Head

Thanks to my sister, who is six years older, I was introduced to the adorability of David Cassidy and Davy Jones at a young age. Since their music was part of my childhood, I still like it a lot. 

I was expecting the same silliness and music from the TV show, The Monkees, to be in the film Head, but what I got instead was repeated viewings of the execution of Nguyễn Văn Lém. The expected comedy turned quickly to tragedy and despair. I’m not surprised that the movie didn’t do well initially, since the Monkees had been escapism from the horrors of the time. Instead of escapism, the audience got youthful passionate response to war, to the commodity that the Monkees had become and to the cancellation of their show. The most effective scene was after a performance, when the audience rushed the stage and destroyed the plastic "performers".

Side thought. I wonder what writer/producer/director Bob Rafelson would have done if he had gotten a hold of Charlie Sheen. The film's working title--I am on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen.

Of Human Bondage

Leslie Howard is Ashley Wilkes in my, branded as a child, mind. This movie, where he plays Philip Carey, could have very well solidified his getting that part. With his doe eyed stare that says, “walk all over me, I beg of you.” What a tortured beautiful man that I just want to rescue.

I’m not sure about the accent, but I can’t help enjoying everything I see Bette Davis do (except for Return to Witch Mountain). She is so raw and at one point has an all out tizzy fit, which left me slack jawed. 

There was a small detail that illustrated the turning point in the film that I really liked and I’ll call it: The rise and fall of Mildred’s polka dotted dress. As Mildred is having a triumphant moment, her dress, a gift from Philip, fits like a glove with ruffles for added flaunting, then at the beginning of the descent her dress has lost the ruffles, lost the bust support and the tag pokes up in back. And, as an accessory, Mildred wears a heavy spiky chain around her neck. 

I love stuff like that and I love this movie.

Les Enfants du Silence

I was thirty years old before my hearing impairment was diagnosed. The elementary school hearing tests never caught it because they concentrated on the low and high tones. I have what is called a cookie bite; a fairly rare impairment that affects the mid range tones—spoken words. That diagnosis changed my whole perception. No longer was I inattentive or lazy, but I actually had been working doubly hard at compensating for what was missing. 

I had developed coping skills, I didn’t know I was developing. One of the more paradoxical ones was that people said I was a good listener. Little did they know (or I) that listening to someone face to face was the only way to receive correct and complete information. I had missed out on so much by not receiving help sooner, but I can’t be too discouraged because I gained valuable skills. Good and bad, it has shaped who I am and how I navigate my way through the world.

I watched  Les enfants du silence through two filters; one, of a hearing impaired person and the other as a mom. The movie was affective from both perspectives. The childrens' eyes, as they scanned the room for information they could use, and the feeling of isolation were very well captured by the camera work. 

The freeze frames, bits of conversation and narration held my attention and directed me to where the film wanted me to focus. The music and silence added even more poignancy. Les enfants du silence was ultimately a call to action and for a mom who can feel guilty without the prodding of a documentary, the message was received loud and clear.

L’Avventura

I was angry at this movie last night, but I’m doing better now. 

There was a weirdly post apocalyptic atmosphere, with the abandoned town, stark landscape, missing women villagers, and the zombie like hoards of leering men who were whipped into a frenzy by the Amazonian whore. Sandro creeped me out as well, with his rough hands, incessant pursuit and fickle "heart". 

Claudia was breathtaking beautiful with her perfect hair.  I wished for such a hair style—okay, I was distracted. When I wasn’t distracted, I was silently yelling at the screen, “No, Claudia, you can do better”, but then remembered the zombie men and thought, “Well, maybe not.” I imagined a more satisfying ending shot, but once again, a heroine chose to be a better person than I. 

Hmm, mystery solved. I was angry at myself.

The abandoned plot took a while for me to get used to, but then I let it go and continued on the meandering journey of the characters. There was so much emptiness and “always seeking never finding” with this movie. No one looked for life to be any different. Step on the conveyor belt and let the world pass by. I appreciate that it opened up a new way of considering film, but that is about the extent of its draw for me—appreciation. 

There was something that bothered me. No movie should make me hate the thought of going to Italy; it’s a crime really. At the time, Italy’s travel bureau was probably none too happy. 

Through a Glass Darkly

I’m more than a little sheepish to say that this is the first complete IngmarBergman film that I’ve seen. Clips are not enough. This was powerful, earth shattering cinema. Before I saw it, I was told that it was a dark, despondent film. Not necessarily so. There was so much light bursting through at the end that I could barely gather it all in. It’s humanity at its most vulnerable and poignant.

When Karin went to the attic room, I wondered if the wallpaper was yellow. I couldn’t stop thinking about that wallpaper. Was Bergman referencing the unforgettable short story by Charlotte Perkins Gilman? Later, I read that the original Title of the film was The Wallpaper.  Yes, there was a reason it had mesmerized me. 

