BREAKING THE WAVES (Lars von Trier, 1996, Denmark)

 

Absolute faith corrupts and destroys…. absolutely. Bess McNeill is a lonely beautiful young woman filled with a childlike fascination towards life, discovering the joys of her sexuality as she explores the naked unexplored terrain of her body, her heart aching to love and to be loved, but poisoned by the cruel tyranny of the Church. She marries Jan, an outsider to her small zealous community, and though their relationship has been brief, it seems to be deep and profound. 

Lars von Trier films with a hand-held digital camera in realistic settings where the background sounds often overwhelm the dialogue and the ambient light degrades the image into jagged darkness and overblown whites, desaturating the color palette like a home movie. This creates a sense of intimacy and immediacy, which strengthens the narrative and connects us to Bess and Jan’s ordeal. We become part of their environment, active in the drama, emotionally invested in Bess’s heartbreaking predicament. Trier then structures the film into seven distinct chapter; it makes us step backwards into an objective vantage point. When Jan is paralyzed, we experience the unselfish love that Bess has for her new husband, as she is willing to care for him and not leave his bedside. Through a haze of medication and despair, Jan asks her to screw other men and describe these acts to him: crippled, he cannot appease her physical desires and must live vicariously through these encounters. But we begin to smell the burning flesh of religious bonfires, the heavy burden of the unsympathetic Church Elders and their destructive doctrine that has permeated and stunted her intellectual growth and wisdom. Bess prays to an insane god who brings violence and chaos into her life because she deserves it, her punishment far outweighs any imaginary sin. But this god is only her own irrational voice, condemning her as wicked in a religion where women don’t speak, second-class denizens of their perverse Reformation. 

Bess struggles to do what is right: to save Jan’s life she sacrifices the sanctity of her own body to appease this Hellish god as she believes he is getting better the more she suffers. As Bess’s coffin is surrender to the hard unforgiving earth and eternally damned by her Church, Jan proves his love as the ocean’s waves embrace her body carrying it to a final peaceful rest. The bells final pronouncement eases Jan’s burden and begins to heal his grievous wounds. 

Final Grade: (A)

THE DEVIL, PROBABLY (Robert Bresson, 1977, France)

 

Charles cannot see the forest for the trees, lost in a philosophical conundrum: it is not the absence of compassion to be considered, but rather the absence of awareness of compassion. Director Robert Bresson creates a cerebral tempest of ennui and disillusionment, a militantly nihilistic drama of a young man imbued with Nietzschean superiority, whose invisible humanity is like vibrations that disturb the air around him…but makes no sound because there is no receptor.

This utterly bleak and pessimistic worldview could be the genesis of Michael Haneke’s emotional glaciation trilogy: we see the world through frozen eyes. Bresson’s characters wander through the story with a pretentious lethargy, teenagers purposely severed from their bourgeois lineage, a cruel bloodletting that becomes a ritual of apathy. Charles is surrounded by a few acquaintances, and he is cold and shallow, manipulating them to fuel his wants and desires…but even this leaves him empty like a sputtering prayer in a deserted church, dying embers upon an altar of despair.

Bresson often crosscuts between Charles’ indifference and two students who view caustic films of pollution and extreme violence: the modern reality of oil spills and baby seals being clubbed to death, while a neutral voice narrates this apocryphal documentary. Bresson contrasts one extreme with the other, unconcerned with the plot’s linear structure but focused upon the montage’s fervent denouement. Charles haunts the streets and homes of his friends, and though his cohorts like him he is unable (or unwilling) to reciprocate. This dichotomy shows the lower depths of his palsied morality: the others offer kindness without charge or attachment while he can only take advantage of their good will.

Finally, Charles agrees to seek enlightenment from a psychiatrist but all he understands is the money exchanging hands, his counsel written on blank checks. He steals a gun and convinces a drug-addled acquaintance to shoot him, because Charles lacks the nerve to kill himself. The murder’s rapport cracks the night open, and another young man palpitates with a heart of darkness. And what is the cause of this spiritual malaise, a parallel concerning creation’s fall from grace into the gutter of chaos? Just a cynical mantra…the Devil, probably. 

