Christi\’s Movie Pick du jour for August 31, 2005
August 31, 2005
I\’ve been thinking about these blog entries over the last couple of days. Can I keep this up for 365 days a year? Certainly. But how long can I keep this up? That\’s the question. At a conservative guess, I think I could keep this up for the next five years or so without delving into movies that are unavailable. That would run to about 1500 movies, give or take. I suspect that I could continue for much, much longer. Do I want to do this? I have other things to write about, after all, and these posts take a little bit of effort. For the time being, yes I do. But if I skip a day, as I most assuredly will, I\’m not going to worry about it. When I head on vacation at the end of this very month, there will be a week and a half with no new posts from me.
That ground rule of availability I mentioned is a stickler. That means I don\’t get to write about Orson Welles\’s great Shakespearean film, Chimes at Midnight, or Ladislaw Starewicz\’s 1930 animated feature, The Story of the Fox, or, indeed, most of the masterpieces of Japanese cinema that were made by someone other than Kurosawa. True, nothing I might write about would REALLY be completely unavailable–not in the age of the internet–but I have to keep in mind that not everyone is as rabid a movie fan as I am. Few sectors of film are as ill served by conventional distribution as silent movies, which brings us to today\’s film.
Steamboat Bill, jr (1928, directed by Charles Reisner and Buster Keaton) is among the last of Keaton\’s silent masterpieces. It isn\’t the virtuoso piece that Sherlock, Jr is, nor is it on the same level of existentialism as The General. But what it lacks in philosophical and aesthetic weight, it more than makes up for in sheer daredevil lunacy. Nowhere else in his output are Keaton\’s gifts for physical comedy more evident.
The plot here is standard stuff for a silent comedy: milquetoast Steamboat Bill, Jr, comes home to work on his he-man father\’s steamboat. He falls for the daughter of his father\’s deadliest rival, and otherwise disappoints him until a hurricane gives him the chance to prove his worth. Keaton\’s deadpan is in fine form in this movie, even behind the dandy-ish moustache he wears in the first part of the movie. But the first three or four reels aren\’t what you are going to remember. What you\’ll remember is the storm sequence. This, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the all time great set-pieces in film. Every small piece of it is a jem, every crescendo is a jaw-dropper. The famouse shot where a building falls on Keaton and he passes through the attic window is only the most memorable in a sequence of ever escalating stunts. While there was certainly a share of camera trickery involved in the making of the film, most of the really dangerous stunts were performed for real by Keaton himself. This was surely the most punishing of his films, the one where his early training in taking a fall was most necessary. And always, his face was impassive, the face of an everyman weathering the storm. Given the events of the last several days, that face is a comfort…
Cheers.
Christi\’s Movie Pick du jour for August 31, 2005
August 31, 2005
I\’ve been thinking about these blog entries over the last couple of days. Can I keep this up for 365 days a year? Certainly. But how long can I keep this up? That\’s the question. At a conservative guess, I think I could keep this up for the next five years or so without delving into movies that are unavailable. That would run to about 1500 movies, give or take. I suspect that I could continue for much, much longer. Do I want to do this? I have other things to write about, after all, and these posts take a little bit of effort. For the time being, yes I do. But if I skip a day, as I most assuredly will, I\’m not going to worry about it. When I head on vacation at the end of this very month, there will be a week and a half with no new posts from me.
That ground rule of availability I mentioned is a stickler. That means I don\’t get to write about Orson Welles\’s great Shakespearean film, Chimes at Midnight, or Ladislaw Starewicz\’s 1930 animated feature, The Story of the Fox, or, indeed, most of the masterpieces of Japanese cinema that were made by someone other than Kurosawa. True, nothing I might write about would REALLY be completely unavailable–not in the age of the internet–but I have to keep in mind that not everyone is as rabid a movie fan as I am. Few sectors of film are as ill served by conventional distribution as silent movies, which brings us to today\’s film.
Steamboat Bill, jr (1928, directed by Charles Reisner and Buster Keaton) is among the last of Keaton\’s silent masterpieces. It isn\’t the virtuoso piece that Sherlock, Jr is, nor is it on the same level of existentialism as The General. But what it lacks in philosophical and aesthetic weight, it more than makes up for in sheer daredevil lunacy. Nowhere else in his output are Keaton\’s gifts for physical comedy more evident.
