Mon Amour. Je Tai'me, Je Tai'me: The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964)

I ramble quite often about certain films existing on my shame list for a far lengthier period of time than I want to admit.  Indeed, in this case it is often a definitive classic of cinema, usually one from New Hollywood or likewise, ones that make it well into the top hundred lists of IMDB or AFI.  These films often live up to their established reputations, only occasionally proving a disappointment.  In other instances they are simply films that people of various walks of life and cinematic tastes seem to happily coalesce around.  One example of this comes in the way of Jacque Tati's Playtime.  Indeed, between its zaniness, grand vision and genuinely engaging cinematic quality it proves to be adored by all who encounter it, but has recently fallen to the wayside due to copyright issues and has since gone out of print.  In contrast to this is something like The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, which I had heard countless mentions of between dear friends and within various blogs.  To encounter this film has long been a goal of mine and while the means with which I did so were less than ideal, it was more than a long time coming, and falls in the likes of Playtime or Night of the Hunter in the immediate and undefined perfection that all can find relatable.  The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is perhaps the most musical of all musicals in that all but one of the lines of dialogue are delivered through singing and, nonetheless, manages to flow with all the sentimentality and swelling emotion of the best melodrama.  Indeed, Jacques Demy's work possesses what may well be the most refined and focused of color palettes ever committed to film, clearly proving a point of inspiration for the likes of Pedro Almodovar and Jean-Pierre Jeunet.  The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is cinema at a level of artistic expression rarely achieved, wherein each frame of the film, where it to be frozen could double as a singular work of art, a feat I have only seen one other time in Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line.  Here though, one can clearly see the benefit of Agnes Varda on Demy's work and the art historical infusion such a relationship can inspire, never mind the wonderful and always ethereal performance of Catherine Deneuve, which is balanced perfectly with the remaining members of the all-singing cast.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg might be visually expansive and grand in proportions, but the heart of the narrative is about as traditionally melodramatic as they come.  The narrative focuses initially on Guy Foucher (Nino Castelnuovo) a mechanic in Cherbourg who happens to take a particular liking to a local umbrella sales girl named Genevieve Emery (Catherine Deneuve) and she indeed shares his affections.  Although the two are seemingly inseparable, even planning a life with a child, when Guy is called off to serve in the French Army things change drastically, particularly since Guy's service is extended for a rather lengthy amount of time.  Knowing the social shame that is associated with single motherhood, Genevieve's mother and employer Madame Emery (Anne Vernon) insists that she find a suitor and trick him into believing him to be the father immediately, finding such a person in Roland Cassard (Marc Michel).  Things begin quite rocky with the newly formed couple, particularly considering Genevieve's unwillingness paired with her continuing communique with Guy.  However, it comes to a point when she can no longer hide her pregnancy resulting in a confrontation wherein Roland asserts that he will raise the child as his own out of his admiration for Genevieve, leading to the two becoming married days later.  Eventually, a few years later, Guy does return, not only to find that the umbrella shop has been closed and replaced with an appliance store, but that Genevieve has moved away as well.  Confused, Guy is told by his mother and her nurse Madeleine (Ellen Farner) that she has married and is with child.  Initially distraught and seeking comfort through call girls after losing his job, Guy is afforded a huge amount of inheritance from his late mother, wherein he proceeds to marry Madeleine and have a child with her.  The two now happy, open up a gas station of their own and on Christmas Eve night, the two plan to spend the evening together, Guy saying goodbye to his son Francois and Madeline.  Only moments later, Genevieve with her daughter Francoise arrives to get gas.  After a cold exchange, doubled by the weather outside, Guy returns to his family, while Genevieve drives off into the night.

The saccharine and synthetic look of this film draw another filmic comparison immediately within my mind to Agnes Varda's delightfully scathing critique of modern marriage through impressionism that is La Bonheur.  Much like her film, and the earlier mentioned Playtime, the visually stunning palettes of the various films layers on a degree of pitch perfect irony about the terrible events occurring on screen.  Here the depression and sadness emerge from the inability to assure and enact upon a love as a result of social expectations and governmental demands.  The manner with which the street is lit within this film is both inconceivable but absolutely perfect, again a sign of an art historical element that is undoubtedly due credit to Demy's wife Agnes Varda.  The street implodes in a wash of purples and blues that evoke Van Gogh, wherein the stunning visual nature of Starry Night, also comes from a man deeply depressed.  As Guy and Genevieve walk up and down this street, the same hues encompass their bodies, implying that even in this moment of serenity that their futures are at a dire loss.  Indeed, perhaps the most telling scene of the entire film emerges when Roland, now attempting to court the broken hearted Genevieve plays a game involving the donning of a crown.  Here the shot captures Genevieve in the center of the camera as Deneuve plays up with a perfectly composed stare into the camera, almost as if to demand that the viewer takes pleasure in the ethereal spectacle on display, while also being completely reminded of the way in which she and her character are exploited both within and outside of the diegetic space, an occurrence that is redelivered, although not quite as jarringly when the ironically veiled Genevieve is made up to appear like the Virgin Mother.  All this considered, it is also fascinating to consider the moments when Demy does decide to drain the color from sequences, most specifically during Guy's return from service, wherein the same purple lit streets are replaced with grays and whites, thus denying it the lush flourishing space in favor of a vapid palette, one reflecting the reality with which Guy has to return, or even suggesting the world of war he is bringing back to Cherbourg.

