The Harder They Come.

Review #2082: The Harder They Come.

Cast: 

Jimmy Cliff (Ivanhoe "Ivan" Martin), Janet Bartley (Elsa), Carl Bradshaw (Jose), Ras Daniel Heartman (Pedro), Basil Keane (The Preacher), Elijah Chambers (Longa), Bob Charlton (Hilton), Volier Johnson (Pushcart Boy), and Winston Stona (Detective Ray Jones) Directed by Perry Henzell.

Review: 

"But I felt most realism was boring, very serious. I wanted to make realism lighter. I also realized I couldn't possibly write dialogue that was as good as what I heard people saying all around me. I was interested in capturing that poetry. That's sort of a cinéma vérité technique."

Admittedly, I had a bit of reluctance to cover the film until I felt it was just right to do so. It is technically a film in English, in that it is told in Jamaican English, but it also happens to include some Jamaican Patois as well, which I think makes for a curious film that is uniquely of the Caribbean, complete with being directed by a Jamaican in Perry Henzell. He was born in the parish of St. Mary's of Jamaica that studied for a time at both Shrewsbury School (before deciding to hitchhike across Europe) and McGill University (left to apply at the BBC, which resulted in stagehand work for a time). He left for Jamaica when he heard the country was soon to start having it there, for which he soon started his own company in Vista Productions. As such, he would soon direct countless commercials that honed his skills. In 1969, he got started on what would become this film, which was hamstrung by ebbs in financing that saw it shot in bursts. He co-wrote the film with Trevor D. Rhone and also produced the film. The film was inspired by the exploits of Rhyging, also referred to as Vincent "Ivanhoe" Martin. He was a noted Jamaican outlaw that escaped prison and did a crime spree that ranged from robbery to murder that saw him send messages to the press where he held a gun. True to the form of outlaws such as John Dillinger or Bonnie and Clyde, Rhyging met his end through the efforts of several bullets by the police; he has gone down as a legend within outlaws in the country along with serving as a sort of boogeyman figure (of course, the music aspect of the character in the film was not present in the actual outlaw). Incidentally, Prince Buster (one of the first big stars of Jamaica before Bob Marley) makes a cameo as a DJ in the film, and he had done his own song about Rhyging a decade earlier (hell, you want coincidences, Island Records, who had Jimmy Cliff on their label for a couple of years, later did their own film division and released Countryman, which had its own reggae soundtrack and a few actors from this film). Almost immediately, Henzell had ideas of doing a second film with "No Place Like Home", which he shot for a number of years with a variety of young actors, one of whom was Grace Jones. However, a lack of funds when it came to storing the footage led him to decide to become a writer and put the idea of finishing it out of his head when the footage was lost in the archives. Only the acquisition of Island Records by PolyGram (which in turn was acquired by Universal) helped in finding the long-lost footage, which required restoration. During this time, a musical was adapted from the film with script supervision by Henzell. An early cut of the film (with Henzell and fan/producer David Garonzik behind it) made its debut in 2006, with a Jamaica premiere happening the day after Henzell had died of cancer at the age of 70.

Yes, the first feature-length film in Jamaica (the country gained independence from the United Kingdom only a decade earlier) with Jamaican casts and director seemed about right for the occasion, complete with it being one of the key films involving a soundtrack of reggae music. It fits right at home with certain other films involving musicians as the star, because Jimmy Cliff was already a noted name with his talents in the genres of ska, reggae, and soul (thanks to his persistent efforts in convincing someone to enter the music business with his kind of songs). When he was approached by the director after a recording session to write the music, Cliff responded by saying "I can do anything", which eventually led to seeing the script and then getting cast. He performs a few songs here such as "You Can Get It If You Really Want" or the title track. Beyond the qualities that are apparent with a wavering project made to show both the qualities of life within the real places of Jamaica beyond the superficial to go hand in hand with the music is a curiously decent experience that meets its inevitable conclusions in the starcrossed man of fate with useful pacing for 109 minutes. It is a film that cribs cliches from various other genres such as the Western (who better to reference than Django, because a screening of it is seen briefly in the film), but it is a film with a distinct identity of Jamaica in all of its compelling aspects, one that shows people in their element, whether dealing the specter of services of the church or in the hustle of making what one considers a living (song-selling, drug-running, whatever have you). Cliff holds all of the desires and struggles that come with the would-be desperado, a man stubborn enough to let his quick desires punctuate his decision-making no matter where the road may lie. The film isn't so much about plot as it is the vibe that comes from the sounds that come through in music, which is pretty involving and right on edge for engagement in senses that are right at home for those familiar with crime films or, well B-movies. It is easy to see how this became a hit in its native country (less so internationally, but it did make a number as a midnight movie), because it is a generally involving time, one with perspective of the soul that makes for a film worth putting on in the middle of the night for the sake of hearing what the fuss is all about.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Thank you, folks who have been interested in the third themed-August in Around the World in August. I was inspired to do this when I realized that the longest stretch of seeing world cinema films was a grand total of four, and it was only this year. I would think that this month was a success, considering that we saw 17 reviews and went through fifteen countries with a few new ones getting the spotlight. I'm not sure what should happen for next August or if there should be another world cinema month, but I'm always curious to try things out. After 55 reviews that I hope were quality stuff in July and August combined, September will be a modest showing for Movie Night. Thanks and see you later.

Ghost in the Shell (1995).

Review #2081: Ghost in the Shell.

Cast: 

Atsuko Tanaka (Mj. Motoko Kusanagi), Akio Otsuka (Batou), Iemasa Kayumi (The Puppet Master)

Koichi Yamadera (Togusa), Tamio Ōki (Chief Aramaki), Yutaka Nakano (Ishikawa), Tesshō Genda (Chief Nakamura), Mitsuru Miyamoto (Mizuho Daita), Kazuhiro Yamaji (Garbage Collector A), and Shigeru Chiba (Garbage Collector B) Directed by Mamoru Oshii.

Review: 

"As well as Japanese animation, technology has a huge influence on Japanese society, and also Japanese novels. I think it's because before, people tended to think that ideology or religion were the things that actually changed people, but it's been proven that that's not the case. I think nowadays, technology has been proven to be the thing that's actually changing people. So in that sense, it's become a theme in Japanese culture."

There was always going to be an anime included for a month dedicated to world cinema, so it only makes sense to include this one. Besides, an anime with a useful reputation is worthy to spotlight. Its director in Mamoru Oshii had started making films when studying at Tokyo Gakugei University, but his aim for directing took time because of the sluggish Japanese film industry of the time. He worked at a radio production company before moving on to working for places such as Tatsunoko Production and Studio Pierrot. He worked in storyboard art for a variety of anime, but his first key direction job came with the anime Urusei Yatsura in 1981, where he did direction for a significant portion of the segments of the first two seasons. He became a feature director with the theatrical spinoff film Urusei Yatsura: Only You that was released in 1983, which also happened to be the same year that saw him direct Dallos, considered the first original video animation (basically a direct-to-video anime that boomed with the demand for anime on VCRs). With the OVA in Angel's Egg (1985), it was described as "animated art rather than a story". Oshii continued to work on various anime such as Patlabor (referring to the 1988 anime and the two theatrical films in 1989 and 1993, which he directed) and he added live-action film to his repertoire with The Red Spectacles (1987). He was approached by Bandai Visual to do this film (as opposed to what Oshii was thinking about in making Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade); needing the money, he had no choice but to do it. The screenplay was written by Kazunori Itō as based on the manga of the same name, which had been written by Masamune Shirow for original publication in serialized form in Young Magazine Zōkan Kaizokuban from 1989 to 1991. Oshii stated that due to the original work's "reputation for being difficult to understand", his real task was to structure the film so it would be better to understand, although he posited in later years that since it was released before the Internet became a bigger thing, it would've been a tough task for any director. This is apparently a co-production between Japan and the United Kingdom (as noted by the distribution), with Production I.G providing the animation (the English-language dub apparently includes a song from U2, but you already know how much I don't regard English dubs of films with their own native dub). The ensuing quarter-century has ensued some interesting follow-ups, which has included three television animes, and three separate films; Oshii directed a stand-alone sequel to the original film in 2004 with Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence. The original Shell had an "updated version" called 2.0 in 2008 that had updated animations in tandem with original footage to go with a collection of revised sequences that involves further use of CG (compare for yourself if curious, because I sure as hell didn't watch 2.0) that happened to recast the voice role for The Puppet Master character while seemingly matching more in line with the aforementioned Innocence film. A live-action adaptation film of the manga was released in 2017.

