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.