The available, 85 minute long version of Welles 1942 tour
This film is magnificently elegant; it surely counts as one of Welles' least 'jarring' pictures, for all its wonderful images, there are few (though a few) of his sotospeak 'smashes' into the audience. Yes, there are close-ups, the wide angle, and a few jaw-dropping moments. But generally the form does not scream out at one; it rather creeps up, has the kind of melancholy elegance of the characters, with smart pans, creeping cranes, and restraint at showing action (what happens to Lucy at the drugstore? Her face, when we first see her, is also obscured).
Perhaps the film this runs most closely alongside is Resnais' 'L'Annee Derniere a Marienbad'. Obviously the decaying class, here given rather more analysis than Resnais, but also in many compostions. The use of two figures, standing in those huge open spaces. The Amberson house, like Resnais' hotel, is an incredible creation. Dappled, harsh lighting across wide open spaces, hangings and carpets and staircases all decaying. The staging here works with the camera; elegantly pushing them along. The stasis is presented with quite literal stillness; actors rooted to the spot. Yet the staging is wonderfully inventive; dead on 180' cuts pushing the action, tacks along that give a fluidity, the scene moving in one direction with the change to tableaus, the one actors move that cuts across everything (George crossing Eugene's eyeline on his last visit to Isabel). Their is, in classic Wellesean mood, some immense depth here; though conversations can well be had on one plane, something than then crop up in the background in a startling, but not 'in your face' way.
Welles does not pack his characters (in depth) on top of each other as much here as in 'Kane'. Their is more of a widescreen sense, of distance, of genuine balance of a horizontal space. He uses a variety of different compostions, long and portrait, all careful, changin, and, with the lighting, striking. Notable here is a scene of Isobel and George, side-on (as commonly done in this film), full does to each other, and slow movements. Time is witnessed.
Some scenes in this film are particularly special. An early one, as Eugene and Lucy leave the party, where Welles tracks slowly, creating different, moving tableaus, in half the frame, as in depth we have others leaving in the other section. Their is the famous long, long take, almost neo-realist, of Fanny and George's kitchen scene, before the intruder changes the callibration. This has the feature of contingency. Their are some remarkable camera movements, not shcoking but creeping; the pan to follow up the stairs, and around the rooms of the party.
What Welles exploits to a great extent in this film is lighting. It is often harsh, and constantly changes (even, unrealistically, in shot-reverse kind of schemas). Welles is not scared to plunge his leads into darkness, often with hard backlighting in perpendicular compostions. As they move, they move from one area of light to the other; the house if given physiogonomy as they burst into a patch of harsh light, striking dramatic moments. It can be hard, front on, to. The characters, alone in the emptying mansions rooms, are at once stuck in, part of it, like dust, but also stand out. This is often as they are the opposite; the light to the shade, the dark to the light, of the area they are in, but share a tone with the other side of the room (another feature of Welles' use of a wider screen).
The script here is explosive, and, with the few slightly out-of-character Welles' monologues, almost always perfect. Each line comes laced with historical and class truth, but at the same time speak directly to the situation. This comes surely from years spent devising the characters; maybe it's Tarkington's work, but then Welles' has the credit, and he can't have had so long.... it is subtle, but usually to the point.
The story proceeds, especially in the first half, with a wonderful sort of sliding-downhill momentum. It is a story of people caught in circumstances outside of them (more Eisenstein than classic Hollywood), and is a story about economics, but always through their lens. It jumps around near the end, and the last, non-Welles scene, is almost a joke. The themes of the decay, the new age where the children of the old, the crazy, obsessive, jealous bonds of family tie more than anything. This is no 'make way for the new'; it is a class rather than an age that is disintegrating with little dignity (Fanny surely has more than George). They are at once unsympathetic, and in a sense are trashed by Welles; yet we see their sheer inability, any kind of self-determination, so caught in a web, even those of a different class can recognise, and, if not quite sympathise, ask; 'why should we take pleasure in this boy's pain?'. It is attending a funeral.
The use of voiceover, the story at the start (breaking in diagetic/ non-diagetic) gives, (with camera angles) the critical distance needed. We are with this film, rather than in it. Yet we are inside the mind of someone, or something; Welles. And as the story breaks up to the studio edit (of course, this might not have been noticed if we hadn't known this before, but I'll continue my little story), we nearly take the film's side against itself; we are truer to the film more than the concrete film is true to itself. As the wonderful end credits, Welles, though always self-aggrandising, being peculiarly quiet, almost modest, one has the feeling that there is no position outside the dying we have seen so masterfully displayed; we too, the cinematic dreamer, who at least hopes to identify, who dreams of being on the same side as Welles; that side is dying too.
Saturday 30 April 2011
Thursday 28 April 2011
Gone With The Wind
David O Selznick's (Fleming, Wood, Cukor) 1939..... well, film
This film is pretty insane. Though the direction isn't. It is though elegantly and well done. In not much depth, staging or camera, we have shot-reverse, but also a lot of shots keeping the interlocurs close together. The general plan is flicking between this and much, much wider shots. Some of these are fine images (apart from the sets, even). The camera movements are often pans to the side, but there are also a few lovely flowing, presumably some kind of crane shots, down the ever present staircases. Mention should also go to some impressive, in not being overdone, track-ins (not zooms?) up to the face. This classic melodrama trick is really pulled off to perfection here; the trick itself, though obviously not the narrative, stays the right side of hokey.
And then there is the rest of the image. We have the absolutely mad technicolour, the mattes and backdrops, in their fiery colours. The reds, and the still terrific burning Georgia. We also have the wonderfully huge staircases, in the emptying mansions. Not only the sweeping moves down, but the general set-pieces. This couldn't help, at times, to make one think of Kane; the huge sweep of a life, the kind of alienation involved.
Lighting is generally the epitome of Hollywood golden age; soft to an absolutely unnaturalistic degree. Also not how many of the romantic scenes often to light from behind, so even with the fill what we actually see is largely in shadow.
The memorbale lines with the script add to a slight predictability about that part at times, though generally it is very good.
It is difficult not to, and has surely been done thousands of times, cross this film with 'Birth Of A Nation'. I would suggest the differences are largely cosmetic. The same atmosphere and structuring principles of domination, nastiness, and oppression stink up this film, for all its attempts to get out of it. 'Birth Of A Nation', in its vile character, foregrounds its racism. 'Gone With The Wind' lets it sink into the background; it makes the earlier film seem backward in that 'Birth...' hadn't yet had the amnesia, wasn't yet too under the thumb of a diseased consciousness to be able to completely forget its own roots in exploitation. One bizarre aspect of the race question here is how it keeps popping up, where it least 'should'. This film is right to be taken apart for ideological symptoms. The suggestion of the women as slaves is walked into, seemingly by accident, and this films relentless logic. Themes of oppression, domination, violence, are present throughout, always displaced.
While the first half to two thirds is directly comparable to 'Birth', it comes out as a melodrama, and a pretty insane one at that. The script, narrative structure, and acting is well done that this takes on a special sort of quality; ridiculous, silly, but in its deliriousness extremely powerful. It seems almost like a compilation, chucking on all the most extreme, 'turned to the max', emotional moments, one after the other, until they start dropping like flies. The themes don't stint; there is some nasty sexual violence from nearly all concerned, duplicity, a cyncialness about the central 'romance' (is it even a romance), and other miseries. These form the strangest multicoloured meal.
This film is so huge it contains many surprises (not least the end). The gothic element, the almost Soviet valoriaztion of the worker combined with a fascist soil-love, turns at one point into a strange Southern gothicism, shadows and all, and washed out greys of the land. The relations to everything, to the homestead, the concept of 'love', each other, are absolutely contradictory. This film's relentless logic, its refusal to compromise in any area, make it frankly pretty weird, as it accidentally displays the truth in so much that often seems opaque, shy.
Ultimately, I would take 'Birth' over this for the quality of filmmaking any day. The structure of that is better, the images frankly more exciting, varied, and simply more beautiful. The mis-en-scene here is a little wooden and staid in comparison. This film can be resisted, and I would say it must be ideologically; but it can't be denied as a kind of gazumping force, where so much of what is powerful turns into its opposite, and back into terror.
This film is pretty insane. Though the direction isn't. It is though elegantly and well done. In not much depth, staging or camera, we have shot-reverse, but also a lot of shots keeping the interlocurs close together. The general plan is flicking between this and much, much wider shots. Some of these are fine images (apart from the sets, even). The camera movements are often pans to the side, but there are also a few lovely flowing, presumably some kind of crane shots, down the ever present staircases. Mention should also go to some impressive, in not being overdone, track-ins (not zooms?) up to the face. This classic melodrama trick is really pulled off to perfection here; the trick itself, though obviously not the narrative, stays the right side of hokey.
And then there is the rest of the image. We have the absolutely mad technicolour, the mattes and backdrops, in their fiery colours. The reds, and the still terrific burning Georgia. We also have the wonderfully huge staircases, in the emptying mansions. Not only the sweeping moves down, but the general set-pieces. This couldn't help, at times, to make one think of Kane; the huge sweep of a life, the kind of alienation involved.
Lighting is generally the epitome of Hollywood golden age; soft to an absolutely unnaturalistic degree. Also not how many of the romantic scenes often to light from behind, so even with the fill what we actually see is largely in shadow.
The memorbale lines with the script add to a slight predictability about that part at times, though generally it is very good.
It is difficult not to, and has surely been done thousands of times, cross this film with 'Birth Of A Nation'. I would suggest the differences are largely cosmetic. The same atmosphere and structuring principles of domination, nastiness, and oppression stink up this film, for all its attempts to get out of it. 'Birth Of A Nation', in its vile character, foregrounds its racism. 'Gone With The Wind' lets it sink into the background; it makes the earlier film seem backward in that 'Birth...' hadn't yet had the amnesia, wasn't yet too under the thumb of a diseased consciousness to be able to completely forget its own roots in exploitation. One bizarre aspect of the race question here is how it keeps popping up, where it least 'should'. This film is right to be taken apart for ideological symptoms. The suggestion of the women as slaves is walked into, seemingly by accident, and this films relentless logic. Themes of oppression, domination, violence, are present throughout, always displaced.
While the first half to two thirds is directly comparable to 'Birth', it comes out as a melodrama, and a pretty insane one at that. The script, narrative structure, and acting is well done that this takes on a special sort of quality; ridiculous, silly, but in its deliriousness extremely powerful. It seems almost like a compilation, chucking on all the most extreme, 'turned to the max', emotional moments, one after the other, until they start dropping like flies. The themes don't stint; there is some nasty sexual violence from nearly all concerned, duplicity, a cyncialness about the central 'romance' (is it even a romance), and other miseries. These form the strangest multicoloured meal.
This film is so huge it contains many surprises (not least the end). The gothic element, the almost Soviet valoriaztion of the worker combined with a fascist soil-love, turns at one point into a strange Southern gothicism, shadows and all, and washed out greys of the land. The relations to everything, to the homestead, the concept of 'love', each other, are absolutely contradictory. This film's relentless logic, its refusal to compromise in any area, make it frankly pretty weird, as it accidentally displays the truth in so much that often seems opaque, shy.
Ultimately, I would take 'Birth' over this for the quality of filmmaking any day. The structure of that is better, the images frankly more exciting, varied, and simply more beautiful. The mis-en-scene here is a little wooden and staid in comparison. This film can be resisted, and I would say it must be ideologically; but it can't be denied as a kind of gazumping force, where so much of what is powerful turns into its opposite, and back into terror.
Wednesday 27 April 2011
The Thin Red Line
Terrence Malick, 1998
Firstly, this is the most satisfying Terrence Malick movie in my experience, the one directed with the most assurance. The camera never is flustered; it never gets too close. 'Elegant' isn't really the word, but smooth and calm certainly are. The preffered framing is portraiture, but can be longer than that. Even the war scenes, though much faster cut and indeed going in close, have a certain calmness to them, in the edit as much as the image, that is rare. The moving camera does have this smoothness, the generally tracks. The 2.35:1 format is really terrically used, and entirely necessary. It allows these framings, which are relatively close, to still allow a wider picture, not to throw us too deeply in, to strike us.
They also crucially allow a stylistic feature of this film, the faces without speaking. Often edited from one to one, with a few off-screen voices, and available when two are in the frame, they add to this film's element of quiet, of stillness, along with the obvious psychology and acting ability (not overdone) allowed to be employed.
This film is entirely, seemingly, shot in the golden hour. Along with the magnificent 'scapes and the lush colour contrast (whatever film used), we have a soft feel, a rich and deeply beautiful feel. Malick does not mind allowing this landscape to intrude to the front, or often make up the content of, the frame.
For all the dialogue, which is poetic rather than naturalistic, silence is important here. Silent faces, even when their is a voiceover.
This is a good example of how much well-shot images can make up for the lack of traditional narrative, tension or surprise, in retainging interest. It is a case of an ensemble (not subjectless) cast, a sweeping undertow rathe than an explicit narrative.
As for the content; can one really make a war film? Does this film suffer from a lack of analysis? I'm not too sure this film has a lot to do with war; it nearly seems to have more to do with perception, the peacefulness of it, and the shocks that come to it. This combines with the film's equal nature-worship, and disgust at nature's brutality. This is an example of the film wishing to turn the tables on itself; nature is evil, the Japanese are real people (at times), the wife isn't perfect. I'm not sure this quite overcomes the sentimentality and wide-eyedness of the original set-ups; the 'home-front' parts are frankly ridiculous, even if justified as in the mind of the character. There is not so much an engagement with nature or companionship as a kind of yearning for 'oneness' that is at least self-reflexive, if not moving to much of a reasoned position beyond that.
Malick has well, and as I said assuredly, directed a fine picture. The images are rich, in colour and content (silence, width), the editing smartly and simply running us across the large cast, not snatching at people, letting them be in the background for a while.
Though I am far too underinformed to really comment, one almost wants to draw comparisons with Mizoguchi, even if Malick is obviously more commercial in his tighter framings and so on, and even with Kurosawa (whose 'shock' tendencies always seem to me secondary to the complex, always thoughtful shape of his images). These thoughts will only really be returnable too when I have seen a decent amount of Mizoguchi.
So, Malick is guilty, to a small degree, and with counterexamples and qualifications, to a slight wide-eyedness. This isn't so much a weakness as part of what makes him able to create such fine images, and develop them if never really progress them, otherwise. It would be unfair to say that this is anything less than an excellent work.
Firstly, this is the most satisfying Terrence Malick movie in my experience, the one directed with the most assurance. The camera never is flustered; it never gets too close. 'Elegant' isn't really the word, but smooth and calm certainly are. The preffered framing is portraiture, but can be longer than that. Even the war scenes, though much faster cut and indeed going in close, have a certain calmness to them, in the edit as much as the image, that is rare. The moving camera does have this smoothness, the generally tracks. The 2.35:1 format is really terrically used, and entirely necessary. It allows these framings, which are relatively close, to still allow a wider picture, not to throw us too deeply in, to strike us.
They also crucially allow a stylistic feature of this film, the faces without speaking. Often edited from one to one, with a few off-screen voices, and available when two are in the frame, they add to this film's element of quiet, of stillness, along with the obvious psychology and acting ability (not overdone) allowed to be employed.
This film is entirely, seemingly, shot in the golden hour. Along with the magnificent 'scapes and the lush colour contrast (whatever film used), we have a soft feel, a rich and deeply beautiful feel. Malick does not mind allowing this landscape to intrude to the front, or often make up the content of, the frame.
For all the dialogue, which is poetic rather than naturalistic, silence is important here. Silent faces, even when their is a voiceover.
This is a good example of how much well-shot images can make up for the lack of traditional narrative, tension or surprise, in retainging interest. It is a case of an ensemble (not subjectless) cast, a sweeping undertow rathe than an explicit narrative.
As for the content; can one really make a war film? Does this film suffer from a lack of analysis? I'm not too sure this film has a lot to do with war; it nearly seems to have more to do with perception, the peacefulness of it, and the shocks that come to it. This combines with the film's equal nature-worship, and disgust at nature's brutality. This is an example of the film wishing to turn the tables on itself; nature is evil, the Japanese are real people (at times), the wife isn't perfect. I'm not sure this quite overcomes the sentimentality and wide-eyedness of the original set-ups; the 'home-front' parts are frankly ridiculous, even if justified as in the mind of the character. There is not so much an engagement with nature or companionship as a kind of yearning for 'oneness' that is at least self-reflexive, if not moving to much of a reasoned position beyond that.
Malick has well, and as I said assuredly, directed a fine picture. The images are rich, in colour and content (silence, width), the editing smartly and simply running us across the large cast, not snatching at people, letting them be in the background for a while.
Though I am far too underinformed to really comment, one almost wants to draw comparisons with Mizoguchi, even if Malick is obviously more commercial in his tighter framings and so on, and even with Kurosawa (whose 'shock' tendencies always seem to me secondary to the complex, always thoughtful shape of his images). These thoughts will only really be returnable too when I have seen a decent amount of Mizoguchi.
So, Malick is guilty, to a small degree, and with counterexamples and qualifications, to a slight wide-eyedness. This isn't so much a weakness as part of what makes him able to create such fine images, and develop them if never really progress them, otherwise. It would be unfair to say that this is anything less than an excellent work.
Monday 25 April 2011
Fantomas
Feuillade's great serial, his first major one. 1913
This uses greater depth, and noticeably a much greater depth, than certainly 'Judex', and perhaps 'Les Vampires'. Especially in the first two episodes we are taken outside much more often, which yields greater freedom to edit, that is, cut around each location to at least some degree. These outside locations are quite brilliant examples of photography. We have a real sense of Paris at the time, of people, with the long takes, going about their lives.
This use of depth is used to have characters watching each other, approaching each other, without the other knowing. This is Feuillade's great use of suspense. It is the classic use of time, waiting, as we can see that something 'terrible' approaches, and the duration draws it out. This is the key tactic of the mis-en-scene. As the entire locations begin to appear threatening, subject to villains bursting out, so that any long takes builds up suspense. This is how Feuillade is able to unbalance, when he wants, his mis-en-scene. Because we are always suspecting something to happen in the 'empty' part of the frame, suspense ensues.
If we have a central theme in Fantomas, it is surely something being in the wrong place, the location is found to be a place of horrors, bizarreness, that is 'out of place' in the everyday. It is most often people appearing from bizarre locations, but also unfortunate letters, even animals. This creates an atmosphere, electrifying every scene. Their is even the motif of the gas that comes in, the all pervading atmosphere of fear. This is a part of the remarkable use of the whole frame in Fantomas, a lesson still for today. Why not have the action, the heads, in the bottom corner? Why not have characters on the far side of the screen, if it balances the screen best. The incredibly intricate, brilliantly planned framing, compels this.
The gas also relates to how 'Fantomas' is, in being so interchangable, not really anyone, in fact everyone. The interchangability of the characters, Juve become Fantomas, being constantly mistaken, projects Fantomas as being as much each of the characters as his 'own'. Not that Fantomas is simply (though he is) the repressed desires; these desires are themselves subject to the law, themselves repressed (this reminds us most of 'Dr Mabuse', from Lang's first 'Mabuse' film).
