Reviews

The film opens with a surrealist sequence, four full years before the surrealist film movement would gain worldwide recognition with Un Chien Andalou (1929). But many of the techniques which would later be utilized by Bunuel and Dali are here viewed in force, including montage, fluid camera movement, Dutch angles, imposition, camera distortion, and a nonlinear narrative which relies on disjointed flashbacks. However, this pure abstract cinema will eventually give way to a documentary style that may cause viewers to wonder whether they are witnessing nothing more than a faithful representation of life inside a mental institution in the early twentieth century. This collision of the surreal and hyperreal is what gives the film its fatal edge. The narrative itself, told within this vacillation between two mutually exclusive styles, is much less accessible than in the typical film. It unfolds without the benefit of title cards, either to explain events or dialogue. But this vagueness is precisely what allows the perspective and emotion of the viewer to impose itself on the work. Our response is totally our own, and this makes the horror we experience all the more profound.

This movie is a masterpiece, certainly, but as admirable as it is for its technical mastery and genre inversion, it somehow fails to entertain. This should not discourage anyone from watching it, they should simply know what they are getting into from the outset. More than anything, this is an experiment of film: testing new possibilities for the medium (a trend that Antonioni would follow in the next two installments in this trilogy, La Notte and L'Eclisse) and new methods of emotional manipulation. The first thing to notice is the camera- work and direction style. It is a truly beautiful film, jumping from extreme close-ups characterized by frenetic movement to wide overhead shots of an island or city in which one or two distant figures can be viewed etching out their paths like ants in the sand. It often distracts from the underlying story, especially in the later parts of the movie when the story itself has almost seemed to vanish along with the missing girl who acts as the focal point of the film, if it can be said to have one. The story itself offers some severe challenges to the audience. The first thirty minutes are devoted to establishing the mystery involved in the disappearance of Anna, the best friend of one of the film's protagonists and lover of the second. In a departure from the traditions of the genre, however, this mystery does not lead to a criminal conspiracy or hard-boiled investigation, but is instead followed by a series of the most mundane events imaginable. This is not to say that the lives of the two protagonists do not turn upside down, merely that this upheaval is internal rather than dependent upon external circumstances. As their half-hearted attempts to locate Anna lead them nowhere, Claudia and Sandro find themselves committing a more profound betrayal than if they had abandoned Anna to die outright: moving on with their lives. Rather than serving as the primary driver of the film, the mystery is covered up like an untreated wound festering just beneath the surface and infecting everything around it. Eventually the two characters reach a point in which the reappearance of Anna would no longer be the solution to a problem, but would in fact be the culmination of one. The final scene is striking in its ambiguity. Are we witnessing redemption, or the final stages of the fall from grace? Even the music seems to be unable to decide.

Red Beard is one of those films, like Inglorious Basterds for Tarantino or Rear Window for Hitchcock, which while not being the most enjoyable or technically perfect film made by the director, still perfectly represents the entirety of his/her work. Everything that a Kurosawa fan loves about Kurosawa is showcased in this one powerhouse film: beautiful dialogue, remarkable direction and camera-work, acting which seems natural despite constant profundity, and themes echoed in many of his other works such as the unreliability of human perception and the capricious nature of "truth". Certainly not a samurai picture, but not quite one of Kurosawa's melodramas, Red Beard is situated somewhere between the two, moving almost like an action movie while focused primarily on human stories of hardship and trauma. This is relatively low on my list of Kurosawa films, not coming near the top five, but it may be the one I would suggest for a first- comer to his collection.

It's hard to accurately assess older films. Do you use the lens of modern society? Or do you try to approach it on its own terms? Thoroughly Modern Millie is certainly a fun film, poking fun of itself and movies in general, packing in homages to famous flicks like Safety Last, and delivering relatively enjoyable musical numbers even for those who don't particularly enjoy musicals. Yes, many of the assumptions about the traditional roles of men and women in society and in relationships with each other are dated, but so is the film. One line by Julie Andrews, "I don't want to be your equal, I want to be a woman," is particularly obscene, even for the sixties. But it also takes apart some stereotypes along the way as well. The film's approach to Muzzy's sexual exploration, viewed as a celebration of life rather than a sign of depravity, is advanced even by today's standards. Overall the film pleases more than it puts off. Enjoy what you can, and remember that it was just a different time.

