The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie - Luis Bunuel (1972)

This is a strange film. Know that first and foremost. And I imagine that people like it for very different reasons. You may like the marvelous acting of the six bourgeois, who try for the entire film to have an uninterrupted dinner (as in the picture above when a cavalry unit preparing for maneuvers stops by for a meal). You may like the surrealist twists and turns, as much of the latter half of the film is made up of dreams and nightmares. You may like the vibrant use of color, which is subtly employed so as to show a manner of restraint (Bunuel seems to accentuate the color of a particular outline or object sporadically through the film). You may even like the socio-political statement that Bunuel is making, Marxist in tone at times, and always taking jabs at the upper class.

I can't say that I resonate with these reasons though. In fact, if it wasn't for two particular sequences in the film, I wouldn't have a personal reason to recommend the film. The two sequences I speak of are the Lieutenant's tale of his childhood and the Sergeant's dream, which start out as stories told by minor characters to the main character listeners, but become something much more as the viewer is transported into the story. In both instances, the sequences take the viewer completely outside of the world of the six bourgeois, both in terms of narrative and in terms of tone. Of course, the power of these sequences probably comes with the juxtaposition they make to the rest of the film, so I cannot claim to like the film just for these sequences. But let me try to explain a little further...

In the midst of Bunuel's biting satire, we are treated to these two sequences of somber beauty, drawing upon the memories and longings of the storyteller. In the Sergeant's dream for example, we find him walking down the street, his eyes downcast, the buildings along the way appearing as part of a set (the doors and windows have been painted on). A church bell tolls throughout the sequence, as well as the chattering of people we cannot see. He meets a man who "smells of earth," who after brief conversation, quickly disappears into an open doorway to "buy something." A conversation with another man, who helps the Sergeant realize that he is in the land of the dead. Outside, a girl of deathly white, the Sergeant's mother, who he did not know well when she was alive. Two incredible opposing images of the two talking, the mother unable to meet her son's gaze. She says, "I looked for you in this dark crowd, I've been looking since I arrived." A cut to her grave, hands draped over a crucifix, as the first shovels of dirt cover her plain dress. The Sergeant goes looking for the first man in the building in order to introduce the man to his mother. Inside, a stairway covered in cobwebs and dirt. The Sergeant calls for the man, but there is no answer. Outside, time has passed, and the Sergeant is alone. No mother, alone.

And then Bunuel takes us back to the world of the bourgeois and the moment passes as if it was nothing. But it is the reason I recommend this film to you. The fact that we are so detached from the rest of the film makes these sequences that much more powerful. The two sequences are transcendent moments, emotional blips in a film about social etiquette and superficiality. As I mentioned, the film has other dream sequences, mostly from the minds of the six bourgeois, but they do not compare to the two mentioned above. The six are wholly consumed by their insecurities and appearances. The Sergeant and Lieutenant long for that which is beyond themselves, and we long with them.

Hiroshima, Mon Amour - Alain Resnais (1959)

I don't know where to start with this film, so I'll go with the score. Very moving. Hypnotic film, and the score always seems to complement perfectly the images on screen. Although not as pointed in its use of "music as punctuation" as say, In the Mood For Love, still similar in effect.

The visuals are dazzling, so I need to include one or two as a point of reference, before moving on. The meat of this entry starts here:













The opening scene has the couple wrapped up in a human knot of arms and sweaty backs, and we only hear the voice of Emmanuelle Riva, as she recounts an experience with Hiroshima. We wonder, is it her experience? Is it his? The film is notable for its interplay between the now and the past, for its mingling of identities. Here in the picture, the two have become untangled for a moment.













Here is an image from one of the most beautiful sequences in the movie. The two continue to hash out their stories, and while they do it, Emmanuelle Riva is chugging beer as if it were some sort of life-potion. Behind them, the lights of the city glance off the water, creating a shimmering display through the restaurant window. Of course, they are too wrapped up in each other to notice it, but we do.

Throughout the film, actually, I was reminded of a pair of films we've talked about recently, Before Sunrise and Before Sunset. Two strangers of different nationalities meeting and having this moment together, intense and cathartic. Celine and Jesse will have two moments, this couple will only have one. In Hiroshima, Mon Amour, the difference in nationality plays out more, as the two talk about their experiences in the war. Riva fell in love with a German soldier and upon discovery, was ostracized by her own parents, and locked in a cellar. Eiji Okada lost his family in Hiroshima while off fighting. The two talk to each other not just in romantic terms, but in terms of filling these holes from the past. When Riva and Okada make love, they are making love in the empty spaces of these holes, the rifts between nations and between persons torn apart by war. And they are also making love TO the holes, to the pain and suffering they have experienced and cannot separate themselves from. It is a painful thing to watch, but it is beautiful as well. Beauty contained within the ugliness. That's how I would describe Hiroshima, Mon Amour.

Ghost World - Terry Zwigoff (2001)

Ghost World! Yes, Terry Zwigoff's lovely, character-driven dark comedy. One of the most compelling coming-of-age films I have ever seen. I was recently asked to defend this film and so this is my response.

