fear eats the soul

Fear Eats the Soul
d. Rainer Werner Fassbinder, 1974

Fassbinder at his best. Though that's a pointless statement since I've yet to to dislike a film of his. Fear Eats the Soul is a loose remake of Douglas Sirk's 1955 masterpiece All That Heaven Allows, though on the surface Fassbinder's style borrows little from Sirk's glossy features. Through a series of carefully composed shots--much like those he uses in The Bitter Tears, though not as overbearingly rigorous-- Fassbinder creates a complex picture of the way societal prejudice can affect the personal lives of honest people. Emmi, an older German woman, falls in love with Ali, a Moroccan that's 20 or so years younger than her. They move in, get married, and become the ridicule of their neighbors. Not even Emmi's kids understand their relationship; one of them goes so far as smashing her TV set when first hearing the news. Unafraid of melodrama and using rethorical shifts, Fassbinder creates a film that is both intimate and all-encompassing; Fear Eats the Soul should be required viewing.

the wild blue yonder

The Wild Blue Yonder
d. Werner Herzog, 2005

Werner Herzog's fascinating mockumentary The Wild Blue Yonder is the kind of film I would watch repeatedly if it ever opened in theatres. However, this wasn't as widely distributed as Herzog's other 2005 film, Grizzly Man, which I myself have not seen. The Wide Blue Yonder catalogues the fictional mission to find a new hospitable planet beyond the milky way. Narrated by a grumpy space alien (Brad Dourif), Herzog structures his film into different chapters--much like what he did in Lessons of Darkness--and cuts between Dourif's interviews and footage borrowed from NASA (thanked for its "sense of poetry" in the closing credits). Anywho, films this exciting don't come along very often; it may be the definitive sci-fi film of the decade.

the brown bunny, band of outsiders

The Brown Bunny
d. Vincent Gallo, 2003

Vincent Gallo's tone poem The Brown Bunny is easily one of the most underrated American films of the past couple of years. By this point--only two years after its commercial release--it has become synonymous with bad movies and notorious only for its final, sexually explicit scene between Gallo and Chloe Sevigny. Though these judgements keep a lot of people from looking at the film seriously, it's hard to not be blown away by its sidelong beauty once you actually give it a chance. Filled with tender exchanges and sad glances, not to mention glorious shots of the road (with songs like Jackson C. Frank's "Milk and Honey" playing), The Brown Bunny is as honest and human a film as I've seen in a long time.

Band of Outsiders
d. Jean-Luc Godard, 1964

Still my favorite Godard movie, a third viewing of Band of Outsiders really highlights some of the sadness in the film. Though not as wholly misogynist as some of Godard's other films of the time--particularly 1966's Masculine Feminine--there does seem to be a kind of underlying lack of respect for Anna Karina's character here. As far as the love triangle in the film goes, her character isn't similar to Jeanne Moreau's Catherine in Jules and Jim (a film Godard seems to be borrowing from). Other than that, this is an amazing movie all around. Raoul Coutard's cinematography here is vastly different than the more polished look of Godard's previous film, Contempt. Michel Legrand's uplifting and unspeakably cool musical score stands amongst his best and it even recalls some of his work with Jaques Demy. Godard's direction, free-form screenplay, and narration are the icing on the cake in this magnificent slice of 60's cinema.

last year at marienbad

Last Year at Marienbad
d. Alain Resnais, 1961

Though more a film that I admire than one I actively enjoy, Alain Resnais' Last Year at Marienbad is clearly a masterful work. If for no better reason, everyone should watch this film for its astounding beauty; Resnais' camera glides through the corridors and gardens of a large hotel, where his story takes place, and his black-and-white photography is some of the best I've seen. Delphine Seyrig (who, 14 years later, would play the title role in Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman) stars as A, a woman who must deal with the constant bickering of X (Giorgio Albertazzi), a stranger trying to convince her that they met last year. The film's dialogue and compositions serve as a way for Resnais to explore his recurring themes: memory, time, what it means to be human. I've seen Marienbad twice now, and I'm no closer to deciphering its many mysteries (if they can even be deciphered, that is) than when I first came to it. Yet, I feel as though it's a film that I can always come back to, just to remind myself of cinema's possibilities. Plus, did I mention how beautiful it is to look at?

