Double Dose: Women on the Verge and Beaches

I'm going to do something I don't normally do, which is to attempt to pull an Anthony Lane, and find some common denominator in the two very different films I've just watched. Beaches of Agnes and Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown have more in common that you might think, although I might be the main link between them. The latter came to me accidentally. I'm a member of Facets, a Chicago based film organization that has a Netflix-esque rental program. I was told through an automatic email that I was receiving Claude Chabrol's La Ceremonie in the mail. Terribly excited, I tore open the package to find Women on the Verge instead. This was a movie I had always wanted to see anyway, and I took it as a sign from the universe. Agnes Varda is, after watching her latest, my newest fascination. I even recently got a haircut that is exactly like hers, circa 1968. Needless to say, I am feeling spiritual, my stars aligned with my cinematic muses. Aside from my cosmic attachments, the obvious connection between these two movies is that they demonstrate both a love affair with cinema, and an examination of the nature of love itself.

Cape Fear, 1962

Historically, Cape Fear comes at a transitional period in American Film making. Released in 1962, it came at the very tail end of the period of classic noirs. The 60s were late enough in film history that some directors were already beginning to subvert the genre, although as you might have guessed, most of those directors were not American. Over in France, Jean-Luc Godard was already loosing his aimless gangsters and girlish femme fatales onto the streets of France. But, this J. Lee Thompson film plays it straight. What results is a sort of atypical noir that is stylistically intricate in the vein of Cat People or Diabolique, with a sort of psycho-sexual bent.

Winter's Bone

This contemporary noir set in the bleak winter of the Ozarks is exactly the movie I didn't know I had been waiting for forever. Really though, Winter's Bone borrows very little from traditional noirs. I wouldn't necessarily call it a noir, but maybe a mythical, feminist, coming of age fable about duty and independence... with a noir bouquet. Morally ambiguous characters speak in hard-boiled cadences while treading the thin moral ground between mere survival and criminal activity. Though there are criminals, there are no true villains, just a basic moral code to be negotiated based on individual requirement. Everyone in this small community is just trying to get by through various methods, the most noticeable of which is meth production.

Greenberg

While watching Noah Baumbach's Greenberg, I experienced a kind of cognitive dissonance. The movie succeeds in being totally un-pleasurable. As I became more emotionally discomfited by the interactions on screen, I could feel my body slumping lower and lower into the futon. At the same time, the movie is riveting, because it is really good-- thought-provoking, clever, unpredictable-- a handful of other descriptors that any film should aspire to be. Finally, Greta Gerwig is a vision. She creates an uncannily natural performance. Because she doesn't appear to be performing at all, her scenes are the most uncomfortable, because we feel like we are watching something we really shouldn't be. She appears unrehearsed, awkward in her own skin, someone from whom we would avert our eyes in real life. That being said, the entire movie consists of interactions from which we would probably avert our eyes in real life.

Sorry, Y'all

Life has been hectic, folks. Working two jobs is not conducive to a healthy blog. I promise I will get back to it soon.

Pierrot Le Fou

My Own Private Idaho

I apologize for my infrequent posting; I've lost the fire, lately. I'm still watching movies constantly, but I'm more likely to climb into bed with a book than to collect my thoughts on a film. Luckily, My Own Private Idaho lends itself well to the kind of schizophrenic, incohesive pieces I feel capable of writing at the moment. Like a lot of great movies, this one is inconsistent. Supposedly, Idaho is loosely based on Henry IV, which leads to a middle act where the actors very suddenly develop Shakespearean affectations that were difficult for me to sit through. It wasn't my favorite, but because of general lack of cohesion in the movie to begin with, the segment doesn't not work, persay. The movie is at its best in the parts when Mike (River Phoenix) and Scott (Keanu Reeves) are awash in the landscapes of the West, interacting and balancing with their environment.