I am currently planning my next long form review with the hope of writing them with more frequency; I haven’t chosen a film yet, but there are plenty of potential choices.
Aside from that, I have been doing well for the last week or so except from frequent tiredness (I’ve suspected my closeted night owl personality for years now from my habit of staying awake long after midnight). My film viewing has lessened after the first six months of the year, probably a result of starting university again and my concerns of wanting to view individual films, regardless of their qualities, with more thought than just giving them a mark out of 5 or 10.
Currently there isn’t that much at the multiplex that I would like to watch, although that is probably my lessened interest in it that I’ve discussed in the Trash Humpers (2009) review. If David Fincher’s The Social Network (2010) gets great reviews from the sources I trust, I ‘could’ – emphasising the quotation marks – go see it when it gets a UK release, although I am one of the few individuals who wasn’t a fan of Zodiac (2007) and have been baffled by the fact no matter how many times I rewatch it. My local art centre has been growing strong in showing films thought after the fear in January that the whole building would be shut down. It could be argued that its selection is more middlebrow or more designed to interest older patrons, but when its past showings, from the ones I’ve seen or sadly missed, have varied from a Frederick Wiseman documentary to Polish films for the large polish population in the community, it cannot be criticised for picking dull and insipid choices. For winter, they have plans to show Abbas Kiarostami’s Certified Copy (2009) and a Christmas screening of It’s A Wonderful Life (1949), just two of the films have booked for one night screenings that I really want to see. If they have only booked Gaspar Noe’s Enter The Void (2009) and I would have done handstands. For good or worse, and a fantasy scenario where I would be the only person left in the cinema at the end, it would cause great conversation. If I had more money, and the balls, I could book a single screening there for next year and wallow in Noe’s head while everyone else walks out halfway through.
Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (Werner Herzog, 2009)
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| From http://trashfilmguru.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/bad_lieutenant_port_of_call_new_orleans.jpg |
When plans were first made to remake the Abel Ferrara film with Werner Herzog directing it and Nicolas Cage in the Harvey Keitel role, I was at first blank with disbelief as everyone else may have done...and yet later a part of me felt an entirely different thought. Would Herzog, the man who made Fitzcarraldo (1982) by literally having a full size river boat dragged over a mountain in the Amazon, really sell out? I felt that the only reason Herzog would have done such a project is if he had a take on the material that would be far from what may have been intended.
For the first fifteen minutes or so, the film feels like a straight-to-DVD cop thriller right down to the type of lettering used for the opening credits but as things go along, it is clear and apparent this is a Herzog film through and through. Beyond the iguanas, the film has a dense and erratic sense of mood which few crime procedurals would have, where the film can be both extremely funny and yet have dark moments such as one involving the Eva Mendes character. It is not Herzog’s best film, but it is still far superior to many of its type because, not only does it have a sense of humour and oddness that gives it uniqueness, but also it has a surprising depth to it. Instead of the Catholic guilt of the original, this version continues that themes of absurdity and randomness in the world I have seen in Herzog’s other films, especially Stroszek (1977) (which is directly referenced in the one of the most memorable moments), stuck within the confines of a conventional genre film. The film’s moral ambiguity is also a factor which makes it superior, where even in the end, it is enforced that morally, and what is right and wrong, is completely redundant for some to survive. That there are numerous scenes of fish and reptiles – considering Herzog’s beliefs in the 2005 documentary Grizzly Man that nature is chaos and violence – makes sense to reinforce the themes of the work as well as cause one to either laugh in stitches or view a scene in a peculiar light. The acting is spot on from everyone in their roles, although in honesty it is very much Nicolas Cage’s film from the beginning. It cannot be ignored that, with a few exceptions, Cage’s acting style is to be odd and weird regardless of the scene’s content, which means his best performances even in weaker films are with directors who recognise this factor (Herzog, David Lynch) and not directors who try to make him completely serious regardless if its ‘high art’ or ‘schlock’ (Neil LeBute’s 2006 remake of the Wicker Man is becoming a cult classic just for Cage’s bizarre non-sequitur and the amount of times he knocks out members of the huge female cast within the film’s length). Hopefully Cage will take advantage of this film to explore less conventional works as well as appear in multiplex films to pay the overdue taxes, as this does reinforce why people like me are fans of his in the first place.Female Prisoner No. 701 Scorpion: Beast Stable (Shunya Ito, 1973)
