The Classics Corner #19: M

Genre: Crime/Thriller

Director: Fritz Lang

Writers: Thea von Harbou and Fritz Lang

Producer: Seymour Nebenzal

Cast: Peter Lorre, Otto Wernicke, Gustaf Gründgens, Ellen Widmann, Inge Landgut, Theodor Loos, Friedrich Gnass

Music: Edvard Grieg

Cinematography: Fritz Arno Wagner

Editing: Paul Falkenberg

Distribution: Vereinigte Star-Film GmbH

Release Date: May 11, 1931

Running Time: 110 min

Fritz Lang’s M has one of the most evocative openings of any film. Even for those who have their doubts about watching an early German sound film will be nailed to their seats. It’s almost impossible to describe in words, because the entire sequence, and the entire film for that matter is so rooted in visual storytelling that it needs to be seen to be appreciated. While Lang’s contemporaries in America were using sound for mostly comedies and musicals, Lang crafted with his first sound film a disturbing tale about a child murderer on the loose played by Peter Lorre.

In M Lang pushed the capabilities of the new sound technology to the limits, using it not to be the focus of the film, but to be another element to the film. The focus here is still on pure cinematic storytelling. The story of M, about the child murderer who finds himself hunted by both the law and the criminal underworld is simple on paper, but by using innovative storytelling techniques, Lang elevates the film above simple pulp fiction. His direction, for one, lends the film an almost documentary like realism at times. While the look and feel of the film is still heavily indebted to German Expressionism, Lang’s camera almost voyeuristically intrudes itself into the events that unspool on screen. It isn’t until about a half hour or so into the film that we have our two main characters firmly introduced, the Inspector Lohmann (Otto Wernicke), the criminal ringleader Safecracker (Gustaf Gründgens), and the murderer doesn’t even come in until near the end of the film. Instead Lang begins the film by highlighting the paranoia gripping Berlin. People erupt in mobs, the police raid the bars, neighbors turn suspicious against one another, and it’s a feeling that never lets up even for a minute.

It’s been said that M was meant to be an allegory for the rise of the Nazis, but I think the themes put forth in M remain just as, if not even more prevalent in today’s times. Lang also touches on issues such as psychosis, mob justice, and capital punishment, but he does so in a manner that I found refreshingly complex. Rather than shoving an agenda down his viewer’s throats, he allows us to come to our own conclusions about the events on-screen, and what haunting events they are. The final half hour where the criminals place the murderer on a mock trial has lost none of its power to send chills straight down the spine of any viewer. This is in part due to the central performance by Peter Lorre. He plays the murderer as a nervous, wide eyed man who is always looking over his shoulder. He manages to express so much in so little screen time and without very much dialogue by just using his face, though his delivery of his final speech to the “court” is a brilliant display of screen acting, it’s Lorre’s face that will stick with the viewer long after.

Of course, Lang infuses the film with a brilliant visual sensibility. Every composition, camera angle, movement is carefully planned out for maximum effect, and the lighting is spot on. He has such an eye for atmosphere and space, his camera capturing the seedy dives and smoke-choked rooms of the film. Lang overcomes any technical limitations there may be. One scene I particularly liked was towards the middle of the film where the criminals and the cops are debating what to do about the murderer that has made life so difficult for both groups. Lang uses similar visual compositions, and intercuts between the two groups using dialogue. Also, Lang allows the rooms to become more smoke filled as the scene progresses increasing the intensity of the moment. I also found Lang’s use of mirrors and reflective surfaces to be quite expressive, one moment that has stuck with me is when Peter Lorre stands in front of a shop window as the reflections of jewelry create a square around his head, almost as if it is entrapping him. Though Lang’s visual style is bold, he often understates the events on screen. No murders are ever shown, just a ball rolling away or a balloon floating off, making everything all the more ominous and evocative.

