(3/28/01-4/8/01)
The Round-Up is a very impressive-looking film. It is in black-and-white with beautiful camera work. The film looks choreographed, like a spectacle or pageants. The shots are composed with a lot of thought. Frequently, there is something going on in both the foreground and background.
The action takes place around a military compound or prison which is set in the middle of nowhere on a barren plain. It is like it is removed from an environment, of something that would give it a context. I saw this done once before in a Jancso film and I liked it very much. It seems to lend a quality of myth or legend to the events.
The story is about a man who was a resistance fighter and is accused of killing as part of his resistance activities. He is told that he will be released if he can find someone else in the compound or camp who has killed more people than him. The film mostly concerns his attempts to find someone to take his place. In the end he does, but is then himself killed by the other inmates.
The thing that made the biggest impression on me was that the soldiers or guards were not portrayed as sadistic brutes. They were cool and businesslike. They had a job to do.
One notable and recurrent image was of the prisoners filing by with hoods on their heads. Perhaps I noticed this because I have seen a still of this image reproduced several times. At least I think I have seen it more than once.
There is a scene in which a young woman is forced to run nude between two rows of soldiers who whip her. She dies from this whipping. Is this an exploitive moment--throwing something sexy, albeit perversely sexy, into an otherwise stark film? I don't know, really, but the nudity emphasized her vulnerability and the cruelty of the act.
The film becomes almost surreal towards the end. I think there was a scene of a martial band playing while agroup of prisoners is standing around waiting to be executed. (My memory of this picture has already faded.) All in the middle of the deserted plain.
The ending is cruel and downrigt nasty. Some of the prisoners are led to believe that they will be allowed to join the army that has imprisoned them. One is asked about his experience and he says he has been in the cavalry. He is invited to pick some men to join him and then is allowed to show off his riding skills.
They are told that their leader Kossuth has been granted a full pardon by the emperor. They are jubilant and sing a song of nationalism or solidarity. But then they are informed that while Kossuth was pardoned, his followers will be punished. At that, I believe, they are herded off to execution and the film ends. It reminded me of a similar event in The Outlaw Josey Wales.
I think that that ending lost some of its impact for me because the last scenes of the film were so strange that I was wondering what was going on. Putting these guys on horses and whatever seemed fishy and gave me a strong sense that all was not what it appeared to be. So maybe, even if unconsciously, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Sweet Sweetback's Badasssss Song. 1971. Directed by Melvin Van Peebles.
(3/17/01)
A lot of this film is just shots of a man running and being chased. It just went on and on and got tiresome. It seemed like the film ran out of imagination.
The "hero" of the film is Sweetback. He is a performer in a sort of private sex-show who kills a couple of cops who are mercilessly beating another black man. He is pursued, but never caught. By his wits he escapes across the border into Mexico and the film promises that he will return, seeking revenge.
Sweetback isn't that interesting. He doesn't say very much and doesn't project much personality. He was definitely interesting as a black man who is not subservient to whites, a new figure on the screen at the time, and as an image of the black man as sexually potent. He is desirable to women--both black and white--and not through any seductive quality. His magnetism comes through sheer phallic power.
I liked the black-black sex scenes. I thought they were hot. Near the beginning of the film a woman summons a young boy into her room and asks him to service her. He does so and she screams and moans a lot. When he leaves her, after the credits, it is not a young boy but a grown man. It is kind of interesting and challenging, watching a male service a beautiful black female for her pleasure and at her request. There is another scene where Sweetback goes to a woman he knows and asks her to remove his handcuffs. She wants him to fuck her first.
Then there is a black-white sex scene which doesn't interest me as much. Sweetback gets involved with these bikers in a scene which goes on and on and on and is full of superimposition. What is the purpose of those superimpositions? I think he is given shelter and pays for it with sexual service.
Sweetback is unequivocally negative about whites who are either mean or stupid or both. One horrible scene occurs when the police attack a friend of Sweetback's who tells them over and over in a terrified voice: "I don't know where Sweetback is." They either shoot one of his ears or beat it with a gun and threaten to do it to the other one. In another scene officers beat up a black man they find in bed with a white girl, mistakenly believing that it's Sweetback. When they realize their mistake one says, "So what?"
It comes across as a very nasty, bitterfilm. Being white, I found it a scary film to watch. It certainly gave a voive to the anger of blacks against whites. But except for being one of the first films to really show that anger and having maybe the first portrayal of a threatening black male this film just wasn't that interesting.
A lot of this film is just shots of a man running and being chased. It just went on and on and got tiresome. It seemed like the film ran out of imagination.
The "hero" of the film is Sweetback. He is a performer in a sort of private sex-show who kills a couple of cops who are mercilessly beating another black man. He is pursued, but never caught. By his wits he escapes across the border into Mexico and the film promises that he will return, seeking revenge.
Sweetback isn't that interesting. He doesn't say very much and doesn't project much personality. He was definitely interesting as a black man who is not subservient to whites, a new figure on the screen at the time, and as an image of the black man as sexually potent. He is desirable to women--both black and white--and not through any seductive quality. His magnetism comes through sheer phallic power.
I liked the black-black sex scenes. I thought they were hot. Near the beginning of the film a woman summons a young boy into her room and asks him to service her. He does so and she screams and moans a lot. When he leaves her, after the credits, it is not a young boy but a grown man. It is kind of interesting and challenging, watching a male service a beautiful black female for her pleasure and at her request. There is another scene where Sweetback goes to a woman he knows and asks her to remove his handcuffs. She wants him to fuck her first.
Then there is a black-white sex scene which doesn't interest me as much. Sweetback gets involved with these bikers in a scene which goes on and on and on and is full of superimposition. What is the purpose of those superimpositions? I think he is given shelter and pays for it with sexual service.
Sweetback is unequivocally negative about whites who are either mean or stupid or both. One horrible scene occurs when the police attack a friend of Sweetback's who tells them over and over in a terrified voice: "I don't know where Sweetback is." They either shoot one of his ears or beat it with a gun and threaten to do it to the other one. In another scene officers beat up a black man they find in bed with a white girl, mistakenly believing that it's Sweetback. When they realize their mistake one says, "So what?"
It comes across as a very nasty, bitterfilm. Being white, I found it a scary film to watch. It certainly gave a voive to the anger of blacks against whites. But except for being one of the first films to really show that anger and having maybe the first portrayal of a threatening black male this film just wasn't that interesting.
Friday, September 24, 2010
The Last Wave. 1977. Directed by Peter Weir.
(3/17/01)
This was a very frustrating film for me to sit through. I really couldn't get an idea of what it was all about. It is about a lawyer who gets involved with defending a group of aborigines who are accused of killing a young man. He becomes drawn into their world and discovers something about his own identity and powers. At the end he is led into a secret chamber and reads a story on the walls which ends with an apocalypse. He finds his way back into the outside world and the film stops abruptly as he is confronted with a gigantic wave which is about to confront him.
So what is this all about? It beats me, really. The film seems like a low-budget horror film burdened by symbolism. The film begins with an odd occurrence of rain when there are no clouds. Water imagery abounds--there is black rain, a bathtub overflows, there is something about a car that I don't remember and then, of course, the last wave. So?
This actually threw me because as the film begins with rain and hail I assumed that that is where the story begins. But I was wrong. When we see the young man running with the sacred objects he has either seen or stolen I wasn't paying close attention because I didn't realize that this was the actual beginning of the narrative. And it took me a little while to catch up.
I didn't find this film so believable on a literal level. What the hell is a high-class corporate lawyer doing defending these aborigines on a murder charge? Even if he were doing it as an act of public service this kind of case is not his specialty, not his field. So that doesn't make sense. And I have a problem with the idea of a lawyer defending people who don't want to be defended. The aborigines do not want their story told in court and are prepared to take the consequences. And I feel that that should and would be respected by any sensible lawyer. So all that just didn't make sense to me. Perhaps I wouldn't have cared if I had understood the symbolism enough so that the literal narrative wasn't particularly important to me. (That's just a guess.)
I wasn't impressed with the performances--or perhaps it was just that the characters didn't interest me. I think that Richard Chamberlain is a name that I've heard, but I didn't find him interesting as the lawyer. Olivia Hammett as his wife just grated on me.
I don't know anything about Australian aborigines. They are not part of my life or background. Perhaps that is why their portrayal in this film didn't have much resonance for me. I can well believe that to an Australian audience these people and their culture were a little bit mysterious, a little bit exotic.
