12 Angry Men Review

Twelve men, one room, and the life of another hanging in the balance.

12 Angry Men is a triumph of a film released 58 years ago. Such a simple premise, watching a jury deliberation regarding a murder case, yet its power is unwavering, its performances superb. As the viewers of this Sidney Lumet masterpiece, we don't get to see any of the crime, as no flashbacks are shown to recreate what the men are discussing. We don't get to see any of the trial, because their words are plenty to provide us the details. What we get is a remarkably disciplined work that isn't really about the victim, the accused or the crime itself. 12 Angry Men is a character study about the different personalities inside that room, the prejudices they bring with them that can alter their perspective about the facts of a case, and the judicial system as a whole and the importance of reasonable doubt.

These men are merely faces and voices to each other, and to some the most important thing is getting the decision over with because their plans are awaiting after they are released from their duty. I have always been fascinated by the real world stories of crime and their aftermath, the trial, the evidence, the jury and analyzing the verdict they eventually reach. I have heard of real life trials in which a jury member will admit later that the fact that they just wanted to go home played a role in swaying their decision, and I was always amazed and disgusted by this thought. I know, it's easy for me to judge as I am enjoying the comforts that are afforded with not being in their shoes, but I would like to think I would be able to take a step back and look at the big picture. This is justice for a life lost. This is how the accused will spend every single day of the rest of their life, whether they will be permanently labeled as guilty or innocent. This is potentially bringing a sense of closure to those who lost someone they loved, or possibly providing the opportunity to continue their search for who really destroyed their world so they can see the right person be punished. 

It is a flawed system, the jury system, because man is fallible and the wrong decision can be reached, but it is also an important one as well. 12 men sitting around a table, and 11 of them are ready to vote a man to his death so they can go home, get some fresh air, perhaps catch a ball game. Only one voice was willing to speak out and bring up some doubts, a voice that could have easily caved and conformed to those around him to make everyone happy, but with that vote a man dies. Can something of that magnitude really be so simple?

5/5

Au Hasard Balthazar Review

It's one thing to create something masterful and compelling from material that feels designed to entertain an audience, and I don't begrudge any filmmaker from doing it. I love the feeling when I read a premise and I can literally feel the excitement building inside me with each word, and by the time I am done reading even just a brief synopsis I am ready to hand over my money for a ticket instantly even if the release date is still years away. 

It's just as fascinating to go backwards in time though, to explore cinema released decades before I was even born. These pictures were often times landmarks of the medium before I even took my first steps, and though I may be seeing the work through fresh eyes it still feels different, like I am under pressure and scrutiny to comprehend why the movies are so highly regarded and agree with the consensus. Instead of a feeling of wonder when considering what the future may hold, it's like I am invited into the past and the best I can ever hope for is to find the same magic so many others saw back then and continue to see today.

On paper, I didn't exactly find Au Hasard Balthazar interesting. The film follows the existence of a donkey, from the moment it enters the world until the final heartbreaking breaths of life it takes before death. If I were to recommend this movie to others based solely on that sentence, pretty much everyone would roll their eyes at me and disregard it and yet this is arguably the crowning achievement from the master filmmaker Robert Bresson and considered by many to be one of the greatest films of all time. 

After witnessing it myself, I wouldn't rank it as my favorite Bresson, nor would I consider it among the absolute best that cinema has to offer, but I also wouldn't argue against it either. Au Hasard Balthazar is a powerful film bursting with so much depth and nuance that I know for a fact I didn't even come close to understanding everything I saw. What I am certain of is that Bresson is drawing a clear parallel here between Balthazar, the donkey, and his first owner, a girl named Marie. Both are subjected to cruelty, passed along from person to person who harm them physically and emotionally despite being peaceful and gentle themselves. One sequence specifically goes directly from Balthazar's new owner literally taking food away from him in the midst of his meal to the very same man attempting to stop Marie from eating despite the fact that she is clearly quite hungry. 

Au Hasard Balthazar doesn't quite reach the glorious heights of the first Bresson I ever saw, the absolutely sublime example of minimalism executed to perfection known as A Man Escaped, but it comes close. Very, very close. 

4.5/5

Red Desert Review

The smog fills the air, the opening frames of the film Red Desert introducing us to a setting that is far from aesthetically pleasing. Gloomy is a word that doesn't even do these landscapes and skyline justice. Director Michelangelo Antonioni brings us right into an ugly, colorless world where even the people match the ground they walk in, muted by tones of grey.

Suddenly a vibrancy enters the frame and it is impossible to not notice. Her red hair flares with intensity despite not really being all that bright because an image so stark explodes with even the slightest infusion of color. The contract between that red and the green coat she is wearing feels out of place in such a drab and polluted land. She walks side by side with a child and she approaches a man holding food. She appears desperate and hungry, perhaps an indication that the subject matter of Red Desert will revolve around the impoverished, except she offers to pay for the sandwich despite it being already half-eaten. Something isn't quite right here.

