The 1970s List: Discussion and Suggestions

[domino harvey]

Thanks swo!

My Orphans - Obviously you should prioritize these above all others
11 Harrowhouse (Aram Avakian, 1974) 39
Across 110th Street (Barry Shear, 1972) 37
Les Innocents aux mains sales [Innocents with Dirty Hands] (Claude Chabrol, 1975) 47
Les Seins de glace [Someone Is Bleeding] (Georges Lautner, 1974) 49
Les Chinois à Paris [Chinese in Paris] (Jean Yanne, 1974) 48
Un flic [Dirty Money] (Jean-Pierre Melville, 1972) 42
Inserts (John Byrum, 1975) 24
Animal House (John Landis, 1978) 11
Woodstock (Michael Wadleigh, 1970) 34
Hollywood Babylon (Van Guylder, 1971) 50

Could be tempted to vote for - These came very close for me when voting, and I could be tempted to sub them in near the end of my list if you were to make a compelling argument
Ultimo tango a Parigi [Le Dernier Tango à Paris] [Last Tango in Paris] (Bernardo Bertolucci, 1972) 49
I... comme Icare [I... for Icarus] (Henri Verneuil, 1979) 29
Play It Again, Sam (Herbert Ross, 1972) 39
Norma Rae (Martin Ritt, 1979) 44
Synchromy (Norman McLaren, 1971) 47
The Driver (Walter Hill, 1978) 24

Have on hand to watch - I haven't seen these but have a copy on hand to watch. Make a compelling argument for me to prioritize it and maybe I will
They Might Be Giants (Anthony Harvey, 1971) 20
Mannen på taket [Man on the Roof] (Bo Widerberg, 1976) 39
Roma (Federico Fellini, 1972) 14
Casanova (Federico Fellini, 1976) 11
Lacombe, Lucien (Louis Malle, 1974) 27
Le Souffle au cœur [Murmur of the Heart] (Louis Malle, 1971) 45
Nous ne vieillirons pas ensemble [We Won't Grow Old Together] (Maurice Pialat, 1972) 12
Moi, Pierre Rivière, ayant égorgé ma mère, ma soeur et mon frère... [I, Pierre Rivière, Having Killed My Mother, My Sister and My Brother...] (René Allio, 1976) 41
If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do? (Ron Ormond, 1971) 50

Good movies that are worth watching but won’t make my list - I will not be voting for these, but I do recommend them, as I enjoyed them-- just not enough to make my Top 50
Klute (Alan J. Pakula, 1971) 18
Family Plot (Alfred Hitchcock, 1976) 50
The Assassination of Trotsky (Joseph Losey, 1972) 15
A Warning to the Curious (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1972) 49
Le Fantôme de la liberté [The Phantom of Liberty] (Luis Buñuel, 1974) 40
Még kér a nép [Red Psalm] (Miklós Jancsó, 1972) 33
Szerelmem, Elektra [Elektra, My Love] (Miklós Jancsó, 1974) 48
Hair (Miloš Forman, 1979) 15
The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds (Paul Newman, 1972) 38
Daisy Miller (Peter Bogdanovich, 1974) 30
Hearts and Minds (Peter Davis, 1974) 26
Murder on the Orient Express (Sidney Lumet, 1974) 35

[senseabove]

Ah, dammit. Got sidetracked and completely forgot, despite setting a reminder even.

Anyway, these orphans will absolutely be safe, assuming I don't forget to submit a final list, so hold steady, comrade(s):

Avanti! (Billy Wilder, 1972) 45
Cabaret (Bob Fosse, 1972) 14
Killer of Sheep (Charles Burnett, 1977) 44
New York, New York (Martin Scorsese, 1977) 26
The Last Movie (Dennis Hopper, 1971) 47
Film About a Woman Who... (Yvonne Rainer, 1974) 44

(Cabaret?!? An orphan!??!?)

Titles definitely on my list that I suspect would have been orphans and will try to pitch at some point in the next few weeks:
Soft Ficton (Chick Strand, 1979)
We Can't Go Home Again (Ray, 1973)
The Angel Levine (Kadár, 1970)
Weiners and Buns Musical (McDowell, 1972)
The Ritz (Lester, 1976)

[swo17]

Moi, Pierre Rivière is perhaps more Bressonian than Bresson's actual output this decade. It takes a troubling real-life case and tells it very matter-of-factly, with as much adherence to historical documentation as possible. (The story itself is strange enough that no embellishment is needed.) Note that a very similar project titled Je suis Pierre Rivière came out in France the same year. I haven't seen that version to comment on it, though you might just want to make sure you're watching the right film! The protagonist should look like this:



Incidentally, I also watched Les Seins de glace. I don't know that it will make my list but I really enjoyed it!

[domino harvey]

Thanks swo! The correct Reviere was on my radar from that horrible book on Cahiers a few year back, and I believe zedz (who I presume was the one who voted for it, though perhaps not) spoke up in favor of it

[yoshimori]

My Orphans - [If you find you have an affinity for some of them but haven't seen some of the rest] "obviously you should prioritize those above all others"!

