Foolish Wives

Foolish Wives, 1922
Dir: Erich von Stroheim

This is the first silent film that I have ever seen that I could describe as being absolutely bonkers. Bonkers for 1922, most definitely, and even now I kept mumbling at the TV (being slightly drunk), "I can't believe they let him get away with this." Well, Stroheim didn't really. When he brought in his original rough cut, he intended for Foolish Wives to run anywhere from 6 to 10 hours. What a madman! He didn't get his wish, and he made a huge stink about it. But that was what always got Stroheim in trouble. He didn't give two shits about producers and spent studio money out the wazoo way before Orson Welles was a problem child.


Foolish Wives is a film about impostors, greed and infidelity in Monte Carlo. Three Russian "aristocrats" are on the prowl for easy targets to scam and find one in Helen Hughes (Miss DuPont), the young wife of the much older Andrew Hughes (Rudolph Christians), the new U.S. Special-Envoy to Monaco. "Count" Wladislaw Sergius Karamzin (Stroheim) uses his many talents to charm and seduce her even under the eye of her husband, though he can sometimes be distracted by Sergius' cousins, the "Princesses" Olga (Maude George) and Vera (Mae Busch). They are also involved in a counterfeiting scheme, gambling with fake money to win the real stuff, which we know must end badly. Stroheim recreates Monte Carlo in rich detail, and many memorable aspects of the film occur in scenes as above, where we feel that we are in a real place, exotic and decaying and wholly tempting.


What makes this film so crazy then? Well, here's a few reasons why it was in 1922: Sergius dupes the gullible, lusts after a retarded teenager, and attempts to undo an innocent American. It's also never entirely clear, but his "cousins" may actually be his lovers as well as his scam team (there are hints). Stroheim was easily identifiable as the sleazy euro-baddie in many of his pictures, and because he grew up in Vienna, he knew the territory well. I think the most interesting thing about him in this is how his stoic Teutonic face shifts during scenes, as when he lets a moment of lust come over him in lip-licking frenzy and then slides back into to his disguise. The film invites us to relish Sergius' more subtle methods of enticement and delight in his grander fabrications. Many key scene are dominated by eye movement and glances, an ingenious device for silent film and one that could still work today in a really subtle and complex way. I think what really drives it over the edge for me are the instances when slow-motion is used to drive home a point, but not in a way that seems like it's hitting you on the head. Even in a very dark (thematically) scene, it can be very poetic and effective, and that stuff just gets me.


The problem with watching Foolish Wives is that it is not what Stroheim intended. The movie that premiered in 1922 was a skeleton of the original and was barely comprehensible from a spectators perspective. There are many things left out that are in his original notes that were to serve as climatic sequences: a rape (of a retarded teenager), a corpse shown at dawn in the midst of garbage floating out to sea, and a premature birth. These things were shot, but are missing from any version you get a chance to see. What I watched was a Kino reconstruction, what experts and film archivists believe to be the best guesstimate of what would be the closest to an intended film, but not all the footage survives so it's impossible to get a real "director's cut." Even in this, sometimes the time as known in the film is a little bizarre and you wonder what is happening or "when" exactly it is. All you can really do is enjoy what's given to you, but that is really easy to do if you enjoy a director showing dirty things in a film medium where you would not normally expect it. The film moves beyond the obvious sensationalist sex melodrama because of Stroheim. This is a masterpiece, however you see it.

Les Vampires

Les vampires, 1915
Dir: Louis Feuillade

I don't mean to be nonchalant or even dismissive of really old films (I've have been quite impressed by some of them as you well know), but you really, really have to be going out of your way to watch them. Which, of course, I am. Les vampires, a 10 part French serial, is not easily overlooked because it is at the beginning of many traditions: gangsters/international crime capers and the film serial, or what we would today think of as an extended drama, say an HBO show or your great film trilogies or what have you. It wasn't the first one, but definitely the most ballyhooed. Despite all the acclaim, it is still a job to sit through, and at 400 minutes in total length, way too much for the casual modern viewer. So what is this exactly? Well, it's 10 episodes (which would have been shown separately) concerns Guèrande (Edouard Mathé), a journalist who is trying to uncover the truth about a mysterious society of anarchist gangsters who call themselves "Les vampires." Journalist? So this is Tin Tin circa 1915? Pretty much. There are a lot of pioneering things, like deep-focus shots, wacky stunts, car chases, assassination attempts (you know, all the good stuff), which are, truthfully, pretty tame (unless of course you can give it the benefit of the doubt and go, "Wow, in 1915? That's crazy!" But after 300 minutes...you get the point). The most interesting thing about this has to be the public's reaction to it in 1915. As a piece of pure escapism, it was a smash hit because it was released during the height of WW1, but it was almost banned because of the way it glorified gangsters, particularly the femme fatal Irma Vep (Musidora). "Irma Vep" is an anagram of what? Oh, you clever Frenchies.

Winchester '73

Winchester '73, 1950
Dir: Anthony Mann

This has to be on of the best genre films ever made. This film shows Mann's abilities, much more so than Side Street (1950), to depict a large cast of complex and fleshed-out characters. Indeed, this will remind one of those multiple connecting story line narratives that are so popular in modern cinema, but Mann handles it in manner that is far more gentle than Paul Thomas Anderson, or whoever else specializes in such pictures nowadays.


Lin McAdam (Jimmy Stewart) has been trying to track down his brother (Steve McNally) for some time now. He is not on friendly terms with him though, because he killed their father. To make things worse, he shot him in the back. Finally, Lin catches up with him in Dodge City, but neither of them has guns because Marshall Wyatt Earp (Will Geer) makes sure no one has weapons while in the city. Both participate in a shooting contest, and Lin emerges victorious and his prize is a Winchester ’73, a one-of-a-kind rifle. His brother, who now goes by the name of Dutch Henry Brown, steals the rifle and quickly escapes out of town. Lin’s interest lie more in capturing his brother than it does in retrieving in the gun, but the story of the movie quickly shifts to that of the gun, which is passed through multiple characters, all of whom are in close contact with Lin. Two of them, Indian Trader Joe Lamont (John McIntire) and Waco Johnnie Dean (Dan Duryea) are out-of-this world awesome for the duration of the time they are given. The entire mood of the film is also shadowed by the arrival of the news of Custer's defeat at Little Big Horn, which gives the local Indians, led by Young Bull (Rock Hudson), more reason to be aggressive.


