The Day the Earth Stood Still (Robert Wise, 1951)

We’ve always been fascinated with aliens, both intelligent and malevolent, although the latter is what usually is depicted. I know a lot of people, myself included, had a fascination with the extraterrestrial in our childhood. One of the things we constantly experiment with in films is imagining what the aliens might look like, like in the Alien series, Star Trek, Star Wars, ect. That’s why it is both strange and interesting that the film The Day the Earth Stood Still chooses to have the alien look exactly like humans.

The alien in the film look just like humans do on earth, although he is superior in intelligence and the health of his body. He even speaks English, in a pleasant New-England accent. Obviously, at that time the technology wouldn’t allow them to create the type of space-freaks we do today, but at first this choice puzzled me. Indeed, there were still a lot of films in those times that did portray weird bug-like aliens, but why did they choose to go this way with this film? What makes this film more interesting than most science-fiction like this is that it is a parody and critique of the starting cold-war, as well as a comment of the impending nuclear age. It works, although I’m not sure I’ll ever be clear on why this is remembered as such a huge classic, sure it works, but on a fairly superficial level. One easy way to make the audience think you are right is having someone who is dumb say the opposite of what you believe, and this strategy is used throughout this film. It does though to a better level explore how easy it is for us humans to reach rapid conclusions and the only way we have of answering something we don’t know is by violence.

It’s not just a science-fiction spaceman film though; it uses quite a few other genre elements, like the noir or thriller, the lighting in several scenes and pacing points towards this. And at that it is a fairly successful genre blend. The film goes through the motions though, and except for the slightly unique plot there is a lot that we will see from other films. Not to say that it is completely unoriginal, it is quite original in fact. The problem is that the originality of the film doesn’t always transcend the elements that are taken from other sources, and I was left with a bit of mixed feelings. I didn’t feel the film worked well enough as a parable to the cold war, basically because it wasn’t subtle enough; it hit us over the head. I also detected some Jesus parable in the film, but I’m not going to bother to go there. All that said, this film did grab me, the protagonist – the alien – I managed to connect with, and was kept interested to the very last minute, but I guess this has been one of the things Hollywood always has been good at (or at least until these recent years).

For what it’s worth, The Day the Earth Stood Still is an interesting film on the cold-war and aliens, bringing up themes about peace and whatnot. The film as a whole didn’t do it for me, and I’m still not sure why it is praised as one of the greats. There are some interesting ideas, but the execution wasn’t that great. Oh, and by the way, later this year there will be a remake released, staring Keanu Reeves as the alien, and I’m sure it will be terrible.

All About Eve (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1950)

Although I doubt anyone is actually reading this, if you are reading this, I will assume that you are a fairly big fan of films. I will also assume that you, like many other film-lovers, put a great deal of importance to different DVD releases of films. Sure, the golden treasure for all film-lovers it the Criterion Collection, but since they only release a limited amount of films, and are Region 1 coded, European film-lovers are always looking out for good Region 2 releases. This is not always easy; as there are plentiful of average releases out there, perhaps most prominent are the Artificial Eye series. While it is commendable that they release art-house films and fairly rare films, the point is that they don’t always give the films they release the proper treatment, Dersu Uzala (Akira Kurosawa, 1975) being a good example of this.

That is why my discovery of Cinema Reserve is such a great one. They only release films by 20th Century Fox, but these treatments are genuinely good, and you really get a sense that the people who worked on the DVD really cared about the film. The first one I acquired was The Fly, and although I didn’t mention this in that review, I’m going to mention it now. Compared to some other DVD releases of Cronenberg films, the Cinema Reserve release is superior, with great restoration of the picture quality, really bringing forth the vivid colours of the cinematography which might have been less prominent in a weaker release. The audio is also great, not to mention the hours of extra content, such as an interesting 2-hour documentary and audio commentary by Cronenberg himself. Now what does this all have to do with All About Eve? Well, this is the second release I’ve bought by Cinema Reserve, and again I am impressed by the quality of the transfer. I know it is unusual to rant so much in a review of a film, but I am always delighted by discovering new companies who release good versions of films, and especially considering that all Cinema Reserve releases contain 2 DVD’s with tons of extra material, and at the same time are quite cheap (I haven’t found one on Amazon costing over 10£), it is a really genuine treat, and requires mention.

Watching and writing about tons of foreign films, art-house films and such, one can at some point forget about American films. Hollywood is receiving quite a bit of criticism today, particularly from film-lovers who do watch all these foreign films. It’s easy to forget that in the golden era of Hollywood, they actually made some of the best films around, some of my personal favourites being The Apartment (Billy Wilder, 1960), Letter from an Unknown Woman (Max Ophüls, 1948), Notorious (Alfred Hitchcock, 1946), In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950) and Sunset Blvd (Billy Wilder, 1950). But I still feel that the classic Hollywood era is fairly unexplored by myself, so my first attempt at filling the gaps was watching the classic All About Eve, and I have to say, it will stand as one of my all time favourites among classic Hollywood movies.

One thing that’s so special about All About Eve is that it is so unlike most other Hollywood films. I initially thought it was going to be a drama, but in fact it turned out to contain very little drama. It is in essence a truly chilling dark comedy, with some of the slyest humour I’ve ever seen in any film. This is supported by the wonderfully self-conscious screenplay. It’s an observation of the theatre culture, but it can easily be mirrored to the film industry. What makes it for me though, is the dialogue. The characters are almost aware of the fact that they are in a film, and constantly dramatise their dialogue. At first I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but as the film went on, I started to understand the writer’s intention, and from there on the dialogue was pure joy. The humour is subtle, but very funny, and there is also a then unknown Marilyn Monroe as a dim blonde actress, but is very funny. Again, this is a very untypical Hollywood film; there is no linear love story, although there are elements. We are never quite sure exactly who the protagonist is, and the story is structured in a manner rarely seen in Hollywood. It is hard to categorize this film, I know some are reluctant to mark it a dark comedy, but that’s the way I see it. The film is quite devoid of any classical drama, although there are moments that are sad and in no way funny. But still, the way the film and screenplay chooses to approach the characters and the narrative, makes it hard to seem like a drama.

I was very surprised and delighted, and will continue to watch Classical Hollywood films for some time, as they hide so many gems. This is one of the true classics though, one of the giants of the golden era of Hollywood, and in its own right a masterpiece.

Performance (Donald Cammell; Nicholas Roeg, 1970)

About a year ago, I had a period where I was obsessed with the 60’s. The clothes, the music, the changing culture and politics. Now, about a year later, I have fairly left that period behind, although I still listen to The Beatles, Bob Dylan, other sorts of 60’s bands and artists, and not least of all, the Stones. Now I watched Shine a Light this summer and loved it, the Rolling Stones are still one of the best Rock ’n’ Rollers around. So I went into this film with slightly ambivalent feelings, I’m sure I would have loved it no matter what a year ago, and I still love Mick Jagger, but I was still unsure how I was going to approach this film.

