Playing Hard to Get:
Since I'm the designated cheerleader for lost causes, here are some films from my shortlist that are not, to my knowledge, readily available. If you get the chance to see any of them, snap it up, or if you know where they can be found on disc, even better - let us know.
Life and Nothing More (Abbas Kiarostami, 1991) – Probably my favourite Kiarostami, with one of the greatest closing shots ever.
In That Country (Lidia Bobrova, 1997) – A gorgeous wintry rural ramble that also ultimately turns unexpectedly transcendent. I think I’ve got a VHS of this kicking around somewhere. Bobrova’s previous
Hey, You Wild Geese is also excellent.
The Guard (Aleksandr Rogozhkin, 1990) – A film I’ve only ever seen once, but it was a stunner. It’s actually only at the end that you see where Rogozhkin is going with it, so it’s a bit of an unknown quantity in terms of how it would play on multiple viewings. The film depicts the drudgery of a military guard’s life, but the twist is that Rogozhkin eschews hard cuts, instead moving from shot to shot through dissolves. This imparts a hazy, dreamlike quality to repetitive, grimy routine. It’s an odd experiment for most of the film, but when the narrative finally reaches crisis point, the film slips abruptly into an extended dream sequence (from which we never emerge), conveyed, shockingly, in traditional montage. It’s a brilliant effect that calls into question both the relationship between the film’s own levels and our received notions about film grammar.
Journey to the Sun (Yesim Ustaoglu, 1999) – I seem to have a lot of films on my list for this decade which takes themselves into unexpectedly extraordinary territory in their final act. This tough life-on-the-streets drama from Turkey is very good, but not particularly original until it detours off into an eerie odyssey at the end, evoking aspects of Begrman’s
The Silence with Tarkovsky’s tactility.
An Independent Life (Vitaly Kanevsky, 1992) – So many great, unknown Russian films from this decade. Who knows what’s happened to them? This sequel to
Freeze, Die, Come to Life is much less known and much, much weirder, as one of the protagonists of the previous film seems to have taken its title disconcertingly literally. I have no idea how this film would play without the anchoring of the previous film, but as a sequel it’s as bold and unexpected as
Life and Nothing More.
Screen Play (Barry Purves, 1992) – Sublime animation that starts out as ingenious riffs on Noh but swoops brutally and unexpectedly into splatter. Genre-blender stuff as conceptually daring as the wildest of Oshima and Yoshida.
Rock Hudson’s Home Movies (Mark Rappaport, 1992) – The best example of Rappaport’s unique contribution to film criticism, and hilarious to boot, but not commercially available.
Rainclouds Over Wushan (Zhang Ming, 1995) – One of the first films to address the Three Gorges Dam situation, this is a a rich and emotionally varied drama that veers from incongruous musical interludes (to Prince’s 'Peach') to the realm of grimy dark thriller. Writer Zhu Wen went on to direct the superb
South of the Clouds, which has a similarly slippery mood.
Three Stories (Kira Muratova, 1997) – Maybe the best thing Muratova has done since
The Asthenic Syndrome, and it’s a great showcase for her versatility, with each story embodied with its own radically different style. The last one is subdued and Chekhovian, the middle one extravagant and Felliniesque, and the first one is pure Muratova, with nervous repetitions getting under your skin and maybe my favourite montage experiment of the decade, a ‘reveal’ that goes on and on and on, forcing you to look at what you shouldn’t want to look at again and again and again.
Rats in the Ranks (Robin Anderson / Bob Connolly, 1996) – A very well-done fly-on-the-wall documentary about party machinations at the local body level in Sydney that overachieves because the characters are so indelible and the story so outrageously great.
Love’s Debris (Werner Schroeter, 1996) – Opera singers talk and sing about romantic love. Unexpectedly moving.
The Nasty Girl (Michael Verhoeven, 1990) – This has already been mentioned by somebody, I think, and it’s a remarkable film. Incredibly gimmicky and relentlessly Brechtian (though maybe Syberberg is as relevent a point of reference), but it simultaneously calls Brecht into question, since the extreme distanciation (the protagonist continually breaks the fourth wall, settings are revealed to be sets or back projection) actually brings us much closer to the character.
