Cinema Talk

After a long personal hiatus from Naruse, I return to the master with Yearning, one of his very best. As one can expect from Naruse, this is a very downplayed drama, meticulously composed with an admiration for the tohoscope format, which Naruse perfected in the 60s. Like Floating Clouds, this takes an almost absurd melodramatic turn during the final act and yet, the film manages to come off incredibly well. Perhaps these “turns” only seem melodramatic because Naruse always downplays the events leading up. Regardless, this is a master in his prime, i.e essential viewing.

Reiko owns and operates a small-town market that is on its last leg. This is mostly due to the corporate supermarket that is taking a majority of the town’s market. Within the market, Reiko takes care of her mother-in-law as well her brother-in-law, Koji. After her husband’s death, Reiko piled herself in work to erase the pain but the idle time has given her time to reflect on her life and she sees it as a waste. Meanwhile, Koji, is harboring a longtime crush on Reiko. Without a job, he’s given time to goof off with his older buddies. He’s offered an opportunity to start a new supermarket and in the process, leave Reiko forever.

Once again, Naruse displays his unquestioned ability to work in the ‘scope format. Perhaps it is due to the long break I’ve had from him, but this film, in particular, seemed a bit more edited than his other efforts from the 1960s. The increase in cutting actually makes the few longer shots seem all the more remarkable. Judging a Naruse film on shot length isn’t really necessary, though. In all of his films, especially this one, there is a repetition in the shot set-ups that make his style very surveillance-like. This perfectly fits in with the usual dark humor that seems more pronounced than before. There’s a few sequence that are unbearably awkward in the greatest of ways.

The above description fits the film first hour or so and then things begin to take a much more tragic turn. Reiko announces her plans to return home and leave the shop. In response, Koji follows her. There are many sequences in which the attitude of the couple shifts so quickly. A realistic shift, of course, but it is hard not to have the word melodramatic pop in your head. In theory, the accusations of Naruse being melodramatic could be just when one considers just how anti-dramatic his style is. I suppose when something plot related actually happens, it glaringly so. However, in the case of this film, I think the overly-expressive musical score is to blame. Some of the film’s music is quite good, actually. It has an almost Hawaiian sensibility to it, reminding one of Wong Kar-Wai’s Days of Being Wild. That’s just one piece, though. The score that acts as a dramatic guide is atrocious, though, and threatens to dilute the power of Naruse’s images. It’s never quite that bad but it certainly is a nuisance.

The most perfect example of the score’s awkward placement comes in the film’s beautifully composed final sequence. I don’t want to give anything away, but the final occurrence is a tragic one. However, Naruse pulls it off in classiest (or non-exploitive) of ways and with enough visual elegance to equate to the end of L’Avventura. The score, which serves no purpose almost makes this sequence a laughable mess. Only on a second viewing with the sound turned off could I appreciate this fabulous sequence. So really, this is a perfect film, but with a very out-of-place of score. One of Naruse’s greatest works from the 60s, a period in which he could do no wrong.

Perhaps Antonioni’s single most technically accomplished effort is also his least nuanced. In some ways, it feels as though the introduction of color into palette made him want to do something a bit more simple. The characters, though deep as usual, feel like more accessible, streamlined portraits of the characters in the trilogy. Where in his previous films, “eros” is characterized as its own being that can burden human relationships, it is more like a monster here. In other words, this probably closer to Polanski’s Repulsion than anything else in Antonioni’s filmography.

Following an accident, a sensitive Guiliana has still not gotten use to the rhythms of human life. Her husband, Ugo is professional and presentable but never willing to give her the attention she deserves. Ugo now has a new associate, Corrado, who develops a deep interest in Guiliana. He is aware that her past has made her cautious, but he does not understand the importance of such events. Like almost all of Antonioni’s character, the three drift around, trying to capture fleeting moments of pleasure in hopes of something bigger. In the mean time, Guiliana’s mental condition continues to worsen.

With the final film of his trilogy, L’Eclisse, Antonioni achieved an almost wordless but profound examination of a drifting soul, trying to attach herself to someone. Here, we get sort of the same thing but it is presented in a much more expressive, outspoken, and talkative manner. For as much as Antonioni is remembered for introducing a cinema not reliant on dialogue, it is here, in one of his most famous works that he indulges everything he seemed to have been fighting against before. That isn’t to say this is as talkative as an Eric Rohmer film, or that it the characters are able to articulate themselves particularly well. Instead, it is a more “cinematic” problem that the dialogue taints the usual rhythms of Antonioni’s work.

To make up for the lack of nuance, some new technical elements are employed. The ambient drone that is present throughout the film perfectly fits the mechanized atmosphere in which our protagonists (if you want to call them that) are trapped in. The shots are built around a color in an attempt to correspond with the character’s psychology. Such manipulation may seem a bit over the top and even gimmicky, but the colors have a distinct feeling. Sure, Identification of a Woman has a richer color pallete and ultimately, looks much more modern, but this film feels a bit confident in it’s presentation. Explaining the cinematography would be a daunting and probably impossible task but there is definitely something special about it.

Considering how well this is received among the “Antonioni circle” it is a tad disappointing to find the film to lack the complexities that, personally, make Antonioni so very special to me. Then again, there’s definitely some great things in here and of course, Monica Vitti is quite possibly the single most captivating actress of all time. Her performance is a bit more melodramatic here considering that she’s suppose to be “insane” but she is special to watch none the less. Combining her presecene with the formal experimentation and you’ve got yourself a wonderful film. The film’s only problem is that the characters aren’t fleshed out to the usual Antonioni standard.

