A LOT OF THE MOVIES I SAW SINCE THE LAST TIME I UPDATED THE WEBSITE
Plus a few more I threw in because I felt like it
(aka REVIEWS IN A HURRY FOR SUMMER 2006)
The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928, 114 min, NR) **** - Directed & written by Carl Theodor Dreyer, from the book by Joseph Delteil, starring Maria Falconetti and Antonin Artaud.
Vampyr (1932, 75 min, NR) **** - Directed & co-written by Carl Theodor Dreyer, starring Julian West, Maurice Schutz, and Jan Hieronimko.
My eternal quest to see every great or important movie ever made makes me realize that I posted my Top 111 Movies of All Time a few months too early; I’ve recently seen at least three movies that I wish I could have included. First up: and now I know how Joan of Arc felt. Carl Theodor Dreyer’s wrenching The Passion of Joan of Arc (****) is undoubtedly one of the best movies ever made. In a masterful defiance of so many film conventions, Dreyer tells St. Joan’s final hours in a maze of close-ups, jump-cuts, crossing sight lines, and violations of the 180 degree rule. There are only two, maybe three shots in the entire film which display any part of Joan lower than her shoulders. “Passion” defies silent film conventions by having its actors appear without make-up, making for a craggy, warty, spit-coated facial landscape unmatched until Sergio Leone. The stylized overacting typical of silents is replaced by a more naturalist style; we see lots of talking but intertitles are rarely used. As for Maria Falconetti as Joan, Pauline Kael wrote it “may be the finest performance ever recorded on film,” and it’s hard to argue: Falconetti is, at times, as natural as everyone else in the movie, but at other times, with her damp kooky eyes, she creates a stylization of beatific sainthood that no one has even tried to imitate in the seven-and-a-half decades since.
No expense is spared by the filmmakers to create a medieval world that we only see in the background as St. Joan is beset by swarms of nameless churchmen. Even the worst of the churchmen begins to see the error of his ways by the end. I would say that her ordeal was written to match that of Christ’s passion, except that the script is taken largely from a transcript of her actual trial. (Luc Besson quotes the film’s final shot nearly identically in his “The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc.”) The DVD comes with a lovely optional soundtrack performed by, among others, the vocal ensemble Anonymous 4. The DVD commentary mentions that Dreyer hoped “Passion” would be a popular hit (of course it didn’t). The storytelling style of a series of juxtaposed images, one after another, is purely cinematic and easy to follow, yet the popular consciousness has a tendency to reject it. I am reminded of “The New World,” a similarly-constructed film. I saw that movie three times in three different theaters, and while few people I overheard after the movie seemed to appreciate it, all three audiences were largely frozen and silent during the film. It was as if they were wrapped up in the purity of the experience, and it was only afterward that it made them uncomfortable.
Not as well-known but no less a masterpiece is Dreyer’s very odd Vampyr (****). The imagery in “Vampyr” and “Passion” couldn’t be more different: “Passion” uses a light palette, a barrage of close-ups, quick cutting, sharp movements, and plenty of “talking,” even if hardly any of it is put into intertitles. “Vampyr” achieves its dreamy feel by being a shadowy film of long takes and deliberate camera movements, populated by slow-moving figures who seldom speak. The movie is largely silent but contains splashes of sound, mostly far-off barking, wind noises, whistles, and even occasionally dialogue. A plot summary—a paranormal scientist stumbles onto a vampire’s siege of a noble country family—doesn’t even begin to capture “Vampyr’s” peculiar ambience. While “Passion” draws us in to Joan’s plight, “Vampyr” keeps us at a distance; it seems to be from the scientist’s point-of-view, but he is often small in the frame, and our vision drifts away from him time and again.
Sherlock, Jr. (1924, 44 min, NR) **** - Directed by Buster Keaton and Fatty Arbuckle, starring Keaton and Kathryn McGuire.
The General (1927, 75 min, NR) **** - Directed & co-written by Buster Keaton and Clyde Bruckman, starring Keaton, Marion Mack, and Charles Henry Smith.
Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928, 71 min, NR) ***1/2 – Directed by Charles Reisner and Buster Keaton, starring Keaton, Marion Byron, and Ernest Torrance.
