apb - "Something to Believe In"
(Single Release: 1985)
I must admit, I hadn't heard every single track on this list in the year it was released. Case in point: apb's "Something to Believe In." It took another 20 years for this Scottish band's brilliant music to reach my ears. It wasn't for lack of trying. I was in a prime location for college and alternative radio. I seemed to hear most other great bands from overseas, but in the time before the internet, not everything made it across. Hearing apb, it is now fairly obvious where modern bands such as Franz Ferdinand gained their influences.
One man's writings, thoughts, and appreciations of all things cultural.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Great Songs from My Favorite Year in Music: 1985, Part 2
a-ha - "Hunting High and Low"
(Album Release: June 1985)
Most of the world had been so captivated by this Norwegian band's initial single and video, "Take on Me," that it remains within people's collective consciousness to this day. People then tend to forget that a-ha was not just a one-hit wonder. "The Sun Always Shines on TV," "Love is Reason," and "Train of Thought" were successful tracks from that album, though they may never have reached the heights of "Take on Me." The title track, however, showed a softer side of this pop band, proving that they could write ballads just as majestically as they wrote catchy dance singles. Coldplay showed that I wasn't alone in my appreciation of this tune by covering it at numerous shows.
(Album Release: June 1985)
Most of the world had been so captivated by this Norwegian band's initial single and video, "Take on Me," that it remains within people's collective consciousness to this day. People then tend to forget that a-ha was not just a one-hit wonder. "The Sun Always Shines on TV," "Love is Reason," and "Train of Thought" were successful tracks from that album, though they may never have reached the heights of "Take on Me." The title track, however, showed a softer side of this pop band, proving that they could write ballads just as majestically as they wrote catchy dance singles. Coldplay showed that I wasn't alone in my appreciation of this tune by covering it at numerous shows.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Great Songs from My Favorite Year in Music: 1985, Part 1
Adam Ant - "Apollo 9"
(Album Release: September 1985)
Despite recent strange behavior on his part, I've always been a big fan of Adam Ant. Though many disparaged his post-Friend or Foe material, including "Strip," "Puss in Boots," and "Vive le Rock," I always found his move toward silly pop eminently enjoyable. This song in particular was one of my favorites with its nonsensical lyrics such as "Whoopsin - a -whoopsin" and "jan-jan-jammering." It doesn't hurt that the song has now become familiar as the intro to Howard Kremer's great countdown podcast, "Who Charted." He may have lost the warpaint and the Louis XIV get-up, but he replaced it with jeans and an astronaut's outfit! Tres chic!
(Album Release: September 1985)
Despite recent strange behavior on his part, I've always been a big fan of Adam Ant. Though many disparaged his post-Friend or Foe material, including "Strip," "Puss in Boots," and "Vive le Rock," I always found his move toward silly pop eminently enjoyable. This song in particular was one of my favorites with its nonsensical lyrics such as "Whoopsin - a -whoopsin" and "jan-jan-jammering." It doesn't hurt that the song has now become familiar as the intro to Howard Kremer's great countdown podcast, "Who Charted." He may have lost the warpaint and the Louis XIV get-up, but he replaced it with jeans and an astronaut's outfit! Tres chic!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Great Songs from the Year of My Birth: 1971, Part 33
Paul McCartney - "Uncle Albert / Admiral Halsey"
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
More of the Best Comedy Podcasts: A Second Look and Listen
Less than a year ago, I posted a list of my favorite comedy podcasts. It’s amazing how quickly the digital landscape has changed in such a short time. I’ve found many more podcasts since then, some fairly recent and some that have been around a while. Last time I wrote about Comedy Death Ray (now called Comedy Bang Bang), WTF with Marc Maron, Doug Loves Movies, The Nerdist Podcast, Sklarbro Country, Kevin Pollak’s Chat Show, The Pod F. Tompkast, Steve Agee Uhhh, Walking the Room, Never Not Funny, and Jordan, Jesse, Go! Here are the additional podcasts I’ve been listening to since I made that original list, which you can find here. Click on the titles of each podcast to be directed to their respective home pages:
Superego
Matt Gourley, Jeremy Carter, Jeff Crocker and Mark McConville, not to mention occasional special guests, provide some of the best sketch material I’ve heard since Monty Python. Sometimes the voices alone are enough to send me into fits of hysteria, but it’s not just how they say things funny, but that they also say incredibly funny things. Each half hour is so packed with laughs that I often have to go back to hear material I had been laughing through and consequently missed. Characters such as Shunt McGuppin, a renegade GPS device, and a father worried about dreamcatchers and Predators have had me in tears, gasping for breath. Seriously, Superego is one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard, among podcasts or anything else.
Who Charted?
