The Passion of Joan of Arc

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) dir. Carl Dreyer
Starring: Maria Falconetti, Eugène Silvain, André Berley, Maurice Schutz

****

By Alan Bacchus

The legend and mystique around Dreyer’s landmark film certainly helps its appreciation – the original version of the silent masterpiece appeared to have been lost after a number of fires destroyed what was thought to be the only remaining complete film elements. But when a near complete version was found in a janitor's closet at an Oslo mental institution in 1981, along with an exhaustive restoration, The Passion of Joan of Arc was rediscovered.

My moderately articulate words cannot possibly describe how great this film is. We all know the story of Joan of Arc, the teenaged French peasant who heard the voice of God command her to join the French army and lead them to victory for the nation. Dreyer’s film picks up the story when she was captured by the English then imprisoned, tried and eventually executed.

Dreyer distills the production down to its bare essential elements using a few unadorned interior sets – the courtroom, Saint Joan’s prison cell and other rooms in the prison. The walls are white with little in the way of art decoration or props – just the powerful words of the judge, jury and executioners and the expressive face of Joan, played by Maria Falconetti (sometimes referred to as Renée).

The story of Ms. Falconetti is even more legendary than the recovered film print. As lead actress it was her one and only performance, which emphasizes the astonishing artistic achievement. It’s a performance that stands alongside Max Schreck’s as one of the great ‘one and only’ film acting roles in cinema history.

Dreyer almost exclusively frames Falconetti in a close-up, rarely placing her in a two shot with other actors and rarely in anything wide enough to show below her shoulders. Within these constraints, Falconetti expresses the anguish, fear and courage of the heroine with amazing intensity in arguably the greatest ever female performance on film. Rumour has it that Dreyer’s direction of Falconetti was so emotionally draining it pushed her into emotional collapse, thus she never acted again.

Even if Falconetti’s performance was merely adequate, the film is a masterpiece based on Dreyer’s stunning stylistic visual treatment and camerawork. His distinct compositions are simply astounding. The minimized aesthetic allows him to create a fresh visual dynamic by experimenting with creative and unorthodox framing. At Joan’s loneliest moments, watch Dreyer frame her awkwardly in the bottom half of the picture engulfed by the negative space above, and at her most powerful with her eyes framed at the top of the screen with the rest of her face and head dominating the lower half.

No shot is wasted and everything has a purpose. Dreyer’s stark white colour scheme and his reliance on close-ups emphasize the duel of wills between Joan and her captors. The way he moves his camera feels thoroughly modern as well. The camera rarely sits still and is constantly roving throughout the courtroom, panning and tilting around the frame to guide the viewers’ attention and pushing into the English characters’ faces to boldly emphasize their intimidating strength. Dreyer exclusively holds on Falconetti’s close-up repeatedly with the same frame size, subliminally conveying her resolute faith in God.

Dreyer makes up visually for what he loses in his minimalist mise-en-scene by using a sharp editing style, which resembles how filmmakers cut their films today. He uses multiple close-ups from different angles and multiple reaction shots, which control the pacing of the scenes. In fact, if I didn’t know about the film it could pass for one of those modern films shot in the style of old silent pictures – like the Lumiere Bros’ omnibus film or the opening sequence of PTA’s Magnolia.

It’s obvious that The Passion of Joan of Arc works well as a metaphor for the Christian crucifixion. And anyone who's seen both this and Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ will see the heavy influence, with Gibson paying direct homage by borrowing the 'Passion' from the title.

Dreyer’s lasting message is more secular than Gibson's. If you’ve ever felt doubt in yourself, or loneliness or questioned your faith in something you believe in, The Passion of Joan of Arc is as good a remedy as any confession.

Unforgiven

Unforgiven (1992) dir. Clint Eastwood
Starring: Clint Eastwood, Gene Hackman, Morgan Freeman, Richard Harris, Saul Rubinek, Frances Fisher

***½

By Alan Bacchus

This was the career turning point for Mr. Eastwood after two decades of decent, though ultimately unmemorable, feature films. From Play Misty for Me to The Rookie, Clint had made 15 films, but none with the power and gravitas of Unforgiven.

Much like the story of Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List, the script for Unforgiven was one Eastwood optioned in the early ‘80s, but he didn’t make the film until he was old enough to play the lead role. He knew the importance of the film for the genre and in his career, so timing would be the key to its success. After a decade of only a handful of Westerns and with the new decade starting with the revisionist Western and multi-Oscar winner Dances With Wolves, perhaps it signaled that this was the right time for Unforgiven. And perhaps it was also Eastwood's self-acknowledged maturity in Hollywood that indicated it was time.

Acclaimed as a watershed film of the genre, a Western that ‘demystified’ the myths of the era and the tropes of the genre, Unforgiven is a violent, angry film about a former gunslinger’s journey of atonement through the hit job from a group of women prostitutes avenging the brutal disfigurement of one of their own. Back in 1992 I admired the film, but it was no masterpiece. 20 years later, I’m still of the same thought. The fact is it's not really a landmark film. Sam Peckinpah’s whole career demystified the genre, as did idiosyncratic efforts from Robert Altman (McCabe and Mrs. Miller). These films showed, as Unforgiven does, the frontier as anti-romantic and unheroic.

