Chungking Express (1994)

Director: Wong Kar-Wai
Writer: Wong Kar-Wai

Set in Hong Kong, Chungking Express comprises two tales tenuously tied together via the Midnight Express lunch counter. The first segment centers on He Qiwu, Cop No. 223 (Takeshi Kaneshiro), a heartbroken policeman. His girlfriend, May, broke up with him on April Fool's Day and he's giving her one month to let the joke play out. In the mean time, he buys a can of pineapples – her favorite fruit – everyday with the expiration date of May 1; his birthday and the one month cut-off point. This story is intercut with the story line of the woman with whom Qiwu will fall in love, a blond wig-wearing drug runner (Brigitte Lin). The story then shifts to Cop No. 663 (Tony Leung Chiu Wai), whose flight attendant girlfriend leaves him. The new Midnight Express counter girl Faye (Faye Wong) intercepts a "Dear John" letter for No. 663 (including an apartment key) and proceeds to rearrange his apartment while he's on duty.

I've only recently gotten into Asian cinema and I am not very well versed in their major filmmakers or even an essential canon of films. I've seen a couple Akira Kurosawa films, some J-horror, and a couple films by Ang Lee, but other than that, I'm pretty new to this game. However, Chungking Express is one of the single-most enjoyable movies I've seen in a long time. Period. There is a feeling of frenetic energy in the film, from the handheld camera to the use of natural light – which tends to be from the neon signs. The stories are compelling in their quirky honesty. Qiwu's musings on canned pineapples, love, and expiration dates is incredibly bittersweet. The way No. 663 talks to his household objects (e.g. a bar of soap, a dish rag, a giant stuffed bear, etc.) softens his otherwise stiff persona. However, the real show stealer here is Hong Kong pop star Faye Wong. She has a bubbly Audrey-Hepburn-meets-Amélie quality about her that makes her almost painfully endearing. Her adventures in No. 663's apartment and his inability to notice the changes she makes add to the film's offbeat charm. The fragmented narrative is the only unsettling element of the film but this speaks to the relationships people have in a large city. This metaphor is represented in a line repeated in two voice-overs, "That was the closest we ever got: just 0.01 of a centimeter between us." Herein lies one of the few moments of cynicism of the film: the characters get close physically but ever close enough emotionally to make a connection.

Overall, I identified most with the two cops in the film. From a gender studies point of view, Kar-Wai uses them to show the vulnerability men feel in a severed relationship. Generally, in romantic comedies, women are shown as hurting and holding on, however irrationally, to the hope that that lost lover might just come back. Here, the men are the ones feeling loss, what Charlie Brown once summed up as, "Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love."

On a related side note, Wong Kar-Wai originally intended Chungking Express to have three stories. The third, deleted story became a separate companion film: Fallen Angels. Most of the film concerns a hitman and the woman who sets up his assignments, but is softened by the secondary story of young mute man and the manic, heartbroken girl he tries to help. Fallen Angels is a darker, more pessimistic look at love and metropolitan relationships. The films work well independently but add depth to each other when viewed as two thoughts on the same subject.

Days of Heaven (1978)

Director: Terrence Malick
Writer: Terrence Malick

Bill (Richard Gere) is a short-tempered Chicago factory worker who, in a fit of rage, kills his boss. With his girlfriend Abby (Brooke Adams) posing as his sister and his real sister Linda (Linda Manz), the three hop a train to Texas to harvest wheat for a land-owning farmer (Sam Shepard). A love triangle develops between the ailing farmer, Abby, and Bill; resulting in Abby and the farmer's marriage, Bill's departure and return, and a final confrontation.

Like I said in my Superstar entry, there are some movies I could've gone my whole life without sitting through. Days of Heaven is one of them. I decided with a long weekend ahead of me, I'd pick up a few movies before heading to work from school. This movie's plot reminds me of Marty (1955): a lot of time spent on very little action. I came away from both films feeling cheated. At the same time, I wasn't expecting non-stop, heart-pounding action either. Days of Heaven's story creeps along, slowly unfolding a tale of turn-of-century class struggles. Some films benefit from slow pacing but Malick's film borders on the mind numbing. When executed well, there is a feeling that the previous time and images have a cumulative effect that is really only felt at the end of film. Robert Bresson's Pickpocket (1959) and many of the films by John Cassavetes especially Shadows (1959), Faces (1968), and A Woman Under the Influence (1974) have this kind of dramatic/emotional culmination. Days of Heaven however falls short of these films due mainly to Linda Manz's voiceover narration. There is an artificiality to her Chicago accent that rings too loudly to me, continually taking me out of the story.

