Viewing Log:
The Challenge (Yuri Ancarani, 2016): Ostensibly a documentary about the exploits of Qatar's ungodly rich and apparently interminably bored ruling class, Yuri Ancarani blends conventional cinema verite with artistic videography to create a hybrid product unlike anything I've ever seen before. The film opens with a static long shot of an aerodrome with dozens, if not hundreds, of falcons in it. No explanation is ever given for it as the camera lingers on the unedited footage for several minutes, but one can assume that it’s the repository for the birds we see auctioned off later in the film. As it turns out, falcons are perhaps the overriding theme in the work as we see them throughout. Aside from the aforementioned scenes, there's one man who decided to spend his wealth on equipping his private jet with five perches for his birds to travel with him in style. There's also footage--some of the most unique imagery in a film composed almost entirely of unique imagery--of shots captured from a falcon's point of view. They aren't the only animals to show up though. One man races through the desert with a cheetah seated next to him in his Lamborghini. Later we see the two reclining on a couch while a second man takes snapshots of them. If you ever wanted to see opulence taken to absurd heights, then this is the movie for you. As we learn, even the head of the nation's Hell's Angels chapter is able to afford a gold-plated Harley Davidson. One of the things that separates this from traditional documentaries is its lack of dialogue. We don't hear anyone speak until about halfway into the film, and there's exceedingly little speech after that. This is my first experience with the work of Ancarani, and I found it exhilarating. I look forward to tracking down his other films.
The Death of Louis XIV (Albert Serra, 2016): New Wave icon Jean-Pierre Léaud stars as the aging 17th century monarch who returned from a hunt with leg pain that ultimately led to his demise. The title is truth in advertising as we trace King Louis's final days when he goes from moribund ruler who's still able to give lengthy monologues to near death when he can do nothing but moan and gasp for breath. We also see doctors make futile attempts to treat him and bureaucrats wring their hands over what his passing will mean for France, but that's about it. This chamber piece is almost exclusively limited to a single room, with its main character lying supine in bed for its duration. It doesn't exactly sound like thrilling cinema, but if we're able to detach ourselves from the thrill-a-minute pacing of the modern Hollywood blockbuster, then it's possible to appreciate what director Albert Serra does here. Like most members of modern society, I'm fairly far removed from death. I've never seen anyone die in person, largely due to the fact that the dying are segregated off into hospitals or home hospice care. Perhaps that's why I found Allan King's documentary
Dying at Grace so unsettling. Even fictional expressions of the dying process that are as drawn out and emphasized as it is here can be unsettling.
The King (Eugene Jarecki, 2017): Starting in Tupelo, MS, the town where Elvis Presley spent the formative years of his life, documentarian Eugene Jarecki begins his work with the restoration of the musician's 1963 Rolls Royce. The film consists mainly in the use of archival footage and a procession of interview subjects, many of whom, for some reason, are interviewed while cruising around in The King's car. Some of the subjects like Chuck D, who penned a notoriously caustic but apt line about Presley in
Fight the Power, feel like natural choices. Others, like James Carville or Alec Baldwin, might leave you scratching your head. There's a moment in this big, bright, and colorful exploration of The King, when a member of the crew asks Jarecki why he's making the film. It's a fair enough question given the fact that we aren't exactly lacking in examinations of Presley's biography. The answer, it would seem, is that in a way the story of Elvis is the story of America itself. Starting off as a dirt poor laborer, Presley seemingly fulfilled the mythical American Dream in true Horatio Alger fashion, by building off of the one talent he had in life. However, as several of the commentators duly note, what got him there wasn't natural ability alone, but his affinity for and reappropriation of Black music. Our country's history is one of a lengthy horror committed against people of African heritage. This mistreatment gave rise to many things, including the unique arts that Presley liberally borrowed from. Even Presley's time as an Army private stationed in Germany is used to reflect on American imperialism. While Elvis was both an individual person and a cultural phenomenon, Jarecki attempts to make the case that he's all of us as well.