The plot here is standard stuff for a silent comedy: milquetoast Steamboat Bill, Jr, comes home to work on his he-man father\’s steamboat. He falls for the daughter of his father\’s deadliest rival, and otherwise disappoints him until a hurricane gives him the chance to prove his worth. Keaton\’s deadpan is in fine form in this movie, even behind the dandy-ish moustache he wears in the first part of the movie. But the first three or four reels aren\’t what you are going to remember. What you\’ll remember is the storm sequence. This, ladies and gentlemen, is one of the all time great set-pieces in film. Every small piece of it is a jem, every crescendo is a jaw-dropper. The famouse shot where a building falls on Keaton and he passes through the attic window is only the most memorable in a sequence of ever escalating stunts. While there was certainly a share of camera trickery involved in the making of the film, most of the really dangerous stunts were performed for real by Keaton himself. This was surely the most punishing of his films, the one where his early training in taking a fall was most necessary. And always, his face was impassive, the face of an everyman weathering the storm. Given the events of the last several days, that face is a comfort…
Cheers.
Katrina’s Real Name
August 31, 2005
From the Boston Globe. If the price at the pump isn’t enough of a wake-up call, Hurricane Katrina surely is.
What fools these mortals be.
Christi\’s Movie Pick for August 30, 2005
August 30, 2005
The Vikings, from 1958, is one of those films for which director Richard Fleischer gets no respect. Fleischer was a director capable of making supreme entertainments, including such classic crowd pleasers as 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and The Narrow Margin. The man made a bunch of terrific movies, but he gets no respect. When told that his co-director on Tora, Tora, Tora was to be Fleisher rather than John Ford, Akira Kurosawa dropped out of the project because he didn\’t believe Fleischer was his peer (he was replaced by Kinji Fukasaku, in many ways a director similar in stature to Fleischer). While Fleischer may NOT have been on the same level of greatness as a Kurosawa or a Ford, that\’s not to say he\’s a bad director. He\’s not an auteur or an artiste, but that\’s not what his films aspire to in the first place. Fleischer is an entertainer, pure and simple, and he is very, very good at it.
The Vikings isn\’t a great movie, but lord almighty it\’s a fun movie. All of Fleischer\’s movies tend to be fun movies. The project was Kirk Douglas\’s from the get-go, and Douglas chews the scenery with great aplomb, unrestrained by Fleischer or anyone else. Tony Curtis is miscast, but tries gamely. Janet Leigh is very yummy to look at. Beyond Douglas, the film belongs to Ernest Borgnine, who seems to be completely in tune with the raping and pillaging lifestyle of the vikings. All of this is pretty standard stuff for a period film from the 1950s. This one is goofier than most, in part because the vikings are the linear ancestors of the frat boys in Animal House. But the film has a trump card. The Vikings was shot in Norway by the great cinematographer Jack Cardiff. Cardiff, as those in the know will attest, was a mighty god with a camera. Parts of this movie are suffused with a kind of primal lux aeterna that channels the dark ages in a way that most epics of the day could only dream about. The film is jawdroppingly beautiful to look at. Of course, Cardiff gets most of the credit for the film, which is deceptive. If the photography were the end all of the film, you would have a glacial art film. And that\’s NOT this film. The collision between the barbarian antics of the vikings themselves and the magnificence of the scenery is what makes the film fascinating. It\’s what makes the film fun. That tension is orchestrated by the director, not the cinematographer. And that\’s why Fleischer doesn\’t get enough credit.
In any event, The Vikings is enormously entertaining. Even if you can\’t find it at your local video store, it can be had relatively cheap from the internet. A splendid time is guaranteed for all…
Christi\’s Movie Pick for August 30, 2005
August 30, 2005
The Vikings, from 1958, is one of those films for which director Richard Fleischer gets no respect. Fleischer was a director capable of making supreme entertainments, including such classic crowd pleasers as 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and The Narrow Margin. The man made a bunch of terrific movies, but he gets no respect. When told that his co-director on Tora, Tora, Tora was to be Fleisher rather than John Ford, Akira Kurosawa dropped out of the project because he didn\’t believe Fleischer was his peer (he was replaced by Kinji Fukasaku, in many ways a director similar in stature to Fleischer). While Fleischer may NOT have been on the same level of greatness as a Kurosawa or a Ford, that\’s not to say he\’s a bad director. He\’s not an auteur or an artiste, but that\’s not what his films aspire to in the first place. Fleischer is an entertainer, pure and simple, and he is very, very good at it.