This program, hosted by Howard Kremer (aka Dragon Boy Suede) and chartkeeper Kulap Vilaysack, explores the pop culture lists we love, always a music and a movie chart, with one extra to delve into the guest’s credits. It’s a really clever way to do an interview, for sure. But, Kremer’s offbeat questions and Kulap’s infectious laugh are what fuel this hilarious countdown show. With equally fantastic song transitions, that have now become ringtones, Who Charted has quite possibly become my favorite podcast in the Earwolf family, which itself has become the premier network of comedy programming. After all, out of all the podcasts I listen to, Who Charted is the only one that’s nabbed guest Ken Marino.
Comedy and Everything Else
Comedian Jimmy Dore and his partner, Stefane Zamorano, chat with a special guest each week about, you guessed it, comedy…and everything else. I am one of those listeners who generally love the “everything else” part. But, I also love when Doug Benson ends up off the topic of movies, so I might be the average listener’s nightmare. I love Jimmy’s take on politics, which he also provides in his stand-up and his radio show, The Jimmy Dore Show on KPFK. Some of the best moments are found in Dore’s deconstruction of current event soundbites. Recent long shows, sometimes split into two parts, such as with guests Karen Kilgariff and Brody Stevens have been worth every second.
How did This Get Made?
Another fairly recent addition to the Earwolf network is How Did This Get Made, a celebration of the worst movies ever made, as guided by host Paul Scheer and his usual sidekicks, Jason Mantzoukas and June Diane Raphael. Along with a guest from the world of comedy, these intrepid explorers of Eccch delve into the worst of the worst. Old Dogs, Battlefield Earth, All About Steve, Mac & Me, and most recently, The Love Guru, all get the HDTGM treatment. It’s like hanging out with a bunch of funny friends and discussing bad movies. What could be better?
Judge John Hodgman
John Hodgman, aka the PC, aka the man with many areas of expertise, is the judge, and Jesse Thorn, America’s Radio Sweetheart, is the bailiff. Think: People’s Court for comedy nerds. Problems with pronunciation? Arguments about cheating at video games? Should cabs be commissioned to go through drive-thrus? The Honorable Judge John Hodgman deliberates on all of these issues and more. There is no squabble he can’t resolve, no issue he can’t adjudicate.
The Long Shot Podcast
Sean Conroy, one of the main participants in UCB’s fantastic ASSSSCAT show, brings together the First Lady of the podcast, Amber Kenny, the bitter Buddha, Eddie Pepitone, and the master of the Immaculata, Jamie Flam to ponder a weekly theme. Sometimes it works and sometimes not, but it’s nothing if not entertaining as all get out. From the “Hey Babys!” to Eddie’s girl to the quick improv about the animal bank, the Long Shot is brilliantly funny.
Pop My Culture
Cole Stratton and Vanessa Ragland host Pop My Culture, a podcast that sincerely discusses the world of pop culture in all its exploitative majesty (i.e. reality shows, Olsen Twins, Zac Efron, etc.) and is never ashamed. While Cole has a sharp wit to match his encyclopedic knowledge, Vanessa is a ball of unharnessed hilarious energy. Each episode, roughly three a month, is worthwhile, nabbing guests that other podcasts might overlook, such as Eddie Deezen, Brice Beckham and some of the cast of Freaks & Geeks. But, the all-star special episodes such as the Year in Review are even more bang for the buck (the podcast is free, folks). Be sure to stick around all the way to the end for Vanessa’s ridiculous questions involving wizards, ogres, and vengeful trolls.
The Smartest Man in the World
For those who have only experienced Greg Proops as part of Whose Line Is It Anyway?, you haven’t really experienced the best facets of this talented comedian and, dare I say it, philosopher. Proops holds court at Bar Lubitsch and other venues, talking about, well, whatever it is that he wants to talk about. Proops is a veritable reference book with a cocktail. There’s a reason the show has the title it does, because Proops just might be the smartest man in the world. He can expound on any subject, at any time, and with great eloquence and aplomb. To top it off, he’s extraordinarily funny while doing it.
Stop Podcasting Yourself
Part of Jesse Thorn’s Maximum Fun family, Stop Podcasting Yourself is the Canadian import that keeps on giving. Graham Clark and Dave Shumka divide up the show into fun and memorable segments including “Get to Know Us,” in which they catch up with their guest and with each other and “Overheards,” in which they relate the odd, quirky, and unforgettable things they’ve recently overheard, while they might occasionally do a round of drunk dials or “Don’t Get Me Started.” Though many of the Canadian guests are unknown to me, it never seems to matter. The funny in this show cannot be dampened by lack of knowledge.
