer onto the American frontier in later films. Not on DVD.
The Shamrock Handicap (1926) ** - Inconsequential film except for its Irish-American milieu and personalities. Even that, though, pales when dealing with a horse jockey and his entrance into the world of American horse racing.
Three Bad Men (1926) *** - Expressionism has begun creeping into Ford’s visual style, none moreso engaging then the first appearance of the titular 3 bad men, shadowed against a cliff and overlooking the territory they aggressively hunt upon. Even better is the grand opening of the west sequence, complete with an Odessa-steps like abandoned baby in the midst of the charging horses. It’s a film that hits all the right notes of compassion, humor and thrilling action.
Riley the Cop (1928) ** - There's one shot of someone watching something else happen in a reflection that's tremendous. All else, pretty forgettable comedy.
Hangman’s House (1928) *** - The best aspects of “Hangman’s House”- a film which involves an array of subplots including genteel love, awol Irish soldiers seeking revenge and the dastardly bad guy Ford loved to root against- are the allusions to the IRA and its subtle, shadowy staging of men living by a strict code of conduct brought out later in “The Informer”.
Four Sons (1928) *** - A downer of a tale about the hardships and fatality of four brothers at the outbreak of World War I, but its not a cheap or exploitive melodrama. The way in which Ford overlays the ghostly images of a mother’s four boys- eating and having fun at a dinner table as she remembers the better days- reveals the growing confidence in Ford’s visual style.
Salute (1929) * - Completely devoid of any authentic feeling of ownership or specialty, I can only imagine Ford was so engulfed with the technicality of sound that he forgot everything else. The story- about two brothers competing against one another in an Army/Navy football game- features so many diversions and lifeless anecdotes that it can be forgotten in Ford’s oeuvre. Not on DVD.
The Black Watch (1929) **½ - Adventure yarn that sees British soldier Victor McLaglen go undercover and tangle with Myrna Loy in the Arabian desert. What’s most striking about “The Black Watch” is Ford’s dispassionate mise-en-scene of soldiers opening fire on a crowd of opponents or the attention to ritual as a group of men sing songs before going to war. It’s not one of Ford’s early best, but its competent.
Born Reckless (1930) ** - When one hears modern cinema making fun of the stilted, dated dialogue of the 20’s and 30’s, “Born Reckless” surely stands as the placard for that fun. Full of lines like “you couldn’t keep your nose clean” or “I tell ya they’ll never frame me behind bars”, it’s a film that shoehorns a lot of material into its slim 76 minute running time, mostly centering on the life of hoodlum Edmund Lowe and his aversion to “going straight”. I’m sure it meant serious business in its day, but its like watching a comedy now… and Ford and company still don’t seem to have a firm grasp on the technicalities of sound and movement, which is to be expected.
The Brat (1930) ** - A time capsule of 1920's America as any you'll ever see, complete with boisterous New Yawk dialect and a simple view of the gender wars. It does eature one nifty little tracking shot, though.
Men Without Women (1930) *½ - If this film had just been about the heroics onboard the submarine in the second half, then we might have a terrific short film. Otherwise, the first half with the sailors on leave (and a film that alternates between silent and sound film) feels overtly pointless. Not on DVD.
Up the River (1930) **½ - Perhaps best regarded as the most innocent prison picture one could imagine, “Up the River” is pretty entertaining as complete fantasy comedy in the way hard nosed prisoners commingle both with each other AND the warden’s ten year old daughter, Plus, they all love baseball! Never mind the fact that Spencer Tracy escapes every prison they seem to incarcerate him in, then welcome him back with smiles and cajoles each time he’s caught. It’s best to shut off the mind and take this film as some alternate reality 1930’s comedy and just go with it.
Pilgrimage (1930) *** - Growing in emotional complexity and scope, “Pilgrimage” is a solid (almost impressionistic) tale of an elderly woman (Henrieta Crosman) traveling to France to visit the grave of her dead son during World War I. It often slides into easy sentimentality, but its soft images and mother-son dynamic that would become a staple of Ford’s cinema for years to come are intact.
The Seas Beneath (1931) ** - A submarine film that rarely goes beneath the surface, choosing instead to stay focused on the personal subterfuge that occurs on land after a group of American naval men encounter their German foes in a port town. An awkward flirtation between American George O’Brian and the sister of a German U-boat captain (Marion Lessing) only complicates things. The shots of a fixed camera on the deck of a submarine actually rising and falling beneath the water is pretty cool, though. Everything else, not so much.
Arrowsmith (1931) ** - There’s not much distinctive about this medical drama starring Ronald Colman as the titular doctor giving his life to medical research. Filmed in bland medium shot, the most exciting thing in it is the Fritz Lang-esque medical corporate office that looks like a leftover set from “Metropolis”.
Air Mail (1932) *½ - Set largely in and around a mountainous air mail plane station, Ford’s spirited view isn’t microscopic enough to allow any one character to stand out (even though there’s the usual romancing and divergent personalities) or dynamic enough to care about the final dashing plane rescue. All around a bust. Not on DVD.
Doctor Bull (1933) **½- The first of two films starring Will Rogers as an important social figure within a lazy suburban town (followed by “Judge Priest”), the folksy attitude of the entire film is whimsical but far from anything outstanding in his career.
Judge Priest (1934) *** - Better than “Doctor Bull”, despite some atrocious racism and yet another appearance by Stepin Fetchit, Will Rogers this time portrays the town judge, trying to survive personal attacks from political rivals while maintaining honesty on the bench. The final trial- lackluster in its realism of course- is out shadowed by the film’s more pointed memoir style of its writer Irvin S. Cobb and quite an odd reverie for Civil war veterans.
The Lost Patrol (1934) *** - Nifty, claustrophobic little effort that, ironically, takes place in the desert as a troop of British soldiers are cornered by a sharpshooting Arab tribe. Though it does drag in a few spots, its very fun to see Bela Lugosi in a non-horror film role and Ford manages to wring every drip of sweat and dust out of the scenario.
The World Moves On (1934) ***½ - Spanning a century in the life of one family business and their counterparts on 4 continents, Ford makes this seemingly sprawling narrative seem quite intimate in the way he focuses on the relationship between Franchet Tone and Madeleine Carroll as romantically entangled souls. Eventually broken apart by World War I (including some devastatingly staged battle scenes that amplify war is nothing but explosions and dirt), “The World Moves On” is an apt title for a film that opens and closes on a wooden crucifix.
The Whole Town’s Talking (1935) **½ - If nothing else than for its visual trickery, “The Whole Town’s Talking” stands alone in the early Ford canon. Edward Robinson plays a dual role- one as a mild mannered businessman and the other as an escaped mobster- and the ramifications their appearance has on the entire city. Mildly amusing at times but dreadfully dull at others, it’s a mixed bag.
The Informer (1935) **** - Ford’s first real masterpiece, it’s a powerhouse of borrowed German expressionism combined with the deep moral complexity that didn’t quite exist in films just yet. The heights Victor McLaglan reaches in desperation, exasperation and misguided ambition as he stumbles towards a confession falling out of him is exceptional.
Steamboat Round the Bend (1935) *** - Breezy comedy that pretty much ignores the common sense rules of how the real world actually works after such a deadly serious film like “The Informer”, this marked the final collaboration between Ford and actor Will Rogers. Sure, let’s delay a hanging to watch the boat race. Of course we can hitch an anchor to a fellow ship and they never notice until the morning. If this weren’t delineated as a parody of river life existence from the very beginning, I’d call foul.
The Prisoner of Shark Island (1936) ***½ - Beginning on a figure that Ford would revisit later in his career (Abraham Lincoln), the film only uses his assassination as a springboard for an action adventure prison-break film that’s constantly surprising and entertaining.
Mary of Scotland (1936) *** - Far from a stiff, Masterpiece Theater style of drama, Ford’s telling of the infamous Mary Queen of Scotland tale feels modernized with 30’s melodrama, mostly because of Katherine Hepburn’s leading role as the mischievous, irreverent lady… full of acidic jabs and a natural independence from the male flotsam. Entertaining and swift moving.
The Plough and the Stars (1936) ** - Very short (just over an hour) film about the separation of man (Preston Foster) and woman (Barbara Stanwyck)through the call of duty for the Irish Army. Seeing it on a very rough print with fading audio probably didn’t do the film any justice, but it’s a relatively flat and lifeless affair.
Wee Willie Winkie (1937) *½ - Shirley Temple has two levels of cuteness. Precocious cute and pouty cute. I can’t stand either one of them, therefore, Ford’s partnership with her as a little girl spending her days in the confines of a British military base in India (and based on a Rudyard Kipling novel) grated on me from the very beginning.
The Hurricane (1937) *** - Partnered with the previous year’s “Wee Willie Winkie”, “The Hurricane” is Ford’s foreign adventure duo, this time charting the doomed relationships between South Pacific island natives and the British government when one of their own (John Hall) gets imprisoned for hitting a white man. Human feeling gets (literally) washed away in the second half when Ford flashes his filmmaking brawn and the titular natural disaster takes over. Impressive in theatrics, less so in its human interaction.
Four Men and a Prayer (1937) *** - The Hardy Boys-meets-Clue as four brothers try and solve the mystery of their father’s death right after being dismissed unfairly from the military. Things pick up dramatically in the second half as adventure and Third World realpolitik combine to create an action-filled whodunit. Also, Ford is yet to meet a firing squad inadvertently opening up on a crowd he doesn’t like.
Submarine Patrol (1938) *** - If one gets past the quite annoying main character (played by Richard Greene) as rich playboy turned semen just for the fun of it, then “Submarine patrol” is a solid actioner. As close to a World War II movie Ford ever made (alongside “They Were Expendable”), perhaps because he saw the brutality and savagery of it up close and personal through his own service, “Submarine Patrol” features some startling seafaring action and a cast of motley crew members that makes the whole thing quite entertaining.
Stagecoach (1939) ***½ - Much as its lauded as a masterpiece, watching it in succession with Ford’s other films, “Stagecoach” does feel like a huge leap forward in his career. Sure, the technology is better, but it’s a film whose fluid, expressive camerawork says just as much as the acting or narrative. The way in which Ford glides behind a table of people, segregated by class…. Or the jarring quick zoom onto John Wayne’s first appearance…. Or especially the Apache attack that feels weightless and implanted right in the action…. All of this exemplifies Ford leaving the shadows and adventure stories of the 30’s behind and focusing on something grander.
Young Mr. Lincoln (1939) **½ - Portrait of an iconic American figure through the generous fragments of his early life, dominated by a pro-bono case for a poor family whose two boys are accused of murder. As Abe Lincoln, Henry Fonda teams with Ford for the first time and his “gee whiz” homeliness is on full display, which negates a bit of the film’s heartiness and replaces it with undue folksiness.
Drums Along the Mohawk (1939) *** - Notable for being Ford’s first color picture, “Drums Along the Mohawk” is a sturdy but somewhat formulaic tale of Revolutionary American life with Henry Fonda and Claudette Colbert as the virginal couple trying to adjust to frontier life, full of Indian attacks and colorful personalities. Mostly forgettable with the exception of some tremendous sound design that features the booming echoes of guns being fired among some tall trees.
The Grapes of Wrath (1940) ***½ - Cultural and social commentary aside, “The Grapes of Wrath” is a film teeming with heart, sweat and layman’s pride. Not since “The Informer” has Ford felt so attuned with the atmosphere of the times.
The Long Voyage Home (1940) ** - Based on Eugene O’Neill stories, Ford fuses them together as the crew on board a ship during World War II transport dynamite back to England. It actually sounds more exciting than it really is. Getting bogged down in consummate drinking…. Or the wish to drink…. Or the fighting between men as they drink…. Its pretty depressing human nature.
Tobacco Road (1941) *** - Quite the odd beast from Ford. Based on a play (re-written by Ford compatriot Nunally Johnson) about an impoverished family in Georgia, “Tobacco Road” plays like a farce “The Grapes of Wrath”. Hysterical acting and dubious narrative shifts eventually won me over, though, and I went with the film’s pretty crazy tone.
How Green Was My Valley (1941) ***½ - It’s hard not to initially see “How Green Was My Valley” and recognize it as a clichéd piece of family drama spanning the short lifetime of a coal mining Welsh family… then realize this is the template for such moving family dramas to come. Handled with genuine empathy and a strong sense of setting and place, it’s a film that earns its gut-punch ending of finality and lost innocence.
They Were Expendable (1945) *** - Made immediately after his return from service in World War II, “They Were Expendable” follows an array of Navy men on torpedo boats and their continual displacement as the war rages closer to them. Hewing much closer to examining the personalities and irreparable damage done to the human body during war than outright action (which there’s very little), it’s a film that’s probably more anti-war than anything else. Nicely fatalistic is the doomed romance between John Wayne and Donna Reed. In earlier Ford films, this might have had an happy ending. Not so much here.
My Darling Clementine (1946) *** - Classy telling of Wyatt Earp’s assimilation and partnership with the abrasive Doc Holliday in the crime-laden town of Tombstone. I know this is probably sacrilege, but Kevein Costner’s expansive “Wyatt Earp” remains my favorite variation on this story. Watching Henry Fonda lean back in his wooden rocking chair and twiddle his feet against the post beam is an iconic moment though.
