1950s Korean Cinema at the Cinematheque

Upcoming at the Seoul Cinematheque, June 9th-18th, is a program of Korean films from the 1950s. So far, six of the thirteen films are listed as having English sub-titles. The films are:

Yangsan-do (Yangsan Island) (Kim Ki-young, 1955) (90 minutes)
Piagol (Pia Village) (Lee Kang Cheon, 1955) (106 minutes)
Chongchun Ssanggogseon (Han Hyeong-mo, 1956) (100 minutes)
Jayu Buin (Madame Freedom) (Han Hyeong-mo, 1956) (124 minutes)
Muyeong-tab (Pagoda of No Shadows) (Shin Sang-ok, 1957) (117 minutes)
Jiokhwa (Flower in Hell) (Shin Sang-ok, 1958) (86 minutes)

Probably the most well-known of these films are Madame Freedom and Flower in Hell, both of which are discussed at length in the Korean Film Archive's A History of Korean Cinema. As can be guessed by the titles, both are melodramas. Yi Hyo-In devotes a section of his overview of 1950s Korean cinema on Madame Freedom with the title, "Madame Freedom, the Application of the Modern Thinking into a Film and the Repulsion Against It." Flower in Hell is of interest in both its subject matter (one of the lead characters is a prostitute servicing American GIs) and its apparent mixture of genres and styles. And Yangsan Island is the second film of the acclaimed Kim Ki-young. I know little else about the other films, although all appear to be from the melodrama era except for Pia Village, which I think is part of the war cycle and deals with a group of communist guerillas.

The cinemathque website has the times and listings, but not the translation of the titles, so go by the year and running time. I've also linked each film to its imdb page.

Favorite Books on Cinema

At his blog "Only the Cinema" Ed Howard has a post on his favorite film books, a so-called meme (don't ask me to explain that one, but it started at "The Dancing Image") that has been circulating on a few blogs. I thought I'd add the books that have been most important to me. Most of my selections are somewhat academic, but I excluded many great scholarly works that were not re-readable. My criteria for these selections are books that I have returned to for pleasure (as opposed to merely reference or study) over the years. I've limited myself to ten (with a few ties for individual authors):

1. Robert B. Ray, A Certain Tendency of the Hollywood Cinema, 1930-1980 (1985)

My favorite single volume text on American cinema, a deeply knowledgeable yet very readable and intellectually provocative take on popular film and national culture. I may not agree Ray's overall thesis, which is a tad simplistic, but it is a great jumping off point for discussion and a wonderful text to introduce students to the concept of ideology and movies. The main strength of the argument is Ray's notion that the popular cinema that resonates and has lasting power is not simply one in which ideology is firmly re-enforced; rather, it is the films that put the ideology at risk and force the viewer into a confrontation with its core beliefs that remain in the imagination years later. His readings of Casablanca, It's a Wonderful Life, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and Taxi Driver are so strong that the texts have been forever altered in my mind afterward. Looking forward to reading his recent The ABCs of Classic Hollywood (2008).

2. James Naremore, More Than Night: Film Noir and Its Contexts (1998)

I remember reading this book right after finishing a paper on film noir for my MA core class and immediately thinking everything I just wrote was worthless. This is a perfect blend of a great writer applying his vast historical knowledge to an endlessly fascinating topic. Naremore makes connections throughout between noir and the broader social and political context, and it proved to be very influential on everything I try to write. Naremore's authorship studies of Welles, Minnelli and most recently Kubrick are all superb as well, but More Than Night is probably the book that will define him as a scholar.

3. Robin Wood, Hollywood From Vietnam to Reagan (1985) and Sexual Politics and Narrative Cinema (1998)

Robin Wood is one of the great film critics, and the first writer to really excite me about the cinema. Wood is one of the few writers that almost always makes me re-think and re-consider a work after he has written about it. I mention these two texts although all of Wood's work is worth reading and re-reading. His essay on Scorsese in Hollywood From Vietnam to Reagan and his piece on Ozu in Sexual Politics and Narrative Cinema are just two of the most obvious of many examples of how Wood has changed my thinking about film and, by extension of course, the world beyond the frame.

4. Linda Williams, Hard Core: Power, Pleasure, and the 'Frenzy of the Visible' (1989) and Screening Sex (2008)

Linda Williams is one of the top film scholars around, and is a fine writer as well. Although she has written about many topics very well (I'm currently awaiting the arrival of her book on race and melodrama, Playing the Race Card), her work on pornography has really defined her. Moving beyond the porn/anti-porn debate, Williams devotes her energy to analyzing what porn has been and what it currently is. Using Foucault as a theoretical guide, her work on sexuality in film (which includes the recent Screening Sex) is unsurpassed in the field.

5. Jonathan Rosenbaum, Placing Movies (1995) and Movies as Politics (1997)

The only other serious contender to Robin Wood as a film critic is Jonathan Rosenbaum, who has probably shaped my taste more than anyone else (almost embarrassingly so, in fact). Without his work, there are many great directors, from Hou Hsiao-hsien to Abbas Kiarostami to Bela Tarr, that I most likely wouldn't have discovered. Rosenbaum's ability to be ideologically committed and yet true to his aesthetic judgements has been a model I've tried to follow. These two collections are my favorite of his works, although all of his writing is worth reading, and much is now available at his website.

6. Frank Krutnik, In a Lonely Street: Film Noir, Genre, Masculinity (1991)

Another noir book (not surprising really, given the enormous amount written on the subject), this one with a focus less on history and more on thematics; specifically, how noir deals with the now much discussed "crisis in masculinity". Krutnik's main skill is his analysis of particular films. His discussion of Out of the Past was a stunning revelation to me when I first read it, so penetrating and yet seemingly simple and obvious. This book changed not just how I viewed single films but how I considered a whole historical grouping.

7. Slavoj Zizek, Looking Awry: An Introduction to Jacques Lacan Through Popular Culture (1991)

I took me awhile to come around to Zizek. I always had a certain almost natural impulse towards psychoanalysis (the same way many have a strong adversion), but Zizek and by extension Lacan always mystified me. But coming back to this work last year, the confusion finally melted away (to some extent) and enjoyment took over. One reason this is so re-readable to me is, paradoxically, its difficulty. I understand as I read, but any attempt to explain to others and even re-explain to myself sends me back to the book. Although not really a film text, Zizek's short How to Read Lacan (2006) is also recommended.

8. Robert Kapsis, Hitchcock: The Making of a Reputation (1992)

I read this sociological study of Hitchcock while still an undergraduate English major. It may be the first academic text I read cover to cover (at least of my own volition), and the whole topic of artistic reputations and how they are made was an entirely new idea. Without knowing it at the time, this book would have maybe the biggest influence on me of all, leading, many years later, to my dissertation on Martin Scorsese and his role in film culture.

9. Robert Kolker, A Cinema of Loneliness (3 editions) (1980) (1988) (2000)

This is the only text here that I may not revisit again for awhile, having used, applied, debated, and argued against its central thesis on the "modernism" of New Hollywood so extensively over the last 5-10 years. Kolker's book has undergone three editions, each of which I have read, and regardless of some of my disagreements, it has many excellent readings of individual films. Kolker's close attention to formal detail is one I try to emulate. I also think his intro text Film, Form and Culture is one of the better ones around.

10. Christian Keathley, Cinephilia and History, or The Wind in the Trees (2005)

A book that so intrigued me that I wrote my first official book review about it (published in Film Criticism). Keathley's central project of trying to combine a love of cinema with more traditional scholarly writing was one I connected with immediately. Although we are of slightly different ages and backgrounds, much of his own discussion of his early love of cinema was very familiar to me. This is the most recent text on my list, but I'm confident it is one I will continue to enjoy in the future.

