What I Miscarried There Was Sister Faith: Possession (1981)

I remember going into my horror movie marathon last year assuming that I would come across nothing that existed in a state of unrelenting profound film making, indeed suspecting nothing but genre films ranging from terrible to run-of-the-mill, excluding, of course, the films I chose to revisit for the marathon.  Yet, when I encountered An American Werewolf in London, I quickly change my tune and embraced it as one of my top ten cinematic experiences of the year.  While that film was certainly in the vein of comedy that just happened to move into a deeply introspective film, Possession, the 1981 horror psychological thriller is anything but hilarious.  Beginning in a heightened state of suspense, this film only pushes the intensity to further levels, incorporating an intense, but never evasive soundtrack, experimental cinematography, a semi-linear, but certainly interwoven narrative and phenomenal acting to result in something that defies simple explanation.  Aside from affording it my rare moniker of "the perfect film" I can only speak to Possession as something that must be viewed.  I know, however, that simply saying "watch this movie" is not enough, because I say that a lot about works, but I also do not find myself captivated and troubled by works as much as I did with Possession.  I felt my jaw continually dropping during the movie and even became aware of the frozen nature of my demeanor as it either leaned intensively into the action on screen, or folded backwards in shock at the depictions occurring.  Somewhere between the maddening body horror of a David Cronenberg film and the general eeriness that invades the work of Roman Polanski exists Possession, a work that takes the idea of what a horror film can be and subverts it and newly appropriates it, ultimately, resulting in a film that is both cinematically beautiful and narratively grotesque.  My gut reaction is to compare it to the dreary look of Army of Shadows, but what unfolds in this failed marriage narrative gone awry is entirely of its own fruition.  Suffice it to say, Possession is a vision of genre film, one that does not desire to be accessible, but certainly wants to be acknowledged in both a tangible conscious manner, as well as a subconscious and surreal way.

Possession focuses on Mark (Sam Neil) a former spy who has returned from a series of intense missions only to discover that his wife Anna (Isabelle Adjani) is quite distanced moving about the space of their disheveled house indifferent to his presence, as well as the well being of their son Bob (Michael Hogben).  This distrust between Mark and Anna moves from purely spoken threats to bizarre acts of self-violence, when one another attempt to hurt themselves with various weapons, most graphically occurring with a meat slicer.  Believing that much of the infidelity is a result of Anna's relationship with the enigmatic sensualist Heinrich (Heinz Bennett), Mark approaches him, only to discover that he too is oblivious to how truly wild Anna's life has become in Marks absence.  Attempting to discover what has occurred during his absence, Mark hires a private investigator to study Anna's whereabouts.  When this investigator tricks Anna into letting him into her apartment, the man discovers a bizarre creature growing in her room, one that attacks the investigator.  Still unsure about Anna's repeated absences, at this point stretching weeks at a time, Mark begins a relationship with Bob's teacher Helen (Isabelle Adjani) whose similarity to Anna is uncanny, indeed, identical.  When the investigators partner, in a romantic sense, attempts to find his deceased lover he too becomes victim to Anna's creature, although the death is shown to be distinctly at the hands of Anna in this situation.  Heinrich is the next person to invade the space of Anna's apartment, this time seeing the corpses for himself, all of which are stuffed in Anna's refrigerator.  Surviving a stabbing at the hands of Anna, Heinrich attempts to warn Mark, who still suspicious attacks Heinrich in a bath room, drowning him in a toilet in the process.  Inexplicably, Heinrich's mother begins contacting Mark about the whereabouts of her son, but Mark simply ignores these inquiries and finally enters Anna's apartment where he discovers her engaged in intercourse with the evolving creature, while continually uttering the word "almost."  After a run-in with his former associates, Mark finds Anna in a building standing next to his own doppelganger, assumedly the final form of the creature from earlier scenes, resulting in an intense shootout, that leads to the death of Anna and the doppelganger.  The final moments of the film, without reason, depict Bob and Anna in their home, Bob running upstairs to apparently drown himself in the bathtub, while Anna stares directly into camera.  The sound of sirens and bombs and the flickering of the lights end the film with no context as to their result on the people in the film.

