259. Edge of the City

Song - (Sittin' On) The Dock Of The Bay (Otis Redding)

Movie: Edge of the City (Martin Ritt, 1957)

I saw In the Heat of the Night a long time ago and liked it, but aside from Sidney Poitier slapping Rod Steiger, I don't recall any of it. Having now seen Paris Blues and Edge of the City, it may be time for a revisit, as it appears I've been having a rather wrong impression of Poitier. Most of what I know about him and his cultural imprint comes from peripheral sources, such as Denzel Washington's reverence for him and writings about black actors and movies shaped by him, and about the Civil Right Movement's influence on American culture. Through all of this, I somehow absorbed that Poitier was a gravely serious actor of solemn dignity. In Edge of the City, that couldn't be further from the truth. He is so effortlessly cool here that he manages to give a distinct personality to a terribly underwritten role that basically turns him into John Cassavetes' personal Jiminy Cricket. 

Cassavetes and Poitier play Axel Nordmann and Tommy Tyler, two dockworkers in New York. Axel is the kind of guy that was almost invented by American movies of the 50's: a lost young man alienated by the values of the old generation and without a clue how to shape his own. He is now running away from a troubled past and an equally troubled relationship with his parents (living in a comfortable house in smalltown Indiana), unable to settle down and keep a job anywhere because of the chip on his shoulder. His first instinct is to always mistrust his fellow man and to start every conversation as if he is on the brink of a fight. Tommy befriends him and patiently guids him through life, comforting him, and providing him with a job and a potential romantic partner, without ever putting his own needs first. Tommy's easily palatable nobility is countered by Poitier who plays him with an irreverent zest that makes the friendship feel realistic. Axel's anti-authoritarian attitude matches perfectly with Tommy's restless energy, his penchant for sarcasm and irony, and the excitement he gets out of a dirty joke, a cool tune, or a flirt with his wife (Ruby Dee, also giving a really good performance). Poitier creates the impression that Tommy's selfless protectiveness is simply an accidental byproduct of his spontaneous and expressive personality, rather than a blunt screenwriting device.  

The film's ending is quite interesting too. Just looking at it narratively, it further complicates its comforting view of race. However, Ritt's visual choices in the final scene, in combination with the score (which is overbearing for most of the movie anyway, and completely misguided during its conclusion) communicate that we are now to see Axel as an iconic working class hero, which doesn't fit and whitewashes the character a bit too much. Moreover, this finale is tonally completely off. It feels tacked on to add dramatic heft to a movie that doesn't need it - its lighthearted looseness is its greatest quality. As in Paris Blues, Ritt is at his best when he is just filming two friends and their lovers infectiously hanging out together in a lively lovely city.   

258. Beau Travail

Song - Denis (Blondie)

Movie: Beau Travail (Claire Denis, 1999)

In my write up of Leos Carax' Mauvais Sang, a long time ago now, I compared Denis Lavant to Robert De Niro. I probably just found him immensely cool, because I don't really see where that comparison came from otherwise. Lavant is one of those completely singular actors, but even if you insist on looking for his American 70's counterpart, Jack Nicholson and his great explorations of male (not just sexual) impotence and anger, would be more apt. However, Beau Travail does often feel like a feature length adaptation of the famous shot in Taxi Driver where the camera moves away from De Niro's sad phone call towards the empty hallway. Like Taxi Driver, it is one of the great films about loneliness. Unlike Taxi Driver, it is also one of the ultimate 'dudes rock' movies. I don't like using 'too cool for school' internet speak, but there is really no better way to characterise Beau Travail, in part because it's central conflict arises from Galoup's (Denis Lavant) inability to rock with the dudes, for both professional and psychological reasons. 

