Lady in the Lake (1947)

☆ ☆ ☆

Lady in the Lake (1947) – R. Montgomery

Yes, this is the Raymond Chandler adaptation with the gimmick: we see the events through the eyes of detective Philip Marlowe.  That is, the film is shot in “first person”, so that we only see Robert Montgomery (who also directed) when he looks in the mirror or in opening and bridging scenes where he talks directly to the camera to explain things.  Apparently, the idea came from Orson Welles.  It works beautifully in places (as when the camera slowly prowls up the stairs, searching from room to room, until it finally spots a corpse in the shower) but mostly it is an unnecessary distraction.  Most of the actors seem awkward and over-expressive when they need to deliver their lines directly to us (with Montgomery’s voice heard offscreen).  The plot is typical noir (dark/tough/complicated) and, although I haven’t read the source novel, it is also likely to be typical Chandler – as in The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely, and The Long Goodbye (the novels I have read), the many characters are duplicitous, involved with each other in ways that are initially hidden, and even Marlowe is compromised.  Montgomery plays him straight but rather flat – Bogart, Powell, and even Gould better capture Marlowe’s sarcastic acceptance of the absurd (while still maintaining an honourable quest for the truth, broadly construed).  Nevertheless, even as a failed experiment, Lady in the Lake is worth a look as a representative entry in this important genre.

After the Storm (2016)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

After the Storm (2016) – H. Kore-eda

I’ve been a big fan of director Kore-eda’s films since I first stumbled into After Life (1998) in a cinema in London.  Admittedly, that was probably his oddest film to date (showing dead people in limbo recreating their favourite memory from their lives) and perhaps his best.  But he has matured into a director with a sensitive and subtle way of portraying everyday life and relationships, not shying away from serious moments but always imbuing events with both humour and humanity.  It’s the small moments (and the way the camera shows simple objects and environments, not unlike Ozu) that brings out the existentialism underlying Kore-eda’s cinema, even if the larger arcs of the plot don’t always go anywhere (much like some lives).  Here, Hiroshi Abe plays a recently divorced man whose irresponsible father has just died; we see that he cares for his own son, aged 9 or 10, but also that he is also as irresponsible as his own father was.  Abe’s career as a novelist seems to have ended after one book and now he earns what little money he can as a private detective for a firm specialising in divorce work and lost pets.  He blows a lot of his money gambling.  He also can’t seem to let go of his ex-wife and his dream of what could have been (including for his career).  I guess the film’s message is that he should move on (after the storm).  This makes it unlike all those fantasies where the couple gets back together and everyone lives happily ever after.  Instead, everyone’s life is just in process and the point is to focus on the here-and-now rather than on future pipe dreams or melancholy longing for days gone by.  Although all the cast is top notch, special mention must go to Kirin Kiki as the warm funny grandma.

The Sun’s Burial (1960)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Sun’s Burial (1960) – N. Oshima

The title refers to the Rising Sun’s funeral – in other words, the demise of Japan as a place of dignity.  In his third film (after the success of Cruel Story of Youth, also 1960), director Nagisa Oshima shows us the degradation and depravity of Osaka’s post-war slums, the epitome of the fallen nation.  We first become acquainted with Hanako who is collecting blood and selling it at a profit by day and prostituting herself by night.  She works with the two local gangs, the main one led by Ohama and an up-and-coming new gang led by Shin that has to keep on the move to prevent being wiped out by Ohama.  She runs the blood business on the side but is soon joined by an older homeless man known only as “The Agitator” who constantly voices his concerns about the fall of the Japanese Empire (but later buys ID cards to sell to incoming illegal immigrants). Two young kids join Shin’s gang only to find themselves increasingly in trouble; the quiet and naïve one, Takeshi, eventually falls in with Hanako.  Violence, and sexual violence, are part of the way of life here and Oshima doesn’t shy away from depicting this everyday brutality (verbal or physical).  It must have been very shocking at the time. However, there are far too many characters to keep track of and their sad fates barely register in the midst of the squalor and despair. Oshima may have wanted us to take in the forest without caring too much for the individual trees.  Even so, his stylish cinematographic eye makes itself known through ugly but perfectly composed shots, good use of colour (that blood!), and an unflinching willingness to show us the underbelly.

