Recently Watched Films 2022

[Dan Warburton]

Paul Vecchiali, L'étrangleur, 1970

Wow, this is terrific. But what is it? A tale of a serial killer (baby faced Jacques Perrin) who strangles already suicidal women with hand-knitted scarves trying to relive a childhood trauma, followed everywhere to the scene of his crimes by another man who robs the victims, and pursued by a soon-to-be ex-detective pretending to be a psychologist and another woman who seems to fall in love with everybody.. Don't try to figure it out (I'm not spoiling much by telling you this much), because Vecchiali, who spent years putting this all together, comes up with one of the most original and haunting and perplexing films I've ever seen (and I've seen a few). Gots to check out more Vecchiali, methinks. Meanwhile, precious little - scandalously so! - about this online, only three IMDb critics reviews here https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0199175/ex ... _=tt_ov_rt and they're all in French, but I DeepL'ed a bit of one to whet your appetite: "We must free ourselves from false expectation, that of the thriller and its resolution, in order to grasp the morbid charm of this drift into the criminal imaginary, irrational and poetic, of predation and deliverance; an imaginary that is shared - and this is the insidious perversion of the film - by all the characters. It's uncomfortable, then, but it is magnified on each new viewing by revealing its impeccable construction." Word.

[henriq]

Bo Widerberg, The Man from Mallorca, 1984

Wiki: "A robber calmly holds up a post-office in at 13 December. The policemen Johansson and Jarnebring are the first on the scene and they chase the robber, who escapes. Shortly after, someone dies in a car accident and a dead body is found at a graveyard. After a while it is clear that these incidents have something to do with the robbery, and when the policemen are investigating further, they are beginning to reveal a bigger scandal. Meanwhile it seems that there is a cover-up going on." You can say that again - I nearly fell off my chair at the ending! What a cracking good film - maybe even better than Widerberg's earlier splendid The Man on the Roof - and I'm tempted to read the Leif Persson novel Pig Party it was based on (and maybe swot up on the real backstory of the Geijer affair, unless our resident Swedish cinéphile Henrik wants to provide a brief commentary). Widerberg admits being influenced by Friedkin's French Connection (and as films go, that's a good one to be influenced by): buddy cops, great action sequences, Christmas setting, ambiguous ending. Excellent stuff, well recommended.

Sorry, precious little I can tell you about the Geijer affair, but it was to do with prostitutes as I recall. I don't think I was even born when it unfolded though. But yes, I would say that this IS the better of the two. First off, I think the source novel is the more intricate text. The Man on the Roof is a very straight and effective thriller, the film told almost verbatim to the novel. The guy gets killed in his hospital room at night, and by the time mid day when they learn who the killer is he starts shooting from the rooftop. Fine and good. But what is more essential for me is that The Man from Mallorca employs more of real actors. Widerberg has always received a lot of praise for his use of amateurs - the parts in Man on the Roof within police buildings has real police acting in it - and this is what feels most sloppy with him. We all know that it takes a bit more than that, don't we? Real police acting the part of real police will not feel real, it will be what it is - real police making for VERY poor actors poorly acting as real police. There is probably a bit of the same in Mallorca, but not nearly as cringy bad. And yes, the ending is brilliant, isn't it?

[Dan Warburton]

Maïwenn, Mon roi, 2015

Assuming that the vast majority of the dozen or so people who read these pages have no idea who JoeyStarr and Jean-Yves Le Fur are (trivia celeb pubquiz answer for non-readers of Gala magazine: the former is a rapper-turned-actor, the latter a "businessman", formerly with Stéphanie de Monaco, go Google if you like, it's a bore), it doesn't really matter whether you know that the storyline of Mon roi is basically seriously autobiographical (Vincent Cassel's a cross between both the abovementioned, and, hell, Emmanuelle Bercot even looks a bit like the director). No matter, you can still appreciate the fine acting - I like Cassel more than I used to, but special mention should be made of Louis Garrel, whose deliciously désinvolte Solal is splendid. That said, I suspect the real back story of Ms Le Besco's turbulent relationships with these guys would be easier to believe than some of the twists and turns of the plot she allows herself (and us) to get tangled up with: wha, you mean to say she didn't know he was doing drugs, she really accepted the bullshit with the other woman without question, and wtf is Georgio's job supposed to be, anyway? Such little quibbles aside, I enjoyed myself. The dialogue is sharp, often very funny, the filming's good and the pace satisfying. Anyway, post scriptum, if you're a serious cinéphile you should know who JoeyStarr is anyway: he starred in Maïwenn's earlier Polisse, which is also worth a watch.