I discovered after watching this film that it was the first time Antonioni utilized color in a picture, and boy is utilized an appropriate word. The entire thing is stunning, as pastel colors that normally would seem inconsequential in a typical film pop here in a way that actually feels a bit uneasy. It is clear that this is intentional rather than accidental, that the backdrop of grey buildings and white smoke and a rolling fog only serve as a canvas in order to make the reds and blues grab out attention. Perhaps we are seeing the world the way Giuliana (Monica Vitti) sees it, as it is made clear early by her husband that ever since a recent auto accident, her mind has not been quite right. 

While the colors of various set pieces do draw our attention and speak quite loudly on their own, the fact that the lead actress Monica Vitti is strikingly beautiful doesn't do Antonioni a disservice either. For every reason imaginable it is impossible to look away from this strange yet wonderful film, a movie that looks to dazzle all of the audiences senses rather than merely entertain on a narrative level. The sizzle of a room painted entirely the same unsettling tone of red. The way Antonioni uses sound in various scenes like when inside the factory near the start of the film or as the characters occupy a tiny dwelling right next to a river with a ship docking right outside. The mesmerizing eyes of Giuliana throughout the entire experience. Red Desert is appealing and yet off-putting. It is both beautiful and ugly. It is sexy and surreal.

Some films end and whether I love them or loathe them, I move on quickly and don't really look back. Perhaps I will revisit them someday or perhaps I will never give it another thought. I could dive right back into Red Desert tomorrow. Despite being locked in from start to finish, I know I didn't truly see everything that Antonioni wanted to convey with this film. I am fascinated by both what I know and also how much more there must be to uncover.

I love all different types of movies, but my passion for cinema resides somewhere in the same realm that created a film like Red Desert. Much like consuming food, every day I enjoy what I eat and I am left satisfied, but every so often a meal can be so much more. Red Desert has flavors to it that danced across my taste buds in a way that I would not only remember for some time, I would want to go back to that restaurant every single day if I could. 

Red Desert is absolutely delicious.

5/5

City Lights Review

The fictionalized events of the Best Picture winning 2011 film The Artist were a reality faced by Charlie Chaplin when he began production on his timeless classic City Lights. The world of silent cinema was at a crossroads as the public began to embrace the magic of sound and Chaplin had to make a decision: move away from the style that made him one of the biggest stars of motion pictures or continue on, seemingly a step behind the progression of the medium. 

Chaplin continued on and released City Lights the way he had originally intended, and it is not only considered by many to be his finest personal achievement, it is one of the highest regarded pictures in history. Safe to say he made the right choice.

Chaplin portrays his iconic Tramp and he falls in love with a blind girl who dreams of being able to afford a medical procedure that may return her sight. The romance is touching and truly beautiful. The comedy is top notch as usual, as Chaplin always finds a way to make me laugh and fill me with joy, and the final sequence of the picture resonates so deeply it is impossible to forget. 

While Modern Times continues to be Chaplin's masterpiece, City Lights is just a slight notch beneath it. An amazing film that the world still flocked to see despite the world of cinema leaving that era behind, and what a treasure to know City Lights was close to never existing. Thank goodness it does.

4.5/5

Andrei Rublev Review

People always say "You can do anything you set your mind to", but is that really accurate? Could I have pursued a multitude of professions when I was growing up and determining a path for my education? Certainly. Could I have worked harder, maintained a stronger focus on my goals and been at the top of my class? Sure. It is amazing what a person can achieve when they know what they have to do to get to where they want to be.

Yet I still don't truly believe the word "anything" belongs in that first quote. Some people can work night and day and become great, but it takes more than that to be a genius of a craft. I was pretty good at basketball growing up, but no matter how hard I practiced, no matter how many shots I took, I was never going to be Michael Jordan. I also had a pretty strong knack for golf. At one point I was even the Captain of my high school team, but no matter how many rounds I played, I was never going to be Tiger Woods.

I bring this up because some films take me to a place that resides far beyond words like admiration or fondness or even love. Sometimes I will watch a work and my first reaction is one of jealousy because I think to myself, "Why couldn't I be capable of making something like this?". I was born in April, the year 1984 and by the time I took my first breathe I honestly believe it had already been decided: I was never going to be Andrei Tarkovsky. Only a few men in the history of cinema even play in the same league. Some people are just born with a gift that is hard to comprehend.

There is a level of brilliance on display during every minute of the epic picture Andrei Rublev that is difficult to even put into words, and there are a lot of minutes to analyze along the way. Clocking in at well over 3 hours in length, deciding to sit down and devote not only your time but also the mental energy it takes to devour such a movie can be daunting. Trust me though, it is worth it. 

Despite the fact that obviously we are not watching real footage from 600 years ago, Tarkovsky manages to create some authenticity with a sometimes crude and dated look to the film, but this isn't a flaw, it is actually quite stunning. Typically when I see a period piece taking place during a similar time, I can't help but see it as a Hollywood picture attempting to capture a realism that is impossible to create. Tarkovsky somehow transports us back to an era long before a camera could even be there to film. Everything seems to be lit naturally, something that is especially noticeable during sequences taking place indoors, when a face is shrouded in shadows only to be illuminated by the flicker of light from a candle. No matter how dull and dour and grey and cold the image appears to be on screen, it is consistently beautiful to look at.

