tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98116962024-03-16T01:12:16.487+00:00Phil on FilmPhilip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16705364309920890969noreply@blogger.comBlogger1137125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-28492147936310116352024-03-04T13:07:00.005+00:002024-03-04T13:07:43.137+00:00Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDMdBdHTrnB7hDNIgMKUR2Mk6KQWI5Q5smTEGI0Ff-DC5OOeu8e4uiybvJHD3qoZBNkj5FDrP0nuaNaKQtvU0v9eyjvacj3Jx0-U2QWY7rcYt48rHuL188Spoaf9ehPKAwjepsGOwK1n3shf0BqxQ_RpCAcDyzvKD2rOwwko7MkekcwzjHORmgg/s3072/dnetmfteotw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1752" data-original-width="3072" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDMdBdHTrnB7hDNIgMKUR2Mk6KQWI5Q5smTEGI0Ff-DC5OOeu8e4uiybvJHD3qoZBNkj5FDrP0nuaNaKQtvU0v9eyjvacj3Jx0-U2QWY7rcYt48rHuL188Spoaf9ehPKAwjepsGOwK1n3shf0BqxQ_RpCAcDyzvKD2rOwwko7MkekcwzjHORmgg/w400-h229/dnetmfteotw.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">No filmmaker is more plugged in to the current moment than Radu Jude. His 2021 film <i>Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn</i> was made at the height of the pandemic, and it was one of the first films to engage with the strange reality that we found ourselves in, with Jude seeking bold new cinematic forms to comment on our broken society as he saw it. <i>Bad Luck Banging</i> won Jude the Golden Bear in Berlin, but his follow-up, <i>Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World</i>, is an even more ambitious and accomplished achievement, and an even more scathing portrait of how we live now.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.theskinny.co.uk/film/new-releases/do-not-expect-too-much-from-the-end-of-the-world" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at The Skinny</a></i></span></div><p></p><p><br /></p>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-12431344723777313212024-02-19T09:38:00.008+00:002024-02-19T09:38:57.009+00:00Someone’s Daughter, Someone’s Son Review<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvgj_Eu59Cszz2xI2QQaDfjMAbvbvPPzTWpJAeF-xRhtRMOqWpEvuQO-OY8CToc5nF3zDqE_GKVXjenl_c_fenYFXpITyGafdL-_XPOkP-c8TMQ8vxuYz39wAhdEIsLqfpD0bPKzwOIA6LnNoadwg3Mlhoygvsr-697zg0CLGzKAYf6XByw0aww/s800/Someones-Daughter-Someones-Son-mtime20231208093451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvgj_Eu59Cszz2xI2QQaDfjMAbvbvPPzTWpJAeF-xRhtRMOqWpEvuQO-OY8CToc5nF3zDqE_GKVXjenl_c_fenYFXpITyGafdL-_XPOkP-c8TMQ8vxuYz39wAhdEIsLqfpD0bPKzwOIA6LnNoadwg3Mlhoygvsr-697zg0CLGzKAYf6XByw0aww/w400-h300/Someones-Daughter-Someones-Son-mtime20231208093451.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the May 1997 edition of the <i>Big Issue</i>, the ‘Missing Persons’ feature contained a photograph of a 15-year-old girl who had been out of contact with her family for two months. Lorna Tucker ultimately spent 18 months on the streets before finding a way out, and her documentary <i>Someone’s Daughter, Someone’s Son</i>, is a clear-eyed look at the problem of homelessness, which recognises its severity and complexity but also emphasises the possibility of change.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/someones-daughter-someones-son-clear-eyed-look-issue-homelessness" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review in Sight & Sound</a></i></span></div><p><br /></p>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-24484591223078029642024-01-12T16:21:00.002+00:002024-01-12T16:21:09.198+00:00Scala!!! Review<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBActIH3vxUU__PDcR7hwUcyRtrswoNF6sXnqCD_znUDEXtgIub5nm_lt0GR0aucJQJ92Tru0qWivBzbaXqBdoBZsYVA722d8xC0HfUCTSO-YICB4X_P01n4tKZExNpkv_MIIdqaG0946cdeYOC8iZf4B3koe5vkcLzUsgGLq0NT-s4UmsYkCwA/s1200/1310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBActIH3vxUU__PDcR7hwUcyRtrswoNF6sXnqCD_znUDEXtgIub5nm_lt0GR0aucJQJ92Tru0qWivBzbaXqBdoBZsYVA722d8xC0HfUCTSO-YICB4X_P01n4tKZExNpkv_MIIdqaG0946cdeYOC8iZf4B3koe5vkcLzUsgGLq0NT-s4UmsYkCwA/w400-h240/1310.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The seats were uncomfortable, the floor was sticky, it smelled weird, there was often illicit behaviour occurring in the dark, and the whole building rumbled every time a Northern Line train passed underneath. The Scala cinema in King’s Cross offered a filmgoing experience like no other, and 30 years after its closure, mention of the venue still inspires misty-eyed reveries in cinephiles of a certain age. Some will recall the epiphany they experienced watching <i>Eraserhead </i>(1977), or a sexual awakening sparked by films like <i>Sebastiane </i>(1976) and <i>Un chant d’amour</i> (1950), but many will be just as likely to reminisce about the venue itself. Being part of the chaotic atmosphere in the audience appeared to be as much of a draw as the images on the screen.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/scala-unabashed-celebration-cult-cinemas-grimy-glory-days-pre-gentrified-london" target="_blank">Read the rest of my Sight & Sound review here</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-17710833951996907192023-12-31T22:56:00.000+00:002023-12-31T22:56:05.901+00:00The Best Films of 2023<div style="text-align: left;"><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">25 – The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial (William Friedkin)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifF-QYm7dop3EUvs6Q340C_hHPWxShjGNgdAEWYflrczqK_AyGCbCkDAVCg7Td2liMlKQUH1DCyzH3grCPlYubfZyzv0JtTyR3S9SfcMOuliSkD2y5fuMgruNjtcPzqB0944iecNxZ3WjzEHsTmbQ41ltq9cIhbFsfQFB6pMzVMysCdkYjIKpyWg/s1581/25%20The%20Caine%20Mutiny%20Court-Martial.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1054" data-original-width="1581" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifF-QYm7dop3EUvs6Q340C_hHPWxShjGNgdAEWYflrczqK_AyGCbCkDAVCg7Td2liMlKQUH1DCyzH3grCPlYubfZyzv0JtTyR3S9SfcMOuliSkD2y5fuMgruNjtcPzqB0944iecNxZ3WjzEHsTmbQ41ltq9cIhbFsfQFB6pMzVMysCdkYjIKpyWg/w400-h266/25%20The%20Caine%20Mutiny%20Court-Martial.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The last feature by one of the great filmmakers didn’t get anywhere near a cinema, being dumped straight onto streaming. I guess some people may dismiss <i>The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial</i> as not being particularly ‘cinematic’ but I was more thrilled and gripped by this modestly scaled drama than I was by a lot of pictures deemed worthy of the big screen this year. Friedkin’s direction is a lesson in cripst staging and control. The play is set almost entirely within the military courtroom where Lt. Stephen Maryk (Jake Lacy) stands accused of an act of mutiny against Captain Queeg (Kiefer Sutherland), and Friedkin doesn’t waste a moment, using smart blocking and camera angles to emphasise shifts in the dynamic of the case, as defence lawyer Lt. Barney (Jason Clarke) argues under the watchful glare of head judge Captain Blakely (a typically commanding Lance Reddick, to whom the film is dedicated. The film has some razor-sharp editing and the build-up to Queeg’s climactic crack-up is expertly escalated, with Sutherland nailing his increasingly unhinged monologue. With the superb closing scene, Friedkin proved he was a master right down to the last cut.</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">24 – While We Watched (Vinay Shukla)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTyMWKXCSnvWN9t2rfhgQgThBUbkF9wPWbdng0x-_oNIqjN9ZCyAIqwODm-vLd2ckTMgli0oKyRHDoovLu0GAFS0bw-5W37HyVUCEwQglLecsqW3yVXCEXHy6kwTkbc-8YSxNT924wBmGrlNJWSkoKFSxYKn_DbIhLAeZLIXqyaob28XRDoHTnOw/s3000/24%20While%20We%20Watched.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1686" data-original-width="3000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTyMWKXCSnvWN9t2rfhgQgThBUbkF9wPWbdng0x-_oNIqjN9ZCyAIqwODm-vLd2ckTMgli0oKyRHDoovLu0GAFS0bw-5W37HyVUCEwQglLecsqW3yVXCEXHy6kwTkbc-8YSxNT924wBmGrlNJWSkoKFSxYKn_DbIhLAeZLIXqyaob28XRDoHTnOw/w400-h225/24%20While%20We%20Watched.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is an absorbing and infuriating film about the prevalence of nationalism in India and the silencing of dissent. NDTV journalist Ravish Kumar's determination to maintain his integrity and give people real news in a considered way is admirable, but this documentary shows him being forced into an increasingly untenable position. His station has been made something of a pariah through a government boycott and constant attacks by other networks, all of whom kowtow to Modi's regime and stoke nationalistic fervour (and violent reprisals) by labelling any opposition as traitors. Kumar deals with dwindling staff (the repeated scenes of office goodbye parties are poignant), disruptions to the broadcast feed and frequent death threats with a quiet dignity and courage, and his refusal to buckle as the odds stack up against NDTV is inspiring. "Not all battles are fought for victory. Some are fought simply to tell the world that someone was there on the battlefield." <i>While We Watched</i> is an eye-opening portrait of Indian politics and media, but it's also a film that resonates depressingly in our own coarsening news landscape.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">23 – You Hurt My Feelings (Nicole Holofcener)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYrMJKAbCobVNX3CvEMXi7PM4WM05-uH07JpKcdWJrViMyQNRsWx-G_o-ykKUiVQlby8cApKIw2RiXQKn7axmC2D14AChgTDPF_HHwpzdDADeQDCWC7BrkI_CQpEORlg-9xWTaPM0o_msJPHZs62bxEaBq3zzyhCspzdZGay3pHe6BndrUTZ99ew/s1200/23%20You%20Hurt%20My%20Feelings.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYrMJKAbCobVNX3CvEMXi7PM4WM05-uH07JpKcdWJrViMyQNRsWx-G_o-ykKUiVQlby8cApKIw2RiXQKn7axmC2D14AChgTDPF_HHwpzdDADeQDCWC7BrkI_CQpEORlg-9xWTaPM0o_msJPHZs62bxEaBq3zzyhCspzdZGay3pHe6BndrUTZ99ew/w400-h225/23%20You%20Hurt%20My%20Feelings.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>You Hurt My Feelings</i> could have been the title of any of Nicole Holofcener’s films – hurt feelings are this filmmaker’s stock-in-trade. Her films are reliably funny, but beneath the laughs she is always displaying an acute understanding of the myriad small ways in which people can wound each other. This film is another study of the importance of truth in relationships, with writer Beth (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) overhearing her husband Don (Tobias Menzies) criticising her new book having told her that he loved it, and Holofcener mines this situation for both hilarious comedy and real emotional pain. This is Holofcener’s second collaboration with Julia Louis-Dreyfus and she walks this funny/sad/awkward tightrope with marvellous timing and authenticity, sharing a strong rapport with Menzies, whose character is simultaneously going through his own crisis of confidence. “This whole world is falling apart, and this is what’s concerning you?” an exasperated Don complains when Beth confronts him, but Holofcener understands that the problems that seem trivial on the surface are often the ones that burrow deep under the skin and hit us most personally, and her perceptive studies of human behaviour are a class apart from anything else in contemporary American comedy.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">22 – The Goldman Case<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>(Cédric Kahn)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMPhmWSAK5ass99ZlFNoUMjCvwjU2tkfbty8haDunnEjqzcEnSyf9pOAmlXHQ6ZsiKswRqCKNGxM5jrC9uW0ifwvNwLkg7KnxDN4PZ6hSc-se0LLAwZ_fuk9CHnrwxXTusj1-74IR1kavGeP4lP86oViEoS_wtlyiUDxDveToq0oOhM6JIo2z5A/s1600/22%20The%20Goldman%20Case.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMPhmWSAK5ass99ZlFNoUMjCvwjU2tkfbty8haDunnEjqzcEnSyf9pOAmlXHQ6ZsiKswRqCKNGxM5jrC9uW0ifwvNwLkg7KnxDN4PZ6hSc-se0LLAwZ_fuk9CHnrwxXTusj1-74IR1kavGeP4lP86oViEoS_wtlyiUDxDveToq0oOhM6JIo2z5A/w400-h225/22%20The%20Goldman%20Case.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">While <i>Saint Omer</i> and <i>Anatomy of a Fall</i> both offered much to admire, my favourite French courtroom drama of the year was probably the most unheralded. This fascinating true-life tale hinges on the innocence of Pierre Goldman, who admits to a number of robberies but denies the double murder he’s accused of. He believes his innocence is so self-evident he refuses to call character witnesses, and he frequently goes against the advice of his legal team to say whatever the hell he wants from the dock. There’s a lot of showboating and rhetoric in this film, which is in part about the performative nature of courtroom trials. It’s also about the unreliability of witnesses, who often rely on fuzzy or manipulated memories, or are guided by their own prejudices. Shooting on 35mm in Academy ratio, Kahn’s compositions are simple but effective, and he creates a real rhythm in his cutting, as we move from one statement and argument to the next. As Goldman, Arieh Worthalter – a permanent snarl on his lips – is absolutely tremendous, and he has a very funny rapport with Arthur Harari as his exasperated counsel. It’s easy to imagine this being a dutiful and dry picture in many hands, but Kahn makes it something riveting, hilarious and cinematic.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">21 – Pictures of Ghosts (Kleber Mendonça Filho)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWR8yfXEn_wL-GwhOmFI2onLTbKgX1wFgylQMatLtxnhZxZcpcPYYKI_Vqo40uPAyE_f7iA6no-P2w0JGHvNrQxWljSfj6rudq_-M-GrI-GlPPVb65haHiZP3n91NPWR67JneECpayuBmuTrQOTLoqB8LLBVwOLHC5IWHwYze1u29HRpcW9YmGNg/s1920/21%20Pictures%20of%20Ghosts.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWR8yfXEn_wL-GwhOmFI2onLTbKgX1wFgylQMatLtxnhZxZcpcPYYKI_Vqo40uPAyE_f7iA6no-P2w0JGHvNrQxWljSfj6rudq_-M-GrI-GlPPVb65haHiZP3n91NPWR67JneECpayuBmuTrQOTLoqB8LLBVwOLHC5IWHwYze1u29HRpcW9YmGNg/w400-h225/21%20Pictures%20of%20Ghosts.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Kleber Mendonça Filho's new film is a personal exploration of his home town Recife, notably the cinemas that shaped him. He begins in the apartment where he grew up and took his first steps to becoming a filmmaker, and then he looks outwards into the city, which has evolved in a number of ways over the years. In the multiplex era, the great picture palaces of his youth are long gone, having been left derelict or transformed into shopping malls and churches. The title is apt: Mendonça Filho expresses his sense of loss, but he also marvels at cinema's ability to keep these places and the people who inhabited them alive. One of the loveliest sections of the film focuses on footage he shot of an old projectionist who spent decades screening films before his cinema closed in the ‘90s, and tells stories of getting so tired of hearing <i>The Godfather</i>’s theme music he’d swap with another projectionist from across the street. It's a beautiful film about time, memory, cinema, community and architecture, and it has been put together in a way that's simultaneously reflective, discursive and playful, right up to the wonderfully funny and inventive closing scene. It will resonate with any of us who have lost these spaces that meant so much to us and have watched the cities around us change.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">20 – Afire (Christian Petzold)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6C3JPcwO-s3PIAnMHhs2nmf2isqZM8zbY6jGsickHGfw7tZqVF7v5o2vVXvOSBgnH4etMb4XYEALYORVje_JpcPioNdd9TAShR_z05KADMCZYV-MRq-qvyHeiDEZ-4MadM8Jh3c4_knLlxScGMEY1gp3QKin_-tuRAZnia-jpRV8Oi2KiuRV4Ow/s1600/20%20Afire.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6C3JPcwO-s3PIAnMHhs2nmf2isqZM8zbY6jGsickHGfw7tZqVF7v5o2vVXvOSBgnH4etMb4XYEALYORVje_JpcPioNdd9TAShR_z05KADMCZYV-MRq-qvyHeiDEZ-4MadM8Jh3c4_knLlxScGMEY1gp3QKin_-tuRAZnia-jpRV8Oi2KiuRV4Ow/w400-h225/20%20Afire.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">As a longtime Petzold agnostic, I was surprised by how much I loved <i>Afire</i>. It feels like one of his least plot-driven and (on the surface) least ambitious films, but to my eyes it's his most purely enjoyable and satisfying. It's a sharp portrait of insecurity, solipsism and arrogance in a callow aspiring artist; even when staring death in the face and watching the world around him burn, Leon can only think of how everything relates to him. Thomas Schubert is incredibly good as this infuriatingly bitter and prickly protagonist, and his performance is full of nuances and deadpan comic moments. Petzold is very good at capturing these great little moments – like Leon's forced laugh after he falls over, or the look on the hotel manager's face when he mocks her pronunciation – and the excerpts we hear of his book <i>Club Sandwich</i> (in which he uses the word "cleavage" twice in a few paragraphs) is a perfect pastiche of an insular young novelist's terrible writing. <i>Afire </i>is very funny and engaging in its loose Rohmer-esque fashion, but by the time it tightens in its darker final third it has developed imperceptibly into a surprisingly rich and poignant character study.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">19 – Our Body (Claire Simon)</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRCUw8vozDQsSJ2IHaN2h88S-Zvade6fgZ4NZYitPHrQ9Kx8alKvlnS-Jk1bfdmafn-Zv7GNfSDRjgDXBJqUDNtPDboKJqYvCtstwhbCpxDoDRBitXdVY1Qy1cQYKokYBmfULYU3YQJF6wrHOll8beEmctcO7NMsAlvfPjmun4NqYck97yfGtsQ/s3840/19%20Our%20Body.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRCUw8vozDQsSJ2IHaN2h88S-Zvade6fgZ4NZYitPHrQ9Kx8alKvlnS-Jk1bfdmafn-Zv7GNfSDRjgDXBJqUDNtPDboKJqYvCtstwhbCpxDoDRBitXdVY1Qy1cQYKokYBmfULYU3YQJF6wrHOll8beEmctcO7NMsAlvfPjmun4NqYck97yfGtsQ/w400-h225/19%20Our%20Body.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shooting at a gynaecology hospital in Paris, Claire Simon explores the stories of multiple women at all stages of their journey through life. We only spend a little time with each woman, there is no narrative thread carried throughout the film, but by moving from one case to another, Simon gives us a wide-ranging perspective on the female experience. Some of these woman are preparing to give birth, some are trying to get pregnant, some are going through gender transition, some are dealing with cancer, and as we observe their consultations and treatment, Simon's camera is intimate and empathetic throughout. One middle-aged woman even welcomes Simon’s camera, proclaiming herself a great cinema fan and inviting the director closer to the operating table. Towards the end of <i>Our Body</i>, Simon puts her own story in the film – she learned that she had breast cancer during the course of shooting and she receives her diagnosis on camera – adding another moving layer to the film. As we watch these women of different ages, races and faiths going through often painful trials, it's impossible not to be touched by their resilience, or by the patience and care shown by the hospital staff.<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">18 – Close (Lukas Dhont)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUphY0-vkrAXoyb-qrHsTbfxJwVXBN3WkePdU88uhku5IVDxYWwE7MTUyc4JlIE6azV1q1eqF8sPFiry_klGvil5fhdA880n6S_2aHv12sRSrefKT8rMRcjcWWciEpExSJBUjHRvc_hE38ncRteRQZFKC1GfHlt_LGfs8IGxmjF7-E7odEedSMw/s1280/18%20Close.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPUphY0-vkrAXoyb-qrHsTbfxJwVXBN3WkePdU88uhku5IVDxYWwE7MTUyc4JlIE6azV1q1eqF8sPFiry_klGvil5fhdA880n6S_2aHv12sRSrefKT8rMRcjcWWciEpExSJBUjHRvc_hE38ncRteRQZFKC1GfHlt_LGfs8IGxmjF7-E7odEedSMw/w400-h240/18%20Close.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I entered the cinema with no expectations after firmly disliking Lukas Dhont's debut film <i>Girl</i>, but I found <i>Close </i>to be a shattering experience. Dhont swiftly establishes the deep intimacy and unbreakable bond between his two main characters in the opening minutes, then his film gradually pulls them apart, with a single comment at school being enough to plant a seed of doubt and insecurity in their innocent paradise. As the two boys whose relationship is at the story's centre, Eden Dambrine and Gustav de Waele give incredibly expressive performances; these characters can't articulate the complex emotions they're feeling, and so we have to read so much into their faces and body language. Dhont's blocking highlights the changing nature of this friendship, and Frank van den Eeden's cinematography superbly incorporates the changing seasons as the film charts a year that Leo will never forget. It's an astonishing film that I found perceptive and profoundly moving on friendship, cruelty, grief and guilt.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">17 – Hit Man (Richard Linklater)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwckIHlSLem5PHozcItDKxaF7CNECgbYhJfUNg0a0zenBQne08VMaPu2lyXqXrBjDKBZ0Cr2rw_HWjihxF_6Ve37lK-pXghm1m-UCwVbnVXQHpO2-vIv4nKwYqI7UDJ9Ap1k-x6-R0lsb80WEehK0Mhwxl_RbIJ-6oMqg6DoghtNd_3u2u0RkwlA/s3022/17%20Hit%20Man.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1700" data-original-width="3022" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwckIHlSLem5PHozcItDKxaF7CNECgbYhJfUNg0a0zenBQne08VMaPu2lyXqXrBjDKBZ0Cr2rw_HWjihxF_6Ve37lK-pXghm1m-UCwVbnVXQHpO2-vIv4nKwYqI7UDJ9Ap1k-x6-R0lsb80WEehK0Mhwxl_RbIJ-6oMqg6DoghtNd_3u2u0RkwlA/w400-h225/17%20Hit%20Man.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’m not sure I understand why a terrible Glen Powell-starring romantic comedy is currently playing in a number of cinemas, while an exceptional Glen Powell-starring romantic comedy has been left on the shelf by Netflix, despite receiving spontaneous mid-film applause at almost every festival screening it has had. Powell and Adria Arjona have a fizzing chemistry as the as the mundane college professor posing as a slick professional assassin and the one-time client who falls in love with his adopted persona, and at its best <i>Hit Man</i> generates a snappy screwball comedy momentum that’s irresistible. There’s never really a sense of peril or tension in the film, but Powell and Linklater's screenplay is smartly constructed and touches on ideas of identity, role-playing and the perception of self. It’s Linklater’s best film in years and in another era it would have an chance to be his biggest box-office hit, but God only know what chance it will get when Netflix finally decides to do something with it next year.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">16 – The Beast (Bertrand Bonello)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOV8BG-1krWqBJCjytp5SQxKT2-woiWHEm0aVrM_6dvDA6RhvHVC4KvMGM-U5ZAOSVZpss-VGXtJVL21H1kG5_DNL35Ij_tSs3o8lRgqkH_e_JNNcXqswSLyvpm5HPwcowTUwLnPitjh-hVzNhokw-x0DJKVhxQ8vhfWf5wixnwnGl0RJC9SWQFw/s5816/16%20The%20Beast.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3217" data-original-width="5816" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOV8BG-1krWqBJCjytp5SQxKT2-woiWHEm0aVrM_6dvDA6RhvHVC4KvMGM-U5ZAOSVZpss-VGXtJVL21H1kG5_DNL35Ij_tSs3o8lRgqkH_e_JNNcXqswSLyvpm5HPwcowTUwLnPitjh-hVzNhokw-x0DJKVhxQ8vhfWf5wixnwnGl0RJC9SWQFw/w400-h221/16%20The%20Beast.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Bonello's mind-boggling, centuries-spanning sci-fi love story contains about as many ideas that don't work as ones that do, but I was agog throughout and it has remained firmly lodged in my brain ever since. Bonello puts together some spellbinding sequences (the scene in the doll factory had me holding my breath) and I couldn't have guessed where it was going to go from one moment to the next, with the director employing a number of sharp, disorienting cuts. It's a film about holding on to our humanity as we march into our AI-dominated future, and the final scene is viscerally powerful. Léa Seydoux is absolutely tremendous – what else is new? – but I think this is also the first time I've ever really enjoyed a George MacKay performance. His work in the film’s American section is both hilarious and chilling. There's a lot to parse here and it's a film I'm already keen to revisit. I also need to try and see the end credits, presented here as an onscreen QR code (surely a first), as I heard there’s an additional scene in there!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">15 – Godzilla Minus One (Takashi Yamazaki)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7KgGNyBlV8KB_ur9KLze_SirLwtF5f3rrCbQrGhj38JTREk4pdhMkY2qrbveSQ2b_xHqEEWIeIW3rHyuMUF_4_hkETKfSV9OVOIe-MYEGCnkL6JBWjkZq7wz4daYcaCcvcJdLrQBQp8wVCyFZ1mBVSB3GZ6ZVN6wwotxnxCtfmC8iLvQmlG2SA/s3051/15%20Godzilla%20Minus%20One.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1716" data-original-width="3051" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7KgGNyBlV8KB_ur9KLze_SirLwtF5f3rrCbQrGhj38JTREk4pdhMkY2qrbveSQ2b_xHqEEWIeIW3rHyuMUF_4_hkETKfSV9OVOIe-MYEGCnkL6JBWjkZq7wz4daYcaCcvcJdLrQBQp8wVCyFZ1mBVSB3GZ6ZVN6wwotxnxCtfmC8iLvQmlG2SA/w400-h225/15%20Godzilla%20Minus%20One.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's probably not a good idea for Warner Brothers to run the trailer for their forthcoming <i>Godzilla x Kong</i> blockbuster before screenings of <i>Godzilla Minus One</i>. It looked like shit while I was watching it, and it looked even worse two hours later after I'd seen Takashi Yamazaki's film. Set in the immediate aftermath of World War II, Godzilla emerges into a devastated nation attempting to build a future out of the ashes, and a population struggling with complex feelings of grief, shame, anger and survivor's guilt. The film is a character-driven drama first and a monster spectacle second, with the development of its central figures giving us relationships that we can become fully invested in when Godzilla comes stomping into town. The destructive set-pieces are skilfully handled by the writer-director, who squeezes this film's relatively meagre budget for all it's worth ($15 million? Did I read that correctly?!) and shows a real knack for intelligent pacing and staging. The ambitious attempt to finish Godzilla off in the film's final half-hour generates a genuinely gripping sense of tension, and it's a masterclass in how to keep personal stakes at the forefront of a large-scale action sequence.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">14 – The Nature of Love (Monia Chokri)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2xCOmuM9wdj63hjTMQ0mB0WwNMljv4NiO03ZlsBPsVJWX-9YtijTjKVJHoTU1Dkh6kxEmfpzX8CoRXfPsziBdYNSVJmX1JHYgWROfRde0kfCzv7A-Qw0p3fjtrz0-CJo3-hhgaf_sFd6Z-mALA6uleXG_H86xccJ6qweyZgtxcKZmV9zxsU1gpQ/s4314/14%20The%20Nature%20of%20Love.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2861" data-original-width="4314" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2xCOmuM9wdj63hjTMQ0mB0WwNMljv4NiO03ZlsBPsVJWX-9YtijTjKVJHoTU1Dkh6kxEmfpzX8CoRXfPsziBdYNSVJmX1JHYgWROfRde0kfCzv7A-Qw0p3fjtrz0-CJo3-hhgaf_sFd6Z-mALA6uleXG_H86xccJ6qweyZgtxcKZmV9zxsU1gpQ/w400-h265/14%20The%20Nature%20of%20Love.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This film is so witty and astute on different kinds of love, on the challenge of moving between social circles, and on desire and disillusionment. Magalie Lépine Blondeau is outstanding as the 40-year-old philosophy professor who falls into a lusty affair with a rural handyman (Pierre-Yves Cardinal) but can't figure out if she should leave her staid relationship or if this is just a burst of passion that will pass. Chokri plays up the contrast between Sophia’s bourgeois lifestyle and the more rugged, down-to-earth background that Sylvain hails from, but all of the characters feel fully realised and specific in the writing and performances; Chokri herself has a fun cameo as Sophia’s friend, who is embarking on her own sexual adventure. It's a thoughtful and frequently very funny romance, but what really elevates <i>The Nature of Love</i> into something special is Chokri's direction. The camera is constantly probing for unexpected angles on the drama – often employing crash zooms to hilarious effect – and André Turpin's 35mm cinematography has a rich, autumnal glow. So many romantic comedies are made in a nondescript fashion, it’s such a treat to see one with real craft and intelligence behind it.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">13 – The Eight Mountains (Felix Van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qx1eJoVJrTPDfsfK2y5a3c1lCBZXhnaCopEUtsGSKQgo4e6cuSwBP9rV8_YyArsQ-jX1YB0OGuSxM9nzbbQ3ayLh7c9_NoskYgsfNdxXAnp1cc6qt3ajM9-RE_hqym6knsfwGHtiXp4tpWzyzXmksAD2KKDgqhCdARaYC0uRRYvvnREa8J5d4A/s1920/13%20The%20Eight%20Mountains.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qx1eJoVJrTPDfsfK2y5a3c1lCBZXhnaCopEUtsGSKQgo4e6cuSwBP9rV8_YyArsQ-jX1YB0OGuSxM9nzbbQ3ayLh7c9_NoskYgsfNdxXAnp1cc6qt3ajM9-RE_hqym6knsfwGHtiXp4tpWzyzXmksAD2KKDgqhCdARaYC0uRRYvvnREa8J5d4A/w400-h225/13%20The%20Eight%20Mountains.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A decades-spanning story of friendship between two characters from different worlds who remain deeply connected even as the physical and emotional distance between them grows. City boy Pietro (Luca Marinelli) is directionless and unable to commit while the rural Bruno (Alessandro Borghi) is sure of his place and purpose, but over the course of the film, this dynamic shifts so Pietro finds his place while Bruno seems incapable of seeing beyond the life he's always known. As in <i>The Broken Circle Breakdown</i>, Van Groeningen and Vandermeersch prove adept at charting their characters' development over the course of many years, and in <i>The Eight Mountains</i>' carefully paced 2½ hours we gain a real sense of lives lived, fortunes changing and regrets growing. It's an incredibly accomplished and impressive piece of filmmaking, with cinematographer Ruben Impens finding endless exquisite compositions in the mountains that are so central to the lives of these characters, and Daniel Norgren's evocative music adding to the film's emotional texture. I found it overwhelmingly beautiful and moving.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">12 – Oppenheimer (Christopher Nolan)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuUaXsRBqmh-qHb0_bvp_9clW8DJQfwXWLMjGyTk2qgGGjiYzHHjWiSyHm0HPX2lF2a0iLXKjQ79aIA0fjYemJjV2ImN0odHO0WtzLmdpISxeAM1R8nlpIh3Okvmm6r6YwKE8U8mwOwnS6KtuzE5hLjhHuXzIdngdD8_5U-F9OP9pTfeJ4yLH3zQ/s3000/12%20Oppenheimer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1686" data-original-width="3000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuUaXsRBqmh-qHb0_bvp_9clW8DJQfwXWLMjGyTk2qgGGjiYzHHjWiSyHm0HPX2lF2a0iLXKjQ79aIA0fjYemJjV2ImN0odHO0WtzLmdpISxeAM1R8nlpIh3Okvmm6r6YwKE8U8mwOwnS6KtuzE5hLjhHuXzIdngdD8_5U-F9OP9pTfeJ4yLH3zQ/w400-h225/12%20Oppenheimer.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I loved the monumental scale of this, but what's most powerful in the film is the way Nolan shoots close-ups of his actors. Cillian Murphy is mesmerising as he balances the thrill of an intellectual challenge and scientific breakthrough with the overwhelming dread of that breakthrough's potential consequences, and being left to shoulder the responsibility of unleashing true horror on the world. There’s a wonderful tactility and texture to the images – the black-and-white 65mm cinematography is particularly gorgeous – and the sound is extraordinary, including the remarkably potent use of silence around the Trinity test. I’ve always admired the craft in Nolan’s films but I didn’t think he had it in him to make a film with this kind of moral seriousness. The second half of the film, with its cutting between the two hearings and the way it engages with the moral weight of Oppenheimer's actions, is hugely impressive, and the haunting ending is beautifully done: "Just remember, it won't be for you. It will be for them." A captivating and stimulating experience.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">11 – May December (Todd Haynes)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhz7VRdZxqXlYuJ6E387r9Ltk3-jPUdWXkxyz9bhG40PJIRikGqoKbXp2-TLlXKIDfXf2TIUbv3igCwFwy7FdaX5Bfz3gnk_3P12UTz1_WPMERcZLP0sw1ulM48UgE9cLz152EUfwGfYczJqw9Nm5Y8PhKNsqDPxOeeYySNp0AHp8GWR7x7sFKA/s3000/11%20May%20December.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1688" data-original-width="3000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhz7VRdZxqXlYuJ6E387r9Ltk3-jPUdWXkxyz9bhG40PJIRikGqoKbXp2-TLlXKIDfXf2TIUbv3igCwFwy7FdaX5Bfz3gnk_3P12UTz1_WPMERcZLP0sw1ulM48UgE9cLz152EUfwGfYczJqw9Nm5Y8PhKNsqDPxOeeYySNp0AHp8GWR7x7sFKA/w400-h225/11%20May%20December.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">An incisive, pitch-black comic melodrama about living with fame and infamy, and the warped relationships arising from these conditions. Haynes has so often employed a degree of distance and artifice in his films as a means of exploring deeper emotional truths, and he is in full command of the slippery tone demanded by Samy Burch’s remarkable screenplay; it’s a dark comedy, a melodrama, a satire and an exploration of our lurid fascination with celebrity and scandal, which increasingly pushes deeper into more uncomfortable territory. <i>May December</i> is a film about acting and creating a sense of reality, and the pitch-perfect performances from Julianne Moore and Natalie Portman brilliantly negotiate the layers of these characters’ performative nature and self-deception, while Charles Melton is extraordinarily vulnerable as a young man only now coming to terms with the way his life has been stunted and manipulated. <i>May December</i> is both hilarious and unnerving, often simultaneously (I cackled at Portman dismissing the kids auditioning for her film as “not sexy enough”), and Haynes’ use of Michel Legrand’s music from <i>The Go-Between </i>couldn’t be more perfect.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">10 – Occupied City (Steve McQueen)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrWJp4ebVKr1dal9Dyq2Tx5HbBGX9KzW-X4E9blCXnMwFT0drXQkyQgSfcIHfFntssmdeVljuOCAM-EVRjOv4Bo8RO3JfKdhBc4_5hvBk-RNdWgYoQD_qoB24Nj-TkaP2pgBHICG8XiJTaji1YXZOFOTKTdN-zokULA7UpqaQU4pg_wQ75uCRsA/s1440/10%20Occupied%20City.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1440" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrWJp4ebVKr1dal9Dyq2Tx5HbBGX9KzW-X4E9blCXnMwFT0drXQkyQgSfcIHfFntssmdeVljuOCAM-EVRjOv4Bo8RO3JfKdhBc4_5hvBk-RNdWgYoQD_qoB24Nj-TkaP2pgBHICG8XiJTaji1YXZOFOTKTdN-zokULA7UpqaQU4pg_wQ75uCRsA/w400-h225/10%20Occupied%20City.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Over the course of its 4½ hours (including 15-minute intermission) I was entranced by <i>Occupied City</i>. McQueen's approach is so simple, but it builds into something so rich. Presenting us with footage of Amsterdam shot over the past three years, he takes us from street to street, building to building, while telling us exactly what happened to the people in each place during the Nazi occupation. Amsterdam lost around 80% of its Jewish population and even this exhaustive film is barely scratching the surface. The narration is superbly delivered by Melanie Hyams, who recites each bit of information in a measured, matter-of-fact way, not emphasising any single atrocity, and often ending her description of a particular site with one word: "Demolished." If this approach sometimes risks growing monotonous, McQueen occasionally breaks things up with lyrical interludes; a montage unexpectedly set to Bowie, for example, or a nocturnal tram ride through the empty streets. The film is skilfully edited, and McQueen's 35mm images of Amsterdam are beautifully composed. He has created a portrait of a vibrant, religiously and racially diverse modern city (a point emphasised in the touching ending), but one where every single location is haunted by the ghosts of its very recent past.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">9 – The Fabelmans (Steven Spielberg)</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCtBOubeEHkGMQdVE-H7JC0b1f9pdyeJO_47rcVQHD6Cfm-r8NVT3gp9LLk14mt8I0t9K0S6Yt4ow5KRQx-Dpid9f2GXSEuH0AY5Q4VLdXjjr4vDEUS40CK2cqWoCE_az37qqJPDZmVmQ2YwIRC2mAGQxL2q-UdwYrzX3TOvN_T-sA6ohK26h1Q/s2376/9%20The%20Fabelmans.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1624" data-original-width="2376" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCtBOubeEHkGMQdVE-H7JC0b1f9pdyeJO_47rcVQHD6Cfm-r8NVT3gp9LLk14mt8I0t9K0S6Yt4ow5KRQx-Dpid9f2GXSEuH0AY5Q4VLdXjjr4vDEUS40CK2cqWoCE_az37qqJPDZmVmQ2YwIRC2mAGQxL2q-UdwYrzX3TOvN_T-sA6ohK26h1Q/w400-h274/9%20The%20Fabelmans.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's no coincidence that Sammy goes to see <i>The Man who Shot Liberty Valance</i> in this. There's an element of "print the legend" self-mythology in Spielberg's retelling of his origin story, from his attempts to recreate <i>The Greatest Show on Earth</i> with his train set to his often-told anecdote about meeting John Ford. But beyond all the moments of Spielbergian wonder, he is exploring something deeply painful and unresolved here about his parents' failing marriage and individual sadness, his own myopic obsession with cinema, and the impossibility of reconciling his loves. “Family. Art. It will tear you in two." The emotions that burst through in this film feel jagged and messy, and even Sammy's triumphant presentation at the prom is complicated by his own woes and by the bully's wholly unexpected reaction to seeing himself on screen. Sammy's camera reveals the truth and creates myths; it hurts and it heals. I found <i>The Fabelmans</i> to be extraordinarily funny, vivid, revealing and moving. Spielberg's uncanny visual instinct is as peerless as ever, and Gabriel LaBelle is wonderful, holding his own brilliantly alongside his more experienced co-stars, who are all on fine form. The film ends on one of Spielberg's greatest final shots too.<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">8 – Trenque Lauquen (Laura Citarella)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknR708WlUi9oHn-0WkpJxnDnRc_AtvvplnxZVtmm1RqIZO475ukXHt-2qNngB0GYkbDLMv4op4PC0MsDvsgCt1yAkAOX6ZLViTIxKD7NgYiryMejUcem628vm1R-gXMFmVCvPKUR_Cry_zoC4YLfKddQNHR-ZTXxI-QtVuEZQqZVAIOmn_PIklg/s1920/8%20Trenque%20Lauquen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjknR708WlUi9oHn-0WkpJxnDnRc_AtvvplnxZVtmm1RqIZO475ukXHt-2qNngB0GYkbDLMv4op4PC0MsDvsgCt1yAkAOX6ZLViTIxKD7NgYiryMejUcem628vm1R-gXMFmVCvPKUR_Cry_zoC4YLfKddQNHR-ZTXxI-QtVuEZQqZVAIOmn_PIklg/w400-h225/8%20Trenque%20Lauquen.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was a little wary of this one going in, having largely disliked the fourteen hours I spent watching <i>La Flor</i>. Thankfully, <i>Trenque Lauquen</i> is not only much shorter but it's considerably more involving too. It begins with a nod to Antonioni, as the first of its twelve chapters is titled <i>La Aventura</i>, and the story that follows is about the search for a missing woman, with this initial mystery having multiple further mysteries nested within it. The point is not to ultimately find the answer to all these questions, but to take pleasure in the investigation, the curiosity, the storytelling, and the feeling of meandering away from the familiar path, getting lost, and being open to where this new path may lead you. Every individual chapter feels so rich in character and sense of place, and even if the second half of the film didn't captivate me quite as much as the first, it's never less than witty, surprising and charming, with Laura Paredes and Ezequiel Pierri in particular bringing an understated emotional heft to their nuanced performances. <i>Trenque Lauquen</i> is structured in a way that progressively fills in some of the mysteries and answers some questions while leaving others hanging, creating an experience that feels both satisfyingly complete and tantalisingly elusive. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">7 – Close Your Eyes (Victor Erice)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVX-okR4zF7GuELQpURpeoRSAEk-OjnnlY2jMGpVv35DByHWPPCiJHpaA5MjBZBvsQrwUUmPTNl9ZEOuIpVd3v7t9S3AHYT2mFy6zDgdMIddXI8B1Wl1REkd8U9Oj5KiJyH_cRqeVFntDrlCH_-iogBvL1B7YCkxMK9L9INo4bGfjfEP1DpFyLA/s1296/7%20Close%20Your%20Eyes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="1296" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVX-okR4zF7GuELQpURpeoRSAEk-OjnnlY2jMGpVv35DByHWPPCiJHpaA5MjBZBvsQrwUUmPTNl9ZEOuIpVd3v7t9S3AHYT2mFy6zDgdMIddXI8B1Wl1REkd8U9Oj5KiJyH_cRqeVFntDrlCH_-iogBvL1B7YCkxMK9L9INo4bGfjfEP1DpFyLA/w400-h225/7%20Close%20Your%20Eyes.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Miracles haven't existed in cinema since Dreyer died," a character states in Victor Erice's new film. Well, I don't know about that, Victor. This felt pretty miraculous to me. Erice's return to filmmaking after a thirty-year absence is a deeply personal tale of lost time, memories and cinema. Throughout <i>Close Your Eyes</i>, physical objects are totems, potentially triggering a Proustian recollection of things long forgotten </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">–</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> a book, a postcard, a photograph, a chess piece </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">–</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> but of course a film print is the best repository for our memories. Erice's film is a mystery, but he reveals new details at an unhurried pace, giving us the room to get to know these characters and study their faces, each of which has been marked by time. I was totally entranced by the film, overwhelmed by the ending, and elated with Erice's unexpected but joyous homage to Howard Hawks.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">6 – Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>(Radu Jude)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9b5vourObTvMZYCxD7LCJzKLTrxPuFRBaMD4t7nmalHhYeX9or0DnMb2JpV710MgaI-xw_jbADUdeFA9-TnmuJ7owmWSRps42zfVY9Mq0-qdhE-jRw03FcpIu4_e49VIP3B2xnaxQjEevreZlj44CT-4lNdKjyfBWzoKC34JlqjaOB3dkZ2Ypmw/s1280/6%20Do%20Not%20Expect%20Too%20Much%20From%20the%20End%20of%20the%20World.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9b5vourObTvMZYCxD7LCJzKLTrxPuFRBaMD4t7nmalHhYeX9or0DnMb2JpV710MgaI-xw_jbADUdeFA9-TnmuJ7owmWSRps42zfVY9Mq0-qdhE-jRw03FcpIu4_e49VIP3B2xnaxQjEevreZlj44CT-4lNdKjyfBWzoKC34JlqjaOB3dkZ2Ypmw/w400-h225/6%20Do%20Not%20Expect%20Too%20Much%20From%20the%20End%20of%20the%20World.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A manic and scattered satire on modern life from Radu Jude, following an underpaid and overworked PA as she races around Bucharest trying to locate and film victims of workplace injuries to take part in a corporation's safety video. She's perpetually exhausted, but she also finds time to shoot her own little TikTok videos, using a filter to make herself look like Andrew Tate and playing the role of a misogynistic right-wing social media star to the hilt </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">–</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> it's amazing how many laughs Jude gets out of this comic device. On top of all this, Jude intercuts her story with a 1981 Romanian feature called <i>Angela Moves On</i>, a choice that works surprisingly well. <i>Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World</i> is dense, pointed, provocative and frequently hilarious, packing in so many ideas and observations on our capitalist world, and constantly taking wild detours. The extended final scene is amazing, and I never thought I'd see cameos from Uwe Boll and Nina Hoss in the same movie.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">5 – Fallen Leaves (Aki Kaurismäki)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaczDH9qgdtK-coEZX8x7PZ4kBHga8m8nv_5aULNzMJUvD2nrKkG9c67fXUVVTGy22LaspkXHmftoum7YLCLiXX1N2SvQ8UUUhNNgeifW_KbDqiT-vIBdwSRLXM7oYTVU4KUG9-cdKtFTK38fNk1vBoDjb4hImjKOahP9_xJePSCWxhIRJD-Mbg/s1440/5%20Fallen%20Leaves.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="1440" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkaczDH9qgdtK-coEZX8x7PZ4kBHga8m8nv_5aULNzMJUvD2nrKkG9c67fXUVVTGy22LaspkXHmftoum7YLCLiXX1N2SvQ8UUUhNNgeifW_KbDqiT-vIBdwSRLXM7oYTVU4KUG9-cdKtFTK38fNk1vBoDjb4hImjKOahP9_xJePSCWxhIRJD-Mbg/w400-h210/5%20Fallen%20Leaves.