 Don't remember much except for the boot Director: Luis Buñuel Writer: Luis Buñuel and Jean-Claude Carrière; The Diary of a Chambermaid by Octave Mirbeau Cinematographer: Roger Fellous Producer: Michel Safra and Serge Silberman This is the last film available from Buñuel on Netflix and rounds out a filmography dominated by surrealist pieces that I often found too abstract to enjoy. However, it was the last few of his films I watched, Belle de Jour (1967) and The Young One (1960) that showed an alternative side to the filmmaker; offering straight forward narratives containing Buñuel's signature images and quirky characters. Diary of a Chambermaid follows the style, providing a sexually charged and often disturbing story centered around a maid who finds herself in a world of predators and villainy. The film opens up with Célestine’s (Jeanne Moreau) POV as she watches a train. She arrives in a rural town, catching a ride in a carriage where she tells the driver that the place seems dreary and doesn’t seem like a place where people have much fun. She arrives at the mansion, occupied by an elderly and horny old man M. Rabour (Jean Ozenne), his asexual and high strung daughter, Madam Monteil (Françoise Lugagne) who says the act hurts too much, and her husband who’s slowly going crazy from being unable to have sex with his wife, Monsieur Monteil (Michel Piccoli). Celestine first encounter with M. Rabour involves him asking her to read a book of conservative philosophy, in which he asks if he can grab her calf and later offering to exchange her shoes, revealing a bizarre foot fetish when he forces her to put on some polished black boots and walk around, only for days later to be found dead in bed with the boots, suggesting he died from non-stop masturbation of sorts. Celestine meets the rest of the help, including Marianne (Muni) and Joseph (Georges Géret) who’s a right wing nationalist professing his anit-semitic views for all to hear. Given today’s debate on immigration, the parallels are eerie as he calls for “law and order” and how the Jews are destroying the fabric of society which will soon utter in a right wing revolution which he increasingly supports throughout the film. Celestine also meets the neighbor who despises the Rabour family, throwing endless amounts of garbage into their lawn. The neighbors have a young daughter, Claire (Dominique Sauvage), who often hangs out at the house, scrounging for food. When she’s out in the woods picking up snails, she meets Joseph who warns her of the woods and the wolves inside before he follows her in. Reminding me of The Young One, Buñuel cuts to a wild boar chasing a rabbit before cutting to an incredibly disturbing view of the young girl’s legs peeking out from the tree, covered in blood with the snails crawling all over. The murder ignites a town-wide investigation, but with no leading suspects, police quickly hit a dead end. By this point, Celestine has had enough of the bizarre family and opts to leave until she hears about the murder, returning back in order to help the investigation, quickly suspecting that Joseph was responsible which he denies. It’s around this point that the narrative gets a bit peculiar in structure. Aside from Celestine’s sudden desire to up and leave, she seems to seduce Joseph into admitting his responsibility, going so far as to wear some lingerie and head to his room above the barn, vowing to marry him and help open a cafe to assist with his revolutionary desires, hoping that he’ll admit to the murder which he continues to deny. From there the film picks up even faster, moving from a series of memorable scenes - some disturbing, others weird. Madam Monteil tells a priest (Jean-Claude Carrière) about her inability to have sex due to the pain. Her husband propositions Marianne who, fearing for her job, agrees to sleep with him in the barn. And the neighbor proposes to Celestine after saying she should sue the Rigour family. It’s the type of rapid series of developments that seem to come from the confines of adapting a more nuanced book. By the end, Celestine pulls the metal tip from Joseph’s boot and plants it in the woods which the police find and later arrest him, just as he was assembling right wing literature and weapons to take to the rally. The film cuts forward and Celestine is now married to the neighbor, relishing in the upper class life she always wanted while Joseph somehow had been released from prison - even though he raped and murdered a young girl - and the film cuts to street protest, with dozens of men on the shipyards declaring, “Down with the immigrants,” as Joseph watches from the cafe he wanted. In the end, I’m not exactly sure what the story is about other than a mild satire on the upper classes who feel free to do whatever they wish, completely detached from the lower classes which serve them. Similar to Barry Lyndon (1975), I get semblances of what the story’s about, but it’s from coherent. Checking out some info on the book, author Octave Mirbeau said he was exploring how servants were a form of modern slaves; reluctantly accepting the sexual harassment and assault of their bosses in order to avoid losing their jobs and fall further into poverty. The book was told in a nonlinear fashion and abandoned the realism often found in other work from the period. While Buñuel accommodates the former, the loss of objectivity just doesn’t accommodate the story. In fact, it seems this could have been one of the few films that could have used a bit more surrealism. The movie leaves you feeling gross as you watch people in positions of power exploit and prey upon their servants who they know can’t or won’t do anything about it. On the spectrum of Buñuel's work, this is center-realistic. It contains images and moments that stick in your mind; namely the little girl murdered in the woods with the snails crawling on her legs, but beyond that it seems to only touch the tangent of serious ideas. There’s the undercurrent of anti-semitic revolution boiling beneath, but hearing no more than discussions prevents me from grasping how it all connected; especially given that Joseph was one of the servants. It’s another film that warrants another viewing, but I’m just not sure when I’d ever go back. BELOW: Not much on YouTube so here's a trailer Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page
