Family Nest (1979)

My good pal Exiled recommended Bela Tarr's films to me, saying that he's frequently compared to Tarkovsky. The only films that I can find, anywhere, are his first 3, recently released in terrible quality by Facets. Little did I know that his earlier films were more Cassavetes than Tarkovsky, as evidenced by Family Nest, which feels more like a Cassavetes than some Cassavetes do. And, well, you know me and Cassavetes.

The film is shot in a documentary style, and for the most part, it's very effective and believable. The characters all feel very real, probably due to an improvisational style, similar to Cassavetes'. The bulk of the film takes place in a small apartment shared by a large number of members of the same family. Some of them, notably a young couple, try their hardest to get their own flat through the government, yet straits are so dire in Hungary at this time, that it's impossible. Adding to the tension, the man's Father is convinced that she's cheating on his son.

The Father is a strange character, to me. He's probably the most developed of all the characters, but he still felt kind of incomplete to me. I don't really see how he can give his daughter-in-law all this guff because he has suspicions, yet go out and chase women and try to bully them into sleeping with him, the way he does. Maybe it's Tarr's take on the hypocrisy of people, I don't know, but something about it rubbed me the wrong way.

The film derives most of its emotional impact from the poor living conditions of their apartment, and country to some respect. This, to me, seems kind of hollow, like it's a form of 'cheating' as opposed to actually developing the characters well. It seems like these could be any people living in Hungary, and you don't really get to know them much. But, I don't know, maybe that was Tarr's intent, similar to Italian Neorealism, to show the conditions in his own country.

Juliet of the Spirits (1965)

So, Fellini is kind of hit-or-miss with me. Well, he's Fellini, so it's more like hit-or-lesser-hit, heh. Juliet isn't my favorite Fellini. For me, it's got nothing on La Strada or 8 1/2. It's around Nights of Cabiria, maybe a little below, but not as low as I Vitelloni.

The film started out pretty strangely, and seemed to be struggling to find some direction. For the first half or so, I couldn't really get into it, it felt very distancing. But then, slowly, I began to get wrapped up in the plot and the mood of the film, and really enjoyed it.

It seems to be Fellini's exploration of a woman's psyche, just as 8 1/2 was an exploration of his own, or man's in general. When Giulietta suspects that her husband is cheating, Fellini does a great job of showing the myriad of emotions that she goes through. Also, due in no small part to Masini's great performance. Her face is the centerpiece, the one foot planted on the ground as a dizzying mix of emotions and spirits whirl around her, ultimately inspiring her to make some decisions and choose her own path in live.

Sandra Milo plays Suzy, her next-door neighbor, as well as her Grandfather's mistress in a flashback. As usual, Fellini uses his unique talents to make her look as whorish as possible, and he succeeds! She, as well, serves as an inspiration for Giulietta, because she enjoys the freedom that Giulietta wishes for. She's independent, spontaneous, desired, whimsical, fun, and most of all, free. It's Suzy that serves as the final push that Giulietta needs to grasp for her own freedom. And in the end, she succeeds...I think?

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)

My wonderful friend Nichole recently got Netflix, so we went back and forth for the better part of a night, recommending films to one another. I filled hers with Bergman, Cronenberg and Godard, while she insisted that I MUST MUST MUST see Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I'd wanted to see it anyway, so with a push like that, i was off and running.

What struck me most about the film was its sheer power. Some films try too hard to adopt a faux-documentary style to make things seem more real. Yet, Virginia Woolf owes its level of reality to great acting, well-defined characters and an unobtrusive style. Sometimes, you can tell when a story was adapted from a stage work. I suppose you could say the same about Virgina Woolf, but you're so absorbed in the film that you don't notice. I really got the feeling that was watching the disintegration of a marriage right before my own eyes.

