Recently Watched Films 2013

[Dan Warburton]

Alain Resnais, Coeurs, 2006

I didn't like AT ALL Wild Grass when I saw it, but somehow I knew in my heart that Coeurs (the French title) could be more to my liking. Some describe it as an absolutely, unflinchingly sad film, others go as far as saying that it is one of the greatest films of the last ten years or so (I may very well agree with them), and one knows that Resnais, in spite of his evident mastery, is very dependent on the authors with whom he works. Christian Gailly's books, I bet, would leave me rather cold. I'm tired so I won't say anything more, and since it is one of those few films about which one could speak infinitely. Let's just say that snow is falling continuously, while the camera stays indoors and that Lambert Wilson's voice is ideally cottony.

Picked this up after reading your comments above Ben - and was thoroughly enchanted. I haven't seen the Alan Ayckbourn play it's based on, Private Fears in Public Places, but from reading the description on Wiki it seems Resnais is following the original storyline vey closely, as he has done in his other Ayckbourn adaptations. But I bet none of the sets built for AA's productions back home in Scarborough ever looked like Jacques Saulnier's here (the bar looks like something Zoetrope could have dreamt up). And the camera movements, tracking around, above and through the numerous screens and glass partitions are as elaborate as any Fassbinder you care to mention. Great performances throughout from Resnais' usual troupe. OK, it's supposed to be set in Paris, but of course we never see any exteriors (the dramatic Psycho-like "helicopter" pan in at the opening is clearly CGI, and looks nothing like the Bibliothèque Nationale it's said to be), and the situations the characters find themselves in are more universal than French. Great stuff.

[Lao Tsu Ben]

Claude's Rich invisible contribution to the film is hilarious, isn't it?

Saw this yesterday



Insidious, James Wan, 2010

I was expecting to be a little entertained, but a stupid movie it is. And not in the least frightening. Fast forwarded to the end just to be sure how laughable it was.

[Dan Warburton]

Claude's Rich invisible contribution to the film is hilarious, isn't it?

Indeed! The folks who did the English subtitles did a grand job.



Alfred Hitchcock, Blackmail, 1929

Hadn't seen an old Hitch for a while, and was blown away by how fresh they still are. Sure, some of the acting's a bit wooden - Anny Ondra's lines being dubbed live on set slows things down - but the camerawork, montage and special effects (visual and aural) are top notch and the dialogue still sparkles.

[Dan Warburton]

Gaspar Noé, Irréversible, 2002

Spoilers ahead. There's no way you can discuss this film without revealing the story, such as it is. So if you haven't seen it and might want to, go and do something else instead of reading what follows.

"240 people walked out when it was shown in Cannes!" trumpets the DVD box, as if that was the objective of the exercise from the get-go. That can't have been what the director intended, surely – Gaspar wants you to stick around to see his daddy's pictures and the Kubrick 2001 poster on the wall of Monica Bellucci's chic apartment, and the closing dizzy spiralling strobes above the lawns of the Buttes Chaumont – but, then again, what did the director intend? He certainly seems to have taken Alfred Hitchcock at his word: "Always make the audience suffer as much as possible." As if a nine-minute-long anal rape in the underpass and a bloke getting his head mashed to a pulp with a fire extinguisher weren't enough, Noé underpins the violence with a 27 Hz drone to induce feelings of genuine nausea. Thank goodness my telly can't handle sub-bass.

The gimmick, of course, is that the 13 scenes that make up the film appear in reverse order: we see Cassel and Dupontel's violent revenge attack before the rape, and only learn at the end that the victim was pregnant (ha, I hear Kevin Spacey taunting Brad Pitt at the end of Se7en.. "you didn't know.."). What's more the geezer Vincent Cassel and Albert Dupontel hunt down in the gay club isn't the guy who gets his head caved in: the real Le Tenia is standing by, enjoying the show. Though you might not spot that first time round (I didn't).

Comparisons to Memento are fine, but only up to a point: Christopher Nolan's film runs both forward and backwards, unlike Noé's, and there's a reason for the reverse chronological order: questioning our notions of what is "real" and what is "imagined" and putting our memory to the test helps us identify with Guy Pearce and his predicament. You're not likely to identify with Cassel and Dupontel here, and I doubt Noé wants you to. I mean, if you came out of a party and saw your fiancée being stretchered into an ambulance, you'd probably stay by her side, right? Not listen to the glib chatter of a local hood who tells you vengeance is "a human right" (and, lest we forget, asks to be paid for the information he provides about the rapist), verbally and physically abuse a taxi driver before stealing his cab, threaten to slit the throat of a transexual prostitute and venture into the depths of a gay S/M club. Gimme a break, for Chrissake.

