Amarcord

The title means "I remember," and the film is based on Fellini's childhood during the fascist period. Roger Ebert likes to note that the people in his films always seem to be dancing to an unheard melody. This may be attributed to the music Fellini played on set, since the dialogue is dubbed in later. This also creates an effect that I love, a dreamlike environment where the action is separate from voice. Regardless of the cause, his films are a beautiful thing to watch. Here, he mainly keeps the camera at a safe distance from his subjects, thereby preventing the humorous from becoming overwrought. The film is unofficially demarcated by seasons, which create the pacing for a year in Titta's life--his coming of age.

As with 8 1/2, there is even a demented prostitute lurking on the beach.



And a bleak-looking scaffold, never finished.

The religious aura of a cinema.


In one scene, the entire town turns out to see an ocean liner pass by in the night. One of the men shouts that it is one of the most glorious things that the fascist regime has built. Directly following this scene, the town is plunged into an impenetrable fog, an image which seems to speak even louder than Titta's anarchist father about the evils of fascism.

Before the fog lifts, we bear witness to the young men dancing in the fog with imaginary women. So much of this film is devoted to the dreams of young men. Women are idolized; they are the dream. The glory of fascism is also a dream.


Fellini is one of my favorite filmmakers. His films always evoke a pure joy of watching that is separate from narrative. I don't watch them because I care about the narrative arc; I just can't tear my eyes away. This film is an impeccably choreographed dance to Nina Rota's beautiful score. It is the perfect reworking of a distant memory, idealized and dreamy.

A Single Man

Tom Ford has been criticized by some for being too heavy handed with his first cinematic effort. I really don't think that this criticism is warranted. In this case of this film, Tom Ford's fashion status is his downfall because it gives naysayers an access point to disparage the beauty of his craftsmanship. I mean, yes, he makes a career out of using beauty to sell things. But that doesn't mean he can't make a great debut film. While there were some cringe-worthy moments, A Single Man offers much more than vacuous formalism. Although, I've only read one such opinion, and to be fair, I haven't read a review of Firth's performance that was less than glowing. So at least everyone is in agreement that A Single Man has one good thing to offer: a truly fantastic performance by Colin Firth.

Returning to the point though, I feel like so many critics (and acquaintances of mine) nowadays have a tendency to label as self-indulgent or pretentious anything that challenges the idea of cinema as strict entertainment. Anything that too closely approximates art is anathema. Even the most popular auteurs of the moment, like the Coens and Tarantino shroud their artistic tendencies in comedy or samurai sword-fighting. Not that I think that films should not be entertaining. And unlike some people, I hesitate to consciously distinguish between the words "film" and "movie." But movies that are slow and haunting, perhaps more about mood and philosophy than narrative should never be considered self-indulgent.


There are some really beautiful moments in A Single Man. These are greatly augmented by the scoring, as well. The film follows one day in the life of English expat professor George, around 8 months after the death of his lover of 16 years. I am a sucker for beautiful imagery, whether or not it is well integrated into the themes of the film, and Ford knows how to do pretty, even if he once in a while steps over the line and into fragrance commercial territory. My favorite moments in the film are when George is interacting with his neighbors, a picturesque family unit with a young boy and girl. Representing the epitome of American suburban bliss, they are shot in a dreamy halo of light, often in a graceful slow motion. In contrast, the bit with the disconsolate Charley (Julianne Moore) is wonderful too, as the two misfits come together to drink heavily and wallow in their miseries.

Cinematography and direction aside, Colin Firth is still probably the best reason to see this film. There are some elements that are a little much. The images of the submerged man that insinuate both drowning and rebirth are shown maybe a few too many times. Ford's use of color to portray George's changing perception is polarizing. I didn't mind it, probably because I think of the changing palette as that simple, and not, as some have intuited, a meter that records whether an event might make his life worth living again. It is a device that would have been infinitely less contrived if George did not spend the entire film planning his suicide.

