A Bum Like That Could Come In Handy: Kung Fu Hustle (2004)

For those readers who have been around since the western film marathon, they might remember that an inclusion of at least a third of the films were to consider how the genre has become a thing of revisionism, or has been severely reconsidered to face a non-classical/non-American audience.  This quest was afforded some legitimacy because I had seen a decent amount of westerns prior to even that marathon and given its influence on American cinema and culture I was aware of the various tropes.  However, when it came to creating this list of kung fu films I was truly at a loss for how many of the alleged classics I had not seen, let alone understanding what truly constituted a work within the seemingly broad genre of martial arts cinema.  Therefore, searching for works that are decidedly against genre seemed a bit of a blind endeavor, because I have self-aware enough to admit that the genre was not a thing of familiarity.  Nonetheless, given my love for all things post-modern it should be no surprise that at least one post-modern revisionist kung fu film would make the list, and from the looks of it, I doubt it will be an exclusive film.  Indeed, I have seen Stephen Chow's Shaolin Soccer in all its zany glory, but admit to coming to that film in my own personal quest to see a ton of works related to what was then my favorite athletic past-time, having since turned of legal drinking age, now thinking bar games legitimate athleticism.  But I digress, Chow's work was of familiarity in the back of my mind and I do recall it having a sense of grandeur and intensity about it, although what I witnessed in Kung Fu Hustle far exceeds anything I could have hoped for and was not only a post-genre kung fu work, but one with a layer of referentialism to cinema history so extensive as to almost be a deconstruction of the action hero proper.  It does not hurt that Kung Fu Hustle is also incredibly watchable and wildly funny, moving about the space of early 20th century China with delight and a zeal, never pushing its message too hard, but always making sure that viewers are aware that one exists, in its decided condemnation of exploitative power and a demand for exclusion of non-normative bodies, even when those bodies are of a superior physique and presence.

Kung Fu Hustle begins with the experiences of tenement building people dealing with the woes of living under the hostile expectations of their creepy Landlord (Wah Yuen) and the cantankerous and vindictive Landlady (Qiu Yeun).  Despite their constant complaints about their inability to live under the terrible conditions such as lacking water and proper shelter, their economic lack results in their remaining in the situation.  Yet, when a duo referring to themselves as members of the Deady Axe Gang, led by Sing (Stephen Chow) attempt to cause trouble it is immediately revealed that at least three martial arts experts live in the area, as well as a handful of children who are freakishly strong.  This engagement, incites the presence of the real Deadly Axe Gang, led by Brother Sum (Kwok-Kwan Chan) whose frustrations at being humiliated lead to his hiring the most infamous of kung fu masters to take on the experts in the tenement.  When a duo of musically inclined martial artists take down the various fighters, only to reveal that both the Landlord and Landlady are themselves well-known, but assumedly retired, fighters themselves, Brother Sum takes it upon himself to exploit Sing for his pickpocketing techniques that he hopes can break out the most dangerous of all living martial artists, aptly named The Beast (Siu-Lung Leung).  The Beast takes no hesitation in finding Landlord and Landlady who he believes to be somewhat worthy opponents, however, he in his combination of brutish strength and beguiling trickery manage to subdue the couple.  In a purely accidental encounter, Sing becomes involved in  the fight, revealing a body so perfected that he manages to prove immune to being beaten through the ground by The Beast.  Landlord and Landlady realize that Sing is far more than a foolish bystander and is indeed a legend of martial arts, escaping with him and allowing for his metamorphosis to occur, thus revealing that he is indeed the greatest living fighter.  In a final showdown in the tenement The Beast and Sing duel it out, wherein Sing reveals himself to be an expert of the Buddhist Palm technique which possesses a divine power that stops The Beast permanently.  Now void of all attackers Landlord and Landlady return to their life, while Sing returns to a simple life himself, working for a friend and finally settling down with a love from his childhood.