There is certain type of dramatic predictability that goes hand-in-hand with these connecting story line sort of films, but whatever it is, Mann stays clear of it. It is astonishing to think that this was marketed as a conventional action movie in 1950, especially when modern audiences would most likely give up as soon as the camera strayed from Jimmy Stewart, who, by the way, delivers a great performance here. I’d go so far as to say that he was really a great performer with an ability to imply a certain depth not present in the scripts of these sorts of films. Of course, much credit goes to Mann as well, who labored over this stock script and transformed it into the cinematic masterpiece it is.


The way in which Mann implies that something much more important and emotional is going on underneath the obvious drama is one of the highlights for me. The condition of these characters compliments the dramatic arc, which makes them all the more difficult to notice. The cinematography here doesn’t have the benefit of being widescreen or being in color, but it is absolutely gorgeous. The visuals have the same sort of clarity and beauty found in many of Mikio Naruse’s films of the same time. In a way, Mann is somewhat of America’s answer to Naruse. Both filmmakers create something underneath the simple surface drama, and that is what makes their work so appealing.

Truffaut vs. Godard

Some interesting stuff that I found on the web, which just asserts my own opinion of these two vaunted francophone directors:

On 21 October 1984, François Truffaut dies of brain cancer. He is 52 years old. Jean-Luc Godard does not attend the funeral, which, in Montmartre Cemetery, brings together the whole family of French Cinema. For ten years the two filmmakers have been enemies. Since 1973 the two former friends, leaders of the New Wave, have not seen each other. They are no longer on speaking terms.

But Godard is terribly upset by Truffaut’s death. Memories flood back: their shared love for the cinema, the years spent together in the cine clubs and movie theaters, how these two rebellious kids learned about life, watching and adoring the same films. In the December 1984 special issue of Cahiers du Cinéma, dedicated to Truffaut, Godard writes: “François began making films with his hands, with daubs of ink, and throwing stones into a pond. We had Diderot, Baudelaire, Élie Faure, André Malraux, and François. Afterwards there were no other real critics of art.”

A few weeks later, Godard feels forsaken and vulnerable. In January 1985 he writes: “It’s not by chance that François died. A whole period has disappeared. He managed to do what the rest of us didn’t attempt and failed to do – he was respected. Through him, the New Wave still had respect. Because of him we were respected. Now that he’s gone, we are no longer respected. In his own way, François protected me. I’m very frightened now that this protection no longer exists.” Four years later, in 1988, François Truffaut’s letters are published; everything again foods back. Godard writes a preface to the volume: “The battles of film lovers of the beginning, which we inseparable, then the excursion to Cannes in May 1959, with the triumph of The 400 Blows; and “Cocteau, Truffaut, Léaud, on the Croisette”; and then the birth of Breathless, Truffaut’s “gift” to his two-year-older friend, Godard. It was a time of camaraderie and complicity. Godard describes himself as playing Athos to Truffaut’s d’Artagnan. And he recalls the films developed together from Jules and Jim to Two or Three Things I Know About Her, from Shoot the Pianist to Vivre sa vie, the allusions and friendly nods they contain, the little telegraphed words of encouragement; money is passed back and forth; they stick together. Jean-Pierre Léaud moves easily from one universe to the other: Antoine Doinel becoming the clumsy investigator of Masculin, féminin or the apprentice revolutionary of La Chinoise.

Then there is the quarrel in the spring of 1973. They exchange insulting letters, incredible invective. Godard talks about it: “Why did I quarrel with François? It had nothing to do with Genet or Fassbinder. It was something else. Luckily that something else has no name. It was idiotic, dim-witted. Saturn swallowed us whole. We tore each other apart, little by little, neither wanting to be eaten first. Cinema taught us life. It took its revenge. Our pain talked and talked and talked. But our suffering was pure cinema, that is to say, it was silent. Maybe François is dead. Maybe I’m alive. There’s no difference, really, is there?” Actor Jean-Pierre Léaud is trapped between his two “fathers”. They fight over him like separated parents fighting over a child.

Letter from Jean-Luc Godard to François Truffaut: mid-July, 1959, one month before shooting Breathless:
"I’ve finally found the coherent story line that will give Breathless its emotion. Old daddy George de Beauregard is working out pretty well. If Carolus (Bitsch) is not busy, I take him as first assistant. He’ll always be one shot behind me, but so much the better. I’ll let you read the shooting script in a couple of days. After all, it’s your screenplay. I think that, once again, you’ll be surprised. Yesterday, I talked about it with Melville. Thanks to him, and to screening some rushes of the Big Momo (Eric Rohmer was shooting The Sign of Leo], I’m in top gear. There’ll be a scene where Jean Seberg will interview Rossellini for the New York Herald. I think you won’t like this film even if it is dedicated to Baby Doll, but via Rio Bravo. I’d like to write you a longer letter but I’m so lazy that this effort will prevent me from working until tomorrow. We start shooting 17 August, rain or shine. In brief, the story will be about a guy who thinks about death and a girl who doesn’t. The events concern a car thief (Melville is going to introduce me to some specialists) who’s in love with a girl who sells the New York Herald and who is taking a course in French Civilization. It’s uncomfortable introducing something of me into a scenario that is yours. But we are becoming complicated. The thing to do is to shoot film and not try to be too clever. With friendship: one of your sons."

