Magenta_Bob Reviews

The Reunion (2013)

The Reunion

[9/10 · 25 March 2014]

I've had periods of feeling properly bullied, I've done things to people lower in the social hierarchy than myself that I really regret, but most of all I've been a silent bystander, and Anna Odell explores the guilt of all three parties, as well as the nature of memory and our tendency to dodge our responsibility, in an intense, confrontational and utterly depressing (yet surprisingly accessible) piece.

The first part, in which she stages a fictionalized version of the class reunion she was not invited to in real life (an approach that brings to mind her controversial art installation where she staged a psychosis in Stockholm), is pretty incredible in and of itself, but the second part where she confronts her classmates with the film shown in the first half really seals the deal.

After being uniformly hailed by critics the movie has suffered some backlash, and was even called a rape-and-revenge film by some, but I think the fact that Odell's motives are questionable doesn't make the film any worse, just more complex and interesting.

Russian Ark (2002)

Has all this been staged for me? Am I expected to play a role?

[8/10 · 12 March 2014]

I expected something very different from this, even watching it a second time I was kind of taken aback by it being just, as a friend put it, "two guys wandering around a mostly sparsely populated museum." As such I don't think I know any film quite like it and I admire it for that. To this end I think the seamlessness is far more than a gimmick and works great, there is a "stream of consciousness"-ness about how the camera just floats about, sometimes lingering on some painting or whatever while the people carry on with their business. This goes again in the dialogue which is just uninterrupted and uncensored thoughts. I don't think any films look quite like Sokurov's visually either, particularly there's some fisheye lens thing going on to dizzying, dreamlike effect (also to be found in Faust). I am not sure how to express this, but I love how unconcerned the film seems about the stuff in it making narrative sense or having to be there, like, I feel like you could take away any given sequence without loss of coherence and yet I'm glad everything is there. The ending is my favorite part I think; everything from the ball onwards and especially the part with the people leaving the castle I find ludicrously impressive and well-choreographed.

I feel like there is something inherently symbolical/psychological about walking in and out of these rooms where different things happen. They don't all have different and obvious meanings but it struck me in particular when they walked into the war room. Perhaps more banally there is a meta level to Russian Ark as our Russian narrator doubles as the spectator i.e. us ("Has all this been staged for me? Am I expected to play a role?").

To its disadvantage, there is some awkward nationalism in it in the shape of the Russian pointing out all great things Russian, but we do get the European shitting on Russia constantly as a counterweight. However, it is a nice touch when he unites with the Russians in the final dance, as Russia and Europe come together.

Werckmeister Harmonies (2000)

Werckmeister Harmonies

[10/10 · 27 January 2014]

And then...complete silence. Everything that lives is still. Are the hills going to march off? Will heaven fall upon is? Will the Earth open under us? We don't know. We don't know for a total eclipse has come upon us.

I've often called Béla Tarr a director of the mundane. Not in a bad way – after all, he's one of my favorite directors – it's just that the guy can spend ten minutes focusing on a man peeling a potato, or on the back of a man walking down a dark street, or on a group of cows walking across a field. But he's also maybe the most magical director I can think of, both in the way he can find beauty in those mundane events and in creating wondrous, otherworldly moments light years away from the mundane. In Werckmeister Harmonies I count at least three moments of absolute movie magic.

The first would be the stunning opening scene, in which our hero János gathers the drunken guests of the local bar and moves them around the dance floor to illustrate the solar system and the concept of an eclipse. Accompanied by Mihály Víg's gorgeous score it's just about the most beautiful thing ever, and it establishes the film's central theme of order and disorder, as well as János' part in it. János takes the disorderly bar room crowd and tries to implement a cosmic order, much like he throughout the film runs errands of various levels of importance for the purpose of either finding personal order in a society that no longer has order, or trying to make the world more orderly, like when he helps his aunt organize a group set out to clean up the town.

The second moment takes place when János visits the giant whale that has come to town. Seeing him eye to eye with the beast is a truly fantastic moment. The whale serves many other purposes for the film. In his encounter with the whale, János is revealed to be a man of faith: "A giant whale has arrived. This mysterious creature from the sea has come from the far-off oceans. Most definitely you have to see it too [...] Just see what a gigantic animal the Lord can create! How mysterious is the lord that he amuses himself with such strange creatures." It's a lovely, genuine comment, but it also makes us think, if he sees the arrival and existence of this creature as a sign of god, does he not also blame god for the riots and apocalypse that come with it? Tarr seems to suggest the answer is yes; when the whale first arrives, it casts an ominous shadow – like an eclipse – on the town, and in his second encounter with the whale, Janos blames it for the troubles it brought, in effect blaming god's creation.

The third work of magic comes when the town seems to have fully entered its state of disorder. The market square is on fire, and during a masterful, silent long take, the citizens raid a hospital, destroying everything and everyone in their path. Until they find a naked old man standing in the shower at the end of the hallway. In what might be the most humane and heartfelt moment I've seen, everyone just stops in their steps and walk out at the sight of the frail old man, as Vig's score emerges to underline the beauty of the scene.

