Reviews at the Speed o' Light: SHAME, MILDRED PIERCE, IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT

This is first in what I assume will be an ongoing new feature here at rockets and robots are GO! With my primary focus for the year being my MA, I'm not going to have anywhere near the amount of time I would usually spend on writing up reviews for everything I see at the cinema. It's unfortunate, but the blog just cannot be my sole writing focus for the year. However, I am determined to keep this blog as something of an online journal of my cinematic viewings so, at the end of every month those films that I have yet to write up individually (usually retro or classic films) will be featured here.

To kick it off:

Poster design by Mark Carroll

Shame

British artist-turned-filmmaker Steve McQueen's Shame is a stark look at one man's addiction, the depths he sinks to and what it costs him. It doesn't pull punches and really doesn't shy away from showing anything and everything. And that is graphically shown in the first few minutes of the film with Michael Fassbender's Brandon wanders to and fro in his fancy apartment, absolutely starkers and yes, his cock in full view. 
But despite all of the nudity and the subject matter this is no erotic film. It is, in fact, entirely un-erotic, the sex and nudity being frank, matter-of-fact or entirely hollow and emotionless.

Brandon is a charming, well groomed and intelligent man with a job he seems to enjoy and is particularly good at. He has a nice enough apartment, no doubt expensive. He enjoys a drink with the lads. He is a sex addict. He picks up random women from bars or employs prostitutes. He spends his night's at home hollow-eyed and hunched over his laptop, surfing the internet for porn. He's not picky where he gets his fix from and, like most addicts, manages to keep it all secret from his boss and workmates.

This perfectly structured life of Brandon's is interrupted and thrown around by the arrival of his sister Cissy (Carey Mulligan), a singer who has decided to stay for an indefinite period of time. There is a lot of history between these characters hinted at, rather than spelled out. There is that sibling closeness, followed by Brandon blowing up at having to constantly "look after" Cissy.

McQueen allows scenes to run and run, the takes lingering and only cutting away when it becomes absolutely necessary. In this way, he allows the film to really get under your skin; to soak into you. The camera doesn't look away and, thus, neither can you. This long-take technique never becomes pretentious or allows itself to become a distraction to the viewer but instead is just another tool in McQueen's director's toolbox.

When you have a director who is using long-takes, it helps to people the film with actors who are really at the top of their game. Fassbender and Mulligan, two young British actors who have really broken out in the last couple of years, own the frames. Fassbender is an actor who projects and easy charm and charisma, as evidenced in Inglorious Basterds and as the globe totting Erik Lensherr in X-Men: First Class, and Shame is the first time I've witnessed that dark side he is capable of. 

Mildred Pierce
(Wellington Film Society screening)

The Film Society kicked off it's mini-season of noir films on 35mm with this Joan Crawford starring classic (recently remade with Kate Winslet in the title role). And thanks to the truly horrendous and spoilt daughter of the heroine, it was no less a difficult watch than Shame.

Mildred Pierce begins with a death. From there the story of how we reach that death is a tale told by Mildred to the cops. Mildred is a strong, independently-minded woman who has always wanted to do the best for her two daughters, especially eldest Veda. Poor Mildred is a woman used and abused by all the males close to her though; her cheating first husband, her close friend Wally and her lover/second husband Monte. They all use Mildred in different ways, the only half-way decent one being the cheating first husband Bert.

Michael Curtiz (Casablanca and the Errol Flynn starring The Adventures of Robin Hood) directs the screen legend as Mildred opens her own restaurant which becomes a flourishing chain. Veda sees the business as nothing more than money for her to buy things. This girl, this incomparable brat of a girl, is one of the most horribly selfish, materialistic and mean-spirited characters I've ever had the displeasure to witness. She truly cares not a whit for anyone or anything past herself and her own enjoyments. When Mildred finally whips round and slaps the hussy a well-deserved open right hand, I cheered.

A film that grips you rather than has you gripping the edge of your seat, the tale takes its twists and turns but is nowhere near as lurid (to modern eyes) as the advertising would have us believe. Instead Mildred is a strong woman in a man's world played by a strong woman in a man's world.

It Happened One Night
(Embassy Retro Showcase)

This is in fact the first Frank Capra film I've ever seen. Yup, including It's A Wonderful Life. Starring Claudette Colbert and Gone With the Wind's Clark Gable It Happened One Night puts modern romantic comedies to shame.

