FORBIDDEN CATALAN CINEMA UNDER FRANCO, PROGRAM II: Countryside and the City: The Struggle to Make a Living

date watched: May 10, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center, NYC

(1) Largo Viaje Hacia La Ira/Long Journey to the Rage (dir. Llorenç Soler, Spain, 1969)
I don't know what I was expecting, but I was surprised by the meticulous planning that was evident in these documentaries. It was really a testimony of how art can flourish even in the most despairing and limiting of times.
Although the film was black and white, it was possible to see the elegance of the matador's costumes. To those young boys, it really was worth aspiring to, not just for the glitter and glory, but what it would mean for their future and their family's future.


(2) 52 Domingos/52 Sundays (dir. Llorenç Soler, Spain, 1966)
I often forget how influential Italian Neorealism was in film history. Though this is an oversimplification, its impressive progeny includes the French Nouvelle Vague, the Brazilian Cinema Novo, the Czech New Wave, and many others. The neorealist signatures are also apparent in Soler's works, along with Cinéma Vérité, since he intended these works to be documentaries. I loved how he began and ended this segment with the names of Catalonian workers. These bookends really puts the documentary into perspective: these workers wake up, go to work, and go back home, only to repeat this grueling process the next morning. Soler's heroes, it appears, is not the political rebels, but these everyday workers, who can only hope for a brighter future--their own future, their children's future, and the country's future--without directly partaking in the action.

Szegénylegények/THE ROUND-UP (Miklós Jancsó, 1966)

date watched: May 7, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center, NYC
Shown as part of "Jancsó Classics"

"For my own sake." These words perhaps best encapsulates the theme of the film; that is, the inborn greed and selfishness of mankind.


When some of the Hungarian inmates are faced with a dilemma--treason or survival--they pick the latter, out of sheer desperation. What the Hungarians do not have the power to discern, however, is that once they are involved in the "multiple choice" process, there is no end to the test. The "picker" becomes "the picked" as soon as he turns around, and there's no guarantee that your own comrades will save you, even if it is your family member. The scene involving the father and son--Kabai senior and Kabai junior, respectively--is especially haunting: will the father sacrifice his neck for his son, or will they both be hanged anyway? In a strange way, it reminded me of the scene in Disney's Lion King, when Scar is reprimanded for playing with his food, when it will end up in his belly anyway. Prolonging torture for an individual to the enjoyment of another--this is truly evil in its highest level.

When the father and son are separated to think about their choices, it was as if they were illustrating the game theory (Economics) in physical practice; instead of "the prisoner's dilemma," this was a matter of life and death.

The "chosen three" are given a chance to redeem themselves as military members, and even give an impressive performance on hand-picked cavalry horses. Their attempts are futile, however, when they are grouped with other prisoners to take responsibility of being former rebels, when their rebel leader is ironically released, leaving them to their doom.

I remember when my mom told me about the vicious cycle in prisons: once you are in, you will commit more crimes, all in order to survive the other rapacious acts within prison walls. The more crimes you commit, the more years you spend in prison, and so the pattern goes.

If Antonioni were a Hungarian, I imagine he would be Jancsó. Their long takes and perturbing landscapes are unforgettable, especially in today's era, when MTV-style flash-cutting is the norm.

Csillagosok, katonák/THE RED AND THE WHITE (Miklós Jancsó, 1967)

date watched: May 6, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center, NYC
Shown as part of the "Jancsó Classics" series at the Walter Reade Theater.

Miklós Jancsó is often referred to as a master choreographer, and it really takes flight in this film. I can't imagine how much planning and attention must have gone into all the details to get the marches and battle scenes the way Jancsó wanted them.

As much as I wanted to sympathize with the Hungarians and censure the Red Russians, and play the good guy/bad guy game, it was difficult when the so-called Hungarian heroes were courageous, but had horrible timing. In one scene, when a surprise attack on the Reds is carried out successfully, an old man in the audience started clapping enthusiastically, as though he were paid to do it. But I partially understood his fervor, because by that point, it had become frustrating how unlucky the Hungarians were.

