March 2010: Fifteen Mini Reviews
March 20, 2010
The last fifteen films I've seen.
Come and Get It ('36): Most consider the making of this film, in which director Howard Hawks was fired by Samuel Goldwyn after taking advantage of Goldwyn's medical leave to totally rework the original Edna Ferber novel for his own means (replaced for the last two weeks by a reluctant William Wyler), to be more interesting than the film itself, but there are enough Hawksian touches (comparable especially to the previous "Barbary Coast"), brilliant Gregg Toland cinematography, and Oscar winner Walter Brennan in a thick Swedish accent, to make it an enjoyable, if compromised melodrama. Both Hawks and Wyler would emerge from the film to make the best work of their careers.
Revanche ('09): Austrian director Gotz Spielmann weaves a mesmerizing tale of chance, regret, redemption, and anger on both sides of the law after a botched robbery leaves a thief seeking revenge and a cop psychologically broken. Beautifully photographed, mainly in the countryside outside of Vienna, and achingly poignant, the film builds it's twin strands of fateful circumstance to an almost unbearable pitch, leaving enough breathing room to eek out a possible future for these seemingly damned and depressed characters. Three key extras on Criterion's Blu-ray include an early Spielmann short, a making of, and a 35-minute interview with the director.
The Damned United ('09): Sometimes I think the measure of a truly good sports film is if you care little, or know nothing, about the sport and still find yourself entertained, wanting more, and that's the case with this marvelous little British film about English football in the '70's, with Michael Sheen giving a master class as famed coach Brian Clough and his meteoric, hard fought rise, and brutally quick fall from the top of his sport's highest ranks. The prestigious cast includes Timothy Spall as Sheen's assistant coach/best friend, Colm Meaney as rival, beloved coach Don Revie, Jim Broadbent as a tight-fisted club owner, and Stephen Graham as the rival team's goon captain, with a masterful double track narrative by Peter Morgan, and excellent direction from Tom Hooper, who is certainly a long way from "John Adams", but just as passionate in it's examination of a unique man's unconventional, controversial way of obtaining success (and/or blowing it) with a brash attitude and overly confident swagger. Thoroughly enjoyable.
The Hairdresser's Husband ('92): Patrice Leconte's masterpiece; a wonderful blend of nostalgia, eroticism, comedy, psychology, and romance, with the superb actor Jean Rochefort as an aging romantic obsessed with marrying a hairdresser, and does, the lovely Anna Galiena. Michael Nyman's original score fills the gorgeous, romantic images of Leconte's (especially during the sea-side flashback sequences to Rochefort's childhood) with a heart-filling lushness, countered periodically with Rochefort's silly, funny use of Eastern dance music to entertain his wife and customers. Psycho-sexual obsession is a key theme in Leconte's films, but this is undeniably romantic, despite both time periods being fringed with unexpected tragedy, and a mesmerizing study of sensuality.
Belle de Jour ('67): Luis Bunuel's famous bourgeois erotic drama still has the ability to shock, but not like it did in 1967, when seeing beautiful, virginal Catherine Deneuve get horse-whipped by stage drivers, or spattered with mud by her husband in self-pleasing dream sequences, was quite the scandal. Today we marvel at Bunuel's pure mastery of the cinematic form, telling a story about a repressed woman's desire for sexual exploration in a Parisian whorehouse, with only the sharpest wit and satire to fall back on, suggesting through brief memory flashbacks (and those famous erotic dream sequences) the guilt and ways of Deneuve's psyche. Bunuel would flower this style to even greater heights in his following French films, especially the surreal "The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie", but this remains a linchpin in his canon.
It Happened One Night ('34): This Frank Capra, Robert Riskin comedy really struck a chord with the viewing public in the heart of the Depression, blending a nominal opposites attract road comedy with deeper issues of human connection, misunderstanding, pride, and adversity; but really the fuss was about Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, who have a natural chemistry that took them, and everyone else, to the bank (and the Oscar podium). Walter Connolly plays the kind of big-hearted father figure here he would specialize for Preston Sturges in the '40's, and one wonders if Sturges didn't find some inspiration for "Sullivan's Travels" in Gable and Colbert's penny-pinching trek through the hard hit South on their way to New York; both films toy with the notion that love and happiness can only be gained with a marked amount of self-sacrifice and worldly understanding of suffering, and both films equally charming, funny, and emotionally resonant. This film essentially launched Capra, in the business for nearly two decades already, to fame and a string of creative triumphs only few directors find in their careers.
9 ('09): In an apocalyptic landscape that recalls post war Berlin, the extinction of the human race by machines has left only a pack of plucky, inquisitive rag-doll robots to figure out the next move, in this implausible, irritating animated feature. Good computer animation can't make up for the confusing script and lackluster performances, and a 75 minute running time leaves spare room for characterization, but oddly, plenty of plot holes unresolved in a hasty, sentimental ending. 2009 was a great year for animation, but despite impressive effects, this holds little on "Up", "Coraline", and "Fantastic Mr. Fox".