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 Some dang cool miniatures Director: Cy Endfield Writer: John Prebble, Daniel B. Ullman, and Crane Wilbur; based on Mysterious Island (1875) by Jules Verne Cinematographer: Wilkie Cooper Producer: Charles H. Schneer It’s been years now since I first read Mysterious Island. I had been taking Khan Academy trigonometry classes at the time and was fascinated by Vernes' use of these ideas in order to solve problems, such as how long a bridge needs to be by knowing the angle compared to the height of a particular object. I’ve long forgotten the formula but its endless use of science was unlike anything I’ve ever read. For as much as we think Vernes wrote fantastic works of science fiction, large portions of his stories come to a crawl as he dives deep into the details. What we think of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954) is far more based on the movie which rightfully - though perhaps radically - abandons the scientific jargon in favor of action. Mysterious Island does the same, though to a more extreme degree in that rather than a story focusing on the gastronomy of sea creatures, it follows a group of civil war soldiers who escape a confederate prison via hot air balloon, later crash landing on an abandoned, though exotic island. They’re led by Captain Cyrus Smith (Michael Craig), Herbert Brown (Michael Callan), and Neb Nugent (Dan Jackson), along with news reporter Gideon Spillitt (Gary Merrill) and Confederate soldier Sergeant Pencroft (Percy Herbert) who’s not all that excited to have to take orders from a Union officer. They soon discover the place is filled with massive animals - oysters the size of small pools, but also giant crabs that almost kill Neb but also provide them with the greatest meal of their lives. Two women arrive by shore, Elena Fairchild (Beth Rogan) and her mother Lady Mary Fairchild (Joan Greenwood); the name being far from subtle and the film leans far into making her a sex object. Combined with her flawless makeup, Elena’s so hyper-sexualized that, again, for a story meant to show what could be the actual struggles against a fantastical world, it feels just awkward and creepy. When a band of pirates land on the island, the party’s saved by the elusive Captain Nemo (Herbert Lom) who’s been hiding out in his infamous Nautilus boat, hidden within a cavern. The soldiers resent his pacifism, especially in that he had actively destroyed war ships and the men aboard in his effort to prevent further war. While the film doesn’t go into the same philosophical debates, it provides enough of a taste between the fascinating dynamic between those fighting a war that has a righteous purpose and the immorality of trying to stop it. When a giant volcano erupts and looks to destroy the entire island, Captain Nemo and the party devise a plan to fill their hot air balloon inside the sunken pirate ship via a bamboo pipe pump hooked to the Nautilus. While filling the sunken pirate ship, they encounter a giant hermit crab but the mission proves successful. The volcano then pops and while Nemo triggers the machine, the cavern collapses, killing him and destroying his boat. The balloon inflates in time and the party sails off. Somewhere amidst all this, Nemo explains that the giant animals were a product of genetic experimentation completed in an effort to solve world hunger. That is, wars are often a product of economics and the need to preserve particular systems (i.e., slavery) or to take over another territory. It’s another issue the book does a far better job explaining, but to even see this included is impressive; especially given the year released. It’s at least a flirtatiously socialist film. It leaves you thinking of Jurassic Park (1990; 1993) and the way in which Crichton and Spielberg leaned into scientific speculation while combined with an engaging story could be far more effective. Mysterious Island is worth checking out for the effects, but beyond those, it drifts much too far toward the story’s surface. It’s a move in dire need of a remake; finding that fine balance between the fascinating science and the amazing world Verne created. In the right hands, such a film could secure the rare accomplishment of both a better remake and adaptation. BELOW: A movie where you can feel Spielberg's brain light up while watching it as a kid Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Been awhile since we had a warship thriller Director: James B. Harris Writer: James Poe; based upon The Bedford Incident by Mark Rascovich Cinematographer: Gulbert Taylor Producer: James B. Harris and Richard Widmark by Jon Cvack The Bedford Incident is a great follow up to Run Silent, Run Deep which I watched just a couple weeks back; except rather than pure war film it’s more fitting for the cynicism of Seconds (1966), Fail Safe (1964), or Dr. Strangelove (1964). It involves the photojournalist Ben Munceford (Sidney Poitier) who boards a battleship in order to document the infamous Captain Eric Finlander (Richard Widmark) who patrols the waters near Greenland at the peak of the cold war. Munceford is joined by a Navy reserve doctor Lt. Cmdr. Chester Potter (Martin Balsam) who’s been brought aboard in order to assess the crew’s physical and mental health. Finlander is a tough captain who’s struggling with the mandate that he shouldn’t strike any enemy ship unless permitted. As of late, he’s been tracking down a Russian submarine which flirts between international and protected waters. Finlander runs a tight ship, though his crew is exceptionally loyal. The dynamic is odd, yet works. Given Poitier’s series of racially charged films, I kept expecting his storyline to shift over. Finland would reveal himself as a bigot and Munceford would have to earn his place on the all-white ship. Insead it’s the complete opposite. I can’t recall one moment where a character addressed his race. It’s a role that makes you grasp Denzel Washington’s frequent admiration. Given the period, it’s difficult to think of an African American actor who so successfully asserted himself into a film. You can’t help but predict how the dynamic will evolve; the intrusive photographer against the old school sea captain, and yet it never does. Throughout most of the story Finlander respects Munceford’s role (whether for his own personal credit or not). It’s then combined with Chest Putter’s role as a new medical officer, who after conducting an initial round of interviews, reports to Finland that the soldiers need to take better care of their physical and mental health. He offers a goofy calisthenics routine and opts to track each crew members’ health one by one, but Finland rejects the idea. Instead he demands Putter read about a dozen books about the updates to Navy code on medicine before prescribing a remedy. It’s the one section of the film that feels a bit too loose as compared with the other plots. I was imagining a scene with one of the soldiers going through a breakdown; perhaps smoking too much and becoming increasingly volatile. In fact, Donald Sutherland has a brief cameo as one of the hospitalman who’s conducting research on trash found in the ocean. Again, I was thrown for a loop, figuring him to play a far larger role before realizing it was one of his earliest parts. Still, imagine if he started having a breakdown and offered the direct evidence of Putter’s hypothesis. So