LIKE YOU KNOW IT ALL (Hong Sang-soo, 2009)

Over the last week I have seen Hong Sang-soo's new film twice. It is a typical Hong film in many ways, and does not really branch into new territory. But it is still a very entertaining and fascinating work, and provides much to think about in terms of his overall oeuvre.

First, the plot. I won't go into great detail about the story, but it is important to note the dual structure at work. The film begins with an intertitle, "Jecheon Summer 2008", and follows the lead character, Director Ku, and his experience at the local film festival (where he is a judge). This takes the first 52 minutes of the story. There is then a second intertitle, "Jeju Island, 12 Days Later". After his bad experience in Jecheon, Ku goes to Jeju to give a lecture on his films at the university of an old friend. As can be expected with Hong, the second story has parallels with the first, with situations and dialogue deliberately repeating themselves.

As can be guessed by this brief plot outline, this is a very self-reflexive film, even by Hong's standards. Nearly all of Hong's films feature artists, and some even have filmmakers as leads. But the director Ku in this film is the closest example yet of a Hong surrogate. Like Hong, Ku has a certain reputation as a talented director, but he is not commercially successful. During his presentation to the university students, someone asks him why he makes the films he does, suggesting that he is wasting his time since nobody watches or understands them. Ku's defense of his films could used to describe Hong's cinema as well. Ku says that his films have no clear messages and no beautiful images. Instead, he gathers pieces of life together and makes them into one, trying to get the audience to see afresh without fixed ideas. The student responds by stating, "you are not a film director, you're a philosopher". She clearly means it as an insult, and Hong seems willing to concede the point while nevertheless making it clear that he cannot make films any other way.

The connections with Hong's other films are abundant, although there is less of a link with his most recent feature, Night and Day, which I think is Hong's best so far. The immediate comparison for me was Turning Gate because of the focus on a single male protagonist and the split narrative, in which incidents reoccur in the new situation. There is even a reference in the dialogue to that film's most memorable scene. Ku is asked about a bruise on his face, and he replies that he got into a fight after looking at a girl's legs. In Turning Gate, the lead character almost gets into a fight for the same reason. There is also a strong resemblance to Woman on the Beach in terms of its structure, its lead actress (the great Ko Hyun-Jung), and especially its ending (which is likewise on the beach). In many ways, it makes more explicit the critique of idealism that has run through Hong's films. My only small complaint would be that there seemed a lack of progression here, especially compared to Night and Day and even the recent short Lost in the Mountains. For me, it had some of the same quality of my least favorite Hong film, Tale of Cinema, in which he had to take a step back before moving forward. But on the plus side, Like You Know It All is a much more entertaining work.

In terms of style, the editing here is the most spare of all his films except for Woman is the Future of Man (and possibly Night and Day, which I haven't had a chance to time). The ASL is roughly 78 seconds, and is even longer in the second part of the story:

Jecheon section: 52 minutes, 44 shots (ASL: 71 sec)
Jeju section: 71 minutes, 51 shots (ASL: 84 sec)

Long takes dominate, but so does mobile framing. The combination of zooming and camera movement is quite extensive here, and I would wager that it is the highest percentage of mobile framing of all of Hong's films. Here, again, the comparison with the heavy use of the initial zoom in Tale of Cinema seems appropriate. Despite the high ASL, this is a very different film than Woman is the Future of Man, which I have described before as Hong degree zero. In contrast, this is a highly expressive film in terms of camera rhetoric, relatively speaking of course. One wonders if Hong will continue down this road, or offer up another variation. One stylistic decision that did intrigue me is the use of off-screen sound, in particular the sounds of sex, vomiting, and crying. Like in his other recent films, sex is not presented explicitly in visual terms. But it does dominate the sound design, forcing the audience and the characters into an ambiguous position. This is especially true near the conclusion, which contains a use of off-screen sound I'm still pondering.

Watching the film twice in a week, a second viewing was perhaps too close and has caused me to underrate it. But even on first viewing, these minor reservations were present. I did enjoy it a great deal the first time, which may have related to seeing it with a large and appreciative audience. Another way in which this is a self-reflexive work is one that may be lost on most non-Koreans: the many number of famous actors in some supporting or near cameo roles. There is a playful postmodernism at work here that is not usually present in Hong. With this film and Night and Day, he has proven he can entertain a local audience. But unfortunately his reputation is such that it seems unlikely he will ever have any significant box office returns. Thankfully, that is unlikely to deter him from producing more movies.

Hong Sang-soo Retrospective

Starting today and continuing until next Wednesday (June 3rd), Miro Space theatre in Gwanghwamun is showing all of Hong Sang-soo's films, although only a few with English subtitles. The schedule is as follows:

With English subtitles:

The Day a Pig Fell in the Well May 29th 8:30pm, June 2nd 1:30pm
The Virgin Stripped Bare by her Bachelors June 2nd 8:30pm
Woman on the Beach May 31th 1:30pm

Without subtitles:

The Power of Kangwon Province May 30th 1:30pm, June 1st 8:30pm
Turning Gate June 1st 1:30pm, June 3rd 8:30pm
Woman is the Future of Man May 29th 1:30pm
Tale of Cinema May 30th 8:30pm
Night and Day May 31st 8:30pm, June 3rd 1:30pm
Like You Know It All May 29th-June 3rd 11:00am, 6:00pm

Miro Space is located close to exit 7, Gwanghwamun subway station, line 5. The website is here.

PLAYTIME (Jacques Tati, 1967)

On Sunday, I made my first trip to the cinematheque in a couple of months to see Jacques Tati's Playtime, a film much beloved by cinephiles and now considered to be Tati's masterpiece. Although I had read a great deal about Tati, I had never seen one of his films, one of the bigger holes in my cinematic viewing resume. Playtime certainly lived up to its reputation for me, and getting to see it in a great print on the big screen was undoubtedly a huge reason why. Because of the style Tati employs, it is almost impossible to fully appreciate this film on DVD. There are two more screenings of the film this week: Wednesday at 5:00pm and Saturday at 7:00pm. I highly recommend the experience if you have the time and opportunity.

What makes Playtime such a special work is its complete uniqueness, both in terms of narrative and style. It is difficult to classify or even describe the plot. There is a lead character, Monsieur Hulot, played by Tati himself and the hero of many of his features. But the story is much more about a day in modern Paris than anything else. We begin at an airport and follow a group of female American tourists into Paris, where we see them, Mr. Hulot, and others deal comically with the modern Parisian architecture and space. The second half of the story takes place at night, mostly at a newly opened restaurant that gradually collapses as the night eventually turns in to dawn. At this point Hulot and one of the American women say their farewells and the film concludes.

There is little else really like it, although in stylistic terms it does conform to much of what I admire in cinema. There are a number of very long takes in which the full space of the frame is used. Tati gives the viewer a great deal to look at and examine, a mise-en-scene to explore and investigate. Many times during the screening people were laughing at things I didn't notice, simply because it is nearly impossible to catch everything on one viewing. The freedom provided the viewer is what makes the movie so special and so beloved by cinephiles. It is here that form and content are so inseparable. Tati's style is itself an ideological statement, an empowerment to the viewer to create a world along with the filmmaker. The viewer is challenged as much as in any other modernist cinema, but the film is still true to its title. It is the most playful, most easily enjoyable of experiments, a film that makes you want to explore it even more and to invite others along for the journey. I'm planning on seeing it again on Saturday, and have no doubt that a new experience awaits.

