3 Women (1977)

Speaking of thoughts on Altman, after Tanner '88, I was still kind of on the fence. Now, thank you viewers, for returning to witness the second part of our show. 3 Women is an amazing film. It's definitely one of those films that glides along, as if it were a dream. It's immensely deep and yet grabs your attention and holds it throughout.

Right from the start, I noticed a twins motif, but didn't know what would come of it, as the title is 3 Women, not 2 Women. The opening omages of elderly people walking around a pool, being helped by their younger counterparts, all these couples manuvering around in the water. Not to mention the twins that work at the Center. But, the third woman, Willie, is definitely far less involved in the overall plot than Millie or Pinky. In fact, they are pretty much the sole characters in the film, they garner far more screen time than anyone else.

These two characters, Millie and Pinky, both interested me to no end. Millie is very overbearing and Pinky obviously looks up to her a great deal, accepting her somewhat-domineering nature. She's enamored with Millie and you can tell, sometimes, she's simply basking in her presence. Pinky doesn't seem to notice that Millie is almost all talk, as many of the men she flirts with and comes on to have no interest whatsoever. You have to wonder if she's too dense to even notice this. Then, in one moment, when she calls down to a man from their apartment complex, up on the balcony, he pretends not to hear her and in one expression from Shelly Duvall, you know that she knows. Yet, she sucks it up and keeps pushing on, determined to be noticed and appreciated, yet the only man we ever really see her with is Willie's lecherous husband.

The film really was spellbinding for me, in many unexpected ways. For example, when Pinky is upstairs, reading Millie's diary and she starts coming up the stairs, I was really nervous, hoping that she wouldn't get caught. When Pinky accidentally (or maybe not...check out the next paragraph) punches Millie's card at work, it immediately registers as being a catastrophic event at work and I remember saying "oh no" out loud when she did it.

I have to wonder what Pinky was like before coming out to California. Was she the same shy, reserved person? And did she have any friends back home? And if so, did she cling to them the same way she clings to Millie? In fact, I have to wonder about the 'transference' of personalities that takes place. Is she simply being malicious because of the things she's read in Millie's diary and the way she's been treated, or is there something supernatural, something unexplainable at work? Has this been her plan all along, to inspire guilt in Millie for mistreating her by attempting suicide? And what of the Social Security number, was it an innocent blunder taken too far, or was Pinky's motive far more sinister?

After Pinky's injury, there's a shot of Millie looking into her ICU room, and her reflection in the glass is doubled. My first instinct, of course, was the whole Two Women in One Body theory. And, maybe it's true in 3 Women. Yet, something that can either make or break that idea is the end of the film. All three women have been entangled into this web, and their personalities have all been transferred. Nobody acts like anybody else in the ending sequence, but they all act strangely. To me, it seemed like all three women, together, made up one entire woman, and throughout the film, they exchange traits at points from the same pool of this 'entire woman'. That would explain Willie's speaking at the end, Pinky's childish demeanor and Millie's maternal presence. Truthfully, I have no idea, but I can't wait to see it again.

Jubilee (1978)

Jubilee, I'm not quite sure what to make of. It's definitely entertaining, filled with plenty of unforgettable moments and images. Yet, the overall message of the film, if it has any, is lost on me. I mean, sitting down to think what was trying to be said in the film, I'm baffled. Maybe it spoke more to its own generation, 27 years ago in England, than here and now. It's not a bad film, definitely entertaining, one to come back to later in a few months or years. But I will say this, Borgia Ginz, played by Orlando, is very very scary.

Kiki's Delivery Service (1989)

Another day, another Miyazaki to discover. As usual, I loved Kiki's Delivery Service. As opposed to the rest of Miyazaki's work, at least what I've seen, it's a lot smaller in scope. There's no huge, world-destroying monsters to take down, just a young witch trying to hone her skills. The film actually works a lot better this way, as you really get to know Kiki and see her come of age during the film. Early on, before she leaves home, she makes a big deal about her dress and broom, wishing that they were more stylish. Essentially, acting childish. Yet, by the end, she's more confident in herself with a greater sense of what's really important.

So, there are no incredible, mythical creatues, so Miyazaki's imagination isn't really stretched as far as usual here. But, the world of Kiki's Delivery Service is incredibly detailed, vibrant and filled with life. It's extremely immersive, and the viewer really feels like he or she could spend the rest of their lives there. Alas, that's not possible. Curse you, Hiyao!

