Inspired by Yasujiro Ozu’s Late Spring and her mother’s relationship with her grandfather, Claire Denis transports the father-daughter story from postwar Tokyo to modern day Paris in 35 Shots of Rum. Denis’s way of illustrating the warmth and yearning of the parental relationship is faithful to her enigmatic style while the resulting film is also true to the essence of the Japanese classic. A homage from an auteur of our time to one from the past, 35 Shots of Rum solidifies Denis’s statute as a master of her generation while reminding its audience of the perennial beauty of Ozu’s picture.
The film opens with the view from a train conductor’s window. Viewers see the train passing through the rails and are treated to the Parisian scenery. Accompanied by the setting sun and the original music by British band Tindersticks, the scene conveys an atmosphere of warmness and melancholy that sets the tone of the film. Under the lens of cinematographer Agnès Godard (a longtime collaborator of Denis), 35 Shots of Rum is illuminated with rich and earthy colors of its trains, apartments, cafes and characters.
Like its Japanese predecessor, 35 Shots of Rum depicts a very close relationship between an aging father and his adult daughter whose life as a two-person family is bound to break when they soon realize the young woman will eventually grow up to have a separate life. Joséphine, the daughter (played by Mati Diop), is a college student who shares a mutual attraction with their rootless neighbor Noé (played by Grégoire Colin). Lionel, the father (played by Alex Descas), is a quiet train conductor who has an elusive relationship with another neighbor, Gabrielle (played by Nicole Dogué). As in other films by Denis, the relationships between the characters and their past are often hinted at bay and rarely spoken aloud, but the closeness between father and daughter is unquestionably the emotional anchor of a picture that thrives within the enclosure of its organic pathos without the burdens of cynicism.
Claire Denis also includes a couple of themes from her previous films in 35 Shots of Rum. Post-colonial France, a recurring topic in a lot of her films, is brought up briefly in Joséphine’s class discussion. But by using a cast of mainly black performers in this gentle family drama, Denis successfully made a quiet statement about the normalcy of France’s diverse population. Mortality, which was the focus of her last film, The Intruder, looms over the pensive Lionel as he watches an ex-colleague struggling with life after retirement. A life in transition summons immense sadness from deep inside him.
Mono no aware— a Japanese concept describing the impermanence of things and the sadness at their passing— is core to Japanese culture and Ozu’s films, yet Denis notices this faintly nostalgic feeling is indeed universal and its presence is central to 35 Shots of Rum. No matter how much happiness the future might bring, Lionel and Joséphine reckon that the uniquely beautiful relationship they have will have to be broken up some day. The final shot is very simple by design, yet the bittersweet sense of loss closes the film in the most profoundly touching way.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
PHOTOPLAY MUSIC
Pianist and composer Donald Sosin has been composing original scores for silent films since the 1970s. With over 300 compositions under his belt, it will be a treat for Houston to see him perform live with singer Joanna Seaton (Sosin’s wife) and Kid Pan Alley students from MacGregor Elementary School at Miller Outdoor Theater for the 1924 silent classic Peter Pan. Film Monitor had the privilege to ask Mr. Sosin a few questions about his work and career before this upcoming show on November 13 (7:00 pm).
With over thirty years of experience, how is it like to be a silent film accompanist in the 21st century?
There are more opportunities now to write and perform silent film music than there were when I first started out in the early seventies, more audience interest, more films to choose from as a result of discoveries and restorations. More places are showing silent films on their schedules, and the proliferation of recorded material has made it necessary to have new scores written for DVD release and for the web.
You have composed scores for the DVD releases of a few silent films by Yasujiro Ozu, including I Was Born But… and Passing Fancy. Like Peter Pan, the two aforementioned films are heavily focused on children. Your music has a youthful spring and captivating childlike wonder in it.
Well, that’s very kind of you, I have always related to children’s stories and have spent a lot of time working with kids, writing songs and musicals for them, and teaching them to write their own. I don’t think of Passing Fancy as a children’s film, particularly, it’s got a boy in it, but it’s really a family drama. I Was Born But... is much more puckish, I love those two brothers, and the gang that seems like a Japanese version of Little Rascals. I wanted to create music that would have some whimsy where appropriate, such as in the wonderful home movie scene where the film gets sped up, but also give a sense of the tensions that accompany the boys’ relationship with their father and their schoolmates.
How is your Peter Pan score similar to (or different from) your score for I Was Born But… ?
Peter Pan is a fantasy, of course, but has some of these same tensions inherent in the story, boys living in a neighborhood filled with bullies (pirates in this case), and fathers (Mr. Darling as well as Peter) who are more absorbed in their work than they are with family responsibilities. But the main thing for me in the music for this film is the wonder of kids learning to fly and traveling to an adventure-filled land where all kinds of exciting things crop up: mermaids, crocodiles, etc. The musical score by John Crook for Barrie’s original stage play has some great tunes in it, and I have appropriated some of those for the score we’ll play. My wife Joanna Seaton will sing an old English lullaby, “Golden Slumbers,” same lyrics as the Beatles song, but with a new tune of mine.
Two years ago in Charlottesville VA the kids in the Kid Pan Alley songwriting workshop wrote three songs that they sang during the film itself, and I incorporated some of those themes into the score. In Houston, the kids will be singing before the actual film, but there is a good chance that those tunes will find their way into the accompaniment. This is one of those cases where I leave a lot to the moment, and it will be great fun to see what the end results are, and how the outdoor venue affects things. We will also invite the audience to make sound effects from time to time; I started doing that a couple of years ago and kids and adults alike really have fun doing animal sounds and cannons and whatnot.
