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Watership Down, 1978, Martin Rosen
Watership Down has so many thematic textures that I felt this was a good opportunity to mix things up. Rather than review the film based on quality (spoiler alert: I loved it), I have instead isolated a few major themes that I’ll flesh out in detail.
Keep in mind that this is not a children’s film, and even if the images resemble the hand-drawn animation of old Disney, the subject matter is far darker.
I will be spoiling the entirety of the film both in the text below and the screenshots. I would recommend that anyone reading this piece have already seen the film or at least read the book.
There are several themes that are pertinent to the film that I chose not to cover. One of the major ones is environmentalism and man’s impact on the plan. This message is crystal clear and hard to miss. There are others that I studied and decided to cut, such as Leadership (Hazel) and the sense of Community. These also are easy to pick up on. Instead I chose to focus on political oppression, the use of violence, spirituality and religion, and of course, mortality.
Politics and Oppression
This innocent looking rabbit is oppressed.
“There is something oppressive in the air, like thunder,” Fiver says near the beginning of the film.
There are three major political groups in the film. The first Owsla is where the main characters originate. The Watership Down group is the protagonists and their quest for a homeland. The Efrafa is the group that they meet in the third act of the film.
It is clear early that while the protagonists are under the rule of the Owsla that they are oppressed. There is some sort of class or caste system that is not defined in detail, but it dictates access to materials (food, does, etc.). Only those in the upper echelon are privileged, whereas those in the lower class, like Fiver and Hazel, are oppressed. Another major character, Bigwig, is an officer for the Owsla, but he is sympathetic to those who are being subjugated. The form of government closely resembles fascism or any totalitarian rule where the leaders have unfettered control.
Oppression breeds dissension. Fiver has a psychic premonition that doom is upon them, and he and Hazel plead for audience with the chief. Bigwig facilitates their meeting and is later reprimanded for it. Fiver’s pleas fall on deaf ears, but he and Hazel are believers. After being rebuffed, they decide to flee the warren. When word gets around, others want to leave with them. The reasoning does not seem to be due to Fiver’s premonition. As we will see later, they don’t always believe him. The primary motivation for leaving is because they are being oppressed and lack basic freedoms.
When they try to leave, one officer tries to arrest all of them for “spreading dissension, inciting to mutiny.” This is again similar to fascism or totalitarian rule because those in power want to shut down any opposition. We know that Fiver’s vision is apolitical, but that is irrelevant to those in power. They require subjects in order to maintain their privileged status.
After they escape, the crew of Hazel, Fiver, Bigwig and others becomes a leftist and nearly communist role. They are interested in free living, community and collective harmony, which I will touch on in more detail later.
Captain Holly tells of the Owsla’s downfall.
After they escape and reach Watership Down, they learn of the Owsla’s downfall from Captain Holly. Most importantly for the final act, through Captain Holly, we learn of the third group, the Efrafan. It is clear from Holly’s condition that this is not a pleasant bunch. They capture him, rough him up, and rip his ear in order to mark him. We then see inside their burrow. They look evil and menacing. Through this portrayal, it is clear that they are the antagonists that will threaten the harmony of Watership Down.
Inside the Efrafa burrow.
While doing some reading about this film, I’ve found some comparisons to Nazy Germany. Whether this is intended or not, there are several similarities. We first learn that they are overcrowded and cannot produce more litters. This reminds us of the tragic overcrowding of Jews in the ghettos and later the Holocaust. They mark their victims, just like they marked Captain Holly, and just like the Nazis marked the Jews.
Chief Woundwort is the leader and he is a beast. He is large of stature and for that reason he is not identical to Hitler, but he is unquestionably a dictator that rules with an iron fist. He sends out patrols that take stray rabbits to a council to mete out punishment, most of which is of a violent nature.
The Efrafans say that “everything out of the ordinary is to be reported.” Their methods are to annihilate opposition, and follow anyone under suspicion, as they do with Bigwig. Parallels could be made with virtually every totalitarian government, again including Nazi Germany, but also Stalin’s Russia, or any of the African, Asian or Arab despots.
When Hazel tries to negotiate terms with the Efrafa during their war, he suggests having independent, autonomous and free warrens. It is categorically rejected by the Efrafa. This proposal is close to communism, which of course is fundamentally opposed to fascism. Rather than negotiation, they rely on crushing, absolute destruction and refuse to stop or negotiate. In this manner, they are like Nazi Germany focused on total war to subjugate the opposition.
Violence
The initial violent confrontation.
Violence is a major theme of Watership Down. The characters may be cute and cuddly rabbits, but they are ruthless and vicious. Even the “good guys” resort to violence in order to achieve their escape. In fact, the film’s violence begins with the Watership group threatening to kill a Captain of the Owsla if he stands in their way. That is the first fight scene, where Bigwig joins the group by standing up for the rebels, tethering himself to their cause and isolating himself from the Owsla in the process.
There are several instances of violence scattered throughout the film. There is the brutal sequence where the Owlans meet their end, or when the farmers shoot Hazel, and of course when Bigwig gets caught in a rabbit trap and nearly meets his end. The ultra-violence is near the end when they are at war with the Efrafans.
“You don’t know the Efrafans. They’ll never give up!”
The ending is war, total war — the same type of ferocity and bloodlust that drove World War Two to staggering levels of destruction. Even prior to the war, the Efrafa are bent on obliterating their opponents, as they prepare to murderously charge at the Watership group when cornered at river’s edge. If not for the crafty rescue, the Watership group would have likely all been killed.
As the Efrafans try to penetrate the burrows at Watership Down, they do so with a bloodlust. This is not about strategy, but about death. They want to destroy those who harmed them and, in their minds, stole their property.
Total war is bloody.
The most violent scene is the fight to the death between Woundwort and Bigwig. At least it is intended to be a fight to the death, and neither side would have given up if not for other circumstances.
The final fight between Bigwig and Woundwort.
The freedom fighters use a secret weapon, a dog, in order to achieve victory. This could be seen as a deus ex machine plot device, or it could be seen as a weapon of mass destruction. An analogy could be made that the dog’s onslaught and end to the Efrafans is tantamount to the US dropping the atomic bomb in order to win the war. Both could be seen as atrocities depending on your perspective, but they both achieved the same result. They both saved lives for the winning side.
Spirituality/Religion
The Great Frith, God of the Rabbits.
Spirituality, religion and even mythology play a central role in Watership Down. The introduction tells the creation story of how The Great Frith made the world and all the stars. The Prince of Rabbits had many friends that ate grass together. Just like the Hebrew creation story, the rabbit makes a hubristic misstep and loses his honored status. The rabbits (or Children of El-Haraira) are hunted by other creatures and have to meet the “Black Rabbit of Death.” As a way to offset against these grave threats, Frith gives his rabbits a white tail and makes them faster than any creature in the world.
Fiver has a second sight that shows doom is coming.
Addition to the religious elements, there are also psychic phenomena that go unexplained. This is specifically the case with Fiver, who has a sort of precognition and foresight of things to come. He sees fields of blood that foresee the destruction of Owsla, the dangers inside the burrow of men, where Bigwig ends up snagged, and finally he senses the lurking evil of the Efrafa before they attack Watership Down. While he is not always believed, he turn out to be correct.
Fiver also has connections to the religious world. He can see the Black Rabbit, and during the memorable playing of Art Garfunkel’s “Bright Eyes,” he sees and perhaps participates in an adventure with the otherworldly being. Religion, mythology and the supernatural are all connected with death, as is the case with most human religions and a lot of supernatural phenomena. Christians believe in a Heaven, whereas mediums believe they can speak with the dead.
The rabbits are providential as opposed to secular. They refer to their religious world often, by saying “thank Frith,” “for Frith’s sake” or other phrases that humans would replace with the name of their God.
Their arrival at Watership Down.
Their departure from Owsla is similar to the Hebrew’s Exodus from Egypt, and Hazel in many ways resembles a Moses type of savior character. He does not perform any miracles. Access to the supernatural is solely Fiver’s territory. Hazel, through his leadership, does encourage those who would otherwise be lower class, or even worse, slaves, to follow him to the Promised Land. He does call upon Frith once, offering his life for the safety of his people. Frith does not take this offer, responding “There is no bargain. What is must be.” With or without Frith’s intervention, Hazel (or Hazel-Ra as they call him when he becomes chief) leads his people to salvation.
When the film ends, they have achieved the harmony that Hazel, Fiver and the rest hoped for. They have reached their holy land. They are the chosen ones and are at peace in their version of paradise.
Mortality
Death.
“Whenever they catch you, they will kill you.”
Death is ubiquitous in Watership Down, beginning with the Creation and origin story at the very beginning, where the rabbit is warned to “be cunning and full of tricks, and your people will never be destroyed.”
The first actual death on screen happens during the departure from the Owsla before they reach Watership Down. Their way is full of obstacles, and they learn of the danger when a vulture swoops down and snatches a rabbit named Violet right in front of Fiver. In an instant she is living and free, and then the next, she is gone, facing imminent death.
Bigwig choked in snare.
Death rears its ugly head again when Bigwig is caught in a snare near the suspicious place with the “man smell.” Bigwig struggles as they try to figure out how to free him from the wire. He bleeds incessantly, and the process is slow for the rabbits to figure out how to remove him from the trap. He is slowly choking. After he is freed, he is close to death. He gags and the camera changes to his perspective, where his fading eyes look up and only sees the dark silhouettes of his companions. At this point, his friends and the audience assume he is dead. Fiver says, “Please don’t die. We got you out.” The group collectively utters, “My heart has joined The Thousand, for my friend has stopped running today.” They think he is dead, but in a refreshing moment, he comes to. This is one of the most disturbing scenes in the film. Not only is it the first time we see a graphic wound, but we fear we have lost a main character. This will not be the last time.
Hazel meets the Black Rabbit.
“We go by the way of the black rabbit. When he calls, we must go.”
The ending is foreshadowed with Fiver’s exposure to death during the “Bright Eyes” montage. This scene celebrates death, allows a major character to come to terms with it as an inevitable reality, and it prepares the audience for the final scene.
”Bright Eyes, How can you close and fail?
How can the light that burns so brightly, suddenly burn so pale? Bright Eyes.”
At the end, after years have passed and his people have long since settled, the Black Rabbit calls Hazel. His work on this earth has been done. He has delivered his people. His end is presented as a peaceful journey
Hazel reborn.
The Black Rabbit says “I have come to ask if you would like to join my Owsla. We would love to have you. You’ve been feeling tired. If you’re ready, you can come now.” The Rabbit assures Hazel that his people will be fine. Hazel briefly hesitates and looks upon his people, at peace. They are fine and he has been tired. Hazel falls to the ground at that very moment, at first slumping and taking a couple of deep breaths before resting for good. The spirit leaves his body and he follows the Black Rabbit to a new Owsla.
The ending is a challenge. It is both somber and uplifting, and people react to it differently. We see death as tragic, but it is intended to be happy ending. Hazel’s life goals were achieved and he is ready to move on to the next phase, to join Frith. To me, the ending is extremely touching, affecting, and not manipulative. Death is a part of life, and a beautiful thing when a life has been fulfilled. Hopefully after death there is another promised land waiting. For Hazel, he has somewhere to go. He follows the Rabbit to what appears as the sun, and he joins his creator. However heartbreaking for many, it is a beautiful ending.
