THE WEEKLY RECAP: July 23 - 29

Before the Rain (1994)

Directed by Milcho Manchevski

* * * ½

Before the Rain recalls a time of political unrest in Macedonia via three intertwined stories. The first chapter, “Words”, follows Kiril (Gregoire Colin), a young monk who has taken a vow of silence. His life becomes complicated when Zamira (Labina Mitevska) stumbles into his life, begging him to keep her presence a secret. As events unfold, she is being hunted down after allegedly murdering a local. “Faces”, the second chapter, takes us to London and Anna’s (Katrin Cartlidge) torn feelings between her husband and Aleksandar, a war photographer. In “Pictures”, the final act, Aleksandar is further explored in his return to war-torn Macedonia.

In spite of an Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Picture and seemingly widespread acclaim, this is a tremendously overlooked movie. In all fairness, perhaps it’s because it deals with an issue – the Balkan conflict – that doesn’t have much significance outside of its respective region. I must admit that I had no knowledge of this point in history, and while my lack of perspective might have impacted my thoughts on the movie, I still found myself really into it nonetheless. All three stories are incredibly gripping. The photography of Macedonia’s hilly countryside are captured beautifully (I’m honestly stunned at the lack of a Best Cinematography nomination), and don’t forget Anastasia’s terrific score for the movie.

I’ve already mentioned that my lack of knowledge on this particular issue may have impacted my appreciation for the movie. The one thing that did impact my thoughts, I just can’t help but feel like we didn’t get to spend enough time in any of these chapters. These are all gripping stories with fascinating characters that we all care for (especially in the first chapter). It’s not that they’re not well paced or anything, it just feels like they’re just too short (the Katrin Cartlidge-driven centerpiece is almost insultingly short) – all three of these chapters could have feature films around them. I digress, though. As underrated and overlooked as Before the Rain is, it’s really worth checking out.

My Life as a Dog (1985)

Directed by Lasse Hallstrom

* * * *

With his ailing and bed-ridden mother unable to care for both him and his troublesome older brother, 12-year-old Ingemar (Anton Glanzelius) is sent to stay with his uncle Gunnar (Tomas von Bromssen) in a small countryside town. Though this new life takes some adjusting, Ingemar seems to find himself right at home as he mingles with the town’s many eccentric yet warmhearted townsfolk – he finds himself becoming particularly close with Saga (Melinda Kinnaman), a tomboyish girl with a passion for boxing. Though things become more and more grim for his mother, Ingemar’s narration proves himself to be quite the optimist, always aware it could be worse.

I was originally planning on giving this movie a 3.5, but as I sat here writing and thinking about My Life as a Dog, I bumped it up to a 4. I simply cannot think of anything glaringly wrong, even in the slightest. On a plot level, yeah, it sounds more or less like a typical coming of age film (and I do admit I have a huge soft-spot for films like these), but Hallstrom captures the transition from childhood to adolescence beautifully through a combination of wonderful performances (particularly from Glanzelius and the exceptionally charming Kinnaman), its depiction of quirky everyday folk, and its balance in tone, which is perfect – it knows when to be warm, when to be funny, when to be sad, and so on.

Doing light research on the film, I discovered that My Life as a Dog was nominated for two Oscars, one of which was Best Adapted Screenplay. This nomination is fully deserved, and it’s all because of the dynamic between Ingemar and Saga, two pre-teens coming of age together and discovering feelings totally foreign to them – their friendship is truly something magical. While I’m not sure if this qualifies for my Great Favorites yet, I still can’t think of anything glaringly wrong with this movie. It’s near-perfect, if not totally perfect.

Personal Shopper (2016)

Directed by Olivier Assayas

* * *

Some time ago, Maureen (Kristen Stewart) and her brother, Lewis, once made a pact that when one of them dies before the other, they will keep in touch with their living sibling by way of paranormal means. Well, Lewis has passed, and a silent yet grief-stricken Maureen is hell-bent on receiving some sort of sign from her late brother’s spirit. In the meantime, she works as a personal shopper for Kyra (Nora von Waldstatten), where Maureen seems to exist as a ghost of sorts as she runs Kyra’s various shopping errands without any significant acknowledgement of her employer. Things take a strange turn when Maureen begins receiving strange texts from an unknown number, texts from somebody claiming to know her and following her every move. A stalker? Perhaps the paranormal sign that she’s been waiting for?

With the exception of the flawed yet otherwise terrific and underrated Clean, Assayas doesn’t have the best track record in my book. His previous collaboration with Stewart, Clouds of Sils Maria, is no exception – along with never once engaging me, I do not remember a single thing about it. And now we have Personal Shopper, a film that I wasn’t too keen on seeing, but one I knew I’d have to face due to its overwhelming hype last year. While I can’t say it lived up to the hype (which I was expecting), I must say that Personal Shopper sucked me in. While not horrifying, per se, this is a film that haunts you while you watch it and will continue to do so after it’s over, helped by an enigmatic quality that sometimes indulges too much in arbitrary obscurity, but otherwise adds to the haunting mystery of the story – I never thought a text conversation (of all things) could be as tense and gripping as depicted here.