Also, there's Jiji, the black cat. I have a thing for cats. Some people are more attuned with dogs, but growing up mainly in apartments, I've always had cats. So I'm a sucker for a cute cat, and Jiji is one of the cutest. It's not uncommon to hear grown men "aww" at Jiji in the film, licking up the milk, hopping onto Kiki's shoulders, falling in love. Yeah, they got me, hook, line and sinker.

Toy Story (1995)

Growing up, I always had a lot of freedom. I was always given the option of making my own decisions and rarely had anything forced upon me. Like anything else, this has its own good and bad points. The good are obvious and so are the bad. One thing I noticed, though, was that I was never made to watch Disney films when I was young. I had the option, but was never really too interested, and never had them forced upon me. Only in the last few years, in my growing cineaste-ism (is that a word?), have I fallen in love with Disney. Maybe it's better this way, as I'm older and can really appreciate the beauty in Uncle Walt's masterworks.

I remember I saw Toy Story at someone's house, helping them look after kids, maybe 5 or 6 years ago. I don't remember much, as my recent viewing has shown.

It's nearly impossible to watch Toy Story and not have a permanent smile etched across your face. It all fits so perfectly, the animation, the voices, the light music, the family-friendly yet still hilarious jokes and gags, the story, the themes. I think it's because all Pixar Films, especially Toy Story touch on a lot of universal themes. Growing up, who didn't play with toys? And, who didn't wonder what your toys did while you were asleep or at school? Toy Story takes the idea and runs with it.

Not only that, but there's the universal theme of friendship and camaraderie. Respect and humility earned through experience and understanding. Yes, Woody is a huge jerk early on, but slowly, realizes the error of his ways and completely redeems himself in the eyes of his fellow toys and of the audience. Buzz realizes that he's just a toy (just a kid, just a desk worker, just an old man...universal themes coming in yet?) and then realizes, "Hey, there's a whole lot this toy can do!" as the music surges and he overcomes his own inadequacies.

Normally, this is the kind of stuff that kids eat up and adults roll their eyes at. Yet, everyone loves Toy Story, everyone identifies with the characters and the situations, and everyone is moved by the film. Toy Story, like the rest of Pixar's later work, succeeds because it beautifully and easily illustrates such intrinsic truths.

Il Grido (1957)

Another week, another Antonioni film. Truth be told, this is one of his best, right up there next to L'Avventura. It's hypnotizing throughout. In true Antonioni form, it's not so much about events, but far more about the mood and the emotions expressed throughout.

Early on, we follow a woman around, Irma, as she learns about her husband's death and fights with her current beau about the status of their relationship. She wants to break it off, despite the fact that they've already had a child. The man, Aldo, simply does not understand. This is fairly typical of Antonioni, as he seems to be fond of showing the differences in attitudes between men and women. Irma needs a change, she needs to do what's best for her, pursue what she wants. Aldo simply CANNOT comprehend this. He comes off kind of stubborn, but after years, who would be hasty to let go of such a deep relationship?

Aldo decides to up and leave, taking their daughter with him. In typical Antonioni fashion, the film follows his journey instead of Irma's, who we've already been identifying with. Yup, Antonioni stuck us with the bum. The viewer, though, is drawn into his life on the road without realizing, and begins to identify with him and lends Aldo his own sympathies.

The breakup is obviously the catalyst for a change, but the change seems to be much deeper than that. It's made Aldo rethink everything in his life, especially his priorities, and doubt things that he once had so much faith in. He's now drifting around the barren landscape, searching for a new place, a place to start over and care for his daughter. He realizes he can't really care for her, so he sends her back home to her Mother and continues searching, as all Antonioni's leads do.

It's also where the basis for all of Antonioni's later, more mature works lies. Aldo can't connect with people, he's perpetually searching not only the landscape, but his own heart as well. The world is a cold, desolate place, and life is nothing but ennui on top of boredom on top of listlessness on top of despair. We can see Antonioni feeling his way around this world, and it's intoxicating. The later films may be more polished, but Il Grido is where it all started.

Shame (1968)

Me and Ingmar Down by the Schoolyard

I realized that I haven't seen any true Bergman films since starting this blog. I saw the final part of Fanny & Alexander, but it's such a huge work that it's hard to say much about it. And the Making of, well, that kind of speaks for itself, though I did make an effort. But Shame, I'd never seen before, and, surprise surprise, I really enjoyed it.

