You Only Live Once: Early American Hitchcock

12 July, 2015 (08:48) | Alfred Hitchcock, by Peter Hogue, capsules | By: Peter Hogue

[Originally published in Movietone News 38, January 1975]

As a general practice, Parallax View doesn’t post Word files of departmental MTN offerings such as “You Only Live Once,” the ongoing survey of repertory offerings around town. However, Peter Hogue’s anticipatory survey of a Hitchcock lineup in the University of Washington Office of Lectures & Concerts Film Series contains some exceptional insights above and beyond the call of duty. Besides, Hitchcock is always in season. —RTJ

YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE

“Early/Middle Hitchcock,” roughly 1934–1946, may be the most appealing period of the great director’s career. From Strangers on a Train (1951) to date, Hitchcock is a master, a towering figure who has his complex art under complete control. But the earlier Hitchcock has a certain warmth and expansiveness that are somewhat diminished in the work of the masterful Hitch later on. Somewhere in the Forties the director’s always-ironic relationship with his audience shifts somewhat from a tolerant tantalization to a tortuous temptation. A convenient, highly visible landmark for the change comes when Hitchcock administers an ingenious shock to the audience by firing a gun in our faces at the climax of Spellbound (1945). The process, of course, isn’t as neatly patterned as all that, but a striking change in Hitch is discernible in retrospect. The basic intellectual vision behind the films remains more or less constant, but the earlier films are more relaxed and less elliptical than the later ones, and less given to inflicting themselves upon the audience. It’s as if the later Hitchcock felt he had to explain less to more recent audiences at the same time that he felt more of an inclination to teach us a lesson, to punish us even. The classic example, of course, is Psycho (1960) with its devilishly inspired manipulation of audience expectations and conventional moral assumptions (amply discussed elsewhere by Leo Braudy and Raymond Durgnat). Psycho assaults its audience repeatedly, and the current highly marketable hunger for such assaults (especially by lesser directors than Hitch) perhaps proves the master’s point, confirms his suspicions, authenticates his contempt. The Early/Middle Hitch is a little less the moralist, more the entertainer: the personal vision is fully present but there is a greater flexibility, a more playful humor, in face of the moral ambiguities that edge many of the later films toward a harrowing despair.

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The View Beyond Parallax… more reads for the week of July 10

10 July, 2015 (09:59) | by Bruce Reid, by Sean Axmaker, Links, Obituary / Remembrance | By: Bruce Reid

Treasures from the Packard Campus for Audio-Visual Conservation

“At any given moment, the Packard labs are working on several different titles, all at varying stages of completion. During my visit, this list included Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein; a one-reel sound film called Old Man Trouble; a 1951 commercial for Durkee’s Famous Sauce (starring Buster Keaton); and Fred Wiseman’s 1967 documentary about the Bridgewater State Hospital for the criminally insane, Titicut Follies.” As Bryan Gardiner’s list suggests, inclusiveness is the watchword at the Packard Campus for Audio-Visual Conservation, its 124 vaults, once the storage facility for billions of Federal Reserve dollars should the economy have needed capital infusion after a nuclear holocaust, now home to the Library of Congress’s collection, currently facing the more immediate threat of decay and data loss. Via Mubi.

“This lovely early sketch illustrates one of the various contradictions in Ford, namely how his reputation as a magisterial storyteller clashes with his predilection for leisurely digressions, for moments when characters gaze at the world outside their windows, engage in vaudeville turns, or simply sit and talk and remember. Ford’s art is an essentially meditative one, and Judge Priest’s flavor lies less in its dramatic plot than in the way small human details—say, how a party is viewed as an occasion both for matchmaking and for vote-hunting—are woven together into an affectionate picture of a teeming community.” Fernando F. Croce does a lovely job writing up three less appreciated—but by no means lesser—John Ford films playing as part of the Museum of Moving Images’s series: Judge Priest, Wagon Master, and the singular The Wings of Eagles.

