The Deep Focus

Sadly the great visionary of British cinema has passed on. Performance, Walkabout, Don’t Look Now, The Man Who Fell To Earth, Bad Timing, Eureka. Need I say more.

I first saw Don’t Look Now in about 1983. Once seen, never forgotten. I remember being shocked at the sex scene and the ending of the film has stayed with me ever since too. And the music  – again I’ve never forgotten the haunting melody.

If he only made Don’t Look Now that would be enough to be remembered by. The fact he made other worthy films is a bonus, an embarrassment of riches.

I had no idea that his last film was made ten years ago (Puffball). I’ll have to seek it out.

One of the great last lines in Billy Wilder’s filmography is at the end of The Apartment (1960): Jack Lemmon and Shirley Maclaine are playing cards, he tells her he loves her and she says “Shut up and deal”.

What many people don’t know is that this line is actually taken from the last line of an episode of the great comedy series Sgt Bilko (1955-59). This time Bilko and the love if his life Joan are playing cards and she says “Shut up and deal”.

This may not have been a conscious thing on their part, but I think either Wilder or his co-writer I.A.L. Diamond must have seen that episode and it made a memorable impression as a great line. Either way, whether intentional or not, it is most definitely not original to them.

Surprisingly I can find no reference anywhere on the internet about this – until now!

It’s so rare these days to be surprised when viewing a new film. This jaded film buff has seen it all and I lost that sense of wide-eyed wonder at watching a film a long time ago.

Then along comes a film like Mandy and I feel reinvigorated once again. This film is pure cinema.

I don’t even know where to start in writing about it, or what words to use. I could use words like “amazing” or “brilliant” but I’ve used those words on other films I’ve seen this year and they just don’t seem enough in describing this film.  It feels like all the other new films I’ve seen recently are suddenly cowering in the shadow of the shining piece of cinematic art that this film represents. Thinking about it over the last few days I think what makes this film exceptional is the way it hits you on some kind of primal, atavistic, and unconscious level. THAT’S why I can’t get the images out of my head. Rational thought and criticism becomes irrelevant.

It reminds me of the power of cinema at its best, where watching a film is an experience where you lose yourself and all awareness of even being inside a cinema. A multi-sensory, immersive overload that leaves you reeling.

In years to come I’ll be able to say “I was there”, at a sold-out HOME cinema in Manchester with the volume turned up to 11 and a dazzling array of images passing before my eyes. Yes it was hallucinatory, yes it was psychedelic, yes it was violent, but it was more than that, it was beautiful, deranged, intense, exciting, visionary, sad and even funny. It contains the greatest Nicolas Cage performance that I’ve seen for a long time. But let’s not forget Andrea Riseborough’s performance too. And the use of colour was astonishing, the whole film looked as if it had been filtered through some drug-induced haze.

I’ve deliberately not said much about the plot because I want people to discover it for themselves. Let’s just say it’s a revenge horror film.

I think people will be picking apart the symbolism and meaning in this film for a long time to come. There’s the occult aspect, of course (why else was the tv channel tuned to 13?) You’ve got pyramids, mythology, tigers, scythes, and just what does Mandy’s scar represent? I can see myself re-visiting this film again and again. Thank you Mr Cosmatos, for showing me why I love cinema.

And all it comes down to, in the end, is a man’s love for a woman. What could be simpler, or more profound, than that?

I know it’s been a while since I updated my blog. Life just gets in the way sometimes.

I want to say something about the Widescreen Weekend held in Bradford last weekend. I would encourage anyone with an interest in films to attend this event. Anyone who wants to see films how they were meant to be seen, in analogue wide-screen, will love this. And to top it off they have one of only three Cinerama screens in the world. I saw How The West Was Won, which was one of the few  films made specifically to be screened on Cinerama screens. This was a rare opportunity indeed. The screen is highly curved, in three panels, and is made up of many vertical strips like a blind, with each strip at a slightly different angle to catch the light. And whilst How The West Was Won is by no means a great Western, watching it as it was designed to be seen certainly elevates it to a level whereby one can appreciate its qualities much more and the sheer technical achievement of how the film was made.

Other highlights were the film Grand Prix, which I vividly remember seeing when I was a kid and to watch on a Cinerama screen brought all the memories back. The thing that struck me most about seeing it in this format was the way it used split-screen – an effect which would be completely lost on the small screen. This is surely the most effective use of split-screen in film history. If anyone has any other suggestions let me know. And the sound was phenomenal, the film really captures the sights and sounds of Grand Prix racing. Most importantly of all, one got a sense of the speed and the sheer danger of Grand Prix racing, something which is difficult to capture on film, but this film does admirably. This is thanks to the technical innovations Frankenheimer used such as placing a camera on the wing of a car. It’s just a pity that the off-track drama is so soapy and sentimental. Away from the racing, the film is firmly stuck in 1st gear.

