Tag: Old School

film

Old School Review: “Floating Weeds” (1959)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Kôgo Noda and Yasujirô Ozu and directed by Ozu, “Floating Weeds” is a remake of Ozu’s own black-and-white silent film “A Story of Floating Weeds” made in 1934. This film follows a traveling troupe of actors performing Kabuki theatre around the provinces (“floating weeds” is a Japanese term for itinerent actors). In the opening we’re introduced to the sleepy fishing village that will house the story to come as a few random dock workers muse about the heat of the day and the novelty of the incoming troupe. The troupe arrives by boat and parades into town handing out flyers and talking up the locals as they make their way towards their new temporary home while in town, the theatre. While there are some delightful and fun side stories with several members of the theatre crew, the plot’s main focus is on Komajuro Arashi (Ganjirô Nakamura) the leader of the operation, and lead actor. After settling in Komajuro heads off to a Saki bar run by Oyoshi (Haruko Sugimura, his former mistress) to visit and go fishing with Kiyoshi (Hiroshi Kawaguchi) their grown son who is unaware of his true father’s identity, knowing Komajuro only as “Uncle”.

As you might guess, it isn’t long until Sumiko learns of Komajuro’s ulterior motives in choosing this town for their next round of performances. Which doesn’t go well for Komajuro, as Sumiko’s the jealous type. After she discovers this affront and sees Oyoshi in attendance at one of their shows, she goes to Oyoshi’s Saki bar and aggressively confronts her when she catches Komajuro there playing Go with Kiyoshi one afternoon. Despite Komajuro’s shock and dismay at Sumiko’s transgression he bans her from the Saki bar and breaks it off with her in a powerful argument in the rain. Later on Sumiko offers one of the younger actresses some side money to go and seduce Kiyoshi at his job. While reluctant at first Kayo (Ayako Wakao) eventually accepts without knowing Sumiko’s reasoning for the request. Despite the origins of their relationship, Kiyoshi and Kayo end up falling in love. Shortly after this development Komajuro stumbles upon the two embracing in an alley and finds himself in a conundrum- how can he exercise his authority over Kiyoshi without revealing his true identity to him?

Komajuro had high hopes for his son, Kiyoshi had been saving for college and had plans to support his mother when he could. Before Komajuro can sort out the situation though, Kiyoshi and Kayo elope just as the theatre troupe had begun to fall apart. The financial manager absconded with their funds and several members considered leaving before they become too desperate. Dwindling crowds paired with mismanagement spelled the beginning of the end for the troupe. Eventually Kiyoshi and Kayo head back to town at Kayo’s pressuring- but Kiyoshi and Komajuro clash at the Saki bar when Oyoshi reveals Kiyoshi’s true parentage in an attempt to diffuse the scuffle. Kiyoshi discards Komajuro and leaves in a huff while Komajuro sits in amazement at the series of baffling failures set at his feet. He decides to move on after a cheerful long goodbye to the troupe, ironically riding out of town on a train with Sumiko tending to him- begrudgingly accepting his enemy’s re-established loyalty.

Ozu’s works, of the two I’ve seen so far, have this unique serenity to them. Maybe it’s the leisurely pace, the shots of gentle locations giving the world of his stories a sense of the oft quoted “lived-in” space, or simply that the content of his films are universal to the modern human experience. His films evoke a powerful catharsis felt just as strongly sixty years later. Obviously, not every film will work for every person, but I’m willing to bet that if you gave any of his films a chance you might find yourself quizzically enraptured not just by the drama of common themes across his filmography, but also by the meditative cinematography of his infamous “pillow shots” that melt in-between scenes asking you to pause and digest, relax and breathe. There is something powerful in his depiction of the joy, sadness, humor, and tragedy of everyday life that makes his characters seem familiar and his plots reminiscent of truth.

It wouldn’t be an Ozu film (as I’ve come to notice in my intense search for information on the filmmaker) without a particularly precise composition for every shot in his films. Ozu would typically put the composition of his frame above all else, ignoring the continuity of props and eye-lines for the purity of his images. Which is doubly true for his foray into color filmmaking near the end of his career. His warm pastel coloration for “Floating Weeds” adds another layer of texture to the small seaside village the story takes place in. Between the visible mugginess of the hot summer and the cleansing, humidifying, rain that comes at night and in-between heated arguments, there is a unifying sense of place not only with the “pillow shots” of nature and architecture but in all variables of the filmmaking process. Particularly pleasing was the soundtrack, evocative of popular video game scores (which were probably inspired by films such as this) like “The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker” and “Animal Crossing”, it was perfectly set for a small seaside village in the heat of summer. I doubt there could have been a more perfect fit than what we got. The recurring theme gave way to the notion of music belonging to a particular place in its essence, these melodies molded to fit this time and this place. All of these things combine to craft a beautiful and atmospheric stage for Ozu’s story to play out, and it does so with a grace and humility like no other.