Quite apart from the alarming homophobia (are we really supposed to believe that the lads in Le Rectum (!) would happily stand around and cheer as Dupontel slams that fire extinguisher down again and again and again and again and again? No wonder the director gave himself a little cameo to appease the punters in what was indeed a real gay club), the only "moral" of the story is "time destroys everything", and that's pretty bloody trite. If Irréversible ran forwards instead of backwards, it wouldn't be any less bleak but laughably banal.

There are also nagging questions about the notorious rape scene, not only because of what Le Tenia (Jo Prestia) does, but also on account of what he actually says ("fucking rich bitch".. "cuz you're beautiful".. "I'm gonna fix your face"..). But then again, Noé is proud to inform us, there was no script as such, just a three-page draft. So once more his actual intentions regarding the rape aren't exactly clear. Would Le Tenia have "blasted the ass" (his words, not mine) off a middle-aged, shabbily-dressed Arab woman, the kind of person who really lives in the neighbourhood (apparently the underpass itself, on Boulevard Berthier, has since been closed as it was frequented by a real serial rapist, evidently a Gaspar Noé fan)?

What little we learn of the previous history of the characters, the fact that Cassel has "stolen" Bellucci from Dupontel, comes in a scene filmed in the Métro. [Curious personal aside: I see from IMDb that shooting started on the film on July 15th 2001. That Métro scene is filmed on line 7bis – the actors get on at Buttes Chaumont and get off at Pré Saint Gervais, where, on July 10th 2001 I recorded with Jean-Luc Guionnet and Eric La Casa! For those who know the album..] Their improvised dialogue has its charms, but it would have benefitted from the kind of detail that only comes from a properly written script; the same applies to Von Trier's Melancholia, see post above – evidently writing is too much of an effort these days.

That doesn't seem to bother some people, but the bloke who wrote on IMDb that Noé was one of the greatest filmmakers "of all time" deserves a playful tap on the forehead with a fire extinguisher, as far as I'm concerned. I guess Irréversible deserves its cult status – after all, "once seen, never forgotten" is a kind of victory – but, as the disappointing Enter The Void makes clear, I'm not sure Noé really has very much to say.

[jon abbey]

how many people fit into those Cannes theatres if 2400 walked out? that seems massive.

[Dan Warburton]

Sounds kinda suspect, doesn't it? Maybe they were referring to several showings.. dunno, can't be arsed to find out, to be honest. Though I could ask Gaspar - it appears we have a friend in common.

[Dan Warburton]

I'm informed by Blue Train that "200 to 250 walked out and the capacity of the Grand Théâtre Lumière is 2,300. The next largest is the Debussy @ 1,066. 20 people fainted and were administered oxygen." So there you go. (FWIW I'll amend the review above. Feel free to delete the two above posts, mods)



Emir Kusturica, Otac na sluzbenom putu ("When Father was Away on Business"), 1985

[jon abbey]

yeah, that makes a lot more sense, thanks!

I was at a Lamonte Young show (the Eternal Blues Band thing) at Lincoln Center that had a way higher percentage of walkouts, I'd say 50 percent of 200-300 people left the other half gave it a standing O at the end, really the ideal audience reaction in a way, the two in combination (I was part of the latter half, very into it at the time but have had no interest in hearing that piece ever since).

[Dan Warburton]

That's one album I don't feel like returning to in a hurry, for sure. In slightly similar vein, I remember Glenn Branca managed to half-empty the Théâtre de le Ville here in Paris (capacity 1000 - I'm checking these things from now on ) in about five minutes.

[Dan Warburton]

Marco Ferreri, Storia di Piera, 1983

What seems to piss people off about Ferreri (read the typically cretinous user comments over at IMDb) is that he's able to tackle taboo subjects - child sex, self-mutilation, cannibalism and, here, incest, with an almost alarming lightness of touch. Most people's reaction, on seeing (for example) a daughter kissing her father full on the lips and then (at his request) pulling her pants down and showing him her sex, would be eew, but Ferreri doesn't let you do that. This tale of a nymphomaniac mother (Hanna Schygulla, awesome - outside of Fassbinder she's never been this inscrutably magnificent) and her daughter (Bettina Grühn as a child morphing splendidly into Isabelle Huppert), is never cheap or vulgar. It's often frustrating, though, with scenes ending unexpectedly and without resolution - you're dying to know what happens when Piera and her mother are confronted by the gang of vitelloni at the carousel - but so visually stunning, with such a feel for natural light and architecture, that you stop worrying about odd loose plot ends. That Piera becomes an actress and excels as Medea is significant: Ferreri looks back to a much earlier epoch, of Greek mythology and its subsequent influence on the Roman Empire, when incestuous fun and games were as natural and normal as taking your clothes off and walking into the sea, which is what Schygulla and Huppert do at the end of the film.

