A Man Escaped – Robert Bresson

A Man Escaped is a film that is enhanced by leaving out the usual embellishments of war-time pieces, such as elevated levels of action and violence, way-too-loud sound effects, character expositions and easy explanations.  In fact, it is my opinion that this is not really a war film at all. At least not to me. To me, A Man Escaped was about letting me experience Fontaine’s life in prison in a unique way. The setting, more than anything, helped to enhance the effect.

Fontaine is determined to escape captivity from the outset, when he dives out of the car that is carrying him to prison. This is an important addition because we are immediately familiar with this small aspect of his personality (one of the only things we are let in on, as François Truffaut notes in this great review). Indeed, Fontaine begins to acquire some escape tools as soon as he develops a tentative plan.  A metal spoon is eventually stolen. We can feel the risk in his actions. The camera closes in his wooden cell door as he carves away at it with the spoon. Without ever showing the source, sounds in the distance play a major part in creating the film’s tension. The footsteps of hallway guards become characters in themselves. They are recurrent and instill a great source of excitement–not the trivial type that an action sequence provides, but a kind that allows the viewer to feel as Fontaine does every time they are heard in the film. By the end, things like the spoon, the cloth rope, the mattress, the shards of glass, the wood panels in the door, the iron bars, taps on the wall, and the signaling cough of fellow prisoners, are all significant enough to, in a sense, become characters in themselves. This is one of my favorite aspects of the film (as well as the overall subtlety, the silences, the bursts of music, the facial expressions of Fontaine and Jost) and all I can really of think to write about for now.

Trash – Paul Morrissey

Well, it’s an experience. Tired of glossy overproduced films? Don’t like to see movies pushed as products? Trash is a good option. The images are hard, some are ugly, but I don’t believe that it’s a merely pornographic production. It intends to shake you out of your comfortable state, means to have you question how deep your sympathy runs. These are positive goals. These are reasons films should be created. The camera work is very interesting, with intense imagery and events that are juxtaposed with dialogue that normally has no place with what is going on. The film has the viewer see an alternate version of everyday life with no intervals in between. There’s really not much I can say, except that if you want something new, you should try it yourself.

Spiritual Laws – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Just some brief thoughts on Emerson’s “Spiritual Laws.” There is so much to think about in the essay that I only wrote about a few things I found especially intriguing.

There is nothing more important in the world than striving to take part in what attracts you, draws you in–to live that, to be that. Anything else is a lie to yourself, a lie that makes itself particularly apparent to others.

“Why should we make it a point with our false modesty to disparage that man we are, and that form of being assigned to us? A good man is contented.

The contented man refuses to waste his time perceiving himself through the eyes of others. What is the honest point to this? Its function is to teach oneself how to better assume an idealized self-image, how to more easily uphold a false appearance. This process would be a dead end, except that it cannot end. The contented man knows that, even if his charade is a success, a dishonest version of life is what he will ultimately be left with. It is also likely that others will be able to perceive his lies, so why not act in accordance with his true vision and beliefs?

Persons approach us famous for their beauty, for their accomplishments, worthy of all wonder for their charms and gifts; they dedicate their whole skill to the hour and the company, with very imperfect result. To be sure, it would be ungrateful in us not to praise them loudly. Then, when all is done, a person of related mind, a brother or sister by nature, comes to us so softly and easily, so nearly and intimately, as if it were the blood in our proper veins, that we feel as if some one was gone, instead of another having come…

The result of one’s efforts to become a person, “famous for their beauty, for their accomplishments, worthy of all wonder for their charm and gifts,” can at best be one that is superficial. This person has proven nothing about themselves, except that they can initiate a prolonged charade. They display their abilities to mimic and to think with the minds of others rather than their own. Surely, this may result in recognition among the masses, an end which at least seems somewhat desirable to a good number of people. Widespread fame is obviously a rarity, so why do these ambitions resonate so strongly? Less than fame there is also a basic desire to simply be liked by as many people as possible. This does not necessarily mean that one seeks to surround themselves with large numbers of acquaintances; they may simply wish to appear as confident, talented, attractive, likable, nonchalant, or congenial as possible to everyone they meet. I cannot denounce this desire, or pretend to be above it, since I frequently attempt this in my own encounters. Furthermore, this is not to suggest that one should instantly reveal the deepest levels of contempt within themselves upon an initial engagement. In fact, this is exactly the point–there are no sets of rules. Emerson writes something very insightful here. Coming across someone who is as close as “a brother or sister by nature,” who’s personality, mannerisms, opinions and ways of thinking are familiar, can cause one to reflect on this person’s prior absence rather than concentrate on the meeting that is taking place. It is not coincidence that the most sincere people–those that are true to themselves–spark this emotional response.