[Lao Tsu Ben]

I'll tell you, Jeffrey Bernard really got me going with the Irishman...



Peter Medak - The Ruling Class (1972)

Well, I’ll start out with a lengthy quote from writer Ian Christie:

“But what makes The Ruling Class exceptional (and difficult for some) are its outrageous mixing of genres and its sheer ambition. Not only are there allusions to Shakespeare and Marlowe, but also to Wilde and Whitehall farce; to the gentility of Ealing Studios, with a plot that distantly evokes that other great black comedy Kind Hearts and Coronets, and to Hammer’s gore-fests. It is perhaps all very un-English, as William Mervyn’s cynical Sir Charles says of Dr. Herder, but only in terms of a very censored notion of Englishness. And among its starry cast of great character actors relishing their chance to go over the top with Peter O’Toole in what is surely his greatest role after Lawrence, there are also some remarkable purely filmic inventions. The image of Dr. Herder embracing the police cut-out silhouette of Lady Claire has an eerie pathos, and the chilling final scream that rings out over the brooding exterior of the Gurney mansion after Jack has stabbed his wife, flushed with his acclaim in the House of Lords, seems to unite the bloody poetry that Hammer aspired to with a real protest against Britain’s decaying aristocratic tradition.”
https://www.criterion.com/current/posts ... ling-class

just to get me going a bit about this brilliant film. Indeed, Englishness is evoked, from Harry Andrews’ opening address to the Society of Saint George through his autoerotic strangulation and accidental death, to Peter O’Toole, back from the asylum and flitting about the garden like some cross between Francis of Assisi and Daniel Paul Schreber, deliriously attaining to “sanity” and the identity of hangman and Jack the Ripper. O’Toole is of course amazing - never has an angel been so demonic, nor a demon so bright eyed and seductive. And the supporting cast… Coral Browne! James Villiers! Graham Crowden! ALASTAIR SIM! I find I’m shouting… Englishness as country estate, as garden, fox hunt, blood-soaked tradition, dome, terrordome. Brilliant!



Roger Michell - Venus (2006)

And some late career brilliance from the actor. Two friends and actors, O’Toole and Leslie Phillips - Phillips gets a live-in maid, his niece’s daughter, Jessie, played brilliantly by Jodie Whittaker. Phillips’ Ian can’t stand the girl, chavvy teen that she is, but O’Toole’s Maurice gets quite taken. And so a sort of love story gets going. What I find most fascinating about the film is the strange rhythm that carries it, of themes and lines telegraphed well in advance only to get cut short, turned on their head. Yes, there is a Pygmalion feel to the onset of the affair. Maurice takes Jessie out to the theatre, but there is no need for a lengthy schooling or pedagogy, she is immediately smitten with what she sees. Then she takes HIM out to a club, and he lets her. O’Toole is a lot to do with what makes this work. He plays his part with an openness, a kindness of sorts, without a trace of condescension. Chuffing Bacardi breezers at some club with kids a fourth his age? Yes, why not, might be fun! And neither is it played with him finding Life again with this child, not at all. The brilliance of the performance is that he plays Maurice as a sexual being as much as anything, steely will and lust peeking through the doddering façade. And she lets him near, but the attraction is never consummated, and never feels cheap or salacious. It gets a bit unpleasant, even graphic at points. Put that down to writer Hanif Kureishi - he scripted this and The Mother for the director, as well as of course Intimacy for Patrice Chéreau. The same interest here in the confusion of boundaries and propriety, sex and desire. And what arises from all these stops and starts, attraction, sympathy, tenderness, and then revulsion and rejection, is a lengthily distended image of the Venus of the title, Velasquez’s Venus. It ends on that image, in a beautiful finale that would probably have looked cheap and easy in any other director’s hands. Michell is a cut above, a lovely film.

