This week I watched two British films about young people scrambling to find a way to build a life outside the bounds of societal expectations. Both feature gay characters drawn with a radical compassion far ahead of their time, and mischievous performances that put the exhilaration and terror of young love on full display.
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Before seeing Tony Leung in SHANG-CHI this weekend, I watched him play a rich boy with soulful eyes whose indecision brings turmoil to a pair of late-19th century brothels. Hou contrasts the beautiful haze created for male fantasy with the harsh realities of beatings, addiction, and bondage. He also shows the tenacity of the flower girls who use every limited tool at their disposal and what power they have with their patrons to dig themselves out of the debt their “aunties” use to keep them captive.
A history teacher’s marriage to a wealthy government official has insulated her from the suffering the Argentinian dictatorship is inflicting on the people. As she starts to question the narratives she tells her social set, her students, and her adopted daughter, she realizes the girl’s arrival in her life might have come at a terrible cost. The military government fell right before filming started, and devastating performances from Norma Aleandro and Chunchuna Villafañe turn the film’s immediate political rage into a deeply personal anguish, revealing how we can use the stories we tell to let ourselves off the hook, or how we can instead start to break cycles of lies and complicity in our own lives.
My first Tarkovsky. The scale of this film, in every sense, is absolutely astonishing. Its story about master artists and artisans in medieval Russia contains so many themes that trying to pick at any of them feels reductive. But during the final hour, a monumental section about a frenzied rush to cast a cathedral bell for a prince, I kept thinking about everything that goes into creating theatre. The ways art intersects with ego, how opportunities and expertise are jealously guarded. How patronage empowers but binds artists. The arrogance and magnificence of creation, and that feeling that you don’t know what you’re doing but you’ve got to bluff your way through it because you’re in too deep and everyone’s looking at you. How an entire village comes together to realize a vision, how powerful it feels to be pulling in unison with so many hands. And how even success can be humbling because you see how close you came to failure.
Alain Resnais directed two of my all-time favorite French films, and another that completely baffled me, so I was braced for anything. True to form, he juxtaposes documentary and fictional elements, rapidly intercutting between neurobiologist Henri Laborit’s lectures and fragments of the lives of three characters. As he catalogues each like a novel species, we find ourselves making associations between animal behavior and our own search for fulfillment and patterns of self-sabotage.
In yet another Satyajit Ray triumph, he takes us back to 1860 for a REALLY TIMELY lesson in how fanaticism can destroy lives. A fervently religious rich man dreams that his young daughter-in-law is really Kali, the goddess incarnate, and he whips up a frenzy of devoted worshippers looking for healing and salvation. His rational son pushes back against what he sees as a dehumanization of his wife, but she is unable to free herself from the undertow of those who supplant medicine with superstition, and prioritize religion at the expense of humanity.
One day a guy pointed at his watch and told me he’d remember me forever because of that minute. That sounded so sweet. But now when I look at that clock I tell myself I have to forget that guy starting this very minute. With every breathtakingly stylish shot, Wong Kar Wai’s second film brings all of the aching passion and luminescent star-power that would make him famous. Standing out among the stars: Leslie Cheung as a dangerously charismatic serial heartbreaker, and Maggie Cheung and Carina Lau, who model two very different ways of processing a breakup, one with a quavering but resolved dignity, and the other with a raging refusal to go quietly into the night.
Ferreri takes Italian cinema’s favorite man-grappling-with-existential-angst trope, strips away most of the dialogue, then filters the mundanity through a colorful style that verges on the psychedelic at times. His “hero,” a disaffected gas mask maker, prowls around his house looking to break the tedium. Finding an old revolver, he dunks it in bright red paint, disassembling and reassembling it while half-watching home movies projected against his walls, vacation shots and abstract footage of two hands performing elaborate finger choreography. His pent-up, erratic behavior becomes increasingly absurd and childlike, and while I cannot pretend to have any idea what point Ferrari is trying to make about society, the cumulative effect of his images is hypnotic.
...also, not to look at EVERY movie through the lens of the pandemic, but the opening line is: “Isolation in a chamber that must be sealed off from the outside world because it’s full of deadly gas, a chamber in which one must wear a mask to survive, strongly evokes the conditions under which the modern man lives.” Yikes. A mad criminal genius continues to wage his campaign of terror on Berlin from beyond the grave. Declared a menace to public safety by the Nazi’s Ministry of Propaganda, Lang’s film shows that once men create a culture of fear and lies, they can then weaponize it to keep an entire people in their thrall.
Thank you to everyone who insisted I see Miranda July’s story of a bunch of lonely people cheerfully–and frantically–trying to reach across enormous voids to make contact with another human. I was most moved by their relationship to time. They go through life trying to speed it up or slow it down, lying about their ages or lamenting wasted years, but sometimes when everything aligns, they can create a little pocket of time to fill with feeling.
Miloš is excited to carry on the family tradition of doing as little work as possible in his first job as a train dispatcher in his little German-occupied Czech town. But unpredictable hormones and partisan brigades threaten his leisurely routine. The movie also features a scene which deploys rubber stamps to memorably nefarious use.
