I Want My First Time To Be With Someone I Don't Love: Fat Girl (2001)

I was fully aware that by focusing on women in film for the entire month of March that not every single film I encountered would exist within the realm of the uplifting narrative, in fact, I will be admittedly more surprised to find films that are outright positive when handling such subject matter, especially considering the very nature of oppression and othering that exists within cinema concerning women and/or the female body.  However, Fat Girl takes intensity to another level.  I had been warned by a friend years ago about Fat Girl being a "brutal" film, much in the same way that say, Steve McQueen's Hunger is a brutal film, or Michael Haneke's...well pretty much anything is brutal.  That is to say that these works exist not to allow a viewer any sort of relational comfort or cinematic tradition to cling onto throughout the narrative.  Fat Girl, like the other films noted, exists to provoke, enrage and question all who view it, right down to the very nature with which one expects actions to occur within cinema, but, perhaps most importantly, to relate and manage the assumptions about what bodies are appropriate for occupying the spaces of film.  Fat Girl makes no apologies about its context and commentaries, absolutely, demanding viewers to accept that nothing shown is meant to be heartfelt or endearing, but instead blatantly terrible and factually unfortunate.  Clocking in at just over 80 minutes, to call this film a slow burn would be to overlook the very precise provocative scenes within the film, each intended to deconstruct romantic traditionalism, particularly one scene which shot with a stagnant camera comprises roughly a fourth of the considerably brief film.  It is as though the moment is a purposeful homage to Godard's Breathless, in which, gender politics unfold over a similarly lengthy bedroom scene, yet, in the hands of shock director Catherine Breillat, the scene does not possess even an ounce of the possible gender subversion of the French New Wave classic, instead it affirms all the truths and tragedies that manage to prove the completely illogical ideology of some theorists that society exists in a world where feminist discourse and politics are redundant and irrelevant, as Fat Girl shows, this is decidedly and absolutely not the case.

Fat Girl, titled A ma souer!, or To My Sister! in its original French translation, focuses on the experiences of two young, relatively well-to-do children on vacation to the French seaside.  Anaïs Pingot (Anaïs Reboux) is a obese young girl of twelve who is clearly the proverbial black sheep within her family, compared to her ethereal and sprite-like sister of fifteen Elena (Roxane Mesquida).  Realizing that Anaïs rather flippant attitude and less fortunate looks will cause individuals to take pause when approaching Elena, the parents demand that they always spend time together, mostly as a ruse to assure that Elena, whose promiscuity is openly acknowledged, avoids any engagements that might tarnish their family name.  Elena, of course, takes this assumption and runs with it, simply ignoring the presence of Anaïs when possible, even going so far as to push her out of the way when she is approached by an Italian tourist named Fernando (Libero De Rienzo), instead; swooping in to become the object of his affection.  A scene the displays Anaïs moving back and forth between the swimming pool pretending two polls are different lovers that she is entangled with in a fiery affair.  This unusual scene is followed by Elena and Anaïs getting ready for bed, where Elena explains that no matter what happens that night, she must ignore it and be quiet so much so, that when Fernando shows up attempting to have intercourse with Elena, only succeeding in anal sex, Anaïs is forced to deal with the very loud aftermath of the acts, condemning them both the following morning.  Yet, given the guidelines of their parents, the two must hangout together, this time with the presence of Fernando who is still attempting to win over Elena.  While Anaïs lays on the beach defeated, Fernando proposes to Elena, which, in turn, causes her to agree to having intercourse with him, an act that is shot from an angle to display Anaïs crying the entire time. Fernando's mother then comes to the Pingot beach house demanding that Elena return a valuable ring, which leads to a revelation about what has occurred between her and Fernando.  Frustrated the girls mother demands that they return home, even if it means a non-stop drive on a deathly busy and occupied French highway.  Exhausted their mother decides to pull into a rest stop, leading to the, extremely intense, closing sequence of the film, that defies logic, but, ultimately, undermines the larger filmic metaphor.

I was surprised to find out that a heavy amount of male support has been directed towards this film, particularly from a sect of French male filmmakers known in the past for their misogyny.  A heavy amount of the disdain is a result of issues with the manner in which Anaïs affirms an event the ends the film, a rape to be specific and spoil the ending, some suggest it results in a degree of victim blaming, yet I cannot help but think that it speaks to the larger issue of character ignoring narratively.  The title Fat Girl, as Breillat suggests in an essay that came along with the Criterion release, was her original choice and only changed it, in order, to help actress Anaïs Reboux be at ease with exactly why she was cast in her role.  The fact that Anaïs speaks out at the end seems heavily a call to attention and her denial is a larger metaphor for the denial that is very much placed of non-traditional bodies within media.  It is simple to assume that nothing happened to her, because society says she does not fit the traditional norms of beauty, therefore, is not the normal victim within the context of such a rhetoric, one would be quicker to assume that such actions would happen to Elena than to Anaïs.  Of course, since the final moment is necessarily and inextricably tied to sex, viewers are left to take Anaïs word on the entire event, as the way in which acts are shot, we are only shown faces.  It is possible that given the lies she heard earlier spouted by the sex-craving Fernando that she may not have indeed believed herself to be a victim of certain sexual violence.  Since she only knows sex as defined by films and by the lies spouted by sex crazed teens she may have been raped in a non-vaginal manner, still rape, but not within the limited vocabulary of Anaïs young mind.  It is audacious to think that a misogynistic group would embrace such a film, because it is very much about the very real woes and problems of male based oppression emotionally, mentally and especially physically.  Like the small family car weaving through the unrelenting trucks on the highway, Anaïs, and to some degree Elena, find themselves navigating a treacherous, unyielding world of larger, dangerously oppressive objects.

Key Scene:  While the film is all visually intense, the car ride is so heightened in tension that when it ends you assume the worst to be over, however, it is far from the case.

This is a visually audacious film that cannot really be explained verbally, what I can say, however, is that it is deserved of a bluray purchase without hesitation.

My Tears Were White, Like Milk: House of Pleasures (2011)

Thanks once again to the guys over at Battleship Pretension for turning me onto a film that I would otherwise completely overlooked from 2011.  In this case, it is the French period piece titled House of Pleasures (Tolerance), which as you may have guessed focuses on life in a brothel, specifically one at the beginning of the 19th century in France.  While it may sound as this is the formula for an incredibly exploitative film, it is all but that and is instead an incredibly focused, cinematic and atmospheric study of a lifestyle and experience that is often relegated to the bizarre and profane in historical narratives.  With moments that are incredibly Kubrickian style, a contemporary soundtrack and a complete refusal to shy away from depicting the more unflattering moments of life in a brothel, House of Pleasures is sincere in what it is trying to depict.  It is important to note that the film was independently produced and eventually picked up by IFC, allowing for it to be unfiltered in its depictions, most importantly in the sexual elements of the narrative.  Bertrand Bonello's film is at times sobering, at others revelatory, but never uninteresting.  Including an excellent set of actresses, of various races and ages, House of Pleasures may well be one of the most politically correct films, about one of the more socially unacceptable topics.  More importantly, House of Pleasures stands out as one of the most beautiful films shot in 2011 and has knocked yet another film off of my previous list of my favorite films of last year, now only losing to Take Shelter and Tree of Life.  It is truly a tragedy that his film did not receive more hype, here is to hoping that at least one more person reads this post and discovers the film.

