The Battle Of Algiers

Another chance to see one of the all time great (from 1966) films; has there been better films with the content of war as its subject.
We immeditely cast our minds to 'Waltz With Bashir'. These films can't be directly compared to each other, that is not the intention. What one could argue has happened is that there has been a movement in the experience of sanctioned violence. It now no longer has this street style, the dirty compromises and so on. It is now all completely unreal, the round edges and complete unreality. Even for when it is being lived, war is now a memory, now something that no one ever experiences except through songs and slightly waspish mediation of others, that one can look at, read about, but can't touch. Even for those 'soldiers'. It is a new kind of space, no longer concrete but now cut apart by the camera, it is a sort of floating space far far away from the street and the houses that, in 'Algiers', the actors can and do constanly dissapear into.
'The Battle Of Algiers' was just as powerful on second watching. It remains the truth of the horrible cliche, 'unbearably tense', it has identification, even-handedness, but still an immensely powerful message? Is the music a little overheated? It adds great atmosphere, boduly feelings are engaged enough as it is, but all the more so.
Despite it being a repeat view, the final scenes still bring one to tears of power. The overwhelming power of the people remains in this film, and in our experience of watching it. But where else?

Delicatessen

This 1991 film from Caro and Jeunet, we realised about half an hour in, is amazingly good. Really, frankly very surprisingly, it turns into a great work. Where did that come from?
The directors are formally interesting enough to use cuts (the clock tick rythms) and more particularly colours, to convey something beyond the content; why the formalism of cinema is the justification of cinema. The yellowish, dark sand blasted outsides provides the house as a microcosm and at once connected, as the wind blows. The post-apocalyptic setting works very well on a double level. It at once means they aren't tied to anything, but certainly evokes memories of collaboration, and the hell people will inflict in such siutations. This film is, in a way, about responsibility, intelligently smuggled into what could be seen as a slice of macabre.
The dream character of the heightened colours is at times funny and involving, but certainly keeps the powerful atmosphere going. Excellent, excellent, excellent, a joyful surprise.

Sunrise: A Song Of Two Humans

This famous work (1927) from F.W. Murnau is amazing to see; an exciting and surprisingly violent (tonally) silent film, full of lessons in the making of the film, of storytelling, how you can put content together, and the changing fashions.
The opening of this film uses very clear stereotypes of good and evil. Murnau uses similar techniques to what he did in 'Nosferatu', with the use of shade on the faces of )every) evil charatcer, and those lurching backs.
It is next to unbelievable that our hero, at one point, attempts to murder his wife. This shows a different in gender relations, no doubt, but also shows a shift in the kinf of realism; for an early master like Murnau, cinema is more clearly seen as a kind of fantasia, a dream, where the usual rules don't apply.
The seamless but, from modern perspectives, odd shoft to the city represents a particular high moment. There are a number of great technical issues of lighting and focus in how Murnau shoots the whole wide city. We don't know directors before Murnau who used cuts so often, manipulating and falsifying space on occassion, to create, again, a dream world.
This story is told in a wonderful tight manner. It is simple enough to induce real emotional power in the viewer. We have been blessed to see another example of the greatness of cinema, a perfection of its type.

Berlin: Symphony Of A Great City

Classic city symphony, from 1927, to go with the truly marvellous 'Man With A Movie Character'.
We watched this film without a soundtrack, which didn't help, but all the same it is clearly a great work of art, of brilliance. How does it differ from Vertov's masterwork? It is less violent formally, using montage more rarely as a technique for effecting the very visual aparatus of the viewer.
It is also rather more sympathetic, though still focussing on the object rather than the person it is more cuddly, to a small extent, more playful. This may be as it concentrates more on the actual way the exposure levels are used; the wonderful heavy, uncontrasted blacks of the nighttime shots are magical rather than sharp.
They also have the train shots, and amazing shots of the street we saw from Vertov. It is more structured, more particular, making it easier to parse, with the positives and negatives so entailed.
This, obviously, is a film of a higher level; a treasure.

