1980s List Discussion and Suggestions (Lists Project Vol. 3)

[colinr0380]

Buster (David Green, 1988)
Phil Collins stars as Buster Edwards, one of the Great Train Robbers of the 1960s. It's a problematic film, falling into the gap between gritty and goofy. The post-robbery section of the film is spent on the idea that the authorities are over-punishing this lovable band of go-getting criminals due to their tabloid fame and to distract from the Profumo scandal going on at the same time (which conveniently glosses over the violence done to the guards of the train during the robbery), and as the film goes along events get broader with the introduction of busybody nosy neighbours calling the police on Buster and his wife June.

The bulk of the second half of the film is taken up with a culture-shock section of Buster and June travelling to Acapulco to live a carefree life away from the authorities and then finding that they can't stand the customs, the food, the weather (both getting sunburnt), the lack of free healthcare, the way that nobody speaks English (apart from the maids and waiters), and basically just acting like the worst stereotypes of the English abroad, trampling across a beautiful beach whilst screaming at their kids to not run off and get lost. I get the impression that we are meant to fully support this attitude mostly due to the way Buster and June are shown to be deeply in love, compared to the more worldly English couple who are loving their ex-pat lifestyle, but have the male partner ogling the topless ladies by the pool, showing less commitment to his trophy wife than Buster does to June. However it is all played so broadly it becomes unintentionally comic at times, such as in the shot where we pan from a beautiful tropical beach at night, then across an outdoor pool, just to end up on June sitting on a chair brusquely knitting a cardigan waiting for Buster to come home drunk!

Eventually June gets tired of Mexico and (after a few blazing public arguments) drags her daughter back home to wonderful, drizzly London, forcing Buster to make a choice between living materialistically happy and a free man or going back to London to love and a jail sentence. Of course love conquers all! And once the police catch up to him we get a shot of Phil Collins in the back of the police car doing a vague approximation of the brilliant Bob Hoskins scene from the end of The Long Good Friday.

I can't really recommend this at all. It is too flawed and glossy in all sorts of ways and doesn't portray any of its supporting female characters very well. June is a difficult character, willing to send Buster to jail by taking their daughter back to London because she doesn't like living abroad, although the Acapulco scenes do heavily weight the drama to suggest that it was best all round (because both Buster and June are blundering around, annoying everyone with their faux pas and casual racism) and the final scenes suggest that going to jail and paying for his crimes was a necessary cleansing experience for Buster that he wouldn't have had if he hadn't been motivated to leave Acapulco to return to his wife and daughter. We get a 1988 coda suggesting that Buster has become a flower stall enterpreneur, earning money legitimately. Though the happy families, reformed and legitimate businessman ending of the film is somewhat undercut by the way that the real Buster Edwards apparently committed suicide in 1994.

If the film is remembered for anything, it is probably for the soundtrack with the Lamont Dozier/Phil Collins hit single "Two Hearts (One Mind)". Though even here the film gets a bit silly - the melancholy instrumental version of "Goin' Loco Down In Acapulco" as June makes her decision to leave or the dramatic arrangement of "Groovy Kind of Love" as Buster is going off to jail just seem bizarrely hilarious rather than touchingly appropriate!

[PillowRock]

In one of Ferris' early monologs to the camera he makes it very explicit that the threat is not a matter of skipping a single day. Rather, the issue is that he has already piled up his limit of absences and therefore won't get credit for current classes (and, as a second semester senior, therefore won't graduate on time) if this day doesn't go down as being "medically excused". That's the same basic idea as what domino was talking about.

At my school (I was in HS in the late 70s), the policy was that 10 absences in a semester (not counting days with a doctor's note; parents swearing that you were sick but weren't taken to a doctor did not work as an "excuse"; in that respect the policy portrayed in FBDO was definitely more lenient than my real life experience) was the point at which you did not get credit for a class. We had nothing along the lines of the make-it-up-on-Saturdays thing that domino mentioned.

The flip side was that an occasional skipped day within the limits was no big deal at all, even when it was obvious. I remember a time when 4 of us who were all in the same math class (and who that teacher knew were friends) all missed the same day, and all came in the next day with new sunburns. Our math teacher made a joke about it (to make sure that we knew that he knew), but that was it.

About the social aspects of American high schools portrayed in American movies:
Like many things in movies, the basic concept is there in real life but the movies exaggerate it.

[domino harvey]

Blind Fury (Phillip Noyce 1989) Quasi-remake of the Zatoichi films with Rutger Hauer as a Vietnam vet who spent twenty years in the jungle learning how to fend for himself after being blinded in combat. This film recognizes the absurdity of its premise and wisely chooses to not play it straight and indeed embraces the comic tones of many of the action sequences. It's not a Mr Magoo approach, it's a ludicrous "Blind guy somehow fights men with guns and wins" approach-- and yet it works! I could have done without the shitty little kid Hauer has to drag around, but I liked many of the colorful foes Hauer faces up against, and it reminded me a little of Justified in how all the one-line villains are given little character tics and personalities beyond the needs of the plot. There are lots of fun fight scenes and one of the final battles strikes me as yet another a potential influence on Kill Bill (And this film is definitely the kind of flashy, well-made trash that Tarantino loves and continues to make), and by the time it was all over and the last villain is eliminated via a delayed-reaction special effect, I had to admit I enjoyed this far more than I expected going in.

Krull (Peter Yates 1983) A strong entry into the 80s Fantasy Competition, this mild adventure tale is scrappily executed and despite apparently being an expensive movie to produce it looks cheap, but that only adds to its weird charms. The pair of bland beyond belief separated lovers are helpfully accompanied by more interesting supporting performers-- including Robbie Coltrane, Liam Neeson, and David Battley as the film's shapeshifting comic relief figure-- as they seek out a moving rock spaceship where The Beast resides (?). None of what happens makes any more or less sense than all the other entries in this genre this decade, but I couldn't deny the film's low-rent charms and I also couldn't help but think what a shame it was that I didn't see it when I was younger, as I would definitely have received this film best of all if I were eight years old.

