Bovarysme
Chewing scenery and celluloid. Vomiting.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
I like 'em crispy
The notoriety of the Norwegian black metal scene of the late 80s/early 90s is something which typically precedes the music itself. Whilst digging around for clips about it, some musician (don't ask me who because the group of bands associated with this stuff, good or bad, is fucking mammoth) mentioned that one of the ironies of black metal becoming a trend is that it was never meant to be anything more than self-gratification for the people who were making the records. Certainly never commercial. And yet in 2009 we get Until the Light Takes Us, probably the documentary on the Norwegian black metal scene with the biggest release to date.
The interview I read with directors Aaron Aites and Audrey Ewell before watching gave me a fairly good idea of what to expect i.e. "they sound like art hipsters"
I didn't love it, but there are certainly parts that I enjoyed.
Gylve "Fenriz" Nagell from Darkthrone and Varg Vikernes of Burzum immediately chalk up as the film's most interesting narrators. Fenriz seems somewhat on edge but amiable, genuinely unnerved by what "black metal" has come to mean and represent today. Vikernes is engaging and well-spoken as usual (which is part of what makes him so bothersome when you know about him and his personal beliefs).
I've heard people say that this isn't a film to watch if you don't know anything prior to, but I tend to think it's one that will actually convince people who've never heard of these bands to look into them. The major topics (Dead's suicide, Euronymous' murder, the church burnings, Vikernes' trial/imprisonment) are discussed, but not belabored or moralized as they seem to be in most other documentaries or specials that I've seen. Fenriz's visit to a Swedish art exhibit on black metal was a highlight for me. Hellhammer from Mayhem and Faust from Emperor also fill in some details.
But then there's the rest of the film. In that same interview, Aites and Ewell mention that they would've never made the Until the Light Takes Us had they not been able to get both Fenriz and Varg. Thankfully they were, but the contrast/connection they seem to want to make between the two falls slightly flat. It starts with each briefly mentioning each other, their interviews cut back and forth, but then it's sort of forgotten about, returning in a scene where Fenriz watches footage of Varg talking about him. Something similar happens when the issue of Christianity (anti-Christian beliefs were one of, if not the binding factor for these bands) and its destruction of culture is brought up. Several of the interviewees briefly remark on it, then we're given a really shitty montage of close-ups of religious statues. Aites and Ewell are walking into a goldmine. They've got some of the best people possible to discuss the history of this movement, they've got big ideas, unfortunately what's left to them outside of these people is handled amateurishly.
However, the one-on-one interviews themselves are the majority of the film and they're very solid. Until the Light Takes Us is worth watching for them alone. It's a pretty fascinating story not only because of the scandals that occurred, but how young, how dedicated, and how talented these people were and how radical some of their ideas (and certainly their music, not simply thematically, but technically) were at the time. It was an all consuming lifestyle, not some kind of trend. And yet this film is now being served up to people like myself who were in kindergarten in 1993.
P.S. Taking bets on whether or not the inclusion of that Harmony Korine bit is meant to be taken seriously or as a grim response to Fenriz's lamentation of black metal becoming trendy.
Also it's best if we not talk about the Frost stuff. At all. Except this.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
You have to follow the script
Note: I did the unholy and watched this on my laptop, meaning screen capping would've been a nightmare. The photo used is ripped straight from Google.
My forays into animated cinema are few and far between. I think the last animated film aimed for "adults" that I saw was Grave of the Fireflies which made me bawl/question humanity/the works. Needless to say I hold no grudge against the medium, I simply don't get around to seeing as many of these films as I should.
Satoshi Kon's Perfect Blue fits in amongst most solid suspense thrillers to come out within the past 20 years, though it isn't flawless. The story is simple enough. Mima, a pop idol, quits her job in favor of acting. She soon realizes she's being stalked and fears for her life while simultaneously suffering an identity crisis as she questions her career, watching its rocky start.