Hazel and the Black Rabbit. Truly free.
Film Rating: 9/10
Supplements
Passion Project: 2014 interview with Martin Rosen. He loved the book without thinking how difficult it would be. It was tough to get the rights. Richard Adams wanted nothing to do with the project simply because he was not a film lover.
The process was painstaking. All of the locations in the book were based on real locations that Adams knew. Rosen scouted these places and had them drawn as close as possible. He discusses at length the animation process, the voice casting and acting. He was fortunate to have a talented stable of actors, none of whom said no to the role, and they put their stamp on the performances.
The song is a key piece of the finished film. It was a financial requirement to have three songs in the film, yet Rosen was initially reluctant. “Bright Eyes” just fit with the theme.
A Movie Miracle: Guillermo Del Toro: People mistakenly think of animation as a genre and not a medium. Del Toro realized this from seeing this film. It created a world with socio-political and adult concerns. Watership Down is not an animation marvel, but people put the work in as best as they can while preserving narrative. It has a handmade feel that contributes to its quality.
Defining a Style: This is a series of interviews with a number of the animators that worked on the film. They all had positive experiences. They discuss the different styles they had an how they came together to form the final film. They also respect the film and how it broke ground.
Storyboards: The film can be watched with storyboards that appear in the upper right hand corner. This is partly a novelty, as it is difficult to seriously watch the movie with them on. However intrusive, they are interesting to see in small doses.
Criterion Rating: 8/10
Fellini Satyricon, 1969, Federico Fellini
Over the last couple months, there have been an inordinate number of art films with graphic sex scenes. Most recently was Godard’s Every Man for Himself, and not long before that was Don’t Look Now with the infamous “love” scene. The crème de la crème were Salò and In the Realm of the Senses. I haven’t intentionally looked for explicit films. That’s just the way it has worked out recently. Fellini Satyricon is more in the category of the latter two, yet does not quite reach the same depths of perversion. It is a depiction of pre-Christian Roman times and does not hold back showing the debauchery and depravity, which results in a lot of sexual activity.
Some of the extravagant characters.
I first saw Satyricon ages ago. I honestly cannot remember whether I saw it on video or cable, although I’m pretty sure it was one of the two. I watched it expecting humorous scandal, and ended up wondering what in the world I was watching. I may not have even finished it. Since that viewing, I have obviously studied film, and maybe not so obviously studies history, including a lot of ancient history. I never read Petronius’ Satyricon, which the Fellini version was “freely adapted,” from, as they point out in the opening credits. I did read a few of the peripheral sources from that time, including some Tacitus. Today, compared with my younger days, I have a firmer grip on Roman history and culture. In these two respects, this viewing was far more informed.
I usually do not get into transfers when writing about these films. Part of that is because Criterion has the reputation of putting out the best transfers available. At times there will be controversy that needs to be addressed, like with Lola, but rarely do I feel it is important to point how good a transfer is. That changes with Fellini Satyricon because this 4k restoration and Blu-Ray display might as well be another character. It is hard to imagine this movie looking any better. Every second is a visual spectacle. Even if some scenes are difficult to watch or incomprehensible, they look amazing.
Roman Baths with fake skyline.
On the other hand, sometimes the clarity of the transfer reveals the façade. Examples of this are when they are on a large set that is intended to masquerade as the outdoors, with a matte painting in the background. The above screenshot of the Roman Baths is an example of how this type of scene looks glorious with the format, as the upper half is a painting. On their way to the Baths, the structure of the set is more visible and it looks artificial. That is not really a gripe because it probably looked more realistic on other formats, not to mention it came out in 1969 and looked far better than most anything else from the time period. I enjoy being able to see these “flaws” in the production, even if it reveals more behind the curtain.
Participants of Trimalchio’s Dinner.
Trimalchio at his dinner.
To say that Fellini Satyricon is ostentatious and brazen would be an understatement. Every shot has a mind-bogglingly large set, with costumes so decorous that they look partly authentic and also like a freak show. We can tell that Fellini is in love with these little worlds he has created as much as we are, as he has extended tracking shots that reveal the entire set with carefully choreographed acting. The make-up and costumes are so brilliantly exorbitant that it is a festival of riches and completely immersive. It is a blast to be hypnotized by the visual marvels. Trimalchio’s Dinner is the most notable of these, even if the sets are intentionally less decorative than the brothels or art museum. They are the best portrayal of the hedonism and excess that these wealthy Romans indulge upon. At times they are disgusting, while at others they are wild and upbeat, such as the many energetic dancing sequences. They are always entertaining.
Encolpio emerges from the maze.
After viewing the spectacle, the plot seems less important, but it is worth touching on. Encolpio (Martin Potter) is the central figure and we see most everything from his point of view. He is involved with Ascilto (Hiram Keller), Gitone (Max Born) and Eumolpo (Salvo Randone). Their escapades begin at the heart of Roman culture in the city of Rome. They are later taken prisoner via boat to the outer provinces where Encolpio has to overcome a number of challenges, including fights with mercenaries, Minotaurs, and a merchant named Lichas with a lazy eye (Alain Cuny). While there is a beginning and ending, and the characters are on a journey of sorts, this is more of a slice of Roman life rather than a narrative with a central plot. In other words, you cannot compare this with the three-act Hollywood formula. It breaks virtually all the rules.
Long shot from above of the fight,
A fight is framed through a hole.
There is abundance of lascivious content. The three younger male characters have androgynous looks, and there are hints of homosexual activity even if they are not shown on screen until Encolpio meets Lichas, and that shows just a kiss. We are given the impression that a great deal of homosexual activity takes place behind the scenes. There is plenty of female nudity and heterosexual scenes, beginning with the brothel, and culminating in Encolpio’s sexual rendezvous with a tied-up nymphomaniac. I’ve already compared it to some later movies where graphic intercourse was shown, but it holds back from becoming anything resembling pornography.
Overhead shot of the Minotaur maze.
Fellini took a great deal of license with adapting Petronius’ work, filling up much of the film with his own research and, frankly, his wild imagination. Despite his embellishments, it still stands up as being much closer to authentic compared to other Roman depictions. This is not the Rome from your ordinary Cecil B. DeMille epic or even an HBO miniseries. This was the underbelly of Rome from during Nero’s reign, which Petronius was a witness to, and Fellini translated for a modern audience. It is carnivalesque mostly because this 2000 year-old culture is so foreign and distant to the one in which we live in. The reality is there was quite a bit of debauchery in pre-Christian Rome. Fellini Satyricon is not going to stand up as a historical document, but it is a better representation than a casual viewer (including the younger me) might realize. It portrays animal sacrifices, the brutality and abuse of power, pagan worship, and wild, erotic celebration.
Example of the locations and photography.
One of the many great location shots.
I cannot say enough about how visually splendid this film is. This post has a lot more screen shots than most, and I could have included even more. Every frame has something interesting to the eye, whether it is the flamboyant and eccentric character, the fantastic make-up, costumes, set designs, gorgeous landscapes and last but not least, the photography. The use of locations and color are not only unparalleled for the time, but they hold their own against some of the more artistic projects created today with modern technology. I will not spoil the beautiful final shot because it has to be seen, but it punctuates the film both visually and thematically. It is up there with the best shots in Fellini’s career.
My expectations for Fellini Satyricon could not have been lower. In fact, I wondered why it was getting the Criterion treatment at all. Instead, I fell in love with Fellini all over again. He was a genius and versatile filmmaker, and this is yet another dimension of his fine career.
Film Rating: 8.5/10
Supplements
Commentary: This is a dramatic reading of Eileen Lanouette Hughe’s 1971 memoir On the Set of “Fellini Satyricon”: A Behind-the-Scenes Diary. This is a new type of commentary for me, and it is tough to keep up with while re-watching the movie. It usually does not correspond to what is on the screen, although it is usually relatively close. It also gives a wealth of information about every aspect of the production, so much that it’s impossible digest it all. I am listing a few tidbits that I found interesting.
- It came to be known as Fellinicon and was the most expensive of his films and the first with foreign financing.
- All 3 of the leads were young, unknown actors. Two were British and one was American. They represented hippie culture, which is a good fit for the Petronius’ style.
- There was a rival Satyricon in the works with a much lower budget. That is why this was named Fellini Satyricon. It was a way to distinguish between the two.
- Many of the sets and props had to be made quickly with short notice. A Venus statue was made overnight. Parts of the brothel set were built in a couple hours and shot in a way that makes them look larger. There are many other examples of this throughout the commentary.
- The Trimalchio dinner scene took three weeks to shoot. It was intended to show the residence as not being ornamented aside from the food, because Trimalchio was a poor landowner and former slave who worshipped food.
- The actor that played Trimalchio ran a restaurant that Fellini used to frequent until he started getting too fat. The actor was reluctant to appear in film and leave his restaurant alone.
- Fellini intended to capture the essence of a pre-Christian world, which he likened to capturing Martians. That is why this pagan world seems so foreign to us.
- The ship is designed with modern methods and is a bridge between the ancient and modern world. This was intentional.
- Petronius had Encolpio marrying a young girl, but Italian censors would not allow a marriage with a child. Instead he marries Lichas (Cuny), a male, but acceptable to censors.
- The suicide scene may have been a nod to Petronius, because he killed himself rather than be killed by Nero.
- The set was constantly crowded with four people writing books, a documentarian, photographers, and guests. It also required an enormously large cast and crew.
Ciao, Federico! – Hour-long documentary by Gideon Bachmann. It starts with Fellini directing a love scene, calling out orders as the camera tracks around a threesome. One of the great parts of him shooting without sound is you hear him talk loudly to the actors while the camera is rolling. They show many shots from behind the scenes, which they alternate with interviews and slices of life with Fellini. We see him totally in element, including him on a cussing diatribe railing against someone who is working on the production. We also see him angry, happy, content, serene, and focused. It was a good documentary, both intrusive and revealing, but they had a lot of access.
Fellini: A series of interviews. Fellini despised giving interviews, but he had trouble saying no. That was noted in Bachmann’s documentary as well. We’re lucky he said yes so often because he had a lot to say and was highly quotable.
Gideon Bachmann (audio), 1969 – 10 minutes. Starts with a good quote: “The ideal film is the one you are making.” Obstacles are stimulating, because they cause you to create. He calls Saytricon his most difficult film because he had to create a world and portray situations that are considered forbidden. It was a stressful film for him to make.
French Television, 1969 – This was a short interview of just over a minute. He talks about the morality, or lack thereof in Satyricon, and instead showed decadence and vitality.
Gene Shalit, 1975 – This was another short interview. It begins with a title card that reads “Perfection.” Shalit repeats a previous Fellini quote “A good picture has defects.” They have to be complete, vital, and cannot reach perfection. He makes fun of Shalit’s appearance because it is imperfect and outlandish, yet he likes him for those flaws. The same is truth with film.
Giuseppe Rotunno, Cinematographer: 2011 interview for the Criterion Collection where he discusses the challenges in filming this iconic film. They worked on a number of films together and became like school buddies. Fellini allowed a great deal of freedom, yet was precise as far as what he wanted. Rotunno set up lights for 360-degree views because Fellini also liked to be free and wanted to shoot from all angles. Fellini’s common question when discussing a shot: “But will it look real?”