Key Scene:  It is one wholly paced musical reverie and as such can only be treated as a perfect moment of cinematic spectacle, although within this there are particular flares of absolute genius, as is the case with the train departure sequence.  Also, it is worth mentioning that Michel Legrand's score is amazing.

This is a film that is currently difficult to come by, as such one must get creative with how they attain a copy, but trust me it is very much worth the effort.  It appears to also make the rounds on MUBI so could prove the route to go viewing wise.

Reconsidering My Cinematic Childhood: 3 Ninjas (1992)

Due to time, I am starting a new segment on the blog, what follows will be a bit of an explanation/diatribe of sorts.  In the case of this post it will still fall within the kung fu marathon:

As I become more familiar with my use and presence on Letterboxd, I am decided that making really quirky lists is proving to be a great way of wasting my seemingly minimal amount of free time, but since it requires little effort and far less dedication that writing out a blog post, I justify the act in that it is still allowing me to consider film, even if in a wildly joking manner.  For example, I have a running list of films in titled "movies that make the 80's look like the coolest and grossest place to live simultaneously" which considers a breadth of movies from the era that are wildly over-the-top, but highly engaging, including wonderfully terrible movies like Miami Connection and more well-established classics that are still kind of awful, such as Top Gun.  Another list has come to my mind as a result of this kung fu marathon, when I watched 3 Ninjas.  The title for this Letterboxd list will be something along the lines of "movies from my childhood that have not aged well," because 3 Ninjas is certainly a prime example of this dilemma.  My brother and I used to repeatedly watch this film and hope to obtain the, what we thought at the time were, kabuki masks worn by the brothers.  Revisiting it for this marathon, made it rather apparent that it not only failed to maintain even the slightest degree of nostalgia that I have obtained for movies that are far from perfect, a work like Space Jam being perhaps the best example.  3 Ninjas cannot even maintain the aforementioned nostalgia factor because the movie is both very dated and indeed not even well made.  It is clearly a work that was rushed through production, evident through sporadic editing and filming that make the presence of stunt doubles so blatant and a narrative with the flimsiest of character arcs and an understanding of fashion that extends to about a solid three months of 1992.

This segment will involve me attempting to reflect on what I might have picked up on as a child that would have made me adore this movie and then I will juxtapose it with the reality, or new opinion I might have formed with a more matured cultural palette, as well as a much broader awareness of the art of cinema, both in function and theory.  First, I seem to recall being really fond of the films presence of the Japanese grandfather, played by Victor Wong.  Something about his sagely presence seemed hip and desirable.  Now, I realize how exploitative the figure was, as well as how stereotypical the figure proved to be, particularly in contrast to the whiteness of the kids around him.  In fact, assuming that he was supposed to be their grandfather, the possibility of the three children having any amount of Asian heritage seems genetically unlikely, thus leading to another point of reconsideration as I look back on this film.  When I was younger, I am certain that some of my joy in this film came from its brevity.  Clocking in at under an hour and thirty minutes, the film is paced at a frantic speed, jumping between scenes inexplicably and incorporating characters, none of which seem to go anywhere.  I am aware that this could have been a result of the producers demanding the filmmaker cut away scenes to make it watchable, for children, like myself at the time, whose attention spans would have popped off by the hour thirty marker.  Yet, what they chose to keep makes as little sense at what is clearly missing, as though whoever did get tasked with editing was doing so out of spite.  For the third consideration, I will get a bit Freudian and admit that one of the elements that might have drawn me to the film was the tenuous relationship between the father and sons, of absence and indifference.  Thematically it is something that still strikes a cord with me when executed brilliantly, as is the case with Puffy Chair, or to a lesser degree in The Great Santini.  Here, however, it is just done with little concern for the psychological effects or the nature of such a distancing relationship on a family structure.  Like the rest of the film it is dealt with hastily and unconvincingly.

As you can tell by this revisitation, I am less than thrilled about this film.  While I do not foresee this being a super frequent variant on the regular blog postings, it is something that I hope to try here and there.  Inclusions in the future are likely to be films like Small Soldiers, Gordy and A Walk to Remember, which I reacted to with great enjoyment at a younger, pre-cinephile age that might not hold up with a more critical lens.  However, on this quest, I do hope to occasionally find a work that has become even more profound with age, unfortunately, that was not the case with 3 Ninjas.

