Sommarlek (Ingmar Bergman, 1951)

Ah, Ingmar Bergman, one of the greatest filmmakers, his films can be so simple, yet so sublime, particularly in the case of Sommarnattens leende (1955) and Smultronstället (1957). I do also love his films that are a bit heavier handed, but most of the films across his canon that I’ve seen are great. That being said, I haven’t seen any film by him in quite some time, a couple of years actually. The reason for this is that I had a period when I watched many of his films across two years, and after that felt fairly satisfied with the range in which I had explored his filmmaking, and went on to explore other directors. Lately though I’ve wanted to come back to Bergman and check out more of his films, particularly some of his lesser known films. The first in line was Sommarlek, a film made some years before Bergman became internationally famous.

I like it when Bergman doesn’t overcomplicate things and make it simple. Not because I can’t handle complex films, but it seems to me that a film will have more resonance and can create just as much meaning in simple terms. Also, Bergman is excessively good at this. Sommarlek is a fairly simple film, but contains a lot of the issues Bergman would later handle, although it does seem to brush over them quite quickly. Love, death, psychological angst and nostalgia all feature in here, although I feel some of the themes could have been fleshed out a bit more. Some of these themes are brushed over or touched upon at the very end, with no real fore building. However, the themes that are focused upon are developed quite nicely. The two most important aspects of the film I guess are nostalgia and love, specifically young love. A girl meets boy story, but with flashbacks and quite a bit of bitterness. In terms of depth the film is a bit shallower than Bergman’s usual output, but then again, this is an early work by him and he is still developing himself as a filmmaker. I know I’ve not been too positive towards the film, however, I did like the film, but it is sub-par to most of Bergman’s later films. The best aspect of the film is how Bergman captures the landscape with the camera; he creates a real sense of summer vacation, which is a central idea to the film. The film also deals with having to accept bad things happening in ones life, and try to go on no matter what. In this way it has a more positive note than some of his other films, particularly his later ones, and this I quite like.

From a historical point of view it is interesting to watch the film, because while not being stunning, it does point towards Bergman’s future filmmaking, and you can tell several aspects of the filmmaking style that will flourish in just a few years. It’s always interesting to watch how a filmmaker has progressed throughout his or hers output. Bergman surely walked a fine line throughout his career and every film progresses to some degree or in some way from the last. While there are several central ideas in his filmmaking, he also varied the style in many of his films, particularly Persona (1966). I always knew of Sommarlek, but few had talked about it, and I can kind of see why. The film is nice, has some interesting stuff in it and some good actors, but overall it lacks that certain depth that later Bergman films had. It’s still better than the average film you’ll see, but for a Bergman film one cannot avoid being slightly disappointed. However, the most enjoyable part of the film for me was seeing how the past affected the character in the present through flashbacks, and at this the film was quite good, giving us what we needed but not hitting us over the head with a hammer.

I would recommend Sommarlek to some degree; however it shouldn’t be the first Bergman film you watch. If your intent is to watch loads of Bergman films then this should definitely be on your list, because it is quite good. Not brilliant, but an enjoyable little film made by the Swedish master.

Stroszek (Werner Herzog, 1977)

America is one of the strangest countries I’ve been to. There is so much going on there, but at the same time everything has a plastic feel to it and everywhere smells of greasy fast food. I’ve rarely seen a film that have conveyed a similar visual of America as I experienced it, but then again American filmmakers probably don’t sense these similar things that a foreigner would. That is why I was so pleased with Werner Herzog’s depiction of America, because it came quite damn close to what I experienced. When you visit a foreign country you are usually quite alienated towards it, and that sense is perfectly captured in Stroszek.

Stroszek is tired of Berlin and decides to immigrate to America with his old friend and his girlfriend. However as it turns out, the American dream is not exactly what myth says it is. What makes this film is the character Stroszek, or rather, Bruno S who portrayed him. Although many celebrate the relationship between Herzog and Kinski, Bruno S is a real find by Herzog. Throughout his whole life, Bruno S did two feature films, this and Jeder für sich und Gott gegen alle (Werner Herzog, 1974), and he deliver himself completely in both. There is something strange, almost naïve and childlike about his person and I don’t believe he actually ever performs, he is just being himself. He helps create a feeling of “otherness” in those two Herzog films. While Kinski was a professional actor and had worked before he started making films with Herzog, Bruno S was without doubt a discovery made by Herzog, and this is one of the examples that shows how great Herzog was at spotting the right talent or person to create his films. Everything about Bruno S is perfect for the two movies he did, his facial expression, the strange ways he structures his sentences verbally, it all makes for quite a fascinating character. There is something very real about the character, and much of the screenplay is based on Bruno S himself. Indeed, the characters name is Bruno Stroszek, he plays his own instruments in the film and some of it was filmed on his own flat. Herzog was always concerned with the “real”, and we see clearly this in the character of Stroszek, which is in many ways trying to be based on Bruno S himself.

But this is in many other ways also a very interesting film. The wonderfully sarcastic portrait of the USA is very funny while also being very true. In many ways Stroszek is a dark comedy, and very dark at that. The character Stroszek is a fighter who tries to survive and make it despite his own inadequacies and quirks. But from the beginning we know that poor Bruno is doomed. His monologue about his feelings on America later in the film is great, and captures the feeling of the film. The film is very concerned with small physical object, and manages to create resonance of meaning through them. Some of these aspects aren’t in any way important to the narrative, but gives the film strength as a whole and establishes a very peculiar mood. But I guess these sorts of things have always been true for Herzog’s film. In fact, Herzog is a director that at the same time as impressing also confuses one; his films have a truly strange sense of mood to them, bordering on the insane at times. There is a good reason why Herzog remains one of the most bewildering and fascinating characters in the world of cinema, and while he has his eccentric qualities, this never overshadows the genuine originality and quality of his films

Stroszek was quite a good film, with a lot of quirky moments and objects, not to mention the characters and settings. The way Herzog captures America is very true to my own observations and experiences, and for me that made the film even more interesting. The core of the film though is the tragic figure of Bruno S, who truly manages to convey some of the really dark moments of our existence.

The Red Shoes (Powell and Pressburger, 1948)

Seeing a lot of great films is nothing new to me. I attempt to watch as many good films as possible, which tends to make my choices about what films to see quite picky. I don’t mind spending time watching an average film, but I always prefer to watch something good that will give me more knowledge of cinema. But every once in a while, I see a film that is beyond great, a film that truly captures my senses and creates vivid images that convey meaning in a simple yet intricate way. The more you see film the less impressed you will get by watching new films, because you will come to a point where most films you see you can say “I’ve seen this before”, even though the film might be quite good. This is one of the things that make watching cinema worthwhile, discovering films that blow you away, that stand as a fantastic piece of art on the screen.

So is the case with The Red Shoes, the second film I’ve seen by Powell and Pressburger. I was quite impressed with the imaginative A Matter of Life and Death (Powell and Pressburger, 1946), but this film just takes their craft to a whole other level. The story is that of a ballet company, most importantly the director of that company, Boris Lermontov, excellently played by Anton Walbrook. Usually it isn’t such a good idea for a film to lean too much on a character, but here it works wonders. In fact, it is even hard to call Lermontov the protagonist of the film, it is more of an ensemble piece, but his character is so vital to the film and puts it in a certain direction that you cannot underestimate the importance of this character. That’s one of the things I loved the most, Walbrook’s character. He believes in suffering and sacrificing oneself to ones art, and obviously he comes into conflict with the other characters. But it is the devotion and crushing belief he puts into his faith that makes it all the more powerful, and avoids making him an antagonist, which could easily have happened. There is almost a paradox in the film, you will be brought almost to despise the character for his coldness towards others, at the same time you cannot stop admiring him. I think that most artists would like to be just like him, but few are wilful or strong enough. He is probably one of the most fascinating characters I’ve ever seen on the screen, and makes the film extremely memorable for me. I know it is subjective, and a lot of audiences will feel that he is nothing but a cold hearted brute, but for me he remains one of the most interesting and melancholic characters of cinema.