The screenplay, written by Tarkovsky and his co-writer Andrei Konchalovsky, took more than two years to put together and the time and effort is not lost on me as I witnessed this epic masterpiece unfold. Every word feels perfect and they are all delivered by an expansive and flawlessly assembled cast of unknown actors. As an audience, we may not literally see all of the work that goes into the entire craft of a film but often times we can feel it. Modern day studios try to churn out films and their sequels year after year, and you can sometimes sense that they were rushed. The focus was on box office receipts rather than art. Andrei Rublev is the antithesis of this mentality. You can practically soak in the amount of passion that went into every single frame.

I was once asked why I would root for Tiger Woods at a time when he was winning practically every tournament he played in. "I love to watch greatness at its absolute best.", I responded. 

That's exactly how I felt as I experienced Andrei Rublev. 

5/5

The Circus Review

Here I go again, expressing more fascination and admiration for the life and career of the great Charlie Chaplin. I recently decided to take my first journey with him to The Circus, a setting that certainly could play to the comedic strengths of The Tramp and his brilliant handle of what was needed to make slapstick funny. It did just that, as all the usual laughs were present and accounted for and on a purely entertainment level, Chaplin did not disappoint yet again.

What is remarkable is what Chaplin went through off screen while The Circus was in production, proving that once the camera started rolling, he could flip the switch and transition from a painful existence to a charmed fiction with ease. All while this one film was being made, the man behind the character had to deal with the death of his mother, a bitter divorce from his second wife and the IRS coming after him for unpaid back taxes.

Despite all of this, The Circus is an absolute joy of a silent film which is something I say often about the work of Chaplin. The utilization of amazing set pieces and his ability to entertain so naturally work together in harmony throughout, and my love for Chaplin continues to grow.

4.5/5

The Kid Review

"A picture with a smile -- and perhaps, a tear."

The more I learn about the real Charlie Chaplin and just how complicated life was for the man behind the Tramp persona, the more I respect his work as an artist. His father, Charles Chaplin Sr., left the family when Charlie was merely a year of age. His mother, Hannah, had a complete mental breakdown only a handful of years later and Charlie was sent to live in the Hanwell School for Orphans and Destitute Children. 

Feeling abandoned at such a young age took its toll on Charlie, and thus his 1921 film The Kid is far more intimate and meaningful than it might seem on the surface. Sure, it resonates emotionally regardless because of the touching on screen relationship between The Tramp and the young child (played by Jackie Coogan), but think of what this role must have meant in a deep and profound way to Charlie. A story about rescuing and taking in an abandoned child, with a much happier resolution than what he experienced.

The story, though, is not without its fair share of heartache, on screen and also behind the scenes. The narrative of the film finds ways to tug at the strings of your heart, but the tears really fall when you discover that in real life Charlie lost his infant son only days before production began on the movie. Days before he was embracing a young Jackie Coogan on screen, holding him so tight you could tell he never wanted to let go, his actual son passed away. So while as expected The Kid is filled with all sorts of perfectly executed slapstick comedy, the type of material that made Chaplin a star, those dramatic scenes that expertly balance the laughs with the tears were not just the product of fictional storytelling. This wasn't just acting. 

The Kid is painfully autobiographical and as a result, it is timeless.

4.5/5

Kanal Review

Often times you can get a general idea of the type of film you are about to journey through from the tone of the opening credits, and thus it was clear that Kanal was going to be a pretty gloomy beast to deal with when the first thing we see are overhead shots of destruction and devastation, clearly the result of some sort of combat. What we are witnessing is Warsaw, Poland towards the end of World War II, at a time when the strength of the Polish army is diminishing rapidly as they attempt to fight off the Germans. 

During the first act I was concerned that I was falling victim to a feeling of war film fatigue, because frankly after seeing so many different versions of cinematic combat I have grown weary of battle sequences unless they have something completely unique to deliver. However, I knew I was in for something different, something fascinating, something special when a group of soldiers with no where else to turn decide their last and only hope is to crawl down into the sewer system beneath the city and search for a way out.

The already cramped tunnels feel all the more cramped because director Andrzej Wajda utilizes space as a vital way to create an ominous atmosphere, zooming in tight on his subjects to make us feel just as claustrophobic and desperate as the soldiers feel. The way the sewer is lit makes their shadows dance across the walls in haunting fashion. On a technical level, Kanal is impeccably crafted.

This is an eerie film that balances an intense feeling of realism with moments of flat out unsettling surrealism, like a nightmare that you wake up from and you aren't quite sure if it really happened or not. Despite being nearly 60 years old, Kanal not only doesn't feel hampered down by genre fatigue, it transcended any preconceived notion I had and managed to feel fresh and memorable.

