The Straight Story (1999)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Straight Story (1999) – D. Lynch

A change of pace for director David Lynch and perhaps the one true oddity in his oeuvre.  In 1993, Alvin Straight, then 73 years old but with failing eyes and legs, drove his riding mower 300 miles to visit his estranged brother who just had a stroke (cameo by Harry Dean Stanton). Maybe Lynch saw surrealism in the story or maybe his innate conservatism (championing family values) drew him to the material.  If you look carefully, you can see his style of filmmaking in the way that the camera simply observes everyone in a matter-of-fact style and the dialogue (which he didn’t script himself) is the same sort of non-ironic plain-speaking you get from characters in his other projects.  However, this is G-rated heart-warming material released by Disney, not a vision of the dark forces intruding on all things wholesome (although in the very beginning when we hear an ominous thud and the camera zooms up to a shuttered window, I wasn’t quite sure).  Only rarely do things turn a bit weird, almost as if Lynch felt it was obligatory. But these moments distract from the main story which is really about Straight (played touchingly by Richard Farnsworth, who died soon after at age 80) and his interactions with other people, including his autistic daughter, Rose (played by Sissy Spacek), and the unbelievably kind Midwesterners he meets along the way.     

In the Mirror of Maya Deren (2001)

☆ ☆ ☆

In the Mirror of Maya Deren (2001) – M. Kudlácek

There’s less analysis and more character judgment than I would have hoped in this documentary about the famed experimental filmmaker who began work in the 1940s.  However, the recordings of her own lectures do add to a viewer’s understanding of some of her work.  The talking heads are also well chosen (co-director and ex-husband Alexander Hammid, Jonas Mekas, Stan Brakhage, Katherine Dunham, Chao Li Chi, Amos Vogel).  Of course, I wouldn’t recommend this to those who haven’t seen Deren’s films – it’s kind of like reading a book review without reading the book!  Nevertheless, the brief clips of Meshes of the Afternoon (1943), At Land (1946), Meditation on Violence (1949), and The Very Eye of Night (1958) proved these films to be as beguiling as ever and an influence on so much which came afterward.  Kudlácek’s documentary is certainly well put together, dutifully reviewing Deren’s life, from immigration at age 5 to privileged upbringing, beginnings in Los Angeles, and then the bohemian art life in Greenwich Village with some intermittent visits to Haiti where she became infatuated with Vodoun and the music and culture of the people there (resulting in a book and subsequent footage).  In retrospect, Kudlácek probably made the most engaging film possible (barring full inclusion of Deren’s own shorts) with the materials at hand and the lengthy time that had passed. I guess I’m always hungering for something deeper, a key to unlock everything, which will never just be handed over -- and that’s probably for the best, since mystery is at the heart of Deren’s work.

  

Brooklyn (2015)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Brooklyn (2015) – J. Crowley

Saoirse Ronan is engaging as the shy Irish girl who ships off to America on her own at the start of the 1950s and finds her feet in an immigrant’s Brooklyn.  A heartfelt drama from director John Crowley that stirs one’s emotions.  Perhaps more so for me because there are some personal resonances here.  For example, my own ancestors would have made this journey 50 or 60 years before this film takes place (from County Clare), although likely as a family unit and not alone (I’ll have to check with my genealogist mom).  And, of course, I’m an immigrant too, although for different reasons in a different era and a different country.  When Saoirse meets Tony, her Italian beau (warmly played by Emory Cohen), the film delights in showing young romance, only to throw obstacles in the way (a bit of screenwriting 101 from Nick Hornby) when she has to head back to Ireland to deal with family matters.  What she finds there creates a dilemma that the film could resolve either way, but ultimately chooses the way that put tears in my eyes.  I’m a softie.  The filmmakers lovingly recreated the New York City that my parents knew as kids (seemingly) with all the situations and settings that presumably no longer exist (I suspect the same is true of Ireland).  All told, there is some magic here but nothing that stretches a viewer interested in a conventional romantic drama (or a romanticized view of the past). 

