Fat Girl (A ma soeur!) (2001)

I always really wanted to see Fat Girl, as it sounded interesting and it's always great to see a recent film in the ol' Collection. Yet, over at CF.com, there was a lot of talk on how Breillat relies solely on shock value and that the film it utter garbage. Then at the same time, you get folks like my friend Zut, who thought it was a great piece of art. I suppose that's just the way it goes, some will love it and some will hate it.

As for how I feel about it, I really enjoyed it, for the most part. I liked the pace of the film, especially early on. There's not much plot here, and Breillat does stretch it a bit, but it's still enjoyable, especially to learn about the characters early on. I really didn't see much shock value in it, because it was a bold move to show the sex the way it was shown in the film, and that seems to be the way most people feel about it. But then, I got to the unexpected ending and it really threw me for a loop. I suppose I can kind of comprehend it, as it's what Anais really wanted, to find anyone to lose her virginity to, especially someone she loved. Kind of a 'be careful what you wish for' scenario. But still, it came from nowhere, so it does seem very shocking. So, I'm not sure if I can say whether she relies solely on shock value or not, because it is extremely shocking to see, but at the same time, the rest of the film was great.

The highlight of the film was a 20-minute scene where Fernando seduces Elena. It's almost nothing but talk, but it really shows the way a guy can sweet talk a girl with promises, asking her to 'prove her love'. It really shows the choice Elena is forced to make, a choice most people are given in their lives, and the stress it puts on an already already shaky situation. I liked the camerawork, as it slowly pans around the couple, revealing Anais in the corner, simply to remind the viewer she's still there. It reminded me of Godard's Contempt, the opening camerawork. A great part is when Fernando and Elena are both naked, kissing, and he promises he won't enter her at all, and even afterwards, you can still see he's really tempted. From personal experience, I can relate, because it's EXTREMELY hard just to go "oh yeah, time to stop". Especially if you're a guy.

I actually expected something bad to happen at the end, because the Mother is driving so recklessly. The editing and camerawork create a lot of tension and you're positive that something bad will be happening. It reminded me of one time when I decided to catch a ride from New York with somebody who was drunk when I was young (didn't know how to drive), just to see my then-girlfriend. And, of course, they get to the rest stop and are completely safe. Then the film just leaves the viewer going "wtf?"

Divorce Italian Style (1961)

I was expecting Divorce Italian Style to be uproariously funny. However, that's not the film's style, I found out. There are quite a bit of funny situations, but it's got far more plot than most comedies, which is a very good thing. Germi injects plenty of life into the film and, surprisingly, the cinematography, acting and soundtrack are all very well-done.

I seemed to think smaller things were funnier than the few gags there were. For example, I can't help laughing at the thought of a woman burying herself in the sand to relieve her arthritis. Also, the fact that some of the plot revolves around a screening of La Dolce Vita, which also stars Marcello Mastroianni, I found hilarious, just because I wonder how many people seeing the film understood the joke. But, then again, I'm sure on the film's original run, everybody remembered the controversy of La Dolce Vita.

I read Scorsese's essay on the film in the Criterion booklet, and he mentions how big an influence on Goodfellas this film was. Frankly, I didn't really see it. Though, he mentions the many different techniques Germi uses in the film. Maybe he used the voiceover and the overall style of the editing, influenced by this film? Otherwise, I don't really see the connection.

The Horse's Mouth (1958)

The Horse's Mouth was a great film. I was sure it'd be good, maybe even very good, but I certainly didn't expect it to be such a great piece of work. It seemed to be a labor of love for Alec Guinness, who adapted the screenplay from a novel and turned in an incredible performance in the lead role.

The film seeks to examine the fine line between genius and insanity. Yes, Jimson is hilarious, but he's also completely obsessed, and quite frightening in his maddening quest to realize his vision. There are a few great moments where Guinness allows Jimson to drop his combative exterior and reveal his soul. He laments his talents, which he considers long gone, and sometimes non-existant. He takes all criticism to heart, and lets it completely depress him, which only distills his madness even more.