The Firebird & Les Noces

Two performers of Diaghilev Ballet Russes, shot in modern performances, designed by Goncharova.
The Firebird; The ballet, in a fascinating manner, uses the foregrounding and the backgrounding. The firebird is initially in front, Ivan as the voyeur. The rest of the piece is the male attempt to win the powerful symbolic position, to retain his lone ability to enter from the right. The key trope here is that he has to realise that he can't keep this power; it is selfish, phallo-centric. The reveal of this is wonderful.
Also interesting is the use of depth in this piece. The way that the bodies of the other dancers are used to illustrate the inability of the lovers to communicate, how they must be within the crowd and are at once held from a unsustainable immediacy through it.
Les Noces; A sharp little piece. To note here is the assymety of the sides of the stage. As we may also see the extremely cramped stage use, around the balck outlines. What actually squeezes up here is surprisingly messy fiddly; if the people are clockwork machines, then they are the thousands of un-understandable cogs of the watch. The final thing we want to say here is the brilliant way every single aspect of the piece is mediated. When some are violently moving, others stay dead still, eerily so. The stage is the stage, again, of the voyeur, it is a great move towards self-awareness, and promotes a kind of Checkovian sadness.
These were enjoyable to watch, and we look forward to seeing more ballet (on stage rather than chopped up by cameras, hopefully).

Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia

This 1974 film is the first film we have seen from Sam Peckinpah. It truly impressed us, up there with some of the very finest moments from Hollywood, that congealed around that boundaries-breaking period.
As with all even close to mainstream Hollywood, this isn't exactly shot in an avant-garde manner, but still does have its own distinctive style. One of the first we have here is the dreamy shot. The floating, abstract quality, which changes the entire colour tone of the film, has a special kind of psychoanalytic magic to it.
Peckinpah has a few nice wide compositions throughout. We have some stark shadows of the lone figure, the long man, caught among the contrasts of the rocks and the detritus of Mexico.
An easy thing to say about Pecknipah is to accuse him of sexism, or rather misogyny; and there is undoubtedly more than a question of this. Their are too many shots of the lead female topless, and, though the casual violence has a purpose (showing how it infiltrates from top to bottom, the way they can't have proper relationships in this world, even if they liked) there is perhaps a bit too much dwelling, an undoubted fascination which seems erotic in its gaze.
The key element of this film is how it is one of the perfect, perhaps the very purest we can see committed to film in a clear manner, show of commodity fetishism. The love of the dead object is quite literal. The obsession with the use-value over exchange-value, how it makes what it does make out of personal relations. This can be explicated right up to a very specific point. The raising of the dead as the bringing of violence, how there is simply no way out.
We again have how the individual's world collapses in on him; the classic trope of every single great Hollywood movie. For that reason we are in a variety of minds about the end of the film; is it too much, a wish fulfillent. Or maybe that is the point, the ridiculous scream, that of course blows up in the face.
This is a film of violence and almost the absurd. It is both entertaining, occassionally beautiful, and heated almost beyond belief. Skirting on the edges of the great Hollywood movies.

Belleville Rendez Vous

This short little piece from Sylvain Chomet, made in 2003, is a fun enough little piece of work, though it is unlikely something that will be returned to all that often.
Like 'The Illusionist' it is nearly silent, and again much information is conveyed through a sense of the grotesque, of the extreme. This leads to some certainly aggressive images, in what is generally an alienated picture. The real lack of identification mixes with the use of the dog as an mediated device. The fact that what we have the closest relation to is something that is seen as utterly idiotic makes for a difficuly picture.
This picture is more primatively animated than 'The Illusionist', and doesn't wuite employ the same long shots. It also has less of a deeper sense of grief and character, the jokes here are clearly antecedents in the slightly off beat stereotypes, but the way they are used differently, that is in a different perspective, leads to a less thoughtful, but slightly more direct film.
So, we quite enjoyed this, though it wouldn't last too long.

