1990s List Discussion and Suggestions (Lists Project Vol. 3)

[TMDaines]

My spotlight film is Die Zweite Heimat by Edgar Reitz. It's the longest film ever made (leaving aside various cinematic stunts that were never distributed as films) at 25 and a half hours, as well as one of the best. Unfortunately, it came along in the same decade as the greatest film I've ever seen, so it's going to be stuck at number two on my list.

Nice write up, zedz. I'll try and get round to watching Heimat II before the end of the project, but I still have the first to watch, as well as Riget and the latter half of Twin Peaks for Fire Walk with Me. The problem with getting around to watching Heimat is that a lot of the episodes are feature length and so don't fill those 40-60 minute blocks that many TV shows otherwise do.

[swo17]

Don't forget Sátántangó and, to a lesser extent (lengthwise anyway), A Brighter Summer Day!

This is probably as good a time as any to remind everyone that there are just over three months left until the deadline (and there will be no extension). If you've been waiting until the last minute to get a move on, this is your wake-up call.

[zedz]

How much of Aki Kaurismaki's 90s ouevre is worth dipping into? I saw The Match Factory Girl and enjoyed its very deadpan sense of humour. Is Drifting Clouds the next must-see?

It would be for me.

[Michael Kerpan]

While I love Drifting Clouds, I might love Take Care of Your Scarf, Tatiana even more. Highly recommended as well.

[zedz]

I'll try and get round to watching Heimat II before the end of the project, but I still have the first to watch.

Seeing the first first is obviously ideal, but the second works perfectly well as a self-contained experience if time becomes an issue.

[Mr Sausage]

Unfortunately, it came along in the same decade as the greatest film I've ever seen

Which movie would that be?

[swo17]

Hint: It's already been mentioned on this page.

[zedz]

Unfortunately, it came along in the same decade as the greatest film I've ever seen

Which movie would that be?

A Brighter Summer Day. I've plugged that film so relentlessly for so long in the Lists Project threads that I thought I'd soft pedal it this time around.

But it is miraculously good. And if you don't track it down you're a bad person.

[bamwc2]

Viewing Log:

L'eau froide (Olivier Assayas, 1994): While it'll never be mistaken for one of Assayas's masterpieces, this tale of disaffected latchkey kids in '70s Paris is still pretty darn good. Gilles (Cyprien Fouquet) spends his days stealing from record stores and distributing his ill-gotten goods among his high school friends. Christine (Virginie Ledoyen) goes along with Gilles seemingly as much out of boredom as affection. The two spend their days in and out of trouble with the police, but eventually find themselves at a commune's party that feels like it goes on for the last third of the film. Perhaps it could have used some more judicious editing, but the film makes for a pretty good examination of disaffected youth. When you add Assayas's always keen eye behind the camera, you get a winner.

Fresh Bait (Bertrand Tavernier, 1995): And now we have another tale of violent, disaffected French youth. This time Nathalie (Marie Gillain), an ingenue stuck in dead end employment, convinces her boyfriend Eric (Olivier Sitruk) and his dimwitted pal Bruno (Bruno Putzulu) to commit a robbery. Of course nothing goes as planned, and the trio are forced into committing a pair of shockingly brutal murders. I have to sound like a broken record, but even though it's far from Tavernier's best, its still a decent enough thriller.

Last Night (Don McKellar, 1998): After focusing on some American independents in past updates, I decided to take a look at a pair of Canadian indies. First up is Don McKellar's quirk fest about the end of the world. For months the world's population has known that the end was nigh as we pick up with six hours left. McKellar stars as a Patrick, a grumpy guy who forsakes his own family's wishes (including of course the obligatory Sarah Polley) to go out his own way at home, watching the end approach through a telescope. His plan gets frustrated by the presence of Sandra (Sandra Oh) a woman who plans to commit a double suicide with her newlywed husband at the stroke of midnight if only she were able to get back to him in time. The duo spend most of the film trying to reunite the lovebirds, only to find dead ends and wacky neighbors at every turn. While it may sound like overly grim material, the film tries to go for a lighthearted tone, but ends up too cutesy by half. I say skip it.

