Castro (2009)

Director: Alejo Moguillansky

Screenplay: Alejo Moguillansky

Cast: Edgardo Castro as Castro, Julia Martínez Rubio as Celia, Alberto Suarez as Samuel, Carla Crespo as Rebeca Thompson, Esteban Lamothe as Acuña

Ephemeral Waves

Castro begins with three people - an older man (with white hair so trimmed and thinning he is nearly bald) called Samuel, a younger man named Acuña, and a young woman named Rebeca Thompson, all pursuing the titular Castro, a man fleeing them in a white shirt and tanned trousers who they have run from one end of an Argentinean city to the train station to catch, even if he eludes them by leaving the train and walking on the tracks for a distance. Castro, the ellusive figure, is persued by these people throughout the film. With his salt-and-pepper hair, Castro is openly a penniless vagabond, with a tendency to sleep in closets, a novel way to get coffee for free (drinking his, stealing someone else's of a different order, and complaining he was not given the right order), and a novel way of riding buses for free (get on one, fumble in his pockets as it moves, get off when telling the driver he has no change, get on another bus afterwards). Samuel is after him for money, Acuña (for the rest of the film mostly moving on crutches) his associate tracking Castro for him alongside Willie, another of his associates. Rebeca is Castro's wife, who is still together as a divorce has yet to go through, in spite of him being with Celia, a woman who has been with Samuel (and to Samuel's mind, still should be).

I have encountered Alejo Moguillansky as a filmmaker before. His 2017 film The Little Match Girl was a disappointment for me though with hindsight its fascinating mix, very much like this, could have worked. I had to admire that in only 71 minutes that Argentinean production managed to including references to Hans Christian Anderson, Au Hasard Balthazar (1966), the extreme left wing German terrorist organisation the Baader-Meinhof Group, and opera but that was a case of a film which did not feel as surreal or as playful as it needed to be, least on that single viewing, maybe as much because I was expecting a bit more from it then what I had gotten. Least for my impression back then, it was mainly a family drama around a strained couple which was sweet but conventional in spite of its curious plot references. Here however you have something a bit more eccentric. Deadpan and shot in natural, graffiti filled streets Casto is eccentric, and the solo piano score and the fact it evokes silent cinema accompaniment feels perfect for this production, which does feel like a film where the point to why these characters are after each other is less important than the interactions themselves.

Split under chapter cards, this is a film of these figures in the midst of their search for Castro, even Castro himself in some search for what he wants as he is a figure fleeing or skinning the cat constantly. The allies after Castro are even divided, messages from Samuel suggesting everyone distrust the other, whilst Willie and Rebeca develop a relationship where they organise their sex life as much as strategy to find her husband. Even Celia, who is ultimately left by herself, pushes Castro to find work, in a world where an interview is a mechanical environment, where any interview (like with Celia's asking for measurements even of her wrists and forearms) is oppressive. When Castro does find work, he ends up with a strange (and likely illegal) package delivery group, whose elaborate method of transport, a mass of men switching cars with the person carrying the package, done in breakneck efficiency and bonnet sliding, also forces him to leave the apartment in the city he rented with Celia to stay in their hive.

The film, low key and relaxed, uses this tone to an advantage as, barring moments of rapid fire dialogue, there is a subdued mood that can juxtapose the content. The more absurd aspects stand out, such as how encumbered even as a young able bodied Acuña is trying to trail Castro on crutches through the city. The unexpected frankness of sex with some nudity, whilst chaste in comparison to other films, stands out as does the more openly ridiculous touches particularly due to the lack of quick editing, camera movement baring long tracking shots, and many scenes in plain environments. Samuel's general decline as he is exasperated by everyone else's failure to find Castro; working on interior decoration at a house in his downtime, at first he starts laying on the floor around the paint cans and ladder in misery, then eventually painting his own face red rather than on a wall where it was intended for, throwing objects at a statue in public half mad in one shot out of his whits. It is cute when, to try to trail Celia to get Castro, three of them follow her, signalling each other with umbrellas. Far less expected, and the subdued tone working perfectly, is the least expected film for a car chase to transpire in yet naturally makes sense to; logically involving the hijacking of one of the courier cars, Castro in the car ahead, the piano score by Ulises Conti with its evocation of silent films is befittingly beautifully as is the fact it ends nowhere with nothing gained.

Even the arguably melancholic finale fits as the slow building of the plot concludes with Castro being still an elusive figure beyond reach from everyone. [Major Spoiler Warning] Likely to have killed himself, all done outside the car in a long take, by driving repeatedly gently into a nearby wall, whilst a crutchless Acuña has to wander from the countryside back for reconnaissance. [Spoilers End] For myself, whilst this type of cinema has thankfully been with us for decades and into the modern day, I have always had a fondness for an era of World Cinema between 2000 to 2009, which this is just on the cusp of, an era where cinema from many nations was distributed on DVD in the United Kingdom in large amounts, and were always chimeras of genre where you had no idea what to expect from any of them. This was the rare case of one which was not released in that time, showing how many films have be produced over the decades, but it would have fit among them easily. It sadly is the sort of work that is AWOL more nowadays were it not for rare cases like MUBI making them available, even if briefly. Castro is the kind of film, if it was easily available, you could return to and find the same pleasure even over multiple viewings from, something in particular as it offers a renewed interest in Alejo Moguillansky for me to see his films if I can.  Knowing one of the producers was Mariano Llinás adds an additional touch as, the director of Extraordinary Stories (2008) with its four hours of weaving narratives, and known for his contributions in others' work in his homeland, Castro feels of a piece of that type of work if also its own creation.

