Alma pours herself into Elizabet with words, which frees up
space to draw in Elizabet's demeanor, reputation and all that Alma can only
speculate on, but at what cost?
Elizabet receives Alma in, as a study, but
slowly, imperceptibly Alma's living seeps into places that have been shut down
and Elizabet is forced to face all that's been locked away.
The melding of
lives both pollutes and purifies, but isn't that both the price and the prize
of "not seeming, but being?"
This is acting before being told what acting is. Brigitte
Fossey's innocence is so real that everyone around her stops pretending and
starts responding to this little girl's wonderment and are as much in awe of
her as the audience. That goes doubly for her rescuer, Michel. She wants a
fairyland pet resting place? So be it. Her wish is his command, because she
only knows sincerity and Michel is acutely aware of it. Nothing will stop him
from protecting and preserving what innocence he can. Protecting innocence.
That is a tall order, but how can we turn our backs on it? The ways this movie
begins and ends are so difficult, that I know it's affecting me and will
continue to do so--just the way the director, René Clément, would have it.
The idea of exploring morbidity, in the face of it, sounds
like the best kind of therapy possible. I remember an old, beautiful cemetery
that my friend and I would visit on the way home from grade school. We'd read
the headstones and think about the people's lives, as we cleared away the
overgrown plants and grass. Little did I know I was creating my own therapy. My
favorite moment in the film is the panning shot of Paulette and Michel's
healing creation.
It passes the venetian blinds test, as well as the corrupt
system one, but this movie is just too darn hot (and hopeful) to be a noir. The
morality level is teetering on flag waiving, sans an impromptu La Marseillaise
sing along and even though Bogart's Harry doesn't get to the point of sticking
his neck out for the cause, he will to help a beautiful girl. And boy, are they
steamy together. The undercurrents and the no-one's-fooling-anyone secret
smiles are all there on display. I'm almost too shy to watch, because this
first blush of romance shouldn't have to be shared with me.
So instead of two people who's avarice brings about their
downfall, this bypasses noir, as together, the heat melts their hard shells and
they become putty in each others hands. I'm not going to re-write that!
My
favorite line is when he kisses her back and she says, "It's even better
when you help." :D Who can I give credit to for that?
Wordy, wordy, wordy! A feast of words, where every one of
them is hearty and satisfying. There are no fillers here. Because I'm watching
this alone, I indulge in going back to the buffet time and time again. As each
scene ends, I start it over with plate in hand.
Who knew what first? What clue
divulged new information? Where did the double cross or triple cross begin in
the discussion? How does Sam Spade stay ahead of everyone, when he has so
little to go on? Why is he so doggone smarter than I am? So many scenes have
their own Freytag pyramid in them--a little exposition, rising action, inciting
moment (and sometimes more than one!), climax and then the fall. This is a film
to study, for it panders to no one and demands a viewer to be on his toes.
Besides structure, something else worth studying is the
complexities and dualities of the characters and I give equal credit to the
writing and to the acting. I cannot, for the life of me, know for sure where
people stand and part of that is, at times, neither do they. Now that's
satisfying.
There’s something I love about British films, in
particular costume dramas, and it has to do with the pool of fine actors who
get stirred around and put into seemingly endless combinations—a loose
repertory if you will. The fun is to see who gets chosen and how they interact
in that configuration.
This time around there is an abundance of greatness—Helena
Bonham Carter, Richard E. Grant, Ben Kingsley, Imelda Staunton, Toby Stevens
and the list goes on. Two standouts (if that’s possible) are Imogen Stubbs and
Nigel Hawthorne. Imogen’s Viola is so conflicted, that I keep rewinding to
watch her play out her scenes again. I wasn’t as enamored with her in Sense
and Sensibility, but will watch it again to see if it's her or her
annoying character. Nigel Hawthorne pulls off the impossible.
Is there a more
difficult role than Malvolio? Nigel carries him from euphoria to really dark
despair—as memorable a character as in The Madness of King George.
I can’t wait to see what blend of talent I’ll get next.
Not what I expected. For some reason I thought this was going to be a
type of A Christmas Carol, exploring the redemption of a cold,
heartless man. But this was no Phantom CarriageVictor Sjöström.
