3 women

3 Women
d. Robert Altman, 1977

Robert Altman is one of the great American directors. What he did between 1970 and 1977 is nearlly unparalled. With McCabe & Mrs. Miller in '71, Nashville in '75, and 3 Women in '77, it would be hard to argue that he's not the best director of the 70s, period. Not only that, but the fact that he came back in '92 and '93 with The Player and Short Cuts, respectively, is also quite astonishing. Even with all those great films, 3 Women stands out as perhaps the most original and poetically beautiful.

3 Women plays out as a dream, it asks the viewer not to understand it or try to pin it down with standard rationale. Instead, it demands to be experienced. When a movie is this captivating, whether it makes sense or not is unimportant. It does help, however, that the film is not just a random series of episodes; there is a cohesive structure present, if only emotionally.

The first character introduced is Millie Lammoreux (a wonderful Shelley Duvall), a woman who works at a solarium. The film sees her as a person trying very hard to be noticed, only be to rejected and ignored by most of the people she knows. Then along comes Pink Rose (Sissy Spacek), a shy girl that often behaves like a child (one of the first times the audience sees her is as she blows bubbles in her soda). From the start, Pinky takes a liking to Millie, who is oblivious to the way she is perceived by others. Eventually, Pinky moves in with Millie and at some point the relationship turns sour.

As the title states, there is a third woman in the movie. Willie Hart (Janice Rule) is the wife of Edgar (Robert Fortier), who owns the local bar as well as the apartment complex where Millie and Pinky live. Willie is often seen painting murals around both the bar and the pool at the complex. She doesn't speak much throughout the film, and Pinky and Millie know very little about her.

At this point I'll momentarily draw away from the plot and go into some kind of strange rambling about where I place the film among others. Sometimes, films can be seen among others that match it, whether it be thematically, visually, or otherwise. For example, I tend to look at Fellini's La Dolce Vita with Antonioni's films of the time like L'Avventura and L'Eclisse because of the way they address ennui and the perils of modern life. Herzog's Aguirre, the Wrath of God could not only be seen as similar to his other features, but other epic masterpieces like Coppola's Apocalypse Now. In that same way, 3 Women shares a lot with Bergman's Persona (a film Altman was inspired by) and Lynch's Mulholland Drive (a film very likely inspired by Altman's). All of these three fims deal with overlapping and eventually shifting pesonalities between women. In Persona, it is the relationship between an actress that has decided to stop speaking and her nurse. Mulholland Drive deals with what happens when irresponsible dreams are set-up and followed, as well as with the lives of two women who inhabit two different universes during the movie. And 3 Women, with its three main characters, is about the same type of relationship in which the story only comes full circle with a mild, but powerful, revelation.

Not only do these three films share some sort of thematic foundation, they also have a scene in their respective story that works pretty much the same in all three of them. These scenes (which I like to call the "fracture") serves within the context of the film as the part that breaks the mood and sets up the rest of the film. In Persona, it comes when the film actually breaks and the movie starts over. In Mulholland Drive it comes shortly after both of the main characters visit "Club Silencio," where they learn that everything is an illusion. Altman also handles the "fracture" sequence beautifully. After having an arguement with Millie, Pinky goes outside and jumps into the pool from the second floor. She is injured and is taken to the hospital. She is in a coma for an unspecified amount of time and when she comes back home, the admiration she had for Millie is gone and everything has pretty much changed.

The undercurrent dealing with Willie is not really exploited until the last couple of scenes, and these scenes are what wrap up the story. 3 Women ends on an unsure note, but could anyone watching this film (or Persona or Mulholland Drive for that matter) really expect everything to be explained?

f for fake

F for Fake
d. Orson Welles, 1976

F for Fake is the fourth film I've seen by Orson Welles (the other three being Citizen Kane, The Magnificent Ambersons, and Touch of Evil), and it is my favorite. It was the last film Welles was to make, and it succeeds brilliantly as a desconstruction and meditation on the very nature of art.

Welles presents his film in such a way that I was not sure if I was watching a documentary, a mockumentary, straight fiction, or even an "essay film," which is the term many people choose when describing F for Fake. I don't think it's necessary to put the film into any genre, because it is that mysteriously undefinable quality that makes it so great. It is important to note, however, that there is no other film like this one. By that I don't mean that it finds originality within a boundaries, as all great films do, but that it reinvents cinema as a whole to create something new and, ironically, to make a statement about art.