[DarkImbecile]

Despite my decades-long admiration for Silence of the Lambs, I used this list project as a justification to finally catch up with Manhunter for the first time last night on a very handsome Blu-ray. It'll definitely be making my list for both its unmistakeable Mann-ness (gorgeous shots of sunsets over oceans, men creeping through reeds at night, glowing skylines from the air) and its superbly evocative 80s-ness (the synth-drenched score, the atrocious suits Peterson wears throughout, the never-ending perms).

I was surprised, however, by how little I noticed Brian Cox's Hannibal Lecter, given how often one hears the trendy argument that his version of the character was as good or better than Hopkins' take (at least in Silence , not the ever more over-the-top sequels and prequels). I get the criticism that Hopkins chews scenery like his character chews flesh, but he at least makes the menace of the character appropriately vivid and indelible, even taking into account how much less material Cox has to work with in this story.

[flyonthewall2983]

I was surprised, however, by how little I noticed Brian Cox's Hannibal Lecter, given how often one hears the trendy argument that his version of the character was as good or better than Hopkins' take (at least in Silence , not the ever more over-the-top sequels and prequels). I get the criticism that Hopkins chews scenery like his character chews flesh, but he at least makes the menace of the character appropriately vivid and indelible, even taking into account how much less material Cox has to work with in this story.

Cox plays it closer to a cynical lifer/evil genius than a caged animal who also happens to be smarter than everyone else around him. But honestly the current incarnation of the character on TV is far more terrifying because on top of that vivid and indelible menace, he has a physicality which backs it up.

[domino harvey]

Maux croisés / Danger Lies in the Words (Claude Chabrol 1989) Chabrol's fourth (and by far best) pass at Inspector Lavardin. Here Lavardin is less menacing than in the Black Snail, less bumbling than in Inspecteur Lavardin, more colorful than in Cop au vin-- in short, he's finally realized beyond the entertaining tics of Jean Poiret. It's a shame this would prove to be the last time Chabrol worked with the character, because this is some delightfully bougie-centric fun, with lots of jokes made on the basis of cultural standards like classical music and ostentatious use of language-- several of the characters are participating in a French game show that is simultaneously both childish and impossibly obscure academically, coming across as a knowing parody of French intellegencia's global reputation (and hosted by Chabrol's ever present son no less!). Add to this Lavardin staying in a huge luxury spa retreat and running into all sort of mischief in the pursuit of guilt: sneaking into elevators, using aliases like "Al Capone Jr," and participating in the funniest of the "bro" comical relationships in the series yet, one shared with a hapless water-boy who looks awfully guilty of a murder-- and of course Lavardin just uses that to endlessly torment him since he knows he's innocent! While the three previous Chabrol-directed Lavardin films are entertaining enough trifles, this one is a lark of the highest order and a great reminder that no one twinkles on the piano keys quite like Chabrol. Highly recommended, especially since this isn't a strong decade for Chabrol.

[Feego]

And now for my Spotlight:

Return to Oz (1985, Walter Murch)
The 1980s is known as a decade of very dark fantasy movies for children, and Return to Oz is one of the most sophisticated examples. The directorial one-shot of Walter Murch, who was best known at the time for his sound design on THX 1138, The Conversation, The Godfather films, and Apocalypse Now, this movie more faithfully brings to life L. Frank Baum’s creations than the 1939 MGM musical, but it carries over a strong adult sensibility from those major 70s works. Murch effectively draws little nuggets from The Marvelous Land of Oz and Ozma of Oz, the two Baum books immediately following The Wizard of Oz, and fashions them into a somber rumination on loss and isolation.

The film opens six months after the tornado of the first story leveled the Gale family’s farm. Still struggling to pick up the pieces, Aunt Em (Piper Laurie) is equally concerned with Dorothy’s (Fairuza Balk) persistent nonsense about talking scarecrows and ruby slippers. Her solution is to wipe these pesky fantasies from the child’s mind through experimental electro-shock therapy. What follows might have been lifted straight from a child’s nightmare, as Dorothy is left overnight at a remote clinic, carted to a creepy operating room while the screams of unseen (presumably grown, male) patients reverberate throughout, and chased through a rain storm by a devious nurse before escaping down a flooded river on a makeshift raft.

She wakes up the next morning to find that the river has transported her back to the wonderful land of Oz. But her joy is short-lived when she discovers Oz’s current condition. What was once a thriving paradise is now a vast wasteland, and most of its inhabitants (including old friends the tin man and cowardly lion) are turned to stone. Oz is now under the rule of the evil Nome King (Nicol Williamson), a shape-shifting rock spirit who lives in a rather hellish underground cavern concocted by "claymation" master Will Vinton. Aiding the Nome King in his widespread destruction is Princess Mombi (Jean Marsh), a sorceress with a collection of 30 severed heads (to which she plans to add Dorothy’s) that she can switch out with her own as she pleases.

The movie took a critical thrashing back in 1985 because critics couldn't imagine why anyone would dream up such a dark vision of their beloved Oz. The popular fan defense over the years has been that it was all true to Baum's writing. That's not entirely accurate though. While many of the horrors in this movie are taken straight from the books, including the collection of living decapitated heads, Baum treated this material with a light and almost satirical touch that made it more palatable for his young readers. The downright depressive tone of this film is purely Murch's contribution, all the more shocking because it was funded by Disney. But it is essential in underscoring the horror Dorothy faces in having her liberating imagination taken away by her restrictive Kansas community. Her trip through Oz this time is a more dangerous journey, one in which Dorothy is not simply looking for a way home but attempting to attain agency while others try to suppress it.