THIRST (Park Chan-wook, 2009)

Park Chan-Wook's newest film is his exploration of the vampire mythology, a subject with a vast cinematic heritage. It has such a vast history that it can be difficult to re-imagine such a tale, but for the first hour of the film Park succeeds admirably. However, its second half is not nearly as impressive and the cliches begin to mount, not only in relation to other screen vampires but in its reliance on other genres as well.

The main problem with the narrative is the excessive amount of plot. The film moves fairly quickly and jams a great deal of action and story into its over two hour running time. But this had the effect of making the film seem extremely long and rather tedious. Too much of the action, especially in the second half, seemed rushed in order to simply give the audience the plot information it needed. As a result, all of the richness and texture that Park had created recedes and maximum stylistic overdrive comes to dominate.

The story begins with the main character, a priest, being infected with a virus that nearly kills him and turns him into a vampire. The man then has to try to live ethically with this "thirst", which is also a clear sexual metaphor, as is often the case in vampire stories. The fact that he is a priest only adds to this. He has a strong desire for the married daughter of a family whose son he has saved, and this relationship takes over the narrative. This is disappointing because for the first half, Park's characteristically striking images and his take on religion had a real beauty, and a subtle exploration of religion and human desire could have, and seemed like it would, develop. Unfortunately, the plot turns noir-ish, with a femme fatale leading the hero to murder (there's even a reference to Murnau's Sunrise). With this turn, the narrative lost its appeal for me, and Park's style likewise became unhinged and rather action-movie formulaic.

Park has frequently been torn between mainstream and art cinema approaches, and occasionally finds the perfect mix, as in Old Boy (2004). But with his last two films being rather unsuccessful commercially, Park has seemingly tried to make a film that could appeal to both tastes. The result is the opposite of the hybrid success of Old Boy: it is unlikely to appeal to either the lover of mainstream action films, such as his most popular film Joint Security Area (2000), or the fan of his more idiosyncratic efforts, such as the great Lady Vengeance (2005). This is not to say that the film is bad. It is still a good film overall and worth seeing, and for many other directors it would be a major accomplishment. But after seeing how good Park can be, and especially after seeing the first half of a near masterpiece, the result is unsatisfying.

On a more positive note, I saw Thirst back-to-back with Hong Sang-soo's new film, which was much better. I'm going to try to see it again this week and will write a full review then.

The Auteurs Website

The website the auteurs features streaming video of a number of great films, all for $3 each. The films that are availabe depends on your viewing region, but in Korea there are well over 100 films by many noted auteurs, such as the Dardenne Brothers, Hirokazu Kore-Eda, Alexander Sokurov, Philippe Garrel, Jafar Panahi, Jan Svankmajer, Laurent Cantet, Gregg Araki, Jia Zhangke, Francois Ozon, and others.

Also, there are four free films available, the first restorations undertaken by Martin Scorsese's World Film Foundation:

The Housemaid (Kim Ki-Young, 1960) (South Korea)
Dry Summer (Metin Erksan, 1964) (Turkey)
Touki Bouki (Djibril Diop Mambety, 1973) (Senegal)
Transes (Ahamed El Maanouni, 1981) (Morocco)

I saw The Housemaid at the recent Jeonju film festival and it is well worth checking out. I'm going to try to see the others soon, as well as some of the other films on the site, many of which are difficult to find, especially in Korea.

New Hong Sang-soo and Park Chan-wook films (with subtitles!)

The new films You Don't Even Know (Hong Sang-soo, 2009) and Thirst (Park Chan-wook, 2009), both of which are playing at the Cannes Film Festival, are apparently being shown with English subtitles at the CGV Yongsan, at least according to their website. Very exciting news, since subtitled Korean films in theatres remain rare, and even more importantly a chance to get an early look at the latest from two great directors. I'm going to try to get to both this week.

Here are the times:

You Don't Even Know Fri, Sun-Wed 11:45am, 5:05pm, 10:30pm; Sat 11:30am, 4:50pm, 10:15pm

Thrist Fri, Sun-Wed 9:00am, 2:20pm, 7:45pm; Sat 8:45am, 2:05pm, 7:30pm, 12:50am

UPCOMING: Jacques Tati Retrospective

A Jacques Tati retrospective is coming to the Seoul Cinematheque on May 19-31. All of Tati's six feature films will be shown:

Jour de Fete (1949)
Les Vacances de M. Hulot (1953)
Mon Oncle (1958)
Playtime (1967)
Trafic (1971)
Parade (1973)

There are also a few Tati shorts. No information yet on English subtitles, let's hope for the best.

LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS (Hong Sang-soo, 2009)

Hong Sang-soo's 30 minute short Lost in the Mountains is one of the finer pieces in his uniformly strong output. Although Hong apparently made short films as a student, this his first officially released short film (at least that I am aware of). One advantage for Hong in making a short film is that many viewers come in with an awareness of his typical style and subject matter. As a result, he can perform some variations that give the work added meaning for those familiar with his output. WARNING: spoilers ahead.

In plot, this is a very recognizable Hong film: a writer drives from Seoul to Jeonju to visit her friend. She calls her former professor and lover and spends the day with him. She then discovers that her friend is also involved with the professor. Very upset by this revelation, she invites her ex-lover, another former student, to join them. A night of drinking and sexual pairings concludes with the four coincidentally meeting the next day. But despite this superficial resemblance, this short has Hong exploring new material.

First, this is one of the few Hong films in which there is a clear lead character, and the first time that this character is a woman. In this way, it feels more like a follow-up to Woman on the Beach than to his last film, Night and Day. Also, for the first time in his films (at least that I can recall), there is a voice-over narration. This makes it his most psychological, closer in tone to Turning Gate, the only other Hong film with a clear protagonist. This combines to make this the most overtly emotional of his films; in fact, compared to the other films, it has a nearly melodramatic feel. This may be connected to the short form; it is as if all the plot of a typical Hong film has been compressed down into this 30 minutes, and as a result has a higher percentage of emotional peaks. One could speculate that this is why the voice-over is used: it provides a kind of narrative economy, that Hong then integrates into the type of story he wants to tell. There is a self-reflexive moment in which he calls attention to this limitation, in which the lead character says that she wants to write something short. For Hong, this time constraint allows him to deal with very familiar material in a heightened register.

The style of the film is both consistent with his other films, with a number of familiar long take compositions as well as many uses of the zoom lens. But the editing is also quicker than any of his films since The Power of Kangwon Province in 1998. There are 45 shots in a 30 minute film, making the ASL roughly 40 seconds. 1o of these shots occur both at the beginning and the ending, a rhyming 5 shot sequence of quick cuts of the hotel district of Jeonju. But even without these shots, the style is more dynamic than usual, not only in terms of editing, but also in relation to camera movement and zooms. This seems to parallel to overall tone of the piece, which has a greater momentum and urgency than other Hong works.

One could see all this as a negative, as Hong having to compromise his style and subject matter to fit unnaturally into this small box of time. I may agree if not for the film's magnificent ending, certainly the most progressive of Hong's career. The scene consists of the four characters confronting each other, with the two male characters in particular locked in an absurd and hypocritical battle of words. Although the scene is very funny, it is at the same time frustrating. We have to stand by and watch this hypocrisy because proper Korean social manners forbid the characters from pointing out the obvious. And because the emotional level of the film is already so high, it creates a strong desire to say something, almost to yell at the screen. And then, the lead character fulfills our wish, finally calling the characters on their lies and leaving the scene. She gets into her car and exits. The liberation of the moment is unmatched in anything else Hong has done. Hong is typically seen as a rather apolitical filmmaker, but within the personal politics of his films, this is his most overt statement.

