Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau - 1927
Murnau uses some pretty distant framings at times. Most notably, putting the couple low down in the frame, and using the top. He creates some of the greatest images in the cinema with the somplexity of the lighting, and this tiered composition, in the dance hall sequence. He also uses variations for entirely different effects, for loomings and overhangings, of the vamp near the end, for example.
Pictorially, the off-centre hard backlight provides beyond beautiful images. Murnau won't cut on these too quickly. This allows for two of the greatest performances of the cinema; not overdone, full of nuance and depth (whatever that is...), but also clear and simple, of the country folk.
Their is really a plethora of effects here, that would be verging on ridiculous anywhere else, but are used so perfectly to work. Endless impositions, of a city, a dream, cinema across time. And of course the wonderful movement. We have slow tracks, so smooth, so sensual, that are, yes, erotic, in a more gentle than brutal way. The horizontals across the city, at once calm but wildly exciting.
This is what the city is; the place of beauty, coming from the tram window (simple, but sharp), surrounding with love, with hope. But often the place of predators, despair, the couple caight in the traffic, for all the beauty, across time and space, of their tracking walk through it. The city is at once the storm, but how can one live without it?
What is 'Sunrise'? It is the most beautiful day of our life. And with that I take a short break to these entries.
Showing posts with label Germany. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Germany. Show all posts
Monday, 29 August 2011
Sunday, 28 August 2011
Tartuffe
Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau - 1925
The often referred to 'mobile camera' of Murnau, and Freund, has often confused me, for, for all the innovations in movement, as an aesthetic principle it is pretty minimal in a lot of shots. But here I felt great mobility in the camera, despite its stillness; precisely because their is mobility in the set up; Murnau, as Griffiths, introduces the idea of the camera as being able to shoot from any point, any angle, not constrained by stage constaints. His camera can be below, behind, through a window, wherever.
This surprised me for the pace of the edit, and for how close the framings are. And I mean really close; facial close-ups even, medium shots could be as far out as we get for a few sequences. This is not what one expects of silent cinema. There is also some long stuff, on that slightly abstract, deeply beautiful studio set look that Murnau has, with light expressionism (cinematic, German) infusing the air; a kind of slightly lighter one than, say, Murnau's 'Faust'.
I didn't find this his most distinctive work, we basically have a tale set out in front of us (or around us, as above). Of course the compositions are [refect, hang-up able. I watched a copy with a lot of yellow tints, high contrasts, and pretty scratchy, faded sides. Also note we have the Murnau-ish back of the leering man.
The obvious point of interest is the framing device; why? There is quite a shock here. Is it modernist (why categorize?)? Yes and no. Yes, in that we are told 'Tartuffe' and asked explictly to reflect on it, consider even the morality of telling a tale. No in that what it sets up is simply a very middle-ages esque tale, pure and simple; it is a morality play, modernist only if you are being difficult.
There are recurring elements of Murnau found even in Moliere's story. The odd attitude towards woman, showing their power, yet disgust with them is obvious; as is a kind of lust (the director's sexuality notwithstanding, perhaps). Also the fear of unemployment, and the need to communicate, say something. This moral part (not that I necessarilly agree..), with the tale like structure, put me in mind of the slightly more detailed, though admittedly less ornate and baroque, 'Master Of The House'.
The often referred to 'mobile camera' of Murnau, and Freund, has often confused me, for, for all the innovations in movement, as an aesthetic principle it is pretty minimal in a lot of shots. But here I felt great mobility in the camera, despite its stillness; precisely because their is mobility in the set up; Murnau, as Griffiths, introduces the idea of the camera as being able to shoot from any point, any angle, not constrained by stage constaints. His camera can be below, behind, through a window, wherever.
This surprised me for the pace of the edit, and for how close the framings are. And I mean really close; facial close-ups even, medium shots could be as far out as we get for a few sequences. This is not what one expects of silent cinema. There is also some long stuff, on that slightly abstract, deeply beautiful studio set look that Murnau has, with light expressionism (cinematic, German) infusing the air; a kind of slightly lighter one than, say, Murnau's 'Faust'.
I didn't find this his most distinctive work, we basically have a tale set out in front of us (or around us, as above). Of course the compositions are [refect, hang-up able. I watched a copy with a lot of yellow tints, high contrasts, and pretty scratchy, faded sides. Also note we have the Murnau-ish back of the leering man.
The obvious point of interest is the framing device; why? There is quite a shock here. Is it modernist (why categorize?)? Yes and no. Yes, in that we are told 'Tartuffe' and asked explictly to reflect on it, consider even the morality of telling a tale. No in that what it sets up is simply a very middle-ages esque tale, pure and simple; it is a morality play, modernist only if you are being difficult.
There are recurring elements of Murnau found even in Moliere's story. The odd attitude towards woman, showing their power, yet disgust with them is obvious; as is a kind of lust (the director's sexuality notwithstanding, perhaps). Also the fear of unemployment, and the need to communicate, say something. This moral part (not that I necessarilly agree..), with the tale like structure, put me in mind of the slightly more detailed, though admittedly less ornate and baroque, 'Master Of The House'.
Friday, 26 August 2011
Der Letze Mann
Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau - 1924
So incredibly beautful, but not without difficulty, not too smooth or shiny. This is like a great ancient classical work; perfect, but with that air of the primitive.
More sepcifically, many low angles for the very strong whites, like on fire. The money is even white. This all goes with the themes of smoke throughout, hell... Deleuze.
We have a mixture of long shots, but the film seems at once modern for its mediums, more than I can think certainly most black and whites, nevermind silents... The edit is precise, but never pnderous, very exact moves, often nintety or one eighty.
In a way, this is two different films; we have a real change from the hotel to the housing estate; there we have remarkable non-centering, the windows come alive across the frame in that great early stil shot. I don't know what to say but the ridiculous; neo realism? Cramped interiors, everyday washing, life, little moves, dirty faces. There is a slightly odd attitude to the woman gossips, sympathetic but cruel...
The hotel is shot more precise ly, with those wonderful singular (literally) moves towards or away from an action. Also note similar moves for travelling sound; into the ear. The earline match.