I am fully aware that the description I just provided seems really all over the place and impossibly puzzling.  I am also aware that it only covers about half of what is going on in the larger narrative of the film.  Much like the works of Polanski and Cronenberg one can certainly pull themes from the film, particularly since there is a degree of repetition within the film even if not blatantly shown in the ways it might in other films.  Firstly, the film carries a clear element of panopticism about its narrative, wherein, the characters in the narrative, are clearly aware of a unseen presence (at a few moments clearly seen) watching over their actions.  Whether it be Anna's breaking down in the subway tunnel or Mark's hectic movements through the bar in search of Heinrich, there is a clear acknowledgement of a presence that is beyond the space of the film, one that is decidedly invasive and always at odds with the characters.  Cinematographer Bruno Nuytten reinforces this feeling with a considerable combination of impossible close-ups, handheld pans and generally innovative camera tricks to make this broken space that much more challenging to viewers.  Indeed, one could suggest that the extended presence of the film, the voyeuristic threat is none other than the individual viewing the film, making the distrust depicted by Anna and Mark that much more jarring, as well as helping to explain the break that happens about midway through when the film goes meta and the fourth wall is theoretically broken.  Moreover, the film also takes liberties with how the body horror narrative can emerge, particularly when it is shared by characters, and doubled with an element of the doppelganger narrative here.  In a more traditional film, say a German silent expressionist film, the doppelganger serves as a confrontation to the unideal self, wherein it is not what the character wants to become, something that happens to certain degree in other body horror films.  However, this is where the film seems to share nicely with Cronenbergs work, in so much as the altered body is suggested to be the ideal, whether reinforced in Existenz or The Fly, it is an achievement of mutated madness.  Indeed, this also ties itself to issues of the maternal as surrogate for the ideal form, one that requires the womb as a sacrificial space, but that is a theoretical endeavor that I am far from equipped to tackle, however, it is yet another level in which Possession appears to be working.

Key Scene:  Anna's breakdown/possession in the subway is intense and drags on indefinitely.  It makes for some of the most disconcerting film viewing imaginable, but in a highly profound manner.

This film is out of print, I had to get "creative" with how I obtained a copy.  With that being said, I have my eye on the region 2 bluray, hopefully it will drop in price at some point.  If you can track this film down, it is well worth your time to view.

Have I Changed, Or Has The City Changed?: Memories Of Underdevelopment (1968)

With the viewing of this film earlier this week I can now say definitively that at some point in my life I have seen every film on the TIFF essential 100 list.  This might seem a little silly for those who do not regularly read my blog posts, but this has been an endeavor that was well over two years in the making.  Many of the films on the list were quite easy to come by, but since it is an incredibly diverse and decidedly globalized list some of the works were just near impossible to find, particularly Memories of Underdevelopment, which as you may know is a Cuban film about revolution set in the heart of the sixties.  Fortunately, my attending a rather big name school for graduate studies has afforded me the chance to watch a copy, all be it, on a VHS player, but it is by no means the worst venue for some of the films I had to dig up, I think specifically of Wavelength and Pather Panchali when reflecting on this quest.  It is quite appropriate that I ended with something like Memories of Underdevelopment, because it stands apart from so many on the list (all quite excellent films in their own rights) as something uniquely its own.  A hardened cinephile will quickly recognize the various cinematic traditions exploding on the screen, whether it be flares of cinema verite, or a heavy use of Fellini's humorous absurdism, in fact, one can even pick out a healthy dose of American rock'n'roll influence, despite being a film made in Cuba during the height of its revolution.  What makes Memories of Underdevelopment such a powerful film, however, is that despite its clearly personal commentary on the state of Cuba politically and its inevitable extension to those occupying the spaces of the multiracial, multi-classed island, the film somehow manages to exude a certain degree of awareness about the larger questions of humanity, personal struggle and the ever present concern of aging and existential angst.  Filmmaker, Tomás Gutiérrez Alea blows the lid off of cinematic conventions, by layering cinematic tricks, with masterful metaphors never allowing the narratives decidedly non-linear structure to ever provide any degree of comfort or intimacy to the viewer, yet the message is so personal and impassioned that it is hard not to be fully gripped from the violent opening of the film to its introspective closing moments.

Memories of Underdevelopment has a few narratives interwoven within the particular experiences of Sergio (Sergio Corrieri) a well-to-do Cuban whose travels and living in Paris have clouded his judgement of Cuba both as a country and as global political identity.  Sergio purposefully uses the term underdeveloped to refer the the nature of Cuba as it moves towards the seventies, suggesting it to be indicative of its relationship with countries like the United States, as well as a reflection of the larger social landscape.  Of course, Sergio is quite well off, therefore, he is able to more easily move about Cuban streets and, subsequently, engage with people of various classes.  Yet, as a single bachelor, Sergio spends a considerable portion of his time attempting to hook up and manages to find success with an young girl named Elena (Daisy Granados) whose doe-eyed demeanor is both built up as a point of attraction for Sergio, as well as a sign of weakness which he is happy to exploit.  Of course, his involvement with Elena is far more fleeting and desires nothing more than casual sex, yet, when it is revealed that Elena is indeed a virgin, and expects Sergio to now wed her after their intimate encounter, Sergio moves into a panic, attempting to avoid any degree of commitment.  It is, however, revealed that Elena, aside from still being a teenage, is also suffering from a high degree of mental illness, or at the very least a severe case of depression.  These changes result in Elena's family stepping in to seek reprimands for Sergio's behavior, although the wealth and well-being of Sergio allow for him to escape without as much as a scratch, able to float about Cuba with his condescending gaze fixated on all those lesser than him.  The film shows this rather simple narrative while continually intercutting between popular film and political footage, with a rather obvious yet incredibly poignant message along the way.