The Vikings isn\’t a great movie, but lord almighty it\’s a fun movie. All of Fleischer\’s movies tend to be fun movies. The project was Kirk Douglas\’s from the get-go, and Douglas chews the scenery with great aplomb, unrestrained by Fleischer or anyone else. Tony Curtis is miscast, but tries gamely. Janet Leigh is very yummy to look at. Beyond Douglas, the film belongs to Ernest Borgnine, who seems to be completely in tune with the raping and pillaging lifestyle of the vikings. All of this is pretty standard stuff for a period film from the 1950s. This one is goofier than most, in part because the vikings are the linear ancestors of the frat boys in Animal House. But the film has a trump card. The Vikings was shot in Norway by the great cinematographer Jack Cardiff. Cardiff, as those in the know will attest, was a mighty god with a camera. Parts of this movie are suffused with a kind of primal lux aeterna that channels the dark ages in a way that most epics of the day could only dream about. The film is jawdroppingly beautiful to look at. Of course, Cardiff gets most of the credit for the film, which is deceptive. If the photography were the end all of the film, you would have a glacial art film. And that\’s NOT this film. The collision between the barbarian antics of the vikings themselves and the magnificence of the scenery is what makes the film fascinating. It\’s what makes the film fun. That tension is orchestrated by the director, not the cinematographer. And that\’s why Fleischer doesn\’t get enough credit.
In any event, The Vikings is enormously entertaining. Even if you can\’t find it at your local video store, it can be had relatively cheap from the internet. A splendid time is guaranteed for all…
That Whole “Transgendered” Thing….
August 29, 2005
It occurs to me that most of the people who are going to find their way to this page are going to come in with the expectation that, because I’m transgendered, this page will primarily be about transgenderism. And when they start poking around, they’ll wonder: “What do all of these obscure movie posts have to do with transgenderism?”
The obvious answer is: Nothing at all. It’s true! I don’t think about my transgenderism 24/7 366 days of the year. It doesn’t occupy my every waking thought. I don’t need to center every single thing I express around it. Movies don’t have anything at all to do with me dressing up in girl’s clothing (with the possible exception of those trips to The Rocky Horror Picture Show).
The less obvious answer is: Everything. If I didn’t have other passions to see me through life, if my entire existence revolved around a desire to change my sex, I think I would be pretty miserable. I’ve met plenty of transgendered individuals who have allowed their lives to devolve into exactly such a state, and I’d just as soon not live that life. Fortunately, I DO have other interests. Lots of them. By developing other interests, I’ve expanded the quality of my life to the extent that whatever misery my gender dysphoria causes me is completely surrounded by the joy my other interests give me. To me, my transgenderism is like a grain of sand that irritates me. My other interests are like the secretions of an oyster, layered gradually around that grain of sand transforming it into a pearl…
Christi\’s Movie Pick du jour for August 29, 2005
August 29, 2005
So what makes a suicide bomber do what they do anyway? That\’s a question at the heart of The Terrorist (1999, directed by Santosh Sivan). The film follows the last week in the life of a suicide bomber and examines both the pressures that have made her what she is, and the countervailing pull of basic humanity. It makes for a startling drama. On the one hand are her militant handlers, all of whom are intent on easing her into her role as a fanatical assassin. On the other hand is the old man who owns the house where she is staying until her appointed time. The old man is the voice of reason and conscience in the film, the face of decency and good will towards fellow human beings. More of the events of the movie I will not describe, because it\’s best for a first-time viewer to know nothing more, but I will state that it\’s fascinating to watch a narrative arc in which every moral issue starts as crystal clear, black and white certainties, only to have them all dissolve in to a quagmire of ambiguities. Most movies about assassins make the audience complicit in their crimes. This one is quite the opposite.
