328. Small Things Like These

Song - Eleanor Rigby (The Beatles)

Movie: Small Things Like These (Tim Mielants, 2024)

During my studies I briefly reviewed movies for an actual minor publication. I found it really cool to go to official press screenings with actual journalists/critics from major newspapers, and I enjoyed reading afterwards how my new 'colleagues' had experienced the film. I gained more admiration for the big shots who were genuinely insightful, making interesting connections to politics, art, music, architecture or whichever topic was relevant for the film at hand. However, I also realised that many film critics were essentially people like me, young students, or early graduates who would take any opportunity to add a job to their CV, writing for online platforms whose main business was selling ads. Many of these people weren't even particularly big fans of movies, they just got the first job they could find. As someone who has managed to bluff himself to write about the stock market, procurement and Italian holiday homes, more power to them! However, some of them evidently didn't write about what they saw, but rather obviously simply regurgitated the press kit we received at the screening. It's not a surprise that in the age of clickbait and media monopolisation, this kind of writing is increasingly accepted by increasingly prestigious publications, increasingly blurring the lines between influencers and journalists.

As marketing requires audience segmentation, and arts and journalism currently attract more progressive than conservative audiences, most mainstream/art house films are currently mainly being promoted to progressives, creating a feedback loop that alienates large swaths of people. I don't think this is good for either film culture or for progressive politics, and definitely not for progressive filmmakers who aim to make films that are more than just pre-packaged messages. When the marketing uses explicit progressive proclamations to sell a film that doesn't necessarily make these ideas visible in its filmmaking, it's not that strange that some people will feel that these ideas are rather hypocritically and untransparently imposed on them. The other side of the coin is Small Things Like These, a film that is much stranger and more interesting and challenging than the marketing made it seem. I would have been more interested in seeing it if I knew that it was basically a 70's style character study, rather than a fairly standard social issues drama about a brave man saving vulnerable Irish women, in the process helping his nation overcome its religious misogyny that is now firmly in its past (cause no advertising campaign is complete without the idea that history always bends towards justice!).

Small Things Like These finds coal merchant Bill Furlong (Cillian Murphy) generally unsettled, for seemingly no specific reason. His business is doing reasonably well, his family is reasonably content. Christmas time requires Santa to bring gifts, which is not ideal for his finances, but most definitely feasible. His wife can even get the new shoes she keeps admiring in her favorite shop gallery. And yet, something is off. Walking around town at night, he seems to only see unspoken misery around him. In unguarded moments, the brave faces seem to disappear, something his family doesn't seem to notice, bother or question, but he knows from his own childhood how different people can be behind closed doors. Could it be that his entire town is performing his parent's act? What if the norms and values governing the life he built conceal a rot? Small Things Like These occasionally has the vibe of a horror movie like The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, with Murphy not being able to understand or articulate why he suddenly feels alienated by seemingly common sights and sounds. 

Murphy's behaviour may force viewers to become introspective! That's far less comfortable than the Magdalene asylums, forced labor camps, to various extents supported by the Irish state, where undesirable women (e.g. prostitutes, single mothers, girls born out of wedlock and others who don't comfort to religious norms about womanhood) are exploited and abused by nuns. I hadn't heard of these 'institutions' before learning of this film, but what little I've read paints a rather horrifying picture. It would not be entirely unwarranted to compare these asylums to the Nazi concentration camps; even if extermination was not their purpose many mass graves have been around these former sites that existed all around Ireland and imprisoned tens of thousands of women. They don't exist anymore and Irish politicians are debating how to atone. In Small Things Like These Cillian Murphy eventually finds out about them, but the film doesn't really paint a coherent picture of what they are. I prefer a 70's style character study over a social issues drama, but it doesn't feel right to introduce the Magdalene asylums and then present them this elusively.   

