The Maker (1997)

Tim Hunter's The Maker is nothing to write home about.  It's a drama film with an end that attempts to live up to "thriller" mode. A teenage kid hangs out with his wild friends. His brother, whom he hasn't seen for years, pays him a visit.  The brother invites the kid to join him in his "business". Of course, he shouldn't have done that. But there are some redeeming things. Sometimes it is fun to see films that have not aged well - the clothes, hairdos, and soundtrack music bring back the 90's, but don't really add up to a good movie. The movie is quite fun to watch because of the seedy, Californian locations; urban hell / non-places / rowdy bars / highways.

Pisma myortvogo cheloveka (1986)

Before watching Pisma myortvogo cheloveka (Letters from a dead man) Konstantin Lopushansky's work was entirely unfamiliar to me. Letters to a dead person has many connections with Tarkovsky. Lopushansky worked as Tarkovsky's assistant. His film has many things in common with a movie like Stalker. The most prominent features of this film are perhaps the bleak, yellow-tinted cinematography and a creaky world of sounds. Actually, the use of sound, water, rusty machines, voices distorted by masks, along with ominous music, is A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! Letters from a dead man is a morbid sci-fi movie, set among desolated landscapes and shabby-looking underground rooms. A nuclear catastrophe has taken place. There seems to have been a war. The film, for the most part, follows a few characters in the quest for meaning in post-nuclear existence. A scientist living with his wife and co-workers addresses his son Erik in lugubrious letters. Of course, paints a very repulsive picture of "Science" (that this film made it through the claws of the censors is an interesting fact). Letters from a dead man might not have the existential depth of Tarkovsky, but, I must confess, this film is very good.

This movie can be compared to two other "post-apocalyptic" ruminations: Chris Marker's La jetée and the movie version of Cormac McCarthy's The Road.

The Caine Mutiny (1954)

OK - that was interesting. Edward Dmytryck's The Caine Mutiny is not the ordinary Hollywood production. It has far too many twists for that, and, more importantly, far more ambiguities. Regrettably, these ambiguities are bogged down by certain unfortunate storytelling devices (e.g. an unnecessary love story, leaning on familiar images of "the mentally unstable person"), some of which have turned into run-of-the-mill clichés. The story tells about a navy ship, a WWII mine sweeper, that has difficulties with a new captain (a great Humphrey Bogart) who wants to "clean the place up". The new captain makes a few mistakes and shows signs of strange, erratic behavior. From the beginning, the men have had disgruntled feelings about him. The men on board view the situation in different ways. Some point out the importance of obedience, while others question his authority to lead the ship. In a situation where the captain seems to have lost control, a man lower in rank takes charge of the situation. The last part of the film depicts the trial, in which two men are accused for having committed mutiny.

The Caine Mutiny investigates what would now be labelled "professional ethics". Most of all, it's a film about the connection between discipline and honor. "Discipline", in the film, revolves around "performing the duties one has been assigned with", no questions asked. True, this might be a film that works better as a suspense thriller than as a philosophical tract. But that did not bother me. It was a film that kept things interesting. 

4:30 (2005)

Regrettably, my experience of Singaporean cinema is very, very limited. That will change, I hope. 4:30 proves to be a treat; a mysterious, visually stunning film about a boy lost in alienation. Zhiang Xiao Wu is eleven. He lives in an apartment with a Korean tenant, who is perhaps related to him. The man (intent on suicide) is the object of the boy's secretive attraction. As the man lies intoxicated on his bed at night, the boy watches him, or steals something from him. They have no common language, but between them, there is a form of friendship (or a shared sense of loneliness). I can hear you sigh, a young boy who feels like a stranger in the world - haven't we seen that theme too many times in movies? But this film is certainly something different. That has to do with how the theme is developed.