Text on Jean-Luc Godard: “Two or Three Things I know about Him” – by François Truffaut; 1966:

"Why did I get involved? Is it because Jean-Luc has been my friend for 20 years? Or is it because Jean-Luc is the world’s greatest filmmaker? Jean-Luc Godard is not the only director for whom filming is like breathing, but he’s the one who breathes best. He is rapid like Rossellini, sly like Sacha Guitry, musical like Orson Wells, simple like Pagnol, wounded like Nicholas Ray, effective like Hitchcock, profound like Bergman, and insolent like nobody else. Professor Chiarini, Director of the Venice Film Festival, says: “There’s cinema before Godard; and cinema after Godard.” It’s true, and as the years pass it’s increasingly clear that Breathless has marked the cinema, that it’s a decisive turning point, like Citizen Kane in 1940. Godard blew the system up, he messed it up, just like Picasso did with painting; and like Picasso, Godard has made everything possible. More prosaically, I can say that I have become a producer of the thirteenth film of Jean-Luc Godard because I noticed that the people who invested money in the preceding twelve masterpieces got rich."

Two letters from Jean-Luc Godard to François Truffaut (not dated, mid-1960s):

“Me too, dear Francesco, I’m totally lost. I’m wandering in a strange place. I think there is something very beautiful is prowling around close to me. But when I tell Coutard to catch it with a quick pan, it’s gone."

"We no longer get together, you and I, it’s really idiotic. Yesterday I went to see Claude Chabrol, who was shooting, and it was awful, we have nothing to say to each other. It’s like in the song, in the pale dawn, not even friendship survives. We’ve each gone off onto our own planet; we don’t see each other in close-up, like before, just long shots. The girls we sleep with separate us more and more instead of bring us together. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be."

The Quarrel:

Letter from Jean-Luc Godard to Truffaut end of May 1973:

“Probably nobody will call you a liar. Well, I will. It’s not more of an insult than ‘fascist”. It’s a critique. And it’s the absence of critique in such films, your film, and in the films of Chabrol, Ferreri, Verneuil, Delannoy, Renoir, etc., which I complain about. You say, Films are big trains passing in the night. But who takes the train? Those are trains too. What class of seat do they get? And who drives the train with the bosses’ spy standing beside him? They make film-trains too. And if you’re not talking about the Trans Europe, then, maybe it’s the suburban train, or maybe the train for Dachau-Munich, and of course we will never see that station in Lelouch’s film-train. You’re a liar because the image of you and Jacqueline Bisset the other evening Chez Francis (a restaurant on Place de l’Alma) is not in your film. And I’d like to know why the director is the only one who doesn’t fuck in Day for Night. I’ll come to a more material point. To shoot A Simple Film I need five or six million francs. Given Day for Night you should help me, so the audience will know that yours is not the only kind of film that gets made. If you want to talk about it, okay.”

Truffaut’s answer to Jean-Luc Godard, June 1973

“I’m sending back your letter to Jean-Pierre. I read it and I find it disgusting. It’s because of that letter that I think the moment has come to tell you, in detail, how, according to me, you act like a shit. I don’t give a damn what you think of Day for Night. But what I do find pathetic on your part is that, even now, you go to films like that when you know very well in advance they don’t match your idea of cinema or your idea of life. It’s my turn to call you a liar. At the beginning of Tout va bien, there’s this line: “To make a film, you need stars.” That’s a lie. Everybody knows about how you insisted on having Jane Fonda – who refused – while your financers told you to pick anybody. Your couple of stars, you got them Clouzot style. Since they work with me, they can work for one tenth of their salary for you, etc. Karmitz, Bernard Paul need stars. You don’t. So that was a lie. You’ve always had it, this way of posing as a victim, like Cayatte, like Boisset, like Michel Drach, a victim of Pompidou, of Marcellin, of censorship, of distributors who cut films, while in fact you get by very well doing exactly what you want, when you want, the way you want, and above all, keeping this your image as a pure tough guy, that you want to keep , even if at the expense of people who can’t defend themselves. When I saw Vent d’Est and the sequence “how to make a Molotov cocktail”, the only feeling I had for you was contempt. And a year later you shied away when we asked you to distribute La Cause du peuple in the street with Jean-Paul Sartre. The idea that men are equal is just theory for you. You don’t feel it. You just want to play a role and it has to be a big role. I think the real militants are like cleaning ladies: it’s not pleasant work, it’s daily, it’s necessary. But you, you’re like Ursula Andress, a four minute cameo, time for the flashbulbs, a few striking quips, and, poof, you disappear, back to the lucrative mystery. Shitty behavior! Really shitty behavior! For a while after May 68, nobody knew what you were doing. Rumors spread: he’s working in a factory; he’s formed a group, etc., then one Saturday we hear, it’s announced, that you are going to speak on RTL. I stayed in the office so I could hear you. It was one way of finding out, getting news about you. Your voice was trembling; it seemed full of emotion. You announced that you were going to shoot a film, The death of my Brother, about a black worker who was sick and whom they let die in the basement of a television factory, and listening, and inspire of the quiver in your voice, I knew first, that the story was probably not precisely true, or that you had tarted it up, and, two, that you would never make the film. And I said to myself: if this dead guy had a family, then they are going to live with the hope that the film is going to be made? There’s no role in the film for Yves Montand or Jane Fonda. But for fifteen minutes you gave the impression that you were “doing good”, like (Prime Minister) Messmer when he announces that the voting age is being lowered to 19. Fake! Dandy! Show off! You’ve always been a show off and a fake, like when you sent a telegram to de Gaulle for his prostate. Fake, when you accused Chauvet of being corrupt because he was the last, the only one to resist you! Fake when you practice the amalgam, when you treat Renoir and Verneuil as the same, as equivalent; fake when you say you are going to show the truth about the movies, who works for no pay, etc. If you want to talk about it, okay…”

I think it's pretty obvious who won the fight. FAKE! DANDY! SHOW OFF!

