Monday, 18 January 2010

Z

Concurrently, the military banned long hair on males; mini-skirts; Sophocles; Tolstoy; Euripedes; smashing glasses after drinking toasts; labor strikes; Aristophanes; Ionesco; Sartre; Albee; Pinter; freedom of the press; sociology; Beckett; Dostoyevsky; modern music; popular music; the new mathematics; and the letter "Z", which in ancient Greek means "He is alive!"




Director: Costa-Gavras
Writer: Vasilis Vasilikos (source), Jorge Semprun
Cast: Yves Montand, Irene Papas, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Jacques Perrin, Charles Danner, Francois Perier, Pierre Dux

IMDB

The late 1960s was a tumultuous, fear-filled era, and the Costa-Gavras film "Z" (1969) - recently released by the Criterion Collection - plays like a dispatch from the front lines. Based on the Greek government's assassination of a leftist political leader in 1963, it told the story of the ensuing cover-up and its unraveling, and it did so in a tense, suspenseful, action-filled way that captured the imagination of the world. It's one of the few foreign-language films to be nominated for a best picture Academy Award.

This French production - shot on the fly, with a low budget, with French actors working for next to nothing because they believed in the project - has lost nothing in 40 years. Movies have gotten faster, but "Z" still moves. Independent productions have made a virtue of the rough and ready film style, but "Z" still looks raw and vital. And Costa-Gavras' experiments with flash cutting - in which characters' memories of past events are rendered in quick cuts lasting a fraction of a second - remain innovative and psychologically perceptive.

So the movie has lost nothing, but we have - namely two things, which are implicit in every frame of "Z": a belief in the power of protest and a belief in the power of cinema.

It's a curious thing to look at such a dark document as "Z" and see optimistic assumptions lurking around its edges. In most ways, this is a cynical, angry film. Its vision of the Greek government - and by extension, all organized authority - is bleak. Authority is corrupt, evil, entrenched, small-minded and, amazingly, convinced of its own virtue. It's as resilient as a monster. Lop off a limb, and it grows one back overnight.

Human nature as depicted in "Z" doesn't allow much room for hope, either. People are stupid and cowardly, easily manipulated and intimidated. And many of them love being part of a mob.

Yet despite that, "Z" assumes that protest can make a difference. The title refers to the slogan - "Z" for "Zei," meaning "he lives" in Greek - that was adopted by protesters in the aftermath of Dr. Gregoris Lambrakis' assassination in 1963. Yves Montand plays the role inspired by Lambrakis, and the movie's faith is that, by keeping Lambrakis' spirit alive, the protesters will someday bring about the return of democratic government in Greece. (This did happen, but more than a decade after Lambrakis' death.)

Costa-Gavras also assumes that movies can become a vital part of the international conversation. Costa-Gavras made "Z" to entertain people but also to move them and bring about political action. That's an enormous ambition and would seem, by today's standards ... not naive (Costa-Gavras is anything but naive), but grandly optimistic.

Forty years later, we know that wars can happen, despite mass protests. We know that political assassinations, like the one depicted in "Z," stall progress and dishearten people more than they galvanize public anger. And we know that films made with the intent of changing the world - especially documentaries such as "Food, Inc.," "An Inconvenient Truth" and "Sicko" - face such entrenched power that they're practically tilting at windmills.

Perhaps that's what's most invigorating about "Z" all these years later, even more than its expert plotting and pacing: Costa-Gavras' faith is the energy behind his film's energy. It's that faith that enables this movie about old politics to stay new.

Review by Mick LaSalle
SF Chronicle

Download links:

http://rapidshare.com/files/32370104/zcg.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/32379461/zcg.part2.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/32454601/zcg.part3.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/32415386/zcg.part4.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/32426107/zcg.part5.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/32435863/zcg.part6.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/32444773/zcg.part7.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/32446399/zcg.part8.rar

Subtitles (English):
http://rapidshare.com/files/32446403/zcgs.rar

NO PW

http://rapidshare.com/files/55904700/Z.Costa.Gravas.1969.DVDRip.XviD.Parkyns.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/55904731/Z.Costa.Gravas.1969.DVDRip.XviD.Parkyns.part2.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/55904692/Z.Costa.Gravas.1969.DVDRip.XviD.Parkyns.part3.rar
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http://rapidshare.com/files/55905085/Z.Costa.Gravas.1969.DVDRip.XviD.Parkyns.part6.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/55904697/Z.Costa.Gravas.1969.DVDRip.XviD.Parkyns.part7.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/55904638/Z.Costa.Gravas.1969.DVDRip.XviD.Parkyns.part8.rar
..
password: sartre


Criterion Restored Version With Extras
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320111/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part01.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320116/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part02.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320119/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part03.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320692/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part04.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320874/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part05.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320499/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part06.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320114/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part07.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320802/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part08.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300321009/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part09.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320827/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part10.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320791/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part11.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/300320771/Costa-Gavras-Z.1969-SMz.part12.rar

NO PW

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Sunday, 17 January 2010

Il Portiere di Notte



Director: Liliana Cavani
Writer: Barbara Alberti (source), Amedeo Pagani (source), Liliana Cavani (screenplay), Italo Moscati (writer)
Cast: Dirk Bogarde, Charlotte Rampling, Philippe Leroy, Gabriele Ferzetti, Giuseppe Addobbati, Isa Miranda, Nino Bignamini, Marino Mase

IMDB

The Night Porter is a provocative and problematic film. Made in 1974 by Italian director Liliana Cavani, it can be seen as an exercise in perversion and exploitation of the Holocaust for the sake of sensationalism. On the other hand, a closer reading of this English-language psychological thriller suggests a dark vision of compelling characters doomed by their World War II past.

When the film was released in the United States, critical response was hardly favorable; indeed, Vincent Canby’s New York Times review was nothing short of scathing. Under the headline “The Night Porter Is Romantic Pornography,” he began, “Let us now consider a piece of junk.” And some viewers were disturbed that a woman director was portraying a female concentration camp survivor as the masochistic sex object of her Nazi captor.

However, much like another controversial Italian director at the time, Lina Wertmüller, Cavani has never presented herself as a “feminist” director; indeed, her subsequent movies, such as The Skin (1981, with Marcello Mastroianni and Burt Lancaster), and Francesco (a.k.a. St. Francis of Assisi, 1989, with Mickey Rourke), were hardly concerned with positive female role models.

Cavani’s casting of in The Night Porter Dirk Bogarde as Max and Charlotte Rampling as Lucia recalls the roles they played five years earlier in Luchino Visconti’s The Damned. Bogarde’s potential for sleek savagery and Rampling’s skeletal beauty are well suited to these demonic films, where the only exit is death.

The action is set in 1957 Vienna, where a secret organization of former Nazis meets periodically and “eliminates” dangerous witnesses. Max, a former SS officer, is a night porter in an elegant hotel. When Lucia enters the lobby with her husband, there is a tense exchange of looks whose significance is fleshed out in flashbacks: she was a concentration camp inmate. Images of the past punctuate the present narrative with urgent frequency, and suggest that Lucia survived by being Max’s plaything.

Amid the growing tension of their mutual anxiety over being alone together, Max eliminates a former prisoner who had been his friend. He and Lucia are finally reunited in a scene of violent passion, all the more steamy for their accumulated repression. Rather than “file her away,” as he is told to do, he locks his willing partner in his apartment where they replay their concentration camp scene.

Lucia is not the only former prisoner who seeks to re-create the conditions of intense sensation—there is also a young male dancer who used to perform seminude for the SS, and who now has Max arrange lights in his hotel room so that he can do his number once more.

The obscene instances of replay constitute a role-reversal, for one flashback presents Lucia as a Nazi emblem: in the requisite smoky cabaret scene (of which variations can be found in The Damned, Cabaret, Just a Gigolo, The Serpent’s Egg, Lili Marleen, and The Formula) Lucia sings in German—wearing only pants, suspenders, and an SS cap—while invoking Salome.

The obsessive love of Max and Lucia ultimately re-creates a concentration camp situation in which they are both victims. They experience paranoia because they are being pursued; they no longer go out; finally, hunger and lack of air make them regress to an animal level. The core of the film might be Max’s confession that he works at night because during the day, in the light, he is ashamed.

His repressed guilt is perhaps as great as his initially repressed lust, and Max’s ultimate action is to turn himself into a physically degraded and emotionally shattered prisoner. The Night Porter depicts not only the political continuity between wartime Nazism and 1957 Austria, but also the psychological continuity of characters locked into compulsive repetition of the past.

Review by Annette Insdorf
Criterion

Download links:

http://rapidshare.com/files/323113299/IPDNott3.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/323113429/IPDNott3.part2.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/323128219/IPDNott3.part3.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/323149514/IPDNott3.part4.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/323158450/IPDNott3.part5.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/323166213/IPDNott3.part6.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/323166238/IPDNott3.part7.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/323184544/IPDNott3.part8.rar

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Friday, 15 January 2010

Sitting Target



Director: Douglas Hickox
Writer: Alexander Jacobs (screenplay), Laurence Henderson (source)
Cast: Oliver Reed, Jill St. John, Ian Mcshane, Edward Woodward, Frank Finlay, Freddie Jones, Jill Townsend

IMDB

After watching Douglas Hickox' Sitting Target, it's easy to see why Quentin Tarantino named a character after the late director in his Inglourious Basterds. Tarantino also talks about the film with Edgar Wright on their rollicking Hot Fuzz commentary. The hard-charging Sitting Target is one of the great British crime films and stands tall against other moody, early '70s genre cinema, whatever nationality. Screenwriter Alexander Jacobs, he of the great Point Blank, as well as French Connection II, The Seven-Ups, and Hell in the Pacific, adapted Laurence Henderson's novel of the same name. From the very first strains of Stanley Myers' propulsive, ominous score set to images of a determined Oliver Reed doing an intense exercise routine in his jail cell, I knew I was in for a treat.

