I Put My Whole Self Into Everything I Do: A Face In The Crowd (1957)

The work of Elia Kazan will forever be clouded by his unfortunate relationship with the naming of names what marred American entertainment and politics during and after Joseph McCarthy.  As such, when Kazan received an lifetime achievement award from The Academy, it was met with a degree of hostility and certainly seen as a betrayal to the idea of liberty and freedom.  In doing so, one is led to question what it means to separate an artist from their work, or in turn, attach their name to any action. Indeed, it is not quite as troubling as what occurs regarding the virulent political attacks that Lee has become known for in the past few years and is certainly a far cry from the troubling attachments to the work of Polanski or Allen.  I could never hope to speak to the layer of ethical issues at play in such divisions, but what I can assert is that distancing or rejection should be related to the degree of problematic action.  For Kazan his betrayal of other entertainers was troubling in so much as it was tied to fears of blacklisting and political threats, to act in accordance with these was deemed a moment of backstabbing, but frankly it is situational and while few did take a stand the anxieties of communist invasions were so manifest that any disavowing was met with animosity.  In contrast an issue of direct violation of another human beings liberty is far more troubling and worthy of chastizing, again a discussion for another location and certainly not the intent of this blog at large.  I do provide this bit of a diatribe, because I find the continual exclusion of Kazan from the obtuse cannon for these political reasons f somewhat frustrating as in comparison to say D.W. Griffith and his rather blatant offenses, particularly since Kazan, I would argue is his film making equal.  Having already seen and adored On The Waterfront and begrudgingly accepted A Streetcar Named Desire as a masterpiece, I understand the controversial director's ability to capture the common man and place him in a space of cinematic distress rivaled only by Italian Neorealism to be exceptional.  What makes A Face in the Crowd all the more brilliant is that it takes this initial depiction of the man who is down and out on his luck and pushes it to the impossible by making the tale one of political aspiration, social expectation and cultural madness that is somehow deeply satirical, but also subtly disparaging.  It is in a work like A Face in the Crowd that one can see flickers of inspiration for Altman, while also finding a heavy does of Shakespearian hubris at play.  It is a film with a direct and realized intention and succeeds in its execution magnificently.

A Face in the Crowd begins rather inconspicuously in a jail cell where Marcia Jeffries (Patricia Neal) a journalist and entertainer has taken her show A Face in the Crowd into said jail to find one of the many voices of America.  While the persons present in the space of the jail are mostly dismissive, the warden promises one of the men in the space a chance at an early freedom if he provides Marcia with a song.  The man in question Larry Rhodes (Andy Griffith) agrees, albeit begrudgingly, and proceeds to belt out a fiery tune about what he believes to be an ill-fated promise on the art of the warden.  After doing so, Marcia immediately realizes his potential, dubbing him Lonesome Rhodes and allowing him to speak more about his opinions, ones that immediately call attention to acts of oppression.  Lonesome's particular swagger and sense of justice take off like wildfire and before he has even spent moments out of jail, he is offered a show on the local radio station, wherein he takes to task politicians and important figures alike, always and at once making advances towards Marcia, while also sleeping with women as he sees fit.  When even this surge of success proves small, Lonesome is offered a show in Memphis complete with sponsorships and while he is initially flippant about the methods of television, the rough and tumble singer takes to the airwaves with equal fervor and every man ideologues. Through sheer magnitude and occasional drunkenness, Lonesome is able to exploit the act of television advertising by not playing the game per se, but by calling attention to its fabrication, specifically the selling of useless goods.  Indeed, it is Lonesome's selling of a placebo pill called Vitajex that gets him the most acclaim, despite being fully aware that it is nothing more than sugar and caffeine coated in yellow coloring.  With this act, Lonesome is capable of swaying opinion in a grand way or advancing a cause that is flailing, all the while ignoring his relationship with Marcia in favor of younger women and drink.  This prideful approach to life pushes Lonesome to the heights of Madison Avenue, yet when one drunken, on air diatribe is unknowingly captured the bottom falls out for the provocateur and before losing out to his deals completely he attempts to envision his own future presidency, if only created as a result of the very entertainment-based fabrication that made his career in the first place.

