Divorce Italian Style (1961)
Directed by Pietro Germi
* * * ½
Though Rosalia (Daniela Rocca)
is deeply in love with her husband Cefalu (Marcello Mastroianni), the feelings
are not mutual on his end, as he has grown insufferably bored with her – double
frustrating for him that he has fallen in love with another woman, the young
beauty Angela (Stefani Sandrelli). Too bad for Cefalu, as this is contemporary
Italy under the iron fist of the Catholic Church’s rule, thus making divorce
illegal. Cefalu just can’t take it anymore, though, and will do whatever it
takes to get out of this marriage – even if it means killing his wife. He
becomes totally enraptured by this idea (which seems to be more seductive than
the young woman he longs for), and begins concocting a plan to set his wife up
with another man so he can fraudulently get away with committing an honor
killing.
Divorce Italian Style is about as early-‘60s Italian as you could
get (and I have to admit; the title alone got my attention). Personally, I
quite enjoyed this film, and I doubt I would have thought otherwise – after
all, it does star the handsomely enigmatic Marcello Mastroianni, one of my
favorite actors from this time period. But take him out of the picture, and
we’ve still got a riveting yet morbid comedy on man’s almost childish inability
to be sexually satisfied, as well as a terrific satire on the effects of
theocratic rule. Combine that with an incredible score and sharper than sharp
editing, and you’ve got yourself a solid movie (not to mention that it’s topped
off with an exquisitely satisfying end image).
I think what makes this film
so funny is just how much Cefalu fawns over the idea of his plans for his wife.
A pretty morbid statement, but bear with me: in the beginning of the film, he
can’t get over this Angela girl, but the more he descends into his intricate
plans, there is so little regard for Angela that it’s almost like Cefalu forgot
about exactly why he wants his wife dead in the first place. If I have any
complaints with this film, it actually has something to do with this: the film
seems to spend more time with Cefalu’s fantasies instead of the execution of
his devious plot. I just can’t help but feel like there were major missed
opportunities for great comedic moments (just imagine everything that could go
wrong). Nonetheless, Divorce Italian
Style is from a Golden Era of Italian cinema, and this is no exception.
Downsizing (2017)
Directed by Alexander Payne
* * ½
With hopes to curtail the
effects of global warming and overpopulation, a potential solution has bestowed
upon mankind in a scientific breakthrough called “downsizing”, where human
beings are irreversibly shrunk down to five inches. Those that have gone
through with the process couldn’t possibly regret the decision, as they are now
enabled to live larger than large in gigantic homes and beautiful
neighborhoods. Enter Paul (Matt Damon): he and his wife are in a tight
financial situation and are contemplating downsizing to let those worries rule
their life no more. They decide to go through with it…well, Paul decides to go
through with it, as his wife backs out at the last minute. Left to his own
lonesome devices, Paul ventures into this surreal new world, only to find out
that the world of the downsized person may not live up to all the hype.
Without being patronizing to
anybody who partakes in Crossfit; a friend of mine once described Crossfit as “[a
workout where] everybody half-asses everything instead of full-assing one
thing”, and I can kind of apply this thought to Downsizing. There are tons of themes and ideas going on here: the
inability to escape one’s problems, selling out and conforming to live
comfortably (there’s even a head-shaving montage reminiscent of Full Metal Jacket), humanity’s impending
self-induced demise, and I’m probably missing several other themes. Downsizing juggles all of these, but
perhaps it is just a bit too much for the film to handle, as nothing ever
really completely culminates into something really gripping. As troubled as
this juggling act is, it still presses forward with complete confidence.
As you can probably tell, I
wasn’t too big on Downsizing, but I
don’t think it is deserving of the severely negative backlash that it got upon
release (it currently sits at 51%/22% on Rotten Tomatoes). While I don’t think Downsizing took complete advantage of
everybody being five inches tall, the production design is actually quite
spectacular. Hong Chau as a Vietnamese activist is absolutely wonderful and
completely steals the spotlight. And I must be completely honest; this was made
by Alexander Payne, a fellow Omaha boy, and when you see and hear anything
Omaha related, it’s kind of difficult not to be charmed a little bit. I
digress, though. Payne has never been one of my favorite filmmakers, and Downsizing is no exception to his track
record, but it is still a spectacularly ambitious effort that deserves at least
a little more credit.