Léolo (Jean-Claude Lauzon, 1992): And now on to one of the crown jewels of Quebecois cinema with Jean-Claude Lauzon's Léolo. Léolo (Maxime Collin) is a youth growing up in Montreal's slums, trapped with an utterly bizarre family including an obese mother, a bodybuilding older brother, and a pervy grandfather. He is, however, also gifted with an imagination that allows him to escape into his fantasies which gets him into trouble. Why stick to the real world when you can imagine yourself to be the offspring of a sperm encrusted tomato? Sometimes the film toys with the viewer's perceptions, never letting us know if we're witnessing reality or are just in his head. I have to say that I was fairly confused by it all, but it did make for an interesting journey.

Oil Hell Murder (Hideo Gosha, 1992): Gosha's final film tells the tale of Okichi (Kanako Higuchi), the bored wife of a jealous oil dealer played by Hiroyuki Nagato. Soon her wandering eye turns to Yohei (Shin'ichi Tsutsumi), a strapping young buck who already has a lover played by Miwako Fujitani. While projecting a virtuous image, Okichi goes through great lengths to try and end her rival's life, but when her jealous husband learns of her affairs Okichi finds that it is her own life that is in danger. Sadly Gosha didn't go out on a high note. While the film has Gosha's usual visual panache, it takes waaaaaay too long to get off the ground, only really coming together in its final scene. What's more, the video upon Hulu looks like washed out shit. There were points where I actually thought that I was watching an upscaled VHS dub. If I ever come across a prettier copy I'd definitely give it a second try based on the strength of Gosha's oeuvre alone, but for now I can't recommend it.

[Tommaso]

Don't forget Sátántangó and, to a lesser extent (lengthwise anyway), A Brighter Summer Day!

Incidentally, I watched Sátántangó for the first time over the last two days, and like most other people, I found it an astonishing experience after getting used to its pace. Unfortunately, I haven't yet quite understood what makes A Brighter Summer Day so special for many people. Not that I didn't like it, but it simply didn't touch me on more than the level of an engaging though somewhat confusing narrative and admittedly flawless camerawork and direction. Probably I need a full-length Tony Rayns audiocommentary to explain all the cultural background and other details to me that I've missed so far (no kiddin': I had exactly this experience with Chungking Express which I only found 'all right' before listening to the Rayns commentary, which I found so illuminating that it made me see the film in quite a different light afterwards).

But talking about extremely long films, this one needs to be mentioned, too:

Taiga (Ulrike Ottinger 1992): This is already the second of Ottinger's ultra-long ethnographic films (the first was "China. Die Künste, der Alltag" of 1985, which I haven't been able to track down yet), but nevertheless it might be seen as a direct continuation of the second half of "Johanna d'Arc of Mongolia". But here there's no invented story, of course: Ottinger simply chronicles the daily life, rituals, and general community activities of a nomad tribe in the north of Mongolia. But unlike so many other ethnographic films, there's no attempt at 'explaining' this culture to us; instead we're allowed to delve deeply into all aspects of it, getting a real sense for the landscape and time passing. This is as far removed from a tourist's point-of-view as possible. But much of the sense of wonder here is of course created by Ottinger's keen camera eye which sets up all the shots in an astonishingly beautiful way without ever becoming intrusive. You wouldn't believe that the 8 (!) hours of this film seem almost to fly by, but at least for me they did.

While I'm at it: in a way you could also call Ottinger's 1990 film Countdown (only three hours, don't worry) an 'ethnographic' film. It depicts the last ten days in and around Berlin before the currency union between West and East Germany, which was the first step of the eventual re-unification of the country. Without any commentary and only very occasional incidental dialogue - definitely no subs needed! - Ottinger shows us the city in those historical days: children tearing down remnants of the Wall, people selling 'artifacts' from the GDR days on flee markets. But there are also beautiful sequences on an old Jewish cemetary or little known villages near the town, all carrying the history of Berlin in a way far removed from what you learn from history books. Like Taiga, this film also basically consists of very long sequences which give the film a very meditative and immersive character. Thoughtful and thought-provoking without forcing the viewer into any direction. A city film of a very different kind, and it might well be one of the very best of the genre.

[swo17]

I find zedz's write-ups on Yang very helpful in deepening appreciation for the films. For A Brighter Summer Day, see the lengthy discussion starting here.