This film is about a man's discovery of himself, of who--and what--he really is. The protagonist is not just an ordinary man. He is something called a "Mubculan"--that's as near as I can spell it. He has something to do with these aborigines, a bond which he experiences first through dreams, then through his encounters with a wise old man known as Charlie. For me, the most memorable scene in the film is the one when he comes to see Charlie who questions him and asks him: "Who are you? Who are you?" over and over, more and more softly. It is a haunting moment.
Other than that I have no idea what this film is all about. I would find it interesting to read an explanation of it, but that is really more on account of its reputation than for any fascination I felt with the film itself.
This was a very frustrating film for me to sit through. I really couldn't get an idea of what it was all about. It is about a lawyer who gets involved with defending a group of aborigines who are accused of killing a young man. He becomes drawn into their world and discovers something about his own identity and powers. At the end he is led into a secret chamber and reads a story on the walls which ends with an apocalypse. He finds his way back into the outside world and the film stops abruptly as he is confronted with a gigantic wave which is about to confront him.
So what is this all about? It beats me, really. The film seems like a low-budget horror film burdened by symbolism. The film begins with an odd occurrence of rain when there are no clouds. Water imagery abounds--there is black rain, a bathtub overflows, there is something about a car that I don't remember and then, of course, the last wave. So?
This actually threw me because as the film begins with rain and hail I assumed that that is where the story begins. But I was wrong. When we see the young man running with the sacred objects he has either seen or stolen I wasn't paying close attention because I didn't realize that this was the actual beginning of the narrative. And it took me a little while to catch up.
I didn't find this film so believable on a literal level. What the hell is a high-class corporate lawyer doing defending these aborigines on a murder charge? Even if he were doing it as an act of public service this kind of case is not his specialty, not his field. So that doesn't make sense. And I have a problem with the idea of a lawyer defending people who don't want to be defended. The aborigines do not want their story told in court and are prepared to take the consequences. And I feel that that should and would be respected by any sensible lawyer. So all that just didn't make sense to me. Perhaps I wouldn't have cared if I had understood the symbolism enough so that the literal narrative wasn't particularly important to me. (That's just a guess.)
I wasn't impressed with the performances--or perhaps it was just that the characters didn't interest me. I think that Richard Chamberlain is a name that I've heard, but I didn't find him interesting as the lawyer. Olivia Hammett as his wife just grated on me.
I don't know anything about Australian aborigines. They are not part of my life or background. Perhaps that is why their portrayal in this film didn't have much resonance for me. I can well believe that to an Australian audience these people and their culture were a little bit mysterious, a little bit exotic.
This film is about a man's discovery of himself, of who--and what--he really is. The protagonist is not just an ordinary man. He is something called a "Mubculan"--that's as near as I can spell it. He has something to do with these aborigines, a bond which he experiences first through dreams, then through his encounters with a wise old man known as Charlie. For me, the most memorable scene in the film is the one when he comes to see Charlie who questions him and asks him: "Who are you? Who are you?" over and over, more and more softly. It is a haunting moment.
Other than that I have no idea what this film is all about. I would find it interesting to read an explanation of it, but that is really more on account of its reputation than for any fascination I felt with the film itself.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Dark. 1973-74. Directed by Paul Winkler.
(3/13/01-3/16/01)
I really liked this one. Paul Winkler's film is about Australian aborigines. He contrasts footage of a contemporary aborigine political demonstration with images of the past. The contemporary footage was all shot in broad daylight; the images of the past are surrounded by black or set against a black background. So the present is full of light while the past is surrounded by darkness.
All of the imagery is permeated by motion. The footage of the political demonstration is packed with fast pans and what looks like quick zooming in and out. But the zooms are so much faster than a camera could do that I suspect they were made differently than zooming with the camera--probably through re-photography. The imagery of the past likewise has a charging, pulsating quality and the images are shown multiple times at once, a la Andy Warhol. This driving motion seems to accelerate as the film proceeds.
The program note identifies the "images of the past" as "primitive cave drawings, the sacred Ayers Rock and, most particularly, the head of an old aborigine warrior." I was aware of the cave drawings only at the beginning; otherwise the only image I could discern was the head of the warrior. I didn't recognize the Ayers Rock at all. Some of the imagery looked completely abstract as in the manner of a lot of Brakhage's work of the 1970s. It was footage of something, but what that something was was undiscernable.
A lot of this film reminded me of Ed Emshwiller's Relativity, although I barely remember that film. I think it would be very interesting to see the two of them together.
The film had what appeared to be an electronic soundtrack. It had a modern industrial quality to it. It really seemed to work in this film. It was like it emphasized the modern aspect of the film--that even though it reaches back in time as far as its subject is concerned it is still rooted in a modern perspective or views that subject through a modern prism.
I think that this film is more enjoyable for its style than for its subject matter. In fact, I think that the motion and manipulation of the imagery tend to move one's awareness away from what is happening. I mean this with regard to the contemporary footage. I became aware of this in a scene where policemen (or military personnel) were beating up one of the demonstrators. I suddenly realized that up until this point I had only been vaguely aware of what had been going on. Yes, I knew it was a demonstration, but I was more interested in the pulsating rhythms of what seemed like camera movement but really wasn't.
I really liked this one. Paul Winkler's film is about Australian aborigines. He contrasts footage of a contemporary aborigine political demonstration with images of the past. The contemporary footage was all shot in broad daylight; the images of the past are surrounded by black or set against a black background. So the present is full of light while the past is surrounded by darkness.
All of the imagery is permeated by motion. The footage of the political demonstration is packed with fast pans and what looks like quick zooming in and out. But the zooms are so much faster than a camera could do that I suspect they were made differently than zooming with the camera--probably through re-photography. The imagery of the past likewise has a charging, pulsating quality and the images are shown multiple times at once, a la Andy Warhol. This driving motion seems to accelerate as the film proceeds.
The program note identifies the "images of the past" as "primitive cave drawings, the sacred Ayers Rock and, most particularly, the head of an old aborigine warrior." I was aware of the cave drawings only at the beginning; otherwise the only image I could discern was the head of the warrior. I didn't recognize the Ayers Rock at all. Some of the imagery looked completely abstract as in the manner of a lot of Brakhage's work of the 1970s. It was footage of something, but what that something was was undiscernable.
A lot of this film reminded me of Ed Emshwiller's Relativity, although I barely remember that film. I think it would be very interesting to see the two of them together.
The film had what appeared to be an electronic soundtrack. It had a modern industrial quality to it. It really seemed to work in this film. It was like it emphasized the modern aspect of the film--that even though it reaches back in time as far as its subject is concerned it is still rooted in a modern perspective or views that subject through a modern prism.
I think that this film is more enjoyable for its style than for its subject matter. In fact, I think that the motion and manipulation of the imagery tend to move one's awareness away from what is happening. I mean this with regard to the contemporary footage. I became aware of this in a scene where policemen (or military personnel) were beating up one of the demonstrators. I suddenly realized that up until this point I had only been vaguely aware of what had been going on. Yes, I knew it was a demonstration, but I was more interested in the pulsating rhythms of what seemed like camera movement but really wasn't.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Landscape. 2000. Directed by Martin Sulik.
(3/13/01)
This film didn't make much of an impression on me. It is mostly a series of anecdotes reflecting on Slovakia's troubled history. I will say, though, that the picture gained in power towards the end.
I didn't like Martin Sulik's sense of humor. Towards the beginning there is a scene where a child is dying from choking. The father makes a mad dash to find a doctor. (This is shown in speeded-up motion.) On the way, he stops to order a coffin. A man wears his jacket backwards as he rides his bicycle. He is hit by a car. The police find him and note that he is still breathing, but think that his head has been twisted. They twist it back. He isn't breathing any more. Other people in the audience laughed heartily at scenes like this; I didn't.
The film has a feel of folklore about it--of stories that have been told and repeated. It has a feel to it that reminded me of Jerzy Kosinski's The Painted Bird, although I can't quite identify what brings that comparison to mind.
Some of the best scenes occur towards the end, as I said. There is a poignant, haunting sequence where a woman returns for a visit after being away for thirty years and meets a woman she had known when she was much younger. The woman brings her home and they spend the night together as old friends. The woman who has been away admires the other woman's hair. She shows her how she cuts it every ten years and keeps it in a drawer. As the other woman sleeps she cuts her hair and gives it to her the next day as a gift.