I recalled most of Tarr's movies being the mundane things I mentioned before; people walking and eating, but I was surprised to find Werckmeister so thematically rich. In addition to some things I brushed upon I like my friend's idea of the uncle as the artist and János as the viewer. In that light the ending, in János is committed and the uncle relieved of his responsibilities seems to have another layer of irony and cynicism. I'd be lying though if I didn't say Tarr's style was the main draw for me. There's plenty of substance and food for thought here but the stunning black-and-white cinematography, in the uninterrupted long takes, and those walking backs provide the main source of magic.

Miller's Crossing (1990)

Nobody knows anybody

[8/10 · 28 December 2013]

I've been on the fence about this one because on the one hand I tend to find the Coen brothers' "genre films" less interesting than their genre-crossing films (admittedly the distinction is vague to non-existent, but I feel like True Grit is Coens doing western, something like Intolerable Cruelty is them doing romcom and this is them doing a gangster film, whereas movies like The Big Lebowski and O Brother, Where Art Thou? find them doing more of their own thing), but on the other hand, they again and again prove that they can master every genre they take on, and perhaps none better than Miller's Crossing's gangster film. Here, the brooding mood and the dryly humorous dialogue really shine, and Gabriel Byrne's amazing character is so hard-boiled and taciturn that he would fit just as well in a noir. He rarely speaks, but when he does, he seems to be little concerned with whether or not his comment will result in a punch in the face; in fact, the way he gets slapped around becomes a running gag of sorts.

The opening reference to The Godfather suggests that we're in for a traditional gangster fare, but as often with the Coens, they strike a balance between homage and subversion by exploring themes beyond the surface plot. Here, they use the amoral American prohibition-era setting to delve into questions of morality in a more philosophical way than other gangster films (that might sound a little pretentious but the film is anything but) – what place it has within the world of crime, and where our moral decisions take us. Ethics is "what separates us from the animals", Johnny Caspar (played by a sleazier-than-ever (perhaps bar Coens' own The Man Who Wasn't There) Jon Polito) speculates, an interesting hypothesis that sheds little light on how the intricate relations of Miller's Crossing will play out, but we do learn that the line of separation is thin and vague. A more straightforward question is raised by Caspar later in the film: "you double-cross once, where's it all end?" Miller's Crossing ends when there's no one left to cross.

Jitterbug Follies (1939)

Jitterbug Follies

[4/10 · 26 December 2013]

When Count Screwloose and J.R. the Wonder Dog are suspected of setting up a talent show only to take off with the money, a sadistically looking vigilante forces them to carry it out, but the real act of sadism here is to force the viewers to sit through the atonal eight-minute talent(less) show in what can best be described as the Trout Mask Replica of cartoons.

It's not entirely without merits – for one thing the characters are drawn decently amusingly – but overall it's pretty low on laughs and not remotely as funny as the Marx brothers movies it comes with as a bonus.

Fort Apache (1948)

Fort Apache

[6/10 · 23 December 2013]

Having loved the Ford/Wayne collaboration The Searchers and in general become more positive towards "classic movies" since I last saw Fort Apache, I was hoping it would have something of a renaissance now, but no, it's still pretty lame. It's not downright bad, just very…not interesting in any way. The barren Arizonan landscapes are cool when they don't look too much like a set, although the colorization I watched looked slightly cheap. Henry Fonda is pretty good as the overzealous colonel, determined to gain glory despite having been sidelined by the US army, and when his conflict with good guy John Wayne intensifies, it is elevated to a decently interesting question of honor and the rights of the Native Americans.

Lawrence of Arabia (1962)

Lawrence of Arabia

[8/10 · 17 December 2013]

I decided to revisit this in light of O'Toole's passing, something I've been meaning to do anyway since I thought it was one of those pending 10s. Sadly, I wasn't feeling it as much this time and moved it slightly downwards instead of upwards, but it's still quite a remarkable film, and O'Toole is wonderful. For one thing I just didn't find the desert landscapes (which were the highlight last time) as jaw-dropping anymore, however vast and beautiful they still were. I can only hope I won't be desensitized to Barry Lyndon too when I revisit that. The plot as such also enthralled me less, I wouldn't say it's a chore to sit through but the three and a half hours did take their toll.

However despite being less riveted this time around it probably resonated more with me thematically than before. It's a very fascinating character study; not entirely a linear rise and fall type of movie but somewhat of a wavelike pattern of mythologization and demythologization, with Lawrence bordering on a deity at times (e.g. "You gave life and you took it. The writing is still yours."), and at other times being a very small man, highlighting the frailty of idolatry. There are these lines by Arcade Fire that I keep returning to which I think go quite well with this film as well:

"I'm standing on a stage/ Of fear and self-doubt/ It's a hollow play/ But they'll clap anyway"

I think I may have read things into Lawrence that weren't necessarily there, or projected my own demons onto him, but it's such a rich and complex character that it sort of lends itself to that. This might sound super arrogant but I really latched onto the conflict between self-loathing and at the same time thinking very highly of oneself, of thinking that you're destined for great things and the burden that comes with it, as well as the thought of "hey, maybe I could go far, but maybe I just want to settle for a common life with four walls and adobe slats". Just in the passing there is this profound conversation where a general tells Lawrence that "It's a terrible thing for a man to funk (his destiny) if he has (one),", and Lawrence goes something like "Are you speaking from experience? (…) You're guessing, then."

