Foreign Film Resolution, Weeks 11-14

Yeah, I'm still behind. And in some kind of Gallic rut, although I didn't realize it until I wrote this up.



Les Enfants Terribles (1950), Jean-Pierre Melville (screenplay by Jean Cocteau)

The Siren thinks of a certain romantic plot device as very French: One figure, usually a woman, is loved madly by several other characters, as in Jules et Jim, Les Enfants du Paradis, even La Règle du Jeu. Les Enfants Terribles, however, belongs to a subset, along with Les Voleurs and Les Amants du Pont Neuf. In these films, everyone is madly in love with one character, and the Siren has no idea why because she (in this case he) is a sexless, soul-sucking, nerve-grating drip. (Mr. C's equable response, when the Siren made this complaint: "Yes, and maybe that is what the films are about. Loving a drip.") The Siren recognized Les Enfants Terribles as a good movie, well-scripted and directed, hypnotic and splendidly individual. But the characters wore her to a frazzle.

[Nicole] Stephane dominates the film: She's like a baby Leni Riefenstahl petrified of losing her grip on her tiny kingdom. The last few reels get slow and hypnotic, until the ending builds up to a theatrical crescendo of emotion and climaxes with a tall screen clattering to the floor (Melville's idea). A truly unique movie, Les Enfants Terribles feels both insubstantial and overpowering, like Chet Baker singing "Let's Get Lost" to an empty ballroom.
--Dan Callahan, Slant Magazine

La sirène du Mississippi (1969), Francois Truffaut.

Despite the Siren's obvious affinity for the title, and several critics' insistence that its lousy reputation is undeserved, the Siren found this a Truffaut misfire. The film began well and the Siren was happily involved for about the first 40 minutes. But once they left the island of Reunion and Deneuve and Belmondo took folie a deux into high gear, suspense and finally interest withered and died. Deneuve does a very nice segue from high-toned con artist to plain old guttersnipe but her chic wardrobe kept undermining her. However, if you are an Yves St. Laurent fan the movie is almost worth it for the clothes. Almost.

At one point the couple goes to see Nicholas Ray's Johnny Guitar, a film that was hailed by the Cahiers du Cinema crowd. Walking out of the movie Julie observes that she likes it because it isn't just a Western, it's a love story. Truffaut wants people to leave his film thinking the same thing.
--Daniel Fienberg (of the fine blog Check the Fien Print )

La Marseillaise (1938), Jean Renoir

There's a small clip from this movie at the beginning of La Sirene de Mississippi, which prompted the Siren to dig out the DVD and watch. Now this was more like it. And finally a movie that doesn't overromanticize Marie Antoinette, too.

La Marseillaise lacks the irony that make Renoir's Grand Illusion and Rules of the Game true masterpieces, and its pacing is a bit uneven. Nonetheless, Renoir manages to create a feeling that one is actually witnessing the French Revolution. Because this film was intended for a French audience, details that would illuminate some of the actions for audiences in other countries are not explained. No matter. This movie communicates quite a lot. Vive la Revolution et vive Renoir!
--Marilyn Ferdinand, Ferdy on Film

La Fin du Jour (1938), Julien Duvivier Made the same year as the Renoir. Our esteemed colleague David Cairns has been evangelizing for this film for some time, even going so far as to give away copies. And the Siren can now deliver her verdict: David's absolutely 100% goddamn right. This is a great movie, with sinuous camerawork from Duvivier that bears comparison to Ophuls (and higher praise hath not the Siren). Plus astonishing performances from Louis Jouvet and Michel Simon. Now that she has seen it, the Siren herself feels quite evangelical about this one. And she isn't going to post an excerpt from David's review. Just go it read yourself. (And note, in the comments, David Ehrenstein comparing it to Make Way for Tomorrow and Tokyo Story.) Also, Gareth's excellent writeup here.

There is a Duvivier retrospective going on through the end of May at the Museum of Modern Art, and the Siren plans to make heroic efforts to catch a few. She hopes her New York readers do too. La Fin du Jour screens there on March 14 at 4:30 pm and Friday, May 15 at 8 pm.

*****

A few links for the beginning of the week:

Director and Friend of the Siren Raymond de Felitta's City Island just won the Audience Award at the Tribeca Film Festival. Raymond's comment: "Damn I'm happy." He should be, it's a warm, funny and quite lovable film.