Of course, we have to address Kristen Stewart. Her name alone will induce some eye-rolling from her Twilight reputation, but she captures grief and loss terrifically in a very reserved and subtle manner – we can read her every emotion and thought without her having to vocalize those emotions. Though I can’t find too much to complain about with Personal Shopper, and while it did hook me, it still never affected me as much as it did many others. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet, but there’s so much to take in with this movie. A subsequent watch might clarify my opinions a bit more, but overall, I didn’t love it, but I did like it. Consider double-featuring it with A Ghost Story.

A Taste of Honey (1961)

Directed by Tony Richardson

* * * ½

Jo (Rita Tushingham) is a teenager in Greater Manchester, confined in a microscopic flat with her mother, Helen (Dora Bryan). Helen is selfish and irresponsible, taking frivolous nights out with various men over her maternal duties – she eventually marries Peter (Robert Stephens), who later turns out to be a drunken louse. Though Jo doesn’t find much love at home, she finds love from Jimmy (Paul Danquah), a young sailor. They strike a relationship, but it doesn’t last long when he has to leave port for a while. At this point, though she is seemingly without a support system, Jo perseveres onward when she lands a job at a shoe shop, but it gets complicated when she discovers she is carrying Jimmy’s child.

One of my favorite films from the previous decade was Fish Tank, particularly because of the fascinating mother-daughter dynamic. Because of this, I was right at home with A Taste of Honey, which is quite, dare I say, shocking for its time. Granted, it’s not vulgar or gratuitous, but it seems so rare for films this old to deal with such domestic claustrophobia on this heightened a level (then again, this is one of the defining characteristics of British “Kitchen Sink” Realism, so maybe I’m being a bit too generous). Both Tushingham and Bryan are terrific, the former especially, who is quite charming. I also loved the curious beauty that the film captured in Greater Manchester’s worn industrial-urban environment.

A Taste of Honey is based on a play of the same name by Shelagh Delaney (who also co-wrote the script), and the stage quality is very present here, perhaps a bit too present. As much as I loved how the environments were filmed, I still felt more like I was watching a play rather than a film most of the time. This is already problematic, but it becomes even more so when the script feels the need to vocalize the feelings and psyches when the film could have easily conveyed those same things without a single word spoken (one of the many magical qualities of the art form). Also, as much as I enjoyed watching the movie, it kind of felt like it came and went when it was over, kind of like “Wait; that was it?” But, then again, maybe that’s because I was so involved in it that I didn’t notice an hour and some-40 minutes had passed. Consider that a compliment, because this is riveting slice-of-life drama.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: July 16 - 22

Fantastic Planet (1973)

Directed by Rene Laloux

* * * ½

Based on the novel Oms En Serie by Stefan Wul, Fantastic Planet takes place on the planet Ygam. The dominant species is the Draags, blue humanoids who stand like monoliths above humans (known as Oms). Fantastic Planet follows one such Om by the name of Terr, who becomes the pet of Tiwa, a young Draag. Though Terr is essentially Tiwa’s plaything, Terr uses every opportunity he can to rebel from time to time, while learning all about Ygam and the Draags through a headset that Tiwa wears for educational purposes. Eventually, Terr is fed up and abandons his home, where he is taken in by a group of Oms – some wild, some formerly domesticated. They survive by whatever means necessary while hiding out in an abandoned Draag park.

Fans of animation, psychedelia, and science fiction, take note of Fantastic Planet: this, to my surprise, was an absolute treat. The world that this film creates is unlike anything you’ve ever seen – it’s outrageous and quite funny at times, but always terrifically captivating. Yes, a lot of alien terminology barrages us throughout (as you could probably tell from my synopsis above), but it works considering the Om’s complete lack of understanding of the world they inhabit. Best of all, for me anyway, is that this film put a really unique perspective on being human – we’re so used to being tall and dominant, and it’s quite frightening to think of ourselves as microscopic. This is double fascinating considering that the Draags aren’t really depicted as overruling tyrants – they talk and behave identically to us. Really puts things into perspective. Oh, and let’s not forget about Alain Goraguer’s groovy score.

The animation itself, though primitive, is absolutely fantastic – now that I think about it, the primitive animation style further boost the otherworldly environment. However, the film never overindulges in its strangeness (which is an admirable feat, considering that the film was made in the early ‘70s). My only criticism of Fantastic Planet is its all-too rushed ending, especially considering how well-paced this film was (not to mention it doesn’t overstay its welcome, clocking in at just over 70 minutes). Other than that, I absolutely loved Fantastic Planet.

Frances Ha (2012)

Directed by Noah Baumbach

* * *

The wonderfully quirky Frances (Greta Gerwig), an aspiring professional dancer in her mid-20s, couldn’t ask for a better friend than Sophie (Mickey Sumner). They room together in Sophie’s apartment, but Sophie announces that she plans to move to a place in Tribeca, where she’s always wanted to live. Frances, unable to afford her share of the rent, hops throughout Manhattan from apartment to apartment, mingling with fellow New York peers, maybe taking a couple of trips here and there. Ultimately, with her dance aspirations providing nothing, Frances finds herself at a blurry and uncertain crossroads in her life, and has no idea what’s next for her life.

