NIGHT MOVES (Kelly Reichardt, 2013, USA)

Three Eco-terrorists play dam busters with little regard to the repercussions of their explosive act of violence. Kelly Reichardt explores the emotional and intellectual landscape of three radicals whom are chillingly not far removed from ordinary peaceful protesters.

The plot concerns Josh, Dena and Harmon as they plan to blow up a hydroelectric dam because of its environmental impact. Their goal seems to be a purpose in and of itself: that is, the act is the purpose and not the outcome. They feel justified in destroying this artificial construct without considering the destructive fallout to the environment and the potential to harm other people. Thus the characters fail to consider the irony of their actions. Director Kelly Reichardt tells an anti-action story: instead of relying on the typical conventions of the Action genre she brings the story into sharp focus, her lens peering into the dark silences and mundane routines of three lives about to change dramatically. From purchasing the titular boat named NIGHT MOVES to securing 500 pounds of fertilizer to build the bomb, Reichardt portrays how typical and rather easy this task becomes which makes the story all the more frightening! When it comes, the explosion is only heard off-screen, which allows a detachment between the act and its implications.

Director Kelly Reichardt also drains the story of melodrama by refusing to reveal or exacerbate the relationships between the characters. It’s never explicitly mentioned that Josh and Dena are a couple (or in the process of becoming one) though they are often shown together. Reichardt takes this implication and undermines this trope by keeping the information out of the story. We only learn that Dena comes from a rich family when they are talking about paying cash for the boat. So is she just a hanger on or a romantic interest? When Josh discovers Dena and Harmon screwing he seems a bit disappointed but again, this is only through subtle body language and not confrontation.

The final Act becomes incredibly tense as the three split and vow to have no contact with one another. The camera focuses tightly upon Josh who is afraid that Dena will succumb to her guilt and confess their crime. Turns out, an innocent man was killed by the flood waters and day by day the newspapers and newscasts are filled with stories of this man’s life and family. This drives Josh past the point of endurance as he is driven to one desperate fatal act. He becomes fueled by self-preservation and not idealism; Josh tracks Dena down and makes sure she remains quiet…forever.

Reichardt frames the murderous act in extreme close-up forcing the audience into a violent conspiracy: here, she does not give us the luxury of emotional detachment or objectivism. Dena’s gurgling sound as Josh strangles her to death is gruesome but strangely the killing seems rather mundane, like the earlier “gunpowder” plot. We are given clues that Dana probably told her friends (it lead to Josh being kicked out of his commune). Josh takes off and is last seen in another part of the state, looking for work. But it seems he is destined for a mobile life of paranoid conspiracies…but it may be better than no life at all.

Final Grade: (A+)

Korova Award Winners: Best Films of 2014!

01. INHERENT VICE (Paul Thomas Anderson, USA)

02. BLUE RUIN (Jeremy Saulnier, USA)

03. NIGHT MOVES (Kelly Reichardt, USA)

04. IDA (Pawel Pawlikowsky, Poland)

05. GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL (Wes Anderson, USA)

06. TWO DAYS, ONE NIGHT (Dardenne Brothers, France)

07. UNDER THE SKIN (Jonathan Glazer, UK)

08. A GIRL WALKS HOME ALONE AT NIGHT (Ana Lily Amirpour, USA)

09. WILLOW CREEK (Bobcat Goldthwait, USA)

10. ONLY LOVERS LEFT ALIVE (Jim Jarmusch, UK)
 

THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH (Nicolas Roeg, 1976, UK)

Newton falls like the proverbial apple; a tree of knowledge offering a poisonous gift whose adverse reaction ensnares him in the garden of Earthly delights. Director Nicolas Roeg eschews science fiction formula and creates an art house film with a complex narrative, utilizing very few establishing shots to delineate time and place while disgorging surreal montage that create a lonely dreamlike atmosphere. He crosscuts between Newton and Dr. Bryce, a teacher whose sexual appetite devours his life, which foreshadows Newton’s downfall and betrayal.

Roeg, a master cinematographer himself, again teams up with Anthony Richmond (DON’T LOOK NOW) and together they capture the isolation and separation, both physiological and spiritually, of a stranger in a strange land, whose plan to save his world goes askew: homo superior dominated by the brute force of a government who tastes of the apple…but must destroy its seed. David Bowie is expertly cast as the phlegmatic alien, his disparate eyes and copper hair adjoined with his gently chiseled visage and contrasted with his firm resolution. The mysterious Thomas Newton hides behind his nomenclature and corporate assets; his true self eventually unmasked by the woman he loves and the man he trusts.

The opening scenes reveal shadow men that relentlessly stalk Newton, and this ambiguous conspiracy is eventually actualized without exposition: we must fit together the broken pieces and independently glean some internal consistency. Time seems subjective to Newton, as he never ages while the world passes quickly, his mistress and cohorts growing into old age while he remains the young non-American. He soon capitulates to the vices and bodily desires of his earthly bondage, a weapon that his captors use to control and conquer. Prodded, injected with drugs, experimented upon and abused in captivity, his usefulness expires and he outlives the warders, walking once again into anonymity.

His home world dying, he uses his remaining fortune to record a hymn to his family with the hope that the radio transmission will be received and understood: a hopeless goodbye, like Major Tom’s desperate plea.

Final Grade: (A)

DONT LOOK BACK (D. A. Pennebaker, 1967, USA)

Portrait of a man as a young artist, the anarchy of prose condemned by the prosaic where a guitar recites six string poetry. D.A. Pennebaker's celluloid diary transcends documentary and mere visual journalism, momentarily capturing that thin wild mercury, like photographing a shadow at night as Dylan’s penumbra eclipses his own world.

Pennebaker smartly eschews voice-over and talking heads, allowing his camera to be casual observer in the circus of show business freak show. Beginning with Dylan’s back alley video Subterranean Homesick Blues, where truth is reduced to cue cards crudely discarded, we are intimate passengers behind the lens. The time is 1965 and Dylan is returning to London a star, where fame has confined him to tiny spaces, a prisoner of success. Pennebaker captures Dylan exclusively in cramped cars, trains, rooms boiling over with inane people and vacuous questions, or backstage awaiting his performance surrounded by his entourage. He is a man equated with confinement, both physical and metaphysical, and alone on the stage with the spotlight his epiphany, he masters his craft.

Make no mistake, Dylan is a shrewd businessman concerned not only with his art but its popularity, constantly scanning the charts and music journals for articles written about him or his rivals. But he also mentions in a quick throwaway line that this is only one part of his music, opposing the dark hours of writing long after midnight when the world stops, and the blank page becomes a Nietzschean abyss. Dylan's performances are portrayed in montage, his persona dominating the low angle compositions, the audience invisible shadows enraptured by his words. He doesn't speak between songs because his songs speak for themselves.

Dylan dissects reporters and journalists, refusing to answer questions with static replies and instead seeking fluid dialogue, always confounding the many Mr. Jones'. He only interacts directly with fans in one short segment, a few teenage girls subsumed by the cult of personality, and this other side of Bob Dylan is playful and sincere with these star struck fans. In another scene, Donovan strums his bubblegum melody, his sweet voice a narcotic, and Dylan firmly takes the guitar and belts out one of the best songs ever written, dimming this rising star and turning smiles into Cheshire grins. Another scene depicts Dylan performing to a small crowd of black farmers, then cuts to a concert hall where the reverb echoes his words...but not his intent; a visceral contradiction where words are diluted and reduced to rhyming melodies as pop songs. One thing is for certain, Judas went electric and never looked back!

Final Grade: (B+)