315. Mira

Song - Mijn Vlakke Land (Jacques Brel)

Movie: Mira (Fons Rademakers, 1971)

The village bar is celebrating. The men have just returned from seasonal work in France, bringing food and money for a few extra beers, but rumors of the upcoming construction of a bridge over the Scheldt quickly turn the mood sour. Some folks have spotted professional looking engineers doing measurements along the bank, endangering the old way of life. Sure, the bridge might lead to economic opportunities, but is that a good price to pay for living under the yoke of Big City? Presumably not, but it's hard to get a good sense of everyone's opinion. Fons Rademakers puts us right in the middle of this Flemish rural community, letting everyone yell over each other. We get a vague sense of how certain people are connected to each other, but it doesn't matter much anyway as the identity of the village takes precedent over the individual. Lander (Jan Decleir), who is on leave from the Army, and Mira (Willeke van Ammelrooy), who has just returned mysteriously from Paris, are among the few able and willing to separate themselves from the rigid conformity. Their reunion suggests a past attraction that's almost immediately consummated without any discomfort or hesitation. Rademakers presents it as a steamy easygoing romance between two attractive carefree young lovers indulging each other in full view of the village, knowing that they will probably soon be separated again. Also, Lander is Mira's uncle. 

Lander and Mira are forced to break off their romance much sooner than expected, though for non- incestuous reasons; Lander and two fellow villagers kill the manager overseeing the construction of the bridge and his main assistants. On a misty day, they follow them through the reeds and drown them in the river. During the pursuit, the camera stays close to the killers as they weed through the vegetation and mud, barely able to see beyond what's right in front of them. Even though it's evident somebody has died, it takes a while before we (and they) realise who. These deliberately disorienting approach makes the riverside feel much more savage and exotic than it really is, and Rademakers' intents become even more obvious in the ensuing scenes of mounted police chasing Lander through the forest. All non-diegetic sounds disappear as we see and hear the law closing in on an out of breath Lander as he drags through uneven terrain, escapes beartraps and jumps of 'cliffs' (the right camera angle can make even the smallest elevation look like an imposing canyon!). Alas, nothing can help him, not even the trigger happy gun nut offering emergency gruel in his wooden shack on the outskirts of the village.

Mira has especially in its second half some strange plotting issues. It sometimes feels as if too much material was shot and attempts to make sense of it all couldn't find the forest for the trees, with scenes that are seemingly missing or at the wrong place. However, it's always compelling and probably as close as you can get to a Belgian 'frontier' western. Rademakers has cast himself in a brief role as the public notary giving an exasperated speech to the villagers outlining the benefits of the bridge. The film certainly shares his view that industrialisation is an inevitable good, but it does lament what gets lost in its wake, and it does romanticise the wilderness, not always in the most tasteful way. Following the arrest of Lander, Mira begins a romance with the bridge's chief engineer. These secenes are far less passionate than the illicit scenes with Decleir. The engineer can't catch a break anyway. The open plains of the village are contrasted wtth his stuffy family home where his mother controls and knows of all his decisions. He eventually marries Mira, but their wedding night evokes the famous final scene from The Graduate. Soon after, she leaves him; the now completed bridge makes her departure much easier. 

314. The Devil Is a Woman

Song - You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet (Bachman-Turner Overdrive)

Movie: The Devil Is a Woman (Josef von Sternberg, 1935)

I didn't realise that this is an adaptation of the same novel, aptly titled The Woman and the Puppet, as That Obscure Object of Desire. Bunuel's film is mainly about the puppet, a rich man too self-centred to realise that money can't buy love, or even that his romantic interest changes appearance throughout- Conchita is played by two different actresses, Angela Molina and Carole Bouquet. performing completely independently from each other. Such surrealist touches to an otherwise mostly recognisable society back a playfully satiric commenary on the delusions of the rich and powerful. The Devil Is A Woman is more stylistically conventional, but also more mysterious and sinister, building to a punchiline that plays like a nihilistic private joke between von Sternberg and Dietrich. 

