Journal/Notes
11-19-02:
Notes on Close Up - Iranian Cinema: Past, Present and Future
by Hamid Dabashi.
Hamid
Dabashi presents a comprehensive, passionate, and insightful personal
account on the evolution of Iranian art cinema in Close
Up - Iranian Cinema: Past, Present and Future. By presenting
the works of key films and filmmakers within the contextual framework
of Iranian history - in particular, from the state-sponsored, forced
modernization programs initiated by the Pahlavi regime to the subsequent
fundamentalism of the Islamic Revolution of 1979 ushered by cleric Ayatollah
Khomeini - Dabashi examines the indelible effects of shifting national
ideology on Iran's distinctive native cinema.
Abbas Kiarostami
- The intellectual counter-culture of 1960s Iran, marked by dissatisfaction
towards the nation's colonial heritage and increasing identification
with the West (a sentiment encapsulated within Jalal al-e Ahmad's highly
influential publication, Westoxication, in
1962), resulted in a native, creative resurgence in Persian literature
and modernist poetry. In the 1970s, Abbas Kiarostami rode the wave of
artistic renaissance and became a member of the film division of the
Institute for the Intellectual Development of Children and Young Adults
(Kanun), a cultural project developed by
the Pahlavi regime to provide a creative outlet for Iranian youth in
an attempt to divert them from politically subversive activities. It
was through the state-sponsored Kanun that
Kiarostami would create his early documentary films. Nevertheless, despite
Iran's increasing political turmoil, Dabashi explains that Kiarostami
was consumed by a different, creative preoccupation:
"Kiarostami sought a
re-reading of reality from a tabula rasa that would make the world
once again meaningful and trustworthy. Kiarostami's cinema has always
explored from a slight angle otherwise hidden from ordinary sight."
Following the Islamic Revolution,
Kiarostami produced two films that examined the interrelation between
actual reality and constructed reality: Toothache
(1980), A Kanun documentary on oral hygiene, weighs the benefits
of maintaining healthy teeth over the convenience of dentures (created
reality), and The Chorus (1982), an examination
of an old man's mixed feelings over his hearing aid, as he becomes subjected
to the noise of the busy streets, but misses his granddaughter's visit
after he turns off the device and does not hear her knocking. This recurring
theme foreshadows Kiarostami's thematic signature, and has become a
perennial aspect of his subsequent feature films, most notably in Close-Up,
The Earthquake Trilogy: Where is the Friend's Home,
And Life Goes On..., and Through
the Olive Trees, and A
Taste of Cherry.
Bahram Beiza'i - One of Iran's most prominent
and versatile creative visionaries, Bahram Beiza'i has made significant
contributions to filmmaking, theater, and the performing arts both artistically
and academically. Profoundly influenced by Persian art and poetry, Beiza'i's
films achieve a fusion of social realism and representational symbolism.
From a metaphoric interrelation between Earth and man in The
Ballad of Tara (1978), to a figurative rebirth of the young protagonist
away from his war torn homeland in Bashu: The Little
Stranger (1986), to a surreal, profound connection that leads
to a study on masculine-feminine perspective in Perhaps
Some Other Time (1988), Beiza'i's films are infused with ephemeral,
often mythical elements that subconsciously reflect reality and in the
process, evoke a cultural shift in perspective.
Bahman Farmanara - Bahman Farmanara's
adaptation of Houshang Golshiri's contemporary fiction, Prince
Ehtejab (1974), like Daryush Mehrju'i's earlier film, The
Cow (1969), represents a watershed in Iranian cinema with its
synthesis of literary fiction and filmic narrative (Mehrju'i's
The Cow was based on a story by Gholamhossein Sa'edi). However,
a year after the Islamic Revolution, fueled in part by the trauma of
a nine-hour interrogation by a representative from the Committee for
the Prevention of Sin over the banning of his newly completed film entitled
Tall Shadows of the Wind (another film based
on Golshiri's work), Farmanara uprooted his family and settled in Vancouver,
Canada, where he embarked on a different career as a film distributor.
Farmanara continued to submit scripts to the Ministry of Culture and
Islamic Guidance for approval over the next 20 years to no avail, but
his triumphant and hard-fought return as a filmmaker would finally come
with the semi-autobiographical, Smell
of Camphor, Fragrance of Jasmine (2000),
a film ironically inspired by his severe depression over his failing
health, his continued inability to gain project approval from the
board of censors, and the increasingly ideological irrelevance of
his aging, pre-Islamic Revolution generation.
Mohsen Makhmalbaf
- Dabashi's extensive interview with Mohsen Makhmalbaf illuminates several
aspects of Makhmalbaf's fascinating personal and professional history.
Raised in a devout and education-centered extended family, Makhmalbaf's
unconventional childhood entailed a traumatic parental abduction by
his biological father:
"Fear of my father had
the effect of scaring me, isolating me from the life of the alley
which was more or less the real world, and trapping me in a house
where three important people tried to take care of me. One was my
grandmother, who introduced me to religion. One was my aunt, who made
me literate. The last was my stepfather, who made me political."
His self-confessed politicization
by his stepfather, Kamalian, would eventually culminate in his arrest
and imprisonment during the Pahlavi era at the age of 17 for attacking
a police officer in an ill-conceived plan to steal his gun for a bank
robbery in order to fund the activities of his armed resistance group,
Balal-e Habashi. He was subsequently released after the fall
of the Shah during the Islamic Revolution, where his activism soon turned
to creative imperative, as his displeasure over contemporary Iranian
cinema led to independent research studies on the process of filmmaking,
and eventually, to a career as a filmmaker.
