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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm An Australian, And I'm Looking For A Friend: Stoner (1974)

Sometimes movies emerge into the world without any rational explanation or justification, and their very existence defines what the collective of moviegoers know to be absurdism.  The thing with this is these movies often tend to present themselves as such, focusing on the non-normative in cinema or completely rejecting constructs to allow for their desired message to emerge.  In other cases, the films simply manifest themselves because it is clear that nobody told the people involved not to do so and the result is one part baffling and another part profoundly transcendent.  At least I keep telling myself that is what is going on with the wild film that is Stoner, also known as the The Shrine of Ultimate Bliss.  I want to say that it is a film that is so terrible that it exists as being good, but it would be misguided to call it such, as it is rather clear that everyone knows what is going on and no sense of over-enthusiasm emerges.  Indeed, if any such zealousness were to come forth on the set of this film it is quite likely that it was devoured by the gross mustache that George Lazenby rocks for most of the film.  Stoner, bearing one of the worst conceived titles in the history of cinema, exists almost as two separate films that have a feeling of being paired together rather hap hazardously and even when the two protagonists meet up in the closing twenty minutes of the film it is rather hard to concede to it being anything but forced.  Indeed, where other blaxploitation and kung-fu films of the era would work because of their navigation and reconsideration of race relations in the venue of film, Stoner fails simply because it suggests that a fish-out-of-water film can work with a character who is a white Australian male.  It is no small bit of irony that it is George Lazenby who is cast in the role of Stoner, as he was himself James Bond, albeit for only one film, a white figure who moves through spaces he is deemed non-normative with the assumption that he is indeed still in a possession of power.  Stoner extends this commentary by making it work within the context of a kung fu flick, where in a hulking white guy beats down a ton of Asian bodies in the name of a vague narcotics bust.  It could have worked, were the film a little bit more self-aware about its absurdity, but Stoner fails by taking itself way to seriously, existing not as a accidental statement on a cultural issue turned into cinematic magic, as is the case with Reefer Madness, but one of a condemnation of a particular social pandemic that is so on-the-nose and poorly executed as to fall flatter than the obnoxiously awful Birdemic.

The bizarre world of Stoner focuses on the title character played by George Lazenby, an Australian narcotics officer who has been sent to China to explore the production and disbursement of a controversial drug known as "the happy pill."  The name suggestive of an antidepressant, actually appears to have more in common with modern day Viagra and other performance enhancement drugs, although this particular version works for both men and women and seems more indicative of an aphrodisiac.  Assumedly doing this task because the drug is highly addictive Stoner, moves about the streets of what is assumedly Hong Kong fighting of henchmen and mobsters who seem him as a threat, while moving through the various brothels and bars that have become the hotspots for the drug trafficking.  Meanwhile the film also focuses on Li Shou-Hua (Angela Mao) a Taiwanese detective who has also been tasked with breaking up the drug cartel, although she, as opposed to Stoner, finds herself with more access to the inner circles of the trafficking, particularly sources directly tied to Chin (Joji Takagi) the drug kingpin and maniacal leader who is credited with creating the happy pill.  The two separately navigate China, Stoner using brute force and a wicked mustache to get what he needs in various situations, while Li must be more crafty, relying on disguises as a salesgirl to infiltrate the inner circles of the mob.  Eventually, both Stoner and Li get to Chin's headquarters, simultaneously, and instantly befriending one another when they realize they have both arrived to take down Chin.  When they meet, however, Li is dressed in masculine clothing, therefore, Stoner assumes her to be a young man.  Eventually, the two are capture and it is revealed that Li is indeed a girl, at which point Stoner takes a clear sexual interest in Li, an act that is further problematic when considering that Chin injects Stoner with the happy pill juice to drive him to be sexually rampant.  Locking the two in a cell together, Li finds herself in a constant state of evasion from Stoner's unconscious, bumbling sexual advances.  When he awakes the next day to discover that not only has Li blocked of his attacks, she has also freed them both from their restraints, the two take it upon themselves to duke it out with Chin and his men, ending his production of the drug, while also coming into a ton of money, an amount that is immediately decided should go towards fighting narcotics traffic in Hong Kong.  Nothing is said about the future of either Stoner or Li, aside from showing a plane flying into the air, assumedly carrying Stoner back to Australia, whether Li joins him remains decidedly uncertain.

Transnationalism?  The dangers of addiction?  Passing as a different gender?  These could be possible things to talk about with a film like Stoner, but I just cannot get over the idea that it is a film in which George Lazenby, who played James Bond in On Her Majesty's Secret Service, moves about Hong Kong as a huge white guy beating up guys and sleeping with women, much like his British cinematic counterpart.  It is as good a time as any to mention that I am on the way to having an article published in a book regarding this very theme in James Bond films.  I cannot give details at the moment, but it is nice to be able to make the connection to a non-Bond film that happens still to include a James Bond actor, particularly since I do not include On Her Majesty's Secret Service in my paper.  Much as he does in On Her Majesty's Secret Service, Lazenby, as Stoner, arrives in Hong Kong and assumedly takes control of the situation demanding what he needs and desires with little concern for others around him.  Indeed, nobody seems to have asked the Australian to come, but it holds a sort of colonizing expectation that he can simply emerge and take what is his, doubly problematic given the relationship between Britain and China historically.  What makes Stoner starkly different from its Bondian siblings though is that the character of Li is not the submissive Bond girl, but instead a bad ass woman all her own, one that can pass as a man or woman as she sees fit, while also avoiding the very intense advances of Stoner.  In the Bond films he always gets the woman, even if she professes to be a lesbian, Bond finds a way to woo, often by force.  Angela Mao, does not allow a character such as hers to be taken by force, her prowess and skill evading and denying the oppression that comes from the lurking colonial figure.  True his wild chases are spurred by a heavy dose of drugs, but that does not mean they are any less problematic, particularly since the drugs were injected in him by another male figure.  Interestingly, Li is the only character who does not consume the drug and rejects it, adding a layer of sexual politics that suggest the "happy pill" to be a fabrication intended to justify male sexual prowess and dominance.  I know this is speaking in a lot of generalities, but I do not want to draw on anything that might show up in my publication.  When it becomes available publicly I will certainly refer back to this post with a more drawn out discussion.