Other films screened were Forty Guns, an excellent feminist Western by Sam Fuller, and Billy Wilder’s The Apartment, which was shown in a pristine restoration. What is great about The Apartment is the way it achieves a perfect balance of sweet and sour, something few films have achieved. I’m sure this is why Shirley MacLaine mentions liking “Sweet and sour” at one point in the film.

And I also saw Once Upon a Time in the West, one of my favourite films. All that needs to be said about that film is that it is the essence of cinema. In fact it is the quintessence of cinema. Every look means something, every spare line of dialogue speaks volumes. Like many great films one feels that the film continues after the credits have rolled.

Top ten favourite new films are listed in a different colour font. Films I consider to be masterpieces have the letter M written after the title in red.

Mulholland Drive M

Kandahar (Iran)

Lord of the Rings M

Little Otik (Czech Republic) (part-animation)

Vanilla Sky

Monsoon Wedding (India)

La Ceremonie (France) (1995)

Gosford Park

On Connait La Chanson aka Same Old Song  (France) (1997)

A Tale of Springtime (France) (1990)

Ocean’s 11

In The Bedroom

The Royal Tenenbaums

The Experiment (Germany)

24 Hour Party People

…And Your Mother Too (Mexico)

Comedy of Innocence (France)

The Officer’s Ward (France)

Time Out (France)

Panic Room

The Business of Strangers

No Man’s Land (Bosnia)

Star Wars: Attack of the Clones

Sex and Lucia (Spain)

Spiderman

Betty Fisher and Other Stories (France)

Minority Report

Nine Queens (Argentina)

Lawless Heart

Lovely and Amazing

Throne of Blood (Japan) (1957)

Rashomon (Japan) (1950)  M

Yojimbo (Japan) (1961)

Talk To Her (Spain)

Bejing Bicycle (China)

Lantana (Australia)

Insomnia

Sanjuro (Japan)

The Hidden Fortress (Japan) (1958)

Seven Samurai (Japan) (1954) M

Signs

My Little Eye

The Eye (Hong Kong)

All or Nothing

Donnie Darko

Red Dragon

Rabbit-Proof Fence (Australia)

Bowling For Columbine (Documentary)

Changing Lanes

Christie Malry’s Own Double Entry

He Love Me, He Loves Me Not (France)

28 Days Later

Dirty Pretty Things

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers M

I’ve called this article The Quest for Truth because not only is the film itself a quest for Truth but this post will also be such a quest, a quest to get to the heart of Stalker, which is a film which gains in richness and depth with each subsequent viewing.

I first saw Stalker about three years ago, a poor quality print on DVD. For some reason it didn’t wow me, although I enjoyed it and could see it was a very good film. I think part of the problem was that there was a disconnect between what I was expecting the film to be and what it actually was. And describing it as a sci-fi film didn’t help either

Nevertheless something about the film got under my skin and when there was a chance to see it at the cinema I jumped at the chance. That was the first time I really connected with the film. And now we have the restored version on Criterion which enables us to see the film as it was meant to be seen. The contrasts are sharper, the colours are richer and the shadows have more depth.

What follows are personal musings on the film which, in the spirit of Tarkovsky, may not follow a linear sequence.  I intend this to be impressionistic in tone. It also assumes knowledge of the film on the part of the reader. If you’ve not seen it, please do so first.

The Inner Is The Outer

I think Tarkovsky is a master at showing how the internal and external worlds form a continuum, and indeed, I would go further and say that he shows that the external world is the internal world. So whilst on the surface we have the story of three people travelling towards a “Room”, at the same time this represents an internal journey towards the depths of one’s own unconscious. Nowhere is this more clear than in the scene set in the sand-dune room. It stuck me as I saw this recently that the dunes resemble the surface of a giant brain. This can’t be coincidence. Because ultimately these characters ARE  exploring their own brains/minds. So it makes complete sense. And one could also argue that the “meatgrinder” tunnel that leads to this room is akin to a fallopian tube which they go through as a kind of re-birth.

But let’s take some other things which I’ve not seen anyone else mention: near the beginning of the film stalker’s wife walks into the kitchen, switches on the light and it immediately blows. I’m convinced that this is to indicate her internal agitated mental state as she confronts stalker about his desire to visit the Zone again. Not only this, as she speaks we see a towel fall off its hook behind her. There’s no way that this is just a careless oversight by Tarkovsky. It’s reinforcing the psychic connection between her agitated internal state and the external world.

