South Of The Border

Oliver Stone goes to South America and has a chat.
This documentary is very much from an American perspective, particularly the opening where we understand the whole piece will be about how the countries in question are viewed from American eyes. A little parochial, but effective within its limited scope.
This is not a complicated documentary, it veers towards hagiography at times and makes its one sided case. The idea that balance should always be shown is of course nonsense, and to be fair there are very few points (Oil Money, mentions of Iran) where this documentary is deconstructible. It makes its case simply and with little questions, but it is frankly correct. The more complex issues, tantalisingly brought up by Tariq Ali, are for another day.
As for the interviews and Stone himself, these are a mixture. Stone's graphics and library footage are occasionally a little pointless. The shots of him are a little ill balanced, and we rather wonder why we have to follow someone around who doesn't even know the language and certainly does not ask particularly interesting questions.
This documentary is always better when the subjects take centre stage. When we have a history of that person, and when we here them get further into the depths of their project.
Chavez is of course the star, there are delightful moments with him. But perhaps the finest ones are when his history is well recounted, and the footage of him among the people.
This is a documentary that every American should see, and its simplicity lends it towards that task. Overall it is good fun, with moments of power, but not a huge amount of weight.

A Canterbury Tale

Some wartime propoganda from Powell and Pressburger, which has a few arresting moments behind a generally rather fey and inconsequential narrative.
We have the British and American coming together, which is nice enough, and a sub-Midsomer Murders investigation on who is chucking about the glue. This is resolved in a rather cursory manner, making one wonder why a film was made with it at the centre anyway.
Powell and Pressburger chuck out a few tricks amongst their generally purely technical direction. We have some nice point of view work, a good bit of swooping camera near the end, and some sharp two scene montage.
The interest of this film visually is in the way diagetic sound is used to emphasis the grand vastness of the catherdral and the way of life. Their isn't much to say except that this is done effectively, and perhaps would have even more power on the big screen.
Probably not worth diverting your time towards, but perfectly serviceable.

The Life And Death Of Colonel Blimp

Overlong, confused, directionless, monstrously dull 1943 movie from Powell and Pressburger.
It's difficult to keep the eyes open, but this lacked any interest in the plot. If it had any, the acting murdered it. Visually nothing. Don't waste your time.

Osama

2003 movie from Afghanistan's Siddiq Barmak. This is a fine film, and a tough one to watch.
To deal with the plot first, we have some good hardcore identification, which fits well with the political, almost polemic mood. We are suggested to be Western voyeurs in a sense, but ultimately this film isn't about us, it is about our heroine. Her story is a fine one, a tragic one. It can be argued that the narrative, after the first forty five minutes, perhaps had the momentum it had at the start. But these scenes at the end have a terrible power, the film becomes difficult to watch as what presented as a difficulty at the start becomes concrete terror.
With the horror of the 'action' it seems a bit sentimental to mention that the film has a wonderful colour and 'grainness'. The way that the walls are shot is marvellous, as are the repeated shots of smoke/steam/sand. The slightly washed out, but still vivd colour is marvellous. This is a great cinematic pace about the movie, we come to appreciate the time of the inhabitant, enter into their world. Especially prescient scenes include the demonstration at the start and the long shot of the bathing teacher at the end.
If only more people could see this film. Great regional cinema.

Ill Met By Moonlight

Quite fun late piece (1957) from Powell and Pressburger, starring Dirk Bogarde.
It is difficult to talk much about the direction, due to it being of such a minimal degree. A few tricks are used, the general montages for the Cretan dancing, eyelines, going almost perversly far away to shoot German characters, but generally it is about as invisible as you can get.
This film is really just a nice piece of fun, a little silly at times. We have some lovely views of Crete, and some nice, mildly patronising, local colour.
Politically it is not entirely without interest, the idea of the capture by 'amateurs', and the stirring fightback by the colonized, make this some good stiff-upper-lip reinforcing Britain's heroism in world war two. Not that we would actually see any violence or death or ambiguity; the narrative structure heroically involves this.
A good bit of fun.

I Know Where I'm Going!

This 1945 romance from Powell and Pressburger is very much a film of its time and genre, but despite the to-th-modern-viewer limitations of this it still comes out as rather fine.
The plot is average to good, we have a slightly bizarre ending. Although it is difficult to entirely believe in the central relationship (and the slightly pointless supporting characters) Joan's 'journey' is well evoked.
Technically, Powell and Pressburger use montage well on occassion, and they are masters at filming groups of people pushing the plot forward together. The action parts, of the sea, are well evoked and expertly created (though it is difficult to take any seastorm too seriously when the main character continues to smoke his pipe throughout).
Perhaps the best aspect of this film is the way it looks. We have some wonderful evocations of the Hebridean islands, especially of the figures in shadow, inversely framing the incredible landscape. The film looks very beautiful, with wonderful use of contrast and fine framing of the natural landscape.
A pleasure to watch, though let's not get too excited.

Hunger

This 2008 film from the artist Steve McQueen is.....well..... the best British film for generations? One of the best films, full stop, of the past decade? Frankly, it will take us a bit more time before we can categorise it. For now, we know we have seen a genuine work of art that leaves our heads barely hanging onto our necks.
This film is exceptionally beautiful. Every shot of the snow, every long lingering shot. The shit. The crack on the ceiling, wall, leading to the young boy's face. It has a visual sense, with its still cameras and focus on inanimate objects, that shows what film should be about; the beauty of everything, how everything lives, how even a stretch of discarded wire will speak.
This film is an example that the long shot does not make a realist film. McQueen's visuals and choice of narrative material mean that montage is a key aspect, no matter how long each shot lasts. By sticking so long on the sweeping, for example, McQueen has given an image something not in the image itself. A wonderful subversive creation of beauty from the normal viewing experience.
The two aspects that will always be commented on are the single take of multiple minutes, and what Fassbender does to his body. The latter is incredible, we'll leave questions of its necessity for elsewhere. The former works well, becomes beautiful, but also oddly enough emphasises how this is not a relaist film; the script is poetic rather than real, the rythm isn't entirely natural. The performances are not screen performances, nearly.
Politically, this film gives us all angles, coming down on one side then the other, not so much sitting on the fence as having a full foot buried on either side (it's at times a painful watch). Can this film be critiques for aethetic formalism, for the artistic invention superarrogating the political consequences? It's not like McQueen doesn't show us gritty reality. He also just shows how strange and beautiful and not-at-all-of-this-world the world really is.
This film has reached us like a thin line of lightening, a thunderbolt from the lithest and most beautiful deity. It stuns.

35 Rhums (35 Shots Of Rum)

A recent work by Claire Denis, perhaps her most famous and popular.
She wheels out most of the wonderful regulars, Alex Descas geting perhaps his most significant role, which he plays with the kind of ablomb that will require multiple viewings to fully appreciate. And the always slightly pathetic look of Colin's face works well here too.
This movie, while perhaps not Denis' most interesting as far as the direction, camerawork, even visually, is though arguably her best exploration of themes.
The camera stays a reasonable distance away, we don't have the close appreciation of scent and touch we do in other Denis films. We have some point of view work, but largely it is all a bit neutral. This film is explicitly referencing Ozu, but this really applies as far as the camerawork goes to only a few shots.
Thematically, however, Denis goes hard at the Ozu standbys. This is basically a film of 'mono no aware', and Denis explores it more confidently than usual, taking care to penetrate through genuine plot development and montage. This makes some of the quiet, rather abstract tenderness very moving. We are always at a bit of an arms length, the film can't ever quite be 'us', as Denis characters can't be themselves. Of course things will change, however much we may avoid it.
Trying to get near Ozu territory is a deadly game, and as far as recreating the master Denis obviously fails. But around the edges of such thoughts she has created a strange sense of being almost alienated from one's own impermanence, and in that there is the truth of the familial relationships.
A slightly different look from Denis, which in some respects is her most touching film.

