Change Your Image
James Brown
Reviews
Fail Safe (1964)
Admirable, but how does it compare to Dr. Strangelove?
Released just seven months after Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove and made by the studio responsible for them both, Fail-Safe received very little publicity and quickly faded into relative obscurity. Not surprisingly, the public found Kubrick's black comedy far more entertaining than Lumet's bleak and deadly serious drama. But, it's worth seeing both of these anti-cold war films since Fail-Safe is a rarity: a scary movie for intellectuals.
Walter Bernstein's script brings the film a thematic dimension unexplored by Strangelove: rather than human error - or madness - primarily inciting Armageddon, here it is a technical glitch, the slight malfunction of a single computer component, that leads to the war-room's machines erroneously informing a squadron of SAC bombers to drop their nuclear load on Moscow. Fail-Safe is not only concerned with the destruction of the planet but also with the inherent dangers of rapidly advancing technology.
Lumet draws good performances. A close-up schema is utilised for Henry Fonda's scenes in a bland bunker as the President, enhancing his already considerable presence. Good acting by Walter Matthau and Frank Overton help to create a frightening sense of realism. The story builds drama effectively. The slow beginning offers little warning of the horrendous moments towards the end. (I kept waiting for an intervention that would halt the bomber just short of its target and thought the film might conclude with a Mrs. Miniver-like sermon from the President. It's is what one expects from most studio productions. This film, and others like it from the same period such as The Bedford Incident and Seven Days in May, are, in spirit, independent of the mainstream.)
The close-ups, black and white photography, and a total lack of music heighten an already dominant feeling of claustrophobia and forces us to concentrate on the text. A non-diegetic, eerie high-pitched squeal is used from the outset and recurs from time-to-time, designed to put us on edge. When the characters finally hear the disturbing sound, we learn what it is: the sound of feedback down the phone-line after a nuclear holocaust.
While Dr. Strangelove ends with Mutually Assured Destruction, Fail-Safe has a "compromise" to deliver. Fonda's president, unable to stop the last bomb-carrying planes from nuking Moscow, manages, we assume, to appease the Russian folk with an eye-for-an-eye: self-enacted revenge. By ordering a General to drop one of their own bombs on New York, killing millions of people (including his wife), he makes one of the toughest and perhaps most unlikely decisions in fictive history. Is this situation believable? Or just unthinkable? For a person to have to make a decision like this in such a short period of time (all the events of the film occur within a day) is a burden no-one on Earth would desire nor wish upon another. Of course, now that the film is archived in history, our world powers are able to compare notes and rationalise for themselves in an emotional context what they would do in the same situation (as if they don't think about it every morning!).
Fail-Safe is a good counter to Strangelove as another film challenging the roles of those who control our fate. It is a solid documentary-like, gritty drama made by a reasonable filmmaker. But, it lacks brilliance. The drab sets, the pathetic aerial stock-footage (which, due to a lack of cooperation from the Department of Defense, are recycled shots of the same plane) is even worse thank Kubrick's incredibly dodgy props (which serve another purpose, check out a Kubrick review for more), and the repetitive cinematography are low standards in comparison to the tense script and tight direction. Dr. Strangelove, on the other hand, is one of cinema's great films, directed by a virtuoso at his peak and enriched with some of the best performances its cast ever gave. I guess it all depends on how you like your thermonuclear wars. Personally, if we are all going to go anyway, I would like to go laughing.
The Cameraman (1928)
Gags. . .and a little bite
I find The Cameraman, in its best moments, funnier than Buster Keaton's earlier, non-studio production, The General. As a soldier in the Civil War, Keaton lacks an element of credibility. While that doesn't tarnish the cinematic cleverness of The General, the contemporaneous and urban setting of The Cameraman seems to suit more appropriately his particular talent. This feels more like a naive romantic comedy of today rather than a satire on the melodrama of the past.