Key Scene:  No scene, just Lazenby's mustache that inexplicably disappears by the film's third act.

I would avoid this film, there are much better Golden Harvest kung fu films to watch and in terms of George Lazenby, I would just check out his criminally underrated turn as Bond in On Her Majesty's Secret Service.

I Keep My Undies In The Ice Box!: The Seven Year Itch (1955)

First off, I want to thank Movies, Silently for the opportunity to be involved in The Funny Lady blog-a-thon, and be given the excellent task of tackling Marilyn Monroe no less!  I have decided to revisit The Seven Year Itch, a film I have no seen in years, firstly, because I find it to be one of the funniest (if not the funniest) films ever made.  Second, however, I also believe it speaks volumes to the brilliant performer that Marilyn Monroe was, while also allowing her to play with notions of her own place as a sexual icon, as well as the larger idea of male fantasy and expectations of the "ideal conquest."  I picked this movie specifically because it is so funny, and while much of that can be credited to the involvement of Billy Wilder and the droopy-eyed performance of Tom Ewell, it, ultimately, comes down to the masterful delivery of Monroe as a fantastical version of some robotic version of an ideal male woman, who is a risqué model with demure sensibilities and a young, overly idealistic woman who just also happens to have a mature understanding of the complexities of marriage.  While it is never expressly stated, one can assume that the film is a large scale fantasy on the part of the main character and that his fantasy is merely a projection, in which case, the performance Monroe puts on takes another layer of absurdity, nonetheless, being portrayed with a stone-eyed certainty as she delivers lines about retrieving snack foods and undergarments from iceboxes.  Simply put, what Monroe does in The Seven Year Itch is reject everything that the cult of celebrity had created for her, through blowing it all out of proportion, because while the cultural image of Monroe is easily the famous publicity still of her in a white dress catching a draft from a passing subway car, that was merely an instant in this film, it is not reflective of her in the slightest.  One must remember that Monroe also took on serious roles in films like All About Eve, Clash By Night and another Technicolor delight River of No Return.  As such, she is performing a comedic deconstruction of herself within the framework of The Seven Year Itch, one that is half-fantasy/ half-absurdity and all perfection.  I would argue that actors, regardless of gender, struggle to commit to a character with such a degree of certainty as Monroe displays in this racy film that stands as one of the big breaks from the restrictions of The Hayes Code.

The Seven Year itch focuses on the experiences of the shy and sheepish Richard Sherman (Tom Ewell) a well-to-do publishing agent who, like many men living in Manhattan in the fifties, finds himself seeing his wife Helen (Evelyn Keyes) and son Ricky (Butch Bernard) off as they leave town, while he stays in town and continues accruing wealth for the family.  Richard, a schmuck of sorts adheres to every detail his wife lays out for him, including an avoidance of smoking and drinking and a strict diet, all doctor's orders of course.  Richard, who constantly speaks about his love for his wife, nonetheless, fantasizes about all his possible moments of infidelity, while also creating a projection of Helen that dismisses his claims.  Richard finds himself even incapable of thinking about cheating, without the condemnation of his wife.  Seemingly fine simply existing in a liminal space between freedom from his family and a constant reminder of their presence, through slips on roller skates and hidden keys to his cigarette chest, things change for Richard drastically when he is met with a new occupant in his complex, a curvaceous young blonde woman who becomes simply known as The Girl (Marilyn Monroe).  The innocent girl initially asks Richard for help getting into the house which he gladly agrees to do, although it is clear that he is fraught with anxiety over how to help this woman whose stunning beauty is alarming, a matter that is made all the worse when she accidentally knocks a tomato plant onto his balcony later that evening, only missing Richard by seconds.  This accident leads to Richard inviting The Girl down for a drink, to which his fantasies begin running wild from causing the girl to swoon over performances of Rachmaninoff to perfect cocktail recopies.  Yet even as Richard unfolds elaborate plans his reality impedes constantly, through things like the landlord attempting to change the carpeting and a check-up call from Helen.  Despite these constant distractions timing still proves in his favor as The Girl enters and the two hit it off, despite his nervousness, awkwardness and misdirection, leading to a failed performing of not the Russian composer, but instead the simple Chopsticks.  The next day, Richard finds himself despairing over his foolish advances, only to be furthered condemned by a psychoanalytically inclined author that says his desires are a result of pent up frustrations and the like.  Invariably, Richard and The Girl continue seeing one another, although their engagements, aside from innocent kisses are left undisplayed, but an encounter with one of Helen's dear friends leads Richard to realizing where his true concerns should lie and he flees form Manhattan, ultimately, leaving both his fantasies and realities behind him to join his family on vacation.