Dorothy is presented as a constantly secluded figure. From her first moment onscreen, staring blankly at the night sky through her bedroom window, she seems totally disconnected from her surroundings. Over the course of the movie, she is repeatedly locked away. Even the new group of misfit and patchwork friends she makes this time around does little to dispel the notion that she is basically on her own, as for much of the film’s length, Fairuza Balk is the only human actor onscreen. Her quest is driven largely by a need to find a sense of belonging and stability, not unlike Judy Garland’s desire to find her place “over the rainbow” in the 1939 film. But home is not so patly realized in Murch’s vision. With Dorothy’s Kansas life and her dream world both in disarray, she is forced to assume an adult role in restoring order since the real adults around her are either untrustworthy or ineffectual (it’s appropriate that one of her new friends, Jack Pumpkinhead, calls her Mom). The casting for Dorothy is key, and nine-year-old Fairuza Balk perfectly exudes the innocence as well as the adult earnestness of her character. There’s an innate sadness in Balk’s voice and demeanor, and it’s not surprising that she made a career playing disaffected youths.

One of the truly unnerving things about Return to Oz is the way in which Murch subverts our expectations of an Oz sequel. Unlike its MGM predecessor, this is never a “pretty” movie to look at. This Oz is as visually drab as the earlier version was visually brilliant, totally bereft of color, dancing, and cheer. In place of Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg’s chirpy song-score are David Shire’s melancholy strings. And apparently recalling his work on The Conversation, in which he distorted the titular exchange to sound both mechanical and otherworldly, Murch has his sound designers apply a strange echo effect to most of the film’s dialogue, enhancing the sense of loneliness by making the characters sound distant and engulfed by empty space. But perhaps nothing dashes our collective memories of Oz like the moment Nicol Williamson’s Nome King hikes up his robe to reveal that he is wearing the ruby slippers. To see the iconic shoes fitted snuggly on the feet of this gruff, bearded figure made entirely of rock is to witness a delirious perversion of one of American cinema’s treasured images.

Like most children’s fantasies, this one ends in triumph for our heroes. While it’s comforting to know that order is restored in both the real world and Dorothy’s dream world, the line between the two is never clearly drawn. There’s an uneasy ambiguity as to whether Oz is a real place or a product of Dorothy’s imagination. In Baum’s books, Oz is very definitely real. In the 1939 film, it was all a dream. But Murch’s vision occupies murkier ground, one where Oz/Kansas doppelgangers may suggest either Dorothy reconstructing her reality through her dream or the powers of Oz seeping into the ordinary world. Viewers are free to make of it what they will, but I like to think that Oz exists only in the dream, and that Dorothy’s real victory is being allowed to keep her fantasies.

Wow, sorry for the long-winded post.

[YnEoS]

I saw the beginning of Return to Oz on TV when I was really young and was absolutely traumatized by it. My Grandma decided to turn it off part way through and I think that only magnified it's effects on me. I saw Dorothy threatened with electroshock therapy and Oz in ruins without getting to see how everything got put right in the end.

Now of course its one of my favorite kids' films.

[Feego]

I was very young when I first saw it, maybe 3 or 4 years old, so I really don't remember how I responded at all. The scary scenes probably just went over my head, because the strongest memory I have of my first viewing is of the very end:

Spoiler

when Ozma steps through the mirror.

I didn't see it again until I was about 11 on the Disney Channel (where some of the scarier parts were cut), and the darkness really appealed to me. I felt like I was watching a "grown up" movie. Looking at it today, it often does feel like an extremely inappropriate film for children, but at the same time I think it is perfect for kids of a certain age, maybe 9-12. It's a film that takes children seriously and recognizes their need for fantasy.

[Michael Kerpan]

Has Return to Oz ever made it to Blu-Ray -- anywhere?

[Feego]

Not that I'm aware of. Disney doesn't seem all too fond of this movie, so we're lucky to have it on DVD at all. The release of Oz: The Great and Powerful was as good a time as any for a Blu-ray to appear, but that didn't happen. And considering how difficult the experience was for Murch (he was fired at one point and only re-hired after George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola appealed on his behalf), I doubt we'll ever see him involved in a commentary track.

[the preacher]

Maux croisés / Danger Lies in the Words (Claude Chabrol 1989) Chabrol's fourth (and by far best) pass at Inspector Lavardin. Here Lavardin is less menacing than in the Black Snail, less bumbling than in Inspecteur Lavardin, more colorful than in Cop au vin-- in short, he's finally realized beyond the entertaining tics of Jean Poiret. It's a shame this would prove to be the last time Chabrol worked with the character, because this is some delightfully bougie-centric fun, with lots of jokes made on the basis of cultural standards like classical music and ostentatious use of language-- several of the characters are participating in a French game show that is simultaneously both childish and impossibly obscure academically, coming across as a knowing parody of French intellegencia's global reputation (and hosted by Chabrol's ever present son no less!). Add to this Lavardin staying in a huge luxury spa retreat and running into all sort of mischief in the pursuit of guilt: sneaking into elevators, using aliases like "Al Capone Jr," and participating in the funniest of the "bro" comical relationships in the series yet, one shared with a hapless water-boy who looks awfully guilty of a murder-- and of course Lavardin just uses that to endlessly torment him since he knows he's innocent! While the three previous Chabrol-directed Lavardin films are entertaining enough trifles, this one is a lark of the highest order and a great reminder that no one twinkles on the piano keys quite like Chabrol. Highly recommended, especially since this isn't a strong decade for Chabrol.