327. The Blue Dahlia

Song - L.A. Woman (The Doors)

Movie: The Blue Dahlia (George Marshall, 1946)

Riders on the Storm and Light My Fire are great, but L.A. Woman is the main reason this is called Tarantino and the Doors. The video clip, directed by Doors keyboardist Ray Manzarek 14 years after the song's release (and 14 years after Jim Morrison's death), goes a long a way towards that. It starts off juxtaposing bright snapshots of 1980's Los Angeles with archival footage of the band hanging around, playing like the opening to an 80's rom-com about yuppies in ascendance. It doesn't take long however for the first hints of distress. We see a mysterious guy dressed in black putting off a cigar over Josef von Sternberg's Walk of Fame star, and a naked woman's body that we never get a full picture of, all set against the slightly ominous lights of Hollywood; by the time an angelic woman starts dancing against the backdrop of giant skeletons, the video has fully descended into expressionism and surrealism. "Midnight alleys roam/Cops in cars/The topless bars/Never saw a woman so alone." sings Morrison throughout it all, clearly inspired by 40's and 50's noir. Morrison liked to present himself as a sort of poet God living outside the realm of ordinary people, an obvious act that appealed/appeals to me, but many find (understandably) insufferable. Manzarek's video places Morrison and the rest of the band right in the middle of ordinary life, and allows its mysterious elements to directly emerge from there, rather than presenting them as separate from daily existence. That's more appealing and provocative than performative Lizard Kings.

In 1947 Elisabeth Short was found mutilated in a Los Angeles park. The murder, one of the most mysterious and publicised in American history, has never been solved, but the press immortalised Short as the 'Black Dahlia', likely influenced by 1946 noir The Blue Dahlia, a highly entertaining film that isn't nearly as dark or tough to watch as its key historic connection may suggest. That's not to say that it's comforting. In the opening scenes we meet Johnny (Alan Ladd), Buzz (William Bendix) and George (Hugh Beaumont) as they return as heroes from the Pacific. The war has ended, America has won, but everyone is on edge. Buzz has a metal plate in his head, causing bouts of temporary amnesia and unease. Whenever loud music is playing the film puts us in Buzz' headspace by placing him in an extreme close up and letting the music drown out the dialogue. Johnny has lost his son during the war, and is apprehensive to return home to his wife Helen (Doris Dowling), a twitchy, barely functioning drunk having an affair with Eddie (Howard da Silva). As the owner of The Blue Dahlia nightclub, Eddie should be at ease. He has money and access to powerful men and beautiful women, but is haunted by a dark past and his own feelings of inadequacy. He can't quite convince himself that he deserves all his riches and in the back of his mind he always seems to believe that it all will come crashing down any second. It's no wonder his wife Joyce (Veronica Lake) is constantly on the verge of escaping forever. 

The studio forced writer Raymond Chandler to change his original ending to not emphasise too much the negative psychological effects of World War 2. As a result, The Blue Dahlia is left with a solution that makes little narrative or thematic sense, and a rather uninteresting killer. It's a minor blemish on a film that constantly creates interesting connections between the characters, and keeps providing revelations that add new wrinkles and depth. The opening scene immediately signals George Marshall's fun approach. When the three friends enter a bar, they are framed sitting next to each other with Buzz in the middle, and when another patron turns on the jukebox, it's Buzz who creates a ruckus. The scene introduces Buzz as the film's main protagonist, but then reveals that it is going to follow Johnny home and that the story will center on him. The film is filled with such instances of misdirection, consistently finding small surprises up its sleeve.  

326. Paper Moon

Song - Jessica (Allman Brothers Band)

Movie: Paper Moon (Peter Bogdanovich, 1973)

Ryan O'Neal is one of those actors writers euphemistically call 'volatile'. He was addicted to drugs and alcohol for most of his life, and emotionally abusive to all who loved him. When his daughter Tatum O'Neal received an Oscar nomination for Paper Moon, he was jealous and didn't attend the ceremony where she became the youngest Oscar winner in history. She plays Addie, a young girl who has lost her mother and now needs to live with her aunt. Ryan O'Neal's Moses, who may or may not be her father, gets himself semi-accidentally recruited to bring her to Missouri. That premise alone would be enough for a typical comedy-drama about two contrasting, stubborn personalities who have to grow to trust each other, but the real life circumstances surrounding the O'Neals add a melancholic touch to the playful warmth of their relationship here. It helps too that Moses is conceived as a wonderfully compelling two-bit grifter. He presents himself as a representative of the Kansas Bible Company convincing widows their recently deceased husbands had ordered a customised 'Holy Book' before their death. Unsurprisingly, Addie turns out to be a great business partner.   