Perfect Blue is rare these days in that naivete towards technology pushes its plot. Mima is clueless to being stalked until her manager, Rumi, helps her buy a computer (and a beast of one, size wise) and set up an internet connection. She enters a URL a fan sent her, leading to Mima's pseudo-journal, recording all of her actions that day (or what her crazed fan believes she should've done that day, anyway). I guess it was just interesting to be brought back to memories of the Internet in its infancy (in terms of being a household luxury, at least) and how intimidating and exciting it seemed.
I'd imagine that any semi-suspicious film-goer will be able to call out Mima's harasser from early on. Obvious false leads are only fun when they're so obvious that you disregard them and then feel like an idiot when they weren't false leads at all. In one of the film's first sequences, we are introduced to Me-Mania and we know he's a creep because...he looks like one! He's got beady eyes, his teeth are fucked up, he has that whole skeevy heavy breathing going on. He also seems to be everywhere that Mima is professionally. Scenes of him overhearing everyday conversations about Mima occur 2 or 3 times. It's even revealed that he's behind the shady website! Then, a-ha! He's not the killer. Shocking! Really.
The whole story concerning the stalker quickly becomes much less interesting than Mima's own psychological problems. I think I uttered "the fuck?" to myself 3 times when her dreams began to fade into her reality. The sequences of this are on par with, if not better than, some in most effective psychological thrillers today. Kon leaves the truth of the matter completely ambiguous, which seems less satisfying, but is far more enthralling than if it'd been explained. It's tough to make a viewer feel completely disoriented about time and reality, but Kon completely succeeds with these scenes.
And then he ruins it with that ending. Oh, that ending. Like I've said, I wasn't surprised when the murderer was revealed and a standard chase scene ensues. One thing I appreciated here was the use of Mima's alter ego (visions of her former pop-idol self taunt her throughout the film). While the mirage had previously seemed slightly hackneyed, the image of it gracefully skipping after a frantic Mima through deserted Tokyo was surprisingly effective and the first time in the film that it worked at being creepy. It was much better than watching the killer just run after her, anyway.
I would've preferred if the film had closed with the end of this sequence, but instead there's a tacked on hospital scene and an even worse, cheery "I'm okay afterall!" ending. As baffling as it was, it still doesn't outweigh how enjoyable the rest of Perfect Blue was. Solid 90s suspense. I'm looking forward to checking out Kon's other work.
Note: Don't eat while watching this. I decided to tuck into some leftovers and then that murder scene (you know what I'm talking about if you've seen this) came on and...ugh. Serves me right.
Up next, Days of Heaven!
My forays into animated cinema are few and far between. I think the last animated film aimed for "adults" that I saw was Grave of the Fireflies which made me bawl/question humanity/the works. Needless to say I hold no grudge against the medium, I simply don't get around to seeing as many of these films as I should.
Satoshi Kon's Perfect Blue fits in amongst most solid suspense thrillers to come out within the past 20 years, though it isn't flawless. The story is simple enough. Mima, a pop idol, quits her job in favor of acting. She soon realizes she's being stalked and fears for her life while simultaneously suffering an identity crisis as she questions her career, watching its rocky start.
Perfect Blue is rare these days in that naivete towards technology pushes its plot. Mima is clueless to being stalked until her manager, Rumi, helps her buy a computer (and a beast of one, size wise) and set up an internet connection. She enters a URL a fan sent her, leading to Mima's pseudo-journal, recording all of her actions that day (or what her crazed fan believes she should've done that day, anyway). I guess it was just interesting to be brought back to memories of the Internet in its infancy (in terms of being a household luxury, at least) and how intimidating and exciting it seemed.
I'd imagine that any semi-suspicious film-goer will be able to call out Mima's harasser from early on. Obvious false leads are only fun when they're so obvious that you disregard them and then feel like an idiot when they weren't false leads at all. In one of the film's first sequences, we are introduced to Me-Mania and we know he's a creep because...he looks like one! He's got beady eyes, his teeth are fucked up, he has that whole skeevy heavy breathing going on. He also seems to be everywhere that Mima is professionally. Scenes of him overhearing everyday conversations about Mima occur 2 or 3 times. It's even revealed that he's behind the shady website! Then, a-ha! He's not the killer. Shocking! Really.
