Farewell to Matyora (aka The Farewell)

Some of the most memorable images in all of cinema have been courtesy of Russian filmmakers and their utilization of fire. Think of Tarkovsky and the way he uses fire in films such as, The Mirror, Nostalghia, and The Sacrifice, and then there's Klimov and the literally unforgettable burning scene from Come and See. Elem Klimov is behind the camera yet again with this film which features scenes in which a giant tree is lit on fire, huts, and an entire village are burned. It's a metaphor for progress -- the destruction of the past and memory, to make way for the future, which takes the form of a dam which requires the relocation of a rural village. At least I think that's what was happening. To tell you the truth what was happening was far less important to me than the haunting, dreamlike imagery which has a way of capturing the past and memory in every frame. It's not the masterpiece of his Come and See, but it is an experience that lives on in memory. Faces and passage of time take on a new dimension, as Tarkovsky consistently proved. It's too bad that this film is all but forgotten.

Port of Shadows

French director, Marcel Carne, was a specialist during the era known as "poetic realism" which took place in France during the 30's and 40's. In this film he tells of an army deserter played by Jean Gabin who makes his way to the port city of Le Havre, looking for a ship to take him away. However, he finds himself involved with a lovely seventeen year old girl and some of the shadier individuals of the town which leads to a conclusion that Pauline Kael described as fatalistic. That may be, but while it may not be the great film that his later Children of Paradise was, his choice to portray the underworld not as hard-nosed gangsters, but as lonely souls looking for meaning in life, is, well, poetic and even a bit touching at times. In some ways, this is the kind of film that would later influence the American film noir movement of the 40's.

Wind From the East

In the history of cinema, no director has utilized the medium of film to a greater degree or with a greater understanding than Jean-Luc Godard. It seems so clear that while watching this utterly unorthodox film, that he truly believes in the possibilities of cinema -- to him it has the possibility of changing the world. He made this in 1971, during his most radically political period, when he and a group of filmmakers had gotten together and called themselves the "Dziga Vertov group" after the great Soviet documentarian/propogandist of the 20's. This is not so much a film as a cinematic essay on the nature of world politics, thoroughly soaked with the philosophies of Marx, Engles, and Lenin, and the need for the workers around the world to rebel against their capitialist exploiters. The essence of Marx, the film proclaims, is that "it is right to rebel". Granted, my politics rest firmly on the other end of the spectrum, but I can't help but be fascinated by the way in which he presents his argument. There is no story, and there is almost no mise-en-scene, just a series of images combined with a few semi-dramatic scenes, with the focus being the ever present narrator discussing such topics as the necessity of revolution and the nature of cinema itself (especially in relation to the workers, and the history of revolutionary filmmaking). Though it is not a voice reading a half-assed book report, it is a voice speaking in the language of cinema -- a voice that speaks and make you want to listen. This isn't one of Godard's greatest films, though it is his most thoroughly political, and an utterly fascinating document as only he could make.

The Touch

Ingmar Bergman's first English language film was panned upon its initial release, but in retrospect, while not ranking with his assortment of masterpieces, it remains a welcome film from his canon. Bibi Andersson, in a wonderful performance, plays a housewife happily married to respected doctor, Max von Sydow. Soon they both become friends with American archaeologist, Elliott Gould, who promptly declares his love for Andersson. She is taken aback by his declaration, yet seems drawn to him just the same, and soon they find themselves conducting an affair. Gradually, his personality begins to manifest itself as he varies between tender lover and violent brute. I say this is a welcome film for Bergman because it can easily be separated from the body of his work. While still focusing on only a handful of characters, he sets the film in a city (I was never certain on which), rather than his isolated island of Faro in which many of his films are set. I never realized how much setting has to do in creating mood as when I started juxtaposing this film with his others. The setting alone must account for a large percentage of the austerity and dreariness associated with his work. Then, there's Sven Nykvist's color photography which, rather than being start black and white or even the bold saturated colors of Cries and Whispers, he emphasizes the blue's and cooler colors, creating perhaps the most purely pleasant visual palette you are ever likely to find in a Bergman film. Gould is a decent actor, though he doesn't have the presence and depth of von Sydow. One could probably make some justifiable complaints about the progression of the story and the characters, but I was so captivated by how "pleasant" this film felt considering the director, that I probably managed to overlook some of its faults. Don't get me wrong, this is certainly a Bergman film, with many of his typical elements, but one that leaves you feeling pleasant (sorry for overuse of the word) at the end -- not depressed and not elated or transcendent.