4.5/5

Closely Watched Trains Review

I have this on again, off again relationship with expectations, and the inconsistency is frustrating. At times I enter a cinematic experience with the perfect, measured mindset and it pays off in spades when I walk away from the film feeling far more impressed than I assumed I would. If I wasn't aware of the genre of the work or the general tone of its narrative, I would watch with a totally open mind and be willing to adapt to whatever is thrown my way.

Then we have the opposite side of that coin, when I saunter into the room and expect nothing less than a total masterpiece despite not knowing a thing about the film, which is really strange when you think about it. Why do I assume this? Simply because it resides in the Criterion collection and has a cover image that screams "I'M BRILLIANT!"? Also based on the sliver of knowledge I have, I am anticipating something either darkly dramatic or cleverly comical and I only want a constant stream of one or another in that moment. 

I have had Closely Watched Trains queued up in my Hulu account for some time now and whenever I scrolled past it as an option, somewhere in my subconscious I assumed it was the type of film that would hammer its fists into my soul, a work of intense power and emotional resonance. Finally last night the mood felt just right for such a movie and I knew it was time. The problem is, Closely Watched Trains was NOTHING like I anticipated it to be.

An antiwar film that is far more of a dry comedy than a dramatic punch to the gut, the setting is Czechoslovakia during the German occupation and the focus is centered around a young man named Milos who takes a job at a local train station, a signalman position that the community believes to be the traditional occupation of his family members to essentially avoid having to do hard work. 

I literally has to pause the film after a little bit to take a break, one of the mental variety in order to remind myself that the weird feeling of disappointment I already had hanging over the entire experience was not the fault of the film or its tone, but rather it was mine for allowing falsely created expectations to make or break a piece of cinema deemed important by many others. So with a clear mind and fresh perspective, I sat back down knowing what I was getting into this time and started it over from the beginning, and you know what? Closely Watched Trains is a pretty damn good film.

Still, being honest, the concept of using the struggle of young Milos with sexual impotence as a bigger picture political allegory didn't quite click with me, but I was thrilled that the entire picture didn't tumble down a path of silly absurdity but rather it hit some pretty intense, dramatic moments with force to keep my mind invested in the story. Also, while the tone at times felt off to me and the primary metaphor of Closely Watched Trains may have slightly missed the mark when viewed through my personal lens, I can't help but admire the fact that director Jiri Menzel tried and for many succeeded. It was a bold and fascinating move, to tie the way an entire country feels when being occupied by an enemy to a young man lacking the ability to achieve sexual satisfaction.

A good film that fell short of greatness, but I'm still proud of myself of recognizing my mistake and starting the film over with a more measured mentality. In the past I would have struggled with the work in one sitting and blamed the film for being silly, when in reality it was my own lack of experience with the Czech New Wave movement that plagued me well before I even pressed play.

3.5/5

The Music Room Review

Satyajit Ray is one of those names that has always been somehow both on and off my radar simultaneously despite his status as cinematic royalty. When I heard his name, various titles of his films would immediately pop into my head, yet I had never pulled the trigger on actually sitting down and enjoying one. The time has finally come when I changed that and The Music Room seemed like a fine place to start.

Exquisitely crafted from start to finish, even with the small sample size of his career achievements I instantly could tell why the work of Ray continues to be so highly regarded to this day. The Music Room tells the story of Biswambhar Roy (Chhabi Biswas), a man who leads a lavish lifestyle and he enjoys every bit of it, using the music room in his home to bring people in and inflate his already massive ego. As the culture in India begins to change, Roy is unwilling to adapt and continues to spend his dwindling fortune on this one room, a fleeting attempt to maintain relevance and power while the world around him moves in a different direction.

Unfortunately while much of the film had me completely invested in the world created by Ray, I would at times lose focus when music was being performed, as I expected these to be only brief sequences inside a picture only roughly 90 minutes in length. They were far from brief, lingering on and on and my mind would drift away. However, The Music Room would earn my attention right back in a hurry as what would follow would be perfectly acted, gorgeously shot cinema.

For a long time I kept Satyajit Ray on the outskirts, refusing to let him in. Opening the doors to The Music Room was a wise decision.

4/5

Picnic at Hanging Rock Review

I used to always seek out as much information about a film before seeing it, under the mindset that prior knowledge would lead to a better comprehension during the experience and thus a more rewarding one.

Lately I have been doing the opposite, knowing nothing but the title at the moment I pressed play and I gotta tell you, comprehension is overrated. I could get used to this.

Picnic at Hanging Rock, a film from 1975 by director Peter Weir, is one that seems to defy any hope of comprehension upon a debut viewing. If you were able to watch this only once and claim to know exactly what was happening at all times, claim to have a complete understand of its thematic significance, I actually don't envy you, I feel sorry for you. The befuddled feeling I had as the story moved towards its conclusion was oddly exciting and instead of feeling like I had completed a journey when it finished, ironically I know I have only just begun.

