A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Showing posts with label Jean-Pierre Melville. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jean-Pierre Melville. Show all posts

Sunday, April 26, 2020

Magnet of Doom (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1963)

Jean-Paul Belmondo and Charles Vanel in Magnet of Doom
Cast: Jean-Paul Belmondo, Charles Vanel, Michèle Mercier, Malvina Silberberg, Stefania Sandrelli, Todd Martin, E.F. Medard, Barbara Sommers, André Certes, Andrex, Jerry Mengo, Delia Kent, Ginger Hall. Screenplay: Jean-Pierre Melville, based on a novel by Georges Simenon. Cinematography: Henri Decaë. Production design: Daniel Guéret. Film editing: Monique Bonnot, Claude Durand. Music: Georges Delerue.

I don't know what the title Magnet of Doom means -- the original French title is L'aîné des Ferchaux, which means "The elder Ferchaux" -- but its elusive quality seems about right for Jean-Pierre Melville's shaggy dog of a movie. Ostensibly a thriller, a genre of which Melville was a master, Magnet of Doom meanders as much as the road trip which its central characters, Michel Maudet (Jean-Paul Belmondo) and Dieudonné Ferchaux (Charles Vanel), set out upon. Especially in its peregrinations through the United States, it reminds me a bit of Wim Wenders's Alice in the Cities (1974) and even more of Jim Jarmusch's Stranger Than Paradise (1984), two films that I suspect owe a bit to Melville's movie, and even more to Henri Decaë's cinematography for it. The story, such as it is, details the flight from prosecution in France of crooked banker Ferchaux, accompanied by Michel, a young man he hires as a secretary. Since Michel is a lean, lithe ex-boxer played by lean, lithe ex-boxer Belmondo, there's a touch of homoeroticism in Ferchaux's choice of secretary, especially since the interview is perfunctory and it becomes clear that Michel doesn't really know how to type -- he does it with two fingers. Mostly Michel's job is to drive Ferchaux on his trip through the States to New Orleans. At the outset, Michel is taciturn and submissive, doing Ferchaux's bidding without question. But after they make a stop at a bank in New York City where Ferchaux has a safe-deposit box full of cash that he loads into a suitcase, Michel begins to assert himself a little: One of his first stops on their trip is in Hoboken, N.J., so he can see the birthplace of Frank Sinatra, whom he idolizes. And after they pick up an improbably pretty hitchhiker named Angie, played by Stefania Sandrelli, he begins to turn the tables on Ferchaux, ordering the older man into the back seat and stopping to go for a swim in a river with Angie. Ferchaux regains control, however, by flinging the cash from the suitcase off a cliff, holding on to a wad of money that he can use to maintain dominance. Michel and Angie clamber down the hill to retrieve what they can of the money. But when they stop at a service station and Michel goes to the restroom while Ferchaux dozes, Angie absconds with the suitcase containing the recovered cash and hitches a ride with a trucker. Michel gives chase and outruns the truck, gets the money back, and orders the trucker to leave and Angie to resume hitchhiking. The rest of the film is a series of power plays between Ferchaux and Michel as they wait in a cabin near New Orleans for the arrival of the money Ferchaux has arranged to be sent to him upon the closing of his main account in New York, after which they plan to avoid extradition by taking up residence in Venezuela. But the older man begins to suffer health problems and Michel starts to collaborate with the authorities who are pursuing Ferchaux. This summary makes the film sound more cut-and-dried than it is, however. The pacing is, if not off, at least off-beat, sometimes engaging, sometimes lethargic, and sometimes frustrating. Melville's take on America makes it worth watching, and the performances of Belmondo and Vanel are as good as one might anticipate. It's the kind of film you watch just to try to anticipate what's going to happen next, and you usually can't.

Monday, September 30, 2019

Un Flic (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1972)


Un Flic (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1972)

Cast: Alain Delon, Richard Crenna, Catherine Deneuve, Riccardo Cucciolla, Michael Conrad, Paul Crauchet, Simone Valère, André Pousse. Screenplay: Jean-Pierre Melville. Cinematography: Walter Wottitz. Production design: Théobald Meurisse. Film editing: Patricia Nény. Music: Michel Colombier.