Royston Tan does not attempt to dig out the boy's "inner, psychological life". What he draws attention to, instead, is a series of repetititive actions. The boy sits at the man's bed. He makes notes and collects things for his diary. He goes to school, where he always ends up in trouble, he disturbs the morning excercise of a group of elderly people. But not only do we learn to know the boy through those ordinary events - Royston Tan explores the surroundings in which the boy lives. A shabby wall / a staircase / a back yard / an ice-cream van. As we see a particular place several times, we get a sense of the world in which the boy spends his days.

One film that kept returning to my mind while watching this one is Flickan, the recent, Swedish girl who spends one summer alone in a house. As that film, 4:30 is to a large extent a visual masterpiece. The takes are always long, but they do not try your patience. The color scale veers towards green and blue hues. The director/cinematographer has an amazing, meticulous sense for composition; what is the background and foreground of a particular frame is something I ended up thinking about several times. As in Flickan, there is very little dialogue here: if one were to write it down, no more than perhaps two pages would be filled.

Now I suddenly recall that I might have seen parts of Royston Tan's other film, 15. I remember it as a much more bustling movie.

Merry-go-round (1923)

Merry-go-round, from 1923, is set in the crumbling, pre-war & WW1 Austrian empire. A young girl works in an amusement park in Prater. She is an organ grinder. A man, Hohenegg, a nobleman about to get married, pursues her. The feelings are mutual. He presents himself as an ordinary working man. Soon, the scam is exposed. Even though one might see that Erich von Stroheim (who directed some parts of the film, Rupert Julian replacing him later on in the process) is trying to tell us something about changes in Austrian culture, the film is far from being a Man without qualities. In the film, the aristocracy spend their time mistreating their servants, being jealous, carousing, being dishonest. It's a rather bleak picture. Overall, this is a messy film that trades in grotesque images and a love story we have seen a thousand times (or more). I'd be much more interested in watching Greed, a real von Stroheim movie.

Midnight cowboy (1969)

Midnight cowboy can be seen as either
a) an extremely homophobic movie.
b) a film that partially deals with a changing consciousness as to the gay/straight binary (well, I'm not sayin' this is Hegel or something, but...).
c) a love story about two men (whether the relationship is sexual or not is not interesting).
Actually, I think there are aspects in the film that express all of these. 

Apart from some rather gimmick-y moments of experimentation (a swinging Warhol party), Midnight cowboy is a quite simple story: Joe, a very naive person, goes to N.Y to be a hustler. For women. The reality of N.Y is not what he expected (the New York of this film is everything you'd expect from a movie from this period, just listen to Jon Voight talking...). He hooks up with Ratso, who promises to fix him up with "management". Even though this goes to hell, Ratso becomes his friend. Midnight cowboy is about street life. It tries hard to capture the gritty beat of New York. Sometimes it tries too hard. But the reason why I found this film quite watchable was not because of its status as a zeitgeist - movie. The heart of the film lies in how the relationship between Joe and Ratso is depicted. (For a far more interesting take on the life as a hustler in 60's USA - read John Rechy.)

Inception (2010)

I'm not really a fan of "smart" movies; you know, the kind of movie that prides itself on containing a thousand plot twists and struggling to maintain a cryptic feel, a cinematic maze. It's not that I loathe films that digress from straighforward, progressive storytelling. But fragmentation should not be employed as a mere style.

For me, Inception was a let-down. Visually, it was bustling with the kind of tricks you expect to see in a sci-fi/action movie - but what it lacks is a visual language of its own. Even though the point of the film is to explore the mysteriously built landscapes of dreams, there is very little in Nolan's film that actually evokes the state of dreaming - the film rather recalls the intricate efficiency of the Matrix-aesthetics. Some of the images are impressive - but they are never unsettling in a deeper sense (see: Kurasawa / Lynch / Tarkovsky / Bergman's Wild strawberries, etc., etc.).

Speaking of content, I tried to get a hold of the main idea of the plot, without really succeeding. Inception is certainly not the only film to deal with a techological dimension of fantasy, but it might be the first to make it the central topic of a mainstream action flick. It's an interesting theme, but Nolan, I felt, didn't really do much with it, nor was he providing an interesting perspective on fantasy and the unconscious. The main problem with how Nolan develops his boxes-in-boxes story is that a large, too large, part of the film is dedicated to explaining the world of inception and exploitation of dreams. It feels that I watch a computer game only to be thrown into a slightly nauseating lecture the next minute that provides heaps of "information", but has nothing to do with cinema.

