The Constant Gardener (2005)

Monsieur Luke said it was "outstanding" so, I couldn't resist. A little bit of trivia about yours truly, the last time I saw a film in a theater was December 12, 2004. Yup, it's been a hectic (not to mention mostly unimpressive) year. But, I'm turning things around now, starting with The Constant Gardener, and what a way to start.

The funny thing about the film is that, once it gets going, it's most like a run-of-the-mill thriller. Going into the film cold, you might think it's a drama, or even a political statement on pharmaceutical companies. While it encompasses those things, it's far more than that, and it is, indeed, outstanding.

I really enjoyed Mierelles' previous film, City of God, and it's interesting to see him succeed again with The Constant Gardener, but also to see him beginning to develop his own cinematic style. It's mostly a feeling of atmosphere and great storytelling, but you can really feel some similarities between the two films in terms of editing. Between some scenes, there are these great, energetic montages that hurtle you into the next scene.

One thing that I was thinking about during the film is Justin's overall journey. Sure, it's interesting that he suspects his wife of cheating, then realizes she was really on this secret, noble quest. Towards the end, he strives to follow in her footsteps and finish what she'd started, and obviously, try to avenge her death. But, I couldn't help but think there was something else propelling him. Kind of like in George Sluizer's The Vanishing (Spoorloos), it's man's basic curiosity. It's easy to understand, he's curious, he wants to know all there is to know, all that his wife couldn't find out. It's explored far deeper and more implicitly in Sluizer's film, but I think that it's also buried underneath the surface in The Constant Gardener.

The plot develops very well, and despite some of the secondary characters remaining mostly two-dimensional, the characters are all well-defined, especially Fiennes', due in no small part to his acting. It's a very strong, very involving film. I think you'd be hard pressed to find somebody disappointed by the movie.

Shoot the Piano Player (1960)

So, me and Truffaut have this kind of love/hate thing going on. Actually, it's more like I really like most of his work, but I don't think that I like it as much as I should. This, and only this, keeps me up at night. Only, not really. But, since reading his collection of writings, The Films In My Life, I think I have a better understanding of why he made films and why they are the way they are. He once said, and I'm paraphrasing of course, that he didn't like a film unless it expressed the joy or fun of making a film, and that's something that always sticks out in my mind when I see one of his works. You can really sense his joy behind the camera, freewheeling his way through a film, no matter what.

Shoot the Piano Player is, in some ways, a very conventional gangster/noir film. But, there's really not much darkness or cynicism that you can see in traditional films, but there's a strong sense of character and emotional undercurrent that is often lacking, not only in films of the genre, but in most film. I was struck with how unpredictable the narrative was, and despite having seen many many films of the genre before, I had no idea what was coming next in Piano Player.

I really noticed Truffaut's views on women in the film. In the car, the gangsters are talking to Charlie and Lena, and they say that women secretly love the attention that men give them on the streets and they try their hardest to attract it. Later on, they say something along the lines of, "no wonder women are always horny, their legs are always rubbing together under their skirts!" Between this, Jean-Pierre Leuad's constant questioning in Day for Night ("Are women magic?" "No, but their legs are") and the famous line in Jules et Jim, "Your breasts are the only bombs I've ever loved," I really get a feeling Francois had a deep admiration for the female form. But, not in a dirty, lecherous way. And even if you feel that way, you can't hold it against the little guy.

Gerry (2002)

So, my good mate Exiled recently wrote about Gus Van Sant's Elephant and had a lot of good things to say about it. Little did I know that it's part of a trilogy, starting with Gerry and ending with Last Days, which I've read some pretty dismal reviews of. Yet, reading about Gerry, I was immediately drawn to it, just because it seems like something that's right down my alley. I've read almost nothing but praise for it. So, I certainly wasn't prepared for a film that was such a boring, dare I say..chore to watch.

I have nothing but admiration for Van Sant's film, though. He's done something completely different and original in a time where it's hard to find a dozen films worth seeing a year. It's very unconventional, and the tone of the film is great. But, it's just so incredibly boring. There are a few long, unbroken takes of the two guys simply walking in the desert. No dialogue, nothing happening at all, they're just walking. I'm all for setting the right mood in a film, but to me, it just seemed like most of it serves no purpose whatsoever.

