January 2012

Psycho
This post is part of the Blind Spots 2012 series. For back­ground on the series, read the ori­ginal post

Psycho (Director: Alfred Hitchcock): One of the first things I noticed about this classic horror film is how Hitchcock works hard to por­tray “victim” Marion Crane (a gor­geous Janet Leigh) as any­thing but inno­cent. Her first scene is with her lover in a hotel for a lunch­time tryst. When she returns to the real estate office where she works, we know that his money prob­lems are what’s pre­venting them from being mar­ried. And then when a boorish client flirts drunk­enly and leaves $40,000 in cash with her, it’s not a huge stretch for us to see her as the kind of woman who might take this chance to escape her everyday life.

She impuls­ively decides to leave town with the money and go to Sam, her boy­friend, who lives a few hours’ drive away. In the middle of a down­pour, she pulls off to spend the night at the Bates Motel, leading to one of the most famous shower scenes in cine­matic his­tory. I noticed a few things in the film which might be obvious to anyone who has seen it, but as a new­comer to Psycho, I’m hoping you’ll indulge me.

Marion’s sur­name is Crane, which made creepy sense during her con­ver­sa­tion with the motel’s pro­pri­etor Norman Bates. He tells her his hobby is taxi­dermy and that he likes to stuff birds rather than beasts because they’re “passive.”

Hitchcock seems to imply that Marion is killed as a pun­ish­ment for her tran­gres­sion. Even though she has decided to return the money, the first cut away from Marion’s life­less body is to the money, hidden inside a news­paper. Even the rest of the viol­ence that fol­lows from Marion’s murder seems to lead back to her single impulsive act.

The obses­sion by Marion’s employer, sister and boy­friend to keep the police out of things makes it that much harder to actu­ally figure out what has happened. Arbogast, the private invest­ig­ator hired by her boss to recover the money seems to have his own motives that are not as purely “civic” as the police department’s would be. This under­stand­able desire to cover up or hide crimes leads only to bad things for everyone.

Even though I was always aware of the film’s big “reveal,” Psycho still man­ages to hold up as an effective thriller, but I must con­fess that after Marion’s depar­ture, it’s a far less inter­esting film for me. Her motiv­a­tions, and her inter­ac­tions with Norman Bates, are more sub­stan­tial than any­thing and anyone that fol­lows her demise. Her sister and boy­friend are two-dimensional, and exist simply to solve the crime. I espe­cially found the last few minutes, with Simon Oakland’s psy­cho­lo­gist char­acter explaining everything, dis­ap­pointing, though I under­stand that spoon-feeding the audi­ence would make sure nobody missed the point.

Finally, I was never sure where exactly the shower scene occurred in the film. I always thought it was quite close to the begin­ning, and that Norman Bates was the real focus of the film. I was pleas­antly sur­prised that Marion Crane’s char­acter sur­vives until just about the middle, though as I men­tioned, the rest wasn’t quite as enjoyable.

Psycho def­in­itely estab­lished the style of many horror films in the dec­ades to come, and tech­nic­ally, as far as editing and camera work goes, it’s bril­liant. However, even though I have only seen per­haps half a dozen Hitchcock films, it doesn’t seem to me to hold up as well as, say, Rear Window or Vertigo.

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Backyard

by James McNally on January 31, 2012

in Documentaries,DVD

Backyard

Backyard (Director: Árni Sveinsson): While it’s true that I’ve long been a fan of Icelandic cinema, I have been a fan of Icelandic music for even longer. In the late 1980s, a band called The Sugarcubes and their elfin singer Björk intro­duced me to the unique sounds of this tiny country, and since then, I’ve come to love dozens of bands from Iceland. Someone in another recent doc­u­mentary about Iceland’s seem­ingly bound­less cre­ativity said that the fear of failure is almost nonex­istent, so people take risks. They also help each other out, which is exactly how Backyard came to be.

Each August the city of Reykjavik cel­eb­rates Menningarnótt (Reykjavik Culture Night), a daylong cel­eb­ra­tion of the cre­ative spirit of its cit­izens. There are all kinds of offi­cial and unof­fi­cial events, and in 2009, Árni Rúnar Hlöðversson (of FM Belfast) decided to hold a con­cert in his back­yard and invite his friends to play. He wanted to record the audio, but he also invited his friend Árni Sveinsson to shoot video. None of the bands (or even the two Árnis) thought they were making a “real” movie, so the whole thing is incred­ibly loose. Based on my own exper­i­ences in Iceland, most things organ­ized are “incred­ibly loose.” Icelanders like to fly by the seat of their pants, to be honest, but it gives the film a real energy, too.

Though we get the back­ground around the plan­ning (which seems to happen in a matter of days), the majority of the film’s brisk 73-minute run­ning time is given over to the per­form­ances, and what a treat. The lineup is incred­ibly diverse, from the lo-fi styl­ings of Borko and Sin Fang Bous to the raucous assault of Reykjavik! to the feel-good party sounds of Retro Stefson and FM Belfast (whose finale “Underwear” is guar­an­teed have you boun­cing around your living room grin­ning like an idiot). And though the musical styles change, it’s great to see how many bands actu­ally share mem­bers. In a small place like Iceland, this might be a neces­sity but it also allows for some very inter­esting musical cross-pollination. It’s fit­ting that the film ends with many of the musi­cians soaking together in one of Reykjavik’s thermal swim­ming pools.

