Saw Shoah. This final segment detailed a Czech concentration camp with schools and so forth, and a recounting of the ghetto at Warsaw. The days when the Warsaw ghetto stood are powerfully recounted by some kind of Polish diplomat. He breaks down several times as he recounts his journey through a Brueghelian hell-scape. The diplomat is lead through the ghetto by a member of the resistance. Whenever he asks what people are doing or why, the resistance member always replies "they are dying." He witnesses naked corpses rotting in the street, Jews terrorized by two handsome Hitler Youths with pistols, and men and women and babies starving on their feet in public squares. After his tour is complete, the resistance member tells him emphatically to report to the world what he has seen. Tell even the Germans and the Polish people. "Perhaps they do not know!" This is very near the end of the film and the film-maker chooses this time to linger over the famous, haunting piles of shoes, glasses, toothbrushes. This seems to be his purpose too. To tell the world. Perhaps we do not know.
This is an exhausting film, not least for its length. It wears down our defenses through sheer duration. It is not a film which inspired shock and horror for me. It was too slow for that. Rather, it inspired a sort of reeling, numb resignation. There is so much to see and to know, and we know there is yet more that is lost forever. This is difficult for me. In my weakness I eagerly anticipate a return to more facile fare, to films where twist endings can be considered daring and where ghosts and zombies can be considered terrifying.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 15, 2013
Shoah (Attempt 2)
Second crack at Shoah. I'm not 6 hours, 30 minutes in (3 hours to go!)
The repetition of atrocities is getting to me. If it were the same story over and over, I imagine I'd eventually get bored but the variety of plot and intensity of the stories ensures things never get predictable. The stories are told over footage of reenactment on over-grown ruins. At one point, we re-walk the steps of new arrivals at Auschwitz.
I was particularly struck by one segment following a survivor brought back to his home village. He used to sing on barges piloted by the Germans, so they let him live longer. Of course, they still put a bullet in his head later, but he somehow survived this and therefore the war. He re-enacts his singing on the barges and is later surrounded by Christian Poles as they celebrate the Madonna's birthday. The film maker asks the Poles about a massacre which had happened in the town. He asks them about the quality of the screaming of the victims, about their professions and how long they had to wait, trapped in this very church. The conversation moves on to antisemitism in the general populous and how much gold all the Jews had. The camera tightens in on the survivors face and he is smiling, seemingly untouched by everything around him.
Another memorable scene is recounted by a barber. He recalls cutting the hair of the women in the gas chambers at Auschwitz. The film maker mercilessly grills him about his feelings and he finally admits 'look, it was hard to feel anything back then.' Feelings were a luxury that he could not afford. He breaks down as he recounts how one of the other barbers cut the hair of his own wife and sister.
The film maker is merciless not only to the survivors but to the ex-Nazis as well. He aggressively grills the man I thought was an official in the last attempt (it turns out he was a not-very-high-up guard) refusing to believe him when he claims that women were not beaten at his location. He concedes that they were 'undoubtedly' beaten at the mouth of the gas chambers but, he insists, not before!
A deeply depressing film. There is no one scene that I could show in isolation which would convey this awfulness to you. The horror of this film comes from the endless, numbing parade of new information. It's enough to wear down anybody. Not visceral enough to be stomach-turning, it instead works on our ability to meditate on information. Enough.
The repetition of atrocities is getting to me. If it were the same story over and over, I imagine I'd eventually get bored but the variety of plot and intensity of the stories ensures things never get predictable. The stories are told over footage of reenactment on over-grown ruins. At one point, we re-walk the steps of new arrivals at Auschwitz.
I was particularly struck by one segment following a survivor brought back to his home village. He used to sing on barges piloted by the Germans, so they let him live longer. Of course, they still put a bullet in his head later, but he somehow survived this and therefore the war. He re-enacts his singing on the barges and is later surrounded by Christian Poles as they celebrate the Madonna's birthday. The film maker asks the Poles about a massacre which had happened in the town. He asks them about the quality of the screaming of the victims, about their professions and how long they had to wait, trapped in this very church. The conversation moves on to antisemitism in the general populous and how much gold all the Jews had. The camera tightens in on the survivors face and he is smiling, seemingly untouched by everything around him.
Another memorable scene is recounted by a barber. He recalls cutting the hair of the women in the gas chambers at Auschwitz. The film maker mercilessly grills him about his feelings and he finally admits 'look, it was hard to feel anything back then.' Feelings were a luxury that he could not afford. He breaks down as he recounts how one of the other barbers cut the hair of his own wife and sister.
The film maker is merciless not only to the survivors but to the ex-Nazis as well. He aggressively grills the man I thought was an official in the last attempt (it turns out he was a not-very-high-up guard) refusing to believe him when he claims that women were not beaten at his location. He concedes that they were 'undoubtedly' beaten at the mouth of the gas chambers but, he insists, not before!
A deeply depressing film. There is no one scene that I could show in isolation which would convey this awfulness to you. The horror of this film comes from the endless, numbing parade of new information. It's enough to wear down anybody. Not visceral enough to be stomach-turning, it instead works on our ability to meditate on information. Enough.
