The Cranes Are Flying
USSR, 1957
Written by Viktor Rozov
Photographed by Sergei Urusevsky
Directed by Mikhail Kalatozov
They pull out all of the
emotional stops in this unashamedly operatic tale, which craftily combines
sincere, hand-on-heart patriotism with frank, probably courageous historical
revisionism. As you might expect we get Mother Russia, and
even the regime, or at least the Party. As you might not expect, we also get social shortcomings, admissions that Soviets, both collectively and as individuals, make mistakes. That admission facilitates another great leap, which might otherwise have been counterintuitive for a resistant Westerner. We discover that these erring Soviets, and maybe the actual Soviets behind the fiction (not to mention the state infrastructure that supports that fiction), are also worthy of our sympathy and admiration.
Ideologically speaking, it’s
good to see the other side pulling the same stunts that your side pulls. The result should be that you
see through the contrivances in your own favoured expressions. The other result should be that you grant the
other side its self-deceptions and satisfactions. After all, people just want to believe and
belong.
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| A Formalist forebear/contemporary; Eisenstein, Ivan..., '44 |
One of the reasons that those emotional stops resonate is that they also pull out all the technical or aesthetical stops. And how! Kalatozov and Urusevesky really outdo themselves in this one. They pretty well outdo everyone else too; there can’t be too many more muscular, acrobatic, awe-inspiring displays of camera mobility and plain kinesis in world cinema. Some of this is showing off, but just as frequently—Boris’s first ecstatic rush up the stairs, the long tracking shot past the parting people at that iron fence, the air raid that ends in the destroyed flat, (Boris’s death!), etc., etc.—they’ve found formal equivalents for the feelings they’re presenting. The film's conclusion is hogwash, conceptually. Or maybe it’s just a placeholder, and it doesn’t really matter what you say in the midst of such feeling and technique.
Another thrilling, irresistible expression of Soviet pride: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U06jlgpMtQs
The Bakery Girl of Monceau
France, 1963
Written and directed by Eric Rohmer
As with the courses comiques of the first years of cinema, this film has tremendous
documentary value, over and above the plot and enactment. These Parisian places and people register
powerfully, burstingly, even imperishably.
As for Rohmer, with this first entry in his series of the Six Moral Tales, the maker of all those previous, tentative shorts suddenly emerges as a film master. He has found his method, and hit his stride. We’ve got a trifle of a situation, agonized
over with poignant hilarity by the reflective, self-regarding, deluded protagonist. We've got that excessive narration, which works quite wonderfully: in
the first place it is consistent with the character, and in the second, good
talk is as cinematic as good pictures.
Also, and in connection, nothing is trifling when you elaborate upon
it. (Plus the film was shot silent. This is a cheap way to flesh it out. Why not?)
The conclusion here is chilling, the more for its seeming lightness. His previous romantic quarry having inexplicably disappeared, Barbet Schroeder’s protagonist takes the next step with this working girl, so that harmless flirtation now borders on actual engagement, and the ethical commitment that should go with. But when his that other young lady reappears—we get a very satisfying solution to the mystery of her disappearance—he just dumps the shop girl. So far, so caddish, and maybe not so big a deal. Until our hero tells us that it was a moral decision, which is how he justifies himself, and leaves the world corrupted while he's at it. A crafty, glancing epilogue tells us that the proper consummation of all comedy has taken place. But there’s no joyful resolution, no tonic cadence in this marriage. Wrong person, for the wrong motive, with the wrong values reinforced thereby. The result is kind of like The Marriage of Figaro (whether by Beaumarchais or Mozart/da Ponte). It's tuneful enough, but look at the writing on that wall! It's for this kind of thing that heads roll.
