006 - Friday, January 6, 2017
Jour de Fete, 1949, France. Dir. Jacques Tati.
Quickly! Name a slapstick comedian.
Go.
Whom did you name?
Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Fatty Arbuckle, Harold Lloyd? The Marx Brothers, Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello, The Three Stooges? Don Knotts, Lucille Ball, Dick Van Dyke, Jerry Lewis, Peter Sellers, Woody Allen? John Ritter, Steve Martin, John Belushi, Jim Carey?
Whom did you name that is not in this list?
Did you list Jacques Tati?
Who?
Jacques Tati!
If you like physical comedy, you will enjoy him. Stumbling, bumbling, tripping, falling, running into things, inadvertently causing mayhem. Or letting others do it.
That plus building and choreographing entire cities for a good sight gag (or site gag!).
Jacques Tati came out of the music halls. That would be the European equivalent of our Vaudeville.
He performed nights before live audiences, miming, clowning, doing magic, bumping into things, and falling down. Growing up he had played tennis and ridden horses, so he had in his act various gags where he mimed playing tennis and riding horses. People believed they were seeing him as the tennis player, the racquet, the tennis ball, and the other player, or as both the rider and the horse. One critic called him the human centaur--both man and horse.
His dad was a framer. Not a house framer but a picture framer. That's nice, you might think. Sounds like a solid working-man's job. Yes, but what if it means you are friends with Van Gogh and Toulouse Lautrec and other great artists? We are going to see a pattern this year as we go through the films of filmmakers who grew up exposed to great art, and in some cases, who grew up as friends or family with great artists.
Jour de Fete begins with a horse and wagon riding down the road with carousel horses facing out the back. The carnival is coming to town! They pass a pasture and the real horses are spooked by the carousel horses. This simple juxtaposition makes us smile and prepares us for the many clever observations M. Tati will be sharing with us in this and the next few films. A boy skips up the trail and follows the wagon into town, and in that moment of youthfully innocent joy we enter into a world of playfulness.
Jacques Tati plays the mailman Francois. He is clueless, so members of the village make sport of him. Roger, played by Guy Decomble, gets him to drink in order to enhance Francois's ineptness.
Remember the name Guy Decomble. We are going to see him again in the following films: La Bete Humaine (Jean Renoir, 1938), Bob Le Flambeur (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1956), The 400 Blows (Francois Truffaut, 1959), and Les Cousins (Claude Chabrol, 1959). Decomble is one of those faces that, whenever he pops up in a picture you point and say, "Hey, I know that guy! What was he in?" Well, here is your list of what he was in.
And how wonderful for him to work with all of these great directors. By the end of this year, you will get to know and love these directors.
Eventually, Francois sees a "documentary" film in a tent which presents the efficiency of the United States Postal Service, and he decides that he wants to bring such postal efficiency to France. So he embarks on his bike and begins to ride.
The scenes that follow are funny. Take an accident-prone man on a bicycle, give him a new obsession, add speed, and see what follows.
And here is something you will enjoy about this movie. Jacques Tati filmed in it both black-and-white and in color! He placed two cameras side by side and filmed with them at the same time. Both versions come on the disc, so you may watch them one after the other. When you get to the color version, you are not watching a black-and-white movie that has been colorized, but you are watching a color movie that was made at the same time as the black-and-white movie. Imagine if in addition to seeing the color changing, you also see the framing change. Imagine watching the same movie twice, with the two versions being slightly offset. I told you he was a framer.
Tati did this because, while he wanted to make a color film, he did not know if it would work out. So he filmed the black-and-white version as a back-up. Good thing for him. The color version did not work out, at the time, so he released the black-and-white version, and it remained that way for decades until technology caught up and his daughter got the color version processed and released in the 1990s.
We are about to go on a fun journey with Jacques Tati.
Try not to fall.
https://www.criterion.com/films/28114-jour-de-fete
Friday, January 6, 2017
Thursday, January 5, 2017
005 - Diabolique, 1955, France; Dir. Henri-Georges Clouzot
005 - Thursday, January 5, 2017
Diabolique (Diabolical, but properly Les Diaboliques, The Devils), 1955, France. Dir. Henri-Georges Clouzot.
Alfred Hitchcock was the world's leading director of suspense thrillers for nearly four decades, and especially the decade of the 1950s, so when a hot new novel or script became available he usually had the ability to get to it first. And in this case, the novel Les Diaboliques was written by the same two men who would give Hitch Vertigo.
So how could a relatively unknown French director beat Hitchcock out of this movie?
It shows you the prestige and money that Henri-Georges Clouzot had after his previous film, yesterday's The Wages of Fear, became an international sensation. He optioned the rights ahead of Hitchcock, some say by hours.
Clouzot brings back his cinematographer from The Wages of Fear, Armand Thirard; his editor, Madeleine Gug; and two of his actors--his wife, Vera Clouzot, who had starred as Linda, and Charles Vanel, who had starred as Monsieur Jo. Yet Diabolique is a very different movie, with a different look, a different setting, a different tone, a different genre, and a different ending.
You could watch the two movies back to back and not know they were made by the same director.
You could also watch them back to back and not know that two of the actors are the same in both films. You could watch them a second time and still not notice.
They have transformed.
Whereas The Wages of Fear was a high-intensity adventure film attached to a character study of male bonding, Diabolique is a suspense drama that turns to horror.
Whereas The Wages of Fear takes place mostly in the outdoors (even that showdown I mentioned between Mario's roommate Luigi and his new friend Jo happens in an open-air bar), Diabolique, except for some action around the swimming pool, take place indoors, sometimes in darkness and in shadows.
What is going on?
And speaking of the swimming pool, remember the opening shot I mentioned on Day 2, in Gotz Speilmann's German film Revanche? Well, I'll bet you a nickel Mr. Speilmann saw this film. Got your nickel ready?
Revanche opens with a static shot of a lake with the trees upside-down in reflection. The credits fade in and out in complete silence with no music underneath. Just the open air.
Diabolique opens with a static shot of a swimming pool with the trees upside-down in reflection. The credits fade in and out with music.
I'll take my nickel now. If enough of you read this, well, then I will have a bunch of nickels.
The difference lies in the water quality of the swimming pool, and in the music, and in what lies beneath that water.
Or doesn't.
The lake water in Revanche is clean and represents forgiveness, "the sea of forgetfulness." Whatever may be thrown in it is gone forever, and the sinner is free to live again.
The pool water in Diabolique is stagnant, dark, murky, covered in some membranous film, and teeming with . . . something. Whatever has been thrown in it is gone too, but that is not a good thing.
It is terrifying.
The strident chords of composer Georges Van Parys hammer away at us--first all the strings, then a boys choir, then particularly the cellos. Uh oh.
What is more frightening than a body down in that swimming pool?
You will have to watch to find out.
But if you do, you will stop categorizing slasher films as horror. They are mere child's play.
Some critics are glad that Hitchcock missed out on this picture, because they believe his competitive nature drove him to his best work, that after Diabolique came out, he went out and made Vertigo, North by Northwest, Psycho, and The Birds.