Dec 14, 2013
Shoah (Attempt 1)
Had my first attempt at defeating Shoah. This film is a documentary about the holocaust which is 566 minutes (or about 9 and a half hours) long. So far I'm 2 hours, 15 minutes in (7h 30min left to go!)
The film is shot in a sombre, relaxed style which reminds me of Tarkovski's work. The film maker mercifully uses mostly interviews to tell his story. He speaks with Polish farmers who lived near Auschwitz and another death-camp town (whose name I didn't recognize) along with interviews of survivors and people who were more intimately involved (such as a train operator. He reveals that the Germans paid him in vodka which he required to be able to ignore the screams coming from his cargo. Other trains' operators were not so lucky.) These interviews are played over and intercut with footage of overgrown train platforms and forests that once housed mass graves, along with some cemetery memorials.
The interviews seem to be in a rough chronological order, first interviewing the train operator and asking survivors about conditions in the ghettos and on the train (apparently french Jews were delivered by passenger car, as opposed to the usual cattle-cars. They point out the grotesque irony of women applying makeup before disembarking at their death camp.) We'll see how far we progress in this manner. We've just started interviewing an official of some kind. He begs the filmmaker not to use his name and we see him being filmed with the aid of some surveillance van. There's reference to what was said at his trial. So far he has told about women mercy-killing their children. We'll see what else he has to say.
The film sports grainy footage and slightly shoddy subtitles. I'm mostly struck by the decay of information on display here. The film maker is sometimes annoyingly obsessed with details. Where exactly did they pile clothing? What did that Polish man mean by the finger-across-throat gesture? This obsession is understandable however when we see what he's up against. The Poles he interviews via a French translator, (cruelly extending the length of the film and) adding yet another layer of lossy translation that must be done. The survivors sometimes refuse to speak or give contradictory accounts. Everything he discusses has happened 30 or 40 years ago and is overgrown sometimes unto obscurity. This is all beside the point of course, but it's something I thought about.
I will continue with further installments when I can. I intend to see this in one shot, so to speak, not interrupting it with any other films from my lists.
The film is shot in a sombre, relaxed style which reminds me of Tarkovski's work. The film maker mercifully uses mostly interviews to tell his story. He speaks with Polish farmers who lived near Auschwitz and another death-camp town (whose name I didn't recognize) along with interviews of survivors and people who were more intimately involved (such as a train operator. He reveals that the Germans paid him in vodka which he required to be able to ignore the screams coming from his cargo. Other trains' operators were not so lucky.) These interviews are played over and intercut with footage of overgrown train platforms and forests that once housed mass graves, along with some cemetery memorials.
The interviews seem to be in a rough chronological order, first interviewing the train operator and asking survivors about conditions in the ghettos and on the train (apparently french Jews were delivered by passenger car, as opposed to the usual cattle-cars. They point out the grotesque irony of women applying makeup before disembarking at their death camp.) We'll see how far we progress in this manner. We've just started interviewing an official of some kind. He begs the filmmaker not to use his name and we see him being filmed with the aid of some surveillance van. There's reference to what was said at his trial. So far he has told about women mercy-killing their children. We'll see what else he has to say.
The film sports grainy footage and slightly shoddy subtitles. I'm mostly struck by the decay of information on display here. The film maker is sometimes annoyingly obsessed with details. Where exactly did they pile clothing? What did that Polish man mean by the finger-across-throat gesture? This obsession is understandable however when we see what he's up against. The Poles he interviews via a French translator, (cruelly extending the length of the film and) adding yet another layer of lossy translation that must be done. The survivors sometimes refuse to speak or give contradictory accounts. Everything he discusses has happened 30 or 40 years ago and is overgrown sometimes unto obscurity. This is all beside the point of course, but it's something I thought about.
I will continue with further installments when I can. I intend to see this in one shot, so to speak, not interrupting it with any other films from my lists.
Dec 13, 2013
Chungking Express
Saw Chungking Express. It was great! A Wong Kar-wai film, it has the loopy vague feel of good music. This feel dovetails nicely with the confusing and meandering love stories the film tells. Both revolve around cops trying to get over a woman.
The first one occupies the first half-hour and revolves around "Cop 223" (which character also appears in the also excellent Fallen Angels) who is trying to get over his ex girlfriend, May. She dumped him on April 1st and he assumed it was a joke. When he realizes it's not a joke he continues to self-defensively act flip about the dump. She liked pineapples, so he buys cans of pineapples every day, making sure that their expiration date is the 1st of May. Eventually, it is May 1st and he upsets his stomach, gorging on now-expired pineapple. His ex is his world and his world is expired food. Even the homeless reject rotten food.
The second story revolves around a cop who is beloved by a girl who works at a fast-food bar. She gets hold of a duplicate set of keys to his apartment and sneaks in, redecorating. She replaces his soap with a new bar, puts new clothes in his closets, replaces his ratty dish-cloth. He reacts to this by scolding his soap for letting itself go and becoming fat. He stoically reminds his washcloth, as it drips in his hand, that it may change its appearance but it cries just as easily as ever. He is of course only talking to himself. His admirer is fixing him up the best way she can, but he is resisting the change, preferring instead to wallow in a sentimental sorrow.