Overview of JIFF Film Critics' Masterclass

I was able to attend all of the films of the JIFF masterclass, although only one of the lectures themselves due to language or scheduling. Raymond Bellour selected two excellent French films: Philippe Grandrieux's A Lake and Chris Marker's Level Five. Grandrieux was chosen by Bellour in relation to the film magazine Trafic, founded by Serge Daney. As Bellour writes in his introduction:

"If I had to define Trafic in terms of its refusals, they would be positioned at two extremes: on the one hand, the facilities that are far too common in journalistic criticism, and on the other hand the closures of traditional academic writing."

"Parallel to a continuous reflection on the great works on cinema ... we have always chosen to support - by asking them to participate, whenever possible, in the life of the magazine - a certain group of filmmakers, including (naturally) experimental filmmakers."

"So it is that, personally, I find myself engaged in a defense of the films of Philippe Grandrieux, which seem to me as essential as they are controversial."

What interests Bellour in Grandrieux is his attempt to use his story as a "laboratory for expression"; in other words, to explore the purely sensational elements usually confined to the avant-garde. A Lake is a great example of this. The story of a family in an isolated setting and the effect of an outsider on this dynamic is compelling itself, but does little to convey the actual texture of the work. As Bellour states, Grandrieux's style is founded much more of the "physical relation of the camera to its objects." Nevertheless, the story certainly maintains importance here, even if it is at the service of sensation (as opposed to the reverse relation of sensation at the service of story which defines most cinema). The very extreme starkness and primal nature of these relationships provides the cinematic technique with its maximum impact.

Bellour's second film choice is a very different work, Level Five, a film essay by Chris Marker revolving around a video game about the Battle of Okinawa. Bellour opens his introduction to the film by asking and answering a question:

"Why, in order to speak today of Chris Marker in the course of a film festival, and within the privileged framework of a Masterclass, do I choose to present Level Five (1996)?"

"Because this film, the last of his cinema films strictly speaking, is for that very reason the one in which we see the best way to inscribe the mutations which cinema has undergone - in a career that is singular out of all others, and within which cinema has always been submitted to paradoxical pressures."

As is usual with Marker, he combines aspects of documentary with a story-line, in which we see an actress deliver a video diary to the director (Marker himself, although this is also a role). Thus the film turns into another Marker essay on the nature of moving images and their relation to social reality, especially memory. But it is also, at the same time, a very powerful about war, and it is this aspect that interested me more than the mediations on the computer. This is precisely because it never feels like a tradtional documentary. It creates a distance, much like the characters have, because of "game" space created. But gradually this fades away, climaxing in film footage of Shigeaki Kinjo discussing his own murder of his family under government decree. The impact of this moment has been created by Marker's structure and his multiple forms of visual imagery, and it makes as powerful a statement for the impact of cinema as one could create.

Another essay film was chosen by Richard Porton for his discussion of "anarchist realism": WR: Mysteries of the Organism. This is a film I've been interested in seeing for many years but had never gotten to, and perhaps becasue of this it was not as intriguing as a hoped for. The film is very enjoyable and fun, and has a kind of anarchist quality that Porton discussed in his talk (which I unfortunately could not attend). However, it is as an "essay" film that it is rather weak, especially compared to a figure like Marker. To be fair, this may be because the ideas Makavejev is dealing with often come across as ridiculous. It is to Makavejev's credit that he himself realizes this, but it doesn't make the opinions on display any more provocative.

The only lecture I was able to attend was Adrian Martin's discussion of the career of film critic/painter Manny Farber, titled "Creative Criticism." Martin begins by outlining two types of criticism: (1) explanatory, descriptive criticism that offers a reading or interpretation of the film, which the critic treats as a finite object; and (2) creative criticism, which aims to recreate, remake or extend the film in a new way by working in a new medium (usually writing, but now visual media as well). There are overlaps between the two (as Martin mentioned, Raymond Bellour is one example), but one of the earliest practicioners of the later form is Manny Farber.

I am quite familiar with Farber as a critic, particularly through Greg Taylor's book Artists in the Audience, which Martin doesn't mention but which makes a similar argument about the critic as artist. What was illuminating for me about Martin's lecture is his presentation and discussion of Farber's paintings in relation to his criticism. On the major points drawn out by this comparison is how Farber, in both his criticism and painting, was most interested in the edges of the frame. Many of Farber's paintings have little activity at the center, instead placing most of the action on the perimeter. Likewise, Farber's approach to criticism and the films he admired shared this same dislike of centered framings. In general, most of what is most appreciated and enjoyed by the mass audience bored Farber, which is what made him one of the first cult critics. Farber did not care for the novelistic or theatrical; what he wanted were multi-suggestive films and images, a rich world of experience. Not stories, but worlds. Things like plot solving actions and character psychology were not important. What makes a film engaging are the digressions that give the world its richness, as well as the presence of performers with a presence or aura: "interesting people doing interesting things". This is what made Farber so distinct and so influential. And while I personally like those influenced by Farber more than Farber himself as a writer, Martin's lecture was a very passionate appreciation, as well as a great introduction for a Korean audience (Farber has still not been translated into Korean, although a few pieces are coming out soon apparently).

To accompany his lecture, Martin chose Maurice Pialat's 1974 film The Mouth Agape. This was my favorite film of the festival and makes me want to track down more of Pialat's films in the future. I had previously only seen his 1985 film Police, which failed to make an impression, but The Mouth Agape is quite astounding. The plot revolves around a woman who is dying and how her family, especially her son and husband, deal with this situation. Due to subject matter and even the time period in which it is made, I thought of Ingmar Bergman's 1972 drama Cries and Whispers. This is because other than subject matter, it is hard to imagine two films being more different in approach. In contrast to the heavy expressionism and symbolism of Bergman, Pialat concentrates much more on a realistic approach.

Now, when I describe the film as using a realistic approach, this does not mean that Pialat is not obsessively shaping this material. Rather, he is shaping the material to achieve a much more authentic world. This is why Martin chose the film to use in conjunction with Farber; not because Farber wrote about this film, but because this film has such affinities with Farber's interests in cinema (also, Farber was an admirer of Pialat's 1991 film Van Gogh). Pialat wanted to record something interesting between actors, and often made his actors uncomfortable and filmed a great deal in order to achieve his results. He also worked his material heavily in the editing process. The Mouth Agape was originally over four hours long and had a much different plot and story, with a greater emphasis on the character of the son. The film he creates is just 83 minutes, but yet is in no way a reduction for the sake of plot clarity or simplicity. Rather, the conventional rhetoric of drama and artificiality is avoided. Pialat is concerned with the edges of the story. Not with the mother and her suffering (although this is shown and presented in quotidian and disturbing detail), but with how the other son, his wife, and the father continue to live their lives, in some ways not noticably affected by the event. Pialat is concerned with creating and presenting a believable world, in which the house itself, which is also a small shop where the father works, is in many ways as important as the characters. As a result, the emotional force of the drama that is presented is enormously heightened. Although I had not heard of the film before the festival, I now think it is one of the great films of the 1970s.

2009 Jeonju Film Festival Overview

I attended this year's Jeonju Film Festival and was able to see 15 films over the course of just over 4 days here, probably the highest volume of cinema going in one week for me personally. Obviously, with any large festival, my experience was limited, but overall the festival was strong, if not as exciting as last year's (it is hard to top Satantango).

