Criterion releases for January 2012 - #593-595, E#31
Let’s skip the small talk: Belle du jour, longtime coming; The Moment of Truth, expected, should be great for amateurs of all things Italian; Gorin Eclipse set, sweet addition.
Now: what the fuck is up with that Godzilla cover? Talk about disappointment. After rumors of a boxset and hopes of a jam-packed three disc set (to make up for the fact that current two disc set is quite decent), not only is this announcement quite the letdown, it boasts one of the most confusing - albeit a bit awesome, gotta confess - covers I’ve seen in a long time. A digital painting? Godzilla instead of Gojira? The integrated “trademark” only adds to the fact this covers makes it look as if they’re releasing the Roland Emmerich version. Do I even need to point out that the version of Godzilla on that cover is the contemporary version rather than the much smaller, chubbier, short-tailed 1954 version?
Overall, this design is an excessively modern approach to what, let’s not forget, is a 1954, black & white Toho production about, first and foremost, the bleakness of atomic warfare. Not some sort of 1980-styled destructio-thon! IThis cover is immediately striking because usually, Criterion are experts at conveying the mood, era, and feel of the films they put out, both efficiently and tastefully. I can’t think of another cover that feels this awkward in relation to the movie it’s supposed to represent…
Mostly inept, this early and arguably experimental feature film from De Palma explores the voyeuristic outlook through a frenzied multiple POV-driven film which mixes New Wave and underground schlock aesthetics seamlessly. Early showcase of De Palma’s technical - and in this case, structural - inventiveness, Murder à la Mod, despite its reflexivity, relentless camera work, swingin’ theme song and narrative tricks, is an interesting watch for completionists, but doesn’t offer much more past that.
I know I’m watching what I’ll soon refer to as one of my favorite films when I can’t help but take frenzied notes trying to make sense of the multiple layers of interpretation and text presented to me on screen. De Palma’s riff on Blow-Up and love letter to filmmaking, starring John Travolta and Nancy Allen, is the greatest film about making films I have ever seen, a incredibly intertextual and highly stylized work of art, which is as much about De Palma’s own masterful craftsmanship as it is about a sound man inadvertently capturing a murder on tape. My compulsive schematic - which I would scan for you guys if I had access to a scanner at the moment and wasn’t such a lazy fuck - looked something like a spiral-shaped Venn diagram, testament to the film’s fascination with media-within-media-within-media, in which - similarly to the glorious Phantom of the Paradise - all possible techniques (lush colours, split diopter, split-screen, POV shots, tracking shots) are used to draw attention to the craft (and filmmaker) itself, but also to tell this great horror-within-a-mystery-narrative narrative in the most compelling way possible. Hindered perhaps only by Sally’s (Nancy Allen, which, interestingly enough was De Palma’s wife at the time) excruciating characterization, somewhat reinforcing the accusations of misogyny - which I’ll have to investigate on my own - raised for many by Dressed to Kill in 1980, Blow Out remains one of the fascinating, layered and visually compelling films I have ever seen, an instant American classic I already cannot wait to revisit.
Dramatic ensemble pieces from the 1990’s have an endearing quality to them and Ang Lee’s excruciatingly bleak period piece is no exception. Framed around two upper-middle class families’ Thanksgiving reunion, this gorgeous drama set in post-Watergate scandal 1973 Connecticut and starring younger versions of Christina Ricci, Elijah Wood, Katie Holmes and Tobey Maguire adresses the stark generational divide and political insecurities of the time through exploratory sexual behaviour, socially acceptable substance abuse, transformative weather and accidental loss. Highly recommended viewing for those gloomy, rainy days where you just want to hide from the outside world’s pandemonium and feel awkward for 120 minutes. To that effect, Ang Lee’s The Ice Storm is quite brilliant. And the film opens on a philosophical riddle raised by the reading of Fantastic Four.
Paul Hood (Tobey Maguire) [v.o.]: In issue 141 of the Fantastic Four, published in November, 1973, Reed Richards had to use his anti-matter weapon on his own son, who Annihilus had turned into a human atom bomb. It was a typical predicament for the Fantastic Four, because they weren’t like other superheroes. They were more like a family. And the more power they had, the more harm they could do to each other without even knowing it. That was the meaning of the Fantastic Four: that a family is like your own personal anti-matter. Your family is the void you emerge from, and the place you return to when you die. And that’s the paradox - the closer you’re drawn back in, the deeper into the void you go.
Trivia: Since shooting took place during Spring, the titular ice storm had to be achieve through special effects; hair gel and plastic were used, adding to the already impressive set design of this film, mostly constitute of perfectly 70’s modern living spaces.
Criterion releases for December 2011 - #592, #38-39 rerelease
Anticlimactic December slate, to say the least, but those Suzuki rereleases are going right under my Christmas tree (hopefully!). Quite happy I held off buying the previous editions. Tokyo Drifter’s design is gorgeous!
I saw a 35mm print of Pitfall yesterday…and wanted to see it again the very second it was over. Mind-blowingly circular and crafty in its structure, Teshigahara’s directorial debut - and essentially my introduction to Japanese New Wave cinema - is a crime story, a ghost story and a brilliant critique of worker’s conditions; accumulating incredible twists and ending on a deliciously cynical note. Pitfall might benefit from a more in-depth reading as many elements in the film recall Buddhism - karma, life cycles and rebirth, specifically. As it is, a tremendous film with turns you will not see coming - smart, pulpy and loopy, a textbook example of unconventional narrative done right.