8½ (1963)

Fellini's most interesting

[7/10 · 28 November 2013]

Fellini's ironically creative film about writer's block is quite a mouthful. It's not really challenging in any other way than challenging your patience, but I do have to admit that two-plus hours of non-narrative philosophic ponderings about life, love, art and religion, formative childhood memories, and burlesque fantasies did wear on both me and the people I watched it with. The recurring thing about people constantly bothering Guido did a good job of depicting a director's hardships and made it perfectly understandable why he killed himself in one scene towards the end, but I'm not sure if that can be considered a victory for the film or not. Also, even though there's clearly a lot of self-criticism in 8½ as well, the "brilliant-but-misunderstood director" feeling rubs me the wrong way.

That being said, there's a lot of brilliance in specific sequences, like the elated ending or the lovely conversation between Guido and Claudia Cardinale. Most impressive is the seamlessness of it, it really plays out like one long stream of consciousness; despite the camera trickery and the vastly different locations, the film could almost have been shot in one take for all I could notice. Other Fellini films get to me more emotionally but this is definitely his most interesting, if also the most self-indulgent.

In the Mood for Love (2000)

"I sometimes wonder what I'd be if I hadn't married." "Maybe happier."

[8/10 · 19 November 2013]

It is a restless moment She has kept her head lowered, to give him a chance to come closer. But he could not, for lack of courage, she turns and walks away.

I don't know why this didn't click with me the first time, as far as romance and style go this is right up my alley. An excellent exercise in subtlety and restraint, Kar Wai Wong's poignant drama is about those who are hurt and left alone rather than those who hurt and leave. The people getting hurt are Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan, two neighbors in 1960s Hong Kong, abandoned by their spouses, who are presumably having an affair. The spouses are never shown on screen, as if to accentuate the sense of isolation and loneliness of the protagonists. Meanwhile, Mr. Chow and Mrs. Chan develop feelings of their own through mundane chance (or are they?) meetings in hallways and rainy streets. Trying to be better than their spouses, they hide their forbidden feelings from both themselves and those around them; as a visual representation, the two are often shot from strange, obscure angles, and in most of the scenes, you only see one of them (or neither) at the time, as if showing both their faces at once would be too intimate. Also, their little role plays, designed to practice how they would react if their partners actually admitted to cheating, subtly double as a metaphor for the façade they have to uphold for the rest of the world.

Emotions or (futile attempts of) a lack thereof are in the foreground, but you can't not mention how this is a stylistic feast as much as an emotional. Lone raindrops poetically dripping on wooden boards, walls soaking in deep red, and that stunning L'eclisse-esque ending, all set to the nearly cartoonishly sensual theme, provides the perfect setting for a story as much about hands touching each other as hands pulling away.

Bicycle Thieves (1948)

Supremely downbeat

[8/10 · 13 November 2013]

There are other (Italian) movies that make me bawl more while watching them, but Vittorio De Sica's supremely downbeat Bicycle Thieves can hold its own in a "I'll never laugh again" kind of way. Telling the simple story of a man losing his bike and subsequently trying to find it, and sort of extrapolating it into society at large, De Sica provides a social commentary of a country either not working or working against you. I'm not going to pretend that I'm an Italian expert after three months here but I do think it captures the feel of Italy pretty well, and sadly, given the current state of affairs here the commentary still rings quite true on both a micro and macro level; comments about "nothing has changed" abounded in my company, like everyone I watched it with had had their bikes stolen or bought a stolen bike, and the unemployment is through the roof.

Either way you don't really have to read too much into it, it's first and foremost a solid (melo)drama, and as such, De Sica does lay it on pretty thick, but it feels like such a humane work that I'm willing to let most of the overwroughtness slide.

Blow-Up (1966)

They don't mean anything when I do them, just a mess. Afterwards I find something to hang onto

[8/10 · 5 November 2013]

Early in Antonioni's peculiar mystery Blowup, we briefly get to see a couple playing tennis. During the brilliant symbolical ending, some pantomime artists are playing too, but this time without a ball, only pretending it's there. Between the bookending tennis matches, our protagonist plays a tennis match of his own; a terrific photo shoot in the park, only accompanied by soft rustling from the trees, followed by a strange encounter with the woman who was earlier being photographed, paves the way for what might or might not be a murder, when the pictures from the session are blown up until they reveal a man with a gun and a dead body.