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Film Review: ‘Felt’

9 July, 2015 (03:19) | by Robert Horton, Film Reviews | By: Robert Horton

‘Felt’

Someone brings out a doll of Adolf Hitler in embryonic form, complete with hair and mustache. You know this is a film of very serious ideas, because it’s unclear whether this is intended as comic relief or meant to be taken straight. The doll is a work of art created by Amy (Amy Everson), the enigmatic character at the center of Felt. We encounter this listless young woman in dribs and drabs of plot, with particular emphasis on her unhappy encounters with men who like rape jokes and her habit of dressing up in masculine costumes while skulking around the woods. She’s a San Francisco artist who creates with felt, including grotesque depictions of genitals. (Embryo Hitler is made of felt, too.) The life of the party, she ain’t.

Felt is a more-or-less experimental indie that feels a little like watching Blue Velvet from the zonked point of view of the Isabella Rossellini character.

Continue reading at Seattle Weekly

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Film Review: ‘Testament of Youth’

9 July, 2015 (03:15) | by Robert Horton, Film Reviews | By: Robert Horton

Alicia Vikander

So dull, so respectable, so full of nice touches and pretty things: Testament of Youth seems like just the kind of film the real Vera Brittain would have no patience for. Produced in a well-mannered and fully costumed way by BBC Films, this is an adaptation of Brittain’s celebrated 1933 memoir. We follow Vera (Alicia Vikander), a feisty and brainy young woman, as she rebels against her family’s ideas of pre-suffrage femininity and enrolls at Oxford, hoping to become a writer. Her education coincides with the beginning of World War I; her brother Edward (Taron Egerton), her beau Roland (Kit Harington), and two close friends ship off to the front. Vera suspends her study to serve as a nurse near the trenches.

Continue reading at Seattle Weekly

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Film Review: ‘The Tribe’

9 July, 2015 (03:06) | by Robert Horton, Film Reviews | By: Robert Horton

Yana Norikova and Grigoriy Fesenko

The hooligan thugs of A Clockwork Orange had their own new language, courtesy of author Anthony Burgess. The delinquent gang members of The Tribe don’t call each other droogs, but they too have a distinct kind of communication. But we can’t hear a word of it. The dialogue in this Ukrainian film is cast entirely in sign language—and not subtitled, in Ukrainian or English. It’s essentially a silent film, its soundtrack made of incidental noise and the occasional violent gasp. The setting is a boarding school for the deaf outside Kiev, where newcomer Sergey (Grigoriy Fesenko) is welcomed with a mugging, a beating, and eventual enlistment in the teen gang that runs the place. (Grown-up authority is almost never seen.) Some of the boys act as pimps for their female classmates, cruising through a nearby truckstop for customers. At some point, Sergey falls for one of the girls, Anya (Yana Novikova), and of course wants to rescue her.

Continue reading at Seattle Weekly

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Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie (The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie)

8 July, 2015 (07:49) | by Richard T. Jameson, Essays | By: Richard T. Jameson

[Originally published in Movietone News 39, February 1975]

“Sometimes dreams are really…”

One way or another, all the really big guys make movies about themselves making movies. Luis Buñuel may be caught most conspicuously doing so at the beginning of his career, in Un Chien andalou, and at what must be temporarily accounted the end of his career, Le Charme discret de la bourgeoisie, until Le Fantôme de la Liberté gets here or until Buñuel really does stop making films, as he’s been threatening to do for about a decade now. Unlike most of its sophomoric contemporaries, Un Chien andalou operates as a most lucid disquisition on a kind of formal logic peculiarly available to the cinema. The recurrent patterns of diagonal design (the pattern in Buñuel’s tie, the lines on the lid of the cyclist’s box and the wrapping paper inside) and diagonal movement (the stropping of the razor, the woman’s arrangement of untenanted garments on the bed) attest to the possibility of formal integrity without reference to any conventional, mundane logic. The succession of visually similar forms (a hole in the hand, a tuft of underarm hair, a sea urchin, a head glimpsed in a god’s-eye-view iris-shot) provides its own poetic justification, and a sinister shot-pairing (clouds cut across moon, razor cuts across eye) testifies to the power of editorial progression! A woman “hears” and reacts to the approach of a cyclist whose only sensory signal has been to enter and pass out of a right-angle frame of a street scene disposed between two shots of her looking at a book in a room somewhere: shot juxtaposition creates its own acceptable narrative logic. And that room she sits in, having been established in a conventional full shot at the beginning, can be broken up by camera angling and restructured by montage so that its window looks down on both a city street and a desolate beach, and its door opens on a stairway, the seashore, or the mirror duplication of the selfsame room, depending on where the narrative chooses to go next. Truly, Buñuel opens not only the girl’s but also his and our eyes to a new kind of vision.