As you can see, there's a good dose of whimsy going on here, but it never gets oppressive. It's nicely balanced by excellent atmosphere and a sense of laugh-so-you-don't-cry heartbreak. The ridiculousness of a house-breaking romance and a pineapple addict distract from the kind of miserably sad romances. This film was an excellent companion for my free-floating pre-winter blues. It's a movie that, despite its deeply felt melancholy, feels very cozy to me. It's like a sappy sad pop song after a breakup. Just perfect.
The first one occupies the first half-hour and revolves around "Cop 223" (which character also appears in the also excellent Fallen Angels) who is trying to get over his ex girlfriend, May. She dumped him on April 1st and he assumed it was a joke. When he realizes it's not a joke he continues to self-defensively act flip about the dump. She liked pineapples, so he buys cans of pineapples every day, making sure that their expiration date is the 1st of May. Eventually, it is May 1st and he upsets his stomach, gorging on now-expired pineapple. His ex is his world and his world is expired food. Even the homeless reject rotten food.
The second story revolves around a cop who is beloved by a girl who works at a fast-food bar. She gets hold of a duplicate set of keys to his apartment and sneaks in, redecorating. She replaces his soap with a new bar, puts new clothes in his closets, replaces his ratty dish-cloth. He reacts to this by scolding his soap for letting itself go and becoming fat. He stoically reminds his washcloth, as it drips in his hand, that it may change its appearance but it cries just as easily as ever. He is of course only talking to himself. His admirer is fixing him up the best way she can, but he is resisting the change, preferring instead to wallow in a sentimental sorrow.
As you can see, there's a good dose of whimsy going on here, but it never gets oppressive. It's nicely balanced by excellent atmosphere and a sense of laugh-so-you-don't-cry heartbreak. The ridiculousness of a house-breaking romance and a pineapple addict distract from the kind of miserably sad romances. This film was an excellent companion for my free-floating pre-winter blues. It's a movie that, despite its deeply felt melancholy, feels very cozy to me. It's like a sappy sad pop song after a breakup. Just perfect.
Dec 12, 2013
Bunraku
Saw Bunraku (thanks, Basil!) It was an excessive film. It was lit in harsh, ugly, clashing colors with a heavy dose of chiaroscuro on a set that looks like slightly tamed German expressionism with characters that are explicitly cardboard cut-out archetypes. The film merrily mixes cowboy, samurai, and circus imagery with martial arts, comic books and just a hint of video-game, all with a kooky swing-dance soundtrack. I feel nerd-bated in a way that's only mostly pleasant. This film looses a lot by being on my little screen. There were a few scenes I could tell were supposed to overwhelm me, but of course it's hard for 1 square foot of monitor to overwhelm.
The plot is a giant mishmash of stuff. Set in the post-apocalyptic future a cowboy and a samurai team up to take down the evil big boss of the city who is a woodcutter because a reaper would be too obvious. The townsfolk are helping via some kind of resistance and there are rival gangs tearing up neighborhoods. There's a lot of unnecessary stuff going on and I wonder if it was released with an accompanying comic book (ala Southland Tales, another beautiful mess.)
There's some pretensions to an epic good-vs-evil, allegorical reading of the film (the characters are both sent by their fathers and talk of being Men. The narrator claims this to be a universal, timeless story.) but really it has all the depth of a magician's stage patter. It's there primarily to bamboozle you into accepting a town with a wild west district (called Little Westworld, cutely.) and for getting your brain to sit down and let your eyes see. This is kind of a pity because the whole mess of violently different plots and settings winds up becoming kind of flatly homogeneous instead of the interesting collage I wanted.
My enjoyment suffers a bit due to jaded cynicism (as I say, I felt bated for some of the film. I would have enjoyed it better when I was younger and more willing to be manipulated.) and my itty-bitty screen, but even so, the film was delightfully ridiculous and pretty to look at. Like a roller coaster, it's a wild ride that's mighty pushy but fun while it lasts.
PS - The film stars Gackt, who is the prettiest dude on earth. Final Fantasy characters are based off of him, that's how inhumanly pretty this dude is.
The plot is a giant mishmash of stuff. Set in the post-apocalyptic future a cowboy and a samurai team up to take down the evil big boss of the city who is a woodcutter because a reaper would be too obvious. The townsfolk are helping via some kind of resistance and there are rival gangs tearing up neighborhoods. There's a lot of unnecessary stuff going on and I wonder if it was released with an accompanying comic book (ala Southland Tales, another beautiful mess.)
There's some pretensions to an epic good-vs-evil, allegorical reading of the film (the characters are both sent by their fathers and talk of being Men. The narrator claims this to be a universal, timeless story.) but really it has all the depth of a magician's stage patter. It's there primarily to bamboozle you into accepting a town with a wild west district (called Little Westworld, cutely.) and for getting your brain to sit down and let your eyes see. This is kind of a pity because the whole mess of violently different plots and settings winds up becoming kind of flatly homogeneous instead of the interesting collage I wanted.
My enjoyment suffers a bit due to jaded cynicism (as I say, I felt bated for some of the film. I would have enjoyed it better when I was younger and more willing to be manipulated.) and my itty-bitty screen, but even so, the film was delightfully ridiculous and pretty to look at. Like a roller coaster, it's a wild ride that's mighty pushy but fun while it lasts.