On the whole, the film functions as an allegory for the terrorist impulse: there is no specific ideology espoused by the film or its terrorists, nor does the film specify a geographical location. We can make some assumptions, though. The director, Santosh Sivan is from India (though this film is very far indeed from standard Bollywood cinema). The film was shot in Sri Lanka (which has been embroiled off and on in a long civil war). The details of the plot resemble the assassination of Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Ghandi. These details are provokative, but the film resists them, much to its benefit. In the years since this film was made, the reticence of the filmmakers has worked a change on the film\’s relevance. As more and more terrorists take up their various causes, this film\’s terrorist becomes something of an everywoman. As a result, it\’s a film we NEED more than ever.
Christi\’s Movie Pick du jour for August 29, 2005
August 29, 2005
So what makes a suicide bomber do what they do anyway? That\’s a question at the heart of The Terrorist (1999, directed by Santosh Sivan). The film follows the last week in the life of a suicide bomber and examines both the pressures that have made her what she is, and the countervailing pull of basic humanity. It makes for a startling drama. On the one hand are her militant handlers, all of whom are intent on easing her into her role as a fanatical assassin. On the other hand is the old man who owns the house where she is staying until her appointed time. The old man is the voice of reason and conscience in the film, the face of decency and good will towards fellow human beings. More of the events of the movie I will not describe, because it\’s best for a first-time viewer to know nothing more, but I will state that it\’s fascinating to watch a narrative arc in which every moral issue starts as crystal clear, black and white certainties, only to have them all dissolve in to a quagmire of ambiguities. Most movies about assassins make the audience complicit in their crimes. This one is quite the opposite.
On the whole, the film functions as an allegory for the terrorist impulse: there is no specific ideology espoused by the film or its terrorists, nor does the film specify a geographical location. We can make some assumptions, though. The director, Santosh Sivan is from India (though this film is very far indeed from standard Bollywood cinema). The film was shot in Sri Lanka (which has been embroiled off and on in a long civil war). The details of the plot resemble the assassination of Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Ghandi. These details are provokative, but the film resists them, much to its benefit. In the years since this film was made, the reticence of the filmmakers has worked a change on the film\’s relevance. As more and more terrorists take up their various causes, this film\’s terrorist becomes something of an everywoman. As a result, it\’s a film we NEED more than ever.
Christi\’s Movie pick du jour for August 27, 2005
August 27, 2005
To a connoisseur of b-movies, the women-in-prison movie has always held a certain attraction. Almost always filmed with an eye towards exploitation, these movies feature every kind of prurient impulse a (mostly male) exploitation audience brings with it. The generic hallmarks of the women-in-prison are sadistic wardens, lesbian dalliances, sadistic beatings (highly eroticized, at that–this is the genre for the S&M crowd), and loads of naked women. The classic women-in-prison movie is Caged Heat, one of Jonathan Demme\’s first films. But even that movie aspired only to titillation. Not that there\’s anything wrong with that, mind you (well, if you have a feminist point of view, maybe there is…), but these movies almost never rise to the artistic ambition of their masculine counterparts. The men-in-prison movie has produced a whole slate of artistic triumphs, from Jules Dassin\’s Brute Force to The Shawshank Redemption, but not so the women-in-prison movie.
Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to today\’s movie: Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 may well be an artistic triumph of a sort not usually found in the women-in-prison movie. This is NOT because it somehow abandons the exploitation thrills found in the genre. Quite the contrary. The movie sinks deeper into those thrills than most such film, offering lurid spectacle aplenty. Every lurid impulse is there for the exploitation audience. But the film itself aspires to a good deal more than that.
Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 is the second film in a series. In the first film–a film that shares its artistic ambitions with the second, our heroine, Matsu, is wrongly incarcerated at the whim of her faithless criminal lover. She escapes an exacts her vengeance, though not before making a deadly enemy of the prison\’s warden. The warden is blinded during a fight between Matsu and another prisoner and he blames her. In the second film, we pick up where we left off. Matsu has been captured and the warden is intent on \”breaking\” her. Soon enough, Matsu and her chain gang make their escape and the rest of the movie follows them as they try to evade the law.