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">What a pleasure it is to be back in Aki's world, six years after he announced his retirement from filmmaking. <i>Fallen Leaves</i> touches on some of the same themes that he has explored in previous films, such as The Match Factory Girl and Drifting Clouds, but this sweet and melancholy story about a tentative romance between two lonely souls, one of whom is a depressed alcoholic, is a more optimistic and uplifting tale. It’s also a model of classic Kaurismäki minimalism, running for eighty minutes but feeling so rich, and Kaurismäki frequently evokes his characters’ loneliness and desire for connection with a visuals shorthand that is so poignant; like Ansa having to buy a second plate and set of cutlery for her dinner guest, or the pile of cigarette butts outside the cinema entrance that indicates how long Holappa has been waiting there in the hope that Ansa will pass by. It's a film of gloomy apartments and memorable faces, all of which are beautifully captured on 35mm in Timo Salminen’s carefully composed images. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">4 – Tár (Todd Field)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipu9MhANubchWULWERwADQ1GbkEIhcYC30r2W6P2J88K6gaM5BNDYfqlNLK7gIS9A5dKxrbZnwgecnEMBfihWS9hfS-InGyuzhCTmffhpsZ0CbjAGRLdfLj7jPnHTKofcr2TWNBHWG72VAcQufCOjVtuTRlIiwgBPw5VdTZV_JOiOlPJFS9Ki6Fg/s2560/4%20T%C3%A1r.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="2560" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipu9MhANubchWULWERwADQ1GbkEIhcYC30r2W6P2J88K6gaM5BNDYfqlNLK7gIS9A5dKxrbZnwgecnEMBfihWS9hfS-InGyuzhCTmffhpsZ0CbjAGRLdfLj7jPnHTKofcr2TWNBHWG72VAcQufCOjVtuTRlIiwgBPw5VdTZV_JOiOlPJFS9Ki6Fg/w400-h168/4%20T%C3%A1r.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had a sense that I was going to love <i>Tár </i>in the early Juilliard scene, which is not only superbly written and performed, but is beautifully filmed in a single take with the camera constantly moving around the space to re-frame the characters. I admired Todd Field's previous films but he's working on another level here. <i>Tár </i>is a hugely ambitious and complex film, and what Field has achieved is something that feels so rich and fully realised it is thrilling to watch. It's a wholly absorbing character study and a thorny exploration of artistry, ego, power, exploitation and guilt. The world that Field builds around his protagonist feels so authentic and immediate, but he also layers in these ambiguous and mysterious elements – like the inexplicable sounds that plague Lydia, or her venturing into that apparently abandoned building – that are incredibly unnerving. Lydia's humbling in the film's final third is agonising to watch but also completely riveting, and often funny, especially the reveal of where she finally ends up. Excellent work from the actors across the board but Blanchett's performance is simply monumental.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">3 – The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyHRJQ5nToBokjI-YJpCkKolr7P5aFw6UNOs065f5P9ktsRhyphenhyphenWopo1o0aHEmMlHUjf6-XQJuwDqiLV0aY5xdugOP1oFu21dQhRmajP9wPY6ZHy40gLSxY0CLcgx9IpRRDml3Uw6EPeL-blaYZr09d4GjJ9C-_rIg0yKTmnPAZIVV2JIMgIR3A7g/s1200/3%20The%20Zone%20of%20Interest.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyHRJQ5nToBokjI-YJpCkKolr7P5aFw6UNOs065f5P9ktsRhyphenhyphenWopo1o0aHEmMlHUjf6-XQJuwDqiLV0aY5xdugOP1oFu21dQhRmajP9wPY6ZHy40gLSxY0CLcgx9IpRRDml3Uw6EPeL-blaYZr09d4GjJ9C-_rIg0yKTmnPAZIVV2JIMgIR3A7g/w400-h225/3%20The%20Zone%20of%20Interest.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A perfect confluence of form and content. Glazer directs with cold precision and brutal efficiency. It's a film about the things we choose not to see and hear, and the sound design is extraordinary. There are muffled shouts, barks, screams and gunshots carried on the wind </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">–</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> not to mention the constant droning hum of the machinery of death </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">–</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> but the family living next door to Auschwitz have learned to tune it out as if it was the noise of a busy road. How easy it is to wave away this horror when it becomes such a normalised and everyday part of life, and when you can build a bubble of safety and comfort around yourself. Glazer's crisp compositions give us striking images where we can just catch glimpses of the Hell that exists beyond the Höss family's small paradise, and he maintains a disquieting sense of unease that only tightens as the film progresses, with its series of banal encounters and conversations occasionally being interrupted by nightmarish interludes and by Mica Levi's guttural score. <i>The Zone of Interest</i> is a probing and resonant exploration of personal culpability, complicity and the convenience of wilful ignorance in times of great evil.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">2 – Menus-Plaisirs: Les Troisgros (Frederick Wiseman)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJC5cJ8Y8Gvw03uJ94HqOUJAPEEOfq4FJT9tWXR0SW-JrmtmlpINDkGLDsZSTbGBT0PifQxnvqLo4QgbHDFkpI8BVgU9uVo0IyPOeN1TDY_xFMyVAApupZKJ_2Z0dx7Lq1if1jdj7yUIPnMiUR6bkLhzC5n6aHhe7-022461m0M_uuBNd62o3D7A/s1600/2%20Menus-Plaisirs%20Les%20Troisgros.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJC5cJ8Y8Gvw03uJ94HqOUJAPEEOfq4FJT9tWXR0SW-JrmtmlpINDkGLDsZSTbGBT0PifQxnvqLo4QgbHDFkpI8BVgU9uVo0IyPOeN1TDY_xFMyVAApupZKJ_2Z0dx7Lq1if1jdj7yUIPnMiUR6bkLhzC5n6aHhe7-022461m0M_uuBNd62o3D7A/w400-h225/2%20Menus-Plaisirs%20Les%20Troisgros.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's hard to imagine a more purely pleasurable way to spend four hours at this festival than with this utterly captivating documentary from the legendary Frederick Wiseman. As ever, he is fascinated by process and by the interconnectedness of things, and we see the inner workings of every aspect of the Troisgros family's restaurants: planning the menus, working with suppliers, fine-tuning recipes, serving meals, engaging with the clientele. Wiseman's eye for details and human interactions is as sharp as ever, and his editing is a thing of beauty. It never feels like we're looking at anything extraneous, and his pacing ensures the film flows in a way that makes the four hours zip by. <i>Menus-Plaisirs</i> is a celebration of knowledge, collaboration, artistry, care and passion, and it's another masterpiece from arguably the greatest living filmmaker.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">1 – Killers of the Flower Moon (Martin Scorsese)</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCKozw_lNeumV6lpULBS9Iknux-7PK6HJexNxet3QJwwNdRIE7sqaXAuNcPB6ltdy3d8S-NllQjKETMLvnjMTxC5aPe5-UtovaPkfplc2lq1JoaIPSVflrwhNUDaDxIrDUSNW8pcEyUmrEgZs-fA2jE_pENzfumVkaHqgMZsvnIM6VpzAp6e2DA/s1200/1%20Killers%20of%20the%20Flower%20Moon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjCKozw_lNeumV6lpULBS9Iknux-7PK6HJexNxet3QJwwNdRIE7sqaXAuNcPB6ltdy3d8S-NllQjKETMLvnjMTxC5aPe5-UtovaPkfplc2lq1JoaIPSVflrwhNUDaDxIrDUSNW8pcEyUmrEgZs-fA2jE_pENzfumVkaHqgMZsvnIM6VpzAp6e2DA/w400-h225/1%20Killers%20of%20the%20Flower%20Moon.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm astonished by the ways Scorsese continues to push himself and his audience in this phase of his career. <i>Killers of the Flower Moon</i> is a towering achievement that bears witness to a story of rapacious greed and insidious evil. That evil is personified by William Hale, who has established himself as a loyal friend to the Osage community only to destroy them from within, and De Niro is frankly incredible here. It's one of his greatest performances. Di Caprio's Ernest is cut from the same cloth as Frank Sheeran – a spineless, passive stooge who dumbly follows orders even if it means betraying those closest to him – and the scenes he shares with the heart-wrenching Lily Gladstone as Mollie are so painful to watch, especially their last meeting. Subverting the investigative narrative of David Grann’s book, there is no mystery here, the crimes happen in plain sight and are often committed by idiots, but these are white men who know they live in a place where “You've got more chance of convicting a guy for kicking a dog than killing an Indian.” Justice is slow and insufficient, and I was knocked sideways by the choices that Scorsese and Eric Roth make with the film's audacious coda, which is as igneous as it is deeply moving. Along with <i>The Wolf of Wall Street</i> and <i>The Irishman</i>, <i>Killers of the Flower Moon</i> constitutes a stunning late-career trilogy examining moral rot at the heart of 20th-century America.</span></div></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-84996728290727890742023-12-30T16:04:00.001+00:002023-12-30T17:41:53.428+00:00My Cinema Discoveries of 2023<div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I saw 171 older films in cinemas in 2023. Of these, 119 were projected from 35mm (including two from 3D 35mm prints), three were shown on 70mm, fourteen were on 16mm, and I enjoyed three nitrate film presentations – my first nitrate experiences in more than a decade. The nitrate screenings took place at BFI Southbank, the only cinema in the UK licensed to show such prints, and two of them came at the BFI’s Film on Film festival in early June. This four-day celebration of celluloid was one of the year’s highlights. Not only was it a treat to see so many rarely screened films and formats, but it was so heartening to see an emphasis on the unique qualities of film presentation, and to shift the focus onto the projectionists, archivists and curators who make such events possible. The buzz around the BFI over that weekend was like nothing I’ve ever felt there. It’s another indicator that audiences will genuinely respond to passionate and knowledgeable curation and the opportunity to see something that they can’t experience at home or in any multiplex. I hope they take this lesson to heart and continue to push for more film presentations and more seasons built around the archive, as we saw </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">with the excellent Powell and Pressburger retrospective towards the end of the year.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Of the 171 repertory screenings I attended, 92 were for first-time viewings. Here are some of the standout discoveries.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;">50 – The Seventh Veil (Compton Bennett, 1945) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wFQ4ohuRXlJ3-RbtCPmiQRuUBVpqRoQViuBEEAF5JQCY36X5DXSoxKr3XPC30O_BiGuF1YlNv75VUWc2Laif9uSfxakMUngHzgU7JH_39n2ONHPAbCiGNVeW6unrpIff3nZclIBASckxVmbhyu5nY1xHrNDO4UR3xtDhWNXw8PMaHE2WUs7V_A/s2272/The%20Seventh%20Veil.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1278" data-original-width="2272" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2wFQ4ohuRXlJ3-RbtCPmiQRuUBVpqRoQViuBEEAF5JQCY36X5DXSoxKr3XPC30O_BiGuF1YlNv75VUWc2Laif9uSfxakMUngHzgU7JH_39n2ONHPAbCiGNVeW6unrpIff3nZclIBASckxVmbhyu5nY1xHrNDO4UR3xtDhWNXw8PMaHE2WUs7V_A/w400-h225/The%20Seventh%20Veil.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sydney and Muriel Box won the Oscar for this screenplay, and for a while that made sense to me, as the film is a pretty absorbing melodrama – at least, up to a point. It’s structured through flashbacks, with Ann Todd’s suicidal pianist undergoing hypnosis to discover the root of her overwhelming anxiety about damage to her hands, which leads her to recall her life as an orphan in the care of the ultra-controlling James Mason. The film is skilfully acted by all, although Yvonne Owen stands out from the ensemble with her cameo, which is simultaneously hilarious and hugely psychologically damaging for the protagonist at a critical moment. It might have ranked a few places higher in this list if it wasn’t for the inexplicably dreadful ending, which was apparently altered from the original script at the behest of Mason.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />49 – The Black Pirate (Albert Parker, 1926) – BFI Southbank, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiehY4VQVcFvjeES8sShsJbvLblpzleZByl5ulDkpjE-8nJI4vktVfvh6nj2zwOgKYMEc3-r0i17D2gnzk1dFYfM7VYJ5Na_eLAKXmuUZms-mCFzz9G4lvJrldmU_ovPkDKvx87zhNrlKe9jTPjCIuawd9CC8JffnJpzi5CAyltreVKqC3fP8_bAQ/s1280/The%20Black%20Pirate.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiehY4VQVcFvjeES8sShsJbvLblpzleZByl5ulDkpjE-8nJI4vktVfvh6nj2zwOgKYMEc3-r0i17D2gnzk1dFYfM7VYJ5Na_eLAKXmuUZms-mCFzz9G4lvJrldmU_ovPkDKvx87zhNrlKe9jTPjCIuawd9CC8JffnJpzi5CAyltreVKqC3fP8_bAQ/w400-h225/The%20Black%20Pirate.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Everything you could want from a Douglas Fairbanks-starring pirate swashbuckler. He swings on the rigging, he uses his knife to slide down the sails, he walks the plank and he engages in a number of swordfights – and he does it all with great charisma and absurd athleticism. I was hugely impressed by the production design and the stunt work, and the film contains some striking images: I loved the shot of Fairbanks being triumphantly carried up through the ship's levels by his triumphant men, and the underwater photography that preceded the climactic assault on the pirate ship. Donald Crisp is very funny as a one-armed pirate who has unusual methods of keeping himself awake.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />48 – Good-Time Girl (David MacDonald, 1948) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCeMfrnCY522QueGduulspU3nlxbw0AGB7g-ZtAbqBWhHgfokC80RZD8Nct2NyEvvIwZKP2kjP2aWW0qRdag2ebhTrsgB5drUWx-HoQdpgvuBskYB6grbjivPuFI7MpjszBH0bWTnAysqJVbMgMdkN6xENuRoXRvLfsRdYBEvo_MC0jT8jsXZ3gw/s1429/Good-Time%20Girl.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="866" data-original-width="1429" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCeMfrnCY522QueGduulspU3nlxbw0AGB7g-ZtAbqBWhHgfokC80RZD8Nct2NyEvvIwZKP2kjP2aWW0qRdag2ebhTrsgB5drUWx-HoQdpgvuBskYB6grbjivPuFI7MpjszBH0bWTnAysqJVbMgMdkN6xENuRoXRvLfsRdYBEvo_MC0jT8jsXZ3gw/w400-h243/Good-Time%20Girl.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A teenage Diana Dors appears as a surly delinquent at the start of the film, but she's not the good-time girl of the title. Instead, Flora Robson tells her a story about Gwen Rawlings (Jean Kent) in the hope of scaring this troublesome teen straight. It’s a familiar tale of a young woman being led astray by the bright lights and shady men of Soho, with those dodgy characters being played by Herbert Lom, Griffith Jones and a hilariously slimy Peter Glenville. Dennis Price is the comparative 'good guy' in this scenario, but even he steals a quick snog from this 16-year-old before she gets packed off to reform school. The film is quite gripping as Gwen gets drawn deeper into a life of drunkenness and criminality, and the McDonald's portrait of nocturnal London and Brighton is atmospheric.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />47 – The Black Hole (Gary Nelson, 1979) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbNUNtpfxHGo61KB4vIzgnIi2JfsHivbeC2ouluy_04pKzpcZKGc8fZxdw00BifmJ5-vodllIblyl5GsWUD6n5JOyh4iNPWnwsND3N1BlpkbTjfZP1-5Q2NpFISPt4mhTj20VeY-DnGeStMygBfsY-c_J_irF3MIHw9da8wG6lJsJeoTd46esUtQ/s1600/The%20Black%20Hole.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1600" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbNUNtpfxHGo61KB4vIzgnIi2JfsHivbeC2ouluy_04pKzpcZKGc8fZxdw00BifmJ5-vodllIblyl5GsWUD6n5JOyh4iNPWnwsND3N1BlpkbTjfZP1-5Q2NpFISPt4mhTj20VeY-DnGeStMygBfsY-c_J_irF3MIHw9da8wG6lJsJeoTd46esUtQ/w400-h170/The%20Black%20Hole.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The most expensive film Disney had ever made at the time, and also notable as the first Disney film to earn a PG rating thanks to one surprisingly violent death. Maximilian Schell delivers an amusingly bizarre performance as the mad scientist who has enslaved his crew and is determined to explore the black hole, and there's an unusual homoerotic undertone to his scenes with Anthony Perkins. Roddy McDowall and Slim Pickens voice a pair of wisecracking robots. A lot of the film is hackneyed and cheesy with underwhelming action scenes, but there's much to appreciate in its craft. The miniature and matte work is often impressive, and John Barry's score is marvellous. It earns extra points for an unexpectedly surreal ending.<br /><span><br /><b>46 – Beverly of Graustark (Sidney Franklin, 1926) – Cinema Museum, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAoBke0w7MzKCl3IZwFERm4u632wFltPk87gZlgAUrlnIpGIXH_RBIMCeKO5SX9PEspEJq85jxTXIElyWcgMvwv4amtVNNtVGm4D9qxCp2Wa6Upl66vimEPp1kHWqt_uV9THcqIlL80JsG2Dlz6iPcYhUJ-0vLUFcFDb3DI27sBUnz934VVd8wWA/s1800/Beverly%20of%20Graustark.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1412" data-original-width="1800" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAoBke0w7MzKCl3IZwFERm4u632wFltPk87gZlgAUrlnIpGIXH_RBIMCeKO5SX9PEspEJq85jxTXIElyWcgMvwv4amtVNNtVGm4D9qxCp2Wa6Upl66vimEPp1kHWqt_uV9THcqIlL80JsG2Dlz6iPcYhUJ-0vLUFcFDb3DI27sBUnz934VVd8wWA/w400-h314/Beverly%20of%20Graustark.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This crossdressing farce stars Marion Davies as the woman who pretends to be the king in place of her injured cousin and finds herself attracted to Antonio Moreno while she's dressed as a man. It’s a great showcase for Davies, who gives a tremendously cute and funny performance, and Sidney Franklin's accomplished direction throws up a few striking images; I loved the long shot framed over an assassin's rifle, and the late sight of Davies wearing both her dress and the king's trousers, which encapsulates the gender confusion she gets herself tangled in. The unexpected blast of early Technicolor at the end of the film came as a pleasant surprise.<br /><br /><b>45 – The World's Greatest Sinner (Timothy Carey, 1962) – Cinema Europa, Bologna, Digital</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyi0oTZbJiZg_n8rDctGf6IIldjXbPenW69O6yVrIqee7fsvbMRl3Nw_L45MDT69xwTcixa68KdGG68YZpMZnNH7JiX2BIO6h25-oS1FrORtSvXy7_sMiH667WzOrt8nPfXqe8TWh-4UZAYOkdbMr9I6Ne1vIso57NgO5i3xBnZwwfZcBeH1ydnQ/s1920/The%20World's%20Greatest%20Sinner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="847" data-original-width="1920" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyi0oTZbJiZg_n8rDctGf6IIldjXbPenW69O6yVrIqee7fsvbMRl3Nw_L45MDT69xwTcixa68KdGG68YZpMZnNH7JiX2BIO6h25-oS1FrORtSvXy7_sMiH667WzOrt8nPfXqe8TWh-4UZAYOkdbMr9I6Ne1vIso57NgO5i3xBnZwwfZcBeH1ydnQ/w400-h176/The%20World's%20Greatest%20Sinner.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Carey's only film as a director is a truly wild experience. He plays an insurance salesman who abruptly decides to quit his day job and start a cult, promising people that anyone who follows him will never die. From cult leader he aims for the presidency, and Carey effectively makes his point about how easy it is for an unconventional candidate to dupe the press and the public: "If they believed what I was doing, they'd try to stop me. That's what makes it so easy for me." The laughs thin out generally as Carey's character grows more demonic and the fascist imagery becomes more prominent, and I was hoping for a stronger finale, but <i>The World’s Greatest Sinner</i> is a fascinating and often very funny one-off, with Carey displaying a distinctive vision behind the camera and delivering a completely unhinged performance in front of it.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />44 – The Barkleys of Broadway (Charles Walters, 1949) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b49xE7HeCihUZIi-7-S4PazKeHybqk8XaoQ12Nigl3u6AVvajjpnokeMRGeIIi64nXsXJnIB7SNUdhqeGrbfujlCYRkm20FZT2YMpdDlPNl1N_Xu0ehrDu6QDRgWsYl7tOjjJ-LD5RHYrEaqGHPIqLFF3O_EWBfRWfLMHZUhJJbyL3Oho3BOAg/s1600/The%20Barkleys%20of%20Broadway.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2b49xE7HeCihUZIi-7-S4PazKeHybqk8XaoQ12Nigl3u6AVvajjpnokeMRGeIIi64nXsXJnIB7SNUdhqeGrbfujlCYRkm20FZT2YMpdDlPNl1N_Xu0ehrDu6QDRgWsYl7tOjjJ-LD5RHYrEaqGHPIqLFF3O_EWBfRWfLMHZUhJJbyL3Oho3BOAg/w400-h225/The%20Barkleys%20of%20Broadway.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The tenth and final pairing of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, although Rogers was only enlisted as a last-minute replacement for Judy Garland. The film’s highlights include an odd shoe shop number with some fancy special effects that ends with Fred shooting a bunch of shoes, and the performance of <i>My One and Only Highland Fling</i>, which boasts some amusing lyrics, a pair of horrific Scottish accents, and Ginger rolling her Rs like crazy. All the scenes where the humdrum plot is forgotten and Fred and Ginger are allowed to just dance are a pleasure to watch, and the way they reprise <i>They Can't Take That Away</i> <i>from Me</i> from <i>Shall we Dance</i> is a nice touch. Oscar Levant's intense piano numbers are very impressive – and probably the most riveting sequences in the film – even if I’m not sure what purpose are they serving in a Fred and Ginger vehicle. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />43 – On the Bowery (Lionel Rogosin, 1957) – Prince Charles Cinema, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqsc_DiXnqUlfM06rGYA5hwai7Q_0vR2UG3E-_SPFRAGMAGTnBemXz-4soIWKrq6foV7HD7Cc66PHxBj_1pujHp0YajW_TYoVXgePICkQvhU7F98gQ75X0PFxME9EHzpJ1wNzJV5fS5OJJZX4mRVdJ3zSJ1jmIBAsA_-GJYi6l8SQMNANdX7-og/s2048/On%20the%20Bowery.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1567" data-original-width="2048" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqsc_DiXnqUlfM06rGYA5hwai7Q_0vR2UG3E-_SPFRAGMAGTnBemXz-4soIWKrq6foV7HD7Cc66PHxBj_1pujHp0YajW_TYoVXgePICkQvhU7F98gQ75X0PFxME9EHzpJ1wNzJV5fS5OJJZX4mRVdJ3zSJ1jmIBAsA_-GJYi6l8SQMNANdX7-og/w400-h306/On%20the%20Bowery.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The semi-fictional narrative concerns railroad worker Ray Salyer as he arrives in New York looking for work and only finding drink, but what makes this film so vital is the documentary footage that Rogosin of the bums and drunkards who lived on these streets and in these bars, with Richard Bagley’s camera observes every line and scar on the faces of these weary, wrecked men. Rogosin got vivid and authentic performances from the local drinkers who appeared in the key roles, notably Gorman Hendricks as the Bowery veteran, who helps Ray find his feet but isn’t above stealing his luggage for a few bucks. Hendricks died of cirrhosis of the liver before the film opened and Salyer – who was offered a Hollywood contract on the back of this film – died an alcoholic a few years later. This knowledge adds an extra weight to the film’s ending, when Hendricks helps Salyer in his attempt to clean up and get away from the Bowery, and we hear another drunk mutter, “He’ll be back.”<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />42 – Working Girls (Lizzie Borden, 1986) – ICA, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvybGqt0540Oik4Ql_8697kgOwa-XKegpzZs8a6fAxHam-qyS5aB4kV42koaP7n_c8AhK45lYmxRwFSrHDiGXFa74G-TzUeXMr4GturwSc3cMn96zZEkHMR7otMDIa7wYX3Y3SoOfFl2duuGfK2JCJAZht_WXTRMoaZxT1qYUNdJEI25mNHddhIQ/s1600/Working%20Girls.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvybGqt0540Oik4Ql_8697kgOwa-XKegpzZs8a6fAxHam-qyS5aB4kV42koaP7n_c8AhK45lYmxRwFSrHDiGXFa74G-TzUeXMr4GturwSc3cMn96zZEkHMR7otMDIa7wYX3Y3SoOfFl2duuGfK2JCJAZht_WXTRMoaZxT1qYUNdJEI25mNHddhIQ/w400-h225/Working%20Girls.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A film about sex workers that presents it as just a job like any other. The women who work out of this New York apartment complain about their clients, are screwed over by their boss, and struggle to keep boredom at bay between jobs. Borden captures the mundanity of these lives but she also films the multiple sexual encounters with the same detached objectivity, refusing to heighten or eroticise an encounter that means little more to these women than another payment added to the daily total, even if some of the men think there's a greater emotional bond there. Borden derives a lot of comedy from the more eccentric clientele, but she also uses each encounter to give us a different perspective on the dynamics at play here, with the various prostitutes ranging in experience and background. <i>Working Girls</i> is economical in its storytelling but thematically rich, and it is brilliantly shot by Judy Irola.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />41 – Eldridge Cleaver, Black Panther (William Klein, 1969) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 16mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn__1wV3qKOFoU9D46u4vEQ2pJBtOBJU-YfIgi94yDTxzdoqGkqzY8YCdsm-Fv8jWoCcZtcGL34GYwWww8gd4lZZ7NWvVhmYfJ7QjsepMjHRMl73kSWb8Y4f7YJ6eQ1BKEr4RBMPiqnVbJFvY_VnOhLoS8kptJmtfvBWoHXKNchnpQf6hK4ypiKQ/s1472/Eldridge%20Cleaver,%20Black%20Panther.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="1472" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn__1wV3qKOFoU9D46u4vEQ2pJBtOBJU-YfIgi94yDTxzdoqGkqzY8YCdsm-Fv8jWoCcZtcGL34GYwWww8gd4lZZ7NWvVhmYfJ7QjsepMjHRMl73kSWb8Y4f7YJ6eQ1BKEr4RBMPiqnVbJFvY_VnOhLoS8kptJmtfvBWoHXKNchnpQf6hK4ypiKQ/w400-h249/Eldridge%20Cleaver,%20Black%20Panther.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">William Klein's documentary follows Black Panther activist Eldridge Cleaver in Algeria, while he's wanted in the US on a murder charge. We hear a lot of Cleaver's political rhetoric, with much of it still feeling relevant today, and it's interesting to watch him interact with representatives of other oppressed people. Klein also effectively incorporates archive footage to support the points being made, with the use of shocking images of atrocities committed in Vietnam having a particularly brutal impact. I definitely need to see more of Klein's documentary work. I left the film feeling curious about what happened to Cleaver subsequently, and reading his Wikipedia page is an eye-opening experience to say the least.<br /><span><br /><b>40 – Louisiana Story (Robert J. Flaherty, 1948) – </b><b>BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_LiK9K095ViSkw9ZVSrpagAoXApmMdThOqS1zaKwm8W2AdIqOSYj6rP-iVzRirUkfy1Zq-oLiV9EzfmDUumxR7unJq7ruMWK58orf7ybqqX-C7KzIQs8OobNLA14WCCOhY61AiQoURKvtn6cOCuc25c59aauyMM6w7OmHPfsiOhT6IXTa31WCQ/s3500/Louisiana%20Story.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="3500" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_LiK9K095ViSkw9ZVSrpagAoXApmMdThOqS1zaKwm8W2AdIqOSYj6rP-iVzRirUkfy1Zq-oLiV9EzfmDUumxR7unJq7ruMWK58orf7ybqqX-C7KzIQs8OobNLA14WCCOhY61AiQoURKvtn6cOCuc25c59aauyMM6w7OmHPfsiOhT6IXTa31WCQ/w400-h260/Louisiana%20Story.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Louisiana Story</i> came fifth in Sight & Sound's first ever Greatest Films of All Time poll four years after its release, it was nominated for an Oscar, and the score won a Pulitzer, but now it seems mostly forgotten. I suppose Flaherty's blend of documentary realism and blatant dramatic manipulation looks less impressive to modern viewers, but the scenes depicting oil drillers at work are fascinating and Flaherty has an undeniably strong eye for capturing moments of natural splendour. The footage of the young Cajun protagonist on the river are beautiful, with the cutaways feeling like a clear influence on Malick. The film is let down by the moments when Flaherty tries to marry these sequences together through scripted scenes that are awkwardly acted and stiffly written, and it’s hard to swallow the propaganda aspect of the way the oil company and its relationship with the people and the land is presented.<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">39 – Easy Money (Bernard Knowles, 1948) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht73_VOzlQF62WlIjA6nqAeJrIjZtnEFZqzBnXpuzkmicwDjOWi9xmsrmTvpU4zpkcKlQSGlkZYwqDKk_pNDGso6N1TE444bGcU5dNadck9G0EvX5PaPiiUT5ZU4H0xyidMrq5cdvAcZXPCAlfRUJFuySX5XDsnXNTGZw5cgdSXevJRqXsvQzzHg/s1371/Easy%20Money.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1176" data-original-width="1371" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht73_VOzlQF62WlIjA6nqAeJrIjZtnEFZqzBnXpuzkmicwDjOWi9xmsrmTvpU4zpkcKlQSGlkZYwqDKk_pNDGso6N1TE444bGcU5dNadck9G0EvX5PaPiiUT5ZU4H0xyidMrq5cdvAcZXPCAlfRUJFuySX5XDsnXNTGZw5cgdSXevJRqXsvQzzHg/w400-h343/Easy%20Money.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm always a little wary of portmanteau films, but each of these four stories made me laugh. They are tales of people who won big on the football pools: A family (led by Jack Warner and Marjorie Fielding) who are made miserable by their impending windfall, not realising that one of them forgot to post the coupon; a meek, henpecked husband (Mervyn Johns) who doesn't want to quit his job despite his wife insisting; a couple (Dennis Price and Greta Gynt) who conspire to cheat their way to the big prize; and a disgruntled double-bassist (Edward Rigby) who leaves the orchestra after his big win. Each story is cleverly written, full of great one-liners, and beautifully performed, and the film also offers an insight into the operation of the football pools when they were at the peak of their popularity.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />38 – The Last Outlaw (Arthur Rosson, 1927) – Cinema Museum, 16mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcHlQTrrZjmtDgKfNlwkUtpejoUBkt9fQ_7-3_dDBY3fUhmA4bw_CbZieFaB9HjPsc8esl4bVKCj9PHgTPwaGV_utt8JOK2Nh3zqHa4_IdwPLBBKj5PFFCiGn5UeYDZneMJC4SCNuF-DvBxSX9vHldOVvA_zNG-JnM0dxv8-fDFeu6JX_6-aVXA/s4409/The%20Last%20Outlaw.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3965" data-original-width="4409" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcHlQTrrZjmtDgKfNlwkUtpejoUBkt9fQ_7-3_dDBY3fUhmA4bw_CbZieFaB9HjPsc8esl4bVKCj9PHgTPwaGV_utt8JOK2Nh3zqHa4_IdwPLBBKj5PFFCiGn5UeYDZneMJC4SCNuF-DvBxSX9vHldOVvA_zNG-JnM0dxv8-fDFeu6JX_6-aVXA/w400-h360/The%20Last%20Outlaw.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is a fairly nondescript silent western in most respects. Rosson's direction is unremarkable and the climax, which involves a herd of stampeding cattle, should be a good deal more exciting than it is. But <i>The Last Outlaw</i> does have one thing that distinguishes it and compensates for all of its flaws – sheer star power. This was one of Gary Cooper’s first leading roles, and there's an early scene where he makes his case for becoming the new sheriff in which you can see him becoming a movie star in front of your eyes. He performs with such swagger, charm and playfulness, and he has a terrific chemistry Billy Butts, as the child who becomes his loyal pal. It’s worth seeking out this picture just for his revelatory lead performance.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />37 – Bushman (David Schickele, 1971) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5xIfrifJGZo25hDLAqksMf2mQqg7cHojIRJ1AQUlN5fwqLNE0h0G4DBDKrXGiHb2H-J6_Q99N3z4667rr_fEa6yMBhRyVSitq25jLAUIY0uK6yXpVbbwr4RNXCdWyIw-5Kd_ayPmOWire_mUbFptgIGeiqfTOk-Ex_Twqyr_uIzgxh3SsXgv1w/s746/Bushman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="746" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5xIfrifJGZo25hDLAqksMf2mQqg7cHojIRJ1AQUlN5fwqLNE0h0G4DBDKrXGiHb2H-J6_Q99N3z4667rr_fEa6yMBhRyVSitq25jLAUIY0uK6yXpVbbwr4RNXCdWyIw-5Kd_ayPmOWire_mUbFptgIGeiqfTOk-Ex_Twqyr_uIzgxh3SsXgv1w/w400-h226/Bushman.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've never seen a film unfold quite like this one. It begins as a fiction-documentary hybrid about a young Nigerian man living in the US and this half of the film is engrossing as a study of identity, prejudice and fetishisation. It's a beautifully crafted film with some exquisitely composed cinematography by David Myers. About halfway through the making of <i>Bushman</i>, reality suddenly came crashing in and meant they couldn't finish shooting with their lead actor Paul Eyam Nzie Okpokam, so the climax of the film is actually a straight documentary explaining what happened to him. As the director puts it, "In this case reality wasn't stranger than fiction, it was just faster." It's a fascinating, poignant and singular film.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />36 – The Magician (Rex Ingram, 1926) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuQqqbkXZGEJOSYz71tIhJmHH-qo1qE3L3xrw9neHXcgzg9cZnn1cUIJPHvKuM3wjF76OcHJD8PwNZnqXMfjJwmLdSc0q8Lkm0f_np7QmE6JB3T4pRf05b2R9mIAS9Mj2K9edq4velqB1ZMSoWWGUqngpoS9UxFymCwa49uzTnu-sNFKTNPFpDQ/s3500/The%20Magician.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="3500" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuQqqbkXZGEJOSYz71tIhJmHH-qo1qE3L3xrw9neHXcgzg9cZnn1cUIJPHvKuM3wjF76OcHJD8PwNZnqXMfjJwmLdSc0q8Lkm0f_np7QmE6JB3T4pRf05b2R9mIAS9Mj2K9edq4velqB1ZMSoWWGUqngpoS9UxFymCwa49uzTnu-sNFKTNPFpDQ/w400-h260/The%20Magician.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"He looks as if he had stepped out of a melodrama," a character says of Paul Wegener, who plays the titular magician. With his intense eyes, dramatic eyebrows and habit of flouncing away with his cape swirling around his shoulders, he plays the villainous mastermind to the hilt. His plot is to mesmerise and kidnap a young sculptor (Alice Terry) and use her blood for his Frankenstein-like experiment. It’s a fine There is some beautiful staging by Ingram – including a spectacular orgiastic fantasy sequence set in Hell – and the film builds to an exciting and explosive climax, with some great model work. It’s a strong film and its style and atmosphere seems to set the tone for some of the gothic horrors that studios would produce in the next decade.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />35 – A Midsummer Night's Dream (William Dieterle and Max Reinhardt, 1935) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCU1iQpyXPElkaWh9A1dA1BuIjY_hKDoiDAu3PHXxkTKIYVHB8Kpgn75rztOnXDNYBb5ZxL6U0haY9g-uJ3da1UYVnqDDasOxM_WvLk3Noh5CLX6GJblpZX1OKHlPx6Z8lYO8usVZjBX-CAARYCcTgQJm0U_lXOWLsZgJNTamQdWL8OU-JubBPA/s1280/a%20midsummer%20night's%20dream.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCU1iQpyXPElkaWh9A1dA1BuIjY_hKDoiDAu3PHXxkTKIYVHB8Kpgn75rztOnXDNYBb5ZxL6U0haY9g-uJ3da1UYVnqDDasOxM_WvLk3Noh5CLX6GJblpZX1OKHlPx6Z8lYO8usVZjBX-CAARYCcTgQJm0U_lXOWLsZgJNTamQdWL8OU-JubBPA/w400-h225/a%20midsummer%20night's%20dream.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mickey Rooney's intensely aggravating performance as Puck is almost enough to capsize this glossy Shakespeare adaptation, but there's plenty to admire in this slightly overlong but charming film. First of all, it looks fantastic, with the cellophane-wrapped sets and beautifully designed costumes all bathed in a shimmering, silvery light. There are some enchanting moments, like the fairies appearing in the woodland mist or the creation of the veil from the spider's web. James Cagney overacts like crazy every minute he's on screen (perhaps because he knows he'll be under a donkey's head for most of the film) and the bits where he must play romantic scenes with Joe E. Brown are very funny. Olivia de Havilland and Jean Muir are both extremely charming, and the mixed-up romantic desires of the four Athenian lovers are nicely played. Replace Rooney with literally anyone else, and you’d be left with a very fine picture.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />34 – Le Départ (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1967) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqT2skHU0b4Pew9IIdqkQ4vQHdp-9YMGF_-Bt4QD73IY9b0n3v2m3XlVBxUEiseZe98W_TLw-0LF-7UIzthQTaAIBvLVSucYiOUGHcS_rQYHMIB_r5w8RgmM2hxUDdif5hDZMswf9vi9-UUpXdxNs1dj6TjwWDuE-JCuVbYIbYbCiC7mxFKeOiA/s2693/Le%20D%C3%A9part.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2043" data-original-width="2693" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqT2skHU0b4Pew9IIdqkQ4vQHdp-9YMGF_-Bt4QD73IY9b0n3v2m3XlVBxUEiseZe98W_TLw-0LF-7UIzthQTaAIBvLVSucYiOUGHcS_rQYHMIB_r5w8RgmM2hxUDdif5hDZMswf9vi9-UUpXdxNs1dj6TjwWDuE-JCuVbYIbYbCiC7mxFKeOiA/w400-h304/Le%20D%C3%A9part.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Even by Jean-Pierre Léaud's standards, this is a manic goofball performance for the ages. He plays a guy who is obsessed with obtaining a Porsche in order to enter a race, but the narrative here is just an excuse for Léaud to run around Paris, getting into scrapes, scamming people, stealing cars, distributing wigs, pulling walnuts out of his pockets, encouraging a colleague to punch him in the face, or trying to rent a car with a deposit of "cash and some valuable hair." The film was shot in a few weeks and it feels like every moment was improvised on the fly, often amidst baffled-looking crowds. <i>Le Départ</i> is propelled by Léaud's wildly mannered performance and an incessant jazz score, but Skolimowski and his cinematographer Willy Kurant also find moments of real beauty in it, particularly in the few quieter scenes between Léaud and Catherine Duport in the car show or in the hotel room. It ends with the film burning up, and that feels like the only way it could end.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />33 – Lady in the Dark (Mitchell Leisen, 1944) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfQmOs2zkfR1UQVxsvPz0zXFfR2teDDlpyqDlY-1LNSQVIoW4qyYeWE3riUj-C5pj0tJ93sz0WbRlBd2RehZuiMXydmGsrsCNJ_XnHCEo9Mr3paLA8vhfyXBwYyg3lDAealpuEgXZW5whWKpRYJmFBtVlkrW0dOTYW-O7mA-EqCPxZx5H4MR76w/s2725/Lady%20in%20the%20Dark.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2164" data-original-width="2725" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfQmOs2zkfR1UQVxsvPz0zXFfR2teDDlpyqDlY-1LNSQVIoW4qyYeWE3riUj-C5pj0tJ93sz0WbRlBd2RehZuiMXydmGsrsCNJ_XnHCEo9Mr3paLA8vhfyXBwYyg3lDAealpuEgXZW5whWKpRYJmFBtVlkrW0dOTYW-O7mA-EqCPxZx5H4MR76w/w400-h318/Lady%20in%20the%20Dark.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A weird Freudian sort-of musical starring Ginger Rogers as a successful magazine editor beset by inexplicable anxieties, who decides to try psychoanalysis as a last resort. The conversations with her therapist lead to a retrograde dissection of Rogers' character – chastising her for not being more feminine and concluding that she needs "some man who'll dominate you" – but these scenes are merely a springboard for a number of astonishing dream sequences. Elaborately designed and costumed, these set-pieces get increasingly surreal as the film progresses, to the point where I felt like I was losing my mind during the long circus sequence - Ray Milland in a sparkly suit! A pink elephant taking notes! An audience full of egg people! Ginger appearing first as a child and then in that spectacularly leggy red dress! The film is also funny in its non-bizarre moments, with Mischa Auer as an outrageously camp photographer getting the last word and pretty much stealing the film. It's a mesmerising spectacle.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />32 – Land of the Dead (George A. Romero, 2005) – Prince Charles Cinema, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeQHSjL5NCZAx6QaMm7jT-j4ZELe7o5yOIkHCjfz-odSc_XRYU9xnkXNRIq4cb-BQNHsj93abYO3cvr3f3fIW0_ZDoxiExCUTLNVI59jAxBXft0oRwUKWBDpRUbo4NlW3W-26PMFdxZO3yD7GhE1I69ryLk_kakyP9QKn8aJ3jPg65bTTWlhRNg/s1600/Land%20of%20the%20Dead.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="1600" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeQHSjL5NCZAx6QaMm7jT-j4ZELe7o5yOIkHCjfz-odSc_XRYU9xnkXNRIq4cb-BQNHsj93abYO3cvr3f3fIW0_ZDoxiExCUTLNVI59jAxBXft0oRwUKWBDpRUbo4NlW3W-26PMFdxZO3yD7GhE1I69ryLk_kakyP9QKn8aJ3jPg65bTTWlhRNg/w400-h205/Land%20of%20the%20Dead.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Romero's return to the <i>Dead </i>series after a two-decade absence takes place some years after the zombie apocalypse, with people having adapted to life alongside the undead. The most interesting wrinkle sees the zombies beginning to evolve, learning to problem-solve and communicate, and figuring out how to use tools. The class commentary is blunt but effective, with the rich (led by a slimy Dennis Hopper) living the high life in their ivory tower while using both the zombies and the oppressed have-nots for their labour and entertainment, and the film is also interesting as a post-9/11 and War on Terror movie. Romero finds endless variations on the basic setup of zombies creeping up and biting people (although one quick glimpse of a woman's belly button ring being ripped out may be the film's queasiest moment), and the shot of the zombie hordes rising up out of the river is one of the strongest images in the whole series. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />31 – Wachtmeister Studer (Leopold Lindtberg, 1939) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqsLVsXBk81bOHd9sUSR-qZdaDPgi2PCNFGeNGuU5Os1EoJyYtPdt5I6CfAykxipzJ1YR6KQGWH2Oic8dMXIhcIsofgGbsp_MZh7xk1ivVspJqorQUBsKay3laH4TngxxMkqcAF1Vq0KFdxNUprjfeULi2cmOJad7BO2anaBcJRVVCbI8LZirVA/s1200/Wachtmeister%20Studer.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoqsLVsXBk81bOHd9sUSR-qZdaDPgi2PCNFGeNGuU5Os1EoJyYtPdt5I6CfAykxipzJ1YR6KQGWH2Oic8dMXIhcIsofgGbsp_MZh7xk1ivVspJqorQUBsKay3laH4TngxxMkqcAF1Vq0KFdxNUprjfeULi2cmOJad7BO2anaBcJRVVCbI8LZirVA/w400-h300/Wachtmeister%20Studer.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This film moves at a very sedate pace and there's not much action in it. To be honest, as I watched the first half hour unfold, I doubted it would sustain my interest for the duration. However, there's something absorbing about the way the plot gradually reveals itself, and in the film's second half I was completely hooked. It also helps that there's a magnificent central performance to enjoy. Heinrich Gretler is tremendously watchable as Studer, the city detective despatched to the countryside to investigate a staged suicide and get the suspect in custody off the hook. Studer is a brilliant protagonist: gruff, stubborn and with a sharp instinct for tiny details, he remains doggedly on the case even when it initially appears resolved, and even when a fever has him coughing and sweating through the final act. It's really satisfying to watch him piece it all together. Gretler reprised this role in 1947’s <i>Madness Rules</i> and I’d happily watch a whole series of Studer films.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />30 – Bluebeard's Castle (Michael Powell, 1963) – BFI Southbank, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6VhYafnAUUZOBgzJObhs3SX-J0SRPPJhpiFico6zhGaUUnpLChCwoaA5gvynHBGuwqUFpNhMcADvnqyRHiy6y_g-15af-_pSz9__1ijMPGDqPLG4KH9RpbTRq_xio-MT6SuxYWOOxUM1eO_gjebTEFw9yfuDLjtQ_sBKGdag5_e8RYswG2qWHw/s1162/Bluebeard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1162" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6VhYafnAUUZOBgzJObhs3SX-J0SRPPJhpiFico6zhGaUUnpLChCwoaA5gvynHBGuwqUFpNhMcADvnqyRHiy6y_g-15af-_pSz9__1ijMPGDqPLG4KH9RpbTRq_xio-MT6SuxYWOOxUM1eO_gjebTEFw9yfuDLjtQ_sBKGdag5_e8RYswG2qWHw/w400-h293/Bluebeard.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Made for German television, an opening subtitle warns us that "This is an opera sung through in German, but don't let that put you off." I found Norman Foster and Ana Raquel Satre so compelling to watch I didn't mind that I didn't understand exactly what they were singing about. I was also agog at the aesthetic feast that Michael Powell and Hein Heckroth created here. The lighting is so beautiful and expressive, shifting rapidly to denote a change in mood, and the production design is extraordinary. Each of the seven rooms that Bluebeard takes Judith into is uniquely crafted and some contain marvellous effects – especially the room that appears to have tears slowly falling into the pool, with those drops later becoming drops of blood. It’s by far the most fascinating project from Powell's post-<i>Peeping Tom</i> wilderness years.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />29 – 1871 (Ken McMullen, 1990) – ICA, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiW2QYGuftwTLwKR_BDELqLHlwuiiZUY5c5cjN0nRZvihDsNeST7e2l29cyxgh62J3MKpA5Z0hyphenhyphenChvfYHkUyMk6izxdH1PSOnfwEAjQxfD9GdFvdlMxWsyqlbDvYhDXg23YTaw8FKW7k7FUgpZChokRwvtmr4Qkw5Ax6YuPrJbn1yXq0obMTvCA/s1282/1871.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="1282" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiW2QYGuftwTLwKR_BDELqLHlwuiiZUY5c5cjN0nRZvihDsNeST7e2l29cyxgh62J3MKpA5Z0hyphenhyphenChvfYHkUyMk6izxdH1PSOnfwEAjQxfD9GdFvdlMxWsyqlbDvYhDXg23YTaw8FKW7k7FUgpZChokRwvtmr4Qkw5Ax6YuPrJbn1yXq0obMTvCA/w400-h186/1871.