Alright, Pat, take a deep breath and get on with the second half of this report -- although it's actually rather more than half, since there are still thirteen films left to plough through:
Compendia: There have always been worthwhile examples of multi-part horror movies going back to the superb 1945 "Dead of Night" and including a number of scary horror compilations from the 1970s. However the conceit of asking a variety of directors to contribute shortish sections to a single movie too often results in a severe case of the Parson's Nose -- the non-horror film called "Aria" (1987) being a good example. FrightFest scheduled two of these films this year, both in late, late night slots, and neither worth the effort to stay awake: "The Theatre Bizarre" and "Chillerama". The former was the brainchild of seven (!) directors including Richard Stanley, Buddy G, and F/X maestro Tom Savini, all held together by a weird framing narrative featuring the iconic Udo Kier as a human puppet. It was something of a mishmash and only the eerie story of a tourist being seduced by a lusty witch in provincial France could be described as 'not too embarrassing', while the final tale of death by gross overeating verged on the nauseating. The other film 'boasted' only four directors and was potentially the more imaginative example of bad taste. However after the idiotic story of a giant spermatazoa terrorizing the neighbourhood and a silly beach-party musical featuring gay lust, I gave up in the middle of the black and white, holocaust-set, 'Diary of Anne Frankenstein'. Sometimes enough is too much -- especially at 2 a.m.
Jokey horror: For some bizarre reason this sub-genre of gross-out splatter tickles my funnybone. "Deadheads" was amusing, but the least appealing of the three examples; we follow the cross-country roadtrip of a 'zombie' who is able to talk and reason, together with his new also-rational zombie bestfriend, and their strong-armed mute zombie muscle, as they go to find the sweetheart that he left behind. A second American entry in this category was the very clever and extremely chuckleful "Tucker & Dale vs. Evil". This film took the premise that all country bumpkins must be homicidal, redneck murderers and turned it on its head. Two relatively bright hicks, who only want to enjoy their new fixer-upper vacation cabin in the boonies, have to contend with a bunch of smartass college kids who fear the worse from these tame hillbillies and who largely end up as dead meat through their own stupidity. The third movie was the British "Inbred", which was not actually meant as a comedy; however the story is so far over the top in its gross-out effects that it squarely belongs in this grouping. Four teenaged offenders and their two care workers head out to the countryside for a community service weekend in a remote hamlet. So remote that most of the denizens appear to be their own grandpas and are largely inbred mutants, deriving their local entertainment from mutilating passers-by in gorily inventive ways. They congregate at the local pub called The Dirty Hole (the sign reads 'NOT meals served here') and one can foresee the dire consequences likely to follow. We're led to believe that there will be the usual survivors, but...
Miscellaneous American nasties: "Rogue River" was an effective bit of Grand Guignol as our heroine who only wants to spread her late father's ashes at a scenic beauty spot is waylaid by an apparently helpful local who offers a lift after she find that her car has been towed away. Since this kind samaritan is played by The Devil's Rejects' Bill Moseley we just know that she is in for some torture porn. She goes home with him and meets his equally 'normal' wife but soon discovers the various half-dead earlier victims kept in trunks in the basement. Still I prefered that film to "The Divide", a post-apocalypse tale of a group of miscellaneous survivors holed up in the basement apartment of their building's caretaker. It rapidly descends into an adult version of "The Lord of the Flies" as their quest for survival takes less humane turns. A lot of viewers rated director Ti West's "The Innkeepers" as one of the best of the fest. It tells of the last weekend before closing forever at a historic and possibly haunted New England inn. For my money it was such a slow-burner that the anticipated scares, when they finally did arrive, came solely as an anticlimax. The best of this lot was Lucky McKee's "The Woman", from the fiendish mind of author Jack Ketchum whose "The Girl Next Door" (2007) remains one of the most disturbing movies I have ever seen at FrightFest. It is the story of a seemingly upright family man (but actually a tyrant to his submissive wife and kids) who comes across a feral female while out hunting, captures her, takes her home, and chains her up for his own fiendish ends. Scottish-born actress Pollyanna McIntosh gives a remarkable performance as this 'uncivilised' creature who can only communicate in her own language of meaningful grunts but who retains all of her animal cunning in dealing with her abusers.
The British contingent: Quite naturally the fest's organisers feel obliged to showcase new British productions, but traditionally these have been something of a mixed bag. We often choose to watch one of the 'Discovery' offerings rather than another amateurish version of zombies taking over the countryside. The four we did view were by and large intended to be the most commercial and professional offerings, but I just can't bring myself to enthuse over any of them. "The Glass Man" starred Andy Nyman as a man who has lost his job, but who can't let his wife into that secret, and who pretends that everything is normal despite his increasing financial concerns. One night hard man James Cosmo appears at his door threatening all sorts of dire violence if he does not come out and help him with his nefarious plans for the evening. Fine up to that point, but then it becomes just a wee bit too far-fetched and too draggy to really care what is actually going on in Nyman's increasingly unhinged mind. "The Wicker Tree", only the fourth movie from legendary writer-director Robin Hardy who gave us 1973's classic "Wicker Man" was a complete disappointment. Even reuniting him with that film's classic villain Christopher Lee (in all of a 90-second cameo) didn't make this new story of the 'old religion' in rural Scotland a patch on his first film. What next for him? The Wicker Shrub? The Wicker Bedding-plant? Then there was the most over-hyped movie of the fest "Kill List", which has just opened here and which has been garnering rave reviews as a 'new British cult classic'. Balderdash, says PPP; this muddled story of two buddies, supposedly ordinary suburban layabouts who are actually vicious hitmen, rapidly descends into a totally unbelievable satanic denouement. Apart from anything else, the film is unlikely to make ten cents in the States unless it comes with subtitles. I've lived here for most of my life and couldn't make head nor tail of the thick Yorkshire accents. Which brings me to the closing movie this year "A Lonely Place to Die", starring Melissa George, and I'm sorry to report another overdone and generally unbelievable thriller. It starts with her and her buddies climbing in the Scottish Highlands and discovering a foreign little girl trapped in an underground chamber. We later learn that she has been kidnapped for ransom and that two vicious killers are on the trail of George and her friends, gradually picking them off. Also in pursuit is a negotiator and his tough bodyguards employed by the girl's probably criminal tycoon of a father. It descends into a major bloodbath, but the screenplay's leaps of logic hardly kept this viewer on the edge of her seat. Then again, we all know that I'm something of a fusspot.
So, that's all folks, for another year -- although at this stage I am seriously considering giving the next marathon a miss. However a lot can happen in twelve months...
Saturday, 3 September 2011
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
FrightFest 2011 Part One
I know I said I would be back on the blog yesterday, but I was just too weary and bleary-eyed after this latest marathon of horror viewing; I needed the extra day to collect my thoughts. Of a possible 27 viewing slots, we took in 24 films out of the thirty-odd available. Over a four and a half day period, I reckon that is pretty good going, especially with all of the added and often unexpected short films, trailers, and sneak-peaks that preceded some of the showings and the Q and As that followed them. (We skipped most of the latter, prefering to use the downtime, such as it was, for hurried nourishment -- no leisurely meals this year.)
The fest has now been running for twelve years and this is my seventh summary since I started blogging in 2005, although we were regular attendees before that. Where does the time go? Don't answer that! Anyhow, rather than report my reactions chronologically film by film as I have done previously, I shall try to group the features into several categories in the hope of getting through the reviews in two extended blog entries:
The kick-off opener: "Don't be Afraid of the Dark" came with a lot of baggage in tow since it was produced and co-written by genre fave Guillermo del Toro, who claims that the original 1973 television movie scared him rigid and deserved a big screen resurrection. If I ever saw the TVM, I certainly don't remember it, so I came without any preconceptions. What we have is divorced architect Guy Pearce (phoning in his performance) and new squeeze Katie Holmes (in her secondary role as an actress rather than her main role as a celebrity wife) renovating a 19th Century New England mansion in the hope of making a financial killing. His young daughter -- a fine performance from youngster Bailee Madison -- comes to stay and soon unearths the fearsome miniature, malevolent gremlins that lurk behind the grate in the basement. These hobgoblins want her for their own, as they claimed the house's previous inhabitants, and are vicious in their pursuit. While the creatures are very well-done with the CGI tools now available, the movie itself is something of a drag and a little short on shocks and starts. Only the heightened sound effects manage to contribute to the occasional foreboding. First-time feature director Troy Nixey tries his best, but I can't help thinking that it would have been a better film if Del Toro had taken over the reins.
3-D horror: Like too many other recent American releases, this technology, now beginning to fade in its audience appeal, has been brought to the horror movie: "Final Destination 5 - 3D" and "Fright Night 3D". These two movies actually showcase 3D's strengths and pitfalls. Its use in the fifth 'Final' film has actually revitalised the franchise; the splatter and pointy weapons are displayed with verve and humour. The set pieces of Death catching up with those who have cheated him are as inventive as usual, but all the more effective with the dangers literally 'coming at you'. The remake of the 1985 classic however would have been no better or worse in the usual two dimensions. The original featured two timeless performances from Chris Sarandon (given a cameo in this version) and Roddy McDowell, but Colin Farrell as the vampire next door and David Dr. Who Tennant as the would-be vampire killer do not quite cut the mustard, while the young lead Anton Yelchin is only adequate. His nerdy ex-best friend Christopher Mintz-Plasse, vampirized early in the procedings, is pretty good value. The movie was too dimly lit in places for the 3-D to be effective. As for the 're-imagining' itself Farrell's is a far nastier and less charismatic vampire than Sarandon's and all the flashy special effects in the world do not make up for the differences between the two films.
Foreign Horror: One of the treats of FrightFest is the culling of suitable movies from around the world. There was a dearth this year of entries from the Far East, but there were interesting selections from Norway ("Troll Hunter"), Germany ("Urban Explorers"), Holland ("Saint"), Switzerland " (Sennentuntschi: Curse of the Alps"), and Israel ("Rabies"). It is particularly interesting that the last two films are the first-ever genre productions from these two countries and that even 'foreign' horror films have never previously found an audience in Israel. The Norwegian and German movies were passing fair but not great, although the formidable trolls in the first film's 'found footage' were well conceived; the German film started off as English-speaking as some adventurous tourists pay to explore Berlin's underground tunnels, but then moved into German dialogue (and the production company omitted to send a print with subtitles!). The Dutch movie from Dick Maas, the man behind "The Elevator" and "Amsterdamned", turns the Netherlands Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, into a murderous fiend, a bishop-turned-pirate, who kills adults and abducts children when there is a full moon on his December 5th Saint's Day, aided by his zombiefied Black Peters. Well done gory fun! The Swiss film was something well out of the ordinary based on folklore. When lonely mountain men crave female companionship, they can build their ideal woman from a straw broom and some rags. Lo and behold, a desirable beauty appears, but they find that she will take her murderous revenge for the crimes against her kind over the years. As for the Israeli entry, the story has nothing whatsoever to do with rabies, but rather with the rabid and irrational behaviour that can manifest itself in the most ordinary of folk; most of the ten main protagonists (two yuppie couples, a park ranger and his girlfriend, an incestuous brother and sister, two mismatched cops) meet bloody and unexpected ends, while the local maniac-at-large is not responsible for their deaths and is one of the few characters to walk away from the debacle.
The Israeli film was actually one of the alternatives from the fest's small 'Discovery' screen and proved so popular a selection that a third screening had to be scheduled for the first time ever. We watched three other movies at this venue for independent cinema and they were a mixed bag, although all had something going for them. "A Horrible Way to Die" should have been subtitled 'A Horrible Way to Make a Movie'; its director took what was actually a very clever premise of an escaped serial killer's ex-girlfriend trying to build a new life under the witness protection programme and Alcoholics Anonymous, but finding that there are those who actually revere the prowess of her former boyfriend, and weakened the narrative by employing some artsy-fartsy camera shots through fairy lights. "My Sucky Teen Romance" was an accomplished bit of mayhem comedy written and directed by an 18 year-old Texan gal; while obviously extremely low-budget filmmaking, she successfully captured the yearning and traumas of teenaged infatuation, especially if your crush is on a newbie vampire. "The Caller" was an an interesting American indie set in Puerto Rico of all places (home of dengue fever -- in joke!). Strongly cast with Rachelle Lefevre, Stephen Moyer, and Luis Guzman, the newly-divorced heroine moves into her new apartment and starts receiving threatening phone calls from someone's past; we gradually discover that it is impossible to work out what constitutes her reality and what is the product of her overstressed imagination. All well done -- but why Puerto Rico for a largely non-ethnic cast?
Guess what...I've run out of steam. I had intended to include two compendium movies in today's digest, but will hold these for my second summary, along with three jokey horror movies, and the remaining eight assorted American and British premieres. In the words of you know who, I'll be back...
The fest has now been running for twelve years and this is my seventh summary since I started blogging in 2005, although we were regular attendees before that. Where does the time go? Don't answer that! Anyhow, rather than report my reactions chronologically film by film as I have done previously, I shall try to group the features into several categories in the hope of getting through the reviews in two extended blog entries:
The kick-off opener: "Don't be Afraid of the Dark" came with a lot of baggage in tow since it was produced and co-written by genre fave Guillermo del Toro, who claims that the original 1973 television movie scared him rigid and deserved a big screen resurrection. If I ever saw the TVM, I certainly don't remember it, so I came without any preconceptions. What we have is divorced architect Guy Pearce (phoning in his performance) and new squeeze Katie Holmes (in her secondary role as an actress rather than her main role as a celebrity wife) renovating a 19th Century New England mansion in the hope of making a financial killing. His young daughter -- a fine performance from youngster Bailee Madison -- comes to stay and soon unearths the fearsome miniature, malevolent gremlins that lurk behind the grate in the basement. These hobgoblins want her for their own, as they claimed the house's previous inhabitants, and are vicious in their pursuit. While the creatures are very well-done with the CGI tools now available, the movie itself is something of a drag and a little short on shocks and starts. Only the heightened sound effects manage to contribute to the occasional foreboding. First-time feature director Troy Nixey tries his best, but I can't help thinking that it would have been a better film if Del Toro had taken over the reins.
3-D horror: Like too many other recent American releases, this technology, now beginning to fade in its audience appeal, has been brought to the horror movie: "Final Destination 5 - 3D" and "Fright Night 3D". These two movies actually showcase 3D's strengths and pitfalls. Its use in the fifth 'Final' film has actually revitalised the franchise; the splatter and pointy weapons are displayed with verve and humour. The set pieces of Death catching up with those who have cheated him are as inventive as usual, but all the more effective with the dangers literally 'coming at you'. The remake of the 1985 classic however would have been no better or worse in the usual two dimensions. The original featured two timeless performances from Chris Sarandon (given a cameo in this version) and Roddy McDowell, but Colin Farrell as the vampire next door and David Dr. Who Tennant as the would-be vampire killer do not quite cut the mustard, while the young lead Anton Yelchin is only adequate. His nerdy ex-best friend Christopher Mintz-Plasse, vampirized early in the procedings, is pretty good value. The movie was too dimly lit in places for the 3-D to be effective. As for the 're-imagining' itself Farrell's is a far nastier and less charismatic vampire than Sarandon's and all the flashy special effects in the world do not make up for the differences between the two films.