The narrative for Kung Fu Hustle is decidedly minimal for its otherworldly cinematic existence, which seems to be the opposite of the films thus far, where it is the figures who exist in a place of non-tangibility, but have been forced to engage with the real world for inexplicable reasons.  This consideration is fascinating since it is indeed a revisionist work.  The metaphor of the normal moving into the transcendental takes on wonderful proportions, both in regards to suggesting the possibility of rebirth for a person seeking genuine life changes, just as it calls attention to the fragility and frivolity of exploitative power figures.  Take for example the figure of Brother Sum, whose violent power is entrenched within his own masculine privilege, one that is undoubtedly doubled by an economic wealth.  Indeed it is in this blind place of exploit, that he is most easily undermined, attacked by the likes of Landlady and Landlord because of a foolish belief in invincibility.  In contrast a figure like Landlady, in a traditional context would not possess such degrees of authority, but in the context of the real tenement and in her more exaggerated martial artist status, she is a figure of power and respect.  In fact, it is no accident that her main feature is to wield her voice in a destructive manner, lifting, even if accidentally, from a ton of feminist theorist who suggest speaking against power to be the key element of undermining hegemony.  While one could argue that both Landlady and Landlord exist in a place of economic privilege, it is worth then considering the role of Sing, whose movement from lower class to a vessel for the gods affords a reconsideration of how power through economic mobility occurs.  Indeed, it is through his learning of a skill and allowing it to evolve that he is capable of overcoming even the most lecherous of exploitative figures, i.e. The Beast and his lying.  Sure he begins the film as a con artist, but he evolves considerably and is even shown working in a candy store at the closing of the film.  It all has a degree of escapism, but considering that it is China's second highest grossing film of all time, that is far from an issue, especially for such a mainstream work.

Key Scene:  The fight between Landlady and Landlord and the Chinese zither wielding twins is not the first battle of the film, but it is certainly the one that lets the viewer know that it is going to shift directions in a wonderful and wild manner.

The bluray is a steal and worth having in any martial arts/action film collection.

The Dead Don't Dream: Tristana (1970)

As it stands, Luis Buñuel is now my favorite director, not to be confused with my favorite film, which will likely always be Do The Right Thing, however, unlike Lee, I find myself entirely engaged with every work offered by the late Spanish filmmaker, even if in some instances it is in a frustrating and problematic manner.  Buñuel, one of the premier figures in the surrealist movement, went on to make a ton of movies during his controversial career, being forced to move between countries to avoid arrest, death and what proved to be an inevitable excommunication from the Catholic Church, which after a quick internet search proves to be a rather difficult task to assure.  Buñuel for all his problematic images of fetishization and sexuality as it relates to authoritative, particularly religious, oppression, has emerged to exist on the same level of controversy with the likes of Jean-Luc Godard and the late Pier Paulo Passolini, yet where the former went entirely political, while the latter went absolutely shock value, Buñuel exists in a perfect and beautiful medium between both, a focal point which afforded him the ability to be both scathingly critical of his countries fascist ties, while also playfully considering the ways in which his film's characters undermined or rejected such authoritative figureheads.  Of course, I could go on for days praising Buñuel for his entrenchment within the surrealist notion of constant revolution, however, his inclusion in the last days of my month of women in film blog posts is not for his concern with authority as it relates to politics or religious oppression, but for his unusual and often negative consideration of women within his films.  I do not mean this to entirely dismiss Buñuel as a director, because I am rather aware of the ways in which he uses the feminine and fetishizing of the female body as a point of reference, with which to further study displacement of failure and frustration, yet he does exploit the women in his films, all be it, playfully and ironically, nonetheless, it is to be noted and critiqued, and Tristana is certainly a magnificent point of reference for such discussions.


Tristana, as the film suggests, follows the title character of Tristana (Catherine Deneuve) an orphan whose recent loss of her husband has placed her into a state of constant mourning, much to the concern and curiosity of her adoptive father Don Lope (Fernando Rey) who sees the young Tristana not only has his very real daughter, but, simultaneously, as a burgeoning sexual figure with whom he can place his own desires and hopes for sexual gratification.  Confused, and, frankly, a bit disgusted by Don Lope's advances, Tristana affirms her own desires to be an independent woman and attempts to seek a self and identity outside of Don Lope's gaze, something that initially leads to her meeting with a young, charming painter named Horacio (Franco Nero) who takes an instant liking to the ethereal Tristana and eventually proposes marriage to her, to which Tristana clearly wishes to say yes.  Unfortunately, the presence of Don Lope is impossible to ignore and eventually agrees to mary Don Lope, ostensibly becoming his adoptive daughter and legal wife.  Along the way Tristana falls ill with a disease the results in the loss of her leg, much to the delight of Don Lope who seems to find her handicap bizarrely arousing, and despite her continued attempts to remind Don Lope that she would rather be with some one else, Horacio, in particular, although at one point in the narrative it is clear she will branch out with others if it means avoiding Don Lope.  However, the power and authority of Don Lope proves to grand to conquer and Tristana submits to his elderly authority, however, when he falls ill and is bed-ridden Tristan quickly seizes the opportunity to open windows in the house, thus allowing for cold air to take over the space, only heightening Don Lope's sickness which assumedly leads to his death.  In no moment of lost irony, the dream heavy film closes with a montage of memories, considering and undermining the entire filmic narrative and its assumed reality.