[zedz]

Viewing Log:

L'eau froide (Olivier Assayas, 1994): While it'll never be mistaken for one of Assayas's masterpieces, this tale of disaffected latchkey kids in '70s Paris is still pretty darn good. Gilles (Cyprien Fouquet) spends his days stealing from record stores and distributing his ill-gotten goods among his high school friends. Christine (Virginie Ledoyen) goes along with Gilles seemingly as much out of boredom as affection. The two spend their days in and out of trouble with the police, but eventually find themselves at a commune's party that feels like it goes on for the last third of the film. Perhaps it could have used some more judicious editing, but the film makes for a pretty good examination of disaffected youth. When you add Assayas's always keen eye behind the camera, you get a winner.

I'll disagree and claim this as Assayas' first masterpiece, and furthermore insist that the party scene is one of the best things he ever did, with not one, but two of the greatest uses of popular music in cinema (the re-starting of 'Up Around the Bend' at the height of the action and 'Janitor of Lunacy' as the ultimate hangover theme). This film seems extremely sensitive to the point of view of its adolescent protagonists, and so while it's happening, that wild party seems like it's the entirety of their world - and then, just as naturally, what happens afterwards seems like the end of it.

If you can, track down Claire Denis' and Chantal Akerman's superb contributions to the same series.

[bamwc2]

Zedz, we'll have to agree to disagree, but thanks for reminding me about the soundtrack. I watched this almost a month ago and meant to mention how perfect the song selection was! Actually, the more that I think about the soundtrack the fonder I feel about the film.

[zedz]

Zedz, we'll have to agree to disagree, but thanks for reminding me about the soundtrack. I watched this almost a month ago and meant to mention how perfect the song selection was! Actually, the more that I think about the soundtrack the fonder I feel about the film.

The constraints for the films in the 'Tous les garcons et les filles de leur age' series were pretty severe, and they included the need to include a big party scene and at least one chart hit from the year in which they were set (which years were, in turn, predicated on the age of the director). This led to some films which tended towards the kitset, but Assayas and Denis embraced those constraints beautifully, and the results helped to shape their future filmmaking (particularly in their creative use of pre-existing music, but also, perhaps, in their sense that a distinctive mood and character / location detail always trumps a distinctive plot).

[swo17]

Whose decision was it to use "Al Capone" in US Go Home? Because that person deserves an award.

[zedz]

Whose decision was it to use "Al Capone" in US Go Home? Because that person deserves an award.

As far as I know, the filmmakers had complete freedom as long as they ticked the various producer-stipulated boxes. Denis kind of railed against the constraints (since she apparently hated parties) but milked the music requirement for all it was worth (since as a teenager she much preferred staying in her room listening to records, something that's gleefully reproduced in the film). So blame her.

A lot more info available on the French wiki. The constraints were basically:
- budget
- limited shooting schedule
- Super 16 format
- approx. 1 hour running time (though long theatrical versions were created for four of the films - Assayas', Techine's, Kahn's and Dahan's - though the last was not released theatrically - and a fifth, by Jacques Doillon 'escaped' the series and was only released as a theatrical feature)
- directors had to choose one of nine predetermined time periods (beginning, middle or end of the 60s, 70s or 80s - hence the pointedly functional title of Akerman's contribution), corresponding to the period of their own adolescence
- the theme was adolescence
- each film had to include a party scene featuring rock music of the period.

It doesn't seem to have been listed as an official constraint, but I think all of the films are set in the place where the director spent their adolescence too.

[bamwc2]

I feel like the forum's biggest jerk now. I didn't even know that the Assayas film was part of a larger project! That's one of the reasons why I love you guys. There's always something new to learn hanging out here. I'll definitely take our recommendation, Zedz, and try to catch the rest of the entries.

[zedz]

I feel like the forum's biggest jerk now. I didn't even know that the Assayas film was part of a larger project! That's one of the reasons why I love you guys. There's always something new to learn hanging out here. I'll definitely take our recommendation, Zedz, and try to catch the rest of the entries.

Good luck tracking them down! Frustratingly, they've never been released as a collection, and some have never been released at all. I never saw all of them (I think the Barbosa and the Deleuze eluded me, but it might just be that one or both of them was so unexceptional that they faded into the wallpaper), and I definitely found some of them rather bland (Travolta et Moi, Trop de bonheur). I thought Dahan's Freres turgid and flashy. But Assayas, Denis and Akerman all came up with major works, and I'll grudgingly concede that Techine's Wild Reeds is one of his best films, even though I'm not much of a fan of his. Neither the Akerman nor the Denis has ever been released on home video, as far as I know, but off-air recordings may be floating around. If you want to be all completist about it, the Doillon film that spun off from the project was Le Jeune Werther.