The story moves on and on, in its wonderful winding, mysterious, manner, even with suspense, there is constant surprise, constant movement, simply a process of taking down logical paths to infinity. The finest example is perhaps the second segment, the first is also wonderful. These have the twistiest plots, and the finest images (Fantomas' final celebration, the snake, for example). Sensational images abound throughout however; the skin-glove, the blood in the wall.....
Feuillade creates worlds, uses the cinema in a still dynamic way, and is, in our opinion as in the official histories, a clear master of the cinema.
This uses greater depth, and noticeably a much greater depth, than certainly 'Judex', and perhaps 'Les Vampires'. Especially in the first two episodes we are taken outside much more often, which yields greater freedom to edit, that is, cut around each location to at least some degree. These outside locations are quite brilliant examples of photography. We have a real sense of Paris at the time, of people, with the long takes, going about their lives.
This use of depth is used to have characters watching each other, approaching each other, without the other knowing. This is Feuillade's great use of suspense. It is the classic use of time, waiting, as we can see that something 'terrible' approaches, and the duration draws it out. This is the key tactic of the mis-en-scene. As the entire locations begin to appear threatening, subject to villains bursting out, so that any long takes builds up suspense. This is how Feuillade is able to unbalance, when he wants, his mis-en-scene. Because we are always suspecting something to happen in the 'empty' part of the frame, suspense ensues.
If we have a central theme in Fantomas, it is surely something being in the wrong place, the location is found to be a place of horrors, bizarreness, that is 'out of place' in the everyday. It is most often people appearing from bizarre locations, but also unfortunate letters, even animals. This creates an atmosphere, electrifying every scene. Their is even the motif of the gas that comes in, the all pervading atmosphere of fear. This is a part of the remarkable use of the whole frame in Fantomas, a lesson still for today. Why not have the action, the heads, in the bottom corner? Why not have characters on the far side of the screen, if it balances the screen best. The incredibly intricate, brilliantly planned framing, compels this.
The gas also relates to how 'Fantomas' is, in being so interchangable, not really anyone, in fact everyone. The interchangability of the characters, Juve become Fantomas, being constantly mistaken, projects Fantomas as being as much each of the characters as his 'own'. Not that Fantomas is simply (though he is) the repressed desires; these desires are themselves subject to the law, themselves repressed (this reminds us most of 'Dr Mabuse', from Lang's first 'Mabuse' film).
The story moves on and on, in its wonderful winding, mysterious, manner, even with suspense, there is constant surprise, constant movement, simply a process of taking down logical paths to infinity. The finest example is perhaps the second segment, the first is also wonderful. These have the twistiest plots, and the finest images (Fantomas' final celebration, the snake, for example). Sensational images abound throughout however; the skin-glove, the blood in the wall.....
Feuillade creates worlds, uses the cinema in a still dynamic way, and is, in our opinion as in the official histories, a clear master of the cinema.
Millou en Mai
Malle, 1990
Occassionally, insufferable, though usually fine, Malle picture. Usual agile but quiet camera, long takes. It would be unfair to say this film has nothing to do with politics. There is a little debate, and we see the events from the eyes of those who are outside. It also says something about weak consciousnesses at the time; and about self-interest, about the ultimately reactionary consciuosness of many involved.
It is an interesting idea, and as always with Malle, neatly executed, to let us see this through the eyes of the older man (Piccoli, as always, is great).
We mentioned that in Varda's world there are no (evident) contradictions. Multiple this tenfold for Malle. Suspense is never really created, there is no misery, no sadness (perhaps due to the unreality; see 'Black Moon'). Maybe, as is voiced here, everything is just O.K. In Malle's films, this seems to be the case; everything is jsut going great, basically.
Occassionally, insufferable, though usually fine, Malle picture. Usual agile but quiet camera, long takes. It would be unfair to say this film has nothing to do with politics. There is a little debate, and we see the events from the eyes of those who are outside. It also says something about weak consciousnesses at the time; and about self-interest, about the ultimately reactionary consciuosness of many involved.
It is an interesting idea, and as always with Malle, neatly executed, to let us see this through the eyes of the older man (Piccoli, as always, is great).
We mentioned that in Varda's world there are no (evident) contradictions. Multiple this tenfold for Malle. Suspense is never really created, there is no misery, no sadness (perhaps due to the unreality; see 'Black Moon'). Maybe, as is voiced here, everything is just O.K. In Malle's films, this seems to be the case; everything is jsut going great, basically.
Au Revoir Les Enfants
1987 Louis Malle film
A run through a childhood, with impeccable period settings and some nicer long shots. Very crisply photographed, with a slightly washed out look. The story is similar ish to 'The Murmur...', except for the fact it's world war two. There isn't much here beyond the fact it's completely miserable ('Leon Marie...' had more to say about living under the occupation, really). That is, the time is. The film is just alright. Tradition of quakity bish-bash-bosh.
A run through a childhood, with impeccable period settings and some nicer long shots. Very crisply photographed, with a slightly washed out look. The story is similar ish to 'The Murmur...', except for the fact it's world war two. There isn't much here beyond the fact it's completely miserable ('Leon Marie...' had more to say about living under the occupation, really). That is, the time is. The film is just alright. Tradition of quakity bish-bash-bosh.
Sunday 24 April 2011
Pretty Baby
1978 Louis Malle movie
It would be difficult to say one felt particular anger, or even any physical repugnance towards this picture; but, in the final analysis, for my mind this is morally pretty much unacceptable.
Shot with Malle's usual soft lights, he creates a detailed, as always high key and well lit, rich furnishings and look of the time. Their is also some nice shots of individual faces, alone against the pillows.
The problem here is that fact that, for all the way it clearly wishes to show the location as vile, it frankly takes far too much pleasure in it. It simply fails to show the grimness of the situation, and ends up because of that affirming it. What is disgusting, is presented more often as fun than as vile. Abuse is engaged with, but ultimately shied away from, and subordinated as one part of a classical romantic narrative. Racial discrimination, the atmosphere of oppression of the 'house', is taken as an aesthetic to be wallowed in. The wallow is undoubtedly pleasurable, this is well made narrative cinema.
I have no doubt Malle had nothing but good intentions, to show the misery of the situation, the comradeship that sprung up in that too (not at all to be ignored in an adequate film of the subject; but it must be better balanced...). But the from this film takes is simply not able to contain its content.
It would be difficult to say one felt particular anger, or even any physical repugnance towards this picture; but, in the final analysis, for my mind this is morally pretty much unacceptable.
Shot with Malle's usual soft lights, he creates a detailed, as always high key and well lit, rich furnishings and look of the time. Their is also some nice shots of individual faces, alone against the pillows.
The problem here is that fact that, for all the way it clearly wishes to show the location as vile, it frankly takes far too much pleasure in it. It simply fails to show the grimness of the situation, and ends up because of that affirming it. What is disgusting, is presented more often as fun than as vile. Abuse is engaged with, but ultimately shied away from, and subordinated as one part of a classical romantic narrative. Racial discrimination, the atmosphere of oppression of the 'house', is taken as an aesthetic to be wallowed in. The wallow is undoubtedly pleasurable, this is well made narrative cinema.
I have no doubt Malle had nothing but good intentions, to show the misery of the situation, the comradeship that sprung up in that too (not at all to be ignored in an adequate film of the subject; but it must be better balanced...). But the from this film takes is simply not able to contain its content.
Black Moon
1975 Louis Malle film (what dialogue there is is in U.K.-English)
The camerawork is slightly tighter than in 'Le Souffle', with more singles, though still with the Malle relatively mobile camera, average edit, and pretty long takes. Malle does incorparate much of the time a number of actors in a frame, but with this has a habit of moving from one to the other and leaving the original actor, or reactor, behind.
This contributes to a film that doesn't really create a world, but does make thematic points. It is about how imagination relates to social difficulties, how one can hide in imagination, and how the two meet. Malle creates, with the sharp images, some curious fantasy sequences, often of animals. His studies of insects are most impressive. The evocation of the 'war', as indeed the world, is pretty abstract, and this film isn't perhaps more than a fable, but it creates some curious juxtapostions all the same. An interesting work.
The camerawork is slightly tighter than in 'Le Souffle', with more singles, though still with the Malle relatively mobile camera, average edit, and pretty long takes. Malle does incorparate much of the time a number of actors in a frame, but with this has a habit of moving from one to the other and leaving the original actor, or reactor, behind.
This contributes to a film that doesn't really create a world, but does make thematic points. It is about how imagination relates to social difficulties, how one can hide in imagination, and how the two meet. Malle creates, with the sharp images, some curious fantasy sequences, often of animals. His studies of insects are most impressive. The evocation of the 'war', as indeed the world, is pretty abstract, and this film isn't perhaps more than a fable, but it creates some curious juxtapostions all the same. An interesting work.
Le Souffle Au Coeur
Louis Malle movie, 1971
Malle's style, in all honesty, can be summed up pretty quickly. Longish shots much of the time, here a quite freely moving camera, sometimes already moving in the plot. A very clean mis-en-scene, with high key lighting, a variety of colours, and everything looking rather expensive and new. A lot of depth, certainly wide-angle lens (no one too near the camera), further convey a kind of smoothness. This is highly elegant filmmaking.
This is a film that is difficult to know quite what to make of. It screams out that it is 'fun', 'jazzy', and comes on at times like a '400 coups' remake, except with none of the spirit, the sadness, in a way, of that film. This is certainly pleasurable to watch, and this film is in some ways honest; about sex, about growing up. It is, in its narrative construction, precisely what it says it is; joie de vivre (in its strict bourgois setting, but anyway), fun japes, well paced, with an insouiance that I would not feel guilty in liking.
The really negative aspects here is the unthinking nature, in the joy taken in something that is a lot of the time pretty vile, rich kids sexually humiliating each other, messing around with too much money. This is pure pleaure cinema, but because of this it isn't perfectly pleasurable. One wouldn't like to take away from the fact though that it has smart set-ups, each scene is a little piece of fun, and a tone that is repeated, in its freedom, before and after in variuos coming of age tales.
All these essential moral condemnations, though, are brought up slightly short by the key scene at the end. This scene does what it has to do; it shows the central perversion at the heart of the piece. Does this make everything O.K., does it forgive it, as satire?
Yes and no. Yes, in that credit for the bravery. No, in that if you have been wallowing, you can't just undo it all bu saying 'its satire' (and even the final scene seems to be taken rather in the stride).
This, as I may have given the misleading impression, is more than something to straightforwardly bash. It is sweet, charming, looks beautiful in a clean way, is great fun. It may even be forgiven for all this at the end. But, in my mind, it probably comes down on the side of not so. Though any defineteness is difficult.
Malle's style, in all honesty, can be summed up pretty quickly. Longish shots much of the time, here a quite freely moving camera, sometimes already moving in the plot. A very clean mis-en-scene, with high key lighting, a variety of colours, and everything looking rather expensive and new. A lot of depth, certainly wide-angle lens (no one too near the camera), further convey a kind of smoothness. This is highly elegant filmmaking.
This is a film that is difficult to know quite what to make of. It screams out that it is 'fun', 'jazzy', and comes on at times like a '400 coups' remake, except with none of the spirit, the sadness, in a way, of that film. This is certainly pleasurable to watch, and this film is in some ways honest; about sex, about growing up. It is, in its narrative construction, precisely what it says it is; joie de vivre (in its strict bourgois setting, but anyway), fun japes, well paced, with an insouiance that I would not feel guilty in liking.
The really negative aspects here is the unthinking nature, in the joy taken in something that is a lot of the time pretty vile, rich kids sexually humiliating each other, messing around with too much money. This is pure pleaure cinema, but because of this it isn't perfectly pleasurable. One wouldn't like to take away from the fact though that it has smart set-ups, each scene is a little piece of fun, and a tone that is repeated, in its freedom, before and after in variuos coming of age tales.
All these essential moral condemnations, though, are brought up slightly short by the key scene at the end. This scene does what it has to do; it shows the central perversion at the heart of the piece. Does this make everything O.K., does it forgive it, as satire?
Yes and no. Yes, in that credit for the bravery. No, in that if you have been wallowing, you can't just undo it all bu saying 'its satire' (and even the final scene seems to be taken rather in the stride).
This, as I may have given the misleading impression, is more than something to straightforwardly bash. It is sweet, charming, looks beautiful in a clean way, is great fun. It may even be forgiven for all this at the end. But, in my mind, it probably comes down on the side of not so. Though any defineteness is difficult.
Saturday 23 April 2011
Nuits Rouges
Georges Franju, 1973
Here is a dive into the serialism genre; Feuilladean, yes, but here above all 'Spiones' seems to be the reference.
The basic rule, loosely held, is 'one shot', one action. The camera keeps relatively still (that including slight reframings). When Franju does move it, it is to move in, but not so smooth as before. There are quite jerky zooms obviously on the axis. This has the effect of giving simpe images, one after another, that in the classic Langian manner 'strike' the viewer. This is reflected in the clear lighting.
The cutting is therefore fast; but the single-action images do not mean they have to be of one kind. Along with the close-ups, and some very fast work in the action scenes, the one action that does take place can afford to be quite slow. Long shots of people creeping along the roofs are here, and actions can afford, like doors opening, to take quite some time.
The classic serials are obviously black and white; this is colour, with saturated colours, presumably to cash in on the 'powerful' nature (though contrast doesn't seem vastly turned up. Sound, that is dialogue, is a tough issue. It adds a level of unreality, makes it seem slightly less 'believable', if that is the word, than Lang/Feuillade, perhaps, but generally doesn't actively intervene.
As mentioned, this film does run, pleasingly and excitingly, through the classic themes of the genre. We have roofs/ trains/ train roofs. Murders, women slinking around. There is also the theme of the automaton, the mad scientist (essaying Klein-Rogge), the fear of acting as a dupe for another, which is reflected in other parts of the plot. There is the slightly wimpy ingenue hero, and the policman. The idea of obsessive crime is deeply Langian, and the modern technology, the 'facelessness' of the silver surfaces, here crossed with archaic ritual, stonework (myth and progress) is a fascinating development, and can surely be used to examine, say, 'Spiones' with greater acuity. Also note the Franjuian themes; facelessness, and here we have many cases of smoke.
How does this differ, how has the passage of time effected the genre? Apart from the sound issues, which may in fact be nearly everything, it seems to me that the stylisation is more evident. The action, perhaps due to colour and sound making it more 'real', make it slightly more like people in funny clothes running around, losing the distance that makes the originals the fine allegories. The clothes, melodrama, action, coincidences, all are slightly more at show.
Trying to draw on Lang and Feuillade is a noble but brutally difficult enterprise; Franju has though here done a fine job. This is, on its own, an exciting, thoughtful, and occassionally beautiful film. No, its not the equal of Lang; I won't be silly. Time and, simply, Lang's eye, count against that. But let me be clear; I deeply respect Franju for even trying, and am not so much respectful, as deeply impressed by the result, a film that is enjoyable, exciting, and smart.
Here is a dive into the serialism genre; Feuilladean, yes, but here above all 'Spiones' seems to be the reference.
The basic rule, loosely held, is 'one shot', one action. The camera keeps relatively still (that including slight reframings). When Franju does move it, it is to move in, but not so smooth as before. There are quite jerky zooms obviously on the axis. This has the effect of giving simpe images, one after another, that in the classic Langian manner 'strike' the viewer. This is reflected in the clear lighting.
The cutting is therefore fast; but the single-action images do not mean they have to be of one kind. Along with the close-ups, and some very fast work in the action scenes, the one action that does take place can afford to be quite slow. Long shots of people creeping along the roofs are here, and actions can afford, like doors opening, to take quite some time.
The classic serials are obviously black and white; this is colour, with saturated colours, presumably to cash in on the 'powerful' nature (though contrast doesn't seem vastly turned up. Sound, that is dialogue, is a tough issue. It adds a level of unreality, makes it seem slightly less 'believable', if that is the word, than Lang/Feuillade, perhaps, but generally doesn't actively intervene.
As mentioned, this film does run, pleasingly and excitingly, through the classic themes of the genre. We have roofs/ trains/ train roofs. Murders, women slinking around. There is also the theme of the automaton, the mad scientist (essaying Klein-Rogge), the fear of acting as a dupe for another, which is reflected in other parts of the plot. There is the slightly wimpy ingenue hero, and the policman. The idea of obsessive crime is deeply Langian, and the modern technology, the 'facelessness' of the silver surfaces, here crossed with archaic ritual, stonework (myth and progress) is a fascinating development, and can surely be used to examine, say, 'Spiones' with greater acuity. Also note the Franjuian themes; facelessness, and here we have many cases of smoke.
How does this differ, how has the passage of time effected the genre? Apart from the sound issues, which may in fact be nearly everything, it seems to me that the stylisation is more evident. The action, perhaps due to colour and sound making it more 'real', make it slightly more like people in funny clothes running around, losing the distance that makes the originals the fine allegories. The clothes, melodrama, action, coincidences, all are slightly more at show.
Trying to draw on Lang and Feuillade is a noble but brutally difficult enterprise; Franju has though here done a fine job. This is, on its own, an exciting, thoughtful, and occassionally beautiful film. No, its not the equal of Lang; I won't be silly. Time and, simply, Lang's eye, count against that. But let me be clear; I deeply respect Franju for even trying, and am not so much respectful, as deeply impressed by the result, a film that is enjoyable, exciting, and smart.
Judex (1963)
This time Georges Franju's take, 1963
This employs many devices that at once recall the past one, but use conventions that were not available at the time.
Franju's camera often starts slightly further out, then has a wonderful, unhurried, light as air track in to a relatively closer position to the detail. An unfussy sot reverse is used then in earlier scenes. This swoop, or glide, is repeated throughout the film, though later on we occassionally have the opposite; starting close and moving out.
We never however come too close; there is a terrific propensity for two-three, and more shots, allowing acting, the classic Renoir mis-en-scene. This doesn't get too far away, but Franju uses the whole frame well (1:1.66) to give us this nice restrained, yet certain, mis-en-scene. The change is made from the type of framings used in 1916, in that now we have sides of heads, backs of heads, rather than heads on the characters. The camera engages in what are some really quite elaborate '270 turns also; but they are cunningly done slowly, smoothly, so the atmosphere is not too sharpened.
And soft is what this film is; remarkably white throughout, with only the dark of Judex. This softness (partly due to the always wonderful 'Masters of Cinema' transfer) means extremely intricate low contrast images. All shows up in great detail, and creates an airiness, an almost floating quality.
This is part of the sets, which are where the film comes closest to the original. The intricate, fiddly, extremely ornate patterns add to the scape. As do the busts, have animal, half man, that like miniature medusas stare throughout the piece. Never drawn attention too, they compose part of the deliberately surrealist (in the non-showy, Bunuelian tradition) air.
The clearest surrealist element is the bird theme. Here we have whiteness, and watching, and the idea of gliding across space.
This film is perhaps most remarkable for its pace. Characters pad around, actions take a long time. Even when characters should, rationally, be in a hurry, they stop to take care to put their coat on. This lack of intensity even applies to the flat, trance like acting style. This is what the cinema of the dream is; not too showy, but a kind of uniformity of movement, a refusal to be hurried. Walking from the door to the window takes time, as we follow their passing across the floor.
