Showing posts with label Mark Robson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mark Robson. Show all posts

2.04.2009

Ten recent reviews

I Vitelloni (dir. Federico Fellini, 1953)
A nostalgic look back at boyhood from Fellini? Impossible! OK, maybe not so impossible. In fact, a significant part of his catalog features his memories of provincial youth and this one is perhaps his finest early example of it, centered around a group of friends making that painful transition from their fly-by-night runaround ways into adulthood - most abruptly in the case of Fausto, who is made to marry a young woman he's gotten pregnant instead of following through on his plan of skipping out of town. While they're on honeymoon, the rest of his group scams, schemes, slacks, and dreams big without doing anything about changing their situation. But the specter of their forcibly adult-ed friend hangs over things and they start to worry about really facing up to life. That's basically the thrust of it, though of course in Fellini's hands, he really invests the people with a life that my description lacks. He understands the young, small town dreamers who would like to think they're one big break from turning their lives around and he's in sympathy with their plight, even if he's not uncritical. Before he started making his films into intricate puzzles and three-ring circuses, he made these types of character studies. This is one of the best - possibly the best - of his early works.


Ashes of Time Redux (dir. Wong Kar-Wei, 2008)
Kar-Wei Wong's romantic tangle unwound a bit to be easier to follow and I'm not sure it improves things at all. I found the original version a little tough, but somehow this more circularly organized take on things seems to lose a little of the mystery, even if it's been constructed of the same materials that made up the other version. I liked it the way it was, I guess, even if it meant that I had to come back a few times to really get to the heart of the film. Given Kar-Wei's strengths in constructing multiple layers and multiple timelines in his best works, I'm wondering just why this one ended up being re-worked. It's still a good film and it was a treat to see it again, but I prefer it the way it was.


Ghost Ship (dir. Mark Robson, 1946)
Another solid Val Lewton cheapie that fulfills its ambitions to being a good film, this time without as many of the supernatural/thriller elements that are present in most of his other films of the period. As always, there are 'A' performances from 'B' actors, a script that's way stronger than the unpromising and misleading title would have you believe, and an atmosphere of creepiness even as it works toward a more conventional drama. A seaman takes to a new ship helmed by a notoriously hard captain only to find that he's beyond "hard," he's nuts. But at sea, with the cap'n in charge, what can you do about it? That's the dilemma facing our hero here, and it's done nicely in the film. It's more about how this kind of life can suck out a person's soul, not about said souls returning from the beyond. Maybe less exciting than some of Lewton's other great films of the period, but it's certainly worth seeing.


Ichi the Killer (dir. Takashi Miike, 2001)
I can't figure Miike out. Certainly he's got a flair for the outrageous, and this is by far the most outrageous of his four films that I've seen, but I don't know if he's got anything up his sleeve beyond shock value. I mean, here's a film about a timid and lethal assassin (Ichi), motivated and manipulated by a man tangentially involved in the Yakuza. The second man's motives are dirty, Ichi doesn't exactly draw our sympathy, and the ample time spent with the masochistic Yakuza boss doesn't really draw us into his psyche at all. I guess that's kind of the deal with Miike's films that I've seen - he's got a set of ideas that get no more complex than your average comic book; a character has his simple motivation and that's enough to power the film for him. There's no pathos, nothing believable to grab on to, just a flashy show of violence, blood and guts that's maybe entertaining but hardly something that can make me think much about the characters involved, much less anything beyond the confines of the film.


Tokyo Twilight (dir. Yasujiro Ozu, 1957)
This is as overtly (melo)dramatic as any Ozu I've ever seen. That's not to say that it's not good, just that there are dramatic outbursts onscreen that are uncharacteristic of his work and come off as pretty startling and unexpected. Two sisters - one troubled and pregnant, the other separated from her husband - live with their father while they attempt to sort out their lives and deal with the knowledge that the mother they have long believed is dead may well be alive. I've read complaints about the plot, about the drama, but it doesn't really bother me, the film is still shot beautifully and anything with both Chishu Ryu and Setsuko Hara in it is gonna be worth my time, if perhaps not yours. It's not great, for sure, but it's certainly worth a look, and for those who find his films a little dry, it may even be a good way in to understanding his world better.