Evidently, the film has garnered a high-quality reputation among anime and sci-fi fans. James Cameron called it the "the first truly adult animation film to reach a level of literary and visual excellence" (no disrespect to Cameron, but Akira (1988) exists). It inspired The Wachowskis, who apparently showed the film to a producer and said "We wanna do that for real" that eventually led to the creation The Matrix (1999). This all came for a film that was actually a box office flop on original release and was only a hit when it came to home video. I was fine with the film despite the fact that 82 minutes seems a bit oddly short to really encapsulate a film about identity in an age of information, but it is a fairly captivating feature, nonetheless. Beneath the babble of cybernetics and elements that may or may not dwell in noir is someone who tries and succeeds in kicking some ass for a film that happens to show a bit of nudity and a song told in ancient Japanese (at least one won't be calling it a pastiche of Blade Runner (1982)). The climax includes both a fight with a tank and a philosophical conversation about the nature of evolution and awareness. Its interpretation of 2029 (34 years away in 1995) involves plenty of wires and sprawling features of a big city that is generally involving within familiar character-types that keep your attention while one eventually gets a grip on the story (it is best to call it a human story and leave it to you). Tanaka plays this role with the contemplative confidence that it requires, one who seems at ease with the mechanical requirements that come in procedure that nevertheless must confront the inevitable question that comes with wondering just what is rattling in those parts of her deep within the cybernetics. This goes well with the level-headed Otsuka for a useful pairing of people that aren't just shaped by distinct body parts (eyes, what have you...) or no external ones at all in the ordinary Yamadera. Kayumi makes a suitable figure for looking in to where the line is drawn between man and product or more specifically, the line between the infinite and the one (the biggest adversary after all is, well, a tank, unless one counts conspiracies). I think this is a film I would possibly appreciate more the next time around, because I did enjoy it best when looking at its style in terms of action and body horror (consider the opening sequence, which has a well-timed splatter and disguise), which generally means I would recommend it for those who are curious enough to view and engage with its questions and general pacing that fits for those wanting to look for a time within the cyberpunk.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Last one up: Closing out the month with The Harder They Come. 

Dersu Uzala (1975).

Review #2080: Dersu Uzala.

Cast: 

Maxim Munzuk (Dersu Uzala), Yury Solomin (Vladimir Arsenyev), Vladimir Kremena (Turtygin), Alexander Pyatkov (Olenev), Svetlana Danilchenko (Anna), and Suimenkul Chokmorov (Chzhan Bao) Directed by Akira Kurosawa (#968 - Throne of Blood, #1385 - Seven Samurai, #1870 - Sanshiro Sugata, #2004 - Drunken Angel)

Review: 

“Few people are eccentric enough to enjoy paying a high ticket price to go to see a television movie in a movie theatre. I have digressed again, but it is difficult for a film director who is like a salmon. When the river he was born and raised in becomes polluted, he can’t climb back upstream to lay his eggs – he has trouble making his films. He ends up by complaining. One such salmon, seeing no other way, made a long journey to climb a Soviet river and give birth to some caviar. This is how my 1975 film Dersu Uzala came about. Nor do I think this is such a bad thing. But the most natural thing for a Japanese salmon to do is to lay its eggs in a Japanese river.”

I'm sure that you can understand how some stories of travel can endure in the memories of countless people who end up reading about them and thus lead to further curiosity. In 1923, a memoir titled Dersu Uzala (sometimes referred to as With Dersu the Hunter or Dersu the Trapper) was published, as written by Vladimir Arsenyev, an explorer who was travelling the Far East of Russia, specifically the Ussuri basin in the early 20th century. The title of the book (which was actually the second of three books he wrote) refers to the native hunter (a man of the Nanai people [known once as the Goldi] who lived from c.1849 to 1908) that Arsenyev encountered in his travels that became a helpful guide for the rough wilderness. One admirer of Aresenyev's chronicles was Akira Kurosawa, who expressed a desire to film such travels for years but found that the only way to do it right would be to film in the region itself (which in it of itself would be hard, and add the fac that, well, this was part of the Soviet Union). By the 1970s, Kurosawa was in a turbulent period in his life, one that saw him go five years between filmmaking after a long and consistent stretch between his first venture in Sanshiro Sugata (1943) to Red Beard (1965). One of the things that occurred in that gap after the aforementioned 1965 film was his involvement of what would've surely been a curious venture: the Japanese perspective in the two-pronged venture that became Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970). He had spent time on the script and pre-production but was fired early into shooting that put his sanity into question in some quarters. Dodes'ka-den (1970), his response to said fears that was made in a matter of weeks in color, was not appreciated by Japanese audiences of the time. One year after, with minimal prospects (he tried television at one point), he attempted suicide but recovered. In 1973, Mosfilm approached him with an offer to work with them on a film, and he specifically asked to make a film based on Arsenyev's travels. Interestingly, the book had been adapted to film before in 1961 by Agasi Babayan. Kurosawa wrote the screenplay with Russian writer Yuri Nagibin in a production that would take years to shoot with a small crew of Soviets (and a few Japanese) that happens to also be the only 70mm production Kurosawa ever shot; in addition to Russian, other languages spoken in the film include Mandarin, and Kyakhta Russian–Chinese Pidgin. The resulting success was an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film. Kurosawa would take just as much time for his next two films in Kagemusha (1980) and Ran (1985), which received even further global curiosity. 

How could I not pick a Kurosawa film when dedicating a month to world cinema, particularly his only non-Japanese feature? While it might not be his most engaging work when it comes to showing grand scope, it does accomplish a solemn procession of man's place in nature when are placed within its scope for 144 minutes. This was the most noted feature with Munzuk as star, and the Tuvan actor (alongside other professions such as singing) was a founder of a musical-drama theatre for his people. He pulls in a worthy performance to accompany the title role, a man of measurable frontier qualities that is endearing all the way through even when confronting what it means to look upon death and wonder where it seems best to do it, the frontier or in a padded society. I especially like the sequence where he observes the men trying to shoot a bottle and he confronts them with the observation that a bottle is quite precious to waste before challenging that he can shoot the string on the bottle, which he promptly accomplishes. Solomin plays the traveler with worthwhile interest in following along in the trail of the wilderness, which means dignified interest in conveying the place and mood (he narrates the film from time to time) that comes with trying to embark on the trail of life. It is a friendship based on what they understand and don't understand of each other as men of different walks, one of the land and one who lives in society of the land that nevertheless makes the ideal friendship, which makes the last scene all the more rewarding. It is the scope of images that matter most in this film, such as one that sees a rising sun and a moon setting down all in one shot. Naturally, the sequence of two men dealing with a blizzard with resounding pacing also makes a noted sequence to look on in scale.  When one does spend a bit of time away from the great wilderness, one can see the size of how man really looks when they are back in those carefully crafted buildings of comfort. The fate that arises from the inevitabilities of age and the parts that come with understanding just what nature means to the people who see and experience it for themselves. Dersu Uzala showed that Kurosawa still had what it takes to make a feature fit for audiences across the world in resourceful timing fit for the curious explorer at heart.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next up: the original Ghost in the Shell.

The Last Laugh (1924).

Review #2079: The Last Laugh.

