tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38567987923209390172024-03-17T20:03:25.008-07:00Forgotten Classics of YesteryearNathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.comBlogger239125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-87192760996801562922014-09-07T18:45:00.002-07:002014-09-07T18:45:58.315-07:00I've Moved!!Hello everyone!<br />
<br />
You might have noticed that I haven't updated in a while. The reason why was because I have moved to a new website!<br />
<br />
I'm now writing for The Young Folks, a great site for people enthusiastic about film, television, books, and all other kinds of media. I can't keep this blog going AND contribute to this website at the same time. So I'm going to have to close this site. The archives will still be open and I will still respond to all comments. I may even leave a new message or two every now and then.<br />
<br />
Over the years, this blog has meant the world to me. It was one of the key reasons why I was accepted into the Film Studies program at New York University - Tisch. The lessons I've learned, the friends I've met, and the movies I've written about on this blog will stay with my forever.<br />
<br />
I want to thank the readers for all of their love, support, encouragement, and page views! You have all made this experience worth it.<br />
<br />
If you want to keep up with my writing, check me out here:<br />
<br />
http://www.theyoungfolks.com/author/nhood.<br />
<br />
Until next time...see you all at the movies!<br />
<br />
Nathanael Hood<br />
Editor-in-ChiefNathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com82tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-7930749842948152142014-05-31T11:20:00.002-07:002014-05-31T11:21:46.380-07:00Die Puppe (The Doll)Directed by Ernst Lubitsch<br />
1919<br />
Weimar Republic<br />
<br />
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<br />
In a tight black room, a svelt young man gently removes the lid from a
chest. Placing it upside-down on the table, a verdant field sprinkled
with flowers and split by a wandering road is revealed. Reaching into
the chest, the young man pulls out a number of figurines and models
which he assembles on the lid: a dollhouse, paper trees, a sky, and
finally two dolls. With a cut, we are transported inside a life-size
reconstruction of the tableau. From the dollhouse door the two dolls
emerge as humans: a stringy youth who tumbles down the curved road into a
pond and his plump caretaker who pulls him out with an umbrella. From
this opening begins Ernst Lubitsch’s <i>The Doll</i>, a fantastical
romantic comedy that seems more at home in the realm of postwar German
Expressionism than with his later genial American productions. Never has
Lubitsch’s artifice been so pronounced. And never has he been more
joyfully delightful. <br />
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<br />
<i>The Doll</i> follows Lancelot,
the effete youth from the opening sequence, who schemes to marry a
life-like doll in order to placate his uncle, the Baron of Chanterelle,
who is desperate for an heir. The local doll-maker Hilarius constructs
him a mechanical replica of his high-spirited daughter Ossi that is
capable of actions as complex as autonomous dancing. But Hilarius’
careless young assistant accidentally breaks it. To spare the boy her
father’s wrath, the real Ossi takes the doll’s place. And so begins her
strange and wonderful journey through villages, castles, and
monasteries; to parties, suppers, and even a wedding. She dutifully
keeps up the illusion (breaking now and then to flirt and dance with
others while Lancelot’s attention is diverted) until one night the sight
of a mouse causes her to scream. Ossi’s secret is revealed to Lancelot.
But another revelation is due for the young man: she has fallen in love
with him.<br />
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<br />
Here is a story that can only inhabit the
realm of fairy tales. To tell it, Lubitsch creates a diegetic world of
playful artificiality: sets of hyperbolic caricature (the sun has a face
and carriages are drawn by men in horse costumes), serendipitous
coincidences (Hilarius literally drops from the sky at the end to give
his blessing to the newly married couple), and just a touch of white
magic (Hilarius’ hair literally stands on end and turns white when he
learns of his daughter’s deception). <br />
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As so many historians have pointed out, <i>The Doll</i> was released mere months before the debut of Robert Wiene’s <i>The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari</i>
(1920). While they both feature similar themes concerning people being
physically controlled by forces outside of their own will, what is most
astounding is how similar their visual language is. But where one film
covets shadows and gloom, the other cherishes bright, open spaces and
jubilation. If <i>The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari</i> is the nightmare of German Expressionism, <i>The Doll</i> is its daydream.<br />
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<br />
But one of the key elements of <i>The Doll</i>’s
success was the casting of Ossi Oswalda as Hilarius’ daughter, the
eponymous doll. Trained as a ballet dancer, Ossi made her screen debut
in Lubitsch’s <i>Shoe Palace Pinkus</i> in 1916. From there she would go
on to become one of Germany’s great silent film stars, appearing in
numerous comedies (many of which were also helmed by Lubitsch). Film
historians Hans-Michael Bock and Tim Bergfelder described her as having a
“cinematic alter ego of a hyperactive, coquettish, spoilt Lolita whose
anarchic antics caused havoc amid the films’ sedate and ordered Prussian
surroundings, but who invariably got tamed in time for the happy end.”
In some of her earlier films, Ossi’s persona bordered on the childishly
petulant and infantile.<br />
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<br />
But she hit the right balance in <i>The Doll</i>:
playful without being irresponsible, flirtatious without seeming
puerile, and just kind enough that we can believe that she is a woman
who would actually volunteer to act like a doll. The genius in Ossi’s
performance is that we never get the sense that she isn’t in control of
her situation. She could easily escape her predicament, but she chooses
not to. At first it’s because it’s an adventure and she’s just having
too much fun playing along. But then, unexpectedly, her feelings evolve
into love.<br />
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<br />
<i>The Doll</i> was made during a period of
explosive creativity for Lubitsch. In just a few years he would direct,
in addition to a number of straight dramas, a group of excellent
romantic comedies that pushed the boundaries of gender norms and sexual
ethics. Three of the best were also collaborations with Ossi. <i>I Don’t Want to Be a Man</i> (1918) featured her as a woman who cross-dresses to escape the boring life and societal expectations of a young lady. <i>The Oyster Princess</i> (1919) saw her as a bratty American heiress whose father “buys” her a prince to marry. And finally, <i>The Wild Cat</i>
(1921) saw her at her most anarchic as the leader of a group of
mountain bandits who falls in love with a lothario lieutenant assigned
to a nearby border fortress. <br />
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<br />
Along with <i>The Doll</i>,
these films were stylistically audacious and featured tightly knit
endings where Ossi was neatly paired off with the character she was most
meant to be with (don’t let her affections for the lieutenant in <i>The Wild Cat</i> fool you). But the romantic intrigue in <i>The Doll</i> is the most convincing by merit of the film’s deliberate evocation of the fairy tale.<br />
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<br />
A closing word, then, about the Lubitsch Touch. The elusive Touch is a much discussed <i>je ne sais quoi</i>
that permeates Lubitsch’s work. Nobody can seem to agree just what the
Touch is. But it exists.<br />
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<br />
And I see it displayed in a marvelous scene
near the end of <i>The Doll</i>. When Lancelot takes Ossi to the
monastery where he has been staying, he leaves her in the dining room
with a group of gluttonous monks. They peer over at her and she begins
to dance. The monks gleefully join her until their abbot comes in and
chases them away. Close-up on the abbot’s face. Cut to a close-up on
Ossi’s bare ankles. We fear the worst. But then he positions himself
next to her and begins to mimic her movements. It wasn’t sex he wanted,
but to join in the dance.<br />
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Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-8058865474324014102014-04-30T14:27:00.000-07:002014-04-30T14:29:16.345-07:00MoonriseDirected by Frank Borzage<br />
1948<br />
The United States of America<br />
<br />
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<br />
By 1948, Frank Borzage, that old master of Hollywood, that
unapologetic romanticist whose work triumphed during the Twenties and
Thirties, had fallen by the wayside. The man who had won the very first
Academy Award for Directing in 1927 was now struggling to secure
projects. Perhaps Borzage’s brand of earnest melodrama turned sour in
the mouths of a generation who had struggled through the hell of World
War Two. As the years marched on, war-time idealism melted into
nihilistic cynicism. This was no longer a time when a director who
concluded an adaptation of Ernest Hemingway’s <i>A Farewell to Arms</i>
with doves and church bells could flourish. And yet, as his career began
to crumble, Borzage managed to release one more true masterpiece; a
film that reconciled his passion for lovers facing adversity with the
nightmare psychoses consuming America ego. That film was <i>Moonrise</i>.<br />
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<br />
The opening few minutes of <i>Moonrise</i>
set the tone for the rest of the film. It begins with the execution by
hanging of a man accused of murder. The proceedings are shown via
shadows that seem chiseled onto the wall behind the gallows. As the
hangmen pulls the lever, smash cut to the crib of a newborn. A grim
outline of a toy doll literally hangs over the bedsheets as the
criminal’s infant son, Danny Hawkins, wails and wails. Jump cut to Danny
as a schoolboy forced to endure the taunts of his classmates. “Danny
Hawkins dad was hanged! Danny Hawkins dad was hanged,” they chant as
their ringleader Jerry Sykes wraps his hands about his throat and
pretends to choke himself to death.<br />
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<br />
Another cut, another few years pass.
Danny’s torment continues. And finally, one night as Jerry beats him
senseless, two things break: Danny’s mind and Jerry’s skull. <br />
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<br />
Those
who know Borzage purely by reputation as a romanticist may be shocked
by the jagged, neo-expressionist visual grammar used in these scenes:
extreme shadowplay, stilted frame compositions, and high-contrast
chiaroscuro lighting. But Borzage had been using such techniques for
decades, having first picked them up from his contemporary F.W. Murnau
while they were both working at Fox in the 1920s. Though Borzage’s films
were rich in sentimentality, they demonstrated acute stylistic acumen.
As the film continues, Borzage continues to reveal bold stylistic
techniques. One of the most apparent is his consistent use of crossfades
between charged images: a young woman wringing her hands in church into
an old woman’s hands knitting; a paranoid man’s face into a raccoon.
Indeed, <i>Moonrise</i> is not a film that can simply be watched passively. It demands to be <i>watched</i>, not merely observed.<br />
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<br />
From
Danny’s desperate act of murder, the film charts his mental decimation,
emotional reconstruction, and psychological reconciliation with his
actions. A few kind souls help in his rehabilitation. The first is Mose,
a retired brakeman who lives in self-imposed isolation in the woods
with his hounds and guitar. Played with great dignity by Rex Ingram,
Mose may be a kindly old Black Man who helps the White Protagonist, but
instead of solving Danny’s problems, he helps force him to confront
them.<br />
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<br />
But the other is sweet Gilly Johnson, a
schoolteacher who quickly forms the other half of Borzage’s romantic
universe. It is here that we find the major difference between <i>Moonrise</i>
and many of Borzage’s other films: the forces that seek to tear the
lovers apart. Often these forces are external ones such as World War One
in <i>A Farewell to Arms</i> (1932), the sinking of a lavish ocean liner in <i>History Is Made at Night</i> (1937), or the rise of Nazism in <i>The Mortal Storm</i> (1940). But in <i>Moonrise</i>
the adversity springs from Danny’s tortured mind. It manifests itself
physically, such as an early scene where traumatic flashbacks cause him
to crash a car while she was in the passenger seat, and mentally.
During a coon-hunt with Mose he has a minor breakdown while shaking a
raccoon out of a tree. Borzage cuts to a pile of logs next to a
cabin...a pile suspiciously similar to the one where Danny murdered his
tormentor. Does Danny project himself on the raccoon? If so, then what
does it say about his desperate attempts to capture it?<br />
<br />
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<br />
Danny’s
internal dilemma of coming to terms with a forced act of violence takes
on new meaning when evaluated in the context of post-World War Two
American society. One of the cornerstones of film <i>noir</i> were
protagonists who were damaged, either physically or mentally, by their
time in the armed forces. If we consider Danny’s psychoses as
allegorical, then <i>Moonrise</i> becomes more than just a dark melodrama; it enters the realm of bona-fide film<i> noir</i>.
