Stalker (1979)

Stalker (Сталкер, Andrei Tarkovsky, 1979)

"If we emerge from Tarkovsky's films somewhat puzzled, this is only the first of the special gifts they have to offer, for ultimately they aren't so much mysteries to be solved as experiences to be interpreted, learned from, and assimilated." -Jonathan Rosenbaum

"Some filmmakers deliver sermons, but the greats leave us with our freedom." -Chris Marker on Tarkovsky

As suggested above (and I'll confirm with enthusiasm), Tarkovsky's films are self-probing experiences, and as head-scratching as they can be, he is able to achieve a tremendous amount of emotional resonance within his ambiguous, poetic style. At this point I've had the pleasure of seeing only three of his films: the metaphysical sci-fi epic Solaris (1972), the deeply personal and dense The Mirror (1975), and most recently, his 1979 masterpiece Stalker, which had quite an effect on me since viewing it little less than a week ago.

Like Solaris, Stalker is both science fiction and an adaptation, this time loosely based on Boris and Arkady Strugatsky's Roadside Picnic (emphasis on loosely). The film takes place in the suggested future and is centered mostly in The Zone, a government fenced off area once hit by a meteorite. The Zone also happens to (supposedly) be a place that has the ability to grant wishes, and can only be navigated by certain individuals known as 'stalkers'. This is the setting and context for the film, which, for most of its lengthy 161-minute running time, concerns only The Zone and three central characters: stalker (Aleksandr Kajdanovsky), writer (Anatoli Solonitsyn), and professor (Nikolai Grinko). Just as he did in Solaris, Tarkovsky plays down the sci-fi, and puts his money and mouth where his metaphysics are -- Stalker is an epic philosophical and spiritual quest that leaves all windows open.

Stalker, on the surface, is about the spiritual struggle between faith and empiricism, and the character's journey into The Zone is a spiritual quest. Though a man of great faith, Tarkovsky never answers the spiritual and personal conflicts in the film by faith, or even simply at all. If anything Stalker, who uses The Zone in a strange attempt to 'better the world' and also give himself personal worth, is the most naive and blindly foolish character -- he changes the least. In interviews Tarkovsky has discussed that his interest is more in Writer, who approaches the quest with such skepticism and cynicism. He has given up all hope and faith in himself, and in turn he actually is the one who comes out of the quest the most changed. So it seems that Tarkovsky in a way is interested in the classic 'it's not what's at the end of the journey, but how you got there' type story -- Stalker seems to believe this as well. So despite the large amount of post-apocalyptic despair, the journey itself is an attempt to give hope, and possibly faith, to these specific individuals.

It's worth noting the stylistic elements of Stalker, if only briefly -- the film is told through often-complicated and lengthy shots (mise-en-scene, if I dare) that seem to go on endlessly and freely through the post-apocalyptic wasteland of The Zone -- a style that Tarkovsky fans will find familiar within his work (constantly moving camera, the changing of color tones, the unfolding of action within single shots, slow pace, etc.).

And last, and important note -- I feel intimidated even writing about Stalker, since not only is it extremely difficult, I admire it too much to even think I'm doing it any justice. I don't want to spend any more time writing this, since I'll just write-edit-delete-write-edit-delete until I die, but one thing is for certain in my mind -- Stalker is a masterpiece, and a film I won't soon forget.

[With Alisa Frejndlikh as Stalker's wife. 163 minutes. B&W and Color. In Russian with English subtitles.]

Links:
Andrei Tarkovsky on Stalker
How Stalker Foretold Chernobyl
Nostalghia.com (Tarkovsky resource) -- Stalker page
Jonathan Rosenbaum on Tarkovsky, Marker's "A Day in the Life of Andrei Arsenevich"

Video Clip from Stalker:

The Cinema of Peter Watkins

Hey friends, Cineaste recently published an article on radical British director Peter Watkins. The article is a good read, and Watkins, from what I've seen (Punishment Park, Privilege), is quite the filmmaker. He swings the sledgehammer of leftist paranoia hard, and it's awesome.

The Cinema of Peter Watkins
(Cineaste, Vol. 32 No.2 (Spring 2007), 20-25.)

