Cléo from 5 to 7 (1962)

A kid is playing a small piano in an alleyway. This is one example of a scene that makes Agnès Varda's Cléo from 5 to 7 so great: even a small detail of urban life, like this one, is full of life in this movie, that is set in Paris during two hours packed with emotional scales. Cléo is a singer worrying about the diagnosis of a cancer tumor. The film follows her - from 5 to 7, and it goes through the tumult of her emotional life with a lightness and liveliness that makes the story all but a lugubrious brooding on mortality. The complexity, but also sometimes strangely fleeting quality, of Cléos emotions is beautifully captured. Thus, the film contains both seriousness and a sense of playfulness. Even when the film seems to burst with urban life and detailed settings we never lose track of Cléo and the things she goes through. She is used to being admired, looked at, desired. In the film, we see her differing attitude towards this attention. In one moment, we see her flirting and singing with a bunch of guys playing at a piano. In another scene, Cléo is walking on the street, pondering her impending diagnosis. The scenes is filmed from a subjective point of view, so that what Cléo experiences as the intruding gazes of the passers-by are highly present. She worries about being sick, losing her good looks, and thus the gazes remind her of the ambivalence of the kind of attention she is constantly the object of. These scenes remind the viewer of hir own perception and hir own conclusions: how do I view Cléo? What do I take her to be? What happens when I start to deride what she says as superstition? What do I perceive as masks, and what do I see as the 'real' Cléo? The dynamic and playful cinematic techniques employed in Cléo from 5 to 7 keep those questions at the heart of the film. One of those questions are, of course: what do I think happens in the last 30 minutes of 'Cléo from 5 to 7' that are not captured in the film, that runs at 1 hour, 30 minutes?

Lili Marleen (1981)

Lili Marleen is far from Fassbinder's best work. It's a decent film, but also a rather unfocused and perhaps a bit uninspired one. The story is about a singer, Willie (fabulous overwrought Hannah Schygulla), whose career is linked to Nazi era sentiments. She is enamored with a Swiss guy involved in the resistance movement. Willie scores a big hit, a favorite among the German troops and among the nazi party elite. The cheesy song is played countless times in the movie and through his hyperbolic sense of melodrama, Fassbinder lets Willie stand for a hapless naivety. 'I only sing'. She's the diva who is known to the German people mostly as the 'woman who sings Lili Marleen. She considers herself to be against the Nazis, but her acting shows nothing of it. Her lover saves Jews and tries to reveal the truth about the nazis. He marries another woman and becomes a celebrated conductor. German soldiers ar heard roaring along to Lili Marleen and Willie perform the song in glossy evening dresses. These are colorful big budget images and I suppose the aim is to present a dreadful image of entertainment as a distortion, a lie or as a manifestation of the kind of skewed self-undertanding that Willie nurses about herself. However, Lili Marleen is not a film that digs out the contrast between surface and brutal reality. That contrast is not at all present here. Glamor, gloss and people's desperation and love-sick disappointment are rendered in the same bizarre and kitschy style. That Fassbinder focuses on a bombastic love story rather than the brutality of war is of course part of the irony of the film. If you will remember something from this film, it is probably Lili Marleen, the song we hear a thousand times in this movie, accompanied by crashing bombs. Even though the effect is striking, this remains a minor film.

A Prophet (2009)

A Prophet is an ambitious film. Malik is doing time in prison. The film follows him through the hierarchies of the prisons that ultimately leads him to a gangster world that extends outside the gates of the prison. When we first meet him, Malik is an insecure, quiet guy. Gradually, he toughens. This may sound like a cliché but somehow Jacques Audiard, who directed the film, keeps enough interest in his protagonist so that the project never really slides into the territory of the all-too-familiar images of tough and masculine competition of who is on top of the prison gangs. Audiard focuses on the vulnerability of the newcomer and the way this vulnerability rather quickly transmutes into an almost invincible presence. Malik meets César (Niels Arestrup - brilliant in this role), the Corsican king of the prison. From the get-go, César has his eyes on the new guy, whom he incessantly calls a dirty Arab good for nothing but cleaning and servility. Malik is played like an errand boy, but who starts to become a player in his own right. In the prison, Malik learns to read and he takes economics classes. He also learns how to inhabit the role of ruthless criminal, a role that at first does not at all come naturally to him. At the end of the film, I am not at all sure whether it is proper to call what he is engaged in as performance of a role.

