Kes

Being alone isn’t lonely, for there no one judges or attacks or ignores. It’s in the presence of those things that, through rejection, bring isolation.

When Billy’s alone, the voices that tell him he’s bad are quieted enough that his own voice can say, “Maybe I am sometimes, but I’m not that bad.” No one else is going to defend him, so it might as well be he.  It’s such a small, pitiful defense, wrought with self doubt and confusion that his belief in it is tenuous.  To succeed in training a kestrel, strengthens that voice and to speak and be heard about that success validates him even more.

The director Ken Loach said, “This isn’t the way the world has to be. You don’t have to destroy all the Billy Caspers of your generation for the world to keep turning.” 

Questions run through my head. What creates a despondent family or community? What can a film like this be a catalyst for? Am I the headmaster or the empathetic teacher, or somewhere in between? Am I encouraging others to have a voice? Do I have a voice? And so forth. Some movies I can watch and forget by the next day. Others are there for a lifetime--this is one of the latter.


Unrelated, but I was kind of fascinated with the school's architecture.

Zulu

That which courses through men’s veins is inscrutable. It demands that they hold the line, take that hill or march out as firearm fodder so a chief can assess the enemy. What again were the soldiers defending? A few buildings? A corral? Inconsequential. These men had orders and were determined to obey them. There was no clear enemy and no clear purpose—just men fulfilling their duty on both sides.

I was in shock and awe. What would I do in that world? --I’d hide out in the chapel tending to the wounded, while inwardly being beside myself with the futility of it all. Then, in the end, if I survived, I’d find a way to be alone to involuntarily lose the contents of my stomach and have a solitary breakdown.

No soldier's life for me.

The film did provide some glimpses into men’s thoughts and internal struggles. Even with all the stoicism, there were some fine moments of self inspection, realization and vulnerability. (For an insightful look at men and war, read oldkid’s review of War Horse!) Overall, the contrasting lieutenants, the rhythms of the Zulus and the strategies of both were my favorite aspects.

Back story almost always rivals a movie itself. The Zulus had never seen a motion picture; so Stanley Baker (Lt. John Char) brought in a projector and showed them a Gene Autry film. Oh how I would have loved to be there to see the images flicker across their faces. Magic.

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.

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.

The Movie No One Expected Me to Like: Dr. Strangelove

(or, more specifically, Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.)

Kubrick and I, we go way back. But after 2001: A Space Odyssey, we hadn’t kept in touch. I guess we just ran in different circles. I did catch a brief glimpse of him in A.I. Artificial Intelligence and was very pleased to see him.

One might not think Dr. Strangelove would be my kind of movie, but I can describe my love for it in two words—Peter and Sellers. (I grew up with the Pink Panther series.)

Films by My Most and Least Favorite Directors

The Best: Frank Capra-It Happened One Night


Ahh, sweet Capra-corn. 

I eat this stuff up. The goodness of humanity, the rewards of hard work and the blessings of selflessness are all themes that resonate with me. 

It Happened One Night combines them and adds in clever dialogue and real emotional weight. I care about the characters here as well as in his other films. Even thought I know how each story will probably end, somehow I'm still eager to find out. 

Truly this day's challenge of choosing a single director was impossible, so I went with the director that makes me consistently happy.

* * *

The Worst: Ed Wood- Plan 9 From Outer Space

Flying Saucers made from plates, wobbling tombstones, pillows seen for falling stunts, cue card reading priests, it's day-no it's night- no it's day, X’s marked on the floor for scene blocking—have some respect for the craft, man!

Because it is beyond bad, it does make for a fun movie night.

The Film I Watch To Feel Down: The Entertainer

This movie is the poster child for the plight of mediocrity. 

Archie Rice is a man of very little talent and even less conscience. As the world is falling apart around him, he chooses not to acknowledge his dire circumstances. 

The whole story reminds me of the grey town in C.S. Lewis’ “The Great Divorce” where there is no joy, no meaning, and a persistent state of self-deception. It leaves me as empty as Olivier’s face as he sags against the life preserver. 

While the credits roll, I can almost hear Amadeus’ Salieri blessing the asylum inmates as he’s wheeled down the hallway, “Mediocrities everywhere, I absolve you.”

The Manchurian Candidate (1962)

A movie that was shelved for 25 years; part life imitating art, part Sinatra buying up the rights because of profit disputes. In spite of that, he said it was one of his finest experiences in film making. It’s interesting that it continued a feeling of noir (so glad it’s in black and white) and added the obsession with psychology and the red scare themes of the day--incorporating fearful frenzy with real global power shifting.

In the real world, the creepy kiss would not be so strange. After all, Angela Lansbury is only 3 year older than Laurence Harvey, but in the context of the film, it is earth shattering—a declaration of just how convoluted and disturbing their relationship is. Lansbury makes a formidable femme fatale with a nauseating twist.

I was confused by Janet Leigh. Was she the red herring, or just redemption? I was glad she was there for Bennett Marco’s sake though. (nice side note--little did I know, but I named one of my sons Bennett!) Also, the garden club meeting astounded me