The year is 1900 and on Valentine's Day, a group of female students and their teachers decide to go on a picnic at a location known as Hanging Rock, but not everyone returns back to the school when some of the girls and a teacher of theirs seem to completely vanish and no one knows how or why. The film almost feels like a dream, a surreal experience that is difficult to put into words, a lyrical and brilliantly crafted picture that almost certainly will get better with age and revisits. 

One part horror, another part mystery, an alluring mysticism and seemingly a whole lot of sexual repression. The recipe that created Picnic at Hanging Rock.

4/5

Cronos Review

Back in 1993, long before he took us on a mystical journey through Pan's Labyrinth, introduced a wider audience to the world of Hellboy or brought his vision of massive Jaeger vs. Kaiju battles to the big screen in Pacific Rim, Guillermo del Toro released his debut feature film Cronos, a wonderfully unique take on a vampire tale, and thank goodness for that unique factor because honestly, I'm just about vampire'd out at this point.

My relationship with the sub-genre was tedious at best to begin with, and with the popularity that was ushered in from the True Blood series and Twilight franchise I had officially pushed anything involving a vampire off to the side into a category called "Not Interested". Last year Jim Jarmusch and his wonderfully deadpan comedic stylings brought the solid film Only Lovers Left Alive to the table and I appreciated its very interesting take on just how boring it could be to live forever, but rather than a potential revival of my interests it felt like an anomaly.

Thus I knew it may be a challenge to approach Cronos with an open mind, but I reminded myself of two things: Guillermo del Toro has earned enough of my admiration to be worthy of my trust that if anyone could make me entertained by vampires again, it would be him, and that this is a film released over 20 years ago, not just another lazy effort to catch on to a fad before it is exhausted from overkill.

GDT delivered. Cronos is a clever, entertaining gem.

The film tells the story of a man named Jesús Cris, an antiques dealer who happens to find a device inside an old wooden statue of an archangel. Jesús somehow accidentally activates this object and it grabs hold of his hand, doing all sorts of damage by the time he is free of it. Soon after the cravings begin, beginning a transformation for Jesús from a mortal man to a blood thirsty vampire.

I found it interesting to see del Toro making a little girl a central character of the film, much like in his crowning cinematic achievement Pan's Labyrinth. He has publicly mentioned his deep love for the masterpiece The Spirit of the Beehive by Victor Erice and I could feel the influences here again, this time in the shape of Jesús' granddaughter Aurora. Her presence adds an important component to the story, that piece of emotional attached Jesús still has to the mortal world, and his continuing desire to protect her despite his transformation keeps his character feeling rather human despite the fact that his physical appearance indicates otherwise.

As a directorial debut from Guillermo del Toro, Cronos is a pretty great work, a film that really makes you wonder if immortality is all it's cracked up to be.  

4/5

Ariel Review

I knew absolutely nothing about the film Ariel or the director behind it, Aki Kaurismaki, except for a quick synopsis of the plot, which when taken on face value reads pretty dark and dramatic. First a man has to deal with the suicide of his father, and then he is framed for a crime he didn't commit. I figured I was sitting down to a world of somber situations, single tears and deep, meaningful reflections on what it truly means to be free.

Somber, yes, but in a strangely lifeless, realistic, somewhat humorous way. The tone of the film really caught me off guard, as I expected a cold atmosphere but one that was dripping in emotional resonance. Ariel is just cold, and part of my problem is that rather than adapting to what I was seeing and appreciating it for what it is, I ended up feeling just as apathetic as the characters depicted and the story being portrayed. 

I admire the fact that this is obviously a well made film, and I am sure there is some depth to be extracted in the future with a clear mind and a different perspective, but for now the whole thing felt like a tightrope walk between intriguingly different and flat out boring. The good news is, while I wobbled frequently, I made it through without falling off thanks to the craft of talented people and a strange curiosity of what would happen next. 

Now what I know what to expect, I'm sure a revisit or a journey through the other work of Kaurismaki would prove to be more rewarding.

3/5

The Trial of Joan of Arc Review

Normally I enter the experience of viewing a Robert Bresson film brimming with optimism, but the odds were stacked against The Trial of Joan of Arc before I even pressed play. By all accounts I was sitting down for a special, beautifully crafted film, which should come as no surprise considering the previous work I had seen by Bresson, yet I still had an impossible, comparable standard to reflect on throughout the movie. Fair or not, when the subject matter of one of the greatest cinematic achievements in history is revisited at a later date, it is going to get scrutinized under a much more powerful microscope. 

The Passion of Joan of Arc by Carl Theodor Dreyer tells the story of the trial and execution of Jeanne d'Arc without using a single word, and its haunting power is almost literally overwhelming. When it comes to my top five films of all time, it is typically difficult to find a work worthy of pushing their way into consideration yet the film by Dreyer had me questioning whether it was possible the single greatest movie ever made before it had even ended. So yeah, you can understand why a different approach at telling the story filmed decades later would be challenging to critique based on its own merits rather than constantly harping on its shortcomings in comparison.

