Cinema Talk

Quite easily the best movie I’ve seen from Ernst Lubitsch so far, though I guess it is also the least Lubitsch-esque. His humor remains in tact here, but the content in which he is exploring is far more serious, perhaps even dreary. While I do enjoy watching some of his “lighter” movies every now and then, I found it much more rewarding to see him experimenting with a legitimately dramatic narrative, while still maintaining his overall humanism. In fact, he handles the story (which has plenty of melodramatic possibilities) in a very mature manner, probably more gentle than any other American film at the time.

Paul Renaud, a French soldier recently dismissed from the first World War, returns home with an enormous burden on his mind. It turns out that, in the middle of combat, he stumbled upon an (otherwise calm) German soldier, Walter Holderlin. As one might predict, he responds quickly by killing Walter, but exercises compassion towards his victim almost immediately. Haunted by Walter’s letter, Paul attempts to eliminate his guilt by meeting the Holderlin family. When they welcome Paul into their home, he cannot find the courage to tell the truth and surprisingly, he becomes something of second son to the family.

Lubitsch throws in an obligatory love story involving Paul and Walter’s ex-fiancee, which begins to tip-toe into the realm of the melodramatic. At a certain point, I was almost positive that Lubitsch was going to lose all the Ozu-like gentleness he had for his characters, but thankfully, he never does. The relationships created as a result of a family tragedy are not only fascinating on a dramatic level, they are also extremely life-affirming. While they hold prejudices strongly at the start, the Holderlin family is shown to be caring, compassionate, and open-minded. In other words, they are everything that the rest of the people in town are not.

There is a bit of that “new kid in town” element present upon Paul’s arrival in Germany, which reminds of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s (very, very different) Katzelmacher. While Fassbinder’s film is definitely the more accomplished feature, I have to say Lubitsch’s effort is much better. The two films seem to be in direct dichotomy: Fassbinder documents how evil can be while Lubitsch expresses his overwhelming faith in human embrace. While it maybe a romanticized portrait of family life, it is still a very vivid and “full” one. Considering the running time of 72 minutes, it is quite impressive how much Lubitsch can build from his characters. Paul and the Holderlin family make up some of the richest and most complete characters for a pre-code Hollywood film. Needless to say, this is a masterpiece.

A very, very difficult film to swallow, not because it is that real (it’s rather melodramatic half of the time actually) but instead because it seems to wear its controversy so proudly on its sleeve. While there was obvious something more behind the film then just the “dark” thematic territory, it is a little hard to not see Elia Kazan and screenwriter William Inge getting all excited about all the publicity such a heavy story would undoubtedly generate. Ultimately, though, the film manages to overcome its occasional lapses in subtlety by coming out the other end with a very mature conclusion.

If nothing else, Kazan’s sprawling drama works as a perfect companion piece to Robert Rossen’s far superior effort from three years later, Lilith. In that film, Warren Beatty is once again involved with a “crazy” girl, but Rossen’s content is far more pragmatic than the glamorous tragedy of a lost first love that is depicted here. Kazan is more likely to get some tears out of the audience, but I’m not sure that is exactly a good thing. Before its final bittersweet, yet fitting and understated conclusion, the story takes a hard turn into a lane of self-parody. The emotional fits performed Beatty and Natalie Wood come awfully close to simply being too much. Wood’s breakdown in the bathroom with her mother is a perfect example of Inge trying too hard to make a sequence “harrowing” or “unflinching.” It’s easy to see where the movie is suppose to be a intimate, Cassavetes-like drama, but obviously, it never quite reaches that level.

Like Rossen’s movie, Kazan manages to ground some (but not all) of the melodrama by interjecting these little spontaneous and personal moments. There’s this odd subplot involving Beatty’s sister, played by Barbara Loden who, ironically enough, would go on to make a legitimately intimate Cassavetes-like drama in 1970 with Wanda. She, like everyone else excluding Beatty, plays her part to the most exaggerated point, but I can’t help but find her b-story as this bizarre interlude in the middle of Beatty and Wood’s much more “juicy” romance.

The high drama and tension build up, in volcano-like fashion, to a conclusion which one would anticipate to be far too physically “sad” but is instead, beautifully understated. While considering my admiration for filmmakers like Ozu and Naruse, I should probably hate a movie like this, but I can’t help but find it fascinating. Sure, it is a far cry from reality, but it manages to hit certain notes that ring true,  in spit of how serious the script takes itself. Had Kazan ended his film in any other way, I certainly wouldn’t be nearly as impressed, but I think it is to his credit that he could end a film filled with “big, serious, important” drama on a note more akin to the films that came from far East during the same time period.