Foreign Horror: One of the treats of FrightFest is the culling of suitable movies from around the world. There was a dearth this year of entries from the Far East, but there were interesting selections from Norway ("Troll Hunter"), Germany ("Urban Explorers"), Holland ("Saint"), Switzerland " (Sennentuntschi: Curse of the Alps"), and Israel ("Rabies"). It is particularly interesting that the last two films are the first-ever genre productions from these two countries and that even 'foreign' horror films have never previously found an audience in Israel. The Norwegian and German movies were passing fair but not great, although the formidable trolls in the first film's 'found footage' were well conceived; the German film started off as English-speaking as some adventurous tourists pay to explore Berlin's underground tunnels, but then moved into German dialogue (and the production company omitted to send a print with subtitles!). The Dutch movie from Dick Maas, the man behind "The Elevator" and "Amsterdamned", turns the Netherlands Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, into a murderous fiend, a bishop-turned-pirate, who kills adults and abducts children when there is a full moon on his December 5th Saint's Day, aided by his zombiefied Black Peters. Well done gory fun! The Swiss film was something well out of the ordinary based on folklore. When lonely mountain men crave female companionship, they can build their ideal woman from a straw broom and some rags. Lo and behold, a desirable beauty appears, but they find that she will take her murderous revenge for the crimes against her kind over the years. As for the Israeli entry, the story has nothing whatsoever to do with rabies, but rather with the rabid and irrational behaviour that can manifest itself in the most ordinary of folk; most of the ten main protagonists (two yuppie couples, a park ranger and his girlfriend, an incestuous brother and sister, two mismatched cops) meet bloody and unexpected ends, while the local maniac-at-large is not responsible for their deaths and is one of the few characters to walk away from the debacle.
The Israeli film was actually one of the alternatives from the fest's small 'Discovery' screen and proved so popular a selection that a third screening had to be scheduled for the first time ever. We watched three other movies at this venue for independent cinema and they were a mixed bag, although all had something going for them. "A Horrible Way to Die" should have been subtitled 'A Horrible Way to Make a Movie'; its director took what was actually a very clever premise of an escaped serial killer's ex-girlfriend trying to build a new life under the witness protection programme and Alcoholics Anonymous, but finding that there are those who actually revere the prowess of her former boyfriend, and weakened the narrative by employing some artsy-fartsy camera shots through fairy lights. "My Sucky Teen Romance" was an accomplished bit of mayhem comedy written and directed by an 18 year-old Texan gal; while obviously extremely low-budget filmmaking, she successfully captured the yearning and traumas of teenaged infatuation, especially if your crush is on a newbie vampire. "The Caller" was an an interesting American indie set in Puerto Rico of all places (home of dengue fever -- in joke!). Strongly cast with Rachelle Lefevre, Stephen Moyer, and Luis Guzman, the newly-divorced heroine moves into her new apartment and starts receiving threatening phone calls from someone's past; we gradually discover that it is impossible to work out what constitutes her reality and what is the product of her overstressed imagination. All well done -- but why Puerto Rico for a largely non-ethnic cast?
Guess what...I've run out of steam. I had intended to include two compendium movies in today's digest, but will hold these for my second summary, along with three jokey horror movies, and the remaining eight assorted American and British premieres. In the words of you know who, I'll be back...
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
Kin-Dza-Dza (1987)
Every time I look in despair at what's showing at my local multiplex or what is forthcoming on television -- finding nothing that I am in any particular hurry to view, I need to remind myself that there is a whole world of worthwhile cinema experiences out there. One just needs to find them. This Russian film is apparently a cult item in its native country, but it is relatively unknown in the West. I believe discs have previously been available Stateside and clips are available on You-Tube and the like, but this is a supreme instance of a movie that deserves to be better known.
From a popular director Georgi Danelia and starring a quartet of well-known actors (Stanislav Liubshin, Levan Gabriadze, Yevgeni Leonov, and Yuri Yakovlov -- no, me neither!), this is a hugely imaginative and enjoyable sci-fi/comedy romp. Its 135 minutes running time passes swiftly, despite what appears to the Western eye as cheapjack movie-making. It is a futuristic, post-apocalyptic fantasy achieved with little recourse to the special effects which dominate our films today. It is also, if one can picture oneself in the pre-glasnost/perestroika era, a brave satire on communist society of the day; it's a wonder that the movie wasn't banned.
Two strangers on a busy Moscow street try to help a barefoot man who is either lost or drunk and accidently find themselves teleported to the barren planet of Pluk in the Kin-Dza-Dza galaxy. They are temporarily befriended by two untrustworthy natives in a primitive flying machine, whose sole dialogue consists of two words: Koo and Kyoo (the latter is their expletive). However the planet is technologically evolved and they can read minds and converse in Russian. Pluk has become the slum area of the universe; all of its resources have been exhausted -- its rivers have dried up, its terrain is one sandy waste, and its cyberpunk inhabitants live largely in holes in the ground. A wrecked sailing ship and a totally incongruous skeleton Ferris wheel are the few remaining hints of a once flourishing culture. The land is moribund and its population faces extinction.
While our two mismatched heroes (a family man and a student trying to return a valuable violin to one of his professors) try to find a way home, they are exposed to the rottenest of class systems. They are of course considered part of the lower caste; they must wear distinguishing nose-rings, must address their so-called superiors from cages, and must bow extravagantly whenever addressing one of the 'masters'. Only their possession of a box of matches gives them any bargaining cachet. Mysteriously these vitually inexpensive items from our world are treasured in Pluk's strange society, a world without hope or a future. The most its lesser inhabitants can look forward to is to be transformed into plants on an adjacent planet, which is potentially better than being boxed up in a bed of nails should they fall foul of the planet's lazy and inept superiors. To raise funds in the local currency to ease their journey, the two attempt to serenade the locals with their versions of popular songs and the odd American pop standard., accompanied by the now semi-destroyed and glued together violin.
I think you get the idea. This is one very weird movie and one that could be recommended to the pickiest of sci-fi fans. Unfortunately, however, it is not that easy to find, but well worth the search.
It's that time of the year again! We are off to our FrightFest weekend running this Thursday through Monday, so there will be nothing from me until Tuesday the 30th at the earliest. However I promise you then a thorough report on what's new and exciting in the realms of horror and fantasy and what to watch out for over the coming months.
From a popular director Georgi Danelia and starring a quartet of well-known actors (Stanislav Liubshin, Levan Gabriadze, Yevgeni Leonov, and Yuri Yakovlov -- no, me neither!), this is a hugely imaginative and enjoyable sci-fi/comedy romp. Its 135 minutes running time passes swiftly, despite what appears to the Western eye as cheapjack movie-making. It is a futuristic, post-apocalyptic fantasy achieved with little recourse to the special effects which dominate our films today. It is also, if one can picture oneself in the pre-glasnost/perestroika era, a brave satire on communist society of the day; it's a wonder that the movie wasn't banned.
Two strangers on a busy Moscow street try to help a barefoot man who is either lost or drunk and accidently find themselves teleported to the barren planet of Pluk in the Kin-Dza-Dza galaxy. They are temporarily befriended by two untrustworthy natives in a primitive flying machine, whose sole dialogue consists of two words: Koo and Kyoo (the latter is their expletive). However the planet is technologically evolved and they can read minds and converse in Russian. Pluk has become the slum area of the universe; all of its resources have been exhausted -- its rivers have dried up, its terrain is one sandy waste, and its cyberpunk inhabitants live largely in holes in the ground. A wrecked sailing ship and a totally incongruous skeleton Ferris wheel are the few remaining hints of a once flourishing culture. The land is moribund and its population faces extinction.
While our two mismatched heroes (a family man and a student trying to return a valuable violin to one of his professors) try to find a way home, they are exposed to the rottenest of class systems. They are of course considered part of the lower caste; they must wear distinguishing nose-rings, must address their so-called superiors from cages, and must bow extravagantly whenever addressing one of the 'masters'. Only their possession of a box of matches gives them any bargaining cachet. Mysteriously these vitually inexpensive items from our world are treasured in Pluk's strange society, a world without hope or a future. The most its lesser inhabitants can look forward to is to be transformed into plants on an adjacent planet, which is potentially better than being boxed up in a bed of nails should they fall foul of the planet's lazy and inept superiors. To raise funds in the local currency to ease their journey, the two attempt to serenade the locals with their versions of popular songs and the odd American pop standard., accompanied by the now semi-destroyed and glued together violin.
I think you get the idea. This is one very weird movie and one that could be recommended to the pickiest of sci-fi fans. Unfortunately, however, it is not that easy to find, but well worth the search.
It's that time of the year again! We are off to our FrightFest weekend running this Thursday through Monday, so there will be nothing from me until Tuesday the 30th at the earliest. However I promise you then a thorough report on what's new and exciting in the realms of horror and fantasy and what to watch out for over the coming months.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Disappointments
If you scroll down to my 29 July entry, you will find that I was disappointed in my attempt to see Rutger Hauer's "Hobo with a Shotgun" (2011). So when it eventually reappeared at the Prince Charles, off we went -- to find that it was even more disappointing to actually see this Canadian-made rubbish. Unfortunately even Hauer's screen charisma is not enough to save this splatterfest. He plays the hobo of the title who rides the rails into a corrupt and lawless town where even the Chief of Police is a baddie. The town is run by a sadistic Mr. Big, who with his two amoral sons (looking like overgrown Tom Cruise clones) delights in decaptitating his enemies, amongst other jolly tortures. Good old Rutger is himself mutilated and especially horrified when the local women (most of whom seem to be prostitutes) are threatened. He grabs a shotgun (with a neverending supply of ammo) to mete out his idea of justice and revenge, becoming some sort of local hero in the process. All he really wants, mind you, is an electric lawnmower so he can start his own grass-cutting business! The screen runs red with the gore effects, but the film is so amateurishly made with so hopeless a supporting cast that the net result is waste of time.
So once again in the hope of compensation and loftier film-making, I turned to two foreign-language films which have been loitering on my hard-disc. Both appear to be extremely well-thought of, but I found both to be over-rated disappointments, easy enough to watch but strangely unfulfilling. Could be it's me! Anyhow here goes:
Still Walking (2008): This Japanese film received numerous Asian filmfest awards for its director Hirokazu Koreeda and other gongs for some of its ensemble actors, but it was rather slow-going and uninvolving. The film tells of one day in the life of a family; a surviving son and daughter, together with their respective spouses and offspring, have reluctantly come to visit their elderly parents to commemorate the death of the eldest and favoured son some fifteen years earlier. Grandpa, a retired doctor, sulks most of the time that no one has followed in his medical footsteps. Grandma fusses over the food, her children, and her rather noisy grandchildren. The daughter wants to move her family back to her parents' home to supposedly look after them in their dotage -- a suggestion that fills her mother with despair. The son is an art restorer who barely scrapes a living and he has married a widow with a young child -- none of which sits well with the elders. Then the now very fat and gormless young man, whom the beloved dead son drowned whilst saving, arrives to pay his respects, adding to the air of gloom in the household. It is all very Ozu-y in feel, but not a movie to lighten one's heart and it is too pedestrian an effort to enchant.
Mid-August Lunch (2008): I was quite looking forward to seeing this Italian film whose supposed charm preceded it. Written and directed by and starring Gianni Di Gregorio (the screenwriter for the much better "Gomorrah" of the same year), it is not exactly a vanity piece but it is an ever-so-slight confection. He plays a middle-aged man called Gianni who lives with his aged mother (a grotesque played by 93-year old Valeria DeFranciscus) and who pursues a shiftless hand-to-mouth existence. His landlord threatens eviction for non-payment of rent unless he agrees to look after his aging mother and aunt over the holiday weekend when everyone wants to leave Rome. He is then lumbered with another old dear foisted upon him by his doctor. The film focuses on his attempt to feed and accommodate the various ladies, their gripes, and their interaction. The raw material was there to create a charming and amusing scenario, but somehow it didn't seem to mesh, and even at a scant 75 minutes, I had a surfeit of their company. I gather DiGregorio has just released another movie "The Salt of Life" where he plays a different Gianni and again co-stars with the now even older DeFranciscus. It's had mildly lukewarm reviews, but I won't be queuing up to sample its probably dubious attractions.
I hope to be more positive next time!
So once again in the hope of compensation and loftier film-making, I turned to two foreign-language films which have been loitering on my hard-disc. Both appear to be extremely well-thought of, but I found both to be over-rated disappointments, easy enough to watch but strangely unfulfilling. Could be it's me! Anyhow here goes:
Still Walking (2008): This Japanese film received numerous Asian filmfest awards for its director Hirokazu Koreeda and other gongs for some of its ensemble actors, but it was rather slow-going and uninvolving. The film tells of one day in the life of a family; a surviving son and daughter, together with their respective spouses and offspring, have reluctantly come to visit their elderly parents to commemorate the death of the eldest and favoured son some fifteen years earlier. Grandpa, a retired doctor, sulks most of the time that no one has followed in his medical footsteps. Grandma fusses over the food, her children, and her rather noisy grandchildren. The daughter wants to move her family back to her parents' home to supposedly look after them in their dotage -- a suggestion that fills her mother with despair. The son is an art restorer who barely scrapes a living and he has married a widow with a young child -- none of which sits well with the elders. Then the now very fat and gormless young man, whom the beloved dead son drowned whilst saving, arrives to pay his respects, adding to the air of gloom in the household. It is all very Ozu-y in feel, but not a movie to lighten one's heart and it is too pedestrian an effort to enchant.
Mid-August Lunch (2008): I was quite looking forward to seeing this Italian film whose supposed charm preceded it. Written and directed by and starring Gianni Di Gregorio (the screenwriter for the much better "Gomorrah" of the same year), it is not exactly a vanity piece but it is an ever-so-slight confection. He plays a middle-aged man called Gianni who lives with his aged mother (a grotesque played by 93-year old Valeria DeFranciscus) and who pursues a shiftless hand-to-mouth existence. His landlord threatens eviction for non-payment of rent unless he agrees to look after his aging mother and aunt over the holiday weekend when everyone wants to leave Rome. He is then lumbered with another old dear foisted upon him by his doctor. The film focuses on his attempt to feed and accommodate the various ladies, their gripes, and their interaction. The raw material was there to create a charming and amusing scenario, but somehow it didn't seem to mesh, and even at a scant 75 minutes, I had a surfeit of their company. I gather DiGregorio has just released another movie "The Salt of Life" where he plays a different Gianni and again co-stars with the now even older DeFranciscus. It's had mildly lukewarm reviews, but I won't be queuing up to sample its probably dubious attractions.
I hope to be more positive next time!
Saturday, 13 August 2011
The Bedroom Window (1987)
Somewhere I accumulated a DVD of this movie which I had not watched again in over twenty years, since from memory there was nothing particularly amazing about it. Viewing it again was not an unpleasant experience in any way -- in fact it was moderately enjoyable, but it did get me thinking about the transient path of so many acting careers. It is the story of a love-struck executive having an affair with his hot-shot employer's wife. On the night the relationship begins, she witnesses a brutal attack in the park opposite his bedroom window and her screams and the sight of her naked body cause the culprit to flee, saving his immediate victim but priming him for another murderous attack soon thereafter. The mistress has had a good view of the assailant, but is too concerned with her marriage and infidelity to contact the police, so our feckless hero pretends that it was he who had witnessed the outrage and who could identify the perp. Of course nothing goes as intended and he soon finds himself the main suspect in several related murders. It is a kind of sub-Hitchcock farrago with its themes of voyeurism and an innocent man on the run, desperate to clear his name as the evidence against him mounts. The film was the first mainstream feature from writer-director Curtis Hanson, whose career has continued an upward trend, although possibly it peaked with "L.A. Confidential".