Агония [Agoniya] (Elem Klimov, 1975) 3
曼陀羅 [Mandara] [Mandala] (Akio Jissōji , 1971) 4
あさき夢みし [Asaki yumemishi] [It Was a Faint Dream] (Akio Jissōji , 1974) 5
さようならCP [Sayōnara CP] [Goodbye CP] (Kazuo Hara, 1972) 7
Play It As It Lays (Frank Perry, 1972) 9 [Like Boorman's Point Blank, a very post-Resnais film. Incredible cast.]
Performance (Donald Cammell & Nicolas Roeg, 1970) 12 [The first half of this is the best filmmaking of the decade; the second half, a bit of a bore]
Wild Night in El Reno (George Kuchar, 1977) 16
哥 [Uta] [Poem] (Akio Jissōji , 1972) 17
Valse triste (Bruce Conner, 1977) 20
歌麿 夢と知りせば [Utamaro yume to shiriseba] [Utamaro's World] (Akio Jissōji , 1977) 23
Eat the Document (Bob Dylan, 1972) 26
Daisy Miller (Peter Bogdanovich, 1974) 30
Nel nome del padre [In the Name of the Father] (Marco Bellocchio, 1972) 33
Family Life (Ken Loach, 1971) 37
Cadaveri eccellenti [Illustrious Corpses] (Francesco Rosi, 1976) 38
Herz aus Glas [Heart of Glass] (Werner Herzog, 1976) 45
Juvenile Court (Frederick Wiseman, 1973) 46
Der Fangschuß [Le Coup de grâce] (Volker Schlöndorff, 1976) 48
煉獄エロイカ [Rengoku eroica] [Heroic Purgatory] (Kijū Yoshida, 1970) 49

19 total ... and half the top 10!

Other's orphans I quite like:
Klute (Alan J. Pakula, 1971)
Der starke Ferdinand [Strongman Ferdinand] (Alexander Kluge, 1976)
Die Marquise von O... [La Marquise d'O...] (Éric Rohmer, 1976)
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (John Cassavetes, 1976)
Opening Night (John Cassavetes, 1977)
Le Fantôme de la liberté [The Phantom of Liberty] (Luis Buñuel, 1974)
Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (Sam Peckinpah, 1974)
悲愁物語 [Hishū monogatari] [A Tale of Sorrow and Sadness] (Seijun Suzuki, 1977)

[Red Screamer]

The origin of my avi (aka Duelle) being orphaned just might push me to do some last minute catch-up and submit a list—which Serene Velocity would make the top half of, along with Le Diable probablement cracking the top 10.

[therewillbeblus]

Thanks swo! And senseabove - I'm glad my rogue Yvonne Rainer orphan is rescued for a project, now that we're outta the single-year crowd. That was rough

My orphans (I believe I've written everything up already, but man, those of you grindhouse 70s fans sleeping on Sitting Target are making a mistake):

Arrebato
Benilde or the Virgin Mother
Bone
Desperate Living
Film About a Woman Who…
Jeremy
The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun
Lisa and the Devil
Poetic Justice
Une sale histoire
Sitting Target
Stop!
Thriller - A Cruel Picture

Close, but no cigar (about half of these were last-minute cuts, so I might tap back in the ring depending on my mood):

11 Harrowhouse
Across 110th Street
Animal House
Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia
The Driver
Family Plot
Un flic
God Told Me To
I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do?
Les Innocents aux mains sales
Inserts
The King of Marvin Gardens
Lupin the Third: The Castle of Cagliostro
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie
Klute
Man on the Roof
Multiple Maniacs
Norma Rae
The Other Side of the Wind
The Phantom of Liberty
Play It Again, Sam
Play It As It Lays
La Rapture
Thundercrack!

[swo17]

Here are my orphans with links to when I've written about them:

Die große Ekstase des Bildschnitzers Steiner [The Great Ecstasy of Woodcarver Steiner] (Werner Herzog, 1975) 10
Newsprint (Guy Sherwin, 1972) 15
Kostnice [The Ossuary] (Jan Švankmajer, 1970) 16
La Paysagiste [Mindscape] (Jacques Drouin, 1976) 21
Veredas [Paths] (João César Monteiro, 1978) 22
Reconstituirea (Reconstruction) (Lucian Pintilie, 1970) 25
Οι κυνηγοί [Oi kynigoi] [The Hunters] (Theo Angelopoulos, 1977) 26
दुविधा [Duvidha] (Mani Kaul, 1973) 28
La cabina [The Phone Box] (Antonio Mercero, 1972) 29
Matrix [First Dream] (Hollis Frampton, 1979) 31
Pixillation (Lillian F. Schwartz, 1970) 38
Moi, Pierre Rivière, ayant égorgé ma mère, ma soeur et mon frère... [I, Pierre Rivière, Having Killed My Mother, My Sister and My Brother...] (René Allio, 1976) 41
The Scenic Route (Mark Rappaport, 1978) 43
Colloque de chiens [Dog's Dialogue] (Raúl Ruiz, 1977) 45
Der starke Ferdinand [Strongman Ferdinand] (Alexander Kluge, 1976) 48

Why didn't I write anything about this last film? I suppose I was too busy securing the perimeter. Here's zedz on it

[brundlefly]

Have on hand to watch - I haven't seen these but have a copy on hand to watch. Make a compelling argument for me to prioritize it and maybe I will
Casanova (Federico Fellini, 1976) 11
Nous ne vieillirons pas ensemble [We Won't Grow Old Together] (Maurice Pialat, 1972) 12

“Wait. I must complete my calculations!” – Giacomo Casanova

These are both mine, back to back, lumped together in bitterness and longing.

I don’t know how you like your Fellini. Casanova is the director at his most purposefully artificial, a film as gorgeous, grotesque, and phony as love itself. If Amarcord (which is where I’m guessing most of this decade’s votes have gone) used the warm blush of nostalgia to snow over some dark currents, this fronts cold, contemptuous monotony to hide growing personal sympathies about aging and legacy.

