I have never really liked outdoor decorations celebrating Halloween, but one display in my neighborhood recently caught my eye because it was clever: Three skeletons with hard hats and shovels in their hands were digging, so to speak; and the display said to me "Skeleton Crew."
This visual pun would have amused Alfred Hitchcock, about whom I've been reading lately. He was a complicated man with a controversial reputation despite his stellar career as one of our greatest filmmakers.
I have always been attracted to Hitch, as he was called, because of his wry, deadpan, often irreverent humor. Watching again his TV shows from the 1955-65 period, I am struck by his understated wit and gift for silliness. His comic introductions to these often masterful short tales of murder and mayhem turn them into original entertainments. It's as if he winds us up with a bit of suspense, then releases us from the tension.
When asked why he never made comedies, he replied, "Why, all of my movies are comedies."
Hitch's best movies--which for me include Psycho, Notorious, North by Northwest, Strangers on a Train, and Rear Window (but not Vertigo)--show his talent for combining the macabre with a Halloween-like trick, as if to tell the viewer that the crime and madness is, after all, a bit of a joke--sadistic perhaps but nonetheless an experience akin to riding on a roller coaster, where people enjoy screaming in terror because at some level they know they're at an amusement park.
Hitchcock's combination of romantic comedy with the thriller is a hallmark of his 50-plus movies, or at least the best of them, and highlight his delight in ambivalence, that sense of uncertainty that he instills in his audiences. The worst of his films, like "The Paradine Case," lack the quality that makes his 1946 classic "Notorious" such a pleasure to watch as Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant carry on under the watchful gaze of ex-Nazis in Argentina--and of the viewer, who is, as always, turned into a voyeur of sorts.
But if you want to celebrate Halloween with Hitchcock, why not see "Psycho" again and enjoy being tricked? Or at least watch Mrs. Danvers in "Rebecca."
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Monday, October 21, 2019
Sunday, August 11, 2019
Home Movies: A Manifesto about Subtitles
Like many of our friends, we are fans of Netflix and enjoy watching recent and not-so-recent films at home.
The only problem I have has nothing to do with Netflix but with the DVD producers, who provide subtitles so small that they are mostly useless.
Last night, we watched "The Aftermath," set in post-war (1945) Germany. Though an English-language movie, it of course contains dialogue in German, some of it important but none of it intelligible to us since the small white subtitles were of no use. The week before, we had an foreign film with white subtitles against snowy scenes and white backgrounds: we had to return the video, unwatched. This is a common problem with a simple remedy.
There should be an industry standard requiring that all subtitles be done in yellow, in sizeable type. For some reason, most of the credits in contemporary movies are done in what I call an elegantly minimalist style: small and narrow, perhaps fine on the big screen but certainly not created with the home viewer in mind.
I hope that, in putting this issue "out there," someone will know whom to contact to make proper subtitles on DVD movies a reality.
The only problem I have has nothing to do with Netflix but with the DVD producers, who provide subtitles so small that they are mostly useless.
Last night, we watched "The Aftermath," set in post-war (1945) Germany. Though an English-language movie, it of course contains dialogue in German, some of it important but none of it intelligible to us since the small white subtitles were of no use. The week before, we had an foreign film with white subtitles against snowy scenes and white backgrounds: we had to return the video, unwatched. This is a common problem with a simple remedy.
There should be an industry standard requiring that all subtitles be done in yellow, in sizeable type. For some reason, most of the credits in contemporary movies are done in what I call an elegantly minimalist style: small and narrow, perhaps fine on the big screen but certainly not created with the home viewer in mind.
I hope that, in putting this issue "out there," someone will know whom to contact to make proper subtitles on DVD movies a reality.
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
Escaping into Films
My wife and I tend to watch a lot of movies--too many, in fact. Perhaps we are tired at the end of the day or, lately, so weary of the horror that is the Trump presidency that we eagerly escape into the alternate reality of film since TV offers so little. Or blame Netflix, which makes it all possible.
So instead of venting my feelings about the latest racist outrage in Virginia, and the response, I savor memories of three striking films we saw this week, none of them mainstream Hollywood offerings.
