February 2012

No Subtitles Necessary: Laszlo & Vilmos

No Subtitles Necessary: Laszlo & Vilmos (Director: James Chressanthis): Only appearing on DVD now, this 2008 doc­u­mentary explores the work of and friend­ship between two giants of cine­ma­to­graphy. Laszlo Kovacs and Vilmos Zsigmond first met as stu­dents at film school in Budapest in the 1950s. Soon, they were caught up in the events of 1956, when Hungarians briefly revolted against their Communist gov­ern­ment. As Soviet tanks rolled in to crush the rebel­lion, the two men took to the streets with their cam­eras to doc­u­ment events. When things calmed down, they knew they had to escape from Hungary, and their recol­lec­tions of heading for the Austrian border with their film are har­rowing, even though we know they made it.

Upon their even­tual arrival in America, they headed for Hollywood expecting to join the ASC (the cine­ma­to­graphers’ union) easily. When they were turned away and told cheekily to “come back when you can speak English,” they were undaunted. They quickly found work on all kinds of low-budget inde­pendent films, including those of Roger Corman. So when Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper decided to make Easy Rider (1969), they hired Laszlo based on his pre­vious work (including Peter Bogdanovich’s debut film Targets), and on his cheap (non-union) wages. The film’s suc­cess lifted all its cre­ators, including Kovacs, out of obscurity, and he soon found work on other films of the bur­geoning New Hollywood move­ment of the early 70s. When Peter Fonda wanted him for his next film, The Hired Hand (1971), he was already working on Paul Mazursky’s film Alex in Wonderland (1970), so he recom­mended his friend Vilmos Zsigmond (“call him Ziggy,” he told Fonda.) It was only after Fonda hired him that Vilmos con­fessed he’d never shot a colour film out­doors before.

It didn’t matter. Both men quickly developed a sig­na­ture style working with the expressive light of the American land­scape, and many of the great 70s films were shot by one of the two. Here’s just a par­tial list:

Laszlo Kovacs

  • Five Easy Pieces (1970)
  • The Last Movie (1971)
  • The King of Marvin Gardins (1972)
  • Paper Moon (1973)
  • Shampoo (1975)
  • New York, New York (1977)

Vilmos Szigmond

  • McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971)
  • Deliverance (1972)
  • The Long Goodbye (1973)
  • Scarecrow (1973)
  • Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)
  • The Deer Hunter (1978)
  • Heaven’s Gate (1980)

And this was only work they did in one decade! Remarkably, only Close Encounters of the Third Kind was recog­nized with an Oscar, for Zsigmond. It’s fit­ting that the film spends a lot of time on his exper­i­ence on this film, since it was a tre­mendous lighting chal­lenge, and he was allegedly fired five sep­arate times. He says the only reason he fin­ished the film was that no other cine­ma­to­grapher wanted to step in, such was the dif­fi­culty of get­ting the lighting just right.

As films retreated from the innov­a­tions of the 1970s, both Zsigmond and Kovacs con­tinued to get steady work, but as the paucity of clips from their later work indic­ates, never would they work in such innov­ative and cre­ative ways again. Kovacs died in 2007, and the film ends shortly afterward.

Though I enjoyed this documentary’s gen­erous selec­tion of clips, I found the inter­views with both the men them­selves and their admirers a bit lacking. We get very little insight into their ideas about working with images and light, or how they worked with dif­ferent dir­ectors. And as with many talking head films, it’s the inter­views that aren’t included that leave us wanting more. Because Close Encounters of the Third Kind was such a sig­ni­ficant achieve­ment for Zsigmond, it’s dis­ap­pointing that the film­makers couldn’t get an inter­view with Steven Spielberg. And though there is a very short inter­view with Haskell Wexler, surely there could have been more dis­cus­sion of the mutual influ­ence between the two Hungarians and other pion­eering cine­ma­to­graphers of the time, like Wexler and Néstor Almendros.

Another mad­dening thread is the teasing dis­cus­sion of the mar­riages and family life of the two friends. Kovacs actu­ally returned to Hungary shortly after their escape to rescue their girl­friends, whom they mar­ried imme­di­ately after­ward. But these women are never men­tioned again. Brief inter­views with their cur­rent American wives aren’t enlight­ening on this front. Then there is the matter of Kovacs’ “secret” daughter, with whom he recon­ciles, but we never really hear the details of where she came from. If any­thing, these sec­tions could have been edited out if they weren’t going to con­tribute to our under­standing of the two subjects.

