FlickeringLight Reviews

The Wind (1928)

Best of the American Silents

[27 July 2004]

"The Wind" is a nice little film in which the desert winds of West Texas are so prevalent and menacing that they become a character in the film. This omnipresent spirit becomes increasingly harsher and louder as the film goes on, mirroring the increasing conflict and desperation of its characters. Like the film "Twister," the winds also serve as a metaphor for the turbulent nature of each character's interactions with the others. This dramatic choice by the screenwriter and director actually serves to heighten the tension of the film beyond what the story and the characters are able to do.

The interesting thing that strikes me about this film is the theme regarding nature vs. industrialization. The film opens with a train rumbling through the Texas desert, and I am not sure that a train has ever looked so out of place. This machine that represents human industry is encroaching on the natural world, and Nature is surely not putting out the welcome mat. Powerful winds and dust storms engulf the train and make it seem small and powerless by comparison. In another scene, a tornado rips through a "shindig" at the town center, almost dropping the ceiling onto those who are feverishly trying to board up the windows. Once the tornado passes, the fools simply go on about their business and ignore the warnings. We can also see wild mustangs roaming freely about the desert plain, apparently impervious to the machinations of the wind until Nature really gets peeved and brings in a "Norther'." When this happens, those horses who are subject to the men who ride them become as unpredictable and impetuous as the wind itself.

Lillian Gish is wonderful as usual. It strikes me how similar she looks to European actress Christianne Georgi, who I suppose is off making films back in Europe now. Lars Hanson is terrific as Lige. The direction couldn't be more flawless.

The thing that keeps "The Wind" from being a great film is the ancient enemy-- The Studio. The ending should have been left as it was, and would have tied the entire story and thematic together. However, The Studio decided that it wanted a happy ending that turned a moving film of cinematic genius into a trite melodrama with a happy ending. I felt ripped off.

Original Ending: 9/10 (Projected) Actual Film: 6/10

Sunrise (1927)

The Greatest Of The Silent Films

[21 July 2004]

I am a big fan of the silent era, especially the German expressionist films, and I would have to say that although there are many great silent films-- Metropolis, Pandora's Box, The Wind, etc.-- this film is my favorite. I feel that it is Murnau's greatest film. While it does not have the social implications of his films such as "Nosferatu" or "Faust," the cinematography, acting, and Murnau's unabashed belief in the power of love helps this film to rise above the rest.

The acting is sterling, with a 21-year-old Janet Gaynor looking incredibly similar to Drew Barrymore, and delivering a layered performance that reveals her character's strong but tenuous emotional state. I suspect that George O'Brien wasn't exactly what Murnau wanted for his lead actor, due to the lengths that Murnau went to to extract O'Brien's performance, but credit is due the actor for a performance which was brave at times and never ego-centric.

Murnau's use of symbolism and metaphor are suppressed compared to the standards of his other films. In this film their use is more to augment the story rather than actually being the story under the narrative. One example is the fish nets waving the wind as O'Brien returns home from his tryst with the dark seductress, a terrific metaphor for his entrapment and helplessness.

The story itself is one that can appeal to many audiences, as it has its fair share of melodrama, comedy, sap, and suspense. I saw this film with my 17-year-old nephew, who is your typical disaffected digital generation teenager, and he was awful quiet during the dramatic sequences and awful loud during the comic portions. It is amazing how I my own emotions were manipulated by the film without Murnau ever being manipulative or obvious.

The true star of this film, of course, is the cinematography. It is simply awesome. I have done a lot of work with old film cameras, and I have no clue how Strauss managed some of the shots he did. Murnau was one of the first directors, if not the first, to use camera motion during a film. This was no small feat in the days where the camera was not motorized and had to be hand-cranked. The camera movement is amazing. There is a shot where O'Brien moves through the swamp, with wet, muddy, and uneven ground, to meet the woman from the city, and the camera tracks along with him. It looks like a steadicam shot! No track could have performed this shot as it exists, and I have no explanation on how he did this other than that he must have suspended the camera from the ceiling of the studio. Shooting a swamp scene with fog and a full moon in a studio is a feat in itself. There are also other feats of cinematography. There are several shots where the city is the typical cardboard cutout, there are people milling around in the street, yet the trains and trolleys are obviously models. HOW????? If you are able to get the DVD with the cinematography commentary, it is well worth the investment.