Re-Animator

Mostly unenjoyable, gore-fest, cult horror film in which a young doctor cons a friend from med school into helping him experiment with a serum that re-animates the dead. Soon we've got zombies that would probably be better off dead in the long run, so why bother to bring them back. The special effects are impressive, including a headless scientist whose body carries around his head, but the film lacks the wit, suspense, and enjoyablility of similar 80's horror films like, The Evil Dead or Return of the Living Dead. The climax, however, in which about a dozen zombies awake and attack the living in a morgue, is something like spectacular, but it doesn't make up for the rest of the film.

God Forgives... I Don't

Lame spaghetti western about, surprise, revenge and bloodshed. Features an unusual syth/organ score and a villain named, Bill San Antonio. Great title, though. I mean, really, I wish I'd thought of it.

Death Rides a Horse

To watch this spaghetti western is to understand the inspiration of what makes Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill so much fun to watch. In fact, were you to take this film, change a couple of things around and add martial arts, then you would have Kill Bill. The film opens on a massacre scene in which a young boy witness his parents and older sister murdered by a band of outlaws (fortunately, each of them reveal a distinguishing mark which the boy etches into his memory for later identification). Fifteen year later he becomes a sharp shooting, blue eyed B-movie legend, John Phillip Law, and wants revenge. About this same time, a weathered, mysterious Lee Van Cleef is let out of prison and he also seems to have a vendetta against the same band of outlaws. I guess the two of them should get together. Van Cleef provides a sturdy presence, and Law has an awful "Western" drawl that makes the film all the more enjoyable, however, when it comes to the quick draw, he's very impressive. They go from town to town running into the various outlaws one by one and offing them until they come to the final showdown. To add to the Kill Bill connections, when Law's character sees one of the murders, it quickly goes to a flashback involving a snap-zoom and the boy's identification of that particular villain's distinguishing mark as Uma Thurman did with each of her victims. Plus Tarantino even swiped a piece of Ennio Morricone's score from this film for a scene in vol. 2. This film is a bit too long, but if you are able to lose yourself into this particular kind of bad movie, then you probably won't regret it.

Eyes Without a Face

Slightly overrated, though influential horror film from Georges Franju about a brilliant, though slightly crazy surgeon perfecting a technique of grafting facial tissue from one person to another (or from a recently deceased person to another, if you catch my drift). The surgeons daughter has been horribly disfigured in a car crash, leaving only her eyes in tact in regards to her face, so daddy dearest is determined to fix her face. Strangely enough, a number of young girls, about his daughters age, have been disappearing throughout Paris of late. Coincidence, you say? Probably not. Easily the most memorable images from the film involve the daughters frighteningly life-like/lifeless mask which was later copied (not as well) in Open Your Eyes/Vanilla Sky. The script was by Pierre Boileau and Thomas Narcejac who would later go on to write Vertigo and Les Diabolique. However, Franju is no Hitchcock. In fact, he's not even a Cluozot. The film is too slow, and its science-is-evil message a bit too juvenile to make this a great film, yet it is atmospheric and has that understated thriller quality which the French have mastered, though would display better in later films. Nevertheless, it doesn't take someone with 20/20 vision to see its influence in horror films to this day.

L'argent

At the age of 83, Robert Bresson made his final film (though he would go on to live for another 16 years), and it is one that seems made by someone a quarter his age. It has a remarkable vitality and perception of the youth culture. In some ways it is a film about the fall of man and how evil is primarily precipitated by ordinary, well-intentioned people. Based on a novella by Tolstoy, it begins with a couple of young, well-off boys who forge and pass on a significant bank note. It is then passed on to an unsuspecting truck driver named Yvon who is arrested when he attempts to use it to pay for his meal at a cafe. Thanks to the testimony of one of the forgers, the hapless truck driver is sent to prison where he begins his downfall. Evil is symbolized by the bill (L'argent is French for "money"), and it gets passed on from person to person who are only interested in themselves and that which relates to them, and not the world at large. Bresson was concerned with spiritual and moral decay of society which is clearly seen here. After Yvon is released from prison he decends into a life of crime which leads to a shocking and brutal climax. Like his previous film, The Devil, Probably, it is an intensely cynical film, yet one that is clearly made by a filmmaker who understands the nature of living in a fallen world and desperately seeks to shake his audience out of spiritual apathy and start caring about what is happening at the world at large. Remember the words of Jesus when he said that "the love of money is the root of all evil."

A Married Woman

With this film Godard examines the role of women in France during the mid-60's. It concerns a woman, her husband, and her lover. Neither of the men seem to see her as a real person, but merely as a sex object. In fact, she doesn't even seem to see herself as a real person, and at times, it doesn't even feel like Godard sees her as a real person, yet that is one of the major themes of the film. She is defined by her body and her sexuality. The camera often lingers on her discretely covered naked body, and both of the men prefer the clothesless look on her. Often we see her reading Cosmopolitan or advertisements on bust enlargement as her life is driven by a false perception of herself in a society of consummerism. Moments of the films have an unusual eroticism, and as I have said before, Godard couldn't be unineresting if he wanted to, yet the film never really seems to add up or come together. It feels like the kind of film that provides the groundwork for his superior films with similar themes to come.