A quick googling reveals that I'm not the first to make the comparison but I see this as sort of a companion piece to Rear Window. (Small allusions like our protagonist walking up the steps in his studio at street number 39, and repeatedly referring to the women in the movie as The Birds suggest that Antonioni did too.) Both are about successful photographers. James Stewart is physically constrained to his apartment. Blowup's photographer can move freely but is perhaps mentally "constrained"; while his swinging lifestyle doesn't seem too bad, he makes comments in passing about being fed up and wishing he "had tons of money, then he'd be free". Appropriately, the two directors proceed to take that premise in vastly different directions; while Rear Window's photographer gets his boredom stilled by a physical realization of his concocted murder mystery, Blowup's ostensible crime only takes place in our protagonist's head.

I feel like I might put too much existential weight into this based on Antonioni's back catalogue; in all fairness, Thomas doesn't seem remotely as miserable about his happy-go-lucky, swinging London lifestyle as anyone in L'avventura or Red Desert. That being said, there is a lot of stuff in this about lifelessness, vacuousness, illusion; the film oozes of sex but lacks emotion. There are the recurring pantomimes, whose nature it is to toy with objects that do not exist. The models are treated and dressed up as mannequins, and are even asked to close their eyes so as to not display any sign of life. In fact, one of the few lively characters to be found in the film is the woman who acts as a catalyst for the crime. When the protagonist finds out that it was all in his imagination, Antonioni sacrifices a proper climax for a poignant anticlimax, as the plot hauntingly dissolves into the very same nothingness he has been surrounded by the whole time. As the end credits appear, our photographer dissolves as well.

L'Avventura (1960)

Your sensitive little heart races at nothing

[8/10 · 24 October 2013]

When asked recently if we have "YOLO" in Sweden, I replied that we do but that the Swedish mentality is more in the sense of "you only live once, luckily". Ironically, if there's anyone that captures this YOLOL notion for me, it's Italian filmmaker Antonioni.

The first hour leads us to believe that Antonioni is going to deliver on his promise of the titular adventure. It starts with a boat ride around scary cliffs where the waves keep clashing in. There's a sudden sense of danger when Anna claims to have seen a shark in the water during a swim. The party embarks on a small island on a quest to visit some ancient ruins. Then, Anna disappears.

Anna's boyfriend Sandro and her best friend Claudia starts looking for Anna. During a brilliant, almost wordless segment (a device later perfected in L'eclisse), the party wanders around the island with only the ominous sound of thunder and waves (actually, consider the use of waves and the sparse soundscape throughout the movie).

The search goes on, but so does life, with painful clarity, as Sandro and Claudia hesitantly yet inevitably become lovers. The literal search turns into an existential one of sorts, as Anna's disappearance doubles as a physical realization of the disappearance of emotion, happiness. It highlights our insignificance and lack of impact. Sure, the protagonists smile and laugh on occasion, but there's a sense of apathy and melancholy bubbling underneath, like when Claudia during a loving conversation suddenly seems to lose all energy. "Everything is becoming so hideously simple," she proclaims at another point, and painstakingly adds; "even to get rid of a pain." A lot of the dialogue is about nothing in particular, which works in a true-to-life sense, but symbolical lines also abound. The first line uttered by Anna's father – "there's nowhere to run" – is certainly foreboding. The double meaning in comments like "islands, I don't get them. Surrounded by nothing but water, poor things" is unmistakable.

I can see at least two reasons for disliking L'avventura. First, the self-absorption of most characters and the fact that they complain despite their wealth can be a source of annoyance. Second, I'm not gonna lie; it's two and a half hour and not much happens. Regarding the former, as someone who is fairly privileged and undeniably miserable, I can dig, and it works for me as a reminder that existential issues transcend material status. As for the latter, the first time I saw the film I didn't enjoy it all that much precisely because nothing in particular happens for the most of the duration, but the profundity for me lies in omission rather than commission, in what isn't felt or said, much like the catalyst is a character disappearing, not appearing.

Avalon (2011)

Avalon

[8/10 · 23 August 2013]

With Avalon, Axel Petersén joins filmmakers like Jesper Ganslandt and Ruben Östlund in what I think is sort of a Swedish new wave of cinema, set out to depict the beaten, broken and the damned. Petersén brings to the table an impeccable mix of the naturalistic and surreal, the sparse and the extravagant; the camera work is uneasy and restless, not too concerned about keeping the characters or events within the frame, which fits well into the theme of people in the (moral) outskirts of society, not fitting within the norm. When needed, the film is completely silent, and you can hear every breath; at other times, there's an ambient, dreamlike quality to the score and the visuals, sort of like a Swedish Malick. And when the time is right, Petersén just throws in a long scene where Johannes Brost sways to Roxy Music's titular track on a neon lit dance floor.

Nearly everything I have read about this talks about how it is an attack on a generation of Swedes, those 60-somethings that act like half their age without realizing the patheticism of it. Petersén has spoken about it in interviews, most characters are in their sixties and they are invariably pathetic so that's a part of it, sure, but to me it is more about the moral decay of Swedish society. Sort of like Östlund juxtaposed degenerate acts with some of our national treasures in The Guitar Freak, classic Swedish rock bands and radio shows can be heard during some of Avalon's most morally reprehensible moments, before the final, ironic blow is dealt with the national anthem during the last scene.