Von Sternberg's film, mainly about the woman, begins at Carnaval in Seville, where a masked Antonio Galvan (Cesar Romero) spots Conchita (Marlene Dietrich) through the crowd. She invites him to look for her, without letting herself be found, prompting a pursuit across the partying city, all the way to her home. Sneaking outside her window, Antonio receives a note to meet her the next day in the forest for a carriage ride. Smitten, he fails to see the carnival decorations masking Seville's streets and residents as an ominous symbol of false, slippery identities, but he gets a clearer warning, bumping into his old friend Don Pasqual (Lionel Atwill). In a long flashback he tells of his own misbeggoten history with Conchita and how she consistently manipulated him, taking his money and his heart. Dietrich gives a great, funny performance, playing an unconvincing pretender. Her obvious pretence, throughout the years, of true love is entirely disconnected from Don Pasqual's own account, presenting Conchita as a conniving, convincing hustler. Von Sternberg has little sympathy. The later revelation that "Pasqualito" tried to warn away his friend under false pretenses motivated by his enduring feelings for Conchita, doesn't negate that he was, and still is, a willfull sucker being misled by Conchita, Antonio, and his own illusions. It does however lead to a duel between the two men, which mostly sets up a perfect opportunity for Conchita to use her powers to their full effect. 

Although the film presents Don Pasqual as especially feeble, most men in proximity of Conchita are equally helpless. It's no surprise this was Marlene Dietrich's favorite movie of hers. Few films have ever been so flattering of an actress. The Devil Is a Woman essentially posits that Dietrich's mere presence has an almost ethereal power over men and lets her revel in it. especially during its startling conclusion showing her conning and causing heartbreak simply for love of the game. The finale begins with a carriage seen in long shot driving Dietrich and her victim towards the camera, followed by a number of scenes showing the actions taken to complete this voyage. It ends with the same movements happening in the opposite direction, with the final shot being of the same carriage on the same spot moving away from the camera, emphasising that this journey orchestrated by Conchita took effort and time. Beyond inflicting pain and personal complications on her mark(s), she gets no material gain out of it. 

313. Camelot

Song - MacArthur Park (Richard Harris)

Movie: Camelot (Joshua Logan, 1967)

Richard Harris recorded MacArthur Park after catching the singing bug on the set of Camelot. It's evident he enjoyed the experience, but the film's best song belongs to Franco Nero. "C'est Moi" introduces Lancelot as essentially the very model of a modern knight remarkable. "Had I been made the partner of Eve, we'd be in Eden still" sings this guy who calls himself "the godliest man I know, a French Prometheus unbound with a will and a self-restraint that's the envy of every saint." Of course such a man of "valor untold" should hear King Arthur's call to gather the noblest knights of England and beyond to turn "Might is Right" into "Might for Right". Nero performs the song with a broad touch of riducule, appropriate for someone who is way too keen to depict himself as the ultimate paragon of virtue and strength, but his desire to devote such exalting qualities to such a just cause is presented in fully approving sincerity. Such contradictions make Camelot a far better and far more interesting film than I ever expected. It is about idealists struggling to reconcile their wish to live up to their ideals with their realisation that they may lack the faculties to do so.

For a long while Lancelot is able to meet his own standards, but the temptations of the flesh eventually come for even those of the greatest moral and physical standing. He should have been warned by "The Lusty Month of May", one of those typical Broadway showstoppers whose cheer for its own sake explains some of my mild resistance towards musical theatre. These performances with their overtly theatrical expressions of happiness and their minutely choreographed outburts of 'spontaneous' movement sometimes come off as cynical and insincere, force-feeding joy to the audience. The Lusty Month of May (as well as some other songs here) can't entirely escape such accusations, but it does help present Camelot as an earthly Eden where everyone can live and love in beauty and merriment. Lancelot and Guinevere (Vanessa Redgrave) know that this paradise has been created by the values King Arhtur (Richard Harris) has instilled and that betraying him would also be a betrayal of everything they and Camelot stand for, and yet, none of that matters after Lancelot brings back from the dead a knight he accidentally killed in a jousting duel. He doesnt fully understand how he did it, or why the looks he shares with Gunievere are suddenly so charged, but he has to face that love is an irrational force that can alter any plan and challenge any self-conception.