The film itself is completely hilarious, mostly due to Guinness' performance in the lead. Watching him raise the pitch of his voice and wiggle his Adam's Apple to imitate the Dutchess of Blackpool is rofl-material, let me tell you. He's a crusty old man, perpetually grumpy and entirely unpredictable. Those around him can never trust him to be totally normal, to just sit there and talk, or to do his work. He's always wandering around, making offhand comments, causing all kinds of mayhem wherever he goes. He's a handful, that's for sure, but you can't help love the guy.

In the end, Jimson gains great respect from those who have helped him paint his masterpiece. Yet, respect isn't what he wants, not at all. He simply wants to realize his vision, to get the ideas from his head onto a grand canvas. It doesn't matter if the wall he paints on is soon demolished, as long as he was able to empty his mind out onto it first. He's completely satisfied at the end, and "finished" as he says. He's sailing onward, maybe off to find another idea to inspire him, or maybe simply to live in contentment, finally (though, his behavior towards a ship he passes seems to suggest the former).

Young Torless (1966)

Young Torless bored me in the beginning. Maybe because of the long stretches of dialogue, or the slow-building plot. Maybe it was because of the fact that all the kids are dressed identically, so it's hard to tell them apart at first. After a while, the plot emerged and the film really grew on me.

I really identified with Torless' plight in the film, as I think just about anybody would. It's often hard to maintain complacency in the face of brutality against your fellow man, especially schoolmate. Also, he writes in his journal, wondering if something is wrong with him because he finds disgusting what his fellow classmates find normal and amusing. I think that's something we all wonder when we see somebody harmed in any way, 'how can they do that?' and of course, in a large group, we begin to wonder if we're strange for thinking differently.

One thing that I didn't quite understand was the importance of the imaginary numbers. Early on in the film, a big deal is made of Torless not grasping the concept of imaginary numbers, and the theme of accepting what you don't understand is made quite clear in the film. However, I don't really see how it applies to the events of the film. Maybe you can apply anything to anything else, in the grand scheme, but I don't totally follow how it applies to Torless and the events surrounding him.

The score of the film is strange. In spots, it seems to be full of dissonance. At other points, when it's more normal-sounding, it still doesn't seem to match the events onscreen. As Torless runs in terror, we hear an upbeat trumpet tune. Maybe it's supposed to put the viewer off-balance a little. But, in a great move, Criterion found the original score for the film and put it on the DVD as an extra. It's presented separate from the film, with an intro by Schlondorff, and indexed into ten chapters, running about 13 minutes total. It's a great inclusion, and interesting to hear, as the rough quality of the instruments was meant to reflect on the roughness of the boys in the school.

The Most Dangerous Game (1932)

The Most Dangerous Game is a very good little film. It's an early sound film made in Hollywood, executive produced by Selznick, and falls under the horror/mystery genre, so it's not going to blow your mind by being revolutionary, but it's a well-polished little slice of early American film.

I really liked the witty dialogue early on, as it helped ease me into the plot a little easier. Of course, knowing the plot of the film, I was able to note the obvious foreshadowing early on, particularly when Rainsford talks about how he'll always be the hunter and won't ever be hunted, as he's quickly cut off by the ship crashing which begins his little adventure. I also liked the lighting, the way that it helped establish character early on. Even though they're not too well-developed or three-dimensional, you do get a good sense of who they are early on.

The movie actually raised a few good points on the nature of hunting and what it is to be civilized. The hunters think themselves highly civilized, especially compared to the island's natives. Yet, they're out there killing for sport, so how civil can they really be, in the end? Bunuel said, in The Exterminating Angel, "Everyone is someone else's barbarian." I think that it relates to this film on some levels, but the film clearly takes an attack on the act of hunting for sport, in general, rather than looking at it from an equal perspective as Bunuel does. I dunno.

The Making of Fanny & Alexander (1982)

I loved Fanny & Alexander, and of course I love Ingmar himself. Document Fanny och Alexander (aka The Making of) is a great film, not only because you get a glimpse into the mind and the working process of one of our century's greatest artists, but because you get a very intimate look into the filmmaking process in general. With Bergman, even a Making Of is approached as a piece of art, serving not only to entertain and educate the viewer, but to invoke a feeling, an emotion. Bergman chooses some great moments here, some funny (a hilarious scene where a cat won't stay still), some fascinating (most of Sven Nykvist's camerawork) and some that are downright emotional (Gunnar Bjornstrand struggling to keep his hand steady due to his age and illness). It's full of Bergman's trademark humility and self-effacing humor. He's never afraid to poke fun at himself and point out his own mistakes.

