Ekstase

You would think by reputation that there were only one or two scenes in this film, but it is the subtle complexities of the rest that I found intriguing. Promiscuity in female characters is usually played as character flaw in service of an Aesopian tale or applies morality judgments on her behavior, but the cautionary elements are minimal here and the film does not rob Hedy Lamarr of her natural femininity. The film doesn’t judge these characters at all (save for the prudish and bourgeoisie ex-husband). The real subversives are society and the way we will allow carnal desires that are intrinsic in the human condition, but only through the prescribed methods dictated by societal norms and propriety. I can’t watch the film with eyes bound by the same ethical standards of the time of its release, but I’m sure their interpretation was far different and they couldn’t tell that the film was actually passing judgment on the observer and not the morality or natural sexual desires of our couple.

The photography was beautiful and the sexuality was played with a commitment to the human condition. Lamarr was not a hedonistic floosy, but a woman with realistic conflicts and desires that were soft and feminine with a primal undercurrent.  The passion was underplayed but palpable and lent dynamism to the film’s portrayal of female sexuality.   She doesn’t have sex because of flawed morality nor does she flippantly succumb to the advances of the young attractive worker.  No one is taken advantage of and both lovers get to hold their heads up.  As she is seduced, Lamarr seems to allow her body to react honestly.  There is a soft reluctant parting of the lips and hastening of the breath as beads of sweat dot her body.  She surrenders herself to sublime ecstasy and her facial expressions are unrelenting in their unmitigated eroticism.  There doesn’t have to be any nudity because the real portal to the undercurrent of primal carnality is in the eyes.

Scenes of workers with suggestive imagery of their tools penetrating the ground and spraying the earth hint at a commentary on class division with obvious preference to the workers struggle.  Knowing the political climate of Eastern Europe in the early 20^th century lends credence to the theory that the film is a parable for class division and an assessment of the values of the bourgeoisie versus those of the workers.  Be wary of devoting too much time meticulously maintaining your appearances for the sake of social conformity.  Remember that sex is supposed to be the last avenue of untainted human connection.  If you dehumanize it too much a person that doesn’t deny their most raw and pure instincts may just steal your wife.

Fando y Lis

Alejandro Jodorowsky’s feature length debut is a powerful road movie about the journey we all take when entering a relationship.  We seek a fictional land of purity and perfection and lose sight of the fact that love itself is its own journey and death is the only inevitable destination.  Our titular couple sets out on their journey to “Tar” and must navigate through a barren landscape of putrid denizens of debauchers, temptresses, and tempters that are oblivious to the fact that they are standing in the ruins of a civilization in decline.  They initiate this quest by burying the artifacts of their youth but are unable to bury the damages that are imbued in their souls.  They are haunted by resentment of their parents, religious upbringing, and damages done by childhood abuses so vile that they leave a permanent mark on them.  We must learn to bury our mother before we can learn to love.

Lis is a paralyzed albatross that is essential to Fando’s journey of discovery despite the arduous task of having to carry her.  The film doesn’t seem to think much of women and they are either seen as weak but essential burdens or vile temptresses.  They navigate through desolate rocky landscapes in a futile search for an idea that they cannot clearly quantify.  They fall in to the trappings of the human condition such as the need to control and possess the ones we love.  Gender roles play a part in these trappings as the promiscuous Fando is often sidetracked by temptation and the resolution to his promiscuous nature involves the subversion and reversal of these gender roles.  They briefly entertain this reversal and it ultimately ends in bemusement but he may have internalized some important life lesson.

The stark and high contrast black and white cinematography brings a clarity to the surrealist images and a beauty to the “obscene” and ugly.  There are lengthy sequences shot with handheld cameras that give a cinema verite quality to the film and it grants a rationality to the absurd and surreal imagery.  We feel like we are witnessing the documentation of the evolution of a relationship in the ruins of a civilization in decline.  At the same time the high contrast visual style grants an otherworldly quality to the images and it challenges us to accept the absurd as hyperrealistic truth.

When approaching this type of work it is best to turn off the tendency to rationalize every image on the screen.  There is a lot of symbolism in this film but if we are constantly dissecting it we aren’t absorbing it on the film’s terms.  Trying to bring our own objective meaning to every visual metaphor we see preoccupies our minds and we briefly stop listening to the language of the images.  It is better to strike the tuning fork of the film and try to match the tone of the film with our subconscious.  It is only then when we can accept the film on its own terms and we can shut off the nagging tendency to brutally subject the ideas presented in the film to our own prejudices and ideas.  When the dust settles we will still land on our own meanings dictated by the sum total of our life experiences, but at least we will have been as receptive as possible and our subconscious will know the score.