If one is to assume that much of this film exists in the space of Richard's fantasies, the dream sequences within the already established dream would make the film a sort of meta-fantasy, wherein, Richard has one projection of his own life that is not suited to his liking and simply adds another layer to make it more fantastical or indicative of his personal desires.  This is scene when he is already troubled by the idea that he does not represent the ideal masculine of somebody like Tom MacKenzie (Sonny Tufts) who he suspects his wife to be having an affair with, therefore, he creates another layer to his fantasy that involves The Girl saying that she is only interested in men who, like Richard, are shy and constantly perspiring.  If there is a certain degree of layering to his idealization and desire on Richard's part I would contest that there is also the same amount of twisting and multiplicity within Monroe's performance.  As noted earlier she is playing a heavily caricatured version of the sultry, yet shallow, young model that would encompass male desire, tragically, something she would become known and stereotyped for both on and off the screen.  Yet, Monroe bring a certain vapidness to the role, not because she is a bad actress, that is far from the case (refer to the films mentioned earlier), but because she knows that such a "desired" version of femininity requires that the woman strip away all notions of emotion or a soul and become, like the picture of her in which Richard constantly sneaks a glance, a object of desire without thought or reason.  Incidentally, it is no coincidence that the still of the dress being blown by the subway draft is the most famous scene of the film, despite being only a publicity still, it reflects this same non-animated form of objectification.  The beauty of Monroe while important to the film, particularly when Wilder's script breaks the fourth wall and has Richard suggest that the woman hiding in his house is none other than the real life version of Marilyn Monroe, is secondary to what she is stating about the nature of a desired body both in fantasy and reality.  To Wilder and to Monroe, it is one thing for her character's performance to be one of Marilyn Monroe, but it is secondly so because she is playing into a heavily muted version of herself, one that must only be sexualized because it is realistic to be anything else.  To Monroe this is to be laughed at, and while it may not have been realized at the time, it is certainly the case now, and easily stands as Monroe's funniest performance, and were it not for the unfortunate tragedies that would follow in years to come, I would imagine that this performance would stand up to be one of the single greatest strokes of comedy genius to ever grace the screen.

Key Scene:  All that I have mentioned culminates perfectly in the Rachmaninoff scene, although there are other wonderful moments throughout the film that combine together to make Richard's fantasy world one of the most foolishly funny visions in all of cinema.

This film, along with a ton of other Monroe classics is available in a bluray box set.  The transfer is stunning and the extras are wonderful, particularly the Hayes Code meter that you can have play throughout the film, showing the degrees of "obscenity" that the picture would have received.

Exterminate All Rational Thought: Naked Lunch (1991)

I am both regretting, as well as beginning to appreciate the #100filmsforJune marathon I have decided to undertake along with a ton of other members on Letterboxd.  I am regretful because it is proving to be an incredibly daunting and time-consuming process, especially considering that I am trying to avoid repeat viewings per the stipulations of the marathon.  However, it has thus far afforded me an opportunity to catch up with a few blind spots within my film literacy a problem that I hope will be noticeably altered by the end of the month.  One such blind spot for me, as mentioned with my previous post concerning Sunshine, is that of underrated or overlooked science fiction films, which made a viewing such as Naked Lunch excellent, primarily because it falls within the confines of lesser known science fiction, while also affording me the very welcomed opportunity to fill in a gap on my desired viewing list with the psychosexual madness of yet another Cronenberg film.  While I would not say that Cronenberg hits every work out of the park, I do find most of his choices engaging and, at times, deeply profound.  Works like Videodrome and Existenz have become staples of consumerist fears and the detachment of the body in regards to an omnipresent, artificial entity that can fulfill even the most base of human needs and desires.  As should be little surprise, Cronenberg takes lens in Naked Lunch and spins a web of insanity relating to some absurd hybrid of drug culture and repressed heterosexuality.  What comes out of his cauldron of visions is a film that is parts Terry Gilliam and Ken Russell, engaging the very fabric of human life and its fractured psyche during a state of dependence that parallels nicely with the narrative of Linklater's A Scanner Darkly which provides for yet another layer of fitting parallels, in that both manage to perfectly adapt rather dense and challenging texts from equally prolific authors into a world all their own, using similar metaphors and messages to paint their facsimile of society in such a way that it is entirely implausible to the point of viewers finding safe detachment, while also being incredibly prescient and a cause for very real feels of discontent and dismay.