Makhmalbaf defines his films into four distinct periods. The first installment
reflects his early activism and consists of Nasuh's
Repentance, Two Sightless Eyes, Seeking
Refuge, and Boycott. The second period
deals with contemporary social issues, and is composed of The
Peddler, The
Cyclist, and The Marriage of the Blessed.
The transitional third period is marked by a complexity of character
that is a departure from the self-described absolutist perspective
innate in his earlier work - whether through religious or social reform
- and consists of A Time for Love, Nights
on the Zayandeh-rud, Once Upon a Time, Cinema,
and The Actor. The last period converges
towards what Makhmalbaf describes as "an illustration of relativity"
that is reflected in the contemplative objectivity of Salaam
Cinema and A Moment of Innocence:
"It's in the fourth period
that the light begins to enter. It's the worldly nature, such as that
of Sohrab Sepehri, of the first period to which I am attracted, but
the worldliness of the fourth period has made the greatest impact
on me... I've moved toward life and humanity, away from deadly serious
subjects.
...I am looking at two general questions. One is the multiplicity
of perspectives and the other is human sorrow. I am searching for
an emotional perspective, and the warmth of my films comes from the
joy of living in the frame of human sorrow."
Notes
from Transcendent Realism - New and Old Cinema from Belgium series at
the Walter Reade.
11-11-02:
Iran Veiled Appearances (2002). Composed
of a series of diverse, and often contradictory images of mundane rituals
of everyday life juxtaposed against historical footage of protest and
revolution in Iran, Thierry Michel's Iran
Veiled Appearances is a compelling and insightful documentary
on life in modern-day Iran 23 years after the Islamic Revolution. The
film opens to the disturbing image of a funeral ceremony for poet,
writer, and free expression activist, Mohammed Mokhtari, who is subsequently
revealed to have been the latest in an ever-growing series of mysterious
disappearances and deaths of prominent and outspoken intellectuals,
presumably assassinated by the Islamic militia. Michel presents two
images of Iran: the first, traditionalist and passionately committed
to the ideas of martyrdom for the Revolution and allegiance to their
religious Guides (often espoused by the older generation); the
second, increasingly modern, free thinking, and ambivalent over the
direction of the country's future. By illustrating the generational
and ideological division inherent in the theocratic society of contemporary
Iran, Iran Veiled Appearances becomes an
understatedly powerful document of a country at the cusp of profound
change.
From the Other
Side (2002). A young man stranded in a Mexican border town
recounts the vivid and tragic story of his older brother who crossed
the border with a group of illegal immigrants into the U.S. only to
wander for days in the disorienting wilderness - each night piling
together for warmth and protection, and each morning, fewer and fewer
survivors emerging from the huddled mass - until everyone eventually
perished in the harsh and unforgiving desert. Faced with a stringent
border policy that reinforces patrol of the traditionally urban, highly
populated crossing areas of San Antonio and San Diego, desperate undocumented
aliens have been undertaking increasingly dangerous - and often fatal
- attempts to cross through rural, largely uninhabited areas and vast,
inhospitable deserts in search of economic opportunity. Although
the first half of the film is encumbered with overly repetitive, extended
sequences of the ubiquitous, formidable border, the latter part of
the film, punctuated by a deeply moving expression of gratitude to
the film crew by a group of destitute, stranded immigrants hoping to
send word of their plight to their families after being abandoned by
their paid smugglers, illustrates the filmmaker's profound affection
and concern for these marginalized, and often dehumanized, people. In the
end, Akerman's visually rigorous, alienated, and uncompromising image of
arid and barren landscapes in the film illustrates, not a geographic
location exploited for illusory dreams of a better life, but a senseless
and unforgiving trail of human desolation.
11-09-02: Gbanga-Tita
(1994). Defined by Thierry Knauff as a purely cinematic "moment
of grace" (during his introductory remarks on the films being
presented), Gbanga-Tita was initially shot
as footage for his ethnographic film on the Baka pygmy of the Equatorial
forest in South-East Cameroon, Baka. The
film consists of a single unbroken close-up shot of Lengé, a
tribal Ancient and taleteller, as he engages the young people
of the village in a solemn chant that recalls the tragic fate of ancient
children whose lives were lost to the river in pursuit of a mythical
calabash called Gbanga-Tita. At the age of 43, Lengé is the
eldest member of the tribe, and the last taleteller among the indigenous
people of the region. The film is a poignant glimpse of sacred tradition,
ethnic legacy, and cultural extinction.
Anton Webern
(1991). Thierry Knauff's impressionistic and emotionally lucid
film, Anton Webern is a poetic and allusive
biography of the early 20th century Austrian polyphonic composer Anton
Webern. Entirely devoid of narrative dialogue, Webern's life is representationally
articulated through expressive, isolated shots of Webern's hands: his
early childhood development as a pianist, his tutelage under famed
twelve-note composer Arnold Schoenberg, his abbreviated military service
in World War I due to poor eyesight, his diversified work as musical
conductor and German lieder composer, the loss of his beloved
son during a train strafing attack in World War II, his creative persecution
and political disfavor under Nazi Germany, and finally, his accidental
death in exile at the hands of American occupied forces in Austria. Anton Webern is
a challenging, but instinctively cohesive film on creativity, artistic
passion, and the tragic consequence of turbulent history.
