Best New-to-Me: January 2023

 New year, very similar me watching movies but making an effort to get myself to the cinema more often. I've got little talent for activism or advocacy but I do okay at trying to be the "change I'd like to see in the world." In this case: bundling up, hopping on the bus, and heading out to see movies. So far I made it out to screenings of EO, Holy Spider, Infinity Pool, and Women Talking. None of them rose to the ranks of my new favorite film but there's something commendable about each of them (seriously don't let Holy Spider blow past you if it sounds like your thing) and perhaps more importantly - I really enjoyed spending more time at the movies. I plan to spend even more time in darkened rooms with strangers in February due to the convergence of some absolutely killer local programming. The Walker Art Center will be running their Film Independent Spirit Awards screenings, The Trylon is running a poliziotteschi series, the Heights is doing their Film Noir festival with a focus on Argentina(!), and again the Trylon is hosting Dan Halsted showing his print of 7 Grandmasters which I wrote about for Persiphere. I'll run out of time and energy before I get to see everything I'd like to but I couldn't be more happy to log some hours watching great movies and (hopefully) seeing some familiar faces.

It's nice to feel some engagement with current films but I still wanted to focus older, new-to-me watches this month so here are the films that have stuck with me:

Back to the Wall (1958) - The final film I watched as part of Kino Lorber's excellent three film French Film Noir collection. I ultimately prefer Édouard Molinaro's other contribution to the set - Witness in the City - but Back to the Wall is still a superb noir film. Gorgeously shot with excellent performances from Gerard Oury and Jeanne Moreau but even the smaller parts were well realized. The set from Kino doesn't have much in the way of features but I'm thrilled just to have such terrific transfers of the films. 

The Cop (Un Conde) (1970) - Unrelentingly hardboiled, gritty French crime from Yves Boisset. The 70s is virtually synonymous with this kind of morally ambiguous, pessimistic, anti-authoritarian crime fiction and I'd argue The Cop does it as well or better than many of the films that would follow it. The cast is absurdly stacked if you're a fan of French and Italian movies of the era - Michel Bouquet is perfect and is backed by Gianni Garko, Michel Constantin, Adolfo Celi, Bernard Fresson, Françoise Fabian, and many others. I also have to mention that there is a positively savage dummy drop early in the film so you know it was going to make my list.

Armageddon (1977) - Directed by Alain Jessua and produced by and starring Alain Delon, my understanding is that Armageddon was a production set upon by clashing egos and on-set tension. The final film honestly feels a bit unfinished but it still had enough going for it that I'd like to seek out Jessua's other films. There is a metric ton of fantastic 70s European location footage spanning multiple countries, Jean Yanne's antagonist is compelling even where Delon falls a bit flat, and there's some wonderfully idiosyncratic music from Astor Piazzolla which may strike a familiar chord with 12 Monkeys fans.

The Magnificent One (1973) - I promise this is the last French film on the list but I had to include it due to sheer lunacy. Only Jean Paul Belmondo could convincingly play both a despondent author of cheap spy novels and the cartoonishly overblown parody of secret agent heroics the author dreams of in the same film. A lot of The Magnificent One is very silly and some of it is positively stupid - but it's also shockingly gory in parts. My mouth was literally hanging open as gouts of blood poured out of the machine gunned enemy agents. I'm a man of simple tastes sometimes. 

El Pico 2 (1984) - While I didn't participate in any formal challenges in January, I did challenge myself to try get some of my backlog of physical media watched. As much as Navajeros knocked me absolutely flat in 2021, I'd been putting off tackling the rest of Severin's Quinqui collection. Things got off to a moderately rocky start with the first El Pico film. I could still appreciate it but it didn't have nearly the same narrative explosivity as Navajeros, didn't use music and setting nearly as effectively, and while I don't mind a focus on family drama, I felt that it delved into a kind of cheap sentimentality. El Pico 2 takes things in a harder, darker direction, embraces that sense of place again, and kicks a lot of the schmaltz to the curb. Unfortunately I don't think you can have one without the other and they're deeply interconnected. Still, I think it's worth your time to watch both and if you're struggling with the first - don't skip the second. 

Cannibal Man (1972) - More Eloy de la Iglesia that had been sitting on my shelf waiting for the right moment. Cannibal Man is stylish, gruesome, and it teases out some interesting concepts around economic frustration, sexual frustration, and identity. It moves at an awkward, languid pace which feels at odds with the serial killer story at its heart, but it does add a certain surrealism to the proceedings. Though he continues to keep killing people and descending further into a horrific situation - Vicente Parras' Marcos does it with the least agency imaginable. It's as though he lacks any creativity or sufficient analytical power to either flee or face the consequences before things get even worse. I couldn't help but be reminded of Dahmer and his nightmarish apartment - though Marcos isn't driven by the same sex/death obsessions (and never does commit any cannibalism). It sounds as though Spanish censorship interfered with de la Iglesia's initial vision of the story which would have featured much younger actors to play Marcos and his more affluent neighbor (Nestor played by Eusebio Poncela) as well as featuring a more explicit homosexual relationship between them. I feel like that would have made for a more successful final product, but Parras and Poncela are still very good and the fact that you have a gay director with two gay leads portraying a story with some gay elements in Franco's Spain makes for a compelling cultural document. I highly recommend the special features on Severin's disc for this as well.