Colbert stars, luminously, as heiress Ellie who is, essentially, held under house(boat) arrest by her wealthy father. Actually, these opening moments, to modern eyes, give the feeling that this is going to be anything but a romantic comedy. More like a horrifying thriller.

But she escapes! Huzzah! Because she is in love with (and married to, though Daddy wants an annulment) Westley, who is in New York. Penniless but determined Ellie sets out from Florida to New York, travelling by bus. It is on the bus she bumps into Gable's drunken newspaperman, Peter Warne. He is a character of the age; an intelligent, charmingly drunk reporter of strong moral character(ish). He's a fast talker and a bit of a wise ass, though she's no slouch in that department either.

These two knock each other about cross-country, Warne looking out for the heiress who has little idea how the world works outside her sheltered life. And, surprise surprise, they find themselves falling in love. It's a light-hearted romp, with plenty of sparkling dialogue brought to life by two actors with a fine ear for it and actual chemistry together. 

28.11: SINGIN' IN THE RAIN

It seems somewhat appropriate that I would be talking about a 35mm presentation of Singin' in the Rain immediately after my post on 35mm projection vs. DCP. The print wasn't in the best shape - scratches and some audio drop-outs - but, especially with this film, it was less detracting and more a part of it. This special presentation of the classic Hollywood musical was the closing film for the Wellington Film Society's annual program and it was my first time ever watching it.

I know, this is a foolish tragedy on my part. But let me explain myself a little; this in no way acts as an excuse, merely explanatory detail. 

As a young teenage film fan, I was strikingly adverse to musicals. I thought them foolish, cheesy and old hat - I was far more enmeshed in sci-fi, action and anything else that seemed cool (and, often, explodey). Further putting me off was the pop-cultural prevalence of the lead song (and title), Singin' in the Rain - it was ever so much annoying background; a decades old song suffering from over exposure. Why the hell would I, an angsty, hormonal befuddled teenager desperate for peer approval, approach this film with a ten-foot pole?

Thankfully, I grew the heck up. I matured beyond my boring pretensions of discarding things I deemed to be "uncool" and instead opened myself up to enjoyment and new cinematic experiences (an ongoing process). And I'm glad that the first time I saw Singin' in the Rain it was in a cinema. Singin' in the Rain is pure, glorious, unashamed musical cinema.

It's an interesting trick of a film: a Technicolour MGM musical, about the early days of cinema and the move from silents to "talkies". Yep, it was a strange sense of surreal dislocation that set in around me as I sat in a cinema in 2011, watching a musical film made in 1952 set in 1927 at the end of the silent age and the dawn of the sound age. It was like "Old Hollywood" was looking back at "Old Hollywood" in some sort of bizarre mirror effect, reflecting it's light on to me in the now. Woah.

For all of that meta effect, the story is relatively simple: the end of the silent age in Hollywood. Gene Kelly is Lockwood, the male half of a popular duo, with Jean Hagen's ego-centric Lamont. It's lucky for her she became a star in the silent era, as she possesses one of the most comically annoying and horrible voices an actress could have. Unluckily for her, it's the end of the silent era. Kelly's Lockwood is a new star in the firmament, earning his stripes doing death-defying stunt work, something he had an aptitude for due to his rise from the vaudeville stage with his best pal, Don O'Connor's Cosmo (who gets the best routine in the film - the laugh out loud, knock down musical number Make 'em Laugh). So now the grounded and dashingly handsome Lockwood is paired with the shrewish and fragile egomaniac Lamont, who is quickly realising her shelf-life is getting shorter and shorter. As Lamont is on her way down, Debbie Reynolds' sweet and talented young actress, Kathy Selden is, thanks to Lockwood, on her way up. Events come to a head and there is much singing and dancing.

And boy, what dancing! This is joyous, big cheesy grins down the barrel of the camera, tap-dancing. Every single core cast member gives each dance number their all, whether it's O'Connor and Make 'em Laugh or Kelly in the eponymous Singin' in the Rain (and O'Connor had to be hospitalised and Kelly was running a fever). What Singin' in the Rain is, is a great big Hollywood musical love-letter to... great big Hollywood musicals. It's over-the-top, it's simplistic (in the best way possible) and a helluva lot of fun. If you haven't already seen this, do yourself a favour and don't be like me. And if you've only ever seen this on DVD or TV and there's a repertory showing in your town, or near your town, get to it. This is one of those bona-fide films that demand to be seen in a cinema, with an audience.

