March 2008: 15 Mini Reviews
March 2, 2008
The last fifteen films I’ve seen.
White Mane (’53): The titular steed of this famed French short is a tempestuous beast, breaking free of his wranglers and stomping around the marshes of Camargue with contempt for a race that wants to contain his free spirit. When a lonely young farm boy sees the horse, in all his perfect magnificence, a bond is formed, and the two ride out into the sea, to a land where hate and captivity no longer exist. This poetic and striking black and white fantasy is deemed a children’s fable because it hints at an unseen Utopia only the youngest of children could believe in, but for adults, the cinematography of the marshes, and the grace of the horses is enough to hold interest for the short 47 minute running time.
The Red Balloon (’56): Coupled together on DVD with the aforementioned “White Mane”, Albert Lamorisse’s Academy Award winning short, about a precious little boy whose gigantic red balloon follows him around a Parisian neighborhood with a mind of its own, blends primitive and tricky special effects with a whimsical insight that suggests there’s nothing quite as fantastic as being a five-year-old with an active imagination. Though what makes this unique is that everybody can see the magical balloon, adults want to punish the boy for having it, and the neighborhood kids want to destroy it out of petty jealousy, and when they succeed, a cavalcade of fellow balloons swarm the young hero, lifting him away, apparently to the same kingdom as the march boy and his white horse. Once you get over the fact that this simply a film about a kid and his magical balloon, there are endless joys to the piece, starting with the wonderful effect of the balloon acting on its own, and how the bright red color of the balloon brings a sprite of life to the drab Menilmontant streets and apartment houses. To reference how charming Lamorisse’s filmmaking is, look no further than which Oscar it won – Best Screenplay – and count that the film has, literally, less than 10 lines of dialogue in its full 35 minutes.
In the Shadow of the Moon (’07): Expertly crafted documentary about the Apollo program and the glorious landing of Apollo 11 on the moon, with heartfelt new interviews with the men responsible for the landmark achievement. What sets this slightly apart from Al Reinert’s similar 1989 doc “For All Mankind”, is the wealth of newly unearthed and restored private NASA film stock, which makes the Apollo 11 landing, and the world’s overwhelming response to it, a true cinematic event.
Stagecoach (’39): A disparate group of travelers, each one representing a different rank in societies hierarchy, enjoy a bumpy ride on the stagecoach to Lordsburg, as Geronimo and his band of warriors cast an ever-present shadow over the difficult journey. Director John Ford’s first western in over a decade, and usually noted as being the first western to truly cross over to mass audience and critical appeal alike, the film is notable for introducing two of Ford’s great longtime collaborations; the stunning backdrop of Monument Valley, with beautiful cloud dappled skies that open up the claustrophobic stagecoach and interior settings, and John Wayne, whose loving close-up 15 minutes into the film introduces an instant superstar, after years of toil on Desolation Row. Dudley Nichols’ script brings societal importance, hypocrisy and tension amongst the nine stagecoach passengers (including Thomas Mitchell as the drunken doctor, and the lovely Claire Trevor as the outcast, kindhearted prostitute), Yakima Canutt’s mesmerizing stunt work brings thrills to the much copied Indian chase sequence near the end, and Bert Glennon’s masterful cinematography brings out the best in Ford’s carefully lit interiors, whose unusual low ceilings were an influence on Orson Welles in “Citizen Kane”. The ‘Kane’ reference is deliberate, Welles was said to have watched “Stagecoach” some 40 times while making his opus, believing John Ford to be the best working Hollywood director; he was right, and what begat the best film of the ‘40’s, “Citizen Kane”, is arguably one of the best studio film of the ‘30’s, and to that point, John Ford’s unquestioned masterpiece.
American Masters: John Ford/John Wayne (’06): Included on Warner’s 2-disk DVD edition of “Stagecoach”, along with a 30-minute retrospective and a scholarly commentary track from Ford expert Scott Eyman, this well received edition of the PBS series “American Masters” chronicles the decades long personal and professional friendship between Ford and his greatest star, Wayne, whose years of prop work on early Ford silents earned the actor a place in the master’s heart. Included in the doc, along with in depth analysis of such Ford/Wayne masterworks as “Stagecoach”, “Fort Apache”, and “The Searchers”, are archival interviews with the two larger-than-life personalities, whose on-set relationship was often that of a taskmaster and his obedient pupil, and new interviews with film scholars Richard Schickel, Peter Bogdanovich, and Martin Scorsese. Frankly, the new print and audio commentary on “Stagecoach” would have been good enough for me, but Warner’s Criterion-like presentation of this American classic goes beyond expectation, a must have for Ford and Wayne buffs alike.