Reed plays career criminal Harry Lomart who finds out soon into his latest incarceration that his beloved wife Pat (Jill St. John, trying on a not entirely successful British accent) isn't going to wait for him when his 15-year jail spell ends. Adding insult to injury she tells him that she has met someone else and wants a divorce. When he hears this, in a show of raw power and rage, Harry somehow gets his hand through the partition separating them and attempts to strangle his wife to death. Prison guards separate Harry from his wife before he can finish the deed, but the stage is set for a daring escape so that Harry can exact his revenge. However, to its credit, the film doesn't play out exactly as one would expect and it has quite a few surprises up its sleeve right up until the final reel.

This is a nasty ride with nary a sympathetic character in sight. Hickox keeps the film moving at a good, energetic pace throughout the film's 93 minutes, fitting in an exciting, tension-filled prison escape, a chase involving motorcycle cops and hanging laundry that defies description, and an emotional finale with a twist that leaves things on an appropriately somber note. Reed's legendary strength and brutish qualities are put to good use here and he turns in a great performance as the emotionally broken Harry. He's joined by a young Ian McShane as his partner in crime, Edward Woodward as the cop hunting them down, Frank Finlay as a duplicitous former associate, and Freddie Jones as a fellow prison escapee.

Review by Ned Merrill
Obscure One Sheet

My friend Pita-San wanted to see this movie, Sitting Target, with Oliver Reed and Ian McShane, so I went on the hunt. Turns out it was rated X in Britain when it came out for brutality. They had me at "brutality." Of course I expected it to be tame now, and in many ways it is- there's nothing as racy as Lee Marvin throwing a naked man out a window as in the spectacular Point Blank, or as brutal as um, Lee Marvin smashing a pot of hot coffee in a woman's face, as in The Big Heat (Marvin's a bad-ass among bad-asses). But it remains a gritty and yes, brutal thriller about a crook who busts out of prison to get revenge on his woman when she shacks up with a well-off acquaintance, instead of waiting for him.

That crook is Harry Lomart, played by Oliver Reed, a bad-ass on and off the screen. Let us have a moment of loudness to remember his passing, at the age of 63, during the filming of Gladiator. He was at lunch, drinking 3 bottles of rum, a half dozen beers, and various shots of whiskey and cognac, and had a heart attack after besting five Royal Navy sailors at arm-wrestling. There are method actors, and there are forces of nature that you are lucky enough to capture on film. Ollie "Mr. England" Reed, so self-proclaimed because he was one of few celebrities to flee Britain's high taxes in the '70s, was certainly one of the latter.

Sitting Target begins with Harry getting the bad news from his girl, who's on the other side of the prison glass, talking to him on the phone. When he learns that she's been untrue and is leaving him, he bashes through the barrier with one punch and seizes her by the throat. The guards beat him down with their truncheons, and drag him back to his cell. But he's already been planning a breakout with pal Birdy Williams, played by Ian McShane (you know, Al Swearengen from "Deadwood," among many other roles). Harry does his time by sticking to a cruel training regimen, working out in his cell. In an age when even hunks had the uni-ab, he's got the definition of a Greek statue and he's cold and hard as marble.

He breaks out by hiding during the night roll call, hanging from the ceiling in a feat of physical strength, and swinging down to clobber the guards when they search the cell. They're the same guys who beat him when he choked his wife, and he gets his revenge. To show how driven he is to pay back his wife's betrayal, when they finally escape the prison after dealing with guard dogs, search lights, and climbing across guy wires in the dark, Harry has to climb barbed wire with his bare hands. The other guys used rags to protect themselves, but there's no time. So he does it the hard way.

Once they are out, they are hot and have to leave the country, but not before Harry finishes his business. They break an unspoken rule of "no guns" in the underworld, and pick up a broomhandle Mauser with a removable stock, that can be fired full auto. This leads to a brutal gunfight with motorcycle cops in the back alleys that is probably what gave the film its X certificate. A cycle bursts into flames, and Douglas Hickox's direction makes it seem documentarian and all too real. As Harry hunts down his wife and realizes he's made more enemies with his obsession, double crosses lead to more gunplay and an excellent car chase through a railyard with a Land Rover. It's a forgotten and memorable piece of '70s crime, and while it may not be a classic like Get Carter, it's a fine thriller that stands on its own, and deserves a DVD release.

Review by Tommy Salami
Pluck You, Too!

Download link:

http://www.megaupload.com/?d=48J9WDUC

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Thursday, 14 January 2010

The Criminal



Director: Joseph Losey
Writer: Alun Owen (screenplay)
Cast: Stanley Baker, Sam Wanamaker, Gregoire Aslan, Margit Saad, Jill Bennett, Rupert Davies, Patrick Magee

IMDB

Johnny Bannion (Stanley Baker) is due for release from prision tomorrow. He essentially runs this wing of the gaol and when a prisoner from a rival wing is put in his territory, it is not long before that man suffers a brutal beating at the hands of one of Bannion's fellow inmates. The Prison Governor wants Bannion out however and he heads back home to meet up with his old gang who have another job ready to go. Things are complicated though when he falls for a rather insistant young woman named Suzanne. He goes through with the job but decides to hide the money in a field and when he is arrested later that day, his gang resort to the only method they can to get Johnny to tell where he has hidden the loot - they kidnap Suzanne...

Writer Alun Owen provides this crime thriller with a tense and unrelenting storyline. The crime film had become newly popular in the 1960s as the rise of social realist cinema turned the tables on tradition and showed the action from the side of the criminals rather than the law. Owen goes a step further here and puts the focus entirely on the criminals and the playboy Johnny Bannion, who is a long way from the genre's usual working class characters. The majority of the films revolved around the thrill of the big 'job' and the planning and aftermath but Owen's script takes a different view, with the robbery itself being a minor scene in the middle of the film, focusing instead on characters, prison life and the way the underworld works.

Although the 1960 realist crime boom pushed the boundaries of cinema, Criminal is often touted as the most brutal of the era and it is a reputation it deserves. The scenes in the prison try to show a completely unromanticised view of life behind bars, where men can be beaten up for no reason, where the prisoners seem to have more power than the guards and where the prison governor is powerless to intervene, just having to go along with what the criminals say. The underworld as well is not the big well family of the old mob movies, but a dangerous heirarchy of men all trying to outdo each other and prepared to go to extreme lengths to get their way. Characterisation is almost unusually strong, Owen makes sure we know not just about the main characters, but provides us with a lot of interesting details about the periphery as well. There are fascinating hints dropped about the prison warden Barrows suggesting that he might be in the pocket of one of the criminal leaders, similarly the motivations of Suzanne remain vague throughout the film. Rather than coming across as plot holes, these are things that Johnny himself does not know and fit in with the film's aim to show us everything through his eyes. This all means that things move pretty quickly and there is no spoon feeding of the plot so the audience need to stay focused to keep up. The pace never slackens in the second half and it all builds to a particularly effective climax.

Director Joseph Losey might have been turfed out of his home country by anti-communists, but it is clear that he has well found his feet in the UK. Every frame of this film's stark black and white footage looks superb. Unlike some of his other works, particularly his Harold Pinter collabarations, this is a much more straight forward film with none of the surreality that marked an entry like The Servant (1963), but he does include a couple of unorthodox shots, firstly of a character looking through a kaleidoscope and later a theatrical soliloquy from a prisoner with the background dissolving into black. In keeping with the brutal script, Losey is not afraid to focus in on the violence, particularly in a cell beating early on, where another film might have cut away, he stays and we see the reactions of the poor victim - similarly during the prison riot we see a number of prison officers being attacked by the inmates. A haunting main theme on the soundtrack is used very well to emphasise the sorrow and dispair running through the whole film; the rest of the score is fittingly contemporary jazz.

Stanley Baker had built his career through the 1950s and was breaking through as one of the biggest starts in British cinema in 1960. His leading role here is perfect casting and an acting masterclass - he looks every bit the part and really convinces in the fight scenes. The rest of the cast is a veritable who's who of British cinema with the highlights being Patrick Magee's hard-to-read portrayal of Burrows the prison guard, which works with the script to leave us puzzling, and Nigel Green as a ruthless 'heavy'. Sam Wanamaker is more than just the token American and his sly but menacing attitude is ideal for the role. The rest of the cast are solid, look out for familiar faces like Noel Willman, Edward Judd, Tom Bell and Patrick Wymark.

Possibly the best of the many crime films that Britain produced around 1960, Criminal gets a strong script, some seriously fine acting and an excellent director. A film that all classic cinema fans should track down and a must have for any fans of Losey, Baker or the film noir/Brit-crime eras. Highly recommended.

Review by Timothy Young
Mondo Esoterica


Download links:

http://rapidshare.com/files/180191215/TC-JL-1960.part01.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/180206912/TC-JL-1960.part02.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/180202988/TC-JL-1960.part03.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/180210671/TC-JL-1960.part04.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/180214301/TC-JL-1960.part05.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/180217655/TC-JL-1960.part06.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/180221452/TC-JL-1960.part07.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/180223434/TC-JL-1960.part08.rar

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Wednesday, 13 January 2010

Suspiria



Director: Dario Argento
Writer: Dario Argento, Daria Nicolodi, Thomas De Quincey (source)
Cast: Jessica Harper, Stefania Casini, Flavio Bucci, Miguel Bose, Barbara Magnolfi, Susanna Javicoli, Eva Axen

IMDB

Ah, the 1970s. Everything was hip…mod. Colors, lights…style. At least in the horror genre.

Although I had heard about Suspiria over the years, and the consensus was that it is a very good horror flick, I had never feasted on the visual artistry or shocking violence…until now.

