Blue

Whether through the influence of what I have been watching, or my own devices, a sense of malaise has crept in. Happily, I happened to watch Krzysztof Kieslowski's Blue (1993), from his Three Colors trilogy, at the perfectly opportune time.

This the first film of Kieslowski I have seen; I came upon it through a combination of recommendations. First, I saw that Corliss and Schickel put his Dekalog in the All-Time Top 100 Movies; then I read that Ebert said he is "one of the filmmakers I would turn to for consolation if I learned I was dying, or to laugh with on finding I would live after all;" then I read that Kubrik called the Dekalog the only masterpiece made during his lifetime; then I came across the Trois couleurs, which are happily mostly in French and one of which features the enchanting Juliette Binoche.

The plot begins where countless other movies end: death. A woman loses her husband and daughter, and must go on living. This is not another depressing indie, though; this is a film about why we live. Julie is initially destroyed and empty, but we eventually see a bit of who she must have been before the accident.

Motivation is a horrendously complicated subject. Philosophy on the subject leads to religion or nihilism (Aristotle or Nietzsche, as Alasdair MacIntyre put it). There are alternatives, such as economics or whatever Heidegger is doing, but the subject still kills more questions than it answers. Somehow, Kieslowski neatly avoids it all, while showing the underlying dynamic reality. To try and explain it further would be to relapse into philosophy, which would be a disservice to his work. Instead, just see the film. It will make you glad to be alive.

*     *     *

Other things I've been watching lately:

Backyard (2009): A movie about the enormous number of rapes and murders of women in Juarez. Important, but seriously depressing.

The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928): Dreyer's crowning achievement, apparently. I'd seen Vampyr (1932) earlier, and though that was nicer in terms of the narrative (if a little simplistic), but the angles in Joan of Arc are amazing. He's incredibly bold, with a lot of slanted close-ups of her face, shots cutting people off at mid-chest, flipping up-side down shots, and more. The story is predictable, but the camerawork amazing.

Beauty and the Beast (1946): The arms are disturbing, and the acting/casting seemed a little off. The Beast's costume was excellent, though; very wookie before wookies.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2009): Swedish, excellent. Great acting, good story telling. Not Bergman, but worthy of the country, at least. A little violent and disturbing (more rapes and murders – not sure how this keeps coming up). Another supposedly good Swedish film on my list to watch: Let the Right One In (getting an American remake, apparently).

Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010): Better than I expected; Jake Gyllenhaal was not as miscast as it seemed, and Gemma Arterton was pleasant. Fluff, but decent fluff.

Salt (2010): I hate Angelina for her PR, and don't think she's that good of an actress, but she can carry an action flick. Apt timing, too, with recent revelations about Russian spies who have been living in the US for years. A bit generic, and the sequel setup was obnoxious, but otherwise decent.

Camille (1936): Greta Garbo. There has never been a more humanizing film about gold digging made.

Murder on the Orient Express (1974): Agatha Christie, but dark, very dark. The opposite of another Lumet classic, 12 Angry Men (1957). A unique murder mystery in classic style.

Reflections

Some thoughts on what I've seen lately:

Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein: A bit sentimental, but surprisingly relevant as the first artificial species are created by Venter et al. Boris Karloff is good, and the Bride is superlative for the hair alone, plus the Metropolis machine-woman style of movement. I'd like to see The Spirit of the Beehive, a Spanish film about a girl's reaction to this film. I also need to see Bella Lugosi's Dracula at some point, which immediately preceded this in Laemmle's production studio.

I vitelloni: I've seen quite a lot of Fellini, but never saw this, as it's considered one of his more minor works. However, I was very pleasantly surprised; it is more accessible than most Fellini, but still an exceedingly strong piece of work. The premise is the universal coming-of-age story, but Fellini does it in a fresh and engaging manner, offering a character study of a group of five friends from a small town in Italy, each representing a different archetype, or part of the self, depending on your viewing. It's really the perfect antidote to the overindulgence of buddy comedies by Apatow and company, with moments to make you smile and cringe, and often make you think uncomfortably about your own life.

