Posted in: by Sean Axmaker, Directors, Interviews

Marjane Satrapi on ‘Persepolis’

Marjane Satrapi passed away this on June 4, 2026—a year after the death of her husband—at the age of 56. I interviewed Ms. Satrapi at the end of 2007, while she was promoting the animated feature Persepolis, based on her autobiographical graphic novel.

Born and raised in Iran but educated in Vienna, Marjane Satrapi grew up in the aftermath of the Islamic revolution, where she watched the idealism in the wake of freedom from the Shah’s rule give way to an increasingly oppressive and intolerant culture of religious extremism. She left for Paris in 1994 and has been an exile from her home ever since. “You become a stranger everywhere,” is how she described the feeling of exile, “but in a way you are also an insider everywhere.” Satrapi first told her story in the autobiographical graphic novels Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood and Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return, sharing experiences and feelings at once culturally specific and universally human. Now she brings her story to the screen in the richly realized and evocatively told animated feature Persepolis, which she adapted and directed with Vincent Paronnaud. She talked about her novel, her film, and her life in a December visit to Seattle.

I read your graphic novels about a year ago and saw the film at Toronto. I thought it was remarkable how faithful the movie is to the character of the art and style of the original novels, and yet so fluid and creative in its use of the animation medium. What was the biggest challenge in moving from the static panel of the graphic novel to the medium of animation?

The first thing was to understand is that it is not the same narration, so we had to forget about the book and really start to make a new narration but with the same material. And that’s why, as you say, the book and the movie, they are very similar and at the same time they are very different and that is the whole paradox. In the relationship that reader, as with the comic books, and the viewer with the movie, to start with that, is not the same. Unlike literature, when you read a comic book, you are very active as a reader because between two frames you have to imagine the movement yourself. When you are watching a movie you are passive because you see the images. We’ll start with that. Then you have things like the sound, the music, etc., so if there is a feeling that I have to describe with one word or draw something in a comic, for example, I can count on the music to get this feeling. So it’s not the same medium. The whole danger of this project was to do exactly what everybody thought I would do, to take a camera and take it from the frame, one after the other, and think that we will get a movie. Since we knew this danger, we tried to avoid it as much as possible. And we thought about it as a movie, not even as an animated movie. We made it like a movie, the only thing is that it was drawn. People talk about animated movies as if it was a style. It’s not a style, it’s just a technique. It’s like comics. “Comics” is not a style, it’s not just superhero stories, it’s a medium. Animation is the same thing. So we approached it this way and just tried to make a movie.

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Posted in: by Sean Axmaker, Film Festivals, Silent Cinema

San Francisco Silent Film Festival 2026

On May 6, the San Francisco Silent Film Festival returned to its longtime home: the Castro, which closed for renovations in 2024 and reopened in early 2026. The theatrical experience is a little different—the seats were removed to create a concert venue, with modular risers and rows of lightweight padded seats brought in for the festival—but the restoration of the frescoes and interior designs is beautiful, the sight lines improved with the increased rake, and the atmosphere…well, let’s just say that it’s good to be home.

This year brought 18 features and seven shorts, all presented with live musical accompaniment, plus a special presentation of Japanese films produced on paper strips, and the annual “Amazing Tales from the Archives” program. Among the new restorations of films both legendary and forgotten were early features by Carl Theodor Dreyer and William Wyler, as well as revelatory German and Polish productions previously unseen stateside.

Opening night offered the new restoration of the famously unfinished Queen Kelly, Erich von Stroheim’s notorious 1929 production starring Gloria Swanson as an innocent corrupted. Von Stroheim’s overruns and excesses proved too much for Swanson and producer Joseph Kennedy (yes, the paterfamilas of the political dynasty), with production shutting down with less than half of his script in the can. Now, still photos and descriptions drawn from the complete script suggest Stroheim’s vision for the film’s missing sequences.

Continue reading at Slant Magazine

Posted in: by Sean Axmaker, Directors, Essays, Film Festivals

Yasujiro Ozu on TCM in May

The oft-quoted cliché about Yasujirō Ozu is that he is the most “Japanese” of Japanese directors, a somewhat problematic claim (is there really a single ideal expression of Japanese character?) that nonetheless strives to describe a style and sensibility that rejected the cinematic influences of the West. His evolution is all the more fascinating given his love of Hollywood films as a voracious young film buff. His film career began in the early 1920s as an assistant cameraman at Shochiku, Japan’s biggest film studio. He remained at Shochiku his entire career, working his way up to assistant to director Tadamoto Okubo before making his directorial debut in 1927. The film, the only period piece of his career, has not survived. Ozu made every type of genre in those early years, from lighthearted college comedies to crime dramas and romantic melodramas to social dramas, turning out as many as six features a year. But, he really found his voice in shomin-geki, which translates to “home drama,” stories that explore the everyday lives of middle and lower middle-class citizens.

Where so many of his contemporaries delved into adventures and elegant period dramas, Ozu’s films are contemporary to his times. From his silent films in the early 1920s to his final film in 1962, An Autumn Afternoon, he set his quietly understated family dramas and modest comedies in the homes and workplaces of everyday citizens trying to make a life for themselves and their children. His films are a veritable survey of Japanese society from the late 1920s to the early 1960s, exploring themes of social expectations, familial responsibility, sacrifice and the collision of traditional culture and modern life, from The Depression through The War to the transition of a new democracy and Western-style economy.