M is one of the essential classics of the silver screen, it’s a powerful, haunting work by one of the cinema’s great artists. I can’t recommend this film enough, and the Criterion DVD is a first class restoration (I swear, I’m not working for them or anything, I just love their stuff).

The Classics Corner #18: I Vitelloni

Genre: Comedy/Drama

Director: Federico Fellini

Producer: PEG Produzione Film, Lorenzo Pegoraro, Mario De Vecchi, Jacques Bar

Writers: Federico Fellini, Ennio Flaiano, Tullio Pinelli

Cast: Franco Interlenghi, Alberto Sordi, Franco Fabrizi, Leopoldo Trieste, Riccardo Fellini

Music: Nino Rota

Cinematography: Carlo Carlini, Otello Martelli, Luciano Trasatti

Editing: Rolando Benedetti

Distribution: Janus Films

Release Date: August 26, 1953

Running Time: 103 min

I Vitelloni is not the great Italian auteur Federico Fellini’s greatest film, nor is it one of his more well-known, so why choose it as the first Fellini film to appear on The Classics Corner? Why not La Strada, La Dolce Vita, or 8 ½? I find that out of all of Fellini’s films I Vitelloni speaks to me the most. Watching it is like catching up with an old friend whom you haven’t seen in some time, the characters of the film do indeed resemble people I myself have known, and in many ways captures my own fears of growing up, my first attempts at starting relationships, and just trying to eke out an existence.

That and I Vitelloni is just grossly underrated often overshadowed by the maestro’s later achievements. For one, it’s still firmly a neorealist film, and aside from a few moments, can’t really be considered Felliniesque, though it also showcases Fellini’s artistic evolution and willingness to break new ground. While the film utilizes many neo-realist elements such as on-location shooting and a sharp, observational eye towards Post-War Italian society, most of the actors are professionals, and while most filmmakers at the time such as Rossellini or De Sica were more concerned with the changing politics of the times, Fellini is more interested in the changes in the social mores of mid fifties Italy.

Plus Fellini was showing a more playful side. Like many of Fellini’s films, I Vitelloni is rooted in Fellini’s own life experiences, and the film is set in Fellini’s hometown of Rimini. However, as he did later in Amarcord, this is a purely fictionalized Rimini. As the film opens the audience is introduced to the five main characters, the Vitelloni (the word itself an invention of Fellini). There’s Alberto (Alberto Sordi), a man fast approaching middle age, and riddled with insecurities, Leopoldo (Leopoldo Trieste), a faux intellectual who dreams of being a great playwright, Moraldo (Franco Interlenghi), a young man just beginning to experience life, Riccardo (Riccardo Fellini), a man who dreams of being a great singer but is stuck wallowing in his dreams, and Fausto (Franco Fabrizi), the “spiritual leader,” who has just impregnated Sandra (Leonora Ruffo) and finds himself an unwilling husband. None of these characters are based off of any real people, rather they just seem different facets of Fellini’s own personality. The opening scene where all the Vitelloni are introduced is one of the film’s most memorable. The camera fluidly tracks its way through a party on the boardwalk, the night sky pitch black, and the wind rustling as the narrator sarcastically comments on the going-ons while introducing us to our main characters.

The film follows the group of five over one year in their lives, as things around them begin to change. Though there’s that cynicism that’s always bubbling under the surface in Fellini’s work, the director is more sympathetic to his character’s here. There’s a certain melancholy that permeates throughout the film. Even in some of the film’s most comedic moments, it’s hard to shake off that feeling of desperation that’s always threatening to envelop the main characters. The characters in I Vitelloni feel like real people, they’re relatable, likeable, but not above pity. After all, they’re all over-sexed, and over-indulgent, wasting away their lives. One of Fellini’s great skills was getting great performances out of his actors, and this film is no exception, the actors themselves, though professional actors, give performances that aren’t far off from what you expect to find in other films of the neo-realist period. There’s a sense that the actors themselves have had experiences similar to the characters of the film, allowing them to truly embody their characters. The characters are what drive this mostly episodic film; the story isn’t as important as the characters are, and at times this can be a problem. At just over an hour and a half, I feel there just isn’t enough time to flesh out the characters completely. There’s so much more about them that I wanted to know, character traits that are only hinted at. The script feels disjointed and clunky at times, and yet the film in some way benefits from the feelings of imperfection, I don’t feel it would be the same had Fellini made this one a few years down the line, this is a film that could only be made by a young man, because it’s so entrenched in a young man’s experiences and his desire to portray the world around him.

