Experiments In Film: Karel Appel, Composer (1961)

From the opening scream in this rather sound oriented experimental documentary film, one is jarred by the realization that they are given a film whose sound, is unusually dominant within the space of the frames.  Despite having a considerably striking set of visuals, this work by Ed Van der Elsken is surprisingly oriented towards what can be done with sound, as opposed to what is shown on the image, as loud screams, grating sirens and a slew of other industrial sounds drown out the voices of everyone within the film, including Karel Appel, the painter turned sound engineer who is the featured subject of this unusual work.  Of course it is no surprise that Appel's paintings also fill the screen, in both moving images of him at work on a particularly abstract piece, as well as still frames of him mid stroke on a canvas, in what is perhaps some of the greatest chiaroscuro I have witnessed in an experimental black and white film, aside of course from Chris Marker's La Jetee.  While I could find dozens of individuals hard pressed to call this short work a documentary, it essentially takes the subject matter of the film a painter turned composer and considers his transition, using the filmic space as a means to reemphasize these ideals.  The film is frantically composed and seems to capture the madness we are to assume correlates to Appel, particularly scenes in which the reels of soundtrack stack up around him, at points consuming himself and the floor he works on, in cinematic terms, this brief film captures the identity of a mad artist, so succinctly and accurately that its obvious obscurity is a surprise to myself, especially since it seems so brilliantly post-modern as to suggest my love for it.  Such a jarring piece of experiment film has never looked so beautiful.

I have not had the opportunity to see some of Godard's documentaries, particularly the ones concerning the labor unions in Britain, as well as the history of cinema, but from what I have read it appears as though he is equal parts concerned with the role sound plays into cultural output, as to that of its visual appeal.  An incredibly deconstructionist thought in its emergence, one cannot help but attach similar notions to Van der Elsken, who clearly wants to consider the tumultuous relationship between sound and image and how merging the two can lead to madness.  However, the film also reminds those who watch it that an initially confrontation combination of two separate artistic endeavors can often coalesce into something perfected.  One only needs to pause the film to realize that the image detached from the sound remains stellar, or close their eyes to hear a glimpse of industrial rock coming into existence to realize that if a viewer/listener combines their senses they will be provided with something truly profound.  Of course the separate moments are nice on their own, one only needs to check into some of Appel's artwork to realize this, experiment film, however, always allows for these boundaries to be tested.

To find out more about filmmaker Ed Van der Elsken or to view Karel Appel, Composer click on either of the images below:

I Can't Put Anything Inside Me: 301, 302 (1995)

This film features a suspense laden-melodramatic narrative, an industrial noise-heavy soundtrack, and two women increasingly dealing with dueling paranoias crammed into incredibly tight spaces.  From that description alone one could assume that I was describing a Dario Argento movie and their assumptions would easily be justified.  However, the movie I am describing is actually a Korean movie from right in the middle of their illustrious and still evolving New Wave.  The film 301, 302 is brilliant, experimental and highly-invocative film that is about women's place and identity within Korea as it moves into modernity.  Heavy with a social critique, at no point does 301, 302 overdo its imagery and become on the nose.  A study in the issue of psychologically based eating disorders in their emergence, existence and eventual ending and it also questions the relationship of food and consumption relate to the body image, particularly, when that images is predicated on male dominance and judgement.  The acting within 301, 302 is stunning, the cinematography is intensely realized and the overall grittiness of this film causes viewers to become aghast at what would normally be simple images of food.  Cheol-su-Park's work intends to undermine the comfort in food and eating, as well as causing aversion to the traditional gaze in cinema, all of which he manages to do and still provide a entirely watchable, if not intense movie.

301, 302 begins, in sorts, at the end of the narrative, we are shown 301 (Eun-jin Pang), referred to by her apartment, engaging with a detective who is inquiring about the disappearance of her neighbor 302 (Sin-Hye Hwang).  301 explains that she was a pseudo-friend of 302, in that she, a cook, often attempted to deliver food to the writer who lived a very secluded and reserved life behind her closed apartment door.  The detective assumes that 301 offers little to his investigation and leaves, at this point the narrative unfolds, through what we assume to be flashbacks.  We are shown 301in earlier years, overweight attempting to cook a meal for her husband who is dismissive based on her expanding weight and constantly heckling about liking her food.  Eventually, 301's husband leaves her and she takes up attempting to win 302 over with her cooking.  She is enraged when she discovers that 302, who has a huge aversion to food, is always throwing her food away.  After confronting 302 about her refusal to eat by forcing her to eat the rotten leftovers, 302 confesses to being sexually abused at a young age while working in a her stepdad's butchers shop, ever since she has found herself disgusted by both food and the act of intercourse.  Feeling terrible about her actions, 301 begins to attempt making food for 302 that will be suitable to her diet, focusing on organic ingredients and often vegetarian dishes.  As each persons past opens up it is revealed that they both engaged in some terrible actions, 301 cooking her cheating husband's dog alive and 302 leaving a girl in a freezer to die.  Eventually their pasts become nearly irreconcilable and the two must come to grips with their consumption disorders in a disturbingly poetic finally, one that has to be seen to be believed.