You have a bathtub scene (or two) in Diabolique? Well, let me show you what I can do with a shower in Psycho.
You have someone obsessed with guilt over death in Diabolique? Well, let me show you what I can do with obsession and guilt and death in Vertigo.
On a milder note, when you watch Diabolique, you will be convinced that Charles Vanel's character, the retired police commissioner Monsieur Fichet, is a prototype for Peter Faulk's Columbo. Chesterton may have beat him to it with Father Brown, but he is fleshed out here, complete with trench coat, cigar, and bumbling mannerisms. If only he were not so slow.
Remember yesterday when I mentioned that Clouzot worked in Germany in his early years and was exposed to German expressionism. Well, he uses it here. In the bathroom. In the hallway. In the study. What is that typing noise? What is behind that door?
Watch this film. If you dare.
https://www.criterion.com/films/575-diabolique
Diabolique (Diabolical, but properly Les Diaboliques, The Devils), 1955, France. Dir. Henri-Georges Clouzot.
Alfred Hitchcock was the world's leading director of suspense thrillers for nearly four decades, and especially the decade of the 1950s, so when a hot new novel or script became available he usually had the ability to get to it first. And in this case, the novel Les Diaboliques was written by the same two men who would give Hitch Vertigo.
So how could a relatively unknown French director beat Hitchcock out of this movie?
It shows you the prestige and money that Henri-Georges Clouzot had after his previous film, yesterday's The Wages of Fear, became an international sensation. He optioned the rights ahead of Hitchcock, some say by hours.
Clouzot brings back his cinematographer from The Wages of Fear, Armand Thirard; his editor, Madeleine Gug; and two of his actors--his wife, Vera Clouzot, who had starred as Linda, and Charles Vanel, who had starred as Monsieur Jo. Yet Diabolique is a very different movie, with a different look, a different setting, a different tone, a different genre, and a different ending.
You could watch the two movies back to back and not know they were made by the same director.
You could also watch them back to back and not know that two of the actors are the same in both films. You could watch them a second time and still not notice.
They have transformed.
Whereas The Wages of Fear was a high-intensity adventure film attached to a character study of male bonding, Diabolique is a suspense drama that turns to horror.
Whereas The Wages of Fear takes place mostly in the outdoors (even that showdown I mentioned between Mario's roommate Luigi and his new friend Jo happens in an open-air bar), Diabolique, except for some action around the swimming pool, take place indoors, sometimes in darkness and in shadows.
What is going on?
And speaking of the swimming pool, remember the opening shot I mentioned on Day 2, in Gotz Speilmann's German film Revanche? Well, I'll bet you a nickel Mr. Speilmann saw this film. Got your nickel ready?
Revanche opens with a static shot of a lake with the trees upside-down in reflection. The credits fade in and out in complete silence with no music underneath. Just the open air.
Diabolique opens with a static shot of a swimming pool with the trees upside-down in reflection. The credits fade in and out with music.
I'll take my nickel now. If enough of you read this, well, then I will have a bunch of nickels.
The difference lies in the water quality of the swimming pool, and in the music, and in what lies beneath that water.
Or doesn't.
The lake water in Revanche is clean and represents forgiveness, "the sea of forgetfulness." Whatever may be thrown in it is gone forever, and the sinner is free to live again.
The pool water in Diabolique is stagnant, dark, murky, covered in some membranous film, and teeming with . . . something. Whatever has been thrown in it is gone too, but that is not a good thing.
It is terrifying.
The strident chords of composer Georges Van Parys hammer away at us--first all the strings, then a boys choir, then particularly the cellos. Uh oh.
What is more frightening than a body down in that swimming pool?
You will have to watch to find out.
But if you do, you will stop categorizing slasher films as horror. They are mere child's play.
Some critics are glad that Hitchcock missed out on this picture, because they believe his competitive nature drove him to his best work, that after Diabolique came out, he went out and made Vertigo, North by Northwest, Psycho, and The Birds.
You have a bathtub scene (or two) in Diabolique? Well, let me show you what I can do with a shower in Psycho.
You have someone obsessed with guilt over death in Diabolique? Well, let me show you what I can do with obsession and guilt and death in Vertigo.
On a milder note, when you watch Diabolique, you will be convinced that Charles Vanel's character, the retired police commissioner Monsieur Fichet, is a prototype for Peter Faulk's Columbo. Chesterton may have beat him to it with Father Brown, but he is fleshed out here, complete with trench coat, cigar, and bumbling mannerisms. If only he were not so slow.
Remember yesterday when I mentioned that Clouzot worked in Germany in his early years and was exposed to German expressionism. Well, he uses it here. In the bathroom. In the hallway. In the study. What is that typing noise? What is behind that door?
Watch this film. If you dare.
https://www.criterion.com/films/575-diabolique
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
004 - The Wages of Fear, 1953, France; Dir. Henri-Georges Clouzot
004 - Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Le salaire de la peur (The Wages of Fear), 1953, France, Italy. Dir. Henri-Georges Clouzot.
You may know that the great Christmas classic It's a Wonderful Life features the cop and the cab driver Bert and Ernie, but how about a movie that features roommates Mario and Luigi?
That is the least important thing about The Wages of Fear, and it is just as coincidental as the pair of names in It's a Wonderful Life. But it is fun.
What is important about this film is the bond among men and the tensions with which they deal. Some of those tensions are life and death.
The film begins in the isolated town of Las Piedras. Look it up. There is a Las Piedras in Puerto Rico and a Las Piedras in Uruguay, but we know that our director, Henri-Georges Clouzot had just returned from his honeymoon in Brazil with his new Brazilian bride, Vera.
How do you know you are a filmmaker? When you take your film crew on your honeymoon! Henri-Georges and Vera went to Brazil on their honeymoon and worked on their documentary of Brazil while there. Clouzot insisted on filming the people, including the poverty-stricken areas, and not only what the government wanted the tourists to see.
When he returned home he was offered a script about a Frenchman living in South America. Perfect! Clouzot made the movie and wrote a role for his new bride.
If you have travelled to certain small outposts in South America, you may recognize the setting in the opening scenes--the boy without pants tying beetles together, the deep potholes in the dirt streets, the women walking with pots and baskets on their heads, the old American car serving as a taxi, racing through the streets, splashing through the potholes, barely missing the women with pots and baskets on their heads, the mule walking down the street, the ice cream vendor, the men sitting idly on the porch sweating in the heat of the day, the airplane nearly hitting the buildings as it lands in the grass field.
Yes! It looks just like a place you may have visited in South America--the architecture, the people, the climate, the culture. And it was filmed in the south of France!
From Clouzot's memory.
Good thing he took that film crew on his honeymoon.
This film comes in two parts: about an hour in the town of Las Piedras, and about an hour-and-a-half on the road with four men driving two trucks loaded with nitroglycerin. And boy, does it get exciting.
In the first hour we see the relationships between Mario and Linda (played respectively by international star Yves Montand in his first starring role, and by Clouzot's wife Vera), Mario and his roommate Luigi, and Mario and newcomer Monsieur Jo. Mario's relationships with Linda and Luigi quickly give way when M. Jo arrives, another Frenchman, who bribes his way into town and bonds with Mario over their common culture. Luigi is from Italy, and he grows jealous that Mario would throw him off so quickly for this new Jo. And Linda grows jealous as well.