Cast: 

Emil Jannings (hotel doorman), Maly Delschaft (his niece), Max Hiller (her bridegroom), Emilie Kurz (bridegroom's aunt), Hans Unterkircher (hotel manager), Olaf Storm (young guest), Hermann Vallentin (guest with pot belly), Georg John (night watchman), and Emmy Wyda (thin neighbor) Directed by F. W. Murnau (#256 - Nosferatu, #499 - Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans, #1335 - Tabu: A Story of the South Seas, #1885 - City Girl, and #2002 - The Haunted Castle)

Review: 

The Weimer Republic had plenty of choices for people to look upon in its era, whether it was part of the "kammerspielfilm" or not. A cursory look into it states that it was a type of film involving intimate portrayals of the lower middle class. In the years of the Republic that came from the end of World War I, there was a great need for films, which would lead to various efforts from studios that saw various directors make their mark, whether that involved directors such as F.W. Murnau or (future "fellow traveler") Leni Riefenstahl. Murnau had made his debut in 1919, but none of his first six films survive in complete form. He directed for less than two decades due to his untimely death in 1931, but he cultivated such a curious line of work that have distinct qualities to them. The line of connection here with Erich Pommer is not particularly surprising, since he had been a head of production for two studios in Decla Film and UFA and produced a handful of Murnau films. Incidentally, Carl Mayer, who had written for a handful of Murnau films such as The Haunted Castle (1921), wrote the screenplay for this film (to say nothing of the connection of Mayer the writer and Pommer the producer with The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari). The film title [Der letzte Mann] actually translates to "The Last Man", and I am curious as how one knows it as "Laugh" (the German word for that is Lachen instead). In 1955, the film was remade in West Germany with Harald Braun directing. Jannings and Murnau would work together again with the UFA-distributed Tartuffe (1926) and Faust (1926). 

Perhaps it isn't surprising that Jannings (actor of his time and future propagandist) was cast for this role, which mainly allows him to control the screen without any thought for worrying about title cards. It is his own show to chew for pathos to go along with the camerawork from none other than Karl Freund. How can one resist the urge to look up how one can get such shots from a camera that apparently ranged from tying it to Freund's chest on a bicycle to suspending it in a basket from a bridge. All of this comes together for a curious film to view in the lens of seeing the rise and fall of a man in uniform within dignity. In some ways, the man may only really serve as a man when he wears the uniform of a great power (corporation, or perhaps empire?), if you think about it. Jannings accomplishes what is required in showing just how much a man can come and go when one finds their wellbeing challenged, one that might as well be original poster boy for "you are not your job". The camera can make him loom as a man of his job and also surround him like a man and a microscope once the uniform washes away from him. As such, 90 minutes is an interesting time to spend looking at such interesting shots that tells a fable that is generally effective in sobering flow. Well, I was semi-true in saying there were no title cards...because one does pop up near the end that is different from the usual title: "Here our story should really end, for in actual life, the forlorn old man would have little to look forward to but death. The author took pity on him, however, and provided quite an improbable epilogue." The ending is up to you to interpret beyond just labeling it as "the happy part", but I suppose one should consider the sticking point that someone made (whether it was Murnau or a boardroom executive, take your pick) that apparently the washroom attendant makes more than a doorman. Go with the flow or don't, I suppose, because maybe the real laugh is the one had at the expense of the one who thinks films require this type of ending. At any rate, those who want to see just how much one should look upon filmmaking beyond a passive interest would have a worthy time here with a curious and involving feature of camerawork in the measure of a man.

 

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next time: Dersu Uzala.

Wild Strawberries.

Review #2078: Wild Strawberries.

Cast: 

Victor Sjöström (Professor Isak Borg), Bibi Andersson (Sara - Isak's cousin / Hitchhiker), Ingrid Thulin (Marianne Borg), Gunnar Björnstrand (Evald Borg), Jullan Kindahl (Agda, Isak's housekeeper), Folke Sundquist (Anders, hitchhiker), Björn Bjelfvenstam (Viktor, hitchhiker), Naima Wifstrand (Isak's Mother), Gunnel Broström (Berit Alman), Gunnar Sjöberg (Sten Alman / The Examiner), Max von Sydow (Henrik Åkerman), Ann-Marie Wiman (Eva Åkerman), and Gertrud Fridh (Karin Borg) Written and Directed by Ingmar Bergman (#777 - The Seventh Seal and #1427 - Hour of the Wolf)

Review: 

"One thread goes through the story in multiple variations: shortcomings, poverty, emptiness, and the absence of grace. I didn't know then, and even today I don't know fully, how through Wild Strawberries I was pleading with my parents: see me, understand me, and - if possible - forgive me."

Okay, so sometimes you pick a film because of its reputation. I had a feeling that it was about time again to return to watching an Ingmar Bergman film, particularly one that happens to involve the last performance of another noted name and happens to be a really, really well known film. Bergman wrote the film while spending time in the Karolinska Hospital for problems related to the stomach and general stress. One can only imagine the qualities that come out in writing when also dealing with divorce and shaky relationships with their parents. Bergman stated different things upon the ideas that formed his film, with one book of interviews (Bergman on Bergman, released in the 1970s) relating a detail about a sudden impulse to visit his grandmother's house and experience the idea of going back into his childhood...only for him to say in a later book (Images: my life in film, written by Bergman in 1994) that in reality, he is "forever living in my childhood...living permanently in my dream, from which I make brief forays into reality." At any rate, being released on the cusp of films such as Smiles of a Summer Night (1955) and The Seventh Seal (1957) heightened the attention given to this film, which is considered by some to be one of his most moving films. As you might expect, this was the swan song performance for its lead actor in Sjöström, who as you may remember was an acclaimed director in his native Sweden (Bergman loved The Phantom Carriage (1921) enough to see it at least once every summer and noted its influence on his own work) before he reverted back to acting on a fulltime basis, particularly within the theatre. Regardless of how he came to be in this film (whether as one that came to mind from the screenplay or on the suggestion of a producer), he was on the cusp of turning 78 with this film, which was actually his second collaboration with Bergman, who directed him with To Joy [Till glädje] (1950). Bergman had his doubts about the reliability of Sjöström when it came to his age, but things eventually went well for all involved (interestingly, Bergman's parents seemed to enjoy what they saw when it came to Sjöström, because a letter exists detailing the gratitutde sent by his father about his career). Sjöström died at the age of 80 three years after the release of this film.

What can only really say about certain films of world cinema that other people of better qualification can say? Well, the only words worth saying are the ones you come up with after seeing it for yourself, particularly when it comes to interpretations and what you find from certain imagery. Right and wrong only matter when it comes to watching it in the most comfortable setting possible, not really so much about interpretation (unless you think all films are part of some sort of deep lobbying group, of course). To me, this is a basically a two-sided road movie, since we are talking about a film detailing the road of a man's life and the road to get to an actual location with a group of folks on the road. The road involves contradictions and complications because that is how life goes for people, regret or no regret. Being stuck with the images and memories of the once-lived moments is far more interesting than being stuck in the same ways of the "because it is". Undeniably, Sjöström is the best actor in the film, one with such a commanding presence that runs the gamut of the qualities that come through a great flawed man in contradictions that come in icy coldness (well, the name is a pun, but that doesn't make it corny), one that has to reckon with who they are and what that has created for themselves in the people around them and that in the end, all things must pass. Andersson makes a useful double role of a sweetheart of the would-be past and a hitchhiker sweetheart with their own suitors that is warm and obviously useful comfort to remember in the long run (judging by that final sequence that sees the pilgrimage reach its end). Thulin and her own part to play in this pilgrimage is one of persistence, one of moving confidence in who they are and how that strikes different when matched with Sjöström in nature and in practice that makes the eventual ending all the more useful. What seems obvious for some viewers in looking upon symbolism may seem elusive for others, but as long as one gets an actual feeling emanating from these films of existential questioning, they are on the right track, because the answers that matter are ones that are found in clarity, much in the same way that peace is found only through looking inward rather than running from affirming one's existence. The journey to Lund is not really one for ceremony but instead one for meaning beyond simple ceremonies. There is more to journeys beyond the milage and that involves people beyond words. In short: wild strawberry patches of one's youth in one thing, having the peace of mind to reach for closure is another. The man or woman with a long life to live will have one full of memories to look back upon in pain and pleasure, but the thing that matters most is the fact that we have the choice to move where we want to go with it in affirmation. All things will pass and we have the choice to go where we want to go on the multi-sided road.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

Next time: Germany and 1924.