It's kind of a war movie from Bergman. Oddly enough, he never made any films dealing directly with war, apart from Shame. What I realized towards the end of Shame is that this isn't an anti-war film at all. Nor is it a pro-war film. It simply accepts war as an inevitability and offers up a portrait of two civilians caught in the middle of it, trying to survive. Under the opening credits, we hear gunfire and foreign radio chatter. The way it's designed lends the film an unsettling tone early on, and later, the gunshots and explosions give it an atmosphere that's almost unworldly.

In Bergman films, it's always interesting to examine the characters, and Shame is no exception. Between Jan and Eva, the roles of traditionally strong and stable husband and meek wife have been switched. Although I think it has a lot to do with personalities, Jan's illness also is a factor. The film is very ambiguous as to what his illness is, but it's believed to be mental in nature. Because of this, Eva is forced to take care of Jan at many points, and he relies on her.

On the other hand, Eva has to be completely strong in the relationship. She wakes up first, gets things ready, prods her husband along and cares for him when his illness manifests. Although she does care for Jan, her tone comes off as harsh sometimes, as she sometimes condescends to him out of frustration. It's with this attitude that she takes charge in the situation and decides to sleep with Jacobi for the money. Though, we have to wonder, why did she need the money in the first place? Most likely to attempt an escape, but is that really why? Could it just be simple frustration with Jan that drives her to extreme measures, and, coincidentally, gives her some extra money?

After this, Jan's character changes, he takes control, becomes demanding and forceful with Eva. After that, he murders a young soldier brutally. Is this frustration all because of Eva? Of course not, it's built up through the events of the movie, culminating in this one moment. Despite all of his flaws, he's still remained innocent up until this point.

At the end, they escape on a boat with Jacobi's money. Yet, Nykvist's camera pulls out to reveal the tiny boat, floating, dwarfed by the endless ocean. We have to wonder, did they really escape? The events they've witnessed and taken part in, the murder, the bombings, the ripping apart and subsequent burning of their house, Jan sleeping with Jacobi, these bitter memories they'll carry with them forever. So, have they really escaped?

Tanner '88 (1988)

I hadn't intended to blog about Tanner '88 here, but with my thoughts on Altman documented, I figured I should. Plus, I found a few things to grumble about offer constructive criticism on. I liked Tanner '88. I didn't love it, but I enjoyed it and was entertained. Heck, I learned a whole lot about politics, especially the campaign road to presidency. I really liked the first handful of episodes, namely the first disc of the set, but it started to wear thin by the other disc.

First of all, the show degenerates into something that resembles a sitcom most of the time. At first it was cute to watch, because these are people trying to get a man elected president (not to mention said man), but after a while, it really began to wear thin. Far too many gags used for comedic value, and too many contrived situations. Most of the show is intelligent, entertaining and really informative, so it really shouldn't have to fall back on such banalities.

There's an episode early on the second disc, I believe called "The Girlfriend Factor," where the tone of the whole series really does a 180 and doesn't quite recover. The series, despite being heavily steeped in something as serious as American politics (zing?), has a very jovial tone, due to the caricatured characters and zany situations. Therefore, halfway through the episode, when the brakes are firmly applied to Tanner '88 to allow for a discussion with those living in inner-city Detroit, who tell tales about having little children dying in the streets, it's extremely alienating to the viewer. While I agree that it's a problem that most politicians should be focusing on, it really has no place in Tanner '88, especially not where it occurs. It's like splicing a few minutes of a snuff film into an episode of Malcolm in the Middle. After this, the series never feels the same, and the gags all seem to fall flat and feel very immature after the viewer has had to deal with such a harrowing topic.

Still, I'm on the fence about Altman. I didn't think Tanner '88 would really sway me, though. It's hard to gauge a director's talent and style from an American-produced miniseries.

Orpheus (1949)

I'm not really familiar with the Orphic myth (though I'm sure I will be after checking it on Wiki) but I can just tell that Jean Cocteau's retelling is a fantastic translation. He's changed the setting to modern-day (at least in the late 40's) Paris and added a ton of his favorite thematic touches, like the mirrored portal to another world. The result is a stunning, otherworldly piece of art.