Gegen die Wand (2004)

Even on my third viewing, Gegen die Wand has lost nothing of its power. On paper, this would look like melodrama: suicide attempts, alcoholism, violence, a devout Muslim family, an arranged marriage, more violence, drugs, sex. But in Fatih Akin's hands, and because of the brilliant performance of the actors, this movie does not appear one bit overwrought. Partly, this is due to the brilliant performance of all actors. Secondly, under the surface of the sometimes brash build-up of a story, Akin is a careful enough writer & director to settle for subtle complexity. His characters are not moulded to be representatives of anything; gender, culture, generation. Mark my words, Akin did not make a movie about "a culture clash" (The German Way of Life vs. The Turkish Way of Life). In a brilliant way, his film opposes all such stereotypes (think, for example, about the scene towards the very end, in which Cahit, uncomfortable with talking bad Turkish, speaks to Sibel's sister in English)

Most of all, Gegen die Wand is a reflection on complicated love and unstoppable lust for life. When you thought you knew how to pinpoint one character, you realize that you were wrong. I don't see this as an artistic ploy - it's just how Akin works.

Just one example of how good this films works on a level of details: Cahit and his "uncle" pay a visit at Sibel's parents' to ask for her hand. Cahit brings a box of confectionary. While "uncle" presents the delicate case, Sibel's father resentfully chews the candies, arms crossed. That scene, with its bleak lighting, expresses a quiet, dark sense of humor. Even small expressive eruptions, like the chewing of confectionery, is painfully impregnated with meaning.

Akin is not afraid of heightened emotions. His use of music, for example, has everything to do with expressing a certain state of mind (he even has the different segments end with a mournful orchestra performance). But what is essential here is that this musical contribution is not a lame attempt at filling out the gaps on-screen, puffing up a scene so as to keep up the illusion. The music is the film; the relation between music and image is seamless.

There are some questionable elements in the film, too. What is going on in the multidue of scenes in which we witness Sybil's & Cahit's fits of destructive behavior? Afterwards, when some of the film's mojo has waned, I find myself asking: isn't there almost too much attitude in those scenes? If acts of violence become mere vehicles for yet another burst of strong emotion in an everlasting human tragedy, then there is reason to sober up and ask what's going on. Yes - and no. I might be inclined to say that there is something fishy here - but at the same time these scenes are not only outbursts of violence; it is not as if violence leave no mark on the characters (and the viewer). The scene in which Sibel, raped by an opium-dealer, beats up a pack of guys (who offer their services), and is severly beaten up by them in turn, is a scene I will never be able to forget. Akin works brilliantly with emotional volatility here (and elsewhere, too): anger, disappointment, rage. It would be wrong to say that this is simply about "emotions" (& "emphasizing", whatever that is supposed to mean). In a few short minutes, Akin encapsulates an entire world of gender oppression, honor-talk, humiliation, pride - and, most important of all, defiance.

Dawn of the Dead (2004)

I watched Dawn of the dead, the new version, for the third time. Brainy entertainment - yes. I would also argue that what makes this kind of movie interesting is its exploration of the structure of urban places, stripped off many of their ordinary uses. Thus, we see a group of people, survivors of course, huddling in a shopping mall, the crowd of zombies roaring outside. The shopping mall is no longer the bustling center of economic transactions and fulfillment of consumer desire - but these meanings of the shopping mall lurk in the background, as ironic signifiers of a world that is no longer there. You might blame me of over-intellectualizing a simple Hollywood flick, but I think there is something to that kind of association. During the entire movie, we are served quirky displacements of the typical images of "survival". Instead of the brute desire for survival, the film muses over greed, morality and the occasional glass of champagne. The ironic transformation is epitomized by a pair of security guards at the mall, who try their best to keep up the appearance of "professional responsibility". At least the mall is provided with "reinforced glass" (are we already living the zombie nightmare?).