This is further enhanced by the music, or rather its absence. We again have a lack of histrionics, even the low-key notes that do play tone down, rather than emphasize, the action,
The story is obviously vastly compressed from the original Judex. It adds some slightly more believable motivations, and inserts parts of the later story (and even some images of 'Les Vampires') into new surroundings. The story isn't really the point here; or when it is, it adds to the general tone. One hadn't quite appreciated how surreal the entry of the deus ex acrobat, Daisy Torp, really was.
The word 'surrealist' is thrown about a lot, but this film genuinely marks a correct use of that world. In its strict adherence to tone, elegant, kinetically pleasing camera, and care to not overdo, but to always mark the set with interest, it is a deeply cared for and impressive work.
This employs many devices that at once recall the past one, but use conventions that were not available at the time.
Franju's camera often starts slightly further out, then has a wonderful, unhurried, light as air track in to a relatively closer position to the detail. An unfussy sot reverse is used then in earlier scenes. This swoop, or glide, is repeated throughout the film, though later on we occassionally have the opposite; starting close and moving out.
We never however come too close; there is a terrific propensity for two-three, and more shots, allowing acting, the classic Renoir mis-en-scene. This doesn't get too far away, but Franju uses the whole frame well (1:1.66) to give us this nice restrained, yet certain, mis-en-scene. The change is made from the type of framings used in 1916, in that now we have sides of heads, backs of heads, rather than heads on the characters. The camera engages in what are some really quite elaborate '270 turns also; but they are cunningly done slowly, smoothly, so the atmosphere is not too sharpened.
And soft is what this film is; remarkably white throughout, with only the dark of Judex. This softness (partly due to the always wonderful 'Masters of Cinema' transfer) means extremely intricate low contrast images. All shows up in great detail, and creates an airiness, an almost floating quality.
This is part of the sets, which are where the film comes closest to the original. The intricate, fiddly, extremely ornate patterns add to the scape. As do the busts, have animal, half man, that like miniature medusas stare throughout the piece. Never drawn attention too, they compose part of the deliberately surrealist (in the non-showy, Bunuelian tradition) air.
The clearest surrealist element is the bird theme. Here we have whiteness, and watching, and the idea of gliding across space.
This film is perhaps most remarkable for its pace. Characters pad around, actions take a long time. Even when characters should, rationally, be in a hurry, they stop to take care to put their coat on. This lack of intensity even applies to the flat, trance like acting style. This is what the cinema of the dream is; not too showy, but a kind of uniformity of movement, a refusal to be hurried. Walking from the door to the window takes time, as we follow their passing across the floor.
This is further enhanced by the music, or rather its absence. We again have a lack of histrionics, even the low-key notes that do play tone down, rather than emphasize, the action,
The story is obviously vastly compressed from the original Judex. It adds some slightly more believable motivations, and inserts parts of the later story (and even some images of 'Les Vampires') into new surroundings. The story isn't really the point here; or when it is, it adds to the general tone. One hadn't quite appreciated how surreal the entry of the deus ex acrobat, Daisy Torp, really was.
The word 'surrealist' is thrown about a lot, but this film genuinely marks a correct use of that world. In its strict adherence to tone, elegant, kinetically pleasing camera, and care to not overdo, but to always mark the set with interest, it is a deeply cared for and impressive work.
Friday 22 April 2011
Judex (1916)
Louis Feuillade's 1916 serial
I lot of time spent mulling over things that have already occurred/ worrying about them. Fitful action in the first third, but doesn't really have the suspense or the surprises of Fantomaas. Much slower, in mis-en-scene and plot. Much more characterisation, build up. Saying that, don't see Judex for the start.
Judex comes across as strange, completely twisted at the start, which turns out to be the point. Often seen backlit.
Visually, some fine images, often with backlighting, though a few near the end with some friend. Still camera, but a variety of framings, some editing around. Heads often very high or very low, different framing conventions. Generally chaarcters already in scene, acting, when it starts. Twisty, intricate patterns all over the sets. Busts on the walls.
Musidora is as always fantastic, doesn't quite get the action here, but some nice looks and so on. Judex comes across well at the end, but this film doesn't really have one centre. Still pretty excellent, but certainly a different, slower, tradition than the Vampires legacy.
I lot of time spent mulling over things that have already occurred/ worrying about them. Fitful action in the first third, but doesn't really have the suspense or the surprises of Fantomaas. Much slower, in mis-en-scene and plot. Much more characterisation, build up. Saying that, don't see Judex for the start.
Judex comes across as strange, completely twisted at the start, which turns out to be the point. Often seen backlit.
Visually, some fine images, often with backlighting, though a few near the end with some friend. Still camera, but a variety of framings, some editing around. Heads often very high or very low, different framing conventions. Generally chaarcters already in scene, acting, when it starts. Twisty, intricate patterns all over the sets. Busts on the walls.
Musidora is as always fantastic, doesn't quite get the action here, but some nice looks and so on. Judex comes across well at the end, but this film doesn't really have one centre. Still pretty excellent, but certainly a different, slower, tradition than the Vampires legacy.
La Fleur De Mal
Claude Chabrol leaves one of his best late; 2003
The camera is pretty free here, and in that sense this is one of Chabrol's colder features. The camera remains reticent in this, moving on its own accord.
The reason this is good is because the script is fine, the plot is genuinely interesting and builds up the tension, without going over the top. The theme of the past's recurrence in the present is genuinely interesting, and the tone achieved near the end, of a sort of strange happiness and acceptance in the horror (there is only the present) has been well, and rarely for Chabrol, delicately, built up. Certainly the best late Chabrol we have seen, one of the top few overall.
The camera is pretty free here, and in that sense this is one of Chabrol's colder features. The camera remains reticent in this, moving on its own accord.
The reason this is good is because the script is fine, the plot is genuinely interesting and builds up the tension, without going over the top. The theme of the past's recurrence in the present is genuinely interesting, and the tone achieved near the end, of a sort of strange happiness and acceptance in the horror (there is only the present) has been well, and rarely for Chabrol, delicately, built up. Certainly the best late Chabrol we have seen, one of the top few overall.
Thursday 21 April 2011
Merci Pour Le Chocolat
Claude Chabrol, 2000
This ain't so bad; even pretty good, when it stays as simple as possible.
The two negative things about this are pretty simple; the script is very poor, and about a quarter of it could be happily cut. It would be tough to say any Chabrol script has really struck us. Secondly, their are some terrible plot holes, which can occassionally make parts fall into rather irrelevant stupidity. This is not at all necessary; the great thrillers, and we're thinking of classic Hollywood here, have a much faster pace, with way more twists, and avoid obvious plotholes.
The good bits here are some nice classical music (damning with faint praise), a refreshing low key style from a newish cast which enables some nice psychological work. Further, there is a little bit of mystery, and one of those switches to madness, revealed that are Chabrol's mark. Also the usual evocation of a location, a bourgeois one, from banal perfection into a kind of airtight home of madness.
These aren't extravagant praises; there is a sense of clutching at straws. This film is pretty watchable.
This ain't so bad; even pretty good, when it stays as simple as possible.
The two negative things about this are pretty simple; the script is very poor, and about a quarter of it could be happily cut. It would be tough to say any Chabrol script has really struck us. Secondly, their are some terrible plot holes, which can occassionally make parts fall into rather irrelevant stupidity. This is not at all necessary; the great thrillers, and we're thinking of classic Hollywood here, have a much faster pace, with way more twists, and avoid obvious plotholes.
The good bits here are some nice classical music (damning with faint praise), a refreshing low key style from a newish cast which enables some nice psychological work. Further, there is a little bit of mystery, and one of those switches to madness, revealed that are Chabrol's mark. Also the usual evocation of a location, a bourgeois one, from banal perfection into a kind of airtight home of madness.
These aren't extravagant praises; there is a sense of clutching at straws. This film is pretty watchable.
L’Enfer
Claude Chabrol has a tilt at the Clouzot project that could famously not be finished; 1994
This starts off pretty well. The broiling summer heat is in place, as are the hot but washed out clothes. The script is fast and simple. There are also more dynamic framings than usual, with heads barely or not fitting into frames, and some genuine tension.
The non-linear stuff here starts off fine, but does descend into a pretty unthoughout line of ‘he’s crazy, you know’. What is the difference between Clouzot and Chabrol? One imagines Clouzot’s film would have represented a universal relation, tried to examine a universal of sexual affair. Chabrol’s however, turns into simply a rather unbelievable little story that means next to nothing and becomes very boring. Apart from older versus newer cinema, why?
It may partly be that Chabrol’s quick camera moves and framing utterly lack restraint. As does the acting, which never emotes when it could overemote. It quickly becomes trivial. The story just becomes stupid. Worse is how it constantly repeats itself; the same one theme is repeated again, and again, and again... without really being developed.
Their aren’t the visual pyrotechnics here that Clouzot promised, nor the slightly restrained sense that would give a kind of universal pathos. Not that Clouzot was any great master, but it would surely have been superior to this. It ends up revelling in an uncritically appraised look at a man torturing a women, unjustified by logic and unnecessary. There is nothing remotely stylish about that.
This starts off pretty well. The broiling summer heat is in place, as are the hot but washed out clothes. The script is fast and simple. There are also more dynamic framings than usual, with heads barely or not fitting into frames, and some genuine tension.
The non-linear stuff here starts off fine, but does descend into a pretty unthoughout line of ‘he’s crazy, you know’. What is the difference between Clouzot and Chabrol? One imagines Clouzot’s film would have represented a universal relation, tried to examine a universal of sexual affair. Chabrol’s however, turns into simply a rather unbelievable little story that means next to nothing and becomes very boring. Apart from older versus newer cinema, why?
It may partly be that Chabrol’s quick camera moves and framing utterly lack restraint. As does the acting, which never emotes when it could overemote. It quickly becomes trivial. The story just becomes stupid. Worse is how it constantly repeats itself; the same one theme is repeated again, and again, and again... without really being developed.
Their aren’t the visual pyrotechnics here that Clouzot promised, nor the slightly restrained sense that would give a kind of universal pathos. Not that Clouzot was any great master, but it would surely have been superior to this. It ends up revelling in an uncritically appraised look at a man torturing a women, unjustified by logic and unnecessary. There is nothing remotely stylish about that.
Madame Bovary
1991 version of Flaubert's masterpiece, Claude Chabrol
Chabrol indulges in classicism here, clearly trying to tone down the more pronounced stylistic tics. We thus have more classicial framings, waist-shots, longer takes. We also have two-shots, which aren't a major feature of Chabrol's style. These can even be two heads, or two profiles. On the more emphasised points, Chabrol does 'go in for the kill', on the close-ups. He also can't help himself adding some sex, which fits, and a bit of dirt and disgust, pretty stupid and drawn out in the final scene.
The story needs to be told extremely quickly, and it positively races along. This is frankly a pretty novel-to-screen adaption, as in it simply recounts what the words of the novel are. Their is something even a little apologetic about the voiceover. What the point in this is, as the depth of Flaubert's work obviously can't be gone into, and it would be tough to say anything is really added beyond the words. Much of the time the action could quite easily be described.
This adaption tells obviously one of the great novels of the nineteenth century. This is obviously not the place to discuss that, but we notice the play of commerce here, and how Chabrol does speed us on the occassions when it is necessary to enter Emma's point, of view, sympathise more with her. This is, however, a pretty pointless adaption. We are rather more curious about Renoir's 1933 Bovary.
Chabrol indulges in classicism here, clearly trying to tone down the more pronounced stylistic tics. We thus have more classicial framings, waist-shots, longer takes. We also have two-shots, which aren't a major feature of Chabrol's style. These can even be two heads, or two profiles. On the more emphasised points, Chabrol does 'go in for the kill', on the close-ups. He also can't help himself adding some sex, which fits, and a bit of dirt and disgust, pretty stupid and drawn out in the final scene.
The story needs to be told extremely quickly, and it positively races along. This is frankly a pretty novel-to-screen adaption, as in it simply recounts what the words of the novel are. Their is something even a little apologetic about the voiceover. What the point in this is, as the depth of Flaubert's work obviously can't be gone into, and it would be tough to say anything is really added beyond the words. Much of the time the action could quite easily be described.
This adaption tells obviously one of the great novels of the nineteenth century. This is obviously not the place to discuss that, but we notice the play of commerce here, and how Chabrol does speed us on the occassions when it is necessary to enter Emma's point, of view, sympathise more with her. This is, however, a pretty pointless adaption. We are rather more curious about Renoir's 1933 Bovary.
Wednesday 20 April 2011
The Blood Of Others
Claude Chabrol, still in Hollywood, 1984
This is a pretty unworthwhile Hollywood take on France, with all but the onions and the striped jumpers. The story verges from downright offensive to simple confused near the end, though at least the intentions are revealed as alright.
The direction is simple and not particularly noticeable. The script is absolutely terrible, as is the acting. Jodie Foster and Sam Neill absolutely slaighter unpromising setups with some terrible overemoting. How does Chabrol find himself doing something like this?
This is a pretty unworthwhile Hollywood take on France, with all but the onions and the striped jumpers. The story verges from downright offensive to simple confused near the end, though at least the intentions are revealed as alright.
The direction is simple and not particularly noticeable. The script is absolutely terrible, as is the acting. Jodie Foster and Sam Neill absolutely slaighter unpromising setups with some terrible overemoting. How does Chabrol find himself doing something like this?
Blood Relatives
Claude Chabrol goes to Hollywood, 1978
This is remarkably simple, and remarably nasty. It is very straightforward, with no real psychological insight or depth, but is plain nasty. Cabrol has toned down all the even noticeable formal elements, except for some 1980s stylisation of the sets and perhaps a few longer takes.
The first is absolutely grim, Donald Sutherland grows into a hangdog expression, with little to no interior life, where everything is just dirty, mucky. The second half is presumably a piss take, with a certain TV movie flavour (though elegantly directed) that reveals itself as frankly just nasty, plain nasty. Rather like many other low-circulation thrillers really; but making it well directed just brings out how absolutely vile what goes on in them is.
This is remarkably simple, and remarably nasty. It is very straightforward, with no real psychological insight or depth, but is plain nasty. Cabrol has toned down all the even noticeable formal elements, except for some 1980s stylisation of the sets and perhaps a few longer takes.
The first is absolutely grim, Donald Sutherland grows into a hangdog expression, with little to no interior life, where everything is just dirty, mucky. The second half is presumably a piss take, with a certain TV movie flavour (though elegantly directed) that reveals itself as frankly just nasty, plain nasty. Rather like many other low-circulation thrillers really; but making it well directed just brings out how absolutely vile what goes on in them is.
Une Partie de Plaisir
Claude Chabrol, 1975
Certainly one of Chabrol’s better works, a good example to round together a number of his repeated themes. Technically, it usually starts off close before an establishing shot, though the opposite can occur. A lot of these changes come in tracks. Chabrol also has certain scenes with a still camera, more so than usual. Otherwise, the usual close work, pretty consistent back and forth, framing more tightly for tension etc.
This has some really interesting themes; notably the transfer from one bourgeois generation to the next. The usual themes of sexual jealousy are nicely put into this, rather than standing on their own. We have the older generation obsessed with learning and an idea of freedom, but balking at the consequences of this freedom. Also the remnants of high culture in the older, and a kind of steely nihilism, all about pleasure, really ‘just living’, rather than thinking of it in the abstract. There is at once something terrible about this change, but a satisfying ‘chickens to roost’ as well. As the younger generation carry out what is preached but not practised, violence ensues. And yet across this there are ties, of conjugal and family love, which are at once inter-generational but broken by this. Themes not too dissimilar, though obviously on an entirely different scale, from ‘The Leopard’.
As written, I found this one of Chabrol’s more complex and complete works.
Certainly one of Chabrol’s better works, a good example to round together a number of his repeated themes. Technically, it usually starts off close before an establishing shot, though the opposite can occur. A lot of these changes come in tracks. Chabrol also has certain scenes with a still camera, more so than usual. Otherwise, the usual close work, pretty consistent back and forth, framing more tightly for tension etc.
This has some really interesting themes; notably the transfer from one bourgeois generation to the next. The usual themes of sexual jealousy are nicely put into this, rather than standing on their own. We have the older generation obsessed with learning and an idea of freedom, but balking at the consequences of this freedom. Also the remnants of high culture in the older, and a kind of steely nihilism, all about pleasure, really ‘just living’, rather than thinking of it in the abstract. There is at once something terrible about this change, but a satisfying ‘chickens to roost’ as well. As the younger generation carry out what is preached but not practised, violence ensues. And yet across this there are ties, of conjugal and family love, which are at once inter-generational but broken by this. Themes not too dissimilar, though obviously on an entirely different scale, from ‘The Leopard’.
As written, I found this one of Chabrol’s more complex and complete works.
Tuesday 19 April 2011
Les Noces Rouges
Claude Chabrol, 1973
There’s a certain jeu d’esprit about this film that is rather pleasing. A nice pace, a nice perky sense of the ridiculous. There is real pleasure in the tearing across the rooms, a nice and sharp story told. Piccoli is excellent at this; always on the edge of ridiculous, he comes across as sharp, urgent, while indeed with a hint of the silly.
The camera is also on live form, with a large number of circling movements, relatively fast cuts. There is also a rare (for Chabrol) moment of visual stylisation around the burning car.
We have our usual themes of crazy love, poisoning and so on, with a crime, the amour fou partner accepting. Always someone trying to help, trying to accept the others’ crazy desire, but making things worse. Also note the repetitions of love scenes in the forest by the river, never too dense, among trees on cloudy days.
This isn’t exactly very different from much of Chabrol’s work, but is sharply made.
There’s a certain jeu d’esprit about this film that is rather pleasing. A nice pace, a nice perky sense of the ridiculous. There is real pleasure in the tearing across the rooms, a nice and sharp story told. Piccoli is excellent at this; always on the edge of ridiculous, he comes across as sharp, urgent, while indeed with a hint of the silly.
The camera is also on live form, with a large number of circling movements, relatively fast cuts. There is also a rare (for Chabrol) moment of visual stylisation around the burning car.
We have our usual themes of crazy love, poisoning and so on, with a crime, the amour fou partner accepting. Always someone trying to help, trying to accept the others’ crazy desire, but making things worse. Also note the repetitions of love scenes in the forest by the river, never too dense, among trees on cloudy days.
This isn’t exactly very different from much of Chabrol’s work, but is sharply made.
Juste Avant La Nuit
Claude Chabrol, 1971
An excellent idea, crime and punishment like, with a quiet direction except for some close-ups. Bourgeois world, poison, monstrosity of a house. Cold lead character, and the switch around at the end. Touch of the inconsequential.
An excellent idea, crime and punishment like, with a quiet direction except for some close-ups. Bourgeois world, poison, monstrosity of a house. Cold lead character, and the switch around at the end. Touch of the inconsequential.
La Rupture
Claude Chabrol, 1970
On the surface more formally showy than much of Chabrol’s other work. This means lots of track and zoom-ins, even some whip pans. Some very quick scenes, quick cuts. Nice montage work with the tram lines.