The setting for Suspiria is an exclusive ballet academy in Germany. Suzy Bannion (Jessica Harper) is, we find out, a new student from the United States…and she’s not having a good day. Her plane arrives at the airport late at night and she notices as she approaches the door to outside that there is a severe storm in progress. She is absolutely drenched by the time a taxi finally stops to pick her up…and the cabbie will not lift a finger to help her with her bags. The cab driver proceeds to be extremely rude to her, clearly not pleased with her incorrect pronunciation of her intended destination.

Finally Suzy arrives at the school and is almost knocked down by a young woman dashing out into the rain and wind. The woman looks terrified and is saying something to an unknown person just inside the door before racing off. What was it she said? Iris? Secret? Suzy cannot tell for sure. What she does know, however, is that the young fleeing woman did not leave the door open for her…and the voice on the other side of the intercom refuses to allow her entry. Tired and soggy, Suzy returns to her taxi and is driven to a hotel for the night.

The fleeing woman will not be so comfortable. She is in a state of horror and panic over something associated with the school. Then, while at a friends house planning her early morning escape from the country, fleeing woman is attacked and killed in one of the most brutal and shocking scenes that I have ever seen. My heart was racing and I yelled out loud repeatedly before the scene was over.

Once inside the school the next day, Suzy meets the Head Mistress and teachers of this very strict ballet academy. She also meets several of the students…and they are all very strange indeed. The teachers were all over-the-top militant in their demeanor, and the students interacted like a bunch of Jr. High kids.

The story unfolds to reveal secret plots, evil magic and impending doom. I loved it!

Suspiria is considered by many to be the best work ever by Dario Argento. The use of lighting, camera angles, close-up and music (performed by The Goblins with input from Argento himself) create a sinister and surreal shroud of dread and angst. The secret purpose of the school and everyone employed there develops slowly before building to climax of intensity and sheer horror. Heck, there is even a zombie!

Argento has many film trademarks that are all displayed in Suspiria, such as close-ups of the eyes, the use of imaginative shadows and colors… and the intense violent nature of the murders of beautiful women. Many suspect that Argento has a hatred of women that manifests itself in his films. Argento’s response to such accusations? He has stated many times that someone is going to die in a horror movie anyway, so it might as well be a beautiful woman so that there is at least something pretty to look at on the screen. Hard to argue with that logic.

Controversy aside, Suspiria is classic horror in grand 70s style, and deserves a place on the classic horror shelf of any Horror Freak’s movie collection. Just don’t watch it while eating spaghetti.

Review by Don Sumner
Best Horror Movies

Download links:

http://rapidshare.com/files/305251677/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/305252112/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part2.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/305252743/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part3.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/305253278/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part4.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/305253840/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part5.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/305254328/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part6.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/305255012/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part7.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/305255045/Suspiria.1977.DVDRip.XViD.AC3-NoGrp.part8.rar

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Profondo Rosso



Director: Dario Argento
Writers: Dario Argento, Bernardino Zapponi
Cast: David Hemmings, Daria Nicolodi, Gabriele Lavia, Macha Meril, Eros Pagni, Giuliana Calandra

IMDB

If there’s a problem with Suspiria, often regarded as the high point of Dario Argento’s career, it’s that the bare-bones characterisations and equally minimal storyline build in off-kilter style to a bit of an anticlimax. By contrast, Deep Red offers a veritable banquet of Argento’s imagination: a Gordian knot of a narrative and an array of interesting characters whose interplay both explicates and conceals deadly clever clues and themes.

Argento had taken a brief break from horror-thrillers to make an historical drama, Le Cinque Giornato (1973), and in returning to the genre with Deep Red, offered what is in most essentials a remake of his crisp debut, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970)—a tale of a misplaced foreign artist in Rome who witnesses a murder, and, to solve the mystery of the steadily mounting carnage, must discern an unperceived clue in what he witnessed. Argento overlaid that template with everything he’d ever learnt about cinema in a scant five years. The result was a symphonic classic and one of the great films of the ’70s.

It is also a film where Argento pays several distinct compliments to filmmakers and visual artists who inspired him. The interrogation of the very act of looking, built around investigation and mystery that screws relentlessly toward a point of infantile dissolution, and having David Hemmings as the hero, inevitably evoke Antonioni’s Blow Up (1966). The staging in many sequences, with giant close-ups of eyes or the hero’s hand, poised like a gunfighter’s over his weapon, clearly reference his old collaborator Sergio Leone, whose intricate tactics of ecstatic tension/violent release Argento transposed into a different genre. In the film’s middle third, the visuals constantly evoke the crisp art-deco style of another former collaborator, Bernardo Bertolucci, essayed in his great The Conformist (1970), and like that films digs into the problems of gender and the family unit. And the spirit of Hitchcock lurks approvingly in every frame, particularly in one scene utilising birds. Argento also plays ceaselessly with the tropes of the giallo genre’s literary inspirations, such as Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Wallace, and Frederic Brown, to the point where in classic tradition, one victim attempts to etch the name of her killer at the point of death, here on the steam-smothered walls of her bathroom; and whether it will be detected becomes a nerve-jangling question. And yet Argento’s visualisation moves far beyond the necessities of the mystery genre, his camera composing operatic fantasias of colour and motion.

Hemmings plays Marc Daly, an English jazz musician teaching conservatory students who delivers a speech at the outset that feels like a kind of mission statement for Argento, reminding his students that jazz “began in the brothels” and can’t be too elegant or clean. The musicians are played by the members of Goblin, the conservatorium-trained prog-rock group that Argento dug up to conjure the film’s nerve-jangling score, which, like the film’s entire template, would powerfully influence John Carpenter’s Halloween and the entire slasher genre. Yet, Deep Red is far greater than any of its Hollywood imitations. Argento mixes astoundingly beautiful cinema with volatile, hilariously appalling violence, like any good jazz man appreciating the way grit and glam must entwine. He pays constant homage to the rhythms and flow of music, particularly in one startling sequence in which Marc labours at composition whilst being stalked by the killer. He also tips his hat to artists like Edvard Munch and Edward Hopper in his set decoration and visual compositions.

Argento cuts from Marc’s rehearsal and mission statement to a theatre where an audience listens to the pronouncements on parapsychology by a team of New Age professors led by Bardi (Piero Mazzinghi). Argento’s camera enters and exits the theatre in a flourish of red curtains, immediately announcing his film as pure show business. Medium Helga Ulmann (Macha Meril) realises someone in the audience is a murderer. Soon enough, Ulmann is butchered in her apartment: it's an amusing touch that she senses the malevolent intent of the person knocking at her door, but isn’t quick enough to escape. Out on the street, Marc and Carlo (Gabriele Lavia), an alcoholic, self-loathing pianist, are chatting when they hear Ulmann’s screams. Marc rushes to the scene, misses the killer, and later swears to the police that something was removed from the apartment’s main hallway, suspecting it might have been one of the Munch-like artworks that hang there.

Marc soon hooks up with spirited journalist Gianna Brezzi (Daria Nicolodi), who is covering the case. The two begin flirting a la His Girl Friday by way of Gloria Steinem, Marc’s drolly observed discomfort over his highly unmacho job and shakiness in the face of horror show his proclaimed dislike of women’s lib, inspiring Gianna to challenge and beat him in arm-wrestling. Marc and Gianna’s scenes are pitched as pure screwball comedy, a fascinating divergence for the normally all-business Argento that enriches the film enormously. The lightly handled tensions of sex and equality gives Marc and Gianna’s romance sauce underpin much darker preoccupations of the narrative.

In the opening credits, Argento interrupts the parade of white-on-black titles for a brief, completely bewildering scene of apparent murder—a scream and darting feet in front of a postcard Christmas scene, before blithely resuming the titles. One can only deduce that there’s a victim, a killer, and a young witness. It’s a wicked gambit by Argento, because he has both positioned the scene with intense deliberation and yet also counts on the audience to forget about it immediately. Later, his camera drifts languorously in studying the killer’s weapons, props, and totems of meaning in ultra-close-up, evoking the notion of being too close to something to see it properly. The killer taunts and plays with victims like a child, hanging plastic dolls to frighten the prey; setting a mad, mechanical doll upon one to distract him from where to expect the real attack; releasing birds from their cages; and playing a creepy tape of children singing the same tune we heard in the opening.

As coscreenwriter Bernardino Zapponi explained of his and Argento's method, things to do with infancy are always somehow scary, and, indeed, childhood motifs—creepy dolls, eerie singalongs, perverted parent-child relationships and decaying family homes—are rife in Argento’s films, as well as in those of his precursor, Mario Bava. In several attacks, the killer pointedly bashes the victims’ teeth out, evoking Freudian theories of prepubescent sexuality. As Marc follows the relentless, inward spiral of clues, he becomes implicated as a suspect, but he continues to peel the layers off the onion, which demands peeling off the layers from how sexual and social personae are constructed, moving closer and closer to a fetid, secreted heart locked within the family home. Marc finally traces a clue to the killer’s background through a book on contemporary urban folklore, and when that book’s author, Amanda Righetti (Giuliana Calandra) is one of the victims—drowned in a bathtub full of boiling water—it confirms he’s on the right track. The book leads him to an abandoned family villa, cared for by Rodi (Furio Meniconi) and his mean little girl Olga (Nicoletta Elmi), within which he first discovers a child’s rendition of the murder from the beginning buried under plaster and, eventually, a secreted corpse.