Now, the film would have been great with just this character, but there is so much more. What I cannot forget to mention is the fantastic 15 minutes long ballet sequence, which is also some of the most impressive I’ve seen in cinema, and reminds me quite a bit of A Matter of Life and Death. It starts off as a straight theatre scene shot with a camera, but slowly starts to become much more cinematic and stunning. This sequence captures some of the most indefinable and beautiful moments in cinema, and works extremely well in the context of the themes. The rest of the film is also very well shot, particularly when it moves around in different locations. This DVD is from the same Powell & Pressburger collection from which I saw A Matter of Life and Death, and in contrast to that version, this looks quite good, fairly sharp images, and the sound is good, which it better be considering how important music is to the film. Indeed, the music is another critical point which makes this film so good. It is relevant to the narrative, and has several thematic ideas. Most films just use it for simple emotional purposes, but here it is put to use the right way, much like La Pianiste (Michael Haneke, 2001). While the film aesthetically centres on ballet, the film is in its core about all art. What does it mean to be an artist and what one has to sacrifice? The film is not afraid to ask any of these questions, but keeps the answer ambiguous to the end credits, and leaves the audience to contemplate what they have just seen.

There are so many memorable scenes, so many great aspects about this film, but in the end what I will remember it the most for is the character Lermontov and the fantastic performance by Anton Walbrook. I have never heard of him or seen him in anything else, but through this film he will probably haunt my thoughts as one of the most problematic and fascinating characters in cinema history. The rest of the film? Just fantastic.

Ossessione (Luchino Visconti, 1943)

Ossessione was given this release by the BFI (British Film Institute). I live right outside London, and I would like to go in there, visit the BFI and slap someone to stop them releasing DVDs. On the back of every BFI DVD there says: “The British Film Institute offers you the opportunities to experience, enjoy and discover more about the world of film and television.” Now alright, that’s great. However, every BFI release I own is very bad. Including Ossessione I also own La Terra Trema (Luchino Visconti, 1948) and La Règle du jeu (Jean Renoir, 1939). La Règle du Jeu had a lot of the same problems as Ossessione, very bad picture transfer, and maybe more importantly, horrible sound transfer. The sound isn’t given any depth or clarity, and often comes across as dull, when it shouldn’t be. Seriously, BFI, it’s great that you want people to discover unknown cinema, but unless you start making some decent releases please leave it to the professionals such as Masters of Cinema.

Now, despite its horrible release, Ossessione stands as one of the most impressive pieces of cinema that I have ever seen. It is made even more impressive by the fact that this was Visconti’s first feature film. I have always been partial to the whole notion of the Italian neo-realism, but more than any Italian director than I can think of Visconti encapsulates these ideals to their fullest. Visconti manages to give even the simplest of shots several layers of meanings, he captures here better than few places I’ve seen the intangible sadness of human existence. I will say now, Ossessione is a masterpiece, and stands as one of the finest examples of Italian neo-realism. His acute sense of directing and pacing, the wonderful framing and composing of his images, it all works extremely well here, and if I were to show aspiring filmmakers a debut film by a famous director to show how it’s done, I would show Ossessione. I did like the films of De Sica a lot, but Ossessione goes beyond them. I am wondering exactly why De Sica is more famous than Visconti. He is a fine director and made his own masterpieces, and true, I haven’t seen many of Visconti’s films, but this really stands the test of time. It shows how excellent directing can transcend its time and become immortal, this film puts most contemporary films to shame. One of the things that impressed me was how much information Visconti could place within a shot, how he could foreshadow and give us vital information about the characters in just a simple shot or a sequence of shots. This is the kind of filmmaking I am always looking for in films, managing to convey themes and information in simple shots. To illustrate a bad example, let’s take the film I last watched, Sabrina (Billy Wilder, 1954). There is a shot of Sabrina in a tree, watching a wonderful party in the house, where the love of her life is dancing with another woman. We then see that she is upset. Now this is fine, and conveys all the information we need to know in a sequence of simple shots. Good directing. However, soon her dad comes along, tells her to get down from the tree, and tells her to forget all about that guy. Now this is bad, because it simplifies too much. He didn’t need to say this to give us information, and the film lowers the standard of the audience. Ossessione avoids these things by leaving what needs to be said to the camera, and not the dialogue.

Not since watching the Apu trilogy by Satyajit Ray have I been so excited over the idea of neo-realism. Visconti captures the ordinary in a fundamental way, and creates meaning through his images. He keeps the aspect of the real alive, while yet utilizing the craft of the camera, a thing a lot of directors, Italian then and contemporary now, needs to learn. The film is based on the book The Postman only Rings Twice, but I am not familiar with this story, although I know it was also made into an American film. Anyway, the story is fairly simple and straightforward, but Visconti manages to evoke some powerful ideas and themes through his directing. A lonely woman lives with her unattractive and old husband, and one day a vagabond comes along who she is immediately attracted to, and he to her. The film from here on is about their relationship, which is far from perfect and takes many twists and turns. It’s the core of the film, and the characters state of mind is constantly under pressure and they have to contemplate guilt and how they relate to each other. There is a marvellous shot in the beginning of the film where the protagonist enters the kitchen where the lonely wife is. He is framed by the doorway, but is blocking most of what we see of the wife. The only part of her we see is her legs (she is sitting on a table). This very simple shot conveys so much about the current situation, what is going to happen, and the immediate relationship between the characters. It is an impressive shot, not because of its technicality, but how it simply conveys so much in just a few seconds. This is the brilliance of Visconti, and one of the key things that makes Ossessione such a great film. I really wish I had a better version of this, maybe Criterion or Masters of Cinema will do Visconti’s early films at one point. It’s something to hope for anyway, I’ve got the Criterion version of Le Notti Bianche (Luchino Visconti, 1957), and that is very good. Masters of Cinema also released Rocco e i suoi fratelli (Luchino Visconti, 1960), and I am looking forward to seeing that. Despite all the problems though, Visconti’s direction managed to shine through, which further impresses me.

Ossessione is a masterpiece, simple as that. It is probably one of the best films I’ve seen of the Italian neo-realism movement. The shots that build the film up are fantastic, the drama feels true and resonates, the actors manage to convey with simple acting methods. Early Visconti is not that famous, but I hope more and more will see this early film, because it is simply just as good as or better than Ladri di biciclette (Vittorio De Sica, 1948). People talk a lot about Visconti, but I’ve heard few references to this film, with De Sica a lot of people talk about him and at the same time there is a lot of reference to his most famous films. But I like De Sica a lot as well, though, but Visconti seems to be pushing the envelope even more.

Sabrina (Billy Wilder, 1954)

Billy Wilder is one of my favorite directors of the classic Hollywood era, and Humphrey Bogart is one of my favorite actors. I thought; how can a film featuring Humphrey Bogart, Audrey Hepburn, William Holden and Billy Wilder as the director not be anything else but great. Well, you might be surprised that it wasn’t that great, or maybe you are not surprised at all. Maybe when a film fills itself up too much with star power it is crushed under its own weight, or maybe the many egos just became too much for the production. Who knows?

The plot sort of relates to the Cinderella tale. The young Sabrina played by Hepburn lives in a huge mansion with her father who is the chauffer. She is in love with one of the family members who live there, the playboy type played by William Holden. His older brother, played by Bogart, is a cynical businessman. However, Sabrina cannot get the attention of the young playboy and is sent away by her father to become a Jedi knight, no wait; she is sent away by her father to become a cook in Paris. Two years go by at an alarming rate and she returns, now a proper gentleman of stature, sorry again; a proper lady. But all the narrative is for naught because I could tell how the film would end already in the first five minutes. This is one of the faults of watching too many movies, they can quickly become predictable, and this was indeed. Now that doesn’t mean all the while it wasn’t enjoying, because it quite was. There is a lot of humour in here, and that is quite good. I love Roman Holliday (William Wyler, 1953) and it was similar to this in many ways, however Sabrina falls a bit short. The chemistry between the three leads is also not too perfect; it works at times, but falls a bit flat. While Hepburn was great, the best actor was indeed John Williams, who played Sabrina’s father. He had an own sense of humour, and played greatly upon that. Bogey is also good, and takes a very different type of role than he usually does. Here he is not tough talking, but is quite weak, and not to good with the ladies, which lead to some funny scenes. William Holden, who I haven’t seen in too much, felt like he was a bit gone, and didn’t make a noticeable appearance.