Of the films I saw, I would rank them as follows:

5 stars

The Mouth Agape (Maurice Pialat, 1974)

High in the Mountains (Hong Sang-soo, 2009)

4 1/2 Stars

Level Five (Chris Marker, 1997)

Spirit of the Beehive (Victor Erice, 1973)

A Lake (Philippe Grandrieux, 2009)

Butterflies Have No Memories (Lav Diaz, 2009)

4 stars

The Housemaid (Kim Ki-Young, 1960)

Tony Manero (Pablo Larrain, 2008)

WR: Mysteries of the Organism (Dusan Makavejev, 1971)

Goodbye Solo (Rahim Bahrani, 2009)

3 1/2 stars

A North Chinese Girl (Zou Peng, 2009)

Moonlighting (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1982)

3 stars

Koma (Kawase Naomi, 2009)

2 1/2 stars

Deep End (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1971)

The ESP Couple (Kim Hyung-joo, 2008)

Unlike last year, I did get a chance to see a number of newer films, of wildly varied quality, as is to be expected. The ESP Couple was my least favorite, although still mildly amusing. Poor writing and rather broad farce sunk an interesting premise. A North Chinese Girl was at the opposite scale, an exercise in Asian minimalism that felt, unfortunately, like just that, an exercise. The film was enjoyable for me because I prefer long take cinema and the film had a promising opening, but it never came together. The final shot, in its own minimalist way, was just as heavy handed as any mainstream action film.

There were two newer features I quite liked. The American indie Goodbye Solo is an intriguing variation on Abbas Kiarostami's A Taste of Cherry, but told from the perspective of the cab driver. The film creates a vivid and unique take on the immigrant experience in America with very few of the cliches. The central relationship is not entirely convincing, but overall the story achieves an understated but resonant impact. Another fine film is Tony Manero, a Chilean drama set during the Pinochet era. The lead character, Raul, a small-time thug, becomes obsessed with Saturday Night Fever and John Travolta's "Tony Manero". This is set against the backdrop of political oppression, in which Raul's behaviour is reflective of the predatory nature of authoritarian capitalism and the American popular culture that accompanies it. Many other films would have turned the basic premise into a disarming comedy, but Larrain is not interested in a simple celebration of consumer culture. The style is at times overblown, but overall a small yet socially astute drama that deserves a wider audience.

My favorite new film was this year's Jeonju Digital Project, in which three directors are asked to make a digital short film for the festival. Hong Sang-soo's film was especially great, and I'll try to write a full post about it shortly. But also very strong was Lav Diaz's Butterflies Have No Memories. The story concerns the hostility felt by the former workers of a goldmine, a resentment that reaches a climax when a former resident, now a Canadian, comes back to visit. The ending of this short uses the form to make a moral statement: the act of passive resistance by one of the characters literally turns the plot of a feature genre film into a 40 minute piece calling for a move forward for the characters and Filipino society. The weakest of the three was Koma by Kawase Naomi, which had some images and threads of intrigue but yet remained too obscure and mystical for my taste.

The director spotlight this year was on Jerzy Skolimowski, whose oeuvre I was unfamiliar with. I saw two films, on the basis of which I am not overly enthused to see more. Moonlighting was the better of the two, a pretty good satirical drama about illegal Polish workers stranded following the declaration of Marshal Law in Warsaw in late 1981. Deep End, from 1971, has not aged well. Its absurd take on a young boy coming of age in London offered nothing that many other films haven't done better, and its truly odd and bizarre ending left me cold. It is strange enough that I probably won't forget it, though.

In addition to many contemporary Korean films, there was also a Korean film retrospective. I was able to see the recently restored 1960 melodrama The Housemaid by the now acclaimed auteur Kim Ki-Young. A heavy stylized drama with a sexually charged plot, it resembled nothing like the traditional reserved classical melodramas from the 1950s. It even contains a framing device in which the same actors comment on the story that we watch. It concludes with the husband directly addressing the audience in a mock warning about the dangers of young women to married men. Kim's heavy-handed style serves to further the distanciation of the audience from the story world, so that the drama is always symbolic and heightened rather than resembling any type of realism. The reality that interests Kim concerns the desires and repressions underlying the traditional Korean family unit.

I'll write about the films of the JIFF Film Critics' masterclass in a separate post. Overall, like I mentioned at the opening, a fine festival this year, although with a weaker retrospective than last year's focus on Bela Tarr. The festival was busier this year, partly because it coincided with some Korean holidays. It certainly does take advanced booking to see the films you want (or any films at all if you wait til the weekend). But the festival still remains committed to the love of cinema itself over the more business centered (and larger) Pusan festival, and is certainly an event I will not miss as long as I am here.

David Lean Retrospective at the Cinematheque

Starting yesterday and continuing until May 17th is a 13 film program of David Lean films at the cinematheque. This includes most of Lean's directorial output, the only missing films being his first, In Which We Serve (1942, co-director with Noel Coward), 1952's The Sound Barrier, and 1954's Hobson's Choice. Given the epic nature of Lean's cinema, this is a fine opportunity to see many of these films in the theatre. I'm looking forward to trying to see The Bridge on the River Kwai (1958), one of those "great" movies that I still haven't gotten around to.

TREELESS MOUNTAIN (Kim So Yong, 2008); WENDY AND LUCY (Kelly Reichardt, 2008)

I saw two films at the Women's Film Festival over the weekend, one really great, another OK but slightly disappointing. Kelly Reichardt's Wendy and Lucy is a formally elegant independent drama about a young woman (played by Michelle Williams) on her way to Alaska for a job. Her car breaks down in Oregon, and she gets arrested for petty theft after stealing food for her dog. The rest of the narrative focuses on her search for her dog over the next couple of days. The narrative is both ordinary and yet highly dramatic and compelling, and Reichardt's style here is both properly distanced and sympathetic to the character's plight. Wendy and Lucy is part of what A.O. Scott has dubbed "neo neo-realism" in American indie cinema, and I generally agree that the presence of these films dealing with the working class is desperately needed at the moment. Wendy and Lucy offers an example that these films can also have a strong aesthetic grounding, which will be key to the ultimate success of this movement (if it is a movement at all). You can find Scott's piece here, as well as Richard Brody's less favourable take on these films here.

I find myself agreeing with Scott and disagreeing with Brody on Wendy and Lucy, but Kim So Yong's Treeless Mountain, which Scott also mentions, seems to me much less distinguished. It is here that I agree with Brody about the need to go beyond a superficial realism. Kim's story about two young girls who are left behind by a mother who can no longer support them is a compelling one. It is the flip side to Wendy and Lucy, if that film were told from the perspective of Lucy. But this might be part of the problem with the story, or at least Kim's approach to it. While the two young girls perform fine, there are limits with what can be done with child actors on a dramatic level. This is especially true when the style is mostly concerned with a basic illusionist approach. Kim never really establishes a strong visual approach to the material, and as a result the film meanders and instead relies upon the capturing of natural imagery to attempt to add a reflective tone to the work. I never found the approach compelling and engaging, despite my interest in the story and material.

The festival continues until Thursday.

Upcoming: Women's Film Festival (April 9-16)

Next week marks the 11th International Women's Film Festival in Seoul. Most of the screenings, if not all, have English subtitles, and include many Korean films as well as a few international selections. There are also discussions and a conference associated with the festival. The full schedule is available here. I attended a few screenings and the conference last year and found the festival very well organized and foreign friendly.