What's intriguing though, is that you never learn anything substantial about either character. In fact, we never even know who they actually are. In that respect, it reminds me of a kind of cinematic ink blot test, where you could show it to many different people and get many different responses. Are they friends, are they brothers, are they lovers, are they enemies, are they strangers? Heck, do they even really exist?

Personally, I didn't like it, but a film like Gerry is extremely subjective, and I firmly believe in the axiom that one man's trash is another man's treasure. The reasons that I disliked the film could be precisely the same reasons you love it. And hey, I said the same things about 2001 the first time I saw it on a pan&scan VHS tape years ago, so you never know.

The Golden Coach (1953)

I don't know how he does it, but Renoir is awesome. Every film I see is great, it's not even arguable. And yet, he's not even over the top about it at all. He just makes it look so easy, so effortless, that you can't help but admire his talent.

Right from the start, The Golden Coach is filled with theatrical touches, never hiding the truth for one moment, that it's a production in the truest sense. And yet, it's about the theater itself, so it's got that self-referential thing going on, too. The film itself is a celebration of all arts, especially the theater and the cinema. But, that phrase struck me the most overall, that it is, above all, a celebration.

I've always loved Anna Magnani. She's not particularly attractive, in fact, kind of old and frumpy-looking. She's loud and brash, assertive and quick to shout. She seems to be most of the things that a man (or at least this man) wouldn't want in a woman. Yet, she's still got an incredible amount of talent, and most of all, sex appeal. I don't even know what it is, but she's one of those people who lights up the screen whenever she appears. Just watching her in the film, slowly falling in love, going through a whirl of emotions, and her exhilaration from finally winning over her audience, it's great.

Yet, the picture is very adult in its frankness and its appeal. It tries to explore some very complex themes, especially relating to the theater. Many people have examined acting as a craft, and how it carries over to an artist's life off of the stage. Magnani asks, "Where does the theater end and real life begin?"

Badlands (1973)

I originally wanted to see Badlands because I love True Romance and Hans Zimmer lifted the main theme of Badlands for part his True Romance score. If you've noticed, True Romance is one of my favorites, most likely due to its effects on me personally moreso than the quality of the film itself. But then again, that's what cinema's all about, right?

I paid little attention to Malick, especially since I didn't care much for the Thin Red Line, though it is due for a re-viewing. But Badlands, I don't know. It's pretty good, for what it is. Good, solid characters and plot, but it didn't leave too big an impression on me.

The similarities to True Romance are pretty obvious. The xylophone theme is very romantic in a quirky, unsentimental way, and serves both films very well. Both films use a female protagonist, narrating at key points in the film, with a southern accent. Both of them state, in the beginning of the film, that they had no idea how things would end up. But, that's what they're both about. Neither woman realized that one day their lives would change so suddenly and inexorably. Yet, they got roped up in such curcumstances simply because of love.

I have to wonder, again, about Sissy Spacek's character, Holly, and what she's really like, like before she met Kit. We know a bit about her upbringing due to her character and environment, but not much else. But, I suppose that's the point, that we get to know her through the events of the film, not through previous exposition. I will say, though, Kit is one helluva likable guy, for a fairly ruthless killer. Heck, even the officers who arrest him fall under his charm. So, really, what chance did Holly stand?

The Prefab People (1982)

So, more Bela Tarr. I actually liked this one a bit more than Family Nest, but not by much, unfortunately. I really liked it for the first few scenes, but then it started to get really boring and once again dragged on and on. There are a few very good moments, but they're like islands in the middle of an ocean of endlessly boring scenes.

The film is smaller in scope than Family Nest, and centers almost exclusively on a young couple. In Family Nest, the fact that there's a whole family in close-quarters, all bickering, with disorienting closeups and poor subtitles really made it hard to differentiate between the characters themselves and to follow the story of the film. But, Prefab People has a much more intimate feel, which it seems Tarr handles far better. The characters still feel very real, which is good, because I think everyone can relate to couples arguing over things like money, if not themselves, then something they've witnessed firsthand.

The film has no regard for time and/or explanation. Tarr jumps from one scene to another without explaining where or when they are, and for all we know, it could be a flashback, a fantasy, or simply a future event. This both helps and hinders the film, I think, but you can really argue it either way. The film begins and ends with nearly-identical scenes of the man trying to move out of the house, suddenly. I say nearly-identical, because I can't tell if they're exactly the same, and they felt kind of different to me. But, Tarantino and Kubrick both used the flashback-with-different-events trick. I think this probably says something about the inescapable nature of the lives we live, how we can bicker and argue and try to leave, but we just can't, no matter what.

