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Seen [February 2012]

By: Mr. Arkadin

UPDATE 04-09-12: Have now transferred all 2012 movies watched to a single master list here.
THE NOTABLES

1. Deep End (1970; dir: Jerzy Skolimowski): Psychosexual drama meets coming-of-age confusion + class commentary. I was struck by how little we really understand or know about the characters (much of what we assume about them is implied instead of told; there were many moments when I expected exposition to intrude, but instead found only odd and ambivalent expressions on the characters’ faces [or, otherwise, meandering silence]). Anxious to watch more Skolimowski…

2. Four Flies on Grey Velvet (1971; dir: Dario Argento): Just rewatched this, on the occasion of its Blu-ray debut. The disc’s a/v presentation is a decidedly mixed bag: It’s fantastic to have the English soundtrack finally running at correct speed, but the disc contains new audio problems not on previous discs. Also, their attempt to fix the high-speed camera sequence just ends up mucking it up in a different way. Sadly, a “definitive edition of a lost classic” it’s not.

3. The Imperialists are Still Alive! (2010; dir: Zeina Durra): The seemingly unspoken (and underexplored) tension of the film lies in the disparity between how well-off and upwardly mobile the main characters are, in comparison to their besieged counterparts (friends, family) living in places like Beirut. Élodie Bouchez’s low-key performance helps keep things moving. (And, surprisingly, its hipster quotient didn’t bother me … though maybe it would if I ever watched it again.)

4. Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters (1985; dir: Paul Schrader): Re-watching this, I realized that the scene where Ogata portrays Mishima during his St. Sebastian photo shoot holds, in miniature, everything that fascinates me about the film.

5. Afraid to Die (1960; dir: Yasuzo Masumura): I think the key to this one is your relative interest in Mishima. If you’re fascinated by his life and work (including his sometimes oddball forays into film), then this one will probably hold your interest. If not then, uh, not. Signature elements: the opening prison assassination sequence (which includes M. showing off his developing physique); the asthmatic hitman; and Mishima’s over-the-top escalator death.

6. The King of Marvin Gardens (1972; dir: Bob Rafelson): Every second of Nicholson’s opening monologue is a master’s class (a master’s class in just about everything) … will have to watch it again, though, to decide if the rest of the film lives up to this. (The relationship between Dern and Nicholson is more than a little heartbreaking, and Ellen Burstyn is magnetic and terrifying all at once, but …)

7. Safe House (2012; dir: Daniél Espinosa): You know, Denzel Washington absolutely is a screen presence, and Ryan Reynolds managed to make me forget for 115 minutes that he starred in National Lampoon’s Van Wilder, but this one is ultimately all paint-by-number. Achieves no suspense; never any doubt when it comes to the mastermind villain; schmaltzy and offensively simplistic characters; and enough pointless shaky cam to give me a nosebleed.

8. Intruder (2004; dir: Claire Denis): Real mesmerizing film. Having watched it back-to-back with Haneke’s Time of the Wolf, it was interesting how much overlap—how many shared, same notes—showed up in the two films. (And interesting to me how much, in what ways, I preferred the Denis film.)

9. Possible Worlds (2000; dir: Robert Lepage): The first half, especially the police procedural stuff, plays like a made-for-TV movie (the credits seem to indicate as much). The second half, though marginally more interesting (and, thankfully, with more for Tilda Swinton to do), still seems slight and uninspired. The few “mind-bender” moments (including the use of a house that was maybe Lost Highway-inspired) add up to a zero-sum take on what could’ve been …

10. The Limey (1999; dir: Steven Soderbergh): I’ve not watched much Soderbergh, but this one has much to recommend it: Stamp’s performance and delivery, which manages somehow to be both theatrically artificial and spot-on; the displaced and overlapping dialogue (a technique reused to much effect in Drive); as well as the always-gorgeous-to-look-at framing and visuals (I could’ve done without the sometimes overly processed effects on flashbacks though).

11. Pale Flower (1964; dir: Masahiro Shinoda): A masterpiece in so many ways: Ryo Ikebe’s performance (his loud-print suit seems to be the obvious cinematic precursor for Asano’s in Ichi the Killer); the b&w cinematography; the “death race” on the highway; the dream sequence; and most of all the end. The fact that they ended the film where they did—that final shot, that final withholding of resolution and plot—!

12. Three Colors: Red (1994; dir: Krzysztof Kieślowski): It’s like the most beautifully shot Dickens’ film (that isn’t a Dickens’ film). I wonder if the narrative’s sometimes staggering reliance on coincidence (the trait that it shares with so much of Dickens’ fiction) sometimes lessens what is otherwise poetic, artful, and affecting (especially visually affecting) about the film. Most enjoyed the scenes between Trintignant and Jacob.

13. The Andromeda Strain (1971; dir: Robert Wise): Technically proficient, slow-burn science fiction. Plenty of production value and neat-o visuals. Its pace perhaps ends up being a little too slow, its exposition a little too clunky, its overall effect a little too bloodless. (Though the “red light” scenes with the epileptic doctor were pretty memorable, as were the computer animations of the strain itself.)

14. L’amour braque (1985; dir: Andrzej Żuławski): Say what you will about everything that leads up to it, but when we’re shown the video that reveals what the Venin brothers did to the mother of Sophie Marceau’s character—when we get her repressed childhood flashback via projected videotape—it is an agonizing, abominable shorthand for what’s been afflicting all the other characters up till then.

15. The Moon in the Gutter (1983; dir: Jean-Jacques Beineix): Has the kind of schizophrenic energy and soundtrack that I’d expect from L’amour braque or La femme publique—sometimes it is electronic and frenzied and churning, other times it is swelling and melodramatic/romantic. Also wasn’t prepared for how fantastically lit it is (when Kinski and Depardieu go in to see the cathedral caretaker I was having serious Suspiria flashbacks). Not sure I’ve seen anything that Kinski was better in.

16. L’amour braque (1985; dir: Andrzej Żuławski): Say what you will about everything that leads up to it, but when we’re shown the video that reveals what the Venin brothers did to the mother of Sophie Marceau’s character—when we get her repressed childhood flashback via projected videotape—it is an agonizing, abominable shorthand for what’s been afflicting all the other characters up till then.

17. Games (1967; dir: Curtis Harrington): Lackluster execution of a potentially interesting concept; just too tame for its own good.

 

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