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, that is Med Hondo as Karl Marx whispering into the ear of Dominique Pinon’s Napoleon, and this eclectic ensemble also boasts Roshan Seth, John Lynch, Maria de Medeiros and an amusingly vulgar Timothy Spall. Ken McMullen's ambitious film about the Paris Commune has an artificial, theatrical quality played with a raucous spirit that places it in the tradition of Peter Greenaway, Ken Russell and Med Hondo himself, whose <i>West Indies</i> is surely an influence. The film is set largely within a theatre and it is imaginatively staged, with some fluid camera moves taking us from one part of the location to another. It's a dense, provocative, elegant and lusty production. I don't think I always followed the drama, but I found the experience captivating and stimulating, especially on this astonishingly vivid 35mm print.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />28 – Macario (Roberto Gavaldón, 1960) – BFI Southbank, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqC2UpFr-xClXs8mISmi_jB5IrAO6NpONQ7MVQ6RIfJQiwb4GULiE-Y66BnHWs7PZT7cHaKEwJyFDSNvnwAE2Nv0zXKTDCGCoc7MC5VhYvGq7824j3Y5PbwrDIkODGWlsvais6XWGUU5GyAUiK-IiT0NkQ3rQ6u-fNL6HR26AyHBj_gCjP2tqeQ/s1280/Macario.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqC2UpFr-xClXs8mISmi_jB5IrAO6NpONQ7MVQ6RIfJQiwb4GULiE-Y66BnHWs7PZT7cHaKEwJyFDSNvnwAE2Nv0zXKTDCGCoc7MC5VhYvGq7824j3Y5PbwrDIkODGWlsvais6XWGUU5GyAUiK-IiT0NkQ3rQ6u-fNL6HR26AyHBj_gCjP2tqeQ/w400-h225/Macario.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is an astonishingly beautiful film shot by the legendary Gabriel Figueroa in gorgeously textured black-and-white, and some of the scenes – especially the mist-shrouded woods and the candlelit cave at the end – are breathtaking. Macario is a parable about poverty, greed, power and faith, but what really took me by surprise is how funny it is. As the simple woodsman granted healing powers, Ignacio López Tarso is wonderful, offering some great double-takes and mugging as Death (a suitably skeletal-looking Enrique Lucero) tells him who can be saved and who is condemned. The film is sharply written – I loved the bit when Macario's wife (the beautiful, empathetic Pina Pellicer) asks the Inquisition why they are smashing things when she has the key, and one replies "The law needs no key!" – and it boasts excellent performances across the board. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />27 – The Blue Kite (Tian Zhuangzhuang, 1993) – ICA, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkDesJoJDCs8nk-2k9nPniLAHyZ8kagMGEIp8UnxzqS_iBJsZR4y95vTxXm_V-1E0WEpZUV1Q1jXKgbY5stbqC8XOLFBMBiYBqWoBd1OtpPaUGaPrDK0ZwibM7YVNIa7yAM3yOruCm2ybNjiy12BJalHp7v8YMNsJhOYKaDQjKTW96CMkRVcndQ/s1200/The%20Blue%20Kite.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkDesJoJDCs8nk-2k9nPniLAHyZ8kagMGEIp8UnxzqS_iBJsZR4y95vTxXm_V-1E0WEpZUV1Q1jXKgbY5stbqC8XOLFBMBiYBqWoBd1OtpPaUGaPrDK0ZwibM7YVNIa7yAM3yOruCm2ybNjiy12BJalHp7v8YMNsJhOYKaDQjKTW96CMkRVcndQ/w400-h225/The%20Blue%20Kite.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We’re fortunate to have this film at all, as <i>The Blue Kite</i> suffered from a great deal of interference from officials during its production and editing process, and it subsequently earned Tian Zhuangzhuang a long ban from filmmaking in China. His ambitious film depicts three phases of Mao's rule – the Hundred Flowers Campaign, the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution – and shows how these policies impact the lives of a young boy and his mother, whose three husbands all fall victim to the party. The film powerfully shows the plight of ordinary people caught up in the sweep of history, with ideological shifts severing relationships and with friends, neighbours and co-workers being forced to turn against one another. It’s tenderly acted and very moving.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />26 – Hondo (John Farrow, 1953) – BFI Southbank, 35mm 3D</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpMN3chU4f9d__bIkFBRil4VuegP-b8ibZXCVOUwBgla87780QznHjFMjsCUlRvrtfS6jwPJW0H9B5ZOVSuyVBsvOEaIrdchi9cEKpxEk7vbkjfoaOL-qnSc8bhkQWcDm3ao8z5tqgLRU_ydSs63rf1TOan9df_G00uqzJCDBcH4sPIoNxGeVWg/s1520/Hondo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="945" data-original-width="1520" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXpMN3chU4f9d__bIkFBRil4VuegP-b8ibZXCVOUwBgla87780QznHjFMjsCUlRvrtfS6jwPJW0H9B5ZOVSuyVBsvOEaIrdchi9cEKpxEk7vbkjfoaOL-qnSc8bhkQWcDm3ao8z5tqgLRU_ydSs63rf1TOan9df_G00uqzJCDBcH4sPIoNxGeVWg/w400-h249/Hondo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></b>I never imagined I'd get to see John Wayne in 3D! Not many cinemagoers actually did, as <i>Hondo</i>'s 3D release was limited in 1953, so this presentation was an extremely rare opportunity to see this fine western as intended. There isn't much 3D gimmickry here, beyond a few arrows, spears and knives thrust towards the camera. Instead, Farrow uses it to give a sense of depth and perspective to his classical composition. The plot is strangely similar to <i>Shane</i>, which came out a few months earlier, with Wayne playing an isolated gunman who gradually becomes integrated into the lives of Geraldine Page and her young son. This is a terrific Wayne performance: he delivers great lines like "Everybody gets dead. It was his turn"; he tells Geraldine Page what she smells in weirdly specific detail; and – in the film’s inarguable highlight – he teaches a small boy to swim by picking him up and launching him into the river. It was surely an oversight to not have the kid flying at the camera in 3D, though.<br /><b><span><br />25 – Miranda (Ken Annakin, 1948) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifY5ZZP_LXUM3GrhyeT3rS-L01QLmfO100OIisoFTjvuxuXnLB_ap7dCrhQldqO2uUF6IC4Owrl1rjFgVlMeEDjyhU3knY9hubF07CcxPGvYLncsEJHGfzVevlqUGYWwFWrmF4qIO0yc7VYcLCFFa5nC78auVuN5r4Km9wOYI5oCqkNNBUjSwhUw/s1920/Miranda.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifY5ZZP_LXUM3GrhyeT3rS-L01QLmfO100OIisoFTjvuxuXnLB_ap7dCrhQldqO2uUF6IC4Owrl1rjFgVlMeEDjyhU3knY9hubF07CcxPGvYLncsEJHGfzVevlqUGYWwFWrmF4qIO0yc7VYcLCFFa5nC78auVuN5r4Km9wOYI5oCqkNNBUjSwhUw/w400-h225/Miranda.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">All I knew going in to this screening was that Glynis Johns plays a mermaid, which was enough to sell me on the movie, but I was pleasantly surprised by the supporting cast around her. Googie Withers, Margaret Rutherford, John McCallum, Yvonne Owen and David Tomlinson all give fine comic performances in this highly enjoyable film. Johns is on disarming form as the mermaid who persuades Griffith Jones to take her back to London, where she bewitches every man she meets. It's a tightly scripted and very funny film, which contains a surprising amount of risqué humour. I had a great time with it, although I admit to being completely flummoxed by the film's closing shot, which suggests that Miranda was somehow impregnated by one of her suitors? The most bewildering ending to any film I saw this year.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />24 – To Sleep So As To Dream (Kaizô Hayashi, 1986) – ICA, 16mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3EIMrqTqDPCD7lbRswzqklwV4UhkbmEXb8bErz_iTA-45dO2msAaupfZzasmNGziXyRs-MCo7z3sa1_RpkO4fG6KatlU8C7GxSZjwOeO-W2-4vGWPeCrtFnoC72lUJT3t5wPkf8sE9DLklANsdT9wrDXD16xG_RYi90nJoratlgYUNQ_0wu7dA/s1186/To%20Sleep%20So%20As%20To%20Dream.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="842" data-original-width="1186" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3EIMrqTqDPCD7lbRswzqklwV4UhkbmEXb8bErz_iTA-45dO2msAaupfZzasmNGziXyRs-MCo7z3sa1_RpkO4fG6KatlU8C7GxSZjwOeO-W2-4vGWPeCrtFnoC72lUJT3t5wPkf8sE9DLklANsdT9wrDXD16xG_RYi90nJoratlgYUNQ_0wu7dA/w400-h284/To%20Sleep%20So%20As%20To%20Dream.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Kaizô Hayashi's debut is an eccentric, poetic and spellbinding homage to silent cinema. The dialogue is all presented in intertitles, with the exception of the antagonist's voice, who is heard on a tape delivering the clues that a pair of detectives must follow to locate a missing woman. As well as the missing woman, there is a reel missing from the climax of the film-with-the-film that we see several times, and these two mysteries dovetail at the end in an affecting way. <i>To Sleep So As To Dream</i> is very funny, getting big laughs from running gags such as Uotsuka's obsession with eggs or his sidekick Kobayashi's frequent excited exclamations of "One million yen!" but it's also touching in the way it explores our relationship with film, and how it evokes a dream state the deeper its two investigators get drawn into the plot. It's a gorgeous picture, full of superbly composed shots and brilliant uses of shadows and snow, and it was wonderful to see it projected from a 16mm print.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />23 – Schatten (Arthur Robinson, 1923) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbGPJbhJeUVmPbBr6Lp9sBqzMzQeNWEmMTgD3vQc5qG2ke3O48GB2bMCSq0WXFKaF4fS7wFcu3am71yKnK1x7mxwCsfyGtxn_DV4hSmdGdAb33-Afg7Cv2eoNtaniTQBB1Jz5lmH8bv0p2vkxrTKrDO2ZqfsWza4p_9ZokQlN-0syiaSUx98HMw/s800/Schatten.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="609" data-original-width="800" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxbGPJbhJeUVmPbBr6Lp9sBqzMzQeNWEmMTgD3vQc5qG2ke3O48GB2bMCSq0WXFKaF4fS7wFcu3am71yKnK1x7mxwCsfyGtxn_DV4hSmdGdAb33-Afg7Cv2eoNtaniTQBB1Jz5lmH8bv0p2vkxrTKrDO2ZqfsWza4p_9ZokQlN-0syiaSUx98HMw/w400-h305/Schatten.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The use of shadows in this film is remarkable. The shadows can be suggestive and misleading – a jealous husband sees a silhouette that indicates his wife is being fondled by another man – but they can also be revealing. A travelling illusionist puts on a shadow play for a party that puts the viewers into a dream state, creating a dramatic scenario that plays out all of their hidden desires. Presented without intertitles beyond the opening credits (the three acts are noted by silhouetted fingers being held up), it's often an ingenious piece of visual storytelling, with some beautiful cinematography and effects, and expressive performances. It builds to a climax that is genuinely shocking, but then it goes on and on, and the unnecessarily extended epilogue does dilute its impact a little. When it's good, it's frequently astonishing though.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />22 – Juggernaut (Richard Lester, 1974) – Cinema Museum, 16mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCCFpUrYqpZDeENAx6MoBBmD-dTvb9dsLQY7Zu6oRNIdZIQ7SlgGN3-tGGY4NPTlOBwN4DJpiIiKE1gPrsxe-l8OaKtKQR3YA5T5qBfDPRxIpKYScR8wS8kK6dmXOuG7H3_EhMHyErHGZzXjL0G1IfFr7wYadZ_ouRFpfK195K9HAvfV0zaPPQg/s1600/Juggernaut.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghCCFpUrYqpZDeENAx6MoBBmD-dTvb9dsLQY7Zu6oRNIdZIQ7SlgGN3-tGGY4NPTlOBwN4DJpiIiKE1gPrsxe-l8OaKtKQR3YA5T5qBfDPRxIpKYScR8wS8kK6dmXOuG7H3_EhMHyErHGZzXjL0G1IfFr7wYadZ_ouRFpfK195K9HAvfV0zaPPQg/w400-h225/Juggernaut.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">An odd hybrid of a star-packed disaster movie and grubby British realism, Richard Lester's <i>Juggernaut </i>is a film that creates a genuine sense of nail-biting tension in the scenes where Richard Harris and his crew are attempting to disarm the bombs, but what's remarkable about this film is how Lester's supremely efficient direction sustains a perfect balance of humour and tension. Everyone in the cast is on good form, but the film is surprisingly stolen by Roy Kinnear as the ship's entertainment manager, who is hilariously determined to keep the party going even as the passengers contemplate their impending deaths. It's also a remarkable production, clearly shot on a real liner in rough seas, and the stunt involving the bomb crew parachuting onto the ship during a storm is remarkable. It's a tremendous piece of entertainment.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />21 – The House of the Angel (Leopoldo Torre Nilsson, 1953) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1eqsGdR8M1VOieVuKyfNSCIWTH2wIO21B5C9Yk2QQniJT0qAOCY1Celbuzq_My-gGm9d1auUt6lQPme5ynQkFLHlCCAlb-sD3ER7SZ8tzoYIObqmlA-GTMVHqXJQoX6bKVztTj1bJ38bdA2Czuq1FI0OMfCk0nFFIa-j-PcjlY-axYpXxpREMw/s1070/The%20House%20of%20the%20Angel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="742" data-original-width="1070" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1eqsGdR8M1VOieVuKyfNSCIWTH2wIO21B5C9Yk2QQniJT0qAOCY1Celbuzq_My-gGm9d1auUt6lQPme5ynQkFLHlCCAlb-sD3ER7SZ8tzoYIObqmlA-GTMVHqXJQoX6bKVztTj1bJ38bdA2Czuq1FI0OMfCk0nFFIa-j-PcjlY-axYpXxpREMw/w400-h278/The%20House%20of%20the%20Angel.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The title on the film's censor card is <i>The End of Innocence</i>, and this is the story of a 14-year-old girl who has been raised by her mother in an environment of utmost purity, but whose desire and curiosity is piqued by the nudity of the religious artworks that surround her, and even passages from the bible. <i>The House of the Angel </i>is a witty, pointed sendup of religious and political hypocrisy, but it is also the sad tale of a young woman trapped into a miserable life, thanks to an upbringing that has failed to prepare her for the advances of her father's friend. The pensive Elsa Daniel is a wonderfully engaging lead, and this is a gorgeous piece of filmmaking, full of imaginative angles and richly atmospheric lighting. There are a number of standout scenes, but the one where Ana has a sexual awakening while watching Rudolph Valentino is so good.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />20 – Simon and Laura (Muriel Box, 1955) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJ69bTUJv3HcCArvduTHV5nRro0NI2OEhyEKc9f0xzsrL7a6EsQ3u1jnswzjtfVnnJmC9Suvss38rGG5Mpb3xoxFmMrNLFqXrwwTqjk0Z5jR0am64fFln66HfHu3KHkdsoAOBAeFjGlhz-E5SyLMb0XUhT7a0SYeVAkq_XzPCWeMCr6nl1cXUKw/s900/Simon%20and%20Laura.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="900" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXJ69bTUJv3HcCArvduTHV5nRro0NI2OEhyEKc9f0xzsrL7a6EsQ3u1jnswzjtfVnnJmC9Suvss38rGG5Mpb3xoxFmMrNLFqXrwwTqjk0Z5jR0am64fFln66HfHu3KHkdsoAOBAeFjGlhz-E5SyLMb0XUhT7a0SYeVAkq_XzPCWeMCr6nl1cXUKw/w400-h200/Simon%20and%20Laura.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Peter Finch and Kay Kendall are the celebrity couple on the verge of divorce who are forced to play at being happily married for a BBC TV series, and this film feels sharp and prescient in its portrait of the relationship between television and the audience, and the manipulations behind 'reality' TV. It's easy to see that it originated on stage, but it's played with great spirit by the actors and the script is often hilarious, with insults rapidly being traded back-and-forth between the two leads. Box makes a lot of the behind-the-scenes aspect with her depiction of the flimsy studio sets and glimpses of other productions occurring in the background, and the film becomes a pure farce as the Christmas episode degenerates into chaos. Of course, this discord only increases the programme's popularity, and <i>Simon and Laura</i> is often direct in its critique of the low standards of the small screen, at a time when this new invention was threatening cinema's popularity.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />19 – Roxie Hart (William A. Wellman, 1942) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGVi54r_Ay9oWSBXK7XIITqkxJ8k7E2SDj4BsH2P2QS0EgPjYKWQWbhYzGDc9QIuAH3f0vth1CtLGRJ6O2mIqaRNBNohRpCQ3vGkji5QBZrNA3RRtnVfTZ_R3OV5TY667MH9PuNq8OmXVlmsVW18-T8D5w7L3uB3kzJ3vyWi2AXgn7Fix6geTuQ/s1024/Roxie%20Hart.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiGVi54r_Ay9oWSBXK7XIITqkxJ8k7E2SDj4BsH2P2QS0EgPjYKWQWbhYzGDc9QIuAH3f0vth1CtLGRJ6O2mIqaRNBNohRpCQ3vGkji5QBZrNA3RRtnVfTZ_R3OV5TY667MH9PuNq8OmXVlmsVW18-T8D5w7L3uB3kzJ3vyWi2AXgn7Fix6geTuQ/w400-h300/Roxie%20Hart.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"This picture is dedicated to all the beautiful women in the world who have shot their men full of holes out of pique.” The story of Roxie Hart gets revised a bit here to appease the Hays Code, but Nunnally Johnson's 1942 adaptation of Chicago is still a remarkably cynical film about a bunch of amoral characters desperate to maximise their time in the spotlight by any means necessary – even the judge keeps positioning himself to get in all the courtroom photos. It's a perfect role for Ginger Rogers, and I love the physicality of this performance, as she rehearses under Billy Flynn's direction or keeps finding ways to flash her legs at the jury. She's consistently hilarious, and she also headbutts people and performs a nifty tap dance on the prison steps! Wellman's blocking is tight and the film really moves, getting the job done in under 75 minutes. Adolphe Menjou, Lynne Overman, George Chandler and Iris Adrian are having so much fun in their roles, and the film is full of great throwaway lines: "We haven't had a good juicy murder story in this town since the Democrats got hold of the country"; “Fred was always a man who was sensitive to a well-turned ankle”; "Honey, I keep tellin' ya, this county wouldn't hang Lucrezia Borgia."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />18 – The Signal Tower (Clarence Brown, 1924) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxVfRhPCMhDEzvtJaf_zLFYjzKtEgS4U_YbGHDrEfSIGkjAczLyLBq4nyxHxmGIpnd7oAA7F6LQLs6e_3VlT5_ppZw-kGYj2vROFhq01DpNlNeRQh4F7a41AnSgh0JNxmh5i02-xlaL7JtfNofjzjB2FPNbWBPhVvsqbpPYm6_teGBsumeBfglBg/s2000/The%20Signal%20Tower.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1584" data-original-width="2000" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxVfRhPCMhDEzvtJaf_zLFYjzKtEgS4U_YbGHDrEfSIGkjAczLyLBq4nyxHxmGIpnd7oAA7F6LQLs6e_3VlT5_ppZw-kGYj2vROFhq01DpNlNeRQh4F7a41AnSgh0JNxmh5i02-xlaL7JtfNofjzjB2FPNbWBPhVvsqbpPYm6_teGBsumeBfglBg/w400-h316/The%20Signal%20Tower.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">We're lucky to have this film at all. There were no known 35mm prints in existence before this restoration, which was drawn primarily from a 16mm print saved by a British train enthusiast. It's an excellent film too, offering a great sleazy role for Wallace Beery as a womanising signal tower operator who starts work in a new town and immediately sets his sights on his colleague's wife, played by Virginia Valli. Clarence Brown's direction is very slick and accomplished and the film looks terrific, with some particularly great train shots and some nicely staged domestic scenes, including an amusing subplot involving Dot Farley's unrequited crush on Beery. Brown also gives us two spectacular train crashes and he builds suspense brilliantly towards the climax, as Rockliffe Fellowes strives to stop a runaway train in a raging storm while Beery moves in on Valli. I also appreciated the gimmicky intertitles, which have an illustrated train signal that moves from the go to stop lights as the tension grows.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />17 – L'Auberge rouge (Jean Epstein, 1923) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWalCYYoTpkqm4vOMYEYcmquBCZA8ps77aFWBSUo_WO1LHTN7sq6k7eKPxxTuGhni4CoZMeN76kW6XLUiTsl7WmWHfkrWeRtatjRiSOdHnVIv66BFeUGTMvROvZB182LKBHcWpYokjms5fC3r8XZBONFg-9e2TXYFEu5_Depyl23mbE0E2d4SM5Q/s725/L'Auberge%20rouge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="408" data-original-width="725" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWalCYYoTpkqm4vOMYEYcmquBCZA8ps77aFWBSUo_WO1LHTN7sq6k7eKPxxTuGhni4CoZMeN76kW6XLUiTsl7WmWHfkrWeRtatjRiSOdHnVIv66BFeUGTMvROvZB182LKBHcWpYokjms5fC3r8XZBONFg-9e2TXYFEu5_Depyl23mbE0E2d4SM5Q/w400-h225/L'Auberge%20rouge.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Writing about his first film as a solo director, Jean Epstein wrote: "I sought to make a film based not on scrupulous staging, but on a thorough psychological study of the characters… My drama will not be ‘external,’ seeking to seduce the eye, but solely ‘internal’; its aim will be above all to capture the hearts of the spectators.” He achieved it impressively, with his roving camera getting close to the actors and generating an intensity that builds to a fever pitch during the superbly shot and edited murder sequence. Lots of bold and expressive camerawork in this, but I particularly liked the way he played with subjective point of view; there's a brilliant shot where the innkeeper points across the room and the camera follows the line of his finger. The whole film is built from close-ups, superimpositions, tracking shots and sharp cuts – a dazzling display of filmmaking technique – and Epstein skilfully develops and sustains a sense of tension as we get towards the reveal of the murderer's identity.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />16 – Oliver Twist (Frank Lloyd, 1922) – Cinema Museum, 16mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlu6OMXcGZqAjv62Vv764eaCNyX2qAcMcy3wJK67zdMTGdFNvime5apcHrohLBicFvGaAmzY6f1tjotnv2RETmMcJ_oSF0COfAtTd0tocqjk5G9jh39mwDqxauCQquWupG6BR1osX8Nb3vyh_Jqh-RaIo87nGBbFXhe9HbKK3j3Ejxwv-GTNdm-Q/s2222/Oliver%20Twist.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1813" data-original-width="2222" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlu6OMXcGZqAjv62Vv764eaCNyX2qAcMcy3wJK67zdMTGdFNvime5apcHrohLBicFvGaAmzY6f1tjotnv2RETmMcJ_oSF0COfAtTd0tocqjk5G9jh39mwDqxauCQquWupG6BR1osX8Nb3vyh_Jqh-RaIo87nGBbFXhe9HbKK3j3Ejxwv-GTNdm-Q/w400-h326/Oliver%20Twist.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This adaptation of Dickens' novel was thought lost for many years before a print was discovered in Yugoslavia in the 1970s. How lucky we are to have it, because it's a fine production with some excellent performances in the key roles. <i>Oliver Twist</i> was a star vehicle for eight-year-old Jackie Coogan, and his talent is undeniable. He's a wonderfully expressive actor, sympathetic without being cloying, and he gamely submits to endless scenes of Oliver being yanked, thrown and shaken. A wizened and gap-toothed Lon Chaney offers a typically impressive physical transformation as Fagin, and George Siegmann is a suitably intimidating Bill Sikes. At 75 minutes, this inevitably plays as a brisk highlights reel of the plot, but it's well-paced and very smartly directed. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />15 – The Million Ryo Pot (Sadao Yamanaka, 1935) – ICA, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7o5xjc9C6chwds0FEoqMyzjlvyR50vtRxETCSjlAofQ_8592P2oVqnT1ssVTcGIdArADfdHNdMFOyBtwb-1hlclFtl7zryjFMogKonoRkbs7ZGg8TL6ij5Qkf2h1QTrGozKa7v3rEGa8UdWbquy8HZ8atW6VCUv8Kh1dlvSNVoXQwiaZZDQZMGg/s1246/The%20Million%20Ryo%20Pot.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="887" data-original-width="1246" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7o5xjc9C6chwds0FEoqMyzjlvyR50vtRxETCSjlAofQ_8592P2oVqnT1ssVTcGIdArADfdHNdMFOyBtwb-1hlclFtl7zryjFMogKonoRkbs7ZGg8TL6ij5Qkf2h1QTrGozKa7v3rEGa8UdWbquy8HZ8atW6VCUv8Kh1dlvSNVoXQwiaZZDQZMGg/w400-h285/The%20Million%20Ryo%20Pot.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The earliest of Sadao Yamanaka's three surviving films is an inventive and hilarious film about an ugly old pot that contains the map to a million-ryo fortune, but is repeatedly dismissed as worthless as it gets handed from one character to the next. The way Yamanaka lays out this narrative and introduces each member of the ensemble is effortless, and his direction throughout the film is masterful. His compositions are always striking, and he finds so much humour in the visuals and in the comic timing of his editing – one running gag has characters vehemently stating they won't do a certain thing, only to cut directly to them doing that thing, and no matter how obvious and telegraphed it may seem, it always works. Denjirō Ōkōchi gives a terrific physical performance as the one-armed, one-eyed swordsman who works at the archery club where a lot of the funniest moments occur, and I loved Kunitarō Sawamura as the man who uses his search for the pot as an excuse to escape from his wife. The scene where these two men are forced to fight in the dojo is so funny. <br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />14 – Aloha, Bobby and Rose (Floyd Mutrux, 1975) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFRhiSoS_1T7ROv6Ld6kTaQitlkhSzehQ5MsGOE9K6X3z7N6WCc00X1jJRDwooSvrU9vEha03dHv2AfRgh5QUXr0weyRErX92WZdMYlnF4DNP7nSdh8VIpbpqYHGQTmodFBlr34SC0m26CodI82seQzmtbKEEe-C62UQASVImKwANj3twGr7ccw/s1920/Aloha,%20Bobby%20and%20Rose.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFRhiSoS_1T7ROv6Ld6kTaQitlkhSzehQ5MsGOE9K6X3z7N6WCc00X1jJRDwooSvrU9vEha03dHv2AfRgh5QUXr0weyRErX92WZdMYlnF4DNP7nSdh8VIpbpqYHGQTmodFBlr34SC0m26CodI82seQzmtbKEEe-C62UQASVImKwANj3twGr7ccw/w400-h225/Aloha,%20Bobby%20and%20Rose.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the early 1970s, Variety listed five new directors to watch: Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, George Lucas, Terrence Malick… and Floyd Mutrux. I’d never heard of him or <i>Aloha, Bobby and Rose</i>, but it was one of my favourite discoveries of this year. It's inspired by Godard's <i>Breathless</i>, but whereas that film was all jazzy energy and jump-cuts, this has a more languid, meandering quality. The first third of the film invites us to just hang out with Paul Le Mat and Dianne Hull as they fall in love on their first date, but when things go disastrously wrong for them, they do so abruptly and shockingly. It's a movie full of unexpected turns – notably an impromptu trip to Mexico with a hilarious Tim McIntire – and it's a completely engrossing and entertaining experience right up to the foregone bleak conclusion. Sensational cinematography from the great William Fraker makes this a fascinating time capsule of mid-70s California, and the way Mutrux uses radio hits of the era to accompany his actors as they drive around LA made me wonder if Tarantino had this film in mind when he made <i>Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood</i>.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />13 – The Stranger and The Fog (Bahram Beyzai, 1974) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzieCO0cIC1wZ8vWCY30qcurQQTfw91Id33Fy3USE31rzcwh58cxZILKNblS6pbSgZwz82L4gPbRMmllgVYE_SxT4gFu9zAAEWQKivsiIKonxL0ImWjWTkQnM3PKeIA6o8ieaj9uRjS21zUr2xVYS8pjCh0d4qtXMuKew5fNFe8bOHKJI-fdbVEA/s1600/The%20Stranger%20and%20The%20Fog.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzieCO0cIC1wZ8vWCY30qcurQQTfw91Id33Fy3USE31rzcwh58cxZILKNblS6pbSgZwz82L4gPbRMmllgVYE_SxT4gFu9zAAEWQKivsiIKonxL0ImWjWTkQnM3PKeIA6o8ieaj9uRjS21zUr2xVYS8pjCh0d4qtXMuKew5fNFe8bOHKJI-fdbVEA/w400-h225/The%20Stranger%20and%20The%20Fog.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Over the past few years, Il Cinema Ritrovato has been showcasing a number of extraordinary films from 1970s Iran, and today we had another revelation to support the view that this decade was an incredibly fertile one in that country's cinema. <i>The Stranger and The Fog</i> is set in a remote coastline community, which is interrupted by the arrival of an unconscious, bleeding stranger in a boat. He is treated with suspicion, but gradually takes steps to integrate himself into the village, taking up with the widow of a long-missing fishermen. However, he lives in constant fear that his ambiguous past will catch up with him. <i>The Stranger and the Fog</i> is about rituals, symbols and mysteries, and the general inscrutability of the film can be frustrating, but I was just mesmerised by it. Beyzai's compositions are out of this world - at times I thought of Kurosawa and Żuławski – and the film is full of strange and fascinating sequences.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />12 – Hell in the City (Renato Castellani, 1959) – Cinema Arlecchino, Bologna, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeymO0yS3Uzwzb7KH5mmdokTE6NvjZorqvXnwuIAP0ZKkWelZuRERGJwOv1jpkZbXKh4QbiAapTo6ZFLWK96NMECLDT4xiIPzZOE6H4eFwmqIHhZUv-maBgxXBCPA0Ya1u18t1F7-FfVC7iqvnbLOH_lAn3oCbfV7LS8RdxuEJqUf0lqiSKBXs_A/s1600/Hell%20in%20the%20City.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeymO0yS3Uzwzb7KH5mmdokTE6NvjZorqvXnwuIAP0ZKkWelZuRERGJwOv1jpkZbXKh4QbiAapTo6ZFLWK96NMECLDT4xiIPzZOE6H4eFwmqIHhZUv-maBgxXBCPA0Ya1u18t1F7-FfVC7iqvnbLOH_lAn3oCbfV7LS8RdxuEJqUf0lqiSKBXs_A/w400-h225/Hell%20in%20the%20City.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A barnstorming turn from Anna Magnani is the driving force of this excellent women in prison drama. She's riveting and hilarious as the hardened con who rules the roost, while Giulietta Masina is just as impressive as the tremulous, wide-eyed new arrival who has to learn how to survive inside. Both actresses are perfectly cast and they play off each other superbly, although it was interesting to learn in the introduction that they didn't get along at all on set and Magnani bullied Masina during the shoot, which perhaps added something to their onscreen dynamic. Castellani shows a flair for widescreen framing and he creates a vibrant atmosphere inside the prison. There's also an unexpectedly sweet subplot involving a young inmate who falls in love with a man she sees outside every day, with the film's characters being divided between those who can escape this hell and restart their lives and those doomed to endlessly return.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />11 – Service for Ladies (Alexander Korda, 1932) – BFI Southbank, 35mm Nitrate</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNYl5oH15T70wVSaSvKSmuSG4hHAk1eRp07ylR4bPb65zNvcZOCVNZWfE77DHXZTtsjpnErN-clEPMDzYpumC7bkA6HrYauBr_PsR-UqSzkIDDOzrWMhrfF5fHTdRirQng6YRpaJ8_TPHmIg4fbe1-bXSxVgOBh1FQcNxUE13xZprLQINoEDELg/s1124/Service%20for%20Ladies.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="1124" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNYl5oH15T70wVSaSvKSmuSG4hHAk1eRp07ylR4bPb65zNvcZOCVNZWfE77DHXZTtsjpnErN-clEPMDzYpumC7bkA6HrYauBr_PsR-UqSzkIDDOzrWMhrfF5fHTdRirQng6YRpaJ8_TPHmIg4fbe1-bXSxVgOBh1FQcNxUE13xZprLQINoEDELg/w400-h265/Service%20for%20Ladies.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The first nitrate film screening in the UK for more than a decade was also the oldest print ever presented to a UK audience. It's one of the magical things about cinema – how a forgotten quota film can captivate and delight hundreds of people 91 years after it was made. <i>Service for Ladies</i> is a lively farce about a caddish head waiter at a fancy hotel who follows the object of his affection on holiday and gets mistaken for a prince travelling incognito. Written on the fly against a tight schedule, it's a smooth and elegantly crafted comedy about snobbery, hypocrisy and "the unbridgeable gap of social class." The screenplay by Lajos Bíró and Eliot Crawshay-Williams is packed with witty lines, delivered by a perfect cast, and Korda gets plenty of laughs from clever bits of blocking or well-timed reaction shots.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />10 – Squirrels to the Nuts (Peter Bogdanovich, 2014) – Prince Charles Cinema, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vkAngmyilMgXiIVJowy0jViB0whK9_B372sdmg603_Npk2BHnCSSi2Wf_NdDN4-zWbIWiT6gAqD0SkSboYhFv8-8o3HDMhmb-2OfiKurtYCqL7WdfIWuOn_BIHYL1_MJ9uIU5XNXWTJLN_o8ZF1jY0uaviW36_C_xLozz2CR3Xd5QJskZ2rccw/s1400/Squirrels%20to%20the%20Nuts.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="933" data-original-width="1400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vkAngmyilMgXiIVJowy0jViB0whK9_B372sdmg603_Npk2BHnCSSi2Wf_NdDN4-zWbIWiT6gAqD0SkSboYhFv8-8o3HDMhmb-2OfiKurtYCqL7WdfIWuOn_BIHYL1_MJ9uIU5XNXWTJLN_o8ZF1jY0uaviW36_C_xLozz2CR3Xd5QJskZ2rccw/w400-h266/Squirrels%20to%20the%20Nuts.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have barely any memory of Peter Bogdanovich's disappointing 2014 film <i>She's Funny That Way</i>, but I'm keen to revisit it now to try and understand just how badly the producers mangled the director's original vision. Seeing his cut of <i>Squirrels to the Nuts</i> – miraculously found on a tape on eBay – was a revelation, and a much more fitting send-off for this great director. It's a classically constructed farce full of slamming bedroom doors, people hiding in bathrooms, misunderstandings and slapstick, and there are some marvellous comic set-pieces that display Bogdanovich's keen sense of staging and cutting. The cast is a treat, particularly Jennifer Aniston as an incredibly hostile therapist and a hilariously louche Rhys Ifans, and the presence of so many past Bogdanovich collaborators in the cast gives it the feel of a valedictory picture. It’s extremely charming and genuinely funny, and I had a blast experiencing it with an audience. I'm so glad this film was found when Bogdanovich was still alive to see it, and I hope it goes on to have a life beyond its few cinema screenings.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />9 – Le Brasier Ardent (Ivan Mosjoukine, 1923) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9H-C4k_29OV3HuPmFbrpYbbnuChEAuH6CslRlfkLLz1kUwiWEdyXToQ53Mcq_6xsWpSXxWWBuanus2VOWmMS_JGYWhIl0aOdiU0ucvncVN4A2f4VKDscKjt16Hjg7BirSwT8JUf8y1EJknpygQKEuwyOirdjL3kJgvog0JAp-G9H-349i096yA/s1323/Le%20Brasier%20Ardent.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="914" data-original-width="1323" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz9H-C4k_29OV3HuPmFbrpYbbnuChEAuH6CslRlfkLLz1kUwiWEdyXToQ53Mcq_6xsWpSXxWWBuanus2VOWmMS_JGYWhIl0aOdiU0ucvncVN4A2f4VKDscKjt16Hjg7BirSwT8JUf8y1EJknpygQKEuwyOirdjL3kJgvog0JAp-G9H-349i096yA/w400-h276/Le%20Brasier%20Ardent.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've loved watching Ivan Mosjoukine every time I've seen him on screen, but I also learned this year that he was a phenomenal talent behind the camera too. <i>Le Brasier Ardent</i> knocked my socks off in the opening minute, with an extraordinarily visceral, surreal and unsettling nightmare sequence. This is a visually thrilling film throughout, both through Mosjoukine's superb framing and montage, and through the incredibly imaginative production design: Nathalie Lissenko's bedroom has breakfast routine gadgetry to rival Wallace and Gromit, while the building that harbours the "Find Anything Agency" is full of unexpected twists. This is also where we meet Mosjoukine's Detective Z, pulling off a fake nose to reveal that he's the gormless-looking character we've been watching for the past few minutes, a reveal that drew widespread gasps among the audience. I was consistently delighted by this witty, gorgeous and madly inventive film.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />8 – Lovefilm (István Szabó, 1970) – Close-Up, Digital</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIabPwcRxLLI4RWNmwR-uOQyVDtKmgJ8031mo_SSXnLOfmBhosBNWvISBo8supoNetQJIMkUoFCbJcu7O3PSTXK3LkEyrxLzoVRvxsW7vU8Baiw9m7_rvLwYsqVJ1RorgH5VXPEudMOYEYm0F01U556-TJ-NJGHRpjomdUx-b4yI4RPa5iy_BBPw/s1920/Lovefilm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIabPwcRxLLI4RWNmwR-uOQyVDtKmgJ8031mo_SSXnLOfmBhosBNWvISBo8supoNetQJIMkUoFCbJcu7O3PSTXK3LkEyrxLzoVRvxsW7vU8Baiw9m7_rvLwYsqVJ1RorgH5VXPEudMOYEYm0F01U556-TJ-NJGHRpjomdUx-b4yI4RPa5iy_BBPw/w400-h225/Lovefilm.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of the most beautifully edited films I've ever seen. As a man takes a train ride across Europe to be reunited with his childhood sweetheart and first love, his head is filled with memories and dreams, and Szabó creates a breathtaking montage from them. The childhood scenes are set in Budapest during the Second World War, while their later encounters take place against the backdrop of the 1956 revolution, which ultimately separated them. This is a profoundly moving memory piece, with so many moments in the film having the specificity of real lived experiences, especially the scenes featuring the child actors, both of whom are wonderful. Szabó jumbles all of these moments in time and plays with the malleability of memory (at one point, Jancsi realises his recurring dream of Kata has solidified into a memory as true as any of his real experiences), but his film always maintains an emotional clarity, with the repetition of certain images generating an accumulative power that I found overwhelming. There is tragedy and trauma here along with the moments of joy and love. It's an incredibly rich and poignant film.<br /><span><br /><b>7 – Oh... Rosalinda! (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1955) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJZ7OYI7RgwnFqgm0BOV3bnzm6n43JLZb-l5cYCatLbkZd2uFWE5JEg_AmnLKhvGcsshtLEsyMxPU3BunTAtAhVR8EJrQRtoe55wdcfxowYEevBon8wtp7zdvoLqwdgf4jADVry9m50ynIhoVS7PPtfp5eXrIm84KuY4NBYrl9dImAmXsXD5vpA/s1900/Oh%20Rosalinda.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="812" data-original-width="1900" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJZ7OYI7RgwnFqgm0BOV3bnzm6n43JLZb-l5cYCatLbkZd2uFWE5JEg_AmnLKhvGcsshtLEsyMxPU3BunTAtAhVR8EJrQRtoe55wdcfxowYEevBon8wtp7zdvoLqwdgf4jADVry9m50ynIhoVS7PPtfp5eXrIm84KuY4NBYrl9dImAmXsXD5vpA/w400-h171/Oh%20Rosalinda.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The Archers’ adaptation of <i>Die Fledermaus</i> is an absurd farce involving characters who represent the four nations occupying post-war Austria. The Austrian end is represented by Anton Walbrook, who opens the film by talking directly to the audience, letting us know that he can get us pretty much anything on the black market. It's a great role for Walbrook, and it's fun to watch him cut loose with a more overtly comic performance – his drunken dancing early in the film is a particular treat. Everyone plays things big and broad here, but the real star of the movie is Hein Heckroth, whose production design embraces theatrical artifice, with the painted flat backdrops often evoking a pop-up book. It’s a sumptuous film to look at, and I loved some of the witty touches, like the distorted images and the way Powell and Pressburger created a sense of double vision to show how drunk Dennis Price is when he returns from the party. It’s Powell and Pressburger at their most frivolous and eccentric, and seeing <i>Oh... Rosalinda!</i> for the first time on a dye transfer Technicolor print was a sensational big screen experience.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>6 – The Plot Against Harry (Michael Roemer, 1971) – Cinema Arlecchino, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohUzOaZHMkVw00NKeqlHYyVHGfIqeKCUgJ2UFLRg9WpDORlEb2EzkSD8uDHSmfCWiUYMO5-JoiK1CjqOwz22aA_g1ctGAUUL9ov7nPq5M_14ibkwIaCJ_UqLCSo1PlV8N6YqhULRjsy_xGy470LZkc9CBR7THialXKXFT6NkP3fO-7ctMIt2ecA/s1318/The%20Plot%20Against%20Harry.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="1318" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohUzOaZHMkVw00NKeqlHYyVHGfIqeKCUgJ2UFLRg9WpDORlEb2EzkSD8uDHSmfCWiUYMO5-JoiK1CjqOwz22aA_g1ctGAUUL9ov7nPq5M_14ibkwIaCJ_UqLCSo1PlV8N6YqhULRjsy_xGy470LZkc9CBR7THialXKXFT6NkP3fO-7ctMIt2ecA/w400-h261/The%20Plot%20Against%20Harry.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Michael Roemer shot this film in 1969 and premiered it in 1971, but because the distributor felt it wouldn't find an audience, it didn't receive an official cinema release until 1989. It plays like the eccentric Jewish cousin to Cassavetes' <i>The Killing of a Chinese Bookie</i>, with a wonderfully weary lead performance from Martin Priest as the gangster Harry Plotnick, who is trying to get his life and business back on track after being released from jail. The narrative is essentially a loose series of things just happening to Harry as tries to do deals and mend broken family ties, while simultaneously trying to avoid the stress that might afflict his enlarged heart, and it eventually meanders to a nicely ironic conclusion. <i>The Plot Against Harry</i> has a dry, oddball sense of humour and a brilliant cast; I particularly enjoyed Henry Nemo as Harry's nervous driver and Ben Lang as his permanently smiling brother-in-law. Best of all is the way the film emerges us into so many aspects of Harry's personal and business worlds. It's a great New York picture.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>5 – Dedication of the Great Buddha (Teinosuke Kinugasa, 1952) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGrRyE4vf7Og352daWCYWzoo7BVhEqcL3buNyWsbkjjbRC1itGNxOWYy3AW8ZUCMoQEKVhVXaJ9oB5kwMjL213vkcECTERop8ZCMD383j93WOLxCcp7OlpiQx5ki9rIoLIdRP3PTeATnLgQFallhoGhOJr_zhV9CtGUzwgKZq9UBOYv8QxDL8Ow/s774/Dedication%20of%20the%20Great%20Buddha.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="774" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGrRyE4vf7Og352daWCYWzoo7BVhEqcL3buNyWsbkjjbRC1itGNxOWYy3AW8ZUCMoQEKVhVXaJ9oB5kwMjL213vkcECTERop8ZCMD383j93WOLxCcp7OlpiQx5ki9rIoLIdRP3PTeATnLgQFallhoGhOJr_zhV9CtGUzwgKZq9UBOYv8QxDL8Ow/w400-h230/Dedication%20of%20the%20Great%20Buddha.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Before seeing this film in Il Cinema Ritrovato’s Teinosuke Kinugasa strand, I noticed Donald Richie’s note in the programme that suggested <i>Dedication of the Great Buddha</i> did “no credit to its director,” but I was bowled over by it, and I thought it was by far the best of the extremely rare Kinugasa films that I saw this summer. Kinugasa effectively portrays the epic challenge of the task at hand, building a 16-metre Buddha statue in 8th century Japan, which is beset by sabotage, superstition and misfortune. The compositions and lighting are constantly breathtaking, the way Kinugasa creates a sense of scale is truly impressive, and the riveting casting sequences are comparable to <i>Andrei Rublev</i> or the oil derrick scenes in <i>There Will be Blood</i>. Dedication of the Great Buddha is a stunning piece of filmmaking that held me transfixed, and I was very moved by the end of this arduous journey: "My life...for this."</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>4 – We Live Again (Rouben Mamoulian, 1934) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSE2hYCc8mw_YOi4iwjf5klHdhCmrBDaQ8pcULGRLDHn6OWkoOiyux1sCuSBOyNEdnDA4JKUlH_jg71MUz6yDF741t1x4BbpmIO3cahWv7pkacwPIamAQ0bQv-WKjQy5ALWfLgVstny1GVUjOLiG3ovh_Cc_R_y4xM-7q3Is9NeZTkz3qKUmXDA/s1000/We%20Live%20Again.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSE2hYCc8mw_YOi4iwjf5klHdhCmrBDaQ8pcULGRLDHn6OWkoOiyux1sCuSBOyNEdnDA4JKUlH_jg71MUz6yDF741t1x4BbpmIO3cahWv7pkacwPIamAQ0bQv-WKjQy5ALWfLgVstny1GVUjOLiG3ovh_Cc_R_y4xM-7q3Is9NeZTkz3qKUmXDA/w400-h320/We%20Live%20Again.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>This was a big year for Rouben Mamoulian fans, with a nitrate screening of <i>Blood and Sand</i> at the BFI and a blu-ray release for <i>Love Me Tonight</i> alongside an enormously popular retrospective at Il Cinema Ritrovato, which won him a host of new admirers. My favourite discovery from this selection was one of his least-popular films. An adaptation of Tolstoy's <i>Resurrection</i>, <i>We Live Again</i> stars Fredric March as the idealistic cadet who has his socialist ideas squeezed out of him by the military and upper class living, and Anna Sten as the peasant girl he loves. It's a passionate tale of love, loss, guilt and redemption that goes to some unexpected and sincerely moving places, and it has a wonderful lead performance from March: the close-up on his face as he gazes at a picture of his younger self and wonders what has happened to him is a marvellous piece of acting. Mamoulian's direction is sensitive and intelligent, with occasional bursts of symbolic torrential rain. Gregg Toland shot it beautifully, and you can hear the contribution from Preston Sturges in some of the dialogue. The ending definitely wasn't what I was anticipating, and I was deeply affected by it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />3 – The Dupes (Tewfik Saleh, 1972) – BFI Southbank, Digital</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfDP8uQAjkoxHiTNhjQd7xM75Ke0V4ZXVx14yaTCUvMEKQRyLz8FXYLXE3cDteQf6xPfmOtCiis50PwHqZJaGmOKYLRLCS0WGSDwvrahz9XlcrijZ0E6wlG3ppILicRsrUY55ILsRKxmpSarQOfGEeZHjuMiWvTM1GFB6riCkn2AC1qKraZqjog/s1600/The%20Dupes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqfDP8uQAjkoxHiTNhjQd7xM75Ke0V4ZXVx14yaTCUvMEKQRyLz8FXYLXE3cDteQf6xPfmOtCiis50PwHqZJaGmOKYLRLCS0WGSDwvrahz9XlcrijZ0E6wlG3ppILicRsrUY55ILsRKxmpSarQOfGEeZHjuMiWvTM1GFB6riCkn2AC1qKraZqjog/w400-h225/The%20Dupes.