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Blu-ray: Two takes on Ernest Hemingway’s ‘The Killers’

7 July, 2015 (09:29) | Blu-ray, by Sean Axmaker, DVD, Film Noir, Film Reviews | By: Sean Axmaker

killersBDThe Killers (Criterion, Blu-ray, DVD) is an ingenious double feature: Two crime classics inspired by the Ernest Hemingway short story. Criterion originally released a DVD double feature over a decade ago. Both films have been remastered in HD for the set’s Blu-ray debut and a new DVD edition.

The first 15 minutes of Robert Siodmak’s The Killers (1946) remains the most the most faithful Hemingway adaptation ever put on screen. Two gunmen from the city (Charles McGraw and William Conrad) take over a small town diner to wait for their target. When he doesn’t show, they take the hit to him, and he just waits, broken and hopeless, for them to come and finish him off. Burt Lancaster made his film debut in the role of Swede Anderson and his entrance—a close-up of a haunted face doused in shadow with slashes of light catching his wounded expression as he lay back down on his bed, awaiting his execution with doomed resignation—is one of the greatest screen debuts any performer has received.

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Belle de jour

6 July, 2015 (03:55) | by Kathleen Murphy, Essays | By: Kathleen Murphy

[Originally published in Movietone News 39, February 1975]

Belle de jour is a circular film, curving its way surely and urbanely through fantasy, memory, and whatever reality one can distill from Buñuel’s surrealist solution. Probably the first bone of contention among critics of the film is how much reality, how much fantasy, and where each sector is located in this suave Buñuelian landscape. Depending on the reading, Catherine Deneuve’s Séverine/Belle de jour may have fantasized the whole of the film with no anchors in reality, she may be engaged in an act of exorcism which finally leads her to a kind of normality, or she may have ultimately ruptured the fragile barriers between her conscious life and the world that shapes itself out of the darkness behind her brain. Whether Buñuel is hypnotist or mesmerizer is moot; whether he has plunged his heroine into the darkness of insanity or caused a sunrise, a coming to terms with reality, is also open to question. Considering the bland banality of Séverine’s “reality,” itself a kind of madness which Buñuel has never ceased to send up with a discreet but nonetheless devastating charm, can acceptance of such a life be considered enlightenment? Her fantasies may be kinky but they’re certainly more fun, more richly devised and experienced, than anything that home, hearth, and hubby can provide. Perhaps what Buñuel has mesmerized Séverine (and us) into is a serenely crazy delight with the complete dissolution of distinctions like reality and fantasy into a rich warm soup blended of both. Buñuel knows what kind of spell movies may cast, and that we as viewers are not unlike Mme. Anaïs’ clients who buy the opportunity to frame and move and light their most private, cherished fantasies. Like Séverine, we turn from the peephole and exclaim in righteous disgust, “How can anyone sink so low!,” a half-smile of perverse fascination playing about our lips. We should not feel diminished for all that, for Buñuel’s discreet and amiable charm is all-encompassing; he subjects no one’s fetish to contempt, only to the goodnatured amusement of an old roué who is surprised by nothing, but is endlessly delighted with the conventions of bourgeois perversity. Consequently, we do not move from scene to scene in Belle de jour impelled by a sense of urgency that Séverine “get well” or go crazy with a vengeance; rather, we are satisfied with permission to participate in the picaresque sexual adventures she either fantasizes or realizes in her pilgrimage from neurotic innocence through exotic sin to that ambiguous endgame played within her mind.