Afterwards, I read K-punk's interesting analysis of the film, which he interprets as a parable about a capitalist nightmare about immigrants; monstruous masses, improductive, feeding on wealth they have no right to. Though a bit far-fetched, I think the reading has a certain plausibility.

The wild bunch (1969)

I watched 1/2 of Sam Pekinpah's The Wild bunch. Then I came to the conclusion that life is to short for this kind of movie. : I get it, Pekinpah updates the western. He brings in frenzy violence, confrontational dialogue & some musings on how the world changes. Is it interesting? A bunch of elderly outlaws / the last score: *yawn*. BUT: The first scene, children watching how a scorpion is eaten by ants, is quite nifty and gruesome. The next segment, a shoot-out filmed in short, contrasting takes, works as well. For the rest of the film: -. (Maybe I just don't see the depth of this film, described as a tender and poetic movie about misfits and male bonding.)

The Graduate (1967)

I'm not saying the IMDB top 250 is an objective guide to film canonization, but it is interesting to see Mike Nichols' The Graduate on that list. Simon & Garfunkel performs the famous soundtrack and, during some peak moments, the film is driven by a restless energy. The first 15 minutes of this film, in which the all-American family ideal is slashed to pieces, are actually pretty funny. The cross-waving at the very end is a moment of brilliance.

But, on the other hand, I suspect this is a movie that hasn't aged well (I'd rather watch Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf). I see nothing "liberating" about this film - on the contrary, it is entirely steeped in the very thinking it attempts to oppose (and, hey, the same goes for Closer, a much later Nichols film, in which the most exciting moment appears when they show a picture of philosophers GEM Anscombe and Peter Geach, "a bunch of sad strangers photographed beautifully"). The story contains embarrassing holes: pre-Rain man Hoffman goes from shy kid to self-assured lover boy and world-weary cassanova in an instance. And how does this magical transformation take place? Yep, the virginal piece of flesh got laid (the Swedish title: Mandomsprovet). I have a hard time grasping what the film tries to do (except depicting women as pathological (sexual) nutcases or pure objects of desire). Of course Nichols explores a young man's rebellion against a suburbanite society that wants him to decide on careers and girlfriends. But, in the end, the film is based on a very traditional boy-meets-girl blueprint even though the love story builds upon the obligatory external obstacle (a middle-agaed female alcoholic, mother of the love-interest, former lover of our hero). My overall impression of The Graduate is that it is a creepy film, and not in a good way.

PS: Mrs. Robinson, Bancroft, owns this film - outclassing every other actor and even her own lines.

Blow dry (2001)

Blow dry is a lighthearted drama about ... a hairdressing competition. I expected it to be a comedy but it wasn't. Even though I won't remember this movie next week (or tomorrow), I must say I didn't have much against it either. Alan Rickman is good. And it was fun to see Rachel Griffiths (Brenda in Six feet under) with a Brittish accent.

The Piano (1993)

Jane Campion's An angel at my table, about outcast author Janet Frame, is one of those films that I think about every now and then. But it took me some good years to muster up enough courage to watch The Piano. Slandered by some, elevated by others - this is a film people have opinions about. As a matter of fact, I liked many things in it, and, especially, I liked Harvey Keitel's performance. Keitel is, in my opinion, one of the more interesting male Hollywood actors. In several movies (Holy smoke!, Ulysses' gaze), Keitel challenges some very deeply ingrained ideas about male, physical presence, even though he also, in a bunch of movies, performs as the familiar, beefy tough guy whose only physical trait is his weary face. (Of course, there are some film makers who goes against the grain of normative masculine embodiment: Claire Denis is an important example.) In quite a few movies, Keitel's acting is characterized by a rare, physical fragility. That aspect of his acting becomes very important in The Piano.

