The Piano (1993)

Jane Campion's An angel at my table, about outcast author Janet Frame, is one of those films that I think about every now and then. But it took me some good years to muster up enough courage to watch The Piano. Slandered by some, elevated by others - this is a film people have opinions about. As a matter of fact, I liked many things in it, and, especially, I liked Harvey Keitel's performance. Keitel is, in my opinion, one of the more interesting male Hollywood actors. In several movies (Holy smoke!, Ulysses' gaze), Keitel challenges some very deeply ingrained ideas about male, physical presence, even though he also, in a bunch of movies, performs as the familiar, beefy tough guy whose only physical trait is his weary face. (Of course, there are some film makers who goes against the grain of normative masculine embodiment: Claire Denis is an important example.) In quite a few movies, Keitel's acting is characterized by a rare, physical fragility. That aspect of his acting becomes very important in The Piano.

The story of The Piano does not lack melodramatic misfires. But mostly, it's a haunting film, memorable for its stark portrayal of loneliness and desire. - Secondly, this is a film that has a cinematic style of its own; dramatic, gothic blue-ish colors and whirling, musical camerawork (I guess Lars von Trier must have seen this - the evocative surroundings have much in common with Antichrist). What I like about The Piano is the complexity of the characters and the brutal exactitude of Campion's storytelling. The film is set in the 19th century. Ada, a woman who does not speak, moves to New Zealand with her young daughter. A man has promised to marry her. Ada seems to have no romantic feelings for the man. The man wants her "affection", but seems to care little about her. Ada is involved in an affair with another man, Baines, an affair that starts out as one-sided attempts at seduction, and even crude bribery. The relationship transforms into something else. - But as I interpret the film, Campion is not happy to re-enact a trite male fantasy about the woman who gives in to male sexual power. The question about power and powerlessness is certainly central to the story, but power is no either/or issue, neatly portioned among the characters. It is evident that Ada embodies rebellious desire (she is the assumingly frigid, Victorian woman). Here, one might wonder what role the piano / music plays in the story. Campion makes much of the erotic tensions in music and playing (Ada, a mute woman, expresses herself and her situation through music), but it is rather open what the bearing of the last scenes have on that; scenes that suggest loss and ambiguous resolution: maybe we have gotten too comfortable with our image of Ada? Maybe family life with Baines is not the Utopia after all?
 
In an interesting article about the moralistic and myopic outrage among white journalists against gangsta rap, bell hooks goes on to analyze The Piano, which she sees as a sexist movie, the sexism of which these same white journalists are oblivious to. "Violance against land, natives and women in this film, unlike that of gangsta rap, is portrayed uncritically, as though it is 'natural', the inevitable climax of conflicting passions." I think hooks makes a very important observation here, even though there are some things in the film that makes me hesitant in saying that Campion is "uncritical". In my view, her film, even though flawed and unresolved on many issues, is about living in patriarchy. Actually, I would not say that Campion is in the business of making manifests conflicting patterns of primordial desire. One reason for this is the very last scene, in which we see Ada, the piano teacher, who lives with Baines and her daughter, playing her piano. If one takes a close look at that scene (iron finger and all) it is not at all clear if Ada has finally attained a blissful state of "freedom". But is Campion producing an erotization of male domination? - I think I would have to re-watch the film in order to give a decent answer to that question. At least, I would say that there are several scenes that explicitly raise this question: Baines' regret and Ada's husband's fear of his wife's attempts at sexual controls are examples here.

The Galilee Eskimos (2006)

In the face of deep debt & bankruptcy, men, women and children leave their kibbutz in a state of total desolation - save for a group of elderly people who, unaware of the exodus of their peers, have remained. They decide to keep on living there, despite external pressures in the shape of bulldozers, bailiffs and the lucrative prospect of building a casino on the former kibbutz. This is the story of The Galilee Eskimos, an Israeli comedy that does not lack political undercurrents. But this is far from a political manifesto - if you want to see political dimensions here, fine - but actually, this is more of a feel-good film about friendship, joy and memory. The group of seniors take charge of the situation, and in doing that, they recollect their youth; socialism, independence, work. Even though I found this film very charming, the very uncritical picture of kibbutz life made me a bit uneasy. That the kibbutz founders had a natural right to that kind of life was not something the film dwelled on, even though thematically, it revolved around what it means to belong to a place and view it as one's own - and the bitter realization that one's life is shattered by external forces. On a more positive note, this is a film that honors the joys of everyday life and the possibility of finding friendship and love.

