Week in Film #13: 3/21/16-3/27/16

Week in Film #13: 3/21/16-3/27/16

Film of the Week: My Darling Clementine

   Year: 1946

   Director: John Ford

       Civilization in the desert. Shakespeare in the wild west. John Ford brings the western into focus with perfected technique and simple but powerful filmmaking. There is no flashiness here. Ford isn't going to show off, his mission is to make a damn fine motion picture and nothing else. And he achieves that goal on all accounts. Every scene is composed impeccably, making even conversation between characters staged so perfectly it transcends the moment and becomes high art. A scene centering between a recital of the famous "to be or not to be" speech from Hamlet is shot so goddamn well that it leaves the viewer almost dumbfounded at the beauty of it, and it is all done without any kind of whiz or bang, just simple, tight, and effective shooting.

       But scratch off the surface of the camera and things are being done underneath that are for more complex than the directorial style. What is discovered is the harsh realities of this world and it's people, but also the little glimmers of civility like diamonds in the rough. This idea is represented in Clementine Carter, who is shown as the idealized sacred idol to be protected and cherished in the land of outlaws. This is something Wyatt Earp admires, and Doc Holiday is trying to distance himself from. In the unfortunate yet unavoidable trend of reducing women to symbols, Chihuahua represents the west as it is, and what Doc believes he deserves in life, in contrast to Clementines purity. It really does become pure versus tainted and dirty, and the latter pays a heavy price for the formers privilege.

       Ford's camera is always in suggestion of something better. There is a frontier freedom and beauty in his direction. Vast open skies and expansive desert canvases. It never tries to be anything it isn't, and uses simplicity and technique to grand effect. Ford is an old master for a reason, and it shows his ability to capture perfectly his subject without showiness or anything of the like. He once said that directing is not a mystery and not an art. Clearly it didn't appear so it him, because he makes it look like it is so easy. Crisp and clear and effective.

   Rating: A-

The Rest: 

Night On Earth

   Year: 1991

   Director: Jim Jarmusch

       Five vignettes told over the course of one night, all from the perspective of cabbies, and all across different American and European cities. It's a mixed bag, albeit a nicely packaged one. Jarmusch's style is there, except not as pure and obvious as it is in much better films, such as Mystery Train or Down By Law. The five stories vary in quality, consistency, and even necessity (looking at you, Paris). They all seem to be pulling in different directions, trying to say different things, or just not really saying much at all. Maybe something about the misunderstandings of daily life and the clashes between perspectives and world views, but is all seems a little too disparate and unfocused to get that across very well. Some of it works, some of it doesn't. There just isn't enough of a link to justify all of it.

       The best of these is easily New York, and it's also the one that most resembles what I assume the directors message, or purpose in making the film is (by the way, not that there has to be a message in a film, art isn't always didactic, but to me it's obvious that he's trying to implement one). This short mixes some culture clash humor with displays of humanity and kindness that stands out as warm, especially against the colder attitudes displayed later in the film. The worst of these is Paris, which is simply just too slight and unnecessary for it to take up the time it does. Let it be said that Roberto Benigni is perfect in Rome, but again, aside from some black comedy it feels sort of pointless. Which is also the problem shared with L.A in that it is underwhelming and ineffectual to the point that it is slightly annoying. Helsinki is a nice ending though, leaving us on the darker side of human nature, and in a darker mood in general (although, being Jarmusch, not devoid of humor). 

   Rating: C-

Blow Out
   Year: 1981
   Director: Brian De Palma

       Of De Palmas work that I've seen, this is definitely the best. In fact, there are inarguably moments of genius, such as the scene by the lake where we first see the main protagonist recording sounds. But my problem overall with him is that everything he seems to do is borrowing from other sources, specifically Hitchcock and the exploitation horror genre films of the 70s and 80s. The thing is, it doesn't work the way that it does with someone like Quentin Tarantino, where you see influences, but he is still able to make it his own. It seems like a ripoff of something that is much better.

   Rating: C

City Lights
   Year: 1931
   Director: Charlie Chaplin

       As an introduction to Chaplin's feature length work as the little tramp, I really couldn't ask for much more. I'm not sure I can think of another filmmaker who can, for me, get away with the absolutely and obvious manipulation of the audiences emotions. Somehow, it works for him, and it works very, very well. Maybe the single sweetest movie I've ever seen, with an ending so heart warming it had me smiling.

