Alice in the
Cities (1974)
Directed by Wim
Wenders
* * * ½
Sent to America to write a
piece on the country, soft-spoken German journalist Philip (Rudiger Vogler)
finds himself in a state of disenfranchised inertia, seemingly brought on by
the mere atmosphere of the States, with its oppressive barrage of billboards
and advertising – needless to say, he is unable to write his piece and misses
the publisher’s deadline. Dejected, he books a flight back to Germany. At the
airport, he meets Lisa (Lisa Kreuzer) and her boisterous young daughter Alice
(Yella Rottlander), a couple of fellow Germans. Unforeseen circumstances lead
Lisa to disappear, leaving Alice in Philip’s involuntary care. Though it is a
challenge for both of them, they form a sweet bond as they make their way back
to Europe.
The first entry into Wim
Wenders’s ‘Road Trilogy’, Alice in the
Cities is a wonderful first chapter. Tonally, it is almost like a spiritual
predecessor to Jim Jarmusch’s Stranger
Than Paradise in its depiction of the tragic drabness of America, and the
subsequent loss of self that it brings. In depicting that loss of self, the
film is masterful, with some truly thought-provoking musings on the subject –
there is a discussion on the obsession of photography as a means of proving
one’s existence that is just mind-blowing. But at the core of the film are
Vogler and Rottlander, who share charming chemistry and become lovable
characters.
Road trip films always offer
up a great opportunity for stunning visuals, but here is the only significant
weakness of Alice in the Cities, as
it doesn’t really take much advantage of said opportunity, making it somewhat
bland on a visual level. Additionally, there is some choppy and awkward editing
from time to time (many instances of interlude shots fading out awkwardly fast
before any kind of emotion can generate). Other than this, though, Alice in the Cities is a wonderful and
quite humble film that I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.
Brief Encounter (1945)
Directed by David Lean
* * * *
As Laura (Celia Johnson) arrives
home to her husband and children, she is disoriented from a rather
disconcerting experience of a dizzy spell. Perhaps it’s just one of those
isolated incidents, but it is here that we learn of her reason for such
disorientation: a man by the name of Alec (Trevor Howard), whom she casually
acquainted with at the train station. Before long, though, Alec (who is also
married) not only reveals his strong feelings for Laura, but also notes that
she has the same feelings for him. Though she admits it, she is alarmed by her
words, wanting to remain faithful to her husband. As her secret meetings with
Alec progress, though, the more irresistible he seems to become.
I won’t be going into details,
but stories about love that can never be strike a very intense and emotional
chord with me, and Brief Encounter –
considered one of the greatest romantic films of all time – is one of the
strongest examples of this category I’ve seen yet. The script is absolutely
sharp and riveting, always delivering witty and fascinating dialogue from start
to finish. Though a romance, the film looks more like a film noir, which is a
brilliant move considering the whole theme of uncertain (and, may argue, “doomed”)
love.
Though I haven’t much to say
about the wonders of Brief Encounter in
the previous paragraph, that’s just a testament to how strong the film’s
minimal strong qualities are. Even more impressive that I shouldn’t have loved
this movie nearly as much as I did – the melodramatic acting and the hackneyed
voiceover as a means of backtracking the plot among a number. These are
qualities I absolutely cannot stand in movies, but Brief Encounter had me so arrested that I could care less. I only
wish the film would have gone even further (running at only 85 minutes), but
for what I got, I couldn’t ask for a better movie.
Landscape in the
Mist (1988)
Directed by Theo
Angelopoulos
* * * *
The pre-teen Voula (Tania
Palaiologou) and her younger brother, Alexandros (Michalis Zeke), have never
met their father. Even though they have no idea what he looks like (though
Alexandros frequently dreams about what he might look like), their mother has
told them he lives in Germany (which is revealed early on to be a lie). The
children, on their own without any kind of supervision, begin a trek across Europe
in search of their father, no matter what thresholds of pain and sadness the
foggy highways and train tracks will lead them to.
Do we ever phase out of
childhood and into adulthood, as if some great switch is flipped within us?
Perhaps a more pressing question; is there really even such a thing as
adulthood? Or do the trials of the cold world that we tackle every day lock us
down as children (metaphorically speaking, of course)? I often ask myself
questions like these, and I don’t think any film has ever externalized these
musings more than Landscape in the Mist. A
lot of verisimilitude is required for this one, but the film never stretches to
the point of farfetched (in contrast to, say, The Wizard) – then again, the film plays as allegory throughout its
entirety, so to take the film too much at face value is completely missing the
point of the film.