Time to check out Creator by Ivan Passer, Dan - O'Toole was never more charming, though I'm afraid that the film, as a light comedy - touching on grief and bereavement though - is a hit or miss affair. There is also My Favorite Year, which you may have seen, where he is also splendid. As for myself, I see no good reason to postpone seeing The Ruling Class.

[Dan Warburton]

Creator duly bookmarked, Ben (but your post gives me the impression you thought I wrote the above review, whereas it was one of Henrik's). And I have seen - and thoroughly enjoyed - The Ruling Class. Meanwhile, I couldn't let a spectacularly good new 1080 rip of the following go without watching (here's what i wrote last time) --

Alain Jessua, La vie à l'envers, 1964

There aren't many films that approach the delicate subject of mental illness / madness and succeed in doing anything at all other than unleash uncontrollable waves of indignation (One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest - Nurse Ratched ) and other violent passions (Shutter Island, etc etc take your pick). Very rare indeed are those movies that explore the fragility of the character, the subtle details: Rossen's Lilith is one, and this debut feature from the criminally overlooked Alain Jessua is another. Charles Denner was good in Landru and L'homme qui aimait les femmes, but, damn, he's absolutely extraordinary here, an amazing performance. Anne Gaylor plays the ditzy fiancée, and you end up feeling as sorry for her as you do for Jacques. Outstanding work - and, I read, Marty Scorsese's a fan. He should be.

[Dan Warburton]

Nikita Mikhalkov, Five Evenings, 1979

"Let there be no war. Let there be no war." Beautiful ending to a great film. Deserves to be better known. Let's just hope that when this is all over - if we're still here - we'll be able to celebrate once again great Russian art, music, literature and culture. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Five_Evenings

[Dan Warburton]

Jon Jost, They Had It Coming, 2015

Not much online about this (not a surprise for Jon Jost, who seems to be "very widely unknown", to quote Monte Cazzazza), but here's an edit of a review on letterboxd: "Watched this in a small classroom with the film projected on a fold-out screen and with Jon Jost giving a short introduction in the beginning, where he explained that he came up with the idea for this film after conversing with Blake Eckard, who is apparently drunk constantly, and hearing his stories about Missouri. [..] It's a sour and dark look at the poor urban areas within the little town in Missouri in which this takes place, and I couldn't help but wonder if it was with sympathy or with disappointment. Frameup was fairly humanistic, if brutal, so that might be a consequence of old age, with this film acting as a somber meditation on the power of storytelling and the morose mindset of rural America. Jost mentioned in the Q&A that he can't stand the ugliness of America, and this is a direct demonstration of why."
Quite. Can't find any of Eckard's films over at KG but I can probably guess what they're like - think Lodge Kerrigan meets Raymond Carver (on one of Ray's dark drunk days). Jost's website, the first thing about which I noticed was a racing counter showing how much the US government is spending on armaments every second, doesn't give much info, but "morose" certainly sums it up. Very impressive, but maybe these days you might feel more like watching, oh, I dunno, a documentary on Ukraine. Then again, maybe not.

[Dan Warburton]

Alain Cavalier, Etre vivant et le savoir, 2019

Another home movie gem from the grand old man, here documenting his visits to friends dying of cancer, including Emmanuèle Bernheim (who passed away in 2017), whose own Tous s'est bien passé has just been adapted for the cinema by Ozon (I'll get to that one soon). Yikes! Another cheery Dan review you say, but Cavalier's disarmingly intimate and utterly original filmmaking is as inexplicably moving as it is more impressively artful than you might think. The most simple seemingly mundane things - sparrows on a balcony, a still life of vegetables, the view out of a buffet car on a train - become freighted with a mysterious emotional power, which I can't explain but absolutely love. You get the same thing at times from Jean-Daniel Pollet's later work. He, alas, is gone now - Cavalier's still with us (90) and long may he stay so.

[Dan Warburton]

Preston Sturges, Unfaithfully Yours, 1948

I'm no fan of Rex Harrison - My Fair Lady is guaranteed to drive me into a homicidal fury - but he's smashing here as the intensely annoying primadonna conductor (Sir Alfred de Carter, indeed) who suspects his wife of infidelity, and imagines various scenarios to confront her (each set to one of the pieces of music he's conducting, respectively the overtures to Rossini's Semiramide and Wagner's Tannhauser, and Tchaikovsky's Francesca da Rimini, in a virtuoso exercise in montage). Screwball, sure, exceedingly wordy but at times - especially when Rex ineptly manages to trash his own apartment - hilarious. Great fun. So, Henrik, is the remake any good?