So, yet another story of ennui and directionless days of one’s ‘20s. Typical indie film territory, so some might roll their eyes at this one. I can’t say I blame you, but I must say that I did enjoy Frances Ha. It’s not the wittiest or most cleverly-written, but it depicts that sense of ‘20s inertia quite well (as well as very subtly). Greta Gerwig is an absolute treasure in this movie. She knows this character front to back and the result absolutely shines – makes sense, though, considering Gerwig co-wrote the film. There’s also a clever technique where the “chapters” of the film are marked by the address that Frances lives at by that point. But the best part of this movie; I think we all know that moment when we realize that our best friend is slowly drifting from prominence in our lives. Frances Ha depicts this exquisitely with Frances and Sophie’s dynamic.

I did enjoy this, yes, but it still is kind of another indie movie. Baumbach seems to think that artists and such are the only kinds of people that inhabit this world – this lack of diversity in character is quite grating. Though the film’s black-and-white photography is nice, cinematography is really nothing too special, and the use of B&W seems to be Baumbach’s way of bulletproofing his lack of visual chops (though there is a wonderful shot of Gerwig running down the sidewalk). While Frances Ha is nothing too special, there was enough to enjoy that it warrants a positive rating from me.

L’Enfance Nue (1968)

Directed by Maurice Pialat

* * *

Francois (Michel Terrazon) is a 10-year-old foster child. Though bright, he is always up to some kind of trouble, from stealing from shops to tormenting his sister, and other such nightmarish behavior. In the film’s opening moments, his parents have had enough, and send him back to the foster home from which he came. Eventually, he is taken into the home of an elderly couple, with a fellow adopted child as his older brother. Though the family is very sweet and welcoming in their greetings, Francois shows no sign of changing his behavior, and it is only a matter of time before this family becomes fed up.

Sound familiar? Like, The 400 Blows familiar? Though directed by Maurice Pialat (who also made the remarkable A Nos Amours), L’enfance Nue was produced by Francois Truffaut, so it’s no wonder we’re dealing with troubled youth here. That said, contrary to the more formal style of The 400 Blows, Pialat’s film is much more in the vein of realism (I once heard him described as a French Cassavetes), and this makes for an uncomfortably biting experience of a movie – the thought of giving up on your child is difficult enough, but the idea of giving up being justified is even more morally confounding.

Though L’enfance Nue was riveting while I was watching it, it didn’t have too much lasting power for me. As I mentioned earlier, it has some very interesting parental themes, but the primary focus is on the child protagonist and that isn’t handled all that uniquely, but I can give this much credit: unlike, say, The 400 Blows with its sympathetic protagonist, Francois is not very easy to sympathize with, especially after he chucks his sister’s cat down a long stairwell. I’ve seen this material covered time and time again. But it was still a good movie, and it kept me gripped while I was watching, but the grip loosened as soon as it was over.

Le Samourai (1967)

Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville

* * * *

Jef Costello (Alain Delon) wakes up every morning, throws on his rain coat and fedora, and hits the streets to carry out another day’s work – Jef is a contract killer, and his next target is a nightclub owner. He gets fake plates put on his car, works out an alibi with his girlfriend, and upon nightfall, closes in for the kill. The job is completed, but not before catching the suspicious eyes of a handful of witnesses. Jef is brought in by the police for questioning, but his alibi checks out and he is released. However, the police chief is absolutely positive that Jef is the perpetrator, and is hot on his tail. Meanwhile, Jef’s employers are also out for his blood, worried about what Jef’s snafu may lead to next.

Before The Killer and Leon: The Professional, there was Le Samourai. Probably not the first hitman movie, but I can’t think of another film before this that handled the contract killer in such a way – cool, calm, collect, and always on target. Alain Delon is absolutely perfect in the lead role with a poker face that somehow manages to say everything – when he’s on the job, we can see that he’s focused; when he’s in trouble, we can see the stress he must be feeling, all without making much change to his facial expression.

The film moves along in a similar fashion, too. Though a thrilling ride of a movie (the subway sequence is beyond perfect), it’s quite reserved in its style and never over-indulges in any kind of style. The scenario and the way it unfolds is also handled perfectly – I was reminded, somewhat, of The Killing in the way I was on the edge of my seat to see what would happen next. The script may not be anything to write home about, but I assure you there is substance, substance that can only shine in the final product. I wish I had more to say in this mini-review, but keeping it brief is quite difficult. Trust me, though; this is a great film.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: July 9 - 15

Every Man for Himself (1980)

Directed by Jean-Luc Godard

* *

Every Man for Himself follows Paul (Jacques Dutronc), Denise (Nathalie Baye), Isabelle (Isabelle Huppert), and their rather troubled sex lives and tumultuous paths to independence – Denise has recently broken up with Paul, seems to be enjoying her newfound independence, but finds out that she still needs his assistance. Paul not only has to live without Denise, but also still has an ex-wife and daughter he must tend to, to his chagrin. He eventually engages in an encounter with Isabelle, a mechanical and seemingly emotionless prostitute, saving all of her earnings to gain an independent life.

Once again, Jean-Luc Godard misses the mark for me, this time because of a jumbled narrative and uninteresting characters, and combined they make the film rather difficult to follow. The only character who caught my interest in any way was Paul, but because of just how unlikable he is (and I mean this in the worst way possible). Everybody else isn’t necessarily a blank slate, but not interesting enough to make them worth getting invested in. Godard frequently experiments with extreme slow-motion, which is effectively used once, but other times just feels like he’s doing it just for the sake of it. I was also taken aback by the frequent crude and explicit sexual references that seem to come out of nowhere (a less-than-subtle reference to child molestation was very discomforting).