Three things that I hope are not too spoilery: 

Karin was played so convincingly that for a moment I almost believed. I wanted everyone to leave her alone and let her have her vision. 

The boat scene used great restraint and all was unbearably revealed through stricken faces and postures. 

Best of all were the two humble unassuming sermons the father gave; first to his son-in-law and then to his son.

Bigger than Life

No one self destructs like James Mason. 

He descends so convincingly and so sequentially, that it feels real and terrifying.  He has a similar character arc in the 1954 film, A Star isBorn. Both characters have moments of lucidity; as when the mirror cracks and he is confronted with his fractured state and in the other film, when he checks into a sanatorium. 

But, in both stories, his self destruction is mostly dismissed, until the end, when he becomes fully aware of the destruction he has wrought.

South Riding

Andrew Davies adapts again! 

This time it is the novel by Winifred Holtby. The town couldn’t be smaller, but the characters are as big as life. Each, with their foibles and agendas, vie for space and influence. 

As good as the characters are written, the brightness comes from the actors that play them: stoic David Morissey, able-to-tackle-any-emotion Anna Maxwell Martin, hope-springs-eternal-Penelope Wilton, and last but definitely not least, more-charm-than-what’s-good-for-him Shaun Dooley. 

I just read about a 1938 filmversion with Ralph Richardson and Glynis Johns as his daughter! I love how a movie can open up a whole treasure trove of unexplored possiblilities of other films and actors’ work.

Some Came Running

Some Came Running is a raw and gritty story wrapped up in rose colored cellophane and placed carefully on a soft embroidered pillow. 

I wonder if Vincente Minnelli intended to create something different, but just couldn’t help himself and added beautiful lighting and character sympathy. Was the studio aware of the audiences’ sensibilities of the time and wanted to appeal to a broader viewership? Or, perhaps the decade of retrospective carried a weight of deference? Whatever the reason, it was a movie at odds with itself, with an undercurrent not fully explored.  Like a fog, the back stories were obscured with only the occasional wind gust of clarity by way of a pointed comment of a barbed comeback.  But then the fog would roll back in and nothing more was known.

Many of the characters were shrouded in a fog as well; the fog of numbness brought about by drink, work, societal expectations and buried feelings. As Dave Hirsch put down the bottle and remembered his love of words and his ability to love another, he too had a gust of clarity; which overwhelmed the object of his love, Gwen French. I never did see her clearly, since she remained close to the vest. Shirley MacLaine’s a wonder and played the only character that was crystal clear. Minnie’s openness and naiveté were perfectly portrayed with no barriers to her feelings or her actions.

People on Sunday

1930, Germany. People on Sunday mindlessly sleep, drink, flirt, and eat. 

I want to yell at the screen. “Wake up! Wipe that silly grin off your face Edwin.” If only I could rip the watch off my arm and shove it in his face. “Don’t you know what time it is? It’s Nazi time! You’re oblivious to what is going on under your nose.” The little boy who got his picture taken at the park, in nine years, will be at the River Plate on the Graf Spee. The world as they know it will end. But they can’t hear me, so drink up; lounge by the lake, sleep the day away.

I can’t blame them really. They just came off of a great inflation upheaval where they learned to spend their money as soon as they earned it; in case it wasn’t worth much later. They were conditioned to live in the moment because of the unsure future. With all the political turmoil, escapism must have looked pretty good.

Jour de fête (The Big Day)

I left the theatre with three distinct thoughts mulling about in my head. 

First, Jacques Tati is a physical comedy genius. He made the acrobatics with his bicycle look effortless, but the amount of work and precision that went into creating that illusion were immense. 

My second thought was that the foley experts must have had a blast! Every rooster crow, squishy shoe, bee buzz and bonk on the head were accentuated. There were sounds on top of sounds. I could just see the foley studio in a hubbub of one-upmanship. 

Third, was the love/hate theme of France and the United States. Tati’s character was impressed with  U.S. modernity, but resented it as well. It’s as if the U.S. was infiltrating their lives and culture (Can you say McDonalds?). A fitting line in the film could be, “Yes, we are grateful for all you have done, now please go home.”  

I’m very interested in seeing Mon Oncle soon.

Never Cry Wolf

I’m not sure how this Disney film flew under my radar. Few do, just by the nature of who I spend a great deal of time with. Never Cry Wolf was full of surprises; from masticated mice (just a moment while I tamp down my gag reflex…), marking territory, and bare tush shots (which has Touchstone following right behind  ). 

A very pleasant surprise was the actor Charles Martin Smith. He so fit the part, that I checked to see if he wrote it. Sure enough, he was one of the narration writers. I never felt that he was playing a part, because he was living and breathing his character, Farley Mowat. Not a surprise was Brian Dennehy in all his unhinged glory.

