(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.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
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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