Greencine blog

I’m late to the blogging game, but I still recognize a good one when I see it. Having enjoyed David Hudson’s blog entries for the excellent online DVD rental company, GreenCine.com, for some time now, I was especially pleased by his entry today regarding the Pentagon’s recent screening of Gillo Pontecorvo‘s classic The Battle of Algiers (1965). This blistering Italian film (initially banned in France) was made only two short years after the French colonialists lost to Algerian independence. It was filmed using nonprofessional actors in the city streets which had only so recently soaked up the blood of innocents and terrorists, revolutionaries, torturers, and trained militia. The film is treated documentary-style with black-and-white handheld footage, bold musical accompaniment (by Ennio Morricone, no less), and intertitles naming the places and exact times of events depicted. In fact, it’s so successful at creating a sense of realism that subsequent prints of the film included a full disclaimer that “not one foot of documentary footage” had been used in its making.

We watch some films because they are great artistic creations that reveal what it means to be human; we watch others because they reflect world events back to us in such a timely, immediate fashion that they’re impossible to ignore. The Battle of Algiers succeeds on both counts, as its depiction of a colonial power and a North African/Middle Eastern city under seige could not be more essential viewing given the current crisis in Iraq. And it appears that even the Pentagon agrees with me.

The film is available on VHS in North America or a handsome Region 2 Italian DVD with English subtitles. I’ll try to cook up a full review this weekend…

Agne`s Varda, Agnieszka Holland

Last weekend marked the latest Cinema Legacy (“how great filmmakers inspire great filmmakers”) event sponsored by the American Film Institute in Los Angeles. Polish filmmaker Agnieszka Holland (Europa Europa, The Secret Garden) presented French filmmaker AgnËs Varda’s provocative Le Bonheur (1964). Not only do both filmmakers share the same first name, but they’re among the most famous women filmmakers in their respective countries. (Holland also includes the Czech Republic’s Vera Chytilov· in their company.) Although Le Bonheur was made several years after the birth of the French New Wave, Varda’s first film pre-dated (or even initiated) the movement in 1954. While the Cahiers du CinÈma group became the hub of the New Wave, Varda (along with her husband, Jacques Demy) remained a part of the Left Bank group of filmmakers, which included Alain Resnais and Chris Marker.

Le Bonheur (Happiness) is a film of shimmering sunflowers and smiling faces, hugs and kisses and lazy lunches in the countryside–so much so that everything begins to ring hollow, especially after the protagonist (a young carpenter with a wife and two children) begins to share his bountiful love with a new mistress. It’s not a problem, he insists, because he has so much love to share with the world that loving more people can only increase happiness all around; he loves his family even more. As the film progresses, its bright tones and playful montage, its strains of Mozart concertos, slowly unveils a world that is logically cohesive but philosophically deeply fractured.

In fact, the film is so brimming with the joie de vivre that Varda has been criticized by feminists for the way in which it seems to support masculine fantasies and notions of the complete interchangeability of women, but these critics miss the point. Varda’s film is a glowing indictment of this fantasy, and it chooses to illustrate it with poker-faced sincerity. Instead of forcing her message, she constructs the film with removed aplomb and trusts the audience to reflect on it, thus ultimately rendering a more damning critique. “It’s a beautiful fruit that tastes of cruelty,” Varda has said.

A large portion of the audience I saw it with was positively outraged by the film. Derisive, uncomfortable laughter and chuckles punctuated the entire screening, a postmodern audience balking at Varda’s extremely subtle use of irony. One of the aspects of the film that I enjoyed the most was its complete lack of easy laughs. The story is what it is; judgment is placed firmly in the audience’s lap.

Although the event was moderated by a local critic, Holland needed no help with the audience Q&A, and deftly fielded remarks, and posed her own in the illuminating post-screening discussion. What Holland has learned from Varda, she said, is the ability to see both sides of every character, the good as well as the bad, and to suspend judgment upon them.

