Day 3

PRO:

At the End of Daybreak (Ho Yuhang)

mixed:

Melody for a Street Organ (Kira Muratova)

Only in a Muratova film do characters lie peacefully while screaming, grieve while hiccuping, console with peculiar hollowness. Ostensibly about two ghostlike, chubby kids struggling to find their father, her latest brims with a fetish for loud personalities and the deeply nasty irony that scarcely shows itself yet seems omnipresent. While this is not per se an engaging film, Muratova has a rich, indefatiguable sense of counterpoint: despicable gluttony and exuberant joy of gambling in the same shot; the film takes care to distinguish that a homeless woman’s singing is well-liked and her stench despised. And yet this is all reductive: Muratova’s purely musical direction of actors demands to be experienced, exhausting as it is.

Enter the Void (Gaspar Noe)

con:

The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)

I walked out 15 minutes early to get to the Ho Yuhang, although Haneke’s latest contains just a few actively bad moments: the doctor scolding his wife, for example, feels like Bergman at his worst, a painful display of cruelty revealing nothing about character. Mostly it’s solemn—sometimes to good effect, when sadism is downplayed—but I don’t think Haneke’s aversion to humor does him any favors. Stilted attempts to show social awkwardness show the director’s clumsy hand with actors, with arbitrary pauses in conversation standing in for rhythm and nuance.

W/O:

All Fall Down (Philip Hoffman)

Hoffman’s home movie-cum-video essay demands its audience’s acceptance of its author’s twisted ethics early on, aligning us with himself against the Man early on by appropriating his own footage after missing out on royalties. I couldn’t take it, and hurried out after about 20 minutes, following the second title displaying the amount of money for which Hoffman just compensated himself by putting his own images onscreen. The guy’s like a disgruntled Jonas Mekas; can't wait for the sequel, As I Was Moving Ahead, I Occasionally Encountered Investors Who Totally Ripped Me Off.

Days 1 and 2

pro:

La Pivellina (Tizza Covi and Rainer Frimmel)

Plays admirably loosely with latent tension for most of its running time, then ends, astonishingly, on exactly the right note. Covi and Frimmel (apparently their own 2-person crew) get one of the most amazingly natural and dynamic child performances I've seen, along with several adult ones to rival it. The "invisible" Dardennes-esque handheld camerawork, never in the wrong place, cements the team as naturals. I'm slightly unsure whether the various character threads pay off structurally, but the feeling upon exit was that they did.

Like You Know It All (Hong Sang-soo)

Starting to feel as if Hong, as of late, is caring less and less about structure and more about good scenes. Which is fine--much of the first half of his latest is, for this Hong aficionado, hilarious, deriving considerable laughs from awkward sycophantic encounters, and the dream sequence here is his finest yet--but I left with the vague feeling that I wouldn't have trouble indicting Hong for self-plagiarism, and much of the inventiveness of his early/mid-00's work stemmed from the experience of stepping back and looking at the big picture, which is all but non-existent here. Also, what is with the ever-so-slight zooms? For what little they add in precision, is Hong ignorant of or merely indifferent to their strangeness?

Hadewijch (Bruno Dumont)

Best scene of the festival and perhaps all year is the bar conversation between Yassine and Celine, which is as low-key as it is intensely moving. Few works of art so evocatively straddle the thin line between spiritual and carnal love. However, the Nassir material is nearly all either clumsy or deeply flawed, tainting a rigorous Bresson imitation like a, well, chatty pedagogue. Why does Dumont go out of his way to make Celine appear relatively normal and socialized only to well... y'know? I'm also uncertain that Dumont was wise to begin treating his lead actress like Maria Falconetti. Nevertheless, this picture is front- and back-loaded with beautiful stuff, and speaking of intensely moving, it's nice to see the oft-maligned Dumont be applauded at a TIFF screening for (perhaps) the first time ever.

mixed:

Face (Tsai Ming-Liang)

Most of the pleasure I took away from this movie involves imagining the phone call Tsai gave Mathieu Amalric, explaining the nature of the latter's "cameo," itself a self-contained Warholian short. Otherwise, WTFOMGBBQ.