Fellini and Petronius: New 2014 Criterion documentary with classicists Joanna Paul and Luca Canali. Tacitus describes Petronius as someone who played in the leisurely, seedy side of Roman culture. He was known as a scandalous figure. We are missing most of the books of the Satyricon today, with only having bits of three of them. Fellini makes the film fragmented to honor what we have of the original text. The book is very realistic, and the film contains elements of that realism. Trimalchio’s dinner is the only extended portion of the Petronius text that survives, yet Fellini exaggerates it. A lot of the content and characters come from Petronius, while others come from elsewhere, partly Fellini’s imagination and also other sources. Fellini does not reveal sources except for Horace and Ovid, because he was not trying to be academic, but he clearly did his research to prepare for the film.
Mary Ellen Mark: She was 28 when she was assigned the task of photographing production for Look magazine. This is a 2014 interview with her. She shot the sequences he did in the Roman Baths, which was a smaller set and then grew larger. She had total access, partly because people weren’t paranoid about leaks like they are now. She loved photographing Fellini. He was larger than life and seemed to enjoy being photographed. She called him a showman. He was so busy making the film that he was oblivious to being shot, but still allowed himself to be seen.
Felliniana: These are items from Don Young’s memorabilia collection. It is a series posters, books, programs, and so forth. It is interesting to see such various depictions of this highly visual film from different cultures.
This was quite a release. While the film cannot be considered a masterpiece, the amount of supporting materials that were created and used on this Criterion disc are staggering. With a heavy and detailed commentary, a terrific behind the scenes documentary, and several other odds and ends, this is one of the most complete releases I’ve seen in a long time.
Criterion Rating: 10/10
Every Man for Himself, Jean-Luc Godard, 1980
Back in my early days of cinephilia, I remember taking a survey film class. I had watched a couple of Godard titles by that point and was less than impressed. When we reached the French New Wave section and were asked to discuss Godard, I said, halfway embarrassed that “I kind of hate Godard.” The professor laughed hysterically. “Hating Godard,” he said, “is the first step in understanding Godard.” It is a typical reaction. Of all the New Wave filmmakers, Godard is among the least accessible, and that’s probably the way he wants it.
I have since changed my opinion of Godard, at least to a certain degree. Of course I realize that he is a highly accomplished and influential filmmaker. I have adored many films I’ve seen since, notably Band of Outsiders, Contempt, and Pierrot le Fou. Despite warming up to him, I still have not completely drank the Kool-Aid. I think he gets carried away on occasion with trying to be different, and many of his films are structurally unsound and more about having “cool” looking characters. Sometimes that contributes to his appeal, as those ingredients are found in my favorite films of his. Sometimes his work feels gimmicky and less substantive.
That opinion was based on 1960s Godard. Until now, I had yet to delve into his later filmography. Every Man for Himself is marketed as his “second first film,” yet it is unmistakably a Godard film and has many of the same attributes as his earlier work. In many films he gets carried away with using a filmic device, such as the jump cut in Breathless. In that case, it was jarring, yet influential. In the case of this resurgent work, the technique is slow motion. He uses it well, but there’s a reason why the jump cut is popular today while slow motion is relegated to sports clips.
Paul in his apartment with opera singing in the background.
What he does exceptionally well is still the case here. He is great at using sound and image. That begins with the opening shot of Paul Godard (Jacques Dutronc) sitting on a couch, framed by the hallway, while the sound of a loud opera singer is heard from an unexplained location. Later we discover it is a neighbor practicing his vocals.
His best use of sound and image is during the slow motion sequences. While the character’s actions will slow down, their dialog and the diegetic sounds are played at the normal pace. By using this method, sound jumps ahead of the image. It is never particularly revealing, but it is clever and creative, and makes many of the slow shots more interesting than they would be otherwise.
Jacques Dutronc and Nathalie Baye
A distinct difference between this and earlier Godard is in how the characters are portrayed. I mentioned above that Godard likes to make his characters seem “cool.” This is far less true in Every Man For Himself. The men come off as despicable. The two female leads were played by exception actresses that would become major stars, Isabelle Huppert and Nathalie Baye, but they are portrayed as humble and downtrodden, but with a profound inner strength compared to the men. They may be victims of the men, but the powerful characterizations make them more relatable and sympathetic.
Paul’s daughter in slow motion after being the subject of a disgusting line.
Godard has always enjoyed being jarring, and that is why young cinephiles like myself don’t always take to him. In Every Man to Himself he uses a new device, sexual perversion and nudity to unsettle the viewer. It is not entirely pornographic. Like Salò, the sexual situations are not erotic or titillating, but instead uncomfortable. Huppert plays a prostitute, and in one scene she is in the act with an older man. She is looking out the window, distracting herself from the sexual act by telling herself a story that we hear through voiceover. There is another scene where she is joined with another prostitute, who stands naked, casually facing the camera for several minutes.
Isabelle looks pensive, but is a strong character.
The men are universally disgusting, either physically or mentally, and usually both. Paul is more interested in demeaning women than in finding a way to relate to them. He is a divorcee father, and is failing at a relationship with Denise (Nathalie Baye). The men that interact with Huppert’s character, also named Isabelle, are often preoccupied with monotony while using the women for sex. In the window scene, the man is on the phone conducting business. Men are self-important and care little for the women aside from the being objects of their indulgence. When they do interact with the women, it is often to insult or denigrate them, sometimes during a sexual act.
Isabelle Huppert appears about 40 minutes into the movie.
Even though the slow motion is used well from a technical standpoint, it does get tired and often fractures the narrative rather than enhances it. For instance, when Isabelle first meets Paul in a movie theater line, slow motion is used to highlight her reactions, but we lose an important character moment in the process. The best use of slow motion is when Paul attacks Denise, as shown in the cover image. He launches himself at her, flying across the air towards her shoulders and knocking her down. The camera slows down and as they roll around on the floor, the violence appears to transition to romance. We honestly cannot tell if they are fighting or engaging in an act of love, which sums up the ambiguous character relationship.
Every Man for Himself shows that Godard still has a confident handle on the camera and he has drawn some excellent characters, but the eccentricities of his direction are more on display and not as useful, unlike his better, earlier films. The grand sum is an intriguing piece of work with moments of brilliance, but overall stops short of being satisfying.
Film Rating: 5.5/10
Supplements:
Scénario de “Sauve qui peut (la vie)” This was the short film used to get financing for the feature. Godard had not written a script, so he used filmed the broad strokes of his ideas. He showed who he wanted to cast, what the character’s motivations would be, and how it would be filmed. The final product turned out to be mostly as he imagined, although Huppert and Dutronc were the only actors mentioned in the short that appeared in the film.
Sound, Image and Every Man For Himself: This is a critical video essay with Colin MacCabe. He gives much of the background details of Godard since his last major film, Weekend and how he faded into the background after the turmoil of 1968. Godard had been making experimental films, most of which were not watchable as movies.
Godard dislikes scripts because they remove the reality. He thinks they ignore the changing relation between “self and world.” He never used them for his films, which I think is one of the reasons why the narrative of some of his films seems improvised.
As for the use of slow motion, McCabe says, “slowed time down to let unseen realities appear.” The best example is the attack, which has the sound of glass breaking even if the unseen reality is the question between whether it is an action of romance or violence.
Godard on the Dick Cavett Show: These two episodes were shown back-to-back in October, 1980. Cavett may seem to be a strange choice to interview Godard. At times he seems out of his element with the filmmaker, but he was a good interviewer and makes both segments interesting
It felt like they had a better rapport during the first episode. They discuss the movie, which Godard is quick to refute as being a comeback. He claims he never left. He talks about how he sees the movie as a strong character piece. Cavett mentioned some poor reviews, which Godard thinks were most likely written by men. He thinks that men do not like the film because they try to identify with the male characters, and are disappointed to find them full of despair. The men are stagnant while the women are moving and growing.
At times Cavett and Godard seem to be on different wavelengths. Cavett asks Godard about how many people come out of his films having appreciated the work, but not enjoyed the film. This is much like my experience that I discussed in film class years ago. Godard thinks that people have to do a little work to get his work. They have a “responsibility in the making of movies,” and he weirdly compares it to eating hamburgers. Ultimately he is saying that people need to challenge themselves when approaching his films, and I agree.
The second episode is stilted. This could be partly because of Godard’s demeanor. He often takes pauses between answers, most likely to think about the way to craft an answer, but these take the form of awkward pauses during the interview. They talk about American movies, such as Hitchcock, and why Godard takes to them when they make such different films than he does. At times it seems like Cavett runs out of good questions. He starts asking about people, including Coppola, Truffaut, and in an odd back-and-forth, asks about another controversy involving Vanessa Redgrave. The interview falls off the rails, but Godard is still gracious and does what he can to stick with Cavett.
Godard 1980: This is a short film that is primarily another interview with Godard with montages of his work thrown in. Godard has his back to the camera, which is not altogether surprising for those who have seen his work. There is a lot of smoking, both by the interviewers and Godard. While they do get into some interesting topics, such as the ideas of his films reflecting a certain truth, but the short is ultimately disappointing. For one thing, the interviewers are difficult to hear and sometimes we miss the questions. Some of the answers have no context as a result. The same Godard pauses that we see in the Cavett interviews happen here, but they seem more out of place in a short film.
Interviews:
These are the best supplements on the disc. In total, they are over an hour of screen time, so I will just touch on the parts that jumped out at me.
Marin Karmitz, Producer – Karmitz knew Godard during his filmmaking peak in the 1960s, but they had not worked on a project together. He agreed to produce Every Man For Himself and tells many of the stories of the production in this interview, which in my opinion is the most insightful of the group.
One fun story he shares is about critics at Cannes. The reaction was poor when it screened. People booed and yelled “pornographers!” to the filmmakers. Godard was not fazed, but Karmitz was worried. He waited a few months and called the journalists who had panned film. He said that Godard had taken their critiques into account and had re-cut the film accordingly. He asked them to screen the newly edited version based on their critiques. They all agreed that it was magnificent, but the joke was on them. Godard had not edited a frame.
Isabelle Huppert, Actress – She talks a lot about the technique during the project. There was no script, but nothing was ever improvised. It was the opposite, as Godard was very direct in what he wanted. He had actors almost talk like him because of his Swiss accent. The lines were abstract, not like a traditional script. She was being led by Godard and did not question much what he asked. Even though there were some spicy scenes, she was not scared or embarrassed.
Nathalie Baye, Actress – She was the first to arrive and waited a lot of time to begin filming. She thinks he was stalling so that they would film on his own time at his pace. He was intimidating to her, and the shoots would often be a small crew with just Godard, the actors, and a camera. She is glowing in her praise of the man. She gushes about how she felt tenderness and gratitude towards him, and you can tell by her speaking that she genuinely respects him.
Renato Berta and William Lubtchansky, Cinematograpers – This was an interview from an episode of 1981 German TV. Why were there two cinematographers? At first Godard wanted three but settled on two so they could discuss lighting, camera placement. They have different tastes in light, so they would setup differently. They were more involved with the production, even writing occasional dialog.
Gabriel Yared – He met Godard and Karmitz at a diner in 1968. Godard was very intense, while very disparaging and distant. Yared got a little upset and ended the exchange with an outburst. They ended the discussion on a sour note. Godard later called Yared later and took the criticism to heart. It was as if he respected Yared for speaking out because he saw honesty and passion.