What this film lacks compared to Roman Holiday or Billy Wilder’s other comedy masterpieces such as Some Like it Hot (1959) and The Apartment (1960) is that it isn’t particularly inventive. The jokes are good, some of the interaction between the actors is good, but on the whole the film feels slightly flat, particularly towards the end. Roman Holiday revoked much more in me and at the same time was funnier and sharper. Sabrina lacks an overall goal; it fumbles quite a bit at times. The film feels like it was hurried, not just in production but within itself as well. In my last review I complained about the film but still though Huston’s directing was great. Here though, I cannot say much about Billy Wilder’s directing. It’s okay, but lacks a bit subtlety that I usually find in his films. He also doesn’t feel as comfortable directing comedy here as he does later, and the film is far from as cynical as say Sunset Blvd. Although not being cynical is not a bad thing, it might have made this film more interesting, but as it stands it is a fairly straight forward comedy from classic Hollywood. The film lacks depth is what I feel is the main problem, and remains quite superficial.

I can understand why this was a hit in its day. It works on several levels, but looses its sight and falls flat a couple of times. I did enjoy it a bit, but the film didn’t leave me anything significant, and in the end I felt a bit down. A mediocre effort from Wilder, but Bogart and Hepburn do a good job.

The African Queen (John Huston, 1951)

I’ve always been fascinated with Africa and travelling into unknown wilderness. Films such as Apocalypse Now (Francis Ford Coppola, 1979) and Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes (Werner Herzog, 1972) really gave me this great feeling of being lost in nowhere. The unknown is indeed fascinating; this is one of the reasons why psychological horror can work so well. So when a film decides to take its characters to the edge of civilization you might expect it to push through these elements of the unknown. Well, not always.

The African Queen takes Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn through the dense African jungle on a river. The African Queen is the boat, and Bogart is the alcoholic captain. There is a plot that creates the circumstances in which the two travel together, but I won’t bother with that here. Suffice to say, they have to get through some tough areas on the river to reach their goal, and this is what creates the core of the film. Now most of the film takes place on the little boat, and for that the film is to be commended. John Huston’s simple but yet elaborate style really works here, and the script makes sure that there is always something interesting going on screen. However, one of the issues I have with this film is that it never really reaches any high marks. It all works very well, and has a lot of subtle touches, but overall the film really never gives me anything significant back. It’s a fun adventure with humour, romance and thriller moments, all in a neat little package. But as a movie viewer who usually looks for something more, be it themes, atmosphere or something intangible the film never delivers. There is a lot of potential in this piece of work, but I felt it somehow slipped away. Although I often talk about how I don’t care about a film being dark and depressing, I feel in this case it could have worked quite to its advantage. Indeed, several moments are quite dark, and these are the best. However, there is too much fooling around and the film looses a bit of its aim. A more serious tone and claustrophobia the film might have evoked much more emotions and ideas. Instead it stands as a solid but fairly uninteresting adventure film.

Bogart is great in this however, and encapsulates everything about his character. It is always fun to see Bogey in a different type of role, and here he does it marvellously. The chemistry between him and Hepburn is very good, which is essential considering they are the only two characters for the majority of the film. The location shooting is nice and gives it that extra touch of atmosphere, and the cinematography captures the landscape quite beautifully. The two lead characters have quite contrasting personalities which creates a lot of conflict, and continues to drive the film forward. One thing that struck me was how much comedy there is in this. A lot of the dialogue and situations are comical, and this adds to the variation of the film. However, there is a bit too much of everything. One could say this is a film that has everything, but sadly it is master of none. I don’t blame Huston’s directing, because for what it is it is impeccable for most of the time. However the script is too ambitious, and stretches in all directions at once. I don’t really like it when movies try to reach too far and miss the point in stead. A film can be better if it is concise and focused, although this is in no way a criterion. There are good films that have stretched far, but here it just isn’t executed as well as it might have been. It is different from many of the classic Hollywood films I’ve seen, but not always for the better.

An okay film that will entertain most. However I found there was too little to pick up here, the film remained too anonymous and hid behind a constant façade. It does a lot of things right, Bogey is good, Huston as always directs well, but the overall scope of the film looses sight and capsizes.

The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks, 1946)

Though talking gangsters, beautiful women, a lot of cigarettes and alcohol, twists and turns. The noir genre of the classical Hollywood period created some of the best films around. While noir has many common denominators, there is a surprising amount of variety in the genre. It is hard to specifically pin down what makes a noir film, but when you see one, you know it is a noir. There hasn’t been many good noirs since the fall of the Golden era of Hollywood, but a couple, such as Chinatown (Roman Polanski, 1974) and the interesting mix of noir and sci-fi Blade Runner (Ridley Scott, 1982). One of the things that signified the noir genre for me was the moody and atmospheric black and white cinematography. I love black and white cinematography, and much of this in Hollywood reached its peak in the noir genre.

When watching these old Humphrey Bogart films I get more and more sympathetic to the character in A Bout de Souffle (Jean-Luc Godard, 1959). He mimics and idealizes the old screen legend, but ends up very differently to his hero. There is always a great presence when Bogart is on screen. He was fantastic in In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950), where he manages to create some indefinable menace behind his eyes. While many today think that Bogart for the most part was typecast and didn’t have much width in his work, they are wrong. But it is easy to see why he often was cast as a tough talking detective, because he does it so incredibly well. At the same time, he captures something truthful and weaker behind his character, which almost always gives the films he play in extra depth. Before I got to know Bogart’s acting well, when I had just seen Casablanca, he was this sort of caricature character who was somehow not relatable and unreachable. However, with the years and the more films I’ve seen with him, it becomes more apparent why he holds the status as one of the greatest actors in Hollywood. But again, In a Lonely Place was the film that made me realize what a great actor he was. It is actually quite an underrated and fairly unknown film, but it is fantastic, and I absolutely recommend it to anyone who likes Bogart or classic Hollywood films.

The Big Sleep plays on mood, like a lot of other noir films. It is quite gritty, often shot at night. The cinematography isn’t conventionally beautiful, but works superbly, enhancing the feeling of decadence in the society that it portrays. Bogart is a private detective who gets a job to find out a blackmailer. However, from the first 10 minutes of the film the plot becomes almost hazardously complicated. It is okay though, because if you can to some moderate degree follow the plot then you will probably enjoy it. The power of the film is rather in the craft, the wonderful dialogue, and great chemistry between Bogart and Bacall. Much to my own surprise, I’ve never seen a Howard Hawks film before, but this was a great introduction. I was sure that I had seen a film by him, but as it turned out I haven’t. The film is properly dark and contains a lot of sexual sub-text, which make it all the more interesting. I do believe also that this probably was quite racy for its time, although by today’s standards it is not. But the darkness and grittiness still remains. Bogart is also not some superman, and does get beaten up quite a lot. But he uses mostly his intelligence instead of a gun. The dialogue is one of the best elements of the film though. It is witty but manages to put a lot of sub-text in there. It is proper stylized Hollywood type of dialogue, but I love it. It is much better crafted than screenplays which pretend to emulate “reality”. What’s the point of replicating reality when it is right out your window?

I loved The Big Sleep. It’s well executed on many different levels, Bogart is fantastic, the plot is way too crazy but it all fits in, and although you at the end might have some unanswered questions, you won’t really care anyway, because it doesn’t matter. Howard Hawk’s directing is precise and to the point. He doesn’t dwell and leaves little to be desired. I think I’ll watch the original Scarface sometime.