I’ve been watching (and in some cases trying to watch) a lot of Soviet silent films and almost all of them have fallen well short of my expectations. For as gifted as Eisenstein was, I have yet to watch a film of his where the content doesn’t overwhelm the beautiful images by its sheer one-dimensional pull. I completely understand that a lot of these films are willfully propaganda, but I also don’t see that as an excuse to forgive their shortcomings. However, in this particular case, I didn’t have to. Sure, it’s a “political” film, but its one that is so seductive and hypnotic in its beauty that the simplistic story becomes an after thought. Not only is this by far by favorite Soviet silent film, it’s also my favorite non-Japanese silent movie.

Truth be told, the narrative here isn’t all that different from the one illustrated in Battleship Potemkin. It’s another tale of cultural rebellion and a protest of authority figures, but I find Eisenstein’s film to be rather simplistic in its design. Dovzhenko is juggling the same concepts of “montage” with his editing, but he is about a hundred times more successful than Eisenstein. Battleship Potemkin feels, at least to me, to be a very obvious aesthetic experiment, where as this is the work of a man who comes off as completely confident in crafting a story in the most unconventional manner. Honestly, I don’t think Dovzhenko’s talent here has been surpassed, which is pretty impressive.

In all fairness, I think what Dovzhenko has accomplished here is slightly different than modern “montage” directors (think Wong Kar-Wai, or Terrence Malick) in the sense that his entire film is like one extended montage. Michael Mann’s most recent film Public Enemies is similar in some respects, but not to the same extent. Mann’s film hints at characters, but just chooses to indulge in technical execution, and thus, sacrificing any sort of interest in the characters. It’s a cold, perhaps almost academic experience, but Dovzhenko is almost overwhelmingly compassionate to his characters. Not an Ozu sort of way, but in the way that he is willing and able to evoke our emotions by the most simple of gestures.

There’s a (very negative) review on IMDB that states the film should be seen by those on hallucinogenic drugs and while the author obviously meant this as problem, I see it as a virtue. Arsenal is, at the risk of sounding hyperbolic, a drug on its own. Its creates and abstracts physical sensations, sounds, and sights to build together into one of the bizarre, yet astonishingly beautiful experiences I’ve ever had. I have a feeling that Dovzhenko’s magic may be lost on repeat viewings, but on my initial viewing, it was quite earth-shattering.

I start college in less than twenty days so my posts are obviously going to be a lot less frequent until Winter Break, and I can’t even make promise for those weeks. So, to help keep my mind at ease (I hate the feeling that I have to write something about a film) and perhaps transition into a more efficient way of writing reviews, I’m going to say a lot less now. Maybe I’ll return to the old reviewing style a couple times before August ends, but I don’t think I’ll be doing so many more times. So, anyway, here’s what I’ve watched lately…

Orizuru Osen (Kenji Mizoguchi, 1935)

Some of the usual “Mizoguchi problems” here like a slightly too tragic tone, but overall, one of his most impressive efforts from the 1930s. While there is plenty of “big important drama” there is also a few quietly touching, if not downright heartbreaking moments. The scene where the old blind woman sends her grandson off to college is a perfect example of this. It helps that Mizougchi, as always, has a very sophisticated (at least for the time) control of the camera. The music is a bit over the top, and sounds Christmas-y for some bizarre reason, but its not that big of a problem. If anything, the only thing I found “wrong” with this is that is was simply a bit too difficult to sit through.

One Hour With You (Ernst Lubitsch, 1932)

Hands down, my favorite Lubitsch so far. It manages to take the most interesting premise that I’ve seen from him (from The Wedding Circle) and transform it into something equally “complex” but twenty times more fun to watch. I could complain about how willfully silly and over the top it is, but Lubitsch much better at this sort of thing than he is at making a realistic portrait of human interaction. The music is probably a little annoying to some people, come on, it’s fun. If you can’t take 80 minutes to enjoy something life this, then you’re probably taking yourself too seriously. But that kind of implies that the film is lightweight, which I guess it is, but that doesn’t make it any less brilliant.

Love Me Tonight (Rouben Mamoulian, 1932)

Another great Chevalier-MacDonald collaboration. In fact, this is probably one of the best classic Hollywood movies I’ve seen in quite awhile. Not only is it visually stunning, it’s also one of the most life-affirming things I’ve ever seen. The characters are a little flat, though. I mean, I don’t really get why Chevalier would pursue MacDonald and turn a shoulder to the beautiful Myrna Loy, especially when the film does little to nothing to emphasize the pros or cons of either woman. It still works in making me heartbeat faster than it should. I always have a hard time balancing my personal life with my opinion on certain films, but if anything, this was just the perfect conclusion to one of the better nights of the summer. Also, the opening is pretty much the greatest thing ever. I have heard believing that Ozu didn’t see this, but, unfortunately, there is no record of him doing so.