Released in 1962, The Trial of Joan of Arc is undoubtedly an excellent film and had it been my first journey through this story I would likely be raving about it, but it simply does not have the power of the Dreyer effort. I could go through everything Bresson does right here and it would take forever to tackle all of the different aspects, yet a much more simple way to put it is this: in 1928 this story was told and it devastated me, with the last act viewed through wet, reddened eyes. Here, everything I appreciate about the craftsmanship of cinema was tickled and delighted, yet I felt no raw, stomach churning power, my soul not shaken in the slightest.

This review sounds unfortunately negative, which sucks because The Trial of Joan of Arc doesn't deserve it. It truly is a remarkable film. At the end of the day though, if I want to revisit this story again in the future (and I certainly will), I won't feel inclined to turn to the Bresson effort ever again.

4/5

Vampyr Review

My only previous experience with filmmaker Carl Theodor Dreyer came when I witnessed the miracle known as The Passion of Joan of Arc a little over a year ago, which after a revisit has safely found a spot in my five favorite films of all time. Vampyr is certainly not lacking in terms of craft, as it is a remarkably well realized film and the atmosphere achieved is actually enhanced by the fact that it was released in 1932. It's hard to explain, but something about the authenticity of its age rather than just a modern work re-created to feel old makes this horror classic all the more surreal, and thus it is impossible to not feel that creepy tingle down your spine throughout.

Despite the fact that the film itself really did nothing wrong, I can't help but feel a bit of disappointment after watching my second Dreyer work, and the truth is it's my fault. The word gets tossed around a lot and thus it may have lost some of its impact, but The Passion of Joan of Arc is a masterpiece in every sense of the word. It is pitch perfect, emotionally exhausting, powerful cinema. When I watched it, I had tears in my eyes and I wasn't even sure why. It's just so damn beautiful. Vampyr was everything I could have expected in terms of style and Dreyer was clearly a visionary behind the camera, but a deeper connection is missing. 

A step down for Carl Theodor Dreyer, yet still a finer achievement than a vast majority of films in the horror genre. Late at night in a pitch black room, the flicker of haunting imagery filmed over 80 years ago made my skin crawl and my eyes play tricks on me, as if shadows cast across the walls were something far more sinister. If you were thinking about paying money to rent some terrible bullshit like Annabelle, put the remote down and give Vampyr a look instead.

4/5

Ivan's Childhood Review

Ivan's Childhood is a film that portrays the horrifying nature of war better than most, yet very little actual combat is shown. Personally, I don't need a constant stream of bodies collapsing to the ground, missing limbs and barely breathing soldiers desperately trying to cover wounds to remind me of just how destructive mass violence and chaos can be on humanity. Andrei Tarkovsky centered this film around a 12 year old boy named Ivan, a child seemingly adopted by the military after he is orphaned as a result of war. We see these men handle him both as the child he is, with kid gloves so to speak, but also with the respect a fellow soldier would deserve as he serves as a spy for their side.

The life of a child, ravaged by war. We see the morose landscapes that he currently occupies, but we also experience both his memories and his dreams, beaches soaked in sunlight rather than the devastation of a region under attack. An adolescence destroyed for reasons far beyond his control, forcing a boy to become a man at an age far too young. 

Often times after someone sees a film, a common question they are asked is "Who was your favorite character?". In Ivan's Childhood, my favorite character might be Tarkovsky himself and the way he framed his subjects. Another possibility is director of photography Vadim Yusov and the absolutely brilliant way he used lighting as it poured in from one spot through an otherwise bleak location, like a ray of hope shining through the surrounding misery. Despite being filmed over 50 years ago, this is a gorgeous piece of cinema, one that seems to have aged like a fine wine. 

As I have previously experienced a few other Tarkovsky pictures, it was interesting to go back and start from the beginning, witness the way he introduced himself to the world as a filmmaker. 

What a remarkable introduction.

4.5/5

Walkabout Review

I often talk about how I cherish the rare and unique opportunity to experience a film through pure, unbiased eyes, having never seen a trailer or a clip, with no knowledge of even a basic premise to get me started before sitting down and pressing play. Such was my approach to the 1971 Australian movie Walkabout, as I literally only knew the name of the director and the fact that it was deemed worthy of inclusion to the Criterion collection.

I wanted Nicolas Roeg to tell me a story, to paint something extraordinary with his highly regarded brush that, despite his expansive filmography, I had never witnessed in action before.

Mission accomplished.

The film starts with various shots of crowded, typical cityscapes, yet what gives these moments a unique flavor is the usage of didgeridoo music to accompany them, an odd blend of the chaotic and routine with an instrument developed by Indigenous Australians a long, long time ago. It didn't take long for me to recognize that I was not in for a traditional, run of the mill piece of cinema. Suddenly we find ourselves in a very different setting, the Australian Outback, with a Father (John Meillon) and his two children, a teenage daughter (Jenny Agutter) and much younger son (Luc Roeg). They seem normal. Everything seems relatively normal, but I couldn't help but wonder, why were they choosing to park their car here? Was this a spot they enjoyed for a bit of peace, a serene escape from that hectic, urban life?