I also don't much like reading critics who are too in love with using the phrase 'bodies moving in space'. I do increasingly though like the kind of movies to which that phrase is applied. People watching can be more fun than plot, and despite not yet having seen many Claire Denis films, it is evident that she is one of the best people watchers out there. This is a great film that consists of little else, which is probably for the best, as the scant narrative that does exist suffers from flat and too literal-minded plotting. Denis follows a squad of the French Foreign Legion on training in Djibouti, led by their commanding officer Galoup. As France is not at war, these exercises mainly serve as male bonding activities, allowing a group of rootless youths to create a connection through shows of strength, athleticism, honor and masculinity.  While there is a compettitive element to all they do, the collective experience and performance of these actions is the ultimate goal. As their commanding officer, Galoup can't be one of the boys, even when he is around them, and he can't quite assert his authority as he feels his leadership is inadequate and threatened by Gilles Sentain (the most charismatic of his soldiers). Additionally, Galoup greatly looks up to his own higher-in-command, Bruno Forestier (Michel Subor) and you never get the sense that he feels that he has the capacity to be promoted. As a result he is stuck between two worlds he can't enter. 

The soldiers engage in running drills, stretching exercises, weapon trainings, road reparations and other military activities, thoough we also see them ironing their clothes, cook dinner and go out dancing. Througjhout all this Denis highlights how aware the soliders are of both their own actiions and of the actions of the others, and how they adjust their behavior to exert themselves more as individuals or to become part of the group.. What stands out is the concentration and commitment they dedicate to all these activities, which is further emphasised by Denis whenever she sets the soldiers' activities to extracts from the opera adaptation of Billy Budd, giving their actions an almost mythical, religious dimension. Especially during these 'Billy Budd sequences' the soldiers are often barechested and Denis fully objectifies their bodies, often letting them pose as if they are classical marble statues that have come to life. If you see this as an expression of Galoup's point of view, the great ending scene becomes even better, a furious expression of how it feels to be excluded of an experience you see as holy.

It is interesting that beyond spending time with the soldiers, Denis also makes some digressions to showcase life of ordinary Djiboutians. She presents them as people who simply go on with their lives next to the French military camp. Though they are not rich, they are also not dependent on French goodwill or protection for their livelihood. The Djiboutians treat the presence of the soldiers neither as a threat nor as a blessing, but simply as an ordinary, unremarkable occurence. The soldiers are just some people who have a job and uwind by dancing to Tarkan just like the locals, contrasting the soldiers' self-absorption and self-glorification. Through this depiction of Djibouti, Denis makes national and cultural identities and differences a non-factor, largely in line with 1999's hopeful visions of globalisation. I wish those visions were more prevalent these days. but Claire Denis' newest film Stars at Noon, which I actually like more than Beau Travail, shows we are far away from that. 

Stars at Noon finds Margaret Qualley and Joe Alwyn lost in Nicaragua. They are the kind of western middle-class young professionals who have shaped their career based on the unspoken promise that if they get a graduate degree and parrott vaguely liberal ideals about freedom, democracy ans equality they can the have the lives of their dreams. Trish and Daniel have reached the point where they can  theoretically start those lives, but running into COVID, corrupition, local hostility and the CIA, they find that their qualifications, attittudes and knowledge are only useful for seducing each other, which leads to a sexy and melancholic romance. Between Stars at Noon and Beau Travail I am fully on board with Claire Denis after a rocky start. I thought Bastards was a terrible film that boringly obfuscates what is completely obvious, while Let the Sunshine In is good, but also completely insular in its depiction of the problems of rich elitist Parisians. 

257. A Short Film About Love

Song - Need Your Love So Bad (Fleetwood Mac)

Movie: A Short Film About Love - Krótki film o milosci (Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1988)

There is nothing wrong per se with ostentatiously presenting love as an unattainable and incomprehensible thing whose pursuit leads to anguished obsessions and sexual humiliation, but such visions are in certain European films as much driven by marketing as they are by conviction. It allows these films to sell themselves as non-American, non-prudish, and enlightened and courageous enough to present the real unvarnished truth of romance. For a long while, A Short Film About Love seems like a superior version of one of these films. However that changes when towards the end Kieslowski repeats in context the film's mysterious opening shot. You would not necessarily compare A Short Film About Love to The Sixth Sense or The Usual Suspects, but Kieslowski's decision to present that particular shot as the key shot, the one that makes this a film 'about love', does completely change the tone of the film and makes us reconsider what (and who!) it has been about. What was up until then a cynical and ironic film, becomes a sincere, hopeful and even somewhat corny one. Its corniness however is undercut by its self-reflexive criticism. Kieslowski is aware of the mode he is working in, and his final scenes force you to reflect on why his depiction of obsession and humiliation could be perceived as being about love, rather than about obsession and humiliation. 