The themes are of paranoia (‘Paris Belongs to... no one’) people encountered are strange, everything is against the lead, the world is here more negative than elsewhere. Everyone drinks huge amounts to get by, no respite. The characters aren’t particularly deep; slight air of lunchtime melodrama at times. The drug part is dated, perhaps explains the formal tricks, Chabrol looking to weird us out. Works, but in a tired way.
On the surface more formally showy than much of Chabrol’s other work. This means lots of track and zoom-ins, even some whip pans. Some very quick scenes, quick cuts. Nice montage work with the tram lines.
The themes are of paranoia (‘Paris Belongs to... no one’) people encountered are strange, everything is against the lead, the world is here more negative than elsewhere. Everyone drinks huge amounts to get by, no respite. The characters aren’t particularly deep; slight air of lunchtime melodrama at times. The drug part is dated, perhaps explains the formal tricks, Chabrol looking to weird us out. Works, but in a tired way.
Monday 18 April 2011
Que La Bete Meure
Chabrol, 1969
Most like ‘La Boucher’. Cold, almost funny at times. Chabrol not really interested in interiority. Characters always surprising, with low key acting. Camera happy to circle about a bit here, nice outdoor framings.
Narration in book gives this personal flavour, and the story is up there with Chabrol’s (again, so far seen) most gripping. Clearly tries not to waste a shot. A sharp and entertaining picture.
Most like ‘La Boucher’. Cold, almost funny at times. Chabrol not really interested in interiority. Characters always surprising, with low key acting. Camera happy to circle about a bit here, nice outdoor framings.
Narration in book gives this personal flavour, and the story is up there with Chabrol’s (again, so far seen) most gripping. Clearly tries not to waste a shot. A sharp and entertaining picture.
La Femme Infidele
Claude Chabrol, 1969
Fascinating when we consider how all of Chabrol’s conscious Hitchockianism will of course lead to this picture, which at times is pretty much pure Bunuel.
By this we mean; glint in the eye, absurdist humour (silliness of actions); violence behind the bourgeois facade; simple camera that waist-up tracks, but follows objects before people; very shallow depth (staging and colouring, not lens), people going through artificial world in slow, almost theatrical way. Relation of Hitchcock to Bunuel is surely one of the richest in the great auteur debates.
Again; Chabrol isn’t really nasty. Moments of genuine happiness among the drinking and infidelity. Warm central performances.
The most interesting thing about this film could be the widescreen shooting. Chabrol uses less close ups (hence more Bunuelian), though still uses vastly more than most. Able to establish space even when one actor is focussed. Use of character juxtaposed with other objects used in widescreen format. Also note soft lighting, gauzing, twinkling of objects. Perhaps Chabrol’s (of what we have so far seen) prettiest film. Fine images at the end. Excellent work. We do love Bunuel.
Fascinating when we consider how all of Chabrol’s conscious Hitchockianism will of course lead to this picture, which at times is pretty much pure Bunuel.
By this we mean; glint in the eye, absurdist humour (silliness of actions); violence behind the bourgeois facade; simple camera that waist-up tracks, but follows objects before people; very shallow depth (staging and colouring, not lens), people going through artificial world in slow, almost theatrical way. Relation of Hitchcock to Bunuel is surely one of the richest in the great auteur debates.
Again; Chabrol isn’t really nasty. Moments of genuine happiness among the drinking and infidelity. Warm central performances.
The most interesting thing about this film could be the widescreen shooting. Chabrol uses less close ups (hence more Bunuelian), though still uses vastly more than most. Able to establish space even when one actor is focussed. Use of character juxtaposed with other objects used in widescreen format. Also note soft lighting, gauzing, twinkling of objects. Perhaps Chabrol’s (of what we have so far seen) prettiest film. Fine images at the end. Excellent work. We do love Bunuel.
Les Biches
Claude Chabrol, 1968
Great story, Hitchockish, with doubles, trying to get back, and an extremely strong ending. Woman are here more than just male playthings.
Chabrol again uses close-ups a lot. Establishes face through depth in the background of these. No initial establishing shot, starts close, either in a static or moving in, and then usually cuts out for the space later. Clear Hitchcock in that. Though the camera does roll around a bit, track, circle, move in on specific occasions.
Use of lovers outside reminds one of famous scene in ‘Il Grido’. Use of tropes from classic romance scenes.
Perhaps a tiny bit saggy, but decent enough.
Great story, Hitchockish, with doubles, trying to get back, and an extremely strong ending. Woman are here more than just male playthings.
Chabrol again uses close-ups a lot. Establishes face through depth in the background of these. No initial establishing shot, starts close, either in a static or moving in, and then usually cuts out for the space later. Clear Hitchcock in that. Though the camera does roll around a bit, track, circle, move in on specific occasions.
Use of lovers outside reminds one of famous scene in ‘Il Grido’. Use of tropes from classic romance scenes.
Perhaps a tiny bit saggy, but decent enough.
Les Bonnes Femmes
Wonderful earlish Claude Chabrol picture; 1960
Mixture of messing about and suspense. Low camera, lots of close ups. Fast film stock. Fast pans from the low position. Quite a bit of cutting about. Use of sound changes, moves to silence, for the underwater and the climatic scene. Combined with the close-ups has a great atmosphere.
Wonderful feeling of freedom around the monkey house, and the delivering of lines in a silly way. And that feeling that what is closest could be worst. This is not just cynicism; the happiness is genuinely that. Amazing speed of a change of styles; romance, comedy, almost horror, all segue into each other not jarringly but smoothly
There are so many styles here, romance (kissing framings) from old Hollywood, and a clear general relation of group dynamics and paranoia from ‘Paris Nous Appartient’. Males nasty, there is love, but constantly trying to undermine. Childish and simply nasty.
Terrific early new-wave picture.
Mixture of messing about and suspense. Low camera, lots of close ups. Fast film stock. Fast pans from the low position. Quite a bit of cutting about. Use of sound changes, moves to silence, for the underwater and the climatic scene. Combined with the close-ups has a great atmosphere.
Wonderful feeling of freedom around the monkey house, and the delivering of lines in a silly way. And that feeling that what is closest could be worst. This is not just cynicism; the happiness is genuinely that. Amazing speed of a change of styles; romance, comedy, almost horror, all segue into each other not jarringly but smoothly
There are so many styles here, romance (kissing framings) from old Hollywood, and a clear general relation of group dynamics and paranoia from ‘Paris Nous Appartient’. Males nasty, there is love, but constantly trying to undermine. Childish and simply nasty.
Terrific early new-wave picture.
Sunday 17 April 2011
Le Silence De La Mer
Jean-Pierre Melville’s first feature, from 1949. A short work, and an excellent one.
Deliberately frontlining it as an adaption of a novel means that the political commitment, the ‘under occupation’ aspect is frontlined. It deliberately stifles. The narration (and the image in its lack of obvious expression) is pretty Bressonian at the start, with actions we can see being repeated. This welds us to the everyday, making it seem almost like a coping mechanism. It also allows us the interiority the plot cannot give to the French, a necessary balancing of the structure.
This film uses racked focus a reasonable amount. It is perhaps Melville’s (from what we have seen) most formally noticeable, almost expressionist film. High and low angles are use to emphasis power, point of view, and framing particular aspects (the fire, the landmarks, etc). They are also used as a matter of creating space. Establishing shots are generally avoided, but the room (and Paris) are coherently created by angled depth from particular views (with the centre of attention close to us in a deep framing), and frequent cuts using this, so we get to see the whole room). The space is further filled out by this. They are also used as a matter of creating space. Establishing shots are generally avoided, but the room (and Paris) are coherently created by angled depth from particular views (with the centre of attention close to us in a deep framing), and frequent cuts using this, so we get to see the whole room). The space is further filled out by music (Paris) and the ticking of the clock; that harsh sound that alerts us to the whole world, tense, filled with horror, yet so inconspicuous.
Focussing like this means this films P.O.V. is nearly entirely of the German (indeed, the narration is needed to stop it being entirely so). This may be partly to lure us in to understand his world, even accept him; it challenges us to identify with who are should be opposed to. Note this also in that we get his P.O.V., even on the other characters (they are seen side-on/ from above). We are pulled back to the French in some of the film’s most powerful moments.
The lighting here is interesting; usually dappled with fire. The fist shot of the German has him as hellishly front-lit (frontlighting=creepy), but as it goes on, we see him, like the French backlight, face in darkness, softer in a way. A mix of these is achieved throughout.
This film asks us to, at times, sympathise with an agent of terror. This is done while at the same time he is condemned; for every sweetly idealist/ genuinely true phrase, there is one that is unmistakably a horror. He comes to be seen as naive; it is a little worrying if we are asked to think ‘they’re all good inside’, a tough message to get across, but this film clearly, though it certainly strains that way, tries to avoid it, with the other enemies. Perhaps it plays better when practical action was over; at the time, it seems a message almost too nuanced (this is a tough criticism to make).
The close-up near the end is quite stunning, and the near-final shot of the uncle, straight on, is literally and figuratively powerfully direct. This film is sharp but deep; a slice (82 minutes) straight through a world. An excellent picture.
Deliberately frontlining it as an adaption of a novel means that the political commitment, the ‘under occupation’ aspect is frontlined. It deliberately stifles. The narration (and the image in its lack of obvious expression) is pretty Bressonian at the start, with actions we can see being repeated. This welds us to the everyday, making it seem almost like a coping mechanism. It also allows us the interiority the plot cannot give to the French, a necessary balancing of the structure.
This film uses racked focus a reasonable amount. It is perhaps Melville’s (from what we have seen) most formally noticeable, almost expressionist film. High and low angles are use to emphasis power, point of view, and framing particular aspects (the fire, the landmarks, etc). They are also used as a matter of creating space. Establishing shots are generally avoided, but the room (and Paris) are coherently created by angled depth from particular views (with the centre of attention close to us in a deep framing), and frequent cuts using this, so we get to see the whole room). The space is further filled out by this. They are also used as a matter of creating space. Establishing shots are generally avoided, but the room (and Paris) are coherently created by angled depth from particular views (with the centre of attention close to us in a deep framing), and frequent cuts using this, so we get to see the whole room). The space is further filled out by music (Paris) and the ticking of the clock; that harsh sound that alerts us to the whole world, tense, filled with horror, yet so inconspicuous.
Focussing like this means this films P.O.V. is nearly entirely of the German (indeed, the narration is needed to stop it being entirely so). This may be partly to lure us in to understand his world, even accept him; it challenges us to identify with who are should be opposed to. Note this also in that we get his P.O.V., even on the other characters (they are seen side-on/ from above). We are pulled back to the French in some of the film’s most powerful moments.
The lighting here is interesting; usually dappled with fire. The fist shot of the German has him as hellishly front-lit (frontlighting=creepy), but as it goes on, we see him, like the French backlight, face in darkness, softer in a way. A mix of these is achieved throughout.
This film asks us to, at times, sympathise with an agent of terror. This is done while at the same time he is condemned; for every sweetly idealist/ genuinely true phrase, there is one that is unmistakably a horror. He comes to be seen as naive; it is a little worrying if we are asked to think ‘they’re all good inside’, a tough message to get across, but this film clearly, though it certainly strains that way, tries to avoid it, with the other enemies. Perhaps it plays better when practical action was over; at the time, it seems a message almost too nuanced (this is a tough criticism to make).
The close-up near the end is quite stunning, and the near-final shot of the uncle, straight on, is literally and figuratively powerfully direct. This film is sharp but deep; a slice (82 minutes) straight through a world. An excellent picture.
Les Vampires
Feuillades 10 episodes of the crime serial. 1915
Use of a static camera (few pans) for a square setting, theatrical. Often a door at the back, attention at one depth, but suspense created through the use of others. Complex staging of blocking, by people, doorways and others who at that moment are not meant to be the centre of attention.
There are cuts to frame differently, quite a few inserts (and intertitles; this is really very wordy, people talking in rooms), and analytical editing devices.
When seated, the actors are very low. Use of vertical space, climbing up walls, chimneys, towering over others. Connects to wider themes.
The limbic city, finding new spaces in it. In the bourgeois home, with explicit property ties, the maids and servants pop out of doors, walls, fireplaces. As though the bourgeois are under siege in their own house. Use of alternate spaces. Cinema’s connections with rooftops (here, obviously ‘Irma Vep’, ‘The Kid’, ‘Blade Runner’, ‘Va Savoir’). Cinema; empty streets, car chases (note the tracking on the moving car- before Vertov), trains (train roofs). At once subversive and a cinema of fear. Certain sensationalist pandering with pretty shocking violence; shooting, body parts. People chucked off buildings. Causal death. Disguise as constant. Police and criminals the same in creeping about and duplicity. Own methods come back to them haunt them. Confusioof identity. Vampires don’t know who are Vampires, same with the ‘goodies’.
As it goes on, the cuts are perhaps a little faster. What vertainly happens is that the shots become more free. There is more variety as the camera moves, outside, opting for more than theatrical tableaus. Long shots turn to medium shots, there is lot of above the waist stuff, with a few not too far away from close-ups, showing one emotion.
It’s the Vampires we love; the rather priggish police breaking in on their ‘orgiastic party’, which looks wonderful, naive fun, is the end of chaos and the joy that goes with that. What on earth will the (obsessive) editor do now? Settle into the completeness of his little bourgeois life, that was so disturbed.
Use of a static camera (few pans) for a square setting, theatrical. Often a door at the back, attention at one depth, but suspense created through the use of others. Complex staging of blocking, by people, doorways and others who at that moment are not meant to be the centre of attention.
There are cuts to frame differently, quite a few inserts (and intertitles; this is really very wordy, people talking in rooms), and analytical editing devices.
When seated, the actors are very low. Use of vertical space, climbing up walls, chimneys, towering over others. Connects to wider themes.
The limbic city, finding new spaces in it. In the bourgeois home, with explicit property ties, the maids and servants pop out of doors, walls, fireplaces. As though the bourgeois are under siege in their own house. Use of alternate spaces. Cinema’s connections with rooftops (here, obviously ‘Irma Vep’, ‘The Kid’, ‘Blade Runner’, ‘Va Savoir’). Cinema; empty streets, car chases (note the tracking on the moving car- before Vertov), trains (train roofs). At once subversive and a cinema of fear. Certain sensationalist pandering with pretty shocking violence; shooting, body parts. People chucked off buildings. Causal death. Disguise as constant. Police and criminals the same in creeping about and duplicity. Own methods come back to them haunt them. Confusioof identity. Vampires don’t know who are Vampires, same with the ‘goodies’.
As it goes on, the cuts are perhaps a little faster. What vertainly happens is that the shots become more free. There is more variety as the camera moves, outside, opting for more than theatrical tableaus. Long shots turn to medium shots, there is lot of above the waist stuff, with a few not too far away from close-ups, showing one emotion.
It’s the Vampires we love; the rather priggish police breaking in on their ‘orgiastic party’, which looks wonderful, naive fun, is the end of chaos and the joy that goes with that. What on earth will the (obsessive) editor do now? Settle into the completeness of his little bourgeois life, that was so disturbed.
The Graduate
Mike Nichols, 1967
Surtees
Use of close-up, around head, for psychology. Smoothish tracking. Combined with Panavision becomes a play of balances. The head balanced by the fishtank, dartboard etc. Very rich series of resonances, often humorous. As the film goes on the shots get longer; outside of Hoffman’s head.
Use of these close-ups with something in the distance, creates amusing juxtapositions and suspense. Framing one around the other. Allows complex images.
Use of a certain degree of deadpan stillness, dialogue that is very funny, a little silly but pretty much never over the top. The music is perhaps a bit of an intrusion.
This is a well shot, very amusing film, a fine script. It would be stretching it to say it had anything too deep to say, though its qualities mean it is extremely successful at conveying a certain limited frame of mind. Very good.
Surtees
Use of close-up, around head, for psychology. Smoothish tracking. Combined with Panavision becomes a play of balances. The head balanced by the fishtank, dartboard etc. Very rich series of resonances, often humorous. As the film goes on the shots get longer; outside of Hoffman’s head.
Use of these close-ups with something in the distance, creates amusing juxtapositions and suspense. Framing one around the other. Allows complex images.
Use of a certain degree of deadpan stillness, dialogue that is very funny, a little silly but pretty much never over the top. The music is perhaps a bit of an intrusion.
This is a well shot, very amusing film, a fine script. It would be stretching it to say it had anything too deep to say, though its qualities mean it is extremely successful at conveying a certain limited frame of mind. Very good.
Saturday 16 April 2011
Meek's Cutoff
Kelly Reichardt, new movie set in the old West
I mean, this isn't a great film, though neither a bad one, it is all a bit average.
The good parts first; at least their is some care in the long shots. The narrator is nicely relaxed, tensing up a bit. There are serious intentions here. The cinematography, one is forced to admit, can be rather good. Dramatic lighting, swatches and swathes of the desert. The light meter is set to high, allowing great details of the sky. Shooting the dark, well, very dark is certainly atmospheric, though we could do without the slightly desperate smash cuts to the sunlight. The sound is also nicely underplayed.
But this immediately leads us onto the negatives. Staging; no one ever crosses each other here. For all the Antonioni-ish standing apart, he moves his characters around, here there is something incredibly stagey, occassionally awkwardly Lumiere-like, about how they stand. This is perhaps a factor in why this film is so portentous; the yellow filters, or stock or whatever, can't get over the fact that the clothes aren't dirty enough, we never quite get over the fact that we have actors playing dress up. The dialogue doesn't help (mannered showing off, trying to shock and be 'realistic', Paul Dano ruthlessly annoying), and neither does the over-serious tone. This film is remarkably un-selfaware.
Our major visual problem (to go with the slightly boring thematics) is the shooting of the earth. As Dovzhenko makes obvious, you get more of the earth by less; shooting the sky. This film's screen is largely taken up by earth. The sky is only the top quarter. This doesn't give a great sense of grittiness and place (as perhaps intended), but looks oddly like a studio. The action is simply too high in the frame. Adding a quarter at the top by pushing the camera up a bit would, in my opinion, have greatly improved this film./
I would not like to say this film is bad; respect for creating a slow, visual kind of film. I'm just not sure it does it too well, and not too sure I care.
I mean, this isn't a great film, though neither a bad one, it is all a bit average.
The good parts first; at least their is some care in the long shots. The narrator is nicely relaxed, tensing up a bit. There are serious intentions here. The cinematography, one is forced to admit, can be rather good. Dramatic lighting, swatches and swathes of the desert. The light meter is set to high, allowing great details of the sky. Shooting the dark, well, very dark is certainly atmospheric, though we could do without the slightly desperate smash cuts to the sunlight. The sound is also nicely underplayed.
But this immediately leads us onto the negatives. Staging; no one ever crosses each other here. For all the Antonioni-ish standing apart, he moves his characters around, here there is something incredibly stagey, occassionally awkwardly Lumiere-like, about how they stand. This is perhaps a factor in why this film is so portentous; the yellow filters, or stock or whatever, can't get over the fact that the clothes aren't dirty enough, we never quite get over the fact that we have actors playing dress up. The dialogue doesn't help (mannered showing off, trying to shock and be 'realistic', Paul Dano ruthlessly annoying), and neither does the over-serious tone. This film is remarkably un-selfaware.