The notions of class and privilege cannot be ignored within Memories of Underdevelopment, and certainly should not, considering the political climate in Cuba at the time of the film's release.  Firstly, Sergio is intended to be a loathsome character, his Westernized, views of the world allow him to look at his country with some degree of disgust, suggesting that the people are to some degree underprivileged and, therefore, decidedly less than he is, especially since he has seen the "better," and considerably whiter parts of the world.  It is no irony that the people he seems to condemn the most are of considerably darker complexion than himself and as a result less connected with the Western ideal.  This frame of reference helps explain how he goes about seducing and taking advantage of Elena, who is noticeably darker than himself, her suffering from a mental disorder, only helps to convince of his ability as the closest thing to a "white oppressor" to take advantage of the mentally troubled and, as a result, savage Cuban woman.  It is a narrative that steeps itself within the realm of colonial criticism, which is no small irony, given that Cuba would be dealing with a colonial gaze via America, whose concerns for their production of weapons would lead to high levels of hostility, leading to surveillance and infamous photographs at the Bay of Pigs, completely unbeknownst to the people of Cuba.  Much in the same way, Sergio lives in a high rise condo and uses the lens of an expensive camera to spy upon the people around his building, whose class and racial complexion are othered and exploited, even gazed upon at Sergio's leisure.  It is, in fact, these sequences that seem to sum up the issues of the film beautifully.  The film seems to ask what good can come from change and a desire to alter the landscape of a country that is being passed down and decided by a for so high up as to be literally detached from the ground.  Their understanding of the problems does not speak to the deaths happening on the ground, only the lofty ambitions to be equal to the West, although this idea, as the narrative seems to hint, will never, and can never happen.

Key Scene:  There is a nice repeat montage of some dancing and striptease scenes in the middle of the film that is experimentally sound and metaphorically powerful.

This is a doozy to come buy and does not appear to be receiving an American release in future, as such I strongly recommend watching it but will leave you to your own devices to figure out how to do so.

It Probably Came From A Smelly Planet Far Far Away: Godzilla Vs The Smog Monster (1971)

While the Godzilla franchise, beginning with the poetically tragic original, has never cowered away from an on the nose metaphor, particularly concerning a nuclear weapons armistice, perhaps it has never become so blatant as in the seventies offering Godzilla vs Hedorah aka The Smog Monster.  This particular film within the movie film franchise is quite psychedelic and indicative of so many of the films being released in Japan during the decade, including some of my personal favorites, House and Jigoku.  As has been the case with so many of my hard to find Japanese films, dubbing proves inavoidable, and it is rarely decently executed.  With this particular dubbing it is hard to tell if the kid is being dubbed by an actual child or a woman doing her best young boy voice, not to mention the greatest trait about dubbing Godzilla movies in particular, the fact that the speakers will use their normal    voices for every word except Godzilla, in which they try their best to sound Asian, a task that always fails.  Of course, this is a post-production issue that should not lead me to judge the film harshly and I certainly will not, especially since it is easily my favorite film in the franchise next to the original, which will always be untouchable in my book.  The mixture of ant-beatnik malaise, experimental psychedelic costuming and setting and the somewhat unsuspecting incorporation of animation allow for a film that is both extremely watchable and equally unusual.  Godzilla vs The Smog Monster has a considerable amount of educational documentary style moments throughout, which pair interestingly with the chaos of the fight scenes between Godzilla and Hedora, so much so that if it were not for the incredibly adult scenes of promiscuity in the night clubs it would be easy to claim this as a children's film.  I know that Godzilla has become a thing of obscurity to many American filmgoers, particularly considering the less than stellar American version from 1998, however, it is the brilliance of these occasional masterpieces such as Godzilla vs The Smog Monster that remind me of the possibilities for the franchise in the future, hell look at what Daniel Craig did for James Bond...we can only hope similar things happen with The King of All Monsters.

This particular incarnation of a Gojira offering, situates itself in Japan in the early seventies, one that is noticeably industrialized and crowded.  A young boy is shown, living on the coastline of Tokyo, along with his marine biologist dad, of course, their relationship noticeably strained as the young boy is seeks solace in his action figures of Godzilla and other monsters.  It is not until the marine life around their ocean house begins to deteriorate that they come in contact with some mysterious sludge overtaking the ocean.  It is revealed that the sludge consumes Earth's pollution as a means to grow, quickly expanding to insurmountable proportions, slithering and consuming everything in its path, including the drug-fueled hippy kids dancing in clubs. Of course the great and now well-loved Godzilla appears to aid the people of Tokyo, however, even his strength and poise proves lacking at the seemingly unstoppable Hedorah, causing him to flee from their initial bout.  Initially befuddled as to how to challenge this nearly unbeatable monster, the doctor considers the effects trying out the monster would have, particularly considering that it appears to thrive off of being somewhat sludgelike, and while the technology initially fails due to the eruptive nature of Godzilla and Hedorah's battle, Godzilla eventually uses his ray gun powers to engergize the beam thus drying out Hedorah and making it easier to defeat.  After succesfully destroying The Smog Monster, Godzilla uses some sort of bowel induce rocket fire to fly off into the distance, of course we are left to wonder if humanity has learned from yet another of their erroneous mistakes...considering the sequels it appears as though they have yet to learn.