The film starts off with Welles as a magician, asking the audience (kids at a bus station) for an object from their pockets. The boy reaches it out fot a key and Welles goes on to make it turn into coins, and then promptly back to the key ("I'm a charlatan," he says to a woman on a bus named Oja Kodar.)

It is at that point that the self-proclaimed charlatan says to the camera that he will go on to tell the truth for an hour. He then begins to tell the story of art forger Elmyr as well as that of his biographer Clifford Irving. Elmyr has made a living out of forging the works of Modigliani, Picasso, Monet, and so on. He is seen saying different things about the nature of his work, my favorite being "you put one of my paintings on the wall of a museum. If it is there long enough, it becomes real." Welles, through brilliant editing, begins to draw parallels between the art forger and the author, Irving, that is supposed to be writing a true account of Emyr's life. The film suggests that Fake!, the name of the book, is as distorted and false as the forged paintings.

Through F for Fake, Welles argues that every story is false in some way or another. More importantly, however, he also discusses the fact that truth may not be the most as important as it appears to be. It is my personal opinion that Welles, who made what is considered the greatest film of all time with Citizen Kane by telling a fictionalized account of William Randolph Hearst's life, relates to and understands the forgers in this movie.

After the part of the film mainly dealing with Emyr and Irving, F for Fake becomes about Irving's dealings with Howard Hughes. Irving wrote the "authorized" biography of Hughes that was later discovered to be a hoax. Welles continues to layer perspectives and draws on the earlier segments to create a stronger arguement about the duplicity of art and, in turn, life.

Then there are the last 20 minutes of the film, where Welles brings back Oja Kodar and tells the story of her encounter with Picasso and, more importantly, Picasso's encounter with her Hungarian grandfather. As the story Welles tells goes, Picasso painted Kodar 22 portraits that she kept. When Picasso heard that there was a gallery of his work in Paris, he flew there outraged only to find that the portraits were not done by him. Kodar then takes him to her dying grandfather, who has a conversation with Picasso about what he has done and the way he looks at his own line of work.

Ultimately, Welles reveals that the whole story was a lie and that Kodar's grandfather has never painted in his life. Brilliantly, he recalls the earlier statement that he was to "tell the truth for one hour" and it becomes evident that that hour has ended (the movie is 88 minutes long).

So far I've only been talking about what the film deals with and some of my reactions to it. However, the film's effect is in no small part due to its technical achievements. Visually, the film is astonishing. Welles manages to bring a mystical appeal to every shot that is hypnotic and intoxicating. The editing is as good as any I've seen and the sound design is only topped by The Conversation.

F for Fake is, in my opinion, one of the absolute masterworks of the cinema. I am tempted to say that his heartfelt, complex, and brilliant meditation on art and lies is more relevant and entertaining than Welles' Citizen Kane.

mulholland drive

Mulholland Drive
d. David Lynch, 2001

The first time I saw David Lynch's Mulholland Drive, I wasn't quite sure what I had seen. After two more viewings, I understand the story better and probably like the film a lot more. As a self-reflective piece of work made by a man who has refused to be tied down by reality, it stands alongside Fellini's 8 1/2. Although confused after my first viewing, I still found that experience rewarding because, if nothing else, I had seen a film that was about nothing other than the genius of its making. Clearly Lynch is one of the greatest working directors, and this is his best film.

The first 100 minutes or so of Mulholland Drive revolve around several different storylines. The first is about a woman (Laura Elena Harring) who has been in a car accident and can not remember anything, she sneaks into a house nearby and falls asleep. Betty (Naomi Watts) , an aspiring actress from Canada, comes to L.A. (where the film takes place), and stays at her aunt's apartment, who is away making a movie in Canada. She finds the woman who was in the accident, and throughout more than half the movie Betty helps the woman (who starts calling herself Rita after looking at a Gilda poster) find out who she is. There is also another loose narrative about a director, Adam Kesher (Justin Theroux), being pressured by his studio to cast a particular girl for the lead.

All these threads make for a very enjoyable and borderline brilliant movie; but in retrospect they only serve as preparation for the magic that is the last 45 minutes of Mulholland Drive. During those 45 minutes, everything that happened during the first part of the movie is switched and Lynch manages to tell his story through such extravagant and strong images that I wonder how he was able to get this financed by a studio (it was first conceived as a tv series much like his Twin Peaks).

