Archive for the ‘Classics’ Category

Hiroshima, Mon Amour

August 16, 2010

Hiroshima, Mon Amour, Alain Resnais’ meditation on memory and how one can never escape or forget the past, follows a French actress who travels to Hiroshima to shoot a movie. She meets a Japanese architect and the two have a romantic fling. They have great chemistry together but both know they can never leave their families, nor have they any inclination to do so. The more time they spend together in the shadow of a horrific war, the more the woman is reminded of her first great love–a German soldier with whom she had a passionate affair during the Occupation. What really got me about this movie were Resnais’ incredible editing, conflating past and present; Michio Takahashi and Sacha Vierny’s gorgeous photography; and Georges Delerue and Giovanni Fusco’s haunting, lonely music score. Their music is a presence unto itself. Though made in the late 50s, Hiroshima’s imagery and music give it a feel at once modern and timeless, this is a beautiful piece of work.

Grade: A-

Directed by: Alain Resnais
Screenplay by: Marguerite Duras
Cast: Emmanuelle Riva, Eiji Okada, Stella Dassas, Pierre Barbaud

The Hidden Fortress

June 12, 2010

Kurosawa’s stories move to the rhythms of nature and this fable about two ne’er-do-wells, a warrior and a princess trying to escape with a stash of gold from their kingdom after it’s besieged by enemies is no exception. As always, Mifune is fantastic, proving his status as one of the century’s most riveting screen actors. I enjoyed The Hidden Fortress as I do all of Kurosawa’s movies, not so much for the larger story in play but for those wonderful, keenly felt moments of life in harmonious balance with the world surrounding it.

Fortress may be a bit too long for Western mindsets. This master filmmaker, rooted in Eastern narrative tradition, paces his adventure like a tone poem–gently and deliberately. A highlight (and my favorite moment in the film), by the way, is the spear-wielding face-off between Mifune’s warrior and the enemy’s chieftain, his erstwhile friend and comrade. Also important to note: This is a great movie for introducing Kurosawa to children.

Grade: A-

Directed by: Akira Kurosawa
Written by:Shinobu Hashimoto, Ryuzo Kikushima, Akira Kurosawa, Hideo Ogumi
Cast: Toshiro Mifune, Misa Uehara, Minour Chiaki, Kamatari Fujiwara, Takashi Shimura

The Flowers of St. Francis

April 24, 2010

An experimental neo-realist film, not so much a biopic as a pictorial devotional to the titular medieval saint. Rossellini divides his Flowers of St. Francis into twelve vignettes showcasing the personal and spiritual milestones in the life of the titular ascetic. Rossellini’s use of non-professional actors (except for the appropriately scene-chewing Fabrizi) and a stripped-down technique succeed in creating the impression that the director and his cameraman traveled back to early 13th century Italy and gathered this luminous record. The result is simple, unpretentious, and an uncannily evocative portrait–emotionally moving, even funny, without overplaying its hand. In that sense, Rossellini stays true to his neo-realist principles and to his unconditionally humble subject. With his warm, welcoming, unassuming presence, Gerardi does the example of St. Francis proud in this, one of the cinema’s loveliest spiritual explorations.

Grade: A-

Directed by: Roberto Rossellini
Screenplay by: Federico Fellini, Father Antonio Lisandrini, Father Félix Morión, Roberto Rossellini
Cast: Aldo Fabrizi, Brother Nazario Gerardi, Arabella Lemaitre

Doctor Zhivago

April 16, 2010

As a love story, Zhivago is pretty weak: The two lovers (played by Sharif and Christie) are not convincing in conveying passionate and irrepressible desire. What’s more, David Lean is not a poet of the heart; his depiction of lovers is sophomoric (Summertime might his best handling of that theme).