There are scenes in the village and in the bar where Mario expresses his new loyalty, and his girlfriend and his roommate struggle to adjust. The roommate and the new Jo even have a public showdown involving broken bottles and a gun. Watch out.
But the film moves on to the story that drives it the rest of the way.
The town exists because an American oil company has oil wells in the area, and one has just exploded. In order to put out the raging fire, they need to create an even larger explosion that will consume all the oxygen in the area. And in order to create the larger explosion, they need to transport two truckloads of nitroglycerin from our town of Las Piedras to the site of the fire.
And boy are those trucks big.
One single drop of nitroglycerin dropping on the floor can cause a small explosion by itself. We know this because the American boss Bill O'Brien demonstrates it. So imagine what a large truck full of jerrycans of nitroglycerin will do.
They only need one truck but they are sending two. Just in case one truck blows up along the way. Who wants to volunteer for the job? The men are so desperate for work that they line up and fight for it.
The journey is a series of incidents and near calamities. Mario and Jo drive one truck, and Luigi and the German Bimba drive the other one. They have to drive slowly enough in one area, fast enough in another. They could run into one another. They could run off the mountain. They have to remove a great boulder from their path. They have to get through an oil spill. The challenges keep coming.
This is a great film for dramatic action. You may find yourself on the edge of your seat, hoping you do not explode. It is also a great film for showing the relationships between men, and the navigating between courage and cowardice.
To understand this fascinating film, let us take a quick look at its fascinating director.
Clouzot's father owned a bookstore, so he grew up reading voraciously. He studied political science in Paris but aspired to be a writer. In school he wrote song lyrics, plays, and screenplays and was hired by the German Adolphe Osso to work for the great studio UFA in Germany. While there he wrote and translated over twenty different German films into French and other languages. While there he was also exposed to the films of F. W. Murnau and Fritz Lang, and thereby discovered German Expressionism. He also saw the Hitler parades and was shocked by French apathy over what was happening. He was fired from his job at UFA for his friendship with Jewish producers, including Osso, and back in France he contracted tuberculosis and spent the next four years in a sanitarium.
Imagine that. Clouzot was practically bedridden for four years, perpetually at the point of death. He read voraciously and studied human behavior. By the time the disease left him he was ready to work.
Clouzot made critically and financially successful films and became an international star director.
He was known for being demanding. He would do whatever it took to get a performance out of an actor, from charm to manipulation to coercion.
The results can be fantastic.
Watch The Wages of Fear and you will see.
The film is almost fully satisfying, but in the end it does have one weakness. You will have to discover that for yourself.
https://www.criterion.com/films/370-the-wages-of-fear
Le salaire de la peur (The Wages of Fear), 1953, France, Italy. Dir. Henri-Georges Clouzot.
You may know that the great Christmas classic It's a Wonderful Life features the cop and the cab driver Bert and Ernie, but how about a movie that features roommates Mario and Luigi?
That is the least important thing about The Wages of Fear, and it is just as coincidental as the pair of names in It's a Wonderful Life. But it is fun.
What is important about this film is the bond among men and the tensions with which they deal. Some of those tensions are life and death.
The film begins in the isolated town of Las Piedras. Look it up. There is a Las Piedras in Puerto Rico and a Las Piedras in Uruguay, but we know that our director, Henri-Georges Clouzot had just returned from his honeymoon in Brazil with his new Brazilian bride, Vera.
How do you know you are a filmmaker? When you take your film crew on your honeymoon! Henri-Georges and Vera went to Brazil on their honeymoon and worked on their documentary of Brazil while there. Clouzot insisted on filming the people, including the poverty-stricken areas, and not only what the government wanted the tourists to see.
When he returned home he was offered a script about a Frenchman living in South America. Perfect! Clouzot made the movie and wrote a role for his new bride.
If you have travelled to certain small outposts in South America, you may recognize the setting in the opening scenes--the boy without pants tying beetles together, the deep potholes in the dirt streets, the women walking with pots and baskets on their heads, the old American car serving as a taxi, racing through the streets, splashing through the potholes, barely missing the women with pots and baskets on their heads, the mule walking down the street, the ice cream vendor, the men sitting idly on the porch sweating in the heat of the day, the airplane nearly hitting the buildings as it lands in the grass field.
Yes! It looks just like a place you may have visited in South America--the architecture, the people, the climate, the culture. And it was filmed in the south of France!
From Clouzot's memory.
Good thing he took that film crew on his honeymoon.
This film comes in two parts: about an hour in the town of Las Piedras, and about an hour-and-a-half on the road with four men driving two trucks loaded with nitroglycerin. And boy, does it get exciting.
In the first hour we see the relationships between Mario and Linda (played respectively by international star Yves Montand in his first starring role, and by Clouzot's wife Vera), Mario and his roommate Luigi, and Mario and newcomer Monsieur Jo. Mario's relationships with Linda and Luigi quickly give way when M. Jo arrives, another Frenchman, who bribes his way into town and bonds with Mario over their common culture. Luigi is from Italy, and he grows jealous that Mario would throw him off so quickly for this new Jo. And Linda grows jealous as well.
There are scenes in the village and in the bar where Mario expresses his new loyalty, and his girlfriend and his roommate struggle to adjust. The roommate and the new Jo even have a public showdown involving broken bottles and a gun. Watch out.
But the film moves on to the story that drives it the rest of the way.
The town exists because an American oil company has oil wells in the area, and one has just exploded. In order to put out the raging fire, they need to create an even larger explosion that will consume all the oxygen in the area. And in order to create the larger explosion, they need to transport two truckloads of nitroglycerin from our town of Las Piedras to the site of the fire.
And boy are those trucks big.
One single drop of nitroglycerin dropping on the floor can cause a small explosion by itself. We know this because the American boss Bill O'Brien demonstrates it. So imagine what a large truck full of jerrycans of nitroglycerin will do.
They only need one truck but they are sending two. Just in case one truck blows up along the way. Who wants to volunteer for the job? The men are so desperate for work that they line up and fight for it.
The journey is a series of incidents and near calamities. Mario and Jo drive one truck, and Luigi and the German Bimba drive the other one. They have to drive slowly enough in one area, fast enough in another. They could run into one another. They could run off the mountain. They have to remove a great boulder from their path. They have to get through an oil spill. The challenges keep coming.
This is a great film for dramatic action. You may find yourself on the edge of your seat, hoping you do not explode. It is also a great film for showing the relationships between men, and the navigating between courage and cowardice.
To understand this fascinating film, let us take a quick look at its fascinating director.
Clouzot's father owned a bookstore, so he grew up reading voraciously. He studied political science in Paris but aspired to be a writer. In school he wrote song lyrics, plays, and screenplays and was hired by the German Adolphe Osso to work for the great studio UFA in Germany. While there he wrote and translated over twenty different German films into French and other languages. While there he was also exposed to the films of F. W. Murnau and Fritz Lang, and thereby discovered German Expressionism. He also saw the Hitler parades and was shocked by French apathy over what was happening. He was fired from his job at UFA for his friendship with Jewish producers, including Osso, and back in France he contracted tuberculosis and spent the next four years in a sanitarium.