I mention Buñuel is an interesting director to consider when one discussed women in film, particularly since they seem to always possess a problematic role within his works, whether it be their treacherous and influential sexuality in his early surrealist works, or their religious purity as a point of intense desire, as occurs minimally in something like Diary of a Chambermaid, but blows to incomprehensible means in Viridiana.  Even in his other work starring Deneueve, Belle de Jour from a few years earlier, it appears as though he is not quite willing to give a female a space of absolute control or rejection of the patriarchy, although the very means with which the brothel operates and allows its women to navigate spaces, undoubtedly undermines this notion.  Tristana is not completely void of gendered criticism, the most blatant being Tristana's seeming objectification on the part of Horacio and Don Lupe who seem to use her as an object in their own game of strategy to outwit one another, Horacio using his youthful vigor to his advantage, while Don Lupe clearly relies on years of experience and its mental advantages. Tristana simply seems to set aside contently and await for a victor to emerge.  Furthermore, when Tristan becomes an amputee it certainly seems to suggest a degree of fetishization in her otherness, although another reading could see it as a brilliant visual metaphor for the fear of castration or the female lack, as both relate to psychoanalytic theory, particularly in the context of film.  However, these problems seem particularly irrelevant when I reflect on this killing of the patriarchy within the context of the film, Tristana actively makes a choice to destroy her oppressor, even if it is through a slow disease based methodology, culturally speaking, the traditional means of murder for women, often emerging in the form of poison.  While Tristana has its problems, it is certainly the only film in Buñuel's oeuvre, for which I can recall, that does not end in the destruction of a female, but, instead; the complete opposite occurs.

Key Scene:  The bell ringing nightmare is surrealist intensity at is most realized and is perhaps the obvious Buñuelian moment in the film

A new film distributor known as Cohen Films has come to my attention for this bluray, and while their clear stealing of an image and style from Criterion is a bit bothersome, this Tristana transfer is fantastic and certainly worth owning.

I Added Less Water Than Last Week: Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai Du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975)

Mesmerizing, jarring, introspective, evasive and meticulous are words that could and probably have been used to describe Chantal Akerman's 1975 character study Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles.  The lengthy title lends itself to the rather lengthy film and while I will admit I found myself distracted throughout, it was not a result of the film being bad in the slightest, but more of my own personal state of mind and general tiredness.  I am quite aware, and have read some of the articles, about the divisive nature surrounding this film.  Many find it to be an excellent consideration of the female body as it occupies space in a very real and quantifiable way, while others find its deliberate staging within the domestic household and eventual twist to be somewhat exploitative and undermining of the feminist leanings it clearly takes.  One thing is for certain when you consider this masterpiece by Akerman, and that is its importance to cinema both in its style and in its subject manner.  Firstly, it is a film entirely dedicated to one individuals experience, and the camera rarely shies away from capturing even the most seemingly minute of details in the process.  Second, it chooses its subject to wholly be that of a woman, never allowing the males who occupy her space to completely take over the scene or the space which she has created.  It is as though Akerman has made a decided stand against all that is definably traditional in masculine filmmaking, while still managing to make a piece of engaging and entice film.  Every drawn out shot and deep focus encounter is structurally sound and eerily symmetrical, making the moments when the character leaves home that much more unusual.  The film is deserved of its continual emergence of lists of the most important films ever made and requires a heavy understanding of cinematic language and theory to truly engage within, yet, the images and story are so simplistically accessible that I would venture to say it simply playing at any major television retailer would prove to capture any passerby, it is simply that gripping and of its own existence that it is impossible to ignore.