August in the Water (Sogo Ishii, 1995) – His previous film,
Labyrinth of Dreams was briefly available through Japanese New Wave Classics, and it’s stunning (and will probably make my list), but this bizarre quasi-science-fiction high-school drama keeps buzzing around my brain. It’s something about high-divers seeming to glimpse the water below them shifting and solidifying, and an ancient conspiracy involving rocks, and aliens, and internal organs. As I recall, it didn’t quite succeed in tying everything together into a coherent whole, but it presented more great ideas in two hours than most directors stumble across in two decades.
Portrait of a Young Girl at the End of the 60s in Brussels (Chantal Akerman, 1993) – From the unacceptably MIA 'Tous les jeunes filles et garcons de leur age' series, also responsible for Assayas’ superb
L’eau froide and Denis’ excellent
US Go Home, this is, for me, the best thing Akerman’s done in decades.
How to Survive a Broken Heart (Paul Ruven, 1990) – A winning black-and white Dutch indie revolving around a bizarre road race that I remember most fondly for a charisma-drenched star turn from Argentinian director Alejandro Agresti as Giro. Ultra-louche and completely magnetic on screen, but he doesn’t seem to have pursued the acting side of his career with particular diligence.
L’Age des Possibles (Pascale Ferran, 1995) – Ferran’s tricksy debut
Petits arrangements avec les morts got more critical kudos, and her long-delayed follow-up
Lady Chatterley finally got her the attention she deserves, but this unassuming feature, created in collaboration with a class of acting students, is my favourite, exhibiting the observational delicacy of Rohmer with greater structural ambition and energy.
To the Starry Island (Park Kwang-su, 1993) – A tough period drama in the vein of several unsentimental Japanese ‘island’ films (
The Naked Island,
The Catch,
Punishment Island,
The Profound Desire of the Gods,
Fire Festival), from perhaps the most important Korean director of the decade. I’m also a big admirer of Park’s
Black Republic and
A Single Spark.
The Sentimental Cop (Kira Muratova, 1992) – I only ever saw this in an Italian subbed version, but Muratova’s approach to dialogue is so idiosyncratic (think Beckett put through an Echoplex) it was pretty easy to pick up what was being said and resaid. Hypnotic, abrasive and unforgettable, maybe the deepest she ever went into ‘Muratova-land’ (though
Chekhovian Motifs is pretty far gone as well).
Still Hard to Get, But Worth the Effort:
And here are some films that are available if you hunt around a bit:
The Quince Tree Sun (Victor Erice, 1992) – An exquisite meditation on art and life. Quite different from
Spirit of the Beehive, but just as good. Available in a superb, fully subbed edition with extensive extras from fnac.es and, it seems, nowhere else.
Sink or Swim (Su Friedrich, 1990) – A must-see for fans of Greenaway’s arch structural games but also for those who can’t stand Greenaway. Available from
Outcast films. The short
Rules of the Road, on the
Damned If You Don’t disc, will also make my top 50.
L’eau froide (Olivier Assayas, 1994) – The French
Dazed and Confused, but also the anti-
Dazed and Confused. Available (unsubbed) in France.
Alone: Life Wastes Andy Hardy (Martin Arnold, 1998) – A work of creepy genius. Mickey Rooney reveals himself as an uncanny alien lifeform between the frames. Available on the 'Cineseizure' disc from Re: Voir.
Here’s Judy singing the theme song!
The Boys (Rowan Woods, 1998) – Extremely brutal, gruelling drama strongly in the Alan Clarke tradition, with just about the most chilling last line I’ve heard in a movie. Powerful filmmaking, but, as was often the case with Clarke, it’s the performances that send it over the top. Toni Colette, a million miles from
Muriel’s Wedding, may be at her best, but David Wenham is unforgettable (Russell Crowe and
Romper Stomper are a Hanna-Barbera cartoon in comparison). Available (or used to be) in Australia, maybe elsewhere too.
Ali Click (Jerome Lefdup / Lari Flash / Brian Eno, 1992) – A great piece of ‘visual music’ in the tradition of Fischinger and Lye (by way of the title sequences to
Doctor Who and
The Tomorrow People). I think this is included as a QuickTime movie on some editions of Eno’s Nerve Net CD. Or you can always watch it on
YouTube.