Epidemic

For his second theatrical film, Lars von Trier made one of those movie-within-a-movie things. Part of the film borders on documentary as von Trier himself plays a filmmaker in the process of making one film, but soon he abandons the idea and decides to make a horror film about a deadly epidemic set loose in Europe which begins to wipe out the continent. The other part of the film is the film "Epidemic". It's an interesting experiment aided by the ultra grainy and hight contrast 16mm black and white photography which reminds one of David Lynch's Eraserhead. He sticks the title in red letters in the top-left corner of the screen as a permanent watermark throughout the entire film, as if we are watching a top secret file documenting the end of Europe as we know it. Parts of the film are interesting, and von Trier continues to explore his theory of film as hypnosis, but a lot of it is dull. It is, however, an often fascinating experiment which works well as a mood piece.

Brink of Life

Shortly after The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries, Ingmar Bergman made this little known masterpiece centering around three women in a maternity ward. Now if that statement alone isn't enough to get you thinking about the possibilities of Bergman with such a concept, then you don't know Bergman. The "chamber drama" style foreshadows some of his later greats such as Persona, Cries and Whispers, and Autumn Sonata. In fact, I might go so far as to say that this may be one of the quintessential Bergman films. Its focus is on three pregnant woman and their doubts and insecurities and joys about bringing life into the world. Needless to say, tragedy befalls some, relationships are questioned and some break apart. Like so many of his finest films, Bergman manages to dig deeply and with remarkable perception into the woman's psyche. Of course there is pain, suffering, and primal screams of agony, but it is a film made with love and caring. It also features many of the great talents from his acting troupe: Ingrid Thulin, Bibi Andersson, Max von Sydow, and Erland Josephson among others. It's interesting that he once again tackles the subject of death, yet by setting it in a maternity ward, the inevitable hopefullness of life and birth manage to balance out the sadness. A wonderful little film.

The Element of Crime

For his debut feature, Lars von Trier directed this existential, surreal, sci-fi, noir noir in the tradition of Blade Runner (though much different). It is set in a post-apocalyptic Europe, visually shown in that the film is primarily shot in sepia tones, in which a detective returns to Europe, after having been in Cairo for many years, in order to solve a string of brutal child murders. Policing of the future is based on a technique developed by an aging professor (and the once mentor of the detective), called "The Element of Crime", in which the investigator must put himself in the mind of the killer in order to discover what he might do next. Little actually happens in the film, the characters mostly wander through the dreamy landscapes on some kind of an existential quest. Again, von Trier proves what a different filmmaker (stylistically speaking) he has become since embracing the "Dogma" method. Still, though, it is about a world that seems only a step removed from our own, and about characters who find themselves in place or events in which they seem to have no control. It's an impressive achievement if not a particularly watchable film, and fascinating if you're interested in documenting the progress of one of the boldest and most interesting filmmakers working today.

Medea

In a time when freed from his often ridiculous and equally profound yet pretentious "Dogma 95" limitations, Lars von Trier proves to be a remarkable image maker. Made for Danish television in the late 80's, von Trier took an unpublished script by Denmark's greatest filmmaker, Carl Dreyer, based on the tragedy of Euripides, and makes a stark masterwork of sorts. Medea is married to Greek king Jason (of the Argonaut's fame) with their two boys, but Jason has fallen in love with a younger woman (for both political and sexual purposes), and wants to rid himself of his wife. Enraged at this betrayal, she makes a move worthy of Shakespeare, or I suppose Greek tragedy, and poisons the new queen's crown which sets in motion a string of deaths. Sparse dialogue, stark imagery, and a strong performance by Udo Kier as Jason help raise this film to a level that I was unaware von Trier ever attempted (or was capable of, for that matter). The climactic scene in which Medea hangs her two children to prevent them from being captured is horrifying, and one that makes me question her worth. If the film is attempting to show the ramification of vengeance and selfishness, then it works well; however, I got the impresson that the titular character was intended to by martyr of sorts, and that I was asked to sympathize with her. Well, I think Jason was a bit of an ass to leave her cold as he did, but I can't honestly sympathize with a woman who sets in motion a string of death leading to her own children, all for selfishly vindictive reasons. Nevertheless, this may be von Trier's most artistically satisfying film.