Man Bites Dog.

Review #2077: Man Bites Dog.

Cast: 

Benoît Poelvoorde (Ben), Valérie Parent (Valerie), Rémy Belvaux (Remy - Reporter), André Bonzel (Andre - Cameraman), Jean-Marc Chenut (Patrick - Sound Man #1), Alain Oppezzi (Franco - Sound Man #2), and Vincent Tavier (Vincent - Sound Man #3) Produced and Directed by Rémy Belvaux, André Bonzel and Benoît Poelvoorde.

Review: 

Admittedly, Belgium has never gotten a fair shake (with one exception) from Movie Night despite the fact that it has a distinct identity within three official languages of Dutch, French, and German. So why not feature a French-language film done with the goal of doing so in cheap effectiveness? Belvaux, Bonzel, and Poelvoorde first worked together with "Pas de C4 pour Daniel Daniel" (1987), a mock trailer about a secret agent named Daniel Daniel (the trio had attended film school together in Belgium). At any rate, when it came to this film for collaboration, they wrote it with Vincent Tavier, although Belvaux was solely responsible for the story; the trio also produced the film and starred in it, as I'm sure you are aware. You might not be aware though, that the relatives depicted in the film are actually relatives of Poelvoorde, who didn't know what the subject matter was beyond just a documentary on him. In the decades since release, it has served as a great peak for its key directors/stars. Poelvoorde has been a regular presence in Belgian filmmaking as an actor. Belvaux never directed another feature film, instead becoming a director for commercials on television before he committed suicide in 2006. Bonzel returned to feature film directing with Flickering Ghosts of Loves Gone By in 2021.Incidentally, this is actually a found footage film on the basis of one certain scene, which amuses me because of the fact that it means that it is a superior found footage movie than subsequent films that are thought to be more of a part of the classification of (overrated) stuff such as The Blair Witch Project (1999). Of course, as a film detailing documentary filmmaking, a couple of films could to spring to mind, such as Real Life (1979), with the muddling of filmmaker and subject. Actually, when the filmmakers were interviewed upon release of the film, they stated that the subject of the film was being a critique on the very nature of documentary filmmaking as opposed to being about the violence. Naturally, this film generated a tiny bit of controversy due to its subject matter of a serial killer making their rounds with rampant violence (well, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, was only released six years earlier). An edited version of the film (done for release in certain markets that wouldn't let stuff considered too much or "NC-17" play in rentals or otherwise) took out a sequence involving a gang-rape. The film is known in its native country as "C'est arrivé près de chez vous", which translates to "It Happened Near Your Home", but "man bites dog" is a journalism term that involves what kind of story would get the best chance of reporting between a man biting a dog or a dog biting a man.

Evidently, one big lover of the film was Quentin Tarantino, who loved the film so much when he saw it at the Cannes Film Festival that he took a swing at a security guard when he couldn't get past him for the second screening. I mention this due to the coincidence of him having later written a script that became Natural Born Killers (1994) that dealt with a cameraman looking upon the perspective of charismatic killers that wasn't a mockumentary. I think you can agree that this is a technical triumph when it comes to overcoming a low budget to make a damn good experience. Forget the subject matter for two seconds, it really is a useful film to look at in the art of mixing guerilla filmmaking with limited casting and a wonderful use of black-and-white photography to make a vibrantly disturbing feature. It is the pitch-black kind of comedy that goes hand in hand with showing a great joke on voyeuristic viewing of people in film. Is it the darkest thing you'll ever see? Experience says no, but, well, you really have to see it for yourselves in gauging the line between appalling and curious, since this is a film with a rape and then coming back to film the after-effects of participating with a serial killer. This goes hand in hand with seeing various methods of murder, whether that is a grab-bag of gunshots, murder in conversation, or, well, scaring someone to death. Poelvoorde is tasked to talk however he likes when being seen on camera for the film as much as one would expect from playing a serial killer that indulges in various opinions that revolve around red bricks, flat-out racism, or conversation with relatives. I think he really does pull a worthy performance in that strange sense of a being that one can only barely call a man, one where the soul is laid bare for all to see in basically being ordinary casual horror that does make for quite a sick joke that appeals to my sensibilities more than anything. Hell, actual serial killers probably have nothing on his odd attracting power of persuasion, and he basically is just an amateur philosopher "Everyman". The people behind him in camera (most of the time, aside from little moments to detail soundmen that die more often than drummers in This Is Spinal Tap) prove more than observers in a way that proves fascinating (again, if they were documenting a plumber, well, the message would mostly be the same about observer becoming participant, minus the little part of death). They just assume that they will get some sort of insight from a subject that goes from focus to financier, to the point where they are at one point looking at a scene (in slo-mo) they filmed of an attack on a policeman by their subject. Hell, the group encounters another documentary crew about killers, because, well, what's one good killer story without someone else doing their own rendition? So yes, with enough time, one could build a tolerance to violence to where they don't look away despite the evident shame...and to the satire of the film, "it is what it is", because no matter how much one says they want to look away from something, they really don't look away. The lines of objectivity become blurred much in the same way that we should expect from any folks that try to play the role of observer only to find themselves in the puddle. I especially like the ending, because it shows that among the illusions of trying to play observer or amateur philosopher, there is also an illusion to shatter in the idea that things will go exactly the way you planned, killer or not. I found it to be a really curious film, one that leaves its viewer to have a certain pit grow in their stomach while being a useful experiment in low-budget filmmaking and crafting a killer satire. 

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

Next Time: Sweden and Bergman. 

Woman of Fire.

Review #2076: Woman of Fire.

Cast: 

Namkoong Won (Dong-shik), Youn Yuh-jung (Myeong-ja), Jeon Gye-hyeon (Jeong-suk), and Choi Mu-ryong (Detective Jo) Written and Directed by Kim Ki-young (#1596 - The Housemaid)

Review: 

"A carpenter builds homes relying on his talent and insight. A carpenter who is talented in handling wood builds a wooden house; one who’s good with bricks builds a brick house. It’s the same with me. Starting with ‘The Housemaid,’ and going through ‘Woman of Fire’ and ‘Insect Woman,’ the films that saw success were those about demon-like femme fatales who, for their own reasonings, destroy domestic peace. What is success? People flock to theaters because the films are well-made. So my calculation is that I’m proficient in this kind of genre."

I'm sure that those familiar enough with world cinema remember The Housemaid (1960), often called one of the best films made in the 20th century in the country of South Korea. Kim Ki-young directed/wrote/produced the film, but did you know that he returned to the subject matter? Let alone twice? Well, let's start with the basics, the original film involved a family that suffers upheaval with the arrival of a new lady (a femme fatale, if you will) into their domain that has a mutual pact for its climax after attempts to rid the woman's illicit child (miscarriage in the original, abortion in the remakes) prove fruitful. The wraparound aspect of the story is the one big change for this film (well, that, and being in color), which plays around with time for its depiction of the story, where the older film started on a discussion of a newspaper story involving a man falling in love with his maid and this film starting out in a police station with a dead husband and a dead woman. Eleven years after the release of this film (which is also referred to as Hwanyeo), he would direct Woman of Fire '82. It has been argued (and cited by Kim himself in the quote mentioned above) that Insect Woman (1972) touched upon similar themes with the aforementioned Housemaid, and it perhaps seems apt that it had its own similar feature with Beasts of Prey (1985). At any rate, by the time of his untimely death, he was a cult figure among filmgoers that saw a detailing of just who he was a filmmaker with what survived from his output and the directors that took influence from what they saw into their own films; Youn Yuh-jung, who made her debut in this film, cited Kim when accepting an Academy Award in 2021 as a "very genius director". The fact that his 1960 film was remade again in 2010 probably speaks truth to his enduring status more than anything.