His Dr. Isak Borg wasn't cruel or vindictive, nor was he without feeling, but a
man without the faculties or inclination to explore them. He wasn’t even
completely isolated as his housekeeper fulfilled his need for interaction--two
quietly contented individuals. I didn't feel the cold from him, but instead a
pale warmth that needed memories and exchanges to spark the embers and stoke
the heat of living--stirring up the pain and the joy.
I disagreed with
Marianne, and I think she came to the same realization as I did by the end. She
was wrong about Dr. Borg's mother as well. Beneath the well worn pathways of
complaints, was an interesting woman who was lonely and had a lifetime of
experiences to share if someone would just stay for a while. Even inside Dr.
Evald Borg smoldered some heat, mostly from pain, but also for love of
Marianne. Truly an affirming film watching experience.
There’s nothing like a movie of this caliber to accordion down the decades so
there is no distance between 1932 and this moment. All in the film is
recognizable and relevant. The children and parents feel as real as if I’m
watching home movies from a beautiful Criterion camera. The quality is stunning
and when I get to a brief moment of less than pristine viewing, I sort of
wonder if they left a remnant in just to show what a feat of preservation it was.
I Was Born, But… is an avenue for reflection. I remember the first
time one of my children didn’t think I was cool anymore, and then the next, and
the next... It’s a wave of regret and despair and then recognition that I
wasn’t ever really cool to begin with and it isn’t necessarily my job anyway.
After their disappointment, they find I’m other things and we move forward.
Contemplating comes easily while watching Chichi Yoshi navigate his way through
the occupation of being a father as well as an employee.
I give the championship synchronized temper tantrum of Keiji and Ryoichi a 9.5
out of 10. Well done boys. They’re in-tandem movements throughout the film
fascinate and delight me as well.
Karin:
With Serenity
"Quiet, quiet."
Corresponding Quote: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto
you." John 14:27
Antonius Block:
With Searching
"Out of our darkness we call to thee, O Lord!"
Corresponding Quote: "I believe; help thou in mine unbelief." Mark
9:24
Girl:
With Anticipation
"It is finished."
Corresponding Quote: "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my
course, I have kept the faith." 2 Timothy
4:7
Jöns:
With Pragmaticism
"In the darkness where you say you are there is none to listen to our
lament."
Corresponding Quote: "It is far better to grasp the Universe as it really
is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring." Carl
Sagan
The film leaves me with the question, which one am I? Maybe, depending on the
day, I've been each one of them. The Seventh Seal has been a very
satisfying and thought provoking film and deserves nominations and awards sent
its way.
The jumps
and “how are they going to get out of this mess” were plentiful. The forward
motion was constant as well, with only a few lulls to catch their (and my)
breath.
If this was low budget, I’m doubly impressed. I never felt like I was
being cheated out of special affects, in fact the graboids were pretty
impressive. They reminded me of Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors
and of course the Dune sandworms. Under the terra firma horror (or is
it sci fi?) structure is something just as interesting.
The reluctant (and
questionable) heroes make good and surprise even themselves. Sometimes it takes
a crisis with insurmountable odds to reveal character.
All in all it was way
better than anything I experienced in Florida.
What's this? A Fred Clark and Thelma Ritter musical?
Fred Clark and Thelma Ritter
Well, yes and no. They don't sing and they don't dance, but they are the
perfect eggs that bind this confection together. The other leavening agent
consists of the writing duo of Phoebe and Henry Ephron (Nora Ephron'sparents!). Bon appétit.
Fred Astaire was 30 years older than Leslie Caron and knew ignoring that fact,
could be detrimental to the picture. The writers met the issue head on with
direct and clever dialogue—never shirking the issue.
In fact, the dialogue
continues to bring up the inherent conflict throughout the story. Here's a
sampling from Alex the Ambassador, “You can’t adopt an eighteen year old girl.
They have a name for what you’re asking me to do.” Johnny Mercer wrote the song
Somethings Gotta Give that Astaire was particularly fond of because he
said, “That’s it! I’m too old for this part anyway. This is a wonderful way for
me to tell the girl that I’m too old for her.” The words he sings are: “When an
irresistible force such as you meets an old immovable object like me, you can
best as sure as you live, somethings gotta give.” It fits the scene perfectly.
