SCREENING LOG - 7/15-7/21, 2002

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Last week I watched LIFE OF OHARU, GERMANY, YEAR ZERO, IVAN THE TERRIBLE PART I, METROPOLIS (1927), THE TRAVELLING PLAYERS, ARSENAL,THE CHEAT, THE FIVE DEADLY VENOMS, and NAKED. All of them (with the possible exception of FIVE DEADLY VENOMS) achieve one sort of perfection or another; it merely comes down to whether or to what degree one accepts those terms of perfection. For me, there were four whose individual brilliance was not hampered or overshadowed by whatever flaws I could find.

First Tier:

Ivan the Terrible Part I (1946, Sergei Eisenstein)

In making this epic on the rise to power of one of Russia's greatest tyrants, it seems that Eisenstein traded in his famous montage technique for a impossibly dense mise-en-scene; the sets in this film have a terrifying life of their own and contribute immensely to the sense of paranoid insularity that pervades this masterpiece (and perhaps the mood of Stalinist Russia at that time). There's really not much to say without delving into the complexities that can be found both within the extreme stylization of this masterpiece as well as the extremely difficult circumstances of its creation, both of which I am just beginning to explore.

The Travelling Players (1974, Theo Angelopoulos)

The most famous filmmaker from Greece established his international reputation with this four hour film about a musical theater troupe struggling through the convulsions of their nation's history, from WWII Fascism to the martial suppression of Communism in 1952. Angelopoulos renders these events with an extreme detachment that rarely resorts to close-ups; in fact this 230 minute movie consists of only 70 shots: each shot runs an average of almost 4 minutes, almost always composing an entire scene. It goes without saying then that there is a quality of endlessness to this movie, which one will either love or hate. It doesn't help that one may have to be familiar with Greek history as well as Greek myth (apparently the characters are recognizable correlatives to the Oresteia trilogy) -- but the quality of the filmmaking is undeniably superb, with elaborately choreographed camera movements and many moments of music that are both enlivening and poignant. Critics have dismissed Angelopoulos as being derivative of Miklos Jancso, Andrei Tarkovsky or Michaelangelo Antonioni, but his style is unique enough that I see it as a strong influence on one of my all-time favorite films, Jia Zhangke's PLATFORM. Like that film, its treasures unfold long after viewing and continue to resonate in waves.

Arsenal (1927, Alexander Dovzhenko)

Consider this BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN on crack -- it is obvious that Dovzhenko was out to outdo his mentor Eisenstein, and there are several sequences that deliver just that in this dazzling account of the fate of the Ukraine between World War I and the Communist Revolution. The film's disjunctive narrative resembles the form of poetry more than prose (you can practically impose stanza breaks between sequences), and incorporating several outrageous elements, such as singing horses and a soldier whose body defies bullets. Fortunately Dovzhenko grounds these moments in an underlying fixation on death -- throughout the film one character after another rmeets his maker, each death rendered with an acuteness of detail and feeling worthy of Homer. As such, it's evident that where Dovzhenko truly surpasses Eisenstein (made even more apparent in Dovzhenko's masterpiece EARTH) is in the realm of the soul.

Germany, Year Zero (1947, Roberto Rossellini)

This account of a young boy's slide into crime and corruption post-war Germany is perhaps the first film in Rossellini's storied career where he truly discovers the objective wonder of the documentary aesthetic. The trials and temptations of the boy and his family are chronicled without sentimentalizing, though the story has more than its share of moments that are hard to watch. The narrative at first seem more straightforward than its Wartime Trilogy predecessors (OPEN CITY and PAISAN), but as the storyline winds down, the film opens up to a brilliantly heartbreaking climax where no words are involved, just seemingly simple actions that carry a full load of complex connotations. (It also foresees the brilliance of Bresson's MOUCHETTE by about 20 years). Rossellini's unprecedented gift for inviting the viewer to observe and judge on their own is unveiled -- fifty-five years later it has yet to be fully unpackaged.