Hotel Fear (1978) - I was not an avid participant in Giallo January this year but I did make room for a couple including Hotel Fear which I apparently ordered a copy of and promptly forgot all about. One of a handful of films directed by Francesco Barilli who also helmed the fantastic The Perfume of the Lady in Black, Hotel Fear is similar in that it retains a few of the giallo elements but is more of a measured, hypnotic, dreamy kind of mystery story. It still delivers on the sleaze factor but feels much more in line with a psychological thriller than any sort of proto-slasher. You can absolutely consider me a Barilli fan - I only wish he had made more of these eurocult oddities.

Spetters (1980) - Hoo boy. I'm not sure what I want to say about Spetters and I already feel like I'm going to have to defend my impressions of the film. I picked up a copy some time ago on sale and just never found the moment to put it on. I didn't know much about it other than it was not the early Verhoeven film most people would point to as his best work. It's got a lot going on - it's a sports movie (motorbiking), it's a coming of age film about three young men, it's a believably working class story, and it's also very much about trauma and survival. Spetters has a surprisingly upbeat mood for a movie that is filled with pessimism and even sequences that are best described as horrific. The main characters are charismatic but unlikeable at the same time. The young men have bouts of misogyny, extreme homophobia, and brutality which presents significant barriers to investing in their story. Verhoeven regular Renee Soutendijk is as electric a screen presence as ever, but her character seems so ruthlessly opportunistic that she could be difficult to relate to. Bad things happen to these characters including a savage rape scene - the aftermath of which is not at all what a modern viewer would expect and one that Verhoeven received considerable criticism for at the time. Verhoeven's treatment of rape in his films is something I'm probably not qualified to write much about other than it occupies a particularly Verhoeven-ian headspace that is as much about power dynamics as it is about violation. He would go on to direct a related controversial scene in Flesh + Blood and then essentially make a whole film about it in Elle. I should mention that I don't think Verhoeven handles this particularly well in Spetters and I reject his premise here even if I see the kernel of something he would approach with clearer intent later. What I could appreciate about Spetters was the unflinching frankness of Verhoeven's presentation. People are stupid and they grow up in shitty situations and they do what they need to do to get ahead and sometimes they come out the other side better human beings - or at least more empathetic ones - but sometimes they don't come out at all. Maybe I'm being dazzled by Verhoeven's cinematic mastery - it's gorgeous, the music is amazing, the motorbike scenes are fantastic - but Spetters left me thinking and reading and feeling in ways not a lot of films do.

2022 - Year in the Rearview

 Another year has passed and I return to this too frequently neglected space. This blog initially grew out of monthly lists I was posting on social media and then has fallen quiet in part because of my ambitions to write bigger, more involved pieces. I'm hoping to get back to those monthly posts - primarily for my own writing and record keeping. I find I'm less and less enamored of spending time on social media or the internet in general and maybe this is the best platform for me. I'm hoping to post more regularly here but not so much that I burn out quickly. I very much appreciate when people stop by and I hope you get an occasional film suggestion or enjoy a bit of my rambling. Here is some of that rambling about my movie watching in 2022.

I watched far fewer movies in the last year compared to previous ones. My Letterboxd stats has me at 241 films for the year compared to well over 400 films during the peak pandemic years. Some of this has to do with burnout and I also quit logging films for a bit so I'm not sure if things got lost in the shuffle. I found myself unable to give my full attention to what I was watching at home and I developed the horrible habit of writing the "review" in my head during every film I watched. I couldn't give myself over to films and was losing one of the critical pieces of my enjoyment of them. I know some people chat or tweet or whatever else during most of the films they watch but that doesn't work for me - I needed to take a break to regain my focus.

Ex-Fest/Junesploitation - One of the things that helped me find my footing again was participating in Junesploitation from the fine folks at F This Movie! as well as attending Ex-Fest out in Pennsylvania. I've written already about Ex-Fest but that incredible event combined with a film challenge that wasn't terribly prescriptive was what I needed to get back in the saddle. I've got the list of everything I watched that month posted here. 