My explanation of the film (without giving much away) is that one of the two parts is a dream. Which one is the dream is up to the viewer, but I obviously think one makes more sense.

Above all, Lynch has created a stylish and nearly unparalleled visceral experience. This is, in my opinion, his most beautiful film; blending Lynch's amazing direction, Angelo Badalamenti's music, Peter Deming's cinematography, and Mary Sweeny's editing to a create a film like no other.

Note: I mentioned earlier that this was a self-reflective film for Lynch. By this I mean that the film is filled with many observations about the dangers of dreams created by Hollywood. In Mulholland Drive, he argues that these dreams are irresponsible because of the faulty foundation they are founded on.

nashville

Nashville
d. Robert Altman, 1975

Robert Altman's Nashville is an amazing movie clearly made by a master director. Altman was at the height of his powers here; only 4 years after making McCabe & Mrs. Miller, one of the greatest of all films. The scenes in Nashville are so elaborate yet so effortlessly handled by Altman that I'm tempted to call him the most natural director since Fellini.

The film is a portrayal of a couple of days at Nashville leading up to a presidential primary. There are a lot of undercurrents in the film, but no clear story, which is probably why the movie is so great. It deals with at least 24 people (all of them sharing about the same on-screen time); which range from successful country stars, gospel singers, the presidential candidate, the people organizing a fundraiser for him, and so on. If these people have something in common, it is their collective disappointment with life. But more about that later.

The first thing one notices when watching Nashville is how well Altman is at shooting scenes with many actors at once. Basically every scene in the film is memorable, and it would be hard to point out my favorite (although the ending is profoundly moving). To watch Nashville (or any Altman film for that matter) is to be given scenes with an astonishing amount of depth and excitement. The film's 160 minute running time goes by faster than most recent movies I've seen.

The themes present in Nashville are some that Altman went on to continue exploring in his 1993 film Short Cuts. They deal with the coincedental nature of life, in which the universe will do with you as it sees fit. More important, however, is the assumption that our lives don't follow a straight line from beginning to end. Altman is smart enough to understand that lives are not about stories, but the other way around.

As I stated earlier, most of the characters in Nashville are in some way or another displeased with life. But they are also aware (as I suspect Altman is) that disappointment never killed anybody. One of the last few scenes shows a sudden act of violence at a political rally, and the audience gets over its horror by singing a song titled "It don't worry me." In this film, he tells us that life is messy and we run into each other and that, ultimately, we are all in this together.

safe

Safe
d. Todd Haynes, 1995

Todd Hayne's 1995 melodrama Safe is a film I will revisit. With that said, everything in this review is based on a first viewing in which I probably did not understand everything that was going on.

Safe is about Carol (a brilliant Julianne Moore), a homemaker living in California that slowly begins to believe she may have some sort of disease dealing with her chemical reactions to the environment. Throughout the course of the film, as the disease (whatever it may be) affects Carol more, it also shifts what the audience is supposed to make of it. Ultimately, the are probably three main levesl to the movie. The first is that Safe is a brilliant character study carried by a magical performance by Moore. The second is that the film is a metaphor for AIDS as well as psychosomatic insanity. And the last, and most univesal and disturbing, is that the film is an exploration of the unknown.

Haynes shoots most of the scenes in Safe in either medium or long shots, which gives the impression that the environments Carol finds herself in dwarf her. He also uses the sound design of the film to create this sort of effect. Above all, the film is very intelligent and thematically courages and it is probably the quintessential (although by no means the standard) horror film of the 90s.

the discreet charm of the bourgeoisie

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie
d. Luis Buñuel, 1972

Luis Buñuel's The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie is a surreal masterpiece. It is made up of several comedic episodes which are because, in most of them, the characters can't sit down to have dinner. The reasons for this range from the reasonable (being late or coming on the wrong night) to the extraodinary (the restaurant owner's dead body being in the next room or the dining room turning into a stage). With all these sequences, Buñuel paints a satire of the bourgois ideals that make up our society. These guidelines, Buñuel suggests, are but a mere way to hide our true feelings and actions.

The characters in The Discreet Charm are for the most part upper class. One of them, played by Buñuel regular Fernando Rey, is the Mirandan ambassador. I'm not quite sure what the other two men and their wives do, as it is never specified in the film. One of the running jokes (along with the main one) is the way most of the interruptions revolve around embarrising bits of information that these characters try to hide. For example, one of the later episodes shows them being arrested by the police for drug trafficking; when confronted about Miranda by a French colonel, the ambassador shoots him.