What he can do, however, and where his genius lies is in making the screen come alive with precise physical detail. His recreation of Bolshevik-era Russia is magnificent: it feels astonishingly real, like the screen itself might’ve frozen over around the edges if the shot held a second longer. Beautiful cinematography by Freddie Young and set design by John Box, together with excellent performances combine to form Zhivago’s timeless appeal–this, as far as I know, is Omar Shariff’s best remembered role; Julie Christie, so sensuous and demure at once, can make a guy break out in a sweat; and Rod Steiger as a cad who becomes the lovers’ dubious benefactor is terrific. An entertaining saga, though not wholly convincing and involving.

Grade: A-

Directed by: David Lean
Screenplay by: Robert Bolt
Cast: Omar Sharif, Julie Christie, Geraldine Chaplin, Rod Steiger, Alec Guinness

Army of Shadows

April 4, 2010

Adapting Joseph Kessel’s novel about the French Resistance, writer-director Jean-Pierre Melville drew on his own experiences as an operative in the Resistance, the titular Army of Shadows, to make his most haunting masterpiece. Deliberately paced, unsentimental, and informed by a moral rigorousness and fatalism that bears echoes of Robert Bresson, Army of Shadows is not so much an espionage thriller as a meditation on the realities of life as an underground resistor, rife with betrayal, hopelessness, boredom, the constant imminence of death, and the struggle to keep the faith. In that sense, the movie feels like a catharsis for Melville and his big flip-off to the Hollywood tradition of glorified, gung-ho war movies.

Melville’s central figure is Philippe Gerbier (Lino Ventura), a civil engineer turned leader of the French Resistance during the height of the Nazi occupation, as he goes about the business of directing the underground. Melville’s script isn’t structured like conventional thrillers, with their dramatic arcs, action setpieces, and calibrated suspense. Rather, it’s a construction of evenly paced sequences in which every situation — whether it involves Gerbier staging a breakout from a Nazi detention facility or pacing a safe-house, lonely, bored and anxious — is treated with a matter-of-fact inevitability. For Gerbier (and Melville, by extension), slashing an officer’s throat or strangling an informant is all in a day’s work, as necessary and as routine as sharing cigarettes with your fellow inmates, planning an operation with your comrades, or reading a book. There are few that Gerbier can trust; they go by monikers like Le Bison (Christian Barbier) and Le Masque (Claude Mann), both befitting their physical appearance, alongside the headstrong, no-nonsense Mathilde (Simone Signoret), as tough and unflappable as any of her male counterparts. As loyal as they may be, though, no one can be taken for granted and each is expendable for the greater good of the Resistance: This is the underlying directive of the movie, and of Gerbier’s daily existence. Melville follows Gerbier and his band of outsiders through a few treacherous months in 1942, and, as we watch, we grow to admire him, Mathilde, Le Bison, Le Masque for their competence, steadiness of nerve, but, mostly, their belief in a movement that could collapse under the rising tide of Nazism at any moment, taking their lives with it.

Lino Ventura plays Gerbier with a memorably dapper, undaunted air. He’s the moral and temperamental center of Army of Shadows, as smooth and cool as the movie itself. Eric Demarsan’s brooding score and sharply luminous cinematography by Pierre Lhomme and Walter Wottitz accompany Melville’s ensemble of pitch-perfect performances. Indeed, Army of Shadows is one of those blessed pictures in which all elements, from its writing through to its editing, coalesce into a work of profound philosophical and emotional unity, owing largely to Melville’s strengths as a storyteller, seen here at the peak of their powers.

