Do You Still Sell Watches?: The Wayward Cloud (2005)

I figured by now I would have stopped placing expectations upon the various marathons I have engaged with particularly since, to date, all but one of the marathons has been genre based.  The musical though, I was fairly certain could only be so post-genre without clearly calling attention to itself or by completely destroying any sense of the classical feel associated with the style.  However, having already encountered the profoundly moving Dancer in the Dark, it seemed as though that corner of the market had already been consumed.  However, when I began watching The Wayward Cloud, a Taiwanese 'musical' it became rather apparent that this was all but the case and indeed, another dreary, jarring, but no less captivating musical existed in the post-modern context while also becoming its own space cinematically.  To describe The Wayward Cloud as a musical seems to be the most fitting categorization as it really defies any other singular naming and the musical interludes throughout the film seem to be the only narratively consistent choice, although even these are so wildly different from one another that such a connection is tenuous at best.  A film whose premise is vague, The Wayward Cloud takes no time establishing metaphors and making sweeping manifestos about the society in which it depicts, one that is clearly stuck in a hyper-sexualized form of censorship, wherein the moment any allowance for gratuity comes forth it is dealt with in a very intense and audacious manner.  Audacity, however, when delivered with poise and poignancy can be a truly moving thing. I would argue that this is the case with The Wayward Cloud, whose use of musical numbers, seemingly inconceivable angled shots and a lot of sex, results in something that borders on viscerally transcendent.  I found myself drawn into the film in a curious way, almost frustrated when I would become so fixated on the words as to miss a visual or vice-versa only to know when the ending had occurred, one that is lingered on in a disconcerting, but tragically prophetic kind of way.  The Wayward Cloud is certainly not for all audiences, but the engaged cinephile will come out of this viewing with their sense of narrative completely thrown awry, regardless of how many musicals they have seen prior.

The Wayward Cloud works almost as a series of vignettes, more so than an actual singular narrative, sharing more in common with works like Tampopo, or the equally dreary Songs from the Second Floor.  However, there seem to be some situations and elements that can be gleaned from the larger context.  Assumedly existing within the space of Taiwan, the country is suffering from an unexplained water shortage, wherein groups of people have begun hoarding water for frivolous use such as excessive bathing.  Those without water have resorted to using watermelon and its juice as a source of sustenance.  As such, both things become commodified in various ways, for some becoming a thing of sexual desire, whether a watermelon serve as a sex toy, or a group of adult film stars rely on the use of water to add intensity to their scenes.  Indeed, the only coherent relationship seems to occur between the porn star Hsiao-kang (Kang-sheng Lee) and a woman who is completely at odds with her life Shiang-chyi (Shiang-chyi Chen), often losing her keys and other items in frustration.  The problem with the relationship between the couple, however, is that Shian-chyi is unaware of Hsiao-kang's new job, still assuming him to work selling watches at a local mall and while Hsiao-kang seems quite content with his work, he is aware of the shame and confusion it might place upon Shiang-chyi, thus he attempts to hide the work from her only meeting her in spaces where it seems safe, often centering around their attempts to cook food.  Yet, the reality comes to the surface and Hsiao-kang can no longer hide his job, leading to attempts by Shiang-chyi to over exert her sexuality, much to the disdain of Hsiao-kang who further feels shame when he sees her attempting to please him in only physical manners.  Indeed, in one musical sequence Hsiao-kang appears to see himself as a sort of mutated beast one that cannot escape his fate considering issues of economic access.  In a final scene, Hsiao-kang is asked to do the unthinkable in terms of sexual acts, only to be caught in the process by Shiang-chyi leading to an 'apology' of sorts by Hsiao-kang one that is both disturbing but undeniably fitting considering the narrative up until this point.

While I would hesitate to center this film within any stylistic frame of reference, particularly since it seems so comfortable navigating, much like a chameleon, through the various genres as a means to show their fluidity and malleability even when the subject matter seems abject or debasing.  However, between the constant imagery of graphic sex and more than a few blatant allusions to unconscious desire, The Wayward Cloud exists as a surrealist film, one that is also doubling as a musical.  There are certainly other musicals that possess doses of the surreal throughout, but that is often in reference to their cinematic style, not so much to the content and context of the various scenes.  Some of the obvious occurrences pull from the use of the watermelon in replace of a vagina, taking on a fruit and sweetness metaphor that could have just as easily been thought up by Dali and Buñuel were they not to busy making the same comparison to a sea urchin.  However, there are also layered possibilities within other scenes, ones that are shot sumptuously almost as though to mock the viewer as they are taking erotic, albeit unconscious, pleasure in the scenes throughout.  The first is the key that has become stuck in a recently paved road, as anyone with remote familiarity with psychoanalysis or surrealism will know, the key is about as clear a metaphor as possible suggesting at once suppression, sexual awakening and access to the other.  Here the key is something to be removed from the ground, in a sort of excavation, an act that also leads to water springing forth and bursting into the viewers presence.  That which was once inaccessible now becomes a thing to consume visually, however, the water is dirty and therefore undrinkable making it useless to the characters on screen.  It is a clever visual demand of the viewers' involvement in the drought by merely coming into contact with the film.  The other sequence of note involves the flash frying of cooking noodles, ones that explode the moment the hit hot oil, at times even burning.  This sequence involving Hsiao-kang and Shiang-chyi is indicative of their relationship, one that explodes in passion, but like the noodles when they hit another food, or issue of Hsiao-kang's employment regress.  It takes a forced confirmation, as occurs at the end of this film to truly evoke any unconscious change.  A viewer is reacting to the closing of this film both viscerally and subconsciously and the result is perfectly unsettling.

Key Scene:  The umbrella song is visually complex and notedly distinct from the rest of the film, although the entirety of The Wayward Cloud is wholly cinematic.

Buy the DVD make your friends watch this with you.  If they leave midway or tell you they hate it, they probably should not be your friends.

Holes Are Interesting, There Are Books About Holes: Cosmopolis (2012)

I am astounded by the amount of negative feedback mounted agains this, David Cronenberg's most recent filmic offering.  Well...actually I am not entirely astounded, but more so begrudgingly understanding in the derisive attitudes directed towards the piece.  Existing in an ethereal space that is both within the confines of the alienating cinematic stylings made famous by the Canadian auteur, while also managing to deconstruct the very relationship technology and space has to film output, Cosmopolis is far from Cronenberg's most viscerally engaging work.  Beginning and ending with some decidedly upbeat music from composer Howard Shore, one would almost immediately dismiss it as a work by the director whose use of the body as a space of cinematic violence has become a trope of sorts within his career, causing one to immediately compare other works that incorporate such themes and imagery as being always in contention with his, usually superior, offerings.  Suffice it to say, Videodrome, Existenz and many other Cronenberg works proved to be well ahead of their times, the two former pieces proving as, if not more, enigmatic as was the case during their original release.  While I would not go so far as to suggest that this is on par with those two films, I do think people are under-appreciating the winding, if decidedly monotonous styles of this film, which for all intents and purposes is focused on one young man's limo ride through a city.  Yet, Cronenberg who is ever prescient in his cinematic endeavors seems to use this car as a larger metaphor for the individual attachment to society by way of technological detachment.  Existing in a space of the heightened simulacra on a level of starkness compared only to Cronenberg's own work, or perhaps the more jarring work of Lars Von Trier, Cosmopolis constantly demands that the viewer move beyond what is portrayed in the foreground of a scene, to scrape away at the layers of depth within a moving image, at times even needed to dig deeper to find something in the very skin of the film itself.  Cosmopolis is about penetration, both in a literal and metaphorical sense and while it may seem as though Cronenberg is a filmmaker whose movies are primarily for his own enjoyment, it is rather obvious that he expects viewers to engage with the films on a tangible and textual level wherein simple observation bears few results if not absolute indifference, but a focused eye and mind can see something both poignantly disturbing and decidedly prophetic.