Georges Méliès

So this isn't a review about one film, just some thoughts on a bunch that I saw while looking for one in particular. Méliès is called cinema's first magician because he was one of the first guys to figure out the true potential of editing, especially the stop-trick. He called it magic. People believed it and had their Edwardian minds blown. These "magic trick" films are basically how he got his start, and as a stage magician, it's all he really wanted to do. For the modern viewer, when you watch these, you really need to look for other things because you know exactly what's happening. Luckily for us, not only was he cinema's first wizard, but also probably its first horn-dog and just a plain ol' goofball. His brand of physical comedy would be outdone soon enough and his perversions pretty chaste, but it's enough to make you keep watching the dated trappings with a smirk on your face. Then in 1899 he made a film about Joan of Arc (which is alright depending on how much you really care about the story of Joan) that has the basic semblance of narrative flow and he began to expand his film-making techniques to involve dissolves, time-lapse, multiple exposures, and especially hand-painted color on film.


As he got more and more into narrative film, these would help him with his fantastical and sensationalist leanings. This began with dream films, and then began to incorporate other stories which worked well with what Méliès was after. In 1901, he made Bluebeard which features an entire room of dead women hanging on walls. This is the start of a dark streak that happens to involve the frequent use of Satan in all his Dark Lord majesty. He really knew what would get these turn of the century people revved up in excitable way. Films like The Infernal Cauldron (1903), The Witch (1906) and The Merry Frolics of Satan (1906) leave no mysteries in their titles and are actually pretty crazy all things considered. But of course, these are not the films he is remembered for.


In 1902, Méliès made Trip to the Moon and left a mark on cinema that could not be erased: First fantasy film; first sci-fi film; first special effects blockbuster (thanks a lot Georges...). It's a good time, and waaay ahead of its time, but that still doesn't mean that every person could watch this. My favorite intarweb review: "This movie sucks. There's no way a rocket could do that to the moon. And even if it could, those wizards wouldn't be able to breathe without space helmets." There's a part of me that hopes this is a sincere opinion of the film, because it would make it that much more awesome. Méliès really hits his stride though two years later , in what I would say is his best film, The Impossible Voyage. A sequel in its way, its about a flying train that goes to the sun. There's something about the way it's shot though that makes it somewhat different than its predecessor, and more endearing. I can't really place my finger on it, but there you go. It's really, really good. It's not that different, but it is. And then, in 1907, he made another "planetary body" film called The Eclipse. It's incredible. If you ask yourself during a film, "Wait, did the sun just take the moon from behind?," then it might be one of the all time greats.


The film that I was looking for was Tunneling the English Channel (1907), which I could only find through illicit means. Was it worth it? I guess so. It didn't do as much for me as I thought, but it is impossible to ignore the vast imagination that created it along with the innovation to pull it off. Méliès power to entertain began to wane as the 1910s progressed and he went bankrupt. Luckily though, he was "rediscovered" in the 30s and placed on the pedestal he know enjoys. He belongs there, not only fore his ability to amaze and entertain, but for being one of the first people to understand exactly what cinema can do.

Die Nibelungen

Siegfried, 1924
Kriemhilds Rache, 1924
Dir: Fritz Lang

I was a little dubious to go back into Lang after throwing a blanket on him with my Metropolis (1927) review, but given my undertaking this summer, it won't be the last one I encounter either. So where to start? Die Nibelungen is a series of two silent fantasy films based on the epic German poem "Nibelungenlied." I must say that in this setting, rather than in a wonky futuristic one, Lang's expressionistic touches work a lot better for me. At times he feels like he is still finding his feet in that department, being that this is a coupe of years earlier, but the feeling that Lang was trying to make an artistic statement is there, and definitely works in this film's favor.


Siegfried, part 1, is a lot more action packed and is full of shit that any fantasy nerd will enjoy. Siegfried (Paul Richter) starts as an apprentice to a master Smith Mime, and forges a fucking sweet sword. Then he hears the tale of a beautiful princess, and sets out on a journey to make her his bride. On the way to Burgundy, he runs into a dragon and kills that lizard with his rad sword. Did you know that touching dragon's blood gives you the ability to understand birds? Well now you do, and also, those same birds will tell you to bathe in that stuff to make you invincible. So fantastically awesome. He then goes on to kill a dwarf king, get his magic invisibility crown, and steal his treasure. This is all within like 45 minutes. The rest of the film involves Valkyries, deceit, and an epic death. It's pretty engaging, and full of Lang's keen visual eye.


Kriemhilds Rache starts off as a bit of a slow burner, politicking and murderous glares, etc., but picks up with about an hour left where babies are killed, eyes bulge and, as any fantasy should, devolves into the chaos of battle. The first thing you will notice about this film is that the depiction of the Huns is one of the most racist things you will ever see, but like all things of that era, you can't let it bother you that much. It's just to show how "un-German" they are in comparison to the Burgundian court. You just have to enjoy the story telling abilities of Lang, which are numerous and inventive.


The whole tale is very Germanic/Norse in its scope and how it plays out, but especially in it's characterizations. There's the perfect hero cut down in his prime; the easily identifiable villain, Hagen von Tronje (Hans Adalbert Schlettow), with his funky eye and black-winged helmet; cowardly King brother Gunther (Theodor Loos), unable to be unloyal to Hagen even in his betrayal of Siegfried; and of course Kreimhild (Margarete Schoen), the seething Queen hard-done by. I really don't know a heck of a lot in regards to this mythology besides the vague cultural backgrounds, but the characters of Brunhild (Hanna Ralph), proud Valkyrie, and of Attila (Rudolph Klein-Rogge), the Hun (duh), at least are not as east to pinpoint as some of the others, maybe because they lay, even by a little bit, outside of that Germanic code. Feminists could also have a field day, because in the end, all of the nonsense that happens in the film starts because of (what else?) jealous bitches. These things are really easy to pick out in hindsight, but like all silent film, are really just a problem with that medium (intertitles and such).