The obsessed one is Tomek (Olaf Lubaszenko), a naive and (emotionally and sexually) inexperienced 19-year old who lives with the mother of his best friend. We never see his best friend, but we learn that before going on a UN peace mission in Syria, he and Tomek were spying on Magda (Grazyna Szapolowska), who lives in the apartment building across the street and sleeps a lot with different men. We get the impression that this started out as a playful prank between two teens, but has grown for the lonely Tomek into an obsession he doesn't know how to control and is ashamed about. It's a great performance by Lubaszenko, who treats his telescope (stolen from a wearhouse to replace the insufficient binoclars of his friend) with the seriousness of a professional photographer and minutely prepares his watching sessions. Throughout he remains in a state of fearful confusion, knowing only that he doesn't know what to do with his feelings (he has by now even stopped masturbating), or what to do if he is discovered by either Magda or his caretaker.

We see a lot of Magda through Tomek's point of view. The camera follows her in long scenes as she walks around in her apartment, giving us a great understanding of why these nightly rituals are so exciting for Thomas. Beyond Magda's beauty, the design of her apartment adds a mystery to her actions. Its main windows are divided by a sizable brick wall which makes her often disappear from Tomek's (and our) view for a few (or more) tantalising seconds. Her bedroom is also not perfectly located for Tomek to get the most ideal view of her actions there, only further contributing to his sweatiness. One day it all becomes too much, and when they meet on the street (an encounter contrived by Tomek), he comes clean to her. She is both repulsed and flattered, forcing him to put his money where his mouth is. Naturally, he is incapable of that, leading to some of the most uncomfortable scenes of 'romantic' and sexual embarassment I've seen in movies. That Kieslowski makes the transition from these scenes to the eventual warmth of the film's end feel so natural and simple is a great testament to his skills as both a director and a screenwriter. 

256. Orlando

Song - Englishman In New York (Sting)

Movie: Orlando (Sally Potter, 1992)

Despite the memes, good satire should risk being mistaken for that which it intends to criticize. Better still if the satirist loves, or at least has a genuine fascination for, the thing they satirise. To what extent Orlando (the movie - I have not read the famous Virginia Woolf novel on which it is based) can be truly considered satire is debatable, but it has a sincere appreciation for British history, culture and art, despite being merciless in its depiction of the nationalist and patriarchal forces that have shaped all of it. It is a historical fantasy in which we meet Orlando (Tilda Swinton) - a nobleman who doesn't grow old, but does change gender halfway through - at various points in their life between 1600 and 1992. Although the film has a coherent narrative, each section could also play as standalone short that both evokes and lampoons specific British historical fiction genres. It combines real events, places and people with fictional ones, switches effortlessly between comedy, drama and romance, and plays around with genre conventions. It reminded both of History of the World: Part 1 and of Holy Motors, In other words, I absolutely loved it. Shortly before this, I also saw May December. Both films are great examples of why I miss postmodern irreverent playfulness in modern cinema. 

The first 'chapter' of Orlando immediately makes its intentions clear. Queen Elizabeth is introuduced with a chant of her era, telling us "Eliza is the fairest queen that ever trod upon the green. O blessed be each day and hour, where sweet Eliza builds her bower." As the "fairest queen" arrives on a boat to her castle, her young (male and female) servants scramble to welcome her. The scene perfectly sets up a traditional Britsh royal drama, providing the familiar pleasures of beautiful castles, and orderly rituals performed in calming sync by clean-shaved well-read squires. But the cracks in the facade appear fast. The lovely chant is interrupted by modern electric instruments, making random incompatible sounds, and when Elizabeth enters the frame, she doesn't have a familiar look. She is portrayed here by Quentin Crisp, the Englsihman in New York Sting sings about. Despite knowing (and liking) that song all my life, I never knew it was about Crisp and had also never heard of him before. He was a gay humorist/public intellectual who was somewhat confused about his gender identiy, but though he may not have the most masculine look, he also doesn't resemble Cate Blanchett. In scenes where he arrogantly asserts his authority and power over his courtier Orlando, Potter films both in extreme close up, making it impossible to miss the masculine characteristics of Queen Elizabeth, or the femininity of Orlando, who at that point in the film is still a man. This gender bending creates quite a fun dissonant effect, very much taking you out of the fictional world of the film, and forcing you to see Queen Elizabeth as nothing more than just a cruel man drunk on power. 