You maybe wonder about the film's saving graces. There are two. First, is Néstor Almendros' beautiful cinematography. Second, is Ennio Morricone's score. Almendros' compositions, lighting, and use of color are reminiscent of a David Lean epic, the vast wheat fields and the landscape become as much a character as Bill, Abby, Linda, or the farmer. The countryside dominates the frames and characters, imposing its presence and the unforgiving power of nature. Morricone's score punctuates the restrained performances and complements the visuals. The music lends a feeling that this period of change, both socio-economically and personally for the characters, is lost and unrecoverable. For me though, this was not enough to salvage the experience.

Superstar: the Karen Carpenter Story (1987)

Director: Todd Haynes
Writer: Todd Haynes and Cynthia Schneider

A unique short film that recounts the tragic life of singer Karen Carpenter from her early success with brother Richard to her death at age of 32 from complications due to anorexia nervosa.

To begin on a personal note, being a film student is not all it's cracked up to be. The intellectual film community is consistently having to justify itself to the rest of academia. No, we don't just sit around watching movies all day. Film criticism and theory is some of the most challenging reading I've ever experienced. However, film studies is not without its perks. I've gotten to see some of the best movies ever committed to celluloid and some I could’ve gone my whole life without sitting through. One of the former is Todd Haynes' Superstar: the Karen Carpenter Story. I had heard about the 43-minute film but knew it was next to impossible to track down due to some serious legalities. Well, God bless the bootleggers and their crafty ways.

I saw Superstar in a film history class and was simply blown away by it. At first seeing every part played by Barbie and Ken dolls is a little comical but you quickly forget about them and are drawn into the tragedy of Karen's anorexia. No kidding, that's the big twist: Barbie and Ken dolls. But they just seems to disappear in a way. The dolls become clear metaphors for the cult of celebrity Western culture has so readily embraced. How women bend over backward to embody a sickly image of beauty. Karen, of course, was no exception to that pressure.

The film and Haynes were, as Dr. Friedman put it, "sued out of existence" by Richard Carpenter when the rights to the music weren't cleared. Haynes has since resurfaced in the independent world with films like Safe (1995) and Far From Heaven (2002) in which Haynes explores what was repressed Classic Hollywood melodramas; namely homosexuality and interracial relationships.

For me, though, the music is really what has the most power. While I knew most of the songs, when put into the context of Karen's life, I was deeply moved. Now, "Close to You" and "Superstar" are two of the most depressing songs I've ever heard. Because of the context in which they were written and presented in the film, their sadness is emphasized and made all the more tragic. The same is true for me of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" from Meet Me in St. Louis (1944), but I digress. My advice on Superstar is two-fold. First: Richard Carpenter needs to chill out and retract the cease-and-desist order so the public can experience this unique film. Second: since the previous suggestion is probably never going to happen, do whatever you must to find and watch this movie, you'll be glad you did.

Death of Seasons (2006)

Director: Chance White
Writer: Delfo Baroni

Gabriel Seasons (Delfo Baroni), a college graduate who has yet to find direction in his life is hired by his blind neighbor Mr. Harper (Kermit Rolison) to transcribe his memoirs. He struggles with his homicidal urges while arguing philosophy with friend Aaron (Justice Leak).

The terms "independent" and "indie" get thrown around so much today they've lost most of their original meaning. Especially in pop culture and the music and film media, indie is a style and genre, not a purely industrial label. "Indie" movies are all the rage with their specifically idiosyncratic narratives, postmodernistic references, and hyperstylized art-for-art's-sake look, but still bound one studio or another. Then there's something like Death of Seasons, which is all of those things but created by artists who put up their own money to make a movie their way.

Death of Seasons, directed by Chance White and starring the film's screenwriter Delfo Baroni, Justice Leak, Kermit Rolison, and Desiree Markella, is a very compelling but flawed film. While the film provides fertile grounds for philosophical discussions about faith, morality, AIDS, existence, etc., that is the film's greatest weakness. Baroni's narrative is intriguing but it's overly weighted down by the references to philosophy and philosophers, turning into a name-dropping game or an intellectual pissing match. The dichotomy between Seasons and his perpetually intoxicated friend Aaron is what much of the story revolves around: the atheist versus the Catholic; and whether Gabriel's homicidal intentions are morally and existentially justifiable. Long conversations while walking or over coffee don't specifically drive the narrative though they do provide characterization for people with whom I find it hard to identify. The brightest spot in the film is Kermit Rolison's portrayal of the curmudgeon Mr. Harper. He consistently knocks Gabriel down a couple pegs which adds humanity to Gabriel's otherwise self-absorbed misanthropy. It really bothers me that Seasons occasionally realizes what an asshole he is and revels in that fact when he does.

I don't mean to come down heavily on Death of Seasons, it is worth seeing. White has an obvious future as a filmmaker and this is a great start and his direction, compositions, and editing make the best of the story. I especially like his use of oblique angles which visually represent the disorientation the characters experience. I don't pretend to understand everything Baroni's characters talk about, and that may be where the film loses me. I like for films to engage me intellectually but there comes a point where I feel like the writer is trying to make me feel like a simpleton for not understanding Kant, Hegel, or Kierkegaard. That's when I check out.