It's interesting to see all the small details that Bergman struggles to fit into his films. Also, the subtle nature of Nykvist's camerawork is given a lot of screen time. The documentary on him, Light Keeps Me Company is pretty good, but nothing compared to seeing him at work, creating his shots. Another interesting thing, kind of funny to see, is the actors all out of costume, early on, getting acquainted. After viewing the work itself, it's weird but somewhat comforting to see Emilie and Alexander out of costume, the former looking quite beautiful with long hair, the latter chomping on a sandwich.

Between this, Ingmar Bergman Makes a Movie, the interview on the Cries and Whispers disc, and the countless commentaries and interviews on other discs, it's great to have so much insight into Bergman himself and his creative process. The Making of Fanny & Alexander is my favorite, simply because you can see Bergman at work, the old coot he is. My friend Brent once complained about Bergman's interviews and books, because he often gives little mention of the technical aspects of his films, how he moves the camera and such, but I think that with Bergman, it's less about being knowledgeable about film and what effect you want to achieve, but simply art, something that you create from your heart. But hey, that's just me.

Oldboy (2003)

Oldboy is #97 on the IMDb Top 250, so naturally I had to check it out. I'm not too big on modern Asian cinema as it tends to be pretty exploitive and shallow, or at least the films that make a big splash here in the States are. So, I was kind of trepidatious about Oldboy, but it turned out to be a great slice of filmmaking.

The most exciting part of Oldboy is the fact that it grabs you with one question - why? Why was he held for 15 years? This basic question propels the narrative and really keeps you interested in the film, as you're staring wide-eyed, trying to discern any small clue that will help you discover the answer. Because of this, I'm not quite sure if the film would hold up to repeat viewings. Even if not, the first time, it's still a hell of a ride. Usually, it takes a lot to surprise me and catch me off guard, so I was amazed when the ending to the film did exactly that. For anyone stumbling across this, I won't dream of spoiling it for you, but personally, I didn't see it coming. Not from a mile away.

Boudu Saved from Drowning (1932)

So, I've loved every Renoir I've seen thus far. Boudu isn't his best work, but it's still a great gem of a film. I can't possibly go into as much detail as Eric Rohmer and critic Jean Douchet do on the interview on the disc, but I did really enjoy Boudu. I'm always impressed at how easy it is to see a Renoir film. He pulls it off so effortlessly, like it's second-nature. Yet, it's always incredibly entertaining and complex.

Michel Simon gives an excellent performance as Boudu, the perfect example of a tramp, as he's called in the film. He's an elemental force in the film, full of life, always moving and bringing the frame around him to life. I love the way he walks in the film, with all of his limbs going limp, like a child's does. Despite the fact that no 'sides' are taken in the film, the viewer becomes jealous of Boudu and his easy-going nature. A highly enjoyable film, another triumph for Renoir and Criterion alike.

The Flowers of St. Francis (1950)

I'm not a religious person. I've never read the bible, save for quotes here and there, and I know next to nothing about apostles and Holy Ghosts. It's not that I don't care, it's just that it doesn't interest me much, and it doesn't really make a whole lot of sense to me. But, that's just me. Nonetheless, I'm always fascinated with stories about other people's faith, probably because I can never muster up any of my own. Roberto Rossellini's The Flowers of St. Francis is just that, the story of one man's faith and humility, and how it affected those around him. It's an incredibly interesting and effective piece of work.

After the credits, the first thing we see is a black screen as Francis begins to pray to God, thanking him for the sun. Essentially, Rossellini is showing us that his prayers and faith are what Francis values more than anything else. I couldn't help but have a deep admiration for Francis because of his faith that God will take care of anything he needs, and the amount of humility he has. In the film, the monks give everything they have to others less fortunate. They don't spread their message of peace by giving sermons, they do so with actions, with their own humility and generosity.

Rossellini seems to always capture the elements in the frame. Very often, the sky is given a lot of space in the frame, fire is always completely prevalent when it's on the screen. Rossellini is emphasizing these elements that the monks themselves are so thankful for. The monks joy for these elements and life itself is infectious, as it's hard not to get caught up when they're so excited over making a bed of flowers for the visiting Saint Clare.