Final Grade: (B+)

HEAVEN'S GATE (Michael Cimino, 1980, USA)

 

FRUIT OF THE POISONOUS TREE

The DEER HUNTER is a tale that focuses upon character, specifically the love story between two men: the war is a means to propel the characters towards resolution. But here at HEAVEN’S GATE, Cimino is concerned with the war first, the grand sweeping epic that deconstructs American Mythology; the characters of Averill, Nate, and Ella exist as secondary elements, as a means to reflect upon the injustices and frustrations of the main theme.

The plot of HEAVEN’S GATE is based very loosely upon the true account of the Johnson County War in 1892. But Cimino is only tangentially interested with historicity (like THE DEER HUNTER, this is not a film based on fact but based on theme) so he makes dramatic changes to the characters and plot. However, he is very interested in making a real world of three dimensions for the tale to inhabit, of birthing a dirty and sodden reflection of the American West which is atypical in historical dramas or genre films. The plot involves the Association, a morally bankrupt organization that has the backing of the US President and his Cabinet which becomes a doppelganger of the US Government itself. This organization hires a cadre of criminals to execute without warrant or trial 125 immigrants named on a Death List. These citizens are accused of stealing cattle and procuring and settling land that is needed to propagate the Association’s big business opportunities. Cimino shows two distinct scenes of local immigrants stealing or possessing the Association’s cattle, but the reason is quite obvious: they are poor and starving. What Cimino quite rightly points out in the narrative (and Averill mentions more than once) is that there is a lawful remedy for the Association. It’s called the Rule of Law. But the Association has its own ideas about Law and decides that vigilante Justice is the quickest and most economical Final Solution.  

THE OUTSIDERS

James Averill is a rich man playing at being poor and Nate Champion is a poor man playing at being rich. This is a story of outsiders, of people struggling to attain equal rights, to become something more, to struggle against the situation they are born into. This is the gateway to salvation (not starvation) where immigrants risk everything to come to America, the Land of (In)Opportunity. Averill is a wealthy man who comes to Johnson County as a Sheriff, to fight against injustice, to stand up for the rights of the poor immigrants. He is a good practical man who is respected but he has another life: he has a home elsewhere. This is explained through a photograph of his Harvard days that he keeps by his bedside, as he smiles next to a beautiful young lady beside a tree. (Which is a visual cue for the entire conflict: from the mock battle in the first act at Harvard twenty years before to the slaughter in the final act. Here Cimino joins the past and present, in one simple image, metaphor and reality are superimposed). Though Averill may have the best of intentions (and he does) he remains an outsider to the community, arguing against an armed conflict that cannot be won. It is revealed that he at one time belonged to the Association, but he was banned because he stood up against their unethical practices.

Billy is a minor character who is a friend of Averill’s but still belongs to the Association, but he also stands against their decision to execute immigrants for stealing cattle. Billy doesn't quit, he follows along in a drunken haze, never participation and offering only a tepid voice of irony and sarcasm. Billy is also an outsider to this country: he’s English and therefore a neutral observer (because that war has already been fought and won by our county). He acts like a cipher of reason and subverts the events with barbed humorous insights condemning this travesty without actively participating. It’s no coincidence that Billy is shot in the jaw during the final battle while taking a slug of whisky: once again spoken truth is obscured and irrelevant and makes no difference to this Final Solution.

Nate Champion is an immigrant himself who now works as a hitman for the Association. He is raised above the impoverished community and has made a place for himself, saved money and brought civilization to the wild. He executes farmers who steal his company’s cattle without warrant to charge, arrest, or trial. He is a specter of Death riding the range. Cimino aggravates (in a good way) our expectations by revealing Nate as a complex human being, a man who is not a cold-blooded killer but one who struggles to become something more than his caste. Though he murders a man in his first scene, he spares another young boy in another. He curses at the wagon trains of immigrants to go back to where they’re from (a modern American sentiment) though he’s one himself.

Ella is also an outsider in her own community: she is a Madame of the local brothel. Cimino relies on the typical Hollywood cliché of the beautiful hooker with a good heart, but this doesn't seem to upset the narrative. Excellently portrayed by Isabella Huppert, she also becomes a complex persona and not a trite characterization. She provides a service for the community and takes money and cattle as payment: unfortunately, much of the cattle are stolen property. The men would rather fuck than feed their families it seems. But she is largely irrelevant to the story until the halfway point of the film when Averill and Champion, both visit her. Not only do they know her, but they are friends with each other or were close at one time. They both love her, and Champion asks for her hand in marriage while Averill only wants her hand, her physical body, to remove her from the danger.