Intended by Jancsó or not, the film pays tribute to the beauty of the male body, also. When the Hungarians are captured, they are forced to take their shirts off, to further magnify their collective shame. When the Hungarians are on their own, they are sometimes shirtless, and in this case, it represents their honest yet vulnerable passion for their country. On the other hand, women's bodies become a target for objectification, whether you're on the "right" side or not.

I think I'll check out another Miklós Jancsó film tomorrow.

SHALL WE DANCE (Mark Sandrich, 1937)

date watched: May 5, 2009
location: at home, thanks to Netflix Instant!

This is a confession: Shall We Dance is the first Astaire-Rogers musical I've seen. (To add to my embarrassing film knowledge deficiencies--don't laugh--there are Hitchcock's Vertigo (1958), Renoir's La Grande Illusion (1937), Rocky (1976), Silence of the Lambs (1991)... Oh, and so much more.)
And boy, was I wrong, to condemn the musical movie all this time.
It's true that there isn't much room for modern musicals on the DVD shelves nowadays, but there's a reason why we keep going back to Singing' in the Rain (Stanley Donen & Gene Kelly, 1952) on a gloomy day (like NYC today, for instance).

Now that I've said all that, it's hard not to compare Astaire and Kelly. If Astaire were still dancing in movies today, he would be called "metrosexual" for sure. His hair is always sleek and combed, his face is wrinkle-free and smooth, and he always looks so sharp in his tailcoats. On the other hand, Kelly is the paragon of male machismo, musical version. There are always two or three too many buttons left unopened, and his muscular movements and cheek scar spells M-A-N. Thank goodness he has that endearing beam, else he'd sound/look like a gangster.

Truly the best sequence in Shall We Dance is the skate-tap dancing number in the park. YouTube has it, conveniently:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdH2ODFYV5s
We're so used to buildings being blown up and other forms of mass destruction in mindless blockbusters that we forget the spectacle of the pure human form. And of course, dance is the pinnacle of that form. And Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are the Titans in the Land of Dance. As I showed my sister this, she remarked, "I didn't know you could tap dance with skates!" Well, if you're Astaire and Rogers, you can. I shouldn't even bother wasting words describing the miraculous phenomenon. Just click and watch.



I imagine Rogers didn't have time to gain weight, even if she wanted to, what with all the practices and the multiple takes while shooting these musicals. Her sheer energy demonstrated in all these numbers is hidden underneath her smile, and Astaire's ease. But that was Rogers in the 30s. Come 50s, and Rogers is obviously too old to tap dance on heels and skates, much less flats alone. I almost didn't recognize her in Monkey Business (Howard Hawks, 1952), if it weren't for her voice! I guess that's what happens when you retire from a job that requires so much locomotion. Let's all take this as a warning to our future selves and stay in tip-top shape!

TSIRK/CIRCUS (Grigori Aleksandrov, 1936)

date watched: May 2, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center
part of the "Red Diva" series featuring films of Soviet actress, Lyubov Orlova

The film obviously owes more to its silent film predecessors: the use of slapstick comedy, musical numbers, and circus performances, for example.

Back then, and even now, filmmakers always had this fascination with the circus. I can think of Wings of Desire (1987), many of Fellini's films, and Lola Montès (1955), all of which featured the circus setting. I guess it's the one place we can all relate to, having been there as children, and the sense of awe and fantasy related to it. It's the one place that freaks and beauties co-exist, and has a surrealistic quality, which always makes for a good movie.

The funniest thing about this film is its obvious propagandistic slant, which comes unexpectantly at the end. The film follows Marion Dixon (played by Lyubov Orlova), who escapes the United States and finds herself in Moscow. She is under the tyranny of a cruel circus manager, who uses her only weakness to control her and use her as his main featurette. She falls in love with another circus participant, and in order to prevent further development in their relationship, the evil circus manager brings to the crowd her black child, which was the reason for her escape from America. The audience does not react in the way the circus manager wanted them to--with ease. They all exclaim, "what's the tragedy?" and passes the child from member to member, singing lullabies to him and cradling them in their arms. The circus owner remarks, "Here, we don't care whether the child is white, black, or red, striped like a zebra, or with polka-dots. We accept everyone." Clearly, this is the "U.S.S.R good, America bad" campagin that was required in order for the film to be released. Then the entire cast goes out into the streets, carrying pictures of Stalin and singing about how great their country is. It was really quite funny, as you can imagine.