2 or 3 Things I Know About Her

The "her" in the title of Jean-Luc Godard's cinematic/political essay refers both to the city of Paris, and the heroin of the film who is a mild mannered housewife that occasionally delves into prostitution. This is one his most probing and philosophical films of the 1960's, where his typical sense of humor takes a backseat to his developing "essayic" technique on such topics as Vietnam, the image, politics, consummerism, language, housing problems and anything else that might pop into his mind. It's both facinating and a bit confounding, and while never directly addressing the issues of the soul, it seems to be there burried underneath the surface of political discourse.

The Iron Giant

Frankly I don't think that Brad Bird's first animated feature is all it's made out to be. It's a fantasy that seems heavily influenced by Spielberg's immensely superior, E.T., in which a young, fatherless boy befriends a giant robot from outer space. The film is set during the 1950's, during the middle of the Cold War, and in a time when science fiction was primarily concerned with the atomic age. On the one hand, it's a story about a boy, the robot, and a paranoid government official who'd rather nuke first and ask questions later, because if you don't know what it is, then it's probably from the Commie's. As a story, it mostly works well, however there's a second layer to it: a satire of the red scare and 1950's America. The satire fails miserably and quickly devolves into an unwanted preachiness. Fortunately for his next film, The Incredibles, Bird manages to blend his story with social satire seamlessly, but not here.

Junebug

I respect any honest film set in the South, because it is a place that I love. Phil Morrison's film is one that understands the South, small towns, families, and people -- people with secrets. It is a film that is observant to detail and one that refuses to one-dimensionalize the South or the North. George is a man from North Carolina living in Chicago who marries Madeline, the owner of an art gallery. Soon they find themselves on their way to North Carolina where Madeline wants to recruit an eccentric, colloquial artist who paints sexual paintings of Civil War battles (it's less obscene than it sounds, I think), for her gallery, but so long as they're in the area they might as well stop and meet the in laws. The family, like most families, has secrets and issues, most of which are never revealed, but we know they're there. There's the slightly suspicious (of strangers) and domineering mother Peg; and Eugene, the meek but wise father; Johnny, the younger brother who is angry because he can't communicate with the world; and Ashly, his joyfully pregnant wife. As Ashly, Amy Adams is a revelation, one of the most truly sweet characters in film, but she is lonely because she loves Johnny who has difficulty relating, so she immediately latches onto her new sister-in-law Madeline, desperate to become friends. There's even a scene in a church, where the audience actually isn't asked to laugh scornfully at the church-goer's. in fact, George even sings a hymn in one of the films more poignant moments. Besides Adams, Scott Wilson stands out as the father, who is a man of few words and little emotion, but great understanding. It's often a quiet film, sometimes self-consciously so, and one that refuses to look down on any of the characters, but chooses to paint them as human beings -- flaws and all. I wish I could explain it better, but instead, I suggest reading Roger Ebert's review of the film, which for some reason strikes me as one of the best reviews he's written in years.

Get Shorty

What's the difference between the way of doing business in Hollywood and the mob? The mob has a code of ethics. This is revelation that ex-loan shark Chili Palmer discovers when he finds himself in the movie capitol of the world with the goal of becoming a producer. Based on the Elmore Leonard novel, this is one of the better post-Pulp Fiction "cool" movies about the underworld. The plot is complex, but the character a deliciously low life as is the semi-poetic dialogue (courtesy of Leonard) which at times harkens to the days of Raymond Chandler. John Travolta is cool and calculating as Palmer who gets involved with Gene Hackman, a producer of low budget B-horror films (the kind with which Palmer is familiar), as well as scream queen Rene Russo, movie star Danny DeVito, Miami mob boss Dennis Farina (in a wonderful performance), stunt man turned bodyguard James Gandolfini, Delroy Lindo, and the U.S. government. It mostly works well thanks primarily to the performances and the source material, and I have a feeling that director Barry Sonnenfeld was just smart enough leave things alone.

Michael

This might best be remembered for being one of the few films of the silent era to deal with the issue of homosexuality. Director Carl Dreyer creates the classic love triangle between an artist, who loves his male model, Michael, and the countess who also loves him. The countess hires the artist to paint her portrait, but he finds it difficult because she is not his inspiration. He utterly fails at painting her eyes (Bergman's window to the soul), but Michael comes in and paints her eyes with such care and precision that an art critic makes the point that the eyes stand out so much that they must have been painted by another hand. Michael falls in the love with the countess, leaving the poor artist to himself. Perhaps the two greatest cinematographers of the silent era (or any era, for that matter), Rudolph Mate and Karl Freund collaborated on the photography which is often stunning and carefully lit. However, the character are a bit too distant for this to be a fully satisfying film. It's the kind of film that serves to prepare a director like Dreyer for far greater things to come.