The three leads are Steve Guttenberg, Isabelle Huppert as the adulteress, and Elizabeth McGovern as the attackee in the park. How very different the courses of their respective careers have been. Guttenberg first came to one's attention as part of the ensemble in "Diner" (1982), and went on to headline the first four "Police Academy" movies, the reasonably entertaining "Four Men and a Baby", and the geriatric fantasy "Cocoon". However his career since the late eighties has gone rapidly downhill and while still in evidence in disposable TV movies, he has done nothing to write home about since. In the above film, however, while no Cary Grant, he plays a likeable enough romantic leading man trying to become an action hero in fraught circumstances just beyond his control. It is quite possibly the only role that has stretched his acting chops in his long 'career' and it might even be his best.
French actress Huppert, on the other hand, has had an increasingly illustrious career both in film and on stage, and is the most-nominated actress for France's Cesar award. She has occasionally dabbled in American movies since her appearance in 1980's "Heaven's Gate". She had an interesting role in Hal Hartley's "Amateur" (1994) and an incomprehenisble one in "I Heart Huckabees" (2004). Why she agrees to these overseas roles when she is such a venerated art-house darling in her native country is a very good question, which probably has little to do with financial rewards given the movies in which she has featured. Oddly enough her role in the film under consideration here was really nothing special and could just as well have been played by a number of American actresses of the day, but nowadays she seems to go from strength to strength.
As for McGovern, she was a fine young leading lady throughout the 1980s, starting with her debut in "Ordinary People" and giving memorable performances in "Ragtime" and "Once Upon a Time in America". However she is rarely seen on the big screen nowadays, although she is still working, having married a British television producer/director in 1992 and relocated to London, where she has appeared in numberous TV offerings. She does take an occasional small part in mainstream movies (most recently "Kick-Ass"), but the superstar potential seen in her earliest features has been shelved for the possibly more fulfilling role of wife and mother. In this film her feisty and brave performance complements Guttenberg's, making him look all the better.
This movie is far from one of the world's greatest contributions to cinema, but it holds up reasonably well these twenty-odd years on. So why, I ask you, is it being remade for 2012 by Kevin Williamson? I can't begin to imagine how he plans to revamp this relatively pedestrian thriller or how in the world he thinks he can improve upon it. Answers on a postcard, please.
The three leads are Steve Guttenberg, Isabelle Huppert as the adulteress, and Elizabeth McGovern as the attackee in the park. How very different the courses of their respective careers have been. Guttenberg first came to one's attention as part of the ensemble in "Diner" (1982), and went on to headline the first four "Police Academy" movies, the reasonably entertaining "Four Men and a Baby", and the geriatric fantasy "Cocoon". However his career since the late eighties has gone rapidly downhill and while still in evidence in disposable TV movies, he has done nothing to write home about since. In the above film, however, while no Cary Grant, he plays a likeable enough romantic leading man trying to become an action hero in fraught circumstances just beyond his control. It is quite possibly the only role that has stretched his acting chops in his long 'career' and it might even be his best.
French actress Huppert, on the other hand, has had an increasingly illustrious career both in film and on stage, and is the most-nominated actress for France's Cesar award. She has occasionally dabbled in American movies since her appearance in 1980's "Heaven's Gate". She had an interesting role in Hal Hartley's "Amateur" (1994) and an incomprehenisble one in "I Heart Huckabees" (2004). Why she agrees to these overseas roles when she is such a venerated art-house darling in her native country is a very good question, which probably has little to do with financial rewards given the movies in which she has featured. Oddly enough her role in the film under consideration here was really nothing special and could just as well have been played by a number of American actresses of the day, but nowadays she seems to go from strength to strength.
As for McGovern, she was a fine young leading lady throughout the 1980s, starting with her debut in "Ordinary People" and giving memorable performances in "Ragtime" and "Once Upon a Time in America". However she is rarely seen on the big screen nowadays, although she is still working, having married a British television producer/director in 1992 and relocated to London, where she has appeared in numberous TV offerings. She does take an occasional small part in mainstream movies (most recently "Kick-Ass"), but the superstar potential seen in her earliest features has been shelved for the possibly more fulfilling role of wife and mother. In this film her feisty and brave performance complements Guttenberg's, making him look all the better.
This movie is far from one of the world's greatest contributions to cinema, but it holds up reasonably well these twenty-odd years on. So why, I ask you, is it being remade for 2012 by Kevin Williamson? I can't begin to imagine how he plans to revamp this relatively pedestrian thriller or how in the world he thinks he can improve upon it. Answers on a postcard, please.
Monday, 8 August 2011
Departures (2008)
There has been an official Oscar category for best foreign film since 1956 when the winner was Fellini's "La Strada". Between 1947 and 1955, a foreign language film was selected for an honourary Oscar. I have seen most of these sixty-odd movies and have copies of quite a few that I particularly liked, although there have been several that were watchable but not 'keepers' in my book, like the soppy "Life Is Beautiful" (1998). Then there have been a number that have eluded me: "Walls of Malapaga" (1950), "Gate of Hell" (1954), "Black and White in Color" (1976) to name a few. However while I don't bend over backwards to find showings for all of them, I am always happy to tick off another one from the winners' list.
This recent Japanese winner seems an unlikely choice in a year with crowd-pleasers such as "Waltz with Bashir", but since the eventual winner can only be selected from those Academy members who have actually seen the film, the voting numbers are potentially low. One reason that it seems a surprise winner is its theme of death -- and the very Japanese way of dealing with it. Our hero, Masahiro Motoki, (an actor unfamiliar to me) is a cellist in a second-tier symphony orchestra which plays beautifully but which attracts a scant paying audience on its provincial tour. When the owner disbands the orchestra, Daigo knows he is unlikely to find another musical position and moves back with his young wife to the small town where he was raised and into the house left to him by his recently deceased mother. He sees an advertisement in the local paper for an inexperienced young man to assist with 'departures'. Thinking this is some sort of travel agency work, he applies and is immediately hired by the firm's boss who explains that there was a typo in the want-ad and that the work involves the departed. He reluctantly accepts the position since the money is good, but is ashamed to tell his wife what he is doing, since there seems to be a widespread prejudice against dealing with the deceased -- as if death were contagious.
It is a Japanese custom to wash and prepare the dead body in front of the grieving family, being careful to expose no flesh, as a way of helping them accept their loss. This is not done by the undertakers but it is a niche market into which Daigo has fallen. At first the movie appears to be a comedy and is played for occasional laughs, such as the scene when our hapless hero reaches under the shroud of a young female suicide and discovers that 'she' is a 'he' or when he is instructed to play the corpse in a training video. However it takes a more serious turn as the film progresses. Having discovered the nature of his work, his ashamed wife leaves him and his friends in town jeer at his occupation. However when she discovers that she is pregnant, she returns and gradually realises the tenderness and compassion in what he does when a family friend dies. Finally he prepares the body of the father who deserted his mother when he was six and who has not been in touch over the years, finding a reconciliation with his past that has previously escaped him.
The movie is very chokey without being depressing, but the subject matter is unlikely to lift the audience in any 'feel-good' way. Although it is all very tastefully done, it is not a film which would encourage multiple viewings. I'm glad to have seen it, but once is enough. The film's director, Yojiro Takita, has had a long career which includes the recent movies "The Yin Yang Master" (2001) -- a fantasy and "When the Last Sword is Drawn" (2003) -- a samurai saga, so this Oscar winner is something of a complete change of pace. Some might find the film slow and the subject matter a little offputting, but one must acknowledge the genuine sincerity with which this unusual story is told.
This recent Japanese winner seems an unlikely choice in a year with crowd-pleasers such as "Waltz with Bashir", but since the eventual winner can only be selected from those Academy members who have actually seen the film, the voting numbers are potentially low. One reason that it seems a surprise winner is its theme of death -- and the very Japanese way of dealing with it. Our hero, Masahiro Motoki, (an actor unfamiliar to me) is a cellist in a second-tier symphony orchestra which plays beautifully but which attracts a scant paying audience on its provincial tour. When the owner disbands the orchestra, Daigo knows he is unlikely to find another musical position and moves back with his young wife to the small town where he was raised and into the house left to him by his recently deceased mother. He sees an advertisement in the local paper for an inexperienced young man to assist with 'departures'. Thinking this is some sort of travel agency work, he applies and is immediately hired by the firm's boss who explains that there was a typo in the want-ad and that the work involves the departed. He reluctantly accepts the position since the money is good, but is ashamed to tell his wife what he is doing, since there seems to be a widespread prejudice against dealing with the deceased -- as if death were contagious.
It is a Japanese custom to wash and prepare the dead body in front of the grieving family, being careful to expose no flesh, as a way of helping them accept their loss. This is not done by the undertakers but it is a niche market into which Daigo has fallen. At first the movie appears to be a comedy and is played for occasional laughs, such as the scene when our hapless hero reaches under the shroud of a young female suicide and discovers that 'she' is a 'he' or when he is instructed to play the corpse in a training video. However it takes a more serious turn as the film progresses. Having discovered the nature of his work, his ashamed wife leaves him and his friends in town jeer at his occupation. However when she discovers that she is pregnant, she returns and gradually realises the tenderness and compassion in what he does when a family friend dies. Finally he prepares the body of the father who deserted his mother when he was six and who has not been in touch over the years, finding a reconciliation with his past that has previously escaped him.
The movie is very chokey without being depressing, but the subject matter is unlikely to lift the audience in any 'feel-good' way. Although it is all very tastefully done, it is not a film which would encourage multiple viewings. I'm glad to have seen it, but once is enough. The film's director, Yojiro Takita, has had a long career which includes the recent movies "The Yin Yang Master" (2001) -- a fantasy and "When the Last Sword is Drawn" (2003) -- a samurai saga, so this Oscar winner is something of a complete change of pace. Some might find the film slow and the subject matter a little offputting, but one must acknowledge the genuine sincerity with which this unusual story is told.
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Good Intentions
Foiled again! I had planned to write a learned dissertation on John Huston's 1970 flop, "The Kremlin Letter", which has only now belatedly been released on DVD. All that I could recall of my television viewing of this movie some many years ago was that George Sanders appeared in drag. Well, yes he does -- very briefly -- before reverting to a somewhat camp character in what is actually a throwaway role in his penultimate film. However having seen the film again yesterday, I am at a loss to frame a positive review. It is a very dense, nearly literal interpretation, of Noel Behn's political Cold War thriller, very hard to follow, understand, or get caught up in. You might think that with a cast that includes Max von Sydow, Orson Welles, Bibi Andersson, and a bleached blonde Richard Boone, to say nothing about Nigel Green, Dean Jagger, Lila Kedrova, Raf Vallone, Michael MacLiammoir, and nominal leads Patick O'Neal and Barbara Parkins, that the acting alone might redeem this movie. Unfortunately it doesn't, with few of them given the opportunity to shine. Perhaps it is one of those films which demands another viewing to start getting into the hopefully involving intrigue, but I can see it being a while before I can face this dense screenplay again.
Something's Gotta Give (2003): So once again for a change of pace I shall revisit this Diane Keaton/Jack Nicholson rom-com. I would have taken bets that I had reviewed it previously in my old blog -- but can't seem to find it; nevermind, let's look at it afresh. This confection from writer/director Nancy Meyers, a follow-up to her 2000 breakthrough "What Women Want" and a precursor of 2009's charmer "It's Complicated" is not just a movie for the 'older woman' but more generally a rib-tickler for mature viewers of either sex. Keaton is a divorced, self-sufficient, and highly thought-of dramatist whose 30-year old daughter, Amanda Peet, turns up with her latest beau, a 63-year old Nicholson -- playing the perennial bachelor well-known for his flings with young women. When a near heart attack lands him in Keaton's care at her beach house, sparks begin to fly and they end up in bed together. However after a few days' idyll, Nicholson returns to his erstwhile life as a swinger in the Big Apple, and Keaton having found room in her life once again for both sex and love, reacts like a heartbroken teenager at his apparent rejection. If anything she over-reacts and therefore slightly over-acts. In the meantime the young heart surgeon played by a relatively mature and non-doofus Keanu Reeves is smitten with Keaton and makes his move, despite the vast difference in their ages. Without going too far into spoilers (although it doesn't take much nous to guess how things resolve themselves), one actually begins to feel sorry for nice Doctor Keanu and his puppy-like devotion.
Keaton's next Broadway hit is a 'comedy' about the disastrous results of a woman falling for her daughter's boyfriend, killing off the swine at the end of the second act. Nicholson realises that he has become a mockable figure of fun and that his has been a full but unfulfilling life, causing further medical 'episodes'. His new doctor tells him to avoid stress and to re-evaluate what is really important. Part of the denouement revolves around his seeking out old girlfriends to discover what has gone wrong with his life (a plot device stolen in toto by Jim Jarmusch's 2005 showcase for Bill Murray, "Broken Flowers".) His growing insight into what really matters is handled both cleverly and skillfully by the actor, even while it plays upon Nicholson's own playboy rep. Apart from Keaton's brief OTT heartbrokeness, her comic timing remains superb, and there are also some nice turns from Jon Favreau, Paul Michael Glaser, Rachel Ticotin, and Frances McDormand, but the acting honours belong mostly to Nicholson.
One small detail that puzzles me. When I first saw the film, in the scene where Nicholson inadvertently wanders into Keaton's bedroom and finds her in the nude, the focus of his attention was her unmaintained and bushy lower parts -- a symbolic difference between many older women and the bimbos that he has been dating. In the version I just watched, this is missing and the emphasis is on her bare breasts -- almost certainly a body double's. It seems a strange bit of re-editing! But if Spielberg can delete the guns from "E.T.", all sorts of political correctness can abound, most of it for no good purpose.
Something's Gotta Give (2003): So once again for a change of pace I shall revisit this Diane Keaton/Jack Nicholson rom-com. I would have taken bets that I had reviewed it previously in my old blog -- but can't seem to find it; nevermind, let's look at it afresh. This confection from writer/director Nancy Meyers, a follow-up to her 2000 breakthrough "What Women Want" and a precursor of 2009's charmer "It's Complicated" is not just a movie for the 'older woman' but more generally a rib-tickler for mature viewers of either sex. Keaton is a divorced, self-sufficient, and highly thought-of dramatist whose 30-year old daughter, Amanda Peet, turns up with her latest beau, a 63-year old Nicholson -- playing the perennial bachelor well-known for his flings with young women. When a near heart attack lands him in Keaton's care at her beach house, sparks begin to fly and they end up in bed together. However after a few days' idyll, Nicholson returns to his erstwhile life as a swinger in the Big Apple, and Keaton having found room in her life once again for both sex and love, reacts like a heartbroken teenager at his apparent rejection. If anything she over-reacts and therefore slightly over-acts. In the meantime the young heart surgeon played by a relatively mature and non-doofus Keanu Reeves is smitten with Keaton and makes his move, despite the vast difference in their ages. Without going too far into spoilers (although it doesn't take much nous to guess how things resolve themselves), one actually begins to feel sorry for nice Doctor Keanu and his puppy-like devotion.