While maybe not quite as emotionally impactful as “Tokyo Story”, Ozu’s remake here is a more diverse picture in terms of emotional balance. This is purely my commentary and I can only speak to my experience with the film, but this film held a greater variety of emotional resonance. I was legitimately shocked when Sumiko directly confronted Oyoshi in her Saki bar. The following heated debate in the rain between Sumiko and Komajuro was incendiary and raw. The anger, regret, shock, and disgust thrown at each other was palpable and moving. While earlier, in less fierce scenes, I was tickled by the three bachelors of the troupe and their antics in trying to pair up with the women of the town. This film is a rarity among cinema, as was Ozu himself, and it’s worth your while to experience something new in the pantheon of film, even though this film is sixty years old- it’s still a charming story with universal and relatable characters and themes. Give it a shot!

Final Score: 3 bachelors, 1 lead actor, and 2 mistresses

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Old School Review: “Tokyo Story” (1953)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Kôgo Noda and Yasujiro Ozu, and directed by Ozu, “Tokyo Story” is seemingly a simple family drama about an older couple traveling to visit their children and grandchildren in Tokyo. At first glance, you’d be forgiven for thinking such of an arthouse film, but you’d be wrong in this case. In essence that is the skeleton of the film, yes, but beneath the initial layer lies a story about family and how time can erode once strong connections. It is about how parents can lose their place in their family’s hierarchy. How work and modernization can manipulate and destroy family in subtle ways. Mostly though, it is about the bittersweet heartbreak of growing old and losing touch with those closest to you.

When Shukichi (Chishu Ryu), the grandfather, and Tomi (Chiyeko Higashiyama) the grandmother, arrive in Tokyo they’re welcomed by a busy family. They spend the first few days with their oldest son Koichi (So Yamamura) a doctor in a small local clinic. He is married to Fumiko (Kuniko Miyake), and they have two sons. After meeting their grandchildren and hanging out about the house (Not many adults have the time away from work to take them sightseeing) they head to Koichi’s sister, Shige’s (Haruko Sugimura) home. Shige is also married and runs a beauty salon in the first floor of their abode. The family members mean well, and make several attempts to entertain their elders, sightseeing some and buying them treats (though Shige protests at her husband for buying such expensive cakes- they eat most of them before presenting the gift). At a lack of finding things for Shukichi and Tomi to do the married couples recruit Noriko (Setsuko Hara) their widowed daughter-in-law who hasn’t yet remarried since the war. Noriko is more than happy to help, even though she isn’t a blood relative and has the least stature among the adult children of Shukichi and Tomi.

They try not to burden any of the family while they are in Tokyo, but it becomes clear after some time that they are simply too busy to accommodate them. After a failed trip to a resort spa outside of Tokyo, paid for by Shige’s family, Shukichi and Tomi decide to head home. They linger about for a bit, trying not to offend anyone for having left the spa early, which isn’t why they came to Tokyo in the first place. After a night out with Shkichi’s old village friends now residing in Tokyo, and Tomi having a profound evening with Noriko- they depart for home. Shortly after having returned home, Tomi falls gravely ill and the children begin to make the journey home for their dying mother. It is a beautiful and tragic sequence of scenes for the last half hour of the film, Shukichi veiling his grief with blank expressions and the children all commingling their grief and true feelings about their parents- it’s a lot, and if you can make it through the end with dry eyes, I honestly don’t know what would move you to tears in cinema.

The story, however, is only one slice of what makes this film so memorable and potent. Yasujiro Ozu’s technique behind the camera accounts for much of the dreamlike quality of the film. His cinematography and framing choices seem unique in how he utilizes them. He doesn’t always adhere to the eyeline rule, characters can seem as if they aren’t looking at each other as they speak, but he cares not. His style doesn’t sacrifice spacial or auditory understanding in the least, it enhances it. Ozu often frames two people sitting side by side, facing away from the camera, which gives the audience an almost ghostly viewpoint of the dialogue. It’s in this pairing of those faraway, unconcerned, shots of conversation with his low angle mid-shots of the actors directly facing the camera that Ozu’s style emerges as one both heavily invested in what his characters have to say, but also of the world they inhabit. Many scenes are bookended with “pillow shots” (relating to a similar technique in Japanese poetry); beautiful compositions of elaborate cityscapes, simple architecture, trains chugging along, or boats cruising along the coast in the background that bind the characters to their place and time so beautifully.