Bunny Lake is Missing (1965)

Bunny Lake is Missing (Otto Preminger, 1965)

On the downslope of a successful career in Hollywood, Otto Preminger produced and directed this stylish thriller set in London in 1965. Already proven as a master of his craft, Preminger continued onwards with Bunny Lake is Missing, a film that he directs with such exuberant confidence and skill that the beautiful black and white widescreen picture swallows you up in all its technical glory (compliments to Denys Coop). Its fast pace and excessive use of long takes and tracking shots is hypnotic and overwhelming (positive). As he'd done throughout much of his career Preminger puts his law degree at use, and is effective as ever -- his knack for objectively analyzing situations seems unrivaled, and no doubt enhances his ability to construct a mystery like no other. The film is not out to 'shock', and Preminger treats almost every twist and turn with equal attention, most importantly leaving a wide array of options for the audience's own sleuthing attempts.

Unfortunately, Bunny Lake is Missing ultimately becomes memorable for a reason that isn't its slick style and near-perfect mystery construction -- the ending. The fault lies in the script, which after three re-writes, concludes with a bizarrely embarrassing cop-out of an ending. When the final twist is revealed, it's not that we're shocked by what it reveals, but what unfolds afterwards -- it's too ridiculous to be taken seriously. A sad disappointment for such a beautifully made film. As far as Preminger goes, there are much better pictures to select from his filmography than this one (i.e. Laura, Anatomy of a Murder, The Man with the Golden Arm, etc.).

[With Carol Lynley as the hysterical Ann Lake, Keir Dullea as the off-kilter brother Stephen, Laurence Olivier as the rational Superintendent, Noel Coward as the particularly memorable sadistic landlord, and an interesting appearance from The Zombies, as themselves, playing on television. 107 minutes. B&W. In English.]

Links:
Capsule Review by Dave Kehr (Chicago Reader)
Otto Preminger and the End of Classical Cinema (Senses of Cinema Article by John Orr)

Title Sequence:

Breaking Away: Road Trip

Hello friends. In roughly one hour from now, I am embarking on my annual road trip to Bloomington, Indiana, home of Indiana University and one of the greatest heavy-drinking weekends that exists -- which is not coincidentally centered around a 200-lap bike race, the Little 500. This is my fourth straight trip to this event, and will return on Sunday probably not any wiser. In the meantime enjoy this clip from one of my favorite movies, Peter Yates' 1979 film Breaking Away -- a feel good coming-of-age film about overcoming class and economic struggles that centers on a group of 'cutters' (i.e. townies) in Bloomington -- in which the climax is them entering the above mentioned bike race (tears, I tell you). If you haven't seen it, you should -- it won Best Original Screenplay at the 1979 Oscars and stars a young Dennis Quaid and Daniel Stern, in addition to one of my favorite "father" characters played by Paul Dooley.

The Stunt Man (1980)

The Stunt Man (Richard Rush, 1980)

In 1980, at the San Francisco Film Festival, Francois Truffaut was reportedly asked who is favorite American director was, to which he replied, "I don't know his name, but I saw his film last night and it was called The Stuntman." The director, as Truffaut would probably discover later, was Richard Rush, a now-forgotten American exploitation director who gained the admiration of Ingmar Bergman and Stanley Kubrick (to name a few) with some late 60s AIP pictures and later films like Getting Straight (1970) and Freebie and the Bean (1974). In 1980, he released The Stunt Man, which earned Oscar-nominations for Best Actor (Peter O'Toole), Best Director, and Best Adapted Screenplay. Since then Rush has only directed one film, 1994's Color of Night, and it seems at this point Rush's reputation has been designated as 'the guy who made The Stunt Man' -- which for many would be quite the accomplishment.

The plot centers around Vietnam-war vet turned fugitive Cameron (Steve Railsback), who in a strange turn of events (coincidences) is hired onto a film as a stunt man by the flamboyant and egomaniacal director Eli Cross (Peter O'Toole) -- motivated by his desire to cover up the 'accidental' death of the previous stunt man. Upon its release Pauline Kael called it "a virtuoso, kinetic piece of filmmaking," and her enjoyment of this movie should come to no surprise -- The Stunt Man is a movie about movies, and more importantly, about the spectacle of movies, no matter how ridiculous. The film is never serious enough to actually have anything to say socially (despite the post-Vietnam implications) -- but its paranoid, hyperactive, and purely ridiculous nature is everything that is right and wrong about the movies all at once. By acknowledging his own hypocrisy, Rush is able to move freely and creatively through The Stunt Man. Despite its lack of believability, it never disengages the audience -- he's thrown 'realism' out the window yet is able to keep its self-reflexive criticism, humor, and boisterousness all intact. One of the best movies-about-movies that I've ever seen. [131 minutes. Color. In English.]

Side note -- Supposedly Peter O'Toole based his character on David Lean, with whom he worked with on Lawrence of Arabia.