The whole story concerning the stalker quickly becomes much less interesting than Mima's own psychological problems. I think I uttered "the fuck?" to myself 3 times when her dreams began to fade into her reality. The sequences of this are on par with, if not better than, some in most effective psychological thrillers today. Kon leaves the truth of the matter completely ambiguous, which seems less satisfying, but is far more enthralling than if it'd been explained. It's tough to make a viewer feel completely disoriented about time and reality, but Kon completely succeeds with these scenes.
And then he ruins it with that ending. Oh, that ending. Like I've said, I wasn't surprised when the murderer was revealed and a standard chase scene ensues. One thing I appreciated here was the use of Mima's alter ego (visions of her former pop-idol self taunt her throughout the film). While the mirage had previously seemed slightly hackneyed, the image of it gracefully skipping after a frantic Mima through deserted Tokyo was surprisingly effective and the first time in the film that it worked at being creepy. It was much better than watching the killer just run after her, anyway.
I would've preferred if the film had closed with the end of this sequence, but instead there's a tacked on hospital scene and an even worse, cheery "I'm okay afterall!" ending. As baffling as it was, it still doesn't outweigh how enjoyable the rest of Perfect Blue was. Solid 90s suspense. I'm looking forward to checking out Kon's other work.
Note: Don't eat while watching this. I decided to tuck into some leftovers and then that murder scene (you know what I'm talking about if you've seen this) came on and...ugh. Serves me right.
Up next, Days of Heaven!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
You've got bird shit in your hair
Becoming a Tim Roth fan after first seeing Reservoir Dogs at 17 has led me to some great films (Made in Britain, The War Zone), some okay films (Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, Rob Roy) and utter shit films (almost everything after the Hollywood crossover?) Though his career post 1995 has been lackluster in terms of quality (to put it lightly) I was happy to hear that Stephen Frears' The Hit, one of his breakout roles and a film then little known in the US, was getting a DVD release through Criterion.
The Hit was a film of failed assumptions, in my case. Nobody is what they appear to be, stock characters are abandoned. Both Roth and John Hurt (another favorite) play unexpected roles. Roth initially seems to fall into his typical psychopathic baddy, but becomes something far more likeable. Hurt is out of character because he's ruthless. It actually felt odd at first to see him as Braddock, which works to his advantage. While it isn't surprising to see Roth screaming and waving his gun around as Myron, it's always a shock when Hurt commits to his threats.
Terence Stamp, as Willie, is an extremely calm victim, exhibiting complete control over his captors at all times. When confronted about his inexplicable acceptance of his death, he spouts bits of philosophy on its role in the human cycle. Myron and Braddock try to understand, but can't.
The handling of Willie's fate was easily my favorite moment in the film. Not only was it what surprised me most, but it felt far more realistic, more pathetic, and much more satisfying than what I was expecting. The Hit was a great, breezy crime film, and this scene was its crown. I won't easily forget it, nor do I hope that I ever do. Films ought to humanize their characters like this more often (when it fits, anyway).
Rounding out a great cast are Laura del Sol (who is stunning, strong and provided 2 solid "cringe!" moments for myself) and Bill Hunter (and his lovely toupee).
It also needs to be said that The Hit is a treat just to look at, and not simply because of its beautiful Spanish setting. The compositions of its scenes are played with constantly. Seeing as this is far from a standard thriller, it makes sense that it looks nothing like one either. (My caps do it no justice. It needs to be seen to be appreciated.) Aesthetically, it feels quite modern for a film made over 25 years ago.
Overall, an unexpected and total delight.
Labels:
bill hunter,
british,
john hurt,
laura del sol,
stephen frears,
terence stamp,
the hit,
tim roth
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Do you know what a snatch is?
The fact that I find it mildly difficult discussing Peter Watkins' Punishment Park without bringing up my personal political opinions is a testament to how effective it is as a crash-course in radical leftist rhetoric.
Having said that, I must admit to having found the film fairly tedious. Good, but not mindblowing.
It's incredibly dated, something which acts both positively and negatively.