The cover of the film strategically forgets to mention the actor playing the main character, James Fox. He has much more screen time than Mick Jagger, and still isn’t even mentioned on the cover. This is one thing that often irritates me, but I understand why it was done. When the film was released, The Stones were at the height of their popularity, so it makes sense in advertisement, but a release, now thirty years later you would think we would be slightly less jaded, particularly considering James Fox I great in this movie and extremely important to the narrative. This is though a fairly daring film, especially back in the days. It’s a twisted mix of violence, sex, drugs and rock. But this is not a glorified version of the 60’s, this is almost like a look back at an era already over, the Mick Jagger character is isolated and weary. It’s gritty, and this is further shown by the very interesting film techniques used throughout the film, as well as the sometimes beautiful and sometimes ugly cinematography. But it works all the way, the film balances between the realistic, the hypnotic and the psychedelic. It doesn’t cover from showing the dark sides of the hippie culture, but doesn’t condemn it either. What I like is the juxtaposition of the violence of James Fox’s character and the drug addled life of Mick Jagger’s character. When the protagonist is forced into living the world of Mick Jagger, his world slowly clashes with the psychedelic carpet of drug abuse, and I felt that as the film progressed, this result became more and more spectacular.

It’s interesting to note that the filmmakers who made this film were at the time amateurs, they had never made a film before. This impressive considering the highly experimentation with the form, but also the parts which seem fairly classical are executed very well. It’s also cut together in a fast paced and interesting way, although this technique has become way overused these days, but as the film stands it makes it better. There is a certain progression in the film, the techniques and style used changes over the course of the film, mirroring the psychological state of the protagonist. One of the slightly depressing things about the film is the way it shows how the hippie era has failed and deteriorated, already in 1968 (the year the film was actually made) they could see where this period was going, and the film encapsulates every aspect of the 60’s. The film and its meaning though might be a bit too ambiguous for some people, but I like the ambiguity, particularly towards the end. There’s also even a musical number, in which Mick Jagger sings, and I think it is probably one of the very first musical videos; it certainly looks a lot like music videos that are made today, which I found quite interesting. One thing that adds to the whole feel of the film is the architecture of the house the film takes place in for most of the time. The rooms are big, but are all designed in a very psychotic way, chaotic but beautiful at the same time, much like the film.

I liked it a lot, and if you’re interested in the 60’s, then you should absolutely check it out. Not always as a whole does it come together, but the mix of the entire psychedelic atmosphere and the unique editing and filming techniques should make it interesting for film buffs as well.

Le Diable probablement (Robert Bresson, 1977)

Interestingly, last time I discussed Bresson I compared how he was the opposite of Hollywood like Antonioni, but with a different approach to filmmaking. I now watched Le Diable probablement, which actually is very similar to Bresson’s films, not just in a formal approach, but also in a narrative approach. Bresson, obviously, will always remain extremely unique, but it was quite interesting to see the similarities between this film and the two films L’Avventura (1960) and L’Eclisse (1962) by Antonioni. I think I will look at the differences and similarities in these works, because I think it is worthy of mention.

In his famous films, Antonioni dealt with existentialism and a detached touch with the modern world. Le Diable probablement does exactly the same thing. There are also several thematic links between these films, and how it approaches existentialism. The protagonist in Le Diable probablement is disconnected to society; he walks around trying to find a meaning with his existence, but finds only emptiness in the world and people around him. Several attempts are made to find meaning, through church, helping others, and psychoanalysis. In the end, he decides to take his own life. This might seem like a huge spoiler for people who haven’t seen the film, but this fact is actually revealed in the very first minute of the film, which makes his journey throughout the film seem even more desperate. The only area he finds some peace is his sexual relationship to women, quite similar to the Monica Vitti characters in Antonioni’s films. However, he never manages to fully connect to these people, or his friends, and is constantly alienated to other people, particularly when one he is trying to help double-crosses him. This is one of the strong points of the film; the world depicted here by Bresson is probably one of the coldest and harshest I’ve seen in a film, and do give the audience a strong feeling of why the character feels so alienated towards it. This is something Bresson often does, but this is probably the time it has had its most significant role, and he also uses this to take a look at the developing modern society.

This idea of the modern world is an area we can both contrast and compare to Antonioni. It’s true that much of what is depicted in his films is his take on the modern world, the growing use of machinery and the cold use of architecture. But in Bresson’s film it is taken to a new level I feel. Many of the characters are quite negative, materialistic and cold towards the problems of the protagonist. The ending itself is quite stark, and really brings forth how Bresson feels about humans. This is of course achieved with Bresson’s familiar technique, which even though it has gone to colour, is still very recognizable. His spare style exposes the world in a very different way than most other filmmakers, and this works very well with the ideas of the films. The protagonist’s face is void of expression, which makes his perception of the world even more powerful to the audience. The feel of the world is mechanic, which I think is fairly similar to Antonioni’s films, however, I always felt his black and white cinematography supported this in a better way. Then again, Le Diable probablement isn’t particularly beautifully shot as Antonioni’s films, much of this due to the spare style of Bresson, which I preferred in black and white.

This was an interesting film to watch, but then again, so are most Bresson films. It’s not his best, but far from his worst, and will stand as a strong film on alienation and detachment. I still to some degree prefer Antonioni’s films, but this is an interesting different look at it.

La Femme infidèle (Claude Chabrol, 1969)

Paranoia is probably one of the funniest and most interesting things you can put into cinema, but it is also great if that paranoia is unjustified. That is why it’s always such a disappointment when some character’s paranoia turns out to be correct. Please tell me if you weren’t disappointed at the end of Rear Window (Alfred Hitchcock, 1954). We like it when the protagonist is wrong, not when he/she is right. We love it even more when we realize the truth before the character. Ambiguity is also great in this kind of context, and is one of the things that made Blow-Up (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1966) such a great film. Imagine in some film some guy believes someone or something for some reason is stalking him, but it then turns out his suspicion was completely unjustified… for some reason. That would be interesting, I find, in most cases, that paranoia is unjustified; it’s in some ways almost a psychological trauma.

So here we have La Femme infidèle, a film where some guy believes his wife is being unfaithful to him. Michel Bouquet plays this husband, Charles. He was one of the bad guys in La Route de Corinthe, although he played on the good guys’ team. He was one of my favourite characters from that film, and he does a really good job in this more dramatic film. So the plot in many ways leaves a bit to be desired, it’s not really a twist-turner. What it is though is a carefully observed character drama about a couple, and on this level it is a bit more interesting than most similar film. Again, as in Les Biches, one of the underlying strengths of the film is the visual storytelling, something I already can tell Chabrol is very good at. The husband’s paranoia about his wife is perfectly conveyed through visual moments, looks he gives her, the way the camera looks at her. It is very hard to pull off this kind of storytelling, which is why most filmmakers rely on symbolism and dialogue. And it is not just that it is a visual film, but the way Chabrol uses his sparse visuals to tell the story. There are perfectly good visual films, such as Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979), but there the visuals are used for a different purpose than in this film. Here I can see why people compare Chabrol to Hitchcock, we can see similar techniques using the eye line of the characters in films such as Notorious (1946) and Vertigo (1958). Although Hitchcock in many more ways used it to build up tension, here it is more used to explain the psychology of the characters.

It is interesting to see with these Claude Chabrol films how he is really starting to create a language of his own. The films are quite unique to those of other filmmakers, but these two more serious films that I’ve seen by Chabrol are quite similar in their language. He uses a lot of techniques and storytelling devices that surely will be familiar to filmgoers, but what is interesting is how he turns these familiarities into his own, and uses them for his own purpose, like the Hitchcock example I mentioned. And while the two films are similar in many ways, they still aren’t too similar, that they lead to the feeling of watching something in repeat, a trap several directors fall into. His style perseveres, but the content and context of the films are quite different, and for this they work very well being seen right after each other. That said, I thought this was a slightly weaker and less memorable film than Les Biches, maybe that’s because I saw Les Biches first, but I still felt there was something missing in this compared to the former. While there is a lot of quality in this film, I throughout watching it felt there was a bit left to be desired, something that could punctuate the film and make it much better, but it never came. It is still a very interesting piece, there’s enough depth to keep you interested to the end, and themes are explored in a nice but not expositional way, which is always good. There is a lot of underlying themes in this, the characters twist and turn like in few other films, and on the whole the experience of the film left me feeling slightly richer, which I always believe is one of the best and most profound things about films, or art in general.

