TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP ★★★★★
Harry Edwards, 1926, Harry Langdon Productions, USA
Although it completely falls apart in the final five minutes, nothing could mar the experience of the previous fifty-five. I’m guessing they had to keep the runtime at 60, and there was nothing you could possibly trim until the end. Langdon is an unathletic, fat, very drunk Keaton, with an on-screen persona capable of rivaling The Great Stone Face. The gags are hits, live-action cartoons grounded alternating between the realistic and fantastic, both given equal care and weight (until the end, of course). Crazy baby Joan Crawford makes a nice, hollow appearance. Langdon and the good guys are just so charming and wonderful, and these are the moments that make life worth loving.
LES CROIX DE BOIS ★★★★★
Raymond Bernard, 1932, Pathé-Natan, FR, Wooden Crosses
The kind-of source material for Hawks’s
ROAD TO GLORY (sharing context and best scene) resonates in completely different ways. 17 years later, France is still dealing with complete—and utterly senseless—loss of a generation. The Germans are almost entirely faceless, just an overwhelming force of machine guns and explosions into which countless lambs hurl their bodies. The superlatively rendered sets and lighting exist in space so masterfully controlled and utilized, that all the necessary depth appears on the screen itself; it’s
THE BIG PARADE filmed by Dovzhenko.
GRAND HOTEL ★★★★★
Edmund Goulding, 1932, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, USA
The highs and lows of human experience fragmented in a clumsily pictorial escapade. Of all the ensemble MGM extravaganzas, this manages the perfect personnel and emotional balancing act, by focusing on the settings and the Clarence Brown ways to photograph Garbo… all while Wally Beery struggles through his best Erich von Stroheim impersonation // the extraordinary masquerading as banal.
LE QUAI DES BRUMES ★★★★★
Marcel Carné, 1938, Ciné-Alliance, FR, Port of Shadows
What seems (to the uninitiated (me)) to be a career-long fascination with bad luck and poor timing—at least in the hits—reaches its peak (so far) in this suffocating masterpiece. The atmosphere reflects fate; everything is calculated, and actions have consequences. Well- meaning conduct becomes an incriminating blunder. The idea of chance is overwhelmed by something resembling destiny. It’s sad, probably the saddest, especially when acknow- ledging the romantic ideal that it’s worth it, as long as you’re open to experience. I was crushed by the weight of the fog—internal and external.
LETTER FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN ★★★★★
Max Ophüls, 1948, Rampart Productions, USA
The emotion is less important than the capacity for emotion. When handled correctly, sentimental pap becomes a force of nature. Ophüls has the finesse and patience for the sappiest of fluff; he makes life on the plains hardly seems worth living.
LOLA MONTÈS ★★★★★
Max Ophüls, 1955, Gamma Film, FR
Ophüls frames spectacle with spectacle. A commercial Syberberg, 20 years prior. Excess is a virtue.
KAAGAZ KE PHOOL ★★★★★
Guru Dutt, 1959, Guru Dutt Films, IN, Paper Flowers
I love these sprawling stylistic soups, handling the full spectrum of human emotion, where anything is possible and nothing feels out of place.
LA LUTTE ★★★★★
Michel Brault, Claude Jutra, et al., 1961, National Film Board of Canada, CA
The francophone identity tested against overwhelming odds. Good and Evil caricatures, every narrative cliché emboldened for the perfect story arch.
DILLINGER È MORTO ★★★★★
Marco Ferreri, 1969, Pegaso Cinematografica, IT, Dillinger Is Dead
...making everything out of nothing...
IL SEME DELL'UOMO ★★★★★
Marco Ferreri, 1969, Polifilm, IT, The Seed of Man
Favorite Material ... vivid colors washed out by an overwhelming brightness on top of a
Birth of an Island caliber electronic score ... Taking the best approach to a social comment -ary ... Seeing the trees in the forest.
PORCILE ★★★★★
Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1969, I Film Dell'Orso, IT, Pigsty
Parallel stories—tedious as stand-alones—intercut; foiled tie-ins interpolating greatness. A flawlessly handsome reflection on myth-making set against perfectly cast landscapes. An act of defiance is an act of magic.