DEATH OF A NATION

This affair is only one variable of the whole equation. Ella agrees to marry Nate because she wants to stay at Heaven’s Gate, to be a part of the community of her peers and not a stranger in Averill’s strange land. When Nate takes her to his home (which sits outside of the town, isolated) it is wallpapered. He says this brings civilization to the wilderness and she smiles touchingly. So, in a later scene when the building is on fire, the call-back is important: the fire curling and blackening civilization: the wilderness (or chaos) has won. Ella is a reactive person and joins the entire community (she warns them too) in the final battle.

In a typical story, this love affair would generate the fuel for conflict and would be important to resolve but here Cimino focuses upon a much greater theme. This anarchic narrative structure baffles many viewers who would prefer to be spoon-fed exposition, to be given every narrative link in an orderly fashion to reach some understanding of the linear story. But Cimino deconstructs the typical Western melodrama by revealing these character interactions much later in the film because the story is not about their love triangle: it is about the (still)Birth of a Nation and its impact, as these characters become victims of a corrupt notion, avatars of a repressed and impotent society. It is the Rule of law that levels the playing field and when it is manipulated by the powerful few (the 1% in modern terms) then Justice can never prevail, and oppression is the norm.

Cimino’s use of circular motion fulfills at least two important functions for his theme of a class conflict. First, it ties together the privileged graduation celebration and the mock battle in the first act and the Immigrants roller skating dance and very real battle later in the film. This contrast between the rich and wealthy dancing to a classic waltz for entertainment, to come together and join in community, is exactly like the citizens of Heaven’s Gate who join together around their own folk music. This juxtaposition alludes to the elite and poor being not so much different after all. The use of The Blue Danube also hints of the European influence upon the upper class, that they are (or are children of) immigrants into this great Melting Pot. The fact is that the only true American is the Native American Indian, and they are not overtly represented in this narrative. So, the circular motion of each dance thematically overlaps to become one, tying together two disparate social classes into one shared school of thought and emotion. The two battle scenes (the mock scene were Averill climbs the tree and grabs the bouquet) and the brutal conflict upon the windswept and bloodstained field (were Averill never reaches the tree) are also circular, possibly representing the corruption of society, of group conformity spiraling out of control. The motion also agglutinates the battle and dance, violence and entertainment as one movement, a prescient audience desire that often confuses the two, confounding both meanings. After all, this is a movie about war and people go to the movies to be entertained (at least viscerally or superficially). I believe this post-modern reading of the film stretches Cimino’s intent but struck me as visually and emotionally acute.

The title of the film denotes a Christian belief concerning the entrance to the ethereal realm of Heaven, an allusion that here in the United States is the gateway to a better life. But the reality of the gritty narrative seems pessimistic and pejorative, that this allusion is nothing but an amoral illusion. God is either absent or dead and the nearly powerless victims are left alone to fend for themselves. Bu the immigrants come to the New World with the best of intentions and work ethic, to raise families and own their own parcel of land, to gain a modicum of equality and political power. Since it’s self-evident (though not explicitly stated) that the town was named by the immigrants, the title of the film is full of hope and promise. Cimino subverts the original intent and offers a cynical reading: HEAVEN’S GATE is often the name of cemeteries too.

ORIGINAL SIN

The original one-sheet poster (see above) is also very interesting in what it depicts or, more precisely, what it redacts. The film is advertised as a passionate romance between Kris Kristofferson (as James Averill) and Isabella Huppert (as Ella) that reflects and encompasses their patriotism (which comes a close second). The story does indeed mirror their relationship and their patriotic fervor but not in a melodramatic way: the tragedy of their romance is contrasted against their (and our) national tragedy. Also, the All-American love story that the poster wants to promote is actually exposed upon viewing the film to be a sordid extra-marital affair, subverting the message from romantic ideal to polemic concerning patriarchal authority and entitlement. Then there’s the ghost of Nate Champion haunting the frame, a monochrome spirit imposed over the US flag. Note the three stars of the flag to hint at the lover’s triangle. Again, the image promotes a story that is but a shade to the film’s true narrative, revealing a love story that isn't even mentioned until the half-way point of a nearly 3 1/2-hour film! Does this represent the fracture between Cimino’s intent and the studio’s vague understanding of his vision? This could help to explain the misunderstanding and misinterpretation of HEAVEN’S GATE upon initial release. It’s like expecting to see Lean’s DR. ZHIVAGO and being shown Godard’s WEEK END instead. Both are masterfully constructed but for competing purposes, and audience expectations are set quite differently. The poster can also be read as the joining of two cultures or social strata, Averill the wealthy and Ella the poor, with the obvious Capitalist dominance of the privileged protagonist in the composition, towering above the meek and nearly powerless.