The Rest:

Life of Oharu (1952, Kenji Mizoguchi)

A samurai's daughter ruins her family's status when she is involved in an affair; her family sells her into prostitution and it's all downhill from there. Perhaps more than any Mizoguchi film, this marvelous picture works as an antidote to the machismo that has dominated Japanese cinema; you will never look at samurai movies the same way again after seeing the misogynistic cruelties inflicted in the name of samurai honor. To Mizoguchi's credit, he generally treats these scenes with stoic objectivity. Unfortunately, I felt that the film's insights were more or less played out by the end of the first half; it simmers along perfectly but doesn't quite come to an other-worldly boil (at least compared to UGETSU and especially SANSHO THE BAILIFF). But there is no denying the lead performance of Kinuyo Tanaka, simply one of the most dignified and perfectly played.

Metropolis (1927, Fritz Lang)

I watched a pristine 120 minute version with the original soundtrack restored and much of the plot made intelligible (even though 30% of the film is still destroyed, they used intertitles to summarize those long-lost passages). On a technical and visual level this is simply one of the most accomplished films I've ever seen. Lang's landscapes have obviously wielded their influence on the sci-fi genre and beyond. His visuals still seem fresh and exciting 75 years later. And the last 20 minutes are perhaps the greatest sustained climax ever filmed. But the ideas are ludicrous and borderline fascist. Taken overall, for overabundance of spectacle mixed with dearth of substance, it may amount to being the grandfather of the Hollywood summer blockbuster (maybe that's why it's so well-regarded, because it's recognizable with the grandiose incoherence of much contemporary mainstream film).

Naked (1993, Mike Leigh)

A loose but blistering picaresque of the gloomy parts of London in the post-Thatcher era, as seen through the eyes of a terminally sarcastic young man (David Thewlis, in a brilliantly bravado performance). Leigh, my favorite contemporary British filmmaker, takes his famous propensity for improvisation to great lengths with a story that moves from one extended episode to the next, each one rendered immensely watchable by the fully committed performances Leigh elicits from his cast. There are severe moments of misogyny and general misanthropic cruelty that can easily bring both film and filmmaker into question, and I still haven't resolved myself to them (and I wonder if I'm even supposed to). Extremely confrontational in its nihilism, it's a film that may or may not have a lot of worthy questions to ask, but the manner in which it presents them is formidable. Other cast standouts include Lesley Sharp as Thewlis' ex-girlfriend, Peter Wight as a night watchman and a mesmerizing Katrin Cartlidge as the human equivalent of a toilet bowl.

The Cheat (1915, Cecil B. DeMille)

The name DeMille may now be associated with inflated, self-important costume epics, but this early silent gives evidence to a remarkable brilliance of narrative structuring and emotional intensity. Still, there's nothing really subtle about this story of a profligate young society wife who borrows money from a seemingly gracious Asian neighbor -- for a price. The second half disintegrates into ridiculous xenophobic hysteria; the scene where a courtroom packed with white men goes apesh*t when they learn what the yellow man did to the white woman is a vivid illustration of how society regarded white female flesh as property never to be violated by foreign hands. The only understated thing in this film is the remarkable performance by Sessue Hayakawa, a Japanese immigrant who enjoyed remarkable success as an exotic Hollywood player (though it was only late in his career when he earned an Oscar nomination for BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI). Hayakawa's sensitive performance as the perverted Asian throws the obnoxious performances by the rest of the cast into relief and contributes greatly to the cultural subtexts of the film; from a contemporary standpoint, one finds themselves identifying more with him than with the supposed victims. As a side note, this screening was given a lively introduction by Martin Scorsese, who took a brief respite from post-production on GANGS OF NEW YORK. He was looking all right though it seems his hair is much grayer than it was a year ago.

The Five Deadly Venoms (1978, Chang Cheh)third viewing

Chang Cheh was perhaps the most distinctive auteur in the Shaw Brothers kung fu studio system, and this is perhaps his most famous work (though I prefer CRIPPLED AVENGERS on the whole). While there's not enough action to satisfy most kung fu audience requirements, there is a healthy dose of intrigue involving the Machiavellian alliances and double-crossings among five mysterious kung fu masters, each having mastered a particular style of Venom technique (Centipede, Snake, Scorpion, Lizard and Toad). Dismemberment was one of Chang's primary thematic fixations and the middle stretch of this film runs like a Sears catalog of Chinese torture techniques; I for one have traumatic childhood recollections of watching Toad's demise in the Iron Maiden.

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