Consider Danny as America: haunted by the specter of a violent tragedy
(Danny’s father’s hanging/World War Two), the protagonist is goaded into
violence (murder/World War Two) by an incessant attacker (Jerry
Sykes/the Axis) that leaves him broken, beaten, and bruised. <br />
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<br />
Of
course, this is merely one possible reading. While it isn’t absurd to
believe that Borzage may have deliberately made such comparisons, there
is no doubt that at the end of the day his primary concern in <i>Moonrise</i>
was Danny Hawkins and Gilly Johnson. Their love is no panacea, but it
offers hope that Danny can rebuild his life. And therein is Borzage’s
secret: the belief that despite everything the world may throw at you,
love can be a force for salvation and goodness. His romanticism does not
deny the world, it burns <i>in spite</i> of it.<br />
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Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-22595854985614654482014-03-31T16:31:00.002-07:002014-03-31T16:31:33.952-07:00Hellzapoppin'Directed by H. C. Potter, Joseph A. McDonough, Edward Cline<br />
1941<br />
The United States of America<br />
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<br />
Deep within the bowels of Hell, demons stuff victims dressed in
lavish fashions into giant barrels labeled “Canned Guy” and “Canned
Gal.” As they sharpen their pitchforks, turn women in expensive dresses
on spits over open fires, and torment the eternally damned, they sing a
happy song.<br />
<br />
<i>Hellzapoppin/Ol’ Satan’s on a tear<br />Hellzapoppin/They’re screamin’ everywhere<br />See the Inferno/of Vaudeville<br />Anything can happen/And it probably will!!</i><br />
<br />
Suddenly
a taxi appears and two beleaguered men fly out onto the ground after a
tidal wave of ducks, dogs, and other animals inexplicably crammed into
the back seat. One looks up and mutters to the other: “That’s the first
taxi driver that ever went straight where I told him to!” These two
unfortunates are vaudevillian legends Ole Olsen and Chic Johnson. They
have arrived in Hell for possibly the most nightmarish reason of all:
making a Hollywood film. For they have been given the grim
responsibility of making <i>Hellzapoppin’</i>, perhaps the most
subversively anarchic comedy to ever spring from the forehead of the
Hollywood studio system. Is it any wonder why at the beginning we are
treated to a title card reading: “......any similarity between
HELLZAPOPPIN’ and a motion picture is purely coincidental.”<br />
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<br />
<i>Hellzapoppin’</i>
was an “adaptation” of a musical revue written by Olsen and Johnson
that had been a smash hit on Broadway, running for more than 3 years for
1,404 performances. At the time, it was the longest-running Broadway
musical in history. The revue was a model of controlled chaos. As
reporter Celia Wren recounted: “<i>The smash hit "Hellzapoppin" was a
smorgasbord of explode-the-fourth-wall nuttiness: sight gags; comedy
songs; skits abandoned partway through; cameos by audience stooges; an
absurdist raffle; and in a trademark stunt, a man who wandered through
the theater hawking an ever-larger potted tree.</i>” So Olsen and
Johnson were confronted with a problem: how do you adapt a musical with
no real plot that heavily relied on an interactive circus atmosphere?<br />
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<br />
The answer was to make a movie about Olsen and Johnson trying to make a movie of <i>Hellzapoppin’</i>. Confused yet? Let me explain.<br />
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<br />
After
the opening number in Hell, it is revealed that it is all a Hollywood
sound stage. They are confronted by a director (Richard Lane) and a
nervous screenwriter (Elisha Cook Jr.) who want to pitch them a script
for the film. The suggested film is about a love triangle between three
“disgusting rich” aristocrats: “young fella” Woody Taylor (Lewis
Howard), playwright Jeff Hunter (Robert Paige), and wannabe actress
Kitty Rand (Jane Frazee). Kitty is putting on a Red Cross benefit at her
estate and Olsen and Johnson are hired as prop-men. As Woody, Jeff, and
Kitty play their game of romantic musical chairs, Olsen and Johnson run
about trying to gather all of the outlandish props that the show will
need. Later, when they realize that Kitty will marry the wrong man if
the show is a success, they sabotage the benefit with a menagerie of
pranks and tricks. Other notable characters include Hugh Herbert as
Quimby, a detective and master of disguises who bounces around the film
spreading chaos wherever he goes like a mythical trickster, Mischa Auer
as Prince Pepi, a lecherous European aristocrat who poses as a fraud for
free food and sympathy, and Martha Raye as Betty Johnson, Chic’s
man-hungry, vivacious sister.<br />
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<br />
To add to the mayhem, there is <i>another</i>
layer to the narrative: an easily distracted projectionist played by
Shemp Howard who literally runs the film from his booth. Throughout the
film he interacts with both Olsen and Johnson in the framing narrative
and Olsen and Johnson in the film-within-the-film. Many of the film’s
best gags come from their interactions: he repeatedly fails to keep the
camera focused on the principle characters (instead turning the camera
to beautiful women), he gets reels mixed up and throws the unfortunate
duo into a Western, and, in the film’s most ingenious gag, gets the film
stuck, thereby trapping half of the characters onscreen in the bottom
half of the frame and the other half in the top half of the frame. These
gags are not only effective; they also demonstrate the duo’s ability to
appropriate the capabilities (and limitations) of the cinematic medium
for comedic purposes.<br />
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<br />
It’s an unwritten rule that a musical is only as good as its musical numbers. So, thankfully, <i>Hellzapoppin’</i> does not contain any musical misfires. Two numbers in particular almost knock the house down. The first is <i>Watch the Birdie</i>,
an impromptu ode to photography wherein Raye almost steals the whole
damn picture away from Olsen and Johnson. As she sings and swings with
all of the skill and abandon that only a lifelong vaudevillian can
muster, footage of people diving into a pool is paused, reversed, and
played over and over again.<br />
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<br />
The second number is a show-stopping Lindy
Hop performed by the black employees of Kitty’s estate. Much like a
similar sequence in the Marx Brothers classic <i>A Day at the Races</i>
(1937), the Lindy Hop number gave a chance for otherwise disenfranchised
black performers to demonstrate their ferocious talents. <br />
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<br />
Also like many of the Marx Brothers’ films, <i>Hellzapoppin’</i>
devotes a couple of musical numbers to the bland romantic couples who,
for the most part, serve as dull straight-men (and women) to the madcap
antics of the film’s stars. But surprisingly, <i>Hellzapoppin’</i>
managed to make these segments memorable as well. One early sappy love
ballad is frequently interrupted by title cards announcing: “Attention
Please! If Stinky Miller is in the audience -- GO HOME!” <br />
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<br />
Another
ballad is intercut with sequences of choreographed synchronized
swimmers, predicting similar numbers in future films starring Esther
Williams. But even more fascinating is how the filmmakers transitioned
between shots of the singers and shots of the swimmers: they would
frequently take a close-up of an inconsequential object, like a white
rose or a fan, and do a fade-in of the swimmers arranged in a similar
pattern.<br />
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<br />
These sequences speak to the underlying genius of <i>Hellzapoppin’</i>: it is just as much a piece of <i>cinema </i>as
it is an adaptation of a theatrical musical. Instead of simply moving
from one to the other via an edit or a tracking shot, the filmmakers
utilized a technique that would have been nearly impossible to replicate
on stage. But in fact, most of the film could be described that way. I
couldn’t imagine a film like <i>Hellzapoppin’</i> existing (and
succeeding) in any other medium. Ingeniously metafictional, distinctly
cinematic, ruthlessly creative, joyfully anarchic, and most importantly,
deliriously entertaining, <i>Hellzapoppin’</i> is a treasure of the American musical comedy tradition.<br />
<br />
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Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-41396850372570859152014-02-28T11:37:00.002-08:002014-02-28T11:38:33.759-08:00The Steel HelmetDirected by Samuel Fuller<br />
1951<br />
The United States of America<br />
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<br />
In his landmark study <i>The American Cinema: Directors and Directions 1929-1968</i>, Andrew Sarris wrote of Samuel Fuller: <br />
<br />
“<i>[His]
ideas are undoubtedly too broad and oversimplified for any serious
analysis, but it is the artistic force with which his ideas are
expressed that makes his career so fascinating to critics who can rise
above their political prejudices...It is time the cinema followed the
other arts in honoring its primitives.</i>” <br />
<br />
With all due respect to Mr. Sarris, there is nothing primitive about Fuller’s greatest films. His 1951 Korean War film <i>The Steel Helmet</i>
may have only been his third film, but it demonstrates a clarity of
vision, a ruthlessness of purpose, and a single-minded skill the likes
of which eluded many of his contemporaries who were industry veterans.<br />
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<br />
Largely inspired by his service during World War Two fighting with the 1st Infantry Division of the US Army, <i>The Steel Helmet</i>
follows a rag-tag patrol of US Infantry who are tasked with capturing a
Buddhist temple and establishing an observation post. First among them
is the cynical Sgt. Zack (Gene Evans), the sole survivor of his unit
after they were captured and executed by North Koreans. A bitter,
grizzled veteran of World War Two, he is rescued by a South Korean
orphan (William Chun) that he quickly nicknames “Short Round.” Despite
his wishes, Short Round follows Sgt. Zack as he meets up with Corporal
Thompson (James Edwards), an African-American medic whose unit was also
wiped out. <br />
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<br />
In a foggy jungle (in reality a tiny set
that Fuller tricks the audience into thinking is a sprawling jungle via
tight close-ups and clever frame compositions), they meet up with a
straggling patrol led by the inexperienced Lieutenant Driscoll (Steve
Brodie). Once together, they have their first fire-fight with a small
group of North Korean snipers. It is here that the ingenuity of Fuller’s
technique comes into focus: the fighting is portrayed as a dirty,
terrifying, and intimate affair via close-ups, realistic fighting
(weapons jam, enemies are largely obscured and unseen, and the violence
occurs in occasional spurts interspersed throughout panicked calm), and a
palpable sense of fear.<br />
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<br />
In creating <i>The Steel Helmet</i>,
Fuller had deliberately wanted to portray an accurate cross-section of
the US Infantry. Therefore the patrol is made up of characters who defy
the traditional war genre stock characters like the ingenue farm-boy and
the tough-talking, cynical Joe Whats-His-Name from Brooklyn. There’s
the war-weary Nisei Sgt. Tanaka (Richard Loo), an ex-conscientious
objector who lugs around his old priest’s hand organ named Private
Bronte (Robert Hutton), a soft-spoken radio operator who lost all of his
hair to Scarlet Fever nicknamed Private Baldy, and a mute pack mule
caretaker known simply as Joe.<br />
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<br />
Once at the temple, Joe
is killed by a hidden North Korean soldier who is quickly taken
prisoner. Sgt. Zack wants blood, but Lt. Driscoll’s superiors want a
prisoner for interrogation. For the next few hours their prisoner tries
to sow discord among their ranks. He asks Thompson how he can fight for a
racist country that deprives him of rights and freedoms. He asks Tanaka
how he can kill other Asians for a country that locked up Japanese
citizens in camps during World War Two. Both of these scenes caused
great controversy with the US Army which had provided the production
with stock footage. In fact, <i>The Steel Helmet</i> was reportedly the
first American film to acknowledge the Japanese internment camps. Ever
the hard-hitting reporter, Fuller refused to back down from these
controversies. <br />
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In one last moment of scandal, Sgt.
Zack guns down their prisoner for mocking Short Round after he is killed
by sniper fire. The Army was appalled by Fuller’s implication that
Americans executed POWs, but he fought back by having his former
commanding officer, Brigadier General George A. Taylor, contact the
Pentagon and confirm that such instances were historically accurate.<br />
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<br />
The
film climaxes with a devastating North Korean assault on the temple in
which most of the patrol is killed. The sequence is both a breath-taking
piece of film-making and a semiotically charged phantasm. The entire
film was shot in only ten days for $104,000. As per the film’s
shoestring budget, Fuller was forced to transform 25 extras from UCLA
into the rampaging North Korean Army. For scenes that he couldn’t
replicate with stock footage, Fuller filmed the extras in long distance
shots and swift medium close-ups that obscured his actors’ faces. Much
like how Sam Peckinpah managed to create the French Army in <i>Major Dundee</i>
(1965) by filming a small group of costumed extras several times in
different locations, Fuller tricks the audience into thinking that they
are watching an entire army. <br />
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<br />
One of the reoccurring symbols in <i>The Steel Helmet</i>
is the massive, towering Buddha located in the temple. It is Fuller’s
semiotic invocation of the Buddha that proves that he is not an
enthusiastic amateur. Utilizing what Christian Metz referred to as
“bracket syntagma,” wherein individual shots are grouped together to
create certain associations, Fuller transforms the Buddha from scene to
scene. When the soldiers first arrive, the Buddha seems like an
imposing enigma from an unknowable culture. When they make camp,
Fuller’s continuous framing of the Buddha in the background of shots
transforms it into an omnipresent spectator. When their prisoner finally
dies, the Buddha’s bleeding hand makes him an angel of mercy. And
finally, as the temple is obliterated by artillery shells and gunfire,
the Buddha becomes a stoic monument of the impermanence of humanity
against the implacable nature of infinity.<br />
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<br />
Fuller’s
means may have been primitive, but his creations were not. The film was a
hit when it was released, grossing more than $6 million and becoming
the first independently produced film to play at Loew’s State Theater in
New York City. <i>The Steel Helmet</i> also brought Fuller to
Hollywood’s attention, scoring him a contract with Fox.<br />
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From there on
Fuller would direct some of the most daring and iconoclastic films of
the late Hollywood Studio System. Fuller’s ultimate masterpiece is
widely considered to be <i>The Big Red One</i> (1980), a film that
followed the exploits of his beloved 1st Infantry throughout World War
Two. But I still feel inclined to declare<i> The Steel Helmet </i>as his best war film. With its go-for-broke mentality and sweaty aesthetic, <i>The Steel Helmet</i> is as good a war film as was ever made about the “Forgotten War.”Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-85012300403842690842013-12-31T13:46:00.001-08:002013-12-31T13:49:54.307-08:00მონანიება (Repentance)Directed by Tengiz Abuladze<br />
1984<br />
Georgian SSR<br />
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A smartly-trimmed mustache lies nestled in his philtrum. Thin, frameless
glasses dig into the ridge of his nose. A black shirt and leather
suspenders stretch over his plump frame. His lips straddle a cavern from
which escape sweet lies, manic ramblings, and operatic arias. Stretched
into a smile, they betray the empty promises of a hollow man. In the
evening he will charm you. In the morning he will arrest you. And for
reasons apparent only to himself, you will disappear.<br />
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For years Varlam Aravidze served as the mayor of a small town in Soviet
Georgia. His death was marked by public mourning and a pompous funeral.
But the next morning his rigid corpse seemingly materializes in the
garden of his son Abel’s house. The body is quickly reburied. But again,
the next morning the body appears in Abel’s garden. The exasperated
police take the only option they can think of: arrest the dead body so
it can be held for an inquiry. This Kafka-esque farce continues for
several more days. The body is reburied and dug up again night after
night. Finally the grave is covered in a massive metal cage. But still,
the body returns. <br />
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One night the perpetrator is finally caught in the act. She is revealed to be a local pastry chief named Ketevan Barateli. She is swiftly brought to trial where she freely admits to exhuming Varlam’s grave but refuses to admit guilt. “As long as I live Varlam Aravidze will not rest in the ground,” she declares. And so she begins the flashback which will engross most of the rest of Tengiz Abuladze’s <i>Repentance</i>, a brave and powerful film that seeks nothing less than the catharsis of an entire nation in the wake of decades of Stalinist control. Originally shot in 1984, the film was shelved for several years by Soviet authorities. Premiering at the 1987 Cannes Film Festival, the film was seen by an estimated 60 million Russians and was celebrated for being one of the true masterpieces of post-<i>glasnost</i> Soviet filmmaking. <br />
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The journey through Ketevan’s past as she witnesses the rise of the despotic Varlam is painful and heart-breaking. At first Varlam, played by esteemed Georgian actor Avtandil Maxaradze, appears as little more than an oafish buffoon. His inauguration plays like a scene from a Charlie Chaplin film: as his speech is swallowed up by a booming brass band he is soaked by a burst water main. He receives pleas from Ketevan’s artist father Sandro to save a historic church with apparent compassion and sympathy. One night he arrives at Ketevan’s house with two assistants - who are dressed like they just came from a reception given by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers - bearing gifts of flowers and caged birds. A swish of Varlam’s cloak materializes a playmate for Ketevan out of the aether in the form of a young Abel. Varlam and his assistants belt out jaunty opera tunes before jumping out of the window onto horses which whisk them away into the night. <br />
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That night monstrous dreams plague Sandro and his wife; dreams of dark corridors, fields of mud, and above all the smiling figure of Varlam being speed through the Georgian countryside in a blue automobile. In the morning Sandro is suddenly arrested by soldiers clothed in medieval metal armor. As Sandro is removed, one soldier clumsily plays the piano while another spirits away the paintings on his walls. The same paintings, one should mention, that Varlam was so enthusiastic about praising the night before.<br />
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Soon much of the entire town vanishes. The once charming Varlam has morphed into a gibbering madman, spewing out nonsensical rhetoric during speeches like “Four out of every three people are our enemies!” Without warning, Sandro’s church is demolished in the night. And finally, the men in metal armor come for Ketevan’s mother.<br />
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Certainly Varlam was a composite of numerous 20th century dictators, what with his Hitler mustache and Mussolini build. But it is his similarities with Joseph Stalin, Georgia’s home-grown tyrant, that warrant the most attention. After all, for all of its fame as a Soviet film, Repentance is first and foremost a Georgian work of cinema. The film is steeped in metaphors for the rise and rule of Stalin. Much like Varlam, Stalin was well-known for his chameleonic abilities to change his personality depending on the situation. As Julie Christensen writes, “Another central link between Varlam and Stalin, as the Georgians understand him, is the changing face of the evil dictator: concerned patriot, enlightened ruler, scheming maniac, and sadistic pervert. Stalin was well-known for his ability to don masks and change his identity, and [Maxaradze’s performance] centers around that motif.”<br />
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If we accept the interpretation that Varlam was a Stalin stand-in, then the film takes on a greater, richer meaning than it would if it was a simple treatise on despotism and man’s capacity for cruelty. An essential element of Georgian culture is their treatment and veneration of the dead. Continuing her astute analysis of Georgian society in <i>Repentance</i>, Christensen elaborates: “The past and its remains are holy...[Ketevan], a Georgian woman, denies Varlam proper treatment of a dead hero and violates his grave.” The third part of <i>Repentance</i> deals with Abel and his son Tornike coming to terms with Ketevan’s revelations about their patriarch. Unable to cope with the guilt, Tornike commits suicide and Abel personally steals Varlam’s body and unceremoniously throws it off the side of a cliff. These scenes involving the confrontation of a dictator’s true legacy and the decanonization of his status as a cultural hero provided catharsis for Georgian audiences in a manner other Soviet countries could not appreciate as fully.<br />
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Of course, to view <i>Repentance </i>as a mere metaphor would be to rob it of its simple visceral pleasures. The film is full of heart-breaking images such as Ketevan and her mother searching for Sandro’s name among messages scrawled into logs by prisoners upstream. Abuladze delights in warping the boundaries between different times, spaces, and cultures. The soundtrack will sway between austere classical music and blaring pop. In one scene a blindfolded Lady Justice stands in a prison courtyard next to a political insider merrily playing a white piano. In another Sandro and his wife lay buried up to their chins in dirty muck in the countryside. Elsewhere Varlam’s ghostly spectre peels the skin from a fish in a dark church while Abel begs for Absolution.<br />
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While the rest of the world’s socially-conscious cinema seems to be trapped by the limitations of stark realism, Abuladze dares something more. In <i>Repentance</i>, the sword of surrealism is wielded in the name of social commentary and Georgian justice. <br />
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<br />Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-11289076017981013182013-11-29T17:47:00.003-08:002013-11-29T17:48:23.015-08:00泥の河 (Muddy River)Directed by Kōhei Oguri<br />
1981<br />
Japan<br />
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<br />
There are films about children and there are films about childhood. The
former merely contain child actors. But the latter are about the world
that children inhabit, the emotions and experiences that accompany
growing up; the mysteries borne of misunderstandings, unanswered
curiosities, and the temporarily inexplicable. Films about childhood ask
questions but scarcely provide answers. For the life of a child is one
of censorship and confinement. They have yet to figure out the world
because the world hides things from them. But they see. They listen. And
they think.<br />
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The great films about childhood consistently rank amongst the best ever made: René Clément’s <i>Forbidden Games</i> (1952), François Truffaut’s <i>The 400 Blows</i> (1959) and <i>Small Change</i> (1976), Víctor Erice’s <i>The Spirit of the Beehive</i> (1973), and Hector Babenco’s <i>Pixote</i>
(1981) to name a few. Perhaps this is because it takes a true master
filmmaker to penetrate that realm without seeming exploitative or
needlessly sentimental. So when films like Kōhei Oguri’s <i>Muddy River </i>appear, it is our duty and privilege to acknowledge them.<br />
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Quite simply, <i>Muddy River</i> is one of the best Japanese films about
childhood. As Oguri’s directorial debut, he demonstrates the kind of
wisdom and restraint that eludes most veteran filmmakers. The film was
praised upon release by international critics, earning him several
awards and a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language
Film (inevitably losing, perhaps justifiably so, to István Szabó’s <i>Mephisto</i>). But now the film languishes in obscurity, being almost impossible to find on VHS or DVD. But <i>Muddy River </i>surges
with a timeless vitality. If and when it finally receives a proper
release, audiences will be amazed by its enduring artistry and wonder
why it hasn’t been canonized as one of the great Japanese classics. <br />
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Almost a decade after the end of World War Two, 9-year-old Nobuo Itakura
lives next to the mouth of the Kyū-Yodo River in Osaka. The first
blossoms of what would become known as the “Japanese post-war economic
miracle” have begun to bloom: the city has been largely reconstructed,
new families are springing up, and Nobuo’s parents are able to run a
small yet respectable noodle shop. But the scars of war live on in
those, like Nobuo’s father Shinpei, unfortunate enough to have survived
the fighting. “There must be lots of people out there who wish now that
they’d died in the war,” he wearily comments one night. This statement,
overheard by a sleepless Nobuo, seems prophetic. For the next day three
such unfortunates drift their way in Nobuo’s life. <br />
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Nobuo meets the first, a young boy his age named Kiichi, on a bridge one
rainy day. They swiftly become friends and Kiichi invites him to his
houseboat, a ramshackle piece of junk that miraculously stays afloat.
