film criticism

"In This Awful, Incomprehensible Dusk..."

2010-07-01T04:54:00.001-04:00

Werckmeister Harmonies

2000

Directed by Bela Tarr

Written by Laszio Krasznahorkai

Music by Mihaly Vig

Cinematography by Patrick de Ranter

Editing by Agnes Hranitzky

Based on the novel, The Melancholy of Resistance, by Laszio Krasznahorkai, Werckmeister Harmonies concerns a small Hungarian town and the controlling power of a travelling circus advertising the giant carcass of a whale, overseen by an unseen, obscure character, “the Prince.” Is this an allusion to a devil? Deceiver? Some embodiment of evil? One would think so, but along with all that is the ambiguity and apparent charisma of the character. One is reminded (perhaps only in a vague, unrelated way) of Godard’s Detective and two characters, both referred to as “the Prince” and representing an ambiguous and bizarrely existential relationship (they have nothing in common with each other in other words, but must’ve been mentioned for a reason, right?). Whatever Tarr’s “Prince” may represent, it is clear that he is to be seen as a corruptor, a charlatan who profits from the susceptibility of the masses.

There’s a haunting (and very real) similarity to H.P. Lovecraft’s favourite subject: the possessed town and the mysterious force which possesses them (a la` The Shadow Over Innsmouth). Of course, that isn’t exactly what Werckmeister Harmonies is about, but there is a wonderful sequence involving a long, dark night and rampaging crowds, and even early on the film, while the protagonist is shivering down a dimly lit street, the camera moves backwards until only a bubble of light is seen by which the protagonist is still visible. Darkness is a major theme as well as extreme cold, and all the characters are drained of saturation (literally) in the translation to black and white.

Janos, a philosopher who instructs the local drunks in cosmology, is the central character of this story and represents the way of “reason” and “open-mindedness.” He serves as the audience connector, contrasting with the aimless, gullible, and superstitious townsfolk. Janos’ uncle, Gyorgy Eszter, is somewhat of an “elder” of the town, having an, often-alluded to, crowd-pleasing way with words. He is seen recording his philosophical musings on theorist, Andreas Werckmeister, and his (Werckmeister’s) influence on not only the convention of music theory, but the general philosophical outlook of man. Eszter suggests that a new way of thinking should be pursued; one in which a new form of theory is be established which would serve, more suitably, the harmony of man and music.

There is some startling imagery typical of Tarr’s style. A multitude of shivering, zombie-like men loiter around the circus procession (such as it is). They hover as if awaiting some unspoken event; brooding and fanatical in their silent vigil – just one of the many memorable, yet spare scenes.

Composed of only thirty-nine shots, Tarr has complete mastery over the cinematic form; exercising restraint in execution and exuberance for the mundane in a truly virtuoso and “effortless” directing style. Tarr was made to direct this film.

Now, is it a perfect film? By no means. Perhaps it’s almost contradictory to say so, but Tarr doesn’t afford enough time to the story. Considering one of Tarr’s best films is the 7-hour Satantango (1994) and that his style is characteristic of slow, methodical minimalism; it sounds ludicrous, but it must be said. I suppose adapting any novel to the screen accurately must allow for some inevitable loss in the translation, but although, Tarr has still created a wonderfully vast and convincing “world,” he doesn’t pursue it to the lengths that it could potentially be pursued. That may sound like nitpicking (and it is), but the film is a very different creature from the novel and, for better or worse, simpler and more general as well.

Overall Rating: * * * * * (5 out of 6)

"Where the actors believe talking is thinking ..."