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| L'auteur |
The conclusion here is chilling, the more for its seeming lightness. His previous romantic quarry having inexplicably disappeared, Barbet Schroeder’s protagonist takes the next step with this working girl, so that harmless flirtation now borders on actual engagement, and the ethical commitment that should go with. But when his that other young lady reappears—we get a very satisfying solution to the mystery of her disappearance—he just dumps the shop girl. So far, so caddish, and maybe not so big a deal. Until our hero tells us that it was a moral decision, which is how he justifies himself, and leaves the world corrupted while he's at it. A crafty, glancing epilogue tells us that the proper consummation of all comedy has taken place. But there’s no joyful resolution, no tonic cadence in this marriage. Wrong person, for the wrong motive, with the wrong values reinforced thereby. The result is kind of like The Marriage of Figaro (whether by Beaumarchais or Mozart/da Ponte). It's tuneful enough, but look at the writing on that wall! It's for this kind of thing that heads roll.
Mani
Sulla Città
Italy, 1963
Written and directed by Francesco Rosi
This has got to be one of the
great gangster pictures, partly for the way that it eschews the genre's usual
iconography. Rackets are one thing, but
isn’t this the more common, surer substance of organized crime?
Cronies, ordinary businessmen, closing the door and sidling up to the trough. Rosi’s procedural approach is really
effective, and really exciting. The pre-credit sequence gives us a good sense of what he is doing, and how it works. The first sequence is of a
property speculation, which leads elliptically to what now seems a very suspicious announcement
by the mayor. After that, the construction work proceeds, and business too, as usual. Except that now, of course, we see it all quite differently. Surface, then substance, and the epistemelogical method that enables us to tell the difference.
These are the inciting incidents behind the seeming inciting incident (the tremendous, appalling collapse of that building). In this Rosi's film is like Sophocles' Oedipus the King, in which we find that the cause of the curse lies way back there, concealed in the midst of a whole interlocking series of fateful decisions, and actions. The difference between the ancient Greek and this contemporary Roman—or Neapolitan, rather—is that the mythological is now transformed into ideology. Where Sophocles demonstrated the workings of fate, and our vulnerability thereto, Rosi is saying that we can not only know, but also act. These are very distinct approaches, and yet they are ultimately, wonderfully complementary. In either case we are led to inquire, and not just take for granted.
Ideological, but there’s not much or any Brecht here—no classic or conventional verfremdungseffekt (alienation affect) to speak of. This is very important, given how often college professors trot BB out when they want to talk about political narrative. As important as he is, there are alternatives. Rosi's, for instance. Still, in the end the results are the same, and they are most salutary. The strategy is analytic, not cathartic, but by that alternative route the emotional payoffs are real and considerable. Causes and effects, implications and consequences—the challenge is to keep up, the reward is a knowledge of dire reality and real possibility. This is true; we can change!
These are the inciting incidents behind the seeming inciting incident (the tremendous, appalling collapse of that building). In this Rosi's film is like Sophocles' Oedipus the King, in which we find that the cause of the curse lies way back there, concealed in the midst of a whole interlocking series of fateful decisions, and actions. The difference between the ancient Greek and this contemporary Roman—or Neapolitan, rather—is that the mythological is now transformed into ideology. Where Sophocles demonstrated the workings of fate, and our vulnerability thereto, Rosi is saying that we can not only know, but also act. These are very distinct approaches, and yet they are ultimately, wonderfully complementary. In either case we are led to inquire, and not just take for granted.
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| Star, director |
Ideological, but there’s not much or any Brecht here—no classic or conventional verfremdungseffekt (alienation affect) to speak of. This is very important, given how often college professors trot BB out when they want to talk about political narrative. As important as he is, there are alternatives. Rosi's, for instance. Still, in the end the results are the same, and they are most salutary. The strategy is analytic, not cathartic, but by that alternative route the emotional payoffs are real and considerable. Causes and effects, implications and consequences—the challenge is to keep up, the reward is a knowledge of dire reality and real possibility. This is true; we can change!
Look at all these real
Italians, really gesturing. The council
members too; this is a whole different, deeper kind of neo-realism. It’s like Jim Pines’ point about black cinema in the US (in Nowell-Smith, OUP, 1999, 497). Crises are dramatic, and it is socially, morally
necessary to portray and attend to them. But exclusive attention to crisis distorts the story, and the social reality behind it. We need
typicality too. Real locations, with real people populating them, will do that for you.