One of the major components and personal loves I have for the Godzilla franchise is the director's and writer's willingness to make a social/environmental commentary that is obnoxiously on the nose.  When it is embrace I have no problem with this, especially in relation to such an consistent franchise.  However, when this fails it is nearly unbearable, refer to Birdemic if you do not believe.  However, what is more brilliant about the Godzilla franchise is the concern for human suffering and unification.  Often taking a backseat to the battles and explosions of these action heavy films, rarely are the tragedies of human life ignored.  The narratives filling the gaps between building crumbling are always excellent microcosms of the human existence, made literal by their relative diminutiveness compared to the monsters of the title.  This is certainly true within Godzilla vs The Smog Monster as we are given an incredibly earnest and heartfelt study of a man attempting to salvage a relationship with his son, one who is able to see the tragedy of human destruction and demands the initial acknowledgement of Hedorah, despite the dismissive voices of his father, and other parental figures.  The closing scenes of the son and father uniting in celebration of the defeat of Hedorah provide a sweet climax to what seems like a nearly impossible rekindling of past tragedies.  No longer do we expect the child to take refuge in his toys and slides, but that given the grander scale of human destruction witnessed the two will cherish their time together.  Also, the film seems really anti-hippy/youth culture, but that is an entirely different critique altogether.

Key Scene:  The moment when Godzilla ray blasts himself into the sky is too bad ass not to take revelry in, it is an awesome moment within a philosophically and emotionally heavy movie.

I would say buy this movie immediately, but its ticket price is a bit hefty, hopefully, a impending Godzilla movie will help many of these long overlooked classics to reemerge.  Until then find a copy in any way you may...even if it means watching it online.

It Suits You, But It's Not Right For Us: Through The Olive Trees (1994)

Abbas Kiarostami is not unfamiliar to this blog some months ago I heavily praised his work Close-Up as being not only an absolutely cinematic and politically intense work but a means to better represent exactly what I feel cinema can provide as a sort of simulacrum and recreation of our own historical and cultural understandings.  It should be no surprise then that his film from four years later Through The Olive Trees manages to provide a similar sense of metacinema that is not only referential to other moments in cinematic history as well as its own historical relevance, but too is  means to better understand our own performances within moments, particularly when those moments are clouded by disaster, loss and coming to age much quicker than planned.  While I am by no means an expert on Iranian history, nor their culture, I would venture to say that the means by which tragedy influences the film, would be similar to a filmmaker making a film about making a film about 9/11...if any of the makes sense, probably not though.  To follow the work of Kiarostami one must inherently be willing to deconstruct their notions of traditional narrative, as well as cinematic spaces, particularly when it comes to question what amount of honesty and validity can arise from a cinematic moment, one that is constantly changing and influenced by a multitude of off screen factors, whether they be something as minor as the misplacement of props or something much larger, as is the case with unrequited love in this film.  Furthermore, given the rather problematic construction of the Middle East that has been created with the Western, particularly American, rhetoric one could find themselves assuming that an Iranian film would be cultural insensitive, sexually oppressive and negative on a large scale.  However the work of Kiarostami, and from what I understand is the case for most Iranian filmmakers, they manage to remind viewers that for a very large portion of the Iranian people war and politics are just as unwelcome and corrupt as they are in the states and it is their government preventing them from speaking against these injustices, not matter how brilliantly they manage to do so within a filmic setting.

As was the case in Close-Up the line between actor and character are often blurred, something that is engaged with from the films beginning when we are shown the actor Mohamad Ali Keshavarz, who plays a director within the film, explaining that he will be going to a girls school to cast the role of a young girl within Kiarostami's film, making it as much a moment of documentary filmmaking as it is the actual narrative.  While this is the only moment of direct breaking of the fourth wall, the films other main character of sorts Hossein is played by a young man named Hossein Rezai, causing the lines between reality and fiction to further blur.  What one is able to draw from the hybrid of fact and fiction is that Hossein has given up his life as a mason worker with the hopes of becoming an actor, a dream that has been pushed healthily forward by being cast in a leading role by the director from the beginning of the film.  A problem emerges, however, when the role of lead female is given to a neighborhood girl named Tahereh (Tahereh Ladanian) of whom Hossein has attempted on countless times to court.  Despite having lost both her parents in an earthquake, an event that evades every conversation in the film, her grandmother a conservative refuses to grant Hossein's requests for marriage, despite her daughters liking him, stating that he is both illiterate and does not have a house for them to live in upon marriage.  Hossein is not stupid and realizes she is just being elitist, noting that most newlyweds do not have homes, and that if so desired he would take up masonry, yet again, solely to provided them with a private domestic space.  While it is hard to tell, Tahereh does take a liking to Hossein within their repeated performance of a scene in which Hossein is to find his shoes, eventually ending the day of shooting.  While the adult crew bickers over issues of moving equipment Tahereh begins walking home only to eventually be followed home by Hossein and in what is a moment of absolute cinematic magic, we are given an extremely long distance shot of Tahereh finally answering Hossein about marriage.  We are left to wonder about her answer as the young man runs back across a green field.