For me this is Fellini’s last masterpiece. It can be a wallow, but I am a wallower.

A recounting of encounters both feeds into the director’s episodic tendencies and effectively isolates his Casanova. (Recurring characters are rare, only reputation provides company.) Fellini’s Enlightenment is one of elaborately appointed sadness and of high-mindedness that always settles below the belt. There’s a fascination with failed ideas, a tally of accomplishments as regrets, the numbing repetition of clockwork cockwork. Some shadows loom, some pose. Casanova’s person is a great vehicle on which to contemplate dwindling creative prowess; while Donald Sutherland has better moments from this decade, and his performance here is by design secondary to his appearance, he manages some grace and heft at long odds.

(Bored puzzleboxers can amuse themselves pretending this a supernatural prequel to Don’t Look Now.)

It’s more fun than I’ve let on. At worst, you’ll spend two-and-a-half hours gawking at something ridiculous and beautiful. If someone comes out of Poor Things screaming, “More costumes!” point them here. Nino Rota’s score is gorgeous, and he works its sad spell through some surprising vocal variations.

*
The Pialat traces its arcs over a more minimal kind of monotony, one that can seem like a feature-lengthed running-in-place gag or an ungrounded tease – and if you’re vibing with it, one of the things it can be is hilarious. But conflicted impulses are its foundation, repetition is reinforcement, and if Nous ne vieillirons pas ensemble is a love it/hate it proposition, that’s only thematically appropriate.

There’s this moment after Marlène Jobert says to her partner, “Promise you won’t try to come back,” where we hold on her as helplessness and regret subtly wash over her face: I wish I hadn’t said that, I don’t mean that. And also, why even bother saying that when he’s not going to hear it. She turns from the camera and sighs.

What makes the film so exciting for me is the involving way it’s put together, and I have a hard time talking about that without sounding sillier than usual. It’s a choppy cohesion, randomly exact, with that intangible feeling the filmmaker is showing you precisely what he needed to. That would be easier if this was a more high-pitched fuck-and-fight couple, or if Pialat was only showing the heads and tails of every scene – as if that was the relationship. (And sure, there’s a kind of “hate to see you go, love to watch you walk away” in this, as well as a lot of “let’s paint the white walls white.”) I’m sure it helps that it’s autobiographical. But it’s not a repeating script. The movie races ahead for a while – more costume changes than a Cher concert – and then it hits a point, even as it jumps forward, where I feel as stuck with these two as they are with each other. Every subsequent ellipsis a frustrated hiccup of hope.

If it helps the cause, Alex Ross Perry (on the Kino blu) cites this as an influence on Listen Up Philip and calls Jean Yanne-as-Pialat, “Truly one of the most miserable protagonists in any film I can recall.”

Ah, dammit. Got sidetracked and completely forgot, despite setting a reminder even.

Anyway, these orphans will absolutely be safe, assuming I don't forget to submit a final list, so hold steady, comrade(s):

Avanti! (Billy Wilder, 1972) 45
Cabaret (Bob Fosse, 1972) 14
Killer of Sheep (Charles Burnett, 1977) 44
New York, New York (Martin Scorsese, 1977) 26
The Last Movie (Dennis Hopper, 1971) 47
Film About a Woman Who... (Yvonne Rainer, 1974) 44

(Cabaret?!? An orphan!??!?)

This is my first time in a decade project, and it’s so hard to whittle things down to a list of 50 that it feels almost arbitrary what to include and what to hope others have included because you’re out of room. I wouldn’t be surprised that anything is an orphan.

So thank you for at least making it, “Killer of Sheep?!? An also-ran!??!?”

And of course thank you swo for all the maths. I’ve got a number of orphans and will endeavor to address them as I can.

[senseabove]

This is my first time in a decade project, and it’s so hard to whittle things down to a list of 50 that it feels almost arbitrary what to include and what to hope others have included because you’re out of room. I wouldn’t be surprised that anything is an orphan.

So thank you for at least making it, “Killer of Sheep?!? An also-ran!??!?”

To be fair, I felt similarly about Killer of Sheep being an orphan, but it's at least relatively obscure compared to an 8-time Oscar winner that's had a resurgence in popularity due to its unfortunate relevance post-2016. But apparently it's tradition here.

EDIT: And I now see it was only 19th on the 1972 list, so if I'd been participating there I would've been prepared!

[domino harvey]

Have on hand to watch - I haven't seen these but have a copy on hand to watch. Make a compelling argument for me to prioritize it and maybe I will
Casanova (Federico Fellini, 1976) 11
Nous ne vieillirons pas ensemble [We Won't Grow Old Together] (Maurice Pialat, 1972) 12

“Wait. I must complete my calculations!” – Giacomo Casanova

These are both mine, back to back, lumped together in bitterness and longing.

I don’t know how you like your Fellini. Casanova is the director at his most purposefully artificial, a film as gorgeous, grotesque, and phony as love itself. If Amarcord (which is where I’m guessing most of this decade’s votes have gone) used the warm blush of nostalgia to snow over some dark currents, this fronts cold, contemptuous monotony to hide growing personal sympathies about aging and legacy.

For me this is Fellini’s last masterpiece. It can be a wallow, but I am a wallower.