The climax of the film, well, as much as a climax as a loose collection of vignettes on St. Francis of Assisi can have, comes in the form of a face-to-face meeting between one of the monks and a Tyrant who's invaded a local town. The bandits are all shown as caricatures, dumb harbingers of war without much independent thought. The Tyrant himself is encased in a giant suit of armor, completely incapable of even lifting his own helmet to see anything. Encases in his show of power, he's completely immobile; a joke. It's incredible to see Ginepro, the monk, in the face of adversity, as he simply accepts whatever happens to him, knowing that God will take care of him. Rossellini uses deliberate framing in the scene following, where Ginepro is confronted by the Tyrant, using two-shots to show the proximity of the characters to one another, emphasizing the tension in the situation. I wonder if Bergman wasn't influenced by this scene when he shot the indoor scenes, namely in the pub, in The Seventh Seal.

Faces (1968)

So, Faces is the last of the Cassavetes films for me to see, from the box, aside from the documentary.They've ranged from great to crappy, and unfortunately, I find Faces to be near the bottom of the totem pole. I thought it was incredibly boring. Now, my taste will show that I've got a whole lot more patience than the average viewer, so I'm not just some moron who slags on a film because nothing explodes.

I guess Faces is a character study. The problem is that the characters in question are boring and extremely annoying. They spend most of the film drunk, laughing, dancing and singing incessantly. Once in a while, one character will get so drunk that they let a faux pas slip, and then everyone else gets quiet and angry while they try to drunkenly redeem themselves.

I suppose that there's a good deal of message underlying, the battle of the sexes and such. And I like the basic plot that a man and woman both cheat on one another on the same night and have to deal with the consequences. But, for the love of God, don't fill most of the movie with inane babble and drunken laughing. Also, I didn't really understand their motivations, most of the time. I guess they're just annoying drunks.

Au hasard Balthazar (1966)

Balthazar kind of betrayed my expectations. I bought it blindly after hearing so many people I respect rave about the film, even its placing on the Sight & Sound poll. I was expecting it to be an amazing, incredible film. While it's still a great, very profound, very moving film, I was kind of disappointed. Yet, my disappointment stemmed from the fact that it wasn't what I'd expected, not that it wasn't as good as I'd expected.

Other directors might have sentimentalized the film a lot more than Bresson does. For instance, today we'd identify with the animal because we see how badly he gets tortured in great detail, with heart-tugging music. But, Bresson's work contains great subtlety and we identify with Balthazar more as a fellow being than as a helpless animal. He's more like an observer, seeing the faults in human beings, seeing the way they treat one another, the sins they commit and the pain they inflict on others. We see this the same way as Balthazar does, so we feel a kinship with him.

Bresson's images speak volumes in the film, but with far more grace and subtlety than conventional cinema would. For instance, when Marie's Father dies, we see, along with her Mother, a hand isolated in the dark room, raised up. Then, we see it drop back into the darkness, dejectedly, and we know that the man is dead. This is far more original, interesting, and touching than if the Priest had come outside and told her he was dead.

It's obvious that Balthazar's life parallels Marie's. Their youths are playful, easygoing and romantic. Yet, once they mature, they're both swept up in the plights of others, and begin to suffer at the hands of their fellow beings. They're both beasts of burden, taking on the burdens, problems and sins of the people around them. Yet, they do so with indomitable spirit, because that's all they know. They're both powerless, in many ways. As Marie watches from the doorway as the neighborhood kids torment Balthazar outside, she knows that there is nothing she can do. Likewise, as Balthazar sees suffering around him, and is subject to the cruelty of those around him, he can do nothing but accept it with dignity.

In fact, Balthazar is given a lot of dignity in the film. Right at the start, he's baptized, like a child would be. Throughout the film, he's completely innocent, free from sin. Yes, as an animal, there's probably very little he could do anyway, but I still think that he serves his purpose in the film. And at the end, in the shepherd's field, Bresson holds a beautiful shot on the elderly Balthazar as he passes away in the field, surrounded by nature, as he dies a quiet, dignified, noble death.