Keaton's next Broadway hit is a 'comedy' about the disastrous results of a woman falling for her daughter's boyfriend, killing off the swine at the end of the second act. Nicholson realises that he has become a mockable figure of fun and that his has been a full but unfulfilling life, causing further medical 'episodes'. His new doctor tells him to avoid stress and to re-evaluate what is really important. Part of the denouement revolves around his seeking out old girlfriends to discover what has gone wrong with his life (a plot device stolen in toto by Jim Jarmusch's 2005 showcase for Bill Murray, "Broken Flowers".) His growing insight into what really matters is handled both cleverly and skillfully by the actor, even while it plays upon Nicholson's own playboy rep. Apart from Keaton's brief OTT heartbrokeness, her comic timing remains superb, and there are also some nice turns from Jon Favreau, Paul Michael Glaser, Rachel Ticotin, and Frances McDormand, but the acting honours belong mostly to Nicholson.
One small detail that puzzles me. When I first saw the film, in the scene where Nicholson inadvertently wanders into Keaton's bedroom and finds her in the nude, the focus of his attention was her unmaintained and bushy lower parts -- a symbolic difference between many older women and the bimbos that he has been dating. In the version I just watched, this is missing and the emphasis is on her bare breasts -- almost certainly a body double's. It seems a strange bit of re-editing! But if Spielberg can delete the guns from "E.T.", all sorts of political correctness can abound, most of it for no good purpose.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Seraphine (2008)
I had every intention of writing today about "Hobo with a Shotgun", the newly released spin-off from the cod "Grindhouse" trailers. I know that's pretty lowbrow on my part, but I have a lot of time for viewing gory trash -- I even liked "Machete", and Rutger Hauer remains a favourite actor, even if he has travelled a long way downhill since his charismatic early appearances in Dutch movies like "Keetje Tippel" and "Soldier of Orange". However when we turned up at the Prince Charles repertory cinema, the movie's only showcase, we found that the showing had been cancelled for technical reasons -- whatever that means.
So for a complete contrast, let me tell you about the above French-language arthouse flick, about as far removed from sewer cinema as it is possible to travel. I have developed a great affection for the middle-aged, Belgian-born, character actress Yolande Moreau. Like Gerard Depardieu with whom she starred recently in "Mammuth", she has no 'side' as we say here. That is she has no false vanity about appearing dowdy or even unashamedly and unattractively naked. In this film which opens in 1914 and which finishes in the mid-l930s, she plays a low-born cleaner and washerwoman in a parochial French town. She is very much her own woman without many expectations from life, nor many social skills, or even much intellect. However after a spell living with the local nuns, she heard a call from a 'guardian angel' ordering her to paint. She gathers materials from natural plants, butcher's blood, and cathedral candle wax to create her first small wooden panels of vibrant flowers, motifs drawn from Nature -- the fields, streams, and trees with which she feels a kinship.
Living in the area is a German art critic and collector -- amongst the first to purchase Picasso and the 'discoverer' of Henri Rousseau's fauve paintings, Wilhelm Uhde (played by Ulrich Tukur -- the Baron in "The White Ribbon"); he stumbles across her work and recognises a burgeoning, singular talent with primitive power. He begins to purchase her paintings and to encourage her output, until he must hurriedly flee back to Germany with the outbreak of war. Move forward to the late 1920s and Uhde is back in France, living in a different town. He makes no attempt to find Serpahine -- assuming her to be dead -- until a chance newspaper article draws him to an exhibition by local artists in her hometown of Senlis and there are two new and more ambitious works by the peasant woman. Apparently this gap in their relatioship is historically correct, even if it is a little hard to fathom. Anyhow he soon becomes her patron giving her a monthly stipend to concentrate on her strange paintings which he promotes to the art world. However, this influx of cash turns an already slightly deranged mind into one craving the trappings of wealth. Seraphine begins to lose touch with reality -- especially after she is chastised for her unbound spending, and a promised Paris exhibition is postponed by Uhde in the parlous financial times of the early 30s. These are circumstances that the simple Seraphine is unable to understand and the strain of her perceived rejection results in such erratic behaviour that she lands in a mental asylum for the remainder of her days -- no longer painting, although Uhde does fund her final years when she once again finds some peace in Nature. He, on the other hand, has continued selling her paintings and finally delivers the so-desired exhibition after her death, launching the powerful works of the now-named Seraphine de Senlis into art history.
This film from writer-director (and erstwhile actor) Martin Provost is slow, but involving. It is lovingly photographed as we follow the unusual life of Moreau's Seraphine. She is in nearly every scene and we want so much for her life to take a happier course. Still, there is pure joy in her simple religious faith as she sweetly sings to the saints while creating her oddly vivid paintings. The 55-year old Moreau gives us yet another powerful performance to savour.
So for a complete contrast, let me tell you about the above French-language arthouse flick, about as far removed from sewer cinema as it is possible to travel. I have developed a great affection for the middle-aged, Belgian-born, character actress Yolande Moreau. Like Gerard Depardieu with whom she starred recently in "Mammuth", she has no 'side' as we say here. That is she has no false vanity about appearing dowdy or even unashamedly and unattractively naked. In this film which opens in 1914 and which finishes in the mid-l930s, she plays a low-born cleaner and washerwoman in a parochial French town. She is very much her own woman without many expectations from life, nor many social skills, or even much intellect. However after a spell living with the local nuns, she heard a call from a 'guardian angel' ordering her to paint. She gathers materials from natural plants, butcher's blood, and cathedral candle wax to create her first small wooden panels of vibrant flowers, motifs drawn from Nature -- the fields, streams, and trees with which she feels a kinship.
Living in the area is a German art critic and collector -- amongst the first to purchase Picasso and the 'discoverer' of Henri Rousseau's fauve paintings, Wilhelm Uhde (played by Ulrich Tukur -- the Baron in "The White Ribbon"); he stumbles across her work and recognises a burgeoning, singular talent with primitive power. He begins to purchase her paintings and to encourage her output, until he must hurriedly flee back to Germany with the outbreak of war. Move forward to the late 1920s and Uhde is back in France, living in a different town. He makes no attempt to find Serpahine -- assuming her to be dead -- until a chance newspaper article draws him to an exhibition by local artists in her hometown of Senlis and there are two new and more ambitious works by the peasant woman. Apparently this gap in their relatioship is historically correct, even if it is a little hard to fathom. Anyhow he soon becomes her patron giving her a monthly stipend to concentrate on her strange paintings which he promotes to the art world. However, this influx of cash turns an already slightly deranged mind into one craving the trappings of wealth. Seraphine begins to lose touch with reality -- especially after she is chastised for her unbound spending, and a promised Paris exhibition is postponed by Uhde in the parlous financial times of the early 30s. These are circumstances that the simple Seraphine is unable to understand and the strain of her perceived rejection results in such erratic behaviour that she lands in a mental asylum for the remainder of her days -- no longer painting, although Uhde does fund her final years when she once again finds some peace in Nature. He, on the other hand, has continued selling her paintings and finally delivers the so-desired exhibition after her death, launching the powerful works of the now-named Seraphine de Senlis into art history.
This film from writer-director (and erstwhile actor) Martin Provost is slow, but involving. It is lovingly photographed as we follow the unusual life of Moreau's Seraphine. She is in nearly every scene and we want so much for her life to take a happier course. Still, there is pure joy in her simple religious faith as she sweetly sings to the saints while creating her oddly vivid paintings. The 55-year old Moreau gives us yet another powerful performance to savour.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
Serendipity
If my viewing life was not so blessed with occasional happy surprises, I doubt I would be so obsessive at viewing nearly everything that comes my way nor being as prepared to grant even the most dubious offering an even break. While this results in my seeing a lot of dreck -- to put no finer point upon it, the occasional gem is found glittering amongst the morass.
Some of the so-called 'movie channels' on satellite television are actually nothing more than an old-folks home for aging television movies and made-for-cable films and mini-series. Some of these are reasonably watchable, as long as one doesn't apply rigid cinema criteria, and it is always a kick to see no longer available actors, like Lee Remick or Jason Robards, in their small-screen appearances. However, every so often, what I would term a 'real film' finds its way into the knacker's yard of these minor channels and makes me realise that I have struck gold.
Voices from a Locked Room (1995), aka Voices: I knew absolutely nothing about this movie and must assume that while not made for television, it never received any sort of distribution in the cinema. It is a absolutely riveting biopic of the pseudonymous, modern progressive British composer Peter Warlock -- if one ignores the fact that the story being told bears little resemblance to the realities of his own short life. The movie is set in a faithfully rendered London of 1930; Jeremy Northam plays a respected newspaper music critic, Philip Heseltine, whose bete noir is what he considers the derivative or 'stolen' output of the reclusive, yet fashionable, composer. It might be considered a 'spoiler' to reveal the twist, although the conclusion soon becomes apparent to the viewer, but Heseltine and Warlock are one and the same person; the protagonist's increasingly violent and irrational behaviour is the product of a bi-polar, disturbed mind. Heseltine is a wealthy man about town, courting a talented American night-club singer -- a strong role for Tushka Bergen, while Warlock works from a Battersea slum and warns her against the hated critic. They function as two discreet, yet obviously dependent personalities, and each of them indulges in life-threatening ploys against the other. There is some cockamamie backstory that Heseltine was traumatised as a child when his wicked stepfather set his grand piano alight -- I bet! At any rate, Northam is absolutely brilliant at playing these Jekyll and Hyde characters at war within himself.
Although the film is based on a novel, it is barely factual and a great deal of poetic license has been taken in bringing the source material to the screen. The only fact that is inarguable is that Warlock/Heseltine died in mysterious circumstances in his gas-filled flat at the age of 34. However the story of the self-loathing critic and the tortured genius existing in a single body has gifted Northam with an actor's tour-de-force that deserves to be rescued from its satellite graveyard.
Whatever Works (2009): I am well aware, as I'm sure I've written previously, that Woody Allen is definitely out of fashion, and as each year's offering appears, regular as clockwork, one or two critics will write that he is back to "the old Woody". To those of us who have been faithful fans over the years -- a diminishing breed I think -- each of his movies is approached with anticipation. Apart from his sub-Bergman period, I have more than tolerated all of his films and found some not-so-elusive charm in most of them. The only exception I might make is for the dire "Hollywood Ending" (2002) which I saw on an airplane and which has never even had a DVD release in Britain. However, I was in no particular rush to see this one, since Larry David is just a name to me; I have never watched "Curb your Enthusiasm" on TV and have only seen the rare "Seinfeld", so any built-in attraction was missing.
Having said that, however, and remembering that David is not really a film actor, he does a splendid job of inhabiting the misanthropic character of Boris Yellnikoff, a man who considers himself a genius (he nearly won the Nobel Prize!) and most of the rest of the world as cretins. Into his life comes Southern teenaged runaway Evan Rachel Wood in a role totally at odds with the bitchy daughter she plays in HBO's "Mildred Pierce" which I am also currently watching. Her impressionable and extremely grateful Melody is soon mouthing his sarcastic and bitter sentiments and is convinced that he is the man for her, despite the difference in their ages, backgrounds, and intellectual ammunition -- and so Beauty and the Beast marry to the astonishment of all his friends and Boris himself.
This is not one of Allen's star-packed ensembles, with only Patricia Clarkson and Ed Begley, Jr. being well-known among the supporting cast. They play Melody's fundamentalist and prejudiced parents, who have separated, and who have each gone in pursuit of their 'missing' daughter. Horrified when they first find her with Boris, each of them is subsequently transformed by their exposure to the Big City (I should add it is great having Woody back in New York for a change). They each discover the inner keys to the happiness which has eluded them in the past. This movie may be a little alienating at first when the main emphasis is on Boris' intolerant and selfish behaviour, but by the end sunshine and mellowness break through. We are left with an optimistic message: grab whatever love you can find and everything will 'work'. Fortunately this message comes to us courtesy of Woody's smart and witty scripting.
Some of the so-called 'movie channels' on satellite television are actually nothing more than an old-folks home for aging television movies and made-for-cable films and mini-series. Some of these are reasonably watchable, as long as one doesn't apply rigid cinema criteria, and it is always a kick to see no longer available actors, like Lee Remick or Jason Robards, in their small-screen appearances. However, every so often, what I would term a 'real film' finds its way into the knacker's yard of these minor channels and makes me realise that I have struck gold.
Voices from a Locked Room (1995), aka Voices: I knew absolutely nothing about this movie and must assume that while not made for television, it never received any sort of distribution in the cinema. It is a absolutely riveting biopic of the pseudonymous, modern progressive British composer Peter Warlock -- if one ignores the fact that the story being told bears little resemblance to the realities of his own short life. The movie is set in a faithfully rendered London of 1930; Jeremy Northam plays a respected newspaper music critic, Philip Heseltine, whose bete noir is what he considers the derivative or 'stolen' output of the reclusive, yet fashionable, composer. It might be considered a 'spoiler' to reveal the twist, although the conclusion soon becomes apparent to the viewer, but Heseltine and Warlock are one and the same person; the protagonist's increasingly violent and irrational behaviour is the product of a bi-polar, disturbed mind. Heseltine is a wealthy man about town, courting a talented American night-club singer -- a strong role for Tushka Bergen, while Warlock works from a Battersea slum and warns her against the hated critic. They function as two discreet, yet obviously dependent personalities, and each of them indulges in life-threatening ploys against the other. There is some cockamamie backstory that Heseltine was traumatised as a child when his wicked stepfather set his grand piano alight -- I bet! At any rate, Northam is absolutely brilliant at playing these Jekyll and Hyde characters at war within himself.
Although the film is based on a novel, it is barely factual and a great deal of poetic license has been taken in bringing the source material to the screen. The only fact that is inarguable is that Warlock/Heseltine died in mysterious circumstances in his gas-filled flat at the age of 34. However the story of the self-loathing critic and the tortured genius existing in a single body has gifted Northam with an actor's tour-de-force that deserves to be rescued from its satellite graveyard.
Whatever Works (2009): I am well aware, as I'm sure I've written previously, that Woody Allen is definitely out of fashion, and as each year's offering appears, regular as clockwork, one or two critics will write that he is back to "the old Woody". To those of us who have been faithful fans over the years -- a diminishing breed I think -- each of his movies is approached with anticipation. Apart from his sub-Bergman period, I have more than tolerated all of his films and found some not-so-elusive charm in most of them. The only exception I might make is for the dire "Hollywood Ending" (2002) which I saw on an airplane and which has never even had a DVD release in Britain. However, I was in no particular rush to see this one, since Larry David is just a name to me; I have never watched "Curb your Enthusiasm" on TV and have only seen the rare "Seinfeld", so any built-in attraction was missing.
Having said that, however, and remembering that David is not really a film actor, he does a splendid job of inhabiting the misanthropic character of Boris Yellnikoff, a man who considers himself a genius (he nearly won the Nobel Prize!) and most of the rest of the world as cretins. Into his life comes Southern teenaged runaway Evan Rachel Wood in a role totally at odds with the bitchy daughter she plays in HBO's "Mildred Pierce" which I am also currently watching. Her impressionable and extremely grateful Melody is soon mouthing his sarcastic and bitter sentiments and is convinced that he is the man for her, despite the difference in their ages, backgrounds, and intellectual ammunition -- and so Beauty and the Beast marry to the astonishment of all his friends and Boris himself.
This is not one of Allen's star-packed ensembles, with only Patricia Clarkson and Ed Begley, Jr. being well-known among the supporting cast. They play Melody's fundamentalist and prejudiced parents, who have separated, and who have each gone in pursuit of their 'missing' daughter. Horrified when they first find her with Boris, each of them is subsequently transformed by their exposure to the Big City (I should add it is great having Woody back in New York for a change). They each discover the inner keys to the happiness which has eluded them in the past. This movie may be a little alienating at first when the main emphasis is on Boris' intolerant and selfish behaviour, but by the end sunshine and mellowness break through. We are left with an optimistic message: grab whatever love you can find and everything will 'work'. Fortunately this message comes to us courtesy of Woody's smart and witty scripting.