[bamwc2]

Wild Reeds is part of the series? Okay, then I've seen two of the entries.

[thirtyframesasecond]

I saw Wild Reeds the other day, really liked it.

[John Cope]

Spotlights

Mindwalk (Capra, '90)

One of the great films about conversation--for me, ultimately, even greater than Malle's Andre. Whereas Andre allowed for irony and naturalistic rhythms, the style here is nothing if not unlikely and artificial (I still chuckle every time I hear Waterston say, "So what's wrong with Descartes?") but now, after many viewings, that seems a totally appropriate choice. It is didactic and unconcerned with justifying itself. The seriousness of the conversation and the inherent value of it is justification enough. But there are subtleties to the performances that encourage more nuanced readings (the Ullmann character, for instance, often acts half crazed with angst or neurosis; the Heard character is withdrawn and remote as though nursing hidden disappointments).

The Mont St. Michel setting is crucial to the overall effect--it isn't simply background and is, in fact, one of the most indelible of all film locations, perfect for evoking the multiple dimensions of implied meaning at issue in this extended dialogue. Its emphasized isolation both allows for the necessary space to reflect and contemplate but also remarks on the inevitable boundaries of such thinking, of all thinking. The notion of "sacred space" also seems critical to me as it complements aptly the whole idea of a "turning point", especially one reached and realized intellectually. As with all great discussions, I am always somewhat melancholy when this one ends.

The lack of intrusive electronic communication devices is another aspect of this intentional hermetic isolation, allowed for by the very nature of the film's '90/'91 production date. This reminds me of Oliveira's Do Visível ao Invisível in which two friends, attempting to talk with one another on a street corner, are continually interrupted by phone calls and so decide to phone each other and proceed to speak that way.


The Blood Oranges (Haas, '97)

Philip Haas's adaptation of John Hawkes' novel is likely the least celebrated of his 90's era literary adaptations. Both The Music of Chance and especially Angels & Insects garner far more praise and attention. But as much as I respect and respond to both of those this one seems to me an even greater achievement. Its lack of notoriety I attribute mostly to a lack of presence/distribution and an excessive concentration by many of those who have seen it upon what is perceived to be its more risible elements (such as much of Charles Dance's dialogue). But this misses what is remarkable about the picture.

Set in the idyllic splendor of rural, coastal Mexico it's an extended consideration of and elaboration upon the notion of a self created and sustained idea of paradise, of utopia. As such its location in what is otherwise an impoverished area provides some ironic inflection for the privileged characters whose vision this is. Charles Dance and Sheryl Lee portray a married couple extolling the virtues of sexual freedom and open relationships (the movie is pointedly set in 1970 whereas the book is far more oblique in regards to both setting and time period--it really is of the mind's eye there). Into their lives come another couple who are less uninhibited and must be made to see the merits of such a lifestyle. Tragic events do follow but they are by no means schematically attributed to any clear cut moral deficiency. It's a subdued tangle of mixed motives and perspectives set against a landscape of heightened expression, resulting in actions that can be understood in a variety of different ways. The "story" could not be simpler on a superficial level but it's the richness of the themes and subtext that are grasped as though on the periphery of vision which leave such a lingering sense of fulfillment. Haas' overall aesthetic is also a fitting complement to the material, amping up all the inherent implications of the romanticizing and exoticizing inclinations of his characters. The story is told out of sequence, in a way that gives appropriate but subtle emphasis to each vignette or scene, and employs an effective series of fade to orange or red transitions straight out of the cinema of someone like Roeg. All of this, meanwhile, is accompanied by a deeply evocative Angelo Badalamenti score.

