what to watch when you're stranded
Random header image... Refresh for more!

Instant Classics: Criterion on Netflix #101-125

After last week’s milquetoast selection, I went ahead and searched for the availability of a good amount of Criterion films that I am scheduled to review in the future. In doing so, I think I have found indicators that, in regards to Criterion streaming on Netflix, the end is extremely fucking nigh. I don’t know if the Netflix brass just threw their hands up and said “Screw it, we need more Dolph Lundgren films, anyways” or what, but there were at least a dozen films that had been previously available, that are, at the time of this writing, scheduled to come down in the near future. On the one hand, I would like to say that I could pick up the pace and make a mad dash through the upcoming 473 films. On the other, I have somewhat mixed feelings about losing what’s left of my feeble mind. With any luck, I’ll make it across that ludicrously distant finish line before time runs out.

-101. Cries and Whispers (Ingmar Bergman, 1972) [Unavailable]

*Shakes head, sighs*
In case you haven’t been following along, not a single Criterion-released Bergman film has been streaming on Netflix so far.

-102. The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (Luis Buñuel, 1972)

Six upper class jackasses are attempting to have dinner together, but find their efforts repeatedly stymied in Buñuel’s classic absurdist film. The plot is incredibly loose and nonsensical, yet tied together by reoccurring incidents, attitudes and dreams.  In each dinner scene, the characters display their disdain for the lower classes alongside their enduring sense of entitlement.

Buñuel seems hell bent on toying, not only with his characters, but with the audience as well. The story is constantly being twisted and set back as some events are revealed to only exist in a character’s dreams and others are so illogical and ridiculous, that they could not occur in a rational world. Therein, however, lies the genius of this film. Buñuel made his film incoherent and absurd as a way of underlining the entrenched, everyday hypocrisy he perceived as being the calling card of the French elite. With subtle (and often, not-so-subtle) visual cues and set pieces, he cuts their self-centered worldview off at the knees and serves it back to the very people he is decrying. Utterly satisfying subversive cinema.

-103. The Lady Eve (Preston Sturges, 1941)

Charles Pike (Henry Fonda), is a bumbling, shy heir to a beer empire. While on a cruise ship back from South America, he runs into Jean Harrington (Barbara Stanwyck) and her father (Charles Coburn) , two con-artists looking to fleece the naive Charles. After Jean has seduced Charles, she finds herself falling for him as well, but her larcenous past keeps catching up to her and threatening to ruin it all.

An enjoyable screwball comedy from Sturges. Stanwyck and Fonda make for an enjoyable on-screen pair and the dialog is a great example of ‘40s rapid fire banter. Totally enjoyable in a mildy forgettable kind of way, if that makes any kind of sense at all.

-104. Double Suicide (Masahiro Shinoda, 1969) [Unavailable]

Have heard nothing but good reports about this film. I’m guessing at least two people kill themselves in it.

-105. Spartacus (Stanley Kubrick, 1960) [Unavailable]

I had totally forgotten that Kubrick directed this film. While this does make me want to go back and watch this sometime in the future, I’m not-so-secretly pleased that I don’t have to devote 196 minutes to doing so while I’m in the middle of writing this column.

-106. Coup de Torchon (Bertrand Tavernier, 1981) [Unavailable]

Huh. I have never seen or heard of this movie. A story about a police chief turned heartless killer does sound intriguing though.

-107. Mona Lisa (Neil Jordan, 1986)

Neil Jordan and Bob Hoskins, why, oh why won’t you make more movies together? George (Hoskins) is a small-time crook who has just gotten out of jail and his old boss, Denny ( target=”_blank”>Michael Caine) gives him a job driving high-class escort, Simone (Cathy Tyson) from hotel to hotel. At first the two bristle at each other, before coming to an understanding that their professional identities are not necessarily reflective of their personal ones. Convinced she can trust him, Simone asks George to help her find an old friend who has disappeared, but as he delves into the sleazy underbelly of London, he starts to realize that her request will be the largest favor ever asked of him.

Who would have thought that a gangster flick (starring Bob Hoskins no less) could be so heartfelt? The chemistry between Tyson and Hoskins as two deeply vulnerable hard-asses who tentatively learn to open up to one another is both beautiful and touching. I think one of the most poignant depictions ever of a person dropping their facade comes when George is asked by Simone if he has ever needed anyone, to which he responds, stocky frame trembling, voice choked with emotion, “All the time.” A fantastic film that succeeds on every level.