Larry Aydlette has done another shape-shift and landed at The Demarest, a more picture-intensive blog with plenty to delight the eye.

Homework? Try mega-homework. Dennis Cozzalio's quarterly quiz has been up for two weeks at Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule, but the Siren has a doctor's excuse for being late. Honest...

The Siren has always thought of the Thin Man movies as more or less impervious to analysis, but Ed Howard tries to prove her wrong by tackling the fourth and fifth films in the series.

Ivan reviews one of the most depressing movies ever made, One Potato Two Potato. The Siren saw this as a kid and cried over it for days and days--and she had forgotten the title, probably due to PTSD. Just reading Ivan's summary of the ending made the Siren go hug her kids till they looked at her and said "What?"

A new(ish) blog, Silent Volume, is already going great guns but won the Siren's heart in part by posting about the unfairly maligned Revolutionary Road and the greatest silent of all, The Crowd.

Finally, the Siren is going into the Wayback Machine for this one, but she missed the Forrest Gump/How Green Was My Valley smackdown in March, with Mike endearing himself even further to the Siren by defending the greatness of the John Ford movie.

Foreign Film Resolution, Cont. (Weeks 4-7)

Go on, admit it. You thought the Siren gave up on her foreign-film resolution. No way. She's behind, mind you, but she hasn't given up. We're nine weeks into her resolution so the Siren should have seen nine films. She has seen seven. Still catching up.

From the Mizoguchi set the Siren bought herself as a birthday present:

Women of the Night, Kenji Mizoguchi (1948)



"In Women of the Night (1948) a band of prostitutes gathers in a bombed-out church to administer a brutal beating to Fusako (Kinuyo Tanaka), one of their own who has dared to dream of going straight. These women are not saints or martyrs — for Mizoguchi, there is no next world in which they might receive their reward — but, more concretely and more movingly, mere human beings whose strength of character sets them apart, the true aristocrats of a fallen world."
--Dave Kehr, The New York Times

Street of Shame, 1956 (This was cheating a bit because the Siren has seen it already, but she couldn't resist. Such a great movie.)


"Kenji Mizoguchi's Akasen Chitai (Red-Light District, 1956) had the misfortune of being tagged with the silly title Street of Shame on its first American release, and it has stuck. Doubtless meant to imply a far more salacious treatment of its subject than Mizoguchi intended, the title has also promoted the prevailing view that he was making a political statement about the class of women he had so tenderly treated through more than 30 years of filmmaking. And while it was probably inevitable that Mizoguchi should return to his favourite subject in his last film-–courtesans and their floating world--Street of Shame is one last, devastating look at how life's cruelties are especially hard on women in Japan."
--Dan Harper, Senses of Cinema

This next was on TCM during 31 Days of Oscar. More movies like this one would really justify that whole month. Now March is, so help me, Ronald Reagan month, and the Siren wonders if TCM is actually mocking her. "Hey Siren, you thought last month was barren, huh? Try and find something here besides Kings Row, Santa Fe Trail and Dark Victory! Mwahahaha!" Anyway, on to

The Burmese Harp, Kon Ichikawa (1956). The real revelation of this go-round. Astonishingly beautiful and moving. The Siren wishes she had seen it on a big screen.



"The Burmese Harp is a haunting, poignant and serenely indelible examination of the aftermath of war. The film opens with the spare, enigmatic words: In Burma, soil is red, so are rocks. Using landscape as a metaphor for the isolation and suffering of the soul, Kon Ichikawa contrasts the chaotic, harsh realities of war with the tranquil expanse of nature: the mountain fortress attack; the discovery of a body leaning against a tree in the jungle; the mass burial of soldiers along the shoreline. Symbolically, Mizushima's spiritual transformation is reflected in a scene where the troop assembles for choral practice at a religious site, as Mizushima rests inside the hull (the figurative soul) of a Buddha statue. It is a reflection of his own enlightenment and sense of purpose after witnessing a great and senseless tragedy - a transcendence beyond his spiritual captivity - towards a lonely, indefinite journey, guided solely by humanity and personal conscience."
--Acquarello, Strictly Film School

I own this one but hadn't gotten around to watching it.
Day for Night, François Truffaut (1973)