I haven't seen those TVM. I remember especially Cop au Vin because of a young Lucas Belvaux, who later became one of the most interesting directors of thrillers in european cinema.

[swo17]

A reminder to those of you that are used to waiting until the last month of the project to start taking it seriously because you are counting on the deadline being pushed back a couple of months: The deadline is 3 months from now. There will be no extensions. That is all.

[ohtani's jacket]

À nos amours (Maurice Pialat) -- I like Pialat's early work, particularly The Mouth Agape, but this didn't seem as strong. Mentally, I kept comparing it with Rohmer's The Green Ray, which starts out with an incredibly annoying character who becomes extremely sympathetic by the end. Here there wasn't much to like about the characters other than some nice exchanges between the father and daughter, and it just didn't seem as though Pialat had much to say. I also found the mother's performance slightly annoying and didn't particularly like the family fight scenes, but I suspect that was because the mother's motivation was never fully explained. I did enjoy the rhythm of the film, however.

The Right Stuff (Philip Kaufman) -- as an epic, this was a tremendous film. I balked when I noticed the running time as I'm trying to watch as many films as I can before the deadline, but this was a beautifully crafted script. I wish I hadn't read the criticisms of the film as they soured my view on it somewhat. Not the factual errors (most of which was dramatic license), but rather the portrayal of the pilots, particularly in the film's bias towards Yaeger and the prevailing attitude that the astronauts were lesser pilots. Kaufman, and the source material l assume, were pretty damn liberal with their use of Gus Grissom for dramatic purposes, for example. I also thought some of the comedy fell flat, particularly the scenes with LBJ and the portrayal of the German scientists, plus a couple of other quibbles like the scene with the aborigines. But it was a great film that had my searching about mach speed and all sorts of other things I wouldn't usually have an interest in.

Elippathayam (Adoor Gopalakrishnan) -- Indian parallel cinema film in the Malayalam language. Gopalakrishnan is often regarded as the spiritual heir to Satyajit Ray, but I haven't seen enough of his films to have an opinion on that. This was a slow moving drama that depicted the crumbling of the feudal system, but it used a really obvious metaphor in the form of a mouse trap (or rather rat trap) and didn't really impress me much.

Boat People (Ann Hui) -- I had a really viseral response to this film: shock, disbelief, anger, disgust, desperation. I haven't had an experience like that in a long time. I've read that people have criticised the film as Chinese propaganda, but irrespective of the politics it's a harrowing film. I was pulling for the protagonists at the end and the last half hour was suspenseful in a way that The Missing and Yol failed to achieve with similar intentions. What other Ann Hui do I need to see?

Macho Dancer (Lino Brocka) -- one of two Lino Brocka films I'm considering for my list. This is similar to Brocka's best films in that it explores the lives of young men from the provinces who are forced to work in Manila's sex industry. It's actually quite graphic, and I can honestly say I learnt a lot about the gay call boy culture in Manila. Similar to Paris is Burning, it was a fascinating slice of sub-culture.

[Lemmy Caution]

Elippathayam (Adoor Gopalakrishnan) -- Indian parallel cinema film in the Malayalam language. Gopalakrishnan is often regarded as the spiritual heir to Satyajit Ray, but I haven't seen enough of his films to have an opinion on that. This was a slow moving drama that depicted the crumbling of the feudal system, but it used a really obvious metaphor in the form of a mouse trap (or rather rat trap) and didn't really impress me much.

I haven't seen his early films.
Just Man of the Story (1995), which is a solid film and very decidedly in the S Ray tradition. And Shadow Kill (2002) which I thought was pretty fantastic.
A meditation on duty, family and morals -- as the last hangman in the area becomes rather conflicted.

[bamwc2]

Viewing Log:

Ananas (Amos Gitai, 1984): My second Gitai film for the project finds him moving out of Israel and eschewing Hebrew for an English language documentary on...Filipino pineapple farming. His investment in this playful documentary makes a bit more sense if you know of his leftist political leanings and the exploitation of the plantation workers. As Gitai says on his website, "One day, when I opened my refrigerator, I looked closely at a can of pineapple. It had been "made in the Philippines," "packaged in Honolulu," "distributed in San Francisco" and the label "printed in Japan". This was a concrete illustration of the multinational economy... Pineapple is a little like House: a microcosm that allows me to tell a story and deal with the issue of the Third Word." And tell the story he does, interviewing laborers who grow the fruit, the factory employees who process it and those that organize and ship it off for blithely unaware first world consumers. The director experiments a great deal in this work, often looping in audio of what I assume is a traditional Filipino song so that it sounds like a whispered chant under the main dialogue. I honestly found this a bit unnerving, as I waited for Jason Vorhees to show up and start slaughtering some teenagers. My only real complaint though isn't with the film itself, but rather with the VHS rip that I watched, which unfortunately did not come with subtitles. While all of the dialogue is in English, most of it is spoken through such thick accents that it is nearly impossible to understand without the sadly absent subtitles.

Big Joys, Small Sorrows (Keisuke Kinoshita, 1986): Kinoshita's penultimate film continues his lackluster late run with this paper thin and utterly forgettable family dramedy. Apparently a remake of one of his earlier films which I'm unacquainted with, the film follows the exploits of a family minding a lighthouse on an isolated island over the course of a decade. There are many promising developments that could have been handled by abler hands (Ozu seems like the best suggestion, but I'm certain that even a younger Kinoshita would have done better), none of it ever amounts to much. I watched it only about ten days ago and have already forgotten most of it. While that may say something about me, it's also not a good sign for a movie's impact. The film's grandfather and his visit to the island are really the only parts of the movie that worked for me. I say give it a big pass.