Unforgiven works best as a razor sharp revenge story, playing into and around the familiar themes, characters and ‘rules’ of the genre. As William Munny, Eastwood is deified as a rogue family man caring for his family on his ranch. His wife is not present, but he has two kids. When approached about doing a hit job on a group of nefarious troglodytes, who, in a fit of rage, cut up a poor town whore, Munny reluctantly accepts, internally conflicted based on a past with details that are unclear but point to a ‘history of violence’.

In town, the prostitutes are sick of the ill treatment from their boorish male superiors, specifically their despicable ‘owner’, who claims to have lost potential earnings from the disfigurement and demands ‘repayment’ from the perpetrators. Gene Hackman’s character, the town sheriff Little Bill Hackett, is complex. While he’s positioned as Munny’s chief antagonist, he’s at first shown, like Munny, as a humble family man, tending to his handcrafted home and reluctantly pulled into adjudicating the matter at the whorehouse. Gradually, when the cards are placed on the table, he sides against the moral right and thus comes to odds with Munny, the vengeful killer.

The film ends with one of the genre’s great scenes, the dramatic rain soaked confrontation between Munny and Little Bill. It’s a stand-off as tense as any duel in Western cinema. The rich cinematography of Clint’s then go-to man, Jack N. Green, is key to creating the atmosphere of fear and violence in that room at that moment.

This is why Unforgiven should be cherished as a simple, well told genre film from a venerable old master.

Unforgiven is available on Blu-ray from Warner Home Entertainment.

Easy Money

Easy Money (2010) dir. Daniel Espinoza
Starring:Joel Kinnaman, Matias Padin Varela, Dragomir Mrsic

***

By Alan Bacchus

Did you see Safe House this weekend? Well, the job that got director Daniel Espinoza the gig was probably his home spun Swedish thriller Easy Money, which premiered at TIFF 2010 and was repped by the Weinstein company.

Jorge is a Spanish-speaking immigrant who has recently escaped from prison and reunited with his pal and partner-in-crime. In conflict with Jorge is Mrado, part of an Eastern European mob with whom he has a beef in the competitive underground cocaine syndicate. The only Swede of the bunch is JW, a ladder-climbing university student secretly working as a cabbie in order to afford the expensive suits and other high-class accoutrements it takes to get in with the rich kids he idolizes. When presented with an opportunity to make some really big money, JW finds himself caught in the cocaine drug war between Jorge and Mrado.

Espinoza’s treatment of crime is in the world of Jacques Audiard’s A Prophet and Animal Kingdom version of cinema, a world treated with realism and characters painted with various shades of grey. Heroes and villains aren’t so easy to define. Espinoza is clever to subvert our expectations and shift around his heroes and villains, double-back on his characters and reveal realistic motivations for everyone involved.

The common denominator of the three characters is the desperate need for survival and the desire for security and success. For JW, it’s his need to escape the life of poverty from his childhood. For Mrado, it’s his young daughter he finds himself protecting. And Jorge’s sister and newborn niece prompt him to re-evaluate his priorities.

Each of the fine actors playing the roles brings freshness, deep commitment and an inhabitation of their characters. Dragomir Mrsic as Mrado gives the best performance, and his best scene is a touching car ride confession after he has taken custody of his daughter. In this scene he reveals the abuse he received from his father, which caused him to become the hardened criminal he is today.

The social realism visual effect is laid on thick – too thick, perhaps. The handheld camerawork is a given in these types of stories now, but Espinoza shoots his characters so tight all the time that the film is essentially a series of close-ups. As a result, the director loses the power of this cinematic tool.

With everything presented as a close-up, the world is too closed in visually, barely allowing us time to breathe. Consequently, Espinoza’s realism dies out towards the end and is replaced by heightened melodrama. The double-crosses, betrayals and bloody sacrifices of brotherhood in the third act take us into a less satisfactory sensationalized crime genre. Espinoza does leave us with one last fantastic scene before he cuts to black. It’s a terrific bookend to the opening scene, which completes JW’s dramatic arc in grand fashion.

Missing

Missing (1982) dir. Costa-Gavras
Starring: Sissy Spacek, Jack Lemmon, John Shea, Melanie Mayron

***

By Alan Bacchus

Quick, name the Palm D’Or winner from 1982… You’re right, it’s Missing, Costa-Gavras’ American-made political drama. It also nabbed Lemmon a Best Actor trophy at Cannes and three of the major Oscar nominations that year – Best Actor, Actress and Picture. Until its Criterion Collection coronation on DVD a couple of years ago, it was a classic ‘missing’ from DVD shelves for years.

Unfortunately, the integrity of the film and its political message trumps its entertainment aspects. While there’s a passionate desire for truth, a slow pace and truncated narrative structure make it more an admirable venture then great cinema.