AgnËs Varda, now 75, continues to make films. Her latest success, the documentary film essay, The Gleaners and I (2001), is one of the high points of recent documentary cinema. Her other classics include ClÈo from 5 to 7 (1962), and Vagabond (1985). For more information about her, check out the Zeitgeist Films page and Senses of Cinema‘s entry on Varda for their Great Directors series.

Satyajit Ray on DVD

Just a quick, exhilerating announcement this morning. According to DVDFile, Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray‘s masterful Apu Trilogy is coming to North American DVD on October 28:

From the [Columbia] vaults come a handful of classic catalog titles: Pather Panchali, Aparajito, The World of Apu,…. All are presented in 4:3 full screen only. The only extras are trailers and filmographies, and retail is $29.95.

This is wonderful news for those of us who have been waiting for some Ray films on Region 1 DVD for the last few years. (A Region 2 box set already exists.) I had the priviledge of seeing a restored 35mm print of Pather Panchali (1955) at LACMA last year, and if the print used for the DVD is anywhere near the quality of the film I saw, we’re in for a treat.

Check out the excellent Ray site, SatyajitRay.org for more information about this exceptional filmmaker.

Trees, Sirs and Cuts

Last night, our campus film club screened Ermanno Olmi‘s 1978 Cannes-winning “peasant epic,” The Tree of Wooden Clogs. Shot in the Italian countryside with non-professional actors (neo-neorealism?), the film recreates a palpable sense of the daily life of turn-of-the-century sharecroppers in its lyrical, leisurely-paced imagery of muddy fields and tired faces. But it’s also an uplifting account of rural comaraderie and the inner faith of the workers. The narrative is loosely structured around four families who toil together and it accentuates their difficulties (a sick cow, a broken clog, financial scarcity, a harsh winter) while juxtaposing their attitudes, prayers, and hard work in response. Like its occasional touches of Marxist idealism, no single character rises to the fore, and the film balances its intimate engagement of the farmers’ lives with a remoteness that envisions everyone as part of a thriving community.

Although I enjoyed the film’s vivid textures and quiet observations, I must admit to feeling slightly underwhelmed with its dramatic concerns. But maybe that’s its point–the characters’ “simple” struggles and aspirations grow in proportion to the daily constancy and gentle rhythms, week to week, season by season, in which they live. In a film where the greatest victory is sprouting tomato plants three weeks before anyone else and the greatest defeat is expulsion from the farm, the subtle gradations of drama in between become individual notes in a reduced, yet harmonious scale.

The Toronto International Film Festival has announced its complete line-up for September, and glancing through the list, I was surprised to note the debut of a new director’s cut of Alien (1979) due for a wide rerelease on October 31. As a discerning fan of science fiction and horror (not to mention elegant filmmaking), I’ve often regarded the original movie as one of the bright spots in genre filmmaking. But two things about the new release bother me: it’s directed by the newly-christened Sir Ridley Scott and I’m getting really tired of “director cuts” in general being used simply as a marketing tool to justify Hollywood rereleases.

Of the former criticism, Scott’s latest films (Gladiator, Hannibal, Black Hawk Down) are almost universally regarded as artistically inferior to his early work (The Duellists, Alien, Blade Runner) while simultaneously being more financially successful after Scott’s extended commercial and critical fumbling throughout the ’80s and ’90s. Granted, the Knights Bachelor title has always stressed commercial titans like David Lean or Sean Connery over artistic icons like Mike Leigh or Terence Davies, but it’s difficult to imagine Scott receiving the British honor at all before he rediscovered how to generate some cash.

Of the latter criticism, Hollywood seems convinced the only way to justify a rerelease of a classic film (or otherwise) is to offer new footage or digital enhancements or previously deleted scenes. One of the ironies of this angle is that the very studios who initially push for cuts later rerelease the films on DVD or in theatres with the footage cut back in, thus financially profiting from their censoring tactics. Can someone please just rerelease a film without changing it? A simple restoration will do–see the excellent work by Rialto or Cowboy Pictures. Given the drastically inferior nature of video broadcasting (in terms of display and resolution alone), the opportunity to see any film as a film on flickering celluloid, projected onto a large theatrical screen in the cinema should provide ample rewards aplenty.

