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50. Larwence of Arabia (1962, David Lean)
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Awaiting blurb.... |
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49. Through a Glass Darkly (1961, Ingmar Bergman)
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Contains spoilers. The first in Bergman’s faith trilogy is “Through a Glass Darkly”, a film about a woman just released from a mental institute, Karin (Harriet Andersson). Taking place over a twenty four hour period, the film tells the story of how Karin begins to see God in the attic of their holiday home, and examines her relationship with the three men sharing her surroundings; husband Martin (Max von Sydow), father David (Gunnar Bjornstrand), and brother Minus (Lars Passgard). “Through a Glass Darkly” is a dark and depressing film about God and faith, and the existence of both upon earth. The film’s final conclusion is the God exists on the face of earth in the form of love, and it’s a very nice thought. Therefore, at the climax of this film, I didn’t feel depressed or down at the sad consequences of Karin’s illness, I felt liberated by its re-assuring message. The film also examines taboo themes, such as incest and schizophrenia. The performances are mostly excellent, with von Sydow and – in particular – Andersson putting in some great work. Andersson’s scenes of mental breakdown are done wonderfully, in particularly the first one, where she is alone in the attic. It is like a monologue of suffering, with no dialogue but plenty of brilliant physical acting. It loses points for Lars Passgard, who doesn’t manage to inflict himself on the viewer in a role that, really, should be just as powerful as the rest of the film is. Still, it’s expertly scored, with fantastic cinematography, and some wonderful scenery. I’d certainly recommend this as one of Bergman’s very best. JB. |
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48.The Plague of the Zombies (1966, John Gilling)
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Plague... pre-dates Romero's zombies by two years, but the social commentary was already there. Peter Bryan's script takes social evils and the abuse inherent in the class structure of the time, sets it in rural England, and creates an impressive allegory for the privileged classes exploiting the workers. The contempt that Squire Hamilton and his men hold for the villagers is made clear from the beginning when his hunt destroys a funeral in pursuit of a fox. Squire Hamilton represents the decadent upper-classes, he has mastered voodoo through the Colonial oppression of other countries and now uses that knowledge to turn townspeople into zombies so that they'll work in his unsafe mine. Greed has taken hold of the wealthy so completely that the poor are reduced to little more than units of productions. Despite the allegories in the film, it's still retains the familiar qualities of a Hammer horror. The usual atmospheric gothic wonderland is created by the masterful set designer Bernard Robinson, making this Cornish village feel like something from another world. In fact at times it feels more like one of Hammer's vampire films than a zombie movie, with much of the imagery (especially the zombies' rise from the grave) looking like an extract from a Dracula sequel and Morell's Sir James Forbes feeling like a stand-in for Van Helsing. Plague often feels underrated among more mainstream fans, possibly due to the lack of both familiar Hammer symbols, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, in the cast. But among genre fans it's rightly rated as one of the finest offerings, aided in no small part by the superb script and incredible performances from Morell and Carson. Hammer films are all too often dismissed as little more than lurid helpings of blood and cleavage, but there's a great intelligence to many of their films, whether it's the exploration of religious mythology and what it means to be human in Quatermass and the Pit, the question of man's bestial nature in The Abominable Snow Man, or this chilling exploration of the tyranny and oppression that the powerful will often inflict on the weak. DW. |
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46. Giulietta Degli Spiriti (1965, Federico Fellini)
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Giulietta is a housewife who suspects her husband of cheating. She also has knowledge of the otherworldly. These two aspects of her life merge in Fellini’s first colour film. Like in most of the films I’ve seen of his, Fellini discuses several themes within this film’s (rather generous) runtime. The first that I want to discuss is the spiritual aspect of the film, because Fellini dedicates much of the runtime to discussing faith and religion. The Italian discusses their place in every day life, and he sets this discussion up with a rather odd scene in the house of a medium/holy woman, where she has fits, sets up a subplot involving the search for Iris (a probable pseudonym of faith itself), and dropping some philosophical discussions about this, that, and everything. In actual fact, this scene is perhaps the worst of the film, brimming with campness and poor performances, but there’s no denying that it’s important. At several points during thee film, quotes from this one scene are repeating independently, the point being that faith and spirituality should integrate itself during your every day life. Fellini also discusses religion’s place in today’s society, condemning it by have serious discussions on religion take place in a brothel-like household, whilst also lauding what religion could be with several showings of morality and righteousness by members of the cloth. t’s not all about religion and spirituality though, and Fellini finds time to discuss a familiar theme in the decision between responsibility and freedom (the major theme within “I Vitelloni” is the same), this time in the form of a discussion on the pros and cons of hedonism. Again, like in the 1953 film, Fellini shows characters with differing opinions on the subject. Namely, it is Guilietta who struggles with the thought of hedonism at the get go, and instead favours responsibility and fidelity. However, as the film wears on, she meets characters with differing opinions, most notably Suzy, who runs a brothel-esque household with the general purpose of debauchery. Guilietta is tempted, but constantly resists, and although this film obviously puts forward points both for and against living solely for base pleasures, it is also one that lauds the individual. At no point does it force any of its characters into a decision either way, but it does show Guilietta tempted both intoxicated and sober, and points out the stupidity in denying something that you so evidently want. It lauds free will and choice, whether that choice be for the security and safety of a monogamous relationship, or the freedom and exhilaration that hedonism provides, and how the right choice varies from individual to individual. JB. |
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46. The Battle for Algiers (1966, Gillo Pontecorvo)
