Cinema Talk

A total masterpiece that not only rivals, but also surpasses the greatness of Merry-Go-Round, which was my favorite Rivette film until now. Basically everything that I love about Rivette’s bizarre cinematic world is brought to the forefront here. Plenty of odd unsolvable mysteries executed in an ultra-kinetic and spontaneous way. Even with the very grainy stock, William Lubtchansky brings some of the most wonderful images I’ve ever seen in any Rivette film. Considering how consistent Lubtchansky is, this is a ridiculously big claim, but that only reinforces what an accomplishment this is. It manages to capture the spontaneity of Celine and Julie with the visual beauty of Love on the Ground. In other words, this is Rivette at his very, very best.

Two women, Marie and Baptiste, bump into to each other three times in the course of one day and almost by default, form a tight bond. Marie has her mind on other things, though, the most obvious one being her lover, Julien, who she plans to reunite with following her stay in prison. Baptiste, seemingly skilled in some sort of martial art, follows her around and notices that Julien’s briefcase was switched by the film’s four character, Max. The two women reunite and gain access to the briefcase which features a map that seems to turn the city of Paris into a board game.

I’ve said before and I’ll probably say it sometime in a future, but describing all the chaos present in Rivette’s film, especially this one, is nearly impossible. Like many of his films from this time period, there’s plenty of conventional mystery aspects thrown in, but they are all just another intelligently designed contribution to complete craziness. As with Merry-Go-Round and Celine and Julie Go Boating, it is the unmatched sense of spontaneity that Rivette creates (and maintains) that heightens said craziness. Perhaps I’m stressing the overall “bizarre” factor of the film and not focusing enough on just how fascinating and wonderful all the performances are. Bulle Ogier, as usual, is beautiful and captivating. Her daughter is goofy, but charming as hell. The weight that both of them carry cannot be stressed enough and yet, both performance are absolutely flawless.

The cinematography here is a bit more grainy than in both Merry-Go-Round and Celine and Julie, which make up something of a personal trilogy for myself, if only for the fact that they are by far my three favorite Rivette films. But anyway, the stock here is not the best, but somehow the ultra-grainess begins to blend into one’s subconcious, which leads to a whole different kind of cinematic beauty. Calling it “documentary-esque” seems almost like an understatement. I’ve never seen any one film be as kinetic and viscerally experienced as this, except for maybe Herzog’s Even Dwarfs Started Small, which would make up a bizarre yet fitting double-bill. Like Herzog’s Dwarf-filled masterpiece, Le Pont du Nord is the sort of film that words can’t do justice for. In other words, go out and watch it right now!

I feel obligated to add in one more tidbit about this wonderful film: it perfectly unites almost all of Rivette’s work. The lovers here are named Marie and Julien, which obviously brings to mind Rivette’s much later (and much more different) masterpiece. It’s almost as though the characters are being fleshed out through a completely different movie, which seems to be the perfect way to define an “autuer.” This not only enriches the actual experience of watching Le Pont du Nord but also my opinion of Rivette’s other films, even The Nun.

I don’t intend to be condescending, but this is pretty much textbook Mizoguchi right here: a beautifully crafted melodrama that is occasionally profound, often high in drama, but almost always entertaining. Even with the biographical aspects present, Mizoguchi manages to bring out his characteristic melodrama. This isn’t exactly a bad thing, but after watching so many of Hiroshi Shimizu’s subtle and beautiful dramas, it is a bit hard to readjust to Mizoguchi’s usual cinematic quirks. Of course, the maximality in the narrative is toned down by some of the loveliest visuals of the 1940s. For all of Mizoguchi’s faults at handling human interaction, (at least compared to his peers) he did consistently capture some of the most beautiful images in all of cinema.

In 18th century Japan, Kitagawa Utamaro is in his artistic prime and is already seen by connoisseurs as one of the greatest printmakers of all time. Unfortunately, his artistic success is starting to collide greatly with his personal life. Utamaro is arrested by a local judge for speaking his mind on the state of art and is sentenced to fifty days in handcuffs. The sentence seems harmless, but the handcuffs prevent Utamaro from participating in his greatest personal outlet: his paintings. With his only means of expression eliminated, his work becomes something of a life-or-death situation, which seems to correspond with the state of his relationships as well.

