Prefab Story (Vera Chytilová, 1980)

Cast: Lukás Bech, Antonín Vanha, Eva Kacírková, Oldrich Navrátil, Jirí Kodet, Bronislav Poloczek, Daniela Srajerová, Milan Klásek, Ladislav Potmesil, Hana Hejduková, Petr Kratochvíl. Screenplay: Vera Chytilová, Eva Kacírová. Cinematography: Jaromir Sofr. Production design: Ales Voleman. Film editing: Jirí Brozek. Music: Jirí Sust. 

Vera Chytilová's Prefab Story (aka Panelstory or Birth of a Community) is so brilliantly made that I'm saddened that it isn't better known. The setting is a huge modern housing complex in Prague, where the apartments are being filled with eager new tenants even while construction is going on. Construction equipment plows and scrapes through the muddy site as the residents try to go about their daily business, with great crane-hoisted slabs of walls sailing high above them. Life goes on in often intersecting narratives, which Chytilová links into continuity with two characters who perambulate through the complex: a small boy (Lukás Bech) and an old man (Antonin Vanha). The boy thinks it's all a grand adventure, while the old man is the only one who seems to care about his fellow inhabitants. It's a superb mix of documentary-style footage and multiple, a humanistic satire edited with wit and given bite by a spiky, often atonal score.  

A Tale of Summer (Éric Rohmer, 1996)

Amanda Langlet and Melvil Poupaud in A Tale of Summer

Cast: Melvil Poupaud, Amanda Langlet, Gwenaëlle Simon, Aurelia Nolin, Aimé Lefèvre, Alain Guelaff, Evelyne Lahana, Yves Guérin, Franck Cabot-David. Screenplay: Éric Rohmer. Cinematography: Diane Baratier. Film editing: Mary Stephen. Music: Philippe Eidel, Éric Rohmer, Mary Stephen. 

Had we but world enough and time,

This coyness, lady, were no crime. 

We would sit down, and think which way

To walk, and pass our long love's day. 

Andrew Marvell's great carpe diem lyric "To His Coy Mistress" was probably written when Marvell was in his 30s. Éric Rohmer's carpe diem movie, A Tale of Summer (Conte d'Été, aka A Summer's Tale) was made when Rohmer was 75. Marvell heard "Time's wingéd chariot hurrying near." Rohmer was all but riding in it. This film, the third in his series of "Tale of the Four Seasons," though set in the present, is a kind of memory piece, based on Rohmer's youthful experience. It centers on Gaspard (Melvil Poupaud), a twentysomething taking a summer break before starting his career teaching mathematics, idling in a beach resort in northwestern France. He attracts the attention of Margot (Amanda Langlet), on a summer job as a waitress before continuing her work as a researcher in ethnology. They start a flirtatious friendship, taking long walks and talking about each other's love life. Gaspard is in a tenuous relationship with Léna (Aurelia Nolin), whose arrival he expects any day -- she has been traveling in Spain with her sister and some cousins. At a disco with Margot one evening, Gaspard also attracts the attention of Solène (Gwenaëlle Simon), an acquaintance of Margot's. When Léna finally arrives, he finds himself juggling the attentions of all three women. In summary it sounds like an adolescent male fantasy, but Rohmer slyly exposes the awkwardness and discomfort in Gaspard's commitment phobia and his missteps with each woman. A lovely setting and a particularly skillful performance by Langlet as the most sensible figure in this romantic quadrangle give this slight film its great charm.  

Calamity (Vera Chytilová, 1982)

Bolek Polívka in Calamity

Cast: Bolek Polívka. Dagmar Bláhovká, Jana Synková, Marie Pavliková, Jaroslava Kretschmarová, Zdenek Sverák. Screenplay: Vera Chytilová, Josef Silhavy. Cinematography: Ivan Slapeta. Production design: Bohumil Pokorny. Film editing: Jirí Brozek. Music: Laco Deczi. 

Vera Chytilová's Calamity is a loosey-goosey comedy about the misadventures of Honza Dostál (Bolek Polívka), a college dropout who has decided he wants to drive a train. And so he does eventually, while dealing with the advances of several young women. The lanky but agreeable Honza is nobody's idea of a hunk, but perhaps there was a shortage of available young men in 1980s Czechoslovakia. Eventually, the film stops being a collection of occasionally funny incidents and focuses on the titular calamity: The train Honza is driving gets buried in snow, and the movie centers on the reactions of the passengers, including several of his girlfriends, to their predicament. Chytilová, whose career had suffered after the Soviets cracked down on sassy Czech filmmakers, manages to insert some sly digs at the government bureaucracy but they lack the bite of her earlier films. It's a benign, amusing movie with one or two laugh-out-loud moments. 

Intervista (Federico Fellini, 1987)

Cast: Federico Fellini, Sergio Rubini, Antonella Ponziani, Maurizio Mein, Paola Liguori, Lara Wendel, Antonio Cantafora, Nadia Ottaviani, Marcello Mastroianni, Anita Ekberg, Mario Miyakawa. Screenplay: Federico Fellini, Gianfranco Angelucci. Cinematography: Tonino Delli Colli. Production design: Danilo Donati. Film editing: Nino Baragli. Music: Nicola Pionvani. 

Federico Fellini is a colorful hodgepodge of Fellinian themes, a kind of nesting doll movie in which several stories reside within one another. There's the interview itself, by a Japanese television crew, which frames a story about Fellini and his career, which frames stories about Fellini's early days at Cinecittà, the process of casting for his movies, his aborted plans to film Franz Kafka's Amerika, and the highlights of his career. The last culminates in the reunion of Marcello Mastroianni and Anita Ekberg along with clips from the Trevi Fountain scene in La Dolce Vita (1960). Like many of Fellini's films, it's a memory piece, part humorous, part regretful. It succeeds as a movie about movies, but never emerges from its self-reflectiveness into anything more substantial, the way his great movie about movies, 8 1/2 (1963) does. 

Boat People (Ann Hui, 1982)

Season Ma and Guo Jun-yi in Boat People

Cast: George Lam, Season Ma, Andy Lau, Cora Miao, Mengshi Qi, Meiying Jia, Shujing Lin, Guo Jun-yi, Wu Shu-Jun. Screenplay: Chiu Kang-Chien. Cinematography: Wong Chung-Gei, David Chung, Huang Zong Ji. Art direction: Tony Au. Film editing: Kin Kin. Music: Law Wing-Fai, Hako Yamasaki. 

Controversy still lingers around Ann Hui's Boat People, as it does around any work that attempts to tell the story of the Vietnam War and its aftermath. The initial controversy arose because Hui made it in the opening phases of the transfer of the territory of Hong Kong to the People's Republic of China, with the financial backing of that country and in a location, the island of Hainan, that belonged to China. It was the first Hong Kong film made in the People's Republic, and those holding out for Hong Kong's independence were upset by the collaboration. Today, the controversy centers on how accurate the portrayal of Vietnam and its government in the years immediately after the war really is. Boat People depicts a land of fear and repression, and its heroes are those who resist and try to escape from it. Critics of the film call it distorted and melodramatic. It centers on a Japanese photographer, Shiomi Akutagawa (George Lam), who witnessed the fall of South Vietnam and has returned three years later to document how the country has changed. He has the occasionally grudging and suspicious support of the new government, which of course wants a favorable portrait of the country. But as he travels about, he begins to suspect that he's not being allowed to see the whole truth. Befriending a small family, and particularly a 14-year-old girl, Cam Nuong (Season Ma), and her younger brothers Nhac (Wu Shu-Jun) and Lam (Guo Jun-yi), he starts to find the darker side of the new Vietnam. He also meets Nguyen (Mengshi Qi), who is unhappy with the course the country has taken, and his mistress (Cora Miao), who trades in the black market and helps people escape Vietnam. Boat People is an often compelling and brutal film that succeeds as drama despite (or perhaps because of) its political biases.  
 