Speaking of Ozu, what is your favorite film by the Japanese master?
I Was Born But... is in fact my favorite film of his, but I also really like Tokyo Story, both versions of Floating Weeds and pretty much everything else I’ve seen of his. The framing of the shots is always so exquisite, and the repeated motifs of telephone poles or laundry flapping in the wind or other cinematic breaks between scenes are remarkable.
What are some music-accompanied silent films that have influenced you as a composer?
I learned a great deal about silent film music from composer/pianist William Perry, who did a lot of scoring for two PBS series, The Silent Years, almost forty years ago. His themes are very memorable and his whole dramatic approach to silent film scoring was a huge influence on me. I have also heard great scores by my friends and colleagues who play at the festivals in Pordenone and Bologna each year; Timothy Brock’s score for Lady Windermere’s Fan, Gabriel Thibaudeau’s Broken Blossoms, Antonio Coppola (no relation) Visage des Enfants, and most recently Maud Nellissen’s adaptation of Lehár’s The Merry Widow are some that come to mind. The late British conductor John Lanchbery also did a tremendous The Birth of a Nation score that used the original Griffith/Breil music as a point of departure but wove it together in a much more organic way than had been done earlier. All of this music, by the way, is written either for orchestra or chamber ensembles. The piano scores we do tend to be improvised, but I have also written instrumental scores for films like Richard III, Foolish Wives, East Side/West Side and Manhatta which have been performed live but not released commercially. I’m very eclectic in my choice of style and try to find the right angle for each different project. There’s a vast difference between films like Ghosts Before Breakfast and The Kid Brother, and I enjoy changing styles as a way of helping the audience interpret the film.
What would you like to say to audiences who are not familiar with silent films accompanied by live music?
Come see Peter Pan , you’ll love it. Seeing silent films with an audience on a big screen and live music is the only way to really get a sense of what this art form is about. People have forgotten how to see films, and these are often much more visually interesting than contemporary films which depend so much on talking heads and sound effects. We have found that once people see one silent film, they want to see more. There’s a wonderful new adventure waiting for them, so think lovely wonderful thoughts and join us on Friday in Neverland.
As part of the Cinema Arts Festival Houston, Peter Pan will be showing at the Miller Outdoor Theater on 11/13 (7:00 pm).
With over thirty years of experience, how is it like to be a silent film accompanist in the 21st century?
There are more opportunities now to write and perform silent film music than there were when I first started out in the early seventies, more audience interest, more films to choose from as a result of discoveries and restorations. More places are showing silent films on their schedules, and the proliferation of recorded material has made it necessary to have new scores written for DVD release and for the web.
You have composed scores for the DVD releases of a few silent films by Yasujiro Ozu, including I Was Born But… and Passing Fancy. Like Peter Pan, the two aforementioned films are heavily focused on children. Your music has a youthful spring and captivating childlike wonder in it.
Well, that’s very kind of you, I have always related to children’s stories and have spent a lot of time working with kids, writing songs and musicals for them, and teaching them to write their own. I don’t think of Passing Fancy as a children’s film, particularly, it’s got a boy in it, but it’s really a family drama. I Was Born But... is much more puckish, I love those two brothers, and the gang that seems like a Japanese version of Little Rascals. I wanted to create music that would have some whimsy where appropriate, such as in the wonderful home movie scene where the film gets sped up, but also give a sense of the tensions that accompany the boys’ relationship with their father and their schoolmates.
How is your Peter Pan score similar to (or different from) your score for I Was Born But… ?
Peter Pan is a fantasy, of course, but has some of these same tensions inherent in the story, boys living in a neighborhood filled with bullies (pirates in this case), and fathers (Mr. Darling as well as Peter) who are more absorbed in their work than they are with family responsibilities. But the main thing for me in the music for this film is the wonder of kids learning to fly and traveling to an adventure-filled land where all kinds of exciting things crop up: mermaids, crocodiles, etc. The musical score by John Crook for Barrie’s original stage play has some great tunes in it, and I have appropriated some of those for the score we’ll play. My wife Joanna Seaton will sing an old English lullaby, “Golden Slumbers,” same lyrics as the Beatles song, but with a new tune of mine.
Two years ago in Charlottesville VA the kids in the Kid Pan Alley songwriting workshop wrote three songs that they sang during the film itself, and I incorporated some of those themes into the score. In Houston, the kids will be singing before the actual film, but there is a good chance that those tunes will find their way into the accompaniment. This is one of those cases where I leave a lot to the moment, and it will be great fun to see what the end results are, and how the outdoor venue affects things. We will also invite the audience to make sound effects from time to time; I started doing that a couple of years ago and kids and adults alike really have fun doing animal sounds and cannons and whatnot.
Speaking of Ozu, what is your favorite film by the Japanese master?
I Was Born But... is in fact my favorite film of his, but I also really like Tokyo Story, both versions of Floating Weeds and pretty much everything else I’ve seen of his. The framing of the shots is always so exquisite, and the repeated motifs of telephone poles or laundry flapping in the wind or other cinematic breaks between scenes are remarkable.
What are some music-accompanied silent films that have influenced you as a composer?