It's always fascinating seeing troubled artists convey ideas and emotions in fiction they can't in reality, and it's easy to see why O'Neal experienced his Oscar 'snub' as a crushing disappointment. O'Neal plays Moses as a young guy whose undeniable resourcefulness and charm need to work overtime to mask that he is still a twinge too immature and inexperienced to be either a successful conman or a dependable guardian. It's the middle of the Great Depression and though he is forced to put on a more ruthless front than he is comfortable with, you also get the sense that he isn't hiding an entirely pure heart. For her part, Addie is a chain-smoking tomboy who has never gotten much of a chance to be girly, and now that she has access to her mom's make up she secretly spends her nights in front of bathroom mirrors. Her happiest moments come when she conceives of a plan to get rid of Trixie Delight (Madeline Kahn), a carnival dancer Moses has become smitten with. Together with Trixie's black maid Imogene (P.j. Johnson), she sets a plot in motion to get Trixie to cheat on Moses. Played at twice the speed, it would have been great screwball comedy, but Bogdanovich slows it down to emphasise the excitement Addie gets out of participating in typical teenage girl pratfalls. 

Watching Paper Moon, I was reminded of Alexander Payne's Nebraska and other movies about the goofy eccentricities of small town Americans. What makes Paper Moon stand out is that it takes its Depression setting seriously and doesn't present these eccentricities as inherent to its people, but as a direct consequence of financial troubles. Poverty makes everyone act funny, including the widows who are never presented as naively gullible marks. A majority of the dialogue is essentially counting pennies, and in this context the possibility of your dying husband spending his last money on a Bible carries a weight that's not easy to ignore.    

325. Nynke

Song - In Nije Dei (De Kast)

Movie: Nynke (Pieter Verhoeff, 2001)

Refusing to be just a supportive wife, Sjoukje de Boer (Monic Hendrickx) became one of the most important Dutch children's authors, writing under the pseudonym Nienke van Hichtum. The film focuses on her early life and marriage to Pieter Jelles Troelstra (Jeroen Willems), one of the key figures of Dutch socialism. They spend their first years together blissfully quoting great literature in between passionate frolicking in the Frisian (Nynke is the most successful Frisian-language film in the Netherlands) peatlands, but things start going south when Troelstra develops an interest in the fate of the working man. The family house becomes the de facto Party base, reducing Sjoukje to a tea servant. She wants to contribute, but late 19th century politics are no woman's business, and Verhoeff keeps framing her as a stranger in her own house, looking from afar at adjacent rooms full of activity alienating her from her husband.

Constantly experiencing the ending of The Godfather is not good for one's health. Especially not when the doctors confuse cause and effect. Sjoukje is presented as a little sceptical of the extreme, bordering on irrational, fervor of her husband, and especially of the crowds surrounding him, but coming from a less privileged background, she has a keen eye for the lives of the masses and a good understanding of why and how socialist ideas might benefit them. She is eager to express her views and writing dilutes her estrangement, but a woman asserting her independence can only be a symptom of a hysteria. The electroshock therapy she receives in response is shown without any bells and whistles. Verhoeff depicts experienced, soberminded doctors calmly conducting a standard medical procedure. They even explain the science behind it all and when these "well-tested" practices have an adverse effect on Sjoukje she is diagnosed as being much further gone than everyone feared. Extreme measures are required: she has to stop writing immediately and her children must be sent to study abroad. 

For much of the film, Sjoukje has little agency over her life. All decisions on her behalf are taken by her husband, who is fully convinced he is acting rationally and with her best interests in mind. However, he is not presented without sympathy. In addition to The Godfather, Verhoeff seems also excessively influenced by impressionist paintings, especially those showing the upper class being leisurely in their Sunday clothes. The social/political gatherings in the film of course take place around the same time as many of these paintings were created, but the visual connection also serves to emphasise how removed these socialist politicians were from the people they identified with, and how that can lead to identity crises. Ultimately the film is much less interested in politics (its main point in this regard is that socialism can only be effective if it incorporates feminism) than in exploring how psychologically confusing it can be to have to act as a woman in a man's world or as a working class hero in high society.   