Seemingly without rhyme or reason and with no warning, the Father pulls out a gun and begins shooting at his children, who effectively hide from the bullets. He lights their car on fire and kills himself, stranding his children in the middle of nowhere. My jaw hit the floor, and this all occurs within the first 10-15 minutes.

Welcome to Nicolas Roeg's Walkabout.

Things quickly seem hopeless for them as they try to survive on their own, having obviously not prepared in any way for this journey. Even when they are lucky enough to find water and a place to rest, by the time they wake the next morning the world that surrounds them is back to being dry and desolate. I was watching Walkabout on my beautiful television in my living room, bottle of water in hand, yet even I was feeling the effects of the powerful sun and the seemingly never-ending vastness of the region. To face a certain death at such an age because of the actions of their father, actions that will never be properly explained nor understood by such young minds, it's a haunting and troubling thought.

In the distance they see a figure, the outline of a an Aboriginal Australian boy (David Gulpilil) currently in the midst of his "walkabout", a ritualistic experience that transitions them from a boy into a man as they are expected to fend for themselves for months utilizing the skills they have learned and are needed to survive. Thus begins a walkabout of sorts for all three of them, as during their journey the two young people who are used to city life experience something profound that isn't spelled out by Roeg, but we can see it, we can feel it even if it's difficult to put a finger on what we are seeing and what we are feeling. Even if they survive, will their previous normalcy ever feel normal again?

For a brief period of time during Walkabout, I was trying too hard to analyze exactly what Roeg wanted me to extract from his narrative until I literally told my mind to stop. Searching for the "right" answers, some universal truth placed inside such a fascinating and unique story seemed to fly directly in the face of what Roeg was actually trying to accomplish here. Once I simply opened my mind to the experience and let it flow naturally, I felt like I was going on a walkabout right along with the characters. Early on in the film I saw the setting as desolate and hopeless, but with each passing minute the landscapes, or at least my perception of them changed. Now I felt calm, open, and free, and the fact that I watched this alone in a quiet, pitch black room really allowed me to soak up the world these characters traveled through, a world far different from mine.

The moments that have really stuck with me since viewing this film are those in which Roeg does some really fascinating work intercutting scenes of life in the wild with imagery "civilized" people find typical and normal. The Aboriginal boy is seen killing a kangaroo with his spear, and it feels barbaric and heartbreaking and wrong, watching this helpless animal die in such a brutal fashion, but Roeg cuts away repeatedly to show a butcher routinely cutting meat. As I watched this scene unfold, I wondered why I found the actual death of the animal so devastating and yet felt nothing watching the meat of a creature be turned into serving sizes for the dinner table. If anything it should be the opposite, in the wild such an action is literally necessary to survive, and while the death of anything should be mourned, the fact that the life of one creature assisted in the health of another should be celebrated. It is a natural function of the ecosystem, where as walking into a butcher shop to purchase animal meat by the pound when you are not going hungry, when you are surrounded by other options to nourish your body, something about that felt completely unnatural and unsettling the more Walkabout washed over me.

Walkabout begins and ends in strikingly similar and yet very different ways. I have spent a lot of mental energy trying to piece together why the father did what he did during the first act of the film, and I can't make any sense of it. I have spent an equal amount of brain power on the fate met by another character in the film during the last act, trying to understand the motivation behind it, but I continue to come up empty. This might sound frustrating, but actually I admire the hell out of a movie that resonates strongly enough to not only make me work after it's over, but more importantly makes me want to work days later. I still can't pretend to be familiar with the body of work Nicolas Roeg assembled, but it's obvious he has no intentions of spoon feeding answers and peeling back the thematic layers for the audience.

Walkabout is a rich and somewhat surreal cinematic experience, one that I can't stop replaying in my mind. In a literal sense I have never stepped foot anywhere near the Australian Outback, as it's on the other side of the world from the place I call home. Despite this, I not only feel as if I was there recently, I can't shake the notion that I still haven't left.


4.5/5

Stagecoach Review

While simply viewing the film Stagecoach by John Ford is plenty to recognize that it is a work worthy of recognition, doing so for the first time in 2014 when I was raised on films like Unforgiven and The Searchers makes it harder to truly appreciate what makes it so special. It reminds me actually of a conversation I had recently with a friend regarding The Matrix, with his wife seeing it for the first time just a few weeks ago and she liked it but was underwhelmed, immediately bringing up other films that she could compare it to from recent years. In 1999 when I saw The Matrix on the big screen, it nearly literally blew my mind. I had never seen anything like it, and I carry that nostalgic power with me which allows that love I feel for it to never diminish. I will always remember it as a film that felt game changing and innovative at the time I was introduced to it, but to someone seeing it for the first time now? It's cool, but not as cool as (insert title here).