MISTÉRIOS DE LISBOA ★★★★★
Raúl Ruiz, 2010, Clap Filmes, PT, Mysteries of Lisbon
It’s fitting that the pinnacle of storytelling is a work about telling stories. In my Silent Film Adaptations of Novels class, we were told to buy this book,
Film Adaptations and Its Discontents, which we never had to open, so I never did, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the title and how it would be irrelevant if every filmmaker had the patience and confidence of Ruiz. It unfolds like a novel, but it is continuously grounds itself in theater; however, the paper-cut-out proscenium is the only one Ruiz uses. While referencing other media, Ruiz affirms the cinematic possibilities through shear force of style.
LONG PANTS ★★★★☆
Frank Capra, 1927, Harry Langdon Corporation, USA
A light-hearted
Madame Bovary, condemning the corrupting power of reading books, and it suits Langdon’s adult baby perfectly. Surprisingly dark in the first half, pathetically naïve in the second. The Capra/Edwards/Langdon unit has an impressive amount patience with and confidence in their gags. They devote 5 minutes of a 60 minute film to a single gag, itself a by-product of another gag. The plot is dumb and threadbare, sacrificed for laughs that are totally worth it.
MOCKERY ★★★★☆
Benjamin Christenen, 1927, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, USA
I always wondered what happened to the flailing waif from [b]LAST OF THE MOHICANS[/b]. I assumed she disappeared because she couldn’t figure out what Sarah Bernhardt did more than a decade prior. I was wrong; she continued making dumb exaggerated movements throughout the silent era and at the studio with the largest stable of actors. Christensen is certainly ill-fitted for MGM directing; there are no grand structural experiments in a Chaney-caliber star vehicle. Hollywood’s reasonable (but stupid) tendency to import talent and pin them to international works, sets them up for obscure failure (Stiller and Mozzhukhin). It’s weak as a Chaney feature. The make-up is perfect and uninteresting; the personality is non-existent and kinda offensive. The movie works though; it is a polished work with stylistic flairs to compete in my memory with Barbara Bedford's gesticulating.
MOROCCO ★★★★☆
Josef von Sternberg, 1930, Paramount Pictures, USA
Von Sternberg elevating otherwise offensive pap by proving beauty is only skin deep. Everyone’s a caricature, handsome and brutish; rich, polite and charmless; sultry and empty or animalistic and brown, but they exist and interact in a world framed by the most talented cinematic photographer probably ever (there’s this great anecdote in
The Parade’s Gone By... where von Sternberg shows Kevin Brownlow how to film something perfectly in a matter of minutes, going through his process as they’re staging it). The criss-crossed shadows of the narrow streets and silhouetted characters outdoors, were overwhelming and beautiful. The ending was devastating and perfect in spite of having no concern for the future of the characters.
LE CRIME DE MONSIEUR LANGE ★★★★☆
Jean Renoir, 1936, Films Obéron, FR
Driving on Cruise Control is fine, when your car's a Renoir.
REMORQUES ★★★★☆
Jean Grémillon, 1941, MAIC, FR, Stormy Waters
Adolescent bath time, making due with civilian ships.
QUÉBEC-U.S.A OU L'INVASION PACIFIQUE ★★★★☆
Michel Brault, Claude Jutra, 1962, National Film Board of Canada, CA
ROULI-ROULANT ★★★★☆
Claude Jutra, 1966, National Film Board of Canada, CA, The Devil's Toy
TEOREMA ★★★★☆
Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1970, Aetos Produzioni Cinematografiche, IT
Too much no-cheese godbledygook woven into the fabric of the movie to push it into favorite territory. I also thought the climax was kinda lacking because the whole time I wanted it to be for a different movie, one where people are driven insane by sex. Religion is just too easy and boring to acknowledge (unless it’s from a place of whole-hearted sincerity), and it’s a testament to this movie, to be good as it is, overcoming the spiritual sledgehammer and capturing me exclusively with images and sound grounded in nothing.
LA GRANDE BOUFFE ★★★★☆
Marco Ferreri, 1973, Films 66, FR, Blow Out
Career suicide as low comedy as high art. A leading man, supporting actor and 2 character faces getting together to see who falls the fastest. Ferreri just gets it. He takes the Buñuelian tradition and filters out all the respectable canon fodder. After three features, he’s the sharpest bourgeois comedian I can name, super-excited about exploring him more.
LE TRAIN ★★★★☆
Pierre Granier-Deferre, 1973, Lira Films, FR/IT
The overwhelming paralysis of Simenon at his best...lackadaisically unfolding plot, succumbing to emotion built on shared distraught. Actions need no justification without a tomorrow.