324. Sinners

Song - Thriller (Michael Jackson)

Movie: Sinners (Ryan Coogler, 2025)

Remmick is no Eric Clapton. Sure, he is a vampire and his methods aren't the most gentle, but he is not out there to "Keep Brittain White". In fact, he'd probably rather destroy Brittain. Its people oppressed him and his community just for being Irish, and all he wants now is a bit of cultural exchange with people who have experienced similar horrors. Maybe he is delusional, and maybe his actions will not lead to a multi-racial coalition of the underclass, but he is certainly right about the alternative. "This world's already left you dead, won't let you build, won't let you fellowship." The Ku Klux Klan is ready to attack in the morning. 

Sinners has the scene of the decade, but does too little with its implications. My sympathy for the vampire isn't just my white perspective talking. Coogler wants such a response; he knows what he is doing having the vampires sing old Irish folk music, and he knows what he is doing when contrasting them to the Ku Klux Klan. The Smokestack twins certainly can't be blamed for not being too keen to differentiate between separate brands of white people. They've seen Chicago, where there is officially no Jim Crow, be "just Mississippi with tall buildings", but there must have been a way to make the same point while still building on the utopian vision of the scene where past, present and future meet in a single take that lets black American music influences from different centuries come alive and blend with each other. It's simply glorious to see traditional African drumming co-exist in the same space with 1930's blues, Jimi Hendrix-inspired guitarists, synthesizers and DJ's. Adding to Coogler's genius is that Remmick is the only one who experiences what Sammy's talent is capable of conjuring. That vision gives him the idea to use Sammy to bring to life his own Irish ancestry and culture, without supposedly erasing his black compatriots presence:

"I want your story Sammie, I want your songs. And you gonna have mine. 

Our father, who art in heaven, hollowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us for our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power, the glory forever and ever, Amen

Long ago, the men who stole my fathers land forced these words upon us. I hated those men but the words still bring me comfort. Those men lied to themselves then lied to us. They told stories of a God above and a devil below and lies of a dominion of man over beast and earth. We are earth and beast and God. We are woman and man. We are connected, you and I to everything.”

It's worth publishing this monologue in full. It's brilliant, provocative writing, especially in the knowledge that the juke joint where Sammy is playing is a trap set by the Klan. The vampires essentially save the majority of the guests from getting killed, so if you are Coogler and have gotten this far, why not go even further? Why not imagine how music, dance, and joy can connect and unite opressed people of different ethnicities and ancestries against a common enemy? The film's key scene, dialogue and plot machinations set up exactly something like that and it would have been extremely cool to climax with the Klan being defeated through the combined forces of Irish and black (working class) culture, past, present and future. It would have been a utopian vision that's still sufficiently bleak (only through vampirism can America's sins be cleansed!) for audiences that believe optimistic futurism is immoral in Trump's America, and more exciting than Michael B. Jordan turning into Rambo. I am glad New York elected Mamdani, because aside from him contemporary American progressivism has a very limited vision, and Sinners suffers for seeking to accomodate it. My feeling is that Coogler knows and will at least use his upcoming blank check on more interesting things than the millionth version of The Odyssey. 

323. Forrest Gump

Song - Sweet Home Alabama (Lynyrd Skynyrd)

Movie: Forrest Gump (Robert Zemeckis, 1994)

"She was born in a barn in 1898. She died on the 37th floor of a skyscraper. She was an astronaut."

Mad Men's (I have never seen the show, but its many iconic lines certainly make it sound appealing) Ida Blankenship was in fact an office secretary, but the sentiment applies to many 20th century women, of many different backgrounds. My grandmother, for example was born in rural Serbia where carrots were a luxury. She went on to become a professor in physics, and marry into a family that played a major role in the Yugoslav antifascist resistance; after the war one of her brothers-in-law would share a table with Tito as he was deciding on the future of federal Yugoslavia, and then become a travelling womaniser. Our family is still not entirely clear how many wives and kids he had. My grandmother had two and was pregnant with my father during the greatest earthquake in Skopje's history. Since, she's experienced the moon landing, the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, the dissolution of Yugoslavia and the rise of digital communication technologies. These days, she will occasionally share nostalgic memories of Tito's Yugoslavia over video calls with family members in Germany, the Netherlands, New York, Florida and California, but if you are looking for critical assessments on cinema, she is definitely not the person to speak to. Unless you wanna know about Forrest Gump. She once said the film is a great encapsulation of what the American Dream can make possible. It's the only time I've ever heard her give a serious opinion on a movie. 

