1900 (Novecento) 1976 **

 

So this film is really long—really long: 317 minutes.  I’m not always opposed to films that take an inordinate amount of time to watch. I liked Shoah (1985), War and Peace (1967), and Fanny and Alexander (1983). But then there are films like director Bernardo Bertolucci’s 1900 (1976), which seem to drag on for way too long.  Granted, Bertolucci was working for a producer (Alberto Grimaldi) who locked him out of the editing room, but someone had to shoot all of that footage in the first place, now didn’t they?  There are two versions of this movie, one with a run time of 245-minutes and another with 317.  I had the not so pleasure of watching the NC-17 version which runs 317—graphic violence, nudity, and explicit sex abounds.

The story begins in 1900 when two boys are born on the same day at the Berlinghieri plantation in Emilia, Italy.  Alfredo Berlinghieri (Robert De Niro) is the grandson of the padrone (Burt Lancaster), while Olmo Dalcò (Gerard Depardieu) is the illegitimate grandson of the plantation’s foreman (Sterling Hayden). Despite their social positions the boys become friends, and the movie traces the unlikely pairing’s intersecting lives until 1945 (Liberation Day). Along the way we learn that Alfredo is a bit of a coward and Olmo is nobly heroic, but that doesn’t mean that one is more likable than the other.  When Olmo becomes involved with the Socialist movement there is a visible darkness to his personality; whereas, Alfredo always seems more accepting of others’ oddities (he idolizes his gay uncle [Werner Bruhns] and marries a crazy woman [Dominique Sanda]). The complexity of Alfredo and Olmo’s friendship is the best thing about the entire film.

Of course we couldn’t have an Italian movie set between 1900-1945 that didn’t examine the rise of the Fascists and the would-be liberation of the Italian peasants.  Bertolucci’s political metaphor is heavy-handed, and, at times, difficult to stomach (he obviously had certain leanings).  His decision to make the psychotic and sadistic overseer of the Berlinghieri plantation the face of Fascism was telling. Naming said overseer Attila (Donald Sutherland) and pairing him with a woman as deranged as him (Laura Betti) was just an added bonus.  Sutherland plays his character in such an over-the-top manner that it borders on camp.  I blame Bertolucci for this—a better director would have reigned in this cartoonish performance.

Still, the production values of 1900 are top-notch. As usual Ennio Morricone creates a memorable score and soundtrack, and cinematographer Vittorio Storaro exquisitely captures the Italian countryside.  For the most part the set designs and costumes are period appropriate, but something happened in the editing room—not enough cuts!  Franco Arcalli and Grimaldi did a great disservice by not trimming a lot of excess nonsense.  I don’t know if I can blame them alone, though, as it was Bertolucci who thought it was a good idea to shoot prolonged scenes with full frontal male nudity, and, most absurdly, a scene where Lancaster attempts to get an erection so he can molest a peasant girl.  Oh, and lest I forget the scenes where Sutherland kills both a cat and a young boy.  Did Bertolucci really have to shoot such graphic scenes of depravity to illustrate that Attila was a mean bastard?  Ick!

Besides the friendship of Alfredo and Olmo, what I liked most about 1900 is that I got to see Depardieu when he was handsome.  It sounds a bit shallow, but since he has now morphed into a bloated old Frenchmen, it is nice to remember that he used to be a somewhat good looking man. 

 

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The Sting (1973) ***

Other than my husband, Mr. Clooney, there never was a sexier man than Paul Newman. As such, I would enjoy watching The Sting (1973) even if the story wasn’t extremely clever and the music memorable.  Thankfully, Oscar-winning director George Roy Hill’s Best Picture winner is all of those things and so much more. Nominated for ten Academy Awards (it won seven), The Sting is loaded with great performances and is a stylish production.

The Oscar winning screenplay by David S. Ward was inspired by real life grifters Charley and Fred Gondorff.  In the film, Newman plays Henry Gondorff, an accomplished confidence man who knows how to stack the deck like no other person.  He becomes paired up with a hot-headed hustler named Johnny Hooker (an Oscar nominated Robert Redford) when a mutual friend (Robert Earl Jones) is rubbed out by no-nonsense crime boss Doyle Lonnegan (Robert Shaw).  To “sting” the mobster out of $500,000 the pair constructs an elaborate con game based on something called “the wire”. They enlist dozens of known con artists in and around Chicago to reign down their own special brand of revenge on Lonnegan.  Along the way they must also evade a crooked cop (Charles Durning) and a cold-blooded assassin (Dimitra Arliss), and they must also try to do the one thing that no con worth their salt wants to do: they must trust one another to finish the big score.