Even though this is not my favorite Godard film, it is loaded with extras and shows the filmmaker at a more mature and wiser age. Some, like the Cavett and cast/crew interviews are fascinating, while others, like the short film are not as good, but there’s a lot of material.
Criterion Rating: 8/10
Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom, Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1974
My first viewing of Salò is one of those memorable experiences that I’ll never forget. It was shocking, disgusting, disturbing, and at times even humorous. I did not go in expecting an artistic statement on politics or society. I expected something so shocking that it would be difficult to watch. It was a test of my stomach rather than my intellect. While I could not say that I “liked” the film, I did find myself impressed with it. Having seen it once, I never expected or wanted to revisit, much less write about it.
As I embarked on this project, Salò lurked in the back of my mind. I purchased it when working to complete my collection, and promptly stuffed it under a number of other discs. Even though the Criterion arrived in a nice Digipak case, this was not one I wanted to explain to visitors.
The decision to revisit it came when I saw that The Wrong Reel (link) did a live commentary track. These are guys that I’ve vibed with on Twitter, partly because of their sense of humor, and partly because of their film taste and knowledge. Since I knew I was going to revisit someday, I figured I would take the plunge with some company, so to speak. We made a few jokes after I decided to try it, yet I still dreaded revisiting and was not expecting to change my opinion. That said, I approached this with an open mind and a willingness to reconsider it as a work of art.
In case you are not in the know, Salò is a fictional story of some Italian fascists who, toward the end of the Second World War incarcerate a group of young men and women. They play sadistic games with the children, some sexual, some violent, and some flat out cruel. They exhibit absolute power over their prisoners and this gave them pleasure. In case you have not seen it, be warned that there is nudity, violence, torture, homosexuality, sadism, etc. If you can think of something terrible, there’s a good chance it is in this film. Salò is not for the faint of heart or stomach.
The Wrong Reel commentary was exactly what I needed to take the edge off. They approached it with humor, yet they also took it seriously in many instances and brought up some thought provoking questions. I’m going to springboard off of some of their points before delving into my own analysis.
Early on in the movie, just when the children are being rounded up and we introduce their captors, The Wrong Reel guys have a discussion about how these Fascists arrived at such a place of depravity. The answer is in the question. These people had been through the war, seen and probably already done terrible, inexplicable things, far worse than they would force on their subjects over these 120 days. One of these sick individuals references his “frustrated desire.” He has been through so much that it takes atrocities in order for him to get aroused. He is just as much a product of the war as his victims. While he and his cohorts may appear to take pleasure in these acts, there are moments of weakness where they show hints of incredulity and shame at what is taking place.
The prostitute and her stories divides the decadence.
Another point that impressed me was that many of the jokes (which included references to Woody Allen, South Park, and many others) were either sexual or toilet humor. They were funny, and that made it easier to endure the film again, but the guys pontificated as they were joking as to what that says about our culture. The fact that we can laugh at something this provocative and gruesome through infantile jokes speaks to our own immaturity and the puritanical nature of America. I’m not indicting the Wrong Reel guys because I laughed right along with them. They were more than aware of this double standard and wondered whether their reaction is a product of their own culture and upbringing, acknowledging that they cannot take consciously distance themselves from their background. Since sexual topics are taboo, a graphic film from the 1970s still allows us to get the giggles in a playful, embarrassing way. While the film was seen as graphic across the globe, it is telling that it was banned in Italy for the political themes, whereas it was banned in NYC for the adult content. They and I were not offended, but instead looked for humor within the taboo.
Another interesting topic was the contrast of James and Mikhail. James is close to my age, so we grew up at a time when nude magazines were rare and taboo. Mikhail is the “token millennial,” as they called him, so he has grown up with access to pornography throughout most of his life. This was his first time viewing the movie, and a recurring question was whether growing up in the Internet age would desensitize him to the sexual decadence. Surprisingly, he was not as fazed by some of the content that James and the others were. Sure, there were some scenes that got to him. There was a certain “circle” where they all pretty much lost it and the ending is hard for anyone to watch. In other scenes, the desensitization was apparent. During some of the sex scenes, he was the one to point out when things were obviously fake, like with prosthetics and sexual positioning. The illusion was shattered for him, whereas even with the second viewing, I was still disturbed and not as discerning.
One of the many tragic faces within Salo.
The overarching theme of Salò is the mad, damning influence of abject power. The class in power has the ability to subject a lower class to whatever behavior they desire, and they derive pleasure from their supremacy. The response of their subjects is of mostly that of submission. There is some rebellion, some collaboration, and even some romanticism, but they are for the most part mortified as they are subjected to horrific acts against their will. The same is true of a tyrannical government and their subjects. A repressed population has no human rights and has scant options. In the case of Salò, it was basically to submit or die.
The face and fist of rebellion.
The most powerful scene is unquestionably that of absolute rebellion. Someone is caught breaking one of the rules, and rather than protest or plead for his life, he uses his final moments on this earth to make a statement. His oppressors have humiliated him, but he still has his honor. His final action against them, however futile, is powerful, tense, and one of the few optimistic moments of the movie. His captors even react to it, hesitating before they take his life away.
The use of a long shot with a lot of space.
One technique that Pasolini uses frequently is the use of space and long shots. In many respects, this puts the audience in the perspective of the captors, on board with those in power. He turns the tables on us and makes us the voyeurs that are visually engaged with the terrible things happening onscreen. The most notable example is in one of the final scenes, when the Fascists are outside torturing their prisoners, but the view is from upstairs and inside the house. We even see it through binoculars within the camera. While this is the most overt example, there are other similar vantage points throughout the film. We are often placed inside the eyes of the Fascists. During the long shots of large rooms, we see what they see, and by extension, are party to it.
From a filmmaking perspective, Salò is a masterwork. The shot selections, cinematography, performances, and locations are all top-notch. The Wrong Reel guys notice this as well, and they are correct when they say that if this were an amateurish film, then it would be dismissed as yet another 1970s porno. Pasolino, having already completed many well-done movies, like The Gospel According to St. Matthew, which made my top 10 of 1964.
On a second viewing, with or without the commentary, Salò is an easier film to stomach. With the shock value minimized, it is easier to understand the message and appreciate the film, even if it is not something that can be easily “enjoyed.” I came into this film expecting to be disgusted yet again. When it ended, I was impressed by such a provocative and startling political allegory. I still cannot rank it among films I like, yet I now have a greater understanding and respect for it as a piece of art.
Film Rating: 6.5/10
Supplements:
Salo: Yesterday and Today: This is a short documentary that shows some behind the scenes interviews intercut with interviews, including some with Pasolini.
In a grainy black and white, they show the overhead shooting of the final torture scenes with Pasolini interacting with the actors. One of the fascists asks: “do you have anything nasty for me to do?” Pasolini responds to “wait until next scene,” which we later find out is the candle burning scene.
Pasolini talks about the genesis of the project. He gave it a Dante-esque structure when working on the screenplay for another director, Sergio Citti. This was the division of the story into circles. Citti became lost interest while Pasolini became more engaged with the project, and wanted to use to to bring Marquis de Sade to 1944-45.
Pasolini says that the sado-masochism “reduces the human body to a commodity.” It is about the anarchy of power and the nonexistence of history. All of the schools of thought do not exist in the world of Salo. It is a metaphor of power to the people subjected to it, while also is a statement about capitalism. Man is a conformist, and we see that Pasolini indicts people who join forces in the subjugation of others. They do this out of self preservation, but it is not noble or right.
Pasolini was murdered right before setting up the French dubbing of the film. This of course was a shock and frightened everyone. It is still very much a mystery, with some believing that he was murdered because of Salo.
Fade to Black: This is a 2001 Nigel Algar documentary that disputes that Salo is pornography. By the time it was released, nobody had ever seen a film like Salo. Bertolucci saw it just after Pasolini was murdered, and couldn’t bear the film because of the tragedy. He hated the film initially, but it came to him that “there was something sublime in the nightmare.” It was considered by many to be pornography because there was no other way it could be categorized. The key difference is there is nothing pleasurable or sexually stimulating when watching the movie. In many ways it is an “anti-pornographic” and political film, which continues the traditions of Rome Open City, The Night Porter, and The Conformist.
The End of Salò: This is a 40-minute documentary, mostly interviews with people involved with the project. It begins with them talking about the “Circle of Shit” scenes. The substance was made of chocolate, and the actors ate it with gusto. “The greater the gusto, the more shocking the scene,” says one of the actors playing Fascist royalty.
They had long meetings with the script, de Sade’s text, and Baudelaire, so there was quite a bit of sadistic material to work with. They pitched terrible ideas to each other and they formulated the film. One shot that was cut was a dance sequence with an ensemble that was to be the ending. Personally, I think the true ending is far more appropriate.
Dante Ferretti: – This is a 12-minute interview with the Production designer about Pasolini’s films and their relationship. Talks about his origins in film and how he met Pasolini, worked with him first on The Gospel According to Saint Matthew., which was Ferretti’s second film. He really respected Pasolini after Accatone. With Salo they were going for minimalism. He said it should not be pursued as a painting, but as a graphical way of highlighting symbols. He intentionally did not move the camera much.
Jean-Pierre Gorin: Interview with film scholar. He talks about how the film is not realist, but an adaptation of Sade to the Italian republic. Pasolini was using the past to reflect his present, the end of the 1960s.
The story, while grotesque, is deliberately meant to incite laughter. He does not mean this in an infantile sense, or out of fear or terror, but someone who sees these “elements of the machine so exposed, and see that it is never going to stop.”
Gorin compares it to In the Realm of the Senses because they both reflected the ideals of the 1960s. Both can be considered pornographic films that question society, yet they both have a historical perspective.
Lastly, he says that there is a lot of love in Pasolini’s films. They are tougher to find in Salo, but there are moments of tenderness, especially the ending.
Even though Salo is a polarizing and difficult film, the story behind it is fascinating. Criterion did a fantastic job with the project, with a wealth of supplements and a booklet with several essays. Even though the film is disturbing, the release is recommended.
Criterion Rating: 8.5/10
Zatoichi: The Blind Swordsman. Disc 5
The monumental, phone-book sized boxset of Zatoichi is a treasure, but it’s not something to binge-watch like we do with today’s television series. Instead it is something to treasure at a slower pace. I binge-watched the first three discs, and ultimately got less out of them than these last two discs. We have to remember that these movies came out over a stretch of multiple years, even if some years had 2-3 releases. Compared to other Criterion releases, they are also far lighter, escapist, and formulaic. I’ve found that I appreciate these films much more when I put some time between viewings.
With this disc, I found some of the same old frustrating formula, but I also found some refreshing deviations. One of these films was surprisingly good, and could end up being among my favorite of the series.
ZATOICHI’S VENGEANCE, TOKUZO TANAKA, 1966
The most noticeable difference between this and previous films is the use of color and a more carefully orchestrated style. Most of the Zatoichi films look good, but they do not always use color motifs or much symbolism. This iteration begins with some thieves outnumbering a helpless victim, who we later learn is Tamekichi. Zatoichi fights them off in scene styled with a classy, blue hued template. Later in the film, Zatoichi meets up again with Tamekichi and the blue hue returns, this time using the sky, the water as a way of natural coloring.