Inherently relatable and elegantly true to life, “Tokyo Story” was a joy to discover. I cannot recommend it enough, I found it (as with most older films lately) on the Criterion Channel, and with it a new filmography to plumb. Test new waters, take a chance and maybe you’ll find a new favorite film or filmmaker, I know I have.

Final Score: 4 adult children, 2 grandchildren, and 1 heartbroken old man..

*To further inform you on the humble perfection of this film, I’ve linked Roger Ebert’s review of the film below:

https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-tokyo-story-1953

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Old School Review: “Tampopo” (1985)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written and directed by Jûzô Itami, “Tampopo” is a Japanese comedy structured similarly to many Ronin Samurai films and American Westerns in particular. The film opens with an opulently dressed couple sitting down in a theater and directly addressing the camera in a scene that cleverly functioned as a warning to audience members eating too loudly, in fact the Gangster in white (Kôji Yakusho) threatened another patron that opened a bag of chips, good stuff. After which the film transfixes its attention to the small ramen shop owner, Tampopo (Nobuko Miyamoto).

A pair of blue collar truck drivers stop during a heavy rainstorm on their route, hungry for noodles in broth. Goro (Tsutomu Yamazaki) and Gun (Ken Watanabe) enter the small noodle shop filled to the brim with locals. One of the drunkards at the noodle bar Pisuken (Rikiya Yasuoka) keeps pestering the small woman behind the counter, offering her romance and trips to Paris, but his belligerence and disrespect eventually get to Goro and he offers Pisuken a fight. Unfortunately for Goro, Pisuken’s fellow drunkards get involved. The morning after Goro awakens to find himself bruised and battered in Tampopo’s kitchen. From there they discuss her ramen technique; she’s got potential, but she’s not that great either. Goro shows her a few techniques for housing him after the fight, but when he goes to leave she begs him to let her be his disciple, to learn the ways of a true ramen master and turn her little shop into a new favorite in town.

The rest of the film lies in Goro and Gun helping Tampopo learn by watching other ramen masters in the area, running training trials, and by eventually bumping into or seeking out other noodle guru’s with their own recipes and techniques that they’re willing to share. One of the most fascinating aspects of this film however are the multitude of short diversions that the film takes away from the main plot. All of these side vignettes are directly related to food and the different relationships the Japanese have with their food. The camera will often float away from the main plot to suddenly follow a random passerby and explore their relationship to food. We see a group of middle-aged executives all order the same thing from a restaurant menu- while their intern orders very specific and expensive food and wine to the chagrin of his red-faced elders. In this same high-end restaurant we a group of Japanese women studying Western etiquette, the lesson being on how to properly eat spaghetti- the tutor’s main suggestion is that silence while eating this dish is of high importance in western settings. However a gentleman of Caucasian complexion a few tables over begins loudly slurping his own spaghetti which leads to the entire class imitating the man and ignoring their superior. There’s also a fun game of cat and mouse in another vignette of a shopowner being terrorized by a little old lady sneaking about his shop squeezing and pinching all of his edible wares. There are more of these little independent stories littered throughout the film, and each has it’s own peculiar flavor.

This little film caught me by surprise. It has heart, humor, wit, AND charm! “Tampopo” is a small peek into the Japanese culture’s relationship with food and how it relates to appetite, independence, sexuality, love, and adversity. Beyond that the film is a laugh factory- I didn’t expect to find myself in the throes of chortling convulsions and snickering howls. In the end Tampopo’s ramen shop is transformed into a bustling display of skill and comfort, all thanks to the help of her ramen warriors. I highly recommend this film, you can find it on the newly operational Criterion Channel, a streaming service filled to the brim with foreign films, classic American films, and all flavors of art-house cinema.

Final Score: 5 Ramen warriors and 1 Tampopo!