2010-06-29T08:38:00.004-04:00

Detective
1985 

Directed by Jean-Luc Godard

Written by Alain Sarde, Philippe Setbon, Jean-Luc Godard, Anne-Marie Mieville, and Richard Debuisne

Original Music by Emmanuel Chabrier

Cinematography by Louis Bihi, Pierre Novion, Bruno Nuytten
Editing by Marilyne Dubreuil

Perhaps the most fully-realized and well-rounded of all of Godard’s films, Detective, is at once, accessible and strangely elusive. Godard revisits a familiar theme (previously visited by Pierrot le Fou, Made in USA, Breathless, and Vivre sa Vie) and that is the crime subgenre of “noir” (Ok, maybe not all of those films were actually “noir,” but you get my meaning, new wave crime). Of course, the word “noir” was originally introduced by a French critic as a way of describing the American reinterpretation of the French style … or something like that. Anyway, suffice it to say that Godard’s Detective balances that, often unbalanced, mixture of Godard’s experimental side and his commercial side; but one would be mistaken to expect any Godard film to be commercial (Vivre sa Vie comes close), and so I urge you to dispel such notions completely.

The story behind Detective is a multi-faceted expose into the lives of various tenants of a hotel. One branch of the story detailing a blackmailer and his victim, another of father Prospero and his daughter Ariel (who read The Tempest together, ha!), another of a husband and wife who continually drone on about how they’ve wasted their lives together, and so on. It quickly becomes apparent that the emphasis of this film is not the narrative (as is typically the case with Godard), but the presentation.

This is, above all, a Godard film, and it follows every “convention” he is commonly known for. His ability to present a scene as a narrative and then reverse the self-awareness of the characters into commenting on the scene itself … is unparalleled. Why, the very idea of doing something like that nowadays could only be accepted in pure Hollywood-esque comedic form – not in the dry, surrealistic way Godard pulls it off (only David Lynch comes to mind as a fairly recent filmmaker who has developed this technique and has been able to market it to a wide audience). Deconstructionalist and dauntingly challenging, Detective is Godard in his purest form.

What is perhaps, most significant, almost immediately, is the beauty of the Hotel Concorde Saint-Lazare itself. Like Kubrick’s The Shining a few years before, few films have entrusted an inanimate structure, such as a hotel, with carrying the responsibility of a “character,” but Detective certainly is one of them. The gold and white, red and green, and all juxtapositions thereof, are displayed in all their glory with Godard’s peculiar panache for colour and composition.

Also typical of Godard is the, often, static camera (used to a lesser extreme than some of his more experimental, earlier works). Actors/actresses are framed perfectly and symmetrically (no odd Raimi-esque angles here, but precise composition), and it should be said, “Sparingly.” Just like any “good thing,” Godard is best served in moderation.

The music is also characteristic of Godard’s style. Over-blown and intentionally inappropriate musical cues grate and impress throughout the film (not quite as drastic as Made in USA, but ‘unique’ to say the least – I mean that as both a compliment and a criticism). There is a mountain of dialogue which spews from the characters’ mouths in rapid succession, discussing every topic possible from romantic affairs to morality to long kept secrets. It is, at times, both self-aware and oblivious to the point of theatricality and one can imagine the snickering brain of Godard silently and inscrutably rejoicing with satisfaction (squish squish). And this is what surprised me – this aspect of Godard, his defiantly rambling dialogue which normally grates the nerves to the point of nausea, was very fulfilling in this film and expertly delivered. I felt that Godard regained his confidence somehow (perhaps I’m overstating it a bit, it’s just a feeling), lost in the ‘70s with his shtick, and managed to churn out a wonderfully narcissistic rendition of the male psyche with charm and mastery over the cinematic form.

Overall Rating: * * * * * * (6 stars out of 6)

Christiane F.

2010-05-14T09:51:00.007-04:00

Christiane F. – Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo (1981)
Directed by Uli Edel
Music by Jurgen Knieper, David Bowie
Written by Herman Weigel, Kai Hermann, Horst Rieck

I am certainly not the first to praise this film, but I thought I’d let you know my opinion right away: I adore it. When I first saw the film, I was unaware of the Bowie soundtrack (though I’ve been a huge fan of his my whole life practically), and more importantly, I was unaware of the true story behind the film.