Stalker (1979)

I really liked Solaris. Then I saw Andrei Rublev and loved it, which in turn made me love Solaris in retrospect, and realize that Tarkovsky is an incredible filmmaker. After that, I saw The Mirror, which blew my mind, further proving my thoughts on Tarkovsky being a genius, and wondered if anything else I saw of his would be able to top it. I got Stalker on VHS (Fox Lorber edition, 1.33:1 OAR, Russian with English Subs) and once again was drawn into an incredible world created by Tarkovsky. I feel silly to keep saying this, but Stalker is one of the greatest films I've ever seen.

I had no idea what to expect when I put in Stalker. From the description, I expected some kind of sci-fi epic with some kind of grand setpieces, incredible effects and astonishing mood. Yet, this is Tarkovsky, so I couldn't see him doing something like that. Almost like a paradox, I couldn't wrap my head around the concept, and my mind could conjure up no images of what to expect from the film.

The film immediately establishes an oppressive, otherworldly atmosphere, with droning music underscoring the credits. The sepia background is hard to see (maybe a fault of the VHS), but you can make out that it's a place that looks like a bar, with only a single patron and bartender. After this, the camera shows a small, mostly unfurnished, run-down house, with a couple asleep in bed. Tarkovsky's camera adopts an overhead perspective, showing their nightstand. As a train goes by outside, shaking the ground, it moves a small glass of water slowly across the table with its vibrations, as Tarkovsky's camera pans slowly to the right, past a sleeping woman, to a man, wide awake. Dwelling on him for a while, it slowly pans back to the right, past the woman, and back to the nightstand. It's an incredibly powerful, yet subtle movement.

Early on in the film, when the action takes place in the outside world, that is, outside of The Zone, the film is sepia-toned, sparsely lit and decorated, dingy and very quiet and solemn. Tarkovsky uses sound here to an incredible effect, with small benign noises punctuating the silence and hushed tones the characters speak in. Little noises, like the Stalker pulling his pants on and loudly zipping them up, probably emphasizes the humanity of the characters, showing that they are all, in fact, only human.

For the first 30 or so minutes, there are almost no close-ups, no way to differentiate the characters from one another, aside from basic body shapes and hair patterns. The camera stays at a distance from the characters, much in the way they do from one another, physically as well as emotionally. When they ride in the small cart towards The Zone, Tarkovsky's camera tries mercilessly to probe these men with close-ups, yet they're all so detached that the camera only serves to isolate each man even more, in his own individual frame.

Once they arrive in The Zone itself, the characters slowly begin to open up and reveal a little more about themselves, and more importantly, why they are here. The film is still unsettlingly quiet, however, the camera still far away and detached for most of the picture. The time spent in The Zone is a time of quiet and poetic beauty, a time of reflection and wonder. The Zone is photographed in color, oddly, while the outside world is always sepia-toned. I think that this further emphasizes how at home Stalker feels here, how useful and safe he feels in The Zone.

During their journey, it's hard not to get caught up. There's a huge air of mystery throughout, because we're never quite sure what's going to be next. The film constantly puts us on edge, because of its mood and quiet atmosphere. We're taught to expect danger and wait for moments of horror and terror with bated breath, but Stalker lets the viewer know, early on, that this will be a different kind of journey. Because this isn't what we're used to seeing, we have no idea what will come next, which makes the anticipation almost unbearable.

In fact, it's interesting to note that we never see any of these traps that supposedly make The Zone so treacherous. It's left to the imagination as to what they could be. There could be standard booby traps, like nets hanging from trees or pits covered with leaves. But, the only real 'trap' we witness is when Writer tries to enter The Room early on, and a mysterious voice tells him to stop. Despite his stubbornness, he instantly obliges and turns back, despite desperately wanting to push on. This shows us that The Zone contains traps, not of a physical design, but of a mental and psychological nature, beyond our worst nightmares, even beyond our own comprehension.

The film takes a whole lot out of the viewer, as we're constantly staring into this world, absorbing it, traveling on this journey alongside these men. We're constantly wondering what could be next, if they'll make it. Most of all, though, our minds our flooded by our own imaginations as to what The Room could possibly be like. What will it look like? What will be inside? How will it divine what one's innermost wishes are? And once it does, how will it go about fulfilling them? These questions are obviously never answered, and rightfully so, as nothing anyone could show could match the viewers' own expectations. Not even Tarkovsky.