   Rating: A-

The Kid
   Year: 1921
   Director: Charlie Chaplin

       This film reminds me of my childhood in ways. Not because of all the poverty and debatable child abuse, but because of the imagery and feel of the piece. Chaplin may have the warmest sensibility in cinema. His features are sentimental and sappy in the rare touching way, instead of too schmaltzy to be affecting. However overwrought it may be to todays standards it is still wonderfully powerful emotion that shines through, and you never get the sense that the little tramp is faking any of it.

       The film is well done visually as well, particularly the tramps dream sequence towards the end of the film. This involves him seemingly appearing in heaven, and having to confront sin. This is the movies heaviest use of symbolism to achieve it's message. Devils seduce women and turn men against each other, culminating in a flying Chaplin being shot out of the air by the police, a fallen angel. This must be his nightmare, because when he awakens he realizes that he is in fact not the fallen angel, but still a man of purity at heart, and quite a heart it is too.

   Rating: B

Ivan's Childhood
   Year: 1962
   Director: Andrei Tarkovsky

       Coming of age in a time where you gotta do it fast or not at all. A world war rages on as young Ivan grieves his mother and tries his best to be a man. This is a great example of Tarkovsky as a brilliant craftsman and provocative storyteller, using excellent and haunting imagery to detail the horrors of both war and youth. A bit in contrast with much of the slower paced and more pondering epics he will become famous for (the only universally regarded "great" work I've seen of this class is Solaris, but also Nostalgia and The Sacrifice, later career works I liked).

   Rating: B+

Through A Glass Darkly
   Year: 1961
   Director: Ingmar Bergman

       Ingmar Bergman is kind of like the Beatles in a way (a comparison that may seem like a stretch, but just let me explain). Both are sources that you look at, and wonder at how could one creative entity possibly produce, not one or two or even five, but upwards of ten consistent masterpieces in their respective medium. How can one artistic source be so consistently outstanding, influential, and individual and recognizable to the point that they not only changed their specific plain of art forever, but continue to mystify and inspire to this very day. It isn't just a flash of genius, or a stretch of it, but an entire career with nothing but masterworks.

       This film is no exception to that defining strain. The connecting tissue of all his films seems to be the desire and ambition to contemplate life's essential questions, and more importantly, do it on a painfully human level. This, the first in his "silence of god" trilogy, begins to ponder the issue that resides in the title of said trilogy: the silence of god. In this take, he zeroes in on one who hears god for herself, and the people around her who try and deal with her perceived knowledge of a creator. It turns out that god is not what it is believed to be, but more of a monster, stemming from the twisted schizophrenia of the human race. Beautiful and wrenching, as all his works are.

   Rating: B+

Barry Lyndon

   Year: 1975

   Director: Stanley Kubrick

       What can you make of a three plus hour runtime that moves at a crawling pace, a lead actor nearly devoid of any charisma, and lots of very slow and deliberate walking? Apparently some kind of a masterpiece is what. This is achieved by, in place of entertainment, crafting likely one of the most beautiful movies to be put on film. Every shot is like a canvas, looking like it was painted by Kubrick himself. And this is no hyperbole, it is amazing sometimes what is captured, often looking like a piece of art from the era in which it is set. If it's anything it is a testament, or rather of proof, of films ability to overcome an incredibly bland main character and an incredibly slow plot with sheer artistry.

       And all of this magnificent craft is used to play out the ultimately inconsequential life's story of one Edmund Barry, later entitled the titular Barry Lyndon. Barry's story has the potential for surprise and intrigue, but it is told in such a deliberate, uneventful way as to make everything that happens, while beautiful in it's imagery, completely dulled and reserved in its presentation. It's amazing how one mans tale, however unimportant, can be told with such luscious and obvious beauty, not to mention detail and determination. It's this banality that makes the beauty of the movie so impressive in a way. Things move slow, but there is more time to take it in. It is almost like looking at a painting, there is certainly enough time to admire it as such.

   Rating: B

M

   Year: 1931

   Director: Fritz Lang

       The story of a community banding together to nearly do the wrong thing. That's the theme throughout the film: crowd mentality versus the law. The average persons moral compass versus the rule book. It's telling that the court scene in the abandoned factory is conducted by crooks and criminals. A movie like this exposes the hypocrisy of society and provides interesting scenarios to ask difficult questions. Unfortunately, the thematic revelation of the finale can't quite justify the long build up where things are moving a little too uncoordinated and slowly for it to bare the weight of the rest of the picture.