This could have been a simple teen comedy with Thora Birch and Scarlett Johansson walking around and making fun of people, then some guy getting in the way of it. Well, some guy DOES get in the way, but it's not at all what you might expect in a teen movie. Steve Buscemi, in his best role to date, brings to the screen Seymour, an inward-looking middle-aged bachelor with a comb-over and a room full of old records and collectibles. This is not a character from a teen movie, because Buscemi brings real substance to Seymour. We care about Seymour and we care about Thora Birch's Enid, who can't seem to find something that makes her truly happy.

Their relationship is based on a shared interest in the things/music that other people have since thrown aside. It is also these things/music that make this film come alive. The music (Seymour's old-timey music in this case) is given the same significance to the film as the characters give it within the film. For instance, Enid listens to Skip James "Devil Got My Woman," a blind buy from Seymour's garage sale, and Zwigoff dwells on the moment with her. In turn, we also listen to the song, and personally, I found myself as entraced as Enid seems to be. The song then compels Enid to go back to Seymour to look for more music like it, and their odd relationship begins. The David Kitay score works in a very different way from the old-timey music in that it is more in the background (it is much more subtle), but it is no less effective in evoking the deeper underlying mood of the characters. I am thinking especially of the main theme that punctuates the end of the film when Enid walks to the bus stop.

Also, the things/the stuff that occupy the corners of the screen within this film. Enid's punk tapes strewn across the floor, all of the stuff at Seymour's garage sale and Enid's lawn sale, the stuff that they really can't part with when the push comes to the shove, Seymour's display room. It is fitting that this film comes from a comic book (by Daniel Clowes), comic books being a familiar collectible. But for these characters, the stuff is not just for display, it contains a piece of who the characters are, and in a world of awkwardness and social barriers (perpetuated as much by the judgment of the outsiders as the insiders according to Ghost World), sometimes the stuff and the interest in the stuff make for a more reliable friend.

The things/music also point to the sadness underlying these characters' lives. The film starts off with Enid's dark wit, but as the film moves on, we see more and more of the insecurity behind the comedy. Enid is extremely frightened of the next step that she must take past high school, and for the time being within the film, she revels in her throw-back, retro interests, which connect her to something bigger than herself. Seymour tries even less to disguise his unhappiness, and it is so compelling to watch him botch up his relationships, because it seems inevitable that he's going to end up alone, surrounded by his stuff, when the film is over.

Although the underlying tone is kind of depressing, Zwigoff successfully balances this tone with a biting, sarcastic comedy surrounding the characters that Enid both loves and makes fun of. These characters keep the film light at the right moments. One of my favorites is the nunchucks-carrying, beater-tan, gas-station dude, who refuses to submit to authority. In addition to the comedy, these characters help to develop Enid's character. She loves these people, hates them, judges them, and ultimately, uses them as inspiration for her art. Enid draws the characters as she runs across them, framing their personalities on paper in light of her imagination. It is clear that although Enid hides behind her eccentricities and her humor, she has a real knack for constructing something positive out of it in her art.

Zwigoff could have made a teen comedy and he could have made a suburban melodrama. Instead, he gave us a unique coming-of-age film that is as eccentric as the characters it contains therein. It also rings extremely true for me in giving complexity to its assessment of the fringes of American pop culture. For the characters in Ghost World, their interests function both as a vibrant outward vehicle for social networking, and also an inward, materialistic, and lonely venture.

Two Striking Blondes

(Top) Juliette from L'Atalante
(Bottom) Elsa from The Lady From Shanghai

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul - RW Fassbinder (1974)

My first Fassbinder film. Very good film. Someone recently mentioned to me that because the film is highly considered critically, they were expecting more, and so were underwhelmed by Ali. Perhaps the simplicity of the film, the subtlety of the film did not blow this person away. But I have to say that it IS the simplicity and subtlety that are so powerful about this film. The content is very simple, the story straightforward. There are no surprises, only characters doing what we expect them to do. Fassbinder pulls no punches and it is MORE powerful for that reason. The inevitability of this situation. But while the narrative follows its predetermined path, Fassbinder works tenaciously with his camera to frame the couple, while trying equally hard to hide his tricks. It is brilliant that Fassbinder is able to give us the images he does while not drawing too much attention to his camerawork: the shots through the doorways, the camera creeping up to focus on Emmi or Ali in a particular moment, the dolly shot in the bar which ends with the blonde bartender looming over Emmi, etc.

I have to say that I struggled with some of the social subject matter as the movie went on, getting caught up in the guilt that comes with any movie that addresses racism and so on, but now a few hours removed from the movie, I think the moments that are going to linger are those between Ali and Emmi when he first comes over and when "one thing leads to another" in such a lovely way, in a quiet way, that Fassbinder has already won over our hearts to prepare us for the heavier stuff to come. And really, when it comes down to it, yes the racism subject is there, but Fassbinder does not have a social message set in stone (ala Crash) with this film. This film is about two unlikely lovers whose kindness toward each other, or even, whose aspiration toward kindness, is the only thing that is worth living for in a cold, alienating world.

Ebert has an excellent essay on the film in his "Great Movies" series.

