Man of a Thousand Faces (1957)

☆ ☆ ☆

Man of a Thousand Faces (1957) – J. Pevney

James Cagney plays Lon Chaney (Sr.) in this biopic of the silent film star.  Cagney excels in the early scenes from Chaney’s vaudeville days (given his own tendency toward being a song-and-dance man) but we see fewer of the performances and more of the tense life story as the picture progresses. Interestingly, it turns out that both of Chaney’s parents were deaf and the family communicated with sign language (his three siblings could also hear), which the film tries to relate to his success in pantomime.  But Chaney had significant troubles with his first wife (played by Dorothy Malone) who yearned for her own career instead of being weighed down by the responsibilities of motherhood. Chaney is less than sympathetic and when she leaves him and their young son, Creighton (later Lon Chaney, Jr.), he is denied custody by the courts who think that his Hollywood career is far from stable. Eventually, when he becomes famous (as a result of the Hunchback of Notre Dame, 1923, and the Phantom of the Opera, 1925) and remarries (to Jane Greer), his son comes to live with them (often spending time in a remote cabin, given Chaney’s unsociable nature) until he discovers his mother is still alive and leaves to be with her.  Of course, he returns when Chaney begins to have signs of the heart trouble that killed him at only 47.  Overall, a solid, though glum, effort by Cagney and his costars -- but it can’t overcome the clichés of the genre.  I had hoped for some insights into the actual making of films, but alas.   

Faces Places (2017)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Faces Places (2017) – A. Varda & JR

I’d never heard of JR, the young French photographer/muralist, until he teamed up with venerable director Agnes Varda (originally of the French New Wave and more recently a champion essay filmmaker) to make this documentary. Together they travel the countryside, meeting the locals and taking giant photos of them and pasting them on barns, buildings, and water towers.  The effect is admittedly pretty cool and Varda crafts the cinematic result for maximum charm, highlighting the rapport between the 33 year old and the 88 year old (although they didn’t meet on the dance floor).  Things do become personal, as Varda navigates their search to a memorial for one of her favourite authors (Nathalie Sarraute) and to the graves of photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson and his wife.  Finally, she arranges to meet up with Jean-Luc Godard himself (because JR’s penchant for always wearing shades reminds her of him) and the film suddenly careens toward a peak, with the heightened expectation that these two Nouvelle Vague veterans will meet on camera!  And then, what? We’re left wondering what happened.  And now Varda has passed (early in 2019), leaving a huge legacy and some very wistful films – like this one.

Bombshell: The Hedy Lamarr Story (2017)

☆ ☆ ☆

Bombshell: The Hedy Lamarr Story (2017) – A. Dean

There is a lot that is surprising about Hedy Lamarr’s life – principally that she invented something called “frequency hopping” that was originally meant for torpedoes in WW2 butis somehow related to the genesis of wi-fi and Bluetooth technology.  She had a patent that the US military may have stolen (since she wasn’t a US citizen).  Of course, the public didn’t know about Hedy’s intelligence and penchant for inventing – they just knew her as the Hollywood star of Algiers (1938; with Charles Boyer) and for her scandalous nude scene in the German film, Ecstasy (1933).  The documentary charts her film career and her later hit, Samson and Delilah (1949) for Cecil B. DeMille, which gave her the opportunity to produce her own films – which bankrupted her.  The filmmakers seek to promote Hedy as a proto-feminist, but it is clear that, although she sought to take the reins of her life, things did not really work out.  She had 5 husbands, became addicted to speed, and spiralled downward, becoming a recluse – a late telephone interview reveals her pride…and fatalism.  Her children describe her as erratic.  So, is this a cautionary tale?  Or a rescue of her image? Was she really a thwarted genius? The many talking heads offer conclusions but not so much data. No doubt things are/were tough for brilliant women.

  

Kusama: Infinity (2018)

☆ ☆ ☆

Kusama: Infinity (2018) – H. Lenz

Somehow I expected that the pop art polka dots that I associate with Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama would flow from a cheery positive personality overflowing with joie de vivre.  Not true.  This documentary about her life showed me just how little I knew about Kusama and how wrong I was in my assumptions.  Instead, Kusama suffered through the sexism and racism of the New York art scene in the ‘50s and ‘60s and the backlash back in conservative Japan when she became associated with naked happenings at the end of the latter decade.  This drove her to depression and nearly to suicide.  I did not know she had a celibate romance with much older artist Joseph Cornell who was obsessed with her.  After her career (but not her motivation or the quality of her work) fizzled in New York, she returned back to Japan to slowly rebuild her life (in a psychiatric institution -- where perhaps she still voluntarily lives?).  And of course, she did make a come back and now is apparently the highest selling living artist in the world.  I first saw her work in Pittsburgh at The Mattress Factory in the late ‘90s – one of her mirrored room installations (that do seem to extend to infinity).  More recently, she contributed a series of small rooms, a cottage of sorts, where visitors placed flower stickers wherever they wanted (and soon the entire exhibit was plastered), to the Melbourne NGV Triennial last year.  Her work is certainly worth experiencing – but I didn’t realise the different phases she had gone through (and her influence on other contemporary artists) and the depth of her thoughts and feelings.  So, even though the documentary itself is not anything more than typically presented, it certainly gave me a greater appreciation and feeling for Kusama.  Perhaps the polka dot dress and dyed red hair are just a great marketing tool.    