The Thrilling Adventure Hour
For the last six years, Ben Acker and Ben Blacker have been producing a show inspired by 1940s radio dramas. Performed before a live audience at the Largo at the Coronet Theater in Los Angeles, this podcast provides a free “radio” experience for those who can’t get to L.A. for the in-person experience. Every week there’s a new show from one of the many shows they produce, including “Sparks Nevada, Marshal on Mars,” “Jefferson Reid, Ace American” (w/ Nathan Fillion), “Down in Moonshine Holler,” “The Adventures of Captain Laserbeam” (w/ John DiMaggio, the voice of Bender), and many more, but the best of the bunch, in my opinion, is “Beyond Belief,” the supernatural themed detective show that’s part X-Files and part The Thin Man. Paul F. Tompkins and Paget Brewster play Frank and Sadie Doyle, two lushes who somehow manage to get mixed up in Scooby-Doo type adventures. Their chemistry is palpable, even through earbuds.
Superego
Matt Gourley, Jeremy Carter, Jeff Crocker and Mark McConville, not to mention occasional special guests, provide some of the best sketch material I’ve heard since Monty Python. Sometimes the voices alone are enough to send me into fits of hysteria, but it’s not just how they say things funny, but that they also say incredibly funny things. Each half hour is so packed with laughs that I often have to go back to hear material I had been laughing through and consequently missed. Characters such as Shunt McGuppin, a renegade GPS device, and a father worried about dreamcatchers and Predators have had me in tears, gasping for breath. Seriously, Superego is one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard, among podcasts or anything else.
Who Charted?
This program, hosted by Howard Kremer (aka Dragon Boy Suede) and chartkeeper Kulap Vilaysack, explores the pop culture lists we love, always a music and a movie chart, with one extra to delve into the guest’s credits. It’s a really clever way to do an interview, for sure. But, Kremer’s offbeat questions and Kulap’s infectious laugh are what fuel this hilarious countdown show. With equally fantastic song transitions, that have now become ringtones, Who Charted has quite possibly become my favorite podcast in the Earwolf family, which itself has become the premier network of comedy programming. After all, out of all the podcasts I listen to, Who Charted is the only one that’s nabbed guest Ken Marino.
Comedy and Everything Else
Comedian Jimmy Dore and his partner, Stefane Zamorano, chat with a special guest each week about, you guessed it, comedy…and everything else. I am one of those listeners who generally love the “everything else” part. But, I also love when Doug Benson ends up off the topic of movies, so I might be the average listener’s nightmare. I love Jimmy’s take on politics, which he also provides in his stand-up and his radio show, The Jimmy Dore Show on KPFK. Some of the best moments are found in Dore’s deconstruction of current event soundbites. Recent long shows, sometimes split into two parts, such as with guests Karen Kilgariff and Brody Stevens have been worth every second.
How did This Get Made?
Another fairly recent addition to the Earwolf network is How Did This Get Made, a celebration of the worst movies ever made, as guided by host Paul Scheer and his usual sidekicks, Jason Mantzoukas and June Diane Raphael. Along with a guest from the world of comedy, these intrepid explorers of Eccch delve into the worst of the worst. Old Dogs, Battlefield Earth, All About Steve, Mac & Me, and most recently, The Love Guru, all get the HDTGM treatment. It’s like hanging out with a bunch of funny friends and discussing bad movies. What could be better?
Judge John Hodgman
John Hodgman, aka the PC, aka the man with many areas of expertise, is the judge, and Jesse Thorn, America’s Radio Sweetheart, is the bailiff. Think: People’s Court for comedy nerds. Problems with pronunciation? Arguments about cheating at video games? Should cabs be commissioned to go through drive-thrus? The Honorable Judge John Hodgman deliberates on all of these issues and more. There is no squabble he can’t resolve, no issue he can’t adjudicate.
The Long Shot Podcast
Sean Conroy, one of the main participants in UCB’s fantastic ASSSSCAT show, brings together the First Lady of the podcast, Amber Kenny, the bitter Buddha, Eddie Pepitone, and the master of the Immaculata, Jamie Flam to ponder a weekly theme. Sometimes it works and sometimes not, but it’s nothing if not entertaining as all get out. From the “Hey Babys!” to Eddie’s girl to the quick improv about the animal bank, the Long Shot is brilliantly funny.
Pop My Culture
Cole Stratton and Vanessa Ragland host Pop My Culture, a podcast that sincerely discusses the world of pop culture in all its exploitative majesty (i.e. reality shows, Olsen Twins, Zac Efron, etc.) and is never ashamed. While Cole has a sharp wit to match his encyclopedic knowledge, Vanessa is a ball of unharnessed hilarious energy. Each episode, roughly three a month, is worthwhile, nabbing guests that other podcasts might overlook, such as Eddie Deezen, Brice Beckham and some of the cast of Freaks & Geeks. But, the all-star special episodes such as the Year in Review are even more bang for the buck (the podcast is free, folks). Be sure to stick around all the way to the end for Vanessa’s ridiculous questions involving wizards, ogres, and vengeful trolls.