Forgetting Sarah Marshall (dir. Nicholas Stoller, 2008)
Shall we just accept that I'm probably going to enjoy everything coming out of Judd Apatow's stable of Freaks & Geeks alumni and move on from there? Let me try for a second to explain why though - the thing that Apatow has fostered in his young group of writers that makes his films exceptional (within the confines of comedies centered around insecure young men) is that he encourages them to make character rather than plot the central focus of the films. And so here we have Jason Segel's variation on his F&G character - a slightly weird and obsessive wounded romantic who wants to get into a good relationship but has some trouble figuring out exactly how to make any headway with the opposite sex or any understanding of how odd he really is. So if the film shows women finding him somehow irresistible when his charms actually seem quite resistible, he's still got charms, like most of the leads in the Apatow films. It was funny for sure (especially Russell Brand's egocentric rock star), I bought the drama with a minimal suspension of disbelief, and I think that there's a good solid grounding in writing character here that makes the film far better than it could've been. Maybe it coulda been cut down a bit, maybe it coulda been sharpened, but I always prefer character-driven films to plot-driven ones, so I might have liked it considerably less if so.


Judgment at Nuremberg (dir. Stanley Kramer, 1961)
An exceptional pair of performances anchor this film to prevent it from becoming too preachy - Burt Lancaster and the great Spencer Tracy both set about giving some of the best work of their careers as (respectively) one of the Nazi judges on trial and the American judge brought in to act as part of the tribunal trying them. (Please note that this is not a slap at the rest of the supporting cast, nearly all of whom do superb work here, just that these two roles call for more from the actors, both of whom rise to the occasion.) Where it could easily have wandered into a mere recreation of Nazi horrors and condemnation of them, it's aiming higher, more broadly about the act of making sure that we do not let these things go once they're supposedly over and done with, ready to be buried. Nearly everyone in the film encourages Tracy's character to let bygones be bygones, drop things and acquit the judges but he persists, he wants to understand especially how a judge like Lancaster's moralist - and by extension anybody - could slide to condemning people to concentration camps from which they'd never emerge. The viewer gets to understand it too, understand that each compromise, each lie told to the self to accomodate things moves everyone closer to the atrocities that are only late in the film explicitly shown. I'm not fan of courtroom dramas, but this one really got me.



The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (dir. Michael Powell/Emeric Pressburger, 1943)Another great one from my chronological examination of Powell and Pressburger. Though it is perhaps not quite as exciting as 49th Parallel - and that's fine - it's yet another nuanced character study, which is what makes their films so great, or at least so interesting to me. Maybe it's a little long at 2 1/2 hours, taking time getting to where it's going in fleshing out the people involved, but there's never a scene where it feels like I don't want to be spending time with Blimp, with any of Deborah Kerr's three characters, or with Anton Walbrook's Kretschmar-Schuldorff - they're all so brilliantly drawn and acted that I don't mind that extra time. Anyway, it's a wonderful character study, putting aside even the extraordinary circumstances of the filming. Not as dazzling as I had expected for a wartime epic, but perhaps all the more affecting for the smart portrayals that it puts across that can cut across time like this.


City Lights (dir. Charlie Chaplin, 1931)
I've always found Chaplin just a hair too sentimental for my tastes, even while being fully engaged by his works - love the gags a lot of the time, but am not always on the side of The Tramp, as I think I'm supposed to be. That doesn't apply here. I found this brilliant throughout, totally engrossed and drawn in to the story beginning to end. The boxing scene in particular is great - I'd seen it before out of context and loved it then - but really, the bittersweet romance, the ups and downs with his friend the drunken millionaire, the ambiguous ending, they all add up to the most consistently entertaining and emotionally engaging of his films that I've seen yet. Helps too that I saw it with the Colorado Symphony performing the score live along with the film. Somehow Gold Rush and Modern Times both seem to have eclipsed this in the Chaplin canon and I don't know why, I think it's the best of the three, and though I haven't seen his entire catalog of full lengths I can't imagine them getting better than this. But unlike the reactions I had to the other two films just mentioned this one has made me really want to make it a priority to see them.