Before Oliver Stone, Costa-Gavras was perhaps cinema’s best known and most experienced political dramatist. Unlike Stone, Costa-Gavras is not so much a provocateur as a truth seeker. In Z with uninhibited anger he dramatizes the unjust murder and cover-up of a disguised version of assassinated Greek politician Grigoris Lambrakis.

In Missing, like Z, we never know the location of the story, but subtle clues tell us it’s Chile and an indictment of Augusto Pinochet’s military junta rule. John Shea and Sissy Spacek play Charles and Beth Horman, newlyweds who have chosen to live in the unnamed volatile South American country to get closer to the political pulse of this hot button region. One day the military presence is suddenly heightened and before they realize it the government has been taken over in a military coup. And then out of the blue Charles disappears – snatched from his home in the middle of the night.

Enter Ed Horman (Jack Lemmon), Charles’ father, who arrives in town on a mission for answers and to ensure a forthright investigation by the American consulate. When the Americans present a standoffish front, Ed takes it upon himself to lead the investigation. And so Beth and Ed become an unlikely team – Beth, the young leftist radical, and Ed, the elderly conservative father. Together they uncover clear American culpability in Horman’s disappearance as a pawn of appeasement for their participation in the coup.

Despite the political procedural details, Missing is at heart a picture about the two people who get to know each other amidst the cloud (or fog) of war. As a showcase for Lemmon Missing is a triumph, as the film is so heavily weighted to his performance. Costa-Gavras even delays this satisfaction until the second act after a lengthy and tedious opening act before Horman disappears and Lemmon enters the picture.

From then on Jack Lemmon owns the film.

His performance, like a couple of his other great late-career serious roles (The China Syndrome and Glengarry Glen Ross) is magnetic and electrifying. His glances and small mannerisms are the stuff of acting royalty. I can think of only a handful of actors with this kind of presence and power.

The actual narrative details, the movements from A to B to C and the political revelations aren’t as profound as they may have been in 1982. American participation in military coups is not even contested anymore – they are an accepted fact of their Machiavellian roles in world politics. And so the film leads to where we expect it to go, thus reducing its controversial power.

But Missing is still a film to be rediscovered merely for the presence of Jack Lemmon, one of the greatest actors ever, in an amazing Brando-worthy performance that is rarely seen and discussed today.

The Moment of Truth

The Moment of Truth (1965) dir. Francesco Rosi
Starring: Miguel Mateo 'Miguelín', Linda Christian, Pedro Basauri

***½

By Greg Klymkiw

It's probably a "cultural thang", but I just don't get bullfighting. It's a vicious, cruel and morally reprehensible "sport" (if you can even call it that) that involves teasing, torturing, then murdering a bull for the enjoyment of blood-lusting plebes (I include the "elite" here too) in mostly Spanish-speaking countries. Actually, I'll go further - call it ethnocentric or even racist if you will (and I will care less) - but anyone who would engage actively or enjoy watching this odious "art" (if you can even call it that) has got to have something seriously wrong with them. Yes, I'm aware of bullfighting's historical "importance" to Spanish "culture" (if you can even call it that), but why and how this crime against animals can continue in this day and age is beyond me.

And yes, I consider the teasing, torturing and wanton slaughter of animals a crime. Just because it's "cultural" doesn't mean reasonable, thinking people must accept its existence.

There is a long tradition of bullfighting movies; the most well-known being the various versions of Blood and Sand (most notably the silent 1922 Rudolf Valentino version and Rouben Mamoulian's 1941 effort for Fox) and Budd Boetticher's studio butchered and recently restored The Bullfighter and the Lady. The above films are not without merit as films, but none of them can hold a candle to Francesco Rosi's The Moment of Truth.

I hate this movie, BUT The Moment of Truth is important on three fronts. First of all, it's dazzling filmmaking. Secondly, it reflects the society and politics of Spain in the 1960s in ways that also shed light on the macho-blood-lust culture that would so proudly continue to extol the virtues of this heinous activity. Finally, it is an exquisite addition to the canon of the brilliant Italian director Francesco Rosi (Salvatore Giuliano, Hands Over the City, The Mattei Affair, Lucky Luciano) and, in fact, is a perfect melding of his Neo-realist and operatic tendencies (and influences).

The movie does not glorify bullfighting, but rather, it takes a no-holds-barred look at the entire world of the "sport/art" - behind the scenes and in the public spotlight. Rosi's film charts the rise of bullfighter Miguel Mateo 'Miguelín', an aimless young man who desperately seeks a better life and painstakingly learns the bullfighting ropes and rises to the top of the game. In spite of his stardom, he's still a simple country boy at heart and his handlers push him to ever-dangerous heights - exploiting him with absolutely no regard for his well-being. Miguel kills the bulls, but the men of influence kill his spirit and, in so doing, further feed the the centuries-old blood-lust of the "people".

Rosi's mise-en-scène is phenomenal. Attacking the tale with a mixture of classical, yet baroque shots reminiscent of his mentor Luchino Visconti, yet training his eye on the proceedings as a neo-realist storyteller and documentarian, this is a film that clearly springs from the loins of a born filmmaker. Sequences involving the running of bulls through the streets as their hides are pierced with ribbon-adorned harpoons, the dank basement of the bullring where Migeulin is trained by retired bullfighter Pedrucho (Pedro Basauri), the dusty rings themselves - surrounded by hordes of slavering, blood-crazed fans - these images are clearly unforgettable and, most importantly, are the real thing.