Argento’s intricate structure keeps throwing up red herrings that subvert many clichés of the contemporary thriller almost before they were invented. When it’s revealed Carlo is gay, the possibility that his eyeliner-smeared boyfriend could be the killer is hinted, in a homophobic twist a la Silence of the Lambs. Likewise, when the disturbingly strong Gianna seems to transform in one scene into a darkly angelic femme fatale, even in the act of saving Marc’s life, the film recalls the anxiety over upended gender codes exploited by Basic Instinct. The feet of the child in the opening are sexually ambiguous—high-heeled shoes and high socks could be either boy or girl in old-fashioned dress; so, too, are the killer’s, in modern style. But Argento keeps zeroing in on the concept of familial homicide. When Marc sees the grotesque mural from the house reproduced by Olga on her bedroom wall, he presses her and learns she copied it from an old picture she’d found amongst her school’s art class archives. When Marc and Gianna head to the school to find the original, Argento reveals that the killer seems to have beaten them there through the ominous signifiers of the running taps and the scrawled message on the wall: “Kill Your Father and Mother”.

There, Gianna is near-fatally stabbed, and Marc is confronted by Carlo, who drew the picture: the police, on Marc’s tail, arrive in time to drive Carlo off, and he is killed when he is dragged behind a truck and his head crushed by a passing car. However, Marc, realising that Carlo could not have committed all the murders because he was standing next to him when Ulmann was killed, finally discerns that the memory that haunted him from Ulmann’s apartment was not a painting, but a reflection in a mirror, that of Carlo’s mother (Clara Calamai). A former movie actress, who was forced by her husband, a German writer (one doubts the suggestion of roots of psychosexual trauma in the Axis alliance is accidental), to give up her career; she had many stays in an asylum until she rebelled one Christmas day and knifed her husband in the back, and event Carlo in which was forever implicated.

f the notion of the small Calamai committing the ferocious murders throughout the film is a bit of a laugh, Argento nonetheless ties together the film’s restless ideas and acerbic perspective with radical potency. Before he got stuck playing to the more conservative, misogynistic horror audiences of the ’80s with less and less inspiration, Argento found real delight in toying with expectations over who was doing what kind of violence to whom. He never abandoned his liking for substantial female characters, and here, of course, he found Nicolodi, who became his long-time girlfriend and mother of Asia) provided the vital ideas for the “Three Mothers” trilogy. She delivers a hilariously spry and sexy performance as Gianna, particularly when she gyrates her way out of Marc’s apartment after seeing a sketch of his last girlfriend, mocking him for a previous predilection for “super sexy vamps.”

Horror cinema hardly comes better than this.

Review by Roderick Heath
Ferdy on Films, etc

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4 Mosche di Velluto Grigio



IMDB

Director: Dario Argento
Writer: Dario Argento, Luigi Cozzi, Mario Foglietti
Cast: Michael Brandon, Mimsy Farmer, Jean-Pierre Marielle, Bud Spencer, Aldo Bufi Landi, Calisto Calisti

Roberto, a musician, notices he is being followed and confronts the man after rehearsals one night. In an empty theatre, the two struggle, a knife is pulled and the stalker gets stabbed. All this is witnessed from the gallery by a masked photographer. When Roberto starts to get threatening notes and night visits he engages the help of his friends, God and the Professor, as well as a largely unsuccessful Private Eye, Arrosio. His maid falls victim to his blackmailer, as does Arrosio when he gets too close and then Maria, his wife’s cousin. Roberto buys a gun and decides to face off the night visitor when they next arrive on a stormy night.

The final film in Argento’s Animal trilogy is a blackmail thriller with whimsical characters and dodgy science thrown in. It is a film that has had few proper releases and that fans have relied on poor quality dupes and cobbled together grey market versions to see. Roberto is a character that Brandon based on Dario and the physical resemblance is quite striking. After it’s relatively poor reception, Dario sought refuge in a TV series and the altogether different affair of Five Days in Milan.

Four Flies shows Argento experimenting more with filmmaking technique and taking risks in his writing of characters. The opening of the film is a montage of Roberto being followed by his stalker intercut with a rehearsal of Roberto’s band where he is pursuing a troublesome fly. The ironic juxtaposition here kinda makes fun of the very set up of the movie with Roberto killing both irritants after he pursues his stalker. Similarly the masked photographer who photographs the murder is wearing such an inappropriate mask that this again seems a deliberately playful device. This playfulness extends itself to the knowing writing of character. One character is referred to as God and is constantly used for advice, which is nearly always right, and is introduced by a “hallelujah” in Morricone’s score.

Best of all in technique in Four Flies is some wonderful uses of Mixage. When Roberto visits Arrosio, the sound of his cars engine drives him up the steps and into Arrosio’s office. This then makes the contrast between the surging narrative and the camp chilled Private Eye even more fun. Arrosio is a wonderful character, a detective with 84 failures and not one success who is delighted to solve the case even though in doing so it brings his end.

The thriller conventions are further satirized in the revealing of the killer. The old wives’ tale about eyes retaining the last image they see like a camera is used and this reveal is signaled in the title of the film, not only that but this reveal is backed up by a piece of animation to show the audience how four flies on grey velvet happened! Similarly the dreams of Brandon about decapitation foreshadow how justice will be delivered – very witty stuff.

This playing with the preposterous and deliberate fun with character is one of the strong points of Four Flies and far more enjoyable than the hokey thriller at it’s core. Brandon is very good as a Dario surrogate, and the fun supporting cast are uniformly excellent. Morricone delivers his best early Argento score mixing prog rock with the atonal squawks that peppered Bird. Four Flies is a film by a director spreading his wings and outgrowing his genre. This creativity would reach it’s zenith with Profondo Rosso but Four Flies is an immensely enjoyable giallo.

Review by John White
10,000 Bullets


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Il Gatto a Nove Code



Director: Dario Argento
Writer: Dario Argento, Luigi Collo, Daardano Sacchetti
Cast: James Franciscus, Karl Malden, Catherine Spaak, Pier Paolo Capponi, Horst Frank, Rada Rassimov

IMDB

After the surprising success of his directorial debut, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Dario Argento almost immediately put another thriller into production. The result was Il Gatto a Nove Code (The Cat O’ Nine Tails), a film that seems far less original and elegant than its predecessor, something acknowledged by the director himself, who has frequently labelled it his worst film.

Former reporter Franco Arno (Karl Malden), now blind, is strolling home at night with his niece Lori (Cinzia De Carolis), when he overhears a conversation involving blackmail. Later that night, a mysterious intruder breaks into the nearby Terzi Institute, a centre for advanced biological research, but seems to have stolen nothing. The following morning, one of the Institute’s researchers (and coincidentally one of the men Arno overheard) is murdered. Nosy journalist that he is, Arno teams up with a younger reporter, Carlo Giordani (James Franciscus), to solve the mystery, but the pair soon end up endangering both their own lives and those of anyone they come into contact with. Naturally, the list of suspects is massive, ranging from the mysterious head of the institute to his sultry daughter Anna (Catherine Spaak).

There are some really nice performances on display, particularly those of Malden and Franciscus. The interplay between the two actors is good, resulting in a believable friendship. It also marks the first time Argento paired up a younger character with an older mentor, a motif he would revisit in several later films. In contrast, the interaction between Franciscus and Spaak is painfully stilted. I can’t be quite sure whether this is the fault of the actors or whether it was intentional, but their relationship just never rings true. The scene where Anna bares her breasts for Giordani, and their subsequent lovemaking, are disquietingly wooden. The clothes Anna wears are also hilariously outdated. While clearly an attempt to appear sexy, they look thoroughly embarrassing from a modern perspective. I remain undecided on this character, since although it could be argued that her personality requires a cold, detached performance, there are times when she simply seems so removed from the whole affair that it borders on bad acting.

If it has nothing else, the film has bucket-loads of tension. There are a number of highly imaginative set-pieces, including a scene were Giordani breaks into Professor Terzi’s house in the middle of the night, unaware that the man himself is actually at home. Another features Giordani and Arno going tomb-robbing, and Argento skilfully manages to take the scene from being comedic to being nail-bitingly tense. A personal favourite of mine, however, is one where Anna, with a terrified Giordani in tow, speeds through the streets of Rome in an attempt to shake off a pair of police officers who are trailing her car. Not only is it well-paced and imaginatively shot, it is also one of my favourite ever car chase sequences.

The film’s greatest flaw is its jagged narrative. It starts off by showing us a crime in which seemingly no real damage has been done, and then proceeds to provide a ridiculously large list of suspects. It is made pretty clear that everyone has their own agenda, but the results are confusing, since far too many indistinct characters are introduced. The script has a tendency to go off on tangents and often feels more like a series of loosely connected events than a single story. A perfect example of this is Arno’s blindness. It’s a neat plot device early on, but in the end it does nothing more than create a talking point for the characters. Furthermore, after the terrifically surprising triumph that was the unveiling of the killer’s identity in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Argento here settles for a villain who spends the rest of the film as a virtually unnoticeable secondary character, and whose grand unmasking scene falls completely flat. For an Argento film, the script is surprisingly dialogue-heavy, getting bogged down with exposition and the explanation of scientific theories. Apparently Argento found these matters very interesting, but in the context of cinema the lengthy and dull descriptions of various experiments seem extraneous, not to mention somewhat far-fetched at times.

Photography-wise, the film is competently shot but not particularly vibrant. This was the first time Argento made heavy use of roving cameras to represent the killer’s field of vision; something John Carpenter would later go on to imitate in the opening scene of Halloween. The Cat O’ Nine Tails is relatively similar in its look to The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, although here Erico Menczer’s camera is more mobile than that of Vittorio Storaro in Argento’s previous film. Argento’s trademark baroqueness is nowhere to be seen (such a style would not really cement itself in his work until Profondo Rosso), but the various scenes are artfully composed and show that, even at this early stage in his career, he had a strong understanding of the aesthetics of composition. Sadly, the gore comes as something of a let-down. Yes, the film is at times brutal in its violence, but it is for the most part quite understated and oddly pedestrian. The death scenes definitely never reach the wildness of his later films.