And the epilogue; at first quite a smart inversion, of excess, moving the film from parochialism of a single kind of consciousness one could say, for all the obvious absurdity. Once this exercise is clear through, it becomes downright odd
This film is still for me sensational; just Jannings against that wall. Perhaps my favourite silent film; or just film, long with a few incomparable others.
So incredibly beautful, but not without difficulty, not too smooth or shiny. This is like a great ancient classical work; perfect, but with that air of the primitive.
More sepcifically, many low angles for the very strong whites, like on fire. The money is even white. This all goes with the themes of smoke throughout, hell... Deleuze.
We have a mixture of long shots, but the film seems at once modern for its mediums, more than I can think certainly most black and whites, nevermind silents... The edit is precise, but never pnderous, very exact moves, often nintety or one eighty.
In a way, this is two different films; we have a real change from the hotel to the housing estate; there we have remarkable non-centering, the windows come alive across the frame in that great early stil shot. I don't know what to say but the ridiculous; neo realism? Cramped interiors, everyday washing, life, little moves, dirty faces. There is a slightly odd attitude to the woman gossips, sympathetic but cruel...
The hotel is shot more precise ly, with those wonderful singular (literally) moves towards or away from an action. Also note similar moves for travelling sound; into the ear. The earline match.
And the epilogue; at first quite a smart inversion, of excess, moving the film from parochialism of a single kind of consciousness one could say, for all the obvious absurdity. Once this exercise is clear through, it becomes downright odd
This film is still for me sensational; just Jannings against that wall. Perhaps my favourite silent film; or just film, long with a few incomparable others.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
The State Of Things
Wim Wenders - 1982
Clearly less narrative based than 'The American Friend', pretty much a series of incidents; it is impressive that Wenders can put his film where his thoughts are, seeing that narrative, the Hollywoodian, in the cinema is compromised. There is that thread, but this is an 'open' film. It contains thoughts, philosophy, beauty, but is far from didactiv; it feels very cool. I'm not sure it's all succesful, indeed it can get lost, I felt (slightly abstract, apart from the film industry parts..), but respect.
Wenders' black and white uses deep contrasts, rich slick blacks. It may also have all been shot through a yellow filter (lots of self-referential fun here). The compositions don't seem organised around an abiding theme, but are thoughtful and often beautiful. I felt a tendency to backlight, often from the side. Wender's sense of place is also often horizontal, be he in the city or more, as here, outside of it.
Clearly less narrative based than 'The American Friend', pretty much a series of incidents; it is impressive that Wenders can put his film where his thoughts are, seeing that narrative, the Hollywoodian, in the cinema is compromised. There is that thread, but this is an 'open' film. It contains thoughts, philosophy, beauty, but is far from didactiv; it feels very cool. I'm not sure it's all succesful, indeed it can get lost, I felt (slightly abstract, apart from the film industry parts..), but respect.
Wenders' black and white uses deep contrasts, rich slick blacks. It may also have all been shot through a yellow filter (lots of self-referential fun here). The compositions don't seem organised around an abiding theme, but are thoughtful and often beautiful. I felt a tendency to backlight, often from the side. Wender's sense of place is also often horizontal, be he in the city or more, as here, outside of it.
Der amerikanische Freund (The American Friend)
Wim Wenders - 1977
On the surface, I suppose Wenders' films look formally quite conservative. What I mean is that there's nothing particularly long or short about the takes, no shaky camera, nothing too grand. People filmed in rooms, panning and tracking about, quite a bit of shots and reverses. I suppose he has a tendency for some very long shots, landscapes, and that he also generally avoids too many singles, but nothing too much.
Yet he is formally very impressive, with an air of Hitchock in his manipulation of eyeline matches and expression in his little moves. His images are attractive in their slickness, with strong colours in often dark interiors.
What i enjoyed most about this film was the use of narrative, location, genre. It does have a clear narrative, but it is not always clear that this is so... at times one feels one is watching 'Detective', before it all comes together. Perhaps this is partly because their are individual sequences that suddenly we realise we are watching a thriller with Dana Andrews on a train, or a Wyler-ish bit of romance, more rarely (more the former). This is the love of Hollywood, or rather of movies, that we have here; the use of trains, references to masses, Keaton, appearances by Ray and Fuller.
The plot is technically a Highsmith novel, but there is really a hell of a lot going on here, that I'm not fully able to comment on, more the worse to me. The existentialist question of the coming death we face, heightened, the choice that confronts. Add to this the whoring to America, and at once the falsity of their art, but the friendship of the American. An excellent film.
On the surface, I suppose Wenders' films look formally quite conservative. What I mean is that there's nothing particularly long or short about the takes, no shaky camera, nothing too grand. People filmed in rooms, panning and tracking about, quite a bit of shots and reverses. I suppose he has a tendency for some very long shots, landscapes, and that he also generally avoids too many singles, but nothing too much.
Yet he is formally very impressive, with an air of Hitchock in his manipulation of eyeline matches and expression in his little moves. His images are attractive in their slickness, with strong colours in often dark interiors.
What i enjoyed most about this film was the use of narrative, location, genre. It does have a clear narrative, but it is not always clear that this is so... at times one feels one is watching 'Detective', before it all comes together. Perhaps this is partly because their are individual sequences that suddenly we realise we are watching a thriller with Dana Andrews on a train, or a Wyler-ish bit of romance, more rarely (more the former). This is the love of Hollywood, or rather of movies, that we have here; the use of trains, references to masses, Keaton, appearances by Ray and Fuller.
The plot is technically a Highsmith novel, but there is really a hell of a lot going on here, that I'm not fully able to comment on, more the worse to me. The existentialist question of the coming death we face, heightened, the choice that confronts. Add to this the whoring to America, and at once the falsity of their art, but the friendship of the American. An excellent film.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Lola Montes
Max Ophuls - 1955
Using 'scope and Ophuls' only use of colour, this film looks like nothing else. Needing to move it less, but continuing to do so, Ophuls uses vertical movements more than before. The incredibly saturated, unnatural (or natural for the circus) reds, greens, and blues and often harsh lighting all contribute to the obvious way, thematically, this film discusses the playing out of a scene, an attraction, the world as a stage play, fateful.