The Smartest Man in the World
For those who have only experienced Greg Proops as part of Whose Line Is It Anyway?, you haven’t really experienced the best facets of this talented comedian and, dare I say it, philosopher. Proops holds court at Bar Lubitsch and other venues, talking about, well, whatever it is that he wants to talk about. Proops is a veritable reference book with a cocktail. There’s a reason the show has the title it does, because Proops just might be the smartest man in the world. He can expound on any subject, at any time, and with great eloquence and aplomb. To top it off, he’s extraordinarily funny while doing it.
Stop Podcasting Yourself
Part of Jesse Thorn’s Maximum Fun family, Stop Podcasting Yourself is the Canadian import that keeps on giving. Graham Clark and Dave Shumka divide up the show into fun and memorable segments including “Get to Know Us,” in which they catch up with their guest and with each other and “Overheards,” in which they relate the odd, quirky, and unforgettable things they’ve recently overheard, while they might occasionally do a round of drunk dials or “Don’t Get Me Started.” Though many of the Canadian guests are unknown to me, it never seems to matter. The funny in this show cannot be dampened by lack of knowledge.
The Thrilling Adventure Hour
For the last six years, Ben Acker and Ben Blacker have been producing a show inspired by 1940s radio dramas. Performed before a live audience at the Largo at the Coronet Theater in Los Angeles, this podcast provides a free “radio” experience for those who can’t get to L.A. for the in-person experience. Every week there’s a new show from one of the many shows they produce, including “Sparks Nevada, Marshal on Mars,” “Jefferson Reid, Ace American” (w/ Nathan Fillion), “Down in Moonshine Holler,” “The Adventures of Captain Laserbeam” (w/ John DiMaggio, the voice of Bender), and many more, but the best of the bunch, in my opinion, is “Beyond Belief,” the supernatural themed detective show that’s part X-Files and part The Thin Man. Paul F. Tompkins and Paget Brewster play Frank and Sadie Doyle, two lushes who somehow manage to get mixed up in Scooby-Doo type adventures. Their chemistry is palpable, even through earbuds.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Films of the 60s, Part 3 - "Red Right Hand,” or “Psycho killer, run run run away”
“You’re one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand,” or “Psycho killer, run, run, run away.”
I never went through a serial killer / true crime phase. A lot of people do and I never really understood it. I never really tapped into that dark side of myself like others have. I’ve never been obsessed with the psychology of how sociopaths tick. I never wanted to read the grisly details of a Manson Family murder or peruse the contents of Jeffrey Dahmer’s refrigerator. As a youngster, I was terrified during the Nighstalker’s reign of terror. Like many, the prospect of being one of Richard Ramirez’s random victims scared the you-know-what out of me. What I didn’t want to do was to delve deeper into his psyche, learning as much as I could about the madman out of a morbid curiosity. As a result, I’ve never been a big fan of a certain kind of horror film. While I have recently become an aficionado of psychological, supernatural, and thrilling horror films, the gory “slasher” films still have no appeal. There are very few films that truly capture the trope of the serial killer in three dimensions; these three come to mind, oddly, all from the same year.
Purple Noon (1960, René Clément)
Other than a few select fans of foreign crime thrillers, most people wouldn’t know about Purple Noon. However, if I was to mention The Talented Mr. Ripley, well, that’s another story. Except that it’s the same story. Yes, Purple Noon is based on Patricia Highsmith’s popular novel about the sociopathic Ripley, a story that was later given higher profile by director Anthony Minghella and star Matt Damon. For this earlier version, Clément chose the equally magnetic Alain Delon to play the lead role and one can’t help, with the burden of time, to compare the two performances.
Delon plays Ripley as a more jovial, and conversely, more vengeful person. Damon’s Ripley seems more obviously disturbed, which can be incredibly effective, but there is something even more creepy about the killer who can act just like everyone else with ease. That’s the real motivation behind Highsmith’s character, a guy who is sent on a mission to bring back a wealthy man’s heir, but is caught up in the lifestyle so much, he can’t bear to let it go, willing to kill for the privilege. It is also motivated by revenge, when Philippe Greenleaf, played here by Maurice Ronet, is excessively cruel to Ripley, stranding him in a dinghy and leaving him to brave the elements. Of course, Ripley finds out that murder isn’t as neat and tidy as he had expected, having to eliminate those who might suspect anything, such as friend Freddie Miles, and then be obsessive about the details.
Though Ripley may not technically be a serial killer, one can surely call him a sociopath. He seems to show little remorse for his actions, if any, and is readily willing to kill again to achieve his goals. Purple Noon is not necessarily a movie that inspires primal fear, but instead is a psychological portrait of a less dramatized, more true-to-life killer. Ripley doesn’t wear a mask or jump out of the shadows at people, but instead meticulously plans and connives his way into people’s lives, ready to go to extremes for what he wants.