Orpheus actually starts out pretty normal. Some poets hang around a Paris cafe, looking for inspiration and recognition, when a big fight breaks out. Then, as Orpheus rides along with the Princess after the accident, the tone changes, as a feeling of unease creeps in, the Princess instructs Orpheus not to ask any questions. Then you start thinking, "oh yeah, now it's gonna get gooooood."

There are many references to sleeping, or being asleep, or dreaming in general. Like, when Orpheus says he wants to sleep or is asleep, and when the reporter says to him "Oh, still asleep?" This is most likely Cocteau's way of tying dreams into creation, other worlds and poetry. The whole film, in fact, feels like a dream, because the characters seem to accept this fantastic series of events and deal with them, as opposed to people in reality, who'd probably flip out.

Orpheus is an incredible feat of cinema. A fantastic, dream-like journey into other realms, real and imagined. A story that could only be told on film and only truly realized by Jean Cocteau.

I am Curious-Blue (1968)

See: I am Curious-Yellow and multiply suckiness by seventeen.

Stardust Memories (1980)

I thought Stardust Memories was a really good flick, even by Woody Allen standards. I've heard that it's far too self-indulgent and angry in tone, but I didn't think so. It's obviously got a heavy element of autobiography, but it's added in a very playful way, typical of Woody's work.

In a lot of ways, it reminded me a lot of Fellini's 8 1/2. Obviously, there's the filmmaker-parodying-himself-making-a-film element, but many other references too. Woody's character drifts from one woman of another, much like Guido in 8 1/2, there's a couple of scenes on the beach, there's a metal structure that resembles the huge prop built in 8 1/2, and of course, the huge crowds of people hounding the director.

The movie does a great job of blending fantasy, reality, films and dreams. The character Woody plays is a famous director who used to do funnier films, so it's a good excuse to put silly little bits into the film, as he's attending a festival of his own films. At some points, something strange happens and you wait to see if it's real or if it happened solely in someone's imagination, or the movie being filmed in Stardust Memories. It's not done in a confusing way, but in a very light, playful way that makes it enjoyable and interesting.

It's not his funniest, nor his most poignant or intelligent, but it's definitely another very good Woody Allen flick.

Tales of Hoffman (1951)

I watched Home Vision Cinema's VHS version of Tales of Hoffman. It's well-restored and clocks in at 124 minutes, so it's pretty much the full version.

Personally, I wasn't impressed with the film much. It's fairly thin on plot, relying more on spectacle than anything else. Maybe it's just than I'm not a fan of opera or musicals in general. Also, it was really hard to follow the plot at many points, because of the operatic style of singing used in the film. Could definitely have used some subtitles or captions.

From a technical standpoint, it works very well. Powell and Pressburger have done a great job of bringing an opera to the big screen, better than the Master himself did with The Magic Flute. I never thought I'd say this, but the ballet section at the beginning was just awesome. Really, really beautiful job those dancers did.

If you're an opera buff, you'll love it. Personally, it felt kind of lukewarm to me. Maybe I'll give it another shot when the restored Criterion hits.

I am Curious-Yellow(1967)

This is one of the worst, godawful, piece of crap "movies" I've ever seen. It joins the ranks of I Spit on Your Grave and Resident Evil: Apocalypse as being more than just bad movies. See, these three films, and maybe more than I've blocked out, go far beyond annoyingly bad. These are films that depress me, that suck the life and happiness from me, that ruin my entire day.

Naturally, I don't seek films like this out. I actually thought I'd enjoy I am Curious-Yellow. Vilgot Sjoman studied under Bergman, so he was more than cool in my book. I wasn't expecting Wild Strawberries, or even The Silence. But, Sjoman's film is just a mess. It is completely empty, devoid of any kind of emotion or creativity. Yes, the film-within-a-film gimmick is neat, but in this film it serves no purpose other than needlessly confusing the viewer in an attempt to seem smart and/or artistic. This goes for every other element of the film.

I'm confused as to how the viewer is supposed to feel about Lena, the main character. Are we supposed to feel bad for her and all she's meant to go through. Or, are we supposed to see her arrogance and stubbornness and feel glad that she's gotten her commupence? I'm confused, because I felt absolutely nothing for her, only extreme annoyance.

Either this film is an incredibly profound work of art that simply sails over the heads of mere mortals like me, or a pointless hodgepodge of half-developed ideas, perversion and utter pretention. Personally, I'm leaning towards the latter. I'm really dreading I am Curious-Blue.