Grade: A

Directed by: Jean-Pierre Melville
Written by: Jean-Pierre Melville
Cast: Lino Ventura, Paul Meurisse, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Simone Signoret, Claude Mann, Paul Crauchet, Christian Barbier

City Lights

November 10, 2009

City Lights along with The Gold Rush, both by Chaplin, are easily two of the greatest screen comedies ever made. Chaplin invested so much emotional depth in his Little Tramp that the comedy arose from that character organically, like a flower, always natural, always earned, always stemming from the innermost yearnings of character and of how he relates to the situation at hand. And, while I’m on it, here it is: Chaplin was easily the greatest actor of silent cinema, hands down, no competition. He innate genius for characterization and for being emotionally present in every second of every frame gives any of our more “modern” actors a run for their money. Also, Chaplin is, without doubt, the most influential comedian in cinema history: You can see traces of his influence, most obviously, in Jerry Lewis and all the way to Jim Carrey, Michael Richards’ Kramer, and, even, in Matt Groening’s Homer Simpson. Chaplin was our first master, the comedian-filmmaker who demonstrated how to negotiate that delicate tightrope between comedy and sentiment to monumental effect.

In the past several decades, Chaplin’s reputation has been overshadowed by a re-awakening of Keaton appreciation. Keaton was awe-inspiring at setting up and executing comic set pieces. But I’ve never felt as emotionally connected to his characters as I do to Chaplin’s. The Tramp makes a bead for the soul, and, in his travails, you’re with him every step of the way. Chaplin was not primarily a filmmaker the way Keaton was–Keaton hooks us in with clever design and editing rhythms (but this can become wearisome, and it admittedly takes some stamina for me to make it through a Keaton movie). In contrast, Chaplin was a sentimental storyteller with a special, maybe unequaled, genius for character development. It’s where the germ of his comedy was cultured.

City Lights, with marvelous simplicity and narrative clarity, depicts a romance between the Tramp and a blind flower girl. The Tramp tries to keep her from getting evicted and then to raise money for a surgery that will restore her eyesight. His accidental catalyst is his bumbling, on-again, off-again friendship with a drunken millionaire, who the Tramp saves from suicide. Every scene of the movie is gorgeous, often hilarious (especially the scenes in the boxing hall where the Tramp bumbles and cajoles his way through a nasty face-off with the local brute). City Lights is a great gift to all of us by a filmmaker at a latter-day peak of his genius. To see anything by Chaplin is to nourish the soul. Chaplin is good for the world.

Grade: A+

Directed by: Charles Chaplin
Written by: Charles Chaplin
Cast: Charles Chaplin, Virginia Cherrill, Harry Myers, Charles Chaplin, Al Ernest Garcia

Chloe in the Afternoon

November 9, 2009

The final installment of Eric Rohmer’s Six Moral Tales, Chloe in the Afternoon is a beautiful character study about what it is to love one woman and yet be in love with all women. Frédéric (Verley), a very levelheaded Parisian businessman with a wife and two kids, one day encounters a woman, Chloé, who he used to know years ago. Before long, they’re meeting every afternoon, over drinks or whatever, chatting, divulging intimate details about themselves. Frédéric first thinks of Chloé as an oddball, a neurotic, and brushes her off casually. But when she begins to treat him indifferently, he gets riled up and all the more drawn to her. And you can’t necessarily blame the guy: Chloé’s portrayed as a very exciting, sensual woman who also happens to be an unpredictable head-case; she hops from bed to bed, attaches herself to men who never love her and, before long, moves on. She also can’t keep a job down. Chloé’s the kind of brash, slightly dangerous woman that all men, at some time or another, have fallen for.

Eventually, Frédéric finds himself at the brink at which he must face his lust for Chloé head-on. Contrary to stereotype, his wife, Hélène (Françoise Verley), isn’t some insufferable ball-and-chain but an alluring, free-minded woman: beautiful, smart and a devoted mother. And, to be fair, Frédéric’s no slouch either: he’s a sensitive guy, devoted to his wife but also honest about how Chloé makes him feel. Indeed, he starts out the movie confessing that marriage has made him feel cut off from all the women he sees all around him. He’s attracted to all of them, yet his genuine loyalty to his wife offsets those more primal yearnings. It’s a testament to the honesty with which Rohmer depicts Frédéric’s marriage that his and Hélène’s final scene is such a knockout.