Cleopatra (1934)

☆ ☆ ☆

Cleopatra (1934) – C. B. De Mille

A last gasp for the “precode” era by Cecil B. De Mille who had earlier gotten into trouble with the same star, Claudette Colbert, in Sign of the Cross (1932).  Indeed, he seems to be taunting the incoming censors by dressing her (and all of the female extras) in the skimpiest outfits possible.  Unfortunately, most of the film is still rather turgid and not particularly daring.  Cleopatra seeks to form a relationship with Julius Caesar (Warren William) who is soon offed by Brutus and a mob worried about his attack on their notion of the republic.  When Marc Anthony (Henry Wilcoxon) comes out to Egypt to capture her, he too falls under her alluring sway.  The Romans then rise up against him, leading to tragic ends.  De Mille and his art direction team (Roland Anderson and Hans Dreier) do create some magnificent sets (there is an art deco feel to this Egypt) and the war montage near the end when the Romans attack is crazy in its fast editing and over-the-top content.  But overall, I didn’t find the drama compelling – I wonder if the lost silent version (1917) with Theda Bara was any better (I’m not game for the 4-hour Liz Taylor version).  Perhaps 1930s audiences did find this a tonic to distract them from their woes nevertheless.

  

A Fistful of Dollars (1964)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

A Fistful of Dollars (1964) – S. Leone

I’ve watched Yojimbo (1961) many times but couldn’t remember whether I’d seen this film from Sergio Leone’s Man with No Name trilogy or not.  You can see why Kurosawa and co. successfully sued to get a part of the profits – Clint Eastwood effectively takes over the Toshiro Mifune character, albeit transplanted to the West (although Yojimbo clearly borrowed from the western genre too).  Of course, Eastwood brings his own unique iconography (lots of squinting) to the part just as Mifune had earlier (lots of scratching) – both were larger than life (and went on to play the same character in one or more sequels).  Leone uses the widescreen gloriously and the Spanish terrain is a good stand in for the Mexican setting.  The plot famously sees the Man/Samurai arriving in a lawless town and playing two rival gangs off against each other until both are dead and he can ride away with all of their money.  He’s tough, cool, and in some ways more moral than the rest.  The bad get what’s coming to them and the innocent and vulnerable are set free, all to the magnificent sounds of Ennio Morricone.  I still can’t remember if I’d seen this before (or one or both of its sequels), so there is something about the blur of characters here (aside from Eastwood, of course, and Gian Maria Volontè as Ramon) that makes it difficult to stick.  For my money, I prefer Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) or Akira Kurosawa, for that matter.  Still, you can’t deny the trailblazing effect of Leone’s trilogy and Eastwood’s dogged longevity.

Jamaica Inn (1939)

☆ ☆ ☆

Jamaica Inn (1939) – A. Hitchcock

Hitchcock was outmaneuvered by Charles Laughton who gloriously struts his stuff (to a German waltz, according to Hitchcock-Truffaut) as the Lord who secretly backs the wreckers who cause ships to crash into the Cornish shore during storms and then loot them, killing all aboard.  Although Hitch claimed that Laughton demanded more screen time, thus forcing a rewrite of the script, the Master still manages to create suspense (not surprise) as we know that undercover law officer Robert Newton is imperilling himself by running to magistrate Laughton to turn in the evil band.  Maureen O’Hara drives much of the action even if she often has to bide her time in the damsel-in-distress position.  Although there were clearly ship models in use, the outdoor scenes evoke the silent era (Hitch’s training ground) and there is some fancy camerawork at the end, when Laughton is finally brought to justice.  Not the major flop that some declare (and surely one of Hitchcock’s least favourite films, by his own admission) but enjoyable nevertheless.