Imagine that. Clouzot was practically bedridden for four years, perpetually at the point of death. He read voraciously and studied human behavior. By the time the disease left him he was ready to work.
Clouzot made critically and financially successful films and became an international star director.
He was known for being demanding. He would do whatever it took to get a performance out of an actor, from charm to manipulation to coercion.
The results can be fantastic.
Watch The Wages of Fear and you will see.
The film is almost fully satisfying, but in the end it does have one weakness. You will have to discover that for yourself.
https://www.criterion.com/films/370-the-wages-of-fear
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
003 - La Belle et la Bete (Beauty and the Beast), 1946, France; Dir. Jean Cocteau
003 - Tuesday, January 3, 2017
La Belle et la Bete (Beauty and the Beast), 1946, France. Dir. Jean Cocteau.
Yesterday, I referred to Revanche in terms of "every frame a Vermeer." Today we have a film where scenes were made that way on purpose. They were intentionally dressed, set, and lit to evoke the paintings of Vermeer--Johannes (Jan) Vermeer, the Dutch master--as well as the engravings of Gustave Dore.
Jean Cocteau was 56 when he made Beauty and the Beast. It was his FIRST feature film.
How old are you?
You are not too old.
His films would go on to influence Bergman, Truffaut, and del Toro in their look and style.
Who are they?
Ingmar Bergman - Swedish theatre director and filmmaker, one of the greatest and most prolific of all time
Francois Truffaut - French critic turned filmmaker, leading light of the Nouvelle Vague (New Wave)
Guillermo del Toro - Mexican filmmaker known for his brilliant creativity, working in fantasy, action, and horror
We will look at some of their movies later this year, and it will be exciting.
When Cocteau made Beauty and the Beast, he was not known as a filmmaker, as it was his first feature, but he was known as an artist. He had produced paintings, drawings, poetry, plays, novels, memoirs, opera, and ballet. This film shows the influence of his artistry.
The cinematography is rich. He wanted to make it in color but did not have the money. We are blessed for it, as it riveting in black and white. The costumes are gorgeous. We see this from the very opening scenes. The leading players are beautiful--yet he toys with the idea of beauty and its power over us. The forest is foreboding. The castle is scary--and luring, and fabulous, and alive, and magical.
You want to look.
Cocteau brings counterpoint to his film in at least two ways:
One is that he worked to make the beginning scenes, the ones in town, the ones in reality, more mystical, and to make the later scenes, the ones in the castle, in the fairy tale, more realistic. He lit it that way, he shot it that way, to change our assumptions, to bring the fairy tale back more closely to its original source, which was for him Madame de Beaumont in 1756.
The other is that he worked to make the beast more human and deep-hearted while making the handsome prince more shallow and dreary. He reported that he received letters from women stating that they preferred the beast to the prince. He felt that he had succeeded.
And on that point, Cocteau made a brilliant decision in casting. He had one man, Jean Marais, play all three roles of The Beast, The Prince, and the forlorn suitor Avenant (the equivalent of what you may know as Gaston from the Disney cartoon).
Marais sat in the make-up chair five hours a day to transform into The Beast. But he made smaller transformations in appearance from Avenant to The Prince. Imagine Belle's finally getting The Prince in the end, and he so closely resembles the very man she has been resisting!
There is a legend that says when Greta Garbo saw the movie and The Beast was transformed into The Prince, she exclaimed, "Give me back my Beast!"
Look for the special effects in the castle. Belle must pass through a hallway of candelabra, which are held to the wall by human hands, and which light automatically as she passes them. When she passes through another hallway to the bedroom, great white billowing sheets flow in the wind as she floats magically across the floor. Look for Diana's arrow and how it is used. And of course, there is a magic mirror.
The opening credits are written and erased on a chalkboard. We will see other movies this year where they play with the opening credits. Then Cocteau slates the film with his slate, or clapper. He shows us we are entering a film, a story, a fairy tale. We are entering a secret room in a secret castle in a secret forest.
All Belle wanted was a rose.
Her desire launched her father, her family, and herself into near disaster. Yet what came out of it was transformation.
The power of love to transform.
Every frame a Vermeer.
https://www.criterion.com/films/177-beauty-and-the-beast
La Belle et la Bete (Beauty and the Beast), 1946, France. Dir. Jean Cocteau.
Yesterday, I referred to Revanche in terms of "every frame a Vermeer." Today we have a film where scenes were made that way on purpose. They were intentionally dressed, set, and lit to evoke the paintings of Vermeer--Johannes (Jan) Vermeer, the Dutch master--as well as the engravings of Gustave Dore.
Jean Cocteau was 56 when he made Beauty and the Beast. It was his FIRST feature film.
How old are you?
You are not too old.
His films would go on to influence Bergman, Truffaut, and del Toro in their look and style.
Who are they?
Ingmar Bergman - Swedish theatre director and filmmaker, one of the greatest and most prolific of all time
Francois Truffaut - French critic turned filmmaker, leading light of the Nouvelle Vague (New Wave)
Guillermo del Toro - Mexican filmmaker known for his brilliant creativity, working in fantasy, action, and horror
We will look at some of their movies later this year, and it will be exciting.
When Cocteau made Beauty and the Beast, he was not known as a filmmaker, as it was his first feature, but he was known as an artist. He had produced paintings, drawings, poetry, plays, novels, memoirs, opera, and ballet. This film shows the influence of his artistry.
The cinematography is rich. He wanted to make it in color but did not have the money. We are blessed for it, as it riveting in black and white. The costumes are gorgeous. We see this from the very opening scenes. The leading players are beautiful--yet he toys with the idea of beauty and its power over us. The forest is foreboding. The castle is scary--and luring, and fabulous, and alive, and magical.
You want to look.
Cocteau brings counterpoint to his film in at least two ways:
One is that he worked to make the beginning scenes, the ones in town, the ones in reality, more mystical, and to make the later scenes, the ones in the castle, in the fairy tale, more realistic. He lit it that way, he shot it that way, to change our assumptions, to bring the fairy tale back more closely to its original source, which was for him Madame de Beaumont in 1756.
The other is that he worked to make the beast more human and deep-hearted while making the handsome prince more shallow and dreary. He reported that he received letters from women stating that they preferred the beast to the prince. He felt that he had succeeded.
And on that point, Cocteau made a brilliant decision in casting. He had one man, Jean Marais, play all three roles of The Beast, The Prince, and the forlorn suitor Avenant (the equivalent of what you may know as Gaston from the Disney cartoon).
Marais sat in the make-up chair five hours a day to transform into The Beast. But he made smaller transformations in appearance from Avenant to The Prince. Imagine Belle's finally getting The Prince in the end, and he so closely resembles the very man she has been resisting!
There is a legend that says when Greta Garbo saw the movie and The Beast was transformed into The Prince, she exclaimed, "Give me back my Beast!"
