Chungking Express

Chong qing sen ling (Chungking Express), 1994
Dir: Wong Kar-wai
November 7, 2009

I can't really think of a bigger recent film-watching let down than this. After watching Days of Being Wild (1990), I was all psyched on Wong Kar-wai again after forgetting about him for a while, but this was just not what I wanted at all. It's basically an art-house Desperately Seeking Susan (1985). It's OK in terms of continuing Wong's themes and his overall romantic oeuvre that he had started to build, but the techniques he used to convey them reminded me really just of early 90s music videos.

The film can be broken into two parts, of people who make loose connections to each other while the effects of loneliness and falling in love with the wrong person are observed. The first story involves a lonely detective (He Qiwu, Cop 223) (Takeshi Kaneshiro) who had been dumped on April 1 by his girlfriend May. His quirky view on life makes him believe that he will wait until his birthday on May 1 to see whether they will be rejoined or if it time to move on. He buys lots of cans of pineapples that expire on May 1 to that effect. Meanwhile, a woman in a blonde wig (Brigitte Lin) tries to survive in the drug underworld after a smuggling operation goes sour. She ends up in a bar on May 1 in a world of trouble, and there, a romantically desperate Qiwu tries to make a connection with her. She is at first stand-offish, just wanting to be left alone, but then relents "just to find a place to rest." They go to a hotel room where she just sleeps while he watches movies. He leaves before day break. She leaves in the morning and shoots the drug baron who had set her up. Qiwu goes jogging and receives a message from her on his pager wishing him a happy birthday. He then visits his usual snack food store where he collides with a new staff member, Faye (Canto-pop beauty Faye Wong). At this point, a new story begins.


Takeshi's cop has the kind of quirkiness that just bugs me, and the desperation and occasional playfulness that he exuded in the performance almost seemed fake. Lin's drug smuggler is far more subtle, but maybe that's just because she has far fewer lines and doesn't have the intrusive observational voice-over. My biggest problem of this part was the blurry visual effects and break-neck pace of the editing, which completely threw me for a loop in terms of Wong's usual sumptuous images and meandering pace. It is meant to correspond to the hustle and bustle of urban life, but it just pissed me off. I wanted to see what was going on, to feel the film like the best of Wong's films let you. The sequence in the bar has the lounge music and romantic/pop-art neon-vibe that Wong and DP C. Doyle are known for, and it works pretty well. The "story" is alright, could have been used better though. The "missed connection" theme that was in Days just didn't have the same effect on me, which just goes to show you how much technique/style can be important in a film (for those who like to argue about style/substance issues).


The next part involves that quirky girl Faye, who becomes obsessed with beat-cop 633 (Tony Leung Chiu Wai), who is also going through a break-up. After acquiring a key that 633's ex-girlfriend left with a letter at the snack bar, she frequently breaks into his apartment during the day to redecorate and "improve" his living situation. Gradually, her ploys help Cop 663 to cheer up and he realizes what she is doing, arranging a date at the restaurant "California." However, Faye stands him up after a last-minute decision to see the world before settling down; she leaves him a fake boarding pass with a date a year from now. In the last scene, Faye arrives back in Hong Kong, now a flight attendant; she finds that Cop 633 has bought the snack bar and is converting it into a restaurant. Their future however always remains ambiguous, like most Wong films.


Faye is pretty much adorable, but her dancing around 633's apartment to her own cover of "Dreams" by The Cranberries got on my nerves a little bit, as the quirkiness thing came back as if it was some repetitive theme. She was better off being nonchalant in the snack bar, repetitively listening to "California Dreaming" by The Mommas and the Poppas as loud as possible, a repetitive theme that works for me referencing the date and Faye's eventual departure. Tony Leung is the man, and cannot really be faulted for anything, his beat-cop throwing out longing looks as he tries to figure things out. The story here lacks the first part's bite, but I think it was executed better. The visual effect of slowing down the two main characters while speeding up everything else in a few scenes was effective if obvious. The voice-over was used way too much, but it's hard to fault the last scene, which will probably be hated by those who hated the last scene in Days, but it's probably the only great thing in this film if you ask me.

Weekend

Weekend, 1967
Dir: Jean-Luc Godard
November 7, 2009

Weekend is a deliberately designed random fest of indifferent characters thrown into Godard’s most violent, caustic story of a civilization close to apocalypse where rape, murder, slaughter, guns, accidents, cannibals, radicals, imaginary and surreal characters ("Is this a film or reality?") are thrown in that become devices and will help a viewer (supposedly) comprehend the ubiquitous evil and suffering lurking around. A lot of the stuff that happened just made me laugh though, especially all the silly fights that people get into. It is not a parable, there is no moral, neither is it didactic in a literal sense, it is like no other film about a political future where Freedom will kill freedom as Godard saw it from the 60’s in a way that only Godard could have dreamed of and created, which is why it's a "film lost in the cosmos" or a "film found on a garbage heap." Though of course, this shit never really happened in anyway that Godard preached (though I'm sure he'd say that it is still coming or point out all the injustices left in the world). It is a bare-bones deconstruction of a film, which is why people claim it is his best (even fatso Ebert goes nutzoid over this). It's probably right behind 2 or 3 Things (1967) in quality late 60s Godard. "End of Cinema," though? How douchey and pompous can you get? Fuck you, Godard. I'm glad you joined some pointless socialist film collective at this point. I'm done.

