In which I think morbid thoughts

Look Both Ways at the Grand Illusion. For years, I've been wanting to have private screenings of movies, and I've often come close, although usually it's the last showing of the night and I've given the lonely projectionist the option of just going home rather than screening the movie for me (they always take that option) and that was rather frequently the case at the lost, lamented Pike Street Cinema. But this year, I've twice been the only person to show up for an early show--once, surprisingly, for American Dreamz (which I thought had much more bite than the overrated Thank You for Smoking--probably why no one showed up) and now for this Adelaide-set ensemble drama. It's rather a shame--it was the last night of its run, and I kept thinking of all the people I knew who would appreciate seeing it. It's as morbid a film as I've seen, but naturally so--all the characters in the movie are drawn to death in a very common way, half in love with it. One of the protagonists, an illustrator, frequently imagines her own horrific death in various ways as she walks down the street, realized as animated sequences. The animation is watercolor and pencil work, very realistic in coloring, and the sequences start so seamlessly and climax so rapidly that I kept thinking "how did they do that?" before I even realized I had been seeing animation and not some big special effect. The central character, of course, has a reason for his morbidity (beyond simply being human)--he is diagnosed with testicular cancer, which has already spread throughout his body; consequently he sees death reflected everywhere: every time you see a hearse go by, you know someday you're going to die. And he sees plenty of hearses. The film has a different rhythm for him, frequently expressed in rapid cutting of still photos and snippets of film: you see his life pass before his eyes, you watch the development of his cancer, you discover possible reasons for his cancer, you see the possible deaths of other characters, all in a rush of images...I loved the faces of the two lead actors: he looks like a non-doughy Aaron Eckhart, with a more interesting nose, and she is just so normal-looking that she's completely delightful to see in a lead part; together they have great romantic chemistry. I loved their sex scene, in which neither can stop thinking about their own deaths and diseases, realized through a merging of the two animation styles--until the sex seems to cure them both as they find each other's rhythms...The main problem for me is the filmmaker's reliance on montage sequences set to maudlin or mediocre pop music. It's not that the sequences themselves were so bad, but that the lyrics made them banal. They should have just cut the vocal tracks: uninspired music calls less attention to itself than uninspired lyrics.
The story made an interesting contrast to Ozon's Time to Leave (in fact, when I got home and wrote the name of the movie in my notebook, I accidentally wrote Time to Leave, instead of its proper title). This movie actually makes the Ozon film seem rather romantic, in a "leave a beautiful corpse" sort of way, and not the realism it seemed while watching it. Not that Look Both Ways rubs your face in the actual mechanics of death (other than those incredible image-rush scenes), but it deals more realistically with the fear and sadness than the Ozon. I think Time to Leave is actually a better film, or at least much more assured than this one, but it's definitely a romantic vision.
No dancing in this movie, although there should have been. Nice shots of people being rained upon. Lots of stuff about watching one's parents die--always sure to jerk a tear from me. There's a scene in one of the secondary character's flats where the refrigerator noise dominates the scene--great detail.
Final scene: hard to say--I could say a freeze-frame on an embrace, but it's followed up by another of the rapid-fire image montages, this time orchestrating the remainder of the two protagonists time together, and stretching it out into the future, until finally there are no people left in the pictures being shown--not unlike a hyperactive version of the end sequences of College or Zardoz, but at 30 times the speed.