Look for the special effects in the castle. Belle must pass through a hallway of candelabra, which are held to the wall by human hands, and which light automatically as she passes them. When she passes through another hallway to the bedroom, great white billowing sheets flow in the wind as she floats magically across the floor. Look for Diana's arrow and how it is used. And of course, there is a magic mirror.
The opening credits are written and erased on a chalkboard. We will see other movies this year where they play with the opening credits. Then Cocteau slates the film with his slate, or clapper. He shows us we are entering a film, a story, a fairy tale. We are entering a secret room in a secret castle in a secret forest.
All Belle wanted was a rose.
Her desire launched her father, her family, and herself into near disaster. Yet what came out of it was transformation.
The power of love to transform.
Every frame a Vermeer.
https://www.criterion.com/films/177-beauty-and-the-beast
Monday, January 2, 2017
002 - Revanche, 2008, Austria; Dir. Gotz Speilmann
002 - Monday, January 2, 2017
Revanche, 2008, Austria. Dir. Gotz Speilmann.
There is a phrase known in film circles that says "every frame a Rembrandt." The cinematographer Andrew Laszlo wrote a book with that title. The idea is that a viewer may pause the film at any moment and land upon a beautiful image, suitable for framing; indeed, suitable for selling at auction, hanging in museums, and being studied for centuries to come. Of course no film achieves that standard, but ostensibly it is the goal. However, if you watch enough movies, you may feel as though it is not the goal for many, that few even aspire to it. It may be that only a few very special filmmakers even have the capacity to aspire to it.
The director of this film, Gotz Speilmann, has both the capacity and aspiration. He has given us a film we want to watch for its beauty, especially in the second portion, when it arrives in the country, although in many moments earlier, in the city, as well. There are many beautifully framed images, of landscapes, of architecture, of rooms, of people. The colors, the shapes, the textures, the perspective--all are skillfully, even masterfully, done. One could also call it "every frame a Vermeer"--not that he fully achieves it, but that he approaches it.
This is a story of substance. It deals with deeper themes. It shows real people. Internally. In their longings. In their struggles. It shows their disparate lives--urban and rural, comfortable and desperate, law-abiding and law-breaking, believing and agnostic--and how they wrestle with the same kinds of things.
It is a film for adults. It deals frankly with adult situations. It is honest. These are people with hearts, with hopes and dreams, with struggles, with loss, with real emotions that might overwhelm them.
Yet it also contains an element missing from some films, one which audiences desire and to which they respond. Grace. Human, messy, vulnerable, aching. And acceptance. The potential for faith, without flinching, in the midst of dirty, soiled, broken, and heartbroken lives. The heartache may not go away by the end of the film, but the anger begins to, and it begins a process of healing.
The opening shot gives us the theme, yet we do not know what it is until we have watched the film. From that shot we know we are in good hands. We look at a lake, with the trees upside-down in reflection, rippling with the water.
What comes after that, you will have to see for yourself.
Revanche, 2008, Austria. Dir. Gotz Speilmann.
There is a phrase known in film circles that says "every frame a Rembrandt." The cinematographer Andrew Laszlo wrote a book with that title. The idea is that a viewer may pause the film at any moment and land upon a beautiful image, suitable for framing; indeed, suitable for selling at auction, hanging in museums, and being studied for centuries to come. Of course no film achieves that standard, but ostensibly it is the goal. However, if you watch enough movies, you may feel as though it is not the goal for many, that few even aspire to it. It may be that only a few very special filmmakers even have the capacity to aspire to it.
The director of this film, Gotz Speilmann, has both the capacity and aspiration. He has given us a film we want to watch for its beauty, especially in the second portion, when it arrives in the country, although in many moments earlier, in the city, as well. There are many beautifully framed images, of landscapes, of architecture, of rooms, of people. The colors, the shapes, the textures, the perspective--all are skillfully, even masterfully, done. One could also call it "every frame a Vermeer"--not that he fully achieves it, but that he approaches it.
This is a story of substance. It deals with deeper themes. It shows real people. Internally. In their longings. In their struggles. It shows their disparate lives--urban and rural, comfortable and desperate, law-abiding and law-breaking, believing and agnostic--and how they wrestle with the same kinds of things.
It is a film for adults. It deals frankly with adult situations. It is honest. These are people with hearts, with hopes and dreams, with struggles, with loss, with real emotions that might overwhelm them.
Yet it also contains an element missing from some films, one which audiences desire and to which they respond. Grace. Human, messy, vulnerable, aching. And acceptance. The potential for faith, without flinching, in the midst of dirty, soiled, broken, and heartbroken lives. The heartache may not go away by the end of the film, but the anger begins to, and it begins a process of healing.
The opening shot gives us the theme, yet we do not know what it is until we have watched the film. From that shot we know we are in good hands. We look at a lake, with the trees upside-down in reflection, rippling with the water.
What comes after that, you will have to see for yourself.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
001 - People On Sunday, 1930, Germany; Dir. Robert Siodmak, Edgar G. Ulmer
001 - Sunday, January 1, 2017
People On Sunday, 1930, Germany. Dir. Robert Siodmak, Edgar G. Ulmer.
Imagine a group of young men sitting in a café talking about making a movie. They have no money. They have no equipment. They have no actors. They have no script. Most of them have no experience. They begin scribbling their ideas on a napkin.
They get a little money. They get a camera.
They walk around the streets filming. They find five people who have never acted before and have them "act" in their project. The "actors" use their real names and will return to their jobs when the project is finished.
Now imagine them spending the next nine months of their lives together, struggling against difficult circumstances, pushing forward when others quit, standing in the lake or in the rain, working with these untrained actors, trying to tell a story, making it up as they go along.
Then the movie is screened.
Is it a disaster? Is the money lost? Do the men move on to more practical jobs?
Imagine it is a critical success. The critics love it! Now imagine it is a financial success. The people love it! Now imagine the director is offered a job the next day with the largest film studio in the country. Now imagine that the key five filmmakers move on to America and establish themselves as being among the important filmmakers in world cinema history.
That is what happened with the film People on Sunday (Germany, 1930).
It was like forming a super group before the band members were famous, as if the Travelling Wilburys came first, before anyone had heard of George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, and Roy Orbison.
Only this group consisted of Robert Siodmak, Edgar G. Ulmer, Curt Siodmak, Fred Zinnemann, and Billy Wilder.
You have not heard of all of them? That is OK. You will. World cinema fans have heard of them. And you are on a journey to becoming a world cinema fan.
This film broke ground in several ways. At a time when German films were produced at the large UFA Studios on sound stages using large budgets, high production values, and big stars, this group of young men got together in Berlin and made People On Sunday mostly in the open outdoors with only a camera and reflectors, with little money, with no professional actors, with no initial script, and with no sets.
Yet when it premiered it was an immediate critical and commercial success, launching their careers and influencing international cinema for decades to come. Its influences are felt in Italian Neorealism, the French New Wave, Dogme 95, and the American independent scene.
What are those movements? We will get to all of them in the course of this year!
