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I have to admit that from that Die Oberhausener set I significantly prefer Reitz's Kommunikation which is damn near the best short I've seen for the decade.

That was the one that caught my eye from the set too. There's a sequence in Zero Dark Thirty where they're tracing a phonecall that reminds me of that short. I liked Es muß ein Stück von Hitler sein also; a more conventional satirical piece on the German government's hypocritical stance towards the ruins of Hitler's Berghof.

František Vláčil

The White Dove (1960) R1 Facets (OOP)
The Devil's Trap (1962) R2 Filmexport
Marketa Lazarová (1967) R1 Criterion / R2 Second Run
The Valley of the Bees (1968) R1 Facets (OOP)/ R2 Second Run

I started writing this guide just last week when Vláčil was still just an obscure curiosity hidden under my coat that I was going to bring to show and tell. Criterion of course ruined this for me by announcing one of his films on Blu-ray earlier this week. But what they didn't tell you is that all, yes all, of his '60s films are very much worth seeking out. First, imagine if Kalatozov had directed Paddle to the Sea, and you're not far off from The White Dove, the first of many inspired collaborations with the great composer Zdeněk Liška (including all of these '60s films). There's not a whole lot to the film besides the fantastic audiovisuals, but that's all it was ever really aiming for. The Devil's Trap, Vláčil's first medieval period film, may not quite be at the level of the subsequent two from this decade, but it's more than just the early work of a great artist in embryo. The camerawork is mesmerizing, and the story is a compelling exploration of the extreme ends of science, politics, and religion.

Perhaps you have heard recently about Marketa Lazarová, a film whose lack of prominence up until maybe five years ago now seems almost as inexplicable as if the Parthenon had been hidden for all of these years under a tarp. The more you know, the more you realize you don't know, etc. The film itself is like a more in-your-face Andrei Rublev, packed with countless moments of visual wonder and an eclectic score that often resolves into a low, ominous drone that really effectively heightens the intensity of the visuals. If I were a filmmaker I would do scoring like this until someone forced me to stop. The Valley of the Bees is something of a sister film to Marketa (for instance, a menace introduced in the first film only really gets to bare its fangs in the second) though it takes a decidedly more modest approach. The film comes out roughly just as powerful though, replacing the former film's epicness with a horrifying intimacy.


Pier Paolo Pasolini

Accattone (1961) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema BD
Mamma Roma (1962) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Mr. Bongo
La ricotta (1963) [segment from Ro.Go.Pa.G] R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema BD
La rabbia (1963, w/ Giovanni Guareschi) R1/R2 Raro
Comizi d'amore (1964) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema (Accattone BD)
Le mura di Sana'a (1964) R1 Raro (La rabbia) / R2 Tartan (Porcile) (OOP)
Il Vangelo secondo Matteo (1964) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema BD
Sopralluoghi in Palestina (1965) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema (The Gospel According to Matthew BD)
Uccellacci e uccellini (1966) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema BD
La terra vista dalla luna (1967) [segment from The Witches] R1/R2 Arrow Academy BD
Edipo re (1967) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema BD
Che cosa sono le nuvole? (1968) [segment from Capriccio all'italiana] R2 Filmauro (no English subs)
Appunti per un film sull'India (1968) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Tartan (The Hawks and the Sparrows) (OOP)
Teorema (1968) R1 Criterion BD / R2 BFI BD
La sequenza del fiore di carta (1969) [segment from Amore e rabbia] R1 Criterion BD
Porcile (1969) R1 Criterion BD / R2 Masters of Cinema BD
Medea (1969) R1 Criterion BD / R2 BFI BD

