The Man Who Would Be King (John Huston, 1975)

Michael Caine, Christopher Plummer, and Sean Connery in The Man Who Would Be King

Daniel Dravot: Sean Connery
Peachy Carnehan: Michael Caine
Rudyard Kipling: Christopher Plummer
Billy Fish: Saeed Jaffrey
Ootah: Larbi Doghmi
District Commissioner: Jack May
Kafu Selim: Karroom Ben Bouhi
Roxanne: Shakira Caine

Director: John Huston
Screenplay: John Huston, Gladys Hill
Cinematography: Oswald Morris
Production design: Alexandre Trauner
Film editing: Russell Lloyd
Music: Maurice Jarre

John Huston's The Man Who Would Be King is not quite the unalloyed delight I remember it being, but in large part that's because I last saw it well before we became so inextricably embroiled in conflicts in the region where the film's action takes place. We've had our consciousness raised so high about the Middle East and Central Asia that larky adventures, even ones like Rudyard Kipling's story that don't end well for the adventurers, no longer seem so amusing when they take place there. And comic natives like Ootah, religious fanatics like Kafu Selim, or even collaborators with the West like Billy Fish, feel like distasteful stereotypes. As I've said about another film drawn from a Kipling source, George Stevens's Gunga Din (1939), "I have to swallow a lot that I object to when I admit that I still like" The Man Who Would Be King. Objections swallowed, is there another film team more beautiful than that of Sean Connery and Michael Caine, who bring their previous movie personae -- including James Bond and Alfie Elkins -- so effectively into the roles of Danny and Peachy? The story goes that Huston originally saw it as a vehicle for two other vivid stars with trailing personae, Clark Gable and Humphrey Bogart, who never made a film together but should have. It would have been a very different film, of course, probably shot in black and white in the Sierra Nevada (like Gunga Din), but an entertaining one. As the years passed, the roles were handed down, at least in theory, to Richard Burton and Peter O'Toole, and then to Paul Newman and Robert Redford, until Newman supposedly knocked some sense into the producers' heads and suggested Connery and Caine. As for the film, is there more to it than just larky adventure in colorful locations? Is it, perhaps, a warning about getting involved in politics and cultures that we don't fully understand? We are still getting our heads handed to us, and they don't usually wear crowns from Alexander's treasury.

God's Own Country (Francis Lee, 2017)

Alec Secareanu and Josh O'Connor in God's Own Country

Johnny Saxby: Josh O'Connor
Gheorghe Ionescu: Alec Secareanu
Deirdre Saxby: Gemma Jones
Martin Saxby: Ian Hart

Director: Francis Lee
Screenplay: Francis Lee
Cinematography: Joshua James Richards
Production design: Stéphane Collonge
Film editing: Chris Wyatt
Music: Dustin O'Halloran, Adam Wiltzie

Inevitably called "a Yorkshire Brokeback Mountain," Francis Lee's debut feature, God's Own Country has a forthrightness about gay sex that Ang Lee's more celebrated 2005 film lacked, and which, I recently noted, is also missing from the more popular Call Me by Your Name (Luca Guadagnino, 2017). There's no shyness about the mechanics of sex or about frontal male nudity -- one scene, of Johnny and Gheorghe talking together, plays out with both actors casually showing their privates. To my mind, this acceptance of the body defuses the sensationalism that "discreet" treatments, like the pan to the window in Call Me by Your Name, actually tend to heighten. It also brings the outsider status of the two men more clearly into focus -- if we can observe and accept  the fact of their relationship, then why can't others? God's Own Country is otherwise a familiar -- slightly over-familiar -- story of the course of a love affair: meeting, attraction, consummation, discord, separation, resolution. Johnny is a surly lout in a bleak, unloving milieu until Gheorghe comes into his life and teaches him tenderness and self-respect. It's enough to make us want to see the other side of the story: What about Gheorghe's life in post-Ceausescu Romania made him a stronger and better person than Johnny? That said, it's a well-made film, with superlative performances from Josh O'Connor and Alec Secareanu, and beautiful support from old pros Gemma Jones and Ian Hart as Johnny's worn and weary but always crabby parents.

Alps (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2011)

Aris Servetalis in Alps

Nurse: Angeliki Papoulia
Stretcher-bearer: Aris Servetalis
Coach: Johnny Vekris
Gymnast: Ariane Labed
Lamp Shop Owner: Efthymis Filippou
Teenager: Nikos Galgadis
Tennis Player: Maria Kyrozi
Tennis Player's Mother: Tina Papanikolaou
Tennis Player's Father: Sotiris Papastamatiou
Nurse's Father: Stavros Psyllakis
Nurse's Father's Girlfriend: Konstadina Papoulia
Blind Woman: Eftychia Stefanidou

Director: Yorgos Lanthimos
Screenplay: Efthymis Filippou, Yorgos Lanthimos
Cinematography: Christos Voudouris
Set decoration: Anna Georgiadou
Film editing: Yorgos Mavropsaridis

Like his Dogtooth (2009), The Lobster (2015), and The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017), Yorgos Lanthimo's Alps is a fable about hubris, a kind of screwball tragedy. The Alps are four people who have taken it upon themselves to relieve the suffering of those whose loved ones have recently died. This they do by acting as surrogates for the dead, reliving moments the bereaved once shared with their loved ones, which can range from conversations to care-giving (one of the bereaved is blind) to sex. The head Alp, who calls himself Mont Blanc, is an ambulance driver, and another Alp, who calls herself Monte Rosa, is a nurse, which puts them both in a good position to locate those in need of their services. The other two are a young gymnast and her hypercontrolling coach. We first meet them when the gymnast is performing a floor routine to the accompaniment of "O Fortuna" from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana. She protests that she wants to perform to pop music, but he sternly insists that she's not ready for that yet. The gymnast, however, is deemed ready for her first turn as a surrogate, and the opportunity affords itself when the ambulance driver brings in a young accident victim, and the nurse takes over care of her as a patient, ingratiating herself with the young woman's parents. But the nurse has other plans: She wants to take over as the surrogate and pocket the money earned herself. So when the patient dies, she tells the other Alps that the woman has gone home to recuperate. What plot Alps contains centers on this subterfuge and its discovery. Other Alpine relationships form the rest of the story, which like most of the films directed by Lanthimos and co-written with Efthymis Filippou, becomes engagingly weirder as it goes along. Some critics have objected to the detached tone of the film -- Roger Ebert called it "a sterile exercise" -- and following it is sometimes like trying to work a puzzle in the dark -- Christos Voudouris's cinematography literally keeps some scenes in the shadows -- but Lanthimos is, as usual, a filmmaker like no other.