SCREENING LOG - 1/20-2/3, 2003

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I watched THE WICKER MAN, IT'S ALL TRUE, THE LEOPARD MAN, HAMLET, A BRIGHTER SUMMER DAY, MR. ARKADIN, and CHICAGO. In order of preference:

ItÕs All True (1993, Norman Foster, Bill Krohn, Myron Meisel, Orson Welles and Richard Wilson)

This documentary recounting Welles' disastrous, unfinished follow-up to CITIZEN KANE, which was to be comprised of three segments touching on different aspects of Brazilian life, gives a persuasive account of what went wrong and why, with the political and commercial agendas of studio heads and government leaders figuring in the mix. Immensely fascinating in its recounting of how Welles discovered Latin American culture (which had a strong influence on some of his later works) and sought against all odds to reveal what he considered was its true nature: its racial mix, its poverty, its music, its populist progressive spirit. The restored footage taken by Welles is revelatory in its decidedly un-Wellesian look and feel -- a samba sequence shot in Technicolor and a piece portraying the lives of fisherman anticipate the Neo-Realists by a few years, but are full of a lyrical visual beauty comparable to the best of the Soviet silents. A real treat, and not just for Welles fans; if anything it may make fans out of the unconverted.

A Brighter Summer Day (1991, Edward Yang)

While Taiwanese director Edward Yang cemented his international arthouse reputation with the masterpiece YI YI, this neglected and undistributed 240 minute epic deserves as much if not more attention. Sprawling in scope and yet microscopically precise in its observations of everyday details, this account of the events that led to Taiwan's first case of juvenile homicide (the fatal stabbing of a 13 year old girl by a former classmate in 1960) features no less than 100 speaking parts and nearly as many settings; while it's near-impossible to follow everyone and everything going on, the sense of time and place is staggeringly rich and unforgettable. One gathers a world of information about what Taiwan was like in the early 60s, especially for teenagers, their dreams and lusts and the codes of conduct that barely held them back; and yet what remains crucial to the experience of the film is the feeling of something painfully missing in this world, an aching sense of incomprehension over what's going on, exacerbated by an absence of parental, governmental or moral authority, and how these absences cause the innocent hilarity of childhood to descend into helplessness and horror. A film that ties together Elvis Presley with a teen massacre involving samurai swords wields a mysteriously lingering sense of universal menace that cannot be summed up in one paragraph. An indispensable achievement.

The Leopard Man (1943, Jacques Tourneur)

The supreme B-movie duo of director Jacques Tourneur and producer Val Lewton continued their CAT PEOPLE fetish with this film about a series of murders that happen after a leopard is unleashed on the city. The core narrative is perfunctory but it's enough for the filmmakers to create a world of profound dread. There was probably no one who did more than Tourneur to explore the limitless potential of shadow and sound to instill a deep psychological state of unease in the viewer. A couple of sequences demonstrate this terrifying skill to such an extent that it becomes a perverse joy to witness.

Hamlet (1964, Grigory Kozintsev)

If you're looking for a great screen version of the world's most famous play, it's hard to do better than this handsome 2 1Ú2 hour black-and-white Russian version. The source material is trimmed down but the film gains in narrative force as a result -- the story is told with a dynamic and direct sense of purpose that allows the drama to build over time. The set design (both the labyrinthine interiors and the vast exterior seascapes) and stark Bergmanesque cinematography are the standouts of the production.

Chicago (2002, Rob Marshall)

The name may read Rob Marshall, but the look and feel of this film adaptation of the Broadway musical is Bob Fosse through and through, for better or worse. Not only do we have Fosse's speed-freak editing technique (not a single shot lasts for more than five seconds, which doesn't help any of them linger in the mind), but also his "That's Showbiz!" cynicism and blending of stage performances and reality, masquerading as social insight. The story of an aspiring showgirl who kills her way to stardom does make some interesting if generic commentary on contemporary celebrity culture; but what really fascinates me about this film, and the films Fosse directed, is in how they can be so joyously nihilistic (that is when they don't take themselves too seriously). The flashing colors and naked flesh are heaped on by the truckloads here, and as obvious as it is, it works (at times the film itself comments on its own obviousness: the best number is aptly titled "Give 'Em the Ol' Razzle Dazzle"). Maybe its honesty is part of its crude appeal; it just wants to put on a big show for your enjoyment, with the emphasis on "put-on" (but again, how do you put one over the audience while telling them that you're doing so at the same time? This may be key to understanding the survival of the musical genre in a postmodern society). Renee Zellweger, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Richard Gere, Queen Latifah and John C. Reilly do a wonderful job acting like they can sing and dance and endearing you to their efforts, helped in no small part by the aforementioned "five second rule." I'd say that their performances constitute the real heart and soul of the film, but given that I never get more than flashing glimpses of their faces and bodies, it could just be an illusion -- the most pivotal performance may be the editing machine's. ItÕs a diverting shell game that doesn't hold a candle to the displays of actual talent from the glory days of MGM, but as a fun glorification of the juvenile ambition and lurid deception that drives show business, this movie is more compelling and direct in its purpose than OCEANS' ELEVEN or CATCH ME IF YOU CAN.

Mr. Arkadin (1955, Orson Welles)

A mysterious tycoon sets his daughter's lover on a wild goose chase to investigate his own origins. The film can be seen as a rebuttal to CITIZEN KANE, with lies heaped upon lies so that they develop a certain baroque grandeur; if anything it's amazing to see Welles do so much with so little (stock footage and actors that, well, let's say they aren't quite up to Mercury Theater standard). The production values are shoddy but they actually serve the story's central theme of artifice. But like TOUCH OF EVIL (which elaborates on several elements found in this film), I'm afraid I'm more impressed than enthralled by the zany contrivances of Welles' design at this point in his career.

The Wicker Man (1973, Anthony Shaffer)

Stiff-collared bobby (Edward Woodward) gets more than he bargained for when he hunts for a missing child on a Scottish isle swarming with fornicating pagans. It plays like a long, dirty Sunday school joke, thumbing its nose at stuffed-shirts, and its cult status is such that it's pointless to call it shallow and predictable, which it is. The music was terrific and the scenery lovely -- rollickin' fun for the lute-plucking hedonist in all of us.

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