A Tale of Autumn (Éric Rohmer, 1998)

Marie Rivière and Béatrice Romand in A Tale of Autumn

Cast: Marie Rivière, Béatrice Romand, Alain Libolt, Didier Sandre, Alexia Portal, Stéphane Darmon, Aurélia Alcaïs, Matthieu Davette, Yves Alcaïs. Screenplay: Éric Rohmer. Cinematography: Diane Baratier. Film editing: Mary Stephen. Music: Claude Marti, Gérard Pansanel, Pierre Peyras, Antonello Salis. 

A matchmaking mixup forms the plot of Éric Rohmer's A Tale of Autumn (Conte d'automne, aka Autumn Tale), the final film in Rohmer's quartet, Tales of the Four Seasons. It's a setup that will be familiar to watchers of rom-coms, or even TV sitcoms: Two people independently try to make a romantic match for a friend, leading to confusion when the unwitting friend meets the two different would-be mates chosen for them. Magali (Béatrice Romand), a widow in her 40s with two grown children, runs a small vineyard in the Rhône Valley. She's friends with Rosine (Alexia Portal), a young woman who is dating Magali's son, Léo (Stéphane Darmon). Rosine admires Magali, and when the older woman confesses that she gets lonely, decides that she has the perfect match for her: Étienne (Didier Sandre), who was her professor at the university and with whom she has been carrying on a mutual flirtation. Meanwhile, another of Magali's friends, Isabelle (Marie Rivière), also gets it in her head that Magali needs a man and places an ad in the personals section of the newspaper. When Gérald (Alain Libolt), a widower, responds to the ad, Isabelle at first pretends to be Magali, whom she has described in the ad, and then confesses the truth. Rosine and Isabelle separately arrange for Magali to meet their choices at a reception celebrating the wedding of Isabelle's daughter. Predictably, nothing goes quite as either of the matchmakers wishes. Rohmer relies on intelligent dialogue, the beauty of the French wine country, and the skill of his performers to cover up the artificiality of his plot, and he mostly succeeds. 

My Winnipeg (Guy Maddin, 2007)

Ann Savage in My Winnipeg

Cast: Ann Savage, Louis Negin, Amy Stewart, Darcy Fehr, Brendan Cade, Wesley Cade, Lou Profeta, Fred Dunsmore, Kate Yacula, Jacelyn Lobay, Eric Nipp, Jennifer Palichuk, Guy Maddin (voice). Screenplay: Guy Maddin, George Toles. Cinematography: Jody Shapiro. Production design: Réjean Labrie. Film editing: John Gurdebeke.

A man on a train dozes and dreams, and we see his dreams because they are in a way ours. He is dreaming about the city he is trying to leave, which is at once the real city of Winnipeg, a remembered hometown, and a fantastic extrapolation from the actual place. Guy Maddin's "docu-fantasia" My Winnipeg gets its power to seize the imagination from our own experiences growing up in a place with a family. Maddin sets out to recreate the merging of memory and feeling that makes up our dreams about people and places we have known, and he succeeds remarkably. It's a feat that can only be accomplished in the movies, the medium that is most often likened to dreams. I leave the exegesis and interpretation to others because it's a personal work that inspires personal reflection.    

Evil Cat (Dennis Yu, 1987)

Hsu Shu-Yan in Evil Cat

Cast: Lau Kar-Leung, Lai-Ying Tang, Mark Cheng Ho-Nam, Wong Jing, Hsu Shu-Yan, Stuart Ong, Teresa Ha Ping. Screenplay: Wong Jing. Cinematography: Arthur Wong. Art direction: Sita Yeung. Film editing: Ming Lam Wong. Music: Law Wing-Fai. 

A phantom kitty litters Hong Kong with mutilated corpses in Dennis Yu's anarchic horror movie Evil Cat. When a construction crew unearths the site where the feline spirit is entombed, Master Cheung (Lau Kar-Leung) escapes from the nursing home where he is spending his last days dying of cancer in order to fulfill the ancient duty imposed on him: to put an end to the cat's ninth life. Along the way, he enlists the aid of Long (Mark Cheng Ho-Nam), chauffeur to the rich Mr. Fan (Stuart Ong), who becomes one of the first victims of the cat. His daughter, Siu-Chuen (Lai-Ying Tang), and the bumbling police inspector Mr. Woo (Wong Jing), also get involved in the hunt. It's a movie careless of genre, tone, and sometimes taste that doesn't end well for anyone, except maybe the cat. But it's catnip to aficionados of Hong Kong action movies, who will go on and on about its sources and influences, while the rest of us are wondering what the hell we just watched. 

Project Hail Mary (Phil Lord, Christopher Miller, 2026)

Ryan Gosling in Project Hail Mary

Cast: Ryan Gosling, Sandra Hüller, James Ortiz (voice), Lionel Boyce, Milana Vayntrub, Ken Leung, Priya Kansara (voice). Screenplay: Drew Goddard, based on a novel by Andy Weir. Cinematography: Greig Fraser. Production design: Charles Wood. Film editing: Joel Negron. Music: Daniel Pemberton. 

Like most sci-fi movies, Project Hail Mary is more fiction than science, but it does put the science at its center. It has that in common with the other movie scripted by Drew Goddard from a novel by Andy Weir, The Martian (Ridley Scott, 2015).  Phil Lord and Christopher Miller's film is somewhat more fantastical than Scott's, involving as it does the extinction of the human race by a plague of extraterrestrial entities known as astrophages -- star-eaters. This time the hero is not a plucky astronaut trying to survive on Mars by sciencing the shit out of it, but a misfit scientist who gets shanghaied into a one-way trip to Tau Ceti. There he has a close encounter with a benign ET. Yes, Project Hail Mary is derivative, but at this stage what sci-fi movie isn't? It's all done with a great deal of wit and charm, largely on Ryan Gosling's part but also the puppetry and voice work of James Ortiz as the amiable Rocky. At an hour and half, it's a shade too long, but it deserved to be the hit it was. 

Pressure (Horace Ové, 1976)

Herbert Norville in Pressure

Cast: Herbert Norville, Oscar James, Frank Singuineau, Lucita Lijertawood, Sheila Scott Wilkinson, Ed Devereaux, T-Bone Wilson, Ram John Holder, Norman Beaton, John F. Landry, Archie Pool. Screenplay: Horace Ové, Samuel Selvon. Cinematography: Michael J. Davis. Film editing: Alan Cummer-Price. 

"Message movies" get a bad rap. The message too often undermines characterization, turning people into ideas. Horace Ové's Pressure is guilty in that regard. His young protagonist, Tony (Herbert Norville), is a vehicle for the film's ideas about racism, immigration, capitalism, and imperialism. Tony is the England-born son of Trinidadian immigrants, who would like nothing more than for him to assimilate into British culture. His older brother, Colin (Oscar James), who came to Britain with his parents, however, has turned his experience of racism into activism in the Black Power movement. Tony has finished school but struggles to find work, and his idleness begins to get him in trouble. Eventually he joins Colin in the movement, but the film ends on a bleak moment in that struggle, too. It's easy to dismiss Pressure as preaching to the choir and to observe that the struggle for economic justice and ethnic identity continues unabated 50 years after the film was made. But Pressure is skillfully made, effectively dramatizing its issues with scenes that verge on comedy, like Tony's job interview with a politely indifferent potential employer, and even touches of the fantastic, like the dream Tony has under the influence of a reefer. Ové has successfully channeled anger into art. 