I've loved this film since I first saw it when it was initially released on home video but I only finally read the book a few years ago. That was a singular experience for me as I will confess that I regard the book as "better" than the film but this means little since I regard the book as among the very finest pieces of fiction I've ever encountered, almost even a validation of fiction as extreme as that may sound. It's an astonishingly sustained treatment of the comprehensive, all encompassing lyric vision that opens up much further and goes deeper than the film. It also goes far beyond the film's most clearly suggested themes of emphasis upon the controlling power of the narcissistic individual ego. Many critics still like to point that out (as Roger Sale famously said, "There is cruelty here that, because unadmitted, is not even palliated by the relish of sadism.") but as far as I'm concerned part of the book's breathtaking accomplishment is that such critiques are noted ironically within and yet ultimately made to seem minor, inconsequential (much of this has to do with Hawkes' own view on his work vs. what critics just assumed he must be doing). I had a conversation shortly after I read it with a professor of literature who had written a piece comparing the book to the film. He came away very dissatisfied with the film unsurprisingly. And though his arguments are very good, convincing ones they simply fail to give the film credit for what it does do--which is aim for what it can that's within its grasp, the grasp of what cinema can do, and accomplish that with excellence. The true test was in returning to the film after all this, which I did and was relieved and somewhat amazed to discover how well it held up to that kind of scrutiny, the most penetrating kind I can imagine.

[Tommaso]

Spotlight :

Golem, l'esprit de l'exil (Amos Gitai, 1992): featuring Hanna Schygulla as the mythical Golem creature and with guest performances by Samuel Fuller and Bernardo Bertolucci, this last part of Gitai's "exile" trilogy - and simultaneously the second part of his "Golem"-trilogy - is basically a modern re-telling of the biblical Book of Ruth, with the city of Paris replacing the town of Moab of the original story. But Gitai doesn't limit himself to this one story, but sets texts from the Bible and the Cabbala into 'conversation' with each other, so much so that the vast majority of the sparse dialogue is indeed made up by the characters reciting these original texts.

The Golem of the title is given life right at the beginning by cabbalist recitation, and its task is to act as a sort of 'guide' or protector of all those "who wander on earth", of "nomads" and "exiles". The film then turns to Paris with amazing, futuristic shots of the Eiffel Tower which then leads to the re-telling of the Book of Ruth, that is, the story of a family of immigrants trying to make a living in the industrial, ugly urban desert as which Paris is shown for the most part. When the father as well as the two sons of the family die in accidents or get killed for being foreigners, only one of the daughters-in-law, Ruth, stays with the mother, Naomi. Driven out of their home with their furniture seized, Naomi and Ruth leave the city on a barge going down the Seine. From this moment on, the film takes on the character of a road movie not entirely different from, say, some of the films by Wenders in its meditative character. The rest of the film further acts out the original story - but with the decisive change that it's all in some way 'directed' by the Golem character. Unknown to the protagonists, history/myth seems to repeat itself in a modern setting. In this respect the film might be comparable to Camus' "Orfeu Negro" or even Joyce's "Ulysses". But this strategy of transposition allows Gitai to reflect on the meaning of the original story/stories and its/their timelessness. I would highly recommend to read the Book of Ruth before watching the film (it's by far the shortest book of the Bible, just a few pages), as Gitai obviously assumes that it's known to the audience and thus never really introduces the characters and their background.

All this sounds like heady stuff, and most likely it is. But most of all it's a deeply thought-provoking film, with lots of questions remaining unanswered. For instance, what to make of the ending in which

SpoilerShow

it is now Schygulla who seems to be in command of a second, now male Golem? An act of female liberation, which was prefigured near the end also in Ruth's argument with Boaz? What exactly is the relationship between Naomi and Ruth? There's a scene in which we see the two of them together in a bathtub, to a recitation from the Song of Songs which might indicate a lesbian attraction. There's a lot going on in this film which isn't easy to interpret, but that's certainly one of its appeals.

Don't let such questions scare you away from the film. Gitai manages to make an absolutely gripping and intense film which even on a second viewing I found absolutely hypnotic and inventive. In spite of the gloomy subject, the film is very, very beautiful thanks to the outstanding cinematography by Henri Alekan who provides one breathtaking, very precisely constructed and painterly shot after another. Stunning.

If at all possible, avoid the Facets release of this. The film is available with English subs in the first of the two Gitai boxsets from Raro Video in Italy, both of which can currently be had dead cheap at amazon.it. Even though the transfer still leaves a lot to be desired (more like a laser disc than a DVD), at least the colours are spot on, and as they received the master directly from Gitai and even did a little bit of restoration, it's probably the best English-friendly version around.