Nobuo is shocked by what he sees: desperate poverty the likes of which
he never imagined. Kiichi’s shoes are full of holes, they have to ration
clean drinking water, and they have almost no food. Kiichi’s widowed
mother, Shoko, has been forced into prostitution, bringing clients to
her private room at night while her children sleep just a few walls
away. Kiichi’s older sister, Ginko, seems spiritually crushed, perhaps
aware that she is doomed to follow in her mother’s footsteps. <br />
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And yet Nobuo and Kiichi become inseparable. Though initially
apprehensive about their mother’s reputation, Shinpei and his wife
Sadako welcome Kiichi and Ginko into their home with open arms. There
are many quiet moments of soft comedy during this sequence wherein Ginko
tries to get Kiichi to behave properly in spite of their “uncivilized”
upbringing. Shinpei throws out a couple of friends who come to their
shop for noodles only to mock Kiichi and Ginko’s mother for being a
whore. Sadako quickly comes to treat Ginko as the daughter she never
had, giving her a pretty (and expensive) dress and taking her to a
bathhouse.<br />
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Time passes and little moments come and go: Nobuo witnesses what may or
may not have been a man drowning himself in the river, a barge captain
throws Nobuo and Kiichi a melon as they pass by their houses, and the
two of them go to a local festival only to accidentally lose their
spending money. In one scene, Shinpei takes Nobuo to visit his dying
ex-wife in her final moments. These scenes may seem superfluous to those
accustomed to more traditional cinematic narrative techniques. But they
are just as essential to the film as any other. After all, is childhood
ever a straight, streamlined chain of events? More often than not
childhood is composed of distractions, daydreams, and seemingly
innocuous vignettes that for whatever reason become burned into our
memories. <br />
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<br />
And then there is the hardest emotion for children to swallow: sadness.
One night Kiichi invites Nobuo onboard his house and lights a series of
crabs on fire. Such an act of cruelty seems out of place and repellent.
But as Nobuo tries to save one, he accidentally spies Shoko with a
client. They make eye contact for a brief moment. And then we realize,
in the pit of our stomach, that with the boon of a customer Kiichi and
his family will have to move on. And the next day, to Nobuo’s confusion,
the boat, and his friend, are gone. Why did Kiichi incinerate the
crabs? Was it to repulse Nobuo and make their separation easier? That is
one explanation. But the true answer remains elusive. All that remains
is the pain, the loss, the loneliness. <br />
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<br />
Throughout the film Nobuo and Kiichi catch glimpses of a legendary giant
carp that inhabits the murky bottom of the Kyū-Yodo River. Declaring it
their secret, it becomes one of the impetuses for their friendship. In
Japanese culture, the carp, or “koi,” is a symbol of strength and
masculinity that is frequently associated with young children. It is
believed that this tradition stems from an ancient Chinese legend
wherein carp transform into dragons if they manage to swim upstream and
jump over a waterfall located at the Dragon’s Gate. Many try, but most
fail. <br />
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<br />
In post-war Osaka, some boys were blessed with enough prosperity
to escape poverty and become mighty dragons. But many, like Kiichi, were
swept away downstream until all that was left of them were memories. <i>Muddy River</i> is one such memory, resplendent in its beauty, agonizing in its honesty.<br />
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Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-70360370042393355392013-10-30T14:13:00.000-07:002013-10-30T14:14:32.007-07:00To Sleep with AngerDirected by Charles Burnett<br />
1990<br />
The United States of America<br />
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<br />
In the backyard of his comfortable home nestled in the bosom of South
Central Los Angeles, Gideon throws a handful of feed into the chicken
coop. Though nowadays he can most certainly afford to buy his chickens
from the market, his Deep South beginnings betray him. The sun is bright
and the brown ground scuffs his bare feet. In the living room, his wife
Suzie leads a group of pregnant women in breathing exercises. The only
sounds to be heard are her gentle voice, the exhalation of air, and the
scurrying of her grandson Sunny upstairs. Next door a young boy noisily
blows on a trumpet in the attic. The squawks and honks elicit the
laughter and jeers of neighborhood children. For Gideon and his family,
such is just another afternoon in the black middle class.<br />
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But all
is not well. Sunny’s father, “Babe Brother,” the youngest of Suzie’s
two sons, is unreliable and neglectful: he spoils his child, forgets
about his mother’s birthday, and weasels his way out of helping Gideon
fix his roof. And so, Gideon is angry with his son’s laziness and
dishonesty. Junior, Suzie’s eldest, resents the “special treatment” he
is convinced his parents gave Babe. And Babe is frustrated by his
family’s suffocating demands. Though far from dysfunctional, the threads
keeping this extended family together have begun to fray. Anger and
resentment have started to creep into the recesses of their everyday
lives. And elsewhere strange omens abound: Gideon’s dreams are filled
with images of burning fruit and flaming feet, objects in the kitchen
knock themselves over onto the floor, and their toby, a kind of
protective charm passed down through the generations, goes missing.<br />
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And then comes a knock at the door.<br />
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In
his pocket, a ratty address book. In his hand, a hat. On his lips, a
smile brimming with honeyed affection. His name in Harry, and it’s been
thirty years since last they’ve met. And though Gideon and Suzie are
eager to welcome their old friend into their home, they have no way of
knowing the evil that has crossed their doorway. And so the trap is
sprung in Charles Burnett’s piercing meditation on African-American
folklore simply titled <i>To Sleep with Anger</i>.<br />
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The title
comes from an old saying: “Never go to bed angry.” Perhaps originating
from Ephesians 4:26, the saying explains that couples should never go to
sleep if they have unresolved issues or differences. To do so would
only allow that anger and frustration to fester and take deeper root.
Indeed, as the title would suggest, <i>To Sleep with Anger</i> watches as Gideon and Suzie’s family is corrupted from within by their enigmatic guest.<br />
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At
first Harry is warmly amiable and friendly, though perhaps a bit rustic
and superstitious. When somebody accidentally touches his feet with a
broom, his goes pale and immediately throws salt over his shoulders.
During a card game with Babe Brother he pulls out a knife to pick his
thumbnail. He delights in showing Sunny the rabbit’s foot tied to it,
explaining that it is meant to replace his toby which he “lost years
ago.” He even helps Junior with his work around the house.<br />
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But
ever so slowly, a more sinister side of Harry begins to seep out. He
harasses and humiliates an old “blues singer” girlfriend who has
converted to Christianity. His suggestion of holding a fish fry leads to
the introduction of an assortment of drinkers, gamblers, and
degenerates who seem to materialize onto their front porch. Eventually
his poisonous words convince Babe Brother to abandon his family.
Finally, the tensions borne of Harry’s presence leads to arguments,
fighting...and murder.<br />
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Much of <i>To Sleep with Anger</i>
originates from the personal experiences of director Charles Burnett.
Though born in Mississippi, he was raised in Los Angeles where he
managed to attend UCLA’s graduate film program. Burnett, alongside other
UCLA students from the 60s to the 80s, such as Julie Dash and Haile
Gerima, would help start the L.A. Rebellion, a movement of
African-American filmmakers who would create a distinctly Black Cinema.
Burnett’s <i>Killer of Sheep</i> (1977), his Master of Fine Arts thesis,
was a penetrating glance into the African-American culture present in
Los Angeles’ Watts district. To this day it is viewed as one of the
masterpieces of Black American cinema. <br />
<br />
But if <i>Killer of Sheep</i> took a Neorealist view of urban culture, <i>To Sleep with Anger</i>
is positioned firmly within the Gothic. The film isn’t an observation,
but an indictment of a community trapped between the contemporary and
the traditional. Indeed, Harry has been described by Burnett as a
character archetype from rural African-American lore: “He’s a
[trickster] that comes to steal your soul, and you have to out-trick
him. You can bargain with him. But you have to be more clever than he
is.” If Gideon and Suzie’s family personifies those black families who
sought to transition into the American middle class, then Harry is their
Southern roots come knocking with temptations of superstitions, blues,
and corn liquor. Harry is the embodiment of the ambivalence felt by many
African-Americans (including Burnett himself) towards a past that
provided a rich cultural milieu at the expense of slavery, servitude,
and oppression.<br />
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These struggles are repeatedly pronounced via
juxtapositions within Gideon and Suzie’s household. Watch how Burnett’s
direction alternates between the realistic and the fantastical. Listen
to the soundtrack’s struggle between pious church music and seductive
blues guitar. Observe how simple superstitions like folk remedies and
the observance of omens betray outward attempts at modernization. <i>To Sleep with Anger</i>
is a thick, multi-textured film that begs for multiple viewings. To see
it only once is to merely glean over the surface of one of the richest
experiences in American Black cinema.<br />
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<br />Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-57065531894459051272013-09-19T16:54:00.000-07:002013-09-19T16:57:57.308-07:00乱れ雲 (Scattered Clouds)Directed by Mikio Naruse<br />
1967<br />
Japan<br />
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What is he supposed to say? What <i>can </i>he say to the grieving family that he ripped asunder? Though the courts may have found him not guilty, he can hardly cope with the guilt of his actions. So against the advice of his colleagues, he attends the wake. After bowing to the portrait of the deceased, he turns to the man’s family. <br />
<br />
“Mrs. Eda...I am Shiro Mishima, of Meiji Commercial. I’m very sorry about the accident.”<br />
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The father balks indignantly. “You? Are you the driver? Are you the one who killed my son?" Silence. Yes, Mishima was the driver who, while entertaining company guests, accidentally ran over Hiroshi Eda. But he didn't just kill Hiroshi that fateful day, he destroyed the happy plans he had made with his wife Yumiko to move to the United States and start a new life. Now Yumiko is merely an expectant widow. As Mishima is quickly escorted from the wake by a colleague, she blasts him with a look filled with all the hatred, contempt, and impotent fury that her soul can muster.<br />
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So begins Mikio Naruse's <i>Scattered Clouds</i>, a melodrama of impossible love that marked the end of one of Japan's greatest filmmakers. In two years Naruse, director of 87 feature films, would be dead. Though usually overshadowed by contemporaries like Akira Kurosawa and Kenji Mizoguchi, Naruse gained a reputation over four decades of work as one of the definitive early Japanese filmmakers. And if<i> Scattered Clouds</i> was his curtain call, it stands as nothing less than his apotheosis.<br />
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<br />
After the wake, Yumiko and Mishima coincidentally end up in the same small town in rural Japan. Yumiko’s name (and inheritance) was revoked by her family, forcing her to move in with her sister Ayako who runs a country hotel. Meiji Commercial, seeking to avoid further scandal, unknowingly transfers Mishima to the same location. It is the kind of twist that can only occur in the most extravagant of melodrama. Yet for Naruse, who devoted much of his career directing <i>shomin-geki</i>, or films about the lower middle classes (particularly concerning women facing incredible adversity), such a development serves as a dramatic catalyst instead of as a convenient method to further the plot.<br />
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Indeed, Naruse’s protagonists frequently retreat to the countryside where they discover great insights into their own personal struggles. In <i>Floating Clouds</i> (1955), an obsessed woman follows the object of her affection to the countryside after he is transferred. In <i>Yearning</i> (1964), the roles are reversed: a young woman is pursued by her brother-in-law to Northern Japan after she romantically rejects him. But in these films, the movement to the countryside precedes the rejection of affections. In the end, both the woman from <i>Floating Clouds</i> and the brother-in-law from <i>Yearning </i>are abandoned. But the opposite occurs in <i>Scattered Clouds</i>: the movement to the countryside serves as the impetus for Yumiko and Mishima to fall in love. And if not for a cruel twist of fate, we could fully believe that they could have lived happily ever after. <br />
<br />
At first, Yumiko is understandably distant from Mishima. Both have been terribly wounded: Mishima by his inconsolable guilt and Yumiko by the loss of her future. But they slowly become drawn to each other. Visits to Ayako’s inn lead to lunches which in turn lead to afternoons spent together in the countryside. During one outing, Mishima catches a fever and Yumiko spends the night taking care of him. As Mishima fades in and out of consciousness, he repeatedly tries to convince Yumiko that he is better and that she should leave. It is here that we see the true brilliance behind Naruse’s restrained direction: as Mishima suffers and Yumiko stands vigil, their internal emotional turmoil is expressed by the sounds of a terrible thunderstorm. Though frequently experimental in his early years, by his later career Naruse had developed a very subdued style, utilizing simplistic frame compositions and unobtrusive filming/editing techniques. His sparse screenplays relied chiefly on the actors’ abilities to physically emote their unspoken emotions. Therefore, the physical inaction of the actors juxtaposed with the violence of the storm outside results in a scene of overwhelming power. <br />
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But in the end their love can never be. News comes that Meiji Commercial is transferring Mishima to Pakistan for a minimum of three years. Mishima tries to convince Yumiko to come with him. But just before they can leave, they witness a car accident almost identical to the one that killed Hiroshi. In that moment, they realize deep inside themselves that their love if futile. The film ends with them sharing a meal at an inn. Mishima says that he will sing her a local song that supposedly will bring happiness to whoever hears it. As he sings, Yumiko gently weeps. And then, the film ends.<br />
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While some may find such an anti-climax jarring, it is essential to understanding Naruse’s work. Naruse once mentioned of his characters that “if they move even a little they quickly hit the wall. From the youngest age, I have thought that the world we live in betrays us; this thought still remains with me.” Such ingrained pessimism makes sense when examined from the perspective of Naruse’s life: his parents died when he was young, he struggled his whole life against poverty, and he was often delegated to thankless jobs while working for major studios. Through his films, Naruse evoked feelings and emotions inaccessible to most filmmakers...and audiences. As Michael Koresky once wrote: “[Naruse’s] stories are inhabited by people, generally women, imprisoned in their domestic and professional circumstances by the status quo, and hinge on tragic accidents and other twists of fate...[They are] reflections of everyday life, with vivid material presence and indelible figures who remain outwardly serene even as battles rage within. Naruse’s characters’ acquiescence to the way things are exemplifies the Japanese term <i>mono no aware</i>, which describes a resignation to life’s sadness.”<br />
<br />
Let me leave you with one final story. While Naruse was near-death, he expressed his desire to make “a film to be shot with only white curtain backdrops, no real sets, no exteriors, all concentration on the nuances of human movement expressing feeling carved down to the quick.” Naruse never got to make that film. But then again, he rarely got what he wanted. Much like his protagonists, he was cheated out of his dream at the last minute. But such is life. <br />
<br />
Such is life... Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-89686854169283473502013-06-30T12:02:00.000-07:002013-08-06T17:48:09.105-07:00Guess What Time It Is? That's Right: Hiatus Time!!I really hate writing these messages, but I feel like I have to: I am going to have to go on a temporary hiatus. Having just graduated from graduate school, I am too busy looking for a job and dealing with (paying) freelance work to give this site the proper focus that I would like. So, I will be taking a break until September. Until that time, I hope to feature some guest posts on this site!<br />
<br />
Until then, thank you for your patience and patronage!<br />
<br />
Editor-in-Chief<br />
Nathanael HoodNathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-89263528884300455352013-05-31T16:50:00.002-07:002013-05-31T16:51:36.921-07:00La Ragazza Che Sapeva Troppo (The Girl Who Knew Too Much)Directed by Mario Bava<br />
1963<br />
Italy<br />
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<br />
When later asked about his film <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i>,
director Mario Bava responded that he did not regard it fondly. In
addition to being “preposterous,” he mentioned that it left such an
insignificant impression on him that he couldn’t even remember the
actors who played the leads. “Perhaps it could have worked with James
Stewart and Kim Novak,” he remarked. Yes, maybe if he had the same
actors as Alfred Hitchcock’s <i>Vertigo</i> (1958) the film would have been more famous. But as it stands, <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i>
is seen by many critics as a technically accomplished but insignificant
entry in Bava’s oeuvre. And, in many respects, the film’s lukewarm
reception isn’t unwarranted. The story is clumsy, rife with
inappropriate (and ineffective) comic relief, and greatly overshadowed
by the cinematography. And yet, <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i> may
very well be one of the most important <a href="http://www.casinotoplists.com/the-best-and-worst-of-horror-films-set-in-las-vegas" target="_blank">horror films</a> in history. Why?