Is This Like A Noxzema Commerical, Or What?: Clueless (1995)

Satire, at least filmically speaking, is somewhat a difficult thing to pull off, particularly if a director even cares about the validity and pertinence of said satire.  This is further problematized when an individual attempts to adapt a classic piece of literature in to a film satire, particularly when the film is centuries older than the novel from which it draws its inspiration.  Fortunately, in the hands of Amy Heckerling, a film like Clueless, despite its rather dated cultural references and definitely nineties look, is a pitch perfect satire.    From the opening use of "Kids In America," to the use of sped up camera shots to emphasize time lapse, Clueless captures the plummeting sense of morality and absurd degree of ennui that consumed the youth of mid-90's America, particularly those with an insurmountable amount of wealth and hardly any concern for the larger picture of the world in which they existed.   An easily quotable film, it is clear to see why Clueless has accrued a respectable degree of cult status over the years, and while I was uncertain about my girlfriend's initial insistence of watching the film managed to find myself coming around to its brilliance in a matter of moments.  This is also a film filled with what seems like an unending array of cameos, although considering the date of its release, perhaps the only actual cameo in the film is that of Wallace Shawn who was by then a well established actor.  Clueless, as a satire, manages to exist in a world of absurdism that has viewers both considering the implausibility of what is being portrayed, as well as the off chance that somewhere, somehow this is a tragically real existence, one that makes you want to bang your head against the wall for having acknowledged.  However, despite a somewhat roundabout plot, Clueless is quite excellent to view and manages to make, at least backhandedly, some statement about finding self-identity in a culturally vapid society, as well as the values of friendship with respectable and varied individuals...or it could just be a huge comedy, either route is fine by me.

Clueless centers on the less than troubling life of Cher (Alicia Silverstone), who along with her friend Dionne (Stacey Dash) roam the halls of their profusely wealthy high school exuding their clear popularity and somewhat less clear sense of fashion.  Cher struggles with her grades, as she attempts to navigate the waters of a home life which witnesses her taking care of her busy lawyer father Mel (Dan Hedeya) in replacement of her late mother, as well as forming a bond with her pseudo-stepbrother Josh (Paul Rudd).  Cher's life seems exceptionally lackadaisical, until the emergence of a new grunged out girl named Tai (Brittany Murphy) allows for a project in refashioning for her, and along with the help of Dionne the two make Tai into a thing of pride, despite her clear attachments to a grunge lifestyle and one of the schools skateboarder potheads Travis (Breckin Meyer).  Similarly, Cher find herself falling hard for a new student, and Luke Perry look-alike, named Christian (Justin Walker).  While Christian certainly appears to take a liking to Cher it is clear that Christian has no sexual desires towards her and would rather spend time watching Tony Curtis films and shopping.  Once it is brought to Cher's attention that Christian is clearly gay, the two rekindle a strict friendship, while she comes to grips with her own identity something that is further drawn into question when she notes Tai taking a particular interest in Josh.  Upset at first because she is so close with Josh, Cher eventually realizes that her attachment to her Dad's ex-wife's son is far more than just platonic and the two share a kiss of longing in the films closing moments, before they all attend a wedding for a pair of teachers they fixed up in the films opening scenes.  Did I mention the film is based off of Jane Austen's Emma, if not it should be considerably obvious...what with all the insta-romances and out of the blue weddings.

There is a clear criticism to be formulated as it relates to Clueless, however, it is entrenched in some sort of Marxist-philosophical-psychological level that I am simply not equipped to speak about at this time.  Instead, I want to conjecture as to why the film has managed to not only find success upon initial release, but why it has further lasted some seventeen years later.  First off, the film takes a very critical, look at the generation we have become considerably nostalgic about in times of economic woe.  Clueless manages to confront the issues of wealth and conspicuous consumption abrasively, without completely ridiculing the individuals in the film for enjoying success...or their parents success to be more precise.  Yet the youth in this film are not completely void of value, sure they spend heavily, recreationally use drugs and are profusely vain, but they too are existing in what was arguably a scary time in American history, considering the images of Bosnia and middle eastern conflict that filled the screen, something directly commented upon in the film.  Of course, it takes some degree of effort to get person's like Cher to acknowledge this tragedy and undertake organized efforts to confront the issues, but when she does so it proves rather successful.  Furthermore, it is not fair to blame the youth depicted in this film for their disconnect, because as Herckerling's film manages to show, with the exception of a few driven teachers, they are essentially barred via media, parental distractions and capitalist desires from accepting the tragedies invading the world.  Overall, this is what, I believe, manages to make Clueless a bit transcendent of its dated image and far more than simple satire.  Clueless manages to capture a real tragedy facing youth of the era, that has, to some degree only grown worse within the past decade.

