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writ. and dir. Louis Malle
feat. Lea Massari, Benoît Ferreux, Daniel Gelin, Michael Lonsdale, Ave Ninchi, Gila von Weitershausen, Fabien Ferreux, Marc Winocourt
With convincing offbeat scenes of bonding and budding adolescence, Louis Malle establishes a family that appears natural and appealing, like a bunch of kooky neighbors with whom it would be fun to share a drink now and then. With this familiarity, he slyly disarms the viewer, altering expectations and inhibitions over the course of his deceptively airy film as the story moves toward a climax that is both horrifically unsettling and inevitable. With masterful sleight of hand, he reduces the revulsion to a mere flinch, its impact overwhelmed by Laurent's sunny disposition and newfound manhood.
dir. Ronald Neame
writ. Muriel Spark (novel), Jay Presson Allen (play and screenplay)
feat. Maggie Smith, Robert Stephens, Pamela Franklin, Gordon Jackson, Celia Johnson, Diane Grayson, Jane Carr
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie has all the character and complexity of a woman unabashedly certain that she is in the prime of her life. Jean Brodie (Smith) struts the school grounds, her pride stoked by her effect on men and the girls she not only teaches, but coaches into teenage life. At the height of her charismatic powers, her ego verily bursts from her attractive and well-postured body, rendering her romantic notions about heroic dictators, passion, and art incontestable, her ideology above reproach.
But Jean's ideas about the world were born of her own young experiences of love and loss, then harbored and fueled in the safe haven of the classroom, encouraged by a regularly replenished tribe of adulating girls on the brink of adolescence, all too susceptible to a seemingly worldly mentor professing the importance of love and truth. Over the years, Jean's vague, static utopia grates against reality, and though she feigns preparation for change and the unavoidable results of aging, her purely philosophical defense crumbles quickly and easily when challenged. In the end, it is her narcissism that both creates and destroys Jean Brodie's so-called prime, the time spent protecting and prolonging her perfect self wasted, her ensuing decline calling into questioning the value of every aspect of her character- as a teacher, a leader, a lover, a woman.
Yet even in her departing speech, there is pride and strength in Jean Brodie's voice and plans for the future. This resilience and Jean's qualities, both troubling and admirable, evident in the treacherous former pupil who orchestrates her downfall leaves the viewer with the lingering difficult question of what makes a proper role model.
writ. and dir. Cristian Mungiu
feat. Anamaria Marinca, Laura Vasiliu, Vlad Ivanov, Alexandru Potocean
Director Cristian Mungiu deftly weaves a story of black market abortion in Ceausescu regime Communist Romania by choosing the perspective of the pregnant woman's friend. In selecting an approach that would seem to distance the viewer from the subject, he instead focuses even more pointedly on the pain and resounding emotional effects of a difficult decision.
From the outset, Otilia (Marinca) proves resilient and reliable, making arrangements, booking a hotel room and bringing the abortionist (Ivanov) there, while the the pregnant Gabriela (Vailiu) botches important details, a lack of preparedness that stems from a combination of personality and an understandable reaction to the daunting predicament of securing a highly illegal, terrifying operation. When it comes to it, far more tense and threatening than the procedure itself is the negotiation leading up to it, a kind of black market drug deal where the dealer is well aware that he has the upper hand. Here the full cost of the choice is brought to bear, desperation forcing the friends to pay more than their friendship may be able to afford, and pushing Otilia to the brink, challenging her sanity and beliefs as she calls her whole life into question.
As thoughtfully and thoroughly the film explores emotional pain, it decisively avoids gruesome imagery, instead leading the viewer to the moment, then leaving the rest to the imagination. One key exception is an unforgettably searing shot that will challenge some to keep their eyes open, a singular image that is arguably mandatory. Without it, the subject would not be fully realized.
dir. Lindsay Anderson
writ. David Sherwin (screenplay), David Sherwin & John Howlett (script "Crusaders" that screenplay was based upon)
feat. Malcolm McDowell, David Wood, Richard Warwick, Christine Noonan
This story of a strict British private school smacks of Dickens and Lean via Billy Liar with a hint of the yet-to-come A Clockwork Orange, a touch of fantasy escapism and rebellious violence spawned by abusive schoolmasters and restricted adolescence. Though it drifts toward the suggestion that creativity may be provoked, if sporadically and explosively, by the attempt to control and inhibit youngsters, whenever this notion is raised, it is all too briefly nurtured, returning the film to the tired old tropes of the lash and egotistical authorities.