Cinéma Français - In all the previous years I've tracked my movie watching - I've watched a lot more American films than films from anywhere else - followed by some combination of Italian, French, English, and Japanese films in significantly smaller numbers. This year France took the brass ring in my movie watching and I'd actually watched more Italian films than US films until the past month. Some of this was natural inclination and part of this was an effort to watch more French crime/noir cinema. I've never done a Noirvember challenge - I'm actually not that huge of a fan of classic period American noir - but I thought I would give it a try with a specific focus on French "noir." The definition is a little fuzzier but there are some great lists out there, the Roxie in San Francisco has been doing an annual French noir film festival for a few years, and Kino Lorber recently released their first French Noir collection. It's been an interesting and rewarding journey leading me to finally tackle some unwatched classics as well as being introduced to some lesser known films ripe for rediscovery. 

Directors - There was a tie for my most watched director between Jean Rollin and Henri-Georges Clouzot this year. I cruised through multiple Rollin films during my annual October movie challenge - he's a director that it's taken a while for me to catch up to but very glad to have finally arrived. While I had seen Diabolique before and even Sorcerer I had never found the time to watch The Wages of Fear - I think it may have been in part due to length but whatever my excuse Wages is every bit as fantastic as its reputation would have you believe. The other Clouzot film that truly floored me was Le Corbeau - its depths of cynicism make even the most pessimistic American noir films seem nearly cheery. Although I only watched three of his pictures - the other director to make a huge impression on me was Jacques Becker. I was very familiar with his Jean Gabin starring gangster film - Touchez Pas au Grisbi - but had never seen Casque d'Or or Le Trou before this year. All three are absolutely stunning crime pictures and it seems like such a tremendous loss that Becker died so young.

Actors - It was neck and neck for a minute with Gabin but my most watched actor for 2022 is very appropriately Lino Ventura. I've already written a bit about Last Known Address and most of the Ventura movies I watched were predictably crime dramas. Crooks in Clover and A Pain in the Ass were my first comedic Ventura movies and I genuinely enjoyed both of them. Both employ a similar comic lever of Ventura being the tough, serious guy who gets increasingly frustrated at the shenanigans going on around him until he explodes in rage. Ventura's gifts as a screen presence and serious actor are undeniable but I had great fun with his lighter side as well.

Theatrical Experiences - I wish I could tell you that my movie theater attendance has returned to its pre-pandemic frequency but sadly I cannot. A major cause for that was the permanent closing of my favorite local movie palace - the Uptown Theatre. My first job upon moving to Minneapolis was at the Uptown (and Lagoon) and I still live about a 10-15 minute walk away. I have many, many cinematic memories tied up in that building and it remained a regular stop to watch new releases. However, I am still committed to seeing films in dark rooms with strangers and 2022 was a terrific year for that. I've already mentioned Ex-Fest and that was hands down my favorite. I may not be back in 2023 but I will be back.

New York Ninja (2021) - Brought to us by Tim Holly who delivers the always delightful Cinema of the Macabre screenings every Monday at the Emagine Willow Creek theater. I'd seen New York Ninja before but being able to share the experience with an audience as everyone catches ninja fever collectively is the best way to do it. There were buttons, some t-shirts, and a display of Sho Kosugi memorabilia on display as well.

The Man from Hong Kong (1975) - The only(?) known print of Man from Hong Kong came to us from the vault of Dan Halsted via the extremely cool Cult Film Collective at the Trylon. The CFC has been responsible for some of my absolute favorite screenings over the years and this was no exception. Jimmy Wang Yu kung fu swagger, cars smashing & crashing, explosions, free falls, lots of hang gliding, and George fucking Lazenby on fucking fire. Sheer madness. This was preceded by an in-person Cult Film Collective meetup that was part of their membership kick-off. I'm really looking forward to see what they'll do in 2023.

Across 110th Street (1972)/Report to the Commissioner (1975) - Two absolute bangers that I've been crowing about since I first saw them years ago. These were shown as part of a Yaphet Kotto series at the Trylon on 35mm and I think I told everyone I saw in the weeks leading up to the screenings to go see them.

Death Promise (1977) - Another rare 35mm print that I thought was in shockingly decent condition. I picked up the Vinegar Syndrome disc sometime last year and never thought I would be lucky enough to see it projected. Earl over at The Parkway Theater was able to get his hands on a print and it was an absolute delight to watch with an audience. Badass NYC karate vengeance over scumbag landlords is a combination impossible to resist.

Bring me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974) - We were visiting a friend in Portland so I naturally had to see what was playing at The Hollywood Theatre. I couldn't have been more excited to see that a 35mm print of Alfredo Garcia was being shown by the most excellent folks behind Wyrd War. I had not actually attended a screening at the Hollywood before but I was really impressed - great staff, great crowd, fun atmosphere, and a terrific exhibition of one of the absolute greats of 70s cinema. Weirdly we stopped at a bar later on the trip and they had Under the Volcano playing - I don't think this was an intentional attempt at a Mexican death trip double feature - but it was notable.

