1. Heaven’s Gate (Michael Cimino, 1980) – C’mon, was there any alternative? Cimino’s maddening, sprawling, original American epic has fascinated and drawn me back to it like no other film this decade or perhaps any decade. It harks back to the naturalist spectacles of Stroheim or Griffith (don’t believe me? Ask Godard); attempts to bridge the lyrical dignity of Ford and the brutal pessimism of Peckinpah; trapezes through scenes worthy of Whitman, Wharton, Norris, London or Fitzgerald; and yet ultimately ends with a film that, in its storytelling structure and strategies, is as symphonic as it is novelistic. Let’s continue the hyperbole: Cimino was perhaps cinema’s Herman Melville: a singularly American artist who simply couldn’t tell a story or craft a novel/movie by any conventional yardstick, and who suffered for it. But all Melville needed was ink, paper and a publisher, hence his long list of rediscovered masterpieces. The real tragedy is not knowing if this was Cimino’s
Moby Dick or simply his
Redburn: a sign of extinguished greatness to come.
2. Come and See (Elem Klimov, 1985) – A film that’s too terrifying and traumatic to invite repeat viewings, which is why it was ultimately bumped down a spot. But how poorer you’d be for not seeing it at least once?! Somebody complained earlier that he was unsure of it using beautiful images to relate the experience of war, but 1) without the aestheticized power of those images, this film would be simply unbearable and nauseating, 2) Klimov’s “beautiful” image never falls into the trap of making war seem attractive or thrilling. Rather, this is a film that taps into Edmund Burke’s “the sublime”: a feeling of awe and hushed terror in the face of the vast and unknowable, but ultimately omnipresent, force of destruction that is war.
3. Manoel on the Island of Marvels (Raoul Ruiz, 1985) – I think this was my orphan last time, so that it made the leap to the list (with only four votes!) is hopefully a trend that continues with the next list. Raoul Ruiz was the MVP of the 1980s, and this is the closest thing he has to a clear-cut masterpiece… not just that it’s a great or brilliant film (he has plenty of those) but the manner it places most of his chief preoccupations into one grand canvas. As swo already alluded, by making an ostensible “children’s film”, Ruiz sheds some of the more aggressively obtuse or avant-garde aspects of his other films and creates a work of pure imagination, inventiveness and phantasmagoric wonder… all on his typically Ruizian shoestring budget. Save for maybe Rivette, no one could do enigmatic better than Ruiz; perhaps no one did it with as much magical and absurd aplomb; and he perhaps never did it more delightfully than here.
4. Mauvais Sang (Leos Carax, 1986) – On a strictly subjective, emotional level, perhaps no film gets it hooks in me this decade more than this, Carax’s rock-n-roll-sci-fi-policier-love-poem, addressed ostensibly to Juliette Binoche, but which really valorizes love in all its youthful, mad, consuming, obsessive, transformative glory. There’s a b-movie plot in here, but Carax, as always, uses it simply as a skeleton on which to craft his cinema-by-the-moment: a collection of ecstatic, swooning, anarchic epiphanies which erupt from the film any given second. Our own davidhare blasted these as “Carax’s cinematic erections”… but I’ll take that as a compliment!
5. Long Arm of the Law (Johnny Mak, 1984) ORPHAN – I guess I can’t blame anyone else for not watching – I certainly didn’t view anyone else’s spotlight (alas, the swapsie is dead) – but all the crime junkies on the forum owe it to themselves to track down this tough, grim masterpiece. Those who only know Hong Kong crime from John Woo’s graceful pyrotechnics or Johnnie To’s formalist rigor are bound for a revelation. To many, it’s a defining film of the era, sealing up the wild, wooly New Wave and launching an entire wave of slicker
Heroic Bloodshed imitators. To the aforementioned Johnnie To, it’s one of the ten greatest film noirs to come out of Hong Kong. To the HKFA, it’s the sixth greatest Chinese film ever made. To me? It’s an ever-tightening vise-grip of a thriller, beginning in a state of low-key intensity, ending in a roar of urban violence and socio-political turmoil
6. My Friend Ivan Lapshin (Aleksei German Sr., 1984) ORPHAN – One of the maddening aspects of the utter disregard of
Hard to Be a God here in the States - other than the movie event of the year being ignored - is the way it’s also put a kibosh on a long overdue A. German retrospective. This, undoubtedly, would be the centerpiece, a film called by some the greatest Russian film ever made (including, it is said, by Tarkovsky). It’s also a film that’s been said to be impossible for a non-Soviet audience to understand. I can see that: this study of ‘30s small-town Russia, as communist idealism is giving way to Stalinist terror, seems to be as deeply impressed by its conspicuous absences as by what it shows. Yet, there is much to admire here: German’s masterful camera pyrotechnics, a seemingly Russian tradition; his ability to bring the physical conditions of life into such sharp relief with his staging and black-white/sepia images; his control of the tragicomic and absurd that permeates the film. But above all, it’s the film's unusual fractured feel: scenes and even shots don’t come together the way we expect, small background detail and inconsequential gestures are treated with as much emphasis as those pertaining the central plot; even German’s camera roams around like a viewer unsure of what to look at. It’s this very confusion, perhaps mitigated for a Russian audience, which I find most striking and involving about the film, an almost Proustian (not quite) search through the rubble of memory – and with it, history – that permeates the film.