To the king of the silents... 10/10

The Clearing (2004)

Quietly Brilliant Drama

[10/10 · 19 July 2004]

"The Clearing" is a perfect example of how to make a great film with the combination of a thoughtful script, brilliant talent in front of the camera, and taut direction behind it.

The script is simple yet complex. On the surface, it is a simple study of the events of the kidnapping and ransom of a multimillionaire, told in two interwoven strains-- one strain showing the grim march of the kidnapper and the millionaire through the mountains over the course of a day, the other strain focusing on the anguish of the millionaire's family over the course of several days after the abduction. However, above the plot lies the meandering meditation on life that provides the common strain between each character. In the end we see parts of each character within ourselves, and question the true nature and purpose of life itself. This is the mark of a great film.

The acting is downright great. Robert Redford is an actor who works from the inside out, and works so hard on the inside that he usually neglects the outside of his characters, so you always see a little Robert Redford in every part he plays. This part is no different, but it works well because in a sense he is playing himself-- a handsome, wildly successful, hard-working person who has entered a stage in his life where he contemplates his mortality above all else. Willem Dafoe is not himself as usual, and takes pains to represent his character both physically and emotionally. We see his character painstakingly comb his hair in the morning, only to have it flop back down by the time he begins his day. His shoulders are hunched low and his chest pulled in like a beaten man. However, his hatred and anger simmer beneath his amiable exterior. Helen Mirren is actually the star of the film, with a quiet but expressive performance in which her face and posture convey everything that you need to know about her without her ever saying a word. In the end, you understand why each of the three stars' characters do what they do, even without it being mentioned explicitly by the script.

The direction is simply superb. Not only does he deserve some credit for the performances by his actors, but he is able to keep a fairly deft pace to a slow-moving film, and turns in a comprehensive psychological drama with plenty of meditations on life in just a shade over ninety minutes. That, my friends, is a feat.

See this movie. It is a great film.

The Saddest Music in the World (2003)

Terrific Satire-Comedy

[6/10 · 16 July 2004]

I saw Guy Maddin's film last weekend, not really knowing much about it other than it's premise, which was too absurd to pass up. A double amputee parapalegic beer baroness with glass legs filled with her own beer holding a contest during Prohibition to find the saddest music in the world? Where do people come up with this stuff?

The film is an interesting conglomeration of styles from films before and around the era in which it is set. The 8 mm footage with the stereopticon lens is reminiscent of the earliest films, and the distorted sets created in a studio are reminiscent of the German expressionist films. This is combined with a 30's musical and conversational style, including bits of "Technicolor" thrown in for good measure. I would have to see the film again, but I would like to go back and see it again to determine the link between the scenes which are suddenly shot in color as compared to the grainy black and white images that grace the rest of the film.

Despite the quizzical looks from the three fellow moviegoers who occupied the theatre, I found myself laughing out loud quite a few times at the film's caustic humor. The matches between the music from each country are like something out of a gangland film, with each side advancing toward each other menacingly during their performance. Some of the countries who perform in the competition reflect Maddin's satirical side, including a winning performance from Serbia (of all places) and an entry from the "country" of Africa (as if we in North America don't know any of the individual nations on the continent).

The entwining of satire and comedy continues in the musical performances and the competition's radio commentators. Maybe it's just me, but the funeral dirges from some countries (most notably "Africa" and Scotland) are not really "sad" at all, as they are a bit loud and a bit too upbeat. The greatest offender is the American entry, who turns the competition into a showcase for his Broadway ambitions, eschewing the premise of the competition with the blessing of Lady Port-Huntley, who incidentally is his former-current lover. The idiotic commentators obnoxiously chatter over a loudspeaker even as the musicians are performing, delivering such priceless wisdom as "Siam is known for its dignity, twins, and cats."

