Journey to Italy (1954)

So, Roberto Rosselini again! Journey to Italy is a considerably better film than Rome open city, which I reviewed some weeks ago. However, the story seems nothing out of the ordinary. Alex and his wife Catherine are travelling in Italy to sort out some inheritance business. Their relationship is bristling with negative tension and they both seem to be estranged from each other and the rest of the world. But where Rome open city felt strangely sloppy, this is a very integrated film. Most scenes take a surprising turn because the emphasis lies on unexpected things - a bustling crowd, a herd of intriguing museum statues, a herd of cows. In one of the scenes that made an impression on me, Alex, who is mostly a stone-faced man, is overwhelmed by a craving for a drink. He goes to the kitchen to ask for something, but the Italien maid does not understand him. Their lack of a common language expresses a sudden burst of energy in this otherwise quite elusive and hard-to-read man.
One impressive aspect of Rossellini's film is the way dialogue is employed. I realized how much "smart" dialogue can be used in a really stiff way, where every line is supposed to contribute to some complex Plot that you will understand if you think really hard. Here, dialogue is not used in order to convey information nor do the characters churn out witticisms for the audience to quote. Rossellini gives lots of space to ambiguity and in that he shows more interest in his characters than what I am used to seeing in most films. And he allows for repetition. Many seens bear a striking resemblance to each other - we see patterns, things happening again and again, variations - and it is from this that we learn to know the characters and the world they inhabit (or the world that they react to).

Point break (1991)

There are few actors who reach up to the standard set by the late Mr. Swayze. In Point break (1991), a surfer-crime-drama movie directed by Catheryn Bigelow, he meets his match. His acting skills in this film are almost exceeded by another Giant in the history of cinema, by his younger, promising colleague, K. Reeves. What a presence! What subtlety! I must say Point break is one of those rare pieces of film making - nourishment for the soul - to really find its way straight into the heart of the viewer. An FBI agent called Johnny Utah (Reeves) attempts to catch a gang of bank robbers. He has reason to suspect they are surfers. He hits the beach to dissolve this mystery. By necessity, he has to learn the art of surfing. On the beach, he meets Bodhi (what an apt name for this spiritual surfer!) who is a fearless surfer but also something of a philosopher. The moment they meet, it is obvious that this is the seed of an impossible love story that might never reach its fulfillment. The interaction between Mr. Swayze and Mr. Reeves is simply heart-wrenching, "seeing one's rare magnificence in someone else", identification, repulsion, impossible desire. The chemistry between them - it's friction that defies words.
Ms. Bigelow has created an existential tour-de-force about conscience and the depth of male companionship and the impossible situations - tragedies, even - that life confronts us with. As Bigelow herself confessed: like no other movie, it captured the Zeitgeist. Point break is a work with deep philosophical and spiritual roots; a film about what it means to be human. One reviewer places it firmly within a history of heroism from Aristotle to Nietzsche - and he also suggests it's a film to be understood from a Hegelian perspective (the dialectic of master and servant), which makes perfect sense once you give some thought to the relationship between Johnny and Bodhi. "The master prefers death to a life without honor and beauty, a life of mere survival."
Mr. Swayze, with his rare gift for embodying complex characters, lends this piece of human drama a multifaceted face. Not only does Swayze impress us with a convincing physical edge; agile, at ease, on top of the situation - he also has an intuitive understanding for his character's haunted psyche. Bigelow's film, and Swayze's character in particular, offers a meditation on the eternal questions about freedom, fate and the bonds of society. As one reviewer put it: the films that comprise Bigelow's ouvre cannot be dismissed as mere action flicks, "entertainment", her films embody Ideas.
To mention but one memorable line: "If you wanna go to the ultimate, you gotta pay the ultimate price, is not tragic dying doing what you love" And another: "Fear leads to hesitation. Hesitation causes your worst fears to come true." And another: "I know Johnny. I know you want me so bad it's like acid in your mouth. But, not this time."
Like no other film, Point break explores the complexity of human desire.
"Yo Johnny! I see you in the next life!"