The final act depicts Averill arguing against an armed battle with the Association and their hired guns. He seems to be as frustrated as the townsfolk but here he is powerless, as his station as Sheriff is now an empty philosophy. He can do nothing but leave because, as I stated before, Averill has a home to return to. He cannot even save Ella from the coming storm because she is already home, an outsider now subsumed into this microcosm. Her intention is also one of revenge, of anger in discovering Nate murdered.

Averill does indeed join the final battle which revolves around a large tree, analogous to the tree at Harvard during his youthful idealistic days. Cimino once again displays a circular motif as the battle goes round and around like clockwork, as if metaphorically this is a conflict that will last forever. The people and places may change but the war is always the same. Averill is able to bring his education to bear and help build wheeled fortifications as shields to advance and attack. He is able to help the immigrants go on the offensive. And they almost win a Pyrrhic victory.

Suddenly the cavalry arrives to save the day, the American flag snapping in the cold hard wind. But the soldiers are not here to save the victims: they arrive to save the criminals. The government does end this cowardly charade but fails to right the wrongs, to see that the guilty are held accountable. It supports the status quo.

Cimino begins and ends the film with James Averill. He is full of lightening energy in the opening shot as he races through the maze-like streets of Harvard to attend his graduation. He is brimming with reconstructive anticipation towards a better and brighter future, not just for himself but the country. As the pretty women look on, Averill wins the bouquet during the mock battle scene as he climbs the tree, playfully pummeled and beaten by his adversaries. His bloody nose is a badge of courage and victory. Then Cimino cuts to twenty years later and the road map of frustration and violence has been written upon his face. Averill has experienced the real world but still holds on to his ideals. The final shot of Averill upon his yacht floating upon a calm sea has the feel of a funeral barge. As if the proceeding lifetime was nothing but a fever dream, unreal, and he has only ever existed in this purgatory of quiet desperation.

James Averill has suffered the death of his passion and ideology. Is the fruit of his labor corrupted by the poisonous tree? 

Final Grade: (A+) 

DARK STAR (John Carpenter, 1974, USA)

 

Three astronauts trapped for the past twenty years inside the metallic skin of Dark Star have become as unstable as the planets they destroy. Director John Carpenter and writer Dan O'Bannon turn their student thesis into a theatrical release, a conflated parody of Kubrick's masterpiece while under the influence of Philip K Dick. The results are uneven but interesting, as DARK STAR has itself birthed such classic science fiction shows as Grant and Naylor's RED DWARF and Douglas Adams' HITCHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY.

The unfocused plot involves a group of four astronauts (The Commander recently died in a radiation leak) whose mission is to destroy unstable planets by dropping "smart bombs" into their atmosphere. The ramblings capture the boredom and routine of deep space travel where most time is spent between missions. The astronauts have devolved into hebephrenic habits and have become emotionally isolated and depressed, looking more like Hippies than scientists (though one is only a fuel technician). The ship's artificially intelligent computer has a sultry feminine voice contrasting the gently reflexive tenor of the HAL 9000. The conflicts involve fighting amongst the crew, an alien beach-ball, and finally a computer malfunction that enables a bomb to discuss its conscious perceptions and develop a god complex.

DARK STAR is light on science and comedy but heavy with concepts, ideas, and visuals. The sequence when Pinback chases the gaseous mascot through the air ducts eerily foreshadows events in O’Bannon’s ALIEN, as does the computer control room. The direction and editing of the theatrical version are clumsy though serviceable, padding the runtime without any visual flare or style. The synthetic score is a bit monotonous and redundant but the country song Benson, Arizona that bookends the film is classic, evoking the satire of Slim Pickens’ Major Kong from DR. STRANGELOVE.

Finally, the bomb discards all sensory input and realizes it is the only consciousness in an empty cosmos and creates a universe with these fateful words: let there be light.