The most memorable is a 2009 Italian movie with a perplexing title: THE MAN WHO WILL COME, directed and written by Giorgio Diritti. If I had known that his story was based on the massacre of 770 innocent villagers in central Italy in 1944 (the Marzabotto Massacre), I probably would not have ordered it, but the violence is offset and beautifully counterbalanced by the way the film unfolds: quietly, through the eyes of a beautiful little girl who seems fearless as she watches Nazis kill her family members and neighbors. She retains a hope that the baby brother being born will save her from the trauma of having lost an earlier brother, which caused her to become mute. As a result, the film has a silence enhanced by a lack of soundtrack and by a remarkably understated style as one scene of village life unfolds after another. The sense we are given is that life is a balance of good and evil, of violence and compassion; above all, of redemptive love, which keeps little Martina going and turns her into a little mother-figure caring for her infant brother. The style of the director, who gives us impressions of life in war-torn Italy, somehow minimizes the impact of the war and death and makes the dialogue almost unnecessary.
THE PROMISE is a 2016 film of artistry and power about the Armenian genocide a hundred years ago, but the main focus is on the love triangle between an Armenian doctor, his lover, and the American reporter who also loves her. The cast in this long movie is strong, the impact unforgettable, as, once again, the theme of love and war is treated with artistry and originality.
Finally, another tale of wartime Europe but with an upbeat ending. THE EXCEPTION concerns the exile of the aged German Kaiser (Christopher Plummer) in Holland in 1940, which is given a fanciful treatment and becomes secondary to the love story between a Jewish spy and the SS captain she loves and whom we come to like as a human being.
As someone said, the past is always a work in progress. And art of this type can give us an intelligent escape from present reality.
So instead of venting my feelings about the latest racist outrage in Virginia, and the response, I savor memories of three striking films we saw this week, none of them mainstream Hollywood offerings.
The most memorable is a 2009 Italian movie with a perplexing title: THE MAN WHO WILL COME, directed and written by Giorgio Diritti. If I had known that his story was based on the massacre of 770 innocent villagers in central Italy in 1944 (the Marzabotto Massacre), I probably would not have ordered it, but the violence is offset and beautifully counterbalanced by the way the film unfolds: quietly, through the eyes of a beautiful little girl who seems fearless as she watches Nazis kill her family members and neighbors. She retains a hope that the baby brother being born will save her from the trauma of having lost an earlier brother, which caused her to become mute. As a result, the film has a silence enhanced by a lack of soundtrack and by a remarkably understated style as one scene of village life unfolds after another. The sense we are given is that life is a balance of good and evil, of violence and compassion; above all, of redemptive love, which keeps little Martina going and turns her into a little mother-figure caring for her infant brother. The style of the director, who gives us impressions of life in war-torn Italy, somehow minimizes the impact of the war and death and makes the dialogue almost unnecessary.
THE PROMISE is a 2016 film of artistry and power about the Armenian genocide a hundred years ago, but the main focus is on the love triangle between an Armenian doctor, his lover, and the American reporter who also loves her. The cast in this long movie is strong, the impact unforgettable, as, once again, the theme of love and war is treated with artistry and originality.
Finally, another tale of wartime Europe but with an upbeat ending. THE EXCEPTION concerns the exile of the aged German Kaiser (Christopher Plummer) in Holland in 1940, which is given a fanciful treatment and becomes secondary to the love story between a Jewish spy and the SS captain she loves and whom we come to like as a human being.
As someone said, the past is always a work in progress. And art of this type can give us an intelligent escape from present reality.
Friday, February 20, 2015
I never heard so much silence
"I never heard so much silence," says a young woman who comes with a camera to a poor, dying village somewhere in Brazil.
This is the reaction I had while watching her interact with the villagers in the remarkable film "Found Memories," which proved to be an ideal source of reflection on the day after Ash Wednesday, when I was looking for a way to increase my experience of contemplation and silence.
Just watching the scenes, filmed in real life, slowly unfold, without music or narration or artificial light: the scenes are lit like paintings as shutters open to let in the sun or as old people walk around with kerosene lamps. The pace is slow, thank God.
As we watch an old woman bake bread, go the coffee shop in the tiny village, then to the church, nothing much seems to happen--except the big things: life, old age, death, love and memory. And the need to bake bread.
It is impossible to analyze this quiet Brazilian film; it has to be experienced. For me, it was an ideal companion in the beginning of Lent.
This is the reaction I had while watching her interact with the villagers in the remarkable film "Found Memories," which proved to be an ideal source of reflection on the day after Ash Wednesday, when I was looking for a way to increase my experience of contemplation and silence.