Un Prophete (A Prophet)

Another look at Audiard’s recent smash, that remains difficult to define as anything but a classic.
‘Confident’ remains the keyword here, installed by Audiard’s happiness to take us all the way down corridors. He is a master storyteller, wonderfully pacing, with tricks to connect scenes in a seamless, exciting, rhythmic manner; it may sound silly, but crossover music and starting scenes with people walking down corridors really does work. As do the musical montages, to break up the longer reflections.
The camerawork is less jerky than in ‘The Beat That My Heart Skipped’, and the narrative does not quite so closely follow our lead. Yet, it remains more than ever about the lead (another applause for the winning central performance). How is this achieved?
This film is really a biblical piece. We have constant references and allusions to the gospels, as well as to the figures of Mohammed. It is really a piece about the crossover of the seer, the redeemer, the prophet. The question remains; who really is El Djebema? Some kind of prophet? One would need many an hour to consider this question, even on repeat viewings part of the complex web remains opaque. From what we can see, he is in a way a collaboration of all the forces around him, he is the ‘objective’ divine, the messenger for all that there is. Yet this messianic role is refused to be seen too clearly; Audiard has set this with such attention to detail and such a focus on the petty crime that we have the most incredible thing; an immanent transcendent.
This film will be a classic. It is great. O.K., for every fifteen great minutes maybe five (though still important to the plot) are really just ballast. Nevertheless, this film reaches places intellectually and emotionally so few others can get near.

Das Leben Der Anderen (The Lives Of Others)

This is really a rather good film, based on a fascinating subject, including some truly awesome performances.
The STASI setting is simply fascinating, surely a mine for a future of wonderful drama. The atmosphere is conveyed sympathetically, with a few didactics of horror overdone slightly, perhaps, but with a general feeling for the complexity of a real organsation.
This film can be split into two elements; the narrative, which is fitfully succesful, and the performances/characterisation/themes, which are near magnificent.
The narrative is a good one, but not perhaps the best put together. Wiesler's change of heart perhaps comes too qucikly, we have a slightly odd ending, and in general the pacing is not consistent. There are still some well played bits, notably the climax of the 1984 section, where the narrative does heat up.
The performances, on the other hand, are without reproach. Kock, Gedeck, and good old Tulur are exemplary. And then there is Muhe, who gives one of the finest lead performances one could come across. With a wonderful reticence, physciality, subtedly, he in every moment conveys the full account of this fascinating man. Even in scenes that seem not quite in place he plays Wiesler with a grace, with a sadness, that is supreme. The mixture of the uprightness and the hunch of his walk, the way his open face seems to suggest both love and vaults....spellbinding.
The themes of voyeurism, and the goodness of a man, are well put together, and leave us with a deserved emotional climax (with Muhe investing this with so much). We come out thinking we have seen a very good film, all told.

Inception

We can have all the reservations about Hollywood we like but, that aside, this is an excellent example of a well made and put together film withing the Hollywood dynamic.
Yes, it does the Hollywood tropes of an emotional 'hit' designed to get the tears flowing, it has the action smashes (which are really the only boring bits) and it has slightly unreal narrative etc etc. The cutting is still really a bit fast (Chris Nolan is much much better than most, however), but all the same this film gets the thumbs up.
It does this because it has a narrative that doesn't stop for a second, that doesn't have much fat around it. This is pure narrative drive, pure bang-bang-bang, deliberately convulted to keep one engaged and thinking (if not overl botheered in a wider sense).
DiCaprio is better than usual, we still never quite forgot it was the man of jowls, but he has improved his range since 'Shutter Island'. The supporting cast were also rather good.
A fast way to spend two and a bit hours, with a gripping narrative and an ability to manipulate your emotional buttons. A success.

Cache (Hidden)

Michel Haneke's acclaimed thriller/suspense, an expertly created, tight in all senses of the word picture that gets across its important thesis most strongly.
For all Haneke's observance and near obsession with the trickery, the artifice of the cinema, he is in truth an impeccable realist (rather perhaps because of his worries this is the case). We have our static cameras throughout, for the people and for the shots. We have minimal identification because of this, any that occurs would be thanks to the audience doing the entire legwork (this lack of sympathetic identification rather throws the viewer off, and is one of many challenged he presents to the bourgeoise audience). We like this style, Haneke lets the images speak (as far as his framings will, which because of the cloistered setting isn't an infinite amount), and for that deserves credit. He lets the viewer think.
As for the themes, Haneke's ideas are exactly what is in the air for your anti-capitalist critic, with dashes of psychoanalytic sympotmisation and repitition. Such intelligence is rarely shown on screen, and for that he deserves credit, although he doesn't do a huge amount more than repeat these ideas that can be read about elsewhere. The last shot, of the children, can be read as one showing maximum responsibility, or as one that is a bit hysterical.
Haneke proffesedly wants to challenge the cinema audience's voyeurism, and there are interesting ideas of disrupting our flow, through confusion of tape/P.O.V. and of violence, but this idea is not developed beyond a few (very effective stabs).
Haneke is questioning the bourgeoise mechanisms that have exclusion in their extension (we should probably ignore the fact that if they HAD taken Majid in he would have grown to be a nice little capitalist...), and how this process is unthinkly passed down. His characters, for all the excellent acting (Binoche and Auteuil) are symblos of a wider malaise. A film on a vital subject, well put put together.

De Battre Mon Coeur S'est Arrete (The Beat That My Heart Skipped)

This excellent movie comes from Jaques Audiard, who of course went on to make 'A Prophet'.
It is in many ways an Oedipal story, shot through with a bracing, fast narrative, some twisted beauty, a magnificent central performance, and moments of great emotional intensity.
The Freudian elements are clear, as we see the consequences of the rejection of the father. This comes back well in the coda, with the return of the repressed and so on. This film is largely about Tom's relationship to his mother, represented by the female figures in his life. The most important is the piano teacher, the first woman the camera is allowed to identify with (not purely as a result of Tom's gaze) and identify with. The shift in Tom's relationship to women, and indeed to everything, is well captured by Audiard in the move throughout the film to a more distanced, stiller camera. This well conveys his changing mindset.
The use of fingers is a clever motif, we have the latent energy of them early on, and the expressiveness of the fetichisation of them. It is no coincidence that in his first 'new-Tom' encounter with a woman we focus on his fingers.
The sound of the film is terrific, not just the music but also the diagetics of car exhausts, doors slamming, which all appreciates into a beat that powers the film. Music is also used smartly to move from scene to scene; one of Audiard's great strengths is the rythm and drive he gives to narratives, through smart scene-montage by following music and the shapes of bodies.
This is Duris' film as Tom, it is his camera, and he gives an excellent performance. In fact, it's better than that, it is a great performance, with his breathing, his restlessness, his at times emotional problems represented subtly but devastatingly.
A fine, fine film, of excellent beauty and an intensity that is racheted up expertly, so we come to understand Tom. Marvellous.

