One, Two, Three June 23, 2006
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1960s, Billy Wilder , add a comment
“Any world that can produce the Taj Mahal, William Shakespeare, and striped toothpaste can’t be all bad.”
So says C.R. MacNamara, as played by James Cagney in Billy Wilder’s wonderful screwball comedy One, Two, Three
The film really picks up when Scarlett, the aforementioned Southern belle daughter of MacNamara’s boss, briefly goes missing just before her parents are to fly in from Atlanta to take her back home. For the previous six weeks she had been sneaking out to East Berlin to see Otto, a staunch anti-capitalist, anti-American communist who planned to take Scarlett to live in Russia. The two had secretly been married. MacNamara quickly devises a plan to win over his boss, in hopes of being named the European head of Coca-Cola in London. That’s where the film really hits its stride and the viewer cannot help but marvel at Cagney’s hilarious and fast-paced performance.
You really can’t say enough about James Cagney’s performance here. While he will always be remembered for the gangster films, where he was usually riveting and added a dimension to the characters that other actors almost never could, Cagney was an extremely versatile performer who was adept in musical and comedic roles as well as drama. In One, Two, Three, he really excels and is able to give full justice to the madcap lunacy found in the screenplay written by Wilder and his frequent collaborator I.A.L. Diamond. It’s difficult to imagine any other actor who could pull off this role half as well as Cagney. On the surface, MacNamara is not a likeable character, but Cagney manages to make him simply gruff and grumpy in a way that the viewer can’t help but like the guy regardless of whether you like what’s he doing, reminiscent of the persona Walter Matthau later would adopt in many films. The rapid-fire delivery Cagney uses to such good effect here is a logical continuation of the style he developed in his gangster roles.
I must admit that Billy Wilder is my favorite director and I think that he made more great films than maybe anyone else, including One, Two, Three. He managed to balance humor and satire as well as any filmmaker whose work I’ve ever seen. He was remarkably versatile and his writing talents were just as impressive.
One final note, the poster art and opening title sequence for One, Two, Three, as well as a number of films such as Anatomy of a Murder and Spartacus, were done by Saul Bass, whose work I also admire greatly. In today’s era where most posters consist of plastering a picture of a movie star’s face against a dark background, making them almost indistinguishable from one another, it’s refreshing to look back at some of what Saul Bass created and appreciate his artistry.
Funny Games June 20, 2006
Posted by clydefro in : Modern Films, 1990s , 1 comment so far
Funny Games
The 1998 film begins with a German family driving to their vacation home while listening to a selection of classical music. The viewer is soon jolted by the abrupt switch from the melodic orchestral piece to the loud sounds of heavy metal. I suppose the director here is warning his audience that he plans to not play by the rules of normal moviemaking, a message he then proceeds to bash the viewer over the head with as the film progresses. As the family arrives to their destination, everything initially appears normal until a seemingly polite young man who claims to have been sent by the neighbors to borrow some eggs wears out his welcome. He’s soon joined by his partner in psychosis and the “funny games” are off and running.
In Funny Games, the director rarely shows actual moments of violence and instead puts the viewer on the edge of their seat with insinuation and imagination. He deftly handles the thriller aspects of the film and keeps his audience interested all the way to the deeply unsatisfying conclusion. Personally, however, instead of reflecting on the film in relation to other, more straightforward violent thrillers, I turned my ire to the filmmaker for his shameless manipulation and unnecessary scolding. Haneke seems to revel in mocking his audience as he pulls the rug from underneath their feet.
The audience as accomplice theme that Haneke is striving for becomes the root of the film’s problems. I completely understand what his intentions are, that audiences who watch films such as this are being entertained by violent torture and murder in hopes that the victim can turn the tables on his or her attacker and ultimately become a torturer or murderer as well. My disagreement with Haneke is that not everyone who views his particular film(s) is also an avid viewer of the genre he’s attempting to subvert. I’m sure many viewers, including myself, watch Funny Games because of it’s arthouse reputation and not for titillating suspense and/or violence. This lack of respect of his audience is misplaced since the very people who are likely to watch his films are the moviegoers most likely to shun the needlessly violent films he’s attacking.
Haneke’s assertion in the interview accompanying the DVD release that those who have applauded the tortured female victim Anna’s actions prior to Haneke’s rewind effect will be taken aback once they realize they’ve cheered a murder is baffling. If given the opportunity, I would relish the chance to ask Haneke how an audience is supposed to react when his heroine shoots one of the men who has been torturing her family, including killing her young son. Should the viewer not feel relieved and happy when such a man is seemingly killed onscreen? Haneke’s arrogance and preaching is at its height when he deprives the audience of this satisfaction by rewinding the scene as we watch and giving the killer a second chance. In fact, I can imagine viewers as more likely to watch the violent films Funny Games is attempting to subvert in order to achieve the satisfaction and closure that Haneke’s film fails to provide.