-108. The Rock (Michael Bay, 1996) [Unavailable]


Shit sandwich.

-109. The Scarlet Empress (Josef von Sternberg, 1934) [Unavailable]

The second film in this round of movies that I am utterly unfamiliar with, although the Criterion website says that this film “escalates [von Sternburg’s] obsession with screen legend Marlene Dietrich” which, in my experience is always a wonderful thing to escalate.

-110. M. Hulot’s Holiday (Jacques Tati, 1953)

The slapstick tone of this film is apparent from the moment the titular Mr. Hulot’s rickety jalopy sputters and backfires it’s way across the screen in this wry send up of summer tourists gone wild. Hulot, played by Tati himself, is a stork-legged bumbler of the highest order off on a seaside holiday, who’s continual pratfalls put him at loggerheads with both the locals and his fellow vacationers alike.

Tati keeps the finest traditions of cinema’s Silent Era comedy alive and well as he follows in the footsteps of Chaplin, Keaton and the Marx Brothers. Though the dialog is sparing, it’s absence is not missed and in fact allows the wide array of deftly comical sound effects and sight gags to claim center stage. While a lesser director would have lampooned his petit-bourgeios subject matter with a more cynical tone, Tati handles them gently, never disparagingly. As a bartender in New York, I have made it a tradition to watch this at the beginning of every tourist season, in the hope that some of it’s good natured long sufferance will rub off on me.

-111. Mon Oncle (Jacques Tati, 1958)

More slapstick fun from Jacques Tati in his recurring role of Monsieur Hulot, the perpetually inept man-child trapped in a suburban nightmare. This time, Tati brings his particular brand of social criticism home, specifically the home of M. Hulot’s technology-obsessed relatives. His sister and her husband live a garish, modernist trainwreck of a house where comfort is trumped by aesthetics and gadgetry at every turn. In the midst of this is their nine year old son, Gerard, who, bored with his sterile existence, latches on to his eccentric uncle at every available chance. These two kindred spirits manage to get into all manner of trouble together until Gerard’s parents come up with a scheme to pull Hulot’s head out of the clouds.

Once again, Tati eschews words where noises and clever camerawork are capable of carrying the story. Not only is this technique effective as a means of delivering the plot, but also as a way of underscoring the absolute banality of what passes for conversation in his perfectly manicured suburban hellscape. In dealing with such weighty subjects as social identity and consumerism, Mon Oncle always manages to keep the perspective of a light-hearted outsider bemusedly watching the scurryings of others who are not in on the joke. While viewed as being anti-progressive upon it’s release, I found this film to still resonate strongly in these gizmo-centric times in which we find ourselves today.

-112. Playtime (Jacques Tati, 1967)

Well color me shocked. All three M. Hulot films are available for streaming with this one being the grande dame of them all. The film once again finds Hulot bumbling through a world full of inconvenient conveniences and obtuse technology. This time, Tati adds a young American tourist (Barbara Dennick), who flies into Paris and repeatedly encounters Hulot in a series of increasingly absurdist set pieces.

The same themes of the first two Hulot movies maintain through this one, so there’s not much more that I can say about it. Like Tati, I am an avid supporter of the notion that in our pursuit of the future, we must not discard or forget the past, nor should we hold our gadgets with such high regard that we merely exist as an extension of them. Ironically enough, this film was considered technologically advanced for it’s time due to the fact that Tati filmed entirely with 70mm film stock and stereoscopic sound, both of which were incredibly expensive and complex to use at that time. It turned out to be a good decision however as the heightened audio-visual quality let Tati take his trademark style of physical gags and subtle comedic sound effects to a new level.

-113. Big Deal on Madonna Street (Mario Monicelli, 1958) [Unavailable]

Not a big enough deal to stream on Netflix, apparently.

-114. My Man Godfrey (Gregory La Cava, 1936)

At the height of the Great Depression, Godfrey (William Powell) is a “forgotten man” who is hired on as a butler for the extremely dysfunctional Bullock family by their capricious daughter, Irene (Carole Lombard). In addition to his daily duties he has to fend off the elder sister Cornelia’s (Gail Patrick) attempts to get him fired as well as Irene’s growing infatuation with him.