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Reminiscent of <i>The Wages of fear</i> and <i>Sorcerer</i>, Tewfik Saleh’s film generates an overwhelming sense of tension as it tells the story of three Palestinian refugees and their smuggler crossing the desert into Kuwait. I felt I could feel the oppressive heat as the unforgiving sun beats down on these men – this is one of e of the sweatiest films I've ever seen – and every moment when they have to hide inside the truck’s metal container, knowing they risk being boiled alive inside it, is agonising. Saleh’s direction is exceptional, creating a series of of brilliant shots (the truck parked next to the air-conditioning units; the drips of sweat hissing on hot metal; the brutal closing image) and utilising some exceptional sound design. I was really taken by the bold editing choices, and the way flashbacks were folded into the narrative to add context to each man's desperation. The climactic drive through hell is genuinely hard to sit through. It's an extraordinary film.<br /><span><br /><b>2 – Dreams of the City (Mohammad Malas, 1984) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVsxz64a2CS_u_PglIQCKDkRCiG_xZAMfO6ZePPJOrgCGut7_aG9Zv5QHq1ap26ivk8_mLd1befqPDhXa2b2cnky10TLASvi12dQUtmNjYAJs4UCKOfjpLL7LUHmQ4mbmH7nuCs9EmVhSoY7EdTXPyO-BY_h1uq7B843Tta8lnr0kyzWYIIxnscw/s1098/Dreams%20of%20the%20City.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="1098" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVsxz64a2CS_u_PglIQCKDkRCiG_xZAMfO6ZePPJOrgCGut7_aG9Zv5QHq1ap26ivk8_mLd1befqPDhXa2b2cnky10TLASvi12dQUtmNjYAJs4UCKOfjpLL7LUHmQ4mbmH7nuCs9EmVhSoY7EdTXPyO-BY_h1uq7B843Tta8lnr0kyzWYIIxnscw/w400-h275/Dreams%20of%20the%20City.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Based on the director’s own experiences, <i>Dreams of the City</i> details the political turmoil of 1950s Syria through the eyes of Dib, a young boy who has moved to Damascus with his younger brother and widowed mother. I need to read more about what exactly was occurring in Syria at this time, but it doesn't really matter how well-versed you are in this era, because what Malas has captured here feels incredibly authentic, personal and human. I felt every moment of physical and verbal abuse dished out by Dib's monstrous grandfather, and the relationship between Dib and his heartbroken mother is so tenderly played – there are a couple of scenes where each tries to lift the other’s spirits, and they both moved me deeply. What's most resonant in this beautiful film is the depiction of life in Damascus in the 50s; it's an incredibly involving and evocative recreation of a lost city. <i>Dreams of the City</i> is a masterpiece.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>1 – Dersu Uzala (Akira Kurosawa, 1975) – BFI Southbank, 70mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vaHbY2-bTho5aa1cmBbxWx3VyX9DHNfnrcGKQXoUAk7JNEVxbNcdrVSFaMX1Qzah8ZjsbNJxtfq3ejvXKh_K6ht9OwjTS0yHFxWlIukjj2251cuJ-I8XzaPC9DVxxex4p3ghzisNJpJnu_hHrMj229n1cIgJFiutjLkBq2Z2sR5_qMnApINKUQ/s1800/Dersu%20Uzala.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1012" data-original-width="1800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vaHbY2-bTho5aa1cmBbxWx3VyX9DHNfnrcGKQXoUAk7JNEVxbNcdrVSFaMX1Qzah8ZjsbNJxtfq3ejvXKh_K6ht9OwjTS0yHFxWlIukjj2251cuJ-I8XzaPC9DVxxex4p3ghzisNJpJnu_hHrMj229n1cIgJFiutjLkBq2Z2sR5_qMnApINKUQ/w400-h225/Dersu%20Uzala.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i>Dersu Uzala</i> was the one major Kurosawa film I had never seen. I had always avoided it as I waited for the opportunity to see it on the big screen, and it was worth waiting for. In February, as part of the BFI’s Akira Kurosawa season, <i>Dersu Uzala</i> was presented on what is the only exiting English-language 70mm print in the world – a print that was apparently rescued by a private collector when it was on the verge of being junked – and it was an overwhelming experience. Kurosawa’s use of the landscape is incredible, notably during an extraordinary sequence in which Captain Arsenyev (Yury Solomin) and Dersu Uzala (Maxim Munzuk) have to build a shelter to survive a raging blizzard. You can almost feel the crisp winter chill or the warmth of the sun emanating from the screen and the seasons change over the course of the film. At its heart, this is a simple and deeply touching story of friendship. The mutual affection and respect that grows between Captain Arsenyev and Dersu Uzala is so pure, and their joyous reunion at the start of Part II (“Capitan!”) drew ecstatic cheers and applause from the audience at our screening. Having attempted suicide in 1971, Kurosawa was emerging from the lowest point of his career when he made Dersuz Uzala, and he must have seen something of himself in Dersu – an ageing man losing his powers and his raison d'être – but the film that emerged from his personal crisis is one of his most spiritual, empathetic and profound works. It's one of the greatest films I've ever seen, and this was one of the most magical cinema experiences I've ever had.</span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-23064269015864269842023-11-29T11:52:00.005+00:002023-11-29T11:52:49.322+00:00Fallen Leaves<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5waFDiEc_A5oREUXIv-oqsaiIJItVlRUzlg6u_99Cq1yvadbsjuUCLA9ifN-u-XWpdrHw07fyxwaVk0fyCLJ1R_06aOnFGSUYy97cJFj-xbyyfPwoV8GcXkNLj05_LnBvu3TVvgElR0ULwv6j-McAjQxEX9HtGnmUonlgcPHrh4UP2_68FCirw/s1196/Fallen%20Leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="899" data-original-width="1196" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5waFDiEc_A5oREUXIv-oqsaiIJItVlRUzlg6u_99Cq1yvadbsjuUCLA9ifN-u-XWpdrHw07fyxwaVk0fyCLJ1R_06aOnFGSUYy97cJFj-xbyyfPwoV8GcXkNLj05_LnBvu3TVvgElR0ULwv6j-McAjQxEX9HtGnmUonlgcPHrh4UP2_68FCirw/w400-h301/Fallen%20Leaves.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Coming six years after Aki Kaurismäki announced his retirement from filmmaking, <i>Fallen Leaves</i> feels like a return to very familiar territory. The director’s last two features were unusually explicit in their commentary on the social issues of our time, with both <i>Le Havre</i> (2011) and <i>The Other Side of Hope</i> (2017) engaging directly with Europe’s migrant crisis. Kaurismäki’s new film harkens back to the small-scale stories of ordinary Finns with which he made his reputation; in fact, it has been labelled a belated fourth instalment of his Proletariat Trilogy, which consists of <i>Shadows in Paradise</i> (1986), <i>Ariel </i>(1988) and <i>The Match Factory Girl</i> (1990).</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That’s not to suggest Kaurismäki is turning away entirely from current events. In <i>Fallen Leaves</i>, every time Ansa (Alma Pöysti) switches on the radio, she hears another grim update from the Russian invasion of Ukraine, a conflict that weighs heavily on the Finnish psyche thanks to the country’s shared border with Russia. The precarious state of labour rights in the modern world is also at the forefront of Kaurismäki’s thoughts here. Ansa works as a supermarket shelf-stacker until she is reprimanded for giving expired food to a homeless man and taking a microwave meal home for herself rather than throwing it into the garbage as instructed. Employed on a zero-hours contract, Ansa is summarily dismissed with no compensation – and it was perhaps serendipitous that on the same day this reviewer watched <i>Fallen Leaves</i>, the Central Organisation of Finnish Trade Unions (SAK) began a series of strike actions in protest at the newly elected right-wing government’s proposed changes to workers’ rights and welfare benefits.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/fallen-leaves-second-look-review-return-small-ordinary-beauty-kaurismakiland" target="_blank"><i>Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</i></a></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-27202194859602927412023-11-27T10:24:00.000+00:002023-11-27T10:24:54.388+00:00"Marty and I share Michael and his movies, we share that legacy, and both of us want to do everything we can to sustain it." - An Interview with Thelma Schoonmaker<div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCpU29Q1sQPzIKVoGbZhE1zagn0nf9ShgXXDPqtDt4ke_kz7E_W95n7PV68dC-R2mSL6FXUi6TfwaGJn88qvZe5GXWqnquaU5dNkzXpVHA6qqN-YdC-O35SQo9L4SuRwWz_gDh9eZ-q57-K7gzP1kAdlIOGxiG6ZlCl4AoSzb-wmaclwC0k_KXQ/s4000/Thelma%20Schoonmaker%20BFI%20In%20Conversation%20261023_photo%20by%20Tim%20Whitby_BFI_0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Tim Whitby/BFI" border="0" data-original-height="2668" data-original-width="4000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCpU29Q1sQPzIKVoGbZhE1zagn0nf9ShgXXDPqtDt4ke_kz7E_W95n7PV68dC-R2mSL6FXUi6TfwaGJn88qvZe5GXWqnquaU5dNkzXpVHA6qqN-YdC-O35SQo9L4SuRwWz_gDh9eZ-q57-K7gzP1kAdlIOGxiG6ZlCl4AoSzb-wmaclwC0k_KXQ/w400-h266/Thelma%20Schoonmaker%20BFI%20In%20Conversation%20261023_photo%20by%20Tim%20Whitby_BFI_0039.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>For more than fifty years, Thelma Schoonmaker's name has been associated with two of the greatest filmmakers in cinema history. As Martin Scorsese's editor, she has played an integral role in an extraordinary body of work. She first edited Scorsese's <i>Who's That Knocking at My Door</i> in 1967, before union rules enforced a long separation. They reunited for <i>Raging Bull</i> in 1980 and she has subsequently cut every one of his films, including this year's magnificent <i>Killers of the Flower Moon</i>. Her work has earned her three Academy Awards to date, and her style has encompassed everything from the the drug-fuelled intensity of <i>Goodfellas</i>, to the elegant yearning of <i>The Age of Innocence</i>, the nightmarish mania of <i>Bringing Out the Dead</i>, the wild tonal swings of <i>The Departed</i>, and the overwhelming guilt and sadness of <i>The Irishman</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other director she has shared her life with is Michael Powell. They were introduced by Scorsese when he brought Powell to America in the late 1970s and they married in 1984, living together until his death in 1990 at the age of 85. During their time together, Schoonmaker helped Powell write and publish his wonderful autobiographies <i>A Life in Movies</i> and <i>Million Dollar Movie</i>, and since his passing, she and Scorsese have dedicated themselves to restoring and promoting his films – both the films he made with his partner Emeric Pressburger, under their banner The Archers, and the films he made alone. The fruits of that three-decade effort can be seen in the BFI's ambitious retrospective <i>Cinema Unbound: The Creative Worlds of Powell and Pressburger</i>, which involves nationwide screenings, screenings of new and archive prints, an exhibition and a number of book publications.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thelma Schoonmaker was in London recently to promote the BFI season and present a number of events, and it was my great pleasure and privilege to spend time with her at the BFI Southbank to discuss her late husband's life and career.</div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>There was a letter from Ian Christie in The Guardian the other day and he was talking about the Powell and Pressburger retrospective that the BFI held in the 1970s, which began the revival of their reputations.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Yes, it was very important. Marty came over and found Michael, I think in '75, and Ian was working with Marty too, showing him Powell and Pressburger films that he had never seen. That was an amazing retrospective, the first one. It was 38 films, I think. Then the Museum of Modern Art did a really big one in New York, after Marty started bringing Michael to America.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>It's really shocking when you look back and contemplate just how forgotten they were before they started being rediscovered through these retrospectives. How do you account for that?</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />The more I'm here and talking to people, I've begun to see that when there was a big political change after the war, and the Labour government came in with the NHS and all these things, people thought that the films were old-fashioned and colonial, and they just threw the baby out with the bath water. It was terrible. I think the kitchen sink school is what most people knew, they just didn't know about these films. Somebody said to me it was considered almost a betrayal to look at them because they were 'colonial,' which they are <i>not</i>. They're about human beings around the world. Michael always said we should be making films for the world, not for Britain. I was once with him when he was on the stage answering questions, and somebody asked him, "What do you think about the terrible condition of the British film industry?" and Michael said, "Why should there be a British film industry? We should be making films for the world."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Of course, Emeric being European, and Michael having spent a great deal of time in France because of his father's hotel, he was interested in the world, he wasn't just interested in specific things, like the kitchen sink school was about. It was the end of the war, and maybe people had had enough of the war, and the films were made during the war, so maybe they just said, "I don't want to see any more of that, I've seen enough of that, let's move on." It was a terrible, terrible mistake and they suffered so badly, but Michael never became bitter and he kept on dreaming. He dreamed and wrote scripts for a hundred different ideas in the last thirty years of his life, which is astounding. He never gave up but it was a terrible blow and he was so financially strapped towards the end, when Marty came and found him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>I have to say, it's one of my favourite stories in film history, how Scorsese went and found this forgotten great director, brought him back to America, and then he met you and fell in love. It seems he got a whole new lease of life in this last decade and got the happy ending that he deserved.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Yes, and there's a wonderful picture of him in Seattle, where we had just screened <i>I Know Where I'm Going!</i> The audience went nuts, they were a very young audience, and Michael is standing like this [Thelma covers her face with her hands] because he's just so overwhelmed by this reaction! It's lucky that he did get to see it all come back. You know, he was an optimist and he had me put on his grave, 'Michael Powell: Film Director and Optimist,' and that's how he managed to survive these terrible years. Some people would have become bitter, I think.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>Oh, most definitely, especially after the <i>Peeping Tom</i> reaction, which was so violent.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />And I think that's because the critics couldn't handle feeling sympathy for him, it just flipped them out. Wait a minute, this man is a serial killer and I'm feeling sympathy for him? Michael described him as "attractive, gentle, sweet and completely mad," and that is such a powerful thing about the movie. He never made movies with heroes and villains, it was always something else in between, and that's the way Scorsese is. That's why these movies appeal to him, they are investigating things the way he does. It was a tragic thing but thank God we're living to see it come back, and he saw a lot of it come back.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>It's interesting to look back at the reviews from even the celebrated Powell and Pressburger films from earlier. It seems like critics often struggled with these films and didn't quite know what to do with them.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Yeah, because they were unusual and they weren't telling you what to think – Marty hates that, when a movie is telling you what to think. They're full of surprises, they want you to engage. You know, how many films were these critics watching every week? They wanted something they could just write down, but here's this thing that's odd and very, very different, and they couldn't quite handle it. So <i>Peeping Tom</i> needed to be destroyed – this is evil, it's making us feel sympathy towards this killer – and they got so violent about it. Ian Christie says that some of the trade reviews were actually not bad and there was an internal memo about the movie, that Anglo-Amalgamated had hired somebody and he was very positive about the movie, but the distributors pulled it. Michael said, "I know the reviews are bad but leave it in the theatres, let's see what people think," and they didn't, and they should have, because maybe it would have survived.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>He writes about that in his book, that he had more faith in the audience being grown-up enough to handle it than anybody else did.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />That's right. He said, "I think the critics lead very sheltered lives." Now it's considered a masterpiece, you know? There was one print in America, I think some collector had it, and somehow that group of directors – Coppola, Scorsese, Brian De Palma, Lucas – they all saw the movie and knew about it when it wasn't available anywhere. Then Marty got it entered in the New York Film Festival, where it was a huge hit, and got it distributed in America very briefly.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>It's always been a big presence in my life because when I first moved to London my office was right next to Newman Passage so I would think about<i> Peeping Tom</i> every time I went on my lunch break.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />You know, he took Marty and me to Newman Passage. We had a wonderful dinner in his favourite restaurant, which was on Charlotte Street, and then walked over to Newman Passage, and that was so great for Marty.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>I love reading Michael's memoirs and I know you spent many years in the 1980s helping him put those books together. What was that experience like for you?</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Oh, it was so rich. What happened was, his eyesight began to fail from macular degeneration, he could see but he couldn't read. He wrote the first beautiful chapter of his childhood by hand, and it's a beautiful manuscript that I gave to Marty, I think it's actually at the BFI now. From that point on, I gave him a little recorder, and while I was editing, he would spend all day recording. No notes, he had to keep this all in his brain, I don't know how he did the structure of the book that way. Anyway, it was a thrill for me. I would transcribe what he dictated, and then on Sundays, our favourite day, we would never get out of our bathrobes and I would read back to him what he had written that week. We would construct it, edit it a bit, and it was a thrill to be sharing that with him.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">There were times when both of us would break down. His mother was a great influence on him, she loved art of any form, and she made an artist out of Michael. At one point, she had never been to Stonehenge, and she was on a bike with Michael behind her, I think he was around ten. They were pedalling towards Stonehenge and there was a terrible storm, and she looked back at her son and she decided that she would never get to Stonehenge and she turned around. Michael and I would just burst into tears! So it was a thrill to work with him on it, and he's such a good writer, he could have been a writer instead of a film director except his mother took him to a silent film, and that was it! [Laughs]</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>That was also a very prolific period for you and Scorsese, so it must have been hard to balance that work with helping Michael produce these two very dense books.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />It was hard, but of course Marty would do anything for Michael Powell, anything. He was also terribly important in getting it published in America. It was published here first, but the first volume was published in America by Knopf with a very great editor Robert Gottlieb, who has just died, but the person who took over from him just refused to do the second volume. Marty and I found somebody who would possibly publish it, we had him for lunch and we talked up Michael Powell, and the second volume got published by another publishing house. So Marty was always there for Michael, and I must say working on the book was heaven, it was a great thing to share. Marty and I share Michael and his movies, we share that legacy, and both of us want to do everything we can to sustain it. To be working as an editor on <i>Killers of the Flower Moon</i> and often talking about Michael Powell, to see if we can do this or get that done, it's pretty wonderful.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>Scorsese also used Powell as a consultant on a lot of his movies in that period. I love the letter Powell wrote to Scorsese with his notes on the <i>Goodfellas </i>script. It must have been a year or so before he died but you can sense his enthusiasm and how fired up he still was by the business of making movies.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Well, he is responsible for it getting made. What happened was, on a Sunday when we had been working on the book, I had been talking to him about how Marty couldn't sell <i>Goodfellas </i>because the studio said you have to take the drugs out. He said, “That's the whole story, I can't take the drugs out!” and he was very depressed because he had tried over and over again. So Michael said, read me the script, so I read him the script, and he said, "Get Marty on the phone." I did and he said, "Marty, you have to make this movie, it's the best script I have read in twenty years. You <i>have </i>to do it." Marty went in one more time and sold it, and then Michael didn't live to see it, which was very sad. You know, he thought <i>Mean Streets</i> was a masterpiece and he would say to me as we were walking down the streets of New York, "Why isn't <i>Mean Streets</i> playing somewhere every day of the year here? This is an outrage!" [Laughs]</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>Scorsese has often talked about how Powell and Pressburger films influenced his lighting and framing of shots. As an editor, how were you influenced by them? I am always particularly taken aback by the beauty and imagination of the transitions in their films.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Yes, very much so. Scorsese is a great editor, he taught me everything I know. He is always thinking about transitions and he loved the transitions in the Powell and Pressburger films. We often think about them just for the influence of mood when making our films. The one important thing that Michael Powell said to us was, "Never explain," and that's what has happened in <i>Killers of the Flower Moon</i>. Marty said, "I am not making a documentary about the Osage nation, it's got to be something different with them completely involved." Michael also said that you have to always stay ahead of your audience because they are ahead of you, so what we love is that there is no explanation, there are surprises all the time. He's pulling you ahead as an audience, he respects you, and therefore he is willing to give you challenges that might make a studio say, "Oh no, that's too much." I mean, we fight that battle on every movie! But I'll never forget that from Michael...never explain.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />He really loved Marty's films. He gave us the ending for <i>After Hours</i> and I'm sure you've read that he said to Marty that there was something wrong with the red gloves when he was watching the video of <i>Raging Bull</i>, and Marty said it had to be black-and-white. We had so much trouble with fundamentalists when we were making <i>Last Temptation</i>, we actually had bodyguards on Marty at that time. We screened our rough cuts quite a few times, and we'd recut and talk to people, and finally he allowed Michael to see it. Michael stood up at the end and there were tears running down his face. I looked at Marty sitting beside me, and I thought, Oh my God, what a gift! He was always there for Marty even in some troubled times.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>Well, one of the key ideas in Michael's career is that art is worth fighting for.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Oh, absolutely.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>It reminds me of a great bit in <i>49th Parallel</i> where Leslie Howard is beating up a Nazi and as he punches him he's shouting, "That's for Picasso! That's for Matisse!" It's a funny scene but I think it represents something that he believed in.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />That's right. When he made <i>Peeping Tom</i> he knew that it was daring. He always wanted to be ahead of his time and making something new and fresh and interesting, but he knew that if you were someone like that you were out on a limb and you could be easily sawed off, and that's what happened. He said, "I would rather be sawed off than be conventional," and that was very gutsy. He had seen great artists destroyed, you know, like Rex Ingram, Louis B. Mayer destroyed Rex Ingram. Michael adored Ingram and his brilliance. He was in LA when <i>Black Narcissus</i> got an Oscar for cinematography and he went to see Ingram, who hadn't made a movie in years. He was saddened to see him that way, but he knew because he was brave and daring, that's what happens.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>Powell and Pressburger had their own battles in Hollywood with <i>The Elusive Pimpernel</i> and <i>Gone to Earth</i>. It must have been so hard for Michael to have his vision constrained in that way, because they had enjoyed such freedom in the 40s.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Exactly, and Marty says that during the war it was the most subversive period in filmmaking ever in a major studio, because nobody paid any attention to them. They were commercially viable except for <i>A Canterbury Tale</i>, so J. Arthur Rank just let them go until he saw <i>The Red Shoes</i> and that was it. He said it was terrible, he tried to kill it, and then it became one of the largest grossing movies ever. It was a very accidental thing that the war came at the same time so they were left alone, I mean, Marty is very jealous of that! We've had to fight so hard. We've fought on almost every movie, not the last couple, against some really stupid ideas, and we fight to the death.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>One reason they were commercially viable was because they worked on quite modest budgets, and that's so hard to believe when you watch the movies. I mean, I don't think any film has ever evoked infinity like <i>A Matter of Life and Death</i> does. When I watch these films I often have no idea how they achieved what they did.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />I know! Even the opening shot. We do visual effects all the time now, but how did they do that then without digital? Their budgets were terribly low, Michael only shot one take, and if you screwed up he could be rather nasty. But because they did only one take that meant they had less in the editing room than someone like Scorsese, who might do five or six and together we decide. They were very lucky, but boy, they paid so dearly later.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>A lot of the conversation around The Archers tends to focus on a handful of great films. If there was one lesser known title you'd push people to see, what would it be?</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />I think <i>Gone to Earth</i> is one. Selznick was notorious for meddling and so he would send endless notes every day, which Michael would have his assistant put in a drawer, he never read them. But they knew from the experience with Goldwyn to put in the contract that if he didn't like the movie, they could have their own version. Now Kino Lorber has put out a blu-ray with<i> The Wild Heart</i> on the front cover and I'm so angry! That's not the authentic movie. Of course, we want to restore <i>Gone to Earth</i> but Selznick cut into the original negative and I don't know if we can ever get it back together, but that's one I would recommend to people.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>I am looking forward to watching it this weekend on 35mm.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Not <i>The Wild Heart</i>!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>No, I’m definitely watching <i>Gone to Earth</i>. There is actually a screening of <i>The Wild Heart</i> later in the season. I've never seen that cut, and I'm curious about it.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />I've never seen it, I have to admit. In the documentary that we're making, we found a Canadian interview that nobody knew about with Michael and Emeric, and in it Michael says that when Selznick would come on the set, Jennifer Jones would throw things at him because she didn't want him telling her what she should do. She's terrific in the movie. I haven't seen much of her Hollywood stuff, but I'll bet you this is the best work she ever did, and she loved doing it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>I am so excited about <i>Black Narcissus</i> on nitrate as well. That's my personal favourite and I have been waiting for so many years to see it on a nitrate print.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Oh, it's incredible! I encouraged them to bring it because it really is stunning. There's nothing like nitrate, that silver. It's brilliant. Oh, it's so good that you have a ticket. I bet that has sold out.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>Oh yeah, I had to be so quick to book it.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Isn't it wonderful, that the tickets are going so well? Sharing it with people too, Michael always said to me, "I didn't make my movies for someone to sit alone at home and watch them." When we did <i>The Red Shoes</i> restoration it was wonderful to be with people watching it, and I just think it's so great to have this celebration. Something has changed with the young people today, I've noticed. Ian Christie tells me they know the movies and they love them. Recently Scorsese interviewed Joanna Hogg for <i>The Eternal Daughter</i> and I went and there were these huge lines of young people, all under 25. I was one of the two grey heads in that audience! So something is happening, and it's so good to see.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://whatson.bfi.org.uk/Online/default.asp?BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::permalink=powellandpressburger" target="_blank">Cinema Unbound: The Creative Worlds of Powell + Pressburger</a> is running at the BFI and at cinemas nationwide until the end of the year.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNIHjdixKjM6qP01pMgNq8u5qyBLcd-UXreh_Fgm2HPyiQDkHkpJE06xMPe__LqsEFjBFjWhnaDBwCZ-mSd7RCaBa0Cj2lZKRx1mzs2f8bd9TL1MHEBx_yeq5NQWMys01x8FnaKcMtC7Flla35Pk2533cij3j0vUlqGDw_TewzAy3Kpm7hq8XZQ/s1790/Scorsese%20Powell%20Schoonmaker.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="1790" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNIHjdixKjM6qP01pMgNq8u5qyBLcd-UXreh_Fgm2HPyiQDkHkpJE06xMPe__LqsEFjBFjWhnaDBwCZ-mSd7RCaBa0Cj2lZKRx1mzs2f8bd9TL1MHEBx_yeq5NQWMys01x8FnaKcMtC7Flla35Pk2533cij3j0vUlqGDw_TewzAy3Kpm7hq8XZQ/w400-h171/Scorsese%20Powell%20Schoonmaker.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-80629802272059117032023-10-07T22:02:00.001+00:002023-10-07T22:02:08.591+00:00Peeping Tom: inside the restoration of Michael Powell’s shocking serial killer drama<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wmkTLZn0m3AOgyb3aQWpzv2E9sSEItjjK4sCyJBh7Sh0BAB1uGwsobpjWmoG-HbAsNIpGyRZwHwb4fm8Jsr2VOTcAuyIv4q374CLk6U_6AfriEt-ggm1bzlfkOLdrNHiBZUZazwfP7kTHy3IehoCcntG4SGoBpWUSvOVZIf_MlQUoqXaKcvbIg/s1504/peeping-tom-1960-karl-boehm-projector-closeup.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="1504" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wmkTLZn0m3AOgyb3aQWpzv2E9sSEItjjK4sCyJBh7Sh0BAB1uGwsobpjWmoG-HbAsNIpGyRZwHwb4fm8Jsr2VOTcAuyIv4q374CLk6U_6AfriEt-ggm1bzlfkOLdrNHiBZUZazwfP7kTHy3IehoCcntG4SGoBpWUSvOVZIf_MlQUoqXaKcvbIg/w400-h225/peeping-tom-1960-karl-boehm-projector-closeup.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>If you associate Michael Powell with lush Technicolor dreams or spirited love stories and adventures, then <i>Peeping Tom</i> (1960) will undoubtedly come as a shock. Made three years after he and Emeric Pressburger parted company, Powell’s portrait of a serial killer stars Karlheinz Böhm as the young cameraman who murders women with the sharpened end of his tripod while capturing their agonised final moments on film. The way Powell implicates the viewers’ own voyeurism makes it a uniquely disturbing and provocative experience.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />When critics saw <i>Peeping Tom</i>, the response was instant and vitriolic. The film was an aberration, a stain on the reputation of its great director, and the best thing for everyone would be for it to be disposed of and forgotten as quickly as possible. As Michael Powell wrote in his memoirs, the film’s producers gave the critics what they wanted: “They yanked the film from the Plaza, they cancelled the British distribution, and they sold the negative to an obscure black-marketeer of films who tried to forget it, and forgotten it was, along with its director, for twenty years.”</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Thankfully, Powell lived to see the critical tide turn on <i>Peeping Tom</i>, and in the years since the director’s death in 1990, its reputation has continued to grow, as has much of Powell and Pressburger’s body of work, thanks in part to the ongoing promotion and restorations undertaken by his friend and admirer Martin Scorsese and Powell’s widow Thelma Schoonmaker. It was Scorsese who spearheaded the rediscovery of <i>Peeping Tom</i>, getting it screened to wide acclaim at the New York Film Festival in 1979 and re-released the following year. He brought Powell over to share in the new reactions to the film, paying for the flight to New York, which Powell couldn’t otherwise have afforded.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />“To create anything, whether it’s writing or painting or music or dance or cinema, you have to be obsessed,” says Scorsese. “But one can cross the line into danger, easily. Michael Powell didn’t just understand that danger – he lived it. And he actually expressed it in cinematic terms.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />“Unlike <i>The Red Shoes</i>, set in the grand world of high culture, <i>Peeping Tom</i> is set at the rock bottom level of low culture, with a protagonist who has already crossed the line. On a plot level, it’s about a serial killer who murders women as he films them. On a deeper level, it’s a portrait of self-destruction by means of cinema – the lenses are scalpels, the splices real cuts that bleed, the celluloid razor wire, and the light of the projector blinding.”</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />This year, <i>Peeping Tom</i> will be back in the spotlight with a new 4K restoration by The Film Foundation and the BFI National Archive in association with StudioCanal. Ahead of its premiere at the London Film Festival, I spoke to some of the other key players involved in the restoration to find out what goes into such a project.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/features/peeping-tom-inside-restoration-michael-powell-shocking-serial-killer-drama" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Read the rest of my article at Sight & Sound</span></a></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-7001208731784485272023-10-02T15:32:00.002+00:002023-10-02T15:32:29.514+00:00Dumb Money review<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp8c1iZFbcRGTM857_f0DwcytUA6DuEO-5ylc7C7kq4McTpmqwwXxmtHuZgCtKiuBuXF-zbviDEZHEmZptx7epv2r3_UCjBc8hCC_rm3Nbpj2zCaNO_2e7KZioOarFXlQCNQvedOZeiCThscMtNcXD6r5mRpIL9C8Dh3BsXt0Tvm7Z9NhXM9nBA/s1400/dumb-money.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp8c1iZFbcRGTM857_f0DwcytUA6DuEO-5ylc7C7kq4McTpmqwwXxmtHuZgCtKiuBuXF-zbviDEZHEmZptx7epv2r3_UCjBc8hCC_rm3Nbpj2zCaNO_2e7KZioOarFXlQCNQvedOZeiCThscMtNcXD6r5mRpIL9C8Dh3BsXt0Tvm7Z9NhXM9nBA/w400-h200/dumb-money.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>In Wall Street parlance, ‘dumb money’ is a catch-all term for individual and amateur traders, whose investments pale in comparison to the billions managed by hedge funds and capital investment groups. Rarely do the small fish trouble the sharks, but one such conflict occurred in 2020, when YouTuber Keith Gill (Paul Dano) told his small following about his investments in the videogame store GameStop, and the collective will of an online community briefly threatened to topple the hedge funds who had short-sold this stock. Craig Gillespie’s <i>Dumb Money</i> positions this as a classic David v Goliath tale, where those with nothing have an opportunity to strike at the hoarders of unimaginable wealth. Each time a character is introduced, an onscreen caption tells us their net worth, from Citadel CEO Ken Griffin (Nick Offerman), sitting on $29 billion, all the way down to debt-ridden student Harmony (Talia Ryder), $186k in the red.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/dumb-money-this-david-goliath-comedy-feels-entirely-unnecessary" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: arial;">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</span></a></i></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-25842421746779605962023-10-02T15:30:00.003+00:002023-10-02T15:30:19.196+00:00Where the Wind Blows review<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPVfrZaRQEMmfZ-Ak-OiZCUStZWyzOsSR1yps5v9T4LirXjUFY_cHudb77WZBnbu4D6ZIIQLL-vfgDy1yOYVG6QvQn3FL65Yh25WVrNGr_3YLTbEXzwi7dYDe0iRNEuwesIbSj0Cepc2pQ4NU469aKGDiANIOKyk7Y_FculXEOBWqTCW6oLROyQ/s1272/where-the-wind-blows_9_52781480005_o-1272x848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="848" data-original-width="1272" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPVfrZaRQEMmfZ-Ak-OiZCUStZWyzOsSR1yps5v9T4LirXjUFY_cHudb77WZBnbu4D6ZIIQLL-vfgDy1yOYVG6QvQn3FL65Yh25WVrNGr_3YLTbEXzwi7dYDe0iRNEuwesIbSj0Cepc2pQ4NU469aKGDiANIOKyk7Y_FculXEOBWqTCW6oLROyQ/w400-h266/where-the-wind-blows_9_52781480005_o-1272x848.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Where the Wind Blows</i> has not had a straightforward path to the big screen. Originally set for release towards the end of 2018 under the title <i>Theory of Ambitions</i>, Philip Yung’s follow-up to his acclaimed thriller Port of Call (2015) failed to win approval from China’s National Radio and Television Administration. After years of appeals and re-edits, the film’s premiere was rescheduled for the 2021 Hong Kong International Film Festival, but it was abruptly pulled three days before the screening. ‘Technical reasons’ were cited, although as Variety noted in their report on the incident, ‘technical reasons’ is widely understood in mainland China as a euphemism for censorship.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/where-wind-blows-frantic-overstuffed-hong-kong-crime-thriller" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-62908636612814166202023-07-31T23:10:00.003+00:002023-07-31T23:21:29.777+00:00Il Cinema Ritrovato 2023<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99PAdqW7Yi_viyNK_Kz8Xvp4YLS8r3tQekuDhi-PI2drQ-eNSboeTNN54M9KYrNzf9vXx2A9qdeGlsuJL9jqvsLBChi1TehSxECi7r1Y3OlzdB2uji2dnLn3Sqw8pWqW9MIMcorKyGODj8tqmwYiHpsLzFwgw2VnK1OnrI6dB8I-u3t6oEzf4vA/s1474/Narcissus_Flashback_hires.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1474" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh99PAdqW7Yi_viyNK_Kz8Xvp4YLS8r3tQekuDhi-PI2drQ-eNSboeTNN54M9KYrNzf9vXx2A9qdeGlsuJL9jqvsLBChi1TehSxECi7r1Y3OlzdB2uji2dnLn3Sqw8pWqW9MIMcorKyGODj8tqmwYiHpsLzFwgw2VnK1OnrI6dB8I-u3t6oEzf4vA/w400-h293/Narcissus_Flashback_hires.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Ever since I started attending Il Cinema Ritrovato in Bologna, June has been the month I’ve looked forward to more than any other. This year, I had an extra reason to eagerly anticipate it. A few weeks before my regular Italian jaunt this summer, the BFI hosted the inaugural Film on Film Festival; a four-day celebration of celluloid projection in all its forms. Expertly curated by James Bell and Robin Baker, this programme caught the imagination of audiences and generated a buzz that I had never experienced on the South Bank. It was the closest thing to Bologna that I have ever felt in London, and it was a reminder of how special and singular the act of film projection remains in our increasingly digital and disconnected world.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />This short festival also acted as a handy teaser for Il Cinema Ritrovato. One of the most exciting events was an ultra-rare screening of Rouben Mamoulian’s <i>Blood and Sand</i> on a nitrate print, which showed off the film's ravishing use of colour to eye-popping effect, and Mamoulian was undoubtedly the star of this year’s Bologna programme. Il Cinema Ritrovato has a history of celebrating studio directors who hopped from genre to genre and adapted to the changing fashions in careers that spanned decades, and through a selection of these features we can see the artistry and thematic consistency that defined these filmmakers.<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Mamoulian strand contained a number of his most celebrated works – including <i>Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde</i>, <i>Love Me Tonight </i>and <i>Queen Christina</i> – but I was excited to discover some of the less familiar titles. It was particularly interesting to see how Mamoulian’s style could elevate generic material in the pre-Code <i>City Streets</i>. It’s easy to imagine the mundane crime picture this could have become in the hands of many directors – there’s nothing new in its tale of a racketeer’s daughter (Sylvia Sidney) and her boyfriend (Gray Cooper) getting mixed up in bootlegging – but Mamoulian finds something interesting to look at in almost every scene. Consider the way he uses a burning cigar, or films two men walking down a corridor with one represented as a shadow, or shoots an expositional conversation between two characters by focusing on the cat statues that happen to be in the room.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIu-0bMx9vTmPyZ5lA1nXYChtekmvEy0yqoXhYUXjWrpvmnqaKEwshjnJaM-601jqBXgQOk4yWb6HGkRL9bZEykAtmV2eBmWcjpzw2gBzt9LjHIAk1rpihN-c9DzcfOsx5I4ec1tEgaqoMu8RW4Pfojs9OZkhJVUMQStg0Vtfe3pBmVZnxkE4Wbw/s1000/we%20live%20again.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIu-0bMx9vTmPyZ5lA1nXYChtekmvEy0yqoXhYUXjWrpvmnqaKEwshjnJaM-601jqBXgQOk4yWb6HGkRL9bZEykAtmV2eBmWcjpzw2gBzt9LjHIAk1rpihN-c9DzcfOsx5I4ec1tEgaqoMu8RW4Pfojs9OZkhJVUMQStg0Vtfe3pBmVZnxkE4Wbw/w400-h320/we%20live%20again.