The Devil of the Desert (Youssef Chahine, 1954)

Omar Sharif and Maryam Fakhruddin in The Devil of the Desert 

Cast: Omar Sharif, Maryam Fakhruddin, Lola Sedki, Tawfik El Dekn, Hamdy Gheith, Abdelghani Kamar, Salah Nazmi. Screenplay: Youssef Chahine, Hussein El-Mohandess. Cinematography: Alevise Orfanelli, Bruno Salvi. Art direction: Maher Abdel Nour, Hussein Helmy, Abdel Mohem Shokry. Music: Fouad El-Zahry. 

In The Devil of the Desert (aka Devil of the Sahara or Shaytan Al-Sahra), Omar Sharif plays Essam, a masked avenger not unlike Zorro, except that instead of leaving the letter Z as his calling card, he leaves a twisted palm frond -- or as the subtitles call it, a "knitted frond," a phrase that elicited puzzled amusement every time I saw it. This frond is also a way of communicating his whereabouts to his followers, chief among them the "gypsy"* Shaden (Lola Sedki). But it's only one of many things that puzzled and amused me about Youssef Chahine's movie. Basically, it's a lively romp, an adventure movie that could have played in the Saturday matinees of my childhood. Essam even has a comic sidekick, and he swashbuckles his way through the plot twists while trying to decide between the sultry Shaden and the lovely Dalal (Maryam Fakhruddin). Unfortunately, it needed a better fight choreographer -- Sharif sometimes seems to buckle when he should swash. It also suffers from clumsy editing, a muddy soundtrack, and a few too many unnecessary scenes, including three musical numbers. So much is stuffed into its 110-minute run time that it's a surprise when it ends in a breathless rush. It left me feeling that Chahine was bored with the film and wanted to get on to something better.  

*Many Romani consider "gypsy" an ethnic slur. It was derived from the fact that their people were once thought to be descended from an exiled Egyptian tribe. I use it here because it's the way the subtitles to The Devil of the Desert translate it, and being ignorant of Arabic, I don't know what word is used in the film.   

Baba Yaga (Corrado Farina, 1973)

Carroll Baker and Isabella De Funès in Baba Yaga

Cast: Carroll Baker, Isabella De Funès, George Eastman, Ely Galleani, Daniela Balzaretti, Mario Mattia Giorgetti, Sergio Masieri, Angela Covello, Cesarina Amendola. Screenplay: Corrado Farina, Giulio Berruti, François de Lannurien, based on the graphic novels of Guido Crepax. Cinematography: Alace Parolin. Art direction: Giulia Mafai. Film editing: Giulio Berruti. Music: Piero Umiliani. 

If this silly attempt at an erotic horror thriller hadn't been botched in pre-production by changes in producer, production company, and cast, and if it hadn't been heavily cut in post-production without director Corrado Farina's involvement or even knowledge, it might have been more coherent and involving. But even that's doubtful. It was only Farina's second feature film as director, and he never made another. Moreover, it's based on a tiresome and offensive trope: the predatory lesbian. The title character, played by Carroll Baker,  has no resemblance to the hag of Slavic legend. She's a mysterious recluse living in a decaying mansion in Milan. One night, she runs into -- literally, in her car -- the fashion photographer Valentina (Isabella De Funès), whom she begins to cast a spell over, partly by hexing Valentina's Hasselblad. Weird stuff involving a doll in S&M garb that comes to life ensues, and Valentina has to be rescued from Baba Yaga's clutches by her boyfriend (George Eastman). People familiar with Guido Crepax's adult comics may appreciate the film more than those who aren't. I'm not, and I found it more tedious than titillating.   

Flowing (Mikio Naruse, 1956)

Kinuyo Tanaka and Isuzu Yamada in Flowing

Cast: Kinuyo Tanaka, Isuzu Yamada, Hideko Takamine, Mariko Okada, Haruko Sugimura, Sumiko Kurishima, Chieko Nakakita, Natsuko Kahara, Seiji Miyaguchi, Daisuke Kato. Screenplay: Toshiro Ide, Aya Koda, Sumie Tanaka, based on a novel by Koda. Cinematography: Masao Tamai. Production design: Satoru Chuko. Film editing: Eiji Ooi. Music: Ichiro Saito. 