Lets’s take the scene when the writer has gone ahead into the sand-dune room and drops a stone into the well. Seconds pass until the stone hits the bottom. Then he comes out with a monologue expressing doubt and disillusionment with his profession. I had the realisation hat the dropping of the stone into the well is a metaphor, a signal that his next words are coming from the depths of his unconscious. This is Tarkovsky’s genius.

States of Consciousness

One of my favourite scenes in this – or any – film is the one where the three protagonists travel on a trolley into the zone. The sound of the trolley gets more and more distorted as they get closer. I’m convinced that Tarkovsky is using the sounds here to change our own state of consciousness in readiness for the Zone. I am reminded of shamanic drumming at this point. The beats lull us into a trance. For the purposes of the film it is the signal that we are not just moving from one geographical location to another but also one state of consciousness to another. The change from sepia to colour is also a powerful contributor to this change in state.

Symbolism and Metaphor

And what is the first thing we see in the Zone? A cross. In the guise of a telegraph pole.  This has to be intentional on Tarkovsky’s part. The epitome of Christian iconography is shown as soon as one enters the Zone. We know therefore that this is sacred ground. Towards the end of the film the Writer wears a crown of thorns and what does he utter in this moment? “I don’t forgive you”.  The opposite of what Jesus would have said. This could simply be a little joke on Tarkovsky’s part, expressed through the Writer in order to illustrate the writer’s disdain for Christianity. Nevertheless this is another example of a Christian reference.

Monkey and the Ending

Stalker’s daughter Monkey is the embodiment of the Zone. The ending of the film is one of the most powerful in all cinema. She telekinetically moves three glasses across a table. I think this is the one expression of true faith in the film. With just a seed of faith one can perform miracles. I think this film is as much about the beliefs of the viewer as it is about an objective reality. For example, if an Atheist watches the film what do they say about the ending? Oh, it was just the vibrations from the passing train that caused the glasses to move. If a Religion person sees it they say it was the power of God. Both wrong (in my opinion). Monkey is in touch with her pure essence. The inner is the outer. Everything is connected at a deeper level. The evidence that the passing train did not cause the glasses to move is this: the dog starts to whimper; Monkey turns towards the dog; at this precise moment, the glass stops moving; As she turn back to the glass, it starts moving again. Hence it was the power of her mind, not the train. And I think the reason the dog starts to whimper is because it’s sensitive ears are agitated by the high-pitched sound (frequency) made by the glass as it moves across the table.

Monkey’s atrophied legs may be the price that is paid for being the daughter of a Stalker, possibly she was conceived in the Zone which messed with her physical body but also this is compensated for by her spiritual faculties and powers. Is this an illustration of Karma? One asks the question, why has Stalker not gone to the Room to ask for his daughter to be healed? I would suggest this is because he is afraid that he may find out that his deepest wish is something else entirely.

And I love hearing certain critics talking about the film trying to understand the significance of the nut-throwing. Over-intellectualising something that can only be understood intuitively.

The Path of the Initiate

On any initiatic path to enlightenment obstacles are put into the initiates way to prevent them achieving this enlightenment. These are moments when they have to confront their own unconscious. We see this in the film. The message that the shortest route is not always the easiest is also part of the initiatic path. This is reinforced in the film. The Room represents one’s deepest wish. I see this as being the ultimate confrontation with one’s own unconscious self. How many of us really desire that? Very few. Because our deepest wish is simply the other side of the coin from our deepest fear. Hence they don’t go into the Room from fear of receiving their deepest wish, a wish which they are not even aware of at a conscious level. The Writer wants inspiration at a conscious level but what does he really want?  If he goes into the Room he may get something else entirely. Furthermore, if a person received their deepest wish, what then? What next?  What does he/she do with it? I’m reminded of the Buddhist phrase “Desire nothing. Enjoy”.

Stalker’s Wife

Stalker’s wife utters one of the key monologues in the film straight to camera in the penultimate scene of the film. She explains why she married him despite people’s warnings and knowing it would be difficult. I see this scene as key because she explains that without sadness there is no hope, so the sadness is necessary. I think hers is an expression of true love. So the last two scenes of the film can be summarised thus: love and magic.

Synchronisations

As they leave the pub near the beginning of the film one of them wants to go back to retrieve something. He is told not to since it is bad luck. This foreshadows what happens in the Zone later on when they are told not to go back the way they came.