The Fugitive (1947) *** - Bearing a striking resemblance to Shusaku Endo's novel "Silence", Ford's rendering of a Catholic priest (Henry Fonda) forced into hiding when the Mexican army wants to wipe out Catholicism in their country is heartfelt and full of striking imagery. I think the most purely visceral shot of Ford's career may be this film's final shot, which description can't do it justice.
Fort Apache (1948) **** - Besides being a visceral western, “Fort Apache” is one of Ford’s most dense efforts, tackling both the shifting façade of the west and the inefficiency of man’s dominant presence in said landscape. The dominance is embodied in Henry Fonda’s curt, by-the-book colonel who takes over Fort Apache and not only alienates young love between his daughter (Shirley Temple) and her suitor, but everyone else en masse. His deliberate adherence to old-school methods of fighting a band of Apache Indians also ends up with disastrous results. Expertly framed and paced, “Fort Apache”- like his later masterpieces “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” and “The Searchers”- dares to question the mythology of the west and the place of man within it.
3 Godfathers (1948) **½ - Good natured western, but it seemingly wears its religious allegory out pretty quickly. The sudden pivot from a straight up bad-guys-chasing-good-guys-western to paradoxical life altering discovery is jarring for 1948. Ford overdoes it a bit in the finale however.
She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) ** - Perhaps this is a victim of my own lofty expectations after all these years, but its amazing how much this film doesn’t do. As a companion study to “Fort Apache” and one leader’s surreptitious finale (one in death the other in retirement) , the film registers well. As an involving narrative (or development of deeper themes) I pretty much missed the point. Lots of posturing within Ford’s Monument Valley setting but little in the way of emotional or character investment. I didn’t care one flip about any of it… or anyone.
When Willie Comes Marching Home (1950) **½ - Slight comedy about a man whose posted to war duty in his own hometown. Themes of emasculation hiding behind broad comedy feel a bit out of place after Ford’s more trenchant, respectable works on World War II.
Wagon Master (1950) *** - I kind of wish Ben Johnson would’ve been the man for Ford that John Wayne became. Alas, revisionist history, but he still steals the movie as one of three cowboys helping a Mormon group of settlers traverse dangerous Indian country.
Rio Grande (1950) ** ½ - Taking place in the same universe of “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon”- insomuch as Victor McLaglen again embodies his role of Quincannon- “Rio Grande” suffers mostly from the derivative devices of other Ford films. Monument Valley…. U.S. cavalry solders and their squirmish with local Indians…. John Wayne posturing….. It all looks good but feels like the continuation of something else.
The Quiet Man (1952) ***½ - Perhaps it’s the Olive Films blu-ray transfer, but this film had me gasping about 5 times within the first ten minutes on its glorious beauty. The entrance of Maureen O’Hara, spying the lanky John Wayne in the distance and then slowly shuffling out of the frame, feels like a beautiful way to transcribe the immediate love/hate between the two. Outside of their tumultuous relationship (hindered mostly by O Hara’s brother played by Victor McLaglen), Ford gives preeminence to the swooning, brazen and ebullient personalities of village settled Ireland without a hint of cynicism.
What Price Glory (1952) ** - Odd combination of war movie and screwball comedy with James Cagney and Dan Dailey as two soldiers who really don’t get along, often coming to blows while their men watch on.
The Sun Shines Bright (1953) *½ - A continuation of “Judge Priest” stories with Charles Winninger in place of Will Rogers, and this one is just plain bad. It’s first half- full of awful racial stereotypes and good ‘ol boy reverie between Civil War soldiers does nothing to endear the viewer. The second half fares a little better, if only because the mood lightens a bit.
Mogambo (1953) ***½ - Outside of it adventure story background (including a safari game master and his exotic African backdrop) in which Ford feels at home with a certain type of western expansionistic atmosphere, “Mogambo” doesn’t really need that crutch as its central concept of two women (the beautiful Grace Kelly and Ava Gardner) vying for Clark Gable would have been marvelous enough on its own. Oh, to be Clark Gable.
The Long Gray Line (1955) - **** - Ford revisits one shot over and over throughout his epic portrayal of an Irish immigrant (Tyrone Power) who finds his home for fifty years as a father-figure to cadets at West Point in the early twentieth century- the shot being a dusk embattled street with people either coming or going, and someone watching intently from the porch of a house. It’s a central idea in a very powerful, sensitive film about the process of time, the futility of war and the uniquely moving surrogate family that forms due to the simple presence of a gentle figure in a landscape. Plus the relationship between Power and wife Maureen O’Hara is pure greatness. Her death gently composed in the frame of (yes, you guessed it) a doorway.
Mister Roberts (1955) **½ - Really more of a seafaring comedy as good natured Henry Fonda does moral and verbal battle with hardnosed captain James Cagney at the helm of a cargo ship, “Mister Roberts” features very little of Ford’s trademark. Perhaps because Mervy LeRoy ultimately finished the picture, the whole thing feels a bit stretched out and episodic. A young Jack Lemmon doing his thing way before old Jack Lemmon is interesting though.
The Searchers (1956) **** - Ford’s pretty much agreed upon masterpiece, it’s one of the rare films whose reputation doesn’t do it justice. I saw it for the first time when I was 14, pouring through those Sight and Sound Ten Best films of all time lists and its ingrained itself into my memory ever since. Brutal, complex and riveting.
The Wings of Eagles (1957) **½ - I suppose the first half of dick-swinging and machismo sets up the second half for John Wayne (portraying real life Navy man and screenwriter Spig Wead) to reconcile this lifestyle and settle into a contemplative state of old age. Regardless, that first half almost ruins the (much stronger) emotional catharsis. Maureen O’Hara is also wasted. I almost would’ve loved to see a film just about their tumultuous relationship, but alas, this is swinging for the fences to idolize an old friend of Ford.
The Rising of the Moon (1957) ** - Triplet of stories that are far more engaging thanks to the Irish scenery than any real characters or storyline.
Gideon of Scotland Yard (1958) **½ - What a day for Chief Inspector Gideon (Jack Hawkins) of Scotland Yard, who has to deal with crooked cops, murder and a payroll robbery all in one day. Handled deftly (if not fairly pedantic) by Ford, the film is worth watching only for his handling of the stiff, tight-lipped manner in which most British film of the 50’s and 60’s were shrouded in.
The Last Hurrah (1958) ** - Watching Spencer Tracey move methodically around the set is always a joy to behold, his frame hunched and his eyes in somber thought. He does a lot of that as a righteous politician trying to hold off the new breed of media savvy candidates running against him. Outside of his performance, “The Last Hurrah” is an especially dry and stoic affair, though.
The Horse Soldiers (1959) *** - A return to the western after a few years of embroiling himself in personal stories of gallant men, “The Horse Soldiers” works best when examining the push-pull relationship between warrior-like Wayne and the strong headed doctor played by William Holden. Their personal conflict- as it often does in most of Ford’s westerns- provides more conflict than the seemingly suicidal Confederate ranks that continually throw themselves at the horse soldiers. Solid stuff.
Sergeant Rutledge (1960) **½ - The only reason to see this film is for Woody Strode as the pillar of a man accused of murdering a Caucasian woman. Told in hamfisted flashback as the trial plays out in military court, like most Hollywod films of this time period, its ludicrous enactment of a courtroom and perfectly scripted interruptions of “I object” or long pauses feels disingenuous.
Two Rode Together (1961) ***½ - As the titular men who ride together, James Stewart and Richard Widmark make for a compelling duo as they seek out kidnapped children from a band of Indians. Unlike “The Searchers” and that film’s seething resentment of identity and the passage of time, “Two Rode Together” is terrific because it begins in once place, meanders a bit and fleshes out its characters (and their love lives) in another, before returning to its central idea of what exactly is a “savage”. It’s a very good late Ford film that probably doesn’t get the credit it duly deserves.
The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) **** - There aren’t enough platitudes to extend to my very favorite of Ford’s films….. An incisive and smart demystification of storytelling, attitudes and the very foundation of Ford’s many westerns.
How The West Was Won (1962) ***½ - Though Ford only directed portions of this alongside Henry Hathaway and George Marshall, it’s a terrifically expansive view of America shifting its priorities and ideals westward. It actually strikes quite brilliantly at the heart of themes Ford had been gestating for years and its ironic that he directed the “Civil War” portion while Hathaway and Marshall chiseled away at the more laconic and humane elements of the story.
Donovan’s Reef (1963) *** - A bit of comic relief from Ford as a New York socialite travels to a sunny island and falls in (regrettable) love with journeyman John Wayne. There are some allusions towards the discrimination of “native people”, but overall it’s a fairly forgettable exercise.
Cheyenne Autumn (1966) **½ - Ford’s last western deals with Wayne’s calvary unit making their way through stronghold Confederate country to reach a Louisiana port and sail home. Hindsight is 20/20 of course, but even that revisionist magnifying glass yields little grandiosity in the film. It does its job and that’s that.
7 Women (1967) *** - As his final fictional effort, Ford lines up a dandy. Subverting his lifelong obsession with the masculine mythmaking of the West, “7 Women” focuses on, well, females as they struggle to survive an Asian invasion of a missionary. Each woman is given strong personality and the film, while not exactly illuminating as a beacon for feminine equality, gets points for never widdling down its violence or aggression towards its female protagonists.
Chesty: A Tribute to a Legend (1976) ** - I’m not sur e how much of this Ford really “directed” besides placing a stationary camera on John Wayne talking mixed in with some fictional re-creations of military training, all in the name of supreme respect for Lewis “Chesty” Puller. Ad Ford’s final film, it has to be seen, there’s just not much there.
Unable to view: Upstream, North of Hudson Bay
Thursday, August 04, 2016
The Space Between: How Jia Zhangke Sees the World
There are a select few directors whose work is porous with a distinctive milieu. Martin Scorsese and New York City. Richard Linklater with Texas. Victor Nunez with Florida. A good majority of their films frame a narrative around the living, breathing atmosphere of a specific region with breathtaking results. Yet, even fewer filmmakers absorb their city and make it a wondrous extra, at times upstaging the flesh and blood people inhabiting it. I'm thinking of Thom Andersen with Los Angeles.... a city so cannibalized by Hollywood that it takes a dirge-like documentarian to bring out its real ghosts and phantoms through stationary shots of the city's abandoned architecture. In both "Los Angeles Plays Itself" and "Get Out of the Car", Andersen shows us a Los Angeles seen everyday on the big screen but rarely seen.
The same goes for Chinese filmmaker Jia Zhangke. His mixture of hybrid documentaries and fictional efforts rarely venture outside of his own China (or even his hometown province) and the devastating advancement of civilization at the cost of its people is never far removed from the central idea. Specifically, four documentary films including "Dong", "Useless", "I Wish I Knew" and the masterpiece "24 City", could more accurately be called postcards of a deteriorating city. Even when he chooses an original idea, such as the listless inhabitants of a theme park in "The World" or following the impetuous teens of "Unknown Pleasures", there's China and its corners, peeling paint and bustling streets barely contained behind his speaking actors threatening to high-jack the entire thing. Watching the edges of the frame can often be more entertaining in a Jia Zhangke film than anything else.
"Dong" (2006) begins Zhangke's fascination with the documentary form, although its feathery relationship with the genre is tenuous at best. Following Chinese painter Liu Xiaodong as he initiates several of his pieces, Zhangke ultimately shifts the perspective from a typical painter's bio to the way Xiaodong sees the landscape around him. Much more attention is paid to Dong as he stumbles through the apocalyptic brick and mortar remnants of the Three Gorges Dam- a setting also explored in his film "Still Life" released the same year- than celebrating the piece of artwork created. Zhangke's camera becomes fixated on the tanned, weary-faced men posing for Dong on the edge of a concrete barrier that resembles the idyllic vista of Jean Luc Godard's "Contempt" more than a hollowed out section of Earth. We follow Dong to Bangkok where he paints a scantily clad woman as she lies, suggestively, like a Sleeping Beauty. Then its back to the Three Gorges area where Dong and Zhangke visit with the family of one of the men who posed for him earlier as they deal with his death due to an unspecified accident. In its short (66 minute) running time, "Dong" becomes an evocative bio of the land rather than the person. It's a bold move for a film named after the person.
In "Useless" (2007), the same digressive attitude is taken. Ostensibly about a female fashion designer of earthy and wild styles, it takes about 25 minutes before Zhangke even decides to include her in the film. The first half is full of patient lateral pans around and across concrete beams as an assembly line toils away at creating the clothes. Exterior shots of the province of Guangzhoa and the daily, minuscule activities of its people inform portions of the middle half and then, finally, Zhangke focuses on Ma Ke, the designer/artist whose line of clothing evokes the film's title. Not quite as powerful as "Dong" in its meditative rhythms, "Useless" does expand Jia's sense of time and place over subject. The best parts of the film lie in the blank expressions of the factory workers as they barely notice the camera penetrating and capturing the lived-in spaces around them.