The interesting thing about this method is that even though the age difference
is addressed, much of the film is spent showing the youth and vitality of
Astaire’s character and the growing maturity of Leslie Caron’s. They eventually
meet somewhere in the middle.
Two small points: This is one of my first memories of watching musicals, so
whether it's good or not, it's good to me. And, Fred Astaire's wife passed away
right as they were getting ready to shoot the film. He tried to back out, but
since his wife had liked his role and the story, he decided to go through with
it. I had read that sometimes when he wasn't needed he would spend time alone
and cry. Once in a while his eyes look sad and a little puffy in the film.
I'm supposed to come up with words about this
thing?!
Well, ...it's modern Job lite, where physics are thwarted by fate and
all the "experts" aren't going to give Larry straight answers, so he
might as well make up his own mind about his problems and get on with it,
otherwise others will continue to make it for him. Being nice is nice, but
being perpetually acquiescent is not. It's hard enough with the things we have
no control over, but to hand over control when we don't have to, is basically
handing over life. hmm. I think I just gave myself a pep talk. :)
Sometimes the
answer really does come from oneself! Oh, and Minda is right. The answer also
comes from the members of the Airplane... "you better find somebody to
love."
One of my first R rated movies and also one of the last, for
a long time. Coming from a fairly restricted upbringing, I turned this movie
into a type of crossroads of my own. I wore out the soundtrack cassette,
infusing into me as much individuality and revolution as I could muster at the
time.
Take chances, follow your passion, get hurt and use it to deepen
emotions... These things I held onto in my young mind and used them to the best
of my ability. Watching the movie again so many years later, those lessons are
still there and again I take them in through the music. There's something
magical about revisiting musical milestones.
side note: I just read that Steve Vai's musical awakening
came from the West Side Story Soundtrack! That soundtrack was my musical
awakening too and the first album I ever bought. Too bad I didn't pick up a
guitar...
The second half spends very little time on the war, because
the story is ready to move onto the Reconstruction era and the continuing soap
opera that is Scarlet's life. She would have it no other way, so the rest of
the characters and the audience endure her pouts and schemes as she
orchestrates her whims to a fevered pitch. As much as I loath her character,
there is something to say for tenacity.
Just think what she could have
accomplished with a conscience.
As for the war and wanting to understand this time period
better, I believe there is much to glean from GwtW, even with its soft sell of
the South. Brotherhood and honor abound and war may start out with grand ideals
on each side, but in the end, the broken, defeated men lament what it was all
about.
What again were they fighting for? Oh yeah, Tara. dirt.
When a man's an empty kettle, he should be on his mettle and
yet I'm torn apart, just because I'm presumin' that I could be kind of human...
The heart is a tricky thing, when you're a thinking man. It
gets in the way and then all that thinking has to work double time, to offset
the mess of mercy.
My, isn't Tom smart. They should have called him Alexander,
since he solves the puzzle by expertly pulling that Gordian knot out of its
pole pin. Yeah, he's thinking circles around everyone else, but you know what
happens with unknotted knots? They unravel... and the ties that bind are no
more.
I love this review so much I'm not waiting to post it in order of writing. -ed.
“Between 'action' and 'cut', that's mine. No matter how big
the production is, that's still my space. That's a sacred place.” – Oscar Isaac
Jerzy Grotowski, the Polish theorist, used the term, The
Holy Actor, so then it could be said, the holy actor is in a sacred place. In
what ways is art hallowed? Grotowski takes an insightful stab at that question:
Why do we sacrifice so much energy to our art? Not in order
to teach others but to learn with them what our existence, our organism, our
personal and repeatable experience have to give us; to learn to break down the
barriers which surround us and to free ourselves from the breaks which hold us
back, from the lies about ourselves which we manufacture daily for ourselves
and for others; to destroy the limitations caused by our ignorance or lack of
courage; in short, to fill the emptiness in us: to fulfill ourselves...art is a
ripening, an evolution, an uplifting which enables us to emerge from darkness
into a blaze of light.
