Cinema Talk

At its best, a sub-Wong Kar Wai love story with too many stylistic devices to be a fluently great film. The whole lost souls find each other plot line is welcomed as always, but the unique aspects of the film are generally, quite silly. Perhaps that is the point, since the protagonist perform in what is basically a magic show, but even then, a bit more relationship-related events would have helped things out. In addition to the whole magic show thing, Leconte sprinkles plenty of bloated symbolism to make things even more laughable. And yet, the film somehow works as a whole and it is largely due to the wonderful visuals and the captivating beauty of its lead actress, Vanessa Paradis.

A young women, Adéle, has lived a life devoid of any luck and thus, any happiness. She decides to throw herself off a bridge one night, but in the process of doing so, meets Gabor, a knife-thrower. He befriends Adéle and invites her to be his new assistant, which means he plans to throw knives at her. The couple’s luck on the magic show circuit crosses over into the casino, but when the two drift apart, they become as unlucky as they were before their chance meeting.

Most of the thematic material, such as that of “luck” is pretty silly, and at times, woefully metaphorical. Essentially, the film attempts to be built around the concept of the two lovers needing each other …to be lucky, which is a problematic theory in and of itself. What kind of messed up world do these people live in where a life goal is to consistently display signs of luck. This is one of the many things that clouds the principal relationship, and keeps the film from reaching its true potential.

Another cinematic roadblock is the overly-flash aesthetic approach, more akin to Terry Gilliam than Wong Kar-Wai. Considering the achingly romantic tone the film tries to achieve, it would have been preferably to show signs of influence from the latter. It’s funny, considering how the whole “Wong Kar-Wai type romance” has almost become an entirely new genre itself and most of the time, cinephiles will roll their eyes at another attempt at recapturing the spirit of Hong Kong’s most acclaimed auteur. But in a film like this, it becomes so clear just how difficult it is to obtain a similar sensibility. Leconte seems to have all the “right” things present, but he decides to indulge in goofy dutch angles, a surefire way to destroy the power of the otherwise gorgeous black and white visuals. Still, despite it’s many blemishes, I did enjoy this a great deal, but perhaps only for it could have been, rather than what is actually is.

Considering the condition in which the film itself is in, it is rather difficult to enjoy this, at least in the conventional sense. Still one can appreciate, at the very least, how great the film could be if only it were given some legitimate restoration. For what it is in it’s current state, Taipei Story is a wonderful bit of Antonioni type drama. The whole nature of depicting a very quiet and complicated relationship within the marvels of modern society will inevitably remind one of Antonioni’s trilogy. In a similar vein, this does seem to anticipate the stripped-down narratives fueled by romantic relationships in Tsai’s most recent efforts.

Lung, a former member of Taiwan’s little league baseball team, has now grown up and become the operator of a fabric business. He lives with his childhood love Ah-chin, a perfect example of a “modern” girl in Taiwan, albeit one that comes from a very traditional background. The young couple have hopes of getting on the right track (one may assume they have only recently graduated from college) but things don’t go as planned. Ah-chin is bothered by Lung’s previous relationships, and this irritations leads her to retreat to her gang of equally modernized (and westernized) friends.

The themes of alienation and displacement brought on by the evolution of society and technology is not all too original. It isn’t exactly a problem for me, but it doesn’t really help out what is already borderline unwatchable, but only because of the source print. It is a true tragedy that this film’s life on digital home video seems so far away, because it ideally fits into a sub-genre (of sorts) that is so wildly popular, at least among arthouse nerds. Of course, people have been craving more of Yang’s work on DVD for a long time, but this one seems as far away as Yi Yi as Yang would get. Basically, this all just to say that the film lacks the overly-gentle approach of Yang’s later film, as well as the sprawling scope. This is much more intimate and personal (again closer to Tsai’s recent films) but just as exquisitely crafted.

Now, here’s my ideal my ideal type of Rivette film. Very much in the same vein as the great Merry-Go-Round, which is still my favorite of his. This comes in a pretty close second place tie with Histoire de Marie et Julien, which seems as far away removed, stylistically and thematically, from the other two mentioned titles. This and Merry-Go-Round are by far, the most playful Rivette features I’ve seen so far, and said playfulness plays a huge factor in making both films as enjoyable as they are. Like most of Rivette’s productions, the film is mess, but it is also one an incredibly fascinating one.

A nightclub magician named Celine is befriended by a librarian named Julie. In a short amount of time, Celine moves in with Julie, and their lives begin to intertwine. They both begin to devote a large part of their time to participating, or perhaps simply viewing a story that can only be projected by swallowing a mysterious type of candy. They’re transported to a country house setting, in which the death of a young girl engages both women. The two begin visiting the house featured in this “program” and participating in smaller parts, but for what reason exactly?

To answer the question phased in the previous paragraph: no reason, whatsoever! But it is this exact attitude that is present in Celine and Julie and the attitude that makes it such a joy to watch. While there are some possibly symbolic touches, as well as convincing “deep” moments, the film doesn’t ever drag into a puddle of ponderousness. For a three hour film that revolves around magic, one might expect things to be a bit heavy, especially taking into account some of Rivette’s more “serious” efforts.

