• The Three Burials Of Melquiades Estrada **** - Het beheerste regiedebuut van Tommy Lee Jones (Under Siege!, Men In Black!, Space Cowboys!, etc) uit 2005. Hier geen shock and awe-tactiek, maar tergend traag ontvouwende cinema die al even sober is als het landschap van de Texaanse setting. De eerste helft, die bovenal monotoon is, is indrukwekkend op een Paris, Texas-manier. De tweede helft, een soort road movie te paard, is minder hypnotiserend, maar toont een mooie sparring tussen Jones en zielepoot Barry Pepper. Geen meesterwerk, wel een prent met bakken stijl en karakter.
• Stay *** - 't Is ongetwijfeld een dooddoener van formaat, maar bij het bekijken van deze film is het onmogelijk om niet aan Lynch te denken. Uit 2006, van de regisseur van Finding Neverland. Moelijk om een label op te plakken. Ergens tussen een psychologisch drama en een benauwende thriller, met veel verwarrende situaties, verspringen van grens tussen werkelijkheid/fantasie en raadselachtige dialogen en soms wat gratuite onzin (onvermijdelijk bij dit soort films zeker?). Ook: creatieve camera-overgangen en perspectieven. Goed acteerwerk van Ewan McGregor, Ryan Gosling en Naomi Watts.
• The Alibi **1/2 - Luchtige misdaadkomedie met Steve "Alan Partridge" Coogan en rollen voor Sam Elliott, Rebecca Romijn en Henry Rollins. 't Heeft geen reet om het lijf, dit soort oplichtersfilms à la Ocean's Eleven is intussen al dozijnen keren herkauwd, maar ik kan me wel herinneren dat Coogan behoorlijk charmant liep te wezen in een film die een chaotische apotheose kende die me deed denken aan Smokin' Aces, met veel volk dat elkaar voor de voeten loopt.
• Outlaw * - Ongeloofwaardige, knullige avengers-film, met een stoïcijns rondschuifelende Sean Bean als wraakengel die het samen met enkele andere verschoppelingen en slachtoffers van geweld op een overreageren zet. De krampachtige pogingen om het een moderne look te geven ten spijt is het een film zonder ziel, met een flinterdun scenario en een onbestaande karakteropbouw. **** voor mezelf, voor het uitkijken.
• Bullit **** - Ik blijf een zwak hebben voor het genre en het tijdperk. Nu, eigenlijk heb ik het nog meer voor misdaadfilms uit de 70s. BBC toonde zo eens een reeks klassiekers: Charley Varrick, Dirty Harry, The Taking Of Pelham 123, The French Connection, stuk voor stuk films die meer cool uitstralen dan een camion ray-bans, volgestopt zitten met pompende soundtracks, en auto's die al even slick zijn. En dan zijn er natuurlijk nog Dog Day Afternoon, Serpico, The Godfather 1&2, Taxi Driver, etc etc. Machtige auteursfilms. Deze van Peter Yates uit 1968 met Steve McQueen wordt wel vaker in één adem vernoemd met The French Connection en dat heeft alles te maken met die lange auto-achtervolging. Zet Steve McQueen en een batterij camera's in de buurt van een Ford Mustang en een Dodge Charger en het resultaat is vuurwerk. OK, deze keer viel wel heel erg op dat bepaalde stukken meerdere keren werden gebruikt (maar dan vanuit perspectieven) en het acteerwerk is nu en dan wat houterig, maar het blijft uitmuntend old school-vermaak.
• I Am Legend ***1/2 - Het zoveelste bewijs van de stelling dat de meeste films en regisseurs op hun best zijn als er eigenlijk geen bal te beleven valt. Wat velen misschien als een Will Smith-vehikel beschouwen begint alleszins erg veelbelovend. Het eerste uur is zondermeer sterke cinema, met flair in beeld gebracht, met overtuigend acteerwerk van Smith en veel sfeer. Het is pas naar het laatste half uur van de film toe, als de film zijn budget probeert te rechtvaardigen met uitzinnig CGI-spektakel, dat ze film zijn ziel wat verliest. Wat een boeiende stilistische oefening in soberheid en onvoorspelbaar had kunnen zijn mondt dan uit in actie by the books en een voorspelbare finale. Desalniettemin een fijne kijkervaring.
• The Night Of The Demon ***1/2 - Van Jacques Tourneur uit 1957, en een beetje een klassieker in de geschiedenis van de horrorfilm. Maf verhaal, stijlvol noir-camerawerk en degelijke acteerprestaties. Anderzijds: suggestieve muziek en geluidseffecten die oorverdovend zijn (de boodschap moest blijkbaar loud & clear overkomen) en "special effects" (bwaha) die doen denken aan Bela Lugosi's hilarisch amateurisme met de octopus in Ed Wood's Bride Of The Monster. Geen revelatie, wel dikke fun.
• The Illusionist **1/2 - Edward Norton is een acteur die steeds het beeld domineert, maar dat volstaat niet om een film overeind te houden. Deze hele film baadt in een gelige retro-look en bevat heel wat kunstige gimmicks, maar voor elke troef (Paul Giamatti is er nog een) is er ook wel een element dat het doet verzanden in de middelmaat. Flauw acteerwerk van Jessica Biel (precies een licht catatonische, gekloonde mix van Keira Knightley en Scarlett Johansson), belachelijke overacting van Rufus Sewell en een scenario dat hier en daar serieus slabakt.
• Cidade de Deus ***** - Dé filmervaring van mei. Er zit veel in dat doet denken aan Amores Perros (de rauwheid, de humor, het realistische, het kleurrijke), maar ook genoeg eigenheid. Met enorme vaart vertelde geschiedenis van een stelletje straatcriminelen in een arme buitenwijk van Rio de Janeiro. Bruut, gejaagd, tragisch, uitzonderlijk creatief en een primaire kopstoot. Indrukwekkend.