we got a photojournalist doing a story on Finland, Cutter attempting to assess the crew’s health who’s in some type of power struggle with Finland, and Finland who’s trying to track down the submarine and accommodate the strict parameters of what constitutes lawful engagement. I’m struggling to think how they all relate. On the one hand could be Finland’s vanity, but I’m not sure how this compares to his reluctance to look after his loyal troops. It’s an engaging setup, it’s just not the most coherent. Finland is joined by a bizarre NATO commander and former U-boat captain Wolfgang Schrepke (Eric Portman) who, being a former Nazi, sympathizes with destroying the Russians, advising Finland on just how close he can get. Soon they end up in some glacial waters outside of what I believe was Greenland, where the Russian sub drifts in and out of international waters. When a radioman who’s been working over 24 hours straight passes out, the crew grows weary of the pursuit, but not wanting to appear weak, Finland persists. They chase the submarine down within the enemy territory as it pops up on occasion to get air (revealing only a few tiny pipes, for lack of a better description). Knowing that it can’t stay down forever and that it’s simply trying to get to international waters, Finland orders the crew to run over the submarine as it mounts for air. The crew abides and they strike. Expecting the submarine to then rise, Finland orders them to prepare weapons. Munceford steps in, arguing he cannot destroy the sub. Amidst the heat of the argument, Finland shouts, “If he fires one, I’ll fire one” which the crew member mistakes as an order and fires a missile. Finland races to cancel and we watch - in that amazing documentary footage that’s often blended so well with old black and white films - as the missile rises up, unleashes a parachute and falls back to the ocean. We assume it’s safe and everyone waits and it then explodes; unloading a thunderous blast of water. Within moments, the Russians fire three torpedoes in their direction. Finland freezes, having no evasive maneuvers planned. The torpedoes close in and just as we realize what’s happening- the ship explodes. Killing everyone. It’s a grim ending, comparable in tone to Seconds, Fail Safe, and Dr. Strangelove; portraying a world on the brink of total destruction. Given the similarities, it serves as another example of how pervasive the cold war paranoia was. Today we are experiencing similar instability, and for some reason the threat of nuclear weapons seems distant from more immediate concerns. What this film achieves is the sense of anxiety in unstable times. There is something haunting about a ship and its crew in the middle of the arctic ocean, chasing an unseen enemy. I’m not sure what it all means exactly but the feeling itself - extending throughout the film- is palpable enough to make me anxious for a return. It’s not a large story of worldwide disaster so much as what could begin it and how it can come down to a single individual. BELOW: Oops Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Clark's seen better days Director: John Huston Writer: Arthur Miller Cinematographer: Russell Metty Producer: Frank E. Taylor by Jon Cvack Earlier this year I read Joe DiMaggio: The Hero’s Life (2000) which is one of the better pop icon biographies I’ve read. Aside from being a great ball player DiMaggio became involved with Marilyn Monroe, quickly developing an obsessive relationship with her. On the set of The Seven Year Itch (1955) during the iconic white dress flare up scene, a crowd gathered around and DiMaggio flipped out, demanding everyone look away. It’s one of those weird hybrids of art and history - in which it’s not just the amount of pop culture and products that extended from that scene, but that one of the most significant players in baseball history was obnoxiously present while filming. Although DiMaggio got violent with Monroe, contributing to their demise, he would continue to love her until his dying day; sending flowers to her grave for the rest of his life. The Misfits has a comparable Hollywood tragedy facade. Made only a few years before Monroe’s death, the film was one of those powerhouse productions that, on paper, seemed en route to become a Great American Movie. Monroe had left Dimaggio by this point, entering into a relationship with playwright Arthur Miller who joined up with director John Huston for this flick. It was a movie clearly written for Monroe where she plays a soon-to-be divorced Roslyn Tabor as gorgeous as she’s ever been; for the most part losing that naive blonde innocence and providing a more mature and damaged self. We meet her as she’s waiting for the mechanic to come and fix her car. Guido (Eli Wallach) arrives, talking to the landlord Isabell (Thelma Ritter) and anxious to get the job done as quickly as possible until he sees Roslyn in the window, immediately smitten. Guideo fixes the truck and Isabell takes Rosalyn to the courthouse to finish the divorce paperwork, where they meet Rosalyn’s husband Raymond Tabor (Kevin McCarthy). Raymond is distraught and saddened, desperate to stay together; clearly the DiMaggio of this situation. After the divorce is finalized, Isabell takes Rosalyn for a drink at Harrah’s Casino. While drinking, she meets a local cowboy Gaylord 'Gay' Langland played by Clark Gable. Similar to Monroe, though over 35 years her senior, Gable was in the throes of alcoholism. He’d die before the film’s release. At 67 years old he seems a decade older; slow, confused, and soft. The sharp charm we’re familiar with now is completely absent. Having just watched The Irishman a few days before writing this, I noticed the similarities between the two; that no matter how great an actor is, at a certain time, like any talent, age will slow them down. While Miller and Huston might have wanted the beaten down A-lister to match the elderly cowboy persona, the performance felt done by a man who was struggling to keep up, let alone able to give his best work. Gay offers up his cabin out in the middle of nowhere as a place for Robyn to stay and the four take off that night, immediately breaking out the rum. An immediate tension develops between Guido and Gay as he flirts and makes his moves on Rosalyn and soon wins the battle, all while Isabel is left alone drinking whiskey. Gay moves in with Rosalyn, and without specifying that the two are sleeping together it’s obvious enough; leading to the film’s most iconic moment as Gay wakes up Rosalyn up in bed, who soon turns over topless. In real life, Monroe hadn’t told Clark Gable or the other crew that she’d go nude; shocking and offending Gable. It of course didn’t make it into the film, but nevertheless became a kind of pre-Internet cult Hollywood story. Nevertheless, the viewer gets a shocking taste of movie star skin you just aren’t used to