Naked Lunch is set inconceivably in fifties era New York and follows the life of exterminator Bill Lee (Peter Weller), a rather interesting job in the context of this world considering that both bugs, as well as particular pesticides prove to be highly addictive drugs, so much so that his girlfriend Joan (Judy Davis) is a strung out addict to bug powder herself, often stealing large quantities from Bill's work supply to get her fix, which, in turn, leads to his being fired from his job. Later that evening in an attempt to get people out of his house, Bill and Joan do a William Tell routine that involves him shooting a glass off of Joan's head, only for it to go awry and result in her being shot.  During an arrest related to his assumed murder Bill begins his own hallucinations as a result of repeated work around bug powder, where in he sees a large insect who informs him that he is to be a secret agent in a alternate world known as Inter Zone where he will serve as a writer for the various alien-like bugs that inhabit the world.  During his work for a particular bug, one named Clark Nova, after the typewriter which it manifests itself though, Bill is told that he is to find one Dr. Benway (Roy Scheider), an endeavor that leads him to meeting doppleganger of his deceased wife.  As this navigation towards Dr. Benway continues, Bill comes to realize that the entirity of Inter Zone, as well as its extended alternate universe Annexia are riddle with drug addicted individuals, many of which actively engage in gay relationships, and that a larger narcotics trade orbits around the trafficking of a particular bug based drug known as "black meat."  Of course, getting to the center of the issues is far from simple, particularly since Bill himself is navigating various drug induced trips, yet after a constant shifting of mind states, he eventually comes to realize that it is indeed Dr. Benway who is the veritable kingpin of the narcotics pushing and in an attempt to flee to Annexia, he, as well as the doppleganger of Joan, is stopped by border police, also dopplegangers of previous characters themselves who demand that Bill prove he is a writer.   After pulling a pen out of his pocket as evidence, Bill, for no obvious reason, recreates the William Tell accident from earlier, thus bring the acid trip of a film full circle and Bill no closer to a sort of meaning and happiness he so clearly seeks throughout.

Much like other Cronenberg films, the narrative and its visual stylings seem to have a particular fascination with flesh, penetration and the seemingly inextricable connection between the mind and body as it relates to identity and survival.  This cinematic theme within Cronenberg's films furthermore always seems to have a psychosexual layer added as well, one of invasion and intrusion that is made all the more grotesque by the perfectly disgusting creatures that Cronenberg's crew makes for his films.  While I know I am not going to do any justice to this thematically, I feel it necessary to talk about the particularly unusual way in which the psychosexual elements relate to homosexuality between males.  Much like Barton Fink, the film has a drifting writer character to seems to be struggling with something larger than himself that is forcefully and unsuccessfully being repressed only to blow apart in troubling and destructive ways.  I would argue that both the character of Barton, as well as Bill are dealing with their respective oppressed sexualities, ones that are necessariliy oppressed for fear of violence and desertion from society.  In Cronenberg's film, this repression means that Bill must shack up with a drug addicted woman who he "accidentally" kills not out of malice, but out of a desperate hope to escape to something desirable, an escape he and the other openly gay characters of the film seem to pursue via wild hallucinogenics.  The escape only proves mildly beneficial for Bill, in that he is arguably surrounded by other gay males, although the price is pretty severe because the various drugs essentially allow for his feuding id and superego to go unchecked resulting in some bizarre drug induced visions. Of course the image that will be easy to pick up to the non-Freudian thinking viewer will undoubtedly be that of the various writers and other figures suckling at the flaccid stem of the white bug hoping to receive the liquid that emerges upon the completion of "good writing," which, of course, extends to include a good sexual performance as well.  Bill while madly struggling to repress his feelings cannot help but desire this secretion, much as he cannot change his desire for other men.  Of course, there is also the bug whose back, and apparent form of communication very much resemble the anus, suggesting a point of sexual pleasure, as well as verbal interaction whose implications both within the context of sexuality and Freudian psychology are many and multifaceted.

Key Scene:  The bug farm scene and the revelation of Dr. Benway's disguise are a fitting way to bring this narrative to a near close and defy all the logic in the film, which was minimal to begin with.

This is an excellent film and Criterion has recently put out a bluray, I would strongly encourage obtaining a copy when finances allow you to do so.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Dead Don't Dream: Tristana (1970)

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


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

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

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

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

Noodles Are Synergetic Things: Tampopo (1985)

In many instances a film has a reputation that precedes itself, often getting mentioned within circles of those in the "cinematic know" if you will.  These movies are exceptional and for many reasons fail to make it into the traditional top 100 film lists that flood a burgeoning cinephiles exploration.  For a long time one such film for me was that of Charles Laughton's The Night of the Hunter, easily one of the greatest achievements in cinema, despite for some time only being witnessed by a handful of film students, becoming an excellent reference in one of my favorite films of all time.  Other films, like House becoming a point of reference due to their sheer inconceivability, while also being a thoroughly enjoyable film.  It is perfectly balanced between these two lines that we find a film like Juzo Itami's Tampopo, with its surrealist concern for deconstructed linear narrative being paired so well with classicist cinematic stylings.  I would venture to say that Tampopo in all its zany and incomparable antics exists with such a concern for the sensory that it is much like the food varied and depicted throughout.  Where my uncertainty with something like Tampopo lies is when describing its cinematic intentions, considering that it manages to be both a light-hearted pseudo-romantic comedy, while also being a biting critique of the effects of patriarchal tradition and Western influences on a Japan, that at the time, was still attempting to assure its grounding on a global scale.  The film also exists within the realm of the meta, allowing for viewer to become engaged with a drawn out depiction of urban Japan, while also considering the very intimate experiences of a somewhat definable protagonist, or in this case group of protagonists, yet the late Itami is careful not to leave too much certainty with any character, often taking the the viewer's assumptions averting and reverting them throughout.  Tampopo is a film that could be viewed differently and rewardingly every time, always changing and hopefully evolving, not much different than the way one's tastes change from youth to old age.