When taken in the context of the time it was filmed, My Man Godfrey makes some rather pointed observations on wealth, privilege and social class. The Bullocks and all of their friends are mewling idiots with no concern for or contact with the world outside of their effete, little bubble. Godfrey comes into this as a man who was, at one point, on an equal footing with his employers but threw their morally bankrupt and pointless attitudes away when he saw the dauntless optimism of down and out bums living in a garbage dump. While the film is more screwball comedy than social commentary, the huge gulf between the classes that is it’s central motivation, makes this film all the more compelling in this day and age.

-115. Rififi (Jules Dassin, 1955) [Unavailable]

My favorite French gangster movie of all time, second only to Le Samourai. Dassin builds more tension with his nearly soundless half-hour long heist scene than all the target=”_blank”>O Fortuna’s and exploding sports cars in the world.

[admin. note: you can find Marco’s review of this essential heist flick here]

-116. The Hidden Fortress (Akira Kurosawa, 1958)

Two enslaved peasants escape from their overseers and run into General Rokurota Makabe (Toshiro Mifune) who is trying to smuggle Princess Yuki (Misa Uehara) and what is left of her family’s gold through enemy territory to the safety of the titular Hidden Fortress. Along the way the peasants constantly scheme of ways to make off with the gold while the General uses all of his savvy to try to keep the ragtag group out of harms way.

Yet another great film from the legendary duo of Kurosawa and Mifune. This film was brought to even higher acclaim when George Lucas revealed that many of the thematic elements of The Hidden Fortress, from the predominant use of frame wipes all the way down to basic character arcs, were “inspiration” for the first Star Wars film. What he meant to say was “I am a talentless hack who got famous by ripping off one of the greatest directors in history”, but he had overinflated his neck that morning and so the original statement came out a bit garbled.

-117. Diary of a Chambermaid (Luis Buñuel, 1964) [Unavailable]

I’m really beginning to wish there was either more Criterion films being streamed or an “Unavailable” key on my laptop.

-118. Sullivan’s Travels (Preston Sturges, 1941) [Unavailable]

One of the earlier examples of Hollywood self-criticism. What happens when you send a pampered film director out into the world as a hobo to learn about human suffering? Veronica Lake happens, that’s what.

-119. Withnail and I (Bruce Robinson, 1987) [Unavailable]

One of my favorite dry, British comedies. Two drug-addled aspiring actors escape from the urban squalor of 1960’s London and end up on a holiday from hell. If ever in your life there has been a point where you’ve entertained the notion that the moldy stack of dishes in your sink has gained awareness, this is your kind of film.

-120. How to Get Ahead in Advertising (Bruce Robinson, 1989)

Keeping with the malaise-driven spirit of Withnail and I, Bruce Robinson directed this story of Dennis Bagley (Richard Grant), a ruthlessly brilliant advertising executive who hits a creative wall when he is saddled with creating an ad campaign for a new brand of pimple cream. As his deadline looms, the stress that has been building in him manifests itself as a boil. A talking boil.

Equal parts social satire and body horror, this film feels like some long lost collaboration between Jacques Tati and David Cronenberg. The humor is black as night and dry as a bone, yet spiked through with moments of wildly manic physical comedy. No one can do bug-eyed paranoia like Richard Grant, who manages imbue his horror at what is happening to his body with a level of sly absurdity that one cannot help but laugh at. Don’t let the comedy fool you though. This is just as withering an indictment of Western consumerism as anything cooked up by Oliver Stone.

(Off-Topic Side Note: There are no Oliver Stone movies in the Criterion Collection because he is a tone-deaf purveyor of hackneyed dreck, and yet I would be OK if a couple of his movies were retconned into the spots currently occupied by Michael Bay’s cinematic leavings.)

-121. Billy Liar (John Schlesinger, 1963) [Unavailable]

Looks positively “madcap” and all that that phrase entails.

-122. Salesman (Albert Maysles, David Maysles & Charlotte Zwerin, 1968) [Unavailable]

A fascinating look at the sad, little lives of door-to-door Bible salesmen. There’s really nothing that this noted trio of documentarians couldn’t make interesting.