Twentieth Century

Twentieth Century, 1934
Dir: Howard Hawks
November 6, 2009

Oh, it's so screwy! This is considered one of the founding films that kick started the "screwball" comedy sub-genre that lasted from the mid 30s until WWII. Hawks' no nonsense direction let's you take in all the witty dialogue and hammy acting, but finding something more meaningful in the film is pretty pointless. I mean, it's funny sometimes, which is of course good. It's OK for what it is, but it didn't blow me away, and not because it was dated or anything like that, but I really didn't find myself that engaged at all.

The basic story of Twentieth Century is that Oscar Jaffe (John Barrymore) creates a star in Lily Garland (Carole Lombard), and the two become a couple. Jaffe keeps close tabs on Lily, but pushes too far when he sets a private eye loose to spy on her. Lily leaves not only Jaffe, but Broadway, which she had conquered, for Hollywood. Jaffe attempts to create a new Lily Garland, but fails miserably and finds himself in such debt that he has to wear a disguise to escape Chicago bill collectors to the train of the title. Lily Garland, freshly off conquering Hollywood, boards the same train soonafter. Jaffe plots to recapture Lily throughout the rest of the movie, eventually gaining a backer and a large check from Matthew J. Clark (Etienne Giradot), who we've seen throughout the train ride spreading doomsday stickers around and have heard through a telegram has a habit of writing bad checks. Jaffe appeals to Clark after meeting with some wierd bearded friends who give Jaffe the idea of putting the Passion Play on Broadway. Jaffe does his best to sell Lily on an extravagant production of the Passion Play, but right at the peak of his pitch she bursts out laughing at him and the two are as far apart as ever before. Jaffe, upon finding out he has a bum check, erupts into histrionics, pulls a gun, threatens suicide and is eventually shot at by his supposed benefactor Clark. This gives Jaffe the grand idea of winning back Lily by pretending he's near death, with pals Oliver and Owen hovering over him and helping to sell it to Lily. Of course Jaffe gets Lily to sign right as Max Jacobs bursts into the scene pleading with her not to do anything. Our story ends back where it started, when Jaffe directing Lily as though she were an amateur, even though she's a seasoned actress by this point.


John Barrymore is phenomenal here and carries the movie, and in the first film I have ever seen him in has already produced a better performance than his granddaughter Drew has ever done. Barrymore is actually the reason I wasn't absolutely bored throughout. While I also think Walter Connolly as Webb and especially Roscoe Karns as Owen with his zingers are entertaining here as sidekicks and occasional drunks, I believe that there wouldn't be a lot here without Barrymore hamming it up with his wild gesticulations and often frenzied speech throughout. Everyone else is pretty forgettable, with Giradot's character not resonating at all and just seeming an uninteresting sidetrack. My biggest problem is Lombard. Her voice comes across as inauthentic, and while I realize this is a comedy and her character is written to reek of inauthenticity, what I mean is I'm left feeling like I'm watching Carole Lombard trying too hard to be funny. Yes, Barrymore's Jaffe is just as unrealistic a character, but he puts such flourishes onto Jaffe that any lack of reality is outweighed by his own very natural zaniness. Lombard is zany, yes, but in a look at me I'm acting sort of way that some older screen performances fall victim to. And yes, I also know that the film is about actors and the "Thee-ayter," but it just bugged me. Oh, and she whines a ton in an annoying way and has the worst fake laugh ever. It just completely works against Hawks' fluid naturalism.


Lombard could have killed this film with another director, but Hawks reels her in enough to get the job done. I think maybe though, some of that acting shines through a little bit too much and disrupts the movie for me. His medium/medium close only shots are kept spare to let the scenes play out, and the seamless pacing and brisk transitions of fades and wipes let the film move along nicely even when some acting might be jarring it. Twentieth Century is littered with great lines throughout, not unexpected from the great writing team, an uncredited Hawks involved, with Jaffe's constant closing of the iron door and references to Webb as a grey rat, to pretty much everything Owen says. So I think in a way, I can only say that I kinda liked this. I'm guessing their are some better screwball comedies out there.

La Chinoise

La Chinoise, 1967
Dir: Jean-Luc Godard
November 2, 2009

I suppose there are a few nuggets of information that you can take away from this concerning the differences in socialist dogma, but unlike the saving grace for a lot of other Godard (at least for me), this film is far more interested in it's "philosophy" than it is in anything visually interesting, which is why this, at 99 minutes, was still pretty tough to get through. Some of the title screen-shots and back-and-forth camera movements are seen in the Wes Anderson book, so I bet he thought this film was swell. Visually, it's still discernibly Godard in it non-linear sequences and semi-playful structural tone, but most of the time you are trying not to turn the film off to really care.

Set in a Maoist terrorist cell of students who have just read him, it’s all about the irony and hypocrisy of being a bourgeois "activist" rather than preaching or doing something sensible. The most glaring joke being the collective taking place in an upper-class apartment loaned to them by a relative. Each of the four main characters is slightly different: Guillaume (Jean-Pierre Léaud) is the artist, Veronique (Anne Wiazemsky, Godard's not-so-hot new wife) is the radical intellectual, Henry (Michel Semeniako) is the rational one, and Yvonne (Juliet Berto) seems to represent the lower-class swept up in the excitement. It’s activism without action; these four only fight with other people’s words and thoughts, and even then with each other. They are all pretty retarded, with Henri the only one who ever says anything reasonable, eventually getting kicked out for liking an American movie, Nicholas Ray's Johnny Guitar (1954) and his eventual realization that a peaceable solution is the only way for their ideas (or Mao's) to make any real progress in France. There is another character who hangs about, Kirilov (Lex de Bruijin), whose name and eventual suicide over failed ideas is supposed to clue you in to the fact that the film is loosely based on Dostoyevsky's novel 'The Possessed,' a novel that I have not read, so only until reading some other stuff on this did I find out. I suppose it's all clever and ironic, and Godard's sneer at the ineptness of some Communists who have no backbone is evident, but he is clearly on the students' side despite their hypocrisy, which is absolutely baffling to me. I don't know. I just don't give a shit anymore. It's a bit like Maculin Feminin (1966) in some regards, except what the people are saying makes you want stab their vocal chords all the time instead of some of the time.