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows: Part Two (2011)
Did you honestly think for one moment that I would not be going to watch the eighth film in the most successful franchise of all time on the big screen? We were having lunch down West yesterday and decided to pop over to the Warner's flagship cinema for the afternoon showing. The line for tickets wasn't enormous, but it seemed to be moving at a snail's pace and when we got to the front, we discovered that they were charging the best part of £20 per ticket -- 3D glasses extra! So we turned tail and went to our local multiplex just in time for one of their multiple screenings of the day. They weren't exactly giving the tickets away (and the auditorium wasn't exactly full), but I felt better at not over-contributing to Warner's already enormous profits. Yes, the films have been a moneyspinner for all concerned; I don't begrudge this, since they have given so much pleasure to so many -- and not just those children in the age range that grew up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
However, you probably don't wish to know any of the above, but rather what I thought of the movie. I have been a dyed-in-the-wool fan of the series and had read all of the books before watching the films, which is just as well, since I think any non-believer coming to this last film cold would be lost trying to follow much of the action. It is still a slam-bang production, full of imaginative sequences, which could entertain the casual viewer, but much of the nuances of the saga would be lost . As is, bringing the final story to the screen did scrimp on some of the storytelling. Even being familiar with the book, I could not recall the relevance of the new ghostly character played by Kelly Macdonald. In particular, I felt that the sad, true story behind Alan Rickman's villainry as Severus Snape was muddled in its presentation, leaving the viewer to wonder why Harry would name a future son after him or claim that he was the bravest man he ever knew. Rickman has been one of the many continuing treats of the series (along with Maggie Smith) and his fate just didn't have the impact or gravity that one would have hoped. Similarly disposing of arch-villains Helena Bonham-Carter and Ralph Fiennes by having them appear to dissolve into a cloud of confetti seemed anticlimactic after pitched confrontations. The deaths of some of the other much-loved characters during the Battle of Hogwarts were skimmed over and not given the respect due them.
Still this final film is a vast improvement on Part One of the Deathly Hallows which was too leisurely by half. Director David Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves have produced an action-laden finale for the fans and have made certain that nearly all of the beloved characters from over the years are given their brief curtain calls. The only character who is actually given more to do in this final film is Matthew Lewis, who has been playing inept sidekick Neville Longbottom in a fatsuit for some years, but who emerges as one of Hogwarts' truest heroes in this installment. As for the trio of Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson, they continue to be likeable and have grown into their roles without any problems; however, they are still a little light on thespian talent. It will be fascinating to discover where their respective careers go from here. All of them are so financially secure that they would need a deep love of the profession to persevere with acting and to fight the fact that they will probably be forever typecast. By the way, the long-awaited first kiss between Ron and Hermione, coyly shot from behind his back, comes across as a definite non-event here.
I suppose I should comment on the 3D technology, which was fine, but which didn't really add to the film's entertainment value in any meaningful way. The movie would have been just as satisfying to its fans in the 2D version. The eight Potter films may be the biggest financial success of all time, but this has not been reflected in Oscar nominations or wins. Of course there is the legacy of "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy where all of the possible awards were garnered by the last film in the series. Despite some probable nominations, I would be very surprised to see this movie following suit as Best Picture, etc. Award-laden or not, many of us have enjoyed this saga of the "boy who lived" and will miss his adventures, his friends, his teachers, and his many acquaintances. The series may have gone out with a bang, but it will not be easily forgotten.
However, you probably don't wish to know any of the above, but rather what I thought of the movie. I have been a dyed-in-the-wool fan of the series and had read all of the books before watching the films, which is just as well, since I think any non-believer coming to this last film cold would be lost trying to follow much of the action. It is still a slam-bang production, full of imaginative sequences, which could entertain the casual viewer, but much of the nuances of the saga would be lost . As is, bringing the final story to the screen did scrimp on some of the storytelling. Even being familiar with the book, I could not recall the relevance of the new ghostly character played by Kelly Macdonald. In particular, I felt that the sad, true story behind Alan Rickman's villainry as Severus Snape was muddled in its presentation, leaving the viewer to wonder why Harry would name a future son after him or claim that he was the bravest man he ever knew. Rickman has been one of the many continuing treats of the series (along with Maggie Smith) and his fate just didn't have the impact or gravity that one would have hoped. Similarly disposing of arch-villains Helena Bonham-Carter and Ralph Fiennes by having them appear to dissolve into a cloud of confetti seemed anticlimactic after pitched confrontations. The deaths of some of the other much-loved characters during the Battle of Hogwarts were skimmed over and not given the respect due them.
Still this final film is a vast improvement on Part One of the Deathly Hallows which was too leisurely by half. Director David Yates and screenwriter Steve Kloves have produced an action-laden finale for the fans and have made certain that nearly all of the beloved characters from over the years are given their brief curtain calls. The only character who is actually given more to do in this final film is Matthew Lewis, who has been playing inept sidekick Neville Longbottom in a fatsuit for some years, but who emerges as one of Hogwarts' truest heroes in this installment. As for the trio of Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson, they continue to be likeable and have grown into their roles without any problems; however, they are still a little light on thespian talent. It will be fascinating to discover where their respective careers go from here. All of them are so financially secure that they would need a deep love of the profession to persevere with acting and to fight the fact that they will probably be forever typecast. By the way, the long-awaited first kiss between Ron and Hermione, coyly shot from behind his back, comes across as a definite non-event here.
I suppose I should comment on the 3D technology, which was fine, but which didn't really add to the film's entertainment value in any meaningful way. The movie would have been just as satisfying to its fans in the 2D version. The eight Potter films may be the biggest financial success of all time, but this has not been reflected in Oscar nominations or wins. Of course there is the legacy of "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy where all of the possible awards were garnered by the last film in the series. Despite some probable nominations, I would be very surprised to see this movie following suit as Best Picture, etc. Award-laden or not, many of us have enjoyed this saga of the "boy who lived" and will miss his adventures, his friends, his teachers, and his many acquaintances. The series may have gone out with a bang, but it will not be easily forgotten.
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
The Tree of Life (2011)
Confession time: I am not one of those movie buffs who believe that the elusive director Terrence Malick is the best gift to cinema and the world since sliced bread. I really loved his first film "Badlands" (1973) and have watched it many times since. His second "Days of Heaven" (1978) was beautifully elegiac, but just didn't hold my attention. There was then the famous twenty year gap before 1998's "The Thin Red Line" which completely alienated me, but then again I've written before that war movies -- however poetic they may be -- turn me off. That film was followed by "The New World" in 2005, a beautifully filmed, historically realistic, yet dreary Indian 'love' story made for an unknown audience. Now we have this year's Palme d'Or winner from Cannes, rapturously received by many and demanding to be seen on the big screen.
Yes, it is a film that deserves to be seen, but one which will sharply divide its viewing audience. There are those who will take away its amazing images and who will discuss its meaning ad nauseum. Then there will be those who will find it difficult to sit through 138 minutes of non-story, mixed with at times nearly inaudible dialogue and voiceovers. The film focuses on the O'Brien family of mother, father, and three young sons living in Waco, Texas in the 1950s. Dad, played by superstar Brad Pitt (here looking drabber than ever as a period paterfamilias), is a frustrated musician crushed by his 9 to 5 work, and a disciplinarian and martinet; he loves his boys, but is unable to maintain a loving relationship. He represents Nature in the Malickian canon while their mother, an ethereal turn from little-known actress Jessica Chastain, represents Grace. She is treated as some Holy Mother, an Angel of Mercy, and features in Malick's occasional magic realism, floating through the air or being seen in a glass coffin a la Sleeping Beauty. The film moves forward and back between its images of idyllic childhood days and the embittered memories of the now-grown eldest son, played by Sean Penn, who looks down from his office eyrie into the chasms of Dallas' tall towers and mourns the loss of his middle brother and his innocence.
Some twenty minutes into the film it switches from the story of these folk into nothing less than a visually striking explosion, exploring the evolution of the universe and life on earth, including some wonderfully rendered dinosaurs. These visual effects designed by retired FX master Douglas Trumbull and magnificently photographed by cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki are nothing short of gobstopping to use the vernacular. However all too soon we return to the fragments of childhood of the O'Brien brothers. Mixed with lovingly shot vistas through the branches of majestic spreading trees, we view their days of endless summer, spacious lawns, and boys being boys. Just before the film's end we see the Penn character walking on what must be meant as the sands of memory, with the hundreds of characters from his life aimlessly promenading past, as he seeks his own redemption.
There is a good argument, but probably one that Malick would deny, that the film is a compilation of memories from his own childhood, scraps of remembered joy, love, loss, and forgiveness from his own years with his own brothers and his own parents in '50's Waco. The viewer is then urged to read what we wish into the conundrum of how any mundane family's dynamic meshes into the majesty of creation. Some critics maintain that his movie requires multiple viewings to discover and appreciate its many layers, but at this point my feeling is that once was enough and I really don't need to sit through this strange mixture of nostalgia and wonder a second time. I must say that I find it heartening that such a personal and in many ways incomprehensible movie can be commercially released to the unsuspecting public. I fear, however, that few of them will find it the consistent masterwork that its proponents loudly proclaim.
Yes, it is a film that deserves to be seen, but one which will sharply divide its viewing audience. There are those who will take away its amazing images and who will discuss its meaning ad nauseum. Then there will be those who will find it difficult to sit through 138 minutes of non-story, mixed with at times nearly inaudible dialogue and voiceovers. The film focuses on the O'Brien family of mother, father, and three young sons living in Waco, Texas in the 1950s. Dad, played by superstar Brad Pitt (here looking drabber than ever as a period paterfamilias), is a frustrated musician crushed by his 9 to 5 work, and a disciplinarian and martinet; he loves his boys, but is unable to maintain a loving relationship. He represents Nature in the Malickian canon while their mother, an ethereal turn from little-known actress Jessica Chastain, represents Grace. She is treated as some Holy Mother, an Angel of Mercy, and features in Malick's occasional magic realism, floating through the air or being seen in a glass coffin a la Sleeping Beauty. The film moves forward and back between its images of idyllic childhood days and the embittered memories of the now-grown eldest son, played by Sean Penn, who looks down from his office eyrie into the chasms of Dallas' tall towers and mourns the loss of his middle brother and his innocence.
Some twenty minutes into the film it switches from the story of these folk into nothing less than a visually striking explosion, exploring the evolution of the universe and life on earth, including some wonderfully rendered dinosaurs. These visual effects designed by retired FX master Douglas Trumbull and magnificently photographed by cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki are nothing short of gobstopping to use the vernacular. However all too soon we return to the fragments of childhood of the O'Brien brothers. Mixed with lovingly shot vistas through the branches of majestic spreading trees, we view their days of endless summer, spacious lawns, and boys being boys. Just before the film's end we see the Penn character walking on what must be meant as the sands of memory, with the hundreds of characters from his life aimlessly promenading past, as he seeks his own redemption.
There is a good argument, but probably one that Malick would deny, that the film is a compilation of memories from his own childhood, scraps of remembered joy, love, loss, and forgiveness from his own years with his own brothers and his own parents in '50's Waco. The viewer is then urged to read what we wish into the conundrum of how any mundane family's dynamic meshes into the majesty of creation. Some critics maintain that his movie requires multiple viewings to discover and appreciate its many layers, but at this point my feeling is that once was enough and I really don't need to sit through this strange mixture of nostalgia and wonder a second time. I must say that I find it heartening that such a personal and in many ways incomprehensible movie can be commercially released to the unsuspecting public. I fear, however, that few of them will find it the consistent masterwork that its proponents loudly proclaim.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Arlington Road (1999)
Every so often since I began blogging some six years ago, I have written that Jeff Bridges remains one of the greatest underrated Hollywood actors. Perhaps this is no longer the case with the recent Oscar nods that he has had for "Crazy Heart" and "True Grit", and he has certainly been a cult favourite since 1998's "The Big Lebowski". However, one can look back on his roles since 1971's "The Last Picture Show" and he has never been less than outstanding. He brings a genuine sincerity and believability to each of them and the above movie is another fine example.
I don't think I have previously revisited this one in the twelve years since its release, but it remains a gripping essay on our continued fear of terrorism and our growing paranoia. Bridges plays an academic, teaching his university class the facts of life about extremism. This is a particularly fraught subject for him, since his FBI wife was killed in the line of duty whilst investigating a 'flagged' suspect, devastating him and his young son. He is only just beginning to piece things together with a new young girlfriend, Hope Davis. Driving home one afternoon, he sees an injured boy staggering down the road towards him; it is only when he has taken him to hospital that he discovers that it is the son of his new across-the-road neighbours, who have been there for a few months but whom he has made no attempt to greet or meet. Enter Tim Robbins and his screen wife Joan Cusack, who appear to be the perfect suburbanite family with their model home and their three young children.
A series of inexplicable bits and pieces leads Bridges to begin to investigate and to conclude that the pair are not all they are cracked up to be and that they may in fact be dangerous undercover extremists. Davis thinks he is building mountains out of molehills to suspect such lovely folk, until a chance observation makes her change her mind. As she tries to phone Bridges, in one of the most jump-making sudden appearances in modern cinema, Cusack's friendly but now extremely frightening face hoves into view; it turns out to be the last thing Davis will ever see. It's a change of pace for Cusack as well as for Robbins, whose usually liberal credentials make him an unlikely villain, but a more chilling one for all that. The film brings home the message that we never really know our neighbours and that a plausible exterior can hide all sorts of sinister possibilities. There may not be mere cracks in the American dream, but gaping huge chasms.
One of the interesting questions posed by the film is whether the couple have been targeting the Bridges character since square one to provide the 'fall-guy' for their current plans, to the extent of even harming their son themselves to provide the initial lure. A previous atrocity in St. Louis where a number of children died (echoes of the real-life Oklahoma tragedy) pinned the blame on a 'single perpetrator' and with his own obsessions, Bridges may well be the perfect patsy tor the next outrage by the unseen extremists who move amongst us. Not really that far-fetched, but scary stuff.
I don't think I have previously revisited this one in the twelve years since its release, but it remains a gripping essay on our continued fear of terrorism and our growing paranoia. Bridges plays an academic, teaching his university class the facts of life about extremism. This is a particularly fraught subject for him, since his FBI wife was killed in the line of duty whilst investigating a 'flagged' suspect, devastating him and his young son. He is only just beginning to piece things together with a new young girlfriend, Hope Davis. Driving home one afternoon, he sees an injured boy staggering down the road towards him; it is only when he has taken him to hospital that he discovers that it is the son of his new across-the-road neighbours, who have been there for a few months but whom he has made no attempt to greet or meet. Enter Tim Robbins and his screen wife Joan Cusack, who appear to be the perfect suburbanite family with their model home and their three young children.
A series of inexplicable bits and pieces leads Bridges to begin to investigate and to conclude that the pair are not all they are cracked up to be and that they may in fact be dangerous undercover extremists. Davis thinks he is building mountains out of molehills to suspect such lovely folk, until a chance observation makes her change her mind. As she tries to phone Bridges, in one of the most jump-making sudden appearances in modern cinema, Cusack's friendly but now extremely frightening face hoves into view; it turns out to be the last thing Davis will ever see. It's a change of pace for Cusack as well as for Robbins, whose usually liberal credentials make him an unlikely villain, but a more chilling one for all that. The film brings home the message that we never really know our neighbours and that a plausible exterior can hide all sorts of sinister possibilities. There may not be mere cracks in the American dream, but gaping huge chasms.