Released in 1939, Stagecoach was a game changing work that revolutionized the western genre, which at the time was considered to be B level when it was at its best. It continues to be admired today and in 1995 it was deemed to be "historically significant" by the United States Library of Congress and selected for preservation in the National Film Registry. The plot revolves around a group of strangers riding a stagecoach through Apache territory, and along the way they encounter a character known as the Ringo Kid, played by the legendary John Wayne and this would absolutely prove to be his breakthrough performance that would pave the way for the remainder of his career. Seriously, if you haven't seen Stagecoach yet, even if you don't care for John Wayne, even if you don't care for the western genre as a whole, you need to admire the brilliance of the way they pull off Wayne's entrance into this film. It is beyond epic.

Overall, I admire Stagecoach for being the wonderfully made film that it is and for keeping me entertained throughout every moment of its running time, but I can't say I was bowled over by the experience and felt I was watching a landmark of cinema.

It's worth it to note that I have never been bowled over by a western on my first viewing. Perhaps it is just a genre that takes time for me to warm up to. Next time around, I may be singing a slightly sweeter tune in regards to Stagecoach, but for now simply knowing it is a great film is good enough for me.


4/5

Wild Strawberries Review

If you aren't familiar with the work of filmmaker Ingmar Bergman, this review may not make a lot of sense. Hell, if you are familiar with his work this review may not make a lot of sense. Wild Strawberries is only my third Bergman, so I am not exactly an expert on the man and his style, but my limited history has taught me that I have a lot of trouble finding the words to describe how I am feeling after a film of his.

My other two Bergman experiences were probably two of the more popular and predictable, The Seventh Seal and Persona, and both were the type of films that would keep me up that night, although if asked why I wouldn't really be able to explain it. The man creates these worlds that are both abstract and yet real and familiar, like I am constantly walking a tightrope between realism and a chilling nightmare. It is an enlightening tightrope to navigate, although I usually need an Advil and a willingness to accept some extra fatigue the next day.

Wild Strawberries is easily the most accessible film I have seen thus far by Bergman, and perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, it has instantly become my favorite of the three. That isn't a knock on The Seventh Seal or Persona, those are both wonderfully crafted works, but those left me wondering exactly how I felt for some time after they were over. I know exactly how I feel about Wild Strawberries, a life affirming joyous film that, for me given my brief Bergman history, is surprisingly optimistic. The plot revolves around a grumpy 78 year old professor named Isak Borg and the long car ride he must take from Stockholm to Lund in order to receive the degree of Doctor Jubilaris as recognition for his 50 years since he had received his doctorate. Traveling with him on this journey is his daughter-in-law Marianne whom is pregnant with a baby causing marital conflict, and her relationship with her father-in-law Isak is tense to say the least.

Borg goes on both a literal journey and also one internally, a quest for comfort and peace as he deals with his troubled past and reevaluates his life as a whole. I found myself to be highly emotionally invested in what was taking place on the screen with these characters, which is something I cannot say for the other two Bergman films. With those I admired absolutely every aspect of the film except I lacked that deep, personal connection that lifts a great film to one I would refer to as a favorite. Wild Strawberries has that missing piece. Wild Strawberries is instantly a favorite.


5/5

The Spirit of the Beehive Review

As a child, seeing a film was the spark that lit my imagination on fire, from my first journey through a galaxy far, far away to the nights I couldn't sleep because a xenomorph might be lurking in the darkness. In The Spirit of the Beehive, a traveling cinema brings Frankenstein to a small Spanish village and people of all ages line their chairs up in excitement to catch a glimpse of the picture. Included in this group are two sisters, six year old Ana and the elder Isabel, and Ana is fascinated by the film, in particular a specific scene in which the monster plays with a little girl only to accidentally kill her.

The father of the family, Fernando, spends his time focusing on his beehives, while their mother writes letters to a former lover, dreaming of a different life. While these characters remain a family unit, at no point during the film do we see all of them together at the same time. The unrest exists both in and outside of their home, as their country recently had experienced civil war, and Ana turns to her imagination and the monster that lives inside it for comfort.

The debut feature film by director Victor Erice, The Spirit of the Beehive is at times perplexing if trying to make sense of all the symbolism that is clearly oozing out of every pore. I found myself falling in love with it when I let my mind go and simply embraced the passion that obviously drove the creation of the work. The set pieces are never glamorous or exciting, but they are beautiful in their authenticity. The doors of the family home feature a pattern of hexagon shapes, as if they are living inside a beehive when the yellow glow of the sun pours through them, the color flowing in like honey.

With each word I type in regards to this dazzling film, I find myself realizing just how much I adored living inside the world crafted by Erice for a mere 98 minutes. My only complaint regarding The Spirit of the Beehive is in actuality a compliment: I wanted more. Just as I was realizing the power of the imagery and the magical nature of each frame, the screen went black and the story was over. Perhaps that is the beauty of what was achieved here though, the tiny fraction of my mind that is left unsatisfied with the end of the journey will be what drives me to go back and revisit this masterpiece.


5/5