Uzak (2002)

Yusuf goes to Istambul looking for a job on a ship. He lives with his cousin Mahmut, a cynical photographer who seems to enjoy watching Tv more than anything else. Mahmut does not seem happy about having a guest in his home. He broods over his ex-wife. He watches Stalker when Yusuf is in the room, just to put on some porn when his cousin ambles off. They have a strained relationship. The prospect of getting a job is not really good for Yusuf, so he walks around on the streets, and bothers Mahmud with his presence in the apartment. To a great extent, this is a film about space. The title, Uzak, means distance. Yusuf's and Mahmut's relationship is not so much unraveled by words, but rather we see what they feel about each other in how they react to shared space; damp socks on a radiator, traces of cigarette ash, an empty corridor. The presence of the other is, for the most part, mediated through the belongings of the other. But none of them seems really at home in Mahmut's apartment. We also see these two characters on their own, in cafés, checking out women, walking. And the urban locations seem no less bleak than Mahmut's tidy apartment.

There are many scenes that have a perfect set up and atmosphere - along with a quiet sense of humour. In one of them, Mahmut takes Yusuf with him on a trip on which he is supposed to work. They drive by a scenic little village with fluffy sheep on a hill. At first, Mahmut deliberates over whether they should stop so he could take a picture, but then he says in a gruff voice, "I don't bother". There are several scenes involving smoking. We see Yusuf smoking on Mahmut's balcony. He listens to the wind-chimes and gazes out over the city.
Uzak overstates nothing. It's a good film in that relies on the medium. People don't have to mull their feelings over in psychologically explicit dialogue. (The scenes involving half-stalking female strangers might approximate the overstated) The images of snow-laden Istambul are very beautiful and for the most part, Ceylan's use of long shots work. After I finished watching Uzak I realized there was no music except for the sounds of the specific locations of the film.

2:37 (2006)

Gus van Sant's Elephant is a fantastic movie, but 2:37 proves that copies of its style and content might not turn out as good. Thematically, these films are similar; alienated youth, high school numbness. But the director Murali Thalluri tries to emulate van Sant's film stylistically as well. Kids walking through dwindling corridors are filmed from behind, classical music, some ambient noise, the same moment filmed through the eyes of several different people. That's a bit embarrassing. But what is worse is that 2:37 is so focused on portraying problems that it almost stops being a film. It's more a sociology report, or, perhaps more to the point, an attempt at awareness raising. The characters have little life of their own beyond the problem that comes to define them (we've seen the gay kid who is portrayed as being just a gay kid in films before and, well, it's sad.) It's not a really bad film but one thing really bothered me, and that was the inclusion of quasi-documentary interviews. Those were totally redundant, provided us with excessive explanatory backgrounds and was a cheap way of creating "authenticity". And one might argue that some scenes in it are unnecessarily graphic.

The hurt locker (2009)

In sleazy newspaper articles, journalists always say the same things about Kathryn Bigelow. That she is not a typical female director, that she is "one of the boys". These journalists seem to think that a typical female director makes movies about romance & shopping. Naturally, Bigelow and The hurt locker are everywhere right now. But it's actually a good, intense film that in no way gives praise to "our boys" or "our war". It's a film the politics of which remain ambiguous. There are some stereotypes and some mannerisms in the dialogue have a paper doll ring but that didn't bother me too much. The film follows three soldiers who defuse and sometimes detonate home-made bombs, IED:s. It's a film in which the differences between the characters are nicely played out. In almost all scenes, we get several pictures of what it means to be a "professional", a soldier, a man. It turns out that war means different things to these three main characters. It's perhaps an unusual film in that danger is not an excuse for action, but rather a topic that is explored most of all through the ways the characters react to situations.
What struck me was that this is a film that doesn't really have a "narrative". The New York Times calls it "a series of set pieces". It's more a meditation on boredom, excitation and addiction than an attempt to build a story. And, mind you, it is not "a film about war". It's more specific than that.
What was a happy surprise for me was how The hurt locker goes beyond the orchestrated elegance of conventional war movies. The soundtrack sometimes consists of almost jarring sounds, the camera is sometimes hand-held and the pictures at times grainy. These are all effects that work.
It's not the worst film to win an Oscar.
Maybe I should watch ... Point break.