* Check out swingin' 60s garage stomp "Mao Mao" by Claude Chennes, which is in the film. Also notice the title card at the end, reading something like, "The imperialists are still alive blah blah blah I'm inane." I dig the song, not so much the title card.

Days of Being Wild

A Fei Zheng Chuan (Days of Being Wild), 1990
Dir: Wong Kar-wai
November 1, 2009

This film has everything that I love about Wong Kar-wai, and none of the nonsense that makes 2046 (2004) or My Blueberry Nights (2007) slightly inferior to something like this or In the Mood for Love (2000). Wong eschews a normal plot for really strong moments and mesmerizing atmosphere and colors, along with his trademark slo-mo tracking shots to swanky 60s lounge music, which completely makes this film move from good to favorite.

The film is vaguely about unrequited love and how people deal with rejection, but, as the title suggests, it follows the nonchalant, wild days of Yuddy (Leslie Cheung), whose good looks let him manipulate the women who come into his life in 1960s Hong Kong. The film starts out with Yuddy going to a sports arena where Su Lizhen (Maggie Cheung) works, shooting one-liners ("You're gonna dream about me tonight.") at her until she falls for his cool demeanor. They have a passionate relationship until Maggie says that she needs a new place to stay, and asks Yuddy if she can stay with him. He's cool with that, but when she mentions the connotations of marriage that it implies, he gets cold, and it seems like the relationship is over. From there we are introduced to Yuddy's "mother" (Rebbecca Pan), a drunken ex-prostitute who is having a relationship with a younger man, much to Yuddy's chagrin. At some point, Yuddy found out that he is adopted, and he desperately wants to know who his parents are. She won't tell him for fear that he will leave her life. He sticks around and looks out for her, but he is always brooding about the information that she refuses to indulge, which sort of acts a an indicator on why he acts the way he does.


Yuddy beats the shit out of his mom's boyfriend one night at a sleazy club where a wanna-be glitzy showgirl (Carina Lau) Mimi/Lulu witnesses. Yuddy deftly sets her up as well, getting her to come home with him, and his "I don't care" passive attitude gets her to move from "I'm not that type of girl" to staying the night. She becomes hopelessly devoted to him despite his occasional cold shoulder, and the relationship comes to a boil when Su comes back to get some stuff while Mimi is there. Both women have a hard time dealing with Yuddy's indifference at the meeting, with Su wondering why she still has feeling for Yuddy while Mimi is extremely jealous.


Su is out in the rain crying when beat-cop Tide (Andy Lau) offers her some money to get home, and the she agrees until she realizes that she needs to talk to someone. They walk around all night, a relationship developing that is nipped in the bud. Tide always wanted to be a sailor, but had stayed at home because of an ailing mother. As they leave each other, we learn that soon after the mother dies, and Tide starts his new life as a sailor.


Yuddy eventually twists his mom into telling her about his biological mother, saying that he hated her for never telling him. She tells him that his mother is a Filipino aristocrat, and Yuddy starts to make plans to head to the Philippines. Earlier in the film, Yuddy's buddy Zeb is introduced to Mimi, and he falls for her. Yuddy doesn't really tell anyone that he is leaving except for Zeb (Jacky Cheung), and Mimi goes crazy with grief when she can't find him, even going to confront Su, who only feels sorry for her. Jacky tries to comfort Mimi and look out for her, but her grief is too much, causing her to yell, "I told you not to fall in love with me!" This sparks a "nice-guys-finish-last" rage in Zeb, where he strikes her hard twice. Later, in guilt, Zeb seeks out Mimi again to give her money to get to the Philippines, saying that if she doesn't find what she is looking for there to come back to him. You never know if she goes or what becomes of Zeb.


The last act of the film is Yuddy's wild days going absolutely feral. Rejected by his biological mother who refuses to see him, Yuddy goes on a bender and picks up a prostitute but passes out in the gutter before he can get back to his hotel room. Sailor Tide, on leave, picks him up and brings him back to his room where they sort of bond. Later, the two men meet at a train station where Yuddy goes into the bathroom to get a fake American passport. He refuses to pay for it and shoots the gangster selling it to him. A huge fight breaks out in the station, with Yuddy doing some awesome out-of-nowhere martial arts kicks, and Tide gets shot in the shoulder before they get away. They get on a train where an angry Tide yells at Yuddy for the way he lives his life, which seems to make no difference. Frustrated, Tide get up to find out how long the trip will last. While up, gangsters who must have sneaked on the train shoot Yuddy. When Tide gets back, they talk for a bit while Yuddy is dying, and Tide figures out that Yuddy was Su's lover. Yuddy tells him to go back to her, but Tide doesn't know if he'll ever see her again. What sets in is the achingly poignant realization that all connections have been missed, and all the characters are adrift. In the last scene, a new young man (a cameo by Tony Leung Chiu Wai) moves about a small room on the train, combing his hair the same way Yuddy did and getting ready to gamble, saying to me that there are always going to be heart-breakers out there living wild.