Quai des Orfevres (1947)

Clouzot is an interesting filmmaker. His work's often compared to Hitchcock, yet he gets nowhere near the same amount of acclaim as Hitchcock, nor his French contemporaries. His films aren't unneccessarily deep, meaning that they're just as deep as they need to be and no more. This isn't really a bad thing, especially not if you're in the mood for an entertaining thriller, which is precisely what Quai des Orfevres is.

It's hard to find things to say about it, because it's simply a very good film. The film starts out slowly, plotwise, but draws the viewer into its world with its characters and very witty dialogue. Before long, the tension begins to build and never really lets up until the climax. There are a few great scenes that really stick out in your memory, like when the inspector uses the piece of paper with Brignon's address on it, and you're hoping that he doesn't see the address. Or, another great one, when the cabbie comes down to identify the blonde woman he gave a ride to, and the camera pans past them, one by one, as they all react, of course, except for Dora, the guilty party.

It's not going to change your life or make you ponder deep questions about the nature of the universe, but it's a damn fun ride.

Red Desert (1964)

Unfortunately, Red Desert is the last Antonioni film I'm likely to see for a while, as I've exhausted all of his available films. It's considered one of his best, yet isn't out on DVD, save for an over-expensive OOP Image release, that seems to have a print run of dozens. It's strange, I really love most of it, but some parts of it left me a little cold.

Its opening credits are underlined with music that initially sounds very alien, almost as it was ripped from a sci-fi film. Yet, as we listen, we discover it's just normal machinery echoing in a factory. A woman warbles a tune, but she does it in a way that she sounds like a theremin, which of course is the instrument of choice for creating otherworldly soundtracks. This, I think is the theme of Red Desert, shown simply in the music of the opening credits; a modern, mechanized world that serves only to completely alienate. Yes, if this sounds familiar, it's pretty much the theme of EVERY SINGLE ANTONIONI FILM. Yet, he pulls it off so well that we forgive ol' Mike.

Antonioni uses a lot of very warm colors, which serve the Desert aspect of the film, but also add to the alienating effect of the film, somehow. The lighting seems to be very atypical. Everytime I'd see Monica Vitti in her distracting brunette wig, I can't help but wonder how a different director would have lit her, more glamorously, for sure. In fact, her entire performance, wig aside, is great, and most likely the best of hers that I've seen. It's incredibly nuanced, as you try to figure out if she's 'okay', if we're witnessing hallucinations or skewed events, how she's going to take things. Slowly, as the film goes on, we realize that we're witnessing a mental collapse of her character, as she acts more and more irrationally. The climax, I think, is a brilliant moment where the fog envelops all of the characters, as you see them all slowly fade away, as if they're ghosts of something that Giuliana will never have; comfort, understanding and closeness.

I think that Corrado is an atypical Antonioni male. Yes, he doesn't understand for the most part, and ends up using Giuliana (I think?), but Antonioni seemed to imbue him with a lot of his own traits and his own emotions. He does this in all of his pictures, but it's almost always with the women and very rarely with the men. Yet, when Corrado makes his speech, illustrating how progress is more important in today's world, than justice, I can't help but imagining the celebrated director putting himself up on the screen.

The drug scene, or what I believe is the drug scene, is strange, to me. It seems kind of out of place, and the characters all seem to act very erratically. Maybe it's Antonioni's way of showing how we fill the voids within ourselves, with things like possessions and drug experiences. But, I didn't really care much for the whole sequence, though it does have its nice moments, especially Vitti's acting, where she displays her character's inability to connect and her further breakdown.

The drug scene, and the final 'love' scene between Corrado and Giuliana, the best way I can describe them is grotesquely erotic. They're sexy and enticing, visually and mentally stimulating and tantalizing, yet at the same time, it's horrible to watch and seems to be disgusting. The scene between Corrado and Giuliana is great, though, because it's very abstract, both visually and thematically. I felt my brain working feverishly to try to figure out, not only what was going on onscreen, but what it meant and why it was happening. It's sad that, these days, films very rarely let you think about things for yourself, and work things out on your own, because, personally, I love that.

Pather Panchali (1955)

Yeah, I finally saw a Satyajit Ray film. It was somewhat intimidating, because of Ray's and the film's high stature, but it's a very engaging and touching portrait of family life, and growing up and coming of age amidst suffering and hardships.