The Beggar Maid – Alice Munro

Relationships are complex. It hardly needs to be stated. However, there is a tendency for this simple truism to be swept away in the perpetual cycle of clichés–in film, television, advertising, literature, and in the greetings and conversations that occur daily. It is slightly bewildering to me that this counterfeit version of society continues without interruption. This is not stated in contempt, but rather to illustrate how valuable Alice Munro’s stories are–here specifically, “The Beggar Maid.” They are one of the many means of seeing how complex people’s lives are upon a more intimate look. They are a way for the reader to experience that affirming yet mysterious ’sameness’ between individuals that occasionally reveals itself.

Rose’s whole charade is centered around cultivating a personality for herself that meets Patrick’s standards. Already there is a problem. First, his standards are impossible to live up to. Rose’s accent, background, and sense of humor are unacceptable. This is perplexing as he is often quite nervous around her. His voice cracks when he becomes impassioned and he frequently knocks things over. Furthermore, he is so unwillingly to stray from his rigid criterion that he asks her, pertaining to her acquaintances: “How can you be friends with people like that?” More importantly, further questions must arise–why does she feel the need to put on this act, and, is it worth it? Rose, while already continuing to alter her usually playful style and southern accent, has begun to suppress her dreams and ideas about the world. She cannot reveal them to Patrick; perhaps she is afraid of what he would say, but she may also fear that once revisited, these ideas will no longer seem as important to her as they once did.

The importance of not just ‘being yourself,’ but of the ability to view the world through your own lens, is inherent within much of Munro’s work. Those characters that are loud, expressive, hard working, and generally of lower means in her stories, seem to be free of much of the anxiety that Rose is troubled by. Though Rose’s stepmother Flo and her shop-owning friends may quibble, grumble, and engage in petty, jealous gossip at the dinner table, they are free of the psychological chains in which Rose remains trapped. They don’t waste their time worrying about how a statement they make might be viewed (this is most directly demonstrated through Flo’s grim descriptions to Patrick of the various ways in which her neighbors committed suicide) or if their personal background should dictate their societal status. The reward of getting past the difficulty and embarrassment that Rose experiences about expressing herself honestly is to exist on a truer plane of life.

Once dedicated to behaving like a secondary version of yourself–continually staying careful to watch what you say, always making sure not to offend, remaining forever congenial–you do not necessarily become this false person, but rather lose the ability to appeal to others in a genuine fashion, or to utilize any strengths previously held.

My Blueberry Nights – Wong Kar-wai

Neon, glowing lights; blurred sense of time; melodramatic soundtrack; shifting senses of self; alienation; love; broken hearts; travel; policemen; lively urban surroundings; this is a Wong Kar-wai film. One of my favorite filmmakers, all of his pictures fill me with a deep sense of bittersweet anticipation. I have no idea why I feel this way. He is able to completely capture this mood along with a very strange sense of time through his visuals. While watching I always feel as if the characters are a step away from a life-changing development of some sort. However tragic, events that take place seem to be neither for the better nor for the worse. A broken heart allows for the pursuit of someone else. Ones death brings about self-discovery within another.

My Blueberry Nights is not my favorite Kar-wai film, but it is perhaps impossible to top what he has already created. Happy Together, Chungking Express, Fallen Angels, In the Mood for Love, Days of Being Wild, 2046; all rank among my favorite viewing experiences. Besides, it really doesn’t matter that it is not the best; I couldn’t even choose a favorite if asked to. For whatever reason, I seem to be able to say the least about the works that I love the most. So, simply put–a master of creating an expressive aesthetic.

My Night at Maud’s – Eric Rohmer

I’m not sure exactly what I can say here. Films like My Night at Maud’s are kind of my version of film entertainment. There is something about a group of French smokers trading intellectual propositions that I find engaging. In this case though, this is not all that is taking place. There is much more to these characters than simply their austere philosophies on life, love and spirituality. Rohmer is able to tell us a lot about Jean-Louis, for example, by the way he gradually opens himself to Maud after simply spending a few hours with her. She asserts multiple times that he is secretive (she also indicates that he is only acting this way towards her, and that she knows that he already has a secret love in mind), but he insists that he is not, that he is simply a follower of a personal moral code. It is never easy to see who is right. Jean-Louis seems to be sure of his own dedication to his religious and moral lifestyle. However, when he briefly begins to make a move on Maud, and then hesitates, it is easier to see it from her point of view: he is indecisive, at least when it comes to interacting with her. Although they may feel open towards one another, she can tell that his desires lie elsewhere.