There could be countless books written on not only the state of metacinema, but the director Abbas Kiarostami as well.  In fact, I may make it a goal of mine to read at least one book of criticism on this director while on Christmas break, as I imagine it will have a profound effect on my understanding of cinema as a larger concept.  Yet this is not the topic I want to discuss when concerning oneself with Through the Olive Trees.  Instead I find it to be a film incredibly influenced by what role tragedy and loss has upon youthful bliss and ignorance.  As mentioned, an earthquake which occurred a few years prior in Iran evades every moment of the film and is, in fact, mentioned in many of the meta scenes filmed within the film.  We, as viewers, are led to believe that whole families were lost within the disaster leaving a variety of dismantled and broken homes, both literally and figuratively.  As such, many, if not all of the youth and children within this film seem to exist in an uncomfortable space where they are required to dismiss their youthful bliss in the face of forced roles in adulthood.  This certainly holds true for the two young boys bringing flowers and plants to the filming set whose looks of loss and confusion cannot be ignored.  Furthermore, it invariably affects the means and manner of how Hossein woos Tahereh, in that much of his rhetoric is surrounded by offering a safe domestic space in which they can be their own family and create their own home for the future.  Nothing in his talks suggests youthful love and blind ambition, yet the head over heals nature of his approaches to winning Tahereh certainly do, particularly when he follows her in a near stalker manner begging for her hand.  In the end it appears as though the two young people are provided with a fragile and beautiful moment of young happiness, or at least that is what I like to imagine in the film closing moments, if not it will go down as one of the saddest endings in cinematic history.

Key Scene:  There are a few car scenes with a POV camera that are still fresh and unique to watch despite having been overused since their introduction in this film.

I want to say that buying this film is a no brainer...tragically there is not film version to watch.  However, there is a version of it available on youtube that is of decent quality.  You may want to check it out before it inevitably disappears.

Man Is Born Crying. When He Has Cried Enough, He Dies: Ran (1985)

To steal a phrase from the popular Lord of The Rings meme, "One does not simply adapt Shakespeare."  I mean this will all seriousness; because it is hard encapsulate the deep-seeded ideologies, multiple narratives, and poetic grandeur of the world's most well known bard.  When it fails, it seems like a skeleton of a narrative that offers little more to the viewers than a overdone storyline that anybody could have offered.  However, when one does adaptations of Shakespeare correctly the result is epic filmmaking that captures the human condition on film and inevitably rips violently at the heart strings of its viewers.  Akira Kurosawa's Ran, an adaptation of Shakespeare's King Lear is one such example.  In the matter of two and a half hours, Kurosawa manages to make the screen explode with the ebb and flow of human suffering from the eyes of Eastern ideology.  The actors deliver their various performances with such conviction and subtly that it gives the best of Shakespearean troupes a run for their money.   The excellent narrative is only helped by Kurosawa's unflinching cinematic grandeur, which continually encompasses both the large ideas of the world and the tiniest of moments in a being's existence.  I often have a battle in my mind between Ozu and Kurosawa for best Japanese director, but it is films like this one that remind me that the late director of Seven Samurai may just edge out his fellow countryman. 

As an adaptation of King Lear, one can imagine the levels of deceit and familial disappointment that exist within Ran and Kurosawa certainly shows these notions.  The film focuses on the stepping down from power of a once great ruler named Hidetora Ichimonji (Tatsuya Nakadi) who realizes that his time in charge is over.  As such, he places power in the hands of his eldest son Taro (Akira Terao) who accepts his responsibility with nervous gratitude.  His younger sons react in opposing manners; Jiro (Jinpachi Nezu) gladly follows the orders of his father as middle keeper of the lineage, while the youngest son Saburo (Daisuke Ryo) mocks the decision and steps away from his ties to the family altogether.  Befuddled, Hidetora attempts to continue on his way without his youngest son.  Foolishly, Hidetora assumes that his transfer of power will still allow him all the rights of ruler without the responsibilities.  However, Taro's wife Kaede (Mieko Harada) pushes her husband to demand his place a ruler, ultimately, causing Taro to confront his father in a rather violent manner.  What results are various levels of deceit amongst the family, the employees of the clan and the villagers surrounding the castle.  In violent, yet poetic, fashion the rest of the film builds up to a war between the brothers all awaiting the return of their father who goes blind and crazy, as a result of his decision.  Ironically, although very Shakespearean, the only voice of reason throughout the film appears to be the fool Kyoami (Pita) who through song and rhymes explains the problems of human existence.  Ultimately, all the characters die either through violent ends or heartbreak, but viewers should not be surprised, because after all King Lear is a tragedy.  There is certainly more to the plot I just explained, but to go into any greater detail would be to ruin its watchability, it is far more experiential than a simple paragraph could ever hope to show.