In case there was ever any doubt that cinema is best studied in decade-sized chunks, you have Keaton obligingly containing all of his most celebrated works within the lists-project bounds of the '20s, Powell & Pressburger doing the same thing in the '40s (give or take), and Pasolini in the '60s. (Which is to say nothing of the quality of his '70s films, just that they're a whole other kettle of fish.) He starts off strongly with Accattone, a rough and tumble chronicle of a gang of unsavory drifters that plays a bit like a grittier version of I vitelloni, or maybe a more stately version of Los olvidados. Mamma Roma shares some connective tissue with Accattone and is somewhat in the same mold, though replace "gritty" in that last sentence with "Anna Magnani" and you'll have a sense of what you're in for. Though not without its moments, the film feels a little bland, especially for Pasolini. La ricotta could never be accused of being bland—you've got vibrant color tableaus, a fair share of cheeky blasphemy, and Orson Welles playing a hammy director. (Not much of a stretch? In any case, I love his quote about Fellini.) There are other Pasolini shorts I prefer though. La rabbia is a two-part political essay film, with Pasolini's segment more or less dishing up the sunny, lighthearted worldview that you'd expect from him. I have fundamental issues with "taking it to the streets" films like Love Meetings, which take the guise of presenting the view of the common man when it is not the common man deciding how much film to shoot or how it's edited. I suppose Pasolini's film is at least somewhat balanced, and provides an interesting time capsule of contemporary Italian views of sexual mores, if that sort of thing is how you get your kicks. Le mura di Sana'a is ineligible for our lists project, as IMDb places it in the '70s. I frankly don't know which release date is accurate, but here the film is for the sake of completeness. It's a brief, impassioned plea for the preservation of natural lands, a point which would be equally well made in a visual sense by nearly all of the rest of Pasolini's films this decade.

Alright, is everyone sitting down? Il Vangelo secondo Matteo, which I have not translated so as to avoid a semantic dispute, is hands down the greatest cinematic telling of the story of Christ (even if that may not be saying much). Pasolini tells the story with profound respect if not reverence, very simply and yet with some innovative flourishes that work wonderfully. There has been much debate about Pasolini's intentions with the film, with some arguing that the stripped-down approach was meant to efface Christ's divinity, but the extras on the excellent MoC edition tell a different story. For one thing, Pasolini had friends in the Catholic church that he wanted to please with the film. For another, as revealed in the sublime Sopralluoghi in Palestina, Pasolini had a profound aesthetic appreciation for the story of Christ, as well as the holy lands in Palestine, that fell just short of worship. This may be a difficult thought to reconcile, but consider for a moment how, for example, Sam Raimi managed to make three Spiderman movies without converting to Spidermanism. The Hawks and the Sparrows was the first of three pairings between the esteemed comedian Totò and soon-to-be regular Pasolini fixture Ninetto Davoli. The film is a riot, including a rockabilly-style Morricone soundtrack and an inspired extended sequence satirizing The Flowers of St. Francis. One thing Pasolini doesn't get enough credit for is the endings of his films, which are often abrupt, startling, and thought-provoking in immensely satisfying ways. This is true of just about every film of his from here on out.

La terra vista dalla luna is my favorite Pasolini short though your enjoyment of it may vary depending on your tolerance for orange wigs and absurdism. In her first film with Pasolini, Silvana Mangano is adorable as a deaf mute who marries into the candy-colored Totò/Davoli partnership, but their plans to make it as grifters fall flat. I should mention that the MOD DVD for this film couldn't have had any less effort put into it. You might think that MGM could have been bothered to at least create chapter stops for each portmanteau segment, but as it is, if you just want to watch the Pasolini film, you need to navigate to 50 minutes in and then rewind a few minutes. Mangano shines again in Edipo re, a period adaptation of the tragedy of Oedipus Rex that boasts some dazzling location shooting and is bookended by two very personal, mysterious segments set in the modern world, which I believe convey how Pasolini viewed his role as an artist. My only minor quibble with the film is that the end of the period story gets a tad screamy. Che cosa sono le nuvole? is another Totò/Davoli pairing, casting them as actors in a production of Othello, only for some reason Totò is dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West. Appunti per un film sull'India is a travelogue to India that finds Pasolini attempting to reconcile the mythological with the modern. Both of these last two films are fine and certainly worth seeking out, but I guess I can't red every film, can I?

Next is Teorema, which is right up there with The Exterminating Angel, The Party and Guests, Daisies, etc. as one of the great allegorical films of the '60s. The film's cheeky premise makes it out to be far more salacious than it is, when what it's really concerned with is how different people (particularly in different stations in life) cope with moving from a presence to an absence. That "presence" can be read as anything from artistic inspiration to spiritual enlightenment to success in business to the bond of family to the actual Terence Stamp actually looking soulfully into your eyes and caressing you ever so gently. It's all done very artistically, producing some of the most vivid, haunting images of Pasolini's entire body of work, and yet also this. La sequenza del fiore di carta is a brief but very effective piece in which Davoli cheerfully walks through a crowded city street, intermittently interrupted by the ghosts of horrors past. Speaking of horrors, Porcile is Pasolini in half-Godard, half-Salò mode (in case anyone ever wondered what such a film would look like), only with the atrocities that it condemns intentionally left off the screen. The roving cannibal half of the film features more stunning location work (I really wish I could begin more sentences this way), presumably filmed on another planet, because otherwise why aren't more movies taking advantage of this scenery? And yet those landscapes look like a Nebraska cornfield compared to the ones in Medea, the visual apex of Pasolini's mythological restagings. One of the most effective tricks that Pasolini uses here is to film very violent and disturbing images in longshot. One of the least effective is the failure to cast an actual centaur in a major role. Though in Pasolini's defense, actual centaurs are notoriously dull on camera.