Morgen (of zo): boeken of muziek of, wie weet, back to business.

...or does Mike Leigh's new film, HAPPY GO LUCKY, look incredibly awful and annoying? If you've seen the trailer you surely agree.

As usual, you can tell the lead actress is actually really good and charismatic, only she's smothering her appeal in a patina of affected "theatrical" Mike-Leighism. Horrible horrible horrible.

In an attempt to be "cinematic" Leigh has decorated this one with brightly coloured turquoise and magenta bunting. It makes me want to inject codeine into my eyeballs.

People keep telling me I would really like TOPSY TURVY and maybe I would, and I haven't purposely avoided seeing it, but I refuse to give any money to the man who made all those other appalling flicks, so I'm dependant on it turning up on TV. Suspiciously, none of the people who tell me I'd really like it actually own copies they can lend me.

I hate Mike Leigh's stuff! Rather than giving him money to make films, the Film Council or Film4 or whoever should actually send him one of Timothy Spall's fingers whenever he releases anything. He should be allowed to do theatre, where posh people can come and see Leigh's quaint ideas of what working class people are like, for their amusement and edification. Or else he should just run a zoo, with Jim Broadbent and Brenda Blethyn in the cages.

Do Not Feed The Spall.

I'm being mean. I don't like to be mean. But nothing I say can harm Leigh. He will go on making films, and on, and on. Some of them will be quite successful. He will complain they don't get good enough distribution, so people in housing estates can come and see his quaint portrayals of what life is like on a housing estate.

In case he runs out of titles, here are a few that he can apply randomly to his next projects: MUSTN'T GRUMBLE; STONE THE CROWS; DEAR ME; WHOOPS A DAISY; YOU'VE GOT TO LAUGH; A NICE CUP OF TEA.

Whew. Sorry. Just had to vent.

(Since I could not bring myself to use any images from his films, this post has been lavishly illustrated with images of actual cinema.)

Living abroad, basically out of a backpack, prevents one from maintaining the lifestyle of a pack rat. Before splitting from Portland for European lands, my comrade in mischief and I sold off hundreds of books to Powell's Books. And what they wouldn't take, we gave away. Although we started packing and getting rid of items a month in advance, the pressure to clear out our cluttered yet pleasantly comfortable apartment was cranked up pretty high those last two weeks. So plenty of books and VHS tapes went to neighbors, acquaintances, and strangers. What we chose to keep--still a good, solid library--got packed up and is supposedly safe and sound in some climate controlled wonderland waiting for us to return one day. My DVDs all went to a friend for safe keeping. No doubt they will be put to good use.

But some of my discs managed to escape being orphaned and are currently accompanying me on my journeys. In the past, when I had traveled "close to the ground," the thought of having immediate access to films was absurd. And though I would occasionally dream of having films at my disposal, the idea was completely within the realm of science fiction. In the early 1990s, during my first lengthy trip to Europe, I was basically living in a cave. No, seriously. Well, it was a small, unheated one room flat with stone walls and only a wood stove to heat the place. I craved movies, but I craved heat even more. The last time that I was overseas for an extended period of time was 1996, DVDs were still a year away from entering the forum of mainstream acceptability, and therefore the idea of packing a bunch of them with me was ridiculous. I might as well have had access to a jet pack.

Not that I would want to take a traveling case of discs with me anyhow. Traveling, at least the way I've always done it, has been about surrendering the comforts of home, relinquishing the familiar, and attempting to reconnect with the alleyways of life.

Anyway, books were more transportable.