[Tommaso]

Spotlights

Mindwalk (Capra, '90)

One of the great films about conversation--for me, ultimately, even greater than Malle's Andre. Whereas Andre allowed for irony and naturalistic rhythms, the style here is nothing if not unlikely and artificial (I still chuckle every time I hear Waterston say, "So what's wrong with Descartes?") but now, after many viewings, that seems a totally appropriate choice. It is didactic and unconcerned with justifying itself. The seriousness of the conversation and the inherent value of it is justification enough. But there are subtleties to the performances that encourage more nuanced readings (the Ullmann character, for instance, often acts half crazed with angst or neurosis; the Heard character is withdrawn and remote as though nursing hidden disappointments).

The Mont St. Michel setting is crucial to the overall effect--it isn't simply background and is, in fact, one of the most indelible of all film locations, perfect for evoking the multiple dimensions of implied meaning at issue in this extended dialogue. Its emphasized isolation both allows for the necessary space to reflect and contemplate but also remarks on the inevitable boundaries of such thinking, of all thinking. The notion of "sacred space" also seems critical to me as it complements aptly the whole idea of a "turning point", especially one reached and realized intellectually. As with all great discussions, I am always somewhat melancholy when this one ends.

Thanks for alerting me to this film I never heard of before. What you didn't tell is that this is basically an extended rumination on the director's brother Frithjof Capra's book "The Turning Point", a classic of the late 80s/early 90s attempt at fusing the science of physics with so-called 'new age' thinking, so much so that in spite of the excellent actors and the wonderful Mont St. Michel settings - which work exactly the way you describe - this is basically not much more than an extended lecture in visual form which I think might work even better as an audio book, because this way one could concentrate even more on the important messages the two Capras have to deliver. I actually put on headphones because the sound of the old VHS copy I watched wasn't really good, at least for me as a non-native speaker, and I really wanted to understand every word of the dialogue.

Don't get me wrong, in fact, I'm very much in favour of FC's thinking, but the film is basically an exercise of preaching to the converted (even though it puts across its messages so convincingly that I wonder how anyone could think otherwise; but in actual fact, about 95% - rough estimate of mine - of the world's population seem to disagree; why they don't agree is beyond me, but we have to face it). And in this respect I can very much understand if one commentator on imdb says "This is not a film". No, it isn't, indeed. No character development (or even 'real characters', as the three protagonists are only chiffres for states of mind or approaches to the questions raised by FC), no dramatic tension apart from the very end where the Ullmann character is questioned about how 'humanity' figures into her theses. The film, all in all, much more reminds me of one those fascinating science documentaries one can occasionally see on BBC or other channels, and I basically mean this as a compliment.

Did I like it? Yes, enormously. But that's only because I was convinced that FC had a point before I watched this film. Perhaps it's a good starting point for anyone who has never come across Capra before; I guess that was the intention of the film, anyway. So just read "The Turning Point", or even better, "Belonging to the Universe", the book of conversations that Capra held in 1991 with Benedictine monk David Steindl-Rast. Afterwards, you may easily forget this film.

[ohtani's jacket]

Moving (Shinji Somai) -- I was kind of torn on this. What would have been a solid coming of age film in the minimalist Somai style was marred slightly by surreal fantasy elements. That type of thing doesn't bother me if it serves a narrative purpose, but the girl's relationship with her parents was interesting enough that it wasn't really necessary to show her escapism on screen. It wasn't your typical on screen relationship between parents and child, certainly wasn't typical of ordinary Japanese families, and with Somai's distinct style could have carried the film without the whimsical moments; but I know from personal experience that when you make these smaller films about relationships you often have to justify them as a film and that means including cinematic elements. The little girl was excellent, but Typhoon Club remains my favourite Somai.

The Power of Kangwon Province (Hong Sang-soo) -- This was disappointing. Hong Sang-soo's debut film, The Day a Pig Fell Into the Well, is one of the decade's best, but whereas that was a brilliantly conceived film with intertwining narratives, this feels like a hollow attempt at the same narrative play with a weaker story idea and an annoying lead character. Annoying characters work if you end up feeling for them ala Rohmer's Green Ray, but that wasn't the case with Kangwon Province. Bit of a sophomore effect here, like bands who work years to record their first album then pump out the follow-up in a matter of weeks.

Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills (Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky) -- When I first watched this, I'd never heard of the West Memphis Three or anything regarding this case. At first I wondered if the filmmakers were taking the mickey out of these people as I couldn't believe these sort of Southern stereotypes were legit. Later, as the filmmaker's position became obvious, I wondered if they hadn't manipulated the presentation of West Memphis and the people who live there, but nevertheless it was an interesting documentary. I'm naturally a bit wary of documentaries that take murders like this and turn them into Discovery Channel-like crime stories w/ the audience acting as amateur detectives, but I'm aware that this turned into a huge cause and was a positive force for justice.

Cyrano de Bergerac (Jean-Paul Rappeneau) -- As with most costume dramas, this was a well made film with an hard working art department. I'm not familiar enough with the Cyrano story to know whether it was a particularly good adaption, but it looked polished. Gerard Depardieu gave his usual tour de force performance, though there was a hint of "great actor" Gerard Depardieu playing the famous literary role. Depardieu is an excellent actor, but you're always aware that it's Depardieu playing the role, if you can my drift.

Made in Hong Kong Fruit Chan -- Chan's low budget debut feature. Kind of an art house triad film. It was made around the time of the handover, so as with Hou's films there were a lot of allegories to national identity that I probably couldn't catch. Instead, I viewed it as an exercise in style and it seemed like a slightly poor attempt at a Hong Kong Goddard film.

The Longest Summer Fruit Chan -- Chan's second film was set directly before and after the handover making it easier to understand the politics. It's about a group of ex-British Army soldiers who are now out of a job and struggling to assimilate into the new Hong Kong. Again, it's a play on Hong Kong triad films. It would probably help if I'd seen more of them, but an interesting visual record of the handover if nothing else.

Menace II Society (The Hughes Brothers (Albert and Allen Hughes)) -- Some people claim this is better than Boyz n the Hood. I wouldn't go that far, but it's a pretty good slice of ghetto drama. Maybe a bit stereotypical, especially after this culture came to light so much in the late 80s and early 90s with the rise of gangster rap, but its heart is in the right place. Some of the stuff they filmed on set looked a bit like Sesame Street with a blue filter light, but that was my only real criticism.

Good Will Hunting (Gus Van Sant) -- The last time I participated in a 90s poll I knocked off a bunch of well-known titles I'd never seen because I wasn't paying much attention to movies in the 90s and by the time I got into them heavily I had my head rooted in the past. For some reason I didn't get around to this one, but I was reminded of it with Robin Williams' death. He's very good in it. The best thing about it really. I know some people find him a bit over-the-top, but for a comedian he showed tremendous range. The rest of the acting is fairly average (don't get me started on Minnie Driver's crying), and the film is awfully sentimental, but hey if it were a black and white 30s film I'd probably get choked up. The biggest surprise for me was it looked and felt nothing like a Gus Van Sant film. It was like the kids were in charge and Van Sant was a director for hire. Perhaps that was the case.

Comrades: Almost a Love Story (Peter Chan) -- This would have been a forgettable love story if not for Maggie Cheung. Her ability to morph herself into a role is impressive. She was fantastic in this and though the narrative was patchy her charisma carried the flick and made it a much loved film in HK circa 1996. As with other films of its era, there was some discourse on HK national identity, but again whoosh... Well, it didn't exactly fly over my head, but I'd be lying if I said I was interested in it as anything more than a love story.

[Michael Kerpan]

I can't agree with your assessments of either Moving or Kangwon Province.

As to moving, the "surrealist elements" were one of the things that make the film special. And they are not really "surrealist" -- but just feel that way. Part of this segment involves things that are possible (given the nature of the young heroine) -- namely going off on her own, traveling through the bamboo forest, sleeping on the beach after the festival goers have departed. The others are more in the nature of a "healing dream". But whatever, the almost entirely wordless third (or more) of the film is truly something special.

Typhoon Club is certainly an interesting film (and very much worth seeing), but ITS ending IS surrealist -- in an incredibly stupid fashion (making it the worst part of the film). And TC has little of the sensitivity or visual beauty of Somai's laterr Moving.

As to Hong's Kangwon Province, it is funnier and more intriguingly structured than the good but rough (and rather surprisingly dour, given all Hong's later works) Pig.