Ophuls has something he wants to say; Lola's oppression as almost the same, her wishes crushed in the arts (dance, painting, music, and the cinema), politics, the ages, in all she is objectified. There is a rather worrying sense of revolutions and so on not mattering, as all the world is just a sad stage play for Lola; I didn't get the sense of a varied society I have had in other Ophuls' films, for all the interest in this message.
The idea of the woman as forced into prostitution, into being examined and objectified by the cinema, clearly relates to Godard and the interrogation of the camera's role. As perhaps a precusor, and certanly as singular, this is something.
Godard / fate
Using 'scope and Ophuls' only use of colour, this film looks like nothing else. Needing to move it less, but continuing to do so, Ophuls uses vertical movements more than before. The incredibly saturated, unnatural (or natural for the circus) reds, greens, and blues and often harsh lighting all contribute to the obvious way, thematically, this film discusses the playing out of a scene, an attraction, the world as a stage play, fateful.
Ophuls has something he wants to say; Lola's oppression as almost the same, her wishes crushed in the arts (dance, painting, music, and the cinema), politics, the ages, in all she is objectified. There is a rather worrying sense of revolutions and so on not mattering, as all the world is just a sad stage play for Lola; I didn't get the sense of a varied society I have had in other Ophuls' films, for all the interest in this message.
The idea of the woman as forced into prostitution, into being examined and objectified by the cinema, clearly relates to Godard and the interrogation of the camera's role. As perhaps a precusor, and certanly as singular, this is something.
Godard / fate
Madame de...
Max Ophuls - 1953
So we have Ophuls camera, mvoing around as it does, following following. The most memorable is when it combines with montage as De Sica and Madame dance across the weeks as they fall in love. Another very memorable shot is when over the top of those two we see the society ('Le Monde'?) reflected, which makes me think of 'Sunrise'. Oddly, I completely imagined a shot of de Sica waving goodbye to her at the station, though anyway, the trains are lovely.
Ophuls gives us enough of the pains, of their illtreatment of the staff and that lovely sequence by the doors, to avoid accusations of dilletantism. Boyer is mean, pretty gratuitously so at times, but we understand him. Equally, Madame is rather flighty and not entirely attractive; perhaps she isn't as profound as one could wish, but well, it would be a different film then.
What I especially like about this is that the fatalism isn't so clear; the return, la ronde, is rather slightly absurd, Boyer at one point suggesting that turning memories into objects is all a bit foolish. It is incredibly romantic, expertly judged at each moment (when de Sica and Madame part, when she leaves for Italy, the direction, each on seperate parts of the frame, is magnificent), and incisive with the levels of lies that permeate these lives, for all the keening.
So we have Ophuls camera, mvoing around as it does, following following. The most memorable is when it combines with montage as De Sica and Madame dance across the weeks as they fall in love. Another very memorable shot is when over the top of those two we see the society ('Le Monde'?) reflected, which makes me think of 'Sunrise'. Oddly, I completely imagined a shot of de Sica waving goodbye to her at the station, though anyway, the trains are lovely.
Ophuls gives us enough of the pains, of their illtreatment of the staff and that lovely sequence by the doors, to avoid accusations of dilletantism. Boyer is mean, pretty gratuitously so at times, but we understand him. Equally, Madame is rather flighty and not entirely attractive; perhaps she isn't as profound as one could wish, but well, it would be a different film then.
What I especially like about this is that the fatalism isn't so clear; the return, la ronde, is rather slightly absurd, Boyer at one point suggesting that turning memories into objects is all a bit foolish. It is incredibly romantic, expertly judged at each moment (when de Sica and Madame part, when she leaves for Italy, the direction, each on seperate parts of the frame, is magnificent), and incisive with the levels of lies that permeate these lives, for all the keening.
Tuesday, 26 July 2011
Letter From An Unknown Woman
Max Ophuls - 1948
I find it difficult to theorsie about precise compositons in Ophuls; I'll say the compositions are often long, relatively intricately framed, with lovely soft blacks (it may be partly the print for this). What it is is immensely beautiful, backlights and all. The images are usually then complex, often with neat, but full, bars crossing one another, imprisonment maybe. The major scenes can break with this to have clear backdrops, often with smoke, to give a different feeling.
What this film does have is great depth of field. Down and up staircases, across rooms, it really uses that big space.
But it is camera movement that we are told to talk about with Ophuls. Those pans and usually tracks, nearly always moving at least a bit, gradation of emphasis. There are some through walls here, and the most radical is probably coming into the opera, where for all the bodies we are told of a fate (the voiceover, and the actions shown, combine to be very novelistic; it's a Zweig novel). The tracks can also wonderfully convey the music early on (very clear sound mix).
Ophuls tracks, to me, seem to open a new world with every move. Quite tentaive sometimes, not 'smooth' in the precision and determinism of, say, Kubrick's, they seem to mirror the passing of time, the constant surprise at a new future, a new space. My (rather up in the air) thesis is that this is due to the people moving with the tracks rarely being interested in where they are going. The compostions center rather than leave space to be balanced as they follow. The character is rarely looking where they are going; the mind and the story is nearly always from where they have come, a thought or memory (counterexamples to this, among others, would be the nun). Repeated motifs, endless numbers of them, add to this. It is as though the characters eyes only ever reach the side of the frame, so each track opens an entirely new world to see.
Ophuls, for me, is as much as anything about incredible reticence. Largely in long shots, no histrionics usually, turning from the action, no raised voices, not milking looks. At the end the couple of shots that do turn it on are all the more powerful.
What can cinema do, and Ophuls world can't? It can, as in previous superimpositons, cross memory in that montage sequence, fly together things that even we can't remember; but how could we forget, be so cruel? And those who are forgotten; Zweig's story is a deeply affecting one. Stefan is, by the story, really more of a cad and frankly a bastard than his rather nice demeanour could suggest here; this is a tragedy, making Stefan too nice, or rather reading it that way, could make Lisa's actions too arbitrary. But if one can't remember... well. Ophul's sheer fatalism (is it class specific? That would be pushing it. By the way, I like the little moments like the rug-beating and the workers at the fairground; Ophuls doesn't have to be high society) does trouble me, but the sheer beauty and affection of his mis-en-scene are quite something.