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Blu-ray: Jack Hill’s ‘Spider Baby’ and ‘Pit Stop’

5 July, 2015 (16:30) | Blu-ray, by Sean Axmaker, DVD | By: Sean Axmaker

SpiderbabySpider Baby (Arrow, Blu-ray+DVD) is one of the greatest blasts of creative B-movie inspiration to hit American drive-ins and grindhouses. It was the solo directorial debut of Jack Hill (whose Coffy and Foxy Brown both recently hit Blu-ray from Olive), a low-budget film that was financed by real estate developers who wanted to get into the movie business and got stuck in limbo for years when the producers went bankrupt. Shot in 1964, it was finally released in 1967, by which time black-and-white films were no longer considered for first-run bookings. It was sold as a second feature and then fell into the public domain, where it became a cult movie a generation later, thanks to cheap videotape copies. Hill never made a dime on it, but he did belatedly get some attention for it. For all of its technical shortcomings and budget-related compromises, I still think it’s his most inspired film.

The final descendants of the Merrye family live in an isolated manor, hiding their curse from society in an old family home that could have been built as a vacation home by the architect of the Bates hilltop home. They suffer from Merrye’s Syndrome, a (fictional) malady causes all members of the family to regress mentally and emotionally with the onset of puberty. “The unfortunate result of… inbreeding,” explains Bruno (Lon Chaney Jr. in a warm, paternal performance), the chauffeur and guardian of the afflicted children of his old master. Elizabeth (Beverly Washburn in adolescent pigtails) and Virginia (Jill Banner), the spider baby of the title, are typical sisters playing (and tattling on one another) in schoolgirl frocks. Gangly Sid Haig as the bald, infantile Ralph, an older brother slipping into back into a pre-verbal state. Things are fine as long as no one comes around (pity the poor postman) but when distant cousins Peter and Emily Howe (Quinn Redeker and Carol Ohmart) arrive with a lawyer (Karl Schanzer) to contest the will, things get interesting.

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The View Beyond Parallax… more reads for the week of July 3

3 July, 2015 (09:40) | by Bruce Reid, by Sean Axmaker, Links, Obituary / Remembrance | By: Bruce Reid

Alla Nazimova’s Garden of Allah

Garden of Allah

A pair of legendary Hollywood hotels have their colorful history recounted. Kirk Silsbee runs down the scandalous past of Alla Nazimova’s Garden of Allah retreat, where the parties were so constant John Barrymore used to ride between the bungalows on a bike, lest the walk take time away from his drinking. (“New York drama critic Whitney Bolton, who lived at the Garden, wrote, ‘If a stark-naked lady of acting fame, her head crowned by a chattering monkey, chose to open the door to Western Union, no one was abashed, least of all the lady and the monkey.’”) Less salacious (it is written for PBS, after all) but no less gossipy, Hadley Meares visits the Knickerbocker Hotel, home or playground for the likes of Maureen O’Sullivan and Betty Grable in its heyday, but as hard times hit the building and the town, the site of downward spirals for Frances Farmer and D. W. Griffith. (“The building itself appears tired and worn out—and really who can blame it. For the Knickerbocker’s history has been as jammed packed and traumatic as any melodrama made by the city that it calls home.”) Via Matt Fagerholm.

Hey, remember a few months back when minor outrage was savored over the revelation that George Clooney high-hatted Brokeback Mountain producer and co-writer Diana Ossana backstage at the Oscars? Here’s Variety’s Ramin Setoodeh getting the story of the movie’s making from Ang Lee, James Schamus, and nobody else.

