JEANNE
DIELMAN, 23, QUAI DU COMMERCE, 1080 BRUXELLES (1975)
There’s a school of filmmaking—popular in
Asia and Europe in the past 20 years—that is enamored with holding a static
shot of an actor or even a shot of a setting without any actors for what seems an eternity, representing,
I guess, the monotony of daily life.
In this country, acclaimed directors
Terrence Malick, David Lynch and Wes Anderson, among others, occasionally use
this static style, but usually find their way back to plot and dialogue. This
highly regarded Belgian film may be the ultimate example of a director dispensing
with anything resembling traditional filmmaking and performances as it
chronicles three long, boring days in the life of a stay-at-home mother of a
teenage boy.
My favorite scene in this 3 hours and 22
minutes picture shows Jeanne (French actress Delphine Seyrig of “Last Year at
Marienbad”) sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes. It goes on for at
least five minutes, the camera unmoving and the actress barely registering any
emotion. In fact, there are enough scenes of her preparing meals that this film
might make a nice addition to the Food Channel’s lineup.
With little dialogue, delivered with a
minimum of emotion, the film follows Jeanne’s daily routine (it’s virtually the
same each day), that includes her having sex with a different man every
afternoon. That seems to be her only source of income. While the sex isn’t
shown, the film does show her bathing, making coffee in the morning, shopping
for and preparing dinner, sitting in the living room with her son while they
read and washing the dishes (shot from behind so we only see her back.)
All these scenes run minutes without
movement (and if you think that isn’t long, watch any movie with a clock in
front of you and see how much goes on in 60 seconds).
There is nothing to keep one interested in
this film until the last 10 minutes and by then, for me, it was too late. While
I understand that director Chantal Akerman was trying to show the drudgery of a
housewife’s life (in this case a widow), but that idea can be demonstrated
artfully by most directors, even with the repetition, in 10 minutes. I didn’t
need three hours of day-to-day routine to understand the woman’s plight. (Her nonchalant attitude toward being a
prostitute said it very quickly).
Akerman spent most of her career (she died
in 2015) directing French-language TV movies but her feature “News from Home”
(1976) is also a critical darling. In America, her best known work is “A Couch
in New York” (1996), starring William Hurt and Juliette Binoche.
I watched this dreary movie because earlier
this year it was rumored that it was vying for a top spot in the once-a-decade
list of greatest films as selected by film critics for the British magazine
“Sight & Sound.” Two weeks ago, that was confirmed: it jumped from
No. 35 in 2012 to dislodge “Vertigo,” that year's top film, and “Citizen Kane,” the top picture from
1962 to 2002, for the top spot. For me, the once esteemed ranking has lost any
historical importance, having been turned into a forum for critics to show off
their appreciation of diversity rather than great films.
Here’s a partial list of films that dropped out of this year’s Top 100: “Lawrence of Arabia,” "Raging Bull,” “The Wild Bunch,” “Chinatown,” "Touch of Evil,” “The Godfather Part II,” “Pickpocket,” “The Seventh Seal” and “Grand Illusion.” The 2019 French film “Portrait of a Lady on Fire,” about a lesbian relationship in the 1700s, ranked higher than such time-tested masterpieces as “8 ½,” “City Lights,” “M” and “Bicycle Thieves.”
Another obvious trend is style over substance. How else does one explain the ranking of Wong Kar-wai’s “In the Mood for Love,” Stanley Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” and Lynch’s “Mulholland Dr.” in the Top 10? Are they great films? Arguably, yes. Are they by any measure among the ten greatest of all time? Definitively, no. (Even Lynch must be scratching his head at the ranking of “Mulholland Dr.” as the best American film in the past 50 years.)
Maybe the most baffling entry in the Top 100
is “Meshes of the Afternoon,” a 1943 experimental film directed and starring
Maya Deren and Alexander Hackenschmid. That a 14-minute silent scored more
votes than Ingmar Bergman’s “Persona” or Akira Kurosawa’s “Seven Samurai” tells
me all I need to know about the voters. (Judge for yourself, "Meshes" is on YouTube.)