The story of The Piano does not lack melodramatic misfires. But mostly, it's a haunting film, memorable for its stark portrayal of loneliness and desire. - Secondly, this is a film that has a cinematic style of its own; dramatic, gothic blue-ish colors and whirling, musical camerawork (I guess Lars von Trier must have seen this - the evocative surroundings have much in common with Antichrist). What I like about The Piano is the complexity of the characters and the brutal exactitude of Campion's storytelling. The film is set in the 19th century. Ada, a woman who does not speak, moves to New Zealand with her young daughter. A man has promised to marry her. Ada seems to have no romantic feelings for the man. The man wants her "affection", but seems to care little about her. Ada is involved in an affair with another man, Baines, an affair that starts out as one-sided attempts at seduction, and even crude bribery. The relationship transforms into something else. - But as I interpret the film, Campion is not happy to re-enact a trite male fantasy about the woman who gives in to male sexual power. The question about power and powerlessness is certainly central to the story, but power is no either/or issue, neatly portioned among the characters. It is evident that Ada embodies rebellious desire (she is the assumingly frigid, Victorian woman). Here, one might wonder what role the piano / music plays in the story. Campion makes much of the erotic tensions in music and playing (Ada, a mute woman, expresses herself and her situation through music), but it is rather open what the bearing of the last scenes have on that; scenes that suggest loss and ambiguous resolution: maybe we have gotten too comfortable with our image of Ada? Maybe family life with Baines is not the Utopia after all?
 
In an interesting article about the moralistic and myopic outrage among white journalists against gangsta rap, bell hooks goes on to analyze The Piano, which she sees as a sexist movie, the sexism of which these same white journalists are oblivious to. "Violance against land, natives and women in this film, unlike that of gangsta rap, is portrayed uncritically, as though it is 'natural', the inevitable climax of conflicting passions." I think hooks makes a very important observation here, even though there are some things in the film that makes me hesitant in saying that Campion is "uncritical". In my view, her film, even though flawed and unresolved on many issues, is about living in patriarchy. Actually, I would not say that Campion is in the business of making manifests conflicting patterns of primordial desire. One reason for this is the very last scene, in which we see Ada, the piano teacher, who lives with Baines and her daughter, playing her piano. If one takes a close look at that scene (iron finger and all) it is not at all clear if Ada has finally attained a blissful state of "freedom". But is Campion producing an erotization of male domination? - I think I would have to re-watch the film in order to give a decent answer to that question. At least, I would say that there are several scenes that explicitly raise this question: Baines' regret and Ada's husband's fear of his wife's attempts at sexual controls are examples here.

The Galilee Eskimos (2006)

In the face of deep debt & bankruptcy, men, women and children leave their kibbutz in a state of total desolation - save for a group of elderly people who, unaware of the exodus of their peers, have remained. They decide to keep on living there, despite external pressures in the shape of bulldozers, bailiffs and the lucrative prospect of building a casino on the former kibbutz. This is the story of The Galilee Eskimos, an Israeli comedy that does not lack political undercurrents. But this is far from a political manifesto - if you want to see political dimensions here, fine - but actually, this is more of a feel-good film about friendship, joy and memory. The group of seniors take charge of the situation, and in doing that, they recollect their youth; socialism, independence, work. Even though I found this film very charming, the very uncritical picture of kibbutz life made me a bit uneasy. That the kibbutz founders had a natural right to that kind of life was not something the film dwelled on, even though thematically, it revolved around what it means to belong to a place and view it as one's own - and the bitter realization that one's life is shattered by external forces. On a more positive note, this is a film that honors the joys of everyday life and the possibility of finding friendship and love.