A recounting of encounters both feeds into the director’s episodic tendencies and effectively isolates his Casanova. (Recurring characters are rare, only reputation provides company.) Fellini’s Enlightenment is one of elaborately appointed sadness and of high-mindedness that always settles below the belt. There’s a fascination with failed ideas, a tally of accomplishments as regrets, the numbing repetition of clockwork cockwork. Some shadows loom, some pose. Casanova’s person is a great vehicle on which to contemplate dwindling creative prowess; while Donald Sutherland has better moments from this decade, and his performance here is by design secondary to his appearance, he manages some grace and heft at long odds.

(Bored puzzleboxers can amuse themselves pretending this a supernatural prequel to Don’t Look Now.)

It’s more fun than I’ve let on. At worst, you’ll spend two-and-a-half hours gawking at something ridiculous and beautiful. If someone comes out of Poor Things screaming, “More costumes!” point them here. Nino Rota’s score is gorgeous, and he works its sad spell through some surprising vocal variations.

A spirited defense, but unfortunately this one wasn’t for me. A sort of third generation Xerox of Satyricon’s episodic debaucheries, this whole project seems off due to Fellini portraying (and seemingly understanding) sex only on the level of a child who thinks it’s something happens when a man lays on top of a woman. If I thought this was conscious or utilized at the service of something more, that’d be fine. As is, I don’t know what the point is here. Sutherland plays Casanova as a child as well— blustery, egotistical, whiny, arrogant, and completely sexless as a presence. But I don’t think the film registers this disconnect consciously, and so everything keeps prompting the question of “Why?” The film wasn’t sexy so it fails as eroticism, and none of the escapades are funny, so it fails as a comic romp, and as a drama it has even worse returns. If there’s any recognizable through line here, it is an aspiration to capture a kind of basal, earthy vulgarity long out of favor with most audiences (like, by centuries). I admittedly do not like Fellini when he leans so heavily on grotesqueries celebrating ugliness (after about an hour, my first response to a scene change became “Oh great, now I have to see different gross people”), but the elements that work here are moments that refute these tendencies: the film’s three great images beyond the costuming (the trash bag waters, the chandeliers, and the wall-mounted organs) have nothing at all to do with sex or deformities but beauty and creativity. I wish there was more of that Fellini here

[brundlefly]

A spirited defense, but unfortunately this one wasn’t for me. A sort of third generation Xerox of Satyricon’s episodic debaucheries, this whole project seems off due to Fellini portraying (and seemingly understanding) sex only on the level of a child who thinks it’s something happens when a man lays on top of a woman. If I thought this was conscious or utilized at the service of something more, that’d be fine. As is, I don’t know what the point is here. Sutherland plays Casanova as a child as well— blustery, egotistical, whiny, arrogant, and completely sexless as a presence. But I don’t think the film registers this disconnect consciously, and so everything keeps prompting the question of “Why?” The film wasn’t sexy so it fails as eroticism, and none of the escapades are funny, so it fails as a comic romp, and as a drama it has even worse returns. If there’s any recognizable through line here, it is an aspiration to capture a kind of basal, earthy vulgarity long out of favor with most audiences (like, by centuries). I admittedly do not like Fellini when he leans so heavily on grotesqueries celebrating ugliness (after about an hour, my first response to a scene change became “Oh great, now I have to see different gross people”), but the elements that work here are moments that refute these tendencies: the film’s three great images beyond the costuming (the trash bag waters, the chandeliers, and the wall-mounted organs) have nothing at all to do with sex or deformities but beauty and creativity. I wish there was more of that Fellini here

I’d feared that, totally understand that, and thought of leading with my own drubbing – what it lacks in subtlety, it makes up for in length! – as the film has its detractors. Kael famously walked out, bored. (And though I haven’t revisited it in a while, and recognize this of that ilk, I’m no fan of Satyricon.)

I’d argue (not to convince, but to address issues) that it doesn’t “fail” at eroticism or as a comic romp or drama because clearly those are not its goals. The sex is purposely shot in an unsexy ways – sometimes it’s not even a man laying on top of a woman, as in those ridiculous thrusting pov shots; it’s anti-contact, it’s isolating. I would agree that it’s childlike, but that Fellini wants it to be seen as childlike in a pejorative way; Rota’s annoying calliope-like sex music underlines both its immaturity and its mechanical nature. (There are two mechanical modes in the score, the merry-go-round and the music box.) Fellini’s insulting this kind of sexual tabulation, a list of exploits, and when the sex isn’t silly it’s purely sad; how the camera holds on Romana, after that dumb contest in which she wanted no part, turning away. Does Casanova need to be this long? There was a lifetime of this, here is a whole film of this.

There is open contempt for Casanova and the life he lead; and while it’s certainly reductive, the attitude here is that a legendary lover doesn’t deserve legend and never knew love, that all his efforts were fruitless (not to get Catholic, but there’s certainly something about endless sex w/o progeny) and self-serving. There’s disdain at his treatment of others and despair at a life well-dressed, enormously recounted, and fully wasted.

One of the things that makes it interesting is how extended exposure finds sympathy (though for the truly bored, the opposite may be true). Fellini’s natural warmth (he has affection for those grotesques, and I wonder what mix of consternation and common ground he found in Casanova’s pursuit of extremist oddities) is going to search for some humanity, even in those he’s predetermined as loathsome. You can spend hours dressing down a man as a cartoon and still mourn his husk; you can hate the arrogant twit spitting at his dining partners while holding sympathy for the pathetic old man pounding the table about his missing macaroni. As the film goes on, and as Casanova continually makes unheard claims about his other attributes, a sense of self-measure sets in. Especially as an artist and a famous person. Will my face be in a museum or on a bathroom wall? Will my name wind up beside my work, or on a list of conquests in some celebrity tell-all?

