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dir. Michel Gondry (Interior Design), Leos Carax (Merde), Bong Joon-Ho (Shaking Tokyo)
writ. Gabrielle Bell (graphic novel "Cecil and Jordan in New York" for ID), Michel Gondry, Leos Carax, Bong Joon-Ho
feat. Denis Lavant (ID), see imdb
I can't help going into an anthology film expecting about 5% of worthwhile material, such projects generally the depository for filmmakers' experiments, ideas and methods without the backing of enough confidence to warrant a feature. Tokyo! is therefore a pleasant surprise, a cohesive triptych of uneasy tales by highly inventive directors inspired by that city.
Gondry kicks it off with his adaptation of a story from a graphic novel (the source actually set in NYC) that follows a young couple struggling to survive in an expensive often alienating city. Twists arise unexpectedly, taking a magically surreal turn reminiscent of an Etgar Keret short story. A transformation from human to inanimate object plays more naturally than one could dream and the metaphorical underpinnings of the sad and sweet finale resonate like a short written work at its most effective.
Carax's entry follows with the explosive introduction of Merde (Lavant), a filthy wild man rising up out of a manhole to race through the streets, terrorizing the public by pushing, shoving, kissing and being a general nuisance. It's quickly revealed that he's a known celebrity, renowned and ogled for his madcap, largely harmless if misanthropic behavior. Excited teenagers rejoice for having made contact with the mysterious underworld figure. The tone shifts dramatically as the playful fellow turns violent, launching grenades through the city as casually as he speed-walked previously. He is promptly caught and put on trial, the only person in the world who speaks his moaning, nonsense language brought in as his lawyer.
Up to this moment, the story is riveting, fast and furious, relentlessly engaging and doggedly captivating. Then something dies, the trial and the amusement of the filmmakers by these overwrought exchanges of groans and contortions bogging down the short (and the full film), bringing it to a standstill, with nearly zero progress for 10 to 15 minutes. Yes, it's funny for a couple minutes, but then simply long and painful. A slight recovery comes at the end, promising future adventures, though such damage is done that it's hard to wish for more.
Finally, Bong Joon-Ho (Mother, The Host, Memories of Murder) brings his trademarked blend of humor and ill ease to the city, tracking a man who never leaves the house and his unexpected attraction to a delivery girl who passes out in his pad during an earthquake. The shaking up of lives and the mysteries of other people and outside one's door are explored without suggesting aphorisms or easy solutions, a trembling and satisfying comment on city life as well as an appropriately inconclusive conclusion to the full film.
dir. Jean Renoir
writ. Émile Zola (novel), Pierre Lestringuez, Jean Renoir
feat. Catherine Hessling, Jean Angelo, Werner Krauss, Raymond Guérin-Catalain
Renoir's production of Émile Zola's novel, Nana, rides the line between the silent films that long soured me on the form and the expressionistic masterpieces that reeled me be back into their favor. The stunningly lavish costumes and sets manage to fill the gaps, holding attention when acting and story lag. Nana (Hessling, Renoir's wife at the time) plays that baffling archetype, the untalented actress, prone to overwrought displays of just about everything that demands the money, favors and attention of all the men around her. Other than a general sense of excitement revolving around such characters, I can't see the draw. But thankfully, many other men do, or there wouldn't be much of a story.
The film follows Nana as she connives her way into bigger theatrical productions and deeper pockets, finding a reliable sponsor in the aristocrat, Muffat (Krauss), who puts up with her flings and bad behavior simply to share a little time with her. Much of the entertainment comes in the form of these desperate men, willing to kill themselves to spend a little time at her feet. While Muffat may seem above all that in posture, it doesn't take much to get him to slip money into a candy box to win Nana's audience, then prance and bark like a dog to earn a chocolate. This scene in particularly is wonderfully uncomfortable to watch, a credit to the skillful filmmaking if not to Muffat's honor.
It is such powerfully executed scenes that lift the film above Nana's limitations as a character, whether a raucous, untethered dance hall scene where Nana becomes the center of attention, that prancing dog, or Muffat's final visit to Nana, the sprawling staircase heavy with other suitors and the dread of disease as he marches to certain doom.
dir. Jean Renoir
writ. Georges de La Fouchardière (novel), André Mouézy-Éon (play), André Girard, Jean Renoir
feat. Michel Simon, Janie Marèse, Georges Flamant, Magdeleine Bérubet , Roger Gaillard, Marcel Courmes
In what feels like a warm-up to future works such as Boudu Saved From Drowning and The Rules of the Game, Renoir opens La Chienne with puppets, a show within a show, teasing the audience with the suggestion that the film is a tragedy or perhaps a comic farce about manners, then denying both, insisting it is nothing but a story. Legrand, an aspiring painter and put upon poor schlub, is a joke at the office and a whipping boy to his shrew of a wife (Bérubet). When he stumbles upon Lulu (Marèse) being beaten by her dandy, would-be pimp, Dédé (Flamant),
he takes action and incidentally becomes Lulu's next mark.