For those unacquainted with the real Christiane F., I’ve discovered (through the help of a friend who I will credit only as "Natalie") that the 12-part magazine article which the film is based on, (here is the autobiography link: Christiane F: Autobiography of a Girl of the Streets and Heroin Addict) is pretty similar to Edel’s vision (perhaps it’s available on the Internet). What really warmed me to Edel’s film is the way he depicts both the attractiveness and harsh reality of the protagonist’s predicament. Often, in commercial presentation, one is discarded in sake of the other (both “extremes” of which, are inaccurate), and one will not find that in this film. There is a realistic balance that those “in the know” will recognize.

I’m assuming most (or all) of you have seen the film, so I won’t go into much detail as far as plot. Essentially, Christiane F. is a 13 year old girl in Germany who becomes acquainted with a chap named, Detlef (or Detlev, as it is sometimes spelled in subtitles – me, being extremely “non-fluent” in German, I couldn’t say as to what is correct), who indulges in various “favours” to support his (at least in Edel’s depiction) “early” drug habit. Detlef can be heard, predictably intoning throughout the film, “But I only jerk them off,” in justification of how he procures money to support his habit. In the end, we realize that Detlef doesn’t, in fact, merely “jerk off” his clients, but whatever is necessary to earn the money to pay for his increasingly destructive habit. What is interesting (and yet, painfully realistic) is Christiane’s dismissal of the notion that Detlef accumulates any personal satisfaction out of such occurrences.

I’ve heard this aspect of the film being described as “unrealistic” or a “contrived plot characteristic”, but personally (and, I think, anyone who has ever been in a relationship with someone who has sunk to a similar predicament … or vice versa), I saw it as a very real (though often glossed-over aspect of “druggie” relationships in cinema) situation (and justification, which stems, IMO, out of not a pleasure-filled consequence, but of an “acquired” acceptance of drug procurement – of course, pleasure may be a “learned” expression/mindset as well). I felt very sympathetic towards Detlef as well as towards Christiane, because they are both caught up within the never-ending cycle of drug addiction and love, in this circumstance, is such an inconvenient happening that it often begins strong but ends with regret, pain, and guilt.

Anyway, so Christiane, is drawn to this crowd (enabled to a certain degree by her fondness of Bowie music, from which we see that her album collection is fairly extensive – for the ’70s at least) through various circumstances, and her prevalent (though relatively hidden) attraction to Detlef gradually becomes ensnared in the drug-induced relationships and environment she has become accustomed to (though it is implied, that she has been aware, but hesitant, of partaking of this drug community).

To meander a bit (if I haven’t enough already), I LOVED one of the closing scenes where Christiane finally succumbs to “earning” the pay of a certain deviant (who pays accordingly in relation to the amount of pain/whipping he receives) by brutally beating the man even beyond his own fantasies. I really love this juxtaposition of reality and irony; the absurdity of the scene out of context can be quite amusing, but when one considers the very real existence of such a character, there is a lingering, bitter aftertaste.

It should be said that there is (IMO) a conscious exclusion of parental figures in the film. Of course, we do see Christiane’s mother (one can’t help but sympathize) who is very open-minded and yet wary of new experiences her daughter may encounter. The mother was a very interesting character for me, because (having been raised solely by my mother for most of my young life) she was depicted as being aware of the possibilities her daughter might be encountering, but also confidant in her daughter’s ability to handle such things. In the end, Christiane cannot, of course, handle it on her own and must seek outside help, but none of this (IMO) is the fault of the mother (who has quite a few of her own responsibilities). I liked this subtle character and it reminded me of my own mother, so (in all bias) I connected with this minor character and sympathized greatly.

At the end, we discover that Christiane does indeed survive, and of course, knowing the true story already, this isn’t a surprise. What is important about this film (and something that is often overlooked or discarded in more recent cinema) is the STRUGGLE that has led up to the ending. This is captured perfectly in Christiane’s discovery of her sister’s death (which caught me by surprise because I was expecting Detlef’s face in the newspaper) and the slow, ethereal motion of her emotionless, rigid form against the lights of the night life.