All the characters, and protagonist Janne in particular, act first and foremost in their own self-interest, but they are not completely without a moral compass, it's just terribly miscalibrated. The prime example is when Janne offers to carry the bag of the woman whose boyfriend he accidentally killed in a futile attempt at redemption. The genuinely moral acts are repelled, like in the symbolical scene where Janne tries to help a drunk boy in the street.

To the extent that morality is missing, money takes its place. It's no coincidence that the film takes place in Båstad, the morally corrupt town to which rich people from the capital (mostly) come to waste money and live like kings. As a drunk night club guest proclaims, Båstad is the new Almedalen (the area where politicians go annually to hold speeches, i.e. the place of power and influence), and "business is pleasure". Also, ironically, the repercussions for the aforementioned killing do not come in the form or the police, but the people who are paid to dispose of the body demanding their money.

There's a certain bounded rationality to the way everyone acts in this movie. The second time, I watched it with my parents, and nearly all their guesses of where the plot was going were wrong, not because they were bad guesses, but because people behave erratically, in a way that is unpredictable ex ante but logical ex post.

Out of the works of the directors mentioned in the beginning, this reminds me the most of Ganslandt's The Ape in its iceberg approach and in having former soap opera star Johannes Brost played wonderfully against type (like sitcom star Olle Sarri was). Many plot points are left unresolved, and character traits are only hinted at. For instance, we don't get to know what offense Janne committed in the past, which makes perfect sense in a movie where people place such a low value on morality.

Dial M for Murder (1954)

Dial M for Murder

[7/10 · 20 August 2013]

In stories things usually turn out the way the author wants them to; and in real life they don't... always. […] No, I'm afraid my murders would be something like my bridge: I'd make some stupid mistake and never realize it until I found everybody was looking at me.

The scene in which the above dialogue takes place seems to be key to Dial M for Murder, as it stakes out both the theme and the inevitable outcome of the film. The idea of the perfect crime, the failure of it and the idea that crime never pays run throughout many of Alfred Hitchcock's films. It's also the one theme of his that I'm the least interested in as knowing where the film is going takes away some of the excitement. For instance, when the supposedly perfect murder of Grace Kelly goes wrong, but she is still arrested and sentenced to death, it is a brilliantly cruel and sadistic twist, but the stakes would be even higher if you thought there was any chance she wouldn't make it.

Complaints about predictability notwithstanding, Hitchcock still shines in his execution. There's a real elegance and assurance about the way the characters act and interact and the way the plot, with some ingenious details revolving for instance around the keys to the apartment, unfolds. Hitchcock can still squeeze a lot of tension into certain scenes. When Anthony Dawson is standing behind the curtain during the attempted murder waiting for that call, Hitchcock makes the audience sweat too.

As Good as It Gets (1997)

You make me want to be a better man

[7/10 · 16 August 2013]

As Good as It Gets positions itself from the get-go as the romantic comedy to recommend to people who don't like romantic comedies. The first scene establishes Melvin (Jack Nicholson) as a cold asshole, the second reveals his OCD, establishing him altogether as a guy you wouldn't normally find in a romcom, while also getting people who are bummed about being forced to see the film on board. In the third, however, we find Melvin writing romantic literature, pointing out the direction of the film. Shot from behind some shelves, we are told that his sensitive side is hidden only deep beneath, but as the camera moves to the other side of the shelves for the next shot, we also know that this side will be uncovered eventually.

The grittiness of the film is pretty much limited to Nicholson's unusually bad behavior and allowing the actors to curse, which is hardy enough to subvert genre conventions. Other than that, there's not much originality in the "unlikely love" trope or the gay supporting characters. But as always, just because we know A and B does not mean there isn't any fun to be had getting there.

There's a really weird pacing to this film. As described above, the protagonist is presented very economically, as is his counterpart Carol (Helen Hunt), but then it feels like the film noodles around for like an hour, which only feels partly necessary for developing the characters and their relations further. In any case there is really no need for this film to be more than two hours long. Once the unlikely trio Melvin, Carol, and Melvin's gay neighbor Simon go on their trip, though, the film becomes a lot of fun. Comedies rarely make me laugh when I'm alone but both "I'm afraid he might pull the stiff one-eye on me" and something about "whether crabs were in season now" made me lose it. The film also delivers in the sweetness and romance department; "You make me want to be a better man" is one of the most heartwarming lines ever.

I think one of the measures of success is if you want the lead characters to get together at the end of the film. As an incurable cynic, I wouldn't have minded if the only victory was the suggestion that Melvin's ailment was improving (by him forgetting to lock his door and finally stepping on some tiles), but the mere fact that I wasn't bothered by the happy ending was a small victory in itself.

L'Eclisse (1962)

L'eclisse

[9/10 · 13 August 2013]

A haunting, intangibly profound film where nothing happens and Monica Vitti is leaning against things; make no mistake, it's another Michelangelo Antonioni. The first ten minutes were very good, the last ten incredible. Stunning cinematography as to be expected. I'm not sure if I saw the purpose of these long stock exchange segments - something about materialism and maybe the emptiness of it (e.g. that thing about the money people lost in the crash essentially just disappearing) I suppose.