And yes, for my preference, on 35mm.

05.09: SANSHO THE BAILIFF (SANSHO DAYU)

Ok, so, yeah. It's been some time since I caught this film at a Film Society screening but I did have other pressing business to attend to.

Set in medieval Japan, a local governor is set into exile for standing up for his people. His family is forced out of the house and his wife and children set out to cross the country to reunite with him. However, they're set upon by slavers with the son and daughter (Zushio and Anju) being sent to the compound of the eponymous bailiff. Sansho is a cruel master, looking like an angry balding porcupine, whose own son helps the two new young slaves to survive. The brother and sister adopt new names and survive a grueling life under the "care" of Sansho. Years pass - the two siblings are now young adults. Anju is still hopeful they will one day find their mother, while Zushio has all but given up and resigned himself to the life of a slave. But Anju manages to convince Zushio to escape, whereupon he sets about trying to right the wrongs that brought about the family's downfall and to also reconnect with his parents. Of course, things don't go all that well and everything ends rather tragically. 

Sansho the Bailiff is what I would call an intimate epic - a story covering years, if not decades, and sweeping up huge social changes in its wake while telling the tale of but one family. There are moments of beauty to be found within, even if the tragedy is somewhat predictable at every turn. Whether that's due to the film concerning itself more with the journey than the destination or an increased awareness of story-telling construction, I'm not entirely certain. Unfortunately the sound was often piercing, with many a high wailing threatening to burst ear drums in the cinema - more the fault of the DVD than the film itself, but these matters of presentation, well, matter.

Honestly, to really give you a proper examination of the film I would have to watch it again - it has been some time since I saw it and the sound issue was often distracting when I was watching it. And dammit, I'm annoyed at this cop out, but I'd rather post something honest here than try and flub my way through. What I can tell you is that Sansho the Bailiff is flawed, sometimes beautiful, dramatic and, yes, an intimate epic.

FANTASTIC FEST: DAY SEVEN

Jo's - where I get coffee every morning

This is it, the penultimate day of the Fest. And my first film of the day is the bonafide classic (and never-before-seen by me) An American Werewolf in London. I assume everyone who really wanted to see the film were lucky enough to nab tickets to the earlier screening with the Rick Baker Q&A as the theatre was all but empty for this screening. An American Werewolf was fucking fantastic and I'm psyched I got to see it on the big screen. I was surprised by the streak of humour throughout but seeing as how it was directed by John Landis (the guy behind one of my all-time favourite comedies, The Blues Brothers) I shouldn't have been. The relationship between David and his buddy Jack is quickly and gracefully established; these guys have the easy chemistry of old friends. And then of course they don't keep to the roads and are attacked on the moors. The creature effects by Baker are astonishing work and he and Landis are really working together to build the best effect possible, Landis often cutting away to something mundane but still surprising. Also, Nazi demons! Crazy.

Taking a chance with my next screening I opted for The Devil's Business, a film I knew almost nothing about. An unmitigated bore is what I turned out to be watching. Two English gangster cliches arrive at a house to lie in wait to whack someone. Things start getting a little spooky but the action consisted chiefly of these two blokes nattering away at one another. Despite writer/director Sean Hogan's best efforts there was no tension, horror or surprises to this film. It felt cheap, derivative and talky. It may have been a half-decent idea for a short film, but stretched out to feature length it (and I) suffer for it.

As my preferred option of Summerland was, once again, sold out I took another chance on my selection and chose the late-confirmation Love. This was billed as something of an experimental sci-fi film, part of a larger work by band Angels & Airwaves (from ex-Blink 182 frontman Tom Delonge). It begins in the American Civil War with a young soldier sent off to see and catalogue some strange sight many miles away. It then cuts to the ISS in the near future, staffed by lone astronaut Capt. Lee Miller. The majority of the film is then taken up with Miller isolated and slowly going insane, as all communication is cut off. The last few minutes then go all 2001 on your head. I can definitely see what everyone involved was going for, aiming to tackle some big themes, but it does become tedious and feels a lot longer than it actually is. 2001: A Space Odyssey becomes a transcendent piece of cinema but Love, though it tries, cannot reach these stunning heights. I'm still unsure how the Civil War ties in to it all as well. But they did apparently get a lot of right with regards to the ISS - the spirit of at least, if not the absolute details.