When we see fear in Migeulin's eyes as he faces an angry, snorting bull, this is not acting - it's the real thing. No rear-screen projection or opticals a la Blood and Sand are used here. It's real bullfighters, real swords, real gorings and real bulls.

While it is clear that Rosi's intent is to expose the macho myths of this world, I still find it sickening to watch. Even though it's SUPPOSED to be sickening, having to watch it is not unlike what it must be for non-pedophiles to watch real kiddie porn. Filmmakers who must take horrendous things to extremes in order to expose truth (like Kubrick, Pasolini, Scorsese, Friedkin etc.) do so within the realm of recreating violence. In The Moment of Truth, violence, pain and suffering happen for real and Rosi captures it on film with all the power and panache one would expect from a great filmmaker.

For Rosi to tell this story and explore the theme of the violent exploitation of man and beast - for him to break-down the perverse sense of masculinity that infuses the lives of those on both sides of the bullfighting world - he must, like all great artists avoid any sense of morality that will interfere with the horrors he seeks to display.

I understand this, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

The most upsetting thing is seeing animals being teased painfully with the harpoons and to witness these beasts actually being stuck with swords, to watch - mouth agape - as real blood gushes out of these poor animals and worst of all, to bear witness to these animals having their spinal columns crushed with the cold steel of the torero's sword (and see even more blood gushing out of thee animals) is, frankly, more sickening than watching the re-created scourging and crucifixion of Our Lord in Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ.

In spite of my revulsion, I cannot deny that Rosi is at the top of his game here. This is brave and brilliant filmmaking. However, in order to expose exploitation, Rosi must also exploit his human and animal subjects. It's even more detestable that he focuses his camera so astoundingly and unflinchingly upon the balletic grace with which the bullfighters taunt their quarry and then kill it.

There's no two ways about it.

I admire this film and I respect it.

I also hate it and wish it had never been made.

"The Moment of Truth" is available on an exquisitely mastered Bluray on the Criterion Collection - a widescreen Technicolor print that's a perfect example of a terrible beauty. The release includes a new English subtitle translation, a handsome booklet and an interview with Rosi himself.

Wings

Wings (1927) dir. William Wellman
Starring: Clara Bow, Charles "Buddy" Rogers, Richard Arlen and Gary Cooper

****

By Alan Bacchus

Renowned for being the first ever ‘Best Picture’ Oscar winner at the Academy’s inaugural awards ceremony in 1928, this film gets its Blu-ray debut 85 years later. Perhaps it’s timed with the success and acclaim of The Artist and, alas, the release of Red Tails (sad, but true). Wings, however, deserves much more than the minor historical significance of its Oscar win, as it’s one of the greatest film spectacles of all time and one of the greatest war films ever made.

Jack Powell (Rogers) and David Armstrong (Arlen) are chums from a small town, friends but also rivals, who compete for the same local hottie, Sylie. While Jack is ogling Sylie he fails to acknowledge the affections of his neighbour, Mary (Clara Bow!). Once word arrives of America’s involvement in the War (WWI), like all boys their age Jack and David quickly sign up, leaving both gals at home. The boys join the Air Service as pilots, trained in dog fighting against the German Air Service and the likes of the Red Baron.

The film takes us through some of the traditional stages of war combat, including basic training, the fun experiences during R&R and, of course, hardcore wartime combat.

As produced by Lucien Hubbard with a $2 million budget (then, ENORMOUS), every aspect of the production is huge. As for the combat, Wings is untouchable for its awesome aerial sequences. Through some great hustling by Hubbard and the Paramount execs the production received full cooperation from the US military, including use of their air force base, planes, men and weapons. The result is some of the most authentic, exciting, visceral and visually spectacular war action scenes we’ve ever seen on film.

In the air, cameras capture the actual actors in real bi-planes. With no rear projection, green screen or CGI, Wings spares no expense for realism, and the effect is more effective than anything of its equivalent produced today.

On the ground, Hope Loring and Louis D. Lighton’s script anchors the film in a melodramatic, but no less tragic and triumphant, human story. The two friends are torn apart by their love of the same girl and by Mary’s desperate plea for attention from Jack. The final act is almost Shakespearean in its tragedy. After the monumentally epic Battle of St. Michel, David is shot down behind enemy lines and presumed dead. But when he escapes and commandeers a German plane he comes face to face in the air with his best friend, who, in the most tragic of ironies, is hell bent on avenging David’s death. The final moments between the two friends are truly heartbreaking and bordering on homo-erotic (but I won’t go there).

Other than the Oscar, Wings is notable for its influence on George Lucas in cutting Star Wars, not only in the choreography of the Millennium Falcon-Tie Fighter battle, but actually using footage from Wings as temp cuts before his special effects were finished. And I doubt any filmmaker making a war film about aerial combat hasn’t referenced Wings or used the film as a yardstick.