Pierrot Le Fou

Coming at a transitional phase in his filmmaking, this is one of the most audacious films from Jean-Luc Godard. To the extent that there is a plot, it concerns Jean Paul Belmondo and the lovely Anna Karina on the run from some gangsters (because she apparently killed a man). Their relationship jumps back and forth from one thing to another. In some ways, their scenes together reminded me of the Bergman film, Summer With Monkia, but they are both very different films. Spontaneous, funny, political jabs, unexplained behavior, movies, it has everything that makes a Godard film so enjoyable to watch. He shows why perhaps no director in the history of the medium has understood and utilized it so well. There's a priceless scene at a gas station.

Broken Flowers

With his latest film, Jim Jarmusch produces his most thought provoking and mature film to date. Bill Murray plays an aging Don Juan named Don Johnston who one day receives an anonymous letter informing him that he has a nineteen year old son. His lack of reaction to the letter is compensated for by his friend and neighbor, Winston (who fancies himself an amateur detective), who immediately has Don form of list of possibly mothers for the child and then sets him out on a trip to discover the truth. Of course it's a film about the journey and not the destination in which he encounters his former lovers each in their own stage of life. The normally talkative Jarmusch quiets down with this film, to great effect, and he finds the perfect actor for the role in Murray who has recently become known for his own brand of "non-acting" which has an uncanny way of speaking volumes without doing anything. The poignancy, humor, and sadness of the film are never very far from each other as Johnston learns about himself and maybe even a little bit about humanity. This is easily one of the best films of the year so far.

21 Up

The children, which started as seven years of age in the "Up" series, are now twenty-one and entering adulthood. Michael Apted captures more honesty and truth with this series than may have ever been captured in the history of the medium, and there's still a few more to go. To watch these films is to watch children grow up as well as their ideas. It can be both profound and sad to see what life brings to these once eager youths. A truly remarkable achievement that I look forward to continuing.

The Parson's Widow

Generally regarded as the first real Dreyer film. It tells the story of a poor young minister recently out of seminary who tries to get a position as pastor in a rural church. When he is awarded the position, he discovers a ridiculous local custom that demands the new pastor take the wife of the former (now deceased) pastor. However, our young minister has long been engaged to a woman, so passes his beloved off as his sister and marries the old crone, who has outlived three husbands, on the hope that she'll kick it soon and then he'll have the ministry and his woman. Well, of course a few years go by and she's still alive. Dreyer is still finding himself with this one, but he manages to give depth to mostly one-dimensional characters. It's worth it primarily for closure on this true giant of international cinema.

Morvern Callar

The second film from English director Lynne Ramsay seems to suffer ever so slight from that kind of indie-film pretentiousness that screams "trying too hard". Morvern's boyfriend commits suicide one night with no explanation leaving a novel on his desk with instructions for it to be published. Morvern removes his name and puts her own on it and gets it published. She then packs off to Spain with one of her friends they party and have fun or something. Samantha Morton can be an excellent actress (particularly in Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown), but at times I find her a difficult actress to watch, and in this film she seems to be bordering on both. It features much of the visual grandeur that helped elevate her film Ratcatcher, but I feel it lacks the soul of her first film. Disappointing and slightly pretentious though this film may be, I nevertheless feel that Lynne Ramsay is a director to keep your eye on.

Ratcatcher

Lynne Ramsay's directoral debut is in some ways one of the finest meditations on childhood ever put to film. It ranks up there with Truffaut's The 400 Blows, Bresson's Mouchette, or any of Spielberg's films on childhood, though is still probably slightly inferior to any of the above. Ramsay has a way of uniquely combining the real with the surreal to find the perspective her of adolescent protagonist, as well as a visual style in the vein of Terrence Malick, or at least David Gordon Green (again comparable, though inferior). It takes place in Scotland during the 70's where a poor area of tenement housing is becoming dangerously unsanitary thanks in part to a garbage workers strike. Trash is piling up, polluting the land and the water, and becoming a haven for rats. James lives with his occasionally drunkard and mildly abusive father, his caring though somewhat negligent mother, and his two sisters who both seem to get a little bit more parental attention than he does. We see the world as he does -- his friend, the local bullies, his family, and his kind of girlfriend who also gets picked on by the bullies. There's some magic in the film and depth to even the secondary characters which helps to make this one of the most memorable of its kind.