Claire Denis

... & French philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy is the topic of Film-Philosophy No 1 (2008):

Samaritan girl (2004)

During the last few weeks, I've watched a batch of Kim Ki-Duk films. My gut reaction is that his films are artistically interesting, but morally a bit shady. Samaritan girl does not change my mind in that respect. In many ways, it is a typical Ki-Duk production. The question about problematic female sexuality (which, in many films, is seen as a threat, something that challenges the stability of the world) remains in the limelight. Kim Ki Duk's peculiar perspective on violence is ever-present. The story of the film is quite horrendous (and very misogynistic): a very young girl works as a prostitute while her shy friend, Yeo-Yin is the business manager. When the police is about to interrupt one rendezvous, the girl jumps from a window, and dies at hospital. Yeo-Yin, seeking some sort of redemption /expiation, meets every client her friend has slept with, goes through with the act, and returns to him the money from the first transaction. In the second part of the film, Yeo-Yin's activities are unintentionally revealed to her father who, in a third segment of the film, embarks on a spiritual journey of his own, which involves violence and an attempt to bring his daughter back to virginal purity. 

Though not a Pretty woman, Samaritan girl is, in my opinion, too overloaded with symbolism and metaphors. As a story about redemption, this pic has some merits, but it also contains far too many ugly clichés about the secret of female sexuality to really be of any interest. Actually, I doubt that anything good can be dug out from the whore/madonna dichotomy - and this is proven by this film. What is more, the idea of "female innocence" torn to pieces by males is never really questioned here - rather, Ki-Duk creates a lugubrious tale about a cruel world in which innocent girls are whiffed into a life of obscenities.

The reason why Ki-Duk's film haunt me is because his films always contain two or three scenes where everything is in the right place, cinematically speaking. Yeo-Yin's father sit quietly in his car, covered with colorful leaves, surrounded by an eerie, stern, blue-ish light. Nothing happens. We just see him sitting there. The very ending scenes, in which Yeo-Yin's father teaches his daughter to drive a car, has an almost otherworldly beauty - along with a few layers of meaning.

Gitarrmongot (2004)

Ruben Östlund caused quite a stir with his film De ofrivilliga a few years ago. His earlier, lesser known Gitarrmongot might not be as well-developed (from a mainstream-audience point of view), but a very interesting viewing experience is guaranteed nonetheless. Östlund works in a no-frills, mocumentary style. He has a good nose for things we are prone to shy away from, the awkward, embarrassing moments that we'd rather forget about. In bravely exploring forms of psychological violence, group dynamics and multifarious versions of revolt against a repressed society (in which Lars Berghagen is a saint), Östlund really becomes relevant and transgresses the average "bury-your-shame-in-pillow" kind of one-trick pony. At his best, Östlund doesn't leave the viewer with a momentaneous tingle, "ew, embarrassing!", he gets to grips with the dark heart of social morality - and our own part of it.

Gitarrmongot does not have a plot. Like Roy Andersson's later films, Östlund works with short scenes, the relation between which we are to figure out for ourselves. There is the boy who plays guitar on the street and with his older friend; the woman who causes much anguish by touching a girl's hair in the back of a bus; a gang of boys entertain themselves with breaking stuff; a pair of chaps make sleazy jackass-styled videos.

Östlund's film may take an interest in themes which have been popularized by the Falkenberg-gang. But there is a difference in mood, and perhaps in politics, too. Östlund is a crass observer and dark comedian. He does not point his finger at anything. Perhaps most importantly; he sees the potential in things and phenomena that might otherwise just appear to be stupid or embarrassing - like the little boy with his guitar that bugs the shit out of most people. I would describe Gitarrmongot as a film that, in several ways, studies social activity as expressive of energy (does this mean that he is uninterested in a moral point of view? No.). The most striking example of this is, perhaps, a scene in the very beginning of the film, in which a young man drills a group of youngsters to chant "Sieg heil!" as fast as possible. 

For all its seemingly low-budget techniques, Östlund's film is often surprising in how it pays attention to things like camera angles & framing of shots - and sound. One of the things that really stood out in the film is how Östlund allows the sounds in the film to appear in several layers; sometimes we hear a jarring sound, and at other times I really have to pay attention in order to make out the words through the hazy soundscape. In most movies, all sounds are on the same level, resulting in a dull flatness. Östlund makes his images, even when they appear monotonous, come to life.  

Undertow (2004)

Undertow is a mediocre thriller with a few good moments to speak for it. At its best, it features quiet moments where Philip Glass' music is allowed to shine and the film is thriving on its 70's roots and atmospheres that resemble George Washington. At its worst, Undertow trades in thriller crumbles we've seen a thousand times (or more). I guess this is supposed to settle into the mind of teens as an evil fairytail about lost childhood and a grim world in which everyone is forced to take care of herself. Does it work? ... Not really.

