SCREENING LOG - 7/23-7/29, 2001

Back to 2001 Index

Lots of crime and killing, and a metallic ding-dong

In order of preference:

1. Underworld, U.S.A. (Samuel Fuller).

I'm amazed that I haven't seen Sam Fuller mentioned once in any post I've read since I registered. The man is an auteur through and through. I loved Shock Corridor and The Naked Kiss, but this one I consider an unqualified masterpiece, full of punch and bravado, and immensely watchable. A young Cliff Robertson plays an ex-con whose single-minded purpose is to destroy the men who killed his father, bringing down an immense crime syndicate in the process. It's over-the-top most of the time, but using "camp" to describe it doesn't acknowledge the sublime beauty of the outrageous effects. The final moments are filled to the brim with this intense beauty. Fuller should be afforded the same artistic recognition as other 50s macho artists like Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning -- if anything his work is more resonant than theirs to the social issues of the time.

2. Week-end (Jean-luc Godard)

After viewing Breathless, My Life to Live, Pierrot le Fou, Passion,and most recently this movie, I find myself liking Godard's more anarchic works (this one and Pierrot) because they break more ground (and more rules) in the filmmaking universe.

3. Beloved (Jonathan Demme)

tragically underrated in its time, this film could easily become an American classic. It's overall effect is too powerful to be denied or dismissed. Admittedly not as great as Toni Morrison's novel, but to even attempt to match that literary achievement is a noble folly for which I give begrudging praise to Oprah, someone who has hurt the literary industry as much as she's helped it.

4. I Know Where I'm Going (Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger)

I don't think the title of this film applies to the filmmakers any more than it does to the heroine. It's all over the map: screwball comedy with musical interludes, Gothic romance, and a sea-faring adventure yarn (the wildy disproportionate bluescreen waves give a much more frigtening effect than anything in The Perfect Storm). The first ten minutes outdo anything done by Powell's disciple Martin Scorsese. However, compared to more measured masterpieces like The Red Shoes and Peeping Tom I found the work too inconsistent for my tastes, but I appreciated the effort.

5. Hana-bi/Fireworks (Takeshi Kitano):

a better meditation on violence and life than anything done by John Woo. Oddly beautiful, even spiritual, and highly reminiscent of the recent works of Jim Jarmusch (or is it the other way around?)

6. Tetsuo the Iron Man:

a brilliantly beautiful, disturbing and ultimately hollow cybersexual mindtrip that puts Darren Aronofsky's style to shame. A Japanese business man has his flesh gradually and inexplicably transformed into scrap metal. Things come to a head (literally) when, while making love to his girl, his penis transforms into a giant drill bit. It only gets weirder from that point on.

Back to 2001 Index