Rounding out his triptych, "24 City" (2008) is a damning critique of society-as-ghosts. Once a sprawling, mammoth factory known as Factory 24, urban revitalization and 'progress' sees the Chengdu structure being torn down to build a series of high rise condos and mixed-usage business. Part talking head interviews with people who worked in the factory or shared joyous moments there with family members, Zhangke's film is an overwhelming snapshot of time and place whose forward movement feels like a slap-in-the-face. Alternating between carefully timed tracking shots, lateral pans out to the city and powerful stationary shots as even the huge letters of the factory are sent tumbling to the ground, "24 City"- like Thom Andersen's films mentioned earlier- becomes a bittersweet portrait of a city in flux. Music and image marry with quiet and unsuspecting grace, such as the melancholy way an older man slowly makes his way around a worker's room and Zhangke's camera almost floats along the ceiling, simply observing the process. It's a scene that doesn't have any ancillary meaning, but it speaks volumes about the angelic quality Zhangke holds for these people and their crumbling exteriors.
In "Useless" Ma Ke's fashion show in Paris is shown briefly at the end. Instead of the typical runway with models sauntering up and down, a huge curtain drops and all the models are wearing her clothes, perched ever so methodically on lighted pillars placed strategically around the room. The patrons simply walk around and look up at them. It's this interactive idea of looking and observing that informs all of Zhangke's work. China is the model and I don't get the sense Zhangke is going to stop observing anytime soon.
The same goes for Chinese filmmaker Jia Zhangke. His mixture of hybrid documentaries and fictional efforts rarely venture outside of his own China (or even his hometown province) and the devastating advancement of civilization at the cost of its people is never far removed from the central idea. Specifically, four documentary films including "Dong", "Useless", "I Wish I Knew" and the masterpiece "24 City", could more accurately be called postcards of a deteriorating city. Even when he chooses an original idea, such as the listless inhabitants of a theme park in "The World" or following the impetuous teens of "Unknown Pleasures", there's China and its corners, peeling paint and bustling streets barely contained behind his speaking actors threatening to high-jack the entire thing. Watching the edges of the frame can often be more entertaining in a Jia Zhangke film than anything else.
"Dong" (2006) begins Zhangke's fascination with the documentary form, although its feathery relationship with the genre is tenuous at best. Following Chinese painter Liu Xiaodong as he initiates several of his pieces, Zhangke ultimately shifts the perspective from a typical painter's bio to the way Xiaodong sees the landscape around him. Much more attention is paid to Dong as he stumbles through the apocalyptic brick and mortar remnants of the Three Gorges Dam- a setting also explored in his film "Still Life" released the same year- than celebrating the piece of artwork created. Zhangke's camera becomes fixated on the tanned, weary-faced men posing for Dong on the edge of a concrete barrier that resembles the idyllic vista of Jean Luc Godard's "Contempt" more than a hollowed out section of Earth. We follow Dong to Bangkok where he paints a scantily clad woman as she lies, suggestively, like a Sleeping Beauty. Then its back to the Three Gorges area where Dong and Zhangke visit with the family of one of the men who posed for him earlier as they deal with his death due to an unspecified accident. In its short (66 minute) running time, "Dong" becomes an evocative bio of the land rather than the person. It's a bold move for a film named after the person.
In "Useless" (2007), the same digressive attitude is taken. Ostensibly about a female fashion designer of earthy and wild styles, it takes about 25 minutes before Zhangke even decides to include her in the film. The first half is full of patient lateral pans around and across concrete beams as an assembly line toils away at creating the clothes. Exterior shots of the province of Guangzhoa and the daily, minuscule activities of its people inform portions of the middle half and then, finally, Zhangke focuses on Ma Ke, the designer/artist whose line of clothing evokes the film's title. Not quite as powerful as "Dong" in its meditative rhythms, "Useless" does expand Jia's sense of time and place over subject. The best parts of the film lie in the blank expressions of the factory workers as they barely notice the camera penetrating and capturing the lived-in spaces around them.
Rounding out his triptych, "24 City" (2008) is a damning critique of society-as-ghosts. Once a sprawling, mammoth factory known as Factory 24, urban revitalization and 'progress' sees the Chengdu structure being torn down to build a series of high rise condos and mixed-usage business. Part talking head interviews with people who worked in the factory or shared joyous moments there with family members, Zhangke's film is an overwhelming snapshot of time and place whose forward movement feels like a slap-in-the-face. Alternating between carefully timed tracking shots, lateral pans out to the city and powerful stationary shots as even the huge letters of the factory are sent tumbling to the ground, "24 City"- like Thom Andersen's films mentioned earlier- becomes a bittersweet portrait of a city in flux. Music and image marry with quiet and unsuspecting grace, such as the melancholy way an older man slowly makes his way around a worker's room and Zhangke's camera almost floats along the ceiling, simply observing the process. It's a scene that doesn't have any ancillary meaning, but it speaks volumes about the angelic quality Zhangke holds for these people and their crumbling exteriors.
In "Useless" Ma Ke's fashion show in Paris is shown briefly at the end. Instead of the typical runway with models sauntering up and down, a huge curtain drops and all the models are wearing her clothes, perched ever so methodically on lighted pillars placed strategically around the room. The patrons simply walk around and look up at them. It's this interactive idea of looking and observing that informs all of Zhangke's work. China is the model and I don't get the sense Zhangke is going to stop observing anytime soon.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
An Appreciation: Elia Kazan
A Tree Grows In Brooklyn (1945) **1/2- Kazan's debut film doesn't contain the amateur dazzle of say Nicholas Ray or John Huston, but its a different animal all together. More of a social family drama about the effects of lower income life on young Francie (Peggy Ann Garner), her face is so emotive against a world of weak and flawed adults that she carries the film on her thin shoulders.
Boomerang (1947) *1/2 - I realize this is Hollywood post World War II and its hard to expect bone-shattering authenticity from its films of the time, but "Boomerang" feels disjointed, limp and way too left-leaning to be taken seriously as either a police procedural or an expose of small Northeastern town political skulduggery. By the time district attorney Dana Andrews self-implodes his own case and begins to rally for the criminal he's prosecuting, I lost hope for anything short of liberal panhandling.
The Sea of Grass (1947) *** - Not quite a western, but a soap opera set within the confines of a western with Katherine Hepburn falling in love and having children with two men (Spencer Tracey and Robert Walker) which causes all sorts of uproar. One can still feel Kazan searching for himself. Not everything works with "The Sea of Grass", but it is commendable for the way it grapples with some risque material and dares to follow the path of destruction across the generations of children trying to cope with the predicament laid at their feet by their parents.
Gentleman's Agreement (1947) ** - Respectable drama that grapples with some sensitive and intelligent themes- i.e. Gregory Peck writing a story on the prevalence of Antisemitism in the U.S.- yet the screenplay and performances understands its self-importance early on and devolve into a series of overblown, stagey monologues. One can feel Kazan trying to find his footing as social commentator.
Pinky (1949) * - Yet another very-serious-social-drama from Kazan, this time confronting racism in the form of light skinned Pinky (Jeanne Crain) when she returns home to the South and experiences the wave of injustices all over again. It's a troubling effort, to say the least, shortsighted in its conservative placement of a thoroughly Caucasian actress and unconvincing in her performance which never breaks free from the privileged white actress mold of the 1940's. At times, Kazan's effort even feels counterproductive to the ails of society it purports to admonish. A sure failure on just about every level.
Panic In the Streets (1950) *** - Well made semi thriller about a cop (Widmark) trying to catch a highly contagious killer in New Orleans. The gothic appeal of New Orleans, the sweaty atmosphere of time running out and Kazan's own relinquishing of sermonizing result in a good time here.
A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) ***1/2 - Much has been made of Kazan's ennobling of actors.... specifically Marlon Brando, and in this Tennessee Williams adaptation, the performances feel like something from another planet. Brando is electric in every sense of the word and the sexual frustration, sweat and body odors just seem to drip off the screen.
Viva Zapata (1952) **1/2 - Despite a powerful ending- marked by the somber faces of old women surveying the betrayal and a transgression of soul from man to horse- "Viva Zapata!" loses some of its force in the ambiguous actions of its Mexican folk hero (played by Brando in a pretty terrible make up job). Devoid of any cohesive political ambition for why the characters are risking life and limb outside of casual socialistic obligations, the film feels a bit afraid to fully embrace the assuredly murky real story of Emiliano Zapata and the revolutionary nature of early twentieth century Mexico.
Man On a Tightrope (1953) **** - Perhaps Kazan's unsung great work, "Man On a Tightrope" also contains a delicious title, both literally as a circus manager (Fredric March) and once-tightrope walker and secondly as a man trying to pull away from the strings of Communist oppression. His idea- to defect his entire circus troupe if his own workers, family and competition can spare their in fighting and jealous deceptions long enough. Moments of extreme humor (such as the "meeting" between March and arch rival Robert Beatty) only heighten the immense affinity we feel for the cast and their desperate plan to escape the Iron Curtain, all brought to a thrilling head in the finale that blends action, pathos (oh that stoic face of elderly grandma watching on in horror) and tension. It's easy to see how this film was lost after the success of his next three or four films, but it deserves its place in Kazan's canon. Not available on DVD.
On the Waterfront (1954) **** - Like "A Streetcar Named Desire", there's not much left to be said about the greatness of "On the Waterfront" except its a film so perfect.... so ahead of its time..... that one cannot help but see its reverberations throughout film history both in the film itself and the indelible mark it left on future filmmakers.
East of Eden (1955) ***1/2 - Like his films with Brando, James Dean brings a primal restlessness in this family western that jettisons safe Hollywood drama and aims for high soap operatics... often hitting more than missing.
Baby Doll (1956) *** - A bit perverse in that early-60's-sexually-laced-innuendo-way that certain filmmakers were terrific at, "Baby Doll" is a nice black comedy that takes the boiling frustration of earlier films like "A Streetcar Named Desire" and makes it more overt. Carroll Baker, as the young titular wife of Karl Malden (for my money) out-Lolita's Sue Lyon as the teenage vixen. The film gets better as it goes along, placing poor Malden between a sexual rock and a financial hard place.
A Face In the Crowd (1957) ***- Exhaustive from start to finish as Andy Griffiths portrays a drunken bumpkin who ascends to stardom as a folk singing cultural prophet. Combining Peter Finch ala "Network"... pre-dating Beatle-mania.... and mixing in some brutal stabs at political and media stalwarts, "A Face In the Crowd" has alot on its mind. It winds up being a pretty sorrowful reflection on hollow stardom.
Wild River (1960) **1/2- Sometime around the early 60's venerated filmmakers began making films about the collision of progression versus naturalistic existence. Nicholas Ray in "Wind Across the Evergaldes, for case in point. "Wild River" is Kazan's interpretation of the idea and while it boasts some strong performances from Montgomery Clift and Lee Remick, it falls a bit flat in its wide-eyed liberalism. Exploring the actions of a county authority to remove an old lady and her family from land that will be flooded to make room for a new dam, the film ensures it hits all the important topics of the day while wrapping a fairly contrived romance around the edges. Most interesting for the performances and because, like "Man On A Tightrope", its one o the harder Kazan films to track down. Available on region 2 DVD.
Splendor in the Grass (1961) **1/2- My unending love for Natalie Wood aside, this mawkish teen drama about the sour high school romance between Wood and boyfriend Warren Beatty feels like Kazan trying to reclaim the masochistic moodiness of Brando and Dean in his 50's films. This time, the focus is on the female side of the relationship as Wood doesn't take her break-up all that well. The second half of the film- which deals with the damaging imprints on the two lovers as they grow older- feels more genuine than the first half.
America, America (1963) *** - Molded from Kazan's own family of Greek immigrants, this is an epic (three hour) journey of a young man (Stathis Giallelis) suffering, being beaten down by life, swindled, and then re-born as someone else all to get himself to America where, ironically, this whole process will most likely start over again. Like "El Norte", its a film that details the excruciating journey rather than the cathartic arrival. Like all of Kazan's films, the faces are weary and etched with life and the scrambling of humanity for the basic necessities in life become the overwhelming purpose of his characters.
The Arrangement (1969) *1/2 - Muddled and confused portrait of a successful ad executive (Kirk Douglas) having a mid life crisis both in his work and love affair between wife and mistress (Faye Dunaway). I can feel Kazan thinking that the film's pushing-envelope sexuality is enough to buoy the effort's incompetence, but it still comes off as a bore. If one is looking for better late 60's male psychosis disillusion, watch Frank Perry's mysterious and penetrating "The Swimmer" instead.
The Visitors (1972) *** - If watching this gives one deja-vu about Peckinpah's "Straw Dogs", its because the two films were released only a year apart and deal with some of the same uncomfortable themes of embattled masculinity and post war trauma. Peckinpah's vision is much more piercing, yet the most fascinating thing about "The Visitors" is that it resembles virtually nothing else in Kazan's ouevre. Mostly handheld, grimy interiors and a penchant for long distance point of view shots dominate the picture. Not available on DVD
The Last Tycoon (1976) ***1/2 - Kazan's final film is elegiac and mounted with a sense of fragility, such as the half-built beach house Deniro has consigned not because its necessary, but simply so he can have some place to "come read scripts when I want." Lots of films have tried to capture that twilight serenity and amber glow of forties Hollywood, but "The Last Tycoon" feels like its come the closest. Throw in a doomed love affair (with beautiful Irene Boulting) and the shrinking powers of the studios via a writer's strike and the entire film becomes a crescendo of finality. I also can't imagine a more appropriate final shot for Kazan- a man who spent his entire life in the industry- as DeNiro slowly walks into a darkened movie studio set and becomes engulfed in its infinite glory.