All things considered, I never knew Godard to be a man with a keen eye for landscapes, but here he proves himself the opposite – much of the film’s early scenes are shot on France’s countryside, and the visual results are absolutely gorgeous. Kudos, as well, to Gabriel Yared’s hypnotizing score, which is reminiscent of ‘70s krautrock from time to time. There is also one remarkable scene when Isabelle sternly inquires to a young prostitute-to-be if she’s really ready for such a lifestyle, fearlessly telling her how it’s going to be. Overall, there are some great ideas present here. If only someone other than Godard was helming the project.

I Fidanzati (1963)

Directed by Ermanno Olmi

* * *

Not a word is spoken between factory worker Giovanni (Carlo Cabrini) and his girlfriend Liliana (Anna Canzi), and it doesn’t take a split second to sense a tense and troubled relationship between this couple, who are both fiancées to each other. To add to the tension, Giovanni has been offered a promotion on the condition that he relocates (alone) to Sicily for a year and a half – of course, he takes the gig. Now, stuck in a drab industrial landscape without his loved one, Giovanni can do nothing but reflect on his relationship and ideas on love.

Working in the shadows of Italian titans such as Fellini, Antonioni, and Pasolini, it’s no wonder that you don’t hear Olmi’s name mentioned that often. Perhaps I have no room to speak on this, as this is my first Olmi film, but I consider this a shame; I know I’ve just watched the work of an exceptional filmmaker. In the case of I Fidanzati, it opens with an absolutely breathtaking dance sequence, and we can sense so much about the couple that the film centers on without a single word of spoken dialogue. In general, the film is filled with these kind of Antonioni-esque meditations (though not nearly as difficult), and combined with some terrific and dynamic camerawork, I was captivated from start to finish.

Though I have awarded this film a 3, I was originally going to award it a 2.5. Like my recent experience with Smithereens, I liked it the more I thought about it, but there’s no getting away from its problems. The main issue with I Fidanzati is its lack of depth with the character of Liliana. The primary concern of this film is about a relationship on the rocks, but we are only shown Giovanni’s experience, and I would have liked to have seen what was going on with Liliana from time to time – hell, the film’s opening insinuated that she was going to be the focus (this is debatable). In spite of this, the letters that Giovanni and Liliana exchange show graet poignancy in I Fidanzati’s final moments. Not a perfect film, but Olmi has proved his chops enough to make me keep his work on my radar.

Schizopolis (1996)

Directed by Steven Soderbergh

* * *

I usually like to open my Weekly Recap micro-reviews with a brief synopsis on the film, but doing that on Schizopolis would be a daunting task, and arguably an exercise in futility. In a time when the world of independent cinema was booming, indie juggernaut Steven Soderbergh unleashed Schizopolis in 1996. Though there is a narrative involving an office worker (played by Soderbergh himself), his drab job, his generic home life, and his doppelganger, Schizopolis is more concerned with taking all of the ingredients and tropes of the independent film and putting it into the most vicious blender you could imagine. The result is an assault on the senses, with a scathing quality that curiously prompts a re-visit – perhaps satirizing the pretensions and clichés of the independent film world? The wonderful opening sequence alone suggests that enough.

I don’t want to look too deep into this film, as the experience of watching it is most important – everything else is secondary (a lesson I learned from Eraserhead) and I must say that I really enjoyed it. There are some genuinely clever moments, particularly with the depictions of the protagonist’s home life and the pre-packaged dialogue he and his wife exchange (HIM: “Generic greeting!”; HER: “Generic greeting returned.”). Also, Soderbergh should consider doing more acting, because he is actually very funny in a Coen brothers sort of way. Don’t quote me on this, but I remember reading somewhere that Schizopolis was made at a time when Soderbergh was completely out of ideas and decided to just unleash a barrage of various different elements into one single film, and the result is one that seems to only exist for that single purpose of getting the creative momentum flowing – nothing more, nothing less. That said, the result was undeniably entertaining and a film I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Trouble in Paradise (1932)

Directed by Ernst Lubitsch

* * * *

Gaston (Herbert Marshall) and Lily (Miriam Hopkins) make for the perfect couple: not only do they both have an irresistible charm, but they’re both expert thieves – who knows how many possibilities their mischievous skills will bring them? Well, enter Madame Mariette Colet (Kay Francis), a wealthy owner of a perfume company. Gaston has stolen her diamond-encrusted purse; Colet puts up a hefty reward, which Gaston claims. Next thing he knows, he is working as her secretary – jackpot. Gaston invites Lily in on this gig to pull off one hell of a con-based robbery, but things get complicated when feelings might be developing between Gaston and Colet.

This week marks two first films for me, with my first Olmi and now my first Lubitsch. The latter’s films never really caught my interest, but I knew I would have go get to Lubitsch eventually, considering just how many of his films are in that “Greatest” category. After watching Slavoj Zizek’s(who I have a soft spot for) trip into the Criterion closet – in which he calls Trouble in Paradise “Lubisch’s ultimate masterpiece” – I knew this would be my starting point, and I’m so glad it is.

This mini-review is going to be fairly short, because I have not much to say other than that it’s absolutely wonderful. Its script is witty, always getting more than a few laughs out of me. And then there’s the lovable characters – the first dinner scene between Gaston and Lily, where they reveal just how many items they’ve thieved from each other, is one of the most adorable movie scenes I’ve seen yet. There’s not much else remarkable beyond those elements. No exceptional cinematography and no outstanding score, not that those are bad by any means. It’s just that Trouble in Paradise gets its story and characters so right that absolutely nothing else matters. What does matter is that Trouble in Paradise is indeed a great film.