PS - The film stars Gackt, who is the prettiest dude on earth. Final Fantasy characters are based off of him, that's how inhumanly pretty this dude is.
Dec 11, 2013
Vernon, Florida
Saw Vernon, Florida, an Errol Morris film. His documentaries are tough for me. They usually have no agenda and are not seeking to educate except in the broadest sense. They defy easy categorization and that makes them fairly puzzling. This time we're interviewing the retired and bored inhabitants of the tiny town of Vernon, Florida. They talk of wild animals and god. Probably the best sequences are those with a wild turkey hunter who speaks lovingly and lyrically of his times hunting turkeys. There is also an old man who freely associates from stars to the future to politics. There is an old couple near the end who talk of sand which they possibly believe is actually alive. A preacher has a rambling, pointless sermon about the exact definition of 'therefore,' a word which appears "over 119 times" in the bible.
Apart from slightly ugly hick gawking (which I may be more guilty of than Morris,) I don't know what this film is doing. This could be used to discuss the simultaneous adulation and condemnation of small-town America, but I don't think that that was it's purpose specifically. This film is like a tree in a forest, complete and functional but without point or reason. It's a kind of pleasant meander while it lasts, I just wish I could penetrate it a bit more. I'm confused.
Apart from slightly ugly hick gawking (which I may be more guilty of than Morris,) I don't know what this film is doing. This could be used to discuss the simultaneous adulation and condemnation of small-town America, but I don't think that that was it's purpose specifically. This film is like a tree in a forest, complete and functional but without point or reason. It's a kind of pleasant meander while it lasts, I just wish I could penetrate it a bit more. I'm confused.
Dec 10, 2013
Greenberg
Saw Greenberg, an indie-feeling movie. That is to say, a film of semi-restrained performances and dealing with romance in these arch, modern times. It stars an incredibly distracting Ben Stiller who plays an aging rocker who has become a mental-case and also a carpenter. So self-absorbed is he, he writes letters to the editor and mails virulent complaints to any corporation that crosses his path. He does not drive but casually volunteers his friends to give other friends rides. He only listens to music of the 70s and 80s which I think is meant to be symptomatic of his habitual retreat into younger, happier, more promise-filled times. Near the end of the film, he joins in on a party with a bunch of teenagers and slowly, painfully, warms to their attention before suddenly realizing that they are laughing not with but at him and that they regard him (though not consciously) as some absurd and marvelous horror.
His romantic foil is a laid back/possibly spineless woman, Flo (as in 'go with the') who is the caretaker of his (far richer) brother's house. She tries to help out the obviously damaged Stiller without getting too hurt herself. She sometimes flirts dangerously close to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl archetype (I shamelessly steal this notion from Nathan Rabin) but seems fully real enough and does retreat when the going becomes emotionally abusive, so she's believable at least, if perhaps not likely. She personifies the relaxed acceptance of youth and of the west coast (where this movie is emphatically set) and is set in healing opposition to Stiller's neurotic, egocentric east coast self.
There's also a subplot with a dog and Stiller's old band-mate but enough about the plot. The film is just really well observed. It has all of these little clues into the scarey mystery of Stiller's character. He's the frustrated and desperate future that lies in wait for all of us, if we're not careful. He is self-obsessed but not self-aware. I was extremely discomfited to see more than a little of myself in him. Thanks for the rides everyone, btw!
His romantic foil is a laid back/possibly spineless woman, Flo (as in 'go with the') who is the caretaker of his (far richer) brother's house. She tries to help out the obviously damaged Stiller without getting too hurt herself. She sometimes flirts dangerously close to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl archetype (I shamelessly steal this notion from Nathan Rabin) but seems fully real enough and does retreat when the going becomes emotionally abusive, so she's believable at least, if perhaps not likely. She personifies the relaxed acceptance of youth and of the west coast (where this movie is emphatically set) and is set in healing opposition to Stiller's neurotic, egocentric east coast self.
There's also a subplot with a dog and Stiller's old band-mate but enough about the plot. The film is just really well observed. It has all of these little clues into the scarey mystery of Stiller's character. He's the frustrated and desperate future that lies in wait for all of us, if we're not careful. He is self-obsessed but not self-aware. I was extremely discomfited to see more than a little of myself in him. Thanks for the rides everyone, btw!
Dec 9, 2013
The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp
Saw The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, a film by the Powell/Pressburger duo. I'd read somewhere that they sought to bring the outsized passion and drama of the opera to the silver screen. Judging by The Red Shoes, Black Narcissus, and this film, I'd say they've succeeded. Full of rich color and old-world sentimental emotion, which is all the keener for being slightly hallucinatory, their films are awesome.
This film opens on a war-game just before WW2 where the old bloated Home Guard is up against the sharp-eyed army. The dashing army's general laughingly barges into the private quarters of the Colonel of the home guard to take him prisoner. The Colonel is a fat, bewhiskered old man who bloviates and blusters and is the very image of an old fat pretentious fool. But he is the titular Colonel Blimp (actual name: Clive Candy. I don't know what Colonel Blimp refers to.) and we flash back, back into his past where we get to know him and, after two hours, discover that he is indeed an old fat pretentious fool.