It goes without saying that the story keeps you guessing. Will there be a double-cross? Who’s telling the truth?  How can Newman still look that hot at 48?  Ward’s script is smart and well-constructed.  I didn’t notice any fat that could have been trimmed; and, all of the elements of the plot folded together very nicely right up to the end.  I’m a fan of smart scripts, and this is definitely one of the smartest of the 1970s.

Strangely, what most people remember about the movie is its score. Marvin Hamlisch’s Oscar-winning adaptation of Scott Joplin’s rag is memorable.  For days after watching this I had the tune bouncing around in my head.  Both Joplin and ragtime saw a resurgence in popularity during the 1970s because of Hamlisch’s inspired (quite literally) soundtrack.

This was the second time Newman, Redford, and Hill worked together (they’d done Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in 1969) and it showed.  There’s a familiarity to the two leads interactions onscreen that builds an instant camaraderie between their characters. Newman plays the elder splendidly, and Redford looks like he’s really taking mental notes from a master.  Personally (and perhaps selfishly), I wish Newman’s Gondorff was featured more in the film, but I can’t really complain about how much time is spent on Redford’s Hooker.  Still, a few more shots of those Newman eyes would have been nice…

Of course, no film can be good without a gifted supporting cast.  I adore Eileen Brennan, so of course I loved her Billie here.  While she may have not gotten as much screen time or dialogue as I would have liked, who can play a tough broad like Brennan?  And, of course, no one played an SOB like Robert Shaw, either.  It is reported that no one wanted to play Lonnegan and that Newman hand-delivered the script to him in London. The limp he incorporated into this role was a real one, as he had an accident one week prior to filming that injured his knee. 

Finally, kudos must be sent out to Edith Head’s Oscar-winning costume design and James Payne and Henry Bumstead’s Oscar-winning art direction.  The story takes place in 1936 and it looks like it.  The clothes, hairstyles, and mise en scène are all spot on.  Heck, they even used title cards to educate the audience on the various parts of a sting. 

Overall, I enjoyed The Sting. It’s a highly entertaining film that is filled with good performances and smart writing.  Plus, Newman just looks so damn sexy!

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The Story of a Cheat (Le Roman d’un Tricheur) 1936 **

Never heard of this film or its director, writer, and star, Sacha Guitry?  If you answered yes, you are probably not alone.  Guitry was a prolific French playwright who liked to make cynical films (he directed 33). So, how did such a busy director fall into obscurity?  He fell in with the wrong crowd—notably, he collaborated with the Nazis during WWII.  Guitry has only recently be reintroduced to the cinematic world due to a 4-film DVD collection issued by the Criterion Collection.  Having seen the four films, I can honestly say that Le Roman d’un Tricheur (1936) was my least favorite of the group. 

Guitry plays the Cheat (we never learn his name) and narrates 99% of the film. That’s right, this is in almost every way a silent film.  His voiceover replaces the title cards, and, save the last two minutes of the film, no character speaks a word.  The only other sound you hear is Adolphe Borchard’s music (good thing he was introduced in the odd intro to the movie!). Okay, by 1936 the only other person I recall making silents was Chaplin—and let me tell you, Guitry is most assuredly no Chaplin.  At first, you expect the narration to soon come to an end, then as time continues and so does the narration you try to remember when they started making talkies in France—1929? 1930? Then, by the time you remember, Guitry decides to end his picture by allowing spoken dialogue for the last few minutes—what was the point, then?  It seems gimmicky—and I don’t like gimmicks.

Le Roman d’un Tricheur’s screenplay was adapted from Guitry’s novel Les Mémoires d'un Tricheur. The story itself is somewhat interesting: a boy is saved from eating poisonous mushrooms due to having stolen money from his father and being deprived of that night’s dinner.  While in his heart he wants to be an honest man, the Cheat always seems to find himself involved with people (mostly women) who want to lure him into various acts of theft. His reflections on Monte Carlo and Monaco are hilarious, and there is an abundance of irony throughout.