Toward that note, as civilized as we like to think the world, I would never underestimate the appeal of basal, earthy vulgarity. The thin veneer of civilization over debauchery is Casanova’s whole story, and The Age of Reason Fellini creates around him reflects that. Far from having no throughline, I think his only historical biopic is more consistent and coherent (even in its boredom, you could say!) than most of his episodic works and a lot from that genre.

The images you cite are definite highlights and it’s perhaps germane that two of them (two-and-a-half, if you want to include the poly sheet ice Venice Canal) occur in the last half-hour. The chandeliers come down following the film’s final sex scene between humans, essentially closing out those escapades. From there it’s a retreat to fantasy and decrepitude and away from the life Fellini despised.

I appreciate you giving it a spin! And one less unwatched disc is its own reward, right?

[therewillbeblus]

The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath! (Eldar Ryazanov, 1975): A three-hour screwball-tragicomedy that also apparently happens to be Russia's It's a Wonderful Life-esque NYE tradition?! I'm not sure the film earns its length, especially when it ventures into elongated dramatic theatre acts that conflates superficial vulnerabilities with depth of character. The central conceit is very funny, but it burns itself out by the midpoint and morphs into something else entirely. I'd love to see a less intimately-shot pure screwball at half its length (or, alternatively, an intimately-shot drama of lonely souls -the kind reminiscent of a solemn McCarey- also at at half its length) instead of trying to cram so much into one movie. Still, there's a smooth edge to the transition the film takes from farce into a genuine humanism amidst a Linklater 'night-of-connection' arc, even if it's inconsistently stimulating-to-dull compared to those rounded works. I bet this plays even better on rewatches when you know to expect the uneven shifts, but on a first run it's a worthwhile, smart and raw endeavor, and I can see why it's a classic folks return to seasonally

[TMDaines]

The Irony of Fate, or Enjoy Your Bath! (Eldar Ryazanov, 1975): A three-hour screwball-tragicomedy that also apparently happens to be Russia's It's a Wonderful Life-esque NYE tradition?! I'm not sure the film earns its length, especially when it ventures into elongated dramatic theatre acts that conflates superficial vulnerabilities with depth of character. The central conceit is very funny, but it burns itself out by the midpoint and morphs into something else entirely. I'd love to see a less intimately-shot pure screwball at half its length (or, alternatively, an intimately-shot drama of lonely souls -the kind reminiscent of a solemn McCarey- also at at half its length) instead of trying to cram so much into one movie. Still, there's a smooth edge to the transition the film takes from farce into a genuine humanism amidst a Linklater 'night-of-connection' arc, even if it's inconsistently stimulating-to-dull compared to those rounded works. I bet this plays even better on rewatches when you know to expect the uneven shifts, but on a first run it's a worthwhile, smart and raw endeavor, and I can see why it's a classic folks return to seasonally

Yeah, it was an instituion in Ukraine too, but not sure whether it still is given Russia's invasion. Whatever you do, do not watch the sequel. It even soured me on the original to some extent.

[brundlefly]

Blume in Love (Paul Mazursky, 1973) 10

Mazursky’s best-written film of the ‘70s is his darkest, a wolf in sheep’s clothing that’s framed as a fantasy, poses as a romance, and seduces with warmth and surprise. It observes how the patriarchic status quo grapples with losing power, how it reaffirms itself and makes gains while self-victimizing, but because it’s amused by optimism, and is constantly, complexly human, it can process its politics while staying resolutely personal.

Its starting line can seem shtik: The divorce attorney (Who makes the hero of their film a divorce attorney?) handling his own divorce. Mazursky liked to build his work on fault lines, and what made him such an astute observer of social shifts in the late ‘60s and ‘70s was his honest uncertainty about them; I believe he called himself generationally “in-between” on one of his commentary tracks; he was not old enough to be calcified and dismissive, but not young enough to embrace change without reservation. The old guy at the club, he could be simultaneously excited by change and wary of its implications. He was confident enough to let messy life enter his films without pounding it into formula, but often exited into open fantasy.

Though I know it wasn’t the goal, I immersed myself in this ‘70s project as best I could manage, trying to only watch and re-watch movies from the featured year each month, unavoidably regarding elements working their way through the American zeitgeist. I had not known that every other movie from 1973 has a bank heist! As months went by, mentions of Vietnam moved from the fringes to the center (war news helps stave off impotency in Blume), labor and prison matters from docs to fiction, paranoia from obsession to standard plot beat. Social concern exhausted into escapism.

I don’t know if there was a stronger throughline than feminism and the reaction to it, or a single phrase I heard more than “women’s lib” – often as dismissive grumble from a curmudgeon due comeuppance, often as easy punchline. “The decade of the dames,” a news report called it in Looking for Mr. Goodbar.

Mazursky would make An Unmarried Woman a few years after Blume and that was well-meant and well-received and there are things I like and don’t like about it. It is not without depth and agreeable messiness and Clayburgh is undeniable. But there is, without being too reductive, a comfortable way to situate it between Mary Richards and Sex and the City. Mazursky feels limited. He is listening. Respectful. It is a nice film.