But seeing him as an impetuous youth, growing older and more foolish, we begin to love him. He is idealistic, but the sort of gentlemanly idealist who invites his dueling opponent to drinks after this nasty duel is over with. Later, he cannot believe that after the armistice of WW1 is declared, that the British people are so mean as to still hate the Germans. He is hastily prevented from declaring on radio, shortly before going to war (this time against the Nazis,) that the Nazis are not a chivalrous people and that England would rather be defeated than win by less-than-chivalrous means. He is absurd, but he is grand. He thinks of himself as a common, tough but humble soldier but evokes a fragile ideal of something uniquely and un-ironically British that could barely survive the cruelties of the first world war (it is heavily implied his co-officers in WW1 do not share his ideals re. torture,) and will not survive the second. There is some hysterical business about Nazis here as well ("the most devilish idea ever created by a human brain: Nazism.")
A really moving film. This is what all those lame sincere dramas of the 50s and 60s were trying to imitate.
This film opens on a war-game just before WW2 where the old bloated Home Guard is up against the sharp-eyed army. The dashing army's general laughingly barges into the private quarters of the Colonel of the home guard to take him prisoner. The Colonel is a fat, bewhiskered old man who bloviates and blusters and is the very image of an old fat pretentious fool. But he is the titular Colonel Blimp (actual name: Clive Candy. I don't know what Colonel Blimp refers to.) and we flash back, back into his past where we get to know him and, after two hours, discover that he is indeed an old fat pretentious fool.
But seeing him as an impetuous youth, growing older and more foolish, we begin to love him. He is idealistic, but the sort of gentlemanly idealist who invites his dueling opponent to drinks after this nasty duel is over with. Later, he cannot believe that after the armistice of WW1 is declared, that the British people are so mean as to still hate the Germans. He is hastily prevented from declaring on radio, shortly before going to war (this time against the Nazis,) that the Nazis are not a chivalrous people and that England would rather be defeated than win by less-than-chivalrous means. He is absurd, but he is grand. He thinks of himself as a common, tough but humble soldier but evokes a fragile ideal of something uniquely and un-ironically British that could barely survive the cruelties of the first world war (it is heavily implied his co-officers in WW1 do not share his ideals re. torture,) and will not survive the second. There is some hysterical business about Nazis here as well ("the most devilish idea ever created by a human brain: Nazism.")
A really moving film. This is what all those lame sincere dramas of the 50s and 60s were trying to imitate.
Dec 7, 2013
The Blair Witch Project
Saw The Blair Witch Project. The movie which inspired endless found-footage shakey-cam horror-stravaganzas. Largely it holds up. Having picked up a lot information about the film by osmosis, I can sort of see where the enforced method acting breaks down (they never really explain why they're constantly filming) and where a bit of direction would have come in handy, but this film is very, very committed to the concept which results in some warts-n-all realism. It sounds funny to be complaining about naturalism in a film about a witch, but there it is.
I was impressed by the lack of explanation about the witch. Possibly inhuman, possibly just a lunatic, we don't know. And we don't have jump-shot glances into the witch's face or any silly nonsense like that. I felt oddly comforted because, without music and mostly without direction, this film is necessarily jump-shot free. I'm glad about this because I really can't stand jump-shots. It requires no skill to make me jump at a loud noise. Far better is to inspire creeping dread, as this movie does. I also knew, unfortunately, that no real special effects were available to the filmmakers and that they were smart enough not to rely on creatures, so I knew this would be largely a psychological thriller, which sucks some of the danger out of it.
So not a terrifying film, even to a wimp like me, but well done, smart, and not cheap. The climax is sufficiently frightening and only feels anticlimactic, rather than insulting.
I was impressed by the lack of explanation about the witch. Possibly inhuman, possibly just a lunatic, we don't know. And we don't have jump-shot glances into the witch's face or any silly nonsense like that. I felt oddly comforted because, without music and mostly without direction, this film is necessarily jump-shot free. I'm glad about this because I really can't stand jump-shots. It requires no skill to make me jump at a loud noise. Far better is to inspire creeping dread, as this movie does. I also knew, unfortunately, that no real special effects were available to the filmmakers and that they were smart enough not to rely on creatures, so I knew this would be largely a psychological thriller, which sucks some of the danger out of it.
So not a terrifying film, even to a wimp like me, but well done, smart, and not cheap. The climax is sufficiently frightening and only feels anticlimactic, rather than insulting.
Dec 6, 2013
Badlands
Saw Badlands (thanks, Steve!) It was like the picnic scene from Bonnie and Clyde (67) stretched out to 90 minutes. Full of strange poignant moments, it celebrates the idea of the outlaw, though not the reality. It was deliberate but not boring, full of steady shots and declarative voice-over from the Bonnie character that is lyrical and slightly opaque. The pair seems to drift into a life of crime, going on the lam because it is the most logical next step, rather than because of any desire for notoriety or anything like that. In another life, they both might have been perfectly happy and law abiding.
The film is directed Terrence Malick, of recent Tree of Life fame. I'd only seen his film The New World which I found also deliberate, but sleepier than this one. The wild beauty of nature is on great display and after the pair go on the road, the film becomes almost a series of vignettes. It neither glamorizes nor condemns the pair, eschewing their growing notoriety and their daily struggles in favor of documenting their idle time and their half-understood (and high-school-ishly half-developed) inner lives.