Whilst in the Zone a cuckoo is heard several times. Towards the end when back home a cuckoo is heard again inside their house, from a cuckoo-clock. I think this is a sign that an aspect of the Zone is back home with Stalker and his family. It’s like an echo of the Zone.

Finally

Watching the film again it’s as if Tarkovsky did some magic that meant that the film itself changes slightly every time someone watched it. As if the film is itself a product of the Zone. We watch it, and time and space become malleable for two and a half hours. It is a remarkable film which challenges the viewer at all levels.

I thought I would give this post a somewhat controversial title to catch people’s attention.

I’ve seen three of De La Iglesia’s films, The Last Circus, Witching and Bitching and his latest film The Bar. The Last Circus is known in Spanish as Balada Triste de Trompeta which means Ballad of the Sad Trumpet which I actually think is a great title although probably doesn’t convey what the film is actually about. The image above is from the latter film.

So why have I decided to write a post about De La Iglesia? Simply because I’ve just seen his latest film which reminded me how much I love his films. I first saw one of his films a few years ago as part of the Spanish film festival at Cornerhouse in Manchester. That was the Last Circus. What intrigued me about it was the still from the film in the programme. What’s not to like about an image of a mitre-wearing clown wielding two machine-guns? I knew at the very least that it would be entertaining. And indeed it was. I remember coming out of the cinema thinking “what have I just seen?” Here was a director with his own unique take on the world and his own unique style. Why wasn’t he more well known? Of course he is well-known in Spain but not in the UK.

And now I’ve seen three of his films I have to say I find them to be some of the most richly entertaining films I’ve ever seen. His films are completely unpredictable, but filled with strong plots and characters, some of them verging on the grotesque. It’s not spoiling anything to say that at the end of The Last Circus, the “happy” clown is joyful and the “unhappy” clown is in tears. The events that unfold during the course of that film are the provocation for their emotional states at the end.

All the films have a strong visual sense. In his latest The Bar there is mastery right from the start in the way he economically introduces the characters as soon as the credits are over. And I love the way his films don’t pander to political correctness. He touches on conspiracies, religion, the state etc. Buried deep within his films are serious topics but you’re having so much fun that they can get lost in the mix.

All his films have strong openings: look at the start of Witching and Bitching in which a group of street artists undertake a heist. One of those artists is playing Jesus. I think only De La Iglesia could think of that. His films have ambition and he’s not afraid to take them in strange directions. Take The Bar – it starts off as a chamber piece and you think that’s how it will stay but it doesn’t, it certainly doesn’t. I’ll leave it at that.

Alex De La Iglesia’s films don’t seem to get released in the UK beyond the film festivals which is a real shame. I would have thought there was definitely a market for his films in this country, there are less commercial films that get a far wider release. I hope this post will go some way to encouraging people to seek his films out.

Meanwhile, I’m going to look for some more of his ouevre. I think it could be Perdita Durango next……

Top ten favourite new films are listed in a different colour font. Films I consider to be masterpieces have the letter M written after the title in red.

City of God (Brazil)  M

Gangs of New York

About Schmidt

Catch Me If You Can

Three Colours: Red (France)

Punch-Drunk Love

The Man Who Wasn’t There

Far From Heaven

Adaptation

The Pianist

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind

Bowling For Columbine (Documentary)

Sunset Boulevard (1950)  M

Russian Ark (Russia)

The Seventh Seal (1957) (Sweden)  M

In This World

Intacto (Spain)

Persona (1966) (Sweden)  M

X-Men 2

The Magnificent Ambersons (1942)

Secretary

Matrix Reloaded

Wild Strawberries (1957) (Sweden)  M

The Leopard (1963) (Italy)  M

Ripley’s Game

Charlie’s Angels 2

El Crimen del Padre Amaro (Mexico)

Le Cercle Rouge (France) (1970)

Terminator 3

Hulk

Rodger Dodger

Swimming Pool (France)

Cypher

Pirates of the Carribean

Spirited Away (Japan) (Animation)  M

Belleville Rendezvous (France) (Animation)

Respiro (Italy)

Two Stage Sisters (China) (1964)

Monsieur Hulot’s Holiday (France) (1953)

Day of Wrath (Denmark) (1943)  M

Yellow Earth (China) (1984)

Kill Bill

Intolerable Cruelty

Made in Hong Kong (Hong Kong) (1997)

Matrix Revolutions

Suzhou River (China) (2000)

La Trilogie: One (France)

Vendredi Soir (France)

Master and Commander

Together (Sweden)

Time of the Wolf (France)

Lord of the Rings: Return of the King  M

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Luis Bunuel’s Belle de Jour. It was on television and it was showing as part of a Bunuel season on BBC2. That was back in the good old days when TV channels like BBC and Channel Four would actually put on director retrospectives and screen films like Godard’s Weekend. (My memories of seeing THAT film as an………ahem…….teenager, will be the topic of another post).