King Arthur loves Guinevere and Lancelot equally and Harris has a great monologue on the dilemma tormenting him. Should he confront them about their affair and punish them, or would that not be worthy of a king espousing the value of civilisation? He doesn't know which decision would be the most just, and more importantly, he doesn't entirely trust himself to have the ability to determine what is just. A lot of Arthur's characterisation builds on an early scene of him wooing Guinevere by explaining how he became King. The stone in the sword is of course one of the most legendary stories in British culture, but is not treated with the reverence such designations infer. Arthur talks about his coronation with a sheepish awkwardeness,  diminishing anything mystical, preordained or grandiose about his fate. He is simply an ordinary man who suddenly had to live up to royal responsibilities, and it's not a given that he will ever fully manage to. Camelot won Oscars for its Set and Costume Design, but you often get the feeling that custom rather than urgency mounted all that lavishness. The film's true interest lies in the many closeups of its main actors trying to make sense of a situation where every choice has major benefits and drawbacks. It leads to a wonderful finale where all three try to cooperate towards a common goal despite being forced to take actions that move them in contrasting directions. 

312. Friends

Song - Michelle (The Beatles)

Movie: Friends (Lewis Gilbert, 1971)

Paul Harrison (Sean Bury) drives around Paris in a classic open-roof Mustang. He wears a suit and tie, complemented by a leather hat and sunglasses, as he picks up Michelle (Anicee Alvina). They've only met recently, but she is intrigued by his take-charge demeanor, even when she finds out the car is stolen. "Stop it", she says, secretly hoping he won't. "You'll get into trouble." "I am always in trouble. I am thinking of taking it up professionally", Paul quips in return. It is clear, Paul is the embodiment of suave sophistication, with a hint of danger. Paul is also 15 years old.

Lewis Gilbert knows exactly what he is doing here. Before Friends, he had directed Alfie, with Michael Caine as a womaniser in Swinging Sixties London, and Sean Connery as James Bond in You Only Live Twice. It's compelling for teenagers to see themselves as these kinds of men (or as the women that appeal to these men) and Friends lets them live out that fantasy, or so you'd think. Things become more complicated when Paul and Michelle keep on driving, escaping from their adult guardians. They end up in Arles, in the holiday home of her deceased parents. Life is bliss until they run out of food and Paul has go out every morning to look for work on the downlow. Long scenes of hard manual labor in the morasses of the Camargue (a wetland in Southern France you immedately want to visit) are followed by difficult conversations, confronting the challenges of poverty. 

The film shows Paul being angry with his dad for typically adolescent reasons (he reprimands his son for missing classes, and is about to remarry a proudly posh woman), while hiding its own 'mature' criticism in plain sight; the father is a Brit living in France making business deals over the phone with faceless Americans. For her part, following the death of her parents, Michelle has been taken in by her cousin who organises drugged up parties that try and fail to revive the magic of flower power. Meanwhile, her no-good philandering husband Pierre keeps trying to make a move on Michelle. In other words, all main adult characters are essentially symbols of the lost ideals of the 1960's and the kids' new life on the land is a rejection of contemporary society. That's all well and good, but much less recognisable as an appealing mainstream teenage fantasy. The question of who the film is for becomes more relevant when after many scenes teasing it, Paul and Michelle finally have sex. It results in some stretches that can be described as 9/12 Weeks with - but not for - teens, which is not quite the tagline you want. Sean Bury and Anicee Alvine were respectively 17 and 18 when the film came out, but their characters are heavily eroticised 15/14-year olds. What makes the whole thing more unseemly is that the film wants to be both a serious consideration of what happens when a pregnancy forces teens to act beyond their age, and coyly melodramatic smut. 