Links:
Roger Ebert's Chicago Sun-Times Review (11-07-80)
Pauline Kael's New Yorker Capsule Review

Trailer:

Devo, "Mongoloid" | A film by Bruce Conner

For all the complaining I do about YouTube and the all-time lows of the film/video aesthetic, it does have its perks, which is not limited to tons of shorts and experimental films people might not be able to find elsewhere. Anyways, the video-of-the-day comes from stock-footage master Bruce Conner. It was made in 1978 and cut to Devo's "Mongoloid" -- and pre-dates the actual invention of the music video (or rather the official implementation via MTV). It's awesome. Enjoy.

Signs of Life (1968)

Signs of Life (Werner Herzog, 1968)

At the age of 24, Werner Herzog wrote and directed his first feature film, Signs of Life. Loosely based on the Achim von Arnim story The Mad Invalid at Fort Rattoneau, this beautiful-tragedy of a film examines themes of isolation, futility, and the inner search for meaning through a group of German soldiers stuck in Greece during World War II. Herzog revels in their isolation, and in turn makes the audience sit through many painfully slow sequences -- but with good intentions. The film is largely metaphoric and symbolic, and within every action of the the soldiers, larger implications of its isolation-oriented themes begin to crack through the walls of the fortress (metaphor).

The film starts off with voice over narration (which continues throughout) and informs us that a young soldier, Stroszek (Peter Brogle), has been injured and transported to the island of Kos. There he will recuperate and is assigned to guard a fortress with his Greek wife, Nora, and two soldiers: the intelligent and lanky Becker (Wolfgang von Ungern-Sternberg), and the brutish and bald Meinhard (Wolfgang Reichmann). Not only are their stuck in this fortress (which must be locked at night), but it's more drastic in a larger context: they are stuck on an island, and on the island they are stuck in a fortress. Together they become increasingly bored, and Herzog makes explicit points in detailing the monotony of their daily lives -- Meinhard begins to create traps for rodents, Becker passes the time translating old Greek relics, and Stroszek takes a liking to fireworks. This boredom has a tremendous effect on Stroszek,who subtly begins a soul-searching expedition into madness, which comes to the forefront when he becomes insane and erratic at the site of a giant field of mechanical windmills. From there he begins a self-proclaimed war on everything: the townspeople, the sun, etc., but the reality is him fighting himself (i.e. life, meaning). And so it goes.

Stylistically, the film is in many ways traditional Herzog -- long takes, handheld camera, and so forth, but this being his first feature, there are a few close-ups and dollys that make their way into the film (and brilliantly so, if I may add). The traditional Greek music adds a strange element and seems to hint at the off-kilter nature of the characters and their isolation. Even at such a young age, it's apparent in Signs of Life that Herzog is a vast talent, a strange visionary of despair and modernity, which is something he would continue to prove for the many years following. Signs of Life is tragic and beautiful, dull and exciting -- it explores its themes with vigor, both mentally and physically, and even provides the clunky-yet-intellectual feel that would come to define Herzog's work. This film would be greater and more important if Herzog didn't spend his entire career re-visiting the same themes (the impossible dream, the search for meaning, the indifference of nature/the world, etc.), but it sure was a good start -- and more importantly, the important arrival of Herzog as a leading figure in the New German Cinema movement.

91 minutes. B&W. In German/Greek with English subtitles.

How To Get Ahead in Advertising (1989)

How To Get Ahead in Advertising (Bruce Robinson, 1989)

Following the success of the brilliant buddy-drug comedy Withnail & I (1987), British writer/director Bruce Robinson returned to the big screen two years later with his satirical attack on consumerism in How To Get Ahead in Advertising. The film, like Withnail & I, stars the emaciatingly venomous Richard E. Grant at his over-the-top-theatrical best, and is heavy on words. The latter however, seems to be the fault of How To Get Ahead... -- though it has a consistent flow of absurd comedic moments.

This time around, Grant plays a even more despicable character in Denis Bagley, a very successful scum-sucking advertising agent. And just like the aforementioned Withnail, Bagley becomes a sort of disgustingly lovable protagonist. Hired to make a commercial advertisement for a pimple/boil solving skin cream, Bagley becomes fed-up with advertising and has a mental breakdown in the process, which results in him "quitting" his job and tearing apart his house in a psychopathic outrage. Coincidentally (or maybe not?) he begins to grow a large boil on his neck, which soon begins talking and taking the form of a real human face (and eventually grows a mustache...). This furthers Bagley's paranoia and madness, and it is soon revealed that the boil has taken on all the bad sides of his prior personality -- the shameless capitalist attitude, the creepy and constant sex fetishes, hostility towards others, and so on.