House of Pleasures focuses on the experiences of a group of women living in a brothel together, as they attempt to gain independence, while also paying off their debts to the madame of the house Marie-France (Noemie Lvovsky) who engages in the business as a means to provide for her two children.  While it is clear that Marie-France is not completely fair in her dealings with the prostitutes, she is considerably maternal to each of the women working there.  The head woman, of sorts, is Madeleine (Alice Barnole), also known as The Jewess, and she becomes the cook and maid to the other women after a tragic act of aggression by a client leaving her with a smile-like scar on her face.  Her dream from the night she was attacked becomes a point of reference throughout the film as the other girls engage in acts with various customers, most notably the woman known as The Doll, who literally acts as though she is a doll for clients and the Algerian who is often chosen by men for her foreign features. The narrative also focuses on the emersion of a new girl named Pauline (Iliana Zabeth) who is fifteen and seeks the brothel as a means to escape a dismal home life.  Covering every element of the brothel life, viewers are shown the general assembly of women as they wait for clients, as well as the more grim act of testing each woman for venereal diseases.  The film crashes climactically into one party scene, in which the women engage in an orgiastic encounter that includes masked lovers, animals and even Madeleine, scar and all.  Ultimately, the film closes with Madeleine recounting her dreams as milky white tears fall from her face.  The scene that follows completely throws the narrative off-kilter, but still manages to capture an inherent beauty in the film beyond explanation.

This narrative, as was the case with 8 Women, focuses on the experiences of a group of women in France that are to some degree voiceless.  However, avoiding the comedic, Bonello's film is sobering in its reality and brutality.  Often depicting multiple scenes at once it reminds viewers about how truly degrading and dark brothel life was in a time where sexuality and femaleness were not a thing of simultaneous power.  EAch woman is objectified within the film, whether it be the literal doll-like behavior of one girl, or the exoticization of women of color within the film, it is clear that they are assumed to be lesser than a male.  We are to assume that these women seek their own individual existence and find this to be the quickest avenue for their desires, however, the reality of the situation is that their desires are, ultimately, made a point of exploitation as they serve men who see them only as objects of  sexual gratification, which they can poor champagne over or sexually oppress as they see fit.  In the most problematic scenario, men can even act out their latent aggression on the women, as is the case with Madeleine's suitor and his knife/phallic attack, which permanently cripples her, in the sense she can no longer work within her normal brothel job.  House of Pleasures, however, never condemns these women for their actions, instead; it offers the argument that they were simply trying to find their own route to freedom in the only method they knew, something that is perfectly and poetically realized in the films closing scene.

Key Scene: The few times that Bonello uses a split screen are quite intense and add to the full element of the film's ambient existence

Netflix managed to pick this up on watch instantly, and as far as I can tell their are no plans to release it on blurry, so it may suit you to see it via Netflix before it falls into obscurity.

Say Hello, She Is Like Your Second Mother: Carnivore; Beasts of Prey (1985)

I remember pondering all the possibilities of American influence on Japanese cinema upon initially entering into heavy film viewing.  I would watch films like Vengeance Is Mine and Jigoku and find myself drawn to their similarities to what was being done in America during the era.  I was quite certain that no other country displayed influences form The United States in quite a way, until I sat down to watch a relatively old Korean film in Kim Ki-Youngs Carnivore, also known as Beast of Prey and Carnivorous Animal.  A film that is preoccupied with the fears of modernity, particularly those involving shifting gender norms and sexual power dynamics, Carnivore is melodramatic, cinematic and horrific all at once.  I was a bit thrown off when reading that Kim Ki-Young's work was considered to be placed solidly within the horror genre upon initial release, but when viewing this narrative I found it to be fitting, although the work clearly flirts the lines of dark comedy as well.  The movie offers no clear moments of redemption, nor does it provide a single good character, rather ironic for a film steeped in the traditions of melodrama.  As has been the case for so many Korean films thus far, Carnivore does not succinctly fall into one single genre, in fact it is very much a hybrid of multiple genres, layered together, at times rather abrasively, but mostly with flawless precision.

Carnivore follows Kim Dong-sik, an aging securities firm employee, who is becoming forced to take a back seat to his wife's successful business ventures in transports.  He begins to question his own masculinity and spends much of his time drinking at a local bar, which clearly doubles as a brothel.  This action is only worsened by the fact that his wife also spends her evenings at a bar for women to meet young gigolos.  During one particularly bad night, Kim blows a large some of money at the bar chatting with a young woman.  The madame of the bar-brothel tells the young woman that she is responsible for obtaining his large bill and suggests she offer herself sexually to recoup the debt.  Engaging in a rather brief sexual encounter in the back of Kim's car, the woman becomes infatuated with Kim and demands that they move in together.  At first dismissive, Kim finally agrees to build two homes as he realizes his wife and himself are doomed for failure.  Despite the concerns of his whole family, Kim engages in the two homes and finds himself revitalized by the lust and vivacity of a younger woman.  However, the lines between his first family and his new mistress begin to blur and come to a climactic crash during a birthday celebration in which his family and lover are simultaneously present.  The mistress, engulfed with jealously demands that Kim spend the night with her, an action that would directly break the agreement between his wife and the mistress.  Regardless of the pact, Kim agrees to stay with dire results, after a fiery round of intercourse, the mistress stabs Kim and he falls down the stairs in defeat, just as his family enters the house to inquire to his tardiness.  The film then closes with claims of the events being based off real events, a fact that I am unsure about.

I mentioned this film being squarely in the horror genre, much like Audition, much of the film seems rather mundane and unfit for the genre.  However, for those of you who have seen Miike's dark work, it become clear in the back half of the film that it is something grotesque and completely horrific.  The last thirty minutes of Carnivore certainly adhere to this notion between the stabbing and the slipping sanity of those involved within the bizarre love triangle.  This bit of action, does not fully explain the horror within such a film though, instead the disturbing qualities within the film rest solely in the absurd, something that directors like Hitchcock used extensively in their horror works.  Arguably, a viewer knows that what is being depicted is not normal; however, the characters within the narrative treat it as the usual, recall Vertigo if you have any questions.  Between the unquestioned visits to gigolos and Kim being dressed as a baby, nothing is made to seem out of the ordinary.  Even the agreement between Kim's wife and mistress seems bizarre, because it is done so with almost business like formality.  It has been said that Korean audiences laughed loudly at many of the scenes within the film, I can imagine that it is due partly to the ridiculous scenarios depicted; however, I would also venture to say that it is from a bit of discomfort at the fears of such actions occurring as a result of modernity.  I cannot claim this to be one of my favorite horror films, but the unusual approach to such a genre and its clear intention to mesh genres may very well make it one of my favorite genre hybrids.  It is realized and incredibly scathing in its intentions.

Key Scene:  The scene in which Kim begs for candy is absolutely brilliant...you will know it when it happens.

This films accessibility suffers from region locks and the like, yet, thanks to the Korean Film Archive it is instantly available, with subtitles, on Youtube.  Please take advantage of this viewing opportunity before the film is inevitably removed for some stupid reason.