7. The Sword (Patrick Tam, 1980) ALSO-RAN – I’ve been eating and breathing
wuxia pian for the last year or so, so believe me when I tell you this is one of the masterworks of the genre. In fact, everyone who sees it seems to think highly of it. So why hasn’t it made a leap into greater cult consciousness, let alone the general film canon? A grim and powerful study of the thirst for glory and power, even removed from its commentary on genre, it has all the trappings of a crossover critical hit. As much as any King Hu film, this could easily be slipped into the Criterion Collection. It certainly deserves it.
8. The Asthenic Syndrome (Kira Muratova, 1980) – Bursting with all the energy and exuberance of a panic attack or daylight mugging, this acerbic satire is dazzling for technique alone. It begins as a stark, black-and-white absurdist dramedy; expands into an expansive social-comedy ala Tati or Iosseliani (or Roy Anderssen, who I’m convinced studied this film; just look at the subway scene). Yet, it’s in the final stretch, where the film focuses its sight on a central character, that it passes from just dazzling to something deeper felt. When asked to describe what Asthenic Syndrome
the film was about, Muratova said, “It’s about everything.”. I wonder if that’s not also true of Asthenic Syndrome
the illness. Ultimately, the film captures a deeply emotional/spiritual/political/…./ feeling of malaise/confusion/aggression/…/ that permeates society, and that’s what sticks with you.
9. Ran (Akira Kurosawa, 1985) – Do I need to say anthing? Shakespeare’s arguably best play makes Kurosawa’s arguably best work. It’s a no-brainer. The energy and “humanist” vigor of his earlier films is gone, replaced by a sad, resigned God’s-eye view of the world. If anyone’s going to make a convincing “God’s-eye”, its Kurosawa.
10. Berlin Alexanderplatz (Rainer Werner Fassbinder, 1980) – After a certain hour-mark, it feels like a cheat to include a long-form work like this. Frankly, otherwise, this could have been higher. Nevertheless, not only does RWF fully encompass and explore the world of Doblin’s novel, in some places he arguably improves it (at least the English translation). Improving on a masterwork of Modernist 20th Century literature? Yeah, you’re probably going to make my top 10.
Orphans:
A Visitor to a Museum (Konstantin Lopushanskiy, 1989) – Tarkovsky made the most famous Sci-Fi adaptations, but it is Lopushanskiy who really nails Soviet Sci-Fi’s mix of satire, absurdity, philosophy, and spirituality. His
Letters from a Dead Man made my list last time, but this masterpiece was easily the best of the (all-too few) new films I viewed for this project. Another Russian director long overdue for a retrospective and revival here out west.
Cruising (William Friedkin, 1980) – Honestly, don’t be surprised if this cracks my top 10 next go around. This
film maudit among
films maudites is simply the most endlessly fascinating of all of Friedkin’s films, and because of this, it’s probably his masterpiece. Part realistic police procedural, part giallo sleaze, part avant-garde abstraction (think Robbe-Grillet), Friedkin fractures his narrative, through calculated misdirection and shock effects, into a insoluble hall-of-mirrors. The result, whether intended or not, is a metaphysical mystery, radically subversive in tone, which has far more to say about heterosexuality and heteronormativity than queer life. I
really wanted to do a huge write-up on this, but ultimately scrapped it once it became clear that it may have possibly ended up book-length (maybe I’ll beat you to press, Dom). To those who need more convincing, I’ll point to Robin Wood, Bill Krohn and Adrian Martin, whose writings on the film (some of it available online) are some of the most intelligent and acute on how the film works.