One of the interesting questions posed by the film is whether the couple have been targeting the Bridges character since square one to provide the 'fall-guy' for their current plans, to the extent of even harming their son themselves to provide the initial lure. A previous atrocity in St. Louis where a number of children died (echoes of the real-life Oklahoma tragedy) pinned the blame on a 'single perpetrator' and with his own obsessions, Bridges may well be the perfect patsy tor the next outrage by the unseen extremists who move amongst us. Not really that far-fetched, but scary stuff.
Sunday, 3 July 2011
The Hand that Rocks the Cradle (1992)
I recently read a pretty rotten review for Rebecca DeMornay's most recent 'leading' role in a would-be horror flick called "Mother's Day", and it got me to thinking how short-lived many film careers are. Any number of promising stars come to brief prominence due to a showy role (or even a run of good roles) and then slide into some kind of oblivion; they may carry on working, but never seem to shine so brightly again. One was first aware of DeMornay as the streetwise prositute in Tom Cruise's breakthrough movie "Risky Business" in 1983, and she subsequently appeared in a number of featured parts, but it was as the lead in the above film that she peaked. Unfortunately it did sans-fairy-bubbletop for her career.
The nominal lead in the movie is Annabella Sciorra, another actress with a good run of movies who continues to work, but whose career faltered in the late 90s. She plays the mother of a young daughter, pregnant with her second child, who accuses her new paediatrican of inappropriate behaviour. Other patients support her accusations and, his reputation in tatters, the doctor commits suicide, leaving behind his own pregnant wife (DeMornay) who promptly loses her baby. In her mind Sciorra is the cause of all of her misfortunes and she sets out to extract her revenge by becoming the nanny for Sciorra's new-born son. Insinutating herself into the household as a loyal, friendly, and indispensible worker, she strives to alienate the children from their parents, seduce the husband (Matt McCoy, nowadays a stalwart of TV Movie dads), and generally destroy asthmatic Sciorra both mentally and physically. The other household worker is a mentally-challenged handyman played by Ernie Hudson, a great pal of the family's young daughter, whom DeMornay addresses as "retard" and whom she contrives to discredit as a paedophile after he inadvertently sees her breast-feeding Sciorra's son --an activity she has taken up with gusto, causing the over-full babe to seemingly reject his real mother's milk.
If the truth be told this is really a highly implausible and far-fetched B movie which just happened to find its audience through the combination of a thoroughly evil yet fascinating turn by DeMornay and sure-fired, confident direction by Curtis (L.A. Confidential) Hanson. The viewer is unsettled by and caught up in the nanny's easy malevolence; we can so clearly see her dirty work afoot, but we are unable to scream at the screen to warn the trusting family. Only the third or fourth female lead (if one allows that child actress Madeline Zima had the larger part), Julianne Moore playing a family friend sees something fishy in the 'perfect' nanny who is actually the nanny from hell; and only she of the entire cast went on from strength to strength for a longlasting career. Mind you, when I first saw this film -- in the cinema as it happens, I thought that Hudson was the best thing in it -- a far cry from his turn as one of the original Ghostbusters in 1984. He gives a thoroughly likeable performance as the handicapped simple soul, a role that is normally guaranteed Oscar bait, but his performance was totally overlooked. Watching this film again, I still think it's a bit of bravura acting from the under-rated Hudson.
The nominal lead in the movie is Annabella Sciorra, another actress with a good run of movies who continues to work, but whose career faltered in the late 90s. She plays the mother of a young daughter, pregnant with her second child, who accuses her new paediatrican of inappropriate behaviour. Other patients support her accusations and, his reputation in tatters, the doctor commits suicide, leaving behind his own pregnant wife (DeMornay) who promptly loses her baby. In her mind Sciorra is the cause of all of her misfortunes and she sets out to extract her revenge by becoming the nanny for Sciorra's new-born son. Insinutating herself into the household as a loyal, friendly, and indispensible worker, she strives to alienate the children from their parents, seduce the husband (Matt McCoy, nowadays a stalwart of TV Movie dads), and generally destroy asthmatic Sciorra both mentally and physically. The other household worker is a mentally-challenged handyman played by Ernie Hudson, a great pal of the family's young daughter, whom DeMornay addresses as "retard" and whom she contrives to discredit as a paedophile after he inadvertently sees her breast-feeding Sciorra's son --an activity she has taken up with gusto, causing the over-full babe to seemingly reject his real mother's milk.
If the truth be told this is really a highly implausible and far-fetched B movie which just happened to find its audience through the combination of a thoroughly evil yet fascinating turn by DeMornay and sure-fired, confident direction by Curtis (L.A. Confidential) Hanson. The viewer is unsettled by and caught up in the nanny's easy malevolence; we can so clearly see her dirty work afoot, but we are unable to scream at the screen to warn the trusting family. Only the third or fourth female lead (if one allows that child actress Madeline Zima had the larger part), Julianne Moore playing a family friend sees something fishy in the 'perfect' nanny who is actually the nanny from hell; and only she of the entire cast went on from strength to strength for a longlasting career. Mind you, when I first saw this film -- in the cinema as it happens, I thought that Hudson was the best thing in it -- a far cry from his turn as one of the original Ghostbusters in 1984. He gives a thoroughly likeable performance as the handicapped simple soul, a role that is normally guaranteed Oscar bait, but his performance was totally overlooked. Watching this film again, I still think it's a bit of bravura acting from the under-rated Hudson.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
With a Song in My Heart (1952)
I wrote recently that 20th Century Fox was not known as a hotbed of musicals a la MGM, and here I am again complimenting them on a splendid musical film -- although this one is really a biopic of a famous singer of the time, Jane Froman, nowadays largely unknown. The popular singer with the contralto voice became swiftly successful on radio and in cluband and she introduced a treasury of the era's 'standard' classic ballads. Here she is personified by Susan Hayward, Oscar-nominated for the role, but the intense actress does more than just portray Froman; she studied and absorbed her body-language, her song phrasing, and her overall persona with the result that although she is in fact lip-synching the nearly 30 tunes that Froman provides for the soundtrack, you would place bets that Hayward is indeed doing her own singing -- that's how natural it all looks and sounds. The film's musical director Alfred Newman actually won that year's Academy Award and he was in competition with "Singin' in the Rain".
The story is relatively faithful to the singer's own life. Encouraged by her first husband, a musician well-played by David Wayne, her career takes off into the stratosphere, while his goes nowhere -- although the film is not any sort of riff on "A Star is Born". On her first air trip overseas to entertain the troops, the flight crashes and she was one of the lucky survivors. She was kept afloat by a pilot (played soppily by Rory Calhoun) portrayed here as the 'love of her life'. (They did indeed eventually marry, but soon divorced before her retirement and husband number three). Despite horrific bodily injuries requiring dozens of separate and painful operations, she kept up her spirits, encouraged by her down-to-earth nurse and companion Clancy, played by the always-memorable Thelma Ritter, and continued to entertain both at home and on the battlefield throughout the 40s, despite the wheelchairs and the crutches. There are two especially touching scenes containing an early role for the young Robert Wagner as she sings to him in a New York nightclub and then recognises him amongst the badly injured soldiers in a European hospital and draws him out of his shell-shocked silence. In fact the whole end scene with its American Medley celebrating the various hometowns and home states of the cheering GIs is as tear-jerking (in a nice way) as could be. Irresistible.
A final few words in praise of character actress Ritter: She was one of those players who managed to walk away with their scenes, starting with her first bit part as a disgruntled shopper in Macy's toy department in l946's "Miracle on 34th Street". She was Oscar-nominated both for her work in the above movie and for five other films ("All About Eve", "The Mating Season", "Pickup on South Street", "Pillow Talk", and "Birdman of Alcatraz"), but she never won. More's the pity, since she was one of those largely unsung actors who make even the most fantastic scenario just that little bit more real. Cheers, Thelma!
The story is relatively faithful to the singer's own life. Encouraged by her first husband, a musician well-played by David Wayne, her career takes off into the stratosphere, while his goes nowhere -- although the film is not any sort of riff on "A Star is Born". On her first air trip overseas to entertain the troops, the flight crashes and she was one of the lucky survivors. She was kept afloat by a pilot (played soppily by Rory Calhoun) portrayed here as the 'love of her life'. (They did indeed eventually marry, but soon divorced before her retirement and husband number three). Despite horrific bodily injuries requiring dozens of separate and painful operations, she kept up her spirits, encouraged by her down-to-earth nurse and companion Clancy, played by the always-memorable Thelma Ritter, and continued to entertain both at home and on the battlefield throughout the 40s, despite the wheelchairs and the crutches. There are two especially touching scenes containing an early role for the young Robert Wagner as she sings to him in a New York nightclub and then recognises him amongst the badly injured soldiers in a European hospital and draws him out of his shell-shocked silence. In fact the whole end scene with its American Medley celebrating the various hometowns and home states of the cheering GIs is as tear-jerking (in a nice way) as could be. Irresistible.
A final few words in praise of character actress Ritter: She was one of those players who managed to walk away with their scenes, starting with her first bit part as a disgruntled shopper in Macy's toy department in l946's "Miracle on 34th Street". She was Oscar-nominated both for her work in the above movie and for five other films ("All About Eve", "The Mating Season", "Pickup on South Street", "Pillow Talk", and "Birdman of Alcatraz"), but she never won. More's the pity, since she was one of those largely unsung actors who make even the most fantastic scenario just that little bit more real. Cheers, Thelma!
Thursday, 23 June 2011
Bridesmaids (2011)
The big trouble with movies which are hyped to kingdom come is that they often prove to be something of a disappointment when viewed or rather not quite as wonderful as rumours have it. Had I caught up with this film in due course rather than making a special trip to see it at the cinema, I might well have found it slightly more appealing and satisfying. It is being sold to the public as the movie that finally proves that women can be as "funny" as men, if "funny" is taken in its modern context as being bogged down in fart, vomit and sex 'jokes'. Coming from the Judd Apatow stable the movie is more or less what one expects from his past productions, only this time seen from the female prospective. On this level it is a film that might appeal to both young men and young women in its cruder moments, rather than being labelled a 'chick flick', but it is more interesting as a dissection of the meaning of friendship. Maybe you can accuse me as having had a humour bypass, since by and large I didn't find it particularly amusing (although one or two bits of business did make me laugh) and there was certainly a fair sprinkling of 'walk-outs' in the audience. There was not, on the other hand, what could even vaguely be described as 'roars of laughter' during its grosser moments.
The movie has been described as the breakout role for its star and co-writer Kristen Wiig. She plays something of a loser, Annie, whose bakery business has failed, whose finances are perilous, and whose love life has come down to a 'fuck-buddy', an uncredited Jon Hamm. When her last remaining single friend and best friend since childhood, Maya Rudolph, announces her engagement and asks her to be her maid of honor, the stage is set for the somewhat crude comic action. She wants to help make the day special for her buddy, but is not set for the interference created by rich-bitch Rose Byrne's Helen who undermines all of her plans and who wants to usurp the BFF role. Added to the mix are three other bridesmaids, two of whom bring little to the party apart from some bad language and some unnecessary girl-on-girl sex; the third, the groom's sister played by the massively overweight Melissa McCarthy is a breath of fresh air and very nearly (but not quite) the best thing in the film.
It does remain firmly Wiig's show. She begins a tentative relationship with a laid-back state trooper (although why this role was given to Irish actor Chris O'Dowd -- charming as he may be -- is a good question). She 'ruins' the proposed hen trip to Vegas by getting out of the control on the flight through a mixture of drugs and drinks (provided by Helen) with the result that the whole party are ignominously off-loaded en route and taken back home by bus. She loses her apartment and has to move back home with Mom, a flaky Jill Clayburgh in her last role. Finally she loses it completely at the Helen-organised over-the-top shower party and falls out with Rudolph. In the film's most talked about scene her choice of a dodgy restaurant lunch results in all of them bar Helen losing control of their bodily functions (from all ends) in a white-carpeted, hoity-toity bridal salon. Wiig's script is full of sharp one-liners and potentially amusing bits of business, but the film could have used a steadier hand from director Paul Feig and much tighter editing. It certainly dragged in places between the 'funny' bits and possibly could have spent more time on the real meaning of friendship which burst through in the end.
I thought the sub-plot of Annie's peculiar relationship with her flat-mate played by the strange British comic Matt Lucas, together with Rebel Wilson playing his fat slag of a freeloading sister, added zilch to the plot and could well have been dropped completely. This would have cut the over two hours running time to a more manageable and sharper whole. Finally you might ask if I found any one part of the shambles really amusing; yes, I thought it hilarious when I saw Rudolph modelling her much-vaunted Parisian original wedding dress -- a monstrosity to end all monstrosities. Maybe my sense of humour is weirder than I thought -- or just not sufficiently potty-based for modern sensibilities.
The movie has been described as the breakout role for its star and co-writer Kristen Wiig. She plays something of a loser, Annie, whose bakery business has failed, whose finances are perilous, and whose love life has come down to a 'fuck-buddy', an uncredited Jon Hamm. When her last remaining single friend and best friend since childhood, Maya Rudolph, announces her engagement and asks her to be her maid of honor, the stage is set for the somewhat crude comic action. She wants to help make the day special for her buddy, but is not set for the interference created by rich-bitch Rose Byrne's Helen who undermines all of her plans and who wants to usurp the BFF role. Added to the mix are three other bridesmaids, two of whom bring little to the party apart from some bad language and some unnecessary girl-on-girl sex; the third, the groom's sister played by the massively overweight Melissa McCarthy is a breath of fresh air and very nearly (but not quite) the best thing in the film.
It does remain firmly Wiig's show. She begins a tentative relationship with a laid-back state trooper (although why this role was given to Irish actor Chris O'Dowd -- charming as he may be -- is a good question). She 'ruins' the proposed hen trip to Vegas by getting out of the control on the flight through a mixture of drugs and drinks (provided by Helen) with the result that the whole party are ignominously off-loaded en route and taken back home by bus. She loses her apartment and has to move back home with Mom, a flaky Jill Clayburgh in her last role. Finally she loses it completely at the Helen-organised over-the-top shower party and falls out with Rudolph. In the film's most talked about scene her choice of a dodgy restaurant lunch results in all of them bar Helen losing control of their bodily functions (from all ends) in a white-carpeted, hoity-toity bridal salon. Wiig's script is full of sharp one-liners and potentially amusing bits of business, but the film could have used a steadier hand from director Paul Feig and much tighter editing. It certainly dragged in places between the 'funny' bits and possibly could have spent more time on the real meaning of friendship which burst through in the end.
I thought the sub-plot of Annie's peculiar relationship with her flat-mate played by the strange British comic Matt Lucas, together with Rebel Wilson playing his fat slag of a freeloading sister, added zilch to the plot and could well have been dropped completely. This would have cut the over two hours running time to a more manageable and sharper whole. Finally you might ask if I found any one part of the shambles really amusing; yes, I thought it hilarious when I saw Rudolph modelling her much-vaunted Parisian original wedding dress -- a monstrosity to end all monstrosities. Maybe my sense of humour is weirder than I thought -- or just not sufficiently potty-based for modern sensibilities.