This film is such a curiosity, not only for the fact that it was the first period piece made in Japan during the Allies’ occupation, but also because it is the only example of Mizoguchi attempting a biographical picture. In fact, this may have very well been the first Japanese biopic, or at least the first personal one. I guess 47 Ronin can also be considered a biopic as well, but that film operates on a much larger scale, is much more vague. As someone who is fairly unfamiliar with Utamaro’s real life experiences, I can’t make much of a comment on the legitimacy of the story, but towards the end things tend to sway towards Mizoguchi’s usual type of melodrama. It is not even unrealistic, but perhaps more accurately, just too emotionally extreme to work with such a calm technical sensibility.

Once again, Mizoguchi showcases his poetic possibilities with the camera and the results are some of the most elegant and calm mobile tracking shots in his entire oeuvre. Even with the film’s print in not-so-great physical shape, the movements of the camera are so steady and relaxed. It’s quite possible that something as small as the camera’s fluidity would not be significant in a film with as many gorgeous static shots as this one, but instead, the juxtaposition of the two flows together perfectly.

All of this reassures the cinematic intelligence of Mizoguchi, which is rivaled only by his emotional angst as the biggest personal element in his work. The connection between Mizoguchi and Utamaro is inevitable, but it makes sense at least when using Mizoguchi’s vision of Utamaro as the point of comparison. That’s why, even with the usual melodramatic flourishes, this is one of Mizoguchi’s most emotionally mature works, if only for the fact that it is somewhat a reflection of the creator himself.

My first encounter with Jacques Tourneur is, for the most part, a very good one. All the hype about him being proficient in building and establishing a atmosphere is pretty spot on and seems to be the single most important element in this particular film’s success. It is, after all, a story that is largely based within the repercussions surrounding a central community, and his aesthetic precision helps in making the simple observations of a classic rural town so riveting. Otherwise, this would probably just be remembered as a really heavy-handed indictment of racism from 1950s America.

Josiah Gray, a country parson arrives in the small town of Wellsburg and through montage, we see how quickly alters the community so that it becomes almost his own. He has seemingly been a key figure in the town when it is struck with typhoid fever. The town’s new doctor is young and unsurprisingly, not welcomed by the townsfolk. However, the illness is spreading and Mr. Gray continues to see more of the young doctor, who strongly dislikes Gray based on his own belief that Gray may have spread the disease when he visited the school while his nephew was sick. Meanwhile, Uncle Famous, one of the town’s longest residents, is threatened to have his land taken away from him.

Tourneur seems to take a page from John Ford’s Judge Priest as he builds Stars in My Crown around a very similar concept. There are some dramatic flourishes in both films (such moments are the weakest in both movies) but for the most part, both are plotless and both are held together by a beautifully crafted sense of Americana. It seems like a small feat, but it is impressive how both directors create a sense of community without much exposition to clutter their efforts. This is actually where Tourneur’s film begins to be different. From the start, we are given a rapid-fire montage of how Josiah Gray became the single most important person in Wellsburg and Gray’s nephew narrates it. There are plenty of impressive shots in this opening, but that is pretty much the only compliment I can give this essentially meaningless bit of exposition. Had Tourneur stuck with this pace for the whole film, it would have been fine, but the changes are abrupt and the film settles down to the standard 50s Hollywood pace.

Not all is lost, though, as Tourneur’s shots still have a peculiar beauty to them. It’s that beauty that can only be found in Westerns from the early 1950s, a time when greats like Anthony Mann and Budd Boetticher were slowly transitioning from noirs to westerns. These pictures inadvertently spawned the “noir-western” which probably only become a genre (if one can call it that) in recent years. Stars in My Crown is neither western nor noir, but it captures the spirit of both and that is (probably) what counts the most. If there’s really any problem with this film, it’s that it doesn’t seem to be cohesively great. Some fantastic spots here and there, but some dry ones as well. Still, I’m definitely looking forward to seeing more from Tourneur.