The next day the two women go to a tree where the woman who moved believed she had carved her initials many years before. The two women search and climb the tree, but there is no trace of the initials. They leave, deciding that the bark of the tree has overgrown the initials, but a narrator informs us that the tree on which the woman had carved her initials had been chopped down. It wasn't the same tree.
At the end of the film a boy's father disappears. He searches for him and finds him dead in the snow. (I believe he died around railroad tracks.) This sequence was beautifully photographed amidst stark, snowy landscapes.
For me, the most haunting scene of all is the one in which the verger goes through a cemetery on his way home and comes across a man whom he had known many years before. The man is a Jew who had been taken away during the holocaust. I forget what this man tells the verger. He is searching to find out what happened to his wife or something like that. A moment or so later the verger turns to look at him and he has disappeared, suggesting that he was a spirit rather than a living person. That scene really worked.
There was an interesting use of color. Some scenes were very highly saturated. In particular, some scenes were very yellow or golden brown.
This film didn't make much of an impression on me. It is mostly a series of anecdotes reflecting on Slovakia's troubled history. I will say, though, that the picture gained in power towards the end.
I didn't like Martin Sulik's sense of humor. Towards the beginning there is a scene where a child is dying from choking. The father makes a mad dash to find a doctor. (This is shown in speeded-up motion.) On the way, he stops to order a coffin. A man wears his jacket backwards as he rides his bicycle. He is hit by a car. The police find him and note that he is still breathing, but think that his head has been twisted. They twist it back. He isn't breathing any more. Other people in the audience laughed heartily at scenes like this; I didn't.
The film has a feel of folklore about it--of stories that have been told and repeated. It has a feel to it that reminded me of Jerzy Kosinski's The Painted Bird, although I can't quite identify what brings that comparison to mind.
Some of the best scenes occur towards the end, as I said. There is a poignant, haunting sequence where a woman returns for a visit after being away for thirty years and meets a woman she had known when she was much younger. The woman brings her home and they spend the night together as old friends. The woman who has been away admires the other woman's hair. She shows her how she cuts it every ten years and keeps it in a drawer. As the other woman sleeps she cuts her hair and gives it to her the next day as a gift.
The next day the two women go to a tree where the woman who moved believed she had carved her initials many years before. The two women search and climb the tree, but there is no trace of the initials. They leave, deciding that the bark of the tree has overgrown the initials, but a narrator informs us that the tree on which the woman had carved her initials had been chopped down. It wasn't the same tree.
At the end of the film a boy's father disappears. He searches for him and finds him dead in the snow. (I believe he died around railroad tracks.) This sequence was beautifully photographed amidst stark, snowy landscapes.
For me, the most haunting scene of all is the one in which the verger goes through a cemetery on his way home and comes across a man whom he had known many years before. The man is a Jew who had been taken away during the holocaust. I forget what this man tells the verger. He is searching to find out what happened to his wife or something like that. A moment or so later the verger turns to look at him and he has disappeared, suggesting that he was a spirit rather than a living person. That scene really worked.
There was an interesting use of color. Some scenes were very highly saturated. In particular, some scenes were very yellow or golden brown.
The Earth Sings (Zem Spieva). 1933, reconstructed 1983. Directed and photographed by Karel Plicka.
(3/4/01)
This was a truly beautiful film to watch. It is about the people of Slovakia, their work, their games, their relationship to the land. It brims with stunning images of nature and it is a pleasure to sit through. However, there didn't seem to be a narrative or anything to hook and hold the viewer's attention, so I don't remember many specific details of it. The experience of watching this film is for me akin to listening to a fine piece of classical music--very enjoyable, but I don't remember specific details.
The film has, in fact, been likened to a symphony and is backed by a sumptuous score. The music reminded me of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. There was a lot of charal singing which suited the feel of the picture very well.
It is a very positive, very affirmative film. It shows a simple way of life and the people seem very satisfied with it. There are children and young people and some very old people. They wear beautiful costumes and a lot of the film seems like a pageant. What they have seems to be a very healthy way of life, yet I couldn't help but think that, for all their hard work, they seem basically like children.
The film had intertitles in Slovak which I couldn't read. (I didn't realize until later that a translation had been provided.) If I had been able to understand them I probably would have been able to follow the film better and remember more of it. One thing that bothered me a bit about the restoration was that the music was rerecorded. This caused an incongruity between the grainy old images and the fresh, crisp soundtrack. In other words, the picture showed signs of age, but the soundtrack didn't. This bothered me a bit, but after a while I accepted it.
While watching this film I had the sensation that I was seeing a beautiful example of film as art.
This was a truly beautiful film to watch. It is about the people of Slovakia, their work, their games, their relationship to the land. It brims with stunning images of nature and it is a pleasure to sit through. However, there didn't seem to be a narrative or anything to hook and hold the viewer's attention, so I don't remember many specific details of it. The experience of watching this film is for me akin to listening to a fine piece of classical music--very enjoyable, but I don't remember specific details.
The film has, in fact, been likened to a symphony and is backed by a sumptuous score. The music reminded me of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. There was a lot of charal singing which suited the feel of the picture very well.
It is a very positive, very affirmative film. It shows a simple way of life and the people seem very satisfied with it. There are children and young people and some very old people. They wear beautiful costumes and a lot of the film seems like a pageant. What they have seems to be a very healthy way of life, yet I couldn't help but think that, for all their hard work, they seem basically like children.
The film had intertitles in Slovak which I couldn't read. (I didn't realize until later that a translation had been provided.) If I had been able to understand them I probably would have been able to follow the film better and remember more of it. One thing that bothered me a bit about the restoration was that the music was rerecorded. This caused an incongruity between the grainy old images and the fresh, crisp soundtrack. In other words, the picture showed signs of age, but the soundtrack didn't. This bothered me a bit, but after a while I accepted it.
While watching this film I had the sensation that I was seeing a beautiful example of film as art.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Red Squad. 1972. By the Pacific Street Collective.
(2/22/01)
This is a feisty little cinema-verite picture. The basic idea is that the police (and possibly other "authorities") were covertly photographing and following and collecting information on people. So the filmmakers turned the tables on them and filmed and taped them. And the authorities didn't like it. And the film exposes them and their tactics. And it feels so good.
There are some great moments of encounters with cops. We see police questioning a young man sitting in his car or standing by it about his friends who are at that moment filming them. There are interviews with the parents of one of the filmmakers who have been questioned or interrogated by members of the "red squad." This was an obvious attempt at intimidation and it is wonderful seeing this middle-class couple backing up and supporting their son against the establishment in what look like "radical" activities.
This film explains the tactics used by the police. Taking photos of people at rallies or demonstrations, for example, is a way of intimidating people into not coming. Another is addressing people--who have presumably never seen them before--by their first names, implying that they are being watched and observed.
One thing that works very well in this film is the singling out of one person and making the audience very aware of him. The person they used was Detective John Finegan who becomes a name and a face that we remember. In effect he becomes the main character of the film. I would like to know something of what happened to him in the years after 1972.
So what is most enjoyable about this film is that the hunters become the hunted. I also liked the shots of a young Ed Koch expostulating about how abhorrent and unacceptable is the collecting of information on citizens.
The film flounders after a while. After we get beyond the scenes of the police being filmed without their cooperation the film becomes a lot less interesting. The last part is an interview with ablack man who infiltrated radical groups on behalf of the government. I found my attention waning. Interestingly enough, that interview is subtitled. Earlier in the film we hear a tape which was made surreptitiously of an encounter with police officers. That recording was barely audible. I wonder why it wasn't subtitled.
This is a feisty little cinema-verite picture. The basic idea is that the police (and possibly other "authorities") were covertly photographing and following and collecting information on people. So the filmmakers turned the tables on them and filmed and taped them. And the authorities didn't like it. And the film exposes them and their tactics. And it feels so good.
There are some great moments of encounters with cops. We see police questioning a young man sitting in his car or standing by it about his friends who are at that moment filming them. There are interviews with the parents of one of the filmmakers who have been questioned or interrogated by members of the "red squad." This was an obvious attempt at intimidation and it is wonderful seeing this middle-class couple backing up and supporting their son against the establishment in what look like "radical" activities.
This film explains the tactics used by the police. Taking photos of people at rallies or demonstrations, for example, is a way of intimidating people into not coming. Another is addressing people--who have presumably never seen them before--by their first names, implying that they are being watched and observed.
One thing that works very well in this film is the singling out of one person and making the audience very aware of him. The person they used was Detective John Finegan who becomes a name and a face that we remember. In effect he becomes the main character of the film. I would like to know something of what happened to him in the years after 1972.