This was released in the 1970s, which was actually a troubling time for the film industry in South Korea due to censorship pushes under the military regime that went for censorship and propaganda. It probably won't rank as being better than the original feature for those who find themselves trying to compare, but the fact that it is a lurid way to remake a film without retaining every little aspect probably makes it more of an achievement than what is on the surface. One has to let the film sift on its own without thinking of it as going from points A to B all the time, because it is more dedicated to showing unease in all of the ways that matter in desire. The dark and shadowy angles in the noir-like features of the original film are still fairly present in the colorful look of the manic and depraved feature displayed here that is never starved in hysteria. Namkoong serves as an ideal lead when it comes to being the one male among the disposables that are seen among the certain level of middle-class people that only like to get certain parts of their hands dirty, and this includes the hands that are restless towards pants. Youn is naturally the best part of the film as, well, the title character involving fiery womanhood that is always watchable in part because it isn't merely a film with clear-cut heroes, since that pool is muddled by all the dark desires shown by each of the key three (incidentally, each of them would appear in Insect Woman), as to see coming from people that must live with the memory of what they did and saw in Jeon. As a whole, the 100-minute runtime does prove satisfying in showing why Kim felt the need to look upon the world of domestic invasion through the lens of women from time to time, and it shows the need for understanding just what matters most in treading familiar ground without becoming just another ground to step over. Enjoying the lurid show and looking upon its tricks is what matters most here, which works out pretty well in the long run.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next up: A normal time in Belgium with Man Bites Dog.

Viridiana.

Review #2075: Viridiana.

Cast: 

Silvia Pinal (Viridiana), Francisco Rabal (Jorge), Fernando Rey (Don Jaime), José Calvo (Don Amalio), Margarita Lozano (Ramona), José Manuel Martín (El Cojo), Victoria Zinny (Lucia), Luis Heredia (Manuel 'El Poca'), Joaquín Roa (Don Zequiel - a beggar), Lola Gaos (Enedina), María Isbert (Beggar), Teresa Rabal (Rita) Directed by Luis Buñuel (#1383 - Él, #1723 - Los Olvidados, and #1884 - L'Age d'Or)

Review: 

“I didn’t deliberately set out to be blasphemous, but then Pope John XXIII is a better judge of such things than I am.”

 

The time had come at last for Luis Buñuel to return home to Spain, or at least return to a greater prominence. Well, if that's the way one wants to put it, anyways, because he was never really gone besides making a steady living ever since he left his native country for good once the nationalist forces led by Francisco Franco had fully taken control of the country (Buñuel of course had been busy during the Spanish Civil War as a coordinator of film propaganda for the Republic); Land Without Bread (1933), termed a "pseudo-documentary" and made in Spain, was his last film for over a decade. Gran Casino (1947) wasn't a great success with Mexican audiences, but it was the first of numerous features Buñuel made in Mexico, which would include varying levels of notability from Los Olvidados (1950) to Robinson Crusoe (1954; shot in Mexico in both English and Spanish). Cela s'appelle l'aurore (1956) saw him return to France for a time that resulted in two further productions. Interestingly, the film made right before Viridiana was The Young One (1960), an English-language production made in Mexico. Anyway, back to Viridiana, which Buñuel co-wrote with Julio Alejandro as a loose adaptation of the 1895 novel Halma by Benito Pérez Galdós; in 1959, they had adapted Galdos' Nazarin. The film received interest within festivals but was also called "blasphemous" by the Vatican and was banned in its native Spain for over a decade. At any rate, Buñuel made a variety of films wherever he could in either Mexico, Spain (he returned to direct Tristana in 1970) or elsewhere until his death in 1983 at the age of 83. 

Oddly enough, the ending of the film attracted more attention to it because of what ended up on screen rather than what wasn't seen. When checked for censorship, the ending was one key aspect that needed to be changed from what depicted a character deciding to open a door and close it right behind them...which, well, is certainly different when you consider the actual ending involves characters shuffling cards together. Even knowing that wouldn't prepare you for a film absorbed in vigor and satire for charity in the pious sense. It does not take too long to turn into a show for the macabre within its expressions of desire and a climax that involves, well, a supper that will surely remind folks of what happens when you shine a light on human desires and the imagery that comes with such grotesque nature, such as a crucifix that has a knife in it. The march for spiritualistic charity with the grace of God can only see a clash with the reality that comes in a materialistic world that cannot hide its foundation within the thin face of moral high ground. 90 minutes is more than enough to the indulgences of Buñuel in making a human comedy (whether one is religious or not) that shows futility with such damning effectiveness that asks just what the differences are between those little acts of charity and actual change. With all that in mind, the performances reflect well among the divide of beggars and choosers, as evidenced by the performance by Pinal that reflects upon the loss of one's innocence. She is thrust into a place of brutal honesty when dealing with the company of men that are reflected mostly within Rabal and Rey (the latter is mostly present for the first third of the feature), who each show the inner workings of who they are within how they treat the mansion each inhabit in their time. Calvo represents one of the numerous beggars that come to inhabit the rest of the film, whether that involves men of no sight in themselves (or souls), sores, or people with children to feed. By the time one sees a supper of the grotesque, it is a culmination of such dark amusement to find in the illusions of charity versus human nature. The cynic may not always be right, but one thing that is for certain is that there is no one true way to reaching a person in heart or health; buying a dog off a cart is one thing, not seeing as dog I a cart going the other way is another. In the end, after seeing people for who they are when it comes to giving and taking, one has to make their own path rather than let it fall into the hands of whatever dogma seems to be the right choice. With Buñuel at the helm, you know you are in for a mischievous display to see, and this film handles the task of dark human comedy handily.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

Next up: South Korea sees a remake...in color.

Snake in the Eagle's Shadow.

Review #2074: Snake in the Eagle's Shadow.

Cast: 

Jackie Chan (Chien Fu), Hwang Jang-lee (Sheng Kuan), Yuen Siu-tien (Pai Chang-tien), Dean Shek (Teacher Li), Fung Hak-on (Master Chao Chi-chih), Tino Wong (Ah-Wu), Peter Chan (Teacher Lian), Hsu Hsia (Su Chen), Charlie Chan (Master Hung), and Roy Horan (Missionary/Russian) Directed by Yuen Woo-ping.

Review: 

I suppose, inadvertently or not, this month has found itself dedicating time not merely to spotlighting films from different countries around the world but also to spotlight faces not always seen in the usual scheme of watching films for entertainment. By sheer coincidence, 2023 is the 45th anniversary of this film and Drunken Master, for which both share a common bond: they each share the same main trio of actors (Jackie Chan, Yuen Siu-tien, Hwang Jang-lee) along with the same director in Yuen Woo-ping, and the success of both (mostly in the case of Master, released in the fall of 1978) firmly established Chan as a star within his style of kung fu and slapstick. Obviously, this was not the first film to feature Chan as an actor. He had appeared in a handful of films as a youth in the 1960s, but his first key film was in the stunt department for Fist of Fury (1972), the second feature hit starring Bruce Lee. The first feature film with Chan as the lead actor was Little Tiger of Canton (1973), albeit one that was given little release until, well, later in the 1970s. He also was a lead actor in other films such as New Fist of Fury (1976), which, was an attempt by Lo Wei to mold Chan as the successor to Bruce Lee (the web of Fist of Fury follow-ups is a potentially fascinating web to decipher another time). The result of the two films involving Yuen and Chan put Chan on a path to eventual international stardom with his capabilities in stunt work alongside doing his own path in directing. Of course, Yuen can't be forgotten in all of this, as he is still a regular presence within directing but more importantly in stunt choreography, which has spanned from working with various noted action stars such as Donnie Yen to being asked to choreograph the martial arts in The Matrix (1999). Interestingly, recent releases feature options to listen to the film in three forms in Cantonese, Mandarin, and English, since, well, Hong Kong cinema in the old days was not merely constrained to one version for releasing films during the British rule era, and if you listen closely (read: listen to music for any 20-minute stretch), you will hear familiar music from other films utilized; one has not lived until they are surprised to hear a John Williams piece cribbed for kung fu.