L'Intrus (The Intruder)

Clarie Denis is a directoral great, but this film is a failure, perhaps her first.
Based on a book by the (minor) philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy, this film is scattergun and messy. It starts off interestingly enough, with some interesting, classic Denis sensuality and discussion of relationships. The themes of where intrusion and intimacy meet, of how the intrusion of the Other relies in our own subjectivity, are of course fascinating and important. But if you can write a book that says everything the film does, then you haven't made a film.
The central character's experiences are told through a way of getting into his mind, and this works up to a point. However, the constant non-chronological shifts are not dealt with well, and we have way too many establishing shots. It becomes overburdened in its own labyrinth, meaning we actually lose the central character for long periods. Thus, some of what are intended to be the emotional climaxes appear too random.
The acting is good, though your lead Subor would have to be off the scale to make this film engaging. Gulobeva, who delivered one of the great performances in 'I Can't Sleep', is woefully underused. Indeed, outside of the central performance the sheer panopoly of characters mean we never get to know anyone.
Perhaps this is part of the point, the character's rootlessness evident in this, perhaps a parable of contemporary capitalism and its self-contradictions. There are interesting thngs to say about this film, but after abour 45 mintues it becomes evident that it won't be much fun to watch.

The Return

This succesful Russian film from 2003 has a nice tone to it. It is curiously shot and displays access to a number of interesting themes. It doesn't quite ever take off, but it remains a more than interesting film, which may benefit from further unpacking in rewatches.
The first thing to say is that this film very much lends itself to a Freudian reading; the hatred and identification, the brothers joining together for the mythical crime that can found their (Alexei's) subjectivity. One of the more interesting things to watch in this film is how Alexei, and notably at the start Ivan, very much mimic their father in their resistance to him. This film goes deeper than most in exploring Freud's motifs.
The film feels like a bit of a study of Freud more than a character study, due to the quite far-away camerawork and the feeling that the narrative never quite latches on to one particular person (except perhaps Ivan, for a period). The figure of the father is for the most part presented as the archetypal patriarch, which lends him symblic interest, if only in a few glimpses of a 'box', and a couple of touches, do we have suggested to us a more solid human. The two children are both played very well, by the way.
We have beautiful images rather than beautiful film-movement, but the washed out, setting light aesthetics of the grey sea are a look that adds to the mythic quality (a few scenes especially, of the hooded father in the storm most notable, stand out). The look could easily have made this film come from any time since the 1970's. It seems almost Tarkovskian at times, the fixed camerawork on the Russian backdrops, the lingering, intense camera that is not sensual. Sometimes the director does not know when to end a scene, or seemingly what the real purpose of that particular shot is.
One interesting footnote are the photos at the end; these are exceptionally, stunningly beautiful. Who took these?
A good film, with deep qualities to it, that rewards further study, if not exactly the deepest ever enjoyment.

TranSylvania

This rather good slice of Euro film is sharp, with little excess fat, and some good meat in the bone to keep one more than occupied.
This is notably a film by a Romanian filmmaker, rather than by a foreign one about Romania; much of the time we view the action from the perspective of the locals themselves, with the ‘main characters’ an intrusion. These characters though are eventually the ones we identify with, the female lead is a curious mixture (who rather goes missing near the end) while in a smart move we only come to understand the male lead at the same pace she does.
The celebrations of the backdrop are curious and even handed, letting us see the slightly nihilistic joy as well as some less palatable aspects. The backdrop is a mysterious one, a place often ignored as having no distinctive features, but shown here to have its own grey beauty.
A good film, a good introduction to the culture that at the same time gives us an interesting enough narrative.

Rabbit-Proof Fence

This 2002 film from Philip Noyce adresses an important film in a suitably verite style, but to be honest it holds little interest as a film.
We have a quick, slightly unrealistic with odd time lapses, (understandably) not very well acted story. It is moving, though there isn't much of a sense of weight behind the emotional moments. The beauty is a bit of an extraneous add on, as is the eagle spirit. This is a nice idea, and deeper exploration of the idea of a 'connection to the land' would have been appreciated.
This is a story that deserves and needs to be told, and we are happy it found the widest audience possible. Just, as a film, not much above adequate.

A Streetcar Named Desire

Classic Elia Kazan adaption (1951) of the Tenessee Williams play, with Brando and Leigh giving career defining performances. This is a stunning film, due to the success of the three components of script, acting, and direction.
Firstly, the source material of William's play is obviously transcendentally good. It would be easy for the wordiness to go over the head, but this picture keeps that tendency in check and successfully gives us the powerful, moving piece.
Then we have the acting. Brando is of course magnificent, brooding, sidelined but a constant presence. His graceful touch (smoothing the shirt) combine with an incredible ferocity. But even with this master at work, it is Leigh's film. Expertly cast, her own classic-theatrical style perfectly illustrates Blanche's character. The emotional crescendo's are especially wonderful as we always have the sense of an artifice. Endlessly levelled.
And Kazan's direction is terrific. His backdrop in theatre means he knows how to block, and move from character to character gracefully in confined spaces (influenced by 'Le Regle De Jeu). He gives us identification this way, while also occasionally dropping wider, or using a framing character such as Mitch (or indeed a 'spacier' scene such as the card game one) to give us the necessary critical distance from Blanche. The few times cuts are necessary is when the blocking is not quite as graceful as hoped, but hia techniques the vast majority of the time bare fruit. Such low key camera use is an example that Hollywood must follow.
An incredibly powerful film, with the perfect mixture of undeniable source material, seminal acting, and fine direction.

Amores Perros

This mega-popular Inarittu blockbuster, from 2000, is a sharpish slice of narrative with some well, at speed, drawn characters and a good momentum too it. It is also filmed well enough, and we can't deny that we're happy to have seen it, even if it does seem at the end just the teeniest bit inconsequential.
The rapid cuts and grainy film are actually rather deceptive; Inarittu often opts to linger on faces, even if on the surface the camera appears to be a constant source of movement. The film quality adds a realist element, in a slightly hoary manner but effectively enough. No performances sag, and Gael Garcia Bernal has a certain magnetism that make his latter fame understandable.
This is a film about the sotry, the connections. The themes behind these are of loss and fetishism. The question for this film is; is it about the stories, or is it about the wider human condition? Adopting the latter is rather a denial of the undoubted impact of particularly the first strand; though it may be better to read the latter two that way. The use of dogs as a kind of fetish is well made, and the connections do help universality. Perhaps, however, this is in an odd way a drawback, as we have too much of a wide-angled view; perhaps we would rather less repition, more individuality? That would remove the heart of the film though, and make it weirdly disconnected. A difficult one.
So, a fun bit of filmaking, the stories don't quite straddle the univeral/subjective balance (or move towards a kind of dialectical unity), but they are decent enough. Worth a look.

Vendredi Soir (Friday Night)

More Claire Denis, who probably couldn't make a bad film even if she tried. Here she has created another fine slice, an individual film that is not her very best but is still a cut above, in many ways, the vast majority.
Another reticent piece, with minimal dialogue, in many ways this is a movie of moods. The initial ambivalence to identify of the camera mirrors our lead's emotional state, but soon enough we come to understand them, their quietness, their feelings, in all the glory.
This film is a meditation on relationships, connection, and quite literally wondering if there is 'anything better out there'. This is expertly told, in a restrained manner, by the ambivalence we are invited to feel about the character of Jean, who is cleverly framed at the outset from solely the female lead's perspective.
This is a film about relationships and the body. The physicality is charming, it adds to the dreamy mood of the piece. Denis has found some camera tricks, which she doesn't need, in fact they can be a little distracting. She is at her best with the blurry outlines of the Paris night, and the hopes of our lead to find these.
The film has no great pace, but roles around in its spherical notion nicely. A tender film, an interesting addition to the impeccable Denis canon.