Note: I was very surprised to know post-viewing that Fassbinder plays Emmi's racist son-in-law in the film, the scum-bag Eugen.

Also, the film was shot in 15 days between two bigger budget films, Martha and Effi Brest. As Ebert says of Fassbinder, "He shot it on a shoestring." Funny how a shoestring can make for a great picture.

The Pool Shark - W.C. Fields (1915)

I have a thing for W.C. Fields. How did this bloated, cruel, and drunken man become a star? 60 years after Fields' death, I find his brand of comedy particularly appealing for some reason. More appealing than other comedic giants from the same era, say, Chaplin or the Marx Brothers. Blasphemous, I know. Fields, his red nose and battered hats, his mumbling, sarcastic demeanor, his off-kilter way of dealing with the world. For some reason, Fields' persona seems more real, more easy to identify with than Chaplin or Groucho. I'm not exactly sure why.

But anyway, I want to write on more than Fields. I want to write about a particular moment in one of his films that has nothing to do with Fields. So I'm watching Criterion Collection's W.C. Fields: Six Short Films and I'm in the middle of W.C. Fields screen debut in The Pool Shark. The film is boring. Silent films do not suit Fields well because he is unable to play his persona (which relies so much on his slurring, elongated mumble). Anyway, my attention is on auto-pilot, trying to make it through the 10-minute short for the novelty of it when...

We get a close-up of the girl character. A fish bowl she was tending has been smashed and now the fish are in her hair and her hair is all wet! As she reaches up to her now mop-like hair to take the fish down one by one, she has the most indescribable expression on her face (see above).

But what makes this moment all the more incredible is the shot itself. It looks like it's straight out of a French New Wave film from the '60s. Every other bit of this film is ordinarily shot as far as early silent comedies go: the static long shot giving the characters plenty of room to waddle around and perform their slapstick routines. However, for less than ten seconds we are treated to a rare moment of beauty in the film. The girl is slightly off-center to the right, her long arm draped in white as her luminous hand searches her dark, tangled hair for the fish. Her face, wet and innocent, is lost in the shadow of her hair. She is so beautiful in this moment, so real. The composition is incredibly out of place in the movie, but disregarding that fact, it is the only moment of substance in the film.

Sometimes, all you need out of a movie is a moment like that.

That is the moment described by Andy Horbal in his blog as the "cinephiliac moment." Wonderful concept, though I prefer the term "filmic moment" better, because it lets us refer to film in the ideal sense. At its best, at its most pure, film has transcendent moments like these. "Filmic moment" also sounds better.

Anyway, the funny thing is, as soon as I finished with the film I had to have a still of the close-up for my desktop background on my computer. But once I had one still up, I realized that I wanted a different still, and then another. I was not satisfied with any particular still. One image plucked from a film does not encapsulate what we felt out of the moment, even if the moment lasted only seconds in film-time. This is of course where film is a completely different medium than photography. The filmic moment is a moment that has its effect in relation to the other moments within the film. In the case of the girl close-up, one reason why it is so poignant is that it is like a rose growing out of the dry grass of a long, empty field: I did not expect anything out of this short, and then there was the close-up. Reflecting more, the movement through time in the film made the moment what it was. Using my metaphorical setup, I scanned the field, I walked through it, and I found a rose. Taking the rose home with me, it was beautiful but it was just a rose, and it wilted and fell away. But what I remember is the experience of walking through that field and coming upon the rose.

Distant/Uzak - Nuri Bilge Ceylon (2002)

Well, I finally saw this film tonight! I would definitely recommend it to folks who can slow down to be absorbed by this film's quiet rhythm. There is a lot of silence in this film, a lot of still cameras watching the two main characters do a lot of nothing. There is NOT a lot of story, there is not a lot of character growth. But, the film is beautifully shot and true-to-life in its portrayal of a middle-aged photographer mired in his pride and his habits, who grows weary of a younger cousin who comes to stay with him in the city while finding work. Bleak stuff, but the audience is able to stay distant from the characters so that the effect is not "Wow, this is a depressing film." It's is just a quiet film - these characters are like people we know, people we probably have been like at times, but hope that we are currently not like.

There is a strong presence of natural sound in this film - the chimes on the balcony of the photographer's apartment, the jazzy mood music of the bar that the photographer frequents, the chatter of lovers playing in the park. This natural aura helps to draw the viewer into the flow of the film. Funny how we identify with the poetry of Ceylon, but we do not identify with the characters, and how this is all a good thing in the end. I guess usually one of the main gripes that we have about films we don't like is that we don't like the characters. But I guess that's not what Ceylon is going for anyway.

The visuals are striking, particularly the scenes in the snow. While looking for work down at the port, the cousin walks by a beached tanker lying on its side in the snow. We understand that it is probably an omen that the cousin is not going to find work! And an omen that the photographer and his cousin are going to come into conflict. It is an inevitable conflict for two people who are selfish and introverted. Some of the visuals seem a tad contrived, like the birds flying dramatically down into the city square in which the photographer is finding subjects to photograph.

At any rate, worth seeing. Ceylon is a filmmaker to watch.