For what it is, Die Nibelungen turns heads, simply for what it was able to do. Which was having artfully presented special effects while also being a gigantic spectacle. I'm sure it would have blown my mind if I was alive in 1925. Being that I'm not, I can be cynical and say the faces are silly (which they are) but they kind of have to be. So is this worth watching?: if you have any interest in film or silent film, than yes. It might not be one of those personal films (for me at least), but you can at least appreciate the craftsmanship. Otherwise, you should probably jerk off to Lord of the Rings or something, you fucking geek.

Late 70's Truffaut

So I've had these two films for like two months and not watched them, so I decided to bang these out before I start my summer project. Truffaut again finds himself dealing in a subject that plagues most French men in movies: girls, and simply being able to get too many of them, most troublingly at the same time.

These are not the last films that Truffaut would make before his death, but I'm gonna move on. I'm sure I'll get to them at some point, and if not, I think I've watched enough of his films to be able to say this: Truffaut > Godard.

L'homme qiu aimait les femmes (The Man Who Loved Women), 1977
Dir: Francois Truffaut

Pretty far from Truffaut's best, the film does at least try to throw some sympathy on a daring womanizer. Although one message I kind of got from it was that if your mom is a slut, you probably will be too. 40 year old Bertrand (Charles Denner) is a scientist (what?) looking back on his life to figure out what the heck had happened, and why he fucks too much. I guess that's what happens when you get VD. So Bertrand writes a book called "The Skirt Chaser" to recollect many of the relationships he has had. So it gets picked up by a publishing house, where a female editor changes the name to "The Man Who Loved Women" and then they have sex. There's supposed to be something melancholy about this guy knowing exactly what he is and figuring out why he is the way he is, but it never really hit home with me as hard as it should. It's supposed to be a "sex farce" or something but it's only occasionally funny.


L'amour en fuite (Love on the Run), 1979
Dir: Francios Truffaut

Probably the worst film in the Doinel cycle only because it actually tries to wrap a character that really shouldn't be. The "clip-show" style, memory recollections don't help either, at least not for me. Approaching 40, Antoine (J-P Leaud) is getting divorced from Christine (Claude Jade) while trying to juggle time with his son Alphonse, his new girl, Sabine (Dorothée), and his new life as a published author. While sending off his son to music camp (a scene with the funniest line in the movie, Antoine: Remember to practice hard, and always do your best. Alphonse: What if I don't try hard? Antoine: Well, you'll become a music critic, and no one wants that.) he runs into Collete (Marie-France Pisier), his first love and they spend some time on a train talking about their time together (oh, so it's one of those movies). There's stuff about his separation from his wife, his tryst with one of his wife's violin students/friend (Dani), and the nonsense about how Sabine is also dating the man (Daniel Mesguich) that Collete is in love with. All of Antoine's troubled love affairs were recorded in his first book, and that is the basis of how some of the women in it get together and talk about Antoine. This isn't The First Wives Club (1996) but it occasionally feels like it. Antoine is slightly lost throughout most of the movie, which is good thing. The fact that he actually has some ambition is strange though. The movie at least closes on an note where you are not sure if Antoine has made that leap into a settled life, and it's the one time in the film where the clips from an older Doinel film (the scene from 400 Blows (1959) where Antoine is on the tilt-a-whirl) where it matches well with what is happening in Love on the Run. So in the end it is a slightly disappointing film, but worth watching if you liked Antoine and the other films as well.

April

I've been pretty busy lately, and sadly, not watching a lot of movies. Luckily, about a week into May I'll be back on a normalish schedule, at least until July. This summer for the blog I think I'm going to do something different, maybe get a reference point from where I can watch a lot of different types of films. Like a "top 100" or something. So you can look forward to that when I start, probably in like 2 weeks or so.

I did have a disastrous Redbox incident a couple of weekends ago, when we were looking for some "bad, fun" horror. What we got:

"Dude. What if Jumanji was a horror film?"
"DUDE!"

Ride the High Country

Ride the High Country, 1962
Dir: Sam Peckinpah

This is rightfully considered a landmark in the western genre, but that doesn’t exactly make it the masterpiece that many hype it up to be. More than anything, it is just a simple, almost mindless joy to watch. It’s a harmless type of fun to see Randolph Scott in his very last performance as well as to see Warren Oates in one of his earliest. It’s nice to see the end of one generation of western aesthetics collide with a new generation. This is, after all, technically the last “classic western” and everything that has come after has been labeled revisionist, or modern, or something to that effect. My personal enjoyment of this film does come with some context. It helps a great deal to not only be familiar with the film’s cast, but to also be a big fan of it. I know I've slagged Joel McCrea in the past, but I think that just had to do with the roles he was given, particularly in the stinker Come and Get It (1936). He's really great here as Stephen Judd, and Scott is just as good. At first, it took awhile to get use to seeing Scott play a character that was so self-conscious of his age. In all of the Boetticher films I’ve seen with him, he seemed to hide that a great deal, appearing experienced, but not enough to be an old fogey. Here, though, he and McCrea are made out to be exactly that. Eventually, though, it becomes quite easy to get use to as it turns out, as Scott is essentially playing the exact same character he’s ever played except now he’s completely tired of his career. Seem familiar? Well, I suppose that definitely works in this film's favor. There isn’t a particularly strong feeling that Scott himself is going to throw in the towel after this performance, but there are a few subtle hints that help give his character some complexity. Joel McCrea has a few similar moments, but the third “hero” (if you can call him that), played by Ron Starr, seems to be put in simply to give a young guy for the oldies to shake their heads and roll their eyes at. Other than that, though, Peckinpah is very much focused on pushing the plot forward. Thankfully, though, there are a few legitmately amazing moments. A good example would be pretty much every sequence with Warren Oates, but the wedding sequence seems to take the cake, at least in my opinion. It definitely has a great sense of kinetic energy that seems to welcome in the new generation of western filmmakers, while still paying its due to the originals. I suppose that’s what this is, overall. Peckinpah obviously wasn’t as concious of what a landmark his film would be when he made, but the viewer does, and personally, I think that helps the film’s case.