I learned a great deal about silent film music from composer/pianist William Perry, who did a lot of scoring for two PBS series, The Silent Years, almost forty years ago. His themes are very memorable and his whole dramatic approach to silent film scoring was a huge influence on me. I have also heard great scores by my friends and colleagues who play at the festivals in Pordenone and Bologna each year; Timothy Brock’s score for Lady Windermere’s Fan, Gabriel Thibaudeau’s Broken Blossoms, Antonio Coppola (no relation) Visage des Enfants, and most recently Maud Nellissen’s adaptation of Lehár’s The Merry Widow are some that come to mind. The late British conductor John Lanchbery also did a tremendous The Birth of a Nation score that used the original Griffith/Breil music as a point of departure but wove it together in a much more organic way than had been done earlier. All of this music, by the way, is written either for orchestra or chamber ensembles. The piano scores we do tend to be improvised, but I have also written instrumental scores for films like Richard III, Foolish Wives, East Side/West Side and Manhatta which have been performed live but not released commercially. I’m very eclectic in my choice of style and try to find the right angle for each different project. There’s a vast difference between films like Ghosts Before Breakfast and The Kid Brother, and I enjoy changing styles as a way of helping the audience interpret the film.
What would you like to say to audiences who are not familiar with silent films accompanied by live music?
Come see Peter Pan , you’ll love it. Seeing silent films with an audience on a big screen and live music is the only way to really get a sense of what this art form is about. People have forgotten how to see films, and these are often much more visually interesting than contemporary films which depend so much on talking heads and sound effects. We have found that once people see one silent film, they want to see more. There’s a wonderful new adventure waiting for them, so think lovely wonderful thoughts and join us on Friday in Neverland.
As part of the Cinema Arts Festival Houston, Peter Pan will be showing at the Miller Outdoor Theater on 11/13 (7:00 pm).
ACROSS THE BORDER
Thirty-five years after his first film role in 1970, native Texan actor Tommy Lee Jones directed his first film in 2005. The result, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, is the only feature-length theatrical film he has directed thus far in his career, but is hopefully not his last. Jones also stars in the film, playing the bilingual Pete Perkins, a grizzled ranch foreman in Cibolo County, Texas who has befriended the titular character, played by Julio Cedillo, a ranch hand from Mexico. Melquiades arrives in Texas as an undocumented immigrant looking for work. Pete hires him and the two eventually strike up a friendship. Unfortunately when Melquiades is unexpectedly shot and killed, Pete must identify the body, which prompts him to unravel the circumstances behind his friend’s death.
The Three Burials was scripted by the talented writer Guillermo Arriaga, whose previous writing credits include Amores Perros (2000), 21 Grams (2003) and Babel (2006). Arriaga’s time-fractured method of storytelling continues here and serves the material well. The Three Burials also stars Barry Pepper (Saving Private Ryan) as border patrol agent Mike Norton, January Jones (before her breakout role on television’s Mad Men) as his wife Lou Ann Norton, and Dwight Yoakam (Sling Blade) as Sheriff Frank Belmont.
Once Pete discovers he had no help from the Sheriff and that the insensitive boarder patrol agent, Mike Norton, is resposnible for his friend’s death, Pete forces Mike to exhume Melquiades’ body and return him to his family. The Three Burials is very much concerned with immigration but does so in a humanistic and empathic way. Mike, while he is captive, is forced to traverse the same paths as the immigrants he attempts to apprehend and thus comes face-to-face with their realities and struggles. Although this modern Western focuses on an old cowboy’s quest to fulfill his promise to his murdered friend, it is also about Mike’s redemption.
Cinematographers Chris Menges and Hector Ortega capture some gorgeous and desolate scenery in small towns and the countryside for near the Texas-Mexico border for the film. One scene in particular exemplifies Pete’s loneliness in the aftermath of his only friend’s death. Across the border, in a cantina at dusk, Pete wistfully gazes out at the surrounding countryside from his barstool. After getting up, he stumbles to the telephone to make a phone call with a drunken confession of love to the woman he left behind in Texas. The combination of the normally stoic Pete’s vulnerability, the lighting in the cantina, and the haunting music provided by a piano-playing girl make it the film’s most enduring image.
As part of the Cinema Arts Festival Houston, writer Guillermo Arriaga will present The Three Burials... at the MFAH on 11/13 (6:45pm).
The Three Burials was scripted by the talented writer Guillermo Arriaga, whose previous writing credits include Amores Perros (2000), 21 Grams (2003) and Babel (2006). Arriaga’s time-fractured method of storytelling continues here and serves the material well. The Three Burials also stars Barry Pepper (Saving Private Ryan) as border patrol agent Mike Norton, January Jones (before her breakout role on television’s Mad Men) as his wife Lou Ann Norton, and Dwight Yoakam (Sling Blade) as Sheriff Frank Belmont.
Once Pete discovers he had no help from the Sheriff and that the insensitive boarder patrol agent, Mike Norton, is resposnible for his friend’s death, Pete forces Mike to exhume Melquiades’ body and return him to his family. The Three Burials is very much concerned with immigration but does so in a humanistic and empathic way. Mike, while he is captive, is forced to traverse the same paths as the immigrants he attempts to apprehend and thus comes face-to-face with their realities and struggles. Although this modern Western focuses on an old cowboy’s quest to fulfill his promise to his murdered friend, it is also about Mike’s redemption.
Cinematographers Chris Menges and Hector Ortega capture some gorgeous and desolate scenery in small towns and the countryside for near the Texas-Mexico border for the film. One scene in particular exemplifies Pete’s loneliness in the aftermath of his only friend’s death. Across the border, in a cantina at dusk, Pete wistfully gazes out at the surrounding countryside from his barstool. After getting up, he stumbles to the telephone to make a phone call with a drunken confession of love to the woman he left behind in Texas. The combination of the normally stoic Pete’s vulnerability, the lighting in the cantina, and the haunting music provided by a piano-playing girl make it the film’s most enduring image.