As an appre­ci­ation of the work of two master cine­ma­to­graphers, the clips speak for them­selves, but I wanted more from this doc­u­mentary. As it stands, it does a good job of making the viewer want to seek out some of their lesser-known work, but it doesn’t shed much light on what made these two so spe­cial, or on the obvious and unshake­able bond between them.

Official site of the film

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#SEQUELSERIES presents Grease 2, March 9th at Cinecycle

There seems to be some­thing in the air these days, and it smells a lot like Grease! There are two big Grease–related events hap­pening over the next few weeks.

First off, this upcoming weekend fea­tures Sing-a-Long-a Grease at the TIFF Bell Lightbox. The 1978 musical will be screened while the audi­ence, many of whom will be in 50s cos­tume, sings along at the top of its lungs. I saw this film many times the year it came out, mostly with girls I had crushes on, so there’s def­in­itely some nos­talgic appeal for me. And it appears that I’m not alone. Two of the four per­form­ances are already sold out.

More intriguing (to me, in any case) is #SEQUELSERIES, a group of events being organ­ized by local duo Tegan and Holly. On March 9th, they’re screening Grease 2, the 1982 sequel star­ring Michelle Pfeiffer (and written by Canadian Ken Finkleman). It was dir­ected by Patricia Birch, the cho­reo­grapher from the ori­ginal Grease (and who more recently has cho­reo­graphed sev­eral epis­odes of the tele­vi­sion series Boardwalk Empire). They’ve also lined up surf-rock band The Space Dusters to play after­ward, so you can dance the Frug wearing your saddle shoes and bobby socks. Tickets are a very reas­on­able $7 at the door (or $5 in advance, plus fees) and the venue is the very cool Cinecycle, which is also licensed.

I’ve never seen Grease 2, and I love the idea behind #SEQUELSERIES, so I’m ser­i­ously tempted to check it out. Small and innov­ative events like these make Toronto the greatest city in the world for movie lovers.

Upcoming screen­ings in the #SEQUELSERIES include Short Circuit 2 on May 11th and Troll 2 on July 13th. Unfortunately, the latter con­flicts with my own Shorts That Are Not Pants screening, but don’t let that stop you!

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The Lady Vanishes

by James McNally on February 14, 2012

in Netflix

The Lady Vanishes
I watched The Lady Vanishes on Netflix Canada. I cannot guar­antee its avail­ab­ility on Netflix any­where else.

The Lady Vanishes (Director: Alfred Hitchcock): For at least the first twenty minutes or so, I was almost cer­tain that I was watching the wrong film. Far from being the chilly Hitchcock thriller I was expecting, this seemed almost like a slap­stick comedy of man­ners closer to Lubitsch or Preston Sturges. The action begins at an over­crowded inn in a snowed-in moun­tain vil­lage in a small fic­tional European country. As the guests wait for the fol­lowing day’s train, we have time to observe them each at length. There are the two upper-class English twits, des­perate to get back to Blighty so they can catch the last stages of an important cricket match, and the group of young English love­lies, one of whom is returning to London to get mar­ried, some­what reluct­antly. There’s an older gov­erness, also English, returning home after sev­eral years living in this small country. And a couple car­rying on an affair, eager not to be dis­covered by their fellow trav­el­lers. Then, most dra­mat­ic­ally of all, we meet a rather obnox­ious young Englishman who claims to be a musi­cian but who seems to be the late 1930s equi­valent of a rich hippie.

I’d have hap­pily watched a film of all these char­ac­ters simply passing the time in the hotel. There’s some great busi­ness with the cricket fans taking the room of the maid, who keeps coming in to retrieve her things. They’re not quite sure if she’s flirting with them or offering some sort of “room ser­vice.” And when young fiancée Iris and musician/hippie Gilbert meet cute, we know the sparks will con­tinue to fly, to the det­ri­ment of Iris’ unseen beau waiting at home.