In which I dance in blood

To the NWFF to see Sword of Doom with The Engineer. I tried to talk her our of it, as she doesn't usually enjoy jets of blood, but she was determined. (Turns out she was actually wanting to see Throne of Blood--the titles compose a visual rhyme.) I mentioned last week that I'd moved to Seattle at the beginning of a samurai series: the first film I saw in that series was Sword of Doom. Are they all going to be like this? I wondered. Turns out, no. There's nothing like Sword of Doom anyplace. Tatsuya Nakadai has this Thousand Mile Stare throughout--he only comes alive when killing. It's those moments when the mask breaks, for just a split second, that you realize how brilliant his performance is--a moment of anguish, something almost approaching tenderness as he looks at his (maybe) son, or, more often, mirthless laughter after surviving another battle. "You want to kill everyone in the world", his mistress says. "Not everyone," he answers....I saw this a second time with my Dead Friend, who was similarly startled. The abrupt ending left him grasping at the screen. There's no need to show what happens next; there's possibly nothing happening at all; maybe it's some sort of eternal realm, like Izo...The Engineer was actually pretty impressed with its refusal to tie up the story--the let-down that many (most) action movies have in the last reel. No dancing, although I think any martial arts movie can be said to have dance sequences of a sort.
Final shot: freeze frame, mid-action
Also saw, by myself, Bandits vs. Samurai Squadron , the most recent film in this series. Definitely operating by Roger Corman rules: if you have blood and tits in the first 15 minutes, you'll have the audience for the rest of the movie. Of course Corman was talking about an 80 minute movie, and this runs three hours! Not all the audience stayed, either, as there was a convenient projection accident that allowed folks to assess whether it was worth staying up until after midnight. I answered in the affirmative. Huge cast of characters, all with their own agenda. Great identity swap between two brothers. Although the score was mostly standard, often sentimental, occasionally it would break into some startling Sonic Youth-style feedback bursts--at first I thought it was a sound effect from something happening offscreen, as it was so different from the rest of the score, but it soon became clear that it was meant to heighten the darkest revelations of the characters. Very effective. Also, the damned-soul wailing of the battle cries coupled with the sudden release of blood in focused streams: I'd buy the album. You could dance to it. Also featuring burlesque dancing.
Final shot: two protagonists, going down the road, opposite directions, shot from above.

In which I am disrespectful to a blind man

Just back from the NWFF where I saw Zatoichi the Fugitive. I realize I didn't mention I saw another one last Monday--completely forgot, two days after seeing it. That was New Adventure of Zatoichi. One week later, I can remember nothing about it--exactly why I'm trying to write about everything I see. I can't say I'm a big fan of Zatoichi. Saw Zatoichi vs Yojimbo with the Climate Change Expert a couple of decades ago; saw, um, maybe Zatoichi on the Road? which Te Amo Azul rented for us to watch on New Year's a few year's back: the first annoyed me, the second was pleasant, but I think I'd had some liquor. Checked out a few discs from the library but couldn't work up the enthusiasm to watch more than the trailers for the other movies in the series. But I had a fine time at Fugitive tonight. A visual rhyme with Labyrinth in an early scene, shot from above, of a dozen hands full of dirt over an open grave, one by one depositing their burdens on the coffin. This immediately had me flash on the best scene from Labyrinth, which I inexplicably didn't recount in my previous post: the Helping Hands, large hands that slowly lower Jennifer Connelly down a well into an oubliette--the hands forming faces, fists for eyes, knuckles for teeth, lips of fingers. Absolutely brilliant--matching the grotesque beauty of Svankmajer. Beyond the hands over the coffin, the sort of grace note I don't expect to find in a series picture, Fugitive was predictable: Masseur Ichi meets a lost love, and she's dead by the final reel--I'm sure Joe Mannix, Jim Rockford, and Crockett and Tubbs would all share his pain. But it moved well, and even has a dance scene at the end, Ichi dancing to keep from crying (doesn't work) which leads to the
Final shot: Close-up of his somber face--completely unexpected (going down the road overhead shot, I would have put money on).
Packed house again. Glad to see it.