Some of these bands (múm, Hjaltalín) were known to me, but most were new dis­cov­eries, and luckily the DVD package (buy it here!) comes with an audio CD of the songs as well. It’s been on con­stant rota­tion over the past few months for me, rein­for­cing my sin­cere belief that Iceland is pound-for-pound the most cre­ative place on the planet.

Official site of the film

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The Hour (BBC)

by James McNally on January 29, 2012

in DVD,Television

The Hour
Editor’s Note: The Hour will be released on DVD and Blu-ray in the US and Canada on February 7 by BBC America. You can help Toronto Screen Shots by buying from Amazon.ca or Amazon.com.

For my Canadian readers, I must begin by saying that obvi­ously this is not the CBC chat show with George Strombolopoulos. Instead, The Hour is a BBC series about the making of a tele­vi­sion news­magazine pro­gram in the 1950s. This prom­ises the art dir­ec­tion of Mad Men with the back­stage man­euv­ering and larger polit­ical intrigues of some­thing like Good Night and Good Luck. Starring a cast of British actors who will be largely unknown to North American audi­ences (Romola Garai, Dominic West, Ben Whishaw), the six hour-long epis­odes of this first season (or “series” as the English more accur­ately describe it) set up the cre­ation of a new pro­gram to deliver the news to the British public in the early days of television.

It’s 1956 and TV news is still being delivered like the news­reels shown in the cinema. Young BBC reporter Freddie Lyon (Ben Whishaw) and his best friend/crush Bel Lyons (Romola Garai), already bored of the way they’re presenting the news, apply for pos­i­tions on a new pro­gram, “The Hour.” But there is also a dark con­spiracy brewing, and by the end of the first episode, two people are dead, one of whom was a friend of Freddie’s. While he invest­ig­ates the murders, Bel is coping with her new pos­i­tion as pro­ducer as well as flirting with the hand­some anchorman Hector Madden (Dominic West). Whishaw has just the right amount of cyn­icism to play the underdog, and based on the first hour, I’m hopeful that the con­spiracy stuff will win out over soap opera melo­drama and romantic entanglements.

The series has been a suc­cess on British tele­vi­sion and has already been renewed for another six-episode series.

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The Palace

by James McNally on January 21, 2012

in Shorts

The Palace

The Palace (Director: Anthony Maras): Perhaps it’s fit­ting that so soon after hosting the first Shorts That Are Not Pants screening, I was asked to review a batch of shorts in con­ten­tion for this year’s Oscars®. First up is The Palace, a pocket-sized war film about the 1974 inva­sion of the Mediterranean island nation of Cyprus by Turkey. Almost forty years later, the island is still divided, with the Turkish-occupied ter­ritory of Northern Cyprus unre­cog­nized by the UN as a sep­arate nation. I remember this con­flict vaguely since it was one of the first inter­ven­tions by the UN’s “blue hel­mets,” a peace­keeping force in which Canadian troops served a major role.

The film wisely chooses to keep the focus on one small event during the inva­sion, let­ting the ten­sion stand in for the entire con­flict. Stella (Daphne Alexander) is a young mother caught up in the con­flict who must keep her cool even under the most ter­ri­fying cir­cum­stances in order to keep her chil­dren safe. Hiding out in an opu­lent house, she and her chil­dren become sep­ar­ated from her hus­band. She and the chil­dren, including a fussy baby, hide in one ward­robe while her hus­band crowds into another where an old couple are already hiding. A group of sol­diers and their ser­geant soon enter the house, looking to loot the place. Young con­script Omer (Erol Afsin) bemoans the fact that he’s here rather than in London, where he’s due to audi­tion for drama school, while his rather dimmer com­rade Mehmet (Tamer Arslan) seems more suited to a soldier’s role. Stella’s attempts to keep the baby quiet keep the ten­sion rising and even the Turks seem on edge. Until they dis­cover a turntable and for a few short minutes everyone breathes easier as The Easybeats’ “Friday on My Mind” plays, lending some absurdity to the scene. But soon it’s back to busi­ness as the ser­geant (Kevork Malikyan) hears a noise from one of the wardrobes.

Shot mostly through the louvered doors of the ward­robe, The Palace is able to main­tain the ten­sion while refusing to paint the young sol­diers as vil­lains. But the fact that their super­iors are ordering them to kill civil­ians and loot their houses doesn’t go unnoticed by the viewer. The film is able to por­tray just a tiny part of the human tragedy of a con­flict that has never been resolved. It reminded me quite a bit of Denis Villeneuve’s Incendies, another depic­tion of a place with seem­ingly intract­able his­tor­ical griev­ances. And though there’s no time for back­story, both Alexander and Afsin bring humanity to their roles. Each is help­less in a dif­ferent way, and neither will be able to forget the tragedy played out inside The Palace.

Official site of the film

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Okay, this is def­in­itely not meant to add to my already bur­den­some film-viewing work­load for 2012, but as I was thinking about the idea of cine­matic blind spots, I wondered about the idea of larger gaps of know­ledge. How many dir­ectors are there whose work I have here­to­fore missed entirely? This could be even more embar­rassing than just listing indi­vidual films, but I thought it might be enter­taining. As well, if you list yours in the com­ments, maybe we could help each other by sug­gesting which film for each dir­ector might make a good intro­duc­tion for someone who hasn’t seen a single one of their films. Here are five of mine:

I got this idea from the cover of the latest issue of 180°, the TIFF Bell Lightbox cata­logue, so I know that I’ll have a chance to catch some Bresson films soon. Okay, your turn!

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