Pane e tulipani (2000)

Bruno Ganz, Bruno Ganz! Bruno Ganz! He played Hitler in Der Untergang, a writer in Eternity and a day, he played Jonathan i Herzog's Nosferatu and he played another Jonathan in that great Wim Wenders movie, Der Amerikanische Freund. In Pane e tulipani (2000) Ganz is a waiter, Fernando, who offers accomodation to a houswife, Rosalba, who is left behind in a bus tour but who decides to go to Venice because she has never been there before. The film revolves around the relationship between Rosalba and Fernando but there is also the storyline with a "private eye" who is sent to Venice by Rosalba's chauvinistic husband. Pane e tulipane is a colorful comedy with quirky characters and nice music. I like it because it has a tone of its own, toying with surreal elements and dream sequences. As a romantic comedy, it lacks some of the overused conventions of the genre and that makes it rather special. One of the main characters is an anarchist florist. And there's accordion music. Need I say more?

Miehen työ (2007)

A Finnish film is incomplete without awkward silences, naturalistic naked bodies, suicide attempts and/or death, heavy drinking, men whom nobody understands. Miehen työ (2007) boasts all these ingredients. And more of the same. Yes, there are hints of a tongue in cheek, yes, certain moments are relieved by black humor but hell, this is such a traditional Finnish movie it's almost ridiculous.
During the first twenty minutes of Miehen työ, I couldn't stop thinking about L'adversaire. A man, Juha, is made redundant from his robust factory job. He feels his wife can't bear to hear it, so he acts as if he goes off to work every morning. He comes to take up a job that he cannot talk to his wife about. He offers women "services". The rest of the film is dedicated either to embarrassing or terrible moments between Juha and his customers, his increasingly difficult relationships with his buddies and, finally, the dramatically charged revelation.
Miehen työ could have been an interesting film had it focused on that which the title promises. "Miehen työ", "a man's work", is a concept connected with expectations about what a real man is supposed to do and, even as importantly, how he is to relate to his work. A real man wears a stained overall or a greasy suit. A real man has the stamina to make gruesome sacrifices (like Juha). A real man dies a little while at work. A real man toils and asks no questions.
Juha impersonates this ideal about male sacrifice in greates detail. His new job might be "untypical" and he finds it degrading. Just as degrading as he finds telling his family about having been sacked from his job. The film tries hard, real hard, to show us how disgusting some women are and how natural it is that he finds them repulsive. But he has to keep up appearances to prove that even he, a prostitute for Christ's sake!, remains true to the ideal. Stern-faced and white-collared, he commits himself to whatever service these women ask him for. In the face of the moment of revelation, he simply tries to reassure his wife: "I did it for you!" But this kind of exploration into the darker sides of Finnish work morale seems like an excuse to explore even seedier stuff. This theme is almost completely overshadowed by the Drama - and because of this, Miehen työ remains one of those conventional Finnish movies in which every man tries to kill himself and every woman is a nagging bitch.
Indeed, we don't know much about the wife. She is just that nagging bitch at home with the kids. You guessed it, she is mentally instable. Juha's job enrages her. But why? The director of the film, Aleksi Salmenperä, is not interested in looking into that question. It's funnier to create a poignant scene involving a hammer and an ankle joint.
Miehen työ revolves around male shame. But is Salmenperä really clear about the role of shame in Juha's life? Why is unemployment something beyond an economically strained existence - why is it considered shameful? What, exactly, is the film's perspective on Juha's failure in being a "breadwinner"? I am sure (I hope) he doesn't want to say that shame is the reaction of a person who has failed in sacrifice-as-responsibility - I mean: either there is sacrifice or there is shame.

"Tommi Korpela risteyttää Jeesuksen ja Speden loistavassa tulkinnassaan nurkkaan ahdistetusta miehestä, jonka uhrauksia vaimo ei ymmärrä oikein." Thank you and good night.