in which Bowie Damage proves non-fatal

Back to the Northwest Film Forum to see Kill! and Labyrinth. Kill! stars Tatsuya Nakadai as the most (only?) charming samurai I've ever seen. Quite a change from his character in the same director's Sword of Doom (screening beginning tomorrow). I had trouble with the plot--could never figure out exactly why all the skullduggery was going on--but visually it was all pleasure. I loved his sidekick, a farmer who wants to be a samurai, who, in a brothel, demands he be brought a woman who smells like the earth. When he wakes up after a bender to find just another "painted monster" by his side, he begins to throw a tantrum, only to notice that her hands have clearly held a hoe! He scrubs her face with tea and discovers a ruddy worker's complexion, which causes him to throw her full-length into the air where the frame freezes. Ecstatic love at first sight. There's also a fine dance sequence in the brothel, with rhythmic slapping.
Final shot: the protagonists walking down the road, seen from above.
Labyrinth shares a scene with Kill! : Multiple characters with rumbling stomachs. I don't know how I missed this when it was released. I had plenty of Bowie Damage in the 70s. And it's written by Terry Jones (I had plenty of Python Damage, too). Of course, by 1986, Bowie was firmly in 80s-cheese mode, so his music had less appeal. Still, I'd always been a great proponent of his movie star appeal. But the music is pretty bad: the Goblin Ball song is vaguely appealing, but mostly because it sounds like it's almost ready to turn into a chorus of "Soul Love". Jennifer Connelly makes a fine Fierce Girl, although she hadn't yet learned how to deliver a line with much conviction. It almost becomes a The Company of Wolves style goodbye-childhood/hello-puberty story, but quickly backtracks into just replacing old toys with new toys--which I guess is what everyone who has the option does, anyway.
6 people in the audience. I guess the cult for this one never developed. The samurai film had a packed house (for a small theatre).
Final shot: aerial shot of house, antagonist flies offscreen.

in which I date a Jehovah's Witness

Took my Fake Niece (age 6) and Fake Nephew (age 9) to the NWFF to see The Muppet Movie. They had seen it before, but were eager to see it again. They recounted the story to me on the way to the cinema. I'd seen it before, too, on my first real date, as a teenager. A cute, plump Jehovah's Witness kept coming in to the library where I worked and hanging around to chat. After dithering for a week or so, I decided to ask her to the traditional dinner-and-a-movie. The movie was something of a problem, as, although she considered herself quite the rebel (it was adorable watching her gear herself up to say "Oh, Hell!" and then check around to make sure no one had actually heard her), she didn't want to be confronted with things that were too worldly. The Muppet Movie seemed like the perfect choice. Dinner went fine--I was occasionally startled by her sudden grimaces as she tried to adjust her ill-fitting, uncomfortable contacts (at first I thought she was prone to seizures). It became clear, however, that she was terrified that someone would see us. She had lied to her father about what she was doing (her father had pretty strict rules about what she could do--even boys from the Freedom Hall were off limits. I think she was 17--I was 19 and completely emancipated from rules and my church--agnostic working towards athiest, and, to her and probably no one else I've ever met in my life, a pretty Bad Boy) and she kept looking over her shoulder to find spies for Jehovah. Disconcerting. This behavior continued at the theater, even though clearly no good Jehovah's Witness would be in attendence. I tried to snuggle some during Frog and Pig's dinner scene(still almost sexy, considering they're made of felt), but this caused her to turn around in her seat just in case someone was watching, and, being somewhat skittish myself, that was the end of that. Evening ended with her driving me home and a failed attempt at a kiss (head dodge at the last second, quick hug, frenetic checking to make sure Jehovah's Security Van wasn't parked across the street or down the alley). She continued to hang around the library, and we had a couple of safe luncheon dates afterwards, but she continued to check out everyone around us, and despite her repeated insistance that she was just about ready to rebel against the constrictions of the Church, I didn't think I could stand to pursue that course of action. I had plenty of issues myself, and I was also pursuing a cute Catholic Girl with plenty of issues of her own. I behaved caddishly towards the Jehovah's Witness about a year later--I think the only time in my life I've been a rat to a woman--and it was because I was waiting for the Catholic Girl to show up and wanted to strike a sensitive solitary pose that would make a pleasing first impression upon her. I'd run into the Jehovah's Witness at the Old MacDonald's Farm at the SWW Fair and I said, "I need you to leave now. I'm waiting for someone." I may have been snottier than that, even. She ended up in tears, I heard later; and, much later, she married another Jehovah's Witness and had lots of little baby Witnesses. That particular Catholic Girl date didn't go very well, either.
But, The Muppet Movie: I remember after the movie talked to her about the genius of Steve Martin; like the kids in Freaks and Geeks, I was absolutely convinced that Steve was beyond reproach. Seeing the movie again, even though of all the wasted guest stars (Bob Hope doesn't even get a joke!), he gets the most screen time, his Rude Waiter character doesn't fit at all with the rhythms of the Muppets. You can see he knows it, too. Maybe this character (one of his signature routines) might still be funny in a context of his own choosing, but the sweet nature of the Frog doesn't allow him to acknowledge that he's being treated badly--Martin's rudeness doesn't register with Frog and Pig and therefore it barely registers with the audience. Is it possible that Steve was never funny?
But, in 2006, the kids still liked the movie (Favorite joke: "Eat the drums!" "No, beat the drums!"--I'm also partial to "If you were a chicken, you'd be impeccable!") and on the way home my Fake Nephew gave a very perceptive discourse on how this Road Movie trip related to the one in Duma.
There is a joke, delivered by Gonzo, about how he's going to Bombay to become a movie star--and I also thought of Bollywood because of the love song between Frog and Pig: singing and dancing in the great outdoors. It's not a parody of Bollywood, of course--but having seen a Bollywood movie the day before, it seems to function that way.
Final shot: Close-up, direct address (Animal saying "Go home! Go home!")