TCM celebrates the legacy of Yasujirō Ozu, proclaimed by film critic and historian David Bordwell as “the greatest director ever to work in the history of cinema,” with 20 features plus the TV premiere of a new documentary on the legendary filmmaker.

Continue reading at TCM

Posted in: by Sean Axmaker, Film series

Roger Corman on TCM in April

Roger Corman left behind a legacy unmatched by filmmakers of his (or, for that matter, any) generation when he passed away in 2024 at the age of 98. In addition to directing over 50 films, he produced almost 500 features, created and ran two production companies and hired young talent in all facets of the business, both in front of and behind the cameras. He was dubbed “King of the B-movies” for his cheap productions and cost-cutting tricks, but he had an eye for talent and provided invaluable practical experience to hungry young artists willing to work long hours for small paychecks. Among the graduates of the “Corman School” are such luminaries as Martin Scorsese, James Cameron, Jack Nicholson, Robert Towne, John Sayles, Gale Anne Hurd and Jonathan Demme. TCM celebrates the magnate with four nights spanning his career. The first two nights feature films directed by Corman, and the following two highlight the directors who came up under his tutelage.

Friday, April 3

Peter Bogdanovich, Joe Dante, and Ron Howard are among the filmmakers who share their stories in Roger Corman: The Pope of Pop Cinema (2021), a French documentary that sketches out the defining contradictions of the ambitious young director who gave up on the studios and created his own career as an independent filmmaker. The rest of the night dives into a sampling of his early career as director, including a pair of films that have become cult classics.

Continue reading on the TCM website

Posted in: by Richard T. Jameson, Film Reviews

Tender Mercies

[originally published in The Weekly, May 4, 1983]

The man has been around for some time; several days, a week — we can’t be sure. The guy he was traveling with moved on, leaving him among the cigarette butts and half-empty bottles in the clapboard country-roadside motel. Upon coming to and finding himself penniless to pay for the room, he offered to odd-job his way out of debt to the lady who operates the place. She accepted — “No drinking on the job,” though — and he stayed on. Now, one night at supper, her young son eyes him across the table and asks, “Mister, what’s yore name?”

That’s the way life gets sorted out in Tender Mercies. Nothing forced, no privileged information elicited or shoved into the foreground before its time. The characters and their collective life will not be butted and chivvied into artificial poses so that conventional rhythms of “story” can be satisfied. This drifter and the roadside lady come to care for each other (months have gone by now, we know from in-passing references in the dialogue), but we do not see them marry. We do not even see them agree to marry: He asks her whether she’s ever thought about marrying again, says he’s been thinking about it, asks if she’ll think about marrying him. She agrees to think about it. Next scene we see, schoolkids are taunting her boy, Sonny, about his mother’s new husband.

The slippage of scenes — the omission of conventional Big Scenes between scenes, as it were — does not imply that anything common-law has been allowed to develop (the lady is a good Baptist, after all; they’ve been married, legal and proper). What this narrative technique does imply is that life’s truest ceremonies are celebrated in the random minutiae of everyday experience. And that is right nextdoor to recognizing the film’s theme of “tender mercies”: that the pain of mortality, of being bound on a deathward journey whose purpose and itinerary often seem obscure, can be truly alleviated not by spectacular sunsets, exceptional interventions in the progress of existence, but rather by quiet moments of self-knowledge, of seeing oneself in perspective with one’s fellows and one’s environment, in the limpid light of day.

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Posted in: by Richard T. Jameson, Film Reviews, Westerns

Kevin Costner’s ‘Open Range’ delivers the goods

[originally published in Queen Anne/Magnolia News, August 27, 2003]

Film critics have a lot of things on their plate when they sit down to deal with a movie, and some of those things can be pretty far removed from the concerns and curiosity of the typical reader. When you get down to basics, what most people want to know when reading about a given movie is: Am I going to enjoy it? Am I going to be satisfied that I spent two hours of my time that way?

Open Range will take slightly more than two hours of your time, and viewers who keep a stopwatch handy may not appreciate all of it, because it’s easy to imagine how the film could have been shortened, tightened up. But I wouldn’t part with a minute of it. It moves at the settled pace and with the assured stride of a national genre in a culture that values such a thing.

It’s also deeply satisfying in ways that few movies are these days. Then again, few movies these days are Westerns. Fewer still are Westerns that aspire to give the sort of pleasure that even run-of-the-mill Westerns could once be depended upon to stimulate. Open Range costars and was directed by Kevin Costner, who thirteen years ago won some Oscars for making Dances with Wolves. That movie had its virtues, and the new film is clearly the work of the same man, but a better measure of the satisfaction Open Range delivers is the movie in which Costner, as a featured actor, first connected with audiences: Lawrence Kasdan’s Silverado in 1985.