Final Grade: (B-)

REVANCHE (Götz Spielmann, 2008, Austria)

 

A fatuitous event leads two dissimilar men into a nexus of despair concerning the life of one innocent girl. Direct Götz Spielmann examines this conspiracy of discontent as he pulls focuses upon the inner turmoil and anguish of a small-time crook and a small-town policeman, who share a bond sheathed in lead.

Alex is an affable guy living on a sinking island in the midst of the mainstream, who seeks a better life for he and his girlfriend Tamara. They need quick cash to escape Tamara’s pimp and escape towards the bright lights of the big city, but Alex’s infallible plan proves otherwise. Soon, Alex is resigned to his father’s home, his spiritual vision obscured by hatred, unable to see the forest around him for the trees. His elderly father is sick, and he finds himself playing parent to the proud Patriarch, attacking the giant woodpile day after day with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Robert is a fledgling officer who stumbles upon a bank robbery: as the two felons escape, he attempts to shoot the tires, but his first shot is off the mark, killing the passenger. The cruel hand of Fate directs their lives at this violent crossroad: Spielmann’s story is not about the character’s actions but rather inactions, their spiritual journey through emotional oblivion.

The fault with the story is in suspension of disbelief, the plot revolving on a grandiose coincidence. As Spielmann pursues this contrivance he waits until almost the halfway point to reveal the device: this allows the principals room to develop, to transition from caricature into character.

Beautifully photographed, a mysterious object breaks the opening shot of dark placid waters, and it’s not until the denouement that we identify the artifact and understand the act’s implication. This elliptical structure allows closure to the sullen and foreboding account of all that has transpired and gives hope to these fractured lives. 

Final Grade: (B+)

THE RED SHOES (Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1948, UK)

 

Vicky must turn the Page in the book of her life: can she sacrifice the love of the ballet for the love of a man? Vicky is driven to dance like she is driven to breath…to survive. It is her escape and expression, her need to make sense of a senseless and weary world, and her desire to become the best dancer in the world. And this obsession is about to become fully realized through Boris Lermontov’s Ballet Company after the lead dancer marries and fades away into wifely duties, but she must promise to always focus upon her dancing first and ignore her human nature. Vicky’s heart pumps the blood-red love of her profession but it is soon reduced by the voracious physical appetite of Julian Craster the conductor: a man who considers Ballet a distant second to his true calling of writing Opera. But it’s a film of its time, where the woman is expected to become a possession and not a possessor, where her career is sacrificed at the altar of marriage. It’s never considered that both she and Julian can have successful careers and still remain married, or (god forbid) Julian give up his Opera for true love. 

Directors Powell & Pressburger film is vivacious Technicolor where the colors and detail jump from the screen bringing this tragedy to life…and ultimately death. The ballet scenes are expertly choreographed, a physical fluid poeticism that transcends human form with gorgeous set designs and makeup. Vicky’s fiery tempest of red hair mirrors her burning emotional conflict and she is beautifully portrayed by actress and dancer Moria Shearer. The narrative is actually a story within a story, as Vicky becomes lost in the fantasy of THE RED SHOES ballet, imagining her lover Julian and her great admirer Boris during the world-famous dance. The ballet sequences are often filmed in wide shot with a minimum of edits, allowing the audience to admire the performance as if they were sitting in the auditorium: this enhances the spectacularly difficult ballet routines as they are filmed in one continuous take. Finally, Vicky succumbs to the cruel temptations of love and gives up professional dancing while her husband continues his dream of composing. But Boris gives her one last chance to perform THE RED SHOES and torn between divorce from her husband and life-affirming need to dance, the “magical” shoes seem to make the decision for her: Vicky’s final leap does indeed take her to the heavens. Alas, ‘twas beasts that killed the beauty. 

Final Grade: (A)

KATYN (Andrzej Wajda, 2007, Poland)

 

Faded graphite scribbles upon the bloodstained pages of a soldier’s diary forever reminds the world that the guilty need to be held accountable, or humanity’s moral ledger will sum less than zero. Director Andrzej Wajda’s alchemical mixture of fiction and horrific fact has transformed the Katyn massacre into an immortal metaphor, a story that transcends its time and whose sad wisdom is accessible to every culture, country, or individual. 