Famous T & A (Ken Dixon, 1982): Schlockmeister Ken Dixon's pre-internet precursor to Mr. Skin stars scream queen Sybil Danning as the "host" (I use the term lightly) of an assemblage of nude scenes from various70s flicks. The nude Ms. Danning begins her duties by donning a bikini and then a gladiator's costume (!) for reasons that are never given the light of day. This is a very silly documentary that never even attempts to justify its existence beyond its overt lasciviousness, but I wasn't exactly expecting Shakespeare. Viewer be warned though. To paraphrase Nelson Muntz, I can think of at least one thing wrong with that title. While it certainly delivers on the T & A pledge, the "famous" part of the title is a mostly unfulfilled promise with Bridgette Bardot the only bonafide superstar in the lot. There are also a few names that you probably know and a lot more that you probably don't. God knows what possessed me to watch this garbage. It's a moral (since I'm assuming that most of the actress would likely have a problem with their nude scenes being stripped of context and shown for the inducement of a priapism) and artistic blight. And yet I watched it...

The Gong Show Movie (Chuck Barris, 1980): A week ago I didn't know that this existed. When I heard about it, I was mildly interested. I've never seen an episode of the show, read Chuck Barris's autobiography, or even seen George Clooney's allegedly hilarious adaptation of it, but it sounded like goofy fun. However, I was sold after reading that it was co-written by none other than Robert Downey Sr. The plot revolves around how awful Barris's life is. He has a live in girlfriend that he doesn't get along with, he can't spend five minutes out of his house without someone auditioning for him on the street, and he's under constant pressure from the network to both boost the ratings and clean up the filth (a task made all the more difficult by the show's resident exhibitionist Jaye P. Morgan). And that's pretty much the entire movie aside from the "too hot for TV" performance compilations. There's very little going on in the film, but it does make for a bizarre ride. I can't exactly recommend it, but it was never boring!

Nadine (Robert Benton, 1987): Well, I'm sadly now 0/2 with Domino's recommendations for the project. I saw this one when it first came out on VHS and didn't care for it much then. Time hasn't changed my opinion. The film stars Kim Basinger in the titular role and as the best thing the film has going for it as she effortlessly disappears into the role of a ditsy, but capable Texas beautician who manages to outsmart a local corrupt business man Buford Pope (played by Rip Torn) and his ever-present pair of heavies with her estranged husband Vernon (Jeff Bridges). The film jumps right in to the intrigue when Nadine visits local porn purveyor Escobar (Jerry Stiller) to recover some "art studies" that she posed for after promises of fame and fortune in Playboy (a stepping stone that Basinger took in real life). While waiting Escobar gets iced, sending Nadine on the run before the police arrive. Soon Pope gets wind of her involvement, setting off a series of darkly comic hinjinx in her quest to survive. However, this is where the film falters. The film tries to split its time between being a serious crime caper and a lighthearted comedy. The balance never works and instead collapses in on its own bi-polar ambitions.

A Taxing Woman (Jûzô Itami, 1987): Itami's wife and muse Nobuko Miyamoto disappears into her role as freckled and earnest tax collector Ryôko Itakura. Itakura is often mistaken for a pushover by those that she targets. She's small, quite, and a woman in a highly patriarchal society. However, through an initial series of busts, she proves herself to be one of the craftiest investigators in her department. This string of successes gets her assigned to investigate the affairs of Hideki Gondô (Tsutomu Yamazaki), a wealthy businessman whose flaunting of tax laws is as legendary as his ability to evade charges. What follows is a oftentimes hilarious look at Itakura's life that also features plenty of pathos and sympathy for its antagonist. While watching it Itakura often seemed as if she could have been the progenitor of Marge Gunderson in Fargo. Both are kind and soft spoken law enforcement agents whose genial exteriors hide not only capable interiors, but also extraordinary ones. This is a very good movie.

A Taxing Woman Returns (Jûzô Itami, 1988): And this completes my Itami in the 80s mini-project. Just a few months ago I hadn't seen anything by him, but this has been a phenomenal run that concludes with his return to Nobuko Miyamoto's Japanese tax investigator Ryôko Itakura. This time around her team is on the trail of a cult run by a charismatic couple who are embroiled in not only tax evasion, but also murder. As is often the case, the sequel loses some of the magic of the original, but there's still a lot to love here. Miyamoto once again does a great job, and Itami's direction is top notch.

[bamwc2]

Viewing Log:

The Blind Owl (Raoul Ruiz, 1987): The Blind Owl is another opaque and even semi-impenetrable entry from Ruiz's 80s output. This time the director works off of screenplay from Iranian novelist's Sadegh Hedayat book of the same name. The story follows an unnamed protagonist from the West who works as a cinema projectionist somewhere in the Middle East. One day he is entranced a movie featuring an Arab woman dancing in little more than a bikini top and bottom. We think that the film will focus on this fascination, but it then goes through half a dozen or so subplots in the Arab world before elliptically returning to the projectionist and the object of his lust. What does it all mean? Is it any good? Damned if I know, but it does make for a fascinating ride that is more concerned with creating a story that is evocative of early to mid-twentieth century Middle Eastern cultural than it is at crafting a coherent and traditional narrative.

