Nature, Mr. Allnut, Is What We Are Put Here To Rise Above: The African Queen (1951)

I has been roughly six full years since I have decided film to be my biggest passion in life and since then I have seen a variety of films and sought out both the masterworks of film, as well as obscurities and absurdities in between, always taking very seriously the earnest suggestions of individuals along the way.  During the first six months or so of my endeavors I was strongly encouraged to watch The African Queen by a person whose love for classic movies and John Wayne seemed to assure that I would enjoy this work very much.  At the time, however, The African Queen was very much out of print and quite hard to come by and it was something I had always hoped to visit but never remembered to go out of my way to obtain a copy for, which to view.  In the past year, however, copyrights appear to have changed and not only is this lovely film available in both DVD and Bluray formats, it is now also watch instantly on Netflix, making this long unavailable classic open to a whole new generation of burgeoning cinephiles, and this is a gift of a film, with value extending well beyond its more than a half-century of age.  At once a war, romance, travel and religious film, paired with problematic commentaries on gender and colonization, The African Queen is nothing short of cinematic perfection and the commitment to stellar acting on the part of both stars Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart quickly snatch viewers into the world of the film, never allowing their hold to loosen, even in some of the films most over-the-top and unbelievable moments.  I can now understand why the individual who recommended this movie was so adamant that I see it immediately, and while it only took me six years to get around to doing so I am completely grateful for the initial recommendation, it is quite obvious that films like The African Queen in all their earnestness and mass appeal only come along one in awhile its newest reemergence only speaks to its historical place and the necessity of it being revisited many times, both in regards to the growingly masterful of oeuvre of John Huston, whose films are always a pleasant surprise to me, as well as a fine piece of film regardless of time or place.

The African Queen primarily focuses on two characters, the first being Rose Sayer (Katherine Hepburn) a devout woman of the Methodist faith who, along with her brother Samuel (Robert Morley) have taken it upon themselves to bring the name of Jesus Christ to the native peoples of Africa, even going so far as to build a church in their village.  The second character is the carefree Charlie Allnut (Humphrey Bogart) who is willing to do anything to make money and assure the livelihood of himself and the functionality of his dear ship The African Queen.  Yet when the village is attacked by enraged Nazi's Samuel dies and the only persons left surviving, along with a few villagers who quickly flee are that of Rose and Charlie, who begrudgingly become companions in an attempt to escape the inevitable return of the German soldiers.  Using The African Queen as a means of navigation they travel down river, aimlessly until Rose suggest that they use the oxygen tanks on board, as well as other supplies to exact revenge upon the Nazi warship called the Louisa.  Charlie at first is dismissive because he associates his livelihood with the boat and sees Rose as a prudish simpleton, hoping only to escape their situation and unload her as quickly as possible, yet as many a story note, confined cohabitation can lead to forced intimacy, whether it be their need to get out of the rain or the necessary task of removing leeches off of a half-naked body, at some point animosity turns into admiration and eventually becomes adoration and Rose and Charlie eventually find themselves in the throws of passion, as best they could be shown circa 1951.  With a new drive and the companionship of one another the two take upon their journey to torpedo the Louisa, a task that proves a failure due to rain and unforeseen bouts of tumultuous water. They are at this point captured by Nazi sailors who have them set to hang, only to be saved at the very last moment by the sunken African Queen and its bunches of compressed air, which help to destroy the ship and afford Charlie and Rose an escape to safety.  They are shown swimming away in what can only be assumed to be a happy future together.

This film exudes sexuality, but that is not to to say that it is graphic or visually erotic, in fact, it exists entirely within the realm of metaphor and manages to use the sexualized image to a degree that would cause one to think of early surrealist work by Luis Buñuel.  Take for example the scene where Rose must clean herself in the river, it is not a scene of nudity, but certainly is a modest one by the standards of the era.  Viewers, however, share the same ability to see Rose as Charlie does, often only seeing her foot or hand peak above the boat or out of the side of the water.  It is a point of curiosity that has a certain degree of sexual curiosity about it, affirmed by Charlie looking way from Rose as she boards the boat, but as he does so his gaze become almost nearly direct with the viewer, allow those watching to see his eyebrows raise and eyes move about, clearly imagining what is occurring behind him, as do the viewers, because he blocks their line of sight.  Gaze is problematized because viewers are forced to ignore the next layer, while relating to the confrontation of Charlie's gaze which is reflecting the request for modesty on the part of Rose.  Nonetheless, the entire scene is frothing with sexual tension, only to be heightened by moments of removing leaches from Charlie's body, or the "release" of all the gin, which proves to be the upswing in regards to Charlie who takes a new liking to Rose despite being initially frustrated at her actions.  Other minor moments of Charlie repairing the boat, or Rose salting Charlie's leech bites have degrees of sexual tension, all leading up to the moment where they drown themselves in passion, working in unison to repair the boat motor, a choreographed moment of such intimacy that it is impossible to ignore, and should anyone be unsure about this, the monsoon scene that affords the two the final lift out of the river, undoubtedly, affirms their passion for one another, even if on an incredibly metaphorical level.  I mean, one could even see their swimming way from the exploded Louisa as a post-intercourse moment of ecstasy.  This of course is one reading, but a grounded one that I cannot help but support.