I’m guessing it was influential to Lynch and Guy Maddin, but it has no business
as the 16th greatest motion picture.
Clearly, critics pushed for the addition of
movies directed by women, with Jane Campion’s “The Piano” (#50), Akerman’s
“News from Home” (#52) and Julie Dash’s “Daughters of the Dust” (#60) moving
ahead of “Casablanca,” “The Third Man” and “Sunset Blvd.” Yet where are Italian
director Lina Wertmuller (“Seven Beauties”) or Australian Gillian Armstrong
(“My Brilliant Career”) or American Kathryn Bigelow (“The Hurt Locker”), all
equally deserving?
It’s easy to dismiss these rankings as
just another discussion-stirring magazine poll, but Sight & Sound’s list
represents—or did—the accumulative opinion of the important film critics and
historians of our time. In an era when critics have lost most of their power to
influence, supplanted by social media promotion, the inclusion of films for
what they represent (or the gender of the director) rather than their artistic
achievement further distances the audiences, many of whom see CGI as the pinnacle
of cinematic greatness, from critics who still champion movies with insightful
content.
It is hard enough to convince younger
viewers that “Citizen Kane,” with a defined narrative, realistic characters and
energetic camerawork, is a great film; I can’t imagine their reaction to the
new “greatest film of all time.”
THE
FABELMANS (2022)
You can find bits and pieces of
filmmakers’ lives scattered throughout their movies, from Charlie Chaplin to
Orson Welles to Martin Scorsese, but this new film from Steven Spielberg may be
the first celluloid version of an autobiography.
The picture contains the same flaws as
most bio-pics—overtly literal dialogue, the usual coming-of-age hurdles,
artistic ambitious that are inevitably dismissed by parents and an influential
wise man (why is it always a male?) from outside the immediate family to
encourage them—while, occasionally, getting to the heart of subject: what makes
this individual different from the thousands of others who went through similar
pains of youth?
“The Fabelmans” tells the story of young
Steven’s (here called Sammy) early love affair with motion pictures and, most
interesting, his first experiences making movies as a youngster. At the same
time, it chronicles the slow-motion breakup of a seemingly happy family.
While this is a fictionalized version of
his early years—it’s the Fabelmans not the Spielbergs—it follows the general
outline of the filmmaker’s actual biography. From seeing “The Greatest Show on
Earth” at a young age, becoming obsessed with the train-crash scene, moving
from Cincinnati to the suburbs of Phoenix and then California, his Boy Scout
years, his amateur debut as a filmmaker (the war film “Escape to Nowhere”) and
his attempts to land a studio gig while attending college, the touchstone events
of this movie legend’s life are re-created.
But the most compelling story of the film
belongs to the mother character, Mitzi Fabelman, played by the still
underrated Michelle Williams, who has curtailed her dreams of becoming a
concert pianist for motherhood. On the surface, she’s the perfect wife to
brilliant electronic engineer Burt (a restrained Paul Dano) and entertaining
mother to Sammy and his three sisters, but there is an underlining sadness that
foreshadows cracks in this picture of 1950s domesticity.
It’s clear that something is brewing when
Mitzi insists that family friend Bennie (a gregariously unassuming Seth Rogen)
accompany them when they move to Arizona.
The problem with dramatizing real life is
that what seemed so monumental to those affected often loses its emotional
impact when put on film. The script by Spielberg and playwright Tony Kushner
(“Angels in America” and screenplays for the director’s “West Side Story” and
“Lincoln”) is a bit too pointed as it leaps from one important moment to the
next. Too often, I felt like I was watching a theatrical production in which
every piece of dialogue feels carefully composed and rehearsed, losing the
illusion of spontaneity necessary for great cinema.
If the film isn’t already front-loaded
with life lessons for young Sammy, his long-lost uncle (87-year-old Judd
Hirsch) shows up like a shadier version of Uncle Ben from “Death of a
Salesman,” offering tales, true or not, of life outside the suburbs and the
world of showbiz that enthralls the budding filmmaker.