Marrianne and Juliane (Margarethe von Trotta, 1981): Not knowing anything about von Trotta's film when it began I expected a family drama centered around custody rights as it opens with a father asking the sister of the woman he had a baby with to watch him for a year while he works on an article in Asia. However, in short order we learn that the father has committed suicide, while the boy will not even be mentioned again until the film's penultimate scene. Instead, the film focuses on the life of that woman (Juliane played by Jutta Lampe) and her sister Marrianne (Barbara Sukowa). The film freely mixes flashbacks of the girls formative years during WWII with their contemporary situation. After a few establishing scenes in which we learn that Juliane is a crusading journalist and Marrianne a passionate, but aimless left wing protester we find that she has been arrested for taking part in the leftist terror bombings that gripped West Germany during that era. The film then spends most of its run time tracking the plight of he sisters as the obstinate Marrianne refuses to cooperate with the prison system while the crusading Juliane dedicates her time to trying to save her sister. Just as you think that you can predict where the film heads next, it takes a rather unexpected turn, though not one that should be totally shocking for those familiar with the fates of the left wing radicals imprisoned in the BDR at the time. Great performances by the two leads coupled with a good screenplay and outstanding direction make this one a real treat.

Masques (Claude Chabrol, 1987): Philippe Noiret stars as the disingenuous and lethal Christian Legagneur, who while not plotting diabolical murders, hosts a ridiculous game show featuring married senior citizens vying for prizes. His foil in this movie is Roland Wolf (Robin Renucci), a journalist visiting Legagneur's estate for the weekend who accidentally stumbles upon a plot involving him and Legagneur's young lover Catherine (Anne Brochet). Chabrol has always been hit or miss with me, and after a slow opening, I thought that I would chalk this up as another disconnection between his intent and my enjoyment. However, as the cat and mouse games between the two leads picked up, I found myself more and more invested in their deadly battle of wits. It's far from perfect, but I'll give it a solid recommendation.

Rosa Luxemburg (Margarethe von Trotta, 1986): von Trotta and Sukowa are both back for another examination of a leftist radical (of the three films that I've seen by the director all of them had this theme in common). This time we travel back prior to WWI to examine the early twentieth century labor agitator Rosa Luxemburg. Rather than give us a sweeping examination of her entire life as many biopics are apt to do (usually to their detriment), von Trotta's film focuses on a tight span of the activist's life, a twenty year or so period where her most famous accomplishments occur (fighting for labor reforms, founding the Social Democrats, her imprisonment for pacifism, etc.). The film hits all of the right notes leading up to its ending, which as anyone familiar with history can tell you, is not very happy. Such is the case with uncaring and brutal right wing autocracies. Being a leftist/anarchist in such a regime doesn't lend itself well to the pursuit of a superannuation.

The Rose King (Werner Schroeter, 1986): Schroeter's dreamlike and often surreal approach belies the fact that this is one of the most visually beautiful films that I have ever seen. Nearly any cell from this could be taken, blown up and hung in an art gallery. The narrative connecting the material, however, is intentionally difficult, making little sense and moving at a snail's pace. While some may be quick to label the film pretentious (as one of the imdb reviews already does), the director's aims of making a dark and difficult entry into the canon of "queer" cinema is not unreasonable in the least. I can't even begin to describe what goes on here other than to say that it's about a woman, her son, and the son's friend who seduces the young man. That hardly adequate description doesn't even begin to cover the mystery that lies under every gorgeous image here.

Trois places pour le 26 (Jacques Demy, 1988): Demy's career ends with another romantic musical, though this time heavily influenced by both the standards of post-war France and the new wave beats of the 80s. The three seats of the film's title refer to the film's three leads, a trio of star crossed individuals who finally find out the secrets that one has been keeping from them on the same day that another get's her big break. Yves Montand stars a caricature of himself, playing a famous song and dance man who returns to the south of France after being gone for a little over twenty years to put on a biographical stage show. Mathilda May (who is light years from her role in my earlier review of Lifeforce) plays young Marion, a perky 21 year old with a deep obsession for all things Yves Montand and a desire to be a musical star just like him. Françoise Fabian rounds out the leads as Mylene de Lambert, Marion's mother who strongly discourages both her love of Montand and her career ambitions for reasons that remain mysterious until the end when we discover that...

Spoiler

Yves Montand is really Marion's father. Mylene had an affair with him, but broke it off before learning that she was pregnant. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the two learn of their connection after they spend the night together.

Despite some of the heady themes that Demy introduces in the film's final act, it's still a pretty cheery and thoroughly enjoyable experience. It just makes me wonder what else the man would have made if his career hadn't ended so prematurely.

[The Narrator Returns]

Radio Days (Woody Allen 1987): This has been a cliche longer than Woody Allen has been alive, but I did not want this movie to end. The only problem I had with this movie is that I could have watched 3 hours of these stories, as opposed to 80 minutes. This will rank very highly on my list, and I hope it will on yours too.

Rattle and Hum (Phil Joanou 1988): This, however, will not be making an appearance on my list. I'm a big fan of U2 (80s and 90s versions, at least), and I couldn't help but frequently get sick of U2 watching this. It's interesting in how it doesn't even bother contextualizing where U2 was at this point, making it somewhere closer to a DVD you get when you join the U2 fan club as opposed to an actual theatrically-released movie (literally the only bit of context in the movie is delivered by someone who can't finish it because he's laughing too hard). But "interesting" doesn't cut it, and the first half is downright deadly for anyone not converted to the U2 cult (and quite a few converts too). Things get better in the color portions, which wisely drop any pretenses of being something other than a concert movie, with a performance of "With or Without You" that's so good you can forgive sitting through Bono at his most self-important and obnoxious to get to it.

[domino harvey]

Radio Days (Woody Allen 1987): This has been a cliche longer than Woody Allen has been alive, but I did not want this movie to end. The only problem I had with this movie is that I could have watched 3 hours of these stories, as opposed to 80 minutes. This will rank very highly on my list, and I hope it will on yours too.