Vera (Sergio Toledo, 1986)

Ana Beatriz Nogueira in Vera

Cast: Ana Beatriz Nogueira, Raul Cortez, Aida Leiner, Carlos Kroeber. Screenplay: Sergio Toledo, based on a book by Anderson Bigode Herzer. Cinematography: Rodolfo Sánchez. Art direction: Naum Alves de Souza, Simone Raskin. Film editing: Tércio G. Mota. Music: Arrigo Bernabé. 

The title, Vera, is the deadname of Bauer (Ana Beatriz Nogueira), a young transgender man who does what he can to reject it, an even harder task in 1980s Brazil than it is today. Growing up in an orphanage, he writes poems that get the attention of a prominent educator (Raul Cortez), whom he calls "Professor." (The character is based on the economist Eduardo Suplicy.) When Bauer ages out of the institution, "Professor" finds work for him in a research center, where he meets Clara (Aida Leiner) and falls in love with her. The film, based on the life of Anderson Bigode Herzer, flashes back to his struggles in the institution as he faces a different set of obstacles in the outside world.  Sergio Toledo does nothing to mitigate the sadness and pain in the story he tells, although he stops short of the suicide that ended Herzer's life, leaving some hope for Bauer. Nogueira's beautifully sensitive performance won a best actress award at the Berlin Film Festival in 1987. The only real flaw in the film is in framing Bauer's story with gratuitous shots of the launch of a space shuttle (1986 was the year of the Challenger disaster) and atomic explosions, which seem to be an attempt to heighten the story's significance but only distract from it. 

Art School Confidential (Terry Zwigoff, 2006)

Max Minghella in Art School Confidential

Cast: Max Minghella, Sophia Myles, John Malkovich, Jim Broadbent, Matt Keeslar, Ethan Suplee, Joel David Moore, Nick Swardson, Anjelica Huston, Adam Scott, Jack Ong, Scoot McNairy, Jeremy Guskin, Steve Buscemi. Screenplay: Daniel Clowes. Cinematography: Jamie Anderson. Production design: Howard Cummings. Film editing: Robert Hoffman. Music: David Kitay. 

Terry Zwigoff's Art School Confidential has its origins in a story that appeared in a comic book, and it shows. Daniel Clowes's screenplay, like much graphic fiction, often feels like a collection of set pieces, composed of individual scenes and moments, instead of a coherent narrative. Jerome (Max Minghella), whose artistic talent helped him survive being bullied in high school, goes to a prestigious art school in New York City, thinking that art is his calling. The Strathmore School of Art is staffed by artists who need the money because they have never quite made it on art alone, and it's attended by a variety of kids like Jerome, who have talent but not vision and maturity. It soon becomes clear that the school isn't likely to help them develop that. In addition to scenes lampooning the pretentiousness of the art world, Clowes and Zwigoff also supply a romance, when Jerome falls for Audrey (Sophia Myles), a pretty model who poses nude for his class, and a subplot about a serial killer. Eventually, Jerome becomes a successful artist, but in a heavily ironic way. Art School Confidential has some bite, but it's messily put together, with a few too many irrelevant bits. One of Jerome's roommates, for example, is a closeted gay man whose coming out is tossed into the movie for cheap laughs. An unbilled Steve Buscemi has a pointless role as a cafe owner, and Anjelica Huston and Adam Scott are wasted in bit parts. 

Father Amin (Youssef Chahine, 1950)

Mary Mounib, Esam Abdu, Hussein Riad, and Faten Hamama in Father Amin

Cast: Hussein Riad, Faten Hamama, Kamal El-Shinnawi, Mary Mounib, Farid Shawqi, Hind Rostom, Mohammed Tawfik, Hasan Kamel, Esam Abdu. Screenplay: Youssef Chahine, Ali El Zorkani, Hussein Helmi El-Mohandes. Cinematography: Massimo Dellamano. Art direction: Abdel Monem Shoukry. Film editing: Kamal Abul Ela. 

Youssef Chahine's first feature film, Father Amin (aka Baba Amin and Daddy Amin), is an amusing mashup of family drama, screwball comedy, musical, romance, and fantasy. Amin (Hussein Riad) dies suddenly but comes back in ghostly form to watch the consequences of an imprudent investment he made just before his death. His wife (Mary Mounib) is forced to sell the furniture in an attempt to pay the installment due on the house she shares with their daughter, Huda (Faten Hamama), and young son, Nabil (Esam Abdu). Huda is being courted by a shy, studious young man, Ali (Kamal El-Shinnawi), who is just about to leave for Alexandria when Amin dies. In his absence, she tries to earn money as a singer in a nightclub, though she's too embarrassed to tell Ali and the family of her job, claiming that she's a nurse. Hovering through this hubbub, Amin learns a few lessons that he will try to put into practice when, you guessed it, he turns out not really to be dead. Chahine deftly blends Hollywood movie tropes with Egyptian style. 

Deep Crimson (Arturo Ripstein, 1996)

Regina Orozco and Daniel Giménez Cacho in Deep Crimson

Cast: Regina Orozco, Daniel Giménez Cacho, Sherlyn, Giovani Florido, Fernando Soler Palavicini, Patricia Reyes Spindola, Alexandra Vicencio, Julieta Egurrola, Marisa Paredes, Rosa Furman, Verónica Merchant, Juan de la Loza. Screenplay: Paz Alicia Garciadiego. Cinematography: Guillermo Granillo. Production design: Mónica Chirinos, Macarena Folache, Antonio Muño-Hierro, Nava, Marisa Pecanins. Film editing: Rafael Castanedo. Music: David Mansfield. 

Arturo Ripstein's Deep Crimson carries a dedication in its credits to "Leonard, Martha, and Raymond," the director and protagonists of The Honeymoon Killers (Leonard Kastle, 1970). Ripstein has moved the events of Kastle's film to Mexico, and the actual "lonely hearts killers" Martha Beck and Raymond Fernandez have become Coral Fabre (Regina Orozco) and Nicolás Estrella (Daniel Giménez Cacho), but the sequence of events follows pretty much the same brutal line as Kastle's film. Ripstein's is the more sophisticated version of the story, enhanced by the Sonoran Desert setting of much of the film and by the intense color of Guillermo Granillo's cinematography. The protagonists of Deep Crimson are perhaps even more psychotic than those of Kastle's, and the justice served up to them is ironically almost as corrupt as they are. In the end, it's a question of whether you prefer the low-budget earnestness of Kastle's treatment or the sardonic tone of Ripstein's.    

Salvatore Giuliano (Francesco Rosi, 1962)

Cast: Salvo Randone, Frank Wolff, Pietro Cammarata, Sennuccio Benelli, Giuseppe Calandra, Max Cartier, Fernando Cicero, Bruno Ukmar, Cosimo Tonino, Federico Zardi, Francesco Rosi (voice). Screenplay: Francesco Rosi, Suso Cecchi D'Amico, Enzo Provenzale, Franco Solinas. Cinematography: Gianni Di Venanzo. Production design: Sergio Canevari, Carlo Egidi. Film editing: Mario Serandrei. Music: Piero Piccioni. 

