Screening Log: Post-Hiatus Catch Up

              Well that was longer than expected. I’ve come to the point where not writing about movies is worse than me than doing nothing, as films easily populate space in my mind instead of things I’d rather never have to think about. And during my long hiatus, I took in quite a few films (I hope to have reviews of Elena, Men in Black 3, and The Color Wheel up soon). I’m breaking up my usual style this time around, as I’ve annotated most of the films I’ve watched, though in much briefer notes. I also have a call for comments and discussion about thoughts on a few of these, so please respond below!

-The Tiger of Eschhnapur, 1959. Directed by Fritz Lang. 35mm projection at Anthology Film Archives.

-The Indian Tomb, 1959. Directed by Fritz Lang. 35mm projection at Anthology Film Archives.

-The Grand Illusion, 1937. Directed by Jean Renoir. 35mm projection at Film Forum.

-On Top of the Whale, 1982. Directed by Raúl Ruiz. 35mm projection at Anthology Film Archives.

-Mulholland Dr., 2001. Directed by David Lynch. DVD.

            Perhaps the closest that a “mainstream” American film has come to the avant-garde moment. What makes Lynch so accessible compared to other artists working in the same sort of vein is that Lynch’s starting points—glamor of Hollywood, film noir—are so familiar and accessible to cinephiles. Lynch relishes in these classic tropes and drowns us in their illusion. The other big thing I noted is that while the narrative is much more disjointed, I felt a much more tonal and thematic balance in this film when compared to Blue Velvet, that felt a bit unfocused when I last watched it (mainly in the latter Frank sequences). There’s more control and the feel of an assured director in Mulholland, so when it heads into the bizarre, I never flinch, but instead let it suck me into the world. “Silencio” becomes the ultimate metaphor for the film—the most beautiful performance you’ve ever seen with disturbing emotion, though it is of course, all an illusion.

Interlude: Hiatus

I was already planning on taking a small break from writing, but I got some personal news that makes this a necessity. I won't be writing anything for the next couple weeks, and I'm going to try and stay off all those platforms we call "social media." If anyone wants to chat with me, I'm available via email. But for now, I'm gonna take a relaxing dive in the pool: 

For the Love of FIlm III: Hitchcock's Continuity "Error"

This is my second post in the For the Love of Film: The Film Preservation Blogathon. Watch my video essay on Hitchcock’s influence on Akira Kurosawa’s High and Low here.

Click here to donate to the NFPF!

In 2011, the New Zealand Film Archive discovered part of The White Shadow, a film directed by Graham Cutts, and written, edited, and assistant directed by the legendary Alfred Hitchcock. The first three reels of this lost work have been arduously restored, but the film has only had a single public screening. For this year’s For the Love of Film: The Film Preservation Blogathon, we are asking for donations to the National Film Preservation Foundation. If we can raise $15,000, the Foundation will provide free streaming of The White Shadow for four months, and record a new score by Michael Motilla. To donate, simply click here. And for more information on the blogathon, please visit Ferdy on Films, the Self-Styled Siren, and This Island Rod. Every donation counts, and we thank you for your continued support of film.

            Hitchcock’s Psycho has been studied mercilessly to death, but there’s one moment in particular that I haven’t seen many people comment on. It’s a scene that few remember, or at least discuss in detail, where which Sam and Lila visit the Sheriff and his wife and the Sheriff reveals the history of Norman and what not. This scene itself isn’t particularly fascinating—it’s the exposition to get us back to the motel—but there’s something odd in Hitchcock’s filming. The film is shot-reverse shot, as the Sheriff discusses the details. But what’s most perplexing is the placement of the Sheriff’s wife in these shots:

            The sheriff’s wife continually seems to jump around in the frame, appearing in both shots on opposite sides. Her appearance is oddly striking, and her necessity to the scene is nonexistent, but Hitchcock not only keeps her in the scene, but also makes what most would consider a continuity error. But we can’t consider it as such—Hitchcock was meticulous in every frame. He wouldn’t just leave such a mistake in the final product. Would he? 