Ginger Snaps (2000)

☆ ☆ ☆

Ginger Snaps (2000) – J. Fawcett

It is perhaps too easy to be too hard on genre films, particularly if the genre is given to certain excesses as is the case with the teen horror film.  However, setting aside the inevitable descent into prosthetic creature masks and bloody messes, there is something different and interesting about this low budget Canadian film.  For one thing, the focus is squarely on two sisters, weird kids who don’t fit in with their peers and who have a suicide pact.  For another, the transformation into a werewolf is explicitly equated with the transformation of a girl to a woman. Yes, some of the blood on display is from menstruation. So, is this a tale of empowerment? Is female sexuality something being championed rather than shamed, exploited, or hidden away? I’m not sure the film is so clear on these points.  It may be better at representing the anxiety involved in the transition/transformation (and mother Mimi Rogers does a solid job at embarrassing the girls) than at making any political points.  (Of course, this is something that female viewers might judge better than me).  Thus, in keeping with werewolf films from the golden age, director John Fawcett (male) and screenwriter Karen Walton (female) don’t really aim for scares in the material but instead focus on the emotional experiences of the werewolf (Katharine Isabelle) and her sister who needs to stop her (Emily Perkins). Until the last 30 minutes when straight genre fans are placated (and one actress is replaced by a thing), the film actually had the makings of a weird high school flick (though not without some clichés of that genre too).  Worth a look?

  

They Died With Their Boots On (1941)

☆ ☆ ☆

They Died With Their Boots On (1941) – R. Walsh

Errol Flynn stars as George Armstrong Custer.  The film depicts a highly fictionalised version of his life from his first days as a cadet at West Point, through his Civil War heroics (on the Union side), to his time at Fort Lincoln in the Dakota Country, and finally his death at the Battle of Little Big Horn.  Raoul Walsh directs the action sequences with a certain amount of panache (lots of extras on horseback) but the film feels overlong and Olivia De Havilland has little to do as Custer’s wife (this was her 8^th and last pairing with Flynn).  As you might expect for this era (1940s), the film has a definite racist streak, particularly when it comes to portraying Native Americans; Anthony Quinn plays Crazy Horse but there are some actual Sioux men who were brought out to Hollywood to serve as extras. Hattie McDaniel also plays a maid who is superstitious in a few scenes to offer some “comic relief”.  Interestingly, Flynn portrays Custer as a bit of a delinquent who nonetheless is able to lead men in battle; his casting doesn’t quite seem right (he belongs in less weighty swashbucklers).  Speaking of unusual casting, Sydney Greenstreet appears as a Union General, with only his mutton chops and uniform differentiating this performance from The Maltese Falcon or Casablanca.  Jarring.  Arthur Kennedy is solid as the main villain.  However, you really should look elsewhere if you want to see Flynn at his best (e.g., The Adventures of Robin Hood, 1938).   

  

Hidden Figures (2016)

☆ ☆ ☆ 

Hidden Figures (2016) – T. Melfi

A feel-good movie about mathematics, the space race, and the civil rights struggle for African-American women – based on a true story.  Prior to the installation of their first IBM mainframe (depicted in the film), NASA used human “computers” to check and double-check calculations; the film follows a group of three of these African American women from the “coloured computer” group.  Taraji P. Henson plays Katherine G. Johnson who assisted with advanced calculations for John Glenn’s first orbit around the Earth (and subsequently the Apollo 11 mission and flights in the space shuttle era).  Henson’s experiences in the all-white NASA offices and engineering labs shown here are, as expected, sometime unpleasant (as when she is snubbed by white colleagues) but sometimes positive (as when she is supported by white colleagues, such as boss Al Harrison, played by Kevin Costner).  Janelle Monáe plays Mary Jackson who successfully became NASA’s first African American female engineer (after challenging Virginia’s segregated school’s policy).  Octavia Spencer plays Dorothy Vaughan who became NASA’s first African American female supervisor, running the IBM computer lab.  Although their stories are true, they remained largely unheralded until this film (which Johnson was alive to see at age 98) – so it is worth trumpeting their stereotype-breaking successes.  The movie itself sticks to the feel-good playbook, providing a bit of backstory to each of the characters, a little romance for Johnson, showing their lives outside of work, a few ugly incidents (racism), and, of course, some tension before everything falls into place as a result of the hard work of these women. And it’s all set to some rousing music (coordinated by Pharrell Williams).  In the end, NASA benefits, the US moves ahead of the Soviets in the space race, and best of all, these women also experience gratifying personal success.  However, this is the Hollywood version of their story, so don’t expect anything edgy or challenging.  