  

The Deadly Trap (1971)

☆ ☆

The Deadly Trap (1971) – R. Clément

René Clément (Forbidden Games, 1952; Purple Noon, 1960) directs Fay Dunaway and Frank Langella as a couple with two children (Cathy, 8, and Patrick, 4) who have relocated to Paris.  He seems to be a science writer and she is an amateur painter.  They have a close family friend, Cynthia, who lives in an apartment on the floor below them.  The plot is very vague.  Langella seems to have previously been a spy and he is being pursued by “The Organisation” that wants to sign him up for a long-term contract of some sort.  But he is uninterested.  Dunaway is plagued by failing memory, which may be the result of gaslighting (by friends and acquaintances but not Langella).  Then, their children are kidnapped, presumably by members of The Organisation.  The children’s experience reminds one of Forbidden Games but we don’t spend enough time in their world.  Details of all these events seem very sketchy, as we are given only hints about what is going on – and then there is a “reveal” that doesn’t seem earned at all.  Perhaps parts of the film were edited out?  More likely, the intent was to keep details obscure to heighten suspense, which doesn’t really work.  Finally, the colours in the print were so muted, that I suspect the film is in need of repair.  But why bother? Not worth your time.   

Lust for Life (1956)

☆ ☆ ☆

Lust for Life (1956) – V. Minnelli

Kirk Douglas takes a star turn as Vincent Van Gogh and there’s a whole lot of emoting going on.  My viewing of this film was precipitated by a visit to an exhibition of Van Gogh’s paintings (Van Gogh and the Seasons) here in Melbourne over the weekend.  Douglas looks like Van Gogh with the same haircut and beard (dyed red) but the energy and voice still seem his own.  The film (directed by Vincente Minnelli) charts Van Gogh’s adult life, from failed pastor in a mining town to painter with a growing amount of confidence (but no financial success).  He seems to use up the various places he stays in (The Hague, Arles, etc.), wearing out his welcome with his manic-depressive moods.  His brother Theo provides constant support (financial and emotional) throughout Vincent’s life but it still ends in tragedy (suicide).  The production was smart enough to obtain Van Gogh’s actual paintings for shooting here and we see an assortment of them from the early days right on up to his late masterpieces (some which I had seen only days before, which gives you a strange kind of feeling). They also shot on location in the real sites where Van Gogh painted (sometimes recreating the buildings and structures from his paintings). Overall, however, the film feels rather pedestrian, even as its subject is so extraordinary; it may be that the 1950s way of acting, not all that naturalistic, creates distance between the actors and their parts (including Anthony Quinn who won the Oscar as Gauguin).  Nevertheless, I have a greater sense of Van Gogh and his context today than I ever had before.  

  

Shampoo (1975)

☆ ☆ ½

Shampoo (1975) – H. Ashby

There’s a downbeat seventies feel to Shampoo, even as it seems to be a satire on the sexual mores of the Beverly Hills set.  Warren Beatty is the hairdresser who sleeps with all of his clients (“heads”) despite stringing along Goldie Hawn who really loves him (maybe).  But Beatty’s character is so empty we never get inside him, even as he can’t make up his mind about whether he should commit to Julie Christie, who enters back into his life as the mistress of the businessman husband (Jack Warner) of one of his clients (Best Supporting Oscar winner Lee Grant).  Beatty is so empty that he defeats the film’s attempt to make this a character study, although emptiness may be the focus of the screenplay (by Chinatown’s Robert Towne).  The action occurs on the night of Nixon’s election in 1968, sounding another bum note in the apparent tribute to hedonism (and narcissism) that was soon to come crashing down.  (And poor Julie Christie has a few crude scenes that just don’t feel right).  Still, that is one hell of a party (with Beatles, Hendrix, Buffalo Springfield soundtrack) they seemed to be having in 1968.  Unfortunately, no one here has a sense of what they really want and the film drifts as they attempt to find out.  I expected more from director Hal Ashby and this team.