Because it served as a bridge between the horror of Hitchcock and
Hollywood and the future of Italian horror, a much beloved and often
imitated genre known simply as the “<i>giallo</i>.”<br />
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<i>Giallo</i>, the Italian word for “yellow,” is a term used to describe
a series of mystery novels published by Mondadori in the late 1920s
which boasted bright yellow covers. As the series became more popular,
other publishers mimicked Mondadori’s marketing techniques until the
term <i>giallo</i> became synonymous with the mystery genre. The term continued to evolve when <i>giallo </i>stories were adapted for the cinema. And, indeed, <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i> was the very first <i>giallo</i>: a film hybrid mixing the mystery, horror, and thriller genres. Bava would further define the <i>giallo</i> with <i>Blood and Black Lace</i>
(1964), a film which introduced extremely graphic and stylized violence
(almost always committed against beautiful women) and an iconic black
disguise donned by the narrative’s main killer. However, <i>Blood and Black Lace</i>’s contributions to the genre were mostly visual. It was <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i> that would establish the traditional <i>giallo</i> narrative structure.<br />
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Much as the film’s title would suggest, <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i>
was heavily influenced by the work of Alfred Hitchcock. It centers
around a young American woman named Nora who travels to Rome in order to
meet her aunt. However, almost immediately after she arrives she finds
herself in the middle of a terrible murder plot. First, her aunt dies
when she goes to see her. Next, she is mugged in the <i>Piazza di Spagna</i>.
And finally, she witnesses a bearded man murder a young woman and drag
her body away before she can alert the authorities. There are two very
Hitchcock-esque traits to be found in these opening scenes. First, Nora
is an innocent woman thrown into violent circumstances beyond her
control. In Hitchcock’s films, this frequently manifested itself as the
Wrongly Accused Hero plot archetype. Second, whenever Nora tries to tell
people about what she saw, she is dismissed or ignored. Together, these
create a perverse atmosphere of paranoia and dread; a sense that the
world is cruelly and deliberately conspiring against the protagonist.<br />
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After
the attack, Nora decides to independently pursue the truth surrounding
that terrible murder. A devoted reader of mystery novels (we see her
reading one on the plane to Italy) the likes of which inspired the film
to begin with, she starts her own investigation. Along the way, she
makes several allies: Dr. Marcello Bassi, the man who had been caring
for Nora’s aunt, Laura Torrani, one of her aunt’s dear friends who lets
her stay in her house, and an investigative reporter named Landini who
had been investigating a series of murders attributed to the “Alphabet
Killer,” a serial killer known for picking out victims with names in
alphabetical order (“A” -- Gina Abbart, “B” -- Maria Beccati, “C” --
Emily Craven). However, it doesn’t take long for her snooping to catch
the attention of unwanted parties. She receives an ominous phone call
that says, “D is for death.” Nora’s last name? Davis.<br />
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Watching <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i>, I was struck by how often
Bava mimicked Hitchcock’s cinematographic techniques. The film’s black
and white photography was obviously largely inspired by Hollywood film <i>noir</i>’s
high-contrast, expressionist cinematography. But Bava seems to
transform the camera itself into an omnipresent character. One shot in
particular reminded me of the famous Sebastian mansion tracking shot in<i> Notorious </i>(1946):
when Laura first invites Nora into her home, the camera tracks them as
move through the rooms before breaking away from the two women and
zooming in on the doors of Laura’s husband’s locked study. Then, via an
unfortunate smash edit, it continues to zoom in until it focuses on a
picture of Laura’s husband. While much of the rest of the film’s
blocking, framing, and camera movements are highly subjective and
reflect Nora’s state of mind, this shot is an enigma. There are
literally no characters nearby who could be seeing what the audience is
witnessing. This shot is from the <i>camera</i>’s point of view and
exists for the benefit of the audience. In a stylistic flourish that Hitchcock frequently indulged in and practically perfected, the audience is transformed from fellow spectators into voyeurs.<br />
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And, essentially, voyeurism is at the heart of <i>giallo</i>. As the genre would evolve, it would become more and more indulgent with its use of colors, sets, and murder scenes. Red herrings, like some of the plot cul-de-sacs in <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i>, would become a favored technique of <i>giallo</i> directors to keep its protagonists, and by extension the audience, misdirected and confused. Why were so many <i>giallo</i> victims women? Probably because, on a very primal and unspeakable level, killing a beautiful woman is like smashing a stained glass window with a rock. Both are destructive acts, but they are impossible to look away from. We take perverse pleasure in watching such corruption and annihilation. Where did this sense of voyeurism come from? Hitchcock. And in between Hitchcock and <i>giallo</i> is Mario Bava. Or, more specifically, <i>The Girl Who Knew Too Much</i>. <br />
<br />Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-69844243688221148072013-04-30T19:44:00.003-07:002013-04-30T19:46:37.880-07:00American PopDirected by Ralph Bakshi<br />
1981<br />
The United States of America<br />
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“I had this dream that animation could be the medium of the people...if Disney worked for the middle class, I was gonna work for the kids in the street.” - Ralph Bakshi<br />
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Somewhere in New York City, a skinny young man with hair as yellow as corn weaves in and out of a nerve-frayed punk wasteland. He carries a bag of narcotics which will soon pulsate through the veins of a generation of alienated musicians. It is the 1980s and everyone he meets seems bleary-eyed, sick, and apathetic. However, as he struts down the streets, he hears a sound which catches his attention: an Orthodox Jew singing a hymn. The young man stops, turns, adjusts his sunglasses to get a better look. Something stirs deep inside him and he begins to pulsate in time with the singing. As he walks away to meet his customers, the young man can’t shake the odd rhythm.<br />
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This young man is Pete Bolinski. And though he doesn’t know it, he has just reunited with a heritage that he didn’t even realize was his birthright. It is a heritage of culture and religion, of traditions lost in the shuffle of war and tragedy. It is a heritage of several generations of young men who in seeking to find their place in American society helped forge it. But most of all, it is a heritage of music; a heritage of American pop.<br />
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Audacious in scope and staggering in ambition, Ralph Bakshi’s <i>American Pop</i> is one of the great iconoclastic animator’s most indomitable films. The film manages to chart nearly 90 years of history in approximately the same number of minutes, creating a lush tapestry of emotion and drama that attempts nothing less than a summation of 20th century American popular music.<br />
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Most sources claim that <i>American Pop</i> follows four generations of the Bolinski family. But actually, it covers five. The first is Rabbi Jaacov Bolinski, the victim of a late 1890s pogrom in Tzarist Russia. As his community is attacked by Cossacks, Rabbi Jaacov forces his wife and ten-year-old son, Zalmie, to flee as he stays behind to finish his interrupted prayer and protect the <i>Torah</i>. The scene of Jaacov’s death, his family’s flight, and the ghetto’s destruction is set to the sounds of a Ukrainian religious chant. This haunting music is like a <i>kaddish</i> for the Bolinskis as they mourn the loss of their old lives, their old ways, their old songs.<br />
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As a nation of immigrants, American culture and music was borne not on its own shores, but from the tattered remnants of the Old Countries. In this way, Rabbi Jaacov Bolinski and his martyred songs are just as important as his descendants. <br />
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Zalmie and his mother eventually take up residence in New York City’s Lower East Side. While Mrs. Molinski slaves away in the garment-district, Zalmie finds work handing out chorus slips at burlesque houses. His talents as a singer are quickly discovered by the other performers. After Mrs. Molinski is killed in the Triangle Shirtwaist Company holocaust, Zalmie becomes a full-time performer specializing in “juveniles,” or roles that take advantage of his angelic voice.<br />
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But after receiving a vicious throat wound during World War One, he abandons the stage and falls in with mobsters so he can support his new wife and child, Benny.<br />
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As a teenager, Benny throws himself into the world of music and becomes a jazz piano virtuoso. And yet, there is something...off...about Benny. I suspect that today he would be diagnosed with either autism or Asperger’s. Painfully shy and rigidly introverted, he doesn’t even scream or cry when he watches his mother get accidentally killed by a bomb intended for Zalmie. He just silently watches and continues playing the piano.<br />
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He eventually marries the daughter of Zalmie’s mob boss and impregnates her. But it’s easy to suspect that if the marriage hadn’t been arranged, Benny would have lived a life of self-imposed celibacy <br />
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Despite Zalmie’s objections, Benny enlists to fight in World War Two. In one of the truly transcendent moments of Bakshi’s career, Benny discovers a piano in a bombed out building in Nazi Germany. As he begins to play <i>As Time Goes By</i>, a Nazi soldier emerges from the rubble and takes aim at him. Benny pauses for just a moment before playing the first few bars of <i>Lili Marleen</i>. The Nazi, overcome with emotion, closes his eyes. For a few short seconds they partake in a communion of beauty and joy. “Danke.” Gunshots. A blood-stained piano. <br />
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Cut to years later and Zalmie’s son, Tony, is a spaced-out pressure cooker of anger and fear who steals his stepfather’s car and goes on a cross-country roadtrip. During one stop in Kansas, he finds a moment of peace with a beautiful blonde-haired, blue-eyed waitress. We suspect that this tryst will be one of the last times that anything will truly make sense in his life. For Tony is so uptight that he seems doomed to self-destruction.<br />
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Once in San Francisco, Tony joins a six-piece rock group as a harmonica player. Visions of Haight-Ashbury, heroin, and rock ‘n’ roll coalesce into the mother of all bad trips that leaves his lover, the lead singer of the band (an amalgam of Grace Slick and Janis Joplin), dead of an overdose and himself stranded in New York City with a familiar-looking blonde-haired young boy.<br />
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Perhaps realizing that his continued presence will only serve to doom his son, Tony abandons the boy (after taking his acoustic guitar to pawn for drug money).<br />
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The boy eventually becomes a man: Pete Bolinski, drug-dealer extraordinaire for the New York punk scene. Just as Zalmie before him, Pete is a stranger in a strange land, forced to hustle for survival on the mean streets of NYC. And just like his fathers before him, he is destined for a career and future in American pop. One day he forces one of his clients to record one of his songs or he will cut off their supply. The band reluctantly agrees. The rest...is history.<br />
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<i>American Pop</i> saw the height of Bakshi’s talents both as a
storyteller and an animator. The rotoscoping techniques that Bakshi
experimented with in <i>Wizards</i> (1977) and <i>The Lord of the Rings </i>(1978) reach new levels of beauty and magnificence in <i>American Pop</i>. By rotoscoping his characters (and historical footage from classic movies like <i>The Public Enemy</i> [1931] and <i>Stormy Weather </i>[1943]), the film exudes an aura of authenticity, almost like an animated documentary.<br />
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Unlike his earlier films like<i> Heavy Traffic</i> (1973) and <i>Coonskin</i>
(1975) where characters were represented as extreme racial caricatures,
Bakshi and his animators took great pains to detail every nook and
cranny of their subjects. Some might find this technique repellant, but I
think it highlights a facet of Bakshi’s work that has gone criminally
under-appreciated and under-examined: his warm humanism.<br />
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As I see
more and more of Bakshi’s films, the more and more I’ve come to view
him as a cinematic humanist of the same caliber as Jean Renoir and
Robert Bresson. Yes, Bakshi exploits crude stereotypes. He is
provocative, but very rarely towards individuals. Bakshi’s crosshairs
are always pointed at corrupt societies, manipulators, liars, con men,
and sell-outs. His characters wear the grotesque labels of racism,
homophobia, misogyny, and hatred as badges of honor, transforming them
into weapons with which to annihilate the ignorant. Here in <i>American Pop</i>, Bakshi refuses to simplify his characters. They are fat, misshapen, ugly, scared, and transcendentally beautiful.<br />
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Some might say that <i>American Pop</i>
is a tragedy that mourns the destructive influence of American society
on the marginalized. But I think Bakshi had other ideas. Notice how,
despite everything that the five generations of Bolinskis lose, they
always have the music. It is an inexplicable bond that connects them
together through the fires of war and the march of time. It is something
that can never be broken, defined, or explained. It is the fire of the
pogroms, the crowded seats of vaudeville halls, the bleary-eyed piano
players, the human debris of the Lost Generation, and the punks with
nothing to lose. It is American Pop.Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-72898025812049375292013-04-05T22:59:00.002-07:002013-04-05T22:59:31.095-07:00A Word on Roger EbertThe fact that I never got to meet Roger Ebert and say "thank you" for
inspiring me to pursue film criticism will haunt me for the rest of my
life. All I can think of is the scene in LIFE OF PI when Richard Parker
left Pi.<br /><br />"And then Richard Parker, my fierce companion, the
terrible one who kept me alive, disappeared forever from my life. I wept
like a child, not because I was overwhelmed at having survived,
although I was...I was weeping because Richard Parker left me so
unceremoniously. It broke my heart...I wanted to say 'Thank you Richard
Parker, you saved my life. I love you.'"<br /><br />Well you saved my life, Roger. <br />And you left before I could say goodbye. <br />You left before I could say, "I love you."<br /><br />But I guess it's like Pi said:<br /><br />"I
suppose in the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go, but
what always hurts the most is not taking a moment to say goodbye."<br /><br />Goodbye, Roger Ebert. <br />
I'll miss you.<br />
I will always love you.<br />
<br />
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Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-61120343083601268502013-03-31T15:43:00.002-07:002013-03-31T15:45:45.253-07:00The Ballad of Little JoDirected by Maggie Greenwald<br />
1993<br />
The United States of America<br />
<br />
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<br />
In the American Western, there seem to be only three kinds of women:
schoolmarms, hookers, and cowgirls. The schoolmarm, representing the
encroachment of civilization in the savage West, is atypical of her
harsh surroundings; a stranger in a strange land bringing culture and
knowledge to the brutal and ignorant. The hooker, on the other hand, is
an extension of the frontier itself. While they may get gussied up in
French perfume and fancy finery, they are nevertheless an embodiment of
lawlessness and exploitation; of disease and carnal commerce. And then
there is the cowgirl. Donning the etiquette, manners, and iconography of
her masculine counterparts, she is frequently framed as the object of
desire and fetishization for a stalwart male hero; an untamed filly that
must be broken in for a role of domesticity (or at the very least
lassoed into a traditional heterosexual relationship). <br />
<br />
These
three women all have established spaces with the fictionalized world of
the Old West that sustain and provide for them: the schoolhouse for the
schoolmarm, the saloon for the hooker, and the ranch for the cowgirl.