The one place where the films of the more mature Rivette have the upper hand is clearly the visual department. In all honesty, there aren’t any of the lovely flourishes of Duelle and Noroit, both of which came only two years later. It might sound a little bit harsh, but the cinematography here is not all that exciting, but in Rivette’s defense, the film (at least a majority of it) doesn’t exactly call for too many stylistic touches. The not-so-great visuals fit well with the shaky, documentary nature of the camera’s movements, which works perfectly fine considering how authentic and spontaneous the film is. This is really Rivette’s greatest strength as a filmmaker. When it comes to making films that are purely visceral, he is probably the best, and this film is a perfect representation of such talents.

Yoji Yamada follows-up his samurai trilogy with a film more in line with his earlier dramatic set-ups. As one can expect, there are some sappy sentimental touches every now and then, but such problems are negated by the remarkable amount of attention and care that Yamada puts into each one of his characters. This is one of the warmest movies one could ever hope to see in fact, which bodes well for most of the humor, as well as most of the dramatic turns. If there is any one problem in Yamada’s characterization, it is that he is too gentle and nice, but that hardly sets the film back.

A university professor is arrested one night for “thought crimes.” His wife, Kabei, must take care of her two children, Teruyo and Hatsuko, while he is away. Yamazaki, one of the professor’s former students, checks on the family from time to time and plays somewhat of a father figure to the two young girls. As Kabei works on getting her husband out of prison, Japan’s conflict with China worsens. The second world war is on the horizon, and it begins approaching as soon as things seem to go right for the family.

Yamada should be given an enormous amount of credit for depicting the years leading up to the war, as well as the start of the war itself, from a much more realistic viewpoint. He shows us how certain characters are directly effected because of the nation’s struggle, but never does he operate on a vague, birds eye view of the world’s conflicts. Within the process of the war, he displays the drama (or anti-drama, even) of a family deprived of their patriarch. The content that follows is not the melodramatic tragedy that such a plot description would imply, but instead a very honest and moving portrait of a family trying to continue their way of living, in spite of an important figure’s absence.

This does all sound a tad bit mushy, I admit, and it certainly doesn’t help that Kabei, herself, tip-toes on the lines of being a realistic person and a tortured martyr. Thankfully, she ends up on the side of the former, mostly thanks to a wonderful performance from veteran actress Sayuri Yoshinaga, who has collaborated with Yamada since the earliest days of the “Tora-san” series. Mostly all of the other performances are wonderful too, which is essential for a film as actor-driven as this. Sometimes, the film is just a bit too cutesy and nice for me, but it is so in a mature and understated way.

Pretty much Tobacco Road‘s much more serious and sometimes sappy cousin. This would explain it’s strengths (still a poetic yet gritty social drama) as well as it’s single fault. Considering that the film now has a big reputation as being a masterpiece of early classic Hollywood cinema, it is pretty inevitable that some scenes are a bit over the top. There’s a few too many monologues for one, of course the most famous one being Henry Fonda’s “I’ll be there” one towards the end is actually a lot less heavy-handed than the rest. While, overall, the film is a bit too structured in the conventional sense to be as mindblowingly brilliant as Tobacco Road, it does at least take the best aspects from that film and produces something more mature.

Tom Joad returns from his five year stay in a state penitentiary to find a completely different world. His family has relocated from the farm that they’ve called home for a long time now, and people, in general, seem to have changed. During his stay in prison, the stock market crash, thus leading to the Great Depression. Tom find his family, now at his uncle’s house, and joins them as they migrate to California looking for work. They receive many warnings of untrustworthy characters, but they ignore them and eventually, find out how unfair life is all by themselves.

Henry Fonda carries a pretty big load here, delivering the only particularly fantastic performance. Everyone else, though decent enough, doesn’t seem to comprehend the social ramifications of the film’s source text. Thus, many of the aforementioned monologues become simple “boo-hoo people are no longer honest” bits that go nowhere. Fortunately for the rest of the cast, the film isn’t all too dependent on performances, but instead on Ford’s perfectly moody technique.

When Tom first returns home, the atmosphere is greatly exaggerated, almost to the point that the farm feels a haunted house. But then, there’s something completely bizarre happens that grounds the heightened reality: John Carradine attempts to jump over a fence, but trips. A seemingly irrelevant moment that perfectly sets up the rest of the film. Ford and Fonda were both conscious of the story’s possible influence, so they both put their best efforts into not over-dramatizing things. In fact, nothing really happens in this movie, but that’s pretty much why it is so great. It is built upon the most visceral element of cinema – the cinematography. There’s no point in mentioning just how great Gregg Toland is with the camera, since Citizen Kane‘s technical achievements have already been discussed to death. His poetic visuals compliment the plotless (in a good way, of course) narrative for one of the most contemplative experiences in Hollywood history.