Cinema Talk

I hesitate to call Johnny To a “critic’s filmmaker” because the phrase could mean plenty of things. On the other hand, a film like this, a genre film so smartly constructed and confidently composed is the sort of thing that film nerds love. That’s not a dismissal, though, because there’s truly something remarkable here from a technical perspective. Perhaps it lacks something in the pathos department, but it twists and bends the action film genre to its most logical point. It’s not going to make you cry or anything, but there’s something so exciting about watching a filmmaker who is so sure of himself.

Druglord Timmy Choi begins vomiting profusely while driving, which results in him crashing his car into a restaurant. Meanwhile, Zhang has just made a huge drug bust. Choi is hospitalized, but faces the death penalty. Zhang gives him the opportunity to get out of it if he helps the police by going undercover. He agrees, but things don’t run smoothly, and Choi’s allegiance is never clear.

The setup here is pretty straightforward, which is ultimately a positive with the amount of narrative developments that are present. It would be exhausting to revisit all of them in text, but thankfully one can’t say the same for To’s images. They serve a purpose, sure, but his film doesn’t feel like a crime film dressed up with nice cinematography. At the same time, calling the visual style “functional” implies something negative, that it is less than great. To make things a bit more simple: the intricacy of the story (multiple viewings is probably wise) is less frustrating because To’s technical wizardry carries the momentum. One never gets the impression of walking through a puddle of exposition.

Here comes another description of To that seems negative: clever. Sure, maybe it’s condescending but I struggle to find another way to describe the scene where Zhang meets HaHa while impersonating Li Suchang, which is followed by the scene where he meets Li Suchang while impersonating HaHa. It’s a narrative move that is apparently a theme of To’s work. The idea alone is brilliant, but To executes it with such confidence that you never get the impression that he’s elbowing the audience in the ribs. It seems like he could be justified in doing so.

Not all of To’s tricks work at the same level as the scene described above. The bit with the deaf men feels corny enough to make Tarantino roll his eyes. His best moment might be the film’s finale, which is as exhausting as it is brilliant, an extended shootout scene devoid of a soundtrack beyond the sound of bullets flying. It’s a bit ridiculous, but it feels cathartic. The result of the shootout is To’s twisting of the crime film, so much so that it seems to betray the genre itself yet at the same time it feels like the most “real” outcome of such a scenario. As To begins to gain popularity in the west, I can’t think of a better film to convert potential fans.

There’s something to be said about the fact that Bernardo Bertolucci is still trying. Hell, it’s really the best thing he has going for him at this point. This isn’t a terrible film by any stretch, but it does feel all a little too familiar and safe. Yes, safe. Sure, the transgressive Bertolucci stuff is still there (plenty of incestuous overtones!) and everything still looks good, but it feels a little bit uninspired. He manages to salvage something unique out of the setup in the final act. It’s a nice movie, but it seems to be lacking in energy. That could be an unfair description, and perhaps a bias towards Bertolucci’s own age. He seems conscious of this, though, because the film’s greatest strength is that one can see him trying to recapture something youthful and energetic.

Lorenzo is an alienated teenager who lives alone with his mother. Their relationship is composed of either arguments or bizarre sexual questions from Lorenzo. He gives his mother the impression that he’s excited for an upcoming ski trip put on by the school. It’s a front, though, and he takes the money she gives him and decides to hide in the basement for a week. His half-sister, Olivia, unexpectedly turns up and to keep her quiet, Lorenzo is forced to take care of her.

It’s entirely possible that I’ve simply seen too many coming of age films about ostracized teens, but the scenes that are focused entirely on Lorenzo seem to be missing something. It’s easy to feel for him on a superficial level, but we’re given few details beyond a potential Oedipus complex. It seems more like lazy writing than opaque characterization when viewing the film, but in retrospect, I’m glad Bertolucci didn’t bother to flesh the character out with scenes of him having no friends and being sad. Still, the film awkwardly starts with him listening to The Cure’s “Boys Don’t Cry” which seems too on the nose. Maybe that’s the point.

When Lorenzo finally begins his week-long hideout, things still seem a little bit forced. Lorenzo’s lying resonates in a weird way, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that his escapade seems so remarkably stupid. Admittedly, he is only fourteen years old and I myself did equally stupid things at that age. I mean more that the fact that we have to follow him around seems stupid, and uninteresting. There’s a little bit about his appreciation of insects, which seems like the easiest “introverted” passion for a teenager to have. Unlike Antoine in The 400 Blows, Lorenzo actually has hope because he has a passion. The heartbreak in that film (which Bertolucci makes a nod to in the film’s end) is that life is so overwhelming. Lorenzo’s life, in comparison, is remarkably easy. He might have more in common with the gang from The Bling Ring.