Chaplin’s genius reaches new heights in this untouchable classic my current laziness as a reviewer will never do justice. The Great Dictator finds Chaplin play three characters: Hynkel the dictator, a brilliant satire of Hitler but incidentally Chaplin at his most vulnerable yet in control; the Jewish barber, which many argue is the last on-screen incarnation of the seminal Tramp and finally; himself, in the last and legendary scene in which Chaplin breaks out of character to offer an incredible speech he actually had to justify to the press, who, for the most part didn’t understand artistic license. Playing down the vaudeville slapstick comedy considerably for the sake of spoken word humor - the fake German and Italian being particularly hilarious - and subtler choreographed moments such as the one above, Chaplin pushes his boundaries, showing us the culmination of his craft on screen, while staying true to what made him a legend.
The Great Dictator is ballsy as hell, co-stars Chaplin’s muse Paulette Goddard in an extension of her role in Modern Times and takes a stab at Mussolini as well. Bittersweet and masterful, I can’t believe I’m just seeing this. In any case, if you haven’t, please do!
11 notes "The greatness of the film lies in the bridge Chaplin builds between the little guy and the bully, so that in an amazing spiral, the thugs who pursue Chaplin as victim are under the orders of Chaplin the boss. He is his own persecutor, and at the end, he is the voice of resistance to his own mania. The effect is not to humanize Hitler but, in part—and this is an aspect of the film’s courage—to Hitlerize Chaplin. This strategy is wittily announced on a title card right at the beginning: “Any resemblance between Hynkel the dictator and the Jewish barber is purely coincidental.” This is true, in a way, since Chaplin plays both roles, which is not exactly a question of resemblance. The joke, though, if we linger over it, suggests very clearly what the film is after: its casting keeps connecting what its plot insistently separates. There are plenty of other instances of this kind of crossover. Chaplin as the barber waving a razor over the bare throat of a customer briefly looks more murderous than Hynkel ever does. Hynkel in his coy moments actually behaves like the barber. There is even a point in the final speech when Chaplin starts to rant like Hynkel, reminding us that rage in a good cause is still rage. And if we want some evidence from outside the film, we can listen to Charles Chaplin Jr.: “Dad could never think of Hitler without a shudder, half of horror, half of fascination. ‘Just think,’ he would say uneasily, ‘he’s the madman, I’m the comic. But it could have been the other way around.’” Not so simply, perhaps, and Hitler wasn’t only a madman, but the power of the identification within the film is extraordinary."
— From “The Joker and the Madman” by Michael Wood. via Criterion.
Shot at the end of the war and barely played at all because most of the theaters were destroyed, Sanshiro Sugata, Part 2 is a mostly silly and quite inferior sequel that barely feels like a Kurosawa film and - like Sanjuro! - plays up the comedy, to lesser success. With most of the cast coming back, a visually striking finale (above) and some interesting East vs. West WWII propagandist material (which should only get better with 1944’s The Most Beautiful) Part 2 is definitely worth a look, despite its flaws and the incredibly damaged print Criterion had to deal with in order to produce this transfer.
I am blown away. Kurosawa’s directorial debut is a stronger film than most of the shit being pumped out today - despite missing 17 minutes! Including, from the get-go, many of Kurosawa’s onscreen trademarks (use of weather, wipes, axial cuts and specific themes), this is an extremely confident film (despite the censorship of WWII Japan) and the only Kurosawa film, aside from Yojimbo, to benefit from a direct sequel. I’d write an in-depth review (there is indeed a lot to tackle, if only the fascinating history of judo vs. jujitsu at the core of this narrative) but I’ll save it for a project I’m currently considering. On to Sanshiro Sugata, Part 2!
Criterion releases for November 2011 - #587-591, #216 rerelease+ E#30
Incredible set of releases! While I can’t wrap my head around the ridiculous design for the Three Colors box set, I can definitely say the 12 Angry Man cover design (and set of features!) is flawless, making this a no-brainer to my must-have list. I never feature Blu-ray updates, but in the case of this complete reissue of The Rules of the Game, I’ve made an exception because I adore the cover. Most exciting, though - to me at least - is the Sabu! Eclipse set, which features Zoltán Korda’s Elephant Boy, The Drum and Jungle Book. Yay, colonialism!
![The Ice Storm (Ang Lee, 1997)
Dramatic ensemble pieces from the 1990’s have an endearing quality to them and Ang Lee’s excruciatingly bleak period piece is no exception. Framed around two upper-middle class families’ Thanksgiving reunion, this gorgeous drama set in post-Watergate scandal 1973 Connecticut and starring younger versions of Christina Ricci, Elijah Wood, Katie Holmes and Tobey Maguire adresses the stark generational divide and political insecurities of the time through exploratory sexual behaviour, socially acceptable substance abuse, transformative weather and accidental loss. Highly recommended viewing for those gloomy, rainy days where you just want to hide from the outside world’s pandemonium and feel awkward for 120 minutes. To that effect, Ang Lee’s The Ice Storm is quite brilliant. And the film opens on a philosophical riddle raised by the reading of Fantastic Four.
Paul Hood (Tobey Maguire) [v.o.]: In issue 141 of the Fantastic Four, published in November, 1973, Reed Richards had to use his anti-matter weapon on his own son, who Annihilus had turned into a human atom bomb. It was a typical predicament for the Fantastic Four, because they weren’t like other superheroes. They were more like a family. And the more power they had, the more harm they could do to each other without even knowing it. That was the meaning of the Fantastic Four: that a family is like your own personal anti-matter. Your family is the void you emerge from, and the place you return to when you die. And that’s the paradox - the closer you’re drawn back in, the deeper into the void you go.
Trivia: Since shooting took place during Spring, the titular ice storm had to be achieve through special effects; hair gel and plastic were used, adding to the already impressive set design of this film, mostly constitute of perfectly 70’s modern living spaces.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lsmqm2zFQq1qzyw6so1_r1_500.png)