4/5

Rebel Without a Cause

Rebel Without a Cause, 1955
Dir: Nicholas Ray

Melodrama, in it's way, can be used for a lot of things, and here it's certainly used to good effect. Everything's really hammy, but that's because the entire movie is taking potshots at the American way of life in the 50s. I mean, this basically invented American teen culture. Even so, it's hard for me to say that a film is fantastic if it's so over the top in it acting and score, though again, the music is perfect for the pulpy melodrama that this is. Ray's direction is pretty eye-popping, with a gigantic color palette that is ambitious and impressive. It's really hard to talk about the acting, because to my eye, it's grating. Not terrible, but obvious in its over-the-topness. It's done on purpose, so it's wrong to call it a mistake. James Dean can actually be really funny sometimes, which was a pleasant surprise. I love the story, the direction and even the way it plays out. There's even a 19 year old Dennis Hopper in the Kids gang. But it's just on the wrong end of the spectrum for me. For a film that is being so ambitious, and not to mention risque, about culture and sexuality, this is the place go.

4/5

Clash of the Titans (2010)

While I was watching the new one, I was thinking about the original 1981 version (and basically anything else I could think of that wasn't on the screen) and realized that I only had only one vague recollection of it. And that is of Harry Hamlin galumphing out Medusa's temple and holding up her head to no one in particular, like he needs someones approval. So I watched it again. And yeah, all the primitive stop-motion stuff is kinda charming but not so bad it's ridiculous in any way (almost). It's something as a kid that I'm sure you can get really attached to, but for me it just wasn't that big a deal. But I can say that I enjoyed it a million times more than the new one.

Clash of the Titans, 2010
Dir: Louis Leterrier

Why is Sam Worthigton given a fucking monologue in this? Is there a more wooden actor ever? How can you not know that making him the protagonist in your film is going to absolutely wreck any kind of dialogue you want to introduce, given the fact that he demands all of the viewers attention whenever he is on screen (yo dudes, trailer for Russel Crowe's "Robin Hood" was before this, looks epic). Is the acting in this actually worse than in the original? Is it possible to make the action in this any more boring, considering the resources they have? What's up with the low horn sounds in these movies whenever something "huge" or "epic" is about to happen? Why is Ralph Fiennes using the same voice that he uses for Voldemort? Why is Pegasus black? Why are the secondary gods given no screen time in this? Are they certain that they wouldn't possibly be any more interesting than giant fucking scorpions? Wait, are those guys djinn? So, they're genies? In fucking Greece?!?! Who the shit wrote this? And why isn't there more of this in it, considering that you have Gemma Arterton in your movie? I mean, am I wrong?

2/5

"We'll tell you your secrets. But please, just stop talking!"

Comanche Station

Comanche Station, 1960
Dir: Budd Boetticher

There isn't a whole lot to talk about here besides the fact that everyone is on top of their game here. Boetticher's big, sweeping canvas is still fantastic and just amazing to watch. There's a lot of elements from his other films that have been sucked into this, especially 7 Men From Now, so much so that sometimes it can feel uncanny, but it really doesn't take away anything from the films as stand alone pieces. It doesn't help to watch them in order, like I have, but again, it really doesn't bother me that they are so similar. It's genre cinema after all, and there is a certain expectation that needs to be fulfilled, which of course this does.


Comanche Station takes the set-up of Ride Lonesome, escorting someone across the West, and pairs it with the building tensions of Seven Men From Now, where outsiders/"friends" start to tag along in hopes for some of their own spoils. Randolf Scott just flat out knows how to be a Western protagonist. It's just a fact. No bullshit, no nonsense, "I'm a quicker gun than you, deal with it." Nancy Gates played the rescued wife that Scott is rescuing from Comanche captivity, and her relationship with Scott is typical of all the relationships that he has with females. There's a reward out for Nancy's return to her family, so obviously, in Boetticher's macho world, the men find it kind of pathetic that a man wouldn't go after his wife if she'd been captured by Indians. Ben Lane (Claude Akins) is the leader of this chorus, as he also has semi-charming ways to say how "handomse" Nancy is while bad-mouthing her supposedly cowardly husband. This gets Nancy to thinking, and she asks the one man who hasn't said a word on the subject so far, "If-if you had a woman taken by the Comanche and-and you got her back... how would you feel knowing?" "If I loved her, it wouldn't matter." "Wouldn't it?" " No ma'am, it wouldn't matter at all." Burt Kennedy still straight nailin' scripts.


Under Lane, who is clearly the sympathetic villain, there are two of his lackeys, Dobie (Richard Rust) and Frank (Skip Homier). They get fleshed out the same kind of way that the two underlings do in The Tall T, except here I think I can be even more sympathetic to their plight. They don't just talk about their dreams. In fact, they kind of have a Rosencrantz and Guildernstern conversations on what it's like to be a lackey, and there is a strong sense that neither of these two will ever "amount to something," even if they wanted to. It's a pretty brilliant scene, not only for those characters, but a statement on that particular role in all Westerns, which are usually just throwaways.


I had a great time watching all these films. They are a proof that you can do more with less, especially in genre cinema, and that minimalism is a great way of not getting yourself bogged down in a lot of nonsense. A great leading man, a great director and a great script: what more could you want when watching this type of film?

5/5

Small Change

L'argent de poche (Small Change), 1976
Dir: Francois Truffaut

It's been a while with Truffaut, but this was on Long Wait on Netflix and I really didn't care to skip ahead, being that it was the perfect time for a break. Even given that, I think without a doubt that this is the best Truffaut that I've seen since 400 Blows. Everything about this film just made me smile.