Things are different now. Because of work, I have to have access to films, or at least access to the machine that can bring them to life: a laptop. So I brought some with me and it ended up being a perfect opportunity to test out the "desert island" theory of film watching. You're on a desert island and you can only bring twenty-five films. What films do you bring?

I stowed away a fair bit. Films that would inspire, would sharpen the intellectual batteries, would amuse, would withstand the repeat factor, and would continue to charge the imagination when nothing else would. There was also "homework" to consider, so a few of those ended up with me as well, though most of the required viewing is still back in Oregon awaiting orders to re-enlist for duty.

So what did make the cut? Obvious favorites, to be sure: Seven Samurai, Blade Runner (in all its permutations), Goodbye, Dragon Inn, Le Samurai, Heart of Glass, The Conformist, Curse of the Demon/Night of the Demon, Suspiria, the Sergio Leone westerns, Bad Timing, The Thin Red Line, The Searchers and some other Ford/Wayne westerns, The Wild Bunch, a whole lot of Mario Bava and other European horror films from the 1960s, Barry Lyndon, some Godard, some Truffaut, a couple of Japanese horror films, a couple of samurai films, all of the Val Lewton films, and Lifeforce. Yes, Lifeforce, the craptacular 1985 Tobe Hooper movie. I also tossed in Marcel Carné's Children of Paradise because I've never seen it (an embarrassing admission) and what better time to watch it than when abroad and more likely to have a little time to spare for a 190 minute masterpiece. I'd received the Criterion Collection disc for a review that never panned out and was always waiting for that appropriate rainy day. Well, it took a few years and me having to leave my abode to do it, but I plan on watching it soon.

When planning my exile, I'd expected to watch plenty of films. I purchased a good, compact traveling case and stuffed it with digital goodies. Much to my surprise, my old ways have sort of kicked in again. I haven't watched much. The first month we were too much on the go, getting acclimated to traveling again. But this last month we've been stationary, so we managed to watch The Devil's Backbone, The Wicker Man (the original 1973 Robin Hardy film not the LaBute/Cage carnival of guffaws) and a couple of nights ago I settled into the Lewton/Robson film The Ghost Ship. More about that last one in a near-future post.

This new, more accommodating style of traveling is weird. I'm not complaining, mind you. But it's still weird to have the luxury of being seemingly so far from "home," so far from the familiar and yet be so connected. It's not exactly like I'm in some mountain retreat at the moment, so I'm not too worked up about it. But it does make me wonder that if I was on a real desert island, I think watching a movie would be the last thing on my "to-do" list.

It's like being in a bloody war. No, wait, we ARE in a bloody war.

But I meant the way the prominent figures of British films have been keeling over this week. Paul Scofield is the latest one I'm aware of, and I feel like putting on LONDON or ROBINSON IN SPACE to hear his majestic voice again, and because those beautiful Patrick Keillor film-essays are the kind of thing I can drift through in a dreamy cloud of pleasure, bewildered when the film ends and I wake into sluggish reality.

Also today we heard of the decease of Brian Wilde, a fine character actor and comic turn, with a long long track record. Back in in 1957 he played Rand Hobart (no relation to Rose), the crazed devil-worshipping farmer in NIGHT OF THE DEMON for Jacques Tourneur, uttering the classic line "It's in the trees -- it's coming!" before his memorable self-defenestration (the line is repeated in Kate Bush's song The Hounds of Love, but revoiced by another actor).

Previous to that, Arthur C Clarke shuffled off, and my blog received about fifty hits from people typing in variations of the query "Arthur C Clarke pederast" due to a casual statement I made in an old Euphoria post. Oops.

The big shock was Anthony Minghella's too-early death. He wasn't a filmmaker whose work affected me particularly, but it was tragic to lose him so suddenly and so young. His latest film, THE NO 1. LADIES' DETECTIVE AGENCY, from a novel by Edinburgh writer Alexander McCall Smith, and photographed by Edinburgh-based ace cameraman Seamus McGarvey (the man with Nicole Kidman's nose on his mantelpiece, grisly souvenir from THE HOURS) airs on the BBC very shortly.

These are the WRONG PEOPLE. I'm basically opposed to the whole idea of death, though I admit it has its uses: it's important to know there's something out there worse than THE COTTAGE, for instance. But if we have to have a bunch of film industry deaths, why can't it be the people ahead of me in the queue for film funding? Not that I wish them any harm, but if SOMEBODY'S got to go...

(Explanatory note on the title of this post: in Scots vernacular, for some reason, "dead" means the same as "very" -- one might say, "That was dead good," or "He's dead nice-looking." Or, presumably, "He's dead dead.")