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">His elegant direction similarly lit up one of the very best films I saw in Bologna, even though it’s a film that appears to have a poor critical reputation compared to Mamoulian’s other works. <i>We Live Again</i> is an adaptation of Tolstoy's novel <i>Resurrection</i>, and in its opening scenes I felt like I was about to understand why this picture hasn’t received widespread acclaim; the picturesque depiction of 19th century Russian life feels hokey and the dialogue given to Fredric March’s prince as he espouses his socialist ideals is blunt. But as the film progresses, it delves into much more complex emotional territory. After seducing the peasant girl Katusha (Anna Sten), March’s character rises through the ranks and forgets his earlier principles, while Katusha gives birth to a stillborn child and is cast out into the streets. The film becomes a story of a man realising that he has lost something valuable and striving for atonement, and much of this conflict plays out on March’s face, with the actor expressing his inner anguish in a few intense and nuanced close-ups. With sharp script contributions from Preston Sturges and gorgeous cinematography from Gregg Toland, this is a handsome and absorbing production, but what really sets it apart is its subtle approach to character, its frank take on sex (the ‘morning after’ scene made our audience gasp) and its sincere spirituality. It’s the ultimate example of what curator Ehsan Khoshbakht wryly described as Mamoulian’s ongoing fascination with “the holy and the horny.”<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The other director receiving the retrospective treatment in Bologna this year was Teinosuke Kinugasa, whose work beyond <i>A Page of Madness</i> and <i>Gate of Hell</i> has rarely been seen outside of Japan. The selection presented here was a mixed bag, but there’s no doubting Kinugasa’s eye for a striking composition, even in a film as severely compromised as his 1935 version of <i>An Actor’s Revenge</i>, which was hacked down from its original five-hour running time and is now barely comprehensible. Kinugasa’s vision aligned most beautifully with the material in the epic drama <i>Dedication of the Great Buddha</i>, which details the creation of a Buddha statue in 8th century Japan. This is a film about the creative process, artistic jealousy and political machinations, as the humble sculptor (Kazuo Hasegawa) enlisted for the project has to face myriad rivals and antagonists who threaten to sabotage him. Kinugasa brilliantly creates an imposing sense of scale and the scenes of construction are worthy of comparison with the bell-casting in Tarkovsky’s <i>Andrei Rublev</i>. It’s an astonishing film that poignantly expresses the toll that this arduous project took on the men who did it: "My life...for this."<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Kinugasa selection in Bologna was a mere fraction of this extraordinarily prolific director’s body of work. Others had a much more complete showing. Michael Roemer has had two theatrically released feature films, <i>Nothing But a Man</i> and <i>The Plot Against Harry</i>, but the second of these was barely released at all. This drily comic portrait of a Jewish gangster emerging from jail to find his personal and professional lives in turmoil was shelved by its distributor for not being funny enough, and it wasn’t released until 1989, when it was widely acclaimed and nominated for six Independent Spirit Awards. What impact might it have had in 1971, when it predated <i>Mean Streets</i>, <i>The Killing of a Chinese Bookie </i>and the rise of Woody Allen? It’s a tragedy that Martin Priest and Ben Lang (both nominees in 1990) didn’t receive the recognition and career boost they deserved for their wonderful work here. Perhaps it’s easy to see why <i>The Plot Against Harry</i> was considered a hard sell </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">–</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> it’s a determinedly low-key picture, with the narrative essentially consisting of things just happening to Harry as tries to do deals and mend broken families ties, while simultaneously trying to avoid the stress that might afflict his enlarged heart </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">–</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> b</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">ut I loved the film’s off-kilter sense of humour and its fascinating depiction of New York at a particular point in time. It deserves to be more widely celebrated.<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhteivlaDq2dagQ9Qi8eRmumodJkYR0aVIcgSqEtz66bxU5E7mYkx_eg9FdeVZoT8eqn2xx9ZiDaPsFyRT-k7iaut6f8Gxi4SA0tla_dMzpe7xYK1IgM9A3docJQyvK05HhQCoDjhksQNnr2FlcjuxCQoXqxIpOsLQfK9dCPhv01q4iYF8sv-dC9w/s1200/dreams%20of%20the%20city.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhteivlaDq2dagQ9Qi8eRmumodJkYR0aVIcgSqEtz66bxU5E7mYkx_eg9FdeVZoT8eqn2xx9ZiDaPsFyRT-k7iaut6f8Gxi4SA0tla_dMzpe7xYK1IgM9A3docJQyvK05HhQCoDjhksQNnr2FlcjuxCQoXqxIpOsLQfK9dCPhv01q4iYF8sv-dC9w/w400-h225/dreams%20of%20the%20city.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">These discoveries are what Il Cinema Ritrovato is all about. I love taking a chance on a film I’ve heard nothing about and leaving the cinema enraptured by the greatness I have just experienced. My knowledge of Syrian cinema is non-existent, but I’m so glad I caught Mohammad Malas’ </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">Dreams of the City</i><span style="font-family: verdana;">. Based on the director’s own childhood, this film centres on Dib (Bassel Abiad), who moves with his younger brother and widowed mother to Damascus, where they are forced to live with his taciturn and abusive grandfather. Set against the backdrop of Syria’s tumultuous political landscape in the 1950s, this is one of the great coming-of-age films, with Malas capturing such raw emotion in the relationship between Dib and his violent grandfather and heartbroken mother, and between the other characters we meet, who are turned against each other by the political climate. The film also gives us an invaluable look at the lost city of Damascus, beautifully photographed by Ordijan Anjin and splendidly presented on this excellent 35mm archive print. My only regret is that I didn’t see the other Syrian film in the programme, Tewfik Saleh’s </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">The Dupes</i><span style="font-family: verdana;">, which everyone I spoke to raved about, but such missed opportunities are par for the course here.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not every print was a pleasure at this year’s festival, though. A number of 16mm screenings were programmed in that format’s centenary year, but these fragile prints often struggled to get through the projector. William Klein’s <i>Eldridge Cleaver, Black Panther</i> broke twice during the screening, while the presentations of 1960s Italian music videos and a screening of <i>Lucretia Lombard</i> had to be abandoned. The latter was particularly frustrating, as the first couple of minutes of Jack Conway’s film had shown promise and the print failed just as Norma Shearer had made her first appearance. We did get to enjoy some other gems from 1923, though. Jean Epstein made his first solo effort as a director this year with <i>L'Auberge rouge</i>, and it was thrilling to see him pushing his technique in so many areas, with a boldly roving camera and some particularly potent point-of-view shots. I was also impressed by the visual imagination on display in Arthur Robison’s <i>Schatten</i>, which eschews intertitles and makes ingenious use of shadows as its characters are lulled into a dream state where their deepest desires are revealed. If Robison had known when to quit – ideally after the genuinely shocking climax – then I might be hailing this as one of the greats, but even if its impact is diluted slightly by the extended epilogue, it’s still a remarkable picture.<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIxPhGWaz9i1taGuFgWrrhZS7Z94UWHZS8KZifa4ztyPrHECmmF8KQfX4N7IsY0msAcabVMetaTrzY3QB7399lSBLXhQFDwkuld2Im_DMCbISKQu6Ig3Y4ovTEJRtpVEAQMHcXGX09hGYa5TPy4qaHuKUxmACMGxeMfoc3A9Xj_MECx0vGr5UkA/s528/brasier.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="528" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIxPhGWaz9i1taGuFgWrrhZS7Z94UWHZS8KZifa4ztyPrHECmmF8KQfX4N7IsY0msAcabVMetaTrzY3QB7399lSBLXhQFDwkuld2Im_DMCbISKQu6Ig3Y4ovTEJRtpVEAQMHcXGX09hGYa5TPy4qaHuKUxmACMGxeMfoc3A9Xj_MECx0vGr5UkA/w400-h300/brasier.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The most astonishing film from the 1923 strand came from a most unlikely source, however. I've enjoyed watching Ivan Mosjoukine in Bologna a number of times, and his performance in </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">Le Brasier ardent</i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> is typically charismatic, lively and unpredictable; his introduction, where it is revealed that he’s been hidden in plain sight throughout the whole scene we’ve just watched, is a delight. But the revelation here is that Mosjoukine also directed </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">Le Brasier ardent</i><span style="font-family: verdana;">, and he proves himself to be an extraordinary talent on that side of the camera too. The film knocked me back in my seat in its opening few minutes, with an extraordinarily visceral, surreal and unsettling nightmare sequence, and throughout the movie Mosjoukine creates incredibly imaginative scenes, full of bizarre images and crazy production design. This film changed the course of Jean Renoir's life (“I decided to abandon my profession, which was ceramics, and to set about making films,” he wrote) but its poor reception at the box office sad killed a potentially thrilling directorial career.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I may go to Bologna primarily to venture into the unknown and unearth these hidden gems, but it would be remiss of me not to mention one of the most glorious experiences I had this year, with a film I have watched countless times. <i>Black Narcissus</i> played in Piazza Maggiore on a brand-new 35mm print, which brought an overwhelming clarity and vibrancy to The Archers’ awe-inspiring use of colour and ingenious art direction. The shot of Deborah Kerr standing in the lake during the flashback in Ireland, with the sunlight glistening on the water around her, was so dazzling on that huge screen it took my breath away. If the BFI led us into Il Cinema Ritrovato this year, then Bologna returned the favour with this screening, as this splendid new print is one of a few that have been struck for the BFI’s major Powell and Pressburger celebration later this year. I already can’t wait to see it again.</span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-832292724259227972023-07-24T17:42:00.004+00:002023-07-24T17:42:34.594+00:00You Hurt My Feelings Review<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkh9CW_24l4R6OFZF6OiVAXhvxPQMPB9nkVh0zJhoiYxCMLb3mU72lOywE_WwYQCMf4jhcTnlQMcnzMZD2RerQxvSY08qOmXxGX7fqJMU81z5Y2Ff0vinzv85wH0Hddf8Hkv6GPy1uyhOnjSoMfkLpglxY33pvzxQU_uGbq6a9uLF4Ic0EqOONw/s970/146614_widescreen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="970" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwkh9CW_24l4R6OFZF6OiVAXhvxPQMPB9nkVh0zJhoiYxCMLb3mU72lOywE_WwYQCMf4jhcTnlQMcnzMZD2RerQxvSY08qOmXxGX7fqJMU81z5Y2Ff0vinzv85wH0Hddf8Hkv6GPy1uyhOnjSoMfkLpglxY33pvzxQU_uGbq6a9uLF4Ic0EqOONw/w400-h170/146614_widescreen.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The fact that Nicole Holofcener has named her seventh film <i>You Hurt My Feelings</i> makes complete sense – hurt feelings are this filmmaker’s stock-in-trade. From her 1996 directorial debut Walking and Talking onwards, Holofcener has established herself as one of the finest comic filmmakers working in American cinema, but beneath the laughs that she reliably serves up, her films always display an acute understanding of the myriad small ways in which people can wound each other. The importance of honesty within a relationship is a recurring theme in Holofcener’s work, and the truth usually hurts.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://www.theskinny.co.uk/film/new-releases/you-hurt-my-feelings" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at The Skinny</a></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-58548559012425597712023-07-19T14:03:00.007+00:002023-07-19T14:03:47.592+00:00Barbie Review<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6-drakNEfTc89vyNCsDWRgRrV4bJIWTCGd4-yd1P4ENJR1voQ3AcNyO2-PiUuGXT0s_UPl6Uf3hlaJwLdnkfyp-wbDuhCGoh5vEKSawIRVfbqdcnXjhc5gChaKKmXm0-MLF6xmbRWyi1zuNi8xAZD9se0N0orm_bfDCuavYw0KK8AcAROvxo_w/s970/146583_widescreen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="970" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6-drakNEfTc89vyNCsDWRgRrV4bJIWTCGd4-yd1P4ENJR1voQ3AcNyO2-PiUuGXT0s_UPl6Uf3hlaJwLdnkfyp-wbDuhCGoh5vEKSawIRVfbqdcnXjhc5gChaKKmXm0-MLF6xmbRWyi1zuNi8xAZD9se0N0orm_bfDCuavYw0KK8AcAROvxo_w/w400-h170/146583_widescreen.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Life in plastic is fantastic for the residents of Barbie Land, the vividly realised location where we spend the opening third of Greta Gerwig’s <i>Barbie</i>. Everything is perfect and everyone knows their place, but the complications of reality are beginning to seep into this fantasy. “Do you guys ever think about dying?” Barbie (Margot Robbie) suddenly blurts out during a dance number, a moment of introspection that sends her perennially pointed feet crashing to the floor and seems to knock her whole life off kilter. Yes, this Barbie is having an existential crisis, and Barbie’s screenplay, by Gerwig and Noah Baumbach, sends their iconic blonde protagonist to the real world on a voyage of self-discovery.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.theskinny.co.uk/film/new-releases/barbie-greta-gerwig" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at The Skinny</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-63685711398139156992023-05-22T16:48:00.007+00:002023-05-22T16:48:48.506+00:00Full Time Review<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfyI0dbWdDxaQMjsj2bnHjIvQsSY6jFElLWkWfT_y1f6WoKNvr0VtB_-y7vpWoLN8zA-X4fcnVTqiK3cqBtV9x72AbR6YqJJHbgIp4UqvwrEkKdanG0LSKcJAjIVaE27QnN8T9FfiDAyLOUAxJPGCI4OvZYeTZpr1cW7LvkZyrz9e2K84vHk/s1600/Full%20Time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIfyI0dbWdDxaQMjsj2bnHjIvQsSY6jFElLWkWfT_y1f6WoKNvr0VtB_-y7vpWoLN8zA-X4fcnVTqiK3cqBtV9x72AbR6YqJJHbgIp4UqvwrEkKdanG0LSKcJAjIVaE27QnN8T9FfiDAyLOUAxJPGCI4OvZYeTZpr1cW7LvkZyrz9e2K84vHk/w400-h225/Full%20Time.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Full Time</i> opens in the half-light of the early morning, with the credits unfurling over the slumbering form of Julie (Laure Calamy). The camera is inches from her face and the only sound we hear is her heavy breathing as she snoozes through the final minutes before her alarm rings. Enjoy this moment of calm, because such peaceful interludes are few and far between in Éric Gravel’s nerve-jangling film.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><i><a href="https://www.theskinny.co.uk/film/new-releases/full-time-2023" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at The Skinny</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-54289039036876717352023-05-18T16:22:00.003+00:002023-05-18T16:22:33.120+00:00Under the Fig Trees Review<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgpIYeqWw9OlOaHfGuVWbtLMw28DdOZ3mi0SasfF5lUmhuo6d4xLHdqwtRU8T7VL0hE88KZfOAURNwQ9svBMXa-Nkg7m2aW78MHkZ7AU4zHPTzgk9YAPNd80XrfY_qgByfRbj1QyorXTuzHQ2Pc-HYSBcRtGvjVBvVjAABDVokGIrabQX5p0/s2045/4.Under_the_fig_trees_official_still.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="2045" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDgpIYeqWw9OlOaHfGuVWbtLMw28DdOZ3mi0SasfF5lUmhuo6d4xLHdqwtRU8T7VL0hE88KZfOAURNwQ9svBMXa-Nkg7m2aW78MHkZ7AU4zHPTzgk9YAPNd80XrfY_qgByfRbj1QyorXTuzHQ2Pc-HYSBcRtGvjVBvVjAABDVokGIrabQX5p0/w400-h214/4.Under_the_fig_trees_official_still.png" width="400" /></a></div>Erige Sehiri has adopted a deceptively simple structure for her debut narrative feature <i>Under the Fig Trees</i>. The film opens as the day breaks, with a small band of agricultural workers standing by the side of the road, waiting for their ride to work, and closes with the return journey. In between these commutes we spend a day in the orchard, where these people collect figs; we watch them work, listen to them talk, and gain a brief window into their lives.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />The first words we hear in the film are “She took everything and left,” and while this stray comment doesn’t mean anything in the overall scheme of the movie – it’s just two women sharing a bit of village gossip – it does set us up for the film’s tendency to happen upon conversations in medias res and let us hear just a little of what’s being said before moving on. These snatches of talk suggest lives and relationships that exist beyond the confines of what we see on screen.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/under-fig-trees-loose-naturalistic-day-life-tunisian-fruit-pickers" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-17458434705514772452023-03-02T15:35:00.006+00:002023-03-02T15:35:57.151+00:00Joyland Review<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgunGRq7hhIU-LjrkU-RO_sPMeb2IC2TC85N3J5nKd_pB-N8PKmxxetuKXoj6dOSI9Ufoe2EyMV78RcayqiqIGk71P6E7KSWz3d41a9Lg7XpHoM3O6EwwVM8lAF5V5eMYoIUWl47FamZJEAvYqg8M_THLgcEx7zkWIIvTRTTEI4A558QVzJqr8/s1200/joyland-movie-banned-pakistan-oscars-reason-transgender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgunGRq7hhIU-LjrkU-RO_sPMeb2IC2TC85N3J5nKd_pB-N8PKmxxetuKXoj6dOSI9Ufoe2EyMV78RcayqiqIGk71P6E7KSWz3d41a9Lg7XpHoM3O6EwwVM8lAF5V5eMYoIUWl47FamZJEAvYqg8M_THLgcEx7zkWIIvTRTTEI4A558QVzJqr8/w400-h266/joyland-movie-banned-pakistan-oscars-reason-transgender.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In Saim Sadiq’s 2019 short film <i>Darling</i>, the transgender actress Alina Khan played an aspiring dancer auditioning for a central role at a mujra theatre, only to be told by the manager, “In this theatre, the men only come to watch real girls.” To appear onstage, Khan’s character ultimately has to present herself as a male backing dancer to a female star. The strictures of gender roles in Pakistani society is a theme that Sadiq pushes further in his debut feature <i>Joyland</i>. Khan again stars as a mujra dancer – this time her character Biba is established as a regular attraction – but Sadiq expands his focus to take in several characters, each of whom is struggling within the bonds of familial and societal expectations.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/joyland-bold-imaginative-pakistani-trans-drama" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></i></span></p>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-33225925060109979742022-12-31T21:04:00.004+00:002022-12-31T21:04:32.666+00:00The Best Films of 2022<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>25 – My Imaginary Country (Patricio Guzmán)</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic2Iqgfq60eviPY6VqKOSt2FHeNJ4lQq6uJZb7YxcE3pEvbMf01qtHR4-5tMt-doODeD1tVLb74CMP7GWhc4v0YM86vXhsd_OZKiW48J2m9UrD8f6cXqtG2UsvZZDT8RVUMOghcbXxM3DZl-vclb349jeYHkY3WXU5DqiIrQykk5C42lDnWWM/s1272/My%20Imaginary%20Country.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="717" data-original-width="1272" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic2Iqgfq60eviPY6VqKOSt2FHeNJ4lQq6uJZb7YxcE3pEvbMf01qtHR4-5tMt-doODeD1tVLb74CMP7GWhc4v0YM86vXhsd_OZKiW48J2m9UrD8f6cXqtG2UsvZZDT8RVUMOghcbXxM3DZl-vclb349jeYHkY3WXU5DqiIrQykk5C42lDnWWM/w400-h225/My%20Imaginary%20Country.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Patricio Guzmán has spent six decades documenting political upheaval in Chile, with each new film feeling like another thread woven into a single sprawling tapestry. <i>My Imaginary Country</i> begins in October 2019, when a thirty pesos increase on the subway fare became "the spark that set the whole country on fire." The social protests that followed saw millions risking violence and repression to fight for nothing less than a rewriting of the constitution, and in this struggle Guzmán sees the possibility of finally fulfilling the legacy of Salvador Allende. Guzmán's filmmaking is as graceful as ever, creating a thoughtful and poetic narrative while also putting us in the centre of the maelstrom. There's something very moving about the 81-year-old Guzmán finally seeing a new generation take back the soul of his country, and <i>My Imaginary Country</i> is a potent reminder that real change is possible.</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>24 – Winter Boy (Christophe Honoré)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHCTMdIgtzlyi_-GOrHy1wNR4xDnzsmfJAHK-MGxIlp3MX0WCIwnJ1Yn1lPQTY4KHqY4XcFWHMqyp83dhG_ULIxeNTfySjDQ9YoBsI61LY_rFbDCy0kKLifjHjwr_g6jUtGgmFc5tqBEOKprXhe341W1HdrE05hUa8av-bDcEpEZbilD5Sj0s/s1898/Winter%20Boy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1265" data-original-width="1898" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHCTMdIgtzlyi_-GOrHy1wNR4xDnzsmfJAHK-MGxIlp3MX0WCIwnJ1Yn1lPQTY4KHqY4XcFWHMqyp83dhG_ULIxeNTfySjDQ9YoBsI61LY_rFbDCy0kKLifjHjwr_g6jUtGgmFc5tqBEOKprXhe341W1HdrE05hUa8av-bDcEpEZbilD5Sj0s/w400-h266/Winter%20Boy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Christophe Honoré's latest film captures something specific and true about the volatile and unpredictable nature of grief, as its teenage protagonist negotiates the aftermath of his father's sudden death. Honoré has a loose, intimate style, and when the emotions suddenly burst through for his characters they do so in a way that feels raw and authentic. 17-year-old Lucas (superbly played by Paul Kirchner) can come off as a frustrating and obnoxious figure, but he's also capable of great thoughtfulness and tenderness. He's a fully rounded and complex individual, and Honoré doesn't try to simplify any of the characters or their relationships in this film down to one easily digestible thing. Exceptional work from Juliette Binoche, Vincent Lacoste and Erwan Kepoa Falé in supporting work, and the tactic of having characters reveal their unspoken thoughts to the camera pays off beautifully towards the end.</div><div><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>23 – Strawberry Mansion (Kentucker Audley and Albert Birney)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3RkQxt29vLf9x9vAAce90kJZr0EArWNbn8oky91x75tjX8uJBkTDdFiwba5FoGZfAk0AMlNY5qZa6ltFnuNKaBVzfrtgOcZ9Jkw_L77_N7IF5AUmsx3NYMvaSfIcBGRfKI2kLq8Pxi46APv4x5WJl59C5Cn4Y8MRXzO3l9b2CJQywtia1oU/s1500/Strawberry%20Mansion.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="844" data-original-width="1500" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3RkQxt29vLf9x9vAAce90kJZr0EArWNbn8oky91x75tjX8uJBkTDdFiwba5FoGZfAk0AMlNY5qZa6ltFnuNKaBVzfrtgOcZ9Jkw_L77_N7IF5AUmsx3NYMvaSfIcBGRfKI2kLq8Pxi46APv4x5WJl59C5Cn4Y8MRXzO3l9b2CJQywtia1oU/w400-h225/Strawberry%20Mansion.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><i>Strawberry Mansion</i> is set in a dystopian future where our dreams are liable to taxation and subliminal advertising, but this is surely one of the most playful and eccentric dystopian visions ever presented on screen. Much of the film is set in those dreamscapes, and the filmmakers embrace the warped logic and elastic sense of time in dreams to put together a series of bizarre (and often hilarious) individual scenes that add up to a surprisingly epic and poignant adventure. At times the film made me think of filmmakers like Lynch, Gondry, Maddin and Hertzfeldt, and the cheap, homemade quality of the art direction and the visual effects employed here adds to the film's enormous charm. I also loved the use of jerky stop-motion animation in some sequences, and Tyler Davis's digital cinematography being transferred to 16mm gives the whole film a lush visual texture. It's a wonderfully imaginative and funny picture, executed with so much skill and resourcefulness.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>22 – Armageddon Time (James Gray)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKv1fatGO5P5P2x2RCdqvy0Z59ovbxgqp9q3Raqjg3TxgIUyklgk3dhTdbB-Vy4QABey531qyGkuOOuYPYpQ9itCjjj6x7k0X6cvKhLn0wM3BqSxCDuXsf1qEXmIuh3hPkt11JSsby-g5_eEJaqGO6J2cF95tCclp3XYIgrd3oGhHP0fUpvw/s2400/Armageddon%20Time.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="2400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKv1fatGO5P5P2x2RCdqvy0Z59ovbxgqp9q3Raqjg3TxgIUyklgk3dhTdbB-Vy4QABey531qyGkuOOuYPYpQ9itCjjj6x7k0X6cvKhLn0wM3BqSxCDuXsf1qEXmIuh3hPkt11JSsby-g5_eEJaqGO6J2cF95tCclp3XYIgrd3oGhHP0fUpvw/w400-h266/Armageddon%20Time.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>It's good to have James Gray back on home turf. Watching Anthony Hopkins and his grandson launch a homemade rocket in the park is a thousand times more affecting than anything in <i>Ad Astra</i>. <i>Armageddon Time</i> feels deeply personal, full of moments that have surely been drawn from the director's childhood memories (or François Truffaut's), and many of the dynamics between the characters are acutely observed. But beyond being a mere nostalgia piece, Gray uses this story to explore difficult questions of race and class, and the complicity that he and his Jewish family share as they made certain choices to assimilate and prosper at the start of Reagan's 80s. These kinds of choices were clearly unavailable to black kids like Johnny, a character who never quite convinces as anything more than a convenient plot device, and would barely exist at all if it weren't for the startlingly mature and charismatic performance given by Jaylin Webb. Gray gets terrific work from all of his actors, particularly Hopkins, and his film is beautifully crafted, creating an evocative sense of a particular time and placed.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>21 – Ennio (Giuseppe Tornatore)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fuyo1unEV1d9rkaWXndvnkXWJraffW5DhTlylu6-s7cLs-7Cat837JkSi9dtVTHmiv__PxKkMqNn5TpngQP9MjDdPrK8_9UQE4X01EyBoMyIwptOi6pTN7rmNoAHMNEBeAVhjrzY4EDHAbUCHSnp2Os0mHSx-TzYxvH9F15m-uE5JusSBSk/s1920/Ennio.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fuyo1unEV1d9rkaWXndvnkXWJraffW5DhTlylu6-s7cLs-7Cat837JkSi9dtVTHmiv__PxKkMqNn5TpngQP9MjDdPrK8_9UQE4X01EyBoMyIwptOi6pTN7rmNoAHMNEBeAVhjrzY4EDHAbUCHSnp2Os0mHSx-TzYxvH9F15m-uE5JusSBSk/w400-h225/Ennio.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Giuseppe Tornatore's tribute to his great friend and collaborator is conventionally structured with its use of talking head and archive clips (and some of the soundbites here feel disposable), but generally the contributions are thoughtful and illuminating, particularly the Italian musicians who knew him in his pre-cinema career. It's fascinating to learn more about his innovative work as an arranger of 1960s pop songs, and how his film work denied him the respect of his fellow classical composers for so long, with one even sending him a letter of apology after watching <i>Once Upon a Time in America</i>. Morricone himself is a wonderful interviewee <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> humble, charming and revealing <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> and it's a privilege to hear him talk about how he constructed his extraordinary scores. Above all else, this documentary is simply an astonishing compendium of some of the greatest music ever written The range, the ambition, the imagination and the emotional force of Ennio Morricone's work is simply awe-inspiring. I had hairs standing up on the back of my neck and tears filling my eyes throughout much of this film. How lucky we are to have been blessed by his genius.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>20 – Avatar: The Way of Water (James Cameron)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWnHuscMw2tQUdw910tBkAt8vq96NaKtOLpBGpOuNUfYB_DmgOqQHwczCVpafNXdG_Oa-hqvNXstXO-Ejen4OQYAzmbmSOGRJa5WCw2vezqb25RyZz_oh21pWLKzssP-56yb6GNkx5fpYE9mynkrnSapn8TGoUd4XB88munWb4U7McI13_aM/s2048/Avatar%20The%20Way%20of%20Water.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="2048" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWnHuscMw2tQUdw910tBkAt8vq96NaKtOLpBGpOuNUfYB_DmgOqQHwczCVpafNXdG_Oa-hqvNXstXO-Ejen4OQYAzmbmSOGRJa5WCw2vezqb25RyZz_oh21pWLKzssP-56yb6GNkx5fpYE9mynkrnSapn8TGoUd4XB88munWb4U7McI13_aM/w400-h211/Avatar%20The%20Way%20of%20Water.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>I loved <i>Avatar </i>when it came out in 2009, but I never had any burning desire for a sequel, and I'm one of those people who spent plenty of time in the intervening years complaining that one of our great action filmmakers was devoting decades of his career to this project alone. Having now watched what Cameron has been obsessing over, I have to hold up my hands: the man simply does not miss. There's so much in this movie that shouldn't work <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> it's a thin plot stretched out over three hours, the dialogue is rife with clichés and cheese, and so many of Cameron's ideas are incredibly goofy <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> but he puts it across with such conviction and sincerity I couldn't help getting pulled along by the current. Visually, it's like nothing else, and the water sequences <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> where Cameron frequently stalls the narrative completely just to drift around <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> are truly spellbinding. Cameron remains the king of the big third act, and by the time the action-packed final hour of this one rolled around I was fully invested in it. Will the scope of Cameron's vision sustain three more sequels? I don't know, but I'm hesitant to bet against him.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>19 – Vortex (Gaspar Noé)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYbc8ACE0y8uJQj4tU0mySIUPfwH1-ih9j3ENPXvSfE7xhwps3VwJiLvmIw_CAXNnPOUaYFcs45iHxk7pdqVVORxZePuEZNxQ2QVbOACsf3wYBpnKXCGd6sPHnKkrFqsxbkYCmjlXDtvYafORA4bSIgQsmp7yy396eBJMHHQbEXaFJZ0z7es/s3000/Vortex.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1302" data-original-width="3000" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeYbc8ACE0y8uJQj4tU0mySIUPfwH1-ih9j3ENPXvSfE7xhwps3VwJiLvmIw_CAXNnPOUaYFcs45iHxk7pdqVVORxZePuEZNxQ2QVbOACsf3wYBpnKXCGd6sPHnKkrFqsxbkYCmjlXDtvYafORA4bSIgQsmp7yy396eBJMHHQbEXaFJZ0z7es/w400-h174/Vortex.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Noé begins <i>Vortex</i> with a dedication “To all those whose brains will decompose before their hearts,” and his film depicts that fate with terrifying authenticity. He has never before filmed his characters with such patience and restraint, allowing scenes to unfold in long, naturalistic takes that immerse us in the mundane reality of this elderly couple's lives. The screen is split in two to follow Dario Argento and Françoise Lebrun independently, with Lebrun often looking lost and fearful as she tries to navigate through the fog of dementia, and Argento increasingly filled with anxiety at his wife's deterioration. The performances from both actors - and Alex Lutz, who plays their son - are exceptional. Noé tracks their decline in painful detail and the closing scenes lay out the end of life in a clinical way: death, funeral arrangements, a lifetime of objects boxed away, an apartment cleansed of memories. Noé has made a number of films that are hard to watch, but <i>Vortex</i> is his most compassionate and haunting work.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>18 – Prayers for the Stolen (Tatiana Huezo)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWqY4t3xk8Hq99l6h27qUTyRmNXuFJuT6ziNY7w6BCwbCr7p6z5k1rdWTwBt-o0UserqNwdqP-biCgbXEN4oaLU8RWYBxKFA14wqPhdD1Qj-loy7ZhMqPMFgbfbf0tAJlf9NnqLPFPEOrKPV8Qc4I56Iy8Y84gJE-mzOWQal70yPG53675wA/s1920/Prayers%20for%20the%20Stolen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="1920" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWqY4t3xk8Hq99l6h27qUTyRmNXuFJuT6ziNY7w6BCwbCr7p6z5k1rdWTwBt-o0UserqNwdqP-biCgbXEN4oaLU8RWYBxKFA14wqPhdD1Qj-loy7ZhMqPMFgbfbf0tAJlf9NnqLPFPEOrKPV8Qc4I56Iy8Y84gJE-mzOWQal70yPG53675wA/w400-h148/Prayers%20for%20the%20Stolen.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><i>Prayers for the Stolen</i> looks at the grim reality faced by women trying to raise their daughters in a Cartel-run Mexican village. The girls are given boyish haircuts and taught to hide whenever the black SUVs are spotted in the vicinity. Their mothers know the risk of abduction increases the closer they get to womanhood, and they walk a very fine line of trying to prepare their girls while protecting their innocence and sparing them the true horror of their possible fates. The casting of the 8 year-old girls and their teenage versions is brilliant (at first I wondered if the director had taken a Linklater-style filming break!), and Huezo superbly captures the moments of casual playfulness and intimacy that the three leads share, which the threat of violence so suddenly intrudes on. Huezo has a keen sense of how to be suggestive and when to withhold, and the film's patient pacing pays off with how immersed I felt in this world by the time we reached the wrenching final fifteen minutes.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>17 – Rimini (Ulrich Seidl)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tXIwOUIzvq6IsrURYgVG6o00D0pW6zTuj_250JZAy-PIKAfwZZ804we1zBF4Z-2IvfK4tCwFSJWFdvYTrs6Cbd6yYmVvpZyhKVfHodoQLFdRM_ewgvn-NNpQxF7mJymxZKh1mJi8vFfVT6PodAWDBd3ibMNc2_MKSMvPFKPY50xpLlOASco/s1200/Rimini.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0tXIwOUIzvq6IsrURYgVG6o00D0pW6zTuj_250JZAy-PIKAfwZZ804we1zBF4Z-2IvfK4tCwFSJWFdvYTrs6Cbd6yYmVvpZyhKVfHodoQLFdRM_ewgvn-NNpQxF7mJymxZKh1mJi8vFfVT6PodAWDBd3ibMNc2_MKSMvPFKPY50xpLlOASco/w400-h225/Rimini.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>With its over-the-hill protagonist sporting a blonde ponytail and trying to reconnect with his daughter, <i>Rimini </i>occasionally gives the impression that Ulrich Seidl has decided to remake Darren Aronofsky's <i>The Wrestler</i>. This is every inch an Ulrich Seidl film though, with its bleak landscape and kitschy interiors, symmetrical compositions, frank sex scenes, seedy atmosphere and mordant sense of humour. <i>Rimini </i>is built around a brilliant lead character. Richie Bravo (the astounding Michael Thomas) is a fading lounge singer who performs in wintry and depressing seaside resorts, charming his small but devoted audience of elderly women, and occasionally servicing them for a bit of extra cash in their hotel rooms. Richie also spends time with his dementia-afflicted father (Hans-Michael Rehberg, who died in 2017), and his daughter (Tessa Göttlicher), who has turned up demanding compensation for Richie's years of absence. The daughter is the most one-dimensional character in the film, and the scenes between these two characters could have used some development, but this is a superbly realised and very entertaining film, boasting one of the best lead performances you'll see anywhere this year.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>16 – The Eternal Daughter (Joanna Hogg)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRl-B-WsgM2U_7wDcTR9IMoPTzs3Le_7arDPLukIhsAiQnAcLPRMjfPGtxT-uGB9rZaKLiQn0GIkRBsiAXKhWLaU1VdVWg-HjlIOQa5DSKSxT3SL7XgF-uYoCKk0MSMVOYZj_ZtPtNFG07E2Y_VK07YuSQYbjXu5WNCgCcf9JAzs9o_YrL9DU/s2560/The%20Eternal%20Daughter.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1707" data-original-width="2560" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRl-B-WsgM2U_7wDcTR9IMoPTzs3Le_7arDPLukIhsAiQnAcLPRMjfPGtxT-uGB9rZaKLiQn0GIkRBsiAXKhWLaU1VdVWg-HjlIOQa5DSKSxT3SL7XgF-uYoCKk0MSMVOYZj_ZtPtNFG07E2Y_VK07YuSQYbjXu5WNCgCcf9JAzs9o_YrL9DU/w400-h266/The%20Eternal%20Daughter.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>This haunting film almost feels like an epilogue to The Souvenir, with the now middle-aged filmmaker wrestling with the ethics and responsibility of making a film about her mother. Hogg places <i>The Eternal Daughter </i>firmly in the tradition of the classic English ghost story, creating an unsettling atmosphere in these creaking corridors and mist-shrouded grounds (all beautifully shot by Ed Rutherford), but there is no horrific revelation to anticipate here. This is a quiet study of unresolved grief, memories and strained family bonds. Both sides of the mother-daughter relationship are perfectly played by Tilda Swinton, and given the way Hogg creates her films through improvisations with her actors, it's an astonishing feat by Swinton to pull off these extraordinary dialogue scenes single-handed. Although the film is primarily about this relationship, Swinton does have support from the touching Joseph Mydell and the hilariously insolent Carly-Sophia Davies. <i>The Eternal Daughter </i>felt a little slight as I watched it, but it has cast an undeniable spell over me and has remained in my thoughts in the subsequent months.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>15 – Happening (Audrey Diwan)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Tuxlv46qna90HNVBia_n2nlTTEuJqfMZ_DkfK7s1oF1zx8E3WHz5fwjBOjGTmS7e2z3mF-HFAiGzgAEUc6dCpcRVhXjnWIVOA2Lv8jqJXT99Q3dbIBKHn_OIuh9CcnD_p1lxDyVzevYwpx3SgMXWFkOTKypX-HczqVPddlZHHKylJtefflQ/s1609/Happening.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="1609" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Tuxlv46qna90HNVBia_n2nlTTEuJqfMZ_DkfK7s1oF1zx8E3WHz5fwjBOjGTmS7e2z3mF-HFAiGzgAEUc6dCpcRVhXjnWIVOA2Lv8jqJXT99Q3dbIBKHn_OIuh9CcnD_p1lxDyVzevYwpx3SgMXWFkOTKypX-HczqVPddlZHHKylJtefflQ/w400-h225/Happening.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Like <i>4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days</i>, this is the story of an illegal abortion that develops a gut-wrenching sense of urgency. The simple tactic of ticking the weeks off with onscreen captions ramps up the tension, as the point of no return for this young woman rapidly approaches, and the film's final third is really hard to watch. Anamaria Vartolomei's fiery performance makes us feel all of Anne's anxiety and desperation and the film evokes a potent atmosphere of fear when the subject is raised, as even assisting with an abortion in 1960s France could land a person in jail. There's a superb steely cameo from Anna Mouglalis as a backstreet abortionist too. <i>Happening </i>is tough and sometimes shocking in its frankness, but never gratuitous or sensationalised, and Diwan's handling of the material is exceptionally confident and intelligent throughout. It's a hugely impressive piece of work.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>14 – The Worst Person in the World (Joachim Trier)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtX_Akeq8V2VUlUD8H6x1cs-EQjdqd8SMJwktgRYRgHXZ1su48p3Lnix6_wNjPcAcPYJpOUvQ5BkcMQ72x3RDrR5w-bG3g1wf6MGNYoZgX2oO00ShgmO6sk0ESAC04zTnHAX8bWzsxy1EyRMMZW8ZXJi5zPQV_ESr6KaS7eIn0oQhZo2ZCKM/s2750/The%20Worst%20Person%20in%20the%20World.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1547" data-original-width="2750" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqtX_Akeq8V2VUlUD8H6x1cs-EQjdqd8SMJwktgRYRgHXZ1su48p3Lnix6_wNjPcAcPYJpOUvQ5BkcMQ72x3RDrR5w-bG3g1wf6MGNYoZgX2oO00ShgmO6sk0ESAC04zTnHAX8bWzsxy1EyRMMZW8ZXJi5zPQV_ESr6KaS7eIn0oQhZo2ZCKM/w400-h225/The%20Worst%20Person%20in%20the%20World.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>A vivid and perceptive film about time passing as people try to figure out what kind of life they're meant to be living. The story is structured in twelve chapters, which proves to be a perfect match for Trier's style; he and Eskil Vogt are so good at crafting these moments that feel specific and true, and this film is full of them. The filmmaking is dynamic and imaginative, with the spry romantic energy of the first half gradually giving way to something more patient and reflective. Renate Reinsve is a marvel, offering us a series of wonderful silent close-ups where the full range of Julie's mixed emotions play across her face, and Anders Danielsen Lie's prickly performance develops into something deeply moving towards the end. Even when <i>The Worst Person in the World</i> feels like it's covering familiar territory, it's so funny, rich, inventive and (thanks to Kasper Tuxen's exceptional 35mm work) beautiful to watch.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>13 – Top Gun: Maverick (Joseph Kosinski)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9uxlJoy-59WEP4U6Tjyk2Fhu-Tl3BcSRtZXdfyQ1c5t4mo20N4fOpY4OoTkgk1NZCVrn7bZw4NZEWMQHa-1xFFrMn7Njfb8pu3emAAZ9WMNlSO5sPTeVqc_yz54V2_ym6GTqEoyUWg_ruYZfLku_HQxO5AbUBntnpkafz3nFO2p82x1_iaU/s4000/Top%20Gun%20Maverick.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1676" data-original-width="4000" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9uxlJoy-59WEP4U6Tjyk2Fhu-Tl3BcSRtZXdfyQ1c5t4mo20N4fOpY4OoTkgk1NZCVrn7bZw4NZEWMQHa-1xFFrMn7Njfb8pu3emAAZ9WMNlSO5sPTeVqc_yz54V2_ym6GTqEoyUWg_ruYZfLku_HQxO5AbUBntnpkafz3nFO2p82x1_iaU/w400-h168/Top%20Gun%20Maverick.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Like the recent <i>Mission: Impossible</i> films, <i>Top Gun: Maverick</i> is the product of Tom Cruise's maniacal obsession with bringing a sense of verisimilitude and real physical stakes back to Hollywood blockbuster filmmaking. The flying sequences <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> with the pilots performing absurd manoeuvres just a few hundred feet off the ground <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> are spellbinding, with clean, classical editing by Eddie Hamilton and some beautiful images captured by Claudio Miranda. Joseph Kosinski pays homage to Tony Scott's eye for sunsets, but his direction is generally more grounded and unflashy, and his tight pacing of the story is perfect. The film hits its expected narrative beats in ways that feel sincere and authentic, often to surprisingly moving effect (the Val Kilmer cameo is lovely), and performances across the board are solid. Cruise is in his element, of course, delivering the kind of intense and magnetic movie star performance that only he can give. “The future is coming, and you’re not in it” Cruise is told early in this film. "Maybe," he responds, "but not today."</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>12 – Pacifiction (Albert Serra)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIWqcYN30B2x8JJOoAsYYr0OX2kyJq0nmgyW31cMf26WH6CCGzQTqKfk7yVqZp-VdLDSyON1DeVG5H73YRCPVHswI5WYr_H3Z6_ii1G3Guaf4r-DXkxscMqFj0nUL34RGDjalUSr3dsQmym7ZhePgBa6XFhGHmOtDr5QYJ6Lamz5NFBjuUNM/s2048/Pacifiction.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="2048" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIWqcYN30B2x8JJOoAsYYr0OX2kyJq0nmgyW31cMf26WH6CCGzQTqKfk7yVqZp-VdLDSyON1DeVG5H73YRCPVHswI5WYr_H3Z6_ii1G3Guaf4r-DXkxscMqFj0nUL34RGDjalUSr3dsQmym7ZhePgBa6XFhGHmOtDr5QYJ6Lamz5NFBjuUNM/w400-h168/Pacifiction.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>It feels like something is constantly simmering in Pacifiction - perhaps even the end of the world - although Serra never brings anything to the boil. After almost three enigmatic and languorously paced hours, it can feel like an anticlimactic tease, but I was so captivated by the world that Serra creates, I wasn't too dismayed by the lack of a payoff. Through his detached observation of the dynamics between characters, Serra suggests political gamesmanship, colonial unrest and a sinister atmosphere of suspicion and paranoia. His widescreen compositions are striking and haunting, and the way Serra's digital camera captured the island's peach skies and dark seas reminded me of Mann's Miami Vice. Excellent work from first-time actress Pahoa Mahagafanau, but as the apparently benevolent and slyly manipulative De Roller, Benoît Magimel is unbelievably good.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>11 – The Quiet Girl (Colm Bairéad)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XW_DP020bAeHIBrdL29lJm2O-bdwI4ggJFrgaRDgaaW98bVBiq8DwGwEJmbgnaV7a2iy1zkJLMVA_apyVcrh7GgrRgxz5yDERibuJ6VDWwVsQD-8q5T3bzYV1N9CkeNFZaXHDX3Ej09eChtNq_GC4G16cR9e5y-yCYR8VGORZ0K_8oiWGp0/s2000/The%20Quiet%20Girl.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="2000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XW_DP020bAeHIBrdL29lJm2O-bdwI4ggJFrgaRDgaaW98bVBiq8DwGwEJmbgnaV7a2iy1zkJLMVA_apyVcrh7GgrRgxz5yDERibuJ6VDWwVsQD-8q5T3bzYV1N9CkeNFZaXHDX3Ej09eChtNq_GC4G16cR9e5y-yCYR8VGORZ0K_8oiWGp0/w400-h266/The%20Quiet%20Girl.