The rest of the film's chapters similarly play around with feminist ideas, though they are often more lighthearted and much funnier. They are held together by Tilda Swinton's great performance. With her hopeful innocent optimism and sense of resolve she turns Orlando into a hero who might as well come from traditional folklore. Many of the stories play out like that as well. When Orlando is sleeping for a week after being scorned by a Russian woman, Potter's build up of the slowly escalating efforts to wake him up is a great example of how perfectly timed cuts can create great comedy, and leads to a great punchline. The sequence is a wonderful bit of slapstick that almost feels as an adaptation of a traditional children's tall tale song. What makes it even better and funnier is that it comes at the end of the chapter that is taking on David Lean-style romantic epics. Here the Brits are inelegant unsophisticates failing to realise that the foreigners are their intellectual and cultural superiors. 

In the story that is essentially a high society costume drama, the first one in which Orlando is a woman, the film lavishes in the beautiful costumes and the literary pretentions of Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope's dialogue (they are actual characters discussing poetry and women in a saloon), while showing their sexist underpinnings. Similarly, the section inspired by Shakespeare, lets you enjoy the snappy dialogue, filled with smartly constructed comebacks and elaborately delivered monologues, only to reveal that all this wit doesn't amount to anything but self-flattery. (It's interesting that in these two stories that most focus on the role of language in British history, the funniest jokes are sight gags, involving respectively a giant dress and a giant table). The final story (followed by a fantastic epilogue in contemporary London that ties things up with the coolest, weirdest and most self-reflexive scenes of the film) is essentially one of those modernised Jane Austen adaptations that dials the romantic fantasy up a couple of notches, only to show that there is nothing romantic in tragic dilemma's that force one to choose between love and dying in war. The pacifist leanings of the film become clearer much earlier; Orlando only becomes a woman after rejecting to kill unnamed Arabs. 

255. Cats

Song - Memory (Barbra Streisand)

Movie: Cats (Tom Hooper, 2019)

Definitely not one of the worst films ever made, which is a bit of a dissapointment. I was secretly hoping for a spectacularly unique misfire, but it's just a bunch of actors in CGI cat costumes on CGI sets twirling to random mediocre musical theatre. The CGI sets make London look drab and anonymous, but that's what you get from the average contemporay effects-driven Hollywood blockbuster, whose CGI robs all locations from any sort of character. The CGI 'costumes' are mostly dumb, as rather than making the characters look and behave like actual cats, they make them look and behave like humans badly pretending to be cats. Interestingly, the cat-like features of a character seem inversely proportional to the fame of their actors; Judi Dench, Ian McKellen, Taylor Swift and Idris Elba look much more like themselves than the other 'cats'. That's better for Swift and Elba, the only people in the film who perform with some spunk and personality and manage to evoke something else than wide-eyed reverence, than it is for McKellen and Dench. They are no great singers and also too old to waste their acting talents like this; there are fewer sights in contemporary film sadder than a skittish (barely disguised) McKellen licking milk from a plate, but the scenes of Dench sprawled out on a sofa like a smutty cat come close. Dench recently showed that at the age of 89 she is still capable of reciting Shakespeare sonnets on the spot. Here she brings the same gravity to lines like "So first your memory I'll jog, and say a cat is not a dog".