A Spring for the Thirsty

The filter of memory will deceive us in to thinking that all of the good things in our lives have passed.  We bask in the nostalgic light of days gone by and our hazy memories are saturated with unmitigated beauty.  This is not altogether an unhealthy thing but if it removes us from being present in the “now” it can blind us to our obligations and the beauty that surrounds us.

A Spring for the Thirsty finds an old man who is living in his past.  All that is beautiful in his life has moved on so it is only in memory that he can find peace.  His major preoccupation is building a coffin as he is resigned to the notion that there are no more days ahead of him that will be worth living.  We are all thirsty to drink from the spring of days that seemed more pure but if it results in the muddying of our water supply it can have a serious detrimental impact on our current lives.

The film starts out basked in an ethereal light and is rich in poetic metaphor.  The overexposure of the film during the sequences of introspective reflection adds an otherworldly quality and combined with the sparse compositions it drives the themes of the film to the forefront.  As the film progresses we find ourselves going back and forth between this heavenly nostalgia and the dull greys of somber reality.  The minimalist approach combined with the sparse compositions and obvious metaphor may deceive one in to thinking that this is a simple film but it is the simplicity of the delivery that shines a light on profound and beautiful truths.  It is coming to terms with our lives when we can regain our fervor and come to the realization that life is cyclical and though we may be plagued with death and heartache and our children may one day shun us, there is still beauty to be found if we don’t resign ourselves.

Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One

Actors, crew members, audiences, everyone has their preconceived notion of what film is supposed to be.  If pressed to leave our comfort zone we become confused and indignant about what is supposed to constitute film.  Is it the purpose of film to entertain us and tell us a story in three acts with perfect technical structure?  No but it can.  Is it the purpose of film to show us some sort of grand truth by pointing a camera at the harsh realities of existence?  No but it can (maybe).  The fact of the matter is that film doesn’t owe you anything so stop expecting it to conform to your expectations.  Light passes through the lens of a camera and is recorded as visual information on film stock and it is then replayed so that information can be viewed.  Everything else that happens is inconsequential.  A director doesn’t have to play by any rules nor does he necessarily have to know what the hell he is doing.  There doesn’t have to be some grand philosophical meaning driving his work and if he does have some sort of internal agenda it is inconsequential if he is successful at that aim.

William Greaves may have been some sort of genius in his experiment of a film Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One.  Is he showing us the truth of the genesis of art and using film as a means of capturing societal truths?  Can truth even be captured on film?  Is he the star of the show and this film is actually a narrative feature about a filmmaker and the turmoil of an artist that doesn’t feel the need to articulate his vision?  How much of this film is reality?  Can you really capture reality with the constant whirring and clicking of cameras and a boom mic in your face or does the knowledge that you are being filmed change your behavior ala Heisenberg’s principle?   I can’t really answer these questions and I’m not sure that anyone can.  I’m sure there are plenty that could give long diatribes about their theories on these existential matters and they could run circles around my awkward and ignorant observations but I honestly believe that nobody has those answers, some are just better at pretending that they do.  My social ineptitude makes me feel like an outsider and that we are always acting even when there are no cameras or audiences around.  I can’t answer questions about the reality of this film any more than I can attest to the genuinity of the last person that I had a face to face conversation with.

This film captures something in a mesmerizing and often hysterical fashion and that is good enough for me.  How much of it was reality and how much of it was William Greaves messing with the conventions of reality and cinematic technique and expectations?  Who cares, it was great.

Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles

Jeanne Dielman is a mystifying experience.  We sit transfixed on the mundane actions of this single mother as she does her mundane housework with surgical precision.  These tasks are interrupted briefly by a visitor with whom she enters the bedroom with and later exits and receives money for services rendered.  With subtle body language we can infer that she is uncomfortable with the awkward social interaction that takes place afterwards as her lover sets up an appointment with her for the following Tuesday.  We wonder if the sexual interlude that we assume went on behind that closed door was as joyless and meticulous as the ritual cleansing that goes on afterwards.

We spend the next three hours following this woman carry out her day to day life.  We are never allowed to get too close to this woman as the shots are framed at a distance.  We sense her discomfort with social interaction as a young mother lingers at the door too long interfering with her daily lunch ritual.  We wonder why it takes three separate containers to make the coffee every single morning.  The whirring of the coffee grinder and the bubbling potatoes on the stove offer the soundtrack for her joyless existence.  Everything activity is planned so precisely that an accident with potatoes yields unnerving levels of tension.