Wild Blue,
Notes for Several Voices (2000). Thierry Knauff's unique and
evocative filmic language of poetic imagery and sensorial polyphony
is further developed in the sublime, dense, and haunting hybrid documentary
composition, Wild Blue, Notes for Several
Voices. An early image of a combat boot footprint and subsequent
image of painted hands against the walls of an African mudhut symbolize
Knauff's theme of the destruction of natural order caused by the imprint of
human intervention. By presenting a series of serene and indelible
international images of everyday life against harrowing and deeply
disturbing testimonies by multicultural female voices describing acts
of inhumanity, atrocities, and terrorism, Knauff achieves a sense of
visual texture and instinctual cadence that reflects on the dichotomous
coexistence of beauty and savagery in contemporary civilization.
With the privilege of participating in a subsequent informal Q&A session
with the filmmaker, I had the opportunity to ask Knauff a few related questions
on the function of repeating the 35 mm film footage with subsequent, lower resolution
(and often magnified) video image in the film. Knauff explained that his intent
was not only to achieve compositional texture to the same image, but also to
reflect on the delicate interrelation between awareness and a kind of myopia that
results from being too close to the subject. As a result, Knauff presents the
repeated video images as approaching an impressionistic, contextually ambiguous
(the resolution systematically degraded in each image transfer to a different
visual medium), and dissociative level of recognition. In illustrating the indefinable
balance between spectator and participant, Knauff further poses an important
and socially relevant question on the role (or complicity) of media in perpetuating
violence through the repetition of the innately disturbing images.
Klinkaart (1956). Paul Meyer's short film, Klinkaart,
opens to the image of two sisters attempting to retrieve a fallen fruit
drifting downstream of a river. The older sister then joins the other
women from the village as they walk to the brickyard for her first
day of work: removing the clay bricks from forms, laying them into
endless rows to dry in the sun, returning the emptied forms to the
brickmaker. Inevitably, the young woman is confronted with the sad
reality of the tedium and drudgery of her unrewarding, monotonous vocation,
and the unwelcome harassment and abusive behavior of other workers.
The film evokes the spare and austere cinema of Robert Bresson, particularly Mouchette and Au
Hasard Balthazar, in Meyer's parallel imagery of humanity and animal
exploitation, from the distinctive footsteps of wooden clogs striking
a brick paved road that is reflected in the clacking of horseshoes,
to the crosscutting sequence of the young woman exhaustedly toiling
in the sun with the horse pulling the clay cart.
From
the Branches Drops the Withered Blossom (1960). The title of Paul
Meyer's compassionate, sincere, and deeply personal
feature film on immigrant labor, cultural assimilation, and exile, From
the Branches Drops the Withered Blossom, is a line from a poem
by Salvatore Quasimodo pondering the inevitability of change. Initially
commissioned by the Ministry of Education to promote the integration
of immigrant children into the Borinage school system, the film evolved
into a cultural portrait of the increasingly desperate plight of the
immigrant population, as the area's primary commerce - the mining
industry - fell to economic hardship, mass layoffs, and plant closures,
and rendered the lives of these children more uncertain and hopeless.
The film is highly reminiscent of Italian neorealism in its depiction
of the working class: the familial bonds of Luchino Visconti in Rocco
and His Brothers, the bleak, natural landscapes of Roberto Rossellini
(such as the hot springs of Voyage
in Italy), and industrial decay of Michelangelo Antonioni
(particularly Red
Desert). As in Klinkaart,
Meyer employs parallel imagery to illustrate both real and surrogate
families created by the work camp community, and is especially evident
in the contrasts between the itinerant (and seemingly fragmented)
Domenico and an underemployed Italian miner who sent for his large family to
resettle in Borinage despite financial hardship and lack of employment
opportunities.
11-08-02: Hop
(2002). The
divisive issues of immigration and social integration are also in Dominique
Standaert's visually resplendent, whimsical, and affectionate film, Hop. In
the opening scene, Justin (Keita Kalumba), a young immigrant from Burundi,
tells a fantastic tale of the pivotal role of the African pygmies in
the defeat of the Carthaginian general, Hannibal, during the Punic
Wars between Carthage and Rome. Hannibal, according to the resourceful
young man, enlisted the aid of the pygmies after learning of their
magical ability, called Hop, to exert control over the mighty
elephant. Hannibal's military strategy is widely successful until the
pygmies discover the destructive, environmental toll of the devastating
war and abandon Hannibal's campaign against Rome, precipitating his
defeat. The folktale would prove to be a source of inspiration for
Justin as he hatches a plan to reunite with his deported father (Ansou
Diedhiou), enlisting the aid of a crotchety, but goodhearted former radical
named Frans (Jan Decleir) and his devoted housekeeper, Gerda (Antje
De Boeck). Although the film strains credibility in a few places, Hop is
an admirable and technically adept effort for Standaert, whose genuine
compassionate for the plight of his characters and gentle humor pervade
the film's well-intentioned soul.
10-07-02: Notes
on Editions Dis Voir: Bruno Dumont by Sébastien Ors, Philippe
Tancelin, and Valérie Jouve.
The Editions Dis Voir publication, Bruno Dumont,
opens with a short chapter entitled The Work of
a Filmmaker that seems to characterize Dumont's films within
the context of the distinctive cinema of Robert Bresson. Through referential
allusion to the informal, fragmented passages of Bresson's Notes
on the Cinematographer, Dumont's artistic methodology, similarly
captured in kernelled reflections, is distilled into a series of essential
statements and musings on the filmmaking process:
"The body is the beginning
of the soul, the primal matter and the substance of filmmaking.