As part of the Cinema Arts Festival Houston, writer Guillermo Arriaga will present The Three Burials... at the MFAH on 11/13 (6:45pm).
MUSICAL REALISM
Damien Chazelle’s directorial debut has been described as a “mumblecore” musical but it differs sharply from other mumblecore pictures. Damien Chazelle’s Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench is a new kind of musical. The film is not burdened by Andrew Bujalski’s (Funny Ha Ha, Beeswax) chatterboxes. In fact there is very little in the way of dialogue. The primary communicative device in the film is music. There are choreographed music sections of the film but even the scenes between musical numbers have a certain rhythmic quality. Chazelle’s cinematography captures Boston and a small subculture of jazz enthusiasts with a musical quality that pervades the entire picture.
Chazelle’s characters are intimately connected to their setting. He follows characters walking through the city, up and down staircases and into buildings. We view them up-close. Not only are these characters impossible in a different setting, their setting is impossible without them. The characters walk through a Boston infused with rhythm. It is a city transformed by their presence and they too are transformed by it. One scene opens on a hip party with twenty-somethings sipping cocktails and talking underneath a jovial tune from Guy’s band. Chazelle focuses on a single conversation that imperceptibly slips into a song with choreographed yet spontaneous tap-dancing. The room looks like an apartment but feels like a club. The performers transform the setting as the close-set walls of the apartment lend a kinetic energy to the musical performance. Chazelle keeps the camera close to the performers; changing shots from one side of the room to the other in time with the music.
Scenes without musical numbers also share the rhythmic quality of the choreographed scenes. When Guy meets his new fling Elena, we see the two sharing an intimate moment to the rhythm of the subway. The scene is remarkable. It is bereft of dialogue and the camera cuts from Elena to Guy and only places them in the same frame when they touch. The scene is natural in a way seldom seen in film. This is not the usual beautiful people coalescing like amoebas in a celluloid void. They are in an actual space forced together by the crowded train and its rhythmic roll along the track. This seamless integration of character and setting remains for the entire film.
Chazelle’s characters have a depth that belies any withheld narrative information. He does not encourage us to contemplate what that missing information might be but renders it unimportant. We easily understand the complexities of Guy’s relationships without the simple declarations that characterize lesser films. Guy’s relationship with Madeline brackets the film and illustrates Chazelle’s innovative approach. The film opens with Guy and Madeline sitting in silence. Guy walks away. The scene is simple and understood. We learn through the course of the film why it is that Guy and Madeline split without overt explanation. Through the course of the film Chazelle shows us that Guy only loves his trumpet. When Guy realizes he made a mistake leaving Madeline he attempts to win her back by playing her a song. His trumpet says more than words.
The integration of characters and setting is what sets this film apart from previous “mumblecore” efforts. Chazelle accomplishes this by uniting both characters and setting through music. The musical form is never distracting but an integral part of the story. In other words this film only makes sense as a musical. It is through music that we watch the people and setting transform. Unlike previous mumblecore offerings, Guy and Madeline actually accomplishes one of the tasks of realist cinema without boring us. The film shows us the daily lives of this Boston jazz subculture in a complex and thorough manner. The film does not leave us scratching our heads. It is entirely satisfying because it limits its scope. Instead of contrived complicated sets, Chazelle seems to improvise. He does not force his vision on the setting but uses it to tell his story.
Chazelle is clearly a talented filmmaker. His film breathes new life into the musical. Do not expect any hit songs from the soundtrack. Chazelle does not limit his film to such easy clichés. He attempts to tell a story in the way that a song tells a story. His film is an example of new kind of realist cinema. Chazelle is not afraid to choreograph scenes. He does not risk the banality of chatterboxes in order to make the film seem more real. The film never stops moving so that we can listen to dwindling conversation. One works hard for small rewards and this film is no exception.
As part of the Cinema Arts Festival Houston, Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench will be playing at the Angelika Film Center Houston on 11/13 (6:45 pm) & 11/15 (9:45 pm).
Chazelle’s characters are intimately connected to their setting. He follows characters walking through the city, up and down staircases and into buildings. We view them up-close. Not only are these characters impossible in a different setting, their setting is impossible without them. The characters walk through a Boston infused with rhythm. It is a city transformed by their presence and they too are transformed by it. One scene opens on a hip party with twenty-somethings sipping cocktails and talking underneath a jovial tune from Guy’s band. Chazelle focuses on a single conversation that imperceptibly slips into a song with choreographed yet spontaneous tap-dancing. The room looks like an apartment but feels like a club. The performers transform the setting as the close-set walls of the apartment lend a kinetic energy to the musical performance. Chazelle keeps the camera close to the performers; changing shots from one side of the room to the other in time with the music.
Scenes without musical numbers also share the rhythmic quality of the choreographed scenes. When Guy meets his new fling Elena, we see the two sharing an intimate moment to the rhythm of the subway. The scene is remarkable. It is bereft of dialogue and the camera cuts from Elena to Guy and only places them in the same frame when they touch. The scene is natural in a way seldom seen in film. This is not the usual beautiful people coalescing like amoebas in a celluloid void. They are in an actual space forced together by the crowded train and its rhythmic roll along the track. This seamless integration of character and setting remains for the entire film.