Fritz Lang’s American architecture: “early nothing”

“[Lang] had trained to be an architect, and gave us the first city of the future. But those American films have a distinct, flat, bleak quality to their look. In The Big Heat, Gloria Graham even comes up with an aperçu to describe the decor: ‘Early nothing.’” David Cairns offers some ideas on why Lang’s American sets seem flatter and plainer than his European ones, even as all of them impress as “crime scenes in waiting.”

“Perhaps this is not so much anti-romanticism as ambivalent romanticism, love’s labour lost in a maze of qualifications and moment-by-moment hesitations. Lester’s style, with its quick changes of mood and broken connections (changes that can take place regardless of cutting speed), might almost be designed to foster ambivalence, never allowing feelings to settle long enough for characters to test whether they are genuine.” Richard Combs explores the ambivalence towards romance—and the breakdown it suggests of an even more fundamental dramatic trope, consistency of character—in the films of Richard Lester.

Also at Film Comment, Phuong Le looks back at Orson Welles’s post-Third Man cash-in, the radio show The Lives of Harry Lime; surprisingly, he doesn’t highlight one of the scripts that evolved into Mr. Arkadin, but rather an anti-imperialism farce that anticipates Wilder’s One, Two, Three.

“The computer is another tool, and in the end, it’s how you use a tool, particularly when it comes to artistic choices. What the computer did, just like what’s happened all through our industry, it has de-skilled most of the folks that now work in visual effects in the computer world. That’s why half of the movies you watch, these big ones that are effects-driven, look like cartoons.” Not that special effects supervisor Gene Warren Jr.’s words have any relevance to sequels currently in theaters, but Kenny Herzog’s oral history on the creation of Terminator 2’s T-1000 makes clear its success owed immensely to such human-scaled efforts as Stan Winston’s models, Robert Patrick’s acting, and a good script even the computer programmers could relate to.

The T-1000 of ‘Terminator 2: Judgment Day’

“There was something about the chords and intervals he tended to use, too. I’m not educated enough to tell you exactly what he was doing but they’re never simple. I could always tell it was him before the credit appeared, and there was this little happy moment of settling in for a well-scored movie. And now that’s gone.” Matt Zoller Seitz and S. I. Rosenbaum share a delightfully fannish conversation saluting James Horner, dredging up their favorite deep cuts and never letting mournfulness spoil their gratitude for the music he left us.

“Every day from when I was 22 to 32, I deliberately and consciously did things to fight fear. Things I was afraid of, like guns, sharks, heights, success, intimacy? I’ve checked those off the list. Even in the beginning of my career, my confidence always came from being fearless. I always went in to auditions with the attitude “I dare you not to cast me.” I went in and did what I thought was honest, truthful and just different. Maybe it was wrong. I didn’t care.” Interviewed by Stephen Rebello, Jeremy Renner passes on the chance to apologize for supposed recent faux pas, instead doubling down on his admirable assertion that what you think of him doesn’t matter so long as he knows he’s in a good place.

“I struggle to slot material into a formula that requires a certain level of salacious content. Nothing that comes out of my little work tunnel seems to fit that quotient. I have a lot of trouble factoring the things I care about, and the subject matter I like to make films about, into anything that appeals to people who are looking for commercial success, or to make money from it. I am in a conundrum.” Uncommercial it may be, but from her discussion with Tasha Robinson it’s clear that Stray Dog director Debrah Granik has invested the documentary with the intelligence and emotional honesty of her previous features, at least.

“Films picture the world. My images of the world are impossible so you have to be alert. Hollywood makes films to conform a complete delusion. This is ideology. With Seeking the Monkey King (2011), for example, I want to bring people to the point of questioning what they see. You have the obligation to protect your individual perception. Think about it! I was talking about delusions, which is when you believe. I don’t want the audience to believe, I want them to be entertained by illusions that they recognize as illusions. That is the fun of it.” Victor Paz Morandeira talks with Ken Jacobs about 3D, the need to treat audiences as individuals, and America’s current (dismal, to their lights) politics; Jacobs, as is his wont, takes the opportunity to settle some old scores.