I’ve seen terms tossed around describing the themes of this film such as feminism, alienation, and the erosion of the human soul.  These are all apt descriptors but those alone shouldn’t be enough to warrant the indescribable power of this film.  We have seen other films that touch those themes and they don’t clock in at three and a half hours, so what is the quality that this film possesses that held us captive for the entire run-time?  We aren’t told much of anything but what we are shown is enough to extrapolate the conclusion as tiny cracks appear in the porcelain surface.

Nashville

If you want to see the concept of America captured on film then you need not look further than the freeway collision in Robert Altman’s Nashville.  Harkening to Godard’s lengthy uninterrupted shot of a seemingly endless traffic jam in Week End, the sea of confused faces includes businessmen, crazies, entrepreneurs, hucksters, hippies, and everything in between.  Despite their differences they are all stuck on the same freeway and united in their doomed fates.  The old guard is caught up in the jingoistic notion of patriotic righteousness as we surely must have been doing something right to last two hundred years.  The idealistic youth take a more relaxed approach and as they scoff the perceived superficiality and emptiness of the old way they are unable to see the empty superficiality of their own actions.  Despite this the indomitable American spirit carries on under duress and identity crises.  It isn’t in our political beliefs or lifestyle choices that allow this sociology experiment to carry on.  There is a quiet defiance in us that unites us and pulls us through the toughest of times in spite of ourselves, no matter which bankrupt side of the aisle you may stand on.

Summer Hours

What will my legacy ultimately be when I drift in to the quiet silence of non-existence?  As a father of three I can only assume that if I live long enough I will become a patriarchal figure for a network of families with their own motivations and passions and  I’m sure a few of them will be caught up in the triviality of short-sighted needs that will trump their sense of family history.  The guitar that I was playing when my future wife first realized that she was in love with me might be worth a few quick bucks despite the pricelessness of its sentimental value and someone might decide it would be best to sell it rather than let it rot away in an attic somewhere.  I wouldn’t be able to fault them as I know precisely the kind of pressures that drive this type of myopia as I am weighed down by them every day.  Only those lucky enough to get through the spiritual compromise needed to ensure the stability of a young family are afforded the license to seek noble truths and pursuits more enriching than the acquisition of money.

It isn’t as though I don’t recognize the ignoble nature of grinding through daily life trying to secure the next dollar at the cost of my ability to properly express my love and appreciation to all of those that brought me in to this world.  I am driven by the internal sense of duty to my wife and children and ensuring their well-being is the overarching focal point of my existence.  Combine this all encompassing motivation with my introverted nature and it makes it difficult to stop and appreciate the legacy of those before me.  Despite their faults and deeply human flaws they did bring me in to this world and brought me far enough along to be able to raise a family of my own and for that I am deeply indebted.

La Notte

La Notte follows a married couple through the day and the night that they finally realized that their love was dead.  The day starts with the confrontation of mortality as they visit a dying friend in the hospital.  This visitation fuels realizations in the wife and adds kindling to old fires that had long since died.  She can see clearly for the first time the emptiness of their lifestyle and the complete disappearance of the love that had slowly eroded over the course of many years and many champagne soaked book release parties.  She spends the rest of the evening in an isolated soul search seeking out the old haunts where love used to be tangible and in the pursuit of some sort of stimulation that might rekindle the dead passion in their lives.  The passion had already been dead for a long time, she just finally came to the penultimate realization.

Michelangelo Antonioni’s films should not be considered boring diatribes on the ennui of the alienated bourgeoisie.  His themes are universal to the human experience.  The unfair perceptions stem from those that are unwilling to absorb the subtext and see themselves on the screen.  You don’t have to belong to the social elite to have these feelings as we have just as many problems talking to each other in the middle class.  The upper class might use more expensive booze to act as a social lubricant, but feelings of inadequacy and existential boredom ring just as true for those drinking champagne as those drinking cheap beer.  It isn’t Antonioni’s fault that you can’t sit still long enough to see the universal truths that are more than likely applicable to your own existence.  We all have communication problems and we will always have communication problems because there is no form of communication that can completely convey the minute complexities of our thoughts and emotions.

I suppose pacing may contribute to these misplaced criticisms.  It isn’t as though Antonioni completely ditches the concept of filmic time, it just takes a little bit longer to  convey elements of the human condition at the root of interpersonal alienation than it does to tell a three act story.  His films often consist of lengthy silences and meandering visuals that don’t drive any sort of narrative.  Day to day life almost entirely consists of lengthy silences, meandering visuals, and a complete absence of plot. There are only a few exceptions that probably constitute a few hundred reels in the 3, 712,647 reels that make up the average human life.