Tampopo begins with a direct addressing to the audience by a sly and aggressive Yakuza member simply referred to as Man In The White Suit (Koji Yakusho) who demands that all those viewing the film should avoid eating during the movie, as not to cause teh narrative to become inaudible over crunching and mastication, of course, this man will reappear throughout the narrative, apparently existing within and outside of the cinematic space simultaneously.  Other minor stories fill in the blanks, whether they be the Man and his erotic consumption of food with his lover, or a set of Japanese business man looking perplexed at the menu in a French restaurant, only to be educated by a younger member.  Yet another narrative focuses on the false notions of Western eating etiquette, while yet another considers an old woman entering a gourmet shop only to squeeze and destroy various foods much to the chagrin of the employee on duty.  However, the larger narrative focuses on milk truck drivers Goro (Tsutomo Yamazaki) and Gun (Ken Watanabe) who decide to stop into a hole-in-the-wall noodle shop after a night of driving and reading about the art of noodle eating.  However, the shop they decide to stop in is run by the widowed Tampopo (Nobuko Miyamoto) whose lack of a husband as a guide has led to her flailing business, as well as a disconnection from her son who is repeatedly bullied at school.  Tampopo is not void of her own dealing with tough individuals and is confronted constantly by the drunk Pisuken (Rikia Yasuoka).  Goro attempts to divert the aggression of Pisuken only to be beat up in the process, leading to his being awoken the next day by Tampopo to food and a frank discussion of her inability to cook noodles.  Realizing the truth in his statement Tampopo begs Goro to help her excel at the craft, something he agrees to wholeheartedly, thus beginning their journey through the Japanese urban landscape to create a hybrid of all the secrets relating to the art of noodle cooking.  This journey takes Tampopo, Goro and a variety of other characters from the world of Japanese decadence to the slums of the city, each providing a necessary element to the larger art of running a noodle shop.  in the process Tampopo and Goro become romantically involved, Tampopo's son confronts his bullies and even Pisuken comes around to joining the cause, making an assumed success out of a once flailing business.  The film then closes on a shot that suggests that the love of consumption starts at an incredibly young age.

Tampopo runs in the same vein as a Monty Python sketch film, say Meaning of Life to be exact, but manages to somehow carry the philosophical and political levity of something like Godard's Weekend.  I absolutely loved Tampopo as a piece of cinema and want to make note of some of its more clever social critiques, however, I was by no means blinded by some of its egregious issues, for which I plan to mention as well.  Firstly, Tampopo is a film expressly concerned with intersectionality, whether various intersections allow for one to gain or lose respect in a society.  For example, it is not only a point of failure that Tampopo's son is of a lower-class status, but his lack of a paternal figure causes him to be ridiculed as well.  In opposition, would be somebody from the group of businessmen eating French cuisine, so involved in their world of masculine, wealthy privilege that they completely ignore Goro and Tampopo on the street, nearly trampling them in the process.  Even in this privilege, however, the group refuses to acknowledge ignorance, or in this case their own "otherness" in regards to a Western ideal, blindly following one of the groups orders for salad, soup and a beer.  The film also takes note to mention the idea that enlightenment and knowledge are not synonymous with wealth or power, especially considering that the homeless individuals are much more finely tuned to the niceties of life than any other character, white suit donning Yakuza excluded.  Finally, the film also considers the tragedy related to aging in East Asian countries and the manner with which elderly individuals are relegated to the corners of society, something just addressed in Ann Hui's A Simple Life a film I blogged about last week.  In fact, the only real failing of identities within Tampopo appears to come with the title character herself, while it is great that she is able to find her place in a mad urban landscape, the narrative does suggest that she is only able to do so with the help of a bevy of masculine figures, completely discounting the earnest efforts she has made, while also adhering to every domestic role imaginable.  Essentially she is both housewife and breadwinner and the narrative seems hesitant to make note of this fact, although, its closing does seem to suggest that all power comes from the feminine, so a complete dismissal is far from appropriate.

Key Scene:  There is an excellent homage to Chaplin about midway through the film that is hilarious and poetic in its simplicity, and proves to be one of many highlights in the stellar work.

This is a must own for anybody who enjoys cinema and while it is certainly not the cheapest thing ever it will prove a great investment for years to come.

I'm Erect. Why Aren't You Erect? Showgirls (1995)

Do you remember that one episode of Saved By The Bell where Jessie begins abusing caffeine pills as a means to both take care of her school work, as well as attend practices so her and the other girls can perform for a talent show, only to eventually have a complete mental breakdown which leaders to her sing-crying the words to "I'm So Excited" in the befuddled arms of Zach?  Well, one could call Showgirls the extension of that moment from the show some seven to ten years later, even using the actress Elizabeth Berkeley in the lead role.  Showgirls is far from one of those films that has received a cult status because it clearly exudes some degree of cinematic ingenuity, or is a terrible production that covers up a sound narrative, in fact, for the most part, Showgirls is a decidedly unwatchable film in the traditional sense, excluding of course any moment involving the infallible Kyle McLachlan.  The film suffers from some chewed up scenery in the acting department, not to mention a misguided plot that is only fleshed out in a literal sense.  Even the glossy realism mixed with dystopian dreariness that signifies some of director Paul Verhoeven's other works, such as Basic Instinct and Robocop falls apart when the gross day world of Las Vegas enters the picture and consumes any sense of harmony or possible beauty.  Showgirls is at once a set of misguided social commentaries ranging from the objectification of women to the exploitative failures of art, as well as a film that clearly cannot take itself any more seriously, despite dealing with a subject so harsh and debated that any degree of trepidation with plot choices, would assure its failure, something clearly problematized within the film.  The fact that Showgirls because a home video success probably speaks volumes to a pre-internet age in which nudity on the scale within this film meant needing to get creative in one's access, but that, of course, says little for a cinematic appreciation, as much as it does for the ingenuity of a sexual oriented mind.  The absurdism of its existence seems to be the sole factor in the cult status of this sex fueled narrative.