[Dan Warburton]

Albert Brooks, Modern Romance, 1981

I nearly fell off my seat when I saw how remarkably similar Brooks' character here, Robert, is to the narrator (Marcel himself) in Proust's La prisonnière, which I'm reading at the moment: i.e. insufferably wracked by jealousy, annoyingly self-contradictory but smart and at times very funny (Brooks more so than Proust, obviously). Modern Romance begins with Robert breaking up with his long-suffering girlfriend Mary, and he spends first half of the movie trying to convince himself he's done the right thing. The on again off again relationship continues into the closing credit sequence. Brooks' comedy is neither sidesplittingly Animal House nor bitterly satirical - Woody Allen is probably the name that comes most readily to mind, but thankfully Brooks avoids his mawkish self-pity, and that irritating Woody tendency always to depict himself as the hero - but manages to get some smart jabs at American life (love the scene in the sportswear shop, and the one in the sound editing suite trying to dub Incredible Hulk footsteps over George Kennedy). Apparently, Kubrick was a fan of the film; make of that what you will..

[henriq]

Preston Sturges, Unfaithfully Yours, 1948

I'm no fan of Rex Harrison - My Fair Lady is guaranteed to drive me into a homicidal fury - but he's smashing here as the intensely annoying primadonna conductor (Sir Alfred de Carter, indeed) who suspects his wife of infidelity, and imagines various scenarios to confront her (each set to one of the pieces of music he's conducting, respectively the overtures to Rossini's Semiramide and Wagner's Tannhauser, and Tchaikovsky's Francesca da Rimini, in a virtuoso exercise in montage). Screwball, sure, exceedingly wordy but at times - especially when Rex ineptly manages to trash his own apartment - hilarious. Great fun. So, Henrik, is the remake any good?

“What happy updraft wafts you hither?”

Oh it couldn’t possibly be. I don’t think I’ve seen all of it. Loud eighties stuff, but not without charm. And Lionel Stander’s Russian accent must surely count as the most godawfully fucking atrocious in all of Hollywood history. He almost deserves his blacklist for it. Now, get to Blithe Spirit!

[Wombatz]

I'm no fan of Rex Harrison - My Fair Lady is guaranteed to drive me into a homicidal fury - but he's smashing here ...

I'm no fan of Rex Harrison - My Fair Lady is guaranteed to drive me into a homicidal fury - but he's killing it in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir ... i sense a pattern ...

[Dan Warburton]

Thanks for reminding me that I tend to repeat myself. I had noticed, you know. But as nobody else seems to post much here anymore, I feel its my duty to entertain you all. All six or seven of you. Anyway, thanks for reminding me that I tend to repeat myself. I had noticed, you know. Ermm, where was I? Oh yes -



Don Siegel, Stranger on the Run, 1967

For some reason, all the pics over at IMDb seem to be stretched horizontally in a rather weird way, so apologies for the screenshot above. Not many to choose from online, in fact. Though the star of Siegel's 1967 made-for-TV western was Henry Fonda, who indeed turns in another solid performance, it's Michael Parks (above) as the tormented sheriff Vince McKay who steals the show (with typical hyperbole, Tarantino - who later cast Parks as the laconic marshal in Kill Bill - describes his performance here as the second best ever in a Siegel movie , the first being Andy Robinson's Scorpio in Dirty Harry). It's an odd affair for sure. Fonda plays a bedraggled booze-addled bum who arrives in a sleepy railway town on a mysterious quest for a local woman (yep, I thought of Bad Day at Black Rock too). When she ends up dead - the reason for which is eventually explained later in the film, but rather elliptically: presumably the teevee people didn't want to shock the Great American Viewing Public with too many sordid details - Fonda gets the blame and has to go on the run, eventually getting a helping hand from a local rancher (yo, Bernie Hamilton! anyone out there remember Captain Dobey? showing my age there...) and, wait for it, another classic western stereotype coming your way, the typically resilient farmowning widow, played here by Anne Baxter. Yes, that Anne Baxter who was so wonderful in All About Eve but here whose "acting" is as awful as her wig. And that's awful. Still, there are some interesting minor roles here for, amongst others, Sal Mineo and Dan Duryea (his penultimate film). See what you think.