"This really may be the Ultimate Opening Shot in many ways, because we actually get to go back into it and critique it in the movie itself. The whole thing looks perfectly random and natural (I don't want to know how many takes it really took), as if the eye (camera) were just alighting upon one thing and then another as its interest is piqued. But we soon see how carefully and precisely it's all choreographed. Day for night. Illusion for reality. Artifice in the service of art. Notice, too the use of strong colors like red (dress, car, little girl, etc.) and white (car, overcoat, etc.) -- the alternating colors of the awning in the background -- and black (suits, car roof, etc.) to focus our attention. Doesn't this just make you want to go out and make a movie?"
--Jim Emerson, Scanners

The Dardos, and Other Ramblings from the Far End of the Subway Car

(updated 1/28)

Holy shit, January 2009 is shaping up to be a month I wanna forget, and fast. I know, I know, the inauguration was great but now it's over and la famille Campaspe is still recovering from whatever the hell virus hit us. The economy is still dropping like a stone, the weather is bad, I can never get everyone well enough to get anything done or (almost) anything watched. The Siren went to the doctor yesterday. Ever had the kind of cough that makes someone change seats on the subway to get away from you, even though you are diligently covering your mouth?

Worst of all, my solace in all times of trouble, Rumpole, will never solve a new case again, because the great John Mortimer died Jan. 16.

February, the Siren wants to kiss you full on the lips when you finally get here.

So this post is the Siren, trying to find the silver lining. We begin with the Siren's proud acceptance of

The Dardos Award, bestowed first by Flickhead and next by Glenn Kenny.

Here's the purpose: "The Dardos Award is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web."

There are rules, however:
1) Accept the award by posting it on your blog along with the name of the person that has granted the award and a link to his/her blog.
2) Pass the award to another five blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgement, remembering to contact each of them to let them know they have been selected for this award.

The Siren is tickled pink, especially since not only did she not snag a Weblog Award nom this year, none of the blogs she was rooting for won their categories either. The Dardos comes with the happy obligation to pick five other worthy blogs. Some of the Siren's best choices are already chosen but there are a lot of good ones out there, so here goes. She's expanding the definition of "writing" by the way, since a picture is worth a thousand words:

Marilyn and Roderick at Ferdy on Films, for always raising the tone

Operator_99 at Allure, for always making things more beautiful

Shahn at Six Martinis and the Seventh Art, for the best screen captures ever

David Cairns at Shadowplay, for constantly reminding us of more awesome old movies to see (check out this one, a noir starring George Sanders that I'd barely heard of)

Jacqueline T. Lynch at Another Old Movie Blog, for loving old movies (and Dorothy McGuire) as much as I do.

Update: The Siren has been informed that David Cairns and Marilyn Ferdinand were already tapped for the Dardos. So the Siren isn't replacing them--no sirree, they are irreplaceable--but she is adding two exceptionally worthy bloggers who, so far as she knows, haven't received a Dardos yet. If she's wrong, and they have, well shoot, the Siren can play the Dardos Shell Game long as it takes. So, two more Dardoses to:

Ivan G. Shreve for Thrilling Days of Yesteryear, because he mixes nostalgia with pungent wit, watches great movies, has cool taste in noir and because I can't stop staring at whatever the heck he has on his banner.

Chris Cagle at Category D, because he writes about film on a very high level and because his still-going-strong 1947 project is one of the Siren's favorite things in the film blogosphere.

Tuesday's New York Times has the great Dave Kehr doing what he does best: writing up a set of classic-era DVDs that might otherwise be overlooked or consigned to the nostalgia shelf, and paying due, unironic and well-argued respect to those films. It is a beautiful thing to open a mainstream publication and find a critic willing to argue for the aesthetic and social importance of Delmer Daves and Troy Donahue. The Siren does not always agree with Kehr, although she agrees 100% with this review of the Warners set, and is now thinking she needs to buy it. But Kehr doesn't condescend to the old, and thank god for that.



The Siren wants to be polite in bring up her next topic, because she is trying not to worsen her condition with stress, but do you suppose fellow Times writer Sarah Lyall could make more of a point of reading Kehr and learning from his approach? Look at this line, in a Sunday article about the Guy Ritchie version of Sherlock Holmes due in November, describing Basil Rathbone as "sexlessly debonair in the way Hollywood liked its leading men in the 1930s and 1940s." In his Sherlock Holmes movies, yes, because the role was written that way. But in Rathbone's other movies, like the one above, NO and as for leading men--okay, I won't rant, if you're reading this blog you don't need me to elaborate, just scroll down to the 20 actors meme or any other classic-film-blogger's 20 actors meme. This is the kind of line about old movies that instantly brands you as someone who needs to watch more old movies.