I find it difficult to theorsie about precise compositons in Ophuls; I'll say the compositions are often long, relatively intricately framed, with lovely soft blacks (it may be partly the print for this). What it is is immensely beautiful, backlights and all. The images are usually then complex, often with neat, but full, bars crossing one another, imprisonment maybe. The major scenes can break with this to have clear backdrops, often with smoke, to give a different feeling.
What this film does have is great depth of field. Down and up staircases, across rooms, it really uses that big space.
But it is camera movement that we are told to talk about with Ophuls. Those pans and usually tracks, nearly always moving at least a bit, gradation of emphasis. There are some through walls here, and the most radical is probably coming into the opera, where for all the bodies we are told of a fate (the voiceover, and the actions shown, combine to be very novelistic; it's a Zweig novel). The tracks can also wonderfully convey the music early on (very clear sound mix).
Ophuls tracks, to me, seem to open a new world with every move. Quite tentaive sometimes, not 'smooth' in the precision and determinism of, say, Kubrick's, they seem to mirror the passing of time, the constant surprise at a new future, a new space. My (rather up in the air) thesis is that this is due to the people moving with the tracks rarely being interested in where they are going. The compostions center rather than leave space to be balanced as they follow. The character is rarely looking where they are going; the mind and the story is nearly always from where they have come, a thought or memory (counterexamples to this, among others, would be the nun). Repeated motifs, endless numbers of them, add to this. It is as though the characters eyes only ever reach the side of the frame, so each track opens an entirely new world to see.
Ophuls, for me, is as much as anything about incredible reticence. Largely in long shots, no histrionics usually, turning from the action, no raised voices, not milking looks. At the end the couple of shots that do turn it on are all the more powerful.
What can cinema do, and Ophuls world can't? It can, as in previous superimpositons, cross memory in that montage sequence, fly together things that even we can't remember; but how could we forget, be so cruel? And those who are forgotten; Zweig's story is a deeply affecting one. Stefan is, by the story, really more of a cad and frankly a bastard than his rather nice demeanour could suggest here; this is a tragedy, making Stefan too nice, or rather reading it that way, could make Lisa's actions too arbitrary. But if one can't remember... well. Ophul's sheer fatalism (is it class specific? That would be pushing it. By the way, I like the little moments like the rug-beating and the workers at the fairground; Ophuls doesn't have to be high society) does trouble me, but the sheer beauty and affection of his mis-en-scene are quite something.
Chinese Roulette
Rainer Werner Fassbinder - 1976
Not my favourite Fassbinder, but some interesting stuff. The people move around at a glacial pace, delivering carefully preprepared lines, very precise lines. The staging is self-consciously complex. The camera does a hell of a lot of racking, so there is a bit of depth. It is constantly taking another look at the characters, going for a new angle, grouping different ones together. This film is really all about the changing emotional dynamics.
The plot isn't really, for my little brain, explained clearly enough, so what should be imbued with tension is rather confusing. Perhaps this is what made me notice the complete lack of sense of humour, lightness of touch in that confined sense, in Fassbinder ('no one's ever happy, they just haven't heard the bad news yet') here rather than in other films with equal themes.
Feat of children, how they ruin erotic and emotional lives. Sadism, revenge, power of others, are all here, and explored in, to be fair, quite some detail. And Anna Karina is in it, she has huge eyes.
Not my favourite Fassbinder, but some interesting stuff. The people move around at a glacial pace, delivering carefully preprepared lines, very precise lines. The staging is self-consciously complex. The camera does a hell of a lot of racking, so there is a bit of depth. It is constantly taking another look at the characters, going for a new angle, grouping different ones together. This film is really all about the changing emotional dynamics.
The plot isn't really, for my little brain, explained clearly enough, so what should be imbued with tension is rather confusing. Perhaps this is what made me notice the complete lack of sense of humour, lightness of touch in that confined sense, in Fassbinder ('no one's ever happy, they just haven't heard the bad news yet') here rather than in other films with equal themes.
Feat of children, how they ruin erotic and emotional lives. Sadism, revenge, power of others, are all here, and explored in, to be fair, quite some detail. And Anna Karina is in it, she has huge eyes.
Monday, 25 July 2011
Fox and His Friends
Rainer Werner Fassbinder - 1975
The story here has a fatalistic angle to it, pure destiny. Rosenbaum talks about the camera already being in position for the next move, low down, waiting for the fall. I would allow to this the clear sense of winning the lottery, the quiet resignation at every point. Fassbinder's own hangdog face, and rather impressive performance, all adds to this.
The hellish bourgeois interior, Fassbinder continuing to focus on class, how it effects the very nature of relationships, is clear. He certainly sees relationships in an extremely clear way; as deeply erotic (the penises as balancing a scene), as marked by that famous sadism, as having tenderness. The two-shot of the two in the car is very sweet, but throughout we have that slow fall, collapsing into each other in that tight apartment.
The story here has a fatalistic angle to it, pure destiny. Rosenbaum talks about the camera already being in position for the next move, low down, waiting for the fall. I would allow to this the clear sense of winning the lottery, the quiet resignation at every point. Fassbinder's own hangdog face, and rather impressive performance, all adds to this.
The hellish bourgeois interior, Fassbinder continuing to focus on class, how it effects the very nature of relationships, is clear. He certainly sees relationships in an extremely clear way; as deeply erotic (the penises as balancing a scene), as marked by that famous sadism, as having tenderness. The two-shot of the two in the car is very sweet, but throughout we have that slow fall, collapsing into each other in that tight apartment.
Effi Briest
Rainer Werner Fassbinder - 1974
Opening up, I considered the various texts running through here, the voiceover/ internal monologue, and more objective voiceover, the story of the image, the titles we were given. These seem to be initially giving us the 'truth', we feel content and modern and superior, sometimes even to one of the texts, but then it turns on us, we are rather stumped; who we though was giving 'good', liberal views, will say something rather nasty. We are implicated, and who to believe? Is Effi's voiceover her 'true' self, or of a fantasist, or of a liar, or even hers? Identity and instability, even as a viewer we become unsure what position we hold.