To the Ends of the Earth (2019)

 

Director: Kiyoshi Kurosawa

Screenplay: Kiyoshi Kurosawa

Cast: Atsuko Maeda as Yoko, Shota Sometani as Yoshioka, Tokio Emoto as Sasaki, Adiz Rajabov as Temur, Ryo Kase as Iwao

Canon Fodder

I am going to make a wild prediction that this film will be held as an obscure tangent from the director who broke through, after an already long career, with Cure (1997) and carried on by hard work (and prolificness) gained a reputation for cineastes. I hope it is not buried under the celluloid carpet, but it was unexpected to have a very conventional "stranger in a foreign land" narrative from him with abrupt musical moments where the lead Atsuko Maeda bursts into song. If anything, I have softened my initial reaction to the film. It shows, thankfully, Kurosawa has a light side, which considering his career has tackled a lot of bleak content, might suggest other life to his creative ideas. It is also not surprising as, from pink cinema to horror, he belongs to a wave of directors from Japan, given auteur status or just admired, who came from an industry of having to continually working; this work ethic means Kiyoshi decided to take any opportunity here, an Uzbekistan-Japan co-production, commemorates 25 years of diplomatic relations between the two countries and the 70th anniversary of the Navoi Theater in the capital Tashkent¹, and at a least a try.

Shot in Uzbekistan, this is a country which is not greatly seen in cinema at all; in mind to its history under the Soviet Union, they do have a Soviet Union-era cinema history and a post-Soviet Union cinematic history in the modern day as well that would be fascinating to see. Sadly, an inherent problem with To the Ends of the Earth, whilst I will compliment the moments this succeeds, is that it is solipsistic. Following a Japanese TV documentary crew, filming the sights of the country as eccentric backwater, with Atsuko Maeda as the put upon host Yoko, it does feel like a Japanese film entirely about its Japanese characters rather than trying to engage with its environment. It has an obvious premise which can still work - with a language barrier and being forced to work with a contrived scenario, Yoko stuck in this "cute" and very empty documentary where they are not getting any decent footage - but it really does not feel fleshed out. It is to the point that, even thought Kiyoshi Kurosawa is not a director known for a distinct visual style, even the presentation feels lacksidasical especially with the potential of the environment, a sea-less world of Uzbekistan with its hilled countryside and a different culture entirely from Japan squandered.

Virtues are found. When Kurosawa is trying to analysis his environment fully a few times, he still manages some things of note. The initial project of the production crew is shown as empty; not really engaging with the locals beyond their interest in cuisine or trying to catch a fabled fish, leaving the potential for a deeper context to be found. Some of it plays as a clash of cultures even within Uzbekistan, where a fisherman suggests the fish is being scared away by Yoko as a woman being there, but the Japanese are not engaging either, as Yoko herself finds when, in her first attempt to break from the suffocating position she is in, she encourages them to buy and release a domesticated goat back into the wilderness.

The best scene is when, as much exploited by the director of the TV documentary, she is forced to ride the same theme park attraction over and over in succession, spinning her repeatedly vertically. It is to the point even the amusement park owner, despite being an older man who demandingly thinks she is actually a child by mistake, is right to be as concerned as onlookers are about the foreigners exploiting their own. It is a scene that shows Kiyoshi Kurosawa's talent, the scene that redeems a lot of the failings of the film in one perfect sequence, as with its length deliberately dragged on, to the point I wondered who (if not a fake stand-in) was forced to ride the actual machine. In its real time you see the agony of the experience as Yoko eventually has to go throw up, only to switch back on her "cute" excited female presenter character, all to pretend for a take she has only just finished the ride once, not suffered it at least three times beforehand.

The best character as well is their translator Temur (Adiz Rajabov), a local who became obsessed with Japanese culture and tries particularly with Yoko to be the most gracious of hosts to these people to his land. In fact, part of his back-story to his fascination with Japanese culture, it potentially sets up a great finale involving the Navoi Theater, part of the reason the film was made, even if Yoko has already been there before midway through, a building which was built with the help of forced labour of Japanese prisoners of war after World War II, a landmark which could have had a greater emphasis on in terms of these countries interacting for this film. What little you get of this film trying to stretch further out to the country it occupies is engaging, including when Yoko gets given a small personal camera to film whatever she finds, leading to shaky handycam footage of market stores which is engaging. Unfortunately, the film does not do this often enough.