And that pretty much closes the book on Pasolini. To my knowledge, nothing else particularly noteworthy ever occurred in either his professional or personal life. FINE

swo17 wrote: Le mura di Sana'a (1964) R2 Tartan (OOP)

Hate to be a party pooper, but that's a '70s film and IMDB reflects this. Also it is available on the in print R1 DVD for La rabbia.

I acknowledged the ineligibility in my write-up, but will edit my post to reflect R1 availability.

Yeah I hadn't read your whole thing yet. I have to say though to give Appunti per un film sull'India that's my favorite of his commentaries if just because it seems so concerned with the very critique you bring up with regards to Love Meetings. Though I admit that my favorite aspect is the whole Nabokovian conceit that this is supposed to be the making of a film which has never existed and will never exist beyond the frames of this very film. I also wish to put in a very good word in for the whole of Amore e rabbia where I think for all of its strange and memorable silliness the Pasolini segment may very well be the weakest (my favorite being Bellocchio's which I find to be the best movie of his career I've seen though that last sentiment may also apply to Bertolucci). I'm also surprised you didn't save the Python clip for Porcile which I find hilarious in the way I laugh at the Python's at their most grotesque.

knives wrote:I'm also surprised you didn't save the Python clip for Porcile which I find hilarious in the way I laugh at the Python's at their most grotesque.

I mostly associate that clip with Teorema because of all of the crotch shots.

That makes sense. I kind of assumed those were in reference to the Trilogy of Life which I believe would have been pretty popular at the time, but your suggestion makes more sense.

swo17 wrote:
And that pretty much closes the book on Pasolini. To my knowledge, nothing else particularly noteworthy ever occurred in either his professional or personal life. FINE

You mean, "in the sixties", I hope (unless you're just being ironic). Because whatever you may think about the Trilogy and "Salo", at least the magnificent "Appunti per un' orestiade africana" must be highlighted for the next round. I actually had this on my 60s list, given that it was filmed already in 1968, but unfortunately it only premiered in 1970. Otherwise, great write-up on a filmmaker who will have at least three entries on my final list.

He was pretty clearly making a joke on the size of how write-up. Probably in reference to Pasolini's career as a writer/poet I would think.

I meant that, as far as I'm aware, he retired from filmmaking in 1969 and currently resides in a quaint Tuscan cottage with his three cats.

Nice write up, swo, and it pretty much maps onto my responses to the film completely (except that I'd probably swap La ricotta for La sequenza), which means we have nothing to argue about. Boring, right? So. . . what did you think of the business models of the companies that released these films?

In other news, I believe these two are numbers forty-nine and fifty in my promised round-up of great experimental films available on DVD:

La Jetee (Chris Marker, 1962) – La Jetee / Sans Soleil (Criterion) – This film has been so internalized by the arthouse mainstream, that I don’t really feel I need to say that much about it except to remind people how formally radical it is, and how beautifully that form matches its content.

Little Dog for Roger (Malcolm LeGrice, 1967) – After Images 1: Malcolm LeGrice Vol. 1 (Lux) / Shoot Shoot Shoot (Re:Voir) – The miracle of the moving picture, part two. A projector buzzes, cheery music fades in and out, and the blurry image gradually resolves into a film loop. Well, a film strip, really, since we see all the bits you normally wouldn’t. LeGrice explores the materiality of film by rephotographing a strip of amateur film depicting some people and a hyperactive dog. What we see depends a lot on the synchronizing of the two film strips (the original one being photographed and the new one photographing it). The strip (presumably on a light table) moves up and down, and from side to side, goes in and out of focus, speeds up and slows down, and each of these potential variations represents a different axis of synchronization. Sometimes they align so that the motion inherent in the original frames is visible; at other times we can only see still frames or a blur. When the movement within the frame resolves into the illusion of motion, and the little dog runs back and forth frantically, it’s like rediscovering the miracle of cinema.