Key Scene:  The hanging scene is surprisingly jarring visually and reminded me of the very real crime that was going on during the particular period in which the film was set.

This well worth owning, but can easily be watched via Netflix.  For those who, like myself, will instantly fall in the movie, the bluray can be obtained for relatively cheap.

You Know What's Scarier, The Human Eye: Address Unknown (2001)

I am currently working on a project pertaining to conceptualizing feminist theory through the lens of New Korean Cinema, which means I will be consuming a larger than normal amount of Korean films as a preparation for the large amount of writing and critical theory involved, I will, hopefully, still incorporate other films within the upcoming month, but if it takes a noticeable shift towards South Korean films made in the past couple years, I apologize, although the film's I plan to chose will be somewhat diverse and probably good I could see it being a bit tiresome to a reader expecting a large amount of variety post by post.  With that being said, the initial film I will be mentioning is Address Unknown, a multifaceted period piece that considers the effects of the a westernized force on rural Korean identity during and after the controversial Korean war.  The director Kim Ki-duk has been mentioned before when I favorably reviewed 3-Iron, as well as The Isle , however, had I not done some research about the film I would never had made the attachment between the three films, because they are distinctly different visually and thematically.  If any connection can be made between the three films it certainly has to do with elements of memory, sexual power and intersectionality.  Address Unknown, leans in the favor f The Isle in some of its more violent scenes, yet possesses the poetic somberness of 3-Iron, suffice to say it currently resides as my new favorite film by the director, although as I now know he has directed a considerable amount of films and most of them have received considerable praise, while I know I am going to be considering quite a few works by Korean directors in the upcoming weeks, I would mention keeping an eye out for Kim Ki-duk, because I am intrigued to study him further as a filmmaker, both for the ways in which he creates filmic worlds, as well as the commentaries that occupy his films.

As mentioned, Address Unknown is a a period piece, although that statement is a bit misleading because the events are arguably transcendent of time, as some of the characters styles and commentaries  clearly exist within the contemporary, yet some of the political concerns and presence of the Army suggest a period of at least two decades earlier.  Yet a narrative is created quite clearly one that centers directly on a handful of characters such as Eunok (Min-Jung Ban) a young woman who has been blinded by an accident during playing with her brother years earlier, who seeks an escape from the rural lifestyle, an opportunity that arises when she is approached by a drug taking anger possessing American soldier.  Similarly there is Chang-Guk (Dong-kun Yang) a young man of Korean and African-American descent who takes his outrage at his otherness out on his mother, who is problematically known as a Western Princess.  Finally there is the unusual Dog Eyes (Jae-hyeon Jo) a slightly of young man who has taken up purchasing dogs from local sellers only to turn around and kill them and sell the meat to a community that is, and has been, living off government rations.  The characters have a certain degree of connectedness, particularly Dog Eyes and Chang-Guk who work together in the dog killing business, or Eunok who befriends a shy neighborhood boy he is constantly being defended by Chang-Guk when he is the victim of bullying.  The characters all possess specific desires many tied to escapism, in some cases literally and in other metaphorically yet, ultimately, they all meet somewhat tragic results.  Dog Eyes dies, Eunok is left with a drug-ridden Army man and Chang-Guk has a mother whose past is so defeat and misguided that he acts violently as a means to separate her maternal connections.  It is a movie with grim outcomes, but a pretty honest depiction of post-war Korea, especially its violent connection to Western ideals.

Address Unknown is a film expressly concerned with critiquing colonial oppression, all be it not in the traditional sense.  In the DVD I own Ki-duk provides a brief introduction in which he emphasizes that American soldiers were, and continue to be, stationed in Korea a theme that will be quite central to his film.  One could hope with a sense of idealism that the depictions would be quite kind, yet in the case of Address Unknown little is left to the imagination and much blame is placed on the American occupation, particularly how it relates to notions of femininity, masculine validity and and capitalist endeavors.  Whether it be problematic sexual relationships with dogs or a latent desire to hurt them, this film ties all of its bizarre behaviors to the equally unjustified presence of hot-tempered and condescending English speaking soldiers.  English even becomes a point of oppression and ungrounded pride as is certainly the case with Chang-Guk's mother, as well as the two town bullies that  believe their ability to speak the Westernized tongue affords them undeserved levels of respect and power.  Finally the film also considers the role gaze plays into this colonization and oppression, dealing with it quite literally in the way a neighborhood boy spies on Eunok or in some of the language involving eyes within the film.  Of course, even Eunok's blindness plays into this notion of gaze, although an argument could certainly be made as to her obtaining of vision as being more problematic than productive.  Ultimately, every character within the film is both involved with and blinded by the gaze of the narrative, something inextricably tied to notions of colonial oppression and a a clear pint of contention for Ki-duk.