The Shining (1980) - Yes I've seen The Shining a million times and I've certainly seen it on the big screen more than once - but this was our chance to see it in a theater completely renovated as a Shining - themed space! The Edina Theatre closed during the pandemic but was sold to new ownership who gave it a complete overhaul. Not only have the individual theaters been given an update but whole place got a Shining makeover. There's a gold bar, red bathrooms, tile made to look like iconic carpet of the Overlook - it's a welcome addition to our local theater scene. 

The Demon/Il Demonio (1963) - One of my absolute favorite new-to-me movies from last year and one of the best films in the unparalleled folk horror set from Severin films - getting the chance to see Il Demonio theatrically just further reinforced its beauty and the power of Daliah Lavi's performance. This was part of a gothic series at the Trylon that also included Bava's The Whip and the Body featuring Ms. Lavi and Christopher Lee.

Solomon King (1974) - Another shout out to Tim (I swear I like the horror stuff too!) who screened this rediscovered independent blaxploitation jam. Deaf Crocodile ran a crowdfunding effort to help support their restoration of Solomon King and the backstory of the film, Sal Watts, and Deaf Crocodile's efforts are just as engaging as the film itself. The film is totally charming and oozing with style - seeing it with an audience is the way to do it if you get that chance.

I didn't initially plan to write so extensively about theatrical screenings but I'm really glad I did. Online communities are great and the availability of streamable or downloadable film does a lot to increase access but I've come to realize how critical in-person cinema attendance is to me. I was still able to make it out to some outstanding events in 2022 and I'm hoping to do even more of that in 2023. A huge, huge, huge shout out to all the programmers and theaters out there making it happen for us lucky film lovers. See you at the movies.

Editing note: I usually prefer linking film titles to Letterboxd but it took a massive shit while writing this so that's why there are a mix of IMDB links as well.

Best New-to-Me: July 2022

July has come to a close and I watched a fair amount of new-to-me movies. I know of a couple of themes or challenges people tackled in July but after Junesploitation — I wanted to follow my own yen when choosing films to watch. The result was a fair amount of crime flicks, lots of French films, and a smattering of horror. I had a few notable re-watches including The Beyond which was part of the Cinema of the Macabre screenings last month. I’m not going to write more about The Unknown Man of Shandigor or Last Known Address here but you can look at my reviews of both as they were certainly among my favorite things I watched in July.

Alphaville (1965) — I think this is actually a re-watch but it’s been so long that it felt new. I’ve had a copy sitting on my shelves for ages and had not found the right moment to put it on. Samm Deighan lists several movies in her commentary for Shandigor to help contextualize that film and Alphaville alongside Dr. Strangelove seems like a critical touchpoint. Alphaville strikes me a far less satirical but a nonetheless fascinating and entertaining distillation of film noir through an arthouse/sci-fi lens. This would be such a treat theatrically.

Tough Guys Don’t Dance (1987) — A film that is notorious for its mind bendingly over the top dialogue and one that I’m finally seeing in total thanks to the Vinegar Syndrome blu-ray release. It’s hard to discern what is parody or just drug-fueled wildness but the outsized noir stylings should not be missed. Each line delivery is a revelation and each narrative turn is a “holy shit!” moment.

Maigret Sets a Trap (1958) — I watched the first two of the three Maigret films featuring Jean Gabin as the Parisian inspector. Definitely worth checking out if you are a mystery fan — they’re both engrossing, well composed narratives and Jean Gabin is his usual charismatic presence. Gabin manages to be both affable and believably tough in his interpretation of Maigret and I enjoy his everyday interactions with people almost as much as I appreciate the crime solving. Lots of fun actors turn up in these but Maigret Sets a Trap features a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance from Shandigor’s Daniel Emilfork.

A Pain in the Ass (1973) — This was a blind buy for me after hearing it referenced in the Projection Booth episode covering the Billy Wilder remake with Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau. Though I love Lino Ventura I haven’t seen many of his comedic performances and Pain in the Ass is from the same writing/directing team who made La Cage Aux Folles so this seemed like a good place to start. I had a blast watching this! Jacques Brel plays the perfectly neurotic foil to Ventura’s increasingly frustrated hitman. If your idea of a black comedy includes some bloodshed and Lino Ventura hilariously moving from irritation to red-faced fury then this is well worth checking out.

Max and the Junkmen (1971) — I wrote earlier this month about how Last Known Address turns the frustrated cop narrative on its ear by having the protagonists lean into solid, by-the-books detective work rather than going rogue. In Max and the Junkmen the independently wealthy judge turned renegade cop goes full blown class warfare on a group of petty scrap thieves by manipulating them into attempting a bank heist only to bust them. It’s an absolutely wild story compellingly brought to life through Claude Sautet’s direction and excellent performances from some of my favorites — Michel Piccoli, Romy Schneider, Bernard Fresson, and Boby Lapointe. Must watch for French crime enthusiasts.