Having been a college English teacher and a print journalist, I know something about what it's like to be in a dying profession. So I have some empathy with the women in the geisha house in Mikio Naruse's Flowing. Their story is told largely from the point of view of Rita Yamanaka (Kinuyo Tanaka), whose name the owner of the house, Otsuta (Isuzu Yamada), finds too difficult to pronounce, so she calls her Oharu, a name that will have resonance for anyone who has seen Kenji Mizoguchi's 1952 masterpiece, The Life of Oharu. But unlike Mizoguchi's heroine, this Oharu is a simple woman in a profession that will probably never vanish: a maid. Her quiet ubiquity in the house enables her to see and hear things that heighten her mistress's financial struggles and the household's eventual doom. Equally valuable is the role of Katsuya (Hideko Takamine), Otsuta's daughter, who was trained as a geisha but doesn't want to be one. She regards her mother's profession as a commodification of self. Unfortunately, Katsuya has no marketable skills and is struggling to find her way in a male-dominated world. Naruse's film is a poignant and searching commentary not only on the disappearing way of the geisha but also on the role of women in a society trying to redefine the relationship between the sexes. Tanaka, Yamada, and Takamine are three of the greatest Japanese actors; it's a treat to see them working together, and they're beautifully supported by the rest of the cast.   

The Emigrant (Youssef Chahine, 1994)

Khaled Nabawy and Youssra in The Emigrant

Cast: Khaled Nabawy, Youssra, Mahmoud Hemida, Michel Piccoli, Hanan Turk, Safia El Emari. Screenplay: Youssef Chahine, Rafiq El-Sabban, Khaled Youssef. Cinematography: Ramses Marzouk. Production design: Hamed Hemdan. Film editing: Rashida Abdel Salam. Music: Mohamad Nouh. 

How refreshing to see a historical epic set in ancient Egypt that doesn't look like it was filmed at Cinecittà or on a Burbank back lot and that features actors who look like Egyptians and not A-listers in dark makeup. That's because Youssef Chahine's The Emigrant was filmed in Egypt with Egyptian actors -- with the exception of French actor Michel Piccoli, who does look a little out of place in his long white patriarchal beard. Piccoli plays Adam, the father of Ram (Khaled Nabawy) and his treacherous brothers. They're thinly disguised variations on Jacob, father to Joseph and his brethren, whose story is told in the book of Genesis and in the Quran. Chahine's movie ran into a little trouble with the censors because of where that story is told: A Muslim fundamentalist recognized the obvious parallel between film and scripture, and invoked the Islamic proscription against depicting figures mentioned in the holy book. And as if not to be outdone, a Christian fundamentalist protested that the story in the film was not close enough to the biblical account. Nevertheless, The Emigrant was a box office success in Egypt. There are other changes from the source: In the film, there's no coat of many colors, and Ram makes his way in Egypt not by exercising the gift of prophecy but by native smarts, charisma, and a thirst for knowledge. The captain of Pharaoh's guard to which Ram is sold in slavery is not called Potiphar but Amihar (Mahmoud Hemida), and his wife, who lusts after Ram, is a priestess called Simihit. She comes by her desire for Ram honestly, for not only is he good-looking but her husband is impotent -- he was one of the eunuchs who guarded his master's household. It's not one of Chahine's best films, but it's a thoroughly satisfying one, marred only by a little muddling in the narrative -- Chahine cuts back and forth in the story too often and too abruptly, especially confusing to anyone who doesn't know the story on which it's based. Nabawy's lively and appealing performance made him a star.      

Delirious (Tom DiCillo, 2006)

Steve Buscemi and Michael Pitt in Delirious

Cast: Steve Buscemi, Michael Pitt, Alison Lohman, Gina Gershon, Kevin Corrigan, Richard Short, Elvis Costello. Screenplay: Tom DiCillo. Cinematography: Frank G. DeMarco. Production design: Teresa Mastropierro. Film editing: Paul Zucker. Music: Anton Sanko. 

Celebrity is a broad target for satire, but writer-director Tom DiCillo finds the right weapon for hitting it: He makes his protagonist a paparazzo named Les Galantine, played by Steve Buscemi with his usual high-strung, terrier-like intensity and vulnerability. Trying one day to shove aside the other paparazzi and get the right picture of the latest pop music phenomenon, K'Harma (Alison Lohman), Les encounters a homeless kid named Toby (Michael Pitt), hanging around the fringes of the shoot. With his usual impulsive bark-is-worse-than-his-bite manner, Les at first abuses the kid, and then lets him crash in his apartment. Toby is sweet but a little dim: When Les explains that every paparazzo is in search of "the shot heard around the world," the photo that will make his reputation, Toby clearly doesn't know the origin of the phrase. Still, when he proves useful in capturing a shot of a celebrity who has just had surgery on his penis, Les empties a closet for Toby to use as a bedroom and makes him his unpaid assistant. But gradually the dynamic between the two shifts: K'Harma had noticed the good-looking Toby, who wants to be an actor, and so does a casting director (Gina Gershon) when he tags along with Les at a celebrity event. Before long, it's Toby whom the paparazzi are pursuing, much to Les's fury. DiCillo keeps the satire well within the confines of his story, and his actors never let it overwhelm the characterization of Les and Toby and K'Harma.   