In a gag-driven comedy, we remember set pieces and the brief moments of magical hilarity. Originality is incredibly important, because other aspects gathered from the pleasure of viewing are often disregarded. For instance, this film has little to say about the human condition and it doesn't have a lot of panache in the art and camera departments. So it needs to pull of a few major original gags, which it does: anarchy punctuates the odd scene in the rain with the police officer who wants to test his reflexes to see if he's "goofy"; and, Buster undressing with another man in the changing room at the swimming pool is brutally funny. His subsequent performance on the diving board and loss of bathers leads to some insightful moments of Buster, the actor: he couldn't be "The Great Stone Face" without that pair of clear expressive eyes. With little more than his brows and forehead for assistance, he reveals suspicion (at the girl swimming underwater around his naked body) and then resembles Jaws as he hunts down a prey to retrieve another pair of swimming tights. It is so easily enjoyable to get inside Buster's head and I think it's because of those eyes. Kuleshov might want to say he doesn't express anything and we, the audience, interpret his feelings based on the choices of the director's linear staging and editing techniques. But, it is so tempting to say we know and understand Buster Keaton's characters. He makes all these human errors and always follows his passions undeterred. We love him as a cinematic figure. If Buster Keaton were replaced in his films by, say, big, tough, dominant, Sterling Hayden, I doubt if the Kuleshov effect could generate anywhere near as much empathy than what we have for the little guy.
There is a nasty streak running through this film. The supporting cast (except the ultimate saviour: the organ grinding monkey) are all pitted against our little hero. Made in 1928, the dawn of the Great Depression seems to of had an effect on the production. There are few niceties. Apart from the aforementioned exchange of elbows and dark looks to the face in the scene in the dressing room, we see hordes of people crammed inside and scrambling onto public transport, a hero short on change, and an authoritarian newspaper editor ready to sack the heroine on loyal principals. Perhaps the film was a kind of response to the panic that must have been setting into the minds of certain members of the public. The message, loosely delivered, is that people should stop watching the parades of the famous, forget baseball heroics, and learn to appreciate the smaller, more specific elements of lifestyle within their society. Since, it is ideal love and having a passion for individual ethical rewards that will see us through tough times. Not panic or arbitrary worship of figureheads, or intolerance for one's neighbours.
And laughter, mixed with a little bit of Preston Sturges' much hated "deep dish" themes (that he nevertheless dealt with by virtue of his hatred and is mentioned here because he combined just about every element of silent-era comedy into his films of the early-40s), went miles to give people a thoughtful escape into better times on the silver screen. Even if here it may have been more of a warning, a prelude to the darker days that were to come.
Earth (1998)
Art and politics please, not drab archetypes.
Deepa Mehta's historical account of the bitter upheaval in just post-colonial rule India is like an entry in an encyclopedia for children: simplistic, naive, superficial. If you're totally unaware of the religious environment of the era you'll have worked it out within five minutes. And after the next five minutes you'll get a second chance. Then, five minutes later, just in case you're really slow Mehta will give you one more chance. Only, five minutes later she's at it again. But wait (just five minutes, now), and, oh, yes: Muslims don't like the Hindus taking policital power nor do they think much of their murderous Sikh lackeys (my apologies: how the film puts it, not I).
Mehta fails to treat the issue with the rich complexity it deserves. There is no mention of the past, of why India's folk cannot get along with one another and politics plays an unreasonable second fiddle to the march of the religious solo act. Attenborough did more just with sub-plots in Gandhi. Perhaps even more offensive than this lowly, moronic form of snobbery, Mehta tries to win us over with the idea of sheer beauty being confronted with tragedy. Yes, Earth is often a striking film to look at: the colours of clothes are particularly vibrant, much of the lighting is foggily ethereal. But after a time (like about five minutes) the postcard beauty wears thin. The world is ludicrously pretty: perfect flowers poke into many frames, dirt must glide off all the fabric here, even the sight of butchery is oddly, disturbingly exhilarating to look upon (doubtfully intentional considering this moment is supposed to provide sufficient reason for the climactic act of cruelty). Disgustingly, the heroine falls for a man because he is better looking than another (my interpretation, there is no actual reason given). In a horrid musical interlude, her supposedly diegetic singing voice sounds like it's straight from the studio - equalised to its full potential.