The films intense focus is on that of Jeanne Dielman (Delphine Seyrig) whose name viewers can only draw from a letter she receives, and that the title of the film suggest it to be such. Jeanne is a single woman who lives alone, spending much of her day washing clothing, preparing food and drinking coffee.  She clearly focuses a heavy amount of her energy into preparing meals for her son who comes home in the evenings, only to completely avoid conversation with her in order to further reading his books and engage in his studies.  Of course, Jeanne plays ignorant to his indifference and attempts to create small talk with him about his aunt in Canada or questions about thoughts on a sweater she is knitting for him.  All seems mundane, if not a bit tragic, were it not for the revelation, at the opening of the film that Jeanne works as a prostitute during the day, seemingly servicing repeat customers ever week.  Yet, this very real occurrence factors in rather minimally to the film, as much more time seems to be spent on considering Jeanne as she is shown taking care of the baby of an unseen woman dropping off her child, or waiting in lack drawn out shots for the elevator to arrive and subsequently reach the floor on which she resides.  In fact, the most heavily focuses plot point of the narrative emerges when Jeanne is depicted trying to find a replacement button for a jacket she has received from her sister, whose living in Canada has meant a time difference in fashion trends and, therefore, a button that was neither in style or out of style within her Brussels neighborhood.  This event is followed by yet more monotony, particularly Jeanne engaging in a extended sequence of her slowly drinking coffee.  It is during one of her visits from a customer that her engagement in intercourse is finally shown, with a top down shot Jeanne's indifferent face turns frustrated as a man simply lays upon her.  After the act is over, it is then cut to her dressing in the mirror as the man lays satisfied with his act, only to be stabbed, inexplicably, by Jeanne in the throat.  His dead body writhes in pain and the film then goes to its closing shot of Jeanne simply sitting in the dark of her house, perhaps contemplating her actions or considering the future.

This has been aptly described as the "first masterpiece of the feminist history of cinema," and deservedly so because in its daunting runtime it manages to tackle essentially every major issue within the feminist movement of the era, mind you it is 1975, so issues of race and class certainly do not exist prominently within the feminist discourse.  It does take Laura Mulvey's consideration of the "male gaze," which has been discussed already this month and many times in the past on the blog, and completely reconsiders its existence.  The film, directly challenges its viewers, regardless of sex, to engage with the images in an unflinching manner, much like the way in which the events are depicted, never drawing any sort of pleasure or gratification from the experience, but instead a second by second cataloguing of Jeanne's experiences.  In fact, the one scene in which she is nude, is done in such a stark and sterile manner that even this arguably objectifying moment is anything but, and instead, draws upon reality and nothing in the realm of idealism.  The next major factor is the manner in which Akerman through her drawn out shots and stagnant deep-focus camera manages to show the layers of burden associated with domestic work, particularly in regards to its consumption of time and money.  Jeanne spends perhaps two thirds of the film preparing or cooking food and in many instances it is not solely for her enjoyment and her son, detached in his reading, is never appreciative of the efforts his mother has undertaken, but only seems to see her as a source of money, of which, he never inquires to how she obtained, surely his discovery would lead to condemnation.  Finally, if there is any question about the message of feminist empowerment and deconstruction of masculine privilege and space, the closing act by Jeanne ends such inquiries with its decided killing of the oppressive male figure, which surprisingly seems to be the least radical moment in the entire film.

Key Scene:  The coffee scene is particularly stagnant, yet mesmerizing, but the film runs so smoothly together that to pick anything out is quite impossible.

This is a major moment in the history of film and well worth owning, while I would hope that Criterion would release a bluray in the future, I think it unlikely, therefore, a DVD copy will have to suffice in the meanwhile.

It Depends On Whose Ox Gets Gored: River Of No Return (1954)

I knew at the inception of this month of women in film, I would have to include Otto Preminger's River of No Return, not entirely because it possesses a heavy female narrative, but because it is ostensibly point zero for feminist theory, as some readers may know, this is the film Laura Mulvey used when initially arguing for the existence of "the male gaze" in cinema, wherein the viewers, assumed to be males are privileged with physically gratifying images of women being objectified on screen, in the case of this film, Mulvey believed that Marilyn Monroe, particularly in her parlor scenes, served as a point of objectification not only for men in the cinema, but for the males in the film as well, a sort of reaffirmation of misogyny and patriarchal power.  As a self-proclaimed feminist film theorist I am all on board with Mulvey reading this possibility in a lot of film, yet it is a theory based almost entirely on the visual elements of cinema, which while important do not reflect the entirety of any piece of film, which also considers narrative and performance.  River of No Return, in itself contests the possibility of Monroe being objectified by her performance alone and while I am not attempting to discredit Mulvey's interpretation I think that River of No Return is more empowering than once assumed and certainly stands as its own bit of cinematic brilliance.  One would be hard-pressed to sit down and watch this film without becoming completely infatuated with all its magic and excitement.  Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Monroe play off of one another beautifully, not to mention both lend some incredible musical performances to a film that is considerably defiant of genre.  I am constantly finding myself deeply challenged by claiming with any certainty a best bluray film, yet the Marilyn Monroe box set I obtained awhile back might well be the best decision, the raging river and spectacular sets, shot in Technicolor are beautiful to look at, only made all the more spectacular by costuming and Robert Mitchum's booming authoritativeness.  River of No Return is a spectacular piece of cinema, which has a problematic place in the feminist film theory canon, but still manages to hold sway over viewers nearly sixty years later.