Over 22,000 Polish POWs were murdered in the cold Katyn forest and death camps during the Soviet invasion in 1940, while survivors were enlisted into the People’s Army of Poland, crushed under the Iron Curtin of repression. Wajda’s magic is to take a statistic and give it a human identity allowing us to comprehend the emotional toll that otherwise would overwhelm our senses. He focuses the narrative upon families awaiting the news of their detained loved ones, a wife or sister who listens anxiously to daily broadcasts of the deceased, eaten alive by fear but never quite emptied of hope. From the opening sequence where panicked civilians are trapped on a bridge between two destinies; Wajda shows us the dichotomies of the spirit, of duty, of the power and will to survive…or die. 

Andrzej is a young soldier who keeps a diary of his incarceration, detailing the daily boredom and torment: a man who had the chance for escape but whose moral obligation to his country outweighed his concept of self. As we follow his wife and daughter throughout the film, we fear his death as news of the massacre becomes public, these honorable victims reduced to nothing more than Nazi propaganda. Wajda intersperses the film with black & white documentary newsreels; vile unforgettable images that no special effects could ever duplicate. This intuitively awakens us to the reality of the film, though we are watching an amalgam of fiction and fact. The schism is revealed further in the relationship between Andrzej and his friend Jerzy, a soldier who becomes subsumed by the Communist regime, the awful knowledge smothering his spirit, entombed with his friends in the Katyn Forest: with a single gunshot, he finds salvation. Finally, the diary is unearthed and its blank pages flutter like dead leaves, the last entry dating to 1940: the Soviet invasion. Joseph Stalin said, “One death is a tragedy, one million is a statistic”: he must have been a great statistician.

Final Grade: (B+)

CITY OF LIFE AND DEATH (Lu Chuan, 2009, China)

 

Nanking becomes the Phoenix of Southern China, rising from the ashes of its sepulcher…though its citizens remain dead and buried, victims of the Japanese massacre, never forgotten in the ethereal mists of time. Director Lu Chuan vividly tells the story of the Nanking Massacre, the few weeks in 1937 where the Japanese Army invaded the city and laid it to waste. Though the film’s historicity can be argued, for Chuan never shows the Chinese “scorched-earth policy” that decimated much of their own city before the invasion, the scattered narrative instead focuses upon a few archetypes, an omniscient observer utilizing a cinema verité style where the brutality is revealed as casually effective. The impressive black and white cinematography both adds atmosphere and creates a realistic setting: it is an emotionally incongruous effect that distances the viewer enough from the story to become involved in it.

The opening scenes are faded postcards written in English that disclose the history and context of the battle, before descending into nightmare. Chuan does show the retreat at the Yijiang gate where Chinese soldiers killed their compatriots and civilians, as many are shot and trampled under the panicked exodus. The story’s structure is almost a free association, jumping from one bloody scene to the next, though it begins to coalesce into a semi-coherent character sketch of the Nazi John Rabe, his secretary and family, a few Chinese civilians forced into merciless prostitution, and a few compassionate Japanese soldiers who see this dreadful violence as abhorrent…but are powerless to stop it.

The battle scenes are grimy and realistic, as the meek resistance sputters and finally fails, but it’s the aftermath that becomes the nucleus as we witness the murder and rape of children and young women. In one scene, we are shown a Japanese soldier throwing a child from a third story window for no reason, except as a message that war empties the soul of all dignity and respect, that man as animal becomes chaos incarnate where selfishness negates humanity and becomes the grimoire of immorality.

The film is also about the inherent contradictions of the human spirit, as Nazi Counsel John Rabe creates a free zone to save thousands of civilians…but he’s also a representative of an Axis regime whose mantra is also murder and dehumanization. A Japanese officer witnesses a beautiful young woman insanely dancing after she’s been physically and spiritually broken, and he executes her as he mutters “She was too beautiful to live a life like this”: what seems an act of cruelty is actually one of kindness. Later, this same officer releases a Chinese soldier and a boy from the city swearing, “To live is more difficult than die”: so, his act of tenderness becomes one of malice…then he takes his own life.

Lu Chuan depicts the rape of the innocent women not only as an actual accounting of the horror but also as a metaphor for the fall of the city, as the victims are literally assaulted until their bodies become cold lifeless shells, bereft of human values and the soft breath of life. Nanking has become purgatory where many who desire life have it taken away…and those who welcome death’s embrace must live with these infernal memories. 