The reviews have largely been favorable, at least, if the T-meter on Rotten Tomatoes is to be believed. There have, however, been a few diatribes. I guess I just hate to hear anything that aspires to artfulness in the age of the blockbuster labeled as pretentious. I haven't read anything of the sort about Up in the Air, for instance. It pounds its themes heavily enough, yet no one wants to label it as self-indulgent. Neither Up in the Air or A Single Man is a perfect film by any means, but I still prefer the latter.

There are some good things about Up in the Air. It is pretty entertaining. It is pretty heartwarming for a while there. Also some great performances in it.

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The Golden Globes 2010

Not too thrilled about the outcome of the Golden Globes this year, but I can't truly complain until I get around to seeing all of the best drama nominees. Still, I have a hard time believing that Avatar will impress me more than Inglourious Basterds did. I am not happy that spectacle is being awarded over true quality. I haven't seen Avatar yet, but I've seen enough of James Cameron's films to know that his movie was probably not better than Tarantino's. Of course, I've also sat through enough of these ceremonies to know that winning has nothing to do with deserving to win.

I'm also skeptical of The Hangover winning best comedy/ musical, but at least it wasn't Nine.

Also, why does the Golden Globes lump adapted and original screenplay into one category? They are relatively incomparable, aren't they? The writers for Up in the Air won that one, but it was adapted from a novel by Walter Kirn.

Mad Men won best drama, which I am truly thrilled about. As much as I love that show, I am pretty happy January Jones didn't score the best actress award.

Coming soon: a brief overview of the new films I've seen lately, including Nine, A Single Man and Up in the Air.

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The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

In which Baron Munchausen (and Terry Gilliam, once again) demonstrates the transcendent power of the imagination.

This film strikes me as a children's fantasy for adults. Or maybe it is more for children than for adults. Arguments could be made either way, I think. It is a fantastical tale of adventure, but has some dark imagery, as well. The film weaves in and out of reality, thereby creating sort of a metaphor for the film-viewing experience, as well as the consuming experience of any type of narrative art. In one frame, the action is taking place on a stage, in the next, it has become reality. From then on, Gilliam weaves an elaborate story, which depicts the Baron (John Neville) and Sally (a very young Sarah Polley) and their journey to bring help to their town, which is under siege.



And it wouldn't be a Gilliam film without portentous demon-puppetry.


In my favorite scene, the travelers fly to the moon, and encounter Robin Williams in an uncredited cameo. His spiritual mind is constantly warring with his body, and its more base needs. He literally separates his head from his body, leaving the body stumbling around on the ground below while he soars above.


And yes, Uma Thurman plays the Goddess, Venus.



When the Munchausen has finished his tale, the siege has magically ceased. Was it just a story, after all?

Peeping Tom

My experience of Peeping Tom was rather cobbled together. First, I waited for the DVD from the library for so long, I forgot that I had ordered it. Then, when it finally arrived, the DVD was so damaged, I couldn't even watch it all the way through. (It stalled, quite suspiciously, right before the one nude scene in the film.) However, I managed to finish it by streaming in on IMDB.com with limited commercial interruption! With much travail, I saw something approximating the entire thing. I didn't dare to screen-cap it, though. So I'm making do with borrowed images.

On the Criterion DVD there is a featurette entitled "A Very British Psycho," which is quite apt, at least in its reference to Hitchcock. Actually, Peeping Tom reminded me just as much of Rear Window, with the camera's obvious parallel to the phallus (in PT, there is a lot of sensual caressing of the lens), as well as the self-reflexivity. Technically, Jeff of Rear Window is much more of a peeping tom than Mark Lewis (Carl Boehm). Like Rear Window, the film calls attention to the audiences' own voyeurism. Like Psycho, the film revolves around a serial killer whose homicidal tendencies derive from deep psychological trauma. In the case of Mark, this is a result of having been the guinea pig in his father's experiments.