Oh dear, it is so sad such a beautiful group of people, such a wonderful land had to be divided.
Yeah, thanks Deepa, now how about a film with characters who have real emotions involved in a story with dramatic weight so we can take you more seriously, hmm?
Sirokkó (1969)
Induced paranoia across just twelve virtuoso shots.
Winter Wind opens in a snow-bound forest, concentrating on a small band of seemingly hero-worshiping rogues. Over the next few minutes, the camera moves through the forest onto a nearby road, waits while a horse and carriage approach, occasionally tracks off to have a close-up look at the activity of some otherwise hidden characters, circles the carriage as it is shot to pieces by the gang, and follows one of them as he escapes into the forest and runs onto a wasteland of snow and ice.
I'm not sure what has happened, why and exactly how, but it doesn't really matter. The appreciation for this film exists on another level, namely to look in wonder at the masterful tracking shots which create an unparalleled dynamic between character, camera and audience.
Of considerable interest also are the on- and off-screen sound effects, the movement of characters in and out of frame, and the atmosphere of intrigue and paranoia Jancso creates as we are never made explicitly aware of the political situation nor given any sense of recent history and backstory.
I can't say much about the plot: a man, some kind of heroic General made untouchable for his value as a symbol to people we never get to see, is held for his own protection in a small cottage somewhere in the wilderness. But, he wants to actively fight and becomes suspicious of those who want, and practically force, him to stay. The audience is led to empathise with his solitary state by the frustrating and disturbing lack of the formal properties of a regular plot: exposition, motivation, characterisation. Or, rather, it all exists momentarily because from one incident to the next everything in the plot contradicts what we already know. Just as the General can't trust anything neither can we.
So, watching Winter Wind for its story is likely to make anyone a temporary loon.
For those who appreciate camera movements that can, for instance, do this: begin in the cottage, wander around from room to room following several characters framed from long shots to close-ups, steadily and smoothly make its way outside (down the steps) and then perform a few laps of the cottage, stopping briefly to look into a window, before winding down the hill a bit to another group of characters and finally watch them ride off into the forest, there is a lot on offer. I never saw track marks in the snow, the central action was always in sharp focus, an actor hardly ever had to be slightly re-framed. It's an incredible treat and a sign of immense labour (I've heard each shot was rehearsed for a week before actual shooting).
Obviously a good film for cinematography students to analyse. More probably needs to be said about colour, set design, and the minimal use of sound but I'll leave that to another reviewer. It's hard to find but Winter Wind is just as impressive as the other Jancso film I've seen (The Red and the White) and well worth finding if you like your films unique (or at the very least, original). For camera buffs and devotees of Jancso, it's probably indispensable.
Nan guo zai jian, nan guo (1996)
An exercise in rhythmical complexity?
While Hou is concerned with socio-political themes, Goodbye South, Goodbye's story is far less interesting than the method of its presentation. Not until the second screening did I care much about the events of the plot, but the intricate direction is amazing.
The acting appears very realistic, not, I think, because of great actors, but because Hou controls their environment so carefully. I feel they directly express less than the subtler expressiveness of Hou's style: long takes, colour filters, off-screen sound effects, vehicle-based dolly shots, compositions through doorways and over foreground obstacles, music.
But Hou doesn't even seem preoccupied by his motifs. Driving this film is a precise rhythm. Hou is perfectly willing to shuffle his scenes out of narrative order so long as it produces the desired change in tone and tempo. Also, some moments of dramatic importance are prequeled in the previous four or five (less relevant) scenes. And just before these consequential moments he pulls off the most interesting gimmick of all: long (3-4 minutes) shots of miniscule (?) narrative value; it's all so superficially dull!
Which seems to be the exact point. Successfully, Hou lulls us into a relaxed state-of-mind before hitting us on the head with a pivotal scene. Very manipulative but how clever! When you're in the safe hands of a proficient director, the devices they use to assault the senses become digestible. So, even though my sense of narrative timing and progression was confronted in Goodbye South, Goodbye, it didn't lower my level of appreciation. As for the story? Well....
But Lim Giong is terrific and so is his music!