Saturday, 18 June 2011
Rose of Washington Square (1939)
This musical from 20th Century Fox, a studio not particularly associated with the genre, has so much going for it. For a start it was the third (and last) teaming of two of Fox's most popular stars, Alice Faye and Tyrone Power, after the success of "In Old Chicago" (1937) and "Alexander's Ragtime Band" (1938). Secondly it was the penultimate acting role for its third lead, Al Jolson -- a man not happy with playing third fiddle. Thirdly it finally appeared after both the studio and its three leads were sued for invasion of privacy or somesuch. Finally, I should mention that it manages to be very entertaining.
To deal with the scandalous part first, the story of a rising Ziegfield star (Faye) and her criminally inclined, no-goodnik boyfriend (Power) was a barely fictionalised riff on the Fanny Brice/Nick Arnstein love affair more familiar to the modern viewer from Barbra Streisand's "Funny Girl" (1968). The fact that Faye's character Rose Sargent was translated into an Irish shiksa and that Power was also wasped up into Barton DeWitt Clinton did not prevent Brice from suing all and sundry, especially as her best-known song "My Man" was used in the film's denouement. No contest --the case was settled out of court.
I could enthuse ad nauseum about my idol Tyrone-baby. While I seldom get too excited about an actor's looks, normally preferring to notice their talent or general screen appeal, there is no escaping the fact that Power was nothing short of gorgeous -- despite being described as too monkey-like at his first screen test. His looks coarsened somewhat with age, but he was still strikingly handsome before his untimely death in 1958 at the age of 44. Even in his last full feature, the marvelous "Witness for the Prosecution" (1957), he was still a talent to be reckoned with (he was after all a fourth-generation actor) and better looking than most. In "Rose" he was in his prime, all of 25 years old, and a beauty. Faye was a year younger and they make a fine couple -- even if he was the better looking of the two. Her swing singing style was very much her own, even when reprising the Brice classic and she could dance with the best of them. There is one remarkable number where she and her chorus line puff on cigarettes during their energetic dance, throw them down, and grab new lit ones out of thin air -- all before CGI.
As for Jolson, then in his fifties, he was under contract to the studio and Darryl F. Zanuck was anxious to get his money's worth, thus plunking him into his role here of Faye's ex-partner, mentor, and concerned best friend/spurned love interest. This didn't please him much (nor as reports have it Faye), but it did give him the opportunity to reprise his hit tunes: Toot-Toot Tootsie, Rock-a-Bye your Baby, Pretty Baby, Mammy, and California Here I Come for our delight and the record. OK, I know that his slightly hammy 'blackface' performances are now considered infra dig, but it was a convention of the 1920s when this film is set and one accepts the historic correctness.
The supporting cast -- always a treat for me in films of this period -- includes such familiar faces (even if you can't recall the names) as William Frawley, Joyce Compton, Hobart Cavanaugh (memorable as a drunken balcony-heckler during a Jolson performance and dragged into becoming part of his act), Horace McMahon, E.E. Clive, and even an early appearance from bandleader Louis Prima. Add to this a smashing speciality act (often a feature of early musicals) from dancers Igor and Tanya and one must conclude that director Gregory Ratoff -- far better known as a character actor -- was not too shoddy a choice when he convinced his pal Zanuck that he would like to direct as well act.
To deal with the scandalous part first, the story of a rising Ziegfield star (Faye) and her criminally inclined, no-goodnik boyfriend (Power) was a barely fictionalised riff on the Fanny Brice/Nick Arnstein love affair more familiar to the modern viewer from Barbra Streisand's "Funny Girl" (1968). The fact that Faye's character Rose Sargent was translated into an Irish shiksa and that Power was also wasped up into Barton DeWitt Clinton did not prevent Brice from suing all and sundry, especially as her best-known song "My Man" was used in the film's denouement. No contest --the case was settled out of court.
I could enthuse ad nauseum about my idol Tyrone-baby. While I seldom get too excited about an actor's looks, normally preferring to notice their talent or general screen appeal, there is no escaping the fact that Power was nothing short of gorgeous -- despite being described as too monkey-like at his first screen test. His looks coarsened somewhat with age, but he was still strikingly handsome before his untimely death in 1958 at the age of 44. Even in his last full feature, the marvelous "Witness for the Prosecution" (1957), he was still a talent to be reckoned with (he was after all a fourth-generation actor) and better looking than most. In "Rose" he was in his prime, all of 25 years old, and a beauty. Faye was a year younger and they make a fine couple -- even if he was the better looking of the two. Her swing singing style was very much her own, even when reprising the Brice classic and she could dance with the best of them. There is one remarkable number where she and her chorus line puff on cigarettes during their energetic dance, throw them down, and grab new lit ones out of thin air -- all before CGI.
As for Jolson, then in his fifties, he was under contract to the studio and Darryl F. Zanuck was anxious to get his money's worth, thus plunking him into his role here of Faye's ex-partner, mentor, and concerned best friend/spurned love interest. This didn't please him much (nor as reports have it Faye), but it did give him the opportunity to reprise his hit tunes: Toot-Toot Tootsie, Rock-a-Bye your Baby, Pretty Baby, Mammy, and California Here I Come for our delight and the record. OK, I know that his slightly hammy 'blackface' performances are now considered infra dig, but it was a convention of the 1920s when this film is set and one accepts the historic correctness.
The supporting cast -- always a treat for me in films of this period -- includes such familiar faces (even if you can't recall the names) as William Frawley, Joyce Compton, Hobart Cavanaugh (memorable as a drunken balcony-heckler during a Jolson performance and dragged into becoming part of his act), Horace McMahon, E.E. Clive, and even an early appearance from bandleader Louis Prima. Add to this a smashing speciality act (often a feature of early musicals) from dancers Igor and Tanya and one must conclude that director Gregory Ratoff -- far better known as a character actor -- was not too shoddy a choice when he convinced his pal Zanuck that he would like to direct as well act.
Monday, 13 June 2011
Happy Guys (1934)
We very nearly didn't go to see this film which would have been a shame. I bought the tickets when I noticed it described in the BFI's advance programme as the first major Soviet musical, complete with "a manic energy and surreal absurdity that wouldn't disgrace the Marx Brothers". However on the afternoon of the performance it was positively bucketing down with rain and the thought of dragging our weary bones through the deluge was unappealing. In the nick of time, the sun broke through and we decided that wimping out was not an option. And a good thing too!
The film was absolutely wonderful -- a ray of sunshine in itself and I am thankful not to have missed it. The above title was given in the programme, but the actual title on the print was "Merry Fellows" and it is apparently also known as "Moscow Laughs". The movie is by the same director, Grigori V. Aleksandrov, and has the same female lead (later the director's wife), Lyubov' Orlova, as Joe Stalin's 'favourite film' which I enthused about last year (http://pppatty.blogspot.com/2010/08/volga-volga-1938.html). If anything, this one was even better. A shepherd, played by Russian jazz musician Leonid Utyosov, (very reminiscent of a Danny Kaye type) is mistaken for a renowned conductor and invited to perform at a swank hotel -- one is amazed that such places even existed in Stalin's l930s. Previously we had seen him musically leading his flock of sheep, goats, cows and pigs and engaging them in a roll-call by their individual names and national affiliations (for some reason 'The English' were a bunch of pigs -- should I be offended?). When he plays his pipe at the posh soiree, his animals hear his call and soon invade the premises with hilarious results. This is the first of a number of comic set pieces, all of them endearing, including his again taking the place of the renowned maestro at a concert and inadvertently 'conducting' a wild rendition of Ravel's Bolero, plus a concert performance by his new ragtag band where the instruments have become waterlogged and his bandmates perform their music a cappella, very like the "Comedian Harmonists" who recently charmed me. Throughout all of the performers were an absolute delight and the 'jazz' music from composer Isaac Dunaevskii was remarkably catchy.
This was the first full-length feature from the director, who as I have written previously started off as an assistant to the great Eisenstein, yet the movie nearly didn't seen the light of day. In those days all developing film projects has to be discussed by political committees and the director's "Jazz Comedy" as it was originally called was considered subversive and too 'American'. The Communist Youth newspaper, on the other hand, welcomed it and supported the director's intention to make 'cinema for the millions'. When accused of not dealing with the 'problematics' of Soviet doctrine, he retorted that he was trying to resolve the problem of laughter. Eventually Uncle Joe Stalin gave the movie his personal green light, saying "It's a very happy film. I feel as though I have been on holiday for a month. It will be useful to show it to all of our workers and collective farmers". And so one of the most popular films in Soviet cinema history finally received its debut. Ironically the man who was in charge of the Soviet cinema industry at the time and the man ultimately responsible for both this film and "Volga-Volga" was executed in the purges of 1938. So much for pleasing Stalin!
Unfortunately neither of these movies appear to be available on tape or disc so you would need to be as lucky as I have been to be able to view them. I would love to be able to see both of them again and can only hope that some enterprising person makes them available for our viewing pleasure some time in the not too distant future. I wonder if they are on Russian DVDs (without subtitles of course) -- I must investigate, since the physical comedy alone would make such a purchase more than worthwhile.
The film was absolutely wonderful -- a ray of sunshine in itself and I am thankful not to have missed it. The above title was given in the programme, but the actual title on the print was "Merry Fellows" and it is apparently also known as "Moscow Laughs". The movie is by the same director, Grigori V. Aleksandrov, and has the same female lead (later the director's wife), Lyubov' Orlova, as Joe Stalin's 'favourite film' which I enthused about last year (http://pppatty.blogspot.com/2010/08/volga-volga-1938.html). If anything, this one was even better. A shepherd, played by Russian jazz musician Leonid Utyosov, (very reminiscent of a Danny Kaye type) is mistaken for a renowned conductor and invited to perform at a swank hotel -- one is amazed that such places even existed in Stalin's l930s. Previously we had seen him musically leading his flock of sheep, goats, cows and pigs and engaging them in a roll-call by their individual names and national affiliations (for some reason 'The English' were a bunch of pigs -- should I be offended?). When he plays his pipe at the posh soiree, his animals hear his call and soon invade the premises with hilarious results. This is the first of a number of comic set pieces, all of them endearing, including his again taking the place of the renowned maestro at a concert and inadvertently 'conducting' a wild rendition of Ravel's Bolero, plus a concert performance by his new ragtag band where the instruments have become waterlogged and his bandmates perform their music a cappella, very like the "Comedian Harmonists" who recently charmed me. Throughout all of the performers were an absolute delight and the 'jazz' music from composer Isaac Dunaevskii was remarkably catchy.
This was the first full-length feature from the director, who as I have written previously started off as an assistant to the great Eisenstein, yet the movie nearly didn't seen the light of day. In those days all developing film projects has to be discussed by political committees and the director's "Jazz Comedy" as it was originally called was considered subversive and too 'American'. The Communist Youth newspaper, on the other hand, welcomed it and supported the director's intention to make 'cinema for the millions'. When accused of not dealing with the 'problematics' of Soviet doctrine, he retorted that he was trying to resolve the problem of laughter. Eventually Uncle Joe Stalin gave the movie his personal green light, saying "It's a very happy film. I feel as though I have been on holiday for a month. It will be useful to show it to all of our workers and collective farmers". And so one of the most popular films in Soviet cinema history finally received its debut. Ironically the man who was in charge of the Soviet cinema industry at the time and the man ultimately responsible for both this film and "Volga-Volga" was executed in the purges of 1938. So much for pleasing Stalin!
Unfortunately neither of these movies appear to be available on tape or disc so you would need to be as lucky as I have been to be able to view them. I would love to be able to see both of them again and can only hope that some enterprising person makes them available for our viewing pleasure some time in the not too distant future. I wonder if they are on Russian DVDs (without subtitles of course) -- I must investigate, since the physical comedy alone would make such a purchase more than worthwhile.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Not in the English language...
For someone who thinks she has seen or will soon see nearly every English-speaking movie ever made (I'm aware that this is probably a gross exaggeration), I do enjoy delving into foreign-language films as a leavening. (There is also the factor that as my hearing worsens with age, I can often follow these films more easily with their subtitles, rather than trying to fathom the mumbly, mumbly vocal skills of some modern actors). We have recently just ploughed through a collection of five Brigitte Bardot movies which has been gathering dust on the ' DVDs waiting to be viewed' shelf. Ploughed is the operative verb as these movies made between 1955 and 1969 ranged between the tolerably coy and the extremely yawnful -- "Two Weeks in September" felt more like two months. Fortunately many of the foreign films we watch are far more rewarding; here are two from the last few days:
The Secret in Their Eyes (2009): This Argentinian movie was the surprise foreign film winner at last year's Oscars, beating the more highly fancied " The White Ribbon" and "A Prophet". Having only seen the former of those two at the time, I would have predicted that it was unbeatable; however it is not the first time (nor the last I wager) that my preferences were at odds with the Academy voters'. Having finally caught up with this film I am still not convinced that it is the more deserving of the two, but I can confirm that it is a smart, well-written and well-acted movie for an adult audience -- which in itself is refreshing nowadays. I am familiar with its lead actor, Ricardo Darin, from a number of recent gems like "Nine Queens" and "Son of the Bride" and know him to be a solid actor. Here he portrays a retired prosecuting attorney, still haunted by an unresolved case of rape and murder from some twenty years previous. The movie dips back and forward between the mid 70s and the mid 90s, following the story and its consequences on a number of the players touched by this violent crime. It mixes a detective film with more than one long-running love story with a not so subtle exposure of the miscarriages of justice blotting Argentina's past. All in all, this is a movie for grown-ups and in the end a worthy Oscar winner.
Love Exposure (2008): This Japanese movie could never have been nominated for many foreign language awards in the West, although it did well on the Far East festival circuit, largely because of its extreme length and offbeat (to say the least) subject matter. It is more than a little hard to justify any movie that is nearly four hours long and even more so when it is not a complicated historical saga like "Gone with the Wind" or a martial epic, but which spends its time on the perverse lives of three young misfits. Yet my attention was held throughout -- although I wisely chose to view it in two dollops to pacify the ants in my pants!! I have not seen any of the director Shion Sono's earlier films other than the strangely weird "Exte" about killer hair, but I now think that his back catalogue is worth investigating.
How to briefly summarise this odd movie? Our main hero Yu is the young son of a religious Catholic family; when his mother is dying, she gives him a statue of the Virgin Mary and makes him promise to let her know when he has found his own 'Mary' as an adult. Devastated by his wife's death, his father trains for the priesthood but moves from being a caring pastor to his flock to an unhinged martinet to his son, forcing him to confess daily to crimes he has not committed. (It does not help that the priest has become venally involved with a ditzy woman who has come to his service). In order to please his father with real sins, schoolboy Yu takes up with a group of street hoodlums involved in shoplifting and other petty crimes. He is introduced to a local mobster whose speciality is up-skirt knicker snaps, which Yu masters through grace, cunning, and his growing martial skills, and he trains his gang in this 'art'. I never cease to be amazed by new Japanese sexual perversions that I stumble across at the movies; I understand that there is as big a market there for this particular fetish as there is for tying up naked ladies in a series of artistically complicated knots. Despite the plethora of arousing photos that he has delivered, Yu is still a virgin and unable to achieve an erection, since he has not yet met 'his Mary'. All this changes when he lays eyes on schoolgirl Yoko's undies after her skirt blows up in the wind and the front of his trousers bulges up beyond reasonable belief. I did say upfront that this movie is a strange one...