Claire Denis

... & French philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy is the topic of Film-Philosophy No 1 (2008):

Samaritan girl (2004)

During the last few weeks, I've watched a batch of Kim Ki-Duk films. My gut reaction is that his films are artistically interesting, but morally a bit shady. Samaritan girl does not change my mind in that respect. In many ways, it is a typical Ki-Duk production. The question about problematic female sexuality (which, in many films, is seen as a threat, something that challenges the stability of the world) remains in the limelight. Kim Ki Duk's peculiar perspective on violence is ever-present. The story of the film is quite horrendous (and very misogynistic): a very young girl works as a prostitute while her shy friend, Yeo-Yin is the business manager. When the police is about to interrupt one rendezvous, the girl jumps from a window, and dies at hospital. Yeo-Yin, seeking some sort of redemption /expiation, meets every client her friend has slept with, goes through with the act, and returns to him the money from the first transaction. In the second part of the film, Yeo-Yin's activities are unintentionally revealed to her father who, in a third segment of the film, embarks on a spiritual journey of his own, which involves violence and an attempt to bring his daughter back to virginal purity. 

Though not a Pretty woman, Samaritan girl is, in my opinion, too overloaded with symbolism and metaphors. As a story about redemption, this pic has some merits, but it also contains far too many ugly clichés about the secret of female sexuality to really be of any interest. Actually, I doubt that anything good can be dug out from the whore/madonna dichotomy - and this is proven by this film. What is more, the idea of "female innocence" torn to pieces by males is never really questioned here - rather, Ki-Duk creates a lugubrious tale about a cruel world in which innocent girls are whiffed into a life of obscenities.

The reason why Ki-Duk's film haunt me is because his films always contain two or three scenes where everything is in the right place, cinematically speaking. Yeo-Yin's father sit quietly in his car, covered with colorful leaves, surrounded by an eerie, stern, blue-ish light. Nothing happens. We just see him sitting there. The very ending scenes, in which Yeo-Yin's father teaches his daughter to drive a car, has an almost otherworldly beauty - along with a few layers of meaning.

Gitarrmongot (2004)

Ruben Östlund caused quite a stir with his film De ofrivilliga a few years ago. His earlier, lesser known Gitarrmongot might not be as well-developed (from a mainstream-audience point of view), but a very interesting viewing experience is guaranteed nonetheless. Östlund works in a no-frills, mocumentary style. He has a good nose for things we are prone to shy away from, the awkward, embarrassing moments that we'd rather forget about. In bravely exploring forms of psychological violence, group dynamics and multifarious versions of revolt against a repressed society (in which Lars Berghagen is a saint), Östlund really becomes relevant and transgresses the average "bury-your-shame-in-pillow" kind of one-trick pony. At his best, Östlund doesn't leave the viewer with a momentaneous tingle, "ew, embarrassing!", he gets to grips with the dark heart of social morality - and our own part of it.

Gitarrmongot does not have a plot. Like Roy Andersson's later films, Östlund works with short scenes, the relation between which we are to figure out for ourselves. There is the boy who plays guitar on the street and with his older friend; the woman who causes much anguish by touching a girl's hair in the back of a bus; a gang of boys entertain themselves with breaking stuff; a pair of chaps make sleazy jackass-styled videos.

Östlund's film may take an interest in themes which have been popularized by the Falkenberg-gang. But there is a difference in mood, and perhaps in politics, too. Östlund is a crass observer and dark comedian. He does not point his finger at anything. Perhaps most importantly; he sees the potential in things and phenomena that might otherwise just appear to be stupid or embarrassing - like the little boy with his guitar that bugs the shit out of most people. I would describe Gitarrmongot as a film that, in several ways, studies social activity as expressive of energy (does this mean that he is uninterested in a moral point of view? No.). The most striking example of this is, perhaps, a scene in the very beginning of the film, in which a young man drills a group of youngsters to chant "Sieg heil!" as fast as possible. 

For all its seemingly low-budget techniques, Östlund's film is often surprising in how it pays attention to things like camera angles & framing of shots - and sound. One of the things that really stood out in the film is how Östlund allows the sounds in the film to appear in several layers; sometimes we hear a jarring sound, and at other times I really have to pay attention in order to make out the words through the hazy soundscape. In most movies, all sounds are on the same level, resulting in a dull flatness. Östlund makes his images, even when they appear monotonous, come to life.