The Sacrifice (1986)

I. Love. Tarkovsky. Seeing a Tarkovsky film is a very special occasion for me, bordering on some kind of religious ceremony. I find myself trying to define what makes a Tarkovsky film a Tarkovsky film. How does he do it, and why is the effect so powerful? The Sacrifice is another triumph for Tarkovsky, and the final one before his death in 1986.

In some ways, it's kind of different from the rest of Tarkovsky's work. Or, at least that's what I thought for the first half of the film. The film, while remaining sparse and atmospheric, Tarkovsky-esque for lack of a better word, contains a very coherent plot and is presented in a very linear manner. Naturally, things get far more dream-like as World War III is declared, Alexander has a dream, and things get, well, Tarkovsky-esque.

The film is a Swedish production, which excited me, since I'm a huge Bergman fan, and this would team Tarkovsky up with Erland Josephson and Sven Nykvist on Faro Island (which all makes a ton of sense if you know your Bergman). I know that Bergman was a great admirer of Tarkovsky's, writing in The Magic Lantern, "When film is not a document, it is a dream. That is why Tarkovsky is the greatest of them all. He moves with such naturalness in the room of dreams. " I believe Tarkovsky held Bergman in similarly high esteem, though I've yet to read his book, so I can't say for sure. I was wondering what influence all of Bergman's elements would have on Tarkovsky's film. Astonishingly enough, I forgot about all of it for most of the film. Yes, it's all Tarkovsky. Not to discredit Nykvist or anyone else in the crew, but a Tarkovsky film is always a Tarkovsky film, through and through. In some ways, it seems like a great pairing, Nykvist and Tarkovsky, as both like to use natural light in their breathtaking compositions.

The first scene is incredible. Alexander plants a tree with his son, Little Man, talking to him all the while, telling him stories. It's filmed from afar, the camera completely stationary. All of a sudden, the camera seemed to move slightly. The composition is so still that a slight movement would be jarring, but I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I kept glancing at the edges of the frame, wondering if the camera was moving. Soon enough, I was proven right. The camera slowly pans to the left to follow Alexander, Little Man, and their friend and Postman, Otto, as they make their way to the house. The pan is extremely slow, as the characters are far away. The camera and the characters come closer to one another during their long trek, as details begin to emerge on the film, you finally get to see what these people look like.

Alexander loathes technology, clearly. He longs for the much simpler days, and with surroundings like Faro Island, who can blame him? Fear of change is a theme that The Sacrifice explores throughout, notably during Alexander's monologue about the garden in his old house and his younger sister's haircut. He prays to God for things to return back to the way they were before war broke out. The thing is, it's a war, so who really would want it in the first place?

In the film, Alexander arrives downstairs to find his family seemingly in a trance, staring at the television where it's just been announced that war has broken out. It's a hauntingly beautiful moment, as the camera slowly pans to reveal their faces one by one, the flicker of the screen creating bright flashes, capturing them all in time, frozen at this moment. Afterwards, we're shown something that seems shocking in a Tarkovsky film; strong outward emotion. Adelaide begins to go into hysterics as a result of the broadcast. Yet, this scene shows how all the different characters handle themselves, Victor attempts to take control and help Adelaide as Alexander silently contemplates it all, trying to figure out what to do and how to do it.

Afterwards, after praying to God, Alexander seems to have a horrifying dream and wakes up to find Otto outside his window, who tells him that he can redeem the world by sleeping with his housekeeper, whom he is convinced is a witch. The idea of this actually working, and Alexander actually believing that it would work, is completely absurd. Yet, he's willing to do anything to save the world, sacrifice whatever he must, and maybe he sees this as an opportunity from God himself. So, he decides to give it a shot, and naturally, things get really weird and, yes, Tarkovsky-esque.