Among the notable films that I've heard good word of mouth on include:

Wendy and Lucy (Kelly Reichardt, 2008)
The Beaches of Agnes (Agnes Varda, 2008)
Treeless Mountain (Kim So Yong, 2008)

Upcoming: Mosfilm Retrospective (March 31-April 26)

Coming up at the Cinematheque is a 19-film program of Russian cinema, from the silent era to the present. The films are:

Battleship Potemkin (Sergei Eisenstein, 1925)
Bed and Sofa (Abram Room, 1927)
Happiness (Alexander Medvedkin, 1934)
Alexander Nevsky (Sergei Eisenstein, 1938)
The New Moscow (Alexander Medvedkin, 1938)
The Russian Question (Mikhail Room, 1947)
Sadko (Alexander Ptushko, 1953)
The Cranes Are Flying (Mikhail Kalatozov, 1957)
The Letter That Was Never Sent (Mikhail Kalatozov, 1959)
The Skating Rink and the Violin (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1961)
Ivan's Childhood (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1962)
Andrei Rublev (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1966)
Solaris (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1972)
Stalker (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1979)
I Walk Around Moscow (George Daneliya, 1963)
The Ascent (Larisa Shepitko, 1976)
Jazzmen (Karen Shakhnazarov, 1983)
The Rider Named Death (Karen Shakhnazarov, 2004)
The Vanished Empire (Karen Shakhnazarov, 2008)

No word yet on schedule or English subtitles.

Update on Jeonju Film Festival

Just thought I'd pass along a few pieces of information about the Jeonju Film Festival, which will be held April 30th-May 8th. I can't say enough good things about this festival and highly recommend people check it out. A full schedule is to be released at the end of March, but some things have been announced:

-a retrospective on Polish director Jerzy Skolimowski, who will also appear at the festival in person

-a program on Sri Lankan cinema

-especially exciting for me personally, a Critics masterclass featuring Raymond Bellour, Richard Porton, and Adrian Martin. They will introduce filmmakers and films they selected and give lectures on Film Criticism in JIFF’s Masterclass on the 5th and 6th of May during the festival.

I'm update further when more information is available.

Documentary and Horror Films II: DEAR ZACHARY (Kurt Kuenne, 2008)

SPOILER WARNING: If you have not seen the new documentary Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father and do not know about the real life case it is based on, you should skip this piece until you've seen it. For reasons that will be clear from reading the essay, I need to discuss a major plot point in my argument.

A few months back I wrote a brief post about documentaries and horror films, inspired by Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired and the work of Adam Curtis. I certainly didn't think I'd see a film so shortly after that would be even more fitting of a discussion along these lines, but Kurt Kuenne's Dear Zachary is even more direct and, as a result, more problematic in its use of the narrative and stylistic devices of horror thrillers. Very few recent films have affected me as much as this one, although probably not entirely in the way Kuenne planned. Dear Zachary is riveting and powerful, but it was disturbing not only because of the subject matter but also because of the heavily manipulative style at work.

Part of what is so capitivating about the work is the extraordinary circumstances . Kuenne, a filmmaker since childhood, set out to make a documentary about the murder of one of his best friends, Andrew Bagby. The main suspect in the case was a woman named Shirley Turner, his ex-girlfriend. The two had met in medical school in Newfoundland, Canada. Following the murder, which took place in the U.S., Turner fled to Canada. Extradiction procedures followed, and moved extremely slowly (any Canadian like myself understands this all too well). Then, the first twist occured: Turner was pregnant with Bagby's son. Kuenne follows the story of Bagby's parents, David and Kate, as they attempt to gain custody of the son. Kuenne then decides to dedicate the film to Andrew's son, named Zachary, to allow him to get to know his father by interviewing family and friends that were closest to him. Hence the film's title. But, and here's the big spoiler for those that don't know, this is a deliberate mislead on Kuenne's part. For we learn that Turner, let out on bail by idiotic decisions by the Canadian justice system, killed her 13 month old son and herself. It is at this point that the film turns into essentially a scream of rage by the grandparents and Kuenne, ending with their campaign for reform in the bail system in the Canada. Kuenne ends up dedicating the film to David and Kate Bagby after admitting that he almost stopped making the film after Zachary's murder.


Even before this narrative turn, Kuenne's editing is very staccato, to the point that it is at times jarring. Even when putting together fairly standard material recalling Andrew's life, Kuenne edits in a very hyperactive manner. Critics seem to be forgiving of this as a sign of Kuenne's heavy emotional investment in this material, and the argument can be extended into further examples of Kuenne's style and narrative. Obviously, Kuenne did not have to tell this story as he did, and indeed anyone who knew this story beforehand would not have been fooled by his baby murder "twist". So, a reasonable question would be: why structure the film this way? The main argument for the decision is that this puts the audience in the place of the victims: not only the grandparents, but all of Andrew Bagby's friends, including Kuenne himself. The desire seems to be to have the audience empathize as much as possible with the pain and anguish of the Bagbys, to pull the rug out from under the audience so that they have a strong visceral reaction. The problem is that this emotion is forwarded in support of a reactionary point of view.



This can be seen in the treatment of Shirley Turner, who as the film progresses is treated as pure evil, a monster, or, as Kate Bagby puts it, "the devil". This is where the horror techniques are on full display, with the use of ominous music (composed by Kuenne) and audio recording of Turner combined with distorted images of Turner with her son. This techniques are used earlier in the film to convey Andrew's murder, but they are amplified here. Particularly unsettling is David Bagby stating afterwards that the only way to have prevented this tragedy, given the inefficiency of the justice system, is to have murdered Turner himself, so that at least Zachary would be safe and Kate could possibly have raised him even if he went to jail. It is at this point where I think Kuenne lets the rage overwhelm him. Does this need to be in the film? Yes, of course, he thought it, and understandably so. But Kuenne seems to justify it, even if David Bagby himself realizes its madness, repeatedly saying that he shouldn't have to be having these thoughts. David and Kate Bagby would move forward within the realm of the law to reform bail in Canada, but the reactions the documentary provokes are of a far more vicious kind. In fact, to even bring up criticisms of the film is to provoke a backlash. Witness these two reviews and their comment sections here and here.

What seems particularly odd about the heavy-handed style is how unnecessary it appears. Shirley Turner does not need to be made into the devil to get across the basic point of the film: The legal system fucked up badly and needs to be fixed, and those that allowed it to happen need to be held accountable and to pay the price with at least their jobs. Which makes one think that this isn't Kuenne's goal, and that Kuenne is so full of rage that he needs to attack Turner. After all, who can defend a baby murderer? If one points out that Turner is probably not the devil but rather a deeply disturbed woman who should have been kept from harming her baby, one becomes part of the problem, a bleeding heart liberal, the type that allowed her out in the first place (the fact that I'm one of those northern "liberals" in Canada is proof of this). Such is the reactionary politics of this movie, yet this point of view that can be understood as so deeply felt that many will overlook it.

How to evaluate this movie? I would describe it as one of the best and one of the worst films of the year. But I won't forget it anytime soon, and perhaps a more intellectual approach such as I'm advocating for would not have been as compelling. Still, personally, I could have done with a little less excitement.

A nice take on the film, although more sympathetic than mine, is offered by David Edelstein.

Review of 2008

Now that I have caught up with most of the major releases of last year, I thought I'd rank the 28 films I saw last year. I didn't think I had seen much this year, but I'm only 7 off of last year's total, and I'm sure I'll see more of 2008 over the next few months.

I have to agree that this was a subpar year, especially the top ten. My favorite film remains Night and Day, which I saw at the Jeonju festival back in May. There were only 3 films that I thought were 5 or 4 1/2 stars, which to me are films that are masterpieces or near to it. Lots of solid movies of varying quality, but little that was really inspiring.

These rankings tend to be pretty generous. Basically, anything I enjoy I give 3 stars even if it's not great filmmaking, and if I really enjoyed it I give 4 stars, again, even if the filmmaking isn't masterful.

The films are ranked in order, even within the star ratings. My Top Ten for 2008 (and other years) will continue to mutate as I see more films.