I was so innocent in my film-watching then that I didn’t even realise some of the sequences were fantasies! I just knew that I was seeing stunningly crafted images and sonic effects that I’d never seen or heard before. Why WAS there a constantly recurring sound of bells ringing? What WAS the significance of the recurring motif of the coach and horses? What actually happened at the end? And why DO characters say something about bringing on the cats?

Now, all these years laters, I can at least have a stab at answering some of these questions. Maybe that indicates a growing maturity. Every time I see the film I feel I understand it a bit more, like a diamond that reveals a different facet every time I look at it but its depth can never be fully revealed.

The mastery of this film is the way in which it portrays and contrasts the exterior and interior worlds of its main character, played by Catherine Deneuve. She was ideal casting because she is the epitome of ice-cool. So on the surface she’s all frigidity, staidness and primness. But she has a rich interior life  which consists of sado-masochistic fantasies. These fantasies are signalled by the sound of bells ringing. These sounds are sometimes diegetic (inside the film) and other times non-diegetic (outside the film). At one point one of her clients in the brothel actually starts ringing some bells which would imply that the following scene is fantasy, however it is never entirely clear. What I think happens is that the external and internal worlds start to bleed into each other more and more as the film goes on.

The ending of the film is haunting because it leaves it open as to whether her husband has recovered or not. We see the wheelchair earlier in the film and her husband sees this on the street in a kind of premonition. Without giving too much away, the wheelchair is present in the final scene. Which may or may not be part of her fantasy. It is likely that she has simply imagined him recovering but one cannot say for sure.

Flashbacks are also used occasionally, including one in which we see her as a child being abused by a relative. Which implies that possibly she is punishing herself in her fantasies as a form of atonement for being defiled as a child. Or maybe as a result of the abuse she equates love with pain and therefore has the masochism internalised, due to not being able or allowed to express it in the external world.

I would also suggest that Bunuel is peeling away the veneer of bourgeois society by showing that the civilized behaviour on the surface is merely a front. One could see it as the difference between the conscious and the unconscious. Bunuel is a master at showing the unconscious seething away beneath the surface of the conscious world. Not just in this film, but all his films. (Which must have been an influence on Lynch).

And as for the sound of cats———-I’m still working that one out.

 

I love it when I discover a quality film I’ve never heard of before, made by a director I’ve also never heard of. In this case, the film is Room For Let (1959) and the director is Yuzo Kawashima.

This film is so obscure it doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page! It’s so obscure that I can only find a handful of stills from the film on the internet.

I’ve got to admit that Japanese cinema is one of my blind spots. There’s Kurosawa, and then there’s….Kurosawa. Of course there’s also Mizoguchi and Ozu and Miike but you could count the films of there’s that I have seen on the fingers of one hand, or at most two hands.

So all I had to go on was the write-up in the programme. Which certainly intrigued me. When the write-up includes the word “masterpiece” then my interest is definitely piqued. (I think that may be the first time I have  ever written the word “piqued”.)

I took my seat in anticipation of what wonders I was to behold. I noticed it was filmed in Tohoscope (the Japanese equivalent of Cinemascope). And this was entirely justified because every scene is crammed with activity. This was a farce, a satire, and all the characters were usually up to something underhand or deceitful. What impressed was the everyone on the screen was actually DOING SOMETHING. It may be a quirky character trait, a funny line, a hand gesture, a smile, and it all intermeshed wonderfully. And was also funny. The physicality of the characters was also impressive. There is no doubt that in the original language this film must indeed be a masterpiece of farce, and the fact that it was still quite funny with subtitles was itself an achievement. I’m sure a lot of the dialogue must not have been translated  because it is a wordy film in which overlapping dialogue is rampant.

And then there’s the editing – simply superb. Nearly every scene would both start and end with something quirky and memorable, and so fast that one had to be alert to it in order to catch them. The transitions between scenes were a masterclass in itself. And the timing was razor-sharp in the way characters interacted with each other.

If this film was made today, in English, with English comedy actors, the writer would be hailed as “the new Alan Ayckbourn”.

Kawashima suffered from motor neurone disease and died aged 45. Maybe this is why the film has such a sense of urgency. He made over 50 films though so I think it’s time I checked some more out.