Homebodies (1974) — I might actually do a full-length review of this one so I’ll be brief here, but Homebodies is a delightfully weird slice of regional genre filmmaking that delves into some novel territory. It’s the story of a group of elderly apartment dwellers who don’t want to move after their tenement building has been purchased by a developer. Progress on the development is delayed after the accidental death of a construction worker they band together to engineer further “discouragements.” This gets labeled as horror and has a review in Nightmare USA but might fit more in the broader exploitation category. Well worth your time if you like regional strangeness.

The Diabolical Dr. Z (1966) — Another follow up watch from Shandigor for me. This is Jess Franco’s pulpy take on Eyes Without a Face and I found it absolutely captivating. Gorgeous black & white photography, bizzarro mad scientist set pieces, murderous fingernails, and of course some glorious zooms. I’ll probably have to add a copy to my growing Franco collection.

The Wages of Fear (1953) — One of my mantras — lifted from Edgar Wright — is that it’s never too late to see a great movie. I think the length of Wages always kind of put me off watching it but the mood was right so I finally put in on. Astonishing. It takes its time to get moving but then it is white knuckle tension through and through. The stunning film craft is the primary reason to watch but the ferocious critique of capitalism, colonialism, and energy policy are sadly just as resonant today. 

Two Men in Town (1973) — José Giovanni’s brutal indictment of the French criminal justice system and the death penalty. It’s a good drama further buoyed by terrific performances from both Jean Gabin and Alain Delon. As I mentioned in my Last Known Address review — it’s hard to give Giovanni’s societal critique much credulity when you understand the nature of his criminal past. However, I read a tremendous article regarding Giovanni by author Imogen Sara Smith and to quote that — “In every heart there are undiscoverable gardens.” If you can hold Giovanni’s filmmaking at arm’s length from his biography — there’s a lot to appreciate here. Also, did you know that France used the guillotine as the only available means of execution until the death penalty was abolished in 1981? I did not.

The Man from Hong Kong (1975) — Man from Hong Kong is one of those films I’ve been holding off on watching until the right opportunity presented itself and what better possible venue could I have hoped for than seeing one of the only 35mm prints in existence at the Trylon? A staggering, swaggering blend of Golden Harvest martial arts mayhem and Brian Trenchard Smith’s stunt action. In fairness — Jimmy Wang Yu isn’t my favorite kung-fu performer but there’s a grittiness to his style and his legendary off-screen ferocity seems to translate on-screen as well. I think the real pleasure here is the stunt sequences — cars smashing & crashing, explosions, free falls, lots of hang gliding, and George fucking Lazenby on fucking fire. Sheer madness. It was also a real pleasure to see so much of the cast of Stone — particularly Hugh Keays-Byrne who inexplicably plays the straight laced cop despite maintaining much of his biker look. There is some racist garbage featured here that wasn’t welcome but Man from Hong Kong is still primarily about Jimmy Wang Yu storming the hell out of Australia and — maybe I’m reaching here — brought to mind some of the anti-imperialist themes from Tsui Hark’s Dangerous Encounters of the First Kind. Politics aside — this was an absolute delight to see projected and as a bonus I got to hang out with some folks from the Cult Film Collective who have been instrumental in some of my favorite local screenings.

Arcana (1972) — Though I have seen and enjoyed Giulio Questi’s oddball giallo Death Laid an Egg — Arcana wasn’t really on my radar until it was recently covered in an episode of the Unsung Horrors podcast. Lance and Erica prepared me for a film that wouldn’t deliver a lot of narrative clarity and could be potentially frustrating but they were drawing in so many other great film references I had to check it out. I loved it. Despite the crappy transfer I watched on YouTube — I thought Arcana was strange and captivating and definitely thought provoking. I watched the ending twice and then went and re-listened to parts of the podcast and I still don’t quite know what to make of it. There’s a scene that’s some kind of ritual or exorcism underscored by this hypnotic droning violin music that is so much my kind of deal — and that’s even before Lucía Bosé legitimately starts spitting up live frogs. I would LOVE to see a restored version of this. How about a second volume of the Severin folk horror box?

That pretty much does it for my favorite new-to-me watches. As always — I’d love to hear your thoughts on these or further recommendations if you’ve got any!

To Know Paris is to Know a Great Deal - Last Known Address/Dernier Domicile Connu (1970)

Police procedurals of one form or another have been part of film and television since their respective inceptions  — but it was during the late 60s and 70s  that they were infused with a real anti-authoritarian streak and a pervasively bleak attitude. This proved to be a big hit with audiences internationally and cops-against-the-system films were churned out all over the world. José Giovanni’s Last Known Address/Dernier Domicile Connu is very much a part of that wave of pessimistic 70s crime stories but it also subverts the form in surprising ways. It features excellent performances from blog favorite Lino Ventura and the delightful Marlène Jobert but the premier star of this particular story is Paris — featured in exhaustive detail throughout. 