Panna zázracnica

Interpretation of artistic creation only serves to reduce the object of interpretation to a collection of weightless words that are subject to the life experiences and limited capacities of the interpreter.  If it is such a bankrupt practice then why do I find myself feebly attempting it week after week whenever I take in a film that triggers some part of my subconscious mind and creates an unbendable affinity toward the material?  Is it out of such a strong positive feeling toward the work that I feel a need to try and express my appreciation in any way I am capable?  I suppose it could be caused by selfishness, egotistical self gratification, and the desire to show the world that I was able to feel inspired by a difficult piece of underappreciated art that they would likely never see, and if they did most of them certainly wouldn’t feel as strongly about the work nor be able to garner the same “objective” meaning.  I suppose in any case I had created this dumping ground for my feeble minded attempts at writing about films that I have found to be amazing and since it is here I might as well put some words on it.  Does knowing the bankruptcy in one’s actions and admitting one’s deficiencies somehow grant reprieve for the sins of feeble art interpretation?  It probably makes me a bigger sinner than someone who doesn’t know any better, but artists have their own selfish reasons for creating art that may not be known even to them and I have unquantifiable reasons for trying to write about it.

Panna Zazracnica is an incredible piece of filmmaking.  It is beautiful, poetic, dark, hilarious, surreal, and manages to simultaneously lament the less than ideal conditions under which art must be created and criticize the less than noble selfishness of the artist.  When a group of artists and intellectuals encounter divine beauty it triggers a dichotomy of destructiveness and creativity in them.  The misguided passion is intense and drives as much self doubt as it does creative inspiration.  These conflicting forces torture the artist and they don’t know whether to self destruct to gain the attention and affections of this “miraculous virgin” or destroy her and devour whatever is left.  Though they try to live apart from the war that surrounds them, they cannot help but be indirectly influenced by the harshness of reality.  They are all so busy with their own selfish shenanigans that they are unable to see the pain in the eyes of Anabella, whom they think that they love completely.  She is the muse of their creation but they are so preoccupied in their own worlds that they are incapable of learning from the truth that she provides, that we inherently know everything we need to know about pure artistic expression as a child and those who make it their life’s work spend most of their time trying to recapture that which adulthood has made them forget.

The opening shot of a plaster cast of a woman’s face and a tortured voice screaming “Anabella!” would indicate that the troop of “orphans” had one more unseen member driving the camera.  The material felt like a deeply personal lamentation of a filmmaker whose confidence in their art is shaken because of the less than ideal conditions in which it has to be created.  Filmmaking is not a cheap method of self expression and anyone willing to throw themselves completely in to the art would surely have to deal with the realities of financial backing, government regulation, and our basic human needs and desires.  I suppose the trick is finding the right balance without compromising your vision more than it has to be, even if you have doubts about how genuine your vision actually is.  Every great artist probably should carry some doubt their work, it helps drive them toward a purity of vision.

Come and See

Nature in Soviet cinema possesses a surreal other-worldly quality that manages to capture generations of conflict and turmoil.  Come and See amplifies this feeling with its gritty landscapes and earthy color palette.  Each mud caked and world weary blade of grass strains under the boots of both partisan and German soldier alike.  Each birch tree knows the effects of machine gun fire all too well and anticipates its own destruction by the inevitable bombing raid that will uproot it once and for all.  Dirt and mud make up the war paint that covers Florya Gaishun in his transformation from innocent naivety to hardened disillusionment as the atrocities of war become all too real and they aren’t the romanticized fantasies he may have entertained before actually going to war.

Come and See is a devastating indictment of war and the dehumanizing effects that it possesses.  Though it clearly criticizes Nazism and the barbaric burning of villages, it also shows the erosion of the humanity of the partisan soldiers and the cyclical effect of barbarous acts.  This is further illustrated in the mirrored photo opportunities, one toward the beginning of the film of partisan soldiers and the other toward the end with German soldiers.  The unsettling sequences of women and children being burned to death while German soldiers laughed were naturally enraging but Florya’s transformation from optimistic innocent to someone who would be willing to kill Hitler as a child was even darker.  A German soldier who was questioned about these atrocious acts answers in a cold and frank candor that it all starts with the children.  He may have been right but are we hard wired to repeat the same fatal mistakes of those that came before?  Perhaps Elem Klimov was criticizing the fatal flaws in the human condition that result in war more than the resultant brutality.