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| From http://www.filmint.nu/files/fckeditor/Image/DVD%20Reviews/FemalePrisoner1.jpg |
First of all as a technical note, there have been a couple of series of films or documentaries that I had not finished yet by the time I started this blog, which is the reason why I am reviewing the third film in this series by its own (apparently there is a fourth film, Female Convict Scorpion: Grudge Song (1973), not directed by Shunya Ito which makes this a quadrilogy instead of a trilogy and may be difficult to find). That said, it is worth mentioning my opinions on the first two prequels for context. Personally, having seen it twice now, I find that the original Female Convict 701: Scorpion (1972), which is the more acclaimed in the series, to be a bit of a disappointment, a pinku violence film which has plenty of inspired moments, and female nudity for anyone into that, but did not interest me. I enjoy my exploitation films greatly, but I have a very picky taste in them, finding more enjoyment in the ones which play to the so-bad-its-good category or push forward ideas and/or striking use of visuals and sound. This first film does experiment with the visuals, but it still felt uncompelling and tended to drag for me greatly even if Meiko Kaji is a great, near-silent presence. The second film Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 (1972) changed this for the better, with the director moving past the sexploitation side of the original and experimenting more in its female convicts on the run from the law plotline, resulting in a very surreal film which wasn’t perfect but still rewarding.
The third film, Beast Stable, pushes further into experimentation of visuals and sound, discarding most of the sex from the original bar a few transgressive sequences, making it into the best of the trilogy for me. The result is a great, dark and at times nasty genre film which is light on plot, but makes up for it in its very unconventional moments, from the continuous black humoured joke involving a served arm, to mesmerising moments in a sewer involving fire and lit matches. Speaking even less than in the first two films, Kaji still able to project charisma despite only having a couple of spoken words in the script let alone dialogue. Whether it works on its own without the other two films is unknown to me, but I do advise people see it as it is a good Japanese film by itself if you are prepared for its nastier aspects.Witchfinder General aka. The Conqueror Worm (Michael Reeves, 1968)
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| From http://classic-horror.com/images/witchfinder-general-poster.jpg |
‘England is torn in civil strife as the Royalists battle the Parliamentary Party for control. This conflict distracts people from rational thought and allows unscrupulous men to gain local power by exploiting village superstitions. One of these men is Matthew Hopkins, who tours the land offering his services as a persecutor of witches. Aided by his sadistic accomplice John Stearne, he travels from city to city and wrenches confessions from "witches" in order to line his pockets and gain sexual favors. When Hopkins persecutes a priest, he incurs the wrath of Richard Marshall, who is engaged to the priest's niece. Risking treason by leaving his military duties, Marshall relentlessly pursues the evil Hopkins and his minion Stearne.’ – From IMDB
This is not amongst the best of British horror and genre films, but it does live up to its reputation. Solidly made, everything in it from direction to acting is good enough to compel you. What really adds to its qualities is the surprising amount of brutality and nihilism on display for a film of its period; here, the villain played by Vincent Prince is an employee of magistrates and the temporary government, who is give cart-blanch to torture and execute any innocent person he wants, taking advantage to sleep with any pretty young woman as blackmail in the process, while the neighbours of those who are guilty of witchcraft are just as corrupt, probably driven by jealously, murderous spite or superstitious paranoia that leads to numerous deaths. The violence is not gruesome by today’s standards, but it’s still unsettling within the context of the film; sadly for the version I saw, the scenes of violence which were once censored, and added back in for the uncut release, looked horrifically degraded, which may mean a fully restored uncut version is impossible now, a shame for such an interesting horror film. It is also a shame that its director Michael Reeves died just after making this film at a young age, as from seeing this I could see him eventually making a great film genre or otherwise.