The important question to ask when discussing Ran is how precisely is it an acceptable adaptation of a Shakespeare play.  The first element that makes the film a great adaptation is its loyalty to the original text.  While the names of the characters and their exact words have changed from the original source material, they, nonetheless, reflect King Lear rather clearly and it does not take a Shakespeare scholar to realize this.  Secondly, performance is key to making Shakespeare adaptations acceptable.  Without a deep understanding of the words and ideas being expounded the film will fall flat, however, as I noted earlier, Ran is full of brilliant performances and even knowing that I do not understand a bit of Japanese, I still managed to gather the deep moving nature of each word spoken by the characters in the film, not once was a line delivered dully.  The final factor, and perhaps most difficult to manage is to ensure that any adaptation of a Shakespeare work be unique and fresh.  Ran does this, perhaps more successfully than any other filmic adaptation I have seen to date, including Kurosawa's own adaptation of The Bad Sleep Well, although from a formalist standpoint it is a far superior film.  Perhaps Ran is so unique given that it is Japanese, yet Kurosawa's use of The Buddha, samurai code and the world of feudal Japan to rethink a story of familial deceit seem so original that I kept having to remind myself that he was borrowing heavily from Shakespeare.  With that being said, I guess what ultimately makes a Shakespeare adaptation work is the ability of a director to blatantly steal the bard's work, yet, doing such a good job of thievery that it seems like their own.  While imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, at times it can match, or, dare I say, outdo the original.

Some time ago, Criterion possessed the rights to Ran, but given their recently ended relationship with Studio Canal it appears as though it will never come back.  However, if you find yourself with the finances, picking up a copy of the out of print DVD will certainly prove rewarding.

Here’s A Killer Who Understands Bureaucracy: The Poughkeepsie Tapes (2007)

The deluge of found footage films has produced a mixed bag of films over the past decade or so, with highlights including The Blair Witch Project and the Paranormal Activity franchise.  This fascination with discovered footage has proved to be a fascinating source of narrative material for a fictional approach to filmmaking and seems to be a fad that will continue for at least another few years.  However, in 2007 the Dowdle Brothers released a fake documentary about a psychologically depraved serial killer that has forever changed my understanding of what is possible with not only a found footage film, but also horror movies as a whole.  The understanding of the affects proper editing, narrative delivery and cinematic composition can have on the human psyche are  apparent in the Dowdle’s work as viewers are both captivated and disturbed by the film.  It is a film that truly stands on its own as a psychological thriller on a low-budget, and between its gritty realism and absurdly sadistic killer it will have you checking the corners of your house and behind the shower curtain for many days.  Not to mention you will never look at blurry VHS images the same way again.

As noted, the film is set up as a pseudo-documentary in which the police have discovered nearly a thousand tapes shot by a serial killer to recording everything from his sexual fetishes to his grotesque torture and murdering of women.  This then fuels the narrative of the documentary which focuses on an unnamed man who begins his serial killing by kidnapping and murdering an eight year old girl and upon doing so he realizes that he is not only excellent and murder and torture, but that he thoroughly enjoys engaging in the behavior.  The killer continues on to kill a couple who stop to help him with assumed car trouble and the psychotic killer is so deranged that he takes the husband’s head and places it in the stomach of the woman.  These discoveries are intertwined with police, FBI, psychologist and forensic scientists commentaries of the events many of which leave the experts baffled, particularly the killers fascination with a particular woman named Cheryl Dempsey.  As the commentators note, the killer takes a particular fascination with Cheryl and stalks her at length before breaking into her parents house to both kidnap her and killer her boyfriend and of course all of these events are shown in the killers recordings.  It is then shown that the killer debases Cheryl through torture and mutilation causing her to become almost slave like to his every demand.  Realizing the media attention he is receiving the killer decides to change his modus operandi, but manages to have a one-on-one confrontation with Cheryl’s mom, in which he offers help to find Cheryl.  Before Cheryl’s mom can stop the killer he flees from the scene chuckling maniacally.  The killer now takes up killing prostitutes while continuing to torture Cheryl, which includes making her don medieval garb and a bizarre rubber mask that is only topped by the killer’s own disturbing bird skull mask.  The killer becomes so good at killing prostitutes that he is also capable of tricking investigators into believing that the killer is indeed a police officer named James Foley, who while innocent is incapable of providing an alibi and is eventually a victim of the death penalty.  Upon the death of James, the killer sends a map to the police labeled with the words “missed one” and the location of another body, implying that James had nothing to do with any of the killings in which he was punished.  Tragically, James is cleared of all charges posthumously, however, these events are overshadowed by the attacks on 9/11.  The film then cuts to the discovery of the murderers house and his tapes.  This seems to be a rather calm incident until the SWAT team opens a crate to find the body of Cheryl clinging to the last threads of life.  In perhaps the most haunting scene of the film the documentary interviews Cheryl who is incapable of doing anything but stating “what do you want me to say” to the interviewer, a clear sign of the mental damage caused by her captor.  Viewers are then informed that Cheryl killed herself shortly after the interview and within weeks her grave had been pillaged and her body remains missing.  The film closes with experts discussing the very real fact that the killer is still on the loose and that of the large collection of footage twenty-seven tapes remain missing and they can only speculate as to the reasons why the killer kept them in his possession.  One expert also states that they should keep an eye out as to where the documentary is shown, because he is certain the killer will be unable to resist seeing his own “art” played on screen.