I'll Go To Your Room, But You Are Going To Have To Seduce Me: Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008)

I rarely go into Woody Allen films expecting something terrible, at the very worst one of his films will be wrought with existential wit and a swooning jazzy soundtrack.  What is nice with Allen's films are the times when he offers something so much more, as is the case with Annie Hall or Midnight In Paris.  While certainly not as prestigious as either of those films, Allen's 2008 offering Vicky Cristina Barcelona is quite enjoyable.  It is a cinematic vision that takes on new understandings of love and seduction, both in terms of romance and friendship.  However, as is often the case with any film by Allen the narrative delves into something much grander and more concerned with human existence, it is not blatantly obvious nor is it similar to every viewer, but despite the film involving a cast of incredibly attractive actors and being set in Spain it seems so common and accessible that you quickly forget that it was indeed directed by one of art house cinema's most beloved children.  When you place this in Allen's entire body of work it is nice to see him making his way back into Hollywood movies with big budgets, without losing his keen sense of contradicting the traditional images of said films.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona, like so many of Allen's films, is multi-faceted.  However, the main focus of the film is centered on the title characters the reserved Vicky (Rebecca Hall) who idolizes traditional love and conservative romantic values and the wiley Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) who seeks sporadic encounters and assumes romance to be a fleeting occurrence with little few positive outcomes.  Vicky, who is set to be wed to Doug (Chris Messina) an average but likeable guy, agrees to go on vacation with Cristina to Spain for one last celebration as friends before she become married.  It is during this lengthy vacation that the couple meets Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) a local painter who is infamous for his troubled marriage that procured near fatal results.  Not one to mince words, Juan Antonio invites the girls to return with him to his hometown to sight-see and make love. Naturally, Vicky dismisses this offer in disgust, while Cristina swoons over ever one of Juan Antonio's words.  Despite her demands against engaging in affairs with Juan Antonio, Cristina's demands win out and the trio takes a dangerous airplane ride to Juan Antonio's hometown.  At this point in the narrative things become incredibly convoluted as Vicky accidentally falls for Juan Antonio in Cristina's absence.  Realizing her mistake after Doug surprises her with a visit, Vicky detaches herself from Juan Antonio who has now taken a keen liking to Cristina.  As Cristina and Juan Antonio's relationship evolves, another woman enters the picture Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz) Juan Antonio's ex-wife for which he still has strong feelings.  Their relationship evolves into some artistically inspired threesome, while Vicky comes to discover her own love for Doug.  Ultimately, and explosively the film ends with both women finding themselves at the same place as the story began, however, this time they have accepted their ways as just, agreeing that their behaviors, while not suitable for everyone are perfectly acceptable as longs as they work for them.

I can say with certainty that Vicky Cristina Barcelona is Allen's most artistic work.  Sure, he has dabbled in expressionism and surrealism throughout his career, but much to my surprise the melodrama that is Vicky Cristina Barcelona proves to be his most visually appealing.  Perhaps this is because Allen's film is so clearly inspired by Spanish architecture.  As the repeated images of Gaudi's work show, Allen is preoccupied with the unusual structures of the world that still appear to work.  If one reflects on Midnight In Paris is is obvious that he is influenced by the work of French authors in the film, so it is no surprise that Vicky Cristina Barcelona borrows is narrative leanings from Spanish work.  Each character in the film is arguably a reference back to the zany and winding work of Gaudi that still manages to stand without trouble.  Vicky, while the most conservative character in the film, has her own crevices and secrets that would seem to cause her inevitable falter, but despite this she manages to hold to her own steadfastly and independently.  Even Cristina, who appears to flourish off codependency, actually finds herself most fruitful when alone, although she finds out quite quickly that self-motivation is incredibly difficult when attempting to engage in artistic endeavors.  Even Juan Antonio, who appears completely independent, displays twists and bumps that influence his being and despite thinking he has it made when engaged in a polygamist relationship come to understand that his life is solely involved on his own self perseverance.  I would argue that Allen's ability to depict the tough yet resilient natures of human existence, on the backdrop of Guadi's work are precisely what make this his most artistic film to date.  Of course, I could be reading way into the film, but I doubt Allen would mind that at all.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona is quite easily one of the best bluray films I have seen to date.  I would encourage purchasing a copy if you are a fan of Woody Allen films, but at the very least rent the film, it is well worth your time to watch.

If You Weren't Fine, I Wouldn't Even Bother With You: She's Gotta Have It (1986)

I am an outspoken fan of Spike Lee’s work.   To many, he is a blowhard filmmaker who is self-aggrandizing and too preoccupied with racial representation to create a proper film narrative.  I, on the other hand, view Lee’s work as existing as a honest commentary of race that is critical of all parties involved, as well as being particularly self-reflective on his existence as a black male in the urban landscape of America.  With that being said, I had up until a few days ago failed to view his debut work She’s Gotta Have It, because it was simply out of my points of access.  With it’s recent release to Netflix Watch Instantly, I seized the opportunity to view the film and was, as should be no surprise, enamored with its existence.  It is a fantastic study of black life in New York City that is critical, hip, and extremely approachable, often mirroring the work of Lee’s contemporary Jim Jarmusch.  In the film, as Lee would prove to do countless times afterwards, the characters are vibrant, believable and problematic, reflecting both the pros and cons of any ideology without necessarily promoting a singular idea.  On a much more important level though, She’s Gotta Have it focuses on narratives that are still overlooked in Hollywood, and even independent cinema, and at no point in this experimental narrative does the film apologize for lacking traditional images, arguably it relishes in ignoring them, and it is perhaps this that proves to be its most lasting contribution.

She’s Gotta Have It, as the title suggests, centers on a woman named Nola Darling (Tracy Camilla Jones) who is so attached to sexual encounters that she is seemingly tied inextricably to three relationships with distinctly different men.  The first being the suave and charming Jamie Overstreet (Tommy Redmond Hicks) who clearly desires a meaningful relationship with Nola that involves feelings of romantic love.  The second being the self-obsessed and vain Greer Childs (John Canada Terrell) who obviously sees Nola as arm candy meant to be paraded as an object of envy.  Finally, there is the sharp tongued messenger boy Mars Blackmon (Spike Lee) whose only concern with Nola seems to be sexual conquest.  The three men spend the majority of the film attempting to claim Nola for their own using every form of convincing they deem fit to persuade her to their side.  For Jamie it includes romantic outings and words of affirmation, for Greer it is nagging reminders of his physical superiority, while Mars simply belittles the masculinity of his competitors and clings to his black hipness as a point of power.  Realizing the mess she has entered Nola seeks advice from her former roommate Clorinda Bradford (Joie Lee) who reminds her that she is in sole control of her life, and that no male persuasion should make her sway one way or the other.  After briefly returning to Jamie, Nola decides to pursue a life without the overbearing opinions of the three men and is shown in the films closing shot claiming innocence, confessional style, to any negative claims spouted by Jamie, Greer or Mars.  She is a woman who was simply acting out her own desires, and the fact that these men were so upset by the entire ordeal purely reflects each one’s immaturity.