It probably will be on mine, and I just got the shipping notice from TCM for the Blu-ray, so I'll be revisiting it soon. The joyous Carmen Miranda sing-along is up there on my all time greatest moments in film list

[Red Screamer]

Radio Days (Woody Allen 1987): This has been a cliche longer than Woody Allen has been alive, but I did not want this movie to end. The only problem I had with this movie is that I could have watched 3 hours of these stories, as opposed to 80 minutes. This will rank very highly on my list, and I hope it will on yours too.

Ditto. Of all the great films Allen had in the 80s Radio Days feels to be one of the most personal. He is perfectly in his element here: the old-fashioned stories and jokes told with a (relatively) modern sensibility, a tangible sense of time, place, and a community of characters, as well as the perfectly executed he-must-have-learned-that-playing-jazz timing in the short stories. I love this film

[flyonthewall2983]

Rattle and Hum (Phil Joanou 1988): This, however, will not be making an appearance on my list. I'm a big fan of U2 (80s and 90s versions, at least), and I couldn't help but frequently get sick of U2 watching this. It's interesting in how it doesn't even bother contextualizing where U2 was at this point, making it somewhere closer to a DVD you get when you join the U2 fan club as opposed to an actual theatrically-released movie (literally the only bit of context in the movie is delivered by someone who can't finish it because he's laughing too hard). But "interesting" doesn't cut it, and the first half is downright deadly for anyone not converted to the U2 cult (and quite a few converts too). Things get better in the color portions, which wisely drop any pretenses of being something other than a concert movie, with a performance of "With or Without You" that's so good you can forgive sitting through Bono at his most self-important and obnoxious to get to it.

The From The Sky Down documentary (which you may have seen but I recommend to U2 fans) covers what a disaster it was, and how it contributed to the unrest that culminated in the Achtung Baby sessions. You're right about the fan club DVD comment, but the big criticism of it was that it played in America like they were trying to reintroduce us to our music (playing with B.B. King, recording at Sun Studios, etc.) which certainly added to the pretentious nature of the film. I love the stadium stuff from a visual point of view but the B&W footage of them live and especially them rehearsing "Van Diemen's Land" and "Desire" are highlights for me.

[ohtani's jacket]

Veronika Voss (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) -- this was a good film. At first I was a bit wary of such a blatant homage to Sunset Blvd, since a remake of sorts didn't seem necessary, and I don't think Fassbinder's back and white films were his best aesthetic (a bit like how it wasn't necessary for Woody Allen to shoot in black and white other than to imitate Bergman and Fellini), but the film pretty quickly won me over. Fassbinder was so hit and miss that his filmography can't help but be hit and miss, but I think this is one of his better works.

Come and See (Elem Klimov) -- I had mixed feelings about this. It was a film I'd always known of, but never knew anything about, and I was a bit surprised at first by the roaming camera and the surreal or psychological elements. Then I started to wonder if it's really appropriate to make an "art film" about war. It's strange when you're watching something that's horrific and a pretty image at the same time. It almost dulls the senses.

The Fly (David Cronenberg) --this was okay, but kind of a poor substitution for the 50s sci-fi that inspired it. I dunno if it was just me, but Gena Davis' acting seemed terrible in this. Goldblum's acting was all right, but Sigel raved about the acting and the time and thought Goldblum should have been nominated for an Oscar, which seems a stretch. Again, this wasn't a bad film, but it almost felt like an updated version for the sake of new make-up and special effects, like an 80s version of a updating a film with cgi.

A Chinese Ghost Story (Ching Siu-tung) -- fast paced and shot and cut like a music video, this is exactly what it promises to be if you're familiar with HK film making from this era. It's a perfectly acceptable film, but there's not really much to it behind the stylistic aspects. An enjoyable 90 minutes, especially if you're in the mood for something light.

Landscapes in the Mist (Theo Angelopoulos) -- this wasn't as visually arresting as the Angelopoulos films I'm used to and the story was slight. It basically follows the journey of two children trying to travel to Germany to find their father, but the motivation for the children trying to find their father isn't even to carry the drama and Angelopoulos inserts a number of uninteresting episodes. There is a thread there somewhere with the girl that was worth exploring, but the film is mostly Angelopoulos doing his favourite shooting tricks and I didn't like it all that much.

Dead Ringers (David Cronenberg) -- started off with a decent enough premise, but ended up being completely over the top. It was an interesting move away from horror to psychological sex drama, but I wish Cronenberg had reeled himself in a bit. Irons was pretty fantastic in his dual role, though.

Orapronobis (Lino Brocka) -- political thriller from Brocka that was initially banned for being subversive. It takes a critical look at "couner-insurgency" operations carried out by the government and police in the wake of the fall of Ferdinand Marcos. Brocka worked with better cinematographers in the 70s, so it's not the greatest looking film, but it puts across it's message well even if it veers into melodrama territory with the husband and wife story at the centre of the film. I can't say I liked it as much as Brocka's exposes on the sex industry in Manila, but he was certainly a versatile director to tackle so many different genres.

[Gregory]

Veronika Voss (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) -- this was a good film. At first I was a bit wary of such a blatant homage to Sunset Blvd, since a remake of sorts didn't seem necessary, and I don't think Fassbinder's back and white films were his best aesthetic (a bit like how it wasn't necessary for Woody Allen to shoot in black and white other than to imitate Bergman and Fellini), but the film pretty quickly won me over. Fassbinder was so hit and miss that his filmography can't help but be hit and miss, but I think this is one of his better works.

There are a lot of reasons to film in black and white, and Allen and his cinematographers weren't just mimicking Bergman and Fellini (who made plenty of color films). Black and white can achieve a whole range of "period" qualities, depending on how it's done. For example in Zelig, Gordon Willis not only shot in black and white but set up the lighting specifically to match the style of period newsreels.

By the way, I share all the appreciation for Radio Days above but hope Zelig won't be overlooked.