ADDED TO 'GREAT FAVORITES': Meantime (1983)

Directed by Mike Leigh

Making a topical film, one that reflects a very specific time, place, and issue(s), is an incredibly risky move. Under most circumstances, I believe that one of the many keys to a truly great film is the factor of timelessness. If an auteur wants their film to stand the test of time as a classic and be enjoyed by generation after generation, their film must know no time-specific scenario or circumstances – what may be relevant to one generation could be alienating and foreign to the next.

But there exists no objective guide on the rules of making a great film, so of course there are exceptions to my own personal rule of timelessness. If handled well enough, a topical film can transcend its content and continue on as a great film without losing touch of the circumstances it came from. Enter Mike Leigh and his sophomore feature, Meantime. Released on British television in 1983, it is a stark portrait of Thatcherism’s effects on the British populace. Topical, yes, but it has continued to stand the test of time as not only a terrific family drama, as well as one of Mike Leigh’s finest films in an already exceptional filmography – I’ve never seen a bad (or even mediocre) film by Leigh; some are just better than others.

Early in Meantime, there is a shot of a woman gazing out the window, as if longing for some unattainable ideal. She soon turns around to the monotony of her cloistered existence: as we very slowly pan right, we see that she is in a messy kitchen preparing a snack. In the background, slightly clouded by cigarette smoke, are her husband and two children lazily sitting in front of the television. In one of the most striking shots of Mike Leigh’s career, this brief shot masterfully establishes the atmosphere of Meantime, a world clustered and run-down with a slow-burn tension ready to combust any second.

We have also been introduced to our main characters, the Pollock family. Unemployment has reached at a distressing high by this point – according to the Guardian, 11.9% of the population was unemployed in 1984, a year after Meantime was released. The Pollock family is part of this percentage. Without jobs, they plod through their squalor, crammed in like sardines in a shoddy flat. Always in each other’s personal spaces, there’s never an interaction between the Pollocks without at least some sort of nagging.

With mum and dad always at each other, we rack focus on brothers Mark (Phil Daniels) and Colin (Tim Roth), both in their 20s. There may be a good heart within Mark (and I emphasize “maybe”), but he seems to be genetically committed to a rebellious and smartass attitude, never hesitating to talk back to his folks and blaring hardcore punk on the record player in the middle of the night. Additionally, he is always being rough on Colin. In spite of this, Colin is almost always by Mark’s side, probably because he is Colin’s one means of getting out of the flat.

Colin is an extremely awkward person, and rather slow – his uncle says he’s retarded, to which Colin’s aunt replies “he’s just never been given a chance”. It’s no surprise that Mark is always giving him crap, but perhaps this is just brotherly roughness wrapped up in Mark’s frustration. As for Colin’s parents, his father sits passively on the sidelines while his mother never hesitates to let Colin know just how much he’s irritating her (to the point of borderline abuse).

The only person that seems to be remotely interested in Colin’s welfare – even in the slightest – is Coxy (Gary Oldman), a reckless young skinhead who spends his days wandering about the city with no direction – his behavior is also curiously similar to Colin, albeit in a more extroverted fashion. As the teasing and verbal abuse continues, Colin slowly warms up more and more to Coxy, culminating in one of the most devastating endings I’ve ever seen – not because of some grandiose tragedy, but instead because a simple change in Colin’s appearance shows exactly what road he’s headed down.

Some of the best performances I’ve seen in movies tend to be from Mike Leigh’s films, from David Thewlis in Naked to Sally Hawkins and Eddie Marsan in Happy-Go-Lucky, and Meantime is no exception (though the characters don’t make as much of an impression nearly as much as those in Leigh’s later films). Most remarkable is Tim Roth (in his third acting role), who finds the perfect balance in portraying mental handicap – sympathetic without cheaply baiting for it. Phil Daniels, the terrific young man from Quadrophenia, flawlessly portrays somebody so frustrated that their only means of existing is being an obnoxious pain all day, every day. And then, of course, there’s Gary Oldman (in his second acting role). Though this is not one of his most impactful performance, he hits all the necessary notes just fine as the wily skinhead, also showing much promise of the talent he will later grace us with.

Though Meantime isn’t spectacular as far as its visuals go, Mike Leigh was wise in his location choices; rarely do we ever leave the confines of some enclosed space, whether it be a flat, a store, or a laundromat. Combined with deteriorating décor and always-present cigarette smoke. We can almost feel the confining walls as well smell the smells of this world. In turn, some of the characters’ frustration finds itself in the viewer – I didn’t realize just how texture-rich Meantime is until I started typing this sentence. When we do get some fresh air, all we are greeted to are the drab city walls, gray and unwelcoming in its towering oppression, sometimes being torn down. Lovely.

For a film that has so much to say against Thatcherism, how interesting is it that I’ve barely said a word about the topics at hand. This is the primary reason why I believe Meantime is a great film. Issues come and go throughout time, but people are always present, and people are always the ones that are most visibly impacted by said issues. By prioritizing the people over the topic, Mike Leigh has not only achieved the difficult task of making a film that is both timeless and for its time, but has also brought us one of his most riveting and masterful works.