The film’s greatest technical innovation is its editing. Franco Fraticelli, who cut all Argento’s films up to and including Opera, throws in some very inventive techniques, the best of these being the short inserts that frequently appear towards the end of a scene, anticipating the next one. The sudden flashes of displaced images create a wonderful feeling of disconcertment, and do a great job of setting up what is to follow. Musically, the film is also very good, with Ennio Morricone deliverying a bizarre, almost jazzy score, that has a vaguely industrial sound and was more than likely very contemporary at the time of the film’s release. The audio presentation on this DVD fails to do it justice (see below), but it manages to shine through as a powerful piece of work.

Despite all its flaws, the film fails to be as poor as The Phantom of the Opera, the film most people see as the nadir of Argento’s work. The Cat O’ Nine Tails is simply too mainstream and conventional to stand up either to Argento’s debut or to his subsequent efforts. The film is by no means bad, but it lacks the extra spark that make this director’s films special.

Review by Michael Mackenzie
DVD Times

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L'uccello dalle Piume di Cristallo



Director: Dario Argento
Writer: Dario Argento (screenplay), Fredric Brown (source)
Cast: Tony Musante, Suzy Kendall, Enrico Maria Salerno, Eva Renzi, Umberto Raho, Renato Romano

IMDB

As directorial debuts go, Dario Argento's The Bird with the Crystal Plumage is quite impressive. Although Argento would perfect his craft in later films, Bird maintains a consistent veil of suspense, mixing in a touch of ultraviolence and a twist of Hitchcock. As such, it is a solid example of the quintessentially Italian giallo film.

Argento's storyline, loosely adapted without credit from Fredric Brown's novel Screaming Mimi, centers on Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), an American writer looking for (and failing to find) inspiration in Italy. He's ready to pack it in and fly back to the States when he witnesses an attempted murder at an art gallery, which he is helpless to prevent. We later discover that this attack is connected to a string of homicides perpetrated by a madman. The police question him, but there's some major clue that he can't quite recall. At Inspector Morosini's (Enrico Maria Salerno)'s encouragement, Sam launches his own private investigation into the serial murders, putting himself and his girlfriend (Suzy Kendall) in the path of danger.

As a giallo, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage is an exemplary combination of all the things associated with this particular breed of Italian mystery-thriller. It features violence that is heavy on the crimson, stylized camera work, and sex and sexuality as major parts of the plot. One could argue that Bird is the film that defined these as characteristic of the subgenre, but in reality, it merely accentuates and clarifies an existing format. The blueprint for giallo was laid out by Mario Bava in The Girl Who Knew Too Much and Blood and Black Lace, two earlier films that heavily influence Bird. Argento's lasting addition to the genre is that his killers murder not for personal reasons of wealth, power, or self-preservation, but because they are utterly insane.

The work of Alfred Hitchcock heavily influences the traditions the giallo. Accordingly, Argento pays homage to the Master several times in Bird. As in Hitchcock's films, Argento's police are largely ineffectual; they even encourage Sam's investigations, possibly out of the hope that the killer will reveal herself if he gets close enough. When Sam witnesses the assault at the art gallery, he is trapped behind glass, like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window. One of the many red herrings bears an uncanny resemblance to Anthony Perkins from Psycho and his death is a direct call to the climax of Saboteur. Sam himself is briefly suspected of the murders and initially begins his investigation in order to clear his name, which is a plot point common to a number of Hitchcock's thrillers. The most obvious reference to Hitch, however, is when a psychiatrist gives a long, rambling and ultimately unsatisfying explanation of the killer's motivations, just as Simon Oakland did at the end of Psycho. Argento's clever variation, though, is that he crosscuts this tedious explanation with shots of another character in the film who has (arguably) just suffered the same trauma that caused the killer's psychosis, leaving the lingering suggestion that perhaps the story is not entirely finished.

Sam's civilian investigation, aside from being very Hitchcockian, is also a commentary by Argento on the art of murder. He seems to be saying that in order to peer into the mind of a madman, you must judge your target aesthetically, not clinically. The police in Bird have all sorts of wonderful tools at their disposal -- machines that can match almost any sound, computers that can determine suspect attributes based on what brand of cigar they smoke, and investigators who can analyze forensic evidence of all shapes and size. They even have a a predetermined set of "perverts" who they trot out for line-ups in cases of a sexual nature. Argento makes a big show of all these marvelous resources, but he makes an even bigger show of how impotent they are at locating a mind of cunning insanity.The police unable to locate a viable suspect; the killer even calls them on the telephone just to taunt them for their ineffectualness. Sam, a writer, is more attuned to the artistic, to concepts, ideas, and inspirations. He takes the same pieces of evidence that the police have and is able to get much closer; so close that two separate attempts are made on his life and another on his girlfriend. When Sam locates information about a painting that the killer purchased just before the first killing, he correctly assesses that the painting is key to understanding the murderer. He tracks down the artist of the portrait who explains it's origins. Sam believes that it is the inspiration of the murder and not the motivation that will lead him to the end of the trail.

Much of the enjoyability of The Bird with the Crystal Plumage hinges on solving the murder mystery before the characters do. Then again, Argento doesn't play fair -- or does he? While some flashback footage doesn't seem to quite match with the eventual revelation of the killer's identity, this may all be perfectly rational. Our main clue is Sam's recollection of the event. What we, the audience, actually witness early in the film is from far away, but the flashbacks later on provide tantalizing close-ups that Argento frames in such a way that the damning evidence is just off-screen. Sam's own preconceptions fill in the missing details and we happily agree with his conclusions. If the flashbacks don't exactly match the facts, it's only because Sam's memory is faulty and, by extension, so is ours. We don't consider that one of Sam's major conclusions may be completely wrong. We even get a little annoyed with his constant assertions that something is missing; everything appears to be fairly cut-and-dried.

Argento does more than let our brains take a shortcut to an "obvious" conclusion. He wraps a leash around our necks, tightens it, and pulls us through that shortcut, while we trot alongside, blissfully unaware of being led. So effective is he at this that there are few critics on record who were able to spot the twist (according to Alan Jones, author of Profondo Argento, Pauline Kael claimed to have guessed early in the film, but this seems appropriate for the famously anti-bulls**t critic). At this point in the review, it becomes incredibly difficult to discuss the identity of the killer without actually giving away the Big Secret, so please note that spoiler information follows.

The killer is a woman. However, it is difficult to come to that conclusion on one's own, as Argento puts a lot of effort into disabusing us of the notion of a woman as the killer. The woman in question wears a masculine black raincoat and a black hat, as well as the black leather gloves that would become synonymous with the psychopathic murderers of Argento's films. All of the victims, with one exception, are female. When we hear the murderer over the phone, the disguised voice is very similar to the harsh, whisper that Peter Lorre affects for the scene in Mad Love in which his character, Dr. Gogol, attempts to drive Stephen Orlac (Colin Clive) mad. For those who are aware of the reference, this further drives the circumstantial evidence for a male killer, since Gogol is practically the patron saint of perverted masculine desire. Further, we know that the killer has a fixation on a painting that depicts a man murdering a woman.

Beyond these strikingly masculine character peculiarities, Argento presents the most volatile of his misdirects cinematically. Bird opens with point-of-view shots from the perspective of the killer, first as she take salacious, voyeuristic photographs of her next intended victim and then as she prepares for the murder by carefully selecting a knife from a tray of similarly phallic tools. Surprisingly, we are not party to the unnamed woman's death; we instead hear about this murder in the news the next day.

From this point on, our visual dealings with the murderer vary. When we see the killer before a murder, we are put in her shoes and watch as she select a victim, who is always a young, beautiful woman. We engage in the stereotypical "male gaze" as the camera objectifies some poor, unaware girl. During the murder sequences, our perspective changes and we are asked to take the part of the victim as they are terrorized, cornered, and brutalized. The first explicit murder sequence uses a point-of-view shot to equate the viewer's identity with the victim-to-be. This is not a new trick, but Argento uses it only to establish a relationship. He does not maintain the perspective after he has introduced the killer into the sequence. Instead, we drift out a bit, looking at the girl as her assailant shoves her down on the bed and slices off her night gown. Our lingering identification heightens the sensation of this action and also our outrage at the assumed masculinity of the killer. From here, Argento brings his camera in tighter as we are forced to trail down the girl's body with the killer's hand, with the killer's knife. With a vicious yank, the killer removes the undergarments of the prone woman before stabbing her; the suggestion is that the fatal knife thrust penetrates sexually. It is a tantalizing scene to watch, but a difficult one to finish, because while we are still identifying with the victim, Argento subtly nudges us into almost unspeakable identification with the murderer (and by extension, the knife). After the precise moment that murderer and murdered impact, we are compelled to reject the killer as opposite and antithetical to the victim. As the victim is a female, we accept that the killer must be male, and Argento has certainly given us enough evidence to support this.

Many of the themes in The Bird with Crystal Plumage, such as the fallibility of memory, the plight of the helpless witness, and the role of art in psychosis recur in Dario Argento's later films, such as Deep Red, Suspiria, and Tenebre. His skill at transferring the brutalization of his characters to his audience only increases, while his showy homages to Hitchcock lessen as he gains more confidence in his own abilities. The whodunits twist toward labyrinthine and nonsensical, but the journey to the final revelation becomes more exhilarating. However, none of these comparisons to future works lessen the fact that Argento is a creative force to be reckoned with. The Bird with the Crystal Plumage proves that he has always been so.

Review by Nate Yapp
Classic Horror

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Tuesday, 12 January 2010

Le Genou de Claire

Every woman has her most vulnerable point. For some, it's the nape of the neck, the waist, the hands. For Claire, in that position, in that light, it was her knee.