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Colm Bairéad's Irish-language adaptation of Claire Keegan's Foster feels like a perfect short story. It's a small film made made with such specificity, and such a keen attention to character and atmosphere, it's grows into something completely captivating. Bairéad shows real patience and intelligence in his direction, leaving plenty of room for potent silences and allowing these characters to develop and reveal themselves to us gradually. The central performances are all finely judged, but I especially loved Andrew Bennett, whose stiff, monosyllabic awkwardness around Cáit grows touchingly into a real affection, with his smallest gestures carrying great weight. The simple act of silently leaving a Kimberley biscuit on the kitchen table is profoundly moving. It is a lovely and compassionate piece of filmmaking.</div><div><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>10 – Ambulance (Michael Bay)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcg7AqnKpgTDLM2geBjbpDmMRl7a_7FulLutRG8NqkHajff2HFmZHM-xQZSl4bNtAo_iT8ZEGRk6SnQ6nBoV4HxDJwExwJ58jqxgJ0fNeVyFXjuvjN8hl0myzJUMC32WzgCLwyESoxFzMP6271JEmqh0cIkM2VYZjyY4duQQ7L_T26RrOrWNc/s2500/Ambulance.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1565" data-original-width="2500" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcg7AqnKpgTDLM2geBjbpDmMRl7a_7FulLutRG8NqkHajff2HFmZHM-xQZSl4bNtAo_iT8ZEGRk6SnQ6nBoV4HxDJwExwJ58jqxgJ0fNeVyFXjuvjN8hl0myzJUMC32WzgCLwyESoxFzMP6271JEmqh0cIkM2VYZjyY4duQQ7L_T26RrOrWNc/w400-h250/Ambulance.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>I never saw Michael Bay's 2019 film 6 Underground, as it bypassed cinemas completely and went straight to Netflix, but <i>Ambulance </i>was a rousing return to the big screen for this grand orchestrator of carnage. He throws all of his favourite directorial tools at this one <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> sweaty close-ups, swirling hero shots, a cacophonous sound mix, frantic editing, weird comic asides, corny sentimentality <span style="line-height: 107%;">–</span> and it was a thrill to have my senses pummelled. Bay tries to shoot this extended car chase from every conceivable angle, making particularly good use of vertiginous drone shots, and he successfully sustains the tension even as he ramps up the ridiculous action and piles on complications. I can't think of many filmmakers who would try to pull off the gory, silly, intense surgery scene that he puts in the middle of the chase. At the centre of the storm, the gleefully unhinged Gyllenhaal, the conflicted Abdul-Mateen II and the steely Gonzalez are a charismatic and compelling trio to be trapped with.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>9 – Aftersun (Charlotte Wells)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK66GR1DBJhEC1-x14W-_6MMwtgB7TigGHacO8WZMbcGVAeGeSM2_9JDD_129Z_9CpWAYxwbB4XLga2Trvwzl4Sf-E_4YZBXRnWqs0VFCqu_VzQDSxosFCkiCRybQLbSnt7rc7v9Iw_jQFpx_6Jd9UhVgAvOEKgr9ExX7QTJxeZrXhrrisfTs/s1920/Aftersun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK66GR1DBJhEC1-x14W-_6MMwtgB7TigGHacO8WZMbcGVAeGeSM2_9JDD_129Z_9CpWAYxwbB4XLga2Trvwzl4Sf-E_4YZBXRnWqs0VFCqu_VzQDSxosFCkiCRybQLbSnt7rc7v9Iw_jQFpx_6Jd9UhVgAvOEKgr9ExX7QTJxeZrXhrrisfTs/w400-h225/Aftersun.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>A remarkably assured debut feature that feels so specific and authentic in the way it presents its protagonist's memories. Charlotte Wells allows her story to unfold with such ease, through a collection of delicate moments that seem to emerge in a spontaneous and unforced way. I particularly love the scenes where she captures Sophie hovering around and observing on the edge of the teenage world, or the way she quickly undercuts the bright and breezy holiday atmosphere with brief but piercing insights into Calum's private pain. The editing is exceptional and the shot selection is full of unexpected choices that always feels intuitive and right. The wonderful chemistry between Mescal and Corio is the heart and soul of the film, with the two actors capturing the nuances of this relationship in a way that is so moving. </div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>8 – RRR (S.S. Rajamouli)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZNScAgn-xRuQK1TMmdLsgt8WQMfnVr5f8T0y8MVzuIYTWg4S1IxAVI1j3wvOvF7vZ6Pgkn0NRcMyphUIm0i007XbwMTeAubqVsQcY-3_AQmKe0jog1lLOCXzmLHzd-ozLeRB7KBw_6KmyWXwnsmoO4bM80HmHqwne40zIlYz9CssPw4tlz4/s1280/RRR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZNScAgn-xRuQK1TMmdLsgt8WQMfnVr5f8T0y8MVzuIYTWg4S1IxAVI1j3wvOvF7vZ6Pgkn0NRcMyphUIm0i007XbwMTeAubqVsQcY-3_AQmKe0jog1lLOCXzmLHzd-ozLeRB7KBw_6KmyWXwnsmoO4bM80HmHqwne40zIlYz9CssPw4tlz4/w400-h225/RRR.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>This was one of the most exhilarating nights I had at the movies in 2022; I can't remember the last time I heard an audience break out in spontaneous applause multiple times during a screening, and <i>RRR </i>earns every bit of that acclaim. Rajamouli goes for broke with his elaborate and physics-defying action sequences, where everything from wild animals to motorbikes can be picked up and used as a weapon, and while he never quite tops the assault on the British embassy that ends Part One (just before the "inteRRRval"), he comes pretty close. These over-the-top sequences are pitched at a cartoonish level, but Rajamouli and his lead actors keep the maximalist spectacle rooted in an emotional core, and it's impossible not to be mesmerised by the panache in the filmmaking, with Rajamouli displaying such wit and exuberance in his composition and editing of the major set-pieces. <i>RRR </i>is a real feast of a picture, and over the course of three hours there's barely a dull moment.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>7 – Decision to Leave (Park Chan-wook)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXVVR_hHL5J1wXhzls4aX6HXD0m45V7cfCaLK6UGo3Z0bUBLkv5O_DhqnMX--2B2hJcVAWDFDK4u7N5UFoaz8CH0rknK3TR9kOAm6w9hoSeDuxQKnJ6fTfekeuqmli5o0llmlIRNvX5vJDaoC0DjEAgAvmWW9NghQc5PqJvqtfzdgH0yXe2A/s2500/Decision%20to%20Leave.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1563" data-original-width="2500" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwXVVR_hHL5J1wXhzls4aX6HXD0m45V7cfCaLK6UGo3Z0bUBLkv5O_DhqnMX--2B2hJcVAWDFDK4u7N5UFoaz8CH0rknK3TR9kOAm6w9hoSeDuxQKnJ6fTfekeuqmli5o0llmlIRNvX5vJDaoC0DjEAgAvmWW9NghQc5PqJvqtfzdgH0yXe2A/w400-h250/Decision%20to%20Leave.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>“Killing is like smoking. Only the first time is hard.” This incredibly stylish Hitchcockian mystery really bowled me over. Park's formidable craftsmanship is firing on all cylinders here, but what really elevates Decision to Leave is the disarming romance and eroticism of its central relationship, which ultimately evolves into something tragic. Park Hae-il brilliantly expresses the gradually consuming growth of Hae-joon's obsession, while Tang Wei is entirely captivating as she carefully sustains Seo-rae's ambiguity. Park lays out a complicated plot that's packed with flashbacks and delayed revelations, and at times I struggled to get my bearings, but it's a pleasure to be pulled back and forth by a director who is in such command of the tools at his disposal. Every scene in Decision to Leave is staged with wit and invention, elegance and precision. A dazzling movie.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>6 – Mr Bachmann and His Class (Maria Speth)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr81Y97q-y3d-Sio_QaHGuczDtttYV3lE9WL2i7FE1tCyweD4YOx821859byPuNZBLAP-lDkTpT-Ij0_DlB9BkWYLmYmLdYRrcOHLx8kCMDJEiE-0Resv-7RWWKquLKtpaCZPGT94IJWCqm6PZSda4h84s14w_xJvBpPMO894eE6-2b583qRg/s1200/Mr%20Bachmann%20and%20His%20Class.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr81Y97q-y3d-Sio_QaHGuczDtttYV3lE9WL2i7FE1tCyweD4YOx821859byPuNZBLAP-lDkTpT-Ij0_DlB9BkWYLmYmLdYRrcOHLx8kCMDJEiE-0Resv-7RWWKquLKtpaCZPGT94IJWCqm6PZSda4h84s14w_xJvBpPMO894eE6-2b583qRg/w400-h240/Mr%20Bachmann%20and%20His%20Class.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>This 217-minute observational documentary about an inspiring schoolteacher is almost the dictionary definition of My Kind of Thing. The children in Mr Bachmann's class are the sons and daughters of immigrants, mostly from Turkey and Eastern Europe, and they have varying degrees of German-language skills. Mr Bachmann teaches them the usual maths and English, but most of his classes consist of singing songs, telling stories and discussing a variety of issues with his students, in the hope of helping them grow in confidence and empathy. He demands respect and attentiveness, but he is not a disciplinarian, and it's clear that he and his class adore each other (and Mrs Bal, a fellow teacher we spend some time with). Speth's pacing is patient but never slack, and the film justifies its epic running time by allowing us to witness the individual personalities and complexities of these children emerging, meaning I was fully invested in their journey by the end of the film.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>5 – All The Beauty And The Bloodshed (Laura Poitras)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibbnQ_X9C9Bfdl6OSlOpSAl_WREr3C1SY8SX-pE_RmDfhZO1h3aedSKO-WP-oDXMpMCCd1k8vcxRn1GEBdqmgIBD7nEDlXkt763-UN_fBgicl9bWTpm2D_MOBxdpgJRpoALb-Xm15uWB1a0swUWO5TN3uUwMMxavy4mSgZDRvM_PSLmmyPfLA/s1200/All-the-Beauty-and-the-Bloodshed.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="766" data-original-width="1200" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibbnQ_X9C9Bfdl6OSlOpSAl_WREr3C1SY8SX-pE_RmDfhZO1h3aedSKO-WP-oDXMpMCCd1k8vcxRn1GEBdqmgIBD7nEDlXkt763-UN_fBgicl9bWTpm2D_MOBxdpgJRpoALb-Xm15uWB1a0swUWO5TN3uUwMMxavy4mSgZDRvM_PSLmmyPfLA/w400-h255/All-the-Beauty-and-the-Bloodshed.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>This film is the story of so many destroyed lives, from the family tragedy that shaped Nan Goldin to the friends she lost to AIDS, and the opioid addiction that has killed so many and almost claimed her life. Goldin's campaign to hold the Sackler family accountable for America's devastating opioid epidemic gives this documentary its narrative drive, but Poitras brilliantly weaves the artist's own remarkable life story into this central thread, showing how her experiences informed her art and how her astonishingly evocative and beautiful photographs illuminated the society she lived in. The personal aspect of A<i>ll The Beauty And The Bloodshed</i> is revealing and poignant, while the sense of waste and injustice in their ongoing David-and-Goliath battle with the Sacklers is beyond enraging. A beautifully crafted and deeply moving portrait of an extraordinary artist.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>4 – Onoda: 10,000 Nights in the Jungle (Arthur Harari)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7H0A00kTkJc7JeYxHFLRe7q-f8Xvhw0RZo49NQ1aAyc64r0VxPw_SJ-Y6sIqCJIgaoEfDIhCBS5yBHhoQqcfJWHEpMPftDOw37EbAHDxRivINDtk4iqLhfJAGN9rqf2wNJOSGiwXqUg-2A6NRaBjgsyj2xqWvF6AkWBcEGvrCKnRQoUp7ao/s1200/Onoda%2010,000%20Nights%20in%20the%20Jungle.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7H0A00kTkJc7JeYxHFLRe7q-f8Xvhw0RZo49NQ1aAyc64r0VxPw_SJ-Y6sIqCJIgaoEfDIhCBS5yBHhoQqcfJWHEpMPftDOw37EbAHDxRivINDtk4iqLhfJAGN9rqf2wNJOSGiwXqUg-2A6NRaBjgsyj2xqWvF6AkWBcEGvrCKnRQoUp7ao/w400-h225/Onoda%2010,000%20Nights%20in%20the%20Jungle.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Werner Herzog published a book about Hiroo Onoda this year, and it was hard to avoid thinking of him as I watched this film. Onoda was one of the Japanese soldiers who kept on fighting in the jungle long after World War II had ended, finally being relieved of his post in 1974. His life gets a suitably epic presentation in Arthur Harari's magnificent film, which takes its time and tells his story over a leisurely but entirely absorbing three hours. The pacing allows us to experience the characters' sense of isolation and gradual slide into loneliness and delusion, and Harari strikes a beautiful balance in his storytelling. The film is often tragic but there are some humorous moments too, and the relationship between Onoda and his closest companion Kozuka is very touching. Yuya Endo and Kanji Tsuda give equally spellbinding performances as the young and old Onoda, and Tom Harari's natural light cinematography is exceptional.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>3 – After Yang (Kogonada)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN1vjIGMYRqzF4_Do_wOrDKPCdJ2v7OI5S-Kn4AC2sWy1L8afff4D6B8pNKTKZSe6gpcQ0IwdStC3N9zFM2h966u-kNr8cCWboc-UQOqzQTBml53JfMUSY5VdCt0AjtzzaLdqOKGDDozLosFJyH8dqFvPQ4H48rxNOuBxrYQ7i8l5_d2mW0qs/s1200/After%20Yang.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="797" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN1vjIGMYRqzF4_Do_wOrDKPCdJ2v7OI5S-Kn4AC2sWy1L8afff4D6B8pNKTKZSe6gpcQ0IwdStC3N9zFM2h966u-kNr8cCWboc-UQOqzQTBml53JfMUSY5VdCt0AjtzzaLdqOKGDDozLosFJyH8dqFvPQ4H48rxNOuBxrYQ7i8l5_d2mW0qs/w400-h266/After%20Yang.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>After sitting on the shelf for more than a year, After Yang was finally picked up by Sky in the UK, which meant it barely got any time in cinemas before appearing on TV. This was a terrible shame, because it's an exquisitely crafted film and I'm so glad I had the opportunity to be immersed in its world in the cinema. Kogonada uses the breakdown of a family's android <span style="line-height: 107%;">– </span>or 'technosapien' <span style="line-height: 107%;">– </span>to explore different aspects of grief, memory and identity. He creates a futuristic society that feels effortlessly real, and his aesthetic control is absolute, composing beautiful frames that he stitches together with his imaginative, elliptical editing. The film has a haunting sense of stillness and loss. Colin Farrell is remarkable here, giving a subtle performance full of sadness and empathy (while also delivering a very amusing Werner Herzog impression). He plays a tea enthusiast who describes a cup of tea as having the whole world in it but also containing mystery, and that could be an apt description of <i>After Yang</i>.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>2 – One Fine Morning (Mia Hansen-Løve)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraRHJHDdQGt5WBY_MpcyPAjM6A2gUs7sIazlaLlhNuUguxnBJW3KAqgFyC4M1CqmElCo03LT53FOLmO2W-DErrPLiHYXesYiEz7FCOzoGlhX0I3bCrRXcwfWIXl2fSr8UX-Px_XdnsonXMjrVdMIdWDTj3OGMiNcKCoo5kSDcHSVVTI73-kA/s1600/One%20Fine%20Morning.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="865" data-original-width="1600" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraRHJHDdQGt5WBY_MpcyPAjM6A2gUs7sIazlaLlhNuUguxnBJW3KAqgFyC4M1CqmElCo03LT53FOLmO2W-DErrPLiHYXesYiEz7FCOzoGlhX0I3bCrRXcwfWIXl2fSr8UX-Px_XdnsonXMjrVdMIdWDTj3OGMiNcKCoo5kSDcHSVVTI73-kA/w400-h216/One%20Fine%20Morning.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div>Mia Hansen-Løve is one of the very best we have, particularly the way she captures characters in a state of flux and depicts the passage of time so effortlessly. One Fine Morning is a film about loss, with Sandra (Léa Seydoux) preparing to say goodbye to her father (Pascal Greggory) as he succumbs to a neurodegenerative disease. This drama plays out while Sandra is beginning a new relationship with the married Clément (Melvil Poupaud), and Hansen-Løve strikes a perfect balance between the contrasting emotions stirred up by these two narrative threads. As ever, the performances she gets from her actors feel fully lived-in and emotionally honest, and Marion Monnier's editing creates a measured rhythm that completely captivated me. The gorgeously textured 35mm cinematography by Denis Lenoir brilliantly evokes the changing seasons and the shifting moods. This is one of Hansen-Løve's finest films.</div><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>1 – Godland (Hlynur Pálmason)</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqHfwRKIaKniw9Bo_J9NFPQggzl7KQoed_ADnoOm3IvLsbbl7jGGDqvyzoRIaxk24ueFo7wcCts0uSc-qm9GQXU1W_BBrgN1EQXFxQXBwq954avOpGVEuC8lI1oYMlJFBmDNaIYepmikjx-FMm6hl0ZKEoL6lwTjyOOljtwathRfT1MbzJbM/s1777/Godland.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1777" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcqHfwRKIaKniw9Bo_J9NFPQggzl7KQoed_ADnoOm3IvLsbbl7jGGDqvyzoRIaxk24ueFo7wcCts0uSc-qm9GQXU1W_BBrgN1EQXFxQXBwq954avOpGVEuC8lI1oYMlJFBmDNaIYepmikjx-FMm6hl0ZKEoL6lwTjyOOljtwathRfT1MbzJbM/w400-h225/Godland.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div>This story of a 19th century Danish priest travelling to Iceland to set up a new church could not have been more up my street, and Pálmason directs with jaw-dropping ambition and confidence. The editing is sublime and the 35mm Academy Ratio cinematography is flawless, whether it's capturing a tight close-up or framing the characters against the extraordinary Icelandic landscapes. <i>Winter Brothers</i> and <i>A White, White Day </i>firmly established Pálmason as a talent to watch, but <i>Godland </i>feels like a huge leap forward. His vision is so bold and exacting here, and he tells his story in exactly the right way, brilliantly utilising time-lapse photography to denote the passage of time. There's a moment in the middle of the film when he segues to a new section of the film via a slow tracking shot, some volcano footage and a scene of two girls playing in the river, and it's such a disorienting and inspired piece of filmmaking it had me slack-jawed in amazement. <i>Godland </i>put me in mind of filmmakers such as Bergman, Herzog, Troell and von Stroheim among others. It's the kind of great film that instantly feels timeless.</div></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-73030882321140434002022-12-30T11:24:00.001+00:002022-12-30T11:24:32.795+00:00My Cinema Discoveries of 2022<div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And so, we come to the end of the first full year of cinemagoing I’ve enjoyed since 2019, although I can’t help feeling that I haven’t quite got back up to full speed yet. In total I saw 290 films on the big screen this year, which is a marked decrease on my numbers from 2019 (400) or in previous years when I would habitually break 300. There are a number of factors at play here – including real life, illness and work just getting in the way – but I think part of it is that I have become more discerning since the pandemic. I used to try and see anything and everything, but now I think I have come to realise that life is just too short to spend it watching movies I probably won’t like or remember.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That dip in cinemagoing enthusiasm is primarily related to new releases, however – I only saw 134 of those – and my passion for repertory cinema, particularly film projections, remains as fervent as ever. I attended 156 screenings of older films in 2022; a total that included 123 on 35mm, five on 16mm and one on 70mm. (I also saw one new release on 70mm this year, Kenneth Branagh’s long-delayed and instantly forgettable <i>Death on the Nile</i>.) I remain very grateful to all the cinemas listed below, who have continued to present rarely seen works and frequently collaborate with independent curators to bring a wider variety of films to our screens. A special mention here for the ICA, who have been great partners for The Badlands Collective this year, helping us present beautiful 35mm prints of <i>The Dead</i>, <i>Saint Jack</i> and <i>The Sweet Hereafter</i> to audiences, many of whom were experiencing these films for the first time. There is nothing more satisfying than introducing somebody to a great film and seeing them fall in love with it. The ICA appears to be upping the 35mm ante in 2023 with their new Celluloid Sundays strand, and I’d encourage every Londoner reading this to get one of their Red Memberships, which is surely the best value deal available for cinephiles in the capital.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Such screenings feel more precious than ever now, as these are tough times for cinema. The instantaneous collapse of film culture in Edinburgh and Aberdeen earlier this year was a shocking reminder of just how perilous the situation is. There are efforts being made to rescue the Edinburgh Film Festival, but what will happen to the Edinburgh Filmhouse or the Belmont Cinema in Aberdeen? Not only were these cinemas vital cultural centres, they were invaluable as community hubs, and their absence leaves a huge void that needs to be filled by something. The owners of the Filmhouse have already rejected a number of bids aimed at maintaining the space as a cinema – is its fate to be sold to developers to be converted into another office or block of flats? In London currently the Curzon Mayfair – one of the city’s oldest and most beautiful cinemas – finds its future under threat from developers. A city without culture is a city without a soul but we live in an age where culture increasingly needs to justify its existence and fight for every scrap. We have to continue the fight in 2023 and support all these venues, to show how vital they are in our daily lives.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Without further ado, here are my favourite film discoveries of the year.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>50 – I Was an Adventuress (Gregory Ratoff, 1940) – Cinema Arlecchino, Bologna, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCN9I-Smiq05QTWQpddQyeM4zsiGvCQTHtjavAJpWyL9kI9BoXNhD-7RS1gJYNoXxzHQ7PrrK737Qv1RKDfTq-Xsl9MIbniI_D-Do7KeLFjX1CsZxaLPS3-vzjwc3ZEUUzU15gAn6GOUhY8YxrckG2hILJqJZK6LmMEgmwWJf4TWa2CfFmDZM/s1280/I%20was%20an%20adventuress.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCN9I-Smiq05QTWQpddQyeM4zsiGvCQTHtjavAJpWyL9kI9BoXNhD-7RS1gJYNoXxzHQ7PrrK737Qv1RKDfTq-Xsl9MIbniI_D-Do7KeLFjX1CsZxaLPS3-vzjwc3ZEUUzU15gAn6GOUhY8YxrckG2hILJqJZK6LmMEgmwWJf4TWa2CfFmDZM/w400-h225/I%20was%20an%20adventuress.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is not a great film, but it has some great material in it, notably the inspired decision to cast Erich von Stroheim and Peter Lorre as a pair of conmen who have been working together for years and act like an old married couple. They play off each other beautifully and both display pin-sharp comic timing, which would have been perfect for the kind of snappy caper movie that this movie shows promise as in its early stages. Alas, the extraordinarily dull romantic pairing of Richard Greene and ballet dancer Zorina – along with a lengthy ballet sequence shoehorned in towards the end – means von Stroheim and Lorre are rather sidelined for much of the movie, but they’re so good together they make you wish the whole movie had been about them.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>49 – Original Gangstas (Larry Cohen, 1996) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlaxTa33jY2w-l7NHhiCjNEUNiEiPI0zxEA3m3QftM_icGHqFjNw0tQxunAnr90X60-YXcSZaCJO8s6CJoB2XfKzuYmO_9VUTNNt9Aweqlt90VhQTAUT9W7DRNzHUvI5AsiHC7cjByg6qPgRTEZ-bBto7dp72_HIPVlwC38ljKTZYidueCsso/s1280/original-gangstas-01.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlaxTa33jY2w-l7NHhiCjNEUNiEiPI0zxEA3m3QftM_icGHqFjNw0tQxunAnr90X60-YXcSZaCJO8s6CJoB2XfKzuYmO_9VUTNNt9Aweqlt90VhQTAUT9W7DRNzHUvI5AsiHC7cjByg6qPgRTEZ-bBto7dp72_HIPVlwC38ljKTZYidueCsso/w400-h225/original-gangstas-01.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A victory lap for a group of Blaxploitation icons, with Fred Williamson, Jim Brown and Pam Grier teaming up to take on the gang of youths terrorising their community. Larry Cohen makes good use of the rusting steel mills and derelict storefronts of Gary, Indiana, but his direction is generally perfunctory, and he relies heavily on the charm of his cast to carry the picture. Fortunately, it’s a hell of a cast. The three leads are joined by Ron O'Neal and Richard Roundtree in their vigilante squad, while reverend Paul Winfield attempts to keep the peace. Robert Forster is the cop always a step behind the action, and I enjoyed Charles Napier and Wings Hauser as the mayor and his obsequious aide. The action in the explosive finale is ludicrous and cheesy, but watching these charismatic stars take down a bunch of cocky gangsta wannabes half their age is extremely satisfying.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>48 – Basquiat (Julian Schnabel, 1996) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkjsOofyYHB3VFf0jPrKRLSoyICMNdTIyEXjQJKtypAqIClwwd5Rj2uDpkh6TBs9wtG4i30GCyJ5Gzen9Onx3r_nc4CgnMCTOkOY8yPOXzoGBOOYbbHaNNiTFV-Q1CDUlsOxpLKj8eISTtGAlp6gX2gc6PRN21QNcMeDsMJ7t6E6amlsIrYY/s1200/Basquiat.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRkjsOofyYHB3VFf0jPrKRLSoyICMNdTIyEXjQJKtypAqIClwwd5Rj2uDpkh6TBs9wtG4i30GCyJ5Gzen9Onx3r_nc4CgnMCTOkOY8yPOXzoGBOOYbbHaNNiTFV-Q1CDUlsOxpLKj8eISTtGAlp6gX2gc6PRN21QNcMeDsMJ7t6E6amlsIrYY/w400-h225/Basquiat.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I’d always been intrigued by this film after reading a dismissal from the art critic Robert Hughes that described it as “a film about our worst dead artist, made by our worst living one." That's a good line, but it's also pretty harsh. As a director, Schnabel is all over the place, capable of creating moments of beauty and imagination, but frequently wayward and heavy-handed. Jeffrey Wright gives a sensitive and nuanced performance at the film's centre, but he is often eclipsed by the actors he is surrounded by. David Bowie is an amusingly awkward Warhol, Gary Oldman is the Schnabel stand-in, Dennis Hopper is Bruno Bischofberger and Parker Posey is Mary Boone. There is a lot to enjoy in watching these actors play and in Schnabel's idiosyncratic style, and while Schnabel doesn't make much of a case for Basquiat's art or give us a great deal of insight into it, but he does do an effective job of showing what it was like for him as a black artist exploited and pigeonholed in the New York art scene of the 1980s.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>47 – Death Wish 3 (Michael Winner, 1985) – Prince Charles Cinema, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVp9YNqPw6DWBl6ETp83xkGRxKk3COkoObgKkKHq0af1mQW2DRE7qio8DoZ6yDw824WtBsi7nS2NFzNPPfhV3pFkqx8yXCQLwsOfPOZ1MWt_GQ1xslme58vrLn8_7g8pr4oqR3sjGku8X6-If_0NBvyvIXca9UXuKH2ArqvUmCnkKHJUqA1U/s1920/Death%20Wish%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVp9YNqPw6DWBl6ETp83xkGRxKk3COkoObgKkKHq0af1mQW2DRE7qio8DoZ6yDw824WtBsi7nS2NFzNPPfhV3pFkqx8yXCQLwsOfPOZ1MWt_GQ1xslme58vrLn8_7g8pr4oqR3sjGku8X6-If_0NBvyvIXca9UXuKH2ArqvUmCnkKHJUqA1U/w400-h225/Death%20Wish%203.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">After the unremitting ugliness of <i>Death Wish 2</i>, the third of Winner's vigilante fantasies is a preposterously entertaining experience, with 64 year-old Charles Bronson wiping out a whole army of thugs in New York (actually Lambeth). As usual with Winner, the film consists of cack-handed action, bizarre shot choices, awkward close-ups and mismatched cuts, but it's a hilarious and often jaw-dropping picture, especially in the insanely overblown action of the final twenty minutes, where Bronson takes to the streets with a bazooka and Martin Balsam – as a taxi driver who keeps a machine gun in his closet – getting thrown out of a window. Pure trash and an incredibly fun film to watch with an audience. We were also treated to a conversation between Alex Winter and Edgar Wright after this screening, with Winter comparing the Michael Winner experience to being directed by the Peter O'Toole character from <i>The Stunt Man</i>.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>46 – Jury's Evidence (Ralph Ince, 1936) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdLqkHlpLCTinhWm8P6WKFy8qpGrZ0wSUP7vPJ2e5qn_28o2LzITRFxJxsvhf8PVWqTeuWz8WNd7K_hK1HzeTLNhAVHe_3sEhz_2u18Y_ZAIZRO-sUmM-Z6tUsQ9ZhAUVPZ7K9FGTeElcoTlwORLlfF6YHFI3ul2WxgzbE_f4Lwhm8sbRJXE/s1524/Jury's%20Evidence.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1524" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAdLqkHlpLCTinhWm8P6WKFy8qpGrZ0wSUP7vPJ2e5qn_28o2LzITRFxJxsvhf8PVWqTeuWz8WNd7K_hK1HzeTLNhAVHe_3sEhz_2u18Y_ZAIZRO-sUmM-Z6tUsQ9ZhAUVPZ7K9FGTeElcoTlwORLlfF6YHFI3ul2WxgzbE_f4Lwhm8sbRJXE/w400-h294/Jury's%20Evidence.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">For about 69 of its 70 minutes, <i>Jury's Evidence </i>plays as an above-average quota quickie, but then it ends with a whiplash-inducing twist that casts a different complexion over the whole film. The film begins and ends in a courtroom, where a man is on trial for the murder of his wife. In the jury room, foreman Hartley Power tries to convince his fellow jurors of the man's innocence by spinning a yarn that imagines each of them in the key roles, with Power himself playing the lecherous boss of Margaret Lockwood's innocent secretary. The bulk of the film consists of this speculative reconstruction, and it's a lot of fun. The direction is tight, the dialogue is witty, and the performances have a lot of character (especially a scene-stealing Jane Millican as the brusque and very loud Agatha). The film cleverly maintains the mystery about what actually happened right up to the end, but then that final twist sends you out of the cinema reeling.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>45 – For Me and My Gal (Busby Berkeley, 1942) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN7S0udYeJ-1B38qKi_WTFSm_WKcDRsMrrHTZ-wDaFA3r21xYHxu3XDTmIb26DMhLUrSadwZkuoJvku8l2n6ItQ87Ch5nn9mWwGld5I91J1FuCHi7egyk5D4p8iV2Qqi3yrWIRkX1PTOt4i2UiUkQPEaGnqTlwsGVcj5ROc3eaz3_LJ1n0oI/s1200/For%20Me%20and%20My%20Gal.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="893" data-original-width="1200" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaN7S0udYeJ-1B38qKi_WTFSm_WKcDRsMrrHTZ-wDaFA3r21xYHxu3XDTmIb26DMhLUrSadwZkuoJvku8l2n6ItQ87Ch5nn9mWwGld5I91J1FuCHi7egyk5D4p8iV2Qqi3yrWIRkX1PTOt4i2UiUkQPEaGnqTlwsGVcj5ROc3eaz3_LJ1n0oI/w400-h297/For%20Me%20and%20My%20Gal.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This film marked Judy Garland's first adult role and it was Gene Kelly's first screen role of any kind. He seems a little green in the dramatic moments, which is where Garland's emotionally charged work really shines. The film is less Busby Berkeley-ish than you might expect, with the director perhaps being constrained by the realistic vaudeville setting and the fact that he's directing a wartime propaganda piece. The shadow of the Great War hangs over the film's first half, and the most interesting aspect of the film is the way Kelly's character is shunned as a coward for injuring himself to beat the draft. Of course, he has to find redemption, and the way he does so is ludicrous, with Kelly marching through No Man's Land to single-handedly take out an enemy gun embankment. When the film was previewed the dissatisfied audience felt Garland should end up with George Murphy's character rather than Kelly, which led to three weeks of re-shoots to make his cynical and opportunistic character more appealing. Perhaps these re-shoots explain why the film feels uneven and awkwardly paced at times, and Murphy's character still ends up coming across as the better man anyway.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>44 – Shunkinsho: Okoto to Sasuke (Yasujirō Shimazu, 1935) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQC5EjnHTb7zgUuGQ5RYeLR-9fqsT3_fTsjVGjC3k35jJhf5MCzOQbbKfaHnT6gSLsLHwdlOgO_KWKgOyL8VxWnLYqNz4gIR7M-W2rPbCuSm3gktBUmBEHboTkhElHRMOS0ub26AeFRUzwCYa-gAvcMLF9Jt9AB5kw_h4lCohvV8AclkIANc/s1280/Shunkinsho%20Okoto%20to%20Sasuke.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQC5EjnHTb7zgUuGQ5RYeLR-9fqsT3_fTsjVGjC3k35jJhf5MCzOQbbKfaHnT6gSLsLHwdlOgO_KWKgOyL8VxWnLYqNz4gIR7M-W2rPbCuSm3gktBUmBEHboTkhElHRMOS0ub26AeFRUzwCYa-gAvcMLF9Jt9AB5kw_h4lCohvV8AclkIANc/w400-h225/Shunkinsho%20Okoto%20to%20Sasuke.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Kinuyo Tanaka plays a blind woman in this film, but the actress makes no plea for our sympathy. Her character Okoto is stubborn and prickly, often displaying a superior and dismissive attitude to those around her, including her besotted servant Sasuke (Kokichi Takada), who remains completely devoted to her. Parts of the movie can feel a little sluggish and wayward - some details, like the pregnancy plot, don't really land - but it's mostly absorbing. It's fascinating to watch the power dynamics between Okoto and the two men who desire her (with Tatsuo Saitō's playboy clumsily pursuing her), and the performances are excellent. What really distinguishes <i>Shunkinsho: Okoto to Sasuke</i> is its extraordinary ending, with Shimazu's direction growing bolder and more expressive as the film moves towards a strange, sad and haunting climax.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>43 – Stevie (Robert Enders, 1978) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpm8xMoweemdUJiAJIWBMa4nISzvZLgHwhJ365VU9BiJ_WEq73pQiKad4r24BK6ZXJ0v1oxSS38KuAq0uCJXPrrhUpasL8Nk3BY7qJfG5Tsp-nTf6RSermEBsr7RsmlkrPXMdTETDyF3RoaA04oklX_BaVJQPezv3kmVMe7e-NbHLMq6ucX0Q/s1000/Stevie.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="1000" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpm8xMoweemdUJiAJIWBMa4nISzvZLgHwhJ365VU9BiJ_WEq73pQiKad4r24BK6ZXJ0v1oxSS38KuAq0uCJXPrrhUpasL8Nk3BY7qJfG5Tsp-nTf6RSermEBsr7RsmlkrPXMdTETDyF3RoaA04oklX_BaVJQPezv3kmVMe7e-NbHLMq6ucX0Q/w400-h285/Stevie.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Eh, you are a difficult girl sometimes," Stevie Smith's aunt tells her a couple of times in this film. This is a portrait of a prickly and awkward artist who resisted relationships and feared change, an approach to life that allowed her poetry to thrive but also left her with a sense of loneliness and often despair. She's a hard woman to get close to, but having a peak-era Glenda Jackson playing her ensures she is always fascinating. Mona Washbourne is an excellent foil for Jackson, and Trevor Howard appears as a kind of on-screen narrator who is credited only as "The Man." Much of the film consists of Stevie narrating her life story directly to the camera from the living room of the suburban house she shared with her aunt, and it can feel a bit suffocating and dry, although I admired the intelligent and occasionally incisive writing, and the way Stevie's poetry was woven into the piece to reveal more of Stevie's character. "I was much too far out all my life / And not waving but drowning."<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>42 – Greased Lightning (Michael Schultz, 1977) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ9fuSuvv410QvZy3eky5lkVzg1tXUv1k-HcEm6cPPaPDyyEvSOPW_kXHxkv3s4FiBrEvdinR6bMNu83R6Ac6l1wdjJAzsGIa_w6kbTzNUmgAfHEAVz712fpJ3-jTcja7V-6Fbdw7cRB85BzHWqaT7SvVm1g1jex7VIW1-CPFFyBDR4cp9DM4/s2800/Greased%20Lightning.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1575" data-original-width="2800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ9fuSuvv410QvZy3eky5lkVzg1tXUv1k-HcEm6cPPaPDyyEvSOPW_kXHxkv3s4FiBrEvdinR6bMNu83R6Ac6l1wdjJAzsGIa_w6kbTzNUmgAfHEAVz712fpJ3-jTcja7V-6Fbdw7cRB85BzHWqaT7SvVm1g1jex7VIW1-CPFFyBDR4cp9DM4/w400-h225/Greased%20Lightning.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A pretty straight role for Richard Pryor in this biopic of Wendell Scott, the first black NASCAR driver. The first half of the movie deals with his early days as a bootlegger, outwitting the redneck cops (led by Vincent Gardenia's Sheriff Cotton), before he joins the racing circuit and is instantly made a target by the white drivers. Some boilerplate writing and direction, but the film squeezes a fair bit of tension out of the final race, when Wendell is so determined to win he sets off with a half-screwed tire. Pryor is on very good form here and he's supported by a fine cast. Cleavon Little is his right-hand man, Pam Grier is solid in a stereotypical wife role, Beau Bridges is the racing rival who becomes a close friend, and Richie Havens plays his mechanic, while also contributing a couple of songs to the soundtrack.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>41 – Sheba, Baby (William Girdler, 1975) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyvscikQe5Ddu3K6OiMii8TdH26ruJnUJw2uoDeRD2g3AX2l9gp59BgGzAfAOGv2Vfw2aakMApiRRlpthORsm_JrhBoYGO9fuZgJbNP3leItXu0dD-TYHMTAwfQuGO8jLYjD7PGiWHq44NeznZVh2fu9uLIcKmcfFzX6xgoyW6IwOc8g179M/s800/Sheba,%20Baby.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="800" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyvscikQe5Ddu3K6OiMii8TdH26ruJnUJw2uoDeRD2g3AX2l9gp59BgGzAfAOGv2Vfw2aakMApiRRlpthORsm_JrhBoYGO9fuZgJbNP3leItXu0dD-TYHMTAwfQuGO8jLYjD7PGiWHq44NeznZVh2fu9uLIcKmcfFzX6xgoyW6IwOc8g179M/w400-h220/Sheba,%20Baby.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Pam Grier's Sheba is a private eye returning to her home town to singlehandedly take down the criminal organisation threatening her father in this decent blaxploitation picture. It suffers from some pretty hamfisted direction but I enjoyed Pam coming up with inventive ways to get information out of people, with the car wash scene being a highlight. There are also some colourful character turns, notably from D'Urville Martin, Christipher Joy (hilarious as Walker the loan shark), and the extremely smarmy Dick Merrifield as the chief villain of the piece. The film builds to a strong climax with a speedboat chase and Grier apparently doing a lot of her own stunts. The final scene between her and Austin Stoker made me think of her saying goodbye to Robert Forster in <i>Jackie Brown</i>.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><b>40 – Vida en sombres (Lorenzo Llobet Gracia, 1949) – Close-Up, Digital</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilA1VpPbESf4a8o4x6fJHH5LKeTx58JlVsrmcUBr6R-CjtgacL91wF5kK2voNsr-7qmxXBHRL23uOCrGiqFTa_Unk5-Z7lZdWsC9_K6_4dsvzYFu76ouooP-KysOr0GiU0BuKRStOxIIcBQlZtx9MY8v_-H08ekQdq9i8do0js7DCyhdyhDE4/s1600/Vida%20en%20sombres.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="898" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilA1VpPbESf4a8o4x6fJHH5LKeTx58JlVsrmcUBr6R-CjtgacL91wF5kK2voNsr-7qmxXBHRL23uOCrGiqFTa_Unk5-Z7lZdWsC9_K6_4dsvzYFu76ouooP-KysOr0GiU0BuKRStOxIIcBQlZtx9MY8v_-H08ekQdq9i8do0js7DCyhdyhDE4/w400-h225/Vida%20en%20sombres.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This film was quickly forgotten after its 1949 premiere and suffered numerous drastic re-edits over the years, so while this restoration is not quite its director's original vision, it's the most complete version we are ever likely to get. This is the only feature Lorenzo Llobet Gracia ever directed, which is a shame, as he uses the camera beautifully at times, and the film originally contained an extremely ambitious single-take tracking shot, that we only have fragments of. It is a film about cinephilia, with its protagonist being born with the medium </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">his mother goes into labour at a demonstration of the Lumière brothers' new invention </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">and growing up through its silent and sound eras to become a filmmaker himself. He loses faith when he blames his cinema obsession for the death of his wife, but then the power of cinema - specifically Hitchcock's <i>Rebecca </i>- rekindles his passion. <i>Vida en sombres</i> is a little rough around the edges, but it's heartfelt, funny, skilfully made, and it has a lovely ending.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>39 – Habit (Larry Fessenden, 1995) – ICA, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZDmfohkqfle4H3gKZeMMz8QSGMUbw3HDZHFWSgA4SWJcceJMDQaKhK4kSQlHpEqDhbEd3LkCXiZD3z-hFHwHx7xsF1vYflpjGWXPW5L7gkF24uHF8ii-pEFahgC95itiIsPUvne-14RJm2_YkRu5R_gyJ8gCbudKp-Aa9tTRdFYX9OzeUEU/s850/Habit.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="850" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTZDmfohkqfle4H3gKZeMMz8QSGMUbw3HDZHFWSgA4SWJcceJMDQaKhK4kSQlHpEqDhbEd3LkCXiZD3z-hFHwHx7xsF1vYflpjGWXPW5L7gkF24uHF8ii-pEFahgC95itiIsPUvne-14RJm2_YkRu5R_gyJ8gCbudKp-Aa9tTRdFYX9OzeUEU/w400-h294/Habit.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of the crop of New York-based indie vampire movies that emerged in the mid-90s, although Larry Fessenden pointed out in the Q&A that he'd made a version of <i>Habit </i>as a film student, and so he'd rather be seen as a pioneer instead of being lumped in with the likes of <i>Nadja </i>and <i>The Addiction</i>. Like those features, <i>Habit </i>roots the vampire myth in a sense of everyday reality, with the distorted perspective of Fessenden's drunk and depressed protagonist adding a note of ambiguity to the events presented. Shot with a tiny crew on a budget of $60,000, the film looks fantastic, with Frank DeMarco's inventive 16mm photography mostly using available light and providing us with a wonderfully atmospheric snapshot of New York in this era. Aside from Fessenden, the cast is rounded out by the very funny Aaron Beall ("For that, she's a vampire? because she won't shit in front of you?") and the compellingly enigmatic Meredith Snaider. In his Q&A, Fessenden revealed that Snaider was creeped out by the exploitative roles she was offered on the back of this film, and so she quit acting and became a psychiatrist. <i>Habit </i>ended up being her only screen appearance, and she certainly makes a lasting impression in this absorbing, visceral and haunting picture.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>38 – Fire in the Sky (Robert Lieberman, 1993) – Prince Charles Cinema, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HeMoBFGIQihD7fT75-mIrOMgFTVB8KJr6-yqnxvY2xVaZ4PG8kmS5jCKurhWQniPM0Wm5Z5L8niiyawC4PRzVwK8-iSn19xou9ZnVu7IcPnSo0LWhv0XTKX3V5pBawZsi9ff3bjrOc0X4NNpFANlc0eBRewYxd9lw59QFDY42p33akAmqFY/s740/Fire%20in%20the%20Sky.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="740" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2HeMoBFGIQihD7fT75-mIrOMgFTVB8KJr6-yqnxvY2xVaZ4PG8kmS5jCKurhWQniPM0Wm5Z5L8niiyawC4PRzVwK8-iSn19xou9ZnVu7IcPnSo0LWhv0XTKX3V5pBawZsi9ff3bjrOc0X4NNpFANlc0eBRewYxd9lw59QFDY42p33akAmqFY/w400-h205/Fire%20in%20the%20Sky.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">There’s something a bit small and mundane about Robert Lieberman's film of an apparent true story of alien abduction. The director makes it look handsome enough, with some nice widescreen compositions, but he can't generate a great deal of genuine tension or excitement, and Tracy Tormé's screenplay is full of clunky, clichéd scenes. I think the filmmakers needed to dig a lot more into the trauma and readjustment of the returning Travis, especially as it was adapted from his memoir, but they don't seem to know where to take the story in its second half and it ends on a weirdly truncated and unsatisfying note. However, it earns a place in this list thanks to a truly extraordinary sequence depicting a subjective experience of alien abduction, which is brilliantly designed and contains some genuinely startling horror movie imagery. One wonders if the Wachowskis had this film in mind when they were creating <i>The Matrix</i>? It honestly feels like it has been dropped into the middle of this story from another, more visceral movie, and it’s so remarkable as a standalone sequence it earns this generally underwhelming film a place on the list.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>37 – Army (Keisuke Kinoshita, 1944) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-wbTZ08HhelyLGwtyVB6mwFPkFNBlo8UlxcyQO4FrdGd_zqZK16unGoX8rFu7NBJpZrTtzaNPMOOkcewJ8lrFs3OoBLApiOYsbLHC2FgSs7ai3s0XdhB5aJGXdjZQMN493nP7Cq2hOyS3eT7l4GcRoChvFLibO_3pFkmu6HGbVt7fUsfW4A/s1600/Army.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-wbTZ08HhelyLGwtyVB6mwFPkFNBlo8UlxcyQO4FrdGd_zqZK16unGoX8rFu7NBJpZrTtzaNPMOOkcewJ8lrFs3OoBLApiOYsbLHC2FgSs7ai3s0XdhB5aJGXdjZQMN493nP7Cq2hOyS3eT7l4GcRoChvFLibO_3pFkmu6HGbVt7fUsfW4A/w400-h225/Army.