I’m eager to see this Eran Kolirin debut which premiered at Cannes last year. My other greatly anticipated viewing of the term, Fellini’s 8 1/2, was a bit of a letdown, probably because my expectations were set unreasonably high (as usual). On the other hand, I loved the surrealistic and eloquently mangled El Topo. Anyway, as of now, I just wish I had more time to spare.
On a beautiful night, with clear skies, mild winds and an almost full moon, I watched Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis, a deeply sensuous work, painfully autobiographical and frighteningly real. Persepolis’ visual style mimics Satrapi’s famous “graphic novel” of the same name. Viscerally disturbing at times, it combines the cruel depiction of an oppressive Iranian regiment with a mildly upbeat and catalyzing humor that is deliriously addictive, yet quite subjective and idiosyncratic.
There’s an interview of Marjane with the NYT here. She sounds very blunt and seems to possess a naturally polarizing character.
I’ve been holding this DVD for a week now, and still haven’t watched it. I’m simply going to return it to the library today. The same thing happened with Resnais’s Last year at Marienbad. Sometimes I feel like I’m just not ready. I did get to see Chabrol’s Violette, casted with two of my favourite actors, Stephane Audran, and Isabelle Huppert (I would never have realized it was her, were it not for the credits). Chabrol’s sensibility has matured and he approaches the subject carefully without introducing an overwhelming amount of mystery and suspense, which was something I did not particularly like in his earlier works (though with exceptions like Les Biches and La Rupture). I now keep wondering how it would have been if Huppert had played Why in Les Biches. Audran and Huppert make a wonderful pair together, though it’s hard for me to visualize them as mother and daughter.
She’s so achingly beautiful. Makes my heart bleed.
[photo ©WireImage.com]
There’s already a lot written about Coen Brothers’ No Country for old men and I do not wish to descend into a redundant interpretation. Instead I shall say that unlike Pan’s Labyrinth, in this case, the film matched (in fact, exceeded) whatever expectation I subconsciously had. The broadening arc cast over every individual’s (mis)guided interpretation of life, the hazy envelope that covers acts of will and faith and the underlying nature of causality are just some of the film’s powerful revelations, delivered through a mass of bloody chaos and paranoia. Just brilliant.
Atonement was another film I watched over the past couple of weeks. The film has a lot of potential, but I just wish Joe Wright had decided to keep the film’s cinematography clean and simple, rather than imbuing it with pointless stylistic touches of supposed splendor.
Before the Devil knows you’re Dead was a disappointment for me. The film’s first half is a frustrating and condescending manipulation of the audience, frequently reversing the sequences it makes us assume, while Lumet strikes me as being impatient in the latter half. I really have to watch some of his earlier films.
Meanwhile, I’m waiting (almost breathlessly) for this winter term’s showings of Nights of Cabiria, 4 months…., There will be Blood and The Savages. Speaking of Mr.Anderson, there’s a funny article where he comments about No Country for Old Men: ““You really think that movie was better than ours! C’mon, do you really believe that?”.
Now every time I spread cheese on crackers, I’m reminded of the touching scene near the end of Stolen Kisses, when Doinel, trying to butter a toast breaks the bread and Fabienne Christine shows him how to layer a piece atop another so it doesn’t break, and then tells him she’ll teach him everything she knows and he’ll teach her everything.
I wrote about Anois sometime back. Another German duo making melancholic electronic/acoustic music is Songs for Sunday Parlours. Their second EP is released by Poni Republic here. There’s no better way to spend the cold winter than listening to such music, drowsed in nostalgia, and bearing an unknown sadness that envelops everything around.
Poni’s description of SFSP:
Malte Jantzen and Saskia Melina are the kind of persons who chill at their flats with no fear of staying there locked until late night, just sitting there, passionately silent, listening with infinite attention to their most favorite songs, mutually whispering, so they don’t disrespect whoever is performing through the stereo.
Excerpts from a Senses of Cinema article on Secret Défense:
The story of Secret Défense comes in waves-long stretches of quiet weave in and out of long stretches of talkiness-and the action swings, pendulum-like, from Paris to the country, and back, and back again. Thanks to this unusual pace, each moment that could be considered a plot development feels like something much more authentic. Life doesn’t consist of a rapid succession of dramatic moments; every important action in our lives struggles to stay afloat amidst a sea of contemplation, interpretation, and stabilization, stretching away on all sides.
…
The danger of Rivette’s approach, of course, is boredom. And indeed, the movie feels extremely long, much longer than its three hour running time. But it’s not boring for a second; it needs to feel long. To deny us a sense of duration is a great cinematic sin, a waste of one of the medium’s most basic qualities, but it’s a sin that Rivette, the master of the generous running time, is never guilty of. It’s not that you’re unaware of the time passing; it’s precisely that you are aware of it, but aware of it as you would be if you were within the movie rather than without.
…
Staying awake for 36 hours and then watching a film is something I wouldn’t recommend doing (often, at least). I remember my first such “sleepless” experience: sitting in the front row for Von Trier’s Element of Crime. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d drift off into a 30 second lull, and wake up to the darkness of the cinema hall. The film didn’t help either. The scenes were all mostly shot at night and shades of black permeated the screen at all times. I just wonder, if the film had been Europa (his second film) instead, I’d slept like a log from the hypnotic opening scene itself, which incidentally bears a close resemblance to Lynch’s opening sequence in Lost Highway.
Just yesterday was my second “sleepless” film, Julie Delpy’s 2 Days in Paris. The film was alright; it underplays the role of Paris, which is good, but features some unlikeable characters throughout. And Delpy is as beautiful as in Blanc.