It is this elsewhere–another woman–that the film both begins and ends with. Presumably, the most important events of Jean-Louis’ life occur with Françoise, the girl Maud always knew existed; these would include getting married and having children. These events are relegated to the final portion of the film, however, as the interaction with Maud dominates the major parts of the movie and encompasses some of the most tense scenes. In effect, though they may seem obvious, many questions are left unanswered. I was certainly left wondering about the nature of many of the characters’ relationships with one another (we are never exposed to this, only that there are associations), if Jean-Louis and Maud would ever meet again and what this would entail, and the future of these peoples’ lives in general.

Old Joy – Kelly Reichardt

Sometimes it is easy for a person to realize that they are not fully content with their current situation. What is harder to acknowledge is that sometimes their current position is perhaps where they are meant to be, as dismal as it may seem. The most straightforward way for this to be realized, like many important revelations, I think, is through disillusionment. Are hopes destined to eventually materialize, or do they exist solely to remain as an indicator of where we should be heading?

Old Joy thoroughly captures all of the questions and none of the answers to these uncertainties. Of course, this is why I loved it. I knew I did as soon as I felt awkward just watching some of the interactions. Many subtle instances provide insight into a situation of which we are given no background. Mark’s wife looks disconcertingly at the telephone as a voice is emitted from the answering machine, summoning someone to pick up. It’s a past voice – that of Kurt, an old friend of Mark’s. It quickly becomes obvious that these two go way back and were at one time very close. They decide to go on a camping trip together.

Mark and Kurt reconnect, but is it for the better? Much has changed between the two in the time that they’ve been apart. From Mark’s perspective, we are able to discern that he was once the free-spirit that Kurt continues to be. Now, however, he is a soon-to-be father who has become comfortable with routine. Looking through Kurt’s eyes, Mark has become integrated into a system that he still does not wish to be a part of. Nearing a lapse in emotional control, he even tells Mark that there is something between them and he cannot figure out what it is. Mark is visibly perturbed by the exchange that has just taken place but seems to shake it off. The mutual realization that things will not return to how they once were sets in as the two relax on their getaway. This does not stop Kurt. He desires a return to the past. His determination is enough to set it straight in Mark’s mind that, whatever the level of discontent that he was experiencing in his everyday home life, it is preferable to regressing into the sort of person he used to be; Kurt is the embodiment of this personality, and perhaps the two were meant to remain separated.

Old Joy portrays this dilemma far better than I am able to describe it. Kelly Reichardt states on the commentary track that she wanted the viewer to bring their own baggage into the experience. This is perfectly stated as it exactly what I did. This is truly a great film.

Nine Lives & Ten Tiny Love Stories – Rodrigo García

Rodrigo García is a filmmaker who is capable of capturing delicate moments. Not only are these moments incredibly human, they occupy the full time frame of two of his films; these are Nine Lives and Ten Tiny Love Stories. Both contain (relatively) short vignettes that form full length features when pieced together.

Nine Lives lets us peer into random segments of the lives of ordinary people. We are (thankfully) not exposed to banal introductions or back-stories of any of the characters; we are forced to make split-second judgments and observations based on their interactions with other characters, as well as the way they act when isolated, however briefly, from social interaction. It is this method of presentation that makes the film what it is: an experience. As in actual life, we come across across people who we know nothing about. We form opinions of them after overhearing a conversation or by the way they present themselves in public. This film allows us to experience every detail of a conversation in a grocery store that we wish we could listen in on. A verbal confrontation at a memorial service becomes something we can take part in as a silent observor. While such an interaction seems outlandish and disruptive when seen in public, the ability to acquaint ourselves with the situation via the camera allows for a whole new level of involvement that most of us are so interested in. What separates Nine Lives from something like a reality show, which claims to provide the same level of encounter, is the opportunity to see the moments that are left out of this perverse, insipid mode of experience; things that are labeled as “pointless” or “boring” are what enrich this film. To the sensitive viewer, who is hungry for deep intimacy, they are the richest and most satiating elements of a film. Never before has a stifled cry or an exasperated sigh of frustration been so provoking to the senses. A tiny remark leaves a stinging sensation.

García does not ignore a particular sex or age group. A grandmother visits the grave of a deceased relative. While this is certainly a painful moment for her, her spirits remain high as she is accompanied by her granddaughter. She is living life without forgetting the past, yet is able to remain in the current moment. Such a scene would provide any viewer with a sense of hopefulness. In another segment, a teenage girl must divide her attention between her emotionally needy parents. The camera follows her as she walks back and forth through the halls, tending to her mother and father. The two are apparently not speaking to one another and need their daughter for an emotional outlet. This is clearly taking a toll on her. Rather than have her state this explicitly, we are allowed to view her as she simply sits on her bed and catches a momentary break from providing counsel. Her facial expressions and body language tell us the story that we desire to hear.