One thing A Prophet reveals is the moral irreversibility of these events. Malik becomes a murderer. Prison has changed this person forever. Malik starts to get a reputation in the prison and he treats his mobster protector with a mix of fear, reverence and disdain. He is given more and more tasks outside the prison, and he learns the skills of dispassionately doing what he is assigned to do. // Skeptical remarks could of course be raised against A Prophet. What I appreciated about it was that it, for all the explicit display of violence, or perhaps even because of it, kept an attention to vulnerability throughout and it is seen in the places we least expect it to exist: we see the anguish in the experienced killer Malik and in the mobster leader who wanders around the prison court, exuding a sense of loneliness amidst his power. A Prophet never tries to reveal what these character 'really' feel or think. They act, and we see their agility or clumsiness. This is the virtue of the film: it makes us ask, over and over again: what is this life really like, what would it be like to do these things? What separates A Prophet from many other prison films is that nothing of the life of violence and reputation is made to look cool. There are countless gruesome scenes that reveal the world in which the protagonist comes to inhabit.

Some of the scenes have a strange almost contemplative character. Two of these scenes are enhanced by music by one of my favorite bands, Talk Talk. An excellent choice!

Matewan (1987)

How many American films about strikes have you watched? In my case: not many. I was curious about Matewan, a film directed by John Sayles (who has crafted some films I like) about a 1920 coal miners' strike in a small town in West Virginia. The film tells the story about labor union organizing and the violent resistance it met. The protagonist, Joe, is a professional union man who comes to Matewan to organize the workers. He finds lodging at a coal miner's widow's house. Her son is a preacher. The employer threatens the workers with lower pay and replacement of organized workers. Joe seeks to organize workers of different backgrounds. One of the messages - a beautiful one, I think - is the internationalist and anti-racist potential of the worker movement. Racism is seen both in the company's strategies to break up the unions but it is also seen in troubling tendencies within the union. A question that is kept alive throughout the film is that there is a controversy within the union about whose union it is. The conflict with the employer escalates. An infiltrator tries to manipulate the union members, trying to convince them that Joe is a spy. Two company agents arrive in town where they take action by evicting miners from their former residences.

The major weakness of Matewan is how clumsily it deals with the situation in which the conflict turns into a violent one. Eventually, the violence and the company men start to look like evil gangs in a Western movie. The last couple of scenes are strongly inspired by a foreboding Western aesthetic. For my own part, I felt that this dramatization took the political edge off the story. Characters are often reduced into good guys and bad guys and some situations are extremely bluntly staged into a struggle between evil intentions and almost saintly deeds. In these moments, the film reels from political narration to sloppy moral drama in which letters are stolen and conversations are overheard by malicious ears.

At best, Sayles chronicles the organizing of the union and the community of evicted workers that gradually evolves. The solidarity among the workers who not always share a language is beautifully portrayed in quiet scenes. So is the tension that occurs from the differences among the strikers with regard to the use of violence. Joe, the professional labor organizer, is against violence. Some of the strikers accuses him of being too professional, and thus no real voice in the conflict. The verdict on violence is a mixed one. The recourse to violence in the union is presented as destructive and dangerous, but the way Joe and the others are rendered powerless is also troubling. We also see examples of how the company had to back down simply because of the strikers being armed, and, for that reason, posing a real threat. A point Sayles seems to make throughout is that the capitalists acted like thugs, with brute violence, and that this created a very specific situation.

When looking at these tensions, the film has something very interesting going on. A crucial observation made by the story is how the mining company uses conquer-and-divide strategies in order to break up the union and how the reaction against those tactics have both existential, practical and political stakes.

One thing that should be mentioned is the way very common clichés are evaded. The film shows a pro-union chief of police and a preacher who transforms biblical parables into fiery union speeches. Wisely, Matewan doesn't even opt for cheesy love stories, even in the places where it opens for that possibility.