Blume in Love is not a nice film, though it’s built to feel like one for a while. It is brutally honest in its deception. It leads with charm and exposes that a couple times over. It has a narrator who is both manipulative and arrogant enough to believe he doesn’t have to manipulate. George Segal has a much harder path than gaining sympathy; he assumes sympathy, and he’s brilliant at revealing layers through that. His character’s no less selfish, but more insidious than the one he played that same year in A Touch of Class, and that points to what’s at stake: Undoing the romantic comedy, undoing the wielding of ideals of marriage and love as repression, undoing the nice guys who come from places of power and lead with talk of understanding and equality and change. Because Mazursky was intrigued by then-contemporary concerns and let the outside world spill onscreen so often, I see his films described as “of their time.” But picking at predatory elements in romantic behavior and calculated speech doesn’t get old, and Blume is leagues more shrewd than You, the writing far more incisive than Jonah Hill’s tweets.

SpoilerShow

Blume’s rape scene is masterfully, methodically written. Blume uses the language of listening and of understanding without doing either, says all the right things, agrees with his ex-wife Nina before denigrating her opinion and position. He compliments her as she sings "You've Got a Friend,” then interrupts it. He asks her opinion and ignores it. Does he look more peeved when she says “I feel good about myself,” or when she says she doesn’t want to hear about his feelings? He reasserts his claim on her by talking about women’s liberation, redirecting blame and injecting doubt:

"You didn't belong to me. I guess, in a way, you did. That's what was wrong. It was wrong. You shouldn't have belonged to me. Of course, it wasn't just my fault. You must've wanted to belong to someone, or you would've done something about it. All the chicks who claim we made them slaves have been digging the slave trip. Now they're waking up and it's a good thing. I guess."

He has been forcing his way back into her life – she calls it “worming his way into her good graces” – and when finally alone with her and bluntly rejected he forces himself into her.

Nina does not struggle after subdued. She declares herself emotionally unavailable, a thing. “I’m a statue.” Has she ever succeeded in fighting back during their six-year relationship? Or does she just bear conflict until it ends? Anspach’s facial expressions during the assault are ambiguous – she’s a statue – and Mazursky may go a step too far in including a shot that could be read as pleasure. But there is a long-term relationships’ worth of emotions in play, and Nina has just said that, "If I knew why I did everything I did, I would have saved $30,000 at the analyst." ("You mean I would have saved $30,000,” Blume retorts, claiming even her attempts at mental health.) After the act, though, it is unambiguously called rape and Blume does not deny being a rapist.

It’s so well played that Blume could be received as the very thing it works to undo – Variety remembered it as “a sweet romantic piece” in the filmmaker’s obit – which is testimony to the power of charm, if not selective memory.

But it’s also too rich and human a film to be as nasty as its protagonist. Every character has a life that extends beyond the frame, and even when Mazursky wants to mock a lifestyle and poses people like cartoons there is still warmth. There’s genuine sympathy for people who are trying to find ways to deal with their feelings and search for happiness in a complicated and changing world. And there’s hope: in young people unfazed by unconventional relationships, in old people determined to raise their children with more love and respect than they see around them.

(As a bonus: Because Blume in Love leans on diegetic music, it’s largely spared the execrable Bill Conti score that blights most of the director’s work this decade.)

In the U.S., Blume in Love is out on Warner Archive DVD; if your library subscribes to Hoopla, it’s streaming there.

[domino harvey]

The Pialat traces its arcs over a more minimal kind of monotony, one that can seem like a feature-lengthed running-in-place gag or an ungrounded tease – and if you’re vibing with it, one of the things it can be is hilarious. But conflicted impulses are its foundation, repetition is reinforcement, and if Nous ne vieillirons pas ensemble is a love it/hate it proposition, that’s only thematically appropriate.

There’s this moment after Marlène Jobert says to her partner, “Promise you won’t try to come back,” where we hold on her as helplessness and regret subtly wash over her face: I wish I hadn’t said that, I don’t mean that. And also, why even bother saying that when he’s not going to hear it. She turns from the camera and sighs.

What makes the film so exciting for me is the involving way it’s put together, and I have a hard time talking about that without sounding sillier than usual. It’s a choppy cohesion, randomly exact, with that intangible feeling the filmmaker is showing you precisely what he needed to. That would be easier if this was a more high-pitched fuck-and-fight couple, or if Pialat was only showing the heads and tails of every scene – as if that was the relationship. (And sure, there’s a kind of “hate to see you go, love to watch you walk away” in this, as well as a lot of “let’s paint the white walls white.”) I’m sure it helps that it’s autobiographical. But it’s not a repeating script. The movie races ahead for a while – more costume changes than a Cher concert – and then it hits a point, even as it jumps forward, where I feel as stuck with these two as they are with each other. Every subsequent ellipsis a frustrated hiccup of hope.

If it helps the cause, Alex Ross Perry (on the Kino blu) cites this as an influence on Listen Up Philip and calls Jean Yanne-as-Pialat, “Truly one of the most miserable protagonists in any film I can recall.”

So, I enjoyed this much more than the Fellini, if "enjoyed" is the right word. I gathered Yanne was playing Pialat given the references to his doc work (one of which shown being made in the film is included in the MOC disc for this), but one has to wonder if there is any therapeutic value in painting yourself as the biggest asshole in the world. Yanne's casting is key here, because he often plays brutes but he has a raw captivating presence that explains why someone could stay with him for six years (or longer, as in the case of Macha Meril). A well-earned Cannes Best Actor win for him for sure, and I must again remind everyone to seek out Yanne's hilarious directorial effort Les Chinois a Paris, orphaned by me, which is probably not at all the kind of film you might expect from his acting work-- it's one of the best directed comedies I can think of, with comic instincts equal to Tashlin at his best.