Video Essay: Dial K for Kurosawa

For my part in the For the Love of Film: The Film Preservation Blogathon, I wrote and edited a video essay together about my favorite Kurosawa film, High and Low, and its unique comparisons to Hithcock. Check it out, and donate to the cause.

Screening Log: Clover Edition

            Two notes before this week’s screening log! Today begins the For the Love of Film: The Film Preservation Blogathon. Run by Ferdy on Films, Rod Stewart, and the lovely Self-Styled Siren, this year’s goal is to raise $15,000 to donate to the National Film Preservation Foundation, who will use that money to restore the recently found Hitchcock film The White Shadow. Read more about it at Ferdy’s place, and donate here. Yours truly will have a couple of things to blog about later this week. Also, as I posted Friday, make sure to check out some of the great stuff at the Migrating Forms festival.

-Celine and Julie Go Boating, 1977. Directed by Jacques Rivette. 35mm projection at Film Forum.

-Climates, 2006. Directed by Nuri Bilge Ceylan, 35mm projection at Film Society of Lincoln Center.*

-The Connection, 1961. Directed by Shirley Clarke. 35mm projection at IFC Center.

Bernie: Good Standing Citizen With A Little Blemish

Bernie

Directed By: Richard Linklater

Written By: Skip Hollandsworth and Richard Linklater

Starring: Jack Black, Shirley MacLaine, and Matthew McConaughey

Director of Photography: Dick Pope, Editor: Sandra Adair, Production Designer: Bruce Curtis, Original Music: Graham Reynolds

            The opening scene of Bernie, a not-so-dark comedy from Richard Linklater about a dark subject, begins with Jack Black as the titular character giving a lecture. His tone is gentle and warm, his mannerisms quirky but spirited, and his instructions simple to follow. In fact, it takes a few seconds before a pull out by the camera reveals Bernie is standing in front of a dead body, and preparing it for a funeral. Linklater’s tone is frothy in its lightness; his camera puts the grotesque in close-up, but often under soft lighting that makes it feel gentle. So what is a gentle man doing murder for?

            And Bernie is certainly one of the more heartwarming comedies about a terrible crime, and a true one. Set in the town of Carthage, Texas (East Texas is quite different from the oil men and weirdos of the other parts, a local tells us), Linklater spins together documentary and recreation about one man whose story is too good to not be on film, the type Hitchcock would have ate up with giddy delight. It’s strange and odd in all the ways one would never expect, and Black makes us fall in love with his adorable character, even if he does something very, very wrong.

God Bless America: "Sermon" on the Mount

God Bless America

Written and Directed By: Bobcat Goldthwait

Starring: Joel Murray and Tara Lynn Barr

Director of Photography: Bradley Stonesifer, Editors: David Hopper and Jason Stewart, Production Designer: Natalie Sanfilippo, Original Music: Matt Kollar

            The success of Bobcat Goldthwait has rested on one essential fixture in his comedy: as much as you might find him offensive and vile, he is a “truth teller,” as the kids like to say. His comedy and his films might be over-the-top fantasies that ignore real world consequences, but they are fantasies that we are all supposed to hold deep within our repressed hearts. Consider that during the first five minutes of God Bless America, his latest and most direct polemic rant against American culture, the protagonist has a dream where he murders a loud, constantly crying, and ugly baby. Goldthwait assumes that all of us secretly want to murder that baby as well, along with many other dumb, awful Americans that populate our culture.

            Goldthwait has some truth in God Bless America, but it’s been diluted and packaged in such an odd package that never seems to congeal. There’s promise to his work, the same way Shakes the Clown begins as a seriously dark look into comedy and alcoholism, but he gives up on making a bolder statement for making an easy and not particularly clever one. Add to that the violent fantasies God Bless America indulges, and Goldthwait’s nihilism isn’t just lacking in profundity, it’s making those he holds upright seem just as misguided.