Kill! (1968)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Kill!  (1968) – K. Okamoto

This is not your ordinary chanbara/samurai film – the plot seems the same (rogue samurai inserts himself into a political struggle and rights wrongs) but the action is often played for laughs rather than (or in addition to) something more serious.  Tatsuya Nakadai, so often the righteous hero, is instead a rather sly (though outwardly tramp-like) ex-samurai who helps those who need it while also fooling (and occasionally killing) those who seek to exert power wrongfully. Etsushi Takahashi plays a country bumpkin who wants to be a samurai but ends up assisting Nakadai, although ostensibly working for the other side. The source novel is by Shûgorô Yamamoto who also wrote the one used for Kurosawa’s Sanjuro (1962), a not dissimilar film (also with comedic elements).  I suppose the only drawback is that the plot seems rather overly convoluted and the many different characters are not always easily clear in terms of their role in the story.  Yet, Nakadai with his gentle ease and surprising comic presence carries the film.  That said, it wouldn’t be the same without Masaru Satô’s quirky spaghetti western-like soundtrack and Rokurô Nishigaki’s eye-catching widescreen cinematography. 

Confessions of an Opium Eater (1962)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Confessions of an Opium Eater (1962) – A. Zugsmith

Vincent Price plays the early 20^th century descendent of 17^th century author Thomas De Quincey (who is famous for writing about his experience of opium addiction), newly arrived in San Francisco’s Chinatown but already familiar with the Tongs and their warfare.  He meets a captive woman, abducted from China and about to be sold as a “foreign bride” (i.e., he discovers a human trafficking syndicate), and he determines to free her.  That’s the bare bones of the plot but the treatment of this subject matter (by producer turned exploitation director Albert Zugsmith) is seriously loopy.  For one thing, we start aboard a Chinese junk where Asian women (actually played by Asian women) are being thrown into a net, soon to be hoisted into the air and dumped unceremoniously on a smaller ship, headed for the shore.  When they arrive, the seafarers engage in hand-to-hand combat with a small group waiting for them on the shore.  This turns out to be a useful scene because we are shown a key figure (George Wah) being killed – it turns out that he was a newspaper editor working hard to stop the slave trade.  With his death, his enemies (led by Linda Ho) have free rein to keep up the trafficking – until Price wanders in.  The film is crazy with bizarre camera angles, over-the-top art direction featuring lots of Chinese masks, screens, and artworks, and a bizarre opium-induced slow-motion escape/battle scene.  Of course, the slave women are forced to do exotic dances (exploitation but tame). Despite the well-paced weirdness, there is a general unseemliness to this affair, given its sordid and shocking topic, and the racist overtones that are hard to ignore.  Even Price must have been wondering how he wound up here! But still, it’s worth a look for some sheer insanity that somehow never quite falls apart.

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man (2006)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man (2006) – S. Kijak

Musician Scott Walker died in March this year (2019), so I took the opportunity to watch this documentary about his career (up until his first 4AD album, The Drift).  I was more or less oblivious to Walker’s music (including his chart-topping British hits of the 1960s with The Walker Brothers) until I bought a used CD of Scott 4 (1969) sometime around the turn of the century.  What I found there was gloomy portentous singing over sixties adult contemporary pop/rock – but not sounding like anything else I knew (particularly the lyrics).  This album proved to be the last of Scott’s self-composed songs (influenced we are told by Jacques Brel) until the Walker Brothers reunited with a strange album, Nite Flights (1978), that led to further opportunities for Scott.  His subsequent solo records were spaced far apart but became progressively weirder and more unique, as Walker simultaneously became a recluse seen only with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.  Surprisingly, then, he is very engaging and accessible when interviewed by documentarian Stephen Kijak for this film.  He offers some interesting insights into his way of working and his goals (artistic and not commerical, of course).  There are the usual famous talking heads, mostly British rock celebrities, who have nothing but praise for the iconclast (except for Marc Almond who hated the later work, particularly Tilt, 1995).  Of course, the real reason to treat yourself to the film is to hear the work of Scott Walker – although we get only excerpts, it does convey his musical journey aptly (at least up until 2006 – he subsequently released several more albums, including one with Sunn O)))!).  Worth a look, if you are curious.

Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far On Foot (2018)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far On Foot (2018) – G. Van Sant

Joaquin Phoenix plays cartoonist John Callahan (you’ll probably recognise his style when you see it) who is paralysed in a car accident while drinking and subsequently joins Alcoholics Anonymous and goes through the twelve steps.  If this sounds like “after school special” material, well it probably is – but director Gus Van Sant and Joaquin Phoenix work hard to provide enough “edge” to keep viewers interested.  Callahan seems to have been quite a character, although the twelve steps are suggested to have sanded some of the edges off  -- if not in his controversial humour, then at least in his dealings with people (a positive thing).  Jonah Hill plays Callahan’s AA sponsor and it is probably a testament to the film’s acceptance of all of its diverse characters that I didn’t realise he was gay until it started to become featured in the dialogue and his AIDS diagnosis is revealed – the film takes place mostly in the 1980s).  Van Sant keeps things interesting with film technique – lots of split screens (and moving split screens) to indicate the passage of time.  He employs a lot of eccentric character actors in small parts who help to liven up the proceedings (Kim Gordon, Udo Kier, Jack Black, Rooney Mara, Carrie Brownstein).  And of course, you can’t help but confront your own hypothetical “what if” about being a quadriplegic (and your attitudes toward disability) or think about alcohol’s negative role/influence/impact on society and our lives (and the excuses we employ to rely on it).  Phoenix’s acting is stupendous (as usual) and he disappears into the character – but it is hard not to feel that the film is designed to be “good for you” at some level.  But who said that’s a bad thing?

The File on Thelma Jordon (1950)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The File on Thelma Jordon (1950) – R. Siodmak

Assistant D. A. Cleve Marshall (Wendell Corey) is unhappy in his marriage and meets Thelma Jordon (Barbara Stanwyck) when out on a bender.  She is seeking to report a prowler at her rich aunt’s house to a local private detective (Paul Kelly).  But soon the two fall in love, an obsessive love that takes Marshall away from his wife and kids and into noir territory.  Soon, the aunt is dead with a recently changed will leaving everything to Jordon, now the chief suspect.  Naturally, Marshall is appointed to prosecute the case in court.  We don’t know if Jordon is bad but there are many clues (including a shady “husband” lurking around).  We also don’t know if she really loves Marshall – she may.  Director Robert Siodmak (Phantom Lady, The Killers, and many other great noirs) takes a leisurely approach to the developing relationship, with enough time spent with Marshall’s wife (Joan Tetzel) to feel his guilt.  But of course, viewers can’t help but compare this film to Billy Wilder’s earlier Double Indemnity (1944) in which Stanwyck convinced hapless Fred MacMurray to kill her husband.  Stanwyck is a bit more ambiguous here and you never do know whether Marshall will redeem himself by putting his all into his courtroom appearances or throw the case to help her.  MacMurray never had a chance; moreover, Stanwyck never had a streak of good in her in the earlier film.  Still, in true noir fashion, it only takes one mistake to turn the dark corner.

The Wife (2017)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Wife (2017) -- B. Runge

Watching Glenn Close begin to burn with resentment as her husband (Jonathan Pryce) receives the Nobel Prize for Literature is a sombre affair.  As he meets various Swedish officials and other celebrated figures, he is quick to acknowledge his wife, Joan, and his debt to her.  We learn that she gave up her own writing career to raise a family, a sacrifice so many women have made (to the detriment of society?).  Despite his efforts to include his wife, it is clear that Joe Castleman (Pryce) is insensitive and self-absorbed (which also impacts his son, Max Irons, who is a fledgling writer).  As played with great control by Close, Joan is attentive to her husband’s needs and whims, but clearly losing patience.  When she declares a desire to be by herself, she is stalked by aspiring biographer Christian Slater, who seeks some dirt on Joe, raising the possibility that Joan herself had ghost written some of her husband’s novels.  She brushes him off but the tension within her starts to mount. Swedish director Björn Runge doesn’t quite make it to Bergman territory here (where couples really do tear each other apart); although the acting is strong from the leads, the dialogue doesn’t quite keep pace.  Moreover, the plot becomes increasingly far-fetched, undercutting the focus on the very real power imbalances within families, by portraying an extreme example.  Flashback scenes (featuring Glenn Close’s real daughter Annie Starke) don’t operate at the same level of quality as the modern scenes.  But there is no doubt that Glenn Close deserved the kudos she received for her work on this film – and this theme deserves closer scrutiny.    

Jodorowsky’s Dune (2013)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Jodorowsky’s Dune (2013) – F. Pavich

Alejandro Jodorowsky was set to make a film of Frank Herbert’s Dune in 1974 or 1975 (after his success with El Topo, 1970, and The Holy Mountain, 1973 – two classic “midnight movies”) but it all fell through.  Frank Pavich’s documentary tells us how amazing the film could have been.  Plenty of the film is interview footage with Jodorowsky himself and this may sound dry but if you haven’t seen the man talk before, you’ll be blown away by how passionate and engaging he can be.  He was 84 at the time and he went on to make two new films (Dance of Reality, 2014, and Endless Poetry, 2016) after this; he is currently 90 and I hope he makes more.  Dune would have been his take on science fiction and, in the spirit of The Holy Mountain, he sought to find some “spiritual warriors” to collaborate with him on the production.  The list of names is astounding:  Dan O’Bannon (special effects), Moebius (story boards, production design), Chris Foss (art), H. R. Giger (art), Salvador Dali (actor), Mick Jagger (actor), David Carradine (actor), Pink Floyd (music), Magma (music), and Brontis Jodorowsky (actor).  The film buff will know that a number of these collaborators (principally O’Bannon and Giger) went on to contribute to Alien (1979) and the storyboards (put together in an amazingly fat hardcover book distributed to studios in 1974) suggest that some of Dune’s ideas were recycled for that film.  Moreover, a case is made that Star Wars (1977) also benefited from Jodorowsky’s take on science fiction.  Pavich and his team do a great job of animating some of Moebius’s drawings in this film.  Whether Jodorowsky could have brought the project home (and within budget), we’ll never know (and surely some of the ravings here must be pure fantasy) but it is incredible to hear what might have been.