Though I could not find a trailer for Meantime, I offer you instead an insightful excerpt from an interview with Mike Leigh discussing the film.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: July 2 - 8

Dreams (1990)

Directed by Akira Kurosawa

* * ½

Allegedly based on the actual dreams of master filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, Dreams is exactly what it sounds like it’s about, for lack of a better way of putting it. Specifically, Kurosawa chooses eight dreams of his lifetime and commits them to film. With this said, there isn’t much to offer as far as giving a plot synopsis is concerned – well there is, but that’s a synopsis for every segment – so I think it’s more worth my time to dive into the basic gist of my overall feelings on the film.

Dreams was one of the very last films by Kurosawa, and like much of his post-‘60s output, Dreams is not an essential part of Kurosawa’s filmography, therefore is strictly for Kurosawa superfans and completionists. This doesn’t necessarily make Dreams a bad film by any means – the vast majority of the film is very visually arresting, with clever shot composition and a robust color palette that just blossoms off the screen. Most of the segments are absolutely captivating and tones shift drastically without feeling out of place. Some are very joyous (“The Peach Orchard”), some haunting (“The Weeping Demon”), and some downright terrifying (“Mount Fuji in Red”). My particular favorite is “The Tunnel”, where a former military officer is confronted by a platoon of soldiers – now ghosts – who were killed during the war.

These segments work well as, well, segments, but they never really culminate into an overall effective film – not necessarily the fault of the director, as short film collections like this tend to all have this same problem (though Jarmusch’s Night on Earth is a terrific exception). If anything could have made this more fascinating, perhaps a more stream-of-consciousness structure (a la Tarkovsky’s The Mirror) would have added to the whole dream logic feel. There is some overbearing preachiness here and there, but I can let some of that go, as Kurosawa has always been an admirably message-driven filmmaker. Overall, I admire the vision and heart that beats throughout Dreams, but it still doesn’t equate to a great film from perhaps the greatest filmmaker who has ever lived. Even the masters have the occasional slumps.

The Earrings of Madame De… (1953)

Directed by Max Ophuls

* * *

Though surrounded wall-to-wall by glitzy riches, the aristocratic Louise (Danielle Darrieux) is deeply in debt and needs money. She goes through her prized jewelry, and can only find herself to part with a pair of earrings, which were a wedding gift from her husband, Andre (Charles Boyer). She pawns them, but are eventually sold back in secrecy to Andre, who then proceeds to give them to his mistress, who pawns them after gambling…and no matter where the earrings go, they always end up in the home of Andre and Louise. Years and years pass by, and in that time we observe Louise’s affection for Andre wane and blossom for Donati (Vittorio De Sica), an Italian diplomat.

The Earrings of Madame De… is not the kind of movie I would usually go out of my way to watch, in spite of its glowing reputation (it currently holds the #120 spot on TSPDT’s 1000 Greatest Films). My curiosity was piqued when I saw a video essay on Bela Tarr’s style, and the essay made countless comparisons to the style of Ophuls. Though I think the comparisons are a little bit of a stretch (at least in the case of Earrings), the film is still brilliant on a technical level. Like Tarr, there is an abundance of long takes, but contrary to Tarr, shots are very kinetic and dynamic – I was tempted a few times to rewind scenes to pay further attention to just how in the hell Ophuls pulled some of these shots off. I was reminded somewhat of The Cranes are Flying, a film from the same time period that is equally as impressive as far as technicality.

Also like The Cranes are Flying, however; the drama that The Earrings of Madame De… centers around isn’t anything much to write home about. The earrings made for an interesting comment on frivolity and aristocracy, but are completely forgotten about half of the time while focusing on the affair between Louise and Donati. While they’re not boring characters, they’re not particularly gripping either. That said, the script is very witty, surprisingly funny, and quite poignant from time to time. I’m in between a 2.5 and a 3 for this one, but upon writing this, I’ve discovered that the good outweighs the bad. Who knows, maybe I’ll eventually recognize The Earrings of Madame De… for the masterpiece that it is constantly alleged.

His Girl Friday (1940)

Directed by Howard Hawks

* * *

The hectic, fast-paced life of journalism seems to be a perfect fit for the equally fast-paced Walter Burns (Cary Grant), an editor for The Morning Post. One morning, he is visited by his ex-wife and former reporter Hildy (Rosalind Russell). To Walter’s dismay, Hildy reveals that she is engaged to Bruce (Ralph Bellamy), a well-intentioned yet ultimately unremarkable Average Joe. While out to lunch, Walter practically begs Hildy and her writing expertise to cover one more story: the upcoming hanging of Earl Williams (John Qualen), who has been convicted of murdering a police officer. Though Walter’s states that his intention is to prove Earl’s innocence, his real motive is to sabotage his ex’s wedding and maybe, just maybe, win her back.

 Considered one of the greatest Screwball Comedies ever made, His Girl Friday is one of the most frantically-paced and cleverly written films I’ve seen yet. The fast pacing perfectly matches the world that these characters inhabit, and it makes for great comedy. Not necessarily gut-busting comedy, but the kind where the viewer, trying to keep up with everything that’s going on, doesn’t realize the hilarious thing that just happened until a beat or two later – the “Wait a minute – what!?” kind of comedy (and one of my favorite styles). But Charles Lederer’s clever script wouldn’t have been possible without the wonderful duo that Grant and Russell share. Like an intense ping-pong match, their comic timing is always bouncing off of each other, making for great chemistry between the two.