Chazelle’s characters have a depth that belies any withheld narrative information. He does not encourage us to contemplate what that missing information might be but renders it unimportant. We easily understand the complexities of Guy’s relationships without the simple declarations that characterize lesser films. Guy’s relationship with Madeline brackets the film and illustrates Chazelle’s innovative approach. The film opens with Guy and Madeline sitting in silence. Guy walks away. The scene is simple and understood. We learn through the course of the film why it is that Guy and Madeline split without overt explanation. Through the course of the film Chazelle shows us that Guy only loves his trumpet. When Guy realizes he made a mistake leaving Madeline he attempts to win her back by playing her a song. His trumpet says more than words.
The integration of characters and setting is what sets this film apart from previous “mumblecore” efforts. Chazelle accomplishes this by uniting both characters and setting through music. The musical form is never distracting but an integral part of the story. In other words this film only makes sense as a musical. It is through music that we watch the people and setting transform. Unlike previous mumblecore offerings, Guy and Madeline actually accomplishes one of the tasks of realist cinema without boring us. The film shows us the daily lives of this Boston jazz subculture in a complex and thorough manner. The film does not leave us scratching our heads. It is entirely satisfying because it limits its scope. Instead of contrived complicated sets, Chazelle seems to improvise. He does not force his vision on the setting but uses it to tell his story.
Chazelle is clearly a talented filmmaker. His film breathes new life into the musical. Do not expect any hit songs from the soundtrack. Chazelle does not limit his film to such easy clichés. He attempts to tell a story in the way that a song tells a story. His film is an example of new kind of realist cinema. Chazelle is not afraid to choreograph scenes. He does not risk the banality of chatterboxes in order to make the film seem more real. The film never stops moving so that we can listen to dwindling conversation. One works hard for small rewards and this film is no exception.
As part of the Cinema Arts Festival Houston, Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench will be playing at the Angelika Film Center Houston on 11/13 (6:45 pm) & 11/15 (9:45 pm).
Friday, October 2, 2009
OP-ED: Polanski is indefensible. And the top 10 directors who didn't sign his petition
by Francisco Lo
Roman Polanski is one of the most acclaimed directors of his generation. Chinatown, Repulsion and Rosemary’s Baby are among the few great films he made. But Roman Polanski was also a fugitive child rapist for the last thirty some years until his arrest in Zurich last week. There is no question that he deserves to be extradited, but over a hundred famous filmmakers, actors and writers have signed a petition demanding his release. As a film critic and a children’s advocate, I am infuriated by the ignorance and arrogance these “celebrities” have displayed. Do they need to re-read the harrowing account of the rape from the grand jury testimony? Have their enormous egos allowed them to think that artistic geniuses should have a free pass to do as they wish and film festivals are holy grounds where no law should apply?
If Polanski has such an unfair trial thirty years ago, maybe it’s time for him to get a fair one this time around. Running away for thirty years does not absolve anyone of his crime. I am in no way denying Polanski’s artistic contribution, but he has committed a terrible crime for which he has avoided a sentence (so far). Polanski might very well be a nice and friendly person (and many perpetrators are). He is possibly a great husband and father, too. But he had raped a child and there is no one can excuse him from facing responsibility in court. Not Martin Scorsese. Not Wong Kar Wai. Not David Lynch.
It is very heartbreaking to see so many of my favorite filmmakers on this list of shame. I can understand why Woody Allen would sign it (kudos to his shameless courage), but I thought Pedro Almodovar, the Dardenne brothers and Costa Gavras are socially conscious artists. For whatever reason you signed the petition, be ashamed of yourself. I am not encouraging anyone to boycott these filmmakers’ works because I have the capability to understand that artistic merit and moral failings do not necessarily overlap (unlike the petition signees). But in no particular order, here is my list of top ten living filmmakers who did not sign the Free Poon-lanski Petition (but I have no idea where they stand on this issue):
1. Agnes Varda
The only female among the legendary group of French New Wave filmmakers, Agnes Varda has always been an innovator in the field. CLEO FROM 5 TO 7 is a masterpiece that challenges the concept of real-time cinema. LE BONHEUR is a feminist look at marriage. Varda is also a renown documentarian and she looks back at her life in the new film THE BEACHES OF AGNES.
2. Jean-Luc Godard
Another French titan that needs no introduction. The 78-year-old director is still an active filmmaker. Known for his leftist politics but occasional patriarchal portrayal on gender issues, I'm surprised he hasn't signed the petition with his peers. Regardless, VIVRE SA VIE (Her Life To Live) is a great movie about the life of a prostitute.
3. Hayao Miyazaki
The master who elevates the art form of animation to legitimate cinema, Miyazaki's movies have often feature strong and well-written female characters loved by adults and children around the globe. It is safe to say he has never made a bad movie in his career, KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE and SPIRITED AWAY are among his bests. His new film is PONYO
4. Guy Maddin
Some call him the "Canadian David Lynch", but Guy Maddin's style is one of his kind. Inspired by silent cinema, his films are lo-fi visual spectacles with the freakiest narrative you would see. See it youself in BRAND UPON MY BRAIN! and MY WINNIPEG.
5. Jim Jarmusch
One of the trailblazers of the American independent cinema, Jarmusch's tales of offbeat characters shines in his beautifully shot features. DOWN BY LAW, STRANGER THAN PARADISE and DEAD MEN are some of the best black and white films made in the last twenty-five years.
6. Chantal Akerman
With one foot in experimental cinema and the other in the mainstream, Akerman has always been one of the most challenging filmmakers around. It is hard to imagine anyone else could make a film like JEANNE DIELMAN.
7. Ramin Bahrani
The most promising American director of this generation, Bahrani is still quite under the radar (and Hollywood probably doesn't bother to pass the petition to him). Remember his name and watch his films. CHOP SHOP. GOODBYE SOLO. MAN PUSH CART.