Nosferatu (F.W. Murnau, 1922)

Silent movies don’t always stay well with me. Sure, there was lots of admirable stuff in Sunrise (F.W. Murnau, 1927), but at the end I didn’t feel as satisfied as I thought I would. While I love the old silent films of Charlie Chaplin, the only other silent film I really loved was Körkarlen (Victor, Sjöström, 1921), which was quite fantastic. Then again, I haven’t seen that many silent films, so I am probably still missing out on a lot. I wanted to see this long ago, and bought it, but it turned out to be Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (Werner Herzog, 1979), which I thought was quite good.

Nosferatu reminded me a bit about Körkarlen, in that it dealt with a similar fantastical force and used atmospheric techniques. And in this Nosferatu really shines. The shadows on the walls, dark and sinister cinematography, wretched architecture and the vampire itself all add to the creepiness. The film is careful with using its techniques, but uses them always when appropriately. This is not a shocker; this is a film that builds its tension up slowly with mood, pacing and atmosphere. F.W. Murnau really shows off his talents as a visual storyteller here, he uses very interesting camera-angles and play with the landscapes to create tension. There is also a scene where a “werewolf” scares off a flock of horses, a scene that quite elegantly captures the fear of the people in the inn. There is also a scene on a dock when a couple of sailors open a box and a swarm of rats come pouring out. These scenes don’t always necessarily serve plot purposes or to further the narrative, but builds up the wonderful tension and creepiness. The different tints of colour that change with the scenes also add a lot to the atmosphere, and are used to great effect in each scene. Some of the best scenes are of people being carried away in coffins in the city, due to the “plague”. It shows just how menacing the vampire is and how much damage he causes.

Speaking about the vampire, he is probably the most effective element of the whole film. Max Schreck has the perfect face for a vampire, but a lot of the credit should be given to the make-up, which still even then managed to make the vampire look convincing. The ears, the teeth, the long fingers all gives the vampire a mystical and frightening look, which again is strengthened with the eerie aura of the film. Particularly a scene where the vampire enters the protagonist’s room is quite unnerving, building up the tension slowly. Most horror films of today tend to lean on shock effects, but don’t leave any particular lasting effect. There is a good reason why people still cite Nosferatu as one of the great examples of a horror. It uses mood and pacing to create the horror and psychological fear. Most old silent films often tend to have poor quality, which is to be expected to some degree. I bought the excellent Masters of Cinema release of Nosferatu, and they really did a great job with it. While some scene still remains a bit dodgy, most of the print is clear and sharp, which I feel is so important to such visual films. I would always recommend the Masters of Cinema films; they always do a great job and are the Region 2 equivalent of Criterion. The extras are also great, containing a booklet and a second disk with material.

I’m usually slightly ambivalent when watching silent films, but I though this was a great film. It leans on the wonderful mood and tension created through the visuals, dwells on images, and the vampire is truly frightening. Still, I know a lot of the modern audiences will not appreciate this, and you can tell the film was made for its time, and is not in any way compatible with contemporary cinema. Still, a great German classic by a director I really need to experience more of.

Roman Holiday (William Wyler, 1953)

I have to admit, these kinds of films have a big sentimental value for me. The old black and white classics of the Hollywood era when made right are always great. Sure, they don’t have a complex form or boast as big an artistic ambitiousness as say Tarkovsky or Bergman. What they do have though, is an impeccable craft, charismatic actors and wonderful narratives. I remember falling in love with such films as The Third Man (Carol Reed, 1949), Letter From an Unknown Woman (Max Ophüls, 1948), Casablanca (Michael Curtiz, 1942) and many, many others. Classic Hollywood has a lot of treasure in store, although I feel sometimes that my peers neglect these because of their commercial nature and sometimes lacking a complex narrative. But I don’t agree with this, these old films are great, and put most similar Hollywood movies made since the 70’s and today fall in shame.

I’m not too familiar with the old comedy genre of Hollywood. Certainly I am familiar with contemporary comedy, but it is quite different from the old Hollywood. One of my very favourite films though is a comedy of this era, The Apartment (Billy Wilder, 1960). I also loved It Happened One Night (Frank Capra, 1934). Roman Holiday is a very similar story to that of It Happened One Night, almost to the point of plagiarism I would say. However, the film manages to distinguish itself through some interesting and original twists, great dialogue and humour, the fantastic setting, and maybe most importantly the great chemistry and acting between Gregory Peck, Audrey Hepburn and Eddie Albert. The simple plot is that of a young heiress to the throne of a country that goes unnamed, although she and everyone around here has a sophisticated English accent, who decides she is tired of the life as a princess on official duty and runs away. This is while she is on tour in Rome. She meets Gregory Peck on the street, who is a reporter looking for the story of a lifetime. This is what is similar to It Happened One Night, where a young heiress to a rich family escapes to meet her lover, and is helped on the way by Clark Gable, who is a reporter looking for the story of a lifetime. Lo and behold, in both films the reporter and girl end up falling in love. However, Roman Holiday does distinguish itself quite clearly through the intricate details and humour, which is a bit different from It Happened One Night. And in the end, I didn’t feel bad towards the movie because of the many ways it reminded me of It Happened One Night, but for the great craft, charm and comedy.

The comedy in this film is very good. It is at times understated, but rarely becomes over the top. It does go to quite high places, but it doesn’t retract from the film because it has only few such moments and they are usually crucial to the narrative and very funny. A lot of this is due to the terrific performances, and although Audrey Hepburn takes a lot of the attention through her natural charm, I do feel this is quite a group effort. Gregory Peck always gets a bad deal from me when I watch him in films, because the first film I saw with him was To Kill a Mockingbird (Robert Mulligan, 1962) and to be honest, I don’t think he has ever done anything as good as that role, where he was fantastic. But he does hold his own in this film, and is always a presence, and has a wonderful comedy bit with Eddie Albert, who also adds a lot to the quality of the comedy in the film. One of the interesting elements of the film is how much of the narrative is about the spectacle of the ordinary. While people from ordinary lives in film escape to experience epic adventures, in this a woman from a very high position run escape to experience the ordinary. The director William Wyler does a great job creating spectacle out of the mundane and ordinary, and although a lot of this comes from the script, there is something about his directing which heighten the moment, and really captures the beauty of Rome in black and white. Roman Holiday was also one of the very early Hollywood films to go to such location shooting, and while I’ve never thought location shooting important or adding to the “realism” of a film, it really does create a wonderful atmosphere, which I feel is the most important part of location shooting.

Roman Holiday is a wonderful example of the classic Hollywood. It has got a strong script, great directing, wonderful cast and a fantastic location. This was also Audrey Hepburn’s first staring role, and she does a fantastic job with it, and won an academy award with it. As I’ve said, I have a sentimental feeling towards these old films, but if I look more objectively at them I can still tell that they are marvellously crafted. They really knew how to make films in those days…

Que la bête meure (Claude Chabrol, 1969)

With a great deal of unwatched DVD’s on my shelf it becomes harder and harder to choose what I want to watch. It feels great to have so much opportunity right in front of me, while at the same time it gets harder every time to choose what to watch, almost to the point where I don’t watch anything at all. The Chabrol collection I have seems like a mountain impossible to climb, still after watching this I’ve got 10 more films by him. It’s exiting though, and a great treat to be able to be emerged so deep into a director’s canon.

Visual storytelling has so far been Chabrol’s greatest strength, but with Que la bête meure we see a different side of Chabrol. While he had an interesting take on the world and a bit morbid fascination with relationships. Here though he leans less on the visuals, and the centre of the film becomes the mind of the protagonist, who goes through some radical changes and can be questioned by his motives. A car accident kills a young boy, the owner of the car drives away and the father seeks his revenge. It’s a simple revenge premise where he searches for the man who killed his son. As the narrative develops, though, it gets more complicated. There is also a lot we could ask the protagonist, he constantly writes in his diary with a red pen about how he is going to find and kill the person responsible, but in a lot of ways he is quite hesitant to do anything. When he finally discovers the person who did it, he takes an awfully long time to do what he meant to do. One could say he is bidding his time, but I find it more interesting to think that he actually is not able to do it, despite all the hate he has conjured in his mind. I don’t want to go too deep into the story, but safe to say there is a lot to pick up, lots of ways to analyze the protagonist and his actions.