I also watched If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do? and get that this is in someone's Wacky 50 spot but I loved it too and found it unreasonably entertaining and thought it anticipated the Simpsons/Family Guy style cut aways, my favorite being the guy who looks like the firing squad general in You Can't Do That On Television trying to convert children to communism by promising them Fidel Castro will give them candy, and then delivering on said treats by throwing handfuls at a classroom of bored kids. Almost as funny as the eight year old who submits to being beheaded because "Jesus died for me, so I can die for him"-- very sage wisdom from an age group that throws a tantrum if they can't stay up one minute past their bed time.

[brundlefly]

Yanne's casting is key here, because he often plays brutes but he has a raw captivating presence that explains why someone could stay with him for six years (or longer, as in the case of Macha Meril). A well-earned Cannes Best Actor win for him for sure, and I must again remind everyone to seek out Yanne's hilarious directorial effort Les Chinois a Paris, orphaned by me, which is probably not at all the kind of film you might expect from his acting work-- it's one of the best directed comedies I can think of, with comic instincts equal to Tashlin at his best.

I also watched If Footmen Tire You, What Will Horses Do? and get that this is in someone's Wacky 50 spot but I loved it too and found it unreasonably entertaining and thought it anticipated the Simpsons/Family Guy style cut aways, my favorite being the guy who looks like the firing squad general in You Can't Do That On Television trying to convert children to communism by promising them Fidel Castro will give them candy, and then delivering on said treats by throwing handfuls at a classroom of bored kids. Almost as funny as the eight year old who submits to being beheaded because "Jesus died for me, so I can die for him"-- very sage wisdom from an age group that throws a tantrum if they can't stay up one minute past their bed time.

In addition to that rough charisma and her provisional masochism, there's something about his superior class and educational status, though he's more whiny than showy about it (and is of course eventually leapfrogged.) His pride in her acquired snobbery toward television is a little like Alvy Singer running into Annie Hall outside The Sorrow and the Pity.

I too saw Footman, but considered the cutaways -- the health teacher was my easy favorite -- less technique than necessity. It does a good job of not feeling like a filmed sermon, but that's what it is, and people get antsy enough in church.

Was Les Chinois a Paris ever issued with English subs?

[domino harvey]

Unfortunately not, but StudioCanal put out a Blu-ray in France, so maybe Kino Lorber will license it. Here's my full writeup:

One more entry for the Alternate Unseen History of French Cinema: Les Chinois à Paris (Jean Yanne 1974). This is an inspired and brutal satire of something I didn't expect to see come out of France less than 30 years after it happened: the French Occupation. Here the Chinese invade France, and the French roll over, again, and quickly accommodate their oppressors. The film's real masterstroke is that the target here isn't the Chinese but the French, and even if you don't find this film as funny as I do, I don't think anyone can deny the absolute fucking balls on Yanne to make a movie like this and get some of his high profile friends like Michel Serrault and Bernard Blier to show up. I've always enjoyed Yanne as an actor but I had no idea he was so gifted a comic director: though their films are far different, Yanne's picture shares with Tashlin an ability to instinctively know how to make a movie look funny. But he doesn't just rely on looking funny. The script, which he co-wrote, is probably what Mel Brooks fans think he's writing in this era: smart jokes interspersed with stupid jokes that are still pretty smart. The more you know about both the occupation and China in this era, the better some of these gags will land (for instance, if you haven't seen the East is Red, you will miss how incredibly accurate Yanne's parody midway through this film is-- like, just dead-on). And ya gotta love Yanne's shout out to his own work with Godard a few years prior via his own one-shot traffic jam, in which the carnage absurdly escalates as blood splashes all over the camera lens. Above all, for such a caustic film, it is all surprisingly well-natured. The conquerers are shown exhibiting buyer's remorse more than any real malice. And Yanne shows his criticism of the French comes from affection as the ending reveal shows the perseverance of the French spirit, in part due to their ability to confound anyone who's not French! Highly recommended, and I can't wait to dig into more of Yanne's filmography behind the camera.

[swo17]

As a reminder, lists are due in about a week, at the end of the month. If you haven't submitted a list yet, you are welcome to do so. If you have submitted a list, you are welcome to make any changes you want to up until the deadline

[brundlefly]

Here are my orphans with links to when I've written about them:
...
दुविधा [Duvidha] (Mani Kaul, 1973) 28

A striking and moving piece, am thrilled I finally managed to see this. its story about an absent husband, a lonely bride, and an infatuated ghost is well served by its formal elements. Uses a lot of post-sync sound, stills, and hard cuts. So sync sound and dissolves shock and seduce, so time moves differently.

No Spoiler, Just GIFShow

Parajanov stans and folklore fans should definitely seek it out. It’s under 90 minutes! Maybe the four others who voted for this last time will resurface/come back around and join us.

swo, you probably know this same story was given the Bollywood treatment in 2005 and was India’s submission to the Oscars, that year. If you didn’t, don’t: It’s not without its charms, but predictably enough it’s been turned into a cluttered, CGI-splattered supernatural romance. To see the bride's face, the ghost turns into a digital bird and craps on her head. Seriously. Paheli’s best musical number takes place under its end credits. (The strings don’t even have to do with fate; the ghost has CGI marionette “parents.”)
*


अंकुर [Ankur] [The Seedling] (Shyam Benegal, 1974) 31

Also finally got to see Ankur, which is as great as everyone says it is. For a while, it seems obvious, classic, ordinary: A landlord’s son wants to continue his education at an urban university but is instead forced to honor an arranged marriage to a child bride and is sent to oversee one of his father’s rural properties. He is righteous (“I don’t believe in caste.”), resentful, arrogant. The married woman keeping his house there – the only young woman we see at all, for a while – looks like a movie star. He tells her she looks like a movie star. (She’s never seen a movie.) The role would make its actress, Shabana Azmi, a movie star.