Bluebeard

This new film, from Catherine Breillat, is really rather good. Not that it is any kind of great masterwork, but it is simply that, rather good.
The especially nice thing about it is the way it looks. The contrast of the tiny heroine, (terrific Lola Creton) and the huge ogre is at once humanely sweet and nicely mired in an alternate fantasy universe. In fact, the central relationship is genuinely very touching. Even the conclusion has a nice reticence about it.
Part of the happiness ('joy' would be a little strong) of this relationship is how simple it is kept; a straightforward little fable. The framing device is rather necessary to add to the time (as is the long build up), and is fitfully rather good, though the real interest is the central story of Bluebeard.
Thematically, we have an interesting question as far as the constructs of feminism, in the idea that even the 'good male' may have their secrets, and women's thus necessary ambivalence towards any male. The framing device's last scene is a strong one, but no disaster.
The last scene of the Bluebeard story is well shot, as is the whole film. Not magnificent, just some curious images of clothes swaddled women, waiting.
So, not 100% perfect, but largely succesful. A nice little pleasure.

The Wind Will Carry Us

On first watch we liked this film very much, it stayed with us. On second watch, we recognise it as one of Kiarostami's masterpieces.
It has a wonderful pace, a terrific languid momentum, it is, of course, very beautiful. On re-watching, we were able from the start to study the themes the film only really draws together at the end. Political, meta-film, personal oddessey, all of the above.
A few extra notes; firstly, the central scene remains an enigmatic, dark thing thing of wonder. Also repeated over again. Secondly, the discussions of good and evil seem more obvious than last time, as do the leads moments of reflection.
The failure of the lead makes this an unnerving film to watch; the camera and the narrative are driven by him, we have all the tools for identification, and we do (as an audience). Yet he is clearly unpleasant. This is a curious, and rare situation. Usually, if the centre of the film is unpleasant, the traditional idenificatory tropes are neglected.
So, a marvellous marvellous film. Kiarostami is one of the greats. Answers on a postcard as to the last scene.

Trouble Every Day

More Claire Denis, notably a film of hers post the breakthrough in confidence that was 'Beau Travail'. This is a good film, one that suggest later tropes she will explore in 'White Material'. The sound is wonderful, and the emotional elipses at once curious and sensitive.
Let's start with the performances. Vincent Gallo is the most dominating presence, he is a touch annoying but manages to not get too indie, and keep his striking features in abeyance to Denis. Beatrice Dalle is excellent, as is the always cool, always calm, basically making the same performance but really rather excellently, of Alex Descas.
We have the rather bizarre story, that manages to not be hysterical through the fact thta it's not really the point of interest. When the violence does enter it is not really 'pure violence', it is offset, seen through the lens and seen through the weight of the emotional heavies that have preceded it. The gore and noise bring one to 'White Material'.
What the blood does is give Denis an outlet for her scientific-sensuous exploration of the human body. She at once loves, it, the close tracking shots around skin are wonderful. Yet this care is combined with an almost scientific fascination, notable here in the shots of brain and test tube. Denis' attitude to the body combines here with an exploration of sex and the features of body in the relationship.
This film is perhaps most notable for its lack of dialogue, which was a feature we greatly appreciated. The non-diagetic sound and the focus on the image, on travelling backs of necks and so on intensifies every moment, it does not distract us with idle-talk. In tandem with Denis' own warm intensity of the care she gives to the body, the viewer's senses are heightened as we come to hear what is usually seen as mere ' background noise'. A lesson for others to learn.
This is not Denis' very very best, but it is a good film with some interesting aspects, many new in Denis' work. A curveball seemingly, this is really just the succesful swerve in the road along Denis' excellent body of work.

A Bout De Souffle (Breathless)

Godard's (and Truffaut's and Chabrol's) new wave classic. It's still not something that speaks particularly to us, but remains of course a seminal film and a fine work.
Godard may have pioneered the fetishisation of annoying fast takes, but he doesn't actually particularly use these; he is fine on the long shots a lot of the time. In fact, the jump cuts and narrative mucking around are all rather unobtrusive on second viewing; it is secondary to the way the tale is told.
We still do not like the character of Belmondo, finding him annoying rather than charming. A few cool things, a few directions.....the themes remain opaque, and are surely there, of love and identity. These are of course secondary to the technical innovation, but....there.
So, one all cinema fans must see, and will likely enjoy.

Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind

When we watched this film for the first time a few years back, we were awed, and would declare it one of our favourite films, of entertainment and high emotional acuity. On re-watch, we were dissapointed insofaras these expectations. Not that it isn't anything but a very good film, but it does not really reach the heights we had remembered.
Gondry's style is, for all his professed artiness, really rather typical Hollywood, of fast cuts. The grainy handheld is a little different, and hats off to Winslett and Carrey for still putting in decent performances amongst all the cuts.
The themes are well evoked, it is a charming story that largely steers clear of cliches. It doesn't ever quite reach a point of maturity in the way that, say, 'Hana-Bi' does; it remains stuck in a slightly childish individualism, but so far as this mine goes, it plumbs it well.
There are a few nice images, the night time house and the handheld cameras in corridors.
So, an intermittently moving film, that is charming and a fast watch, if not quite able to rise beyond 'very good'.

Hana-Bi (Fireworks)

A wonderfully moving, visually interesting and innovative in its use of artwork, late 90's film from Takeshi Kitano.
It does take a while to get going, the puzzles take a while to unfold into patterned jigsaws. This makes the opening have some interesting visual tics that will be repeated through out the rest of the film, along with its excellent performances.
We immediately have Kitano playing an excellent part, wonderfully reticent but never descending into too-cool monotomy. He conveys his mixed character expertly, with both the tenderness and the violence portrayed believably. The images of him by the car are also notable, and rather cool.
The camera seems to nearly be in the position of the invalid throughout. This certainly gives a sense of passing and transiency well. The wheel chair bound cop is a wondefully evoked and played character, with nice riffs on identity. And then there are the excellent artworks, not extraneous add-ons but genuinely a central part. These are straightforward excellent pieces of art, beautiful, moving, and all that.
The most notable thing of this film is the mix of the distracted, failing, painfully beautiful story of the dying wife, and the contrast of this with the hyper-violence. The latter is clearly an expression of Mr Nishi (Kitano's) internal situation, as well as showing more interesting questions of general linkage. The violence adds something, an unobtainable indescribale 'it', to the tenderness.
So, a film that by its end, after a slightly confused start narrative wise, becomes tender, moving and sublimely beautiful. A real success.

The Sweet Hereafter

Late 1990's, heavily garlanded Atom Egoyan picture. Not good at all.
We had high hopes at the start, with some nice realist photography and some Ian Holm magic (apart from a dodgy accent he remains excellent). Added to this, we have a swooping technique that does seem to build up tension.
The film though quickly reverts to its standard type, a classy T.V. movie-of-the-week with a slightly disointed narrative. The camerawork is to be honest boring, Egoyan's shooting technique (save one move to the sky) soon becomes rather pointless and meaningless. The performances are generally neither bad nor good, just a little dull. We suppose the script is decent, but few fireworks.
Thematically the film is relatively interesting, the children punishing the adults, but this remains at once unclear and, when it does intrude, a little smack over the head subtlety.
This film really dissapointed.