Favorites of the Moon (Otar Iosseliani, 1984) – Was that some other Iosseliani, or wasn’t someone praising this earlier? Either way, this is my first film by the guy, and probably not my last (even if I hear they’re not all like this). As mentioned above, there’s something of Tati here, the way the film is told in fleeting “decentralized” snapshots which slowly accumulate, until were left with something beyond a simple
ensemble film, something with a greater breadth of totality in its vision of society and city life. Utterly charming and urbane, and easily available on Blu.
Docteur Jekyll et les femmes (Walerian Borowczyk, 1981) – C’mon people. I know its not in the set, but you’d think with all the flurry of activity surrounding the man, somebody would go through the trouble of tracking this down. Yeah, the current copy looks like crap, and the film makes the crucial mistake of dubbing Udo Kier, but this is arguably his masterpiece. Haunting, decadent brilliance. As someone who spent his early teens watching trashy horror films, and his late teens reading pretentious books from Dedalus Press, this is tailor-made. I’m sure the rest of you can dig it too, perhaps after you’ve all exhausted the film in the boxset.
Duel to the Death (Ching Siu-tung, 1983) – Every decade, the best swordsmen from China and Japan meet in an honourable duel. But this year, a conspiracy is laid to turn the fighters against eachother in all-out war. After
The Sword, Ching struck out on his own with this influential film. Unfettered, he gives full reign to his highly imaginative, frenetic style of action choreography, full of wire work, trick weapons, and impossible feats of physics. It’s the most famous aspect of the film, casting a tall shadow on the following period of HK film, from big budget wire-fantasies, to no-budget gonzo ninja films. But what’s most striking is how grimly serious its China-vs-Japan duel is treated. Yes, it’s still a nationalistic film biased in China’s favor, but Ching shows quite a bit of sensitivity to Japan and even some sadness at the inevitability toward the title’s duel. And the boy does it come: the last 30 minutes is a masterclass of ‘80s HK action, an escalating series of mind-boggling incidences which crescendo in a
literally earth-shattering finale. That Ching manages an effective drama of national differences admist all this near-Jodorowskian lunacy is ultimately why I consider it greater than the more famous
A Chinese Ghost Story.
Route One USA (Robert Kramer, 1989) –
Ice and
Milestones are more famous, but this might be Kramer’s masterpiece, another mix of documentary and fiction (leaning towards the former) that finds Kramer exploring his abandoned country along the length of the titular highway. But like most of Kramer’s work, it’s not the grand thesis, of a country transformed and for the worst, that makes it work; even in the right hands, it could be terribly condescending. No, its the poetry of individual shots, moments and scenes that slowly accumulate throughout his journey. At 4 hours+, there’s plenty of these moments to sift through. An intimate American epic hiding in plain sight, I’m shocked that this hasn’t gotten more attention here, given some of the forum’s predilections for this sort of docu-diary-fiction.
Project A (Jackie Chan, 1983) – With Jackie, votesplitting is inevitable – I nearly swapped this for sentimental fave
Police Story – but I don’t think there can be no doubt he was one of the most important filmmakers to emerge this decade, even as his screen persona often overshadows his filmmaking talent. This landmark film, a point of no-return between the
old-school and the
new/second-waves, makes his debt to the grand tradition of Keaton and Lloyd explicit. The result is one of the most impressive entertainments of a decade built by them, and one of the quintessential examples of the ‘80s Hong Kong blockbuster. Some later films
might be better, but if you’ve never taken Chan seriously as a film artist, this is a perfect declaration of intent.
Life Is a Dream (Raúl Ruiz, 1987) – Ruiz’s third “masterwork” to make my list (after the nightmarish
City of Pirates), this is perhaps his most impressively “literary”… not in the way it’s typically meant, a short-form film that has the breadth of narrative and details of a longer-form written work. Rather, this film encapsulates the experimental, modernist (and post-) impulses you’d find in writers like Borges, Cortazar or Frish or whatever high-falutin’ name you wanna throw out… but ultimately it sings like a film, baby! A political dissident returns to his home country and tries to recall a list of fellow travelers that he once memorized; he learned it through the mnemonic use of the titular Calderon play which he had previously learned; having forgotten it, he now tries to recall the play; to do this, he returns to a childhood movie theater, showing the same matinee films as it did when he was once a kid. From this high-concept Ruiz moves effortlessly through the various layers of narratives – present, memories, the play, the films – as they collapse on each other and mix up. Brainy and enigmatic stuff, sure, but also absolutely delightful watching Ruiz trapeze through all realities. Ruiz’s
Inception if you will.