Here's some foreshadowing:
Italian Neoeralism - Visconti, Rossellini, De Sica
French New Wave - Godard, Truffaut, Chabrol, Rivette, Resnais
Dogme 95 - Von Trier
Independent American - Flaherty, Fuller, Harvey, Cassavetes, Jarmusch, Blank, Stillman, Lynch, Wes Anderson
We will see the films of and discuss every one of these directors, some of them multiple times.
People On Sunday is the story of five young people who go on a Sunday outing. (Four actually go; one misses out.) It showcases Berlin during the Weimar Republic, around the time of the stock market crash, just before the rise of National Socialism (NAZIs), in the calm before the storm. It is a slice of life--the life of the urbane working class young in Berlin, 1929.
People On Sunday captures small moments, minute details, little acts of behavior that real people really do. It feels strikingly contemporary. Young, single people in the city have jobs and have a little money to spend, so they get together to spend their time. They are fashionable. They are awkward. They flirt. They argue. They have fun. They grow bored. They swim. They eat. They listen to music. They hook up. They get jealous. They switch. They separate. They go on with their lives.
One working title was Young People Like Us. It may have also been called: One Weekend Day in the Lives of Some Hipsters.
Have you ever gone out with a group of people and then never seen some of them again? You think: That was pretty fun. It wasn't fabulous but it wasn't terrible. They seemed like decent people. I might have enjoyed getting to know them better. I wonder where they went.
Nearly nine decades later and across the ocean, it is still the same.
Here is a breakdown of the five filmmakers on this project.
Curt Siodmak, 26, writer, would go on to write suspense and horror novels and screenplays, and was prolific in B pictures. He wrote screenplays for The Wolf Man, I Walked with a Zombie, House of Frankenstein, Son of Dracula, and Donovan's Brain, among others.
Robert Siodmak, 28, Curt's brother and one of the directors, went on to direct many movies, including Film Noir classics such as The Killers, The Spiral Staircase, Criss Cross, and The File on Thelma Jordan. He is important to the history of Film Noir. We will see him again in The Killers.
Edgar G. Ulmer, 24, the other director, also went on to direct Film Noir, with films such as Detour, Strange Illusion, Strange Woman, and Murder Is My Beat.
If you know the style of Film Noir and wonder if it is prefigured by these two directors in People On Sunday, the answer is No! It is not. Remember, they only had a camera, sunlight, and reflectors, and most of the film is shot outdoors. It has an open, well-lit look, with little contrast and minimal shadows. Everything happens on a sunny day.
Fred Zinnemann, 22, the camera assistant, would go on to international acclaim. You know him as the director of High Noon. Or From Here to Eternity. Or A Man for All Seasons. Or Oklahoma!, The Member of the Wedding, or A Hatful of Rain. Zinnemann would be nominated for ten Academy Awards and would win four.
Billy Wilder, 23, the other writer, would go on to be one of the greatest filmmakers of all time, writing many movies, including Ninotchka, and writing and directing great classic films such as Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, The Apartment, The Bishop's Wife, The Lost Weekend, Stalag 17, The Emperor Waltz, A Foreign Affair, Witness for the Prosecution, The Spirit of St. Louis, The Seven Year Itch, Sabrina, and Some Like It Hot.
Wilder created the iconic image of Marilyn Monroe standing over the subway grate, holding her dress down as the wind blows it up. He was nominated for 21 competitive Oscars and won six times. He won a seventh when he won the Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award.
The day after the premiere Robert Siodmak was hired by UFA. Within a year or two, all of them were working professionally. The rest is film history.
Can this story repeat itself?
Can a group of young people make history again? Regardless of how much money they have or how much equipment or how much experience?
Who are the folks sitting in the coffee shop today? What are they writing on their napkins? What story will they tell this next year? How will it affect the lives of others for decades to come?
What will be the next People On Sunday?
https://www.criterion.com/films/27625-people-on-sunday
,
People On Sunday, 1930, Germany. Dir. Robert Siodmak, Edgar G. Ulmer.
Imagine a group of young men sitting in a café talking about making a movie. They have no money. They have no equipment. They have no actors. They have no script. Most of them have no experience. They begin scribbling their ideas on a napkin.
They get a little money. They get a camera.
They walk around the streets filming. They find five people who have never acted before and have them "act" in their project. The "actors" use their real names and will return to their jobs when the project is finished.
Now imagine them spending the next nine months of their lives together, struggling against difficult circumstances, pushing forward when others quit, standing in the lake or in the rain, working with these untrained actors, trying to tell a story, making it up as they go along.
Then the movie is screened.
Is it a disaster? Is the money lost? Do the men move on to more practical jobs?
Imagine it is a critical success. The critics love it! Now imagine it is a financial success. The people love it! Now imagine the director is offered a job the next day with the largest film studio in the country. Now imagine that the key five filmmakers move on to America and establish themselves as being among the important filmmakers in world cinema history.
That is what happened with the film People on Sunday (Germany, 1930).
It was like forming a super group before the band members were famous, as if the Travelling Wilburys came first, before anyone had heard of George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, and Roy Orbison.
Only this group consisted of Robert Siodmak, Edgar G. Ulmer, Curt Siodmak, Fred Zinnemann, and Billy Wilder.
You have not heard of all of them? That is OK. You will. World cinema fans have heard of them. And you are on a journey to becoming a world cinema fan.
This film broke ground in several ways. At a time when German films were produced at the large UFA Studios on sound stages using large budgets, high production values, and big stars, this group of young men got together in Berlin and made People On Sunday mostly in the open outdoors with only a camera and reflectors, with little money, with no professional actors, with no initial script, and with no sets.
Yet when it premiered it was an immediate critical and commercial success, launching their careers and influencing international cinema for decades to come. Its influences are felt in Italian Neorealism, the French New Wave, Dogme 95, and the American independent scene.
What are those movements? We will get to all of them in the course of this year!
Here's some foreshadowing:
Italian Neoeralism - Visconti, Rossellini, De Sica
French New Wave - Godard, Truffaut, Chabrol, Rivette, Resnais
Dogme 95 - Von Trier
Independent American - Flaherty, Fuller, Harvey, Cassavetes, Jarmusch, Blank, Stillman, Lynch, Wes Anderson
We will see the films of and discuss every one of these directors, some of them multiple times.
People On Sunday is the story of five young people who go on a Sunday outing. (Four actually go; one misses out.) It showcases Berlin during the Weimar Republic, around the time of the stock market crash, just before the rise of National Socialism (NAZIs), in the calm before the storm. It is a slice of life--the life of the urbane working class young in Berlin, 1929.
People On Sunday captures small moments, minute details, little acts of behavior that real people really do. It feels strikingly contemporary. Young, single people in the city have jobs and have a little money to spend, so they get together to spend their time. They are fashionable. They are awkward. They flirt. They argue. They have fun. They grow bored. They swim. They eat. They listen to music. They hook up. They get jealous. They switch. They separate. They go on with their lives.
One working title was Young People Like Us. It may have also been called: One Weekend Day in the Lives of Some Hipsters.
Have you ever gone out with a group of people and then never seen some of them again? You think: That was pretty fun. It wasn't fabulous but it wasn't terrible. They seemed like decent people. I might have enjoyed getting to know them better. I wonder where they went.