[Dan Warburton]

Béla Tarr, A torinói ló ("The Turin Horse"), 2011

Well, I finally made it to the end, on the third attempt – and there won't be a fourth. I have nothing against unremittingly bleak works of art, but where Beckett and Bresson move me to tears, Béla can only bore me to tears. I'm quite happy to argue the toss with anyone out there who believes s/he's found some deep, rich inner meaning to this sadass tale of a wretched one-armed (effectively) peasant and his daughter eking out an existence in a godforsaken hovel somewhere in rural Hungary at what might be the turn of last century, but as far as I'm concerned the miserable old sod should have taken his axe to the horse, cooked it up as a slap-up dinner instead of karate-chopping yet another boiled potato, downed his bottle of palinka, thrown his daughter down the well and jumped in after her.

[Dan Warburton]

Germaine Dulac, La coquille et le clergyman, 1927

The first surrealist film? A discuter.. but I find it much more exciting than the bitty and rather overrated Chien Andalou. The scenario was written by Artaud, who also submitted his own ideas on the montage (not sure how many of those Dulac took up) and who was originally supposed to play the priest - though as it turned out, Carl Theodor Dreyer wouldn't let him go from La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc. The premiere at the Studio des Ursulines was a regular riot, with Artaud apparently calling Dulac a "cow" (seems rather tame, these days). He didn't disown the film in later life, but never namechecked Germaine Dulac when he mentioned it. Surrealist petty factional in-fighting aside, it's a great piece of work. Watch out though for a dreadful 31-minute version on ubuweb - it's nine minutes too short, lousy quality and the reels seem to have been mixed up. Haven't checked YouTube versions. The restored DVD print looks gorgeous.

[Wombatz]

The first surrealist film? A discuter..

I guess not, and that's I think the beef Artaud had with the film, all the psychology and symbolism that takes it pretty far from the purely visual cinema he had in mind. Instead you can almost read each scene very literally as some sort of allegory/metaphor. I agree that it's a much better film for actually believing in cinema, but thinking of how e.g. overpronounced silent acting is lampooned in Chien Andalou but used seriously here, one can understand why it would seem a reactionary film/melodrama in funny garb to a surrealist proper.

[Dan Warburton]

Alejandro Jodorowsky, Santa Sangre, 1989

What with Down Syndrome kids snorting coke and dancing the mamba, hordes of half-wild vagrants gorging themselves on a dead elephant, and Guy Stockwell (Dean's older brother) getting his gonads burnt off with sulphuric acid, no wonder young Fenix ends up in a nuthouse thinking he's a chimpanzee. Vintage Jodo gonzo giallo kitsch, Freaks meets Fellini. Great fun.



Jacques Audiard, De battre mon coeur s'est arrêté, 2005

"Don't bite my hand, I'm a concert pianist!" Stylish remake of James Toback's Fingers (time to revisit that one, methinks). Tour de force performance from fidgety, chain smoking Romain Duris, in almost every scene.



Georges Franju, Thérèse Desqueyroux, 1962

What a mighty film. Third Franju I've seen this year and third drop-dead masterpiece. But how could you go wrong with François Mauriac's masterly adaptation of his own 1927 novel and a cast including Emmanuelle Riva, Philippe Noiret, Edith Scob and Sami Frey?

[Lao Tsu Ben]

The Secret Lives of Dentists, Alan Rudolph, 2002

Even better than the first time I watched it. The title is eloquent enough as to what the film is about in a nutshell, it's about the midlife crisis of a dentist, played by Campbell Scott, who believes that his wife cheats on him. Not my favorite type of movie, but it's no American Beauty, as Dennis Grunes says in this excellent review.

[Dan Warburton]

Juliet Berto & Jean-Henri Roger, Neige, 1981

Ah, the Christmas fair on boulevard Rochechouart before the Mairie de Paris planted trees everywhere and laid down cycle tracks.. Though billed as a thriller (marketing ploy to get bums on seats, I suspect - but it must have worked: the movie did remarkably well at Cannes that year), it's more a tale of everyday life of the pushers, pimps, barflies and GLBT nightowls who hang out between Blanche and Barbès. Shot on a shoestring budget - "we lived on avenue Trudaine so we never had to walk more than 800 yards to go to work," recalls Roger - this is the real deal: there was no money to pay a crowd of extras.