Instead, To the Ends of the Earth feels stiff, sadly as much due to it being pivoted on the lead character Yoko, who is not that engaging at all. A stranger in a strange land, actress Atsuko Maeda does however feel like she is in her own bubble, despite large portions of the film being her character wandering around the cityscape even at night, separate from her crew in her own existential crisis. Even her plot feels thin, including a piece of a boyfriend back in Japan who is  a fireman, a random melodramatic point he may have been killed in a huge fire seen on television not fleshed out to impact.

The two musical segments are abrupt and peculiar. They are interesting if anything, for they do break the reality of the film and feel unpredictable with a burst of creativity; like Kurosawa's abrupt jump into martial arts action cinema, for the short film Beautiful New Bay Area Project (2013), what he does here offers a tantalising sense that, yes, a man most known in the West for thrillers, horror films and dramas could actually pull off a musical in his own logic and we would all wish to see it. The first is literally within a dream, in the Navoi Theater mentioned before when an orchestra suddenly materialises and Atsuko Maeda starts to sing, but the last for the final scene of the film does place itself into the musical realist world as a sudden, swift jolt with her singing directly to the camera too but more pointedly done. Does this add anything to the film however? Not necessarily, even if Yoko's original dream to become a singer is brought up for her character, and the scenes done are executed well, they feel like fragments of plot which does not use the musical sequences fully and leave them segments in their own separate reality.

I would like to see the film again, in spite of these harsh criticisms. I have become more interested in films more as art through the people who created them, so I can see myself warm to this more in spite of all these comments I have make being very true and unfortunate. To the Ends of the Earth as a result, if you envision this a gamble like rolling dice at the craps table, is a case of the director of Pulse (2001) trying but failing on this roll. It does not mean he has not succeeded before with risks, and he is capable of further risks in his career as a veteran which will likely succeed. As in the first paragraph, I will see this film quickly become an obscurity in his career to ponder over.

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1) HERE

The Bothersome Man (2006)

 

Director: Jens Lien

Screenplay: Per Schreiner

Cast: Trond Fausa as Andreas; Petronella Barker as Anne-Britt; Per Schaanning as Hugo; Birgitte Larsen as Ingeborg; Johannes Joner as Håvard; Ellen Horn as Trulsen; Anders T. Andersen as Harald; Sigve Bøe as Liten mann; Hanne Lindbæk as Vigdis

An Abstract List Candidate

 

One manufacturer's cool coral is another manufacturer's azure.

Beginning with a shot awkwardly watching a couple necking for way too long, we realise that this is transpiring on a subway platform and that the person watching them is Andreas Ramsfjell (Trond Fausa Aurvåg), who decides to jump in front of a train immediately afterwards. Structurally however, this is not the beginning, just a snippet of the strange situation Andreas is within in this deadpan satire.

After a presumed death, the afterlife he is in means being taken by a bus to an isolated outpost with a single welcome banner (a very basic one) pinned up waiting for him. Seemingly, in this Norwegian production based on a planned radio play, he has found heaven, an urban environment where he is immediately given a job in a comfortable office as an accountant, his own place and a life with the immediate sense of everything being handed to him on a silver platter, even a romance with a seller of kitchens obsessed with interior decorating.  

Things immediately raise alerts. A man in a pub bathroom laments how hot chocolate no longer tastes great or that whilst this comes up in the conversation Andreas himself is aware that he has drunk a lot but cannot get drunk. This can still be dismissed, but when a man commits suicide by falling onto spiked railings out a window below, with everyone merely walking past on the street and two mysterious men in a van carrying him off with his guts falling out, it becomes disconcerting.

So The Bothersome Man is arguably set in a very strange form of purgatory, where one is meant to be content with the ordinary life you should have only to be bored.  A place where there are no children and it is soulless in a way the best of Scandinavian cinema, especially thinking of Swedish director Roy Andersson especially, have been able to use still and grey locations to depict. This is blatantly a critique of modernity and middle class culture as being soulless. Someone certainly had an axe to grind with interior decorators as this becomes the main example for this criticism - it is the main obsession everyone has, in these minimalist grey environments, reading magazines, discussing sofa choices at lunch and constantly redecorating. Clearly, with their tennis and dinners, The Bothersome Man's target is middle class society, with the unintentional aspect of everyone (even the extras) all being white really emphasising this oppressive Euro-Western stereotype of bland neoliberalism.

It is obvious? Frankly yes, and The Bothersome Man's one potential flaw is stretching a surface level version of the premise without adding more to it, but it negates this by delighting in a satire where someone does not bat an eye to their other half cheating on them as long as they still attend a dinner at home on Saturday. That and how "go-karts" get referenced and manages to intrigue a person who has been run over by subway train over and over again, and now looks like diced mince, in a world where death is a non-entity preventing you from leaving and the tone's deadpan nature is perfectly depicted. That it can have some very dark humour, like the ill-advised attempt at suicide that leads one to being rammed along by multiple subway trains, is helped greatly by the calm state the film stays within. It even negates that the film does play the cliché of the existential ennui of a conventional heterosexual male - it does skate on ice when, deciding to have an affair with a female co-worker, he is perturbed during a fancy dinner date that she has been dating multiple people in the office, but it is aptly the moment where she is more concerned about being able to move out of a small apartment into a house with three bedrooms and a bathroom, again space and decoration, which is the straw which breaks the camel's back. When people do not like Andreas talking about his dreams, or when his boss leaves the room awkwardly when he starts lamenting the lack of children around in melancholy, is much more universal than a bland critique of modern masculinity.