Crippled Avengers (1978)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Crippled Avengers (1978) – C. Chang

Classic Shaw Brothers production (directed by Cheh Chang) that feels familiar like an old glove.  Of course, it’s a period drama where various martial arts schools train students, hold grudges, and fight duels.  The plot here is ludicrous but that adds extra camp value.  It begins in a flashback showing us a vicious attack on the wife and young son of a particular kung fu master: her legs are cut off and his arms are cut off.  She dies but he lives and is given iron arms by a blacksmith.  Fast forward and they are a wealthy clan but they have turned evil; the son uses his iron arms to inflict pain on others.  In fact, in rapid succession we see them blind one poor salesman, turn a poor blacksmith deaf and dumb, cut off the legs of a third young man, and then cause severe brain injury to a fourth hero who seeks to avenge them (turning him into a fool).  Fortunately, they are taken in by a friendly master who spends three years training them to fight despite their disabilities (and with some iron legs to boot).  The second half of the film shows their efforts to take revenge on the evil master (which are ultimately successful – thanks to the iron legs!).  So, how does one evaluate this genre?  Relative to all films? Relative to other martial arts films?  Certainly, this is schlocky-good but as it progresses, the acrobatic abilities of the leads become ever more apparent – especially when their kung fu involves iron rings that they throw, catch, use as weapons, and dive through.  The choreography is simply astounding at times, involving close coordination of several actors at once (heroes and villains).  And that’s the real reason to watch these films – for the sheer exhilaration of seeing finely trained athletes showing off their skills (plus or minus a dramatic eye gouge or two and some fake blood spurting everywhere). 

Simple Men (1992)

☆ ☆ ☆

Simple Men (1992) – H. Hartley

I don’t think I saw too many of Hal Hartley’s films back in the day (Amateur, 1994, I think, and maybe Henry Fool, 1997) – but they definitely bring me back to that time and place when Indie American films were making their mark.  Whit Stillman is similar I think, in writing dialogue-heavy films that feel artificial in that scripted dramatic way that somehow works for this genre.  Here, Hartley gives us two brothers who are seeking their anarchist (and former all-star shortstop) father who has escaped from custody and is in hiding on Long Island.  One brother (Bill Sage) is a college student (studying philosophy) and the other is a criminal (Robert John Burke) who was recently involved in a heist where he was double-crossed by his girlfriend.  Along the way, they meet two intriguing women (Karen Sillas and Elina Löwensohn), intriguing enough that the brothers sort of stay put at their house/bungalow.  So, it’s lucky that they find their dad anyway.  I didn’t really catch the main themes while watching the film but I enjoyed the emphatic dialogue, the early 90s fashion, the soundtrack by Yo La Tengo (tracks from May I Sing With Me), and a great dance sequence to Sonic Youth’s Kool Thing that really changes the mood/plot direction of the film.  Later, I watched an interview with Hartley where he states that he was focused on men and their identities in this film and I guess I see it now, that the criminal is stuck in a misguided tough guy persona that he needs to shake off to have a real relationship, he needs to be vulnerable.  Of course, there’s an ironic ending but it works.

  

Suspiria (2018)

☆ ☆ ☆

Suspiria (2018) – L. Guadagnino

The best way to approach Luca Guadagnino’s “remake” of Dario Argento’s classic supernatural giallo horror is to treat it as a different film.  Sure, the characters and the setting are the same:  Suzy Bannion (Dakota Johnson) from the US travels to Europe to join an elite dance troupe led by Tilda Swinton where there may be a coven of witches who are responsible for some girls dying or disappearing.  But whereas Argento treats this situation in an imaginative stylized brightly coloured art-directed-to-hell manner (abounding with gruesome setpieces), Guadagnino attempts to build tension and mystery slowly and steadily.  In fact, he chooses to extend Argento’s tight 98 mintues to six acts and an epilogue equalling 152 minutes.  This has the effect of making everything in the early film feel more literal and concrete, rather than more impressionistic.  In addition, an extra plot thread to focus on the Red Army Faction, also known as the Baader–Meinhof Group, a West German far-left militant organization, and their current terrorist activities, as well as an older therapist who lost his wife in the concentration camps of WWII (played by who?) adds layers to the plot that might not be necessary. But in keeping with the horror focus, Guadagnino eventually goes all Grand Guignol on us in a pretty incredible set-piece that is as bizarre as Argento but perhaps too little too late for a film of this length.  Surrealistic dreams and violent dance sequences pepper the first few acts but aren’t enough to overcome the tedium that the bloated length produces.  Yet as a different film, not Suspiria, Guadagnino’s work may be weird enough to develop a cult following.