A LONDON FÉRFI ★★★★☆
Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, 2007, TT Filmmûhely, FR/DE/HU, The Man from London
I don’t understand why this was widely considered a misstep for Tarr. I think Simenon fits for Tarr’s sensibilities perfectly, and, even though Simenon is among the highest of “low artists,” or whatever, it’s great to see any genre potboiler get the arthouse makeover. The marriage of high and low is still hit-making concept. Tarr implicates the observer/ voyeur/viewer, in these stories where a happy ending isn’t ever possible.
WIFE VS. SECRETARY ★★★☆☆
Clarence Brown, 1936, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, USA
The only moment of suspense (assuming you go in unspoiled), leads up to the disappointment in discovering that Myrna Loy is, in fact, the wife. It’s certainly not surprising—she is the perfect wife, four times divorced, and Harlow being Hollywood’s most established home wrecker—, but one can always hold out hope. Way too apologetically and wholesomely masculine; J. Stewart just vomits sexism every time he’s on screen. However, it is an MGM star vehicle, therefore impeccably constructed. I could probably enjoy these formerly-important-but-now-ignored vault-fillers forever.
STAGE DOOR ★★★☆☆
Gregory La Cava, 1937, RKO Radio Pictures, USA
The first half, and its rapid-fire screwball-isms, nails it; the second half is too eye-twinkly dramatic and pathetic. There’s nothing inherently wrong with a tonal and focus shifts, but it’s certainly unwise when no one is as fun to watch or as interesting a Ginger Rogers. I guess my total antipathy toward Broadway drama cripples my capacity for empathy; I’d much rather watch waify babes in clown pants jangle their knees to make rent.
ANOTHER THIN MAN ★★★☆☆
W.S. Van Dyke, 1939, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, USA
Nora Charles is MGM's best serial character.
LE PLAISIR ★★★☆☆
Max Ophüls, 1952, Stera Films, FR
Not even the most elegant of camera work could save this from some glorified turgidity, bogged down by the literary fluffiness inherent in adapting Maupassant— whose work I enjoy—and adapting ideas of happiness. Single-View anthologies typically suffer from the same hurried attention-span white wash. The first one’s too short; the second’s too long, and the 3rd shouldn't exist. Drunk Gabin tries to save the day, but it’s charm’s are too narrow for a scope so broad.
LES RAQUETTEURS ★★★☆☆
Michel Brault, Gilles Groulx, 1958, National Film Board of Canada, CA, The Snowshoers
NORMÉTAL ★★★☆☆
Gilles Groulx, 1960, National Film Board of Canada, CA
DER LEONE HAVE SEPT CABEÇAS ★★★☆☆
Glauber Rocha, 1970, Mapa Filmes, BR, The Lion Has Seven Heads
Pretty fun when it’s grooving in full-on Sublime Frequencies psych-freak-out mode, but those jams are far too infrequent and smushed between overbearing, super-heavy-handed metaphors. I don’t understand the deification of a colonizer (played ham-fistedly by JP Léaud), and I don’t understand a lot other things, like why it needs straight-on, straight-faced monologues about why colonialism is bad. Too many extended growling scenes and too much dumb overwhelming religiosity saved by a handful of pretty rad musical interjections—wallowing in amateurocity that somehow cultivates wonderful moments of totally organic diy jammy fun.
LA PACIFISTA ★★★☆☆
Miklós Jancsó, 1970, Cinematografica Lombarda, IT, The Pacifist
Utterly bewildering… Jancsó takes full advantage of the post-dubbing process, with super-elegant, seemingly-ceaseless tracking shots that meander all over the place, but it’s as if someone far less talented was parodying his style. While the shots are clean and smooth, the refusal to cut or trim the needlessly excessive, never-ever-ending chattering (v/o one- sided conversations with mom (I think), grasping at interiority), makes it a befuddled mess. Bonus points for insane opening song sequence… completely sets the tone for such a bizarrely put together movie.
ESCAPE FROM ALCATRAZ ★★★☆☆
Don Siegel, 1979, Paramount Pictures, USA
Not particularly fond of Eastwood’s talking-through-the-teeth brand of tough guy, but it’s fine this Premium-Cable Sleeping Aid. Baby Fred Ward shows up too late, but at least there’s a Fred Ward. There’s nothing really wrong with this, but it’s kinda one of those things where the worst insult is that it’s totally fine, and I would like it better if it had some charming shortcomings.