The intrigue and emotional interest helps the film greatly, overcoming a potentially one note satire, as it runs with the aesthetic of calm blandness on purpose; when Andreas re-encounters the man he never saw complaining in the toilet, who found even sex and cheeseburgers no longer appealing too, he discovers he is is effectively living in a bunker in the basement where a hole in the wall he is keeping secret is a passage to another world. Said hole, where smells and sounds come from, is clearly to a place, maybe our own again, a paradise which is true happiness. It is, when see, symbolised by a countryside house with freshly baked cake and children heard, which in itself is a cliché but a cliché stemming from literature dealing with the stagnation of modernity, say, least over a century by now plus with the countryside always idealised.

And that adds to The Bothersome Man; more so as a film from the Norwegian film industry, from a country is not as talked of as much as Danish and Swedish cinema, to the long history of culture about the ennui of modern (European) society, throwing in former EU country Britain and the non-European United States in the canon. The difference here, and the joke which does stand out greatly, is that everyone is nice and pleasant, but when someone is not satisfied is when they get concerned, not with the usual dystopian attitude of disposing of them, but offering them something else to do and only then getting them to leave. They do not have a sinister evil side, or rebels who are against the world, just very concerned figures of public perturbed by someone not feeling satisfied. [Major Spoiler] The closest thing to a violent response from them is to ship the protagonist off in the luggage compartment on the bus he came in on, to a frozen environment briefly glimpsed at the end where classical music is heard during his bumpy travel which intrigues him. [Spoilers End]

The Bothersome Man is lightly surreal; close to eccentric in truth. I would not even say The Bothersome Man is about the soullessness of consumer society, of people finding symbols to represent oneself by buying a lifestyle, but that this is pleasantness and happiness boiled down to a template lacking of individualism or primary colours. You could rewrite this film to be about "hygge", the Danish lifestyle trend that became popular here in Britain at point and sold books as an attitude of pleasantness, curdled and turned into a communist state of being nice, and this idea the film had would still work, even when hygge was entirely about the rejection of the hectic modern urban society and fetishing a slow paced idealised life in the countryside. Considering here in the afterlife you get a job, with no sense of currency issues, and a nice home the moment you step off the bus, it even has a critique in itself of the utopian society where there is something for everyone, as there are no homeless people or mess on the streets baring one suicide occasionally, but a lack of personal achievement or true happiness of an individual form. That in itself is the way that The Bothersome Man intrigues and stands out.

Abstract Spectrum: Eccentric

Abstract Rating (High/Medium/Low/None): None

*Corpus Callosum (2002)

Director: Michael Snow

Screenplay: Michael Snow

Cast: Jacqueline Anderson, Berj Bannayan, Greg Hermanovic, John Massey, John Penner, Kim Plate, Tom Sherman, Joanne Tod

An Abstract List Candidate

What is the Corpus Callosum before we continue? It exists in the centre of the brain, connecting the left side of the brain to the right (hemisphere), and allowing information to pass through both. Both hemispheres of the brain, processing information such as language and movement, require physical coordination and to be able to take in complex information, thus requiring the Corpus Callosum to connect both. This is simplified, and any specialists in human brain biology who also like experimental Canadian cinema are free to educate me on the subject with greater accuracy, please feel free to comment below, but it helps to begin with this as an initial thought.

In terms of the film, it fits in how the point of the film is legendary director Michael Snow distorting reality, the Callosum as a film about the bridge between reality and illusion, made poignant as the Callosum in the human brain was said to be the centre of the soul¹. All heady material, when Snow's film on the surface is a series of absurdist vignettes, all stemming at first in front of an office. In fact, the most intriguing thing is that, after this prologue, this work for him is as much crude and deliberately exaggerated fare, the kind where reality literally knots and turns upside down, even if the structure has long tracking shots in the office scenes and a droning soundtrack which show as much its intellectual origins in breaking from mainstream cinema.

From there, a troupe of actors are literally distorted onscreen, as prominently Snow and the animators he worked with use digital effects he probably realised would be cartoonish and dated only a few years after making the film, let alone in time after. He is fascinating in the little I know of him as both a man practices a very avant-garde creativity - famously Wavelength (1967) is a forty minute work which is just a close-up zoom from one side of a room to a picture, events taking place beforehand - but he is known as much for his humour². Snow is, notoriously, against his films being shown beyond theatrical screenings, which I understand but unfortunately creates an accidentally elitism. As with other creators who feel this strongly in terms of seeing their work as theatrical or installation productions, it restricts his work being available and for word of mouth to spread on his talent, as films like *Corpus Callosum sadly are not screened in the English countryside³. This is a shame as in its profane and even crude sense of humour, and that juxtaposition to the structure, is a melding of both sides of Snow as a creator as much as be a look at his own career in itself which might intrigue the open minded.