Our major visual problem (to go with the slightly boring thematics) is the shooting of the earth. As Dovzhenko makes obvious, you get more of the earth by less; shooting the sky. This film's screen is largely taken up by earth. The sky is only the top quarter. This doesn't give a great sense of grittiness and place (as perhaps intended), but looks oddly like a studio. The action is simply too high in the frame. Adding a quarter at the top by pushing the camera up a bit would, in my opinion, have greatly improved this film./
I would not like to say this film is bad; respect for creating a slow, visual kind of film. I'm just not sure it does it too well, and not too sure I care.
The Last Picture Show
1971, Peter Bogdanovich
The question I find interesting in this film is; why is it so good?
This becomes a question because, at first, it sets itself up to be pretty greatly flawed. With hardly any contrast in the cinematography we have a nice kind of dustbowl, but there is really no sense of space created explicitly by long shots, and this film is, after all, all about space. The close-ups are relentless, making connection difficult, and initially making visual interest difficult. With acting focussing, by needs, itself on tiny gestures, any real depth would have to be earned with far too much effort, lacking bodily expressivity.
And yet this film is a wonderful picture. The close-ups are shot very well; nice cavings of the face, not so much affect-shots but a nice sort of rubbery plasticity. There is quite a lot of big faces very close to the camera, as the film goes on background depth is used more. It is perhaps though through sound and silence that place is created. The rolling dustbowls, cadences of accent. This film does its work the hard way; it, over long periods of time, builds up its characters step by step, piece by piece, rather than allowing anything more immediate.
Thematically, I would have to admit I don't care about the characters per se; it is stupid people doing stupid things. Their is a slight tendency towards pathos and a valorisation of a milleu that doesn't deserve it. Yet the film is smart enough to stand apart from the realism, to show it all as idiotic, however much empathy would like to be felt. What we eventually have is a slow build up, brick by brick, where beauty of the close-up is earned, and we nearly have a sociological study by the end. A really fine picture.
The question I find interesting in this film is; why is it so good?
This becomes a question because, at first, it sets itself up to be pretty greatly flawed. With hardly any contrast in the cinematography we have a nice kind of dustbowl, but there is really no sense of space created explicitly by long shots, and this film is, after all, all about space. The close-ups are relentless, making connection difficult, and initially making visual interest difficult. With acting focussing, by needs, itself on tiny gestures, any real depth would have to be earned with far too much effort, lacking bodily expressivity.
And yet this film is a wonderful picture. The close-ups are shot very well; nice cavings of the face, not so much affect-shots but a nice sort of rubbery plasticity. There is quite a lot of big faces very close to the camera, as the film goes on background depth is used more. It is perhaps though through sound and silence that place is created. The rolling dustbowls, cadences of accent. This film does its work the hard way; it, over long periods of time, builds up its characters step by step, piece by piece, rather than allowing anything more immediate.
Thematically, I would have to admit I don't care about the characters per se; it is stupid people doing stupid things. Their is a slight tendency towards pathos and a valorisation of a milleu that doesn't deserve it. Yet the film is smart enough to stand apart from the realism, to show it all as idiotic, however much empathy would like to be felt. What we eventually have is a slow build up, brick by brick, where beauty of the close-up is earned, and we nearly have a sociological study by the end. A really fine picture.
Out Of The Past
Also known as 'Build My Gallows High'. Jacques Tourneur, Mitchum and Greer, 1947
This is classic film noir, and is at its best with those elements. We have the voiceover, the narration commentary. The move to the city is striking, and an interesting study in the urban/ country dialectic on films of the time. In the city there is some wonderful cinematography of Mitchum, skulking in full length from angled cameras at doorways, or medium shots, with shadows in the dark, blowing smoke into black spaces.
The lighting here is often organised so that it is the sides of the faces of the two interlocurs that we don't see that is in light; we have the dark side, whoever on screen is lit on the other half.
There is a certain sleepiness about this film, a strange kind of lazy relaxation. People walk all the way across rooms; perhaps it is partly a product of the non-overlapping, and complex rather than sharp dialogue. The direction is generally pretty down the line, with a bit of a lack of establishing shots.
This is undoubtedly entertaining, with the return of the past being thrown from all angles, a suitably bewildering plot, and some lovely city photography.
This is classic film noir, and is at its best with those elements. We have the voiceover, the narration commentary. The move to the city is striking, and an interesting study in the urban/ country dialectic on films of the time. In the city there is some wonderful cinematography of Mitchum, skulking in full length from angled cameras at doorways, or medium shots, with shadows in the dark, blowing smoke into black spaces.
The lighting here is often organised so that it is the sides of the faces of the two interlocurs that we don't see that is in light; we have the dark side, whoever on screen is lit on the other half.
There is a certain sleepiness about this film, a strange kind of lazy relaxation. People walk all the way across rooms; perhaps it is partly a product of the non-overlapping, and complex rather than sharp dialogue. The direction is generally pretty down the line, with a bit of a lack of establishing shots.
This is undoubtedly entertaining, with the return of the past being thrown from all angles, a suitably bewildering plot, and some lovely city photography.
Friday 15 April 2011
Der Blaue Engel
The German language version of Josef Von Sternberg's photography of Marlene Dietrich, 1930
This film is very much in the realist tradtion. Long takes and shots are throughout, for all the fame of the close-up. Long takes and shots of complex interiors, deatiled, busy, realist contingency. Indeed, Jannings, I would bet, gets more close-ups to Dietrich. This film is really wonderfully constrained. There is the silence at the start, the long long takes, and a reticence, noticeable early and continues, to actually take us up to Dietrich, to focus on here. She is rarely centred on the screen, her presence is rather an orb around others, throwing us here and there. The viewer desires to see her, the close-up that never really comes. The film is the circling of the impossible desire.
Balance is interesting here. Dietrich is beautiful partly because she is placed among ugly people, and she unabalances the frames as we focus on her. Von Sternberg, if one wants to call it balance (it is beaitful, it doesn't feel uncomfortable, but it is not symmetrical) somehow manages to balance non-matching black and white shapes. Black on one side balances white on the other. This shouldn't make sense, but it does. Outside of Dietrich, beaity isn't really the world here; more a kind of spidery, but quite sharp, complexity.
Dietrich's whole body is here, out of the corner of the eye, but yet always central. Lines of shadow are almost erased, she is not lit always majorly, but nearly always softly. The low contrast again means nothing is overdone. Genuinely a panaopoly of lights, always one behind, on the hair. Great dappled lighting also works on the wonderful shades and gauzes. There is adeliberate reticence in emphasising her gace at times, by also surrounding it in white clothes, sets etc (though as the only white object, all of her is often emphasized at the expense of others). This move adds extra weight to the tipped black hat she wears in the final, throaty, song, quite remarkable.
The long takes adds a great power to what is essentially a morally true, but pretty repugnant, morality tale. The light turning harsh on the tragic clown, in unbearably long takes, and the wonderful gauzes, achieves an exquisite horror. On these occassions near the end, Sternerg is at once gritty and unflinching, but not willing to sentimentalise.
This film is fetishism, but also pretty much social realism. How is this possible? By not being soft or fluffy in its fetish, not extravagant lighting here. It is more the plot, and very subtle gradations in who is higher, who holds attention. A great picture.
This film is very much in the realist tradtion. Long takes and shots are throughout, for all the fame of the close-up. Long takes and shots of complex interiors, deatiled, busy, realist contingency. Indeed, Jannings, I would bet, gets more close-ups to Dietrich. This film is really wonderfully constrained. There is the silence at the start, the long long takes, and a reticence, noticeable early and continues, to actually take us up to Dietrich, to focus on here. She is rarely centred on the screen, her presence is rather an orb around others, throwing us here and there. The viewer desires to see her, the close-up that never really comes. The film is the circling of the impossible desire.
Balance is interesting here. Dietrich is beautiful partly because she is placed among ugly people, and she unabalances the frames as we focus on her. Von Sternberg, if one wants to call it balance (it is beaitful, it doesn't feel uncomfortable, but it is not symmetrical) somehow manages to balance non-matching black and white shapes. Black on one side balances white on the other. This shouldn't make sense, but it does. Outside of Dietrich, beaity isn't really the world here; more a kind of spidery, but quite sharp, complexity.
Dietrich's whole body is here, out of the corner of the eye, but yet always central. Lines of shadow are almost erased, she is not lit always majorly, but nearly always softly. The low contrast again means nothing is overdone. Genuinely a panaopoly of lights, always one behind, on the hair. Great dappled lighting also works on the wonderful shades and gauzes. There is adeliberate reticence in emphasising her gace at times, by also surrounding it in white clothes, sets etc (though as the only white object, all of her is often emphasized at the expense of others). This move adds extra weight to the tipped black hat she wears in the final, throaty, song, quite remarkable.
The long takes adds a great power to what is essentially a morally true, but pretty repugnant, morality tale. The light turning harsh on the tragic clown, in unbearably long takes, and the wonderful gauzes, achieves an exquisite horror. On these occassions near the end, Sternerg is at once gritty and unflinching, but not willing to sentimentalise.
This film is fetishism, but also pretty much social realism. How is this possible? By not being soft or fluffy in its fetish, not extravagant lighting here. It is more the plot, and very subtle gradations in who is higher, who holds attention. A great picture.
A Zed & Two Noughts
Peter Greenaway in 1986
We have the usual Greenaway angle, painterliness in framing. And analtyic inserts. With some added tracks on one angle in and out, and more of a willingeness than 'The Cook...' to track in and out. There is the usual flashing reds and lights, with one noticabely impressive use of changes of light, on and off. The framing is often low. Is Greenaway a formalist? Yes. There is a sense of fixing things here, of fixing life and not letting it live. Trying to return to the great fine art tradition, which is freezing life (this is a criticism). Putting it in the modern idiom does something different though, and strange.
This film can lead to discussions of life.
There is a sense here of the characters trying to accept change. Of fixing life, and living through it, is the film's dialectic. Twins as seeing themselves change, in the other. Accepting and avoiding this. Nature is change.
Do films allow an understanding of change. Or do they fix, freeze, congeal, the very process of change itself, are they the ultimate reification. Is Greenaway's style, which can get a little tired, for all his, in our eyes, superiority to nearly every other British director?
We have the usual Greenaway angle, painterliness in framing. And analtyic inserts. With some added tracks on one angle in and out, and more of a willingeness than 'The Cook...' to track in and out. There is the usual flashing reds and lights, with one noticabely impressive use of changes of light, on and off. The framing is often low. Is Greenaway a formalist? Yes. There is a sense of fixing things here, of fixing life and not letting it live. Trying to return to the great fine art tradition, which is freezing life (this is a criticism). Putting it in the modern idiom does something different though, and strange.
This film can lead to discussions of life.
There is a sense here of the characters trying to accept change. Of fixing life, and living through it, is the film's dialectic. Twins as seeing themselves change, in the other. Accepting and avoiding this. Nature is change.
Do films allow an understanding of change. Or do they fix, freeze, congeal, the very process of change itself, are they the ultimate reification. Is Greenaway's style, which can get a little tired, for all his, in our eyes, superiority to nearly every other British director?
Sunset Boulevard
Classic Wilderm 1950
Don't get me wrong, this is a great film; the plot is hillarious, wondefully self reflexive, sometimes astonishing (Buster Keaton!), and if there is a better written film, well, ever, I would like to see it.
Wilder develops more interest in depth here, with a few close to camera (perpendicular, too) framings of heads, deeper focus, long dark rooms paced up and down. Watching Gregg Toland, presumably. Is Wilder one of the greatest of directors? Writers yes, storytellers yes, but visual distinctiveness is rarely his strongpoint (compared to the greats; his easy elegance still eats most alive). We generally have estanblished space, shot-reverse. There are some scenes where inserts might have helped, for all the great things about reticence. The staircase shots here, it should be mentioned, are terrific.
It is a bit ridiculous to criticise, as this film attacks Hollywood, even the viewer, and a complicated and deeply intelligent way. There is the myth, not just attacked, but with its huge pull. A really fine story, a great novel (which it coul just as easily be), and a very, very good film.
Don't get me wrong, this is a great film; the plot is hillarious, wondefully self reflexive, sometimes astonishing (Buster Keaton!), and if there is a better written film, well, ever, I would like to see it.
Wilder develops more interest in depth here, with a few close to camera (perpendicular, too) framings of heads, deeper focus, long dark rooms paced up and down. Watching Gregg Toland, presumably. Is Wilder one of the greatest of directors? Writers yes, storytellers yes, but visual distinctiveness is rarely his strongpoint (compared to the greats; his easy elegance still eats most alive). We generally have estanblished space, shot-reverse. There are some scenes where inserts might have helped, for all the great things about reticence. The staircase shots here, it should be mentioned, are terrific.
It is a bit ridiculous to criticise, as this film attacks Hollywood, even the viewer, and a complicated and deeply intelligent way. There is the myth, not just attacked, but with its huge pull. A really fine story, a great novel (which it coul just as easily be), and a very, very good film.
Double Indemnity
Brutally good noir from Billy Wilder, 1944
There is a wonderful pacing with the slow, slamming score, long takes, hidden man of the opening scene. This creates a great looming contrast to the classic noir a thousand mile an hour that follows.
Technically, we have the noir lighting which is a relucatance to fill light, and to light anything except the heads in much detail. We usually have a key light that hits the side of the face, perhaps the front, and a slightly angled backlight, high angle, touching the hair and back of the head. Basically just three-point without a noticeable fill, and with the light a bit harsh. Wilder adopts long shots outside, nice long waist and plan-americain stuff indoors to establish space (not much depth here, though bits and bobs). Wilder then settles in to a distinctive shot-reverse schema, with the overtheshoulder on one allowing about a quarter of the screen, just allowing a view of the eyes and a soft noises. So quite a bit of the interlocur on an angle that is far as we know is relatively distinctive to Wilder.
The plot here is nicely put forward, with a pleasing lack of moral mucking about at the start. The script is very funny at times, not a misstep, and very fast. Wilder is really a writer who can compete with any, in a very select club. As we get into crime and punishment territory, with wonderfully expressive but not over the top performances (MacMurray, Stanwyck, Robinson).
There is much to say about the noir genre, about punishing women. In relation to Wilder, we can see a man jumping with a morally questionable level of enthusiasm into a woman's plan, and not displaying much willingness, beyond a certain self interest, to escape. Wilder is often accussed of cynicism; this strikes us as true, there is literally no one happy at the end, though this is quite a quiet cynicism, not ezxactly revelled in. A classic noir.
There is a wonderful pacing with the slow, slamming score, long takes, hidden man of the opening scene. This creates a great looming contrast to the classic noir a thousand mile an hour that follows.
Technically, we have the noir lighting which is a relucatance to fill light, and to light anything except the heads in much detail. We usually have a key light that hits the side of the face, perhaps the front, and a slightly angled backlight, high angle, touching the hair and back of the head. Basically just three-point without a noticeable fill, and with the light a bit harsh. Wilder adopts long shots outside, nice long waist and plan-americain stuff indoors to establish space (not much depth here, though bits and bobs). Wilder then settles in to a distinctive shot-reverse schema, with the overtheshoulder on one allowing about a quarter of the screen, just allowing a view of the eyes and a soft noises. So quite a bit of the interlocur on an angle that is far as we know is relatively distinctive to Wilder.
The plot here is nicely put forward, with a pleasing lack of moral mucking about at the start. The script is very funny at times, not a misstep, and very fast. Wilder is really a writer who can compete with any, in a very select club. As we get into crime and punishment territory, with wonderfully expressive but not over the top performances (MacMurray, Stanwyck, Robinson).
There is much to say about the noir genre, about punishing women. In relation to Wilder, we can see a man jumping with a morally questionable level of enthusiasm into a woman's plan, and not displaying much willingness, beyond a certain self interest, to escape. Wilder is often accussed of cynicism; this strikes us as true, there is literally no one happy at the end, though this is quite a quiet cynicism, not ezxactly revelled in. A classic noir.
The Great Dictator
Chaplin, of course. 1940.
Let me quickly run through the technical elements. This film, with its usual wonderful simplicity of storytelling, evocative scenes meaning not too many are required, is the long take, long shot usually, often a side view of a street. The whole body is used much of the time, for physical purposes, but then we have movements in depending on the particular level and type of emotional engagement required. There are also a few pans around here, which, by 1940, is no surprise to have entered Chaplin's style. Also note the straight-on framings, not only for the literally or effectivly straight to camera addresses, but also for Hinkel in general. This framing, and the sparse sets, focusses our attention on the power of the speaker, on such an occassion, to hypnotise the audience (there is also a hypnosis in Chaplin's at once hillarious, and terrifying, nonsense teutonic language).
To our minds, to make it clear, this film is around and about the highest point humanity has reached. Why? It is perhaps not Chaplin's most balletic, and certainly his most beautiful. The ballet of 'Modern Times' and the striking images, high night contrast, of 'City Lights' are not as prominent here (it is of course beautiful and balletic all the same). But what Chaplin has done here is create a film that leaps outside its frame, that works as opposed and in relation to the world that is not the cinema in quite a remarkable way. Every scene, and the whole, are shot through with a moral goodness, courage, and self-reflexivity that is not, in what we have seen, surpassed.
Every scene of ballet, the globe, comedy of mismatches, running from the stormtroopers, is at once hillarious, but terrible in a way that applies to the world, not to a fictional universe. This film is, nearly, not a comedy; it is rather a roundabout way of trying to understand, and ultimately overcome, human suffering. One nearly feels uncomfortable laughing; one does not laugh at all maybe, but just is entered into some kind of attempt at understanding. Scenes like accidently starting to shave Paulette Goddard (beyond 'good', the scene and her) is hillarious, but in a way that doesn't ignore the unique horror, unnameable for that instance, of the situation. That we know, and Chaplin obviously knows we know, every situation is emotionally true, it happened, creates something of a mimesis that is, right now, what I like to call art; it is also goodness.
Scenes of playing with the globe, the pettiness of the dictators, is funny, mocking, but always with an awareness of its dire consequences. Worth noting is how the childish depiction of evil really preempts 'Blue Velvet' and takes it further; this is not a symbol of moral degradation, its a representation, and thus can be tackled, rather than just as in Lynch's work, considered.
The camp is simply not able to be shown; whether it was not known what happened, or Chaplin did not consider it approachable for the cinema, it is another example of this film's integrity (perhaps 'Nuit and Brouillard' in between Chaplin's two takes). How can a comedy film be constructed around this? And yet it is.
And then we have the final scene. This, for us, is the ultimate relation of art to life; Chaplin knows what is important, where art is not so much subsumed as it meets life, and he knows where he stands. And Chaplin, in our eyes, is, in all humbleness giving the highest compliment I can think of, a good man. There is even an awareness of his own mesmerising power, his own complicity in how he dictates to the audience; not a smart pathos, but a constant awareness. This film is, really.... It just needs to be remembered, and, more importantly than anything, acted with.