The new Paramount Blu-ray special edition is a decent package, featuring two soundtracks, a completely new track with new music, and sound effects created by Ben Burtt, as well as a traditional organ music track one would have heard back in the day. Either version is fine and doesn’t significantly alter the superlative experience of the film.

Armored Car Robbery

Armored Car Robbery (1950) dir. Richard Fleischer
Starring: Charles McGraw, William Talman, Adele Jergens, Douglas Fowley

**½

By Alan Bacchus

Old Hollywood b-movies were never shy about using extremely literal titles to tell audiences exactly what to expect. This one is perhaps the most literal of noir pictures I’ve seen.


Indeed, Armored Car Robbery is about an armed car robbery. William Talman is Walter Purvis, the mastermind of a new heist job, which, if all goes right, will make him and his buddies rich. Purvis is tough as nails and like clockwork in his method. But the job doesn’t go quite right, and one of the gunmen, Benny, is shot and injured. Despite Benny’s pleas he can’t go to a hospital, and after a confrontation he is shot and killed.

With Benny found dead it gives the cops the one lead to track down Purvis and the money. A cat-and-mouse chase between cops and robbers ensues with a buxom stripper named Yvonne Le Doux at the centre of it all.

Armored Car Robbery works best as an iron clad procedural in the tradition of the crime work of Michael Mann. In fact, the rhythm and construction of the police investigation with the perps' escape recalls the Pacino/De Niro dynamic in Heat. On the side of the cops is the equally ruthless hardliner, Lt. Cordell (Charles McGraw), who, like Pacino’s character, commands his troops and analyzes the evidence with workmanlike efficiency.

But let’s not aggrandize this film too much. Heat this is not, nor is it M or High and Low, the two essential classics of the procedural genre. In Armed Car Robbery we’re never quite sure who to root for. Most often in heist films we cheer for the robbers, who often steal for a purpose other than just money, or because they are charming or charismatic. Purvis is no hero – not even an anti-hero – and thus, we never really feel any warmth or attraction to him. Is it the cops? Do we want the cops to catch the thief? Unfortunately, Lt. Cordell is thinly drawn and not much deeper than a mere characterization of a cop instead of a hero with a journey.

As such, this noir is simply an exercise in style – a series of crafty set pieces choreographed and directed with considerable flare by director Richard Fleischer, who is certainly no hack. He would later go on to a successful career of populist entertaining classics such as the Fantastic Voyage, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Soylent Green and even all the way up to 1984’s Conan the Destroyer.

Armored Car Robbery is available in the Film Noir Collection Vol 5. from Warner Bros Home Video.

A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas

A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas (2011) dir. Todd Strauss-Schulson
Starring: Kal Penn, John Cho, Elias Koteas, Neil Patrick Harris

***

By Alan Bacchus

We're into the third entry in this series, a time when characters are usually farmed out to cheaper actors to accommodate lower budgets and the straight-to-video market. But this series seems to be improving with each new film proving that Harold and Kumar is one of the more surprisingly venerable comic franchises.

This film justly satisfies the requirements established in the previous two films. Returning are the two buddies and former roommates that form an odd couple scenario – Harold (Cho) is the conservative one, a Korean-American family man who is at odds with his pot smoking, med school drop-out, Indo-American friend, Kumar (Penn).

The film revels in shocking us with outrageous behaviour. Drug use is, of course, front and centre, and it’s not just weed and bongs. Even cocaine is featured with fun-loving humour. There are fewer cultural jokes than usual, the kind that play into the stereotypes of Koreans and Indians as overachieving academic math and tech wizzes. And we don't really miss those jokes, as it seems the franchise has successfully 'matured' from its slight concept into a series anchored by its likeable characters and perfectly cast comic duo.

This was a 3D film in theatres, and on Blu-ray, of course, it's 2D. But we can still laugh at the self-acknowledgement of the technology and all those sticks, eggs, candy canes, cocks and other debris shamelessly shoved in our faces for an exaggerated 3D effect.

As for the 'story', Harold and Kumar's new adventure has them gallivanting around town on Christmas Eve looking for the perfect tree to replace Harold's valued family tree, which they destroyed in a fire. A couple of tag-along characters, Kumar's douche bag buddy and Harold’s ultra-conservative neighbour, add some freshness. Along the way the neighbour's baby gets doused in cocaine and spends the rest of the film on a twitchy coke high. Ukrainian gangsters also come into play, as do Harold and Kumar's respective wife and girlfriend, who provide the requisite closure to their personal journey of self-realization.

A surprisingly enjoyable raunchy comedy, the Harold and Kumar franchise continues to satisfy and provide dumb laughs through its unintentionally endearing characters.

A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas is available on Blu-ray from Warner Home Entertainment.

Restless

Restless (2011) dir. Gus Van Sant
Starring: Henry Hopper, Mia Wasikowska, Ryo Kase

**½

By Alan Bacchus

Annabelle and Enoch are a couple of social oddballs who find each other through their mutual fascination with death. In fact, they meet when Enoch crashes a funeral attended by Annie, and they later crash other people's funerals just for fun.