A German poster by Hans Otto Wend

“I was trying to do a couple of movies a year around the band schedule ’cause I wanted to learn. So with Tim, Pee-wee was my first score, Beetlejuice was my fifth and Batman was my 10th. And at a certain point he asked me, ‘How are you doing four movies between my movies?’ And I go, ‘If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to step up to your films. I gotta learn how to do this.’ So I was champing really hard to fit a couple of films into my schedule for each year.” In the middle of prepping for a concert series celebrating his scores for Tim Burton, Danny Elfman talks with Kory Grow about one of the great composer-director collaborations.

Adrian Curry gathers a terrific collection of international posters for The Third Man, many images predating the filmmakers’ realization what a sure thing they had on their hands in playing up zithers, Ferris wheels, and Harry’s slinking back into the shadows with a smile.

“How many lines?” “No lines, I’m afraid. You will be put in a headlock.” Peter Strickland, whose films are deservedly renowned for their detailed, surreal soundtracks, does away with the visuals altogether, writing and directing a darkly comic play for BBC Radio. The Len Continuum stars Berberian Sound Studio’s Toby Jones as a struggling actor who can’t keep his foot out of his mouth, fills his prayers to God beseeching ill fortune to those around him, and generally comes off as an ass. Strickland’s acknowledged the character is as close to himself as any he’s written: “I like the idea that a lead character who is flagged up to be autobiographical is a complete prick.” (Don’t just bookmark for later; it’s only up for two more weeks.) Via Movie City News.

Sergio Sollima

Sergio Sollima

Obituary

Sergio Sollima was the third great Sergio of Italian Spaghetti Westerns (along with Leone and Corbucci), and the most political, though he only contributed three films to the genre. After directing a trio of Eurospy films, he had his first hit with The Big Gundown (1966) with Lee Van Cleef and Tomas Milian, and followed it up with Face to Face (1976) and Run, Man, Run! (1968), both with Milian. He also made his mark in the poliziotteschi genre (the violent Italian crime thriller) with Violent City (1970) and Revolver (1973) and directed the horror film Devil in the Brain (1972), and then spent the next couple of decades working largely in television, where he made the hit mini-series Sandokan (1976). He passed away this week at the age of 94. Dennis Cozzalio revisits his career and legacy at Indiewire.

Seattle Screens

The new 4K digital restoration of Carol Reed’s The Third Man (1949), featuring Orson Welles in his iconic role of American black marketer Harry Lime, plays for a week at Sundance Cinemas.

Visit the film review pages at The Seattle TimesSeattle Weekly, and The Stranger for more releases.

View complete screening schedules through IMDbMSNYahoo, or Fandango, pick the interface of your choice.

The weekly links page is compiled and curated by Bruce Reid, with obituaries curated by Sean Axmaker, and other contributions from friends of Parallax View.

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Film Review: ‘When Marnie Was There’

2 July, 2015 (04:01) | Animation, by Robert Horton, Film Reviews | By: Robert Horton

‘When Marnie Was There’

Although it tells a mildly fantastical tale of ghosts and a magical mansion, When Marnie Was There is best at capturing authentic childhood experience. Even the sound is right. Maybe it stands out because we’re watching an animated movie, but the ambient noise is uncannily good. When the heroine arrives at her new home for the summer, every creaky floorboard and tinkling wind-chime gives a feeling of “Yes, that’s exactly how that sounds.” Those things are felt more keenly when experienced in a new place, which is the situation for Anna. She’s been sent to the seaside by her frustrated adoptive mother, who suspects a change of scenery would benefit the shy girl. Anna stays with a kindly older couple, but her imagination is captured by the moody house across a tidal flat, where ethereal blonde Marnie offers friendship. (SIFF will screen both the original Japanese-language version, with subtitles, and the dubbed version, with Hailee Steinfeld as Anna and Kieran Shipka as Marnie.)