The film can be critiqued from many venues, particularly in regards to feminist theory.  In terms of a revenge narrative, the possibilities are evident, although it does not necessarily reflect this tradition in that it fails to exact bodily revenge as is the case with works like Deathproof or I Spit On Your Grave.  Similarly one could analyze the notion of voice and empowerment within women's movements, it is no surprise that 302 is a writer, as she sees it as a means to deal with her traumatic past and give voice to others who may have experience similar situations, however, this is also not completely plausible as we are led to believe that she never finishes an entire piece, let alone one one that companies agree to publish.  Ultimately, the film is to be read as a commentary on the power of food in female identity.  For 301 her ability to cook and enjoyment in eating are seen as a means of power, although her consumption becomes problematic when it is used as a means to replace her lack of sexual activity, it, nonetheless, suggests the possibilities of food serving as a means of identity.  Similarly, 302's refusal to eat has its own identity attached to it, although again it is unhealthy in its sexual attachments.  However, this unacknowledged hunger strike certainly has political implications that can be drawn from many a moment in history.  The food in this film, however, is to constantly be questioned, even in the closing moments of this dark film, we are not quite sure as to whether the food serves as a thing of disturbing unison or blatant and literal division.

Key Scene: Pretty much any of the cooking scenes are magnificent.

I am enthralled with this movie and am glad to have purchased a copy, however, I am also aware that it may not be for everyone, so I highly suggest renting the film before making a purchasing decision.

We're Always A Step Behind: Shiri (1999)

Shiri, sometimes referred to as Swiri, was for quite awhile the highest grossing film in Korean cinema's sporadic history, going so far as to beat out sales for Titanic within Korea that year.  While Shiri is by no means a stellar piece of cinematic acheivement, it is certainly an enjoyable film with much to offer in the way of an action flick.  Vibrantly film, at times recalling a Wong Kar-Wai film, Je-kyu Kang's work is what one should expect from a thriller film.  However, what makes Shiri an exception to the general nature of action films is its incredibly heavy focus on the political nature of North and South Korea, something that becomes quite evident from the opening shots of the film.  As is no surprise to anybody who has remotely paid attention to the world over the past twenty-five years, North and South Korea are sworn enemies and their attempts to reconcile always fail miserably.  Shiri focuses on these issues in great detail and even attempts, at times, to offer optimistic solutions to the divisive state of things, however, as is integral to a action film, there are good guys and bad guys and in the case of this film they are clearly divided between national lines, almost as if the DMZ were the separating force.  Ultimately, this film full of Korean superstars exists first as a well-executed action film and secondly as proof that Korea can hold its own on a global scale, both in art house films and in big budget works as well.

Shiri begins with the training of a group of North Korean soldiers in a remote part of the Communist nation.  The trainees depicted engage in a variety of ruthless activities that range from bayonet practice of living individuals to a race assembling a gun to shoot the person next to them, all with the intent of creating an elite group of fighters to place within South Korea as a sort of sleeper cell.  This display sets of the underlying plot of the entire film, as the group will attempt to steal a explosive liquid material with a power equitable to an atomic bomb.  The central figure within the film is an unseen sniper known as Shiri, who has taken it upon herself to wipeout various South Korean leaders and diplomats, causing a considerable amount of unrest within Seoul and its surrounding provinces.  As is necessary to any good action film, a set of relationships and romances evolve and devolve throughout the film, particularly between partner detectives Yu Jong-won (Han Suk-kyu) and Lee Jang-gil (Song Kang-ho).  Yu constantly frets about accidentally killing Lee, while also panicking about the imminent marriage to his fiance Yi Myung-hyun, played masterfully by Kim Yunjin of LOST fame.  Each attempt by this triangle to deal with their relationships is halted by the ever present threat of total destruction at the hands of a nearly indistinguishable bomb.  The climax of the film takes place at a "friendly" soccer game between North and South Korea, aimed at helping to bond the nations; yet, it is precisely at this place that the bomb is intended to be detonated.  Through tough actions and quick thinking, the two detectives are able to prevent the bomb from exploding, however, for Yu it has very problematic consequences, as he realizes his own fiance was involved with the sleeper cell and had spent the entire time under a false alias, she herself, was none other than Shiri the entire time.