Francesco Rosi's docudrama Salvatore Giuliano is remarkable for not making the title character, a charismatic Sicilian Robin Hood, the focus of the film. Instead, Giuliano, played by a non-professional actor, Pietro Cammarata, is seen only in long shots and in death. The film is about the milieu, post-war Sicily, rather than the man. Rosi, who serves as voiceover narrator in the few moments of the film that try to make it more comprehensible to those not versed in the biographical and historical backstory, is concerned not to make Giuliano into a glamorous figure. Instead he wants us to feel caught up in the political currents, with a masterly use of crowds massing and meeting. Only two figures stand out from these crowds: Gaspare Pisciotta (Frank Wolff), who followed and betrayed Giuliano, and the judge (Salvo Randone) presiding over the trial of Pisciotta and his accomplices. Even the most melodramatic moments in the film, as when Giuliano's mother (an uncredited performer chosen from the local people where the film was made) weeps and fondles her son's corpse, are viewed with detachment. Yet the film works with a masterly display of technique, especially Mario Serandrei's editing and Gianni Di Venanzo's views of the Siciilian landscape. It's a film that asks you to do your homework, but it rewards you for it.  

The Honeymoon Killers (Leonard Kastle, 1970)

Shirley Stoler and Tony Lo Bianco in The Honeymoon Killers

Cast: Shirley Stoler, Tony Lo Bianco, Mary Jane Higby, Doris Roberts, Kip McArdle, Marilyn Chris, Dortha Duckworth, Barbara Cason, Ann Harris, Mary Breen. Screenplay: Leonard Kastle. Cinematography: Oliver Wood. Film editing: Richard Brophy, Stanley Warnow. Music: excerpts from Symphonies No. 5, 6, and 9 by Gustav Mahler. 

The Honeymoon Killers was Leonard Kastle's only outing as a director and it shows. Some scenes are framed badly, lopping off characters' heads or bodies, and many of the performers, actors never to be seen again, are awkward and wooden. The set decor is thrift-store cheap, the sound is often tinny, and the music cues hacked out of Mahler symphonies are jarring. It's easy to laugh at the opening title, which hammers home the message that what you're about to see is shocking. But at some point I stopped laughing. It's an undeniably effective movie perhaps because its low-budget cheesiness feels appropriate to the subject matter: a mismatched pair of con artists who prowl American suburbia in search of lonely women whom they can fleece for their sometimes paltry savings. Martha (Shirley Stoler) and Ray (Tony Lo Bianco) squabble and reconcile as they go about their spree of originally unintended murders. The director first hired for the movie was the young Martin Scorsese, who was fired for being too slow. Scorsese, who at that point had made only one feature, Who's That Knocking at My Door (1967), later admitted that the firing was probably justified. You have to wonder what the movie would be like if Scorsese decided to remake it today and if it would be nearly so sleazily effective. The Honeymoon Killers will never be what François Truffaut called it, "my favorite American film," but it's in some way an essential one.     

Two Prosecutors (Sergei Loznitsa, 2025)

Aleksandr Kuznetsov in Two Prosecutors

Cast: Aleksandr Kuznetsov, Aleksandr Filippenko, Anatoliy Beliy, Andris Keiss, Vytautus Kaniusonus, Nerijus Gadliauska, Valentin Novopolskij, Demitrijus Denisiukas. Screenplay: Sergei Loznitsa, based on a novel by Georgy Demidov. Cinematography: Oleg Mutu. Production design: Yuriy Grigorovich, Aldis Meinerts. Film editing: Danielius Kokanauskis. Music: Christiaan Verbeek. 

Sergei Loznitsa's Two Prosecutors is a movie that makes you wait, an ordinarily boring experience that gets its mounting suspense from the awareness of its setting: the Soviet Union in 1937, the era of murder and torture and imprisonment as Stalin consolidated his power. The man who waits is Kornyev (Alexsandr Kuznetsov), a young lawyer who is sent to interview a prisoner. Kornyev is led through a labyrinthine series of doors that are unlocked and locked behind him, just to see a prison official who makes him wait until he can see the prison governor, who also makes him wait as he provides a number of reasons why Kornyev shouldn't see the prisoner. Finally, he is led through another labyrinth of unlocked and locked doors to Stepniak (Aleksandr Filippenko), a hunched and haunted man who shows Kornyev his scars and tells his harrowing tale. It's hard not to breathe a sigh of relief once Kornyev is out of this awful place. But then he goes to another awful place, another kind of labyrinth, a Moscow government office building swarming with people on the business of bureaucracy. There he waits and waits again to put Stepniak's case before the Soviet procurator general, Andrey Vyshinsky, now known to history as the man who made Stalin's purge trials work, encouraging any means necessary to extract confessions from the accused. Vishinsky is played with a chilling narrow-eyed stare by Anatoliy Beliy, and though he assures Kornyev that justice will be done in Stepniak's case, we know what that means. We also know that Kornyev is doomed for even suggesting that Stepniak's charges against the NKVD, the Soviet secret police, might be valid. From there on, it's just a matter of watching Kornyev's fate play out. Two Prosecutors is not a subtle film, but it gathers great power from the performers, especially Filippenko, who plays not only Stepniak but also an aging war veteran with one arm and a wooden leg, whom Kornyev meets on the train in a scene that serves as a kind of black comedy interlude. It's also superbly filmed by Oleg Mutu, using the Academy aspect ratio to add to the claustrophobic feeling that Kornyev is caught in a trap not of his own making. As for any application to current political trends toward authoritarianism, that's up to the viewer. 

May Fools (Louis Malle, 1990)

Cast: Michel Piccoli, Miou-Miou, Michel Duchassoy, Bruno Carette, François Berléand, Dominique Blanc, Valérie Lemercier, Paulette Dubost, Martine Gautier, Rozenne Le Tallec, Jeanne Herry, Renaud Danner, Marcel Bories. Screenplay: Louis Malle, Jean-Claude Carrière. Cinematography: Renato Berta. Production design: Willy Holt, Philippe Turlure. Film editing: Emmanuelle Castro. Music: Stephane Grappelli. 

The matriarch of a large French family dies at an inconvenient time: It's May 1968 and France is in turmoil caused by student riots in Paris and sympathy strikes throughout the country. Gradually the Vieuzac family gathers at the estate, ostensibly to mourn but largely to figure out how to divide things up among themselves. Milou (Michel Piccoli), who has lived there with his mother in a life of pleasant idleness, is adamant about not leaving, while the rest of the family is eager to sell the place and take the profits. The resultant squabbling occurs against the background of a country at odds with itself. Louis Malle co-scripted May Fools with Jean-Claude Carrière, who took an earlier satiric look at the middle class in crisis with his screenplay for Luis Buñuel's The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972). Malle's richly characterized and deftly performed film has some of the satiric edge of Buñuel's without its surreal touches, edging toward the farcical, with its darker moments lightened by the buoyant jazz score of Stephane Grappelli. 

Black Moon (Louis Malle, 1975)

Cathryn Harrison and Joe Dallesandro in Black Moon

Cast: Cathryn Harrison, Therese Giehse, Alexandra Stewart, Joe Dallesandro. Screenplay: Louis Malle, Joyce Buñuel. Cinematography: Sven Nykvist. Art direction: Ghislain Uhry. Film editing: Suzanne Baron. 

"Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas -- only I don't exactly know what they are!" exclaimed Alice after reading "Jabberwocky." The Alice of Malle's fever dream movie Black Moon is called Lily, and she's played by the teenage Cathryn Harrison, the granddaughter of Rex Harrison. When we first see her she's driving a car along a highway, wearing a man's hat, which we soon discover is a form of disguise. A war is taking place that appears to be waged between men and women. When she is stopped at a checkpoint where a group of male soldiers is executing female prisoners, her identity is uncovered and she flees across country as her car is riddled with bullets. Eventually, she finds refuge at a remote farmhouse, but not before she sees a unicorn. Not the splendid white horse of tapestries and tales, mind you, but a fat old pony with the requisite horn thrusting from its forehead. The farmhouse, she will discover, is inhabited by a bedridden old woman (Therese Giehse) and a young man (Joe Dallesandro) and woman (Alexandra Stewart), as well as a pack of naked children who chase a large pig around the grounds. The man and woman, she will discover in a telepathic fashion, are both named Lily, too. More summary at this point is unnecessary as well as impossible. As Lewis Carroll observes, Alice "didn't like to confess, even to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all." If you're like that after seeing Black Moon, don't feel bad. It's probably not for you anyway.  

Captain Conan (Bertrand Tavernier, 1996)

Philippe Torreton in Captain Conan

Cast: Philippe Torreton, Samuel Le Bihan, Bernard Le Coq, Catherine Rich, François Berléand, Claude Rich, André Falcon, Claude Brosset, Crina Muresan, Cécile Vassort, François Levantal, Pierre Val. Screenplay: Jean Cosmos, Bertrand Tavernier, based on a novel by Roger Vercel. Cinematography: Alain Choquart. Production design: Guy-Claude François. Film editing: Luce Grunenwaldt. Music: Oswald d'Andrea. 

Wars don't end neatly, as we should know by now. In Bertrand Tavernier's Captain Conan the armistice ending World War I has been signed, but for the French soldiers in Eastern Europe, it hasn't made much difference. For one thing, the Russian civil war following the Bolshevik revolution is still raging, and for the French government and its allies that means the threat of incursions into the Balkans. So a group of French special forces trained in hand-to-hand guerrilla combat, led by Lt. Conan (Philippe Torreton), is sent to Romania. But the group is made up of a lot of rough types with criminal backgrounds, and Conan is hard-pressed to keep them in line. When the military starts trying to enforce discipline with courts martial, a young officer named Norbert (Samuel Le Bihan) is put in charge of trying the offenders even though his background isn't in law but in the academic study of literature. Conan and Norbert join in an odd couple relationship as they try to take a middle ground between by-the-book military justice and a humane view of the offenders. Tavernier's film mixes action and questions of wartime morality in a rich, thoughtful fashion. It's anchored by the charismatic performance of Torreton and the contrastingly quiet one of Le Bihan.   

Farewell My Love (Youssef Chahine, 1956)

Shadia and Farid Al-Atrash in Farewell My Love

Cast: Farid Al-Atrash, Shadia, Abdel Salam El-Nabulsi, Ahmed Ramzy, Tawfik El Deken, El Sayed Bedeir, Reyad El Kasabgy, Zeinat Elwy, Thoraya Helmy, Adly Kasseb. Screenplay: El Sayed Bedeir, Abul Suood El-Ibyari, Mahmoud Fahmy Ibrahim, Abdel Aziz Salam. Cinematography: Ahmed Khorshed. Film editing: Hussein Afifi. Music: Farid Al-Atrash. 

Youssef Chahine's Farewell My Love takes place in a convalescent ward of a naval hospital in Egypt, where a boisterous group of sailors is recovering from a variety of illnesses under the watchful eye of a pretty nurse, Horreya (Shadia). One day, a new patient, Ahmad Yosry (Farid Al-Atrash), is brought to the ward to recover from kidney surgery. Ahmad doesn't know that he's dying, but Horreya does, and she tells the other patients, cautioning them not to reveal the truth. Ahmad at first is surly and just wants to be left alone, but eventually the others in the ward win him over, especially when they find out that he's a good singer -- just right for the musical show they're planning. Ahmad and Horreya fall in love, too, after a scene in which another patient tries to teach Ahmad how to flirt with her, with comic results. They sing a few love songs, and he makes a big hit in a musical number that's a patriotic salute to Egypt under the rule of Nasser. But then Ahmad finds out that he's dying, and he's furious that Shadia and his friends in the ward have known it all along. You've seen the movies in which the lead character thinks he's dying, but it turns out there was a mixup in the lab and he's healthy, or a medical breakthrough occurs at the last moment. But this time what started out to be a romantic comedy with some songs and antics thrown in takes another direction. One of the formative films in Chahine's career, Farewell My Love turns into a cinematic anomaly: a feel-bad musical. It's one of the oddest movies I've seen, and not just because of the usual cultural dissonance that sets in when you watch a film made in another language and country. It's because so much of it is familiar to me from Hollywood movies, and when it departs from their conventions and tropes it does so radically, even disastrously.

The Judge and the Assassin (Bertrand Tavernier, 1976)

Michel Galabru and Philippe Noiret in The Judge and the Assassin

Cast: Philippe Noiret, Michel Galabru, Isabelle Huppert, Jean-Claude Brialy, Renée Faure, Cécile Vassort, Jean-Roger Caussimon, Jean Bretonnière, François Dyrek, Monique Chaumette, Yves Robert. Screenplay: Jean Aurenche, Bertrand Tavernier, Pierre Bost. Cinematography: Pierre-William Glenn. Production design: Antoine Roman. Film editing: Armand Psenny. Music: Philippe Sarde. 

A serial killer has been prowling the French countryside, but when he is finally captured, the judge in charge of the case is less interested in justice than in milking the sensational crimes as a means to his own glory and advancement. That's the essence of Bertrand Tavernier's The Judge and the Assassin, a colorful historical drama based on events that actually took place in the last decade of the 19th century. The standout performer is Michel Galabru as Joseph Bouvier, an army veteran obsessed with a young woman named Louise (Cécile Vassort), whom he attempts to kill before turning the gun on himself. Both survive, but Bouvier is sent to a mental asylum -- and then deinstitutionalized, whereupon he begins his tour of the countryside, raping and killing young victims. Eventually he's brought before Émile Rousseau (Philippe Noiret), a judge who sees an opportunity to make a name for himself in a country already in a frenzy over the Dreyfus Affair. Rousseau lives with his mother, slyly played by Renée Faure, who has a wonderful scene in which the sweet old lady reads out the gruesome particulars of Bouier's violent sex crimes. He also has a mistress, Rose, played by the young Isabelle Huppert. Tavernier spends more time with these secondary characters than is absolutely necessary, but they give some depth to the characterization of the judge. The film doesn't quite make its mark as a commentary on the way justice is undermined by human greed and deviousness, and it ends a touch too didactically. But Tavernier succeeds at handsomely blending a brutal story, splendid performances, and ironically lovely views of the rural French landscape.

Lady of the Train (Youssef Chahine, 1952)

Laila Mourad and Yehia Chahine in Lady of the Train

Cast: Laila Mourad, Yehia Chahine, Emad Hamdy, Serag Mounir, Zeinab Sedky, Saïd Abu Bakr, Aziza Helmy, Sanaa Gamil, Ferdoos Mohamed, Thuraya Faknry, Abdel Aziz Hamad. Screenplay: Youssef Chahine, Nairuz Abdel Malek. Cinematography: Mahmoud Nasr. Film editing: Kamad Abul Ela. Music: Ibrahim Haggag. 