Their burgeoning relationship takes us from one whimsical romantic scene to the next, from etching chalk outlines of themselves on the pavement to attending a Halloween party dressed as a Japanese pilot and Geisha girl. Enoch also has an imaginary friend, Hiroshi, who is a downed kamikaze pilot from WWII. Annabelle, in addition to working with cancer-stricken children, reveals that she also has cancer and has three months to live. Yes, the theme here is death, which provides the only connective tissue between these overly idiosyncratic story elements.

But this is a Gus Van Sant film, and he rarely plays it safe, constantly testing himself and the audience and never resting on his laurels. Restless falls between his traditional melodramas, such as Good Will Hunting and Finding Forrester, and his aesthetically adventurous efforts like Paranoid Park, Last Days and Gerry.

While overly sappy in tone, including the oh-so-tender musical choices, Restless is also rigorously bizarre. Even the lead character's name, Enoch, is ridiculous, and the same goes for the anachronistic costumes and the staid tone in which he speaks with his kamikaze best friend. Annie also inexplicably draws water birds, writes plays about her own death and, like Enoch, dresses in impossibly quirky outfits fresh out of the Nouvelle Vague.

The best part of the release is the Blu-ray special features, which contain a completely silent version of the same film. During production, after every shot, Van Sant would do a silent take with the actors using their expressions to convey the drama of the scene without dialogue, or in post-production he would use dialogue insert cards like in old fashioned silent cinema (or The Artist). The final result isn't really watchable, but it's an innovative experiment that speaks to Van Sant's creativity and desire to show us something we've never seen before - brownie points and an extra half-star for that.

Restless is available on Blu-ray from Sony Pictures Home Entertainment.

Rebecca

Rebecca (1940) dir. Alfred Hitchcock
Starring: Joan Fontaine, Laurence Olivier, Judith Anderson, Florence Bates

****

By Alan Bacchus

This is one of the landmark films in Hollywood and Alfred Hitchcock’s first American picture after he was ‘brought over’ by David O Selznick, super producer of Gone with the Wind. Selznick’s deal with Hitch wasn’t exactly RKO’s carte blanche deal with Orson Welles, but it was significant nonetheless considering the tremendous body of work he created in Hollywood, which established an influential legacy of cinema.

Like Citizen Kane, Hitchcock's first work in Hollywood is an undisputed masterpiece and his only Best Picture winner. Ironically, it’s also the one picture on his resume with the least amount of cinematic authorship. The fact is, Rebecca is perceived as a Selznick picture in the same way as Gone with the Wind.

This perception should not temper the fact that Rebecca is a masterful slice of gothic mystery, a tragic romance and brooding tale of obsession and a terrific film.

Maxime De Winter (Olivier) is a widower aristocrat on vacation trying to get his mind off the tragic death of his wife, Rebecca. Joan Fontaine, whose character is unnamed, is introduced as a meek, paid companion to a snobby spinster, Edythe Van Hopper. When Edith finds out the famous Mr. De Winter is also staying at her hotel, she desperately tries to engage him on her level of upper-class snobbery. But it’s the shy naivety of Fontaine that captures De Winter’s attention, so much so that he proposes to her.

With his new bride in tow, Maxime returns to his extravagant home, 'Manderley', spoken about in grandiose terms as Xanadu is to Citizen Kane. The new Mrs. De Winter desperately tries to fit into privileged life, but she experiences the toughest opponent in Mrs. Danvers (Anderson), the grumpy housekeeper who idolizes Rebecca’s memory. As clues of the true cause of Rebecca’s death get revealed Maxime’s lustre as an innocent widower comes into question, information which would eventually lead Mrs. De Winter to deceit and corruption in order to save her marriage.

Dramatic reveals and story twists come fast and furious once the authorities become involved in superbly melodramatic fashion. It’s a momentum that leads to the fiery finale incited by the now completely deranged and maniacal Mrs. Danvers.

Rebecca is as handsome and controlled a film as Hitchcock has ever made. His B&W cinematography (by George Barnes) was never more breathtaking and elegant as it is here. But it’s the evolution of Joan Fontaine’s character that sets the film apart from most of Hitchcock’s other films. Specifically, De Winter’s courtship of Fontaine is particularly delightful, a triumph of the working class over the snobby upper-crust exemplified by Van Hopper. Through the period set in Manderley, the three lead anchors, Olivier, Fontaine and Anderson, give engaging and revelatory performances.

Other than the emblazoned finale, Rebecca is without Hitchcock’s familiar set pieces of suspense. But it’s the blanketed tone of mystery that hides the details of Rebecca’s sordid past. And few other filmmakers have made better use of a dead character never seen on screen. Even without the overt supernatural presence of Rebecca, both Danvers and De Winter’s memories of her carry the intrigue and suspense.

Rebecca is available on Blu-ray from MGM Home Entertainment.