Though very different, they all play crucial societal roles.<br />
<br />
But
the mythology of the Old West is just that: a mythology. Not every woman
who braved the Western frontier had a place carved out for them by
society. Many had to improvise their own role. Those that did were faced
with more than just the hostility of the unknown, uncontrollable
wilderness. These women had to contend with an insidious,
institutionalized misogyny that was ready and more than willing to prey
on those who didn’t stay “in their place.” <br />
<br />
Josephine Monaghan
was one such woman. The true story of her life seems more of fiction
than fact: after being disowned by her parents for having a child out of
wedlock, she moved to Idaho and became a successful rancher for 30
years, all the while masquerading so successfully as a man that her true
identity was only discovered upon her death. How did she manage such an
illusion for so long? How did nobody find out? And why did she feel
like she needed to dress as a man?<br />
<br />
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<br />
Maggie Greenwald’s <i>The Ballad of Little Jo</i>
attempts to address these mysteries by charting Jo’s years of exile.
The film begins with young Josephine traveling alone on a road on her
way West. Immediately she is beset upon by men who view her as sexual
prey. After escaping from a group of soldiers who try to rape her (after
an older man that she thought was her friend attempted to sell her),
she cuts her hair, scars her face, trades her skirts for pants, and
becomes ‘Jo.’ Notice the scene where Josephine buys a set of men’s
clothes. The shop-keeper, an old lady, scowls, “It’s against the law to
dress improper to your sex.” This, of course, happens right after a
muddy, terrified, and disheveled young woman bursts into her store
asking if she’s seen two soldiers. She doesn’t say it out loud, but the
look in the shop-keeper’s eyes reveal that she has put two and two
together: this poor young woman was sexually assaulted. And yet, when
she tries to buy men’s clothes to prevent future attacks, the
shop-keeper chastises her. Herein we discover one of the most unsettling
yet vital truths about the Old West: to act outside of one’s societal
role is inexcusable. If Josephine must be raped, then so be it. Better
for her to get sexually assaulted as a woman than for her to pretend to
be a man.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Eventually Jo arrives at Ruby City, a crude mining camp
populated by filthy workers searching for gems and gold. There are few,
if any women. If there are wives, sisters, and daughters, then we do
not see them. Periodically a traveling band of prostitutes come by and
all of the men dutifully take their turn. Little Jo, having already been
accepted as a man, is viciously mocked for refusing one of the
prostitute’s advances. “Little Jo, I think you should reconsider. A man
can get diseases he don’t do it regular,” one of them wisely explains.
It’s not enough that Little Jo looks, acts, and talks like a man. Jo
must go through the motions expected of a man to be accepted as one.<br />
<br />
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<br />
But
still Jo refuses. Suddenly Jo is looked upon by the other men with a
confused curiosity and a growing resentment. So after learning the
basics of frontier life from Percy, an exiled Englishman who nurses a
grudge against the female sex, Jo spends five years as a shepherd
tending the flock of a man named Frank Badger. Periodically spending
months without human contact, Badger worries that Jo might go crazy. But
Jo assures Badger that the loneliness “suits me.”<br />
<br />
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<br />
After saving
enough money, Jo purchases a homestead way out yonder where her only
neighbor is Badger. But one day while visiting Ruby City, Jo encounters
Badger and a group of men lynching a ‘Chinaman’ for trying to “take our
jobs.” After saving him, Badger and the others force Jo to employ him as
a housekeeper so he won’t simply wander to another town and take a job
away from another honest white man. Jo refuses, but eventually relents,
adopting the ‘Chinaman,’ whose name is revealed to be Tinman Wong. At
first, Tinman seems to be mentally slow and stupid. But after just three
days, he reveals that he knows Jo’s secret. But Tinman explains that he
has a secret, too: he is only pretending to be stupid. After 15 years
of inhuman treatment while working on the railroad, Tinman, whose real
name is ‘Tien Ma,’ learned that the best way to survive was to keep his
head down and play the part of the stupid ‘Chinaman.’<br />
<br />
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<br />
The two
strike up a passionate love affair, living a kind of role-reversed life
where Jo is the masculine bread-winner and Tinman the feminine
home-maker and cook. Both living in a society that affords them no
place, Jo and Tinman find sanctuary in both their little homestead and
in each other. It is here that Greenwald’s genius as a director and a
social commentator truly emerges. Take one scene where Jo longingly
stares at Tinman while he bathes. The visual grammar of the scene is
directly reminiscent of the traditional male gaze.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qYxKL5FDnFw/UVi3dIWimMI/AAAAAAAAECw/zliIrWMnKM0/s1600/Screen+Shot+2013-03-31+at+2.23.00+PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qYxKL5FDnFw/UVi3dIWimMI/AAAAAAAAECw/zliIrWMnKM0/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-03-31+at+2.23.00+PM.png" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Later, during a scene
where Jo and Tinman cuddle together in bed after making love, they
share a fascinating conversation that seems to summarize both the film
and Greenwald’s artistic intent:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Tinman:</b> [Regarding a picture of Jo before she got pregnant] Who is this society girl?<br /><b>Jo:</b> It’s me. Can you imagine?<br /><b>Tinman:</b> I like you much better as you are.<br /><b>Jo:</b> Why?<br /><b>Tinman:</b> This white girl would never do this with me.</span><br />
<br />
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<br />
Looking
back over what I’ve written so far, I’ve noticed that I’ve skipped over
much of the film’s plot: Jo’s tragic friendship with Percy, Jo’s
relationship with a family of homesteaders, an Eastern corporation’s
attempts to buy out all of the local land via terrorism and groups of
men in white masks, and even Jo’s inevitable death and discovery. But
the plot is secondary in importance to the character of Little Jo. The
film is not necessarily concerned with <i>what </i>happened to Josephine Monaghan when she moved out West, but instead with <i>why</i> and <i>how</i> they happened. <i>How</i> did a refined, educated high society woman survive for 30 years on the Idaho frontier? <i>Why</i> did Josephine become Jo? <i>How</i> did she manage to deceive everyone for decades? <i>Why </i>were the men so easily duped?<br />
<br />
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<br />
I
like Roger Ebert’s theory that the men of Ruby City were fooled into
thinking Little Jo was a man because on some sub-conscious level they <i>chose</i>
to believe it. As he wrote: “So ingrained was the notion that only men
could do "men's work," Greenwald says, that if a woman could ride and
rope and run a ranch, she was accepted as a man even in the face of
other evidence.” How ironic. Could it be that the very societal forces
that damned Josephine in the first place were in part responsible for
the success of her transformation into Jo? Perhaps. Perhaps not. All
that’s clear is that the Old West was no place for a woman who wasn’t a
schoolmarm, a hooker, or a cowgirl. Make of that what you will. Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-52624905028029355082013-02-27T05:26:00.001-08:002013-02-27T05:27:26.562-08:00Bangue Bangue (Bang Bang)Directed by Andrea Tonacci<br />
1971<br />
Brazil<br />
<br />
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<br />
In a stark white bathroom, a young man wearing nothing but grey shorts, a pair of sunglasses, and a cheap monkey mask pours himself a drink. Bringing it to his lips (or rather, the flimsy monkey ones), he spills most of it into the ruddy sink below him. He is surrounded by two large mirrors: the first, on the bathroom cabinet, capturing his bizarre visage and the second, on the wall, a massive film camera. Picking up a small electric razor, the man begins to buzz away at the mask’s whiskers. Slamming the cabinet shut, he turns around and stares directly at the camera, the giant machine now reflected in the sunglasses. He begins to sing.<br />
<br />
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<br />
“<i>I dreamed that you were so beautiful/at a party of rare splendor.<br />I still remember your ball gown/it was white, white, all white, my love.<br />The orchestra played some plaintive waltzes/I took your arms and we started dancing, both in silence.</i>”<br />
<br />
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<br />
In a hotel lobby, three muddied bandits cavort and crawl on the floor. The first, a beefy transvestite, crams fruit and foodstuffs into her mouth in large chomps. The second, a blind man, trips over onto the ground and fires his pistol randomly at the walls. The third, a smartly dressed man in a white suit, herds them into an elevator. They head up, up, up...but to where?<br />
<br />
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<br />
On the streets of São Paulo, a man gets into a fight with a taxi driver when he keeps missing his turn. In a crammed bedroom a magician summons birds and human beings instantly with the snap of a finger. On a rooftop a woman dances to the sound of a guitar. In a bar, a drunk harasses another patron. Another fight breaks out between taxi driver and customer. Somewhere a car chase ends in death and destruction. Again the three bandits, shooting and eating. Again a man singing in a bathroom, this time sans monkey mask. A man and woman repeat the same conversation five times in a row. At long last, one bandit tries to explain the plot, but is quickly silenced by a cream pie.<br />
As bizarre scene cuts to bizarre scene, the audience grows restless. What is the point? Who are these characters? What are they doing? Do these questions even HAVE answers?<br />
<br />
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<br />
If they do, director Andrea Tonacci isn’t telling. For these are questions borne from watching <i>Bang Bang</i> (1971), one of the most radical, infuriating, intriguing, and bold Brazilian films ever made. A self-described “Maoist detective comedy,” <i>Bang Bang</i> is a film that, for one reason or another, never quite begins. There are characters, but no motivations. There are story developments, but no explanations. There are chase scenes bereft of impetus, explanation, and resolution.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Do not make the mistake of dismissing <i>Bang Bang</i> as a meaningless exercise in cinematic deconstruction. There was a distinct method to Tonacci’s madness, one rooted in the chaotic maelstrom of late 60s, early 70s Brazilian society. Between 1960-1972, a new movement known as Cinema Novo swept through Brazil. Largely inspired by Italian Neorealism, the French New Wave, and early Soviet filmmakers, the directors of Cinema Novo sought to re-invigorate Brazilian cinema, which had become artistically stagnant thanks to Hollywood saturating the Latin American film market, and politically mobilize the public against Western cultural imperialism. Their films sought out the dark, destructive areas of Brazilian life where social and economic contradictions were most endemic. They were more than just films; they were calls to action within Brazilian society.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-66FwevpQipQ/US4Etb_kZRI/AAAAAAAAD6U/KurvgA7XI6U/s1600/Vidas_Secas_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-66FwevpQipQ/US4Etb_kZRI/AAAAAAAAD6U/KurvgA7XI6U/s320/Vidas_Secas_poster.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> The poster of Nelson Pereira dos Santos' <i>Vidas Secas</i> (1963), one of the most important films from the early days of Cinema Novo.</span></div>
<br />
However, as the 60s lumbered forward and the Brazilian government was swallowed by a military coup and a subsequent coup-within-a-coup, Cinema Novo began to evolve into a parody of its past self, adopting deliberately kitschy, gaudy stories and aesthetics in a desperate attempt to remain publicly, politically, and culturally relevant. By the end of the decade, Cinema Novo had polished itself to such a staggering extent that it had transformed into a cheap reflection of the very cinema that it had attempted to distance itself with in the first place.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gPgfo9ogQL8/US4FUyk-8iI/AAAAAAAAD6c/khwDUNLTM7A/s1600/Macunaima.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gPgfo9ogQL8/US4FUyk-8iI/AAAAAAAAD6c/khwDUNLTM7A/s320/Macunaima.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Compare the poster for <i>Vidas Secas </i>with this poster for Joaquim Pedro de Andrade's <i>Macunaíma </i>(1969). <i>Macunaíma </i>was one of the later Cinema Novo films that deliberately tried to appeal to the masses.</span></div>
<br />
Disgusted with the state of Cinema Novo, a new movement began in the city of São Paulo: <i>Udigrudi </i>(the Brazilian pronunciation of ‘underground’) cinema. <i>Udigrudi</i> cinema basked in all that was dirty and provocative. While Cinema Novo desperately tried to court the general populace into the movie theater, the <i>Udigrudi</i> spat in their mouths and kicked them out the door. As <i>Udigrudi</i> director Rogério Sganzerla announced: “I will never deliver clear ideas, eloquent speeches, or classically beautiful images when confronted with garbage.”<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F6OaQmHix78/US4GJH0VOBI/AAAAAAAAD6k/29F-uKfo410/s1600/Marins_poster5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F6OaQmHix78/US4GJH0VOBI/AAAAAAAAD6k/29F-uKfo410/s320/Marins_poster5.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> Compare the previous two posters with this one for José Mojica Marins' <i>At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul </i>(1964), the first entry in the Coffin Joe series and one of the earliest <i>Udigrudi </i>films.</span></div>
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The most popular and enduring films of the <i>Udigrudi</i> movement were the Coffin Joe horror series by José Mojica Marins. But while Marins managed to court financial success with his films, the other Udigrudi filmmakers were less enthusiastic about appealing to the public. Of these remaining films, Tonacci’s <i>Bang Bang</i> was one of the three most notorious. The other two were Sganzerla's <i>The Red Light Bandit</i> (1968) and André Luiz Oliveiraʼs <i>Meteorango Kid: Intergalactic Hero</i> (1969). T<i>he Red Light Bandit</i> told the story of Jorge, a criminal in Boca do Lixo who robbed and raped the rich. Comprised mostly of disjointed scenes and episodes, the film eschews what Ismail Xavier termed “psychological coherence” and functioned more as a collage of film genres and a meta-textual statement on the nature of cinema. <i>Meteorango Kid: Intergalactic Hero</i>, on the other hand, follows Lula, a disenchanted teenager from Bahia, amidst the political turmoil of the late 1960s via a kaleidoscopic wash of pop music, bizarre images, and abstract daydreams. <br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The posters for <i>The Red Light Bandit</i> and <i>Meteorango Kid: Intergalactic Hero</i>.</span></div>
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Like <i>The Red Light Bandit </i>and <i>Meteorango Kid: Intergalactic Hero</i>, <i>Bang Bang</i> abandoned traditional narrative devices. But whereas those two films did so in order to make broader examinations of the cinema and Brazilian culture, <i>Bang Bang </i>concerned itself with the dissection and destruction of narrative storytelling. With<i> Bang Bang</i>, Tonacci stripped the diegetic world of cinema of context, interpretation, and relevancy. With a mere 85 minutesʼ worth of celluloid, he forced narrative cinema into obsolescence.<br />
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So ignore the monkey mask, the bandits, the magician, the conversations, the arguments, the car chases if you can. You will find no narrative solace. Here there be dragons. With <i>Bang Bang</i>, Tonacci has presented the world with a cinematic Möbius strip: a story-less story, a narrative-less narrative. Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-21652507019688341882013-01-15T19:49:00.004-08:002013-01-15T19:50:51.264-08:00SkidooDirected by Otto Preminger<br />
1968<br />
The United States of America<br />
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The year was 1968 and the writing was on the wall. Vietnam was burning, students were rioting, hippies were dancing, and Hollywood was failing. As ticket prices dropped, studios began selling their backlots and props just to make ends meet. The legendary stars of the past were shoved aside to make room for teenage heartthrobs like James Dean and Elvis Presley. Hollywood just couldn’t comprehend these bizarre Baby Boomers who craved sex and violence, rebellion and rock ‘n’ roll. The first faint glimmers of the Hollywood New Wave could be seen on the horizon, heralding the birth of a new generation of filmmakers and actors at the expense of the old. It was from this environment that Otto Preminger’s <i>Skidoo</i> seemed to burst into existence both fully-formed and irrevocably apathetic. With nothing left to lose, the film saw a mixture of the Hollywood old guard and a pantheon of 50s television stars throwing up their hands towards the future and saying with one voice, “Screw it. We give up.”<br />
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In a quiet, picturesque neighborhood nestled somewhere in the American suburban wasteland of the late 1960s, retired hit-man Tony Banks (Jackie Gleason) is suddenly ordered back to active duty by his old mob boss “God.” At first Tony refuses, having grown quite comfortable with his new life of Teflon frying pans, tacky furniture, and color television. But when one of his close friends is soon discovered in a car wash with a bullet in his brain, Tony reluctantly agrees.<br />
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His target is his old pal “Blue Chips” Packard (Mickey Rooney), a crook with a date with the US Senate’s Crime Commission. In order to “silence” Packard before he gets a chance to testify, Tony gets sent to Alcatraz Island where he is being held in an impervious prison cell of the future. To get to Packard, he must team up with Fred the Professor, a draft-dodging, brown rice eating electronics genius who just happens to be one of his cellmates, so they can modify a television set to communicate with him inside his cell. But after making contact, Tony realizes that he can’t go through with it. Knowing that “God” will never rescue him from Alcatraz if he doesn’t perform the hit, Tony begins to plot one of the strangest prison breaks in history.<br />