Four Nights of a Dreamer

Despite his deceptively simple and astonishingly sophisticated and direct narrative technique, the films of Robert Bresson are not known for their complex plotting, but this film is unusually plotless even for a Bresson film. Almost nothing really happens, yet I was captivated for the films nearly hour and a half running time. Based on a novel by Dostoevsky, it concerns the "dreamer", a young painter named Jacques and the woman he loves named Marthe, who loves another man despite his fickle nature. The four nights of the title refer to the four nights in which Jacques is with Marthe and waits for her to fall in love with him. It's kind of a romantic comedy (to the extent that you could place it within the confines of a genre). It's probably Bresson's most sensual film. To watch it, indeed to watch any of his films, is to slowly begin to understand the films and technique(s) of Jean-Luc Godard, whose films about Paris youths in the 60's seem heavily inspired by the works of Bresson.

Dancer in the Dark

I honestly never thought I'd see the day when Bjork did a duet with Peter Stormare until I realized that I was watching musical directed by Lars von Trier. Like his Breaking the Waves, it is about a naive, incredibly kind woman who must suffer for one reason or another. Oh, yeah, and she's also going blind. Von Trier pummels his audience as relentlessly as his innocent protagonist, and even though it may be tamer than Breaking the Waves, it also lacks the boldly redemptive aspect of that film. Bjork turns out to be a surprisingly good actress, and because of her condition and sweet nature, one can't help but sympathize with her. It's basically just a big melodrama that only kind of works. Von Trier also likes to spice things up by throwing in some incredibly cheap satire of what he perceives to be American life. For my money, I'll take Breaking the Waves and Dogville over this any day.

Big Trouble (2002)

I'm not even going to try and describe the plot to this Barry Sonnenfeld comedy. Suffice it to say that there are a whole lot of characters that one way or another get involved with a nuclear bomb that looks like a garbage disposal. The frantic pace and ensemble cast immediately brings to mind It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, but thankfully this is a shorter film. It's also funny. Funnier than I was expecting, but not one that will add anything to your cinematic upbringing.

Last Days

Gus Van Sant's latest minimalist farce (not really) concerns a Kurt Cobain like fading rock star named Blake. The opening scenes show him wandering through the woods, bathing in a lake, sitting next to a fire, and then wandering back to his deteriorating mansion where a handful of friends and bandmates seem to come and go, never really making much contact with him. He already seems like one of the walking dead, wandering in a drug enduced stupor, mumbling to himself. He has chosen to isolate himself and Van Sant isolates him from the audience. His face is never really clearly seen, it is often hidden behind his golden locks, or obscured in one of the many long shots. In fact he only has a few understandable lines of dialogue in the entire film. Honestly I'm not sure what to think of the film. It's as self contained as Van Sant's Gerry and as explanationless as his Elephant (still the strongest of his unofficial trilogy). On the one hand it's both beautiful and sad, but on the other hand what are you left with but an aesthetization of a rock stars final hours rather than an exploration of it.

See No Evil

It seems that blind people are perfect targets for psychological thrillers as was most clearly demonstrated in the Audrey Hepburn film, Wait Until Dark. Mia Farrow stars as a young woman recently blinded in a horse riding accident who has come to live with her Aunt and Uncle in the English countryside. There are two parts to this film interspersed throughout: the first involved Farrow going about her daily routine in the house not realizing that the dead bodies of her family are strewn about. These scenes are fantastically suspenseful and director Richard Fleischer only reveals what the audience has long feared moments before Farrow makes the discoveries herself -- in a sense placing the audience in the position of the blind person. There's one wonderful moment involving pieces of broken glass on the ground. The second part, however, doesn't hold up as well. It involves the killer, who for most of the film is only seen from the kness down wearing cowboy boots with a star on them and jeans tucked into the boots (a fashion statement that would lead me to question the sexual orientation of the killer). Unfortunately the starred boots fail to inspire any fear in the audience and most of these scenes are poorly executed, leaving the ending to be only barely passable, especially since there is no motive (but I'm betting on homoerotic tension). However, when Mia Farrow is on screen it's a top notch thriller.

Ulysses' Gaze

"The first thing God created was the journey, then came doubt, and nostalgia," so says a character to Harvey Keitel in Theo Angelopoulis' existential epic through the Balkans. Keitel is one of the boldest and most consistent actors working today and always seems willing to take a risk with a film or a filmmaker. I was surprised to discover that most critics dismissed this film as an uttely pretentious bore, some even went so far as to claim that Angelopoulis must have contempt for his audience to subject them to this film. I couldn't be more surprised by these responses, because I found the film to be mesmerizing -- as if Tarkovsky had directed a modern adaptation of The Odyssey. Actually, in a way, this is a bit like Tarkovsky's Stalker in both concept and execution. Keitel plays a Greek-American filmmaker who returns to his homeland 30 years later on a quest to find three reels of film made in 1905 by a pair of filmmaker brothers, because he believes that it may be the first strips of motion picture film to capture the area. His journey takes him through the war torn Balkans and ultimately to Sarajevo. Throughout, he meets a number of women, all played by Maia Morgenstern (most recently seen as Mary in The Passion of the Christ), and ultimately he runs into Erland Josephsson. Two scenes in particular stand out to me: the first being a single unbroken shot that recounts his family history by way of New Years celebrations as people and objects come and go and new governements institute new laws (it must be seen to be truly understood); and the second being a massacre in the fog. The film is haunting and full of rich imagery. Perhaps I'm just a sucker for this kind of existential journey, but I would call this a great film.