At the very least, it's oddly refreshing to see people chain-smoking in films again.

Crash (1996)

Director: David Cronenberg
Writer: J. G. Ballard (novel), David Cronenberg (screenplay)

Based on the novel of the same name by J. G. Ballard (which is more unsettling than the film), film producer James Ballad (James Spader) is in a car wreck with Dr. Helen Remington (Holly Hunter) and her husband who is killed. Already engaged in unusual sexual cat-and-mouse games with his wife, Ballard and Dr. Remington meet the enigmatic Vaughan (Elias Kotaes) who introduces the two to the erotic/cathartic possibilities of car crashes.

David Cronenberg is one of my top two or three favorite directors and one of the rare modern directors who have a distinctive touch in their work. You could watch a few minutes of any scene from any film he's made and know that Cronenberg did it. When I ask people if they've seen Crash, I know it's a loaded question. I know they're going to think first to the 2004 Oscar-winner. Then I say, "no the one from 1996…with James Spader." The blank expression is usually shattered when I sum up the film the same way Janet Maslin did: "Sex and car crashes."

But really, that's over simplifying the film. Crash reminds me in a way of Wild Things (1998): a deeply complex film overshadowed by the controversial sexual nature of the narrative. Like the rest of Cronenberg's oeuvre, there is an overreaching sense of control about the film, a firm authoritative hand at work. Cronenberg's clinical/existential detachment from the material lends credibility to what you're seeing while many of the images and situations are logically far-fetched. For all the scenes of intercourse, and there are many in a variety of positions, the detached view of Cronenberg's camera desexualizes the sex scenes. In the place of any titillation, the sex is passionless and mechanical. The effect of this places the eroticism instead on the cars in which most of these sex acts occur. The collisions between cars become a visual metaphor for the violence the human body undergoes during intercourse. The cars also become symbols of obsession and the potential fusion of flesh and technology, another reoccurring element of Cronenberg's work (Videodrome [1983] and The Fly [1986] especially).

What I've always appreciated about Cronenberg's style is how he moves his camera. I referred to tone of Crash and most of work as clinical, existential, or detached. The reason for this how little his camera moves during a given scene. He uses pans, tilts, dolly shots, and crane shots judiciously but the frame remains stationary when the camera is in motion. I am referring to the shaky, hand-held camera that's all the rage among current filmmakers trying to get that really "Real" look and feel. This is supposed to give the cinéma vérité or on location documentary appearance even though it's artificial. Cronenberg does not resort to this kind of trickery to evoke a sense of reality or truth. He lets the scene he shoots speak for itself. Not for the timid, Crash leaves you to consider what you've seen and draw your own conclusions.

Körkarlen (1921)

Director: Victor Sjöström
Writer: Selma Lagerlöf (novel), Victor Sjöström (screenplay)

Directed by and starring Victor Sjöström, the film centers around a legend: if someone who has sinned greatly dies at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve (going into the New Year, that is) he has to drive the titular carriage, transporting the souls of the dead to "the other side." David Holm is this unlucky guy. The phantom carriage comes for him and the previous driver reminds David of his sins (leaving his wife, throwing away his life on booze, being ungrateful to the now dying nun that helped him, and other niceties).

I'll be the first to admit that most silent films are about as much to sit through as a full physical from Dr. JellyFinger. And then there are some like Körkarlen (The Phantom Carriage or Thy Soul Shall Bear Witness) which is lyrical and touching. Tracking down a copy of this to watch was not especially easy until I ran across two versions of it on GoogleVideo. A full-length cut with Swedish intertitles and an edited version (by 13 minutes!) with English intertitles. Since my Swedish is not what it should be, I decided to watch both at the same time and try to mentally associate the English intertitles with the Swedish version while trying to pick up on cognates. I often lament the internet and new technology's effects on film but this time I bit back my snobbery and gave thanks to that useful black hole.

For a film that's kicking 90, the effects are really effective. The use of blue tinting and superimpositions give the carriage a creepy feel. The music that plays when the carriage appears, largely scratching violin strings, evokes plenty of unease in the viewer. I still marvel at how simple the effects are but how much of an impact they have. The filmmaker shoots the scenes twice with different action and printing the two one the same filmstrip. Combining these effects with the strong but universal story, a troubled everyman who must atone for his sins, the film leaves a lasting impact on the viewer. As a horror movie, Körkarlen belongs in the pantheon of silent horror shows like Das Kabinett des Dr. Caligari (1920), Nosferatu (1922), and The Phantom of the Opera (1925).