But once they do all get on the train, the mys­tery begins almost imme­di­ately. After Iris is hit on the head by a falling package at the sta­tion, the kindly gov­erness Miss Froy helps her onto the train and offers to sit with her to make sure she’s alright. After a cup of tea together in the dining car, they return to their com­part­ment where Iris falls asleep. Upon awakening a short time later, Miss Froy has van­ished, and nobody else on the train claims to have seen her at all.

While the mys­tery drives the plot for­ward, the overall tone remains light and almost slap­stick in places. This is much less dark than a lot of Hitchcock’s later work, and I found that rather refreshing. The only real issue is that it seems to present a rather xeno­phobic pic­ture of Europe. All the English char­ac­ters are painted in a nobler light than those whose first lan­guage is not English. Considering that Britain was on the verge of war with Nazi Germany, it’s both under­stand­able and a bit dis­turbing at the same time. There is even a not-so-subtle jab at Neville Chamberlain’s policy of appease­ment, with one char­acter coming to an unhappy end after believing the enemy will “do the hon­our­able thing.”

I enjoyed the first hour much more than the last act, which devolves into clumsy war meta­phors and drags on far too long. But the per­form­ances of Margaret Lockwood (Iris) and Michael Redgrave (Gilbert), as well as of Dame May Whitty (Miss Froy) kept the whole thing quite jovial throughout. And even though Hitchcock does show “for­eigners” as gen­er­ally sus­pi­cious, he tends to por­tray his coun­trymen as either pom­pous fools or stub­bornly naive.

Although The Lady Vanishes was remade in 1979, I can’t ima­gine it would be half as inter­esting without the actual anxiety bub­bling throughout Europe in those days, at the very edge of a war that would con­sume the entire con­tinent within the next year.

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Sailcloth

by James McNally on February 7, 2012 · 1 comment

in Shorts

Sailcloth
SPOILER ALERT: I usu­ally don’t make a point of alerting readers to spoilers, but it’s pretty hard not to in writing about this film. At just 18 minutes, though, you figure out pretty quickly what’s going on. Nonetheless, fair warning.

Sailcloth (Director: Elfar Adelsteins): John Hurt stars in this word­less tale of a man who stages a “jail­break” from his sea­side retire­ment home, steals a sail­boat, and takes con­trol of his des­tiny. Icelandic-born dir­ector Adelsteins ded­ic­ated the film to the memory of his own grand­father, the cir­cum­stances of whose death I have no know­ledge of, but I do sus­pect that like most Icelanders, the sea was an important part of his life.

Hurt has always been one of my favourite actors, and his deeply-lined face is even more expressive than usual, con­sid­ering it has to do all the dra­matic work here. There’s an imp­ish­ness about his escape that ini­tially had me won­dering if this was just to be a boyish lark, but we soon come to know that his prank has a more grave pur­pose, and that this journey is to be his last. And that dis­ap­pointed me, because I feel like I’ve seen too many of these sorts of stories lately, of older people “taking back” their sense of agency over their fates. I sup­pose the dir­ector would argue that this is about dig­nity, but somehow it feels like we’re being told it’s heroic for older people to take their own lives.

My dis­com­fort with the theme doesn’t make the film any less riv­eting. Hurt is excel­lent, and the cine­ma­to­graphy is lush, with an excel­lent focus on details. It cer­tainly con­veys the freedom and joy of being out in a sail­boat on a sunny day. However, I do have an issue with the music, whose syrupy sen­ti­ment­ality is simply unne­ces­sary. Hurt’s per­form­ance does all the work here, and doesn’t need boosting of any kind. For me the most affecting scene is when, enjoying the sea and the sun, he looks out toward the open sea and has to choose: will I steer toward the horizon or let the horizon come to me? As in many short films, the meta­phor­ical weight can be crushing, but Hurt never over­plays things.

Sailcloth was short­l­isted for an Oscar® in the cat­egory of live-action short, but in the end did not make the final list of five nom­inees. Nevertheless, I hope that more people will have the chance to see Hurt’s per­form­ance. And des­pite my reser­va­tions, I look for­ward to seeing the devel­op­ment of Elfar Adelsteins as a film­maker. This is only his second short film, and reading about his work with other Icelandic film­makers like Valdís Óskarsdóttir and Friðrik Þór Friðriksson, I am sure he has a bright future.

Official Facebook page of the film

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