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Old School Review: “Sanjuro” (1962)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Ryuzo Kikushima, Hideo Oguni, and Akira Kurosawa and directed by Kurosawa, “Sanjuro” is the sequel to Kurosawa’s earlier Samurai Ronin feature “Yojimbo” also starring Toshiro Mifune in the lead role. After “Yojimbo”‘s success Kurosawa’s producers pushed him to craft a sequel to the wandering Samurai’s debut. “Sanjuro” is a lighter affair than the first film, often playing off of well established expectations within the sub-genre so often associated with the Kurosawa ‘Western‘ Samurai flick. When asked for a name, the Ronin simply observes his surroundings and gives a random title (Sanjuro) just as he did in “Yojimbo”, seemingly only to appease whoever asked.

We’re quickly introduced to a group of young Samurai in a clan trying to rescue their uncle (Yûnosuke Itô) from the corrupt Superintendent of the clan. Luckily for them they stumble upon the disheveled and aloof Sanjuro who overhears their opening assessment of the clan’s situation, he chooses to interject, and tell them how wrong he thinks they are about the facts of the matter. “Sanjuro” has an excellent balance that keeps the film’s tension intact, and the scenes investing, even though the base story is fairly simple overall. As the nine young Samurai keep switching back and forth from trusting Sanjuro to being skeptical of his intent throughout the film, the dynamism of the large cast keeps the momentum high throughout the film. There’s also the fact that at any given moment Mifune can overshadow an entire screen filled with dozens of people and then disappear into the background within seconds if needed.

With the deft hand of Kurosawa behind the camera the simplicity of the story bleeds into the background of consciousness. Every cut, every use of movement onscreen, and every choice regarding spatial design keeps the seams of the theater curtain from tearing and revealing the secrets behind the illusion of film-making. For having a core cast of ten characters, solely regarding the protagonists, Kurosawa layers the space with them masterfully. He knows how to fill the field visually and uses the geometry of blocking to great effect in every scene, not to mention the ingenious camera movements that clue the audience in on story elements with ease. Most of the film takes place with Sanjuro and the rebel Samurais planning out how they will rescue their uncle and his wife (Takako Irie) and daughter (Reiko Dan). When Sanjuro’s clever conniving fails due to the rebel Samaurais’ incompetence, he finally resorts to the sword. It’s a thing of beauty to watch Sanjuro take stock when he is strategically cornered and plainly frees his fellow Samurai in a room full of guards and then proceeds to slaughter the dozen or so opponents single-handedly.

If you’re looking for a fun Samurai flick but don’t necessarily want the self-seriousness ingrained within the genre, then “Sanjuro” is for you. The sequel is actually pretty funny, and there’s no greater on-screen Ronin than Toshiro Mifune! You can’t go wrong with this one, plus, the very end scene has one of the very best Samurai stand-offs in cinema history.

Final Score: 1 Ronin

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Old School Review: “The Sword of Doom” (1966)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Shinobu Hashimoto and directed by Kihachi Okamoto, “The Sword of Doom” is an existential samurai film that dwells on a titular character that isn’t exactly altruistic, to say the least. This is, essentially, the story of a villain. A Samurai with a unique style, long lost from any traces of morality, Ryunosuke (Tatsuya Nakadai) spends the majority of the film brooding and sulking about until he bursts with a flurry of violence. Don’t fret, this film most assuredly lives up to its pulpy title. Ryunosuke appears suddenly in the opening scene when he happens upon an old man praying for death so that his granddaughter would not be burdened by his increasing fragility. He swiftly grants his elder’s wish and moves along nonchalantly. Our protagonist is almost more of a singular force set upon the world than a human character, a skilled swordsman with a thirst for violence.

Early on in the film Ryunosuke’s father, who disproves of the psychopathic Samurai’s technique, pleads with his son to purposefully lose an upcoming fencing match. His opponent’s wife, Hama (Michiyo Aratama) also urges him to concede and throw the match against Bunnojo Utsuki (Ichirô Nakatani). Ryunosuke agrees on one condition, that Hama sleep with him before the match. Hama agrees, though Bunnojo discovers the infidelity before the match’s start and has made the clash a far more personal affair. After the fight is considered a draw Bunnojo lunges for a kill shot, but Ryunosuke’s entire style leans into this tactic, lying in wait for his opponent to strike with his eyes and sword leisurely cast aside. After Bunnojo is slain Ryunosuke and Hama are run out of town and the film cuts to an unspecified jump in time.