So what is most enjoyable about this film is that the hunters become the hunted. I also liked the shots of a young Ed Koch expostulating about how abhorrent and unacceptable is the collecting of information on citizens.
The film flounders after a while. After we get beyond the scenes of the police being filmed without their cooperation the film becomes a lot less interesting. The last part is an interview with ablack man who infiltrated radical groups on behalf of the government. I found my attention waning. Interestingly enough, that interview is subtitled. Earlier in the film we hear a tape which was made surreptitiously of an encounter with police officers. That recording was barely audible. I wonder why it wasn't subtitled.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Underground. 1976. Directed by Emile de Antonio.
(2/20/01-2/22/01)
This film is a documentary about the Weather Underground, a terrorist group which was responsible for twenty-four bombings. It combines interviews and archival footage.
I was at a disadvantage seeing this film because I am not familiar with the Weather Underground or its activities. The film appears to presuppose a certain amount of knowledge on the part of the viewer which I did not have. I really was not clear as to what these people had done and why. They seemed to be a sort of American version of the Baader-Meinhof gang and while I was sympathetic to their views that something was very wrong with American society and that the federal government was at the root of the problem, I didn't feel--or think--that I wanted to embrace the kind of society that they wanted to impose on us or that I liked their idea that disruptive violence was the way to go.
We see and hear about the bombing of a building around New York's Washington Square, but I didn't understand what that was all about. Why did they do that--for what purpose? Did they warn people in advance so that they could get out? I need to know a lot more details about this action before I can feel anything about it.
Then there was the bombing of the Capitol in Washington. In this case, they did call in a warning so that people could get out. And I suppose that I am a little bit more sympathetic about bombing a government building than private property. But I still wonder what it was that the Weather Underground hoped to accomplish by this action.
It is kind of poignant, hearing members of this group speak of the U.S. government as an obstacle that they seemed sure they could eliminate. It is 25 years later and the government is still going strong.
I really liked the use of archival footage. The first part of the film really held my interest where you hear spoken comments of members of the group and see the footage depicting what they are talking about. That really worked for me. One interesting piece of footage depicted Fidel Castro. I was surprised at how feminine his voice sounded.
I suppose I liked the archival footage because of the different color textures. That was interesting to me just on a visual level.
In the first part of the film we hear comments by the Weather Underground members. These are probably from interviews, but we don't hear the questions being put to them. Later on, Emile de Antonio becomes part of the film, asking and probing. He asks them questions about their feelings, their backgrounds. That part of the film is interesting--though I suppose it would be more so if I knew something about the group and its activities. It puts a human face on the group. But then there is a section in which they discuss their feelings about being filmed and having cameras pointed at them. This part is kind of corny, yet it too is something of its time. De Antonio is admittedly on their side; thefilm does not attempt to take an objective stance. It is there to let these people present their point of view.
They come across not particularly as arrogant--though some oftheir views might seem so--but as down-to-earth and professional. Indeed, one of them describes them as "professional revolutionaries." They give me the impression of having "thought it through." But they certainly don't know everything.
They attack capitalism (and the government as a tool of capitalism) and say that wealth was not created by people like the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts, but by the workers and that the capitalists stole it from the people. Yeah, that sounds good, but the capitalist entrepreneurs did the mental work and did the integrations that in large measure created the wealth and made these people's livelihoods possible. It does seem grossly unfair to have the millionaires living so well and the low-level workers living in poverty, but it isn't a simple case of stealing the wealth from the people.
The film ends with a defense of communism. I was surprised by the articulate defense of communism as an idea or philosophy that emphasized our connectedness as human beings. The speaker says that he believes that it is our connection to the others around us that makes us truly human--something like that. I had never heard communism described quite that way. And even though I don't agree with what he was saying, he put it in such a way that I respected his views and felt that perhaps they were worth more consideration. But then he went and said that they were completely against individualism and I woke up in a flash.
This film is an interesting document of its time. The fact that it was clandestinely filmed in a "safe house" didn't have much of an impact on me. I found it interesting for a while, but I wasn't able to sustain that interest all the way through. I was fidgeting.
This film is a documentary about the Weather Underground, a terrorist group which was responsible for twenty-four bombings. It combines interviews and archival footage.
I was at a disadvantage seeing this film because I am not familiar with the Weather Underground or its activities. The film appears to presuppose a certain amount of knowledge on the part of the viewer which I did not have. I really was not clear as to what these people had done and why. They seemed to be a sort of American version of the Baader-Meinhof gang and while I was sympathetic to their views that something was very wrong with American society and that the federal government was at the root of the problem, I didn't feel--or think--that I wanted to embrace the kind of society that they wanted to impose on us or that I liked their idea that disruptive violence was the way to go.
We see and hear about the bombing of a building around New York's Washington Square, but I didn't understand what that was all about. Why did they do that--for what purpose? Did they warn people in advance so that they could get out? I need to know a lot more details about this action before I can feel anything about it.
Then there was the bombing of the Capitol in Washington. In this case, they did call in a warning so that people could get out. And I suppose that I am a little bit more sympathetic about bombing a government building than private property. But I still wonder what it was that the Weather Underground hoped to accomplish by this action.
It is kind of poignant, hearing members of this group speak of the U.S. government as an obstacle that they seemed sure they could eliminate. It is 25 years later and the government is still going strong.
I really liked the use of archival footage. The first part of the film really held my interest where you hear spoken comments of members of the group and see the footage depicting what they are talking about. That really worked for me. One interesting piece of footage depicted Fidel Castro. I was surprised at how feminine his voice sounded.
I suppose I liked the archival footage because of the different color textures. That was interesting to me just on a visual level.
In the first part of the film we hear comments by the Weather Underground members. These are probably from interviews, but we don't hear the questions being put to them. Later on, Emile de Antonio becomes part of the film, asking and probing. He asks them questions about their feelings, their backgrounds. That part of the film is interesting--though I suppose it would be more so if I knew something about the group and its activities. It puts a human face on the group. But then there is a section in which they discuss their feelings about being filmed and having cameras pointed at them. This part is kind of corny, yet it too is something of its time. De Antonio is admittedly on their side; thefilm does not attempt to take an objective stance. It is there to let these people present their point of view.
They come across not particularly as arrogant--though some oftheir views might seem so--but as down-to-earth and professional. Indeed, one of them describes them as "professional revolutionaries." They give me the impression of having "thought it through." But they certainly don't know everything.
They attack capitalism (and the government as a tool of capitalism) and say that wealth was not created by people like the Rockefellers and the Vanderbilts, but by the workers and that the capitalists stole it from the people. Yeah, that sounds good, but the capitalist entrepreneurs did the mental work and did the integrations that in large measure created the wealth and made these people's livelihoods possible. It does seem grossly unfair to have the millionaires living so well and the low-level workers living in poverty, but it isn't a simple case of stealing the wealth from the people.
The film ends with a defense of communism. I was surprised by the articulate defense of communism as an idea or philosophy that emphasized our connectedness as human beings. The speaker says that he believes that it is our connection to the others around us that makes us truly human--something like that. I had never heard communism described quite that way. And even though I don't agree with what he was saying, he put it in such a way that I respected his views and felt that perhaps they were worth more consideration. But then he went and said that they were completely against individualism and I woke up in a flash.
This film is an interesting document of its time. The fact that it was clandestinely filmed in a "safe house" didn't have much of an impact on me. I found it interesting for a while, but I wasn't able to sustain that interest all the way through. I was fidgeting.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
M*A*S*H. 1970. Directed by Robert Altman.
(2/16/01-2/20/01)
I wasn't particularly excited about seeing M*A*S*H and I didn't much connect with it. I'm generally not interested in anything to do with the military.
The film is episodic in nature; it has a loose structure. (It is certainly not as loose as Bunuel's The Phantom of Liberty.) The problem here is that not all the episodes work equally well and when they don't they don't have the overall structure of the film to fall back on. I'm thinking in particular of that long, tedious football game at the end that sort of comes out of nowhere. Now, I don't like or understand football so it might have seemed worse to me than it did to someone else.
The set pieces can seem forced, such as the parody of the Last Supper with the guy who wants to commit suicide and who lays down in a coffin and also Hawkeye's and Trapper John's trip to Japan where they have been asked to come and perform an operation, but where they seem to take delight in antagonizing just about everybody and thumbing their noses at rules and procedures.
