l'age d'or

L'Age d'Or
d. Luis Buñuel, 1930

I won't even pretend to have a handle on Luis Buñuel's second film, 1930's L'Age d'Or, on just one viewing (Mulholland Drive, anyone?), but it's certainly a fascinating piece of cinema. From the documentary-style opening sequences to the shocking imagery throughout, Buñuel never disappoints. J. Hoberman rightly points out in his review that L'Age d'Or is not as visceral as Buñuel's debut, Un chien andalou; instead, I think it points towards his later cinematic masterpieces in terms of subject matter and montage. It seems to me Buñuel is exploring the relationship between violence, sexual desires, and the divine in L'Age d'Or. More on this later, I suppose. Maybe I was still too hung up on Los Olvidados to think too much about this one.

all my life, castro street, mr. hayashi

All My Life
d. Bruce Baillie, 1966

This 3-minute single shot panning along the length of a fence, only to move upward at the end of the film, is a delicate exploration of the simple marvels of the world. Accompanied by Ella Fitzgerald's titular song, there is really nothing to dislike about this marvelous film.

Castro Street
d. Bruce Baillie, 1966

More difficult than the pure euphoria of All My Life, but in many ways just as astonishing. In its 10 minutes, Castro Street paints a more complex view of a modern city than most feature-length films do. And there's also Baillie's juxtaposition of different formal aspects; his subtle use of music, black-and-white negatives, organic sounds, etc.
Mr. Hayashi
d. Bruce Baillie, 1961

Out of the three Baillies I saw, this is the only one with dialogue. The calm voice-over is narrated by a Japanese immigrant. More socially conscious than All My Life and Castro Street--though repeated viewings of the latter may reveal a deeper statement on cities--Mr. Hayashi also contains lush black-and-white images that I suspect will stay with me for a long time.

los olvidados

Los Olvidados
d. Luis Buñuel, 1950

As trivial as it may be to say so, Los Olvidados could be the single greatest example of Luis Buñuel's genius. Buñuel's long, hard look at the slums of Mexico City filters the ideas of neorealist filmmakers like Vittorio De Sica (The Bicycle Thief, Umberto D.) through his singular point of view; the result is a heartbreaking portrayal of the disenfranchised byproducts of modern society. In its brief 80 minutes, Los Olvidados tells an incredibly vast story through a series of carefully-crafted characters. In essence, there's no solution to the problems Buñuel is portraying; even the reform facility one of the young delinquents is sent to proves to be quite useless. The power of the film comes from how immediate everything feels, the weight each and every single scene has. There are the incredibly vicious moments of the young ones beating up and robbing cripples, the brilliant dream sequence (which has to be one of the most terrifying sequences in Buñuel's ovure), and even the understated bond between Ojitos ("Small Eyes") and Metche. In many ways a perfect film, Los Olvidados is now my favorite Buñuel.

my dad is 100 years old

My Dad is 100 Years Old
d. Guy Maddin, 2005

It was six years ago that Maddin gave the world his brilliant The Heart of the World, a 7-minute film that was more challenging and enjoyable than almost everything released that year. Having never seen any of Maddin's feature-length films (for no good reason, mind you), my familiarity with the filmmaker ends there. Nevertheless, I found My Dad is 100 Years Old, Maddin's collaboration with Isabella Rossellini (who scripted and is the sole actor of this film), to be quite spectacular. In essence, Ms. Rossellini is paying tribute to her father, neo-realist filmmaker Roberto Rossellini (another director whose films I haven't encountered; I really am that ignorant). In the process, however, Maddin and Rossellini are exploring different aspects of film history--through Rossellini's impersonations of Fellini, Hitchock, Chaplin, her mother, Ingrid Bergman, among others. A gem. Maybe I'll actually watch one of Maddin's feature films now...

still life

Still Life
d. Jia Zhang-ke, 2006

Still Life, the latest film from Jia Zhang-ke, is a step in the right direction from a director whose last film, 2004's The World, suffered from the way it hammered on its central metaphor. This time around, Jia uses his formal and narrative abilities to produce a more complex and satisfying work. Working on HD video, Jia's films have a very distinct quality. What would pass for Antonioniesque if shot by another director turns into something altogether ravishing when composed by Jia. As Jonathan Rosenbaum has pointed out, he is amazingly talented when it comes to positioning actors within his frames. Still Life concerns itself with the lives of two characters--a departure from the large cast of The World--looking for their respective spouse in a soon-to-be-flooded town. Though the story seems to follow a pretty conventinal storyline (man/woman shows up, looks for his/her wife/husband, travels around for a while, then finds her/him), Jia is more interested in the way lives are lived, not the ways problems are solved. Needless to say, Still Life is a major work that would be worth watching if only for its beautiful compositions. Good job Venice Film Festival, which awarded this film its top prize earlier this year.

the host, shoot the piano player, the steel helmet

The Host
d. Bong Joon-ho, 2006

One of the most acclaimed films of the year amongst serious cinephiles (though it won't actually be released in the States this year), The Host is an unlikely success. Ostensibly a movie about a monster and its effects on South Korea, it turns out to be more of an exercise on how audiences will react to such a story. Beautifully directed, The Host effortlessly carries the viewer through its involving story. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun watching a movie, let alone one about a monster.

Shoot the Piano Player d. Francois Truffaut, 1960

Made a year before Jules and Jim (Truffaut's greatest film), Shoot the Piano Player is somewhat less serious--at least during its first hour or so--and more playful than Truffaut's other works of the time (1959's The 400 Blows and 1961's aforementioned Jules and Jim). The film tells the story of a shy and reserved piano player who gets involved in a tricky crime story through his careless brother. More than that, however, Truffaut is using this vehicle--which he adapted from a crime novel--to craft a carefully observed character study. Clearly the pioneer of other noir deconstructions (The Long Goodbye, Chinatown, or even Bonnie and Clyde, which Truffaut was at one point set to direct), Shoot the Piano Player has its cake and eats it too--it manages to be gritty noir while at the same time revealing the deep insecurities behind typical crime-movie leads. If for nothing else (though there clearly is a lot more), the movie is a masterpiece for Raoul Coutard's cinematography and Georges Deleure's score. Oh, and the last act is to die for.

The Steel Helmet
d. Samuel Fuller, 1951

Two years before tackling the New York crime scene with Pickup on South Street (arguably his biggest success), Samuel Fuller made a more savage and gritty film, 1951's Korean war movie The Steel Helmet. It seems senseless to try to explain in words why this movie is so great, as it's more a film to be experienced than one to be analyed. Suffice it to say, Fuller's take on the subject of war is like none I've ever seen before, and like none we're likely to ever see in American movie theatres. His film isn't about heroism, but about a group of men that, for better or worse (probably the latter), are fighting a war that they neither care about nor fully understand. 55 years after its original release, it remains a relevant and poignant account of the madness of war.