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">There's a compelling tension in this film between the fervent propaganda of the government-approved script and Kinoshita's emphasis on the human cost of war. The film extols the virtues of honour, duty and devotion to the Emperor, and almost every conversation centres on these ideas. One character, as he lies dying in hospital, chastises his son for rushing to his bedside instead of first paying his respects at the imperial palace, while another is criticised for worrying about his son's fate at the front instead of considering the bigger picture of the army's success. Kinoshita enlivens some potentially stodgy scenes with his dynamic camerawork and expert composition, and by drawing on the emotional power of great actors like Kinuyo Tanaka and Chishū Ryū. But his filmmaking intelligence really shines in the film's closing stretch, which poignantly focuses on Tanaka's emotions as a mother watching her son march off to war, probably to never return. This perspective potently undercuts the nationalistic flag-waving of the moment, and it caused outrage among the top brass, with Kinoshita being accused of treason. As the director later said, "I can’t lie to myself in my dramas. I couldn’t direct something that was like shaking hands and saying, ‘Come die.’”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>36 – Pulp (Mike Hodges, 1972) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5rE7glGsRKkPY7Wnf-mOP727OFaYKkXNVXFcbYOKtCRIhwMVY1TGLWXboi_92HGzBHFlEIqKWDUKrK7k5O2o5m-mlStYBaqWudGOUZYmT-SfUC5gEk1GgTrYnXNgZFnh4LM0-DIqRu_EahBAjBxGeJ_atSFxbfe_eezUQ2Eo9MQgZ24xhYc/s2048/Pulp.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1174" data-original-width="2048" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5rE7glGsRKkPY7Wnf-mOP727OFaYKkXNVXFcbYOKtCRIhwMVY1TGLWXboi_92HGzBHFlEIqKWDUKrK7k5O2o5m-mlStYBaqWudGOUZYmT-SfUC5gEk1GgTrYnXNgZFnh4LM0-DIqRu_EahBAjBxGeJ_atSFxbfe_eezUQ2Eo9MQgZ24xhYc/w400-h229/Pulp.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">One year after <i>Get Carter</i>, Michael Caine and Mike Hodges reunited for this eccentric noir pastiche, which plunges Caine's nonchalant novelist into a confounding mystery. The film acknowledges its influence by throwing in Bogart and Lorre lookalikes – although the Joan Crawford, Mae West, Marlene Dietrich and Jean Harlow promised by the credits found online didn't appear as far as I could see. The central plot isn't particularly interesting at all but the film offers ample pleasures around it, with a number of surprising visual and verbal gags, and a strong atmosphere. I also appreciated the oddball performances from Dennis Price, Lionel Stander and Al Lettieri, and the final screen appearance from Lizabeth Scott. Best of all is Mickey Rooney, who really goes for it and squeezes every drop of energy and comedy out of his minutes on screen.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>35 – Friday Foster (Arthur Marks, 1975) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XTr_ZzCGO39lYnPQOCo355jCb4uFgAL8huRtaRaWmo5MYSSuwT4YoYmpEPPGL7cTzDs08mcipAoi9S4kmGQ_vOfSajZ58lpp7ABQEvSlnVTqmJAo9tDCuJKFg85jYarRzcGRIuBh-ndBpJdGMFlx7d2aM7KFPprQL-zeT-ryfajjj1Cmdf4/s3500/Friday%20Foster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="3500" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XTr_ZzCGO39lYnPQOCo355jCb4uFgAL8huRtaRaWmo5MYSSuwT4YoYmpEPPGL7cTzDs08mcipAoi9S4kmGQ_vOfSajZ58lpp7ABQEvSlnVTqmJAo9tDCuJKFg85jYarRzcGRIuBh-ndBpJdGMFlx7d2aM7KFPprQL-zeT-ryfajjj1Cmdf4/w400-h260/Friday%20Foster.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Just take your cute little behind out there and get those pictures and, god damn it, don't get involved." Needless to say, photojournalist Friday Foster is soon deeply involved in an absurdly convoluted conspiracy, and everyone is trying to kill her. This may be my favourite Pam Grier performance of the ‘70s. She's relaxed and funny and she looks absolutely sensational; she steals a hearse and a milk truck; and she has a sparkling rapport with the always-brilliant Yaphet Kotto. This film also offers a nutty Eartha Kitt cameo, a rooftop punch-up between Kotto and Carl Weathers, a very flamboyant Godfrey Cambridge, and Scatman Crothers as a dirty-minded priest. As an added bonus, the 35mm print we had for this screening was one of the most beautiful I saw all year.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>34 – Criminal Lovers (François Ozon, 1999) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFc4GjDB9sdjM-CQXGg_q3nbNE5jsb34y6pT2hXT3ZgEN8Cn4W8AGzuNCZZjLvU0nz2PA6G5vRk26CBDFWmV1ZOWYr3ZzROkMCS66P10ZJrU-GgSvnor8MBiCrTEYbF3jCsUJbZeyeaQnePjn68Bs44z84tZxhsu69zWCxQV-zyJUuQtkNIs/s1440/Criminal%20Lovers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1440" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOFc4GjDB9sdjM-CQXGg_q3nbNE5jsb34y6pT2hXT3ZgEN8Cn4W8AGzuNCZZjLvU0nz2PA6G5vRk26CBDFWmV1ZOWYr3ZzROkMCS66P10ZJrU-GgSvnor8MBiCrTEYbF3jCsUJbZeyeaQnePjn68Bs44z84tZxhsu69zWCxQV-zyJUuQtkNIs/w400-h209/Criminal%20Lovers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm not sure why Natacha Régnier didn't go on to have a much bigger career. She followed Erick Zonca's masterpiece <i>The Dream Life of Angels</i> with this film, and she's sensational in both. She's incredibly charismatic as the seductive teenager who manipulates Jérémie Renier into committing a murder for her. The pair hit the road, and there's something amusing about their naïveté and constant bickering in this situation </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">after holding up a jewellery store, Régnier complains that they should have robbed a bakery instead so they could have taken croissants and cinnamon rolls. The film doesn't develop into the classic Lovers on the Run picture that it suggests, however. They get lost in the woods, and here the film ventures into weirder territory but unfortunately it also becomes a bit too static, with the ending feeling rushed and perfunctory. The montage of animal reaction shots as Alice and Luc have sex by the waterfall is very funny, though.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>33 – Heller in Pink Tights (George Cukor, 1955) – Cinema Arlecchino, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GOEvL7uO5N9xNLjPxTU8XvDFNzeXFLFKL86nM3Qykp4--SGHAI1i0rCfTu8JqEdN8-s95M6ubmC2aQH-yky-VLzIxzcYxovab0cv1r6Q25MIpyFfSEOaa4CW2C9k8J5PmUaz8_c3JnaoPrYEJyiM74F2wAlfduHk6rVnr7LF1ZBuMeVkODc/s800/Heller%20in%20Pink%20Tights.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GOEvL7uO5N9xNLjPxTU8XvDFNzeXFLFKL86nM3Qykp4--SGHAI1i0rCfTu8JqEdN8-s95M6ubmC2aQH-yky-VLzIxzcYxovab0cv1r6Q25MIpyFfSEOaa4CW2C9k8J5PmUaz8_c3JnaoPrYEJyiM74F2wAlfduHk6rVnr7LF1ZBuMeVkODc/w400-h225/Heller%20in%20Pink%20Tights.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't think Sophia Loren's character ever wears pink tights in this film, which is just one of the odd things about George Cukor's only western. His depiction of the wild west is a deliberately theatrical and artificial one, following a travelling theatre troupe as they go from one state to another, leaving behind a trail of bad debts. The film is a bit of a mish-mash with a number of plot elements that feel forced together </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">and Cukor apparently disowned the final cut </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">but it's a beautiful spectacle. The colourful production and costume design and Harold Lipstein's Technicolor cinematography is dazzling. The performances are very enjoyable too. Anthony Quinn gives a sweetly humble turn, while Sophia Loren is simply radiant. She plays her sly, flirtatious character with a light comic touch, and she's wonderful in the scene where she tries to hustle the poker game.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>32 Thin Ice (Uwe Jens Krafft, 1928) – Cinema Museum, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-eB550jpW3Uc1eEEei06DXa6XOG8Y_TU83302aeEvKU6paqhs8vlLEYpWYzrUDU1sYdxgTHRVSp6F_RiFwnBqzQmX74eH640kpE5dk6kDvXYgA70dXwUcb_nTYj1U5nbOfO2KvTBPBXQMAa9k4GiD3ivNZ2klxl_m0qv5Rk_8Q5nHwU6fv7A/s400/Thin%20Ice.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-eB550jpW3Uc1eEEei06DXa6XOG8Y_TU83302aeEvKU6paqhs8vlLEYpWYzrUDU1sYdxgTHRVSp6F_RiFwnBqzQmX74eH640kpE5dk6kDvXYgA70dXwUcb_nTYj1U5nbOfO2KvTBPBXQMAa9k4GiD3ivNZ2klxl_m0qv5Rk_8Q5nHwU6fv7A/w400-h300/Thin%20Ice.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Norwegian thriller <i>Thin Ice</i> opens with a statement assuring us that there are no 'fakes' in the film, and all the external shots were filmed high in the Norwegian mountains. The footage is genuinely stunning, from the ski-jumping that opens the film to the train heist at the centre of the plot. The shots of the train ploughing through the snow are amazing, and the nocturnal scenes are expertly captured by Günther Krampf, whose lighting is spectacular throughout. How lucky we were to see it on a terrific 35mm print. The plot is pretty ridiculous </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">the whole motivation for the heist is flimsy at best, and puts the film's hero on morally shaky ground </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">but it's really absorbing stuff, directed with wit and flair.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>31 – Mother (Mikio Naruse, 1952) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZGBnwzGxbHu8so96ujRGlYOnPTqhgR_ELvnw_UtTM7gKUTlNilnDtQbFyCvtXKuIO21AA1tDMF8mhOMu4wrWNu-rTKN07ykt6w9VbV6I2yDKBK8GuvuWpKQj55sH-yMn55ESrKaRvH0aJp2dR9J8fsLJJCwD_5RweOvgoi6OANkKxexeWXw/s2115/mother1952.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1397" data-original-width="2115" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZGBnwzGxbHu8so96ujRGlYOnPTqhgR_ELvnw_UtTM7gKUTlNilnDtQbFyCvtXKuIO21AA1tDMF8mhOMu4wrWNu-rTKN07ykt6w9VbV6I2yDKBK8GuvuWpKQj55sH-yMn55ESrKaRvH0aJp2dR9J8fsLJJCwD_5RweOvgoi6OANkKxexeWXw/s320/mother1952.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another exceptional performance from Kinuyo Tanaka is at the heart of Mikio Naruse's poignant drama. She plays the mother of the title, a hard-working woman who strives to keep her family together even as illness, death and financial strife conspire against her. Tanaka plays this humble, self-sacrificing character with such understated authenticity, and Naruse uses her great facility to communicate volumes in wordless close-ups - I was so moved by the shot of her reacting to seeing Toshiko in the wedding dress. Toshiko is played by the great Kyōko Kagawa, whose performance is absolutely adorable, with her smile lighting up the screen. In fact, every actor in the ensemble plays a vital part in the vivid sense of real life being lived that Naruse creates here. <i>Mother </i>is also very funny at times, and the inspired "The End" gag that Naruse throws in halfway through the picture completely caught the BFI audience off-guard.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>30 – Anybody's Woman (Dorothy Arzner, 1930) – ICA, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqxSMMzBF96ySfBApOvtcsoQGcOf0TGKrAcCRwk2hat6HnNGE8qCQRcbTdPVlA7QoQqBUOZoXX8jQA7p0btc4Y3TAjXlHekjRP0TlYyWNEXyRqAR7v-5qeyk3Xmg9ZcrtEmI-ss_4F3nN1zNYIKHzAcIbfs9iI-s0ZCvW0Uvew8byGz6hj6Q/s1470/Anybody's%20Woman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1470" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnqxSMMzBF96ySfBApOvtcsoQGcOf0TGKrAcCRwk2hat6HnNGE8qCQRcbTdPVlA7QoQqBUOZoXX8jQA7p0btc4Y3TAjXlHekjRP0TlYyWNEXyRqAR7v-5qeyk3Xmg9ZcrtEmI-ss_4F3nN1zNYIKHzAcIbfs9iI-s0ZCvW0Uvew8byGz6hj6Q/w400-h313/Anybody's%20Woman.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">As in her amazing 1932 picture <i>Merrily We Go to Hell</i>, Arzner shows a knack for capturing the acute embarrassment of drunken behaviour and the strain it can place on a relationship, with a ruined dinner party being a particular highlight in this film. Ruth Chatterton is wonderful as the down on her luck ex-showgirl who gets accidentally married to a drunken lawyer and resolves to make a go of it, despite being very out of place among his high society circle. Arzner's direction is full of neat touches – the business with the fans is a delightful callback – and she stages scenes with some excellent and inventive blocking.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>29 – Any Number Can Win (Henri Verneuil, 1963) – Ciné Lumière, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehUSTKx8iwencaxU4VmfpuE88P5SpN9Efg_hh7eF4vsX20riejRLn1DgBQ_MNdNkya729SjVa5Q60KQSCf8VSpTXo3cy6oAYnsEu1Jx4VfMCS-3lErPeWlRkS00RW8kmmX-53-vrpWKaRsYUfG703Wpums93sgBG7sZuQosiL0ttNIv0QQ_c/s1440/Any%20Number%20Can%20Win.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1440" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjehUSTKx8iwencaxU4VmfpuE88P5SpN9Efg_hh7eF4vsX20riejRLn1DgBQ_MNdNkya729SjVa5Q60KQSCf8VSpTXo3cy6oAYnsEu1Jx4VfMCS-3lErPeWlRkS00RW8kmmX-53-vrpWKaRsYUfG703Wpums93sgBG7sZuQosiL0ttNIv0QQ_c/w400-h209/Any%20Number%20Can%20Win.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The chief pleasure of this slow-burning Cannes-set thriller is watching two generations of French stars play off each other, with the disparity between their screen personae being reflected in their characters. As the grumpy old-school crook, Jean Gabin is stolid and precise, while his partner Alain Delon is flashy, arrogant and more of a wildcard. It's also a pleasure to watch the work of cinematographer Louis Page, who produces some exceptional widescreen compositions and does great work with minimal light during the heist. Henri Verneuil takes his time getting to the heist itself, and he throws in a number of elements – the wife, the dancer, the shaky brother-in-law – that feel like setups for something but are dropped as soon as their purpose in the plot has been fulfilled. This keeps the film tense and unpredictable right up to the extraordinary ending, which is reminiscent of Kubrick's <i>The Killing</i> but has a strange and lyrical quality that is most unexpected.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>28 – Private Property (Leslie Stevens, 1960) – Filmothèque du quartier latin, Paris, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Tj3bjDsvPp9x9OPy2ma0A4QT15Y89xD09iEItLb4DpDDhDMx3d7d7w19ro06VylU7RzEQD3GJDh_MC2NXlBPLxPgtJpwc4CDyXVFv9_2q3TR-PKASbTehDxRICUexzw_Sygz_eBjw9Zw-HehhfGcl_8vySEEpkkFPengmxtXNuFeWm7GIVc/s3000/Private%20Property.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="3000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Tj3bjDsvPp9x9OPy2ma0A4QT15Y89xD09iEItLb4DpDDhDMx3d7d7w19ro06VylU7RzEQD3GJDh_MC2NXlBPLxPgtJpwc4CDyXVFv9_2q3TR-PKASbTehDxRICUexzw_Sygz_eBjw9Zw-HehhfGcl_8vySEEpkkFPengmxtXNuFeWm7GIVc/w400-h240/Private%20Property.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A dark and twisted little picture about two drifters (Corey Allen and Warren Oates, in one of his earliest roles) who follow a rich wife home with the intention of seducing her. The film is a slow-burning psychosexual thriller. As the two men lurk in the abandoned house next door, we see glimpses of the wife and her husband (Kate Manx and Robert Ward) and get a sense of the dissatisfaction that leaves her open to the advances of the confident and charismatic Allen, who approaches her while the more awkward (and possibly gay) Oates watches from the sidelines. Shot on a tiny budget, this is a tightly focused and potent piece of filmmaking that benefits greatly from some terrifically imaginative and purposeful cinematography by Ted McCord, which often puts us in the voyeurs' perspective; at one point, the window they spy on her from is framed as if they are watching TV. (The underwater shots were captured by another great: Conrad Hall.) <i>Private Property</i> is unnerving and suggestive, and it's perhaps unsurprising that it was condemned by the Legion of Decency upon its release, before slipping into obscurity soon after. Now restored, it's a very welcome rediscovery.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>27 – The Runner (Amir Naderi, 1984) – Close-Up, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_z1OA4Zi2QulAOQ31iX3Vno_ChlTLFRTL3zg1YIaHH4pgsPeRRhziC9McP0sPhl96nf9H7wW56Ast2SyUupuxYLsl8vrfUOdmtgbkXg6egZcCfH8pVzau1Xaecndkq6vjxVnqvxy3OG6mDGm-9_xFbqeC3MH2ApIy7cYJl3QlLKrTZpPwuk/s1200/The%20Runner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_z1OA4Zi2QulAOQ31iX3Vno_ChlTLFRTL3zg1YIaHH4pgsPeRRhziC9McP0sPhl96nf9H7wW56Ast2SyUupuxYLsl8vrfUOdmtgbkXg6egZcCfH8pVzau1Xaecndkq6vjxVnqvxy3OG6mDGm-9_xFbqeC3MH2ApIy7cYJl3QlLKrTZpPwuk/w400-h266/The%20Runner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is yet another of the great Iranian films about childhood. Played with irrepressible spirit by Madjid Niroumand, Amiro is an orphan who does whatever he can to earn money – collecting bottles, shining shoes, selling ice water – and as he strives against the odds we see his unshakeable determination and resilience. The film is plotless, unfolding as a series of moments that follow Amiro and his pals at work and play, and Naderi lets their energy dictate the rhythm of the film, resulting in a film that feels thrillingly alive from one scene to the next. The Runner is visually stunning, making brilliant use of locations, and Firooz Malekzadeh's camera captures a series of breathtaking compositions – I loved the shot of Amiro cycling down the runway in front of a plane, or the incredible triumphant shot of him holding his block of ice aloft against the backdrop of the oil fires. Amiro's desire for escape and education gives <i>The Runner </i>a powerful sense of poignancy and resonance.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>26 – Cheshmeh<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>(Arby Ovanessian, 1972) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_2tnQ97P34X1aF633x_8QlQbjqPdwJeNPrskh1h5IJjo3zgqljyRg7D2TipzMSbyrss_3pLDd-pqu5tjvveP9nQoYMI-QcwMXL-cvGbyRoadbafy-P-mHCbpHStmDveuDIA0llQfQfGLue3LDh57rfyrHWFj43iYi-zrOLEwZ5OwqjS5CgA/s992/Cheshmeh.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="992" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_2tnQ97P34X1aF633x_8QlQbjqPdwJeNPrskh1h5IJjo3zgqljyRg7D2TipzMSbyrss_3pLDd-pqu5tjvveP9nQoYMI-QcwMXL-cvGbyRoadbafy-P-mHCbpHStmDveuDIA0llQfQfGLue3LDh57rfyrHWFj43iYi-zrOLEwZ5OwqjS5CgA/w400-h323/Cheshmeh.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In his introduction to this, his only film as a director, Arby Ovanessian talked about the importance of establishing a specifically Iranian tempo in this film at a time when most Iranian cinema was following the rhythm of the commercial cinema from America, France or Russia. This film could be quite a straightforward tale of forbidden love, but he has created an enigmatic, poetic, dreamlike picture that slowly and steadily cast me under its spell. With its deliberate movement and gestures, repetitive rhythms and cryptic conversations, the film it most reminded me of was <i>Last Year at Marienbad</i>, while the luminous cinematography by Ne’mat Haghighi put me in mind of Subrata Mitra's work. The film is full of beautiful frames and bold cuts. It's mysterious and often elusive, but I found it really hypnotic and feel so lucky to have had the chance to see it on the only print that exists, which was thankfully archived by Henri Langlois shortly after the film's first paris screening.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>25 – Who Takes Love Seriously? (Erich Engel, 1931) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdQCrSifs8F0216a38xlAWT00mA3HTvccSi9GgbZKBIle92ymuSQMR7EpuYxYy4bDLesxFEsXehhkWgd2MJKA3iMYJwRhu_r8h7TaC-tGMlrgk1vS-DKFDZH6rnDQOrpC_-RTIT0xYk2u5ADtvPWAAfZESu3b_ej6BrGg0EzM7saHDcSwrzg/s480/Who%20Takes%20Love%20Seriously.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdQCrSifs8F0216a38xlAWT00mA3HTvccSi9GgbZKBIle92ymuSQMR7EpuYxYy4bDLesxFEsXehhkWgd2MJKA3iMYJwRhu_r8h7TaC-tGMlrgk1vS-DKFDZH6rnDQOrpC_-RTIT0xYk2u5ADtvPWAAfZESu3b_ej6BrGg0EzM7saHDcSwrzg/w400-h300/Who%20Takes%20Love%20Seriously.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This charming German comedy gets going with a fun meet-cute, as Max Hansen and Jenny Jugo are forced into cohabitation after he dives into her bed to evade the police. Hansen, who was loathed by the Nazis (he performed a skit in 1932 that portrayed Hitler as a homosexual), is an energetic and endearing comic performer, and he has a sparkling chemistry with Jugo. The film sets up and executes a number imaginative and funny gags </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– particularly in the long sequence at the fair </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">and has a pointed take on class distinctions in 1930s Germany, with the cunning showed by Hansen and his pal (Willi Schur) allowing them to outwit the bourgeoisie, here embodied by Otto Wallburg.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>24 – Bones (Ernest R. Dickerson, 2001) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglV2vlZ2JurOxogInM-h11JRP3slWyoyfuwa7a-x9dJn2YF_rlFPlp3XzNtHHEN0nvqrRX6QXth2FHZ_qkRNo1PokrHr-lwgq3Nivn-m3zX5wXshrtPaY1dxGLGL8hGEHIw3x_sdZPcNyhDlorL_erajx6xmryAgm2UHHGMYYbBtssFachEuQ/s1326/Bones.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="1326" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglV2vlZ2JurOxogInM-h11JRP3slWyoyfuwa7a-x9dJn2YF_rlFPlp3XzNtHHEN0nvqrRX6QXth2FHZ_qkRNo1PokrHr-lwgq3Nivn-m3zX5wXshrtPaY1dxGLGL8hGEHIw3x_sdZPcNyhDlorL_erajx6xmryAgm2UHHGMYYbBtssFachEuQ/w400-h210/Bones.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Bones </i>feels like a mashup of haunted house, zombie, vampire, and blaxploitation movies, and it's directed with real style. There are some very impressive and icky practical effects (the City of the Dead sequence put me in mind of Brian Yuzna's <i>Society</i>), and Dickerson stages a couple of fine set-pieces, notably the one involving a huge amount of maggots. Snoop Dogg is the ex-crime boss resurrected from the dead and in search of revenge, and Pam Grier is his psychic ex-lover, and the plot is neatly set up to pay off in a pretty satisfying way. It's got some sharp and funny lines too; I loved it when Snoop was carrying around the still-talking severed head of one of his victims, who says, "I killed you, you killed me, we're even! Damn, why you gotta get all meta-fucking-physical?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>23 – Canoa: A Shameful Memory (Felipe Cazals, 1976) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Z5EajuaIbSVFPzXh8APJeawdl4GxT8ToETgtWMIDxmXETBxYNNaTwAcAisgmcBYZ_4X00gOfhth1nL9UYxdOvuHgTdB57c9piaJF8KWNtrlBQ8_dxEBvLFqKVJQfQVTYKkSmklWn6uhInUVBC2_45j7AzEx0dpHUKilQlFqLsFcsk5DImIc/s1500/Canoa%20A%20Shameful%20Memory.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="1500" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Z5EajuaIbSVFPzXh8APJeawdl4GxT8ToETgtWMIDxmXETBxYNNaTwAcAisgmcBYZ_4X00gOfhth1nL9UYxdOvuHgTdB57c9piaJF8KWNtrlBQ8_dxEBvLFqKVJQfQVTYKkSmklWn6uhInUVBC2_45j7AzEx0dpHUKilQlFqLsFcsk5DImIc/w400-h215/Canoa%20A%20Shameful%20Memory.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This film recreates the lynching of five students by an angry mob that took place in Canoa in September 1968, and Felipe Cazals presents this horrific act in meticulous detail. The violence is brutal and sickening. These villagers were whipped up into a frenzy by the all-powerful local priest, who had accused the innocent students of being Communists plotting to destroy their way of life. The Church is portrayed here as a criminal racket, leeching money from the poor villagers and controlling how the mostly illiterate masses receive their news. Cazals takes a faux-documentary approach in the long build-up to the explosion of violence, including having characters break the fourth wall, and the film's take on the power of right-wing rhetoric and propaganda to stir up hatred feels powerfully resonant.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>22 – Robin Hood (Allan Dwan, 1922) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0VGUBGGUke1Jq_KP5588oH5SncHSeHhTAaCjreY-iDCIv_QpxU9Ywd5YNvghE36W_va2PYvadpTn_yKnbloHfLh8drwn-tbI79XZcmTRnMkt6WG9Z7giUG_xj79-NkOaGL6I_LIn6XVCr6qGRL4ZfqXVe4YeYe9Kd3w79gn8waBJ3hf7nxA/s1000/Robin%20Hood.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="795" data-original-width="1000" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn0VGUBGGUke1Jq_KP5588oH5SncHSeHhTAaCjreY-iDCIv_QpxU9Ywd5YNvghE36W_va2PYvadpTn_yKnbloHfLh8drwn-tbI79XZcmTRnMkt6WG9Z7giUG_xj79-NkOaGL6I_LIn6XVCr6qGRL4ZfqXVe4YeYe9Kd3w79gn8waBJ3hf7nxA/w400-h318/Robin%20Hood.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A hundred years on, this remains an incredible spectacle. The sets are huge and packed with countless extras, while the production and costume design (the latter by Mitchell Leisen) was clearly crafted with an eye for realism and detail. Fairbanks doesn't appear in his Robin Hood guise until more than half of the movie has elapsed, but I love the way he is introduced; we see a number of his arrows targeting Prince John's men, before he fleetingly appears at the castle windows and leads the soldiers on a merry dance. Fairbanks is marvellous, but everyone is on very good form here, with Dwan creating a thrilling adventure that is well-paced, superbly shot, witty and surprisingly violent.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>21 – The Branches of the Tree (Satyajit Ray, 1990) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS17yEHBDh9iaWxEATB-Mj3t_v6Obav9vVVlE4gxONLOegn5tcFyWUeVRLYTSGlo-ItbzGOXRQkYHlx7BtMProhyElEUvrXs81IKBURsRYd1YEtfVp2dOte1g4QVEmOL4cFhwls1Lycrz9aKSRj6ZqIaCGbxPtgn8O5etyUq1t15QfzlsA3OM/s1280/The%20Branches%20of%20the%20Tree.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS17yEHBDh9iaWxEATB-Mj3t_v6Obav9vVVlE4gxONLOegn5tcFyWUeVRLYTSGlo-ItbzGOXRQkYHlx7BtMProhyElEUvrXs81IKBURsRYd1YEtfVp2dOte1g4QVEmOL4cFhwls1Lycrz9aKSRj6ZqIaCGbxPtgn8O5etyUq1t15QfzlsA3OM/w400-h225/The%20Branches%20of%20the%20Tree.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This was Satyajit Ray's penultimate film, and although it's a story he had written decades earlier, it's impossible to miss the personal resonance in the story of a 70-year-old man recovering from a heart attack. Ray's health problems restricted him to making a film that takes place almost entirely indoors, but his effortless grasp of film craft ensures the film never feels stagey or static. This is a consummate late film, directed with an elegant simplicity and economy. The fluid camerawork is always shifting in and out of close-ups and finding new compositions within the scene, and Ray subtly shifts our perspective on these characters too, as he reveals his theme of moral corruption through a series of absorbing conversations. The ending is very touching. A superb late work from a master.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>20 – Turtle Diary (John Irvin, 1985) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyfy61mp3moOkBMw9bFi4JoIoZMXcYjY6HaYL5MgFLkF9Hm1qZPG6EopE1eD5tzBg4Dh1_D-02xZMlwDES26vLvTkfmZcNSywoC1jS2Xz9jw50kDsf2BNRroX8g9lH_UPOuvnV0cv53XRj9PkZKdVvarZnWmhXQ1s_x6P-u8ZdWsc0jBNavA/s2048/Turtle%20Diary.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1369" data-original-width="2048" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCyfy61mp3moOkBMw9bFi4JoIoZMXcYjY6HaYL5MgFLkF9Hm1qZPG6EopE1eD5tzBg4Dh1_D-02xZMlwDES26vLvTkfmZcNSywoC1jS2Xz9jw50kDsf2BNRroX8g9lH_UPOuvnV0cv53XRj9PkZKdVvarZnWmhXQ1s_x6P-u8ZdWsc0jBNavA/w400-h268/Turtle%20Diary.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I guess you could call this picture a heist film, but it's a heist film with no tension and no peril. Glenda Jackson and Ben Kingsley decide to steal three sea turtles from London Zoo to release them into the ocean, and they just do it with relative ease, thanks to the help of a jovial and completely unfazed zookeeper played by Michael Gambon. The film is really about these lonely and stuck characters liberating themselves and finding a connection with each other, and all of Harold Pinter's efforts go into developing this aspect of the film, with the great turtle robbery being almost incidental. The film is full of awkward encounters between people who each have their own quirks, and Pinter's writing is perfect for these lonely English eccentrics. <i>Turtle Diary</i> is a resolutely low-key picture that trundles along at its own gentle pace and takes a number of unexpected detours. It's funny and odd and occasionally quite sad, and I was completely charmed by it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>19 – Thampˉ (Aravindan Govindan, 1978) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0WeoLdHp7RjoBZT9429DpsaWkoVA7vlTGXhLuV-_UiToz23s4fpdLrbNhZPKiEIrSunphHZk0_-Yk-go2HZeMnIMHDwwUcdP4wQ6SkvJNVqGBD7oAQw7-shQpQeFlbpo3jNjOX-I82AbpMIfMSl_ZcXu-qTisVXIcD9TSTaDSwSMKbFnAqI/s856/Thamp%CB%89.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="856" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP0WeoLdHp7RjoBZT9429DpsaWkoVA7vlTGXhLuV-_UiToz23s4fpdLrbNhZPKiEIrSunphHZk0_-Yk-go2HZeMnIMHDwwUcdP4wQ6SkvJNVqGBD7oAQw7-shQpQeFlbpo3jNjOX-I82AbpMIfMSl_ZcXu-qTisVXIcD9TSTaDSwSMKbFnAqI/w400-h225/Thamp%CB%89.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Aravindan Govindan apparently began this project with a script that ran to just four pages, and he discovered the rest during the production. There is often something Wiseman-like about the footage he captures of this travelling circus as they bring their show into town and perform for the villagers, whose delighted reaction shots are a highlight. The cinematography is stunning throughout, and although the film unfolds at a steady pace and creates a repetitive rhythm, it is usually entrancing. There are also some remarkably potent moments when Govindan gets some of the older members of the troupe to stare directly at the camera as we hear their inner monologue. They tell us how they joined the circus as young children, how many decades they have been performing for, and how tired they are.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>18 – Never on Sunday (Jules Dassin, 1960) – Ciné Lumière, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnco1-AD4y_W8pmhVPvK8ihqGvdZPz1TvFfJ3xfh3tS2_puXne7MofqGkdOam-bK6tuzVrVRhGd2vuUIqipBPtObAWdLfAzPo3YHdWgYXfjkX9IXQ858LRHvVij7GqonI5FYpb1D97fIeT7RdFkq5aEq6iaSMUarSRincpXyjCbEfXYWEumno/s3500/Never%20on%20Sunday.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2280" data-original-width="3500" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnco1-AD4y_W8pmhVPvK8ihqGvdZPz1TvFfJ3xfh3tS2_puXne7MofqGkdOam-bK6tuzVrVRhGd2vuUIqipBPtObAWdLfAzPo3YHdWgYXfjkX9IXQ858LRHvVij7GqonI5FYpb1D97fIeT7RdFkq5aEq6iaSMUarSRincpXyjCbEfXYWEumno/w400-h260/Never%20on%20Sunday.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Melina Mercouri's effervescent spirit is this movie's driving force. From the moment Ilya encourages all the dock workers to leap into the sea in the opening scene, it's clear that she has the entire island captivated, and the audience soon falls under her spell too. Dassin casts himself (with more enthusiasm than skill) as American tourist Homer, who sees her as a symbol of a lost Greek civilisation. He vows to educate her and to rescue her against her will from a life of prostitution and fantasy, but the film skewers Homer's pretension and condescension rather than try to force a romantic Pygmalion narrative on Ilya. The story is slight but Dassin's direction is full of lively frames and he makes great use of the Greek locations. I also enjoyed Ilya's habit of rewriting Greek tragedies with a happy ending, concluding them all with the line "and they all go to the seashore!"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>17 – My Name is Nobody (Tonino Valerii, 1973) – Christine 21, Paris, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZAxGnJEFUAYQJs0ANQSMEEnQ5jXg3ld8STF5I_tHbDU6Nt67AoGtUzEX8h7CYocY2b23cnO99VNB22vTIwcGnuwITezS5PG4i0ErHMulrNxigvsWouelIV5HrJY3xoVUJsSSMMzMJ3hF7vZFmwP0Bt0kPTWVOuqbVhI49vg9BAxUj1CWBuU/s1200/My%20Name%20is%20Nobody.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="885" data-original-width="1200" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ZAxGnJEFUAYQJs0ANQSMEEnQ5jXg3ld8STF5I_tHbDU6Nt67AoGtUzEX8h7CYocY2b23cnO99VNB22vTIwcGnuwITezS5PG4i0ErHMulrNxigvsWouelIV5HrJY3xoVUJsSSMMzMJ3hF7vZFmwP0Bt0kPTWVOuqbVhI49vg9BAxUj1CWBuU/w400-h295/My%20Name%20is%20Nobody.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sergio Leone came up with the idea for <i>My Name is Nobody</i> and produced it, and the film plays as a tongue-in-cheek sendup of his movies (while also taking some jabs at Peckinpah). Henry Fonda is the veteran lawman heading towards retirement, and Terence Hill is the cocky young sharpshooter who idolises him and wants to see him go out in a blaze of glory. There's hardly anything to the plot here, and the near-two-hour running time has an awful lot of padding, but plenty of that padding is very funny. Terence Hill plays his role as a kind of living cartoon with his manic energy contrasting sharply with the stoic, weary Fonda. Valerii doesn't have Leone's vision or panache, but he pulls off some good set-pieces, including the drunken shooting match that ends with Hill repeatedly slapping a guy, an amusing spin on the old shootout in a hall of mirrors gag, and the climactic shootout between Fonda and 150 marauding bandits. Morricone's score is one of his most playful, as he pastiches his own work and even riffs on Ride of the Valkyries.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>16 – Little Friend (Berthold Viertel, 1934) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPI2ie2IRCbEhSXdbktN3_sOCzv8ke6eAMTb6DTr9ynF5Q4Wh_zy9fTuCW02TpIOUP37nQw70oZfbOIjGGc3Ql1zo2t4X17boePr4beZO-X6aALMB8I3eX8rwFPhUpaOw2ZMJ2geODGBzTlo_vrYocTnRHGzT9BvPTrkU1AXOO8VGm-yuxqvA/s2048/Little%20Friend.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPI2ie2IRCbEhSXdbktN3_sOCzv8ke6eAMTb6DTr9ynF5Q4Wh_zy9fTuCW02TpIOUP37nQw70oZfbOIjGGc3Ql1zo2t4X17boePr4beZO-X6aALMB8I3eX8rwFPhUpaOw2ZMJ2geODGBzTlo_vrYocTnRHGzT9BvPTrkU1AXOO8VGm-yuxqvA/s320/Little%20Friend.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This remarkable film is the story of a fractious divorce as seen through the eyes of a child. The child in question is played by 14 year-old Nova Pilbeam - in the same year she appeared in Hitchcock's The Man who Knew Too Much - and she gives a nuanced and skilful performance that really brings to life the surprising psychological and emotional complexity at the heart of the story. There's a strong Germanic influence on this British picture, thanks to director Berthold Viertel, cinematographer Günther Krampf and art director Alfred Junge (it was also written by Christopher Isherwood, just returned from Berlin), and while some of the direction can feel stiff, the film boasts numerous bold and surprising sequences that feel heavily indebted to German expressionism. I also thoroughly enjoyed the extremely funny and charming performance by Jimmy Hanley as the cockney errand boy Felicity develops a crush on, much to the disdain of her sneering friends.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>15 – Phil-for-Short (Oscar Apfel, 1919) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN84SkRU1En7WAkaWtfyEXcIVCWq7JQ2p63dm7LRC9H4_7JcXu78MWeOodXInnmDzd_pwwGYPzSVR2ppakqJ0dBjYRjgOhHePBNWfFpfKbMNEAiQz68N4snabxKmO5JUJdClDBwR8f2J5M3iivC0nJa-NUSSm3d7Uu8WhoWNrhQc-j6ZTpHU/s752/Phil-for-Short.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="752" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN84SkRU1En7WAkaWtfyEXcIVCWq7JQ2p63dm7LRC9H4_7JcXu78MWeOodXInnmDzd_pwwGYPzSVR2ppakqJ0dBjYRjgOhHePBNWfFpfKbMNEAiQz68N4snabxKmO5JUJdClDBwR8f2J5M3iivC0nJa-NUSSm3d7Uu8WhoWNrhQc-j6ZTpHU/w400-h299/Phil-for-Short.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The protagonist of this film is named Damophilia, and she opts for this shortened version over "Damn." She's a tomboy who prefers to dress in male clothes, and runs away to avoid marriage, before getting romantically involved with a professor who hates women and flees at the sight of them. Clara Beranger's script is smartly written, building in references to Sappho and withholding the identity of one key character for the film's punchline. There is some suggestive dialogue in the intertitles, and the film makes amusing observations on male/female dynamics. Oscar Apfel's direction boasts some tight comic staging and Evelyn Greeley's effervescent lead performance is a real treat. It's a very enjoyable film and it certainly deserved better than the review Variety gave it in 1919. Their bizarre reaction was to dismiss it as "a sissy play, too nice for our boys; we want them to be manly."</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>14 – Black on White + Sixtynine (Jörn Donner, 1968/1969) – Close-Up, 35mm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPytldsjJ6JjNx99CSUTTamcaehE6A_8k2Erwbg-E5ERfg5qsGsqNjwCgSKQmq2trp1D9ffE6OcsR87oikVNSqRh5WiqLNvIZhqO0rZ96FtOD6EAxWzccbg9G-32AL37YIAv25QboLY4hcPxuiWxeNZpcLHFRU_cTNih1XABOy43wODdRUz44/s1200/Donner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPytldsjJ6JjNx99CSUTTamcaehE6A_8k2Erwbg-E5ERfg5qsGsqNjwCgSKQmq2trp1D9ffE6OcsR87oikVNSqRh5WiqLNvIZhqO0rZ96FtOD6EAxWzccbg9G-32AL37YIAv25QboLY4hcPxuiWxeNZpcLHFRU_cTNih1XABOy43wODdRUz44/w400-h266/Donner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This was an intriguing introduction to the work of the Finnish filmmaker and polymath Jörn Donner. In Black on White he </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">cast himself as the unlikeable and pathetic protagonist, a married salesman who embarks on an affair with his teenage colleague. The film is a satire on late-60s Finnish society, highlighting its shallow, bourgeois and misogynistic aspects, and he stages a couple of terrific sequences, especially the office party that gets progressively drunker, messier and more depressing. Donner furthered his interest in </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">sex and infidelity with Sixtynine, which apparently scandalised Finland when it was released. Sixtynine stars the excellent Ritva Vepsä as a woman who catches her husband cheating and retaliates by having an affair with her gynaecologist (played by Donner). The film jumps between each of these relationships and appears to come to the conclusion that the cheating of both parties is the secret to a contented marriage. It's another lively and funny picture, full of ideas and provocations.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>13 Hoffman (Alvin Rakoff, 1970) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ytVw83xYUJYU_XVYxAMaZe8sFfhpy4X5LNr7J6JZc6rlVPWnatHItOpvtzTDMv4Qmy3qIxR7OayAyXzyz9nJZg313Sw0htjIIOCdEYDgoQaAg_6WAveFtoIg96TbjJH8H7aM4h9WybyNCErl9KTzr_W-0NEAnaw30qRTDGt4ZE0cD9LtS9U/s1280/Hoffman.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="766" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ytVw83xYUJYU_XVYxAMaZe8sFfhpy4X5LNr7J6JZc6rlVPWnatHItOpvtzTDMv4Qmy3qIxR7OayAyXzyz9nJZg313Sw0htjIIOCdEYDgoQaAg_6WAveFtoIg96TbjJH8H7aM4h9WybyNCErl9KTzr_W-0NEAnaw30qRTDGt4ZE0cD9LtS9U/w400-h240/Hoffman.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Peter Sellers tried to have <i>Hoffman </i>suppressed before it was released, feeling that his performance had revealed too much of himself. It certainly is a fascinating and compelling piece of work. Sellers is the besotted loner who blackmails his young secretary into spending a week living at his flat, and as creepy and misogynistic as this man often is, the actor creates moments when he evokes an unexpected sympathy. The film is essentially a two-hander between Sellers and the equally impressive Sinead Cusack, and it's a pleasure to watch these two play off each other. <i>Hoffman </i>never probes the complexities of this relationship and power dynamic as deeply as it might have, and it has a terribly weak and rushed ending, but it's absorbing viewing. This screening was introduced by its 93 year-old director who shared some good stories about the Peter Sellers experience, including the star once turning up to a meeting in lederhosen under the misguided belief that Hoffman should be played as an Austrian.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>12 – The Hunter's Diary (Kō Nakahira, 1964) – ICA, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDLI4E6Cpps-fZDCgR9xrZz6Fo81E1mLo7RLmFVNDIFITw9shlHvpd8TWpFM_haDGL-yHz4nVB8s0Fws8dXyRQxZcWlAtqZ5m0-9qheh94uNMUh1K0-Cp8rLn3wwbBTK6GIe21ITituU-PmoytmPVeDuw1vmQN6vyH4pmGDRHwYXmDxpZv8E/s1600/The%20Hunter's%20Diary.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1257" data-original-width="1600" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDLI4E6Cpps-fZDCgR9xrZz6Fo81E1mLo7RLmFVNDIFITw9shlHvpd8TWpFM_haDGL-yHz4nVB8s0Fws8dXyRQxZcWlAtqZ5m0-9qheh94uNMUh1K0-Cp8rLn3wwbBTK6GIe21ITituU-PmoytmPVeDuw1vmQN6vyH4pmGDRHwYXmDxpZv8E/w400-h314/The%20Hunter's%20Diary.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This astonishing film is a rarity </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">apparently it's not even available on DVD in Japan </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">so it was a real privilege to discover it on an absolutely stunning 35mm print. It's a riveting and stylish thriller with a dark sense of humour. Noboru Nakaya stars as a serial womaniser who carefully chooses his 'prey' and keeps a diary detailing his various conquests, ultimately finding himself in a tight spot when his one-night stands start being murdered. The second half of the film follows a lawyer and his young assistant (Kazuo Kitamura and Yukiyo Toake, both excellent) as they dig into the case and uncover an unbelievably convoluted revenge plot. Their investigations take them through a cross-section of Japanese society </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">including nightclubs, a massage parlour and a gay bar </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">and all of these locations are brilliantly captured by Yoshihiro Yamazaki's atmospheric widescreen compositions. <i>The Hunter's Diary</i> can be really funny at times (the lawyer's response to his wife giving birth had me cackling), but it also serves up a nightmarish, Cronenbergian image that I won't soon forget.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>11 – Dancing in the Rain (Boštjan Hladnik, 1961) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_w_1OJcL6n_dV2ZdsUPegltaMzUIqDsp63NBwtzXY54Y59dA-crj9MIuz5Jx-iU5ULYJ6-M-s1OvpIjuqFWRMPAgMdlFcG95546ke6hTNqnsguBQKYBTsX2pmETFZLX3JxG7blbzAdUkdfM9SjapQolz4J0jrDfJwsxMjO5ot6INEWY1lD8/s1200/Dancing%20in%20the%20Rain.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_w_1OJcL6n_dV2ZdsUPegltaMzUIqDsp63NBwtzXY54Y59dA-crj9MIuz5Jx-iU5ULYJ6-M-s1OvpIjuqFWRMPAgMdlFcG95546ke6hTNqnsguBQKYBTsX2pmETFZLX3JxG7blbzAdUkdfM9SjapQolz4J0jrDfJwsxMjO5ot6INEWY1lD8/w400-h225/Dancing%20in%20the%20Rain.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Reality is my enemy" one character says in this film, and it gets increasingly hard to separate reality from fantasy as the four unhappy individuals in this sombre but vibrantly directed drama get lost in their private reveries. I've rarely seen a film segue into flashbacks and dream sequences as ingeniously as <i>Dancing in the Rain</i>, with Boštjan Hladnik often staging them within the scenes the characters are currently in, and skilfully using lighting changes to mark the transitions. He also uses exaggerated and incredibly aggressive sound effects to accentuate his characters' psychological states, and he incorporates a young couple who we see fleetingly throughout the film to represent the ideal romantic love that is out of reach for the film's subjects.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>10 – Killing Time + Fannie's Film<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>(Fronza Woods, 1979/1981) – ICA, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-h7LZ471Dq69ieD-r6LEf1KSFflxOneqIx1vyXsl3tR8M5u-1IXqnXu9tSOTq9gsV9dNQJi14yCfju9n0Nu4efliKQNP2UYIDkzkkhkC5FU3HEp68SjGqFiFXDXjDz6afR5QFB-qHYI0DQ6538JsUkaW5I0nu5E0H1IwlIEr2WcOXC9nNgQ/s1000/Killing%20Time%20+%20Fannie's%20Film.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1000" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-h7LZ471Dq69ieD-r6LEf1KSFflxOneqIx1vyXsl3tR8M5u-1IXqnXu9tSOTq9gsV9dNQJi14yCfju9n0Nu4efliKQNP2UYIDkzkkhkC5FU3HEp68SjGqFiFXDXjDz6afR5QFB-qHYI0DQ6538JsUkaW5I0nu5E0H1IwlIEr2WcOXC9nNgQ/w400-h300/Killing%20Time%20+%20Fannie's%20Film.