Cinema Talk

Quite possibly the hyper, kinetic, and more violent cousin to Rivette’s Merry-Go-Round. Just like in that film, we have something of great emotional weight underneath all the surrealistic red herring. Grandrieux’s style is more, shall we say, accelerated. In fact many of the early sequences are stylized to a point beyond comprehension. In addition, much of the “drama” fells slightly forced into coming off as “bleak” or “odd” or whatever other adjectives that fits. Still, there is something much more personal buried beneath the film’s inaccessible and abstract presentation. Like all great films, Sombre accurately portrays the unsolvable mysteries of human interaction and does so in a way that captures all the nuance and textures of our existence.

In one of the most enigmatic opening sequences in recent history, Grandrieux seemingly introduces all his technical tools. The camera follows a car weaving through an empty mountainside accompanied by the ambiance of a unknown sound. Both of these physical elements will reappear in Sombre many times. The car is inhabited by the film’s protagonist, Jean and the sound is revealed to be that of wind hitting a face hanging out of a moving vehicle. Both of these details seem irrelevant but if one is not at least mildly interested in their presence, they are a likely to be frustrated by the rest of the film. It is these sensory details that drive the film and leads us into its core, emotionally speaking.

Another point of clear frustration for viewers, but complete bliss for others is the way in which Grandrieux chooses to present his images. For the first twenty minutes, Jean is trapped inside of darkness, literally. The darkness for many of the earliest sequences come close to slipping into self-parody. It is difficult for us to see anything, let alone comprehend the purpose of whatever is going on. Body parts seem to quickly float, if only for a sequence. It is almost as though the characters are underwater, waving themselves around to avoid drowning. While these sequences are indeed captivating, they seem trivial, almost academic once Claire is introduced.

It is here that a conflict comes into play: Jean, the serial rapist, helps out the virgin, Claire and her sister. It is a setup that is completely fairytale. Claire is Jean’s way out of darkness. She is quite literally the light; she is introduced with a radiating glow in several sequences. Perhaps such simple-minded characterization could write off the film’s much more perceptive touches, but the fairytale setup does not end at its simple description nor does it provide a open-and-shut case of happiness. It does the exact opposite, actually as Jean rejects his “savior” (in a sense) and returns to his old ways. Yet, he is not a villain nor is he a “friendly rapist/murder.” It is perhaps impossible to create a character, who does what Jean does, and still make this person sympathetic. We do not sympathize with him, or even suppose to “like” him but he is still a human being with an infinite amount of complexities that makes him intriguing. The same goes for Claire thus explaining the film’s greatness. It fleshes its characters out in the most abstract and unconventional of ways, and goes deeper than any straight-forward “character study.”

Probably the weakest film I’ve seen out of the little movement currently going on in Germany. In his defense, director Stefan Krohmer isn’t technically considered a member of the Berliner Schule. Unfortunately, here in the west, modern German cinema isn’t particularly well represented, in the digital format or otherwise. Taking this into consideration, this does fit very well into the aforementioned movement. In fact, the whole premise shares a striking resemblance to Angela Schanelec’s Nachmittag. Krohmer isn’t nearly as daring as Schanelec, but he does create a collection of fleshed-out characters and makes all their interactions, despite their melodramatic surface, very believable.

Miriam and her husband, Andre have created an adequate middle class household for their fifteen year old son, Nils. For the holidays, the family retreats to their own secluded beach house. Nils invites along his flirty, 12 year old girlfriend, Livia. As opposed to spending time with Nils, she dedicates most of her time to hanging out with Bill, the much older neighbor. This makes Miriam a bit uneasy and so she decides to talk with Bill, who, to her surprise, is quite friendly. The two begin in an affair, which creates an unbearable amount of tension between Miriam and Livia. This tension threatens to destroy the family as well as their vacation.