While the film starts off as a mystery, it soon fades into a psychological drama and romance. But that’s okay, I see now why Chabrol is compared to Hitchcock, he implements a lot of the same narrative ideas as Hitchcock. Chabrol is still unique though, he uses his own brand of directing and pacing, and at times the characters in his films are a bit more dark and morbid than those in Hitchcock films. Chabrol seems to be fascinated with the slightly offbeat characters or situations, and through this creates a marvellous tension within the film. While I do like Que la bête meure a lot, I feel that compared to the two previous films I’ve seen by Chabrol it doesn’t hold up as well. What made those two films so great for me was the visual depiction in the film. While there certainly is something of that in here, it’s not as strong or prominent, rather leaning on a fairly simple narrative structure and not strengthening the film with visuals like the two previous films. What the film does do very well though is create tension. Not just thriller tension, but also social tension, some scenes where a family is gathered is wonderful and observational. While the protagonist lets us pose many interesting questions, a couple of the other characters are not as interesting, and at times feel too one-dimensional. I do think though in the case of the antagonist, this was Chabrol’s intension, but I’m not sure exactly why.

Que la bête meure is vintage Chabrol, and although it is lesser of the last films I’ve seen by him, it still holds up as a unique and rich experience. It’s amazing to think of how many good films Chabrol made in such a short period of time, and I’m quite looking forward to digging deeper.

A Matter of Life and Death (Powell and Pressburger, 1946)

It’s funny how when you delve into cinema there are some areas that you miss, and I’m not talking about some obscure Russian film from the 1930’s, but obvious classics and filmmakers that just go right above your head. The longer you go into the water, the deeper it gets and there is never enough time to see it all. I am sometimes ashamed at how few films I’ve actually seen and the lack of depth in my knowledge on cinema. The Powell and Pressburger duo is very famous and legendary, but it wasn’t until fairly recently that I for the first time heard of them, and decided to the get the Powell & Pressburger box set that contained 11 of their films. The first in line was A Matter of Life and Death, and when I saw the poster for it I immediately remembered it from the 1001 Films You Must See Before You Die book. I was anxious to see what sort of cinema this British duo might have to offer.

Technically speaking, this is one of the films I’ve been the most impressed with. Not in the way, oh say, Star Wars was impressive for its use of special effects, but how inventive and well implemented. The opening scene is fantastic, and the set-pieces are wonderfully created. It just shows you that truly creative and ambitious people are behind the process. But I’ve always stressed narrative over technical stuff, so lets just get down to it. A Matter of Life and Death is a fairly standard boy meets girl story, but has a compelling twist that makes the film truly original and imaginative. The protagonist played by David Niven has barely escaped a flight crash during WW2, and meets an American woman played by Kim Hunter. They fall in love at an instant, fairly classical way. However, shortly into the film it turns out that the protagonist was supposed to die, but because of the heavy fog that day the person from “up there” who was going to get him missed him. Now he has come to reclaim the protagonist, but he refuses, claiming that the time he was given made him fall in love, and now it is unreasonable to take him back. This opens for a very interesting and different story, which constantly raises questions in the audiences head, whether this messenger from “up there” is just a part of the protagonist’s imagination, or if he is real. There is no quite correct answer, and I believe many audiences will be split in two.

A Matter of Life and Death is a good example of how you take a trite old cliché and turn it around and make it wonderful and imaginative. The twist in the plot makes the film all the more memorable for the audience, and seals its place as a classic. But it’s not just the film being original, but the solid script and directing which makes the film very enjoyable to watch. There is quite a bit of hidden and non-hidden humour in there, one of my favourite characters was the French person ordered to bring the protagonist back “up there”. The film is shot in both colour and black & white; earth in colour and “up there” in black and white. This contrast is nice, and it opens up for a bit of interpretation. This is similar to Wim Wender’s Der Himmel Über Berlin (1987), where from the point of view of the angels the world is black and white, but when the angel comes to the world of the living it is in colour. What I felt was important about this was the certain coldness there was to “up there”, almost sterile. “Up there” is also only filmed on a set, so there is a purposeful hard architecture to the place, which makes earth seem all the livelier.

Seeing as I bought a box containing 11 films, I shouldn’t expect too much from the quality of the picture. However, I was a bit let down. For example, in one of the earliest scenes there are to images juxtaposed, one of David Niven and one of Kim Hunter. While the shot of Niven is fine and sharp, the shot of Hunter is quite blurry and unfocused, which I am sure was not the intention of the filmmakers. There is also a scene where the French person who is coming to get the protagonist is arriving on earth. He looks around him on the beautiful colours which are otherwise absent where he lives. This scene should have been beautiful, but the colours on the transfer are all horrible, there is a lot of wrong mixing of colours and the edges of the screen are very burnt out with some ugly orange colour. While the box set was cheap and I probably shouldn’t complain about such an extensive collection, I do feel a bit annoyed when great films don’t get the transfer they deserve. Graininess and not to sharp picture quality are not too bad, which is why black and white films usually get the best transfers, but in my book bad transfer of colour is unforgivable. Just look at the horrible quality of Dersu Uzala (Akira Kurosawa, 1975), the colours should have been so sharp and radiant, but instead they are blurred together and don’t spark that much. In contrast, a great transfer can make brilliant results, like the Cinema Reserve version of The Fly (David Cronenberg, 1986), where the colours are absolutely beautiful and crystal clear.

If you are going to check this out, I would recommend you to get a better version than I did. Still, I only spent something above £10 and still have 10 films left to see, so it isn’t too bad. Lately I’ve seen a couple of marvellous films, and this goes right into that category. The narrative is wonderful and imaginative, the cinematography is good (although it could have been better in a better DVD release), and the acting is good, although some of the lesser characters steal the show. The sets and some of the special effects are amazing, not just in a technological sense, but in the artfulness and wonderful execution and implementation of them. Very memorable, one of the best British films I’ve seen.

Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright, 2004)

I’ve got no great infatuation with zombie films, but I found this in a store for £3 and thought it might be a nice view for a good laugh, and my friend a couple of years ago recommended this to me. Although I had my doubts, parody has become a blighted genre of late, if you are any familiar with contemporary American cinema you will know what I am talking about. But considering this was British, I thought it might be different. And indeed it was.

One of the things that really get to me in parody movies is how way over the top they go. I known, it’s a parody, but it truly borders on the pointless. Shaun of the Dead, however, shows us how a good parody film should be made. It borrows from its inspiration, but at the same time is quite loving to its source. Most American parody films are vile and mock their source, which makes us question what the whole purpose is. It is clear that the filmmakers loved the old zombie films, and make a lot of reference to these films, but also manages to make fun of the clichés and plot holes without mocking them. One thing I found interesting was that this film was clearer shot and looked more professional than one of its sources, Dawn of the Dead (George A. Romero, 1978). It is usually the other way around, but considering Romero’s original films were fairly low-budget it does make some sense. The effects are good, although quite scarce, at least compared to Dawn of the Dead. Shaun of the Dead is clever in putting a fairly normal romantic comedy plot into the zombie film. Not so cleverly though they used very similar fast paced editing techniques seen in Guy Ritchie’s Snatch (2000). First off, these techniques are superficial and redundant. They do not necessarily add to the narrative, and although they did in Snatch, don’t here. There is quite a bit of good directing though, one of my favourite parts is a long take where the camera pans with the protagonist as he goes to get something from the store. This is repeated twice, the second time after the zombies have started to take over, however the characters actions remain exactly the same.