I was going to be very mad at you if you didn't highlight Little Dog for Roger!

One other experimental film that is technically available on DVD (well, on DVD but not exactly available) is Bruce Conner's totally '60s, totally amazing Breakaway, which was on the 2000 B.C. DVD that has since disappeared from the surface of the earth. (Report was on there too.) Prefigures everything that any good music video has ever done right.

Cold Bishop gave a great write-up on Hong Kong, but I want to moot Come Drink with Me a bit. Both it and Dragon Inn are great, and the latter is admittedly more purely "entertaining"-- better paced, more focused, and deftly handling its wider array of characters/archetypes in a way that earns the Stagecoach comparison. But I like Come Drink with Me more, partially because of its sometimes awkward mix of influences: bloody samurai chambara, wu-xia fantasy, Chinese opera, and most importantly Buddhist philosophy that would come more to the forefront in A Touch of Zen.

Specifically, I like how the philosophy intersects with the Operatic elements. Chinese opera is defined less by characters than by archetypes, and specific colors of masks or facepaint signals to the audience what archetype they're looking at. White signifies deceptive villains (seen here in the bandit leader's at first off-putting makeup), black strong heroes, and red great brave and honorable heroes. Thus, I love the film's ending (annoyingly split in two as it is) because it literalizes the violent cost of that "hero" mask, and complicates the Buddhist ideal of renouncing the world. Drunken Cat is a better Buddhist than his nemesis, the evil abbot, not only because of a simple good/evil dichotomy, but because he's come much closer to withdrawing from the world until he's drawn back in by Golden Swallow. But in renouncing the world, he's also paved the way for the abbot and evil to run amok, and the bloody ending essentially becomes a thought exercise in Buddhist ethics--whether it's better to fight evil and become a hero, or to renounce the world?

Well, that's my problem: it evokes this dilemma and spends all this time building up the final showdown. But for what? It pretty much ends with the villain shaking his fist, going "Drats! Oh well, I'll get you next time."

I know Cheng Pei-Pei has mentioned an alternate ending, but it wouldn't surprise me if Shaw Bros. were banking on a series, in the manner of Hsu Tseng-Hung's Red Lotus and Ho Meng-Hua's Journey to the West series, which still dominated their slate at this point.

It is interesting that some of this "withdrawal" theme carries over to Chang Cheh's sequel, with Wang Yu's serpent poisoning Cheng Pei-Pei and Lo Lieh's jianghu Eden. Of course, he pretty much tears everything else down from the original film, including Hu's interest in Buddhism and Confucianism.

Are we possibly talking about two different versions? The ending I've seen on the two discs I've had (Dragon Dynasty and an R3 release) has the villain doing this, which is pretty far from a fist shake. Or are you talking about the tiger bandits?

You know what? That may be a very real possibility.

Definitely check out the Dragon Dynasty edition (despite its wanting subtitles) then, as that ending is key to the film and is what pushes it (substantially) in my view over Dragon Inn, tying up the philosophical quandaries in a bloody mess that clearly references the red-faced hero of traditional opera. Some quick online research doesn't indicate much about alternate endings/deleted scenes, and most sources seemed to reference this ending. But given how it's totally--and awkwardly, though it benefits from the change in lighting and scenery--removed from the rest of the "final battle," I could see how this might have been a compromise between Hu and Shaw; it got filmed, but could still be easily excised for "sequel potential" or censored in markets with weaker stomachs.

On a different note, I kept meaning to do an overview of mainland Chinese film, but I kept getting distracted by the huge number of other locales (Czech, Brazil, the bottomless well of Japan) that demanded attention. And granted, the dominance of socialist realism in this decade doesn't make it terribly enticing. That said, pre-1966, the mainland actually had an upswing in film production, as the political situation briefly stabilized and the threat of being punished for making films lagging behind rapidly changing policy (see Zheng Junli) subsided. But that also meant there was a clearer (though less severe than what would come) party line to adhere to and less diversity. The films are interesting as representations of their period and many of them are indeed quite surprising in how they defy stereotypes, but I'd be hard pressed to call many of them 'great'.

If you want a preview of the insanity to come, the musical The East is Red is worth a look, if only to provide a clear example of what "filmed theater" looks like the next time someone complains about Rohmer or Vertigo. But China's propaganda wasn't all just "The Sun has risen, China has produced a Mao Zedong!" Sometimes it could be fun!