The film ends as it should; with her shooting up one last time, savouring in resignation, the bite and the “truth” of acquired religion. Her realization of self-destruction, but the uncontrollable urge (and ease) of descent. We don’t need an “aftermath” where Christiane is struggling to detox, etc., etc. (we’ve already seen that anyway) – the simplistic words on a screen are enough. With any good work of art, there needs to be a certain amount of imagination required on the audience’s part.

To delve into theoretical discussion: I’ve heard opinions on the film (both by people I know personally and otherwise) that the film should have inspired a sequel which tells the triumphant struggle of Christiane’s sobriety. While I’m pretty sure this will never happen (one can hope at least), there are many reasons why this would detract from the original. First of all, we know Christiane survived and has been sober for however-many-years, so all we’d be doing is revisiting stereotypical visualizations (most recently and commercially, perhaps one can recall the beginning of House season 6, which began promisingly but deteriorated into a montage of cliche). A fair note on “stereotypical visualizations”: there would be no other way of depicting “detox”, because there is a specific system involved in such a goal, and for the most part, is pretty much done the same way over and over again. Not to say that there is no heroic aspect of overcoming obstacles in this fashion, but merely to point out that narratively, there isn’t much one can do to introduce “originality” into such a scenario … but this paragraph can be struck out as merely “speculative.”

And I should mention, there’s a poignancy to the ending of the film, which remembers her friends (which we meet throughout the film) who all died at a very young age (and within the same year). The perfect ending to a film that, IMO, depicts drug addiction in ALL the facets of that existence; the allure of a “higher” state of mind, the initial (orgasmic) power of such a drug, the relationships one acquired whilst in similar throes, the spiraling descent (pardon the cliche) of being caught up in the physically (and psychologically) deceptive characteristics of addiction, the selfishness that inspires, the deterioration of one’s relationships, the realization of one’s predicament but justification of power, and finally a crossroads: either the detoxification that is required (and, dear readers, recommended) or death.

In many ways, there’s a very real connection with Dante’s Inferno (The Divine Comedy: Volume 1: Inferno (Penguin Classics))– whether that is intentional or not, is up to speculation, but let me suggest that drug addiction shares more than a few similarities with that seminal work which goes beyond such quibbling as a “dogmatic” or “religious” work (which IMO is only a backdrop to the true meaning of Dante’s Inferno). In my mind, Dante’s Inferno and Christiane F (the figurative and the realistic). go hand-in-hand in capturing the true struggle of humanity.

Of course, there’s the excellent soundtrack, featuring quite a few Bowie tunes (from his Berlin period, not surprisingly) and which, are juxtaposed with the film in the perfect way. The Bowie music always begins as a gradual fade in (intruding on earlier scenes, perhaps voicing the inevitability of the “social prison”), eventually culminating in club scenes where the music is kept very “source”, for the most part, throughout the film. What I found interesting about the use of Bowie’s music in the film (which may have been intentional, but could have also been just as easily, unintentional) is that it depicts the “attractiveness” or “glamour” of the drug-induced lifestyle, because (in all honesty) it IS an attractive lifestyle for those who don’t know any better, because it pulls us in to a communal type of existence where we relate to each other on a superficial level (often the initiation of the relationships of youth), but really only share similar levels of selfishness and the desire for acceptability. For me, there’s no better way to depict all of this than with Bowie’s music, labeled “glam rock” (thanks to Marc Bolan, may he rest in peace), which is, inherently, a commercial depiction/glorification of an extravagant, but ultimately empty, lifestyle. Ya gotta love glam rock folks, it’s pristine and self-aware but, oh so raw and seedy.

For those detractors of “modern” (this film WAS shot in the ‘80s, but IMO, culture hasn’t much changed much ideologically since then, so we’ve been in the “same” age for the past 30 years … anyway, agree or disagree with that as you will) German cinema, one has to only see this film to prove that that is not, indeed, a valid stance.