I still haven’t watched that many Chabrol film, but I believe I can say with sufficient accuracy that this is an archetypal film by him, and thus if you are interested in his cinema I highly recommend this. I still prefer Les Biches, but the film still stands on its own, and is a really good and interesting psychological drama.

Les Biches (Claude Chabrol, 1968)

My previous run in with Chabrol left me a bit clueless as to what kind of director he is. La Route de Corinthe didn’t leave me particularly impressed, but then I was reminded that it was far from any of Chabrol’s better films, and considering I still had 15 unwatched films by him, I continued my chronological journey through his canon. The next film in line is Les Biches, which actually means The Doves, but I immediately thought it meant The Bitches, and after watching the film that would actually have been a more appropriate title. Anyway…

Chabrol is known as the French equivalent of Hitchcock, although in this film that is not too apparent. This is a character drama, and one of the better I’ve seen. One of the strongest points about the film is that it is a very visual film, there is not much dialogue, but the characters are still well rounded and the narrative seems quite clear. Their psychological state is almost effortlessly conveyed, and this is the thing that makes the film superb in my opinion. The drama is centred on two women who are in a relationship, although their sexuality remains fairly ambiguous. The slightly older woman, Frédérique, picks up a young woman, Why (yes, her name is Why) from the streets who is poor and makes a living by drawing on the streets. Frédérique is wealthy and brings her to a house she owns in the country, with servants and two gentlemen who I was never sure what exactly were there for, but for the purpose of the film itself served as comic relief. Actually, they work quite well as comic relief, and have a couple of funny scenes. Not stupid funny, like in La Route de Corinthe, but small touches, nice little visual moments, and at the same time never really takes away focus from the core of the film. The tension and core of the film is built up when the two women start to despise each other, and leads into a strong love and hate relationship where they attempt to hurt each other. The foil for this is Paul, a charming architect, who engages with both women.

I’ve read several people describing this as a love triangle, but I don’t agree with this position. The story is about the two women, the guy is simply a tool for them to spite each other. He is a shallow character, and has throughout the film no idea what he is actually part of. He happily goes on in the narrative, naïve of the battle of mind between the two women. But the film in its wonderful way never spell anything out, and it is open to interpretation whether they love each other or they love him, or one loves the other but the other loves the guy. Another reason why I DON’T believe this is a love triangle, is because the film spends so much time exploring the two female leads, but spends so very little time with Paul, it feels at times as if he is a prop, and I feel this is a fairly accurate description of his character. He might not be very interesting, but surely evokes something interesting in the two women. This whole conflict is portrayed through nice little visual moments. There is a scene where Frédérique has some guests over for poker. This is the start of the tension between the characters, but nothing is ever said, only subtle little touches and following the eyes of the characters. There are several such scenes, and they work really well, and one scene in particular sticks with me, but its not interesting discussing it here.

Now we come to the part of the review (or whatever this is) where we make formulaic comments on cinematography, acting and so forth, so let’s just get it over with. The cinematography is beautiful and simple, is accompanied by similarly beautiful music. The acting on the two leads is superb, the rest of the cast remains a bit anonymous, but that’s okay, considering they’re not that interesting. The directing has flair, is precise and visual, in other words, brilliant. Actually, this film seem much more formative than most Nouvelle Vague films I’ve seen, but I think this might have something to do with it being released fairly late in the 60’s. The editing works, the films pace really lends to the whole feel, its fairly slow but lends a hypnotic sense to the film.

Les Biches was a nice watch, foremost, visual storytelling, which is always nice. I’ve got a feeling this is a stronger hint to what Claude Chabrol has to offer compared to La Route de Corinthe. I don’t quite see why people compare him to Hitchcock, but I guess that will come when I see more of his films, I’ve still got 14 more on my shelf. Anyway, great film, really recommend it, at times incredible.

Dawn of the Dead (George A. Romero, 1978)

I’ve often acknowledged it when I haven’t seen a single film before by some director, and in this case, it is again true. However, the fact is that I’ve actually never even seen a zombie film, despite my friend loving them and raving about them. I’m wandering into territory I don’t know anything about, and its scary, like that time I was walking alone around London in the middle of the night, always having the feeling I might get mugged and beaten at any moment. I thought for a moment that this maybe would be a good thing, as I would be less biased towards this genre, but then remember that I would be particularly mad at anyone who would beat me.

I always had this strange notion that zombie films were supposed to be scary, but I didn’t really know the answer to that. I now think I know the answer, the thing is, zombie films aren’t scary. Sure, this is the only zombie film I’ve seen, but it’s supposed to be the benchmark for any zombie film. It reminded me of Evil Dead 2 (Sam Raimi, 1987), it’s a comedy wrapped in the disguise of a horror. The zombies themselves are ridiculous, but like the scientific mess that The Fly (David Cronenberg, 1986) was, I don’t really mind. There’s much humour in this film, and you get the feeling the crew really had a fun time making this, one of the highlights in the film being a bunch of crazy bikers engaging in a pie fight with the zombies. There’s also some sub-text about commercialism, but it’s so out there that it hardly can be called sub-text. The set-piece though, the mall, is great, and opens for a lot of fun when the actors run around and evade zombies that can only walk really slowly. The gory effects are fun, particularly when the zombies starts to tear away at a guys chest, and all the hundreds of zombies that are shot, so fans of blood should be pleased, and while the effects may not be that impressive today, they have such joy over them that it is hard not to like them.

I’m not sure, if anything, what Romero wanted to achieve with this film, but there is a certain love for the craft, and for that he should be commended. The directing, while not stunning, is solid and playful, the camera panning across a bunch of zombies look great. Accordingly, the soundtrack is wonderful, using great 70’s synthesisers that create a perfect wall of sound for the action. The acting is alright, not as horrific as you would expect from this kind or movie. In essence, the film turned out to be something very different to what I was expecting, but then again, I was never quite sure to what I was supposed to expect. While the film never truly impressed me, it’s a neat gory little piece that I can see why it has such a following, and I can quite surely appreciate the fun of it all.

This is the kind of film you just have to be in the mood to watch and appreciate. I like these kind of slapstick horror films which make fun of it all, and Dawn of the Dead does pull it of quite neatly. Then again, I still prefer Evil Dead 2.

Un condamnè à mort s’est èchappè ou Le vent souffle où il veut (Robert Bresson, 1956)

Some films are popularly known by their English title, some are known by the original title. This film, A Man Escaped in English, is know best by that title, and for good reasons, because the original title, as you can see, is very long and a pain to remember, so I am going to refer to it as A Man Escaped from now on. Robert Bresson is a French director whose influence can be debated, but regardless was a big influence on the Nouvelle Vague, and in some of his films it shows.