I’m sure there were influential teachers in
Spielberg’s life and I kept waiting for one to appear in Sammy’s story; maybe that
was seen as one cliché too many.
That said, there are sequences in the
film, as there are in every Spielberg picture, beautifully realized and
heartfelt that reflect the real impact of joy and tragedy.
There’s a wordless scene mid-film in which
the teenage Sammy edits film he shot during a family camping trip that reveals
more about his mother than he wants to know. And then there’s the final scene
when a chance meeting signals that this young man may be in line for some
success (who would have guessed?).
While newcomer Gabriel LaBelle, who plays
Sammy as a teen doesn’t resemble Spielberg—the actor reminded me of a young
Michael J. Fox—he captures the obsessive
youth perfectly and is believable as he navigates the anti-Semitism bullying in
his California high school.
But the performance of the film is given
by Williams, who continues to deliver pitch-perfect portrayals of women
struggling to find their place in the world. With her work in “Brokeback
Mountain” (2005), “Wendy and Lucy” (2008), “Blue Valentine” (2010), “My Week
with Marilyn” (2011), “Manchester by the Sea” (2016) and in the TV series
“Fosse/Verdon” (2019), she’s putting together one of the most impressive acting
filmographies of this century.
This isn’t one of Spielberg’s best, but
clearly an important one for the filmmaker as he reflects, at 75, on what
formed him as an artist and offers a glimpse of it for those of us who have
been enriched by his films for 45 years.
SHE
SAID (2022)
The methodical, often tedious process of
investigative reporters, filled with dead ends, hostile sources and endless
meeting with a series of editors seems an unlikely topic for a movie. The crime
or corruption itself makes for a more action-filled, thrilling picture. Yet
almost a half century after the godfather of all scandal reporting films—"All
the President’s Men” (1976)—three pictures have taken up the heroic mantle:
“Spotlight” “The Post” and now “She Said.”
I never would have imagined that the work
of Megan Twohey and Jodi Kantor of the New York Times in 2017 to expose Harvey
Weinstein’s sexual misconduct could be fashioned into a compelling, entertain
film that captures both the slow grind of reporting work and the jubilance and
relief when the resulting story is finally printed (or posted).
Twohey seems to be the more seasoned
journalist, but when they are paired up, she has just given birth and working
through post-partum depression. Kazan, married with young children, is more
low-keyed, less confrontational.
In fact, they make a perfect team as they attempt
to convince long-silent women to go on the record about Weinstein’s horrific,
though not atypical in Hollywood, actions toward young women.
Like all movies in this genre, it is about
the process, celebrating the efforts and tenacity of the reporters and their
editors even while the audience knows the ending.
As a former newspaper editor, these details
are probably more interesting to me than your average moviegoers, but I think
anyone can be swept away by watching first-rate professionals take down a truly
evil and powerful man who had been getting away with repulsive and criminal
behavior for decades.
Mulligan has the showier role but Kazan,
granddaughter of the legendary director, equals her in showing the
obsessiveness required by the job while balancing a homelife.
Patricia Clarkson, as usual, is excellent
as their immediate editor Rebecca Corbett and Andre Braugher, though hardly a
physical match, captures New York Times editor Dean Baquet’s quiet yet
commanding manner. (Weinstein isn’t portrayed—you hear his voice in phone
calls and see the back of his head during a newsroom meeting.)
Also memorable is Ashley Judd, one of the
first women to go on the record about Weinstein’s misdeeds, as herself. I don’t
think I’d seen a more memorial performance as someone playing themselves in a
fiction film.
Samantha Morton, as a former Miramax
executive whose complaints years ago was ignored by the company’s board of
directors, and Jennifer Ehle, as a former assistant in the company going through
difficult times, give superb performances as women willing to go on the record
about Weinstein.