Afterwards, it seems to have worked, as there is no mention of the war and things are seemingly back to normal. We start to wonder if it all really happened, was it merely a dream or did Alexander truly make a sacrifice and save the world? I really can't say much about the analysis and interpretation of the film, as it's so hard to comprehend, especially on the first viewing. What sacrifice did Alexander make, exactly? Was it sacrificing his morals, or was it something completely different, something deeper and far more spiritual? Nonetheless, the film ends on a very strong and powerful note, as Tarkovsky tries to inspire hope in the final moments of what he knew would be his final masterpiece.

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Included on Kino's disc is the fantastic documentary, Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky. It's fascinating to get a glimpse into Tarkovsky's creative process. The footage from the film and the set is punctuated by excerpts from Sculpting in Time. He's got some very interesting thoughts on what a film should be and what his own films are. Much like his films, it takes a while and repeat viewings to really digest his message. It's less of a behind-the-scenes-of-a-film piece, and more of a inside-the-mind-of-a-genius piece.

It's interesting to see Nykvist work with Tarkovsky, because it's so different from seeing him work with Bergman. Bergman will take a look to see what the shot looks like and let Sven do his work. Tarkovsky is very hand-on, though, always looking through the viewfinder, moving the camera around. Nothing against the Master, of course. I mean, if the result is as astonishing as what's seen in his films, he can do whatever he wants.

Edit: One moment I forgot to mention and keep forgetting to mention is Alexander's 'dream' about halfway through the film. It's right when the black-and-white film is used. Early on, there's a shot of someone's legs walking through the mud. And truth be told, it made me weepy. I have no idea why. It had no bearing on the film, and made no sense in the context of the part of the film it was in. Yet, still, watching it, I got tears in my eyes. This is the power of Tarkovsky.

Le Amiche (1955)

Le Amiche is an earlier Antonioni film, before his informal trilogy containing L'Avventura, La Notte and L'Eclisse. In some ways, it's kind of rough, as Antonioni was working from somebody else's story and probably didn't have as much creative control as he would later in his years. Despite feeling very different from his other films, you can still see him forming his style here.

The film deals with malaise and alienation, but it's certainly nowhere near as prevalent as it is in his later works. All of the characters seem to be searching for something in the world, drifting, hoping to find whatever it is that will complete them. Antonioni always seems to identify most with the female characters in his film, and Le Amiche is no exception. Most of the main cast if female, and a sense of togetherness develops between them. It almost becomes, dare I say, chick-flick-y?

I was really drawn into the film, though. The characters are all well-defined, and Antonioni gives them all, along with the plot, plenty of breathing room. In some spots, it has a 'constructed' feel, as the film dips into melodrama territory. I can only assume that these were imposed by the studio or original story, but I could be wrong.

Overall, nowhere near Antonioni's best, but definitely a very good film and a clear sign of good things to come.

So, I read quite a bit about film. I thought I'd start posting about various books I've been reading. Start it off with 10 I've read recently. Any thoughts anyone has are appreciated.

1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die - Steven Jay Schneider - Luke turned me on to this book, and I'll say this: When he's right, he's right. Even someone whose seen a ton of films over the years can find something interesting in this book. The writing is top-notch, and most of the films have accompanying stills which are of a great quality. With 1001 films, the selection is extremely varied, as you'll find everything from obscure art films to big-budget blockbusters. The price is high, but in my opinion, the book is well worth it. It's easy to waste hours simply flipping through the book, finding films you've never heard of and then seeking them out. Great, great book.

The Off-Hollywood Film Guide - Tom Weiner - This book isn't nearly as good as 1001 Movies. There are no stills, the writing about the movies is fairly sloppy and vague, the selection isn't as good. It's not a bad book if you're completely new to Independent or Art Cinema and looking for some essential viewing to start you off, but even then, I'd still recommend 1001 Movies. Unless you absolutely can't find anything else, I wouldn't recommend it.

TV Guide 2005 Film & Video Companion - I got this book as a Christmas present last year, and it's proved to be a great resource. I usually keep it nearby, so when I look at the upcoming listings on TCM, I can flip through the book and see a lot of detail about the film. Sure, there are a ton of questionable oversights, and it doesn't cover silent film or more obscure indie and foreign releases, but for its price, it's an invaluable resource to have at hand.