Case in point, Mine Warfare and its spirtual sequel Tunnel Warfare are ridiculous but surprisingly competent and entertaining war films. That is of course if you can get past the overwhelmingly spiteful depiction of the Japanese and the general monstrosity of a film which treats land mines like they were the greatest tool ever given to farmers since the plow. They're quick, snappy, and do enough with the camera to remind you that state-run system didn't mean the crushing of all talent.

Which brings us to Xie Jin, whose Red Detachment of Women would serve as the model for the far more infamous filmed ballet in the 1970s (also worth checking out then for cultural/kitsch/really? value), though I haven't been able to find it, partly because the latter has done a pretty good job of running interference. Two Stage Sisters is more easily found and probably the better film, as through all the heavy-handed ideology, Xie still manages to find the moments of individual tragedy and drama and bring them subtly to the fore.

Other notables would include Li Shuangshuang, a Communist comedy, Serfs (Peasants/Nong Nu), a hard-hitting agitprop for Tibetan "liberation," Early Spring in February, a romantic melodrama, and Uproar in the Heaven/The Monkey King, a major animated film.

Let me second the recommendation for Two Stage Sisters. Xie Jin seems to be someone whose work should be much better known (and much more available) in the west. The few things I've seen by him have all been worth seeing.

Lulu (Rolf Thiele, 1962): another film version of the two famous Wedekind plays that were the basis for Pabst's "Pandora's Box" and Alban Berg's opera (and not to forget the Asta Nielsen version from 1923, "Erdgeist"). This Austrian production is quite different from the Pabst, but still has a lot to commend itself. Lulu is here played by former Miss Austria Nadja Tiller, and she's clearly more intentionally wreaking her havoc than Louise Brooks, which might go a little against the idea of the original plays but nevertheless results in a fine performance which is highly erotically charged. Hildegard Knef as Countess Geschwitz is very convincing, and there's a very young Mario Adorf as a tamer of lions who are actually women. Quite seedy in places, then, but also with rich sets and fine camerawork, and together with the somewhat artificial acting the film even reminded me of Fassbinder avant la lettre (or of Forst on speed). Astonishing that this came from the prudish Austria of the time.

Thanks for reminding me of that, I do need to watch my DVD. There's such a pitiful amount of good German-language films from the 60s. It's surely the weakest decade for film from that part of the world. I daresay, of the three major countries, East Germany arguably has the most films of interest.

One great German film from the 60s that's available on DVD: Edgar Reitz's Lust for Love. I've just watched it and it's in consideration for my top 50 (isn't everything?) It's a kitchen-sink kind of subject (the struggles of a young couple) but it's told with a heady mix of free-wheeling New Wave stylization and gritty, unsentimental realism (especially in one particular climactic, absurdly tragic / tragically absurd sequence). Plus: gratuitous Mormonism!

And since it's list eligible, it bears repeating:

If the non-schedule part of TCM's website can be believed, Umetsugu Inoue's earlier, rare (and many say superior) version of Rampo-and-Mishima's Black Lizard is airing on Sunday night. If it's indeed not the Fukasaku, this is a can't-miss airing for those of us without Hulu.

Also, on Friday, Allan Dwan's final film, The Most Dangerous Man Alive will be screened. Truly a love-it or hate-it film, but Dwan fans shouldn't miss it.

With just about a month to go before the deadline, I figured I oughta bring up some of the less discussed/perhaps less known '60s films that, barring the sudden discovery of like ten more unmitigated masterpieces, will be making my list. I haven't picked any spotlight titles yet, so if you're looking for recommendations from me, just pick one or two of these that you haven't seen yet. (Or all of them, if you're so inclined!)

The Round-Up (Miklós Jancsó)
Though ostensibly chronicling a 19th Century conflict between Austria and Hungary, The Round-Up can just as easily be viewed as a satire of any given historical instance of political oppression, almost comically exaggerating the ridiculous protocols and fanfare of the oppressors but punctuating this with horrific moments that demonstrate the ramifications on the oppressed.

