The Cinephiliac Moment: M

           The Cinephiliac Moment is a weekly series in which I choose a moment in a film where cinema reaches transcendence. This moment may be inspired by anything – the composition of the frame, the score, the edit, the narrative – but it is a moment in which cinema becomes something more than entertainment and possibly more than art. Read about the original inspiration for the project here.

Who is the protagonist of Fritz Lang’s M? Certainly not Beckert, the child murderer so wondrously encapsulated by Peter Lorre. He’s on screen for less than a third of the film. One could argue it’s Lohmann, the detective responsible for solving the case, or it could be Safecracker, the de  facto leader of the gangs that organize to hunt down Beckert. But neither alone can be said to be the protagonist. Instead M is the story of a city, a city that is responsible for allowing the anonymity of Beckert to lead to the children’s deaths. So how does one stop them?  M doesn’t propose that the cops and authority are completely inefficient– As Tom Gunning explains on his book of Lang, they nail the identity of Beckert and sit waiting at his home. But man remain anonymous in this city, and only the anonymous can capture him.

There is a wondrous edit, perhaps one of the greats, that beautifully encapsulates why perhaps the criminals are the one for this job. The five gang leaders meet with Safecracker, who proposes that they must be the ones to hunt down this child murderer. During one of his impassioned speeches, he begins a question, which is then finished instead by Lohmann. Not only is the sentence finished by the detective, but the gesture of the arm Safrecracker uses is finished by Lohmann. When I recently rewatched M, it took me a second to realize we were in a completely different space, with different characters. The structural similarities between the cops and the gangs at this moment—the circular tables, the stern faces, the cigarette smoke—is brutally striking. But that is what Lang suggests, and it’s something he will continue to suggest, is the inefficiency of authority to create real change (We’ll talk about that final line in The Big Heat in this column at some point). We may look down at criminals as brutish and awful, but that is not why we must fear them. We must fear them because they are just as efficient, organized, and intelligent as those we lay our trust in. 

Watch the clip here.

New York Film Festival: David Cronenberg's A Dangerous Method

A Dangerous Method (Gala Presentation)

A Film By David Cronenberg

United Kingdom/Canada/Germany

            Cinema and psychoanalysis have a long history together, as the new technology and the striking new school of thought both began and evolved during the turn of the 20^th century. And since the 1970s, psychoanalysis has been used in film theory to explore films in new light, where characters once thought to be crazy are instead explored within their Freudian terms of wanting to return the womb or whatnot (Classic Hollywood seems ripe with metaphors for sex looking back).

            So what psychoanalysis can we read on the makers of psychoanalysis? That certainly sounds like an interesting question for David Cronenberg’s A Dangerous Method, a stately and occasionally involving piece on the history of Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud, as well as the woman that changed everything. On first appearances, Mr. Cronenberg, known for his more graphically violent films from Videodrome, to Crash, to A History of Violence, might seem like the wrong choice for this stately work from screenwriter Christopher Hampton (adapting his own play The Talking Cure, that adapted from the book A Most Dangerous Method by John Kerr). But thematically, this is a work through and through by Mr. Cronenberg, exploring how an idea can transform, disfigure, and infect the body.

New York Film Festival: Julia Loktev's The Loneliest Planet

The Loneliest Planet

A Film By Julia Loktev

United States and Germany

            The moment that changes everything for the two characters in The Loneliest Planet is so brief that you need to make sure you are keeping your eyes on the screen. I almost missed it writing something in my notes. A lot of people could easily subscribe this film as one of those subtle works that requires copious amounts of attention for a sly and only relatively satisfactory payoff.  However, Julia Loktev’s second narrative film is a unique look at communication that does require more thinking than the average film, but the reward after considering the film’s actions only deepens with time.