       That being said, the ending is certainly a good payoff for the rest of the film. Having the child murderer be judged by the rest of societies undesirables, being murderers, thieves, and other felons, is a stroke of genius on the part of the screenwriter. Condemned from the outset, the man on trial pleads insanity, to the detest of the mad crowd of criminals, determined to rip him to shreds. And they nearly do, before they are stopped short by the police. It shows how society is ready to prosecute anyone, like in the film people constantly blaming each other, accusing each other, when no one is truly innocent to begin with. Yeah, they aren't all child murderers, but everyone commits there own small evils. The judge in the make shift court room is a three time murderer himself. 

   Rating: B

Steamboat Bill, Jr.

   Year: 1928

   Director: Buster Keaton

       Chaplin is often cited as the king of silent era comedy, but I do not find that to be fair. It may be true, but it is a title he shares with his slapstick counterpart: Buster Keaton. What is so amazing about Keaton is his impeccable skill as an acrobatic stuntman. The things he does physically in this film are often jaw dropping, and certainly not the kind of thing you would see today (mostly because it is insanely dangerous). He is also great at creating hilarious scenarios, which got much more laughter out of me than I expected it would.

   Rating: B

Shadow of a Doubt

   Year: 1943

   Director: Alfred Hitchcock

       As was suspected, Hitchcock shows himself here as much as ever to be a subversive provocateur, unveiling the darker side of American suburbia. Much like David Lynch does in another movie in this ten film festival, Blue Velvet, the master of suspense here enjoys indulging in the unseemly underbelly of a culture designed to look spotless and tidy. Hitchcock dismantles the picket fence world of the town the story is set in, both metaphorically and literally. By turning everyday things into death traps, like the broken stair, the director manipulates the surroundings into more sinister shapes. Suddenly its all a little less innocent.

       Which is what this movie also is, a loss of innocence. Not just for, however briefly, the audience at the time, but also the leading lady. It's about coming to a realization about the world and its less delightful corners. The young Charlie begins to learn about the meanings of loyalty and morality when faced with the discovery that her uncle is a (likely) fetishistic (definitely) murderer. The fact that the killings could be interpreted as sexual in part, makes the air of unease that much more clear in the relationship between the two Charlies. Young Charlie is made aware of the world in a way she wasn't before, and grows up in a more drastic way than most of us acquire and experience over time.

   Rating: C+

Rashomon

   Year: 1951

   Director: Akira Kurosawa

       Rashomon is a picture of many faces, many forms, and many perspectives. It can be interpreted many ways. In fact, that is the central theme of the picture: interpretation. One event takes place, and it is seen by many observers and participants, all of them telling the story in radically different ways. The one connection between all of the stories, however, is that the person telling it comes out the most righteous or honorable. A film so influential that it not only inspired many movies that came after, but also its own psychological phenomenon, the Rashomon effect. I'm sure you can guess what that entails. 

   Rating: B+

The Rules of the Game

   Year: 1939

   Director: Jean Renoir

       A farce about the entitled upper class. Renoir is a director who doesn't seem to necessarily hate this social level, but also takes pleasure in setting it on its head. Like he did with Boudu Saved from Drowning, he mixes the well mannered shelves of society with the much more rambunctious and ill mannered sorts of the lower classes. This results in hilarity, but also insight into human relationships, both on class and personal levels.

   Rating: B

Blue Velvet

   Year: 1986

   Director: David Lynch

       What Hitchcock did to the American suburban illusion in Shadow of a Doubt with an ease and tip toe, peaking just beyond the veil, Lynch here rips down the curtains in a full throttle, sledgehammer to the white picket fence approach. Much unlike Hitchcock's work, this goes all the way in it's visceral, depraved corridors of the darkness of the human soul. It begins with a walk in a field and a discovery of an ear, and then divulges into dark and brutal territory Hitchcock could never have dreamed of putting on the screen.

       What Lynch explores by exploiting this certain rotting in society, is the hypocrisy that makes up so much of it. Also, he exposes the innocence of the surface to the diseased core underneath. There is a sharp contrast between the world of Jeffery Beaumont and Frank Booth, even though they are existing in the same one. It's Jeffreys voyeuristic experience watching the rape of a woman by Booth that first penetrates jeffery's idealistic, happy worldview with something darker. And while the light does suppress the darkness in the end, there is a feeling that it will continue to linger on, despite the pretty flowers and the waving fireman.  