Sympathy For Mr Vengeance

This 2002 movie is known as the first part of an incredibly popular cross-over trilogy, the next part being 'Oldboy'. It's a good film, good looking, but too difficult to get too excited by.
We couldn't help but being constantly reminded of 'Mother', which is a better film, with more psychoanalytic depth, and more of a slant on things. The visuals are similar, with the vibrant, clear colours, especially light greens and a very bright white sunshine. The use of the city, the cross of the still quite brazen shanty-towns, also takes us back to 'Mother'. As do the kinds of characters that are portrayed. The very clear off beatness, here occassionally falling into 'quirky'.
The basic tenet of this film is, outside of the all the trappings, actually quite simple. It is all about the extents to which people fit in to society, with those who rebel against the symbolic order moving against it, and those who thought they were safe, ideology-less, finding their worlds falling apart. Everyone though is trapped in a kind of self-centredness, that makes the violence completely inevitable.
There are some interesting images here which adds to this. The reverse 'Antigone' of the burial outside the order, and the general fall of the unthinking capitalist, are well done. The political allusions are underdeveloped, but there's something there.
This film though doesn't really offer solutions, and does find itself going around in circles, running out of themes a bit. It turns into a bloodbath which can, frankly, become a little dull.
This film has interesting themes and a decent enough visual style, but as art and politically (the same) it is a bit of closed circle. It would be silly to say this film isn't quite good, but a stretch to say a lot more.

The Mirror (Zerkalo)

1975 film from Tarkovskiy, this is known as his most difficult, and perhaps his most audacious film. We found it indeed very, very difficult, but at the same time a complete work, where greatness lies.
The image takes precedence in this movie. The shots of the wheatfield, the yellows and the wind and smoke that fly through them, supplies some moments of sublimity. The long, wide shots convey this well. As does a kind of emptiness, a kind of use of blank spaces and empty air. Their are moments of great beauty, as this technique really lets nature come out, without having to be drawn. In particular we remember the woodpile, and we remember the bird that floats. Again, we have two very difficult images to compute, which again may be better on re-watching.
The juxtapostions of memory, with the at time drawling alter-ego of the director giving us a tour (this is the closest Tarkovskiy will get to identifying witha character; his floating camera stops this largely).
Tarkovskiy's long scenes aren't particularly noticeable, because of these movements. His films don't intrude on one, despite the high levels of difficulty and symbolic/allegorical opaqueness.
This is another film we look greatly forward to seeing again, on the greatest size of screen we possibly can. It will reveal more, in its propulsive imagery and multi-layered manner. We remain curious.

Andrei Rublev

This 1966, epically long and epically concieved, film from Andriy Tarkovskiy is, well, epic.
It is very difficult to get a grasp on. It reminded us, if it is fair to compare such a monstrous piece of work, with 'Marketa Lazarova'. This can, undoubtedly, be rather frustrating. The episodic structure is a slow, slow buildup.
It does though come together. The time is very long, but to be fair it is entirely necessary. Any less and the historical sweep would be lacking. But Tarkovskiy does manage to show time, genuinely, passing. The long scenes, and indeed periods, where frankly very little happens, to characters we sometimes do not at all know too well, gives us a real experience, a feeling that is rare in the homogenous world of temporal form.
The themes of the artist's struggles, indeed the individual against the collective, is brilliant in some excerpts (the bell creator is a wonderful story), and sometimes just very good.
As for the camerawork, we now come to terms with Tarkovskiy's style. We have no particular character held on to, but we have long shots. Tarkovskiy does not however have static shots. He moves his camera round, not at a crawling pace but still at a pretty slow one. His shots remind us, as much as any, of the great Flemish village painters (Brueghel, above all). This is in the dark tones, the very blank, in some respects, use of colours, but with subtle differences of contrast that build up and up. He uses mid shots, and he uses some long shots, of the field.
One the subject of colour, Tarkovskiy introduces his striking technicolour at the end. This seems especially vivd, and at first Tarkovskiy uses simple phenomenological excitement at the pure colour. As we move out, we further see the fine images we have not seen before (a smart move; scenes of mental inspiration are next to impossible).
The music nicely sets off the historical time as well. Tarkovskiy is clearly a great examiner of the past, he shares in equal genius with perhaps only Kurosawa the ability to realise that only a kind of blank simplicity, that doesn't impose but is at once harsh, is the way to show the past as it must be.
This is a gargantuan work of art, and difficult to unravel, at times to fully engage with. The bigger the screen the better, to understand the images, in their initial coyness, at once penetrating out. Excellent.