Update, Father/Son

This whole blogging thing is new to me, so I struggle with wondering how much to divulge about myself and how much to remain resolutely focused on films. Some blogs resemble odes to navel-gazing streams-of-consciousness; others are more topical.

So I’m back after a few days traveling to my home state of Missouri, where we’ve just had a funeral for my father (60) who passed away last week. I’ve lived away from home for over ten years, and my father and I had many differences–the trip and sorting through my thoughts and feelings have been complex and taxing. At the same time, like these journeys often are, it was also healing in many respects. I suspect the process will continue in both regards for years to come.

During this time, the mail delivered a Region 2 DVD from the UK I pre-ordered months ago and had forgotten about: Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne‘s The Son (2002), a film I watched last spring and along with Russian Ark continues to be my favorite new film I’ve seen all year. (Write New Yorker Films and demand a North American video release.) The Dardenne’s have made documentaries and three fictional features, the first and last of which (La Promesse and The Son) directly confront father/son issues and the relationship between example-setting and individuation, which makes them particular apt viewing for me these days. I hope to get a longer response posted about them later this week.

In addition, a local international film club will be screening Ermanno Olmi‘s The Tree of Wooden Clogs (1978) tonight, a film that has been on my To See list for some time.

Stay tuned for more updates throughout the week…

Aki Kaurismaki

For those living near Chicago (I’m not sure how many of us that includes), Facets is presenting an almost-complete retrospective of Aki Kaurismaki, starting this Friday. Through the gracious help of a friend, I was able to watch a number of his films on video. Obviously not the best way to watch Kaurismaki’s work, but even the videos were impressive. I wrote up a review for a local paper and thought I’d just post it here, in the hopes of provoking some discussion. I’m especially interested in what people think of Kaurismaki’s other movies, such as Juha, Shadows in Paradise, and I Hired a Contract Killer. –J Robert

* * * *

By J Robert Parks

Though the Finnish director Aki Kaurismaki has been something of an underground hero in cinephile circles, he had trouble breaking out of the festival circuit until his latest film Man without a Past won the Grand Jury Prize at the 2002 Cannes Film Festival. Despite that film’s warm reception in America, few of his movies have been made available on video, making it difficult for moviegoers to catch up with a man who’s been consistently making films for over 20 years. So, it’s a joy to see that Facets Multimedia has programmed a full retrospective of Kaurismaki’s work. It begins this Friday (Aug. 15) and continues through Sun., Aug. 24.

The real find of the program is the 1996 feature Drifting Clouds. It stars Kaurismaki’s muse Kati Outinen (Man without a Past) as a headwaiter at an elegant restaurant. When the restaurant is bought out by a dubious organization called The Chain, she finds herself without a job. Even worse, her loving husband Lauri (Kari Vaananen) has also lost his. In his case, the layoffs are decided by drawing cards, and Lauri picks the unlucky three of clubs. The couple, whose affection for each other is genuine and deeply moving (think Marge and Wade Gunderson in Fargo, but more so), struggle to find work. He gets a job driving a bus but is then rejected when he can’t pass the physical. She takes employment at a seedy diner where she works as both waitress and cook, that is until the place is shut down for tax evasion. Things look bleak until they get the idea of starting a new restaurant. What follows is simply magical.