Unfortunately, though I enjoyed the film there's not much I can easily grab on to to tease it apart. There was only one concrete thing I didn't understand and that was the fish on the bedside table near the beginning of the film. There's a catfish on the nightstand. I've no idea why. Apart from that uncharacteristic absurdity, this film is too amorphous for me to attack. I don't know why but it leaves me feeling confused and pleasantly unsettled, as though I'd seen a magic trick. If I hadn't just seen a good movie, I'd be pretty aggravated at the failure of my powers of analysis.
The film is directed Terrence Malick, of recent Tree of Life fame. I'd only seen his film The New World which I found also deliberate, but sleepier than this one. The wild beauty of nature is on great display and after the pair go on the road, the film becomes almost a series of vignettes. It neither glamorizes nor condemns the pair, eschewing their growing notoriety and their daily struggles in favor of documenting their idle time and their half-understood (and high-school-ishly half-developed) inner lives.
Unfortunately, though I enjoyed the film there's not much I can easily grab on to to tease it apart. There was only one concrete thing I didn't understand and that was the fish on the bedside table near the beginning of the film. There's a catfish on the nightstand. I've no idea why. Apart from that uncharacteristic absurdity, this film is too amorphous for me to attack. I don't know why but it leaves me feeling confused and pleasantly unsettled, as though I'd seen a magic trick. If I hadn't just seen a good movie, I'd be pretty aggravated at the failure of my powers of analysis.
Dec 5, 2013
Vendredi Soir
Saw Vendredi Soir. It opens on beautiful shots of the rooftops of Paris. They are deliberate, slow, and kind of cold. We pan slowly to street level to see the chaotic motion of sped-up cars and pedestrians. The slow, measured shot was in fast motion the whole time. The film is like that, a collection of interesting little contradictions. The film is lyrical and ever so slightly magical but always a bit chilly, a bit remote.
The plot follows a woman who is moving. She packs up and takes stock of her possessions, she loads her car full of boxes, and instantly gets stuck in horrible, miles-long bumper-to-bumper traffic. On a generous whim she invites a man into her car. There's a feeling of isolation, like their car is an island at sea and they are the only man, the only woman. We see into shops and into other cars which are their own plexiglass islands with their own inhabitants. The man and woman in the car are together and apart from the world. They are attracted to each other but their romance has a desperate feel to it. Less a consummation of passion than a sharing of loneliness.
The woman is the central character and she's often shot like a figure in an oil painting, beautiful and composed, but still and kind of arid. We are let inside her imagination here and there. At one point the logo on the bumper of the car in front of her dances to the music on her radio. A lampshade magically jumps onto a lamp, which turns on. There's a bit of whimsy and delight which saves this from being an absolute existential bore, but the black of night hovers nearby and things never really get truly heart-warming.
I admit, I fell victim to my favorite vice of nodding off while watching this slow, deliberately paced film, so my analysis may be a bit off (or, you know, I'm just not seeing what's right before my eyes, as usual) but I found the film very pretty, ever-so-slightly magical and interestingly cold.
The plot follows a woman who is moving. She packs up and takes stock of her possessions, she loads her car full of boxes, and instantly gets stuck in horrible, miles-long bumper-to-bumper traffic. On a generous whim she invites a man into her car. There's a feeling of isolation, like their car is an island at sea and they are the only man, the only woman. We see into shops and into other cars which are their own plexiglass islands with their own inhabitants. The man and woman in the car are together and apart from the world. They are attracted to each other but their romance has a desperate feel to it. Less a consummation of passion than a sharing of loneliness.
The woman is the central character and she's often shot like a figure in an oil painting, beautiful and composed, but still and kind of arid. We are let inside her imagination here and there. At one point the logo on the bumper of the car in front of her dances to the music on her radio. A lampshade magically jumps onto a lamp, which turns on. There's a bit of whimsy and delight which saves this from being an absolute existential bore, but the black of night hovers nearby and things never really get truly heart-warming.
I admit, I fell victim to my favorite vice of nodding off while watching this slow, deliberately paced film, so my analysis may be a bit off (or, you know, I'm just not seeing what's right before my eyes, as usual) but I found the film very pretty, ever-so-slightly magical and interestingly cold.
Dec 4, 2013
Stranger Than Paradise
Saw Stranger Than Paradise, a Jim Jarmusch film about trio of kids. A Hungarian guy, his pretty and incredibly self-possessed cousin, and his friend who has a kind of crush on the cousin. They hang out in various locations and hatch schemes to make money. The film is almost perverse in the un-exciting-ness of its storytelling. They plan to go the racetrack, but we don't see their adventures there. Rather, we stay with the cousin who is left behind in the hotel. Eventually we see the fallout of the racetrack adventure, but not before we get to really feel the lolling indolent boredom of the stranded cousin.
Shot on a shoestring, talky but listless, this film feels like the immediate ancestor of the mumble-core films. It's very arch and deadpan, like a cool kid in high school. This film comes from a list of "hipster" movies but I think this one is the first film to really nail that "hip" feel of listlessness and disaffection. Unfortunately, the film is very low-key and your enjoyment of it depends very much on how inaccessible and dry you like your entertainment. This film is dry like a wine, bitter but subtle and complex. Also like wine, enough will make you feel sleepy.