Some of these scenes are dreams. Buñuel has the courage to admit in this film that he is messing with us, something most movies wouldn't dare doing. By the end, it is difficult to really know what realy happened and what was imagined, but I don't think it matters at all. Ultimately, the statement Buñuel wants to make is introduced early on, and most of the film is him having fun with situations.

Much like Buñuel's next film The Phantom of Liberty, The Discreet Charm's sequences have a certain audacity not seen in many other films, not even ones by directors like David Lynch, who is greatly influenced by Buñuel.

The major scenes in the film are bookmarked by a shot of the main characters walking down a road with no apparent destination. This, I believe, is Buñuel further extending to the audience that this artificial way of life gets you nowhere. Yet, he also suggests throughout the film that these actions are determined not so much by greed and indifference, but by human nature. Buñuel believes that all humans are inherent hypocrites. This, to him, makes us not evil, but funny.

werckmeister harmonies

Werckmeister Harmonies
d. Bela Tarr, 2001

The opening sequence of Bela Tarr's astonishing film, Werckmeister Harmonies, shows a young man named János illustrating to a pub full of drunken men the process of a solar eclipse. This magnificent sequence is important because of the way it deals with the central occurrence of the film. In his explanation, János tells that when planets are alligned a certain way, it causes a fundamental chaos. The catalyst for chaos in Werckmeister Harmonies is not an eclipse, but something just as fascinating: a traveling circus whose main attraction is a large whale and an enigmatic figure called "The Prince."

One of the earlier scenes shows János taking care of his uncle György, a music theorist who speaks about the Werckmeister scale as flawed. Because of this, he suggests, everything that comes after that scale is therefore faulty and false as well . This, much like the eclipse demonstration, ties in with the central themes of Harmonies.

Later on, János is confronted by his Aunt Tünde, György's former wife, who tries to convince János to enlist the help of his uncle in order to gather support for her cause. The cause, Tünde explains, is a way for the town to be cleansed of the vagrants that have come along to see the attraction and have gathered in the Town Square. She informs János that if his uncle does not provide the help she wants, she will move back in him (his obsession with music drove her out to begin with).

János visits the Town Square and sees the growing uncertainness that is felt amongst the people gathered. In one sequence, János manages to sneak into the truck where the whale is kept in and overhears a disturbing conversation between the director of the circus and a shadow the audience presumes to be The Prince. The Prince speaks about the flawed political foundation of the town and essentially tells them to burn it down. After this, Tarr brilliant shows a shot of János running away. With this, the undercurrent of moral ambiguity is strengthened because The Prince's speech is not the only possible reason for the subsequent revolt, it could also very possibly due to Tünde's planned reforms.

The visual strategy that Tarr and his six cinematographers employ in Werckmeister Harmonies is genius. The extended takes that last for several minutes help at establishing a meditative mood that would be impossible with quick cuts and fast-paced sequences. Also, the few metaphors that Tarr uses are so well-developed throughout that the unshakable feeling created is, I believe, unmatched by any film.

It is amazing how concisely Tarr is able to establish and extend on all of his themes with the brief running-time of 140 minutes. Werckmeister Harmonies manages to paint a fascinating allegory about the corrupted evolution of a flawed ideal, about the blind allegiance to false idols (which, in turn, leads to the chaos in the film), and, above all, about the moral ambiguity that hovers over everything.

trouble in paradise

Trouble in Paradise
d. Ernst Lubitsch, 1932

Clearly a masterful film, Ernst Lubitsch's Trouble in Paradise manages to create comedic scenarios unlike any I've seen on film. Unlike most Hollywood screwball/romantic comedies of the time, this film keeps a very specific tone throughout. A tone, sometimes describes as the "Lubitsch Touch," that acknowledges that what the characters are doing could be exploited for comedy, but understands that it is infinitely more fascinating to take them seriously.

The film is about jewel thief Gaston Monescu and about two women in his life, fellow criminal Lily and Madame Mariette Colet, a rich woman from whom he plans to steal 850,000 francs. The way Lubitsch handles this triangle is very interesting and the film, made in 1932, is quite suggestive in its dialogue. It is clear from the beginning that none of these characters are truly being fooled by anybody, as would happen in another movie. Instead, all of them know what they want and consider themselves lucky for knowing how to get it.