Youssef Chahine's fourth feature film, Lady of the Train, is a musical melodrama that starts out like a film noir. Laila Mourad plays a famous singer married to a compulsive gambler played by Yehia Chahine, the director's cousin. When he gambles away the family fortune, she boards a train for a concert date, and is thought to be dead when the train crashes. Learning that she survived the crash, he persuades her to go in hiding so he can collect her life insurance. When his scheme threatens to be revealed, he disappears, leaving her to fend for herself and taking their young daughter with him. Twenty years pass, as an awkwardly inserted voiceover tells us. The daughter grows up to look exactly like her mother (and is played by Mourad, of course). The usual reconciliation soap operatics ensue. Chahine uses some sophisticated filmmaking techniques to make this nonsense work, though they sometimes contrast almost comically with the film's naïve narrative and cost-cutting effects. The crucial train crash, for example, features an obvious model train, and the sets for the musical numbers, which include a tribute to the Egyptian textile industry, are sometimes cheesy. In one scene, set in an office, a picture on the wall has been crudely blotted out, leaving a jittery, fluttering patch in the background behind the characters. It was apparently a portrait of King Farouk, who fell from power in 1952 while the movie was being made. Lady of the Train is an entertaining mess, but it's full of the promise that Chahine would fulfill a few years later.   

Death Watch (Bertrand Tavernier, 1980)

Harvey Keitel and Romy Schneider in Death Watch

Cast: Romy Schneider, Harvey Keitel, Harry Dean Stanton, Thérèse Liotard, Max von Sydow, Caroline Langrishe, William Russell, Vadim Glowna, Eva Maria Meineke, Bernhard Wicki. Screenplay: David Rayfiel, Bertrand Tavernier, based on a novel by David Compton. Cinematography: Pierre-William Glenn. Production design: Anthony Pratt. Film editing: Michael Ellis, Armand Psenny. Music: Antoine Duhamel. 

Bertrand Tavernier's Death Watch takes place in a future in which death from disease has become so rare that it's not just newsworthy, it's a commercial opportunity. That is, it attracts those who would cash in on the voyeurism of reality television. Watching people die has become as popular as watching wealthy housewives squabble is today. This leads TV producer Vincent Ferriman (Harry Dean Stanton) to try to persuade Katherine Mortenhoe (Romy Schneider), who has been told that she's dying from an incurable disease, to let him document her last days. Ferriman has a secret gimmick: He has persuaded Roddy (Harvey Keitel), a cameraman, to undergo an experimental procedure that turns his own eyes into cameras that broadcast whatever he sees to Ferriman's studio. Roddy is supposed to follow Katherine wherever she goes as she's dying. Katherine wants no part of Ferriman's plan at first, but eventually she pretends to go along with it, planning to escape. You guessed it: She doesn't know about Roddy's augmentation, and when she thinks she has given Ferriman the slip, hiding out in a slummy part of the city and disguising herself, Roddy seeks her out and befriends her, secretly transmitting her experiences back to the studio. It's an ingenious setup for a story that takes some predictable courses -- yes, Katherine and Roddy fall into something like love -- but also has a few surprising and even poignant twists. Tavernier's film gets its texture from the tension between its futuristic story and its setting, a mundane urban environment that could be almost any era in the past hundred or so years. Even its international cast provides a sense of universality to the film. Like most good science fiction, it's really about the present more than the future,

My One and Only Love (Youssef Chahine, 1957)

Farid El-Atrash and Hind Rostom in My One and Only Love

Cast: Shadia, Farid El-Atrash, Hind Rostom, Abdel Salam El-Nabulsi, Mimi Shakib, Seraj Munir, Abdel Aziz Ahmad, Zinat Sidqi. Screenplay: Abul-Suood El-Ibyari. Cinematography: Ahmed Khrshed. Music: Farid El-Atrash. 

Youssef Chahine's musical romantic farce My One and Only Love (aka Inta Habibi) is an Egyptian equivalent of the Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers movies like The Gay Divorcee (Mark Sandrich, 1934), screwball comedies that burst into song. Two initially mismatched people, in this case Yasmine (Shadia) and Farid (Farid El-Atrash), go through a series of misadventures before they finally realize they love each other. Farid has a belly dancing girlfriend, Nana (the comically voluptuous Hind Rostom), and Yasmine has her heart set on a would-be oil millionaire, Semsem (Abdel Salam El-Nabulsi). But they're forced by their families to wed each other because they've been left a substantial legacy on the condition that they do so. After much ado, they decide to marry, collect the fortune, and go their separate ways after a divorce. Much more ado and quite a few songs follow before the inevitable happens. The movie was probably inspired and shaped by Chahine's stay in Hollywood. The character of Semsem has the earmarks of the role Ralph Bellamy used to play: the fiancé who gets dumped. And Farid has a comic sidekick, Shalabi (Abdel Aziz Ahmad), in the manner of Edward Everett Horton. In short, good noisy fun.  

Pillion (Harry Lighton, 2025)

Alexander Skarsgård and Harry Melling in Pillion

Cast: Harry Melling, Alexander Skarsgård, Douglas Hodge, Lesley Sharpe, Jake Shears, Mat Hill, Nick Figgis, Zoe Engerer, Jake Sharp, Jacob Carter. Screenplay: Harry Lighton, based on a novel by Adam Mars-Jones. Cinematography: Nick Morris. Production design: Francesca Massariol. Film editing: Gareth C. Scales. Music: Oliver Coates. 

A god beckons. A lowly mortal obeys and is rewarded. But what happens if the mortal wants more from the god than he is willing to give? What happens when he rebels against the god? That's usually called hubris. When Marsyas, for example, challenged Apollo, he wound up being flayed alive. The fate of Colin (Harry Melling), the lowly mortal who challenges the godlike Ray (Alexander Skarsgård) in Harry Lighton's Pillion is painful but not so dire. Ray and Colin meet in a bar, have sex in an alley, and begin a sadomasochistic relationship. Colin remains a very human figure, a homely man who lives with his parents, sings in a barbershop quartet, and works as a parking garage attendant. Ray retains his godlike character: We never learn where he comes from or what he does for a living when he isn't cruising with his pack of gay biker buddies, each of whom has his own sub who rides pillion and does their bidding. The one person who dares to question who Ray really is, Colin's mother, dies. Lighton finds a wonderfully satisfying middle ground between mythic tale and gay porn in telling this story.  It's a provocative film that transcends sensationalism, reminding me of some of D.H. Lawrence's explorations of the mysteries of sex.

A Week's Vacation (Bertrand Tavernier, 1980)

Michel Galabru and Nathalie Baye in A Week's Vacation

Cast: Nathalie Baye, Gérard Lanvin, Flore Fitzgerald, Michel Galabru, Jean Dasté, Marie-Louise Ebeli, Philippe Delague, Geneviève Vauzeilles, Philippe Léotard, Philippe Noiret, Jean-Claude Durand. Screenplay: Bertrand Tavernier, Colo Tavernier, Marie-François Hans. Cinematography: Pierre-William Glenn. Production design: Jean-Baptiste Poirot. Film editing: Armand Psenny. Music: Pierre Papadiamandis. 