Rounding out my day was the final selection from the Hong Kong genre vault. Unfortunately, I can't really talk about it as the distributor is one of those crazy, kooky types who doesn't actually want the film screened anywhere. I will say this though: it was truly awesome and Grady Hendrix as the host for these events is a firecracker of excitement and knowledge and the Q&A with him afterwards was hilarious and informative. 

There was the second Secret Screening tonight as well, at midnight. Again, it was a sellout and the security surrounding it as intense: all electronic devices had to be turned in and attendees had to pass through a metal detector. What was the film in the end? Paranormal Activity 3. Woop-de-doo. I'm sure the folks enjoyed it but not really my cup of tea. And again, I had to skip a night of drunken revelry at the Highball (with a prom theme) as I was feeling really, really fuckin' sick. 

One day to go.

06.08: LA DOLCE VITA (NZIFF)

To my eternal shame I knew next to nothing about this classic film before stepping into the cinema. In fact, the only knowledge I had of the film was its most famous piece of iconography: Anita Ekberg frolicking in the Trevi Fountain in Rome. That image has been held up and looked upon as a sort of romantic high-point in cinema. The film surrounding that image though is something closer to a look into darkness.


La dolce vita translates to “the sweet life”, a rather pointed title to the ensuing tale. Marcello Mastroianni stars as Marcello, a jaded tabloid journalist who moves through the fashionable circles of Roman life, documenting and in search of the elusive “sweet life”. Each encounter plays out like a vignette seemingly unconnected to anything else, though of course this is hardly the case. Marcello is a continual outsider, one who always wants to be “in” but can never quite make it. He puts on a good show, and looks the part of a suave, smooth womaniser. But he’s a tabloid journalist; he’s there to document the foibles and follies of the elite, not to be one of them. And this so-called sweet life is often shown to be hollow and unrewarding: in the opening scenes Marcello takes off with a wealthy socialite only for them to end up in a prostitute's flooded apartment. Each piece of the puzzle neatly highlights Marcello’s downward spiral until he is finally part of his sought after “sweet life”; the leader of a party breaking into a beach villa to while away the evening with bored debauchery.


This digital restoration of one of Fellini’s acknowledged masterpieces is dazzling in its clarity and beauty and there is any number of striking images, beyond Ekberg in the fountain. There is the aforementioned flooded flat, a media circus around two children who claim to have seen the Madonna, an argument between Marcello and his girlfriend on a long and lonely road and the final scene of a huge sea-beast dragged up onto the beach, dead.


I’m just not entirely certain how the film left me feeling. Going in, I believe I was expecting some sort of beautiful Italian romance as the journalist woos the movie star in hot cars and snazzy scooters sipping cappuccinos and calling out “Ciao!” but instead found I had my expectations upended completely. La dolce vita delves into something much darker, and that sharp upending of expectation left me a little lost. However, this is a film I look forward to revisiting and one that I am grateful to have first experienced in a cinema.

03.08: METROPOLIS (NZIFF)

This is not the first time I have seen Fritz Lang's silent classic Metropolis on the big screen, nor is it likely to be the last time this year (as it will be playing with a live performance from the NZSO). Metropolis is one of the grandaddy classics of science-fiction cinema, towering over almost every subsequent film in the genre (and beyond). It is also one of those films that is constantly having new parts, previously lost scenes and edits discovered and rediscovered around the world. Frankly, I have no idea how many cuts there are of the film no nor if there can ever truly be a "definitive" version. 

The version presented here is the latest and most complete. With a recently discovered near-complete 16mm cut in Buenos Aires acting as a template. The reconstruction has also blown up parts of the 16mm print to plug gaps otherwise unavailable. Still, there are parts of the film (relatively important plot points too) that are still lost and these gaps are filled by black title cards, describing the action. All of this makes watching the latest cut of Metropolis an interesting exercise. 

The film itself is still something of a wonder to me. The first hour or so drags and moralises but once the action kicks off with Maria and the workers, and Joh Fredersen and the mad scientist Rotwang (who would give Dr. Frankenstein a good run for his money), it really kicks off. Freder, Joh Fredersen's son (that is, in fact, his full character name as credited) is the son of Metropolis' ruler. He and his fellow sons of men of influence cavort and play in the paradise gardens at the top of the city. Their cavorting and skipping ways are interrupted by the arrival of Maria, with adorable moppet children of the workers in tow. They're quickly hustled out, but not before Freder decides to follow Maria and learns for himself the plight of the workers who slave away to keep the great city going. Cue dastardly plot from daddy involving the Thin Man, Rotwang and a certain lady robot.