Ultimately, Trouble in Paradise is less about its plot than about the wonderful comedy in the situations that arise out of the way the actors (all amazing) play these roles. It's kind of brilliant.

annie hall

Annie Hall
d. Woody Allen, 1977

In my opinion one of the funniest movies ever made, Woody Allen's Annie Hall represents some kind of landmark in all of the films that I have seen. It is one of the first few that I can truly remember loving and, after five viewings, I like it more than ever.

With that said, I still believe Manhattan is Allen's best film, one of the greatest of all movies for that matter. With its amazing black-and-white images and George Gershwin score, Manhattan was the pinnacle for Allen. But, all in all, Annie Hall is probably the best script he's written.

The film is made up of one unforgettable sequence after another. The way Allen holds his shots is fantastic and this film really shows how great a filmmaker (not just a comic) he truly is. Annie Hall is about Alvy Singer, a stand-up comedian living in New York. At the beginning of the film, he is speaking directly to the camera (something Allen uses throughout) about his recent break-up with his girlfriend. The film is essentially his reconstruction of the relationship, maybe to figure out where it went wrong.

Alvy's girlfriend, Annie Hall, is played by Diane Keaton in probably my favorite of all her performances (though all of her roles in Allen's movies are great). Despite the fact that the plot lends itself to be a standard romantic comedy, Annie Hall is not so much about their relationship but about the way they, especially Alvy, interact with people. It is clear from the start that these two are made for each other, and that it's very unlikely they will ever meet anyone else who can keep up with them.

Annie Hall is probably the movie with the most cultural references and witticisms that I've ever seen. The whole film is driven by Allen's dialogue and some of his lines have become so famous that people who have never seen it are able to recognize them, and this is probably the first time anyone heard the Groucho Marx joke about not wanting to be part of any group that would have him as a member.

To quote the film would be pointless in that the effect of the script relies almost solely on the delivery (an early monologue by Diane Keaton is as perfect as any I've seen). Suffice it to say, I have rarely been more amazed by a movie than I have been while watching Annie Hall.

the umbrellas of cherbourg

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg
d. Jacques Demy, 1964

Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is probably the coolest movie musical I've ever seen. A charming film of incredible beauty that is both largely refreshing and somewhat sad in its message. This is the kind of musical that could work as a real film. That can't be said for many movies, not even Singin' in the Rain.

This is isn't the kind of musical where the characters burst into songs, everything in the movie is sung. Because of that reason, particular songs are not as memorable (cerainly not as amazing as Donald O'Connor's "Make 'Em Laugh" or Gene Kelley's "Singin' in the Rain.") However, the added effect of the lyrics, music, set designs, colors, and a very particular mood is arguably (I certainly believe so) more brilliant and captivating than even the best of musicals.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg tells the story of Genevieve (Catherine Deneuve), who falls in love with a mechanic, Guy (Nino Castelnuovo), and they make plans to marry and live happily ever after. Although Genevieve's mother diaspproves of the idea, they are set on spending their lives together. That is, until he is drafted to the army and must leave for two years. The film then becomes the story of the absence and ultimately of how apart they grew.

The first sequences of the film are so joyous that the later, sadder, ones gather more reasonance in the viewer. The Umbrellas is broken up into three acts. The first, called "Departure," begins with their relationship at a high point and ends with him leaving. The second, "Absence," deals with Genevieve's life while Guy is away. The last, "Return," is self-explanatory.

The way Demy presents his film is astonishing. The costumes and set-designs compliment the undercurrent of each particular scene, it's fantastic. The musical compositions of Michel Legrand are very cleverly set-up, and never do they grow old or lose their effect.

Ultimately, Genevieve and Guy end up in relationships that, though not perfect, seem plausible and adequate enough. The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is about the bittersweet reaction of growing up, and growing apart.

2046

2046
d. Wong Kar-Wai, 2004

Easily the most beautiful film of 2004, Wong Kar-Wai's 2046 is a film that shares a lot of the same elements of his previous attemps, but at the same time is way more ambitious than anything he's done. Told mostly mostly in images and voice-over narration, 2046 is a reminder of how stunning a film can be when an artist knows what he wants to tell, and uses color, music, and emotion in a brilliant way to do so.