   Rating: B+

Day for Night

   Year: 1973

   Director: Francois Truffaut

       Francois Truffaut once said that he was only interested in a film that displays either the joys of making cinema or the agonies of it, and nothing in between. Here, he makes a film about both. I thought it was awesome how he showed some of the work that actually goes into making a movie, and all the complications that can arise. Those complications are clearly also a good back drop for a farce, one that utilizes uncooperative actors to its advantage in achieving laughs and drama. Well crafted and insightful look into the world of one of cinemas most renowned filmmakers.

   Rating: B+

Solaris

   Year: 1972

   Director: Andrei Tarkovsky

       I feel like I need to see it again. Do I want to see it again? Not for quite a while, probably many, many years. This is certainly a dense film, full of long, long stretches where ideas are explored in the most brutally slow and painful ways. I don't want to understate the films value. It is likely as great as everyone seems to say it is. I just wasn't ready I think for such a philosophically and mentally exhausting and endurance requiring experience. I've known Tarkovsky to be a director that you need some patience to appreciate, and that has been no problem for me with my previous encounters with his work, but this seems like a new extreme.

       The reasons that make me believe it is worth a revisit somewhere down the line is its philosophical constructs that support the weight of its runtime. Big, important questions are explored, such as the meaning and extents of love, the difference between original and replication, the nature of identity, the constitutes and confines of reality, and the past as seen through the lens of the present, to name of few. It is an exploration of memory as much as it is of space, and like all great sci-fi it wrestles with things bigger than its own conventions of genre, using the technology available in said genre to delve into the depths of the human psyche. Putting Solaris at the end of a long film festival was a bad move, because I think there is so much here to appreciate that simply can't be on your tenth movie in a row, especially one as complex and patience testing as this one. 

   Rating: C

The Freshman
   Year: 1925
   Director: Sam Taylor and Fred C. Newmeyer

       Harold Lloyd is often considered the third genius of the silent era in terms of comedy. This may be true, but he certainly isn't anywhere near on the heels of Chaplin and Keaton if this film is anything to go by. He's at least a couple of miles behind them in his comic ingenuity, command of filmmaking, and general like-ability. When I watch Chaplin or Keaton fall down or grab the wrong hat or something, I tend to laugh and think what a funny little guy. What Lloyd does it I tend to think what an annoying idiot. Maybe it's just personal preference, but Lloyd just doesn't do it for me in the immediate and obvious ways the other two do.

       But you can't blame Lloyd as a performer for the mostly failure of the movie, much of it has to do with just how unfunny most of it is. And it's not like I just don't like slapstick or comedy from that era of Hollywood, because I thoroughly enjoyed the little Keaton and Chaplin that I have seen. The jokes just mostly fall flat, and are simply dwarfed in comparison to the other two comedians efforts. Part of that may be on their physicality being more impressive than Lloyds, but also their gags are just better set up and more inventive. There are a few things that work, like Speedy's clothing constantly becoming undone during the dance, but most of it is weak material performed by a lesser showman.

   Rating: C-

Dead Man
   Year: 1995
   Director: Jim Jarmusch

       Jim Jarmusch's Wild West is the land of the dead, sharply in contrast with John Ford's land of grandeur and opportunity. For him it was a place of great expanse. Here it's almost claustrophobic. A land of sharp black and white, like nature and the machinations of mankind clashing against each other. It has the rhythm and feel of poetry, and uses its storyline as less of an account and more of a journey, not just for Johnny Depp's William Blake, but for the audience as well. It is, no doubt, a film rich in style, and it has an admittedly striking aesthetic that is enough to carry it on its feet despite its problems. And the problems I have with it are more to do with its meaning than its presentation.

       My issues with the film I have are the over reliance on that style that is so expressive and affective, and the use of symbolism that often doesn't seem to know what it wants to symbolize. It seems to be grasping in the dark for meaning I'm not sure it ever really gets a hold on, and in the end comes off as a little shallow in its attempt to not appear to be just that. For instance, take the three bounty hunters. Their dispatch of each other could possibly be interpreted as the dangerous back stabbing nature of the wild west, or simply of mans self destructive nature, but it honestly appears as though Jarmusch didn't really know where he wanted to go with that side story and ended up building it into an anticlimactic and lazy ending that makes everything that came before involving the cannibalistic death figure seem pointless. There is a lot of surface meaning in this film, but overall it comes across as trying a little too hard, and faking it a little too much. That being said, there are certainly moments of pure poetry and beauty within, but overall its a case of style over substance. Quite an amazing sense of style though.

   Rating: B-