The Rose (1979)
Directed by Mark Rydell
* * * *
In this fictional account of a
rock and roll tragedy, Bette Midler takes center stage as spunky foul-mouthed
rock icon Mary Foster (known better as the Rose) and she will live and die for
the stage, where she pours hear heart, soul, and amazing voice into every
single song her band performs. When she’s not performing, though, she finds
herself at stressful odds with the various demands and pressures of the music
industry, from life on the road to the ruthlessness of her record label. As her
tour commences, she can take the heat no more, and her wellbeing declines into
a torrent of substance abuse and toxic relationships.
Yeah, it’s a story we’re all
too familiar with, and probably happens enough in real life that we don’t need
movies about it – hell, The Rose is
actually loosely based on the final days of Janis Joplin (the Joplin family
declined to sell the rights to her story). Personally, I don’t care if it’s an
overdone story, because this is an absolutely terrific film. Director Rydell
observes the various escapades of the Rose with patient fascination that John
Cassavetes would be proud of – instead of rushing to the drama, scenes start on
an insignificant note and steadily unfold from there (a technique I wish more
filmmakers would use).
But how could I talk about The Rose without Bette Midler’s
absolutely phenomenal (and Oscar-nominated) performance? Off-stage, she portrays
the downfall of a woman too famous, too young, too quick without a clue how to
navigate the real world unbelievably well. On stage, not only does she rock on
with furious passion, but also captures the victimization of the stage high –
here is a woman who lives for nothing more than music and performance, and each
concert she performs becomes a more and more desperate attempt at finding some
reason to live. This movie is borderline, if not bona fide, perfect. My only
complaint has nothing to do with the movie itself – when I was watching the DVD
started skipping during Midler’s monologue prior to her final performance, but
I caught the basic gist of it. Not only a phenomenal film, but one of the most
underrated films in the Criterion Collection – I can’t wait to add The Rose to my Barnes & Noble
shopping bag this upcoming July sale.
Stardust Memories (1980)
Directed by Woody Allen
* * ½
Once a master of beloved
comedies, filmmaker Sandy Bates (Woody Allen) finds himself becoming more and
more alienated from audiences, who speak of nothing but coldness for his more
recent efforts (allegedly more somber and artistic films) and cry out for Sandy
to return to the glory days of his
magical comedies. Now attending a retrospect of his filmography, Sandy finds
himself practically suffocated by an endless torrent of adoring fans, film
enthusiasts, aspiring actors, etc. When he catches a break from people, he
seems only capable of retreating to his interactions with various women (and
the staple neuroses and insecurities included), not to mention he is eternally
haunted by ex-girlfriend Dorrie (Charlotte Rampling).
Sound familiar, even by the
slightest bit? Well, it’s no secret whatsoever that Stardust Memories is Woody Allen’s homage to the Fellini masterwork
8 ½. To me, Allen’s film is similar
to hearing a modern band’s cover of a classic rock song – it’s amusing and
admirable, but doesn’t leave much of a long-lasting impression and kind of
makes you wish you were experiencing the original thing instead. Granted, Stardust Memories isn’t a bad film. It
is shot in gorgeous black and white (though it pales in comparison to Mahanttan, which Allen released just a
year prior), and there are some jokes that got a good chuckle out of me here
and there.
At the end of the day, though,
Stardust Memories is most definitely
a Woody Allen film (and I’ve always been on the fence about him as a
filmmaker). Additionally, as an homage to 8
½, it fails to really capture the experience that that movie was, as this
film ping-pongs back and forth from the protagonist being crowded by fans to
his interactions with women, then rinse and repeat, and the formula becomes
kind of predictable. While it’s not overbearingly Allen-esque, it still has all
of the usual tropes; if Allen usually isn’t your thing, I doubt Stardust Memories will do anything to
win you over.
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