Our Hospitality (1923, 74 min, NR) *** - Directed by John G. Blystone and Buster Keaton, starring Keaton and Natalie Talmadge.
The Freshman (1925, 76 min, NR) **** - Directed by Fred C. Newmeyer and Sam Taylor, starring Harold Lloyd, Jobnya Ralston, and Brooks Benedict.
Next is the 124 minute cut of Metropolis (****), in which Fritz Lang madly packs hyper-capitalism, Marxism, the Bible, gothic alchemy, ballet, necrophilia, a love triangle, uses and abuses of religion, and robots into one big blender and hits “liquefy.” The result is a ridiculously engaging roller coaster ride through a skyscraper vision of the future, in which the poor masses toil while the rich enjoy a decadent Art Deco existence. Oppressed workers dance in unison to the throbbing machines, the Grim Reaper swings his eponymous tool, and pagan gods take corporeal form as giant steam engines. There’s not an iota of subtlety to be found in the film, and, despite all the big questions, it still squeezes in a fistfight on the edge of a cathedral rooftop. “Metropolis” might not be as much pure fun as Lang’s giddy “Die Nibelungen,” but it certainly makes a bigger statement. Lang has some balls.
I saw several more silents, including Buster Keaton’s brilliant Sherlock, Jr. (****), in which Keaton’s luckless amateur detective dreams that he has been sucked inside a movie screen. The direct ancestor of Mr. Bean, Keaton’s appeal is his myopic indifference to the world around him. Even his ability to pull off miraculous stunts seems to be a result of his childlike inability to learn any of society’s unwritten rules and hints. And he never, ever seems to be trying to get a laugh out of us; his eyes firmly fixed ahead, he never seems to glance back at the audience to urge them “this is funny, isn’t it?” Each of his films is essentially the same with the new settings and the stunts providing him with new opportunities to not notice the world around him. “Sherlock Jr.” puts him inside a detective movie, and includes a huge virtuoso sequence in which he obliviously careens around a motorcycle that has no driver. The movie ends with one of the best closing shots I’ve ever seen.
Meanwhile, The General (****) finds him as a Confederate locomotive engineer racing aboard his titular train to rescue his beloved. Highpoints include his ingenuity in removing debris from the track and a bit that finds him so lovesick that he doesn’t notice he’s moving. Perhaps the entire Keaton persona can be summed up in the photograph he gives his beloved: not only does he stand rigidly without smiling in the photograph, but he is oblivious to his beloved’s competitor, his train, looming enormously in the background.
On the same bargain bin DVD as “The General” is Steamboat Bill, Jr. (***1/2), in which Keaton trades his train for a steamboat. The film’s highpoint is a long, operatic, and anarchic sequence in which all pretense of narrative is temporarily abandoned while Keaton scrambles inexpressively about a town beset by a hurricane. Everywhere he turns something is falling apart around him, culminating in a façade collapsing directly on top of him (famously, he is standing exactly where the window lands so that he is unharmed). I was less impressed but still enjoyed Our Hospitality (***), which is sort of a sister-piece to “The General.” Again, Keaton finds himself in the Confederate South, but this time as a Yankee put upon by an old Southern family wrapped up in a generations-spanning family feud. Many of the stunts lack the organic ingenuity of his other films, but the film is still a charmer.
Often considered No.3 on the silent-era comic totem pole (after Keaton and Chaplin) is Harold Lloyd. I had the good fortune not just to see a scratchy print of his The Freshman (****) on the big screen, but to see it with a live jazz band accompaniment. The Austin-based ensemble tore through Charlestons and pop standards, and it was a blast. As for “The Freshman,” its tone may be light and jokey, but it was so dark underneath, and centers on a college freshman with an almost pathological need for acceptance. He throws parties, spends money, and is used as a tackle dummy by the football team’s offensive line. He is devastated to learn that none of this makes anyone like him. “The Freshman” could have justifiably ended like “Carrie,” with our put-upon freshman exacting vengeance on his loathsome classmates, but instead ends with a zany game of football.
More Reviews in a Hurry for Summer 2006.