A few years later, roughly, Hama and Ryunosuke are married and considering returning to their village. Ryunosuke’s a sake drunk and Hama is resentful of her husband and her situation in life. Ryunosuke hears of rumors that Bunnojo’s brother Hyoma (Yûzô Kayama) is seeking vengeance, so he does a bit of research. What he doesn’t know is that his father urged Hyoma to train under master fencer Shimada (Toshirô Mifune), to wipe the shame of Ryunosuke’s actions from his family’s name. I won’t go into an excessive amount of detail on every plot point, but that is the skeletal framework essential to understanding the film. “The Sword of Doom” harbors a dense and nightmarish atmosphere that is used to great effect. The cinematography and blocking of the actors is magnificient and alleviates any stress that the admittedly convulted plot contributes to. The remainder of the film has some of the best Samurai action I’ve seen in films (so far), and Ryunosuke’s descent into existential paranoia is an excellent departure from his stoic confidence earlier in the film. Though my favorite scene of the whole film is when Ryunosuke witnesses Shimada’s expertise in killing an onslaught of attackers on a wintry night- his skill is enough to shake the soul of the morally corrupt Samurai. Aside from the Kurosawa films in which these two actors frequently come to blows, “The Sword of Doom” takes a different route, the two iconic Samurai actors never cross blades. Though Ryunosuke is profoundly affected by seeing the superior’s swordsman’s technique in action.

This was the final Criterion Collection film that I picked up through a sale they had recently, and it was worth every penny. The Criterion Collection does an excellent job with their film restoration. They clean up the audio and frames of film of any static or dirt and allow the full vision of the original filmmakers to shine through. Criterion commits to a commendable standard of quality that I personally highly value and I cannot recommend them enough. If you’re in need of a good Samurai film and have exhausted the library of Kurosawa, then this is a fine film to sate your katana brandishing needs.

Final Score: Scores of fallen foe

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Old School Review: Sidney Lumet’s “12 Angry Men” (1957)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Reginald Rose and directed by Sidney Lumet, “12 Angry Men” is a courtroom drama focusing on a debate over the verdict between the 12 jurors. It is also the first feature by director Sidney Lumet. This film was one that I’d been seeking for awhile now, and when the Criterion Collection had a sale on their physical media recently, it had to be part of the purchase. I’ve seen a few of Sidney Lumet’s films (“Dog Day Afternoon”, “Serpico”, & “The Verdict”) but I knew this one was heralded as excellent. The premise is simple enough, Twelve male jurors congregate in deliberation to decide the fate of a young Puerto Rican teenager. At first vote 11 of the 12 jurors vote guilty, with 1 juror, #8 (Played by Henry Fonda) voting not guilty. There must be a unanimous decision by the jury for the death penalty, and thus juror #8 stakes his claim and begins to open up the discussion.

As the film begins with the end of the court case we only get information about the details of the matter through the jurors’ dialogue. Sidney Lumet fully utilizes every trick imaginable in a one location film. The long take in the beginning of the film as each jury member enters the room is elaborate and the perfect opening to the film. We get a little bit of information on each character that will inform us as to who they are and how they operate as individuals. The film cleverly addresses why Henry Fonda’s character would have reasonable doubt about the case, and it addresses each character’s opposition and why they think he might be guilty, or not, as Fonda slowly starts to convince them one by one. After the first few rounds of voting, Fonda baits a few of the jurors into proving his point for there being reasonable doubt. It’s pure genius honestly. The way Lumet uses the camera, pushing and pulling on faces and actions, using visuals to aide the representation of changing power dynamics in each scene- it’s just brilliant.

This is a movie about the performances though, and they are some of the best in all of film history. Lee J. Cobb in particular as juror #3 was electrifying in his performance. As the film advances we get more background information about this broken man and how his past relationship with his son has heavily influenced how he maneuvers through the debate. If there was to be an argument for the antagonist of the film, juror #3 is the best case for such a label in the context of the story. Though Ed Begley as juror #10 is a close second, his personal prejudice against people of color and those unfortunate enough to live in the slums becomes clearer as his points of debate diverge from the rest of the jury’s reasoning and motives. In a stark and beautiful scene late in the film, juror #10 is quietly, and physically, shunned by the entirety of the room as his blatant racism becomes too much for the others to ignore or accept. The profound nature of the script lies in how each character’s turn to “Not Guilty” lies in the characterization that relates to their own lives. The best example of this may have been juror #4 (E.G. Marshall), the cold and calculating character defined by logic alone. He had the pillars of his argument shattered by Fonda when he used his argument of memory recall against him. The final point that convinced him to change his vote was reliant on the witness that claimed to see the murder, at night, from across the street- hadn’t been wearing her glasses. Juror #4 also wore glasses, and realized this flaw in his argument, and accepted this change.