The film's left/right battles are tremendous, ideologically what you’d expect—in the end this is unmistakeably and unashamedly a progressive film. But with nuance too. The De Vita character, based on and played by an actual heroic councilor, is especially impressive. The moral struggle of our centrist hospital administrator, the terrible but probably necessary compromise of the new/centrist mayor, makes the film better, harder, truer. (Paddy Chayevsky must have gotten that Peter Finch/Ned Beatty confrontation from this film. This one’s better.) Mani Sulla Città isn’t a screed, and it’s not sloganeering. It’s Brecht’s The Good Person of Szechuan. (I guess I succumbed to BB after all.) In politics, in the ideological, nothing is clear, except that you’ve got to keep going. Not just myth and ideology, but absurdity too (cf. Beckett, 1953).
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| Napoli |
The film's left/right battles are tremendous, ideologically what you’d expect—in the end this is unmistakeably and unashamedly a progressive film. But with nuance too. The De Vita character, based on and played by an actual heroic councilor, is especially impressive. The moral struggle of our centrist hospital administrator, the terrible but probably necessary compromise of the new/centrist mayor, makes the film better, harder, truer. (Paddy Chayevsky must have gotten that Peter Finch/Ned Beatty confrontation from this film. This one’s better.) Mani Sulla Città isn’t a screed, and it’s not sloganeering. It’s Brecht’s The Good Person of Szechuan. (I guess I succumbed to BB after all.) In politics, in the ideological, nothing is clear, except that you’ve got to keep going. Not just myth and ideology, but absurdity too (cf. Beckett, 1953).
The Fireman’s Ball
Czechoslovakia, 1967
Written and directed by Milos Forman
I love short movies. This registers for its Rabelaisian high
spirits, but it’s remarkable for the meaningful symmetries that provide solidity and heft underneath. We have a well-judged,
complementary prologue and epilogue.
These establish the point of the titular gathering, which is to give a meaningful award to this old fireman for his faithful and meaningful service. All of that—honour and its recognition—gets jeopardized by the figurative three ring'd circus that
follows, which finally calls into question the possibility of there being such a thing as merit.
In connection, there’s plenty of regime bashing in this movie. At the same time there’s also a commedia timelessness, and the eyebrow-cocked kindliness that so often goes along with. The farcical beauty contest runs wonderfully parallel to the shaggy dog/savagely satirical prize plundering. And the big fire that the entire fire brigade can’t manage to put out takes us into the Renoirian (cf. the hunt, 1939). Too saucy? Those just short-of-dirty old men cause us to question any objectifying impulse we might have toward these girls. The bonehead humanity of these same old men stops us from objectifying them in turn. Around and through all that, faces! Gestures! Individuality and humanity! No wonder the regimes weren’t happy.
In connection, there’s plenty of regime bashing in this movie. At the same time there’s also a commedia timelessness, and the eyebrow-cocked kindliness that so often goes along with. The farcical beauty contest runs wonderfully parallel to the shaggy dog/savagely satirical prize plundering. And the big fire that the entire fire brigade can’t manage to put out takes us into the Renoirian (cf. the hunt, 1939). Too saucy? Those just short-of-dirty old men cause us to question any objectifying impulse we might have toward these girls. The bonehead humanity of these same old men stops us from objectifying them in turn. Around and through all that, faces! Gestures! Individuality and humanity! No wonder the regimes weren’t happy.
The Story of Qiu Ju
China, 1992
Written by Yuan Bin Chen
Directed by Zhang Yimou
Revenge of the hayseeds! Our protagonist is some relentless character. To the film’s great credit that quality is
both cause for celebration, and the cause of a terrible injustice. Chinese officialdom comes off very well here—the
regime liked this one, didn’t they? But
we might also notice that its responsiveness, the way that it so courteously
attends to this obscure oaf of a woman, is also the root of the problem. There must be laws, there must be processes,
the latter turn slowly, and the former will crush you! This goes beyond ideology, or the party in
power. Systems have shortcomings, as do
the individuals they serve. The
consequences are kind of comic, and sometimes tragic. Like this film, which manages both. How many movies can really make this
claim?