Boomerang (1947) *1/2 - I realize this is Hollywood post World War II and its hard to expect bone-shattering authenticity from its films of the time, but "Boomerang" feels disjointed, limp and way too left-leaning to be taken seriously as either a police procedural or an expose of small Northeastern town political skulduggery. By the time district attorney Dana Andrews self-implodes his own case and begins to rally for the criminal he's prosecuting, I lost hope for anything short of liberal panhandling.
The Sea of Grass (1947) *** - Not quite a western, but a soap opera set within the confines of a western with Katherine Hepburn falling in love and having children with two men (Spencer Tracey and Robert Walker) which causes all sorts of uproar. One can still feel Kazan searching for himself. Not everything works with "The Sea of Grass", but it is commendable for the way it grapples with some risque material and dares to follow the path of destruction across the generations of children trying to cope with the predicament laid at their feet by their parents.
Gentleman's Agreement (1947) ** - Respectable drama that grapples with some sensitive and intelligent themes- i.e. Gregory Peck writing a story on the prevalence of Antisemitism in the U.S.- yet the screenplay and performances understands its self-importance early on and devolve into a series of overblown, stagey monologues. One can feel Kazan trying to find his footing as social commentator.
Pinky (1949) * - Yet another very-serious-social-drama from Kazan, this time confronting racism in the form of light skinned Pinky (Jeanne Crain) when she returns home to the South and experiences the wave of injustices all over again. It's a troubling effort, to say the least, shortsighted in its conservative placement of a thoroughly Caucasian actress and unconvincing in her performance which never breaks free from the privileged white actress mold of the 1940's. At times, Kazan's effort even feels counterproductive to the ails of society it purports to admonish. A sure failure on just about every level.
Panic In the Streets (1950) *** - Well made semi thriller about a cop (Widmark) trying to catch a highly contagious killer in New Orleans. The gothic appeal of New Orleans, the sweaty atmosphere of time running out and Kazan's own relinquishing of sermonizing result in a good time here.
A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) ***1/2 - Much has been made of Kazan's ennobling of actors.... specifically Marlon Brando, and in this Tennessee Williams adaptation, the performances feel like something from another planet. Brando is electric in every sense of the word and the sexual frustration, sweat and body odors just seem to drip off the screen.
Viva Zapata (1952) **1/2 - Despite a powerful ending- marked by the somber faces of old women surveying the betrayal and a transgression of soul from man to horse- "Viva Zapata!" loses some of its force in the ambiguous actions of its Mexican folk hero (played by Brando in a pretty terrible make up job). Devoid of any cohesive political ambition for why the characters are risking life and limb outside of casual socialistic obligations, the film feels a bit afraid to fully embrace the assuredly murky real story of Emiliano Zapata and the revolutionary nature of early twentieth century Mexico.
Man On a Tightrope (1953) **** - Perhaps Kazan's unsung great work, "Man On a Tightrope" also contains a delicious title, both literally as a circus manager (Fredric March) and once-tightrope walker and secondly as a man trying to pull away from the strings of Communist oppression. His idea- to defect his entire circus troupe if his own workers, family and competition can spare their in fighting and jealous deceptions long enough. Moments of extreme humor (such as the "meeting" between March and arch rival Robert Beatty) only heighten the immense affinity we feel for the cast and their desperate plan to escape the Iron Curtain, all brought to a thrilling head in the finale that blends action, pathos (oh that stoic face of elderly grandma watching on in horror) and tension. It's easy to see how this film was lost after the success of his next three or four films, but it deserves its place in Kazan's canon. Not available on DVD.
On the Waterfront (1954) **** - Like "A Streetcar Named Desire", there's not much left to be said about the greatness of "On the Waterfront" except its a film so perfect.... so ahead of its time..... that one cannot help but see its reverberations throughout film history both in the film itself and the indelible mark it left on future filmmakers.
East of Eden (1955) ***1/2 - Like his films with Brando, James Dean brings a primal restlessness in this family western that jettisons safe Hollywood drama and aims for high soap operatics... often hitting more than missing.
Baby Doll (1956) *** - A bit perverse in that early-60's-sexually-laced-innuendo-way that certain filmmakers were terrific at, "Baby Doll" is a nice black comedy that takes the boiling frustration of earlier films like "A Streetcar Named Desire" and makes it more overt. Carroll Baker, as the young titular wife of Karl Malden (for my money) out-Lolita's Sue Lyon as the teenage vixen. The film gets better as it goes along, placing poor Malden between a sexual rock and a financial hard place.
A Face In the Crowd (1957) ***- Exhaustive from start to finish as Andy Griffiths portrays a drunken bumpkin who ascends to stardom as a folk singing cultural prophet. Combining Peter Finch ala "Network"... pre-dating Beatle-mania.... and mixing in some brutal stabs at political and media stalwarts, "A Face In the Crowd" has alot on its mind. It winds up being a pretty sorrowful reflection on hollow stardom.
Wild River (1960) **1/2- Sometime around the early 60's venerated filmmakers began making films about the collision of progression versus naturalistic existence. Nicholas Ray in "Wind Across the Evergaldes, for case in point. "Wild River" is Kazan's interpretation of the idea and while it boasts some strong performances from Montgomery Clift and Lee Remick, it falls a bit flat in its wide-eyed liberalism. Exploring the actions of a county authority to remove an old lady and her family from land that will be flooded to make room for a new dam, the film ensures it hits all the important topics of the day while wrapping a fairly contrived romance around the edges. Most interesting for the performances and because, like "Man On A Tightrope", its one o the harder Kazan films to track down. Available on region 2 DVD.
Splendor in the Grass (1961) **1/2- My unending love for Natalie Wood aside, this mawkish teen drama about the sour high school romance between Wood and boyfriend Warren Beatty feels like Kazan trying to reclaim the masochistic moodiness of Brando and Dean in his 50's films. This time, the focus is on the female side of the relationship as Wood doesn't take her break-up all that well. The second half of the film- which deals with the damaging imprints on the two lovers as they grow older- feels more genuine than the first half.
America, America (1963) *** - Molded from Kazan's own family of Greek immigrants, this is an epic (three hour) journey of a young man (Stathis Giallelis) suffering, being beaten down by life, swindled, and then re-born as someone else all to get himself to America where, ironically, this whole process will most likely start over again. Like "El Norte", its a film that details the excruciating journey rather than the cathartic arrival. Like all of Kazan's films, the faces are weary and etched with life and the scrambling of humanity for the basic necessities in life become the overwhelming purpose of his characters.
The Arrangement (1969) *1/2 - Muddled and confused portrait of a successful ad executive (Kirk Douglas) having a mid life crisis both in his work and love affair between wife and mistress (Faye Dunaway). I can feel Kazan thinking that the film's pushing-envelope sexuality is enough to buoy the effort's incompetence, but it still comes off as a bore. If one is looking for better late 60's male psychosis disillusion, watch Frank Perry's mysterious and penetrating "The Swimmer" instead.
The Visitors (1972) *** - If watching this gives one deja-vu about Peckinpah's "Straw Dogs", its because the two films were released only a year apart and deal with some of the same uncomfortable themes of embattled masculinity and post war trauma. Peckinpah's vision is much more piercing, yet the most fascinating thing about "The Visitors" is that it resembles virtually nothing else in Kazan's ouevre. Mostly handheld, grimy interiors and a penchant for long distance point of view shots dominate the picture. Not available on DVD
The Last Tycoon (1976) ***1/2 - Kazan's final film is elegiac and mounted with a sense of fragility, such as the half-built beach house Deniro has consigned not because its necessary, but simply so he can have some place to "come read scripts when I want." Lots of films have tried to capture that twilight serenity and amber glow of forties Hollywood, but "The Last Tycoon" feels like its come the closest. Throw in a doomed love affair (with beautiful Irene Boulting) and the shrinking powers of the studios via a writer's strike and the entire film becomes a crescendo of finality. I also can't imagine a more appropriate final shot for Kazan- a man who spent his entire life in the industry- as DeNiro slowly walks into a darkened movie studio set and becomes engulfed in its infinite glory.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Christian Petzold, Part 2: The Mainstream (Sort of)
Released in 2007, "Yella" was the first real Petzold film to see a larger than limited release both here and in the U.K. And by that I mean outside of film festivals and into the elitist paying public of the 300 or so "art-house" theaters around the country. Again starring muse Nina Hoss, "Yella" is a frigid, tempered effort that begins with a woman being stalked by her ex husband and ends just as morosely. In fact, the title of Petzold's previous film, "Ghosts", is probably the more apt title here as Yella and her co-stars are moribund in some sort of steel and glass purgatory... a world where everyone's hotel room doors are inexplicably left ajar for anyone else to walk inside and the antiseptic offices where many of the inhabitants square off are sealed from the exterior sights, sounds and smells. It's an extremely interior and hermetic film, both physically and emotionally. See, Yella (Hoss) narrowly escapes the suicide attempt by this unhinged ex-husband when he drives his car off the road with her in it. Landing in water, Yella awakens on the water's edge and stalks off, seemingly unfazed, towards the new job awaiting her in a nearby town. Once that opportunity crumbles, new connections are made with Phillipp (Devid Striesow) and Yella's whip smart attributes to quickly size up accounting balance sheets comes in extremely handy for him, who happens to make his living bailing out fiscally unwise companies and turning their assets to his benefit. But all is not as it seems as Yella's ex-husband (also unconscious next to her when she awoke on dry land) begins to appear and disappear in her new life and odd sounds randomly pierce her fragile state.
"Yella" plays by its own dream logic for good reason. Why does she never remove the same red shirt and gray dress for the duration of the film? Why does no one seem to notice her immobile fits when she breaks a glass on the desk next to her? How does her ghostly ex suddenly appear next to her one moment when he seemingly wandered right past her the second before? Again fixated by economic mobility or the lack thereof, "Yella" is a tight yet unsettling psychological drama that bears all of Petzold's thematic stamps, especially his fascination with a loner couple awash in the German countryside that links the larger cities. But the real synonymous factor is the wide-eyed, graceful performance of Nina Hoss who feels as if she's just hitting her stride under Petzold's dour, nihilistic moods. And as the film winds to its somewhat expected but still striking finale, that mood prevails. And Petzold's vision doesn't even allow his characters to dream good thoughts.
Just as Petzold's vision on-screen became more confident and tantalizing, for the first time in his career, these visions were given confidence by numerous eyes around the globe as well. His next film, "Jerichow" (2008) even got a proper art-house release and did favorably well financially and even better critically. Loosely echoing the film noir classic "The Postman Always Rings Twice", Petzold dispenses with the potboiler atmosphere of the original, which is something the 1981 remake starring Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange dramatically amps up, creating a a wild and sweat-filled lust-noir that verges on camp. But in "Jerichow", everything is sedate and highly plausible. Even as the wife (Hoss) and her new workmate/lover Thomas (Benno Furmann again) engage in secret dalliances behind the back of her husband and his boss Ali (Hilmi Sozer), the canvas of blame is democratic. And, yet, when the duo plot to kill the husband, Petzold has built up such a shifting allegiance of paranoia and dead-end decisions that we almost don't blame the couple for conspiring to commit murder. Further still, the revelations in the final moments from Ali complete a triangle of casual acceptance that again shifts our preconceptions about the film noir genre itself and push "Jerichow" into a human drama more than a token genre name.
Reflecting back on it now, and having watched it again in the last few months after my initial theatrical viewing seven years ago, "Jerichow" strikes me as the summation of Petzold's evolving work. It's a film that, like the worn out cowboy boots that Nina Hoss dons beneath her lilting flowery dresses, consistently upends our expectations and presupposes there are invisible boundaries between 'good' and 'bad'. In "Jerichow", everyone is a shade of both these identifiers and their actions against each other are organic reactions to their situations. It's a marvelous tightrope walk of a film.
After a short stint in TV work again (which will be covered in the third and final installment here), it was four years before Petzold would grace the big screen again. Released in the fall of 2012 after a hearty film festival circuit tour, "Barbara" continues Petzold's fascination with stasis. Again placing Nina Hoss at the center of the drama, she plays a Berlin doctor ostracized to the East German country after an unknown incident with the authorities. Living out her days in solitude and looking forward only to the clandestine meetings with her West German lover (who promises to help her defect), Barbara slowly finds her self worth in this rural community. But at a cost. Continually monitored by German authority figure Klaus (Rainer Bock) and completely unsure of the genuineness exuded by fellow doctor Andre (Ronald Zehrfeld), Hoss gives her best performance to date for Petzold. Virtually holding her breath in many scenes, unwilling to compromise her inner thoughts or show weakness to a society virtually holding her hostage, she gives the film a powerfully mute force with her eyes and constricted body movement. If there were justice, she would have gotten an Oscar nomination that year.