Laurence (Nathalie Baye) is 31, just the right age for burnout and a mid-life crisis to set in. It happens as her boyfriend, Pierre (Gérard Lanvin), is driving her to her job as a schoolteacher. Something about the routine, and perhaps Pierre's rough, quippy manner, suddenly hits her the wrong way, and she bolts from the car. She winds up at the doctor, who tells her to take a break. So for the next week, Laurence takes some time off, in a kind of staycation, to reflect on her job, her relationship with Pierre, and her aging parents. But it's not that easy to take a vacation from any of them. She still lives with Pierre, she has homework to grade before her scheduled return, and encounters with her students and their parents intrude. She becomes more involved with one parent in particular, Mancheron (Michel Galabru), the proprietor of a small cafe who is concerned about his son. Bertrand Tavernier's lovely, low-key film follows Laurence through the week, sometimes with flashbacks, and while it ends with her acceptance of life as it is, we feel that she has become stronger. Baye is marvelous in the role, and Tavernier maintains a delicate balance of sadness and comedy throughout. 

Return of the Prodigal Son (Youssef Chahine, 1978)

Cast: Shoukry Sarhan, Ahmad Mehrez, Hasham Selim, Majida El Roumi, Souheir El Moshdy, Huda Sultan, Mahmoud el-Meliguy. Screenplay: Salah Jahine, Farouk Beloufa, Youssef Chahine. Cinematography: Abdel Aziz Fahmy. Film editing: Rashida Abdel Salam. Music: Hassan Abouzeid, songs: Salah Jahine. 

A family serves as a microcosm of Egypt's political and social crises in Youssef Chahine's Return of the Prodigal Son. The prodigal son of the title is Ali (Ahmad Mehrez), who returns to his family after a 12-year absence, his experience in the larger world much sought after by the dysfunctional community he left behind under the leadership of his ruthless older brother, Tolba (Shoukry Sarhan). It's a melodrama with striking shifts in tone, some of them created by interpolated musical numbers. These give the film a hopeful lift when the social and personal problems overwhelm its characters, particularly the two young people, Ibrahim (Hesham Selim) and Tafida (Majida El Roumi), caught in the maelstrom of family antagonisms. The film is a mixture of the actual and the symbolic that sometimes doesn't work but leaves a strong impression anyway.

The History of Sound (Oliver Hermanus, 2025)

Josh O'Connor and Paul Mescal in The History of Sound

Cast: Paul Mescal, Josh O'Connor, Molly Price, Raphael Sbarge, Chris Cooper, Hadley Robinson, Emma Canning, Emily Bergl, Brianna Middleton, Gary Raymond, Alison Bartlett, Michael Schantz. Screenplay: Ben Shattuck, based on his stories. Cinematography: Alexander Dynan. Production design: Deborah Jensen. Film editing: Chris Wyatt. Music: Oliver Coates. 

Director Oliver Hermanus and screenwriter Ben Shattuck work hard to keep The History of Sound being smothered by the genre in which it inevitably falls: the doomed gay romance movie. We know from the moment Paul Mescal's Lionel meets Josh O'Connor's David in a bar with a male clientele in 1917 Boston, that as attractive and compatible as the two men are, things won't work out for them. They're separated by the war, into which David is drafted (Lionel is exempt because of his eyesight), and from which he returns an outwardly unscathed but inwardly mutilated man. They reunite for a musicological tour, collecting folk songs in rural Maine, and then they part forever. But Lionel doesn't know that it's forever, and we follow him through the rest of his life as he's haunted by this past love. It's not enough of a story to hang an entire feature-length film on, and Hermanus and Shattuck aren't able to give the film a satisfying shape and ending. But as a mood piece it benefits from the wintry ambiance of Alexander Dynan's cinematography, the melancholy beauty of a soundtrack full of traditional British and American folk songs, and most of all the performances of Mescal and O'Connor -- the latter is especially good at showing the war wounds that linger in hiding.

The Clockmaker of St. Paul (Bertrand Tavernier, 1974)

Philippe Noiret in The Clockmaker of St. Paul

Cast: Philippe Noiret, Jean Rochefort, Jacques Denis, Yves Afonso, Julien Bertheau, Jacques Hilling, Clothilde Joano, Andrée Tainsy, William Sabatier, Cécile Vassort, Sylvain Rougerie, Christine Pascal. Screenplay: Jean Aurenche, Pierre Bost, Bertrand Tavernier, based on a novel by Georges Simenon. Cinematography: Pierre-William Glenn. Production design: Jean Mandaroux. Film editing: Armand Psenny. Music: Philippe Sarde. 

Murders have more victims than the person who is killed. That's the crux of Bertrand Tavernier's debut feature, The Clockmaker of St. Paul. In this case it's Michel Descombes (Philippe Noiret), the father of the man accused of murder, who suffers the onslaught of publicity following the crime, the opacity of the police, the indifference of his friends, and the manipulations of the justice system. But most of all, he is tormented by his own ignorance of his son's life and character. He manages to cultivate a relationship with Guilboud (Jean Rochefort), the inspector in charge of the case, but even that is more frustrating than productive. Noiret's performance is the solid core of the film, which gets its rich texture from its setting, the city and environs of Lyon. Tavernier's avoidance of melodrama will frustrate anyone who wants pat resolutions to a story, but as a searching glimpse into other lives, the film is a quiet triumph. 

Full Moon in Paris (Éric Rohmer, 1984)

Pascale Ogier and Tchéky Karyo in Full Moon in Paris

Cast: Pascale Ogier, Tchéky Karyo, Fabrice Luchini, Virginie Thévenet, Christian Vadim, László Szabó, Lisa Garneri, Mathieu Schiffman, Anne-Séverine Liotard, Hervé Gransard. Screenplay: Éric Rohmer. Cinematography: Renato Berta. Production design: Pascale Ogier. Film editing: Cécile Decugis. Music: Jacno, Elli Medeiros. 

Éric Rohmer's Full Moon in Paris tells the story of a relationship we can tell is doomed from the first scenes, in which Louise (Pascale Ogier) tells Remi (Tchéky Karyo), the man she lives with, that she wants to keep the apartment in Paris she's refurbishing as a pied-à-terre. They have a nice place in the suburbs, but in setting up her business as a designer she needs to be where the action is. She'll only spend the occasional day and night there, and take the train home to him. Once we see the bleak new modern suburb we know that Paris will win. From then on, it's a matter of talking it out, as characters in Rohmer's films always do, a few missed connections and missteps, and the not terribly well-intentioned advice from Louise's friend Octave (Fabrice Luchini). This is one of the series of films Rohmer called Comedies and Proverbs. The comedy is bittersweet, and the proverb is "He who has two women loses his soul. He who has two houses loses his mind." Rohmer displays his usual skepticism about the relationship of sex and romance, maintaining a fondness for romance in key with the film's title without descending into sentimental clichés. 

Rosa Luxemburg (Margarethe von Trotta, 1986)

Barbara Sukowa in Rosa Luxemburg

Cast: Barbara Sukowa, Daniel Olbrychski, Otto Sander, Adelheid Arndt, Jürgen Holtz, Doris Schade, Hannes Jaenicke, Jan Biczycki, Karin Baal, Winfried Glatzeder, Regina Lemnitz. Screenplay: Margarethe von Trotta. Cinematography: Franz Rath. Film editing: Dagmar Hirtz, Galip Iyitanir. Music: Nicolas Economou. 

An unconventional woman gets a too-conventional biopic in Margarethe von Trotta's Rosa Luxemburg. The tragedy of the Rosa Luxemburg played by Barbara Sukowa is that she's a humanist among ideologues, an idealist among power players, and most damning of all, a woman among men. I kept wanting von Trotta to amp up the feminism of her portrait, which is full of scenes of Rosa surrounded by graybeards who are armored against her passion for the struggles of the proletariat. It's a film that should have been a documentary, if only because most of its viewers today are not quite up on the who's who, the where's where, and the when's when of the struggles of European Marxists in the first two decades of the 20th century. Rosa Luxemberg works mainly as a spur to further study: I learned more from scanning the Wikipedia article on her than I did from the film itself, though that's a frequent failing of biopics. Still, if you're armed with a modicum of background knowledge, von Trotta's film is a good introduction to an extraordinary person.  