-123. Grey Gardens (Albert Maysles, David Maysles & Charlotte Zwerin, 1976)

This is the cinematic version of spending some time with your senile grandparent and crazy cat-lady aunt, but with the highly uncomfortable exception that you are not related to them. A deeply personal documentary that delves into the lives of “Big Edie” Beale and her daughter “Little Edie”, relatives of Jackie Kennedy, who live in the titular estate of Grey Gardens in East Hampton, Long Island. Once rich socialites, the mother-daughter pair now dwell in a wrecked mansion in near-total isolation from the outside world and have formed a combative, yet loving codependency that somehow sustains them, even as their house, and their sanity, slowly crumble away.

It would have been easy for the Maysles’ to edit in a running commentary full of fun-poking asides and off-site commentary on their subjects. Instead, they took the high road, opting to stay out of the camera’s focus and let the two women tell their own story as they saw fit. While Big Edie spends her days reminiscing about times past, Little Edie pines for a life that never was and the camera stands silently by neither judging the actions, nor putting words in the mouths of the women, but instead instilling the viewer with an very real feeling of sympathy toward these two sad figures who, in real life, they would most likely shun.

-124. Carl Theodore Dryer Box Set [Unavailable]


“There’s no streaming in box sets!” -Tom Hanks

-125. Day of Wrath (Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1943) [Unavailable]

Dear Netflix,
Just because you can’t stream the box set as a box set, doesn’t mean you can’t stream the films that are contained in the box set whatsoever. Also: box set, box set, box set. Loses meaning the more you repeat it.

 

OK, so a little bit thin this week but the selection was, for the most part, rock solid. At least there were no more early David Lean films to suffer through. Baby steps, Netflix, baby steps. Oh, wait, you already blew it, didn’t you? Never you mind, then.

One last note: While I like to try and keep my writing on the professional side of things, I do like to include some humor for your increased reading pleasure, some of which come in the form of the pages I link to throughout the column. Let’s just say that objects and people that are of particular enjoyment or irritation to me will sometimes get a little bit more than the standard IMDB link. Happy Hunting.

Enhanced by Zemanta

April 11, 2011   No Comments

Instant Classics: Criterion on Netflix #26-50

Welcome back to Instant Classics, my continuing mission to watch and review every sing Criterion Collection film that is currently streaming on Netflix Instant Watch. Last week we discovered only a paltry 10 out of the first 25 films released through Criterion are available for streaming. This week is looking much better, with 16 of the next 25 up and running. Let’s get this show on the road.

-26. The Long Good Friday (John Mackenzie, 1980)

What a hell of a way to start off the week! John Mackenzie’s early 80’s British gangster flick comes screaming off the screen like it just ate Guy Ritchie for breakfast. Bob Hoskins is brilliant as bull-headed crime boss Harold Shand who is making one last attempt to go legit buy having a hand in the redevelopment of the London waterfront. When a series of bomb attacks and assassinations directed at his empire threaten to derail his plans, Harold must take action the only way he knows how: tearing a Harold sized hole through the London underground.

Hoskins imbues every second he is onscreen with a vein-popping, thinly controlled cockney rage the likes of which the world would not see again until Steven Soderbergh unleashed The Limey nearly two decades later. He wraps the film up with one of the most deliciously vicious anti-American rants ever committed to celluloid. Helen Mirren kills it (as usual) in the role of Harold’s wife, Victoria, providing the brainy counterbalance to Harold’s brawny ravings that might just be the key to getting him through this mess he’s found himself in. The entire proceedings are soundtracked by a punchy synth score that has just enough thematic callbacks to the swinging 60’s to remind you where this film’s roots are. Keep an eye out for a ton of future stars in bit roles, including P.H. Moriarty, Alan Ford and an extremely young Pierce Brosnan.

-27. Flesh for Frankenstein (Paul Morrissey & Antonio Margheriti, 1973)

Shlock and awe. This Paul Morrissey directed take on the classic Frankenstein story is all blood, breasts and bizarre performances. Udo Kier brings the role of Baron von Frankenstein to crazed, glistening life while surrounded by a multicultural cast who spray improvised-sounding dialog through a dazzling array of clashing accents. The Baron wishes to make a race of super-Serbians(?!) who will not only begin a new race but answer solely to him. In his endeavor to finish the male counterpart of his monstrous Adam and Eve, he settles on the head of a local farmhand who was rather attached to it. Later on, the farmhand’s friend (Joe Dallesandro) recognizes the fact that the farmhand’s head is not where it ought to be and a whole cavalcade of intestine spilling, spine-cracking mayhem ensues.