Showgirls begins with the introduction of Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkeley) a down and out, attractive young woman who has decided to hitch hike to Las Vegas to take up dancing as a means to escape her troubled life.  It is within being offered a ride to Las Vegas that she first realizes the deception of the city when her belongings are stolen and she is left abandoned in a casino.  Fortunately for Nomi, a aspiring designer named Molly (Gina Ravera) agrees to take her in and help her get on her feet, even landing her a job as an erotic dancer in somewhat sleazy club.  Yet, Nomi realizes she is destined for something much larger than this when she watches a performance of a erotic dance review called Goddess, which is headed by a star performer named Cristal Connors (Gina Gershon).  At this moment, through deception and a considerable degree of hard work, Nomi begins to climb the ladder of  performance artist in the sin-laden city meeting a classically trained dancer turned bouncer named James (Glenn Plummer) as well as Cristal's lover, the lavish playboy Zack Carey (Kyle MacLachlan).  It is through these varied interactions that Nomi is introduced to the backdoor dealings of Las Vegas, particularly as they relate to advancing as a dancer, she even forms an intimate relationship with Zack, one that leads to a night of wild passion and a heavy degree of distrust from Cristal.  However, when this use of sex does not afford Nomi a chance to understudy for Cristal, the enraged dancer takes things into her own hands by pushing Cristal down the stairs causing her to get a fracture and thus become incapable of performing.  Nomi is then thrust into the spotlight, a place that she realizes is far from comforting, both in the realization of her awful actions by friends like Molly, as well as the jealousy that emerges from other dancers, and even Zack who in a fit of rage digs up information on Nomi's past life, revealing a history of drug addiction, prostitution and violence.  Nomi realizes that escape is, again, her only option and she begins hitchhiking out of Las Vegas, meeting the same man who stole her goods in the films opening scene, although this time she is fa more prepared.  Also she kills a man along the way, but that seems, surprisingly, secondary in the larger narrative.

I would be hard pressed to find a film, excluding the infamous Salo: or 120 Days of Sodom that better captures the sense of decadence and its presence within a modern society.  While the previously mentioned film is decidedly fictional, or at least a viewer strongly hopes that is the case, Showgirls despite its stylized sexuality and preponderance of violence, truly reflects a world that could be Las Vegas.  It depicts the city as a fictionalized dreamscape in its nightlife, one where aspirations can occur, only to cast a less than welcoming hue over everything when the morning light comes.  The characters within the film suffer from their own delusions and excesses whether it be James and his desires to be both a critically acclaimed choreographer and a master of erotic dance, or the dancers throughout who expect their children to be well-spoken and mild mannered but see little issue within bringing them into their foul-mouthed and nudity heavy dressing rooms.  It is easy to see how decadence formulates within Cristal and Zack who spend lavishly on libations and sexual gratification, only as a means to counter their clearly problematic relationship, in fact, the scene in which Zack and Nomi hook up at his house is  so decadent that a viewer will find it damn near incomprehensible, not to mention that Kyle MacLachlan relishes in throwing down some excellent over-the-top acting during the scene.  Yet it is Nomi who seems most apt to describe as decadent, because while viewers are led to believe that she is truly trying to escape her past, her actions often reflect and individual who is self-loathing and purely wants things for her possession, even if she intends not to take them seriously, this is certainly the case with her desire to become a Goddess dancer, something she obtains, but then completely overlooks its importance by gorging on junk food and partying her days away.  Nomi is a decadent and self-involved character who the narrative hopes you will find sympathy for, yet it is so clear that she possesses no desire to change, thus making her a decidedly unlikeable and problematic character.  Who knows maybe this is the major flaw of the film.

Key Scene:  Kyle MacLachlan, champagne, sex and swimming pool.  It is really more of the cultural humor within this scene than anything else.

I mean, I would suggest only watching this if you really have a curiosity about its place in cult history.  It is not endearing like other cult classics and does not have any hidden cinematic value.  I would pass on to something else if given an option.

Beau-ti-ful: Air Doll (2009)

Air Doll is a film destined to be something I thoroughly enjoy.  First, it was directed by Hirokazu Koreeda, whose film Still Walking received a more than favorable review and heavy admiration for its clear admiration for the late Ozu.  Secondly, the film focuses on issues of body and gender as it relates to East Asian cinema, a personal and well-vested research interest of mine.  Finally, if those two things were not enough, the film also includes the amazing Doona Bae, whose performance in Cloud Atlas was among one of the many enjoyable portions of the film.  Of course, a set of favorable things in my favor does not necessarily mean that it will equate to a good movie for other people every time, however, in the case of Air Doll, I think its cinematic leanings, Westernized cultural references and somewhat melodramatic soundtrack lend well to most film palettes, not to mention it involves artificial intelligence, allowing for even the most strict of sci-fi enthusiasts to find something to love in the film.  While the critics who claim the film to be a bit lengthy in its execution certainly have a right to do so, I cannot help but defend its drawn out nature as a necessity in regards to Koreeda's clear desire to promote the issues of human suffering and loneliness as realized through a being whose just come to terms with their own realization that they have emotions.  Hell, I would go so far as to describe Air Doll as a work influenced heavily by the ideas and writings of Albert Camus, although if said ideas were to be incorporated in to a Phillip K. Dick world.  Rarely do I ever possess a desire to go out of my way to read manga, although I probably should begin considering it since it does have ties to my research intestates, I really cannot deny my desire to read the graphic text on which Air Doll was based, because it is such a decidedly philosophical film that I cannot help but consider the ways in which the novel either intensifies or overlooks these reflections.  With is existential woes and considerable understanding of generational issues within contemporary Japanese culture, both in this film and Still Walking, I have began to actively seek out this directors other works as I can only hope they are filled with and equal degree of vigor and poetic earnestness.