River of No Return focuses primarily on the experiences of Matt Calder (Robert Mitchum) who is attempting to set up a farm in the middle of a gold rush, an effort made worse by his doing so after recently being released from prison.  He has made it to a particular encampment with the hopes of finding his son Mark (Tommy Rettig) whose survival seems to have been assured only due to serving as a beer runner.  Once the two are reunited, Matt and his son run into Kay (Marilyn Monroe) who Mark has already met, but makes an instant impression on Matt, with her level-headedness and sense of good ethics.  Yet, Kay is hopelessly infatuated with Harry Weston (Rory Calhoun) a big time gambler whose hopes of landing a huge gold claim result in his convincing Kay to join him on a raft trip to beat out everyone else to the gold.  It is during this trip that they meet heavy waters, fortunately, their crash happens right next to Matt's farm, where he rescues them without even thinking twice.  Kay is grateful, whereas Harry uses a moment of advantage to steal Matt's horses and continue in pursuit of his gold.  Kay realizing the terrible act Harry has committed, decides to stay with Matt and Mark and await Harry's return.  Staying at Matt's farm becomes impossible when Native American's attack the house, leading to Matt, Mark and Kay taking their own trip down the river on the raft, one filled with peril, more encounters with hostile natives and bounty hunters, not to mention the clear burgeoning affections between Matt and Kay, as well as Mark who deems them paternal figures.  Eventually they make it to where Harry is staying and after a failed attempt to get Harry to make amends with Matt, he is shot in the street by Mark, who does so to protect his after.  While the romance between Matt and Kay seems hopeless, a final moment of Matt returning to literally sweep Kay off her feet closes out the film.

So is the film problematic in its portrayal of gender, sure, but it is important to consider that the film was released in 1954 and exists, rather tenuously, within the Western genre, which rarely favors women.  I would also dismiss this being a film entirely predicated upon the visual objectification of Marilyn Monroe's body.  While this occurs, it is followed by verbal and performative rejections of such occurrences on the part of Monroe, who in recent years has become a surprising figure of empowerment in feminist and, more recently, queer theory.  They suggest that, as a performer, Monroe actively sought to do more with the roles than she was given, either over performing them, as is the case with The Seven Year Itch as a sort of ironic dissonance, or navigating the space to assure her empowerment of the scene, as occurs within Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.  I would argue that this absolutely occurs within River of No Return, viewers are shown a Monroe who can stand her own against the towering Mitchum, as well as a woman capable of guiding with authority a very large raft, while simultaneously executing maternal roles without question.  Even her desires to do right and detach herself from an exploitative relationship with Harry seem to suggest a direct contradiction to the objectification that Mulvey seems so intent on attaching to this film specifically.  In a close reading of the bar scenes Monroe is a victim, yet in the context of a larger narrative she becomes empowered, especially once she rejects her own very real narrative exploitation.  All this considered, I will say that the closing scenes between her an Mitchum certainly threaten to undermine this entire argument, but her  blatant request that she obtain a loving relationship with Matt, seem to demand him picking her up and taking her to another place, as opposed to denying it outright.

Key Scene:  The gaze portion is discussed for a reason, it is an absolutely powerful moment in cinema, even with the theory detached, one will get caught up in how mesmerizing it proves to be from beginning to end.

I know I demand a lot of films be purchased, but this time I strongly urge you to pick up the Monroe bluray box set with all of her key films, it is easily one of the best bluray upgrades I have made to date, if not for this cinematically sound and theoretically controversial film, then for every other great work in the set.