The person on spectacle is frankly one of the major themes of my blog nowadays, I am fascinated by how the body is offered up cinematically and the way in which a particular performer can add or detract from the success of said spectacle.  I know it was discussed for its celebratory manner in the previous post on John Woo's Once A Thief, but here it is almost knowingly ironic.  Kazan, no stranger, to the way in which the male body can be constantly powerful in the cinematic presence, manages to still subvert the layers of desire, much as he does with the slightly feminized Brando in both Streetcar and Waterfront.  Frankly, there is nothing feminine about Lonesome and Andy Griffith provides no moment where such an interpretation could be gleaned.  Griffith pulls from a fire somewhere deep in his belly and bellows through his lines, even the ones of despair and angst.  To place a version of masculinity such as this on display required both Kazan and Griffith to understand that it is not only fake, but in a constantly expanding form of performance.  When one initially encounters the film, one might wonder how Griffith could ever hope to top that initial song of freedom as it is hardly contained within the confines of the jail, and by extension the frame of the shot.  As Lonesome's popularity expands so do his opportunities to perform, either by using radio waves to call attention to the absurdity of domestic unpaid labor, while also enjoying the products of said labor, or to allow a space for working class kids to play at the expense of a wealthy radio tycoon, it is constantly growing and always threatening to explode.  Take for example either Lonesome's initial television encounter or the absolutely thrilling Vitajex commercial, both have to move to multiple spaces to capture the exuberance of Lonesome, though multiple screens both diegetic and non to push his message, whereas the Vitajex commercial exists in a temporal and spatial impossibility that is matched only in the decadence of Busby Berkeley show numbers.  Griffith's performance pushes the limits of filmic representation and Kazan constantly opens new doors for the growth to swelter, making the call to attention at the end all the more noted, as it relies on fabrication to succeed in the illusion, or rather disillusion.  So what starts as a loving and endearing depiction of the down and out person growing to stardom shows that even this is met with pride-ridden downfall.  To be allowed a voice in the space of entertainment is notedly powerful, but it is also one that must be always aware of its performance elements, even at its most ironic.

Key Scene:  The Vitajex sequence really is quite amazing, I am quite earnest when I compare it to 30's era Busby Berkeley work.

A Face in the Crowd is one of the many gems that is laying in wait at the expansive Warner collection that is in a DVD-Bluray limbo.  I cannot express enough how necessary it is to view this film.  While, On The Waterfront will likely always be Kazan's most well-regarded work, A Face in the Crowd is quite possibly his true masterpiece.

It Won't Stop Bleeding!: I Spit On Your Grave (1978)

Considering that it is Women's History month here in the beloved United States I have taken it upon myself to dedicate the blogposts this month to all things related to women in film.  I, of course, realize that this task will shape up much differently than the manner in which my horror film fest did, since the topic is far more obtuse and certainly more problematic.  I will use this time to explain what I mean by women in film, in the cases of some of the films I plan to view, they will be considered for their place in cinema history as "women's films," while others will specifically focus on films directed by women or involving pivotal moments in the history of women in films.  In many other instances I will look at a film for its positive portrayal of women as cinematic subject, and as will be the case with the first film I review, I Spit On Your Grave, I will also consider the problematic moments in the realm of women in film, specifically the rape-revenge film, a genre that lasted far too long in the late seventies and all too unfortunately appears to be making a come back in the past few years.  This is not to say that rape is always problematic in film, considering that it is often used as a political statement, or as a reflection of historical realities, so much so that it is necessary for viewers to be made viscerally aware of its existence.  I picked out I Spit On Your Grave specifically, because it has proven to be a decidedly divisive film within film theory circles, some stating that it is an absolute story of radical feminism destroying the patriarchy, while others are certain that it only exploits female sexuality at the expense of real rape victims, in so much so that the main character is naked for most of the film and seems driven by sexual desire to engage in the violent acts.  I would argue that, while the film is certainly not void of problems, it also manages to tap into a few moments of truly revolutionary cinema intended to vilify, and deservedly so, the act of rape and make clear its context as a means of power politics and not sex.  The X rating slapped on this film is both unfortunate and understandable considering that its graphic nature is absolutely necessary for the subject matter and were it not for the existence of Cannibal Holocaust I would say this is one of the most captivatingly grotesque films ever realized.