The great thing about Drifting Clouds is that it encapsulates all of Kaurismaki’s motifs in one stunning film. His use of music is unparalleled. While most contemporary movies feature snippets of overly-familiar songs to manipulate an audience’s emotion, Kaurismaki’s musical choices serve to amplify the already-existing emotion or, even better, provide a counterpoint to it. In The Match Factory Girl (more on that below), the main character finds herself at a low point and turns on the radio for solace. On comes “Cadillac” by the European group The Renegades, a blistering mid-’60s tune reminiscent of Kaurismaki’s beloved late-’50s American rock-n-roll. The contrast between the tune’s driving beat and the character’s despair is palpable. Furthermore, Kaurismaki rarely uses just a verse or chorus of a song. He plays the entire thing, cutting between the performer (if it’s live) and the audience who’s listening. This has the effect of deepening our connection with both the music and, more importantly, with the characters. In Drifting Clouds, the songs that are played at the restaurant’s final night are haunting, and Kaurismaki makes it even more so by switching between the restaurant’s patrons who are blithely dancing and the restaurant’s stunned employees.

This relates to another persistent theme in Kaurismaki’s work: the working class and its victimization at the hand of indiscriminate capitalism. In Hamlet Goes Business, the Shakespeare tragedy is transformed into a banal business deal, one in which the family has decided to abandon its shipyard in exchange for a rubber duck factory. The Match Factory Girl is more subtle. It opens with a long series of factory shots, none of which features even a single person. Only at the end of the segment do we see the titular character, who’s staring at a conveyor belt as boxes of finished matches roll by. What follows is a brief look at a woman desperately trying to get off the conveyor belt of her life. She (another amazing performance from Kati Outinen) lives with her mother and stepfather, and works at the factory during the day. At night, she gets dressed up and goes to a dance club, hoping to find a man. No such luck as we witness in one heartbreaking scene. And when she buys a new dress and puts on flashier makeup, she’s mistaken for a prostitute. Things don’t get any better after that. But in a surprise, this wallflower decides not to take it any more, and her solution is both audacious and strangely funny.

Much has been made of Kaurismaki’s deadpan humor, but its importance cannot be overstated. For starters, it takes stories that might be far too bleak and leavens them with enough laughs to keep us interested. Furthermore, his narratives are full of outcasts struggling with a society that rejects them, and his humor focuses on how those characters overcome their obstacles. In the fun road trip flick Leningrad Cowboys Go America, a Siberian folk band arrives in New York hoping for success. Unfortunately, the bassist has died practicing. He froze to death in the tundra. Undaunted, the band brings his coffin to America, planning on “showing” him the sights. This functions as a running joke but is also transformed in the movie’s final scene into something much richer. In Ariel, an early Kaurismaki that feels like an early film, a man drives a beautiful white Cadillac through the snows of Finland. With the top down. The fact that anyone would have a convertible in Finland is itself a joke, but even better that he can’t put the top up. Not until the movie’s final scenes when a wonderful visual gag takes place (“I wonder what this button does”).

Watching several Kaurismaki movies in a row, I had the pleasure of growing accustomed to Aki’s fascinating universe: the jukebox that appears in every movie, the bit character actors who reappear from film to film in various roles, the strong female characters, and the theme of dreams vs. reality. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Timo Salminen, Aki’s ever-present and brilliant cinematographer. Salminen’s use of slanting shadows in the black-and-white Hamlet Goes Business is fantastic, but his crowning achievement is the color palette he achieves in Drifting Clouds. It is simply one of the most gorgeous films I’ve seen in a long time.

And maybe this is a good place to end. It’s unfortunate that Facets has to stuff fourteen movies (each one shown twice) into just ten days. Only the most diehard fan will be able to attend even half of those. I encourage everyone, however, to catch both Drifting Clouds and The Match Factory Girl (both play on Sun., Aug. 17 & Mon., Aug. 18). Those are a great introduction to one of Europe’s most important filmmakers. For a full schedule, check out the Facets website at www.facets.org.

Sankofa

It’s amazing how many movies slip through the cracks, even for seasoned movie buffs like myself who actively scan the local exhibition circuit on a weekly basis. I learned long ago the most efficient way for me to keep track of what’s playing in town is to keep a screening calendar, and anytime I hear of something I want to see, I always jot it down. (This is as close to day-timing as my temperament allows.)