Literature is civil, not cinema. Cinema is mythical.
It tells the story of how we came to be. That is all (nothing more).
Directing has to implicate itself in the most visionary
position, one I find to be so close to ecstasy.
Incompleteness is what resides in nature. Cinema can return to it."
In the essay, Poetics
of Fatality, Sébastien Ors
defines Dumont's films as a dynamic interrelationship between society
and individual, natural order and laws of civilization. Citing Freddy's
uncontrollable seizures in Life of Jesus
(1997) and Pharaon's "slowness" in L'Humanité
(1999), the author presents the characters' defects (even impotence)
as singular, unique physical attributes that sharpen their senses. It
is this realization of one's sense of place that consequently, render
the characters closer to nature and, inevitably, to the transcendent
realization that humanity is "the sacred part in the human
being."
"The sacred is at the heart
of man, not in the heart or chancel of the churches, nor in the sky
that Kadar looks at, placing his faith in Marie, and where Freddy
surrenders, seeking to appease his remorse."
Two interviews with Dumont, Philippe
Tancelin's Enquiries on Reality and photographer
Valérie Jouve's Dialogue in Space and Time
provide insight into the director's creative process, themes, and visual
style. On Tancelin's observation of the spareness of his films, Dumont
responds:
"Emptiness may be the
condition necessary for the audience to change. Violence, cruelty,
roughness are also regressions, a return to something primary to alter
the sophistication in which we live today. That is why I choose rustic
people. And my characters are so expressive because they are all unfinished.
They are expressive in contact with the bodies and minds of the audience
because the audience completes them. I must be drawn to this roughness.
It is the shapeless matter placed in front of the spectator's face."
The dialogue between Jouve and Dumont
further illustrates the underlying concept behind the aesthetic of assimilating
still photography into Dumont's definition of a cinematic shot:
VJ: But you use images. In
Humanity, there are times when everything
stops, and it is no longer just a still shot but a still image.
BD: Yet for it to stop, it has to move. Otherwise it cannot
move. I look for a rhythm in order to break it. Like having an airplane
pass overhead in order to hear the silence that follows. You really
need noise to hear it, otherwise silence cannot be perceived even
if there is silence.
Notes
from the 2002 New York Film Festival.
10-05-02:
Tian Zhuangzhung's Springtime in a Small Town
is a visually sublime and nostalgic film that is somewhat reminiscent
of Satyajit Ray's exquisite Charulata
in understatedly depicting the repercussions of emotional betrayal.
The film takes place in the ruins of a large rural mansion in postwar
China, as a physically fragile aristocrat (Wu Jun) is reunited with
a childhood friend, a Shanghai doctor named Zhang Zhichen (Xin Bajqing),
only to discover that Zhichen was his wife, Yu Wen's (Hu Jingfan) first
love. Tian uses slow tracking, long shots, and evocative landscapes
to create a timeless, romantic, and old-fashioned melodrama in the best
sense of the word. An exquisite, subtly sensual, haunting, and unexpectedly
moving mature work from a very talented filmmaker - one of my favorites
from the festival.
10-03-02:
The Man Without a Past is another understated,
idiosyncratic, and hilarious offering from Aki Kaurismäki. A man
(Markku Peltola) suffers amnesia after being violently attacked while
napping on a park bench. A poor, kindhearted family nurses him back
to health and introduces him to the social services of the Salvation
Army, and to the shy and compassionate Irma (Kati Outinen). However,
as the nameless man attempts to rebuild his life, he finds that knowledge
of his identity is the key to reentering society. Kaurismäki's
usually excessively vibrant colors seem to be a bit more muted in this
film, although he retains his penchant for borrowed, incongruous American
pop culture and melancholic folk ballads. The film does not have the
dark undercurrent of loneliness and alienation of The
Match Factory Girl, but instead, like Drifting
Clouds, focuses on the tenderness, affection, and humanity of all
the socially marginalized characters. A highly accomplished and sensitively
realized film.
10-01-02: Ten is
a captivating, humorous, and understated film by Abbas Kiarostami that
follows a series of (ten) conversations by a divorced middle-class woman
as she engages a series of passengers in a dialogue while navigating
the streets of Tehran: her precocious son who feels suffocated by his
parents' competition for his allegiance and affection; her sister who
dotes on her husband; a religious older woman; a beautiful young woman
who prays for a successful resolution to her stalled long-term
relationship; an anonymous prostitute searching for a high traffic
street in which to conduct business. Less narrative driven than Through
the Olive Trees and more episodic than the encounters in A
Taste of Cherry, Ten is an insightful,
universal window into the everyday complexities of contemporary existence.
09-30-02: Jia
Zhang-ke's Unknown Pleasures is a challenging
film in the sense that there is a pervasive sense of aimlessness and
inertia among the protagonists in the film. The film illustrates the
social polarization of Chinese society by capturing the daily lives of
underprivileged people amidst images of China's push for globalization.
As Jia explained the reality of modern-day China in the post-screening
Q&A session, a kind of dual economy currently exists in contemporary
China: one fueled by the global market (and usually the US dollar), and
the other by the traditional state-run economy. The people who are getting
left behind economically (like the young people in the film) belong to
the latter. There are some equally sad and funny episodes like the father
finding a one dollar bill and the boys rejoicing that they are rich that
powerfully underscores their economic disparity and the social
marginalization of the people left out of the global economy. Highly
recommended for admirers of Hou Hsiao Hsien's languid, contemporary
films of rootlessness and alienation such as Goodbye
South Goodbye, Dust in the Wind, and Millennium Mambo.