Cosmopolis centers on the day of Eric Packer (Robert Pattinson) a son of a wealthy mogul, who has had his own success in the stock trade, thus spending much of his time simply cruising about the city and trying to get laid, either by his former fiancee or by many of the various women he encounters.  When told by his security guard that he ought to consider limiting his travels in lieu of an upcoming visit by the president, Eric stubbornly refuses and demands that he be taken across town to receive a haircut.  Along the ride, Eric meets with various acquaintances, whether it be tech gurus like Michael Chin (Philip Nozuka) and Shiner (Jay Baruchel) or people with whom Eric has had past sexual relationships, often re-consummating the relationships as occurs with Didi Fancher (Juliette Binoche) and Kendra Hayes (Patricia McKenzie).  Ultimately, however, Eric seems most intent on recreating a relationship, purely one of sexual means with his ex-fiance Elise Shifrin (Sarah Gadon) who is decidedly uninterested in his advances.  When a local religious leader and spirited social activist dies, a moment of civil unrest arises, all while Eric idly passes the time in his car, drinking, pontificating and at one point even receiving a prostate exam.  Eventually, the constant burden of having to worry about his security guard Torval (Kevin Durand) being extremely cautious with his whereabouts leads to Eric tricking him into deactivating the lock on his gun and killing the guard.  This shift allows Eric to move more freely about the city even enabling to finally get his haircut although it requires the opening of a barber well past business hours, a moment wherein the barber and Eric's driver share in stories of their past days as taxi drivers.  This moment proves to be the last of Eric's encounters, before he finally meets up with Benno Levin (Paul Giamatti) a hermit and hypochondriac that has purportedly spent the entirety of the day trying to kill Eric.  When in his sights, Benno fails to kill Eric, but instead of fleeing Eric climbs the stairs to his apartment and enters into his house, only to be confronted by Benno, the two sharing in a perplexing and winding confrontation before Eric assumedly succumbs to his fate, sitting facing the camera as Benno utters a few words, the screen fading to black before any shot is fired.

I want to reemphasize the way in which this film is seemingly working on a layer below the tangible, wherein, the to use a term in corporeal cinema, the skin of the cinema has been penetrated.  There are moments in Eric's limo where it would seem like the CGI is being executed in a very poor manner, making it quite clear that the outside is different from the interior, I would argue that this is not poor filmmaking, but a directorial choice on the part of Cronenberg to show Eric's movement from complete technology based detachment to the real which moves towards complete attachment to it in the closing moments of the film when the now less certain Eric enters the space of Benno's gross and filthy apartment, complete, no less with a mound of broken computer monitors.  It would seem to be in this bookended nature of the film that Cronenberg is tackling the issues of how a social understanding of the world fueled almost entirely by that which is attainable through social outlets.  The movement in and out of individuals within the space of Eric's vehicle represent the transitory and desultory nature of communication in this age, right down to what appears to be a cinematic recreation of a booty call.  Eric cannot seem to understand the physical barriers confronting his ability to travel the town during the presence of the president, because his world does not exist outside of the car and, therefore, he cannot physically understand such a thing as a barrier, a metaphor that perfectly extends to the seemingly unlimited amount of access he is afforded purely as a result of wealth.  Indeed, he is shown rather early in the film attempting to buy the Rothko Chapel, a space purportedly made for the community, which Eric hopes to possess for himself through financial means.  This acquisition without physically viewing an item takes on yet another layer of online identity as Eric can now consume the world from the comfort of his car computer, never being forced to deal with a grounded understanding of things.  Even events of heightened intensity are dealt with in a detached manner, watching a riot occur from the safety of his walled in car/computer, much as was the case with watching the Occupy Movement or in more violent examples the uprisings in the Middle East.  It is fitting that when he does finally leave his car and computer space it is to get a hair cut an act of physical destruction that leads to the further, assumed physical destruction of his body in the closing moments of the film.  The computer has allowed a person access to pretty much anything they could desire on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, yet the feeling of destruction and, ultimately, death must be felt in the flesh and in the real.

Key Scene:  It should be no surprise that the best scene in this film involves Eric receiving a prostate exam while talking to another woman.  Aside from Robert Pattinson knocking this scene out of the park in acting terms, it also takes on a wonderful layer of metaphor and psychosexual politics.

This is watch instantly on Netflix, however, it is worth obtaining on bluray, the lack of popularity has led to it dropping in price considerably, which both a shame and a benefit to those looking to obtain a copy of the film.

Did You Bit, Or Get Bitten?: Sector 7 (2011)

I am known for my over defense of South Korean cinema, because to accept that bad movies emerge out of their highly transgressive and decidedly evocative country would be to admit anything short of perfection, even though I am aware that South Korea, much like the other major players in the state of world cinema, are equally subject to rushed production, blockbuster bait films and a general concern for the capital success of a film over its aesthetic, social product.  This, of course, does not entirely mean that a film cannot be enjoyable, I will openly admit to finding far more pleasure in many popcorn movies than many, but again South Korean cinema manages to make this slightly different in the existence of The Host, Bong Joon-ho's 2007 monster movie, from which a film like Sector 7 is undoubtedly attempting to emerge.  The Host is a spectacle film that uses its heavy CGI reliance to overlay one of the most earnest and poignant looks at contemporary family issues, transcendent of nationhood or class.  Indeed, Sector 7 is a film that was shot with the intent of being seen in the third dimension and since my viewing was done in the home, it does lose that sense of excitement that pushed something like Pacific Rim from simply being alright to being outwardly engaging and thrilling.  Yet, even aware that I was losing a degree of the cinematic offering without the extra dimension, I was still quite aware of the way the film bookended its film with the special effects as a means to mask a half-hearted attempt at considering issues of group unity, capitalist consumption and to a further degree the validity of gender divides in a "post-feminist" society.  I use the word mask very purposefully, because not only does the spectacle of the film consume any possibility of this becoming a key element in the narrative, it also uses the glossy sheen to hide the clear inability of the director and writer to formulate a clear commentary on its characters, becoming nothing more than a set of cookie cutter characters slowly falling victim to a giant beast.  Sector 7 borrows from many classics in this vein, yet manages to pick the worst elements from each.

After a brief introduction involving a man checking the integrity of an oil pipe in 1985, only to be attacked by something off screen, Sector 7 focuses on a group of oil riggers off the coast of South Korea who have been facing a rather bad string of outings, each time finding little to no oil.  The leader of the crew, while not the captain is Cha Hae-joon (Ha Ji-won) a tough around the edges woman, who despite her demeanor shares deep feelings with one of her other crew members.  When yet another drilling fails miserably, the captain explains to the crew and an infuriated Cha that they will be leaving Sector 7 in hopes of finding a new place to drill.  This idea is changed however when Cha's uncle arrives, a higher up in the oil refinery's ranks, he explains that they will continue their efforts here, while also working more closely with a marine biology project researching a new species of fish that was discovered during a failed drilling.  Confused, but not lacking in hesitancy, Cha and her crew take up their task with great fervor, until things become weird when during a routine line check, one of the divers' harnesses breaks leading him plunging into the dark abyss of the ocean right in front of Cha's eyes.  This odd and tragic occurrence only begins a series of unfortunate events including an apparent suicide, before it is realized that one of the previously studied fish has appeared to mutate into a destructive amphibian being that is devouring the crew members one by one.  While mounting a defense, it is revealed that Cha's uncle, along with the larger corporation, had been breeding this creature for its particular genetic similarities to unrefined oil, hoping to tap into it as a future source for fuel.  While frustration, Cha is afforded little time to confront the issue, as members of the group are continually being killed, eventually leading to the point when it is only Cha surviving to face off against the creature on the deck of their oil refinery.  Her quick thinking and motorcycle based elusiveness afford her an opportunity to bait the creature back below deck, using the very drill that exposed it to the surface to destroy it.  The film then closes with a panning of multiple oil refineries, explaining that the Sector 7 refinery is a real place, currently existing in a state of inactivity awaiting a divide between Japan and South Korea over who rightly owns the oil from the rig.