Key Scene: When Eunok obtains full vision Ki-duk treats the moment with a great point of care.

This is a fantastic bit of work and one of the few Korean films of notoriety that cannot be watched instantly on Netflix, as such renting will certainly suffice.

I'll Be Your Sheep And Follow You Where Ever You Go: Lonesome (1928)

I have had the very great fortune of being able to begin volunteering at the Moving Images Research Center at the University of South Carolina.  While it is still only basic work I am doing, I have instantly come to realize how necessary preservation is to assuring the place in films lasting for generations to come, furthermore, I understand the true benefit of restoration.  While the items housed at this archive are mainly news reels, many have considerable historical value and have been saved from destruction.  Archives like the MIRC are saving cinematic treasures, as well as rediscovering works long forgotten.  Recently, Criterion released a relatively unknown silent/talkie hybrid called Lonesome and proved just how great archives can prove in the restoration and returning of classics to public access.  Lonesome, a largely experimental work, is a magnificent combination of soundtrack work, colorization and surprisingly well-tuned acting all resulting in an endearing little romance film that clocks in just over an hour.  While it does not fit into the definition of timeless, Lonesome is clearly a film that transcends its era and reaches out to touch even contemporary audiences as myself and my girlfriend can attest.  We both thoroughly enjoyed the film, for its cinematic expression and earnest simplicity.  The narrative is broken up occasionally by moments of sound dialogue, but given the build before each scene the moments seem like almost oneiric treats that pass through almost poetically through the work.  In a very brief amount of time Pal Fejos manages to undermine everything thought traditional about silent era filmmaking and his success is unprecedented.

Lonesome, follows a day of experiences for one lonesome guy named Jim (Glenn Tryon) and a lonesome girl named Mary (Barbara Kent) who live in the bustling city of New York and seem lost and hopeless of ever finding a partner to grow old with.  The two by pure chance end up going to Coney Island for a daycation (as my girlfriend aptly calls them), only to run into each other.  Jim, in one of the most swag monologues in film history, compares himself to a sheep who is adored with Mary and would follow her anywhere to be with her and he seems to succeed at doing so, up until they are separated after entering changing stations.  Fortunately, the two reconnect at a carnival later that night, in which they share in a variety of fun and games that range from spinning rooms, to photo booth opportunities, and even throwing balls at mechanical cats, to win Mary a doll.  Things between the sweet couple are going stellar and they both admit to their working class identities, only to love each other more for it, and we can assume all will be perfect for the duo.  Tragically, during a roller coaster ride the couple is split up and due to a fire scare Mary faints and Jim is attained by police while attempting to come to her aid.  Jim is able to get released after explaining his situation to an understanding lieutenant, only to return to the carnival a bit too late and get caught in a storm that continually severs the two.  Jim returns home distraught and puts a record on of a song that the two danced to while at the fair.  We are then shown Mary returning home to hear the record playing in the background.  It is at this moment that we realize Jim and Mary are actually neighbors, as do they, the two are united once again in a loving embrace, prepared to live in a joyous future together.

I will sound a bit pretentious when I say this, considering I was not alive then, but they simply do not make romance films like this anymore.  Placed aside Jean Vigo's L'Atalante, this is a classic love story, shot unconventionally and with many twists, yet incredibly accessible.  Yet where Vigo creates a need to form love, Fejos suggests a bit of magic to falling in love, particularly with the dreamlike and seemingly otherworldy nature of cinematic effects and the addition of talking scenes.  I could not help but recall La Jatee, particularly when the movie briefly cuts to a scene of moving imagery, in between still frames.  The talking scenes function as a means to make fate, chance and perseverance combine together to a moment of sheer perfection.  It is perhaps this moment of inexplainable success at attaining a desire moment that makes this film so good.  Jim and Mary clearly want to be together, but the exacting of fate upon them makes the two engage in a variety of obstacles to prove their desire.  It is an earnest love film because it is not at any point taken for granted and as viewers one finds themselves rooting for their success, even if the storyline is a bit predictable, I would imagine in 1928 it was a bit of a revelation.

Key Scene: Pretty much anything that happens at the carnival is brilliant.

Lonesome is one of those films that came out of nowhere and that I knew nothing about before purchasing.  With that being said it is easily one of my new favorite silent films and well worth getting for your personal collection.  The CC bluray is stunning and includes Fejos other films to boot!