Zatoichi later meets another blind man, only this gentleman has been blind from birth. His senses are different than the sword master, and he identifies Zatoichi as an “in betweener” since he was not born blind. This is just another way of setting him as an outcast. Even among blind people, most of whom are born blind, Zatoichi is an outcast. This blind man befriends and mentors Zatoichi, and through his teachings, we see a level of maturity that will carry into the next two films.
Of course the main plot includes a gang of local Yakuza that are harassing someone that Zatoichi meets and respects. They are subject to the whims of the local crooks and get extorted. Zatoichi becomes their protector. There is one scene where the local gang roughs up the hero as he stands up for the family. Beaten and bloody, he thinks about unsheathing his sword, but he stays and takes the punishment. This is some of the maturity that he has reached under the tutelage from his blind elder. Later, when he kills someone in front of the boy, he is reprimanded by his wise mentor.
It is also worth touching on the relationship between Zatoichi and the boy. Midway through the series, they have started introducing children to the storyline. Shintarô Katsu plays off children extremely well, and this usually elevates any story. This is the case here. In one scene the child yells out and places himself in front of Zatoichi during a fierce battle with multiple opponents. Since he relies on his senses and instincts during a sword battle, he could easily and inadvertently kill the child. Not this time. He hears the cries and knows the exact moment in order to restrain himself, and then resume once the boy is out of danger.
As noted above, the ending has a lot more visual style than most, with the blue color palette and some nice silhouetted shots. This is an above average edition.
Film Rating: 7.5/10
ZATOICHI’S PILGRIMAGE, KAZUO IKEHIRO, 1966
Usually when I watch a Zatoichi film, I’m rarely caught off guard. To my surprise, Zatoichi’s Pilgrimage took quite a detour from the typical formula. It continues in the same vein as Vengeance in that the total body count is starting to take a psychological toll. He has a vow of non-violence and embarks on a pilgrimage to reach a level of spiritualism. He prays that he does not kill anyone on his journey. That lasts about five minutes of screen time, but the death is somewhat accidental. Someone attacks him and they have an underwater fight. You can guess the result.
Again, the shooting style is more sophisticated here. They mix up long shots with close-ups. One effective sequence was when they have a long shot with a horse, and then a close-up of Zatoichi’s sandals that cuts to a close-up of the horse’s hooves. Is Zatoichi basically a service animal wherever he goes? Is he duty bound to who he determines to be the good people of the town? It is rare that the film language speaks on such a high character level. Another good example of camera work is later on when Zatoichi is acting as guardian of a household. They have a nice pan from the characters that enter the house to another room where Zatoichi is kneeling in solitude.
One of the strengths in this edition is the focus on character, and not only of Zatoichi, even though they make great strides at fleshing him out – impressive at this stage of the series. The supporting characters are developed well, most notably the female character, the sister of the person that Zatoichi kills against his wishes (and prayers). There is a very touching scene between them that ranks up there as one of the best character moments and performances of the series. He thanks her and gives her money for her burial. You can tell that his compassion is genuine, but he is also romantically drawn to her. She may not reciprocate his advances, but she is grateful, humbled and moved by his honor.
The plot is a bit outside of the formula because virtually everyone in the town is morally inept. The gangsters are always terrible, and they are just as thinly drawn here as in all the others. The lower class villagers that are exploited are just as shady, only in a different way. They refuse to cooperate in the fight against Zatoichi, seeing it as a beneficial situation for them either way. If the Blind Swordsman wins, they will be relieved of their burden. If he loses, they will not be blamed or punished. It is cowardly and immoral behavior.
The final battle scenes are also quite good. In some respects they reminded me of a John Ford finale. The pacing is patient and allows the tension to build. There is not a rush to just have Zatoichi fight a gazillion people at once and kill them all. They use the locations extremely well, and they add the extra element of arrows being shot at Zatoichi. He has to be more tactical and evasive against this unknown threat, which makes this one of the better action sequences in the series.
This was top-notch. I’d say that it is firmly at the top of the series, followed closely by Zatoichi and the Chess Expert. I’m curious to see if this is an anomaly or if this level of quality will continue.
Film Rating: 8.5/10
ZATOICHI’S CANE SWORD, KIMOYOSHI YASUDA, 1967
My expectations were probably a little too high after Zatoichi’s Pilgrimage. They continue to deviate from the formula somewhat, and this time they introduce some supernatural elements that work in some ways and not in others.
One part of the Zatoichi myth that I find perplexing is the gambling. I know that I shouldn’t be complaining about suspending disbelief in a series with a blind guy taking out dozens of opponents in one battle, but the gambling thing really gets me. Zatoichi is almost constantly able to “see” through any cheating that takes place with the organized dice games, and he uses them to his advantage in order to gain riches. They had gotten away from the gambling aspect in the last few films, just as they had gotten away from the lazy, mooching aspect of his character, and I think the series benefited from this change.
Zatoichi encounters an older man who used to be skilled at hand-making swords. When he sees the cane-sword, he recognizes it as a special, mystical blade that enhances the odds for Zatoichi to win in battle. Without the sword or his ability, he would have inevitable lost a battle and his life by now. The only problem is that the sword has nearly reached the end of its usefulness and will break soon. It is predicted to only function for one more kill.
This is a bit much to swallow. After 15 films, we finally learn that he has a magical sword. This seems to be a little too easy for the writers to invent at this point, but of course this is a superhero fantasy tale and you have to roll with it.
On the other hand, the limited use of the sword works in that Zatoichi has no choice but to sheath his sword. We see him fight with a cane or get otherwise creative while saving the sword for when he needs it. Spoiler alert, he will use it and it pays off nicely.
The premise is that Zatoichi shacks up at a hotel as a masseur, which of course is taken advantage of by local gangsters. There is a woman that he connects with, although not as effectively as the last two films. There are some twists and turns that are a little more melodramatic and the plot is more convoluted than usual. On top of that, the running time is longer than most films to date and you can tell. This movie dragged a little bit towards the end. I found that it was bogged down with exposition as they tried to lead to the final conflict, yet there was overall less action than most Zatoichi films.
Film Rating: 6/10
Bigger than Life, Nicholas Ray, 1956
Nicholas Ray had an uncanny ability at capturing the social isolation and detachment of certain groups during the 1950s, that contrasted with the pristine, manufactured image of the obedient nuclear family as seen on TV. He played around in a variety of genres, such as the western (Johnny Guitar), the teenpic (Rebel Without a Cause) and family drama with Bigger than Life. Even if the setting and plot are different, the primary message is the same — moral decay and hypocrisy that is taking place with the changing times.
The first shot is fired by showing Ed Avery’s (James Mason) poor financial condition. He is a well-spoken, intelligent school teacher, yet he is required to moonlight as a cab dispatcher in order to supplement his income. Embarrassed, he lies to his wife, saying that he has to stay late in order to meet members of the school board. At one point of the film, he decries that “I’m a school teacher, not a plumber,” when someone asks him about money. By making a direct comparison between a learned educator and a tradesman, Ray is making a commentary on the inadequate income of teachers, a disparity that sadly still exists today.
When we meet his family, we are surprised to see that he lives in a traditional, suburban neighborhood, reminiscent of the types seen on TV shows like Leave it to Beaver (coincidence: Jerry Mathers who later played the Beaver appears in this film). This type of living would be considered middle class in the 1950s. He has a wife that stays at home and a child that enjoys watching television, just like most other suburban families. He has to work both jobs in order to maintain this status of living. We can tell from the paintings and posters in the house that his true passion is not at home, but instead exploring the great tourist cities of the world. Circumstances will not allow him that luxury.
It is sickness that changes him. He has a rare condition that inflames his arteries, with a dire prognosis of one year to live without trying an experimental drug – cortisone. It is unfortunate that they named the drug, which back then probably was more in the experimental category, but today is commonplace for treating a variety of injuries and has documented side effects. What happens in the movie is not what would happen in reality with this medicine, but that is beside the point. He is really sick of modern, American society, and the side effects that materialize motivate him to reject and criticize his world.
The medicine works at first. In fact, he is happier than ever at home and he participates and seems to belong in the stereotypical nuclear family environment.
The new Ed embraces materialism and consumption. In order to please his wife, he takes her to an expensive dress shop and encourages her to pick one out that she likes. They cannot afford such a dress, and this expense will come back to haunt them later in the film. What is important is that, or specifically he, feels the need to purchase a dress because that will make his wife happy and give him the appearance of being a good husband. They do not need the dress, just like they do not need most material objects found in their home, but they are helpless not to participate in the capitalistic craze.
It is about midway through the film when the change in Ed begins. His wife abruptly acts out by breaking the bathroom glass mirror in a sudden rage. “You’re not in the hospital now!” she yells. He looks at his reflection in mirror and sees himself in shambles. This action is unprovoked and his wife quickly apologizes, but it sets his downfall in motion. Is the mirror fragments in two, so does his personality. What emerges is an unpleasant, unkind human being who thinks he has all of the answers for society’s ills.
One of the better scenes of the movie is when Ed is at an evening parent-teacher conference. This is the new Ed, and he says what he really thinks without a care of how it is received. He compares his students to gorillas that are victims of the deterioration of poor educational values. The fact that teachers are paid so poorly probably sparks this manner of thinking. Without economic incentive, why should they bother shaping and molding their students into bright and productive members of society? When he says that they are teaching an inferior class of students, one person suggests that he should be the Principal. In reality he is saying what the other teachers will not say, that things are not quite right.
This new Ed has a new world vision and challenges himself to make a difference. Meanwhile, his home life falls apart because he expects too much of his wife and child. He becomes a bad husband and a bad father, and things get worse as he becomes addicted to the medicine that is supposedly healing him. He takes more than his prescribed dosage, even forging prescriptions, and eventually loses his mind. The latter portion of the movie is Ed settling into his psychosis and nearly committing a terrible act.
The movie ends by him coming to after being off the medicine. He remembers his behavior and immediately feels ashamed. You could call it a happy ending, and for the Avery household, it probably is for the short-term. In the long-term, there is no way that life will be happy and pleasant for them. These issues still linger and will not resolve anytime soon. If Ed gets sick again, the cycle could repeat itself or he may die. In a way, this ending is an embracement of the status quo. There are no quick solutions for the Avery family, just as there are not for suburban society at large.
Film Rating: 8/10
Supplements:
Commentary: with Geoff Andrew, film scholar and author of The Films of Nicholas Ray. This was a disappointing commentary. I’m sure Dr. Andrew has plenty of credibility as an academic, but I think he left a lot to be desired. His voice is dry and not exactly exciting, although that’s not exactly uncommon in academia. Many excellent commentaries come from scholars with dry and monotone voices. It is the material that makes the difference. Maybe it was the level of preparation, but Dr. Andrew did not provide as much insight into the film as most Criterion commentaries. He makes many interesting comments, but does not elaborate on them with much detail. For instance, he mentions that Ray thought teachers were underpaid, and then moves onto another point, often making an observation that the viewer can make.
One of the more interesting insights was that Ray had interest in architecture, specifically Frank Lloyd Wright. This can be seen in a great many of his films, and especially Rebel Without a Cause. Ray used buildings very well in his films, and this was no different. Andrew makes some observations about the posters in the house. Downstairs has the public type of décor, like the Grand Canyon. Upstairs is private and exotic, with posters of faraway, cultured cities.
This period of Ray’s life was a period of depression and many of his themes were formed by the red scare, HUAC politics of the time.