Nearly nine decades later and across the ocean, it is still the same.
Here is a breakdown of the five filmmakers on this project.
Curt Siodmak, 26, writer, would go on to write suspense and horror novels and screenplays, and was prolific in B pictures. He wrote screenplays for The Wolf Man, I Walked with a Zombie, House of Frankenstein, Son of Dracula, and Donovan's Brain, among others.
Robert Siodmak, 28, Curt's brother and one of the directors, went on to direct many movies, including Film Noir classics such as The Killers, The Spiral Staircase, Criss Cross, and The File on Thelma Jordan. He is important to the history of Film Noir. We will see him again in The Killers.
Edgar G. Ulmer, 24, the other director, also went on to direct Film Noir, with films such as Detour, Strange Illusion, Strange Woman, and Murder Is My Beat.
If you know the style of Film Noir and wonder if it is prefigured by these two directors in People On Sunday, the answer is No! It is not. Remember, they only had a camera, sunlight, and reflectors, and most of the film is shot outdoors. It has an open, well-lit look, with little contrast and minimal shadows. Everything happens on a sunny day.
Fred Zinnemann, 22, the camera assistant, would go on to international acclaim. You know him as the director of High Noon. Or From Here to Eternity. Or A Man for All Seasons. Or Oklahoma!, The Member of the Wedding, or A Hatful of Rain. Zinnemann would be nominated for ten Academy Awards and would win four.
Billy Wilder, 23, the other writer, would go on to be one of the greatest filmmakers of all time, writing many movies, including Ninotchka, and writing and directing great classic films such as Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, The Apartment, The Bishop's Wife, The Lost Weekend, Stalag 17, The Emperor Waltz, A Foreign Affair, Witness for the Prosecution, The Spirit of St. Louis, The Seven Year Itch, Sabrina, and Some Like It Hot.
Wilder created the iconic image of Marilyn Monroe standing over the subway grate, holding her dress down as the wind blows it up. He was nominated for 21 competitive Oscars and won six times. He won a seventh when he won the Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award.
The day after the premiere Robert Siodmak was hired by UFA. Within a year or two, all of them were working professionally. The rest is film history.
Can this story repeat itself?
Can a group of young people make history again? Regardless of how much money they have or how much equipment or how much experience?
Who are the folks sitting in the coffee shop today? What are they writing on their napkins? What story will they tell this next year? How will it affect the lives of others for decades to come?
What will be the next People On Sunday?
https://www.criterion.com/films/27625-people-on-sunday
,
Moving Pictures.
Moving Pictures.
When I was a child, movies were magical.
The only way to see a movie was to go to the movies. We did not have streaming. We did not have computers. We did not have Blu-Ray, DVD players, or VCRs. Movies were shown in movie theaters.
And we loved going to the movies.
When my father parked the car I was already excited. I saw bright lights around the building, a large marquee sign with names on it, and people standing in line.
Sometimes we saw Klieg lights, those large lights that came in pairs and sent two rotating beams up into the night sky. On a Friday night you would see them and beg your dad to follow them to the source. He would. It was an adventure. Where are those lights coming from? Sometimes it turned out to be a sale at the local car dealership, but other times it would be at the movie theater itself.
He would buy us tickets and let us hold our own. The usher would tear it and give us the stub. That made me feel powerful. I had my own ticket.
I could smell the popcorn. It was the best in town. And they had candy that you could not buy anywhere else. Movie theater candy was not sold in stores. It was special. You had to go to the movies to get it.
The theaters were large. There were only one, two, or sometimes three screens at each theater, and they each had seating for hundreds of people. Everyone saw the same few movies. The screens were giant, and the rooms were packed.
An usher, dressed up in a jacket and tie and with white gloves, would walk you to your seat. He or she held a small flashlight that focused on one spot in front of you. You were being shown attention. You felt special.
Great crimson velvet drapes with golden trim covered the screen. The same crimson velvet drapes covered the walls around you. It was a beautiful, grand place. One of the hardest things to do was to wait for the movie to begin.
When it finally started, the lights dimmed. The curtains opened. An awe fell on the audience. We watched cartoons. Bugs Bunny. Mickey Mouse. It depended on which studio supplied the feature. Then we saw some news and a short film.
Then the curtains closed.
The curtains opened again, and it was time for our feature presentation.
My heart beat with joy.
One of my favorite experiences was getting so caught up in the story that it was as though I were living it, and I would forget that I was in a movie theater. Somewhere in the middle I would remember and I would be happy. Then I would forget again and go back inside the story.
I saw Herbie the Love Bug--a Volkswagen Beetle that could do things on its own!
The Shaggy D.A.--a boy's father who turned into a dog, in front of our very eyes!
Swiss Family Robinson--stranded on a deserted island, living in a tree house, playing with animals, and fighting pirates!
King Kong (the one with Jeff Bridges and Jessica Lange)--that one really got me. The adventure, the terror, the love, the pathos. I understood that he loved her, but because of his size he was misunderstood, and dangerous, and he died. I cried.
One time we came out of the theatre and a Volkswagen Beetle was parked at the curb, painted like Herbie the Love Bug. I stood there waiting for it to do some tricks. Longing.
When we came home, I lay in bed thinking about each movie, reliving the story, imagining myself in that world. It was wonderful.
I also grew up in church, and the stories they told in Sunday School grabbed me in the same way.
And at school, when the teacher read to us or we read on our own, when we saw a film strip or had a live storyteller visit our school. I lived inside those stories.
I read voraciously. I lived vicariously. I was lost in a world of make-believe. Story-telling. Imagination.
I felt alive.
Then something happened that changed everything.
In church one Sunday morning I went to the water fountain, and a boy named Jay, who was a little older than me, asked the question, "Have you seen Star Wars?"
He said it in such a way that I knew it was important. He had seen . . . something. I had to see it.
I begged my parents.
Back then movies would come and play for weeks and go away. If they were popular they would come back again. Since there was no other way to see a movie, the popular ones would come back to the theater sometimes year after year.
Somehow I missed Star Wars the first time around but saw it when it came back. By then I already owned several of the figures made by Kenner, and had my own X-wing fighter, Millennium Falcon, and Death Star.
When my mother took me to see it, I was on another planet. I was beside myself. I watched every moment, every frame, with uninterrupted focus. It was impossible to be distracted. I lived every second.
I lived in that world for months afterwards. I could recall the tension, the struggles, the funny lines, the battles, the relationships, and the victory of blowing up the Death Star. Sometimes I was Luke. Sometimes I was Han. I wanted a cape and a light saber. I wanted a vest and a blaster. I wanted to fly.
How many times did that joy repeat itself? Smokey and the Bandit. The Apple Dumpling Gang. Hot Lead and Cold Feat. Superman: The Movie. The Black Hole. Moonraker. Grease. Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Are you kidding me? Han Solo is now Indiana Jones?
It could not get any better.
My relationship to movies would change over the years. VCRs came out and you could now rent things and see things you could never have seen before. My friends' tastes changed in ways different from mine. The movies that were aimed at my age group did not always make sense to me. Not everything was magical. Sometimes it was discouraging. Sometimes movies made me feel bad.