Final Grade: (B)

THE CRANES ARE FLYING (Mikhail Kalatozov, 1957, USSR)

 

Veronika is the suffering daughter of Mother Russia; strong, resilient, brutalized but victorious, whose inglorious and unjust burden must be shared with her comrades and country because it is too great; this unbearable sadness that touched all Russians in the Great Patriotic War. This elegantly simple love story is a metaphor for the sacrifice of every citizen during the war; but deep in its heart, we can feel the pulse of humanity and raw emotion, we love Veronika and feel her personal loss as she fears becoming an empty vessel filled with the ether of hopelessness. 

Director Mikhail Kalatozov embraces Veronika’s lovely visage, often filming in extreme close-up to reveal a startling beauty tainted by despair. The frenetic cinematography utilizes many exciting tracking shots through crowds, spiraling camerawork as Boris races towards his lover’s apartment, and Veronika’s heartbreaking rush towards her parents burning fate…and fatality. The inspiring cinematography truly shines: Veronika’s mad dash towards Boris’s departure is a long tracking shot through a frenzied patriotic crowd; the camera begins with a medium shot at her level then gradually pulls up and backward in a fantastic crane shot as she dances between parading Russian tanks. Boris madly searches the crowd for her; we see him run left to right in another long tracking shot as bars separate him from his lost love. Cut to: Veronika running right to left, our point-of-view on the other side of the metal fence, as she wishes for one last kiss before he marches off to war. This brilliant visual dichotomy subliminally informs the viewer that they will never meet again, that the black iron prison of death will always divide them. 

Another brilliant scene is the bombing of Moscow, as the thunder and shrapnel shatters glass, bathing Veronika and Mark (Boris’s cousin who is cruelly exempt from the draft) in grim flashing quicksilver while she is raped and emotionally severed from the world. She marries Mark and though she is treated callously as a traitor, the father finally discovers the truth and forgives her. Veronika’s heart is kept hidden from the world in a tiny toy squirrel: a ragged and fading note her only salvation. As the truth is disclosed, she almost sinks into denial and self-destruction but once again discovers flowering life and duty for friends and county, then looks skyward towards the flying cranes whose formation spells Victory. 

Final Grade: (A+)

THE LADYKILLERS (Alexander Mackendrick, 1955, UK)

 

Five serial criminals meet their match when confronted by an eccentric widow, her matronly charm a destructive (Wilber)force of nature. Director Alexander Mackendrick crafts one of the great British comedies, parodying rigorous British mores by contrasting anachronistic strait-laced ethics with ubiquitous post-war underworld principles.

The wonderful cast includes Alec Guinness, the “Professor” who commands the ersatz orchestra, whose physical attributes include a slight overbite, shadowy eyes, and a hunched posture that combined with his gentle voice makes him seem like he just walked out of a classic horror flick. Peter Sellers perfects a cockney accent and sociopathic glee as Harry Robinson, Cecil Parker as the scholarly “Major”, Danny Green as the punch-drunk “One-Round”, while Herbert Lom portrays the professional gangster, Louis Harvey. And of course, the geriatric Katie Johnson as the clueless but goodhearted Mrs. Wilberforce, whose upstanding morality and motherly acumen undo the best-laid plans.

The film introduces the pensioned matriarch as she apologizes to the local police Captain about a mistaken report of flying saucers, which immediately explains why the local Bobbies humor her and lend her little (if any) credibility. She wanders back to her crippled abode, a creaking home where walls and floors fail to meet at the requisite angles. Suddenly, a dark shadow stalks the periphery, its malignant form floating past the drawn shades and looming upon the doorstep. When the Professor introduces himself, it is obvious his intentions are criminal.

The narrative is a comedy of errors as Mrs. Wilberforce foils the dastardly conspiracy and discovers the stolen loot: the five felons must either convince her to keep quiet…or kill her. But each finds it emotionally difficult to knock-off the dowager, so they begin to murder each other, until she is left holding the bag. With equal parts suspense and humor, the narrative builds to a demented climax that finds the heroine finally able to afford a new umbrella. 

Final Grade: (B+)

ROSETTA (Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardenne, 1999, France/Belgium)

 

Rosetta is a young girl, whose plight translates into all languages, a child forced into the role of parent and survivor. Rosetta is a cipher for Bresson’s tragic heroine Mouchette, another child branded and birthed into a tortured existence and who discovers only one way out to end the suffering.