Profile of Nicholas Ray: This was a 1977 TV interview with the late critic, Cliff Jahr. Not too much of the interview was about Bigger than Life. This may be the only Ray film to come to Criterion, so this can certainly be excused. One of the first questions is whether Ray gets tired of questions about Rebel Without a Cause. The answer was an emphatic no, because the subject is still relevant today and people connect. He only likes to talk about films that remain relevant. Most of the follow-up questions have to do with Rebel, including the obligatory James Dean question. I’d wager he was tired of those.
He talks on a few occasions about his mentality back during his peak filmmaking years. He says that a lot of his working back then was insanity and that “I work better now. I like myself better now.”
Jonathan Lethem: This is one of the novelists favorite films and he does a great job with his analysis.
What’s interesting about the movie is what it excludes. There is no teenage rebellion, rock and roll, or any deviancy. Things are too perfect. I thought the same thing when I saw how well behaved the students were in class. This was definitely deliberate.
There are numerous class issues. The house may look very suburban, but it has several blemishes. With a closer look, Lethem says it “barely qualifies” as a representation of suburban life. The fiction is that they can afford what they want, which is of course not the case. That’s why the dress scene is so important.
Susan Ray: Ray’s ex-wife reflects on her husband.
His process was “creative chaos” and “responsiveness.” He was keenly aware of what was going on around him, and he was best at observing people’s natures. He “had passion in finding deepest possible truth in a human being.”
A real hero is a “poor slob” like you and me, as he would put it. Even though he had a sense of masculine bravado, he also had a humble and sensitive side.
Ray’s choice of suburban life was because he saw the deadening and sterility. He had a jaundiced view of his own generation, calling them “betrayers.”
Criterion Rating: 8.5
Three from Jean Vigo
À PROPOS DE NICE, 1930
Jean Vigo’s debut film falls very much into his idea of “social cinema.” He was a leftist (specifically an anarchist with communistic leanings), which I’ll talk about in more detail later. He was driven to film as a means of expressing his political world view.
À Propos de Nice is a silent documentary short, but it is unlike most of the ones you’ve likely seen. There are no title cards and little actual narrative. It is more of a slice of life documentary about the coastal town of Nice, France. It shows the flow of rich vacationers contrasted with the locals that put on a show for them, and reaches a crescendo that makes a thinly veiled political statement.
The beginning shows a number of upper class, upper crust people lazily enjoying the sun-drenched city. Some are simply walking and looking distinguished; others are enjoying a book on a beach chair; while others are taking sun naps. Occasionally Vigo will show a lower class citizen just to keep the viewer’s attention. For instance, between shots of opulence in action, there is a shot with a garbage collector. There is another shot with a clearly wealthy individual sitting in a chair, and a homeless person sits next to him. Vigo holds that shot, accentuating their differences, yet they are still both sitting idly near a gorgeous beach.
Vigo gets a little more adventurous with some daring, staged shots, which get crazier as the film goes on. There is one such scene with a lady sitting quietly in a chair. The scene cuts and we see the same lady in the same position, with a different wardrobe. It cuts again to yet another wardrobe, and continues to cut a couple more times. The last cut reveals her sitting completely nude in the same chair position. In this manner, the documentary is both jarring and humorous, which would be a constant.
Shots become more abstract as Vigo shows buildings from unusual camera angles, often sideways. He shows poor men wearing big hats, and we discover they are serving pies to their rich visitors. Finally we are shown a parade, including some large, comical figurine faces that were also shown out-of-context in the very beginning of the film. This is the real city of Nice. These are the workers that entertain the rich tourists, that depend on their livelihood and choose to look silly in order to facilitate the pleasure of the class above them.
The film ends with militarism and radical dancing. We see ladies doing the cancan, raising their legs higher in the air with each kick, threatening to reveal their hidden mysteries. These are again lower class, possibly prostitutes or at the very least loose women. Unlike the idle rich vacationers, they are partying wildly without a care in the world. They even dance over a pothole, with the camera covertly positioned inside, shooting them from below in a voyeuristic manner, even though it is obviously a staged shot.
We end with workers, soldiers, and fire. The message is clear when analyzed closely. It is at the hands of the workers that the future lies. Vigo shows them up to the task, upbeat and engaged, but the ending is not resolved.
Film Rating: 8.5/10
TARIS, 1931
Taris stands apart from the remainder of Vigo’s work. It was a commission to profile the famous French swimming champion, Jean Taris. While it was not a vehicle for his “social cinema,” it gave him the opportunity for some technical experimentation and expression that would be used again in his two final films.
The 9-minute short is a vanity film, with Taris showing off with his diving ability and his mastery of various swimming strokes. Vigo’s film language helps portray the swimmer in the most positive light possible. He shows close-ups of him while he is working hard, the respected yet agonized face of an endurance athlete. He reverses some of the diving scenes to make it appear that he dives, and then floats back to the diving platform.
The best footage is when Taris is underwater. There is no sound, which is appropriate for underwater footage. Taris is alone in his element. We see him in close-up, holding his breath, yet still enjoying himself and preening for the camera. If there’s any doubt as to his stature, it is quashed when the diving scene and a trick dissolve makes him appear that he is walking on water. Some may have seen that sacrilege, whereas his fans probably found it appropriate. He was an athletic celebrity.
Even though this is a technically accomplished film, it exists for the sole purpose of making someone look good. That makes it the outlier of the four films that Vigo would complete in his lifetime.
Film Rating: 5/10
ZÉRO DE CONDUITE, 1933
Zéro de conduite – or Zero for Conduct, as I will refer to it – is the most fully revealed of Vigo’s “social cinema.” I mentioned above that he was an anarchist. Even though his politics were complicated, Zero for Conduct helps clear them up. In some respects it is a blueprint for exactly the type of anarchic revolution that Vigo longed for, yet it takes place in the unlikely setting of a young boy’s school.
The children in the boy’s home are characters that many can relate to. They push the boundaries of authority, and try to get away with whatever they can. They are into hijinx, practical jokes, and overall misbehavior. They are not a peaceful bunch, and they give it to their teachers at every opportunity, whether to their face or behind their backs. The only exception is Monsieur Huguet, who they find as an allay and a character that understands them.
The other teachers are impatient for any mischievousness, and they rule with an iron fist. “Zero for Conduct” is the punishment for any transgression. It means that they are not given their freedom on Sundays to visit family or friends, and instead are required to stay in school at detention. Furthermore, the teachers dole out the punishment arbitrarily and unfairly. Vigo is intending to portray this as a totalitarian state where the lower class’ (or children’s) rights are being impeded.
The children may be the goats, but they also get to be the heroes. With some assistance from the friendly teacher, they lay out plans for rebellion. The planning is carefully orchestrated and is not put into action until the authority tries to compromise one of the oppressed. It begins with an expletive, continues with a rowdy food fight, and the revolt is in progress. The children hoist their flag and march with exaltation. The sense of freedom and liberation is palpable, just as Vigo expects that it would be in reality. Even though the film is of revolution, it is combined with the exuberance of childhood merrymaking.
Zero for Conduct was banned for a number of reasons. First and foremost, there is clear male nudity during the march scene. There is also the acknowledgement of a homosexual relationship between two males, one of which looks effeminate to easily be confused as a girl (full disclosure: I thought he was a she during the first viewing). Not only is it apparent on screen, but even the school officials take notice. In one scene when the pair are walking arm in arm, the headmaster tells another teacher that “we need to keep an eye on these two.” This was 1933, where the subject of homosexuality was barely even believed in common society, much less presented in the media arts. Finally, there was religious consecration as the children place one teacher in a crucifixion pose during the rebellion. This was too much for the censors.
While Zero for Conduct is an understandably controversial film that was a product of the post-Bolshevik era and Vigo’s politics, it is also far ahead of it’s time in film language. During the early years of French Poetic Realism, there had been plenty of radical images, but none that came close to Vigo’s penultimate film.
Film Rating: 9/10
Supplements:
Since this entry is about only three short films from The Complete Jean Vigo disc, I am only going to cover the commentaries in this post. There will be another post about L’Atalante and a wrap-up post to come, which will cover more supplements.
Commentaries – Michael Temple, author of French Film Directors: Jean Vigo contributed commentaries for all four of Vigo’s films.
All four films were producted with Boris Kaufman, brother of the filmmakers that created the legendary Man With a Movie Camera, and he had significant success after the Vigo years. He already had a great deal of film background when the collaboration began, whereas Vigo was young and inexperienced. The partnership may not have happened if Vigo had not financed À Propos de Nice with his marriage dowry. The collaboration was beneficial to both, and they grew as filmmakers, which is more than evident from the quality of their work.
Temple claims that Vigo is considered one of the more celebrated filmmakers in French film history. This is amazing given that he made a mere four films, and only one of which was a full length feature. Vigo’s work was not appreciated during his lifetime and would be rediscovered by filmmakers such as Truffaut and Godard during the French New Wave.
I’ve already referred to the term “social cinema,” which is a phrase I received another source (Republic of Images, Alan Williams.) Temple says that Vigo called À Propos de Nice a “social documentary.” It is divided into three parts: 1) Wealth. 2) Contrasts 3) Revolution. Vigo himself appeared in the cancan dance sequence, kicking his legs up with glee with both women around his arms.
Taris was the exact opposite of Apropos because it was commission. Vigo received it because of his name recognition after À Propos de Nice. He used the commission to learn more about film technique, which he would use in his two final films. The most notable items he recycled were the underwater scenes, which he shot by using portholes underneath.
The producers did not like his version and hired someone else to finish. We do not know for certain whether it is all Vigo’s work in the final film. Vigo rejected the film, but said he like underwater scenes.
Zero for Conduct was Vigo’s signature film. It was both based on his personal experience in a children’s home, and it expressed his anarchist ideology throughout the film.
Merde is a magical word in anarchist culture. It is a difficult translation from French (literally translates as “shit”), but the word is not always profane. Sometimes it is just a desire to shock or go against conventions. It is a word used within revolt.
Vigo sees anarchism and revolution as joyful, and that is eloquently presented in the film. The kids are having an absolute blast, while it is also a call to freedom.
The final confetti slow motion rebellion scene is one that Vigo borrowed from his underwater scene. If you watch it carefully, it is reminiscent of how Taris was shot with it’s subject swimming under the water.
Don’t Look Now, Nicolas Roeg, 1973
I remember hearing about Don’t Look Now when I was a youngster. I probably even saw it, although it was at such a young age and was competing with a lot of schlocky horrors and thrillers, that I undoubtedly forgot it. Even though it was and is a highly regarded thriller, it was probably not my cup of tea. Now, many years later, it is interesting to revisit it as an art film and a thriller. It works effectively as both.
This film also deserves the requisite warning about spoilers. It cannot be discussed without mentioning pivotal scenes in the beginning and end. If you haven’t seen it, please do not read this review. It is an ending that has to be experienced without foreknowledge. It is also an ending that enhances further viewings and analysis.
Don’t Look Now could be seen as a story told backwards from the ending, as there is symbolism about what’s to come littered throughout the mise-en-scene. It could also be seen as a film with appropriate bookends. It begins and ends with a tragedy involving some (or all?) of the same characters. While there is plenty of room for exploration, what’s unquestionable is that this was crafted in a way that recalls the beginning and projects the future. Virtually every scene has some reference to either, and most nod to both.