I kept reading. I read everything. I lived in stories. I went to school.
Then I focused on film.
When I was 10, I had made an animated short called "The Man Who Wanted to Go to Hollywood."
So after I graduated from grad school I moved to Los Angeles and started taking acting classes.
As an adult I have stayed connected to film. Film is an art, and art holds up a mirror to nature. Film helps us to see. Film helps us to understand what it means to be human. It helps us to understand the points of view of other people and other people groups. It encourages compassion.
Film is also the culmination of the other arts. All arts are contained inside of the art of film. That is quite a thing.
And film is entertaining. It brings joy to people. It conveys ideas, vision, potential, hope, beauty. When you're down, watch a great movie. You will be inspired again.
This year I plan to write something about a different movie every day. The movies are part of the Criterion Collection, films that are considered important to the history of world cinema for one reason or another. Some are high brow; some are low brow. Some are technically excellent; some are intuitively thrown together. Some are amateur works that made an impact; some are masterpieces.
Most of them are entertaining. All of them are worth watching.
Come join me on this journey. Enjoy my posts. Discover these films and filmmakers. Watch some of the films yourself. Allow your imagination to expand like the universe at light speed in all directions.
As we journey together.
When I was a child, movies were magical.
The only way to see a movie was to go to the movies. We did not have streaming. We did not have computers. We did not have Blu-Ray, DVD players, or VCRs. Movies were shown in movie theaters.
And we loved going to the movies.
When my father parked the car I was already excited. I saw bright lights around the building, a large marquee sign with names on it, and people standing in line.
Sometimes we saw Klieg lights, those large lights that came in pairs and sent two rotating beams up into the night sky. On a Friday night you would see them and beg your dad to follow them to the source. He would. It was an adventure. Where are those lights coming from? Sometimes it turned out to be a sale at the local car dealership, but other times it would be at the movie theater itself.
He would buy us tickets and let us hold our own. The usher would tear it and give us the stub. That made me feel powerful. I had my own ticket.
I could smell the popcorn. It was the best in town. And they had candy that you could not buy anywhere else. Movie theater candy was not sold in stores. It was special. You had to go to the movies to get it.
The theaters were large. There were only one, two, or sometimes three screens at each theater, and they each had seating for hundreds of people. Everyone saw the same few movies. The screens were giant, and the rooms were packed.
An usher, dressed up in a jacket and tie and with white gloves, would walk you to your seat. He or she held a small flashlight that focused on one spot in front of you. You were being shown attention. You felt special.
Great crimson velvet drapes with golden trim covered the screen. The same crimson velvet drapes covered the walls around you. It was a beautiful, grand place. One of the hardest things to do was to wait for the movie to begin.
When it finally started, the lights dimmed. The curtains opened. An awe fell on the audience. We watched cartoons. Bugs Bunny. Mickey Mouse. It depended on which studio supplied the feature. Then we saw some news and a short film.
Then the curtains closed.
The curtains opened again, and it was time for our feature presentation.
My heart beat with joy.
One of my favorite experiences was getting so caught up in the story that it was as though I were living it, and I would forget that I was in a movie theater. Somewhere in the middle I would remember and I would be happy. Then I would forget again and go back inside the story.
I saw Herbie the Love Bug--a Volkswagen Beetle that could do things on its own!
The Shaggy D.A.--a boy's father who turned into a dog, in front of our very eyes!
Swiss Family Robinson--stranded on a deserted island, living in a tree house, playing with animals, and fighting pirates!
King Kong (the one with Jeff Bridges and Jessica Lange)--that one really got me. The adventure, the terror, the love, the pathos. I understood that he loved her, but because of his size he was misunderstood, and dangerous, and he died. I cried.
One time we came out of the theatre and a Volkswagen Beetle was parked at the curb, painted like Herbie the Love Bug. I stood there waiting for it to do some tricks. Longing.
When we came home, I lay in bed thinking about each movie, reliving the story, imagining myself in that world. It was wonderful.
I also grew up in church, and the stories they told in Sunday School grabbed me in the same way.
And at school, when the teacher read to us or we read on our own, when we saw a film strip or had a live storyteller visit our school. I lived inside those stories.
I read voraciously. I lived vicariously. I was lost in a world of make-believe. Story-telling. Imagination.
I felt alive.
Then something happened that changed everything.
In church one Sunday morning I went to the water fountain, and a boy named Jay, who was a little older than me, asked the question, "Have you seen Star Wars?"
He said it in such a way that I knew it was important. He had seen . . . something. I had to see it.
I begged my parents.
Back then movies would come and play for weeks and go away. If they were popular they would come back again. Since there was no other way to see a movie, the popular ones would come back to the theater sometimes year after year.
Somehow I missed Star Wars the first time around but saw it when it came back. By then I already owned several of the figures made by Kenner, and had my own X-wing fighter, Millennium Falcon, and Death Star.
When my mother took me to see it, I was on another planet. I was beside myself. I watched every moment, every frame, with uninterrupted focus. It was impossible to be distracted. I lived every second.
I lived in that world for months afterwards. I could recall the tension, the struggles, the funny lines, the battles, the relationships, and the victory of blowing up the Death Star. Sometimes I was Luke. Sometimes I was Han. I wanted a cape and a light saber. I wanted a vest and a blaster. I wanted to fly.
How many times did that joy repeat itself? Smokey and the Bandit. The Apple Dumpling Gang. Hot Lead and Cold Feat. Superman: The Movie. The Black Hole. Moonraker. Grease. Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Are you kidding me? Han Solo is now Indiana Jones?
It could not get any better.
My relationship to movies would change over the years. VCRs came out and you could now rent things and see things you could never have seen before. My friends' tastes changed in ways different from mine. The movies that were aimed at my age group did not always make sense to me. Not everything was magical. Sometimes it was discouraging. Sometimes movies made me feel bad.
I kept reading. I read everything. I lived in stories. I went to school.
Then I focused on film.
When I was 10, I had made an animated short called "The Man Who Wanted to Go to Hollywood."
So after I graduated from grad school I moved to Los Angeles and started taking acting classes.
As an adult I have stayed connected to film. Film is an art, and art holds up a mirror to nature. Film helps us to see. Film helps us to understand what it means to be human. It helps us to understand the points of view of other people and other people groups. It encourages compassion.
Film is also the culmination of the other arts. All arts are contained inside of the art of film. That is quite a thing.
And film is entertaining. It brings joy to people. It conveys ideas, vision, potential, hope, beauty. When you're down, watch a great movie. You will be inspired again.
This year I plan to write something about a different movie every day. The movies are part of the Criterion Collection, films that are considered important to the history of world cinema for one reason or another. Some are high brow; some are low brow. Some are technically excellent; some are intuitively thrown together. Some are amateur works that made an impact; some are masterpieces.
Most of them are entertaining. All of them are worth watching.
Come join me on this journey. Enjoy my posts. Discover these films and filmmakers. Watch some of the films yourself. Allow your imagination to expand like the universe at light speed in all directions.
As we journey together.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)