The Conformist
(1970)
Directed by
Bernardo Bertolucci
* * *
We get to know the reserved
yet insecure Marcello Clerici (Jean Louis Trintignant) through a series of
flashbacks. An atheist, he marries Giulia (Stefania Sandrelli) under the
condition that he goes to confession, where he reveals that he has murdered
before. As a matter of fact, he will commit murder again – Clerici is a member
of the secret police of Fascist Italy, and his next target is one of his
college professors, who is located in Paris. To get the job done, Clerici uses
his recent marriage to his job’s advantage, as he and his now-wife decide to
Honeymoon in Paris, making for the perfect cover.
I’m just going to get it out
of the way now: believe every single bit of hype you’ve heard about its
visuals, because The Conformist is
one of the best-looking movies I’ve ever seen. It is filmed in a radical and
progressive style that is never forced, and still feels fresh to this day,
almost 50 years later. The shot composition, the maneuvers of the camera, the
lighting, the set design, absolutely everything on this film’s visual level is
beyond masterful, and there is not one shot I will ever forget. I can give you
my utmost sincerity that you don’t even need to pay attention to the story; get
lost just watching the film and it’ll
still be worth the price of admission. It’s truly amazing (and a shame) that The Conformist wasn’t nominated for a
Best Cinematography Oscar.
Speaking of The Conformist and the Academy Awards,
it was in fact nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay, and here is not only what
stuns me but also leads to my major criticism of the film; the writing. I had a
huge difficulty getting invested in what was going on. First off, the dialogue
is quite dry and lackluster, and considering the film’s themes of fascism and
conformity, you’d think there would be something poignant in the script. In
turn, the characters aren’t particularly interesting (though the performances
are solid, considering the material provided). Second, the way the plot is
structured – namely the handling of the flashbacks – borders on abstraction and
makes things very difficult to follow. The
Conformist is yet another entry into my “need to see it again” list. In the
meantime, I can appreciate it only from an arm’s distance. But at least I can
still watch from that distance, and for now, that’s more than enough.
The Limey (1999)
Directed by Steven Soderbergh
* *
Wilson (Terence Stamper), a
jaded and hardened Englishman, is out of prison and now out for blood. His
daughter, Jenny, has died; allegedly in a car accident, but Wilson is convinced
she was murdered. He flies from England to Los Angeles, and the first subjects
of his investigation are Eduardo (Luis Guzman) and Elaine (Lesley Ann Warren),
two of Jenny’s acquaintances. Talks with these two bring out a probable suspect
for Wilson: Terry Valentine (Peter Fonda), a drug trafficker hiding behind a
legitimate record business. For Wilson, there is no compromise; with a couple
of handguns in his possession, he hits the streets in search of Valentine.
Steven Soderbergh has made
some great films in his expansive catalogue, but in between every great film
are a handful of unmemorable flashes in the pan, and The Limey is one of those flashes. First off, read the plot
synopsis above and tell me you haven’t heard of a million other films with the
same story. Okay, in all fairness, it’s not so much the general plot that
matters as much as what is done with the material. Even then, Soderbergh doesn’t
really do anything that interesting. There weren’t any particularly compelling
characters, no sharp dialogue, no engaging story, not to mention the film is
tonally confused. One moment, it wants to be a sort of mature thriller; next
moment, it adopts many of the usual ‘90s crime-thriller tropes, and this sort
of imbalance leaves the film in this kind of bland limbo and never quite gets
out. Hell, even the otherwise underrated and talented composer Cliff Martinez
offered nil with his score.
Granted, Stamper can muster up
a striking screen presence, but considering the lackluster material, there’s
not much for his presence to contribute to. The visual style is kind of cool,
but Soderbergh would utilize a borderline identical style to Traffic (which I consider Soderbergh’s
towering masterpiece) just the
following year. I don’t really know what else to say about this one. While it’s
not a terrible movie, it never once gripped me. I just finished the movie right
before I started writing this, and I’m already forgetting it.
The Rules of the
Game (1939)
Directed by Jean
Renoir
* * * *
The Rules of the Game opens with a message of impending doom, that
war across Europe – what would be known as World War II – is steadfastly
approaching, but this is the only time this will ever be mentioned. After all,
there are better things to worry about – for a group of bourgeois socialites,
anyway. The people in question are the focus of the film, as they gather at a countryside
estate, where their worries will include tangled romance, sexual affairs, petty
arguments, rabbit hunting, and a masquerade ball to follow.