Bresson’s films are radically different from other films at the time, particularly Hollywood films. While in Antonioni we find that the narrative of the film is what separates him the most from Hollywood (although that is a crude analysis), this is not true all the time for Bresson. This is a story that easily could have been made into a Hollywood film; in fact, there have been several types of this kind of movie from Hollywood, most notably The Great Escape (John Sturges, 1963) and Escape from Alcatraz (Don Siegel, 1979). The difference lies in what way that Bresson tells the narrative. Bresson’s key mark is minimalism. The actors and the camera don’t emote. The opening credit tells us this is a true story, and in many ways this film is similar to Procès de Jeanne d’Arc (Robert Bresson, 1962), which like this film attempts at tell a historical event in an utmost documentary fashion, but documentary is sort of the wrong word here. Rather, Bresson attempts to make it as “real” as possible, by not having his actors or the lens interfere. The story is simply retold, not interpreted. It is an attempt at a simple and accurate representation of what happened. The reason the actors don’t emote because we are supposed to remain detached and objective towards what happens on screen. Similarly, the act of using the camera to change our perspective or tell us what to think has been omitted, thus we remain “objective”. Some say that Bresson’s directing technique is too cold, and indeed, it is cold. However, his films are not stripped of emotion. Just because the filmmaker isn’t telling us what to feel, it doesn’t mean we can’t connect or feel anything about the film. This is where the genius of Bresson lies, the emotion is actually swelling within the film, but it hides behind layers, and if you take the time to invest in his films, they are some of the most rewarding in cinema. Similarly here, it is in many ways a thriller. Bresson could have used many classic techniques, but instead uses his own as a matter of fact pace and still manages to create something very compelling.

Bresson does have an eye for detail, the process the protagonist goes through to escape is carefully documented and filmed, how he creates all his tools, how he plans to escape. But also his daily life, similar sets and actions are repeated over and over here, like when the prisoners go to get a wash. This sense of routine creates several things, but familiarity is one of them. Soon the audience will notice when something is not right, when something is amiss. Bresson is great at creating tension, when the protagonist is working in his cell trying to break his door with as little noise as possible, the footsteps of guards and doors being unlocked can always be heard in the distance. The film spends most of the time in the small cell, and again, what makes it all interesting is the details Bresson puts in there, the cell is examined to every corner, and although the actions performed by the protagonist are repetitive, it is still interesting and compelling to see whether he manages to make his plan to escape succeed. We are never allowed to see anything beyond the protagonist, but we do not necessarily share his perspective. However, this technique does give us the feeling of being closed off, unable to escape. As the acting is so strained, we are never allowed to completely sympathise with him, in fact, there are many times we are angry or don’t agree with him. Again, we want him to escape, because we want to escape. I do think this is a great movie, the only qualm I had with it was that while the visuals were really good, I feel Bresson could have left out some of the voice-over by the protagonist. Some of it is good and essential, but a lot of it could have been cut or edited.

A Man Escaped is a classic in the Bresson catalogue, it is a shining example of how one can tell such a narrative in a radically different way and still be effecting, the atmosphere of the prison is haunting at times, and the use of Mozart’s music works really well. A film that I will think about long after watching it.

Faces (John Cassavetes, 1968)

I quite liked Shadows (John Cassavetes, 1959), so I continued to check out Cassavetes, by watching Faces. In many ways, in terms of style, it is very similar to Shadows, although even more refined. It stars John Marley, a guy I think most will remember as the movie producer from The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972) and I thought he really gave a memorable performance in that. I thought that Shadows was in style similar to Godard films, but in Faces it comes more to its own, and is quite unique.

Cassavetes is seen as one of the big forerunners for Indy filmmaking in the states, and much of his style shows this kind of down-stripped and rough filmmaking. He shots in black and white, uses hand held cameras and very interesting acting methods. His scenes develop almost organically, the dialog is unlike most films made in this time, and the actors seem to balance between being uncomfortable to too comfortable on screen. It is a new way of telling stories, what Cassavetes is doing here. The interaction of the actors is superb, the way they exchange glances and how they develop throughout the scenes. The core part of the film that interested me though was the style of Cassavetes, and I think it works superbly in this. It’s raw, but at the same time opens for several levels of sub-text. The different scenes interact with each other, the two main characters, a married couple, rarely share any screen time together, but both of their actions comment on each other, shows their defiance of each other. While Cassavetes style is stripped, it’s not a new form of realism or neo-realism. I’m inclined to always distance myself from the term “realism”, as I believe there is no true way in cinema to create whatever realism is. But this is a whole other discussion, what’s interesting in Cassavetes is that when the style is so stark as his, it gives us a whole new way of seeing what the actor is communicating. It feels at times as if Cassavetes captures some indefinable moment in the characters, some quick shots or reverse shots gives us a look at the characters that are unlike most films.

This is the thing with films, most stories have already been told, and filmmakers have to find new ways of telling them. This sort of conflict between a married couple have been done so many times in so many ways, and again, this film is completely relevant as it does it in a new and interesting way, the characters are unfolded and layers upon layers are revealed, the scenes themselves are well written and engaging, particularly a scene between several elderly married women is extremely good, but also the opening scene has some great shifts of mood and tension, it is very well balanced out. The film does walk on the edge of double-edged sword at times, but manages to stay focused even when it doesn’t seem focused at all. The films narrative is told in a stripped down way, but manage to give enough “hints” at what is going on that at times it seems as if it is not so stripped down. It is a film, I believe, that could easily fool or confuse the audience, but it rewards close attention to the small details it has, the characters glances and gazes. This I think, is one of the keys for really good films, being straight forward but still having quite some depth and sub-text. Sure, there are good films that use exposition to a great degree, and still are deep and good, but I really like it when filmmakers like Cassavetes does something like this, creates a very strong sense of style that is simple but still has some very good fundamentals and key ideas behind them. The film evokes, but never more than is necessary.

I really liked Shadows, and this is more of the same, but even better. Cassavetes seems to be a truly interesting director, whose techniques are simple yet manage to communicate strong ideas and narratives. The film might be going against the mainstream for some audiences, and it is not that simple to pick up all the details, but I believe this is a films that is worth watching many times, with layers that will reveal themselves with every watch.

La Route de Corinthe (Claude Chabrol, 1967)

So now two box sets containing Claude Chabrol are available, one with eight films, the other with six. I wanted to watch these in chronological order, so I started with his earliest in the collection, La Route de Corinthe from the second box set. I have never seen a film by Chabrol before, but I am aware that he was a part of the Nouvelle Vague movement, and I am fairly knowledgeable about the movement. So I was excited about this film, but as with Louis Malle’s Zazie dans le metro (1960), I was left a bit baffled.

The film sort of resembles A bout de soufflé (Jean-Luc Godard, 1959), in that it is a play on a familiar Hollywood genre, here the spy thriller. But this film is quite unconventionally silly, showing us several quirky and almost cartoonist character and situations. For example the assassin, who always smirks, wears all-white clothes and reads magazines while waiting for his victims. Then there’s that cliché where the bad guys tie the heroine to some contraption that will kill her, but ultimately creates a stalling for her to take advantage of. The plot concerns a bunch of small black boxes that somehow disable US satellite systems, and they are being transported into Greece. The opening starts with a magician who is in possession of some of these little black boxes, and immediately gives us a hint that this film is going to be silly. The plot is contrived and makes little sense, but as said, this is a play in genre, and it is exactly this type of film where it feels adequate. It is in many ways a 60’s version of Austin Powers. Chabrol uses exaggerated techniques, such as zooming and vivid colours to create a particular atmosphere.