And then, a little of the way in, I realised I was watching a dialogue with Dreyer's 'Gertrud'. Here's my evidence for connections to that strange, fascinating film, which I am not good on.
The shots of the country are pure Dreyer, overexposed back, filters, wet looking complexity of the forestry. Shot in precise slow tracks that are alreaady ongoing with the cut (desire). Often far away, but can start close. Exact visual reference with the parasol. Indeed, the general camera movements, tracks of precision, little moves, framings, are clearly indebted and referencing Dreyer; they are also brilliant, conveying nuances of emotion and the instability of the character, and us, I mentioned above. I would need to watch this again to describe it better; this is my impression rather than analysis (as all the first time reviews really are).
The hypnotic pace, the flighty voice, the very still, deliberately mannered acting. These tracks come as she walks slowly. Her very white appearance against the background, a new, by Dreyer, use of black and white, is here. As is people talking when facing in opposite directions (worth saying that much of what I say about Dreyer, and a little of Fassbinder, is from Rosenbaum).
Perhaps this film is Gertrud had she given in to that desire; it would be a complex giving in, riven by doubt, surely. Fassinbinder is surely more direct and a little lasivious than Dreyer (not that I can remember the latter exactly; I'll get to a re-watch), with some emotional SRS and a few added bits of sharpness here and there.
This film is completely fasinating, a great film for the layers, the thoughts, the worlds it opens up, though I didn't find it particularly pleasurable. Rather the opposite, in a good way, from what I might have previously expected from Fassbinder.
Opening up, I considered the various texts running through here, the voiceover/ internal monologue, and more objective voiceover, the story of the image, the titles we were given. These seem to be initially giving us the 'truth', we feel content and modern and superior, sometimes even to one of the texts, but then it turns on us, we are rather stumped; who we though was giving 'good', liberal views, will say something rather nasty. We are implicated, and who to believe? Is Effi's voiceover her 'true' self, or of a fantasist, or of a liar, or even hers? Identity and instability, even as a viewer we become unsure what position we hold.
And then, a little of the way in, I realised I was watching a dialogue with Dreyer's 'Gertrud'. Here's my evidence for connections to that strange, fascinating film, which I am not good on.
The shots of the country are pure Dreyer, overexposed back, filters, wet looking complexity of the forestry. Shot in precise slow tracks that are alreaady ongoing with the cut (desire). Often far away, but can start close. Exact visual reference with the parasol. Indeed, the general camera movements, tracks of precision, little moves, framings, are clearly indebted and referencing Dreyer; they are also brilliant, conveying nuances of emotion and the instability of the character, and us, I mentioned above. I would need to watch this again to describe it better; this is my impression rather than analysis (as all the first time reviews really are).
The hypnotic pace, the flighty voice, the very still, deliberately mannered acting. These tracks come as she walks slowly. Her very white appearance against the background, a new, by Dreyer, use of black and white, is here. As is people talking when facing in opposite directions (worth saying that much of what I say about Dreyer, and a little of Fassbinder, is from Rosenbaum).
Perhaps this film is Gertrud had she given in to that desire; it would be a complex giving in, riven by doubt, surely. Fassinbinder is surely more direct and a little lasivious than Dreyer (not that I can remember the latter exactly; I'll get to a re-watch), with some emotional SRS and a few added bits of sharpness here and there.
This film is completely fasinating, a great film for the layers, the thoughts, the worlds it opens up, though I didn't find it particularly pleasurable. Rather the opposite, in a good way, from what I might have previously expected from Fassbinder.
Ali: Fear Eats The Soul
Rainer Werner Fassbinder - 1974
It is unfair not to invoke the name of Brecht; but I'm uncomfortable doing so, because my viewing of this film isn't really able to answer the Brechtian questions of why, and how, distancing is created from the action. There is literal distance, in the camerawork, and as in 'The Merchant Of Four Seasons' bare settings. The actors obvioudly completely underplay compared to classic realism.
This film though also moves into SRS; we are complicit in the actions as we are distanced, because of the undeniable, and not specifically Brechtian, emotional pull. The process of looking in an SRS, eyeline match formula, as Hitchcock masters, does pull us in emotionally. No words needed; look at the long back and forth, long takes that is, at the garage here. We realise we are peeping, looking, just like the terrible members of society do, but we also do do this looking, are involved.
The reticence here (mistaking Brecht for reticence!), or rather the emotion of the pure look, brought me to 'A Farewell to Arms' by Borzage. Though what this film really is is 'All That Heaven Allows', plus race (so why isn't it 'Far From Heaven?' Answer: Brecht?). It is an absolutely brutal taking apart of German society, seeing the initial prejudice only subsumed by egotism. No wonder Ali feels alone even when things seem to be going well. Add to this past membership of the NAZI party. It is sharp, of course Effi is deeply implicated, and Ali perhaps to an extent. That we are forced to identify with this, emotionally, as well as distanced, we are not part, creates an interesting double movement. Lots to think about here.
It is unfair not to invoke the name of Brecht; but I'm uncomfortable doing so, because my viewing of this film isn't really able to answer the Brechtian questions of why, and how, distancing is created from the action. There is literal distance, in the camerawork, and as in 'The Merchant Of Four Seasons' bare settings. The actors obvioudly completely underplay compared to classic realism.
This film though also moves into SRS; we are complicit in the actions as we are distanced, because of the undeniable, and not specifically Brechtian, emotional pull. The process of looking in an SRS, eyeline match formula, as Hitchcock masters, does pull us in emotionally. No words needed; look at the long back and forth, long takes that is, at the garage here. We realise we are peeping, looking, just like the terrible members of society do, but we also do do this looking, are involved.
The reticence here (mistaking Brecht for reticence!), or rather the emotion of the pure look, brought me to 'A Farewell to Arms' by Borzage. Though what this film really is is 'All That Heaven Allows', plus race (so why isn't it 'Far From Heaven?' Answer: Brecht?). It is an absolutely brutal taking apart of German society, seeing the initial prejudice only subsumed by egotism. No wonder Ali feels alone even when things seem to be going well. Add to this past membership of the NAZI party. It is sharp, of course Effi is deeply implicated, and Ali perhaps to an extent. That we are forced to identify with this, emotionally, as well as distanced, we are not part, creates an interesting double movement. Lots to think about here.