Mawkish gore and neo-eugenisist sensibilities jockey with full frontal nudity and anachronistic set pieces for screen time. If I had to pick one line to sum up this movie in it’s entirety, it would be Frankenstein’s words to his assistant (Arno Juerging, looking like the love child of Tim Robbins and Martin Freeman), immediately after he has dry humped the corpse of one of his creations: “To know death, Otto, you must fuck life…in zee gall bladder!” Priceless.

(Side Note: Screenwriter Tonino Guerra also penned Fellini’s Amacord. Talk about range.)

-28. Blood for Dracula (Paul Morrissey, 1974)

When Flesh for Frankenstein wrapped under budget and schedule, the ever-thrifty Paul Morrisey decided to craft this mostly improvised companion piece out of the same cast, crew and set pieces. Even the roles are recycled: Udo Kier is still hamming it up in the title role, Arno Juerging is still a sleazy little lackey and Joe Dallesandro is still sexing all the ladies while dropping his “New Yawk” accent into a film full of Europeans. Aside from the basic storyline and a couple new faces (including a cameo from Roman Polanski), the only notable differences between the two films is less gore and more nudity, as well as a shift in tone from vaguely fascist to overtly Marxist. If there was ever a doubt that Morrisey was the king of camp, this film puts that debate to rest.

-29. Picnic at Hanging Rock (Peter Weir, 1975)

Jeez, if there’s one thing Australian cinema has imparted to us, it’s to not go screwing around in the outback. Based on the best selling book of the same name, the story is deceptively simple: a group of Victorian-era schoolgirls who go missing while on a class outing and are never heard from again. When the investigation into the vanishings prove increasingly more fruitless, the ensuing sense of panic creates far reaching shockwaves that throw the lives of anyone even remotely involved into utter turmoil.

Like Walkabout before it, Picnic explores the popular Aussie theme of “cultured” Europeans finding themselves at odds with their newly claimed environment and/or native peoples. Peter Weir utilizes soft focus camerawork and a haunting, pan pipe-driven score to give the story an extra haze of dreaminess and delirium that is so contagious, you might want to notify a friend of your whereabouts before attempting to view this film for yourself.

-30. M (Fritz Lang, 1931)

One of the best films ever made from one of the greatest directors in history, Fritz Lang broke so much ground here, you’d think he was building a skyscraper. Jason Voorhees, Michael Meyers and especially Freddy Kruger all owe their very existence to this portrayal of the world’s first on-screen serial killer. The basic story is that of a major German city gripped by the fear of a rampaging child killer (Peter Lorre). The police are clueless, the population is frenzied and only the city’s criminal underground seems to be making any headway in hunting the murderer down before another innocent child meet their grisly fate.

It is absolutely impossible to understate to impact this movie had on the filmic world. Lorre’s character is the archetype for every sweaty, bug-eyed pervert who would follow in his creepy wake. The storyline was one of the first to be ripped from the headlines, as it is based on the then-recent events surrounding the “Dusseldorf Vampire”. Lorre’s whistling of In the Hall of the Mountain King not only popularized the use of leitmotif in cinema, but cemented Edvard Grieg’s classic tune as one of the most ominous pieces of music ever written. On top of it all you have Lang at his finest, using silence to balance sound in the same way a tattoo artist uses negative space to create depth and texture. Worth watching if only for the ultra-rare sight of a genre being both invented and perfected all in one fell swoop.

(Side Note: It’s not part of the Collection but Fritz Lang’s other magnum opus, Metropolis, is available on Instant Watch in it’s complete, restored format and original orchestral score. Well worth checking out.)

-31-32. Great Expectations (David Lean, 1946) and Oliver Twist (David Lean, 1948)

Representing the early stages of work for director David Lean as well as for the great Alec Guinness, I can’t really dig on these films for the sole fact that I hate Charles Dickens from the bottom of my black little heart. While Guinness is fantastic in both of these films, Lean really shines insomuch as he manages to boil Dickens’ sprawling prattle down to a couple hours of screen time. So there you have it, great director, great acting, some moments of really beautiful camerawork… and Charles Dickens. If for some reason you happen to like Dickens, then these are two of the best adaptations of any of his works. If you, like me, think Dickens and Tolstoy are two of the most over-celebrated hacks of the literary world, then you can still catch that Lean/Guinness magic by watching The Bridge Over the River Kwai. Just not on Netflix Instant Watch, of course.