And that brings the Siren to a sincere memo to the extremely funny and very popular Tbogg, who has been energetically mocking Big Hollywood, the new conservative film site. An enterprise to which the Siren says, hey, rock on. But there are a number of entries about John Nolte's TCM Pick feature along the lines of "Hey, another old movie on TCM!" Which might, just might give people the impression that there is something, well, mockable about watching old movies. Clearly the Siren disagrees with that as a general premise, but more importantly, John's championing of old movies is the best reason to read the site. That, and Robert Avrech on anything to do with silent movies. Sometimes the Siren finds good movies via John, other times she disagrees, but does anyone want to argue that even the lowest-common-denominator commenters on BH--no, make that especially them--would not benefit from watching Double Indemnity? Please, Mr. Tbogg, if John wants to tell his readers to watch "Paths of Glory," let him.

Edward Copeland, a voice much-missed during a too-long absence from the blogging scene, has been back for a while, gracing us with, among other things, an absolutely classic title for his review of The Reader. (Don't drink anything when you're clicking over, I'm warning you.) Brooke Cloudbuster at The Performance Review has agreed to take up the gauntlet for this year's Oscar survey as Edward continues his recovery. This year's theme, one dear to the hearts of all Stinky Lulu fans, is The Best and Worst of the Best Supporting Actresses. The Siren is looking forward to participating.

Finally, the Siren did manage to slot her two Foreign films of the past two weeks, she just didn't post them, so she is now.

Week 3:



Sous les Toits de Paris, Rene Clair (1930). The Siren wasn't crazy about the articles she read online about this one; she liked it a lot more than did most reviewers. What they found to be creakiness, the Siren saw as deliberate artifice trying to meld silent film and sound. Beautiful to look at and marvelously bittersweet. Updated to add: Gareth has a good post about the movie, the Siren is happy to reveal. Since it is brief, I won't quote it at length, just go read the whole thing.

Week 4:



Une affaire de femmes, Claude Chabrol (1988).

The Siren owes her Chabrol addiction to Flickhead. Here, Dennis Grunes discusses a scene that also cut the Siren to the quick:

Chabrol and Huppert’s Marie isn’t Mama from I Remember Mama but an imperfect mother, a human possibility and being—a glimpse of which we get from the get-go when she administers the first of several light smacks to her young son, Pierrot. When the baby she is carrying, a girl, is praised by a neighbor, Marie responds, “I got it right with this little one.” Chabrol cuts to Pierrot, whose depth of injury at this remark, to which his mother is oblivious, is apparent to us. In their apartment, Pierrot fishes for reassurance, asking his mother, “When I was born you were happy, too?” But Marie’s response is too general, too impersonal, to reassure: “You were a boy. It is always right to have a boy.” Later, Marie will neglect both children for the sake of her illegal work or her affair, leaving them to fend for themselves during one of Paul’s (it is implied) recurrent abandonments of family or, once he has unapologetically returned, with Paul. Still, she is elsewhere shown to be an affectionate, attentive mother. Throughout, Marie Latour is recognizably, sometimes distressingly human.

Finally, the Siren has to admit that David Ehrenstein's birthday greeting was one of her favorites.

Foreign Film of the Week: Week 2

The Siren is having a hard time staying on top of blogging at length, but at least she got in her foreign film of the week. It is really depressing when a New Year's Resolution is gone before the mid-point of January

Last week's movie, sent by Flickhead, whose thoughts on the movie are located here: A Talking Picture, directed by Manuel Oliveira.

What's missing from the table and from much of the picture, of course, is the true (truer, anyway) cradle of humanity, basis of much of even Greek civilization, the Middle East. Iraq, Iran, Syria, Egypt among others are not represented, and while Egypt's monuments are shown and discussed, they're discussed not by an Egyptian but by a Portugese. The silence is overwhelming; we hear secondhand about Muslim civilizations, usually as it relates to and clashes with Western civilizations (the Hagia Sophia, Napoleon visiting the pyramids, the Arabs burning the library at Alexandria (a historically disputed event)). Suddenly the Middle East speaks out (or at least we assume it's from the Mid-East--Oliveira leaves even this ambiguous), in the form of a ship's officer with an urgent message, and the entire ship is forced to react to a neglected
culture's startling response.

--from Noel Vera's review