Track 29 (Nicolas Roeg, 1988)

Track 29 (Nicolas Roeg, 1988)

Cast: Theresa Russell, Gary Oldman, Christopher Lloyd, Colleen Camp, Sandra Bernhard, Seymour Cassel, Leon Rippy. Screenplay: Dennis Potter. Cinematography: Alex Thomson. Production design: David Brockhurst, Curtis A. Schnell. Film editing: Tony Lawson. Music: Stanley Myers.

With directors like Luis Buñuel and David Lynch, whose films regularly stray along the boundaries between logic and the irrational, between the waking world and dreams, between sanity and madness, you can always sense a central consciousness, a coherent vision, holding the film together. This isn't the case with Nicolas Roeg's Track 29, which falls apart as it drifts into weirdness for weirdness's sake. It centers on Linda, a neglected housewife, whose physician husband, Henry, spends most of his free time in the attic playing with his model trains, and at work is having an affair with his nurse, who spanks him while wearing rubber gloves. The doctor and nurse are played by one of the odder couples ever to be seen in a movie, Christopher Lloyd and Sandra Bernhard. One day, when Linda (Theresa Russell) is having lunch with her friend Arlanda (Colleen Camp), they're joined by a young man named Martin (Gary Oldman), whom we see at the start of the film hitchhiking along a country road and later being picked up by a trucker (Leon Rippy). Martin creepily admires the trucker's "Mom" tattoo, which sets us up for the even creepier assertion that he will make to Linda that he's really the son she gave up for adoption at birth. That Oldman and Russell are almost the same age should clue you in to the fact that nothing is going to make conventional sense in Track 29. Martin arouses more than maternal passion in Linda, but he may not even exist: Although Arlanda sees him in the cafe where he makes his acquaintance with Linda, in a later restaurant scene in which Martin plays on Linda's erotic obsession, we cut from the table where they're sitting to behind the bar and share the point of view of a waiter and bartender who see her sitting alone. Oh, there's much more, including a scene in which Henry addresses the attendees at a model train collectors' convention and stirs them to a frenzy with his speech. But you get the point: Track 29 is mostly an elaborate psychosexual fantasy, but it lacks a central vision to hold it together or carry it to any kind of satisfactory conclusion. It's never daring enough to explore sexual frustration and obsession in the many imaginative ways Buñuel does in Belle de Jour (1967). It could pass as satire if there were any larger point to its fleeting moments of insight or surprise, the way Lynch's Blue Velvet, made two years earlier, uncovered the seamier side of Reagan-era complacency. As it is, it's just, well, weird. 

Insignificance (Nicolas Roeg, 1985)

Insignificance (Nicolas Roeg, 1985)

Cast: Theresa Russell, Michael Emil, Gary Busey, Tony Curtis, Will Sampson, Patrick Kilpatrick. Screenplay: Terry Johnson. Cinematography: Peter Hannan. Production design: David Brockhurst. Film editing: Tony Lawson. Music: Stanley Myers, Hans Zimmer.

The imaginary conversation, bringing together people who never really met, is a time-honored way of exploring ideas, which is what Terry Johnson had in mind when he wrote a play about the encounter of Marilyn Monroe, Albert Einstein, Joe McCarthy, and Joe DiMaggio in a hotel room in 1952. To emphasize the fact that it was a play about ideas, he didn't call them by their real names but labeled them The Actress, The Professor, The Senator, and The Ballplayer. They could have been called Sex, Intellect, Politics, and Muscle, for all that matters. What we have in the film version is a sometimes provocative but for the most part muddled intersection of people whose myths are larger than their actuality. In the movie's best scene, Marilyn uses some toys and balloons to demonstrate to Einstein that she actually knows the theory of relativity. Whether she understands it, she admits, is another matter. At this point, the film verges on something like an exploration of ideas, the relationship between knowledge and understanding. But that's too much for a film to explore and still hold an audience's attention, so mostly we are left in Insignificance with an exploration of personalities, riddled with flashbacks to scenes from the lives of Marilyn, Einstein, and DiMaggio -- but not, interestingly, to McCarthy's life, which makes his inclusion in this stew of celebrities a problem to be pondered. He's there primarily to underscore Einstein's sense of guilt at having come up with ideas that contributed to the creation of the atomic bomb and hence the Cold War that caused the rise of McCarthyism. There's really no way to resolve the various conflicts among the characters than to end with a fantasy scene in which the hotel room is destroyed in an atomic cataclysm -- only to reverse the footage of destruction for a scene in which Marilyn bids Einstein goodbye. In the end, the film becomes mostly a story about the loss of identity suffered by celebrities, aided by some very good performances but undercut by a surplus of images that demand but don't reward interpretation.