The Informant! ('09): Matt Damon gives a hilarious performance in Steven Soderbergh's thoroughly entertaining true story comedy about a high paid corporate exec who reluctantly wears a wire to uncover corporate price fixing, but only makes things impossible on himself and his family with endless lies, poor choices, and shoddy embezzlement schemes. Soderbergh's best film in years, with excellent supporting work from Scott Bakula and Joel McHale as sympathetic, exasperated FBI agents, and Melanie Lynskey as Damon's too understanding wife.
Lola Montes ('55): Criterion's new Blu-ray of this famous, final film by Max Ophuls is indeed as glorious as you thought it would be, with a stunning transfer that beautifully realizes (probably for the first time ever) Ophuls' brilliant use of color, while his trademark long takes and dizzying camera moves fill the Cinemascope frame with amazing cinematic theatrics. Forget that Lola, the dancer and courtesan who has her story told in flashbacks during a melodramatic circus routine, remains an unattainable figure, and Martine Carol, though appropriately beautiful, is no Danielle Darrieux, this is all about Ophuls and his duty as flamboyant ringmaster; as always he pulls it off with a flourish, and it's the most lavish thing he ever made.
Chikamatsu Monogatari ('54): I don't see much stylistic difference between this film and other Mizoguchi films of this late period in his career, but according to Tony Rayns on his typically excellent overview of the film on the Masters of Cinema DVD, Mizoguchi, ever the grumpy studio auteur, wasn't happy with the assignment (or the leading man), and breezed through the shoot (his third of the year) in a month's time. Despite Mizoguchi's reservations about the studio assignment and his actors, there's no denying that his cinematic form is impeccable as always, and Miyagawa's cinematography is overwhelmingly beautiful.
Crazy Heart ('09): Certain shades of previous down-and-out-former-star-begging-for-redemption films comes through director Scott Cooper's acclaimed country music melodrama, with obvious parallels to last year's "The Wrestler" and 1983's "Tender Mercies", but with wonderful, moving performances by Jeff Bridges as the alcoholic, broke country singer, and Maggie Gyllenhaal as the young journalist who he falls in love with, this can certainly stand on it's own. With terrific country tunes by T. Bone Burnett, sung by Bridges and Colin Farrell with real lived in country voices, this is a memorable human drama in the form of a nominal country music yarn.
Alice in Wonderland ('10): Visually delightful 3D rendering of the famous Lewis Carroll books by fantasy master Tim Burton, with extensive use of computer graphics to portray almost everything in Underland, except Johnny Depp in heavy make-up as the Mad Hatter. Cheers to Mia Wasikowska as Alice, she shines beneath all of the visual wizardry and goofy computer antics.
The Ghost Writer ('10): Roman Polanski knows how to spin a thriller without betraying any of the mystery or intensity of the story in lieu of easy answers and revelations, and though this frightfully entertaining conspiracy yarn comes close to spitting the bit after sixty or eighty minutes, the final half hour is brilliant, with some of the best stuff of Polanski's career. I especially like Olivia Williams as the seemingly put upon wife of former PM Pierce Brosnan, she has an icy sexiness that suggests darker secrets may be held. And in the lead, Ewan McGregor brings a befuddled comic undertone to his ghost writer who gets in way over his head on his assignment, a necessary levity in a film that is smothered in smog, rain, political secrets and assassination attempts.
Ponyo ('09): Miyazaki's obsession with flight makes a natural transition to the sea with this wonderful children's film with a strong environmental message. Updating "The Little Mermaid" to a quaint Japanese fishing town, Miyazaki's warm colors and peerless traditional animation lend a beautiful backdrop and exciting action sequences to a sweet and odd story about a goldfish who becomes a little girl when she experiences mutual love with a human boy. Both the Japanese and English language tracks appear on the Blu-ray, and they are both excellent, as is the various behind-the-scenes documentaries about Miyazaki and his famous Studio Ghibli.
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly ('67): Sergio Leone's masterpiece solidified Clint Eastwood as one of the iconic superstars in all of film, but his Men With No Name wouldn't be so special if he didn't have good villains to out-duel, and in Lee Van Cleef and the hilarious Eli Wallach, he had two of the best. And by the time the three take center stage in a cemetery bullring, all whipping circular montage, gigantic close-ups, and Ennio Morricone's brilliant, one-of-a-kind score reaching an orgasmic crescendo of horns and whips, Leone has reached some kind of flamboyant madman auteurist plateau, and it's a riot.
By Adam Suraf