(This was originally published on an older blog of mine in 2019)
Michael Cimino had some early success working on the screenplays for Silent Running and Magnum Force which was enough to land him in the director’s chair after selling his Thunderbolt and Lightfoot screenplay to Clint Eastwood’s production company. What followed was something combining a heist movie and a road picture featuring Jeff Bridges as the young drifter (Lightfoot) and Eastwood’s veteran thief (Thunderbolt).
There’s nothing necessarily slow about this film—the opening erupts with a shootout and a car theft—but there’s a definite hangout vibe that permeates the action. Cimino isn’t afraid to take his time and let us wander with Eastwood and Bridges across the open landscapes of Idaho and Montana as they move from one jam to the next. The men pursuing Thunderbolt—George Kennedy and Geoffrey Lewis—are former partners who believe they were on the receiving end of a doublecross after their last heist. After a brief physical confrontation with Red (Kennedy), Thunderbolt convinces the two to bury the hatchet and work together.
The four decide to attempt the same job again where they rob a Montana bank using an anti-tank gun to blow through the vault walls. To collect information and funds to pull the caper off, they all move in together and work odd jobs—including Lewis hilariously as an ice cream man. Thunderbolt and Lightfoot has a definite streak of eccentric comedy running through it. The funny bits sometimes come in big moments like when the pair is picked up by a crazed driver with caged racoon in his passenger seat and a trunk filled with rabbits. There are also lovely understated details like Lightfoot’s ice cream slowly melting in his hand while being made to freeze at gunpoint.
Despite the comedy the overall feel of the film is bittersweet. This melancholy lends Thunderbolt and Lightfoot more of a meditative quality and particularly colors the film’s finale . The main performances are excellent (Bridges earned an Academy Award nomination for his) and the supporting cast is filled with character actors and notable 70s screen presences—Catherine Bach, Gary Bussey, Jack Dodson, Burton Gilliam, and Dub Taylor—just to name a few. There are several Eastwood regulars in the cast and crew, including Dee Barton who contributes a fantastic score. Paul Williams’ original song for the picture—“Where Do I Go from Here”—conveys a wandering sadness that’s a perfect accompaniment to the film.
Thunderbolt and Lightfoot is not a perfect picture. It’s a little loose and some of the gags have not aged very well. However, the shagginess is part of the appeal and there’s a certain warmth and subtlety in the film’s best moments. I think heist fans will appreciate the film but it’s especially easy to recommend to New Hollywood fans and/or Eastwood fans.
There's nothing in my heart but the fear of dying old
The denizens of Juliet Berto's Neigemay not fear personal death, but their lives are tinged with anxiety over loss - loss of friends, loss of family, loss of liberty, and (for many) loss of the fix they need to transcend their immediate surroundings. Neige chronicles a few days among a loose conglomeration of musicians, dealers, drug users, sex workers, and an assortment of characters living and hustling on and around the streets of Pigalle. While ostensibly focused on a barista, Anita played by Berto, the looseness translates to the narrative of the film as well. The plot contains straightforward crime story landmarks but the film prefers to wander through the streets along with its characters. Conversations feel overheard, the music is purely diegetic and provided by peep shows, café bands, record shops, and from the headphones of Bobby - a young street dealer played by Ras Paul Nephtali. Anita feels some maternal responsibility towards Bobby, and she tries to caution him as the heat from the police intensifies in the neighborhood. Bobby's youthful confidence and perhaps a misunderstanding of the sermons from Jocko, a charismatic (if not particularly pious) pastor, lead him to believe he cannot be caught. When the cops do finally close in on Bobby, it ends in violence. Deprived of their main conduit for heroin (snow/neige), the neighborhood starts fraying at the edges. Anita encounters Betty, a trans cabaret performer and addict, coming down hard in the street. Betty's habit is severe and she begs Anita to find her a fix. Despite their relative inexperience with heroin and the drought conditions in the neighborhood; Anita, Jocko, and Anita's boyfriend Willy all set out to score so that they can keep their friend alive. Their pursuit forces them out of their familiar enclave and onto a collision course with the authorities.
Neige was Berto's first directorial collaboration with Jean-Henri Roger. The two would go on to direct another atmospheric genre picture, Cap Canaille, two years later. Berto was primarily known then (as she is now) for her acting; particularly for her work with Godard and Rivette. Neige is an incredibly assured debut film and Berto's experience in cinematic story telling and exposure to non-traditional narratives is evident. There are sufficient story details to cling to but the principle concern of Neige is to create a portrait of Pigalle and its inhabitants. In some ways, it invokes other significant street-life films from the era(Variety, Angel, Smithereens) but the genre elements are even further abstracted in Neige and it's less focused on a single character. It does bear some connective tissue with Luc Besson's Subway in its presentation of an environment and the characters that populate it (as well as a shared interest in music). Much like Besson's film, Berto and Roger show you people and places but offer very little in the way of context or biographical details. You learn about the characters through their interactions and reactions in present time. Unlike Subway's hyper-stylization, Neige has an immediate, almost documentary feel to it. This inherent vitality relies heavily on the stunning photography from veteran cinematographer, William Lubtchansky, who also worked with Godard, Rivette, Agnes Varda, Nadine Trintignant, and others. The filmmaking on display here is highly attuned to the rhythms of Pigalle - lingering in brasseries, hurtling through streets, and moving through crowds everywhere from burlesque performances to creole religious services. While their personal histories go unexplained, the interconnectedness of the characters is obvious. Anita claims to have helped raise Bobby, Jocko freely lends (gives?) money to Willy, Loulou the bartender hired all his musician friends to work at Mr. Chat's club, a writer friend is willing to part with a packet of speed to help Betty, and Anita and Co. don't hesitate to scour the city for drugs when Betty is ailing. In contrast, institutions of authority are viewed with a deep suspicion and pessimism. The narcotics police are agents of brutality looking to bust small time players in the dope trade while failing to examine the root of the issue.
Neige is currently being offered as part of a set from Fun City Editions along with La Garce/The Bitch which I also reviewed. Ultimately, I think I slightly preferred Neige though I found it more difficult to write coherently about. The Bitch is taking genre conventions and doing something really subversive with them in the text while Neige is a more expressionistic take on noir stylings. To watch it is to become wholly immersed in the sights and sounds of the Pigalle of that era - a carnival of neon, reggae, cigarette smoke, and wounded souls. I couldn't get enough of it and I think it's perfectly matched to Fun City's gritty, urban catalogue. Many of my favorite first time watches over the last year or two have been French films from around this era and I'd love to see even more StudioCanal and Gaumont properties ported over to US releases of this quality.
Christine Pascal's twisty (and at times twisted) detective thriller, The Bitch, leads with its 1940s noir influences on its sleeve. A young woman is abruptly ejected from a car on a rainy night. She's picked up by a taciturn stranger who turns out to be a police detective. The night city is visible in the car windows via rear projection as jazz lilts through the score and they exchange halting information and probing glances. Finally they stop at the canal waterfront, invoking shades of Le Quai des brumes, and the suspense of what will happen next hangs heavy in the air. The nostalgic fantasy is violently torn asunder as the detective suddenly proceeds to rape the girl on the hood of his car. The encounter becomes cryptic as the girl eventually appears to welcome his embrace and the initial violation turns towards the erotic. The girl, Isabelle Huppert as Aline, is revealed to be only 17 and she and her adopted family press rape charges against the detective, Richard Barry as Lucien Sabatier. The prologue concludes with a brief sentencing sequence and Sabatier, disgraced, goes to prison for the next six years.
Pascal, known largely for her work in front of the camera in this country, wrote and directed a handful of films; never shying away from challenging subject matter. In The Bitch, Pascal adopts conventions of American film noir as well as French poetic realism while simultaneously interrogating them and pushing them nearly to the point of breaking. This feels in sharp contrast to the mode of film policier that was so prevalent in French popular culture in the late 70s and early 80s. The tone of the film takes a shift towards modernity following the opening, but The Bitch is still brimming with classic cinema references: private detectives, doppelgängers, double crosses, wayward daughters, family secrets, gangsters, and (most prominently) the femme fatale. While her use of these tropes was derided by critics at the time, it's hard not to see The Bitch presaging the wild narrative structure of the erotic thrillers that would rise in popularity shortly after its release. Rather than retread familiar plot devices, Pascal and her talented cast are able to lean into genre expectations, subvert them, and produce something both more ambiguous and provocative as a result.
Following his imprisonment, Lucien reluctantly takes a job with a detective agency run by former policemen he worked with before he assaulted Aline. While his old friends seem willing to bring him back into the fold, his family has left him and his wife has remarried. The P.I. work consists mostly of adultery cases until a potentially wealthy client representing a fashion designer asks specifically for Sabatier to investigate a rival. Sebatier ventures into the heart of Le Sentier - Paris' textile district at the time and historically a Jewish enclave - where he runs into his friend and former cellmate, Rony. Sebatier explains that he's looking for Édith Weber and Rony attempts to warn him away, explaining that Weber is some kind of untouchable in the Jewish community. Sebatier persists only to discover that Édith Weber is the adopted identity of Aline Kaminker, the girl he raped 6 years ago. This discovery drives Sebatier to uncover the mystery of what happened to Aline while he was imprisoned, the fate of her adopted family, and who set him on Aline's trail in the first place. Sebatier's path causes him to collide with Aline's former boyfriend; and underworld figure, Max Halimi (Vittorio Mezzogiorno); and the three comprise an uneasy and volatile love triangle.
The scaffolding holding The Bitch in place is that of a thriller, filled with intentional nods towards noir, but the execution is firmly in the French arthouse tradition. In American film noir, crime is always punished and desire is nearly always fatal. In classic French permutations of the genre, love and honor are legitimate even for crooks, but doom is pervasive and inescapable. In The Bitch, desire is certainly risky but it's also complicated and mercurial. Crime sometimes has consequences and other times it's a mere detail. There's an investigation that drives the plot forward but the real mystery is whatever's going on behind the inscrutable faces of its characters. The entire cast is able to maintain that mood but Pascal is especially fascinated with Aline. There are multiple close ups lingering on Huppert's face as her expression shifts just enough to reveal profound depths of intelligence, emotion, and enigmatic motivation. Huppert's performance in The Bitch is incredibly strong and of a similar caliber to her roles in The Piano Teacher orElle. As the premise of the film is so provocative, it's crucial to have such a fascinating character at the heart of it. While I cannot begin to fully comprehend what motivates Aline, I (like Pascal) can't take my eyes off of her.
Largely unseen and unavailable for decades (in the US, at least), La Garce/The Bitch has been restored and released via Fun City Editions as part of a two film set - Fatal Femmes. Special features include an excellent essay from Alexandra Heller-Nicholas as well as an audio commentary from the always fantastic Samm Deighan. Fatal Femmes includes another French crime flick, Neige, directed by another female actor/director: Juliet Berto. I've been such a fan of FCE's output and French crime cinema will forever be celebrated here, so I couldn't grab a copy fast enough. I recommend you do the same.
Richard Brody's piece for The New Yorker, "What We Lose When Streaming Companies Choose What We Watch," has been making the rounds among film fans recently. It's for good reason too, while I'm personally immersed in a universe of similarly-minded disc purchasers and theater attendees, most of the film-viewing public seems to have elected streaming as their primary source of cinema. I don't always (or often) agree with Brody but I don't begrudge him a good take when he has one. Still, I can't help but think that his case for collecting is a tad overstated. Building a physical media collection can be rewarding and supports the industries (film, music, lit, etc.) behind the scenes, but I'm not sure how much of an act of "love" or "defiance" it really is. In all the collecting scenes I've taken part of, you regularly hear the same old jokes about buying way more shit than you could possibly take advantage of in your lifetime and the line between collecting and hoarding can get hazy. There's also the matter of access. There's probably a degree of greater general availability due to individuals buying films on disc. It's not uncommon to see a new physical release suddenly become accessible via streaming but it's hardly universal or even very predictable. On the other hand, collections at public libraries likely contribute in a far more meaningful way in providing access to great movies all for the low price of library card. I'm regularly surprised and delighted by what our local county system has available to check out.
The other thing that irks me about the film-related physical media world is that it doesn't often translate to physical spaces. Unlike the book shop or the record store or even your local cinema, places to buy boutique blu-rays seem vanishingly rare. I really do think this is meaningful as I still hold onto the idea that brick and mortar spaces are instrumental in building local scenes and help lead to the interaction between creative people and the necessary collision of ideas. I realize virtual spaces can also facilitate these things, but I generally find them far less potent. There's something vital to meeting up with other people who at the very least are willing to make a trip just to experience weird art. None of this is to say that I don't absolutely love this moment in film curation and the kind of energy and care the independent labels are pouring into movies, many of which were totally unavailable previously. I just don't believe personal shelves filled to bursting carry all the same benefits as a public library or even the humble video store.
I watched plenty of good and even some great movies in August. I do wish I had made it out to the theater more often but that's a common lament for me. Here's the best of what I watched followed by some notes on screenings with other people.
The Grey Fox(1980) - Maybe it's notable that my first pick here was a disc I snagged at my local library. Though the cover is instantly recognizable to me from vhs days, this was a first time viewing thanks to Elric over at the Pure Cinema Podcast. It's based on a true story of Bill Miner who went to prison for stagecoach robbery and was released 33 years later to a barely recognizable world in 1901. It's a lyrical, often melancholy story of finding your way through life and (to a lesser extent) banditry. A lot of the appeal hinges on the always remarkable Richard Farnsworth but The Grey Fox is also beautifully shot, has a solid supporting cast, and the music of The Chieftains works wonderfully as a backdrop to this turn of the century story. There is a deeply satisfying "characters watching a movie" sequence and if you like trains or The Great Train Robbery - you will dig this.
Jeremiah Johnson (1972) - This Robert Redford/Sydney Pollack classic was the second half to my unintentional mythologized historical frontiersman double feature. It's hard for me to get behind a protagonist that started out as a fur trapper (the real history of which is filled with all manner of greed and stupidity) and winds up a mortal enemy of the Crow Nation (the real "liver eating" Johnson was rumored to have slaughtered 300 men), but Pollack is able to conjure so many great moments and moods and things remain abstract enough that I was able to maintain my distance. Clearly, the key decision here was Redford's insistence that the film be shot entirely in Utah and not on some studio backlot. The scenery alone is beyond stunning and the actors are largely able to distinguish themselves amidst that backdrop. Screenwriter John Milius' influence is evident in both the violent sequences and the conversations between mountain men. You can almost see them as a dry run for the philosophical discussions between Conan and Subotai a decade later. I imagine Milius' take on Johnson would have been a much gorier affair and thankfully Pollack never subjects us to Redford with a bloody mouthful of liver.
Marlowe (1969) - Marlowe has neither the grit nor the glamour to match my favorite Chandler adaptations but it's still entertaining and definitely interesting. Others have noted that it feels like a television movie - cheap sets, bright lighting, and Garner's Marlowe feeling closer to Rockford than Bogart all contribute to that. Even though the film comes off as artificial looking, the filmmakers actually bothered to shoot some iconic locations - The Bradbury Building, Union Station, Club Largo, etc. The final shot of Marlowe driving out onto the strip at night looks remarkable, I only wish we could have had more of it. The material isn't always stellar, but if you're a fan of the period I think the cast is solid and compelling enough to hold your attention. Besides Garner, you get Rita Moreno, Carroll O'Conner, Sharon Farrell, and (somewhat inexplicably) Bruce Lee. Turns out Sterling Siliphant, who wrote Marlowe, In the Heat of the Night, The Poseidon Adventure, etc., was a friend and student of Bruce. Siliphant was also instrumental in getting Bruce's philosophical adventure epic Circle of Iron/The Silent Flute made after Lee died.
Libido(1965) - Just because a film is an early example of a genre doesn't necessarily mean it delivers as a good movie. Proto-giallo Libido seemingly has everything working against it - made on a dare by an untrained director (Ernesto Gastaldi), shot in 18 days on a shoestring budget, featuring some virtually unknown (at the time) actors in lead roles - and yet it's remarkably successful and clearly influential on what was to follow. Gastaldi may not have known much about directing but he absolutely understood narrative having penned some great Italian Gothics and he would go on to write many of the most famous gialli in addition to westerns, polizotteschi, and comedies for decades to come. Libido definitely benefits from the gothic/haunted mansion setting and fuses it with a Les Diaboliques inspired thriller. There's nothing explicit, but the pyscho-sexual undertones are palpable. I'd be remiss not to mention that Libido is Giancarlo Giannini's debut and he manages admirably to evoke the brand of psychological fragility required for the role. The rest of the small cast is terrific - especially Gastaldi's wife Mara Maryl who developed the original story for the film and even sewed her own costumes. I'm nearly certain it was the Unsung Horrorspodcast that nudged me towards this in the first place and I watched it via Severin's fantastic looking blu-ray release. Libido is certainly notable for being an early giallo, and genre fans will note familiar tropes being established, but it's absolutely worth seeking out on its own merits.
Baby, It's You (1983) - Having recently re-watched Chilly Scenes of Winter and After Hours thanks to the stellar new editions from Criterion, I decided to catch up to this lesser heralded Double Play production. Baby was the first John Sayles film to be backed by a major studio and it's a significant early(ish) movie for Roseanna Arquette and Vincent Spano. Set in the 1960s, Arquette and Spano play New Jersey high school kids from differing backgrounds who still find a romantic connection. Unlike many other films with similar scenarios, Baby continues the story past high school where both characters' expectations aren't necessarily fulfilled in college or working life respectively. I'm kind of sucker for melancholy coming of age stories in the first place, but I think Baby holds its own via the use of music (the anachronistic Springsteen tunes actually work here), Sayles' class consciousness, and the performances. I love this quote from Arquette reflecting on the role: "I went to high school for a while, but my experiences were shitty. Somebody asked me how I prepared for that role. I put on those knee socks and that skirt and - I don't know. I just felt her."
The Body of My Enemy(1976) - Looking at the cover and the plot synopsis of this Henri Verneuil/Jean-Paul Belmondo crime picture led me to believe I would be getting a mid-70s slice of cold, gallic neo-noir. Instead, I got a fairly unconventional social/class satire told non-linearly with a dose of dark comedy. It's much weirder than I expected with Belmondo eschewing the stunt heavy action man persona he would fully embrace by the 80s for a far more cerebral and manipulative vengeance seeker. There's definitely grit and criminal grime featured in Enemy, but the fire that fuels the film is class conflict with Belmondo's complete contempt of the wealthy townsfolk. Enemy may be an odd addition to Verneuil's filmography but I found it compelling and thought it had similar vibes to Alain Jessua's off-kilter social satires from the same era. I picked up the Kino disc for this and am looking forward to listening to the Berger/Thompson/Mitchell commentary as they do such a great job of putting these lesser known (in this country) French films into context.
Je T’Aime, Je T’Aime(1968) - Should this movie be known as the one where Alain Resnais decided to cut the shit and just make a movie explicitly about cycles of memory? Je T'Aime is ostensibly about a suicidal man who becomes a candidate for an experimental time travel program. Things go haywire during the experiment and he's trapped reliving sequences of his past in 60 second snippets. It sounds like a science fiction story, but in practice plays out as a profoundly literary and fairly avant-garde approach to love and loss with a dose of murder mystery. There are some sequences of an absurdly 60s time machine that looks like an alien pumpkin on the outside and Barbarella's lounge on the inside which give it an extra pyschotronic edge, but Je T'Aime still is largely grounded in human relationships. I'm not always an enthusiastic science fiction fan, nor do I tend to like time travel movies, but I adored this abstract, philosophical, extremely French take on the genre. It's certainly not the best Resnais film, but even his weirder efforts are worth seeking out.
Going Places (1974) - Holy shit what do you say about a movie like this? It's anarchic, it's maddening, it's offensive, I kind of loved it, and I don't feel terrific about that. Betrand Blier's film debut starring Gérard Depardieu and Patrick Dewaere as listless buffoons lacking any impulse control or thought for the future and they channel their limited creativity towards sexual terrorism. It also features Miou-Miou as a woman with little to no agency who sticks with the pair for reasons I still find incomprehensible. Though it's not nearly so heavy handed, Going Places sort of works on a similar level to A Clockwork Orangeor maybe Spetters where the charisma and humor of the actors keeps you engaged despite your recognition of how awful their behavior is. There's also a dreamlike quality to the film in sequences that maybe play out more like incredibly taboo fantasies (not that the reality of what's happening is ever seriously questioned by the film) - this is particularly noticeable in the middle sequence featuring a fascinating Jeanne Moreau or a truly disturbing scene involving a young mother on a train. It's also gorgeously shot which isn't any kind of excuse but has to be mentioned. I'm perhaps too easily won over by off-season footage of European resort towns (I blame Jean Rollin). There's a sentiment that the English language title is far too innocuous compared to the French title, Les Valseuses which literally translates to "The Waltzers" but is commonly slang for testicles. I'm not so sure. Blier very explicitly goes places and pushes boundaries in ways that genuinely surprised me. It's totally fair if you agree with Roger Ebert that the film is "the most misogynistic movie (Ebert) can remember" but I find myself sympathetic to Pauline Kael who felt that Going Places addressed sex and sex fantasies directly in an "assured style...with a dreamy sort of displacement." I picked up the Cohen Media Group release of this so maybe the audio commentary can help me make sense of it.
Pulp(1972) - Rather than being a library pick-up, Pulp was a full on library discovery. I usually just grab movies I've put on hold but sometimes I take a moment to browse whatever they have on hand that week. There's usually no shortage of Criterion or Warner Archive discs, but imagine my surprise to stumble over Arrow's release (now OOP) of Cain and Hodges' comedic follow up to Get Carter. I admit I'm surprised by how divisive Pulp seems to be. Aside from the unfortunate boar hunt footage (apparently this was staged, but I'm not sure I'm fully convinced that no boars were harmed) at the end of the film, I felt very much in sync with its hazy blend of slapstick, wry dialogue, and political/social satire. I imagine there's some degree of backlash from Get Carter fans expecting more of the same - Hodges & Caine don't even come close to delivering on that account - instead managing something that bridges the spy/detective farces of the 60s and the stoner inflected neo-noir of the 70s. The cast is incredibly fun and filled with nods to American noir films, the Maltese location footage is stunning, and apparently J.G. Ballard was a huge fan.
Get Out Your Handkerchiefs (1978) - Hoo boy. Another Blier picture featuring Depardieu and Deweare as two chauvinistic dolts with a complicated and intense friendship. They are not as explicitly sociopathic this time around but it doesn't make the film any easier to relate to. Carole Laure plays Depardieu's dispassionate wife, Solange, who he "offers" to a total stranger (Deweare) in an effort to cheer her up. While this effort fails, both men are clearly devoted to Solange and the unlikely trio take positions running a boys summer camp. Solange finally finds some solace in a brilliant boy who is savagely teased by his fellow campers. Solange's relationship with the boy starts innocently enough but eventually crosses boundaries that are just going to be too much for some viewers. Blier's absolute disregard and lack of understanding of female agency is only matched by his penetrating observations on male stupidity. His films keep shocking me and yet I can't help but laugh at the audaciousness of them. As much as Blier seems to deny interiority to his female characters, he has a terrific eye for actresses. Carole Laure (and Miou-Miou in Going Places) adds some much needed humanity to the work and even if I can't comprehend Solange's choices, I find her fascinating. Pair this one with Heartbreakers for a "Carole Laure navigates a weirdly intense relationship between two dudes" double feature.
Joy House (1964) - I went into René Clément's 1964 thriller almost completely blind. All I knew was that it was a 60s French crime flick starring Alain Delon and Jane Fonda which is everything I needed to know to snag a copy from Kino. Joy House is a simmering, twisty tale of a fugitive (Delon) who enters the employ of a rich widow (Lola Albright) and her ingenue niece (Fonda) while he's hiding out from American gangsters. Of course not everything is as it seems at the mansion as Delon uncovers the widow's intentions, the sexual tension between the three heightens, and the gangsters' pursuit circles ever closer. Seeing as Joy House was released four years after Clément's Purple Noon, it's natural to assume that it would be an equally if not more polished, coastal potboiler featuring beautiful people amongst postcard scenery. Instead, Henri Decaë's black & white photography gives Joy House a much rougher, propulsive look that feels like a throwback to low budget noirs of the previous decade. The lurid plot takes some wild swings which may challenge a viewer's credulity but they also presage the most outrageous 80s erotic thriller narratives. Of course, Joy House isn't very explicit and its eroticism is largely implied - which is for the best as sex scenes between Delon and Fonda would have likely immolated my disc player. If you're willing to exchange gallic cool for pulp thrills (aided in no small part by Lalo Schifrin's smoking score), Joy House totally delivers on that count.
Theatrical Screenings!
I've already written an entire piece devoted to August's screening of Tokyo Pop. Here are a couple of things I still managed to show up for.
The War is Over/La Guerre est Finie(1966) - Caught this at the always delightful Trylon Cinema thanks to a restoration via The Film Desk. Luminous, sensual, filled with overlapping memories and not-quite memories. I liked La Guerre quite a bit but there's no doubting the pace can feel very deliberate. Yves Montand was certainly the best possible choice to play a world-weary revolutionary and the rest of the cast is stellar. Ingrid Thulin and a very young Geneviève Bujold are particularly good as Montand's partner and an aspiring revolutionary, respectively. Sacha Vierny has shot some absolutely stunning films with some of the greatest directors of all time and La Guerre features some fantastic black & white photography. I never tire of Parisian location footage, particularly from the 60s, and La Guerre is bursting with scenes of period street life. The Film Desk is a company that seems to have very suddenly arrived on my radar over the past year, but they've actually been doing their thing since 2008. I'm hoping to snag some of their physical releases soon but definitely appreciate their excellent restoration work.
Hell in the Pacific (1968) - I was very fortunate to attend a special 16mm screening of Boorman's second collaboration with Lee Marvin courtesy of the Cult Film Collective. We watched this one outdoors and the summer sounds of a warm August night actually complimented Marvin and Toshirō Mifune's struggle to survive on an isolated jungle island rather well. I don't adore watching films outside (noise, bugs, light, etc.) but Hell was such a great choice: not a ton of dialogue, plenty of action, and two ridiculously magnetic screen presences battling it out. I've been dying to catch this since re-watching and writing about Point Blank so I couldn't have been happier once the secret was revealed. I've said it before and I'll say it again, if you live in/near the Twin Cities, you need to sign up for the CFC. They do great work and they will let you borrow movies. It's the best.