-33. Nanook of the North (Robert J. Flaherty, 1922) [Unavailable]

Pretty ambivalent about this one. While it has the distinction of being one of the first documentaries ever filmed, it also has a notorious reputation for being shamelessly staged and anglicized at every turn. If nothing else, the film is an interesting time capsule of Western attitudes toward “primitives”.

-34.Andrei Rublev (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1966) [Unavailable]

Was really looking forward to this, as I’m trying to expand my exposure to Russian cinema. Oh, well. Guess I’ll have to stick it in the old-fashioned queue.

-35. Diabolique (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1955)

Henri-Georges Clouzot’s follow up to the powerful The Wages of Fear cemented his legacy as one of the masters of the thriller genre. Diabolique is the story of Christina (Clouzot’s wife, Vera, easily one of the most beautiful women to have ever lived), her chauvinistic husband Michel (Paul Meurisse) who openly cavorts with his mistress, Nicole (Simone Signoret). The two women, instead of being antagonistic, bond over their mutual hatred of Michel’s behavior. Nicole eventually convinces a hesitant Christina that they should kill Michel and be done with his lechery once and for all. Once decided, they hatch a scheme in which they sedate Michel, drown him in a bathtub and chuck his body into a swimming pool to make it look like an accident. The perfectly laid plan unravels however, when Michel’s body never resurfaces in the pool and, in fact, disappears altogether.

A fantastic study of loyalty and betrayal, wrapped in an intriguing blend of murder mystery, film noir, and gothic horror. Clouzot is at the top of his game here, proving that a well placed light in a room full of shadows and ominous set pieces can be more terrifying than all the “gotcha”-style musical cheap shots that are stock and trade of the modern horror genre.

(Side Note: The message at the end of the film is possibly the first-ever anti-spoiler warning, in which the filmmaker implores the audience not to be diaboliques [devils] by giving away the twist at the end of the film.)

-36. The Wages of Fear (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1953)

If one wanted to back up the claim that they just don’t make movies like they used to, this would be a powerful piece of corroborating evidence. Henri-Georges Clouzot’s thriller follows four European drifters who are down and out in an anonymous South American Country; the charming yet contemptible Mario, boisterous Luigi (weird, right?), unflappable Bimba and the sleazy and conniving Jo. When an American-owned oil well explodes, the company hires these four men to drive trucks full of nitroglycerin that will be used to put out the fire. The catch is, it’s 1953 and neither road maintenance nor suspension technology had progressed to the point of being even remotely safe.

Clocking in at a hefty 131 minutes, the first hour is all getting-to-know-you and set-up. Enjoy that, because the next hour and half is going to be non-stop, tooth-grinding tension. As someone who once drove a large truck though a narrow mountain road, this film dredges up all kinds of unpleasant flashbacks. Every bump, every rock, every twitch carries enough toe-curling power to put Alfred Hitchcock to shame (which he actually did when he beat Hitch to buying the film rights for Diabolique). The camera pairs agonizingly long shots of crucial minutiae such as wheels slowly spinning out in muck and taught wires pulled to their breaking point with the tightly framed faces of men who’s nerves and minds are fraying beyond all hope of repair. This film is one ordeal you should be proud to put yourself through.

-37. Time Bandits (Terry Gilliam, 1981)

Ah, Terry Gilliam, you crazy bastard. Unfolding like a children’s fairy tale as told by a PCP-smoking Brother’s Grimm, Time Bandits is the story of a neglected young boy named Kevin who discovers one night that his closet has become a space-time portal. The next night, six dwarves pop out of it. They are in possession of a map that they stole from the Supreme Being, that shows every hole in the space-time continuum which they have been using to travel through the continuum stealing treasures from various historical figures. Kevin gets accidently carried off into the portal with them as they bounce through history, encountering the likes of Napoleon (Ian Holm), Robin Hood and Agamemnon (Sean Connery). Throughout their journey’s they are pursued not only by the disembodied, Gilliam-illustrated head of the Supreme Being, but also by the mysterious Evil, played to bone dry perfection by David Warner and the gnarliest prosthetic fingernails I have ever seen.