As for the symbolism, the most obvious is water. The majority of the movie takes place barely above water, from the tragedy in the beginning to the wanderings around Venice. They constantly tie water to death and, by extension, to the daughter. As he floats the canals, John sees murder victims extracted from the water. In one scene he notices a peach-colored, naked baby doll in the water, which is one of the most overt references to his daughter. Through John’s eyes especially, he is constantly searching the water for some meaning, whether it has to do with his daughter, his wife Laura when he believes she has not left, or even for his own spirituality.
The idea of belief is another major theme. John would not choose to visit Venice after the drowning of his daughter, but his profession as an architect brings him there. More specifically, a church brings him there. Does God lure him there? We can tell by his mannerisms and statements that he does not believe in a God. He actually feels some hostility towards the hypocrisy he sees within the church. Conversely, his wife takes on a more uncommon belief while she is in Venice, which is that of the paranormal. She believes that a blind lady could see her daughter Christine in between them at a restaurant. John tells her that “seeing is believing” and that he believes her, but he may be lying in the same way that he lies to his clerical associates. Because he does not believe in God and doubtfully believes in the paranormal, his lack of belief contrasts with the devout belief of the others in the film. Maybe God lured him to Venice, or maybe a paranormal intuition of his daughter lured him. Whatever power is at hand, he is naïve and dismissive of it.
There is also the matter of acceptance and overcoming the grieving process. The Baxters are wallowing in their misery when they are in Venice. Whether the premonition is true or not, the reason that Laura embraces the psychics is because she needs some sort of resolution. The blind psychic tells her that she has seen her daughter, who was sitting between them and laughing. “You don’t have to be sad,” she tells Laura. She clings to the psychics because of this assertion of comfort and resolution. She yearns to understand what happened with her daughter, and wants to believe Christine is happy and that their agony is misplaced. Again, this contrasts with religion, because the entire concept of Heaven is what the psychics claim to have seen in Christine – a happy and comfortable place. Once she has embraced belief of the psychics, she seems to accept the death of her daughter. She even interacts between the psychic and religious worlds by lighting candles in the church for Christine, which is out of happiness. What is ironic is that emotion is borne out of something far from the church, yet it is expressed within the church.
Regardless of how he acts around his wife and the clergy, John does not get relief from either psychic phenomena or religion. He instead is a practical man. Again, he believes in what he sees, and he is constantly looking for something in Venice even if he won’t admit what. He exclaims at one point that “Christine is dead!” and then repeats the word “dead” several times for good measure, as if he is trying to force himself and his wife to accept. He is not convinced, otherwise he would not have followed the red raincoat at the end of the film, the same one that results in his undoing. His belief that “seeing is believing” ends him. He was mistaken when he saw the red raincoat and chased after it, just like he was mistaken when he thought he saw Christine in Venice after her departure. The ladies think he has second sight, but it is his first sight and reliance on observation that deceives him.
What about the love scene? It is quite a brilliant bit of filmmaking despite all of the controversy and rumors about it. Many have argued that the scene is unnecessary, but I think it is a key component of the movie and expertly done. First off, the scene is a “love scene” and not a “sex scene.” They may be engaging in the act of intercourse, but they are expressing the love between them. In some ways this is a way of them taking solace in each other, and in another way it is another example of the relaxation after Laura believes that Christine is happy. The quick cuts between the actual sex, dressing and undressing make it less provocative, but they also show that it is a momentary reprieve. We are reminded during this lovely moment that it will end, and that they will have to go on about their lives. The scene also reinforces that they are unquestionably in love with each other, and it is a combination of the love for each other and that of their daughter that prompts this obsession. In Venice, they are looking for comfort with and for each other. The love scene is the only time where they truly accomplish it together.
Film Rating: 9/10
Supplements
Don’t Look Now, Looking Back: 2002 documentary by Blue Underground. Director Roeg and Director of Photography Anthony Richmond talk about reoccurring images that are not understood until the end. Using the color red and broken glass were not coincidences. They were deliberate. They share some stories from the set, such as when out-of-character Sutherland says “I don’t like this church” to Christie. They overheard and liked the line so much that they scrapped the script and used the real conversation.
They talk about the love scene in depth. They knew it would be controversial, which is why the decided not to cut it in a linear fashion. To film the scene, they took a small crew to a hotel and the entire shooting took place in an hour and a half.
Death in Venice: 2006 interview with composer Pino Donaggio discussing the music he created for the film. This was his first film. He didn’t initially understand why they called him for an important movie. Roeg gave him a trial to come up with a couple of themes, which worked. They were excited about the music. Producers liked it as well and decided to give him a shot. It was a lucky break as it began his career scoring films.
He talks about his decisions during crucial scenes. The soft piano playing at the beginning is deliberately not played perfectly, as if a learning child could have played it. He wanted an orchestral tune for the love scene, but he admits now that came from his own pride. He changed his mind after watching the scene.
He intentionally did not use typical horror type of music, which I think really enhances the film. He used single instruments like the flute because that expressed pathos and fear. That flute sound has been imitated in other movies.
Something Interesting: These were some assembled recent interviews with co-writer Allen Scott, DP Richmond, Sutherland and Christie. It was the best of the supplements in my opinion, mostly because it was a recent wide ranging discussion.
Roeg was not the first director attached, but he was the most thorough. Introduced the theme of “nothing is as it seems.” They had to change the short story, which had a couple with a dead child, but the actual death scene is not in the Du Maurier story. The story did not give John the motivation to be in Venice, whereas the movie added his profession as an architect.
There are more good stories from the set, like how Richmond was in the cold water for six hours in order to capture the scene where John finds his drowned child. Sutherland wasn’t going to do the church falling sequences, and then stunt man refused to do it. Sutherland decided to do it after all and he got more than he bargained for. They left him hung up there suspending and even pushed him into the shot.
In the script, the love scene was only described as: “They make love.” They had a camera, a couple lights, and went in with skeleton crew and shot it. Nobody saw the negative. The AD says they did it so well that people thought it was real. They address the unsimulated sex rumors and refute them absolutely. Donald talked about how un-sexual the mood was during that scene. They had short actions and cuts, with loud noises in between. Christie says that filming sex has changed since then. Now they display sexual skill, whereas with Don’t Look Now it went from shot to shot, and she says even though it was not real, it was directed like it was real making love.
Nicolas Roeg: The Enigma of Film: Danny Boyle and Steven Soderbergh discuss Roeg and how he influenced them. Boyle says you can spot a Roeg film in seconds. He used to think it was the zoom lenses, but it is not that now. They both say that the lack of writing his own work doesn’t bring him down. “He writes with the camera” – Soderbergh. They both acknowledge that Roeg was good at handling time, whether in a non-linear fashion or compressed. They both talk about how they were inspired by him to the level that they stole scenes from him. Soderbergh gives an example with Out of Sight, where they inter-cut the making love with getting dressed.
Graeme Clifford and Bobbie O’Steele: Film historian O’Steele talks to editor Clifford. Julie Christie actually got him the job after they worked on McCabe and Mrs. Miller. Roeg wanted subtlety and visually connective, so things could be pieced together later. A lot of it is about process, and they began after the shoot had finished and the director had rested. Having seen and loved Walkabout, he was confident of what Roeg would like.
Nicolas Roeg at Café Lumiére: This was a Q&A after a screening in London. Roeg has a slow and sincere cadence that makes him not the best interview subject although what he talks about his fascinating. He thinks that film writing is unlike any other writing, much closer to literary. He doesn’t like rehearsing because you miss “chance and chaos.” Studios and producers hated this strategy because they wanted their safety nets, wanted to evaluate talent. He says that everyone involved is “all nervous” because nobody knows if the film will work out.
He talks about how independent film is tough now. There were more independent producers back when he was in his heyday, but it was still not easy. He speaks in praise of Harvey Weinstein, despite his hostile reputation, and how he gave Tarantino a lot of room to work. Roeg has trouble reading screenplays that he is not working on because “they are rarely beautifully written.”
They were screening it for DuMaurier, but they would not allow Roeg to come because he had changed so much. Later he got a letter from her. She told him that his film reminded her of the couple she saw in Venice that prompted her to write the story. It was a pleasing letter.
He talks about how the BBC had the love scene cut out. People were outraged and demanded that it be put it back in.. The BBC put it back in, and most agree that the movie falls apart without it.
Criterion Rating: 8.5/10
A Day in the Country, Renoir, 1936
Even if Renoir’s A Day in the Country is barely over 40-minutes long, was unfinished and lost for 10 years before being edited for release, it is still one of the quintessential representations of 1930s French Poetic Realism. The setting out in the country and the focus on being in nature and how the characters react to their surroundings is the poetic element. This is particularly revealed through the eyes of Henri and Henriette, both hopeless romantics who are looking for something poetic to distract them. The realistic element is the way that the plot unfolds. Rather than give away the ending in this post, because I implore people to watch this accessible Renoir, I’ll just say that realism means things don’t always work out the way people want or hope for.
A Day in the Country is a joyous movie, although two different versions of joy are juxtaposed against one another. A Parisian family wants to escape from the stuffy Paris, get some oxygen, and enjoy the luscious and beautiful French countryside. The joy for Henri and Rudolphe, two scheming locals, is having a group of Parisians to take advantage, specifically the young women. They are enthralled as the youngest, Henrietta, swings gracefully on a swing.
Given the short film length, not much time is spent on character exposition, but aside from a few details, it isn’t necessary. The characters of Rudolphe and Henri are explored as they sit in the café. Rudolphe considers himself a player, and ridicules Henri for being a serious man that wants a serious relationship. “Whores bore me, society girls are even worse,” Henri says. He is a serious romantic. You can tell this not only from the words he says, but his demeanor as he says them. Romance is not a joyous topic for him, as he has yet to find someone who shares his ideals.
Much of the film’s comedy is related to the double meaning of catching fish. The patriarch, Monsieur Dufour and his future son-in-law Anatole are obsessed with bringing a fish back to Paris to fry. Meanwhile, Rudolphe and Henri hatch a plan to lure the two women away from their family for their own amusement. After the two men talk in the café about their plans to catch the ladies, the scene cuts to the other men talking about fish. These two conversations can be contrasted, even if they are on completely different subjects. Monsieur Dufour is explaining to Anatole, who isn’t the brightest bulb, about the nuances of the fish they plan to catch, specifically the difference between the chub and the pike. Anatole is lost when it comes to fishing, whereas Henri is lost with love. Rudolph and Monsieur Dufour are the self-proclaimed experts.
When the two women talk, it is a variation of the men’s conversation, only the subject isn’t about catching fish, men, or women. The younger Henriette reveals herself as a romantic and has a love of nature. She is enraptured by her surroundings, and enjoys herself, whether she is on a swing, a skiff, or just lying on the grass. As they explore the potential for riding in a boat, she leaves her hat to save their picnic spot. This gives the men their ‘bait.’ It works and the entire family warms to the two men instantly, setting their plans in motion.
The men get the attention of the women and find some common ground. They get along splendidly. Madame Dufour is outgoing, giggly, and easily plays into the charms of the men. Henriette is still an introvert, but she is excitable about having a good time in nature, especially if she has the opportunity to ride in a boat. To lure the men to agree to let go of their women, they bring fishing poles. The Dufours consider them kind gentlemen, and naively let them do as they please with their women.