seeing from the period. Life is slow about the ranch. Although they try to sustain themselves with a garden, Gay battles rabbits, placing poison around the property which Rosalyn then forces him to pick it up; not wanting to kill the animals. Gay keeps talking about roping in wild mustang which they can later sell. His story has become mythological, as prior to government or private development of the land, hundreds of wild mustangs would roam the area; allowing him and his fellow cowboys to bring in a very pretty penny. Guido joins them with his truck and they head to a rodeo to meet up with another man for the job, Perce Howland (Montgomery Clift) who’s determined to become a great showman, but struggles to compete; getting kicked in the head by a second attempt at a bull riding competition. Rosalyn case for him, igniting jealousy in Gay and renewing tension with Guido. The next day, Rosalyn joins Perce, Gay, and Guido as they head out to round up the mustangs. Guido boards a crop duster, doing low fly-by’s to round up the horses and send them toward Perce and Gay. The sequence takes your breath away, as for as slow as the previous 80% the story is, Miller and Huston take us to the desert plains, where it sure looks like Gable, Wallach, and Cliff rounded up actual wild horses by roping their necks, bringing them to a stop, and then approaching the bucking animals determined to protect itself. It’s terrifying because it is real, and while I’m not exactly sure what it all means, the images are strong enough to burn the mind. It’s not too difficult to see what Arthur Miller was exploring. In the end, Rosalyn gets the horses free, returns to the ailing Gay while the other men - whether slime balls or sexy - are forced to remain alone. Not so subtle sexual innuendo is sprinkled throughout the film, from the bucking and untameable mustangs to an earlier scene when Rosalyn enters and exits the house, explaining how she’s going “in and out” over and over to an onlooking Gaylord, or when she tries the mechanical bull at the saloon. The movie is very much about Monroe as an object desired. While Miller updates her dumb blonde persona, there remains an oblivious ignorance in her character. We’re meant to buy that Rosalyn doesn’t fully understand that she has three horny men who’re on the precipice of self-control. It is a story that is entirely from a Man’s perspective. You can feel the talent behind the film believing this would be one of cinema’s greats. Instead, it’s a film that seems written from its author’s own insecurities. It serves as a historical document of Monroe’s allure. The story is about an independent woman who provides meaning and purpose to three alienated souls in search of American greatness. Gay hopes to go back to being a cowboy though they no longer exist as defined. Guido is blue collar to his bone, blaming everyone but himself for his economic failure. Perce covers fame, but without the heart, stands only to embarrass himself. Rosalyn excuses all of these obstacles. In their minds, she would make everything alright. She would provide meaning. And in many ways - for many men - that might have very well been the case. She is so gorgeous and beautiful and mesmerizing that any man failing to find their place in the world would believably abandon their dreams for her. The issue is that this isn’t a universal idea. Most people do not meet or know someone like Rosalyn (aka Monroe). There is no star in their lives to eclipse all else. The movie isn’t about some grand American idea, it is about an obsession toward a very specific person. It’s best to ignore the power behind this film; to instead see it as a supplement to the Marilyn Monroe Myth. Though I suppose this myth is as American as it gets. BELOW: A movie where everything goes back to sex Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  I don't know - John Wayne wears a cool hat? Director: Michael Curtiz; uncredited John Wayne Writer: James Edward Grant and Clair Huffaker; based on The Comancheros by Paul I. Wellman Cinematographer: William H. Clothier Producer: George Sherman by Jon Cvack Every time I think I’m at the end of the line for what’s available from Michael Curtiz, Netflix adds another few films and his position in the Master List continues to grow. At this point I’m somewhere around a dozen films deep and I’m still not particularly aware of a Curtiz style. It’s an interesting aspect of the classical era of cinema, in which directors would have contracts with studios and while incredibly talented, weren’t so particular with their filmographies. They had to make a certain number of films, some of them were great, many were good, and a few were bad. Michael Curtiz is a chameleon, seeming to adapt this craft to the quality of the story. The Comancheros is one of the classic era westerns that remind me of how boring they can be. I’ve been on a role these last few years when turning back - The Sons of Katie Elder (1966), Nevada Smith (1966), El Dorado (1966). Especially for the ones who’ve been remastered. They look absolutely wonderful; as though they were shot today with that old school technique. It made me wonder if maybe the reason I didn’t like old westerns is because they have worn out, cropped transfers; typically repeating a very specific set of actions. The Comancheros opens on a duel where gambler Paul Regret (Stuart Whitman) shoots and accidentally kills his opponent. He’s sentenced to death and flees, soon ending up on a river boat where he meets the wild and wealthy Pillar Graile (Ina Balin). Just as the two seem about to enter into some bizarre love affair, Texas Ranger Jake Cutter (John Wayne) barges in to take him back to prison. Paul then escapes again and heads to a bar where the classic bar fight takes place. They return back home where a gang of Comancheros, led by a former Military officer, has been raiding the community while smuggling guns and alcohol. They attack Regret and his neighbors, and as Paul Regret seems to escape once again, he returns with some Texas Rangers. He’s awarded an act of valor and joins Cutter on a type of spy mission where they act as gun smugglers bringing in the latest shipment. It takes us to the film’s more interesting moments, as we discover a type of self-sufficient commune, run with the profits and the tyrannical control of the former officer Graile (Nehemiah Persoff) who’s turns out to be Pillar’s father. I’m not sure what shifts from there, but even though the commune seems relatively harmless and provides benefit to the community, Regret and Cutter destroy both them and a band of Comanches who storm the place. It’s the type of film that makes me want to watch more westerns in order to best understand what makes these work against such limitations. Recently I read Thomas Schatz Hollywood Genres (1981), examining westerns as the myth of the American Manifest