The Cremator (Juraj Herz)
I don't completely have a sense of how canonical this film is considered to be, but if I wrote the books, this would be on Page 1 of the chapter for Films You Simply Must Make an Effort to See Before I Finish Construction of a Gas Chamber Large Enough to Send All of Your Tender Souls to an Endless, Gentle Sleep. Every element of this film is amazing, from the tweaked performances to the loopy cinematography to the all-time great score by who else but Zdeněk Liška. Criterion is supposed to eventually put this out in their third Czech New Wave Eclipse set, which I suppose will technically be worth the wait, but who knows if civilization will last that long?

Barrier (Jerzy Skolimowski)
I have no idea what is supposed to be happening at any point during this movie but you need to watch it immediately.

The Goddess (Satyajit Ray)
This is kind of the same movie as Frank Wisbar's excellent Anna und Elisabeth, in which a woman is believed to have divine healing powers (which are great when they work, but what does it mean when they don't?) You haven't seen that movie though, so unless you have personally been mistaken for divinity in real life, the ending of The Goddess hasn't been spoiled for you. The Mr. Bongo DVD for this isn't bad, though the subs are burned in. Criterion will probably put this out on Blu-ray in about five years.

The Night of Counting the Years (Shadi Abdel Salam)
There is supposedly a stunning restoration available for this film though for now we still all have to make due with the dodgy copy that can be streamed here. This is certainly the sort of film whose visuals could be gobsmacking if they were allowed to be. While I'm currently taking much of this aspect of the film's appeal on faith, I still get plenty of mileage out of the film's haunting score and the intrigue associated with the whole Egyptian tomb raiding thing.

Oh (Stan Vanderbeek)
I unfortunately can't find a YouTube link or anything else for easy access to this short film. Your only option is to import the Re:voir DVD dedicated to the director's work (available here). It's very much worth it, I'd say, especially if you like Monty Python collage-style animation. Oh is in a different vein though, like a series of crudely drawn, somewhat sex-obsessed (hence the title?) children's drawings brought vividly to life with brightly colored paints. The soundtrack nicely complements the images as well, in the same way that a chainsaw nicely complements a tree.

Léon Morin, Priest (Jean-Pierre Melville)
I don't know how much I need to stump for a film that has been released on Blu-ray by Criterion and that everyone has been scrambling to buy for the past couple weeks, but now that all you OOP completists own it, may I suggest that you remove that pricey shrinkwrap and partake of the gloriousness inside. This is perhaps Jean-Paul Belmondo's finest role, as an extremely charismatic priest who is very convincing, and perhaps even right, in his discussions of religion, but this is so entwined with his latent sex appeal that he ends up leaving Emmanuelle Riva's character an emotional wreck by the end of the film. The film is perfectly observed, and filled with wonderful, small moments that fully flesh out its characters.

Dog Star Man (Stan Brakhage)
I assume this film also needs no introduction but just thought I'd point out that it somehow failed to make even the list of also-rans in the last round of the '60s project. On a completely random personal note, I had happened to slate this film for a re-viewing a couple months ago on the very day that the new My Bloody Valentine album came out. Too impatient to wait to experience the two separately, and never one to resist the possibility of a particular piece of music being a perfect fit for a silent film, I synced the two up and the fit was indeed perfect (other than the differing lengths). This was perhaps not particularly surprising given that much of the film plays like a MBV cover in motion. But the film is just as powerful played silently on its own.

I can guarantee you that at least half of those won't be orphans!

To the best of my knowledge, The Cremator has spent most of its life out in the cold, canon-wise. When I was first turned on to it in the early nineties (when somebody lent me a VHS of a screening they'd taped off SBS), I could find NO reference to the film, and barely any to Herz, in published sources. The only clue I had was that he was apparently one of Svankmajer's cronies (which figures - I even speculated that Jan S was responsible for that ultra-creepy title sequence). Its increase in profile since has been largely a grass-roots effort, with Second Run pushing it into some kind of spotlight. This is a fantastic example of just how random and unreliable 'received opinion' is. There are untold riches out there that none of us have ever heard of (and a lot of them seem to have been made in Czechoslovakia in the 60s). The Cremator in the 90s is like Dragon's Return today. Thank goodness SecondRun is about to knock our socks off with that. Maybe in another ten years somebody will rediscover Stepan Skalsky's The Escape. It's not on the level of those films, but it definitely doesn't deserve to remain in obscurity forever.

The restoration of Night of Counting the Years is indeed breathtaking, as was the period 16mm print I first fell in love with. Criterion to the rescue, eventually? Before the current restoration crumbles to dust?

I'm positive I voted for Dog Star Man last time, so it must have been all you other guys who were slacking.