[Dan Warburton]

Return visit, celebrating a smashing subtitled 1080 rip that's just popped up over at KG

Alan Rudolph, Remember My Name, 1978

IMDb: "[A] young woman arrives in town to 'start a new life', but soon begins stalking a married construction worker for no apparent reason, turning his life inside out and eventually terrorizing him and his wife." Well, there is a reason of course, but we don't find out why until near the end. Geraldine Chaplin is great as the unstable, chainsmoking Emily, and the Alberta Hunter soundtrack is smashing. Of course, JR says it better than I could: fine review, fine film https://jonathanrosenbaum.net/2021/01/r ... 79-review/

Re-read the Rosenbaum review too, and very good it is too. Recommended.

[Dan Warburton]

Jean-Jacques Beineix, Mortel transfert , 2000

Of the three directors associated with the so-called cinéma du look of the 80s/90s - two are now making utter crap (one - Besson - has been doing so for ages, the other - Carax - has just gone over to the dark side (or is that the Sparks side?) with the appalling Annette) and the third, Beineix, is dead. RIP. For my money Diva's still the best thing he did (37.2° le matin is good too, but avoid the extended cut, it drags). This one, his last feature as it turned out, is well worth un look (if you'll pardon the expression), but you'll soon see why it wasn't exactly a box office smash. Jean-Hugues Anglade (again) plays - very well too - a psychoanalyst and Hélène de Fougerolles his oversexed, SM-loving, kleptomaniac rich bitch patient. But not for long - [flash=]she's strangled to death on his couch and he apparently sleeps through it[/flash]. Plenty of kinky stuff in Pigalle pussy pink (I reckon you could show Diva to a ten-year-old without any problem, but you might have some awkward explaining to do with this one), and some colourful second roles (watch out for Catherine Mouchet, and she ain't playing Thérèse de Lisieux this time I can tell you) but you know you're in trouble when the plot gets so thick it has to be narrated at high speed by one of the characters. Even then the film clocks in at over two hours - and I'm not all that sure about the ending. But, wtf, it's a damn sight better than Annette, and anything Besson ever did.

[Dan Warburton]

Bette Gordon, Luminous Motion, 1998

I enjoyed this, it seems, more than most of the folks whose reviews ended up at Rotten Tomatoes (the few that don't like to an infernal Page 404 Not Found), including Dennis https://dennisschwartzreviews.com/luminousmotion/ , who nonetheless, as usual, makes some good points. Basic story is Phillip (Eric Lloyd), an overimaginative but probably quite intelligent 11 year old, is crisscrossing the US in the back seat of an Impala driven by Mom (Deborah Kara Unger), who makes ends meet by turning tricks with strangers in motels and robbing them. Dad (Jamey Sheridan) seems to know where they are, as he keeps calling and from time to time appears - though the squiggly image makes it clear that his visit is part of Phillips's hyperactive imagination - eventually showing up at their place in Staten Island, which they settle into after some time spent chez Pedro, a hardware store owner who helped them out of a bind following a car crash, until he is (I think) killed (by Phillip, I think, though then again, how can we be sure?). The kid befriends two local teen outcasts, a sociopathic punk called Rodney (James Berland) and an amusingly ditzy feminist (Paz de la Huerta, in her second film appearance before going on to work with the likes of Noé and Jarmusch). It's an amusing mixture of coming of age and road movie, whose rather dodgy script is saved by stylish editing and a good soundtrack. Assuming, that is, unlike Dennis perhaps, don't mind Tom Waits singing out over the closing titles.