The film is an interesting little piece, but at times I did feel a bit disappointed by it, particularly because Chabrol is such a highly recommended director. However, I’ve rarely seen any reference to this film, and I don’t believe it is very highly regarded among his other works, so I guess I should just take it for what it is. There are a couple of moments that point towards true brilliance, such as the scene where the female protagonist is introduced, but these moments are sparse and don’t really highlight the film as a whole. It is in many ways hard to criticize the film for anything, as it is quite aware of its own existence, and doesn’t claim to be anything else than what it is, and on this level it works quite well. It’s a nice little jab at the spy genre, and at Hollywood itself, but still manages to stay distanced from its inspirations. There are numerous moments that are recognisable to other Nouvelle Vague films, such as Godard’s films, and they work nicely, but doesn’t give you the same feeling of impact that say Une Femme est Une Femme (Jean-Luc Godard, 1961) had.

I wouldn’t recommend La Route de Corinthe, but I wouldn’t say you shouldn’t watch it. If you are really interested in the Nouvelle Vague or Chabrol, then this might widen your horizon regarding these, but as it stands it is a unique little piece, but doesn’t create any particular impact or lasting impressions.

Dead Ringers (David Cronenberg, 1988)

Following my new dive into Cronenberg’s films, I watched Dead Ringers, a title I have no idea what is supposed to mean, and after watching it still have no idea. But it doesn’t matter, for this was quite a good one, not the best, but very good, and it felt quite different from Cronenberg’s other films. I’m done now with watching Cronenberg films for a while, but I will surely come back for more.

While I complained about the acting in Scanners, that complain is overcompensated for here, and then some. Jeremy Irons does a fantastic job, and it is a pretty unusual role for him here. He plays both of two twins who work together as gynaecologists. At first, it seemed fake, both seemed like the same person. But as the film progressed, it dawned upon me that this was Cronenberg’s intention. As the plot develops, the two brothers grow more and more from each other, but in the beginning they are almost like one person. And as the film goes on, you start to see the difference between the two. It’s quite an astounding job by Irons, just in the poses and expressions he manages to completely separate the two characters, to the point where you don’t notice the fact that they are played by the same man, quite immaculate. It’s a hard film to pigeonhole, but I would say it is a disturbing dark comedy. Some scenes are very funny, particularly the opening scene. But it’s also very tragic. The two brothers, who most people can’t tell the difference, like to share the same women. When one of them falls in love with a particular woman, they start to drift apart, and having been so close for so many years, neither of them manages to handle this. It fascinating to see the development of the two characters, which in personality are quite different, but they seem to require being on the same wavelength mentally, and when one starts falling into depression, the other can’t handle it.

The film is chilling, and is shot unlike any other Cronenberg film I’ve ever seen. Particularly one scene in an operating theatre where the one brother brings along some disturbing instruments, but I don’t want to say anymore. Regardless, the film feels much more distanced than most Cronenberg films, perhaps not more than Naked Lunch, but still. The music though, I would say is just okay. The opening theme is quite good, but at times it feels somewhat overblown, and I wish Cronenberg would have let more room for silence, which I feel would have accompanied the directing very well. The ending sequence though is very good, some of the best cinema I’ve seen. Overall though, the film does suffer a bit from pacing, a couple of scenes here and there that could have been cut, it takes a while before you manage to see some of the better parts of the film. It starts really well, but then somewhere through the middle dabs off a bit, and gets really good at the end. It feels unsatisfying, and makes the really good stuff feel less impressive. Still, in many ways Jeremy Irons carries the film through its weaker parts.

Again, I want to commend Jeremy Irons for his impressive acting job, at times it truly seems like there are two separate actors. The film is very good, but as said, lacks in some departments. It is still one of the most interesting Cronenberg films I’ve seen, and is really a unique film with a style you don’t see too often. Well recommended, but might be disturbing at times.

Scanners (David Cronenberg, 1981)

I’m not quite sure what to say about this film. Really, I have no idea, after the really good film The Fly, this one felt much hollower, like I was missing something. It’s hard to describe, but everything that happened in this felt like it had no purpose. I was quite looking forward to this next Cronenberg film after watching The Fly, but was left quite disappointed.

Let me tell you the plot. A bunch of people are born with fearsome mental abilities, called “Scanners”, they can “scan” other people’s thoughts, and can also blow up their heads. A government body has been surveying these people for some time, but when they get too close to one of them, they die, because apparently there’s some mastermind scanner forming a sort of cult group. But then, from nowhere, a young scanner turns up who has powers beyond any other scanner, for some reason. This chap, by the way, is played by a guy called Stephen Lack, and I’m sure a piece of cardboard would have done an adequately good acting job compared to him. Cronenberg usually have really interesting and quirky actors in his films, note Jeff Goldblum in The Fly, or James Woods in Videodrome. I don’t necessarily believe that films need good acting, or any sort of conventional acting (see Jean-Luc Godard films), but in this type of films it usually help, and Stephen Lack is truly uninspired in this, and has about the same charisma as a burnt piece of toast. There are a couple of highlights in the film, but no saving graces. But I guess I might have lost whatever point Cronenberg tried to make, maybe there was some sort of sub-text I didn’t get. There’s a great scene in the beginning of the film where the protagonist, who is a bum, goes and eats discarded food at tables in a shopping mall, and the reactions of two elderly women who look disgusted at him. He sees them, hears their thoughts, and get one of the women to have a seizure. It’s actually a quite chilling sequence, and done right, but similar scenes where the scanners use their abilities mostly turns silly.

The cinematography is interesting though, slightly offbeat but really uses colours and shapes well. The synthetic soundtrack is also good, albeit slightly cheesy at times. The thing about Scanners is that I really can’t see the bigger picture in it, in many ways it’s similar to The Fly, but at the same time The Fly felt like it had a new way of presenting something, an interesting sub-plot in a ridiculous main-plot. My experience with science is rather limited, only three years of high school, but I can still point out tons of flaws and plot-holes in The Fly, but I didn’t let it detract from the story. In Scanners however, the plot and scientific explanations are so ridiculous and silly I just couldn’t let it go. Wait, he can hack computers using his scanner abilities? Come on!

To me, The Fly was a wonderful surprise, Scanners a sad disappointment. I might re-watch it someday, but for now, I’ll let it rot in my “forgotten” pile.

The Fly (David Cronenberg, 1986)

So this was an interesting pick, I’ve seen a couple of David Cronenberg films, two of which I consider masterpieces, namely Videodrome (1983) and Naked Lunch (1991), so I was interested in watching more of his films. This one I wasn’t to certain about, but I remember seeing an episode of The Simpsons which parodied this film, or rather, parodied the original The Fly (Kurt Neumann, 1958). I’ve not seen the original, but due to that episode I kind of knew the premise. But I was surprised, and I believe people who have seen the original will also be surprised, for this is a very unique film and David Cronenberg makes it his very own.

A slightly eccentric scientist invites a woman home to show her a project he has been working on for quite some time; a machine that will transport things from one chamber to another. She’s a journalist and decides to cover his research. Then they fall in love. One of the great things about The Fly is that it leads you to think it adheres to a lot of the 80’s clichés, but as the film unravels itself it also starts to shed the clichés, and I believe they were carefully planted by Cronenberg, because this is something beyond all those other 80’s films that we are way too familiar with. In speaking of genres, this is a horror film, but it does go beyond the genre, and is much harder to place. In many ways it’s also a tragic love story, as the protagonist starts morphing into something alien. It has some intense psychological moments, and the characters have to deal with what happens to the protagonist. Actually, there are only three characters in the film, two men and a woman, creating a sort of love triangle. By far, the two men are more interesting characters, especially the antagonist, who somehow during the film morphs out of his cliché role and turns into a much more rounded and sympathetic character. The acting on the part of the actors is all good, but Jeff Goldblum is really great in this, adding so much texture and character to his role. John Getz and Geena Davis are good, but it’s Jeff Goldblum who steals the show here. As his character go through the different stages of metamorphosis, so does his acting change, and it is great to see how he keeps up with the changes in his characters, and makes the protagonist almost seem like a new person.