The one thing that must always be mentioned with regards to Metropolis is its astounding design and art direction. Even today, nearly 85 years on, it is still astonishing work. And watching Metropolis you cannot help but be reminded of bits and pieces of other, later films that have borrowed inspiration from it. The city, far from being a stale or drab place is filled with life: cars drive along impossibly high boulevards, scores of workers riot in the streets and buildings crumble. It's a wonder of expressionism and futurism, giving us a vision of utopia and dystopia all in the one city.

What really struck me in this viewing was the performance of Brigitte Helm as Maria/The Machine Man/Death and more. As Maria she has the rather unenviable task of portraying a saintly figure; the Madonna if you will. She plays her with nervy passion, wanting to heal this society but not being entirely confident within herself. And then, as the Machine Man evil robot clone of Maria, she lets loose as a gyrating, temptation leading ne'er do well; the whore if you will. She throws herself into this role with lusty gusto and, due to her talent and the expressionist style of the performance they are vastly different characters. So much so, you can hardly believe anyone thinking they are the same person. The performances around her are fine enough, tending towards the exaggerated, but Helm is the standout - in multiple roles. 

Yes, Metropolis can drag, has kinks in its plot mechanics and can be overbearing in its pomposity. But it is also still thrilling, still magical and still influential. The image on this new cut was crisp and clean, except for the portions blown up from the (rather dirty) 16mm. I cannot wait to see it again, this time with live accompaniment. 

02.08: TAXI DRIVER (NZIFF)

A fully restored, 35mm print of Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver? Oh, hell yeah! The last (and only) time I'd seen Scorsese and screenwriter Paul Schrader's examination of a broken soul, and a broken city, was on a shitty VHS tape. The grunginess of that was a help and a hindrance: it really isn't the best way of being introduced to a Scorsese film but I don't really remember too much of it. So, this screening of Taxi Driver was almost like my first.

For those who may, for some bizarre reason, be in the dark: De Niro is Travis Bickle, a mentally disturbed ex-Marine Vietnam war vet who narrates from his obsessively kept journals (think Spacey in Se7en). Due to his inability to sleep he takes a job driving night-time cabs in New York city and talks of washing away all the scum and depravity he sees. He develops an obsession with Cybill Shepherd's campaign worker Betsy and, when that doesn't work out, trying to help Jodie Foster's child prostitute Iris from her life.

Scorsese fetishises the taxi while casting a glaring eye on the streets of New York; the opening shot of the film is a taxi sailing through the mists of an open New York sewer, like a bright yellow Horseman of the Apocalypse. The driver of said taxi, De Niro is a frightening vision of an urban nightmare; a tautly conditioned Marine’s body holding a diseased mind lashing out at the world. But this New York is not entirely a hive of scum and villainy: Shepherd’s Betsy is, at first, held up by Travis as an angel bringing light to where there is none. Of course, when she rejects his advances she is, in Travis’ mind, shown to be just as depraved and filthy as the rest of the scum (even if it was Travis who took her to a porno for their date). And man, I forgot how funny this film could be! Albert Brooks, as Betsy’s co-worker on the campaign Tom, is the Jew-fro’d, pink-shirted nervy antithesis of Bickle. He brings much needed laughs to almost every scene he’s in, helping to deflate tension before it builds up again.

Taxi Driver is a bonafide classic of American cinema and it’s still as dark, disturbing and potent as when it was first released. I find it interesting almost as a time capsule to compare the present with: take Taxi Driver’s filthy, crime-ridden New York and contrast that with the loud, brash and Disneyfied Time Square now. And where Scorsese seems to have acclimated to now being a seasoned master as opposed to the young hotshot with fire in his belly (and, yes, coke in his veins), De Niro has just gone soft. You watch him here, all taught and jangly, a dangerous fire behind his eyes, and then you think of Meet the Parents and you weep a little. But this fil, this moment in time, this is bravura filmmaking. The fevered script; the iconic character and performance; the pulsing, shifting Bernard Hermann score; the city... all woven together by Scorsese. Wonderful.