My favorite line was “I wonder why it was that long ago I became a watcher of things; always watching others do and feel things I wouldn’t or couldn’t do myself--always standing off at a distance isolated, detached.” Until I heard that, I was a little confused why someone would jump at the chance to take the assignment of forced isolation. Even though he questioned the decision, it was a condition he was familiar with.

At one point in the movie, Farley studies an Inuit watching the wolves. That was my experience exactly. I studied the man who watched the wolves and I was captivated.

Spirited Away: My Internal Struggle with Miyazaki

Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to start with Ponyo. The universe looked like mine for a while, then all heck broke loose and I’m left watching a world I don’t understand. The reality shifts like sand as new and confusing characters take the stage. Why is there a long nosed wizard living under the ocean and why do his children look nothing like him? I was wowed and impressed, but consternated as well. Were there any consequences at all or would the artist just paint in a new creature to save the day? 

When My Neighbor Totoro came along, I was a little more prepared. But, Miyazaki played with my mind again as Totoro’s little mouth widened into an unsustainable gaposis. By the time the cat rolled around, I said, “Why not. Nothing surprises me anymore.”  

Next it was time for Princess Mononoke and by this time Miyazaki had worn me down. I kept telling my brain to just stop it and behave. There was something wonderful going on on screen and I didn’t want to miss it. 

Now Spirited Away; this was important. So I sat myself down and had a little conversation. It went something like this, 

“Listen, just because your puny little brain cannot comprehend the magnitude of the genius that is Miyazaki, doesn’t mean you’re going to waste time questioning everything. Just go with it. If a man-sized duck spirit wants to sit in a bathhouse with his friends, you’re going to accept it no questions asked.” 

Well, that little talking to worked, because it was a fantastic ride! I watched creatures that lived and breathed and smelled. I saw the evolution of Chihiro unfold before me; culminating in her courageous sacrifice to save Haku. It was a completely surprising and satisfying story.  

You win Miyazaki.

Days of Heaven

(Ronsardian) Ode To Linda M.

How refreshing to have narration be
Commentary
That doesn't re-tell to me what I see
Oh contrary
The simple words and observations bring
A whole new level of understanding
Your haunting face
Your voice apace
Linda, you ethereal thing.

* * *

Dialogue scattered on the cutting room floor. It had served its purpose as a tool for the actors to bring their emotions to the screen, but it wasn’t needed anymore. Words weren’t going to add to the story. In fact they were in the way, cluttering up the place. They had to go--left among other pieces of the process that was explored and then discarded

. 

What to keep? 

The happy happenstance of the flock of birds caught on camera? 

Yes. 

The sand bird brought in to stand amongst the ashes? 

Yes. 

Who could have guessed what composition was going to emerge from that editing room? Perhaps future collaborators were able to divine their way into the workings of Malick’s mind and help with vision of it. They had the benefit of seeing the outcome of this film and could tell that a little trust in the creator pays off.

The Tree of Life

The film was as fluid as a daydream and just as personal. 

Childhood holds the firsts, the discoveries that never again have the same impact. Glimpses of the universal brought my own story into play and it became nearly impossible to separate the two. Whose pain was I feeling, mine or Jack’s? I flew with the mother. My gullibility disappeared with R.L.'s. The father's hand (and dinosaur claw) pushed, pushed--stay down, comply, look. The mother's hand brushed lightly, to distract, as if to say, avert, look away. There was ugliness in both as well as beauty. For no one is complete, but all is made well and whole in the wave of redemptive power.

At moments of frustration, where I wanted to know what I was supposed to understand, I recalled Clovis and sdedalus’ modern art advice. Stop trying. Experience it. That made all the difference. All that needed to be clear, was and the rest…well, that’s for another viewing.

My Favorite Film as a Child: Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

I wanted to be Charlie Bucket: to win a golden ticket and show the world that nice guys could finish first. It didn’t always feel like that in the real world, but on screen it told me another story. Meanness, entitlement and cruelty had their own reward. 

Roll away blueberry, roll away. 

(I stole that last sentence structure from a post by Bondo.)

The Gold Rush

Finally. From start to finish, all the pieces have been put in their rightful order. Have I ever seen so much of a movie without having seen it? I can’t think of one; but Rocky Horror Picture Show must be the distant second.

First of all, it’s slow. So, if you’re not in a hurry, there's a “gold mine” of chuckle worthy moments. I’m still smiling over Chaplin twirling the shoe laces, picking the nail “bones” clean and maneuvering around the dog on the dance floor.

Next, it would be interesting to compile all the comedy it inspired in subsequent films—how many wind shenanigans, how many tipping houses? I also wonder how many times Mr. Depp had to watch the Oceana Roll to master it for Benny and Joon.