Destiny and the free market ethos. In nearly every action western, there is the law abiding sheriff battling against either the “wild” and lawless Natives or against actual outlaws who often steal, rob, pursue women, and drink. There is often a beautiful woman who’s an archetype of innocence or, in more modern versions, an empowered gun-wielding female (such as The Furies (1950)); sometimes one and the same. There are bar fights, duels, and wandering the town before the gun fight. There’s the burgeoning town, the nascent railroad, log cabins, livestock, and individuals doing their best to survive. There’s more, but these basic elements have produced great cinema throughout the last 80 years, in each and every decade. Somehow within these strict confines, cinema continues to pump out great additions. The Comancheros fails to blend these elements. At its core, it’s about an uninteresting gambler fighting against John Wayne who plays the same character he always does, without much of a plot to thread the story. It bookends great - opening with a man who kills a judge’s son in a duel, but then meanders as he gets caught, escapes, gets caught, finds himself in some rural community and attacked by Native Americans, then recruited to become a Ranger and finds himself in another battle against a pre-Hippie commune. It’s and-then storytelling, switching from one moment to the next without focusing at all on the characters. However, given that it was Michael Curtiz's last film, and John Wayne assumed directing it due to his demise, maybe that's the reason it has no spark. BELOW: Trailer. It's all YT's got Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  A feminist icon Director: Carl Theodor Dreyer Writer: Carl Theodor Dreyer and Grethe Risbjerg Thomsen (poems); based on Gertrud by Hjalmar Söderberg Cinematographer: Henning Bendtsen Producer: Jørgen Nielsen by Jon Cvack The last two Dreyer films I’d watched were Vampyr (1932) and Day of Wrath (1943); both watched during Scary Movie Month in 2012, which I remember fondly though can’t recall a single detail. Before that it was The Passion of Joan of Arc (1929) the year before; serving as one of those classic art films I finally made it to and enjoyed, but kind of fell into the Not-So-Sure-When-I’ll-Revisit category of classic cinema. Netflix DVD synopsis mentions that Gertrud is composed of only 89 shots, which at just shy of two hours, is pretty impressive. And yet Dreyer somehow makes it impressive by never making it seem like he’s shooting in a bunch of oners. The story starts with a moderate take in the beginning, introducing a middle aged woman as the title character played by Nina Pens Rode who’s married to the career obsessed and ambitious Gustav Kanning (Bendt Rothe). Gertrud explains that his work obsession has caused her to meet another man who she’s fallen in love with and plans to pursue; asking Gustav for a divorce. In two behind the scenes interviews, actors Baard Owe as Getrud’s lover Erland Jansson and Axel Strøbye as Axel Nygren, Gertrud’s old friend who’s been in love with her for a lifetime, both mention how they received little to no direction. Dreyer would simply have them do it again and again until he eventually got what they wanted. Owe specifically mentioned how stilted and “archaic” he thought the dialogue was. Dreyer told him it’s a film about words. It reminds me of David Mamet’s “invent nothing/deny nothing” mantra. Aside from Gertrud’s initial scene with Owe, rarely does Gertrud ever lose the somber look on her face; which per the Kuleshov Effect, makes her response to each scene all the more fascinating. Around her husband it shows indifference, around Axel it shows longing and fondness, and around Owe it shows heartbreak and disappointment. We follow Gertrud as she pursues Owe, making love to him after visiting the park, to then head back home and to a banquet dedicated to honoring Dutch poet Gabriel Lidman (Ebbe Rode) who offers his views on love, which I wish I wrote down as I can’t recall the details and seems significant; other than the crumbs of it being cold, dry, and painfully honest. We learn that Lidman was once involved with Gertrud, and most of his ruminations on love are all based on that relationship. He’s never let her go. Later at the party, Lidman tells Gertrud that Jansson had told everyone at a party how he had sex with her; going so far as to call her a whore. Gertrud confronts Jansson the next day and demands he choose between being with her or not. Jansson then admits he’s gotten another woman pregnant. Lidman then pursues Gertrud, but as he too was focused on his career, Gertrud knows it couldn’t work. Her husband makes one last attempt, saying she could even keep her lover if she stayed with him; we’re unsure whether to preserve his image amongst his friends or colleagues, or because he actually realized how much he loved her. Years later, Gertrud is now old and still single. She’s greeted by Axel who’s in town, and she admits that her greatest mistake was searching for the perfect love; with Axel holding his hands and expressing how he feels about her once again and still it goes unrequited. Owe mentioned that few had high hopes for Gertrud, and once released, it was an extremely popular film amongst women. The film captures the alienation a woman could feel within a particular world. Divorce was entirely the man’s decision, leaving women to either risk adultery, or attempt honesty and hope for the best. To think divorce is only a recent right granted to women, and that they could be entirely trapped in a loveless - or worse - unfaithful or abusive marriage is an idea few consider; serving as a form of enslavement. It seems women flocked to the film because it portrayed such a taboo; showing what a strong and honest woman could do. An American version would have had her end up with one of the men; likely her lifelong friend Axel. Instead we see a woman with complex thoughts on love and purpose; believing the idealism of love and discovering the dangers of holding too firm for perfection. It’s a strong character not just for choosing to live her life, but for learning the tragic consequences of what absolute freedom can lead to. The film seems very much about the hope of what freedom can provide versus the reality. Some will achieve great things - whether with love or career, others will discover disappointment, and Gertrud appreciates each and every moment. BELOW: A taste of Dreyer's modest singles Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  I don't know - something about Cubans and Communists Director: Alfred Hitchcock Writer: Samuel A. Taylor; based on Topaz (1967) by Leon Uris Cinematographer: Jack Hildyard Producer: Alfred Hitchcock by Jon Cvack After watching Shadow of a Doubt (1943) and Saboteur (1942), I was ready to go headlong into revisiting the entire Hitchcock Masterpiece