I had little clue of what Cats was about before seeing this, and was surprised that it's sort of the silliest riff on Greek mythology imaginable. There is a railway cat, a theater cat, a magician cat,  a cat of the underworld, a fat cat, all taking part in a singing competition, judged by Old Deuteronomy (Judi Dench) who will decide which cat gets to ascend to cat heaven. Each cat sings a song about itself, showcasing its particular characteristics and traits, how it is more mythical than humans imagine and how it affects the human world in ways that we take for granted. Unsurprisingly, a quick (this is definitely a rabbit hole I don't want to disappear in) Google search shows that there is a lot of Cats fan fiction being created, and you can easily imagine that a more cynical version of Andrew Lloyd Webber would have created a whole Cats universe out of his smash hit. Him not doing that does make the whole thing somewhat more interesting, turning this essentially into an origin story without follow up. It's transparently ridiculous nonsense that doesn't strain to find any higher meaning, social commentary or deep subtext, yet is performed with gravely earnest seriousness. If we can see the art in lighthearted comedy about dark subjects, then surely the opposite could, when done well, also have some value?

I would have liked it more if the songs were a bit better, but they are quite monotonous (as is the dancing). Most of them start off in a different genre, but are quickly theatrified in much the same way, with the addition of instruments and singing voices that seem to serve no further purpose oither than to add fat to the song. The audience is never allowed to feel that they are not getting enough music for their money, and so the songs also go on for much longer than needed, absolutely wearing out their welcome. Taylor Swift doesn't need any more praise these days, but 'Beautiful Ghosts', the one song she has written for the movie, is miles better than any of the orginal songs written by Webber, including Memory, sung here by Jennifer Hudson. She is a great singer who probably would have been better off following Barbra Streisand's lead and just sing the song outside the context of Cats. Streisand's performance is more evocative as it connects to actual human feelings, rather than trying to make us care about a cat we barely know.  

254. On Golden Pond

Song - Liefde Van Later (Herman van Veen)

Movie: On Golden Pond (Mark Rydell, 1981)

'Granddad jokes' are a different category from the well-established 'dad jokes'. They are nastier, more sophisticated and communicate different things about their maker. In On Golden Pond, Henry Fonda provides a good study of the phenomenon. Fonda plays Norman Thayer, a long retired professor suffering from heart palpitations, memory loss and a troubled relationship with his daughter Chelsea (Jane Fonda). Norman spends the majoirty of his time making jokes at the expense of himself and everyone around him. These jokes are most of the time not easy one-liners that flow naturally out of a conversation. Rather, he works for them, moving the conversation away into somewhat absurd contexts of his own making that allow him to be more cutting, darker, crueler, and indeed, funnier, than he otherwise would have been. These remarks/jokes serve obviously as a distraction from his, not unreasonable, fear that this may be his last summer in his beloved summer cottage by the lake, but Fonda also presents these jokes as proof of life, and as a contrast to his frailty. It's through them that he most succesfully can show to both his family and himself that he is more than just a dying man.

On Golden Pond is much less sentimental than I expected, based on both its outline/reputation and its opening scenes. After a seemingly neverending montage of tranquility at the lake side the first scenes between Fonda and Katherine Hepburn (playing his wife Ethel) fully reveal On Golden Pond's origins as a play. The early dialogue either outright states out the themes of the film or literalises too much the subtext of ordinary conversations between elderly couples. "Listen to me, mister. You're my knight in shining armour. Don't you forget it. You're gonna get back up on that horse and I'm gonna be right behind you holding on tight and away we're gonna go, go, go."  has apparently come to be seen as one of the classic bits of dialogue in American cinema, but as every line has a similar overwrought energy, it loses some of its power. I am a fan of florid stlyised dialogue, but felt this is a bit too lofty in this context. It's not unentertaining however. I didn't grow up with Fonda and Hepburn, but they are legendary actors for a reason and always at least compelling to watch. In fact, the "knight in shining armor" line results from a great moment where Fonda turns from a hardened crank into a vulnerable sick man in a split second. 