con:

Dogtooth (Yorgos Lanthimos)

Inscrutably pretentious, or pretentiously inscrutable. Either way, forced touches like jump-cutting non-diegetic music, deliberately obscure dialogue, and deliberately obscure camerawork a la Lucrecia Martel add flame to the fire. Can't figure out whether the film's defenders find it absurdly funny or incisive: the humor seemed to me akin to the joke in Period Film X when Character Y remarks that Real Life Event Z would never actually happen, and as far as taking the movie seriously, I found the actors so mysteriously mannered that the audience must either A) invent an unseen Big Brother type or B) diagnose every character as severely autistic in order to grant performance tone meaning.

CON:

Broken Embraces (Pedro Almodovar)

Almodovar appears to have replaced any productive irony or distance from melodrama with irritating, tongue-in-cheek asides. The maturity of his late style has apparently molded into smugness. Will he find his way again? I’m tempted not to find out…

L'enfer de Henri-Georges Clouzot (Serge Bromberg and Ruxandra Medrea)

The psychedelic screen tests surely merit a “huh,”; but I’d follow that with a prompt “let’s move on,” which Clouzot fanboy Bromberg heartily delays. As someone who’s just wrapped his first feature, it’s insulting to be fed anecdotes of the director’s borderline-incompetence—Clouzot appeared nervous and evasive, retook and reshot scenes endlessly—along with the implication that these qualities are somehow beneficial. If they are, prove it, rather than relying on the facile notion that madness = genius. The footage we see here, albeit out of context, is certainly less than phenomenal; a single YouTube clip of Josef von Sternberg’s unfinished I, Claudius struck me as more promising than anything here. Attempts to recreate the original L’enfer also ring hollow because Claude Chabrol, whom many cinephiles, including myself, consider superior to Clouzot, has already made it in full.

TIFF '09 Schedule

Hey all. An update on the movie: I'm a few days away from being wrapped. It's alternately been exhausting, exciting, and maddening, but nothing matters per se until I'm in front of an editing program, putting together the pieces.

That said, my first stop after the shoot will be, as usual, this year's Toronto International Film Festival. Who knows how many of these screenings I'll land, but this is the ticket order I sent:

Thu 10

L'enfer de Henri-Georges Clouzot (Serge Bromberg and Ruxandra Medrea)
Broken Embraces (Pedro Almodovar)

Fri 11

Like You Know It All (Hong Sang-soo)
Face (Tsai Ming-liang)
La Pivellina (Tizza Covi and Rainer Frimmel)
Hadewijch (Bruno Dumont)
Dogtooth (Yorgos Lanthimos)

Sat 12

Antichrist (Lars von Trier)
Melody for a Street Organ (Kira Muratova)
Irene (Alain Cavalier)
The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke)
Kelin (Ermek Tursunov)
Enter the Void (Gaspar Noe)

Sun 13

[La Pere de mes enfants (Mia Hansen-Løve)]
The Men Who Stare at Goats (Grant Heslov)
At the End of Daybreak (Ho Yuhang)
Independencia (Raya Martin)
Should I Really Do It? (Ismail Necmi)
Police, Adjective (Corneliu Porumboiu)

Mon 14

A Serious Man (Joel and Ethan Coen)
Survival of the Dead (George A. Romero)
Karaoke (Chris Chong Chan Fui)
Mall Girls (Katarzyna Roslaniec)
The Front Line (Renato De Maria)

Tue 15

Wild Grass (Alain Resnais)
Soul Kitchen (Fatih Akin)
Lebanon (Samuel Maoz)
Between Two Worlds (Vimukthi Jayasundara)
Tales From the Golden Age (Cristian Mungiu et al.)