The opening of the film introduces Marceau Leonetti — Ventura — a tough cop whose competence and bravery land him a promotion to chief inspector. After a long shift Leonetti has the misfortune of coming across an erratically driving man and his terrified girlfriend. The man is apparently dead drunk and Leonetti places him under arrest. It is revealed that the man is the son of a powerful Parisian lawyer who is able to manipulate the system in such a way that threatens Leonetti’s job. To avoid a department scandal — Leonetti is busted down to desk duty in a sleepy suburb where investigating a case of stolen pigeons is the highlight of his day. An old friend on the force is able to recruit him for a special vice detail and he is partnered with a young auxiliary — Jeanne Dumas played by Jobert. The two orchestrate a series of sting operations at adult cinemas where they use Dumas as bait to ensnare serial harassers. The assignment isn’t glamorous but the two work well together. Leonetti and Dumas are then saddled with finding a missing witness in the murder case of an influential gangster. The other witnesses in the case have met unfortunate ends and this missing witness is the final chance for a damning testimony. No other investigators have been able to find this witness for years and it’s entirely possible that Leonetti and Dumas aren’t meant to either. Dumas thrills at the opportunity to do actual investigative work and what follows is just that. Leonetti and Dumas scour the city and the narrative delves into sometimes tedious minutiae of an investigation. To complicate matters — the gang of the accused murderer is tracing Leonetti and Dumas hoping that they can reach the witness first.

Last Known Address is an interesting chapter in cop films of the decade. It shares the anti-authoritarian bent of its American or Italian contemporaries — the system is clearly dysfunctional and obstructs the pursuit of justice. It also presents a similar picture of pervasive mistrust of societal systems — everywhere Leonetti and Dumas go they are faced with people who casually discuss their dislike of police. Unlike so many other police narratives — Leonetti and Dumas do not overcome systematic corruption or dysfunction by working outside the rules. Instead of becoming violent mavericks they lean into diligent, shoe-leather detective work  — combing through records, interviewing witnesses, and chasing down leads. Their investigation leads them all throughout Paris — apartments, hotels, second hand shops, pharmacists, cafes, schools — while the two develop a mutual respect and friendship. I can understand if some viewers find Dumas’ girlishness and Leonetti’s paternalism a bit cloying but I found them totally charming. This was helped in no small part by the charisma of the actors in these roles. The focus on urban locales, mystery, and the dynamic between the main characters made Last Known Address feel less like Dirty Harry and more like a subdued They Might be Giants. Diehard fans of hard boiled crime cinema may not find enough grit to satisfy them here — but the brief scenes of violence have impact and the ending is surprisingly grim.

There is a definite cynicism to Last Known Address that paints a picture of a society in decline where the competent and the good hearted cannot hold corruption at bay. What further complicates the message put forward is its director — José Giovanni. Giovanni had a criminal background, spent over a decade in prison, and was even placed on death row for a time due to his involvement in a triple homicide. Giovanni was publicly open about this part of his past and he channeled his experiences into a series of successful books and screenplays. Politically Giovanni was complex — arguing for the end of the death penalty and humane prisons while simultaneously defending conservative values and strong law enforcement. The final shot of Last Known Address includes the overlay of a quote from conservative poet Mihai Eminescu — national poet of Romania but also one celebrated by the right wing. Through this lens it’s possible to see Giovanni presenting a Paris and a France degraded beyond the best efforts of the well intentioned. A reactionary portrait met more with melancholy than the ferocity of his international contemporaries. Later in his life it was made public that Giovanni was also a collaborationist and a member of fascist gangs during World War II before he went to prison. Not only was he involved in murder but he was also involved with extorting Jews during the Nazi occupation — it’s a past demonstrating the extremes of cynicism and degradation. How such a person credibly indicts society is hard to rationalize.

Giovanni's biography aside — I think Last Known Address is an interesting text and a genuinely entertaining mystery story. The Parisian photography is magnificent and provides endlessly engaging scenes for fans of the city. Ventura and Jobert are immensely appealing together and the rest of the cast is filled with faces that will be familiar to French crime cinema enthusiasts — Michel Constantine, Paul Crauchet, Philippe Marche, and others. The original soundtrack from François De Roubaix is excellent — jazzy and propulsive with a fairly hard hitting main theme. I’m not certain how Last Known Address was received at the time but it definitely feels underseen now. It’s an easy recommendation to French crime or neo-noir fans and one I was able to see via Kanopy. I could see this being a great release for Kino Lorber and I would certainly like to have a copy in my collection.