Wong Kar-wai and DP Christopher Doyle together are everything I could want. Days of Being Wild finds Wong weaving his characters’ longings both visually and textually. Objects and people sometimes float in and out of focus or frame during dialogue, creating the illusion of distance or forcing the viewer to recognize how little space there can be between two people. Life can be wonderful and life can be cruel. People are always going to act the way they are going to act. Sometimes it's the little moments that can be emotionally overpowering, and Wong's unbridled romanticism really get through to me. This is a must see because no one does melancholy like Wong Kar-wai.

Lolita

Lolita, 1962
Dir: Stanley Kubrick
November 1, 2009

This film is way more interesting to me than than anything else Kubrick did around this period, even the (in my opinion) overrated Dr. Strangelove (1964). I'm sure that this film (considering it's a Kubrick) has been fawned over and analyzed thoroughly, so I'll keep this short. Lolita (the film, possibly not the book) is really about the depravity of two men, Humbert Humbert (James Mason) and Clare Quilty (Peter Sellers). Mason really has one of the greatest performances ever, his cultured professor descending into perverseness and jealousy over jailbait Lolita (Sue Lyons). Lyons is pretty good for such a young actress who flirts a lot and can be quite bratty, but her crazy/lonely/man hungry mother Charlotte (Shelley Winters) really steals a bunch of scenes in the first part of the film just being off her rocker. Lots of people talk about Peter Sellers and how great he is, and all I can say is that he is on another planet while acting in this film. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but I'll always think about ping-pong a little differently now, that's for sure. Watching him dance at the beginning is mesmerizing if only because you are not really sure what the fuck is up with him. What his game is all about? Art films? Judo? Just to knock Humbert off his high perch? Why does he do any of it? Quilty is really one of the most frustratingly amazing characters ever put to screen, and Sellers performance equals that.

Kubrick said afterward that had he known the severe limitations he would have in making the film because of censorship, he probably would never had agreed to make it. For my part, I'm glad he did, because it forced him to be far more creative in deciding exactly what to shoot and how he was going to shoot it. Lots of people have this near the bottom of their Kubrick lists, and I'm not sure why. This is a great film, mostly for it's characters, none of which have any real moral compass.

Scarface (1932)

Scarface, 1932
Dir: Howard Hawks (Richard Rosson)
October 29, 2009

"Get outta my way Johnny, I'm gonna spit!"

Considering that the re-make of this has become a cliche, and for all intents and purposes, is really not that good, I wasn't really sure what to expect from this. Let me say this: it blows the bejesus out of the remake. Now, it's not a perfect film, but considering the time period, it is seriously violent, and a clear "master-in-training" piece from a true stylist, Howard Hawks.

A thinly veiled take on Al Capone, given authenticity and bite from a Chicago newspaperman turned screenwriter, Scarface is one of the most damning critiques of society ever put on screen. The re-makes anti-morality has become a rallying cry for rappers and douche-bags everywhere, but at the beginning of this, the title screen is actually demanding why people are giving credence to killers, and demands that they think about it. It's pretty startling, really. Paul Muni is Tony Camonte, a violent psychopath who rises to the top of his South Side gang after murdering his boss, setting his sights on top dog Boris Karloff and the North Side bootleggers, but a brash cockiness and happy trigger finger is no match for his ultimate downfall, rabid jealously over the sexual escapes of his (a little too much) beloved sister, Cesca (Ann Dvorak). She, along with Karen Morely, who plays a mistress of a South Side boss starting to gravitate towards Tony as he gains power, are actually really great female characters, though their acting is definitely a bit amateurish, if snarky.


Taken in context of early 30’s predecessors, Muni’s Camonte is mentally disturbed to the extreme, spitting out broken English through a grotesque smirk (a little annoying at times in it's over-the-topness and not really intimidating, but sometimes he can be downright funny and/or crazy); that his downfall comes because of an incestuous infatuation with his sister, as opposed to something obvious like blind ambition, and murdering Cesca's fiancée "Little Boy" (George Raft), his best friend, in cold blood, speaks to the depravity of the character and what his world has made him, and of the great characters this film has, in general. Shades of gray, people, along with a conscience. Pre-Code rules.


Hawks’ most overt symbolism, the recurring “X” theme every time a character is about to be assassinated, is obvious but visually striking (especially the bowling "strike"), as is the stunning opener, Tony’s killing of his boss in shadows, with the camera traveling back and forth on the studio stage in a nearly five-minute unbroken shot. Awesome. Howard Hawks is pure cinema, and I dig that a whole lot. I'm pretty sure this has convinced me to make Hawks my next American director to go through. It's either that or John Ford. I'm guessing I will dig both, but we'll see.

Spartacus

Spartacus, 1960
Dir: Stanley Kubrick
October 27, 2009

I have always avoided watching this like the Plague, and now I'm not sure why I thought it would be awful. This film is pretty much the perfect vehicle for an actor like Kirk Douglas, and as he was the executive producer with almost all creative control (which led to a clash with Kubrick), it's pretty much his movie. There is nothing definitively "Kubrick" about this film apart from the occasional visual flair and the fact that he is pretty much the cinematographer as well. Kubrick was only brought in because Douglas fired Anthony Mann after a week of shooting, probably for the same reason that arguments broke out with his new, much younger director. The film is about showcasing actors in an epic environment, and some are great, like Laurence Olivier and Charles Laughton, mixed in with some bad ones, like John Dall (whose intended naivete comes across as just plain awful; I also disliked him in Rope (1948), one of my least favorite Hitchcock films.) As for Douglas, he acts, as all "movie-stars" do, as the same character he always portrays, and in a film like this, it works, unlike in Paths of Glory (1957). Ham it up, Kirk! Seriously though, if you can enjoy a film like Ben-Hur (1959), then from a pure entertainment standpoint, there's no reason why you won't enjoy this. Sure, I rolled my eyes a few times, but it's kinda part of the whole deal. It's a big, epic film that's supposed to please. Actors like Tony Curtis were brought onto the picture for just more "star power." That's not to say that I wouldn't shit on a completely worthless monstrosity, like most of the DeMille films that I've seen, but there is also some artistic merit to a film like this. This is no Lawrence of Arabia (1962), but few films are.