My Beautiful Laundrette (Stephen Frears, 1985)

Cast: Gordon Warnecke, Daniel Day-Lewis, Roshan Seth, Saeed Jaffrey, Shirley Anne Field, Rita Wolf, Derrick Branche. Screenplay: Hanif Kureishi. Cinematography: Oliver Stapleton. Production design: Hugo Luczyc-Wyhowski. Film editing: Mick Audsley. Music: Stanley Myers, Hans Zimmer.

A fusillade across the bow of Thatcherite Britain, My Beautiful Laundrette manages to take on racism, homophobia, and capitalist entrepreneurship all in one breathtaking moment. It also served as a breakthrough film for Daniel Day-Lewis as Johnny, a gay skinhead with an Anglo-Pakistani lover, Omar (Gordon Warnecke).

Coup de Grâce (Volker Schlöndorff, 1976)

Margarethe von Trotta in Coup de Grâce

Erich von Lhomond:  Matthias Habich
Sophie de Reval: Margarethe von Trotta
Conrad de Reval: Rüdiger Kirschstein
Aunt Praskovia: Valeska Gert
Dr. Paul Rugen: Marc Eyraud
Michel: Hannes Kaetner
Grigori Loew: Franz Morak
Franz von Aland: Frederik von Zischy
Volkmar: Mathieu Carrière

Director: Volker Schlöndorff
Screenplay: Geneviève Dormann, Margarethe von Trotta, Jutta Brückner
Based on a novel by Marguerite Yourcenar
Cinematography: Igor Luther
Music: Stanley Myers
Film editing: Jane Seitz

Coup de Grâce is a film as chilly as its setting: a castle in Latvia in the bleak winter of 1919-1920, as the Bolsheviks begin to overwhelm their opponents in the Baltic states, many of whom are Germans determined to defeat the communists. The castle belongs to Conrad de Reval, who has gathered there some of the remnants of his forces, including his friend Erich von Lhomond. It becomes apparent very early, especially from the glances between Conrad and Erich, that they may be more than just friends. It's not so apparent to Conrad's sister, Sophie, who is still living in the castle along with her aged aunt. Sophie makes a play for Conrad, but it's only partially successful. To spite and to tantalize him, she begins to have affairs with some of the other men staying at the castle. Meanwhile, the castle comes under attack from the Bolsheviks, some of whom are also Sophie's friends. Margarethe von Trotta gives a complex portrayal of Sophie, but is somewhat undermined by the intricacies of the relationships among the various characters and the difficulty of sorting out their several backstories. We don't know enough about her, or Erich or Conrad, to get a full sense of why any of them behave as they do, other than the moral fatigue of having fought the war for so long. In the end, the film becomes most memorable for the performance of Valeska Gert, whose grotesque and macabre Aunt Praskovia steals every scene in which she appears. In the 1920s, Gert had been a silent film actress and a cabaret performer -- she would have fit right in with the "divine decadence" of the Kit Kat Kub in Bob Fosse's Cabaret (1972). Although Coup de Grâce has a strong final scene, the slackness of the narrative thread in the film deprives it of some of its impact. Still, good performances, an effective recreation of the historical period,  and the impressive black and white cinematography by Igor Luther make it worth seeing.

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