The film is very tragic at times, portraying the desperation of the protagonist in a very sympathetic way. While staying true to many of the rules of the horror genre, the film is still very much leaning towards its own thing rather than being an exercise in genre. At its core it is a film about the love between the two characters, and how the woman reacts when the protagonist starts his disturbing transformation. The art design is great, particularly the single last stage of the metamorphosis is fantastic, and manages to look truly sad and scary at the same time. But all the stages are good, and the crew really went into detail to make the transformation seem organic. The cinematography lends a very dark and creepy style to the film, it always seems like some danger is lurking, but this is something that is often prevalent in Cronenberg films. The music should be mentioned, adding a great soundtrack to the film and giving the emotional climaxes some more weight. The pace of the film is perhaps a bit slower than most horror films, but does well to build tension, which all the aforementioned elements also add to.

So in many ways I was surprised by this film. I thought it might be a slightly interesting standard horror film, but it goes beyond the definition of the genre. The films striking feature is the sub-text of the love story and the themes of disintegration and loss of a loved one. The whole concept comes together very well. It is not as majestic as Videodrome or Naked Lunch, the film doesn’t have the scope I believe, it still is a fairly basic picture. But at that it is a very good and unique one.

L’Eclisse (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1962)

L’Eclisse is the third of an informal trilogy by Antonioni, composed of L’Avventura and La Notte. The films don’t have any storyline or characters that connect them, but are rather similar in style and themes. Monica Vitti returns in an even bigger role, as a bored woman who leaves her fiancé and goes on with an empty life. Alain Delon also has a big role, and he is really good in this, as a stressed out broker.

Actually, compared to L’Avventura, L’Eclisse feels a bit fuller of life, and has some bits of stark sarcastic humour, such as the Italian version of Wall Street and a scene where Monica Vitti and her friend dress up as Native Africans and dance around. But it’s a lot of the same issues that are raised in L’Avventura; isolation, emptiness in life, detachment and alienation. As the film progresses, the protagonist attempts at contact with several other people, and in most cases they end up failing or just drifting from each other. She finally meets a man who she’s interested in, but in similar style as the relationships in L’Avventura, they drift back and forth together. It’s all directed with certain coldness to it, the director always keeps himself distanced from what happens on screen. The films pace also compliments this idea, and goes at its own speed. Again, here Antonioni likes to dwell on landscape and wide shots. The best scenes are the ones between Monica Vitti and Alain Delon, their relationship broadens as the film goes on, but it’s always ambiguous how it will turn out, and as everything else the film leaves this open to interpretation. It’s always refreshing to watch this type of film, it does require the audience to fill in the gaps, and I feel it does create some sort of emotional response.

There’s not a whole lot more I can say on this film, as it is quite similar to L’Avventura, and I have already repeated myself quite a bit. It doesn’t have an elaborate plot, but in structure though it is a bit different from L’Avventura, as it doesn’t have a similar introduction plot as the aforementioned film. The film leads right into the mental journey of the protagonist, and follows her as she goes around the city. One great moment is when she goes to visit her mother who is a stock trader, and the following scene in the stock house, perhaps one of the greatest spectacles I’ve seen on the screen. The film is shot beautifully in black & white, and some of the shots are just incredibly well composed. The directing here is also very strong, and I feel that this film is quite on par with L’Avventura. The final scenes are also fantastic, giving the audience a feeling of hopelessness. In its own unique way, the film is carefully structured so that there’s always a feel of progression, even though the narrative is fractured and doesn’t adhere to a particular plot, and I feel it is a step forward in term of form for Antonioni.

This is much a repeat of the L’Avventura review, these two films are quite similar, and many of the points I’ve talked about for L’Avventura are true for L’Eclisse. I’m not sure which one I like the most, but they are both two giants of cinema, and I will have to see more films by Antonioni, though I’ve already seen Blow-up (1966) and The Passenger (1975), both of which I’d also recommend.

L’Avventura (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1960)

One of my favourite books of all time is The Stranger by Albert Camus. In many ways it changed my perspective on things. Alienation and existentialism were core parts of the book, and I really got interested in this. Its thus a bit strange that I took so long to watch Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura, a film inspired by these themes. There’s another film from the same year, La Dolce Vita (Federico Fellini, 1960), so I knew I inevitably were going to compare these two films. La Dolce Vita also dealt with similar themes and techniques. And indeed, La Dolce Vita is one of my favourite films of all time, so I was really looking forward to seeing how Antonioni’s film would compare.

L’Avventura deals with the emptiness and social complexities of modern life. The characters keep searching for something, whether it’s the literal plot of the film or simply some form of human contact. Everyone in this film feels distanced, even when they love they are still detached from each other. Two characters realize their love for one-another, but how long will it last. In many ways, this is a very bleak film, portraying the world as empty and detached. The characters wander around with no clear purpose or goal. They do have a goal in the beginning of the film, but as it progresses they lose sight of this. There is a lot of time where nothing specific is going on in the frame, what it does is creating the sub-text of the frame of mind the characters have, making us try to look into their lives. The cinematography is used to great effect to create this feeling of emptiness, lingering on wide shots that do not service the plot, but creates the existentialism the characters are feeling. Time is expanded in the film, creating an almost droning pace, the audience constantly questions the characters intents or purpose. In many ways, as discussed many times, Antonioni created a new sort of film language. It’s an extension of the Italian neorealist language that had been developed the last 15 years, but it also deviates from this movement. It inserts the existentialism that Sartre and Camus had developed after the war, and putting it into cinematic form. Its form is that it uses elaborate methods to convey the emptiness in the characters lives. This is achieved through long-takes, shots that don’t have anything to do with the plot, but simply “observe”, to create meanings of the inner lives of the characters. Not using close-ups or elaborate editing techniques, the film conveys the mood of emptiness, the characters go on with their lives with no particular purpose, pretty radical compared to the classic narrative of the Hollywood movie. In classical Hollywood storytelling the characters have to have an obstacle, and they have to overcome it. In Antonioni’s films the characters don’t even know what their obstacle is, or what they should do to overcome whatever it is.

There are debates to whether L’Avventura is a relevant or good film, and I would say that it is both. Firstly we will discard that tired “it’s boring” argument. But there are also people who believe the film doesn’t convey anything. It is in many ways partly true. The film doesn’t have any elaborate themes; it lingers on love but doesn’t make any clear statement about it, but remains ambiguous. I feel that what Antonioni is trying to achieve is to convey the emptiness and isolation of his characters in the modern world. He doesn’t have any agenda I too believe. The film looks at the upper-class, but unlike Buñuel, he doesn’t satirize them or criticize them. Rather, he shows how they lose sight of the meaning of life through their hollow lives. They wander around in what seems a world without a coherent meaning. This is contributed to by the aforementioned use of non-linear narrative, with no particular plot. I feel Antonioni succeeds very well here, and would argue that his films do have a certain purpose, but they are detached and non-political. He’s extending the feeling of a cold and empty world unto the screen, and it is a remarkable achievement in the history of cinema. Fellini as said made a similar film with La Dolce Vita, but the form itself is very different between the two films. But I do believe there remains some friction between what people think of Antonioni’s films, but I believe this to be a remarkable piece of cinema, something unique that you rarely see, a film that truly changed ways in which films can express their ideas.