This is one of the most interesting comedic points the film makes, how most people in the beginning of the film don’t notice the zombies. A scene where two of the main characters see a zombie in their garden, they respond with: “Oh my God. She’s so drunk!” The film makes a point in many ways how some of us are mindless zombies anyway, not to mention the ending, but it is a fairly original idea and is executed well, although a similar idea was done on The Simpsons a couple of years earlier. The most important thing to ask though is if the comedy works. I would say it does, the film is cast well and the comedy is very good. It’s not over the top, but slightly understated. There is a lot of in your face comedy, and quite a bit of subtle hidden comedy bits you won’t necessarily get on the first view. The film also plays well with its genre conventions, and mixing the two really works well. Another thing that separates this from most of the garbage that comes from America is that it’s quite dark for a comedy. There are several parts that aren’t that funny, but quite sad, and some moments make us actually care about the characters, while the American equivalent makes its characters out of tinfoil. I believe fans of zombie films will love this, because it makes gracious references to its sources and heighten the genre.

I was very surprised by this film, and in a good way. I just watched it to have something easy to watch, and while that was right; it turned out to have a lot more potential than I thought. The directing goes from being annoying to very good, but the comedy is rarely left out, and when it is, it’s for something more interesting. Recommended to film viewers in general.

A Woman Under the Influence (John Cassavetes, 1974)

I never knew what to expect from Cassavetes, all I knew was that he was an independent filmmaker who made several influential films in America, outside of Hollywood. But I had never gotten any pointer towards what sort of style he used as a director, what sort of themes or issues that interested him. All I knew was that he was well recommended, and I had wanted to see some of his films for some time. I loved the two films I had previously seen by him, and was looking forward to watch maybe his most critically praised film, A Woman Under the Influence.

John Cassavetes has a remarkable directing style, and I’ve seen it develop across three films, Shadows (1959), Faces (1968), and this. His style is frenetic, bringing us up-close to characters at intense and dramatic moments. I would use the word “intense” to describe Cassavetes films, because they are true mood-swingers and show us the characters in a wonderfully truthful way. The acting and the way the camera portrays it is raw, stark and direct, catching the actors on screen like you rarely see in cinema. The directing is not stylised, but simple and effective. The way Cassavetes uses the focus to change our attention is fantastic, and greatly adds to the drama on screen. The film in scenes with social gatherings builds up tension steadily, before bursting into audiovisual violence. It is basically a character drama, but perhaps one of the deepest and most complicated I’ve seen. Cassavetes is unafraid of bringing up taboo family issues and pose questions that most wouldn’t want to answer. A marriage is about to fall apart due to the wife’s mental state. She is awkward in social situations, something her temperamental cannot take.

With this pretence Cassavetes builds several scenes and scenarios that all contain fantastic dramatic quality, drawing from the talents of the cast. You will rarely see better acting than in this film; it is good all across the board, but it is supported best by the wife and husband, who are great at portraying their characters in an almost menacing way. The children are a bit stiff, but with this style of acting you could hardly expect anything else. The audience is brought to ask several critical questions of the married couple but also about the rest of the family and friends. We ask; is the wife mentally unstable, or is it the people around here who believe so because of their own prejudice and inadequacies? There are layers of relationships lying around the film, and it is up to the audience to pick them up. We can track down the reasons for characters traits through another character, their background are subtly built into the script and the story. But at the core is Cassavetes directing style, which I am really beginning to love. It is simple, but inclines several complicated layers of depth, and he creates within even the smallest scene a lot of depth. The handheld style lets us come up-close with the characters. Then sometimes, Cassavetes takes a step back and let us take a more critical and distanced view at what is going on.

It is easily said, A Woman Under the Influence is a masterpiece. Cassavetes has taken his directing to a high that impresses me greatly. The acting is superb, but it comes from the unique way Cassavetes directs his performers. The shots are sometimes beautiful, contemplative and violent. And when the film is over you are left with something truly unique.

Rififi (Jules Dassin, 1955)

Crime fascinates us, because it operates with other parameters and rules compared to our normal boring everyday lives. There are wise talking men and beautiful women, intrigue and danger. Some of the great Hollywood legends, such as Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro and Paul Newman literally made their careers playing these types. The genre is interesting because when you put characters in such settings it allows developing themes about morality and friendship. Some of the best and most successful Hollywood classics were noirs, shot in stark black and white and covered with alcohol and cigarettes. I’ve always associated the noir genre with Hollywood, so it was interesting to take a look at this film, a noir made in France.

Rififi as a heist movie deals with fairly common themes and ideas in the genre, such as how the robbers risk anything for the heist, how their foolishness might lead to their demise. What makes Rififi unique from a lot of other similar films is its marvellous directing and characters. A lot of the narrative is somewhat foreseeable, experienced viewers will know when something important is going to happen or any plot twist. But it doesn’t matter, because Rififi is told in such a compelling manner that all these prejudices are left out. Even though a lot of American noirs were quite dark, this is one of the darkest noirs I’ve seen, dwelling deep into greed and evil in people. This is excellently juxtaposed with the more innocent lives of the main characters, like the young father who lives a perfectly normal life with his wife and child. The atmosphere created by the directing works well towards this goal, filming the characters at home slightly mundane, while using much more interesting and intense techniques in scenes that deal with their criminal lives. The process in which they go through to plan their heist is also very well executed, giving us a close look at them work, but it never gets boring or out of hand. The characters themselves are well built, but the best is probably the main character Tony, played by Jean Servais, is very layered; violent but at the same time gentle to his friends.

The best scene is the one that is most famous, and rightly so. The heist itself, executed over thirty minutes screen time with no dialogue or music, just the background sounds. This together with the excellent camera play creates an unyielding tension and atmosphere, I was quite nervous towards the end of the heist. There is more to the film than just the heist, though, and much of the film works out as a dramatic character play. The ending sequence is also riveting, and manages at the end to both question the audience and make a statement. In many ways the film plays out as any of the big noir films of the Hollywood golden era, but it does differ in several ways. While technically not on-par with some of the best Hollywood films, Rififi manages through its simplicity to achieve some truly poignant shots, such as the ending shot, or some of the shots later in the film. Rififi also plays a bit more with the innocent/dark themes than Hollywood films, who at the time tended to just lean towards the one or the other. And that’s what I think Rififi is so remembered for, not just its excellent directing, but its fearlessness.

I thoroughly enjoyed Rififi, its character plot is interesting and layered, the themes are well established and developed, and the directing is spotless, simple and to the point, but works extremely well. It is quite dark, but it suits the themes and the genre. I do love noirs though, and I will look out for more interesting foreign noirs if there are any worth seeing.

Solaris (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1972)

I haven’t seen a Tarkovsky film in quite a few years, but he was one of the first art house directors that I really learnt to love, by watching Zerkalo (1975) something like four years ago. I also in fairly quick succession watched Andrei Rublev (1966) and Stalker (1979). After that though I never got around to watch another Tarkovsky film, although I consider all these three masterpieces. It might also have something to do with people in general being less enthusiastic about his other films, although I rarely hear anything bad about his other films, just not as much hype as the three aforementioned.

Tarkovsky is probably the most interesting director I’ve encountered. His films strike a balance between entering the real and the lucid. They sway effortlessly between dream reality, and are driven by an intangible hypnotic pace. His films also contain some of the most astonishing cinematography in cinema; his colour films contain vibrant images, while his black and white images are dark and have a strange resonance in me. Solaris contain all these things, although perhaps a little less refined than in the other films. There are certainly beautiful moments, and the pace is fantastic. What makes this film interesting in a very different way than his other films though is its mystery. Sure, all his films are mysterious to some degree, but those times it is rather the mystery of something intangible. Here the mystery is specific, the ocean of the planet Solaris. Stalker also had its mystery of the Zone, but in Solaris the mystery is much more apparent, and in many ways more immediate. The atmosphere aboard the station is fantastic, and the mood of tension is there constantly. You feel the uncertain threat of the mysterious ocean; this uncertainty is one of the most important things in the film. The film in true Tarkovsky spirit dwells between the realms of dream and reality, although the lines are clearer cut here than in the other Tarkovsky films, but towards the end the film does allow itself to become somewhat more ambiguous.