Robert Altman was considered such an innovative director back in the 1970s. His work had an unpredictable quality to it. He took chances--and they didn't always come off. M*A*S*H was his first big picture and that quality of freshness probably moved the original audiences.
The scene that made the biggest impression on me was when Major Burns and Major O'Houlihan are having a sexual interlude and somebody slips in a microphone and broadcasts their doings to the whole base, showing them up as hypocrites and earning Major O'Houlihan the nickname "Hot Lips." Major Burns is constantly making a show of religion and O'Houlihan is a strictly "by-the-book" officer, oblivious to the realities of the situation.
Sally Kellerman's Major O'Houlihan is a memorable character and her rigidness makes her an appropriate butt of jokes. In another scene, guys are arguing about something about her (I forget what) and they have to see her naked to settle the dispute. They arrange to have the building collapse around her while she is taking a shower. A whole group of people (I forget whether they are exclusively male) come and take seats outside the building like an audience. O'Houlihan, in hysterics, goes to Colonel Bates and threatens to resign her commission. "OK. Resign," he says indifferently. Interestingly enough, Colonel Bates is in bed with a woman at the time.
It is easy enough to laugh at O'Houlihan, but she does stand for some kind of order and without order there would be chaos. The need to impose some rules is necessary, as much on a military base (M*A*S*H) as in a girl's boarding school (Madchen in Uniform). Yet, order is equated with "authority" and "authority figures" and it is these people who have created the combat situation that people like Hawkeye and Trapper John have to cope with.
There is a lot of sex going on at the military base, mostly among people who are married. I think that this is pointing out the disruptions in family life caused by the war. So I can certainly understand the tendency to not respect the authority figures.
The operating room scenes are just grusome enough to bring home the pressures that the medical personnel live with. There are a few sickening moments, but the film doesn't dwell on them. And there is that awful, poignant scene where a doctor asks a young assistant for a hypodermic needle. He has trouble finding it and returns (I think) with the wrong kind. The doctor tells him that he was too late and tells him, "You killed him." The youth turns away with a look of real agony on his face. The doctor was horribly insensitive; maybe it was understandable given the circumstances. It is the most poignant moment in the film.
So a lot of the acting up is understandable, but that doesn't really excuse it all. When Hawkeye and Trapper John are summoned to perform an operation in Japan they seem to have a great time disrupting all procedures just for the fun of it. And I didn't find it fun to see them come in, take over and refuse to tell anyone who they were or why they were there. Other people had jobs to do there and those jobs, too, were important. They redeemed themselves a little by forcing the powers that be to allow them to perform necessary surgery on a pregnant woman, an act of humanity. This raises hackles with the people in charge, probably because they had been so inconsiderate up to that point.
It was great seeing Roger Bowen as Colonel Bates. He reminded me so much of Captain Binghamton on the McHale's Navy TV show.
M*A*S*H has a very interesting soundtrack, another quality we associate with Robert Altman. There are scenes with multiple people talking at once. The base broadcasts a Japanese radio station over the loudspeaker and we hear things like "My Blue Heaven" sung in Japanese. That loudspeaker also broadcasts information about the movies to be shown on the base and at the end it announces a showing of the movie M*A*S*H and continues with the credits of the movie istead of written end-credits. I really liked that touch.
I wasn't particularly excited about seeing M*A*S*H and I didn't much connect with it. I'm generally not interested in anything to do with the military.
The film is episodic in nature; it has a loose structure. (It is certainly not as loose as Bunuel's The Phantom of Liberty.) The problem here is that not all the episodes work equally well and when they don't they don't have the overall structure of the film to fall back on. I'm thinking in particular of that long, tedious football game at the end that sort of comes out of nowhere. Now, I don't like or understand football so it might have seemed worse to me than it did to someone else.
The set pieces can seem forced, such as the parody of the Last Supper with the guy who wants to commit suicide and who lays down in a coffin and also Hawkeye's and Trapper John's trip to Japan where they have been asked to come and perform an operation, but where they seem to take delight in antagonizing just about everybody and thumbing their noses at rules and procedures.
Robert Altman was considered such an innovative director back in the 1970s. His work had an unpredictable quality to it. He took chances--and they didn't always come off. M*A*S*H was his first big picture and that quality of freshness probably moved the original audiences.
The scene that made the biggest impression on me was when Major Burns and Major O'Houlihan are having a sexual interlude and somebody slips in a microphone and broadcasts their doings to the whole base, showing them up as hypocrites and earning Major O'Houlihan the nickname "Hot Lips." Major Burns is constantly making a show of religion and O'Houlihan is a strictly "by-the-book" officer, oblivious to the realities of the situation.
Sally Kellerman's Major O'Houlihan is a memorable character and her rigidness makes her an appropriate butt of jokes. In another scene, guys are arguing about something about her (I forget what) and they have to see her naked to settle the dispute. They arrange to have the building collapse around her while she is taking a shower. A whole group of people (I forget whether they are exclusively male) come and take seats outside the building like an audience. O'Houlihan, in hysterics, goes to Colonel Bates and threatens to resign her commission. "OK. Resign," he says indifferently. Interestingly enough, Colonel Bates is in bed with a woman at the time.
It is easy enough to laugh at O'Houlihan, but she does stand for some kind of order and without order there would be chaos. The need to impose some rules is necessary, as much on a military base (M*A*S*H) as in a girl's boarding school (Madchen in Uniform). Yet, order is equated with "authority" and "authority figures" and it is these people who have created the combat situation that people like Hawkeye and Trapper John have to cope with.
There is a lot of sex going on at the military base, mostly among people who are married. I think that this is pointing out the disruptions in family life caused by the war. So I can certainly understand the tendency to not respect the authority figures.
The operating room scenes are just grusome enough to bring home the pressures that the medical personnel live with. There are a few sickening moments, but the film doesn't dwell on them. And there is that awful, poignant scene where a doctor asks a young assistant for a hypodermic needle. He has trouble finding it and returns (I think) with the wrong kind. The doctor tells him that he was too late and tells him, "You killed him." The youth turns away with a look of real agony on his face. The doctor was horribly insensitive; maybe it was understandable given the circumstances. It is the most poignant moment in the film.
So a lot of the acting up is understandable, but that doesn't really excuse it all. When Hawkeye and Trapper John are summoned to perform an operation in Japan they seem to have a great time disrupting all procedures just for the fun of it. And I didn't find it fun to see them come in, take over and refuse to tell anyone who they were or why they were there. Other people had jobs to do there and those jobs, too, were important. They redeemed themselves a little by forcing the powers that be to allow them to perform necessary surgery on a pregnant woman, an act of humanity. This raises hackles with the people in charge, probably because they had been so inconsiderate up to that point.
It was great seeing Roger Bowen as Colonel Bates. He reminded me so much of Captain Binghamton on the McHale's Navy TV show.
M*A*S*H has a very interesting soundtrack, another quality we associate with Robert Altman. There are scenes with multiple people talking at once. The base broadcasts a Japanese radio station over the loudspeaker and we hear things like "My Blue Heaven" sung in Japanese. That loudspeaker also broadcasts information about the movies to be shown on the base and at the end it announces a showing of the movie M*A*S*H and continues with the credits of the movie istead of written end-credits. I really liked that touch.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
23rd Psalm Branch (Parts I and II). 1966-67 (shot in 8mm); re-edited in 1979 (shown in 16mm). By Stan Brakhage.
(2/8/01)
It is quite an experience to sit through this 8mm film blown up to 16mm. It is like watching something secret and hidden brought up to the light. It doesn't suffer; it looks pretty good in the larger format. A lot of it seems very dark and I wondered if that was due to being blown up, but there are other shots which look fine so I doubt that the enlargement was the reason.
This film has a very dense structure--or a very dense texture. It is not accessible. This is the third time that I have seen it (twice in 16mm; once in 8mm) and from seeing it and reading about it in R. Bruce Elder's book on Brakhage I am just beginning to really see some of it and to understand what it means. For example, I caught one image of a scene of war in a work of art--maybe a piece of erotic pottery--and understood that Brakhage is talking about the artist bearing some responsibility for war by celebrating it in art. (I didn't see the Lichtenstein painting of a gun which was supposed to be pointed at Brakhage's head.)
I recognized the poet Louis Zukofsky--but only because I had been told that he was there. In a sense this film has a home movie quality to it in that there are things you have to know to fully appreciate and experience it which are not identified to what you could call outsiders. Like a home movie it can only be really experienced by insiders.