Images: My Life in Film - Ingmar Bergman - Images is a great book if you love Bergman's work. Written entirely by himself, Bergman writes about each of his films in his own personal way. He culls material from workbooks and diaries in order to show the reader the genesis and evolution of his films. The book is divided into separate chapters for each film, so you can easily skip past the films you haven't seen and focus on those you have. Great resource if you're a Bergman fan.

The Magic Lantern: An Autobiography - Ingmar Bergman - The Magic Lantern isn't your typical autobiography. Bergman eschews typical autobiographical narrative, instead choosing to spurn his own unique blend of memories in order to form a very Bergman-esque tapestry of his own experiences. He skips around quite a bit, covering huge events (his early years at Svensk Filmindustri, his Tax Evasion troubles) and the seemingly mundane (random encounters with relatives and friends) but it's always engaging in the same way that his films are. It reminds me of The Mirror, only with far more cohesion. You won't learn a whole lot about Bergman's work or even the important details of his life, but it's an interesting and insightful read.

Making Pictures: A Century of European Cinematography - I caught a glimpse of this gem while I was wandering around the 791. section of my library. The sheer size of the book as well as its unique cover caught my eye. It turned out to be an amazing resource. In all seriousness, this is one of the best books on film I've read this far. Focusing entirely on European Cinematography, it starts off with a few insightful essays from filmmakers and historians then jumps headlong into a full-on, in-depth history of European film. After this, a breakdown of work by country and time period. The meat of the book is the list of 100 films, each given at least 2 pages with a handful of high-quality frames. This book goes incredibly in-depth with these films, along with a great, varied selection. After this is a huge breakdown and history of pretty much every type of camera you could ever imagine. An incredibly interesting and informative book, one that anyone with even a passing interest in film should look into. The price is a bit steep, but check your library.

The Cinema of Orson Welles - Peter Cowie - A very good book on Welles. It covers all of his films in separate sections, giving a detailed breakdown of the plot, technique, impact and history of each film. Cowie gives a lot of insight into the technical aspects of Welles' work, too, and his writing is great, in my humble opinion.

The Films in My Life - Francois Truffaut - Some may not know, but Truffaut was a critic before turning to making films himself. That said, his writings on film are top-notch, very personal and make a very good read. The book seems to be a selection of various pieces he's written, most centering around one film or director in particular, broken down into chapters. Although he leans mostly towards French films and other not available on DVD (though, through no fault of his own, obviously), he does cover a lot of 40's and 50's Hollywood films, as well as films from all around the world. A very good, personal read.

Who the Hell's in it - Peter Bogdanovich - Bogdanovish has really been around, as he interviews mostly anyone who's anyone in the last half a century in Hollywood. Unfortunately, he summarizes a large part of the pieces, and his writing tends to be very dry, so I didn't particularly enjoy it. But, if you want to get a glimpse into the minds of some of the best actors to come out of Hollywood, give it a shot.

The Disappointment Artist and Other Essays - Jonathan Lethem - I was interested in Lethem's work mainly due to his essay on Criterion's DVD of The Killers by Robert Siodmak. Little did I know that he covers a lot of films in his essays. I think most people nowadays can relate to Lethem's work, as he tends to define his life in the context of the media he was into during events. I know that I do the same thing, as I can remember the music and movies I was into at certain periods in my short life. Lethem tends to be kind of obsessive over works he enjoys, seeing Star Wars and 2001: A Space Odyssey 21 times apiece in the cinema, watching The Searchers many times over the years, simply trying to see what made it so good, and falling asleep many nights to Fripp & Eno's No Pussyfooting. Not that it goes into depth on film or anything, but it's definitely an interesting read and goes hand-in-hand with my own habits of film-watching, as well as most people reading this (I hope!)