One on Top of the Other

A Lucio Fulci film without the gore is like a cake without frosting -- healthier, gets more quickly to the point, and doesn't leave you feeling sick afterwards if you had too much, though perhaps not as initially tasty. However, this early thriller from the Italian horror guru is easily the best film I have seen from him, even though it's not a horror film. It centers around a doctor whose ailing wife suddenly dies and sends him into a depression for an extended period of time. Then one day, or night to be more precise, he notices a stripper that bears an uncanny resemblance to his dearly deceased, except she has green eyes and his wife and brown eyes. Though when his wife suddenly died, he receives money from a mysterious insurance policy which puts him on the radar of the police who think she might not have died from natural causes. Soon, the good doctor is delving into the mystery of his wife's death, or is she really dead at all? The story is not unlike Hitchcock's Vertigo, though is distinctly its own film. The script is strangely compelling and intelligent for a Fulci film (or any thriller for that matter) and his direction is at its most effective. It's too bad that this early gem has been overshadowed by his later gorefests.

Gertrud

Carl Dreyer made only five sound films in his career (one of which he disowned) beginning with Vampyr in 1932 and concluding with this film in 1964. Along with his previous film, Ordet, this is probably his most austere and minimalist film. Based on a play, the film unfolds in beautifully lit single static shots, that often hold for the entire scene. It centers on a woman named Gertrud and the three men in her life: her businessman husband whom she feels is neglecting her for his work, her bohemian composer lover who may be more fickle and bohemian than she'd like, and a famous poet who was her lover many years ago and still seems interested in her. The script feels as if it could have been written by Eric Rohmer -- it has that meandering talkiness involving a quest for lasting love. Unfortunately, I don't think this film holds up to Dreyer's previous masterpieces, The Passion of Joan of Arc, Vampyr, Day of Wrath, and Ordet. As beautiful as it is at times, it lacks the zeal and spiritual vigor of his finest films and ends up being a little bit too inappropriately theatrical for my tastes.

The Trial of Joan of Arc

When one thinks of the directoral style of Robert Bresson, terms such as, minimalist or transcendental immediately come to mind. This, however, is minimalist even by Bresson standards. Here, like Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc, Bresson sticks almost exclusively with the facts, having his models (actors) speak the words from the actual court transcripts with no inflection. The trial scenes primarily consist of two shots: a medium shot of Joan answering the questions, and a medium shot of the inquistor asking the questions (and perhaps an occasional cutaway to one of the onlookers). The Joan from Dreyer's film is a nineteen year old girl who feels like a fish out of water -- never able to comprehend why those who claim to speak for God, refuse to believe that she had been sent by God. However, the Joan of Bresson's film is much more bold, direct, and self-assured. She has absolute confidence that she will be delivered by God. Her answers are direct, honest, and intelligent for a girl who was never formally educated. However, as fine a film as this is, I am finding it difficult to discover what this says about Joan or spiritual enlightenment that wasn't already said in Dreyer's film (which remains the superior telling).

Vampyr

Made in 1932, this was Carl Dreyer's first sound film, right on the heels of his silent masterpiece, The Passion of Joan of Arc. Actually, though, this film is shot more like a silent film than a sound film. Only a few brief blurbs of dialogue reveal the era in which the film was made. In many ways, this is one of the most moody and atmospheric films I have ever seen. It does not so much tell a story as create a mood. In fact, along with both Murnau's and Herzog's versions of Nosferatu, this is the finest vampire film ever made. Dreyer takes the vampire and turns it into a spiritual war of the sacred vs. the profane. In most horror films, shadows are utilized to imply the presence of something sinister, rather than showing the sinister thing itself (think of the brilliant shadow work in Jacques Tourneur's Cat People), but in this film it is the shadows themselves that are the malicious forces. In many scenes, the vampires are portrayed as shadows with no body to cast them. It's beautifully eerie. Though it's never really scarey, it creates allegory and atmosphere almost unlike any other film I've ever seen.