As an aside, I was very entertained by the Hungarian dude's Hungarian aunt who furiously speaks in rapid Hungarian and industriously feeds them soup. Having Hungarian grandparents myself, I was able to make out a word here or there and it made me happy.
Shot on a shoestring, talky but listless, this film feels like the immediate ancestor of the mumble-core films. It's very arch and deadpan, like a cool kid in high school. This film comes from a list of "hipster" movies but I think this one is the first film to really nail that "hip" feel of listlessness and disaffection. Unfortunately, the film is very low-key and your enjoyment of it depends very much on how inaccessible and dry you like your entertainment. This film is dry like a wine, bitter but subtle and complex. Also like wine, enough will make you feel sleepy.
As an aside, I was very entertained by the Hungarian dude's Hungarian aunt who furiously speaks in rapid Hungarian and industriously feeds them soup. Having Hungarian grandparents myself, I was able to make out a word here or there and it made me happy.
Dec 3, 2013
Mean Streets
Saw Mean Streets, a colorful film by Scorsese. It followed the adventures of a small-time businessman on the fringes of organized crime. His hands are clean, but his friends' hands are not. He struggles to get ahead and to help his gambling-addicted relation (their precise relationship was probably explained, but I missed its exact nature) to stay straight. I may be reading too much into this film (I don't really like gangster films and was idly digging into its (possibly imagined) symbolism) but I felt this struggle is given a slightly religious tinge. Several times, Roman Catholic imagery is shown (which may be unavoidable in an accurate portrayal of Italian-American life) and the protagonist loudly proclaims that "St Francis of Assisi had the right idea." Familial relationships are prominent, references to fathers especially, and the protagonist is (shall we say) quite self-sacrificing. Especially when it comes to his gambling friend.
The protagonist is fascinated by the concept of hell, going so far as to often stick his hand into open flames, perhaps to simulate the inferno. He talks also of the spiritual hell which seems, for him, to take the form of constant, low-grade desperation. He seems trapped by tradition and obligation, trapped in a relationship with a woman he doesn't particularly like and kowtowing to his mob-boss uncle for favors and handouts. He wants to talk back, against these impositions, but stops his mouth with a fiery red napkin.
The film is gorgeously colored, technicolor (possibly) being still new and exciting at this point, and I noticed a theme of red white and blue throughout the film. the film opens on a random junky in a blue jean jacket worn over a red-n-white stripped shirt and ends with a doctor in white, a cop in blue, and red blood. The gangsters seem to inhabit clubs lit entirely by infernal red lights. At one point they take a walk through a graveyard of very white stones, perhaps symbolizing death or purity. I don't know what all of this is in aid of however, beyond a sort of "Look! This is America!" message, which I think is a bit silly (America is pretty much just gangsters having a hard life, didn't you know?) but I am smug in my identification of this theme, so I won't complain. Also, by the way, there's some nice long-takes, if you're into that.
A brutish film about brutish men. I didn't really like it, but it was smarter than it seemed at first blush and well done.
The protagonist is fascinated by the concept of hell, going so far as to often stick his hand into open flames, perhaps to simulate the inferno. He talks also of the spiritual hell which seems, for him, to take the form of constant, low-grade desperation. He seems trapped by tradition and obligation, trapped in a relationship with a woman he doesn't particularly like and kowtowing to his mob-boss uncle for favors and handouts. He wants to talk back, against these impositions, but stops his mouth with a fiery red napkin.
The film is gorgeously colored, technicolor (possibly) being still new and exciting at this point, and I noticed a theme of red white and blue throughout the film. the film opens on a random junky in a blue jean jacket worn over a red-n-white stripped shirt and ends with a doctor in white, a cop in blue, and red blood. The gangsters seem to inhabit clubs lit entirely by infernal red lights. At one point they take a walk through a graveyard of very white stones, perhaps symbolizing death or purity. I don't know what all of this is in aid of however, beyond a sort of "Look! This is America!" message, which I think is a bit silly (America is pretty much just gangsters having a hard life, didn't you know?) but I am smug in my identification of this theme, so I won't complain. Also, by the way, there's some nice long-takes, if you're into that.
A brutish film about brutish men. I didn't really like it, but it was smarter than it seemed at first blush and well done.
Dec 2, 2013
The Killing
Saw The Killing, a heist film by Kubrick. It has his usual brilliant shooting and clever plot. The film jumps forward and back in time, nervously and obsessively detailing the characters' movements. They are attempting a very complex robbery of a racetrack and twice they walk by the track's spectators who are gazing with open mouths at the race, almost as we viewers are staring in wrapped fascination at this film. This is a sort of joke on us viewers, I think, but it's so damn clever that I don't mind it a bit. There's a more obvious, but more clever pseudo-joke involving a horseshoe that I don't want to spoil, but it's brilliant.
The imagery of characters behind bars is repeated so many times, it's a motif unto itself. Chain link fences, rungs of a staircase, the crossbeams of a window, venetian blinds, a bird in a cage, even the habitual plaid shirts of one of the conspirators. All of the conspirators are locked into this scheme in some way. The film even opens by explaining via (a very disdainful sounding) narrator that one conspirator feels he is as responsible for his actions as a puzzle-piece is responsible for the image it produces (another bit of locking in but with an added bonus-promise of a puzzle to be pieced together.)