Interestingly enough, though, this leads to my primary criticism of the film: as integral as the Grant-Russell duo is to the film, there’s a major chunk throughout the second and some of the third act where they go separate ways and work individually instead of together, and considering just how wonderful they are together, this did bring the pace down a little bit. Also, there’s a major tone shift with the Earl Williams subplot. The subject matter is serious enough, but when followed by a jailbreak (complete with a shootout), I completely forgot that I was watching a comedy. Perhaps these are criticisms that can wane with a second watch, because I am otherwise in complete agreement with His Girl Friday’s reputation as one of the greats.

Mamma Roma (1962)

Directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini

* * ½

Once a street prostitute, Mamma Roma (Anna Magnani) has left her sleazy lifestyle behind to pursue a brand new life. She invests every penny into a brand new apartment and starts a vegetable stand, all for the sake of her son Ettore (Ettore Garofolo) with the most motherly commitment possible. As he approaches his teenage years, however, Ettore is bound for a rough life – with no desire to work or no goals, Ettore spends his days wandering the rather rough streets of Rome with his hoodlum friends, as well as falling for Bruna (Silvana Corsini), whose promiscuity makes her the degrading talk of the town. Seeing the path her son is headed toward, Mamma Roma takes whatever action is necessary for the betterment of her son.

Though made (and set) in the early ‘60s, Mamma Roma is deeply indebted to the Italian Neorealist works of the ‘40s and ‘50s, with its depiction of the struggle for survival and betterment in an unforgiving and collapsing urban landscape – one of the more striking elements of Mamma Roma is its depiction of Rome, which looks like a torrent of post-apocalyptic ruins. I absolutely love Italian Neorealism, and I looked greatly forward to Mamma Roma, but I was somewhat disappointed, and it’s all because of one thing: rather than depicting the drama in heightened realism, the film treats its drama in a melodramatic fashion, where characters speak their minds and emotions in operatic and grandiose tones. As you could imagine, this stands in distractingly stark contrast with the gritty world these characters inhabit.

At least the melodrama doesn’t overshadow Mamma Roma’s redeeming qualities, which are certainly worth bringing up. How can anyone talk about this film without bringing up Magnani’s sharp and brilliant performance? She has such a striking performance in all of her films that commands your attention even if it’s not a great film – evident in Mamma Roma, obviously, but as well as the seminal Rome, Open City (the latter of which I was never a fan of). The mother-son dynamic, which touches on a sort of emotional dependency on the mother’s part, is also extremely fascinating, but the film never went all the way, so it feels like a half-baked idea that’s touched on from time to time throughout. On a side note, this would make a very interesting double-bill with Fellini’s wonderful Nights of Cabiria, but if you were faced to watch only one or the other, go Fellini.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: June 25 - July 1

Being There (1979)

Directed by Hal Ashby

* * * ½

Chance (Peter Sellers) has been living inside a townhouse his entire life. Now in his middle ages, having never left his home, he spends his days watching TV and gardening (a trade he has devoted literally his entire life to), all with a child-like naiveté. As the film opens, his benefactor passes, and without any proof that he lives in the home, Chance is forced to hit the streets without any sort of destination, completely oblivious to the workings of the world. After a minor accident with a vehicle, Chance is taken into the home of Eve and Ben Rand (Shirley MacLaine and Melvyn Douglas). When Ben mistakes Chance (known now as Chauncey Gardener) for some sort of brilliant socio-political scholar, Chance is given the opportunity to speak to the President (Jack Warden). Following, he finds himself becoming groomed to become one of the great political speakers of the country.

Believe it or not, Being There is my first experience with Hal Ashby. I didn’t know what to expect fully walking in, but reading about the film raised expectations for a comedy with deeply rooted drama, which is one of my favorite kind of movies. Though I can’t exactly say Being There lived up to its alleged reputation, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. The entire weight of the film rests on Peter Sellers. Though my favorite Sellers performance will always be Dr. Strangelove, Sellers’ Chance is a close runner up. It’s difficult to believe that there is a man out there that is this sheltered from the outside world, but Sellers makes it completely believable.

Speaking of believability, I must say that I was only to suspend my disbelief for so long before it was completely cut. I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that the unintentional charade that makes Chance an icon could make it as far as he does. There would just have to be a point where somebody realizes that something is seriously off about this guy. That said, while I was a little bothered by the ludicrousness of the scenario, I was still wondering where it was all going to go. Then again, it helps that Chance’s childishness sets up for some terrific jokes. Maybe not a masterpiece, but Being There made for a solid comedy-drama that was sometimes very funny, sometimes very sad, and an overall excellent movie.

The Burmese Harp (1956)

Directed by Kon Ichikawa

* * * ½

While traversing the jungles of Burma, a team of high-morale Japanese soldiers with a deep love for music – led by Captain Inouye (Rentaro Mikuni), who narrates throughout – are cornered and captured by British forces. It is here that they learn of Japan’s surrender, marking the end of World War 2. PFC Mizushima (Shoji Yasui), a skilled harp player, is sent solo to inform another team of Japanese troops of Japan’s surrender. Things don’t go too smoothly for Mizushima, and his fellow soldiers don’t see or hear of him for some time. That is until they cross a bridge and pass by a Buddhist monk who looks too much like Mizushima to be a doppelganger. As time unfolds, it becomes more evident that the monk in question just might be their missing brother in arms.