But that\’s all plot. That doesn\’t even hint at how delirously weird this movie is. Although the series is based on manga, n terms of its style, this movie has more in common with Japanese theatrical traditions than any other influence. The closest film to this one in terms of its style is Masaki Kobayashi\’s elegant horror movie, Kwaidan. Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 is the women-in-prison movie as Noh theater. As pure abstraction, this film is a stunner. You simply cannot take your eyes off of it.
The movie is anchored by Japanese exploitation diva, Meiko Kaji, who is a formidable presence. I don\’t believe that she says a word until the movie is two-thirds over, and when she does, it\’s a stunning turn of events. Until that point, her lacerating glare and silent fury are palpable throughout. Kaji is best known for her performance in Lady Snowblood, one of the source texts for Kill Bill, but she\’s better here. As in the first film, Matsu becomes an angel of vengeance in the last part of the movie, but unlike that film, she becomes abstracted into a principle, too. The transformation is thrilling to watch.
Both the first and second films in this series are available in the United States (I found the first film at my local Best Buy). I hope the third film makes it to these shores, too–these are an experience like no other, after all. By all means, track these down in the interim. For those Kill Bill scholars, the song \”Urami Bushi\” by Meiko Kaji in Volume 2 comes from these movies.
Tally ho.
Christi\’s Movie pick du jour for August 27, 2005
August 27, 2005
To a connoisseur of b-movies, the women-in-prison movie has always held a certain attraction. Almost always filmed with an eye towards exploitation, these movies feature every kind of prurient impulse a (mostly male) exploitation audience brings with it. The generic hallmarks of the women-in-prison are sadistic wardens, lesbian dalliances, sadistic beatings (highly eroticized, at that–this is the genre for the S&M crowd), and loads of naked women. The classic women-in-prison movie is Caged Heat, one of Jonathan Demme\’s first films. But even that movie aspired only to titillation. Not that there\’s anything wrong with that, mind you (well, if you have a feminist point of view, maybe there is…), but these movies almost never rise to the artistic ambition of their masculine counterparts. The men-in-prison movie has produced a whole slate of artistic triumphs, from Jules Dassin\’s Brute Force to The Shawshank Redemption, but not so the women-in-prison movie.
Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to today\’s movie: Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 may well be an artistic triumph of a sort not usually found in the women-in-prison movie. This is NOT because it somehow abandons the exploitation thrills found in the genre. Quite the contrary. The movie sinks deeper into those thrills than most such film, offering lurid spectacle aplenty. Every lurid impulse is there for the exploitation audience. But the film itself aspires to a good deal more than that.
Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 is the second film in a series. In the first film–a film that shares its artistic ambitions with the second, our heroine, Matsu, is wrongly incarcerated at the whim of her faithless criminal lover. She escapes an exacts her vengeance, though not before making a deadly enemy of the prison\’s warden. The warden is blinded during a fight between Matsu and another prisoner and he blames her. In the second film, we pick up where we left off. Matsu has been captured and the warden is intent on \”breaking\” her. Soon enough, Matsu and her chain gang make their escape and the rest of the movie follows them as they try to evade the law.
But that\’s all plot. That doesn\’t even hint at how delirously weird this movie is. Although the series is based on manga, n terms of its style, this movie has more in common with Japanese theatrical traditions than any other influence. The closest film to this one in terms of its style is Masaki Kobayashi\’s elegant horror movie, Kwaidan. Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 is the women-in-prison movie as Noh theater. As pure abstraction, this film is a stunner. You simply cannot take your eyes off of it.
The movie is anchored by Japanese exploitation diva, Meiko Kaji, who is a formidable presence. I don\’t believe that she says a word until the movie is two-thirds over, and when she does, it\’s a stunning turn of events. Until that point, her lacerating glare and silent fury are palpable throughout. Kaji is best known for her performance in Lady Snowblood, one of the source texts for Kill Bill, but she\’s better here. As in the first film, Matsu becomes an angel of vengeance in the last part of the movie, but unlike that film, she becomes abstracted into a principle, too. The transformation is thrilling to watch.
Both the first and second films in this series are available in the United States (I found the first film at my local Best Buy). I hope the third film makes it to these shores, too–these are an experience like no other, after all. By all means, track these down in the interim. For those Kill Bill scholars, the song \”Urami Bushi\” by Meiko Kaji in Volume 2 comes from these movies.
Tally ho.