To watch 2046 is to witness some astonishing filmmaking, especially in its composition and framing. Wong is smart enough to shoot essentially his entire film in close-ups and medium shots. In a movie like this, keeping the camera close to the subjects plays a key role at enhancing the effect.

Describing the story of 2046 would be an exercise in futility, for it is better to experience it, as it is so abstract and lyrical. Suffice it to say, few films in recent years are as well-made and ambitious as this one.

band of outsiders

Band of Outsiders
d. Jean-Luc Godard, 1964

Band of Outsiders is just further proof that Jean-Luc Godard was the coolest director of the 60's, if not of all time. This is my favorite of his films, a glorious fusion of crime, melodrama, and the freedom the French New Wave came to be known for. This film works as comedy, drama, satire, irony, all at once. It is certainly one of the most audacious films I've ever seen.

The film revolves around three characters. Arthur and Franz are the ones first introduced to the audience. They are driving around prior to arriving at their English class. There, the third major character, Odile, is introduced. By then there have been some clues into the nature of their relationship. Arthur, Franz, and Odile are planning a robbery. It will take place at Odile's own house, and the first hour of the film is the preparation for it.

However, the film, to me, is not necessarily about the plot dealing with the robbery. Band of Outsiders is so great because of Godad's inventiveness and the way he is able to provide one genius sequence after another. There's a certain magical quality to the way he holds his shots. Consider the magnificent extended sequence that takes place at a cafe. The whole scene probably covers close to 20 minutes (I was reminded of the bedroom scene in Breathless). Nothing extraodinary happens in the 20 minutes, but it is a scene that I will always remember. Throughout that sequence, the seating arrangements change, every possibly combination of conversation is explored (all three characters leave at some point, leaving the other two by themselves), and the three even dance to a record.

Every scene in Band of Outsiders is fantastic. Some of the best are when they try to beat the record of how fast someone ran through the Louvre (and they do), when they decide to have a minute of silence at the cafe and the soundtrack actually goes completely silent, and all of the scenes with Anna Karina (Odile). What Sami Frey (Franz), Claude Brasseur (Arthur), and Anna Karine (Odile) are able to bring to these characters is something unmatched by any other film.

The way Godard is able to comment on film while the movie is going on is ingenious. He narrates, not so much to provide useful information about the movie, but to voice his own opinion, almost like a fourth character. Consider a voice-over narration early in the film when he says, "a few clues for the late-comers: several weeks ago...a pile of money...an english class...a house by the river...a romantic girl." He is summarizing the film up to that point, but, as with most of his narration, it serves a deeper, emotional purpose. Nobody writes like this anymore. Maybe because subconscious art-films are out, maybe because they can't write like that anymore. Who knows?

On a technical level, Band of Outsiders is astonishing. The beautiful black-and-white cinematography by Raoul Coutard (who shot a lot of Godard's films as well as Truffaut's Jules and Jim) is both reminiscent of the crime films Godard is drawing inspiration from and innovative in its post-modernist style. The music by Michel Legrand is also great.

If I'm not able to articulate a lot of the reasons I love this film, it's because it is beyond conventional description. Godard was able to bring to Band of Outsiders pretty much everything I love about movies. And, 42 years after it's release, it's still the cinematic definition of "cool."

au hasard balthazar

Au hasard Balthazar
d. Robert Bresson, 1966

Robert Bresson's Au hasard Balthazar is a dense, 90 minute look at the human condition. Bresson is able to find a way to explore this subject in a new and fundamentally fascinating way. The entire film revolves around the life of a donkey, Balthazar, and the different owners it has throughout its life. Another important character is Marie, his first owner, a weak girl whose story mirrors Balthazar.

Throughout Au hasard Balthazar, the donkey is abused and treated badly by most of its owners. The kind of message a viewer gets by looking at Balthazar's eyes is that of a creature who acknowledges his fate, and concedes to the fact that it is beyond his control. Bleak as this picture may be, it is certainly something that is easily noticed.

The difference between the donkey and the human characters of the film (particularly Marie) is the fact that the latter are intelligent enough to maybe understand their fate. However, Breson also argues that intelligence does not help in terms of controlling that fate. All in all, the universe will do with you what it wishes to.

Ultimately, the film paints a pretty sad picture of human life. Yet, Au hasard Balthazar still leaves room for hope. That hope comes from empathy and being able to share this human experience with others. Not facing it alone is surely better than the otherwise lonely path. That, according to Bresson, is the best tool humans have against despair.