(Ivanovo Detstvo) Ivan's Childhood

This 1962 film was the first but who is known as one of the finest directors of the era, Andriy Tarkovskiy.
This is a deceptively simple film. In some odd ways it is not actually very far at all from quite a traditional war movie, in that it examines the fate of a young biy at war. There are some interesting things in the background of this story though, indicating more at work.
The central character of Ivan is not just initially recalcitrant, but his sheer incorrigablilty right to the very end makes him almost remarkable. The narrative structure follows no one in particular, but that doesn't mean the conclusion becomes any less electric; the absence of Ivan to be followed, the way he is an empty concept, means he haunts the film before he does that final house.
The story does show things from a variety of perspectives, and has enough tropes of almost surreal, dreamlike behaviour to show here something damaged beyond the traditional fallout from war. Tarkovskiy may not, in this film, have let this idea fully flower, but it's there.
Tarkovskiy's camera work is floating, very elegant. There isn't a huge amount of identification, but there is quite a prominent number of Soviet style huge-face shots to go with this. The use of colour and contrast is sharp and, at times, remarkable. Tarkovskiy's traditional rolling smoke, the dark and wooden blacks of the forest, create some fine images.
This is a deceptively simple film in some ways. Underneath the complications, though, lie much, much more, perhaps latent. A little bit of a tease, but still rather good.

Tulpan

This film, set in and really all about the steppes of Kazakhstan, is a curious bit of cinema, one that is certainly worth watching, generally something a little different.
The first thing we thought about this film is the strange discontinuity in the very camerawork. It is shot in a narrow ratio, and follows, in very much a handheld, at home, and indeed probably not all too expensive manner, personal stories. Yet, it is set in these huge, barren, wide, horizontal steppes. It even has pretensions to capture this landscape; and here the tension lies, because it can't quite capture that.
The film uses some nice long shots, slow camerwork, that really lets the animal and the yurts come out. The fact that the singing and the little child are so incredibly annoying is either a price we have to pay, or deliberate.
The actual plot, the relationships of the family itself, are kept extremely opaque. Frankly, we're still not entirely sure what the relationships between the characters are. The use of the concept of the women, Tulpan, gives us some of the few personal moments, in a film that is more about the object than the subject.
The wider socio-political reality of the situation is an interesting one. There are elements of the outside intruding here; we can't escape from the fact that there is a certain level of stupidity in the lifestyles that we see, this is more than just simple rural bucolia. The floating camera work means that we, again, don't have a particularly personal film, but this does, on the other hand, allow some nice shots to be picked out, that fit well with the politics. A smart move in this is the few moves we have to the lead female; she is almost representative of a wider injustice, the stabs of outside values on this inward-looking world.
There are some amazing scenes; early morning sun, slow, slow scenes that twist with the wind. There is an incredible, aching scene (the physical apex of the film) where the lamb is borne; an amazing film, only available in this ind of low-budget work.
A really interesting film, not completely stunning due to certain camera constraints, but one of those that are always worth seeing.

A Scene At The Sea

Early, 1991 film, from a director whose two films we have before seen and found absolutely stunning; Takeshi Kitano. This film is obviously an early work; and doesn't really get off the first few stages of its journey; not that it's a bad film.
We know this is a Kitano film because of the slowness, the fresh silences. The fact that our lead is deaf certainly helps this. Their is a massive lack of dialogue in this film; we know this is Kitano due to this, and we see how he has developed from there, into using sounds and diagetic sound more than the direct music here.
The music here isn't the films finest point. It has aged rather badly, sounding a bit like a computer game.
The surfing theme is sweet, as of course is the traditional Kitano kind of quiet pathos, a naiveness, that runs through the themes. Kitano knows he is doing this, but does some interesting caputring of this feeling, more than anything else.
Also, we have the colour schemes Kitano develops so well. Shot in an early morning light, the pale yellows. This isn't taken on to a particularly high level, but it is one of the features of the film that make it, all round, a mild pleasure to watch.