My complaints with Haneke’s films remind me of what Roger Ebert said in his review of David Lynch’s Blue Velvet (which is included on that film’s DVD). Ebert was upset that Lynch seemed to be provoking his audience with some of the images shown onscreen, such as Isabella Rossellini nude on the lawn, without any real reason or rationale except to shock and manipulate the audience. I think Ebert got it wrong with Blue Velvet because Lynch does appear to have a method to his madness, as evidenced by his subsequent films and interviews. Lynch respects his audience whereas Haneke laughs at his in a sadistic attempt to show them how wrong and stupid they have been for watching his film.
One thing that I do have to begrudgingly give Haneke is his ability to provoke an audience. His films certainly cause a reaction from the viewer. Whether this is good or bad or even relevant is up to the individual viewer. I can’t say I’ve enjoyed watching any of his films or that I plan on revisiting them. I see him as the worst type of filmmaker, one who has the talent to keep an audience interested but chooses to see them as lower than he is and must let his arrogance get in the way of making quality films. Manipulation is not something to admire and, so far, that seems to be all that Haneke is interested in achieving.
La Belle Noiseuse June 18, 2006
Posted by clydefro in : Modern Films, 1990s , 1 comment so far
Jacques Rivette’s La Belle Noiseuse
This is, of course, a mostly thumbnail description of the film’s overarching plot and not entirely indicative of the fascinating and mostly engrossing four hours the viewer spends with these characters. Far from being merely about a artist in search of his lost inspiration, La Belle Noiseuse shows us how a gifted artist works. The tedious and repetitive sketching and drawing of his model becomes enchanting and interesting in Rivette’s film. I never imagined a film so long would completely enthrall me without providing more of a traditional story. Perhaps, though, that’s the key in the film’s success. While many movies try to keep the viewer interested by constantly piling on dramatic developments and storylines, one after the other, Rivette has chosen to show the audience a more subtle and involving interaction between artist and muse. The result is like a fine bottle of wine that you don’t want to drink too fast, instead preferring to savor each small drink. It’s those small drinks that Rivette gives the audience and the result is much more rewarding, for the most part, than the traditional film about a painter where we see a few brushstrokes followed by the final product. I’m not sure I agree with Rivette’s decision to deny the audience a peek at the “La Belle Noiseuse” painting, but it truly sticks to the “it’s the journey, not the destination” theme of the film.
As the aging painter Frenhofer, French actor Michel Piccoli gives a fine performance. Piccoli has had an impressive career, from Godard’s Contempt opposite Brigitte Bardot to Mario Bava’s camp classic Danger: Diabolik and La Belle Noiseuse is a more than worthy addition. His cinematic muse Marianne is played by the beautiful and talented Emmanuelle Béart, probably best known, unfortunately, to American moviegoers as the female lead in Mission: Impossible. In this film, the pair form an artistic and platonic bond that serves as the backbone for the relationship between painter and model. Both actors, despite being familiar faces to fans of international cinema, manage to immerse themselves in their roles so effectively that the audience feels like it’s watching Piccoli truly sketch and paint Béart right before our eyes. (In reality, a painter was brought in for the hand movements and artistic elements, but this never detracts from the film.)
Marianne’s boyfriend and Frenhofer’s wife, who was the original inspiration for the “La Belle Noiseuse” painting, both show jealousy at the time artist and model spend together. Feeling neglected, each has difficulty grasping the importance of what Frenhofer and Marianne are trying to accomplish despite both initially nudging their partner into the situation. As Frenhofer and Marianne struggle to work through their own fears and obstacles, it becomes increasingly clear that their collaboration is exposing more beneath the surface of each than either had expected. Frenhofer must come to terms with his own aging and the realization that he will probably never be able to paint as he once did. Just as he starts to doubt whether he should continue at all, Marianne emerges to push and challenge him. When the final product is finished, however, Frenhofer realizes that what he has painted reveals too much and decides to hide the piece in a wall in his studio so that no one sees it.
La Belle Noiseuse also manages to contradict much of what we have grown to expect out of films. While Béart is both beautiful and fully naked much of the film, there is hardly a shred of eroticism involved. As she models, she’s performing a functional task and there’s never the sense that she’s being ogled by the audience, Frenhofer or Rivette. Furthermore, despite the film’s four hour running time, much of which is devoted to literally watching ink sketching and brush strokes, I was never close to boredom or inattention. The film is truly fascinating and manages to delicately avoid becoming tedious. If you allow yourself to give it the patience it needs, you should not be disappointed.