Beau Travail

This 1999 film from Claire Denis is terrific. It is sharp, beautiful, moving and tightly composed. Excellent.
The immediate thing to say is that this has been ripped off by 'The Hurt Locker', rather well as it happens, but the original here is best. We have a film of particular spairty and asceticism, with much less extraneous fringe than the two earlier Denis films 'I Can't Sleep' and 'Nenette and Boni'. This is also evident in the shots, as we have a starker colour scheme (though of course Denis' characteristic rough and busy style remains).
Denis mixes in two aspects to make this narrative. We have the wider shots of the rythmic, almost hypnotic drills. We have a feeling of alienation in these scenes, we have a feeling of montomy, alienation from one's own body. Then we come in for Denis' characteristic and sensuous close work. This dichotomy shows us the dichotomy at the centre of the film; that between the hard self-discipline and the inner, sensuous, almost homo erotic aspects. Denis is smart enough to blur the lines between the two aspects, with the vanity and the body fetishism spilling over from one to the other. The theme of an excess, of overflowing outside the symbolic order.
Then we have the final scene, of disco dancing, that is absolutely sensational. It beautifully ties up the film, in a sense tying up all that has gone before, in a way rising it above. It is beautifully austere, choreographed, a wonderful performance. Indeed, that actor's performance throughout is wonderfully smouldering, and there is a great 'openness' about Gregoire Colin.
Perhaps the film is so strict and tight as to almost want an extra twenty minutes, to see more of the characters (nothing new, but more of the same). Overall though, Denis' change works wonderfully, and we have an excellent movie.

Baraka

Some American (Ron Fricke? Us neither) (certainly not Hollywood) has spent a long time getting footage together from some of the most spectacular places on earth, places of genuinely astounding and awe inspiring beauty. He has then somehow contrived to make an idotically poor film out of this heaven-sent material.
And how spectacular some of that material is. It simply wouldn't be possible to foul up some of the waterfalls, animals, clouds and so on. Indeed, once every four or five shots does work out well, we do have an image of this outstanding beauty, and we see the possibility of an astonishing, astounding film. But then....let us pick throught the problems.
First we have the cuts. Mr Fricke does not likde images, he has no respect for them. He cuts the pictures way too soon, letting no story come out. No image is left to develop, but is just quickly consumed and left to be moved on. There is no love for the image. Fricke mirrors the very lifestyle he presumably opposes.
Secondly, why in these horribly shortened images must the camera be moving. With no stillness, constant interference, no story is left to be told. They're not animals, or people, just shapes and colours to be manipulated. Maybe some of the overhead filming technqiues demanded this, but that is little excuse.
The music is particularly offensive. When we have a Westerner controlling the sound, again we are manipulating and using the people/landscape, not letting it be or letting it unfold in its own autonomy. This shows a genuine lack of respect especially for the tribepeople filmed. This is the story of the film basically; somebody comes in and films all this great stuff, but inserts their own agenda over the top of it and thus means we never have any true 'realism', we never have any real access.
Such possiblities, so utterly squandered. A very poor attempt.

Safe

Interesting and intelligent Todd Haynes movie (1995). Also an interesting technical exercise. As you may be able to deipher, a tiny bit joyless also.
The technical aspects, especially in the first half, are great. Woth clear memories of Ozu Haynes opts for the still camera inside the house, the silences, the characters seen from the full body. This well shows Moore's isolation and smallness in the huge open spaces of her 'home'. The distances between the characters by this technique gives a great feeling of isolation. We were really egging the director on to see how long he could go, from the wide angle, without cutting.
Moore's performance is obviously important in such a style, she carries the film's narrative (and thus gives us a way in, the only one we could have due to the cold realism of the mis-en-shot). She delivers a fine performance, not shooting the lights out but showing nice touches of confusion and ambiguity. Her husband also essays a nice line in disorientation.
As the film goes on the flawless technical execution (which feels a little bit like a lesson at times) takes a back seat, but the ideas do get a little more interesting. The housewife alergic to the house is a little smack over the head obvious as symbolism (perhaps because it is such a continually repeated trope) but the examination of the new age folk lets us see both sides of the view. In the last half an hour we for the first time move away from Moore's view, we gain a little critical distance, leading to a nice elliptical ending.
The virtuouso technique does not have the warmth of an Ozu, it is clinical, but that wouldn't be remedied by the changing shots or closing in, it would be by different acting, characterisation, setting and (slow) montage.
Not that we want to give the impression that this film is anything but intriguing, intelligent, technically superb and well acted.

Skeletons

Low budget British film that isn't bad, but it would be a stretch to describe it as being much good either.
We have the set up of a wide shot of the two central men. They are nicely placed in the enviroment, the suits and the windswept heath setting off each other nicely. The bickering isn't exactly funny but is fun enough to listen to. There's something of a very neutralized Beckettian overtone.
We have two key problems with this film; the first, perhaps less important one, is that the fantasy elements aren't explained very well. We thus have no real joy in entering a surreal world. This would be O.K. if we could though see this as a film about the characters; here the second problem comes in. This is that the narrative voice is unfocussed and frankly all over the place. Who are we identifying with? We seem unable to say we are having the story constructed from any one person's particular viewpoint, but the direction (and the narrative) is too grey to make the omniscient (which it isn't quite anyway) cutting worthwhile. We're rather left adrift, and can't enter.
This isn't expertly plotted, the conclusion is rather sudden and trite. No deep revelations here, though the general themes of memory and loss could potentially have had some mileage.
The acting is changeable, Jason Isaacs and Paprika Steen excellent, Tuppence Middleton less so.
This film does have some nice offbeat moments. The colloquialisms of some supporting characters, the meal of carbohydrates etc, were nice and geuinely British 'quirky'. Overall, though, this film lacks focus.

Chungking Express

Another period of pure joy. We nearly exploded at the sight of Tony Leung entering.
A few points to add; interesting how the characters of the second half are introduced in the first, through windows and quick snatches. It rather mirrors the way the camera 'finds' characters throughout; the further away shot, from a doorway or a window, and then close in as we understand the character.
Wong Kar Wei does not give us static shots of faces, but it is also not as though he does not allow a lot of time on them. Wobbly framing is in itself a kind of dwelling. Also, the moving around and the changes increases the sense of alienation (as do props like sunglasses and raincoats), but for our money we feel this distancing perversely gets us closer to the characters (this technique can fail, see 'The Kreutzer Sonata')
And the music. Oh the music the music.....non-diagetic sound largely, not to say what has already been said, but to create extra images (often used in montage).
God is here.

Nenette et Boni

1996 movie from Claire Denis, which is not as good as her excellent previous work 'I Can't Sleep'. It has its charms, but ultimately is rather slight and directionless.
The central characters are interesting enough, as we discover how they learn to care and want to care. Boni struggles in this task, though he wants. Nenette is more out on her own, perhaps not needing so much care, or so she thinks.
The actor's play well, but it would be difficult to say that we can become too close. In such a personal study Denis might have been better off presented the narrative from more of a singular view. Nevertheless, certain scenes of sensuous affection powerfully convey a kind of interpersonal beauty.
This is not Denis' most beautiful film, in fact visually it is a little underwhelming. Not that it is ugly, but rather that, unlike her other films, it doesn't stick with you. Saying this, the evocation of the outskirt banlieue is well made.
This film doesn't give us much direction on its themes, the tentative (again) nature of the director does give us peripatetic complexity, but does not come off quite so well as in 'I Can't Sleep'.
This isn't quite a bad film , it is sensitive and at moments tender. Denis' minimal dialogue and hand held camera do give a feeling of closeness. This film just doesn't quite manage to take flight visually, characteristically, or thematically.

Wild At Heart

1990 movie from David Lynch. Frankly, we haven't quite got our heads around it.
The deliberately ridiculous pounding metal and superviolence of the opening is obviously designed, as are other parts of the movie, to tell us; 'that's entertainment. do you want it? Because all this other hell must come with it too'. Lynch's film is rather standard in its depiction of its characters, the interest being perhaos that they are seen as more monumental than there rather pathetic lives suggest. At times we have the unacceptable breaking into their lives, what they try to hide, and the horror at this is a key element.
The main motif of this film seems though to be a deliberate parody and mash up of styles. As omniscient viewers we see the absurdity as violent movie turns to ridiculous Hollywood romance. What to make of this? A critique of traditional methods?
Cage could have done with a little more wildness, but Dern and Dafoe both put in excellent performances of their parodic characters.
Certainly interesting, mayb e we haven't quite tuned in yet to what is going on.