Oh sure, it is a cobbled film of cliches, but who's counting? Underdog stories, or ones with an unlikely pair of collaborators are a dime a dozen, but the fun ones know how to compose themselves with engaging the audience in caring about what goes on without just passing through. The antics grab more attention than the drama, but there is a worthy soul in what is being shown with the bond of student and sifu (teacher, although he refuses to be referred to as such for a good chunk of it). The kung-fu is the highlight of the film when it comes to useful choreography that makes you appreciate the effort taken to show people trying to act in the art of kicking each other with skillful precision (or not always, as evidenced by the fact that Chan lost a tooth and had his arm slashed during production). It is the kind of corny fun that you could expect from a film that has a select amount of sound effects to go along with the action at times (cat sounds?), which is welcome when the going isn't derailing itself. You don't usually get to see sons direct their fathers, but here we are with Yuen directing Yuen. The elder Yuen actually had appeared in a handful of films over the years, with a handful involving kung fu, but it was his roles in films such as this and most notably with Drunken Master (1978) that garnered him lasting notice before his death in 1979 at the age of 66. He and Chan make a charming little pair, endearing in the typical underdog-mentor stuff without turning it into hogwash. Hwang and the other side adversaries (bullies or not) fill the rest generally well, which namely involves a bit of cheese and pairing of decent stunts for Chan to make into something more. Any time you have a climax relying on folks not liking to drink something at a certain time to go with new fighting styles based on a cat fighting a snake is a good one. As a whole, what we have is a neat kung-fu film in consistent charm that manages to show the promise of Chan in charm and stature of movement to go hand in hand with a serviceable director and crew around everything for a useful recommendation for those with the hankering of kung-fu (and light comedy) in their world cinema.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Buñuel is back for Spain.

The Round-Up (1966).

Review #2073: The Round-Up.

Cast: 

János Görbe (János Gajdar), Zoltán Latinovits (Imre Veszelka), Tibor Molnár (Kabai), Gábor Agárdy (Torma), András Kozák (Ifj. Kabai), Béla Barsi (Foglár), József Madaras (Magyardolmányos), János Koltai (Béla Varju), István Avar (Vallató I), and Lajos Őze (Vallató II) Directed by Miklós Jancsó.

Review: 

"...I and the friends with whom I make my films don't think of the viewer as a child but as an adult, and we would like to be partners in an equal discussion with him. We don't want to tell him what to think."

Well, sometimes the writer and reader need a little history lesson. In the spring of 1848 (March 15 to be specific), the Revolution of 1848 began in the empire of Austria and its land of Hungary. The result of the revolution at the end of the following year was a suppression of Hungary that saw numerous rebels and generals executed alongside the exile of people such as Lajos Kossuth. The scattering included highwaymen such as Sándor Rózsa, who is mentioned in this film as someone that others believe is in the prison camp for supports of Kossuth. It seemed important to mention this when talking about Hungary, which at the time of The Round-Up (released in its native title of Szegénylegények in 1966) was under socialist rule as the Hungarian People's Republic (after various changeovers in the prior century, obviously), which included a repression of revolution within the state in 1956 (with beginnings in October 23) by the Soviet Union. Incidentally, public holidays exist in Hungary to commemorate both starts of the failed revolutions. At any rate, it certainly matters to also talk about the film with relation to its place within the director's ambitions in such a lengthy career. Born with roots in both Hungary from his father and Romania from his mother with an upbringing in Transylvania, Jancsó had ideas of taking up law as a career before later settling with taking up studying in the Academy of Theatre and Film Arts. He did a number of documentary work and eventually features starting in the 1950s, but his first noted film came with My Way Home (1964), which dealt with a teenaged deserter of the army in Hungary (as aligned with the Axis powers) near the end of World War II. Jancsó continued his run of noted international films within The Red and the White (1967), which was actually a Hungary-Soviet Union production commissioned to mark the 50th anniversary of the October Revolution but was turned by him into being set two years later in 1919. His later films have their own notations (such as Red Psalm (1972), which also loosely dealt with the 1848 revolution on a different wavelength), albeit on a different approach with long takes that also saw him move abroad for a time within France. In an interview relating to his films up to the point of the 1980s, he stated that his films have had one general theme within "an exploration of the state of society in which some people always try to exploit others." Jancsó died at the age of 92 in 2014.

The film was written by Gyula Hernádi, who wrote for a number of Jancsó features. There is quite a scale of landscape told within the violence and power shown through such a striking feature within the distance one feels within what is shown on screen. The long and winding road of wavering rules in this cat-and-mouse game of oppressor and the oppressed extends to the viewer for a curious viewing, one with players that come and go as if they were being displaced on a chess board. The focus for a good deal of the film involves a man (played well in torment by Görbe) who is trying to avoid death by trying to find someone who has killed more people than he did, which can only go so far when dealing with what happens to those who inform on others. The final gambit that pulls everything together is more of a fit of irony, one that rallies the oppressed together in a fit of camaraderie and togetherness only to see that those who had aligned together with the man of the past in rebellion are by default condemned to die at the hands of the people they basically confessed to. It has been suggested that the film was seen in part as an allegory for the 1956 revolution, and Jancsó had to make a statement before screening the film at the Cannes Film Festival denying the implication (although obviously you can't take it at face value). No matter how you view the torture of the mind and in physicality, what you have here is a fascinating film that shows the overarching power of doom that comes from the inevitability of all that comes from finding what one is looking for in the rallying cry of masses.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next up: It was certainly time for a Hong Kong film...starring Jackie Chan.

Inspector Palmu's Error.

Review #2072: Inspector Palmu's Error.

Cast: 

Joel Rinne (Inspector Frans J. Palmu), Matti Ranin (Detective Toivo Virta), Leo Jokela (Detective Väinö Kokki), Jussi Jurkka (Bruno Rygseck), Saara Ranin (Amalia Rygseck), Elina Salo (Airi Rykämö), Pentti Siimes (Aimo Rykämö), Leevi Kuuranne (Veijonen), Elina Pohjanpää (Irma Vanne), and Matti Oravisto (Erik Vaara) Directed by Matti Kassila.

Review: 

I'm sure are familiar with the closed room mystery type of novel. The film was released in its native country of Finland as Komisario Palmun erehdys, but it is known by various titles in different countries such as "Mysteriet Rygseck" in Swedish (the second of the two recognized languages in the country) along with varying international titles such as "Inspector Palmu's Mistake", "Inspector Palmu's Error", and "The Rygseck Mystery". At any rate, however you put it, the movie is based on the 1940 novel of the same name by Mika Waltari (one of the most prolific Finnish writers of his time), which was actually the second of three mystery novels that Waltari had wrote with the main character of Inspector Palmu. It was written in adaptation by Matti Kassila and Kaarlo Nuorvala. Kassila was a regular presence in directing for his native Finland since the 1950s, although his Palmu features are the ones most known in a career that spanned multiple decades before his death in 2018. Two further adaptations of the Waltari works followed with Gas, Inspector Palmu! (1961) and The Stars Will Tell, Inspector Palmu (1962) that involved Kasilla directing each one with Rinne as star; Kasilla and Rinne returned for a contemporary attempt an Inspector story that had no involvement of Waltari with Vodka, Inspector Palmu (1969), which is also the only one shot in color. Perhaps not surprisingly, it is called one of the most popular films in its native Finland.