At the risk of sounding a bit cynical, there is nothing particularly special about this film. It’s not outrightly “conventional” but Krohmer obviously lacks the clear and confident aesthetic of his peers. On the other hand, it can be argued that the technical aspects of the film are in no shape important. Indeed, this is very much a “character-driven” story, which turns out rather well considering the fact that nearly all of the performances are very convincing. Martina Gedeck in particular, is quite special. Her potential was visible in The Lives of Others but she was downplayed just by how mediocre that film is as a whole. Maybe only the son delivers a problem in terms of acting, but I think that role is pretty underwritten to begin with. I understand that the character isn’t the focus but that doesn’t mean he has to be the single most uninteresting person ever conceived. The filmmakers try to throw in some “teenage angst” stuff at the end but its a case of too little, too late. All the other relationship stuff makes this worthwhile, though, albeit somewhat forgettable.

Hands down, Rivette’s best film. Well, at least so far, of course. It isn’t even his most visually or technically accomplished film by a long shot, but this is one of the few cases where his surreal touches work for me. The credit here is probably due to the cast as Maria Schneider and Joe Dallesandro make up one of the greatest cinematic teams of all-time, though it was unfortunately only a one-time deal. William Lubtchansky lends his usual gracefulness with the camera, and I guess there is more kinetic energy (i.e a mobile camera) than in the other Rivette films. Where as the surreal parts of a film like Histoire de Marie et Julien seem more aligned to Lynch-type gimmickry, this one is much more in the vein of Herzog and/or Korine, which is certainly my preference.

Like almost all of Rivette’s films, we have somewhat of a plot here, but it eventually becomes incomprehensible and thankfully, unimportant. Leo and Ben meet up to find Elisabeth, Leo’s sister and Ben’s girlfriend. They eventually meet her in an old mansion, but she’s kidnapped by …some people? In all honesty, I’m particularly sure, but it is mostly irrelevant anyway. Basically, the film is built around the “adventures” (so to speak) of Leo and Ben. There’s a subplot about the number three, but again this never amounts to anything subsantial and that is, at least in my view, a positive element in this film. It would be disappointing to hear that the film is suppose to be some sort of metaphor, or allegory for something because such nonsense would downplay the sheer spontaneity of everything.

Like Even Dwarfs Started Small before it, Merry-Go-Round captures an unexplainable level of cinematic truth in the realm of something that is completely untruthful. Perhaps its hard to understand just how fascinating it is to watch something so bizarre unfold in the utmost convincing way. I’d hate to use a term like “unpredictable” but the narrative seems to roam in every which direction with multiple events going on nearly all the time. This isn’t to say its enjoyable like some “converging storylines” type of film is, but it just has the right amount of disregard for plot that nothing seems remotely forced. This is almost unheard of in Rivette’s world. For as great as his other films are, they (almost) all seemed to be dragged down by unnecessary elements that were thrown in at the last minute. Here, everything is so completely natural (one cannot stress this enough!) that the 150-minute running time feels fairly short.

All the previously mentioned aspects of the film are great, but in addition to the Herzog-style surrealism, there is a great “complicated relationship” lining. At one point in the film, a ten minute stretch covers a completely crazy/weird/bizarre scene, which is then followed by one of the most convincingly real conversations in the history of cinema. I’m referring to the scene of Leo and Ben walking around in an aging house and looking for something related to the number three, which then segways into a post-dinner conversation that would make even Aaron Katz envious. It might be the presence of Little Joe, but the way Rivette seamlessly blends these two approaches is not completely unlike Paul Morrissey’s trilogy. Needless to say, this is a much more visual appealing work.

However, not all of Rivette’s experiments work with 100% success. As vague and irrelevant as the “mystery” is, it does begin to take center stage towards the film’s conclusion. The reoccurring dream sequences are a bit overused as well. Essentially, they amount to nothing more than the two principle characters running around in specific locations; Ben in a forest and Leo on the beach. Aside from those things, the experience is cohesive. At the risk of being vague, the film simply has enough energy to sustain itself on. There’s so much realness, for lack of a better term, that the minor drawbacks can’t even dilute the greatness. In an interview, Rivette mentioned that everyone was miserable during and the performances reflect this claim, but that only makes the few fleeting moments of happiness all the more beautiful.