Katyn (dir. Andrzej Wajda, 2007)
Bringing an event heretofore not very public, especially something on the scale of the massacre that forms the main event of this film, almost automatically lends itself to a powerful cinematic adaptation. But it is at times too automatic as filmmaking, letting the event and story itself carry the weight of the film. There's no doubt that this was an event that partially defined the Polish experience of WWII (you can get a hint of its significance just by a quick look at the numerous Polish reviews on IMDB) - an entire generation of Polish officers are rounded up via a secret pact between the Nazis and the Russian army, then executed and buried in mass graves in the Katyn forest, an event later blamed by each entity by the other - but I found that it failed to draw me in the way a film trading in such heavily emotional material should have, relying not on Wajda's skills, but expecting story alone to carry it. In this, it's like dozens of films before it - a well-made, strong but curiously uninvolving film about a weighty, meaningful subject that means a lot to everyone who made it. The seriousness that the film has put across confers a lot of gravity to audiences, but despite fine cinematography, good performances, and a crafty script that juggles several timelines, I find that I'd rather go to his war films of the 50's and read a book about this topic.

11.26.2008

Ten recent reviews

Sorry, I've been slacking. Here's some for today, and I've got a backlog of more, just haven't gotten around to writing and publishing. Soon.

Nayak (dir. Satyajit Ray, 1966)
A superstar of Indian cinema with a drinking problem takes a train ride. Along the way he meets a up-and-coming reporter and is uncharacteristically open is discussions with her, offering up information about his life and past that she could use in a scathing article, should she choose. That's the basic plot, though the film is structured around flashbacks and dreams that flesh out the character (and the running time). It's not my favorite Ray film - has less to say about humanity in general than about the characters involved. However, it does play a nice relationship between the two principals and the other surrounding folks in their interactions with them. And in terms of the writing, the acting, the shooting (though the DVD I saw wasn't a particularly good transfer) - it's all well made across the board. And I suppose the actor looking back on the events of his life can be taken in the meta- as an idea we could potentially all learn from - seemingly small events add up over time to the sum total of your character, your being. But that's taking it a little further than I think the film itself actually goes. A good film, not a great one (and as with several other Ray films, inexplicably packaged as part of a Bollywood series).


The Unforgiven (dir. John Huston, 1960)
The film suffers from an ambiguous and inconsistent attitude toward racism, most likely due to studio cuts and interference. But it still makes it an ultimately frustrating viewing experience, especially with the knowledge that the original version is alleged to have taken a much stronger stance against the racist attitudes that permeate the film before it was ordered to have been softened - a real turnaround in the final chapter rather than simply reinforcing many of the attitudes that have been presented by the Indian attack that closes things. But it's a fascinating look nonetheless, even if not totally successful, as a young woman (Audrey Hepburn) who lives with her white frontier family is accused of being an Indian, a charge which ends up dividing her family and ostracizing them from the community at large, whose ugliest side is shown as the search for the truth of her heritage is underway. A shame that John Saxon's role as a Mexican bronco buster was largely left on the cutting room floor - woulda fleshed out Burt Lancaster's role significantly and helped make his attitudes - and those of the film - clearer.


Fat City (dir. John Huston, 1972)
She: "You're the only sonuvabitch worth a shit in this place."
He: "I appreciate that."
I think that this exchange gets to the heart of the central relationship in this film. Susan Tyrell is, as her boyfriend says, a "juicehead," and pretty hard to take with her incessant whining that still somehow manages to be endearing. Seems like the only reason Stacy Keach's character stays there is because she enables him to keep going as a functional alcoholic - and like the only real reason she keeps him around is because boyfriend #1 is out of the picture. Despite the secondary story, I don't think it's really about boxing, more about one guy trying to pick himself up out of the gutter. Typical of Huston to have a film centered on societal outsiders and their relations to some sort of normalcy, though Jeff Bridges's up-and-comer is the only marker we have for any kind of normal life and his marriage - not quite shotgun, but not too far either - seems more contrived and forced than Tyrell and Keach's relationship, which at least derives from a common interest in drinking. It's got no future though, no room for development. Keach tries to clean up and Tyrell's got no interest in doing so - and resents the fact that he's trying to take her along with him. The whole thing's got a weird energy. There's no big climactic fight, no relationships work out the way they might in other hands than Huston's. Even Keach's boxing victory doesn't seem to mean anything to him: "Did I win?" he has to ask. If the movie doesn't exactly provide the sort of stirring Rocky-styled victories over adversity one might expect, neither does it wallow in the foibles, in the misery of its characters. It's not easy to read on one viewing, so it's probable that I'll be coming back to this before too long.