Air Doll begins with the introduction of Hideo (Itsuji Itao) a middle-aged man working in a clearly draining and financially unrewarding job, taking solace only in his ability to come home and enjoy intercourse with a blow-up sex doll named Nozomi (Doona Bae), leaving the next day to return to his job of under-appreciation.  It is during his leave from the home that Nozomi begins to come to life as an almost spectral essence, one with a human form, but an opaque shadow.  Having only the realization that she has a heart, Nozomi attempts to navigate the world of urban Japan mimicking the actions of those she sees around her, whether it be an older woman bowing around various businesses or a girl singing a children's song.  Nozomi's curiosity with the world around her is so real and engaging that she actually finds herself successfully landing a job in a video rental store, all within the time frame of her owner being at work, thus being completely oblivious to her changed form.  As the days grow and Nozomi learns better how to navigate the world she is able to express emotions and intelligent conversations to the world around her, whether it be an old man reading poetry at a park bench, or with Junichi (Arata) whom she begins a relationship with, one which allows her to experience young love as well as continuing her curiosity with the world around her, taking particular notice of a young girl being sang "Happy Birthday."  Yet when she falls during work and accidentally punctures herself, it is revealed to Junichi that she is an air doll, something he reacts to by willingly filling her back up with air, in a noticeably sexual manner.  After this accident, Nozomi becomes considerably connected with the lonely individuals around urban Japan, sharing their sadness, as well as coming to terms with Hideo's own loneliness.  She eventually seeks to end her life by releasing her air, after talking with another woman and claiming that she did briefly find happiness in her moments of emotion.  Although it is implied that her sacrifice is witnessed by another woman who draws on its serenity to change their own life and seek out moments of beauty for herself.

Air Doll could be read as many things, an existential reflection on modernity and loneliness, a warning for our seeming willingness to attach emotional outpourings to artificial intelligence, or even a demand of its viewers to appreciate fleeting moments of beauty in a world of continued tragedy.  These are all very real themes within the film and certainly worth intense expansion, however, I cannot help but consider the feminist awakening considered within Koreeda's film, whether accidental or on purpose.  At the films onset, Nozomi is a body objectified, an issue faced by women for centuries, and still problematically confronted today, it is not until she realizes that she is capable of being a emotive and rational being that can seek her own desires that she comes to life.  This life could be read as a socio/political/economic awakening as a metaphor for women in contemporary East Asian cultures where they are still objectified within traditionalism.  As such, it is no accident that she seeks employment at a video store that draws heavily from Western culture, a means of inspiration on a very large level for non-Western feminist rhetoric, although they are beginning to create their own feminist voices and identities completely influenced by non-Western histories and philosophies.  Nonetheless, Nozomi's awakening allows her to move out of the domestic space and create her own sexuality, one that is awakened when she is "blown back up" by Junichi which could easily be read as Nozomi having her first orgasm and realizing that she too is capable of sexual gratification.  In regards to sexuality, it is no accident that the tube to represent Nozomi's vagina is constantly being cleaned both by herself and by Hideo, showing a far larger concern for the female sexual body than medicine tends to do so even in contemporary heath and body discourses.  Finally, her death at the end of the film suggests a feminist martyrdom, no different than Dreyer's Passion of Joan of Arc, one that pushes another woman to seek beauty outside of a domestic space, a veritable call to action which will hopefully open the eyes of a handful of other oppressed persons as well.

Key Scene:  There is a scene where humanized Nozomi is pretending to be a doll while Hideo lays beside her and watches TV, in which Doona Bae delivers the robotic movements of a doll, while also expressing a look of entrapment that is acting beyond perfection.

This pseudo-adaptation of The Little Mermaid is a must-own piece of cinema, and while it is a bit pricey the DVD transfer is gorgeous.

Here's To Our Kids, May Their Parents Be Fucking Rich: Magic Mike (2012)