Tony Manero

This Chilean dark stab, by Pablo Larrain, is a fascinating film.
It reminded us, and isn't in some ways (apart from the mild absurdity), entirely different from '4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days'. What we mean by this is partly the washed out exteriors. Some of the finest scenes in the film are those whenever the lead character is in the streets. The way he runs from location to location, the quiet that speaks terror, a kind of rustling through the colourless streets. The camerawork is of a handheld, following, almost shaky manner. We see the back of our lead's head, the grubby, fusty demeanour. This means the film isn't spectacularly distinguished visually, but it does build up an atmosphere, less of strangulation than of airlessness.
As for the politics of the film, these are fascinatingly evoked. The individual family plot is horrendous, but the film has to really be seen in a wider perspective. The idea of a dictatorial figure who all follow, all pathetically grovel under. It is difficult to analyse too much directly as symbols, but the general mood is well evoked. As for the stabs of violence, we again have to read it politically; stupid, pointless.
This is a good film, with perhaps not the visual capacity to stick in the mind as long as it could, but for its run time a potent message.

Chun Gwong Cha Sit (Happy Together)

This 1997 movie from Wong Kar Wai, being by Wong Kar Wai, is, of course, completely brilliant.
The film has the director's traditional open, direct style. That is, he doesn't feel the need to show things that he can perfectly as well say. This is particularly satifying from an artistic point of view; a genuinely honest director. The relationship is also done in his traditional, simple way. The relationship is linear, without any need to take us on too many twists in upon itself. It follows a great rythm, never contrived. For all his visual flair and excitement, Wong Kar Wai, it is easy to forget, is one of the very finest storytellers. He he again has his repeated underlying sadness. A realisation that the circle does not always meet its other side; something things just end.
Visually, Wong Kar Wai is as great as ever. This film is more openly intriguing; its starts in black and white, with various dark contrasts. He moves to colour, always with a certain flare. He uses many fascinating shades, with filters on the cameras strikingly, often in dark contrasts. This creates a specially sharp film, one that almost glowers, but is prevented from being oppressive by a certain sense of duty.
As far as the use of the camera, Wong Kar Wai also uses the freeze frame on occassion. Again, Wong Kar Wai is adept at doing this without it seeming obtrusive; this is one of his aspects of genius; it is difficult to analyse, it is simply brilliant.
The framings and the images themselves are, of course, wonderful. The full body, the few mid shots. The smoke that twists in between them. Wonderful, modern, exciting compositions.
Wong Kar Wai is one of the very, very finest directors, certainly alive, perhaps he should be described, modern though as he is, to a wider scheme. This film isn't far off 'Chungking Express' and 'In The Mood For Love', it is difficult to evaluate now, but we look forward to seeing it again. Another great work.

Voksne Mennesker (Dark Horse)

This quirky 2005 film, from the director (Dagur Kari) of the alright 'Noi The Albino', is a decent distraction.
It is filmed in a weird black and white, grainy style, giving it the feeling of a real low budget, indie, small enterprise, which it of course is. The shots aren't particularly amazing, but the general drained out look, as a visual effect,just about works.
This is a film about messing about, but it perhaps doesn't quite have the cojones to follow this through. It's not a pure portrait of slackerdom, there's a bit too much of a plot in it for that. This allows it a nice emotional moment at the end (the colour move), but the mediation is perhaps not quite worth that.
This film works better as a study of living in the present, with silliness. This could make it interesting and subjective study, though it perhaps is too keen to go for knockabout humour at times, which can dull the effect.
Overall? Diverting, but not much more.