The Children's hour (1961)

Being one of those films that I've read about in feminist texts (and The Celluloid closet), I finally got to see The Children's hour. The film is a second adaptation of Lillian Hellman's play. Karen (Audrey Hepburn) & Martha (Shirley MacLaine) are schoolteachers, having set up their own girls' school. In the first section of the film, we see Karen's & Martha's daily life. Karen is about to get married to Joe, who is a doctor. Martha is obviously unhappy with that prospect. One of the girls, perhaps the most annoying kid in film history, is punished for making trouble. She wants to have her revange, so she spreads a rumour about the teachers - that they are engaged in an "unnatural" relationship. The rumour is transformed into a scandal, involving a juridical process. In the last section of the film, post-trial, we see the two teachers, shattered by being scandalized. Another round of interrogation takes place. Does Joe believe in Karen? And what about Martha? Martha finally confesses her love for Karen. The film ends on a very traditional note; "the lesbian" has to die - this time, by her own hands.

Admittedly, the weaving of the plot contains some embarrassing half-measures. But that does not spoil this movie, which I, at least initially, found to be less crude than what I expected it to be. Interestingly, the contemporary New York Times reviewer, who regarded the story as unbelievable (that such a rumor would wreak such havoc), did not find it very daring. After that, I was less prone to think about radical politics, and started to think about my own conception of 60's prudes instead.

Critics have complained that this adaptation of The Children's hour makes a cliché out of the lesbian theme. And of course the repressed lesbian who commits suicide is exactly that. But that is not to say that the film has no merits; the ending scene is actually quite beautiful - no happy, heterosexual ending.The errand of the film seems ultimately to be about showing how rumors can destroy people's lives, rather than to portray a slice of heteronormativity drama. It is easy to make too much of the lesbian subplot, but that would be unfair to the film.

Wild at heart (1990)

Wild at heart is based on a pulp novel and also the film adaptation is through-and-through pulp material. If you leave it at that, this is a quite good movie, with some elegant editing work; the way in which scenes are linked and contrasted make the film what it is. Lynch succeeds in startling his audience with the seemingly random jumps from scene to scene. There's also a bunch of gritty/eerie scenes. Lynch concocts a love story clad with 50's nostalgia, raunchy bad guys, a bustling soundtrack and gruesome plot twists. True; Lynch gets away with a lot; corny Elvis imitations / cheap symbolism (ecstacy/FIRE!) / "shock-value"-scenes. At his best, Lynch conjures those moments where reality slips away, lacunae, moments of overwhelming fear in which nothing makes sense. There are a few scenes where Lynch appeals to those emotions - for example, there is a scene in which one of the bad guys of the movie, Bobby Peru, steps into the dirty, puke-smeared motel room in which our heroine is resting. But none of the images in Wild at heart manages to grab a hold of me in the same way as some of Lynch's other material.

Stromboli (1950)

This spring, I've watched quite a few Italian movies - let's continue on that track. Stromboli may not be Roberto Rossellini's most famous movie, but it is, for all its moments of terrible acting, a quite interesting one. Ingrid Bergman plays the leading role; a girl, Karen, with a complicated past, who, to escape a internment camp, marries an Italian man. The man lives on a small island, on the top of which broods an ever-active volcano. The differences between the spouses are apparent. The girl can't endure the simple life on the island. She feels trapped and lonely. One night, she goes to a woman's house, where she can get her dress fixed. The other woman, we learn, "is bad". And we soon see a gang of men serenading under her window. Among these men are Karen's husband. He drags her away and attacks her physically. This is not really a film dependent on plot. What Rossellini is trying to do is, I guess, to depict some clashes in terms of gender and class. It's a film about the significance of "a better life", and what it means to pursue it. The film is, in content and style, very subdued. With one, very unsurprising exception - the music. --- But there are several things about the film that made me uncomfortable. The image of the woman, too frail & self-occupied for the hard life, is a rotten one, but Rossellini seems to go along with it, developing it to tell a story about egoism, redemption and faith. The reason why Karen is so miserable is never really clarified. We are just to assume that she is too fond of fancy dresses and a comfortable life. The other important role in the film, that of her husband, is hardly more intelligible. He is bluntly naive, boyish - only to become brutal and violent. A cliché. A redeeming fact about the film is that the end has an openness to it, so that it can be interpreted in several ways. Stromboli is beautifully shot. The location, the desolate island, almost suffices for a reason for why this is still a good movie. In one early scene, we see Karin explore the village. She hears a distant cry of an instant. Karin's hestitant movements are central to understanding what kind of situation she has found herself in. That particular scene shimmers with life.

The coast guard (2002)

The coast guard is not Kim Ki-Duk's strongest movie. It puts forward a harrowing critique of the South Korean army - against the backdrop of a general atmosphere (augmented by music) of sadness & remorse. In fear of northern spies, troops patrol the border. One night, a zealous young soldier shoots a young boy, a civilian, who has sneaked off to the beach with his lover. Tragedy, madness and violence ensue. The film depicts bully and fear. A very bleak picture is painted of the army's activities, arbitrary excercise of power, hierarchy, moral weakness. If there were less big gestures, less action-style violence & a more focused and subtle/evocative characterization of the characters had been provided, this would have been a much better film.