Yesterday afternoon, however, as I was walking out of a coffeehouse, I happened to glimpse a small card for the Celebrate Africa 2003 festival of “Film, Business, and Music.” Looking more closely, I excitedly noted two films would be screened: Haile Gerima‘s Sankofa (1993) and Ousmane Sembene‘s Faat Kiné (2000), a film I have looked forward to seeing for three years now. Surprised, since the host theatre is one of my usual suspects, I jumped to their website and, sure enough, found no mention of the event whatsoever.

Sembene, who turns 80 this year, is often called “the father of African cinema,” but none of his films are readily available on video in North America. (The only trace of them I’ve found is at Facets Multi-Media.) Faat Kiné screens tonight.

Gerima was born in Ethiopia but graduated from the UCLA film school during its especially vibrant black filmmaking movement in the ’70s–his peers include Charles Burnett, Julie Dash, and Larry Clark. As Burnett explains in an interview recently published by Senses of Cinema:

“[UCLA] was a wonderful place to be and I’m glad I went there . . . You didn’t make films for commercial reasons or use your student film as a calling card for Hollywood. Hollywood wasn’t accessible to black independent filmmakers, or films by people of color, unless they were black exploitation films. You never expected anything from Hollywood. Filmmaking was for you making personal and political statements. And one of the good things about UCLA was a teacher named Elyseo Taylor who started the Ethno-Communications department, a program to bring in people of color, Native Americans, Asian Americans, Hispanics, and Afro-Americans. I was one of the Teacher Assistants in that group and the objective was to get people of color to tell stories about their community. A lot of positive things came out of it. All the people attending the course were there making films in response to false and negative images that Hollywood films were promoting. There was an anti-Hollywood attitude–but it was more than that, the focus was on you telling your story and working out an aesthetic.”

A nine-year, independently financed project for Gerima, Sankofa is an extraordinary film, wrought with a lush, expressive style and energy that juxtaposes the brutalities endured by plantation slaves with the beauty of the landscape (Jamaica posing as Louisiana) and the spiritual will of the oppressed. Layered throughout the film is a complex musical score comprised of African drumming, electronic rhythms, and American jazz and blues. It’s a visceral and deeply moving portrait of plantation life viewed from an African perspective–no doubt intensified by the fact that Gerima never heard about the slave trade in Ethiopia until he moved to America in his twenties. The characters in Sankofa are not the typical Representatives of History, but fully developed adult personas with complex personalities and lives all their own.

Gerima explains:

“History is power. Which is why we named the film Sankofa. ‘Sankofa’ is a philosophical, mythological bird passed down from generation to generation from the Akan people of Ghana. The name means [that in order] to move forward, you must reclaim the past. In the past, you find the future and understand the present.”

Mona (intensely portrayed by Oyafunmike Ogunlano) is a fashion model who enjoys a photo shoot on a sandy beach in Cape Coast, Ghana (once the second largest slavery post in Africa). She and other tourists are confronted by a shaman drummer who challenges them to look beyond the present and engage the sufferings of the past. Visiting a castle’s remains, Mona is suddenly and mysteriously transported to a 19th century sugar plantation, where she becomes Shola, a house slave victimized by the landowners. Shola timidly develops friendships with the other slaves working on the plantation (all of whom prepare for an impending revolt), and the story revolves around the journey of self-determination each slave aspires toward.

Gerima himself appeared after the screening to field a couple of questions from the audience. He talked about his desire to create a film on the subject differently from the typical Hollywood approach, which tends to focus on the “moral dilemma” of the whites (“good” versus “bad” characters), generally leaving black characters helpless and dependent upon idealistic white saviors. (One is tempted, as this excellent Sankofa website does, to compare the film to Spielberg’s veneration of white politicians in Amistad–or his similarly disposed view of a heroic German who saves Jews in Schindler’s List.)