The commentary within Shiri is clearly one intended to critique and question the issue of a seemingly ideological divide between two struggling countries.  As the few documentaries available show, North Korea lives under a guise of self-sustenance, but is actually struggling to feed its ever expanding population, similarly, South Korea struggles to succeed on a global market, despite being relatively powerless to compete with well established global powers.  Shiri clearly critiques the divide between the two countries and uses the soccer game as a blatant metaphor for the necessity of unification.  On a more filmic level, Shiri is preoccupied with notions of identity, particularly those of North and South Korean, which to a Western eye are indistinguishable.  The fact that Shiri can steal the identity of a woman from South Korea placed within a mental institute with little to no problem is indicative of the political forces influencing the divide between the two nations.  It is not a matter of race, religion, or to much an extent class but a political pressure that has plagued the two nations for well over a half century.  In a rather simple comparison, it is the much like our own Cold War in that each side fears the destructive possibilities of the other, yet neither country possesses the means to outright destroy the other.  The bomb within the film is a water-like substance that is indistinguishable from the rejuvenating substance except when it is both placed under a light source and heated to an incredibly high temperature.  This liquid is much like the peoples of North and South Korea, they are calm and peaceful to the eye, yet to do the fueling of political rhetoric and misguided ideologies, it is possible for either side to destroy the other within seconds.  Unity is impossible due to a fiery paranoia that nothing seems to squelch.  While Shiri is optimistic of possible reunification, it is clear that the film gladly exploits this fear for a great film narrative and its high revenues reflect the ideas of South Korea far to greatly too ignore.

Key Scene: The entire composition and editing of the soccer game is something of a marvel to view

You could say that Shiri has become "the movie" that reflects New Korean Cinema, while it is certainly not a profound piece of filmmaking it is certainly worth taking a look at and Netflix has copies available so you are only hurting yourself by not checking it out.

Experiments in Film: Surface Tension (1968)

Have you ever pondered what would occur if a theoretical physicist were to grab a camera and begin working in experimental film?  Well thanks to Hollis Frampton we now have that answer, and it is most evident in his short film Surface Tension.  A series of speedup shots and mismatching non-diagetic sounds help to question the entirety of cinematic composition in ways that are both visually captivating and jarring to the senses.  Frampton was outspoken in his believe that what artists roles were within filmmaking were confined solely to what would fit within the confines of a rectangular box that was a screen, in his time a projector specifically.  As such, his works often pushed notions of place and time in ways that would not be challenged for decades.  Furthermore, along with the help of contemporary and colleague Michael Snow, he worked to dismantle the very thought of linear narrative in a new way, particularly the issue of placing a camera in a static position and only altering its outcome in post-production.  In a sense, Surface Tension is about what you can do the a piece of film with technology, as opposed to Brakhage whose work seemed more focused on what one can do with film itself.  To Frampton, the film was irrelevant it was what the film began once project that truly mattered, because to him that is when the artist no longer had control over it, even if they placed themselves in the narrative.