Menashe (Joshua Z Weinstein, 2017): Set in the insular Hasidic community of Brooklyn, Joshua Z Weinstein's film tells the story of Menashe (Menashe Lustig), an underemployed widower who is looked down upon by members of his community and feels suffocated by some of the most rigid norms that govern his community. Menashe's marriage was an unhappy and unloving one that was arranged by his and his bride's parents. The only good thing to come from it is the birth of their son Rieven (Ruben Niborski). Unfortunately, according to the rules of Hasidim, a boy cannot attend a yeshiva unless he resides in a household with two parents, so Rieven spends his days living with his hectoring uncle Eizik (Yoel Weisshaus). Unhappy with the arrangement, Menashe appeals to the community's rabbi and is granted a week with his son. Menashe is clearly a loving father, but also sticks out like a sore thumb in his community. Nowhere is this better observed than in the scene where Menashe entertains Rieven during the boy's Torah study by bringing a passage to life with animal noises. Despite Menashe's issues of assimilation, it would be quite mistaken to think that the film is overly critical of the Hasidic community. Instead, it seems to have a more humanistic message about letting people live their lives as they see fit. The scene between Menashe and his Hispanic coworkers is a truly beautiful demonstration of this. I thought that Lustig did a phenomenal job in the title role, and looked him up to see what else he was in. I was shocked to not only see that he's a non-professional actor, but also that the film is a fictionalized account of his own story! Lustig has a few subsequent roles. I hope that he keeps up with acting, because he's terrific here!
Nocturama (Bertrand Bonello, 2016): I first encountered Bertrand Bonello's work at the outset of the project when I caught up with
Zombi Child on the Criterion Channel. I liked it, but it didn't prepare me for this.
Nocturama begins with nearly 25 minutes of its characters silently moving about the streets and subways of Paris. We don't know why at the time, but we later learn that they're part of a terror cell composed of bourgeois students. We never really learn their motivation for the bombings they're about to commit outside of some vague allusions to Pinochet and the CIA. We get the impression that this is a form of play acting for the majority of those in the group. Lead by the inchoate ideas of leader David (Finnegan Oldfield), the rest feel a general dissatisfaction with the French political system for reasons that they can't quite articulate after being raised on a diet lionizing radicals. Most of the members seem to go along for the ride more out of a fear of rejection than any actual political commitments. Their immaturity becomes even more pronounced when, in the second half of the movie, the surviving members of the crew hole up in a department store overnight. Set to the beat of diagetic pop songs, the kids go wild stealing clothes, playing with toy guns, gorging themselves on wine, and generally just having a good time. I was a bit confused by the film's ending though,
when a team of French police retake the store, killing everyone. Most of the teenagers make an attempt to surrender, but are still shot anyway. Why? Is this standard procedure in French policing? Do they really not take any prisoners when it comes to terror suspects? Not only is that a gross violation of human rights, it also is terrible policing since you can't interrogate them to find out if any more attacks are forthcoming!
Both brutal and sardonic, this is an unforgettable film.
Pasolini (Abel Ferrara, 2014): Abel Ferrara's retelling of the last day in the life of Pier Paolo Pasolini (Willem Dafoe) was stuck in distribution hell for several years. It wasn't the strongest inductive inference, but I was worried that it was a sign that it wasn't very good. Now that I've seen it, those fears were mostly misplaced. It's no masterpiece, but it is one of Ferrara's better films. Having the American Dafoe play the Italian Pasolini may seem like a strange choice at first, but he does bear an undeniable resemblance to the director. For some reason, Dafoe speaks most of his lines in English while the rest of the cast gives their performances in Italian. Hearing Dafoe play the Bolognese Pasolini in his own midwestern accent is a very strange choice, made even more bizarre by the fact that Dafoe does give
some lines in Italian. I doubt its very good Italian (though I'm certainly in no place to judge), but it shows that he's more than capable of preforming in the correct language. A little consistency would have been nice. The film progresses from his giving an interview, going through edits of
Salo, working on his unfinished novel
Petrolio, dining with underage prostitute Pino Pelosi, and his murder on the beach. The imagining of a scene from
Petrolio is some of the best filmmaking Ferrara has ever done. It was also great to see Ninetto Davoli again. I guess he's kept himself busy in Italian cinema, but I haven't seen him in anything since
Arabian Nights. He was still instantly recognizable.
Right Now, Wrong Then (Sang-soo Hong, 2015): This is the third film of Sang-soo Hong's I've watched for the project, and the third that's about a movie director and the time he spends with an attractive woman. I might just be grasping at straws, but I feel like there might be a pattern here. This time the film is divided into two separate stories with the same initial structure, individually entitled "Right Then, Wrong Now” and “Right Now, Wrong Then”. Both feature director Ham Chun-su (Jung Jae-young) who travels to Suwon to present a screening of one of his films. Arriving in town a day early, he meets professional artist Yoon Hee-jung, played by Hong regular Kim Min-hee. She recognizes his name, but is unfamiliar with his work. The two hit it off, and spend all day together having a good time. The two segments diverge from there. I have to admit that I knew nothing about the film before I began watching and was very confused when the second segment began, but just like his
In Another Country, Hong proves adept at playing with structure. Also like that one, this is also a fascinating experiment that plays around with possibilities that most American movies won't ever consider.