Key Scene:  Aside from the various film homages, the best executed scene is perhaps when Cher takes her drivers test.

This movie is quite good and incredibly watchable and is, at the moment, available on Watch Instantly so as always there is no time like the present.

Since You Only Come In The Afternoons: Belle De Jour (1967)

Not that anybody has noticed, but the blog has been a little low on reviews and activity in general.  A portion of this is due to much needed employment, while the other has been my involvement in an academic side project on Luis Bunuel.  This project, focusing on issues of patriarchy within the Spanish director's work has allowed me to revisit a handful of his films.  As such, I have pondered over which film to review on this blog and decided without waiver on his 1967 work Belle De Jour, as it appears to be his most well-known and enigmatic of works.  Furthermore, the film possesses the treat of having one of the 1960's most prolific actresses in having Catherine Deneuve.  Belle De Jour is a puzzle of a film that is as convoluted as it is sexy, the film is either completely a set of fabrications of a dream or some bizarre alternative reality in which desires of the carnal nature are met with little challenge or social outcry.  Whatever the film is at its core, it is certainly Bunuelian in its composition.  Clearly an attack on all things bourgeoisie, Belle De Jour scours and claws at the frivolity of rich extravagance and complacency with no restraint, and manages to do so without ruining the films enjoyability.  To call this film a romp in one woman's sexual liberation is too simple, instead; it seems better to describe it as a sexual awakening for an entire generation of film goers, as it is a film that revolutionized cinema and sensuality in a way that still has yet to meet a match.

Belle De Jour, in some for or fashion, follows the experiences of Severine (Cahterine Deneuve) as she struggles to find fulfillment in her life as a trophy wife.  In the films opening scene she is shown fantasizing about being whipped and sexually overcome by her husband and his chauffeurs only to quickly awake from this fantasy into reality with her wealthy doctor husband Pierre (Jean Sorel), who is oblivious to Severine's unfulfilled sexual demands.  When the couple travels to Paris on business, things falter even more and Severine longs for a place to engage in her debasing fantasies.  Luckily for her, she overhears a conversation during a cab ride that provides her with the location of a local brothel, run by one Madame Anais (Genevieve Page).  In a moment of spontaneity, Severine decides to seek employment at the brothel under the name of Belle De Jour.  While at first hesitant, Severine quickly becomes enamored with the ways of the brothel and finds herself enjoying the soda-masichist acts she engages in while in the brothel.  All appears well in her alternate life, until she meets a young man named Marcel (Pierre Clementi), a gangster who becomes instantly infatuated with Severine, given that she is clearly unlike other prostitutes.  Despite her constant attempts to explain to Marcel that her employment at the brothel is temporary, Marcel continues to pursue her, going so far as to meet Severine at her house moments before Pierre is to arrive home.  It is at this point that Severine's fantasies and reality clash with great force causing her to confront what she truly values and what is simply left to be forgotten.  The film closes in the usual Bunuel fashion with images that leave more questions than answers, as viewers are never fully certain if what they experienced actually occurred, or if it simply existed in the imagination of one sexually unsatisfied woman.

The academic project I previously mentioned is focusing on Bunuel's use of patriarchal domination as a means to provide stability for his critique of the wealthy.  What I mean by this is that in order for the director's critiques of bourgeois extravagances to appear completely maniacal, he often relies on degradation of women as a means of emphasis.  For example, in his film The Exterminating Angel he attempts to show that if wealthy persons are placed in a situation where decorum is irrelevant their social actions will quickly become barbaric, a point that is driven home by the attempted rape of a woman.  Bunuel knows the shock value of such imagery, yet appears to fail in realizing that he is using his patriarchal power further promote such imagery, even if done so in a critical manner.   Belle De Jour is certainly full of these moments, whether it be the brilliant, yet troublesome scene of Pierre, and what appears to be a working class farmer discussing politics before slinging excrement at a degraded Severine, or Severine being beaten and abused by an Asian brothel customer who appears to win the hearts of women by flashing expensive trinkets.  The issue is simply that Bunuel chooses to victimize women in driving home his point about the problems of wealth and lavish extravagance, when it is quite possible that such ideals could be posited in a much more women friendly setting.  Ultimately, Bunuel fails to ever actually correct this behavior, making his films, no matter how sexually liberal, solid examples of patriarchal dominance in cinema.

Critiques aside, Belle De Jour is a Surrealist vision of a film that is well worth seeing multiple times.  Thanks to the folks at Criterion a Bluray is now available, and is easily one of the best I have seen to date.  Owning is not suggested but heavily demanded.