The themes of the film revolve around the separation between the rich and the poor (one character enjoys a psychic connection with her tapeworm), American excess, Canadian self-loathing, humanity's relentless desire for the trivial and superficial over the meaningful and spiritual, the global domination of American pop culture, how the mass media controls the world, etc. However, none of these are really fleshed out in the film, but rather touched on briefly then tossed away in favor of the next idea.

Though the film is more style over substance, it is still thoroughly enjoyable for anyone who loves the cinema in all its forms.

King Arthur (2004)

Bruckheimer, Bruckheimer, Bruckheimer...

[5/10 · 16 July 2004]

I have been looking forward to this film for quite sometime, despite the fact that it was a Jerry Bruckheimer (and Disney) production. With Antoine Fuqua at the helm and such outstanding talents as Clive Owen, Stellan Skarsgard, and Ioan Gruddfield, as well as budding ingenue Keira Knightley, I figured it couldn't go wrong. I was only half right.

The performances are strong in this film, a tribute to the actor's talents as well as Fuqua's direction. Owen's King Arthur is profoundly disillusioned and disaffected after a lifetime of warfare, but his commitment to the utopian ideal continues to drive him. Gruddfield comes off as a bit too bitter at times, and seems to be yelling the entire film, but his seething hatred and rebellion against the natural order of the world comes through in his performance. I liked Knightley's warrior-princess Guinevere, and she helps the film as Arthur's muse. Skarsgard is hardly recognizable in every way as the Saxon ruler, which pretty much says it all about his work. Another actor who I am unfamiliar with, Mads Mikkelsen, turns in a quiet and subtle performance which is just as good as his top-billed co-stars.

The problem with this film is the script, which is heavy on the exposition and a bit short on the drama and the action. Only through the strength of the performances do these characters become human. This gives the film some credibility, along with Fuqua's deft direction which manages to focus on the images rather than the words. Though the exposition is quite heavy, we never get a true picture of what drives Arthur to fight for "Camelot." There are bits about wanting to go home, only to find that home isn't home anymore, but his leap from indentured mercenary to champion of Briton needs a bit more development than it gets. This transition is the soul of the film, and it is lost.

A decent movie. Good acting. Good direction. Flawed script. See it once, enjoy it for what it is, and don't look back. Try not to be disappointed by your own expectations.

The Twilight Samurai (2002)

Great Impressionist Film-making

[6 July 2004]

I saw this film last night with my nephew, and chose it simply because the title was interesting and it was playing at the local art house, so I gave it a shot. As I am a bit disillusioned by the Oscars these days I don't pay much attention to them, I was unaware that this film was a huge success in Japan and received a Best Foreign Film nomination. What I received in return for my curiosity was one of the best foreign films that I have seen in a long, long time.

The crux of the film is the relationship between personal honor and social honor. Iguchi is indeed a most honorable man. He truly loves his children and his senile mother, and sacrifices his dignity and station to care for them. He works from dawn to dusk, attending his duties with the court by day and working on his farm by night, somehow finding time to also sell handmade insect/bird cages just to help his family get by. He does all this even though it soon becomes apparent that he has no equal as a swordsman, and in that right alone deserves the respect of those who deride him. We come to understand that selfless sacrifice is the single greatest act of honor, especially when one can still consider himself a blessed man. However, the personal honor that Iguchi wields even more skillfully than his sword becomes at odds with the social honor that his status as a samurai calls for. This conundrum is the heart of almost every scene in the film, and reaches its peak as the story moves toward its climax. Though Iguchi tells his best friend that he would gladly surrender his status as a samurai to become a simple farmer, he finds himself unable to resist his call to duty under the code of the samurai. He knows that to be honorable in his duty as a samurai, he must compromise his honor as a man. How can he kill a man to fulfill the unjust motives of his clan, especially when the man he is fighting is so much like himself?