Wed 16

Partir (Catherine Corsini) [Plan to swap for Leslie My Lame Is Evil (Reginald Harkema)]
Scheherazade, Tell Me a Story (Yousry Nasrallah)
Life During Wartime (Todd Solondz)
Every Day Is a Holiday (Dima El-Horr)
A Brand New Life (Ounie Lecomte)

Thu 17

Ajami (Scandar Copti and Yaron Shani)
Jaffa (Keren Yedaya)
La Donation (Bernard Emond)
The Search (Wan Ma Cai Dan)
The Happiest Girl in the World (Radu Jude)

Fri 18

Vincere (Marco Bellocchio)
Men on the Bridge (Asli Özge)
Huacho (Alejandro Fernández Almendras)
I Killed My Mother (Xavier Dolan)
Spring Fever (Lou Ye)
Nymph (Pen-Ek Ratanaruang)

Sat 19

Adrift (Bui Thac Chuyen)
White Material (Claire Denis)
Eyes Wide Open (Haim Tabakman)
Mother (Bong Joon-ho)
Happy End (Arnaud and Jean-Marie Larrieu)

Some notes, and a possible hiatus.

Hey all. Remember that feature I mentioned in the last post? Well, things have changed in the past week and a half and I just might be shooting it in July. Since I'm going to be spending the next month(s) prepping for it, in addition to summer coursework and an internship, there's no feasible way I can regularly manage this thing, but considering how infrequently updated it has been anyway, maybe things won't especially change. I don't know. I probably won't have time to watch much except perhaps, say, the occasional first-tier Rohmer, because I can't think of a better way to flex my filmmaking intuition. I'm approaching the busiest summer of my life, no doubt, and it'd be nice to just get everything I've written recently out there.

PRO:

La Collectionneuse (Eric Rohmer, 1967)

The Champ (King Vidor, 1931)
I’m beginning to get the hang of Vidor’s various good points: pulling the camera back from a group or even having a character turn away from the camera when things get emotional; flat delivery of dialogue written to indicate trust, used here to create one of cinema’s most ambiguous father-son relationships; a character (Linda here, Dora in The Wedding Night) whose affection is undesirable only so far as it’s out of sync with the beloved’s conflicted nature.

The Threepenny Opera (G.W. Pabst, 1931)
One envies the rich set design and array of extras, which allow Pabst to delicately emphasize shadowy peripheral business over the menace of the story. There’s heavily wrought satire about, rendered in really interesting ways: witness, for instance, how Polly sounds most sinister when she talks about transcending petty crime, or when she’s being victimized by her family.

pro:

Gift From Above (Dover Koshashvili, 2003)
An ensemble piece, steeped in cultural traditions I don’t entirely understand, but vibrant, funny and fearless enough to rival Late Marriage. Actually, Koshashvili’s implementation of nudity can feel borderline gratuitous: there’s no special reason, for example, to show budding perv Zaza’s genitalia sightings. But the film is blessedly casual about it.

The Scout’s Exploit (Boris Barnet, 1947)

Platinum Blonde (Frank Capra, 1931)
See entry on The Wedding Night: this device sticks out like a sore thumb when you’re exposed to it multiple times within the course of a week. Romance with Gallagher goes from tenderly repressed to tediously obvious; same with disdain for rich lifestyle. Stew’s self-aggrandizing speech foretells of a later, less restrained Capra. But the elite, armed with both dignity and snappy one-liners, occasionally show Stew up for the cruelty of his wit.

Kameradschaft (G.W. Pabst, 1931)
This looks like propaganda in retrospect, but without turning a blind eye to the dangerous appeal of sentiment. A precursor to today’s correctives (cf. Lost) to war-time xenophobia: Germans come off worse, unduly resenting the French, who are either beautiful or pitiable, and at worst sentimental. Ideologically tedious but very well constructed, often enough that the construction interferes with the tedium.

Bountiful Summer (Boris Barnet, 1950)
Not major Barnet, but never less than pleasant, this musical comedy offers ample drama without once straying from its socialist leanings.

Girls About Town (George Cukor, 1931)
Joel McCrea’s Jim skirts the line between complexity and having it both ways: he’s boring and shy, but also clever and charming. Somehow, although the film never beats you over the head with one quality or the other, the mixture is more muddled than penetrating. Likewise, the Wanda-Marie friendship bears some liking to Gentlemen Prefer Blondes—materialism vs. romance = codependence—but in execution, it’s a tad blandly agreeable.

mixed:

Boat People (Ann Hui, 1982)
Utterly conventional, except that Akutagawa is a brutal, sleazy hero, and Hui (just barely) gets some mileage out of emphasizing this when the script doesn’t exactly call for it. The To Minh subplot, on the other hand, is hopeless sensationalism.