If one accepts this as a plot less production, Corpus is intentionally comedic, crass and playful. Structurally simple with one or two tangents to mention, a lot of it is of office scenes with one or two exceptions, the cast including among them some dancers, one Snow family member and likely one erotic/exotic performer for a female part, the one figure common throughout and played by multiple women (and men) a figure created with a fake blonde wig, pink top and black skirt. It is comedic in even the digital effects being absurd (a man and woman forming into one rubber rectangle trying to both go through a door). It is crass (a giant growing penis and a ready female colleagues hunched over on all fours, or male-on-male erotic arm movements followed by whipping one with a belt to their pleasure), and it is playful, the end credits playing halfway through before we have yet to see everything.

There are other scenarios too - the most repeated is a nuclear family in a Simpsons-like living room  if Stephen "Rinse Dream" Sayadian designed a nineties children's show, with bold (borderline kitsch) shapes and ornaments, as the family changes between shape, size, clothing and even gender without forgetting the ornaments breaking or even exploding by themselves. As with the office, if more so, the cast play archetypes, and pertinently for the nuclear family, multiple people can play the same characters, such as the "wife", being obscured by the fake blonde wig and pink top, being played both a pregnant woman and men at times among others. Also of mention are two one-offs: a sweet scene, shot from a camera hung over a classroom, in which children at desks coordinate to reach it to turn the camera off; the other is, if accurate, Snow reflecting on his career, as the final moments of the film are a cinema within this world screening a short animation created by Snow from the 1950s.

As a result, *Corpus Callosum is gleefully obsessed with turning an entire ensemble into mouldable, elastic figures. Expanding in mass, shrinking, turning into rubber, giving birth to fellow cast members, regressing into babies, and much more. Even the structure, as mentioned, is played between realities literally twisting, existing within screens within previous locations, or near the end fast rewinding back through scenes already seen to the original corridor location at the beginning. The result, even if you do not wish to ascribe any greater intellectual weight, is cinema allowing for reality to literally be sculpted in any form. And Snow uses it for shock - the sight of nudity (even a male cast member wearing a female blonde wig, a pregnant cast member slowly pulling clothes back on) to the general mocking of an office environment, even moments which might be more shocking nowadays like a black and Caucasian pair of colleagues switching skin pigments in a handshake, if not as pronounced as the more playfully enjoyable "gags".

It is a shame a work like this is not easily available. Yes it means this review only exists due to a less than good copy, but anyway to encourage even more theatrical screenings or for Michael Snow to relent would be helpful in contributing to wider knowledge of *Corpus Callosum, particularly as unlike Wavelength, Corpus is a more accessible piece of experimental cinema in its bold (even brash) colours, and moments that are purely humorous, even silly and deliberately like a game with the image.

Abstract Spectrum: Avant-Garde/Grotesque/Playful

Abstract Spectrum (High/Medium/Low/None): High

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1) Certain Italian anatomist Giovanni Maria Lancis suggested this.

2) And for originally being a jazz musician before becoming a filmmaker, which is its entirely own unique thing to consider one day and does make a film like *Corpus Callosum more intriguing if considered through that attitude to craft he had.

3) One exception was a modified DVD release of Wavelength, 15 minutes long and WVLNT ("Wavelength For Those Who Don't Have the Time") (2003), a production I have seen as my old university kept a legitimate copy in their library I saw it one. It also, very clearly, displays Michael Snow's humour and grievances with non-theatrical screenings in one release.

Despite the Night (2015)

 

Director: Philippe Grandrieux

Screenplay: John-Henry Butterworth, Philippe Grandrieux, Bertrand Schefer and Rebecca Zlotowski

Cast: Kristian Marr as Lenz; Ariane Labed as Hélène; Roxane Mesquida as Lena; Paul Hamy as Louise; Johan Leysen as Vitali; Sam Louwyck as L'homme à la voix métallique; Aurélien Recoing as Paul

An Abstract List Candidate

 

To my surprise, a film by Philippe Grandrieux was released in the United Kingdom, on a regular old DVD from Matchbox Films, with few probably knowing the existence of this French filmmaker himself first. This is my first Grandrieux film too, to which I was however aware of him, spoken with an aura for a film like Sombre (1998) which, among the number of directors behind the New French Extreme film movement, was visually and tonally distinct. His work, in stills, is in the territory of the avant-garde or at least expressionist, visually driven work. He has sadly never been released at all in the United Kingdom baring a case like this.

Despite the Night exemplifies a distinct aesthetic which will be difficult to really describe even with screenshots. A lot of this narrative is set at night; extreme close-ups and characters in their own voids as a result like background, with rarely any long shots baring a few and a pronounced used of strong front lighting. Particularly with the scenes drawn out, the film two and a half hours long, Grandrieux's style in Despite the Night does suck you in, trap you into its world, especially as the plot does hold back from a lot of context and forces you to have catch snippets.