The film gets (a lot) better quickly when Chelsea and her new boyfriend Bill (Dabney Coleman) arrive together with his son from a previous marriage Billy (Doug McKeon). The dialogue becomes more natural once Fonda and Hepburn have more people to interact with and especially once Bill and Chelsea go to Europe leaving the kid with the grannies. Even though the scenes between Coleman and the Fonda's are the funniest in the film (he is a bit of an anxious klutz who tries to pretend he has it all together, while being completely overwhelmed by the family, including his girlfriend - you get the sense that Chelsea tried to find someone who is temperamentally and dispositionally as far removed from her dad as possible), the heart of the film is the growing relationship between Billy and Norman. Even though the film is an unabashed celebration of Hepburn and Fonda (and made for their generation), it never adopts a 'kids these days' attitude in part because it sess Norman and Billy as kindred spirits whose unfiltered language serves as a way of making sense of their place in the world. 

253. Scandal

Song - Daar Gaat Ze (Clouseau)

Movie: Scandal (Michael Caton-Jones, 1989)

Oh, if it wasn't for those damn Jamaican jazz musicians! It's one thing they fall in love with our women, but why do they need to make such a fuss when they are rejected? Is there any need for guns? Don't you long for the good old days when we had such fun passing women around like high class sex objects? As proper Englishmen, we did this in discretion of course and we always ensured they had a good time. Thanks to us they escaped from their miserable lives in the country and mingled with the greatest politicians, artists, actors, diplomats, spies, businessmen and all the other fancy folks of the London upper class. And now here you are, calling us ponces. What have we done to deserve that?! 

In 1963, the British Conservative Secrertary of State for War John Profumo (played here by Ian McKellen) resigned after the reveal of an improper affair with Christine Keeler (Joanne Whalley), one of many women essentially groomed by 'osteopath' Stephen Ward (John Hurt, who is becoming one of my favorite actors and is giving here a pretty fantastic performance as a man whose sincere gentleness and perversity live side by side) to 'entertain' his wealthy clients, giving him even more access to power and wealth. In telling this story the film identifies with the Conservative establishment, and while it doesn't quite endorse its views and use of its 'showgirls' it regrets more that the good times ended than that they happened. Wasn't there a way to ensure that the fun could continue withour breaking moral codes? What if the Jamaicans never fired that gun at Stephen Ward's door? And what if those journalists weren't so snooty?

It's safe to say that a film about the Profumo affair made today would be a lot different than this one. I am not entirely sure this hypothetical film would be as thorny and insightful (or as fun and sexy) as Scandal. Before it turns into a fairly standard courthouse drama, the first half of the film is basically 'Tory Boogie Nights', consisting pretty much entirely of a series of set pieces at different glamourous, and glitzy events (plus an orgy) where beautiful young women, headlined by Joanne Whalley and Bridget Fonda, perform flirtatiously for the pleasure of rich British men who ogle, touch and ocassionally fuck them. Most of these rich British men are (Conservative) politicians in power who seemingly spend the majority of their time figuring out how they can obtain and get away with illicit acts of sexual pleasure. It's more damning of them than almost any didactic editorialising expose would be. Moreover, the relationship between Christine and Stephen is genuinely interesting, as is the film's refusal to present Christine as a straightforward victim.  

Still, a contemporary remake of Scandal could be a worthwile endeavour. The film posits that for the most part Christine genuinely had agency over her decisions, that she genuinely loved Stephen (without ever sleeping with him!) and that in some cases she even had power over the men she entertained/slept with. It's probably true that in many progressive circles these days, this would be too easily dismissed as a wish fulfillment fantasy on behalf of the filmmakers. (Progressive) film writers have rightly been raling against the idea of damsels in distress who can only be saved by more powerful people taking benevolent actions on their behalf, but this idea has not yet reached many progressive politicans and activits it seems. Acknowledging that people can overcome and thrive within structures that disadvantage them is no reason to stop the fight against these structures. However, by wishing these structures away. Scandal tells an incomplete story. You can't pat yourself on the back for giving working class girls access to a better life if your policies contribute to their poverty, you can't bemoan sexual puritanism if you espouse traditional family values in all walks of life, and you can't blame anyone for a scandal if you created the conditions for the scandal in the first place.