Still, the humor of the Le Roman d’un Tricheur is not enough for me to overlook just how drawn-out the film seems (and it was only 81 minutes!). Perhaps it’s the idea of being directly spoken to for 79 minutes that makes it seem so long and, at times, boring.  In France, Guitry was viewed as an ego-maniac…maybe that had something to do with his choice to be the only voice heard throughout most of the film. 

Overall, I was not impressed with Le Roman d’un Tricheur.  Now, if you want to see a good Guitry movie, I suggest Désiré, which is far more entertaining. 

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All That Jazz (1979) **1/2

This is vanity at its most pretentious. Fellini had his 8 1/2 (1963) and director Bob Fosse had his All That Jazz (1979). Like Fellini, there is much to like about a Fosse production, but there are also, like Fellini, quibbles to be had, too.  Films with an autobiographical bent can sometimes become too fantastical, and, well, self-indulgent—there are elements of both in All That Jazz.

Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider) is a successful director of films and musicals, as well as a gifted dancer and choreographer. But, he’s also a chain-smoking, womanizing workaholic on the verge of a massive coronary. He starts his days off by listening to Vivaldi’s Concerto in G, popping dexedrine, and smoking a pack of cigarettes before breakfast.  In what can only be described as an extended ostentatious reflection, the audience gets to eavesdrop as Gideon discusses his life with a scantily-clad Angel of Death (Jessica Lange)—with  over-the-top Fosse musical numbers scattered in for good measure.  By the end of the film you are either pleased as punch with the ending or asking yourself WTF just happened—or perhaps both. 

Well, it wouldn’t be a Fosse film if there wasn’t singing and dancing, so let’s start with the musical numbers.  I love musicals, but for some reason I didn’t really like any of the numbers in All That Jazz. Sure, I loved hearing George Benson’s “On Broadway” at the start of the film, but found myself overly-taxed by watching the infamous cattle call at the beginning.  Then, there’s “Take Off with Us”. The first part is palatable, the second part is one step above soft-core porn, and, as such, not my cup of tea.  And, finally, there is the series of numbers relating to Gideon’s impending demise: “After You’re Gone”, “You Better Change Your Ways”, “Who’s Sorry Now,” “Some of These Days,” and “Bye Bye Life”. The production designs and costumes are interesting (both won Oscars), but the musical numbers seemed lacking. 

Then, there’s the acting.  Scheider was nominated for an Oscar, and overall I think he does a nice job of showing what a complete hedonistic ass Gideon is. I suppose before he started making Jaws sequels he was a decent actor. Still, I didn’t think his was the standout performance. I particularly enjoyed Leland Palmer as Audrey, Gideon’s ex wife, and Erzsebet Foldi as Michelle, Gideon’s daughter.  My two favorite parts in the film involve the scenes where the two of them dance with (or in the case of Audrey, around) Gideon.  The complexity of his relationships with Audrey and Michelle shine in these two particular instances, and give much more depth to Gideon’s personality.  As for the rest of the cast, they are passable—except Deborah Geffner as Victoria, who plays her character as though she is really in a soft-core porno. 

So, I’m not exactly raving on this, am I? Still, I gave it a **1/2 rating, so I guess I should say why.  I think Fosse tells the story in a highly unusual and entertaining way.  Yes, it can be pretentious at times, but the way he puts all of the varying parts of the story together to meet at a pretty startling conclusion is inspired storytelling in my opinion.  Alan Heim won an Oscar for his editing of this, but I suspect Fosse had a heavy hand in every single cut.  Sometimes originality doesn’t work, but that is not the case with All That Jazz.

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The Artist (2011) **1/2

When it comes to artistic achievement, director Michel Hazanavicius’ The Artist (2011) should be duly lauded. Nominated for ten Academy Awards, it took home Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Original Score (Ludovic Bource), Costume Design (Mark Bridges), and Best Actor (Jean Dujardin). Making a silent, black and white movie in 2011 took guts, and in the end it paid off for Hazanavicius and Dujardin. Still, that doesn’t mean I have to love this film—which I obviously didn’t as indicated by my **1/2 rating. I liked Hugo (2011) far more than this and was beyond shocked that my husband Mr. Clooney’s performance in The Descendants (2011) was beat out by a man who spoke less than five words. Perhaps this sounds like sacrilege to some, but I don’t care, I just wasn’t that impressed.