In a sense, there is a tinge of humor within this mystery film, if only because of the sheer audacity that comes in the belief that a man slipping on a bar of soap to their death is just not as likely as the possibility of murder. Anyone familiar with ensemble mysteries will probably feel at home here, as it pulls all of the punches that I'm sure you can be quite familiar and comfortable with. It muddles the line of the macabre without turning into complete farce, which eventually results in a pretty good time for those with the patience. It probably helps that the ensemble around Rinne involves one-note characters (with small little characteristics, like, uh, a mole on the face) that fit around the narrative needed in red herrings and twists running into (or through) a wall. In short, the rich can drag themselves into puddles of greed and deceit just like the rest of us. Rinne had been a regular actor in films for multiple decades and was in his sixties when it came time to the role that basically became his most iconic. He is quite sharp here is the detailed sense that comes with inspecting the very nature of what is important beyond what looks obvious on the surface, which I'm sure you know best from other various detectives of film and beyond, but it doesn't come off as just a bland pastiche or parody with our grumpy but dutiful lead. He talks straight to the line of what he is thinking, whether that is in general conversation or in pursuit. M. Ranin and Jokela accompany our lead with general interest in relief, which works out just fine for what is needed, while the ensemble of offbeats do relatively fine as stagepieces to the mystery, most notably with the dodgy S. Ranin or with the suitable cad (and first victim) in Jurkka. As a whole, it makes for a suitable 103-minute feature in general engagement as a mystery that left a clear mark in Finnish cinema for those who saw it first and have seen it in the half-century since because of its general consistency in mystery.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Hungary, 1960s style.

The Diamond Arm.

Review #2071: The Diamond Arm.

Cast: 

Yuri Nikulin (Semyon Semyonovich Gorbunkov), Nina Grebeshkova (Nadia), Andrei Mironov (Gennadiy Kozodoyev), Anatoli Papanov (Lyolik), Nonna Mordyukova (Varvara Pliushch), Svetlana Svetlichnaya (Anna Sergeyevna), Stanislav Chekan (Mikhail Ivanovich, Captain), and Vladimir Gulyaev (Volodya) Directed by Leonid Gaidai.

Review: 

Sure, it may seem a bit odd to pick another notable film from a country in terms of audience appeal, but, well, there hasn't been a single Soviet film covered here that was a comedy, so I figured now is a good time to start. The director of this film in Leonid Gaidai was once called the "King of Soviet comedy", which came after numerous successes in a lengthy career. Gaidai was born in Svobodny in the Soviet Union, for whom he served in the Red Army when war broke out among the Eastern Front. He studied and acted in the theater before studying at the Moscow Institute of Cinematography. He worked on a couple of films as an assistant before co-directing his first feature with A Weary Road (1956), which was the first of only two dramas he did. A number of years passed (which included a drastically cut second film in A Groom from the Other World in 1958) before he drew praise with his short films such as Dog Barbos and Unusual Cross (1961), which featured Georgy Vitsin, Yuri Nikulin, and Yevgeny Morgunov as a comedy trio. They would be featured together in features such as Operation Y and Shurik's Other Adventures (1965) and Kidnapping, Caucasian Style (1967). He would direct films besides having said trio with features such as The Twelve Chairs (1971) and It Can't Be! (1975), both serving as literary adaptations. While he would keep busy in filmmaking until his death in 1993 at the age of 70, it is perhaps The Diamond Arm that represents him at his peak. With nearly 80 million tickets sold in its time, it was the most-attended comedy in Soviet Union history. There are three writers credited here with Leonid Gaidai, Yakov Kostyukovsky, and Moris Slobodskoy.

I'm sure you are familiar with the comedy structure that comes with being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The title is quite literal here, as it involves a man trapped with having a bunch of diamonds in a cast on his arm that will either serve as a trap for tricking criminals or be re-acquired by the bumblers who failed to account for the wrong man hitting the signal to smuggle. The 100-minute runtime does prove fruitful for a bounty of jokes, which come together particularly well after a gradual progression for its initial setup involving Turkey. Nikulin actually was an accomplished clown to go along with being an actor in comedies (with a few exceptions), which seems quite apparent with him fully in control of the film in boundless timing. He plays the hapless man in the middle to a level that goes along with such silly circumstances and dialogue. The odd circumstances that arise from his predicament invite such amusing moments for him to play with such dutiful interest. There are a handful of moments that could be noted when it comes to failed attempts to fray him, but the most interesting might be him stumbling onto a stage to sing while a would-be conspirator (played by Mironov to useful effect) is just around the same level of drunkenness trying to cajole him away. The other members of the cast serve their duty pretty well in circumstantial amusement, whether that involves femme fatales such as Svetlichnaya or useful authority in Chekan. There are also a handful of songs present within the humor, which are aptly titled "The Island of Bad Luck", "The Song About Hares", and "Help Me" (the middle one is used for the aforementioned drunk scene). The best gag might be the one right near the end, one that involves building up the most possible tension to diffuse for one quality moment of distraction. In general, it takes a bit of time to get going, but when it does start its roll as a comedy of circumstances, it does prove quite entertaining, one that shows the virtue of good timing and actors of any place that makes for an easy recommendation.

Overall, I gave it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Finland, you are next.

Son of Godzilla.

Review #2070: Son of Godzilla.

Cast: 

Akira Kubo (Maki Goro), Tadao Takashima (Professor Kusumi), Bibari Maeda (Saeko Matsumiya), Akihiko Hirata (Fujisaki), Yoshio Tsuchiya (Furukawa), Kenji Sahara (Morio), Kenichiro Maruyama (Ozawa), Seishiro Kuno (Tashiro), with Hiroshi Sekita, Seiji Onaka, and Haruo Nakajima (Godzilla), and Marchan the Dwarf (Minilla) Directed by Jun Fukuda (#1668 - Ebirah, Horror of the Deep)

 

Review: 

Obviously, you don't have to go in order to enjoy the history of Godzilla films, but I do find it curious at times to see just what is different from time to time in these creature features, particularly as it is soon to reach its 70th anniversary. It also just so happens that Son of Godzilla is the eighth feature film of the series, released in the first lengthy streak of the series in which there was a Godzilla film in all but two of the years between 1962 and 1975. It happens to be the second straight Godzilla film directed by Jun Fukuda, which yet again involves Godzilla found lurking on an island, but this time with a twist that would shift some of the next few films. Fukuda and his crew were thought to be suited for a lower budget than, say, Ishirō Honda; Honda and company (such as Eiji Tsuburaya) were busy with King Kong Escapes, which was released in the summer of 1967. Honda would return to direct the next two films in the series with Destroy All Monsters (1968) and All Monsters Attack (1969), which each happened to feature Godzilla...and his son, which is referred to as Minilla (minus the English dub, which went with Minya). Fukuda would not return to the director's chair of a Godzilla film until Godzilla vs. Gigan (1972).

The enjoyment of the film may very well depend on just how much you care about Godzilla, well, entering fatherhood (as suggested by producer Tomoyuki Tanaka, although obviously the screenplay was fleshed out by Shinichi Sekizawa...and a newcomer with Kazue Shiba). Of course, since this is an island feature, this comes out after some usual exposition about why one is there to begin with (weather expedition) and how one manages to create a baby Godzilla. 86 minutes sometimes can go pretty quickly when it is something you like or feel like a chore, and I think this one is just fine. I think it is a marked improvement on the aforementioned Ebirah film if only because it seems to actually hit the target is wants to set with rubber-suited folks that is at least seems to generate a worthy smile rather than mild feeling. Look, we've already gotten ourselves past the point where the films involved some sort of solemn attempt at monster-ravaging society and into "setting of the week" territory, so taking the feature on with the merits of "did it do something for me?" is what applies here. That said, the actors at least seem game to not just snooze the time away, which at least this time doesn't involve special island powders. If one thinks the actors seem like they are wishing to be anywhere else but on this film, well, that sums up how much you will find pretty much of a decent chunk of monster movies,  some being better than others (obviously). The folks seem on their element here in that semi-serious way where plot goes the way they go without bumbling loudness. I find the giant mantis and spiders an adequate enemy here, if only because I figure, well, they can't always be great giant monsters, so aiming a bit smaller is fine. Besides, when it comes to establishing a bully that would pick on an egg, sure, the mantis seems about right to build up Godzilla turning the tables on. Minilla as a whole is about on par with, well, other sons of monsters (how many can you name off the top of your head that don't involve Son of Kong?), which basically means you either go with the eccentricities (a braying noise-sorry, baby noises) or don't, and I fall on the side of engaging with it as if it means something beyond being used as a promo tool. The series turning a leaf isn't going to hurt unless they make a bad habit out of it, what can I say? The last sequence shows Godzilla and son now involved in snowy hibernation, complete with them huddling together after it looks like one will fall by the wayside in the snow. It is a nice little sequence for a film that as a whole is light without turning lightweight and useful without being unneeded. 