While there is a degree of satisfaction in seeing McDowell in a role that grooms him for A Clockwork Orange, and the film is likely a landmark in shock value and surely loaded with a few delightfully absurd flights of fancy, it doesn't age well, too closely tied to the lifelessness enforced by its power wielding elite.
dir. Louis Malle
writ. Louis Malle & Roger Nimier (adaptation), Roger Nimier (dialogue), Noël Calef (novel and pre-adaptation)
feat. Jeanne Moreau, Maurice Ronet, George Poujouly, Yori Bertin, Jean Wall
Louis Malle rolls out a hip noir tale of murder and suspense in his directorial debut, defying a title that dares to give away too much plot with numerous twists to keep the viewer guessing. As Julien (Ronet) awaits discovery in the eponymous lift, Florence (Moreau) roams the streets of Paris longingly searching for him, fearing that she's been left for another woman. Meanwhile, Louis (Poujouly) and Veronique (Bertin) race around town in Julien's car, a younger, imaginary version of the older couple, as prone to trouble but wilder and less experienced.
There are fast cars, curious characters, dangerous deeds, and violence, but it's the improvised score by Miles Davis that really fuels the film, lending life and anguish to the action. It is the mood modulated by the music that brings Elevator to greater heights than its relatively simple story.
writ. and dir. Nuri Bilge Ceylan
feat. Muzaffer Ozdemir, Emin Toprak, Zuhal Gencer, Nazan Kirilmis
The opening shot of Distant show Yusuf (Toprak), a dark figure, crossing a snowy plain, the quiet crunching of his boots the only sound in the desolate landscape. Far in the background, a band of sunlight illuminates the high trees along the mountainside. Immediately, Ceylan has set up the themes of his film, the cold distance between people and a vague, almost invisible glimmer of hope.
Yusuf leaves the barren land for icy Istanbul to visit his cousin, Mahmut (Ozdemir), a photographer whose career consists mainly of corporate shots for a tile manufacturer. In brief glimpses, we see that Mahmut has let his aspirations slip and has also lost his wife, possibly for an inability to express his still-existing feelings for her. Meanwhile, Yusuf searches for work in the city, dreaming of a life at sea, something bigger and brighter than his meager existence back in a dying factory town. As Yusuf disrupts Mahmut's isolated and dull, but stable lifestyle, the film manages to depict simultaneously the frustration of an unwanted visitor and a desperate need for further human contact.
Ceylan skillfully evokes emotion from minimal sources, plaintive expressions and awkward gestures offering more information than dialogue. The anguish that fuels his stories (here and in Climates) lies deeply buried and isn't easily voiced. With his mix of frosty gray exteriors, dimly lit interiors, and openly wounded characters, Ceylan has found a beautiful way to communicate pain.
dir. John Schlesinger
writ. Penelope Gilliatt
feat. Peter Finch, Glenda Jackson, Murray Head, Peggy Ashcroft, Tony Britton, Maurice Denham
John Schlesinger's followup to Midnight Cowboy returns to questions of sexual identity and relationships, this time examining an atypical love triangle. Bob Elkin (Head) bounces between his two loves, Alex Greville (Jackson), a business-stressed woman, and Daniel Hirsh (Finch), a patient-weary doctor. Bisexuality and homosexuality are presented without a glint of shock value, permitting the story to lunge directly into the differing ways in which men and women handle love, possessiveness, and jealousy.
Schlesinger utilizes shadow, editing, and sound cues to effectively arouse tension, hinting at a suspense film, encouraging the viewer to look for a gimmick or sudden dark twist. But this technique, while somewhat misleading, serves to illustrate the discomfort Alex and Daniel feel in sharing their lover, each occasionally left jilted as Bob scurries off to see the other or cancels a date at the last minute. By making Alex and Daniel fully aware and vaguely respectful of one another, even sharing a few of the same friends, the film both avoids common scenes of surprise and outrage and plumbs greater depths of feeling, adding a face, personality and details to what Bob experiences when away from home.
As a character, Bob disappoints, too flighty and without the substance to seem worthy of the affection of these educated, critical lovers. But therein lies the message in their messy, imperfect relationships- the joy of love, not matter its faults can be worth the compromise.
