Cinema Talk

Another early Fassbinder television production. Just like with Rio Das Mortes, this is very austere and the film stock is very grainy. Once again, the subject matter revolves around young adults / “slackers” looking for more substance out of their relationships. Unlike Rio Das Mortes, the film operates from a female perspective, which gives Hanna Schygulla plenty of screen time. Thus, it isn’t the most difficult of movies to sit through, but even with Fassbinder’s good intentions, the production values prevent stronger reactions. It’s a good film, but never amounts to anything more than just a few solid cinematic moments strung together half-heartedly.

A group of young army engineers come to the town of Ingolstadt in order to construct a new bridge. Bored by the repetitious nature of their labor, they seek out several forms of escapism: sex, alcohol, and violence. Meanwhile, a naive maid by the name of Berta is looking for love. She finds it in the form of Karl, but he sees nothing in her. A seasoned veteran, he has gone through many short-lived affairs and sees his relationship with Berta in a similar light. Despite his resistance to love, Berta is heart-broken when he leaves.

Depending on how one thinks of Hanna Schygulla, this film is either very interesting or skull-crushingly boring. I, obviously, fall into the former category, but this doesn’t really mean the film is cohesively great. All things considered, Fassbinder probably quickly threw this (and most of his other early TV productions) together rather quickly. Therefore, you cannot really blame him for the film essentially not going anywhere, in an emotional sense. Even if it hits close to home (and it does for me) there simply isn’t enough there for the film to work for anything more than a curious exercise in formalism for Fassbinder. Of course, it is definitely worth watching, but it isn’t particularly special.

The second part of Rivette’s proposed four-part series (Les Filles du Feu) is even more of a straight-forward fantasy film than its predecessor, Duelle. All the problems of that film remain, but they are somewhat downplayed by a much more carefree and playful spirit. On the other hand, this is a bit more theatrical though not in the usual meaning of the word. In fact, all the performances here are quite excellent and again, Lubtchansky’s camera work is absolutely breath-taking. It feels a bit repetitive to continue to praise the visual aspects of Rivette’s work regardless of the other factors, but he (and Lubtchansky) always seem to capture something so beautiful that it simply must be noted.

Unlike its companion piece, Noroit establishes its very muddled narrative rather quickly. Morag’s brother has been killed by a group of female pirates. She makes it her personal mission to see that this group is put to justice. She decides to do so by going undercover and begins to gain the trust of many of the pirates. This ultimately leads her to a showdown (supposedly) with the Daughter of the Sun.

In other words, this is pretty much all of Rivette’s narrative silliness brought to an exaggerated level. In an almost fashion methodical fashion, he transcends the story or even the idea of a story to begin with. It is much more rewarding to approach the film as a series of completely odd sequences, all beautifully rendered. Even though it has its place in Duelle, it was during my viewing of this film, that I realized how Rivette is essentially the father of the whole “color-saturated” look. Such a look is now far more general, which should indicate a great level of importance in Lubtchansky’s work.

There is a very elusive feeling of “epicness” throughout almost all of Noroit. In a manner not unlike the films of Miklos Jancso, the camera captures many (quite literal) layers. Perhaps its just an inherent result of shooting long tracking shots in deep focus, but there seems to be plenty going on in nearly every frame. This is complimented by the much more “minimalistic” vibe, which contrasts to the kinetic/shaky camera work in Duelle. If anything, these two films show just how much range Rivette has as a director, and just how brilliant he is at establishing a mood under different circumstances. Still, the overall fantasy-ness of his two 1976 features present somewhat a cinematic roadblock. There’s simply some events in both of these films that are too silly to not be bothered by. Once again, though, the positive greatly outweigh the negatives.

A step-down from Merry-Go-Round but outside of that film, this is definitely one of Rivette’s best. Actually, most of the surrealistic things I tend to take issue with are absent, which is nice. Unfortunately, the void is filled by something even worse, a completely laughable fantasy arc. As with the surrealism in his other films, Rivette rises above the fantasy elements but in this case, they are perhaps a bit too silly to avoid. On the other hand, this may very well be his single most technically accomplished film.