2 or 3 choses que je sais d'elle

2 or 3 choses que je sais d'elle (Two or three things I know about her), 1967
Dir: Jean Luc-Godard
October 25, 2009

This at first glance this seems very typical of late 60s color Godard, a disjointed, anti-capitalist ramble with a whispering narrator (Godard) speaking elliptically. That stuff makes me want to punch someone in the face. But the entire film overall is never less than engaging, often hilarious, and sometimes astonishing (especially at a point when I have convinced myself that Godard has nothing worth saying to me anymore).

The film mostly follows the life of Julitte Jenson (Marina Vlady), a bourgeois housewife and mother who occasionally goes into Paris to work as a prostitute. Marina is a total babe, and watching her for an hour and a half is pretty remarkable, and for me, I was getting tired of Karina anyway. Good riddance, JLG. Vlady was the wife of Hotspur in Chimes at Midnight (1965), and she caught my eye there, despite only being in like 5 minutes of that film. The camera occasionally focuses on other characters, and cinema verite interviews mid-scene dissect their vapid lives. They sometimes have breathtaking insights, but more often just have a few mediocre witticisms. It even gets to Juliette's children, especially her hyper-active son, who pretty much gives the best performance a kid can, and his sequence about "nice, clean girls who don't disagree with me" is amazing. The always crying (or bawling her freakin eyes out) daughter is always on cue, which has to be somewhat difficult. In a typical Godard fashion, his argument is put forth sometimes directly, sometimes poetically: that modern society itself is prostitution, that we have come to value lifestyle over life. If the tired tirades against consumerism seem old, the overall effect is still one that is still frighteningly relevant 40 years later.


Even if you can't get behind his message, which believe me, I understand, 2 or 3 things is filled with so many powerful images and sequences that it makes me wonder what the hell he was doing on the brainfart that is Made in USA (1966). It also might be his funniest that I've seen, the presentation not nearly as serious as the thesis, coming across as a non-stop stream of visual puns and references. I think that's why I didn't hate this. The fact that Godard actually has a sense of humor and doesn't need to be so angry actually made this film as good as anything he ever made. But then, the mood will be changed with a gut-punch of insight and wonderment: the world in a coffee cup; the decision of which narrative to follow. The film is multi-layered and ambitious, and the things I didn't like about it are the things that I don't like about all Godard films. There are, however, too many things to like in this film to dismiss it. I'm a bit reluctant now to move on, since it was at this point that Godard revolted 1oomph against what he saw as "pleasurable" films. This might be the last kind-ish thing I have to say about him or his films. We'll see how long I go before i give up.

PS: Try watching this as big as possible: it's widescreen to THA MAX.

Paths of Glory

Paths of Glory, 1957
Dir: Stanley Kubrick
October 23, 2009

I don't know if it's the Kirk Douglas effect, but I was not really impressed with this in the overall. Yo, Kirk! You are acting as a French colonel, not a gunslinger in a Western. What's up with the english in this, anyway? It was pretty hard to imagine all those guys as French, but I guess it really doesn't matter in the end if other things are done right. The real problem is with Douglas playing an American every-man with American attitudes stuck in the French Army during WWI. Anytime he (or anybody, for that matter) talks, any semblance of reality is blown to smithereens. There is no tact in any of the acting.

The film sets up a huge Kubrick theme (anti-authority) and yet I wasn't invested in the film at all until the end. The black-and-white cinematography is terrific, and rightly showcases the awful lives men live when they are at war, but the black-and-white story itself is a no real importance. George Macready's ambitious, vengeful general is heavy handed, as is all the mise-en-scene that accompanies him (the dinner parties, the cognac, heck, even his "sofa" at the court-martial). With his voice, he comes across as some entitled Ivy League snob. The obvious counter-point to Douglas. From the very beginning, you are getting banged over the head that Douglas' Col. Dax and Macready's Gen. Mireau are headed for a confrontation. Some of the the minor characters (a sly, political minded Gen. or a drunken, cowardly Lt.) aren't so easy to pin down, but the way they play out most certainly is. Now, again, this isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's just the technique and execution are somewhat lacking, if you ask me.

Kubrick's pessimism is what really shines through. A forthright portrayal of injustice with a tragic ending. As he says, it's not so much an anti-war film as it's an assault on the "ignorance of authority." The battle charge was pretty heart-pounding for me, if only because I'm kinda interested in WWI in that it is severely under-filmed in terms of combat. The technology vastly outpaced the strategy of the times and NO ONE comprehended until millions had died. Seriously, let's charge at Gatling guns like they're horses! Anyway, the hard-eyed camera bores directly into the minds of some of the characters, and the execution scene is gut-wrenching, even if you don't feel bad for the characters portrayed, only for them as human beings. Some of the best acting in the film is done by Ralph Meeker, as a Cpl. who tries to say stern faced in the hours before his death but eventually breaks down in fear and self-pity as the time comes. You can't can't help but feel bitter when they die. But that's about the only emotion I felt at the end, bitter. At the "authority" in the film, and the film itself. It could have been the film that tons of people rave about. It really isn't.