Just watching the scenes, filmed in real life, slowly unfold, without music or narration or artificial light: the scenes are lit like paintings as shutters open to let in the sun or as old people walk around with kerosene lamps. The pace is slow, thank God.
As we watch an old woman bake bread, go the coffee shop in the tiny village, then to the church, nothing much seems to happen--except the big things: life, old age, death, love and memory. And the need to bake bread.
It is impossible to analyze this quiet Brazilian film; it has to be experienced. For me, it was an ideal companion in the beginning of Lent.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
The Kid with a Bike
My wife and I went to bed last night thinking of the amazing DVD we had just seen, a 2011 French-language movie, The Kid with a Bike.
Its appeal is not easy to explain since its themes of seeking a father, home, and love are universal; yet the stunning impact of an 11-year-old boy riding his bike feverishly in search of meaning, away from his foster home in search of a dad who doesn't want him, is unforgettable and original. Moving without being sentimental.
The young actor is remarkable in conveying with fierce determination the human need for connection.
At times, as we watch him riding along, a strain of Beethoven is heard, just a few bars, as if to highlight the general absence of music and the quiet tone of this film. The boy, rejected, falls literally into the arms of a good woman, a hairdresser, who has the patience to deal with his anger and frustration. He later falls from a tree and, though thought dead, is alive.
The filmmakers, two brothers named Dardenne, often put religious themes--here resurrection, compassion, redemption--into secular terms: a wise thing to do. Their film is memorable in doing what filmmakers can uniquely do: suggest the presence of hope in an apparently bleak world.
Its appeal is not easy to explain since its themes of seeking a father, home, and love are universal; yet the stunning impact of an 11-year-old boy riding his bike feverishly in search of meaning, away from his foster home in search of a dad who doesn't want him, is unforgettable and original. Moving without being sentimental.
The young actor is remarkable in conveying with fierce determination the human need for connection.
At times, as we watch him riding along, a strain of Beethoven is heard, just a few bars, as if to highlight the general absence of music and the quiet tone of this film. The boy, rejected, falls literally into the arms of a good woman, a hairdresser, who has the patience to deal with his anger and frustration. He later falls from a tree and, though thought dead, is alive.
The filmmakers, two brothers named Dardenne, often put religious themes--here resurrection, compassion, redemption--into secular terms: a wise thing to do. Their film is memorable in doing what filmmakers can uniquely do: suggest the presence of hope in an apparently bleak world.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
No True Forgetting?
A basic principle of Freudian thinking is that there is no true forgetting; every experience we have leaves some sort of trace.
I found this statement, by a type of coincidence that often occurs in my life, in an article (by Adam Kirsch) the same day I watched a film, in this case the remarkable documentary by Werner Herzog, Cave of Forgotten Dreams.
The topic: cave paintings in southwestern France, discovered only in 1994, that contain the world's oldest examples of human art: 32,000 years old, at least. Herzog takes us inside the Chauvet cave and shows the images of horses, bison, and other animals in a kind of motion, comparing the technique to that of cinema.
"Images are memories of long-forgotten dreams," Herzog says in his narrative. I wish he had expounded on this idea. But he asks, Was this the beginning of the human soul? He explains that by "soul" he means the need for communication of one human with another. One of the French scientists interviewed wonders if we should change the term Homo sapiens to Homo spiritualis because man does not know; he is often lost in wonder and mystery.
This is an intriguing and important idea about the limitations of reason and science and the inherent human longing for connection and communication that we call spirituality. And this documentary leaves us thinking about the relation between the art of the earliest man to religious concepts, including music (since 40,000-year-old flutes have been unearthed.)
It's a film that could have been longer,to my taste, with more discussion of the mystical implications of these ancient images. A movie I saw recently, too, was even more unforgettable: The Tree of Life by Terrence Malick, which I would not want to be any longer but which I must see again.
I would need several of these posts to explore the riches of this amazing, original, and beautiful film. It resembles a slowly unfolding prayer, with a profusion of images and half-whispered dialogue that ventures into the spiritual, the religious, and the mystical. I can think of no American film to put the existence of God at the center of its story and to suggest that at the heart of life are deep mysteries and universal images (archetypes) that we find in dreams.