I’ve only seen two other films by filmmaker, Uli Edel (or Ulrich, as he’s sometimes credited); Last Exit to Brooklyn and his Rasputin film (starring a marvelous Alan Rickman), but Christiane F. continues to be my favourite. Edel has always shown (Christiane F. was his debut film – perhaps one of the most promising debuts in recent memory) his realistic inclination in treating his other films, but Christiane, IMO, is timeless and thorough, simplistic and focused, yet dark and foreboding – not many filmmakers can pull all THAT out of their hat with a debut film.

For a deep look into the throes of drug addiction (and how one can get caught up in such a lifestyle), Christiane F. is one of greatest and most accurate depictions in cinematic history. Unapologetically, I’d say it’s served as a template for every drug film following it (I would include “Requiem for a Dream” and “Drugstore Cowboy” as well), in the reality and “desensationalized” struggle of the last 20th Century martyr: the drug addict.

Overall Rating: * * * * * * (Six stars out of six)

Calvaire (The Ordeal)

2010-02-14T11:13:00.008-05:00

Calvaire (The Ordeal)
2004

Directed by Fabrice Du Welz
Written by Fabrice Du Welz & Romain Protat

First off, let me begin by saying that I’ve been watching/re-watching a lot of “extreme” films lately; perhaps it’s my current state of mind or a young fount that hasn’t yet run itself dry, either way, this eventually led me to Calvaire (The Ordeal).

And, as a warning, there will be SPOILERS, so watch it before you read the rest of this if you want to experience it all firsthand.

Apparently it is director, Fabrice Du Welz’s, first film. Now, let me prelude this (once again) with my overall appraisal of the film which is one of confusion and neutrality. It felt like a “compatiblist” film to me, in that it took two approaches to cinema that have never wholly been merged and almost succeeded. More specifically, in the first half of the film there’s almost an Herzog quality in the surreality that is gradually constructed in the creation of this strange town and its inhabitants, and the second half of the film where there’s present the crudeness of signature “torture porn” films (a flaw, in my mind). It occasionally showed hints of what it could’ve been if there was, perhaps, more discipline engaged behind the camera, and for this reason I think it’s necessary to discuss it.

I liked the odd protagonist (Marc) who’s this kind of detached arrogant singer/musician (do they come any other way?) that plays these gigs for geriatrics and is regarded as this universal object of lust apparently only by the “older” generation (men and women). It just made me wonder (I haven’t researched the film, so perhaps someone more educated in it could shed light on it) where the hell in Belgium are they and why would anyone ever go there after having seen this film? It truly paints a grim and hopeless portrait of the gravity of this singer’s situation, and in this regard it succeeds completely from the beginning where the singer is bombarded by repulsion in a “normal” setting, to the middle where the townsfolk congregationally begin to dance arhythmically to a ridiculous tune, to the end where the singer finds himself in the middle of a wilderness surrounded by pools of quicksand.

I loved the Mr. Bartel character which is played with a wonderful kind of realism that is usually overplayed – though, near the end the character becomes much more unreal unfortunately. The whole back story about his ex-wife who was a musician who seemed to be (or rather it seemed to be implied) more successful than Mr. Bartel’s “comedic” career, and the very strange aspect of him personifying Marc as his ex-wife – that just really confused me and in a small way, found it terrifying if it ever happened in real life. Anyway, this is all taking this film too literally.

The “heart” of the film lay in its symbolic link to the Biblical account of Christ. In that, Marc the singer is underappreciated, loved for the wrong/empty reasons, and in the end, undergoes an impossibly painful “ordeal” by those who think they are doing him good. I really liked that idea and what brought that idea home was where Marc realizes that Mr. Bartel is up to no good when he finds the nude photos of a fan (which were originally in an envelope in Marc’s van, stolen by Mr. Bartel) in Bartel’s workshop, and he doesn’t confront him about it.

Also, the scene where Marc sings in a very feminine kind of way to Bartel and Bartel is both speechless and envious. There’s a lot of little scenes that really add up in the end, unfortunately there are some problems perhaps some editing could have resolved.