Literature:

pro:

The Last Post (Ford Madox Ford, 1928)
Sheer collapse, of Tietjen’s propriety, Sylvia’s mania, Mark’s arrogance. Everyone must concede to Fate. But things feel anything but thematically blunt. Why does Ford turn his back on the core of the series? Audacious but puzzling. It’s hard not to genuflect before Ford’s erudite, tightly woven prose, even when it puzzles me.

Divisadero (Michael Ondaatje, 2007)

No One Belongs Here More Than You (Miranda July, 2007)

The Zen Master

I shot and edited this short video yesterday. Couldn't have done it without the help of my former roommate Frank Agrama, an accomplished filmmaker in his own right, whose camera was used. (Frank also plays the drummer.) With the project so fresh in my mind, any kind of distance on my part is pretty much impossible, but I basically consider this a quick warm-up before I start to think seriously about making a feature. So, with that in mind, here it is:

Wish fulfilled, I suppose.

PRO:

Tange Sazen and the Pot Worth a Million Ryo (Sadao Yamanaka, 1934)
Yamanaka’s genius is in presenting the comedy and pathos of this story in the same contemplative vein. Without seeing it, I can easily imagine a remake stripping Tange’s struggle to tell Yasu his father has died of dark humor, for example, or overplaying the hilarity of Genzaburo’s deal made with Tange during a raucous swordfight. In fact, sans its few sops to convention—e.g. Tange refusing to walk an archer home, followed by—screen wipe—Tange walking him home—this would be every bit the masterpiece that Humanity and Paper Balloons is.

The Last 15 (Antonio Campos, 2007)
In a crappy mood prior to viewing, which never bodes well for filmmakers whose work I’m unfamiliar with; claustrophobic compositions cloying; sound design overemphatic. Somehow I loved it anyway: tonally and conceptually, Campos is a stunner, deriving a great deal of restraint from subtly varying acting styles, and totally willing to let material trickle in that undermines big ideas. Now I’m excited to see Afterschool.

The Wedding Night (King Vidor, 1935)
I don’t know if the device of characters using fiction to talk about real life can ever work for me. I suspect it’s because I was weaned on sit-coms, which use the “subtext” of the device as free reign for blunt exaggeration. Nevertheless, Helen Vinson, the actress assigned to do it, is amazing as a woman forced to talk about her own impending devastation from the distance of an outsider. And the ending of the film is amazing, suggesting that Vidor’s intelligence is visual above all else.

pro:

Reckless (Victor Fleming, 1935)
Good—never jaw-droppingly distinctive but Fleming certainly grasps the better material here. (Which feels a bit weird, like a screwball comedy that’s been hijacked by a self-loathing philosopher. And indeed, a character stops telling a joke to say, “I’m just philosophizing…”) William Powell’s confession scene is memorable, as is his restrained portrait of heartbreak.

Okuni to Gohei (Mikio Naruse, 1952)
Somewhere between very good and exceptional in the Naruse canon, with two appealingly subdued lead performances. (It’s hard to imagine any other sort, given the material, which requires that Okuni and Gohei be indebted and opposed to each other in a bevy of ways.) I was sort of put off by Tomonojo’s creepy persistence at first, but it makes sense considering Okuni is never quite on the level with the men in her life.

Better Things (Duane Hopkins, 2008)
Lots of people dislike this film, and I guess I can see why. Its visuals—mostly up-close, with a barrage of angles—are both elegant and kind of indefensible. Hopkins aestheticizes its dead and dying subjects, but he isn’t abrasive about it. I was tempted to call his sensibility Bresson meets Seidl before realizing those directors’ devout might scowl at a style so lacking in rigor. But Hopkins’s actors feel Bressonian to me, and the range of human interest smacks of Seidl. I’m almost certain Hopkins would have garnered more attention from the auteurist crowd if he had trimmed his shot list by about two-thirds, which is a shame, because it’s a pretty good film anyway. Whether looking at beautiful people with ugly parts or ugly people doing beautiful things, at least Hopkins is consistent.