5 stars

Night and Day

4 1/2 stars

The Flight of the Red Balloon
Happy-Go-Lucky

4 stars

Burn After Reading
The Wrestler
Milk
Paranoid Park
Standard Operating Procedure
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Rachel Getting Married
Bigger, Stronger, Faster
Roman Polanki: Wanted and Desired
Revolutionary Road
The Dark Knight
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frost/Nixon

3 1/2 stars

Zack and Miri Make a Porno
Religulous
Body of Lies
Quantum of Solace
Wall-E

3 stars

Tropic Thunder
Son of Rambow
Synecdoche, New York

2 1/2 stars

My Bluberry Nights
Sex and the City: The Movie

2 stars

Shine a Light
Slumdog Millionaire

WOMAN IS THE FUTURE OF MAN at the Film of the Month Club

I volunteered to choose the film for the March Film of the Month club and selected Hong Sang-soo's Woman is the Future of Man (2004). I just posted a brief intro on Hong and will start the month on Sunday with posts on the actual film. Hopefully there will be some interesting discussion on one of Korea's better films of the decade (in my opinion, of course). You can check out the Film of the Month blog here.

REVOLUTIONARY ROAD (Sam Mendes, 2008)

"I Don't Want to Talk About the Wheelers Anymore"

Near the conclusion of Revolutionary Road, there is a brief epilogue to the future, after the Wheelers (played by Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet) have left their suburban community. Their neighbors are having a drink with the new residents and discussing their former friends. The husband suddenly leaves and walks into their backyard. The wife follows, and the husband says that he doesn't want to talk about the Wheelers anymore. The wife says they don't have to, and the two kiss and embrace. This scene functions as a meta-commentary not only on the film, but on the subsequent critical response. Much of the criticism labeled at the movie concentrates on how much they dislike the two lead characters, who are described as horrible, narcissistic people. The reviews seem not to be about the movie but about the offensiveness of the characters. Reviewers, like the husband next door, do not want to talk about the Wheelers. They do not feel the characters are worthy of their attention and time.

This response is interesting for a couple of reasons. First, the vitriol aimed at the Wheelers seems disproportionate. These characters are flawed, but hardly villainous and hardly beyond the realms of realism. Most of this criticism seems very reactionary: they are snobs (read Eastern elites), they are bad parents (although we never really see much with the children, who are simply not the focus of the story), etc. There was even a criticism of the British director Mendes making another film critical of America. Second, these criticisms of the characters neglect the extent to which the Wheelers are both concrete characters and allegorical figures. They have to be placed within the context of the other characters and what they represent to them. However flawed they may be, they also represent something extra-ordinary to those around them.

This distinctive quality of the Wheelers is both admired and feared, both exciting and crazy. They are linked quite clearly with another allegorical character, John Givings, the son of their neighbors who has a PhD in Mathemathics but is also in a mental hospital and deemed insane by the society. He is only in two scenes, one in which he bonds with the Wheelers over their proposed move to Paris, and another in which he criticizes them for turning their backs on their plan, but these scenes are the most distinctive in the film. Dr. Givings serves to comment on the Wheelers, both in their similarities and differences with him. The Wheelers are both revolutionaries and just another middle-class couple. In the terms that would be used in the 60s, they are weekend leftists, not the Weather underground. They play out a very American myth. Paris is a frontier in which to escape the trap of American society, a place of adventure where the limitations of society can be avoided.

All of this allegory is heavy-handed, and certainly the film is not particularly subtle. This is characteristic of Mendes, of whom I am not generally an admirer. But this film, perhaps because of the backlash against it, earns my respect. It is not a masterpiece of directing, but at least Mendes does not rely totally on intensified continuity editing to achieve his effects. The mise-en-scene and cinematography may be overly pronounced, but to hold a shot for over a minute in today's Hollywood is a welcome change. And unlike Mendes' early films, such as American Beauty (1999) and Road to Perdition (2002), there is no real redemption offered here. This is a film not afraid to end negatively, pessimistically and critically. It is a rare Hollywood film helped rather than hurt by its conclusion. And I suspect it is this lack of a feel-good ending that people are reacting against.

One final note: I have heard a couple of comparsions of Revolutionary Road as a far less interesting take on material covered much better in the AMC television series "Mad Men". While I can understand the comparisons, they are not really fair to the film to say "Mad Men" is "better". What it is, unquestionably, is more entertaining, especially to a male audience. "Mad Men" is a very typical product of our current era. It condemns the characters and at the same time celebrates them as "cool" and "hip". It is both profound and superficial, and makes no real demands or challenges of its audience. Revolutionary Road is harsher medicine; it is much less hip, much less fun, but is certainly no re-tread of material handled better on "Mad Men".

Latest from the Cinematheque

In the last week, I was able to see three films at the Cinematheque:

Night and the City (Jules Dassin, 1950)
The Mirror (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1975)
Boy Meets Girl (Leos Carax, 1984)

I'm happy to report all three prints were quite good, with Boy Meets Girl especially great. The films themselves ranged from a major revelation to a slight disappointment. The only film of the three I had seen before was Dassin's Night and the City and it held up quite well. It was the last film made for Hollywood by Dassin before he was blacklisted, and this film noir certainly captures the darkness of the period, with some rather blatant references to the moral bankruptcy of selling out a person for money, even if that person is himself rather unlikable. The hero, Harry Fabian, is extremely flawed yet not unsympathetic, especially as played by Richard Widmark. The film explores the contradiction of the American success myth: if a man doesn't obtain it, he is a loser, yet he cannot become consumed with it or else he will be unhappy. Most of what I remembered from my first viewing years ago comes from the closing sequence, and it still works very well, conveying Harry's desperation and self-loathing and his touching if misguided attempt at some sort of redemption.

Tarkovsky's The Mirror, however, was a mild disappointment. Viewed as the most personal and autobiographical of his films and hailed by many Tarkovsky enthusiasts as his best work, it left me rather cold. The fact that I didn't grasp the meaning of some of the sequences didn't bother me. I'm willing to go along for the ride if the images and emotion sweep me up. Surprisingly, I never found the visuals consistently engaging. Of course, there are moments that are very memorable, and it has a strong central performance from Margarita Terekhova. But I expected more, and in fact thought to myself that if this wasn't a film with Tarkovsky's name on it, I may have evaluated it even more harshly. Normally, I hate the word "pretentious" and am suspicious of those who use it. But I found The Mirror pretentious (and I view my reaction suspiciously as a result).

On the other hand, I found Leos Carax's first film, Boy Meets Girl, to be quite amazing. It may be one of the most strikingly shot films I have ever seen, especially on the big screen. The high contrast black and white images have the beauty of great photographic stills, and the luminous cinematography threatens to completely eclipse the story. But ultimately the tale Carax is telling is a self-consciously dark and romantic love story that needs the power of the images to properly convey the characters' emotions. The plot is also small and contained enough to allow Carax to put the visuals front and center, and even has a scene where a man conveys in sign language why silent film is the most effective. In its love story and emphasis on directorial self-expression, it is reminiscent of the New Wave, although not in any superficially imitative way. This is the first Carax film I've seen and I'm anxious to track down some of his other films, particularly Les Amants du Pont-Neuf.

New Website

I've added a new link to a blog that performs a similar function to this blog but from Busan, South Korea rather than Seoul. I've checked it out briefly and it looks great. Hopefully it will be of use to those in or near Busan and to cinephiles in general.