Peeping Tom (1960, Michael Powell)
The title of this film should already tip you off to the notion that voyeurism is a central part of the main character’s psychosis. Mark Lewis is a photographer who works for the aptly named newspaper, The Observer. On the side, he photographs scantily clad women for underground dirty magazines. He also likes to meet with prostitutes and film them while he kills them, visually capturing their last breaths. Mark often reviews the films of his exploits in his secret viewing room, reliving the experiences again and again. The secret room holds quite a few films, and we can only assume they are all unsavory. As in the case with most portrayals of disturbed killers, Mark is shy, awkward, and reserved. He’d rather simply watch than interact.
After being invited to a party by his comely downstairs neighbor, Helen, he begins to slightly open up, revealing to her, through a somewhat disturbing film of another sort, that he was the subject of his psychologist father’s experiments on fear. He was woken up in the middle of the night and had large lizards thrown in his bed, as one illustrative example. Mark ends up paired with another girl on a film set and she flirts with him, dancing for him without realizing she is facing her inevitable death. Mark is so obsessed with observing fear, which his father instilled in him, that he cannot bring himself to leave the crime scene, instead capturing the entire drama on film as inspectors get ever closer to the truth.
Those in the know realize that Mark suffers from scopophilia, or the morbid urge to gaze, though they mispronounce it as scoptophilia. Regardless, Carl Boehm, the actor who plays Mark, gives a riveting performance as the voyeuristic killer. When he says to Helen, “whatever I photograph is taken away from me,” he evokes sympathy, even though we know he is fairly cuckoo-bananas. Again, it is not a case of being wronged as a teen at a summer camp or even being an inbred psycho. Instead, Peeping Tom portrays another gripping and frank portrayal of a severely damaged individual.
Psycho (1960, Alfred Hitchcock)
Hitchcock was prolific and while there might not be a singular film that can represent his body of work, Psycho might be at the top of most people’s lists as his signature masterpiece. Based on the case of Ed Gein, Psycho is truly one of the most terrifying films ever made, providing just as many scares today as it most likely did over 50 years ago. Everything about Psycho was groundbreaking. First we have Janet Leigh, our thieving antihero, whom we follow from the beginning, and can only assume we will continue to follow, only to find out otherwise. Hitchcock takes us through her affair, embezzlement, and other morally troubling acts, convincing us that we should be invested in this character. As she is followed by a sheriff and attempts to trade cars in order to elude him, we feel her panic and start to sympathize with her, just in time to be introduced to the true central character, Norman Bates.
Anthony Perkins played Norman so well that he had an inordinately hard time finding other roles. Like Mark Lewis, Norman likes to watch. He is quick to put Marion in cabin one as it abuts his office, with a strategically placed peephole. With Psycho, we see two more usual signs of sociopathic behavior, taxidermy and mother issues. Stuffed birds are scattered all around Norman’s room, gazing, swooping, and preying, just like him. Norman argues with his mother numerous times, denigrating the loose women to whom Norman finds himself attracted.
Three of the most frightening scenes in all of film history are ensconced within Psycho. The shower scene is not just terrifying; it is also downright artistic. Consisting of three minutes, 50 cuts, and filmed in 77 angles (though that discrepancy doesn’t make much sense unless we’re counting cutting room floor scraps), the shower scene has been parodied, studied, analyzed, and admired again and again. Today, the scene would have been made much bloodier, without adding much to the mix. In other words, it is perfect as it is. The overhead shot of Detective Milton Arbogast’s death is easily among my top five scariest moments on film. I jump every single time. The last scene is the denouement, which I can simply mention to those who have seen it, and, as Hitchcock wished while it was in theaters, be mum about the actual contents.
Unlike Ed Gein, Norman could actually be classified as a serial killer, having killed three plus people. Gein killed two, which though brutal and disturbing doesn’t fit the definition. Psycho isn’t the first serial killer film. Heck, it’s not even Hitchcock’s first serial killer film. It is, however, one of the best examples of the modern day serial killer, never repeated, though often attempted, not even with a shot for shot remake that was nothing short of questionable. I’ve watched a lot of horror movies recently, as I’ve made myself somewhat immune to their machinations, but Psycho, along with The Shining, The Thing, and The Exorcist, will always give me the proverbial heebie-jeebies.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Films of the 60s, Part 2: For All the Desperate Things You Made Me Do
Desperation. Whether for love or money, or even the desperation of clinging to life itself, it is a palpable emotion. We see it in people’s faces, hear it in their voices, and sense it from their actions. The following three films from the 60s have captured desperation quite poetically.