I Spit On Your Grave centers on Jennifer Hills (Camille Keaton) an aspiring writer from New York who finds herself a cottage in a reclusive small town with the hopes of churning out her first novel.  However, her arrival as a single and considerably attractive young female sparks the interest of a handful of young men, particularly the mentally troubled, Matthew (Richard Pace) who becomes obsessed with the sexual openness of Jennifer.  Matthews three friends begin to mock him for his clear infatuation with the girl from New York insinuating that he only likes her because she flashed her breasts at him.  Regardless, the group sees this as an opportunity to help the troubled young man get laid and use their motorboat to trap Jennifer while she is canoeing.  What follows is a series of degrading rapes in which the individuals take their turns with Jennifer, allowing her moments to escape only to trap her again and have their way with her, even Matthew partakes in the activities, although he becomes embarrassed by the presence of his friends and becomes impotent in the process.  After the guys lose interest they send Matthew to attempt to kill Jennifer, but, yet again, he fails to do so leaving Jennifer to survive.  At first it appears as though Jennifer will just deal with her drama by internalizing it and putting it into her writing, yet something changes when she discovers a gun, leading her to exact her revenge out upon the various men, beginning with the hanging of Matthew, followed by an intense castration of another in the group and eventually ending by running one of the men over with the motor of the boat.  Jennifer is then shown using the motorboat to ride away from the entire event, likely as a means to escape, but also a means to move beyond and transcend her terrible past.

The statement of this film is considerably hard to navigate, because it is very much about destroying the act of rape by making the individuals engaging in such acts disappear, but as any humanist would argue the answer to acts of violence is not another act of violence, which clearly seems to be the suggestion within I Spit On Your Grave, hell, a solid hour of the film is committed to these violent moments.  Yet, the film also draws attention to the lack of fulfillment Jennifer receives from simply pouring her pain into writing, especially when she is aware that the men, for all intents and purposes, are walking the streets capable of doing the same acts.  It is at this point that one must carefully make a statement about what the metaphor of the film evokes, it is possible that the murders are to reflect a activist stance, in that action is always more viable than words, however, the larger reaching effects of Jennifer's actions are called into question, when one man's wife and children dismiss him, completely unaware of his being castrated only scenes earlier, perhaps it would have been better for Jennifer to simply make his wife aware of his terrible behavior, at the very least, the film offers that venue as a viable alternative.  I am not completely prepared to give this film a pass, because it does have a heavy degree of exploitation within its narrative, the amount of time Jennifer is naked is somewhat unnecessary and aside from a few moments of brilliant cinematography it is uncomfortable, the film fails to provide an equal amount of male nudity as a means to disavow the exploitative element.  Where I do want to focus praise is in the films very real acknowledgement that rape is classless, in so much, that Jennifer is a considerably well-to-do individual and even her class safety does not afford her sexual protection and the domineering, working class men, will use their masculine, phallic privilege as a means to contest her empowerment.  It is one of the few blatantly well-done moments in the film and at the very least deserves mentioning.

Key Scene:  The cleansing scene about midway through the film is both disturbing and masterfully shot and causes a dismissive viewer to pause in their refusal to embrace the controversial narrative.

I Spit On Your Grave is a Netflix watch instantly film and is probably the best means with which to view this film, although be warned, the volume is awful.  Also, I promise some of the future installments for the month will be more in the positive.

I Am Beginning To Realize I Don't Realize What I Am Saying: Simon Of The Desert (1965)

There is seriously something about Bunuel's more heavily religious films that makes me think I am really overlooking elements of Christianity that can be both deeply philosophical and contentious.  If Simon of the Desert, one of Bunuel's black and white work from the sixties is not a dark horse for his most surreal film, it is certainly the winner for his most semantic.  Sure he made The Milky Way which uses words from the bible, catechism and theological debates to frame nearly all of its narrative, but something about a guy justifying his standing on a pillar in the desert for no apparent reason other than to suffer, makes for some great dialogue, especially when he finds opposition from not only a feminine devil, but from fellow clergymen as well.  I can imagine that this is one of the main films Bunuel received criticism for and a reflection of the reason he was, for quite sometime, banned from Spain.  An ignorant and intentionally repressed reading of this film would lead an viewer to think that Bunuel was outright mocking all forms of penance and fasting, however, that is simply not the case.  Instead, a film like Simon of the Desert exists to consider the purpose and validity of sacrifice, especially when it is raised upon a literal pedestal and appears to have no value beyond personifying piety.  In the matter of forty or so minutes, Bunuel deconstructs an entire characters existence, suggesting that even though he resides upon a religious throne, he is prone to the same failings as a lesser being, or in the rhetoric of this film a sinner.  It would also appears, in the opening scenes that one could only creatively shoot around a large pillar so many ways before repeating, yet Bunuel, along with Gabriel Figueroa make the stone object serve as a variety of metaphors and memories throughout the brief satire, and knowing that the two worked on The Exterminating Angel only years earlier helps to ground its explosive surrealist tendencies, yet like the namesake of the film, notions of elevation and groundedness constantly battle narratively and visually throughout the film.