Director & writer: Eric Rohmer
Cast: Jean-Claude Brialy, Aurora Cornu, Beatrice Romand, Laurence de Monaghan, Michele Montel, Gerard Falconetti, Fabrice Luchini

IMDB

“Rohmer’s haunting film is perhaps the cinema’s nearest approximation to Proustian discourse” stated Sight & Sound in their review. Over thirty years later, Raoul Ruiz’s actual adaptation of Proust, Time Regained, may have changed that, but it’s no less accurate a summation as there is something faintly Proustian about proceedings. The fifth of Rohmer’s six moral tales, Claire’s Knee is a beautifully shot dip into the waters of not only Lake Geneva but the notion of desire itself and how it can manifest itself in the strangest ways.

Jerome is a 35 year old French diplomat who has returned from Sweden to his childhood town on the shores of Lake Geneva prior to marriage to the unseen Lucinda. He is met there by a platonic friend, Aurora, who introduces him to the sixteen year old Laura, who develops a crush on him. But he is equally interested in her half-sister, Claire, who is besotted with a boorish lout of a boyfriend. Jerome only wants to touch her knee, which becomes the focal point of his desires.

Rohmer’s films are lessons in civilised discussion and frankness about all subjects. Refreshingly there is no nudity in the film, in spite of the constant possibilities for such disrobing, but even had there been it would have been no more offensive than the nude scenes were in his other works (Pauline à la Plage and Conte d’Hiver) as there is no place for prudishness in Rohmer’s films. It’s that very fact that French girls think nothing of taking off their tops in front of strangers that makes the symbolism of the knee twice as potent – it’s a body part like any other and, in simple terms, as worthy of obsession as any other physical attribute. Our hero is not sexually interested in Claire, or perhaps he is but realises that being old enough to be her father he wouldn’t be able to manoeuvre her into bed (as he opines earlier, “life’s too short to go around noticing adolescent yearnings”). His returning to his childhood haunts contrasts totally with the girls’ trying to leave their childhood behind. He hasn’t come back just for remembrance, though, but to see an old friend and for the landscape. “With beauty around me, I can’t feel bored” he tells Laura, but one senses he’s always on the verge of boredom. He’s come to accept that physical love and platonic friendship rarely come together and so he has compromised. He’s marrying Lucinda because, in his own words, he hasn’t wearied of her, rather than as a result of a consuming passion. At times he resembles a painter on vacation, especially in his straw hat, and when he tells Aurora that “I think I’d use Claire as a model”, it adds to the sense of his obsession. However, though we may sense his manipulation of Claire we also know that she is almost certainly better off without Gilles. She may have first been seen as a bikini babe straight from St Tropez, but she has more going for her than a nice ass.

Though Rohmer has always been the subject of a “seen one, you’ve seen them all” appraisal, his films are constantly entertaining and delightfully forthright. His heroines are not conventional beauties but have an inner beauty that is without question. If Brialy is superb as the diplomat, de Monaghan and, particularly, Romand are at least his equal as the young filles. Beautifully photographed by the great Nestor Almendros on location, it’s a witty delight, a seemingly shallow film that is in fact anything but. Rohmer believes – correctly – that there is something much more erotic about the simplest of gestures (playing with a girl’s hair, touching her shoulder, whatever) than the softcore humpings of numerous potboilers. It knows that any man who would choose as a desert island companion a honey he wants to have continual sex with over a platonic friend for whom one has affection is very shallow indeed. The omnipresent Lake Geneva is anything but shallow and neither is Rohmer’s masterpiece.

Review by Allan Fish
Wonders in the Dark

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http://rapidshare.com/files/322656553/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part01.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/322650451/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part02.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/322638372/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part03.rar
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http://rapidshare.com/files/322651811/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part05.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/322629200/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part06.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/322646416/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part07.rar
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http://rapidshare.com/files/322652346/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part10.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/322628837/WarezEye.Com__CN_BY_SCOTOBUKI.part11.rar

Password: oldscot


Runtime: 105 min
Country: France
Language: French
Subtitles: English (hardcoded)
File: 1016 MB, duration: 1:46:01, type: AVI, 1 audio stream
Video: 1016 MB, 1340 Kbps, 23.976 fps, 720*480 (4:3), DIVX = OpenDivx v4
?????: 250 KB, 128 Kbps, 48000 Hz, 2 channels, 0x55 = MPEG Layer-3
WinRar: 1.09 GB added 5% for recovery

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Ma Nuit Chez Maud

Eric Rohmer's death at the age of 89 is a reminder of the incredible energy, tenacity and longevity of France's great nouvelle vague generation, writes Peter Bradshaw in today's Guardian. Rohmer had released his last film only last year, the sublimely unworldly pastoral fantasy Les amours d'Astrée et de Céladon (The Romance of Astrea and Celadon): a gentle, reflective movie, of course, but by no means lacking in energy or wit. And, meanwhile, Jean-Luc Godard, Agnès Varda, Jacques Rivette and Claude Chabrol – at the respective ages of 79, 81, 81 and 79 – are all still with us, all nursing projects.

Rohmer came from the New Wave tradition of critic-turned-director; he was a former editor of Cahiers du Cinéma, and became the distinctively romantic philosopher of the New Wave and the great master of what was sometimes called "intimist" cinema: delicate, un-showy movie-making about not especially startling people, people often in their 20s, whose lives are dramatised at a kind of walking, talking pace. He avoided dramatic close-up, and tended to avoid music, except that that is supposed to be heard by the characters in the action from radios, for example – Lars von Trier's minimalist Dogme movement was in the spirit of Rohmer's modus operandi.

What was utterly characteristic was Rohmer's feel for what the real life of a young person – albeit a certain type of middle-class, educated, young person – was like: that is, not shiny and sexy or grungy or funny in the Hollywood manner, but uncertain, tentative, vulnerable and more often than not dominated by a quotidian type of travel: bus travel, subway travel, train travel; travel to get somewhere for the summer, or to see a girlfriend or boyfriend.

The first Rohmer film I saw was Le rayon vert (The Green Ray), with my girlfriend, when we were both students, at the old Cambridge Arts Cinema in the 80s. I thought then and think now that Rohmer's films are quintessentially studenty – in the best possible sense. Young, callow-ish people do a lot of talking, in the way we all did, about what was wrong (or right) with their lives and relationships, and about the perfect place to go for the summer. In this film, a young woman is unable to think what to do for the summer. She tries various places with various people, but always finds herself heading back to Paris, drawn perhaps to a place in which possibilities have not been thinned and options narrowed. Eventually, she finds herself at the beach, about to experience the legendary "rayon vert", or flash of green light you can see at the moment the sun sets.

Perhaps other twentysomethings, from a later era, would be more excited about finding the perfect beach in Thailand or Vietnam, but to us impecunious 1980s students, the idea of witnessing the "rayon vert" in Biarritz was a fascinating, exotic notion, and eminently plausible. It was as fascinating as absinthe. Yet everything was filmed in such a straightforward, realist way, and for someone in his mid-60s, Rohmer himself had a remarkable sympathy and un-patronising interest in young people.

Later, in 1992, Rohmer would make Conte d'hiver (A Winter's Tale), as part of his "tales of four seasons" series, about a young man and woman who have a passionate holiday romance but somehow manage to mislay each other's details and lose touch. It seems almost inconceivable in our world of social networking sites and mobile phones, but at the time it was entirely plausible, and another demonstration of Rohmer's sure touch for sensing the anxieties and dreams of un-moneyed young people, looking for love and adventure – and, as ever, having to travel banally to get it. I think Richard Linklater, in his movies Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, about a missed love-connection, was trying to channel some of the spirit of Eric Rohmer.

Rohmer's "talkiest" film is probably the one that made his name: Ma nuit chez Maud (My Night With Maud) from 1969, a black-and-white film that looks a little rickety now. A man is forced through snow to stay the night with an attractive stranger, and finds his resolve to marry someone else severely tested by having to sleep over in her bed. But this is not just about sex, and the lack of it, or the promise of it, but about talk, about the adventure of intimacy and all the subtle, almost infinitesimal things we reveal about ourselves in talking.

In his later years – though perhaps Rohmer's entire mature career is one long, richly distinctive, "late phase" – the director turned to period drama, and this is the point at which pub-quizzers may raise the question of what unites Rohmer with Christopher Nolan. The answer is that both have cast the tremendous but underused and still underappreciated British actor Lucy Russell. Rohmer made her the French-speaking lead in his French revolutionary drama L'anglaise et le duc (The Lady and the Duke) from 2001.

And finally, there is Rohmer's remarkable last film, Les amours d'Astrée et de Céladon, a Shakespearean fantasia, a midsummer noon's reverie, conceived along uncompromisingly classical lines, and a thing of quiet joy. Along with his green ray – that flash of mystical revelation available to idealistic young people unencumbered by middle-aged banality – it is my favourite Eric Rohmer. The cinema has lost a philosopher, a quiet rhetorician and a gentle ally of the young.



Director & writer: Eric Rohmer
Cast: Jean-Louis Trintignant, Francois Fabian, Marie-Christine Barrault, Antoine Vitez

IMDB

Eric Rohmer's "Ma Nuit Chez Maud" (literally, "My Night at Maud's") is so French and so Catholic—as well as so fine—that it should prove irresistible to certain Americans, especially to those of us who, having been raised in a puritan tradition, have always been a little in awe of the Roman Church's intellectual catholicism. The French film was shown last night at Alice Tully Hall and will be repeated there tomorrow evening at 6:30. To my way of thinking, it's the first new film to be seen at the current New York Film Festival that achieves with elegance and eloquence the goals it has set for itself.