Gone Baby Gone (’07): Ben Affleck makes a capable directorial debut thanks to the master craftsmanship of a top notch Dennis Lehane mystery plot, about a private investigating couple hired to find a missing girl in a poor Boston ghetto. Affleck’s knowledge of all things Boston, it’s accents and sense of community, makes the settings especially authentic, while skilled cinematographer John Toll certainly helps the notice director with lighting and framing choices, as Lehane’s intricate mystery speaks for itself, thanks to a choice cast, including Casey Affleck, Michelle Monaghan, Ed Harris, Morgan Freeman, and Oscar nominee Amy Ryan as the girl’s grieving, trashy mother. Affleck doesn’t have the gifts as a director to lift the mystery to the poetic depths of Clint Eastwood’s “Mystic River”, which has a similar Bostonian flavor, but it’s a testament to his sturdy hand, and Lehane’s brilliant writing, that the story keeps you guessing all the way to the end.
There Will Be Blood (’07): Upon my second viewing of Paul Thomas Anderson’s remarkable and strange film, my renewed choice as the second best film of 2007, I decided to do what I like to do for most of my rewatches, pay less attention to the plot and more attention to the themes and how the filmmaking and acting suggest the importance of those themes. What you come up with is that Anderson and Oscar winner Daniel Day-Lewis, as the enterprising, hate-filled oil man Daniel Plainview, are drawing a line of hypocrisy between capitalism and religious fanaticism (as seen by the ultimate downfall of Paul Dano’s Eli Sunday), that they’re ultimately the same animal if misused for personal satisfaction, bringing upon ruination and corruption in the mishandler’s soul. Plainview’s now famous speech to Henry, a man pretending to be his long lost brother, says as much about the corrupting influence of market competition (“I have a competition in me. I want no one else to succeed. I hate most people… I want to earn enough money that I can get away from everyone.”), as does his brutal mocking of Eli in the bizarre finale, before bludgeoning him to death with a bowling pin, says about the influence of bogus religion (“Did you think your song and dance and your superstition would help you, Eli? I am the Third Revelation, the Lord has chosen me!”). Earlier, as the first derrick of his new enterprise goes up in flames, and his son lay badly hurt in the background, Anderson singles out Plainview’s oil-soaked face in the glow of the fire, positively giddy at the prospects before him, and in this single moment Daniel comes closest to evil incarnate, the satanic red face of greed, caring less about if his beloved son is even alive, but more about the “ocean of oil” beneath his feet that will make him a man of tremendous wealth and power. In his quest for power, Plainview becomes an alienated shell of anger and venom, while Eli, preaching a false gospel to a flock of poor, ignorant farmers, ultimately falls prey to his own particular greed at the hands of the devilish oilman, finally entangling the film’s themes of money and faith in a twisted psychological game of boast, waste, and death.
Persepolis (’07): A young girl comes of age in the time of the Iranian revolution in this heartwarming animated gem from France, based on a series of acclaimed graphic novels by Marjane Satrapi, the film’s protagonist. Young Marji believes that with the downfall of the Shah Iran will become a westernized democracy, but Khomeini’s regime is even more repressive, especially towards women, and the rebellious girl is forced to move to Vienna, where she learns of love, heartbreak, and counterculture, before returning to her homeland a bitter and depressed young woman. The film, filled with striking black and white animation, based on the coloring and figures of the novels, tells this altogether harrowing story of the hardships following the revolution with depth, perception, warmth, humor, and a marked sense of loss and pathos, suggesting that the preciousness of childhood, and the comfort of family, are never quite the same when war, hatred, and paranoia rear their ugly heads.
The Iron Horse (’24): John Ford’s epic production for William Fox of the building of the transcontinental railroad is often regarded as his first significant film, or more specifically, the first time he was able to blend the key elements of the western – pioneering towns, cattle drives, villainous Indians - with good old fashioned American patriotism. At 150 minutes this isn’t an easy film to get through, star George O’Brien, as a rail-man looking to avenge the murder of his father, doesn’t show up for a good 60-minutes into the film, but Ford’s scope is impressive, and despite the lagging sections and earmarks that would become genre clichés, this is a rousing and important film in the development of a great director.
No Regrets for Our Youth (’46): Following the war Akira Kurosawa would begin to establish a rhythmic form to his films more personal in content and structure than his pre-war films, perhaps due to lighter occupation enforced censorship rules, the beginning of which is evident in this political melodrama, starring a young Setsuko Hara as a neutral college girl in love with two men, a liberal and a radical. The style Kurosawa was experimenting with has more to do with temporal editing, such as an early scene where Hara and her suitors playfully run through the forest, echoing an editing technique he’d use to perfection in “Seven Samurai”, than it does with lighting, which would be of more importance two years later with “Drunken Angel”, but the montage brings an exciting makeup to the picture that is all but lost in the relatively staid politics of the love triangle, and Hara’s subsequent patriotic makeover as a peasant du jour. Important mainly for the assurance of a master director to come, and for the flourishing of the beautiful Setsuko Hara, who would secure her legend with Ozu in the decade to follow, “No Regrets for Our Youth” is specific to its time and place, when Japanese cinema was beginning to find its post-war feet, and the atrocities of the militarist government during the war were finally being laid publicly to bear.