            Shot in the gorgeous landscapes of the Georgian mountains, Ms. Loktev never sets up exactly what type of story we will be watching. We begin by seeing the young Nica (Hani Furstenberg) jumping nude up and down on a wooden plank that crashes against our eardrums. Is she captive? No, she’s just waiting for her boyfriend Alex, played by Gael García Bernal, to bring in the hot water so she can finish her shower. The two are on a backpacking adventure across Georgia. In early scenes, we see them interact with local culture through gestures and movements. These two are experienced in the world, we can tell, not just tourists trying to go the insider route.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams: In Search of the Human Soul

Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Written and Directed By: Werner Herzog

Director of Photography: Peter Zeitlinger, Editors: Joe Bini and Maya Hawke, Original Music: Ernst Reijseger

Rated: G

            In a recent interview, director Werner Herzog discussed that he could rename every one of his films with the title Starring into the Abyss. It makes sense for a director who has often explored the edges of the world, both physically and psychologically. In the director’s latest documentary, the abyss he takes us to is not one of extreme landscape or even madness, but instead the birth of the human soul, as he describes it.

            Shooting in 3D in caves never before seen by most humans, Mr. Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams takes us to a series of limestone caves in Southern France containing paintings that may be over 32,000 years old, dating them as the oldest in the world. Such material might be more fit for a documentary on the Discovery channel, but Mr. Herzog uses the paintings as a chance to explore the meaning of humanity and the soul in a perceptive way that others wouldn’t dare. Plus, he really likes cave paintings.

            A good majority of the documentary takes place as Mr. Herzog and his crew dive into the limestone caves, carefully navigating along the area to capture the unique formations of buffalo, people, and other creatures. The scientists and excavators that run the cave have refused to allow the public to explore it, making Mr. Herzog’s capture an almost exclusive experience, as he carefully describes the dificult process of shooting in the area.

            But more than a historical lesson, Mr. Herzog riffs as he does in all of his non-narrative features in a voiceover that borders on self-parody. The questions he asks are not those of a man interested in the truth of the nature, but of some unattainable power of which he cannot reach. In one poignant scene, Mr. Herzog stares at a set of footprints left by a young boy and those of a wolf. He asks whether the wolf tracked the boy, they walked side by side, or perhaps the tracks were left centuries apart.

            What Cave of Forgotten Dreams misses though is a central character to gravitate toward. The best of the filmmaker’s documentaries, as well as narrative features, have contained unforgettable characters, such as Timothy Treadwell in Grizzly Man or the deranged penguin in Encounters at the End of the World. Unless you really love cave paintings as much as Mr. Herzog, Cave of Forgotten Dreams feels like an empty history lesson. Mr. Herzog is much more content in simply showing image after image of the cave with Gregorian chant playing that exploring the actual history, and his own puzzling and rhetorical questions can't really make up for the mostly boring characters that he gravitates toward. Perhaps the most fascinating moment has nothing to do with the caves, but an aquarium near the caves where nuclear radiation has caused a species of crocodiles to become albino.

            Most perplexing of all is Mr. Herzog’s choice to film in 3D, an effect that he hopes will bring depth to the paintings in a way the 2D cinematic form cannot capture. It is recognizable and provides some life to the otherwise very dead paintings, but it is only a subtle effect that is hard to notice, save for a scene of an anthropologist throwing a spear toward the camera in a demonstration of ancient weapons.

            Cave paintings may be the point in time in which humans truly came alive and more than animals, and Mr. Herzog's fascination with them fits perfectly in his universe. Unfortunately, it is difficult to translate such enthusiasm toward something with such deadening presence on screen, and something so un-cinematic. Cave of Forgotten Dreams is a fascinating look at one man’s interest in a world undiscovered, but your own fervor may depend on how much your interests align with the director.

The Robber: High-Cost Adrenaline Rush

The Robber

Directed By: Benjamin Heisenberg

Written By: Benjamin Heisenberg and Martin Prinz, based on the novel by Prinz

Starring: Andreas Lust and Franziska Weisz

Director of Photography: Reinhold Vorschnieder, Editor: Benjamin Heisenberg and Andrea Wagner, Production Designer: Renate Schmaderer, Original Music: Lorenz Dangel

Rated: Not Rated, but some violence, sex, and running.