While I am quick to praise what Lee offers with She’s Gotta Have It, like much of his work, it is not void of points of contention.  The film clearly walks a very thin line between astute relationship commentary and blatant accusations of women for being at fault in any relationship.  As mentioned earlier, the film is partly a confessional documentary in which each of the characters explains their opinions of the events.  It is clear that the men depicted think Nola to be of less than reputable character.  They find her sexual prowess to be unhealthy to her as a woman, but nothing is made of their own flippant sexual behavior throughout the film.  While it is entirely possible that Lee is depicting the absurdity of masculine sexual power, it is never fully dealt with in a manner that assures this opinion.  Similarly, Nola is depicted in the nude at various points in the film, often times in direct gaze during the film, suggesting a voyeuristic element that would align more with Mulvey and criticism of traditional women’s images in film than with a new a fresh view of women for which the independent film movement known.  Lee clearly enjoys depicting women sexually in his films, an occurrence that would surface again with Rosie Perez in Do The Right Thing.  Ultimately, while She’s Gotta Have It has a large amount of problems within its narrative, I find its positive commentaries on the experiences of black urbanite relationships to outshine any issues and it is certainly deserved of the moniker of being one of the first offerings in American independent cinema.

I cannot recommend She’s Gotta Have It enough; it is a rare feat of masterful independent filmmaking and one of the best things offered on Netflix right now.  Under no circumstance should you miss watching this film.

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

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

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

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

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

Where You Ever Engaged In Any Sadomasochistic Behavior: Basic Instinct (1992)

When one approaches a Paul Verhoeven film, they can expect something abrasive, gratuitous and intriguing.  While Robocop is arguably his masterpiece, he is more well known for a certain shot of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct.  While Basic Instinct is certainly not as violent as Robocop it has earned its own place as an unrated film that is whispered about, mentioned by people and not really understood until viewed.   Simply knowing the film for the infamous crotch shot is tragic, given that as a whole it is a rather stellar piece of film that is well-acted and envisioned, all be it a bit problematic.  It captures passion, paranoia and sadism without a single break and manages to make what is an inconceivably convoluted plot seem probable.  Verhoeven knows how to compose, edit and deliver a film in such a way that the viewer becomes engaged with the narrative even when they strongly desire to detach from its presence.   Basic Instinct is a crude film in content, but a thing of beauty in composition and certainly serves as a prophetic vision of what the remainder of early 90's cinema would offer, dark dramas with a ironic undertone so sarcastically honest that it seems bizarrely possible in some alternate world of degradation.

The film focuses on a police investigator named Nick Curran (Michael Douglas), who is attempting to reaffirm his place on the force, after falling off the wagon with drugs and alcohol, which led to his accidental murder of innocent bystanders.  His return to investigating comes with the horrific death of a fading rock star that has been murder viciously with an ice pick while in the throws of passion.  Uncertain about who would kill the seemingly irrelevant man, Nick makes it a point to investigate the man's recent lover Catherine Trammel (Sharon Stone), an author of crime fiction, which seems to eerily reflect her own experiences.  With this in mind, Nick is not surprised to discover that Catherine's most recent novel discusses a woman who kills her rock star boyfriend.  Nick brings Catherine in for investigation and quickly discovers his insatiable lust for Catherine, a woman who seems to know everything about him, including his dark past.  Simultaneously to this, Nick is desperately attempting to deal with his own troubled past with the police forces psychologist Beth Garner (Jeanne Tripplehorn), of whom Nick still has occasional flings.  While Nick attempts to reconcile his own past, Catherine leads him by a string making him believe countless stories framing other individuals and assuring her innocence.  As the stories grow and Nick loses sense of reality he falls back on his old habits leading him into an even greater layer of insanity.   The film spirals into madness only to clear up in the end as the killer is finally revealed, but even this offering is brief as it closes with the possibility that the truly guilty individual remains free, a perfected ending from the ever-brilliant Verhoeven.

The problems within Verhoeven's work do not necessarily come in his portrayals of sexuality or violence, as I have noted on countless occasions within this blog, I am pro violence and sex in films as longs as the means justify the end.  The existence of both these elements within Basic Instinct are justified to truly allow the film to visceral, making Nick's slipping into insanity more believable, however, the provocateurs of violence and sex within the are the reason for such contention.  The film clearly sides with male egos in its imagery.  The threat of insatiable sexual desire and subsequent violent acts are seen as a fatal problem for males.  In the now well-known interrogation scene involving Sharon Stone and a cast of sleazy onlooking males, it is clear that her lack of sexual inhibition by choosing to reveal her most lusted after sexual organ, throw the men into a frenzy as they sweat and grunt in arousal.  This attraction results in the men quickly snapping at each other and beginning to battle for Catherine's affections, while completely disregarding the fact that she is a very legitimate suspect for murder.  Similarly, it is implied that Nick's entire falling out is a direct result of Catherine's influence.  While it is clear that Catherine intends to use Nick for her own self-advancement, mostly as inspiration in her newest novel, to blame her for his alcoholism and drug addiction is simply unfair.  It suggests that his lack of self-control is inherently tied to women's influence, when it truthfully reflects his own weakness as a human.  This entire notion would not be problematic if the film acknowledged this, but as it stand in the films closing, Nick is allowed to escape scratch free both figuratively and literally.

Basic Instinct is one of those films whose reputation precedes it.  With that being said, it is well worth watching as it holds a significant place in popular cinema.  Owning the film, however, is up to the discretion of the individual, for me it is a rental only.

Recorded At A Subsonic Level Is A Mantra, Lose...Lose...Lose: The Cooler (2003)

2003's The Cooler had all the makings to be an incredibly popular film, whether it be the quotable dialogue, the lavish scenery of Las Vegas or the excellent acting of both William H. Macy and Alec Baldwin.  Yet, when it comes down to it the film simply does not deliver what one would expect to be an extraordinary film.  The Cooler is great in its own right, but fore a multitude of reasons everything appears contrived and forced, making its watchability decrease considerably, not to mention the original cut of the film was reedited due to demands by the MPAA, which felt the films depictions of sexuality to be far too graphic.  Ultimately, The Cooler becomes a run of the mill Las Vegas story that the viewer will recognize through the other gambling movies of days gone by and the scenery that is so familiar to filmic and cultural history that even though it is cleverly executed and well spaced still seems like nothing more than b-roll footage from a travel channel expose on casinos.  Perhaps, the best word to describe a film like The Cooler is, despite masking itself in what should be a stellar film, average.

The film centers on Bernie Lootz (William H. Macy) a down-and-out cooler for the Shangri-La casino.  Bernie, who is apparently the unluckiest man alive, serves as their financial control by passing his luck on to players winning big at the casino partially as a means to make money, as well as a way to pay back past debts to the casino's owner Shelly Kaplow (Alec Baldwin) who broke Bernie's knee in a fit of rage only to offer him a job as a means to assure a financial return.  Bernie, finally free of his debts, explains to Shelly that he is leaving the city for something new and no longer desires to work as the casinos cooler.  This news upsets Shelly, as it comes simultaneously, the introduction of a group of men demanding that Shelly change his casino tactics to reflect modern times, as opposed to his mafialike tactics.  As a result, Shelly hires one of the casinos drink girls Natalie (Maria Bello) to feign interest in Bernie in order to give him a reason to stay in the city.  Initially, Bernie is confused by the advances and assumes he is being tricked, however, when Natalie continues to pursue him, he invites her into his world.  Natalie, easily wins Bernie over with her sultry ways and unyielding advances, but much to Natalie's surprise Bernie's good nature and honesty begin to take hold of her.  The two fall madly in love and all appears fine, until it becomes apparent that Bernie's recent luck with Natalie is affecting his job as a cooler.  Enraged, Shelly takes it upon himself to break the couple apart, however, no amount of physical punishment or ill-will can separate the couple and after some confrontation they come close to leaving.  Unfortunately, due to some other bad decisions and an attempt to protect his punk son, Bernie accrues a larger debt making it impossible to leave without Shelly following.  In one last hurrah, Bernie tries his hand at craps, betting eighty thousand dollars on a single game.  His luck having changed allows him to win and he is able to leave the casino debt free and in possession of a substantial amount of cash.  Shelly is left to face his fading empire with rather fatal results.

