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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Saturday, October 12, 2019
On the Beach at Night Alone (Hong Sang-soo, 2017)
On the Beach at Night Alone (Hong Sang-soo, 2017)
Cast: Kim Min-hee, Seo Young-hwa, Jeong Jae-yeong, Mun Seong-kun, Kwon Hae-hyo, Song Seon-mi, Ahn Jae-hong. Screenplay: Hong Sang-soo. Cinematography: Kim Hyung-ku, Park Hong-yeol. Film editing: Hahm Sung-won.
On the Beach at Night Alone is narratively simple: An actress recovering from an affair with her married director that caused a scandal goes to visit a friend in Hamburg, Germany, and then returns to the city of Gangneung in Korea, where she visits more friends and, over many cups of soju, reflects on her life and affairs. But though the film is mostly talk about love and sex and other matters of relationship, it's larded with puzzles and arresting details, including two (or possibly three) endings. The first section of the film concludes on a beach in Hamburg, where the camera pans away from the actress, Young-hee (played by Kim Min-hee), standing alone, and looks at her friends walking away. Then the camera pans back but Young-hee is gone, and when the camera pans farther, we see Young-hee being carried off, slung over the shoulder of a man. We don't know who the man is, but she and her friend had earlier been accosted by a man wanting to know the time of day; when they don't reply, he walks off in disgust. And later, walking through the park, they spot the man again and run away. Is Young-hee's apparent abductor the same man? We get no answer, and the screen turns black before the second part, in Korea, begins with Young-hee sitting in a movie theater, lingering for a while after the lights come up and the theater empties. After meeting with some friends, she moves into a hotel that overlooks the sea. On the balcony outside, a man seems to be washing the windows of her room, but he has no soap or water or sponge or squeegee, and keeps "washing" the same spots over and over. Neither she nor her friends seem to notice this man, who also appears later, again simply standing unnoticed on the balcony. Later, when her friends leave, she goes out to the beach where she lies down and falls asleep. She is wakened by a man who turns out to be a member of a film crew working with the director with whom she had the affair. Eventually, she meets the director again and they have a conversation at the dinner table, where he gives her a book that seems to have a special significance for them. But there's a cut and we see Young-hee again lying on the beach, where she is again awakened by a man who, as in the previous awakening scene, tells her it's dangerous. This time, she tells the man that she was just dreaming, walks off alone, and the film ends. How to assimilate these eccentric, enigmatic moments into the film as a whole, with its extended dialogues about relationships? Because of its talk about sex and love, On the Beach at Night Alone has been likened to Éric Rohmer's "Six Moral Tales" films and to Richard Linklater's Jesse and Céline trilogy. But it reminds me more of the skewed reality of Michelangelo Antonioni's films, such as L'Avventura (1960), which never answers the questions about Anna's disappearance, or Blow-Up (1966), which never solves the central murder, if there was indeed one. Is the mysterious man who carries off Young-hee or the one who lingers on her balcony just a projection of her frustrations? Or are we misguided in even asking such questions?
Friday, October 11, 2019
Cookie's Fortune (Robert Altman, 1999)
Cookie's Fortune (Robert Altman, 1999)
Cast: Charles S. Dutton, Glenn Close, Julianne Moore, Liv Tyler, Patricia Neal, Chris O'Donnell, Ned Beatty, Courtney B. Vance, Donald Moffat, Lyle Lovett, Danny Darst, Matt Malloy, Niecy Nash, Randall Mell, Rufus Thomas, Ruby Wilson. Screenplay: Anne Rapp. Cinematography: Toyomichi Kurita. Production design: Stephen Altman. Film editing: Abraham Lim. Music: David A. Stewart.
Cookie's Fortune is one of Robert Altman's lesser-known movies, but it's an eminently likable one, a comedy about that familiar literary trope, the dysfunctional Southern family. It's set in the picturesque small North Mississippi town of Holly Springs, which I know well because it was on the way from Oxford to Memphis back when there were no four-lane roads to travel on. In the film, it's a place with no apparent racial tensions: When a black man, Willis Richland (played by the great Charles S. Dutton), is arrested for the murder of elderly Jewel Mae "Cookie" Orcutt (a wonderful performance by Patricia Neal), the white sheriff refuses to believe he did it: "I've fished with him," he explains to the skeptical out-of-town forensics expert. Altman and screenwriter Anne Rapp simply choose not to make racial animosity a factor in their story, which is really about how difficult it is to keep secrets in a place as small and as nosy as Holly Springs and its like. Cookie's death is actually a suicide, but her niece Camille (Glenn Close), who discovers the body, chooses to cover it up -- actually eating the suicide note, which is not addressed to her -- because (a) the fact of suicide would cause a scandal in the town and (b) she stands to inherit as the next-of-kin to Cookie, assuming there's no will. (There is, but she doesn't find it in the cookie jar where it's hidden.) Camille enlists her rather slow-witted sister, Cora (Julianne Moore), in the cover-up. But suicide will out, as well as lots of other family secrets. All of this is taking place over Easter weekend, when Camille's production of Salome -- by Oscar Wilde and Camille Dixon, as the poster says -- is being staged in the local First Presbyterian Church, starring Cora in the title role. Cookie's Fortune is a charming film, carried along by a cast that Altman stands out of the way of and lets do their thing.