[bamwc2]

Viewing Log:

Barbarosa (Fred Schepisi, 1982): Willie Nelson plays the titular bandit and Gary Busey his baby faced (!) protege Karl in this comedic Western about a pair of outlaws who constantly test their luck with gunslingers and revolutionaries. Ultimately, there's not really much to say about the film. It didn't make an impression on me one way or the other. It was just...there. Some parts worked and some parts didn't. Schepisi isn't exactly a flashy director, and his blandness shows on screen. It' not exactly a bad movie, but one that I don't expect to remember at all six months from now.

Carmen (Francesco Rosi, 1984): As the billionth adaptation of Carmen (okay imdb lists 102 film versions of the opera), you might not expect much in the way of new with this production. And you'd be right. There's not much novel going on here, but the film's stars Julia Migenes and Plácido Domingo do great work here, as does Rosi, who's camera perfectly captures the beauty of the Spanish countryside. Unfortunately, the filmmaker's love of the brutal and disgusting sport of bullfighting (his Moment of Truth was the only film released by Criterion that I couldn't bear to finish) and its frequent display in the film was enough to make me want to never see it again.

Exposed (James Toback, 1983): James Toback writes and directs the most James Tobackian movie that has ever been James Tobacked on the big screen. The film starts off with our heroine Elizabeth Carlson (Nastassja Kinski) breaking up with her literature professor/lover (played by Toback!), quitting college, leaving her repressive family, and moving to New York. Once there she becomes an artist's muse, which leads to her becoming a mega-famous fashion model and the object of affection of both a hitman (Rudolf Nureyev) and a terrorist (Harvey Keitel). With Ian McShane and Bibi Andersson rounding out the cast, this is one crazy flick filled with loud tough guys, 50s music, and unbelievably stilted dialogue. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then more power to you. Personally, I'd recommend taking a pass.

God's Angry Man (Werner Herzog, 1981): This documentary short from Herzog follows late night televangelist Gene Scott, who was famous for furiously screaming at the camera if he felt that his viewers weren't being charitable enough. Like all Herzog documentaries, he does an outstanding job picking his subject and allowing him to present his own eccentricities. Despite Scott's extreme nature, he's neither a fool nor a crazy man. Like your humble author he holds a Ph.D. in philosophy (though his degree conferring institution is far more impressive than my own) and comes off as a genuinely nice guy. Still, it doesn't cut down from his theatrics or the unseemliness of his occupation. Another great one from the German master!

News Items (Raymond Depardon, 1983): A camera crew follows around a pair of Parisian police officers for one night in this pre-Cops documentary. It seemed interesting enough, but the damned fan subs that I had for the film were missing about 90% of the dialogue and often cut off in mid sentence. If anyone knows of a superior way of viewing the film, then I'd be very grateful.

Out of the Blue (Dennis Hopper, 1980): While it's probably best remembered today as the film that gave us the Neil Young song by the same name, Dennis Hopper's film still plays as a gritty family drama that comes to an abrupt and (at least to me) unexpected ending. The film begins with trucker Don (Hopper) driving his teenage daughter Cebe (Linda Manz) while the two drunkenly belt out Elvis. Of course Don crashes his rig into a school bus, killing the children, and netting himself five years in jail. While Don is a big part of the film, the story revolves around Cebe, whose punk obsession and tough girl exterior belies a deeply troubled girl who just wants her father back. In one scene she hitchhikes with another trucker who tries to drug her and get her into a motel room threesome. Unable to handle the situation, she lies in the bed sucking her thumb before building up the courage to make a run for the door. It's an interesting movie, but so painful to watch that I doubt I'll ever feel like revisiting it.

Princess from the Moon (Kon Ichikawa, 1987): Ichikawa's film plays like a fun update of a classic Japanese fairy tale. The film begins the day after poor rural couple Taketori-no-Miyatsuko (Toshirô Mifune) and Tayoshime (Ayako Wakao) lose their daughter Kaya to illness. A flash of light and a bang occur at her grave site, and when Taketori locates the source of the mayhem he finds a pod containing a baby that rapidly turns into his late daughter. The couple accept her, but she then turns into an adult (Yasuko Sawaguchi) that is pursued by three royal suitors enchanted by her beauty. She gives them three seemingly impossible tasks to in her hand, but before she can find her true love, she finds out about her origins on the moon and learns that her people want her back. This film was great fun and restored my faith in Ichikawa's work in this decade after the lackluster The Makioka Sisters.

Streetwise (Martin Bell, 1984): This painful documentary follows the lives of a group homeless teenagers in Seattle. Some of the children take up prostitution, some are drug addicts, but all become hustlers and scrounge for survival from day to day. I guess that there is some controversy over how real the documentary is. In retrospect the ending...

Spoiler

where the main boy in the film commits suicide

seems too suited for a tragedy to be real. However, it certainly felt realistic the entire time I watched it, and if those kids were acting, then they are damn good actors. Either way, this was a very powerful experience that I doubt I'll ever forget.

[ohtani's jacket]

There are a lot of reasons to film in black and white, and Allen and his cinematographers weren't just mimicking Bergman and Fellini (who made plenty of color films). Black and white can achieve a whole range of "period" qualities, depending on how it's done. For example in Zelig, Gordon Willis not only shot in black and white but set up the lighting specifically to match the style of period newsreels.

By the way, I share all the appreciation for Radio Days above but hope Zelig won't be overlooked.

Woody went through a phase where he made black and white films. I understand the effect he was going for in Manhattan and Zelig, but it was during this phase that he tried to mimic Ingmar Bergman and paid homage to/parodied Fellini with Stardust Memories. I don't think it's a coincidence that the only black and white films he made were from this period where he was strongly influenced by 50s and 60s European cinema.