Posts Tagged ‘Movies’

Crime and Punishment: A Film

Saturday, August 14th, 2010

Now that we’ve added Turner Classic Movies to our Tivo download list all sorts of odd and interesting movies are popping up on our television screen.  Last night, the practicing pessimist in me taking over, I clicked ‘play’ on Crime and Punishment.

Let me say for starters that this was a curiously compelling ‘bad’ film.  Released in 2002, directed by Menahem Golan with Crispin Glover playing Raskolnikov, John Hurt the wily investigator, Porfiry.  Vanessa Redgrave is Raskolnikov’s mother, Sophie Ward is Dunia, his sister and Margot Kidder the desperate wife of the drunkard Marmeladov (John Neville) and mother to prostitute-angel Sonia (Avital Dicker).  So far, so good.

The story takes place in Russia but is moved from 1866  St. Petersburg to post Soviet-break-up Moscow, or at least it seems so from the cars in the road, the throbbing discos and multi-story dormitories.  Since mother Marmeladova still cries pitifully about having descended from the aristocracy while the characters walk by statues and pictures of Lenin and Stalin it’s not at all clear what the purpose of the move is meant to convey.
Glover plays Raskolnikov with wide, constantly flitting blue eyes set in a pasty-white,  moisture slick face — with too nicely washed and bouncy hair to convince he is such a poor student.  John Hurt is decent in his role as the inspector. (Interestingly he played Raskolnikov 15 years earlier in the much acclaimed BBC mini-series  — now on my list.) Redgrave plays the desparate widow Raskolnikov, prostituting her daughter in her desperation to escape their poverty.  Kidder has not much more to do that rail and weep at her drunken husband.

It may be from the necessity of shortening the great novel to fit the two hour twenty minute movie, or it may be Golan’s directing,  but everything — except Porfiry the inspector, seems rushed, popping with energy and emotion without the weight of Russian character and history.  Perhaps it’s the problem with having Brits play Russians.  The wild hysteria of Kidder and the fawning, obsequious desperation of Redgrave are vibrating at much too high a frequency.  Raskolnikov the same.  We don’t get his elaborate reasoning of doing evil to be able to do good; his handing out money and helping the injured Marmeledov just seem part of his increasing anxiety driven madness.  We don’t hear his self comparisons to Napoleon.  It is a picture of mad at the start, mad at the finish.   Still, we are pulled in as he begins his necessary collapse into guilt even as he challenges others to prove his complicity.  His wish to act out his rationally created superman-self  foundering in the heavy seas of his emotions.  Glover’s panicked yet assertive behavior, his perspiration coated face, his facial tics become their own objects of fascination as Hurt slowly talks him  into a confession of his crime. The confirming chess game is nicely played.   Angel Sonia,  never given a chance in the movie to show how she has become so devoted, follows him off to Siberia.

Interesting enough.  Perhaps a point of entry to the novel for non-reading modern high-schoolers.  You could recommend them to the wiki entry as well.  As for myself, I’ll be anxious to see the BBC series and most of all would love to see Josef von Sternberg’s 1935 rendition with Peter Lorre as Raskolnikov.  Peter Lorre!

The Secret In Their Eyes: A Film

Friday, July 9th, 2010

For a good middle of summer thriller, lower yourself into a comfortable seat, ignore the inevitable advertisements, turn off your cell phone, flex your fingers for some desperate hand-holding and wait for the lights to go down. The Secret in Their Eyes, the 2010 Academy Award winner for foreign films is a nifty, urban multiple mystery story with just a minimum of gore to fix the seriousness of the case in your mind.

A frustrated writer beginning to write and then tearing up pages in a dark room is not too promising a beginning but as the camera takes over, showing the scenes he is trying to conjure, the hook is set. Slowly, with a tug here and some slack there we will be reeled in. A double exposed, out of focus, almost watery scene of a woman chasing a train in a cavernous railroad terminal tells us filmic imagination is at work. We soon learn that Benjamin Esposito (Ricardo Darin) is a retired Argentine criminal investigator returning to a crime of some 25 years earlier and to the mysteries of his own life at the time.

Scenes of his younger years in the early 1970s, darkly bearded and emotionally involved in solving a murder, against the corruption and growing threat of return to Peronist power, contrast with the present, gray hair and beard, facially lined and slower of movement and speech.

As he tries to solve the mystery of writing a novel he is re-immersed in the mystery of the earlier years and the crime itself, a horrific murder of a young woman, for whose husband Esposito felt particularly sorry. In the corruption of the times, a rival investigator throws up two working class stiffs as the murderers. Esposito and his colleagues through investigations astute and comical find and entrap in a clever police interrogation a man we take to be the actual murderer. He is released from prison within a year, however. Bright and vicious, he is just the type needed for the oncoming dictatorship. His release and the subsequent murder of Esposito’s partner followed by an unsubtle threat to Esposito himself sends Esposito out of Buenos Aires, into hiding. It is from the years away in this internal exile he has only recently returned, to take up his life and try to write the book.