It is this unapologetic shift into the real in the closing moments that make Sector 7 a particularly frustrating viewing experience.  I am not opposed to genre films or blockbuster movies taking on serious and real topics, but it is usually done so from the onset, as opposed to purely being an addendum to a film that aside from location really shares nothing with its geopolitical issue.  I find this sort of haphazard dumping of social, gender, and political issues into a film like this not unwelcome, but problematically frustrating.  The film, assuming that it can distract viewers with a showiness, that at times is quite captivating even in a non-3D viewing, and in doing so it can flippantly throw narrative tropes at the wall hoping those viewing can overlook their non-sticky quality as they slide down the wall, at no point proving evocative or integral to a plot that proves nothing more than a glorified game of cat and mouse, wherein the cat is outwitted by the sentient mouse.  I understand that this could serve as the films greatest metaphor, in so much as the creature, purportedly existing purely from emerging out petroleum, is therefore an extension on the rampant destructive nature of consumerism within a capitalist framework, but the problem with this reading is that the characters are either set up as being to naive or intensely self aware, whereas, to refer back to The Host, the family on display takes the emergence of the monster, in all it implausibility, as though it were yet another issue for them to face collectively, dealing with it earnestly.  Blame it on the 3D veneer calling attention to the fabrication of the film, but I at no point thought the plot to be attempting anything profound, beyond simply attempting to set up viewers for the intense and showy chase scene that encompasses nearly forty minutes of the runtime.  Other readings also fall to the wayside in the face of misguided attempts at establishing grounding, most problematically the one centered on considering Cha as a female authority figure in the face of questioning masculinity, sure she saves the day and sure it is intense, but to whom does she prove this feat, when the questioning is not quite the same as that mounted against Ridley in say Alien, but is assumed to carry the same levity hear.  Sector 7 wants to be much more than its immaturity will allow.

Key Scene:  The jellyfish do look quite wonderful and were the only point where I truly wished I were watching the film in 3D.

Honestly, avoid this film and just watch The Host instead.

Dirty, Stinkin, Slimy Gators!: The Alligator People (1959)

It is quite the challenge to make an engaging film without throwing away any concern whatsoever for giving the narrative any semblance of moral seriousness or weight.  Indeed, this has always proved particularly problematic when considering genre films who in their traditional sense negate any possibility of high brow criticism.  This is not to say that on various occasions the narrative elements of a genre film cannot transcend their low-culture status and become profound considerations of societal issues.  It is merely a matter of understanding that there is a very delicate line between being subtly condemning and belligerently on the nose.  For example, much of George A. Romero's early output focuses on these issues by merely making them a fact from the opening of the film, casting black men and women in lead roles, thus subverting the tradition and making a classic work in zombie horror in the process. However, most of the output is not this masterful, instead the attempts at commentaries on racial issues or class access become lost in a hopes that a crazy looking creature or beast will lull viewers into the nature of the spectacle.  Tragically this is very much the case for The Alligator People, a work whose special affects, albeit glaringly low-budget still manage to create a sense of dread and creepy ambience, aided almost entirely by its bayou setting, one whose shadows and general mugginess do extend beyond the screen.  Yet, given the storied and very troubled history of slavery and racism in these spaces the film finds no shame in exploiting these narratives to their fullest, without ever suggesting a means to undermine oppression or challenge the very issue with which it metaphorically situates its film.  Lon Chaney Jr., the other man of many faces, does his best to add a new layer to the film, occupying his bizarre mutant creature in a way to bring humanity to an otherwise monstrous figure, yet by the end of the film his association with the animalistic is so ingrained in viewers frame of reference that attempts to humanize him, or relate to the "hysterical" woman's narrative that situate the film become almost impossible.

Joyce Webster, and or Jane Marvin (Beverly Garland) is a woman who manages to hold down a rather respectable job as a nurse for her boss and doctor Erik Lorimer (Bruce Bennett), but as he shows another colleague, when given a particular sleep including drug, Joyce/Jane recalls events she experienced while traveling with her fiance Paul (Richard Crane).  During their travels Paul leaves their cart to answer a telegram, at which point Joyce/Jane loses track of him, only to discover that he has inexplicably gone missing.  Stepping of the train to iscover a crate of radioactive cobalt, Joyce/Jane meets Mannon (Lon Chaney Jr.) a servant for the Cypress family and seemingly likable individual.  At this point, given her confusion, Joyce/Jane tags along with Mannon to the nearest house in hopes of finding her fiance, only to discover that the maniacal Mannon enjoys trying to kill alligators, attempting to run one over on the way home and later drunkenly tries to shoot a handful.  During the night, Joyce/Jane hears the rings of a piano, only to discover a misshapen Paul playing the piano, his skin reflective of that of an alligators, scaly and dry.  As things unfold, Joyce/Jane learns of Paul's troubles with radioactive chemicals and the manner in which they have caused him to become a hybrid of a alligator and a human, constantly shifting between both, but never finding a point of complete stasis.  Through the help of his family and a set of local doctors, Paul hopes to reverse the process of his mutation in one last blast of cobalt radiation.  However, it is during the final test that the mutation takes its most drastic turn, causing the already disfigured Paul to become almost entirely alligator, taking on the entire head and tail of the reptile, while still possessing the limbs of a human.  In his fit of rage and confusion, Paul wanders into a lake and begins wrestling with an alligator, losing out and sinking with the creature to the bottom of the thick bayou.  At this point, the narrative returns to Joyce/Jane's contemporary state, wherein awake she has completely forgotten about her dire experiences, only now curious as to why the doctors have begun treating her slightly different.  The two, hoping to allow her some semblance of normalcy, simply chose not to acknowledge her story again and move on with their drug testing accordingly.

The trick of making a social critique within a genre film is the awareness that there is a very thin line between subtly and overdoing it, which is not necessarily as restrictive within the more traditional film genres, particularly something like the social drama or the melodrama.  Given the context of absurdity and impossibility that exists within the genre of horror specifically, things are in a constant state of juxtaposition between self and other that makes all other dichotomies become extremely apparent.  Take for example the traditional teen slasher film, wherein it is a group of teenagers taking on some weapon wielding psychopath, in these scenarios it is a group versus a singular figure mentality that affords a considerable continuation of the traditional heteronormative divide between male/female and any attempts at blurring this prove damn near impossible.  Of course, there are exceptions to this notion, when the thing of horror is contagious or decidedly insurmountable, either zombies, swarms of say, shark wielding tornadoes, or even the mega monsters of kaiju films.  The Alligator People is deceptive in its name, one that suggests a large group of mutated humanoids, wherein the narrative is more so concerned with one man and his navigation between the space of human and alligator.  As such, the back drop of racial dichotomies within the film become glaringly and troublingly apparent wherein the oppression of the servants goes unchecked and unchallenged, more so serving as figures of cautionary speech to Joyce/Jane than an actual group moving towards some degree of transcendence.  Indeed, where the film to be about the raiding of the Cypress estate by a large scape Alligator People attack then maybe these racial divides would be undermined or altogether destroyed in the realization that genetically speaking there is a distinct divide between man and not man, one which is not at all predicated upon the color of one's skin.  Of course, the film was made in 1959 so progressive racial commentary is far from the expected norm, but one often wonders why, in a genre expressly influenced by the ability to bend the rules, such an egregiously offensive use of race was allowed.  Metaphor be damned, The Alligator People simply fails to engage with social critiques in any transgressive or revolutionary manner.

Key Scene:  Alligator man versus alligator is kind of cool I guess.

There are other movies worth bothering with and this one can easily be passed over at no cost to your cinematic evolution.

Deprived Of Lessons, I Decided To Run Away: Fantastic Planet (1973)

Some amazing films I come to the way of multiple suggestions from prolific and reliable sources, whether they be dear friends or noted critics.  Other wonderful experiences with films come from picking up a previously unknown film as part of a package or at a flea market both that probably lifted their merchandise from questionable sources to begin with.  I am fond of the results that come from both of these avenues of discover, however, there is a third set of discoveries that seem to be my personal favorite, those being the movies that I unearth during occasional bouts of insomnia or a general inability to sleep.  Usually hoping to find something with an ambiance or simplicity that will lull me into drowsiness and eventually sleep, I end up finding works whose surreal leanings and captivating narratives challenge my pseudo sleep state to its very core.  In the past movies of this vein have included the surprisingly poignant look at mental illness and online gaming through Ben-X, or jarringly, yet critically realized experimental films like Damned If You Don't.  Last night I found myself facing the rare moment of lethargic awareness and was hesitant to commit to anything lengthy and decided that the cult classic French animated film Fantastic Planet would serve as my point of viewing, because I assumed that it would be easily paused should my weariness overcome me, however, I realized almost seconds into the film, with a shrill opening and freaky aesthetic, that Rene Laloux's animated statement on the nature of human existence, would be stealing the next hour of my possible sleep and I was completely fine with that outcome.  Fantastic Planet, is as its name suggests very fantastical.  In the animation style made known by Terry Gilliam and famous by The Beatles Yellow Submarine, Fantastic Planet takes on a bizarre quality, full of humanoid figures whose blank stares and robotic movements both captivating and disconcerting.  The visuals alone could have been enough for me to completely embrace this work, but the fact that it makes very focused and astute statements about the existential being only add to its importance.  Honestly, I am surprised that I did not find myself completely haunted by nightmares when the film finally, and abruptly ended, its exhaustive nature proving the perfect dose to my quest for rest that happened immediately.