2005: the year in film

Philippe Garrel's Regular Lovers is what Bertolucci's The Dreamers should have been. Clearly the more complex and difficult of the two, Garrel's film not only captures the feeling of May '68, but also employs the formal techniques of auteurs like Andy Warhol and Jean-Luc Godard. Plus, there's the scene of the 68'ers dancing to the Kinks. A masterpiece.


The experience of watching Apichatpong Weerasethakul's Tropical Malady certainly proves it's a magical film. Unlike the other gay-themed movie of 2005, Joe's film portrays a world that is almost too perfect. His two-part structure breaks up the film into two separate wholes both serving the same purpose. I can not wait to watch his next film, Syndromes and a Century.


One could argue that Mr. Malick has one of the most perfect bodies of work in all of the cinema. Think about it. He kicked it off in 1973 with Badlands, possibly his seminal film (it's Malick, so that hardly means anything). Five years later, he releases Days of Heaven, yet another masterpiece about the loss of Eden. He disappears from the scene and comes back 20 years later with The Thin Red Line. Now, seven years later, comes The New World, an incredible artwork that I dare not call a movie. It's an awakening.


Tsai Ming-liang's The Wayward Cloud is a strange film indeed. Part Tatiesque comedy, part Warhol, and part Blue Velvet. If that's even possible...


With A History of Violence, David Cronenberg has his cake and eats it too. On one hand, he gives the audience one of the most expertly-crafted genre films of the past few years, while at the same time deconstructing each and every single aspect of it. Bravo.


Being a Russian film about Japanese Emperor Hirohito, I did not expect this one to be too enjoyable, but the most shocking aspect of it is how funny it is. It's the kind of comedy of manners Buñuel would make, but more tender toward its subjects. The photography is breathtaking, as well.


Gosh, what a beautiful film! Not as powerful as Tsai's Wayward Cloud or In the Mood for Love, for that matter, but, I mean, it's gorgeous. If you think I sound shallow then you probably haven't seen this film.


My least favorite of GSV's "Death Trilogy"--the other two films being Gerry and Elephant--but it's still quite hypnotic. The Akerman and Snow references were a little forced, but scenes like Blake playing "Death to Birth" are obviously masterful.


The best we have in between Wes Anderson movies. Strange as it sounds, Baumbach may be the Truffaut of the current generation of American filmmakers.


Jia's film lives up to its title. Enough said.

my neighbor totoro

My Neighbor Totoro
d. Hayao Miyazaki, 1988

My Neighbor Totoro is everything an animated film should be. It is touching, magical, beautiful, and even a little sad. The film is a celebration of the idea that films can be a creation instead of merely a reworking of an old story. Most animated movies are insulting to both kids and adults, both in their portrayal of the world as well as the nonsense morality lesson that usually comes with it.

My Neighbor Totoro does not have a particular lesson it wants to teach its audience. Instead, it is a beautiful portrayal of a couple of well-developed characters (a departure from the standard kids movies) with genuine emotion, something rare among all films, not just animated ones.

The movie revolves around the lives of two sisters, Satsuki and Mei. During the opening sequence, they are arriving at their new house. Their mother is ill in the hospital and their new home is closer to it, allowing them to visit and making safer for her mom once she goes back home. Shortly after getting settled, Satsuki, the older sister, and Mei, the younger one, discover that the house may be hunted. It is important to point out that it is not haunted in the way it would have been in an American animated film (creepy ghosts, etc.), but that it just means that creatures may very well live in and around the house.

My Neighbor Totoro shares the same quality as another great film about young characters, Ingmar Bergman's Fanny and Alexander. In both films, the protagonists discover that there may be a magical core to the world, and if that means that ghosts and other things exist, then so be it. The brilliance in both stories is the way Bergman and Miyazaki choose to present them, not by insisting on them too much, but by accepting them as the characters of the film do.

The hand-drawn animation of My Neighbor Totoro is fantastic, there are several scenes in the film that are, in my opinion, unmatched in their imagination. The film's brief running time (86 minutes) allows it to paint memorable sequence after sequence, without having many down moments.

Though My Neighbor Totoro is a beautifully crafted film, the real reason to why it is a genuinely great is the way it is able to wonderfully capture the innocence of childhood, something that no animated film that I've seen has done better.