Elegance and eloquence may seem like strange words to use about a film that was photographed entirely in black and white in a French provincial city in the dreariness of winter (mostly in ordinary interior settings) and that concerns four seemingly commonplace people, none of whom renounces a throne or even possesses an inflammatory political pamphlea.

I'd even go so far as to call "Ma Nuit Chez Maud" civilized, except for the fact that that adjective usually recalls some boring film adaptation of a Lillian Hellman play in which people talk canned wisdom as they move from fireplace to settee to French windows, all the while anticipating some melodramatic disaster.

"Ma Nuit Chez Maud" is the first Rohmer feature to be seen in this country. Rohmer, a 40-year-old Cahiers du Cinéma critic, directed one of the episodes in the omnibus feature "Six in Paris," which was shown at the 1965 New York Film Festival (and which frankly, I don't remember). This new film is described as the third feature in a projected cycle called "Six Moral Tales," of which four have now been completed. Each is a variation on a single situation: a man who is in love with one woman meets and spends some time with another woman, whom he finds supremely attractive, but with whom he does not consummate the affair.

The hero of "Ma Nuit Chez Maud" is Jean-Louis (Jean-Louis Trintignant), an engineer in his early 30's, a solitary but not a lonely sort, a man who at first seems to be something of a prig. He isn't. He just values himself too much—in the best sense—to waste time on superficial sexual or social experiments. Within his abiding Roman Catholicism, he also believes that he will ultimately meet and marry the right girl, who will not only be Catholic but also blonde.

By chance one night, he runs into an old friend, a philosophy professor and Marxist atheist, who introduces him to Maud (Françoise Fabian), a divorcee and skeptic (this is the sort of movie in which people's philosophical attitudes are made as immediately apparent as are the birthrights in Shakespeare's histories). Maud, beautiful, wise, tells him about her marriage, her dead lover, her husband's mistress (a lovely young Catholic girl) and tries unsuccessfully to seduce him. The very next day, Jean-Louis meets the girl for whom he has been looking—which is not quite the end of a tale that is as ironic as it is moral.

Rohmer's achievement in "Ma Nuit Chez Maud" is that he has been able to make so much talk so unaffectedly cinematic. Although a quick dip into Pascal's "Pensées" would not hurt before seeing the film, there is so much wit-in-context that it is not absolutely necessary. Most refreshing is the sight and sound of four characters who are articulate, interested, informed, educated, amused, vulnerable, totally free of epigrams and aware of their identities. Their only concern is the manner in which they will realize those identities, and whether it will be by choice, predestination or simple luck.

The film is beautifully played, that is, as written, which is almost as if it were music. The camera literally and figuratively never looks down or up at the characters. It faces them straight on, the better to catch some completely unexpected moments of intimacy and humor.

"Ma Nuit Chez Maud" is set in Clermont, a town of something over 100,000 citizens, southwest of Paris, where Pascal was born in 1623. For more data, you'll have to search your own "Pensées," and the film, both of which might be most agreeable.

Review by Vincent Canby
New York Times

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http://rapidshare.com/files/313690657/Ma.nuit.chez.Maud.1969.DVDRip.x264.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/313691585/Ma.nuit.chez.Maud.1969.DVDRip.x264.part2.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/313692435/Ma.nuit.chez.Maud.1969.DVDRip.x264.part3.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/313692861/Ma.nuit.chez.Maud.1969.DVDRip.x264.part4.rar

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Monday, 11 January 2010

Scarecrow

The road leads itself to somewhere.




Director: Jerry Schatzberg
Writer: Garry Michael White
Cast: Gene Hackman, Al Pacino, Dorothy Tristan, Ann Wedgeworth, Richard Lynch

IMDB

Scarecrow (1973, directed by Jerry Schatzberg) is a 70's road movie that was a commercial failure. I was amazed when watching this movie that it fell and still falls so far beneath the radar. It has a very small cult following and is overlooked left and right in discussions of American films of the 70's. The craziest part about this is that it stars Al Pacino and Gene Hackman. How could such renowned and beloved American actors who enjoy loads of contemporary fame not have turned movie fans everywhere back to this early work? I am a huge Hackman fan and I had never thought about watching this movie until Allan over at Mission Mission assured me it was worthwhile.

Hackman plays a surly, quick to fists ex-con, while Pacino is small,
always joking, and something of a simpleton. The movie is kind of a retelling of Of Mice and Men, except the two protagonists dance and fight continuously for who gets to be Lenny and who gets to be George. The movie is underrated, even by its fans I think. The acting is top-notch, the story is involving, universal, and modest, and there are two canonical scenes. First, the opening sequence where the two men meet on the road is long, still and pure gold. Second, Pacino's meltdown is heart-breaking, timely, surprising and genuine. Scarecrow is truly a gem of 70's cinema and has revitalized my faith in American movie making.

Review by Alex Barkett
Static Fix

Download links:

http://rapidshare.com/files/154583501/Scrcrw.part1.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/154590663/Scrcrw.part2.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/154597808/Scrcrw.part3.rar
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http://rapidshare.com/files/154627218/Scrcrw.part7.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/154629645/Scrcrw.part8.rar

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Apocalypse Now

I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor. That's my dream; that's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering, along the edge of a straight razor... and surviving.




Director: Francis Ford Coppola
Writer: Francis Ford Coppola (screenplay), John Milius (screenplay), Joseph Conrad (source)
Cast: Marlon Brando, Martin Sheen, Robert Duvall, Frederic Forrest, Sam Bottoms, Laurence Fishburne, Albert Hall, Harrison Ford, Dennis Hopper

IMDB

It was only a few weeks ago that I found myself discussing the ability of filmmakers to go back and digitally enhance their pictures simply for the sake of making them a bit slicker and less rough around the edges (which is what seems like the upcoming release of "E.T." is going to be) or using modern technology to both enhance the film visually and smooth out the story structure ("Star Trek: The Motion Picture - Director's Cut). Rarely has their been a "director's cut", at least that I can think of, that alters a film as greatly as "Apocalypse Now: Redux", which adds an additional 49 minutes of footage onto the picture as audiences previously knew it and shuffles around some others. Director Francis Ford Coppola and ace editor and sound designer Walter Murch ("The English Patient") didn't go about this task in simple fashion, either - they went back to the raw footage and assembled this new version of the picture from scratch. Apparently, Ford Coppola ran into trouble with the releasing studio during the film's original production, who wanted to keep the running time under two 1/2 hours, or at least that's what has been said. As that running time seems more ordinary and acceptable today, the idea was brought up to revisit the film and venture deeper into its themes.

The film is written by John Milius and Francis Ford Coppola, based upon Joseph Conrad's novel, "Heart Of Darkness". The film stars Martin Sheen as Captain Willard, whose thoughts we hear on occasion throughout the movie via narration. Early in the movie, he is given a mission - a mission that "doesn't exist": to venture deep into the jungles and terminate Colonel Walter E. Kurtz (Marlon Brando), a brilliant man who has lost his sanity and organized a cult. Yet, the journey up the river is anything but simple.

"Simple" was definitely not a word to describe the production of the picture, either, as it reportedly went far over schedule and considerably over budget. The production occasionally operated in considerably less-than-favorable conditions and Sheen suffered a heart attack. Still, even with the production troubles, Coppola was able to harness incredible performances from his cast, especially Sheen, Robert Duvall and even a very young Laurence Fishburne.

As for "Redux", some of the moments added seamlessly integrate into the picture, while some others (the "French Plantation" scene, a Playboy bunny sequence) start to feel a little much. Still, it's impressive how "Redux", even at nearly 3 1/2 hours, didn't start to feel endless - it moved along at a nice pace, mainly because the film remains so riveting. While reviewing this new edition, I suddenly looked up and noticed that the entire running time had passed in what seemed like an hour.

I'm not sure what to think - I enjoyed watching this version and felt it improved certain areas, but I certainly had no complaints about the original version, which remains an amazing piece of cinema history. Hopefully, Paramount will keep the original DVD version out in stores, so fans can have both, if they so desire (both versions probably could have been available here, although the desire was probably to have each stand alone). For those interested in skipping directly to the added material, Paramount has helpfully added indications of the chapters where it is included in both the insert and the chapter selections menu.

Reportedly, there's even a great deal more footage out there, with subplots that still remain unseen. If anything, "Redux" simply allowed me to see more of Vittorio Storaro's cinematography, which I simply adore - the entire movie is feast of surreal, gorgeous visual after visual. With the newly remastered presentation (done with a technicolor dye process), the film's visuals look more breathtaking and beautiful than ever here.

More often than not, I felt positive about "Redux"; although the new footage was not always effective, the film in either form remains riveting, surreal and fascinating. It's also simply a joy to see something this good. During the past few years, I've found it increasingly more difficult to even make up a "top 10" list for the films I've seen during those previous 12 months. Often recently, I walk out of the theater, largely indifferent to what I've just seen or, occasionally, entertained in a basic fashion. To have my attention held so firmly for 202 minutes, to be so riveted by "Redux", is a pleasure. It is better or worse? It's not always an improvement, but it offers a different and still thrilling and powerful experience.

Review from Current Film

Download links:

http://rapidshare.com/files/128529292/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part01.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128529295/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part02.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128529290/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part03.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128529296/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part04.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128529298/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part05.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128537670/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part06.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128537690/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part07.rar
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http://rapidshare.com/files/128537746/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part09.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128537762/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part10.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128545448/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part11.rar
http://rapidshare.com/files/128545447/yanness-Apocalypse_Now__Redux_.part12.rar

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Sunday, 10 January 2010

8 1/2

A picture that goes beyond what men think about - because no man ever thought about it in quite this way!