The themes in this film are also a bit clearer than in Tarkovsky’s other films, although it is never close to bordering the obvious. It deals with themes such as love, existentialism, family and, perhaps most importantly, mans understanding of the universe and himself. These themes are developed throughout, and Tarkovsky’s usual symbolism makes an appearance, one of my favourite being his fascination with water and nature, which he always manages to convey and look beautiful. There are some scenes that will probably stick in my mind for quite some time, and these scenes are what make Solaris a really great film. However, unlike the other films I’ve seen by him; yes even Zerkalo, the film fell a bit short as a whole. There are some parts that are only mildly interesting, and there is a part which is a bit of a slump, the beginning is really good and sets up the rest of the film, and the ending as well is fantastic. It is hard to put my finger down somewhere specific, but the film lacked a clear-cut line going through the whole film. This was one of the brilliant elements about Zerkalo; while the narrative was disjointed the film felt as a whole due to overlapping themes and a specific idea running throughout the film. Solaris loses its focus somewhere, and is somewhat hurt by it.

This is the film by Tarkovsky that I liked the least, but that’s not saying a whole lot, because I really like this film, and it still stands on its own as a great piece of cinema. It is fascinating, emotionally and psychologically deep, as well as mystic and contemplative. It’s beautifully shot and evokes many feelings in the viewer, and ultimately this being a weaker film compared to the three other films I’ve seen by Tarkovsky shows me again what a great filmmaker Tarkovsky is.

El Topo (Alejandro Jodorowsky, 1970)

So after a short spell with Hollywood classics, I decided I needed to get back into the dark and gritty corner of art-house films. You probably know the feeling when there is some cult-classic you’ve heard so much about, but haven’t seen. This was the case with me and El Topo, a “cult-classic” that apparently changed the world and cured two types of cancer. It was directed by a guy called Alejandro Jodorowsky, a guy I mistakenly though directed the highly questionable Requiem for a Dream (Darren Aronofsky, 2000). And it would have made sense if it was so, because El Topo is also highly questionable.

Ostensibly, the film is a mix of surrealism, western and gore. There is also quite a bit of religious allegory going on. A gun-wielding desperado goes on a hunt in the desert for four gun masters so he can impress his girlfriend, and in the progress of all this he is stricken with guilt about his actions, as he cheats his way through the duels. For lovers of gore this film should be right up your alley, as there is plenty of blood and decapitation. The effects are done well and look proper, but I always come to question a film when there is a huge amount of blood, what is it all for, if for anything. I’m also not sure exactly what the film is trying to say, there is a lot to read in it, but it all seems for naught because of the sometimes hazardous camera-angles and strange techniques. There is something almost juvenile about the directing, but at the same time there is something indefinable that is quite interesting. Is this a film that promotes silliness and gore just for the silliness and gore, or is there something deeper to this film? I know a lot of people do read into this, so I will not throw it off yet, but when watching it I never really felt impressed or in awe. This reminded me of Fellini’s Satyricon (1969), but felt that film was more interesting, although I was slightly baffled by it as well.

I guess the main theme I managed to excavate from this film was about redemption in religious terms. After the character has done his bad deeds, the film takes him to another place where he has to atone for his sins. He is through some events brought to a city isolated in the desert, and this is one of the more interesting parts of the film. The city is wonderfully satirical, ruled by a bunch of elderly ladies who pretend to be respectable but are anything but, and use their slaves for their own entertainment. There is also a wonderful scene in a church where the priest has put a bullet in a gun with six chambers, meaning if you shoot there is a 1/6 chance that you will shoot a bullet, and has the people pass it around and point at their own head and click, only to realize when they are not dead the “greatness” of God. Of course, this bullet is a blank, and wouldn’t have fired anyway, showing in a great way the negligent and superficial religion in the town. If I would say something about Jodorowsky as a filmmaker, I would say he is a very physical director. He is constantly interested in shapes, particularly of the human body, the cast and extras all have very strange and unusual bodies and faces. There is one interesting scene, where two men are tied together; one has no legs, the other has no arms. It is a very interesting image, and together with a lot of similar physicality’s remain some of the more interesting aspects of this film.

I did not care too much for this film, I have to say. There is a lot of interesting individual observations and a certain atmosphere throughout the film, but for me it became too childish at times. I know I mentioned I appreciated the silliness in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but I cannot say the same for this. Together with all the blood it does seems to take too much away from the film itself as a whole and I felt this undermined the themes and some of the other wonderful observations and scenes. Interesting, but not thoroughly noteworthy.

Sympathy for the Devil (Jean-Luc Godard, 1968)

As I talked about when writing on Performance (Donald Cammell; Nicholas Roeg, 1970) I am a big fan of the Rolling Stones. So this felt like a bit of a treat, one of my favourite filmmakers covering the making of The Stones classic song Sympathy for the Devil. Other than that I did not know what sort of film this would be, but I expected some sort of documentary. However, what I got was something quite different, something that I think that I and many others who see it will be confused by. However, I will try to discern exactly what I saw.

First off, there is the documentary footage of The Rolling Stones recording their song. What first is puzzling about this is the way it is presented. Every single scene is a long take, and there doesn’t seem to be any particular idea of the presentation. They are very straight forward, long runs of The Stones trying out different stuff to improve and build their song. Recordings start, then stop, and then start again. Usually in conventional filmmaking the director would cut in between these moments, but as we are to expect, Godard is not a conventional filmmaker. This creates a certain feeling of reality; nothing seems to be left out, but for what purpose? I’ve seen quite a few Godard films, but this is on so many levels impenetrable. While a lot of the scenes with The Stones are enjoyable, you are left wondering what it is all in purpose of. I guess we have to look fairly deeply into what Godard is doing, because on the surface nothing seems to be for any purpose, but I know Godard too well, and know that he would rather hide it really well than make his films about nothing. The idea of truth is always prevalent in Godard’s films, so I would say that there certainly is an element of this in these blocks of footage of The Stones. The film in many ways redefines the long take, because they are at times painfully long and would make Tarkovsky shy away. But where Tarkovsky creates meaning within his images, there seems like there is a certain emptiness in these shots, which obviously comes from not being staged. The camera pans and tilts across the different Stones members, observing them with true patience. I really loved the observances of Brian Jones, playing acoustic guitar, but the guitar cannot be heard on the track. Quite a stark foreshadowing, I don’t even think Godard was quite aware of, but he certainly found something interesting in some of these shots. Another great moment is where Mick Jagger and some backup singers sing the vocals, but there is no instrumentation. Again, an interesting way of showing the process, but also building on the themes of sound/visuals that Godard developed in his earlier works.

I’ve talked a lot about the footage of The Stones, but there is also something else in this film. In between the shoots of The Stones, there are scenes that are in fact fiction, or at least set up. The shots of The Stones connect the film together and give it a certain feel of linearity, while these other pieces are observations and ideas presented by Godard. These scenes are like the Rolling Stones shoots shot in one take, and long takes at that. One of the segments shows us a group of black resistance fighters who load up on guns and kill young white women. Another segment depicts a young woman being berated with questions by an interviewer and his camera crew. What all these individual segments have in common is their depiction of the counter-culture movement of the 60’s. Godard himself was very political, and so we can see why he is interested in this movement and the new arising culture. In fact, he wanted to make a film with The Beatles, but for some reason it didn’t come through. With these segments the film does start to take some sort of structure, they are his examples of the new movement that is moving towards social change, while at the same time juxtaposing these with The Stones, who together with the likes of The Beatles, Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix symbolized these changes. I believe that Godard was commissioned to just make a documentary about The Stones, but then in his usual matter turned this into his own personal agenda. Some of these segments on their own are quite interesting though, particularly one in a fascist magazine shop where two revolutionary students are held and slapped by all the customers. The shop sells sleazy magazines, most of questionable pornography. This reminds me of Godard’s Week End (1967), a similar film where Godard takes these kinds of satirical viewpoints and hammer it over our heads. But like most things Godard do, they are done with glee; there is something indefinable novel about them.