I had a problem with the Boris character who seemed more like a plot device than an actual character. Perhaps he was a kind of “Judas”? Where he humbly leads Christ to man where he will in the end be tortured. Still though, I thought the film could’ve done fine without this character, but that’s just me.

Now, the biggest problem I had with the film was the shootout at the end. After the truly strange (and frankly, I felt out-of-place and Hollywood-esque) laughing sequence, there’s a ridiculous hillbilly shootout. This doesn’t, in any way, follow the underlying meaning it once had up to this point, and just seems like a “quick resolution” to get Marc away from his captivity and to the final important scene at the end.

And this “important scene at the end” is really the most surreal and “obvious” connection to the Christ story, in that one of the townsfolk (the leader it seems) follows Marc and stumbles into quicksand and begins begging Marc to say that he always loved him. Marc crouches over him watching him drown and finally says he always loved him. I liked the juxtaposition of “forgiveness” and “punishment” accomplished in the same gesture (or lack of gesture).

Overall Rating: * * * * * (Five stars out of six)

Deadlock

2009-11-26T20:34:00.006-05:00

Deadlock
1970

Directed by Roland Klick
Music by Can

Starring Mario Adorf, Anthony Dawson, Marquard Bohm

If one can imagine a German "western" complete with soundtrack by experimental fusion group Can (channeling Pink Floyd), Deadlock might be the result. There are elements of the spaghetti western which are obvious but it also conjures images of Zabriskie Point and Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia which makes for some interesting viewing. Apparently Jodorowski (El Topo) thinks highly of the film as well he should for it features many similarities (and was perhaps, to some extent, inspired by) to some of his own films.

So, the plot: Following a bank heist, two robbers separate and vow to meet at a ghost town to split up the cash. Extreme violence ensues when they finally meet in the desolated wasteland. The two gunmen are never really defined as "good" or "evil" for neither have any values and every action is a deceit, though they are implied to have differing values.

There are other characters though as well in the film, such as a nymphomaniac, an old woman, and a bumbling recluse appropriately named Dump. These supporting characters serve as fitting contrast to the emotionless, machine-like protagonist/antagonist in that they convey heavy amounts of emotion in their own way (the nympho lust and innocence, the old woman conquest and reminiscence). There's even the appearance of a third gunman named Sunshine that complicates things even more.

The characters speak in an obtuse way, remembering mysterious events that are never explained in the film and one supposes that perhaps they are testing each other in some strange game. These characters are driven by greed and selfishness and no one is spared judgment.

The sun is also a prominent character for it takes up a fair amount of screen time itself. The sun is very symbolic of the unwavering, incorruptible role of fate and the fate of many of the characters could be seen as undeserved yet inevitable.

Another interesting facet of this film is the battle between the gunmen. Surely their "prize" is worthless in this desolation and yet they fight to the death to win it anyway. It's a fine statement on the futility of bravado and the vague destructive conslusion of greed.

All in all, it's a pretty good film that is more entertaining to describe than to watch, but it has its moments and the underlying symbolism helps a lot. Since it is rather low-budget (and shot in an improvised location), there's some shoddy dubbing (though not bad by B-movie standards) and bizarre cuts, but one can see the raw vision behind it which makes it worth checking out.

Rating: * * * * (Four stars out of six)

The Piano Tuner of Earthquakes

2009-11-26T19:05:00.004-05:00

The Piano Tuner of Earthquakes
2005

Directed by the Brothers Quay
Written by Alan Passes
Cinematography by Nick Knowland
Edited by Simon Laurie
Music by Trevor Duncan & Christopher Slaski
Produced by Terry Gilliam, Keith Griffiths, Hengameh Panahi, Alexander Ris
Starring Amira Casar, Gottfried John, Assumpta Serna

Watching the second feature film by the Brothers Quay often conjured images of Renoir's Last Year at Marienbad (itself loosely based on The Invention of Morel), and the ambiguity that accompanied it.

