SCREENING LOG - 12/10-12/16, 2002

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Last week I watched THE NAKED SPUR, THE CRIMSON KIMONO, FANNY AND ALEXANDER, FOOLISH WIVES, HAPPY TIMES, LAN YU, GREED and ROCCO AND HIS BROTHRES. In order of preference:

Greed (1925, Erich von Stroheim) second viewing

ItÕs all been said before: the first truly modern movie in its subject matter and style Ð but itÕs true! Von StroheimÕs obsession with authenticity took realism to new heights, and this story of how money gradually and pervasively ruins the life of a simple man required exhaustive location shooting in San Francisco, Oakland and of course the Death Valley. He had an unprecedented understanding of letting the dramatic moment play out in real time, so he had no problem with a 9 hour finished product, which was inevitably but outrageously butchered into a two-plus hours release. In short, his dream was the dream of pure cinema, in other words, the dream of the impossible. But such dreams lead to breakthrough achievements, of which this ranks among the most visionary (if bleak), both then and now.

Fanny and Alexander (1983, Ingmar Bergman) second viewing

BergmanÕs semi-autobiographical account of a familyÕs troubles upon the death of their father is the one Ingmar Bergman movie I would willingly defend, if only because it is the most sincere and sublime in its overall effect. The film is a trimmed-down version of a much longer miniseries, and the narrative gaps certainly show. But Bergman constructs some magnificent long sequences whose lyricism is rare in his work: the irresistible winter warmth of his nostalgic Christmas party; the solemn ache of the fatherÕs funeral, and unexpected moments of supernatural vision that ring true. BergmanÕs hang-ups with oppressive and false religious ideals and figures weighs on the middle stretch involving a nasty preacher stepfather, but the sequence offers some useful context for understanding the gloomy godheads of his earlier work. Overall, the film glows with a sense of youthful observation, and a genuine curiosity towards life and fate.

The Crimson Kimono (1959, Samuel Fuller)

Sam FullerÕs brand of purposeful pulp always manages to surprise, and this potboiler about best-buddy detectives -- one white, one Japanese -- in love with the same gal is stunning in how Fuller willfully ignores the mystery plot in order to give full attention to the personal and racial issues at stake. The white guy is first to make advances, but when the gal turns out to love his partner, the Nisei (1st generation Japanese American) enters an amazingly complex episode of self-denial and enmity (in one powerfully directed sequence, he practically bashes his friendÕs head in with a kendo stick). FullerÕs career-long fascination with Asian culture turns out to be more than just a fetish; he completely empathizes with the dilemmas of the individual caught between cultures, and milks it for all its dramatic pow-tential (one subtle line of suspense: Fuller keeps the audience guessing if thereÕs going to be interracial kissing, or if weÕll be stuck in BROKEN BLOSSOMS-ville). Great performances by James Shigeta and Glenn Corbett.

The Naked Spur (1953, Anthony Mann)

Highly entertaining Western starring Jimmy Stewart as a surprisingly unheroic bounty hunter trying to rein in both his captures and his accomplices in order to score the reward. Director Anthony Mann is commonly credited for turning Stewart into a compelling performer in Westerns Ð but his more intangible brilliance is in his ability to create complex psychological dramas that spring directly from the charactersÕ harsh but beautiful surroundings (compare to THE OX-BOW INCIDENT, which is basically a Broadway play set in a desert). More than any Ford western, the Mann wilderness is a physical map of the mind; rugged, uncertain, barely sticking to any principle other than self-preservation. Unfortunately those principles involve a scene where a group of Indians are gratuitously slaughtered, to which only a sophisticated reading can excuse. But overall, this is a masterful film whose stark situations are as provocative as they are entertaining.

Foolish Wives (1922, Erich von Stroheim)

Prior to GREED ,this was Von StroheimÕs most elaborate and expensive foray in depicting manÕs folly to exquisite detail. The story of a Russian count who seduces vulnerable women vacationing in Monte Carlo required the construction of a gargantuan set, dressed to the nines. Von StroheimÕs steady fixation on rich, natural visuals is immensely pleasurable, but the sordidness of the proceedings verges on a less satisfying self-indulgence.

Rocco and His Brothers (1960, Luchino Visconti)

ViscontiÕs three-hour epic of a rural family of one mother and five boys whose lives are tragically changed upon moving to the city is charged with powerful emotions and ViscontiÕs trademark sense of operatic destiny. Unfortunately, I didnÕt find that the film reached the dramatic heights of the best of opera, where the ways of fate are so clearly and humanly expressed that the failings of the characters can be all but absolved. The film is unforgivably coarse in its treatment of female characters (Annie Girardot has to work miracles to salvage her sad excuse for a character, a prostitute who is perpetually used and abused by two of the brothers) so that the conflicts at stake seem less that fully realized and rush headlong into melodramatic ecstasy. In this regard one can see this film as a precedent for the machismo tragedies of Coppola, Cimino and Scorsese Ð Visconti, whose supreme worship of dramatic sensation operates very well in mainstream ÒqualityÓ filmmaking, may very well have been the most influential Italian on the Italian American directors of the 70s. There is no denying the swaggering force of impact held by this film, nor the somewhat provocative social criticisms it happens upon; but the filmÕs integrity doesnÕt hold sway beyond the realm of the senses.

Lan Yu (2001, Stanley Kwan)

This melodramatic yet sober chronicle of a failed love affair between two mainland Chinese men is unlike any other film to come from China (like most Chinese movies today, it was shot without the awareness of the authorities). The story itself, dressed in the glamorous trappings of the privileged class, is rather conventional; it seems that whatÕs special (or precious) about the film is that the characters are gay, or rather that the film is unapologetically gay in its very essence. Its director despite his high profile among Chinese directors, is a rare breed whose films are not quite high-art nor widely accessible as commercial product. Instead, his films stand out for what I can only describe as a quintessentially gay sensibility: by this I mean that his films make absolutely no fuss about their gayness Ð they simply treat their characters and the lives they lead with a frankness that is both refreshing in its attitude, yet confrontational in its rarefied, somewhat exclusive perspective. Whether for artistic or political reasons (I suspect the latter), this film won TaiwanÕs Best Picture award and was nominated for a slew of awards in Hong Kong. Not for everyone, but worth seeing for anyone checking the weakening pulse of contemporary Chinese cinema.

Happy Time (2001, Zhang Yimou)

The long, strange career of ChinaÕs most famous director issues its most commercial episode to date: a laid-off factory worker tries to woo a fat woman and ends up babysitting her unwanted stepdaughter, who happens to be blind. The man sets up a fake massage parlor in his abandoned factory to keep the girl occupied; predictably, the rouse becomes increasingly hard to maintain for various reasons that make both the hero and the story look sloppy and idiotic in retrospect. Overall this farce feels like CITY LIGHTS injected with the hammy insincerities of LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL, resulting in second-rate Preston Sturges. ZhangÕs way of treating the characters as kind-hearted simpletons may be some strange way of empathizing with the billions of Chinese who he no doubt wants to entertain, and his intriguing employment of ÒcrosstalkÓ (a Chinese version of Abbot & Costello standup) may indicate his attempts to formulate some kind of contemporary Chinese popular cinema (which, in the age of pirated Hollywood DVDs, no longer exists). But ZhangÕs headlong pacing barely keeps together the holes in his plot; the melodramatic turn at the end is the filmÕs only moment of liberation (although it is debated whether this was the ending originally intended), though it feels only slightly more sincere than the goonish antics that clutter this film from start to finish.

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