Truffaut was clearly influenced for this film by the crop of French filmmakers that were making names for themselves in the early 70s by making very personal, cinema-verite style films (Maurice Pialat, Jean Eustache). But, even in doing so, he managed to make a film that feels achingly Truffaut (straddling a line that's kind of polite, kind of daring, but always just right) while being a breath of fresh air in his oeuvre. Maybe I'm just really excited by this because I took a break, but it really expresses a lot about what I try to look for. There basically is no plot. Just kids being kids. Doing nice things. Dumb things. Smart things. Nasty things. It's a free-wheeling aspect that I would never expect from Truffaut (even if he was more experimental when he first started), but it works. Sometimes, kids really do the craziest things.


The poor kid's got it bad.


Take home Gregory for me.


I think your mom is really pretty.


Chicken fights!


I'm Gregory. Do you like my cat?


He's stupid. I want to push him out the window.


My parents locked me in. Thanks for the food in a basket!


Squirt milk in his face!


I wish I wasn't alone, here at the carnival. Or maybe I do...


Patrick can't get the girls in the theater.


But he gets the important one in the end...

5/5

Bashing the Old World

It's by coincidence that I've see these two film so close together, but there's a reasonable enough connection to review them together in that they are trying to do the same thing in the end: trash European aristocratic society.

The Earrings of Madame de..., 1953
Dir: Max Ophüls

I think that this does an alright job of bashing stuffy Eruo nobles and how ridiculous they are, but reading other stuff it seems it's supposed to be some sort of feminist film and that makes no fucking sense to me. There's something in there about false opulence, but I don't really care. So there are some costume balls (so sumptuous) and a female lead, is that it? Even so, the Madame (Danielle Darrieux) is such a prissy liar and unlikable character that it's hard to believe feminists were all about this film. Charles Boyer as her army General husband is decent, and Vittorio de Sica as her Baron lover is really great, but that's probably because of his own experience making really great films. In the end though, you know that the General is gonna find out, and you know that shit is gonna go down. And yes, Madame, it's all your fault. You should cry. I don't feel bad for you. Is that what it's all about, that upper-society and having it too easy made everyone this way? What is feminist about bashing that? That it's a man's world and she was playing two dudes for fools? Over fucking earrings? That might work if she weren't the biggest idiot in the film. As for Ophuls, I wish he made movies about other stuff. His technical wizardry and composed film-making is mind-boggling. Like Orson Welles good. Watching the film for film-making sake is probably worth it. The number of dolly shots is off-the-chats. Just don't blame me if you start getting really ticked off about what's actually happening in the movie as opposed to what makes it up.

3/5


Kind Hearts and Coronets, 1949
Dir: Robert Hamer

An Ealing Studio classic, I found myself enjoying this because, despite it being incredibly stuffy black, English humor, it hits the nail on the head a lot of this time, "Even my lamented master, the great Mr. Benny himself, never had the privilege of hanging a duke. What a finale to a lifetime in the public service!" That's a hangman. The film revolves around Louis Mazzini (Dennis Price), a man descended through the female line of the D'Ascoyne family. When his mother, a D'Ascoyne, marries an Italian opera singer, they disinherit her, and when she dies, they refuse to allow her to be buried in the family crypt. This is the final straw for Louis, who vows revenge, taking out all members of the D'Ascoyne family so he can become the Duke himself (female line members can). Playing every member of the D'Ascoyne family is Alec Guinness, from the shy, photographer Henry D'Ascoyne to elderly, feeble Reverend Lord Henry D'Ascoyne ("The Reverend Lord Henry was not one of those new-fangled parsons who carry the principles of their vocation uncomfortably into private life.") The film is full of biting zingers that will probably go over Joe Blows head, but if your waiting for it you'll find they're actually really funny. Take for example, after killing his cousin, young Ascoyne D'Ascoyne (great name), along with his mistress, Louis muses, "I was sorry about the girl, but found some relief in the reflection that she had presumably, during the weekend, already undergone a fate worse than death." This film relies a little too heavily on voice-over to be perfect for me, but a lot of that is Louis' biting humor, so it's forgivable. This forgiveness includes the two great ironies of the film, which is why Louis ends up in jail (hint: it's not for murdering anyone he actually killed) and that he really does start to become a D'Ascoyne in the end. I guess I just liked this more because it's funny, and I'm all about that. Satire: it works a lot of the time.

4/5

Hot Tub Time Machine

Hot Tub Time Machine, 2010 (or 1986?)
Dir: Whogivesashit

In the history of all the movies on this planet that really shouldn't exist, I'm happy to say that Hot Tub Time Machine at least doesn't take itself seriously, even by today's comic standards. It can, at points, fall into the "this movie need to be going somewhere" nonsense (You guys are friends that that drifted apart. I get it. Who cares.) that hinders so much low-brow tripe, slowing it down to a point where you wonder exactly why you paid money to see it because there is no debauchery going on, but luckily it picks itself up enough times to keep you howling. It blends the ski shack/school party movies with the best of whatever is coming out nowadays. I'm not sure if it has enough in it to be a "classic," but it pretty much is all that I was expecting a retardfest called Hot Tub Time Machine to be.

4/5

Asian FIGHT!

宮本武蔵 (Samurai I: Musashi Miyamoto), 1954
Dir: Hiroshi Inagaki

Often described as the Japanese Gone With the Wind (1939), this film surely meets that reputation. I did not know this before I got it, but it seemed pretty apparent after the film gets going. There's a battle at the beginning where two young men get to fulfill their dreams of becoming samaurai (or at least try to be), some huffing and puffing, and a lot of over acting, with head honcho Toshirō Mifune leading the gesticulating crowd. The films then splits into wild Mifune as a fugitive on the lam, and lame, bad Matahachi (Rentaro Mikuni) skulking about with a widow and her daughter in Kyoto, though he is betrothed to Otsu (Yachigusa Kaoru). This eventually gets to the point where Mifune goes into training mode to quell his wildness and become a true samurai, but luckily there are no montages. The end is a segway into the second film of the trilogy, but I can't honestly say that this did anything for me to make me want to go watch that. There are some pretty shots but that's about it.