Surface Tension, as the name suggests, concerns itself with the way objects move on a surface with a varying degree of “film.”  Scientifically speaking, the greater the amount of film the more difficult it is for an object to move. In Hampton’s film this is not the case, in fact, it is how he alters the film that allows the material to move in an either slower or faster rate.  It is only the sound that seems to move at a consistent pace, but that, arguably, has nothing to do with film and exists on its own plane of experience.  Frampton even went so far as to claim that the film was about three separate notions of space, one being comedic, one scientific and a third being something in between.  With this in mind it helps explain the three segments of the film, one involving a man talking whilst standing next to a clock.  With the sound removed, we are left perplexed over the man’s discussion that is faster than normal and only have the incessant ringing of a phone as comfort.  The second section, the scientific portion of the film, follows a camera fast forwarded through the streets as incomprehensible German is dubbed over.  We are only able to pull worlds like “chocolat” from the man’s dialogue, which is juxtaposed with incredibly murky water.  The final section is of a fish in an aquarium on the beach.  The rate of the film is normal this time as we watch the ebb and flow of the tide consume the tank, but never take the fish.  Simultaneously words appear on the screen that have no coherent meaning, but appear to refer to the film as a whole in some manner.  Neither comedic nor serious, this portion of the film is clearly the hybrid of the previous portions, yet it is always affected by what Frampton has done to intervene with the film stock.  Ultimately, the film is book-ended by crashing tides, perhaps suggesting that no amount of intervention can stop surface tension, when the force is greater than the film trying to interfere.  A deeply profound commentary on the entire state of filmmaking, particularly considering it is a question film theorist haves struggled over for almost a century.  What Frampton does with Surface tension, is definitively answer that question, or at least provide a philosophical positing so grand that to overcome it would be to some extent inconceivable.

For more information about Hollis Frampton or to find information about Surface Tension, which was recently released as part of a new Criterion box set called A Hollis Frampton Odyssey, click either of the images below:

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.

Experiments In Film: Rose Hobart (1936)

The soviet filmmakers, including Sergei Eisenstein, made it a goal of their to study how montages of imagery revolutionized the way viewers consumed cinema.  Often their imagery would rely solely on juxtaposition and how certain paired images caused unconscious relations in the human mind.  This style of filmmaking would go on to influence art house giants like Godard and Makvajev in countless ways.  However, on the precipice of this all stands the 1936 experimental masterpiece Rose Hobart, which is at its simplest form a re-cutting of the film East of Borneo and at its greatest form a carefully considered study of one woman's psyche as she deals with the predatory wild of both nature and the men around her.  However, to refer to this as simply being a new edit of a film would be to dismiss it as a revolutionary study in the affects of paired imagery not different than the goals of Eisenstein and other Soviet filmmakers.  What filmmaker Joseph Cornell manages to do in 19 minutes is completely revise a narrative to tell another story void of logic and familiarity, even though the film, in fact, pulls all its images from scenes that already existed within a familiar film.

Cornell's combination of b-roll footage, jump cuts on actress Rose Hobart and a blue tint over the film change a one film from a trite melodrama to a praiseworthy surrealist vision.  The seemingly arbitrary editing of the footage makes one think back to the early  works of Bunuel and Dali (who was one of the few fans of this work early on), as well as realize the influences the film had on later experiment filmmakers like Maya Deren and Stan Brakhage.  Similarly, Cornell's work can be called an early experiment in found footage, which would later become the stuff of viral filmmaking, as is evidenced by works sites like Everything Is Terrible, which gather bizarre film footage and edit to appear completely debasing.  Regardless, of what one refers to Rose Hobart as, it is quite certain that the film revolutionized editing and resulted in artistic filmmakers questioning their purpose and methodology.  Cornell's actions whether one considers them brilliant or fraudulent inevitably deserves his place in the halls of great experimental filmmakers for his unusual approach to a rather usual subject.

For more information on Joseph Cornell or to view the film click on either of the film stills below:

Story Of My Life. I Always Get The Fuzzy End Of The Lollipop: Some Like It Hot (1959)

Some Like It Hot is one of the sexiest, sultriest, silliest and zaniest movies ever released and is probably Marilyn Monroe's best performance aside from The Seven Year Itch.  As I get close to closing in on the last few films on the TIFF Essential 100 List, this was a film I was excited to see and ashamed to have never gotten around to watching.  My shame was well deserved because this black and white gem was phenomenal and served as yet another reminder to how excellent classic Hollywood filmmaking was, as well as a fine example of how to make a racy film without relying on nudity and crude humor as the base.  Some Like It Hot is brilliantly written and superbly cast and as I get closer to composing my list of filmic New Year's resolutions I am certain that I will be adding "Watch More Billy Wilder Movies" to my list, because he is becoming one of my favorite directors and I have only seen a very small fraction of his rather large collection of films.  If anything, Some Like It Hot is probably one of the pioneers of cross-dressing movies, if not its zenith.