Because of the camera's constant presence in the frame, it is practically another character in the film. It is a sexual object, too; but more than anything, it is a weapon. When we see what Mark is filming, we see his subjects in the cross hairs of the viewfinder, as if he is training a rifle on them. Of course, the camera is also the primary instrument in his murders. Through his murders, Mark attempts to capture the perfect expression of terror. As it turns out, he does this by training a mirror on them, forcing them to watch their own deaths. Mark inverts his own "morbid urge to gaze" by forcing his victims to watch themselves.

This is all the more disturbing, as the camera is, as his lover, Helen (Anna Massey) suggests, an extra limb. Guess which one? The penetration of sharp spear that provides the quietus suggests another kind of penetration.

While there are a lot of interesting philosophical facets in this film, I simply found it a joy to watch, much like Black Narcissus. Black Narcissus is a better film, I think, but the playfulness of certain scenes is reminiscent to its predecessor. The budding relationship between Mark and Helen is heart-wrenching, as is the scene where the hopeful actress, Vivian (Moira Shearer) does a lengthy warm up dance number, not knowing that it will be her last.

As it turns out, Helen's mother is blind. The overtness of this narrative ploy is one that I could live without, in some ways. Naturally, this handicap has provided her with other heightened forms of perception. When Mark comes home to find her lurking in the darkness, she remarks that the blind live in the rooms they live under. From the softness of his footsteps, she infers that he is troubled. For some reason, Mark turns his camera on her, and to no one's surprise, it doesn't work, because she cannot see herself. Still, she is terrified of being filmed, perhaps because she cannot return the gaze.




Images are from the awesomely prolific Criterion Contraption, which is also linked on the sidebar. Also, Images Journal.

Double Indemnity

This is a great old fashioned noir, in which boy meets girl, and girl beguiles boy into committing murder with her. Let's just say it's a classic for a reason. In a device that was probably over-used in noir films, Double Indemnity is told in flashback, as a haggard Walter Neff (Fred MacMurry) dictates his confession to Barton Keyes (Edward G. Robinson). This, as well as the metaphor of train tracks, gives the film a heightened sense of fatalism. From the outset, we know that Neff is doomed. And since he is telling his own story, it is saturated with grim foreboding.

"I didn't get the money, and I didn't get the girl."

"Suddenly it came over me that everything would go wrong. It sounds crazy, Keyes, but it's true, so help me. I couldn't hear my own footsteps. It was the walk of a dead man. "

Naturally, much is made of the relationship between Neff and Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck), but the relationship between Keyes and Neff is equally interesting, if only because it marks an early version of bromance. Also, their chaste relationship forms an interesting parallel to one between Dietrichson and Neff. While Dietrichson is betraying Neff, Neff is betraying Keyes. As played by Robinson, Keyes exudes a gruff and completely endearing morality. Perhaps the worst aspect of the morass Neff finds himself in is it necessitates misleading his friend.

I like how Wilder uses physical groupings to highlight certain tensions. Here Walter Neff is visually trapped within the frame between Keyes and the one witness to Neff's crime.

I also love this sequence of shots, in which Dietrichson is trapped behind the door to Neff's apartment. The depth of field in these frames creates a really beautiful effect that seems to reduce the characters to one plane, while physically separating them. They seem to exist in a fragile balance on the screen. Once again, Neff is trapped between two major forces--the total morality embodied by Keyes, and the temptation embodied by Phyllis Dietrichson.

Well played, Barbara Stanwyck. Something about this shot tickles me:

And my favorite scene.

"No, I never loved you Walter--not you or anybody else. I'm rotten to the heart. I used you, just as you said. That's all you ever meant to me. Until a minute ago, when I couldn't fire that second shot."

"Neff: know why you couldn't figure this one, Keyes? I'll tell ya. 'Cause the guy you were looking for was too close. Right across the desk from ya.
Keyes: closer than that, Walter.
Neff: I love you, too."