The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976)

I didn't really like this film. It's very boring most of the time. Keep in mind that I'm a big fan of Tarkovsky, Antonioni, etc., so I'm not the most vapid viewer. The film just seemed to cover so much unnecessary ground that I just wasn't interested in. Most of the film focuses on Thomas attempting to run a company, apparently, to fund his plan to bring water back to his home planet. Yet, not only is the business-talk very boring, it's very ambiguous, and it's never really explained why he needs this money. I don't have a problem with such ambiguity if it serves the film, but here it just serves to frustrate the viewer. Not to mention the fact that most of the plot is completely confusing, as you're never told much. Maybe it was the intent of the filmmakers to confuse, but it really just frustrated me. It could be just me, but the whole film felt far too post-modern, making far too much effort to appear artsy when really just ending up totally hollow.

There were a few good parts of the film, though. The plot's slow pace and ambiguity really helped the film's big climax, when Thomas is revealed as an alien. Due to the film's leisurely pace, such a grand climax comes completely unexpected and feels very jarring. I also really liked when the men were thrown out of windows towards the end. As they fly down towards the pavement, we hear their breathing on the soundtrack as we see them falling through the sky. It helps to put you in the moment, simply because we never think about what it's really like to fall a long length, as you're still breathing and conscious during your descent.

Samurai Spy (1965)

I remember a long time ago, IFC showed Samurai Spy one Saturday morning. I recorded it and watched a few minutes before turning it off and deleting it. I couldn't really remember why I didn't finish the movie. Watching it again makes me remember. The first few minutes is a bombardment of Japanese names. This is sometimes normal for a Japanese film, if you're a Western viewer. But, Samurai Spy is the worst offender I've seen thus far. I'd imagine even the filmmakers got confused as to who's who.

As a film, it's pretty good. It's nowhere near the Kurosawa samurai films, but it doesn't try to be. It feels a little more raw than Kurosawa's work. The compositions are great most of the time, even if they are a little too stylish in parts. The plot moved at just the right pace, never becoming boring, with some great twists. The action ranged from good to decent, but there's really not much of it.

One of my favorite parts was when Sasuke goes into the storehouse, looking to rescue the woman who was kidnapped. The entire scene is sparsely lit, to show the darkness that the spies sneaking in are able to blend into so well. He begins to move around, and after placing his hand on a wooden beam, pulls it away and up into the light to reveal that his hand is now covered in blood. A moment after he realizes this, a cut to a beautiful shot of the night sky, with a full moon on the left and clouds quickly moving from the right to eclipse it. Also, the big showdown at the end is great, with fog billowing softly around the two men as they exchange heated words. It stays in the scene all throughout, increasing the tension between them. Great scene.

The Up Series - Seven Up/Seven Plus Seven Up/21 Up/28 Up/35 Up/42 Up

In 1964, inspired by the Jesuit maxim, "Give Me the Child Until He Is Seven and I Will Show You the Man", Michael Apted seeked out 14 7-year old children and interviewed them. The result was Seven Up, a 40-minute documentary that simply showed the children and their outlooks on life, school, growing up, their futures, love and class distinctions, among many other things. 7 years later, Apted and co. tracked down the children at 14 and interviewed them again, showing how their lives had changed. Apted did the same thing every 7 years, the last time when they were all 42. The result is a series of fascinating documentaries.

The most interesting aspect of the films, for me, is seeing the people grow up. You're able to get a glimpse into the minds and lives of these people, all throughout their lives. You get to live vicariously as they experience their ups and downs, their failures and victories. At 7, everyone acts like a child. At 14, they all seem to be growing up, still very immature and unsure of themselves. At 21, they're on the cusp of adulthood and act as if they know everything. At 28, they're mostly all matured, with full families of their own and careers. At 35 and 42, we see them trying to adjust to these ages, coping with the losses of their parents, their own children growing up, marital difficulties, problems at work. Quite a long way from the kids we knew at 7.

Naturally, the viewer will identify more clearly with some subjects more than others. They'll form their own opinions on the people, based on their own personal preferences and tastes. Yet, over time, as people change and mature, the people themselves grow, and the viewer might find themself really feeling a kinship with those who they disliked when they were children.