Il Divo (Paolo Sorrentino, 2008)
I thought of Hunger a bit, here: not only because, as abrasive stylists, Sorrentino and Steve McQueen are anomalies in the art-film world, but also because they both take care to settle the hell down, mid-film, for an extended pro-Bazin moment. I didn’t care for McQueen’s movie at all, including that moment: the loud material begs for a quiet eye, and the Bobby-priest scene reveals a director to whom actors are little more than monotonously impassioned mouthpieces. But frenetic as Sorrentino is, he’s also sensitive to personality. I don’t know whether to attribute the success of Il Divo to Sorrentino or Toni Servillo, whose performance—pathetic yet dignified, mannered in the most effective way—deflates Hunger-esque problems because it renders Andreotti’s convictions inextricable from his weirdness.

Gross Misconduct (Atom Egoyan, 1993)
One of the ultimate examples of direction-over-writing, Egoyan’s biopic succeeds almost fully neither on performances, which are wooden, nor on dialogue, which is often hopelessly bad, but by emphases created by editing and camera movements. Egoyan’s camera is like the more consumer-friendly version of Zhang’s (see below), punctuating a dramatic moment by lingering on vast planes of empty space or a violent outburst with a quizzical pause.

mixed:

Desert Dream (Zhang Lu, 2007)
“Tough sit” characterized much of my first Zhang experience, even though individual shots were very striking. My fave: the one in which a mother heads coolly into a tent to remove her child, exits with the reluctant child, who begs the environmentalist tent-owner to let him stay, which causes the mother to sullenly head back into the tent. I also liked when the slave-owner asked the environmentalist to buy the mother and child, after which the environmentalist’s response actually appears harsh. If only this kind of marvelously complex power play were present into the majority of other takes, many of which are stunted in their alignment with the action for no apparent reason.

Nô (Robert Lepage, 1998)
Lepage is the sort of director one treasures for emphasizing things nobody else would bother with: the way the Patricia forces a smile and lowers her voice at the same time, for example, when she tries to convince Sophie she liked her play. And then there’s the lovely final take, in which Lepage is momentarily possessed by the spirit of Rohmer. But the visuals are generally too haphazard and the throughline too vague to make much of an impact.

Iri (Zhang Lu, 2008)
Based on the gorgeously nuanced opening, in which the significance of the Iri explosion is denied and confirmed in the same breath, I thought I’d have an easier time with this than Desert Dream. Alas, aside from several post-Dumont outbursts of sexual violence waiting in the wings, there’s little to imbue Zhang’s compositions—which often feel like a subdued version of Tsai—with substance. One commonality, I suppose, between this and the earlier film, is that Zhang wants us to carefully regard not only the connections between shots A and B but between, say, shots A and R. It’s easy to notice the camera sitting in the same corner of the same restaurant during different scenes placed an hour apart, and perhaps harder to divine why its placement is so important… to which I can merely shrug and admit I’d rather not watch films as if I’m preparing for a research paper.

Literature:

PRO:

No More Parades (Ford Madox Ford, 1925)
While Some Do Not… is written in a precisely observational mode reminiscent of the stoic way the series’ hero Tietjens presents himself—thus making Tietjens’s inner life, as well as the effects of his perverse discipline, tantalizingly enigmatic—the second novel in the series gets progressively manic, mirroring Tietjens’s war-time anxieties. But Ford has perfected the art of turning neurotic meandering into a game, deriving the most possible pleasure from thoughts bordering on indistinct. It also offers more supporting material than the first novel—thank god, if you happen to be saddled with a Vietnam-vet professor who identifies with the character and clings to his sentiments—to refute readings of Tietjens as the last honorable man in a corrupt world, e.g., during the long conversation with the general in which Tietjens’s practicality is directly and articulately challenged.