As opposed to Kubrick’s inane Eyes Wide Shut, which crossed similar thematic ground but turned its protagonist’s honest desires into the stuff of psycho-dramatic tripe, Rohmer steers the humanist road to far more poignant effect. Rohmer never resorts to stereotypes: These characters are all vivid, believable, complex creations in whom we see ourselves. Chloé is a superb example of how culturally bound stories, when told simply and delicately, can find universal resonance. As an added bonus, it also offers an intriguing peek into Parisian middle-class life in the early 70s.

Grade: A

Directed by: Eric Rohmer
Written by: Eric Rohmer
Cast: Bernard Verley, Zouzou, Françoise Verley, Daniel Ceccaldi

The Birth of a Nation

June 16, 2009

Its racist politics aside, Birth of a Nation is a sublime example of the culmination of early Hollywood cinema. Griffith’s view — that it was not the economic rift between the North and South that threatened America after the Civil War, but the rampant and reckless exploitation by blacks on their white “civilizers” — feels so grossly and ridiculously reactionary, that it’s more quaint and buffoonish than anything remotely incendiary. I forgive Birth of a Nation its silly politics because, as an example of filmmaking, it set the standard for all Hollywood historical sagas to come.

Griffith’s mastery of the medium is at its most glorious here. His movie begins as an ode to the Old South, in the days preceding the war, and as a sprawling portrait of two families — the Stonemans of the North and the Camerons of the South. Love blossoms between members of these two politically disparate clans just as the Civil War breaks out. It’s after the war, though, when the South must suffer the indignities of Reconstruction, that Nation’s politics rears its grotesque head.

The black mobs, newly liberated, take over state legislatures and run roughshod over the genteel streets of the white South. Women are threatened with rape and the old heroes of bygone days are mocked and ridiculed by — as Griffith would have it — a bunch of scheming, lecherous Negroes. Nation gathers steam as one of the Camerons — a veteran of the war who laments the degeneration of his land and people — establishes his vigilante organization, the Ku Klux Klan. Griffith’s portrayal of the Klan as the saviors of the South — the redeeming and protective knights of besieged values — is troubling but, when viewed from a purely narrative standpoint, quite exhilarating. The ride of the Klan as they come to the rescue of a town overrun with drunken, gun-toting blacks uses sophisticated cross-cutting, juxtaposition, and all those cinematic devices to startlingly modern, suspenseful effect.

Can you enjoy Birth of a Nation as a purely cinematic experience? Of course! Just take its politics with a grain of salt, and you will come away fascinated by its old-world vision of America and awed by Griffith’s unerring gift for storytelling on film. This is a masterpiece that still packs a punch and whose standard-bearing genius remains untarnished.

Grade: A+

Directed by: D.W. Griffith
Written by: D.W. Griffith, Frank E. Woods, Thomas F. Dixon, Jr.
Cast: Lillian Gish, Mae Marsh, Henry B. Walthall, Ralph Lewis

The Battle of Algiers

June 15, 2009

Pontecorvo’s exhilarating political saga covers the insurgency by Algerian militants against the French occupation of Algiers between the early ’50s and the mid-60s (when Algeria won its independence). What’s so arresting straight off about the film is the nervy, seemingly disjointed fusion of documentary-style realism and more conventional narrative strategies as it follows Ali La Pointe (Brahmin Hadjadj), a young Algerian nationalist, and his involvement in the FLN, an organization devoted to the liberation of their homeland from the hands of the French colonialists. Under the orders of their headstrong commander, Djafar (Yacef Saadi), the FLN rampantly employs terrorist tactics and assassinations directed at the colonial residents of their city, and, on this count, Battle of Algiers is unsparing — depicting violence full-on, whether perpetrated in the mass-space of cafés or at point-blank range of the militants’ targets.