It's amazing how hard it is to make Alain Delon look ordinary. In Un Flic, the last film by Jean-Pierre Melville, who made Delon's unsurpassable good looks and cool the essence of Le Samouraï (1967), he's supposed to be a tough, weary cop, a chief of detectives. So his hair is not so neatly combed as usual, he's made up to look a little pale, and there are wrinkles under the celebrated blue eyes. The thing is, however, that Delon pulls the character off successfully -- unlike other handsome actors, he makes us look past the beauty. We see what's going on in his head as he makes his rounds. It's Delon's charisma that justifies the film's title, because in fact the movie focuses more on the robbers than on the cops. (When it was released on video in the United States it was retitled Dirty Money.) The thieves get the film's two big set pieces: the bank robbery at the beginning of the film, and the famous 20-minute helicopter-and-train sequence in the middle, in which Richard Crenna's Simon is put through a hair-raising James Bond-style stunt. The latter scene is preposterous, of course: When and how did Simon and the helicopter guys practice for this elaborate heist, which has to come off without a hitch? But the sequence works in part because the rest of the film is based in gritty reality, such as the bleak off-season ocean-front setting of the opening, with the rows of anonymous modern buildings presenting blank, boarded up windows to the stormy winter sea that roars in the background of the bank robbery. (The sound recording of André Hervée and sound editing of Maurice Lemain deserve special mention.) Un Flic exists in a neverland intersection between actuality and movie artifice, a place Melville visited in almost all of his films.

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Army of Shadows (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1969)


Army of Shadows (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1969)

Cast: Lino Ventura, Paul Meurisse, Jean-Pierre Cassel, Simone Signoret, Claude Mann, Paul Crauchet, Christian Barbier, Serge Reggiani, André Dewavrin, Alain Dekok, Alain Mottet, Alain Libolt, Jean-Marie Robain. Screenplay: Jean-Pierre Melville, based on a novel by Joseph Kessel. Cinematography: Pierre Lhomme, Walter Wottitz. Production design: Théobald Meurisse. Film editing: Françoise Bonnot. Music: Éric Demarsan.

The stoic restraint that pervades Army of Shadows extends to the images provided by the credited cinematographers, Pierre Lhomme and Walter Wottitz. For a long time I wasn't really sure whether the film was made in color or black and white, so desaturated are the images. Occasionally the color of a garment or Simone Signoret's hair or the blue of the Mediterranean in the background will catch the eye, but for the most part the film takes place in a world drained of anything suggestive of vivid life. Death is presented as something inevitable, as something that has to be gone through, so futile has resistance to the occupation of France by the Nazis become. Faced with executing a traitor, the Resistance operatives feel reluctance and guilt but also proceed practically: The sound of a gun would attract attention; there are no usable knives at hand; so the solution is to strangle their former comrade with a kitchen towel, and the garroting proceeds with as little drama as possible. This is a film about endurance rather than action, about moral choices made with deliberation and without fuss. Sometimes what action there is feels contrived: The rescue of Gerbier from prison at the moment of his execution depends on sheer luck and coincidence and not on skillful timing and precise intelligence. But dramatic probability is not the point, instead it's the feeling that all of the lives depicted in the film are poised on a razor's edge.

Wednesday, September 18, 2019

Bob le Flambeur (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1956)



Bob le Flambeur (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1956)

Cast: Roger Duchesne, Guy Decomble, Isabelle Corey, Daniel Cauchy, André Garey, Gérard Buhr, Claude Cerval, Colette Fleury, René Havard, Simone Paris, Howard Vernon. Screenplay: Jean-Pierre Melville, August Le Breton. Cinematography: Henri Decaë. Production design: Claude Bouxin. Film editing: Monique Bonnot. Music: Eddie Barclay, Jo Boyer. 

Sometimes the pleasures you get from a movie are not the intended ones of plot or action or dialogue. For example, I get a great delight from hearing how the French actors in Bob le Flambeur pronounce the title character's name: It's closer to "Bub" than to the American "Bahb." But even that incidental detail is somehow essential to what the film is all about: a reworking of American culture -- the gangster movie -- in the French manner. It would be different somehow if the title character were named Jules or Pierre or Marcel, but calling him Bob, even with a French accent, sets up all sorts of subliminal reverberations. It's intriguing that the foreign filmmakers who most successfully translated the gangster genre to their own cultures were the French and the Japanese. The latter reworked the figure of the samurai into that of the yakuza, while the former turned the existential loner into the outlaw. Jean-Pierre Melville's film is a celebrated precursor of the French New Wave, to which Melville himself became central in 1967 when he gave Alain Delon Bob's fedora and trenchcoat and made Le Samouraï, thereby merging all three cinematic gangster mythologies. For my part, the chief delight of Bob le Flambeur is its essential Frenchness, particularly Henri Decaë's lovingly crafted images of Montmartre, as masterly in their way as those of Lautrec or Utrillo.