DISTANT VOICES, STILL LIVES ★★★☆☆
Terence Davies, 1988, British Film Institute, UK
When Pialat makes an autobiographical movie, he demonstrates how much he hates himself; when Davies does it, it’s about how much he hates everyone else. The pathetic impulses of the film really wore me down. The only happiness these people feel is when they’re the most utterly despicable pub patrons imaginable, glorifying the moment pop songs turn to folk songs. The through-the-looking-glass structure works wonderfully for shot-centric cinema, all you have to do is make your cardboard cut-outs not be insuffer- able. However, as annoying and wretched as the people are, it still managed to capture my interest through some very handsome shots and wonderful camera movements.
THE HOLE ★★★☆☆
Joe Dante, 2009, Bold Films, USA
The Hole makes the same mistake (cardinal sin) as
Cigarette Burns when it showed images from
La Fin absolue du monde, but it doesn’t make up for it with Udo Kier making a movie of his own. The characters’ darkest fears parrot expressionist carnival rides with a baby-food color palette. It’s also kind of sad to see old people trying to engage counter- culture teens by making them inarticulate Hot Topic mannequins. The brooding-idiot protagonist is balanced by the babe and baby well enough, and Dante keeps the energy focused and moving. While it feels like an extended episode of the “Are You Afraid of the Dark” that exists in my imagination, it’s easy to apologize for something that exists completely outside macro-trends, even if it means we’re pretending it’s the 90s.
EROTIKON ★★☆☆☆
Mauritz Stiller, 1920, Svensk Filmindustri, SE
A severe misstep for Stiller after HERR ARNES PENGAR. Delicate proto-Lubitsch flourishes squandered by a rigidity in form and flow. This flat-footed ballet is clumsy and silly. The over-long opera sequence serves only as a benchmark in the development of the most erotically-tinged sequences of lecherous voyeurism.
METROPOLIS is also a stupid movie, but there are two exhilarating scenes, one of which is Maria’s dance sequence, which intercuts the mouth-breathing satyrs, and at least acknowledges the cinematic male gaze in an aesthetically riveting way. It’s movies before and after the syntax of film language became interesting (or as Cocteau would say,
LA ROUE).
NO MAN OF HER OWN ★★☆☆☆
Mitchell Leisen, 1950, Paramount Pictures, USA
To tolerate cowards and idiots, I can’t dwell on them, and I need some movement. There’s a structural torpor that an action director wouldn't stomach. Housewife film noir sounds like great high concept, but it’s more concerned with completely unnecessary stylistic tropes (spotlight interiority/anti-climatic bookends/the worst v/o narration) than really punching you in gut. It isn’t without merit, of course. The train wreck set has some awesome proto-Royal Wedding chaos, and the photography is, at times, top-notch (particularly walking onto the catwalk in the steam), but I think I was too overwhelmed by the disappointment of greatness not crossing over (at first glance, of course). I think it's something I could appreciate revisiting once I'm more familiar with Leisen's body of work.
PEOPLE WILL TALK ★★☆☆☆
Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1951, 20th Century Fox Film Corporation, USA
It’s like there’s a lifeboat, and it’s Cary Grant’s chin; then there’s obv. a sinking ship, and it’s this movie. When they aren’t showing the lifeboat, you get nothing but muddled gasps for air in an omnipresent lifelessness. Clumsy in its homo-baiting and colossally uninteresting when it bails, the labored mystery unfolds way too painfully for a drowning death. But, y’know, Cary Grant…
L'ANGE ET LA FEMME ★★☆☆☆
Gilles Carle, 1977, Films RSL, CA
Apologetically on board until I was subjected to the dumbest philosophical parody. Heaven is the complacent detachment from earthly things / Hell is boredom. Would this be remembered with a less attractive female? An argument to dwell on the beauty in life because there’s none in this film.
SCUSI, FACCIAMO L'AMORE? ★☆☆☆☆
Vittorio Caprioli, 1968, Produzioni Europee Associati, IT/FR, Listen, Let's Make Love
Morricone's title song almost fooled me into thinking this was a movie.
TRAPPED ASHES ★☆☆☆☆
Joe Dante, Monte Hellman, et al., 2006, Independent Film Fund, USA
It’s certainly an accomplishment for so many hit-makers to come together and produce something so overwhelmingly awful.