The plot itself is simple to digest. Lenz (Kristian Marr), a British musician, returns to France to find Madeleine; she is absent, so he finds himself with Hélène (Ariane Labed), a married woman who due to losing her son has fallen in a self-destructive sexual cycle. In this triangle you also have Lena (Roxane Mesquida), a singer who is in love with Lenz, and whose father she has a creepy almost incestuous relationship with and is a corrupt man of wealth, with the connections to allow him to make anyone disappear. Here is where the dichotomy lies, where this is a film whose director is talented but the material is of issue. Despite the Night feels of a figure that, since the nineties, has perfected a style entirely of his own, with content that is entirely distinct. One could fall on a comparison like David Lynch, but that barely if actually succeeds with telling of who Philippe Grandrieux is, who here makes a prolonged length drama that is yet oppressive in a subtle way, and moves into more transgressive material along the way. That transgressive material is where the issues lay.

Because on one hand, whilst nor reinventing the wheel, the genre clichés Grandrieux uses develop an eeriness entirely new due to the slow, ominous tone. Large portions have no score, but when music is used, it is striking. For large portions of the film, you do not even have clear grasp of locations even when he does shot with the rooms fully visible, sometimes never even going that far and telling a scene just in head shots and visual cues. One of the best scenes is the result of the later - the father of Lena, trying to buy off Lenz to get him to leave the country, with both shot only by the heads in darkened void, the only distinct aspect superimposed in being close ups of fish, evoking that you are in a room with a fish tank as the father talks of how fish are different from human beings because they cannot perceive their own mortality.

Some of the transgressive content even works in this light. There is a lot of female nudity, but he is an equal opportunist, and there is a scene where Lenz has to go past a recording of a porn film causally for a more important plot point, completely uncensored but coming off not as shock value but a banal event in the background. Even the weird incestuous nature between Lena and her father works as something more sinister then a cheap affect, such as a scene, in his arms, as she tells him a dream of sex between a man and her mother which she joins in, aroused by and unlike the scenarios you find in online porn actually icky with only the idea suggested. Where the problems lay with Despite the Night is when it attempts other darker material which comes off as hackneyed and bordering on the problematic.

It mostly surrounds the depiction of Hélène; actress Ariane Labed, who has worked with the likes of Yorgos Lanthimos on Alps (2011), is an actor clearly comfortable with nudity and more extreme scenes, but with a character of a woman with a self destructive sexual drive the figure is really questionable and clichéd to have just in this era the film was released let alone in time afterwards. The sense of sexuality having a grubby underbelly plays into old genre tropes which does not help either, as whilst the scenes of intimacy should be excised from what I am about to criticise, when this leads to a plot point, it turns into a more extreme version of a thriller plot twist from a US film. That there are those who kidnap women, strip them down to only a leather BDSM mask with only the mouth open, and take them into an underground car park to be shot, this sadly where Despite the Night turns to something utterly hokey even in the context of its style and tone.  

In fact, there is arguably an irony to all this in that this plot structure, and Labed being a semi recognisable actress in world cinema at the time, was likely an attempt to make the film more marketable from Grandrieux's other work, only to be undermined by those plot tropes added to make it more understandable. It is for less shock for the sake o fit to wonder through the porn shot, in one little scene, then for the scene of Hélène encountering an orgy in the park only to be molested by an older man, which is trite and uncomfortable in an unnecessary way. Despite the Night also dangles over the horror genre with some awkwardness as a result. A reference is made very early on to an amphetamine called Cannibal, meant to induce someone in the state to devour the nearest human being, which suggests a Chekov's Gun scenario of a moment going to transpire in the film but never does. This is a shame as, in the other scene which made it compelling, you do witness Grandrieux's clear power as a director in the one shot in the midst of all the gross clichés. In the underground car park, with a woman in the mask and a character forced to shot her, suddenly in the frenzy you cut to a powerful and horrifying image. It is close to Lynch in tone, but it is its own horrifying and unexplained image - a thing who-knows-what, barely registered but clearly made of meat and pieces, clearly alive, a metaphorical monstrosity of the breaking point before everything changes.

This, and other scenes, means Despite the Night will still linger. This film, my first from Philippe Grandrieux, has not put me off him as it shows so much of worth. It is clear that, from a director who worked at first in video installation and photography among other things, he is a person with something truly unique of his. Tragically, he is among those unique figures, mythical living gods of celluloid, whose work is never easily available in English speaking countries despite him being so unique, something you would presume would be sellable if difficult. It is a shame that, in the one you can grasp, as a French-Canadian co-production, you have to take the best with the less than stellar. It is a flawed production, one which if a positive can be found, still haunts me in spite of its compromises, open to his cinema more so now I have glimpse a piece of it.

Abstract Spectrum: Hazy/Ominous/Unsettling

Abstract Rating (High/Medium/Low/None): Low

Out-of-Print: Random Thoughts on How the Availability of Films Is a Detriment to Film Criticism

 

The following is an old piece I did in 21st September 2010 for an older blog, and in hindsight upon finding it again, it is worthy to actually dig this out and readapt it to the modern times, ten years later, with new notes. Interesting, despite my tastes in cinema arguably becoming more open minded, I was on the ball. Also with the existence of streaming ten years later, these words develop an unexpected and chilling poignancy even if the physical media era has grown into a golden era.