Both of these films, in their very different ways, raise timeless questions that are beyond all knowing. Both are testaments to the term "Homo spiritualis."
I found this statement, by a type of coincidence that often occurs in my life, in an article (by Adam Kirsch) the same day I watched a film, in this case the remarkable documentary by Werner Herzog, Cave of Forgotten Dreams.
The topic: cave paintings in southwestern France, discovered only in 1994, that contain the world's oldest examples of human art: 32,000 years old, at least. Herzog takes us inside the Chauvet cave and shows the images of horses, bison, and other animals in a kind of motion, comparing the technique to that of cinema.
"Images are memories of long-forgotten dreams," Herzog says in his narrative. I wish he had expounded on this idea. But he asks, Was this the beginning of the human soul? He explains that by "soul" he means the need for communication of one human with another. One of the French scientists interviewed wonders if we should change the term Homo sapiens to Homo spiritualis because man does not know; he is often lost in wonder and mystery.
This is an intriguing and important idea about the limitations of reason and science and the inherent human longing for connection and communication that we call spirituality. And this documentary leaves us thinking about the relation between the art of the earliest man to religious concepts, including music (since 40,000-year-old flutes have been unearthed.)
It's a film that could have been longer,to my taste, with more discussion of the mystical implications of these ancient images. A movie I saw recently, too, was even more unforgettable: The Tree of Life by Terrence Malick, which I would not want to be any longer but which I must see again.
I would need several of these posts to explore the riches of this amazing, original, and beautiful film. It resembles a slowly unfolding prayer, with a profusion of images and half-whispered dialogue that ventures into the spiritual, the religious, and the mystical. I can think of no American film to put the existence of God at the center of its story and to suggest that at the heart of life are deep mysteries and universal images (archetypes) that we find in dreams.
Both of these films, in their very different ways, raise timeless questions that are beyond all knowing. Both are testaments to the term "Homo spiritualis."
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Cinema Masterpiece
When I saw that TCM (Turner Classic Movies) was showing "The Third Man" earlier this week, I knew I had to watch it again--for at least the 8th time. I never tire of it.
Other films have greater plots and characters, but there is something unique about this 1949 classic, shot mainly in Vienna with the ruins of World War II still apparent in the dark streets so masterfully shot in black and white by cinematographer Robert Krasker, with his love of harsh lighting and shadows. The director, Carol Reed, owes much to Orson Welles' expressionistic style. And to a great screenplay by Graham Greene. (I didn't know all this until I just looked it up on Google!)
So the scene is part of the perfection, the look of the place, those wet streets at night, the aura of corruption enhanced by the ruined buildings and, of course, by the haunting, sad, strange music of the zither (played by and composed by Anton Karas). This music makes this classic the supreme example of film-as-atmosphere.
But mainly it's the look of the people, including ordinary people like the little boy with the ball who appears in front of the building where the mysterious Harry Lime has supposedly been killed.
The faces of fear and desperation in the cafes and streets of old Vienna are unforgettable. I believe that great films are essentially perfectly shot scenes of memorable faces, of characters who move us. At least, that is what draws me back to certain movies.
Joseph Cotten is perfect as the oddly named American writer, Holly Martins, who has come to search for his old friend, Harry Lime, and meets instead Lime's girlfriend, played with a sadness bordering on despair by Valli--another great face.
If "The Third Man" is new to you, find it and look at those faces. Watch for the cat in the doorway by the man's feet, which belong to Orson Welles, who finally appears mid-way in the movie, smiling enigmatically. Watch the fingers that emerge from the sewer opening near the end. Just savor that zither score. You will see why I think this is not only among the top ten movies I have ever seen but why it is high on most lists of cinema masterpieces.
If you ever had doubts about movies being art forms rather than just popular entertainments, see "The Third Man."
Other films have greater plots and characters, but there is something unique about this 1949 classic, shot mainly in Vienna with the ruins of World War II still apparent in the dark streets so masterfully shot in black and white by cinematographer Robert Krasker, with his love of harsh lighting and shadows. The director, Carol Reed, owes much to Orson Welles' expressionistic style. And to a great screenplay by Graham Greene. (I didn't know all this until I just looked it up on Google!)
So the scene is part of the perfection, the look of the place, those wet streets at night, the aura of corruption enhanced by the ruined buildings and, of course, by the haunting, sad, strange music of the zither (played by and composed by Anton Karas). This music makes this classic the supreme example of film-as-atmosphere.