I hate Hollywood, I hate Westerns, but I’ll be damned if I couldn’t help but love all of this. Sure, it pretty has all the terrible textbook narrative elements that I associate (and loathe) with Hollywood cinema from the time period, but it also feels more aesthetically in line with a film like Kon Ichikawa’s Fires on the Plain. Theatrical, silly, melodramatic, plot-heavy — so on and so forth. Anthony Mann, at least judging from this film, isn’t some wild innovator but instead, someone who is able to work within the means of the studio and still create one of the “artiest” movies I’ve ever seen.

A bounty hunter, Morg Hickman, brings a dead body into town to collect his reward. The sheriff in town, Ben Owen, is young, naive, and considered to be a temporary replacement. Waiting for his money, Hickman notices just how terrible Owen is for his job and attempts to help him out a little. Meanwhile, Hickman is also befriended by a little boy, Kip, and his single mother, Nona. As his new relationships grow, Morg finds himself caught up in the events of the town, which (obviously) leads to more than a couple gunfights.

This is very much a shallow film, both in it’s character types and cause-and-effect structure. It is conventional, in every sense of the word. However, Henry Fonda’s carefree performance lends the film a perhaps false feeling of character psychology. Much has been said about Mann’s “deeper” Westerns but I think that probably lies more within the acting than any technical choice. Here, Fonda is so cynical and deadpan that he perfectly establishes the mood for the film itself. The theatrical style perfectly complements the fairly minimalistic tone. This could all very well be accidental on Mann’s part but combining all this with the painterly landscapes that are present throughout all of the film, and you’ve got yourself something special.

While certainly not on the same level as his earlier masterworks, this is still very much an Antonioni film. While most of his post-70s works have been rightfully categorized as failed experiments, this is, perhaps, his true last film. In a sense, this is a “best-of” collections of the films made during his glory years. He isn’t really breaking any new ground, but it is nice to see him juggle his usual themes for one last time, even if it means that the film occasionally resembles 80s erotica.

A film director, Niccolo, seeks the perfect woman, for his upcoming movie and for real life. First, he becomes engrossed in Mavi, who he is accidentally introduced to by his sister. They are in love, but like seemingly all of the characters in Antonioni’s world, they are also lost. The couple’s relationship seems to vanish into thin air and Niccolo’s attention now shifts towards Ida. Ida and Mavi couldn’t be more different but on paper, their relationships with Niccolo are similarly confusing. Despite the deep psychology present throughout the film, Niccolo decides, based on his recent experiences, to make a science fiction film.

Though his career would last for another 25 years, Antonioni would not come much closer to recapturing his original vision after this film. This is the last film he made before his stroke in 1985 which paralyzed and prevented him from speaking. While this is indeed his true final film, it also is plagued by many of semi-porn indulgences that push Antonioni’s post-stroke work into the realm of self-parody. Thankfully, this has a lot more to offer than the final segment in Eros. The type of character psychology present here is pretty much on the same level as that in the trilogy. The whole “director’s relationship with women” concept seems to be something that extremely affected Hong Sang-soo seeing as how almost all of his films are based around a similar concept.

On the technical side, this is pretty much perfect. Amazing cinematography, as one can expected from Antonioni, but this seems to be an achievement even for him. This probably has more to do with progression in lighting and film stock than it has to do with any aesthetic choices. Colorful and moody, sure, but the composition of shots isn’t all that different from those in L’Eclisse. All in all, a wonderful trip down memory lane for Antonioni and his fans, but I personally can’t see the film operating as much more. A fine way to spend a couple hours, but not as earth-shattering as something like, say, L’Avventura.

A beautifully realized, in spite of its budget, tragic love story that unfortunately has not gotten the attention it deserves. I’m not quite sure why director Jean-Paul Civeyrac is under the radar, but I can’t help but think that his decision to use DV is a factor. The “mumblecore” aesthetic has become a touchstone of low-budget film making but Civeyrac tries to do something more poetic and the result approaches a style closer to Wong Kar-Wai’s 2046. At the same time, this is also an incredibly truthful and perceptive look at relationships. Dramatized? Absolutely, but it still manages to come off as real.

Raoul, a sexually active and young poet, drifts from woman to woman in an attempt to capture a true connection. He sees a former girlfriend and is suddenly stricken with sadness. Later that day, he becomes acquainted with Jeanne, who is equally out-going and wild. In no time, they become lovers, but Jeanne does not welcome Raoul’s deeper feelings. Instead, she pushes them aside, almost always preferring empty sex. Raoul is use to this, but he is unable to engage in such a relationship with Jeanne and eventually love gets the worst of everyone.

In addition to the stylistic similarities, this also anticipates, in terms of narrative structure, Aaron Katz’s more publicized but equally fascinating Dance Party USA. The perspective is a bit more personal here, but the story unfolds in a similar fashion. Both films follow a deep connection made by young(er) adults who have saturated their lives with unemotional sexual encounters. Civeyrac’s film is ultimately far more tragic and conventionally dramatic than Katz’s, but both seem to have an understanding of human relationships. It might be premature, but it is quite possible that both directors are equivalents to Korea’s Hong Sang-Soo, perhaps the single most important director when it comes to modern relationship dramas.

To continue with the comparisons between Civeyrac and Katz, I find that both directors are the only ones that are working in the realm of low-budget, sloppy DV productions but still put effort into their films’ visuals. In this category, Katz is probably the clear winner but that’s only because his shakycam aesthetic fits in better much. Civeyrac’s style seems to be closer to a Wong Kar-Wai run through digital filtering which creates a fair share of visually awkward moments. This doesn’t really damper the experience of the film too much, but one can’t help imagine what the film would look like if it were shot in 35mm. Still, for what it is worth, this one of the most accomplished films I’ve seen anyone put out in the last couple years. Well, anyone outside of Asia, anyway.