The real triumph of the film is the depth of the character study through use of universal themes. Each of the five vitelloni is a deeply dynamic character, struggling with his life in a unique manner. Most magical among these characterizations is Moraldo, the youngest of the gang, who quietly observes the shenanigans of the rest. Still, at the end of the film, despite his small amount of screen time and lines, he is clearly the most interesting of the characters, one we want to follow beyond the film. As he serves as Fellini's alter ego, we can happily do so through his other films.

The Bicycle Theif: De Sica's portrait of a man in postwar Italy who needs his bike to keep a job. It gets stolen. His life is sad. I really don't think this is a great movie, despite its reputation. It captures the nature of poverty well, the kid is cute, and the father tragic, but it is missing depth beyond the social commentary.

Z: Costa-Gravas, a classic thriller, and a good piece of political cinema. Really well put together; it will keep you involved despite getting caught up in politics. The assertion that "I'm not a political person" becomes chilling after this. And yes, I watched this because of the Chuck reference.

The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari: A nice silent horror-fairy tale. Not really exceptional, except that I am obsessed with the set design. With all of the off-kilter windows and plays on perspective, combined with the soft-painted effect, it is the perfect fairy-tale set, and the inspiration to many ever since. One of those movies you want to frame and put up on your wall.

 

The Virgin Spring: Like I vitelloni, one of a handful of Bergmans I missed. Without spoiling too much, it is classic Bergman, but not as exceptional as some of his work. Partly, I prefer his non-historical work, though this packs a punch. I believe this was the source for The Last House on the Left, although that looked terrible. This was not. If you want more on the plot look it up. I just feel I shouldn't spoil too much; it's better to go in ignorant, but be aware that it gets violent.

Y tu mamá también: Curious...I really don't know what to say about this movie. It's strong. A different sort of road trip movie, I guess.

Dune: David Lynch, not the 2000 one. I think I once saw part of the 2000 one, because I remember the eyes, but I fell asleep. Lynch's film was not wholly Lynchian in the sense of Mulholland Dr. The film pulls very strongly from Star Wars, and I'm honestly a bit surprised it has a cult following, as the effects are second-hand, and the story is not long enough (without Herbert's book) to really create a mythology. Not a bad film, really, just middling. Sorry Chuck. Tron was better. Looking forward to the new one, too.

I love this poster.

Barry Lyndon: One of Kubrik's masterpieces I'd missed out on. As a European period piece character study, the film really is a masterpiece; we follow Barry through a curious life and a series of other characters, in the end leaving them all behind. We really do understand him, even as we do not fully care for him much. In the end, signing a check has never been so sad.

Somehow, I feel this film deserves to be contrasted with Altman's Gosford Park and Renoir's Rules of the Game from which Altman worked. Kubrik does an extraordinary job of following one man, whereas Altman and Renoir present their distinctive event-stories without a clear protagonist. Personally, I prefer Kubrik's vision as it engages the audience more, even if I appreciate the value of Altman and Renoir's styles. They may be more innovative (in this instance), but Barry Lyndon has the feel of a great Greek or Shakespearean tragedy, which is hard to forget.

The Battleship Potemkin: My first Eisenstein. I know the film is monumental in the history of cinema for its use of montage and the Odessa steps sequence, but from a modern perspective, the propaganda is just odious, and in the way of good storytelling. I feel that if he has forgone a bit of his political message, he could have made a much more engaging drama, but perhaps then it would not have been quite so monumental.

Somehow, it doesn't tip over.

Tokyo Story: I love this film. As my first Ozu, this was my introduction into his brilliance in capturing the little moments in life, the nuances of relationships. I've honestly never felt that a movie has captured family relationships so well. He accomplishes this through capturing the moments that are not in a book or script, like packing a bag, or figuring out where visitors will sleep. At the same time, his scenes end right before they would start to get boring, almost jarringly. Particularly poignant for anyone with parents or grandparents, i.e. everyone, it is impossible not to think of that old grandma, or the way your dad remembers the things your mom forgets, and so on. Just a lovely film. I challenge anyone to not love the old couple.

"Love us! We're cute and doddery!"

A note: The film owes as much to fantastic acting as Ozu himself. Dancing slowly can be much harder than dancing quickly.

If you only watch one of these, watch this. Personally, I'm very excited to get into Ozu's other films.