But mainly it's the look of the people, including ordinary people like the little boy with the ball who appears in front of the building where the mysterious Harry Lime has supposedly been killed.
The faces of fear and desperation in the cafes and streets of old Vienna are unforgettable. I believe that great films are essentially perfectly shot scenes of memorable faces, of characters who move us. At least, that is what draws me back to certain movies.
Joseph Cotten is perfect as the oddly named American writer, Holly Martins, who has come to search for his old friend, Harry Lime, and meets instead Lime's girlfriend, played with a sadness bordering on despair by Valli--another great face.
If "The Third Man" is new to you, find it and look at those faces. Watch for the cat in the doorway by the man's feet, which belong to Orson Welles, who finally appears mid-way in the movie, smiling enigmatically. Watch the fingers that emerge from the sewer opening near the end. Just savor that zither score. You will see why I think this is not only among the top ten movies I have ever seen but why it is high on most lists of cinema masterpieces.
If you ever had doubts about movies being art forms rather than just popular entertainments, see "The Third Man."
Friday, August 5, 2011
Milton at the Movies
Thanks to a former student, I've been updated on the forthcoming film by Alex Proyas of "Paradise Lost," the epic poem by John Milton. When I taught a course in Milton's poetry, as I did for 30 years at the Univ. of Central Florida, I often told the students that the long poem from the 17th century, despite its off-putting language, would make a great screenplay, maybe even an actual movie.
According to an article in First Showing, the producers of the film, to begin production in January with Bradley Cooper in the starring role, plan to be faithful to the great poem. I wonder whether this is possible, given what I know.
For one thing, the article emphasizes the (predictable) clash between good and evil, between Lucifer and Michael, as the main event, whereas it is really a poem about the fall of Adam and Eve. How important will they be in the final screenplay, I wonder.
The most colorful character, played by Cooper, is called Satan, not Lucifer, a name Milton studiously avoids, never showing us the unfallen archangel of that name. Satan, the adversary of God, dominates the opening of the epic, nearly stealing the thunder from the other characters, including God, Adam, and Eve. To call him Lucifer, as the movie presumably does, is heretical to any self-respecting Miltonist.
Is Mr. Cooper going to portray Milton's quasi-heroic rebel Satan, or Lucifer? We know that Benjamin Walker, who has a suitably angelic face, will play Michael. Based on this early information, I suspect that the film will go for the obvious battle scenes and minimize the real subject: the temptation, fall, and regeneration of the human characters in a way that makes the poem more positive than the title might imply.
Paradise, that is, is lost on earth, but a greater paradise, Milton contended, is to be found in the human heart (of the Christian believer). So whether this emphasis will be included in the upcoming film remains to be seen.
However, it turns out, the film of "Paradise Lost" is something I look forward to seeing, analyzing, arguing about, and (I hope) enjoying.
According to an article in First Showing, the producers of the film, to begin production in January with Bradley Cooper in the starring role, plan to be faithful to the great poem. I wonder whether this is possible, given what I know.
For one thing, the article emphasizes the (predictable) clash between good and evil, between Lucifer and Michael, as the main event, whereas it is really a poem about the fall of Adam and Eve. How important will they be in the final screenplay, I wonder.
The most colorful character, played by Cooper, is called Satan, not Lucifer, a name Milton studiously avoids, never showing us the unfallen archangel of that name. Satan, the adversary of God, dominates the opening of the epic, nearly stealing the thunder from the other characters, including God, Adam, and Eve. To call him Lucifer, as the movie presumably does, is heretical to any self-respecting Miltonist.
Is Mr. Cooper going to portray Milton's quasi-heroic rebel Satan, or Lucifer? We know that Benjamin Walker, who has a suitably angelic face, will play Michael. Based on this early information, I suspect that the film will go for the obvious battle scenes and minimize the real subject: the temptation, fall, and regeneration of the human characters in a way that makes the poem more positive than the title might imply.
Paradise, that is, is lost on earth, but a greater paradise, Milton contended, is to be found in the human heart (of the Christian believer). So whether this emphasis will be included in the upcoming film remains to be seen.
However, it turns out, the film of "Paradise Lost" is something I look forward to seeing, analyzing, arguing about, and (I hope) enjoying.
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