8. Joel and Ethan Coen
The biggest names that have not signed the petition (yet?). Their new film A SERIOUS MAN is coming out this month.
9. Jia Zhangke
He is the best director from China right now and he will continue to be one of the world's best in the next decade (and hopefully longer). 24 CITY is in theaters now. But look for his patiently-paced and gorgeously framed motion picture in STILL LIFE.
10. Lars Von Trier
He once called Roman Polanski a midget because the jury headed by the little man only gave Von Trier a third-place prize at Cannes in 1991. As one of the founders of Dogma 95 movement, Von Trier is the evil genius of cinema. BREAKING THE WAVES, DOGMA, DANCER IN THE DARK are brutal and shocking, but also his most accessible films. His new film, THE ANTICHRIST, is coming. Beware.
(This list is just a small sample. I am also surprised that Harvey Weinstein, the biggest Polanski supporter, has not made his employee Quentin Tarantino sign yet.)
Roman Polanski is one of the most acclaimed directors of his generation. Chinatown, Repulsion and Rosemary’s Baby are among the few great films he made. But Roman Polanski was also a fugitive child rapist for the last thirty some years until his arrest in Zurich last week. There is no question that he deserves to be extradited, but over a hundred famous filmmakers, actors and writers have signed a petition demanding his release. As a film critic and a children’s advocate, I am infuriated by the ignorance and arrogance these “celebrities” have displayed. Do they need to re-read the harrowing account of the rape from the grand jury testimony? Have their enormous egos allowed them to think that artistic geniuses should have a free pass to do as they wish and film festivals are holy grounds where no law should apply?
If Polanski has such an unfair trial thirty years ago, maybe it’s time for him to get a fair one this time around. Running away for thirty years does not absolve anyone of his crime. I am in no way denying Polanski’s artistic contribution, but he has committed a terrible crime for which he has avoided a sentence (so far). Polanski might very well be a nice and friendly person (and many perpetrators are). He is possibly a great husband and father, too. But he had raped a child and there is no one can excuse him from facing responsibility in court. Not Martin Scorsese. Not Wong Kar Wai. Not David Lynch.
It is very heartbreaking to see so many of my favorite filmmakers on this list of shame. I can understand why Woody Allen would sign it (kudos to his shameless courage), but I thought Pedro Almodovar, the Dardenne brothers and Costa Gavras are socially conscious artists. For whatever reason you signed the petition, be ashamed of yourself. I am not encouraging anyone to boycott these filmmakers’ works because I have the capability to understand that artistic merit and moral failings do not necessarily overlap (unlike the petition signees). But in no particular order, here is my list of top ten living filmmakers who did not sign the Free Poon-lanski Petition (but I have no idea where they stand on this issue):
1. Agnes Varda
The only female among the legendary group of French New Wave filmmakers, Agnes Varda has always been an innovator in the field. CLEO FROM 5 TO 7 is a masterpiece that challenges the concept of real-time cinema. LE BONHEUR is a feminist look at marriage. Varda is also a renown documentarian and she looks back at her life in the new film THE BEACHES OF AGNES.
2. Jean-Luc Godard
Another French titan that needs no introduction. The 78-year-old director is still an active filmmaker. Known for his leftist politics but occasional patriarchal portrayal on gender issues, I'm surprised he hasn't signed the petition with his peers. Regardless, VIVRE SA VIE (Her Life To Live) is a great movie about the life of a prostitute.
3. Hayao Miyazaki
The master who elevates the art form of animation to legitimate cinema, Miyazaki's movies have often feature strong and well-written female characters loved by adults and children around the globe. It is safe to say he has never made a bad movie in his career, KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE and SPIRITED AWAY are among his bests. His new film is PONYO
4. Guy Maddin
Some call him the "Canadian David Lynch", but Guy Maddin's style is one of his kind. Inspired by silent cinema, his films are lo-fi visual spectacles with the freakiest narrative you would see. See it youself in BRAND UPON MY BRAIN! and MY WINNIPEG.
5. Jim Jarmusch
One of the trailblazers of the American independent cinema, Jarmusch's tales of offbeat characters shines in his beautifully shot features. DOWN BY LAW, STRANGER THAN PARADISE and DEAD MEN are some of the best black and white films made in the last twenty-five years.
6. Chantal Akerman
With one foot in experimental cinema and the other in the mainstream, Akerman has always been one of the most challenging filmmakers around. It is hard to imagine anyone else could make a film like JEANNE DIELMAN.
7. Ramin Bahrani
The most promising American director of this generation, Bahrani is still quite under the radar (and Hollywood probably doesn't bother to pass the petition to him). Remember his name and watch his films. CHOP SHOP. GOODBYE SOLO. MAN PUSH CART.
8. Joel and Ethan Coen
The biggest names that have not signed the petition (yet?). Their new film A SERIOUS MAN is coming out this month.
9. Jia Zhangke
He is the best director from China right now and he will continue to be one of the world's best in the next decade (and hopefully longer). 24 CITY is in theaters now. But look for his patiently-paced and gorgeously framed motion picture in STILL LIFE.
10. Lars Von Trier
He once called Roman Polanski a midget because the jury headed by the little man only gave Von Trier a third-place prize at Cannes in 1991. As one of the founders of Dogma 95 movement, Von Trier is the evil genius of cinema. BREAKING THE WAVES, DOGMA, DANCER IN THE DARK are brutal and shocking, but also his most accessible films. His new film, THE ANTICHRIST, is coming. Beware.
(This list is just a small sample. I am also surprised that Harvey Weinstein, the biggest Polanski supporter, has not made his employee Quentin Tarantino sign yet.)