Forbidden Planet begins with the frantic fleeing of an unnamed woman who darts back and forth with her child in hand as objects inexplicably fall from the sky blocking her path of escape, suddenly and very intensely blue fingers and hands begin flying towards her, eventually grabbing her and lifting her into the air and immediately dropping her.  The pressure of the fall causing the woman to die as her young child looks on in a state of confusion.  The blue beings are known as Traags and tower over the small humanoid creature that they refer to as Oms, and aside from existing in a tribe-like state, the Oms are primarily seen as playthings for the Traag children, who are not yet capable of existing in a state of constant meditation like the adults.  One young Traag named Tiva decides to save the small child of the recently deceased woman Om, naming him Terr and teaching him the ways and world of the Traags.  Terr, realizing the wealth of knowledge in front of him, laps up everything that Tiva has to teach, in the process becoming a sentient creature aware of the relationship he possesses as a creature in relation to the Traags.  This leads to Terr fleeing in fear of his ultimate demise, bringing along with him a device used by the Traags in the hope that he can share the knowledge with other Om tribes living on the outskirts of the Traag fortress.  Now possessing the information most dear to the Traags the Oms mount a revolt, led by Terr that results in the first death of a Traag at the hands of Oms.  The Traags baffled by such a possible occurrence, up their "extermination" of the Oms in a stroke of genocide by poison gas.  Terr and a handful of other Oms escape the ordeal.  Eventually, with his expansive knowledge of Traag culture, Terr is able to take control of one of their devices, a laser that interferes in the Traags copulation thus breaking their hereditary line.  The Traags are forced then to acknowledge the presence of the Oms as something far more than playthings, but as a group equal to them in power and resilience, despite their relatively diminutive stature.  The film ends with a suggestion that the feuding between both groups has ended and that a peaceful coexistence has emerged between the Traags and Oms, one that is assumedly to last forever.

Fantastic Planet is one of those films whose true meaning, like its animation style is something familiar and identifiable, yet terribly intangible and clearly a simulacra of what a viewer would assume to be reality.  Leave it to a French animator to create such a film.  However, in its seemingly impossible nature, one can grasp multiple possibilities, ranging from realized statements on colonization and French guilt, to far reach introspective considerations on metaphysical identity as it relates to an insurmountable and endless universe.  I realize that to attack this film from any direction is to ultimately rely on reading specific moments or interactions and to invariably ignore others, but it is truly rare for a piece of film theory or criticism to appropriate every single frame and interaction into the larger theory.  As such, I want to touch upon the highly existential nature of this work, one that posits a world so left up to contingency, chance and an impossible control over things as to suggest that they are part of a game in which the Oms, an appropriate allusion to Hommes, the French term for humans.  I have talked about game theory in the past on the blog as it relates to a work like The Cooler, wherein the casino setting doubles as a metaphor for a person being subject to contingency and chance, even in the most seemingly assured of situations.  In Fantastic Planet this notion that a human is subjected to some game played by an unseen force, is placed in the metaphorical hands of the Traags who literally use Oms as their playthings.  Of course, the question then becomes what meaning arises from Terr's discovery of the cogs at work.  This is either a moment where he submits to the existential understanding that all is meaningless, aside from what he deems his own, in his case a quest for knowledge.  Another possibility is that the film is intended to depict a push toward enlightenment after being stuck in an existential malaise, in this the dreary and haunting presence of the Traags double as that constant woe resulting from meaninglessness.  Indeed, it is probably appropriate to read the work as a work about achieving enlightenment, at least in this case it makes the quite out of nowhere ending highly positive.

Key Scene:  People who have read many of my blog posts know I am a sucker for openings that immediately establish the mood and precedent for a film.  Fantastic Planet very much has such an opening and I promise you it will yank you into its world quickly.

Relatively cheap DVD's are available for this film, but since I intend to go region free with my bluray player in the upcoming months, I intend to get the French bluray that is available.  Should you be in that market, I would suggest doing the same.

This Isn't Caving, This Is An Ego Trip: The Descent (2005)

I am beginning to commit to enjoying horror films, I am fully aware that it seems contradictory to a cinephile to enjoy horror movies, because by mainstream standards they are regarded as a lesser genre, one that is constantly pumped out and fills the space of movie theaters, in most cases, with garbage.  Furthermore, I have in the past talked about a "horror renaissance," and am certainly not the only person to provide such terminology when discussing the genre and its seeming disappearance over the past few years.  I am fully committed to now recanting that statement and claiming that there have been a solid set of horror offerings over the past decade and some change, we are just foolish as cinephiles to expect them to manifest themselves in a manner similar to that of say the eighties where gore ruled all and over-the-top was a must.  I think it is often a problem of fans of that era to assume that classic horror films of that era were the only thing to appropriate such stylistic choices, when, in fact, most every film from the 80's adheres to a high degree of showiness, even when it is meant to be serious and dramatic, think about Cinema Paradiso and Amadeus as primary examples.  I say all this to bring up The Descent, a relatively overlooked horror film from 2005 that is quite enjoyable and does little to undermine the tradition of the horror genre, in fact, aside from its setting it actually embraces most of the tropes of the horror genre, especially all of the elements that made the 80's one of the high moments for scary movies.  In fact, excluding a few new ways of scaring, I would say that The Descent is a viewer's guide to all the ways to scare in a horror film, which may suggest that it is lesser in its repetition, but its decided post-modern approach to the genre is damn scary in its execution, because while writer and director Neil Marshall certainly uses traditional ways to get you to jump out of your seat he seems to have everything a second or two off kilter making the scares deliver at the most unexpected moments.  The Descent will scare you and just when you think you have been provided the worst moments in the film they manage to extend a bit longer, not to mention, this is one insanely gory movie and man does it embrace that state of mind.

The Descent follows the experiences of a group of thrill seeking women who spend their time exploring the wild outdoors, attempting to navigate new landscapes and untapped territories.  However, during their most recent trip Sarah (Shauna MacDonald) experiences tragedy when during the return home, her husband dies in an intense and traumatic car accident, leading to her being hospitalized.  A year later, Sarah is invited to go caving with her group of friends, as a means to move on and forget about her tragic events of the past.  However, it is clear that even though she is attending the trip her psychological state is far from sane.  Nonetheless, the group undertakes a night of partying and boozing before heading on their trip, to a cave, which the group's optimistic leader Juno (Natalie Mendoza) fails to mention has been unmarked.  The descent, from which the film sort of draws its name, is relatively uneventful at first, aside from the occasional scare of bats or rock slippage.  Yet when it becomes clear that they must enter into the smaller portions of the cave to advance further paranoia begins to rise within the group, particularly Sarah who begins to have panicked visions of her past traumas, as well as visions of things moving throughout the cave.  After an accident immobilizes one of the members, it is revealed that Sarah's visions were far from imagined and that the cave is indeed occupied by humanoid creatures who have a desire to destroy and devour the occupants of their cave.  One by one the creatures pick off the members of the group, until it is only Juno and Sarah left, whose friendship was already at odds when Juno revealed her desire for naming the cave in their honor.  In an act of vengeance, Sarah attacks Juno with a climbing spike, leaving her stuck waiting for an eventual death at the hands of the creatures.  Sarah manages to escape and in a panicked state makes her way the group's car and escapes, however, when she pulls off to the side of the road it is made apparent that this escape was all but real and that her visions of insanity may have been much deeper than initially assumed.