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But while Tony languishes in Alcatraz, his wanna-be hippie daughter Darlene (Alexandra Hay) and her spaced-out boyfriend Stash (John Phillip Law) decide to confront “God” on his yacht located deep (and permanently) within international waters. They find “God” (played by Groucho Marx in his final film appearance) unwilling to change his mind despite having long since grown tired of his self-imposed exile. When her mother Flo (Carol Channing) discovers that “God” has effectively taken her prisoner, she rallies a massive group of hippies and storms his yacht like pirates. <br />
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To make matters even worse, at that moment Tony and Fred arrive at the yacht in a massive hot air balloon made of freezer bags and garbage cans that they used to escape Alcatraz after spiking the prison’s food supply with LSD. In a sequence that seems oddly reminiscent of Groucho’s earlier film <i>Duck Soup</i> (1933), the characters scurry around like madmen in a bacchanalian frenzy of outrageous costumes, music, and crowded sets as a couple are married, a family is reunited, and an old mob boss suddenly dressed as a Hare Krishna smokes a joint and slips away.<br />
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For a film by Preminger, a director most known for his legendary output as part of the Hollywood studio system during the 1940s and 1950s, <i>Skidoo</i> displays an unusually vicious contempt for the entertainment industry, American society, and new technological advancements. It’s very easy to miss considering the film’s music and tone, but it is definitely there. Take the virtuoso sequence that occurs during the film’s first five minutes, for example. An animated title sequence featuring a dancing caricature of Preminger zooms out to reveal a television set. Suddenly, the television rapidly changes channels through a kaleidoscope of bizarre programming. First a Senate hearing. Then a skinny blonde woman with a pink pearl necklace, “Now you, too, can be beautiful and sexually desirable like me.” Back to the hearing. Now back to the woman, “Instead of that fat, disgusting, foul-breathed, slimy, wallowing sow that you are...” Now John Wayne on a battleship. Now a fat Bavarian drinking foamy beer. John Wayne. A noisy pig. “You’ll never lose your man if you drink ‘Fat’ Cola.” John Wayne. Two children and a dog smoking cigarettes. The hearing. “Get a gun for everyone in your family. Remember, for family fun, get your gun!” And all the while Flo can be heard complaining, at one point even chiming: “No, Harry, I don’t like films on TV. They always cut them to pieces.”<br />
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<i>Skidoo</i>’s America is one of artificial people trying, and failing, to put up a better front around others. Gleason’s Tony is a bloated, short-tempered grouch. Stash and the hippies are ignorant, easily manipulated morons. The local mayor occupies himself with “anti-ugliness” campaigns. Fred claims to despise technology while neck-deep in circuitry. Even the futuristic, technological creature comforts that dominate the film’s interiors fail to work properly. Take one scene where Flo tries to seduce a gangster in order to gain information on Frank’s whereabouts. His “pad” is an automated No Man’s Land of malfunctioning gadgets and gizmos: the remote-controlled lights and stereo go haywire, a liquor cabinet sputters open and closed, and a mechanical bed that rises from the floor accidentally drags her underground. <br />
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And then there are the drugs. LSD, marijuana, birth control pills...the film is a cornucopia of chemical delights. During the prison-wide LSD-fueled freak-out, garbage cans dance, guards collapse in laughter, and visiting government officials...*ahem*...lose their composure. In an earlier scene, Tony unwittingly licks an LSD-laced envelope, resulting in one of the best drug-trip sequences of the 1960s (“Mathematics! I see mathematics!”). Preminger seems to condemn them one moment as the playthings of the stupid and unmotivated and then at other moments praise them as the means through which individuals can escape the conformist nightmare of Vietnam-era America.<br />
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So what’s the point of the film? Perhaps there isn’t one. Perhaps Preminger merely wanted to air out a career’s worth of dirty laundry within the confines of a film that his producers would overlook and the critics would casually dismiss. Perhaps the film finally gave voice to Preminger’s long-held frustrations with his adopted culture. But perhaps we’re over-thinking it. Whatever the case, <i>Skidoo</i> is a technicolor enigma of pop culture detritus. It must be seen to be believed. But don’t expect to understand it instantly. As some are wont to point out, you never get high your first time.Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-22940694875113932972012-12-28T12:31:00.001-08:002012-12-28T12:34:03.563-08:00They Were Expendable: John Ford<span style="font-size: large;">As <span style="font-size: large;">you may have n<span style="font-size: large;">otic<span style="font-size: large;">ed, I haven't had much time to update this blog recently. It's <span style="font-size: large;">crunc<span style="font-size: large;">h time to c<span style="font-size: large;">omplete my M<span style="font-size: large;">aster's Degree work at NYU. But I don't want to end the year without one last review. So here, in its completion<span style="font-size: large;">, is a paper that I wr<span style="font-size: large;">ote for one of my classes on John Ford's great and under<span style="font-size: large;">rated <i>They Were Expendable.</i></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <br />
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Ten days after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, President Roosevelt appointed former aid Lowell Mellett as the government liaison between Washington and the Hollywood motion picture industry. In his letter of appointment, Roosevelt made it clear that the cinema was a vital part of both American society and the war effort: “The American motion picture is one of the most effective mediums in informing and entertaining our citizens.” What followed in the ensuing years was one of the most astonishing transformations of American cinema in history. The Hollywood machine began to churn out patriotic movies, shorts, and newsreels with incredible speed and enthusiasm. One of these films was John Ford’s <i>They Were Expendable</i>, the true story of a doomed flotilla of PT boats that participated in the catastrophic American retreat from the Philippines between December 1941 and May 1942. And yet, the film is a curiosity of World War Two cinema. While it’s true that the conception and production of <i>They Were Expendable </i>was emblematic of war-time Hollywood films, in many ways, Ford looked beyond the cinematic conventions of his time to make a statement that was both unique and unusual for the era.<br />
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First, <i>They Were Expendable</i> must be examined as an entry of the combat film genre. By 1944-1945, Hollywood had developed two new narrative formulas that eventually coalesced into distinct genres: the home-front melodrama and the combat film. The combat film developed its own themes, character archetypes, and plot devices. In a near exhaustive study, Jeanine Basinger identifies some of the most basic attributes of the combat film genre:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">“The combat film from World War II can indeed generate such a list: the hero, the group of mixed ethnic types (O’Hara, Goldberg, Matowski, etc.) who come from all over the United States (and Brooklyn), the objective they must accomplish, their little mascot, their mail call, their weapons and uniforms.”</span><br />
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If we use these as the basis by which to classify examples of the combat film genre, then we must identify these within <i>They Were Expendable</i>. First we must examine “the hero.” There are actually two main protagonists in the film, both of which were based on the flotilla’s real life commanders: Lieutenant John Brickley (Robert Montgomery) and his second-in-command Lieutenant “Rusty” Ryan (John Wayne). They are accompanied by their men, the “group of mixed ethnic types.” Together they struggle to accomplish not one, but two objectives. First, they must help defend American fortifications at the Philippines against Japanese attack. Second, they desperately try to prove the worth of the PT boats as a useful weapon to their superiors who remain skeptical about their capabilities. They have a “mascot,” a black cat named “Bad Luck” that they have to shoo off their boats before a mission. While there isn’t a traditional “mail call,” there are several scenes where dying or doomed men give letters to their superiors to send home. Their “weapons?” The PT boats. Their “uniforms?” Those of the US Navy.<br />
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But beyond these specifics, Basinger gives a much more sober definition of the combat film genre: “The combat film is about death and destruction, and how we have to fight to avoid it.” Indeed, at the core of <i>They Were Expendable</i> is the desperation felt by the American soldiers who realize that they are fighting a battle they are doomed to lose. The film watches as the PT boat flotilla is gradually annihilated by the Japanese. Friends and comrades are picked off one by one. They are shuffled from one base to another. By the end, the last boat is commandeered to deliver messages for the Army. Brickley and Ryan are stripped of their command and ordered to the states to train sailors. While the last shot displays a promise that “WE WILL RETURN,” it is clear that Brickley and Ryan will not.<br />
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While this may seem unusual for a film about American soldiers during World War Two, it is actually characteristic of internal trends within the combat film genre. In addition to defining the genre, Basinger categorizes these trends as well:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">“In screening the films released between December 7, 1941, and August 8, 1945, I saw the combat genre emerge. The definition appeared out of the fog of war, as it were. From the development I observed in these films I discerned three divisions:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />Introductory Stage: December 7, 1941 - December 31, 1942.<br />Emergence of the Basic Definition: 1943.<br />Repeat of the Definition: January 1, 1944 - December 31, 1945.”</span><br />
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The “Introductory Stage” represented a transition period within Hollywood where the film industry struggled to adapt to the nation being at war. The “Emergence of the Basic Definition” focused on military defeats as a mean of patriotic inspiration. Indeed, by 1943 the tide of the war had finally begun to slowly shift in the favor of the Allies after a number of hard-fought victories at battlefields like Stalingrad, Sicily, and Guadalcanal. But America was weary of fighting. Hollywood realized that the best way to keep America going was to galvanize them with tales of bitter defeats like Brickley’s doomed men in They Were Expendable.<br />
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<i>They Were Expendable</i> began shooting in February 1945. As such, it was part of the third period of the combat film genre: the “Repeat of the Definition.” If the “Emergence of the Basic Definition” looked towards the past with outrage, this period looked towards the past with sorrow, despair, and even disgust. Basinger explains:<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />“The films of 1944 tend to repeat this pattern, or to inspire by a sense of we ain’t licked yet. As American forces began winning the war, our films grew even darker. Even when we survive and take our objectives, the overall sense is one of death and sacrifice.”</span><br />
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Therefore, despite its somber content, <i>They Were Expendable </i>is not asymptomatic of its place in Hollywood history, at least in terms of content. <br />
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But as previously mentioned, Ford’s film had several idiosyncrasies which in hind-sight separate it from the rest of World War Two combat films. The first was the casting of John Wayne in a lead role where he played a serviceman. Between 1939-1945, John Wayne appeared in thirty films. During this time, he only played as a soldier seven times. Perhaps due to the fact that his studio prevented him from serving, Wayne seemed out of place among all of the authentic veterans on the set of <i>They Were Expendable</i>. Ford, Montgomery, cinematographer Joseph H. August, screenwriter Frank Wead, and second unit director James Havens had all served in the military and had brought that experience to the film. <br />
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But perhaps the most bizarre thing about Wayne being cast as Ryan was that in the end, he didn’t get the girl. He entertains a brief flirtation with one of the Army nurses named Sandy Davyss after he is sent to the hospital with a case of blood poisoning. But as the Japanese get closer and closer, they drift apart and realize that they cannot be together again. This came as a massive blow against the public’s image of John Wayne at the time. By that point, Wayne had already entered America’s imagination as the embodiment of the American fighting man. To see him fail to “get the girl” would have been preposterous for audiences in the 1940s. By casting Wayne, the American Male, in this role, Ford seemed to be making a statement about the indiscriminate nature of war: in actual combat, not even legends are invincible.<br />
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<br />
But the other major factor that makes <i>They Were Expendable </i>seem out of place with other World War Two combat films was its portrayal of Asian-Americans and civilians. Not once did Ford actually show Japanese soldiers and sailor on-screen. He refused to demonize the Japanese a decision which was shocking for its time. As Anthony Navarro explains that “[Hollywood and the army] wanted to send the message that Japan, and the other Axis powers, were a loathsome group of villains who would wreak havoc upon civilization not stop unless America and the rest of the Allies stopped them.” What’s more, Ford seemed to have went through pains to depict the Asian-American civilians trapped in the middle of the conflict as sympathetic. In one of the film’s most emotional scenes, a Filipina lounge-singer tearfully sings “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee” when it is announced that the United States has entered the war. By masking the Japanese as an autonomous, impersonal force and sympathizing with Asian Americans, Ford makes a much more powerful statement about man’s suffering during war-time than the other combat films of the era. Once more, Basinger succinctly summarizes the film’s distinction: “With its sense of dignity and truth and its rejection of false battle heroics, <i>They Were Expendable</i> is almost an anti-genre film - something it couldn’t be if the genre were not already fixed.<br />
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<i>While They Were Expendable</i> may have been a product of its time, it was nonetheless a singular accomplishment in director John Ford’s career. It was a combat film full of action and patriotic vigor that simultaneously condemned the very war it was depicting. It was a film about loss that didn’t demand violent retribution against the enemy. The central characters failed in almost all of their main objectives: they couldn’t stop the approaching Japanese and they couldn’t keep their unit together. Even one of the leads (played by non-veteran John Wayne) didn’t get the girl that he had spent most of the time courting. Truly, <i>They Were Expendable</i> was an oddity: a film that followed and broke the rules at the same time.Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-73589040492405135412012-12-08T17:12:00.003-08:002012-12-08T17:30:27.024-08:00Guest Post: THE SPIRAL STAIRCASEEditor's Note: <i>You all may have noticed that activity has
been...well...slow. That's because I'm doing my final projects and exams
for my Film Studies Master's Degree. So, in the meantime, I've asked
some of my friends to do guest reviews. Next up is ClassicBecky with a review of Robert Siodmak's THE SPIRAL STAIRCASE!!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<br />
In my part of the country, November shows its unique face with winds
moaning and sighing through the trees in the dark of night, sudden
storms of lightning and thunder and cold rain –- could there be a more
perfect time for a movie of terror and suspense? If you don’t have such
weather, you can experience it if you turn off the lights and watch<i> The Spiral Staircase</i>.
Released in 1945, it is a story of a mad killer on the loose in turn of
the century New England, raging storms and a house with plenty of
shadows and fear at every turn. Imagine yourself on a stormy night with
no electricity, moving through such a house with only a candle or dim
lamp, and imagine making your way down a spiral staircase to a basement
where horrors may lurk. Now you are in the mood.<br />
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<br />
The lovely Dorothy McGuire plays Helen, a lonely, vulnerable girl who
was rendered mute by a mysterious traumatic experience in her childhood.
She is companion to Mrs. Warren, played by Ethel Barrymore, a
strong-willed, cranky invalid confined to her bed but sharp and
domineering. George Brent and Gordon Oliver play step-brothers Professor
Warren (born of the father's first wife) and Steven Warren, (born of
the invalid Mrs. Warren). Mrs. Warren believes, to her sorrow, that she
has reason not to trust her son Steven, the prodigal son who turns up
periodically. Whenever Steven is around, bad things happen. The
supporting cast is perfection, with Kent Smith as the sensible Dr.
Parry, whose visits to Mrs. Warren fit perfectly with his desire to see
Helen, Elsa Lanchester as the amusingly drunken cook, Rhys Williams as
her rather sullen caretaker husband, a young Rhonda Fleming as the
Professor’s secretary, Blanch, and the redoubtable Sarah Allgood as Mrs.