Farewell, My Lovely (1975)

Robert Mitchum is one of the great screen presences of all time, and he's also an excellent actor and an excellent Philip Marlowe as he proves in this second adaptation of the Raymond Chandler novel (following Murder, My Sweet another excellent private-eye movie from the 40's). One day, in the middle of some voice over narration complete with one-liners, Marlowe runs into a towering hulk of a man named Moose Malloy who is looking for his Velma (a fact he likes to continuously remind Marlowe of). Marlowe agrees to take on the assignment, and wouldn't you know it, finding this Velma dame turns into a tangled web that goes deeper than just a simple missing persons case. Cinematographer, John Alonzo likes to bathe his images with a faint red light that makes the film look as if it was shot in some seedy strip club, and since the conventions of the private-eye film are so familiar to everyone (even those who have never seen a film from the genre), it almost always seems on the brink of falling into self-parody, but fortunately director, Dick Richards along with Mitchum, always manage to keep the film on the safe side of that line. It's actually a strong entry into the genre and probably the best film of its kind in the last 30 years.

Fallen Angels

Wong Kar-Wai's film seems to be little more than an exercise in style. Fortunately, its style is a joyous one, and he has the foresight to work with one of the world's greatest cinematographers, Christopher Doyle, who complements Wong's appropriately kinetic style with a wonderful visual flare. I think it's about a hitman and a hitwoman and their relationship, but then, that's probably not the point anyway. Wong's exuberence and willingness to experiment has led him to be, not inaccurately, compared to Godard. I generally prefer a little bit more substance with my style, but as style goes, there's little to complain about in this film. It's not as good as his Chungking Express, though it is better than Happy Together.

7 Plus Seven

The second in the monumental "Up" documentary series made for the BBC. This time, Michael Apted takes over the directoral reigns as he does for the remainder of the series. This film sees the same children from the first film, 7 Up, seven years later. Now fourteen, Apted proceeds to ask them many of the same questions from the first film to see how the years have changed their responses. Often the question is asked, and then the original answer is juxtaposed with the new answer. Puberty has made them a bit more self-conscious and the girls a bit more giggly, but it still manages to illicit an almost profound honesty. The idealism of youth has begun to fade away into the slightly more realistic goals of adolescence. It's life development on screen, part of which is filled with disappointment and others with exhileration.

7 Up

"Give me the child until he is seven and I will give you the man," quoth the narrator of this wonderful documentary made for the BBC. In 1963, someone had the brilliant idea of gather together a group of seven year old children in England from all different backgrounds and ask them what they think about topics ranging from the other sex to school to politics to rich vs. poor to what-do-you-want-to-do-when-you-grow-up and everything in between. Seven year olds in Britain seem remarkably more self-assured than American children of the same age. Many of these kids seem to have a better plan for the future than I do, some of them were even talking about how the regularly read the British equivalent of The Wall Street Journal. The documentarian manages to elicit some unusually honest moments as we get into the mind of a child -- England's future. The interesting thing, however, is that often when listening to them talk about things, it's almost as if you're hearing the voice of the parent rather than the voice of the child. As some of the wealthier children discuss their future, you can almost sense the parent living vicariously through their well bred child; whereas the poorer children dream of becoming astronaut's and the like. It's both facinating and a little bit sad at the same time.

Les Anges du Peche (aka Angels of the Streets)

Before Robert Bresson became the filmmaker that he has come to be known as, he made two films in a much more conventional manner. This was his first feature which was soon followed by the more well known, Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne; however, despite his usage of studio's and professional actors, this feels much more Bressonian. It's about a generous, young woman who becomes a Dominican nun at a prison reform ministry. She immediately focuses in on a prisoner named Therese who is reluctant to be helped. The nun tries to convince Therese to repent and become a nun herself so as to redeem her from her sins. But as soon as Therese gets out, she kills the man responsible for sending her to prison and then joins the convents. It's a spiritual struggle all the way as only Bresson could make it. It's not the work of art that his later films would be, and Bresson himself reportedly disowned the film, but it is significantly better than Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne.

Don't Make Waves

An unusual comedy from Alexander Mackendrick which turned out to be his final film before he retired. Tony Curtis plays a man who loses everything he owns when he bumps into Claudia Cardinale. He starts over and through some careful manipulation begins to make in the lucrative field of pool sales. It's a satire of Malibu beach culture circa-1967. The debut film of the doomed Sharon Tate, whom I feel bad for in that she is exploited for her body because she can't act a lick. The most memorable scene is the climax in which Curtis' recently purchased cliff-side home, slides down the cliff during a nasty rain storm and ends up on the beach.

Sandra

Claudia Cardinale stars in this lesser known work from Italian master, Luchino Visconti. It has the unfortunate place of coming right after Visconti's masterpiece, The Leopard and the comparison is embarrassing at times. It's not one of the director's finest films. Cardinale, however, was well utilized for all of her sensuality. The film was controversial at the time for incestuous themes, but now it's a bore and a forgotten memory from a director who has made far better.