One man's wife needs an operation, one man needs money to get married, one man needs it to make his shrew of a wife happy. This last wife is a prominent character. Tellingly, she owns the fore-mentioned birdcage and about her bed is a collection of oriental ornaments. Like a concubine, she exploits sex to manipulate men into doing her bidding. Her husband is put in the painful position of having two masters.
The cinematography is flawless. When the conspirators conspire, they are always lit from directly overhead, making them look nervy and claustrophobic. They are often shot from below and against black, making the characters seem remote and sinister and yet kind of lost. When the money is being stuffed into bags, it's loose and unstacked, making the cash spill everywhere in great plumes, demonstrating its great abundance. Two characters bookend the words "The End" in the final shot, a perfect little diorama to end this little Swiss watch of a film. Very clever, very subtle, and a lot of fun to spot little trends and cute flourishes (even if, as I freely admit, some of those flourishes perhaps exist solely in my own head.)
The imagery of characters behind bars is repeated so many times, it's a motif unto itself. Chain link fences, rungs of a staircase, the crossbeams of a window, venetian blinds, a bird in a cage, even the habitual plaid shirts of one of the conspirators. All of the conspirators are locked into this scheme in some way. The film even opens by explaining via (a very disdainful sounding) narrator that one conspirator feels he is as responsible for his actions as a puzzle-piece is responsible for the image it produces (another bit of locking in but with an added bonus-promise of a puzzle to be pieced together.)
One man's wife needs an operation, one man needs money to get married, one man needs it to make his shrew of a wife happy. This last wife is a prominent character. Tellingly, she owns the fore-mentioned birdcage and about her bed is a collection of oriental ornaments. Like a concubine, she exploits sex to manipulate men into doing her bidding. Her husband is put in the painful position of having two masters.
The cinematography is flawless. When the conspirators conspire, they are always lit from directly overhead, making them look nervy and claustrophobic. They are often shot from below and against black, making the characters seem remote and sinister and yet kind of lost. When the money is being stuffed into bags, it's loose and unstacked, making the cash spill everywhere in great plumes, demonstrating its great abundance. Two characters bookend the words "The End" in the final shot, a perfect little diorama to end this little Swiss watch of a film. Very clever, very subtle, and a lot of fun to spot little trends and cute flourishes (even if, as I freely admit, some of those flourishes perhaps exist solely in my own head.)
Dec 1, 2013
Shaolin Soccer
Saw Shaolin Soccer (Thanks, Basil!) It was the source of this reaction face (if you're into that sort of thing.) It was a hilarious Chinese comedy about a rag-tag troupe of secret Kung-Fu masters, currently stuck in various dead-end jobs, who band together to form a soccer team to fight the villainous Team Evil. The comedy is silly and absurd. At one point they have a practice match against a team of street thugs. Their leader is a pencil-necked nerd who wields a ball-peen hammer on the pitch. The Kung-Fu masters, full of naive high hopes, are decimated by the evil thugs. (This is early on in the movie. They haven't had the getting-stronger montage yet.) Their leader, the forward kicker, crawls along with a broken leg, other players' feet and arms flailing around him. Bullets whiz overhead as he crawls through mud under barbed wire, calling frantically for back-up on the radio.
This kind of gutsy, free-association nonsense is exactly the kind of absurd comedy I love. There is a dream-logic to it that almost makes sense. Later on they fight a team composed of teenage girls wearing false mustaches. This is played straight and, apart from the inherent absurdity of the premise, is not used as a punchline. As far as we know, the film-makers could only get girls that day. Hilarious.
Of course there's also the typical Asian hyper-drama, but the operatically overblown emotions only serve to make this feel like a yet more surreal parody of life. There is also the apparently typical xenophobia (which I guess is a trend in Chinese movies, unfortunately.) It turns out Team Evil has been cheating by using American steroids which give them the Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon-style powers of flight and superhuman poise. This can also be deliciously absurd to the American viewer if you forget the relative seriousness that I believe the Chinese viewer would receive it with.
A hilarious movie with nothing more on its mind than absurdity and laughs. It is broad enough to translate well, but not so broad as to be boring. It's surprising and stupid. I liked it.
This kind of gutsy, free-association nonsense is exactly the kind of absurd comedy I love. There is a dream-logic to it that almost makes sense. Later on they fight a team composed of teenage girls wearing false mustaches. This is played straight and, apart from the inherent absurdity of the premise, is not used as a punchline. As far as we know, the film-makers could only get girls that day. Hilarious.
Of course there's also the typical Asian hyper-drama, but the operatically overblown emotions only serve to make this feel like a yet more surreal parody of life. There is also the apparently typical xenophobia (which I guess is a trend in Chinese movies, unfortunately.) It turns out Team Evil has been cheating by using American steroids which give them the Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon-style powers of flight and superhuman poise. This can also be deliciously absurd to the American viewer if you forget the relative seriousness that I believe the Chinese viewer would receive it with.
A hilarious movie with nothing more on its mind than absurdity and laughs. It is broad enough to translate well, but not so broad as to be boring. It's surprising and stupid. I liked it.
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