The plot of Some Like It Hot is a well-known one in the vocabulary of film history.  Two musicians, the paranoid bass playing Jerry (Jack Lemmon) and suave saxophone playing Joe (Tony Curtis) assume the worst when they discover they are on their last leg of financial luck, only to become accidental witnesses at the infamous St. Valentine's Day Massacre.  In desperation and fear, Joe signs both Jerry and himself up to play with a traveling women's band.  While disapproving, Jerry begrudgingly agrees that it is their best course of action and the duo begin a new life as cross-dressing men.  The duo appears to be successful at their new lives and pass as women despite the critical, and oblivious, watchful eyes of the bands leaders Sweet Sue (Joan Shawlee) and her henchmen Beinstock (Dave Berry).  Both Joe and Jerry are fine with their new feminine lifestyle given that it assures their livelihood, but this changes when they both begin developing feelings for the band's lush violinist Sugar Kane Kowalcyk (Marilyn Monroe).  Sugar Kane who is also oblivious to the duo's maleness takes them to be newfound friends and becomes intimately close with the duo, sharing a nearly naked night of drunken debauchery with Jerry.  Upon the band's arrival to their next performance, Joe undertakes a new disguise as a rich son of a Shell Oil tycoon to win over Sugar Kane while Jerry unsuccessfully evades the advances of a rich suitor.  In a stroke of misfortune, the location of their performance is also the place for the meeting of the mob bosses, including the ones that Joe and Jerry witnessed murdering other mobsters.  In a final and hilarious confrontation, Joe and Jerry evade the mobsters while Joe convinces Sugar Kane to run away with him.  Jerry is stuck with his rich suitor, who agrees to provide for him even after Jerry's confession of being a man.  As I said earlier, a zanier movie does not exist.

There is always an interesting dilemma that occurs when films approach issues of gender passing.  When I say gender passing I do not mean transvestism, as would occur in a film like To Wong Fu...but what occurs in a film like White Chicks (which is a multi-leveled film about passing as another).  It involves normal people who use a different gender identity as a means to learn something about a person or group or to escape and hide form pursuers.  The dilemma I have noticed is that when men pass as women there is often an underlying sexual desire for a befriended female that arises.  In a film like Some Like It Hot, and so many others, women are portrayed as sexually oblivious and wild when outside of the male gaze.  This would not be problematic if so many of these films were made by women as a parody, unfortunately, this is not the case.  I am not terribly versed on films with women posing as men, but I am fairly certain that such frivolous sexual actions in males groups do not serve as scenes in these movies.  I could be wrong, but I still have a hunch.  It is not a terribly serious issue given the comedic nature of such a film, but it was something I thought worth noting.  If you have any feelings or counter examples to my observations, I would love to hear them.  Other than that, this film is absolutely perfect.

While the film is heavily narrative, it is still well shot and visually enthralling, making it an obvious bluray purchase, and for those of you who have already seen this, feel free to suggest other Billy Wilder movies to check out.

I Do Hope You're Going To Favor Us With Something Special Tonight: Singin' In The Rain (1952)

I mentioned this when I reviewed King Kong a few weeks back and want to take a moment to mention this again.  There are a handful of movies that I assumed I knew everything about before viewing and expected to find little enjoyment when watching Singin' In The Rain.  Was I ever wrong.  Stanley Donen, the genius behind Charade, brings forth something that is not just fantastic, but monumentally brilliant.  I can definitively say that I was, and still am, more enamored with this musical than anything made before or after.  It is the perfect combination of wit, musicianship and narrative that keeps the viewer occupied, and for being a musical made in the early fifties, it is pretty well-acted.  Gene Kelly is a hilarious actor and I am shamed to say that this is my first experience with the late actor.  If none of these elements were not enough, the film is magnificently shot in technicolor and edited to make the hectic and frantic narrative seem illustriously extravagant, while maintaining a very composed structure.  Somehow, Singin' In The Rain manages to adhere to all the traditions of a Hollywood Musical while simultaneously being one of the most avant-garde musicals ever made, excluding Guy Maddin's The Saddest Music In The World of course.