If you do decide to get this, get the excellent Criterion version, although I guess for most film-buffs that goes without saying. Watch it with a very open mind, it uses the language of cinema in a very different way than other films of the period did, or films still do.

Godard double-bill, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… ( 1967) and Pierrot Le Fou (1965)

Recently I’ve watched two new films by Godard, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… and Pierrot Le Fou. Before I used to look down on Godard’s color films (mostly thanks to Weekend and Une Femme est Une Femme), however, with these two new films seen, this view has changed. While Two or Three Things is appropriately gritty filmed, Pierrot Le Fou I daresay is Godard’s most visually stunning film, at least of his color ones. It really shows Godard coming to an aesthetic conclusion with himself. Narrative-wise these two films are very different, although they do have a lot of similar characteristics that are familiar touches of Godard. Godard has always been very interesting to me since I for the first time saw a film by him, Alphaville, some two years ago. He’s always been such a revolutionist in the film-form, and few recognized directors I’ve seen has done something like he does.

In the Two or Three Things I Know About Her…, we follow Juliette, a house-wife who one day of the week turns to prostitution to feed her family. Although she is presented in the beginning as the ‘protagonist’, the films seem to sway a lot of other areas, and has often been said to be more about Paris than Juliette. It is more an exploration of life in Paris, and Juliette is but one set-piece. I like the word, ‘set-piece’, because that is a lot about what this film is, ‘set-pieces’, and this is where I felt the film excelled. While many of Godard’s earlier films, Breathless in particular, leaned towards more ‘classic’ narrative stories, Two or Three Things I Know About Her… is unhinged and fractured, almost floating aimlessly throughout, and there is little character development or plot. However, this film is more about observations and reflection of both contemporary life then and cinema itself. During the film and in the introduction we hear a narrator, Godard himself, whispering into the microphone. Godard explains to us, here is the actress who is going to be acting in this film, and then later introduces the character. The immediate strength of the film is the way it forces the audience to realize the machinery of it. This makes the set-pieces more effective, as we can focus on what they are actually telling. There is no attempt at trying to create the ‘illusion’ of cinema here, instead the film distances the audience from the fictional world. So far, to me, it seems as Two or Three Things is Godard’s most formative and mature work. Characters and events seem less random, and to some extent, this reminds me of Vivre sa Vie, which is probably his most mature film, although one of his first. However much I admire Godard, his films often feel fragmented, as if things are a bit unrelated. In this, however, through the fragmentation of the narrative itself, the film seems to be more cohesive and takes a stronger form. It’s like an essay, with different points and paragraphs, but comes together through the introduction and conclusion, which makes the film seem much more ‘whole’, one of my new favorites by Godard.

The other film I saw was Pierrot Le Fou, and while showing moments of brilliance, was a bit of a disappointment. Not to say that this isn’t a very good piece of cinema by Godard, but I expected it, unlike One or Two Things, to be one of his best. So what’s the problem? Well, Pierrot Le Fou has a straightforward narrative, which I often don’t think favor Godard’s cause, except for in Le Mepris. The film is excellent for the first hour, but starts to fall apart after that, and I was a bit alienated from the film for some time, until it picked itself up again and came to a glorious conclusion. The problem I had with this film is of the one I discussed when talking about Two or Three Things, that the film itself feels very fragmented, both form and narrative. Here is one of the wonderful ironies of Godard’s films, that a film with a somewhat cohesive narrative feels more fragmented than a film that I built of fragments of story. I’m not telling you though not to watch this, because for all its faults, the film has some excellent moments and is way more interesting than what you usually see in the cinema today. On another note, Pierrot Le Fou is probably the most aesthetic pleasing of Godard’s films that I have seen so far. Unlike a lot of his other films, where he avoids this consciously, the shots are wonderfully composed, and at times look stunning. Anna Karina has rarely looked as beautiful as here. The film is shot in south France I believe, at the coast and in summer. This is used to contrast the characters predicament. Oh, I guess I haven’t mentioned the actual story, well, Ferdinand has escaped from his boring life through murder, together with his girl-friend Marianne, and as they escape from the police attempt to get by on the country side. As usual, with Godard’s films, the story is pretty simple, but obviously it’s not there the strengths of his films lie.

So, I’ve felt a bit more enlightened on Godard after seeing these two, especially Two or Three Things, which really show Godard at his formative height, and few of his films have achieved such a great blend of his different ideas and techniques. While Pierrot Le Fou was a bit of a let-down, it still showed that Godard could, if he wanted, create beautiful shots that challenge any of the great visual directors of our times. Colin MacCabe, who wrote Godard’s biography, wrote at the end that he saw Godard as a poet, and some scenes from Pierrot Le Fou absolutely proves this point, while Two or Three Things makes him more out as an essayist. I believe though that Vivre sa Vie is an amazing blending of these two personalities, and urge everyone to go see this film. Yes, I am a huge fan of Vivre sa Vie. Regardless, Pierrot Le Fou and Two or Three Things are both very good films by Godard, and to people who wish to explore this filmmaker further, I can only heartedly recommend these two as well.

An old article

Lo and behold, while I was rummaging through my old laptop I found this old article that I had forgotten about, and I don't believe I've ever published it or done anything with it, so I might stick it in here. Sorry I don't remember when I wrote it probably about 4-5 months ago. Anyway, it's about two films by Jean-Luc Godard. Enjoy. (I've made no attempt at editing or improving the article)

Au Revoir les Enfants (Louis Malle, 1987)

Louis Malle made a bunch of films in the 50’s and 60’s that I liked, so this was my first venture into the later stages of his career, and this is probably the film I’ve heard the most about without knowing who Louis Malle was, so I had a certain anticipation to watching this. But I don’t really know what to expect from a Malle film, like when I watched Zazie dans le metro (1960) and was blown away by how different it was to any previous film I had seen by him. In fact, it had more in common with those Warner Brothers cartoons than any of his films. Anyway, so Au Revoir les Enfants is probably his most famous film from what I gather, and it depicts what certain filmmakers really love to depict, the Second World War. However, this time around, the story is quite autobiographical, from Louis Malle’s childhood. It’s about his growing friendship with a Jewish boy who is hidden at his Catholic boarding school, and the ongoing presence and threat of the Germans.

And its good, it actually is. It isn’t as much about the Second World War as about growing up to adulthood and friendship. The film strengthens this by putting these familiar themes into an extreme situation. But most of the stuff that happens is like things we ourselves remember, like kids sneaking off to smoke, increasing interest in the opposite gender, hate-love relationships and so on. But the film depicts its so well, and we see easily that Malle is a really experienced director by now, his subtle touches with the camera are at times fantastic, the setting is well defined and we quickly grow familiar with it. The film does get a bit frustrating at times, as it stigmatises the characters and situations a bit. However, it doesn’t get too bad, and it’s still miles away from that atrocity Schindlre’s List. But it does seem as its impossible for filmmakers to make such films without doing this, the closest to avoid it I feel were The Thin Red Line (Terrence Malick, 1998) and The Pianist (Roman Polanski, 2002). I really tend to find Second World War films a bit tiresome and trite, but this is one of the better ones, for the obvious reason that the war for the most part only remains in the background. Obviously, at the “heart” of the story is the friendship, but it also works well as a coming of age story, using the war as an excuse for the lead character to grow up.