Force of Evil (dir. Abraham Polonsky, 1948)
John Garfield is great as the sleazy lawyer, protecting the numbers racket in New York City and pretending he's doing some good while things get more and more fucked up. It's not noir, exactly, not with all the daylight and no private dick and no femme fatale, but it's influenced by the depth of ickiness that noir can achieve nonetheless. It's presented here as institutionalized though - corruption running to even the highest offices of the city - rather than the the private depravity of individuals, so maybe it's more your basic crime picture, though the seediness that overruns everything and the way you can feel things going horribly wrong way before the characters do is a page straight out of the noir handbook. And though our central and most sinister character slides deep into the darkness thinking he's doing good in a roundabout way, he's really not and we can see it a mile off even if he can't. Not sure how much the dialogue/little twist of the end of the film satisfies for me the tone that the film started with and worked with up until the end, but I guess with a downer of an ending like this one it pretty much earns it.


Matewan (dir. John Sayles, 1987)
I think I'll have to go about a reassessment of Sayles some time soon. I enjoyed Brother From Another Planet back in the day - quite a progressive work, that one, a real triumph of ideas over budgetary limitations. But when I saw some of his stuff on a larger canvas - Eight Men Out, say, or especially City of Hope - I was not blown away. Made me sorta lose interest in him though the burgeoning indie community was always ga-ga over him, and over this film in particular. So I avoided it for - well, 21 years, to be exact, but now I have no idea why, because I think it's worth all the plaudits it's received. Lots of characters to keep up with, all pretty sharply drawn, though the bad guys are pretty stock.On the other hand, I have no doubt that it's a pretty fair representation of what those kind of muscle men were really like in that time - and later too, seeing as the same type turns up in real life in Harlan County U.S.A., a film that was probably a heavy influence on this one. In brief, it's a brilliantly rendered dramatic account of a real life battle between unionized coal miners and the company men they had to fight in the 1920's. Pretty great all on all counts, totally in sympathy with the workers (me too, so I got no gripe with the politics), and the brutality of the ending is no less shocking for knowing that it's coming. The shit is tense from the second the credits end and never lets up - even scenes with humor and human warmth still carry an undercurrent of menace knowing the circumstances under which they're taking place. Compare and contrast with Barbara Kopple's documentary for your next film school assignment and 4 great hours of film about labor struggles.


Eyes Without A Face (dir. Georges Franju, 1960) -
Gah! As an idea - brilliant surgeon pioneering a new skin grafting technique murders young women to transplant their faces onto his disfigured daughter's face - this could go either way. It could easily have become a total piece of schlock, but for the seriousness with which the participants undertook the project. And then, there's that ghastly scene that even nearly 50 years later and with every graphic advance horror filmmaking has had over the years still made me cringe and cover my face and make the sound I started this review with. But it's a fun little macabre story that's given real gravity by the father-daughter dynamic that powers it much more than the creepy murders - daughter's performance is so good that you can feel the her pain and just enough of the vanity that wants things to work out for her regardless, even through the blank mask she wears for most of the film. Reminds me in a way of Peeping Tom, a totally fucked up dynamic that you're drawn into with some sympathy even while you watch in horror at what's going on on-screen. Not as psychologically acute as Michael Powell's film, maybe, but pretty great regardless.