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">A complete retrospective of the work of Fronza Woods unfortunately only runs to around 25 minutes. These are two beautifully crafted shorts, though. <i>Killing Time</i> is about a young woman planning her suicide but constantly getting waylaid by her struggle to find the perfect pose and outfit to be found dead in. It's a very sharp and funny one-woman show that builds to a great punchline. I was even more taken with <i>Fannie's Film</i>, in which Woods profiles the 65 year-old cleaner who worked at the dance studio where she was a teacher. Although we might see her as someone living a hard life, she sounds contented with her lot and proud of the life she has lived, which has allowed her to support her family and given her financial independence. The way Woods lays her humble and philosophical commentary over footage of her cleaning or the dancers stretching (and admiring themselves in the mirrors) is superbly done. I really enjoyed hearing the forthright and self-effacing Woods talk about her work afterwards too, and one hopes these restorations will give her small gems a new lease of life.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>9 – Love Finds Andy Hardy (George B. Seitz, 1938) – BFI Southbank, 16mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbA2nPF7MT5s8066TILkc7i9viMYcvDCyH54N5rZtKeZgUEzE0xTYdYETcWoHMOVZ54qdYNcY0dLZr0Z67rhB8muxqfcDPVf1NHBgSDgWPbNN7w90uqegxF3XJTUIBWI0dG5iml3gALnFK6jOib_t0quKoUNwXS6_KMimHbKXskhuIGZ9QIE/s1600/Love%20Finds%20Andy%20Hardy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbA2nPF7MT5s8066TILkc7i9viMYcvDCyH54N5rZtKeZgUEzE0xTYdYETcWoHMOVZ54qdYNcY0dLZr0Z67rhB8muxqfcDPVf1NHBgSDgWPbNN7w90uqegxF3XJTUIBWI0dG5iml3gALnFK6jOib_t0quKoUNwXS6_KMimHbKXskhuIGZ9QIE/w400-h225/Love%20Finds%20Andy%20Hardy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mickey Rooney played Andy Hardy in 16 films over nine years at MGM! This is the first one I've seen, and after thoroughly enjoying myself I'd be happy to see more. Rooney gives an energetic performance, full of dynamic physicality and cartoonish expressions, and he's often very funny. The plot sees him mixed up with two girls played by Lana Turner and Ann Rutherford ("Polly, if you're still my girl after this mess is cleared up, I'll never go in for polygamy again!"), but the real star turn here is from 16 year-old Judy Garland. There's something incongruous about her playing the dowdy neighbour who bemoans her lack of glamour when her star quality is so evident, but she and Rooney are adorable together, and her performance of a couple of songs at the end is fantastic.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>8 – No Room for the Groom (Douglas Sirk, 1952) – La Cinémathèque française, Paris, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho1BFa2p7K9SKjfDjJ5rUw7VX9K6CvYCyLvxn0LbMM86GsSqIb66MV9cbVgLoIy7F3sw-YFTRrPY_KnA-GDEFOhI_SAc9e5ygVRlUCBavfLhsgLkWIzA2xvB4J38pfumjisy9dRiTTc34mp3_ughwYYU5QkYqAauR4Dd9tTAj5nVzYyYvKKmo/s1774/No%20Room%20for%20the%20Groom.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="1774" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho1BFa2p7K9SKjfDjJ5rUw7VX9K6CvYCyLvxn0LbMM86GsSqIb66MV9cbVgLoIy7F3sw-YFTRrPY_KnA-GDEFOhI_SAc9e5ygVRlUCBavfLhsgLkWIzA2xvB4J38pfumjisy9dRiTTc34mp3_ughwYYU5QkYqAauR4Dd9tTAj5nVzYyYvKKmo/w400-h205/No%20Room%20for%20the%20Groom.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This is a sorely undervalued film from Sirk's pre-melodrama late period.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Tony Curtis and Piper Laurie are the young couple who elope to escape her disapproving family, but then find it impossible to consummate their marriage, or even find a moment alone together. Joseph Hoffman's screenplay gets away with some extremely risqué gags, but it's also intelligent and pointed in its take on postwar married life and the dubious effects of America's capitalist progress. Curtis and Laurie are magic together, and Spring Byington is a hoot as Laurie's conniving, hypocritical mother. What really elevates the material to another level is Sirk's direction, as he demonstrates impeccable blocking and comic timing throughout. I wish I could have stayed in Paris longer and experienced the whole of this retrospective - such a comprehensive survey of this great director in London is long overdue.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>7 – Smog (Franco Rossi, 1962) – Cinema Lumière, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkDy7Wojori9Pl2sD_g5JrNaNanjFbz6JUlUgKeMpYbVgLCFe32LAOswXH0NeYopEyTLIJmSF5OZm_1pdX7qThaHzkPfSiHGc4_cprJJdII3iETNa4Ihgpx0NFen2fq9iQLlz9TgWN2luWySDPhml5SdnNvp957oAkSPE1-OJxr7-lwKqjFw/s818/Smog.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="818" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJkDy7Wojori9Pl2sD_g5JrNaNanjFbz6JUlUgKeMpYbVgLCFe32LAOswXH0NeYopEyTLIJmSF5OZm_1pdX7qThaHzkPfSiHGc4_cprJJdII3iETNa4Ihgpx0NFen2fq9iQLlz9TgWN2luWySDPhml5SdnNvp957oAkSPE1-OJxr7-lwKqjFw/w400-h299/Smog.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Smog </i>completely disappeared from view shortly after its Venice premiere in 1962, so this screening felt like a real discovery. It's an outsider's view of Los Angeles, following an Italian lawyer as he spends some time wandering around the city while waiting for a connecting flight. He doesn't speak the language, but he finds a small group of Italians who have semi-assimilated into American society, and the film follows him as he drifts from one encounter to the next. <i>Smog </i>traverses different social strata </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> from a young man doing various odd jobs to get by and a group of housewives learning Italian, to a party with one of the city's richest families </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">and it's a captivating experience. The style is strongly reminiscent of Antonioni (<i>La Notte</i> was released the previous year) and Rossi brilliantly exploits the locations and architecture he finds across the city, with cinematographer Ted McCord framing shots beautifully and doing some great work with reflections. I was engrossed in it and the abrupt, melancholy ending caught me off-guard.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>6 – The Pirate (Vincente Minnelli, 1948) – BFI Southbank, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBsTKl2Ss_K6cE87BVWqsc5clCmzGpNn-9_bpGqAEfHEMtSg3ao1XJDMfhkqD3Je__n2LZW7-sjjO-S2DFPvQ7QZx8CFY-74O9TW849sWH2QbYhUuGqy1FcIZbWaZLLr0AJZqbdHKPliV8wY__P0Ozfvu59egLMds9eGcUJlZDynHA0r9IgU/s1024/The%20Pirate.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="1024" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBsTKl2Ss_K6cE87BVWqsc5clCmzGpNn-9_bpGqAEfHEMtSg3ao1XJDMfhkqD3Je__n2LZW7-sjjO-S2DFPvQ7QZx8CFY-74O9TW849sWH2QbYhUuGqy1FcIZbWaZLLr0AJZqbdHKPliV8wY__P0Ozfvu59egLMds9eGcUJlZDynHA0r9IgU/w400-h306/The%20Pirate.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>The Pirate</i> was a big flop in 1948 and it was described by Cole Porter as "a $5,000,000 Hollywood picture that was unspeakably wretched, the worst that money could buy," but I adore it. The filmmakers fully embrace the ridiculousness of the plot to produce an extravagant spectacle that is hysterically funny, and <i>The Pirate</i> also boasts some of Minnelli's finest staging and camera movement. This is surely one of Garland's funniest performances; her dead faint is priceless, and I loved watching her destroy an entire room to vent her anger at Kelly. As for Kelly, he is on fire here (almost literally in Judy's erotic fantasy, which demonstrates just how lusty and uninhibited this film feels), with his extraordinary athleticism and charisma on full display. The 'Nina' number is as impressive as it is amusing, and watching Kelly perform alongside the Nicholas Brothers is a real thrill. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>5 – The Ninth Circle (France Štiglic, 1960) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGxZ1zS-SztzXi9reAIZw6VYuc5zrU4htHKc4ottiX1diNXEwH_YWe05XlVwXTiWy1akc4FG78UCNDomXhHjdEqmwyr1s1WQ6pKAZTeCR8K0J93-iMgufORiPxKdO5OZVgqxbIR69MMYyBwyK_25SG5s_1RLFy1kt-OwJ2jyW71W45xqqJFw/s4216/The%20Ninth%20Circle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3056" data-original-width="4216" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGxZ1zS-SztzXi9reAIZw6VYuc5zrU4htHKc4ottiX1diNXEwH_YWe05XlVwXTiWy1akc4FG78UCNDomXhHjdEqmwyr1s1WQ6pKAZTeCR8K0J93-iMgufORiPxKdO5OZVgqxbIR69MMYyBwyK_25SG5s_1RLFy1kt-OwJ2jyW71W45xqqJFw/w400-h290/The%20Ninth%20Circle.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The first Croatian film to be nominated for the Palme d'Or and an Academy Award, <i>The Ninth Circle </i>is the story of a Jewish teenager who witnesses her parents being taken by the Nazis and enters into a marriage of convenience with a Catholic family to avoid the same fate. Štiglic develops tension around Ruth's fear of discovery and Ivo's conflicted feelings over his role as husband, especially when his fellow students - some of whom have joined the fascist movement - learn about his marriage. Boris Dvornik and Dušica Žegarac bring a youthful earnestness and naïveté to their roles that I found very affecting. This beautifully crafted film is full of lyrical and evocative images. I loved the scene where an air raid siren clears the streets, allowing Ruth to walk freely in the park where she had previously been humiliated by a Nazi, and the simple shot of passing train carriages, with hands gripping the bars of every window, is very potent. Does the film grow increasingly implausible in the last twenty minutes? Undoubtedly, but this part of the film has a heightened nightmarish quality, which I was still entranced and moved by.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>4 – The Tulse Luper Suitcases (Peter Greenaway, 2003) – BFI Southbank, Digital</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NU-SxhlazJk74r8vKhCl3u7KT-zVW7Hu0fiyCZ4pVpFj2KYPE7CHgfdmyTA3lJuXpdm6CRYI3nEogL4mSyUTA1GGFAckwr1SDoe2nE9ldy3D7bi8V4QcjicNlImrf_cwYl12g80GSkQTaWN8i2-PD2Sac_agcQjy_gNhpKKLRSrbrpm5d8c/s1280/The%20Tulse%20Luper%20Suitcases.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4NU-SxhlazJk74r8vKhCl3u7KT-zVW7Hu0fiyCZ4pVpFj2KYPE7CHgfdmyTA3lJuXpdm6CRYI3nEogL4mSyUTA1GGFAckwr1SDoe2nE9ldy3D7bi8V4QcjicNlImrf_cwYl12g80GSkQTaWN8i2-PD2Sac_agcQjy_gNhpKKLRSrbrpm5d8c/w400-h225/The%20Tulse%20Luper%20Suitcases.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Peter Greenaway's extraordinarily ambitious and convoluted multimedia project was a big gap in my knowledge of one of my favourite directors for a long time, so getting the chance to experience it on the big screen this year was a true thrill. In its entirety, <i>The Tulse Luper Suitcases</i> consisted of films, books, an exhibition, multiple DVDs and two websites, all of which are connected to the picaresque adventures of Tulse Luper, as he travelled through America and Europe, filling 92 suitcases with items to represent the world. Greenaway puts all of these suitcases into the film. He also puts academics on screen and sometimes into scenes to explain Luper's life. Sometimes he cuts between different takes within a scene, with different actors, and he shows us line readings from other actors who auditioned for these roles! Then he has actors reading their lines straight to camera exactly as they are saying the same lines in the scene, and with the script being printed on screen too! It's a whole lot of stuff, basically. Every scene is densely packed with allusions and references, and the graphics and effects (with their very early-2000s CD-ROM aesthetic) make everything even more cluttered. The shaggy-dog nature of the narrative can leave it feeling bloated and exhausting, but it's relentlessly stimulating – even the longueurs in these films always offer something to grab your attention – and incredibly fun to watch. A singular project from a one-of-a-kind artist. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>3 – The State of Things (Wim Wenders, 1982) – Curzon Soho, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLq_EpiiexNUHXodi5Uw_PyCqPuRBx77SnJp6x3Z4aX--ZgjR4KDMLkidV1D7YDSTXe7uhlhR0RGapFbetCsGDfuNR9XkHtgIip6x6fqtlu2lYkCaN9maPbd51CAP-d0oufXsMCcn6bMbeDNnBU2LNC4Yo08YDLB6_yJASj-br4GFWUize37A/s1280/The%20State%20of%20Things.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLq_EpiiexNUHXodi5Uw_PyCqPuRBx77SnJp6x3Z4aX--ZgjR4KDMLkidV1D7YDSTXe7uhlhR0RGapFbetCsGDfuNR9XkHtgIip6x6fqtlu2lYkCaN9maPbd51CAP-d0oufXsMCcn6bMbeDNnBU2LNC4Yo08YDLB6_yJASj-br4GFWUize37A/w400-h225/The%20State%20of%20Things.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">When Francis Ford Coppola shut down the <i>Hammett </i>production mid-shoot to demand rewrites, Wim Wenders went to Portugal to help Raúl Ruiz finish his movie, and then used much of Ruiz's crew to come up with an impromptu feature of his own. <i>The State of Things</i> is a film about a cast and crew stranded in Portugal when they run out of money and film stock, and their producer goes missing. In this bleak, empty seaside resort, the film develops a meandering and entrancing rhythm as we watch these people find ways to pass the time. The star turn is undoubtedly Sam Fuller as the crusty old cinematographer, barking out aphorisms with that enormous cigar permanently wedged in his lips, but there are so many great moments here </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">– </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Geoffrey Carey's monologue about his many adolescent ailments is particularly hilarious. It's a spellbinding film to look at too. Wenders' location work is as smart and imaginative as ever, and the breathtaking black-and-white cinematography by Fred Murphy and the great Henri Alekan glowed on this 35mm print. "Life is in colour, but black-and-white is more realistic," Fuller advises, a perspective furiously disputed by the runaway producer (a brilliant Allen Garfield cameo), and Wenders pitches his film as a satire on the differing views of cinema from Europe and Hollywood, at a time when he was caught between both worlds.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>2 – Eight Deadly Shots (Mikko Niskanen, 1976) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, 35mm</b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-finzN1OJsKqgPQcs5ta6U-rpP8VlVlhCkgAt-EecrTIlennd7G7iPlPIhVxTZyEB0HTs3BRYcSEcKhFYn67FbLkjWW8xauanlN9AmGZIK_l1csrIq9lLV9HPgBZezNNkKHC4j6QiwGsLfDqiSMWJjzVjugLz2DVBMRgSFyIXS9cRqOS1_9k/s2048/Eight%20Deadly%20Shots.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-finzN1OJsKqgPQcs5ta6U-rpP8VlVlhCkgAt-EecrTIlennd7G7iPlPIhVxTZyEB0HTs3BRYcSEcKhFYn67FbLkjWW8xauanlN9AmGZIK_l1csrIq9lLV9HPgBZezNNkKHC4j6QiwGsLfDqiSMWJjzVjugLz2DVBMRgSFyIXS9cRqOS1_9k/w400-h266/Eight%20Deadly%20Shots.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Although it was based on a real-life incident, Mikko Niskanen makes it clear in his opening statement that he has poured much first-hand experience into this story: "Booze was the root of all evil in our family." Niskanen himself plays the alcoholic farmer who ends up shooting four policeman in a drunken rage, and Eight Deadly Shots lays out the various social and psychological pressures that pushed him to that point, as well as the corrosive impact his drinking and moonshining had on his health, livelihood and family. As a director, Niskanen has an eye for quotidian details and he does an incredible job of immersing us into the ordinary lives of this family and community. As an actor, he is simply astonishing - particularly in the wrenching closing scenes - and he is matched by Tarja-Tuulikki Tarsala as Pasi's long-suffering wife, who is increasingly furious and fearful as her husband's drinking worsens. These characters feel so authentic and the narrative has a loose, uneven quality that matches the up-and-down rhythm of real life. Originally presented as a miniseries, <i>Eight Deadly Shots </i>runs for 316 minutes and gets more riveting with every passing second, as Niskanen accumulates more details, as we get to know these characters more intimately, and as the awful foregone conclusion creeps into view.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>1 – Black Tuesday + The Raid (Hugo Fregonese, 1954) – Cinema Jolly, Bologna, 35mm</b></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVe9H6mUD3WxxgoRNUXaRhptNAVVsHkM3bpwRpqP9QWwgXfsKYjEahO2K60aAKnNL9q-uMgsKgXK9oAw8vMAxwtVTElHGGOOvA4ssuUhRbyXmOIMw7EK0lLPMHRYpmGNYIQEKa1M0nh6NuazeN_lizbvVddWmtpRViXD8wrnHZ9wV0f41Wbog/s1280/The%20Raid.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVe9H6mUD3WxxgoRNUXaRhptNAVVsHkM3bpwRpqP9QWwgXfsKYjEahO2K60aAKnNL9q-uMgsKgXK9oAw8vMAxwtVTElHGGOOvA4ssuUhRbyXmOIMw7EK0lLPMHRYpmGNYIQEKa1M0nh6NuazeN_lizbvVddWmtpRViXD8wrnHZ9wV0f41Wbog/w400-h225/The%20Raid.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Every year at Il Cinema Ritrovato there is a revelation, and this year his name was Hugo Fregonese. Looking at a simple breakdown of his career, which saw him hopping from genre to genre in multiple countries, one might easily peg him as little more than a reliable gun-for-hire. A closer viewing of his films, however, revealed a compelling auteur at work, who elevated the material handed to him with his nuanced sense of characterisation, his willingness to delve into grey morality, and the shadow of fatalism that hangs over so many of his films. He operated primarily in noirs and westerns, with riveting films like <i>Hardly a Criminal</i>, <i>One Way Street</i> or <i>Blowing Wild</i>, but I also loved his explosive World War II drama <i>Seven Thunders</i> and thoroughly enjoyed a rare lighter picture with his cowboy comedy <i>Saddle Tramp</i>. But the two real gems in the Fregonese strand were both made in 1954. <i>Black Tuesday</i> is an astoundingly brutal low-budget thriller that boasts a monstrous performance from Edward G. Robinson as a callous mob boss who hatches a plot to escape from Death Row. The film is taut, claustrophobic, and stunningly vicious in the way it despatches its characters, while also taking on an increasing moral complexity as the characters weigh up the value of human life. That moral complexity was also at the heart of <i>The Raid</i>, in which Van Heflin leads a troupe of Confederate soldiers in an assault on a defenceless Vermont town, which they plan to loot and then burn to the ground, but the conviction of these men is shaken by the relationships that develop as they stake out their target and become embedded in the community. I was gripped by this film’s exploration of heroism, cowardice and the futility of war, and I was stunned by the climax, when I could almost feel the heat from the onscreen flames. <i>Black Tuesday</i> is one of the darkest noirs I’ve ever seen and features a career-high turn from a Hollywood legend, and <i>The Raid</i> should be regarded as one of the great American Civil War films, but both of these films are barely known today and are only available in substandard copies. I felt incredibly privileged to discover them both on such vibrant prints and I hope efforts can be made to make these masterpieces – along with the rest of Fregonese’s remarkable body of work – available to a wider audience.</span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-63312306345741402202022-12-07T12:51:00.003+00:002022-12-07T12:51:18.668+00:00Tori and Lokita Review<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_-CAZVK9exxuT4ibMPQHtGdXhwfF86JxDorj8yr8GimsR9xm6bgFd4NHSdfittAvZ23dxubPGIqhdRYC2oHtNq2DhvBw8GE1AEOQN8blXKugmp-4exo3DKXG6AoyJ3lEqgthaZDUbbZgUCdbXiZDDywFU3n3mvkw8vChomXfnrzCVAK75e4/s2048/Tori-and-Lokita-picturehouse-at-fact.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_-CAZVK9exxuT4ibMPQHtGdXhwfF86JxDorj8yr8GimsR9xm6bgFd4NHSdfittAvZ23dxubPGIqhdRYC2oHtNq2DhvBw8GE1AEOQN8blXKugmp-4exo3DKXG6AoyJ3lEqgthaZDUbbZgUCdbXiZDDywFU3n3mvkw8vChomXfnrzCVAK75e4/w400-h225/Tori-and-Lokita-picturehouse-at-fact.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne have spent their career telling stories about characters living on the margins of Belgian society, and their 10th feature <i>Tori and Lokita</i> takes us back to the territory of their debut <i>La Promesse</i>, as it explores the exploitation of undocumented African immigrants.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />That 1996 film was told through a white Belgian protagonist – with Jérémie Renier’s Igor being the first Dardennes lead to find himself at a moral crossroads – but the brothers have shifted their perspective here to follow two children from Cameroon and Benin. They may be the most vulnerable characters these filmmakers have yet given us.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://lwlies.com/reviews/tori-and-lokita/" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Little White Lies</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-63000332718983683212022-11-11T12:22:00.004+00:002022-11-11T12:22:37.500+00:00A Bunch of Amateurs Review<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3ZGO7LlJcXgD5hlhlbTZlDq_l4xsWkBDaSW33HbbW71GQjQlh4TR0ihDiodPAKa1XgWgP5aauXIfsP4ejP2rI8U0CIEL2GfoCn_Cptm-QI4T0TX1QoiXEQ-61LVDLS3IlZ2d17qnfDXjOPvIoQzs0V3BQgk2J9YcM7wFgi9VBs8Wy870uPU/s1100/a_bunch_of_amateurs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="1100" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3ZGO7LlJcXgD5hlhlbTZlDq_l4xsWkBDaSW33HbbW71GQjQlh4TR0ihDiodPAKa1XgWgP5aauXIfsP4ejP2rI8U0CIEL2GfoCn_Cptm-QI4T0TX1QoiXEQ-61LVDLS3IlZ2d17qnfDXjOPvIoQzs0V3BQgk2J9YcM7wFgi9VBs8Wy870uPU/w400-h213/a_bunch_of_amateurs.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>In her 1995 New York Times essay ‘The Decay of Cinema’, Susan Sontag wrote, “If cinephilia is dead, then movies are dead too.” Director Kim Hopkins opens <i>A Bunch of Amateurs</i> with this quote, and her film is an affectionate portrait of the Bradford Movie Makers, a dozen lifelong cinephiles resolutely keeping the flame alive. Ominous signs are evident – from the creaking bodies of the club’s more senior members to the clubhouse that is crumbling around them – but when it comes to the serious business of realising their DIY short films, the BMMs’ infectious enthusiasm remains undimmed.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/bunch-amateurs-affectionate-ode-cinephilia" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-31725200865810014932022-10-16T23:12:00.004+00:002022-10-16T23:12:29.355+00:00The Future Tense Review<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77DRYh4jC7HA82O9howe0JhooOybBtQ62EAa6osKxmLDz0CWX-Wxnm0IheNG6lvCjG9S-Wg69hTIJb6Li8Z9MK-ARltIlxaDQOUgHMU1FG2VudWsT5hv3OgsLfsONm9zyk6RjhV2pZwUKUD81mFL28_qXBhcfOsYexwOLdJLC_tEnlBp1pVI/s1280/future-tense-01.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77DRYh4jC7HA82O9howe0JhooOybBtQ62EAa6osKxmLDz0CWX-Wxnm0IheNG6lvCjG9S-Wg69hTIJb6Li8Z9MK-ARltIlxaDQOUgHMU1FG2VudWsT5hv3OgsLfsONm9zyk6RjhV2pZwUKUD81mFL28_qXBhcfOsYexwOLdJLC_tEnlBp1pVI/w400-h225/future-tense-01.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A flight from London Stansted to Dublin Airport takes around 75 minutes. It’s a routine journey that the Irish-born, London-based filmmakers Christine Molloy and Joe Lawlor have taken plenty of times, but something about this one feels different. “The ever-present noises of populism and nationalism have moved to the foreground, impossible to ignore,” says Lawlor. While the motivation for this trip is to scout locations for a film, they are also exploring the possibility of a new home in Ireland. As they weigh their growing discomfort with the UK against their ambivalent feelings towards their homeland, their position in the clouds over the Irish Sea is an apt metaphor for their state of being – halfway between two islands, and not entirely sure where they belong.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/future-tense-witty-inquiry-into-concept-home" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></i></span></div><p></p>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-81219163216652644422022-10-14T19:45:00.003+00:002022-10-14T19:45:22.122+00:00The Swimmers Review<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyiV4HM9yPrwpm8I7pljwcVC3-YDp1JWU5Gn3S-Se-E-E_aUgMdwn9E9KeLHq1Nvuq2CIcoUCKVcgfDsi2VkRuwMPHaqB2MR6HI0zpXqTpCmL2an2uN6JN4qcFN4Karu2XB5_iqN9PQs7MxGcDP_onLIzvj4w0_E9u1UbQ_fmgK-I9suI6PU/s1000/the-swimmers-netflix-movie-everything-we-know-so-far-jpg.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="1000" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzyiV4HM9yPrwpm8I7pljwcVC3-YDp1JWU5Gn3S-Se-E-E_aUgMdwn9E9KeLHq1Nvuq2CIcoUCKVcgfDsi2VkRuwMPHaqB2MR6HI0zpXqTpCmL2an2uN6JN4qcFN4Karu2XB5_iqN9PQs7MxGcDP_onLIzvj4w0_E9u1UbQ_fmgK-I9suI6PU/w400-h225/the-swimmers-netflix-movie-everything-we-know-so-far-jpg.webp" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Many athletes have overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles to achieve their dreams of competing at the Olympic Games, but few can tell a story to match Yusra Mardini’s. Having fled war-torn Syria in August 2015, Yusra and her sister Sarah embarked on a dangerous smugglers’ route across the Aegean Sea in a flimsy dinghy with eighteen other refugees. When the boat’s motor failed and it began taking on water, the two sisters tethered themselves to the craft and swam towards land, hauling their fellow refugees behind them for three hours. It was an astonishing feat of endurance and survival, and the fact that Yusra then went on to swim at Rio 2016 – a stateless competitor in the newly formed Refugee Olympic Team – is the kind of happy ending that only the most shameless screenwriter would dream up.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/swimmers-affecting-if-baggy-true-life-tale-triumph-against-odds" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></i></span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-84437370567123934822022-09-15T21:42:00.009+00:002022-10-14T19:46:35.040+00:00Causeway Review<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-BcAGyMleds-iFM1Hg4rbplj9kE1bntJ3awViFjWMOvSf7sp_YojxezXskOxUepZIVFZfs9hxThsvovG9Ag0PiUfwguIYkhcwuQ0qq5ujR-GIOKvz07TucfO4fKm6dozeFhtMOJIfCNRgb4oRiNFt3NqHsDN4Th_P-tMPAcmPjBt_VqtlFU/s3996/causeway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3996" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-BcAGyMleds-iFM1Hg4rbplj9kE1bntJ3awViFjWMOvSf7sp_YojxezXskOxUepZIVFZfs9hxThsvovG9Ag0PiUfwguIYkhcwuQ0qq5ujR-GIOKvz07TucfO4fKm6dozeFhtMOJIfCNRgb4oRiNFt3NqHsDN4Th_P-tMPAcmPjBt_VqtlFU/w400-h216/causeway.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is characteristic of <i>Causeway</i>’s restraint that we never see the incident that caused army engineer Lynsey (Jennifer Lawrence) to return from Afghanistan with a severe brain injury. Even when she describes the traumatic experience of being in a vehicle blown up by an IED, she talks about it dispassionately, as if she is describing something that happened to somebody else. As Lynsey must relearn some basic motor functions, we might expect the film to focus on the arduous nature of her physical recovery, but <i>Causeway </i>moves past her period in a rehabilitation centre (featuring a tiny gem of a supporting turn from Jayne Houdyshell) before the first quarter of the film has elapsed.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/causeway-under-directed-drama-that-squanders-its-considerable-potential" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></span></i></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-20830752199998314652022-08-07T22:45:00.001+00:002022-08-07T22:45:33.310+00:00Il Cinema Ritrovato 2022<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lXii0nwSMBsFB31YFTAPMMvXhX2Xq1T4Joje1k5x0oiC5wzOxyLrfw7KaMWTnBR7qdPbxnyEjEv6UIVepDzK7spAwFrC_xHecJEE5xLNWMW-hlnTej08muijlWRtisY8bxyR90jJvv6z97t66QLBSJK28qda1USw9uV54btRb0l7B5HDX_k/s1280/it_pasolini-a-matera_davanti-ai-sassi-by-lorenzo-borgonovo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="888" data-original-width="1280" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lXii0nwSMBsFB31YFTAPMMvXhX2Xq1T4Joje1k5x0oiC5wzOxyLrfw7KaMWTnBR7qdPbxnyEjEv6UIVepDzK7spAwFrC_xHecJEE5xLNWMW-hlnTej08muijlWRtisY8bxyR90jJvv6z97t66QLBSJK28qda1USw9uV54btRb0l7B5HDX_k/w400-h278/it_pasolini-a-matera_davanti-ai-sassi-by-lorenzo-borgonovo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Pier Paolo Pasolini was born on via Borgonuovo, Bologna, on March 5th, 1922. One hundred years on, his centenary is being marked by an exhibition that explores multiple facets of his work and looks at the artistic influences on his filmmaking, but the celebration doesn’t end there. As soon as I arrived in Bologna, I saw Pasolini’s face staring back at me from posters all around the city, and every bookshop I passed had an extensive display of Pasolini-related writing in prime position in its window. One night after my arrival, a new restoration of Pasolini’s <i>La ricotta</i> (1963) was presented on the huge screen in Piazza Maggiore, and this screening was preceded by a live concert dedicated to Pasolini’s longtime friend and collaborator Laura Betti. This performance was presented for free, for anyone in the city who wanted to experience it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Aside from how incongruous it feels to a visitor from Britain for a city to widely celebrate an artist like Pasolini in this way (as a friend observed, could you imagine Liverpool doing the same for Terence Davies?), witnessing it all days before Il Cinema Ritrovato began made me instantly feel that I had arrived in a place with a deep love and respect for cinema. As you walk through the streets of Bologna, posters featuring iconic film stars are pasted up everywhere: Sophia Loren, Buster Keaton, James Dean, Anna Magnani. The implacable gaze of Peter Lorre met me every evening as I returned to my hotel, which was particularly unnerving when I had just attended a 35mm screening of Fritz Lang’s <i>M </i>(1931) in Piazza Maggiore.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg720iwDSiUEsxIjgGu9bdsoHprGtHEJVDNbanKyNSvNnJcuAs1x13PUGobILhEnwhBXWNjyQ8C2aZ-dfCMDVJQYekbwU9aXGGHzdVqBSZ5TwtgME70om7kTHgGk864RY2lCwVVbSRd-m_10j8a_7JhefkvD9BnCm1obA5jN8pd7Sk9hpQL03U/s1200/Beast-with-Five-Fingers-1946-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="1200" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg720iwDSiUEsxIjgGu9bdsoHprGtHEJVDNbanKyNSvNnJcuAs1x13PUGobILhEnwhBXWNjyQ8C2aZ-dfCMDVJQYekbwU9aXGGHzdVqBSZ5TwtgME70om7kTHgGk864RY2lCwVVbSRd-m_10j8a_7JhefkvD9BnCm1obA5jN8pd7Sk9hpQL03U/w400-h304/Beast-with-Five-Fingers-1946-5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I only dipped into the Peter Lorre strand during the festival itself. I enjoyed his increasingly unhinged turn in <i>The Beast with Five Fingers</i> (1946), which offers some extremely witty and inventive sequences in the second half that make up for how long it takes to get going. I also loved Lorre's delicious comic double-act with Erich von Stroheim in <i>I Was an Adventuress</i> (1940), although quite why the filmmakers decided the dull romantic pairing of ballet dancer Zorina and the bland Richard Greene deserved the lion’s share of screen time is beyond me. The rest of the strand contained several films I had seen before, however, and I decided instead to venture into uncharted territory, which is where I was introduced to the work of Hugo Fregonese.<br /> <br />I had seen one Fregonese-directed film before the festival – his tight, small-scale western <i>Apache Drums</i> (1951) – but as much as I enjoyed that film, it didn’t prepare me for how fascinating I would find his body of work over the course of the following week. Looking at his career – which took him from his native Argentina to the US, Spain, Italy, the UK and West Germany – it might be easy to peg Fregonese as a peripatetic gun for hire, but this programme revealed a thoughtful auteur who elevated films that could have easily been nondescript genre fare in lesser hands. In one of his introductions, curator Ehsan Khoshbakht said that he had considered titling this strand “Under the Hangman’s Noose,” which would have highlighted the strong streak of fatalism that pervades these films. In both <i>Hardly a Criminal </i>(1949) and <i>One Way Street</i> (1950) his protagonists proceed with a confident arrogance, certain that they have beaten the system and will ultimately get away clean and rich. James Mason, as a doctor who steals money from the mob in <i>One Way Street</i>, keeps telling himself and others that his “number’s not up,” but in Hugo Fregonese’s films, your number’s always up eventually.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEdXUGjH1ReyugB4vKL4uzMvO0t9E3fQP3mpXauAN4fz9WWEJpLOBK718PBb4XhWC9Y0ckEZIv2ZKcvqpf0UkSi51qvN-TIFg_7zpPn8Z9CVNim8yfaF1vU5ktuAy9is_tanE96bTJXxvHCiAQ9huJwN08VCKpjB4Z7k4fBJmis4cFqsU5VQ/s1536/black-tuesday-Everett-Coll_press.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1138" data-original-width="1536" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEdXUGjH1ReyugB4vKL4uzMvO0t9E3fQP3mpXauAN4fz9WWEJpLOBK718PBb4XhWC9Y0ckEZIv2ZKcvqpf0UkSi51qvN-TIFg_7zpPn8Z9CVNim8yfaF1vU5ktuAy9is_tanE96bTJXxvHCiAQ9huJwN08VCKpjB4Z7k4fBJmis4cFqsU5VQ/w400-h296/black-tuesday-Everett-Coll_press.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The darkest of Fregonese’s pictures was undoubtedly the riveting <i>Black Tuesday</i> (1954), a low-budget independent production that boasts a monstrous performance from Edward G. Robinson as a callous mob boss who hatches a plot to escape from Death Row and won’t let anyone stand in his way. The film was striking for the offhand brutality with which it despatched its characters, and the deep shadows that Stanley Cortez coated the increasingly claustrophobic drama in. It’s a blunt, acerbic noir that takes on a on increasing moral complexity as the characters weighs up the value of human life.<br /> <br />The gravity of what it means to take a life is often at the forefront in Fregonese’s pictures – consider the impact a stray Nazi bullet has in the superb <i>Seven Thunders</i> (1957) – and the director’s films place their characters in a moral grey area, allowing our perception and loyalties to shift over the course of the movie. In <i>The Raid</i> (1954), Van Heflin leads a troupe of Confederate soldiers in an assault on a defenceless Vermont town, which they plan to loot and then burn to the ground. It's easy to view this as an outrageous war crime, but Sydney Boehm’s excellent screenplay depicts it as an act of retaliation for the destruction of Sherman’s March, and it encourages us to understand the conviction of these men, which is then shaken by the relationships that develop as they stake out their target. This is a truly extraordinary film about heroism, cowardice, redemption and the self-defeating futility of warfare, and it is filled with nuanced character details that gradually draw us into the riveting and poignant drama. <i>The Raid</i> appears to be mostly unknown today but I think it should be regarded as one of the great American Civil War films.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLD2QBaxPKxLFCpBaLD71MwxljhUP_1WkvA6SgJ8Z0V8wppuPq6bKlbL3yV9HI7_Zx6zEpxelPfZQMrWL4hZjkhun3FNQ_1S5sUgY-MrnrNPC7zAY95cAQxdizCCEpOHlKSxXoPDI2oDnqYsnWsyUJ-W3b94dmTV2aO8TeUzz9o_ioosSK0E/s584/Smog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="584" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLD2QBaxPKxLFCpBaLD71MwxljhUP_1WkvA6SgJ8Z0V8wppuPq6bKlbL3yV9HI7_Zx6zEpxelPfZQMrWL4hZjkhun3FNQ_1S5sUgY-MrnrNPC7zAY95cAQxdizCCEpOHlKSxXoPDI2oDnqYsnWsyUJ-W3b94dmTV2aO8TeUzz9o_ioosSK0E/w400-h297/Smog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">This taster of Hugo Fregonese’s films left me yearning for more, but many of his pictures are frustratingly unavailable, and I doubt I’ll ever see them looking as good as they did on these stellar 35mm prints (<i>The Raid</i> print was particularly ravishing). The Il Cinema Ritrovato programmers always dig up plenty of rarely screened prints from archives around the world, and in some cases they are prints that haven’t seen the light of day in decades. After premiering at Venice in 1962, Franco Rossi’s <i>Smog </i>(1962) completely disappeared from view thanks to the financial troubles faced by its distributor Titanus Films, which would be bankrupt within a few years. <i>Smog </i>is set entirely in Los Angeles, but this is an Italian movie through-and-through, with Enrico Maria Salerno playing a lawyer exploring LA during a 48-hour stopover. He doesn’t speak the language and he finds his way to a community of Italian immigrants, who offer him a different perspective on the city.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />Rossi’s film was shot entirely on location and the way he uses the city’s architecture is brilliantly imaginative and evocative, with some of Ted McCord’s cinematography recalling Antonioni’s <i>La Notte</i> (1961), which was released the previous year. <i>Smog </i>is an alternately amusing and melancholy reflection on identity and assimilation, and it’s a fascinating time-capsule portrait of LA in the early ‘60s, with the protagonist traversing different social strata – from a bowling alley and housewives learning Italian to a dinner with one of the city’s richest families – with the Chet Baker score adding to its unique flavour. This screening also offered one of the most unusual projectionist screw-ups I’ve ever experienced, with one reel ending and a completely different movie beginning to play on screen. Thankfully, it didn't hurt my enjoyment of this fascinating oddity.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />I saw the reel that abruptly interrupted <i>Smog </i>in its proper context the following day, when I caught Arby Ovanessian’s <i>Cheshmeh </i>(1972) on 35mm. This screening was another real rarity, in fact the print we saw is the only one that exists, having been thankfully archived by Henri Langlois at the Cinémathèque Française shortly after the film first screened in France. Ovanessian mentioned this fact in his introduction, and he also talked about the importance of establishing a specifically Iranian tempo in his first feature at a time when most Iranian cinema was following the rhythm of the commercial cinema from America, France or Russia. He and his inexperienced crew followed this intention to create an enigmatic, poetic, dreamlike picture that slowly and steadily cast me under its spell. With its deliberate movement and gestures, repetitive rhythms and cryptic conversations, the film it most reminded me of was <i>Last Year at Marienbad</i> (1961), while the luminous cinematography by Ne’mat Haghighi put me in mind of Subrata Mitra's work. The film is full of beautiful frames and bold cuts. It's mysterious and often elusive, but I found the experience of watching it to be completely hypnotic and following the resurrection of <i>Chess of the Wind</i> at this festival in 2020, it's another reminder of how ripe for rediscovery this era in Iranian cinema is.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPv_A6houGVf6gAvquU0T3mpuHxYmpiqXUjTI-wgQAXJFa7RyWJpjgwtxGa3X7NghoxshYQFvMItnXnvWxYZG_Q_S-zp4_bZteEYbAE-WWC75sJKXZGfbsnCTnTHNshcC83HTvuAL8N0C-L5GvfsVYRzcw2JhLeouXe2D_jGdKXAxMC1lr4ZY/s3384/Kahdeksan%20surman_00006kgt_da%20YLE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2500" data-original-width="3384" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPv_A6houGVf6gAvquU0T3mpuHxYmpiqXUjTI-wgQAXJFa7RyWJpjgwtxGa3X7NghoxshYQFvMItnXnvWxYZG_Q_S-zp4_bZteEYbAE-WWC75sJKXZGfbsnCTnTHNshcC83HTvuAL8N0C-L5GvfsVYRzcw2JhLeouXe2D_jGdKXAxMC1lr4ZY/w400-h295/Kahdeksan%20surman_00006kgt_da%20YLE.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Could this era in Finnish television be similarly littered with gems? I doubt much made for the small screen in Finland in the ‘70s could match Mikko Niskanen’s <i>Eight Deadly Shots </i>(1972), which doesn’t really feel like television at all. Although it is presented in four episodes, the credits just feel like they’ve been inserted at arbitrary points near the 80-minute mark, and it’s easy to imagine this story unfolding seamlessly without interruption. <i>Eights Deadly Shots</i> was subsequently edited into a 145-minute movie by Niskanen’s contemporary Jörn Donner, but in Bologna we were treated to a single presentation of the full 316-minute version, and I think you need this time for the story’s slow accumulation of incident to have the desired impact. Although it was based on a real-life incident, Mikko Niskanen makes it clear in his opening statement that he has poured much first-hand experience into this story with the line "Booze was the root of all evil in our family," and in taking the lead role of Pasi, the alcoholic farmer Niskanen who shot four policemen in a drunken rage, Niskanen is so authentic he appears to be living the experience rather than acting it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />That sense of authenticity is integral to <i>Eight Deadly Shots</i>. Niskanen immerses us into the everyday reality of this family and community, allowing scenes to run for as long as they need to, which gives his narrative the messy, wayward rhythm of real life. In the early stages the film struck me as shapeless and a little confounding, but it gradually sharpens as we get a sense of the various social and psychological pressures that shaped this man’s actions, as well as the corrosive impact his drinking and moonshining had on his health, livelihood and family. As a director, Niskanen has an incredible eye for quotidian details and firm grasp of tone. As an actor, he is simply astonishing – particularly in the wrenching closing scenes – and he is matched by Tarja-Tuulikki Tarsala as Pasi's long-suffering wife, who is increasingly furious and fearful as her husband's drinking worsens. <i>Eight Deadly Shots</i> reminded me of Chantal Akerman's <i>Jeanne Dielman</i> (1975) in the way the repetition of mundane details gets more riveting with every passing second, and as we get to know these characters more intimately, the awful foregone conclusion grows even more unbearable. The late Peter von Bagh, a former artistic director of Il Cinema Ritrovato, spent many years promoting Niskanen’s work and pushing for a 35mm restoration of his magnum opus. As well as being the rep cinema event of the year, this screening was a glorious fulfilment of his legacy.</span></div>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9811696.post-30549588262393158702022-07-31T13:35:00.001+00:002022-07-31T13:35:12.863+00:00Under the Banner of Heaven<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvQ8lQqLettUU3ffYIitKWD-VOmoOZZoCoDhoOmEqAOS1BYQbyaCsukY9zBhdC472C0kcALXOylmQzVwNvugCU80drz4yrvMtKqP3l8azWmH1NiNX7baJvDfjkWaY9uhu2VmQeXhiBTWXhml9PVPykACwKpLyAdgqxkcHYW-ukrBHbZkLEjU/s1117/underthebannerofheaven_723c2adc.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="1117" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvQ8lQqLettUU3ffYIitKWD-VOmoOZZoCoDhoOmEqAOS1BYQbyaCsukY9zBhdC472C0kcALXOylmQzVwNvugCU80drz4yrvMtKqP3l8azWmH1NiNX7baJvDfjkWaY9uhu2VmQeXhiBTWXhml9PVPykACwKpLyAdgqxkcHYW-ukrBHbZkLEjU/w400-h266/underthebannerofheaven_723c2adc.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Under the Banner of Heaven</i> has been a long-gestating project for screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, who spent years developing it as a feature before expanding it into a seven-part miniseries. It’s easy to imagine that abandoned film version zeroing in on the investigation into the brutal 1984 killing of Brenda Wright Lafferty and her 15-month-old daughter, but Jon Krakauer’s 2003 nonfiction account of the crime dug deeper to explore the often-violent history of Mormonism, and Black’s attempt to include that historical context in his adaptation has left his series feeling distended and unbalanced.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-and-sound/reviews/under-banner-heaven-overblown-mormon-mystery" target="_blank">Read the rest of my review at Sight & Sound</a></i></span></div><p></p>Philip Concannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12072326458695080828noreply@blogger.com