We're left to wonder what happened at the end. Did Martha and George behave like this because they were drunk, or is this their normal way of behavior? Is it all simply a result of Martha letting a small secret slip? Is this something that's been building up? It could be any combination of these things, really, and the joy of the film is trying to decide for yourself why these things happened. I use the word 'joy' hesitantly, because there's no joy in the film. It's a draining experience to go through.

Towards the end of the film, after Martha and Nick have slept together, she drifts back to George, as they go back to laughing and hurling verbal javelins at one another. They've re-aligned, as the audience assumes they always do, and have left Nick and his marriage on unstable ground. They joke around with each other, making up elaborate facades, and the following exchange takes place:

Martha: That is not true. That is such a lie!
George: You must not call everything a lie, Martha. Must she?
Nick: I don't know when you people are lying or what.
Martha: You're damn right!
George: You're not supposed to.

The frame from the film, above, shows the skewed camera angle during this moment, heightening the abstract and frightening effect they have on Nick. Though, it also serves as a subliminal landmark for the viewer, as the idea of lying is about to come into question, when the fate of their child is revealed.

After all is revealed, Nick and Honey exit and the camera shoots everyone from a high angle. The camera adopts a very subjective angle, looking down on the characters, as they've got nothing left to hide. Also, it serves to show the horrible state that the characters and their environment are left in, the physical and psychological mess that they now have to deal with.

Consider this a behind-the-scenes look at modium.org. I usually take notes while I watch a film, to remember important points or thoughts that ran across my mind. Occasionally, I'll watch a film and not blog about it for a few days. After that, it gets fuzzy and I forget what the shorthand I've used means. I'm sitting here, trying to make sense of my notes on Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits, and some of the stuff just plain baffles me. Take a look:

Dizzying, mirrors, no face - Auto. - spirits inspiring - unexpect. distancing - Suzy, ideal, everything J. wants - Lesbian? - Womans psyche - 1st half, struggling direcion - flashlight, least expected

I mean, really, WTF?

The Thief of Bagdad (1940)

I don't really know why, but Thief of Bagdad didn't do much for me. It reminds me a lot of Selznik's epics from the early Hollywood days. Movies with a lot of spectacle but ultimately hollow. Not that the Thief of Bagdad is a bad movie, it's pretty good as far as entertainment value, especially for young kids, but it just didn't have much effect on me. There wasn't much excitement or personality to the film, and the acting was so terrible that it distracted me from the film quite a bit.

The Last Wave (1977)

Well, another Aussie flick in honor of Exiled at 24fps, heh. I really like Weir's Hollywood films, Truman Show, Master and Commander, so I've wanted to check out his ol' Aussie films for a while. I decided to go with The Last Wave and was really impressed. In some ways, it's a standard supernatural/psychological thriller/mystery, you know, that genre. But, it really transcends it to become a nightmarish adventure of a film.

I like the way that you're not beaten over the head with the Burton/water connection early on. In fact, if you go into the film without much prior knowledge, it just might go unnoticed until late in. All of the rain, water, drizzle, hail, puddles, are all well-photographed, evoking not only horror in parts, but beauty as well. It must have been extremely hard to work with so much water, but the effect is stunning.

I loved the beginning of the film, the school that gets bombarded with rain, hail and wind. It really seems like complete chaos has been unleashed, and is a great note on which to start off such an unusual film .

The theme of the film seems to be nature meets civilization, the way the tribes operate in the city unnoticed, and the way the natural elements like wind and rain tear through the man-made city. Kind of reminded me of Reggio's brilliant Koyaanisqatsi. But, the message, if it has any, is kind of unclear. But, I don't think that Weir is really trying to say much with The Last Wave, just telling a very compelling story. And at that, he really succeeds here.

That Obscure Object of Desire (1977)

I'm not a big fan of the late-career Bunuels, pretty much everything after Belle de Jour. Not that they're bad films, I like them, only they pale in comparison to his earlier, more surrealist stuff. Maybe I'm warming up to them, but I'm liking each late Bunuel more than the last. His last film, That Obscure Object of Desire is right up there with the Exterminating Angel and the rest of Bunuel's early masterpieces.