Vengeance is Futile: Un Borghese Piccolo Piccolo/An Average Little Man (1977)

 Mario Monicelli’s Un Borghese Piccolo Piccolo/An Average Little Man opens with a scene of Alberto Sordi — Mafioso — savagely beating a fish to death with a rock and tearing its guts out. This proves to be excellent foreshadowing to a film that lulls you into complacency and then wrenches your psyche with narrative twists that defy simple genre categorization. I should say that there’s no real way to discuss Un Borghese without some kind of spoiler-y talk. Here’s the short version — this is a good movie that you should watch. It might be best to go in blind or only having read the synopsis on IMDB — A meek middle-aged man finally takes justice into his own hands. This both gives you some idea of what you’re in for without preparing you at all for how it unfurls. However if you’ve already seen it or don’t mind a major spoiler — please proceed.

Un Borghese is the story of Giovanni Vilvadi — Sordi — a middle-aged bureaucrat and his son Mario — Vincenzo Crocitti — who is coming of age to enter the workforce. “Meek” is probably an overstatement as Giovanni boasts and fantasizes about Mario’s future success, drives like a man possessed to get to work, and bellows at his long suffering wife played by an wonderful if understated Shelley Winters. While he is willing to be brash around those in his personal life, Giovanni consistently defers to his superiors at the pension office that employs him. In his attempts to secure Mario a position, Giovanni doesn’t hesitate to beg and plead with the officials in his office. He buys them gifts, writes long, adoring letters in Mario’s name, and even joins a masonic lodge in an extended and hilarious scene that most resembles Monicelli’s other strictly comedic films. In fact — for the first hour of run time — Borghese plays out much like other commedia all'italiana. It’s a lightly comic story of a man with ambitions for his son battling bureaucracy and a depressed economy.

The shift in tone comes completely without warning in a shocking moment of violence. On their way to the professional exams — Giovanni and Mario encounter a bank robbery and Mario is killed by a stray bullet from one of the thieves. The scene hits like a wrecking ball and is brilliantly executed both in direction and Sordi’s performance. The news of the killing is immediately broadcast and Amalia Vivaldi — Winters — has a stroke and becomes nearly catatonic upon hearing. Giovanni makes some attempts to proceed according to law and custom — he cares for his ailing wife, he cooperates with police, he accepts the condolences of his colleagues — but the undercurrent of failing systems is ever present. During a second police lineup Giovanni declines to identify the murderer. Instead he stalks him —  waiting until dark — where he beats him over the head with a tire jack and hauls the unconscious criminal to his fishing cabin. 

There is a way a story like this plays out in typical genre fare and you could be forgiven for thinking Un Borghese becomes an Italian Death Wish knock off but Monicelli is working with more subtlety than that. While the failure of systems is a major theme throughout the film — Giovanni does not get catharsis by working outside of them. This is a deeply pessimistic story and the finale is more tragic than it is thrilling. Part of what makes Monicelli’s work here so fascinating is how disparate elements of comedy, tragedy, genre, and even nihilism are blended together. While the second half of the film is decidedly darker — it’s not without absurdity. One of the more memorable scenes is at a cemetery where Giovanni is now looking for an appropriate resting place for Mario — mirroring his search for a position with the pension office — and he’s told again that he must be patient and that they’re doing all he can. He’s then led to a kind of warehouse where all the coffins of all the people awaiting burial are stacked on top of each other. It’s a chaotic scene of wailing and confusion and disinterested forklift operators that Giovanni takes in with resignation. Unable to toss flowers onto the coffin of a loved one, a grieving woman simply states that it doesn’t matter. It’s a tragic scene that is darkly comedic and hopeless all at once. 

Both Monicelli and Sordi are comedic masters with a gift for portraying everyday Italian life and those facilities are certainly on display in Un Borghese Piccolo Piccolo. However this film is a savage indictment of a society in decline — faltering systems and economic anxiety with no refuge offered by religion or philosophy. It is very much in line with the pessimistic sentiment of the poliziotteschi even if it doesn’t offer similar action thrills. It’s a beautifully executed film with some marvelous performances. Winters is perhaps underutilized — she’s dubbed over in Italian as was common — but she has a couple of excellent scenes of anguish and frustration. Sordi’s long expressive face is the perfect and perhaps only canvas to express the complex blend of sentiments contained in Un Borghese. I’m uncertain of how appreciated it was outside of Italy in 1977 — it won several Italian film awards at the time — but it certainly seems underseen today. It would make an excellent candidate for a Criterion edition to go along with some of Monicelli’s other films like The Organizer and Big Deal on Madonna Street.

Un Borghese Piccolo Piccolo can currently be found on rarefilmm and I highly recommend checking it out: http://rarefilmm.com/2017/12/un-borghese-piccolo-piccolo-1977/

Espionage, Absurdity, and Apocalypse: The Unknown Man of Shandigor (1967)

Delightfully weird with a singular aesthetic — Jean-louis Roy’s pop art cold war farce has been largely forgotten following its 1967 debut. Fortunately it has been restored and released on blu-ray via Deaf Crocodile so that a new audience has the chance to rediscover this Swiss curiosity that exists somewhere alongside Dr. Strangelove and Godard’s Alphaville.