I could go on and on about the performances in this film and Sidney Lumet’s mesmerizing use of the camera- but you’ll just have to trust me on this one, it’s a damn fine movie. I highly urge anyone and everyone to give this one a watch, I tend not to use the word Masterpiece when talking about films in general- but this one deserves the credit that word delivers.

Final Score: 12 Angry Men (duh)

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Old School Review: Stanley Kubrick’s “The Killing” (1956)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Jim Thompson and Stanley Kubrick and directed by Kubrick, “The Killing” is a noir heist movie that follows a gang of criminals poised to rob a racetrack during a high-stakes horse race with a large sum of cash in play. Last week the Criterion Collection had a sale on their stock of films so I took the opportunity and found a few new curiosities. Stanley Kubrick has always been a fascinating film director, but I haven’t always loved his films. Thus, I take every chance I can get when it comes to finding more of his work so I can form a more complete picture of the man’s filmography. I had never heard of “The Killing” and a Kubrick, Noir, Heist film was too tantalizing to avoid. I likely hadn’t heard of the film because it was only Kubrick’s third full length film release, but he considered this one to be his first mature feature.

The main force propelling the plot along is Johnny Clay (Sterling Hayden), the architect of the heist and the only one that knows all of the moving parts of the plan. Johnny gathered this gang of desperate and foolish rogues through well researched intel and earned trust. George Peatty (Elisha Cook Jr.) and Mike O’Reilly (Joe Sawyer) work at the track as a teller and bartender respectively. Both are in need of funds for their women at home, though each for vastly different reasons. Maurice Oboukhoff (Kola Kwariani) and Nikki Arcane (Timothy Carey), a chess playing strongman and a farmer who’s a crack shot with a rifle, are the two major diversions designed to create chaos and panic during the heist as Johnny palms the bills in the back during all of the confusion. There’s also Leo the loan shark (Jay Adler) and the poor schmuck of a cop Randy Kennan (Ted de Corsia) that got in deep debt due to Leo’s high interest rates. Together, these criminals attempted to forge a fool-proof heist in the hopes of netting a cool two million dollars for their troubles.

The film has a methodical nature to its layout, the audience simply isn’t involved in all of the details until the heist is in play. The writing, editing, and narration (which was a fountain of nostalgia laced with a fond notion of the simpler times in film) all work in tandem of executing the most tension within each scene as the film glides through its runtime. We meet the cast of characters well before knowing their exact roles in the heist, figuring out how all of the pieces fall into place was half of the fun of the film anyways. Johnny’s entire plan is based on the exact schedule of events and the knowledge that each member is executing their role at the planned time, without flaw. Thus once we get near the event we backtrack to various members and their roles as they execute them. The film was far more suspenseful than expected with this technique, it keeps you guessing as to where or when the gang will foul up their plan, because once we meet enough of the players and get a peek into a select few’s personal lives- it becomes clear that the plan will fail at some point.

I won’t spoil the fun for you by ruining the film’s third act, but I will give it a hearty recommendation. If you’re hankerin’ for a fun old school heist flick, give this one a shot! It’s only about an hour and twenty minutes, and an excellent way to kill the moody blues of a rainy afternoon.

Final Score: 2 Million dreams of the crooked and the desperate

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Old School Review: “The French Connection” (1971)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Ernest Tidyman and directed by William Friedkin, “The French Connection” is a gritty police drama based on a true story. Set mostly in New York City, but with a couple scenes in Marseilles, two NYPD detectives follow a hunch that lead them on a wild chase following suspected criminals with connections to European drug kingpins. Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle (Gene Hackman) and his partner, Buddy Russo (Roy Scheider) tail a suspicious character at a local lounge at night’s length to discover that they appear to run a simple corner store in a run-down neighborhood. The pair stick to their instincts, particularly Doyle’s, and wiretap the suspects conversations to see if they can get a bite. They finally do and begin their real case with glee.

This is, obviously, a well known film and there’s nothing truly new that I can add to the conversation other than my own personal interest in it. This academy award winner (5 wins, look ’em up) is revolutionary for its time. The car chase sequence is legendary for crafting a chaotic, frenetic, and white-knuckle chase between Doyle and his suspect on the elevated train car above. But more than that, this film was part of a turn towards nihilism in American cinema. The protagonists of the film are mean, violent, and kinda racist New York Cops who will do everything in their power to catch the greater evil that is the supplier and mastermind of the city’s imported heroin problem, Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey)- or as Hackman’s Doyle nicknames him, Frog 1. Most of the films that preceded “The French Connection” held their heroic protagonists up as outright good, or simply icons to model ourselves after. Even the poster for this film is of Hackman’s Doyle shooting a criminal in the back. The heroes of “The French Connection” are foul-mouthed and obsessive, almost destructively so. Luckily for them, that obsessive nature pays off and they’re allowed to pursue the international drug circuit.