There does seem to be a slight narrative thread throughout the film, but it always seemed little more than an afterthought. Similar to Jan Svankmejer's work where the literature that his films reference are chiefly used as backdrop for his brilliant stop-motion animation. With this film however, there isn't a strong thread of plot throughout the film. There is a basic plotline, but it's not skillfully adhesive and rather feels like a hodge podge of visual scenarios than anything substantially linear.

Essentially the film begins with the apparent murder of a renowned opera singer, Malvina van Stille, by an inventor named Dr. Droz, who steals her corpse set on resurrecting her and forcing her to replay her death in an opera. Dr. Droz hires a piano tuner (apparently, either there's no specialist in existenace to calibrate the machine, or its assembly is similar to that of a piano) Felisberto, to calibrate the machine which will somehow make all of this possible.

For me, the film seemed intentionally obscure (at least I'd hope it was intentional...) so that once the story attempts to incorporate elements of amnesia, the afterlife, and a strange subplot hinting at the possibility of a twin or immortal lover (or, more likely, simply a similar resemblance).

Which leads us to the character of Felisberto which frustrates me more than anything in the film because he is given very little motivation (or reward) in this task as "piano tuner of earthquakes" and yet he presses on as if his life depended on it (perhaps it does, but this is never brought out in the film). There is, of course, the rudimentary love interest subplot (with various images of sexual symbolism scattered throughout) which just seems to complicate the plot unnecessarily - or, if indeed it was considered essential by the Quays, they should've gone into it a bit more.

Perhaps someone somewhere can come up with a definitive explanation for everything that happens in the film, but I couldn't. Nevertheless, the film is enjoyable, if for nothing other than the beautiful (in a dreamy, industrial way) look and the stop-motion animation which is sublime. So, really, the story isn't integral to enjoying the film and apparently the Quays held the same opinion. Best just to sit back and marvel at the impenetrable creativity.

Rating: * * * * (Four stars out of six)

Dead Calm & The Deep

2009-11-14T20:13:00.005-05:00

Dead Calm

1989

Directed by Philip Noyce

Based on the novel of the same name by Charles Williams

Screenplay by Terry Hayes

Edited by Richard Francis-Bruce

Music by Graeme Revell

While the film being reviewed is Dead Calm, I’m also including some info on Orson Welles’ unfinished (and unreleased) film The Deep, both films based on the 1963 novel by Charles Williams.

Dead Calm, starring Sam Neill, Nicole Kidman (in her breakthrough role), and Billy Zane is essentially about a couple who, after the death of their young son, go on holiday to cope. Neill’s character (John) is a well-respected (and one assumes, rather high-ranking) Australian naval officer who arrives home on leave only to discover that his son is dead and his wife is very affected by the incident. They sail their yacht far out into the ocean where the water is tranquil and the sun is bright.

Shortly into the film, a man (Zane playing the role of Hughie) is seen rowing towards the couple’s yacht. Once on board he explains that all of his crew have died of food poisoning and that his ship is sinking. John rows back to Hughie’s ship to inspect the damage, leaving his wife alone with a man who’s story seems … unlikely.

So as to avoid any major spoilers, I’ll leave the story there, but it becomes rather predictable from that point on. The film does contain a perfect complimentary soundtrack that heightens the tension effectively, especially during the early scenes involving the car accident.

Noyce does a respectable job of adapting the novel to the screen, but the best moments in the film are the first half hour and the scenes involving Neill and the leaking ship. The film falters a bit in the scenes with Zane and Kidman because it’s treated so heavy-handedly and then eventually culminating into a strange twist that would probably offend those put-off by Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs. The ending is very predictable and rather shabbily handled I must say, in particular when Zane makes his final appearance with his dirty hands shampooing Kidman’s hair. It’s all done in a way that seems to aspire to the Hollywood aesthetic of filmmaking (which is exactly what Welles’ was shooting for in his film – though one surmises that he would’ve handled it differently in terms of tone), and it really suffers because of that. At the end, the characters seem to act as if nothing unusual occurred at all, fantasizing about hot baths and warm meals.