It’s funny that this comes before Merry-Go-Round because it seems like the middle point between that film and Love on the Ground. The manic, spontaneous energy of the former film is present, as is the beautifully saturated cinematography of the latter film. There’s several sequences here (mostly occurring within the film’s first half) that are easily among Rivette’s best. The early scene in the train station is particularly haunting, and manages to perfectly setup the mood for the rest of the film. In general, everything about the film’s technical side is perfect. Unfortunately, certain things begin to interfere with the rather visceral experience. Once again, we have a Rivette film with a narrative that is thankfully downplayed but still overly important in its scope. It only takes a glance at the description to see why it can evoke such a strongly negative response: two goddesses descend to Earth to battle for a stone.

Thankfully, as I have already mentioned, it is quite possible to enjoy the film without paying attention to any such nonsense. It’s probably important to understand that the “plot” is exactly that, nonsense. My own personal problems do not lie within Rivette’s lack of concentration in storytelling. If anything, that is plus. Instead, I am more bothered by the fact that his films must be built around concepts that almost always risk being gimmicks. Considering Rivette’s innate comprehension of capturing beauty, it is slightly disappointing to realize that most of these images are derived from the most ridiculous of scenarios. Still, as I have said countless times before, Rivette really does understand the more visceral possibilities. Here, in spite of the goofiest narrative arc ever, we are given some sequences showcasing cinema at its purity. It helps that all the performances are highly improvised, which helps to reinforce the very “irrelevant” sensibility of the film’s first hour. Even when the details of the narrative begin to sneak into, they does so elegantly.

At around the one-hour mark, the narrative, unfortunately, begins to kick in and become a larger focus. In one of the most bizarrely humorous sequences in Rivette’s ouvere, Bulle Ogier’s character performs some sort of ritual with a character that looks exactly like her. Its worth noting that this doppelganger is wearing a costume straight out of The Wizard of Oz. Just as the train station sequence embodied and introduced the uber-spontaneous first hour, this fantastical silliness signals in the second hour. Lubtchansky’s fantastic camera work remains, but the film takes a sharp turn in a completely opposite direction, almost becoming a French version of Labyrinth.

As much as everything falls apart, the film is still worthy of praise. Ultimately, it takes a very respectable second-place tie with (the visually similar) Histoire de Marie et Julien in my own Rivette rankings. While this is his least cohesive film, it is also one of his greatest technical triumphs. Through all the laughable elements, there is some of the greatest cinematography one is likely to see in any film. Do I wish Rivette would drop some of the fantasy / surreal stuff in his films? Yes, but at the same time they probably wouldn’t be nearly as breath-taking and enigmatic. While some elements remain unlikable, they are becoming close to merely being “Rivettian scars” or flaws that the viewer will have to accept. In other words, the strengths greatly outweigh the weaknesses.

It seems that before Pialat established his trademark cinema-verite style, he was already quite accomplished in formal filmmaking. Almost all of this film takes place inside and it is filmed with relatively long static shots that occassionaly pan. On the other hand, this is still very much Pialat’s film. While it may be a bit more quiet (i.e less arguing) than some of his later films, it does maintain a very similar rhythm. In other words, it feels very much like a Pialat film, even if it is, by far, his most austere work.

Philippe, a thirty-something married man, has to cope with the inevitable death of sick mother. As time progresses, her state gets worse and worse. Eventually, she becomes catatonic, which tangles up the social life of both Philippe and his father. It is slowly revealed that Philippe’s father, Roger, was not the most trustworthy husband. In fact, even while his wife is on her last breath, he is out flirting with much younger women. In a parallel situation, Philippe and his wife, Nathalie, begin to go through a rough patch in their marriage.

While the West seems to have welcomed Pialat as the “the French Cassavetes” (if only for the fact that they both make shakycam relationship dramas), with this film he seems more indebted to Ozu. After all, this is essentially an examination of family life, which almost inherently reminds one of Ozu’s work. The father character here bears an uncanny resemblance to Ganjiro Nakamura’s character in The End of Summer. In addition, there is a much more observational comedic quality to this film, which isn’t nearly as present in Pialat’s subsequent films. It is this deadpan humor that really carries the film and elevates it beyond being just a really nice film.

Of course, considering the subject matter (a dying mother), most of the comedic moments are ridiculously dark. Yet, Pialat is never condescending to his characters. While he is essentially observing their moral flaws, he never sugarcoats nor does he do the opposite. There’s a scene between Roger and Nathalie that seems to perfectly sum up the experience: Roger is complaining about having to take care of his wife, which somehow leads the two to discussing the boobs of Roger’s mistress. It is a moment full of awkward humor but also near tragedy, especially when one takes in to count the state Roger is in when the film concludes.

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.”