Considering The Rules of the Game is often regarded
as one of the greatest films ever made, I admit with shame in jest that it has
taken me this long to actually getting around to it – hell, this is even my
first Renoir film. While this most likely won’t go down for me as one of my
all-time favorites, there’s no denying that I have seen a great film. You’ll
notice the fairly bare-bones plot description above, and upon typing that
paragraph is where the film’s biggest joke hit me, as virtually nothing happens at all in the entire
movie, in spite of the fact that there always seems to be something happening.
There is not one moment of stillness in this movie, and with the wide cast of
characters, this is one I will need to revisit again (and maybe again) to get a
fuller perspective on the movie.
Don’t let that last sentence
make you think the movie’s a mess by any means, because it’s not – it’s just a
matter of so much going on at once. Renoir’s directing of the petty madness
throughout is quite stunning in its confident control. As frenetic as
everything going on is, it never boils over into complete chaos, but the film
is always on that threshold. What I admire most in The Rules of the Game its audacity, that Renoir had the guts to
confront the frivolity and blind-eyed upper-class in the wake of something as
terrifying as oncoming war. Repeat; I will need to see this again for further
appreciation, but I still know I’ve seen a great film. It’s just a matter of
uncovering what makes it great.
Sunrise (1927)
Directed by F.W.
Murnau
* * * *
This is the story of a
nameless Man (George O’Brien) and Wife (Janet Gaynor). They live a simple life
in the countryside, and though they were once madly in love, time has unveiled
a stale, mundane, and frustrating marriage. The Man finds sexual gratification
with a Woman from the City (Margaret Livingston), who tempts the Man to drown
his Wife to run away with her. Though the Man begins the attempt, he realizes
what he’s really doing as his Wife runs away in horror. He begs for her
forgiveness. Though she is reluctant at first, she warms up to his sincerity.
They spend a day together in the city, and it is throughout this day that they
rediscover their undying love for each other.
Sunrise is one of those films, like Citizen Kane or City Lights,
that exists not so much as just a film, but rather as fact. It is one of those
films that not only had such an impact on the art form for its time, but stands
the test of time as a truly great film that knows no specific audience, region,
or topic. As for my own personal thoughts; I not only acknowledge Sunrise’s place in film history (it was
one of the very first films to utilize sound), but you have my assurance that
I’m not just arbitrarily acknowledging its greatness, as this is an unbelievably
great film, and I can’t think of a single bad thing to say about it.
The characters, though
nameless and essentially archetypal, are universal, and watching their love blossom
from a previously rotten state is nothing short of sweet. There are countless
sequences that only bolster the power of their love – the sequence in which
they walk into a church during a wedding, undoubtedly my favorite scene in Sunrise, I can only describe as angelic.
F.W. Murnau was one of the most prominent figures of the silent era, and films
like Sunrise only further justify
such a reputation.
Won’t You Be My
Neighbor? (2018)
Directed by Morgan
Neville
* * *
Though originally driven to
become a Presbyterian minister, Fred Rogers made an unexpected decision to
pursue a career in television. His reasoning; concerned with the effect of
trash TV programs on children, Rogers wanted to provide a more credible and valuable
alternative. In time, this would become Mister
Rogers’ Neighborhood, a warm and welcoming show that, in spite of a
demographic of young children, talked about various hot-button topics, from
racism to the Kennedy assassination. Won’t
You Be My Neighbor? chronicles the overall picture of Mr. Rogers’ impact on
television as well as his legacy.
Sometimes I question whether
Fred Rogers was actually a real human being, as it is borderline unbelievable
that a man as warm, loving, and caring as him could possible exist among a
cynical and emotionally hardened society. While I jest, I cannot deny that the
unconditionally graceful nature of Mr. Rogers can only be described as magical,
if not miraculous, and Won’t You Be My
Neighbor? does nothing but honor and cherish this saint of a man. Though I
saw episodes of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood here
and there as a child, I can’t exactly say I grew up with it, so imagine how
taken back I was at just how much guts this man had and just how much he
accomplished.
As spellbound as I was by the
memory of Fred Rogers, the film itself, while good, isn’t anything too special.
It’s been 15 years since Fred’s passing, so I find it unusual that nobody made
a film until now, considering his remarkable legacy. Much of the story presented
here is already out there, so if you’re already familiar with Fred Rogers’
story, you’re probably not missing much. Additionally, the transitions from
chapter to chapter feel a little awkward, like they don’t weave together too
seamlessly. I may present criticisms, but this is still a powerful movie, and
nothing can take that away. I dare you not to tear up (at the very least).
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