     The pounding noises of base give volume to the close tracking shots in The Robber, as we watch our protagonist Johann Rettenberger, run at his fast pace. In many ways, his running becomes a metaphor for the film. Each step is a beat, one foot closer to the end, and the scenery around him is changing, though the character stays the same. And Johann’s life story is certainly worth a cinematic experience, but possibly not in the construction that written-director Benjamin Heisenberg has constructed.

            Noticed that while I described running in that opening, the film is in fact titled The Robber, which is the other profession that Johann can’t resist. And thus is the premise for the true story that follows in the film—a man who’s addicted to speed, and addicted to stealing. Mr. Heisenberg obviously has a great hook for a genre piece, but he also decides to use it as somewhat of a deconstruction of the genre. And in doing so, he parses the elements a little too much, like a similar European film, Anton Corbjin’s The American, to the point where besides the act of watching the character go through the motions, there’s not much to chew on.

NYFF Review: The Robber

The Robber

Directed by Benjamin Heisenberg

Germany and Austria

            The pounding noises of base give volume to the close tracking shots in The Robber, as we watch our protagonist Johann Rettenberger, run at his fast pace. In many way, his running becomes a metaphor for the film. Each step is a beat, one foot closer to the end, and the scenery around him is changing, though the character stays the same. And Johann’s life story is certainly worth a cinematic experience, but possibly not in the construction that Benjamin Hiesenberg has constructed.

            Noticed that while I described running in that opening, the film is in fact titled The Robber, which is the other profession that Johann can’t resist. And thus is the premise for the true story that follows The Robber—a man who’s addicted to speed, and addicted to stealing. Mr. Hiesenberg obviously has a great hook for a genre piece, but he also decides to use it as somewhat of a deconstruction of the genre. And in doing so, he parses the elements a little too much, like a similar European film, Anton Corbjin’s The American, to the point where besides the act of watching the character go through the motions, there’s not much to chew on.

            What is certainly great though is Andreas Lust, the Austrian actor who takes on the role of Johann. Mr. Lust is a minimalist actor; his expressions rarely change, nor do his movements. But when they do, certain things build. He brings his energy down often only to explode. And just watching him run is a strange but satisfying delight.

            The film follows Johann after his first stint in jail, which he follows almost immediately by getting back into the business, committing a series of quick bank robberies. What the film attempts to suggests is that Johann is not after the money—he needs the stakes to increase his adrenaline, which is what he’s really after. A doctor tells him early on that high jumps in adrenaline will increase his stamina, and thus a robber is born.

            But besides that, the film is surprisingly clichéd, especially with Johann’s relationship with a female parole officer who is also his ex-girlfriend. I kept wishing for Mr. Hiesenberg to take their story is a new route, something ambitious, yet he kept it firmly grounded. Thus whenever Johann is not running miles or speeding out of a bank, the film loses speed. Mr. Hiesenberg is a great stylist, and the escapes in this film are similar to the Jason Bourne films, both the Paul Greengrass kinetic action sequences, as well as the more quiet, tension building ones of Doug Liman (a fifteen minute escape in a dark woods is especially thrilling).

            But as the film slowly trots along to its somewhat predictable ending, there’s not much at stake for The Robber, well, except, how far can you take it.

NYFF Review: Carlos

Carlos

Directed by Olivier Assayas

France and Germany

            The name of Carlos the Jackal, the elusive terrorist of the 1970s and 1980s across Europe, spurs images of intense fear, and probably not the soft-rounded body of Édgar Ramírez. Yet just because his body might not look right does not mean Mr. Ramírez does not know how to use such a body, especially when he must command the screen for five and a half hours. The actor, previously seen in small roles in films like Domino and The Bourne Ultimatum, electrifies the screen with his conviction and movement. He  doesn’t just shout Marxist ideology; and throws his entire body, and thus his entire life into his causes. Under the direction of Olivier Assayas, Mr. Ramírez has taken a figure only known by name than reputation, and given him a life force that is at once terrifying yet somehow compassionate and beautiful.