The Bad Lieutenant: Port Of Call- New Orleans

Another look at the herzog feature.
On second viewing, this was a lot more enjoyable. The reason for this is that we watched it for what it is, a stoner comedy. Or rather it is a stoner comedy with some film noir detective elements thrown in. The way strands collide against each other is genuinely hillarious.
We follow Nick Cage the whole time, at his swivel eyed hunchbacked best, and at its centre this is really a very sweet film. It has more than 'heart', it has a comfortable and intimate central relationship, and we really feel a lot for the wild, bumbling Cage.
Yes, it's a little long, perhaps the suits had a bit too much say on a couple of scenes, but generally this is simply a pleasure to watch, and a formally interesting one at that.

J'ai Pas Sommeil (I Can't Sleep)

One of the earlier films of Claire Denis, made in 1994. Perhaps thought of largely as one of her minor works, we absolutely adored it, so can only await with even greater anticipation those considered her 'best'.
We have here a film of a lack of homeliness. There is an uncanniness about the film, three characters, none of who can find themselves a home. Let us take them in turn.
The standout story and the standout performance is Daiga, played by Yekaterina Golubeva. She exists in the gaps, in the silences, in the spaces she manages to create around her even when all are shouting and telling her what to do. She is rejected but we don't so much 'feel sorry' as come to understand her own impetuosity, little cruelties, and non always particularly attractive attitude. This really is a performance of the highest type, with few lines but a wonderful comportment of serene, but bodily close, detachment. We feel detached with her. The scene of dancing with her landlord is one of the most physical, sweetest in memory. All the senses work.
Alex Descas playing Theo is good, though perhaps a little more power would have done no harm. He has a story of homelessness that seems more to do with his personality than his situation (perhaps why the latter is not really explained).
Camille, played by Richard Courcet, will have the most attention, and his character indeed has a curiousity. His character is also the most out of reach, the most distant. The terrible acts at once come out of knowehere and don't seem to jar too heavily...it is uncanny. The powerful scene of his performance art is perhaps the best evocation of his unhomeliness, from even his own body.
Denis technique is one of observation rather than identification, though this of course does not stop us becoming deeply involved with the characters. Her use of lighting and mis-en-scene is interesting; the sets are cluttered with thousands of different shapes and colours, a messy world, but one where things are sharp and nothing jumps out too vivdly (better to say it is all vivd, but seen through a glass). An individual style, not immediately beautiful, though some of the night time scenes are undoubtedly that. She explores the body, we feel it at times but always as an 'other' as watching rather than the watched. We never get too up close to a character, often seeing them from behind.
This is a tentative film in some ways, this not always being a bad themes. Themes are touched, ambiguities enter, we move in directions, never take the path down. Denis is in no hurry, and her narrative structure is not sharp. This gives a wonderful, again uncanny, occasionally atmosphere of a sober daytime with strong memories still of a drinking night...
A fascinating film, the character of Daiga was adored, the whole piece had some much more intelligence and artistry than we perhaps expected. We may have pointed out a few aspects which come across as criticisms, but with these included we perversely felt so much more out of this film than many we could not fault. Powerful, beautiful.

Le Double Vie De Veronique (The Double Life Of Veronique)

1991 film from the late master, Kieslowski. This is a endlessly complex, twisting, opaque, highly intelligent and deeply beautiful work.
At the start we follow Weronika, but are slowly taken further and further away from her. This mirrors an estrangement she feels in herself, her sense of her oneness only able to be realised through a surviving event. The doubleness of her life is accentuated right from the opening scene, and further we are involved in a deeply sensuous manner. Kieslowski's use of frames, glasses, distorting lights indicate how what we see is through one lens. It is also deeply beautiful, a beauty of the moving image rather than still frames.
When we have the scene at the concert, we have one of the great scenes of recent cinema. The doubling of the perspective, the deeply personal with the outside of oneself. With the music, which adds to an already extant emotion rather than swamping it, and Weronika's deep, deep breaths we are taken to the height of emotion, of power and of beauty.
The life of Veronique is also framed through distortions. Again we have a process of a moving away, though Kieslowski does not do this chronogically as he did in the first part; we are almost toyed with as Veronique is asked as to who she is, what speaks through her. The introduction of the male seems a clear reference to the filmmaker, to who controls and manipulates (this can be painful and difficult, as we have, thanks to Kieslowski's camerawork and narrative style, heavily identified with Veronique by this point) Veronique. We have even more questions of who is speaking wehn, and what is the difference. It was especially interesting to see this so soon after 'Double Take'.
The central performance is marvellous, the actress is intensely beautiful but is powerful enough to still be able to speak (when not silenced by mirrors and puppets) through this. The silences of this film are powerful, the images of Veronqiue's face and body both sensuous and not just sympathetic, but part of her. The yellow-wash of the print is one aspect of what we can straightforwardly say is a stunning looking film? Contrast, swappings, Kieslowski simply makes fine images, heightened by narratve and mis-en-scene mastery.
This is a deeply complex film, that frankly can only really be articulated by watching it. We felt glad to be around when such films are too.

Spoorloos (The Vanishing)

A fine Dutch thriller/suspense/ horro, from 1988.
We are drawn into a story that tightens the gut. We see how the two lovebirds diving their own personalities from each other, the listlessness of the break up. There is nice suspense from the viewer's knowledge that this is at once a horror film, and from our image of the killer before they have it. The use of point of view creates suspence in the viewer's understanding of the narrative structure of the piece most effectively. It is shot in a decent manner, with some interesting questions of repitition asked. The use of close ups does not really help with the identification, the film isn't quite 'hard-line' enough for that and rather acts as a viewer of the action itself, of a helpless second person.
This film can be read as an interesting psychoanalytic tail. Your lead male has his other self, which is transformed into the 'Big Other' when it becomes the sublime object that dissappears. The search starts. Enter the therapist/killer, who wishes to change fate/destiny, and to unravel the codes. The lead is analysed, and comes to the conclusion he would rather know. He finds that when he does know, he himself ends up in a situation not less terrifying than before.
A film about questioning, its limits, and the sublime object. With some jarring, clanging, super cool late eighties guitar chords. Good, though perhaps we rather viewed than felt the character's horror.

Double Take

Another look at Grimonprez's latest work. Still very good, very atmospheric, etc etc, even better in fact on a second viewing where one could have one's coordinates, so to speak, one could really think about and challenge that at first glance (and still, on second, perhaps deliberately labyrinthian structures).
An interesting aspect of this film is of how two 'doubles' supposed opposities but actual identicals or split images, speak through each other. Krushchev and Kennedy talk through each other's mouths, the adverts talk through both mouths and are talked through into others. Who is Hitchcock? Is the 1980 Hitchcock the mouthpiece of the 1962 Hitchcock, or vice versa?
This brings us on to ask through what lenses we view the film. As westerners, why do we watch the film through the prism we do? Whose eyes are being looked through, through whose mouth do we articulate the thoughts we have about this. Grimponprez confounds expectations on occasion, in part to show the parochialism of the filmmakers and the viewer's readings.
This also applies to the way Grimonprez uses montage. In some ways he is a prankster, setting it up so we laugh at something utterly traumatic, or mourn over a comedy. He tests the viewer; why are you laughing at this? Just because it is in the narrative montage he has created, who makes it funny? The viewer?
Grimonprez may have a slightly naive attitude about a pure 'earth', a pure underlying strata of events that an entirely postmodern sensibility would dimiss. The 'reality' of the bomb is in a sense a T.V. construction, which he realises only to the extent that it is mediated to us through the T.V.- he believes that there is a 'truer' palce out there, a noble gesture but one that he does not sustain.
Grimonprez is a deeply interesting thinker, as well as a very fun filmaker and a collector of curiousities. A fine work.