The direction of the film is beautifully impressionist. Yamada crafts pictures of everyday life which gives us an inherent understanding of the life of Iguchi. In one scene, he sits dejectedly on his doorstep after coming home in the rain, lamenting the holes in his socks while his squire stands outside in the downpour. In another, he quietly applies his perfectionism to the construction of his cages in his dark and dirty living room while his family sleeps. In yet another, he shares a meal with his family as they laugh and enjoy each other's company. Yamada's eye for imagery, in combination with his patient and subtle storytelling, are reminiscent of great impressionist directors such as Ozu, Tarkovsky, and Malick. There are many other memorable images in this film, many of which depict the duality of nature. In one scene we see soldiers learning to fire rifles under the spring buds of a lotus tree. In another we see men fishing along a sapphire blue river, with golden fields behind them and a stunning, snow-capped Mount Fuji on the horizon-- and the bodies of starved peasant children floating down the river.

This is a great film. See it.

Metropolis (1927)

Too Bad We Can't See It All

[10/10 · 6 July 2004]

Like Terrance Malick's The Thin Red Line, it is a grievous loss to those who love cinema that we will never see the complete film. If we could, Metropolis may well be considered the greatest of the silent films, if it is not already. Fritz Lang's courage for taking on a task such as this was far ahead of his time, and his imagery in this film has proven immortal as it has been used time and again by other directors throughout the history of cinema.

Many have commented so eloquently and insightfully here that I have nothing more to offer than what has already been said. Thank you all for augmenting my enjoyment of this great film.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

Expressionism At Its Finest

[7/10 · 6 July 2004]

The original message of this film is fairly pedestrian (an outcry against the weak authority in Germany at the time), although the political intrigue surrounding the production led to a fascinating framing story which re-established "the authorities," and in turn made the UFA happy enough to distribute the film. This suggests that in its own time the political message of the film was fairly powerful, but compared to the work done in such films as The Golem, Nosferatu, and Metropolis it is not so far-reaching.

What sets this film apart from its contemporaries is its absolute commitment to the expressionist movement. Mutated sets, heavy dark/light makeup, light and shadow, and a Gothic storyline are classic expressionism. The photography is beautiful and so crisp that it creates an eerie sense that this hellish scene is actually the real world, and that our everyday lives are the delusional Technicolor dream of a madman.

While there are many better movies made in this period, I feel that this one is the pinnacle of the imagery that is characteristic of the expressionist art form. It is an absolute must-see for anyone who is interested in the Expressionist movement.

Nosferatu (1922)

Cinematic Gem Of German Propaganda Films

[10/10 · 2 July 2004]

Saturday79 hit it right on the head-- this is a film that at its heart is a condemnation of the Bolsheviks and their Communist ideals, which had come to power in Russia five years earlier. This eastern menace is portrayed as the new Black Plague, spreading across Europe and leaving destruction in its wake. The Plague metaphor is carried far, complete with rats and wagons carrying the dark dead bodies of the afflicted. I don't think it is a mistake that Orlok looks like Lenin with rat ears and teeth. It is also amusing that the vampire, usually a metaphor for seduction, is repulsive. Again, I don't think this is an accident. Imagine the horror of a German who falls under the spell of the Bolshevik monster, only to see its true form when it's too late.

The Weimar Republic had good reason to fear the Bolsheviks considering the economic state of Germany at the time, and it is fascinating how Murnau is able to reconcile a story that he loves (Dracula) with government propaganda to make an incredible and lasting art film that was resonant beyond its time.

Another interesting aspect of this film is Murnau's blending of impressionism and expressionism. At times his film is overtly expressionist, with ominous skies and oddly shaped sets, while at other times he takes an impressionist tact, mostly during scenes of the peace in Bremen before the arrival of Orlok. This in itself is another political comparison between the Weimar Republic and the Bolsheviks.