No one else, living or dead, can unfurl a pure sense of childlike wonder with a winking snap of droll Brit humor into a (mostly) coherent feature length film like Gilliam. While his stories sometimes struggle to connect with their own characters, Gilliam’s visual style is always impeccable, if perhaps not entirely historically accurate. It must be said, however, that anyone quibbling over historic inaccuracies in a movie the features six time traveling dwarven thieves, is probably not up to the task of appreciating any of Gilliam’s work anyways.

-38. Branded to Kill (Seijun Suzuki, 1967)

An absolute classic yakuza flick from one of my all time favorite directors, Seijun Suzuki. Hanada (Joe Shishido) is the third highest ranked hitman in all of Japan. He kills his way through the underworld at the behest of his boss until he botches a contract from a beautiful woman and finds himself the target of the Number One assassin.

Talk about going against the grain, this film is so wonderfully weird and psychotic that it got Suzuki blacklisted from Japanese cinema for an entire decade. He took what was supposed to be a stock B-movie yakuza script and infused it with jumbled timelines, hallucinatory animations and the sexual fetishization of steamed rice, all while battling the Nikkatsu film studio for creative control. The film bombed upon release but has since been recognized as the masterpiece of absurdist cinema that it is, and has gone on to inspire the styles of such luminaries as Jim Jarmusch, Park Chan-Wook and Quentin Tarantino.

Seijun Suzuki’s masterpiece – and one of my favorite films of all time – was previously reviewed on the IOC here -admin.

-39. Tokyo Drifter (Seijun Suzuki, 1966)

Yet another dizzying journey into the gritty world of the Tokyo yakuza from master director Seijun Suzuki. The story follows Phoenix Tetsu (Tetsuya Watari), a yakuza thug who finds himself suddenly unemployed when his gang boss gives up the yakuza lifestyle to go straight. He refuses a job offer from a rival gang and fearing for his safety, takes his former boss’ advice and leaves town. It soon becomes apparent that his old boss may not have Tetsu’s best interests in mind and Tetsu is forced to choose between his loyalty and his life.

Where Branded to Kill was shot in sullen, yet spastic black and white, Tokyo Drifter color codes it’s characters and their moral orientations vividly. While not as unstrung as Branded, this movie is still an excellent example of Suzuki’s manic storytelling and intoxicating shooting style.

-40. Armageddon (Michael Bay, 1998) [Unavailable]

Over the last ten films, we’ve seen excellent installments from such heavyweights as Lang, Lean, Gilliam and Suzuki so it only makes sense that the next film Criterion featured would be from… wait, what the hell? I will be eternally befuddled as to why this cinematic abortion was included in the Collection. Easily one of my least favorite films of all time. At least it’s not streaming.

-41. Henry V (Laurence Olivier, 1944)

A film adapted from one of worlds greatest playwrights, by one of the worlds greatest actors who, incidentally, is also the director. Can you guess what the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences decided to do when it was released? That’s right, they snubbed it! Nominated it for four awards and gave it none. Well, Laurence Olivier did get an honorary award for starring, directing and producing the film as well as for having more talent in his fingernail clippings than all the other winners combined. Upon receiving the “award” Olivier (who would later go on to be Knighted, Baroned, respected as the finest actor of his and many other generations, buried in the same graveyard as British kings and in a cruel twist, resurrected to appear in Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow) reportedly shrugged, knocked back a liter of cognac and gave it to his chauffeur as a tip.

Oh, incidentally, the movie is pretty damn good, too.

-42. Fishing With John (John Lurie, 1992) [Unavailable]

Nooooooo! I love this criminally under-appreciated and short-lived TV show almost as much as I hate Armageddon. This show was the very definition of dry satire, featuring the crazed genius of Tom Waits, Willem Defoe, and Dennis Hopper.

-43. Lord of the Flies (Peter Brook, 1963)

I hardly think I’m fit to even comment on this film adaptation of William Golding’s seminal novel about practically every animalistic instinct that manifests in humanity. In it’s most literal sense, it’s the story of a group of young boys who are stranded on an island that are in dire need of adult supervision. At first they band together to build a signal fire to alert any passing ships of their presence, but when the specter of a possible monster is discovered, they quickly devolve into a vicious, tribal mentality. On a metaphorical or philosophical level, however, the story delves themes are much, much deeper, such as relationships of command and the conflicts between church and state, none of which I have the room to delve into here.