As I mentioned in my review for Kurosawa’s Drunken Angel, it is one of the greatest ironies that I think Kurosawa is at his best when he works within a genre I normally don’t care too much for – film noir. Perhaps it is not so much the fact that he is making films of such content, but rather the fact that he all these noirs during the early stage of his career. Like most young directors, he seems less imposed by traditions and more eager to experiment. Of course, not all of his decisions work perfectly but they do build up to something extremely energetic and exciting to watch. One of his best films, no question.

On a hot and crowded bus, rookie cop, Murakami, loses his gun. To avoid the embarrassment that comes from such a rookie mistake, he goes undercover, desperate to reclaim his weapon of choice. His leads all end up as dead ends, which only further taint his image. A veteran cop by the name of Sato takes him under his wing and tries to teach him the “business” so to speak. Meanwhile, Murakami’s confiscated pistol appears to be the weapon used in a series of murders.

Even more so than in Drunken Angel, Kurosawa’s pure “amateur-ness” seemed to help spark his most creative side and create, at least in my eyes, some of the greatest moments in his cinematic career. In all honesty, this is probably the worst pacing in any film I’ve ever seen. It opens rather simply and in typical Kurosawa fashion, but following the exposition, there is a ridiculously long montage of Toshiro Mifune walking in the streets of downtown Tokyo. It’s almost as Kurosawa has no idea that conventions even existed in cinema: if ever there was a film that could be considered “free-form” than this is it. Eventually, the film does come back down to Earth, but even then, it still showcases a Kurosawa far more daring than usual. It is here that he is able to indulge in sequences almost completely free from dialogue. Even though the film’s overall aesthetic is rather old-fashioned, it is Kurosawa’s attempt at making his film more visually-driven, that counts.

On the other hand, it is a bit bizarre to think that after two of the most original and inventive features, Kurosawa would go on to become such a second-rate director. I realize this isn’t the most popular belief, but it is impossible for one to not see the difference between this and Rashomon, which came out the following year. SImilarly, Mifune’s brilliantly alienated performance here seems like the polar opposite of the role he would play a year later in the aforementioned film. I suppose this could be an example of his range, but its hard to think that someone who appreciates his one-dimensional role in Rashomon would be equally fond of his much more reserved performance here, or vice versa. It seems that the Kurosawa / Mifune team may have reached its peak in the late 40s. Both this and Drunken Angel represent Kurosawa at his very best: smart, funny, and daring.

Not the greatest of Fassbinder’s early anti-theater films, but in any case, a lot better than his later Sirk-inspired melodramas. This is sort of like his usual detached style run through an early Paul Morrissey filter. In other words, it is a bit more outrightly humorous than his other films from this period and features really grainy color cinematography. If I have any problem with the film it has to be the extremely poor film stock and the fact that it makes Fassbinder’s usual minimalism come off as just being bland. Still, considering the context in which the film was made (it is one of a hundred films Fassbinder made in 1970) it’s pretty damn remarkable

Michel and Gunther are both twenty-something males desperate to escape the dullness of everyday life. They dream of, one day, having enough money to take a long trip to Peru. At every turn, they are reminded just how silly their plan is. Michel’s girlfriend, Hanna, is particularly humored by the plan, especially since all she wants is to get married. Realizing just how costly such a trip is, the group begins to hatch a plan to get people to finance their “expedition” which is supported by a treasure map they found.

As thrilling and plot-driven as this does sound, it is, as one can expect from Fassbinder’s early features, a very downbeat film. It is much closer to resembling the films from the American “mumblecore” (man do I hate using this word!) movement. In other words, this is very much a film about young adults struggling to find themselves, their place in society, and the issues of their relationships, and so on. Personally, I relate to these stories a lot, even if they aren’t entirely original, so it’s hard for me not to like this film. Once again, Fassbinder manages to get very powerful Bressonian performances out of his cast, and in one scene, out of himself. Indeed, it is the image of Fassbinder dancing with Hanna Schygulla to Kenny Rodger’s “Ruby” that I will think of whenever I see this film mentioned.