The film is about war--specifically, how images of the Vietnam war made their way into Brakhage's world. So the film begins with very swift pans around his Colorado environment and then the film gives us images of war culled from old films. The image of Adolph Hitler was especially noticeable. This old footage--and the first thing you think of is newsreel footage--just seems to go on forever. I do understand that it is Brakhage's personal anguish when he writes, "Take back Beethoven's ninth, then, he said." Personally, I think it is too much to expect from art to lift mankind to a state where war no longer happens.
The second part of the film is about Europe, mainly Vienna. I have never been able to understand what this has to do with the first part. I just can't make the connection. Filmmaker Peter Kubelka is to be seen in this part, but, like Louis Zukofsky, I only know that because I read it. It is another home-movie element.
The images of Kubelka and Zukofsky don't mean very much to me, probably because I never knew them personally. If they had actually been part of my life in a personal sense--instead of knowing them through their work--their images in this film might have meant more to me.
The film ends with a Coda in which children play with sparklers. This couold refer to the roots of aggression in childhood, but I don't see the sparklers as aggressive or warlike. I think the children are attracted to them simply because of their visual appeal.
Brakhage's 23rd Psalm Branch is a very personal film that had a lot of meaning for Brakhage and seems to have a lot for those who are able to really see it and connect with it. I have not been able to accomplish this feat, but I feel that I have seen a little more than I did last time. Is it worth the effort that this requires? I can't say, but the film's reputation motivates me to continue the attempt.
It is quite an experience to sit through this 8mm film blown up to 16mm. It is like watching something secret and hidden brought up to the light. It doesn't suffer; it looks pretty good in the larger format. A lot of it seems very dark and I wondered if that was due to being blown up, but there are other shots which look fine so I doubt that the enlargement was the reason.
This film has a very dense structure--or a very dense texture. It is not accessible. This is the third time that I have seen it (twice in 16mm; once in 8mm) and from seeing it and reading about it in R. Bruce Elder's book on Brakhage I am just beginning to really see some of it and to understand what it means. For example, I caught one image of a scene of war in a work of art--maybe a piece of erotic pottery--and understood that Brakhage is talking about the artist bearing some responsibility for war by celebrating it in art. (I didn't see the Lichtenstein painting of a gun which was supposed to be pointed at Brakhage's head.)
I recognized the poet Louis Zukofsky--but only because I had been told that he was there. In a sense this film has a home movie quality to it in that there are things you have to know to fully appreciate and experience it which are not identified to what you could call outsiders. Like a home movie it can only be really experienced by insiders.
The film is about war--specifically, how images of the Vietnam war made their way into Brakhage's world. So the film begins with very swift pans around his Colorado environment and then the film gives us images of war culled from old films. The image of Adolph Hitler was especially noticeable. This old footage--and the first thing you think of is newsreel footage--just seems to go on forever. I do understand that it is Brakhage's personal anguish when he writes, "Take back Beethoven's ninth, then, he said." Personally, I think it is too much to expect from art to lift mankind to a state where war no longer happens.
The second part of the film is about Europe, mainly Vienna. I have never been able to understand what this has to do with the first part. I just can't make the connection. Filmmaker Peter Kubelka is to be seen in this part, but, like Louis Zukofsky, I only know that because I read it. It is another home-movie element.
The images of Kubelka and Zukofsky don't mean very much to me, probably because I never knew them personally. If they had actually been part of my life in a personal sense--instead of knowing them through their work--their images in this film might have meant more to me.
The film ends with a Coda in which children play with sparklers. This couold refer to the roots of aggression in childhood, but I don't see the sparklers as aggressive or warlike. I think the children are attracted to them simply because of their visual appeal.
Brakhage's 23rd Psalm Branch is a very personal film that had a lot of meaning for Brakhage and seems to have a lot for those who are able to really see it and connect with it. I have not been able to accomplish this feat, but I feel that I have seen a little more than I did last time. Is it worth the effort that this requires? I can't say, but the film's reputation motivates me to continue the attempt.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The Man Who Laughs. 1928. Directed by Paul Leni.
(2/8/01)
The Man Who Laughs was Paul Leni's second film for Universal and was a much more elaborate film tha The Cat and the Canary which it followed. It is curious that it is not as well known--at least as far as I am aware.
Based on a text by Victor Hugo it is a story of cruelty. A young boy is mutilated by having his face carved with a perpetual grin. This was done as a revenge against his father who defied King James I of England. Later, Queen Anne restores him to his father's rank, but orders him to marry the woman who had inherited the estate which would have been his as a cruel joke.
The child is given to gypsies who leave him at the dock as they sail away, having been exiled. This scene of the abandonment of a mutilated little boy is horrible.
The film has some interesting parallels and contrasts. The scene at the beginning where the little boy is left on the dock is paralleled and in a sense completed at the end when he manages to escape from the queen's soldiers (or whoever they are) and join his family who have been exiled from England.
The life of Southwark Fair is contrasted with the stilted court of Queen Anne. And Gwynplaine, the Man Who Laughs, is contrasted with the evil jester who likewise wears a fictitious smile.
Then there is the contrast between good-girl Mary Philbin and bad-girl Olga Baclanova. What I find interesting is that during the first half of the film Philbin seems rather lifeless and Baclanova is full of vitality, but after Gwynplaine is captured Philbin becomes much more interesting. Her eyes in particular are so haunting and we really come to feel for her. At least I did.
The first shot of Baclanova's character is really interesting--and erotic. Through a keyhole we see her legs stepping into a bath. Later we actually see her butt. That was pretty unusual for a 1928 movie. She exudes a perverse sexuality in her scenes with Conrad Veidt (Gwynplaine)--aroused by him because of his deformity. She really comes on strong and is fascinating to watch.
I was surprised by the characterization of Queen Anne as such a heartless woman. I had never thought of Queen Anne as a bitch. (Wawsn't she called "Good Queen Anne"?) I don't think that is how she is viewed in the popular imagination, so seeing her like that was quite jarring.
The whole pace of the film seems tochange at the end and it turns into an action picture. I was surprised by this because I had expected the situation between Gwynplaine and Queen Anne to be resolved, possibly by him making an impassioned plea for his freedom. But the escape where Gwynplaine is reunited with his beloved is very enjoyable. I especially liked the dog jumping out of the boat and swimming back to the dock to menace one of the pursuing soldiers.
I do want to mention that Conrad Veidt was so touching as Gwynplaine. His sad eyes were so touching, showing such hurt above that omnipresent grin. (A lot of the time he covered his mouth, making himself look like a bandit.)
Alas, the situation between Gwynplaine and the blind girl isn't worked out. At first he resists returning her love because he is deformed. Then, after they are separated, that all seems to be forgotten and we don't hear anymore about it. The issue is never resolved.
The Man Who Laughs was Paul Leni's second film for Universal and was a much more elaborate film tha The Cat and the Canary which it followed. It is curious that it is not as well known--at least as far as I am aware.
Based on a text by Victor Hugo it is a story of cruelty. A young boy is mutilated by having his face carved with a perpetual grin. This was done as a revenge against his father who defied King James I of England. Later, Queen Anne restores him to his father's rank, but orders him to marry the woman who had inherited the estate which would have been his as a cruel joke.
The child is given to gypsies who leave him at the dock as they sail away, having been exiled. This scene of the abandonment of a mutilated little boy is horrible.
The film has some interesting parallels and contrasts. The scene at the beginning where the little boy is left on the dock is paralleled and in a sense completed at the end when he manages to escape from the queen's soldiers (or whoever they are) and join his family who have been exiled from England.
The life of Southwark Fair is contrasted with the stilted court of Queen Anne. And Gwynplaine, the Man Who Laughs, is contrasted with the evil jester who likewise wears a fictitious smile.
Then there is the contrast between good-girl Mary Philbin and bad-girl Olga Baclanova. What I find interesting is that during the first half of the film Philbin seems rather lifeless and Baclanova is full of vitality, but after Gwynplaine is captured Philbin becomes much more interesting. Her eyes in particular are so haunting and we really come to feel for her. At least I did.
The first shot of Baclanova's character is really interesting--and erotic. Through a keyhole we see her legs stepping into a bath. Later we actually see her butt. That was pretty unusual for a 1928 movie. She exudes a perverse sexuality in her scenes with Conrad Veidt (Gwynplaine)--aroused by him because of his deformity. She really comes on strong and is fascinating to watch.
I was surprised by the characterization of Queen Anne as such a heartless woman. I had never thought of Queen Anne as a bitch. (Wawsn't she called "Good Queen Anne"?) I don't think that is how she is viewed in the popular imagination, so seeing her like that was quite jarring.