Let me quickly run through the technical elements. This film, with its usual wonderful simplicity of storytelling, evocative scenes meaning not too many are required, is the long take, long shot usually, often a side view of a street. The whole body is used much of the time, for physical purposes, but then we have movements in depending on the particular level and type of emotional engagement required. There are also a few pans around here, which, by 1940, is no surprise to have entered Chaplin's style. Also note the straight-on framings, not only for the literally or effectivly straight to camera addresses, but also for Hinkel in general. This framing, and the sparse sets, focusses our attention on the power of the speaker, on such an occassion, to hypnotise the audience (there is also a hypnosis in Chaplin's at once hillarious, and terrifying, nonsense teutonic language).
To our minds, to make it clear, this film is around and about the highest point humanity has reached. Why? It is perhaps not Chaplin's most balletic, and certainly his most beautiful. The ballet of 'Modern Times' and the striking images, high night contrast, of 'City Lights' are not as prominent here (it is of course beautiful and balletic all the same). But what Chaplin has done here is create a film that leaps outside its frame, that works as opposed and in relation to the world that is not the cinema in quite a remarkable way. Every scene, and the whole, are shot through with a moral goodness, courage, and self-reflexivity that is not, in what we have seen, surpassed.
Every scene of ballet, the globe, comedy of mismatches, running from the stormtroopers, is at once hillarious, but terrible in a way that applies to the world, not to a fictional universe. This film is, nearly, not a comedy; it is rather a roundabout way of trying to understand, and ultimately overcome, human suffering. One nearly feels uncomfortable laughing; one does not laugh at all maybe, but just is entered into some kind of attempt at understanding. Scenes like accidently starting to shave Paulette Goddard (beyond 'good', the scene and her) is hillarious, but in a way that doesn't ignore the unique horror, unnameable for that instance, of the situation. That we know, and Chaplin obviously knows we know, every situation is emotionally true, it happened, creates something of a mimesis that is, right now, what I like to call art; it is also goodness.
Scenes of playing with the globe, the pettiness of the dictators, is funny, mocking, but always with an awareness of its dire consequences. Worth noting is how the childish depiction of evil really preempts 'Blue Velvet' and takes it further; this is not a symbol of moral degradation, its a representation, and thus can be tackled, rather than just as in Lynch's work, considered.
The camp is simply not able to be shown; whether it was not known what happened, or Chaplin did not consider it approachable for the cinema, it is another example of this film's integrity (perhaps 'Nuit and Brouillard' in between Chaplin's two takes). How can a comedy film be constructed around this? And yet it is.
And then we have the final scene. This, for us, is the ultimate relation of art to life; Chaplin knows what is important, where art is not so much subsumed as it meets life, and he knows where he stands. And Chaplin, in our eyes, is, in all humbleness giving the highest compliment I can think of, a good man. There is even an awareness of his own mesmerising power, his own complicity in how he dictates to the audience; not a smart pathos, but a constant awareness. This film is, really.... It just needs to be remembered, and, more importantly than anything, acted with.
Thursday 14 April 2011
Die StaBe (The Street)
Important 1923 film for the Weimar Republic, directed by Karl Grune, for the move to Objectivity in that cinema
This film is shot with long shots, especially in the opening scenes of the house. From this original camera position, analytic cut ins, even inserts, are used, from seemingly the same angle, to focus in on one person. The takes are way longer than the contemporary expressionist movement. Saying this is a realist picture is true, but note also the use of expressionist shadows, the skull/face fadings, and the superimpostions. Realism here extends to the 'real' impressions the lead has.
This film is about contingency and chance, as reflected in the form. As the takes are long, as are many shots, contingency is allowed on the camera (as opposed to the tight organisation of Lang, Murnau, precise framings etc). A little movement of one actor, gestures, dropping something, a flick of light in the corner. This is the move towards a realism. Everyday actions are allowed to take place in front of the camera. These are the realist principles of Italian neo-realism and the Nouvelle Vague.
One would think that depth is required for the creation of such a world (Renoir is a fasinating reference point here). And depth is an interesting question in relation to this film. On one hand, despite the street setting it often takes place at one level of depth. The street is shot at such an angle that even with the diagonals, walking, the inhabitants stay at one depth. This is partly to do with the camera eqipment; shooting in the dark, any kind of depth is disqualified, and there is a narrow field of focus.
And yet on occassion depth is attempted; this usually fails to focus or really work, as the camera makes even actors far away all appear compressed. So what Grune does is adopt overhead angles, which allows an impression of a deeper space, while at once the depth is low. A smart move.
Also should be noted here the lighting, presumably down to the conditions of filming. The faces are ruthlessly overexposed, perhaps filming in the dark, contrast was necessarilly turned down, and the faces were the lightest things left. The corners of the frame are often kept darker.
So chance; the long takes, especially in the gambling and nightvclub scenes, allow chance to occur. Our bourgeois lead rejects chance, rejects contingency; all must be just so. The politics here are pretty vile; the film valorizes not taking chances, keeping money under one's hat, retreating to the home. It is an ideology of fear in this film.
Individual scenes here are quite remarkable; often long shots decentred, of the whole street. There is an incredible moment with the child (slightly weak subplot), off centre and only noticeable due to harsh light, among the crowds. Then, in a moment of magic, the whole city is stopped by the policeman. There is stasis among the constant movement.
Thinking about contingency on camera (early Godard, Rivette; 'mucking about', Brando stroking fabric), and the moral fight between this and precision (Lang, Murnau (?)) reveals no absolutes. What was true for Weimar Germany need not always be so. But the debate, if not starting here, reaches a crucial stage of articulation, setting this off (and its successors, we look forward to some Pabst in the future) against the great expressionists.
This film is shot with long shots, especially in the opening scenes of the house. From this original camera position, analytic cut ins, even inserts, are used, from seemingly the same angle, to focus in on one person. The takes are way longer than the contemporary expressionist movement. Saying this is a realist picture is true, but note also the use of expressionist shadows, the skull/face fadings, and the superimpostions. Realism here extends to the 'real' impressions the lead has.
This film is about contingency and chance, as reflected in the form. As the takes are long, as are many shots, contingency is allowed on the camera (as opposed to the tight organisation of Lang, Murnau, precise framings etc). A little movement of one actor, gestures, dropping something, a flick of light in the corner. This is the move towards a realism. Everyday actions are allowed to take place in front of the camera. These are the realist principles of Italian neo-realism and the Nouvelle Vague.
One would think that depth is required for the creation of such a world (Renoir is a fasinating reference point here). And depth is an interesting question in relation to this film. On one hand, despite the street setting it often takes place at one level of depth. The street is shot at such an angle that even with the diagonals, walking, the inhabitants stay at one depth. This is partly to do with the camera eqipment; shooting in the dark, any kind of depth is disqualified, and there is a narrow field of focus.
And yet on occassion depth is attempted; this usually fails to focus or really work, as the camera makes even actors far away all appear compressed. So what Grune does is adopt overhead angles, which allows an impression of a deeper space, while at once the depth is low. A smart move.
Also should be noted here the lighting, presumably down to the conditions of filming. The faces are ruthlessly overexposed, perhaps filming in the dark, contrast was necessarilly turned down, and the faces were the lightest things left. The corners of the frame are often kept darker.
So chance; the long takes, especially in the gambling and nightvclub scenes, allow chance to occur. Our bourgeois lead rejects chance, rejects contingency; all must be just so. The politics here are pretty vile; the film valorizes not taking chances, keeping money under one's hat, retreating to the home. It is an ideology of fear in this film.
Individual scenes here are quite remarkable; often long shots decentred, of the whole street. There is an incredible moment with the child (slightly weak subplot), off centre and only noticeable due to harsh light, among the crowds. Then, in a moment of magic, the whole city is stopped by the policeman. There is stasis among the constant movement.
Thinking about contingency on camera (early Godard, Rivette; 'mucking about', Brando stroking fabric), and the moral fight between this and precision (Lang, Murnau (?)) reveals no absolutes. What was true for Weimar Germany need not always be so. But the debate, if not starting here, reaches a crucial stage of articulation, setting this off (and its successors, we look forward to some Pabst in the future) against the great expressionists.
The Films Of Jean Painleve
Vareity of underwater footage of animals, studied with a voiceover;
Hyas and Stenorhynchus, 1927
The Sea Horse, 1933
Sea Urchins, 1954
How Some Jellyfish Are Born, 1960
The Love Life Of The Octopus, 1967
Acera, or the Witches' Dance, 1972
Painleve has good fun anthropomorphising, deliberatley being a bit silly, among the analyses of the creatures. This film is visually pretty incredible; often magnified, speeded up, framed to take parts out of context, the creatures reveal themselves as deeply, deeply beautiful, melanges of colours and abstract geometrical patterns. This is so overwhelming I found the science rather impossible to concentrate on; One sits back and falls into a kind of dreamy trance with the movements, so relaxing, of the organisms.
Hyas and Stenorhynchus, 1927
The Sea Horse, 1933
Sea Urchins, 1954
How Some Jellyfish Are Born, 1960
The Love Life Of The Octopus, 1967
Acera, or the Witches' Dance, 1972
Painleve has good fun anthropomorphising, deliberatley being a bit silly, among the analyses of the creatures. This film is visually pretty incredible; often magnified, speeded up, framed to take parts out of context, the creatures reveal themselves as deeply, deeply beautiful, melanges of colours and abstract geometrical patterns. This is so overwhelming I found the science rather impossible to concentrate on; One sits back and falls into a kind of dreamy trance with the movements, so relaxing, of the organisms.
Un Flic
1972, Jean-Pierre Melville's final film, with Alain Delon
And an excellent one it is as well. Simple, stripped down, with little hints at a personal life, little gestures and single scenes. Delon's wondrous body, almost a hangdog face. Him opposite Deneuve is almost fantasy casting, though one would say her role is 'underwritten', exccept that would imply it was written at all.
This film has the straight on scenes in the car, including a wonderful final shot, where the study of the face allowed is remakable. Indeed, throughout the work I have seen Melville often uses straight-on framings or as near as straight-on, especially when opposing to interlocurs in shot-reverse, that allows a study of the laconic actors without having to take too much time about it.
This is clearly a Melville film, with the gangster's look, the blue and the faded colour non-saturation. There are also the swoops in and out, the willingness not to cut. Saying that, this film is less classically elegant than before, often adopting a claustrophobic, close-up, handheld style. This is effective in the remarkable train sequence. The slightly stagey aspect of the outdoor scenes adds a wonderful sense of irreality, yet the huge time taken over the job, the care and attention, is fasinating, relished, and gloriously milked.
Melville really did not drop a beat here; visually stylish, engrossing, gloriously enjoyable.
And an excellent one it is as well. Simple, stripped down, with little hints at a personal life, little gestures and single scenes. Delon's wondrous body, almost a hangdog face. Him opposite Deneuve is almost fantasy casting, though one would say her role is 'underwritten', exccept that would imply it was written at all.
This film has the straight on scenes in the car, including a wonderful final shot, where the study of the face allowed is remakable. Indeed, throughout the work I have seen Melville often uses straight-on framings or as near as straight-on, especially when opposing to interlocurs in shot-reverse, that allows a study of the laconic actors without having to take too much time about it.
This is clearly a Melville film, with the gangster's look, the blue and the faded colour non-saturation. There are also the swoops in and out, the willingness not to cut. Saying that, this film is less classically elegant than before, often adopting a claustrophobic, close-up, handheld style. This is effective in the remarkable train sequence. The slightly stagey aspect of the outdoor scenes adds a wonderful sense of irreality, yet the huge time taken over the job, the care and attention, is fasinating, relished, and gloriously milked.
Melville really did not drop a beat here; visually stylish, engrossing, gloriously enjoyable.
Wednesday 13 April 2011
Le Cercle Rouge
Jean-Pierre Melville, 1970
Alain Delon is as smooth as hell in this at once bare-bones, but deeply complex, criminals picture. Again, lack of trying to find personal motives leaves us with simply an analysis of action, framed also with care and attention, occassionally striking beauty. Notice the constant, subtle use of blue shadings.
This is really a pciture of loneliness, of men trying to connect together, but doing so in a world that cheats them, they are all condemned. It is impossible not to be a criminal. This involves a certain fetishisation of the tools of the trade, and a few moments of surprise when coolness is broken; taking the gun off its tripod, the smash through the wondow. Suspense-turnaround. A sharp, intricate but not too baffling, picture.
Alain Delon is as smooth as hell in this at once bare-bones, but deeply complex, criminals picture. Again, lack of trying to find personal motives leaves us with simply an analysis of action, framed also with care and attention, occassionally striking beauty. Notice the constant, subtle use of blue shadings.
This is really a pciture of loneliness, of men trying to connect together, but doing so in a world that cheats them, they are all condemned. It is impossible not to be a criminal. This involves a certain fetishisation of the tools of the trade, and a few moments of surprise when coolness is broken; taking the gun off its tripod, the smash through the wondow. Suspense-turnaround. A sharp, intricate but not too baffling, picture.
L'Armee des Ombres
1969, Jean-Pierre Melville
This is a slightly more traditional work, almost a Euro-film from Melville. There are distinctive individual shots thought the camera largely keeps itself quiet. Saying that, the mis-en-scene is occassionally stylised to nice effect, using matte backdrops and swirling folks. This is very much a 'recreation', rather than brutal realism.
Melville's use of suspense-twist are used on a number of occassions. His focus on the mechanics of the actions, rather than deep personal motives, also serve as a good lesson. A good, exciting resistance film, with loyalty and brotherhood, their necessities and perils, all there.
This is a slightly more traditional work, almost a Euro-film from Melville. There are distinctive individual shots thought the camera largely keeps itself quiet. Saying that, the mis-en-scene is occassionally stylised to nice effect, using matte backdrops and swirling folks. This is very much a 'recreation', rather than brutal realism.
Melville's use of suspense-twist are used on a number of occassions. His focus on the mechanics of the actions, rather than deep personal motives, also serve as a good lesson. A good, exciting resistance film, with loyalty and brotherhood, their necessities and perils, all there.
Le Doulos
1962, Jean-Pierre Melville
This is really a terrific gangster movie. The tropes of the genre are all in place, nearly to parody, more as icons, as trophies. They, for example the trenchcoated sillouhette, are used as functions thematically and plot-wise to crack open how these people live in dreams, traped in this world, unable to escape. Also pleasurable are the 'buried treasure' and the general dryness of the dialogue.
Melville's mis-en-scene remains notable for its longer takes and movement, more often than not quietly, yet dynamically, with quite some elegance (though that is rather too fey a term). It is difficult to say much about the work more than it is simply well done; some scenes have greater depth, the car scenes with more perpendicular views, and so on. The fast film stock and the high contrast simply, alomg with a great eye for overhanging angles of streetlamps and stairways, simply makes for a series of iconically beautiful scenes, shot in an economic manner.
The plot has a laconicism that flirts with but rarely becomes silly (playful). Melville's signature move is of suspense before mystery; we think we know what we don't. And then he turns on us; we didn't really know, they did. The themes are of loyalty, of friendship above all, and of willingness to trust, the perils of not doing so, the perils of doing so. Solidarity is key. This is all encapsulated in Belmondo playing his joint-best post-bullet performance; amusing for its references, it silliness, and at once its pathos. A terrific ending.
This is really a terrific gangster movie. The tropes of the genre are all in place, nearly to parody, more as icons, as trophies. They, for example the trenchcoated sillouhette, are used as functions thematically and plot-wise to crack open how these people live in dreams, traped in this world, unable to escape. Also pleasurable are the 'buried treasure' and the general dryness of the dialogue.
Melville's mis-en-scene remains notable for its longer takes and movement, more often than not quietly, yet dynamically, with quite some elegance (though that is rather too fey a term). It is difficult to say much about the work more than it is simply well done; some scenes have greater depth, the car scenes with more perpendicular views, and so on. The fast film stock and the high contrast simply, alomg with a great eye for overhanging angles of streetlamps and stairways, simply makes for a series of iconically beautiful scenes, shot in an economic manner.
The plot has a laconicism that flirts with but rarely becomes silly (playful). Melville's signature move is of suspense before mystery; we think we know what we don't. And then he turns on us; we didn't really know, they did. The themes are of loyalty, of friendship above all, and of willingness to trust, the perils of not doing so, the perils of doing so. Solidarity is key. This is all encapsulated in Belmondo playing his joint-best post-bullet performance; amusing for its references, it silliness, and at once its pathos. A terrific ending.
Leon Morin, Pretre
1961, Jean-Pierre Melville
Belmondo here stars in this atmospheric piece. Melville again opts for short scenes and long takes. He is happy to shoot long shots, and then to move in, reframe as the movement continues. There are also a number of occassions where there are sudden quick cuts, or something thrown at the screen (the slap). These, along with lines of dialogue that are frankly very funny, surely extremely lewd for the time, and very honest, still create a slight air of playfulness.
One can see why Melville was key for the new wave; this is clearly a personal film, down to the subjective slant taken on events, and the lack of willingness to try and sum up the resistance in a wider narrative; no, this is just one woman's story, with an ambiguous and really unexplained relationship to anything outside the film.
The debate reaches a level of intelligence, which is refreshing, and the directness and physicality of the acting (the woodaxe) gives a constant feeling of vitality, laconic as it is. A more than decent work.
Belmondo here stars in this atmospheric piece. Melville again opts for short scenes and long takes. He is happy to shoot long shots, and then to move in, reframe as the movement continues. There are also a number of occassions where there are sudden quick cuts, or something thrown at the screen (the slap). These, along with lines of dialogue that are frankly very funny, surely extremely lewd for the time, and very honest, still create a slight air of playfulness.
One can see why Melville was key for the new wave; this is clearly a personal film, down to the subjective slant taken on events, and the lack of willingness to try and sum up the resistance in a wider narrative; no, this is just one woman's story, with an ambiguous and really unexplained relationship to anything outside the film.
The debate reaches a level of intelligence, which is refreshing, and the directness and physicality of the acting (the woodaxe) gives a constant feeling of vitality, laconic as it is. A more than decent work.
Tuesday 12 April 2011
Madame de...
Max Ophuls, 1953.
This has more humour in it than before, though again we have the woman being dominated, for all her assuredness, by the world of exchange, of cynical rich men. Indeed, there is a certain harshness on Ophuls portrayal, always, of his guilded world. They don't even listen to the music.
The sweeping camera movements are in place, playing a lovely dance, in extremely long takes that 'Russian Ark' style sweep through rooms. As are the superimpostions, with mirrors being smartly used here, framing various locales at once.
In this picture, everyone lies, even our heroine. Ophuls shows how they are forced to do so; what the consequences are. This plays against a backdrop the adjective 'sumptuous' can be applied to, for example the wonderful smoke filled train station. In tiny movements, little readjustments of the hands or gestures, Ophuls conveys so much.
This has more humour in it than before, though again we have the woman being dominated, for all her assuredness, by the world of exchange, of cynical rich men. Indeed, there is a certain harshness on Ophuls portrayal, always, of his guilded world. They don't even listen to the music.
The sweeping camera movements are in place, playing a lovely dance, in extremely long takes that 'Russian Ark' style sweep through rooms. As are the superimpostions, with mirrors being smartly used here, framing various locales at once.