With its political insight within its own time that would prove resonant if not downright prophetic in the coming decades, combined with its cinematic ingenuity that began to blaze trails for future films, Nosferatu is clearly a great film that deserves its place in the history of cinema.

The Golem (1920)

Insightful, Important Film

[9/10 · 2 July 2004]

This landmark film is one of the earliest surviving expressionist works, and it's art direction and photography-- while not as stunning as a film like Caligari-- is still extremely interesting with its misshapen sets and its use of light and shadow, and light within shadow. Unlike Caligari, the themes of this film were resonant long after its release, and perhaps still are today.

The Golem is a tolerance film that studies in depth the relationship between Jews and Christians in Prague. To his credit, Wegener refuses to impose stereotypes on either party, instead concentrating on individual characters and using mass characterizations only to highlight the themes of the film.

Unlike stereotypical Jews, rich guys with big noses who rub pennies together, the Jews of Prague are decidedly poor. It is interesting to note that the Jews are all dressed in black and with very few exceptions appear to be bent with age, a tribute to an aging and dying religion. However, they are also portrayed to be earnest and hard-working, with strong communal instincts. The Christians, by contrast, appear bright, shiny, and new. They are dressed in light colors and are young and wealthy, and outwardly appear to be God's new chosen. However, they are also portrayed as foolish bohemians who do not take God seriously. In the end, Christian innocents (and blonde-blue Aryan, coincidentally)are able to stop the Golem's rampage, but only because he allows it. The final shot shows the Star of David lying in the dust as the Jews come to carry their fallen champion back into the ghetto, closing the great door behind them and leaving you with a feeling that they are gone forever. However, it should be noted that the Golem is not only a champion to the Jews, but a symbol of revival.

Another interesting comparison in this film is that between the Golem and Jesus. Like man, the Golem is made of sand and clay, then given life by a supernatural force. They are both immaculate conceptions, with the Golem being motherless while Jesus is born to a virgin mother. Jesus in his time was a champion of the Jews, as is the Golem, and each of them rebelled against the wickedness of the authorities that governed them.

This open-ended presentation of the struggle of Christianity vs. Judaism is what makes this film truly great. I suspect that this relevant elevation above the ordinary is the reason for its survival, even though it is the third film of this series. The fact that Wegener was able to make a film that is so ambiguous is a credit to him considering the circumstances surrounding German film-making at the time.

Rabbi Loew is portrayed as a wise and heroic leader of the Jewish community, which lives in a winding ghetto. He creates the Golem for a noble cause-- to protect his people against eviction by the Christians--and in this cause succeeds after the Christian court is saved by the Golem from divine repudiation after laughing at Loew's presentation of the Old Testament. The creation scene is particularly interesting, not only in its visuals, but for the fact that in this scene Rabbi Loew wears white (for purity), yet performs a ceremony that is holy in nature yet seems like witchcraft. The Golem turns on him when he seeks to continue using the Golem's services for selfish purposes after the Golem has accomplished his mission.

Miriam and Loew's servant are portrayed quite differently. Miriam is a dark seductress who is unwittingly the cause of the Golem's destructive rampage. She is only saved from the hands of the Golem by another act of divine intervention, when the communal prayer of the Jews in the streets of the ghetto results in her release. She usually dresses in dark colors. However, there is also a scene before her affair with Florian in which she wears white (purity of a different kind). Also notice how Florian carelessly twirls a flower when he delivers the edict to Rabbi Loew. This is a brief, but effective, example of his character and foreshadows things to come. Loew's servant is the only other young Jewish character in the film besides a few Jewish children in the street, and it is his revival of the Golem during his jealous rage against Florian that sets the Golem on his destructive path. Like Loew, he is unable to remove the Star of David from the Golem's chest once he begins to use the Golem for selfish gain. In the end, he shares a poignant moment with Miriam where they seek forgiveness and confidence about their actions.

The depth and attention to detail that Wegener shows as a director (and writer) in this film helps to place it among the great films in the brief history of cinema. It's message is particularly haunting considering the events of the next 25 years after its release.