Rififi (1955)

A while ago I wrote about Le cercle rouge. Jules Dassin's heist movie Rififi is definitively a predecessor that shares the same spirit and attitude towards the crime genre. Also in this film there is a drawn-out near-silent scene that conveys the methodical work of criminals, in this case a gang cracking a safe in a jewellry shop by first sneaking into the apartment above the shop, silencing the inhabitants and then cutting their way through the roof in order to access the safe... It's a brilliant scene that ends with some screeching drills. However, I can't say Rififi made a deep impression on me. The personalities of the thugs didn't really get a hold on me: I simply did not see much here beyond the routine toughness and snappy dialogue and showdowns against women. The only character that stands out is Tony, who likes to play with his grandson. I will remember it for its depiction of a wintry, damp Montmarte and the memorable last sequence of the film in which we see Tony going home with his gdson (whom he has gotten hold of from kidnappers) in a car. A car ride to remember, for sure. As has been pointed out, what makes Rififi special is the way Dassin uses locations. In one scene we see a jazz band jamming. The scene has no particular purpose. We just watch these types playing in a cavernous club, and that's all. Of Dassin's films, I prefer the equally gloomy Night and the City.

Boyhood (2014)

Newspaper articles have raved about the unusual long-term use of actors in Richard Linklater's Boyhood. Even though I can understand the originality of using the same actors for many years, I don't think this in itself makes a film brilliant. Boyhood turns out to be a rather captivating story about growing up as a kid in the USA. It also deals with parenting in a refreshing way. However, there is little that truly stands out in the film. Perhaps I was fooled by unanimously over-enthusiastic reviews, but I simply did not, for all its sympathetic perspective and sometimes moving moments, see the greatness of Boyhood. Yes, the film managed to hold my attention for over 3 hours. What bothered me was how lazy some of the film's choices seemed to me. There are the Moment of growing up, the Hardships of being a parent and the ill-advised relationships we end up in. What I mean is, that the film tries too hard capturing a specific stage in life in a specific typical moments. The protagonist, Mason, is seen in the typical situations growing up involve. The family moves. The mother is involved with an angry drunk. The father is a rather immature guy who still cares about relating to the kids. There's adolescence and romance, schools and boy-father bonding. All of this is fine, weren't it for a certain eagerness to churn out Epic Moments that capture the big changes in life. There's the "watchful, reflective intensity".

Not only are they Epic Moments, they also contain what at time - not always - can be felt to be calculated aims of capturing the touchstones of a specific year. In one such scene, we see the protagonist and his sister campaigning for Obama. In another, we see them lining up to buy Harry Potter books. To me, these scenes seemed to function mostly as such touchstones of time.

There's also the Boyhood thing. Even though I would not say Linklater prescribes to a strict traditional masculinity the role of gender in the movie was a bit puzzling. On the one hand, this is a film about fighting with one's siblings, going to parties, falling in love, dealing with one's parents. (And parents caring about or worrying about their kids.) On the other hand, I don't think reviewers are wrong when they claim that Boyhood is about becoming a man. My problem is the image conjured up here. Mason is a kid who learns that being a boy involves certain rules about how to express oneself and how to act. We see a certain independence in him as he matures, he chooses his own way. I don't doubt that this can be a good description of how people grow up and turn out different from their sexist environment. The only problem with how this independence is rendered is a tiny element of self-satisfactory Universalness this boy comes to inhabit. To make my point a bit crude: what would you imagine a film called Girlhood to be? Could you even imagine an equally solid image of Growing up and Maturing? I'm not so sure. I have a hard time articulating my worries here, but some of it concerns a certain non-resolution when it comes to gender in this movie.

Le cercle rouge (1970)

Le Cercle rouge wants to look good and it really does. Jean-Pierre Melville's classic crime film is an extremely aesthetic affair that uses seedy locations and drawn-out silence skillfully. However, for all its visual and atmospheric brilliance, I kept feeling frustrated about the quasi-intellectual portrayal of fate and existential emptiness. For me, this was not so much a portrayal of existential emptiness, it was an exercise in existential vacuity. This vacuity is combined with an aesthetization of all-male codes of honor and respect. (The only time a woman appears as a character, she is naked and that is basically her purpose...) Corrupt cops mingle with talented criminals. The film culminates in the big heist, an extremely long section set in a jewelry store. The point is to show crime as a kind of ballet, or precision, or as an expression of these men's detached and cool attitude to what they do. But this is not Pickpocket. Melville's film shows the choreographic movements of the criminals in basically the same way as a George Clooney film does. The difference is just that this film is seedier and that the guys on screen are not as slick. One could read the film as a love story between two dispassionate men. That would make it a bit better. Corey and Vogel. A man just released from prison and the other a prisoner on the run. In the first scene together, one of them points a gun at the other. The gun business is dropped and they smoke together on a muddy field under the gray sky. Romance in the air! The film plods along in a series of encounters between criminals, mobsters and cynical police officers. The perfect crimes is weighted against the ultimate downfall, orchestrated by Melville as yet another series of images that are supposed to evoke some kind of gloomy Awe. For my own part, I couldn't help yawning at this massive piece of masculine pretentiousness. The best thing about this movie was the strange doubled scenes in which an elderly cop lolls around his apartment, feeding his fat cats. More of that, and less of the honor-code-precision, fatalist bullshit, and I would probably have loved this film.