I really enjoyed this film. I'm not a Roman Polanski fan. And I'm not particularly a fan of any member of the cast. But it all came together wonderfully. The film oscillates between bizarre, hysterical, and maddening, just as the characters do. Each has their turn as the voice of reason, as the child, as the higher ground and the low. Often the characters will represent the holy and the profane in the same breath. It's a valuable lesson in humanity. Even at our lowest, we are constantly aware of the highest of our values, and constantly altering our behavior because of it. It's when we break down and abandon all of our social mores that we really show ourselves, and while it may not be pretty, at least the movie manages to make it funny! The movie's technicality is also a plus. It manages to feel like a play and a film at just the right intervals to avoid distraction from the characters and the degeneration (or progression, depending on your outlook) of their interaction. Admittedly, it was almost cheating. The film basically brags about its resemblance to The Exterminating Angel. At one point a character even says "No one is forcing you to stay". But if you're going to steal, steal from the best.

The problem with Mulholland Drive is that if you try to say it's a bad movie, anyone can simply fall back on the classic "You just didn't understand it". I finally brought myself to watch it for a second time, and I still don't see the merit. And let me make it clear, to the extent that anyone CAN understand this movie, I do. But for one thing, David Lynch's make-it-up-as-you-go style always leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Don't get me wrong, I like a movie that leaves some things up to the imagination or open to interpretation. But there has to be something concrete underneath it all. For instance, as difficult as it may be to grasp, there is a distinct sequence of events that Luis Bunuel wants to depict in L'Age d'Or; and distinct ideas he wants to invoke. This is why his work is satisfying even to those who don't fully understand it, whereas with Lynch's films, even if you do understand it you're left feeling unsatisfied, as if something was left unfinished. And more than anything, this is an unfinished work: a television show that was dismissed and forced into the constraints of the feature film. Characters left undeveloped. Plot lines left unresolved. Ends left loose. It is an entrancing movie, credit where credit is due. There's nothing stale about it. There's purpose behind each shot (however undefined), and the shots themselves are beautiful. I've given it a six, and for artistic reasons I'd like to give it more. But a movie can't just be art, it still has to be a movie. And in that regard, this one just barely fails.

I do not think this is one of her best works, as it is often cited to be. It's technically astounding, filled with interesting shots and effects. But for all her attempts to embrace surrealism she clings to the necessity of the narrative, an experiment that (for my taste) has only been successfully attempted by Bunuel and Bergman, and to a lesser degree Tarkovsky. There are also a lot of interesting images, the cloaked antagonist with a mirror for a face stands out, but it remains a sort of Frankenstein's monster of cinema, halfway between the real and surreal without the necessary components to integrate the two. Still quite enjoyable though.

I can easily understand how this film might seem a disappointment for anyone seeking out a monster flick, as the title "monster" does not receive a great deal of screen time. If one expects buckets of blood or a high body count from your horror, again this is not your film. But for those who enjoy a little substance with their scare, you could do far worse than The Babadook. The fear in this film is pervading and intimately tied to the human experience in all its unpredictable subjectivity, and despite the backdrop of children's fantasy, much more real than the scares usually meted our in the horror genre. Unfortunately, the reveal is held out a little too long, and the audience gets to the punch before the film throws it, so long as you're not waiting for a literal axe to fall. If that happens to be what you're looking for, well there's always the next Taken movie...

When he officially abandoned the New Wave, Godard said that he no longer wanted to make "political films" but instead wanted to "make films politically." In Grin Without a Cat, Chris Marker manages to do both by presenting a Weberian genealogical analysis of revolution, and in doing so creates a more perfect kind of documentary. Focusing on specific events and individuals in an overarching context, he attempts much more than most political documentaries. He doesn't ask the question "How was the revolution successful or unsuccessful?" (although this is addressed), but the main inquiry is instead "Where does revolution come from, and once it's here, what function does it serve?" The breadth of the film is incredible, chronicling popular revolts in France, Vietnam, Cuba, Prague, Chile, Bolivia, China and others, but as many who have seen the film note, it moves incredibly fluidly, and the time spent watching it never seems to drag. There is also no lack of the flair of style seen in Marker's most popular works, Sans Soleil and La Jetee. In short, anyone with an interest in the documentary form will tremendously enjoy this film, though it is a bit depressing. Like politics itself, there are no heroes presented, only victims, oppressors, and the idealistically misinformed.