Cléo from 5 to 7 (1961, Agnés Varda)
There are several films that deal with the after effects of having been diagnosed with cancer. Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru, James L. Brooks’ Terms of Endearment, and the recent devastating tour de force, Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Biutiful are three great examples. What Agnés Varda did in the early 60s was to create a film, captured in relative real time, which depicts a woman waiting for her test results. As such, Cléo, a popular singer, goes through an existential crisis in the process. In more ways than one, this film truly captures one moment in time. This small window, from 5 p.m. to 6:30, which doesn’t sound nearly as poetic as the actual title, offers us a glimpse into desperation and the madness of not knowing if one’s life is going to be cut short.
We are introduced to our heroine at a Tarot card reading. Varda shoots the cards overhead and in color, only to switch to black and white to see the characters. We immediately sense that something is wrong as every card that is interpretable as “bad” solicits a strong reaction from Cléo. The card reader confirms that she read “cancer” in the cards after Cléo leaves distraught. We are then sent on a real time journey, following her around Paris as she waits for test results from her doctor. Along the way, certain images trigger her fear and anxiety such as protesting students, African tribal masks, news reports of the war in Algeria and the Cold War, and street performers who seemingly mutilate themselves or devour small animals. There is no wonder why she is feeling such desperation. Mentions of taboos, superstitions, and luck abound as well, with Cléo reading too much into each one, from an unlucky numbered taxi to a broken mirror, in addition to the Tarot reader at the outset.
Other mirrors abound throughout the film, representing the somewhat glamorous, yet unfulfilled life she has lived so far. We get a short glimpse into that life when her songwriting partners show up at her kitten-filled apartment to rehearse and work out new tunes. These two men, like most men in the film, are as equally admiring of her as they are dismissive. She is something to be desired, yet not to be taken seriously. Between their interactions, her anxiety, and the song they eventually land on, called “Cry of Love,” she breaks down. Watching Corrine Marchand, who plays Cléo, sing this tune, turn toward the camera and visibly weep as she sings is truly powerful. Cléo eventually does get her test results, after finding her spirits buoyed by an Algerian soldier in the park, and we get the sense that her life will be forever changed.
They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969, Sydney Pollack)
There is possibly no better setting for a movie about desperation than the Great Depression. By placing a set of characters in this context, there is almost an innate consciousness that comes with it, already priming us for the despair we are surely to feel. They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? was originally a crime novel written in 1935 that stood alongside some of the best noir fiction of its time. Even so, the film version not only captures the spirit of that book, but was also semi-prescient in its depiction of spectacle as entertainment, though one could argue that spectacle has been around since bread and circuses.
Michael Sarrazin plays Robert, our main character and narrator, relaying to the audience a story of his childhood, when he saw a horse break its leg, resulting in its having to be shot to put it out of its misery. He finds himself as an adult at a dance marathon in Santa Monica and is unwittingly chosen to be the partner to Gloria, played by Jane Fonda, whose original partner is eliminated due to a cough. What transpires from this point is pure, grueling desperation. Not only do the characters, of which we get to know quite a few, have to keep dancing, but they are also subjected to periodic side elimination contests such as races in which the partner are tied together.
In a way, the events of They Shoot Horses seem like a precursor to today’s reality shows, except that these characters weren’t necessarily looking for their Warholian fifteen minutes or a stepping stone to fame. They were merely trying to find a way to survive in a time when everyone was struggling. There is even a pregnant couple hoping to win the money to help provide for their upcoming family. As time progresses, people switch partners, others duck out as they get job offers they had been waiting for, and there are shady deals and affairs. The organizers of the contest are, of course, revealed as swindlers who deduct so much money to pay for the event from the prize money that the winner gets practically nothing, showing that capitalism has always been this way, that it is not just a symptom of the present. I won’t reveal the ending of this film as most crime novels of this ilk, such as Charles Willeford’s Pick-Up, rely on a stark and revelatory twist.
The Virgin Spring (1960, Ingmar Bergman)
The Virgin Spring is based on a medieval folktale, easily translated into a film that could take place during any time period. Bergman remains as faithful as possible to the tale, however, and as such portrays desperation in its barest essence, that of loss and revenge. We are introduced to a pair of sisters, one a foster sister, Ingeri: pregnant, spiteful, and somewhat flawed, shown to believe in Odin, and the true daughter, Karin: pious, chaste, and wholesome, a young, blonde Christian girl. In the midst of an errand, taking candles to the church, Karin is raped and murdered by herdsmen. The scene is disturbing and horrific. There is nothing overtly “cinematic” about it, meaning that there is no device or trickery in this to let us know this is not real. With Sven Nykvist’s camera, we are merely like Ingeri, stealthily placed witnesses to the horror that transpires.