There was this great line by Vitti, something like "I wish I didn't love you or that I loved you more" which was Antonioni at his finest.

Thunderball (1965)

Thunderball

[7/10 · 6 August 2013]

If the first three Bond films grew if not better then at least more balanced between camp and cool, Thunderball is the first one that feels slightly done on routine. You have already seen pretty much everything in this before, and in superior renditions to boot. That being said, Thunderball does bring something slightly new to the table with its strong focus on underwater action, which, while not always quite as exciting as I think the filmmakers believe them to be, does feel fairly fresh and exotic. And in any case, any excuse to shoot Sean Connery and/or one of his lady friends emerging from the water is accepted in my book.

The plot about SPECTRE's number two (eye-patch notwithstanding far less intriguing than the concealed number one) hijacking a couple of NATO atomic bombs is quite stale. Instead, the film is more interesting in the love department, with a couple of elegant encounters, reinforced by the terrific leitmotif, where Connery is as charming as ever and delivers his pick-up lines effortlessly. I could probably just watch Sean Connery being smooth for two hours. The ass kicking is just a bonus.

Quicker'n a Wink (1940)

Quicker'n a wink

[7/10 · 2 August 2013]

Nice little vintage short that comes with one of the Marx Brothers boxes, and shows a series of experiments using stroboscopic photography (the technique that "puts the super in super speed photography"). It was probably cooler in 1940 than in 2013 – you can really tell how impressed the narrator, who is quite dry despite the increasingly desperate attempts at cracking jokes, assumes the audience to be – but even now it's pretty fun to watch things like a woman bursting a bubble with a needle in slow motion.

There's a lot of milk in this for some reason; there's a cat lapping milk, there's milk dripping on a plate, and there's a scene where they drop a cup of milk onto the floor. All in all it's the best I've seen from Sidney and clocking in somewhere around 10 minutes it never gets boring but still, it's probably primarily good for one viewing as the novelty wears off quite fast and there is only so much lactose a person can take.

Million Dollar Baby (2004)

"I've got nobody but you, Frankie." "Well, you've got me."

[8/10 · 29 July 2013]

This movie just crushes me. I used to be lukewarm about it and say that it consists of one plain bad half and one great half, but I can't really even do that anymore as I started tearing up during the first half already this time around, even if it might have been in anticipation of what was to come. There's still a lot of stuff in it that I don't like; the writing feels very Academy Awards 101 and/or high school essay (in the same way American History X did), Morgan Freeman as the goodhearted narrator and Clint Eastwood as the grumpy protagonist are as cliché as they come, as is the whole premise of a "cut man" who can patch up people but not his own life, and the 10-second boxing matches in general and the East German prostitute opponent in particular are ludicrous. But it's like, when you have hot tears dripping onto your shirt, who cares? In some ways it reminded me of Dancer in the Dark in that you can find a lot of faults with it and question its manipulation but ultimately don't care as it manipulates so well. If Lars von Trier made a boxing movie, this would probably be it. Hilary Swank also fits together with "golden heart" protagonists Björk and Nicole Kidman as someone who is perceived by herself and others as trash, and swiftly gets robbed of whatever good that comes her way.

The catalytic event that separates the two halves of the movie is of course Maggie Fitzgerald's accident and subsequent paralysis. It's a pretty weird decision to take a sports movie and turn it into a discussion piece on euthanasia halfway in, but I think it works quite well. First of all, the narration lays the ground for the second half by symbolically talking about wounds that can't be healed, Secondly, the whole subplot with Danger might be a metaphor for lost causes. There's also the thing about the fighter having to fight outside the ring as well. The film explores the aspects and consequences for both the person on the deathbed and the person next to it, maybe not in any particular depth, but as much as is allowed without feeling overly didactic. And the final punch hits harder than any of the ones in the ring.

The Godfather Part II (1974)

You once told me: 'In five years the Corleone family will be completely legitimate.' That was seven years ago.

[8/10 · 27 July 2013]

The Godfather: Part II is perhaps the most famous example of a sequel generally held in as high regard as its predecessor and it's easy to see why; where part I was about Michael's rise, this is about the fall which I think ceteris paribus makes for a better film. Personally I think it's probably slightly weaker than Part I due to the stories being a tad weaker and less focused. Being 25 minutes longer, one might think that it's grander in scope or more elaborate but it really consists of two less elaborate stories; in present time, we get to follow Michael Corleone's aforementioned fall, while a flashback chronicles his father Vito's rise to power during his formative years.

That being said, the two stories are interwoven and juxtaposed quite elegantly. Michael begins with getting his hand kissed as a newly appointed "don", and ends with him symbolically left alone at the kitchen table of a family dinner during a flashback. Vito starts at rock bottom, having been made an orphan and forced to leave Sicily for America, and ends up if not on the top, but then well on his way. As another contrast, we get to see shots of Vito's family (including Michael as a baby) flourishing right after Michael's marriage is falling apart.