The Rain People (1969)

If the protagonist of The Rain People were a man on the run from a dark past involving some girl called Doris, instead of being a pregnant woman who has doubts about family life with her husband, The Rain People could have been a Wim Wenders movie. But it's not. It's an early Francis Ford Coppola direction. The script of this movie must've been minimal. The plot isn't exactly bustling with action, which is all good. We are introduced to Natalie, as the woman is called, on the road, talking to her husband on a pay phone. We know next to nothing about her. She picks up a hitchhiker, a youngish man with an unsettling nickname, Killer. The guy turns out to be an ex-footballer who got a severe blow in the head during a game. He's got a thousand dollars in his pocket but nowhere to go. Natalie doesn't really know what to do. Unwilling to make any commitments, she makes it clear to him that she wants to continue her journey alone. But it turns out it's not that easy.
This might not be a movie that gave me plenty to think about. But as character drama & aesthetically satisfying mood piece, it works OK. Coppola doesn't sentimentalize. He has made a film that despite of the rawness of several scenes is imbued with a gentle fondness for the characters. After having watched one dreadful hour of Vicki Christina Barcelona* yesterday, Coppola's movie actually feels comparatively feminist. This is a film about why women are expected to commit and different ways of rebelling against that. Like many other American movies, The rain people is about the big car-on-the-open-road-going-west quest for Freedom. But it isn't the worst film about that subject. It evades some clichés (does that have anything to do with the fact that the protagonist is a woman?). Actually, this is a film that is neither cynical nor idealistic. It just shows how hard to be indifferent and how easy it is to have impossible hopes and make bad choices.

* A redeeming fact about the movie might be that it's not only the women that are portrayed as bimbos. Men are, too. It's a horribly misanthropic film. Afterwards you wish to call some guy in the White house or the Kremlin and ask them to fire off all the nuclear weapons they've got. I'm surprised how unimpressed I am with that perspective.

On the waterfront (1954)

Elia Kazan was a snitch for McCarthy. On the waterfront is his explanation for being one. The film surely presents one grim portrait of corrupted union bosses and members who are willing to do most anything to promote their own selfish interests. That's the idea. And it's about a troubled young man, ex-prize fighter, who undergoes some sort of moral conversion, a girl with Florence Nightingale syndrome who investigates the murder of her dead brother Joey (played by "a pretty and blond artisan" according to a contemporary review) and a Catholic priest who is worried about the moral state of the community. I am not surprised that even the Vatican has recommended On the waterfront as a film that commends proper values. No, this is not a good movie. Yes, the only colors in this film are black and white and then I don't mean monochromes. The outdoor scenes of the harbor and people who work there are good but everything else is fairly disappointing stuff.
If you're interested in Kazan, watch A streetcar named desire.

Crash (1996)

Another Wednesday movie with the philosophers. Not too many of us this time. Cronenberg's film is a bit tricky to watch. Almost 70 % of the film is taken up by the characters', well, fucking. But I suppose Cronenberg didn't want his movie to be entertaining in a conventional sense (interesting plot, psychological depth). As a matter of fact it's, on a certain level, a very boring film. There's lots of repetition, and if it weren't, I guess Cronenberg wouldn't have brought home the point. With the exception of some exhilarating scenes involving apocalyptic-looking urban landscapes and streets, this is mostly a film about the relation between body, body, car. A TV director survives a car crash. He becomes involved with some people who are into car accidents - sexually, that is. He tries it out for himself, and there's something that makes him crave for yet another car crash. Watching it, participating it, feeling the bodily bruises. The question that I ask myself while watching Crash is what kind of thrill these car crashes represent to these people. Actually, there is a question whether these blank-faced people can be satisfied or thrilled or excited. (What does the ending mean? The circle is closed?) Everything in this film is dead and dull, simmering in blue creepy light. Fitting. Every character seems strangely disengaged & numb throughout the film. Erotic zombies feeding on each other's corpses but only mediated by metal and rubber. What do they want? Death?
What surprised me afterwards while talking about the film is how many comic scenes there actually are. While watching it, I didn't really feel like laughing, except once (a scene involving a robotic Swedish voice).
Crash made me think about lots of things. Desire machines, most of all. Bodies that are bodies no more, but just pieces of machinery, just like those cars, reduced to some strange flows of flat urges. But maybe that is a hard reading to make because, for all the humping bodies and body parts, it's quite hard to see any desire expressed by these characters (sorry...bodies).