The Cooler, while not an incredibly meaningful movie, does have one thing going for it.  The film is an excellent example of game theory as it concerns film criticism.  I will attempt to elaborate on game theory here a bit, but Fredrik on Film provided a far more substantial bit a few months back, concerning the theory.  In essence, game theory posits that life as it exists is a series of games in which rational people engage one another in outcomes in which they will either win or lose with an assumption that the net amount will result in equilibrium.   This excludes, however, those who are adapted to play certain "games" better or have disadvantages that will assure their constant loss at a game.  These two sides of the coin are represented in this film through Shelly and Bernie respectively.  Shelly is a hardheaded businessman who has a set of methods that appear to work for him in the long run, whether it be his brutal means of dealing with cheaters or his clinging to archaic means of casino running with the promise that the customers will be loyal.  He knows how to win the games he engages in, yet as the film proves, he is due for a loss and the equillibrium hits Shelly heavily given that the odds had for a considerable time been in his favor.  The same works for Bernie although his case is the opposite, it appears as though nothing that Bernie engages in is fruitful, yet with time and the help of other rational game players, such as Natalie, Bernie is able to accrue a few wins and help out his equilibrium.  One could look at game theory as a rationalized version of karma, except that good or bad deeds have nothing to do with out come, but that a person is destined to an average number of wins and losses over their lifespan, regardless of their ethical engagement in said life.  The Cooler, as well as many film noir masterpieces, provide the most fruitful examples of the game theory as it relates to film.

The Cooler is an enjoyable film, it will not blow you away with excellence, yet it is not a burden to watch.  This is a straight-out rental movie and one of many concerning the brutal, Darwin fueled world of Las Vegas.

Chopping Wood and Shooting Prostitues: Revanche (2008)

I am starting to realize that a trend exists in European cinema that appears to have began around the mid-nineties with emotionally and visually jarring films such as La Haine.  This style of cinema is one that adheres to gritty and often brutal stories of the underworld of Europe and often portrays such narratives with little concern for viewers comfort.  These often urban films are different from their film noir predecessors in that they are not emotionally detached from their subject, but instead very much involved in their story to the point that one viewing this type of film begins to empathize with a character even if they are completely detestable.  Gotz Spielman's Austrian thriller Revanche is such a film, however, unlike its predecessors; it takes the urban experience and forces it to collide rather chaotically with the rural and suburban world.  The result is a poetically abrasive film about people moving in and out of the dredges of society and the relationships they share that are both life affirming and life changing in the process.

The film focuses directly on Alex (Johannes Krisch) a recently released convict who has found employment as a bounder/errand man for the owner of strip club and brothel.  While working at the establishment, Alex begins to formulate a relationship with one of the employees, a Ukranian prostitute named Tamara (Irina Potapenko).  Their relationship, while secretive appears to be working, until Alex's boss takes a personal likening to Tamara, offering her a job as a high end escort.  Realizing his boss's ulterior motives Alex hatches a plan to rob a bank and flee to Spain with Tamara.  This occurs simultaneous to the film depicting the relationship of grocery store employee Susanne (Ursulla Strauss) and her cop husband Robert (Andreas Lust) whose marriage has been rather rocky after the realization of Robert's infertility issues.  These two narratives seem distinct were it not for the fact that Susanne and Robert's closest neighbor is Alex's aging father Hausner (Johannes Thanheiser).  The robbery that Alex undertakes appears to be successful, despite taking Tamara along with him for the heist, however, due almost entirely to chance Robert is the person on duty during the robbery and approaches Tamara out of suspicion while Alex is committing the robbery.  When Alex still wearing his robber's mask returns to his car he finds Robert questioning Tamara and in a fit of panic forces Robert to drop his weapon and lay on the ground.  After Alex and Tamara make a getaway Robert shoots at the car in an attempt to blow the tires, unfortunately, his gun misses and hits Tamara in the head.  Realizing that the cops will search for him Alex ditches his car and heads to hideout at his father's house under the guise of helping him with some large scale chores, the biggest of which is his cutting of wood for the fireplace.  During his time there he realizes that Hausner's neighbors are indeed Susanne and Robert whom he recognizes instantly as Tamara's killer.  Alex then spends the rest of the film plotting revenge on Robert, which in Alex's eyes means death.  However, Alex certainly does not shy away from the opportunity to sleep with Susanne as a point of revenge.  This portion of the film is lengthy and drawn out purposefully, but as it ends we witness Susanne using her infidelity as a guise for successful pregnancy, while Robert unknowingly confesses to Alex his guilt upon accidentally murdering Tamara, which leads to an unspoken forgiveness.  In fact, Alex seems to be free of any association to the robbery were it not for Susanne's discovery of a photograph of Tamara in Alex's possession, which leads her to piece all the events together.  She realizes though that to turn Alex in would be to forfeit her newly rejuvenated relationship with Robert, something she cannot bear to do.  As such the film closes with Alex picking apples up outside his father's house continuing in his life with a fresh start, even if the new life came at a dire cost.

Revanche is spectacular in its unconventional approach to a revenge film.  This is a revenge narrative with an incredibly slow burn.  Compare Revanche to a film like Taken in which the character is all out in his actions and scenes are incredibly violent and occur frequently.  The violence in Revanche is minimal, but the threat of it is ever present.  The unusual nature of this plot can be tied directly to the fact that ethically speaking Alex does not have a justifiable reason to seek revenge.  In the case of Tamara's death, it was a legitimate accident and one that could have been prevented had Alex simply told Tamara to wait for him while he engaged in his theft.  This leaves the viewer in an interesting scenario, because they cannot simply support Alex's decision.  Reading the film in such a way makes actions like his involvement with Susanne all the more intriguing.  His decision to take advantage of her sexually is unusual, but somehow manages to seem more appropriate as a means of revenge than killing her or Robert.  It is as though he is making a mark for Tamara, without destroying anything.  In fact, as the film implies he could very well be responsible for Susanne's pregnancy.  If this is the case than Alex has delivered the ultimate form of revenge and only himself and Susanne will be aware.  Furthermore, Alex's continual chopping of wood becomes a sort of penance for his misdeeds and an attempt at meditation on his life up to this point.  In the end, Alex is left to accept the error of his ways and engage in a life that assures loneliness, but also the impossibility of reoccurring heartbreak.

I had the pleasure of viewing Revanche on 35 mm print.  It is certainly not feasible to do so for everyone, thankfully the folks at Criterion released a bluray version that is probably almost as nice.