Sunday, 24 July 2011
The Bitter Tears Of Petra von Kant
Rainer Werner Fassbinder - 1972
Performed as though on a stage, Fassbinder undoubtedly uses his camera for various means to make his film. The camera's ignoring of Marlene, for instance, following Petre, or later Karin, about is clearly there to show the principles of domination. Compositions often add an element for symbolic effect or emphasis, showing someone dwarfed by a piece of furniture or dominating over it. The props are further given attention in appropriate places, with special note given to the set design of the huge painting (the sadism of renaissance beauty; see Fellini, Greenaway) and the props of the drink bottles. Devices such as the Hitchcockian rule of closer for emphasis are also also. The pretty sparse sound design allows typing or footsteps to act as counters, to add to the image. This is pretty talky. We circle around, sometimes literally, prowl around the dominant women as the dialogue prowls around the particular relationship of command that is in place. As these slowly shift, in a very 'well-made play' arc, so do the appropriate camera positions. The mannered acting, cold dialgoue delivery, flight, combined also with the costumes, give that kind of mummified, preserved in ice appearance to the actors.
Performed as though on a stage, Fassbinder undoubtedly uses his camera for various means to make his film. The camera's ignoring of Marlene, for instance, following Petre, or later Karin, about is clearly there to show the principles of domination. Compositions often add an element for symbolic effect or emphasis, showing someone dwarfed by a piece of furniture or dominating over it. The props are further given attention in appropriate places, with special note given to the set design of the huge painting (the sadism of renaissance beauty; see Fellini, Greenaway) and the props of the drink bottles. Devices such as the Hitchcockian rule of closer for emphasis are also also. The pretty sparse sound design allows typing or footsteps to act as counters, to add to the image. This is pretty talky. We circle around, sometimes literally, prowl around the dominant women as the dialogue prowls around the particular relationship of command that is in place. As these slowly shift, in a very 'well-made play' arc, so do the appropriate camera positions. The mannered acting, cold dialgoue delivery, flight, combined also with the costumes, give that kind of mummified, preserved in ice appearance to the actors.
Saturday, 23 July 2011
The Merchant Of Four Seasons
Rainer Werner Fassbinder - 1971
Known as Fassbinder's first real advance in the melodrama tragedy. On grimy, clearly low budget sets there is a lot of SRS (though never unconsidered), zooming in. There are nice framings as our merchant spies on others, and circlung camera movements that can tell us much.
Structurally, this is a pretty brutal attack on the principles of exchange that ruin the lives of its characters, who are in one way or another cruel to each other, though there is surely empathy there. The edit flits between time frames, often not too clearly, but it does give a general sense of an environment of quiet horror.
Known as Fassbinder's first real advance in the melodrama tragedy. On grimy, clearly low budget sets there is a lot of SRS (though never unconsidered), zooming in. There are nice framings as our merchant spies on others, and circlung camera movements that can tell us much.
Structurally, this is a pretty brutal attack on the principles of exchange that ruin the lives of its characters, who are in one way or another cruel to each other, though there is surely empathy there. The edit flits between time frames, often not too clearly, but it does give a general sense of an environment of quiet horror.
Why Does Herr K. Run Amok?
Rainer Werner Fassbinder - 1970
This is a really terrific little film. Grainy stock, going from cheap dirty room to little room, no tripod in sight, mumbling actors. The camera often starts quite close, this film is made up of dialogue scenes, and swishes back and forth (voices often offscreen). It can zoom in, rove away to look for someone else. The closeness means we are quite often surprised to find someone else is there; we suddenly realise Herr K.'s wife is also in the room, and the agony increases. We'll then move to an establishing shot to get the full weight of the horror.
The thing is, this film truly doesn't depart from what ordinary bourgeois conversations are made up of. Yet it manages to be completely fascinating, surely down to that intimate, claustrophobic camera and the brutal mounting edit, to observe all this. This is really hell captured, with all its grubby soft furnished trimmings.
This film is structurally very similar to 'Jeanne Dielmann', and it also works by achieving a kind of hypnosis, while at the same time allowing distance for us to observe and judge. Ackerman is surely a lot more systematic in her use of space and time, this film perhaps feels more direct, made by a passionate nature.
This is a really terrific little film. Grainy stock, going from cheap dirty room to little room, no tripod in sight, mumbling actors. The camera often starts quite close, this film is made up of dialogue scenes, and swishes back and forth (voices often offscreen). It can zoom in, rove away to look for someone else. The closeness means we are quite often surprised to find someone else is there; we suddenly realise Herr K.'s wife is also in the room, and the agony increases. We'll then move to an establishing shot to get the full weight of the horror.
The thing is, this film truly doesn't depart from what ordinary bourgeois conversations are made up of. Yet it manages to be completely fascinating, surely down to that intimate, claustrophobic camera and the brutal mounting edit, to observe all this. This is really hell captured, with all its grubby soft furnished trimmings.
This film is structurally very similar to 'Jeanne Dielmann', and it also works by achieving a kind of hypnosis, while at the same time allowing distance for us to observe and judge. Ackerman is surely a lot more systematic in her use of space and time, this film perhaps feels more direct, made by a passionate nature.
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
Kuhle Wampe
Slatan Dudow (written by Brecht) - 1932
What is this? Really a collection of nice, sometimes excellent images. Overexposed, with some great sociological looks at people. There are often quite fast, basically inserts (this is nearly a photoplay, in some ways). These can move towards overcutting, cutting around presumably didgy performances, but it doesn't matter hugely.
Well, it does in some ways, because the story isn't really told, it's inconsequential certainly. This film does use cinematic devices, indeed, there's hardly any dialogue, but what it creates through purely cinematic means doesn't have much to do with the love plot. We have good tracks on bicycles and swimming, montage sequences with songs and so on.
The message is great, the feeling is great, solidarity. It doesn't come together hugely, but there are some great bits (and the songs are great, reminding me of 'Threepenny'. It's Hans Eisler.)