Best remembered for her Elizabeth Bennet
in the 1995 television miniseries of “Pride and Prejudice,” Ehle deserves an
Oscar nomination for this emotionally charged performance.
The story and the repercussions in the
aftermath (when hundreds of women come forward about assault by bosses across
the entertainment industry) spurred the #metoo movement and has, at least, put
a dent in the age-old practice of the “casting couch.”
The question that is asked often in the
film (based on the reporters’ book) is why did it take so long. Always blamed are
the women, who for various reasons, felt unable to speak publicly about
Weinstein and others of his ilk.
But some of the blame must be placed on the
Hollywood press—the Los Angeles Times, Variety, Hollywood Reporter—for not
making concerted efforts to turn what everyone knew into a publishable story.
Either for sexist reasons or simply supporting the status quo (the sexualization
of actresses and other women in the industry is older than sound films), it is
a black mark on any organization that covered Hollywood, especially in the past
40 years. Instead, the behavior was recalled as a remnant of the old days or
tossed away as an awards show joke, while it was ruining careers and damaging
lives.
THE
BIG BROADCAST OF 1936 (1935)
There’s a sequence in this cornball joke
fest that is a reminder of what could have been part of Hollywood’s Golden Age.
The film begins with the Nicholas Brothers
(then 21 and 14) tap dancing on a radio broadcast before the scene cuts to the
legendary Bill Robinson in a barber’s chair in Harlem. Inspired by what he
hears on the radio, he dances onto the street and the community joins him in a
spontaneous celebration. These three amazing song-and-dance men were mostly on
the sidelines during the era of studio musicals, relegated to short specialty
numbers inserted into musicals starring white actors or short films made for
Black audiences.
For some reason (lets give credit to
producer Benjamin Glazer and director Norman Taurog), unlike most Hollywood
films, the brothers were allowed to interact with the white stars of the film,
Jack Oakie and Henry Wadsworth. They run a radio station, WHY, but leave to try
to sell a TV-like invention brought to them by George Burns and Gracie Allen.
(Remember this is 1935!) and are ultimately kidnapped by a Russian countess
(Lyda Roberti). Along the way, this promotional picture for Paramount stars
turns the spotlight on Bing Crosby, Ethel Merman, the Dandridge sisters and
Charles Ruggles, among many other names long forgotten.
But back at the radio station, Harold and
Fayard Nicholas (called Dot and Dash in the film) remain on the air, running
the show without a hitch. Who would have imagined finding such radical
portrayals in a movie-variety show?
ARMAGEDDON
TIME (2022)
It’s hard to dislike a film that wears its
heart so prominently on its proverbial sleave. Writer-director James Gray
continues to shine as one of the unsung filmmakers in America, regularly
chronicling the hurdles faced by immigrants and their descendants.
But too often this film and the family
troubles it depicts seem uncharacteristically (for the film’s 1980s time frame)
harsh and confrontational with the 6th grade son as a very unlikely
rebel, cluelessly seeking a cause.
Paul (a convincingly real Banks Repeta)
forms a friendship in his public school with Johnny (Jaylin Webb), an unhappy
African American classmate, who acts out in ways those in charge of him expect.
Soon, his parents transfer Paul to a private school filled with elitist administrators
and racist students.
To categorized his parents (Jeremy Strong
and Anne Hathaway) as clueless is being kind—they don’t seem to understand the
first thing about parenting and Paul’s teacher is even worse.
Nothing happens that isn’t foreshadowed
from the opening scenes when the stereotypical teacher isolates them from the
rest of the class for minor distractions.
Saving the film for me, is a poignant
performance by Anthony Hopkins playing the boy’s grandfather. While trying to
explain what it means to be Jewish, he tells Paul the reason his great-grandmother
left Ukraine 50 years earlier: “People wanted to kill her.”
I’m not sure what I should take away from
the film---life is made up of a series of random luck or that racism is never far
from the surface—but it didn’t resonate like many of Gray’s earlier works, including
“Little Odessa” (1994), “Two Lovers” (2008) and “The Lost City of Z” (2016).