The Highjump Is A Masochists Event: Personal Best (1982)

Some movies try quite hard to approach subjects that are overlooked or misunderstood by general audiences.  When this works correctly, it is something amazing and often creates a cultural phenomenon relating to the subject of focus.  Robert Towne's study of female athletes in Personal Best is anything but this, because what could have been an engaging study of companionship and competition between women instead becomes an exploitative film that relies on crotch shots and excessive nudity to draw audiences in.  I will say that the film is quite well made and perhaps one of the best edited sports movies I have ever seen, however, the cinematic nature of the film does little to save the convoluted and misogynistic storyline from succeeding.  What Personal Best should have been was a revolutionary piece of athletic cinema, however, it borders on soft core pornography.  To further this, a film that deals heavily with the existence of homosexual relationships, fails to maintain their validity and results in a film that demands the necessity for heterosexual normalcy.  In short, Personal Best is a feminist's nightmare and has since become a stellar example of how not to make a socially progressive film.

Personal Best follows the experiences of two women athletes who become entwined in a romantic relationship while competing and training together for a spot on the American Olympic team at the 1980 Olympic games.  The women involved are the aging track star Tory Skinner (Patrice Donnelly) who is an open lesbian that realizes her time as a world class athlete are fading.  The other woman is the much younger and inexperienced Chris Cahill (Mariel Hemingway) who is as sexually inconsistent as she is on the track.  Chris's lack of productive results leads her to be taken under the wing by Tory who also possesses sexual feelings for Chris.  These feelings are enacted upon and the two become a couple and all seems all right until it becomes apparent that their off field relationship results in negative affects on their on field performance.  In order to correct this male coach Terry Tingloff (Scott Glenn) enters in to the picture to correct Chris and stop Tory from destroy both her and Chris's career.  Realizing that Chris is quite dependent on Tory, Terry interferes and begins flirting with Chris.  After successfully wooing Chris with affection and ice cream, Tory begins a fit of jealousy, which includes causing Chris to blow her knee while practicing the high jump.  However, almost inexplicably, the two mend their relationship as friends and Chris begins a new relationship with a water polo player named Denny (Kenny Moore).  In the trials for the Olympic Games, Chris and Tory work together to assure that both of them obtain spots on the Olympic team and the film closes with them celebrating their victory and Tory giving her blessing to Chris's new relationship, claiming that Denny is cute for a guy.  Ironically, in passing statement by a reporter, it is realized that the women's efforts are futile for the United States plans to boycott the Moscow Olympics.  This statement that seems arbitrary actually implies that the women's efforts are futile and irrelevant.

If it is not apparent that the film is problematic from the plot description, I will happily elaborate on its issues.  The first is the obviously exploitative nature of the film as it relates to lesbianism.  The film has multiple scenes that involve lengthy panning shots of Tory and Chris in bed or the women athletes in the spa, all of which appear to lack necessary placement in the film.  Furthermore, almost every segment of track and field filming involves crotch shots of the women, again for no obvious artistic reason.  Furthermore, the film implies that women athletes are incapable of being productive without the direct guidance of men.  In a lengthy diatribe, Terry explains that male athletes are inherently easier to coach because they lack feminine needs and emotional instability.  If these factors were not enough to make the film incredibly problematic, the fact that each woman in the film ultimately falls back on a man to assure her safety is the nail in the coffin.  Chris relies on the assurance of Denny both physically and emotionally for her success, while Tory ultimately confides in Terry for support, which is further problematized by the implication that the two have been intimate in the past.  It is a film full of plot gaps, exploitative dialogue and voyeuristic cinematography that has no purpose, besides what appears to be reaffirming the patriarchal ideals that would come to dominate the 1980's.  If this film is the supposed cult classic it appears to be, I would assume it is solely to its absurdity.

I have ragged on this movie quite a bit, with that being said, I would suggest watching it if you are at all concerned with gender studies.  It is an absolutely necessary piece of cinema to know about when discussing feminism and lesbian imagery in film.  As for owning a copy, well that is another story.

Odin Is A Hawk, He Soars Above Us: O (2001)

Tim Blake Nelson's unconventional adaptation of Shakespeare's Othello is a film about deceit and pride that is by no means the greatest film to come out in 2001.  What O is, however, is a fully realized film that sticks to its guns and delivers a fresh and focused adaptation that neither relies solely on its original plot nor strays so far away that it becomes ridiculous.  From the Outkast heavy soundtrack to the minimalist acting, O is what a director should aspire to make.  O is sound in its execution and makes the viewing enjoyable, despite being a rather abrasive film.  Perhaps the greatest factor of this film is that it takes an issue like race, which was important in Shakespeare's play and extends it to become the most relevant factor of the film, which expertly reflects its contemporary conditions, from the awkward sense of entitlement for white teenagers, to the delusional drive of a black basketball player being exploited for his athletic prowess.  In short, O is one of the freshest and most masterfully executed Shakespeare adaptations to date and is criminally under-appreciated for this sole reason.

The plot for those familiar with Othello, should be rather obvious, but given its twenty first century spin, I will explain the story anyways.  The film's title character, as in its original, is a respected black male named Odin (Mekhi Phifer), whose basketball abilities have gained him the respect of his peers and the teams coach Duke Goulding (Martin Sheen).  However, the film's central character is not Odin, but Duke's son Hugo (Josh Hartnett) who despises Odin for not only his athletic abilities, but the attention he receives from his father.  As a result, of his jealously, Hugo engages in an elaborate and furious plan to ruin Odin's life which includes causing him to become suspicious of his white girlfriend Desi (Julia Stiles).  Hugo tricks Odin into believing that Desi is engaging in infidelity with another basketball player named Michael Cassio (Andrew Keegan).  Furthermore, in order to assure Michael's distance from the situation, Hugo causes a fellow student Roger Rodriguez (Elden Henson) to disdain Michael for his bullying behavior and his seemingly close relations with Desi.  In a spiral of deceit and confusion, Hugo gets Odin to kill Desi, while he attempts to get Roger to kill Michael.  When this portion of the plan fails, Hugo takes the act of killing Michael into his own hands, along with the killing of Roger who he deems a threat at this point.  However, despite his attempts to execute the plan, he is arrested and Odin ultimately kills himself realizing the errors of his recent murder and that his entire course of actions were the result of the jealous white people around him, a decisive end to a racially fueled film.

Aside from expert adaptation, O is an astute film in terms of racial commentary, particularly the exploitation of non-white individuals for the enjoyment of white individuals.  O does this both on a very blatant level and on a large scale throughout the entire narrative.  The exoticization of Odin as an athlete is constant in the film, whether it be the entire school gazing at him longingly as he plays basketball, or the continual reference of Odin as a prospect by college recruiters, which demean him as nothing more than an object for the exploitation of their own advancement.  This is rather necessary to the film plot, but the act of exploiting black athletes has become quite the point of contention in recent years as the NCAA continues to make large amounts of money off of their athletes which are predominantly black.  Secondly, the film focuses on exploitation of a black guy for the petty concerns of a white kid.  Hugo is clearly discontent with his life, as is evidenced by his continual drug use and, instead of simply facing up to his faults and confronting his father he attempts to increase his athletic skills through steroid use and by attempting to degrade Odin.  While not a perfect comparison it is likely that Nelson's concern in making this film was to show that these actions of jealously on the part of white persons toward those of color still occurred and while O is certainly a hyper-reality of such actions, the truth is that in America in the 21st century white people have blamed and exploited blacks for a lot larger things then getting praise as athletes.  O is not the greatest commentary on race in the United States, but it certainly does its share to continue the debate.

I cannot full out recommend purchasing this film as it will not be for everyone, but I would suggest renting it and watching it, because as noted earlier it is one of the best and most unconventional Shakespeare adaptations I have ever seen.