JEANNE DIELMAN, 23 QUAI DU COMMERCE, 1080 BRUXELLES (Chantal Anne Akerman, 1975)

Figure 1

Figure 2

Figure 3

Figure 4

Figure 5

Figure 6

Figure 7

Figure 8

Figure 9

Figure 10

Figure 11

Figure 12

Figure 13

Chantal Akerman is one of the very few female directors to achieve canonical status as a master of modern cinema. Her most famous work is Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, an over three-hour long film detailing three days in the life of a widowed single mother. The film's reputation exists largely on two factors: (1) Its status as a "feminist tract" (whatever that means exactly); and (2) A film in which "nothing happens". These two elements are strongly intertwined. Much of the feminism of the film comes from Akerman showing in long, monotonous detail the everyday chores that women perform in the home. It is the presence of these long scenes of cooking and dish-washing that make it seem like nothing is happening, and also gives the work its status as "hyper-realist". Seeing the film for the first time this week, I had to view the text through all of this context. What I was expecting was an experience that would be educational but not really surprising in any way. However, what I encountered was a film that is both rather obvious in its approach and subject matter, while also very difficult and open, so much so that this seems a large part of its project. The film definitely "feminist" but it is also very far from polemical. The key to this is Akerman's elliptical style.

Anyone familiar with European or even international art cinema since the 1970s will immediately recognize Akerman's influence on subsequent filmmakers. The director who came immediately to my mind, maybe because of my familiarity with and admiration of his work, is Michael Haneke. The most obvious comparison is with Haneke's first feature, The Seventh Continent (1989), but the overall stylistic similarity is there in most of Haneke's films, including the recent Cache (2005). The way in which Akerman handles space is especially rigorous, returning repeatedly to the same set-ups in order to situate our understanding of Jeanne's apartment, reminding one of a long take version of Ozu. Many of the shots represented above (Figures 1-7) are repeated many times over the course of the film. While this can be seen as simply increasing the monotony of the narrative, it had the opposite effect for me. It concentrated my attention and made my cognitive faculties sharper and more attuned, allowing for the concentration needed to stay engaged. It is here that I felt the overlap with Haneke was especially pointed.

The major feature of the narrative, despite its slow pace, is its ellipsis. This begins almost immediately. Following the opening shot (Figure 1), there is a buzz at the door and the first of what will be three male johns comes to the door. She leads him to the bedroom and closes the door. The hallway goes dark and the two come out of the bedroom seconds later (Figures 2-5). There is no noticeable cut, but yet any sexual encounter could not have occurred in this time. From the very beginning, Akerman is alluding to the repressed of the film, a repression that will eventually return at the conclusion. Two days later, Akerman eventually goes into the bedroom (Figure 12). We are shown the two having sex, and then Jeanne stabbing him in the neck. The last shot shows Jeanne sitting alone in the dark, the longest take of the film at almost six minutes. Prominent in the frame is the teapot where the money from her prostitution is kept (Figure 13).

The common description of the film's plot emphasizes that this last day disturbs the carefully controlled routine of Jeanne's life and leads to her murderous outburst. Key to this interpretation is viewing the sex scene as awakening Jeanne's sexual desire, as she (seemingly) orgasms during the rather uninspired intercourse. However, we do not know what goes on in these earlier sexual encounters. In fact, I would argue that the breakdown in Jeanne's routine goes back to the second day and her second client. Unlike the precise and controlled actions of the first day, after the second encounter Jeanne is noticeably more flustered, her hair disheveled (which her son later comments on). She falls behind on her routine, and is never able to take a shower. Watching this sequence, I interpreted that something traumatic or disturbing had occurred, simply because of the way Akerman varies the post-coital routine from the previous day.

Ultimately, because of Akerman's use of ellipsis, the viewer can only make guesses as to why Jeanne kills, at least in any concrete or specific way. The broader point seems that her actions are both necessary and perhaps inevitable. No matter how ordered and routine and dehumanizing a life may be, it cannot contain desire. This is why the ending seems liberating, despite the violence and despite the fact that Jeanne still seems like an automaton, even in her violence. The fact that Akerman shoots the murder as reflected through a mirror is equally telling (Figure 12). The shot set-up may be something refreshingly new, and thus a clue to the violence to come, but the composition is still distanced, remote, much like Jeanne herself.

BIGGER THAN LIFE (Nicolas Ray, 1956)

My first screening at the cinematheque in a very long time (shame on me) was Wednesday night with Nicolas Ray's 1956 melodrama Bigger Than Life. The print was quite good and the theatre was full, making for an ideal viewing experience. This is in stark contrast to my first viewing of the film, which was a VHS copy of a TCM broadcast.

I remembered very little about the early scenes, in fact just about everything up until the last half. This is no doubt because I was first exposed to the film in clips from Martin Scorsese's 1995 American cinema documentary A Personal Journey with Martin Scorsese Through American Movies. Scorsese uses Ray as an example of the director as "smuggler":

"Like Douglas Sirk, Nicolas Ray offered both the American family in suburbia and the psychotic undercurrents, the conventions and the contradictions, the sugar and the poison."

Scorsese emphasizes the poison, the ways in which the lead character, under the influence of cortisone, rebels against his dull, middle-class existence. But what is interesting about the film is how all the parts fit together, as well as the form of rebellion the character Ed Avery takes. Ed's breakdown is caused, the film implies, by overwork and the need to take two jobs to support his family's middle-class lifestyle. His wife believes he is having an affair, and Ray certainly implies that Ed would perhaps like an affair with his attractive co-worker. However, he doesn't have the time. Instead, he spends his nights as a taxi dispatcher, trapped in a modern equivalent of a call center. Ray sets up the audience, through this first act, to sympathize with Ed and understand the rebellion against this society that his cortizone addiction allows him to express. However, I think Ray is smarter than simply identifying with this character.

If one considers Ed's new philosophy carefully, it is clearly diametrically opposed to anything the leftist-anarchist Ray would actually endorse. Ed turns into a fascist, and while Ray encourages a certain identification with the criticism of the small-minded community in which he is trapped, Ed's rantings are that of a totalitarian madman. This to me is Ray's larger point. Not only has the American society of the 1950s trapped Ed in his routinized, quite literally deadening existence, but it has created even more demonic (if at the same time alluring) fantasies (or delusions) of grandeur.

Before an appropriately awkward finale at Ed's hospital bed, there occurs a fight between Ed and his friend Wally that results in the destruction of the bourgeois home. It allows for one of Ray's typically striking and genuinely odd compositions in which a jagged piece of railing figures prominently in the foreground. It provides an apt metaphor for this profoundly pessimistic film. Even the stripping away of social repression is dangerous in a world that can only imagined more grotesque, patriarchal alternatives.

A clip from the film is available here, featuring one of Ray's (and Hollywood's) greatest shots.

Friends of the Cinematheque Program

The Seoul Cinematheque is currently running their annual "Friends of the Cinematheque" festival until early March. Among the many great films showing are:

Greed (Erich Von Stroheim, 1924)
Sunrise (F.W. Murnau, 1927)
The Grapes of Wrath (John Ford, 1940)
His Girl Friday (Howard Hawks, 1940)
Sunset Blvd. (Billy Wilder, 1950)
Night and the City (Jules Dassin, 1950)
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (Howard Hawks, 1953)
Bigger Than Life (Nicolas Ray, 1956)
Midnight Cowboy (John Schlesinger, 1969)
Get Carter (Mike Hodges, 1971)
...All the Marbles (Robert Aldrich, 1981)
Possession (Andrzej Zulawski, 1981)

Also, the following foreign film are listed as playing with English subtitles:

The Mirror (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1975)
Boy Meets Girl (Leos Carax, 1984)
Aprile (Nanni Moretti, 1998)
Tropical Malady (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2004)

I am back in Korea after my trip to Canada and have the month off, so hopefully I'll be able to see and write about a number of these films.