Monday, September 28, 2009
Domestic Dissonance
The contemplation of Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles / by Francisco Lo
Cannes, 1975. It was the premiere of her debut feature length film, Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. As the lights in the theater dimmed, twenty-five year old Chantal Akerman sat down in the back row with the star of her film, Delphine Seyrig, who is an accomplished thespian in her native France. While the 207-minute film was playing, the young director noticed there were audience members walking out of the film theater. Few were prepared for a film like this, but the diminutive girl from Belgium had created an important chapter in celluloid history that would spark debates for decades to come.
The audiences’ polarized reactions come as a stark contrast to the film’s serene and non-dramatic nature. Jeanne Dielman follows its titular widow (played by Seyrig) for three days, putting her daily activities as a housewife on the big screen. Under Akerman’s script and direction, the film is devoid of any conventional drama or story per se, but is fixated on Jeanne’s habitual routine of preparing dinner, running errands, prostituting in the afternoon and dining with her teenage son in the evening.
Her daily afternoon trick is hardly the centerpiece of the film’s attraction, since the first two days only include faceless greetings and stoic monetary transactions, both happen in front of the apartment’s door. Chantal Akerman does not go for the cheap shock. The majority of the screen time is concentrated on the detailed and uninterrupted depiction of the most common household chores. If it takes ten minutes to peel the potatoes, the film will show the whole ten minutes of peeling potatoes. Delphine Seyrig, who often debates with Akerman about the physicality and motives of her character, delivers a phenomenal performance on physical acting. As mundane as it may sound, Akerman’s vision is revelatory because there has never been a film dedicated to the work of a housewife with such realism and conviction. Akerman attributes the scenes to the fond childhood memories of watching her mother and the women in her family.
As much as Akerman appreciated a woman’s labor, she herself was no housewife in training. After watching Jean-Luc Godard’s Pierrot Le Fou (1965) at the age of 15, she discovered there is more to cinema than a linear narrative and was inspired to make movies. The eighteen-year-old aspiring filmmaker doubles as an actor in her first film, Saute ma ville (1968), in which her character causes a playful havoc in the kitchen. Akerman would later revisit the themes of domesticity in Jeanne Dielman. Bored by film school, she left for New York in 1971 where she met her future cinematographer Babette Mangolte, who introduced her to the experimental films of Michael Snow and others. The young Belgian then began to make a series of experimental shorts with Mangolte before their debut feature, Jeanne Dielman.
Feeling that she may have betrayed her experimental roots with a narrative feature in Jeanne Dielman, Akerman was actually developing a style of her own with elements from both traditional and leftfield cinema. Never driven by pretensions, the budding auteur employs the painstaking details of Jeanne’s daily rituals to gradually build up her domestic epic. Mangolte’s static camera, distant and without close-ups, is mostly set at waist-height and the repeating frames reinforce the predictability of Jeanne’s life. Day one is a rundown of her typical day. Day two seems quite as uneventful as the day before, until minor miscues at the evening hint at the potential trouble in paradise. By day three, after two hours of perfect housework, even the slightest drop of a shoe brush would alert the perceptive viewer.
Suspense continues to creep in when things continue to go wrong for Jeanne on the third day. After a series of trivial mishaps, it becomes clear that Jeanne is increasingly affected by her mysterious anxiety. The set up pays off finally at the film’s nonchalant climax— a shocking moment so brief it might very well restore the tranquility in Jeanne’s life. The lack of any explicit explanation for Jeanne’s appalling act leaves it up to the viewer to connect the dots and come up with her/his own interpretation. In an exclusive interview on the DVD, Akerman explains that Jeanne’s appointment with her second client takes more time than she has expected because she experiences her first ever orgasm and that leads to her overcooked potatoes. She then has to go buy more potatoes, hence dinner was late. Her psyche continues to be ruffled the next day and when she had her second orgasm with her third client, she finds an astounding solution to reconstruct her identity as sexless housewife.
Jeanne Dielman’s uncompromising look at a woman’s identity echoes with the tidal wave of Women’s Movement in the 60s and 70s. With her bills paid by the money she earns from turning tricks, Jeanne does not need a husband to fulfill her role as a housewife. The middle-aged widow devotes her life to being the spotless housekeeper and all-round caretaker for her son, Sylvain. When the adolescent Sylvain asks her about sex she is at a lost for words because she has little experience and interest in the subject. Up to that point, she has always defined herself based on the needs of men— her
husband, her son and her clients.
The dynamic between sexuality and female gender training has been analyzed by writers such as Simone de Beauvoir (The Second Sex) and Betty Friedan (Feminine Mystique). Yet in cinema, which was (and still is) much of a man’s playground, few filmmakers had the ability to portray women authentically on film. There were mostly two kinds of female roles— the mother and the whore— and the public was often shocked or confounded by films like Agnès Varda’s marital critique Le Bonheur because they were challenging the confines of the status quo.
Speaking of crushing the status quo, women made up about 80% of Jeanne Dielman’s crew, a rarity at the time (even today, only about 7% of American films are directed by women). Jeanne Dielman is not only a triumphant for feminist cinema, but for cinema as a whole. The film’s audacious experimentation in form is unprecedented and it rightfully belongs to be part of the film canon. Thirty some years since its premiere, Jeanne Dielman’s influence is still evident in the works of today’s filmmakers across the world. Those carefully framed, meticulously observant pictures of Fernando Eimbcke (Lake Tahoe), Jia Zhangke (Still Life) and Carlos Reygadas (Silent Light), can all be traced back to Chantal Akerman’s trailblazing debut.