Nothing has been changed baring tidying it up for presentation, but thankfully there were not many.

*****

 

[Note - These are only half-baked ideas of mine which may be inaccurate and lacking details, but I have been musing over for some time]

Films viewers, with only myself and others I've encountered through podcasts and the internet to use as examples, have a tendency to return to certain films months or years later, including ones they first hated to re-evaluate them

Film criticism, even raking films on IMDB, for me is not in stasis, but continually changing.

Films improve or become more flawed on multiple viewings

That is not to say you cannot have an opinion on them on only one viewing, that is what makes up many of the reviews on my blog, but that does not mean we cannot re-evaluate films at a later time¹.

Age and experience may alter our opinions, while theories and articles on films may offer new perspective (the fascinating ideas about Quentin Tarantino's Inglourious Basterds (2009) from the likes of the Film Quarterly magazine has caused the film to become better and better for me²)

One should even evaluate the films they had despised; I have considered re-watching films I have hated such as Tarantino's Death Proof (2007), Paul Haggis' Crash (2005) and Baise-Moi (2001) - the third holding the title of the worst film I've seen despite seeing some of the most poorly produced schlock in my few years of film fandom - with the possibility that my views may alter³.

However, the availability of films completely undermines this. Unavailability or out-of-print is a foul word for a film fan, but I argue it completely undermines the ability to give an opinion on film. It is one of many, such as poorly produced DVDs (poor subtitles or dub only) and censorship (i.e. how am I, as a British national, able to properly review the notorious A Serbian Film (2010)⁴ when not only has it had around 4 minutes cut out, but those few minutes could alter my opinion on the film instantly?)

As films – as TV shows, short films and other visual media – disappear into obscurity and become out-of-print on DVD, it causes many problems. Not only in that each one of them could have become a gem or a masterpiece to individuals if they could find them, but the difficulty of finding them makes it difficult to be able to re-evaluate and critique them⁵.

For me, the obscurer films and the reviews and thoughts on them are far more fascinating than any other. With a few exceptions – such as the work of David Lynch – I have little interest in the countless books and articles on (for example) Citizen Kane (1941) even if I hold it as a near masterpiece. It is also detrimental to analysis of films that have the potential of being an underappreciated masterpiece, unless its obscurity leads to a mystique that drives people to search for it.

It even affects films that exist in cannons. Orson Welles himself is highly regarded, but many would have had to wait for a cinema screening or the release of his films on DVD (F For Fake (1973) was only released in the UK on DVD in 2007), and that does not take into account the ones that are completely unavailable such as Chimes At Midnight (1965). In the USA, as I write, you cannot even get The Magnificent Ambersons (1942) unless you import it from out the country. Another example is Jacques Rivette epic length Out 1 (1971). It has been show in cinema screenings at its full length, and through the internet one can find it through bit torrent, but there is still the fact that it is difficult to see it, despite being one of Rivette’s most acclaimed works, let alone watch it multiple times to see if one has any new thoughts about it. This also does not take into account films of lesser known directors, periods, and of countries and continents such as Africa⁶.

 

While we live in age where the internet gives us access (sometimes illegally) to these films and there are many ways to see lesser known works, they also can be a hindrance to being able to judge films with consideration especially in an environment of rapid consumption⁷.

 

*******

Notes from 2020:

1) Famously, Pauline Kael did not rewatch films as a critic. The issue I have found, however, is that even a film or work you are familiar with can suddenly develop new layers or even metamorphose as memory fades or you change as a person.

2) Unfortunately have no knowledge of what these articles were, but inevitably, I will look into them one day if I decided to cover that film.

3) As of December 2020, I have yet to return to Death Proof, but Grindhouse (2007), the project that film was originally part of, was finally made available as intended in the United Kingdom and was a fascinating piece. I have yet to return to Crash, somewhat dreading it truthfully. Baise-Moi is no longer the worst film I have ever seen, but a complicated yet admirable work which is very difficult to digest with understandable reasons. Baise-Moi is, as a result of this piece, a film to definitely return to with interest for me.

4) By 2020, I have yet to watch A Serbian Film in any form, partially because of this but also, honestly, my complete disinterest in the film in its reputation and notoriety.

5) This is becoming more poignant as I used my blog writing to do the equivalent of crate diving for music connosiors, skimming for obscure DVDs on the only existing rental companies or, with a lot, online as much is still unavailable to see. As with the VHS era, a lot will be lost in the standard DVD years only to be recovered a decade later at this rate, and a lot will possibly be lost to time unless you have people preserving it on future YouTubes. Streaming titles, not released on physical media, are in an even more precarious place ironically due to their lack of tangibility, despite it being meant to help democratise their availability, because the rights to titles are limited time and streaming sites like Quibi crumble to dust within even less than a year.  