The only complaint I have with the series is that, just to remind the viewers who everybody is, (most of whom were seeing the films 7 years apart) the same clips get repeated quite a lot, which can try the patience of those viewing the films in succession. Also, I felt that, in the last few films, the pace really slowed down, as the subjects had a lot more to talk about and rant about. People dropped out of the project, and the running times grew, so everyone has a lot more to say, and sometimes they can get a little long-winded

Despite its few faults, the Up Series is a great experiment in film. It's incredibly fascinating, and you really feel as if you've taken part in the lives of the people profiled. I hope that the next film, 49 Up, gets a decent release in America, because I'd love to see what everyone's been up to.

The Scarlet Empress (1934)

I remember soon after I hit the proverbial jackpot and actually started getting Turner Classic Movies, they ran a tribute to Marlene Dietrich. I had no clue who she was at the time, but I recorded some of the films based on how cute she looked in the commercials. Der Blau Engel, at the time, didn't do much for me, but I really enjoyed it. Shanghai Express, I thought was fantastic. Morocco felt kind of bland. I saw Rancho Notorious and Destry Rides Again and they were decent enough, but Dietrich seemed to be playing a caricature of herself when she was younger, so I wasn't a fan of her performances then.

As for Von Sternberg's direction, I never noticed it much. It seems to be pretty seamless. I'd heard about his svengali-style of direction with Dietrich and noticed that he had made sure to always have her looking as good as she possibly could. But, other than that, aside from the films being good, I hadn't noticed any particular style. In The Scarlet Empress, I'm starting to notice those things more and more. Obviously, the way he lit and directed Dietrich, but also the fact that he's just a good storyteller.

I really liked The Scarlet Empress. My favorite by Dietrich or Von Sternberg thus far. Marlene is incredible in the role. She's completely believable as the young, naive romantic young girl who transforms into a malevolent sexual conquerer. As usual, Von Sternberg has done everything in his power to make Marlene look as lovely as possible. And how lovely she looks. Between her dark red lips, her long eyelashes, highset cheekbones, her beautiful bedroom eyes...

The plot of the film is excellent. It reminds me of Casablanca, which was one of the first times I comprehended a story fully as having concrete characters whose actions you could make sense of, due to their personalities shown in flashback. In The Scarlet Empress, you're shown every step of the way, every little event that turned Sophia from timid little girl to lusty sexpot of the Russian throne.

I'm impressed by the many subtle ways that Von Sternberg and co. had to suggest sex without being overt about it. Catherine flirts heavily with a guard and then they embrace. As the music swells, we're shown a long close-up of her hands gripping the back of his uniform. This shot is held for a very long time, maybe 10-20 seconds, I'm not sure. Real classy. Nonetheless, the film possesses a very erotic quality, no doubt due to Ms. Dietrich's breathless performance. Towards the end, she uses her sex as a weapon much in the same way that Peter uses his army, guns and swords. Ultimately, we know which is really mightier.

Slacker (1991)

I tried. I really, really tried, Linklater. But, I didn't like Slacker at all. It started out fairly well, and I was intrigued by the way the film plays out, the way that it glides from one character to another, presenting small glimpses into various people's lives. The characters all seemed to be quirky and I really liked the way that they all seem to have their own individual areas of expertise, be it car mechanics, conspiracy theories or photography. But, most people's areas of expertise seems to be delivering poorly-written, faux-intellectual philosophical monologues. It kind of sneaks up on you, as the beginning of the film draws you in, and before you know it, you're rolling your eyes and looking at your watch as yet another character begins to wax poetic about the nature of the universe.

The funny thing is that Linklater seems to be making fun of these pseudo-intellectual, pretentious types in the context of the film. Yet, he is clearly one of these people himself, as writing this film and Waking Life show.

I really tried to like Slacker, I mean it. But, in the end, it just devolved into another blabfest about who knows what. I'm amazed at how Linklater can attempt to probe the human psyche, trying to explore the depth of the universe itself, then go make School of Rock or remake Bad News Bears.