El Laberinto Del Fauno (Pan's Labyrinth)

Seen as one of the finest films of, pretty much, the last decade, on rewatching we found it thoroughly excellent. It pretty much loves up to its exalted reputation.
We said most of what we wanted to say talking about 'The Devil's Backbone', which is thematically and visually a very similar film. 'Pan's Labyrinth' really just brings to fruition, even perfection, the elements developed in that film.
Aagain, we have the swooping visuals, the great panopoly of brooding, contrast-ful colours. And importantly we have that great divide of the child and the adult. Done visually, done thematically, done in tone. Here the child's phantasy is dominated even more by the outside world. The key thesis of this, again, very complicated film to analyse is really all about how the adult world will and must impinge upon the the dreams. There is no true escape, it is all just filtered through. The child's imagination cannot be kept seperate; it is conditioned by, destroyed.
The fact that this is a fable rather than a film of subjective identification works in its advantage, as differentiating it from most fare. The character of Ofelia is freed to have a kind of universality, yes she is a symbol, but that is only a criticism through blinkers. The quiet fable character gives this film, in correspondence with the form of Del Toro's direction, a powerful style.
Much to say, but the most important thing is that this is fine, fine, fine work.

El Espinazo Del Diablo (The Devil's Backbone)

2001 movie from Benicio Del Toro, recognised as one of the finer directors of his time.
Let's first look at Del Toro's use of the camera. It is big, wide, swooping. It follows everyone, on long, elegant shots. It has fun moving up and down the characters, not so much stroking as covering all the surfaces. This is a camera of omniscience, of onipresence, a rare return in these times of identification. Del Toro wants to create a truly story here. It is a genuine narrative rather than a character study, and gives the film part of its universal, fable like structure. Add to this the use of almost mythic symbols, the bomb and the casual transcendence. And of course the children.
Del Toro is another director who uses colour in a striking manner, yellows and sandblasted wide vistas. He is a man of the landscape, with great historical acuity.
Del Toro has a very hateful character in the film. Is this is perhaps slightly too simplistic, it may also be an interesting use of tropes; it should not be overdone. Of course this is a very political parable, but it should not be read as just 'those evil fascists'; their is an inhumanity in the old doctor also. The better reading is partly of inter-generational hells; the discontinuity of the wretched violence and the children, who seem far away from this, but cannot but encroach.
Del Toro uses many opaque symbols, which are difficult to decipher. The bomb, the wooden leg, amongst others. What Del Toro's overall purpose is remains difficult. Is it a recollection of the war, a witness, or is it related towards the future? Whatever it is, it is a good film. Visually interesting, if not with quite the sharpness to make it excellent.

The Social Network

One of the big new films of the year, directed by the respectable David Fincher and written by the renowned Aaron Sorkin.
Visually, it is a cut above the Hollywood norm. Fincher uses an interesting palate of colours, sharp greens and blacks jumping into moody angles. This is as close as modern Hollywood will get to expressionism, and all the better for it. It is a shame that Fincher does not take this further; it is very much background, a kind of visual flair he almost seems to want to hide, for commercial reasons. There is a suggestion that could have been developed more, a sort of grotesquery, that works well with the general themes of the harshness and leeriness of the characters to one another. There are some interesting shots in this film, some nice uses of sharp lighting and compositions, so we generally give Fincher thumbs up.
The plot really follws quite similarly, in that it has an interesting idea, but maybe doesn't carry it quite as far as it could have. This theme is the theme of hating everyone. The characters are pretty much entirely unsympathetic, again, they are really a cabinet of grotesques, though they never quite manage to be completely hateful cipher of a society a more biting portrait could have made them.
The dialogue keeps the entertainment, very fast, and we appreciate that. It occasionally falls into too much comedy, but that again reflects the general slight restrainedness of the film.
This film is about the loneliness of the individual, within the society, the technologies, the times. It is a picture of the times, but does perhaps pull its punches a little too much. Decent, better than most of the Hollywood dross.