The film is brilliant first and foremost for its fresh and disconcerting approach to horror filmmaking.  It is apparent, but subtle, that the Dowdle’s are pulling their inspiration from decades of horror films.  When I say this I do not simply mean American films, but foreign horror films as well.  It is easy to pick up the influences from such horror films as Rosemary’s Baby, Eyes Without A Face and Audition, as well as an understanding of horrific imagery as it relates to cinema as a whole.  Each extreme angle and blurry shot adds an affect of uncertainty that makes the film almost unwatchable due to its blatantly disturbing nature.  However, the film is also an incredible stud of the problems faced by investigators and government when trying to catch a killer that works so craftily within a convoluted justice system.  The killer, as the experts note in the film, understands that by severing bodies and dumping them in separate counties that it will increase the investigation process exponentially.  However, he is also clever enough to pray on victims who already work outside of the law, such as prostitutes, because he realizes that a demand for social justice will be far less for these women than an average person.  Furthermore, the killer is so deranged that he is incapable of committing similar murders and often kills out of rage, yet at other times his murders are quite premeditated.  This constantly shifting murder streak causes the FBI to fail miserably at profiling the killer, because his methods are so complex that it spurs one agent to state that the man most likely works for them.  Finally, and perhaps my favorite factor in this film is its narrative choice.  Most found footage films preoccupy themselves with focusing on a paranormal entity, whether it be demonic or spectral and while this is fine, it certainly results in a sense of detachment when viewing.  It is nearly impossible to detach yourself from the seeming authenticity of this film and this factor makes the film all the more disturbing, not to mention the multiple layers of criticism in which a feminist theorist like Laura Mulvey could provide.  However, that is a heavy bit of theory that I would rather not cloud this review with, but in the future expect an article on it somewhere.

The Poughkeepsie Tapes is currently in a limbo and has yet to be released on any physical format.  Netflix currently has a copy in its saved queue, but it could be sometime before we see a mainstream release.  However, if you search Youtube or other media sharing websites it should be rather easy to find a copy.  My only piece of advice for viewing this one is to stick around after the credits, trust me it is probably the best scene of the entire movie.

Oh Professor, You're Full of Whimsy: Horse Feathers (1932)

The Marx Brothers were comedic masters, between the wry sexual innuendos of Groucho and the elaborate slapstick work of Harpo, they covered every possible avenue of humor and continue to serve as the pinnacle of how to make people laugh.  While Duck Soup is certainly their masterpiece, Horse Feathers is an equally hilarious romp through college life as seen through the Marx Brothers.  This of course means that the film has little to nothing to do with college and everything to do with winning the hearts of women and belittling the foolish people who attempt to exist in their presence.  Cohesive narrative is sacrificed for lengthy comedic routines, yet the film manages to flow nicely and offers a few moments of cinematic grace that can bring a new level of respect to the staunchest critics of comedic work.  Horse Feathers is how you make a comedy, ensure laughter first and a story will formulate in the process.

Horse Feathers begins with the inauguration of Professor Wagstaff (Groucho Marx) to the position of president at Huxley University.  The school is infamous for continually replacing presidents in the face of constantly loosing football games to a rival college. Wagstaff's son, and Huxley student, Frank (Zeppo Marx) suggests that he hire some local thugs from the local speakeasy to play for Huxley in the upcoming game, thus assuring their victory.  In desperation Professor Wagstaff agrees to pursue this plan and arrives in the speakeasy after a hilarious exchange of passwords.  Unfortunately for Wagstaff,  the two players his son had in mind are already hired out and he must instead settle on the speakeasy proprieties Baravelli (Chico Marx) and the mute dog catcher Pinky (Harpo Marx).  The duo are bumbling idiots who cannot exist in society with any sense of normalcy and certainly lack the athletic skills necessary to help Huxley win a football game.  The film then takes a tangent as the four men attempt to woo the college widow Connie (Thelma Todd).  After proving unsuccessful, the group plays their football game, which proves ill-fated until the shenanigans of Pinky allow them to score multiple touchdowns thus winning the game by a large margin.  This concludes the films narrative in a brief, but damn funny fashion.