Godfathers and Sons (Marc Levin, 2003)
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| From http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/5128Z7CTQNL._SL500_AA300_.jpg |
‘Part of The Blues documentary film series on PBS, Godfathers and Sons is directed by Marc Levin. This installment explores the Chicago blues, the influence of Chess Records, and the connection between blues and hip-hop. Revolutionary rap group Public Enemy notes the 1968 Muddy Waters album Electric Mud as a major influence on the development of their sound. Working closely with Chess Records heir Marshall Chess, along with Public Enemy’s Chuck D, Levin travels to Chicago to make a record with contemporary hip-hop artists and veteran blues musicians. Modern electric blues rockers Sam Lay, Magic Slim, and Koko Taylor provide performances and interviews. Includes archival footage of Bo Diddley, Howlin’ Wolf, and the Paul Butterfield Blues Band...’ – From MUBI
The last of the documentaries in The Blues series for me, which suffers from not feeling as detailed as the previous parts, probably not helped by the fact that some of the aspects or at least the blue musicians themselves were tangentially mentioned in the other feature length episodes. It also has pointless use of black-and-white footage in especially in scenes of people being interviewed in front of the camera which comes off trying too hard to be artistic when it is merely irritating. Nonetheless, the music chosen and talked about is still strong – personally I really want to get hold of the Electric Mud album, a critically panned combination of Muddy Waters and psychedelic rock, after hearing pieces in this – and you cannot have as charming and likeable individuals in front of the camera as as Marshall Chess and Chuck D from Public Enemy, who clearly did not know each other for a long time before the documentary but immediately bonded from just talking about one experimental blues album.
The Blues series itself is not the best of its type, somewhat tied down by the lack of experimentation in the presentation of the material and a reliance on the traditional documentary style – talking heads, very little camera movement in shots etc. – that shows off its television roots too much. Nonetheless, it is still a good introduction to blues music only marred by the painfully dull entry by Clint Eastwood called Piano Blues, where its slowness and leisured pace matched by Eastwood’s interviews with the likes of Ray Charles was suffocating. Beyond that episode, the others, for all their flaws, succeed in showing how good blues music can be, while the examples by Charles Burnett and Wim Wenders should be watched as good music documentaries by themselves as they not only experiment but clearly love this genre of music through how they present it.
Sirius Remembered (Stan Brakhage, 1959)
[WARNING – Do not watch this short video if the sight of a dead animal upsets you]
‘A film that was shot on early handheld 16mm technology, Sirius Remembered is a tribute to a man's pet dog. The film is a blurry and disorientating collaboration that was shot over a period of about six months. Once the dog died, the man put the carcass into the woods and came back periodically with his camera and filmed it in various stages of decomposition.’ – From IMDB User Comments
Recording the decay of the corpse of your family dog is not an objectionable act depending on what its purpose is as a film. The sight of a dead animal, even one that is usually kept as a pet, is a natural part of life; living near the countryside since I was born I have seen many dead animals in various states of decay around the area, a result of which means I do not find such sights shocking, excepting it as it is excluding the slight sadness at the sight. Brakhage (or anyone else) has the right to film said material, even more so if people object to it as distasteful (read the first review here for example), as it means it would show an ordinary aspect of life that is ignored and hidden from sight, just like other topics such as birth and autopsies which Brakhage himself has filmed. Of course there are ethical issues with this, such as filming the body of what would have been a close member of his family, but it should not be forgotten that regardless of the beliefs of the viewer, especially those who find any pain or injury to an animal upsetting, death cannot be avoided and one cannot try to hide from it even in video form. The problem with this short in particular however, and why it completely fails, is that this message or any purpose, even to shock, seems to be missing, which can be squarely blamed on the poor shooting of the footage and editing. While I have barely seen much of Brakhage’s work, what little I have has showed a considerable thought in pace and rhythm, whether it is the considered and slow depiction of his wife giving birth, blood and placenta et all, in Window Water Baby Moving (1962), or the abstract colours and shapes of the Dante Quartet (1987). With Sirius Remembered however this is not the case, shot with a jittery camcorder – like a student film as it has been criticised for – and is edited in, and I apologise for this description of this acclaimed director’s work but it is the fitting term, a cackhanded way that doesn’t allow one to take in what you have seen. If it was done with as much consideration almost the rest of his work I’ve seen, it could have been a good work, and even a fitting tribute to Sirius of the title. As it stands, it’s worth viewing for those interested in Stan Brakhage but not engaging and comfortable viewing.
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