Viaggio in Italia

Viaggio in Italia (Voyage to Italy), 1954
Dir: Roberto Rossellini
October 21, 2009

This is a pretty remarkable film for the mid-1950s. Of course, it's a European film, but subtle and inclusive in it's themes. Rossellini's direction captures the Italy all tourists see while blending in his homeland in a way that I'm sure all native Italians would approve of. Despite an ending that I'm not quite sure what to make of (maybe a little too Hollywood, and yet...), I found myself caught up in the lives of this couple on holiday (or business trip) in Italy as their marriage falls apart.

The way that Alex (George Sanders) and Katherine (Ingrid Bergman, Rossellini's wife at the time) treat each other is amazing. Alex has clearly convinced himself that he doesn't love Katherine anymore, and almost goes out of his way put her down. Sanders is amazing as this wealthy British man who back-talks his wife, flirts in front of her with other women, leaves her in Naples to go party with friends in Capri (where he definitely lusts after a married woman), and then as a indecisive soul who almost picks up a lonely prostitute before bubbling over with frustration as he yells at his wife that he wants a divorce. Bergman's Katherine is remarkable in a different way. I almost didn't like her acting at first. It was too stilted, almost like it was being read. The subtlety of her character starts to come out later though, as the time she spends in museums and the ancient ruins of Italy begin to impact her, along with the memory of a sickly young man who read his poetry to her. Half the time she tries to convince herself that she still loves Alex, while the other half she can do nothing but spew venom at him. They make each other jealous; Alex with his flirting, Katherine with her memories ("He was a fool." "He was not a fool! He was a poet." "Aren't they the same?").


Rossellini is also subtle in how he captures everything and creates a mood. From the classic "couples" Hollywood shots and the sweeping pans, the film is grounded in the pop cinema of the times. However, as he captures the people and landscape around the couple, the neo-realist frames almost make it feel like a documentary at points, as does the information that the tour guides give Katherine as she wanders around. The shots of the statues and ruins, along with the accompanying music as Katherine gets caught up in the art and imagery, is a truly remarkable way of representing a life changing moment, the way a great song or painting makes you feel when you first encounter it (It also lets you see where Godard got the idea for Les Mepris (1963)). Italy itself is also a character, with the music, the people, the sounds; everything about the mise-en-scene, especially in the "neo-realist" shots, seems like it could only be captured by an Italian.


So the ending. After the climax where they both decide that they need a divorce, a friend convinces them to go to Pompeii to look at an archeological site, despite their reluctance. There, they see men uncover a couple who died together when Vesuvius erupted, which greatly effects Katherine. They are forced to leave, while Alex thinks it might be best if he heads back to London, not only to give each of them their space but to contact a lawyer about getting divorce proceedings started. Along the way back, they are forced to stop by one of the many religious parades that have happened throughout the film. They get out and watch, and Katherine tries to bridge the gap between them once again, only for Alex to snap back, "You've never understood me and never tried! Let's stop making excuses when we're finally being honest with each other." It seems like the marriage is over, and if the movie had ended there, it would have blown my mind. However, as the parade marches on, a "miracle" happens as a statue passes (Mary, maybe?). A man on crutches is suddenly healed, and the crowd goes bonkers. Katherine gets caught up in the crowd surging towards the statue, and Alex is forced to go after her. When they get back together, they are moved by emotion, and declare their love for one another. Say whaaaat? A miracle, or bullshit? Their is clearly a connotation to the reconciliation and the power of faith, but I was a little let down by this ending. Maybe it's just that the film seemed to be heading for nothing other than the couple's separation, and this just felt like a cop-out. On reflection tough, the sincerely optimistic statement made by the ending is genuinely different in it's own way, not to mention about how faith and Italy are interwoven, though it's just not the one that I would have used. What your personal views about faith may have an impact on how you interpret the ending of the film.


The film succeeds because despite all the wandering and searching the film depicts (which is awesome), it is about a voyage of discovery. It's a leisurely, contemplative film in no hurry to get anywhere (like most vacations) that is a unique testament to faith, even if that means nothing to you. Viaggio in Italia is a film in search of itself, that doesn't know it's own ending until it finally get's to it, miraculously appearing for an audience that could not have possibly seen it coming. Does it feel "right?" I don't know, but I really enjoyed the vacation, as bumpy as it could be at times.

Made in U.S.A.

Made in U.S.A., 1966

Dir: Jean-Luc Godard

October 16, 2009

This might be Godard's first consciously made political film, yet it's trappings are grounded in the hard-boiled American detective films of the 40s, particularly those involving one of Godard's heroes, Humphrey Bogart. I guess, in the end though, that even it's classic cinema references couldn't save Made in U.S.A. for me. I don't feel like writing long reviews about these Godard films anymore. Or maybe just this one because it was mediocre, borderline bad, unlike Masculine Feminin (1966), which I've decided is pretty good. His attempts at genre (like Alphaville (1965)) come off as stunted to me. It's hard to say that it's homage, because he's thrown the cinema conventions to the dogs at this point, but these just seem inferior to the directors whom Godard so admired. Casting preferred directors and film critics, and naming minor characters "Robert McNamara" and "Richard Nixon" is only amusing to a point. The Maoist platitudes ("I think advertising is a form of fascism.") and philosophic name drops are getting beyond tedious though. The entire long French wordplay scene in the restaurant is completely baffling to me. I'm not a young marxist, nor am I caught up in the political strife of the 60s. When the actors directly address the camera, it's almost like he's giving you instructions. Brecht would be proud, I guess. Either this film has aged really bad, or I really don't give a shit about his political agenda, which sometimes Godard himself seems a little confused about. His narrative and technical experimants are inventive, as always, but stark in it's presentation and completely off-putting. Now, the film is great to look at, and I think that cinematographer Raoul Coutard might be the best thing about this film, with colors popping all over the place. "Anna Karina, private eye" is also nice, if only to look at as she prances, pouts, and shoots bad-guys all around a really weird Atlantic City where everyone speaks French. Jean-Pierre Léaud's silly gangster's death is my favorite part of the film, where Anna asks him, "Do you want to know when you are going to die, or for it to be unexpected (paraphrase)." He replies with the latter, and she goes on to shoot him without warning. The last shot of the film is a long take of Karina in a car with radio journalist Phillipe Labro, who plays himself, of them leaving the city, with the camera on the hood. In regards to Godard's main message, Karina states in their open-ended conversation/thesis summation, "We have years of struggle ahead of us." If Godard's later 60s films keep progressing like this, getting through them is going to be a fucking struggle, and literally take years.