For me though, the strongest aspect of this film was it dealing with the reasons for cultural barriers. The kids seem to refer to Jews as something merely abstract, simply because they don’t know them upfront, and in this case the film is actually still pretty relevant, as this is still going on. Their not anti-Semitic, but at the same time they don’t disapprove with the Germans treatment of Jews. Most of their comments on Jews seem right out of a textbook, which I would find fairly accurate to how kids without any critical knowledge would know these other religious people. It’s a really great observation, when the Jewish kid first arrives, they treat him like an outsider. Not because he’s Jewish, they don’t know yet, but simply because he’s new and they don’t know him. When they start to discover that he is a Jew, they don’t treat him any differently because he’s by then come into the fold. I find this is a good statement about how our religious backgrounds are just bullocks. Its also nice to see Catholics for once given dignity, and I do think the priests at the school should be honoured for taking in Jewish kids at the risk of their own personal safety, even though they are from different religions, again discussing this idea of religious background, we are still in the same shit. Sure, they are given their bit of ridicule through some slight humour, but it’s never truly mean spirited. Oh and by the way, the film didn’t manage to avoid the Nazi character that seems right out of a Superman cartoon, but it almost seems unavoidable in any Second World War film.

This is a very good film, with some really fantastic moments and genuine emotions. It has some elements that are true splendour, and some that are slightly weaker. It doesn’t come together as well as one would wish, but its individual pros make it more than worthwhile. I don’t really know why this is Malle’s most famous film, maybe because of the approachable themes and setting and being relatively “new”, but still, I preferred Le Feu Follet (Louis Malle, 1963)

Cachè (Michael Haneke, 2005)

After watching La Pianiste by Michael Haneke, I knew that his cinema would have more in store for me, and my expectations were exceeded when watching Cahcè. Haneke now in my eyes seems like a truly interesting director, and I’ve just got to ask myself why I haven’t seen any of his films before, or really heard about him.

Usually I don’t like to discuss plot in these little blurbs, but I feel it is important here to get my feelings across about the film. A married couple receives a videotape and some disturbing drawings. The videotapes are filmed outside their house, and show them as they arrive at home. The husband, Georges, notes that he can’t understand why he didn’t notice the camera. For the rest of the film, the lead character is concerned with discovering who the sender of the videotapes is. However, as I found, the identity of the sender is really not important. As the film progresses, the tension between the couple increase, and buried feelings of guilt emerge. It’s a really good dissection of the coldness and shallowness that emerge in such middleclass marriages, but it also deals with cultural guilt and specifically that of France, but I won’t go into it too much, as it might ruin the film for prospective viewers. Regardless, the film slowly unfolds layers of the character, we are given blurred and ambiguous moments of his childhood. Are they true memories or his imagination? This ambiguity is one of the strengths of the film, what gives it its certain character. On the surface it seems like a normal thriller, but it proves itself to be something more, with layers of comments on the characters lives and cinema itself. As a genre exercise it also plays with the expectations of the audience, and will many times leave us astray.

One thing I found interesting is that the shots from the videotapes are shot identically to the film. Usually, the videotapes would have an amateur look to them and look grainy. There could be many implications by this, and I don’t this is an accident. The way the film is set up, there are many times you would think that what you see is a new videotape, but then it is revealed to be a normal shot. It might be a comment on the filmmaker’s power over his characters. It also creates a feeling of alienation, the audience will forget the escapism of the genre and remember that they are watching a film. It also shows us the acute details we are privileged of the characters very private lives, as they feel the videotapes are very unnerving, it almost seems as if they are aware that we are watching them. It’s a very simple technique that Haneke is using here, but also very powerful. I do like it a lot when directors use methods like these, to force the audience to question their relationship with the characters on screen. As said, the lead character is brought to feelings of shame, or at least it’s acknowledged that he should feel shame. This is paralleled to a national level and France specifically. It’s hard to mention the details without ruining the plot, however, I do think it works quite well, and so the film at the same time as being a good characters study, also becomes political.

There’s not much I can say about the directing without repeating myself from what I wrote on La Pianiste. As earlier, it’s very consistent and creates a true form in the film. I feel the cinematography is used even better here though, at times feels almost black and white. Its sharp and the colour black is often brought forward, giving the images an almost chilly coldness. It does well to help the portrayal of the family. Haneke also uses similar long takes here, dwelling on certain images, although slightly less than in La Pianiste. The directing here is not as direct as in La Pianiste, and grows on playing with ambiguity. In the end, Cachè is not about the plot, but what is happening to the characters due to it. Usually in such films, the plot is the main point of the film, but here it is simply a device to stir up the characters, and unveil their past. Herein lays the beauty of Cachè, a truly constructed film that could be analyzed to every frame and still remain ambiguous. Cachè means hidden, but what is hidden? The sender of the videotapes, the feelings of the main character, the camera of Haneke? All these questions will be unanswered after you watch the film, but they still remain fascinating to answer.

I thought Cachè was a marvellous film, a truly great contemporary piece. It will probably be remembered and studied for years to come. Its themes are evocative, its structure and intents complex. A film I probably will come back to many times.

La Pianiste (Michael Haneke, 2001)

Like with the Visconti review, this is the first film I’ve seen by Michael Haneke, so excuse my lack of previous knowledge of this director. All I knew was that he is a controversial director and his films might give me bad dreams. Anyway, since many people were talking about Haneke and I seemed to have let him go over my head, so I thought it was best to watch some of his film. Also, I found Le Pianiste for 7£ at HMV, so it seemed as good a place to start as any.

One of the first things I noticed in La Pianiste which I always look for in films was consistency in the directing. Le Pianiste has a clear style and sticks to it, which I feel always makes films better, and in this case it certainly did. The style here is cold, and the camera is at times unforgiving, giving us harsh details of the very private life of the protagonist. It’s extremely direct, and I admire Haneke for this, he doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything, and is really a force in his directing. The sexual and violent tension rises throughout the films, to moments where it seems almost unreal in its reality. Slow long takes are at work here, and Haneke has no trouble with dwelling on a single image of something that might be disturbing to the audience. He spends a lot of time building our knowledge of the characters, but at the same times avoids implying the obvious, and remains ambiguous. I feel Haneke really wants the audience to respond and be active, he shows, but doesn’t explain. In many ways it’s a very strange film, we are allowed the most personal details of the protagonist’s life, but we never seem to be able so grasp her character, her motivations. She’s throughout her life been abused by her controlling mother, but it never seem a satisfying enough explanation. The characters appear obscure enough, but at the same time the audience is given enough material to decide themselves what’s going on in their heads. As far as I’m aware, Haneke believes the interpretation of the audience is important, and it does show in this film.

What’s interesting about this film though is how it constantly attempts to provoke some response from the audience. And it’s just not the sexual scenes, but also the scenes that almost act like a subtle melodrama. There is a constant tension in the lead character and also between the different characters. As said, Haneke’s camera is almost unforgiving at times, dwelling on the characters faces, the almost too honest filmmaking I assume will be too much for some people, Haneke’s craft almost seems bitter at times. It is intimidating at times at how direct the film is, nothing is hidden or censored. The sexual scenes are unlike any other film, and are dragged out for long periods of time, feeling almost endless. We’ve seen this kind of “heightened risk” technique before, but Haneke really uses it to its full potential. He also really manages to portray the lead character’s unfolding repressed sexuality in a very non-exploitative way, but his straight-forwardness makes it seem even more mature. The interaction between the different characters is also very impressive, at times showing how they try to gain sexual dominance over one-another. Some pieces of the dialogue and action is at times fascinating, in the end culminating in a stirringly provocative ending.

This type of film might not be for everybody, but its definitely one of the most intriguing contemporary films I’ve seen, and I will definitely check out more films by Michael Haneke.