[Dan Warburton]

Romolo Guerreri, La controfigura ("The Double"), 1971

Despite the best efforts of the good people over at Karagarga to stitch up an acceptable version of this rarity from ancient Greek videocassettes and whatnot, the version up for grabs (freeleech) at KG is still frustratingly rough in places. It hardly matters, though, as – unless you're a real completist for early 70s Italian thrillers – I doubt the film can stand up to serious scrutiny. It's certainly not a giallo, despite being tagged as one, more of a Robbe-Grillet-like headfuck, related as a series of (intentionally?) confusing flashbacks. Plenty of skinnydipping on a beach in Morocco, invariably accompanied by a terribly cheesy tune by Armando Trovajoli that has the annoying habit of popping up when you're least expecting it and getting stuck in your head for hours afterwards. Anyway, I can't figure it out at all, but if one day a decent copy surfaces I might be prepared to give it another try. Might.

[Dan Warburton]

Luis Buñuel, Aventuras de Robinson Crusoe, 1954

"Those coming to the movie expecting to encounter Buñuel’s usual brand of surrealism will invariably be shocked to find instead a fairly straightforward version of Daniel Defoe’s classic novel," runs one of the reviews over at Rotten Tomatoes (where this film gets a 100% fresh rating, incidentally). But the story is potty enough to start with, what with the five-star beach hut Robinson builds with enough rum to last more than a decade and enough munitions to start a small war, the dog, cat and talking parrot - and Buñuel is clearly well aware of the book's political incorrectness ("You Friday.. Me Master.. We friends!"). That sly sense of humour is in evidence throughout. There are a few almost Pythonesque moments, mostly linked to violence - one where Robinson (Dan O'Herlihy, beard trimmed to resemble Orson Welles, whom Buñuel overruled for the part because he was "too loud and too fat" ) shoots a songbird off a tree branch, or blasts the "savages" to kingdom come on the beach. Love it when Friday puts a dress on and makes a necklace of gold doubloons. Great fun.

[Dan Warburton]

Carlos Reygadas, Stellet Licht, 2007

I can't remember who posted about this film here a year or two ago, but I picked it up on the strength of their write-up, and very fine it is too. Seems Reygadas is quite good at polarising opinion – witness the hoo-hah over animal cruelty and explicit sex in his first two movies – but unless you're just dead-set against slow, contemplative cinema in general, I can't see what you could find to moan about here. There may be some nagging questions about the miraculous ending (have you seen Dreyer's Ordet? That's a clue.. I won't say anymore for risk of spoiling your fun), but I found it remarkable, and remarkably moving: the shot of Johan and family gathered around Esther from the outside of the building, with the reflection of the trees and fields, is absolutely breathtaking. As is the scene in the rain by the side of the highway. And what on earth is Jacques Brel doing on TV in a remote region of Northern Mexico?



But the most striking thing about this film is that 95% of the dialogue is in Plautdietsch, a variant of Low German spoken by Mennonite communities scattered throughout the Americas (the action here takes place in Chihuahua province, Mexico, where Mennonite farmers settled several generations ago, migrating south from Canada). It's a language that at times resembles German, Dutch and English, but, I suspect, would be completely unintelligible to native speakers of those languages. As a result, everything spoken in the film has to be read by us, the viewers. The subtitles are an essential part of the experience, the word rendered visible. Yet we're confronted with people whose dress, behaviour and activities – personal and professional – we can immediately recognise, but who sound like they've come from another planet. It's a disconcerting but compelling experience. That said, there's very little dialogue as such. Like Claire Denis, Reygadas can tell a story perfectly well without it. With truly outstanding photography throughout and genuinely moving performances (from, for the most part, non-actors), this is a real treat, especially for any Dreyer and Tarkovsky fans out there.

[Dan Warburton]

Pierre Zucca, Vincent mit l'âne dans un pré (et s'en vint dans l'autre), 1975

Don't ask me to explain the pun of the title.. in fact, don't ask me to explain anything. A real headscratcher, this - which is not to say it isn't a lot of fun, with fine performances from Michel Bouquet, Bernadette Lafont and Fabrice Luchini (this was his film debut). The late great Bernadette actually said she preferred it to La Maman et la Putain, which is a bit like Säure Bummer arguing the merits of Rossini over Wagner in Gravity's Rainbow. Wouldn't go that far myself, but oddly enough Jean Eustache pops up here as an extra. Precious little online background info to refer to, and there are no subtitles on my version, so your French had better be up to it. Paging Lao Tsu.. seen this, Ben?