I was reminded somewhat of Truffaut's The 400 Blows, early on, because they both detail a child's life, growing up, in their own corners of the Earth at their own times. Yet, bulk of the stories are completely different, the underlying theme is still somewhat similar. Most of all though, I was reminded of Renoir's work, and that of French poetic realism. The world is shown very frankly, very realistically, though there is a lyricism and an undercurrent of hope running throughout. The way that Ray makes the film is not with grand gestures, but with small, deft strokes.

I liked the way that the film showed seemingly insignificant events, like the candy man coming around, that adults really ignore, but from a child's view, they are key highlights and go far towards establishing their memories and determining their personas throughout life. I'm thinking of the scene where Apu breaks into his sister's toy box, and knows he's been caught. Instead of terror, when she chases him, he's enjoying it, he's having a lot of fun running around being chased. Until the moment where he's caught and in trouble, he's enjoying every moment. I think that Apu himself represents his parents' hopes and dreams, as most children do for their own parents. We want our children to grow up and be what we never were, achieve what we didn't and live up to their full potential. And, since it's a trilogy, I actually look forward to seeing how wee Apu makes out.

The Sweet Hereafter (1997)

The Sweet Hereafter is one of those films that I'd never even heard of until everyone and their brother recommended it to me. Still, it took me a while to see, but eventually climbed its way to the top of my Netflix queue, triumphantly. Although I loved it and thought it was a great film, some aspects of it were a mixed bag, and I can't figure out if that's intentional or not.

Mitchell, the lead, played by Ian Holm, is a lawyer who treks to a small Canadian town in hopes of representing its citizens in a trial after an earlier school bus accident claims many children's lives. Now, he's the main character, so it's important to establish sympathy for him, make sure the audience connects with him. While a good job is done with flashbacks to his early days as a Father and his tenuous relationship with his addict daughter, when he speaks to the people in the town, he seems very smarmy, like a typical lawyer. He uses a lot of lawyer-speak cliches and pushes them all to reveal intimate details of a horrible event in hopes that they'll get closure through money. Yet, his reflection is all done years later, if I remember correctly, so it's possible the events in the small town left him changed. I really want to see it again soon, to try and work things out in my head.

The style of the film is subtle, but very effective. Egoyan does a great job of letting most of the film speak for itself, and only punctuating key moments with stylistic flourishes. I admired the way that the film unfolds, in the future, yet flashing back to the very beginning, moving forward in time. The way that the movie is balanced between the soft, affecting moments and the very rare 'emergency' moments, I really dug.

It took me a long while to really understand the significance of the pied piper story that is read throughout the film, but it clicked at the end. Nicole's Father is a sort of pied piper, in that he controls his own daughter and, essentially I suppose, charms her. He leads her along, telling her to lie and cover these things up, and she does because of the gentle domination he has over her. Slowly, she realizes what's more important to her, and she reveals it all at the one junction where it really matters, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. It's kind of confusing, in some ways, because the film doesn't reveal instantly whose story is really true, but if you've been paying attention to the emotions running through the film, it's very obvious.

Elena and Her Men (1956)

I've loved Ingrid Bergman for a long time. I first saw her in Notorious, and back then, I couldn't tell one musty old Hitchcock leading lady from the next. Yet, when I saw Casablanca, when she walked into Rick's Cafe Americane, I was floored. In an instant, her beautiful face and great performance in Notorious all came back to me. I've seen around 12 of her films now, give or take, and she's probably my personal favorite actress of all-time. However, seeing some of her early, lesser-quality Swedish films and reading in Ingmar Bergman's autobiography how difficult and ignorant she was to work with, my interest has waned. But maybe I need some Ilsa Lund to rekindle my spirits?

Elena and Her Men is a huge misstep for Renoir and Bergman, or My Ingie as I used to refer to her (only in the company of my ex, I assure you). It's not a bad film, but it's not a good one either. It has a few good, funny moments, such as her husband's horny son who hits on everyone but the girl he's to be married to, and some great character beats between Elena and, surprise surprise, her men. But, mostly, it's just a formulaic, muddled hodgepodge of lackluster plotting and poor political intrigue. Bergman plays Elena with a great depth, surprisingly, but it's unfortunate that her character isn't written with half of the personality that she brings to the table.