I suppose Lulu has a title to live up to in the film, though it always takes a leap of credibility for me to see why a man falls for a cruel, gold-digging woman who seems to shower meager affection in proportion to her needy whimpering. But perhaps sex and a touch of youth are good enough for Legrand and at least moderately better than his wife, always comparing him unfavorably to her deceased former husband, a war hero. As Lulu further deceives Legrand, selling his paintings as her own and continuing to run with Dédé, a fun twist arrives in the guise of the Colonel, the former husband long believed dead, who had apparently decided to stay dead to avoid returning to the hellish wife. The men share a delightfully backward argument, each insisting the other has a right to the wife and the life, neither wanting it. Legrand sees his escape and sets a trap that will free him in the process.
As the story nears its end, the roles of the characters are explored in greater depth. Lulu wishes for a real life with Dédé, something he seems to consider before reverting to his pimp-owner attitude, shattering her hopes. Similarly, Legrand, on the verge of collapse, having caught Lulu with Dédé and ready to dismiss her for good, suddenly changes direction, perhaps seeing her as his last chance for something better, ready to take her away from the temptations of the city to make a life for them somewhere new. Sadly, Lulu has her roles in mind as well and can't live that fantasy with Legrand, unfortunate for her since she winds up dead instead.
Dédé is the likely culprit in the public eye, even if innocent, and so it plays out. One can't help but wait for the last minute confession, the stay of execution, the saved day. But it never comes in this story, a satisfying lack of twist and an acceptance of the sometimes rotten luck of life. A last remark upon life's immeasurable opportunities follows in the final scene when we see Legrand, now a bum, watch one of his paintings get sold and packed into a fancy car at the same moment he is reunited with the Colonel, and a small found bill offers enough for them to celebrate a bright moment in the day.
dir. Jean Renoirwrit. Jean Renoir (screenplay), Jacques Levert (story)
feat. Charles Blavette, Celia Montalván, Édouard Delmont, Max Dalban, Jenny Helia
Sparks of Renoir's humane approach to love, life, and filmmaking glimmer through Toni, while never reaching the full rise of his greater works. Toni arrives in Provence searching for work and falls in immediately with Marie, his landlady and lover after a small nod of consent. The story jumps takes occasional leaps forward in time, as much to account for lapses in reason as to advance the plot. Before long, Toni, truly in love with Josefa, marries Marie in a double wedding where Josefa becomes the bride of the brutish Albert.
The story is riddled with holes posing as the idiosyncrasies of life. Josefa is an incorrigible flirt unworthy of Toni's attention. Albert is a callous brute with no redeeming or desirable qualities. Toni marries Marie despite his obvious disinterest in her.
Yet in the end, as (supposed) true love strains to make things right after an accidental murder, the film manages to achieve a gentle air of romantic tragedy. Nevertheless, it is the small moments, the playful chase of a bee in a woman's dress or the way in which a friend demonstrate compassion and sympathy even when his pal makes stupid choices that gives the picture its heart.
dir. and writ. Götz Spielmann
feat. Johannes Krisch, Irina Potapenko, Andreas Lust, Ursula Strauss, Johannes Thanheiser
Alex (Krisch) is your typical mid-level action picture thug, the tough but disposable guy who dies nameless, either at the hand of his employer for crossing the line by dating one of the girls or as fodder for the good guys as they chase the top dog. But not in Revanche. Here, he takes the lead, gritting and bearing it when his boss calls him soft, and formulating his own big plan to escape a shitty life, taking his prostitute girlfriend with him. And like so many such plans, something goes terribly wrong.
This twist sends the story spinning into rural territory, where Alex, devastated by the loss of his girlfriend, his intended future shattered, hides out on the farm of his grandfather, Hausner (Thanheiser). There, he prepares firewood for the old man with such fervor, it seems he might throw himself into the spinning blade. Furious and shaken, he stumbles upon the man he deems responsible for his predicament, Robert (Lust), and hatches his plan for revenge (in the second, and most obvious, of several spins on the title).