6) Those Orson Welles titles are more freely available by 2020, mostly through Criterion, but that is not to say there are ultra-obscurities left in his career (including some due to legal reasons that are unavailable). Rivette's Out 1 has been made available to see, but there are many titles of his still in obscurities. The lack of African cinema, the continent let alone individual countries, is still an embarrassment sadly

7) The final note, the conclusion to this act of effectively re-reading my old work, revisiting an old title to see what has changed like a film rather than disposing of it, is beating a dead horse about that we need to treat films especially in physical media with more respect in its necessity. Truthfully though the bigger worth to revisiting this is that, like here, to revisit even the worst in culture again may reveal new angles to gain meaning from. My younger self, who likely had an inferior taste in cinema back than as I changed so much over these ten years, was at least with opinions I would agree with ten years later.

The Escapees (1981)

 

Director: Jean Rollin

Screenplay: Jean Rollin and Jacques Ralf

Cast: Laurence Dubas as Michelle; Christiane Coppé as Marie; Marianne Valiot as Sophie; Patrick Perrot as Pierrot; Louise Dhour as Mme Louise

Canon Fodder

 

Canon Fodder are reviews of films by figures or movements which do not qualify for the Abstract Reviews but are important for figures connected to those reviews, or from directors/figures I hold with great regard. Here, we have a tangent in Jean Rollin's career.

While I have softened to this film, The Escapees is definitely a flawed film, something to still truly admire but definitely not one you would immediately recommend to enter the French auteur's filmography, requiring context first even if you are a huge admire of it. It stands out considerably as Rollin making a drama. Not a genre film, but a production, whilst it has some eroticism and the ending involves some gore, where Rollin is trying to create a film without fantasy or horror elements. It comes from the eighties, which was a very unconventional period for him. After a decade of his trademark erotic-fantastique-horror movies, those that were made in the early eighties at least varied wildly in genre. Cronenbergian sci-fi horror in The Night of the Hunted (1980); the film serial/pulp pastiche made on an incredibly low budget The Sidewalks of Bangkok (1984); and Zombie Lake (1981), an infamous production which Rollin stepped into for good credit, a production even Jess Franco who was not shy of extremely limited resources skipped out of in the first place. In the midst of this The Escapees is a drastic change of pace even from those films.

The Escapees in question are two eighties year old girls at a mental asylum. Michelle (Laurence Dubas) has only just been brought back in, immediately hating her confinements when she catches the attention of Marie (Christiane Coppé). Virtually catatonic, baring rocking in a chair, this wakes Marie up for the first time in a long while, encouraging her to free Michelle and leading to the two escaping together. Michelle is a more brazen character, happy with her new found freedom, wishing to be with a man and also live whatever way she wants to, whilst Marie virtually tags on like a child. Marie out of two is definitely the most complicated and interesting of the pair; a very shy nervous figure, she comes from a privileged background Michelle did not, as later dialogues reveals, someone more than likely a victim of sexual molestation which has left her with greater psychological damage. Almost childlike or at least hyper nervous, following Michelle along and reacting when Marie is with others negatively, acting negatively especially when she is touched, only in a scene where she finds an ice rink at night, actress Coppé clearly trained with some skill in ice skating, does she feel briefly comfortable in her own skin.

The Escapees' biggest issue to digest it is that, attempting a more conventional structure without necessarily more plot and over a hundred minutes is that it is glacial. Very methodical to an extreme melancholic tone with largely dialogue scenes, what does grow and leave it nonetheless one of his warmest films is however the sincerity. His admirations are on full display. He admires "the theatre of the street", a quote taken by from one of the first people they encounter, Maurice of Maurice and His Exotic Dancers, with two West Indian female dancers performing at wasteland areas, such as a junkyard near railways. He admires outsiders in general - Sophie the dockworker, wearing a leather coat and cap like many of her colleagues, who is also a thief, and the staff of a bar that take in Marie and Michelle eventually. The film, without the more surreal or erotic content does open up a lot of his trademarks, including the sense of empathy he had for outsiders.

It feels odd seeing Rollin strip back so much and make a dramatic narrative. It does show that, for a subdued film, Rollin's work in general was always subdued next to outside Euro-cult directors of his era. Muted colours, very little very dated, and all-matter-of-fact; Rollin also knew how to find distinct locations to films at, such as his obsession with nautical culture which leads to a lot of coastal and dock based locations which are striking. He could figure out how to use the most banal locations of France to his advantage; little surreal touches are the result of this, like in how the leads meets Maurice and His Exotic Dancers it involves encountering one of the women playing drums in the middle of the wasteland between motorways. Also, even as his most grounded film, he still manages to have a scene of the leads finding a book of legends, befitting Rollin and his obsession with pulp, here just stories and escape the aspect he pays tribute to.

As a result, the ending of The Escapees especially becomes one of his most tragic, all going sour when the yuppies appear, including Brigitte Lahaie, and an ill advised decision to join two men and their girlfriends back home transpires, where they will try to pressure Marie and Michelle into sex, and there are real firearms and weapons on the wall as one of the men's collection from abroad to become involved. This is, honestly, one of the Rollin's weaker films, due to it trying to carry his style to drama, which does feel awkward. It does lead to a shock when the film does reach its ending, because of the sudden increase in violence and nudity, but at the same time the ending by itself helps the film considerably. It takes what has transpired before and given it worth due to the sadness of the material, finally making the experience something meaningful and worthy of Jean Rollin's filmography.