In a twist of fate, the girl’s father, Töre, played masterfully by Max von Sydow, plays host to the herdsmen, only to find out later what they have done. In a desperate rage, he kills the brigands. We are left to wonder about the values of human lives, about morality, and about whether retribution is equal or justified, especially in terms of one’s religious beliefs. Upon recovering Karin’s daughter, a natural spring forms beneath her body and Ingeri, in penance, begins to wash herself in its waters. Töre vows to build a church on the land where her body was found, as the form of his own penance. But, this is what desperation leads to, something that Bergman, Pollack, and Varda captured so well.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Films of the 60s, Part 1: Help, I'm Stepping Into the Twilight Zone
Greetings, and welcome to the next series of film essays I’ll likely not finish! Previously, I wrote about 30 plus films from the 1950s, which is nowhere near complete, as I have seen about three times that amount with yet to actually write about them. Regardless, I’ve decided to shelve the 50s project and move on to the next decade, which is quickly becoming my favorite decade in cinema history (though the 70s will put up a valiant fight, and might come out the winner), the 60s.
The French New Wave, Nouvelle Vague, Left Bank Cinema, Cult Horror, and James Bond all staked claims on these ten years, and we are all the richer because of them. Godard, Truffaut, Buñuel, Chabrol, Bergman, Hitchcock, Kubrick, Antonioni, Fellini, Kurosawa, Lean, Pasolini, Resnais, Bava, Dearden, Suzuki, Leone, Malle, Melville, Dassin, Bresson, and Rohmer are just some of the recognizable names that put out amazing films during this span, and are certainly going to be directors I’ll write about.
Before I start the first series, I should say that I am not an expert in film, merely a fan with an English degree and an interest in imagery and semiotics. These essays will most likely contain spoilers, if they can even be called that with films that are between forty and fifty years old. Most of my information about years of release come from a combination of Netflix information (which has turned out to be incredibly unreliable in this area, though great for providing a wealth of films) and Wikipedia (which has been slightly more accurate in terms of release dates). But, in the planning of this, several films were miscategorized as either 1959 or 1960, so if you see one in this series as such, it is not a mistake. Don’t comment on it; I’m well aware. Without any further ado, here’s the first collection of films.
Help, I’m Stepping Into the Twilight Zone…
I could think of no better way to start this decade than with an allusion to The Twilight Zone, an anthology television series that aired from 1959 to 1964, acting as a thematical bridge from my past project into this new one. Every week, Rod Serling would present a mind-bending story from a host of genres including science fiction, psychological, horror, or just simply fringe. The following films felt to me like extended episodes of that series in one respect, but each one was much more than this alone.
The Exterminating Angel (1962, Luis Buñuel)
There is probably no director by which I am as equally thrilled as baffled and intrigued than Luis Buñuel. This Spanish director put out films sporadically over five decades from such places as his native Spain, France, and Mexico, living in the latter places as an expatriate from Francisco Franco’s fascist dictatorship. Buñuel is perhaps most famous for his collaborations with surrealist Salvador Dali, and specifically their collaborative short film, Un Chien Andalou.
The Exterminating Angel is one of Buñuel’s films from his time in Mexico, the second part of a loosely tied trilogy, and is widely praised by Mexican critics as one of the best films from that country. It, and its trilogy predecessor, Viridiana, was controversial, seen as sacrilegious on some fronts, namely the Vatican, and merely salacious on others, with the latter mentioned film having won the Palme d’Or, but banned for sixteen years in Spain by Franco’s board of censors.
The story starts out relatively simple enough. A wealthy couple hosts a dinner party at their lavish estate. Before the party even begins, a young servant leaves his shift and is chastised, told not to come back the next day. As the guests arrive, other servants begin to make their exodus, leaving the hosts frustrated and the major-domo, or head butler, alone to handle the festivities. Close attention and repeated viewings are recommended as subtle hints to the eventualities of the proceedings reveal themselves. Small scenes are repeated and lines of dialogue restated verbatim. In other words, something is amiss, but we can’t quite figure it out. After dinner, the guests retire to the music room to relax. Strangely, every person decides to fall asleep on the floor or couches without explanation. The hosts are perplexed, but accommodate their new overnight boarders. In the morning, they slowly discover they can’t leave the room. Though there is no physical barrier, there is apparently a strong psychological one. The major-domo brings leftovers for breakfast on a cart and subsequently he cannot leave the music room either. After time, the wealthy elite partygoers devolve into savagery, even coaxing sheep into the room to slaughter and cook.
Aside from just the Twilight Zone-like notion of a psychological trap, The Exterminating Angel is an insight into class warfare. Somehow, all of the help save for the one with the highest rank are mysteriously called away from their duties, sparing them the trauma to follow. The wealthy hosts and guests quickly turn on each other, act in desperation as opposed to logic, and show that when they have to fend for themselves, they are virtually helpless. The film is also an indictment of religion and a so-called higher social order. The mere representation of a dinner party, in reflection of The Last Supper, is only the start of particular imagery meant to give one pause over the supposed civilized and divine nature of man, which is rapidly unraveled. The final scene of a flock of sheep entering a church like parishioners is a fairly straightforward comment, the church being the second place that people find they cannot leave. Other attacks on the social order, such as showing the ridiculousness of Masonic ritual and other institutions, are peppered throughout the film. Even the resolution of their escape is an indictment, with the guests (though one has expired) resorting to repetition as the key to their freedom, showcasing that this act may be the only thing “creating” the narrow barrier between a false elitism and true human savagery.