Dujardin plays George Valentin, a silent-era film star on top of Hollywoodland in 1927. As handsome as John Gilbert and athletically gifted as Rudolph Valentino, Valentin is admired by his fans and valued by his studio, Kinograph. But things change dramatically for Valentin when his studio head, Al Zimmer (John Goodman), decides to scrap silent films in favor of the sound era and replaces his “old” actors with fresh, young faces like Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), a woman who got her start in Tinseltown because of Valentin. By 1931, Valentin is pawning and auctioning off his belongings and is mired in alcoholism and depression. It is left up to Peppy to bring Valentin back from the brink and reinsert him in the celluloid frame.

So, what did I like about The Artist? Guillaume Schiffman’s cinematography is brilliant. He may have lost the Oscar to Robert Richardson’s work in Hugo, but coming in second to that effort is no reason to be ashamed. Schiffman shot The Artist in color and at a frame rate of 22 fps (to mimic the silent era’s standard speed). Every detail was matched to the equipment used in 1920s silent films. I have said it numerous times, but I’ll say it again: there is no more beautiful cinematography than a well-composed, pristine black and white shot movie.

The other two things that I like about The Artist are Bejo and Uggie (who plays Jack the dog). While I couldn’t help but admire Dujardin’s handsomeness, it is Bejo who stood out the most to me. Her performance adds depth to this film, and it isn’t difficult to notice that Dujardin’s best scenes are the ones in which he appears with Bejo. She has what they call in France je ne sais quoi. While Uggie might not be described quite the same way as Bejo, he is absolutely adorable. Of course, I love dogs, so he had an extra advantage.

In the end, I am not a huge admirer of The Artist. I respect it as a daring piece of art in a cinema world infested with CGI and intellectual bankruptcy, but it just wasn’t “all that” to me. Still, I think it should be respected for its artistic integrity and outstanding cinematography. But, I must say this once more: my husband, Mr. Clooney, was robbed.

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Apocalypto & the Mayan Prophecy (2006) ***

It is rumored that the world will come to an end on December 21, 2012.  By whom, you ask?  Well, there’s a whole host of oracles out there, but the most famous doomsayers have to be the Mayans.  Their 1500+-year calendar ends on that date, and some believe this indicates that the Apocalypse will be upon us.  For my part, I feel as though I’ve been living through an apocalypse ever since the McRib was taken off McDonald’s full-time menu, so I eagerly await the four horseman as long as they are grilling McRibs over the fires of Gehinnom year-round.  MMMM…but back to the Mayans. Yes, there are many people who are predicting the end of the world—granted, mostly insane individuals. That said, who better to take on the Mayans’ own personal apocalypse than director Mel Gibson, who believes the Apocalypse began with Vatican II.

Mel Gibson has directed four films (The Man Without a Face, Braveheart, The Passion of the Christ, and Apocalypto), all of which are unique in their own way. Still, his Passion and Apocalypto are significantly different, in that one is primarily in Aramaic (with a bit of Latin and Hebrew thrown in for good measure) and the other is in Yucatec Maya.  Gibson said he wanted his audience to suspend reality and engross themselves in the visual elements of these films.  I think it adds a realistic touch to both pictures, but I can’t help but wonder if he contemplated the fact that when some people are reading subtitles they can’t focus on anything but the words and then they miss the images. Ah, but who am I to argue with Gibson—I have it on good authority (his) that he is one tough motherf___er ( you fill in the blank, I don’t want the censors to get me).

If you haven’t seen the film (perhaps you don’t like foreign films…or films that appear foreign but really aren’t) let me give you a quick tutorial.  The story takes place on the eve of the Spanish conquest of the Yucatan Peninsula (think that place where Survivor likes to go all the time, Guatemala and lower Mexico) and the Mayan people in the mid-1500s. Jaguar Paw (Rudy Youngblood) and his tribe are jungle dwellers who find themselves overtaken by warriors sent to capture human sacrifices and slaves.  It would seem that a plague has descended on the tribes who live outside the jungle, and the priests have said that only human blood will satisfy the god Kukulkan.  Prior to being taken captive by some really scary men, Jaguar Paw drops his pregnant wife and son down a hole.  His only goal is to escape his captors and return to what is left of his family. 