Look Back in Anger (dir. Tony Richardson, 1958) -
"Anybody who doesn't like jazz has no real feeling for music or for people." - R. Burton
Despite this great line in the film, Richard Burton's character is way less sensitive or likable than it might imply. He (the character, presumably not Burton himself), turns his contempt for the upper class into a contempt for women and for traditional society at large. While there are glimpses of him being a caring, thoughtful individual - as when he tries to encourage an Indian at a market stall to stand up against the racism of other local merchants or in the solitary tender scene with his wife - so much of the film is spent on him railing against first his wife and her place in society, then her girlfriend and hers that glimpses of the warm human being he might be underneath all the gruff and bluster is smothered in the negativity that ends up being all he expresses. While there's no doubt he's had his hard times, it's tough to sympathize with him very far, which in turn makes the film somewhat difficult (for me) to watch. He deserves for his wife to walk out on him, treating her the way he does, as a symbol of class and not a human being. Tony Richardson keeps things visually interesting throughout - the film presents a gorgeously moody ambiance of a cold, rainy London that suits the sour mood that the characters are so often in - but it doesn't help make things go down any easier. I'm not so sure that these Angry Young Men of British Cinema aren't just so many spoiled brats. Much easier to ridicule and hold contempt for the upper class when you're of it. And while there are some valid points brought up as to the emptiness of things, the need for new ways of doing things, it's hard for me to see the AYM path as a particularly well-illuminated way through the problems they decry.

Mamma Roma (dir. Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1962) -
While I understand that Pasolini regretted his choice of the dynamic Anna Magnani in the title role here - her professional flash allegedly detracts from the realism of the character he was trying to create - I think she does a fine job with it, making it easy to sympathize with her as she fights to make a real life for herself and her son. True to Pasolini's form, she fails of course, but it's the struggle to keep things together while her son drifts away from her that makes up the bulk of the film. Maybe the vision he had in his head would've been even better - it's possible that a woman from the poor sector could've made the upwardly mobile aspirations of Mamma Roma come from her heart rather than her actor's training. But the film remains a pretty powerful portrayal of Italy's lower classes, and in particular the figure of Mamma Roma and her struggles with family, with class issues, with trying to stay afloat in a world where everything's stacked against her.


Dallas 362 (dir. Scott Caan, 2003) -
Troubled youth story told from the side of the youth and not the horror of the parents at the youth's behavior. Also in some ways a coming of age for a 20-something working his way through those troubled times. It moves easily between what could be a maudlin rumination on a broken family or an unhealthy friendship and a therapy session and also what could easily turn into another flashy L.A. crime picture. I guess it's to its credit that it never really follows any of the accepted patterns, but it's also to its detriment in that it doesn't feel fully committed to the stories. I guess it's tough for first-time writer director Scott Caan to take his semi-autobiographical material and cut himself enough distance from it to tell it clearly - just casting himself as the fucked up friend opposite his proxy Shawn Hatosy doesn't quite do it. That said, just because it doesn't choose one story and run with it doesn't mean it's bereft of interest. Visually it can get annoying in that quick cut, shaky cam, non-diegetic sound effected way of so many contemporary Hollywood action and horror films, but it settles itself down in the family scenes, especially in those between Hatosy and Jeff Goldblum, and puts something real across. If anything, I wish it had chosen this path to pursue, though that could've turned deadly boring. It's smart enough, it's got humor, I just wish it knew exactly what kind of ride it wanted to take you on.


Isle of the Dead (dir. Mark Robson, 1945) -
Again, a fantastic Boris Karloff performance grounds a solid Val Lewton vehicle. This one's about a group quarantined to an island to keep the plague from spreading. But is it actually amongst their own group, or is an evil spirit dwelling in one of the group and killing the others? That's the question the characters face, and while the sophisticated science-backed, modern Western world citizens scoff at the supposedly backwards traditional belief system that's pushing that idea (and hence, paranoia) among the group, it's typical of Lewton's films that he gives those characters equal credence, not just in the confines of the story, where the problem very well may be caused by an evil spirit, just as it may have been a Cat-Woman, Leopard-Man, or Caribbean Plantation zombie elsewhere, but in the broader sense in which there's a parity between different characters' belief systems and they're given respect. They're never painted as wholly evil or superstitious - nobody in his films is all good or all bad, and superstition is granted a significant amount of power, even when "reality" proves it unfounded - which it rarely is given enough weight to do in the face of the otherworldly and supernatural. In short, it's again an approach that undercuts the supposed superiority of Western knowledge, of science, and approaches other characters and cultures with a respect that's rare in most films, especially those of the horror/suspense variety, where the "other" is almost always the source of evil.