I am a huge fan of Steven Soderbergh, offering favorable reviews in the past year to both his blockbuster epidemic film Contagion, as well as his low-fi study of anger and isolation in a small town community via Bubble.  The director has received a high degree of very deserved praise for his seamless ability to transfer from big-budget films to small independent works repeatedly, often more than once in the same year, however, these worlds rarely ever crossed and viewers were either given star-studded spectacular bits of film, or a movie whose actors were all incredibly amateur in their delivery.  Then came one of the most unusual films in the directors oeuvre to date, Magic Mike, which gained a footing and reputation all its own, simply for choosing to focus on the life of male strippers.  So much was made of the film being "female-oriented" that it certainly failed to gain the reputation and respect it so blatantly deserved.  Firstly, Soderbergh manages to capture a world quite unfamiliar to many individuals, not to mention without any clear biases, one way or another.  Also, and much to my elation, Magic Mike manages to blend these two previously divided worlds of Soderbergh's films, in that we have bit time actors such as Matthew McConaughey and Channing Tatum, as well as lesser known performers whose only notable roles came through brief television appearances, as such the film exudes a display that manages to capture the monotony and tragedy of day-to-day struggles irregardless of lifestyle choices, as well as the showy and over-the-top nature of the sexually fueled world of male dance reviews.  Furthermore, as seems to be the case so many times in the works of Soderbergh, particularly in the case of something like Traffic, viewers are given more than one narrative to congests and while they are all invariably tied together, it is clear that individual desires and internal struggles emerge, often in explosive and intense ways.  It is nearly tragic the level of dismissive rhetoric thrown at Magic Mike simply because of its subject matter, hell if people can muster up the courage to watch more than one masculine oriented Expendables film, there is absolutely no excuse not to check out the much superior film by a well-established auteur.

Magic Mike, as the title suggests focuses mainly on the life of Mike (Channing Tatum) a construction worker and furniture designer, who also happens to moonlight as a male dancer to pay for some debt occurred prior to the film's beginning, his stage name is the title's sake, although he is not the owner of the bar in which he performs, instead he relies on the guidance and somewhat sly business ways of aging performer Dallas (Matthew McConaughey) who clearly has a devious past that fails ever to be mentioned.  During one day of construction, Mike meets Adam (Alex Pettyfer) a down-and-out young guy who for one reason or another has resorted to taking up residence on his sister Brooke's (Cody Horn) couch.  Realizing rather quickly that he might prove decent at the job of being a dancer, Mike pull strings to get Adam into the revue, under the name of The Virgin Kid.  After a rather bold, but fortuitous first showing, Dallas agrees to allow Adam to train with the crew, eventually leading to his becoming a regular fixture in the revue.  All of this occurs, much to the disdain of Brooke who concerns herself with the dangerous lifestyle associated with late nights and heavy sexual activity, all the while dealing with the growing advances of Mike who becomes quickly infatuated with Brooke.  The life proves a bit problematic for Adam who cannot handle the constant drinking and drug use, eventually blowing a large amount of money on a sketchy drug trafficking deal, one that blows up in his face when he leaves his entire stash at a sorority party that turns sour after Adam gives a girl an ecstasy pill.  The large loss of money and a failure to gain money for Dallas leads to a falling out between the veteran performer and Mike who is tired of working in the unappreciative shadow of Dallas.  Refusing to subject himself to the lifestyle, Mike leaves bitterly on their last night in Tampa, but not before taking care of Adam's debts.  He then stops off at the house of Brooke to beg a few moments of conversation, however, Brooke is well aware of the aid he provided her brother and invites him in for much more than light discussion.  We are led to assume that their romance will succeed and that Mike will discover a way to pursue his dreams without subjecting himself to a less than desirable lifestyle.

As noted earlier and constantly joked about on various blogs, Facebook posts and Twitter updates, Magic Mike was jokingly (or perhaps not) condemned for making heavy use of the semi-nude, if not entirely nude male body.  When one considers film theory, particularly feminist film theory this provides for an unusual moment, because as many know Laura Mulvey coined the term of "The Male Gaze" to explain the pleasure men earned from gazing upon the female body in cinema.  She of course used Marilyn Monroe as her example and led to an entire academic discourse on notions of the female objectified in cinema.  This ideal proved to dominate the manner in which individuals discussed and created cinema well into the 2000's, perhaps not really changing until Daniel Craig's James Bond stepped out of water in a noticeably revealing Speedo, completely reverting notions of who is to be "gazed upon" in a film.  Of course, this occurrence is rarely discussed and has proved to disappear in newer works in the franchise.  Yet, we cannot ignore the means by which Magic Mike does similar acts, we are certainly shown the male form in a sexualized manner, often close-ups on the various actors butts, abs and genitalia, Soderbergh goes so far as to show one performer's penis as it is being made artificially erect by a air pump.  Viewers are asked then to consider their own relationships to gaze in cinema, because for the reactionary males who found the concept of Magic Mike to be inherently gay seem to remind society that the critiques Mulvey posited nearly forty years ago still ring true, it had just become an assumed thing that the female body was acceptable for a depiction of nudity and sexuality and that the male body was not to be subjected to such things.  In fact, the Motion Pictures Association of America still seems squeamish to allow for full-frontal male nudity to be shown in films, often slapping films with an NC-17 rating for such acts.  The fact that Soderbergh chose such a subject shows his willingness not only to tackle the more unknown lifestyles in America, but too that he wants viewers to consider their own objective relationship with cinema, it truly is a slyly brilliant work by the ever interesting director.

Key Scene:  The "It's Raining Men" scene is some rather stellar choreography in so much that it allows viewers to understand the dynamic of the groups characters, both in the overly committed manner of Mike, compared to some of his more drug-fueled colleagues that struggle to keep up pace with the young dancer.  It works both on a action level, as well as a metaphorical one, much praise should be given to Alison Faulk for her subtle and brilliant choreography.

The bluray was a pseudo-blind buy for me, in that I intended to rent this, but damn if it was not quite good and well worth owning, although perhaps renting is appropriate for those who may still be hesitant to watch a film about male strippers.