In this picture, everyone lies, even our heroine. Ophuls shows how they are forced to do so; what the consequences are. This plays against a backdrop the adjective 'sumptuous' can be applied to, for example the wonderful smoke filled train station. In tiny movements, little readjustments of the hands or gestures, Ophuls conveys so much.
La Signora Di Tutti
Max Ophuls, an early one of his pictures, 1934.
Ophuls is famous for his camera movements. Here he adopts largely tracks, though with a willingness to pan. There are the movement on perpendicular lines, through walls, and those closing to the actors. There are the lighter, freerer (not that the others are constricted) movements that dance slightly unsteadily, though never jerkily, with the dancing. What these movements do is create a wonderful generosoty of space. The world streches in all directions, flowing easily from one to another. As the take continues to another room, as the camera pans '270, one feels the screen may be confused with reality. There is a certain level of sheer physical pleasure in these movements, a joy in motion, that combines with this wonderful fluidity.
But Ophuls style is really a lot more than this. There are some wider shots, with a more static camera, that are always thoughtfuly composed. There is also, for all the movement, a nice sense of reticence at times in refusing to move. Gaby can go right to the other side of the room, and no need is felt to track along. It stops what could easily be ridiculous melodrama (quite knowingly) being that, but gives a certain quietness to the film that gives all the more emotional impact.
Ophuls use of montage and superimpostion is also more than noticeable. Their are fade-ins and outs that, again, create more space, more times and places all one into another. The superimpositions create worlds on top of each other, this is really more objective than subjective, as how all space is together, all as one flowing, running whole, is put together.
The story has a certain fatefulness. At times, use of fast montages of close-ups heightens the feelings of the characters. We have a woman, tragically, being manipulated from all angles. The world seems to push on these lonely ciphers. The plot, though rather cursory on paper, achieves in the direction a thoughtfulness and even reticence. This is a masterfully made picture.
Ophuls is famous for his camera movements. Here he adopts largely tracks, though with a willingness to pan. There are the movement on perpendicular lines, through walls, and those closing to the actors. There are the lighter, freerer (not that the others are constricted) movements that dance slightly unsteadily, though never jerkily, with the dancing. What these movements do is create a wonderful generosoty of space. The world streches in all directions, flowing easily from one to another. As the take continues to another room, as the camera pans '270, one feels the screen may be confused with reality. There is a certain level of sheer physical pleasure in these movements, a joy in motion, that combines with this wonderful fluidity.
But Ophuls style is really a lot more than this. There are some wider shots, with a more static camera, that are always thoughtfuly composed. There is also, for all the movement, a nice sense of reticence at times in refusing to move. Gaby can go right to the other side of the room, and no need is felt to track along. It stops what could easily be ridiculous melodrama (quite knowingly) being that, but gives a certain quietness to the film that gives all the more emotional impact.
Ophuls use of montage and superimpostion is also more than noticeable. Their are fade-ins and outs that, again, create more space, more times and places all one into another. The superimpositions create worlds on top of each other, this is really more objective than subjective, as how all space is together, all as one flowing, running whole, is put together.
The story has a certain fatefulness. At times, use of fast montages of close-ups heightens the feelings of the characters. We have a woman, tragically, being manipulated from all angles. The world seems to push on these lonely ciphers. The plot, though rather cursory on paper, achieves in the direction a thoughtfulness and even reticence. This is a masterfully made picture.
A Religiosa Portugesa (The Portugese Nun)
Recent feature (2009) from Eugene Green.
This film is interested in its own status. From the dialogue, and repitious shots of the camera at work, we are reminded we are in a film. This is also achieved by the flat, affectless acting, with gaps in between the sentences, as though waiting for a cue. Also in the emotions triggered, and in the fatefulness. People here are clearly playing parts. This is the prodcut of the films attempt to discuss the entry of the real. Trying to find a moment of truth, of realness, is this films' project, and problematising the actors and so on is the attempt to achieve this. Making us constantly conscious that we are wathcing actors act is trying to ask us where the real is. Can reality enter through the 'unreal' scenes written by the director, acted out?
The way this is shot is really not too unconventional. We have a pretty static camera (usually), with a preference for straight-on two-shots. Note also the circulation around the dinner tables. The characters generally stay still, coming to meet each other, which we could, if being cruel, say is just 'stand and deliver', though the unrealism/artifice seems delibertae. There is also the most obvious feature, the straight on dialogue. With the reference perhaps Ozu, this enables a lot of close-up work, to study the faces, as well as abovementioned self-reflexivity. These features should not though give the impression of too much stangeness; there is a hell of a lot of static camera over the shoulder shot-reverse, with the speaker on screen (even in straight on work, this is the case), and pretty normal exterior shots.
This isn't a masterpiece by any means. The actual content is a little undergraduate, it is in fact deceptively simple, with the slightly vapid question 'what is real?'. There is a not great scene with a nun, which deals in slightly pretentious abstractions. Unless one wants to say its deliberate, the fact that a boy being adopted is himself always an after thought to her subjectivity is a little worrying. This film is pleasant to look at, never drags, and at least asks questions. Is it really anything more than that? No.
This film is interested in its own status. From the dialogue, and repitious shots of the camera at work, we are reminded we are in a film. This is also achieved by the flat, affectless acting, with gaps in between the sentences, as though waiting for a cue. Also in the emotions triggered, and in the fatefulness. People here are clearly playing parts. This is the prodcut of the films attempt to discuss the entry of the real. Trying to find a moment of truth, of realness, is this films' project, and problematising the actors and so on is the attempt to achieve this. Making us constantly conscious that we are wathcing actors act is trying to ask us where the real is. Can reality enter through the 'unreal' scenes written by the director, acted out?
The way this is shot is really not too unconventional. We have a pretty static camera (usually), with a preference for straight-on two-shots. Note also the circulation around the dinner tables. The characters generally stay still, coming to meet each other, which we could, if being cruel, say is just 'stand and deliver', though the unrealism/artifice seems delibertae. There is also the most obvious feature, the straight on dialogue. With the reference perhaps Ozu, this enables a lot of close-up work, to study the faces, as well as abovementioned self-reflexivity. These features should not though give the impression of too much stangeness; there is a hell of a lot of static camera over the shoulder shot-reverse, with the speaker on screen (even in straight on work, this is the case), and pretty normal exterior shots.
This isn't a masterpiece by any means. The actual content is a little undergraduate, it is in fact deceptively simple, with the slightly vapid question 'what is real?'. There is a not great scene with a nun, which deals in slightly pretentious abstractions. Unless one wants to say its deliberate, the fact that a boy being adopted is himself always an after thought to her subjectivity is a little worrying. This film is pleasant to look at, never drags, and at least asks questions. Is it really anything more than that? No.
Les Enfants Terribles
1950, Jean-Pierre Melville adaption of the Cocteau novel.
For all the psycho-sexual undercurrents here, this film is really a very fresh one. Melville opts for a 'L'Atalante' esque set of dark objects (fetishes), which one hlaf expects to come to life, in a busy, messy but not dirty background. He films this with pretty long takes, with a frequently moving camera happy to reframe, to push in, not in a motion-sickness way but with a kind of pleasurable sharpness.
This film really does constantly keep moving; their is a sure purposiveness in the characters, the stagings, the dialogue, and even though the takes are long the scenes are short and sharp. There is also a nice sense of not too much tight control; the actions don't seem premieditated, firm but at the same time not entirely necessary.
Music is here used to again enhance the otherworldy aspect of the children's fantasy-land. The echoing voices in the later set-up of the bedroom is a nice touch, adding a definite Cocteauean lair of the cavern. A pleasurable film to watch, with a spirit that gives the tough story a constant jump to it.
For all the psycho-sexual undercurrents here, this film is really a very fresh one. Melville opts for a 'L'Atalante' esque set of dark objects (fetishes), which one hlaf expects to come to life, in a busy, messy but not dirty background. He films this with pretty long takes, with a frequently moving camera happy to reframe, to push in, not in a motion-sickness way but with a kind of pleasurable sharpness.
This film really does constantly keep moving; their is a sure purposiveness in the characters, the stagings, the dialogue, and even though the takes are long the scenes are short and sharp. There is also a nice sense of not too much tight control; the actions don't seem premieditated, firm but at the same time not entirely necessary.
Music is here used to again enhance the otherworldy aspect of the children's fantasy-land. The echoing voices in the later set-up of the bedroom is a nice touch, adding a definite Cocteauean lair of the cavern. A pleasurable film to watch, with a spirit that gives the tough story a constant jump to it.
Touch Of Evil
1958, Orson Welles noir.
As a return to Hollywood, this is undobutedly Welles at his more conventional. Of course we have the canted angles and so on, but it is largely kept in check. There is of course that quite remarkable opening shot, the economy of the crane movements that throw us across the town. Welles is actually able, despite his tactic of cutting to emphasise emotion (he breaks his own rule on close-ups frequently), to at times display a certain modesty, keeping the precise action away from us.
The dark, dirty underworld is here brought out in sweat, expressionist side-angle lighting that enhances every pore of Quinlan's skin. There is a real feeling of a sort of moistness in this film; the money/ dirt of the oil rigs, the alchol.
Again, Welles explores a kind of primal terror, a soiling of idols. It comes to be wondered if it is possible to escape; Quinlan and Vargas do both seem deeply compromised. Vargas' wife's set-up is genuinely disturbing.
An extreme evocation of the noirish universe, with a formally slightly more reined-in Welles.
As a return to Hollywood, this is undobutedly Welles at his more conventional. Of course we have the canted angles and so on, but it is largely kept in check. There is of course that quite remarkable opening shot, the economy of the crane movements that throw us across the town. Welles is actually able, despite his tactic of cutting to emphasise emotion (he breaks his own rule on close-ups frequently), to at times display a certain modesty, keeping the precise action away from us.
The dark, dirty underworld is here brought out in sweat, expressionist side-angle lighting that enhances every pore of Quinlan's skin. There is a real feeling of a sort of moistness in this film; the money/ dirt of the oil rigs, the alchol.
Again, Welles explores a kind of primal terror, a soiling of idols. It comes to be wondered if it is possible to escape; Quinlan and Vargas do both seem deeply compromised. Vargas' wife's set-up is genuinely disturbing.
An extreme evocation of the noirish universe, with a formally slightly more reined-in Welles.
Mr Arkadin
1955, Orson Welles, a revised version of the obviously mangled (in a sense) picture.
This picture could easily be called a complete mess. The quality of the stock is low, the sound is verging on disastorously muffled, and the scenes are obviosuly missing which would make the story somewhat more intelligible. Nevertheless, Welles' searing talent strikes through.
The low framings, with the wide angle lens, are here taken to a degree perhaps even more extreme (especially angle wise) than even 'The Lady From Shaghai'. It is remarkable, genuinely physically powerful; the castle that juts out at crazy angles as though stakes on which the figures loom. Their is also a remarkable use of canted angles. In a way, it combines a kind of Soviet framing with an expressive freedom of camerawork, certainly drawing attention to itself.
The editing is a mixture of overlapping fades, a Welles signature, and long takes of a remarkable virtuosity. The film stock appears to be increasingly overexposed as the film continues, leading the characters to even require sunglasses.
The story is clearly similar to Citizen Kane, with Welles' title character remaining mysetrious (unseen at the start) and with an investogation of his past (though the actual contents are less important). The film seems to examine memory, knowing oneself and the past, identity. Then it moves into an evocation of a horrible world, closing in all around, with noirish elements. There is a kind of primal horror here.
A quite remarkable picture, for its sheer refusal to do anything that is not at the very limits.
This picture could easily be called a complete mess. The quality of the stock is low, the sound is verging on disastorously muffled, and the scenes are obviosuly missing which would make the story somewhat more intelligible. Nevertheless, Welles' searing talent strikes through.
The low framings, with the wide angle lens, are here taken to a degree perhaps even more extreme (especially angle wise) than even 'The Lady From Shaghai'. It is remarkable, genuinely physically powerful; the castle that juts out at crazy angles as though stakes on which the figures loom. Their is also a remarkable use of canted angles. In a way, it combines a kind of Soviet framing with an expressive freedom of camerawork, certainly drawing attention to itself.
The editing is a mixture of overlapping fades, a Welles signature, and long takes of a remarkable virtuosity. The film stock appears to be increasingly overexposed as the film continues, leading the characters to even require sunglasses.
The story is clearly similar to Citizen Kane, with Welles' title character remaining mysetrious (unseen at the start) and with an investogation of his past (though the actual contents are less important). The film seems to examine memory, knowing oneself and the past, identity. Then it moves into an evocation of a horrible world, closing in all around, with noirish elements. There is a kind of primal horror here.
A quite remarkable picture, for its sheer refusal to do anything that is not at the very limits.
Monday 11 April 2011
Blue Velvet
Dvid Lynch's hugely influential 1986 work.
Formally, this is clearly less developed than 'Mulholland Drive', though Lynch in conventional mode remains way ahead of the crowd. Their is a strain on classism here, with restrianed quite wide framings, a willingness to create long tableaus. Their more Lynchian aesthetic is perhaps most obvious in the looming slow zooms/ tracks in an out, a slight willingness to fix the camera-position entirely. The flat looking rooms, the dull colours, are also more distinctive.
Perhaps it is the darkness of the rooms, the dirty reds and blues, that mark this out as Lynch. Combined with the nightlub scene, and some slightly in-your-face jumps in the montage is in keeping with Lynch's surrealism (different from other surrealisms to the point of disconnection).
It is surely thematically where the, to be clear, brilliance of this film lies. There is just a simple unwillingness to take us outside of the film's world, to suggest something better outside. Saying that each character is compromised would be like suggesting it was possible not to be. Kyle Maclachlan is asked if he is a detective or a pervery, and the answer see,s pretty obvious.
On the side of the deliberate pastiche, this film can be read as pretty funny. The other side of this film is surely one of the most complete horros put on screen. It is acute, achieving with a few traits a depth of detail that is remarkable. As an analysis of the current (at least) American consciousness, it is a depiction maybe unrivalled in its harshness. When similiarity is shown with the jock boyfriend, the move is complete. The underside of a certain kind of seemingly harmless behaviour is unmericfully shown. At times one almsot worries that Lynch revels in this, to an almost defeatist manner; can anything come back from this?
This is a film that is modernist in the high-art sense; unity is questioned. The dirt of the Hopper-strands are demanaded, by the rejoinder of the conventions of the feature film, to be organised. This results in the patently ridiculous attempts to do so with romance, that are hideously compromised. The inability to make films about horror is perhaps the clearest element shown here. Unity is impossible. Perhaps the end takes us too close to unity; though the last scene remains uncanny.
This is a film that is genuinely disturbing; certain scenes (overdone looming music, terrific soundtrack otherwise, amusing and challengin irony) are some of the most difficult (fasincating as they are, to the cinematic voyeur) to watch as are few others. Yet it takes on the fact that this is ultimately an aristic construct. Not as formally ambitious as maybe expected, but in its use of narrative strands and themes, a lesson in 'story' -telling. This is perhaps Lynch's forte, to reinvent how cinema can/ can't tell stories visually.
Formally, this is clearly less developed than 'Mulholland Drive', though Lynch in conventional mode remains way ahead of the crowd. Their is a strain on classism here, with restrianed quite wide framings, a willingness to create long tableaus. Their more Lynchian aesthetic is perhaps most obvious in the looming slow zooms/ tracks in an out, a slight willingness to fix the camera-position entirely. The flat looking rooms, the dull colours, are also more distinctive.
Perhaps it is the darkness of the rooms, the dirty reds and blues, that mark this out as Lynch. Combined with the nightlub scene, and some slightly in-your-face jumps in the montage is in keeping with Lynch's surrealism (different from other surrealisms to the point of disconnection).
It is surely thematically where the, to be clear, brilliance of this film lies. There is just a simple unwillingness to take us outside of the film's world, to suggest something better outside. Saying that each character is compromised would be like suggesting it was possible not to be. Kyle Maclachlan is asked if he is a detective or a pervery, and the answer see,s pretty obvious.
On the side of the deliberate pastiche, this film can be read as pretty funny. The other side of this film is surely one of the most complete horros put on screen. It is acute, achieving with a few traits a depth of detail that is remarkable. As an analysis of the current (at least) American consciousness, it is a depiction maybe unrivalled in its harshness. When similiarity is shown with the jock boyfriend, the move is complete. The underside of a certain kind of seemingly harmless behaviour is unmericfully shown. At times one almsot worries that Lynch revels in this, to an almost defeatist manner; can anything come back from this?
This is a film that is modernist in the high-art sense; unity is questioned. The dirt of the Hopper-strands are demanaded, by the rejoinder of the conventions of the feature film, to be organised. This results in the patently ridiculous attempts to do so with romance, that are hideously compromised. The inability to make films about horror is perhaps the clearest element shown here. Unity is impossible. Perhaps the end takes us too close to unity; though the last scene remains uncanny.
This is a film that is genuinely disturbing; certain scenes (overdone looming music, terrific soundtrack otherwise, amusing and challengin irony) are some of the most difficult (fasincating as they are, to the cinematic voyeur) to watch as are few others. Yet it takes on the fact that this is ultimately an aristic construct. Not as formally ambitious as maybe expected, but in its use of narrative strands and themes, a lesson in 'story' -telling. This is perhaps Lynch's forte, to reinvent how cinema can/ can't tell stories visually.
L'Annee Derniere a Marienbad
Alain Resnais' seminal 1961 second feature.
This film opens with long tracking shots, over the walls, around the palace/ mansion/ hotel, with the incessant, mysterious, genuinely poetic voice beating as though drumming. As with 'Hiroshima Mon Amour', this is at once literary, but in a peculiarly cinematic sense. It is genuinely connecting sound and image, by disjuncting them. Extra images are created in the viewer's head, as the intellectual engagement demands attention, as the camera inexorably tracks along.
This film is so formally innovative, so at once complex and new, that a formal analysis is impossible in shorter than book length. Nevertheless, here are a few notable features.
This film is shot with next to no fill lights, with deeply complex shadows and patches (few washes) stretching far into the distance, a distance that is in reasonably sharp focus. Contrast of black to white is high. Due to the lack of fills, it is extremely dark, and clearly a sense of the Gothic, or should that be closer to Baroque, is central here.
The stasis of the actors, (not frozen but standing still) creates memorable tableaus, throwing shadows, as the camera continues its tracks, makes Rneoir-esque elegant turns, reframes. Their is also occassions where a preference for straight-on- framings is evident. Their is such a great variety of technqies here; a kind of close up from the bottom of the hairline to the neck, long shots (which look like 'Gertrud'), and tracking and cuts which are axial on occassion. Further, their is a frequent start of a low camera, looking up to the thin ,delicate looking sticks of people. And yet their are also a number of high angles; as said, formal analysis is distinctly more complex than can be made in this space. It should be at least correct to say that Resnais fractures the space, displaying no interest in continuity as actions cut to differnet locales and perhaps times.
The music adopts a relation to the image that at once works and couters the image. It does not interpret it, nor does it make it shocking; it does de-mystify, and give more of a sense of change. Perhaps that is the fundamental formal relation in this film; stillness in the image, movement in the dialogue. Though that is surely far too neat.