The Night of the Iguana (’64): John Huston’s adaptation of a 1961 Tennessee Williams play is, like “The Misfits” earlier, more notable for the off-screen notoriety of its stars, in particular Richard Burton, who toted his then lover Elizabeth Taylor to Mexico for the very public shoot, but today it still holds up as a white hot, if somewhat labored, study of human communication and psychological frustration. Burton gives one of his best performances as a drunken ex-priest, shamed for having an affair with a younger woman, who whiles away on booze and fumes in Mexico giving scenic bus tours to visiting spinsters. The complicated women that enter his life, after he shanghais the bus to a secluded resort inn at Puerto Vallarta, includes 17-year-old sexpot Sue Lyon, attractive artist Deborah Kerr, and wacky firebrand Ava Gardner, whose hipster performance borders between impressive and annoying, a rare feet. If the film feels stodgy, it’s because Williams’ trademark mixture of sexual tension and human anger gives way to Huston’s eccentric choice of casting and location, but working for the first time with celebrated cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa, the steamy visuals give the film an authentic Mexican flavor.
Landscape in the Mist (’88): Theo Angelopoulos won wide acclaim for this haunting and poetic road film, about a girl and her young brother trying to find their way to Germany to a father they believe still exists, coming instead to the realization that the world can be cruel and unforgiving to the wandering soul. Angelopoulos doesn’t so much as tell a story as he does present us with a dreamlike Greek tragedy, with illusions to “The Odyssey” the easiest to make out, as his heroes find salvation in a touring roadside actors group, disillusion in a heartless truck driver, and finally, hope in the form of a single tree parted through the dense fog on the German border. Like all of the director’s films, the slow moving camera and incredibly long single takes give the illusion of a dream, while the devastating flute solos on the soundtrack enhance the sadness of the siblings’ troubled journey of discovery and lost innocence.
Chopper (’00): Aussie director Andrew Dominik made his debut with this washed-out and kinetically psychotic portrait of Mark Read, Australia’s most famous criminal, who parlayed his brutish, charismatic attitude and bizarre behavior into a career as a best selling author. As Chopper Read, former stand-up comic Eric Bana gives an amazingly self assured and often hilarious performance, an instant star turn, that places Read somewhere between the self enterprising showman and the criminally insane murderer, while Dominik’s cold prison and nightclub colors suggest the seediness behind Read’s seemingly effortless skills as a primo hog-washer.
Young Mr. Lincoln (’39): The second of three great films released by John Ford in 1939, Hollywood’s most famed year, preceded by “Stagecoach” and followed by “Drums Along the Mohawk”, this slice of Americana perfection posits the Great Emancipator in the dusty town of Springfield, Illinois, years before any notion of a presidential run, as a green lawyer defending two innocent brothers from a lynch mob and a murder wrap. As young Abe, Ford casts Henry Fonda for the first time, looking eerily like the famous rail-splitter with a prosthetic nose and top hat, giving the kind of sensitive and sly performance the director would come to rely on seven more times over the next two decades. As a bonus feature on Criterion’s top notch double-disk, a BBC interview with Fonda tells of his reluctance to take the part, but was persuaded by Ford who suggested playing the role not as the legendary presidential figure, but as a naïve kid looking to make a name for himself as a lawyer in a town full of blowhards and drunken hotheads; a fine persuasion, it’s one of Fonda’s most recognizable parts, quick witted, brooding and soulful, the prototypical Fordian hero.
The Darjeeling Limited (’07): Fans of Wes Anderson’s precious directing style, filled with cheeky whip pans and a liberal moving camera, will appreciate this eccentric comedy about three estranged brothers enjoying a spiritual train journey across India, others will find its blend of deadpan slapstick comedy and sentiment a bit uneven. I’m of the former, Anderson’s characters are often smug in their smartness, but they have a heart, especially Adrian Brody here as the middle brother feeling grief over his father’s death and a stagnant marriage, and as quirky as Anderson’s camerawork and art design can be, it’s not to say that he doesn’t have a good control of color and pacing. To help, Anderson employs authentic Indian sitar and tabla music, some lovingly adapted right from old Satyjit Ray masterpieces, giving the setting a proper soundtrack, while paying homage to India’s most revered auteur.
by Adam Suraf