L'eclisse

L'eclisse (The Eclipse), 1962

Dir: Michelangelo Antonioni

October 14, 2009

Antonioni's final film in his "trilogy" takes up stylistically where he left off with La Notte (1961). The post-modern figurehead is at the top of his game here, and it really show. It might be the best one, or I might just be saying that because it is the easiest to follow, or I'm starting to understand what he trying to get at a little bit more. Who knows? It is still a difficult film to watch if only for the stark portrayals of modern people pretending to care about each other, but in the end being really selfish and not giving a shit. I guess all of the Antonioni films that I've seen deal with classic "alienation" issues in new narrative trappings, and the compositions of Antonioni's shot reflect that mood, as well as his dour black-and-white cinematography and the slow pacing. Don't get me wrong, it all looks great, and the pacing is pretty much just a bout right throughout, but you get the idea. It kind of ups the ante of his provocative modernism by being the most radical as well. The "I don't give a shit" attitude of the narrative conventions and the chilling themes of absence and desire make you think about the film long after you're done viewing it.

At the beginning of L'eclisse, Vittoria, a translator (Monica Vitti) from the Roman suburbs is breaking off her engagement to Riccardo (Francisco Rabal). The whole scene sets ups the interactions between people who come across each others path: restless souls and neurotics. Riccardo is a neurotic. He can't understand why Vitorria is breaking it off. He wants to know how he can change. He wants to know if she ever loved him. He wants to be able to call her in a couple of days to see is she's changed her mind. All Vitorria can do is respond, "I don't know," or wonder why people ask so may questions. At points, her face is anguished as she tries to give Riccardo some reason that never amounts to anything, but it's hard to say if she feels truly bad for him or only for herself for getting into this tricky situation. She does this throughout the film, not being able to explain any of her impulses or actions as she drifts along. The only other time that Riccardo is seen again is when he throws rocks at her apartment window a little later and she hides so he can't see her. Then he dejectedly walks away, seemingly disappearing.

Vittoria tries to get some time in with her mother (Lilla Brignone) after this, who is a compulsive money trader, and spends most of her time at the stock market. Here Antonioni has stock-brokers going bonkers trying to make deals and deal with each other. Part of what makes theses scenes so overwhelming and breathtaking is the compositional style of using the edges of the frame and playing off the different sections of the crowed image in relation to one another, with gesticulating arms flailing everywhere as if they might burst through the screen. The mother of course, has very little time for her grown daughter, and asks her every time she sees her, "What are you doing here?" She is viewed by the other people there as generally crazy, and when the market crashes and she joins a mob going to complain about "socialists," the point is well proved with a little humor. Vittoria gets lost a little bit in these scenes, as they are really about Piero (Alain Delon), a young stock-broker who is employed by Vittoria's mother and soon starts a fling with Vittoria.

The relationship doesn't start right away, as their arcs meet each other the first couple of times that Vittoria goes to the market, but they only talk a little bit about the market or her mother. Piero's restlessness is different from Vittoria's in that he is driven; he has a "passion" for the market and money. His restlessness, as Vittoria notes, is that "he can't stay still;" he is a young man with virility. However, unlike in earlier films like L'avventura (1960) or La Notte, Antonioni doesn't seem to view his materialistic lifestyle or restless love life a bad thing; in fact, he shoots them as being some what vibrant, if spastic. Capitalism is a little less corrupt. A new attitude for Antonioni, where things are little less about guilt and compromise and selling-out? I'll have to see more films of his to know for sure. Vittoria is far more sluggish. Her impulses in between the Piero meetings are seen when she dresses up and dances for friends or randomly rides in an airplane to Verona with traveling friends. You're never really sure why she does any of these things. In life, though, you just do those things sometimes. The times when she just stops and looks at the things around her is a good demonstrator of what she's all about. Her face is pensive and wanting, but she never knows exactly what is is she needs.

The relationship really starts almost by accident. Vittoria becomes fascinated by a man who she is told just lost big in the market when it crashes and follows him around for a little bit. She bumps into Piero at a store where he buys her a drink. They form a fragile alliance where Piero wants what all guys want, and where Vittoria seems to blow hot and cold, much to Piero's confusion. The one thing that I didn't pick up until the end was the framing of Vittoria in relation to Piero. It's the exact way one of his former girlfriends is framed in an earlier scene, reminding us of exactly what Piero is all about. The relationship builds to the point where they seem to be in love, wasting time with each other and forgetting about the hustle and bustle of life. They remind each other of a meeting at their preferred spot, a construction site near Vittoria's apartment. After the promise of meeting, the characters are never scene again. It deconstructs to the point where by the end, you know both of them have come to the same conclusion that moving forward with the relationship would be a huge mistake. Maybe that's the really tough thing about watching it. The film begins with the termination of one love affair and ends with the scuttling of another. It seems to be nothing but narrative drift, but of course, that's Antonioni's purpose. Can you ever be satisfied? Trying to date Vittoria would be awful because you can never ever know her.