09-29-02: Peter
Mullan's The Magdalene Sisters is fairly
representative of the British social realist films of the past 20-30
years - bleak, atmospheric, interminably depressing, grimy. While some
of the more recent films are very well done (Gary Oldman's
Nil by Mouth or Lynne Ramsay's Ratcatcher,
for instance), I found that this particular realist presentation
tended to be quite overdone in its attempts to provoke that it
almost arcs to the point of caricature. Recommended for those who
like the films of Ken Loach or the British social realist genre
in general. Although it is a well done film, it just wasn't my taste.
09-28-02:
Like La Promesse,
Jean Pierre and Luc Dardenne's The Son is
another well crafted, moral tale about redemption, although this time,
played with an element of suspense. The Son falls
in the realm of religious parable, not in the sense of finding a revelatory
moment of a greater purpose, but in a Bressonian sense that an ordinary,
emotionally scarred person can find transcendence from his earthly pain
through ritual. The Robert Bresson comparison is probably the best way to
describe the film: awkward, fragmented body shots (usually the back of
the head), unemotive actors, and repeated shots of manual labor. Although
I still think that La Promesse is their best
film, this is certainly very high caliber filmmaking, along par with
Rosetta.
The handheld camera was especially pervasive in this film, and I must
admit, I was not feeling too well for the rest of the evening.
Aleksandr
Sokurov's Russian Ark was next, and it is
quite a spellbinding, visually brilliant film, as Sokurov transports
us through episodes of Russian history through the confines of The
Hermitage Museum in one long unbroken shot (in the same experimental
vein as Alfred Hitchcock's Rope) that seems
to create a seeming perpetuity that underscores a sense of history's
transience, but also Russia's rich legacy and turbulent evolution - a
sense of corporeal ghosts inhabiting a disconnected and inescapable
(albeit glorious and majestic) space, and visually (or technically),
deriving continuum from a finite space. The film creates a seeming
parable for a nation irretrievably moving ever adrift from the rest
of Europe, and oblivious (or apathetic) to its cultural and artistic
legacy. What is visibly absent though, are the aspects of spirituality
and metaphysical concern that had attracted me to his earlier works.
Im
Kwon Taek's Chihwaseon is another painterly,
highly formalized, and exquisitely composed film based on the life of a
famed 18th century Korean painter. Like Kenji Mizoguchi's Utamaro
and His Five Women and Jacques Becker's Montparnasse 19,
the film deals with the essence of creation and artistic integrity. An
exquisitely realized film, even more beautiful and accessible than
Im's earlier film Chunhyang.
Notes
from NYFF companion series - The Actor as Activist: Celebrating Shabana
Azmi.
10-02-02: Preceding Khandahar was
a short documentary entitled Shabana! Actor, Activist,
Woman by Dev Benegal that seeks to capture the essence of the
charming and luminous Shabana Azmi's complex persona: actress, celebrity,
wife, mother, Muslim, social activist. Favorite moments from the documentary:
Ms. Azmi hosting a group of evicted slum dwellers into her own home
as she compassionately listens to their plight and stages a protest;
Ms. Azmi stepping back to make tea in the kitchen of an affordable
housing apartment, as she encourages the owner of the apartment to
take center stage to explain the details of the housing program. What
a gracious, fearless, intelligent, and beautiful human being.
Mrinal
Sen's Khandahar (1983) is an absorbing,
intelligently constructed film that centers on a blind, invalid,
elderly woman (Gita Sen) of aristocratic descent who is cared for
by her devoted, unmarried daughter, Jamini (Shabana Azmi) in the
ancient ruins of a feudal-era zamindari (the landowner's
estate). On a Christmas holiday weekend, Jamini's cousin Dipu (Pankaj
Kapoor) convinces his friends Subhash (Naseeruddin Shah) and Anil
(Annu Kapoor) to take a break from their jobs in the city to visit
his ancestral home in the remote countryside. Upon hearing that
Dipu has returned, the mother becomes convinced that he has returned
with Jamini's prearranged suitor in order to finalize their long-awaited
marriage. Sen's visual aesthetic and incorporation of landscape as a
metaphor for spiritual (and economic) desolation is especially
stunning and provides tremendous depth to the film's themes of duty,
obsolescence, and fading tradition.
Shyam Benegal's Ankur (1974)
is a highly engaging and insightful portrait of the hypocrisy, inherent
contradiction, dichotomy, and residual legacy of rigid class structure
in contemporary India as a seemingly socially progressive and "enlightened" college
graduate, Surya (Anant Nag) from an aristocratic zamindar family
inherits his father's remote abandoned farm. Arranged to marry a young
woman from a privileged family who cannot join him until she becomes
of age, Surya begins to seduce a beautiful, low caste married housekeeper
named Lakshmi (Shabana Azmi), a selfish act that leads to irrevocable
consequences. The harrowing final scene exquisitely captures the beauty
and cruelty of human existence. Sublime filmmaking - a brilliant example
of India's parallel cinema.
08-04-02:
Notes on Indecent Exposures: Buñuel, Saura, Erice and Almodóvar
by Gwynne Edwards.
Indecent
Exposures: Buñuel, Saura, Erice and Almodóvar by
Gwynne Edwards examines the unique influence and residual legacy of
the Spanish Civil War on the films of four notable Spanish directors: Luis
Buñuel, Carlos Saura,
Victor Erice,
and Pedro
Almodóvar.