Aside from the unintentional comedic aspect, I imagine a lot of money and time went into the sets and costumes, which were very fancy for its time. I even witnessed a moment in which the rain on the outdoor glass lamps melted into rain hitting the window--experimentation without being too over-the-top, I'd say. All in all, it is one of those films that will remain in your memory, despite its blatant propaganda. I especially liked the way it ended with letters hanging from hot-air balloons. I have a penchant for dirigibles and hot-air balloons.

DAS LEBEN DER ANDEREN/THE LIVES OF OTHERS (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, 2007)

date watched: April 30, 2009
location: At the comfort of my own home, thanks to Netflix :)

One word: WOW.

Now, for the pseudo-film critic talk...

It's hard to believe that this is von Donnersmarck's debut feature. It is loaded with profound symbolism and its meditative style is breathtaking. Generally speaking, this film is about surveillance, but I honestly believe it's about cinema: its voyeurism, (perverse) pleasure, and the dangers of personal investment in spectatorship.

I haven't watched the other Oscar nominees of the 2007 Best Foreign Language Award (After the Wedding, Water, Pan's Labyrinth, and Indigènes), but I don't doubt the judgment of the jury one bit, now that I've watched The Lives of Others.



I can't even begin to analyze all the deep-rooted cinematic allusions in this film.

When Wiesler (played wonderfully by actor Ulrich Mühe) types out the reports, they are like scripts. But in this world, the actors are playing out the scenes as you are typing the words. There are countless instances when we catch ourselves cursing the screens' villains or when we root for the hero. The film pervades our very being for the moment, and although they are moving images projected on to a screen, we forget the ersatz nature. Likewise, Wiesler begins to break the walls little by little, until they are no longer "the other." At one point, he tells Crista-Maria (played by Martina Gedeck), "I'm your audience." She takes this to mean he is a fan of her acting. But we know the real meaning behind those words, and it is almost too chilling to register.

I don't want to go on and on, so I will conclude this post with one of my favorite lines from the film:
"What is a director if he can't direct? He's a projectionist wthout film, a miller without corn. He's nothing. Nothing at all."

Hopefully, it'll be no sophomore slumps for von Donnersmarck, and forward march into more blazing features.

VALS IM BASHIR/WALTZ WITH BASHIR (Ari Folman, 2008)

date watched: April 30, 2009
location: In class (course title: "International Cinema After 1960")

Yes, it has long been taken down from theaters, but it deserves a few words.
Upon second viewing, I really got to appreciate the film beyond its mere images.
It was also neat to have it shown in 35 mm in class, since the DVD isn't due until June.

I don't want to say too much about this film. For one, I know very little about the Lebanon War, and don't want to taint the work with my ignorant remarks.


I do want to say something about the genre, however. According to the professor, director Ari Folman got 38 rejections out of the 40 he submissions he sent out. The main reason for the rejections was documentary companies rejected the film because it was an animation, and animation companies rejected the film because it was a documentary. What they weren't aware of was that the two can exist on the same plane.

The modern eye is overloaded with quick cuts, flashing images, and dizzying stunts. Waltz With Bashir really slows down human action, partly due to its animation technique of using traces and cut-outs, a kind of combination of stop-motion plus 3-D animation. It's a nice change.



With the plethora of information available today, it's hard not to see pictures of this and that catastrophe, and though it is a cliché to say it, we really are desensitized to such images as a result. In a way, although animation is not "flesh and blood" on screen, there's no right or wrong way to use animation, which includes its uses for documentary effect. I felt myself relating more to these images than I would to news images, as sad as it sounds.

The soundtrack by Max Richter really is amazing, too. It's available on iTunes, by the way.