I’ll smash through this hell or there’s no future for me. A mob boss and his prized lieutenant “Tetsu the Phoenix” try to give up their life of crime, but their comrades and competitors conspire to drag them back in. A vibrantly surreal gangster movie bursting with color, song, brawls, and humor.
When the newest teacher at the schoolhouse falls for his pupil’s older sister, and the neighborhood’s bullying butcher tries to win her for himself, she proves more independent than either of them bargained for. Through peering eyes and whispers, Beyzaie draws a withering critique of a community where neighbors lie in wait, looking for a reason to pounce when anyone steps out of line. But his touch is also playful, romantic, and utterly unique, and I’m really grateful that one print made it through the Revolution so we can enjoy this beautiful restoration.
Do you know what I want to do when I grow up? I want to tell people things they don’t know. Show them stuff they haven’t seen. It’s a wonderful, rare feeling to watch a movie for the first time and realize that you’re going to return to it again and again over the years. I don’t really know how to talk about it except that it’s about life in the way that Chekhov is, with storytelling as incremental and as epic. Edward Yang shows such compassion for the discontented, young and old, who wonder what might have been as they look for meaning in their day-to-day lives. Two friends consumed by jealousy each take up a monastic life to atone for one terrible night. Bustillo Oro keeps us off-balance with two contradictory narrators, and lets gothic horror elements bubble to the surface, culminating in a fevered vision of a horde of masked monstrosities that are still haunting nearly a century later
A feud within a clan of the Camorra erupts into outright war, making a Neopolitan suburb the front lines. Garrone covers the clan’s vast criminal reach, from running guns and drugs, to counterfeiting haute couture, even to dumping toxic waste for corporations. But he avoids the glamor or romance found in so many American mob movies, focusing instead on the poison that indiscriminately seeps into the lives of everyone in this town, young or old, gangster or bystander.
When a strident but distracted political newspaper editor leaves his wife to her own devices, she finds in his younger cousin a companion and kindred spirit who shares her love of poetry. I was blown away by Madhabi Mukherjee’s vibrancy in Satyajit Ray’s previous film THE BIG CITY, and here she communicates a crushing longing, sometimes without any words at all. And the ending–with a tentative hope for new beginnings just as life’s course seems most intractable–gave me chills.
We have so many documents of artists at their polished best, but no one ever lets us in to see someone face the terrible feeling that they’re letting the room down. Watching Elaine Stritch record “The Ladies Who Lunch” is a raw, harrowing journey to hell and back, but there’s nothing like watching a genius hit a wall, then come back triumphant, to give you hope. As we’re looking ahead to reopenings, a reminder to be patient.
When Estrella’s father starts disappearing shortly after her First Communion, she tries to get to the bottom of his mysterious behavior. The producers pulled the funding before the second half of the film could be shot, but that feels formally fitting for this story about the questions we can’t answer, the questions we wish we couldn’t, and the insurmountable distance between us and the people we want to understand the most.
Tatiana Samoilova is riveting as a young woman whose fiancé rushes to enlist after the German invasion. He goes missing behind enemy lines, leaving her to navigate the treacherous, unfamiliar wartime landscape without even knowing if he is alive or dead. The death of Stalin created an opening for Kalatozov to acknowledge in starkly human terms what many Soviets had repressed: the casualties and trauma that ripped through a generation.
A time-traveling Elizabeth I and Ariel from “The Tempest” explore a punk dystopia full of anarchy and state-sponsored brutality. This movie is psychedelic and psychotic and a gleeful repudiation of respectable good British taste. It demands to be seen in a midnight movie theater, but for the time being, this will have to do.
I do not recommend watching this movie without a full stomach of ramen (we ordered ours from Colala.) A devastatingly cool cowboy/trucker rolls into a struggling noodle shop just looking for a bite, but sticks around to help the owner up her game from middling to transcendent. With fourth-wall breaking digressions into gangster parodies and wild sexual food antics, Itami pokes fun at how our appetites can make us seriously deranged. But by thoroughly detailing the craft of a well-made dish, he reveals the value of this obsession.
I’d never seen one of Carl Theodor Dreyer’s sound films, and I think his transition was remarkable. Working in Nazi-occupied Denmark, Dreyer chose to return to themes of institutional persecution similar to those in his “Passion of Joan of Arc.” But in this more ambiguous story, witchcraft feels possible, and perhaps even justified.
A romantic comedy of sorts–but only as Claire Denis would tell it. Juliette Binoche’s character goes looking for a life-defining love, and falls for a series of men who each let her down with their own singular flair. Binoche's carries nearly every frame of this movie, and each flicker of desire, or disappointment, or joy floods the screen.
A Senegalese man wanders Dakar trying to cash the money order his nephew sent him from Paris, but red tape, bad luck, and cynical opportunists thwart him at every turn. Instead of writing to accommodate former colonial powers, Ousmane Sembène made the first African-language feature, focusing on the franc’s poisonous influence still reverberating in a newly independent country.
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The Bri-terion CollectionI’m loving the Criterion Channel streaming service, so every week I’m going to share my favorite new find. 
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