I mentioned that The Descent has a title with a dual meaning.  The obvious one being that it is about a group of women descending a cave, whereas the second refers to one woman and her descent into madness after the crippling sense of loss when her partner dies.  Of course, that is the metaphor that extends throughout the film, because as many know, good horror films exist to exploit the hell out of a metaphor and The Descent does it with unadulterated commitment.  For example, the creatures themselves could represent Sarah's own blind rage, one that is intent on destroying everything in a state of vengeance, misguided and inexplicable it is a sort of feeling of injustice that if not properly attended to could explode into serious issues.  Furthermore, her fractured relationship with Juno is not necessarily reflective of her deception regarding their planned locale, but, instead; a result of her failed help as a friend after her husband's death.  As both Sarah and another friend note, Juno disappeared immediately after the accident as opposed to saying the length of time appropriate to help Sarah through her mental breakdown.  Therefore, her act of revenge against Juno in the closing moments of the film has a possible second layer of "pinning" her down for her own previous indiscretions, allowing her to no longer use mobility to escape, one could argue that by attacking Juno, Sarah has forced her to face her evasiveness.  While the other characters seem secondary in this critique they are certainly not that, in fact, I would argue that they also represent an extension of Sarah's psyche, or better yet problematic ways in which she could have dealt with the tragedy.  For example, one girl is aiming to be a doctor, perhaps a metaphor for the problems of treating Sarah as a fragile being in constant need of care, whereas another addition to the group is a woman who navigates each moment as though it is a singular detached experience, perhaps a failed approach Sarah might have taken after her husbands death.  Regardless of these readings the closing of the film suggests that any and all efforts were in vain, because Sarah succumbs to the darkness of her descent, one of loneliness and inevitable death.

Key Scene:   For as many scary moments in the film, perhaps the most creepy moment comes rather early in the film.  Suffice to say, it involves a window and boy did it stick with me.

This is an excellent film and one of the better horror films of the past decade.  I strongly encourage you to pick up the cheap bluray, it is certainly worth more than its price suggests.

Lust Awakens The Desire To Possess: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring (2003)

It has been a bit of time since I watched a Korean film, let alone reviewed one within the context of the blog and I felt that an injustice since it is the country within which I place my primary focus academically, particularly in regards to the Korean New Cinema movement.  With this in mind it was a high possibility that if I were to pick a film completely by chance that it would fall within the directorial scope of Kim Ki-duk, whose works are wide ranging and nearly all controversial.  In fact, I have to my recollection reviewed at least four of his films on this blog already, which may well be the highest for anyone yet.  I would be hesitant to call him the Takishi Miike of South Korea considering that it suggests a heightened state of shock value, but Ki-duk's films are certainly not for the easy going or those seeking a visually light film.  Even in the case of Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring, one can realize that underneath the veneer of beautiful cinematography and a poetic reflection on the nature of adoration and sacrifice lays a highly graphic and terribly abrasive consideration of the nature of sexual awakening, violence against those things without power and the general issues of growing up and learning to navigate a curious and ever changing world.  I would pair this particular film with Ki-duck's The Bow, although wherein that film the director seems terribly preoccupied with the idea of entrapment and its justifications in the name of "protection," Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring is near wholly concerned with the ability of beings to move through the world with complete lack of hindrances.  One can see the notion of burden throughout the film, but the metaphors are layered and near impossible to read as any singular statement.  Furthermore, the episodic nature of this particular work, divided into seasons, as the title implies, help contest even the possibility of forming or obtaining burdens as something that is seen as fleeting and capable of appearing and reappearing at a moments notice.  This film, like other Ki-duk works is not suggesting a single possible answer or degree of oppression, but is constantly aware that as things they are subject to repeated change, especially in their decidedly intangible nature.


Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring focuses on the "closed off" world of an aging monk and his student a very young boy.  I put closed off in quotations because the world is entered through two doors via a point of view shot, yet nothing seems to be restricting this world aside from a doorway.  Segmented as noted before the first section follows the young monk about the natural world of the expansive monastery, where he finds humor in tying rocks to various creatures and watching them struggle to move.  Enraged by his behavior the elderly monk forces the young boy to carry a rock on his back while he goes about attempting to amend his wrongs.  Some of the animals, however, have died as a result of his cruel experiment, leading to a deep sadness in the boy.  The narrative then moves forward a few years and witnesses the arrival of a mother with her sick teenage daughter, roughly the same age as the boy who is now a teenager himself, despite the outset desire to heal the girl, the young man becomes infatuated with the woman and the two begin a sex heavy relationship, only to be discovered by the old monk who demands that she leave at once.  Angry, the teenage boy follows behind and leaves the monk alone, thus leading to the next section of the film, where the young monk returns somewhat older, heartbroken and bitter for placing his faith in a woman who eventually cheated on him.  Upon return, the old monk makes the man carve words into the dock of the pier of the monastery until his anger is minimized, during which cops appear to seize the man for what one can assume to be either assault or murder.  This moves then into the next section of the film, where the previously young man returns to the monastery to take up residence, during which time he is visited by a veiled woman and her child, one can assume this to be his former lover, although it is never outright shown.  During a night of panic, the woman runs outside onto a frozen lake only to slip into an exposed portion and die from drowning, leaving the man to take care of the child, which, of course, leads to the final section of the film, which depicts the former student now serving as an aged monk to a younger generation.

The cycles of this film are clear, what is less clear is the tangible, spatial elements of the film.  One can easily argue that the film finds its grounding in a sort of chronological structure, which is partially true, however, given that the moments between each episode do not represent a flat out seasonal change, and appear to extend beyond simply a temporal space suggest something much grander at work, a notion only made all the more obtuse when one realizes that the actors playing the assumedly same parts change, therefore, adding a surreal and almost mythological element to the film.  I would even make a case that Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring is very much concerned with what occurs in the liminal spaces of not only the world of the narrative, but the relationship between viewers and the screen.  It is no accident that the doors always open up into the world essentially telling those who are watching to engage with the work, or to step into its realm, for to not do so would be to disregard the intimate, yet always changing world of this secluded monastery.  In fact, everything is always on the move, much like in his film The Isle, Ki-duk's world is placed on water, which can obviously be read as a variety of things, however, in the spiritual regard of this work, and the other previously mentioned Ki-duk works, it only seems to add to the lack of grounding as a suggestion that any plans or attempts to anchor down to a place are futile, and in the particular location likely to result in death.  These "weights" which metaphorically appear in the form of the young boy tying rocks to animals, extend to the narrative, whether it be sexual desire, the dream of escapism or perhaps even notions of spiritual answers themselves.  The climb up hill carrying the burden of a stone in the next to final act seems to best sum up the entire narrative, in that, climbing the hill is already problematic, but one must only carry the burdens that they have brought upon themselves, and nothing more, every individual is given a chance to chose their outcomes, even in the most seclusive of situations.

Key Scene:  The rocks on the animals metaphor is so on the nose, but considering how inherently violent it is, I felt it to be an audacious and well-executed portion of the film.

This is another cheap Korean film that stands out as well-worth owning.  Not only is it an exceptional Korean film, but it is also a great art house work on a global scale.

Vagina Dentata! It's What's Inside Me: Teeth (2007)

It is perhaps fitting that I close out this month of women oriented film with the 2007 pseudo-horror thriller Teeth, first, because it plays nicely into the triple threat of metaphor that has been this and the last two films I reviewed.  Second, it is a great bookend with I Spit on Your Grave, which began this month of film, because they both deal with sexual oppression, particularly acts of sexual violence, and the subsequent revenge one woman undertakes to correct such issues.  Both very much consider what constitutes revenge, and do so with a decidedly gritty attitude and complete dismissal of any value in their respective culture.  In I Spit on Your Grave, the film seems to condemn a lack of education and rural seclusion as the means to women being degraded and defiled, setting up a certain vision of the world in which rape and violence occurs.  While Teeth is certainly a little more broad in its constructs, its semi-rural setting, doubled with two oppressively present nuclear chimneys, is no more specified.  Both films, do draw upon the very visceral and terrifying experiences of rape, yet, both also manage to make it central to one figure.  Where Teeth proves slightly more revolutionary than its precursor, is in its attempts to negate a certain sort of moral looseness with the type of woman who would be "subject" to rape.  The main character in Teeth is decidedly conservative and certainly does not seek out sexual encounters, furthermore, her acts of vengeance, in many instances are not entirely a result of her own fruition, instead; something her body naturally rejects, because unwarranted sexual aggression is always wrong...always.  It would be one thing if the film simply used the plot of a woman with vagina dentata as a means to make an exploitative film, however, Teeth rarely uses the main woman and her nudity as a visual element, as opposed to its rampant use in I Spit On Your Grave.  Instead, director Mitchell Litchtenstein clearly takes the narrative and discussion he posits seriously.  The film jams issues of conservative ideals of sexual censorship, a rape-positive culture and the problematic medicalization of the woman's body into a fast-paced film which is surprisingly dense with commentary.  One could read the closing moments of the film as nihilistic, but it, in my opinion, says much more about a challenge to continuations of sexual violence and instead embraces an outright destruction of their possible occurrences.