Director: Federico Fellini
Writer: Federico Fellini, Ennio Flaiano (story); Ennio Flaiano, Federico Fellini, Tullio Pinelli, Brunello Rondi (screenplay)
Cast: Marcello Mastroianni, Claudia Cardinale, Anouk Aimee, Sandra Milo, Rossella Falk, Barbara Steele

IMDB

It’s dark and claustrophobic. The silence reeks of inexplicable discomfort below the underpass. An array of vehicles stranded languidly, with no intent of awaiting the road to be cleared. Passengers are poker faced with lustful eyes and sadistic glee of being audience to a man’s end. The man encircled by a sea of vehicles, passengers with strange expressions, wipes the steam off his car’s windshield. The steam creeps around the bourgeois glass shields, slowly filling up the entire car. He struggles to escape but is imprisoned. Sardonically, the images gently move to the passengers showing no apathy to the man’s asphyxiation, devouring every slam of the wrist on those steamy windshields, as though it is some kind of fetish. He suddenly levitates free from the car, and glides across the bevy of vehicles. He escapes in to the air out from the underpass into light, brushing past the clouds and experiences momentary bliss of weightlessness watching a huge unconstructed edifice. A caped man on a horse stops across the beach to announce “Counselor, I’ve got him”. The tormentors hold the reins of the rope that is tied across the ankles of the flying man, as though holding back a kite from touching the sky. He snaps the rope and has a free fall from the sky and plummets into the lashing sea. In a flash we see his hand raised for help, snapping out of his nightmare in to the realm of reality. The opening scene of Federico Fellini’s 8 ½ is a grandiose depiction of the Jungian integration of unconscious with the waking consciousness. It marks the subtext of the film from here on, the decent of man in to hopelessness, fighting from his bourgeois life of being a stagnated director and finding solace in his dreams.

8 ½ is a film about film-making stricken by artistic crisis of Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni), who is about to make his next big film. Its title refers to the fact that, up to then, Fellini had made seven features and two episodes in composite films that added up to about a half. 8 ½ is clearly about Fellini and is autobiographical in Nature. Fellini was born in a middle class family in an Italian town called Rimini. He had a conventional catholic upbringing and later moved to Rome. The film which is being made is also partly about the Catholicism in post war Italy. Guido is struggling to complete the film for which he has lost all inspiration and motivation. The entire film looks like a subject intoxicated on a psychoanalysis couch, answering questions about his life to a psychic shrink. Reality is interspersed with dreams about his past; his wine bathed pristine childhood, his sexual awakening by a prostitute called Saraghina, his inabilities in school, his fascination with women, the longing for family. All form archetypal constructs of his dream space, the “collective unconscious” as how Jung puts it. He is haunted by his past and is suffering from psychological repression. In the midst of all this he has to finish the film which he envisages to be a portal, “ a simple film that would bury everything that is inside of us… no lies whatsoever” but strangely, he loses the intellectual inspiration for the film. The producer of the film has also invested on a giant edifice constructed to be a launching pad for a spaceship that would save humanity. He announces a press conference to make Guido serious about completion of the film as he watches him gradually disowning it. At the gathering, Guido is swarmed by predatory journalists asking him questions about the film, his life, his beliefs and his inadequacies. Unable to bear this torture he hides under the table and shoots himself.

The Popular Double Mirror construct: The double mirror sounds like a cinematographic constructbut it is actually about an art form in an art form. Like a photograph of a girl holding a photograph. 8 ½ is not just a film about filmmaking but it is also a film about a film that reflects upon cinema. Guido is almost the alter ego of Federico Fellini. Fellini recalls his travails during the film.

The glasses were emptied, everybody applauded, and I felt overwhelmed by shame. I felt myself the least of men, the captain who abandons his crew. . . . I told myself I was in a no exit situation. I was a director who wanted to make a film he no longer remembers. And lo and behold, at that very moment everything fell into place. I got straight to the heart of the film. I would narrate everything that had been happening to me. I would make a film telling the story of a director who no longer knows what film he wanted to make


Fellini used Guido to liberate himself from his cinematic contraptions by putting up his own life on celluloid. It was in a way what was happening on screen was in fact his own redemption from his absurdity. There are particular sequences which are dramatized but most of them were part of Fellini’s childhood. These sequences are not shown as they would have occurred, but more in light of Fellini’s cinematic expression of his childhood. The Saraghina sequence is exemplary in making us understand this. In his childhood, Guido ran around the streets wearing black cape along with his school friends. The kids once go to the beach to watch Saraghina, the prostitute perform a rumba for them. She looks evil with dark circled eyes, buxom, bare footed and her dress torn form sides. These smaller details of Saraghina are captured with extreme close-ups. The church priests catch him on the beach, shown in a comic chaplinesque fashion. Guido is punished in school for this “heinous” act. He seeks the answers for his deeds from god. A subtle depiction of irony: Guido bows down to mother Mary just after the church dignitary told him that Saraghina is the devil and the subsequent scene we see a shot of Mother Mary slowly fading, almost juxtaposing in to Saraghina’s desolate home. The point is that even his childhood dream sequences are glorified and self referencing with cinematic emphasis , a double mirror of sorts

The Carl Jung Construct of Guido’s dream world: Carl Jung who was Freud’s student disagreed with the stereotyping of the unconscious. He maintained that the unconscious, which is the unperceivable contour of humans, is not merely a reference point for various projections of dreams. He argued that the unconscious is in fact a sum of the personal unconscious and the collective unconscious. Fellini was very much inspired by Jung’s philosophy on dreams. His childhood memories and his association with women are all part of his personal unconscious, now resurfacing through his personal crisis. The glamorized childhood, the harem that has him coexisting with his wife and all his love interests is a depiction of that collective unconscious constructed through the medium of cinema. One cannot be looked at as a disjoint entity from the other; both “compliment” each other’s existence.



The spacio-temporal alchemy: 8 ½ was a far cry from the narration of sequences in contiguous form. Some critics pointed out that the spacio-temporal space in 8 ½ was difficult to discern, whether it is a dream sequence or if it is indeed reality that was shown. However, it is far from it. Deft cinematography by Gianni Di Venanzo and the director’s precision makes it easy to differentiate. The dream state is faded into the reality with masterful wizardry. For instance, the initial dream sequence of Guido falling down the sky is beautifully faded into his hand raised as a call for reality. Fellini gives considerable attention not to give visual friction of his mis-en-scene. Guido is sleeping beside his mistress in the room. We see Guido’s mother waving at the solid wall of the room. She appears out of nowhere but the viewer is aware of the real space and also the dream space at this point. Slowly the wall turns translucent and then finally turns into glass. As she moves away the glass wall, the scene is different and shifts to an abandoned area. We are gradually taken from the dream space to the real.

Another form of editing used is the use of visual irony. The dream sequence at the abandoned area where he meets his wife along with his parents ends with a long shot of vast open area in white color and his wife Luisa is standing in the centre. Immediately the scene is cut to Guido walking along a closed corridor with no doors open and the predominant dark color heightens the irony and thereby differentiating the two worlds. Many dream sequences in the film appear disjoint and forcefully altered to give an effect of confusion borne out of troubled childhood. Case in point is the altering of space and time in many of the shots in the Sarghina sequence.

Nina Rota’s music aids the narrative in creating layers of sound and music. Be it the operatic feel while showing the “existential inmates” of the fashionable spa or the nondiegtic sound in the background to which Saraghina dances which is contrasted by the understated diegtic hymn that she sings on the beach. Sometimes the sound is completely digetic to heighten the effect of horror; the opening dream sequence only makes us hear the moaning, the sound of hands wiping the glass or the sound of air beneath the clouds.

Guido, the Sisyphus of Fellini: Outwardly, 8 ½ may be a film about a film that is waiting to be deconstructed, bit by bit by the protagonist’s philosophical blockage but the undercurrent is clearly about the absurdity of life. Guido is surrounded by the people who hold no meaning for him anymore. Fellini shows how every character is trying to exploit him of his intellectual attention. Fledgling actors quote rehearsed lines of being a thinking actor to impress him: “I need to coexist with my character for a while before shooting” or the pseudo intellectual conversations around Italian Catholicism, Marxism vs Catholicism, left or right centric political affiliations, about the greatest writer being Fitzgerald(“ and then his writing became all about pragmatism or brutal realism”)and “Americans thinking too much about cholesterol”. All this bourgeois conversation is intersected by Guido’s question to the fledgling actress “Is your ice-cream good? This sequence beautifully highlights his alienation from all the chaotic idealism around him. He finds liberation in his dreams from his stagnation, the pointlessness of everything. His futile labor of lies and procrastination is only leading him to his peril. His longing for a sweet family, or how his sister’s possessiveness hurts him, his wife walking out on him, all of these only take him to a point of realizing the absurdity of life.



The climax is quite worthy of a debate. Guido reaches his peak of frustration and the scavenging journalists hit the last nail in the coffin. He hides under the table and shoots himself. Fellini’s oeuvre gains meaning in what happens after this shot. Even the suicide shot is left as a puzzle in the viewers mind between reality and dream. Did he actually die or was it one more figment of his imagination. We see him leaving the premise while his collaborator is talking about how it was best not to have continued with the film anymore, which would have been a creative and financial disaster ( alluding that Guido had in fact called off on the film at the press meeting). He is then shown in the final dream sequence where he is the “ring master” and all the characters of the film and his dreams, circle around in white clothes, holding hands. He confesses to his wife that he has indeed changed. His creative crisis magically resolved. He picks up a megaphone and begins to direct everyone around the circle. He directs himself as a child (the source of his poetic inspiration as an adult) now dressed in a white cape as opposed to his earlier dreams where he was wearing a black cape, signifying the metamorphosis. The magnanimous launching pad, created for the spaceship that would save humanity, was actually a metaphor for Guido’s escape from internal conflicts through fantasy, into an evolved state of attaining togetherness with his “collective unconscious”.

Review by Neeraj Ghaywan
Passion for Cinema

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