In which I see the wrong movie

The Bollywood Expert and I went to Totem Lake to see Fanaa, but the information on their website was incorrect and Fanaa wasn't playing, so we saw Krrish instead. Krrish is a superhero movie, and what most impressed me about the movie is that the first manifestation of the hero's superpowers is, as a 5-year-old, his uncanny artistic ability! Now that's a superhero! It's just photorealism, but I'd rather have that power than, say, heat vision. Played by the ridiculously handsome Hrithik Roshan, (the only movie star in the world to have three thumbs, Lon Chaney style), Krrish, short for Krishna, is kind of a simpleton. Like Michael Jackson, all his friends seem to be 10-year-olds. Afterwards, The Bollywood Expert kept saying, "Poor baby. I so wanted him to have a hit." I loved the scene where he rescues Priyanka Chopra (every bit his equal in superhuman beauty) from a hang-gliding crash, and they spiral downwards in slow motion, brushed by the branches, the wind blowing their hair while they gaze into each other's eyes. Ain't love grand? The musical numbers were painless; they did The Hitchhike in every one. I would really appreciate it if all romantic comedies replaced the getting-to-know-each-other montage o'fun with full-fledged musical numbers. Why let Fall Out Boy or whoever do all the heavy lifting? I'd like to see John Cusack and Diane Lane break into a s9ng and dance routine! Emotionally it feels more realistic to me than watching them play miniature golf. I always feel like singing and dancing when I'm in love--doesn't everyone? Besides, a musical number would improve any bad movie.
Final shot: tableau of four protagonists.
I actually preferred the 1987 Hindi ripoff of Superman in which Superboy breakdances to "Beat It" and accidentally kills his foster father by hugging him too tightly. Now that's tragedy!
There was a trailer for an upcoming Shah Rukh Kahn movie: The Bollywood Expert said, "I know the guy who wrote that movie. He writes bad movies."