Teeth focuses on a girl named Dawn (Jess Weixler) who is coping with the trouble of growing up with her sick mother, stepdad and lecherous stepbrother Brad (John Hensley).  Dawn is a simple young woman who finds solace and understanding by serving as an abstinence coach at her local high school, promoting purity and the wearing of a promise ring, in order, to save herself for the beauty of her marriage night.  While Dawn clearly has an affect on the people she speaks with, it would appear as though her family and those in her town are far less inclined to embrace such ideals, whether it be Brad, who continually spends his days getting high and having sex with his live-in girlfriend, whereas when Dawn is at school she is ridiculed for being chaste and choosing to abstain from sex.  However, Dawn finds support in a fellow abstinence supporter named Tobey (Hale Appleman) whom she begins to grow fond feelings for, even at one point intensely sexual ones.  When the two take a trip to the local creek for a swim, it is revealed that Tobey is a born-again virgin, and when the two swim into a secluded cave, Tobey attempts to engage in intercourse with Dawn, despite her repeated yelling of the word no.  It is during the rape, that Dawn's vagina appears to bite off Tobey penis, much to both of their surprises, which leads to Tobey bleeding to death, while Dawn hermits herself in her house, feeling gross and unsure about her body.  Research leads her to discover that she possesses an anomaly known as vagina dentata, which essentially means that she has teeth inside of her vagina, a myth arising from various pre-modern civilizations.  During a trip to the gynecologist, Dawn assumes that everything is fine, until the doctor becomes a bit to abrasive and forceful with his "inspection" leading her vagina to bite off his fingers.  Dawn is now incredibly worried about her safety, and seeks solace with a young man from her school who had shown interest in her, eventually engaging in willing intercourse with him, resulting in no damage to the man, yet when they go for another round of sex and it is discovered that he had a bet going on his ability to land Dawn, her instincts kick in and her vagina dentata kicks in.    All the while it is revealed that Brad through indifference and focusing on sex, allows his stepmother to fall over sick to the point of needing hospitalization.  Knowing that Brad has expressed sexual interest in her, Dawn seduces him and uses her "mutation" to castrate him, a last hoorah against terrible male oppressors before she escapes town via her bicycle.  When it breaks down, she hitches a ride with an old man, leading to the closing moments where the man makes sexual gestures towards the man.  Instead of feeling threatened, Dawn simply looks out the window and smirks, knowing well that she possesses a means to ward of his advances.

The film is obviously a metaphor, it is rather clear in the title and poster/box art.  However, to simply focus on the vagina dentata element would be to tragically overlook the other layers of symbolism and authority that would make Lacan proud in their execution.  The idea of circles plays very much into the themes of the film, suggesting an image and notion of unbroken perfection.  When Dawn is initially a spokesperson for abstinence she makes continual note of her purity ring, not to mention the image of the circle that covers all the pamphlets, posters and paraphernalia involved in their campaign, but this metaphor certainly extends beyond this moment.  When Dawn's class discusses the genitalia of the respective sexes, the students are confused when they are shown a male's penis, only to turn the page and find the vagina covered by a censorship sticker, that is, of course, a circle.  The teacher claims that the school board voted to censor such imagery.  The circle as pure, ironically, covers up the anatomical object which is responsible for birth.  The circle continues to be relevant when Dawn makes an effort to remove the sticker to discover the image of the vagina and its anatomical correctness, which viewers are to assume does not reflect the mutated version she possesses.  Finally, the circle emerges brilliantly in the form of a solar flare, when Dawn attempts to give an abstinence talk after her being raped, in this instance the burden of purity shines upon her almost as if to draw attention to her lying.  Of course, other imagery emerges within the text, the obvious one being phallic symbols of oppression, again in a very literal sense in the anatomy discussion Dawn's class engages in, however, it also emerges in regards to the nuclear power plant chimneys that rise into the air directly over Dawn's residence, penetrating the sky and the sensibilities of everyone in contact, in the case of Dawn they affect her in a very biological sense.  This all leads to the clear castration metaphor, one, entrenched in a rhetoric of evolution.  Dawn's body is not an abnormality, per se, but as her teacher suggest when referring to rattle snakes a means to evolve to survive.  In this metaphor it is clear, that the film is reminding viewers that sexual violence occurs far too frequently and it is only a matter of time before women's anatomy learns to adapt to stop its occurring.

Key Scene:  Dawn's unveiling of the female anatomy is well-shot and seems to drive home the commentary on women's oppressed sexuality, which is the overarching commentary of the film as a whole.

This film is intense, clever and reflective of the possibilities of the horror genre to consider social issues.    It is quite worth checking out and certainly cheap enough to justify owning.

Nothin' But Boobies. Who Needs 'Em?: Valley of the Dolls (1967)

If I want to embrace yesterdays film Foxy Brown for its absolutely brilliant use of metaphor, then I will have to come down quite hard on Mark Robson's 1967 film Valley of the Dolls, an adaptation of a Jaqueline Susann novel of the same name for being far too over the top and showy to really justify its intensity.  Sure the film is absolutely mesmerizing visually, particularly its use of psychedelic sequences to depict pill highs, and the rather innovative method for depicting musical numbers.  Yet, it must be acknowledged that the film really seems to lack a clear direction, social commentary or set of relateable characters in general.  While these are not necessarily mandatory for a film to be enjoyable, just look at anything Harmony Korine has made, when something like Valley of the Dolls attempts to reside within the cinematic and frames itself within the traditional aspects of filmmaking, it can be rather unbearable to watch it crumble under its own overly lofty ambitions.  Perhaps my real problem with the film comes not from its broad ambitions, I enjoy films with audacious hopes, but, instead; from its inability to relate its visual endeavors with the story shown.  While I have never personally read Susann's novel I cannot speak to how faithful Robson's adaptation is or is not, I, however, imagine that some of the "whiteness" of the narrative is undercut by the reality of the then tense racial climate.  The film viewers are provided with plays heavily into assumptions that everything is terrible in the world of well-to-do white people, almost entirely as a result of their large amounts of free time.  In fact, this is a film about a girl moving to the big city and attempting to find her identity, something her class and race afford her to do without question.  I know this is a rambling bit of rage and theoretically obtuse, yet, I just felt really let down by what I assumed would be a far more astute observation of sex, drugs and exploitation in the era, yet, the result was far less thrilling and certainly problematic.  In fact, if it were not for the beautiful voice of Dionne Warwick at the films opening and closing I would be inclined to dismiss the film in its entirety, and to think I almost bought a copy of the film flat out based on the cover alone.

Valley of the Dolls centers on two young girls who decide to take a shot at Broadway and all its illustrious promises.  The first girl Neely O'Hara (Patty Duke) is in possession of a powerful voice, but does not necessarily fit the look of a Broadway starlet.  The second is Anne Welles (Barbara Parkins) a young woman from New England who has travelled to the big city, completely living her somewhat provincial life and middle America lifestyle behind her, including a promising marriage proposal.  The film then becomes, ostensibly, about making the correct choices.  Another girl within the group of women attempting to hit it big on Broadway, Jennifer North (Sharon Tate) takes the approach of marrying into success, assuming that it will afford her open doors to big events and eventually huge theater deals, however, she ends up pregnant and in need of an abortion, which leads to another layer of medical expenses.  In the end Jennifer must break-down and star in European "soft core" erotic films.  On the other hand Neely, in an attempt to use duplicitous and devious behavior to her advantage, much like her idol, an aging Helen Lawson (Susan Hayward), however, in the process, Neely comes to obtain a crippling addiction to barbiturates, known, as "dolls" in the community.  Anne is also not free of the dangerous influence of "dolls," and succumbs to their influence for a considerable amount of time, yet is able to escape their addictive nature.  Neely, however, continues to spiral out of control and ends up in an asylum for a portion of the film, where she is assured that she caught sight of a former lover.  Yet, upon release Neely's addiction worsens, and when she adds alcohol to the mix things only spiral further downward.  In the end, Anne returns home to her family, realizing that, perhaps, the big allure of Broadway is far too much for her and simplicity is her best course of action.