Dream Is A Shadow...Of Something Real: The Last Wave (1977)

Peter Weir is an interesting director his subject matter and overall cinematic oeuvre are quite spectacular, yet each films is inherently different and the most keen of cinephiles find themselves forgetting that he directed certain films because of their uniqueness.  For a rather in-depth analysis of the director I cannot recommend enough the blog Frederik on Film, which intensely analyzes the auteur, picking out key shots to match each film thematically across Weir's ever expanding career.  I myself intend to do a similar analysis of Danny Boyle in the future, but for the time being, I will simply focus on The Last Wave as a stand alone film, one that is rather early in the directors career.  A dark film, The Last Wave, is a psychological thriller of sorts that is more in line with Ken Russel's Altered States, than something like Nicolas Roeg's Walkabout, to which it is often compared.  It is a classic commentary on the abrasive effects of colonization, yet in Weir's crafty hands it also becomes a study of an aging marriage, a focus on the troubles of antiquated methods of law and most importantly the problem of projecting one's ideologies about life onto an individual despite their methods of living being completely foreign.  Weir's approach never seems to preachy and manages to stick quite nicely to its genre, yet at no time throughout the intensely filmed piece of cinema do viewers question what is being said, in fact, one will find themselves constantly amazed by the layering of ideals portrayed within the movie.

The Last Wave opens rather simply with a group of children playing during recess, only to have their games interrupted by an intense storm that produces a deluge of water and enormous pieces of hail.  After this rather inconsequential event, we are shown Sydney at night, while an unnamed Aborigine flees fellow Aboriginals.  Just at the moment when he thinks he has escape, an elder Aborigine sticks a wand out of a car, stopping the young man in his tracks and killing him in the process.  This inexplicable death, later determined to be a heart attack results in skepticism on the part of local law enforcement and as a result they hire a well-known corporate tax lawyer named David Burton (Richard Chamberlain), who agrees to the task partly out of pity, but also because of eerie dreams he has been having involving visions of an aboriginal boy.  Initially it appears as though Burton will fail to get through to the young men do mostly to language barriers, but the emergence of a well spoken Aborigine named Chris (David Gulipilil) who explains that it is impossible to describe the mans death, because it involves actions from the "dreamtime," which is a shadow of the reality in which he and David live.  This bizarre revelation is only greatened by Chris introducing David to his friend, and elder Charlie (Nandjiwarra Amagula) another individual who has occupied David's dreams.  In the process of defending the group of aborigines, David becomes obsessed with the notions of "dreamtime," so much so that he becomes distanced from his family and even begins attempts to obtain relics and tools from the Aborigine ceremonies.  As David becomes obsessed with what he believes to be an impending apocalypse, he finally confronts the elder shaman in an underground lair, who is none other than Charlie.  It is during this confrontation that he discovers a subterranean labyrinth of tribal wonders, items he attempts to take with him, particularly a stone mask that appears to resemble David.  In a fit of panic he drops the mask and escapes with intentions of warning about the last wave of destruction that will destroy Sydney, however, he fails to make it in time and falls to the ground to visions of the wave hitting the city.

As noted in the introduction, the film is incredibly concerned with colonization and its affects on urban Australia.  David is clearly the outsider to urban life, living in a nice home on the countryside, preoccupied with tennis and his well to do children.  Furthermore, he is a corporate tax lawyer and defends individuals who are clearly fine off as it is and have no need for more benefits.  It is not until the outsiders preoccupy his mind that he must acknowledge their presence, because he is literally unable to function without doing so, and it is only made clearer by the fact that his friends and wife dismiss his concerns as frivolous.  Only David is concerned with the struggles of these individuals because only he deals with it on a mental and visceral level.  Yet with all his concern for the Aboriginal peoples, he is not only incapable of grasping their ideals, but his inevitable exoticization of their culture leads him to a position of greed and lust that results in his downfall.  For David, it becomes a desire not to prove that the men are innocent, but instead to show that he has come to understand the inner working of an exclusive group...this is clearly not the case.  The wave that is to cleanse Sydney then becomes more relevant as it likely represents a removal of notions of class, race and perhaps gender from societal dominance.  Ironically, David cannot blame the native peoples for the apocalyptic results, because as he realizes upon finding his visage in a mask in the films closing scenes, it is wholly his fault from a position of power for not helping to end such destruction.  He and the world he comes from clearly ignored the destruction of those below and his slighted attempts at redemption were simply too little, too late. 

Key Scene: The opening sequence with the storm is rather intense and grabs viewers into what will be a crazy film.

The Last Wave is one of the lesser acknowledge films within The Criterion Collection, but as avid followers of the company know that usually means that it is one of the best gems in the entire catalog.  Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy, before it suffers the tragedy of inevitably going out of print.