Bertolucci does capture something vital and worthwhile towards the film’s final act. Basically, as soon as Olivia shows up things begin to be interesting, albeit not entirely unique, even for Bertolucci himself. The drug addiction doesn’t feel real as much as it feels like another bullet point in how to make a transgressive art film. Even with Olivia’s breakdown, it never really feels harrowing, but I think that’s more of a positive. It’s not a film about addiction, anyway. Hell, I don’t even know what it really wants to be about, but I hope it’s something about Olivia and Lorenzo.

The best moments are the ones where the film tries to detach itself from time. Olivia and Lorenzo share a dance and it’s weirdly beautiful. When the movie is the two of them just hanging around, it manages to catch a groove. Again, it’s nothing new for Bertolucci. There’s shades of the brilliant Gino Paoli slow dance from Before the Revolution and the early scenes from La Luna. The film feels like its maker trying to hold on to some semblance of youth, and it’s poignant in that respect. On the other hand, this sort of thing has been done better before, and by Bertolucci himself.

So here’s a better example of what made Allan Dwan so vital: a tight, but energetic western that runs around 80 minutes. Sure, its allusions to McCarthyism are fairly obvious, but this actually works in the film’s favor Unlike the more acclaimed High Noon, which this film is forever linked to, Dwan doesn’t dwell on his social commentary. It’s there and it’s easy to read, but he hasn’t turned away from the genre. In a way, it makes the allegory more powerful: he hasn’t sacrificed any action to reinforce the message. The result is a film that flows so fast and effortlessly that it will take multiple viewings to truly appreciate everything that is jammed into it.

It’s July 4th and Dan Ballard is getting married to Rose Evans. The ceremony is interrupted by one Ned McCarthy, a US Marshal who has a warrant for Ballard’s arrest. McCarthy’s motivation is personal, he claims that his brother was shot in the back by Dan. The ceremony is put on hold and McCarthy grants Ballard’s two hours of freedom. With the time allotted, Ballard attempts to find evidence to prove his own innocence. The townspeople quickly turn on Ballard, and begin to question their previous idea about him.

The narrative trajectory isn’t exactly remarkable. Ballard ends up being the wrongly accused man who has to fight against all the skeptics, sometimes even literally. The plot isn’t what sells a film like this, though. It is instead how much meat Dwan is able to slam into such a tight film. This isn’t to say the film is heavy on action because it isn’t, but it feels like there’s enough here for three films from another director. The form seems to be so in service of the storytelling that it’s easy to miss some of the more virtuoso moments Dwan has with the camera, but that’s a sign of truly effective filmmaking.

The script is a pretty clear allegory for America’s Red Scare to the point that the film’s villain is named McCarthy. This seems sort of sloppy and lazy, but it shows that has Dwan has his priorities right. A film that would devote too much energy into its allusions would feel too out of sync with any genre, but it fits partly because Dwan is able to deliver something that still feels like an action film. It isn’t a self-consciously “serious” message film. Instead,  the ideology seems to come from the story playing out, rather than being jammed into its wiring.

For all of the film’s obvious allusions to the paranoia of 1950’s America, there is something that still resonates today. People here are constantly peering through windows. John Alton’s wonderful and jarring color cinematography frames a voyeur in the foreground and the object of their gaze in the background. This is good for introductory level psychoanalytic film theory, but even better is just the beauty in the depth of the images. Despite the limitations of the academy ratio, there seems to be layers of activity in almost every frame, perhaps the perfect visualization for Dan Ballard’s state. There’s always someone behind him to scrutinize his behavior.

The most impressive thing about Silver Lode is how many wonderful individual moments Dwan manages to sandwich in-between the story. Ballard has a moment with an old flame, Dolly, which is so typically Hollywood from a narrative perspective but feels legitimate under his control. Any jaded cinephile will know how a film such as this one ends, but it says something that Dwan is still able to place some uncertainty in the viewer. That’s really the hallmark of any great genre film, but its always something of a surprise when you run into something that truly energizes you. It’s not that Dwan has made a film that will make one forget about the academic part of cinema. He made one that is a blast and can be appreciated only further with it.

At the risk of lionizing him, I find it hard to say directly negative things about Pier Paolo Pasolini. Even when I don’t like one of his films, I find something so fascinating and engaging about what he’s working through within his art. To be blunt, he’s sloppy and earnest, but that has translated to some of the deepest experiences I’ve ever had while watching a film. Basically, some of the traditional “problems” a filmmaker might run into are things I find vital in Pasolini’s work. I explain all this with the intention that while watching this film (which he wrote, not directed) I had a bizarre feeling: it was good, but it was boring.