Gerima has remarked:

“Now what I did was flip this. I brought out the individual identities and motives of the characters, transforming ‘happy slaves’ into an African race opposed to this whole idea, by making the history of slavery full of resistance, full of rebellion. Resistance and rebellion–the plantation school of thought believed it was always provoked by outsiders, that Africans were not capable of having that human need [themselves].”

After Sankofa was completed (and was nominated for a Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival), Gerima still could not acquire a US distributor, and therefore hand-carried the film across the country, appealing to black communities in major cities to sponsor local screenings. The film became a word-of-mouth hit that continues to receive independent bookings and generate sold-out screenings. (It’s also available on video, though Gerima said Blockbuster Video refused to carry it because they claimed they “don’t have a clientele for it.”) Gerima, currently a professor of film at Howard University in Washington D.C., often attends these screenings himself and lectures on black independent filmmaking. I can only consider myself lucky enough to have participated in one such screening last night.

Au hasard Balthazar

October’s going to be a great month for cinephiles. Being one of the co-administrators of robert-bresson.com, I’m privy to news items from time to time, and here’s the latest: Rialto Pictures informs us they will premiere their new print of Robert Bresson‘s Au hasard Balthazar (1966) on October 17 at the Film Forum in New York, and it will travel to various cities in the ensuing months. (Almost all of Rialto’s releases eventually become Criterion Collection DVDs as well.)

This is significant on several accounts, two of which are that it’s probably my favorite film of all time (other close contestants include Dreyer’s Ordet and Tarkovsky’s Stalker), and that it has never been released on video in North America. Lesser considerations are that it’s one of the most internationally venerated films ever made (19th place or so in the 2002 Sight and Sound poll and 9th place in the Village Voice 100 Greatest Films of the 20th Century) and that it is widely considered Bresson’s pinnacle achievement. Jean-Luc Godard famously wrote: “Everyone who sees this film will be astonished because it is the entire world in an hour and a half.”

Bresson’s parable follows a donkey from birth through life as it bears the burden of humanity’s vices, silently, mysteriously. The animal’s life trajectory cooresponds with a teenage girl’s, Marie (Anne Wiazemsky), who teeters precariously on the edge of hope and despair on the brink of adulthood. The entire film is constructed with Bresson’s trademark clipped efficiency, challenging ellipses, and emphasis on physical and aural textures and spiritual concerns. It’s devastating and strangely comforting, paradoxical and intensely unified.

Don’t miss it.

Tati, et al

As I alluded to last week, I’m going through a difficult emotional season these days. It’s funny how movies can at once transport us through artificial realms of drama and simultaneously reflect our existing realities back to us. A few nights ago, I planned to watch the new movie, Northfork, so I purchased my ticket, grabbed some popcorn and a coke, and found a seat in the theatre. After about five minutes, I realized I was too preoccupied with my own thoughts and too fragile to take on anything else, so I walked out, coke and corn in the wastebasket.

Things have leveled off for now, so I’m hoping to take baby steps back into the land of invigorating cinema. I spent part of the weekend rewatching the splendid films of Jacques Tati available (though currently out-of-print) on North American DVD–M. Hulot’s Holiday (1953), Mon Oncle (1958), and Playtime (1967)–nearly plotless films which delight in precise compositions, carefully-wrought sounds, and the graceful slapstick antics of Tati’s Monsieur Hulot. If you haven’t yet watched any of them, do yourself a favor and indulge. I’d recommend watching them chronologically, as Tati’s refined aesthetic sensibility gradually produced a unique, minimalist, and abstract art that could potentially bewilder the uninitiated.

On Friday, the American Cinematheque in Hollywood begins its 4th annual Festival of Horror, Fantasy, and Science Fiction and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA) begins its Howard Hawks retrospective, both events from which I hope to glean easy charms and sophisticated genre filmmaking. Incidentally, the spirit of the two events merge with tomorrow’s DVD release of Hawk’s classic The Thing (from Another World) (1951).

Expect commentary on all this and more in the coming days. (And feel free to start your own topics in our Discussion area!)