Whistle Stop (1946)

The most interesting thing about Leonide Moguy's Whistle Stop is its main character, Mary (Ava Gardner), who returns from having been out of town for a while. Her past reveals tangled relations with a few men and the film basically revolves around her choice between two men she used to date. One is a nightclub owner and the other is a bitter barfly type. Moguy throws in a robbery and a murder plot for good measure. There are some good scenes involving sordid bars and poisonous rivalry, but other than that Whistle stop is packed with threads that are never tied together. 

Gloria (2013)

A sad truth about the world of movies is that women older than 35 are rarely protagonists. There is the occasional Meryl Streep who breaks this tendency, but still. Not only is Gloria unusual in this sense, it is unusual in other respects as well: its portrayal of gender is, I think, much more nuanced than what you usually see in movies. And also, more importantly: Gloria is a good film. Sebastián Lelio has crafted an engaging and also heart-warming and even (in a good way) uplifting story about a woman who tries to find a direction in life.

Gloria - fabulously played by Pauline Garcia - is recently divorced. Her kids are grown and they have their own lives. Gloria meets Rodolfo at a nightclub. He is the passionate cassanova. They enter into a relationship and it is clear that Gloria has some hopes about it. Rudolfo is more detached. Gloria is frustrated about his lack of commitment and his tangled family life. What is so brilliant in the film is that Rudolfo and Gloria are complicated characters. Rodolfo may be an asshole, but the film gently portrays his insecurities as well as his romantic advancements. Gloria's hopes are not rendered into desperation but the film hints at her inability to see early warning signs about the guy and somehow, she can be said to be as selfish as he is. We see the stakes and the hurt. The film is on her side without glossing over disconcerting foibles and tendencies. Gloria works a boring job and at night the mentally troubled neighbor's cat comes to visit. She sings cheesy pop songs in her car and takes Rodolfo with her to a family dinner that ends in disaster. Gloria touches on many themes without being unfocused. It is driven by situations, rather than narrative and Lelio's direction of these detailed situation is superb, as he always manages to put entire worlds into these - often rather ordinary - situations. Gloria is a delightful film: sad and funny at the same time.

Of Gods and Men (2010)

In Of Gods and Men, Xavier Beauvois tells a subdued and multi-layered story about civil war, faith and community. The central event of the film is the kidnapping of French Trappist monks during the civil war in Algeria in 1996. Most of the film takes place within the monastery. The aim is not, I think, to transform these monks into heroes. Very skillfully and maturely, Beauvois focuses on tensions and the disagreement within the community. What are they to do, what is the right thing to do? The calm and austerity of the film helps us understand the tragedy of the events. It is always the relations between the monk that stand out. The individuals appear only in these relations. These relations, both within the monastery and the relations to the villagers, are portrayed subtly. The villagers seem content to have the monastery there, and the monks provide some medical services, etc. Of Gods and Monsters does not give us a full-fledged image of the civil war. I suppose the point is not to conjure up any idea about fighting "sides". Of the jihadists who kidnap the monks we know very little. What we see more of are the reactions of the monk: their fear, but also their dignity. One theme that could have been developed more strongly is the legacy of colonialism. How are the monks situated within that legacy? The only scene in which the topic is explicitly touched on is when a police chief talks about how the colonial power relations have stopped Algeria from growing. However, one can of course understand the key dilemma of the monks in the light of this legacy. What would it mean for them to return to France? We sense that one of the tensions here is what it means to say that these monks "belong" in France, and that they were always mere visitors. The film gives no answers but in its solemn way it points at the difficulties and deep injuries at play here. Still, a lingering worry about the film is what perspective the film is offering. As I said, it is the dignity of the monks that stands out. One reading of the film that shows why it is potentially problematic is that the question whether the monks should return to France is rendered into a question about dignity alone: it is this dignity we see in their resolution. The risk is perhaps that this being the case, more political dimensions start to appear like very narrow, worldly concerns. I greatly appreciate Beauvois' portrayal of religious community. But is there a wider thesis, an anti-political one, he is trying to make here?