I can't find any reference to the film being inspired by the Beatles song, despite it being about an English "Paul Harrison" (with a hairstyle that definitely reminds of the relevant Paul and Harrison) falling in love with a French girl named Michelle. It even seems to go out of its way to not directly associate with the band by having Elton John compose the entire soundtrack, including "Michelle's Song'. It plays during a montage and has lyrics literally describing what's on screen. The official story is that Lewis Gilbert wanted to make a version of The Blue Lagoon, but couldn't get the rights for it, and then decided to adapt the story that originally inspired The Blue Lagoon. That's probably true, but it would be very easy to believe that the film started off as a Michelle-adaptation until, seeing what shape it took, The Beatles decided to run as far away as possible from it.    

311. The Phantom of the Opera

Song - Wereld Zonder Jou (Marco Borsato & Trijntje Oosterhuis)

Movie: The Phantom of the Opera (Joel Schumacher, 2004)

Opera used to be the domain of the royal courts; bringing it to the people requires Oprah. "You get an aria, you get an aria, EVERYONE GETS AN ARIA!!" If stirring climaxes are the highlight of opera, why not make a show that consists of nothing else? The stage version of The Phantom of The Opera did become the most popular theater production in history, even if, going by this adaptation, all the songs sound pretty much the same. Every single lyric is composed and performed in exactly the same way, building up to a climactic note supposed to give the impression that every single emotion is a powerful one expressed powerfully. And whenever you don't hear a rousing orchestral schore, the music's sole purpose is to ostentatiously build up to it. These principles of overwrought excess also apply to scene composition and set design. Entire scenes play out with the actors in the background, simply because that allows more room to stuff the frame with kitsch. There can never be enough roses, chandeliers, ornaments, gowns, wigs and other symbols of conspicuous wealth on screen, and the audience can never be allowed to feel sold short. 

There is probably no Dutch artist who has more succesfully incorporated Andrew Llyod Webber's overblown theatricality in his (live) performances than Marco Borsato. De Toppers are kitschier, but they do it with a wink. Borsato is sincere and would have probably remained on top of the Dutch entertainment world if not for his own personal hubris - he is currently on trial for sexual misconduct. I am not a fan, but I knew what I was getting into and can't complain too much about not liking things I was never going to. But then there is Minnie Driver... My love for Good Will Hunting has been well documented, but Grosse Pointe Blank was an early favorite too, making Driver one of my first celebrity crushes. She is an actress I've always rooted for and been happy to see, but her performance here is embarassingly unwatchable. She plays an Italian self-aggrandising diva everyone wants to run away from. She is supposed to be unsympathetic, but plays to the rafters so much she effectively breaks the fourth wall. It doesn't help that she, like most other relevant characters, is introduced during a meta rehearsal scene. A documentary of the same actors having lunch may in certain instances be preferable over a movie; a documentary of the same actors being petulant irritants definitely isn't.

With the exccption of Simon Callow and Ciaran Hinds, as the profit-driven new opera owners who are too excited about their latest acquisition to fully grasp the implications of a phantom haunting it, all main actors struggle with the suspension of disbelief. That's partly on Schumacher and Webber who treat them too often as nothing but conduits of their pomp. It's hard to reach a meaningful climax without foreplay, but because the film is only interested in the former it takes short cuts turning all songs into exposition dumps. Conveying the deep love expressed by the centerpiece song 'All I Ask Of You', without having shown any scenes of the lovers falling for each other or even meaningfully interacting, requires the actors to have both a natural chemistry and completely uninhibited acting styles, unafraid to show that even the smallest gesture of their partner has an unimaginable effect on them. Patrick Wilson and Emmy Rossum lack it; Sarah Brightman and Cliff Richard have it. There is a video clip on YouTube of them performing All I Ask Of You that's better than anything in this film.