Singin' In The Rain, for those unfamiliar with its plot, is set up as a memory play of sorts, focusing on Don Lockwood (Gene Kelly) a well-respected and much-loved silent film actor who is finding difficulties transitioning to a life in talking films.  Furthermore, his leading lady, and unwilling companion, due mostly to media speculation, Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen) is having greater difficulties transitioning given her grating voice and inability to adapt to new technologies.  Luckily for Don, his long time friend Cosmo Brown (Donald O'Connor) comes up with the idea to change their newest picture into a musical, allowing for Don to exercise his performance skills which granted him his breakthrough in Hollywood.  This is good news for everyone except, Lina whose singing and dancing are even worse than her acting.  Don, however, has recently discovered a young dancer named Kathy (Debbie Reynolds) who he thinks is perfect for the part and sees this role as a chance to return his own luck in Hollywood, as well as a chance to win Kathy's affection.  A problem arises when Lina explains to the producer that her contract allows her near omnipotence over the film despite her failure to perform up to expectations.  Realizing her control Lina demands that Kathy sing her vocals and voice over her acting scenes while receiving no credit for her actions.  Reluctant to do so, but realizing that she has no alternative, Kathy succumbs to the demands and rescinds to her leading role in favor of keeping the love and affection of Don.  The film, titled The Dancing Cavelier, is a huge success and both Don and Lina are asked to give encore performances.  In a moment of hubris, Lina blows her guise and it is revealed that not only has she been lip-synching, but that her voice is unbearable to the audience as well.  Don quickly rushes on stage and reveals Kathy to be the real star of the film to which the audience celebrates appropriately.  The film ends on a joyous note for everyone involved, excluding Lina of course who has learned a very valuable lesson about the ever-fading nature of beauty.

The real magic of Singin' In The Rain comes not in its story or musical numbers, but instead in its editing and post-filming elements.  Sure, it is well-acted and beautifully shot, but the composition of images and use of sound make this film something special.  I would imagine that audiences viewing this film in theaters had the same sort of awe-inspiring experiences as those who viewed The Jazz Singer, a film that is mentioned constantly within Singin' In The Rain, perhaps to let viewers know that Donen was creating an homage of sorts.  It was something new and amazing that lacked explanation, Singin' In The Rain is the truest example of magical cinema.  The perfect hybridity of editing with story telling occurs during the scene when Lina and Don are attempting to film, the then titled The Dueling Cavelier and find the burdens of recording sound unbearable.  The film track often drops out during their speeches to reflect the microphone being out of range and during one scene Lina moves back and forth constantly and the sound wavers with her movements, a moment that was undoubtedly very difficult to recreate in the sound studio.  Having a bit of experience with contemporary sound editing I can confess that this is still a difficult effect to recreate.  In fact, the only film I can recall that even deals with sound in a similar manner is Blow Out.  Furthermore, the entire pace of the scene is frantic, between the constant jump cuts and re-creating of the same scene it is hard to fathom how many takes this scene required.  Despite this, the scene seems flawless and is perhaps one of the most enjoyable moments of the film.  Such dedication to perfection reflects the work of Stanley Donen and he is slowly becoming one of my favorite directors despite having made mostly musicals. 

I am baffled as to why there is no Blu-Ray for this piece of art that is a film.  However, I imagine that they may do something in the upcoming year to celebrate the film's sixtieth anniversary.  I would suggest holding off until that release, but if not, purchase a copy, because it is a landmark film that I wished I had seen much earlier in my life.

I Am Here To Protect You. You Have Nowhere To Go: THX 1138 (1971)

I had heard many positive things about THX 1138 prior to viewing it, particularly its technical achievements.  Given this, I expected the film to be visually amazing but lacking in narrative.  I am here to tell you that THX 1138 is far more than fancy cinematic magic and is definitely an enjoyable film.  I know it is a brave statement to make, but I find the film to be equally as good as Star Wars, if not better.  It represents a moment in independent American filmmaking that relied on directorial vision over producer's demands and it certainly reflects artistic vision as something of greater importance than inherent financial success.  In the vein of Plato's Allegory of the Cave, THX 1138 combines minimalist artistry and dystopian lyricism to make a film that stands alone as a work that has clearly inspired many of its predecessors.

As stated, the film is clearly inspired by Plato and as such, the narrative follows a society that literally exists underground.  The people, more insect-like than human, follow the orders of speakers, robot police officers and a print screen image of Jesus.  From the onset things appear to be forever entrenched in logical oppression, until a couple identified as THX (Robert Duvall) and LUH (Maggie McOnie) engage in solicit sexual activity that is for non-reproductive purposes.  This causes the couple to become political dissidents within their society, leading to their detainment in a stark border-less white world.  THX is separated from LUH and makes it his quest to rejoin her.  THX then joins with another member of the community named SRT (Don Pedro Colley), a former holographic actor who finds his job meaningless and seeks something new.  Together they attempt to find LUH while also escaping the city.  The duo quickly discovers that LUH has been captured and sent to organ donation, which leads to a bizarre sequence in which THX breaks down upon the discover of a fetal version of LUH.  Ultimately, THX is separated from SRT and continues his escape from the city, climbing towards the surface as the government pursues him.  Realizing that it is costing more money to chase THX than is allowed the government calls off the chase moments before he reaches the surface.  The film closes in the final moments with THX looking off into a large a blistering sunset that leaves his future uncertain.