There's far more than meets the eye in Stalker, and I've only begun to scratch the surface as to the film's inner meaning, symbolism and craft. It's incredibly hypnotic, and it forces you to think a whole lot. Some might find it boring, but I didn't, not at all. During the scenes where it seems nothing is happening, it gives you time to reflect on what you've seen in the film, time to reflect on your own life, what you would do in the situation. Most of all, it forces you to wonder why. Why am I seeing these images, what do they mean to me, what do they mean in context of the film? The only analyzation I could really offer firsthand, was that the three men represent different things in human beings. Stalker seems to represent Faith, as he knows the way and trusts in The Zone itself to deliver him and his companions safely. Scientist obviously represents science itself, and its rejection of faith, seeking to prove it wrong and destroy what it cannot explain. Writer escapes me though. Maybe he signifies Art itself, but he's not an artist at the moment, as he's seeking inspiration. Maybe loss of art? I'm not sure. One thing I do know, though, is that Stalker is an incredibly journey and a film that is sure to prove to be one film to study, over and over again.

Loves of a Blonde (1965)

Loves of a Blonde is a charming, early Czech film from Milos Foreman. I've never seen any of Foreman's earlier films, only One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Amadeus and the People Vs. Larry Flynt. I was charmed by this heartwarming little flick, though.

In Andula's small town, there are sixteen women to every man. I don't know about the other male readers, but I think this would be totally awesome. Even if you're less than handsome, you can have your pick of great girls. But hey, maybe that's just me.

At first, I thought Milda, the piano player, would be everything Andula wanted. Handsome, charming, shy, caring..I really thought that he was the guy for her. Especially the shot when the 3 girls are walking to the bathroom. We see Milda beforehand, looking down at the girls, then a cut to the girls walking down the hallway. Andula is trailing slightly behind them, looking up, and as they pass past the stairway, Andula takes a couple steps back into the shot, looking up. You can practically feel her excitement.

However, Milda turns out to be a young womanizer of sorts, as Andula shows up at his house, hoping that they'll have a few days of bliss together. Instead, she gets berated by his parents and ends up suffering heartbreak as he pretends not to know her. For Andula, finding love is crucial to her happiness, so this is a huge blow for her. Foreman does a great job of showing her anguish. Never one to bog a film down, the interplay between Milda and his parents in the next room is hilarious.

Not the greatest film, but an entertaining, touching little gem from the Czech new wave.

A Woman Under the Influence (1974)

So, it's documented that I haven't been the biggest fan of Cassavetes, but I have to say that I loved a Women Under the Influence.I don't know if it's because I've been reading more about his work and have a better understanding of his style, or if it's just that it's that good. But, I really loved the film.

There were a few times that I actually forgot I was watching a movie, and felt genuine concern for Mabel and her family. This is probably due to Cassavetes cinema verite style, but mostly, I think, due to Gena Rowlands' excellent performance. She's very very crazy, yet completely endearing and relatable to the viewer. When you first meet her, you wonder "oh, does she really know this guy at the bar?" and you slowly begin to realize that she's not completely right in the head. The sympathy garnered towards her is not a result of her simply being mentally ill, but because you grow to care for her because of her personality, and yeah, it just so happens that she's on the verge of a breakdown.

Though, I have to say, I really disliked her character's husband, Nick. Probably more good acting & direction again. But, I really think that he's just as 'crazy' as Mabel is, even moreso. He's got an extremely violent temper, and seems to get extremely mad at everyone around him for no particular reason. He just came off as a real asshole, to me, and I can't really see how they ended up together.

And then, when Mabel comes back home 6 months later, you wonder immediately if she's going to be any different than before. Due to Cassavetes' steady hand and Rowlands' incredibly nuanced performance, you're still not sure if she's 'cured' for quite a while, simply because Mabel is trying her best to hide it, to be normal. However, her personality overrides her soon enough as she begins to act the same way as before. Despite her best intentions, she just can't be normal. The end/credits scene is fantastic, as it shows Nick and Mabel getting along perfectly, cleaning up the dining room after dinner, and you have to wonder, how much better do they get along without actually communicating?