Positively because it serves as a perfect snapshot of America in 1970, when peaceful protesters had rapidly turned into militants, feeling that their initial approach had failed. The wearied reactions of Punishment Park's victims, dehydrated and relentlessly chased by the police, reflect the feelings of counterculture American youth at the time. Peace had failed them, and it quickly felt like violence was failing them as well. Wondering whether or not it's worth chasing the flag against the police pursuit mirrors the hangover of the summer of love.
Negatively because the film is permanently stuck in its era. The outdated speech, the clothing, the arguments, the political background. Regardless of whether or not the cores of the political issues raised by Punishment Park are still problematic today, so much of the film is so 1970, that it's impossible to say this is something that still feels "fresh" 40 years later. This is a film with essentially no humor, but there were more than a few times when I had to stifle a chuckle due to how outdated some of the dialogue is.
Everything about the film is geared towards its purpose of presenting a radical leftist view of American society in 1970. There's zero subtlety (or we can say it's "unapologetic about its politics"). This isn't hard to determine when the first shot is a zoom-in of the US flag flying backwards. While admirable, I do tend to get bored when films are as one-sided as this. The scenes following the actual prisoners in the desert quickly became more interesting than the tribunal interviews. Every question asked, whether by the fascist administration or the film crew are worded to provoke a leftist response. And not a single person in this pseudo-documentary is a poor orator. Every answer is flawless. This kind of perfection, however rough the language or passionate the speech, gets pretty dull and repetitive.
What struck me most about Punishment Park, in terms of things I liked, was its setting. It's a present day (back then, anyway) dystopia. Not a dark, decrepit undisclosed future with a vague fascist leader, but the sunny deserts of California where absolutely nothing is modernized and Nixon is clearly responsible. This is where I can understand Punishment Park being underrated in terms of its controversy and forward-thinking. The violence isn't graphic, but the explicit depiction of cops as merciless killers against civilians is also effectively jarring, even if the idea behind it ("pigs" is used nonstop by the characters) is nothing new.
It's getting a bit dull to write this, probably because I wasn't affected by Punishment Park as I'd liked to have been. The problems and arguments brought up are still relevant today, but besides the points I mentioned, I don't think the film is nearly as strong today as it was 40 years ago.
On a small note, are there other places in the US nearly as isolating and stunning as the California salt flats? Eeesh.
Labels:
american,
british,
peter watkins,
punishment park
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
God was wrong
Over the course of the past few years (I don't know if it's me getting older or what), I've noticed a bit of a Criterion Collection backlash amongst film snob hacks. I'm not sure if this has to do with their earliest releases (Armageddon is the first one that springs to mind) or the fact that having a ready-made, readily available "canon" ruins a lot of fun, but I can't contest that their transfers are great. Plus, more often than not, I tend to be intrigued by what they release. Does this mean that Criterion is the be-all, end-all of cinema? Absolutely not. It goes without saying that tuning into its releases isn't an excuse not to look outside its boundaries, but I don't think there's any harm in its existence, by any means. Plus, they do sometimes bring movies to the States that were otherwise hard to come by here, causing me to wish they'd be more expansive (Brighton Rock, please. Les Idoles, please).
That being said, Bigger Than Life is a Criterion release!
It's kind of unfortunate that Nicholas Ray (and James Dean, for that matter) is best known for Rebel Without A Cause. I'm biased, because a) I don't like it b) it was the only Nicholas Ray movie I'd seen prior to Bigger Than Life, yet I am still comfortable making this statement!
Where most Hollywood dramas of the 1950s might have sought to show the troubles of the everyday, suburban post-war American family, Bigger Than Life might be the first one I've seen to attack the very idea of these suburban families, and viciously so. Behind the already controversial critique of modern medicine and its "wonders" is a thinly veiled ("They're dull." "So are we.") launch against the complacency of 1950s middle America. The only thing more irksome than James Mason's sudden transformation into an egomaniacal douchebag is that there are moments where you can understand where his outbursts are coming from. He's a highly unlikeable character, post-cortisone addiction, and though he may have been a stranger in 1950s American society, he sure as hell isn't in 2010.