So how does all these elements connect together to create a coherent film? With this kind of film, I think it is important that we drop all previous ideas of what a film should be, and just focus on what this film is in of itself. It is an encapsulation and look at the 60’s counter-culture, as well as prominently voicing Godard’s Marxist opinion of the world. It is fairly known that his later films of the 60’s became increasingly political, and this Stones “documentary” is no exception. But as with most Godard films, it is also a statement about reality and truth in cinema. Although this is not an idea I particularly care for, many connect the long take to reality, claiming editing obscures reality. Interesting that a filmmaker like Godard would go this way, particularly considering he popularized the jump-cut. There is an interesting duality of reality/fiction in this film. On one hand, there is the “real” recording of The Stones, but then there are the “fictitious” staged sequences. Yet these two opposites are filmed in a very similar manner, the same panning long take. Although the scenes with the black resistance fighters is staged, the performer themselves are not actors, but real members of the resistance group depicted. This is one of the films strongest points, creating this duality of fiction and reality, a theme that Godard seems to be constantly concerned with. The idea is prominently brought up in his films, but to a certain level of success in this film. Sometimes the performers or actors are aware of the camera, sometimes not. Some of the staged scenes the actors seem more aware of the camera than The Stones, again in many defying usual convention and playing with the idea of what reality is.

Although I’ve discussed the film to a certain level of depth, I still feel I haven’t unravelled it completely, although I doubt I ever will. Like with most Godard films, it probably rewards repeated viewings. The film is as fascinating as it is frustrating, but there are some themes that come clearly through, particularly Godard’s more satirizing moments. It is a film that I wouldn’t quickly recommend, but it is sure interesting, and if watched with the right mindset can be rewarding. The film feels like a progression of his career, and people who though Godard’s early films are too unconventional will probably be alienated by this. The same could be said for the average Rolling Stones fan, who I would not recommend this to. Essentially, you will know in yourself whether or not you wish to watch this film.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (George Roy Hill, 1969)

I watched The Sting (1973) quite a few years ago. It was directed by the same director of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and I remember liking it quite a lot, the chemistry between Newman and Redford was very enjoyable, the whole film had a very lean mood to it, it was great but didn’t take itself to seriously, and allowed itself to play around a bit with the medium. That said, it’s a while since I saw it, and my memory is still a little fuzzy. But again, like The Hustler, I wanted to watch more classics featuring Paul Newman, and this was another of those famous films that I for some reason hadn’t seen so far.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a hard film to categorize. The opening is beautifully shot and the atmosphere reminded me of something by Andrei Tarkovsky. However, the film is literally a rollercoaster ride. The film visits so many styles and moods it’s quite dazzling. Some moments are fun and sweet, others are sad and contemplative. But always at its heart there is a lot of humour, funny lines, little observation, and the playful acting between Newman and Redford. There is a strange intangible sense of joy in this film, even in its harsher moments. One of the defining moments in the film is when Paul Newman as Butch Cassidy rides around on a bicycle to the song “Raindrops keep fallin’ on my head”, shot in a wonderful montage style. The scene is in many ways a diversion from some of the seriousness of the film, and is the first true sign of the film leaning more towards a humorous tone rather than a serious one. But that’s fine; I loved the films less edgy mood, the film itself is just a joy to watch. There is this consensus that a film of this type should be serious and gritty. I admit, in my younger adolescent years I also only loved gritty and dark depressing films, but now I love these kinds of films. I don’t care for all out silly films, but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid it’s done with class and subtly, and makes the film something else compared to most of these types of films.

When I saw the credits, I noticed that Conrad C. Hall was the cinematographer, and immediately I knew I was in for a treat. And yes, the cinematography is beautiful; it varies in form and style throughout the film, which only makes it more impressive. This goes well with the themes of the film, as I said, a rollercoaster ride. It is strange how lovable the two scoundrels that are Robert Redford and Paul Newman can be so lovable, but this is also added to by the humorous tone of the film. If the film had been much more dark and grittier then they might not have worked so well, and would have mirrored Alex from A Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick, 1971). They are never prone to direct violent action, not a lot anyway, and when they are, we are always rooting for them to succeed. While I’ve empathised that this film is quite humorous and silly at times, there is in fact a couple of really serious and thoughtful sequences, scattered around the film. The fact that they come in bits and pieces make them even more powerful and poignant, something like a crystallizing effect. Films that are too serious and too dark quickly become bland and the audience might lose their engagement, but in this the serious moments create wonderful points which hold the film together as a whole.

I loved Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I thought it would be a gritty and serious western, but it turned out to be a joyride that has so many outstretching qualities it is hard to examine at times. What kind of movie is this really? This is what I like to think of as a cinema’s movie, a film that so much encapsulates the joy of filmmaking and the art-form, a film that captures the chemistry between Newman and Redford, and will stand as a wonderful exercise in filmmaking, that I will be sure to re-watch time and time again.

The Hustler (Robert Rossen, 1961)

Not too long ago one of cinema’s biggest legends, Paul Newman, passed way. I’ve seen him in a couple of films, The Verdict (Sidney Lumet, 1982), The Sting (George Roy Hill, 1973). He was also one of the few good things in Road to Perdition (Sam Mendes, 2002), along with Conrad Hall’s cinematography. But I had still missed out on several of his classics, so I thought it would be about time to catch up on some of the films I’ve wanted to see for some time. First up was The Hustler, a film I’ve wanted to see for a long time, but always put off.

At first glance it seems like a typical Hollywood film of the era. However, it differs in some good ways. It is much more direct about its subject matter, while still being a fairly deep psychological drama. The film is literally drowned in alcohol and cigarettes, the two main characters are for the majority of the first half drunk, but it is not just those two either. During the pool matches a huge amount of alcohol is consumed, and this works well in defining the characters, as well as creating tension. This is accompanied by beautiful and crisp black & white cinematography, which while not being beautiful on the spot, creates the perfect mood and empathises the grittiness of the characters lives. I asked myself before watching this; can I really enjoy a film about men playing pool? The answer is simply yes. The sequences are so well shot and directed, the tension is constantly built up, and the camera angles always add something to the sequences. Obviously, it’s not just about pool. It’s about sportsmanship, greed, and an unusual romance. But at the core of the film is the pool, and most important of all; the bar room atmosphere, supported by a great jazzy soundtrack.

The cast is great. I refuse to let my emotions of Newman recently passing away blur my judgement, but he was truly great in this. Just he looking across a room gives a shot significant meaning, and he is quite unusual from most Hollywood stars. There is a reason why Fast Eddie Felson has become such a legendary character, he is created through Newman. But he’s not alone though, and doesn’t steal the show completely. George C. Scott is in this, and is as always fantastic and charismatic; I loved his character, even though he was an outright bastard. I guess it is a bit of an insult to Scott, but this feels like the character he was born to play. Actually, I think he would be happy with that statement. Jackie Gleason is also great as Minnesota Fats, a great character that at times stands tall in front of Eddie Felson, and their relationship is one of the best I’ve seen in Classical Cinema. They are rivals, yet they love and respect each other. This range of characters makes sure that the film stays interesting and twists and turns at every corner, they are more than well enough examined. This is one of the things I’ve felt that Hollywood at its best always did better than anyone, great psychological examinations of its characters; I’ll certainly be looking out for more of this.

It was nice to see this finally, I read about it probably three or four years ago, but always had something else to watch. I finally got the DVD, the Cinema Reserve edition, which I’ve already raved about, it is the superior edition, no faults in picture or sound quality, plus a audio commentary by Newman himself, which I am surely going to listen to, a great last stand from a legend.