Baraka

Baraka (1992) dir. Ron Fricke
Documentary

***½

By Alan Bacchus

Ron Fricke was known as the cinematographer and key collaborator of Godfrey Reggio on his seminal 1983 film, Koyaanisqatsi. His time-lapse imagery was an innovative milestone in cinematography, and almost 10 years later Fricke went out on his own and pushed the technology of time-lapse cinematography even further by shooting his own version of Koyaanisqatsi, which became Baraka.

Baraka was shot entirely on 70mm film, the experience of which on the big screen becomes an all-enveloping immersion into Fricke's earthly spiritual journey. On the small screen, the filmmakers have attempted make the Blu-ray edition of the film a comparatively grand experience. Never-before-used 8k resolution scanning and the complete digital restoration of Baraka are billed as the best High Definition transfer of any film on Blu-ray.

Unfortunately, Koyaanisqatsi continually casts a shadow on Baraka. It's difficult not to compare the two. Similar themes of environmental irresponsibility, urban decay and mass consumption are conveyed using many of the same images and juxtaposition featured in the earlier film. But based on Fricke's evolution with his own techniques and the stunningly crisp and detailed 70mm images, Baraka has every right to stand on its own.

With the environment currently in vogue, Baraka seems even more relevant and contemporary today. Unlike the BBC's Planet Earth, Baraka is not only about landscapes, nature and the environment, but also the people who inhabit the earth. It's told without narration or subtitles indicating the location or area of the world we're in, as the imagery is meant to wash over our senses like an abstract painting.

The opening intercuts a number of different cultures' specific rituals of worship. The unifying images are the faces of the individuals deep in spiritual thought – all have the same expression. Fricke finds the right faces to draw us in. However banal they might be, without any movement, expression or emotion an unknowingly observed face seems as fascinating as any of the complicated motion controlled time-lapse shots.

The scene that jumpstarts the film into high gear is the beguiling Southeast Asian hand waving tribe. Whether it's dance or some kind of ritual or worship, we are never told which country or tribe they’re from or exactly what purpose the ritual serves. The elaborate ceremony is a beautifully choreographed movement of hands and bodies, punctuated by an intense chanting accompaniment.

Though we had seen many of the images already in Koyaanisqatsi, it’s still a wondrous way of looking at our planet. Clouds floating across mountains become animate living beings, while the mass consumption of our lifestyle appears lifeless and sanitary.

The one missing element needed to take the film to the level of Reggio's films is a musical accompaniment as big as Fricke's cinematography. Michael Sterns' atmospheric moody music doesn’t come close to the grandeur of Philip Glass.

For years Baraka was revered by pot smokers as a film to get high to and let wash over them like gentle rain. Watching the film high or not produces the same effect, a marvelous visual essay imploring its audience to get out of our bubbles and reconnect with the planet like our ancient ancestors. Enjoy.

DFD Fifth Anniversary

It's been five years since Feb 3, 2007, the day after my 32nd birthday and the day I decided to mark my place in the burgeoning era of the Web 2.0 with my film review blog, Daily Film Dose.

DFD began with an annual 'year-end' report email I used to send to my friends. It was a compilation of the best films of the year, as well as other highlights worthy of note. The emails were popular and were forwarded beyond my reach. So I thought, “Why not do this throughout the year? And hell, why not do it every day?”

It was a bold experiment – post a film review every day – but there's no challenge I'm more stubborn to achieve than the one I imposed on myself. The very first post, Carrie, was a mere 155 words. But I quickly learned I had more than that to say in subsequent entries. From then on, it was full-length reviews.

And so, it's five years later with 1,952 posts written and still going strong. That said, I'll be the first to admit I cheat on occasion. Initially I used 'guest reviewers', who then became full-fledged recurring contributors. And sometimes I repost older reviews from the archives.

I'm not a robot, and with a family, work and other obligations, it's hard. I won't deny that. And I can even admit that I’ve missed a few days here and there for various reasons. The first instance was my move in the Fall of 2007, when I had no access to the Internet, and frankly, I was too exhausted to write or post anything. The site did go down for a couple of weeks in 2010 when I tried to rejig my URL and DNS settings. That resulted in near heart failure for me, but I eventually got it back up and back-posted for those days on which the site was down.

And now, there’s a weekend or two when I simply get lazy. But I can count all these missed days on both hands, a consistency I'm proud of.

As for my most popular post, there's no doubt it has always been The Long Take, a compendium of some of the best long, unbroken shots in cinema history. It’s received more than 200,000 unique page visits since I posted it in May 2007. Even today, almost five years later, it's consistently my most popular post.

Thanks for reading!

Alan

Fellini's 8½

Fellini's 8½ (1963) dir. Federico Fellini
Starring: Marcello Mastroianni, Claudia Cardinale, Anouk Aimée, Sandra Milo

****

By Alan Bacchus

Okay, clearly I haven’t unearthed a diamond in the rough, nor am I writing about anything that any reasonably knowledgeable filmgoer doesn’t know, but Fellini’s 8½ is a great film and should be watched by everyone who wants to be a filmmaker.