The frustration of the pages begun and pages torn up make him turn to his boss at the time, Irene Menendez Hastings (Soledad Villamil). Hastings (pronounced in the American way, not the Spanish, as she insists) was then a recent Harvard graduate — and of the high upper professional classes in Argentina. Esposito barely made it through high school. One of the sub themes, nicely brought out, is the implications of the class divide in the society at large, and between them — a tough, visible barrier, that keeps their mutual attraction from fully working, and the mystery of which is the third of the many we are given to sort through.

Irene refuses to help him when he comes to ask for help but with a first draft in hand she enters into the pursuit of the old memories, of the crime, the long unseen killer and the husband of the murdered woman. Most of all into the mystery of the two of them. The film draws to an end with a shocking and to some, improbable, scene. Justice, in a crazy Argentine way, seems to be served.

Though the last word, as a door closes is that love too has finally found its way.

Good stuff. You may want to go twice, once as a detective, once with your best squeeze. And you’ll get to test your Spanish, too!

Films to Watch For

Monday, May 24th, 2010

For all you film fans who think this spring has been particularly dismal in the local movie houses, there are some interesting titles coming out of the Cannes Film Festival — assuming they get distribution here in the U.S.

From Manohla Dargis:

On Sunday evening the 63rd Cannes Film Festival came to a shocking, exhilarating close with the Palme d’Or going to “Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives” from the Thai filmmaker Apichatpong Weerasethakul. …a fantastical tale about a dying man whose past lives — and ghostly relatives… (more…)

The Secret Life of Words: A Film

Saturday, January 9th, 2010

In The Secret Life of Words, one of the best films you’ve never heard of, Spanish director Isabel Coixet, guides Tim Robbins and Canadian actor, Sarah Polley, in roles of a life time, to an exploration of human suffering and human redemption quite unlike anything I have ever seen.  Without a frame of bomb blasts, bayonet thrusts or corpse strewn fields The Secret Life of Words brings us one of the truest, most powerful –because most personal– indictments of war ever done on film.  And under nearly impossible circumstances — most of it shot at a hospital bed where Josef (Robbins), his flesh burned, an arm fractured and blinded by seared cataracts, is nursed by a strange, morose, nearly speechless young woman Hannah (Polley) who, when she speaks, is clearly a foreigner and doubly an object of mystery and puzzlement.  To bring the setting even further from the mass chaos of war, this bed is on an oil rig in the Irish sea with only 5 other people aboard, the rest having been evacuated following the disastrous oil fire which injured Josef  and, as we learn,  killed his once best friend.

The film begins so oddly and continues long enough oddly that one, especially watching in a home setting, is tempted to get distracted,  turn to other things, write it off.  It pays back enormously to follow through, let the puzzlement float until the trajectory begins to be seen.  The quirkiness of the beginning, which continues throughout, is the disarming normalcy through which great depths are visited.  Hannah  works in an enormous, loud, plastics plant, not specifically sited, though somewhere in Europe.  She is an outsider, by her accent, her hearing aid assisted deafness — which she keeps off as she desires– her somber, depressive demeanor.  Her non-attentive dress and make up, except for strange amounts of bar soap, one of many object-metaphors in Coixet’s lexicon,  add to her public signing of wishing, completely, to be left alone.

Early in the film she is called in by her manager who says, despite Hannah’s fears, that she is such a perfect worker the company wouldn’t think of firing her.  She must, however, to ease the concerns of her colleagues and the trades-unions, take some time off, so as not to imply that workers need only work.  She clearly doesn’t know what to do or where to go and winds up in a hotel room as plain as her own lodgings — far from the palm trees and beaches suggested by her manager.  Still at a loss as to how to “vacation” she overhears of a need for a burn-trauma nurse and volunteers for the duration of her holiday.  She is trained, she tells the doctor, and has seen terrible things.  She is helicoptered out to the oil rig where she takes over full time care of Josef;  the doctor departs (“Give me a call in case of trouble”) and leaves her with Josef and the 5 other crewmen.

Josef can’t see through his clouded corneas.  He is painfully burned on his face, shoulders and much of his body which we never see below the blankets.  Yet in his pain, barely able to keep up his patter as she changes his bandages and applies compresses to the burns, he is irrepressible.  It’s unclear if he is meant to be a brougish Irishman –Robbins keeps his American accent –yet there is much of the roguish, suggestive bawdiness of an irrepressible story-teller and a man who has not known no from too many women. (more…)

Gardens of Stone: A Film

Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009

For some, Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) is the best film made about the Vietnam War:  for some it is one of the greatest war/anti-war films ever made. It was certainly a manic, filmic projection of a manic man-eating war.  Eight years later Coppola made another film about Vietnam, this one quiet, no napalm, no screaming jets, just the daily, non stop burial of those coming back in boxes, to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery, and the agonizing grief of those who loved them.  Like too many of Coppola’s films, Gardens of Stone, (1987) fell into puzzlement and dismissal and has all but disappeared. It may be worth taking another look at it with another, terribly similar war thrumming in our ears, and the forgetting of the earlier one all but complete.