It is not hard to see where this is going.

No Spoiler, Just GIFShow

But Benegal’s movies accumulate, and what seemed ordinary and predictable seems suddenly fraught. He is masterful at situating the viewer in the town’s fixed systems, understanding internalized roles and indignities and how individual needs and desires work with and against those systems. Through the personal drama in Ankur (and the other two films that make up his “rural trilogy,” Nishant and Manthan) Benegal keeps asking how change could happen, where it might come from.

Azmi has a pair of big scenes that will destroy you, but she is great right through. Her character is loose from her caste from the start – it has become obsolete – and the idea of not knowing exactly where she belongs brings shades of vulnerability and power that can be thrilling to watch.

If your library uses Hoopla, it's now streaming there. (Wrong aspect ratio, but at least has optional English subtitles, unlike the versions Shemaroo has on YouTube or (last I checked) their own site.)

कोन्दुरा [Kondura] [అనుగ్రహం] [Anugraham] [The Sage from the Sea] (Shyam Benegal, 1978) 33

Kondura is my orphan, wrote about it here (#2).

*

കുമ്മാട്ടി [Kummatty] [The Bogeyman] (Govindan Aravindan, 1979) 20

Wrote about this here. It can be watched on YouTube with burned-in English subtitles. Differs in tone and form, but may make a fine folktale double-feature with Duvidha.

*


ಘಟಶ್ರಾದ್ಧ [Ghatashraaddha] [The Ritual] (Girish Kasaravalli, 1977) 16

Another of mine. A haunting story about learning cruelty and kindness. A motherless brahmin boy is left by his father to study in a small forest village; undersized and new and subject to bullying, he takes refuge with the young widow daughter of the schoolmaster, who is suffering isolation of her own. She needs his innocence and lack of judgment, he needs her care and protection, they tentatively form a natural mother-child bond.

The foundation is humane social criticism and it goes some bold places for its place and time. The backbone is a coming of age story that observes how childhood superstitions and cruelty shift into societal prejudices. The wooded setting and childhood pov gives it the whiff of a folk tale. Too many shots of people sitting still, hiding scared, can make this feel more static than it is, and oversized eyes can be asked to do a lot, but this is a deeply affecting film about graduating to the terrors of the adult world.

The quality of the version streaming on YouTube leaves a lot to be desired, but it does have burned-in English subtitles.

New Votes
The following films received no votes during the last round of the lists project but currently have two or more votes. Perhaps they were not on your radar before...
...
सत्यम शिवम सुंदरम [Satyam Shivam Sundaram] [Love Sublime] (Raj Kapoor, 1978)

A great, mad, big-budget melodrama about the delirious love between a disfigured woman and an engineer who “cannot tolerate any form of ugliness.” Wrote more at the top here.

[swo17]

swo, you probably know this same story was given the Bollywood treatment in 2005 and was India’s submission to the Oscars, that year. If you didn’t, don’t

I did not!

[Red Screamer]

Pixillation (Lillian F. Schwartz, 1970) 38

Thanks for the Schwartz recommendation, swo. Her movies are so fun and inventive, work that searches to find the language and poetry in emerging kinds of imagery, in this case, coming from new technologies. In addition to the ones you've mentioned, I loved Googolplex—which is something like a Free Radicals for the computer age, stripping animation down to its minimal elements in black-and-white to focus on rhythm and 2D/3D interplay—and Enigma, which is some sort of color perception experiment in stroboscopic plaids and what looks like video water spills. I had the chance them at an experimental animation program hosted by the archivist working on restorations of her films, so hopefully some of that work comes to fruition soon.

Since it's on thread topic, I'll add that the program also introduced me to another animator whose work is so tailor-made for my taste it's a scandal that I haven't been recommended it before: Robert Russett, co-author with Cecile Starr of Experimental Animation: An Illustrated Anthology. His Primary Stimulus is the punkish blitz of a twin to McLaren's Synchromy, featuring a series of horizontal lines that are simultaneously the film's images and its soundtrack. While McLaren goes symphonic, dazzling you with his intricacy and precision, Russett sets up musical expectations and structure only to send them spinning out of control. His lines vibrate and wobble, the soundtrack sputters and shakes, and it seems like the images are going to explode off the screen, ripping the film right out of the projector. On a similar note, Neuron reminds me of what zedz (I think) said about Fruhauf's Fuddy Duddy, a film whose structuralism and segmentation are at war with its anarchic, disobedient content. It starts with a handful of square boxes and inside each box appears rolling, optical illusion-type animation. The combination of these animations that your brain can't quite process correctly and the strong in-frame boundaries and scientific approach creates a pretty wonderful dissonance. Clever variations and esclations ensue. Russett's films aren't available digitally as far as I can tell but there are some images of Neuron here that give you some idea.

[swo17]

Those Schwartz picks are almost like flicker films at times, if that pushes anyone else to watch them:

Googolplex
Enigma

[swo17]

As a final reminder, today is the last day to submit a list or to revise your already submitted list

[the preacher]

А зори здесь тихие [A zori zdes tikhie] [The Dawns Here Are Quiet] (Stanislav Rostotsky, 1972) 42

An orphan of mine last time, so I feel a bit guilty. Okay, Rostotsky instead of Daneliya...