Love Liza (Todd Louiso, 2002)

Philip Seymour Hoffman in Love Liza

Cast: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Kathy Bates, Jack Kehler, Sarah Koskoff, Stephen Tobolowsky. Screenplay: Gordy Hoffman. Cinematography: Lisa Renzler. Production design: Stephen Beatrice. Film editing: Katz, Anne Stein. Music: Jim O'Rourke. 

Love Liza is a screwball tragedy. Philip Seymour Hoffman plays Wilson Joel, deep into grieving for his wife, who recently committed suicide. To ease his grief, he takes to huffing gasoline fumes. (It's implied that his wife asphyxiated herself in their garage.) Through a farcical sequence of misunderstandings brought about by his addiction to the fumes, he winds up making friends with Denny (Jack Kehler), an enthusiast for remote-controlled model boats. At this point, the film turns into a kind of road movie, and Wilson's spirits temporarily rise. But all the while he is carrying his wife's suicide note, which he discovered under a pillow on their bed. His mother-in-law (Kathy Bates) and others urge him to open the envelope and read the note, but Wilson fears that it will tell him things he doesn't want to know. It's a remarkably eccentric film that reminds me of Hal Hartley's movies in that you're never quite sure what direction the characters will go next. Hoffman's brother, Gordy, wrote the screenplay, which won the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award at Sundance, and actor Todd Louiso, in his debut as a feature director, handles the story's frequent and abrupt variations of tone well. The cast gives it their all, especially Hoffman, who provides the right fragility for his character, and Kehler, who makes us believe that Denny wouldn't have cut and run in his first encounter with the obviously disturbed Wilson. It took me a while to adjust to the film's departures from convention, including some background music and songs by Jim O'Rourke that sometimes feel like they're angling away from what's on screen. Inevitably, too, the story of Hoffman's death from an overdose of drugs colors our reactions to his character in the film. 

Ginza Cosmetics (Mikio Naruse, 1951)

Kinuyo Tanaka in Ginza Cosmetics

 Cast: Kinuyo Tanaka, Ranko Hanai, Yuji Hori, Kyoko Kagawa, Eijiro Yanagi, Eijiro Tono, Yoshihiro Nishikubo, Haruo Tanaka. Screenplay: Matsuo Kishi, based on a novel by Tomoichiro Inoue. Cinematography: Akira Mimura. Art direction: Takashi Kono. Film editing: Hidetoshi Kasama. Music: Seiichi Suzuki. 

I'm not entirely sure what the title, Ginza Cosmetics, means. But I think it has something to do with putting on a good face when things are troubled inside. That applies to the protagonist, Yukiko (the great Kinuyo Tanaka), a bar hostess struggling to raise her young son, Haruo (Yoshihiro Nishikubo), and at the same time trying to keep the bar she works in from going out of business. But it also applies to the Ginza itself, the bustling shopping and entertainment district of Tokyo. At one point, Yukiko is showing a young man from the country around the city, and points out how much of the area he finds oppressively noisy and crowded had been leveled during the war: The Ginza itself has put on a new face, hiding its scars. Mikio Naruse's film is an account of several days in Yukiko's life, a character study without melodrama. She has a few moments of crisis: Haruo, who is usually a quiet and studious child who looks after himself (with the aid of a few neighbors) while Yukiko goes to work, once wanders off for a few hours, to her distress. And she is almost raped by an old acquaintance whom she goes to in search of money to help the bar's owner from having to sell it. There's also some tension among the women who work in the bar when the marriageable young man from the country comes to visit one of them. At the end, life goes on without the usual narrative resolution, and if you're like me you feel you've had a privileged glimpse into another world and another life. 

The Blazing Sun (Youssef Chahine, 1954)

 

Omar Sharif in The Blazing Sun

Cast: Omar Sharif, Faten Hamamah, Zaki Rostom, Farid Shawqi, Abdulwareth Asar, Hamdy Gheith. Screenplay: Ali El Zorkani, Hilmi Halim. Cinematography: Ahmed Khorshed. Art direction: Maher Abdel Nour. Film editing: Kamal Abul Ela. Music: Fouad El-Zahry. 