Ornette: Made in America (1985)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Ornette:  Made in America (1985) – S. Clarke

NOT a straightforward doco about great jazz composer and saxophonist Ornette Coleman but instead something more impressionistic from famed documentarian Shirley Clarke (The Cool World, 1963).  We begin in the early ‘80s with Ornette receiving the key to the city of Fort Worth where he was born in advance of a concert (recorded as Opening the Caravan of Dreams, 1983) featuring his composition “Skies of America” accompanied by a symphony orchestra.  Then, we bounce around in time, with some concert footage from 1968 and a visit to the Master Musicians of Jajouka in Morocco (cue William Burroughs and Brion Gysin). He plays the violin as well as the saxophone. All the while, we see glimpses of child actors playing Ornette as a kid or a teen with a big saxophone wandering around Fort Worth (which looks dilapidated) – these scenes intimate the difficulties Ornette must have faced on the road to success.  Later we meet Denardo, both as a pre-teen and older playing with PrimeTime and see him chatting with his dad.  Only late in the picture do some talking heads appear discussing Ornette and his influence (the negative reaction to his “different” music in the late 50s/early 60s). The man himself offers a number of anecdotes and insights (something about wanting to be voluntarily castrated) but I’ll still never understand what he means by harmolodics.  Clarke probably tries too hard to make the film as experimental as Coleman’s music but her approach does add value; nevertheless a straightforward documentary and a concert film would nicely accompany this art film.  And I’m just happy to listen to the man’s incredible music. 

The Yakuza (1974)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Yakuza (1974) – S. Pollack

Paul Schrader’s first produced screenplay (with Robert Towne) probably should have been directed by someone other than Sydney Pollack (coming off The Way We Were, starring Streisand and Redford).  The noir edge of the film gets softened a bit by the pacing and music that signal something different, more romantic.  Of course, the presence of Robert Mitchum, returning to Japan having earlier been a postwar military policeman there (and later detective back in the States), looking weary in his late fifties, adds some requisite moodiness, just right for the downbeat 1970s.  Mitchum has been persuaded by old friend George Tanner (Brian Keith) to intervene in a dispute that he has with a local Yakuza boss (who has kidnapped Tanner’s daughter).  To assist him, Mitchum reaches out to his former girlfriend’s brother, Ken Tanaka (Ken Takakura, the veteran Japanese star) who was previously a Yakuza, for assistance.  He also hopes to rekindle his romance with Eiko Tanaka (Keiko Kishi) to no avail.  The plot churns as the various dynamics work themselves out.  I’d be lying if I didn’t say it felt like a Seventies TV show at times – but the Japanese locations and culture do add some uniqueness.  And slowly, slowly, the plot strands come together with some bursts of startling violence and your cynical suspicions are more or less vindicated. Except that Takakura and Mitchum demonstrate that they live by a code of honour and that may be enough to retain some faith in the world.  If only the direction were tighter...

De Palma (2015)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

De Palma (2015) – N. Baumbach & J. Paltrow

Brian De Palma didn’t make himself available for Kent Jones’ excellent Hitchcock/Truffaut (2016) because he wanted to reserve his comments about Hitch for this film (about himself).  For the record, he feels that he is the only true and legitimate heir to the master.  He also felt that Hitchcock (and indeed no other director) made any good films outside of their thirties, forties, and fifties.  Such bold (and bullshit, think of Bunuel) statements make this documentary interesting – it is entirely De Palma talking about his movies, interspersed with relevant clips.  Not unlike the Hitchcock/Truffaut book, we get extended treatment of some films (Carrie, Scarface, The Untouchables) and only passing references to others (flops and more recent films).  Directors Noah Baumbach & Jake Paltrow extract the choicest of trivia/gossip/insights about the films which probably means that those who haven’t seen them won’t quite grasp everything.  Nevertheless, De Palma’s thoughts about film as an artform and as a business are engrossing, even if you start to wonder how reliable he is as an interviewee.  The absence of any counterpoint is noticeable – after all, he makes a few references to being attacked because his films often include violence toward women but then neglects to introspect about his decisions or to even defend himself.  He is essentially let off the hook.  And unfortunately, De Palma’s oeuvre is not one that always rewards critical scrutiny – there are some bad commercial choices in there.  It would be fun to have such intimate access (as Truffaut did with Hitchcock) to a better director.  Still, it’s fun for the film buff.  