Broken down, it's the story of an older man who becomes completely obsessed with a young woman, his maid. She seems very fickle about him, one moment she loves him, the next she never wants to see him again, then she's back in love with him, and so on. It's kind of amusing at first, and somewhat annoying as you can see it coming even though Mateo is blinded by his own desire for Conchita. However, the annoyance isn't due to poor filmmaking, as that's how Bunuel wanted the story to go. By the end, when she arranges for Mateo to watch her make love with another man, the effect is horrifying, as you've witnessed her completely ruin this man entirely. Or, maybe it was just me.

The capriciousness of women seems to be a favorite subject of Bunuel's, especially if you remember back to L'Age D'Or. Though, Bunuel isn't really a misogynist, as Belle de Jour could prove. In fact, it seems like anytime you try to pigeonhole Bunuel's work, or make any claims, the films seem to dance around them. Bunuel, for all his angst and attacks on just about everything, still remains playful in his work. You can get a sense of this in his films, as even the most serious of subjects are poked fun at. Bunuel's the kind of guy that you could imagine saying the most despicable things, then saying "Just kidding!" and you'd forgive him.

I realized that the desire is what drove Mateo on throughout the film, something that seemed within his grasp, yet always slightly out of reach. This is touched on by Conchita, and though he denies it, I think it's true. What's fascinating is, in the interview included with the Criterion disc, Bunuel seems to refute any attempts to analyze his work. There's a scene early on in the train, after Mateo has dumped a bucket of water on Conchita and the passengers try to figure out why he's done it. This seems to be the most autobiographical part of any Bunuel film, to me. People around him trying desperately to figure out the 'why', while he just sits back and grins.

The Virgin Spring (1960)

A while back, I used to write for a few gaming sites; Gaming-Legacy.net and EndoNintendo, just pretend you've heard of them. It was strictly pro bono, just to get my voice out there, to sharpen my skills and write about stuff I enjoyed. I remember writing a review for a GBA game, GT Advance, which I'd bought at launch. It was a very good game, overall, but had one fatal flaw, it had no battery-backup, and therefore, required an extremely long password to be put in anytime you wanted to play. I remember trying to judge the game fairly, but I kept coming back to the password problem, which detracted from almost every aspect of the game.

Now, I feel the same way, somewhat, because the only copy of Bergman's The Virgin Spring I could find was dubbed into English. Normally, I wouldn't bother, but it's Bergman, and I really could NOT find a subtitled copy. It's not Bergman's fault that it was dubbed, but Embassy Video, who released said VHS tape many years ago and surely are long out of business. Yet, despite that, it detracted quite a bit from the experience, unfortunately. It's hard to stay fair, but I think I did pretty well. The dub isn't too terrible, and the film isn't as dialogue-heavy as, say, a Godard film.

In some ways, it's different from most of Bergman's other films, but which one isn't different from the rest, really? But, the Virgin Spring was later remade by Wes Craven as Last House on the Left, which I completely abhored. bergman's film, is different from the rest, though, because it's driven more by events rather than characters. In the beginning, there's a sense that the plot is building up, and you're driven to watch simply to see what will happen next.

Bergman seems to focus a lot more on the Father character than on the daughter, Karin. Plenty of focus is given to Karin in the beginning, of course, but it's only late in the film, when the parents take center stage, that the story really comes into fruition. Likewise, Craven seems to focus a lot more on the rape in itself, and makes the rest of the film seem like merely an afterthought or an obligation.