The story is a simple one. The spit and polish 3rd U.S. Infantry Regiment carries dead soldiers and presidents to their graves at Arlington National Cemetery.  The Regiment is the public face of the respect and honor given to the military dead.  The soldiers are drilled and groomed to an almost unbelievable perfection, and Coppola gives them their full due.  As an artist of the technical you can almost see Coppola’s admiration in the repeated shots of precision arms handling, marching, saluting.

Among the soldiers are three, around whom the story is built.  James Caan plays Clell Hazard, a very believable top sergeant.  Lean and tough, he is taunted for being a “pacifist” because he thinks the war in Vietnam is the wrong war against the wrong people, and being fought the wrong way; in other words — get out.  But if it is going to be fought, he believes he should not be with the Old Guard, a “toy soldier,” but should be at Fort Benning training young soldiers to fight and stay alive.  [The reasons that he is not allowed to go is one of the weaker parts of the film.]

His superior and good friend, Sergeant Major “Goody” Nelson, is played by James Earle Jones –the Sergeant Major, with more gold on his sleeve than can be lifted, and a sternness in his presence that is entirely convincing.  For great military tough guy pyrotechnics you could not have cast better. They go after each other, and anyone in sight with hammer and tongs. Yet, their friendship is real and extends back to the Korean war.

Into the Regiment comes a new recruit, Jackie Willow (D.B. Sweeney) who is regularly called “Dildo” in the eternal male teasing that says if you can deal with this, then you’re a man and we can can trust you. (more…)

Army of Shadows: A Film

Sunday, September 13th, 2009

Army of Shadows — a French film noir about resistance to the Nazi occupation –The Resistance. What could be better? Brave silent men coming out of the shadows to slit Nazi throats, blow up bridges, derail trains. Isn’t that how it happens? Not according to one who was there and lived to make a film about it.

Jean Pierre Melville, if he is known at all in the U.S. is likely known for his gangster films. Even if France he is called the father of the French gangster film. Bob le Flambeur, 1955, Le Samouraï, 1967 and Le Cercle rouge, 1970, are regularly cited as innovative and perfect examples of his distant, observational noir style, his meticulous attention to detail, often in natural –not studio– settings, with plenty of dark shadows, wet streets, resounding footsteps, and grim, matter-of-fact dialogue. His main characters are often small-time crooks and his interest is that they exist and in the details of how a caper is pulled off. Is there agreement or disagreement? Does everything go as planned? How do they dress and how do they speak? Above all: how is loyalty and betrayal played out? He is not much interested in making sentimental or moral points. Life is life.

What aren’t as equally well known are his films of war-time.

He made three, —Le Silence de la mer (The silence of the Sea [1949]), Léon Morin, prêtre (Leon Morin, Priest [1961]) and L’Armée des ombres (The Army of Shadows [1969].) The earlier two are concerned with close relationships of two or three people living in a war time situation. The Army of Shadows is about war and the French resistance itself. It’s interesting both for the anti-heroic viewpoint Melville takes, and that it is the only such film he made as he had been part of the Resistance during his young, formative years.

His original name was Grumbach, from his Hungarian Jewish French emigre family. He took the name Melville from his American writing hero during his years in the Resistance.  The skeleton of the film was taken from a book of the same name written by another resistance fighter Joseph Kessel (who also wrote the novel which became the ground-breaking mainstream erotic movie, Belle du Jour with Catherine Deneuve .)

Filmed in color but almost all in Melville’s preferred blue and brown pallete suggesting the dark, fatalistic cast of Melville’s sensibility, it is the story of 5 resistance fighters in Paris, Marseilles, Lyon and occasionally London. But we see nothing of the successful bridge demolitions or daring clever assaults on the German occupation forces or the Vichy collaborators. Instead, Melville is interested in the tension fraught daily life of those living under cover, with deadly blows against the enemy as their goal but built on the base of chance, choice, personality and fate — where one can never know who is true and who will be false or what the circumstances will demand.

Army of Shadows After beginning with a strutting German parade in front of the Arc de Triomphe, the camera, below the introductory titles, trains on a dark country scene of continuous heavy rain. And so we enter Melville’s world.
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Inglourious Basterds: A Film

Sunday, August 23rd, 2009

You either love Quentin Tarantino’s movies or you think they are disgusting. I fall into the second camp. To lift a line from the best acted role in Inglourious Basterds, If 99.9% don’t die it’s not a Tarantino.

My purpose is to dissuade you from going to see the film, so if that seems improper for a review, stop here. There are plenty of reviewers who think highly of his work and will pitch you with “swaggering fun,” extremely witty,” gleeful violence,” and such. [Actually, only 74% at Rotten Tomatoes don't give it a "splat."]
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