Edwards examines three Luis Buñuel films, Viridiana,
The
Exterminating Angel, and Tristana,in
order to characterize the seemingly odd alliance between church and
state during the Franco regime. By analyzing the permutation of
underlying human behaviors of the inherently patriarchal culture of
Spanish society under the ideological conflict posed by the political
environment of Fascist Spain, Edwards categorizes Buñuel's
pervasive themes of objectification of women, subliminal guilt, and
sexual repression as perverse consequences of this unnatural union.
In Viridiana and the subsequent film Tristana, Buñuel
reflects the hypocrisy and incongruous coexistence of institutional
religion and individual desire through the complex societal roles
and dynamic personal relationship between a chaste and vulnerable
young woman and an older, sexually aggressive benefactor.
Like Buñuel, Carlos Saura's body of work during this period
also reflect the dysfunctionality of human behavior under a repressive
society. Saura's early films, The Hunt and
Cría
Cuervos provide a dark and unsettling portrait of dehumanization
and instinctual violence that results from the inbredness of profound
isolation. Additionally, Saura's "musical" film Carmen,
the second installment of the dance trilogy that also includes Blood
Wedding and Love the Magician attempts
to capture the coexistence of passion and violence innate in the culture.
Returning to a subject broached in Cría Cuervos
through Ana's mother's abbreviated career as a musician, Saura's
subsequent film Ay, Carmela! also reflects
the suppression of artistic freedom and creativity under the Franco
regime.
The films of Victor Erice provide a more oblique approach to illustrating
the vestigial scars of the Spanish Civil War. In The
Spirit of the Beehive, Erice encapsulates the frustration, uncertainty,
and confusion of children attempting to reconcile with the sense of
isolation inherent in their emotionally detached parents and insular
community. In the film, The South, Erice
depicts the the process of demystification and self-discovery as a
young woman's quest to learn more about her idolized father leads to
a poignant realization (a theme similarly explored in Theo Angelopoulos's
Landscape
in the Mist).
Buñuel's enduring influence in contemporary Spanish cinema is
especially evident in Pedro Almodóvar's penchant for surrealist
plots and dark, caustic humor, as his affectionate, but comically
absurd films, Women on the Verge of a Nervous
Breakdown and High Heels illustrate.
In Matador,
Almodóvar parallels the spectacle, choreography, and violence
of traditional bullfighting with the performance of the mating ritual.
It is through this examination of the interrelation between sexuality
and violence that Almodóvar's films draw comparison to Buñuel's
subversive cinema.
05-13-02:
Notes on Speaking the Language of Desire: The Films of Carl Dreyer
by Ray Carney.
Speaking
the Language of Desire: The Films of Carl Dreyer by Raymond
Carney provides an intelligent, thoughtful, and accessible analysis
of Carl Theodor Dreyer's body of work. In order to illustrate the
recurring themes and distinctive visual aesthetic that pervade
Dreyer's films, Carney examines The
Passion of Joan of Arc, Day
of Wrath, Ordet,
and Gertrud.
In Day of Wrath, Carney introduces the
idea of Dreyer's archetypal heroines as struggling to transcend the
repression, suffering, and personal limitations of their social
position by existing in an imaginative realm. Anne's
characterization (as realized by actress Lisbeth Movin) as a luminous,
vibrant, and curious physical spirit further reinforces her
ability to find an emotionally substantive, yet ethereal sanctuary. By
defining Anne's enigmatic behavior as a manifestation of her desire to
exist outside the confines of her corporeal existence to inhabit a world
of dreams, Carney also reconciles Dreyer's seemingly aberrant film on
mysticism and the supernatural, Vampyr.
Carney describes Ordet as an assimilative
experience that correlates Dreyer's deliberate and minimal camera
movements with the restrained interaction and fractured relationships
among the characters and, more significantly, Inger's unifying role as
mediator, pragmatist, and reconciliator.
On the disparity between Kaj Munk's theatrical portrayal of Johannes
as a strange, but enlightened prophet and Dreyer's characterization of
Johannes' state as a disconnected spirituality in Ordet,
Carney explains:
"In short, Johannes
summarizes an empowering ambivalence about the relation of abstract
ideals and practical expressions that is present in all Dreyer's important
work. One can say without irony that Ordet is the product of Dreyer's
willingness to admit his confusion, rather than resolve it too easily.
Kaj Munk was not confused about his Johannes, and the greatness of
Dreyer's film is a result of his willingness to be uncertain about
the relation of souls and bodies, of spiritual and practical matters,
of ideals and worldly expressions, in a way Munk was not."
Carney further
clarifies the misconception of Dreyer as a purely spiritual filmmaker,
arguing that Dreyer's perspective is reflected through the pragmatic
spirituality and conciliatory nature of Inger, rather than the rigid,
but emotionally and intellectually inaccessible faith of Johannes. By
presenting the film from the perspective of Inger (and later, through
Inger's daughter, Maren), Dreyer illustrates the need for personal balance
and reconciliation between generations, sexes, religion, and ultimately,
life and death.
Addressing the general criticism of Gertrud
as slow and talkative, Carney proposes that Gertrud's
static and distended tone mirrors the themes earlier presented through
Anne's retreat into imaginative coexistence in Day
of Wrath (and Allan Gray similarly experiences in Vampyr).