What is this? Really a collection of nice, sometimes excellent images. Overexposed, with some great sociological looks at people. There are often quite fast, basically inserts (this is nearly a photoplay, in some ways). These can move towards overcutting, cutting around presumably didgy performances, but it doesn't matter hugely.
Well, it does in some ways, because the story isn't really told, it's inconsequential certainly. This film does use cinematic devices, indeed, there's hardly any dialogue, but what it creates through purely cinematic means doesn't have much to do with the love plot. We have good tracks on bicycles and swimming, montage sequences with songs and so on.
The message is great, the feeling is great, solidarity. It doesn't come together hugely, but there are some great bits (and the songs are great, reminding me of 'Threepenny'. It's Hans Eisler.)
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
Kameradschaft
G.W. Pabst - 1931
A great message, shot well by Pabst. His usual slightly jerky style, cutting I can't help but see as illogical, and poetic images (especially with light reflecting off water, spectacular slow dustclouds, falling imagery. Pabst is all over the tracks here, earlier we saw a reticence in this, but now he uses them to move across crowds, and freedom and autonomy of the camera.
The relation to Soviet cinema? The general machinery and clothing. There are some singles, low angle, of workers. Also the silent-Soviet style of still figures gesturing, a silent style.
The plot isn't overly complicated, but has that nice double movement that brings people together. The message of workers united before nationalisty; great. The translation lines return constantly, questioning that for communication (as Godard would later, by the by). So yes, we liked a lot of things about this.
A great message, shot well by Pabst. His usual slightly jerky style, cutting I can't help but see as illogical, and poetic images (especially with light reflecting off water, spectacular slow dustclouds, falling imagery. Pabst is all over the tracks here, earlier we saw a reticence in this, but now he uses them to move across crowds, and freedom and autonomy of the camera.
The relation to Soviet cinema? The general machinery and clothing. There are some singles, low angle, of workers. Also the silent-Soviet style of still figures gesturing, a silent style.
The plot isn't overly complicated, but has that nice double movement that brings people together. The message of workers united before nationalisty; great. The translation lines return constantly, questioning that for communication (as Godard would later, by the by). So yes, we liked a lot of things about this.
Wednesday, 29 June 2011
Die 3 Groschen-Oper
G.W. Pabst , based on Brecht - 1931
The first half's probably a disaster. Pabst's camera reminds one of a drunk; lloking for somehting while trying to get from one end of the room to another, but it's forgotten what. For no discernible reason it likes looking at stomachs, and the tracks and pans are unsteady, just lacking direction.
The real problem here is the editing. It is way, way too slow; there is a complete lack of directness (I need Lang!). Trying to give psychological depth, as I'll explain, with lingering shots, is a disastorous choice. The cut-aways in the middle of dialogues pretty much loses any of the power of fleshiness Brecht is based on. There are so many unnecessary reframing cuts and moves around, that frankly baffle me. Maybe someone can explain a logic in Pabst's cuts, mathematical or sensual. Please.
Saying that, there is occasionally used one effective technique. Short scenes and quick crosscutting gives a nice sense of the confusion and double relations, giving us some distance.
The soubd design here also seems key; or rather, its lack. There is just no track for most of what ;should' be there; this adds to the abstract feel, a kind of emptiness. It divorces from realism, interferes with a sense of place. Is it Brechtian? Perhaps, but seems strangely inadequate considering the rest of the mis-en-scene is pretty sensually created (which is of course un Brechtian).
Largely, Brecht's formal brilliance is destroyed. The introductions seem no less modernist that Hawks' opening narrations. The acting style, though a few occassional moments of distantiation, is way too normal, there is no focus on the gesture (Eisenstein's 'Ivans' are way more Brechtian). There isn't that distancing. Nor is there a sense of plasticity; Pabst is the least plastic director I can think of. Shadows on faces and no backlighting. No real physicality that transferring Brecht's theatrical moves could help (is it possible?).
With all this, there are some beguiling moments. Brecht's confusing, strange, work still shines through. The songs, the backs of sets of ships, the kind of supposed ambivalence in the social comment; in a way, they are here (though I dislike Pabst's change of the ending; that horse is my favourite bit of the play).
Von Arbou clearly was no genius; Brecht is. Why does Lang stride all over this as a film (obviously, in a way, this has 'more to say'. But Spiones has 'more to be', let me say). Lang is sharper, must cinema be? The best parts here are the beggar king, the second half, in other words, the action bits. This seems a weak rule. But there is something seriously poor and wrong with this film. Yet is still has Brecht, and for that it is endlessly brilliant.
The first half's probably a disaster. Pabst's camera reminds one of a drunk; lloking for somehting while trying to get from one end of the room to another, but it's forgotten what. For no discernible reason it likes looking at stomachs, and the tracks and pans are unsteady, just lacking direction.
The real problem here is the editing. It is way, way too slow; there is a complete lack of directness (I need Lang!). Trying to give psychological depth, as I'll explain, with lingering shots, is a disastorous choice. The cut-aways in the middle of dialogues pretty much loses any of the power of fleshiness Brecht is based on. There are so many unnecessary reframing cuts and moves around, that frankly baffle me. Maybe someone can explain a logic in Pabst's cuts, mathematical or sensual. Please.
Saying that, there is occasionally used one effective technique. Short scenes and quick crosscutting gives a nice sense of the confusion and double relations, giving us some distance.
The soubd design here also seems key; or rather, its lack. There is just no track for most of what ;should' be there; this adds to the abstract feel, a kind of emptiness. It divorces from realism, interferes with a sense of place. Is it Brechtian? Perhaps, but seems strangely inadequate considering the rest of the mis-en-scene is pretty sensually created (which is of course un Brechtian).
Largely, Brecht's formal brilliance is destroyed. The introductions seem no less modernist that Hawks' opening narrations. The acting style, though a few occassional moments of distantiation, is way too normal, there is no focus on the gesture (Eisenstein's 'Ivans' are way more Brechtian). There isn't that distancing. Nor is there a sense of plasticity; Pabst is the least plastic director I can think of. Shadows on faces and no backlighting. No real physicality that transferring Brecht's theatrical moves could help (is it possible?).