Simon of the Desert centers on a fictional rethinking of a real life saint named Simeon Stylites who spent 39 years of his life sitting on a pillar as an act of devotion to God.  His particular form of penance known as asceticism, in which one engages in severe self-sacrifice as a devotion to God.  In the film, Simeon (Claudio Brook) is only engaging in the act for six years, six months and six days, a not so sly stab on the part of Bunuel.  His act has led him to become a point of prayer for locals who see him as a miracle worker, at one point literally healing the missing hands of a farmer.  However, his recent rewarding of a higher pillar by a gracious town elite, leads to his flailing and doubting about his own relationship with God.  Furthermore, the accidental gazing upon a woman by a praying monk leads to Simeon's own temptations with the flesh, longings that manifest themselves in a wish to return to the care of his mother, as well as consume lavish and non-sustaining foods.  Along with his own personal struggles emerges The Devil (Silvia Pinal) who tempts Simeon with actions of the flesh, dressing in fetishized outfits and even offering its nude body to the stalwart Simeon.  Unfortunately, no amount of dedication or penance can seem to get Simeon to retain his original focus.  Even after trying to stand on one leg, Simeon begins to lose his credibility.  His followers mock his statements as they become more and more illogical and his own visions begin to fail miserably, he starts seeing images of The Devil in the nude and it is upon her eventual arrival in a casket that Simeon falls apart.  He sees the arrival of an airplane which whisks the two of them into modernity as they sit in a hip psychedelic club watching young people dance to a song aptly titled "Radioactive Flesh."  Simeon has failed to maintain his piety and now resides in a moment of frenzy and physicality that will only lead to his impending unhappiness.  In brilliant Bunuel fashion, this absurd closing bookends the film with no explanation and no logic, in what his friends of youth would have called and "ultimate surrealist act."

While the explanation is certainly up for analysis and a point of ambiguity within the film, it is much more important to consider the meaning of the pillar, after all I realized it to be the most important aspect of the film.  The obvious go to for the surrealist element is the phallic nature of the film, after all it begins with Simeon being provided a larger pole to stand on, clearly a means of sexual identity.  Yet, it is the notion that the ascetic becomes attached to desires of the flesh that affirm this possible reading.  He cannot engage in sexual conquest do to oath, as such the large pillar represents his affirmation of power, in a metaphorical sense.  I will note that I have had some loving criticism as to my constant reference to psychoanalysis here on the blog, so I will offer other interpretations as well.  Another possibility comes when discussing tradition.  Bunuel clearly considers what role such a form of penance has in 1965 when luxury and visibility are much easier obtained than in the 4th century.  The pillar a clear hearkening back to ancient times serves as Simeon's attachment to the past, one that would reward his seemingly illogical act, yet he cannot escape the frenetic and non-stoic nature of modernity, as the films closing could suggest.  The third possibility is that the pillar is a performance piece, in which a man of rather lacking faith uses an object to literally heighten his importance.  Aside from curing the sick, an act that is never fully of his doing, Simeon does little to aid people directly, instead he relishes in his superiority and falsely earned admiration.  He places himself in an elevated stature to avoid actually helping those on the ground, yet his own foolishness leads him back to the bottom as the film ultimately depicts.

Key Scene:  There is a moment when Simeon is laying in his mothers lap while the back ground depicts a shot of Simeon simultaneously standing on the pillar, it is surrealism 101, yet in the hands of Bunuel it is magic.

This is a great film one of Bunuel's lesser known works that is available both on Huluplus and in DVD from Criterion.  Pick either and here is to you enjoying it as much as I did.

I Haven't Lived. I've Died A Few Times: Harold and Maude (1971)