Carney proposes that Dreyer stylistically manifests
Gertrud's ideological defiance of her repressive environment and unrequited
emotion through the inherent minimalism and visual economy
of the mise-en-scene. In distilling the physical
distraction of setting, Dreyer figuratively focuses attention on the
ephemeral - specifically, Gertrud's uncompromising and intangible possession
- her unattainable, imaginative ideal. Similar
to the singular focus, impracticability, and inaccessibility of Johannes
and Peter in Ordet
and Joan in The Passion of Joan of Arc,
Gertrud also exhibits an unrealistic resoluteness
that leads to profound alienation and tragedy.
03-18-02: Notes on
Editions Dis Voir: Tsai Ming Liang by Jean Pierre Rehm, Olivier
Joyard, and Danièle Revière.
The
Editions Dis Voir publication, Tsaï
Ming Liang, consists of two sections: a compilation of critical
essays that examine key elements of Tsai's intensely personal cinema,
Bringing in the Rain by Jean-Pierre Rehm
and Corporal Interference by Olivier Joyard,
and an extended interview with Tsaï Ming-liang entitled Scouting
by Danièle Revière that discusses his influences, themes,
and work.
In Bringing in the Rain, Rehm illustrates
the pervasive elements of Tsaï's cinema: the absence of narrative,
the unoccupied and malleable characters (especially as portrayed by
Lee Kang-sheng), the exclusive use of natural and ambient sounds, indeterminate
time and place of reference, and sequential shots.
Citing Tsaï's recurrent imagery of elevators - the phantom stopping
of the elevator in Rebels
of the Neon God, the mother's monotonous occupation in The
River, the linking setting between dreams (Grace Chang musical interlude)
and reality (an inebriated Hsiao-kang impeding the closing of the elevator
doors) in The
Hole, Rehm illustrates Tsaï's seemingly existentialist themes
of stasis and spiritual stagnation:
"But this is only
a misleading illusion, like in The Hole:
the elevator never really goes up, it only opens and closes. A comparably
minimalist technique can be found in the elevator where the mother
works in The River: floors pass, people
enter and exit, but it really goes nowhere. The escalator at the
beginning of the same film is a mere interchange. No justification
for mysticism can be found in Tsaï Ming-liang's films, not
even a physical one: there is no mystery, no revelation; no descent
into Hell, no redemption."
In Corporal
Interference, Joyard examines the role of hollow spaces: the
physical body as a transient vessel of the soul, and the impersonal,
vacant interiors as a reflection of emptiness. Joyard discusses Tsaï's
concept of the impermanence of the human body, and its role as a vehicle
for commuting the joys, sorrows, fears, and desires experienced by the
soul. This observation is further validated through Tsaï's remarks
on the role of the city as a character: "When I film a city
it's as if I were filming a character. Because I think that everything
has its place, its own life. It's an idea very close to Chinese Buddhism,
which regards the human body as a place of 'passage'."
Joyard further discusses the appearance
of rain and water in Tsaï's films as an external, atmospheric barometer
for the level of societal turmoil and personal anguish: "Water
forms an inescapable structure, another way of showing what goes on
inside our bodies and heads, bringing the internal circuits, veins and
organs to light, pointing out the leaks."
Tsaï further expounds on the ubiquitous presence water in his films
in the 1999 interview transcribed in the section entitled Scouting.
Tsaï's concise and simple explanation of the mother's ritualistic
actions in The River, encapsulates the emotional
honesty and innate compassion of Tsaï's profoundly humanist cinema:
"The first thing she
does on returning home is to pour herself a glass of water and drink it.
We also see her drinking before she goes out. Because I always regard
the characters in my films as plants which are short of water, which
are almost on the point of dying from lack of water. Actually, water
for me is love, that's what they lack. What I'm trying to show is very
symbolic, it's their need for love."
02-19-02:
Notes on The Essential Mystery: The Major Filmmakers of Indian Art
Cinema by John W. Hood.
The
Essential Mystery: Major Filmmakers of Indian Art Cinema is a
thoughtful, appreciative, analytical, and comprehensive overview of
the influential filmmakers that have defined, shaped, and elevated the
status of Indian art cinema. By correlating the filmmakers' personal
experiences with the common themes and individual styles presented through
their respective cinema, Hood illustrates the diversity, integrity,
and undiscovered artistry of Indian films.
Ritwik Ghatak - Born in Dhaka in the
former region of East Bengal in 1925, Ritwik Ghatak experienced the
trauma of the Partition of Bengal that occurred after gaining independence
from the British in 1947. Consequently, Ghatak's poignant and personally
relevant cinema often reflect the tragedy of exile, displacement, and
poverty. Hood cites Ghatak's 1960s films as his artistic and narrative
zenith: Meghe
Dhaka Tara (The Cloud-Capped
Star) portrays the travails of a displaced middle class East
Bengal family in Calcutta; Komal Gandhar
(E-Flat) chronicles the rivalry between two
acting troupes of a once united theatrical company; Subarnarekha
examines the divergent fates of two idealistic refugee teachers. Plagued
by a propensity for self-indulgence and lack of discipline, as reflected
in his final film, Jukti Takko Ar Gappo (Argument,
Discussion, and Story), Ghatak nevertheless creates a profoundly
moving portrait of the human condition and the devastation of imposed
geographic, social, and political division.