Furthermore, Part II does contain some of the best stuff of the trilogy, especially towards the last half hour or so when all story lines come together quite beautifully; the marital breakdown of Michael and Kay. The conversation between Tom Hagen and Frankie Pentangeli followed by the latter's suicide. The visceral and character building scene in which Vito shoots Fanucci. And maybe the most striking of them all – the calamity of Fredo's (John Cazale outplaying everyone in the impeccable ensemble) death, happening off-screen as if it was too cruel to show the viewers. Better or not, this is in all respects a fine continuation and expansion upon the previous film and unmissable for anyone who enjoyed Part I.

The Departed (2006)

"It's a nation of f*****g rats"

[8/10 · 19 July 2013]

The thing I remember the most from seeing The Departed the first time is that I had rented it with my parents, and there was something wrong with the DVD so it kept freezing at the scene in which Jack Nicholson whips out a dildo at the adult movie theater, which I found both harrowing and amusing since I imagined that someone had played that scene over and over until the DVD got scratched or something. We must have watched that rubber penis ten times trying to get past that mark. I mention this because it says something both about my complicated relationship to my parents and sex, and about the slight forgettability of the rest of the film.

Still, the fact that the film pales a bit alongside Scorsese's other great gangster films does not make it bad, in fact it is a solid piece of work. The Departed eschews some of the lavish style of movies like Goodfellas and Casino, possibly because the source demands a somewhat grittier presentation, by, aside from a couple of neon glowing scenes and a weirdly gratuitous cocaine orgy scene, keeping the visual excess to a minimum and playing the soundtrack rather safe with things like Pink Floyd and The Rolling Stones – Gimme Shelter is played at least twice, but I gotta admit, it's the perfect song to make a badass entrance to.

However, the plot, about a policeman infiltrating the mob while a mob guy is infiltrating the police, is brilliantly constructed, especially during the latter half where Scorsese turns the tension of who will be exposed first up to eleven. The fact that both camps are full of "good guys" and "bad guys" helps blur the line between the two, which is a recurring theme in the dialogue. There's an inherent growing sense of distrust and paranoia in the central conflict that the film could probably squeeze more out of, but DiCaprio conveys it quite well in his emotionally troubled undercover cop. The suspense reaches its height during two excellent scenes; first, an intense alley chase, and second, an equally intense phone call between the two infiltrators. The only thing that doesn't really work with them is the somewhat contrived subplot in which they both sleep with the same woman. It would be unfair to single out The Departed among the host of gangster films but it's like it didn't even show up for the Bechdel test.

I have to revise my opinion about the violent two-part climax which I previously thought had an air of silliness to it, as it actually plays quite perfectly into the whole blurred distinction between good and evil. There's something ironic? fateful? nihilistic? about it and it reminded me of those old French heist movies like Rififi and Le doulos. The departed, good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, are all equal now.

Antichrist (2009)

Antichrist

[10/10 · 9 July 2013]

Ever since I saw Antichrist back in 2010, I've been reluctant to see it again in fear of it not holding up; the first time was like a punch in the stomach as the film had an almost physical effect on me. I remember seeing the notoriously provocative and shocking A Serbian Film around the same time, and thinking that it didn't disturb me nearly as much even though the visual nastiness is on par if not worse. The reason I think is that with Antichrist, Lars von Trier does not just shock the audience visually, but manages to create an emotionally troubling piece of work with a suffocating atmosphere from start to finish, which almost always wins out for me.

Antichrist is by far the most visceral film I've seen by von Trier up to that point (how it compares in that respect to at least the opening and closing of subsequent Melancholia is debatable I suppose). For most of the running time, there's an incredible soundscape of drones and hisses running in the background that genuinely feels like evil caught on tape. Visually, the film is littered with creepy imagery such as the recurring acorn rain and shots of birds eating each other (as well as much worse things). While Antichrist looks much more lavish than previous films, the slightly shaky camera is still there to bring intensity and give a feeling of presence. The brilliant Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg do just as much to create atmosphere with their subdued and (in the latter case) anxiety-ridden performances.

I've always thought that the talk about von Trier's films being misogynist have been quite misguided. Somewhat troublesomely, a lot of nasty things happens to his female protagonists in movies like Dogville and Dancer in the Dark, but at no point have I felt like he has sided against them. Antichrist is admittedly a bit more in the grey area, as a lot of dialogue is explicitly about the evil of women, but to me it still comes across more like an extrapolation of Charlotte Gainsbourg's character's self-hatred, much like the whole thing about the film taking place in the woods is a way to give the theme of the nature of evil a physical form. Moreover, while von Trier does play into stereotypical gender roles by having Willem Dafoe play the rational, emotionally stable party, he is also the catalyst of the evil by making strange decision like bringing his wife out into the woods which she is so afraid of.