Forrest Gump has a somewhat diminished reputation these days, partly because it defeated Pulp Fiction at the Oscars, partly because it's seen as uncritical self-flattery of the post war generation. Pulp Fiction is very much a superior film, but art is not sports and the idea that any film can in any meaningful way be described as 'the best' is absurd; the Oscars would quickly become irrelevant if they seriously aspired to determine objective winners. However, getting non-movie people with communist sympathies to wax lyrically about the American Dream? That's pretty much their raison d'etre! I don't know if my grandmother would have heard of Forrest Gump if it didn't win the Oscar, but I am pretty sure she wouldn't have walked around the house quoting Samuel L: Jackson. In any case my grandmother is a wonderful woman who has led a remarkable life, but her story is not exceptional. A majority of mid-20th-Century adults saw, experienced and/or contributed in minor or major ways to events that would have seemed completely improbable based on their upbringing. Forrest Gump is essentially conceived as a representative of that generation and, yes, the film is absolutely uncritical self-flattery. But if you were born in a barn in rural segregated Alabama and saw Neal Armstrong within your lifetime you'd have to fucking pinch yourself too. 

Setting aside that Forrest Gump is born in a plantation house inherited from the founder of the Ku Klux Klan, the film is a sincere fantasy about a man overcoming his physical and mental disabilities through a combination of kindness, naive innocence, self-belief and folksy wisdom (hard to blame anyone for being allergic to lines like "Life is like a box of chocolate. You never know what you gonna get") that allows him to become a successful college football player and shrimp entrepreneur, fight in the Vietnam war, contribute to Chinese-American diplomacy and inspire Elvis Presley and John Lennon. One of my favorite scenes in all of cinema is Marty McFly accidentally becoming an inspiration for Chuck Berry in Zemeckis' Back to the Future. Forrest Gump is essentially a less inspired, but more technically accomplished (it's still astonishing to see how seamlessly Tom Hanks is integrated into real archival footage) 2,5 hour rehash of that scene. I am a sucker for that kind of stuff, no matter how awful it can get. The John Lennon scene conceives the most contrived talk show dialogue possible just to have Forrest Gump inspire Imagine, but even that works somewhat because of its underlying truths. A lot of Beatles songs are inspired by unremarkable people, places and events that would have never found their way to the history books if some dime a dozen working class lads who happened to have enormous talent didn't put them to music. Besides, the Beatles' place in history is as much the result of the music they produced, as it is of the mass hysteria of their audiences. Forrest Gump gets a lot better than many other films how ordinary people's response to historical events becomes as much part of history as the historic event itself. 

The film is at its worst when it breaks its own illusion and explicitly infantilises Forrest, as when we see him running past the end zone all the way to the stadium's exit. The shot finally ends with a cut to his football coach laughing it up about how dumb and fast his star player is. A scene where Forrest visits Jenny (Robin Wright) at her dorm begins with a sweetly intimate conversation at his level, only to pan back at the end revealing Jenny's roommate in the background pretending to be asleep to hide her terror of what she's just heard. A montage of Forrest and Bubba (Mykelti Williamson) cleaning up their army barracks has the latter talk endlessly about the various ways of eating and cooking shrimp. None of these scenes successfully capture the wacky tone they are striving too hard for, and are misguided anyway counteracting the film's core ideas. Zemeckis also puts additional emphasis on Forrest's childishness in his scenes with progressive anti-establishment figures, allowing him to make fun of them without quite taking a stance. Tom Hanks is great throughout, but his performance has been parodied and imitated so much it's hard to look at it with fresh eyes. 