DVD Collection (I’m currently waiting for the Bluray version I just ordered), but with knowing that his last four films (Topaz, Torn Curtain (1966), Marnie (1964), and Family Plot (1976)) are his worst (post-silent era), I figured I’d dig into those first; starting with Topaz. Each disc in the collection comes with a special feature, and I was surprised to see that on Topaz, it was a thirty minute documentary hosted by Leonard Maltin who breaks down the film and defends it as good, not great Hitchcock; placing it into the second tier. Although I haven’t gotten to the other films, I’m pretty sure I found this the worst of Hitchcock’s color pictures, and more along the lines of third tier; one level above the silent films. For those who don’t know or remember, this is Hitchcock’s closest thing to doing a spy drama per the likes of Melville; the type of film where someone would watch it and then get the idea for James Bond. The plot is far from clear to me, and at just under two and a half hours, I couldn’t tell you much more than it involves a British Spy, some double agents, and tangents the Bay of Pigs as Russia moves in to help arm Cuba. Maltin says it’s Hitchcock’s most experimental movie and I might agree in that Hitchcock nearly abandons his use of camera to create tension and tell a story through images, instead opting to show nearly nonstop dialogues between the characters; failing to compose images that are pretty enough to look at (such as Melville) or to at least make the listening experience enjoyable. As a result of telling and not showing, with so many details ranting on, it’s near impossible to figure it out; playing like a John Le Carre novel without the excitement. In saying that, I had nearly forgotten that it includes one of my favorite shots in all of Hitchcock, as a woman in purple dress is killed, falls upon the ground, the purple fabric flows out like blood. I’m not joking when I say that literally no other shot sticks in mind from the movie; making me suspect it might’ve been all the more impressive simply because the first two hours were so boring. Malton gave the film three out of four stars, and I just don’t know how he gets there. There over twenty other Hitchcock films I’d watch before this; a number so high I can’t even think of another director who’d come close to matching that level of quality. It’s not a bad movie, it’s just boring, and what it offers can be found in so many far better films from the period. BELOW: Only cool scene from the movie; one of Hitch's best shots Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Sexy and thrilling with that Truffaut touch Director: François Truffaut Writer: Jean-Louis Richard and François Truffaut Cinematographer: Raoul Coutard Producer: Marcel Berbert, António da Cunha Telles, and François Truffaut by Jon Cvack Previous to this I watched The Man Who Loved Women (1977), finding it a poorly aged misogynistic film with little going for it. The Soft Skin’s synopsis was another film following another middle aged man who’s drawn to a young beautiful woman. Yet instead of a shitty man on the conquest for as many partners as possible, The Soft Skin provided a David Lean/Woody Allen hybrid-like exploration of desire and the meaning of love, or even meaning. Counter to the last half dozen or so movies I’ve seen from Truffaut (mostly the Antoine Doinel series and a few others), this was an exceptionally crafted film; with gorgeous and meticulous photography that paid attention to the smallest details and moments. The story is that of an esteemed writer Pierre Lachenay (Jean Desailly) who while flying to Lisbon meets a stewardess, Nicole (Françoise Dorléac). Pierre is enamored and after giving a talk at a conference, comes across Nicole in the elevator. The two get out on the same floor and he discovers her room number and calls her later that night for a drink. After an initial rejection, she calls him back, they go to the bar, and have sex. Pierre flies back home where his wife Franca Lachenay (Nelly Benedetti) greets him with their daughter. Franca clearly loves Pierre, and while since having a kid they’ve yet to have a trip alone, she enjoys the life they have. The odd thing is that Franca is so much more beautiful than Nicole; confident, sexy, and curvy. While I’d like to think in certain moments, Truffaut and DP Raoul Coutard failed to properly light her in scenes, given how well crafted the film is, it seems more deliberate that in certain moment she looks a bit rugose and tired, with heavy bags under her eyes, as though worn from travel or the search for someone to love and love her; then shifting in a complete 180, suddenly beautiful and vibrant. Another great subtle detail is Franca who first says they haven’t been alone in four years, later shifting that number to five years, making you wonder if it might have been only a few years, or even one, and that their downfall was more recent than either would lead on. Pierre meets Nicole aboard his next day flight back to Paris where she gives him a matchbook with her phone number written across the top. We see Pierre stuff it into his pocket, and provides brilliant tension throughout the next third of the film as we wonder if, or when, Franca will discover the note. Pierre soon calls Nicole and the two begin seeing each other near the airport at night whenever Nicole flies in. From my recollection, it seems as though, at this moment, Truffaut shot Nicole much softer, allowing her full beauty to flourish and making us understand Pierre’s obsession. Pierre gets invited to present a screening in Reims of a documentary about the famous French author André Gide (not a real documentary, but a real person). He invites Nicole, but when he’s bombarded with fellow intectuals and fans, Pierre knows he can’t be seen with her; dropping her off at the room and telling her to buy some tickets from the theater as he doesn’t have any extras. He attends the screening, and having just happened to have watched Saboteur (1942) just before this, bears a striking resemblance to Hitchcock’s movie theater scene at Radio City Music Hall. Pierre gives a speech, hoping to then dip out and join with Nicole, but gets stopped by an obnoxious colleague who demands they get a drink. Intercut is a restless Nicole who soon tires of the wait, heads out, where she then finds Pierre in the bar. They catch eyes, and while the friend speaks, we - through Pierre’s POV - watch as Nicole then approaches other men on the street, making Pierre crazed with jealousy. He excuses himself and leaves, saying that he wants to go back home to Paris. The colleague agrees, requesting a ride, leaving Pierre only seconds to go visit Nicole, where he apologizes before the two drive off, leaving the colleague all alone. The pair spend the night and the next day Pierre calls Franca who announces her suspicions (though never having