Either you get it or you don't. This is a difficult movie to rate, so don't let the Six out of Ten stars fool you. This is one of the movies that I enjoy more than any other, no matter how many times I see it. My subjective self wants to give it a Ten on the basis of pure satisfaction in the movie watching experience. Objectively however, this movie does effuse some of the worst... let me scratch that. I can't say worst, because I genuinely love everything about this movie, so let me just say that it displays some of the most nonsensical writing, acting, music, effects, etc., etc., in film history. One individual from the documentary Best Worst Film sums it up perfectly, basically saying that what makes the movie so enjoyable is precisely that it is so bad, but that it is still so obviously pure. The movie was not made cynically, or just to turn a quick buck. The people involved actually believed in what they were making. This movie, for me, is along the same lines as Jaws: the Revenge, Escape from New York, or They Live. It goes so far past bad that it become good again. Truly good. And one of the most absolutely entertaining cinematic experiences you can possibly have.

It has truly come to the point where movies are no longer movies, only tools for making money. The "Amazing" Spider-Man is a perfect example. Leaving aside the problems in adapting the characters and stories for a transition in medium from comics to film, the movie simply doesn't work as anything but a marketing campaign. The makers of the film are clearly depending upon the viewing population's willingness to go see the sequel (already in progress), if not multiple sequels, in order to see a real story unfold. Any story that the movie does present is developed through abrupt and sloppy plot transitions, and so much is packed into the available 135 minutes that even a lifelong comic fan will leave the theater wondering who the characters were. The swinging effects were amazing, but of course, if you add money somewhere you must subtract it from somewhere else, and the effects for the Lizard were mediocre at best. My advice is to save this movie for Bad Blockbuster night on the couch, once it hits the redbox.

The first thing to mention about this movie is that it is so far ahead of its time, and in almost every way. The acting is much more subtle than what one might expect from a movie from the thirties. The camera work is fantastic but, like the acting, subtle. And the story was incredibly powerful. It had me echoing the title of the film in my head, as there are so many possible applications and implications. This is also, in my opinion, an underrated movie, which lacks none of the depth found in say, a Fellini film, but manages to cut to heart of things without hesitation. And the finale is one that I will not soon forget, similar to many Hitchcock films which don't rely so much on an explosive climax as a sudden release of the tension that has been gradually building. For me, this is quite close to a perfect film.

If you want brilliant classic cinema, by all means go elsewhere. But if you've been looking for the Japanese equivalent to a blacksploitation flick, you've got it here. Cheesy acting, antiquated and predictable storytelling, AND catchy theme song all rolled into one. (Have to give credit where credit is due, that theme song is great). Generally I'm a fan of film cross-pollination. After all, where would Akira Kurasawa be without the old classic Westerns, and likewise, where would George Lucas be without Akira Kurasawa? But Tokyo Drifter just overdid it. It also had that 'Speed Racer' feeling to it, like you where watching the same thing over and over again. Still, much like Shaft, it's not art, but it's still quite enjoyable.

Let me say that I had been looking forward to this film for quite some time, and I couldn't have been more disappointed. The most annoying thing about this picture is that it had the potential to be the next Pan's Labyrinth, when instead it barely qualifies as the next Labyrinth. Every "revelation" is telegraphed to the viewer at least twenty minutes prior to the reveal. The characters can more accurately be described as caricatures. The acting is passable at the best moments in the film, and the most interesting thing about the movie, the nightmare-producing Incubi, is incredibly downplayed. And the dialogue... some of the stiffest I've ever seen. To be polite, it was "on the nose" far too often. The best thing I can say about it is that if count each cliché you find, you'll have a pretty good drinking game. I wanted to like this movie, I really did. Unfortunately it wouldn't let me.