Opening Night (1977)

I didn't like Opening Night nearly as much as A Woman, but it's still a pretty good film. The biggest flaws it has are an over-long running time, a plot that isn't that compelling, and some strange character moments that pulled me out of the film, just because I found I couldn't really relate to them as much.

Opening Night is a very theatrical film, both in its subject and in its execution. The performances all feel very stage-y and melodramatic in parts, but are all very good overall, especially Rowlands again.

In terms of themes, Opening Night deals a lot with grief and guilt, as well as growing old. Myrtle rebels against the play as written by Sarah because Sarah herself is old. She sees herself as the young girl that was killed, young, energetic and passionate. However, in the end, she's simply too drunk to rebel and she does the play the best that she can. Or has she really hit an epiphany, and come to terms with her own life?

Youth of the Beast (1963)

Youth of the Beast is my first Seijun Suzuki film, and I'm pretty impressed so far. It's not an amazing film, nor is it incredibly deep. But, it's wholly entertaining and richly satisfying. Suzuki's style is cool, the same style that his lead characters have adopted. The whole world and the music that goes along with it is light and jazzy, but never fails to turn nasty at a moment's notice.

I really enjoyed learning Jo's backstory halfway through the film. I mean, I just KNEW there had to be a bigger reason why he was going after these two gangs. And of course the big twist caught me a little by surprise at the end.

The film has quite a few noir-inspired touches, as well. Especially its treatment of women, ESPECIALLY at the end. She may not be a blonde, by she's as icy as any of Hitchcock's women. In fact, Suzuki reminds me a bit of a Japanese Peckinpah. Both disliked the studio system, and were eventually outcast by it themselves. Both seem use violence and sexism as metaphors, while being tagged as violent and sexist themselves. But, I'd probably have to see more of both of their work to be sure.

Faust (1926)

Faust is one of F.W. Murnau's silent classics. The story of Faust is kind of alien to me, so I can't say how well it was adapted for the film. But, this is a great film, either way.

The look of the film, mostly the set design, is incredible, especially for its time. There's not a moment in the film that doesn't feel completely real, despite its obvious supernatural setting. The mood and atmosphere established in the film are really top-notch. It's funny that, even though it was made 80 years ago, modern films still can't come close to it in that respect. There are so many unforgettable images in Faust, especially when Mephisto envelops the city with the plague, wow.

Emil Jannings' performance is great in the film. He plays Mephisto as he should be played, a smarmy, manipulative bastid. In fact, it took me a while to realize it, but Mephisto is actually the main character of the film. Faust, he's very selfish and arrogant. He starts out wanting to save his villagers, but then loses focus quickly when he's tempted with youth and beautiful women. Whereas Mephisto, he makes no bones about it, and Jannings' face is so expressive, so animated, that you're drawn to him.

La Commare Secca (1962)

I've yet to see a Bertolucci film, so La Commare Secca as my first, as well as being the first he made. I wasn't totally impressed with the movie, but it's still pretty good. I think the plot is very bare, and doesn't really do much to hold interest. I understand that the story of the film isn't so much that he prostitute was murdered, but that Bertolucci was trying to show what all the other people were doing the same day, trying to give us a glimpse into the daily life of those who happened to be in the same place at the same time.

In fact, we're not even told much about the murder until long into the film. We see her body, suggestively, at the beginning of the film, and each character touches briefly upon what happened while they're being interrogated, but we don't learn much about what sets the story off until close to the end. I was expecting it to play out a lot more like Rashomon, but Bertolucci isn't interested in exploring the nature of truth like in Rashomon, he's far more interested in learning about the events surrounding the murder, and maybe we'll solve the mystery eventually. Right off, we know that the characters aren't telling the police everything they know, as the young man tells them he had a meeting with priests to discuss a potential job, yet we see him off trying to mug people in the park. Nonetheless, the audience is seeing what's happened, which is, for the most part, nothing substantial at all, and definitely not related to the murder, nor incriminating.

I wonder if Lars Von Trier wasn't inspired by the opening shots of the prostitute's body lying dead on the bank of the river, with papers flying all about. In his debut, Element of Crime, the plot starts out with a young women's murder. Conveniently, she sold lottery tickets, which have all since been swept up by the wind, and now float through the air, swirling around the characters as they investigate the murder. It just seems pretty similar to me, even if Von Trier's homage wasn't entirely conscious.