Cyrano De Bergerac

This 1990 'swashbuckler' is a staple of the arthouse circuit; presumably it is in that parade so as to satisfy those who don't really like art-house cinema at all, but only want to pretent to. This is not a good film.
It is basically a not particularly interesting piece of Hollywood. Character development is poor, there is an utter lack of continuity in regard to narrative viewpoint. This means that plot changes jump up on us; we don't really identify, for no apparent reason Cyrano is almost kept to arm's length at times. This is probably an attempt to create mystery, but Cyrano is not a mysterious character. Announcing that you love someone is different from this being represented to the audience.
The unnecessary and uninteresting battle scenes are shot with a bit of cash but not much imagination. A few waves of the camera to convey constant movement don't hide rather passive and dull direction. This is the kind of well-made mis-en-scene the new wave were trying to fight against, and good on them.
There are of course some consolations, this isn't utterly terrible, just a poor film. Depardieu chucks himself about, even if the nose does hide the performance. Some of the period clothes are interesting enough, if adding nothing to character. And credit for the script, the attempt to at least do it in a new way of poesy. In fact, the script is excellent and interesting.
So, with the eyes closed, this film (apart from the uninteresting pacing and characterisation) might be reasonable. With open eyes, however, we have a rather boring film that chucks some action and romance to know great effect. The themes are hammered on, with an embarrasing and clunky supplement of Moliere at the end, along with gushing music, which only shows the ultimate failure of the film to engender the emotional impact it should. A poor film, deeply mediocre.

Rear Window

Hitchcock's 1954 drama-suspense of voyeurism, with Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly.
The way that we are very much a voyeaur throughout this film, and that this voyeur role is increasingly linked with the 'man with a camera', i.e. movie camera, director, is flawlessly put across. The image of the silent Stewart in the dark is the image of the director, we have conversations with Grace Kelly that are straightforwardly to do with the ethics of the prurience of cinema.
What we found interesting on this watch is the extent to which the film is about emasculation, and in general the Kelly/ Stewart relationship. This is a film about a man being afriad to commit, and it is about how the two are brought together by peeping on others. The looking behind other's facades while failing to look at there own is heavily ironised. We have the feeling that Stewart wants to hide himself by refusing to let others hide (could this relate back to the director?), and how Kelly eventually goes along with his game.
The sounds of this film are also a key point. The use of traffic and the constant chatter of cars. The long dialogue free moments where we take in the city. Hitchcock is a master of incidental noise.
Notes on a couple of other scenes; the first appearance of Kelly is voluptuous, sensuous, perhaps Hitchcock's most 'physical' scene. The depth of the slurps and skin tones is terrifying, perhaps indicating Stewart's terror at becoming physically close to this women, who he rather preferred watching from afar.
And on the (second) last scene. It is slightly overdone, the plot is rather strainging at the leash by this point. All the same, it creates some wonderful images. Hitchcock loves to have the cooly changing and flashing artificial lights shining on the character's in physical moments of conflict, reference here to the end of 'Rope', and this slow change and outside influence gives a sense of universality and futility to the fighting.
Elsewhere, this film has been analysed nearly to death. It rightly deserves to be called a very great movie, even if it is not our own personal favourite Hitchcock, for personal reasons of identification and for a slightly obscene plot. One won't though deny that this film rightly deserves the tag 'seminal'.

Women On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown

1988 farce from Pedro Almodovar. Going into this viewing we were agnostic about this director, but after this we are (almost literally) hungry for more, especially on the big screen. Almodovar's film is an unabashedly feminist celebration of women, life, and breaking boundaries.
The farce structure means that the plot, to say the least, takes a back seat? What's happening? Who knows, who cares, one just chortles at random moments and drinks on the joy of the screen and the movements. The one time the plot does become central, the chase and the airport, is probably the weakest moment of the film, where it does rather fall down for ten minutes before picking back up for a fine ending.
We start with the male, black and white, mannered view, but the last comment of the women plunges us into a world where the women dominate the surroundings, the language, and the men. They burst out of their hatches, control the men's voices down telephones, shout their own news. The camera quite literally watches them take things 'too far', out of shot, blowing through cluttered enviroments with excess, excess. Whenever one of the manipulated men makes a comment we know they are about to be steamrollered. Almodovar clearly loves women, of all ages and kinds. The camera is never a voyeaur, rather it strokes the enviroment and relishes, tactilely but not laciviously, the female body, especially the claves, for some reason.
The colour is another aspect to dwell on, and to celebrate. The clothes changes and the matching colour schemes give us a magazine-like fantasy world, again of overflowing and random pleasures in exuberance. The scheme of threes, of three objects of one colour, moving left to right in stronger shades, shows how the mis-en-scene is secondary to this visual wonder.
Almodovar's film is of exuberance, joy, and celebration. Forget about the plot, which whenever comes to the surface can over-dull the visuals (not that the plot is bad; the close ups on sincere emotions work well) which, though perhaps flagging from sheer energy at times, the vast majority of the film light up our screen and eyes. A lovely experience.

The Birds

A re-watching of the 1963 Hitchcock classic. Not just as good as ever, but even better on this watch.
Our memories of childish viewings obviously had this pinned down as a horror involving birds. On this watch, it became clear that the film is really about the attack of alien, outside forces, the Lacanian 'part-of-no-part', perhaps, or the return of the everyday. This is a film about revolution in general, largely the feminist one but also with nods to the class struggle.
We do indeed have the usual Hitchcockian family/oedipal issues played out (a wonderful scene raises the Oedipus content explicitly), but unlike other Hitchcock films this really takes a back seat to the more political reverberations.
Throughout the film, especially at the start, we follow Tippi Hendren. Hitchcock can't help himself but to a few shots that suggest voyeurism, but largely we have the woman in control of the camera (one could say that it is in a way 'wrenched away' as her sanity disintegrates). Hitchcock has less control than in a number of his other films; he is perhaps almost attempting to erase himself, his male gaze. This applies also to the character of Mitch, an odd creation who is at once a hero but devoid of content (the non-concrete signifier?). This character surely stands in for Hitchcock himself; he is at once the hero, supporting the cause, but to do so he must erase himself, make himself merely the conduit for the power of the women.
And this film is all about the power from and between women. We have the three generations, the lower two representing the struggle for freedom and emancipation. The inter-generational struggles are a wonderful dialectic of the problems and the casualties of the struggle. We also have moments of tenderness, suggesting of tension and at once comradeship. The wonderful scene of Annie in nightgown chatting to Tippi Hendren is full of erotic charge, suggesting so much more than seen....
So what are the birds? Maybe they are the return of the symbolic order, to revenge and punish incursions by the womens attempts at emancipation. They attack the next generation, they 'punich' Tippi Hendren whenever she strikes forward alone. Myabe they are the unstoppable wave, of adolescent sexuality and of the uncontollable power that will ravage all (making Hitchcock a conservative director). Perhaps these two aspects go hand in hand. It becomes near apocalyptic at times.
There is an odd scene, cut from the final version, where Marx is quoted. Are the birds the proletariat, mistreated and now to return on vengance? Where do Hitchcock's sympathies lie? With the birds?
We have not even mentioned the colour, Hendren precise and sure performance, or some of the master's classic, eerie, quiet but heavy suspense. The use of the sound of the birds is breathtaking.
Perhaps Hitchcock's least 'subjective' great film, unlike a 'Vertigo' or 'Psycho' it contends with wider issues (while not forgetting the interior). A film of many layers, that at once is hugely entertaining. He IS the master.