This movie is all over the place philosophically, and seems to desire to dump the entirity of women's issues onto viewers, without properly dealing with any of them.  There is a character who is diagnose with cancer, and its relationship to the overall plot is so loose that I could not help but recall the announcement of having cancer that occurs in Tommy Wiseau's The Room.  I am, obviously, all for films dealing with issues of women's health and their social objectification, in fact, almost every paper or presentation I give concerns this, yet, I have no desire to engage with materials that only do this on a cursory level.  There is an abortion in this film, very little is made of this, despite clearly having rather dire effects of Jennifer and her self-identity.  She spirals into doing softcore pornography and the film never suggests that her inability to talk about her feelings post-abortion may have played into her choices.  Furthermore, the film uses some incredibly derogatory terms for sexual identity as it relates to one character, and while one could certainly suggest that this is due to drug induced rage, little consequence or challenge is given to these slurs and hateful diatribes.  Finally, the film manages to take hysteria and use it as a plot advancement without, simultaneously, condemning it as a illogical and societally constructed phenomena.  In fact, Neely's entire stay at the mental asylum appears to be an "expose" on how hysteria manifests itself, however, she is vilified for these behaviors, nevermind, that she is just as much caught in a love triangle with Anne and another man.  Very little seems to emerge in the way of critiquing males for their involvement in the problems "discussed" in this film and it is perhaps in this that I find the film most frustrating.  Again, I would rather have a film not discuss such dense and controversial topics, than to do so with half-hearted, nearly exploitative intentions.

Key Scene:  Again it is a visually pleasing film and the musical sequences are quite funny, I did, however, laugh out loud during the "European film" sequence.

This is a rental by all means, perhaps I am completely wrong in my opinion of this film and will certainly revisit in the future, however, as it stands I do not particularly care for its messy framework.

She Finally Got Harry All To Herself: Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman (1958)

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman is one of those movies that everyone is quite culturally aware of even if they have never seen the film, which was certainly the case for me up until last night, yet I could have identified a shot of a towering woman next to power lines with very little difficulty.  As a B-movie, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman suffers from some absolutely awful special effects, while also possessing some moments of incredibly captivating cinematography and experimentation, a moment involving a crystal ball immediately comes to mind.  Given the title of the film alone, it is really obvious as to why it would be included in this month of women in film blog posts, yet clocking in at barely over an hour, I was taken back by how little of the narrative is focused on the iconic image that every seems to glean from the film.  In fact, for being a film with such a straightforward title, it is ostensibly about a couple of guys dealing with the wrath of a woman, whose vengeance is more than justified.  It is of course a movie from the fifties, and a B-movie at that, it is always a dangerous risk to assume that any film from that era and style is anything but highly misogynistic.  Of course, that is not to entirely dismiss the film, considering that its metaphor on woman uprising against the wrongdoings of her husband, when it does occur, is with such intensity and commitment that its almost as large as the woman to which the title refers.  I would never place this film on the same very high pedestal as that of Carnival of Souls, but I do think that its much better than simply a cult classic and exists as a very key text when considering the depiction of women, particularly within American cinema.  It also manages to keep within the framework of the fear of the unknown, in this case, giant martian aliens, as a metaphor for concerns of nuclear fallout and the Cold War.  Sure a thousand arguments could be made for how Attack of the 50 Foot Woman could have been so much more than what is offered, but to be fair, it also could have been so much less, what is given is considerably revolutionary, if not quite hilarious at times.

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman focuses primarily on a town whose recent visitation by aliens, in the desert at the outskirts of their town, seems to affect little in relation to their daily lives.  In fact, the opening sequence of a newscaster explaining what exactly is occurring in regards to the giant orbs and martians occupying space outside the town, yet, aside from a few passive mentions of it, the townsfolk seem quite indifferent to its existence, instead, spending much more time focusing on the issues and arguments of a popular couple in town.  The two people in question, Nancy (Allison Hayes) and Harry Archer (William Hudson) are constantly at odds with one another, particularly Nancy towards Harry, who is seemingly always attempting to win over the affections of a much younger woman named Honey Parker (Yvette Vickers).  In an attempt to ignore the face of reality, Nancy continually consumes alcohol and bemoans Harry for his actions, yet in his slick ways, Harry always flashes his charm to get Nancy to forgive him in the end.  However, when she returns from a drive out to the desert spouting about seeing a giant green man, Harry believes her to have completely insane and, as a result, drugs her into submissive indifference.  Problems grow, literally, when the drugs Harry has given Nancy begin to react to something in her body, which it is later revealed changed upon her encounter with the martian in the desert.  A series of doctors and nurses come in with the intent of fixing the problem, however, as she continues to grow the efforts fail and a giant version of Nancy breaks from the confines of her chains and begins a quest to find Harry.  The enlarged version of Nancy is so focused in her goal that she begins, unintentionally trampling everything in her path, much to the distress of two hapless cops, until she makes it to the bar where Harry is hanging out with Honey.    Harry attempts to shoot at Nancy to no avail, and grabs him from the bar and raises him above her head.  It is not until a cop uses a riot gun to blow up electrical wires onto Nancy that she is subdued and returned to regular size, killing both herself and Harry in the process, but as an onlooker notes, she has finally obtained the one the she desired, the sole possession of her husband.

The main embrace of this movie is rather obvious in its clearly stated metaphor.  A woman grows to incomprehensible proportions and exacts her wishes and desires upon a man who has to a great degree done her wrong, particularly in his willful infidelity and indifference to destroying her body in the name of comfort, but considering that this portion of the narrative is so very brief, it is important to consider the larger commentaries of the film.  Firstly, it does ask questions about what role a woman has in deterring her husband from doing wrong by her, when she has little power within a societal or legal context.  Essentially, Nancy is able to bemoan the actions of her husband but cannot forbid him from doing so, similarly, the town seems to look down on Harry's relationship with Honey, yet they also know that it is out of their jurisdiction to correct his behavior and, purposefully, play ignorant to Nancy inquiries.  While the out-lash is blown to giant proportions, again, very literally, it is quite possible that the film connects a link between violent and single-minded outbursts, in this case the trampling of cars, power lines and buildings, to being tantamount to a fit of alcohol induced rage on the part of Nancy.  Nancy is indeed a lush, the film makes that quite clear, and, in fact, serves as the major factor into peoples refusal to believe her initial claims about seeing giants.   The problems faced by Nancy and Harry also find themselves comfortably entrenched within class privilege, their house is extravagant and Nancy possesses both fine jewelry and enough money to be a functioning alcoholic, therefore, they can also comfortably blow their issues out of the water, where as, others would be forced to internalize such issues, particularly women, whose reliance on men would require them to cower in fear and dependency, as opposed to blow up in revolution and independence.  Nancy is not the ideal figure for woman's radical stand against the patriarchy, yet considering the time period and her well-to-do status she is the realistic figure.  If it were not for the rather defeatist, and clear homage to King Kong, ending,  its frank consideration of privilege and societal navigation, and, ultimately, reconsideration of gender power dynamics would be damn near perfect.

Key Scene:  When Nancy finally breaks out of the house, her destruction of the domestic is so well realized and visually driven that it is hard not to revel in its occurrence.

This is an awesome b-movie that stands in considerable opposition to the male-oriented works of the same time, if only for the last ten minutes.  What makes it greater is that it has some moments of visual magic that are quite fresh to even by expanded cinematic palette.  I highly recommend grabbing a copy for your collection.