Watching L'eclisse on a large screen (HFA) really does the film justice for Antonioni's mise-en-scène, whether the focal point happens to be a rotating electric fan at dawn, a car with a corpse being hauled from a river, an illuminated street light at dusk, a couple necking on a sofa, or a crowd of screaming speculators. Even our misrecognition can play a role in the overall dynamics; characters with fleeting resemblances to Piero and Vittoria pass through the intersection where their meeting fails to take place, teasing us with possibilities. What's really hard to describe is the feeling that's left in the pit of your stomach when you are done watching it. If you combine the place of the meeting with the absence, and the mystery and uncertainty that pervades the entire film, what you are left with is the modern world. It's a place where all of us live, and where most stories are designed to protect us from the melancholy ache we are left with from L'eclisse. The entire trilogy is recommended if you like thinking about the way we treat each other as human beings in this modern age.

Killer's Kiss

Killer's Kiss, 1955

Dir: Stanley Kubrick

October 13, 2009

The fact that Kubrick actually wrote the script for this is really bizarre because there are no redeeming qualities in the dialogue, or the acting for that matter. He was only 26 when he directed it, and it looks really great, but it is, without a doubt, truly awful. At 66 minutes long, it's over pretty quick, which is something I guess. Like Fear and Desire (1953), he decided that microphones would mess up his lighting scheme so he decided to post-dub everything in after shooting. You'd like to think that maybe he could pull of something Wellesian in that department, but it's just really bad. Unlike his earlier effort, however, he was at least able to make this visually interesting at points, and the film doesn't have a bleached out feel to it. The grimy black-and-white photography actually helps capture a proper noir mood and the seedy elements of city life that it is trying to convey.

Boxer Davy Gordon (Jaime Smith) is washed-up and after losing a fight, gets involved with dancehall girl (Irene Kane) Gloria who lives in his building. Her sleazy boss Vincent (Frank Silvera) is a gangster who wants to make their relationship more personal. Every single scene that pushes the story forward has awful acting and atrocious writing. The only times where there is actually anything interesting is the intermittent scenes that act as buffers between these scenes, where Kubrick focuses on strange things like dolls or drunk guys in Times Square dancing and playing the harmonica and stealing scarfs. The dramatic noir downfall is not even met at the end, and it had the perfect opportunity to take advantage of it. I was just about to give the ending some respect when it was ruined. Gloria's character becomes barely interesting when the gangsters turn the tables on Davy and beat the crap out of him after he had them up against the wall with a gun. With her champion down, Gloria sweet talks Vincent, saying that she never cared about Davy, having only known him for two days, and that she "doesn't want to die." After some awful voice-over, typical noir narration that tells us about "what happened" between then and now, Davy is back in Penn Station, where the film began, expressing his emotions about Gloria. He heard everything that she said, and decides that he couldn't be with a girl like that and thinks that he will probably never see her again. A decent place to end a noir, if you ask me. Main character is still down, life sucks, sometimes it's just like that. But, no, Gloria comes running into the station right before he is about to leave and they make out, 'cause apparently he can be with a girl like that now. Watch The Killing (1956). It's a far better early Kubrick noir effort.

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell

I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell, 2009

Dir: Bob Gosse

October 6, 2009

Why o' why does every low-brow movie have to have a mushy ending now? It's the same conflict, reformation, redemption formula that all these movies have, with a little hint of the "Oh, this wise-acre might be back up to his old tricks" gag at the end. And it happens at a wedding. Holy fucking shit, that's like the first time that's ever happened. Is there a humongous problem with a guy that treats women like objects and only selfishly uses his friends for his own benefit to be left in his pathetic existence? Just be like, "Hey, I'm a terrible human being. I hope they serve beer in hell. The End." I'm not saying that would make this a good movie, maybe just rustle a few more feathers, because despite all of the un-p.c. jokes, this movies plays by all the rules and it's execution in that is still pretty lame. If Hollywood never comes out of the dark of the economic bust, I'm not quite sure what's going to happen to my love affair with retarded low-brow. All of these movies are the fucking same. I guess I just have to wait for the next season of Eastbound and Down for some quality comedy that is off the wall.

Like I said, this was a not good movie, but it's over the top offensiveness gets enough laughs if you're into that sort of thing. They could have done way more considering the tone that was set, though. If you can laugh at a guy who cares more about having sex with a midget stripper than he does about his friend's wedding or the circumstances that he constantly puts his friends into, then this is the movie for you. Could a better story have saved this movie? I doubt it. There are some funny zingers for sure, but nothing else about this movie is good.

Filming Othello

Filming 'Othello', 1978
Dir: Orson Welles
October 5, 2009

The last "completed" film ever made by Welles, this is basically just him sitting and talking about Othello (1952), the awesome shoe-string budget film that won Cannes. Maybe a bit pompous at times (though at the beginning he claims that he won't be), it's worth watching if you find Welles to be the master of cinema that he is, or if you just like to hear the sound of his voice. You know he clearly loves to hear his. It's really bizarre to think that the last two completed things that he could do were, in a sense, documentaries. It's a really odd coda to a career that should have been so much more. At the end of the film, you get a glimpse of Welles the man and the artist. You see his weariness and his exhaustion. It's deeply sad and profoundly moving.

It's on youtube: