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 Horrors podcast 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 Orange or 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.
No comments:
Post a Comment