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Posted in: Film Reviews

Review: The Great Santini

[Originally published in Movietone News 66-67, March 1981]

Orion’s The Great Santini has been sitting on the shelf for about a year now and seems unlikely to move off it unless pay-TV pops for it.* The second (surely there can’t be more?) directorial effort of screenwriter Lewis John Carlino (The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea was the first), the film seems unsalable in the present Hollywood scheme of things. It is, for one thing, a small movie, without the sort of topical hook that might lend it the opportunistic urgency to make a distribution and publicity push worthwhile. It is also a hopeless mess. Its central showpiece and only detectable raison-d’être is Robert Duvall’s tour-de-force characterization of Marine super—fighter-pilot and congenital bad-/hardass “Bull” Meechum—an extension (whether or not it was so intended) of Duvall’s Col. Kilgore (Apocalypse Now). The film gets underway in Spain, 1962, with a demonstration of Meechum’s superior aerial tactical skills, then a demonstration of his hellraising skills at a party jointly celebrating his air team’s besting of their Navy rivals and his own transfer home to assume his first squadron command—and incidentally rejoin his devout Southern Catholic wife (Blythe Danner) and four offspring. Bawling mock-serious—but also deadly-serious—orders at the familial troops, he packs them up at 0300 hours to drive to Beaufort (that’s bewfert), S.C., and settle into his new billet. The rest of the movie enlarges on the dynamics of life in a Marine household, with especial attention being paid to the relationship of Meechum—self-styled The Great Santini—and his 18-year-old son (Michael O’Keefe). Son resents the hell out of Dad, and drops an occasional hint that he may not sign on for an obligatory four-year tour after he’s completed college (he’s currently a high-school senior); but their relationship is also fiercely loving—as, indeed, virtually all Meechum’s relationships appear to be, one way or the other.

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Posted in: by Robert Horton, Contributors, Film Reviews

Film Review: ‘The Judge’

[Originally published in Seattle Weekly, October 7, 2014]

Leave out Robert Downey, Jr., and The Judge looks like a painfully old-fashioned exercise in the Tradition of Quality. Big-city defense attorney Hank Palmer (that’s Downey) comes home to Indiana just in time to see his father (Robert Duvall), a respected judge, arrested for vehicular homicide. Father and son do not care for each other, but the dominoes are poised to let Hank stick around and mount a spirited defense.

In the course of the trial, family dynamics are tested, Hank brushes up against an old girlfriend (Vera Farmiga), and zero coolness points are awarded to anyone involved in the movie. Well, maybe Billy Bob Thornton earns a few as a sleek prosecutor (think George C. Scott in Anatomy of a Murder), but otherwise this is a very square film, suitable for limited Oscar buzz and a safe choice for seeing with your parents.

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Posted in: by Richard T. Jameson, Contributors, Film Reviews

Review: ‘Breakout’

Richard T. Jameson's 1975 review of 'Breakout,' originally published in Movietone News 42.

[Originally published in Movietone News 42, July 1975]

They were smart to change the title from The TenSecond Jailbreak. Even though Charles Bronson says he’s going to set his ‘copter down in the prisonyard for only ten seconds, we don’t dwell on that. If there were a title to remind us, though, we might irritably observe that minutes seem to pass by—and it’s not from suspense or Odessa-steps montage while those prison guards stare on with whuddafuck expressions on their mugs, deciding to open fire only after the whirlybird has all but made its belated exit. It must be well known to everyone who passed near a TV set during Breakout‘s opening week of summer business that this nice man who looks just like Robert Duvall has been tossed into a Mexican slammer on a trumped-up charge, and left to rot there by his business enemies, who happen to include Uncle John Huston, confirmed now in the nasty habits he picked up in Chinatown. Faithful wife Jill Ireland (who is also the faithful wife of Charles Bronson, and hence keeps working in her husband’s pictures) hires baling-wire airman Bronson to get him out somehow. Breakout isn’t nearly the offense against decency, not to mention narrative intelligence, that last summer’s saturation-promo action flick was—Dirty Mary Crazy Larry, if you’d forgot, and if you had, excuse me for bringing it up again. But Tom Gries, for whom many of us once had hopes, has unwisely decided to play most of this film as comedy, without knowing how; and if somebody says that that’s all the plot sounds worthy of, I have to point out that comedy doesn’t just happen automatically when melodrama trips over its absurdities—not comedy consistent enough to carry a whole movie. The actors are noticeably stranded by Gries’s decision and only Sheree North comes near wresting an integral characterization out of the mélange.

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Posted in: by Rick Hermann, Contributors, Film Reviews

Out of the Past: The Rain People

[Originally published in Movietone News 33, July 1974]

Francis Ford Coppola’s 1969 movie The Rain People is generally referred to as one of the director’s “personal” films, by which is presumably meant (1) that the story was Coppola’s own and (2) that he didn’t have nearly the bucks which Paramount Pictures supplied for likely moneymaking projects such as The Godfather. In light of this, it is not surprising that The Rain People is a quiet, modestly conceived film revolving around a minimum of characters whose problems are pretty much everybody’s problems. Alienation and lack of communication are key themes, and The Rain People, if less socially relevant than The Conversation, seems to be a psychologically more credible examination of the things that tend to keep people apart.

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