With all this, there are some beguiling moments. Brecht's confusing, strange, work still shines through. The songs, the backs of sets of ships, the kind of supposed ambivalence in the social comment; in a way, they are here (though I dislike Pabst's change of the ending; that horse is my favourite bit of the play).
Von Arbou clearly was no genius; Brecht is. Why does Lang stride all over this as a film (obviously, in a way, this has 'more to say'. But Spiones has 'more to be', let me say). Lang is sharper, must cinema be? The best parts here are the beggar king, the second half, in other words, the action bits. This seems a weak rule. But there is something seriously poor and wrong with this film. Yet is still has Brecht, and for that it is endlessly brilliant.
Monday, 27 June 2011
Deep End
Jerzy Skolimowski - 1970
We have perfectly pleasant, if not a very interesting camera. Without jumping on us we move back and forth, or both are in one deepish image, quite close. All against the grubby backdrops, or should that be backdrop, with sets here being in the economy category quantatively and qualitatively. We have outbursts of violent red and yellows to, postmarked, wonder what that could mean...
All right, the script is a paper not a cinematic one, the acting is (deliberately?) stilted, but there is a good tone here, half or three quater truths. Pathetic little looks, going back for the hot dogs, mumbled conversations, things being not quite succesful, little games.
I mean, the philsophy here is though what I have no time for. Very Polanski-esque pessimism of the violence, the uncertain male-feamle relationship based on economics, domination, violence, no way out, that's the way it is. We've already made the distinction between Bunuel/Lang strikinng pessimism and just a kind of nastiness. I wouldn't want to go overboard with this on this film, it's not entirely untender, but ultimately it falls down. The final violence is remarkably telegraphed in the, again, Polanski tradition, and there you go. Once again, some nice bits, and really good tone, with problems.
We have perfectly pleasant, if not a very interesting camera. Without jumping on us we move back and forth, or both are in one deepish image, quite close. All against the grubby backdrops, or should that be backdrop, with sets here being in the economy category quantatively and qualitatively. We have outbursts of violent red and yellows to, postmarked, wonder what that could mean...
All right, the script is a paper not a cinematic one, the acting is (deliberately?) stilted, but there is a good tone here, half or three quater truths. Pathetic little looks, going back for the hot dogs, mumbled conversations, things being not quite succesful, little games.
I mean, the philsophy here is though what I have no time for. Very Polanski-esque pessimism of the violence, the uncertain male-feamle relationship based on economics, domination, violence, no way out, that's the way it is. We've already made the distinction between Bunuel/Lang strikinng pessimism and just a kind of nastiness. I wouldn't want to go overboard with this on this film, it's not entirely untender, but ultimately it falls down. The final violence is remarkably telegraphed in the, again, Polanski tradition, and there you go. Once again, some nice bits, and really good tone, with problems.
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Westfront 1918
G.W. Pabst - 1930
Pabst continues to enjoy cutting off people's heads. The spaces he films are not strongly continuity (or rather they are, but there's a lack of cues), and these half-body framings again give that sense of a part of the world captured as a block, in an almost random edit, not concerned with the 'story'. This is more complicated here as Pabst's camera does move in quite fast tracks. These can seem a little rushed and uncontrolled, going along the line in a way Renoir had mastered in 'La Grande Illusion'. There is a scene in a bed which, due to Pabst's usually static blocking, seems oddly like a pan and scan job (and, incidentally, we have more of the idea of the perverse in the sexual we find in Pabst).
Nevertheless, this idea of rushed, grabbed footage works well, as indeed does the tracking generally along the line. We had before noticed Pabst's uneasiness in going outside; this is rectified here, and how (perhaps the fact this is clearly not a studio helps).
The images are 'terrific'; complex tones and nice depth in our scratchy print. There is a quite new sense of the choas of the front, pieces of the non-continuity world snatched. This film is stunningly good as a kind of 'montage of attractions', or rather repulsions, of the war. There is a Renoir-esque spirit in the terrific musical hall scenes, and of the ones where the man are 'hanging out'.
The bursts around an undefined area of the edit also avoids the morally dubious 'map-plotting' of your standard war film; we instead have unconnected by narrative crashes of terror, making this at once personal and post-human, sub-human. The terrible noise of the bombs makes this film evoke the idea of shell-shock in a way that seems to resound true. Dialogue becomes unimportant, except as a scream.
Their are elements, points of action, which are taken from 'All Quiet On The Western Front', but the non-narrative nature, and a technqiue so suited for the subject, makes this, from our vantage point which is still undereducated, Pabst's masterpiece.
Pabst continues to enjoy cutting off people's heads. The spaces he films are not strongly continuity (or rather they are, but there's a lack of cues), and these half-body framings again give that sense of a part of the world captured as a block, in an almost random edit, not concerned with the 'story'. This is more complicated here as Pabst's camera does move in quite fast tracks. These can seem a little rushed and uncontrolled, going along the line in a way Renoir had mastered in 'La Grande Illusion'. There is a scene in a bed which, due to Pabst's usually static blocking, seems oddly like a pan and scan job (and, incidentally, we have more of the idea of the perverse in the sexual we find in Pabst).
Nevertheless, this idea of rushed, grabbed footage works well, as indeed does the tracking generally along the line. We had before noticed Pabst's uneasiness in going outside; this is rectified here, and how (perhaps the fact this is clearly not a studio helps).
The images are 'terrific'; complex tones and nice depth in our scratchy print. There is a quite new sense of the choas of the front, pieces of the non-continuity world snatched. This film is stunningly good as a kind of 'montage of attractions', or rather repulsions, of the war. There is a Renoir-esque spirit in the terrific musical hall scenes, and of the ones where the man are 'hanging out'.
The bursts around an undefined area of the edit also avoids the morally dubious 'map-plotting' of your standard war film; we instead have unconnected by narrative crashes of terror, making this at once personal and post-human, sub-human. The terrible noise of the bombs makes this film evoke the idea of shell-shock in a way that seems to resound true. Dialogue becomes unimportant, except as a scream.
Their are elements, points of action, which are taken from 'All Quiet On The Western Front', but the non-narrative nature, and a technqiue so suited for the subject, makes this, from our vantage point which is still undereducated, Pabst's masterpiece.
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