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| Peasant? |
It’s almost alchemical how Zhang negotiates these subtle moral gradations. He does it through the patient accumulation of little anthropological and psychological details. We really get the texture and the timing of these peasants’ lives, and all the little abounding grace notes reveal the infinity beneath the seeming simplicity. (Agricultural production in the margins, the beautifully rendered town mouse/country mouse dynamic, the communal, cross-family feelings in the village, central conflict notwithstanding.) He also does it through a strategy of relentless repetition—the script is the main character. All this is boring if you want, but it’s also the world turning, a wide, sufficient rhythm that puts a lot of our strivings in their proper, ridiculous light. And finally, Zhang does it by being simultaneously kind toward and critical of these characters. Qiu Ju’s best quality is her worst one, and the brave, self-sacrificing village leader is also, not incidentally, a stubborn, pride-ridden chauvinist.
Junior
Canada, 2008
Directed by Isabelle Lavigne and Stéphane Thibault
The documentarians stick to their
observational guns with a vengeance. And
once again the observational mode (cf. Bill Nichols, 1991) proves itself most adequate to the representation of
processes and typicalities. Furthermore, if you
choose your subject carefully, you can also be assured that a crisis or two
will arise. Again, as is generally
suggested, the recording and assembling of all of this really convinces you
about both the richness and ambiguity of the world. So much going on! What does it mean? Or what do we do with and about the many
simultaneous, contradictory things that it means? (As with the Maysles’ Salesman, it’s hard to
believe how much the camera disappears.
Hard because the rooms are small and things get silent, and all sorts of
private and painful things happen. Do
these lads think that this is what the spotlight means, or will require?)
A
classic verité objection arises. Some of
this footage, some of these interactions could have benefited from a bit of
interrogation. More to the point, some
of these kids might could have used some advocacy! Agents here, coaches there, doors closed and
eyebrows raised all over the place. You
can’t be sure, but there’s a sneaking feeling that when they’re not being
exploited and manipulated, they’re being neglected.
Not showing any hockey is a tremendous choice. The more we don’t see, the more the game increases in importance and magnitude. Concluding with the draft is dramatically obvious, and dramatically devastating. By keying on these kids as they key on the game we learn and feel how this is everything to them. Then, at the very end, we essentially pull way back and learn that they’re all just Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: incidental, unnecessary. The agent tells the parent that being picked in the last round is no problem. We’ll make a player of him. You think?
The film itself: http://www.nfb.ca/film/junior_en/
Some kids do make it, mind you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neO44K7Awg0
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| Huberdau, RNH, Landeskog |
Not showing any hockey is a tremendous choice. The more we don’t see, the more the game increases in importance and magnitude. Concluding with the draft is dramatically obvious, and dramatically devastating. By keying on these kids as they key on the game we learn and feel how this is everything to them. Then, at the very end, we essentially pull way back and learn that they’re all just Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: incidental, unnecessary. The agent tells the parent that being picked in the last round is no problem. We’ll make a player of him. You think?
The film itself: http://www.nfb.ca/film/junior_en/
Some kids do make it, mind you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=neO44K7Awg0
The Secret of Kells
Ireland, 2009
Written by Tomm Moore
Written by Tomm Moore
Directed by Tom Moore and Nora Twomey
Not only is 2-D alive and
kicking, it would appear that you can entertain and make money with a 2-D film
that is almost completely visually and narratively stylized, as well as being
really rooted in a complex and dimly distant past. It’s an awful lot to chew on, and that they
pull it off so confidently, so triumphantly, is a really a tribute to all
involved.
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| There is such a thing, of course |
All that sounds pretty art
film, and I guess it is. But it’s also
easy. We’ve got a child protagonist
for child audiences to relate to. In counter and in balance we have this caring/overbearing adult to love/hate. We’ve got a childlike sense of wonder, and
a sense of the challenges and satisfactions of adult occupation and
vocation. Comical on the margins,
formidable antagonism, a wonderful sense of community and possibility. It’s really good while you watch, and it
grows in stature in the recollecting.