The first film by Petzold to reflect openly on a specific time in Germany's past, "Barbara" feels like a razor sharp exploration of this paranoia and self delusion. In one particular scene, Barbara is waiting in the hotel room for her lover to finish his business meeting downstairs when, from the adjoining room, a young and beautiful girl sneaks into her room and they begin talking. She is the girlfriend of Barbara's lover's partner. The young girl talks about the budding relationship between them and tells Barbara he's going to help her leave. They peruse a magazine full of wedding rings and like little girls, each pick one out and try on the paper fitting. When the young girl asks Barbara "is it hard?", referring to the process of defecting to West Germany, Barbara's cold stare tells her (and us) everything about the daydreamed atmosphere they exist within. It's no surprise that later in the film, Barbara makes a particularly stunning self-sacrifice. This act of unerring kindness and fatalistic settlement back into her rural purgatory (there's that idea again) carry on Petzold's bittersweet outlook on life and its reflection in cinema.
"Yella" plays by its own dream logic for good reason. Why does she never remove the same red shirt and gray dress for the duration of the film? Why does no one seem to notice her immobile fits when she breaks a glass on the desk next to her? How does her ghostly ex suddenly appear next to her one moment when he seemingly wandered right past her the second before? Again fixated by economic mobility or the lack thereof, "Yella" is a tight yet unsettling psychological drama that bears all of Petzold's thematic stamps, especially his fascination with a loner couple awash in the German countryside that links the larger cities. But the real synonymous factor is the wide-eyed, graceful performance of Nina Hoss who feels as if she's just hitting her stride under Petzold's dour, nihilistic moods. And as the film winds to its somewhat expected but still striking finale, that mood prevails. And Petzold's vision doesn't even allow his characters to dream good thoughts.
Just as Petzold's vision on-screen became more confident and tantalizing, for the first time in his career, these visions were given confidence by numerous eyes around the globe as well. His next film, "Jerichow" (2008) even got a proper art-house release and did favorably well financially and even better critically. Loosely echoing the film noir classic "The Postman Always Rings Twice", Petzold dispenses with the potboiler atmosphere of the original, which is something the 1981 remake starring Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange dramatically amps up, creating a a wild and sweat-filled lust-noir that verges on camp. But in "Jerichow", everything is sedate and highly plausible. Even as the wife (Hoss) and her new workmate/lover Thomas (Benno Furmann again) engage in secret dalliances behind the back of her husband and his boss Ali (Hilmi Sozer), the canvas of blame is democratic. And, yet, when the duo plot to kill the husband, Petzold has built up such a shifting allegiance of paranoia and dead-end decisions that we almost don't blame the couple for conspiring to commit murder. Further still, the revelations in the final moments from Ali complete a triangle of casual acceptance that again shifts our preconceptions about the film noir genre itself and push "Jerichow" into a human drama more than a token genre name.
Reflecting back on it now, and having watched it again in the last few months after my initial theatrical viewing seven years ago, "Jerichow" strikes me as the summation of Petzold's evolving work. It's a film that, like the worn out cowboy boots that Nina Hoss dons beneath her lilting flowery dresses, consistently upends our expectations and presupposes there are invisible boundaries between 'good' and 'bad'. In "Jerichow", everyone is a shade of both these identifiers and their actions against each other are organic reactions to their situations. It's a marvelous tightrope walk of a film.
After a short stint in TV work again (which will be covered in the third and final installment here), it was four years before Petzold would grace the big screen again. Released in the fall of 2012 after a hearty film festival circuit tour, "Barbara" continues Petzold's fascination with stasis. Again placing Nina Hoss at the center of the drama, she plays a Berlin doctor ostracized to the East German country after an unknown incident with the authorities. Living out her days in solitude and looking forward only to the clandestine meetings with her West German lover (who promises to help her defect), Barbara slowly finds her self worth in this rural community. But at a cost. Continually monitored by German authority figure Klaus (Rainer Bock) and completely unsure of the genuineness exuded by fellow doctor Andre (Ronald Zehrfeld), Hoss gives her best performance to date for Petzold. Virtually holding her breath in many scenes, unwilling to compromise her inner thoughts or show weakness to a society virtually holding her hostage, she gives the film a powerfully mute force with her eyes and constricted body movement. If there were justice, she would have gotten an Oscar nomination that year.
The first film by Petzold to reflect openly on a specific time in Germany's past, "Barbara" feels like a razor sharp exploration of this paranoia and self delusion. In one particular scene, Barbara is waiting in the hotel room for her lover to finish his business meeting downstairs when, from the adjoining room, a young and beautiful girl sneaks into her room and they begin talking. She is the girlfriend of Barbara's lover's partner. The young girl talks about the budding relationship between them and tells Barbara he's going to help her leave. They peruse a magazine full of wedding rings and like little girls, each pick one out and try on the paper fitting. When the young girl asks Barbara "is it hard?", referring to the process of defecting to West Germany, Barbara's cold stare tells her (and us) everything about the daydreamed atmosphere they exist within. It's no surprise that later in the film, Barbara makes a particularly stunning self-sacrifice. This act of unerring kindness and fatalistic settlement back into her rural purgatory (there's that idea again) carry on Petzold's bittersweet outlook on life and its reflection in cinema.
Tuesday, September 08, 2015
Christian Petzold: Part 1 The Early Films
In what may be the film of the year, Nina Hoss nervously swaggers around the red neon-lit Phoenix bar that gives director Chrisian Petzold's film its ominous title. Leaning against the wall, hoping to catch the eye of her unsuspecting husband who believes her to be dead, an American soldier boldly approaches her and lights her cigarette, leaning in aggressively and flirting with her. She barely flinches, less disturbed at his sexually omnivorous advances and seemingly more upset that this man has blocked her view. It's not long before another soldier comes over and pulls the man away, muttering, "that's the wrong girl." The soldier flicks his cigarette and begins his charade with another woman close by. Petzold's morbid rhetoric about the power vacuum of Europe immediately following World War II and everyone's scuffle to obtain a small piece of it- which his entire powerful film is about- has never felt quite so intimate and haunting. And that's only the beginning of poor Nina Hoss and her troubles in this bombed-out existence. "Phoenix" is Petzold's fourteenth film in twenty years (including TV work), and its taken him this long to break into the quasi-arthouse, but it's well deserved and overdue.
Beginning his career in the mid 90's and hailing from the Berlin School of filmmaking, Petzold's manner is hard to classify because it settles in-between the various styles and influences of his German predecessors. He doesn't employ the hyper-fatalistic style of Fassbinder and is even less concerned with the lethargic poetry of a Wim Wenders. Yet, his films do follow three distinct ideas that classify him as an auteur distilling themes sporadically around his body of work. One, even though some of his films feel aimless at times with characters lost in thought or pondering their social status, they always lead back to a carefully realized progression. His strict diagram of emotions, memory, and painful loss often propel his narratives into sticky emotional territory. Secondly, the idea of one's place both economically and socially often drive his men and women to shadowy depths and morally ambiguous actions. Lastly, and this has been a more common theme in his later films, but a reconciliation with the past has been a major influence on his work, especially life immediately after World War II and Germany's obliteration from major power to shredded nation. Heavy themes, indeed, but ones that have been given devastating personal scope throughout his career.
Cuba Libre (1996)
"Cuba Libre", one of his three early TV films I've been able to see (the other two unavailable include "The Sex Thief" and "Drifters"), pretty much offer all three ideas in one opening salvo. Starring Richy Muller as Tom and Catheine Flemming as Tina, two homeless ex-lovers who precariously intersect at a German bus station, the specter of financial collapse and hopelessness seeps at the edges of every frame. It'd be easy to dismiss the film as yet another dour, stifling expression of German 'miserablism' if it weren't for the unusual streaks of comedy, such as Muller's incessant beatings by another man he keeps running into at the bus station or the keystone cops-like energy towards the end of the film as two thugs try and exact their revenge on Muller. In between those fleeting moments, though, "Cuba Libre" is dour. Eventually, the couple escape their lowly circumstances....Tina via prostitution and Tom with an older man whose initial interest in him seems sexually motivated but turns out to be a murky plot of identity fraud and possible embezzlement. They both end up in a sea-side resort town with hopes of building a better life, but Petzold's moral complexity doesn't allow for such a happy excursion. Like in "Phoenix", the film takes its title from a "Rosebud" type of actual structure (bar in that film, restaurant in this one) that stands mute witness as the malignant forces of humanity shatter any hope of "happily ever after". For most of the film, we sort of root for Tom and Tina to make it out alive. We should know better.
Wolfsburg (2003)
It's only minutes into Petzold's sixth film, "Wolfsburg", that darkness strikes one of its main characters when Philipp (Benno Furmann), distracted by an argument on the phone while driving, hits something with his car. It's only after pulling over that he realizes its a child on a bicycle. Afraid of losing his status as a well-paid car salesman AND the impending marriage to his fiance, Philipp drives away. Learning the child later dies, he slowly insinuates himself into the life of grieving single mother Laura, struggling not only to deal with the residual anger and disbelief of her son's death, but the meager factory job in which she has to spurn the sexual advances of her boss while devising shifty ways to steal food from the production line. Two people on opposite ends of the social spectrum, pulled together by the ghostly remnants of a dead child (albeit with vastly different interests) is the overriding theme in "Wolfsburg".
As Laura, Hoss is excellent...having already paired with Petzold in an earlier TV movie entitled "Something To Remind Me".... and the duo's creative synergy is already present. It would be easy to sink into melodramatic catharsis, but while there are moments of depression and extreme sadness, Hoss also brings a determined air about her aching mother. In between sort of falling for this new stranger Philipp in her life, she continues the search for the car of her son's killer- whose description he gasped shortly before sinking back into a coma he'd never awake from again. "Wolfsburg" becomes a tense treatise of 'will she or won't she' discover the man and it makes for a compelling drama that feels like a blueprint for Petzold's later films that examine the aforementioned "sticky emotional territory" with elegance.
Ghosts (2005)
The best of his early films, "Gespenster" aka Ghosts, dispenses with the middle-aged-miserablism of his earlier films, yet traces the staunch roots of unhappiness in two teenage girls who find each other at vulnerable times in their lives. Locked into a life of orphan status and living out her days in a controlled dorm room type housing, Nina (Julia Hummer) meets Toni (Sabine Timeteo) and the two find themselves attracted to each other. Nina's affection for Toni seems more genuine, though, exemplified by Toni's off-screen tryst with the host of a party they're later invited to and her free flowing independence that causes her to promptly leave Nina whenever she feels like it. Bracketed around this lecherous relationship is Francois (Marianne Baslar), a middle aged woman who comes to believe Nina is her long-lost daughter kidnapped from her when she was just a year old. This merry-go-round of stunted emotions, unspoken bonds and half delirious craziness spins around the narrative of "Ghosts", which gives us the impression Petzold's title is a literal allusion to the dead end hopes of everyone involved. And if that's not enough, the final scene involving Nina, only confirms his status as a filmmaker ennobled with the idea of missed connections and sorrowful circumstances that plague so many of the characters in his universe.
Armed with increasing praise and positive festival exposure, Petzold would next embark on a string of films that finally gave his work some mainstream visibility and audience viability. But the trademarks that marked his earlier work would not go away. In fact, they'd even grow stronger with added dimensions of hurtful history and pure genre infusion. It was an exciting time to be Petzold.
Beginning his career in the mid 90's and hailing from the Berlin School of filmmaking, Petzold's manner is hard to classify because it settles in-between the various styles and influences of his German predecessors. He doesn't employ the hyper-fatalistic style of Fassbinder and is even less concerned with the lethargic poetry of a Wim Wenders. Yet, his films do follow three distinct ideas that classify him as an auteur distilling themes sporadically around his body of work. One, even though some of his films feel aimless at times with characters lost in thought or pondering their social status, they always lead back to a carefully realized progression. His strict diagram of emotions, memory, and painful loss often propel his narratives into sticky emotional territory. Secondly, the idea of one's place both economically and socially often drive his men and women to shadowy depths and morally ambiguous actions. Lastly, and this has been a more common theme in his later films, but a reconciliation with the past has been a major influence on his work, especially life immediately after World War II and Germany's obliteration from major power to shredded nation. Heavy themes, indeed, but ones that have been given devastating personal scope throughout his career.
Cuba Libre (1996)
"Cuba Libre", one of his three early TV films I've been able to see (the other two unavailable include "The Sex Thief" and "Drifters"), pretty much offer all three ideas in one opening salvo. Starring Richy Muller as Tom and Catheine Flemming as Tina, two homeless ex-lovers who precariously intersect at a German bus station, the specter of financial collapse and hopelessness seeps at the edges of every frame. It'd be easy to dismiss the film as yet another dour, stifling expression of German 'miserablism' if it weren't for the unusual streaks of comedy, such as Muller's incessant beatings by another man he keeps running into at the bus station or the keystone cops-like energy towards the end of the film as two thugs try and exact their revenge on Muller. In between those fleeting moments, though, "Cuba Libre" is dour. Eventually, the couple escape their lowly circumstances....Tina via prostitution and Tom with an older man whose initial interest in him seems sexually motivated but turns out to be a murky plot of identity fraud and possible embezzlement. They both end up in a sea-side resort town with hopes of building a better life, but Petzold's moral complexity doesn't allow for such a happy excursion. Like in "Phoenix", the film takes its title from a "Rosebud" type of actual structure (bar in that film, restaurant in this one) that stands mute witness as the malignant forces of humanity shatter any hope of "happily ever after". For most of the film, we sort of root for Tom and Tina to make it out alive. We should know better.