Warren’s long-suffering and often insulted nurse <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mrs. Warren (Ethel Barrymore) and Helen (Dorothy McGuire)</span></div>
<br />
This household of complicated relationships, indeed the whole community,
is shocked by the murders of young women, all with some kind of
handicap. In a wonderful piece of film-making, we are allowed to see
only the killer’s eye in extreme close-up as he hides in wait for his
victim, and then see the victim through the killer’s eye as he stalks
and kills. This perspective is chilling, and the music of composer Roy
Webb heightens the chills.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Professor Warren (George Brent)</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Steven Warren (Gordon Oliver)</span></div>
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As the mystery unfolds, it becomes apparent that the killer must be
someone in the Warren household, with the mute Helen as his next
possible victim. A great storm rages without, and fear rules within. The
spiral staircase plays its part beautifully, shadowed, with each turn
bringing unknown terrors.<br />
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<br />
Turn off lights, listen to the wind blow, and treat yourself to a
suspenseful and frightening piece of film-making that stands the test of
time. <i>The Spiral Staircase</i> will not disappoint.<br />
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Check out ClassicBecky's website: http://classicbeckybrainfood.blogspot.com/<i><br /></i><br />
<br />Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-74796075155166222622012-11-27T00:37:00.001-08:002012-11-27T00:37:15.963-08:00Guest Post: MYSTERY STREET
Editor's Note: <i>You all may have noticed that activity has
been...well...slow. That's because I'm doing my final projects and exams
for my Film Studies Master's Degree. So, in the meantime, I've asked
some of my friends to do guest reviews. Next up is the amazing Dorian Tenore-Bartilucci with a review of John Sturges' MYSTERY STREET!</i><br />
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<i> </i><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hn_vEBSxF6A/ULR6zxcz_HI/AAAAAAAAC04/JWQ1ZIyacC8/s1600/Mystery+Street+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Hn_vEBSxF6A/ULR6zxcz_HI/AAAAAAAAC04/JWQ1ZIyacC8/s1600/Mystery+Street+2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Mystery Street:</span></span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: bold;"> The CSI of Its
Day!</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">By
Dorian Tenore-Bartilucci</span></span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">John
Sturges' taut, tense thriller combines a documentary style—including
location shooting in Boston—with
intense performances, striking photography, and a fresh-for-its-time approach
to its murder mystery plot. Floozy Vivian Heldon (Jan Sterling from <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Union Station; Ace in the Hole; The High and the
Mighty,</span></i> for which Sterling
earned a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination) hijacks a car belonging to
grieving father Henry Shanway (Marshall Thompson), whose baby had just died in
labor. But selfish Vivian couldn’t care less about the heartbroken
Henry. She only cares about finding and shaking down James Joshua Harkley
(Edmon Ryan of <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The Breaking Point; The
Americanization of Emily;</span></i> Alfred Hitchcock’s <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Topaz), </span></i>the upper-crust father of her out-of-wedlock
baby-in-progress. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
next time we see Vivian, she’s a skeleton washed up on a Hyannis beach. Lt. Pete
Moralas (Ricardo Montalban) enlists the help of Harvard forensic criminologist
Dr. McAdoo (an avuncular yet no-nonsense Bruce Bennett, a favorite of mine
since <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The Treasure of the Sierra Madre; Dark
Passage; Mildred Pierce). </span></i>The results are as riveting as a good
episode of one of the "CSI" TV series. I liked the way the
investigation and forensic evidence rang true, while the story by Sydney Bohem,
Richard Brooks, and Leonard Spigelgrass (the latter got an Oscar nomination for
Best Writing Motion Picture Story) kept me on the edge of my seat with twists
and turns, including a monkey wrench thrown into the works by the late Vivian's
blackmail-minded landlady, Mrs. Smerrling, well-played by sly, crafty scene-stealer
Elsa Lanchester. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">When
Henry is wrongly accused of Vivian’s murder and is thrown in prison, the ripple
effect on him and his wife Grace (Sally Forrest of <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The Strip; Hard, Fast, and Beautiful; Vengeance Valley)</span></i> is
enough to put any family in a deep depression. With Henry in jail, housewife
Sally is broke; the crumbling of the Shanways’ finances were movingly and
believably rendered. I found myself both empathizing with the Shanways and
frustrated with Henry at the same time, thinking, “You dope, what good
was it getting drunk and despondent? Why the hell didn't you stay with Grace
in the hospital when your baby died, instead of going off in your misery to get
drunk at ‘The Grass Skirt’? Sheesh, you think you're the only one
mourning?!” </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
performances are uniformly excellent, although I was particularly impressed
with Montalban. Having grown up watching Montalban in relatively lighthearted
fare like TV's <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Fantasy Island,</span></i>
I was impressed at how good he was as tough, cynical Pete, the kind of cop who
thinks a suspect is guilty until proved innocent. Even when I was angry at Pete
for refusing to believe Grace when she swears Henry's innocent, I could feel
his frustration when he realizes that, after all his hard investigative work,
his airtight case against the accused man has crucial cracks in it after all.
There's also a great moment when the smug Harkley notices Pete's accent
(smoothly explained away as Pete being from the Portuguese district) and starts
trying to pull rank on Pete, class-wise. There are even some witty moments,
like when Pete and his partner end up walking all over Harvard Square trying to find out where
the heck the department of legal forensics is. In the past, this
all-but-neglected post-war film noir gem occasionally turned up on TCM, but now
it’s included in the <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Film Noir Classic
Collection, Volume Four.</span></i> If you’re interested, it’s
available from Amazon.com!</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Classic-Collection-Violence-Mystery-Illegal/dp/B000PKG7DE/ref=sr_1_2?s=movies-tv&ie=UTF8&qid=1353348111&sr=1-2&keywords=Mystery+Street" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Classic-<wbr></wbr>Collection-Violence-Mystery-<wbr></wbr>Illegal/dp/B000PKG7DE/ref=sr_<wbr></wbr>1_2?s=movies-tv&ie=UTF8&qid=<wbr></wbr>1353348111&sr=1-2&keywords=<wbr></wbr>Mystery+Street</a></span></span><br />
<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: bold;">Dorian Tenore-Bartilucci, </span></span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">who writes fiction as</span></span><b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-weight: bold;"> “Dorian
Tenore” </span></span></b><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">to
give the world’s typesetters a break, is Communications Director for the
sales/leadership coaching firm Performance Based Results.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> She was a researcher for David Hajdu’s books <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Positively 4th Street</span></i> and <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The
Ten-Cent Plague </span></i>(2008). She writes about suspense movies and fiction
on her blog site <i><span style="font-style: italic;">Tales of the Easily
Distracted</span></i> (<a href="http://doriantb.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://doriantb.blogspot.com/</a><wbr></wbr>).
Dorian is also marketing her suspense novel <i><span style="font-style: italic;">The
Paranoia Club;</span></i> wish her luck! <smile></span></span>Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-17332031459727540322012-11-16T17:04:00.000-08:002012-11-16T17:04:10.127-08:00Guest Post: GOMORRAHEditor's Note: <i>You all may have noticed that activity has been...well...slow. That's because I'm doing my final projects and exams for my Film Studies Master's Degree. So, in the meantime, I've asked some of my friends to do guest reviews. First up is the always charming Page with a review of Matteo Garrone's GOMORRAH, a film that I dearly love. So, without further ado, let's go!</i><br />
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<br />
An inside look at Italy's modern day crime families.
<br /><br />This foreign film with it's Italian subtitles was one I had read
about while searching for lesser known films in this genre. I decided
to give it a go after reading the positive reviews. Yes, it's one of
those films you stumble upon then tell all of your friends about ASAP
even though most of them won't find the film as appealing.
<br />
<br />
Gomorrah was initially released in Italy with a limited
release worldwide, grossing only $34,861,000 but garnering BAFTA,
Critics Choice and Golden Globe nominations for Best Foreign Language
Film. while winning three Italian Golden Globes. <br />
<br />
ACTORS:<br />
Salvatore Abruzzese as Toto<br />
Simone Sacchettino as Simone<br />
Salvatore Ruocco as Boxer<br />
Vincenzo Fabricino as Pitbull<br />
Vincenzo Altamura as Gaetano<br />
Italo Renda as Italo<br />
Francesco Pirozzi as Michele<br />
<br />
DIRECTOR: Mateo Garrone<br />
<br />
While
the film follows the lives of five different families their lives don't
all intersect although they're all impacted in a negative way by
Camorra, Italy's largest crime syndicate.<br />
<br />
If you're used to, a fan of films where crime is glamorized and the
gangsters walk around in $5,000 suits, sporting Rolexs while living like
King's off of the proceeds of their criminal enterprises, you'll be
disappointed. It's gritty, a tour of the slums of Naples. While the
tourists flock to the cities nicely scrubbed, paved streets to their
overpriced hotels, cruise ships dock for World travelers to experience
Naples beautiful beaches and local culture we get a glimpse of what goes
on in the back alley's, dilapidated housing as the forgotten, ignored
try to survive under the thumb of Camorra. Either by force or for the
need of approval. Every crime family has it's hierarchy although nobody
is treated with any empathy or compassion. Take <i>Goodfellas </i>and turn it
on it's head.<br />
<br />
In the opening scene we see your typical tough guys in a salon
getting their tan on, nails done.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Our tough guys take a break from busting heads and hustling.</span></div>
<br />
Everyone's joking, having a good
laugh. They all look pretty harmless while obviously over tanned.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The last thing this guy needs is a lamp or UV exposure of any kind.</span></div>
<br />
Things
quickly turn though as guns come out and we quickly see who the bad
guys are as everyone in the salon is mowed down. Pretty sure the other
guys were on their turf or equally as shady but who's to say this early.
I'll give it the Scarface rating as far as violence for now.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fuo7otk28Nw/UKbdCVah1bI/AAAAAAAACsc/ugZc_7PnvwQ/s1600/THREE.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Fuo7otk28Nw/UKbdCVah1bI/AAAAAAAACsc/ugZc_7PnvwQ/s320/THREE.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The salon quickly turns into a blood bath. Five overly tan thugs down and a few dozen to go. </span></div>
<br />
<br />
Still reeling from the opening scene we go to a couple of teen
boys, Marco and Ciro who roam around the slums scheming, looking for a
way to make some quick cash, get some street cred while clashing with
their parents who are just trying to keep food on the table and their
kids from falling through the cracks. <br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Naples youth, out trying to turn a buck and stay alive in the slums."</span></div>
<br />
They look as tired and broken as
the shacks they call home. I find myself rooting for them but I get the
feeling this won't end well.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's time to shakedown the locals. This apartment is
actually pretty nice considering everything else we've seen so far.</span></div>
<br />
We go to a couple of college graduates who find themselves trying to
work their way up the Camorra ranks. They make their money by disposing
of the city's toxic waste by dumping it onto the outskirts of Naples.
While most crime syndicates leave casualties in their wake its kept
within the confines of the criminals, not so in this instance and I find
this the most disturbing. No guns or brutality, just exposure of cancer
to innocent victims.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c9Ie2SmMJcg/UKbeQ8UEgvI/AAAAAAAACs8/qmHxNnNqLMU/s1600/SIX.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-c9Ie2SmMJcg/UKbeQ8UEgvI/AAAAAAAACs8/qmHxNnNqLMU/s320/SIX.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The outskirts of Naples where toxic waste dumps are the norm and
only the brave or desperate wander about. It looks more like Chernobyl
than a tourist destination.</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We get a glimpse into the life of a struggling designer who
uses sweat shops to get his clothing made. Camorra has its hand print on
it so instead of a feel good story we're jerked back into the reality
of how desperate everyone is. Nobody gets a break here regardless of how
hard they try to pull themselves up out of poverty. I really don't want to give much of the plot away or even get
into how brutal the 'top tier' Mafiosos are. They're fat slobs who
oversee their little kingdom. We get a few more gun battles over turf,
our teens on a downward spiral, the smart college kids using their
chemical knowledge to reek havoc on their community. The dumping of
waste never stops, the violence escalates and we get a few confusing
scenes before winding our way back to the slobs and their total lack of
compassion for who's lives they're destroying. </div>
<div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Our college graduates use their chemical knowledge to sludge through manure for fertilizer. Luckily they aren't making bombs although dumping toxic waste to line their pockets is bad enough.</span></div>
<div>
</div>
There really are no happy endings here but I applaud the filmmakers
as this story needed to be told. It has the feel of a documentary with
superb cinematography. Do yourselves a favor and see this before you
take a trip to Naples. You'll never look at it the same way, good or
bad. With the Camorra crime organization having it's roots all the way
back to the 18th century you would think with time we would see a bit
more humanity and as we watch we realize this is going on in Italy as I
type this. While Camorra is known for being a 'secret' society its
obvious that Government, the local police turn a blind eye to the drug
dealing that affects the poor, the toxic waste strewn about that affects
the working class and the constant violence that rains down upon anyone
in the way. As the racketeering, gun running, and armed robberies
fueled by these thugs halts any dreams that anyone might have to have a
better life. Just a stones throw away from Mt. Vesuvius where
unsuspecting tourists gather to take in its magnificent beauty. Eye
awakening and raw!<br />
<br />
Check out Page's website: http://myloveofoldhollywood.blogspot.com/ Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-32772908691709660902012-10-29T12:26:00.000-07:002012-10-29T12:26:34.949-07:00Lone StarDirected by John Sayles<br />
1996<br />
The United States of America<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Forty years ago, Rio County Sheriff Charlie Wade vanished. A cruel, sadistic man, he took a perverse pleasure in extorting and terrifying the townsfolk. He was last seen in a dark bar having an argument with his new deputy Buddy Deeds. Wade had attempted to use him as a pawn in a drug pick-up. But he didn’t count on Buddy’s integrity. He stormed out of the bar and was never seen again. Nobody seemed to care much when he (and $10,000 from Rio County’s public coffer) disappeared. Buddy would follow Wade as sheriff for the next thirty years, becoming a beacon of justice and integrity until his death. If anyone might have had any suspicions about Wade’s fate and Buddy’s sudden rise to power...well, small towns may have long memories, but they also know when to leave well enough alone. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The last confrontation between Wade (left) and Buddy (right).</span></div>
<br />
But Rio County’s convenient case of selective amnesia is soon challenged when two off-duty soldiers accidentally discover a skeleton in the desert with Wade’s old sheriff’s badge rusting away in the nearby dirt. With the specter of a 40 year old murder hovering over the countryside, none other than Buddy’s son, Sheriff Sam Deeds, is called upon to investigate. So begins John Sayles’ <i>Lone Star</i>, a magnificent film that isn’t so much a murder mystery as an exploration into the very soul of a community plagued with centuries of racial tension, violence, and unpleasant memories that refuse to fade away. <br />
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<br />
It seems that everyone in Rio County has a story. There’s Otis Payne, the owner of the bar that serves as a backdrop to Wade’s last appearance. Though he seems kindly enough, he harbors a lingering sadness over abandoning his son, Delmore, when he was just a child. That child, now grown up, is the new commander of the local Army base. He has to deal with local recruits who see the Army not as a patriotic calling, but a chance to escape Rio County’s economic miasma. Bitter over his father’s absence, Delmore has reigned such a terrible influence over his own son that he has become a stuttering, nervous wreck. Just like the rest of Rio County, one generation of pain fosters the next.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Delmore's son.</span></div>
<br />
Then there’s Pilar Cruz, Sam’s high school crush. After being forcibly separated by their families, Pilar would go on to get married, have two children, and become a teacher. Now the husband is dead, the children rebellious teenagers, and the teaching position mired in local politics over what should and should not be included in their textbooks. The necessity of the case forces Sam to come knocking on her door, seeing as Wade had chillingly murdered her mother’s husband during a routine traffic stop over 40 years ago. Are they glad to see each other after all of this time? As Pilar points out, “Nobody stays in love for twenty-three years.”<br />
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<br />
And then there are the local Seminole Indians, the young Chicanos, and the disenfranchised outsiders wasting away at bars and in immaculate living rooms complete with big screen TVs. Sayles glides from one group to the next, dissecting the monsters lurking behind the different ghettos and neighborhoods. In one scene Delmore interrogates a young, black soldier who tested positive during an unannounced drug test. The ensuing exchange comes as close as anything in the film to uncovering the true nature of Rio’s racial scars.<br />
<br />
<i>“I’m just trying to understand how someone like you thinks.”<br />“You really wanna know?”<br />“Please.”<br />“It’s their country. This is one of the best deals they offer.”</i><br />
<br />
Make no mistake, Rio County is not a melting pot. The different races tolerate each other because they have to live there. After all, where else do they have to go? <br />
<br />
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<br />
John Sayles, one of the true titans of American independent cinema, is at his very best here in <i>Lone Star.</i> Ever since his early days with films like <i>Return of the Secaucus 7</i> (1980) and <i>The Brother from Another Planet</i> (1984), Sayles has demonstrated masterful skill in creating authentic, believable characters that capture the essence of their environments. These are not characters that are trotted out to recite a few lines in order to move the plot along. Delmore’s relationship with his son, for example, adds almost nothing to the central narrative concerning Wade’s murder. And yet, I couldn’t imagine the film without it. And yes, the mystery is finally resolved. But Sayles doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he is much more interested with how this revelation effects Sam’s relationship with Pilar. This is a film about people. As Pilar wisely suggests, “All that other stuff, all that history? To hell with it, right? Forget the Alamo.” Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-2990112538943254362012-10-14T09:09:00.001-07:002012-10-14T09:10:17.945-07:00裸の島 (The Naked Island)Kaneto Shindō<br />
1960<br />
Japan<br />
<br />
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<br />
On a tiny island in the Seto Inland Sea, a long path winds from the
shore to a large field of sweet potatoes. Every day, two tired figures
can be seen lugging massive buckets of water up and down the path over
and over and over again. Once at the top, they carefully water each
individual sweet potato sprout. But their buckets only provide enough
water for a few plants. So, once again, they must climb down the path,
board a boat, travel to another island, refill their buckets with fresh
water, and return. It is harsh, back-breaking work. But for this husband
and wife, nothing less than the livelihood of their family depends on
it. They have two young sons, both of which are not strong enough yet to
help with the crops. So every day they are ferried to school while
their parents continue their monotonous, thankless work. Such is life
for the family in Kaneto Shindō’s <i>The Naked Island</i>, one of the great treasures of 60s Japanese cinema. <br />
<br />
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<br />
After
the explosion of Japanese cinema into the international marketplace in
the 50s, Shindō was largely overshadowed by such luminaries as Akira
Kurosawa and Kenji Mizoguchi. But he still managed to score a number of
critical hits overseas with such films as <i>Children of Hiroshima</i> (1952) and <i>Lucky Dragon No. 5</i>
(1959). The former was the first Japanese film to confront the horrors
of the atom bomb attacks during World War Two while the latter was based
on the true story of a fishing boat that accidentally got hit by
further atomic testing near Bikini Atoll in 1954. But the end of the 50s
saw Shindō with almost no money left. So he scraped together what
little money he could into one last project: <i>The Naked Island</i>.