ALL
QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT (2022)
Erich Maria Remarque 1928 book about the
experiences of German soldiers on the front lines during the waning days of
World War I stands as one of the most acclaimed war novels and, in a much-sanitized
version, was turned into the first great Hollywood sound film in 1930.
Not sure why it took so long for a German
filmmaker to take on the horrific, anti-war epic, coming just three years after
Sam Mendes’ brilliant “1917” about English soldiers on the same front. The best
remembered picture on the war from Germany is G.W. Pabst’s brilliant “Westfront
1918” (1930).
After a short preface showing the
unthinkable slaughter taking place on the front lines, we meet the main
character, Paul (Felix Kammerer) as he and his schoolmates enthusiastically
prepare to serve in the Kaiser Wilhelm’s army.
Though more episodical than “1917,” this film
shows the hopelessness of the fight as it’s clear Germany will go down in
defeat. While the generals keep pushing their men to fight on for national
pride, the soldiers die in the mud and blood in large numbers for a lost cause.
The direction of Edward Berger and sweeping
camerawork of James Friend puts moviegoers in the middle of the chaos, a
killing field that may have been the closest man has created an earthly hell.
The
film does a good job of keeping the focus on Paul and his buddy Kat (Albrecht
Schuch) as a reminder that these are real young people whose lives are
needlessly, gruesomely erased.
While “All Quiet” doesn’t get into the
rational for the costly war—unlike World War II, this conflict is harder to
explain 100 years later—it does show the bitter negotiations (Daniel Brühl as
the German representative) that led to harsh punishment for the Prussian Empire
and spurred the rise of fascism 15 years later.
The war, and the peace that U.S. President
Woodrow Wilson engineered, marked the end of the major empires that dominated
Europe for hundreds of years, creating countries that were closer aligned to ethnicity,
but at an unimaginable cost
EMPIRE
OF LIGHT (2022)
Landing in theaters somewhat under the
radar, this is an intimate, heartfelt picture about the redemptive qualities of
the movies written and directed by Sam Mendes (“1917,” “American Beauty”) and
starring Oscar winner Olivia Colman.
Most alluringly, it takes place in the
early 1980s at an old-style theater on the waterfront of Margate on the
southeast coast of England. As filmgoers line up for “All That Jazz,” “Stir
Crazy” or “Raging Bull,” we are introduced to the staff, led by manager Hilary
Small (Colman), owner Mr. Ellis (a slumming Colin Firth) and the new guy,
Stephen (Micheal Ward), an African-Brit who faces a growing street movement of
white supremacy under Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.
Though the politics eventually push its
way to the forefront, “Empire of Light” focuses on Hilary, who has struggled
with her mental health, but seems to find happiness in an unlikely relationship
with Steven.
Master cinematographer Roger Deakins
(Oscar winner for “1917”and “Blade Runner 2049”) creates a glow of warmth
inside the theater that contrasts with the almost blinding light of the seaside
exteriors.
Mendes tries too hard to tie up all the
loose ends, allowing the last act to go on too long, but another brilliant
performance by Colman (who won the Oscar for “The Favourite” and an Emmy for
the middle-aged Queen Elizabeth in “The Crown”) keeps the film afloat.
Twenty-five-year-old Ward, who is best known for the British TV series “Top
Boy,” holds his own with the veteran actress.
My favorite scene in the film comes when
Stephen is granted admission to the projection room and shown how to run the
films by projectionist Norman (the quirky Toby Jones). Deakins’ camera captures
the magic of the process while lingering over the hundreds of movie stills and
magazine pictures Norman has papered the walls with. A touching remembrance of
a world lost to the digital revolution.
PHOTOS:
Delphine Seyrig in “Jeanne Dielman.” (The Criterion Collection)
Carey Mulligan and Zoe Kazan in “She Said.” (Universal Pictures)
Felix Kammerer in “All Quiet on the Western Front” (Netflix)