I am a bit lacking in ideas for criticism on this film and would simply hope that this review inspires you to revisit the classic comedies.  Along with Keaton, Chaplin and The Three Stooges, The Marx Brothers are funny regardless of your age.  I was able to view Horse Feathers with a varied crowed  both of age and gender allowing to catch the full spectrum of jokes presented, some relative to thirties culture, others highbrow political critiques and some just plain raunchy.  If possible, watch this film with an older relative as they will make the experience more pleasurable given that you are being provided a window into what was considered funny over eighty years ago.  It is a comedy transcendent of time and one to be shared widely and regularly.  I am glad to have had the viewing opportunity.


Snag this film up, along with Duck Soup, a copy on any medium will work as it is not a particularly visual film, although the harp scene is rather beautiful.

To Fight, You've Got To Kill: Johnny Guitar (1954)

As I may have mentioned before, I have made it a goal of mine to view every film on the TIFF top 100 film list.  It includes some fairly obvious films as part of its list e.g. Seven Samurai, A Clockwork Orange and Amarcord.  However, the list also includes some rather lesser known films that still manage to awe viewers with their cinematic excellence.  One such film is the genre-defying western Johnny Guitar, directed by Nicholas Ray.  Johnny Guitar is as much a movie about the Wild West, as Breathless is about gangsters.  Like Godard, Ray uses the genre as a societal lens, one that fashions a sense that perhaps women were undeservedly undervalued and gender rules were becoming more fleeting.  Furthermore, Ray masterfully crafts two film genres that had previously been strictly divided by gender, the male world of the western and the female world of the melodrama.  Despite disregarding the traditions of the genre, Johnny Guitar is everything one gets nostalgic about when recalling the western films of the forties and fifties.  It is a action-packed film that is both critically sound and widely enjoyable.

Johnny Guitar, despite being named after one of the films characters, is centered on the unconventional life of Vienna (Joan Crawford) who has found success and independence as a woman that runs a saloon/casino.  Vienna also has close ties with a group of local ruffians led by their deplorable leader The Dancin' Kid (Scott Brady).  The Dancin' Kid and his lackeys are known regulars at Vienna's place leading the town to blame her for a recent shooting.  It seems as though mob rule will lead to her death until Johnny Guitar (Sterling Hayden) enters the picture moments before a bloodbath ensues.  Guitar represents a character whose dark past leaves his actions questionable, yet he seems eager for redemption.  This duel between Vienna's desire to run a bar free from the disdain of the villagers becomes the central plot focus, as the town mayor informs her that she is to leave within 24 hours or face being killed on the spot as a result of the gangs actions. 

At this point, the film shifts to its more melodramatic moments, when implying that Guitar and Vienna had a rather intimate past.  This change in the narrative makes their getting out of town all the more necessary, because they must do so to literally make their love survive.  The Dancin' Kid, upon realizing that Vienna loves Guitar, throws caution to the wind and decides to rob the town bank in rebellion.  Unfortunately for Vienna, it is assumed that she is part of the robbery and is to be hanged without trial.  Guitar using of skills from his dark past rescues Vienna, and after a lengthy and rather dramatic shootout the couple is shown reunited as they traipse through the wilderness.

The film is significant for its rather advance portrayal of an independent woman.  As is the norm for Ray, Vienna represents a drastic contrast to social norms, in a society that is exceptionally conservative.  Joan Crawford's character is a similar character to that of James Dean in Ray's most well known work Rebel Without A Cause.  This similarity then raises the question as to why the latter film is better known than Johnny Guitar, which could in some viewers eyes be the superior film.  My answer is simple, the film reflects a woman in an advantageous position, which would likely have confused and enraged most viewers in 1954, women included.  It takes no longer than ten minutes of an episode of Mad Men to realize that women were still undervalued well after the assumed leaps in civil rights.  Dean's rebellious character is certainly not the pinnacle of social good, but in the terms of 1955 he was performing his masculinity properly, and image of a woman defying it a year earlier though...that was apparently too absurd.  We can only applaud Ray's attempts to make such a film and it is great the critics have taken it upon themselves to promote such a hidden gem, because it is deserved of the acclaim...even if it comes from a minority of film critics.

Sadly, Johnny Guitar is currently out-of-print.  I snagged mine through some rather complicated means.  I would suggest you demand its release by whatever studio owns it, because it is a work equitable to Rebel Without A Cause, if not better.