Morvern Callar (2002)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Morvern Callar (2002) – L. Ramsay

Lynne Ramsay’s second feature (after Ratcatcher) stars Samantha Morton as a young woman (Morvern Callar) whose life is disrupted by the suicide of her boyfriend.  She’s not particularly eloquent and she doesn’t share her thoughts or feelings with others – she just soldiers on, determined to enjoy herself (or so it seems).  This involves pubs, clubs, and parties and a trip to Spain with her best friend Lanna (Kathleen McDermott), with a farewell mixtape from her partner on the soundtrack (Can, Stereolab, Broadcast, Lee Hazelwood, etc.).  At times things feel a bit druggy.  I suppose some suspense is built because a) she doesn’t tell anyone about the suicide and sort of covers it up; and b) she submits a novel that she didn’t write to a publisher. (Is this a betrayal of the boyfriend who betrayed her?).  But suspense is probably besides the point because actually this is one of those new minimalist films (e.g., Kelly Reichardt, Harmony Korine, Jim Jarmusch) that observes its characters but doesn’t care too much about plot. It looks and sounds great though, if you get on its emotional wavelength (which could be hard given Morvern’s reticence).  I am not sure it all adds up to much (other than an opaque character study) but I’m also not sure that that matters. There are other pleasures here.

Perfect Blue (1997)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Perfect Blue (1997) – S. Kon

Anime noir that tackles some heavy issues:  stardom, voyeurism, and the relationship between the two (star and fan).  Mima Kirigoe is a pop idol and a member of the girl group, Cham, who have a legion of (entirely male) followers.  When she decides to leave the group to become an actress,  one of her stalker-ish fans is not happy and creates a website (using Netscape Navigator) pretending to offer her daily diary (“Mima’s Room”).  This starts to create a breach between the real Mima and the fictional online Mima, at least in Mima’s head.  The TV drama (about a serial killer) that she has a recurring bit part in doesn’t help.  In order to drastically change her image, her agent okays a rape scene in a strip club (which is disturbingly recreated here, alternating between onscreen action and between takes reality – but Mima becomes lost in the mix).  As her career moves further from the innocent pop idol phase (next up, nude photos), Mima experiences more jarring breaks with reality.  She begins to be haunted by a spectral image of her former self – and also by her stalking fan.  Meanwhile, someone is killing the writer, director, and other members of the TV show cast.  Or are they?  It is definitely difficult to discern what is real, what is the TV program, and what is only in Mima’s disoriented consciousness, thanks to the script and Satoshi Kon’s direction.  So, yes, there is more than a little Hitchcock or De Palma here but the freedom of anime allows things to get much weirder than a real staging might allow.  And darker.  Sure, everything appears to be tied up with a bow by the end but the themes linger, echoing throughout our culture, perhaps even more prominently today. What will be done for fame?  And what are its consequences in our online/physical society?

Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)

☆ ☆ ☆

Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018) – R. Howard

I don’t know if there is really a difference now between a Star War franchise movie and any other sci-fi franchise’s output.  I guess I’ve put more emotional investment into Star Wars since that trip to the theatre with my Dad in 1977.  But I’ll admit that I haven’t been the most steadfast fan (I skipped some of that “first” trilogy) and Solo, while satisfactory, probably wouldn’t lead me to persist further.  (That said, I’m sure I’ll watch the final film in the final trilogy later this year).  Ron Howard (a middling director) is a steady hand for the Kasdans’s screenplay (after the initial directors were dumped) but there’s no real panache here (despite the typically epic special effects).  Alden Ehrenreich makes a solid go of it, wavering between a half-hearted Harrison Ford impersonation and something more independent.  The plot gives us a sort of “origin story” or at least faithfully re-enacts some of the events that were mentioned in dialogue in the other films.  So, we see the infamous card game in which Solo wins the Millennium Falcon from Lando Calrissian (Donald Glover).  And more importantly we see how Han and Chewy (Joonas Suotamo) first met.  But, hey, what’s Woody Harrelson doing here?  This isn’t his sort of gig and he feels out of place as a gun for hire stealing/smuggling the MacGuffin for the baddies (either the Empire or some other evil entity called Crimson Dawn).  Female characters are given relatively short shrift (Emilia Clarke, Thandie Newton, and Phoebe Waller-Bridge try their best).  Paul Bettany is a nondescript bad guy.  In the end, it’s passable but lacking the verve you need, particularly from a rebel like Han Solo.