the lady from shanghai

The Lady from Shanghai
d. Orson Welles, 1947

The Lady from Shanghai may not be Orson Welles' best movie (that, to me, would be F for Fake [1976]), but it's just further proof that the man was just so good at making movies. Parts of the film didn't make sense to me on a first viewing, and sometimes the plot seems almost incidental, but Welles' compositions are at their most playful here. Needless to say, Welles and Rita Hayworth are both incredible here, and the supporting cast (which includes Everett Sloane as Hayworth's husband) is almost as impressive. Hayworth gets first billing here, but it's most certainly Welles' film. Not only did he write, direct, produce, and act in it, but he narrates the story to us; sometimes the way the character of Michael O'Hara speaks sounds more like Orson himself than just another character in one of movies.

kicking and screaming

Kicking and Screaming
d. Noah Baumbach, 1995

Noah Baumbach's wonderful first feature, Kicking and Screaming, holds a distinct place amoungs other independent films from the 90s. It does share certain qualities with movies like Richard Linklater's Slacker and Before Sunrise, but Baumbach seems to be shooting at something completely different. His film centers around the lives of a couple of 20-somethings who can't seem to figure what to do after graduation. One of them, Otis (Charles Jacott), won't leave for graduate school in Milwaukee because of the one hour time difference. Grover (Josh Hamilton) spends his time in a sort of paralysis after his girlfriend Jane (Olivia d'Abo) leaves for Prague. Max (Chris Eigeman, aka Jason Stiles of Gilmore Girls) plays a philosophy major who passes the time doing crosswords and talking about living.

What Baumbach manages to craft out of his conversational passages is a poignant and charming account of the nostalgia of leaving school; the kind of sad reminisces of things one would have complained about as they were happening. Though Baumbach's writing is likely to get the most credit here (or in his most recent film, The Squid and the Whale, for that matter), he is quite a good director. His long tracking shots -- particularly impressive in a scene with Grover and his dad (played by Elliot Gould) -- and fluid camera movement recalls directors like Robert Altman, Woody Allen (who is probably more of an influence on Baumbach's writing), and even Truffaut. In short, this is a vastly underrated film that is not to be missed.

P.S. Is it bad that I kind of feel the same as the the characters in Kicking and Screaming? I'm 16 (as of tomorrow) and junior year of high school just started, so probably.

the spirit of the beehive

The Spirit of the Beehive
d. Victor Erice, 1973

I've never seen a film quite like The Spirit of the Beehive. It is so strikingly original yet instinctive all the way through that it's easy to call it one of the greatest Spanish films ever made. The film takes place in a rural Spanish town in the 1940s, right after the Spanish Civil War; we meet a young family, the father is a beekeeper, the mother writes longing letters to old relatives, and, just as the film is beginning, the two young daughters, Ana and Isabel, are attending a screening of James Whales' Frankenstein. After the movie, the younger girl, Ana, asks Isabel to explain the actions of the monster and of the people that killed him thereafter; Isabel explains that the monster is, in fact, not dead, but is a spirit that can not be killed. She claims to have already seen it, and eventually takes Ana to an abandoned barn with a well where she claims the spirit lives. For the rest of The Spirit of the Beehive, the vaguest hints at plot revolve around Ana's attempts to find the spirit.

This movie, however, is more interested at quietly observing this rather odd family structure. The Spirit of the Beehive is so achingly beautiful that I prefer to keep its images in my head rather than try to senselessly describe them. Luis Cuadrado, who shot the film, was apparently going blind while working on the film, which just makes his astonishing work here (both in lighting and use of the rural landscape) all the more notable. The musical score by Luis de Pablo is heartbreaking without having to underline anything in the movie, much like the spare music in Bela Tarr's Werckmeister Harmonies. Then there are the beautifully crafted compositions and poetic dialogue of Victor Erice, a mysterious and iconic director who has only made two other films seen this one. In the end, The Spirit of the Beehive is a lot things: a gorgeous portrayal of life in rural Spain, a love letter to the innocence of childhood and the questions it poses, and also a testament to the effect movies can have on us; few films have filled me with more joy.