Most of the film is a slow burn for its hour and forty-five minute runtime. We follow the two detectives on the pursuit as they follow, watch, and wait for the criminal element to slip up. In these scenes of sitting in cars and waiting, we get a window into the seemingly lost cityscape of yesteryear. Maybe large metropolitan cities are simply cleaner now, but there was an atmosphere about them that lent to the imagination. This hard-boiled crime drama wouldn’t have half of the allure that it does if it weren’t for the setting and score alone (which is bellowing and powerful, or terse and gripping when needed). The world that this film lives in is dirty, abandoned, and a desperate plane of existence- quite perfect for the story it’s telling.

The film is definitely worth a watch if you enjoy this sub-genre of police detective stories. If you appreciate similar films like “Serpico”, “Bullitt”, or the “Dirty Harry” flicks, then you’ll likely get a good time out of this one. Personally, I just enjoyed getting to see Chief Brody as a detective working with Lex Luthor.

Final Score:

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Old School Review: “Nostalghia” (1983)

Posted on by spacecortez

Written by Tonino Guerra and Andrei Tarkovsky and directed by Tarkovsky, “Nostalghia” is the first film (of his final two works) that the Russian filmmaker made outside of the Soviet Union and out from under their oppressive censorship. Though many audience members will consider this film to be an oppressive viewing from the director most known for his glacial pacing. This one was, admittedly, a difficult watch. I’ve come to truly appreciate Tarkovsky’s films, my favorites being his two strides into the science fiction genre in “Solaris” and “Stalker”, but even for me, who wanted to dive into the filmmaker’s notoriously long one shot takes and philosophical debates- I found it to be a challenge. A word to the wise, this should not be the first Tarkovsky film you watch.

The story follows Russian writer Andrei Gorchakov (Oleg Yankovsky) who travels to Italy to research the life of 18th-century Russian composer Pavel Sosnovsky who had lived there for awhile before returning to Russia where he later committed suicide. He’s guided around the Tuscan countryside and through the large metropolitan expanses by Eugenia (Domiziana Giordano), his interpreter- though he understands and can speak Italian well enough to get around. After his guide becomes disillusioned with him Andrei becomes consumed by a burdensome nostalgia and wanders the streets of an ancient village famous for it’s hot springs. Amid his maelstrom of loneliness and and existential dislocation, he cannot return to Russia for one reason or another, the muddled writer stumbles upon a sort of mad prophet in the form of Domenico (Erland Josephson). Andrei finds kinship in this fellow spurned-from-society figure and follows him through the village listening to his ramblings.

Eventually Domenico mentions of a task that he claims might possibly save the world. Domenico’s claim to fame in the village was his many attempts to cross the hot springs’ waters from end to end with a lit candle without losing its flame. He never could accomplish his goal, and he leaves Andrei his candle in the hopes that this seemingly meaningless act could be fulfilled in his stead. So while Domenico is off in Rome giving his final speech about the failures of mankind before his final act of fiery self-immolation. Andrei finally makes his way to the hot springs, but he finds it empty. Andrei commits to completing this tribute to his mad friend’s symbolic ritual anyways, and thus begins the infamous nine minute shot of Andrei walking across the pool’s floor with lit candle in hand. He fails a few times before finally reaching the other side and collapsing. Maybe I wasn’t exactly in the right mindset to appreciate the scene, so here’s a quote where Tarkovsky explains the scene’s importance to Oleg Yankovsky before production, “According to Yankovsky, when he first met Tarkovsky to discuss the filming, the director asked the actor to help him fulfill a grand idea to “display an entire human life in one shot, without any editing, from beginning to end, from birth to the very moment of death.” Tarkovsky visualized life in the form of a candle. “Remember the candles in Orthodox churches, how they flicker. The very essence of things, the spirit, the spirit of fire.” And so the act of carrying the candle across the stagnant pool was nothing less than the effort of an entire lifetime encapsulated in one gesture. “If you can do that,” Tarkovsky challenged Yankovsky, “if it really happens and you carry the candle to the end–in one shot, straight, without cinematic conjuring tricks and cut-in editing—then maybe this act will be the true meaning of my life. It will certainly be the finest shot I ever took—if you can do it, if you can endure to the end.” (https://filmmakermagazine.com/85124-tarkovskys-nostalghia-as-a-cinematic-candle/#.XFpuo1VKjcs).