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Soviets, but a comedy this time.

Turkish Delight.

Review #2069: Turkish Delight.

Cast: 

Monique van de Ven (Olga Stapels), Rutger Hauer (Eric Vonk), Tonny Huurdeman (Olga's Mother), Wim van den Brink (Olga's Father), Hans Boskamp (Shop Manager), and Dolf de Vries (Paul) Directed by Paul Verhoeven (#002 - RoboCop, #632 - Total Recall, #1922 - Starship Troopers, #2046 - Flesh and Blood)

Review: 

Admittedly, there has to be a good reason to cover an erotic romantic drama film, particularly since this is probably the first review where one can accurately call it the biggest skin flick ever covered here. But why the hell not? The only real guideline for covering world cinema or any kind of movie is it has to be something interesting or promising enough (religious films and other certain films have a separate wall to try and get over). But the most important thing to know is that it actually ranks as the most popular Dutch film of the 20th century. No, seriously, the amount of people who have been known to see the film when it first came out a half-century ago corresponds to about a quarter of the population of the Netherlands. Obviously, film festivals won't tell you the whole story, but the country's film festival inducted it into the "Canon of Dutch Cinema". It is based on the 1969 novel of the same name (Turks fruit, in its native Dutch) by author/sculptor Jan Wolkers, who based the character of Olga of two of his wives and a separate woman. I'm sure you can tell that the book had quite a bit of fame to it by the fact that in one of the posters, the biggest part of the posters is Wolkers and the name of the book, and a cursory glance at a synopsis sees that that the film retains a good chunk of the overall structure from the book (of course, the book doesn't lend the man a name).

Do I need to say that the film is a hell of a trip for an adult to watch? You've got a film that goes from a revenge fantasy involving shooting someone in a dream going right to a scene of that same man, uh, well, finding a way to thrust his frustrations out. One will find folks finding horse's eyes in food or perhaps finding the best way to express their feelings in being in a room with certain folks is to throw up. Or perhaps you will find something to think about more than what's on the surface of cutting off hair from down under. Hauer had made his debut in television with Verhoeven's Floris television show in 1969. There of course would be numerous collaborations with the director, and both he and van de Ven starred in Verhoeven's next feature with Keetje Tippel. This was the film debut for van de Ven. Incidentally, this is the second of five films with Verhoeven as director where Jan de Bont (van de Ven's husband, coincidentally) shot the film, and he also had shot Blue Movie, the other big Dutch film involving sex that generated controversy first in 1971. All of this is a bit of window dressing to go for the fact that they make the ideal pairing to show the true qualities that comes within love in its thrusts and decay. You have the impulsive and energetic sensibilities expressed in van de Ven to go along with the raw coarse energy of Hauer that shows exactly how these two could ooze in and out of each other's lives without a sense of false notes. It is the type of erotic film that does not shy away from showing everything that comes in seeing both raw passion and debauchery. The intensity that come from these two could probably be used to generate heat for a grill, to put it lightly, although you can say that the other actors (the ones not involved in taking their clothes off) do their part pretty well in showing the contrasts that come within what people call "normal life", whether that involves telling the same jokes or reacting to the type of person their daughter has brought to their world. The film rewards those who look beyond images of sex and sees the side that comes out with looking on both sides of someone keeping a pigeon or marking the ultimate end of two star-crossed lovers for what makes a capable 108 minutes. With most of the marks and scratches you could expect from a film made by such a marksman in frank honesty, Turkish Delight is the kind of film to recommend for those who are mature enough to understand the passions of the day and especially those of the night, for which it endures heavily within its Dutch origin for pretty good reasons.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Son of Godzilla, because, well, why not?

Ittefaq (1969).

Review #2068: Ittefaq.

Cast: 

Rajesh Khanna (Dilip Roy), Nanda (Rekha), Bindu (Renu), Sujit Kumar (Inspector Diwan), Madan Puri (Public Prosecutor Khanna), Gajanan Jagirdar (Dr. Trivedi), Iftekhar (Inspector Karwe), Jagdish Raj (Inspector Khan), Shammi (Basanti), and Alka (Sushma Roy) Directed by Yash Chopra.

Review: 

Admittedly, the scope of Indian cinema is vast, but some features take time to get around to, particularly since my understanding of the country in film or about Bollywood isn't exactly vast (there is exactly one example of Indian cinema on Movie Night, and it was Nayak). For one, I didn't really know that the term of "Bollywood" is a popular one to refer to Hindi cinema (of course, it all refers to a capital city formerly known as Bombay), which takes up a good chunk of Indian cinema alongside other regions of the nation such as Tamil or Telugu (which have their own "-wood" nicknames). All of this is window-dressing for the real interest at hand in saying that sometimes it is a family affair when it comes to making films. Yash Chopra (born and raised in British India) started his career as an assistant director to both his brother B.R. Chopra and I. S. Johar before he became a director in 1959 (Dhool Ka Phool was produced by his brother while his other brother Dharam shot the film). He made his mark in the Bollywood drama with films such as Waqt (1965), which was the biggest hit of its year. He continued to direct all the way into the 2010s before his death in 2012 at the age of 80. Apparently, the inspiration of the film is two-fold: it is based on both a Gujarati play called Dhummas and an American film called Signpost to Murder (1965). The film was shot in just under a month, which was due to the fact that production on his film Aadmi aur Insaan had to have been paused when a lead actor broke their leg. A remake of Ittefaq was done under the same name in 2017, with direction by Abhay Chopra, the grandson of B.R. Chopra. 

On a dark and stormy night is a thriller about a man on the run trying to bring out his innocence as a man of coincidence (okay, that last line is actually inspired by the English translation of this title). The film is relatively fine, although one might be forgiven for asking about it being a landmark "Bollywood" film when it comes to not being a musical. I think there are a few elements that do work out well in tension, but its attempt at basically being a double mystery winds up making a ham-handed result rather than something with more bite to it. I actually kind of like the idea of a berserk leading actor, one who you might not be able to trust in their word when it comes to finding bodies or proving innocence. Khanna actually is known as the first superstar of Bollywood, which included a number of successful of films in such a short time, with a popularized streak of successful films with him as star, and this is labeled among there. He dominates the film among all else for a worthy benefit that involves plenty of snappy energy that clearly keeps you guessing in just what seems real and what isn't there. Nanda is the other side of the equation in coincidences and fear that works to an extent when it comes to vulnerability. The rest do fine in relative procedural aspects. Honestly, I thought the climax was supposed to be taken like a joke, because it actually ties everything up in the strangest of bows and melodrama rather than a spiffy thriller. At a certain point, you can only take so much with a grain of salt when it comes to overnight coincidences, especially when it comes to the gradual pacing of an investigation. As a whole, the folks who are familiar with Hindi cinema and world cinema in general will likely find something quite compelling here with this film and select scenes that show useful tension and presences that surely made Hindi cinema proud enough.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Next up: At last, the Dutch.