Rudolphe was hoping for Henrietta, and had arranged as much with his buddy, but then Henri manipulates the situation and gets her into his skiff. He sees something in Henriette that he sees in himself, and he is not going to let his mischievous friend take advantage.
The character contrasts are distinct, but they make the film even more enjoyable down the stretch. Rudolphe and Madame Dufour are both outgoing, playful, and they have fun with the adventure of the chase. Henri and Henriette are also similar. They are demure and romantics. Henriette is swept up in excitement as they row along the Seine. Henri has his mind on something different altogether, and when she begins to figure this out, she is reticent to continue. If not for crossing paths with their counterparts, who are loudly and boisterously having a great time, things might not progress. They do, however, and if not for a chirping bird, they may not have gone further.
The last few minutes are abbreviated because the film wasn’t finished. They work as a conclusion to this short film, but if Renoir’s vision of three connected short films had come to fruition, this could have been among his masterpieces. Even at the abbreviated length, I consider this to be one of his strongest works, and the story behind the story is almost as captivating as the film itself.
This was a pivotal period in Renoir’s career. He had already become an established star director, and he had become more comfortable in his craft. In A Day in the Country , you can see him exploring techniques that would result in his finest films, like La Grande Illusion, La Bete Humaine, and Rules of the Game. He plays with deep focus photography for many scenes, such as when the men are talking in the café and a swinging Henriette is framed by the window. This technique would be mastered in later films, most notably Rules of the Game. He had become deft at exploring character contrasts, which he did so terrifically in La Grande Illusion.
Deep focus example
A Day in the Country stands on its own as one of Renoir’s greatest achievements, but it is also evidence of a master that was progressing in his craft.
Film Rating: 9.5/10
Supplements:
Renior Introduction: The initial idea was to shoot a 40-minute short film with the production value and acting talent as a feature. He wanted to shoot three shorts of that length, which in sum would become a feature. This sort of omnibus feature had not been done by then, but has since.
In a weird digression, Renoir argues for plagiarism. I don’t think he means it the way we understand the term. He means using stories as templates to embellish into a different story, and that has and is regularly done today. I can only speculate that back then, people thought it took nerve to alter a story by someone as heralded as de Maupassant.
The Road to A Day in the Country: This is a piece from Jean Renoir scholar Christopher Faulkner.
1935 he was very active with the popular front, militantly active. While he was leading the popular front and making films (like The Lower Depths) in the language of the movement, he made this one that seemed out of time politically.
Part of this was his coming to terms with his father, the famous painter, whose legacy likely continued to overshadow Renoir’s directorial career. Faulkner thinks this is a resolution with the past that he would return to frequently. The area that they filmed was an area that impressionist painters had worked in the 1880s. Many shots were homages to impressionist paintings.
The riverbank could be an impressionist painting.
Rain interfered and slowed down production. It took seven weeks, only 22 days of which were dedicated to shooting. Faulkner disagrees with Renoir’s assertion that they changed script due to rain. There was evidence that they had written in rain. Nevertheless, the rain did shut down production and cost money. Jacques Becker shot some material later when Renoir was not available. 23 shots in the completed film were shot by Becker, but according to Renoir’s instructions.
Producer Pierre Braunberger was Jewish and had to leave the country when war broke out, and had to take all his belongings including the film. He edited it in his mind during his exile, but it could not be seen until 10 years later when the war ended.
Marinette Cadix and Marguerite Renoir later edited the film into what we see today.
By the time of the release, Renoir was in the USA and basically forgot the movie. He had nothing to do with the final editing of the film.
Pierre Braunberger on Jean Renoir: They had worked on a great number of Jean’s early works. He speaks reverentially of Renoir. He made A Day in the Country for Sylvia Battaille, who he was in love with.
He talks about the rain and production problems. Both Renoir and Battaille got sick of it, and they shut down the film. They had hoped to finish the film, but the war and exile changed those plans. When he was hiding on an island, he had a lot of time to think. In his solitude, he realized that he could finish the film with two titles cards. Voila.
Un Tournage a la Campagne: This is a long series (1:29) of scenes and outtakes from the production. Some of them add scenes or extend scenes included in the movie, but the majority are in sequence of what we see in the finished film. They show some of the filmmaking process, with the setting of the scene, calling action, and other background set details. They even show mistakes by the actors and/or crew. There are some sequences that are significantly longer, such as the swinging scene. What’s interesting is they had a lot more footage to make a longer film. Some of the footage is of poor quality. Some even has no sound, probably because it was going to be added in later.
One thing that is impressive about all of these outtakes is the skill of the actors. We can see take after take of them giving their all. I was mostly impressed by Battaille, who on a moment’s notice could turn on the childlike giddiness or enraptured romanticism.
Renoir appears prominently in these outtakes. You can always hear his voice in the background and he is encouraging. Even though I enjoyed the entire series (although many might find it long), I especially liked the tribute to Renoir in the end credits where they show outtakes of people saying “Here is the boss.”
Renoir at Work: Christopher Faulkner examines the outtakes of the film. This is the only set of outtakes for any Renoir film, so they are important to see how he worked.
We see how Renoir interacts with the actors, and starts the scene by using the first line of dialog and he praises the shot. This is how he became “an actor’s director.”
Some of the later scenes are after Renoir had left for The Lower Depths and Becker had taken over. We can tell that Becker followed Renoir’s instructions.
Screen Tests: These are a series of screen tests with all (or most) of the actors. The initial scenes of Henri and Henriette are mere impressions, as they quietly react to each other.
The mother, father, future son-in-law, grandmother (man in women’s clothing) are just looking at the camera and around. Even Renoir gets a screen test.
Some have expressed reservation about Criterion publishing what is essentially a film short, but there is so much extra material here that isn’t characteristic of classic film. We get spoiled by releases of recent films, such as the Wes Anderson collection, all of which have a ton of supplements. A Day in the Country has nearly the same volume of supplemental material, which is a rarity for a classic French film.
Even though this is an early release, it has such great supplements and import that it is an early contender for release of the year.
Criterion Rating: 10/10
Tokyo Drifter, Seijun Suzuki, 1966
Of the films that Seijun Suzuki would make for the Nikkatsu studio, Tokyo Drifter was one of the wildest, audacious, and visually stunning, yet it was also one of the most incongruous for both Suzuki and Nikkatsu. It was a bold visual statement that happened to also be a complicated yet predictable action film.
Intro
The opening is in black and white, with thugs beating up Tetsu, the hero, who is trying to make a clean break from the yakuza. They leave him bloody and beaten in this depressing, black and white wasteland. Tetsu picks himself up, finds a toy gun between two rail cars that happens to be in color, and calmly says “Don’t get me mad.” From here we leave the old world, the black and white world, for a world that is full of vivid and at times overwhelming color.
The plot is almost unnecessary and at times it is nearly incomprehensible. Rather than bog us down in details, the plot is basically a way to transition from one action sequence to another. They skip ahead in time rather than wade in exposition. We know that there are rival gangs that are trying to get over on another, and Tetsu is caught between them. He becomes such a fearsome enemy that all the gangs target him, yet he is able to elude them. Always. He is the Tokyo Drifter, the ultimate badass, a killing machine that cannot be caught, contained, and of course, cannot be killed no matter how hard they try.
What separates Tokyo Drifter from all the other Nikkatsu teen films that were coming out during this period is the vivid visual style. Suzuki uses flamboyant colors whenever he can, usually loud and bright colors, the types that were being used in pop art –- purples, pinks, yellows, blood reds. Even though the sets are just as unrealistic as the plot, they make this for an aesthetically pleasing and thrilling ride. You can turn your mind off, get lost in the eye candy, and root for the hero to triumph over his enemies.
Enemies plotting to take down Tetsu
The rival gangs and their real estate shenanigans are the embodiment of evil. They claim that “money and power rule now. Honor means nothing.” They have no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and exist completely as flattened villains. This works as a way of hero worship. As bad and bumbling as his enemies look, Tetsu just looks cool, calm, and elevated by comparison. In one scene he takes on multiple opponents, which is odd given that this is a yakuza and not a samurai film, but the choreography is reminiscent of how Zatoichi dispatches several enemies at once. You have to suspend enough disbelief that these people wouldn’t be wise enough to just take a few steps back and fire their guns at Tetsu. This is not a realistic world.
In several instances the style resembles that of a Spaghetti Western. There are long shots showing Tetsu drifting at some location, and his coolness is shown in close-up wearing his sunglasses and dripping in sweat, just like Sergio Leone was shooting Clint Eastwood around the same time.
The pop song
Another similarity with the spaghetti western is that the hero has a theme song, but rather than it being scored by Morricone and played as background music when the hero enters the frame, it is actually sung or performed several times in the film. He is introduced as the Tokyo Drifter by an adoring female singer, and the song takes on several other forms throughout the running time. At one time he sings it himself, and another time he whistles what is by that time a familiar refrain.
Much of what takes place in Tokyo Drifter can be dismissed as style over substance with a brainless heroic plot, but there is a message to be had. It is no coincidence that American GIs are at the center of a bar fight near the end of the film. They are abused in this fight, and they react with a silliness that was probably stereotyped for Americans at the time. It may not be as explicit as other films, especially Gate of Flesh, but Suzuki appears to be lamenting the modern world that the Americans have created since the war, with their values of money over honor.
This is one movie that cannot be spoiled because it is completely predictable. It is difficult to criticize it for being ridiculous and over-the-top. Is that okay? Can we excuse this one for being silly, while we condemn other poorly written films? Yes, I think so, because this one has no intention of being anything other than pure fun. It is not aiming at literary high art. It attempts only to be escapist and bedazzling, and on that level it succeeds.
Film Rating: 7/10
Supplements:
Seijun Suzuki and Masami Kuzuu – This is a 2011 interview with the director and Assistant director. Suzuki saw this as a pop song movie, which it was. In some ways it could be considered a forebear to the music video. He said that they did not put as much thought into it as we might expect today. They were on a quick production schedule, so they discussed shot selections the night before. Their intent was to take the script and make the mundane seem interesting. Suzuki focused exclusively on style, and did not get much funding because his movies were not expected to be hits. He thinks that because they did not have money, they were able to get more creative. The vibrant colors were intended to highlight the pop song.
He denies being influenced by westerns, even though he did watch and admire them. This is one area where I think you have to take his denials with a grain of salt If he grew up watching westerns and this film ends up being full of similarities to the genre, then he was undeniably influenced by them, whether he realized it or not.
The film production revolved around star system. The studio intended to make Tetsuya Watari a star, and that is another reason why he was portrayed as heroically as possible and received flattering shots and poses. They even reshot scenes to heighten his presence.
The studio was against his films, especially this one because they too weird and surreal. The first version had a green moon in the final scene, which the studio made him reshoot, again making Watari more prominent, which he obliged. ‘What else could he do?’ he asks, laughing.
Seijun Suzuki – Here is was interviewed as part of a career retrospective in 1997. He started as a contract director doing B movies before being given the opportunity to make features, which is when he started making innovative genre films. He could not refuse too many scripts, and really why would he since they were all pulpy entertain films anyway? There were no perfect scripts, so he simply changed them as needed.
He tells some funny stories about Watari. He had orders to make him a star, but the actor was not experienced on the set. Many times he had trouble remembering his lines, and sometimes an AD would have to sit outside of the frame with a broom anf hit Watari in order to make him remember his lines.
Criterion Rating: 5.5/10
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