found the match book). Nicole and Pierre take pictures of each other, wandering around in the idyllic woods. Pierre then returns home the next day and so begins one of the all time great Cheating-Spouse-Confrontation scenes I can recall; as the two struggle between retaining what they’ve developed, and what they love. It’s during this scene that we see a photograph in the foreground of a shot; of Nicole and Pierre holding a pair of hunting rifles. Pierre leaves and sleeps at his office. The next day, Franca calls him and says she’s getting a divorce. Pierre calls Nicole who says she can’t see him as her father’s visiting. When Pierre heads over regardless, he finds another middle-aged man walking down the steps. He returns home and Franca and him have another epic fight as Franca doesn’t want to let Pierre go, knowing that she needs to, and Pierre doesn’t want to risk losing his family, should Nicole fail to work out. The two end up making love one last time. After which, in a devastating moment, Pierre prepares to leave, Franca asks if he’s coming back and Pierre says it could never work out; as though he wanted to test her sexuality one last time before making his final decision. Franca spirals into a depression, while Pierre attempts to start his life with Nicole. As with any film of the sort (Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989) first comes to mind), Pierre notices Nicole’s first flaw as she talks loud in the restaurant, offending Nicole once again. They return to her apartment and she ends things; as we learn that Pierre is likely far from the first and soon to be the last man Nicole wants to explore, and we see that her life of travel is far more about adventure than settling down. After Franca finds some photos from their time together in Reims, she heads home, enters a closet, and grabs the hunting rifle and finds Pierre in a cafe where she shoots him dead. It was while watching the Criterion Special Features (provided on a stunning BluRay print), that I noticed a peculiar documentary about Truffaut’s interview with Hitchcock for his book Truffaut/Hitchcock. It’s a thirty minute behind the scenes documentary portraying the way the interview came about, what was discussed, and Truffaut’s passion for Hitchcock. It was either in this or in the video essay that The Soft Skin was compared to Hitchcock. It didn’t go into many of the details, but it was while writing this that I grasped the comparison and how masterful this story is. Rather than focusing on the wrongfully accused or confused identity plot, it was applying suspense to a story of infidelity; capturing the thrill of lust and secrecy and demonstrating the terrifying consequences of its pursuit. It’s very much a moral tale, of choosing the darker path in the quest for greater pleasure.* The note, the photographs of Nicole and Pierre, the photo of Franca and Pierre, the friend who disrupts Pierre’s plan to ditch the conference, to the matchbook that contains the number. All of these elements add up to provide tension to the story. For some reason I never added them up to the consequence, and yet it’s the perfect ending; making you want to revisit the film and look for all the subtle details which foreshadow its conclusion. It’s not Truffaut’s attempt to take all he learned from Hitchcock and merge it with his own style. It’s one of his best films. BELOW: Not much on YouTube so here's the trailer Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  In Wilder's case - go anamorphic for comedy Director: Billy Wilder Writer: I. A. L. Diamond and Billy Wilder Cinematographer: Daniel L. Fapp Producer: Billy Wilder by Jon Cvack I somehow once started this film awhile back, though for whatever reason I never finished it. I’m not entirely sure why that was. I recalled the oddity in having the film integrate the actual Coca-Cola brand in such a politically charged satire, and that it was the perfect type of role for James Cagney. As I round Billy Wilder’s filmography, I’m left in awe of the range the man had - up there with Kubrick and Spielberg in exploring close to the full genre spectrum, with Wilder returning most to comedy the way that Spielberg did with action-adventure. One, Two, Three is about a Coca-Cola executive C.R. "Mac" MacNamara (James Cagney), hungry to become the head of the Western European division, though currently serving in West Berlin, hundreds of feet away from the divide. Mac’s assisted by Schlemmer (Hanns Lothar), who can’t seem to shake snapping his boots together like his former Nazi self after every single delegation, and his gorgeous secretary/paramour Fräulein Ingeborg (Liselotte Pulver) who’s character and purpose provides some of the film’s most cringey moments. This all goes on while Mac’s wife Phyllis (Arlene Francis) cares for the two children, hoping that Mac could take a transfer back to Atlanta, even if it means giving up his climb up the ladder. Feeling a promotion is around the corner, Mac’s boss W.P. Hazeltine (Howard St. John) calls to let Mac know that his 17 year old daughter Scarlett (Pamela Tiffin) is coming to town and will need a bit of supervision. Mac reluctantly agrees, greets her at the airport, and more or less forgets about the task as he tries to close a deal with some Russian officials, knowing how much business a deal with the Soviet Union could bring in. Mac’s negligence soon leads Scarlett to go missing for two weeks, returning married to a dreamy firebrand socialist Otto Ludwig Piffl (Horst Buchholz) who’s in love with Scarlett as much as overthrowing capitalism and scolding Mac’s ethics. The couple is now determined to return to Moscow and start a family. Sure enough, H.P. then calls to reveal that he’s coming to town the next day to visit Scarlett and check on business. Thus begins a comedy of errors as Mac attempts to preserve the deal with Russia while getting them to hand over Otto, who Mac then tries to turn into a capitalist in rushed time, making him over and providing him with an executive position; all while Mac’s wife decides to take the kids and return back to the states. This was the third film Wilder made after Some Like It Hot (1959) and his second after The Apartment (1960). It’s a good film, but what feels like a story that’s going to ascend into some grand political thrilling comedy, levels out with fierce, though entertaining, banter between the socialist and capitalist. In a couple of behind the scene videos extras included on the disc, Wilder mentioned how he never wanted to make anything overtly political throughout his career. I’m not positive whether he thought this film was exempt from that philosophy, but even if it was one could argue it’s simply an outsider’s look at politics, rather than promoting any particular point of view. Throughout the film, the socialist seems just as selfish and narrow minded as the capitalist. Even the