I've Always Been Stupid, But I'm Good At This: Breaking The Waves (1996)

Regardless of your opinion of Lars Von Trier as a filmmaker and a human being in general, it is hard to deny his cinematic presence.  The Danish auteur exists in his own world of filmmaking that focuses on the depravity of human existence its failure to advance forward in even the most basic scenarios.  Like the late Italian director Passolini, Von Trier's works are on the farthest outskirts of what is acceptable in filmmaking, and his  mid-nineties masterpiece Breaking The Waves is certainly no exception.  Although it is considerably less brash and abrasive than his later works, it is a tough film to handle and its minimalist leanings, excluding chapter screens, make it difficult for the viewer to find any sense of comfort in the films two plus hour narrative.  It is a film of desperation that offers no resolution, apart from a vague implication of something better in the afterlife, but as Von Trier makes blatantly apparent, this afterlife is restricted for only the most saintly of persons and that the general population is full of "sinners" whose own selfishness and debased behaviors assure that they will forever rot alone in darkness, with no sense of self-worth.  These ideals, paired with a blistering cinema verite style, spurred by Von Trier's Dogme 95 movement, create a film that is so poetically desperate that it borders carefully between being inescapably good and infinitely unwatchable.

A concise epic of sorts, Breaking The Waves follows the seemingly mundane life of a mentally troubled woman named Bess McNeil (Emily Watson) who is preparing for a marriage to a man named Jan Nyman (Stellan Skarsgard).  This would be rather normal, were it not fro Bess's close ties to a devoutly religious group who appears to have secluded themselves to a small community on an indiscriminate English isle.  Despite a resounding disapproval from the village elders Bess continues with her marriage and enjoys a lovely wedding day with the rockstaresque Jan.  It is late into their wedding day that Bess demands Jan make love to her in a church bathroom, which results in Bess's sexual awakening and the subsequent issue at the center of the entire narrative.  Viewers are now shown the true severity of Bess's mental illness, particularly her grand delusions that she hears the voice of God.  Bess, despite being ever thankful to God for her gift of Jan's love, is reminded via the voices in her head that the lord can give anything he takes away.  Soon after this "discussion" with God, Bess is informed of Jan's injury at his job on an offshore oil rig, assuming fault for being too carnal in her desires, Bess makes it her goal to do whatever is necessary to rejuvenate her ailing husband.  Unfortunately for Bess, Jan's injury has caused him to display his own set of mental issues which include an unrestrained sexual desire and he demands that Bess goes out and has sex and returns to tell him about her experiences.  Jan believes that by doing so he will be able to obtain sexual gratification tantamount to their previous relationships.  Sadly, Bess's inability to understand the seriousness of such actions and the depravity of male sexuality result in her murder at the hands of pirates who molest and then kill the woman.  Jan, upon recovering, realizes the errors of his mental incapacitation and arrives at Bess's funeral in time to remind the elders that they are incapable of judging her actions and that she lived a far more sanctified life than any of them could claim.  The film closes with an image of bells ringing in the sky, implying that the late Bess now shared her joyous ways in heaven and that those remaining were left to live a worthless and meaningless existence away from the ethereal joys of heaven.

Von Trier is not one to shy away from criticizing society, his work Dogville, my personal favorite by the director, takes on the issue of whether or not corrupt individuals deserve to live and at what point do individuals claim the right to execute those who have done wrong by them.  While Dogville ends on a very disparaging note, Breaking The Waves is slightly more optimistic.  This is of note given that as a director Von Trier has become considerably bleaker with each film that he makes, often attacking other directors for their inability to remain relevant, which occurs most notably in The Five Obstructions.  Regardless, Breaking The Waves focuses on the problems of sexual repression, particularly as they relate to religion.  Von Trier makes it rather obvious that Bess's own instabilities are a result of both her mental illness, which the village ignores given its rather impure nature and her confusion as to what constitute love another fault of the suppressed teachings of her cult like religious group.  This becomes an even greater problem when she faces an individual like Jan whose understanding of sexuality is completely liberated and sees it as nothing more than a physical act that is easily began and even quicker to end.  This disconnect helps to explain why Bess would agree to such absurd requests on the part of Jan, her lack of knowledge on sexuality leads her to assume that infidelity is permissible, and in this instance even ideal as it provides her husband with happiness.  It is obvious that if Bess were provided with a better understanding of sexuality, as opposed to being left completely ignorant to its existence that she would have avoided the issue altogether.  The film ends implying Bess's innocence and dismisses her as being forgiven, while the remaining group, Jan included, are left to ponder their own failure and acts of repression which led to the untimely death of such a loving woman.  It is a convoluted critique of sexual oppression, but a critique nonetheless and in this case, I have to applaud Von Trier for trying.

This DVD is rather hard to come by, but I strongly encourage viewing the film.  It is a challenging, yet rewarding experience and if you can afford a copy buy one for yourself and feel free to send me a copy as well.

Excuse Me…Who Are You?: Perfect Blue (1997)

Upon approaching this Perfect Blue, I had heard multiple statements claiming it to be the anime equivalent of a Hitchcock film.  While this is certainly true, it is a tragic understatement to how truly unique and dark this movie really becomes.  It is an intense, morbid and visually striking animated film that is condensed into eighty minutes of glorious madness.  It still does not top Akira, but truth be told this is one of the best pieces of animation I have ever seen.  It is making me consider reworking my previous Top Ten Thursday list.  I cannot express the surreal and oneiric qualities of this movie, but it is a must watch film and is perhaps the best piece of anime available to discredit notions of the genre being full of childish Disneyesque films.  Incidentally, the storyline for Perfect Blue is arguably more disconnected than the surrealist offering that is Fantasia.

Perfect Blue focuses on the crumbling celebrity status of Mima, the lead singer of the J-pop trio Cham.  She has decided to end her time with the musical group, against her wishes, in order to pursue a career in acting.  It seems as though Mima will acquire a decent amount of success as an actress, making cameos on crime shows and still maintaining her associations with her pop star past.  This is the case for a short amount of time, however, as her producer is suddenly the victim of a mail bomb intended for Mima.  At this point the film begins to immerse itself into a world in which reality and dreams are no longer differentiated.  This occurrence is spurred by Mima being introduced to a website called Mima’s Room which recounts her daily activities.  Mima is distraught by this discovery because she is certain that she is not the one writing this website and is the victim of another persons fanatical obsessions.  Her paranoia is not benefitted by the fact that the show she is starring on is concerned with a serial killer.  As her confusion increases Mima is incapable of separating her reality from that of the killer she plays in the film, often acting violently without explanation.  The plot continues to become more desoltary and murky ending with a twist that would make Hitchcock proud and put Shyamalan to shame.  I promise you that without spoilers you will not see the ending coming, it is that well delivered of a narrative.

I am going to for go an intense critical analysis of this piece and instead talk about how it serves as an example of what animated films can do that reality cannot (This is excluding CGI films).  A film like Perfect Blue has the power to portray dreamlike states and desolate landscapes in a way that escapes believability in the world of live action.  Even a perfectly executed dream sequence, like those in Inception, fails to grasp believability because we know as human being that we are incapable of fighting in a world void of gravity.  However, when approaching works that are animated we are certain from the onset that it does not in any way reflect reality and subconsciously we allow ourselves to view it in a surreal alternative reality.  Another good example of an animated film that allows us this venue is Richard Linklater’s study on dream states Waking Life.  Sure, it seems like a simplistic argument, but it is hard not to become captivated on a different level with something like Perfect Blue, because while you can disconnect as a viewer you cannot ever truly escape the depravity of the film.  You cannot remove yourself from the surreal in the same way you can the real, it eats away at your subconscious whether you allow it to or not.

