SCREENING LOG - 7/01-7/07, 2002

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I watched THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, BEFORE SUNRISE, MINORITY REPORT, DIARY OF A CHAMBERMAID and DIARY OF A LOST GIRL. In order of preference:

The Magnificent Ambersons (1942, Orson Welles)

It's been over a dozen years since I first and last saw this magisterial chronicle of the the fall and decline of a wealthy family lording over a rural Ohio town; all I remembered from my previous screening was a group of people singing gaily as they trudged in an antiquated jalopy through an impossibly beautiful snowstorm. Seeing it again, that sequence is reconfirmed in my mind as one of the most astonishing in film history; a most vivid creation of a moment of life, full of feeling, sensation and song. The film itself has a legitimate claim to being Welles' best, if only because it is the most soulful. Welles' tireless tinkering with the camera is as evident as ever, but here, moreso than in CITIZEN KANE or TOUCH OF EVIL, it rarely gets in the way of bringing out the feelings of the well-drawn characters, as well as a more pervasive feeling (present in the other two films, to a lesser extent) of impending, irreparable loss, a way of life vanishing before our eyes. Overall, Welles' cinematic brilliance for once rarely upstages the things that really matter; the cart is squarely behind the horse in this masterpiece.

Before Sunrise (1994, Richard Linklater)

I'm not sure what it is about Linklater's talkfests that appeal to me in spite of my own apprehensions, but the sheer humanistic joy I have taken from this film and his masterpiece WAKING LIFE is unmistakable. Like WAKING LIFE, this story of a chance encounter between an American man and French girl who walk and talk their way through a romantic 24 hours in Vienna reminds me of what someone said of Jesse Jackson's speeches: you feel like a million bucks while listening to them, though the next day you'll be damned to remember a single line. As dubious as this may sound, this quality is intrinsic to Linklater's purpose, celebrating that in life which is both joyous and fleeting: digressive trains of thought, fleeting moments in strange and beautiful cities, people who one could probably live and love forever if circumstances were different. By appearances, it may not look like much, but once Linklater's garrulous idiom sets in it's obvious that we are in the presence of something special and sincere, so we'd might as well enjoy the ride.

Diary of a Lost Girl (1929, G.W. Pabst)

A well-mounted but fairly predictable social-awareness drama concerning a rape victim who is subsequently sent to a boarding house and a brothel, and chock-full of the exploitation factor you'd expect from such duplicitous choices of "socially redeeming" subject matter. Louise Brooks as the put-upon heroine makes it all extremely watchable, to the point that one is too mesmerized with her indelible onscreen persona to be primarily concerned with the plight of women depicted in this film. Given the moralizing treatment of said themes, such distraction may very well work for the benefit of the film; but in all fairness, Pabst's robust pacing and deft handling of multiple climaxes is admirable. Nonetheless, this film is all about Brooks, one of the most exquisite screen presences in cinematic history.

Diary of a Chambermaid (1964, Luis Bunuel)

Bunuel's take on the same story filmed by Jean Renoir in 1946, involving a Parisian chambermaid who becomes entangled in the perversions of her new masters, neighbors and fellow servants. Worth seeing in that it marks what might be seen as Bunuel's transition period, from exploring the underclass of his Mexican films to the upperclass of his late period; here he explores the interactions between both to entertaining effect (though his far superior VIRIDIANA may be the last word on the matter). The fascist subtext that sounds the astonishing final note of the film feels too peripheral for most of the 100 minutes; overall the film didn't seem to build to a cumulative impact and often it felt like Bunuel's trademark satire was shooting fish (or butterflies) in a barrel. Still, very enjoyable on the whole and provocative in the end.

Minority Report (2002, Steven Spielberg)

Tom Cruise dons a disguise for the fifth time in his last six movies as a cop on the run for a crime he hasn't committed -- yet. Unlike EYES WIDE SHUT, MAGNOLIA or VANILLA SKY, this film offers not even a false promise of insight into the mythic Cruise persona, and doesn't get much further in examining the numberless issues raised by the story's premise, where police are able to predict and thus stop crimes that are about to happen. Spielberg loads his film with a lot of distracting whiz-bang flurorishes, not just in the gorgeous special effects but also the runaway plot and several hammy performances. It makes for effective summer fare, possibly the best entertainment of the year, but compared to the achievement of A.I. it's a step backward for Spielberg as an artist.

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