Satyajit Ray - Hood prefaces his analysis by acknowledging his
great respect for Satyajit Ray, and his trepidation in dissociating
himself from personal bias to provide an objective evaluation of his
work, especially in Ray's penchant to drift into occasional sentimentality
in his later works. Hood examines Ray's spare and minimalist style throughout
his diverse and prolific body of work: from humanist films such as the
Apu Trilogy
and Charulata,
to insightful social commentary of films such as Devi
and Jalsaghar,
to repercussions of political events (the Bengal Famine of 1943 and
the Naxalite movement of the 1970s, respectively) in films such as Distant
Thunder (Ashani Sanket) and Jana
Aranya (The Middleman). Ray's mastery
of the visual aesthetic that combines a reverence for naturalism with
the concerns of social realism sufficiently validates his iconic status
in Indian culture and world cinema.
Mrinal Sen - Like contemporaries Ritwik
Ghatak and Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen was born in Bengal in 1923 and profoundly
marked by turbulent political history, especially by the devastation
of the Bengali Famine of 1943. Hood categorizes Sen's body of work into
three general phases: his early, "conventional" social realism
films as illustrated by the films Akash Kusum
(Up in the Clouds) and Bhuvan
Shome (with the title character portrayed by Utpal Dutt); his
political "agitation" films, as embodied in the three interrelated
chronological stories on the effects of poverty in Calcutta
71 and Mrigaya (The
Royal Hunt) that examines the effects of the Santal Rebellion
of 1855-1856; his later, social studies of the middle-class, as exemplified
by the intelligently crafted film, Ek Din Pratidin
(One Day, Everyday) that explores the issue
of a woman's right to social autonomy, and his masterwork, Kharij
(Neglected) that explores the tragic circumstances
behind a young house servant's accidental death from carbon monoxide
poisoning.
Adoor Gopalakrishnan - Born in 1941 in Kerala, Adoor Gopalakrishnan's
films reflect the idyllic atmosphere and gentle pace of life in the
southern city, and the inevitable crisis of change. His highly accomplished
and narratively minimalist films present an acute awareness of human
relationships and social inequity. Generally considered to be his greatest
film, Elippathayam (The
Rat Trap) is a graceful, poetic, and metaphoric film that explores
the vestigial effects of feudalism and class stratification on a decadent,
yet increasingly irrelevant, aristocratic family. Gopalakrishnan further explores
similar themes of the inconstancy of individual perception and reality
in Mukhamukham (Face
to Face) and Anantaram (Monologue).
Shyam Benegal - A great admirer of Satyajit
Ray's cinema, Shyam Benegal founded a film society in his native Hyderabad,
before settling in Bombay where a career in advertisement eventually
led to filmmaking. A popular and well-respected contemporary filmmaker,
Benegal examines the hypocrisy of a patriarchal society, the conflict
between tradition and modernity, and the inequity of social class. Benegal's
most memorable films, Ankur
(The Seedling) and Nishant
(Night's End) chronicle the exploitative
actions of cruel and abusive zamindari (feudal landowners). Benegal
continues to address relevant social issues in Bhumika
(The Role) and Mandi
(The Marketplace) (the role and value of
women) and Aarohan (The
Descent) (exploitation of workers).
Govindan Aravindan - Like his contemporary
Gopalakrishnan, Govindan Aravindan was born in Kerala. The son of famed
humorist Govindan Nair, Aravindan's films reflect his artistry as a
painter and his acute sense of social observation as a satirist. His
distinctive early films displayed his penchant for narrative economy,
symbolism and inference, natural sounds, visual composition, and minimal
dialogue. His first film, Uttarayanam (The
Throne of Capricorn), understatedly examines the economic turmoil
of a post-colonial 1970s India through a young graduate's inability
to find employment (a topic similarly explored by Ray in Jana
Aranya). Hood cites Kanchana Sita (Golden
Sita), a story adapted from the Indian epic, Ramayana,
on the interrelationship between man and nature, and Thampu
(The Circus Tent), a poignant examination
of human cruelty and alienation, to be among Aravindan's finest films.
In contrast to the social realism of his early films, Aravindan's subsequent
films, Kummatty (The
Bogeyman) and Esthappan (Stephen),
possess elements of fable and suspension of disbelief to illustrate
his familiar themes of harmony with nature and human compassion.
Buddhadeb Dasgupta
- Already a renowned Bengali poet before turning to filmmaking, Buddhadeb
Dasgupta's cinema evolved from conventional narrative (developed from
his earlier documentary and short films), to an imagistic and poetic
style. His early humanist films, Duratwa
(Distance) and Nim Annapurna
(Bitter Morsel), are mature and socially
relevant works that examine personal values and human relationships
in the face of chaotic change (Naxalite Movement) and despair. Dasgupta
subsequently explores the dilemma of compromise, survival, and artistic
integrity in his highly accomplished, visually poetic, and stylistically
transitional films, Phera (The
Return) and Bagh Bahadur (The
Tiger Man).
Govind Nihalani - Govind Nihalani was
born in 1940 in Karachi (now in Pakistan), and began his career in film
as the director of photography to Shyam Benegal before directing his
first feature in 1982. The accessibility and popular appeal of Nihalani's
films are attributable to his narrative realism, technical maturity,
and meticulous attention to mise-en-scene. Nihalani examines
contemporary, socially relevant issues in films such as elitism and
egoism in Party, power and corruption in
Ardh Satya (Half-Truth),
and the dissolution of a marriage in Drishti
(The Vision). Often considered to be his
best film, the five hour epic film, Tamas
(The Darkness), based on the novel (and two
stories, Sardarni and Zahud
Baksh) by Bhisham Sahni depicts the irrational chaos, divisiveness,
violence, and senseless destruction of the days leading to the Partition.
©
Acquarello 2002. All rights reserved.
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