Granted, I do need to get my bias
out of the way; I love existentialist/allegorical road films like this, but I
can still assure you that this is one of the finest films made in that
category. The vulnerability of the two children is always in frame – quite
literally, as the two children are almost microscopic amongst the vast and
misty, cold gray landscapes captured throughout (there is rarely a sunny day in
this film). Though this isn’t a performance-driven film, the two lead children
are terrific and make the material even more believable. Though a little
difficult to come by, look this one up: it is a truly poetic and poignant film
about the cold and uncertain world that we venture into daily.
The Long Day
Closes (1992)
Directed by
Terence Davies
* * ½
It is post-war Liverpool, and
in a flat sits 11-year-old Bud (Leigh McCormack). A student at a Catholic
school, he is a rather shy child, always keeping any eye on his surroundings.
He lives with his mother and siblings, whom he seems to love very much (and
they love him back). When he is not at home or school, though, Bud is at his
most joyous when he is at the cinema, always watching the pictures with
wide-eyed enchantment and wonder.
The Long Day Closes is a film on a mission to capture nostalgia and
the sort of quiet wonder of childhood. In this regard, it succeeds ten-fold. I
can’t explain it, exactly, but there’s something about the way it is shot and
lit (both of which are terrific, the lighting especially) that captures the
emotion of nostalgia perfectly
without indulging in nostalgic lingo or pop-culture – it’s a rather timeless
film. The unspoken bond between Bud and his mother is beyond lovely – there is
a scene early in the film where Bud asks for some money to go to the pictures.
His mother declines at first, but moments later, she says “Go get me purse”. I
can’t begin to describe the excitement this brought out in me.
So, as well as The Long Day Closes does in looking back
on childhood, it doesn’t have much else to offer. There are no predicaments
present for any of the characters. Granted, I have no issue with a film that
has no plot, but there just isn’t much here. As much as I loved the unspoken
bonds between the characters, I couldn’t really tell you much about the characters themselves. I’m
actually struggling to write this, as much of the film has escaped from memory.
This is one of those films that exists more as a demonstration of what the
filmmaker is capable of rather than a complete experience of a film. That said,
as substantially empty as the film was, it was at least very, very lovely to watch.
You Were Never Really Here (2017)
Directed by Lynne Ramsay
* * ½
Figuratively and literally
scarred from experiences on the battlefield, veteran Joe (Joaquin Phoenix) is a
man of very few words but of towering presence. Though a warm-hearted man (he
cares for his elderly mother), he is also capable of brutal violence, which he
uses to his advantage in his work: he takes contracts to rescue underage girls
from human trafficking operations. He takes on yet another job, but things take
a turn for the worst when he is attacked by police moments after the rescue,
and the fate of Joe seems uncertain.
Walking into this film, I knew
the comparisons to Taxi Driver were
hyperbole. That said, the widespread acclaim had me looking forward to this
one, especially considering that Lynne Ramsay’s last film, We Need to Talk About Kevin, has remained in my top five of the
decade since I first saw it. For You Were
Never Really Here, though, I can’t say the same things. The biggest problem
is a script that is severely underwritten – nothing is ever fully
developed. Like Kevin, this film toys with distorted chronology (though not nearly
as labyrinthine). Fine, and could have made for a really interesting technique
here, but as a result of the distorted narrative, the film relies a little too
much on the “unspoken”, and because of the thin script, nothing really
culminates.
One of the great ironies in my
thoughts on this film is that as hyperbolic as I perceive the Taxi Driver comparisons to be, this film
actually could have been the next Taxi
Driver – it hits all of the plot notes from the original, but in a
completely different light. There are still great ideas and some moments of
genuine brilliance, my favorite moment being Joe’s raid on a brothel – the raid
is entirely shown via CCTV footage set to Rose Hamlin’s “Angel Baby”. The
overarching theme I took note of is a desperate desire to return to innocence,
which is expressed in very subtle and clever ways – Joe’s specific love for
green jelly beans being the most glaring example. Speaking of Joe; though I
wasn’t totally blown away by Phoenix’s performance, he did create one of the
more unique screen presences I’ve seen in a while – very intimidating and
threating, but also very graceful and comforting. Knowing Ramsay’s talents,
this could have been a great film, but instead was a complete disappointment,
and having had to wait six years for her next film, there’s no excuse as far as
I’m concerned.
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