As Pontocorvo takes us deeper into the lives of its various characters, and into the daily rhythms of life in the Casbah district of Algiers, home to much of its Arabic population, we begin to feel a kinship with their struggle. This is not just a ragtag group of scruffy, discontented men who decide to direct their rage against the System, but an intricate pyramidal chain of command whose members work intently to unshackle chains forged by 130 years of colonial oppression. And not just men, the struggle involves women resistors too, and Pontecorvo singles out three, all of whom resign to get their hands bloody for the cause. In one of Algiers’ gamut of extraordinary sequences, we follow the women as they sneak past French checkpoints and into the city’s European quarters on a bombing mission. Such scenes are not easy to watch, for the deaths of innocent civilians can hardly be justified under any circumstances. But it’s a double-edged sword as the film’s makers are shrewd to point out. They make sure to give equal time to the often brutal retaliatory measures employed by the French army, including (surprising considering the time when it was made) candidly shot scenes of torture.

Tonally, the film almost founders under the weight of its political gravity and a screenplay that can’t find adequate footing with any of its characters. That is, until the arrival of Col. Mathieu (Jean Martin), a hard-nosed militaryman hired to bring order to the increasingly chaotic city. Here’s when Algiers snaps awake as a crackling socio-political thriller. Mathieu institutes a rigorous system of crackdowns and interrogation. A veteran of the anti-Nazi resistance, he decides the only way to destroy the FLN is to charge his way to the top of its executive chain and bring down Djafar. Hence, Algiers builds, not on the backs of any single character, but as an anthemic recall of historic vignettes.

Pontecorvo, together with his cinematographer Marcello Gatti and editors Mario Morra and Mario Serandrei, patch together a kind of rough-hewn, blood-spattered quilt that honors the Algerian resistance, rising to a climactic sequence brilliantly recreating a mass street demonstration. The off-handedness of Algiers’ style is highly deceptive when one considers the logistics and special effects deployed masterfully during its frentic action- and crowd-filled passages. And weaved into this gritty fabric is the uncannily gorgeous music by Pontecorvo and Ennio Morricone — blending Arabic strains with Morricone’s haunting guitar notes. The score for Battle of Algiers sets an indelible mood of danger, desperation and the irony of victory when weighed against the losses incurred along the way.

Inevitably, given the times we live in, what really resonates on watching Algiers is its message about the widespread loss of civilian life and the staggering destruction to civic infrastructure as the heaviest costs of violent uprisings. Above that, we learn the harsh lesson that all occupations are doomed to fail. The Pentagon apparently screened Battle of Algiers in 2003, the year of the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Considering our actions in the years’ since, it’s clear that, having learned nothing from history (nor taken much heed to this film), we are in the midst of repeating it.

Grade: A

Directed by: Gillo Pontecorvo
Written by: Gillo Pontecorvo, Franco Solinas
Cast: Brahmin Hadjadi, Jean Martin, Yacef Saadi, Samia Kerbash, Ugo Paletti, Fusia El Kader, Omar

Andrei Rublev

June 14, 2009

A strange and most challenging film, Andrei Rublev is a dreamy, sooty, black-and-white chronicle set against early 15th century Russian history. Tarkovsky is fascinated with images of nature, animals, natural processes, and he allows them to add another layer of meaning to the human strife playing out in the foreground. I’m not sure what Rublev is completely about but the trick is to ride along with it, as it soon becomes a beautiful and wondrous sort of cinematic experience, played out against the rhythms of galloping horses or the falling rain, and the veil-like shrouds of rain and snow. Tarkovsky’s parable concerns the titular monk-painter struggling with reconciling his relationship with the church and his own personal morality, with the purpose of art in the midst of so much injustice and turmoil. Intimate and grittily shot, this isn’t so much a biopic (Rublev sometimes isn’t even directly involved in much of the action, rather just an observer swept up in the tide of historical events), so much as a philosophical tract as pondered by its director over its long but always hypnotic telling.

Grade: A-

Directed by: Andrei Tarkovsky
Written by: Andrei Konchalovsky, Andrei Tarkovsky
Cast: Anatoli Solonitsyn, Ivan Lapikov, Nikolai Grinko, Nikolai Sergeyev


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