Evidently there are a lot of symbolical things going on in Antichrist. But much like the "glib" contents of Gainsbourg's thesis, von Trier does not necessarily present a coherent argument, but rather throws out a series of themes and ideas and leaves up to the viewer to decide what sticks. You could delve into the films exploration of evil, nature, the nature of evil and how we are evil by nature. You could read as much as you like into the fact that the characters are only archetypically referred to as she and he and that they go to visit "the garden of Eden" – is it perhaps about the birth of evil? Do their sin (of giving into lust) from the prologue give way to the three beggars of grief, pain and despair from which death must follow? Or, perhaps most appropriately, you could just see it as a mood piece to be experienced rather than thought, and as such one of the most unsettling and affecting films I have seen. Three years later, I am happy to say that Antichrist packs the same punch.

The Queen (2006)

The Queen

[6/10 · 4 July 2013]

I could not think of a less appealing subject matter than a royal biopic – even if it is paired with one of my favorite themes – the inability to show emotions – so the fact that The Queen is able to keep my attention and interest at all is a small victory in itself, but I've seen it twice now, and overall, it doesn't do much for me. It is dryly amusing and competently made but it feels impersonal (and not just in the way that fills a thematic purpose) and like a TV movie in the blandest sense of the word.

The film is unmistakably about the queen, but she is largely depicted through the juxtaposition with others; she comes across as overly strict and reactionary when contrasted with the casual and modern Tony Blair, who wears football shirts and talks of revolution. Similarly, Princess Diana, whose death is at the center of the film, serves as an antithesis, like in a good scene where Prince Charles (in a great performance by Alex Jennings) talks about how she was "warm, physical, never afraid to show her emotions".

There is also some interesting stuff about the queen doubting herself ("Something's happened. There's been a change, some shift in values. When you no longer understand your people, mummy, maybe it is time to hand it over to the next generation."), and a sort of sunk cost fallacy that makes her reluctant to admit she has handled Diana's death incorrectly (exacerbated by the fact that she has too few naysayers around her). All this suggests that it is a critical film, but it never feels very biting. For one thing, it is a bit too merry and lightweight. For another, it is somewhat undermined by a sappy final act in which the queen is largely praised from all directions except Tony Blair's wife.

Predictably, there are a couple of good scenes in which emotions seep through. While the scene where Blair defends and praises the queen feels redundant, it is refreshing to hear someone yell for a change. Also, there is another good scene in which the queen breaks down and cries, with the back against the camera, as if she doesn't want to show it to us viewers even, while still suggesting that the lack of emotion is not due to a lack of capacity, but rather of the perception of what is appropriate for a queen.

Quantum of Solace (2008)

There is something horribly efficient about you.

[8/10 · 1 July 2013]

Quantum of Solace continues the Bond franchise's transition into the 21st century that Casino Royale laid the groundwork for (let's be honest, Die Another Day didn't lay anything). With the violence at an all-time high and the camp at a low, this is the film that most resembles a regular action film. In line with that, it's a bit of a departure stylistically too, with the quite extreme high-frequency editing; I didn't clock it but it has to be a good fifteen minutes before we get a shot longer than a couple of seconds. Arguably it's just modern action schlock, but I think the opening segment is probably the most exhilarating ever in a Bond film.

Other terrific action scenes abound. Among others, there's a wonderfully executed and sweeping segment taking place during a performance of Tosca, as well as a brief but really cool hotel elevator scene.

One of the complaints about the film is the bland villain. I have been known to complain about uncharismatic villains as well, but here I think Dominic Greene works perfectly well as a modern, faceless villain whose main attribute is a lack of mannerisms. After all, he is the leader of an organization about which M asks "how can they be everywhere and we know nothing about them?" All in all, I've seen the film three times now and it just gets better each time, and now holds its own among the best of the Bond films. It might trade some of Casino Royale's character development and sensitivity for high-octane action, but it's not without emotional depth; it's just that Bond has now been burnt by the fire and won't go near it again. The emotional theme of the film is getting over deception and loss, and how Bond balances dangerously on the edge while doing so. Quantum of Solace might find him at his most emotionless, merciless and clinical, but also at his most tormented.

For Your Eyes Only (1981)

A wholly unremarkable affair

[6/10 · 27 June 2013]

For Your Eyes Only is a wholly unremarkable affair, where the plot is forgettable and the villains uncharismatic. However, it does pass the time reasonably well and although none of the action sequences is among the best of the series, the film is packed with a wide variety of them in all sorts of locations; there's some helicopter action during the silly pre-credit sequence (that pays homage to On Her Majesty's Secret Service by showing Bond's dead wife as well as long-time villain Blofeld), there's a long and fairly innovative skiing scene, there is a brief but memorable ice hockey fight, and there's a tense climbing scene, among others.

The film might be set apart from at least some of the others in two respects. First of all, with its slightly cheesy synth score and jovial tone, Bond's transition into the 80s is not unnoticed. Secondly, it downplays Bond as a womanizer by having him reject one of the love interests (not without reason considering the age difference), and the relationship between Bond and Melina Havelock is quite delicate (and helped by the cute theme). Trivial differences aside, however, if there's one Bond film I would never think about again, this might be it.