3/5


大醉俠 (Come Drink With Me), 1967
Dir: King Hu

I'm not sure why I've never seen this, but I'm glad I have now. This "rebirth" of Wuxia is overblown, irreverent and awesome enough to make it the just the kind of "classic" kung fu that I was looking for. I might say that it is slightly dated as far as the action goes, but King Hu said he was far more interested in translating dance into the combat than in trying to make it be "realistic," which is pretty obvious. Characters with names like Golden Swallow (Cheng Pei-pei, who is "Jade Fox" in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon), Drunken Cat and Jade-Faced Tiger only compliment the awesome score and ridiculous overacting in parts. But I mean this in the best way possible. It might not be as funny as I'd like (well, besides crazy faces and everyone screaming "I will send you to heaven!"), but to any martial arts/Asian action fan this is a must.

4.5/5

Ride Lonesome

Ride Lonesome, 1959
Dir: Budd Boetticher

If there was ever a director who could be accused of recycling a "set-up," it's Boetticher. It's not that the stories of all of these films are the same, it's just that they basically unfold the same way. Ride Lonesome doesn't really do anything to differentiate itself from the other really great Boetticher films, or Westerns for that matter, but I can't help but feeling that this is the most complete of all these films that I've seen.


The most obvious element to help Boetticher “pull away” from other Westerns would be the breathtaking cinematography that is just as vast and open as it is rigorous and formal. He has to overcome the conventions of the whole shot/reverse shot setup within the expanded space of cinemascope. Scorsese sort of talks about this in the extras of the DVD, which is pretty interesting if you're into DVD extras. Despite my own initial skepticism, Boetticher makes this film feel as controlled as his less talkative efforts. That’s not to say Ride Lonesome is a chatty relationship film. I would argue that it is a film about relationships, but with very sparse and deadpan comedic dialogue. A perfect example of the film’s simple and straight-forward dialogue would be Karen Steele’s attempt to question the profession of Scott’s character. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who would hunt people for money” she says, to which he quickly responds, “I am.” It was actually at this specific moment that I realized just how important dialogue (or lack thereof) is important in Westerns as well as how great Burt Kennedy was at bringing that perfect tone to the dialogue in Boetticher’s films.


Ride Lonesome does have its own set of characters to make it at least superficially different from other Westerns as well. Scott’s prisoner is played by James Best here, and he has very little flair to add to the film. The way Boetticher downplays Best’s role is sort of brilliant though. He’s a criminal, alright, but not even remotely charming. One gets the sense that it is a constant struggle for Scott’s character to resist killing Best. It eliminates a slightly theatrical lining that’s found in other Westerns, even really good ones. Sure, more flamboyant actors might be more likely to initially impress people, but I like how Best is occassionally treated so poorly by everyone else. That’s not really an acting accomplishment, just a narrative related one. The film as a whole, though, is a great accomplishment in every possible category.

5/5

A Prophet

Un Prophète (A Prophet), 2009
Dir: Jacques Audiard

Hey, it's art-house Thursday! What's that? You say that everyday is art-house day here? Well, I guess that is true, but this is special in that I actually went to the art house tonight. So what have we here? It's A Prophet, which stays true to the sort of extreme cinema verite style (watch the first "mission" that the Corsicans give Malik (Tahar Rahim) and you'll know what I mean) that's coming out of France these days. A bit conventional plot-wise (most of us are well acquainted with this kind of story) but strong performances, subtle directing (half of the choices I really liked and half I didn't like at all, especially the dumb dream stuff and visions; but all that is pretty much a crap-shoot with me anyway) and the perfect amount of attention to the minutiae of incarceration makes it rise way above the regular Hollywood prison drama, or even your run-o-the-mill gangster flick. This is a bit of both and it definitely works in it's favor. It's been long since I rooted so much for a hero to overcome his obstacles, especially because the movie doesn't go out of its way to make him heroic, even if you know that he will become a "prophet."

4/5

Decision at Sundown

Decision at Sundown, 1957
Dir: Budd Boetticher

So somehow I missed this in the time line of Boetticher films, but that might apt considering what this is. That's not to say that this is really bad, in fact, most if not all of the characters are really great in this, it's just that that there are too many scenes where characters are telling you exactly what the film is about. Maybe I'm being too picky, but I guess that just comes with watching way too many films.


Decision at Sundown is great, but I can't help but feel slightly disappointed by all those scenes. The plot isn't nearly as thrusting as most films, but Charles Lang has the pen again and Boetticher does his best again to loosen it up. There is again a sort of narrative set up that can be missed if you are not looking for it. Randolph Scott is Burt Allision, back in great mode, his lone gun (with a sidekick, so maybe not so lone at first) is out for vengeance against Tate Kimbrough (John Carroll), a man he claims "stole" his wife while he was away during the war (Civil, of course). In fact, according to Allison, Kimbrough "ruined" her to the point that she committed suicide. Kimbrough has been the local boss in Sundown for a few years and has most of the town folks under his thumb, including the sheriff (Andrew Duggan). Allison rides into town and starts talking shit about Kimbrough right away, and everyone gets nervous because he's getting married to Lucy Summerton (Karen Steele) that very day. The scene during the wedding where Allison doesn't "hold his peace" is great, and he soon finds himself entrenched in the stable against the whole town, and we soon start to realize that his vengeance might not be so justified.


Allison and Kimbrough are both great characters, two flawed men who are bound to duel. The sherriff is loyal to Kimbrough up until the point where his life is on the line, the local doctor (John Archer) has his own gripes about Kimbrough but has never been able to deal with him, and then there's Ruby (Valerie French), a woman who's in love with Kimbrough but is not batting an eye over the wedding and maybe that's because she knows where Kimbrough's true affections lie. Anyway, this might be the first film I've seen where there are sort of two endings but the last one, the one which actually ends the film, is amazing, as opposed to the other way around, which usually happens. This could probably get a 4, but whatever. The grading is all pointless anyway really.

3.5/5