We have reached Euphoria 50! Fifty examples of cinematic joy have been assembled, reaching a kind of critical mass. Things should now start getting better in the world -- politics, the environment, men's fashions, the selection of biscuits at your local ScotMid.

EVERYTHING. 

BAFTA-winning screenwriter and comedy turn Colin McLaren nominated THIS:

'I've plumped for the seance scene from NIGHT OF THE DEMON (52 minutes in), or simply the rendition of CHERRY RIPE, as preceded by the line 'Oh very well Maggie'. There's Aleister Crowley's mum beckoning us to join in. An insight into how Obsolete People keep warm.'

Our writer, Charles Bennett, wrote numerous Hitchcock films in the '30s, and this scene shows a familiar Hitchcockian puckishness. The silly, matronly mother of the villain seems reminiscent of Bruno's dear mom in STRANGERS ON A TRAIN, actually.

Jacques Tourneur is one my favourite Hollywood directors (his dadwas no slouch either). He did stunning work on OUT OF THE PAST, a classic noir, and his Val Lewton suspensers are justly renowned. N/COTD follows in their shadowy footsteps...

This is Bennett's comedy relief scene, and how odd it is! Gruff skeptic Dana Andrews dismisses the spiritualist as a fraud, but shouldn't he at least be impressed by how incredibly good he is? Sense is not being made.

Wikipedia tells me something I don't know:

'The Song in Literature
The song Cherry Ripe is a recurring theme in John Buchan's WWI spy novel Mr Standfast (1919). It identifies Mary Lamington, a young intelligence officer, who fall in love and vice versa with the hero of the novel general Richard Hannay.'

The Buchan reference is relevant due to Bennett's work adapting THE THIRTY-NINE STEPS for Hitch. OK, it's a slender thread of connection, and doesn't actually mean anything, but what do you want on a cold Saturday night?

Oh, I've included the little post-seance moment so we can glimpse the splendid Niall McGinnis as Julian Karswell, our Aleister Crowley substitute.

More connections: Athene Seyler (superbname!) who plays Mrs. Karswell, turned up this very evening in the stunning QUEEN OF SPADES, with Anton Walbrook, which we were screening here at Shadowplay Heights -- on a DVD which was a gift from a lady named Hitchcock. And Fiona just wafted by with a bowl of ripe cherries, which she intends to devour in bed.

It's all unfolding like a dream!

More on Tourneur, I should think, soon.

(and a full report on QUEEN OF SPADES)

Spirited Away (2001)
"Now, try to remember as much as you can about your old life."

The English-language version of this extraordinary movie is adapted from Hayao Miyazaki's Japanese original. A family's move to the suburbs is interrupted by an unplanned visit to an abandoned theme park. 10-year-old Chihiro sees her parents turned into pigs as she backs into a world of spirits, demons, and magic. To save her parents, she must take a job in a bath house, and eventually match wits with its sorceress proprietor, Yubaba. Can she save her family and get home? In the end, will she want to? Endlessly inventive, Spirited Away invites multiple viewings. Chihiro's determination and courage will inspire children and adults. Films like this are the reason we have films. Enchanting and delightful, Spirited Away is pure magic, from start to finish.

* * *

Night of the Demon / Curse of the Demon (1957)
"You get nothing for nothing."

This tense, moody drama offers some good jumps and a healthy sense of dread. A coldly rational psychologist finds himself on the bad side of a spiritualist (Karswell) who claims he can summon a demon to do this bidding. Does rationality subsume the supernatural, or vice-versa? As the mystery unfolds, you're left with a creepy sense of something lurking in the shadow of your mind (most of the scenes were shot at night). This gem from Britain is not well-known, despite its quality. "Curse" is the shorter American version--the pace is tighter and Karswell comes off a bit more sympathetic. Look for the cryptic runes and Karswell's cat, and pay close attention to his conversation at the beginning of the film.

* * *

12 Monkeys (1995)
"I'm insane, and you're my insanity."

Terry Gilliam's extended time-travel riddle is based on Chris Marker's 1962 short subject, La Jetee. In the late 1990s, most of humanity is wiped out by a virus that spreads over the entire Earth in only a few weeks. The future is dark and oppressive, with survivors forced to live underground like caged animals. Meanwhile, on the surface, wildlife has reclaimed the planet. Hoping to capture a "pure form" of the virus, whatever that means, scientists send Cole, a prisoner apparently convicted of violent crimes, to the past to retrieve it. A strange mix of science-fiction, comedy of errors, and romantic drama unfolds as Cole encounters his mind-twisting destiny, aided by a present-day psychologist who, representing the audience, is forced to question her perception of reality. Look for the Hitchcock references--they're everywhere--and pay close attention when the scientists play the distorted recording for Cole.