Wolfsburg (2003)
It's only minutes into Petzold's sixth film, "Wolfsburg", that darkness strikes one of its main characters when Philipp (Benno Furmann), distracted by an argument on the phone while driving, hits something with his car. It's only after pulling over that he realizes its a child on a bicycle. Afraid of losing his status as a well-paid car salesman AND the impending marriage to his fiance, Philipp drives away. Learning the child later dies, he slowly insinuates himself into the life of grieving single mother Laura, struggling not only to deal with the residual anger and disbelief of her son's death, but the meager factory job in which she has to spurn the sexual advances of her boss while devising shifty ways to steal food from the production line. Two people on opposite ends of the social spectrum, pulled together by the ghostly remnants of a dead child (albeit with vastly different interests) is the overriding theme in "Wolfsburg".
As Laura, Hoss is excellent...having already paired with Petzold in an earlier TV movie entitled "Something To Remind Me".... and the duo's creative synergy is already present. It would be easy to sink into melodramatic catharsis, but while there are moments of depression and extreme sadness, Hoss also brings a determined air about her aching mother. In between sort of falling for this new stranger Philipp in her life, she continues the search for the car of her son's killer- whose description he gasped shortly before sinking back into a coma he'd never awake from again. "Wolfsburg" becomes a tense treatise of 'will she or won't she' discover the man and it makes for a compelling drama that feels like a blueprint for Petzold's later films that examine the aforementioned "sticky emotional territory" with elegance.
Ghosts (2005)
The best of his early films, "Gespenster" aka Ghosts, dispenses with the middle-aged-miserablism of his earlier films, yet traces the staunch roots of unhappiness in two teenage girls who find each other at vulnerable times in their lives. Locked into a life of orphan status and living out her days in a controlled dorm room type housing, Nina (Julia Hummer) meets Toni (Sabine Timeteo) and the two find themselves attracted to each other. Nina's affection for Toni seems more genuine, though, exemplified by Toni's off-screen tryst with the host of a party they're later invited to and her free flowing independence that causes her to promptly leave Nina whenever she feels like it. Bracketed around this lecherous relationship is Francois (Marianne Baslar), a middle aged woman who comes to believe Nina is her long-lost daughter kidnapped from her when she was just a year old. This merry-go-round of stunted emotions, unspoken bonds and half delirious craziness spins around the narrative of "Ghosts", which gives us the impression Petzold's title is a literal allusion to the dead end hopes of everyone involved. And if that's not enough, the final scene involving Nina, only confirms his status as a filmmaker ennobled with the idea of missed connections and sorrowful circumstances that plague so many of the characters in his universe.
Armed with increasing praise and positive festival exposure, Petzold would next embark on a string of films that finally gave his work some mainstream visibility and audience viability. But the trademarks that marked his earlier work would not go away. In fact, they'd even grow stronger with added dimensions of hurtful history and pure genre infusion. It was an exciting time to be Petzold.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
An Appreciation: Nagisa Oshima
A Town of Love and Hope (1959) *** - “Broken families often produced crooked children.” So says the wealthy brother of Kyoko (Yuki Tominaga) about her downtrodden, pigeon selling friend Yuji (Fumijo Wantanbe). And the class distinction that would infuse so much of Nagisa Oshima’s work is established within the first 30 minutes of his debut film. A simple effort, “A Town of Love and Hope” blithely observes the interaction between affluent girl Kyoko and poor Yuji. There’s never any hint of sexual attraction. Instead, Kyoko’s inherent desire to help Yuji stems more from her possible abjection of class structures. Also trying to better Yuji’s situation is his teacher Miss Akiyama (Kakuko Chino), desperately urging the local factory bosses- namely Kyoko’s own father and brother- to take on some of her students. Oshima narrows his focus on the relationship between these three, avoiding large sentiment or huge narrative moments. In fact, the most startling revelation has to do with the destruction of a pigeon cage. Like all of Oshima’s films, the emotion is often curdled in the most inanimate actions. A nice debut. Not available on DVD.
The Sun’s Burial (1960) **½ - When so many other New Wave Japanese filmmakers were still working in black and white, the most revolutionary idea about “The Sun’s Burial” is its incandescent color and signs of growth by Oshima through some startling tracking shots and strong mise-en-scene. The story doesn’t quite live up to the technical aspect, though. Charting the various relationships between rival gangs, its double and triple crosses feel like precursors to the more aggressive stylizations of Kinji Fukasaku and consequently, less impactful than Oshima’s barbed jabs at the squalid quarters of his cinematic inhabitants. Nothing is quite as desolate as watching an old man casually dump a dead body in the water, then nonchalantly salvage a half-destroyed wicker basket from a trash heap nearby. Oshima’s jaded ideas are intact, they just sometimes become overshadowed by a complicated roundelay of thugs and pimps posturing.
Cruel Story of Youth (1960) ***½ - If “The Sun’s Burial” studied the carelessness of Japan’s youth and their proclivity towards criminality, then “Cruel Story of Youth” takes things a step further and establishes a moral wasteland where its young couple (female Miyuki Kuwano and male Yusuke Kawaze) are doomed from the very beginning. After all their relationship, built on two rapes and the boyfriend’s bone headed scheme for his girlfriend to seduce and then allow the ’johns’ to be blackmailed, isn’t the epitome of wholesomeness. Regardless, this isn’t a film where anyone really cares for the other. It’s a tattered expression of indolence, stagnation and ultimately personal ruin and stands as one of Oshima’s great early works.
Night and Fog In Japan (1960) ** - One’s appreciation of “Night and Fog In Japan” will depend on how informed they are about the political landscape of Japan in the early 60‘s. It’s a highly intellectualized sermon about the divisive beliefs of two sections of people (the more Left wing student organizations vs. the middle class peace ‘treatyists‘) whose war of wills comes to a head at a wedding. This irony is not lost, of course, as Oshima sets his philosophical war at the most banal and supposedly happiest of all places. Still, it’s a dry meditation, with little to grab onto, and endlessly convoluted as its “Rashomon” style of storytelling tracks and backtracks through a series of past events between the political activists. If anything, though, it’s trendsetting idealistically, surely a huge influence on the radicalized efforts of filmmakers such as Godard and Bellocchio who would later infiltrate cinema’s passivity and create playfully aggressive political statements. Available on Region 2 DVD.
The Catch (1961) *** - The basic message here is no matter how much changes, everything stays the same. Even when talking about the loss of a nation in war. “The Catch” is a microcosm of this nation, played out in a mountainous village with a variety of people (men, women, children) and social stature (village elders, political bureaucrats and simple peasants). Their lives are upended when members of the community capture and bring home a downed American soldier who becomes unwittingly forced to participate in the village’s evolving moral ambiguities and lecherous relationships to one another. It’s all observed in Oshima’s mannered style of long takes, shifting bodies within the frame and a few moments of heightened tension that eventually explodes. Even though the American soldier (who happens to be African-American) is reduced to some unfiltered, racially charged sentiments throughout “The Catch”, Oshima is just as relentless against his own people in the end. Not available on DVD.
The Rebel (1962) *** - Oshima’s contribution to the samurai fold follows the seventeenth century uprising by farmers and peasants against the Shogunate after having their religious beliefs (Christianity) outlawed and deemed punishable by death. Also called “The Christian Rebel; Shiro Amaksu” (played by Hashizo Okawa), Oshima refuses to create a linear biopic, taking a much wider stance on the ideological clash by following a number of supporting characters such as Shiro’s old friend Shinbei (Ryutaro Otomo), his wife (Satomi Oka) and the various differences of opinion within the Christian sect. In fact, Shiro almost becomes a marginal figure in the film until the end. What slowly emerges is a violent history lesson… one in which the ideals of faith purport innocence but breed malevolence. Just like his previous film “The Catch”, Oshima seems to be defining the morose sadness of history repeating itself endlessly. Not available on DVD.
Pleasures of the Flesh (1965) **½ - The book title this film is based upon, “The Pleasures of the Coffin”, makes for a far more intriguing perspective since the main protagonist, Atsushi (Katsuo Nakamura), literally condemns himself to death the minute he begins spending the stolen loot he’s been entrusted to protect. And all because of the spurned love of young Shoko (Mariko Kaga). It’s interesting to see Oshima toy with a noir set-up, but, as usual, he has far more penetrating things on his mind such as the deteriorating effect money has on the soul and its alluring effect on women even when they don’t particularly like the man spending it. If there’s a fault, its theme becomes repetitive.
Diary of Yunbogi (1965) ** - Oshima’s experimental film that uses still photos to tell the story of ten year old Yunbogi and his travails as an orphan. It’s a bit repetitive and the voice-over, going for some sort of haikoo, feels over cooked. Available streaming.
Violence At Noon (1966) ***½ - A dazzling exploration of the sorted history and complex emotional reactions between four people (two couples) who love each other’s partner and then have to deal with the evolving consequences when one of the men (Kei Sato) later becomes a serial rapist and murderer. Full of raging passion, stifled sexual attraction and uncontrollable suicidal tendencies, this is certainly Oshima’s darkest effort yet. Besides the bleak subject matter (that even ventures into necrophilia!), “Violence At Noon” marks a radical departure in Oshima‘s formal style. Gone are the roving tracking shots and static long takes, replaced by sharp, almost harsh, edits and perspective shots that fragment the story and character psychology even more.
Band of Ninja (1967) **½ - The first filmed graphic novel? No one can ever claim Oshima is nothing if not adventurous in his cinematic choices. A sword and samurai tale told through filmed stills of cartoon drawings that somehow exert energy and movement in their black and white lines and bold framing. The story itself is a bit lackluster (and even confounding at some points) but visually its terrific. Not available on DVD.
Sing A Song of Sex (1967) ****- A completely unusual, amorphous effort that, regardless of Oshima’s sordid and challenging history so far, feels like nothing else he’s done yet. Four male students, fresh out of school, go on a trip with their teacher and three female schoolmates. Their main purpose is to screw around, maybe get laid and dwell in their imaginary sexual flights of fancy wherein they rape another attractive female student (Kazuko Tajima) they only briefly witnessed leaving school the previous day. Refusing to foreground the male students with anything resembling a personality, “Sing A Song of Sex” becomes an aimless assault on everything from structured relationships to the war in Vietnam. Not quite as overtly violent as “A Clockwork Orange” or aggressively provocative as Lars vonTrier’s “The Idiots”, Oshima’s vision is still that of numbing, disaffected youth and the careless bile they spew outward onto society. This is the Oshima film one never hears about, but deserves to be seen.
Double Suicide (1967) *½ - If “Sing A Song of Sex” alienates some people and reveals the experimental Godardian slant in Oshima’s visual and thematic polemics, then “Japanese Summer; Double Suicide” is his take on the challenging Dziga Vertov years. A completely abstract assault on violence, lustful disobedience and the media’s representation on said violence, it’s a film that sounds more intriguing than it really is. A sexually starved 18 year old (Keiko Sakurai) runs into suicidal Otoko (Kei Sato) and they inadvertently become mixed up with a group of socially dangerous mobsters and murderers, watching as an American grips the city in fear as he goes on a shooting spree. A major product of its time, “Japanese Summer; Double Suicide” just feels like Oshima straining to make his points, laboring them intensely. I have to admit, this film felt like a three hour chore, even though it only runs a little over 90 minutes.
Death By Hanging (1968) **½ - Rendered like an absurd play (only a few spare settings and the camera bouncing among a host of principal players), “Death By Hanging” is a complex and layered work that deals with the botched execution of a rapist (simply named R), then spends the next 90 minutes parlaying the question of just exactly who is crazy here. The police, doctors and hangmen desperately try to convince the now awakened R that he really is a criminal and should be re-executed even though his “soul” doesn’t remember his actions. Mordantly funny and visually disorienting in the way it blends fantasy and reality, the film’s only deterrent is its unequivocal dryness in hammering home its political agenda. Not available on DVD.
Three Resurrected Drunkards (1968) *** - After lacerating the Vietnam War, capital punishment, and the media in his last few films, what’s left for Oshima to fry? Well, look no further than 1968 and Beatlemania, or rather that weird, sprightly genre where 60’s British rockers were turned into Chaplin-esque actors. Here, three bell-bottomed soldiers go for a swim and have their clothes switched out by two AWOL Korean soldiers. Their travails- mistaken identity, political subterfuge and random bullying- is played out in three concurrent scenarios with the same characters yielding drastically different outcomes. The mod hairstyles, emphasis on innocent violence, and Oshima’s use of music all add up to a trippy experience.
Diary of a Shinjuku Thief (1969) ** - This story of a kleptomaniac and the girl who continually pushes his desires further and further coalesces Oshima’s experimentation and oblique social commentary. It’s just no fun. Available on Region 2 DVD.