To have a stab at uncovering the ideas of this piece, we have a sense of at once a stasis, an inevitability (the uncanny game played, the repetition, the tracks over the same corridors) and a horrible sense that things have moved; you can't remember. Talk of film as a dream/memory is overdone usually, but this film certainly qualifies. A uniquely powerful film, opening new possibilities in cinema.
This film opens with long tracking shots, over the walls, around the palace/ mansion/ hotel, with the incessant, mysterious, genuinely poetic voice beating as though drumming. As with 'Hiroshima Mon Amour', this is at once literary, but in a peculiarly cinematic sense. It is genuinely connecting sound and image, by disjuncting them. Extra images are created in the viewer's head, as the intellectual engagement demands attention, as the camera inexorably tracks along.
This film is so formally innovative, so at once complex and new, that a formal analysis is impossible in shorter than book length. Nevertheless, here are a few notable features.
This film is shot with next to no fill lights, with deeply complex shadows and patches (few washes) stretching far into the distance, a distance that is in reasonably sharp focus. Contrast of black to white is high. Due to the lack of fills, it is extremely dark, and clearly a sense of the Gothic, or should that be closer to Baroque, is central here.
The stasis of the actors, (not frozen but standing still) creates memorable tableaus, throwing shadows, as the camera continues its tracks, makes Rneoir-esque elegant turns, reframes. Their is also occassions where a preference for straight-on- framings is evident. Their is such a great variety of technqies here; a kind of close up from the bottom of the hairline to the neck, long shots (which look like 'Gertrud'), and tracking and cuts which are axial on occassion. Further, their is a frequent start of a low camera, looking up to the thin ,delicate looking sticks of people. And yet their are also a number of high angles; as said, formal analysis is distinctly more complex than can be made in this space. It should be at least correct to say that Resnais fractures the space, displaying no interest in continuity as actions cut to differnet locales and perhaps times.
The music adopts a relation to the image that at once works and couters the image. It does not interpret it, nor does it make it shocking; it does de-mystify, and give more of a sense of change. Perhaps that is the fundamental formal relation in this film; stillness in the image, movement in the dialogue. Though that is surely far too neat.
To have a stab at uncovering the ideas of this piece, we have a sense of at once a stasis, an inevitability (the uncanny game played, the repetition, the tracks over the same corridors) and a horrible sense that things have moved; you can't remember. Talk of film as a dream/memory is overdone usually, but this film certainly qualifies. A uniquely powerful film, opening new possibilities in cinema.
Nuit et Brouillard
1955, Alain Resnais' (scored by Hans Eisler) short documentary.
The long, tracking shots that open and continue throughout this piece certaintly offer a kind of melancholia, demonstrating the inevitability of change while some essence, element of the eternal, is lost. The use of modern footage certainly succeeds in distancing, suprising, offering the central dislocation that runs through this film; the past from the present.
What is offered here as a desperate attempt to chronicle. For all the discussion of this film's thesis as being the unknowability of past horror, which obviously is central, this film forever presses on, showing us images, always trying to explain, not copping out by resting when it appears to reach a limit of understanding. It attempts to accurately, sharply, precisely detail what it can, though the task may not be possible.
The musical score is a real challenge. Obviously it would be deeply offensive were it used to emote, and to an extent it does deliberately counter this, but there is also an element of it being used critically, asking us to look 'under' the image so to speak, in the sound.
Trying to remember, trying to document so people can remember, is a necessary and nearly impossible job. This film tries, tries, tries.
The long, tracking shots that open and continue throughout this piece certaintly offer a kind of melancholia, demonstrating the inevitability of change while some essence, element of the eternal, is lost. The use of modern footage certainly succeeds in distancing, suprising, offering the central dislocation that runs through this film; the past from the present.
What is offered here as a desperate attempt to chronicle. For all the discussion of this film's thesis as being the unknowability of past horror, which obviously is central, this film forever presses on, showing us images, always trying to explain, not copping out by resting when it appears to reach a limit of understanding. It attempts to accurately, sharply, precisely detail what it can, though the task may not be possible.
The musical score is a real challenge. Obviously it would be deeply offensive were it used to emote, and to an extent it does deliberately counter this, but there is also an element of it being used critically, asking us to look 'under' the image so to speak, in the sound.
Trying to remember, trying to document so people can remember, is a necessary and nearly impossible job. This film tries, tries, tries.
Les Plages d'Agnes
2008, Agnes Varda's cine-autobiography; Varda delivers an interesting, slightly jumpy run through, of a quite remarkable life.
Varda again adopts for a brisk pace, flying around all manner of matters. Some of these are obviously more interesting than others (cineastes want one thing, those not au fait with Varda's work maybe something else) but the piece does manange to hold together well. Their is a refreshing impression of honesty about how time is jumped across, and how Varda admits she can't discuss the past out of context of the present.
The discussion of specific films and so on throws up a number of features of interest. The reenactements, and deliberate set-ups on the beach, are partly their to deconstruct the classic 'life story' film by showing the fundamental strangness of the set-up; cinema trying to make the past eternal by reenacting it in the present.
Varda again adopts for a brisk pace, flying around all manner of matters. Some of these are obviously more interesting than others (cineastes want one thing, those not au fait with Varda's work maybe something else) but the piece does manange to hold together well. Their is a refreshing impression of honesty about how time is jumped across, and how Varda admits she can't discuss the past out of context of the present.
The discussion of specific films and so on throws up a number of features of interest. The reenactements, and deliberate set-ups on the beach, are partly their to deconstruct the classic 'life story' film by showing the fundamental strangness of the set-up; cinema trying to make the past eternal by reenacting it in the present.
Les Glaneurs et a Glaneuse
2000, Varda documentary
This is highly personal, shot on digital video. Varda foregrounding herself, her use of the camera, is to great effect when it offers a chance for meditation on her own hands, her amazement in new technology, her own personal relation to the milleu. The chummy tone shouldn't fool though, this is put together with hard-won mastery. Varda decides to adopt a fast editing style, constantly moving from one shot and strand to another. Thus any slight rest is used to draw emphasis.
The fast pace of this surely partly accounts for its popularity, and does make it a particular kind of documentary; this isn't a deep social investigation of root causes, for all the powerful compassion it shows. And yet the willingness to get up close, to not shy away, has a depth of its own, even if it can appear 'all surface'. This film is at times both charming, and curious.
This is highly personal, shot on digital video. Varda foregrounding herself, her use of the camera, is to great effect when it offers a chance for meditation on her own hands, her amazement in new technology, her own personal relation to the milleu. The chummy tone shouldn't fool though, this is put together with hard-won mastery. Varda decides to adopt a fast editing style, constantly moving from one shot and strand to another. Thus any slight rest is used to draw emphasis.
The fast pace of this surely partly accounts for its popularity, and does make it a particular kind of documentary; this isn't a deep social investigation of root causes, for all the powerful compassion it shows. And yet the willingness to get up close, to not shy away, has a depth of its own, even if it can appear 'all surface'. This film is at times both charming, and curious.
Sunday 10 April 2011
Jacquot de Nantes
Agnes Varda, 1991
This evocation of Jacques Demy's childhood, interspersed with clips of his films and him in the present, is charming. It is also simply very interesting, especially when one has at least a cursory knowledge of Demy's films (the more the better).
The past is nicely taken into little pieces, never 'sweet', with the moves to colour when the cinematic world enters. This film is a film for cinephiles; it is frankly exhillirating watching the slow bursting of an imaginative world.
The camera adopts Varda's usualy techniques of the tracking shots that float, catching already ongoing actions, that again gives a sense of more than just a single subjectivity, but a world. The 'story' is engagingly paced, with one of the more thoughtful portraits of the occupation, due to it being, in a sense, realised that Dem'y childhood couldn't really be said to be 'defined' by it. Important, obviously, but life did and must go on, in it way.
This evocation of Jacques Demy's childhood, interspersed with clips of his films and him in the present, is charming. It is also simply very interesting, especially when one has at least a cursory knowledge of Demy's films (the more the better).
The past is nicely taken into little pieces, never 'sweet', with the moves to colour when the cinematic world enters. This film is a film for cinephiles; it is frankly exhillirating watching the slow bursting of an imaginative world.
The camera adopts Varda's usualy techniques of the tracking shots that float, catching already ongoing actions, that again gives a sense of more than just a single subjectivity, but a world. The 'story' is engagingly paced, with one of the more thoughtful portraits of the occupation, due to it being, in a sense, realised that Dem'y childhood couldn't really be said to be 'defined' by it. Important, obviously, but life did and must go on, in it way.
Vagabond
Agnes Varda, 1985
Varda does seek out terrific subjects; here we have an extremely intelligent look at the life of the vagabond. Enough detail is inserted for believablility, it is extremely difficult to know exactly how 'dirty' to be, and this film may occasionally appear sanitised, but certain incidental situations, which come so suddenly and then dissappear, give an apropriately disorganised, painful structure.
This film, having been made by a proper filmmaker, does not really misstep; it does not sentimentalise, it condemns where it has to but otherwise presents a rounded world. Narrative is not important; frankly, the chronology could be anywhere, but Varda makes someone who we may avoid in real life engaging, without making us have to 'like' them. An impressive work.
Varda does seek out terrific subjects; here we have an extremely intelligent look at the life of the vagabond. Enough detail is inserted for believablility, it is extremely difficult to know exactly how 'dirty' to be, and this film may occasionally appear sanitised, but certain incidental situations, which come so suddenly and then dissappear, give an apropriately disorganised, painful structure.
This film, having been made by a proper filmmaker, does not really misstep; it does not sentimentalise, it condemns where it has to but otherwise presents a rounded world. Narrative is not important; frankly, the chronology could be anywhere, but Varda makes someone who we may avoid in real life engaging, without making us have to 'like' them. An impressive work.
L'Une Chante, L'Autre Pas
Agnes Varda, 1977
It feels deeply cruel to take against this film, due to it being morally impeccable. Abd it doesn't even do this in an annoying way; it is, all flipness aside, of the upmost importance that this message is dispersed, picked up, examined. The women's movement has utterly lacked, due to the sexism of the industry, such examples, and for that this film is utterly necessary.
The lack of conflict, of worry and tension, in Varda's world does though lead to a certain case that this is basically a series of people that at least this viewer found rather annoying, doing rather annoying things. As written, this message is of course entirely right; but it lacks complexity (perhaps necessarilly, for the clear pedagogic function), and, when preaching to the converted, is not the most illuminating watch.
It feels deeply cruel to take against this film, due to it being morally impeccable. Abd it doesn't even do this in an annoying way; it is, all flipness aside, of the upmost importance that this message is dispersed, picked up, examined. The women's movement has utterly lacked, due to the sexism of the industry, such examples, and for that this film is utterly necessary.
The lack of conflict, of worry and tension, in Varda's world does though lead to a certain case that this is basically a series of people that at least this viewer found rather annoying, doing rather annoying things. As written, this message is of course entirely right; but it lacks complexity (perhaps necessarilly, for the clear pedagogic function), and, when preaching to the converted, is not the most illuminating watch.
Le Bonheur
Agnes Varda, 1965
Less movement of camera here. The interest in the framings come with again a few compartmentalising shots, faces as one parts of the shot that are racked in and out of focus with signs, with messages in this utopian-like fantasy. Also of formal note are the fade-ins and outs to red, blue, and yellow, the use of these filters further creating a Demy-like idea of a toy reality, a saturated reality that seems sinister but refuses to pay out on that behalf.
This film is creepy, and it is, frankly, absolutely ice-cold. In its complete lack of conflict it manages to make the viewer's heart run cold as they expect constantly a horror that for so long fails to materialise. When it does, the presentation of it stabs at one; and what follows after that, for its simpleness, again its lack of conflict; strikes one as insane, a sharp blade through the consciousness. But in presenting 'Happiness', or is it just the diabolic, in this manner, one is forced to engage with this film at a distance. It is really terrific filmmaking; at once a dissecting look, it is able to consider that own dissection at the same time.
Less movement of camera here. The interest in the framings come with again a few compartmentalising shots, faces as one parts of the shot that are racked in and out of focus with signs, with messages in this utopian-like fantasy. Also of formal note are the fade-ins and outs to red, blue, and yellow, the use of these filters further creating a Demy-like idea of a toy reality, a saturated reality that seems sinister but refuses to pay out on that behalf.
This film is creepy, and it is, frankly, absolutely ice-cold. In its complete lack of conflict it manages to make the viewer's heart run cold as they expect constantly a horror that for so long fails to materialise. When it does, the presentation of it stabs at one; and what follows after that, for its simpleness, again its lack of conflict; strikes one as insane, a sharp blade through the consciousness. But in presenting 'Happiness', or is it just the diabolic, in this manner, one is forced to engage with this film at a distance. It is really terrific filmmaking; at once a dissecting look, it is able to consider that own dissection at the same time.
La Pointe-Courte
Agnes Varda's debut film, 1955
Varda's camera adopts a compartmentalising approach; with a straight-on ish series of takes, usually long but for emphasis closer, there is clearly marked by differences of colour, by geometric lines across, and in the simple framing that the screen works in seperate areas. This allows intrusion in one area, at quite a different depth, in mid scene. Often to our left or right there will be a close up figure, looming over a figure at an entirely different depth, who is very much kept to their compartment of the image. The image often works with a part in great depth, dark stretching out to fields, a road, the river in the distance.
This film opens with a remarkable, huge tracking shot, and the freedom of movement in such long tracks (usually) and pans (often) is pronounced. Our camera roves in an almost 'Slacker' like manner around the locale, creating powerful images with high contrast and often strong whites and darks in the pungently created locale. Actions usually start off screen, the action moves into the camera rather than the camera framing it, then continues beyond. This increases the peripatetic feel of the piece. It creates a wonderful, with strong uses of off-screen sound, accurate and detailed dialogue, examination of the life of the fishing port. This is when this film is at it strongest.
It is rather waylaid by the rather self-conscious high fallutin' conceit of the metropolitan couple's conversation. Using 'Persona' esque juxtaposition of faces, much slow walking and moping, static compositions, this rather jars in its creation of a completely different world from what is otherwise a fascinatng verite study.
The life of the fishing port is captured in movement, calmly and evocatively, to create a terrific picture in parts here.
Varda's camera adopts a compartmentalising approach; with a straight-on ish series of takes, usually long but for emphasis closer, there is clearly marked by differences of colour, by geometric lines across, and in the simple framing that the screen works in seperate areas. This allows intrusion in one area, at quite a different depth, in mid scene. Often to our left or right there will be a close up figure, looming over a figure at an entirely different depth, who is very much kept to their compartment of the image. The image often works with a part in great depth, dark stretching out to fields, a road, the river in the distance.
This film opens with a remarkable, huge tracking shot, and the freedom of movement in such long tracks (usually) and pans (often) is pronounced. Our camera roves in an almost 'Slacker' like manner around the locale, creating powerful images with high contrast and often strong whites and darks in the pungently created locale. Actions usually start off screen, the action moves into the camera rather than the camera framing it, then continues beyond. This increases the peripatetic feel of the piece. It creates a wonderful, with strong uses of off-screen sound, accurate and detailed dialogue, examination of the life of the fishing port. This is when this film is at it strongest.
It is rather waylaid by the rather self-conscious high fallutin' conceit of the metropolitan couple's conversation. Using 'Persona' esque juxtaposition of faces, much slow walking and moping, static compositions, this rather jars in its creation of a completely different world from what is otherwise a fascinatng verite study.
The life of the fishing port is captured in movement, calmly and evocatively, to create a terrific picture in parts here.
Friday 8 April 2011
Cave Of Forgotten Dreams
Herzog's latest documentary.
This isn't Herzog's best documentary; indeed even he seems a little apologetic at times. The caves are obviously remarkable, but they really call for a philosophical analysis, which is not Herzog's forte. The search for eccentrics doesn't really take off. Perhaps Herzog has become uneasy about his long takes, sense of absurdity about individuals, with perhaps a slightly greater sense of empathy. We have a pretty down the line piece here.
The caves are tough to film, but documented well enough (not that the scientist's own records are exactly inaccurate). There detail, subtedly, and shadings indeed come as quite a surprise. The commentary throws out the same dates in a slightly stunned manner, not quite knwing what to make of them.
Indeed, Herzog's particular brand of magical thinking does sometimes result in a kind of open-eyed wonder. We are told we are spiritual; but why can't we 'know'. These aren't so much explained. This film is interesting, curious, and an object of wonder; but for critical thought, it falls away.
This isn't Herzog's best documentary; indeed even he seems a little apologetic at times. The caves are obviously remarkable, but they really call for a philosophical analysis, which is not Herzog's forte. The search for eccentrics doesn't really take off. Perhaps Herzog has become uneasy about his long takes, sense of absurdity about individuals, with perhaps a slightly greater sense of empathy. We have a pretty down the line piece here.
The caves are tough to film, but documented well enough (not that the scientist's own records are exactly inaccurate). There detail, subtedly, and shadings indeed come as quite a surprise. The commentary throws out the same dates in a slightly stunned manner, not quite knwing what to make of them.
Indeed, Herzog's particular brand of magical thinking does sometimes result in a kind of open-eyed wonder. We are told we are spiritual; but why can't we 'know'. These aren't so much explained. This film is interesting, curious, and an object of wonder; but for critical thought, it falls away.
Essential Killing
New feature from Jerzy Skolimowski.
Shooting action, this film demonstrates that fast cuts aren't entirely necessary. Not that we're saying the takes are long, and they're certainly not still, with tracks and pans (many more pans than in modern Hollywood). But there is at least a rest, a willingness for our lead to not be down our throats the whole time.
The near lack of dialogue is unimportant as the occasionally deadpan lead is assaulted, attacked on all sides by dogs, random passers-by, the snow and nature. In fact, the relation to nature is fascinating; a source of nourshment, unfeeling, where does food come from? This comes to the mother relation on a number of occassions.
Gallo's face is really remarkable, and brings us back to the relation with Claire Denis (i.e. 'Trouble Every Day'). It's 'The Intruder', with the unicorn, the blood, the nature and the mind cut off.
We have a non-human here, a non-man buffetted about, with an unconvincing personal life, who is thrown around a no-place, an Eastern Europe that remains a war zone. This film is a bit slight, but is well made, and in its quiet manner probes nicely.
Shooting action, this film demonstrates that fast cuts aren't entirely necessary. Not that we're saying the takes are long, and they're certainly not still, with tracks and pans (many more pans than in modern Hollywood). But there is at least a rest, a willingness for our lead to not be down our throats the whole time.
The near lack of dialogue is unimportant as the occasionally deadpan lead is assaulted, attacked on all sides by dogs, random passers-by, the snow and nature. In fact, the relation to nature is fascinating; a source of nourshment, unfeeling, where does food come from? This comes to the mother relation on a number of occassions.
Gallo's face is really remarkable, and brings us back to the relation with Claire Denis (i.e. 'Trouble Every Day'). It's 'The Intruder', with the unicorn, the blood, the nature and the mind cut off.
We have a non-human here, a non-man buffetted about, with an unconvincing personal life, who is thrown around a no-place, an Eastern Europe that remains a war zone. This film is a bit slight, but is well made, and in its quiet manner probes nicely.
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