Prisoners (2013)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Prisoners (2013) – D. Villeneuve

Relentlessly malevolent (and probably not the picture to watch if you are the parent of small ones), this thriller nevertheless shows director Denis Villeneuve’s talent at building and sustaining tension while abiding by the audience’s expectations. Two families see their youngest members abducted on Thanksgiving and Jake Gyllenhaal is the police detective assigned to find the abductor and get them back.  I haven’t seen Taken or its sequels, so I’m not sure how this fits into the apparent genre – but parent Hugh Jackman decides to take the investigation into his own hands and his fury means that he isn’t subtle.  I don’t think we are meant to identify with Jackman, because everything he does seems to alienate the viewer (and threaten his relationships with everyone else, including his wife, Maria Bello, and the other couple, Viola Davis and Terrence Howard).  As the hunt for the abductor continues, the clues pile up, suspects are tracked down, creepiness abounds (and tends to dominate over the sadness and disgust that would otherwise be the main feeling, since we are dealing with child abduction and possible paedophilia here).  You might catch a bit of a Silence of the Lambs vibe, I suppose.  Gyllenhaal is dogged in his pursuit of all leads, although the police action is pretty genre-consistent at best. In the end, things do get tied up with a bow, but I’ve read that an even darker ending was proposed – that probably would have made for a better film.

The Postman Always Rings Twice (1981)

☆ ☆ ½

The Postman Always Rings Twice (1981) – B. Rafelson

This version of the James M. Cain novella seems grimmer than the famed 1946 version with James Garfield and Lana Turner (which is definitely a film noir) and even the 1943 Italian version (Ossessione) which is more neorealism than noir.  Jessica Lange makes a suitable Cora but Jack Nicholson seems too hangdog and beaten as Frank.  I didn’t see any chemistry and the sex scenes, supposedly necessary to undo the censorship of the ‘40s, are anything but alluring (with a sub-current of violence that is a turn-off).  The plot, set in the Depression, sees drifter Frank show up at Nick Papadakis’s petrol station/diner and decide to stay as a handyman, soon striking up an affair with young Cora behind the older Nick’s back.  Eventually, they decide to kill him in order to be together.  The subsequent court case pits them against each other and tests their relationship.  Somehow, Bob Rafelson’s direction seems to drain the action of its tension and the actors don’t really catch the screen on fire with their passion (or their conflict).  Perhaps the shift into the 1980s struck a fatal blow to the seventies drama – after all, Rafelson and Nicholson were so good in Five Easy Pieces (1970) but a decade later, they are visibly straining. Another example of a remake that shouldn’t have happened.

  

The Soft Skin (1964)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Soft Skin (1964) – F. Truffaut

Falling just after Truffaut’s masterpieces (The 400 Blows, 1959; Jules and Jim, 1962), The Soft Skin also shows the creative techniques that were the hallmark of the Nouvelle Vague.  Jean Desailly plays an author/publisher who has an affair with Françoise Dorléac, a stewardess (to use the 1960s term); the film documents, from his perspective, how he navigates the necessary secrecy and juggles the various people who can’t find out (including his wife and small daughter).  I read somewhere that the plot echoes circumstances from Truffaut’s own life (he was divorced in 1965) and the film seems sympathetic toward Desailly’s character – or at least tries to convey his emotional experiences.  Truffaut uses editing and sound magnificently to capture the excitement of the elicit rendezvous and the anxiety related to the risks and inevitable discovery.  You can see his debt and homage to Hitchcock in the best sequences here (and indeed his interviews with Hitch that formed the basis of the famous book had occurred two years earlier).  However, it is impossible to shake the sordid inappropriateness of the actions here, by both Desailly and Dorléac – our identification with them is undermined by our rejection of their actions.  One wonders how much Truffaut himself is complicit in supporting the moral transgressions on display – until the shock ending, which seems to negate everything that has gone before (or provide an easy out for that seeming complicity).  Apparently, this film was booed at the Cannes Film Festival but the craft on display makes it worthwhile even if the content matter is unpalatable.