Ten Tiny Love Stories is another attempt at intimacy, but with a different approach. The camera, rather than acting as a hidden observer, functions as an outlet for cathartic tales of relationships and love as experienced by 10 different women. Actors look straight into the camera and provide exactly what the film’s title suggests: tiny love stories. Once again we are given no background to the story teller, and it is still as appreciated as it was in Nine Lives. For the viewer, it is undeniably engaging to have an anonymous character expound some of the most intimate details of their lives without great reservation. While there is a willingness to disclose, emotions still run high. Stutters, pauses and sensitive silences express more than any cleverly written dialogue ever could. Though Ten Tiny Love Stories is the García film that I have most recently watched, it is recognizably the predecessor to Nine Lives. While the former is well worth a watch, it is not quite the near-perfection that is the latter.

Kwaidan – Masaki Kobayashi

Kwaidan is not a typical piece of horror. In fact, I’m not sure it could be classified as horror at all. I think the term nightmarish is appropriate, and each of the narratives explored are highly stylized in this vein. The film consists of four short films that share certain qualities. Their plots are highly reminiscent of folklore. They develop in such a way that the films’ central characters are slowly introduced to a horror that eventually consumes their lives. All are completely dreamlike in appearance; an ominous atmosphere pervades each tale.

For me, the most engaging aspect of each piece was the accompanying soundtrack. In the first tale, “The Black Hair,” dialogue is sparse and unexceptional. The viewer develops a certain sense of dread and expectation not necessarily through plot developments, which are also fairly standard, but through the odd ticks, twangs, and reverberations that one hears throughout the film. They effectively keep the pace of events and provide a foreboding atmosphere. This effective use of sound is not exclusive to the first tale and bleeds into each story that follows.

The general aesthetic of Kwaidan utilizes imagery that is representative of its folklore influence. One way it does this is through the use artificial backgrounds, especially when it comes to nature. In “The Woman of the Snow,” we can literally see the “eye of the storm” that the central character is trapped in. I suppose this could be considered an element of fantasy. The movies I like that could plausibly be classified as horror all incorporate this aspect to some degree. Suspiria came to mind more than once while I was watching. This has mostly to do with the highly illuminated colors that make up surrounding environments. A habitat gains animateness and becomes a character of its own.

It is undoubtedly the style of Kwaidan that kept me so engaged. Noting that I am no good with terms and classifications, I have recently acknowledged that I’ve become less interested in films that seem to feature surrealism as a cornerstone; Lynch’s work would be an example. Nonetheless, I greatly enjoyed the experience that this film gave me. Maybe this is due to the extended break I’ve taken from the use of style for the sake of it (probably not the intent, I know – it is just my predominant interpretation). While I prefer what I will equivocally refer to as reality, I do not mind delving into a dreamworld once in a while, provided it is as enriching as the one Kobayashi has created.

The Merchant of Four Seasons – Rainer Werner Fassbinder

I was going to explore Fassbinder slowly. I usually prefer to go through a director’s work at a leisurely pace, mixing in the work of several different filmmakers in between. In the case of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, I don’t know if this will be possible. This is the second of his films that I’ve seen, the first being Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (love that title).

One difference I found between the two films is that some of the characters in The Merchant of Four Seasons are more difficult to lend sympathy towards than in Ali. Hans Epp in particular acts brutally towards his wife, and tends to neglect his young daughter. The viewer is quickly convinced that his only concern involves his own problems. Following an episode of physical abuse, his wife, Irmgard, flees from home and seeks out Hans’ relatives. They mostly offer a  restrained sympathy for her, but they nonetheless seem to despise Hans. However, Anna Epp (Hans’ sister) seems to be the lone dissenter of the group. She attributes her brother’s troubles to the neglect he himself received. The disparaging attitudes of his close family drove him to join the military, and subsequently, to treat his wife and daughter with contempt. This assertion becomes wholly believable once we see the manner in which Hans is capable of acting.

Fassbinder seems to genuinely care about all of his characters. Their movements (along with the camera’s) are deliberate, as are the lines they deliver. Everything seems to be carefully crafted and meticulous. This does not provide a sense that events are contrived, but rather it is an indicator of the importance of each complex relationship that develops along the way. The plot is melodramatic, but, as is obvious for anyone who has seen one of his films, there is certainly more going on in every scene than what is on the surface. I absolutely love the style of both of these films along with the way that the complexities of characters and events are expressed on screen. Things look bizarre with rooms of solid colors and rigid frames; it almost feels as if some scenes take place inside of a doll house. I have no idea if it is a style that is constant throughout his work, but I am always anticipating what I will see next. Every single shot feels important, emotional, and highly combustible. As mentioned before, I believe I will be delving into Fassbinder’s work at a greater pace than usual.