            And thus is the film Carlos, directed by Mr. Assayas, and certainly the most epic production at this year’s festival. Spanning twenty years, ten languages, and at least fifteen countries, Carlos is an ambitious look into a controversial historical figure than is enrapturing and invigorating, and hardly ever dull. Its length is certainly a factor that will dissuade some viewers—the film runs a whooping 319 minutes—but for the most part, the time flies as the film shoots through its mosaic like structure, hoping between moments in Carlos’s life, and trying to find some connection. With plenty of violent action, the film could be mistaken for a big Hollywood production, except the subject manner and Mr. Assayas’s trained camera make it something of a completely different nature.

            The film does open with an explosion though, of a Palestinian supporter in France, and young Carlos, barely twenty and full of revolutionary and violent fervor (He tells us at one point that “behind every bullet is an idea”), is happy to join the International fight for the freedom of the country. Carlos screws up his first mission—and many after that—but he takes pride in his work and his cause. In many ways, this film is about procedure. We see numerous times as Carlos and his allies simply move weapons caches across Europe from the Japanese Red Army to German socialist organizations. Mr. Assayas is clearly interested in the mundane activities that sometimes these men are put through, and watching the negotiations with world leaders and terrorists is simply fascinating, often in a way that amounts to a “not in my backyard” attitude toward Carlos. 

            Of course, when there is action, Mr. Assayas holds no bounds. Having previously done thrillers that subvert action such as Boarding Gate, the director simply jumps in with his close-knit sequences, which are superbly edited together. What is always more fascinating though is the stakes of the sequences, which are simply not about getting from point A to point B. In the middle of the film, Carlos takes the world leaders at the 1975 OPEC meeting hostage, and then is presented with problem after problem on how to turn a bad situation into a good one. We don’t know how this is going to end, and certainly, Assayas does not complicate the sequences with an over-indulgence of bullets and explosions, just straight cinematic tension, both stylistically and ideologically.

            As the film proceeds into its final third (the film is broken into three parts, as it originally played on French television), it is hard to keep up with the more and more frustrating seuqneces, as we watch Carlos thrown around Europe and the Middle East like an unwanted child, a “historical curiosity” as he learns the CIA coins him. But certainly, the film is well constructed, using a series of fade outs, to represent to ongoing struggle day after day to simply exist and make due, an icon who had fallen so low. Yet the fact is, we sympathize with this man. Despite his frightening methods, as we have seen him kill many innocents (in a haunting shot, an agent of Carlos places a suitcase bomb on a train just behind an elderly woman), as well as his Marxist leanings, we feel bad for a man who has worked so hard for so much get so little. Communism falls in Europe, Anwar Sadat is assassinated by Islamists, and nations that supported him fall under the influence of the overpowering West. While I felt the fatigue in that last hour, there was also simply the fatigue that a man who had done so much, after watching procedure after procedure, negotiation after negotiation, come to an end in one of the most pathetic ways possible.

            In the end, Carlos is a daunting film, but one that is truly exciting as well. It’s a cold and calculated film for Mr. Assyass, but its also one that is full of edge-of-your-seat thrills (as well as plenty of steamy, European sex) and bursting with ideas about history. The film never judges the action of the terrorist to be good or bad, but Mr. Assyass is simply astounded with the dedication that a man like this has. It’s a film that might be better on television in which you can watch it at your own pace, but it would be a shame as well, as Mr. Assayas and Mr. Ramírez  simply capture a giant frame like no other, leaving your with a bullet hole through the gut, and highly entertained as well.