I could elaborate on the obvious critiques here as they relate to bureaucracy and fascist ideologies, but it has been done, and to be honest it is rather obvious in the film.  Instead I want to touch upon how truly important this film is to American independent cinema.  Sure, it is not the iconic film that Easy Rider became, but it is the only production released by the powerhouse that was American Zoetrope.  Led by the burgeoning director Francis Ford Copolla the group included the young genius of George Lucas and editor Walter Murch, the two whose names are most closely associated with THX 1138.  They, as a group, took an image from their days as college filmmakers and created a fully realized film that is magical, critical and enjoyable.  It is an intimate fully realized film from a very famous director.  In fact, I would argue that were THX 1138 never made, the world would never have received Star Wars down the line.  This film represents an incredibly significant moment in filmmaking and it is well worth watching for that, the enjoyability is just an added bonus.

I recommend this film highly and there is an excellent two-disc version that covers the American Zoetrope years in great length.  Any film scholar will benefit from this viewing.

You Call That A Scream?: Blow Out (1981)

Brian De Palma often receives criticism from viewers for what they claim to be trite narratives, simplistic filmmaking and emotionless acting.  On a very basic level these critiques hold water, however, to assume these as faults is to misinterpret one of the best American auteurs since Stanley Kubrick.  His 1981 re-envisioning of Antonioni's Blow Up is a film about the burdens of filmmaking, and the importance of subtle details in both filming and experiencing the human existence.  It also doubles as a lens on early eighties Cold War fears and the ever increasing presence of violence and moral degradation in American media.  The film employs unconventional methods of cinematic narrative to tell add intensity and excitement to the traditionally linear narrative.

The film begins with a movie within a movie by employing POV cinematography to show a campy horror film complete with phallic knives, nude college girls and socially deviant psychos.  This brief scene stops to display movie soundman Jack Terry (John Travolta) being ridiculed by a director for providing such a crappy on screen scream.  After a series of arguments over the best choice of sounds for the scene, Jack is sent to acquire a new roll of wind sounds at a local park.  During this outing, Jack records a car accident that leads to a vehicle falling into the local pond.  Jack in a moment of heroism saves the girl in the car, but is unable to save the man in the car as well.  This is a problem, because the man in question is a up and coming politician set to become the next president.  After a series of police interrogations and a talk with the girl Sally (Nancy Allen) Jack is able to leave and listen to his footage of the crash. 

His ear for audio detail leads him to believe that the accident happened because of sabotage and not the acclaimed tire blow out.  Bringing this to the attention of authorities results in both Jack and Sally becoming targets of the hit man from the original job, Burke, who is played brilliantly by a young John Lithgow.  Through a series of wire-taps, audio/visual comparisons and chase scenes Jack is able to get Sally in contact with Burke with the hopes of catching him in attempted murder thus proving his theory about the assassination.  Unfortunately, due to a brief loss of audio contact Jack looses Sally and Burke, leading to Sally's murder while Jack is forced to listen to it on headphones.  In a somber closing scene Jack has decided to employ Sally's real screams of death into the film leading to the director proclaiming them to be his best offerings yet.  It is a true statement on the sacrifice for perfection in filmmaking.

The film is a step-by-step demonstration in audio editing for film prior to the introduction of Garage Band and other computer based editing software.  The recording, editing, and dubbing of sound are tedious jobs and Jack spends a good bit of this film performing these acts.  However, De Palma is careful to show how intricate sound is to film, employing the use of ambient sound, off camera dialogue and even a non-diagetic sound to emphasize emotion.  What is perhaps the most brilliant directorial choice for De Palma in relation to sound is when he chooses not to employ it, as in the slow-motion skyline shot of fireworks exploding as Sally dies in Jack's arms.  It is quiet, poetic and tragic and a time that visual suggests celebration.  To suffice, De Palm understands sound and it shows throughout the film.

Blow Out is yet another great offering from Criterion, and a film I would likely have never viewed had it not been for their releasing it.  I highly suggest grabbing a copy soon, preferably in the current Barnes and Nobles half-off sale.