Motel Destino (Karim Aïnouz, 2024)

Nataly Rocha and Iago Xavier in Motel Destino

Cast: Iago Xavier, Nataly Rocha, Fábio Assunção, Renan Capivara, Fabiola Liper, Isabela Catão, Yuri Yamamoto, David Santos, Jupyra Carvalho, Bertrand de Courville. Screenplay: Weislan Esmeraldo, Karim Aïnouz, Mauricio Zacharias. Cinematography: Hélène Louvart. Production design: Marcos Pedroso. Film editing: Nelly Quettier. Music: Amine Bouhafa. 

Karim Aïnouz's Motel Destino borrows from The Postman Always Rings Twice (Tay Garnett, 1946; Bob Rafelson, 1981) and gives it Brazilian color and rhythm. Heraldo (Iago Xavier) wakes up locked in a room in a sex hotel where he has spent the night with a woman he met in a bar to find that he's been robbed. He bargains with Dayana (Nataly Rocha), who runs the Motel Destino with her husband, Elias (Fábio Assunção), to let him out, leaving his identification card with the promise that he'll return to pay for the room. He's already deep in trouble: The delay in getting sprung from the room means that he's missed a crucial assignment by his gangster boss, a woman known as Bambina (Fabiola Liper), in the course of which Heraldo's brother, Jorge (Renan Capivara), has been killed. Desperate to escape the wrath of Bambina, Heraldo returns to the Motel Destino, where he arranges with Dayana to hide out. He winds up being employed by Elias, who takes a fancy to the young man. Dayana takes a bit more than a fancy, and before long she and Heraldo begin to plot a way to escape from Elias's control. The lurid setting, in which we hear the motel's clientele rather than see them, gives the film a sweaty intensity, and the three principal actors are up to the demands the script makes on them. Hélène Louvart's near-hallucinatory use of color turns this neo-noir into a neon noir.   
 

La Belle Noiseuse (Jacques Rivette, 1991)

Emmanuelle Béart and Michel Piccoli in La Belle Noiseuse

Cast: Michel Piccoli, Jane Birkin, Emmanuelle Béart, Marianne Denicourt, David Burzstein, Gilles Arbona, Bernard Dufour. Screenplay: Pascal Bonitzer, Christine Laurent, Jacques Rivette, based on a novella by Honoré de Balzac. Cinematography: William Lubtchansky. Production design: Emmanuel de Chauvigny. Film editing: Nicole Lubtchansky. 

No matter how much critics and theorists of art may insist that it's about sublimation and pure form, nudity is inevitably about sexual desire. No film demonstrates that fact more clearly than Jacques Rivette's La Belle Noiseuse, in which the actress Emmanuelle Béart bares her body on screen for the better part of four hours. Her character, Marianne, is persuaded by the aging artist Édouard Frenhofer (Michel Piccoli) to pose for him in a variety of tortuous positions as he strives to paint what he hopes will be his final chef d'oeuvre. While Frenhofer and Marianne labor in his studio, his wife, Liz (Jane Birkin), and her lover, Nicolas (David Burzstein) wait and fret, both tacitly suspicious that more than just the process of creating art is taking place behind closed doors. Liz was once Frenhofer's model, so she knows the possible outcome of a working relationship between artist and model, as does Nicolas, himself an artist. But it's to Rivette's great credit that the film finesses the issue of eroticism. We come to accept the essential role that Marianne's naked body plays in the formation of a work of art, and to understand the frustrations of turning the artist's fleeting vision into permanence. We see the hand of the artist -- actually the hand of Bernard Dufour when the rest of Piccoli's Frenhofer is out of camera range -- transforming flesh into line and pattern. Does Frenhofer create a masterpiece? We never know, because we don't see the finished product. He chooses to literally wall it off from other eyes and to show the public a rather banal painting in its stead. Art for the artist's sake, if you will. La Belle Noiseuse won the Cannes Grand Prix, and while I don't think the narrative content justifies its length, it's an exceptional film. 

The Apprentice (Ali Abbasi, 2024)

Sebastian Stan in The Apprentice

Cast: Sebastian Stan, Jeremy Strong, Martin Donovan, Maria Bakalova, Catherine McNally, Charlie Carrick, Ben Sullivan, Mark Rendall. Screenplay: Gabriel Sherman. Cinematography: Kasper Tuxen. Production design: Aleksandra Marinkovich. Film editing: Olivier Bugge Coutté, Olivia Neergaard-Holm. Music: Martin Dirkov. 

Ali Abbasi's movie The Apprentice doesn't have a third act because we're living it. It just ends, with the future a glint in Donald Trump's eye, and whether it will be a tragedy or a comedy remains to be seen. Trump is played splendidly by a porked-out Sebastian Stan, who deserved the Oscar nomination he received for not making such a familiar character into a collection of mannerisms. Stan's Trump is vicious but vulnerable, easy prey for a reptile like Roy Cohn, played by Jeremy Strong with the sinister greed of his character in Succession turned up to 11. By focusing on the relationship between Trump and Cohn, Gabriel Sherman's screenplay becomes a reversal of fortune story, with Trump rising and Cohn falling when Frankenstein loses control of his Creature. The film is at its best in the first half, portraying the shady real estate dealing in 1970s New York City with the relish shown by Scorsese and Coppola in their gangster sagas. It's less successful at giving us a sense of the family background that bred the narcissism and megalomania of the Trump we know today, with only a few glimpses into his relationship with his father, played by Martin Donovan. Sherman's depiction of Trump's sexual cruelty and vanity, including his alleged liposuction and scalp reduction, is drawn from his marriage to and divorce from Ivana (Maria Bakalova), but these scenes stand out oddly from the story of how he rose to power. There will probably never be a successful biopic that gives us the complete Donald Trump, but The Apprentice is a good rough draft of one.  

Typhoon Club (Shinji Somai, 1985)

Cast: Yuichi Mikami, Youki Kudo, Tomokazu Miura, Yuka Onoshi, Yuriko Fuchizaki, Tomiko Ishii, Shigero Benibayashi, Tomoko Aizawa. Screenplay: Yuji Kato. Cinematography: Akihiro Ito. Production design: Noriyoshi Ikeya. Film editing: Isao Tomita. Music: Shigeaki Saegusa. 

Shinji Somai finds a catalyst and a correlative in the storm that animates Typhoon Club, a portrait of adolescence that takes place half a world away from the one found in John Hughes's The Breakfast Club, which appeared the same year. The teenagers of Somai's film are middle schoolers, younger than the ones in Hughes's, and Typhoon Club has a more serious tone, but both acknowledge the perils of a period through which many of us fail to pass unscathed. No wonder that filmmakers constantly turn to it for inspiration to produce movies that range in tone from amused, like Richard Linklater's Dazed and Confused (1993), to brutal, like Catherine Breillat's Fat Girl (2001). In Somai's film, the typhoon is the catalyst for acting out, as a group of young teens are trapped in their school while the storm rages. The consequences range from pranks and making out to rape and suicide. The passage of the storm leaves damage that is both physical and emotional. Typhoon Club deals with so many characters, including some adults, that it's sometimes as noisy and confusing as the storm itself, but Somai maintains steady control throughout.