I have come to a realization -- I wrote the above paragraph without thinking twice, but a quick re-read has led me to a conclusion -- certainly talking boils that grow mustaches seems ridiculous, yet within the film, despite the initial shock, it seems completely plausible within its world (or at least acceptable). So then comes another conclusion -- How To Get Ahead..., like Withnail & I, is an intoxicating film, a bizarre drug itself. You might feel appalled, confused, and conflicted, but Robinson seems to have a gift for beautiful visual train wrecks (metaphor).

This is the point where I'm supposed to further the discussion of the themes of the film, but the film itself says enough, and it says what it really wants to say -- Robinson shamelessly pours out his thoughts and feelings about modern capitalist society into the film, and it in no way is ambiguous or subtle. How To Get Ahead... is an obnoxious, yelling, screaming, disgusting, weird protest of sorts, and manages to engage on a high comedic level despite its heavy, lecturing dialogue. Not coincidently the film is a tour de force for Grant, who I really cannot say enough positive things about. A must-see for fans of Withnail & I, and my first viewing of this makes me wonder why Robinson has only directed one film since then (1992's Jennifer Eight). He's an unmistakable comic talent, both as a writer and director, and according to the database, he's in pre-production for an adaptation of Hunter S. Thompson's The Rum Diary.

94 minutes. Color. In British.

Links:
Roger Ebert's Sun-Times review (5/12/89)
Vincent Camby's New York Times review (5/30/89)
Criterion Collection essay by Stanley Kauffmann

Half Nelson (2006)

Half Nelson (Ryan Fleck, 2006)

Ryan Fleck and Anna Boden's character drama about a drug addicted high school teacher earned Ryan Gosling a nomination for Best Actor at the Academy Awards, and deservedly so. Gosling is remarkable as Dan Dunne, a crack (and cocaine) addicted high school teacher in Brooklyn, who, despite his personal troubling escapades seems to be an effective teacher -- at least one who believes in change (for the students, the world, etc.). The catch of course is that Dunne is unable to change his own life (despite what he says, preaches). His life spirals out of control, and through his relationship with a student, Drey (Shareeka Epps), we're given a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, though it's ambiguous enough to leave emotional resonance. None of it is that simple though, and that's kudos to to Fleck and Boden, who have managed to create characters of complex contradiction and conflict. In turn, this is what made all the performances in this film great -- their believability, their simplicity, their complicated nature.

Half Nelson does a good job avoiding the celebration, glamorization, and/or stylization of drugs as seen in recent films like Requiem for a Dream, Spun, and even Trainspotting to an extent, and sets itself apart by being a film about a character and their relation to life/the world/people as opposed to their relationship with drugs. Stylistically, the film is shot almost entirely hand held, with the in-out of focus technique that has become so popular not only in television but in film lately (especially action -- I'm looking at you Tony Scott, Peter Berg) -- and while I generally don't care for it, it works for the most part in Half Nelson -- probably because the shaky camera doesn't present the material as faux-emotional (re: Friday Night Lights). And while its not entirely believable (i.e. Dunne keeping his job despite outrageous behaviors), Fleck and Boden's writing combined with Gosling's performance achieve a sort of transcendence -- realism is achieved not in the dramatic plot turns or visuals, but in the core nature of film itself: character and performance. Flawed and beautiful all at once, Half Nelson is definitely one of the better films I've seen recently.

With Anthony Mackie in a good performance as Frank the drug dealer, cinematography by Andrij Parekh, and a surprisingly good score by Broken Social Scene (long live hipster film soundtracks!).

Links:
Jonathan Rosenbaum's review of Half Nelson

Let's Pound Some Budweiser

Today is a glorious day. As the amazing Bill Veeck once said, "There's only two seasons: winter and Baseball" -- and today marks the beginning of the latter, kicking off with a matchup between the New York Mets and the St. Louis Cardinals (yes, I know, it's not particularly inspiring). But never the less, I'm gearing up to attend opening day at The Cell tomorrow, and could not be more excited about baseball season. So, in celebration, may the Tite Times provide some videos/links:

Interview with Bill Veeck:


White Sox Pre-Game Video Montage:


Video About Dick Allen, the Ultimate Bad Ass of Baseball:


Frank Thomas Blue Jays Commercial (kinda hilarious):