Made in 1963, the film is surprisingly relevant now. Italian film director Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni) is on the verge of a nervous breakdown prior to shooting his next big film. The expectations of him are high. His every word has importance, and everyone around him, from his family to his working colleagues, is clamouring for his attention. His writer and producer eagerly want his input on script and production issues, but creatively he’s broken down and has “filmmaker’s block”. As a result, Guido retreats like a turtle into his shell via his fantastical dreams and memories.

Guido ventures into his subconscious to visit himself and relive his adventures as a young child. He fantasizes about a beautiful and elusive siren/goddess played by Claudia Cardinale – the perfect uncritical respite from his chaotic world.

The fantasy sequences are celebrated and continue to mesmerize for their choreography and design. They are technically amazing, and at that time the film compared only with Citizen Kane for its visual inventiveness. Fellini’s use of actors and camera movement mimics the movement of the rides at a circus. Things just never stop going ‘round – people pop up in places around the frame, constantly surprising us.

Of course, 8½ was named after the 8½th film Fellini had made (he co-directed Variety Lights). And so referencing his own work in the title was just one unsubtle way of informing the audience that the film is autobiographical, based on his experiences after making La Dolce Vita.

The film should be seen by anyone who has questioned his or her talent in any shape or form. Almost everyone questions his or her ability to continue the upward trend of success. If the film was made today, perhaps Guido would have taken drugs to cope, and instead we would have had Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. And who knows? Maybe Fellini dabbled in some pre-swinging ‘60s-era hallucinogens. Either way, the film is timeless.

Notorious

Notorious (1946) dir. Alfred Hitchcock
Starring: Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, Claude Rains

****

By Alan Bacchus

How can you pick a Hitchcock favourite from such an enormous body of work featuring such great pictures? Well, I can surely narrow it down and identify Notorious as one of his best, or at least one of my favourites.

It was part of the David O. Selznick contract, which brought Hitchcock to Hollywood in 1940. While the espionage plotting and set piece anchors are hallmarks of Hitch, there’s a seriousness and sense of emotional grandeur at play that points to Selznick. The love story in Notorious is a genuine romantic conflict, which resounds louder than the thriller spy games or the suspense set pieces. It’s an element that plays out as well here as in Hitchcock's later and more revered films (e.g., Vertigo).

It’s post-WWII, and Ingrid Bergman plays Alicia, the daughter of an American traitor who spied for the Nazis during the War. With her family name dishonoured she's ripe for recruitment by the handsome government agent, Devlin (Grant), to be a double-agent of her own. Her mission is to spy on a group of Nazi sympathizers plotting world domination in Brazil. Alicia accepts the challenge and travels to Brazil with Devlin to begin their elaborate spy games.

She ingratiates herself to Sebastien (Rains), one of the Nazi leaders, and seduces him into marrying her. Unfortunately, she’s also fallen in love with Devlin, which heightens the stakes for both characters to complete their mission safe and sound. But when Sebastien catches on that Alicia's working for the Americans, he turns the tables and conspires to murder her under cover of his even more diabolical and murderous Nazi compatriots.

The celebrated set pieces in this picture involve the tactics used by Alicia and Devlin to source out Sebastien’s evil scheme. A single key to his wine cellar becomes the object of desire – a frequent motif of Hitchcock's that is also used memorably in Dial M for Murder. The most famous shot in the picture, of course, is the monumental crane shot, which starts on a balcony at Sebastien’s party and pushes down into a close-up of the key clasped within Alicia’s hand. It’s one of Hitchcock’s great shots, not only for its superlative technical achievement, but also because of Hitch’s ability to place the drama of a scene in one inanimate but significant object, which, under normal circumstances, would be insignificant.

After the exchange of the key, Devlin’s search in the wine cellar for the smoking gun evidence continues the sequence. As he reaches for the logging sheets between the bottles of wine, Hitch cuts frequently to one of the bottles leaning precariously over the edge. As the tension mounts and the bottle falls we expect Devlin’s cover to be blown. Instead, the moment reverses and reveals the illegal uranium ore located inside the bottle. What a great sequence!

But Notorious is a masterpiece for equally weighing these great moments of tension and suspense with the agonizing love triangle between Alicia, Devlin and Sebastien. Despite being the antagonist, as played by Claude Rains, we sympathize deeply with Sebastien. Although he’s a Nazi, we recognize he’s genuinely in love with Alicia, and when he realizes she’s a spy the ramifications for their relationship are sad and tragic. And through his diabolical mother, we can see that the decision to attempt to murder Alicia is painful.

Cary Grant’s rescue of Alicia in the final act is the ideal climax, a masterpiece of composition and editing. After Devlin makes the decision to take the ill Alicia out of the house, he’s confronted by Sebastien, who can’t fight back for fear of blowing his own cover with his colleagues. Their journey down the curved gallery steps is drawn out magnificently by Hitchcock’s exclusive use of close-ups of his characters, amplifying the nail-biting tension of Devlin’s tense bluffing game.

The scene caps off one of Hitchcock’s most serious films, mostly devoid of his trademark British wit. The genuine three-way romance and the strong themes of patriotism and trust are as complex and memorable as the love triangle politics in Casablanca.