However at the time of their meeting (when he is incidentally protecting her from being attacked by a gang of yobbos), he is in drag-- the result of losing a bet with his mates as to which of them has recently captured the best up-skirt shot. With his long black wig and sexy slouch hat, he introduces himself as Miss Scorpion (a homage to the four vigilante 'Scorpion' flicks from the l970s) and Yoko fancies herself in love with her 'female' saviour. To make matters worse she has become the would-be ward of the same very promiscuous woman who previously tempted Yu's father and who is now back in his life; Yu and Yoko are expected to live as brother and sister while he is besotted with her and she desires her would-be lesbian lover. (There is also Yoko's backstory of having severed her own father's member after years of abuse, but I won't go into that now). Into the tale comes our third main character, an immoral young woman who has been following Yu's photographic activities and who works as a temptress for a cult religion. She is looking for a nice Catholic family to bring into their fold for propaganda purposes and Yu, Yoko, the priest and his floozy fill the bill nicely.
And so it goes on for the best part of four hours... You don't quite need the patience of a saint to sit through these shenanigans (it is hardly Bela Tarr slow deadliness), since the movie manages to be amusing as well as outrageous. However a good dose of tolerance for the perversities of the world and a somewhat off-kilter sense of humour would serve you well. And do give yourself your own intermission halfway through!
The Secret in Their Eyes (2009): This Argentinian movie was the surprise foreign film winner at last year's Oscars, beating the more highly fancied " The White Ribbon" and "A Prophet". Having only seen the former of those two at the time, I would have predicted that it was unbeatable; however it is not the first time (nor the last I wager) that my preferences were at odds with the Academy voters'. Having finally caught up with this film I am still not convinced that it is the more deserving of the two, but I can confirm that it is a smart, well-written and well-acted movie for an adult audience -- which in itself is refreshing nowadays. I am familiar with its lead actor, Ricardo Darin, from a number of recent gems like "Nine Queens" and "Son of the Bride" and know him to be a solid actor. Here he portrays a retired prosecuting attorney, still haunted by an unresolved case of rape and murder from some twenty years previous. The movie dips back and forward between the mid 70s and the mid 90s, following the story and its consequences on a number of the players touched by this violent crime. It mixes a detective film with more than one long-running love story with a not so subtle exposure of the miscarriages of justice blotting Argentina's past. All in all, this is a movie for grown-ups and in the end a worthy Oscar winner.
Love Exposure (2008): This Japanese movie could never have been nominated for many foreign language awards in the West, although it did well on the Far East festival circuit, largely because of its extreme length and offbeat (to say the least) subject matter. It is more than a little hard to justify any movie that is nearly four hours long and even more so when it is not a complicated historical saga like "Gone with the Wind" or a martial epic, but which spends its time on the perverse lives of three young misfits. Yet my attention was held throughout -- although I wisely chose to view it in two dollops to pacify the ants in my pants!! I have not seen any of the director Shion Sono's earlier films other than the strangely weird "Exte" about killer hair, but I now think that his back catalogue is worth investigating.
How to briefly summarise this odd movie? Our main hero Yu is the young son of a religious Catholic family; when his mother is dying, she gives him a statue of the Virgin Mary and makes him promise to let her know when he has found his own 'Mary' as an adult. Devastated by his wife's death, his father trains for the priesthood but moves from being a caring pastor to his flock to an unhinged martinet to his son, forcing him to confess daily to crimes he has not committed. (It does not help that the priest has become venally involved with a ditzy woman who has come to his service). In order to please his father with real sins, schoolboy Yu takes up with a group of street hoodlums involved in shoplifting and other petty crimes. He is introduced to a local mobster whose speciality is up-skirt knicker snaps, which Yu masters through grace, cunning, and his growing martial skills, and he trains his gang in this 'art'. I never cease to be amazed by new Japanese sexual perversions that I stumble across at the movies; I understand that there is as big a market there for this particular fetish as there is for tying up naked ladies in a series of artistically complicated knots. Despite the plethora of arousing photos that he has delivered, Yu is still a virgin and unable to achieve an erection, since he has not yet met 'his Mary'. All this changes when he lays eyes on schoolgirl Yoko's undies after her skirt blows up in the wind and the front of his trousers bulges up beyond reasonable belief. I did say upfront that this movie is a strange one...
However at the time of their meeting (when he is incidentally protecting her from being attacked by a gang of yobbos), he is in drag-- the result of losing a bet with his mates as to which of them has recently captured the best up-skirt shot. With his long black wig and sexy slouch hat, he introduces himself as Miss Scorpion (a homage to the four vigilante 'Scorpion' flicks from the l970s) and Yoko fancies herself in love with her 'female' saviour. To make matters worse she has become the would-be ward of the same very promiscuous woman who previously tempted Yu's father and who is now back in his life; Yu and Yoko are expected to live as brother and sister while he is besotted with her and she desires her would-be lesbian lover. (There is also Yoko's backstory of having severed her own father's member after years of abuse, but I won't go into that now). Into the tale comes our third main character, an immoral young woman who has been following Yu's photographic activities and who works as a temptress for a cult religion. She is looking for a nice Catholic family to bring into their fold for propaganda purposes and Yu, Yoko, the priest and his floozy fill the bill nicely.
And so it goes on for the best part of four hours... You don't quite need the patience of a saint to sit through these shenanigans (it is hardly Bela Tarr slow deadliness), since the movie manages to be amusing as well as outrageous. However a good dose of tolerance for the perversities of the world and a somewhat off-kilter sense of humour would serve you well. And do give yourself your own intermission halfway through!
Friday, 3 June 2011
Those Wonderful Movie Cranks (1978)
No, there is not a film named in honour of Pretty Pink Patty and her like! There is however this somewhat obscure Czech movie from actor-director Jiri Menzel. Good old friend Richard (the one with the small cinema in a shed at the bottom of his garden) does occasionally turn up gems that were previously unknown to me -- and this is a rather sweet case in point.
Menzel who is probably best known for his "Closely Observed Trains" (1966), is one of the few well-known Czech directors who has not ventured further afield, i.e. 'Gone Hollywood'. While he has not directed any films since 2006's well-received "I Served the King of England", he still makes frequent appearances as an actor. In this lovingly conceived movie he creates a billet-doux to early cinema and its pioneers. The movie's alternate title is "Magicians of the Silverscreen". Set in 1907, the film's hero is a man who scratches out a living with his travelling picture-show, projecting his one-reel films on bed-sheet screens and thrilling his provincial audiences with 'moving photographs'. His dream is to open a full-time cinema in bustling Prague -- an ambition which everyone believes is doomed to fail, even if he could raise the necessary money and obtain the necessary permits. Somewhat of a lecher at the best of times, he pins his hopes on wooing and wedding a randy, rich widow.
Not only has Menzel created original one-reelers which capture the frantic pace and slapstick humour of the early, primitive flickers, but he has also shot the surrounding film in tones of sepia, thereby reconstructing a ravishing backdrop for the period. The director himself plays a young photographer with no economic ambitions, but a man who wants to capture his Prague of the present for posterity. I was not familiar with any of the cast, although the lead, Rudolph Hrusinsky, did indeed look familiar to me; apparently he has appeared in some 144 roles, so that's not too surprising. However most of the cast were charming, including the hero's long-suffering young daughter who provides the music for his showings, another fetching young lady whom he promised to look after following her father's death (who is foisted upon Menzel's character), and even the fusty widow-lady. There was also an actress protraying a grande dame of Czech theatre whose classic performances our hero wants to immortalise on film, a la Sarah Bernhardt, to make the medium appear more respectable -- even if no one can hear the histrionic speeches she is mouthing.
Unless one is willing to accept the film's nostalgic charm or is interested in cinema's origins, it would be difficult to recommend this movie to the average cinemagoer. There is not a great deal of action to involve the viewer -- and of course it is not, as far as I know a readily accessible title anyhow. However should the opportunity arise to view Menzel's labour of love, this movie is well worth knowing.
Menzel who is probably best known for his "Closely Observed Trains" (1966), is one of the few well-known Czech directors who has not ventured further afield, i.e. 'Gone Hollywood'. While he has not directed any films since 2006's well-received "I Served the King of England", he still makes frequent appearances as an actor. In this lovingly conceived movie he creates a billet-doux to early cinema and its pioneers. The movie's alternate title is "Magicians of the Silverscreen". Set in 1907, the film's hero is a man who scratches out a living with his travelling picture-show, projecting his one-reel films on bed-sheet screens and thrilling his provincial audiences with 'moving photographs'. His dream is to open a full-time cinema in bustling Prague -- an ambition which everyone believes is doomed to fail, even if he could raise the necessary money and obtain the necessary permits. Somewhat of a lecher at the best of times, he pins his hopes on wooing and wedding a randy, rich widow.
Not only has Menzel created original one-reelers which capture the frantic pace and slapstick humour of the early, primitive flickers, but he has also shot the surrounding film in tones of sepia, thereby reconstructing a ravishing backdrop for the period. The director himself plays a young photographer with no economic ambitions, but a man who wants to capture his Prague of the present for posterity. I was not familiar with any of the cast, although the lead, Rudolph Hrusinsky, did indeed look familiar to me; apparently he has appeared in some 144 roles, so that's not too surprising. However most of the cast were charming, including the hero's long-suffering young daughter who provides the music for his showings, another fetching young lady whom he promised to look after following her father's death (who is foisted upon Menzel's character), and even the fusty widow-lady. There was also an actress protraying a grande dame of Czech theatre whose classic performances our hero wants to immortalise on film, a la Sarah Bernhardt, to make the medium appear more respectable -- even if no one can hear the histrionic speeches she is mouthing.
Unless one is willing to accept the film's nostalgic charm or is interested in cinema's origins, it would be difficult to recommend this movie to the average cinemagoer. There is not a great deal of action to involve the viewer -- and of course it is not, as far as I know a readily accessible title anyhow. However should the opportunity arise to view Menzel's labour of love, this movie is well worth knowing.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Christmas in Connecticut (1945)
For someone whose favourite films date from 'ancient times', I seem to have been reviewing a ridiculous number of modern movies in recent weeks. Therefore to remind myself that "they don't make them like that anymore", I chose to revisit this film which is something of a cross between a Christmas staple and a classic 'screwball' comedy. It's not exactly one of the all-time greats, but it's as pleasant a way of wiling away the time as many.
Barbara Stanwyck plays a women's magazine columnist, sort of the Martha Stewart of her day, whose homey recipes and glorious tales of her husband, baby, and farm are loved by millions of housewives. The trouble is she is not a wife nor a mother nor a farm-lady, and she can't cook. When her pompous and irascible publisher, Sydney Greenstreet, involves her in welcoming a recovering war hero into her home for the Christmas holiday, she can't get a word in edgeways to escape this impossible situation. To make matters worse, he also invites himself. Fortunately, her persistent beau -- a full-of-himself boorish architect played by Reginald Gardiner -- has a gentleman's farm and can provide a borrowed babe that his housekeeper (Una O'Connor) looks after while its mom in on her war-factory shift; he'll save her job for her, if she is finally prepared to marry him. As for the cooking, there is her Uncle Felix, a Hungarian emigre and restaurant owner (S.Z. Sakall), who has been providing most of 'her' recipes anyhow.
When the young sailor, played by Dennis Morgan, arrives early, it is lust at first sight, and excuse after excuse must be found to avoid the marriage ceremony in front of the judge who has been stashed away in the library; meanwhile she and Gardiner must pretend to revel in domestic married bliss. Although Morgan -- never an A-list leading man, but always an adequate player -- was 37 when the film was made and Stanwyck 38, they both seem much younger and have terrific screen chemistry. In films since she was 20 and never a 'glamorpuss', Stanwyck is always down to earth and believable as a strong woman. Although she wasn't usually called upon for comic roles, she could show a fine comedic sensibility in films like "The Lady Eve" and "Ball of Fire" and her touch here is beautifully light. She gets great support from the rest of the cast. Morgan has the opportunity to show off his fine Irish tenor. Sakall, or "Cuddles" as he was affectionately known in Hollywood, plays his usual scatty and amusing European. O'Connor and Gardiner (his idea of romance is to drone on about heating pipes) also contribute to the farce. However, it is Greenstreet who provides the cherry on top. For someone who did not appear in movies before his 62nd year and who was pushing 300 pounds, he provided some indelible and highly memorable characterisations in what was only an eight-year career. At one stage Sakall refers to him a 'the fat man', a cheeky look back to his 1941 film debut in "The Maltese Falcon".
This film is remembered with fondness by many movie buffs, so it came as something of a shock when it was remade for cable in 1992, directed by Arnold Schwarzenegger of all people. (Fortunately he did not take any of the main roles and only appears in an unbilled cameo). However Dyan Cannon, Kris Kristofferson, and Tony Curtis in the Greenstreet role were pallid substitutes for the original players. I now learn that a remake is in development for 2012 with Jennifer Garner in the lead -- and I think once again, why can't these people leave well enough alone. As Sakall's Uncle Felix might have exclaimed, this is NOT "hunky dunky"!!
Barbara Stanwyck plays a women's magazine columnist, sort of the Martha Stewart of her day, whose homey recipes and glorious tales of her husband, baby, and farm are loved by millions of housewives. The trouble is she is not a wife nor a mother nor a farm-lady, and she can't cook. When her pompous and irascible publisher, Sydney Greenstreet, involves her in welcoming a recovering war hero into her home for the Christmas holiday, she can't get a word in edgeways to escape this impossible situation. To make matters worse, he also invites himself. Fortunately, her persistent beau -- a full-of-himself boorish architect played by Reginald Gardiner -- has a gentleman's farm and can provide a borrowed babe that his housekeeper (Una O'Connor) looks after while its mom in on her war-factory shift; he'll save her job for her, if she is finally prepared to marry him. As for the cooking, there is her Uncle Felix, a Hungarian emigre and restaurant owner (S.Z. Sakall), who has been providing most of 'her' recipes anyhow.
When the young sailor, played by Dennis Morgan, arrives early, it is lust at first sight, and excuse after excuse must be found to avoid the marriage ceremony in front of the judge who has been stashed away in the library; meanwhile she and Gardiner must pretend to revel in domestic married bliss. Although Morgan -- never an A-list leading man, but always an adequate player -- was 37 when the film was made and Stanwyck 38, they both seem much younger and have terrific screen chemistry. In films since she was 20 and never a 'glamorpuss', Stanwyck is always down to earth and believable as a strong woman. Although she wasn't usually called upon for comic roles, she could show a fine comedic sensibility in films like "The Lady Eve" and "Ball of Fire" and her touch here is beautifully light. She gets great support from the rest of the cast. Morgan has the opportunity to show off his fine Irish tenor. Sakall, or "Cuddles" as he was affectionately known in Hollywood, plays his usual scatty and amusing European. O'Connor and Gardiner (his idea of romance is to drone on about heating pipes) also contribute to the farce. However, it is Greenstreet who provides the cherry on top. For someone who did not appear in movies before his 62nd year and who was pushing 300 pounds, he provided some indelible and highly memorable characterisations in what was only an eight-year career. At one stage Sakall refers to him a 'the fat man', a cheeky look back to his 1941 film debut in "The Maltese Falcon".
This film is remembered with fondness by many movie buffs, so it came as something of a shock when it was remade for cable in 1992, directed by Arnold Schwarzenegger of all people. (Fortunately he did not take any of the main roles and only appears in an unbilled cameo). However Dyan Cannon, Kris Kristofferson, and Tony Curtis in the Greenstreet role were pallid substitutes for the original players. I now learn that a remake is in development for 2012 with Jennifer Garner in the lead -- and I think once again, why can't these people leave well enough alone. As Sakall's Uncle Felix might have exclaimed, this is NOT "hunky dunky"!!
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