322. The Story of Adele H.

Song - White Flag (Dido)

Movie: The Story of Adele H. - L'histoire d'Adele H. (Francois Truffaut, 1975)

Victor Hugo is a good father. His daughter Adele (Isabelle Adjani) has come all the way from Guernsey to Halifax to pursue a romantic obsession. She's lost her heart (and mind) to Lieutenant Albert Pinson (Bruce Robinson) and didn't cross an entire ocean to meekly accept being rejected. Besides, who knows, the next love letter might just find the right words into his soul. Her writing is self-consciously florid and overheated, going to great lengths to both express her talent and her affection. Albert remains uninterested, but there has always been an audience for authors who want to be seen as capital-W Writers. Victor Hugo actually falls in that category, but if his letters to Adele were anonymous they would never be recognised as the works of a Great French Novelist. They are simple expressions of care that could be written by any loving parent concerned about the wellbeing of his daughter. Victor Hugo never appears on screen, but many other people in Adele's orbit adjust their professional and personal lives to show her love. None of them are Albert...  

The British army is stationed in Halifax to monitor the latest developments in the American Civil War, turning the town into an excited hub of emerging globalisation. The city's administrative services seem to have seamlessly adjusted to support and facilitate transnational movements, while its residents are willing to go the extra mile to cater to its foreign guests. without asking too many questions about the occasional odd behaviour. Adele's landlady is the perfect example, protecting her lodger's character and integrity at every turn even when she has every reason for doubt. In other words, Halifax is the perfect place for wounded romantics to start anew, if they could only see the opportunities in front of them. Granted, gifting Victor Hugo's daughter a copy of Les Miserables is not the world's most attractive flirt, but the town's librarian is kind and attentive to Adele's needs, and would certainly make a better husband than the Lieutenant of her dreams. Albert is too emotionally immature to be genuinely put off by Adele's aggravating stalking, acting towards her with the same performative displeasure he showcases in all his social interactions. Isabelle Adjani got her breakthrough and an Oscar nomination for portraying Adele as a woman constantly teetering on the edge of sanity, but Bruce Robinson is even better as a guy who has, for reasons known only to himself, made the calculated choice to turn cold indifference into his entire personality.  

In reality, Adele Hugo was diagnosed with schizophrenia and her father had to put her in an institution. Truffaut doesn't emphasise her illness, but does present her as an unquestionably tragic figure whose blind obsession ruined her life. Truffaut however also understands that in moderation romantic obsession can be fun, and while the accumulation of misbegotten decisions becomes horrifically (self-)destructive, many of these decisions are presented in scenes of playful excitement that can almost stand on itself as short films. A spectacular static long take showing Adele crashing a house party to give Albert a note is essentially the entire film in miniature, fully evoking the rush of having ordinary conversations with regular people while knowing that your crush is somewhere out there in reach, doing something without you. 

321. Laura

Song - She's Not There (Carlos Santana)

Movie: Laura (Otto Preminger, 1944)

A wonderful film, let there be no doubt about that. However, she is there...

Noir at its very best leaves the world unmoored, forcing its heroes to reckon with their moral and rational framework. Even if the murderer is caught, love prevails, or the get-rich-quick scheme somehow works, everyone is still left with a lingering feeling that preconceived notions about what's possible, what's right, and what's true no longer hold water, raising unanswerable questions about what this new reality means. How should we act upon the knowledge that the truths we held to be self-evident are no longer, without being able to fully articulate what has come in their place? Midway through Preminger's film, Laura (Gene Tierney) arrives home from her trip to the countryside, finding Detective Mark McPherson (Dana Andrews) asleep underneath her portrait. He's had a long day investigating her murder. 

Laura's return is preceded by one of the few long dialogue-free scenes, following Mark around her apartment looking for clues about what might have happened. He is shown from odd camera angles, with the grand portrait always looming somewhere in the background. The musical score becomes more pronounced highlighting that something's afoot, or about to be, and as Mark falls asleep Preminger slowly zooms in, and then zooms out, signalling the passage of time, without depicting the experience of it. When Mark wakes up to Laura questioning his presence he is startled, while we rejoice - an already intriguing film just got more interesting! How can a person who was supposed to be dead suddenly be alive? Was someone else murdered, or is it perhaps Laura's appearance that is staged? Is Laura really Laura? Is Laura even really there or is she an apparition of the obsessed detective? The set up suggests the answers to these questions to contain great mysteries, but all of it is ultimately explained by a somewhat disappointingly ordinary combination of mistaken identities and male jealousy that won't turn anyone's world upside down. The road to get there is nonetheless exceptional.