Cannes, 1975. It was the premiere of her debut feature length film, Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles. As the lights in the theater dimmed, twenty-five year old Chantal Akerman sat down in the back row with the star of her film, Delphine Seyrig, who is an accomplished thespian in her native France. While the 207-minute film was playing, the young director noticed there were audience members walking out of the film theater. Few were prepared for a film like this, but the diminutive girl from Belgium had created an important chapter in celluloid history that would spark debates for decades to come.
The audiences’ polarized reactions come as a stark contrast to the film’s serene and non-dramatic nature. Jeanne Dielman follows its titular widow (played by Seyrig) for three days, putting her daily activities as a housewife on the big screen. Under Akerman’s script and direction, the film is devoid of any conventional drama or story per se, but is fixated on Jeanne’s habitual routine of preparing dinner, running errands, prostituting in the afternoon and dining with her teenage son in the evening.
Her daily afternoon trick is hardly the centerpiece of the film’s attraction, since the first two days only include faceless greetings and stoic monetary transactions, both happen in front of the apartment’s door. Chantal Akerman does not go for the cheap shock. The majority of the screen time is concentrated on the detailed and uninterrupted depiction of the most common household chores. If it takes ten minutes to peel the potatoes, the film will show the whole ten minutes of peeling potatoes. Delphine Seyrig, who often debates with Akerman about the physicality and motives of her character, delivers a phenomenal performance on physical acting. As mundane as it may sound, Akerman’s vision is revelatory because there has never been a film dedicated to the work of a housewife with such realism and conviction. Akerman attributes the scenes to the fond childhood memories of watching her mother and the women in her family.
As much as Akerman appreciated a woman’s labor, she herself was no housewife in training. After watching Jean-Luc Godard’s Pierrot Le Fou (1965) at the age of 15, she discovered there is more to cinema than a linear narrative and was inspired to make movies. The eighteen-year-old aspiring filmmaker doubles as an actor in her first film, Saute ma ville (1968), in which her character causes a playful havoc in the kitchen. Akerman would later revisit the themes of domesticity in Jeanne Dielman. Bored by film school, she left for New York in 1971 where she met her future cinematographer Babette Mangolte, who introduced her to the experimental films of Michael Snow and others. The young Belgian then began to make a series of experimental shorts with Mangolte before their debut feature, Jeanne Dielman.
Feeling that she may have betrayed her experimental roots with a narrative feature in Jeanne Dielman, Akerman was actually developing a style of her own with elements from both traditional and leftfield cinema. Never driven by pretensions, the budding auteur employs the painstaking details of Jeanne’s daily rituals to gradually build up her domestic epic. Mangolte’s static camera, distant and without close-ups, is mostly set at waist-height and the repeating frames reinforce the predictability of Jeanne’s life. Day one is a rundown of her typical day. Day two seems quite as uneventful as the day before, until minor miscues at the evening hint at the potential trouble in paradise. By day three, after two hours of perfect housework, even the slightest drop of a shoe brush would alert the perceptive viewer.
Suspense continues to creep in when things continue to go wrong for Jeanne on the third day. After a series of trivial mishaps, it becomes clear that Jeanne is increasingly affected by her mysterious anxiety. The set up pays off finally at the film’s nonchalant climax— a shocking moment so brief it might very well restore the tranquility in Jeanne’s life. The lack of any explicit explanation for Jeanne’s appalling act leaves it up to the viewer to connect the dots and come up with her/his own interpretation. In an exclusive interview on the DVD, Akerman explains that Jeanne’s appointment with her second client takes more time than she has expected because she experiences her first ever orgasm and that leads to her overcooked potatoes. She then has to go buy more potatoes, hence dinner was late. Her psyche continues to be ruffled the next day and when she had her second orgasm with her third client, she finds an astounding solution to reconstruct her identity as sexless housewife.
Jeanne Dielman’s uncompromising look at a woman’s identity echoes with the tidal wave of Women’s Movement in the 60s and 70s. With her bills paid by the money she earns from turning tricks, Jeanne does not need a husband to fulfill her role as a housewife. The middle-aged widow devotes her life to being the spotless housekeeper and all-round caretaker for her son, Sylvain. When the adolescent Sylvain asks her about sex she is at a lost for words because she has little experience and interest in the subject. Up to that point, she has always defined herself based on the needs of men— her
husband, her son and her clients.
The dynamic between sexuality and female gender training has been analyzed by writers such as Simone de Beauvoir (The Second Sex) and Betty Friedan (Feminine Mystique). Yet in cinema, which was (and still is) much of a man’s playground, few filmmakers had the ability to portray women authentically on film. There were mostly two kinds of female roles— the mother and the whore— and the public was often shocked or confounded by films like Agnès Varda’s marital critique Le Bonheur because they were challenging the confines of the status quo.
Speaking of crushing the status quo, women made up about 80% of Jeanne Dielman’s crew, a rarity at the time (even today, only about 7% of American films are directed by women). Jeanne Dielman is not only a triumphant for feminist cinema, but for cinema as a whole. The film’s audacious experimentation in form is unprecedented and it rightfully belongs to be part of the film canon. Thirty some years since its premiere, Jeanne Dielman’s influence is still evident in the works of today’s filmmakers across the world. Those carefully framed, meticulously observant pictures of Fernando Eimbcke (Lake Tahoe), Jia Zhangke (Still Life) and Carlos Reygadas (Silent Light), can all be traced back to Chantal Akerman’s trailblazing debut.
Friday, May 15, 2009
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