So, you might be asking yourself “Why should I watch this film?”, and I have a few answers to that. This film wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, it was the least immersive of Tarkovsky’s films for me- however, it definitely has value, especially for those invested in the craft of film-making. The cinematography, direction, performances, and use of associative dream-state imagery all combine to craft a particularly fascinating film when it comes to the technical skill on display. It was just wrapped in a story that is understanding given the director’s life at the time, but there is a very specific time and mood prerequisite for viewing this film. If you’re ready to settle into a moody and laborious dive into depression, loneliness, and longing for home and familiarity- then this film will be for you.

This is my favorite shot in “Nostalghia”, and the thesis of the film in my opinion. A typical Russian farmhouse nestled inside a giant Italian cathedral. Russians may leave Russia, but Russia does not leave them.

Final Score: 1 Candle in the wind

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film

Old School Review: “Harold and Maude” (1971)

Posted on by spacecortez

*Disclaimer* Given that this film is 48 years old, there will be spoilers! 

Written by Colin Higgins and directed by Hal Ashby, “Harold and Maude” is a weird little romantic dark-comedy from the early 1970’s with the spirit of the 1960’s very much still intact. The film rests on the relationship between Harold (Bud Cort), a twenty-something introvert who’s become obsessed with death and infected with a general malaise, and Maude (Ruth Gordon), a 79 year old wild woman living life on a whim without following any of the rules dictated by society. The film is a strange balance between dark humor wrapped in whimsy with an absurdist and warm-hearted tone.

Bud Cort plays Harold, the son of a wealthy family who’s become disillusioned with life. In the opening scene Harold is seen milling about the living room lighting candles and going about an unseen task, until we see him hang himself. As his mother enters the room she remains unimpressed by the hanging body of her son, makes a quick phone call and nonchalantly chides Harold on her way out of the room- this is, we soon discover, just one of many fake suicides that he performs to get a rise out of his haughty mother. Mrs. Chasten (Vivian Pickles) finds her son’s behavior unsavory and begins to set him up for several blind dates, to which he hilariously (and creatively) performs increasingly macabre “deaths” with each new attempt. Being as quietly obsessed with death as he is, Harold frequents local funerals for deceased people he doesn’t know. At one such funeral he notices an older woman similarly separated from the families and eventually they take notice of each other.

Ruth Gordon’s performance inflects Maude with the usual hippie maxims bound to the previous decade’s counterculture, but imbues them with an authenticity hinting more towards wisdom rather than the potential kookiness that the character could have been in lesser hands. As a devout outsider of societal norms Maude is a refreshing cannon blast of life-affirming philosophies for Harold. After one of their funeral visitations Maude offers to drive Harold home, he declines at this initial offer, but as she drives away one of the funeral-goers seems almost awestruck as he watches a little old lady drive off with his car. Maude’s disregard of ownership over the material world may seem like a silly character trait at first, but after a quick shot of Maude’s forearm revealing concentration camp numbering, we’re more apt to understand her ideology on the fleeting nature of material things.


Once Harold and Maude’s relationship blooms into more of a romance than a simple mentor-to-student scale Harold informs his family of his intent to marry Maude. Which leads into one of my favorite parts of the film, where his mother, his uncle Victor (Charles Tyner portraying a dedicated Military man as a sort of one-armed comedic relief), psychiatrist (G. Wood), and the flabbergasted family priest (Eric Christmas), all lecture Harold on the woes of this decision. The film could have taken these asides as a sobering lecture on poor decision making for practicality’s sake, but instead portrays these established adults as loonier than the two leads- firmly keeping us on the side of Harold and Maude. On Maude’s 80th birthday, he asks her for her hand in marriage- but to the surprise of Harold, she had already decided to take her own life by pill minutes before. In her dying moments she’s decidedly upbeat about the notion- and Harold becomes the most animated we’ve seen him yet once faced with the death of someone he cares deeply for. Harold takes Maude’s life affirming philosophies to heart in the last scene. After Maude’s death Harold is seen ferociously speeding in his hearse towards a cliff-side. For a moment, I really though he was finally going to kill himself- but not so, he was simply stripping away his obsession with death. He then wanders off as the credits roll, strumming on the banjo Maude gave him.

Final Score: A whole soundtrack of ‘Cat Stevens’ songs

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