A Man Could Stand Up – (Ford Madox Ford, 1926)
Weird stuff going on: deadpan wit used to lionize a serious man; Valentine becoming, via the delirious loneliness of war, Tietjens’s great love, a sentimental refuge more than a person; Tietjens writing a sonnet in the midst of battle, and the soldier who loses an eye for him appreciating it. These novels elude shape, or perhaps I can’t grasp it.

pro:

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (Haruki Murakami, 2006)
I actually find Murakami more troublesome in short story form than in novels, because one of the great pleasures of the latter is the way incidents pile inexorably on one another, perplexing reader and characters alike. His tone is much more impressive than his worldview—often deliberately reductive—but the right tone goes a long way.

I really need to update this more often.

PRO:

The Girl With the Golden Eyes (Jean-Gabriel Albicocco, 1961)
Remember My Name (Alan Rudolph, 1978)
The Class (Laurent Cantet, 2008)

pro:

Mes petites amoureuses (Jean Eustache, 1974)
Somehow I connect entirely with the emotions Eustache communicates—few filmmakers employ the dissolve as persuasively—but not his episodic structure: as the ending makes clear, Daniel barely progresses in any discernible way, and any lessons that clumsy amorous encounters teach him remain rather obscure. And yet, reading what I’ve just written, I’m not sure what the problem is, because youth doesn’t necessarily wear minute advances on its sleeve. I suspect if the film were spliced into several shorts, I’d prefer almost all of them to the feature. The narration—sometimes redundant, sometimes unnecessary—could use some work, but maybe I should just stop mentally comparing it to Diary of a Country Priest. (God help those using latter-day Malick as a standard.)

Beeswax (Andrew Bujalski, 2009)
Charly (Isild Le Besco, 2007)

Late Autumn (Yasujiro Ozu, 1990)
Ozu directs a Gilmore Girls episode. I’m not sure why the mother-daughter trials and tribulations feel so banal here—Naruse mined similar territory for great effect in Lightning. Setsuko Hara’s resolute solitude, as opposed to mysterious, seems kinda random.

Welcome to L.A. (Alan Rudolph, 1976)

mixed:

Green Fish (Lee Chang-Dong, 1997)
What Is She To You? (Alden Thompson Burgess, 2009)

con:

A Streetcar Named Desire (Elia Kazan, 1951)
A great play (see below) semi-destroyed by a bunch of overly literal performances and a disengaged one (Brando).

CON:

The Cinema of Ozu According to Kiju Yoshida (Kiju Yoshida, 1994)
Yoshida’s Ozu theses range from acceptably accurate, to rather pretentious, to shockingly feeble. (Most egregious is his claim that Ozu’s direction of actors was such that no two lines were delivered the same way, whereas Ozu’s directorial presence is all about flattening drama with a calm, contented manner that in fact is quite repetitive.) Then again, I’m pretty sure if a piece of my own criticism was laboriously extended to feature-length and righteously intoned over some of my favorite moments in cinema, no sane person would want to view the result. Somehow I sense that, given rumors of Ozu-Yoshida enmity, Yoshida made this film to prove to himself he still liked the man first, and make a meaningful contribution to film history second.

Literature:

PRO:

The End of the Affair (Graham Greene, 1951)
Aside from a brief foray into smug lit-crit bashing, this is a fascinating crack at 1st-person for Greene that, unlike FMF’s The Good Soldier (apparently a big inspiration), resists tapping insecurity as a source for comedy, and instead dives into the workings of jealousy with Musilian fervor.

The Violent Bear It Away (Flannery O’Connor, 1960)
A Confederacy of Dunces (John Kennedy Toole, 1980)
A Streetcar Named Desire (Tennessee Williams, 1951)

pro:

Outer Dark (Cormac McCarthy, 1968)
Cheating at Canasta (William Trevor, 2007)

con:

Flaubert’s Parrot (Julian Barnes, 1984)
An anti-novel whose status as an anti-novel is almost completely superfluous. Maybe the problem here is that Barnes himself is too contemptuous to achieve any distance from his contemptuous narrator, whom I suspect he means to criticize or something.

DNF:

Rushing to Paradise (J.G. Ballard, 1994)
Good when Ballard’s activist characters are relative innocents, and he subtly mines their crusades for smugness and hypocrisy; bad when they descend into dystopia, and his simplistic grasp of psychology shines through.