The whole pace of the film seems tochange at the end and it turns into an action picture. I was surprised by this because I had expected the situation between Gwynplaine and Queen Anne to be resolved, possibly by him making an impassioned plea for his freedom. But the escape where Gwynplaine is reunited with his beloved is very enjoyable. I especially liked the dog jumping out of the boat and swimming back to the dock to menace one of the pursuing soldiers.
I do want to mention that Conrad Veidt was so touching as Gwynplaine. His sad eyes were so touching, showing such hurt above that omnipresent grin. (A lot of the time he covered his mouth, making himself look like a bandit.)
Alas, the situation between Gwynplaine and the blind girl isn't worked out. At first he resists returning her love because he is deformed. Then, after they are separated, that all seems to be forgotten and we don't hear anymore about it. The issue is never resolved.
Get Carter. 1971. Directed by Mike Hodges.
(2/5/01)
I saw this film almost a month ago (January 15) and just hadn't gotten around to writing about it. It's a mean, tough movie about a man involved in the underworld who believes his brother has been murdered and comes to find the killers.
What he discovers is that his niece--the brother's daughter--had been involved in the making of a porn film. The brother had discovered this, made trouble and been murdered in consequence. Carter learns the truth, kills those involved (or has some of them kill each other, according to the program note) and is himself killed at the end.
Get Carter is certainly dated. That's not necessarily a bad thing--it has the flavor of its time. There is a scene at a disco which locates the film in time. There is the kind of explicit love scenes (or sex scenes) that were so prevalent in those days. And then there is that fascination with pornography which was also an aspect of the time. When we first see Jack Carter he is with a group of his colleagues watching sexually explicit slides--of all things. Carter makes an erotic phone call to a girl friend played by Britt Ekland and there is some raunchy humor including (to the best of my recollection) men deprived of their clothes being seen by a parade of schoolgirls.
Michael Caine is fascinating to watch as Carter. He is impeccably dressed, well-mannered, soft-spoken--and then suddenly there is this raw brutality. He reminds me of James Bond, especially in his Roger Moore incarnation, although Moore seems more upper-class than Michael Caine, especially when we see him in the industrial milieu he comes from.
It's a very unpleasant revenge film and it left a bad taste in my mouth. I especially remembered the ending in which Carter lets the man who (I think) did the actual killing of his brother run from him until he is exhausted and can't run any more. Then he forces him to drink a whole bottle of whiskey and smashes his head with a blunt instrument. At the beginning of the film the act of avenging the brother seems just, but Carter doesn't seem just in that scene. It is like his anger or hatred has taken him over and turned him into something inhuman. What he did to that man didn't seem right--or didn't feel right--and I was glad when he was shot down right afterwards.
The film was also interesting as a picture of a rough industrial area. The print was hard to hear and I missed a lot of the dialogue and consequently had a hard time following it.
I saw this film almost a month ago (January 15) and just hadn't gotten around to writing about it. It's a mean, tough movie about a man involved in the underworld who believes his brother has been murdered and comes to find the killers.
What he discovers is that his niece--the brother's daughter--had been involved in the making of a porn film. The brother had discovered this, made trouble and been murdered in consequence. Carter learns the truth, kills those involved (or has some of them kill each other, according to the program note) and is himself killed at the end.
Get Carter is certainly dated. That's not necessarily a bad thing--it has the flavor of its time. There is a scene at a disco which locates the film in time. There is the kind of explicit love scenes (or sex scenes) that were so prevalent in those days. And then there is that fascination with pornography which was also an aspect of the time. When we first see Jack Carter he is with a group of his colleagues watching sexually explicit slides--of all things. Carter makes an erotic phone call to a girl friend played by Britt Ekland and there is some raunchy humor including (to the best of my recollection) men deprived of their clothes being seen by a parade of schoolgirls.
Michael Caine is fascinating to watch as Carter. He is impeccably dressed, well-mannered, soft-spoken--and then suddenly there is this raw brutality. He reminds me of James Bond, especially in his Roger Moore incarnation, although Moore seems more upper-class than Michael Caine, especially when we see him in the industrial milieu he comes from.
It's a very unpleasant revenge film and it left a bad taste in my mouth. I especially remembered the ending in which Carter lets the man who (I think) did the actual killing of his brother run from him until he is exhausted and can't run any more. Then he forces him to drink a whole bottle of whiskey and smashes his head with a blunt instrument. At the beginning of the film the act of avenging the brother seems just, but Carter doesn't seem just in that scene. It is like his anger or hatred has taken him over and turned him into something inhuman. What he did to that man didn't seem right--or didn't feel right--and I was glad when he was shot down right afterwards.
The film was also interesting as a picture of a rough industrial area. The print was hard to hear and I missed a lot of the dialogue and consequently had a hard time following it.
Crossroads. 1976. By Bruce Conner.
(1/30/01)
Crossroads is comprised of footage of the first underwater atomic bomb test. The explosion is shown sequentially from different viewpoints. Evidently we are left with a shot in which the cloud disperses to the end that there is only a haze and in the foreground there is a silhouette of a ship at the left of the frame.
It is interesting how the mood of this film changes. It is quite startling to see the explosion coming up out of the water for the first time. As time goes on I became more aware of the beauty--yes, the beauty!--of the atomic cloud as it majestically disperses, as it rolls out over the area. The cloud looks like a strange exotic plant--or tree.
I wonder about all of those ships in the area. Were they safe during the test? I suppose they were there deliberately. In one shot we see an airplane flying into the cloud. I wonder what the consequences were. Did the pilot feel effects years later?
The soundtrack changes duringthe film. During the first part we hear a roar which seems to have something to do with the explosion. It reinforces the sense of the explosion. But then the soundtrack changes and we hear this bland, innocuous music. Why? What is the point? Is the film pointing up how we have come to accept the horror of the presence of the atomic bomb in our lives?
I think that the atomic bomb was something which changed human history. It was like a milestone and that is the event that this film is about. But as I write this I wonder if that "it was a milestone" interpretation of the bomb might be an oversimplification. Perhaps man's ability to destroy was something that grew by degrees and the atom bomb was more of an emblem than a genuine milestone.
Crossroads is comprised of footage of the first underwater atomic bomb test. The explosion is shown sequentially from different viewpoints. Evidently we are left with a shot in which the cloud disperses to the end that there is only a haze and in the foreground there is a silhouette of a ship at the left of the frame.
It is interesting how the mood of this film changes. It is quite startling to see the explosion coming up out of the water for the first time. As time goes on I became more aware of the beauty--yes, the beauty!--of the atomic cloud as it majestically disperses, as it rolls out over the area. The cloud looks like a strange exotic plant--or tree.
I wonder about all of those ships in the area. Were they safe during the test? I suppose they were there deliberately. In one shot we see an airplane flying into the cloud. I wonder what the consequences were. Did the pilot feel effects years later?
The soundtrack changes duringthe film. During the first part we hear a roar which seems to have something to do with the explosion. It reinforces the sense of the explosion. But then the soundtrack changes and we hear this bland, innocuous music. Why? What is the point? Is the film pointing up how we have come to accept the horror of the presence of the atomic bomb in our lives?
I think that the atomic bomb was something which changed human history. It was like a milestone and that is the event that this film is about. But as I write this I wonder if that "it was a milestone" interpretation of the bomb might be an oversimplification. Perhaps man's ability to destroy was something that grew by degrees and the atom bomb was more of an emblem than a genuine milestone.
Black Rainbow. 1988. Directed by Mike Hodges.
(1/29/01)
This film is strikingly similar to Night Has a Thousand Eyes, which I haven't seen in many years. It is about a phony spiritualist who starts to genuinely see disturbing events in the future.
I love watching Rosanna Arquette. I saw her some years ago in a film called Open All Night and in both cases I really responded to her. I waould definitely like to see more of her films from around this time. She has a presence and a sex appeal that really grab me. And of course it is a pleasure to watch a fine actor like Jason Robards.
I didn't really care for the film as a whole. Arquette sees into the future of a criminal conspiracy and this endangers her. But the conspiracy is not explained well; I was confused about what was going on.
The whole last part of the film is very confusing. Martha goes unconscious or into a trance and appears as an apparition. A killer sent to eliminate her sees the apparition, shoots at it and kills her father instead. Ten years later the reporter who had been involved with her tracks her down, but she won't talk to him and when pictures he takes of her are developed there is no image of her. So we are left to ponder what it all means.