ending, in which we see Mac successfully pull off the gag of Otto’s descent from royalty and that Otto learns to love the fruits and power of wealth, Wilder goes one step further, having H.P. offer Otto the Head of Western Division Header Quarters; leaving Mac nothing more to do than return to his wife and kids, which seems like a healthy thing to do, but then you’re wondering if Otto wasn’t provided the position, whether Mac would’ve just as easily let them go back to Georgia. Such is the genius of Billy Wilder. Looking through his filmography, it’s astonishing how much range he had. It makes little sense to me how Frank Capra and John Ford hold such distinction in American cinema’s history. Billy Wilder is amongst the greatest in world cinema from the period - joining the ranks of Ozu, Kurosawa, Bergman, and Fellini - and arguably one of the top ten greatest filmmakers in all of cinematic history (a list I’ll have to actually make). One, Two, Three begins a slow fade out as Wilder never returned to his peak of cinematic prowess. Or in other words, instead of making timeless perfect films he goes on to make just some very good movies. One, Two, Three’s worth it for the performances and photography, which creates ultra wide images for an otherwise simple setting; demonstrating Wilder’s leverage when today’s world would never call for such extravagant design. There isn’t a particular morality to the story, and while I want to say it’s cynical, it plays more like warning against taking oneself too seriously. We’ve satirized our politicians in every way possible over the last few decades - from the idealism of "The West Wing" to the farce of "Veep" - but it’s long past due to take a look at the firebrands who elect the candidates and how silly some ideas can be. BELOW: Meeting some commies Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page  Tragically underrated Director: Satyajit Ray Writer: Satyajit Ray Cinematographer: Subrata Mitra Producer: R. D. Banshal and Sharankumari Bansal by Jon Cvack Every time I arrive at a Satyajit Ray film, I’m expecting it to provide that traditional art house experience in which you find yourself saying it’s good, but will probably never watch it again and then it finishes and I’m blown away by the picture. Similar to Ramin Bahrani, the plots often sound so simple, in this case a movie star on a long train ride interviews an attractive journalist, recounting his rise to fame while surrounded by a unique and thrilling supporting cast, including a slimy Bollywood producer; a frail young girl with tuberculosis who shares the train compartment with the movie star; and the journalist’s colleagues who’re hungry for the juicy details. The first films that come to mind is 8 ½ (1963) and Stardust Memories (1980); both which examine the artist’s personal struggle with success. The further along I get in my career, the more I’m in awe that anyone my age could achieve vast success with storytelling as it remains such an elusive and seeming impossible feat, leaving me to wonder how success would affect my ego; whether I’d further isolate myself, forever fearful of the impostor syndrome, or attempt to navigate the upper echelons in order to see how much further the career could go. Actors have an additional complication in that the very nature of their pursuit is a desire for the audience and their praise and/or the unwavering desire to imagine and play (perhaps similar to writers). Screen star Arindam Mukherjee (Uttam Kumar) is invited to Delhi to accept a prestigious award for his achievements in acting, but with all flights booked, he is forced to take the train. There he meets a young and attractive journalist Aditi Sengupta (Sharmila Tagore) who conjoles him into an interview where Arindam opens up about his rise, insecurity, and personal corruption. Arindom’s career began by ignoring his mentor’s caution against entering into film acting in which the performer is forced to abandon the very connection they form with the audience. The theater allows the performer to embody the role rather than shooting it in fragments. Arindom arrives on his first to big film set to find his idol and one of Bollywood’s finest actors excoriate his performance in front of the entire cast and crew; castigating him for delivering the lines improperly and forcing Arindom to question his decision to enter film. Soon the Bollywood star’s career dries up and he becomes an alcoholic, leaving him broke, alone, and depressed. Meanwhile, Arindom has increasingly turned to drugs, alcohol, and women as the fame increasingly smothers him. Throughout the few days' train ride, he has nightmares, including one dream with an incredible set piece in which Arindom wanders around giant hills of cash money, soon chased by hands that reach up to grab him. Throughout the story, Ray provides us with one of the more memorable insights into fame and its corrupting potential. If one is alone on the way up, there are few to turn to and trust; everyone has a project or need, the pressure mounts, the temptation to take uninspired, well paid roles expands, and soon the fulfillment that art provided evaporates; in which the performer serves as nothing more than product. Nayak is another film that demonstrates the inherent bigotry of western cinema and its history. Recently, I read Edward Said’s The Question of Palestine (1979), where Said discusses the long history of how westerners regard all things eastern - whether culture, politics, or religion - as inferior; creating a blatantly racist outlook, or at best, an indifference or apathy. Compared to his predominantly white peers, aside from the Apu trilogy, Satyajit Ray’s work has received little attention; reserved for the most obscure of cinephile lists. I was particularly to have never heard of this film, given how many “movies about movies” I’ve come across. It’s a story up there with the best of them in providing an honest portrait about the industry; not speaking in esoteric terms, but allowing the viewer to observe the performance from either side, whether as Arindom’s and the bitterness he’s developed or the curiosity of an outsider like Aditi. Somehow avoiding sentimentality, we believe that Arindom could’ve been happier with more modest life with Aditi, and he gets off the train; in a brilliant shot, as the fans gather at the stop, pounding on the glass while Arindom continues their conversation, to later get off, back into a world completely devoid of anonymity, surrounded by people who want little beyond a chance to say they met or talked to someone famous; no matter whether it was him or his old washed up colleague from yesteryear. BELOW: A fantastic dream sequence Like what you read? Support the site on Patreon Please report any spelling, grammar, or factual errors or corrections on the contact page |
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