Early on, Bergman emphasizes Karin's innocence, and her father's love for her. Obviously, this makes her murder all the more effective, and subsequently, her father's revenge. Yet, at the same time, Bergman gives her plenty of less-than-flattering traits, such as her stubbornness to wake up, showing that she's pretty spoiled by her parents, and they let her get away with far more. This gives the Ingeri character a lot more depth, as you wonder why she doesn't help Karin when she sees her getting hurt. When Ingeri explains why she prayed for something to happen to Karin, you see her side as well, and at least understand where she's coming from, if you don't agree. Yet, depending upon the viewer's faith, they may or may not believe that her prayers factored into Karin's death.

The film really comes to a head when the father takes his revenge on the herdsmen. When the first one is killed, he runs towards the window and, concordantly, the camera, when Von Sydow's character murders him. It's a beautiful movement, as you can almost see the life being drained from him, slowly. Then, as he murders the second herdsman, Nykvist shoots them both through the bonfire. You get a sense that both murderers are now burning in Hell, or will soon be. Nykvist's camera is elegant all throughout, often times seemingly invading the characters and their own space, showing them in a very candid, naked way.

Un Chien Andalou (1929)

So, I finally saw Un Chien Andalou. I'd have to say that it made no sense whatsoever. I'd also have to say that I loved it. Obviously, that sounds like a stupid statement, but I don't think Bunuel meant for it to have any kind of significance. It's just like a dream, a stream of surreal images flowing alone with no regard for comprehension. It's funny, you can almost get a sense of the enthusiasm that Bunuel and Dali had when making the film. Two young guys, at the height of their creativity, drunk on power, simply creating.

I'm not going to pretend to understand it, because I didn't, and I think it defies comprehension. Simply a great, surreal work of art.

The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974)

From the first time I saw Aguirre, I knew Werner Herzog was a filmmaker I can really identify with. Aguirre is long overdue for a re-viewing, so I'll hold off on my in-depth thoughts, and the same goes for Fitzcarraldo. I've also seen My Best Fiend, Burden of Dreams and Incident at Loch Ness, and despite all their greatness, they're documentaries about or starring Herr Herzog, so I'm not sure if they'd count towards the 'real' Herzog count. When I first read the synopsis for The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, I knew it was a film I'd have to see ASAP. It was one of those films that, just from the synopsis, I thought it would be amazing and would immediately become one of my favorites. Well, Kaspar Hauser doesn't quite have that impact at first. In fact, about halfway through, I was kind of unsure if it was an amazing piece of work, or merely average. Though, it really gets under your skin and sticks in your head.

Supposedly, it's a true story, but Herzog also said the same thing about Aguirre, so we know better than to trust him. In essence, it functions almost like a fable, with an intriguing story, with plenty of metaphor underneath its surface. Probably the best aspect of the movie is the performance by Bruno S., a street performer, 'found' by Herzog, who turns in an incredible performance. It's not so much a performance as it is simply his presence. He's got this really intense stare, and you can almost see right into his soul sometimes.

Most of the film is incredibly detailed, especially in the beginning, which might turn some off, but really adds to the mood of the film. Herzog shows his 'education' in really long takes that are sure to try some viewers' patience, but really characterize Kaspar. The same goes for a later scene, in which the authorities rifle through Kaspar's belongings, examining each little thing for clues.

I really liked seeing Kaspar's thoughts on some things. He grew up inside of a tower, and later returning, he concludes that the tower is not where he grew up, because when he was inside, he saw walls all around, but outside, he sees no walls. Yes, it sounds insane, but to hear Kaspar explain it, it somehow makes sense. And then he asks why he can't play the piano like somebody else can. He can do other things just as easily, so why not the piano? It's extremely strange logic, because we're used to seeing things our own way, but if you really open your mind and try to see through his eyes, it makes a lot of sense, in a way.

The entire film is a mystery, and despite its ending, which offers up a fairly clear-cut solution, nothing is really solved, when you think about it. Many would simply accept it, the initial letter outlining Kaspar's situation, the final letter, the ending sequence where we learn why Kaspar was the way he was. Yet, who's to say either letter is real? And, does simply examining his brain, physically, really explain why Kaspar is Kaspar?