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45. Suzanne's Career (1963, Eric Rohmer)
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I can’t really hope to write a review even half as well as Jamesbondguy (Will Stanton) for this film. His passion for it is obvious, and more profound than mine, for although I respect this film after only a first viewing, I can’t say it’s anywhere near my favourite Rohmer like it is his. As I said in my recently-posted review of “Full Moon in Paris”, Rohmer is my favourite French director, and sits in my top five directors of any kind. I won’t go into that too much, but I love the way that he explores relationships and characters, and how he doesn’t live in clichés or stereotypes like many directors working today. And, in fact, “Suzanne’s Career” is certainly a continuation (or, rather, a beginning, for this is one of his earliest works) of these themes. It is, essentially, a three character film. Bertrand (Phillipe Buezen) is a student whose friend, Guillaume (Christian Charriere) is exploiting the weak and feeble Suzanne (Catherine See) of the title. Seeing an opportunity for financial gain, Bertrand himself begins to extract money out of Suzanne for himself, but stops short of the level that Guillaume – who exploits Suzanne for sex – goes to. But, like many (or even all) Rohmer films, “Suzanne’s Career” isn’t really about the plot. Instead, it’s about characters, and how they interact with each other. Replacing cinematic techniques with the mindscape of a literary work thanks to Bertrand’s matter-of-fact, internalized narration, Rohmer goes about telling his story with an eye for characterization. Rather than letting the plot drive the characters, Rohmer lets the characters drive the plot, and although that’s most certainly the case in all Rohmer films its present here in its rawest fashion. I can’t say that this is my favourite film from the director by a long shot, but “Suzanne’s Career” is certainly a well-realized, smart, and poignant film brimming with realism and fine characterisation, even if it is a little bit light in comparison to Rohmer’s later, more accomplished works. JB.
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44. When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (1960, Mikio Naruse)
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Keiko is a young widow. She's a hard-working, charming and beautiful woman, struggling to get by following the death of her beloved husband. In order to make a living, she's become a bar hostess and she tries to maintain a sense of independence and self-respect in a patriarchal society. She has to make a decision, she has reached 30 and needs to decide between remarrying or opening the bar of her own that she dreams of. Keiko prides herself on her standards, she doesn't act like the other geishas, refusing to prostitute herself and earning the respect of her loyal clients. Despite the image she projects of grace and confidence she's tormented by financial pressures. She needs to survive while supporting the people depending on her, including a sick child, a greedy mother and a useless, debt-ridden brother. Set against the usual backdrop of polite Japanese society, Naruse focuses on the repression of women and how so many of them are stuck in some form of servitude to men, be it through marriage and domesticity or catering to them through the geisha lifestyle. Naruse is one of the great directors of women and he obviously sympathizes with Keiko and helps the audience connect with her through the betrayals she suffers and the pressure she is under. This sad and evocative film could almost be considered slight to the casual viewer. But it's a dark film, a character study about trying to retain dignity in the face of overwhelming despair and degradation and one that shows how people try to hide deep pain behind a happy facade. Naruse's focus seems so small but those damn stairs take on almost Sisyphean proportions and the emotional weight of Takamine's performance crushes on the viewer until it becomes overwhelming. It's one of the great examples of Japanese cinema from one of its most neglected masters. DW.
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43. The Garden (1968, Jan Svankmajer)
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I don't know anything about Svankmajer's political leanings, but if I had to hazard a guess I would say that "the Garden” – at heart – is an anti-communist film. It's never explained why the people stand there, and whether they do it out of choice or because of the host's oppression, and all the better for it. At first, it actually feels quite uplifting. These people, out in the fresh air, holding hands, it's quite a refreshing sight. Even the host, Josef (Jiri Halek), notes how beautiful it is, and how calm the people are. But, there are several little moments and touches that give away Svankmajer's ulterior motives. The first is Boruvka (Vaclav Borovicka), who takes naps at night and sometimes even has a sit down. While this may seem quite normal, he receives a stern telling off from his Lenin-esque 'owner'. The second is the line "I put an engineer between two butchers, or vice versa”. Occupation is unimportant, and prestige is non-existent. Although this may seem like a good thing, the loss of identity is actually quite frightening. Thirdly, there are the two members of the fence plays "rock, paper, scissors”. Whenever Josef appears, they stop, as if worried that their joviality will receive stern punishment. Finally – and perhaps most poignantly – there is Frank (Ludek Kopriva), the visitor. When he hears about the wall and its supposed advantages, he leaps at the chance to join the line. As soon as he does, he is no longer Frank. He is now just part of the system… another cog in the wheel… another soul for Josef to own. Past this, there is the general aesthetic of the film to applaud. This is Svankmajer's first film made up completely of live action, but he still directs it as he would one of his animations. There are quick cuts, often several in the space of a couple of seconds, to cram as much information, emotion, and meaning into as little time as he can. There are also intense close-ups, showing bemusement, happiness, or boredom on the faces of Svankmajer's actors. If there was ever one film which was testament to the thought that you can't get the kind of emotion that you do from animation as you do from live action, it's this one, because this is Svankmajer's most emotive film to date. It's also great how he gives you enough to let you in on the plot, but keeps enough from you to keep the secret to himself. After watching this wonderful little film, I was wondering as to whether I should be confused, enlightened, affected, amused, or disturbed, and then it dawned on me; I was all of these things. In just seventeen wonderful minutes, Svankmajer crafts a film as toughing and as intelligent as most directors do in a hundred.JB.
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42. Night of the Living Dead (1968, George A Romero)
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41. The L-Shaped Room (1962, Bryan Forbes) |
Awaiting blurb... |
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