With his big brown eyes and gleaming smile, Omar Sharif was a natural for the movies, and making his film debut, billed as Omar El Cherif, in Youssef Chahine's The Blazing Sun, he proved he could act too. Chahine's melodrama gets off to a bumpy start with some clunky exposition and a bit of scenery chewing from the villains in the piece, wealthy landowner Taher Pasha (Abdelwareth Asar) and his nephew Reyad (Farid Shawqi), but once Sharif appears on the scene and encounters his leading lady, Faten Hamamah, things begin to come together with enough plot twists, suspense, and romance to satisfy even a jaded movie-watcher like me. Sharif plays Ahmed, trained as an engineer, who returns to his village to help his father, Saher Abdel Salam (Abdulwareth Asar), and the peasants harvest a sugarcane crop. But Taher Pasha and Reyad are conniving to keep the peasants from making money and getting uppity. Reyad, whom we first see shooting a cat running across the lawn of his uncle's palatial estate, suggests dousing another poor cat in gasoline, setting it on fire, and letting it loose in the sugarcane. The Pasha is somewhat less sadistic: Just flood the fields, he says, and Reyad complies. Saher and the peasants are ruined. Meanwhile, the Pasha's beautiful young daughter, Amal (Hamamah), is returning home after an absence of many years. While Reyad is driving her from the station, Ahmed spots her and calls out her childhood nickname, "Potatoes." She's delighted to see her childhood boyfriend again, especially since he now looks like a 22-year-old Omar Sharif, much to Reyad's disgust. And so everything is set up for a fateful conflict, which involves a wrongful murder conviction, several other deaths, and a Western-like showdown in the ruins of the temple at Luxor. Handsomely photographed and well-acted, The Blazing Sun doesn't have as much social comment as other films by Chahine that I've seen, but it's thoroughly entertaining.

Street Without End (Mikio Naruse, 1934)

Setsuko Shinobu in Street Without End

Cast: Setsuko Shinobu, Akio Isono, Hikaru Yamanouchi, Nobuko Wakaba, Ayako Katsuragi, Shin'ichi Himori, Chiyoko Katori, Ichiro Yuki. Screenplay: Jitsuzo Ikeda, Komatsu Kitamura. Cinematography: Suketaro Inokai. Set designer: Jokichi Shu. 

The titular street of Street Without End is located in the bustling Ginza district of Tokyo, where Sugiko (Setsuko Shinobu) works as a waitress. One of the most fascinating elements of Mikio Naruse's film is its documentation of the Ginza, now famous as a teeming, neon-lighted network of streets, in the 1930s, images of which constitute both the beginning and the end of the film. In between these shots of the crowded streets, we follow Sugiko's story as she almost marries the man she loves, almost becomes a movie star, loses her first love and her chance at stardom when she's struck by a car, marries the wealthy driver of the car, and suffers from the class snobbery of her sister- and mother-in-law. By the end of the film, she's back working as a waitress. A classic "woman's picture" melodrama, it was made in service of Naruse's concern about the weight of tradition and history that burdens the lives of Japan's women. It was Naruse's last silent film, and you can see him striving toward sound, which was late coming to the Japanese film industry. It is, for example, almost too chopped up by intertitles, as if Naruse were longing for audible dialogue. But Naruse surrounds his heroine with a gallery of well-drawn characters, overcoming the limitations of silent melodrama by making the people in it believable.    

The Land (Youssef Chahine, 1970)

Mahmoud Al Meleji and Ezzat El Alaili in The Land

Cast: Mahmoud Al Meleji, Nagwa Ibrahim, Ezzat El Alaili, Hamdy Ahmed, Ali El Sherif, Yehia Chahine, Salaah El-Saadany, Tawfik El Deken. Screenplay: Hassan Fuad, based on a novel by Abderrahman Charkawi. Cinematography: Abdelhalim Nasr. Film editing: Rashida Abdel Salam. Music: Ali Ismail.

I will only betray my ignorance of Egyptian history, literature, politics, and culture, not to mention the Arabic language, if I venture to say more than that I found Youssef Chahine's The Land both stirring and baffling. I may have been baffled occasionally because The Land is based on a novel, and Chahine chose to include some sections that may have worked better on the page, such as the opening sequence about a boy's infatuation with the pretty Wassifa (Nagwa Ibrahim). Chahine spends much time establishing a backstory for the boy, but he disappears from the rest of the film after his sequence ends. But narrative flaws like that one shouldn't deter anyone from watching the film, which is often quite beautiful and features some impressive performances, particularly that of Mahmoud Al Meleji as a farmer struggling with the intractable demands and corruption of government authorities, with the ambitions of his landlord, and with the apathy and ineptness of some of his fellow farmers. The action moves through incidents both comic and brutal, and ends with a masterly final scene that evokes the work of Eisenstein and Dovzhenko. The rest of the film isn't on a par with its ending, but that's probably asking too much.