Boy (1969) **** - Oshima’s masterpiece, mostly because he finally breaks free of his rigorous anti-establishment filmmaking prowess and crafts a humanistic portrait of a young child (simply called Boy) caught up in the amoral greed and sexual dissatisfaction of his parent figures as they teach him how to fake being hit by cars then extort the drivers for money. Based on a true story and told through the perspective of Boy (Tsuyoshi Kinoshita), Oshima’s spare cinematography is economical and precise and the unnerving score (at times sounding like a cosmic soundtrack to a sci-fi movie) weave a transfixing sentiment. And through it all is the innocent, confused gaze of Boy, desperately trying to understand the deviant emotions of father and stepmother and haunted by the images rooted in his memory by their evil transgressions. The moment he tackles and destroys the snowman he built is as powerful as anything yet in Oshima’s oeuvre. Not available on DVD.
The Man Who Put His Will On Film (1970) ***- Seeing as how the film takes place during the tumultuous student protests of the day, Oshima’s “The Man Who Put His Will On Film” could be read as a statement on cinema’s place in documenting those rowdy times. The story, essentially about a student who has his film camera stolen by another student right before he commits suicide, spins in so many directions without being anchored to one cohesive idea that it forgoes the usual explanations and turns into a messy, ambivalent affair about what’s real or not. Needless to say, it’s a heavy watch and may grow in stature over repeat viewings. Not available on DVD.
The Ceremony (1971) ***½ - Like his earlier film “Night and Fog In Japan”, Oshima institutes a rigorous ideological and moral decimation of a tightly knit group of people during a supposed harmonious event. In “The Ceremony”- which is a far better film than “Night and Fog In Japan” incidentally- those events are various weddings, funerals and celebrations over the course of twenty years with the Sakaruda family. The youngsters in the clan, led by young Masuo (Kenzo Kawaraski) Ritsuko (Atsuko Kaku) and Terumichi (Atsuo Nakamura), are the expressive heart of Oshima’s generational confrontations, rallying against their elders social wealth and falling in and out love and infatuation with each other. It all comes to a shattering conclusion as the film is bracketed by Masuo and Ritsuko’s journey back home to grapple with the harsh realities they’ve been running from the entire time. Alongside “Boy”, this is probably Oshima’s most well rounded effort simply because his radical aesthetic is matched with a story that pulsates with human emotion and grounded feelings. Not available on DVD.
Dear Summer Sister (1972) *** - A young girl (Hiromi Kurita) travels to Okinawa in hopes of finding her suddenly known half brother. Traveling with her guardian Momoko (Japanese actress Lily), not only do the young women become embroiled in the tenuous decades long post-war wounds of the island, but the almost aloof nature of the adults who haphazardly started the trouble both intimate and epic. Even knowing Oshima directed this, it’s a complete departure from the remainder of his work, eschewing any of his experimental style and somewhat composed shots for a completely nervous handheld aesthetic and performances that range from deceptively good to poor (in the case of young actress Kurita). Still, what does overshadow the film’s weaknesses is Oshima’s penchant for grafting a seemingly ordinary domestic story on the broad shoulders of a heavy metaphorical framework- as if each character (like in his previous film “The Ceremony”) are the idealized visages of some shred of post-war malcontent. One of his harder to find efforts, but worth the hunt. Not available on DVD.
The Sun’s Burial (1960) **½ - When so many other New Wave Japanese filmmakers were still working in black and white, the most revolutionary idea about “The Sun’s Burial” is its incandescent color and signs of growth by Oshima through some startling tracking shots and strong mise-en-scene. The story doesn’t quite live up to the technical aspect, though. Charting the various relationships between rival gangs, its double and triple crosses feel like precursors to the more aggressive stylizations of Kinji Fukasaku and consequently, less impactful than Oshima’s barbed jabs at the squalid quarters of his cinematic inhabitants. Nothing is quite as desolate as watching an old man casually dump a dead body in the water, then nonchalantly salvage a half-destroyed wicker basket from a trash heap nearby. Oshima’s jaded ideas are intact, they just sometimes become overshadowed by a complicated roundelay of thugs and pimps posturing.
Cruel Story of Youth (1960) ***½ - If “The Sun’s Burial” studied the carelessness of Japan’s youth and their proclivity towards criminality, then “Cruel Story of Youth” takes things a step further and establishes a moral wasteland where its young couple (female Miyuki Kuwano and male Yusuke Kawaze) are doomed from the very beginning. After all their relationship, built on two rapes and the boyfriend’s bone headed scheme for his girlfriend to seduce and then allow the ’johns’ to be blackmailed, isn’t the epitome of wholesomeness. Regardless, this isn’t a film where anyone really cares for the other. It’s a tattered expression of indolence, stagnation and ultimately personal ruin and stands as one of Oshima’s great early works.
Night and Fog In Japan (1960) ** - One’s appreciation of “Night and Fog In Japan” will depend on how informed they are about the political landscape of Japan in the early 60‘s. It’s a highly intellectualized sermon about the divisive beliefs of two sections of people (the more Left wing student organizations vs. the middle class peace ‘treatyists‘) whose war of wills comes to a head at a wedding. This irony is not lost, of course, as Oshima sets his philosophical war at the most banal and supposedly happiest of all places. Still, it’s a dry meditation, with little to grab onto, and endlessly convoluted as its “Rashomon” style of storytelling tracks and backtracks through a series of past events between the political activists. If anything, though, it’s trendsetting idealistically, surely a huge influence on the radicalized efforts of filmmakers such as Godard and Bellocchio who would later infiltrate cinema’s passivity and create playfully aggressive political statements. Available on Region 2 DVD.
The Catch (1961) *** - The basic message here is no matter how much changes, everything stays the same. Even when talking about the loss of a nation in war. “The Catch” is a microcosm of this nation, played out in a mountainous village with a variety of people (men, women, children) and social stature (village elders, political bureaucrats and simple peasants). Their lives are upended when members of the community capture and bring home a downed American soldier who becomes unwittingly forced to participate in the village’s evolving moral ambiguities and lecherous relationships to one another. It’s all observed in Oshima’s mannered style of long takes, shifting bodies within the frame and a few moments of heightened tension that eventually explodes. Even though the American soldier (who happens to be African-American) is reduced to some unfiltered, racially charged sentiments throughout “The Catch”, Oshima is just as relentless against his own people in the end. Not available on DVD.
The Rebel (1962) *** - Oshima’s contribution to the samurai fold follows the seventeenth century uprising by farmers and peasants against the Shogunate after having their religious beliefs (Christianity) outlawed and deemed punishable by death. Also called “The Christian Rebel; Shiro Amaksu” (played by Hashizo Okawa), Oshima refuses to create a linear biopic, taking a much wider stance on the ideological clash by following a number of supporting characters such as Shiro’s old friend Shinbei (Ryutaro Otomo), his wife (Satomi Oka) and the various differences of opinion within the Christian sect. In fact, Shiro almost becomes a marginal figure in the film until the end. What slowly emerges is a violent history lesson… one in which the ideals of faith purport innocence but breed malevolence. Just like his previous film “The Catch”, Oshima seems to be defining the morose sadness of history repeating itself endlessly. Not available on DVD.
Pleasures of the Flesh (1965) **½ - The book title this film is based upon, “The Pleasures of the Coffin”, makes for a far more intriguing perspective since the main protagonist, Atsushi (Katsuo Nakamura), literally condemns himself to death the minute he begins spending the stolen loot he’s been entrusted to protect. And all because of the spurned love of young Shoko (Mariko Kaga). It’s interesting to see Oshima toy with a noir set-up, but, as usual, he has far more penetrating things on his mind such as the deteriorating effect money has on the soul and its alluring effect on women even when they don’t particularly like the man spending it. If there’s a fault, its theme becomes repetitive.
Diary of Yunbogi (1965) ** - Oshima’s experimental film that uses still photos to tell the story of ten year old Yunbogi and his travails as an orphan. It’s a bit repetitive and the voice-over, going for some sort of haikoo, feels over cooked. Available streaming.
Violence At Noon (1966) ***½ - A dazzling exploration of the sorted history and complex emotional reactions between four people (two couples) who love each other’s partner and then have to deal with the evolving consequences when one of the men (Kei Sato) later becomes a serial rapist and murderer. Full of raging passion, stifled sexual attraction and uncontrollable suicidal tendencies, this is certainly Oshima’s darkest effort yet. Besides the bleak subject matter (that even ventures into necrophilia!), “Violence At Noon” marks a radical departure in Oshima‘s formal style. Gone are the roving tracking shots and static long takes, replaced by sharp, almost harsh, edits and perspective shots that fragment the story and character psychology even more.
Band of Ninja (1967) **½ - The first filmed graphic novel? No one can ever claim Oshima is nothing if not adventurous in his cinematic choices. A sword and samurai tale told through filmed stills of cartoon drawings that somehow exert energy and movement in their black and white lines and bold framing. The story itself is a bit lackluster (and even confounding at some points) but visually its terrific. Not available on DVD.
Sing A Song of Sex (1967) ****- A completely unusual, amorphous effort that, regardless of Oshima’s sordid and challenging history so far, feels like nothing else he’s done yet. Four male students, fresh out of school, go on a trip with their teacher and three female schoolmates. Their main purpose is to screw around, maybe get laid and dwell in their imaginary sexual flights of fancy wherein they rape another attractive female student (Kazuko Tajima) they only briefly witnessed leaving school the previous day. Refusing to foreground the male students with anything resembling a personality, “Sing A Song of Sex” becomes an aimless assault on everything from structured relationships to the war in Vietnam. Not quite as overtly violent as “A Clockwork Orange” or aggressively provocative as Lars vonTrier’s “The Idiots”, Oshima’s vision is still that of numbing, disaffected youth and the careless bile they spew outward onto society. This is the Oshima film one never hears about, but deserves to be seen.
Double Suicide (1967) *½ - If “Sing A Song of Sex” alienates some people and reveals the experimental Godardian slant in Oshima’s visual and thematic polemics, then “Japanese Summer; Double Suicide” is his take on the challenging Dziga Vertov years. A completely abstract assault on violence, lustful disobedience and the media’s representation on said violence, it’s a film that sounds more intriguing than it really is. A sexually starved 18 year old (Keiko Sakurai) runs into suicidal Otoko (Kei Sato) and they inadvertently become mixed up with a group of socially dangerous mobsters and murderers, watching as an American grips the city in fear as he goes on a shooting spree. A major product of its time, “Japanese Summer; Double Suicide” just feels like Oshima straining to make his points, laboring them intensely. I have to admit, this film felt like a three hour chore, even though it only runs a little over 90 minutes.
Death By Hanging (1968) **½ - Rendered like an absurd play (only a few spare settings and the camera bouncing among a host of principal players), “Death By Hanging” is a complex and layered work that deals with the botched execution of a rapist (simply named R), then spends the next 90 minutes parlaying the question of just exactly who is crazy here. The police, doctors and hangmen desperately try to convince the now awakened R that he really is a criminal and should be re-executed even though his “soul” doesn’t remember his actions. Mordantly funny and visually disorienting in the way it blends fantasy and reality, the film’s only deterrent is its unequivocal dryness in hammering home its political agenda. Not available on DVD.
Three Resurrected Drunkards (1968) *** - After lacerating the Vietnam War, capital punishment, and the media in his last few films, what’s left for Oshima to fry? Well, look no further than 1968 and Beatlemania, or rather that weird, sprightly genre where 60’s British rockers were turned into Chaplin-esque actors. Here, three bell-bottomed soldiers go for a swim and have their clothes switched out by two AWOL Korean soldiers. Their travails- mistaken identity, political subterfuge and random bullying- is played out in three concurrent scenarios with the same characters yielding drastically different outcomes. The mod hairstyles, emphasis on innocent violence, and Oshima’s use of music all add up to a trippy experience.
Diary of a Shinjuku Thief (1969) ** - This story of a kleptomaniac and the girl who continually pushes his desires further and further coalesces Oshima’s experimentation and oblique social commentary. It’s just no fun. Available on Region 2 DVD.
Boy (1969) **** - Oshima’s masterpiece, mostly because he finally breaks free of his rigorous anti-establishment filmmaking prowess and crafts a humanistic portrait of a young child (simply called Boy) caught up in the amoral greed and sexual dissatisfaction of his parent figures as they teach him how to fake being hit by cars then extort the drivers for money. Based on a true story and told through the perspective of Boy (Tsuyoshi Kinoshita), Oshima’s spare cinematography is economical and precise and the unnerving score (at times sounding like a cosmic soundtrack to a sci-fi movie) weave a transfixing sentiment. And through it all is the innocent, confused gaze of Boy, desperately trying to understand the deviant emotions of father and stepmother and haunted by the images rooted in his memory by their evil transgressions. The moment he tackles and destroys the snowman he built is as powerful as anything yet in Oshima’s oeuvre. Not available on DVD.
The Man Who Put His Will On Film (1970) ***- Seeing as how the film takes place during the tumultuous student protests of the day, Oshima’s “The Man Who Put His Will On Film” could be read as a statement on cinema’s place in documenting those rowdy times. The story, essentially about a student who has his film camera stolen by another student right before he commits suicide, spins in so many directions without being anchored to one cohesive idea that it forgoes the usual explanations and turns into a messy, ambivalent affair about what’s real or not. Needless to say, it’s a heavy watch and may grow in stature over repeat viewings. Not available on DVD.