[Dan Warburton]

Kogonada, After Yang, 2021

Wiki: "Jake and Kyra live with their adoptive daughter Mika and Yang, a previously owned robotic child they purchased from Brothers & Sisters Incorporated. When Yang becomes unresponsive, Jake goes on a mission to repair him. Brothers & Sisters recommend replacing Yang, which means his body will decompose. Not wanting to upset Mika, Jake becomes determined to save his robotic child. In a flashback, Yang reassures a curious Mika that she is still part of the family despite being adopted. Jake takes Yang to a cheap repairman named Russ, who discovers what he claims is a hidden camera inside of Yang. Jakes takes the "camera" to a museum specialist named Cleo, who tells him that it is, in fact, Yang's memory bank." Let's say that "robotic" conjures up the wrong image: we're talking sophisticated android here, not some clanky metal sculpture out of Doctor Who. Think Blade Runner as directed by Ozu.. and if that sounds hard to imagine, it's worth recalling that South Korean-born Kogonada (see reviews passim, and check out his splendid microdocumentaries) is a major league cinéphile and it shows. This is a surprisingly gentle science fiction movie, which makes a change from the overdose of dystopian stuff we're force-fed on these days. Maybe too gentle. Colin Farrell (Jake) appears to have been highly praised for her performance here, but he's so soft and droopy and miserable you soon feel like heating up one his herbal teas and throwing it in his face to elicit some sort of response. Idem Kyra (Jodie Turner-Smith). But that's Kogonada's world. I wouldn't expect a slasher from him any time soon.

[Dan Warburton]

Jacques Becker, Antoine et Antoinette, 1947

Grand Prix winner (the then Palme d'Or equivalent) at Cannes, this is a great little film, shot just round the corner from where I used to live near the Métro station La Fourche, the tale of Antoine (Roger Pigaut), who works as a printer, his wife Antoinette (Claire Mafféi), who soon loses her job at the local Prisunic supermarket, the local grocer (Noël Roquevert), who turns out to be not as nice as he originally appears, and a winning lottery ticket that goes astray. Smashing in every way - cinematography, music, montage, script, you name it. Especially the acting: why on earth did Claire Mafféi not end up as big as Danièlle Darrieux or Michèle Morgan? She's just.. délicieuse (as Proust would say). But there are a whole host of great minor characters too: watch out for a splendid cameo from the mighty Gaston Modot. Treat yourself, it's super.

[Dan Warburton]

Julien Duvivier, Tales of Manhattan, 1942

https://dennisschwartzreviews.com/talesofmanhattan/ gives you all the plot info you're likely to need, but basically this is set of five short films written by an army of Hollywood writers loosely strung together around the idea of a (cursed) tail coat which passes from one character to another. Haven't researched much of the background to the film, but it seems Hollywood really pushed the boat out for Duvivier on this one - check out the cast! - but, though the director delivered some impressive images (there are some splendidly Ophülsian tracking shots and expressionist decor in the first sketch), the finale, where the coat ends up as a scarecrow in a field of black sharecroppers in the Deep South is embarrassingly dated and racist. Paul Robeson, who ends up leading the choir as yet another "Negro singing his way to glory," was apparently so dischuffed with it he tried to buy up the available prints and take the film out of circulation. Wonder why he accepted the role in the first place. Didn't he read the script they sent him? Anyway, elsewhere Charles Boyer hams it up beautifully, Henry Fonda plays his bumbling Lady Eve screwball character, Charles Laughton (slimmer than he usually is, but it doesn't stop the tail coat ripping on his back) is touching as the struggling composer (know the feeling), but the best performance comes from Edward G. Robinson as a disbarred lawyer fallen on hard times. Bit wordy, though. That said, the scene I enjoyed most was the one that was eventually cut out of the film to reduce its running time, with W.C.Fields once more selling snake oil - or rather, gin-spiked coconut milk - to an well-heeled audience of teetotallers including Margaret "Old Ironsides" Dumont. Haha. So, a bit on the long side, flawed but fun.

[Dan Warburton]

Tonie Marshall, Vénus Beauté (Institut), 1999

Here's James: http://www.frenchfilms.org/review/venus ... -1999.html The only thing I knew about Tonie Marshall before watching this engaging and quirky comedy (stellar cast! including Ms Marshall's real life mum, Micheline Presle) was that she recorded a splendid album with John Zorn, Steve Beresford and David Toop (Deadly Weapons, Nato https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deadly_Weapons_(album)). Fine performances from Nathalie Baye, a wonderfully frumpy Mathilde Seignier and Audrey Tautou (great debut), but plenty of juicy second roles and fabulous little cameos from Claire Denis, Edith Scob, Emmanuelle Riva, Robert Hossein etc etc. Samuel Le Bihan is a tad hard to take as the infatuated sculptor, and the ending is rather surprising (but effective). Very enjoyable. That album kicks ass too.