While Peter Brook’s film diverges somewhat from the novel, it manages to retain the brutal thrust of Golding’s words with the added punch of being able to physically see the children going feral. From the gritty opening montage to the precociously admirable acting job of it’s young cast, this film stands testament to the fact that good writing will always shine through, but if you go the extra mile with the film production, you’ll end up with a classic on your hands.

-44. The Red Shoes (Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1948)

My disinterest in ballet is so strong that it almost caused me to miss out on the schizophrenic genius that is Black Swan. Because of that same disinterest, I actually waited until I had seen all the other films on this list before watching this and then fell asleep in the middle of it. Twice.
The basic story is that of Vicky (Moira Shearer), a young ballet dancer that joins the dance troupe of the demanding yet inspired Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook). Boris pushes Vicky to be his new prima ballerina but a love interest in the form of the new musical composer might get in the way of her passion for ballet. Roughly three dance pieces later, I was out like a light. Twice.

This is not saying the film is necessarily bad, mind you, just that if failed to appeal to me on a storyline level. The cinematography is sumptuous in a way only early Technicolor could be, the sets are beautifully crafted and there are some delightfully campy performances, all of which were constantly being interrupted by big ballet numbers. This is the same reason I dislike musicals: whenever the music starts, the story stops. But hey, Marty Scorsese loved it and Darren Aronofsky clearly lifted some thematic elements in making Black Swan, so maybe I’m just some barbarian who falls asleep in movies. Twice.

-45. Taste of Cherry (Abbas Kiarostami, 1997) [Unavailable]

One of only two Iranian films in the Collection. Sadly, I know nothing about it.

-46. The Most Dangerous Game (Irving Pichel & Ernest B. Schoedsack, 1932) [Unavailable]

Haven’t seen it, but from what I understand it inspired the AMC daytime bellwether Surviving the Game, starring Ice-T, Rutger Hauer and Gary Busey. So there’s that.

-47. Insomnia (Erik Skjoldbjærg, 1997) [Unavailable]

Not to be confused with the remake staring post-”hooah” Al Pacino. This Norwegian thriller is and arrhythmic rollercoaster ride through one man’s rapidly devolving psyche.

-48. Black Orpheus (Marcel Camus, 1959)

Marcel Camus’ vivid re-imagining of the ancient Greek myth was shot in the Favelas of Rio de Janeiro with all the sights and sounds that he could cram onto film. The opening shot literally explodes into the midst of the Brazilian Carnivale, where newly arrived Eurydice (Marpessa Dawn) finds herself lost and confused in the chaos until she climbs aboard a trolley driven by Orfeu (Breno Mello). Even though Orfeu is already engaged to the overbearing Mira, the connection between them rapidly becomes undeniable. It is soon revealed that Eurydice is on the run from a sinister masked man, who is none other than the coolest looking depiction of Death this side of The Seventh Seal. In the midst of Mira’s mounting suspicions and Carnivale’s increasing fever pitch, Death succeeds in his mission and Eurydice is accidentally killed by Orfeu’s own hand. Grief-stricken, Orfeu embarks on a journey to reclaim the soul of his beloved.

Where the song and dance routine cluttered up the narrative of The Red Shoes, here they weave seamlessly into the very fabric of the Favelas in which they were shot and enhance the strikingly beautiful and increasingly hallucinogenic visual style that is this film’s calling card. While Portuguese is not one of those languages where I can tell if the performances are good or bad, it really doesn’t matter either way since pretty much every frame is so packed to the gills with symbolism that you could watch this one with the subtitles off and still perfectly understand what’s going down.

(Side Note: Netflix’s refusal to stream the Criterion films in HD is obnoxious under most circumstances. In the case of Black Orpheus, it’s practically criminal.)

-49/50. Nights of Cabiria (Federico Fellini, 1957) and And The Ship Sails On (Federico Fellini, 1983) [Unavailable]

Two more Fellini movies, neither of which I’ve seen. Might be good, might not; I’ll probably never know ‘cause they aren’t streaming and I’m not a Fellini fan.

Well, it looks like I won’t be making any fans in the coveted Fellini-watching, Dickens-reading, ballet dancer demographic. Also people who are named Michael Bay probably wouldn’t care for this column but studies show that a shocking 9 out of 10 Michael Bays are illiterate. Sad. Give the teachers their collective bargaining, y’all. See you next week.

Enhanced by Zemanta

March 7, 2011   4 Comments

  • Some of the topics discussed on the isle

  • Meta