Young, impulsive, and in need of cash, Scintollone and Ruggeretto steal rifles with the intention of selling them. To keep themselves from looking too suspicious, they pick up two prostitutes, Anna and Supplizia. Along the way, they run into Bella Bella, who knows a contact who might be interested in the guns. They run into another prostitute, Nicoletta. The gang decides a trip to the country side, but the three men know quite well that they’re going to ditch the women once they get there. Their plan seems to work perfectly until they later realize that there money is gone.

The setup here is actually sort of nice, but I don’t know how much mileage you can get out of the grossest type of young person, especially when there’s nothing exciting formally going on. Director Mauro Bolognini has a few impressive photographic moments, but the film’s visual style feels too functional. It might be easier to overlook if the characters themselves weren’t so predictably unpleasant. No one is nearly as terrible as Franco Citti’s character in another Pasolini-penned project, Una vita violenta. Pasolini’s characters are never particularly wonderful individuals, but the negative qualities of many of the young men here seem to be matched in their dullness.

There are hints at something more interesting than just watching a bunch of assholes go on a bender. In fact, that’s sort of perversely fascinating because it suggests Pasolini’s attitude towards people was so abhorrent. He’s actually sort of graceful when dealing with the women here. All of the main women are prostitutes and the ones we meet later on are framed around their sexual potential for the men in the film. It sounds simplistic, but Pasolini provides isolated moments of true heartbreak where they realize the difficult nature of their sexual agency. The contemplation is so fleeting, which makes it even sadder, as the introspection is usually interrupted by one of the men gleefully mocking them.

Part of what makes Pasolini so consistently compelling is that there’s so much to chew on in all of his work, but there’s hard to mine much from this film’s subtext. Combined with the similarly disappointing Una violenta vita, I’m resigned to the idea that his earliest scripts just weren’t as interesting. There’s youthful angst and that can go a long way, but it feels so static and unremarkable here. I can’t see anyone but hardcore Pasolini heads, such as myself, finding much of interest here. It’s not a terrible movie, just one that feels too safe and calculated, especially when it came from a pen with so much exciting potential.

I find it worth mentioning that my motivation for seeing this particular film was not because of Raoul Walsh. He might be the best director the dream factory ever produced, but my personal flame for him has died down as of late. Instead, I was hooked by the idea of Ida Lupino walking over creepy men. The film satisfies that craving, and it actually unfolds in a fairly confident manner. However, when certain noir elements narrative elements begin to force their way into the narrative, the movie loses its footing. Perhaps, it’s fitting that Lupino’s presence motivated my viewing, as she’s the real highlight here. She almost carries the film all on her own into being something great, but the film crumbles under the weight of its own complicated story.

Petey Brown, exhausted by her hectic life as a nightclub singer in New York City, visits her family in Long Beach for Christmas. This isn’t exactly a relaxing getaway, as she’s greeted by two sisters, Sally and Virginia. The former is trying to fight off the advances of her obnoxious club-owner boss, Nicky. Her husband, a veteran of the Second World War, is hospitalized for an especially nasty case of PTSD. Petey seemingly brings the family together, but in the process becomes mixed up with Nicky’s business. Around the same time, she falls really hard for San, a quiet piano player.

In every bit of writing I’ve come across regarding the film, there is some insinuation that it is structured around the idea that no personal feelings are shared. Sally has a thing for her married neighbor, John but he’s far too attached to his promiscuous wife, Gloria. Petey only has strong feelings for San, but because of his past, he’s unable to love her. Nicky is interested in any woman he sees, and fittingly, all women are uninterested in him. It’s the sort of tragic setup that plays out nice when it is all suggested and hinted at as it is for the film’s first two acts.

Walsh’s talents aren’t especially noticeable here. The film’s visuals are functionally noir-esque, but this isn’t his most exciting film from a technical perspective. In a way, the straightforward aesthetic works in the film’s favor. For most of the running time, it rolls along quite confidentially and the exposition that is given is done so quite gracefully. There’s shades of Naruse’s When a Woman Ascends the Stairs in the story here, but Walsh treats the script in a very Narusian fashion, at least for a good forty minutes or so. It’s hard to describe what it is exactly, but I would say that with the exception of the flashback scene in the hospital, Walsh isn’t concerned with making sure the audience is on the same page as him.

Let’s be honest here, though, this wouldn’t be a movie without Ida Lupino. She’s brilliantly cold here, especially when she fights off the aggressive advances of Robert Alda. To risk sounding hyperbolic, I probably could have watched 90 minutes of her just rejecting him because the way she does it is so gracefully mean. Her anger is justified, of course, but the script channels her disgust into something empowering – both to the characters and anyone who can put themselves in her place. Unfortunately, the film drifts away from these interactions and into something a bit less interesting but the film is such a curiosity, that a viewing is totally necessary.