Zegen (Shōhei Imamura, 1987) - With no subtitle version available I knew this was doomed to the orphanage. But I persisted anyways like some, um, airplane pilot, erh, not afraid of death… or some, say, madman in a, eh, silly Spanish hat…. Hell, I’m no good at metaphors! Yet this Quixotic saga of a decent man (Ken Ogata) who gets turned into a South Seas brothel magnate – and unwittingly becomes a patsy for Imperial Japanese colonial interests – is one of Imamura’s best work. For all its comic ribaldry, it’s a culmination of his serious documentaries from the ‘70s. And while not his most famous film of the decade, it’s perhaps the one that returns closest to his theme of the ‘60s: the lower portion of society and body. If it screens near you, see it. Otherwise, lets hope the backchannels come through with fansubs.
Killer Constable (Kuei Chih-Hung, 1980) – My continued viewers-block dovetailed nicely with the end of my ‘70s Shaw project so that I never got to my capsule write-ups on the HK Eighties. While the titles above might be expected to gain a few other votes, this one was certainly doomed to failure. It’s the second masterpiece of Kuei Chih-Hung, he of
Boxer’s Omen fame, and his only swordplay film. It might not be as demented as that other film, but it packs arguably a bigger wallop. Shaw legend Chen Kuan-Tai gives an unusually intense performance as the titular constable, whose gained legend for the extreme extent of his cruelty in meting out justice. In most films, he could be a villain, but here he’s the protagonist journeying through a landscape of disillusionment and violence. A remake of Chang Cheh’s
Invincible Fist (
written up here), Kuei takes that film’s elemental plot and turns up the dread. The result is a macabre and decadent
cruel wuxia-pian, one of the highlights of both Shaw and the genre’s end.
White of the Eye (Donald Cammell, 1987) – Another “WTF, forum?”. I thought the Arrow release gave this a bump. Guessed wrong. Either way, this is by far a more accomplished film than
Performance and, as long as I’m throwing out fastballs, better than any of Roeg’s films this decade. Murder and psychosis. Love and commitment. Hidden vistas of reality behind our own. Not bad for another “psycho lover” pseudo-slasher from Cannon Films, eh?
La Maison assassinée (Georges Lautner, 1988) – Lautner was a workmen French director who nevertheless every few years managed to make one great film, the common denominator being the way they remind one of pre-New Wave tradition of quality thrillers. This was one of his last, a rural thriller which, while reminiscent of
Jean de Florette/Manon of Spring, ultimately harks back to the great dark French tradition of Clouzot, Becker, Christian Jacque and company. Some people won’t see more than a good potboiler here, but those who love the old-guard of French filmmaking may very well find much to enjoy once they get into Lautner’s groove of old-world craftsmanship and exquisite cruelty.
Golem (Piotr Szulkin, 1980) – While not as impressive as the Lopushanskiy, this Polish sci-fi was one of the last films I saw, and another one that struck me deeply. In a world where beings are manufactured and synthesized by governmental overlords, a new cyborg that show human emotions like love and compassions throws a wrench in the system. That premise could have easily led to the preachiest of dramas, or the smugest of satires, but Szulkin knows better. When faced with an obvious premise, you respond by pushing that premise deep into strangeness and the grotesque. This movie has a palpable atmosphere of paranoia and absurdity than many peg as “Kafkaesque”, but is deeply rooted in that region’s Sci-Fi tradition. This, despite being inspired by the work of German occultist and horror pioneer Gustav Meyrink. I understand Szulkin went on to a famous trilogy of sci-fi satires, but this much more serious movie is highly recommended for fans of Stanislaw Lem or Philip K. Dick.
Five Element Ninjas (Chang Cheh, 1982) – My prized #50 pick, this realistically deserves much higher. There are few films on this or any list which are more sheerly entertaining than this “Chinese vs. Japanese” kitsch-epic. Bathed in camp artifice and homoerotic pathos, it’s Chang Cheh distilling his life’s work down to a finely concentrated reduction. So, it’s sorta like
Ran, but with greasy pecks, neon-colored ninjas and casual dismembering. Some say the last great film from the master, some say his greatest… all I’ll say is that if you
ever have a chance to see this in a theater with a receptive audience, even if you don’t like kung-fu films, try it… The experience may prove infectious. And no, I’m not being ironic: this is a great movie.