I think that one point of all this is that by faking being a medium Martha inadvertently draws these events to her. It's sort of like the stories of people who have played with Ouija boards and have contacted something. It was like she invited the visions which came to her.
The great moment, the one moment I remember from the film, comes when Martha is doing her spiritualist act and is describing a supposedly dead person to his wife. She has the name right, but the woman protests, "But my husband's alive" and Marth asuddenly exclaims, "No, he's not." When she makes other prophecies it doesn't have the same impact. But when she is descibing another dead person and realizes she is talking about her own father, that is also riveting.
I liked a lot of the exterior photography of the South. Railroads figure prominently in this film as a means of transportation and the pictures of trains are kind of haunting.
This film is strikingly similar to Night Has a Thousand Eyes, which I haven't seen in many years. It is about a phony spiritualist who starts to genuinely see disturbing events in the future.
I love watching Rosanna Arquette. I saw her some years ago in a film called Open All Night and in both cases I really responded to her. I waould definitely like to see more of her films from around this time. She has a presence and a sex appeal that really grab me. And of course it is a pleasure to watch a fine actor like Jason Robards.
I didn't really care for the film as a whole. Arquette sees into the future of a criminal conspiracy and this endangers her. But the conspiracy is not explained well; I was confused about what was going on.
The whole last part of the film is very confusing. Martha goes unconscious or into a trance and appears as an apparition. A killer sent to eliminate her sees the apparition, shoots at it and kills her father instead. Ten years later the reporter who had been involved with her tracks her down, but she won't talk to him and when pictures he takes of her are developed there is no image of her. So we are left to ponder what it all means.
I think that one point of all this is that by faking being a medium Martha inadvertently draws these events to her. It's sort of like the stories of people who have played with Ouija boards and have contacted something. It was like she invited the visions which came to her.
The great moment, the one moment I remember from the film, comes when Martha is doing her spiritualist act and is describing a supposedly dead person to his wife. She has the name right, but the woman protests, "But my husband's alive" and Marth asuddenly exclaims, "No, he's not." When she makes other prophecies it doesn't have the same impact. But when she is descibing another dead person and realizes she is talking about her own father, that is also riveting.
I liked a lot of the exterior photography of the South. Railroads figure prominently in this film as a means of transportation and the pictures of trains are kind of haunting.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Lulu on the Bridge. 1998. Directed by Paul Auster.
(1/27/01-1/29/01)
The film seemed pointless in that it all turned out to be the fantasy or delirium of a dying man. That was a big letdown because a lot of the questions in the film never get answered--don't have to be answered. What is the strange object that glows in the dark? Who are the people who are so anxious to retrieve it and what do they plan to do with it? Why does the heroine leap from the bridge--what does she think that will gain for her?
The fact that it is a dying man's fantasy works as far as his relationship to the young woman is concerned and gives it a special poignancy. I don't know whether I like Harvey Keitel's performance; it sometimes seems mannered and at other moments seems genuine and intense. I liked Mira Sorvino very much. I really liked the first scene that they do together--where Keitel comes to Sorvino's apartment to question her about the mysterious object. He is so intense and she doesn't know if he is a maniac she has allowed into her home--or what. We--the audience--know what this is all about, but she doesn't. That scene had quite an impact.
Keitel is kidnapped and held prisoner where he is questioned by a man who is there to find the object, but becomes a sort of psychiatrist to Keitel, reviewing his life with him, knowing everything--or almost everything--about him. This part of the film is like something thought up by Kafka.
Sorvino gets the starring role in a remake of Pabst's Pandora's Box. One would expect that the film she is involved in making would have some relation to the events of the film we are watching, but I don't see any relationship. There is one great moment, though, when at a dinner Sorvino discusses her interpretation of Lulu with Vanessa Redgrave, who is going to direct it. She disagrees with Redgrave's thoughts and when Redgrave cites a comment by Frank Wedekind, author of the original play, Sorvino tells her matter-of-factly that he was wrong. This from a young actress with practically no credentials who has just landed her first major part. She is just so ingenuous.
Lulu on the Bridge is a bizarre film with some really interesting moments, but I found it unsatisfying in the long run.
The film seemed pointless in that it all turned out to be the fantasy or delirium of a dying man. That was a big letdown because a lot of the questions in the film never get answered--don't have to be answered. What is the strange object that glows in the dark? Who are the people who are so anxious to retrieve it and what do they plan to do with it? Why does the heroine leap from the bridge--what does she think that will gain for her?
The fact that it is a dying man's fantasy works as far as his relationship to the young woman is concerned and gives it a special poignancy. I don't know whether I like Harvey Keitel's performance; it sometimes seems mannered and at other moments seems genuine and intense. I liked Mira Sorvino very much. I really liked the first scene that they do together--where Keitel comes to Sorvino's apartment to question her about the mysterious object. He is so intense and she doesn't know if he is a maniac she has allowed into her home--or what. We--the audience--know what this is all about, but she doesn't. That scene had quite an impact.
Keitel is kidnapped and held prisoner where he is questioned by a man who is there to find the object, but becomes a sort of psychiatrist to Keitel, reviewing his life with him, knowing everything--or almost everything--about him. This part of the film is like something thought up by Kafka.
Sorvino gets the starring role in a remake of Pabst's Pandora's Box. One would expect that the film she is involved in making would have some relation to the events of the film we are watching, but I don't see any relationship. There is one great moment, though, when at a dinner Sorvino discusses her interpretation of Lulu with Vanessa Redgrave, who is going to direct it. She disagrees with Redgrave's thoughts and when Redgrave cites a comment by Frank Wedekind, author of the original play, Sorvino tells her matter-of-factly that he was wrong. This from a young actress with practically no credentials who has just landed her first major part. She is just so ingenuous.
Lulu on the Bridge is a bizarre film with some really interesting moments, but I found it unsatisfying in the long run.
Quixote. 1964-65. Revised 1968, 1970. By Bruce Baillie.
(1/27/01)
This was shown in an atrocious preservation print. A lot of the color looked completely faded to brown, but then I remembered that a lot of the film was in black-and-white. At the beginning of the film a bearded old man speaks. I could not hear the words.
This film is a sort of portrait of America, seen from the fringes. We see migrant workers, Indians, outcasts. It is supposed to have a narrative, but I could not discern it. The early part of the film has a lot of movement, what seems like shots taken from moving vehicles. So there was a sense of moving across the land.
There is a lot of fine photography. The images seem to flow into each other and have a rightness or a correctness that one would identify with a successful abstract painting. There are a lot of superimpositions and I especially remember superimpositions where one shot is static (or relatively so) and the other shot has a lot of movement, such as aggressive panning.
Bruce Baillie does have a knack for capturing a gritty, industrial landscape. I remember shots of construction sites, scenes like that.
The soundtrack has a lot of modern music--maybe electronic music. It is spare, or minimal. There are also sections of blues on the soundtrack.
There are many shots of animals. I remember one of horses in the snow.
I remember scenes of a high school basketball game. One youngster was wearing glasses.
I enjoyed individual images of this film and the way it was put together, the look and rhythm of it--or, if you will, the flavor. But I really didn't get what it was all about. It is definitely a film I would like to get to know better.
This was shown in an atrocious preservation print. A lot of the color looked completely faded to brown, but then I remembered that a lot of the film was in black-and-white. At the beginning of the film a bearded old man speaks. I could not hear the words.
This film is a sort of portrait of America, seen from the fringes. We see migrant workers, Indians, outcasts. It is supposed to have a narrative, but I could not discern it. The early part of the film has a lot of movement, what seems like shots taken from moving vehicles. So there was a sense of moving across the land.
There is a lot of fine photography. The images seem to flow into each other and have a rightness or a correctness that one would identify with a successful abstract painting. There are a lot of superimpositions and I especially remember superimpositions where one shot is static (or relatively so) and the other shot has a lot of movement, such as aggressive panning.
Bruce Baillie does have a knack for capturing a gritty, industrial landscape. I remember shots of construction sites, scenes like that.
The soundtrack has a lot of modern music--maybe electronic music. It is spare, or minimal. There are also sections of blues on the soundtrack.
There are many shots of animals. I remember one of horses in the snow.
I remember scenes of a high school basketball game. One youngster was wearing glasses.
I enjoyed individual images of this film and the way it was put together, the look and rhythm of it--or, if you will, the flavor. But I really didn't get what it was all about. It is definitely a film I would like to get to know better.
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