Babettes Gaestebud (Babette's Feast)

This is why we cinema. Sweet, pretty, calm, strong, emotional.....the superlatives roll out but the only fair description of this on-the-surface simple and underpowered (1987) tale is the film itself.
We are told the story in the form of an unknown narrator's tale, which as a framing device gives the piece a fable-like simplicity. This sets up the action for its clear and almost childlike instructiveness. There is an almost Bressonian reticence in the characters acting styles, how the audience is invited to read in what they will. This is mirrored in the camerawork, which has scenes of a decent length, shot from a decent angle, ready to alight on character's to create visual montage narrative without drawing attention to itself. The shooting techniques are very much in the simple style of the story.
As are the backdrops, the white wall and the repitious uses of certain locations and ceremonies. All emphasise the Puritan life. It's not the edge of doing so, but doesn't mock the religion. Indeed, the film at times acts almost as a celebration of it, the beauty that we come to understand encompasses so much more than austerity.
In austerity it also lies, for the early courtship scenes are lessons in pacing. The emotional impact sneaks up on the viewer, in characters who have barely said a word we come to understand the strong underflow of emotions, and the memories of losses. While the film does have its humour, its gentle humour, the characters never turn into comic archetypes, but retain through their lack of open display a humanist integrity.
This films gentleness also though comes to reveal a strength, as within what could be almost a child's tale we come to see the edges, the strong emotions. There is an unbearably moving scene of the old hussar (the use of the elderly characters is a delight, a sadly unusual surprise). In simple things do the most powerful dwell.
This film sneaks around the edges of wider points, of the falsity of outside society and its attempts of imposition on the puritan community. It does not really focus in on these, focussing instead on a very small milleu, meaning the talk of France and so on is mildly ectraneous. This doesn't really take much away.
The vast majority of the films increasing humour strikes well with the narrative, but the end we have a wonderful mix. This is a simple film, and in its simplicity are the greatest depths. Overwhelming romance carried out through reticence, gentle happiness. A film to treasure. Mercy, indeed, is infinte.

Shed Your Tears And Walk Away

This is a straightforward, heartfelt, documentary from Jez Lewis.
The look at rural England, the dull towns so often overlooked, is refreshing. Lewis' own experience of the place means one really feels he is burrowing into what is so often passed over. O.K., it can still be beautiful, but the atmosphere of boozy lounging on a lazy rainy October morning is well evoked. The handheld style, with Lewis not to the fore but also not pretending he doesn't exist, make this documentary a good example of just an honest, no tricks attempt to enter a world.
The extent to which the experiences are turned into narrative are debatable, but to his credit Lewis is clearly not just trying to wrap things up in a neat box. He will sometimes turn the camera off, as it's not acceptable to keep filming; no problem there. Maybe when Cass goes to London it is a little sunshine and lollipops....but who can blame the impression? O.K., Lewis doesn't confront the question of what better life there IS, why his life is so much better, but then again the palpable misery of his friends perhaps in its own downbeat way speaks for itself.
A downbeat film that shines a light onto people one usually either avoids or ignores. For that, a success.

White Material

The latest film from Claire Denis, an excellent tale of colonialism and its conclusions.
We open with many shots taken from a wobbly, presumably handheld camera. These give us an impression of very much a closeness to the land, a real 'grittiness', as though we are indeed in the engine of that old truck, or rolling around among the vivid, though rather washed out, red earth. This aesthetic, if not in quite so strong a manner, is kept for the rest of the film. At the risk of being naive, we saw this film as perhaps the most accurate evocation of place in so far as central Africa, due to its ability to show us at once the heat but also the level of squalor that goes with the rather fatigued beauty. Touches of rust, of falling stonework and so on, throughout lent great acuity to our sensations.
The use of a very 'personal' camera style makes this in many ways a second person narrative; in a sense we have an omniscient view, but for long times we also simply stick to your central character. The shots of her are well done, not so much lingering as within her presence. The performance is fine, restrained, not too hysterical (O.K., the final shot perhaps a little....).
This is an art house film, in so far as the narrative is disjointed, not strongly driving or leading to big climaxes. This makes the achivement of the film in its ability to grip all the more remarkable. One is drawn into the tale through the ability to see the action through the eyes of many characters, perhaps it would have been a little self indulgent if we had stuck to the white settler. This is always a risk in a colonialist film, but Denis neither denies the 'otherness', or denies humanity, to those who are colonised.
The use of child soldiers is shocking, and may raise ethical questions about the filming. This does not mean that what is on screen is in any way objectionable. The gripping, creeping, deferred sense of horrors at once counterbalanced by our attachment to the pure whiteness of the film centre is perfectly executed.
Overall, an intelligent colonialist study, not scary to give us proper characters, to not subordinate all to story, while at the same time keeping us on 'tenderhooks as to conclusions. Excellent.

Sabrina

Classic (1954) Hollywood fluff, with Hepburn, Holden, and Bogie. And an enjoyable piece of fluff it is.
It is directed by Billy Wilder, but the direction really isn't all that interesting, just very much a straight telling of the story, with a few nice classic Hollywood images. The set designer really deserves more credit for the black and white aesthetic, which is beautiful.
Perhaps Wilder should take credit for the class theme, which is strong for a film of its time. It comes across on occasion as even rather acerbic, coruscating, on the class values of the time. Unexpectedly so. We have an analysis of pathetic bourgeois mediocrity, to an extent, though this isn't an utterly radical film (perhaps against Wilder's wishes?) as Bogart's firm is still portrayed as being the 'driver of happiness'.
For the acting; Holden isn't given much of a character, but is fun enough. Hepburn is beautiful, excellent, fascinating. One can't move one's gaze from her, and that isn't largely a comment about her appearance; she has wonderful physical presence, a terrifically engaged acting style. And then there is Bogart, who frankly seems to come from another planet. You have the feeling something utterly terrible has happened to him. He may be playing a straight romantic lead, but he could still massacre the entire cast at any moment. A great bit of counter casting. Credit also to the father role, which is deployed for some of the best comic moments.
This film isn't any great work of art, the fact that the plot is explained to us in case we're too thick, the laughable view of Paris, and the odd gender/kitchen politics all pin this down as a film that is an entertainment, above anything? And as entertainment, it succeeds wonderfully.
Not in the same league for smoothness and emotional depth as 'Roman Holiday', but a fun, effortless, attractive picture from Hollyowood's late Golden age.

The Milk Of Sorrow

A Peruvian film (winner of the Berlin Golden Bear) that tackles an interesting subject, but in a not particularly engaging way, turning the viewing experience into a bit of a chore.
Early on we have a set up of a woman buffetted by the terrors of the past, destroyed in many ways. Her thick hair, the black lighting of her features, show her as someone who has been nothing, destroyed. She is at once completely at the whim of others, she is their creation, while they abuse her (notably the Caucasian woman whose house she works at). This is tragic, and it is worthy to explore these human 'consequences' of past terrors.
However, this film simply does nothing. We have no idea of our central character having either a past or a future, these seem imaginable. Understandably the narrative is static, but this makes it difficult to watch. It is unfair for us to ask the lead to pull herself together, but at least that would engender some movement.
This could have been saved by the visuals. Apart from a couple of nice landscapes, these are largely uninteresting. The parodic weddings and cultures are just downright grim, without the grandeur of universal farce. All a bit sludgy.
With a tragic subject matter (which thick metaphors rather rain down upon, the body, the beads, the plant) the tome of the film conveys this well. Is it unfair to ask for some kind of sharpness, movement, in a life that has none? Either way, surely the film could have been a better viewing experience.