This film is rather hard to come by, but well worth owning.  If you can throw the money around and like animated films then I would strongly encourage you to get a copy.  For those who are uncertain about anime, this is probably one of the best places to start

Perhaps So, I’ve Brought The Apple Anyway:…And God Created Women (1956)

The world was never the same after the introduction of Brigitte Bardot and cinema has this film to thank.  Perhaps more well-known for his cult classic Barbarella, Roger Vadim’s film is a sexual romp through the French coast that is as sultry as it is sentimental and serves as one of the fleeting moments of brilliance that existed in France prior to its filmic upheaval that would be the French New Wave. It is at times funny, while at others tragically serious, but despite its wavering it never manages to loose its illustrious Technicolor flow fashioning itself around a young vixen whose on screen presence would forever change the way sexual promiscuity was framed worldwide.

While Juliette (Brigitte Bardot) is the character the films title references, the actual narrative is more concerned with the small Tardieu family as they attempt to secure their living amidst the ever contentious demands of a sleazy businessman whose interests also lie in dominating the young Juliette.  An orphan, Juliette fills her days with lackluster work at a bookstore and dancing into midnight, actions which eventually lead her foster mother to banish her, stating that she is to return to a far off boarding school.  Realizing her imminent loss if she were to be relocated, Juliette prays on a the middle brother of the family, using his shyness against him and becoming a femme fatale of sorts, ignoring the death associated with the character as it relates to film noir.  Her seduction of the middle brother is partially for self-perseverance, but it also is intended to exact revenge on the family’s oldest brother who unknowingly admits his attempts to use Juliette at a late night party.  The film then spirals into a abyss of infidelity, double speak and business, which witnesses the Tardieu’s dismissing their land with the promise of earning off of whatever is built.  In a fleeting moment, the oldest brother and Juliette engage in an act of intercourse, which ultimately destroys the rather close relationship previously existing between the Tardieu’s.  In the classic femme fatale fashion, Juliette remains relatively unharmed and appears to have learned very little from the endeavor making the men’s unrestrained desire the problem, as opposed to the innocence of a young vixen.

The critiques of this film are vast and varied, but I find the most obvious ones to emerge when approaching it from a feminist lens.  The first issue is the most blatant, it is a film preoccupied with the male gaze.  Our first introduction to Juliette is of her legs as they emerge from behind a dangling sheet.  The film then cuts to an old man approaching her with a toy, yet in a moment of cinematic genius it then cuts to a far off house to show that yet another man is gazing at the young girl.  In this sense, Juliette cannot escape the gaze of men within the film, let alone the gaze of the films viewers.  Furthermore, the film relishes in the notion that Juliette is a sexual object.  The eldest son Antoine (Christian Marquand) is never punished for his open claims of desiring to degrade Juliette and, in fact, he is rewarded by eventually claiming her sexually.  This lack of concern for Juliette is only furthered by how little is known about her past.  It is evident that Juliette is the black sheep of the community, but her association with disdain is rarely elaborated on and instead appears to be from deep seeded jealously on the part of the women in the community, yet another problem addressed by feminist.  Jealously is solely the result of a patriarchy that demands women be sexually desirous, an obvious undertone in this films narrative.  To put it succinctly the film does not treat women well, but is certain to chastise the men for their actions, perhaps it’s only redeeming feature (besides the luscious Technicolor of course).

This is not one of my favorite Criterion releases by any means, but it is quite good.  I would only suggest snagging a copy if you are a CC fanatic and want to one day possess the entire collection.

Nuns, Thorns, and Desire: The School of The Holy Beast (1974)

WARNING: This review contains graphic imagery and descriptions.


I often get on a soapbox about the American influences apparent in Japanese film, particularly as it relates to action, romance and indie films.  However, I have come to a very distinct realization following my recent viewing of The School of the Holy Beast, and that is that nothing is comparable to Japanese cult films.  They exist in their own world void of influence and logical imagery.  This is one of the most bizarre Japanese works I have scene, alongside Hausu and Jigoku.  The film is saturated with repressed homosexuality, sadomasochism and nudity...it is more reminiscent of a underground pornography than artistic filmmaking.  Despite this statement, it is a sound film that manages to take itself seriously at all the right moments and lay on the cheese at others.  It is a signifier of seventies filmmaking that is as iconic as it is abrasive. A gem of gore cinema that happens to deliver a rather large-scale critique of patriarchal opression in the most unconventional terms.

The film, in a rather nonchalant manner, follows Maya (Yumi Takagawa) a rebellious young woman who has taken it upon herself to seek reform at a local abbey.  From the onset, the abbey appears to be rather blasé, adhering to the regular practices of cleaning, cooking and singing as one would expect.  However, as Maya realizes during a night of restlessness, this particular abbey is preoccupied with punishment on a personal and abbey-wide scale.  As she watches a fellow nun flagellate herself to avoid sin Maya takes it upon herself to become a spy of sorts for the head nuns catching the other nuns in acts of theft, homosexuality and lesser "vices."  The punishments for actions include violent whippings and, as Maya discovers after her own immoral act, binding with rose branches.  These acts are done in the nude while the head nuns look on longingly.  This entire cycle of punishment is arced by Maya's fascination with the appointed abbey priest who appears to have sexual interest in many of the nuns, particularly Maya.  After a plot to exploit the higher nuns' indiscretions, Maya comes to realize the local priest is actually her father resulting in issues of incest and profanity, which is exemplified by a scene of Maya succumbing to pissing on a cross.  Surprisingly this dually degrading and gorgeously stunning film simply ends with Maya away from the abbey.  It is a nunsploitation film by definition and is loyal to the genre by showing only the images associated.


The film is obsessed with clearly demarcating all problems associated with patriarchy as it relates to religion, in this particular case Catholicism.  In fact, it is this critique that helps this film avoid being overtly degrading to women.  With the Laura Mulvey put aside, it promotes a rather freeing notion of femininity.  Each act of aggression, degradation and profanity is blatantly and inextricably tied to patriarchy.  The acts of punishment are done in the name of God and Christ, both obviously associated with maleness in the film.  Many of the nuns deaths are a result of phallic objects, the most obvious being one nun's death by falling on a priests staff.  Furthermore, the jealously and subsequent vengeance that exists in the abbey is almost wholly fueled by the lecherous priest who is involved with many of the nun's including both Maya and her mother.  It is a literal depiction of patriarchy screwing generations of women, a rather brilliant moment in a graphically driven film.  The film's characters even chastise acts of homosexuality for no apparent reason, yet refrain from noting the problems of incest and force intercourse with multiple problems, all with the intent to show a connection between the churches illogical views of unquestioned male superiority as it relates to patriarchal roots.  It is a film that uses exploitation as a guise, yet incorporates feminist critique between the lines.  It is brilliant but takes a close eye to catch.

The School of the Holy Beast is a graphic film and not meant for everybody, but for those who enjoy cult cinema, particularly from Asia, I would suggest getting a hard to find copy.