In which I am too lazy to tackle redemption

The last three S.Korean films I've seen have all had heavy doses of Christianity: Host and Guest, Sa-Kwa, and tonight, the stunning Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. For a country with the largest percentile Christian population in Asia, it's been completely absent in every movie I've seen--however, in Korea you can't get away from the door-to-door Jesus salesmen--it's far more common than it is here in the states. Lady Vengeance begins with a band of Christians in Santa Claus outfits waiting to greet their star jailhouse Christian success story as she is released from prison. Unlike Denzel in Man on Fire, though, she isn't interested in using religion as a solace for her wounded soul--it's just a get-out-of-jail-freeish card. Speaking of solace, the detective that botched the case that put the good lady in jail hums a little "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" while being forced to watch the tapes of the children who died because of his mishandling: "We shall find a solace there." But there's no solace for him, either. As in all the other Chan-Wook Park vengeance movies, (and unlike Man on Fire), no redemption is possible once she's started. Or is the possibility there? Unlike Park's earlier movies, this object of vengeance has no other side presented--he deserves everything he gets, just like the folks in the Tony Scott movie. And the final shot, showing the lady devouring purity and being forgiven by her child, with a stand-in for the unforgiving first victim watching passively, suggests that maybe every life isn't completely destroyed after all. So does it become just another US style Death Wish film then? I can't figure Park's take on redemption; John Woo is pretty explicitly Christian when it comes to redemption and sacrifice--Park seems to mock it, up until the last scene.
No one in the theatre for the opening night screening: four college boys quoting favorite lines from Stephen King's Gunslinger books, one guy in front of me who left in baffled disgust midway through (the plot takes some doing to unravel, and has odd comic digressions).
I loved it.
Final scene category: tableau, camera pulls back.

In which I take up the sword

I moved to Seattle, just out of my teens, at a time when the teevee miniseries Shogun had sparked samurai fever across the country. The late Broadway Theatre had a month-long series of samurai double-bills, and I had nothing but time. Just beginning to dive into film (still suspicious of 30s musicals, documentaries and anything smacking of art), I saw everything they offered, including Double Suicide which I'd first seen as a kiddo with "scene deleted" cards inserted over the sex scenes on PBS (the moaning continuing underneath).
26 years later, it is Summer of Samurai at the Northwest Film Forum. I think I'm going to see everything they show this time as well, although I've seen about half the offerings multiple times. Saw Samurai Rebellion on Sunday, a great film about saying no to the powerful--back in 1980, I was a little frustrated that it took 90 minutes for the action to start; now the pace seems exactly right. Three Outlaw Samurai last night: That was a new one for me. Plenty action-packed, and Tetsuro Tamba is always cool because you can tell from the way he changes his grip on the sword when the killing stroke will be. And Throne of Blood, for the 4th time, but the first time since the mid 80's. I saw it then with The Polish Intellectual, who started groaning and sighing about the time Lady Asaji disappears into the blackness and then returns from the blackness with the pot of drugged saki. "It's so obvious," he said later. "It is a dunderheaded picture," he said. Could he be right? I thought. He's so much smarter than I that he must be. Years later, older, no wiser, the movie still seems brilliant to me. I'm thinking that ol' Stefan was just acting out of loyalty to his countrymen Wajda and Polanski. Although the theatrical conventions used here had undoubtedly been around for years, even centuries, it seems to my uneducated eyes that many of the archetypes of J-horror started here: the spooky impassiveness of Lady Asaji; the room with the bloodstains that can't be removed, causing odd shadows on the wall; the figure suddenly present in the foreground; use of unnatural movement; the whimpering sound Lady Asaji's kimono makes as the silk rubs together.
...Jim Emerson recently had a great article about opening shots of movies. I've long been meaning to keep a journal of closing shots. I suspect they mostly fall into maybe a dozen categories. I guess I'll start now:
Samurai Rebellion and Three Outlaw Samurai: protagonist moving away from camera, going down the road, viewed from above.
Throne of Blood: repetition of opening shot.

In which I find I have nothing to say

The other day I was browsing in a bookstore, and saw a copy of Dawn Powell's My Home is Far Away. "I've read that," I thought, but couldn't remember anything about it, other than that I had liked it. Too often I lose what I've read or seen or listened to through just never making a statement about it to anyone. Maybe jotting down a few notes about things that have impressed me will help keep these things from falling into a black hole in my brain.