While Körkarlen is a morality play and at times heavy-handed with its religious subject matter, particularly the scenes between David and the Sister Edith, Sjöström's direction and the music from the Swedish cut are just marvelous, a real tribute to the medium. The acting is overly theatrical at times but like all "silent" films that is forgivable since synchronous sound hadn't been fully developed yet. I really hope Kino or Criterion can put together a complete cut on DVD one day, it's a must-see and deserves more recognition than it presently gets.

The Butcher Boy (1997)

Director: Neil Jordan
Writer: Pat McCabe (novel), with Neil Jordan (screenplay)

Set in Ireland during the 1960s, Francie Brady (Eamonn Owens) is the kid "from the wrong side of the tracks." Francie lives with his alcoholic father and troubled mother (Stephen Rea and Aisling O'Sullivan), is best friends with Joe Purcell (Alan Boyle), and told from the point of view of an older Francie.

Here's how I described this film to my fellow cinephile Terri: "a brilliant, feverdream of a movie…imagine if The 400 Blows was set in Ireland and Antoine acted like Alex from A Clockwork Orange...and then went off the deep end." The plot is assembled with a collection of vignettes narrated by an older Francie. He's a pre-adolescent antihero, the ultimate "bad influence" who has positiones himself against everyone in town, especially Mrs. Nugent (Fiona Shaw). There are several changes that occur at once in his life: the Cold War, his father's extreme alcoholism, his mother's disturbed mental state, and his disintegrating friendship with Joe. Francie is stuck in a frame of mind before these events transpire which only causes more tension between him and his town. He cannot wrap his mind around his parents' dysfunctions or Joe's befriending of Phillip Nugent, Francie's favorite punching bag.

The film oscillates between darkly comic and heartbreaking. The juxtaposition between the older Francie's narration and the scenes over which he speaks constantly remind the audience that his memory of events and what actually transpires are quite different. The strongest example of this is after a party for Francie's Uncle Alo. Francie's dad, twelve sheets to the wind, criticizes Alo for not pursuing a particular woman when they were younger and how Alo still regrets his mistake. Francie's voiceover about it being his time for bed drowns out the argument and makes light of Francie's impromptu sojourn to Dublin as his father beats his mother. The levity of the voiceover makes the tragic events of young Francie's life all the more damaging to the spectator.

Neil Jordan plays with the audience's emotions in this fashion but never to the point of pushing them away. If anything, the back-and-forth nature of the drama and comedy makes the story that much more endearing. The viewer starts wondering, "what's Francie going to do next?" As with any effective antihero, we begin to root for Francie to really stick it to all the "Mrs. Nugents" of the world. Like The 400 Blows (1959) nearly four decades before it, watching The Butcher Boy gives me the urge to go out and get into all sorts of trouble.

Fletch (1985)

Director: Michael Ritchie
Writer: Gregory McDonald (novel), Andrew Bergman (screenplay)

Based on the novel (from a series of novels) by Gregory McDonald, Irwin "Fletch" Fletcher (Chevy Chase) is an investigative reporter working on a story about the proliferation of drugs on San Francisco's beaches when a wealthy business man, Alan Stanwyk (Tim Matheson), offers Fletch $50,000 to kill him.

Fletch is really the all-time great comedies and one I hadn't seen in too many years. An intriguing detective story laced with the kind of humor that I miss. The film's strength comes from its razor-sharp script. It's a linear, dramatically-motived narrative in style of Classical Hollywood cinema. And like those early films, the dialogue is crisp and the soul of the humor. The jokes aren't obvious or told in a set up-delivery-punchline fashion, they evolve out of dramatic situations. While Chase's many disguises stand out in the viewer's mind, they aren't there for the sake of being funny. Fletch posing as John Cocktoastin, Mr. Poon, Gordon Liddy, or the roller-skating monk all stem from his need to uncover information but come off as incredibly funny. His many conversation with other characters is reminiscent of the Howard Hawks screwball comedies of the 1940s (think Bringing Up Baby [1938], and His Girl Friday [1940]).

While this is obviously a vehicle for Chevy Chase (already known for his physical stunts from his stint on SNL), the film wouldn't work as well with out the outstanding supporting cast. It seems to me that comedies today rely on either bodily/violent humor or an absurd narrative to allow for outrageous gags. Perhaps it's just my sense of humor or the comedies I find funny but movies like Beerfest (2006), Superbad (2007), and especially Will Farrell's body of "work" just don't do it for me. I walk away from those movies feeling like I've been cheated out of my time and presented with the worst kind of sophomoric humor. The comedy of Fletch is the result of filmmakers (and I mean the cast too) that trust their audience to engage the film intellectually, not just take a couple bong hits and coast along until the end credits. I think it's the subtle, deadpan quality that has helped the movie last over two decades; I seriously doubt many modern comedies will last nearly that long.