The film was a daring gamble. It didn’t focus on politics or hot-button
issues. It focused on only a handful of characters. And, most
importantly, it contained no spoken dialogue. <br />
<br />
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<br />
Don’t
misunderstand what I mean when I say that The Naked Island doesn’t have
any dialogue. The film has a soundtrack. But Shindō fills the film with
“in-between” moments. We assume that the family talks to each other. But
Shindō focuses on scenes of extreme toil and tedium. After decades of
living on the same island and raising the same family, what is there to
say while monotonously watering the same field of sweet potatoes? Take
one scene where the husband and wife lug massive buckets of water up to
their fields. The wife stumbles and spills her water. The husband is
furious. They will have to make an extra trip to the mainland to make up
for the loss. He knows it. She knows it. In anger, he smacks her in the
face. But then, without a word, he helps her up and the two continue up
the hill. Their silent communication is more powerful than anything
they could have said.<br />
<br />
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<br />
But the absence of dialogue does
more than force Shindō to present the film in purely visual terms. The
silence and monotony forces the audience to re-evaluate the family’s
relationship with their surroundings. Allow me to explain: early in the
film Shindō cuts between the mother and father watering their crops and
the waves washing things ashore their island. As we move back and forth
between the two, we start to see them as equal and essential parts of
the environment. Just as the waves must crash, the family must toil and
suffer.<br />
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<br />
But that isn’t to suggest that <i>The Naked Island</i>
is completely bleak. There are small moments of merciful joy. One of
the sons catches a fish and eagerly presents it to his weary parents.
Despite the day’s hardships, the father smiles and playfully throws him
into the sea. The mother beams and breaks into laughter. The family
takes the fish to the mainland where they sell it to a merchant. With
the money, they treat themselves to a big meal at nice restaurant. Life
may be hard, but it is not without its pleasures.<br />
<br />
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<br />
It’s tempting to describe <i>The Naked Island</i>
as a quasi-documentary. But to do so would be to miss Shindō’s purpose.
After all, there are inaccuracies in how the family lives. For
instance, sweet potatoes do not need to be constantly watered every day.
What’s important to Shindō isn’t the crop itself, but the demands that
it places on the family. Without the crop, they die. They work so they
can live. But can you call what they do living? I believe that the
answer can be found in the tragic last quarter of the film where one of
the sons gets sick. They rush to get a doctor. But the trip to the
mainland is long, much too long. When they finally return the son is
dead. After the funeral, we see the husband and wife continue their
thankless task of watering their sweet potatoes. But suddenly, the wife
freezes. She reaches down and begins to rip the precious plants out of
the ground in a frenzy. Finally, she collapses and lets forth a
piercing, haunting shriek of anguish. Watch the husband’s reaction. It
may surprise you. It may infuriate you. It may make you laugh. But it is
the key to understanding Shindō’s intentions. Living is a burden. But
we survive because...well...we must.Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-35334129812730022182012-09-23T09:30:00.001-07:002012-09-23T09:33:58.157-07:00Susuz Yaz (Dry Summer)Directed by Metin Erksan<br />
1964<br />
Turkey<br />
<br />
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</div>
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<br />
Film, despite its wide proliferation throughout the world, is a tragically delicate medium. Unless it is gently cared for and preserved, film negatives will deteriorate in a matter of decades. Film enthusiasts and scholars mourn the cold statistics which pronounce that only 10 to 15 percent of silent cinema has survived until today. Therefore, the rediscovery and restoration of lost films is a cause for celebration. But silent films from the cinema’s infancy are not the only ones at risk. Many more recent films have fallen victim to political repression and destruction. One such cinematic treasure was Metin Erksan’s <i>Dry Summer</i>. Despite its enthusiastic reception in the West (even winning the 14th Berlin International Film Festival’s Golden Bear for Best Film), it was swiftly suppressed by the Turkish government for giving the “wrong” image of Turkey. Never mind the fact that in Erksan’s film evil is punished and justice prevails. The hammer fell and <i>Dry Summer</i> was locked away and forgotten about for 45 years. And yet, like Lazarus, <i>Dry Summer</i> has emerged from its tomb thanks to a rigorous restoration by the Cineteca del Comune di Bologna. Now, once again, the world can witness this masterpiece of Turkish cinema.<br />
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<br />
It all begins with two brothers. The eldest, Osman, decides quite suddenly one day that he will dam up the spring that forms on their property, thereby choking all of the other villagers downstream. The decision comes as quite a shock to the younger brother, Hassan. After all, Hassan explains, water is the earth’s lifeblood. You can’t own water. But Osman doesn’t care. The water may belong to everyone, but the spring is on their property, ergo anything it produces belongs to them. Unable to dissuade his older brother, Hassan and his beautiful wife Bahar are forced to help build the dam.<br />
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Naturally, this invites the wrath of their neighbors. Without the water, their tobacco crops will die. The villagers appeal to the court system who quickly agree that Osman’s actions are illegal. The dams are destroyed and the water flows freely once more. But literally within days Osman appeals to an even higher court who supports his claim of ownership over the spring. <br />
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Meanwhile, Osman lusts for Bahar, spying on her via a peephole while she undresses and makes love. Erksan and his cinematographer Kriton İlyadis frequently highlight Osman’s desire by cleverly framing him so that he is never far away from Bahar. If she is in the bottom foreground, Osman is in the high background. Part of the pleasure in watching Dry Summer is reveling in the geometric variations that such shots provide within the frame’s diegetic space. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">An example of Erksan's compositions with Bahar left foreground, Hassan middle background, Osman right mid-ground.</span></div>
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It isn’t long before Osman seizes on a chance to get Hassan out of the way so he can have Bahar all to himself. When a small group of villagers attack Osman’s dam one night, he manages to shoot and kill one of their number. When the police arrive, Osman manages to convince Hassan to take the blame because “they’ll give a younger man a lesser sentence.” So Hassan is sentenced to eight years in prison. Unbeknownst to Bahar, Osman destroys all of Hassan’s letters. Osman swoops down on Bahar in her grief, trying even more explicitly to seduce her. His passions reach their highest point during an astonishingly erotic scene where Bahar is bitten by a snake and Osman sucks the poison from her wound with extreme gusto. <br />
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When word gets out that someone with Hassan’s surname was murdered in prison, Osman tells Bahar that her husband is dead. After torturing Bahar emotionally and psychologically for so long she gives to Osman’s advances. I won’t reveal the ending for two reasons. First, most of you have probably already figured out the twist. Second, I don’t want to rob anyone of the pleasure of the final few scenes. It’s rare to see a film with such a violent climax that doesn’t seem forced or unnecessary. The final denouement and confrontation are arise organically.<br />
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This may be cloying sentimentalism bordering on hyperbole, but I truly believe Osman to be one of the best antagonists of European cinema. He isn’t a villain that audiences love to hate like Hannibal Lector or Darth Vader. He doesn’t have a grand scheme or plan. He has no reason for hoarding his water. The summer may be dry, but at no point is it indicated that there will not be enough water for everyone. Osman builds the dam for one reason: because he can. Whenever he is confronted, he gives the same excuse that it is his water and he can do whatever he wants with it. There are several moments when Hassan and Bahar rebel and tear down the dam. But Osman has an almost preternatural ability to suddenly appear whenever they do so he can put the dam back up. During one sequence Osman is attacked by several armed villagers. It appears that the unarmed Osman is doomed. But then the scene shifts and we see a battered but otherwise confident Osman re-appear at his house. How did he survive the attack? It’s never explained. Don’t misunderstand me: there is no mystical or supernatural element to <i>Dry Summer</i>. The film instead invokes the techniques and tones of Neo-realism. Osman just has an uncanny (and unfortunate) knack for being in the right place at the right time. <br />
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But Osman is not the only reason why <i>Dry Summer </i>stands as one of Turkey’s greatest cinematic triumphs. Take, for instance, the spell-binding black-and-white cinematography. I’ve always believed that black-and-white photography can be more inherently colorful then even the brightest Technicolor when put in the hands of a master. The Turkish countryside in <i>Dry Summer</i> is brought to vivid life in Erksan and İlyadis’ hands. Rarely has water seemed so beautiful and refreshing. Let us not be like Osman and hoard <i>Dry Summer</i> to ourselves. This is a film that needs to be seen, to be respected, to be cherished.<br />
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<i>The entire restored film is available to view for free on youtube. Below is the link to the first part of the film. For some reason I can't embed it to this page.</i><br />
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9BLKliy8SQ&feature=relmfuNathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-54552556547338151952012-09-10T06:05:00.003-07:002012-09-10T06:10:21.936-07:00Der amerikanische Freund (The American Friend)Wim Wenders<br />
1977<br />
West Germany, France<br />
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In a ratty apartment in Germany, an elderly painter mutters to himself
as he stares at his latest creation. Surrounded by disheveled newspapers
and dirty brushes, he inspects the painting, first covering his right
eye, then his left. A knock is heard. “Who is it?” “It’s Ripley.” He
pauses. “The door’s open.” A man in a dark suit walks in and tips a
cowboy hat resting on his brow. The man hands the painter a wad of
bills. “I sold one painting and ready to sell another one.” “How much?”
“That’s 2,000 dollars for you.” The man in the cowboy hat walks around
the painter’s apartment. “Now this...I think I can get even more for
this one. I could use two of these in six months.” “In six months I can
paint five. Try to sell five.” “Two. Don’t be too busy for a dead
painter.” The painter looks at the other man, points, and chuckles. “Do
you wear that hat in Hamburg?” The other man takes off the hat, briefly
looks at it, and smiles. “What’s wrong with a cowboy in Hamburg?”<br />
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What,
indeed, is wrong with a cowboy in Hamburg? Particularly when the cowboy
in question is Tom Ripley, a wealthy American criminal who helps run an
art forgery ring. A suave spectre of the European art world, Ripley has
refined his criminal activities to a fine science. He attends art
auctions where he bids on forged paintings done by the German, driving
the price sky-high. He pockets the extra money and repeats the process
all over again. It is a perfect system. Even Jesse James would be
impressed.<br />
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In fact, the impetus of Wim Wenders’ <i>The American Friend</i>
isn’t a failing of Ripley’s system, but a personal slight. During one
auction, Ripley is introduced to Jonathan Zimmermann, a picture framer
suffering from a rare blood disease. Ripley extends his hand, but
Jonathan rejects it with a curt “I’ve heard of you” and walks away.<br />
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Ripley’s hand shrivels at Jonathan’s insult. “You mustn’t take that
seriously,” an auctioneer quickly chimes, “Zimmermann’s under a lot of
pressure...he’s ill. A blood disease. Little hope of recovery.” But
Zimmermann’s fate is sealed. In a matter of days he will be embroiled in
a terrible murder plot, pursued by gangsters. And it started, not with a
crime, but with an empty handshake.<br />
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Perhaps it seems odd that such a small moment would ignite an entire film. It happens so fast that it is easy to miss. But <i>The American Friend</i>
is a film of manners and style, knowing glances and seemingly empty
faces. It is a love letter and subliminal condemnation of American
culture. For Wenders, the style <i>becomes</i> the substance. <br />
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For
those familiar with Tom Ripley, the main character of Patricia
Highsmith’s “Ripliad,” a pentalogy of crime novels about a refined yet
amoral criminal, what happens next to Zimmermann is shocking, but not
unexpected. A French criminal named Raoul Minot asks Ripley if he could
assassinate a rival gangster. Ripley refuses, but suggests an
alternative. He orchestrates a plot wherein Zimmermann is convinced that
his blood condition has worsened and that he only has a short amount of
time left. Once Zimmermann is completely horrified of his “impending”
death, Minot swoops in and offers him a massive sum of money in exchange
for carrying out the assassination. Desperate to provide his wife and
son with some money to survive on, Zimmermann agrees and murders the
gangster in a subway station. <br />
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However, things are complicated
when Minot reveals to Ripley that he was so pleased with Zimmermann’s
work that he plans on using him <i>again</i>. Only this time, the murder
will take place on a train with a garrote. Ripley is horrified at this
development. See, Ripley had visited Zimmermann’s shop before and after
the first murder in order to get a picture framed. An unlikely
friendship grew between the two, all the while with Zimmermann
completely unaware of Ripley’s machinations. So Ripley interrupts the
second murder and dispatches the target himself. Afterwards Ripley
reveals the truth to Zimmermann, leading to one of the film’s best
scenes. Zimmermann offers Ripley the money for the hit. Ripley refuses
and states, “I would like to be your friend, but friendship isn’t
possible.” But their reconciliation is cut short when more gangsters
arrive to kill them both for Ripley’s intervention. <br />
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On the surface it might seem like <i>The American Friend</i> is merely a hollow adaption of Highsmith’s novel, especially when compared to the critical darling <i>Ripley’s Game</i>
(2002), also based on the same novel. The 2002 film by Liliana Cavani
focused more on the character of Ripley, portrayed by John Malkovich in a
career-defining performance, than on his relationship with Zimmermann.
Malkovich played Ripley as a sterile sociopath akin to Hannibal Lector
without the sense of humor and cannibalistic craving for human flesh.
But I find Dennis Hopper’s performance in <i>The American Friend</i>
more intriguing. I still don’t quite understand Malkovich Ripley’s
motivation for saving Zimmermann. But I can easily accept and sympathize
with Hopper Ripley’s change of heart. He is a man so used to respect
that Zimmermann’s insult seemed emasculating. I think it was no
coincidence that Wenders framed Ripley’s rejected handshake as a
deflating phallus.<br />
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This emasculation is further driven home when one examines Wenders’ thematic inspirations. Heavily inspired by American cinema, Wenders’ Ripley-Zimmermann relationship evokes hard-boiled <i>film noir</i> and 50s melodrama where masculinity was closely guarded and defended in the face of social and familial pressures. Malkovich Ripley saved Zimmermann because that’s what the story needed to continue. Hopper Ripley saved Zimmermann because he realized it was the right thing to do. So what, indeed, <i>is</i> wrong with a cowboy in Hamburg? One thing’s for sure: there’s more to it than Ripley’s hat. Nathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3856798792320939017.post-45253704727033456192012-08-23T13:52:00.002-07:002012-08-23T13:52:42.079-07:00Almost Back!Hello everyone!<br />
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As you might have noticed, I haven't done any new reviews lately. The reason is that I am currently in the process of moving back to New York City in order to resume my studies at NYU - Tisch's film studies program. This has been a lot more difficult than I originally thought it would be...<br />
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But don't worry! New forgotten classics will be added as soon as September comes around!<br />
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Editor-in-Chief<br />
Nathanael HoodNathanael Hoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667245328396233986noreply@blogger.com3