Be it theatre, film, music, writing, art… this is the divine
nature of the pursuit. Creation. But the art is just the (bi)product. The
creation is within; it’s the continual (re)discovery through observation and
self-examination, which, if done with real intent, discards the façade, until
the true self emerges. The legend of Michelangelo’s artistry has it correct,
“You just chip away the stone that doesn’t look like David.”
The beauty of art is that it’s a shared experience, so as
artists are chipping away, I get to chip too. The more I allow others'
creations to affect me, the more fully me I become, Inside. After all, life is
art, or at least it can be if it's lived bravely and in wonder. And, because
this movie touches on all these aspects, it fills me full with that "blaze
of light."
The German title sounds way better, Das
singende, klingende Bäumchen (Say that ten times fast!). This children's
film about the Veruca Salt of princesses, is short and sweet and sends a great
message (much nicer than Struwwelpeter). The fake sets,
strange animals and miniature landscapes, actually add to it's charm. Wiki
quotes an Amazon.com quote from Roger Thomas, "Imagine a fairy tale
conceived by Wagner and directed by Fritz Lang, with nods in the direction of The
Cabinet of Doctor Caligari and German expressionism, and you'd be
close." He forgot to mention plot points and themes from Taming of the
Shrew, Willy Wonka, Beauty and the Beast, Doctor Doolittle
and H. R. Pufnstuf.
Here's how the magic works. Vince (Elvis) eyes up a woman,
comments on her weight and assets, insults her and then, when he isn't the
center of attention, commences having a temper tantrum; throwing his guitar
around. But none of this matters, because Vince knows something that she
doesn't. All he has to do is lean in and wham! All is forgotten. This isn't an
isolated incident for on a date with another girl, he completely ignores her. No
need for the energy it takes to have a conversation. Pow! All is forgiven.
About those hips. I didn't quite have the experience of, "Elvis, Elvis,
let me be, keep that pelvis far from me!" His dancing was sort of herky
jerky with a hitch in his getalong. If I wanted that kind of dancing, I'd go
with the much more entertaining James Cagney.
Last summer, I took my kids to the state fair to
hear my brother's high school jazz band perform. Because we were there at the
tail end of the fair's run, withered rows of produce and resigned livestock
failed to capture any of our enthusiasm. Outside, it started to rain so we
hurried past the dingy food carts of deep fried Coke and bacon wrapped bacon to
wait it out under the awning of a ticket booth. Upon finding out the exorbitant
prices for the rides, I put our options to the vote. Unanimously, we chose to
go to a Chinese restaurant instead. Goodbye fair, we won't be back. Egg foo
young wins out again.
It's fortunate that I hadn't shown them State Fair before our foray.
Instead of everyone being mildly disappointed, I could have had a full revolt
on my hands. For what State Fair does best is paint a very pretty
picture of an impossibly perfect celebration. Reality can never measure up.
That's sort of the point of a folk musical; to bring people back to a simpler
time through a memory of myth. The good ole' days shouldn't be scrutinized to
closely when musical escapism is afoot. In every aspect, this film fits the
folk musical mold: family centric, ritualistic and cyclic (day, season, life).
Unfortunately, these elements created a dreadfully dull second half. I couldn't
care less if the pig won the prize or if the homemade pickles got a ribbon.
After a certain point the only thing keeping me involved was Dana Andrews.
Sigh. This is him below. Get a load of the suit and dress--I didn't see
anything like that on my outing. Also of note, this is the cutest scene in the
film--the highlight for me.
This is the brother and he's a schmuck. I won't get into his story, which I
disliked the whole of, but suffice it to say he is one. But, along side him is
the wonderful Harry Morgan--another highlight.
I stopped the film for a few minutes so I could study this campsight. Can you
imagine such a perfect set up? Cordoned of private space with an outdoor
kitchen and a token tent for those that want to rough it. Each of their meals
was on dinnerware, with linens. I didn't think the mom would ever get a chance
to enjoy the fair, but the prop people took care of everything and she was able
to have a fine time.
Some memorable songs, Jeanne Crain and, of course, Dana Andrews keep me from
giving away the DVD. And, it's a sight better than the 1962 version.