The Ceremony (1971) ***½ - Like his earlier film “Night and Fog In Japan”, Oshima institutes a rigorous ideological and moral decimation of a tightly knit group of people during a supposed harmonious event. In “The Ceremony”- which is a far better film than “Night and Fog In Japan” incidentally- those events are various weddings, funerals and celebrations over the course of twenty years with the Sakaruda family. The youngsters in the clan, led by young Masuo (Kenzo Kawaraski) Ritsuko (Atsuko Kaku) and Terumichi (Atsuo Nakamura), are the expressive heart of Oshima’s generational confrontations, rallying against their elders social wealth and falling in and out love and infatuation with each other. It all comes to a shattering conclusion as the film is bracketed by Masuo and Ritsuko’s journey back home to grapple with the harsh realities they’ve been running from the entire time. Alongside “Boy”, this is probably Oshima’s most well rounded effort simply because his radical aesthetic is matched with a story that pulsates with human emotion and grounded feelings. Not available on DVD.
Dear Summer Sister (1972) *** - A young girl (Hiromi Kurita) travels to Okinawa in hopes of finding her suddenly known half brother. Traveling with her guardian Momoko (Japanese actress Lily), not only do the young women become embroiled in the tenuous decades long post-war wounds of the island, but the almost aloof nature of the adults who haphazardly started the trouble both intimate and epic. Even knowing Oshima directed this, it’s a complete departure from the remainder of his work, eschewing any of his experimental style and somewhat composed shots for a completely nervous handheld aesthetic and performances that range from deceptively good to poor (in the case of young actress Kurita). Still, what does overshadow the film’s weaknesses is Oshima’s penchant for grafting a seemingly ordinary domestic story on the broad shoulders of a heavy metaphorical framework- as if each character (like in his previous film “The Ceremony”) are the idealized visages of some shred of post-war malcontent. One of his harder to find efforts, but worth the hunt. Not available on DVD.
In the Realm of the Senses (1976) *** - Even though it dwells on the sexually explicit nature of the relationship between Eiko Matsuda and Tatsuya Fuji, “In the Realm of the Senses” is a compelling examination of the consuming aspect of passion. Certainly deserves the “X” rating, though.
Empire of Passion (1978) ***½ - Film noir done Asian style- replete with rabid sexuality, village gossipers, and pale faced ghosts wallowing in the margins. All of this transpires after wife (Kazuko Yoshiyuki) and her lover (Tatsuya Fuji) kill her husband and have to deal with the hard part of denying their guilt for several years. Gloriously atmospheric and visually precise, “Empire of Passion” continues Oshima’s growth towards more mature works after the liberal and experimental works of the 60’s. With this film and “In the Realm of the Senses”, (plus the films that were ahead) he’s essentially grown from a look-at-me provocateur to a filmmaker concerned with mature people struggling with cultural and sexual identity. Without completely denying the audacity of his earlier films, I certainly admire the more mature Oshima.
A Visit to Ogawa Productions (1981) * - I’m not sure if Oshima staged this as a joke or not, but it has to be, perhaps, the most uninteresting documentary I’ve ever seen. Sixty-three minutes of a man talking about his documentary project in the mountains where he’s observed families, fields and the traditions of rice growing for the past eight years. It’s just a static shot of the man talking to Oshima while others look on about his theories on rice and his own pompous reasoning for the literal rooms full of footage he’s shot. Not sure where it can be found outside the bootleg I watched.
Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence (1983) **½ - Probably the film Oshima is most recognized for here in the West, it’s also one of his most passionless. The story of a POW camp of Allied soldiers on a Japanese island gives Oshima some opportunity to comment on the physical and mental tug of war that existed between captive and captor, but too much of it (especially the relationship between newcomer prisoner David Bowie and camp commander Ryuichi Sakamoto) is muddled and strained, yearning for something cosmic… which probably explains why he cast two pop stars as leads. More concise, heartfelt and genuine is the relationship exemplified by the titular prisoner Lawrence (Tom Conti) and camp sub commander Takeshi Kitano. If the film had focused on this pair, it might have ascertained the glorious humanity it strived for in other places. Terrific score though.
Max, Mon Amour (1986) ** - Oshima doing Bunuel… especially because the screenwriter of this film (Jean-Claude Carrierer) wrote many of the Spaniard’s surreal classics, yet “Max Mon Amour” is largely unsuccessful because it feels so intentional. Charlotte Rampling begins an affair, which is suspected from the very beginning by her husband (Anthony Higgins). A quick investigation reveals her lover to be a chimpanzee. What does a cuckold do but move the ape into their plush Paris home and try and live with him, of course. For the first time in his long career, Oshima feels a bit withdrawn here, as if he’s on autopilot, allowing the farce to play out on its own. Everyone plays their roles straight as well. There’s something in there about the absurd nature of marriage and jealousy, I’m sure, but the tone, flat images and disconnected acting (so emotionless by Rampling especially) all add up to a large bore.
Kyoto, My Mother’s Home (1991) ***½ - What begins as a documentary about Oshima’s mother soon turns into an elegy for something greater, such as the region of Kyoto, its customs and the defining personal tendencies of Oshima himself. Loving, informative and probably the film any Oshima viewer should start with since it strives to give a deeper meaning to the man himself. Available on R2 Japanese import.
100 Years of Japanese Cinema (1993) **½ - Oshima’s swift condensation of Japanese cinema from the silents to his own work in the 80’s is a wonderful treasure trove of film images, yet it’s oddly cold and detached, far removed from the loving recollections assembled by other filmmakers such as Martin Scorsese and even Jean Luc Godard. I understand Oshima wasn’t the most passionate person, yet his previous documentary “Kyoto, My Mother’s Home” managed to pierce the veneer and reveal an emotionally complex director behind the screen. “100 Years of Cinema” is all business. For entry level film studies, it’s fine, but someone searching for a deeper understanding of the artist and how these images correlate with his sensibility, look elsewhere.
Taboo (1997) *** - Oshima’s final film, aptly named, about the upheaval of a shogun society when one of it’s swordsman begins various relationships with other men in the group. Lushly old fashioned visually- full of wipe pans and gentle editing- clashes wonderfully with its progressive ideas about homosexuality and the overall impact of love regardless of the gender.
Sunday, July 05, 2015
From Mane to Maine: Wiseman's "Crazy Horse" and "Belfast, Maine"
Whether he's training his camera on the autumnal haze of sleepy "Belfast, Maine"- with its potato plants, church choirs and local gas station denizens- or the writhing half naked bodies of beautiful dancers rehearsing their latest erotic spectacle in Paris, Wiseman is a filmmaker who understands silence is golden. Of course, editing and mise-en-scene is a comment itself on the subject, but both "Belfast, Maine" and "Crazy Horse" represent the best aspects of Wiseman's 45 year plus oeuvre.... which is a long way of saying he observes and visually dissects an institution or locale with monk-like patience and an acute eye for the humanity wrapped inside the mundane.
"Belfast, Maine" (1999), one of the few works by Wiseman to document the sprawling intersections of an actual city (the other being "Aspen" in 1991), at first seems to unravel with little order in its four hour progression. It's only about halfway through its fly-on-the-wall tactics does something like a message emerge. And that message is that Wiseman's documentaries are probably the closest thing we have to actual life being lived on-screen. Through the seemingly random (and at times rambling) simple shots of people going about their business, dealing with Medicaid workers, checking into a hospital, or rehearsing a scene from "Death of a Salesman", "Belfast, Maine" paints such an evocative portrait of life-in-the-margins that it almost feels extraordinary for its ordinariness. I doubt any written movie character could be as seemingly good-natured and expectant of whatever eventually takes her life as an elderly woman describing her condition to an aid worker in one scene or the appalling state of health of another man who claims he used to smoke seven to eight packs of cigarettes a day, but now is down to a more manageable two-to-three since he had a stroke last year. Further still, outside of the people within the film, Belfast reveals itself as an almost too perfect hamlet of Northeastern charm and approaching 'wintryness'. As stated earlier, this is one of the few films Wiseman made centered around an entire city, but his efforts always canopy the specific atmosphere and tensions of the environment his chosen institution reside within. I can't help but feel a homely kinship to the surroundings shown in "Boxing Gym" (Austin, Texas") and especially the upscale cowboy aura buttressed around his 1983 film about the retail capital of Neiman Marcus' Dallas, Texas location. If there's a high compliment to be paid to "Belfast, Maine", it's that even though I've never been further in the Northeast than Philadelphia, I feel like I know it slightly better through "Belfast, Maine" and its tough-minded inhabitants.
About as far removed from the plaid-and-denim quaintness of Maine lies "Crazy Horse" (2012), a film thirteen years later that finds Wiseman firmly ensconced in the electric, haute couture confines of the world renowned Paris cabaret. What begins as titillating (beautiful, half naked women pampering their faces and applying make up backstage) soon turns methodical as the film endlessly charts, zags and follows the various beauties as they work hard learning their moves for upcoming dance numbers or stand listless while choreographers, set designers and club financiers argue, dawdle and crunch numbers. Actually, "Crazy Horse" isn't that different from the seemingly normal actions of Belfast, Maine after all. Boredom, struggles, and bureaucratic numbness is a universal language.
Made after "La Danse" (2009) and "Boxing Gym" (2010), "Crazy Horse" could be called the cap in his ballet trilogy, adapting a more free floating camera style than before. Instead of hinged in the corner, observing people talking or reacting to their surroundings, Wiseman continually frames the writhing bodies of his "Crazy Horse" women seamlessly.... none moreso moving than when one dancer practices alongside Antony and the Johnson's beautiful song ""Man is the Baby". Music and image, when done right, can often be a transcendent merging of arts, and in this quiet, almost nondescript individual moment that never connects with any other choreographed section of the film, captures something that feels stunningly private. That's documentary filmmaking done right... and it's just one of the thousands of little, off-hand moments Wiseman has been documenting and etching into film for decades now.
"Crazy Horse" is available on Blu-ray video
"Belfast, Maine" is currently unavailable on home video formats
"Belfast, Maine" (1999), one of the few works by Wiseman to document the sprawling intersections of an actual city (the other being "Aspen" in 1991), at first seems to unravel with little order in its four hour progression. It's only about halfway through its fly-on-the-wall tactics does something like a message emerge. And that message is that Wiseman's documentaries are probably the closest thing we have to actual life being lived on-screen. Through the seemingly random (and at times rambling) simple shots of people going about their business, dealing with Medicaid workers, checking into a hospital, or rehearsing a scene from "Death of a Salesman", "Belfast, Maine" paints such an evocative portrait of life-in-the-margins that it almost feels extraordinary for its ordinariness. I doubt any written movie character could be as seemingly good-natured and expectant of whatever eventually takes her life as an elderly woman describing her condition to an aid worker in one scene or the appalling state of health of another man who claims he used to smoke seven to eight packs of cigarettes a day, but now is down to a more manageable two-to-three since he had a stroke last year. Further still, outside of the people within the film, Belfast reveals itself as an almost too perfect hamlet of Northeastern charm and approaching 'wintryness'. As stated earlier, this is one of the few films Wiseman made centered around an entire city, but his efforts always canopy the specific atmosphere and tensions of the environment his chosen institution reside within. I can't help but feel a homely kinship to the surroundings shown in "Boxing Gym" (Austin, Texas") and especially the upscale cowboy aura buttressed around his 1983 film about the retail capital of Neiman Marcus' Dallas, Texas location. If there's a high compliment to be paid to "Belfast, Maine", it's that even though I've never been further in the Northeast than Philadelphia, I feel like I know it slightly better through "Belfast, Maine" and its tough-minded inhabitants.
About as far removed from the plaid-and-denim quaintness of Maine lies "Crazy Horse" (2012), a film thirteen years later that finds Wiseman firmly ensconced in the electric, haute couture confines of the world renowned Paris cabaret. What begins as titillating (beautiful, half naked women pampering their faces and applying make up backstage) soon turns methodical as the film endlessly charts, zags and follows the various beauties as they work hard learning their moves for upcoming dance numbers or stand listless while choreographers, set designers and club financiers argue, dawdle and crunch numbers. Actually, "Crazy Horse" isn't that different from the seemingly normal actions of Belfast, Maine after all. Boredom, struggles, and bureaucratic numbness is a universal language.
Made after "La Danse" (2009) and "Boxing Gym" (2010), "Crazy Horse" could be called the cap in his ballet trilogy, adapting a more free floating camera style than before. Instead of hinged in the corner, observing people talking or reacting to their surroundings, Wiseman continually frames the writhing bodies of his "Crazy Horse" women seamlessly.... none moreso moving than when one dancer practices alongside Antony and the Johnson's beautiful song ""Man is the Baby". Music and image, when done right, can often be a transcendent merging of arts, and in this quiet, almost nondescript individual moment that never connects with any other choreographed section of the film, captures something that feels stunningly private. That's documentary filmmaking done right... and it's just one of the thousands of little, off-hand moments Wiseman has been documenting and etching into film for decades now.
"Crazy Horse" is available on Blu-ray video
"Belfast, Maine" is currently unavailable on home video formats
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