The central conceit of The Unknown Man of Shandigor is relatively simple and fails to convey the depths of strangeness that it delivers in just over 90 minutes. A renowned physicist — Herbert Von Krantz — develops a technology that can render nuclear weapons inert. Rather than share this discovery with the world — Von Krantz isolates himself in his secluded home/laboratory with his daughter and loyal assistant. As a result various factions of international spies descend on the Von Krantz home in an attempt to steal the formula for “The Canceler.” How this narrative plays out is actually quite abstract and is almost more of a series of vignettes further underscored by title cards that appear when new chapters begin. 

Herbert Von Krantz is played by Daniel Emilfork — best known to many for his similar role in Jean-Perre Jeunet’s The City of Lost Children. Though Von Krantz’ discovery is of a seemingly benevolent nature — he is a paranoid egomaniac in classic mad scientist mode. His daughter Sylvainne is played by Marie-France Boyer who dreams of her lover Manuel — the titular unknown man played by American Ben Carruthers — when she isn’t being verbally berated by her father. Marcel Imhoff plays Von Krantz’ long-suffering assistant Yvann who seems to attract abuse from everyone he encounters. The initial espionage factions introduced are the French, the Russians, and the Americans. The Russians are a team of trenchcoated spies led by the maniacal, monocled Shoskatovich — Jacques Dufilho. The head American is a former Nazi-turned-agent Bobby Gunn — the Americans are featured in several firearm heavy scenes — played by Howard Vernon who has connections to Alphaville, Jeunet, and several science-gone-mad narratives himself. The most instantly recognizable faction are the French — a troupe of black clad, totally bald agents called the “bald heads” or the “bald ones.” The leader of the bald heads is the distinctly not-bald singer, songwriter, artist, and pop culture icon Serge Gainsbourg. 

Though the plot is essentially a spy novel cliche — it is approached with a deeply absurdist, surrealist bent. Elements such as the Americans being headquartered in a bowling alley or Shoskatovich torturing his captives by blasting “capitalist rock music” at them are played in a deadpan manner but are possessed of a wonderfully odd humor. There are moments that even lend themselves to the fantastique — such as when Sylvainne is instructed to feed “the beast.” This beast is never shown in full but apparently some kind of sea monster lives in the churning swimming pool on the Von Krantz estate. In what is likely destined to be the most memorable scene of the film — the “bald heads” perform a candlelit embalming/funerary rite for one of their fallen comrades while Serge Gainsbourg performs a haunting lounge number “Bye Bye Mister Spy.” The final chapter introduces yet another faction and the disparate plot threads converge in ways both ridiculous and pessimistic — as is only appropriate for a narrative so steeped in Cold War paranoia. 

As Unknown Man moves from bizarre plot point to plot point — its immediate impact is rooted in its amazingly rendered visual world. The comic strip inspired science fiction/espionage story is set in a series of striking locations — some of which were clearly constructed sets but many are real locations with minimal art direction flourishes. The result gives Roger Bimpage’s expressionist black and white photography a somewhat Kubrick-ian feel but unlike Kubrick — Roy and Bimpage used their television experience to shoot quickly and at a fraction of the cost. The most notable of these location-as-character sequences is when Sylvainne escapes her father and travels to Shandigor — composed almost entirely of shots of Gaudi’s architecture in Barcelona. Roy also did a tremendous job of filling his ensemble with remarkable faces that help bring his heightened absurdist world to reality. Emilfork, Howard, Dfulho, and Gainsbourg all possess visages that reflect the weird universe that surrounds them. The largely anonymous “bald heads” were all truly bald non-actors cast for their look — though the most recognizable among them is played by Unknown Man screenwriter Gabriel Arout.

Though Unknown Man may prove too abstract or delivered too dryly for some audiences — I think the exceptionally strange imagery and world conveyed as well as the unique assembly of personalities is more than enough to recommend it. Fans of Jeunet, fans of Gilliam’s more dystopian visions, and certainly anyone interested in New Wave adjacent 60s cinema are going to find a lot to appreciate in Roy’s film. I will say that while I enjoyed my first viewing of Unknown Man — it has really opened up to me as a text through pursuing the extras with the blu-ray release. There’s an excellent essay from writer/punk rock legend Chris D. that I read before watching and the archival Swiss television special is such a great find — it includes interviews with Roy and several of the cast members giving their thoughts on the production and their approach to filmmaking and acting. Writer/film historian Samm Deighan’s solo commentary is terrific and best helped me contextualize the film — not only in giving some background on Jean-Louis Roy but connecting Unknown Man to a list of films that I’ve been both discovering for myself or revisiting after a long absence. Given the journey that I’ve gone on with this film — The Unknown Man of Shandigor will undoubtedly make my best new-to-me list for the year.