Seeing as the Mayans didn’t have guns or any type of sophisticated weaponry, the film is quite violent.  While bombs blow people up and bullets blow people’s heads off, spears, clubs, arrows, knives, and swords still draw blood.  You know a film is going to be bloodthirsty when one of the first scenes is a wild boar impaled by traps and then gutted for its organs which are passed out as gifts.  By the time you get to the human sacrifice scenes at the pyramid you are more than ready to watch the victims partake in this sacred ritual: stomach slit open; beating heart ripped out; head chopped off; head rolled down a very long row of steps; and, for good measure, the lifeless body thrown over the pyramid, too.  No one does human sacrifices like the Mayans—well, actually the Aztecs did them better, but still… If you don’t do blood, don’t do this film.

While the cast is comprised mostly of unknowns, the acting is quite good.  Even though he’s not asked to stretch himself too much, Youngblood is especially good as the determined Jaguar Paw.  Primarily known as a dancer, Youngblood thrives in scenes that require him to show off his agility and athleticism.  The more well-known Raoul Trujillo (who plays the warrior leader Zero Wolf) is intimidating as the uncompromising villain. His character is the type of “native” you have nightmares about. 

Overall, what I liked most about the film is its simplicity.  It’s a treat to watch a movie where the plot is simple, the acting is natural, and the setting is not a product of CGI.  In addition, I found the ending jarring, but in a good way.  Plus, it does prove the Mayans were excellent prophets.  They were right about a plague descending upon them in the 1500s—AKA, the conquistadors. Does this spell doom for mankind in 2012? Maybe. According to the Mayan calendar, 2012 does bring an end to the Age of the Jaguar. Yes, that’s right, our hero’s name was Jaguar Paw.  So, if on December 21 you feel something like a shift in the earth’s magnetic field remember you have only one person to blame for what’s about to come next—Mel Gibson, he’s about to burn the entire motherf___ing world down. For my part, I’ll be looking for the flames that smell like a pork patty, BBQ sauce, onions, and pickles served on a 5½ inch roll.  If you like, feel free to join me.

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Attack the Gas Station (1999) *

I’d like to say that the meaning of this 1999 South Korean film was lost in translation, but due to it being dubbed in English I can’t.  At first I could only surmise that director Kim Sang-jin was attempting to make an anarchic comedy with Attack the Gas Station. After watching this I went in search of answers: what the hell was it about?  I read that Kim was making a statement about Korean carmakers laying off workers and criticizing American economic imperialism.  Okay, so some of the story made sense after that bit of context.  Still, that didn’t make me dislike the film any less.

The story (written by Park Jeong-woo) is about four young Korean men who rob a gas station because they are bored.  Having just robbed the station a few days prior, the thugs show the viewer very quickly that they are not what one would describe as master criminals.  As a matter of fact, three out of four of them are pretty damn stupid.  Mad Dog (Yu Oh-seong) carries a stick around and hits anyone who calls him stupid—a lot of people get hit.  Rockstar (Kang Seong-jin) is a failed musician (probably because he dresses like a bad big-hair 80s band singer) who makes hostages sing so he can hear music.  Paint (Yoo Ji-tae) is an artist who likes to paint lewd images and then throw red paint on them and shout, “Finished.”  Of the four men, there is only one that I found even remotely substantive: No Mark (Lee Sung-jae).  An orphan and a gifted baseball pitcher, No Mark is the leader of this traveling insane asylum, and the only one I could ever envision being a productive member of society.

Kim tries to tie the senseless violence these men inflict on others together by showing past events in each man’s life that might have turned them into psychopaths.  I was not convinced that these “incidents” were enough to warrant such depraved behavior, and that’s a big reason I really disliked the movie.  While I haven’t read this anywhere, I am convinced that Kim and Park saw Michael Haneke’s deranged Funny Games (1997) and decided they should do a film with similar themes.  I didn’t like the senseless violence of that film, and I most assuredly was not enamored with it here, either. 

What makes this movie even more disappointing to me is that the few Korean films I have seen have all been pretty entertaining.  For example, The Good, the Bad, the Weird (2008) is a smart modern spaghetti western with a compelling storyline.  Oldboy (2003) is an inspired revenge tale. And, The Host (2006) is a strange but scary story that leaves you on the edge of your seat.  And, then there’s Attack the Gas Station, which has now diminished my appreciation of Korean cinema.  Oh, and there’s a sequel, too. Really?

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