Things spin from uncomfortably realistic to ridiculous pretty quickly, but the extent to which they become ridiculous, is satisfyingly shocking for its era (a protagonist justifying the murder of his son with the Bible? locking his wife in the closet to do so?) as well as for its typical suburban setting. Bigger Than Life is loaded with scenes and dialogue I wouldn't have dreamed of seeing or hearing in Old Hollywood. Its ending is predictable, but had Barbara Rush never gotten out of that closet, Bigger Than Life would've never seen the light of day in the U.S.
That being said, Bigger Than Life is a Criterion release!
It's kind of unfortunate that Nicholas Ray (and James Dean, for that matter) is best known for Rebel Without A Cause. I'm biased, because a) I don't like it b) it was the only Nicholas Ray movie I'd seen prior to Bigger Than Life, yet I am still comfortable making this statement!
Where most Hollywood dramas of the 1950s might have sought to show the troubles of the everyday, suburban post-war American family, Bigger Than Life might be the first one I've seen to attack the very idea of these suburban families, and viciously so. Behind the already controversial critique of modern medicine and its "wonders" is a thinly veiled ("They're dull." "So are we.") launch against the complacency of 1950s middle America. The only thing more irksome than James Mason's sudden transformation into an egomaniacal douchebag is that there are moments where you can understand where his outbursts are coming from. He's a highly unlikeable character, post-cortisone addiction, and though he may have been a stranger in 1950s American society, he sure as hell isn't in 2010.
Things spin from uncomfortably realistic to ridiculous pretty quickly, but the extent to which they become ridiculous, is satisfyingly shocking for its era (a protagonist justifying the murder of his son with the Bible? locking his wife in the closet to do so?) as well as for its typical suburban setting. Bigger Than Life is loaded with scenes and dialogue I wouldn't have dreamed of seeing or hearing in Old Hollywood. Its ending is predictable, but had Barbara Rush never gotten out of that closet, Bigger Than Life would've never seen the light of day in the U.S.
Labels:
american,
barbara rush,
bigger than life,
james mason,
nicholas ray
Friday, June 18, 2010
Don't let the cats out
With his retrospective now over, the Pierre Clémenti adoration posts will probably be coming to a halt lest I somehow get my hands on his filmography (no small feat in the US). Or my rental of The Leopard shows up and I can talk about how odd it is seeing him blonde and clean-cut.
That being said, I wrangled up a few friends to come with me to Anthology's second showing of Belle de Jour. A few scrolls down tells you I've recently rented it, but again it was proven that DVD home viewings, regardless of how clear they are, can never live up to their theater counterparts. I'd completely overlooked just how good Catherine Deneuve and Michel Piccoli were in it. Most of its odd humor had been completely missed and seeing it at Anthology only reinforced how significant Clémenti is as Marcel. I might be biased or maybe it was because I knew what was coming, but when he first showed up onscreen, you could literally feel the movie completely shift. In my opinion, Belle de Jour is a nice little gem, but Marcel ends up pushing it into new territory due to Clémenti's energy.
It was nice to know that my friends enjoyed the movie. I made a Clémenti fan out of my best friend. Another friend preferred Jean Sorel and couldn't understand how my calling his character a Ken doll was an insult. My third friend compared Clémenti to André the Giant, physically. If you understand this, please comment.
Small note: The version screened had different subtitles than the DVD's. White, and not nearly as inclusive (though what's cut is primarily small talk), they were also italicized at times to distinguish reality from Séverine's dreams. Takes a bit of the fun out, no? Sometimes knowing French has its perks, I guess.
Let's end this with a little list of Clémenti movies I'm anxious to see and some clips:
Benjamin, Il Gattopardo (though his role is quite minor), Wheel of Ashes, Le lit de la vierge, Les Idoles. He was in much more, but these would be my first stops.
(don't even get me started on this movie)
Bonus: This is from Sweet Movie, which apparently tests the "eww" limits, but I'd be up for it. This is precious:
Up next, Bigger Than Life!
Monday, June 14, 2010
In a way, I felt like Aleksei Kravchenko was Elem Klimov's Falconetti, in Come and See. What it lacks in dialogue, the film more than makes up for in its imagery and, perhaps just as important, its sound. The ending was a bit of a letdown, but overall the film was fantastic, providing more than a few scenes not to be forgotten.
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