But easy solutions will not be permitted. Guilt-ridden cop, Robert, and his wife, Susanne (Strauss), cross paths with Alex, offering him his shot before quickly complicating that supposedly simple act as their lives interweave. The film excels here, as these relationships develop, crossing surprising lines and elevating the tension. One could argue that all the intricacies of the plot are laid out to lead to one delightfully taut scene, a confrontation between Alex and Robert that forces hard questions about resolve and responsibility.
Ultimately, the title earns its due, in a manner of speaking, though in a far more elaborate and satisfying way than one might guess, for the viewer if not the characters.
dir. Lone Scherfig
writ. Nick Hornby (screenplay), Lynn Barber (memoir)
feat. Carey Mulligan, Peter Sarsgaard, Alfred Molina, Cara Seymour, Emma Thompson, Olivia Williams, Rosamund Pike, Dominic Cooper
The experience of watching An Education closely parallels the relationship between David (Sarsgaard) and Jenny's parents (Molina and Seymour) in the film, a winsome sleight of hand distracting from important questions with the swaying charm of elegant handling. Already drawing Jenny's eye, David works his way into her life as a kind of mentor in the parents eyes, a reasonable point of entry. As the relationship grows more intimate, something that would be more obvious at home as well, the story veers from such considerations, sticking to topics of economics and success, steering clear of quiet moments where Mom and Dad might sit and consider if their teenage daughter is having sex with a man in his 30s.
And the suave, earnest David sells it, both to the parents and to the viewer. His passive approach to seduction is inviting without being (too) creepy, in no small part because Jenny is so well-educated, an equal among her new companions, and eagerly cosmopolitan, sucking down all the culture and parties that David dishes out (excellent makeup and hair aside, it also helps that Mulligan was hitting her mid-20s as opposed to Jenny's 16). In one of the best scenes in the film, David even sells Jenny on his criminal lifestyle, casually explaining that he's made certain choices in order to live better, a moment that sidesteps the typical histrionic recriminations and apologies of such confrontations.
It's only when David leaves the picture that the glamour fades, not just for Jenny and family, but for the audience as well. The film is reduced to a morality tale of the value of hard work and earning it for oneself, minor characters are given meager life, and we're begged to feel for a girl who might (banish the thought) not be welcomed into one of the greatest universities in the world. It's hard to buy the "close call" spin of this final act, and it doesn't appear as though the filmmakers feel it either, letting loose a rapid fire, going-through-the-motions series of scenes complete with a studious montage and an abrupt, closing voiceover meant to wrap things up tidily.
While I understand the decision to cut a final appearance by David (see Deleted Scenes for those catching it on video), this omission leaves a gaping hole, a lack of deeper resolution. While Jenny is the main character, David gives the story its life. And while she may survive and prosper without him, the story doesn't have the same fortitude. That being said, I came away a fan of the film despite these substantial shortcomings. Perhaps, the greatest lesson doled out by An Education is how to slyly win over viewers without fulfilling them.
dir. Georges Franju
writ. Jean Redon, Claude Sautet, Pierre Boileau, Thomas Narcejac (adaptation), Jean Redon (novel)
feat. Pierre Brasseur, Alida Valli, Juliette Mayniel, Edith Scob
Franju's tale of a plastic surgeon (Brasseur) who can't successfully repair his daughter's face, damaged in an auto accident he caused lends a dreamy French quality to a story that feels much like the Edgar Allen Poe, Roger Corman, Vincent Price films of the same era. Opting for black and white over the striking Technicolor of the Poe pictures, Franju bounces between stiff and occasionally stark moments of police and medical procedural and the gauzy, floating wandering of daughter Christiane (Scob) about the gothic estate. In her thin, eerie mask, forced upon her by her father and his demanding assistant (Valli), Christiane appears just shy of lifelike, real enough to show her sadness, yet incomplete, keeping joy out of reach.
The horror surfaces in the Doctor's obsessive need to fix Christiane's face and his methods, kidnapping similar looking young women and using their fresh faces as transplants. The twisted story of love and devotion is anchored by an unsettling surgery scene, the Dr. methodically marking and cutting away the skin of his victim in a misguided, desperate struggle for redemption that only distances him from his daughter, even as it illustrates the gruesome lengths to which a father will go. But more powerful than the gore is the harrowing pain and despair experienced by Christiane, a once lovely young woman now trapped not just in her tower, but by her own face.