Japanese cinema from the 1950s has perhaps the greatest track record in the history of the art form, churning out one great film after another with masterminds like Kurosawa and Ozu behind the camera (even the era’s weakest films were still solid movies). Though The Burmese Harp isn’t by either of those men, it still continues this wonderful reputation. Though rooted in Buddhist values, it is still a universal story of letting go, and the result is deeply profound and quite tearjerking from time to time – the scene involving Mizushima and his fellow soldiers’ final song together really got the waterworks going on. Oh, and the film’s power is further capitalized by the absolutely terrific shot composition.

The only big criticism I have is a lack of seeing enough of Mizushima before his transformation. Granted, the film is told from the narration of Captain Inouye, but I never felt like we got to know the pre-Buddhist Mizushima, as he exists somewhat in the background. I feel everything would have been much more touching if we got to know him just a bit better. That said, I feel like this is a criticism that could possibly wane after a second watch. Regardless, this does not change the fact that The Burmese Harp is an amazing film and fits in wonderfully with the golden age of Japanese cinema.

Desert Hearts (1985)

Directed by Donna Deitch

* *

The year is 1959. Vivian Bell (Helen Shaver) is bound for the city of Reno with the intent of getting a quick divorce, which requires Nevada residency. Fresh off the train, she is picked up by Frances (Audra Lindley), who rents out rooms for women awaiting divorce finalizations. It is here that Vivian meets the free-spirited Cay (Patricia Charbonneau), who is something like a daughter to Frances. Upon meeting Cay, Vivian immediately feels something for her, though she internally wrestles with those very feelings – is it lust or love? Platonic or romantic? 

Consensus seems to indicate that Desert Hearts as an important landmark in LGBT cinema – Wikipedia states (albeit, with no annotated source) that “it is regarded as the first film to present a positive portrayal of lesbian sexuality.” For its time, maybe there really wasn’t a film as audacious as this. I can appreciate that, but the film itself, I cannot. Though the nervous “this is it” thrill of sex in the climactic (now, now) scene was captured perfectly, the drama leading up to it just feels like padding, further marred by distractingly awkward dialogue. Though the performances are solid, even the actors seem to know just how subpar the dialogue is, and sound equally as awkward delivering it. On a visual level, there are some major missed opportunities considering the vast desert landscapes, but no terrific cinematography to compliment it.

If there is anything that is interesting, it is the dynamic between Frances and Cay. I’ve mentioned that Frances treats her like a daughter, so imagine the drama that ensues when Cay and Vivian are on the verge of going off together, leaving Frances to her lonesome – of course, she protests. Unfortunately, nothing feels fully developed, but at least it kept my interest. I’ve come to realize that LGBT films are very hit or miss for me. There are truly some extraordinary ones out there, like My Own Private Idaho or last year’s unbelievably great Call Me by Your Name. When it’s not great, though, it tends to be very mediocre that thinks that dealing with LGBT themes immediately makes the movie good. Desert Hearts falls into the latter category.

In a Lonely Place (1950)

Directed by Nicholas Ray

* * * ½

With a history of violence and a hot temper, Dixon Steele’s (Humphrey Bogart) reputation has seriously dented his place in Hollywood as a screenwriter. Tasked with adapting shlock of a bestselling novel, Dixon invites the young Mildred (Martha Stewart), who is reading the novel, over to his house to give him the nutshell version of the story. As the evening proceeds, she leaves for the local cabstand to take her home. The next morning, Dixon discovers that Mildred has been murdered, and his reputation has led him to become the prime suspect. His neighbor Laurel (Gloria Grahame) speaks to the police on Dixon’s behalf. Dixon and Laurel soon strike up a relationship, but as Dixon’s violent tendencies begin to shine, and as their relationship sours as a result, Laurel begins to seriously wonder about Dixon’s innocence.

Late ‘40s/early ‘50s film noir has never been much of my thing. I’ve always appreciated the aesthetics as well as the audacity of common film noir themes for the time, but I suppose you could say I’ve been somewhat spoiled by modern film. The filmmaking style of that whole era has never resonated with me much, but I tend to put my personal preferences aside these days, and I must say that I really enjoyed In a Lonely Place. I award most of its credit to being so bold, to explore such a man as unstable as Dixon, but how could that possibly work without the alluringly dangerous charisma of Humphrey Bogart? I’ve always had a soft spot for Bogart, and I think this just might be my favorite performance of his. On a side note; I swear that nobody has ever looked so cool smoking a cigarette like he does.

The only thing I really didn’t care too much for is the shift in character focus as the film goes on. In the former half, we focus on Dixon and him crumbling under the pressure of being suspected for murder – a fortuitous move for a film of this era, and I was really into it. About half-way through the film, though, the film shifts focus on Laurel and her uncertainty of Dixon, which is where the film becomes a more traditional film noir mystery, and the film kind of stumbled because of this – I think the film could have been much more interesting if it was exclusively concerned with Dixon (hell, the mystery would still be there). Other than that, the production design all-around is very typical of the era – nothing bad, but nothing spectacular either. All that said, though, this was still a fantastic film all around.