Thursday, October 10, 2019
A Quiet Place (John Krasinski, 2018)
A Quiet Place (John Krasinski, 2018)
Cast: Emily Blunt, John Krasinski, Millicent Simmonds, Noah Jupe, Cade Woodward, Leon Russom. Screenplay: Bryan Woods, Scott Beck, John Krasinski. Cinematography: Charlotte Bruus Christensen. Production design: Jeffrey Beecroft. Film editing: Christopher Tellefsen. Music: Marco Beltrami.
Given the generally enthusiastic critical and audience reception of A Quiet Place, I was prepared to enjoy it. And for the most part I did. I liked the prevailing mood of the film, its sure-footed pacing and neatly timed shocks. But I am such an inveterate skeptic, such an indefatigable asker of Questions You're Not Supposed to Ask, that I wasn't completely won over. I found myself wondering why the Abbotts, so nicely played by John Krasinski and the always wonderful Emily Blunt, would conceive another child in the midst of post-apocalyptic horror. They have taken so much care, especially after the loss of one of their children, to maintain a life of silence, then why would they risk it all for such an uncontrollable noisemaker as an infant? And then, when their daughter discovers that the feedback from her malfunctioning hearing aid could disable one of the predators, I wondered why scientists and the military hadn't already figured out that the best way to attack creatures who hunt by sound is to turn that sense against them, or if they have, why they haven't come to the rescue of the Abbotts and their neighbors. These are quibbles, of course, but A Quiet Place is meant to be taken fairly seriously, as a drama of family dynamics -- the daughter feels guilty for the death of her little brother and thinks her father doesn't love her, while her remaining brother feels like he can't live up to the heroics of his father and her mother blames herself for the death of the child. In the end everything is subordinated to shocks and thrills, so that the film ends up like a more sophisticated version of a 1950s invaders from outer space movie, or a better-made episode of a series like The Walking Dead.
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Gambling Lady (Archie Mayo, 1934)
Gambling Lady (Archie Mayo, 1934)
Cast: Barbara Stanwyck, Joel McCrea, Pat O'Brien, C. Aubrey Smith, Claire Dodd, Robert Barrat, Arthur Vinton, Phillip Reed, Philip Faversham, Robert Elliott, Ferdinand Gottschalk, Willard Robertson, Huey White. Screenplay: Ralph Block, Doris Malloy. Cinematography: George Barnes. Art direction: Anton Grot. Film editing: Harold McLernon. Music: Bernhard Kaun. Costume design: Orry-Kelly.
Barbara Stanwyck is invariably the best reason to watch any of her movies, and never more so than in Gambling Lady. Oh, her supporting cast is just fine: Joel McCrea is her reliable leading man and Claire Dodd makes the most of her rich-bitch foe. And the story, though familiar enough in its outlines and predictable enough in its resolution, keeps your attention, partly because the Production Code hadn't yet put a choke hold on depictions of the seamier side of life. Stanwyck plays Jennifer "Lady" Lee, an honest woman in a shady milieu: She's a professional gambler who refuses to cheat. It's a familiar Stanwyck character: tough but vulnerable, and she gets many chances to show both sides throughout the film. Her best moment, perhaps, comes at the film's climax, when the rich bitch triumphs, forcing Lady to lie to save McCrea's character, the wealthy Garry Madison, whom Lady has married, from jail. So we get Stanwyck putting on a façade of cynical laughter as she pretends she has never really loved Madison but was just in it for the money. We who know the truth can see the tears welling up inside Lady, but Stanwyck successfully keeps up the front before she makes her exit and collapses in grief. This is screen acting at its best, so that even if the plotting is contrived and the situation trite, Stanwyck wins us over, making more of the scene, in fact of the whole movie, than it really deserves.
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