The Dardenne Brothers capture Rosetta’s reality unadulterated, a Direct Cinematic technique that presents truth unfiltered from standard form and function of the medium, a style that both transcends the limitations of documentary filmmaking and the boundaries of narrative fiction. Rosetta is trapped in medium close-up, her world pillar boxed to a suffocating ratio. She is always moving quickly, running to stand still, demanding her chance at a normal life in a world of injustice. The Dardenne Brothers often film her from behind or over her shoulder, eschewing all establishing shots or narrative revelation. They are focused upon Rosetta’s actions and not her perceptions. For example, when she is filling up a tub early in the film, she sees something on the ground. Typically, the cut would be to the item on the ground then back to Rosetta, to link the item with discovery: to see what the protagonist sees. But here, the camera remains focused entirely upon Rosetta and even when she picks the item up we are not allowed explanation. It’s not until she confronts her mother that we discover what the item is: a cork from a wine bottle. The camera follows closely, a fluid perspective that fails to judge Rosetta and the people around her, revealing the world without recreating it. There is no soundtrack or musical queues to evoke an emotional response, only humane pathos. It’s a subtle illusion and it’s the trickery of cinema that relates a story need not have happened to be true.

Rosetta chases hope like quicksilver but is stuck in the clinging mud of despair. She has become parent to an alcoholic mother; Rosetta is too old for her age. Her perception of a normal life is to work full time, to become self-sufficient and not rely on the kindness of strangers or public assistance. She is prideful and resourceful, walking her secret path every day, a survivor who is spared pity. But even this young woman has her limits.

Rosetta becomes so desperate for a job that she almost lets a boy drown in order to be hired in his place, but she grabs a stick and pulls him from the pond. But then she gets the boy fired by revealing his petty theft and is hired in his place. She seems happy at first but soon decides to terminate more than just her employment. And it’s this boy who curses Rosetta, who shows up at her home to confront her, who ends up making the difference, who exchanges anger with mercy when he offers his hand and lifts her up. And we end on Rosetta, looking off-screen and crying that we feel a faint glimmer of hope.

Final Grade: (A)

THE WRESTLER (Darren Aronofsky, 2008, USA)

 

A self-destructive dichotomy of internal conflict, a schizophrenic battle of will as Robin Ramzinski becomes sidekick to his alter-ego, consumed by the fictitious persona of Randy “The Ram” Robinson: this faux flesh and bone becomes more substantial and burns out…while Robin fades away. Director Darren Aronofsky focuses upon a small-time loser, a washed-up wrestler whose better days are lost in the ether of time, the eighties nothing but jagged recollections and punch-drunk nostalgia. 

The film opens with a pasted collage of memories, a violent past that seems brighter than Randy’s dreary and shredded reality, his battered physique carrying the scars of a tough life of bad decisions and regrets. Aronofsky doesn’t spare us the gore and brutality of Randy’s existence, as he still bleeds out a tiny existence on the local wrestling tour; we are privilege to an insider view of this life of addiction and medication, and the true physical suffering of these dedicated athletes who dream big…but live small. Randy (Mickey Rourke) is counterpoint to Cassidy/Pam (Marisa Tomei), a stripper who doesn’t date her clients, a woman who keeps her profession strictly separate from her personal life. Aronofsky is concerned with identity: who we are, how we actually perceive ourselves, and how others dictate our individuality. Cassidy is able to shed her skin and live as Pam, a single mother who dedicates herself to her child. In comparison, Robin is subsumed by his stage persona and become “The Ram”, his life meaningless except for the fanfare, the screaming crowds and tortures of the damned, the harsh electric glow of the spotlight shining upon his juiced-up ego. Mickey Rourke is outstanding as he quickly assumes the guise of the protagonist and injects the narrative with a touching and emotional performance, a sublime tribute to those shattered athletes dominated by their past and unable to exist in the present, whose future is limited and void. 

Aronofsky and his brilliant DP Maryse Alberti use of mise-en-scene is brilliant as Randy sits signing autographs in a school gym, and his point-of-view focuses upon his peers who are now crippled: a cane, wheelchair, colostomy bag, all ex-wrestlers who are now paying the price for their momentary fame. The film's gritty, nostalgic palette is like a bad memory, investing the story with a raw credibility. But Randy must choose his own fate, and as his body breaks down during his final match, his Ram Jam becomes his epitaph and a final freeze-frame upon the empty space that was once a human life. 

Final Grade: (A)