The film is perhaps at its most noirish when it suggests that Mark's obsession with Laura is potentially irrational and self-destructive, but it's self-aware enough to know that it can't really meaningfully pursue that path. Have you seen Gene Tierney, the way she acts, the color of her hair (yes, even in black-and-white!)? The chemistry she has with every potential suitor is off the charts, and portraying Laura as a vulnerable woman who is still able to keep her cool and comfort under pressure only makes her more attractive. Dana Andrews too gives a great performance as a detective who is professional and grounded enough to not let his personal opinions and feelings distract from his job. Watching him think through what he can and can't express is one of the film's greatest pleasures, and undermining that would have been a mistake. Even then, it wouldn't have mattered that much. A screenplay this great, with such wonderfully stylised, flamboyantly witty dialogue can go in all kinds of directions with little harm. Especially when the cast is so at ease with it, and in sync with each other. I had never heard of Clifton Webb before, now I want to see every film he's made.

320. Images

Song - Suzanne (Leonard Cohen)

Movie: Images (Robert Altman, 1972)

'Sounds' would be an equally apt title. The opening scene shows Cathryn (Susannah York) writing her latest children's book "In Search of Unicorns" in her contemporary London apartment. As York narrates snippets from her work, she is suddenly interrupted by another unseen voice, faintly calling out her name. Robert Altman, who has been experimenting with sound design his entire career, then suddenly cuts to a still shot of an antique grail set to a John Williams's score that's more interested in combining various incongruous sounds than in establishing a coherent melody. As the sequence keeps swinging between the abstract and the familiar, we hear once again the disembodied voice calling out Cathryn. The plot is finally set into motion when Cathryn receives a call from a friend going on and on about her unsuccessful love life until mid-conversation the voice on the other end of the line suddenly changes, telling frightening stories about Cathryn's supposedly unfaithful husband Hugh (Rene Auberjonois). Hugh eventually gets home, convincing his wife that nothing unsavory has been going on, but when he leans in to kiss her, we suddenly see him from her point of view looking like Marcel Bozuffi.

'Ghost' would also be an apt title. We eventually learn that three years ago Cathryn had an affair with Rene (Marcel Bozuffi) that abruptly ended when he died in a plane accident. Her memory of a failed pregnancy is far hazier; even if it did occur, she couldn't say whose child she lost. Either way, she still suffers the consequences of whatever happened. Though aware that her mind is playing tricks on her, she is unable to consistently distinguish between reality and imagination. Her husband senses something is off, but doesn't seem to be the most discerning fellow even in the best of times, and his supportive suggestions often have the opposite effect. He is some sort of high-end businessman, but mostly specialises in terrible dad (anti-)jokes: "What's black and white and black and white and black and white? A nun falling down stairs!" is innocuous, but "What is the difference between a rabbit? Nothing, one is both the same!" may well be the closest the film gets to auto-commentary. Notably, the other two main characters are Marcel and his teenage daughter Susannah, portrayed respectively by Hugh Millais and Cathryn Harrison, while "In Search of Unicorns" is a real book, written by Susannah York. 

Images is mostly an exercise in style, highlighting that when you are as formally accomplished as Robert Altman you can basically make an entertaining film out of very little. Not much happens here beyond Susannah York hearing sounds and entering rooms, usually shown from her perspective as supposedly familiar spaces of slippery, consistently shifting composition. Altman has a lot of fun putting us halfway in the shoes of Cathryn. We are always aware that we have a better grasp of reality than her, without ever getting the full picture to be able to confidently assess the consequences of her actions. I enjoyed it a lot, but once it ends you do feel a bit like you've been pointlessly yanked around. I have yet to see Altman's other 70's movies, but would not be surprised if this turns out to be the weakest of the bunch.