So, to sum up, Dead Calm does a serviceable job of adapting Williams’ novel with a wonderful initial half hour and intermittent moments of brilliance (the climatic scene involving the destruction of a ship is handled well), but despite some reasonably solid acting the film descends into typical Hollywood fare. Perhaps that last phrase is overly harsh because this really is a pretty good film, if a bit misguided at times.

Overall rating: * * * (Three stars out of six)

The Deep

1966-1969 (unfinished)

The Deep is one of the many unfinished films in Wellesian mythology. As is characteristic of Welles’ film projects, The Deep underwent a very challenging development (from 1966-1969) with Welles having to fund the film himself, and only being able to work on the film between other, more lucrative projects. Welles himself plays the role of Russ Brewer, the shipwrecked man who seeks shelter in the boat of the honeymooning couple.

Little is officially known about Welles’ version since the original negative was lost and, most tragically, entire scenes were not shot because of the death of the lead actor, Laurence Harvey (including the climatic final scenes). Welles did attempt to salvage the footage he already had, but was unable to completely do so. Only a “working version” exists (consisting of roughly recorded dialogue and no music), but there are rumours of a version of the film being released (though I have my doubts). There is some footage that can be seen in the documentary One-Man Band as well.

Drunken Angel

2009-11-14T17:58:00.007-05:00

Drunken Angel
1948

Directed by Akira Kurosawa
Written by Akira Kurosawa & Keinosuke Uegusa
Cinematography by Takeo Ito
Edited by Akikazu Kono
Music by Fumio Hayasaka

Akira Kurosawa's Drunken Angel may not be the first film that most people mention when referring to Kurosawa's illustrious career, but for me, it's my favourite Kurosawa film. I tend to prefer (and relate) to more intimate, simple (or rather deceptively simple) films that deal with supposedly trivial human issues. Individuals as opposed to epic set pieces involving countries far and wide, war and political intrigue ... no thanks. One thing that can be said about Kurosawa's films is that, no matter the plot itself, they always deal with the characters themselves and not necessarily with the events going on on-screen.

Drunken Angel is a straight-forward film that is existential at times (being an existentialist - completely out of favour with the enlightened majority nowadays I'm told - I support this aspect), but also frighteningly honest at times (not to say that existentialism isn't honest - far from it, but Kurosawa takes a side and makes a firm decision to support one side over the other, wherein the pure existentialist would parlay on behalf of both sides ... or neither).

The film is of course strewn together with bits of symbolism and doomed fates intertwining and mingling between addictions and addictive personalities. The diseased pool omnipresent and sparkling with carrier mosquitoes while the children play near it unaware and joyfully uncaring, the drunken angel himself (Shimura) stuck amidst the cesspool forming an odd relationship with a young gangster (Mifune), perhaps seeing something of himself in that proud reckless face. Shimura is the anti-hero (one of Kurosawa's many anti-heroes), a flawed Samaritan who perhaps has found kindness in his doomed alcoholic state and seeks to form a fruitless one-sided friendship with another also doomed by the social criminal ladder of alcoholic proportions.

This is Kurosawa depicting humanity in its raw quivering form, but doing so in an understated, tasteful way and not yieldingly or cowardly (as many "controversial" directors often attempt to do).

The film ends with Shimura, the doctor, accepting what all doctors must accept, that he is only life's tool, he can only delay the inevitable. He must accept losing control, losing himself (or what he saw of himself in Mifune), to a force as powerful as addiction and as uncompromising. I wouldn't wish this realization on anyone and yet Kurosawa depicts it not in a sappy depressing way, but on realistic terms. It is what it is, there is no need for sorrow or regret, only acceptance and an infusion of meaning into the supposedly trivial things. For Shimura, perhaps its an alcoholic rejuvenation or perhaps it will be his salvation from that prison. Kurosawa, ever the realist, leaves that puzzle unfinished as it should be and Shimura and Mifune's fates end up being neither sad nor joyous, but simply meant to be.

Criterion link
akirakurosawa.info

Overall Rating: * * * * * * (Six stars out of six)