Continue reading at Seattle Weekly

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Film Review: ‘Aloft’

2 July, 2015 (03:55) | by Sean Axmaker, Film Reviews | By: Sean Axmaker

Jennifer Connelly

Aloft opens in a desolate desert of ice and snow where caravans of pilgrims, traveling in big rigs and camper vans, converge at the end of the world as if it’s the promised land. One of those desperate souls is Jennifer Connelly, cinema’s contemporary face of the female and almost holy capacity for sacrificing, suffering, and enduring. This seeker has two young sons: Gully, dying from a fatal (and pointedly unnamed) condition, is a sweet kid who adores his big brother; and budding falconer Ivan, resenting being dragged along on his mother’s obdurate odyssey to find a faith healer. She doesn’t believe; she just doesn’t have any better options at this point.

Years later, she’s become a guru healer in her own right, an Earth mother in the Arctic Circle who hasn’t seen Ivan in two decades. Meanwhile the estranged Ivan has grown into Cillian Murphy, he of the gentle blue-eyed countenance that suggests both fragile soul and budding serial killer.

Continue reading at Seattle Weekly

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Film Review: ‘One Cut, One Life’

2 July, 2015 (03:51) | by Robert Horton, Documentary, Film Reviews | By: Robert Horton

Lucia Small and Ed Pincus

Back in the ’60s Ed Pincus made some key social-issue documentaries and wrote a how-to book that became a bible for low-budget filmmaking. If he’d kept on that track, he would have remained a respectable figure in the world of nonfiction film. Instead, Pincus rejected the idea that a camera could record something without changing it, and made a first-person documentary about his own life, Diaries (1971–76), released in 1982. That 200-minute epic was scorned as Me Generation navel-gazing by The New York Times, but also widely acclaimed. Pincus’ work was influential (his former Harvard student Ross McElwee clearly aped the Pincus style in his classic Sherman’s March), but the man himself dropped out of filmmaking for 30 years to raise flowers and family in Vermont.

Continue reading at Seattle Weekly

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Viridiana

30 June, 2015 (15:37) | by Peter Hogue, Essays | By: Peter Hogue

[Originally published in Movietone News 39, February 1975]

Buñuel doesn’t try very hard to allay suspicions that the visible fetishistic oddments so abundant in his films are simply the byproducts of any number of peculiar fantasies and “private” obsessions in which the director is indulging himself to the exclusion of almost everyone else. But however much he may be indulging his own peculiarities, his films tend to absorb this “private” imagery in ways which hint at the liberating power of obsession itself. Buñuel’s famous foot fetishism, abundantly evoked in Viridiana, is an unusually good example. To insist on seeing people in terms of their feet is rather like insisting on showing that they have sexual organs, yet without limiting the recognitions to the specific contexts of sexual desire and sexual satisfaction. A foot, as an image, is more neutral than a penis, yet it has the advantage of being the most completely terrestrial part of the body, and a part that has an odd (literally plodding) beauty of its own, unencumbered by any exalted artistic tradition. Most picture-takers concentrate on people’s heads; after all, that is the end of the body that “identifies” a person and contains his “intelligence.” The feet, by contrast, are mute, dumb, and anonymous. A very large part of human experience partakes of these same qualities—something Buñuel not only recognizes but pays tribute as well, by watching quietly and by directing us to watch too.

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Tristana

30 June, 2015 (08:55) | by David Willingham, Essays | By: David Willingham

[Originally published in Movietone News 39, February 1975]

The camera trucks slowly left, unobtrusively, almost cautiously, as if to move out of Tristana’s way as she and Saturna approach the group of boys. It cranes above the soccer skirmish to view the scene from a dominating remove, observing the ritual conflict—a game like any other, designed to formalize the release of aggressions. Handheld, the camera mingles abruptly with running feet, tangles with the action. Then it isolates the spontaneous but intentional violation of the rules and its unregenerate perpetrator. And finally, the camera seeks out and frames Tristana and Saturno as they share a wordless but evocative moment of mutual appreciation.

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