Experiments In Film: Meshes In The Afternoon (1943)

I knew that for this month of women in film that I wanted to include at least one female experimental filmmaker, and while I certainly considered using Su Friedrich, amongst others, I decided it was perhaps best to show some more adoration for Maya Deren, whose experimental films proved quite important in my ultimate understanding of the power and possibility of cinema.  While I am still slightly more in favor of Stan Brakhage's work, with each revisitation of Deren's catalogue I begin to realize that she may well be the superior filmmaker, especially, if one is to consider her most well known piece Meshes in the Afternoon.  Created with her then husband Alex Hammind, the film is very much concerned with the image and spatial movement of woman, perhaps heavily influenced by Deren's own hand in the making, although much contention has arisen regarding who of the couple should receive credit.  Meshes of the Afternoon manages to exist within multiple styles of experimental filmmaking, whether it be they heavy influences of Dadaism and surrealism that allow for the film to create doppelgängers and a non-linear narrative clearly influenced by the unconscious, yet, it is also a film with evasive visual imagery relying of refractions of light and shadow that are reminiscent of Chris Marker's La Jetée.  It is quite fun to watch people attempt to break down the symbolism within something like Meshes of the Afternoon, because it is a film where every scene and image, does indeed appear to be heavily contemplative and a clear decision on the part of the directors.  Whether it be a key that turns into a knife or a shattered mirror, the film seems to layer its meaning within itself, suggesting an engagement with its textual commentary that is entirely contingent upon each viewers emotional and mental attitude upon initially engaging with the material.  It is really difficult not to leap at over explaining and, subsequently, over selling something like Meshes in the Afternoon, because it is both a constantly baffling film, as well as something that a viewer will find themselves completely engrossed with for the thirteen odd minutes of run time.

After claiming that deconstructing the film is overly exhausted and to some degree counterintuitive, I will, nonetheless, attempt to add some context to my interpretation of the the multilayered and expansive narrative that is Meshes of the Afternoon.  Yet, I will attempt to only pull what would be pertinent to a feminist analysis, considering the theme of this month on my blog, and even in doing so I am not claiming it to be a certainty in any reading, but merely one of a wide set of possibilities.  Firstly, the manner with which the unnamed main character, played, of course, by Deren herself, moves through the space of the film, often extending arms, from the top of the screen downward, or being half shot in a reflection of a window, could speak to issues of disembodiment that many women face, specifically after being victim to sexual violence, something the film indirectly suggests has occurred.  Secondly, the key, perhaps the films most recurring image, could mean a variety of things relating to femininity, whether it be her own identity, or more abstractly her "way of being female" a key that, not accidentally, can turn to a knife without a moments notice.  Of course, these previous mentioned images and stylistic choices are key, but the films most jarring and enigmatic image has to be the mirror-faced grim reaper who moves through the space of the film, much to the awareness of the the main woman in the film, but at the same time completely detached.  If it were not for the presence, of the mirror, I would simply call it a rather normal relation to sex and death that often emerges in surrealist filmmaking, think of the moth from Un Chien Andalou for a classic example.  Yet the mirror for a face on the figure of death, is perhaps in a Lacanian kind of way, a suggestion to the woman's own othering and lack, there for visualizing her silence and inevitable death as a result.  Of course, I have no clue what to make of the phone that the grim reaper carries, but it only drives me to visit this film many more times in the future.

To view Meshes in the Afternoon online, or to get more information about Maya Deren, click on either of the images below:

Your Mothers Were Slimy Rats! Their Milk Was Sour!: Hangmen Also Die! (1943)

I am currently enrolled in a Contemporary Women's Playwrights course for which I am finding myself completely enthralled with the complex, masterful and exceptional plays which are being discussed, however, I am not a theater student and am instead taking it as an extension of my gender studies certificate.  As such, when the fellow students reference terms like "Brechtian" I find myself completely lost as to what precisely they mean and have been seeking to better understand.  I thought that by watching Hangmen Also Die!, a play whose script was written by Bertolt Brecht that I would come to better understand exactly the nature of such a style included.  Sadly I am no closer to understanding the deeply philosophical roots of all things Brechtian, however, what I did receive was a rather excellent viewing experience from one of my personal favorites Fritz Lang.  Admittedly, Hangmen Also Die! was a bit slow to start and I found my interests waning a bit instantly labeling it as yet another propaganda heavy war film from an exceptionally good time in Hollywood Cinema, but then something happened and the film found a second, perhaps even third, wind and became an extremely watchable highly cinematic study in human frailty, the notion of good and evil and deception in the name of a larger good.  A chiaroscuro revelation that could only come from the magnificent eyes of the Austrian Expressionist auteur, Hangmen Also Die!, like so many of the rarefied Kino Films releases stands to be obtained and watched, repeatedly if possible, but also suffers from a degree of obscurity that makes the prints available less then stellar, in fact, this particular print is considerably grainy and the sound often drops mid sentence for many characters, nonetheless, it becomes so stylistically impressive that all concern for its damaged nature disappear in the face of cinema at its finest, and a film that I initially chided for its choice of American actors playing gestapo officers, became something with a hugely complex and absolutely enthralling war film with just the right touch of noir madness.

Hangmen Also Die! exist within wartime Chzechoslovakia, which the name alone tells one was a time prior to two World Wars, and in this particular case a moment in which Germany occupied the nation, leaving its citizens uncomfortably within the rule of a cruel fascist hand.  One Czech patriot named Dr. Svoboda (Brian Donlevy) takes it upon himself to kill a German officer who has earned the infamous reputation of being the "hangman of Europe" for his willingness to murder all those not within the strict ideal of Aryan identification.  This act of course makes him criminal number one within the country leading to an all out assault by the Nazi occupants to seek revenge.  Fortunately for Svoboda, an elderly history professor named Stephen Novotny (Walter Brennan) and his daughter Mascha (Anna Lee) agree to help him and in the process also become intertwined within the gaze of the Nazi's.  Realizing that their best means to get the citizens to talk is to take hostages and begin killing civilians until they agree to speak against their neighbors, an action that proves relatively unsuccessful, even as men from the towns are gunned down by frustrated gestapo.  In fact, one member of the community a garrulous, rotund brewer named Emil Czaka (Gene Lockhart) sees the entire thing as a means to assure his well-being and safety within the ever growing power of Nazism and sells out his town for riches and protection.  When word is spread about Czaka's terrible decision a plan hatches to use his as a red herring, thus affording Novotny to go free, as well as to lift the eyes from Svoboda who is growing more conspicuous every day.  While the group is eventually able to convince the Nazi's that Czaka was responsible for the actions, through some clever deviations and redirected truths, it does not negate the deaths of so many via assassination, and while the film ends on a decidedly high note, it, nonetheless, reminds viewers of the losses within the film, which, no doubt, reflected very real loss at the time.

While I will fully admit that this film helped me little in better understanding the intricacies of Brechtian ideology as it relates to cinema specifically, I was quite enthralled by its genuine commitment to the concept of the group collective challenging the forces of evil.  It is out and out a film of World War II, in where the Allies make fools of the Axis, in this case going so far as to appropriate a country very close to Germany as an image of America, right down to its take no bullshit attitude and overemphasis on romanticism.  Of course, this appears to be a critique, but I am more than aware that it is a result of the culture and very much influenced by the propaganda of the era.  What Hangmen Also Die! ask viewers to do is to follow it as a group of individuals make a on-the-fly plan work in their favor, taking odds completely out of the picture, especially considering that so much of the success of their actions is predicated on their good fortune.  This is clearly evident in the luck Mascha has when obtaining Czaka's coveted golden lighter as a tool to frame him in their indictment, or when Svoboda is saved in the nick of time from almost certain death by, none other than Mascha's fiance, whom he had made a cuckold of only scenes earlier.  This sort of reliance on a larger good, helps events like these land, where petty wrongdoings like minor theft and pseudo-infidelity are diminished in the face of military style executions, and what would later be revealed to be large scale genocide.  While religion is certainly discussed throughout the film, it is not a central factor by any means, allowing for it to filmically exist within the context of expressionist noir, a genre very much associated with Lang's later films and while this will not prove to be anywhere near the film that Metropolis or Scarlett Street would be, it still whispers moments of brilliance, and could even be seen as being thematically within the same vein as his well-known masterpiece M.

Key Scene:  The stand-off in the hospital locker room is chiaroscuro perfection.

This, as so many of Kino's gems are, is an expensive DVD.  However, with a little patience one can obtain this as a rental from Netflix and it is more than worth pursuing, as it is a truly wonderful piece of lesser known film.