Harold and Maude has been one of the many films I was ashamed to admit to having not seen,  I intended to watch it some time ago, but then Criterion eventually announced that they would be releasing the film which caused me to wait even longer to view the work, not to mention actually purchasing the bluray which meant even longer of a wait.  Thankfully, and much to my elation, I have finally viewed what is perhaps the greatest dark comedy ever realized.  Harold and Maude is a harbinger of everything we as collective viewers have come to love about indie romantic comedies.  The influence on directors like Wes Anderson and The Duplass Brothers is not just likely, it is pretty damn obvious.  Within the narrative world of Harold and Maude we have two characters who simply cannot exist in a normal society for their actions and ideals are far to absurd and in some cases to dysfunctional to prove malleable with a strictly conservative social outlook, one that is brilliantly referenced throughout the film with various images of Nixon, Nathan Hale and a variety of pious religious figures.  Fortunately, for the films main characters, nobody else existing in Hal Ashby's world seems particularly normal either, even those who claim to the the torchbearers for respectable values.  Quirky is not the right word to describe this film, nor is off-beat quite right either, for the film is realized and is certainly aware of its rhythm and nature, all be it one that is not particularly traditional, however, I would argue that to be more of its historical place in American cinema than anything else.  Perhaps the Criterion put it best in the movie description by calling the film idiosyncratic, because it is essentially about two definitively idiosyncratic individuals coming together and learning not only to deal with their competing idiosyncrasies, but inherently different world philosophies, as well.  All heightened by some exceptional cinematography and a great, then Cat Stevens, soundtrack, Harold and Maude is a film that transcends its movie space into a greater vision.

Harold and Maude begins with title character Harold (Bud Cort), aimlessly wandering about his house, only to engage in what appears to be a hanging, an act that receives very little acknowledgement from his mother Mrs. Chasen (Vivian Pickles).  It is revealed that this is by no means Harold's first faux-suicide and much to the dismay of his psychiatrist and uncle the young man is quite obsessed death, going so far as to attend funerals in his free time and spending his inheritance money on what is perhaps the hippest hearst every filmed.  Realizing that her son is a social outcast, Mrs. Chasen attempts to set her son up with various blind dates, all of which fail miserably when Harold engages in various fake suicides while in their presence.  Finding no other alternative then to send Harold into the Army.  Along the way Harold meets a woman who also seems to have a penchant for crashing funerals, one who continually approaches him while at the various services.  The older woman, Harold comes to learn is an eccentric woman named Maude (Ruth Gordon).  Maude's carefree attitude and love for life instantly rubs off on Harold, who takes more than a liking to the old bohemian and begins spending a considerable amount of time with her, engaging in everything from the stealing of plants and cars to having picnics at wreckage sites.  As Harold begins to fall for Maude harder, he informs his mother of his feelings, leading her to completely reprimand Harold for his desires, sending him to various male figureheads to receive chastising remarks, the most unusual ones coming from a priest.  Fortunately, the two are able to spend a considerable amount of time together and on Maude's eightieth birthday, Harold throws a big celebration and opens up about the intensity of his feelings towards Maude, who informs Harold that she has taken poison and never intended to live past eighty.  Frantically, Harold attempts to save Maude by taking her to the hospital, only to get bogged down in paperwork.  Eventually, Maude dies and Harold is distraught.  The film juxtaposes him driving his hearst towards a cliff, only to exit right before the car flies over the edge.  Harold then plays a banjo he received from Maude as he walks back towards the road dancing.

The conservative oppressive commentaries are all to clear within Harold and Maude.  As noted the ever present images of Richard Nixon, Pope John Paul the Second and various other historically conservative figures inundate the mis-en-scene, often reflecting the issues facing Harold throughout the film, we see this quite uproariously in his initial conversation with his uncle about joining the armed forces.  It causes clear identity issues within the young man, particularly considering that he has some sort of detachment from his father, who we as viewers are to assume passed away prior to the point in which we are introduced to Harold.  However, another larger issue of maternal longing problematizes the narrative, something that is reinforced by a picture of Freud present in his psychiatrists office, as well as a unusual scene involving a wooden sculpture in Maude's train car residence.  Not only does Harold lack a father figure, his connection with his mother is so fractured, as well that he find himself constantly reflecting on death as a means to be buried and arguably return to the womb.  However, this is not to suggest that his relationship with Maude is a mother son one, because it does have a very sexual component to it that would make their relationship incestual and far less romantic.  It is by no means such a thing, if anything Harold is very much asexual and void of desires, the encounter between himself and Maude was a means of loving intimacy arguably transcendent of the act of sex.  Harold, and the same argument could be made for Maude, are seeking some sort answer to the longing in their lives, for Harold it is accepting life, while for Maude, despite seeing death while in the Holocaust, nonetheless, must accept that she cannot escape its inevitability.

Key Scene:  The moment where Harold and Maude share in a song at the piano might be one of the best filmed occurrences of two people falling in love ever .

Buy the bluray to this masterpiece, it is one of the best releases by Criterion in quite awhile and well worth owning to watch and revisit multiple times.