Woman in the Dunes (1964, Hiroshi Teshigahara)
Based on a novel by Kobo Abe, Woman in the Dunes is another story that is a combination of Twilight Zone situation and existential pondering. It is also another tale that largely takes place in one confined location, this time out a small shack at the bottom of a sand pit. Jumpei, an entomologist played by Eiji Okada, who we last saw in the brilliant Hiroshima, Mon Amour, is out collecting insect specimens in the desert when he happens upon a local villager who offers him a place to stay for the night. His acceptance of the offer begins a journey that he never could have expected.
Jumpei is led to a sand pit, made to climb down a rope ladder, and finds the meal and respite he was offered in the shack of a young widow. In the morning, he finds that the rope ladder has been removed and he cannot find purchase on the sand walls to escape. He finds over time that he has been purposefully trapped here to provide sand for the villagers, which serves two purposes. For one, the villagers sell the sand for construction, and for another, without removing the sand at regular intervals, it will eventually engulf not only the widow’s shack, but also all houses of the village behind hers. Jumpei goes from confused, to angry, to vicious, to resigned to his fate as time goes by, eventually finding purpose for himself in his new existence.
It is not just the story itself that is compelling, but it is also Teshigahara’s masterful imagery, Toru Takemitsu’s unsettling score, and the power of the acting that combine to make this an unforgettable film experience. Jumpei’s voiceovers about identity, along with imagery of fingerprints that resemble topographical maps and sand dunes all paint a larger portrait of something deeper than a mere absurdist plot. In the onset of the film, with the establishment of Jumpei as a fairly successful entomologist, he questions his own identity, yet the widow claims to him, with her seemingly Sisyphean task of digging up the surrounding sand, that she serves a purpose. He finds this remarkable and unbelievable, thinking she is merely not trying hard enough or setting her goals higher. I can’t help but see this as a commentary on class and economic status, with those of means and wealth merely thinking that the poor aren’t picking themselves up by their bootstraps even though there are apparent mechanisms in place to keep them there. Though at times languorous at two and a half hours, the stunning visuals and precise dialogue keep the viewer interested at all times.
La Jetée (1962, Chris Marker)
This film is so good it is often placed alongside feature length films in terms of quality even though it is only 28 minutes long. I first saw this short in a French film class in college and have seen it several times since, even though there was a long time in the interim that copies were difficult to find. Of course, La Jetée became much better known after it was adapted into the cult Terry Gilliam hit, Twelve Monkeys. Even though they share the same plot structure, to a certain degree, they are fairly different films.
As one of the main differences, La Jetée is a series of narrated still photographs, save for one sequence of motion in the middle, something that director Marker calls a “photo-roman.” It is a world that is post-apocalyptic, after World War III. The surface of the earth is uninhabitable due to nuclear fallout. Muttering German scientists keep French prisoners underground, leading us to intuit the combatants, as well as providing us insight into this being an analogy of past skirmishes. Our main character becomes a test subject, being sent back in time as a test before he is thrust into the future, with both hopefully providing rescue for those still living in an untenable present. Our time travelling “hero” is one of the few test subjects who can withstand the procedure and is thus sent on his “missions.” His touchstone through these missions is a past memory, one in which he, as a young boy, witnesses the murder of a man on an airport jetty, remembering also the face of a beautiful woman on the same pier.
On his journeys to the past, He meets this mysterious and beguiling woman and falls in love. Every trip brings him hope of spending time with his newfound love, however temporary. Having successfully visited the past, his captors send him to the future where he is given a device that will save the people of his present, but he learns that he has now become useless to his captors and will be executed. He seeks help of those in the future to send him back to the past of his childhood so that he could be with his newfound love, only to realize on his arrival that the murder he witnessed as a child was his own, having been tracked down by his captors and executed as he finds his love on the airport jetty.
La Jetée is a time travel to beat all time travel films, told in an equally intriguing way. By making it a photo-roman, Marker is showing us that life is made up of memories as snapshots, static moments in time to fit a remembered narrative. In a way, it is very much a graphic novel, with each photo representing a panel as we listen along to narration as opposed to dialogue. The “film” even makes reference to Vertigo, both visually and in narrative, surely a touchstone for this meditation on the power of memory and time. La Jetée is a truly remarkable film, one that packs more punch in 28 minutes than most can in an hour and a half or more.
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