We also begin to find Fellini indulging in some cinematic tricks here. There’s a magical quality to the film, a dose of stylization, especially during the scenes depicting parties in which the camera swoops every which way, most of all, though Fellini manages to create a feeling of the passing of time through his images. The images really do tell the story here. And of course there’s the ever great Nino Rota’s fantastic score. It wouldn’t be a Fellini film without Rota. The film has a flowing, lyrical quality to it, but again it does feel clunky at times. Fellini is working with three different cinematographers here, and there’s a certain disjointed quality to the images here, the flow always feels as if it is being interrupted by something. These problems would largely be fixed in Fellini’s next film La Strada, but here they keep the film from achieving so much more than it does.

Then again, I ask, if this film was more polished, would it be the same? I don’t think so. This is a film built on the raw emotions it brings across. It needs to be viewed for what it is, and it needs to be rediscovered. It’s such a shame that this film is being neglected, so do yourself a favor and pick up Criterion’s restoration of this gem and savor it. I promise that you won’t be let down.

The Classics Corner #17: Imitation of Life

Genre: Drama/Romance

Director: Douglas Sirk

Producer: Ross Hunter

Writers: Eleanore Griffin and Allan Scott (screenplay); Fannie Hurst (novel)

Cast: Lana Turner, Juanita Moore, John Gavin, Sandra Dee, Susan Kohner

Music: Frank Skinner, Sammy Fain, Henry Mancini

Cinematography: Russell Metty

Editing: Milton Carruth

Distribution: Universal International Pictures

Release Date: April 17, 1959

Running Time: 125 min

Is there any film more melodramatic than Douglas Sirk’s Imitation of Life? Indeed the film contains many scenes of an almost operatic intensity that one would be hard pressed to find anything more over-the-top than this gem of a film here. Douglas Sirk could probably be considered responsible for creating the modern American soap opera. His string of suburban melodramas made in the 1950s contain all the elements of a soap opera. The films all have the usual ingredients of a typical potboiler; the familial melodrama, illicit romance, murder, addiction, sex, topical issues and the like, but rather than just turning out syrupy “women’s pictures” as Sirk was accused of doing so by critics at the time he used melodrama as a means to launch critiques of the material society he saw around him. Instead of just simple soap operas Sirk’s films combine drama, dark comedy, social commentary, and evocative camerawork to elevate pieces of pop trash into pop art. Perhaps no film displays Sirk’s talent better than his last film Imitation of Life made in 1959.

Imitation of Life can best be called a melodramatic epic of sorts following the trials and tribulations of aspiring actress Lora Meredith (Lana Turner), her daughter Susie (Karin Dicker and later Sandra Dee). Within the first ten minutes of the film she meets a black woman Annie (Juanita Moore) who like Lora has a daughter of her own. Annie’s daughter Sarah-James (Terry Burnham and later Susan Kohner) is a fair-skinned girl who as we learn tries to pass herself off as white so she won’t have to endure the troubles her mother goes through on the basis of her skin color. As the years pass Lora has an on again off again relationship with a photographer Steve Archer (John Gavin) and becomes a famous Broadway actress all while Susie tries to deal with her mother’s absence. Meanwhile Annie continues to struggle with Sarah-Jane’s rejection of her own race whilst trying to lead a simple and devout life. Plenty of melodrama follows of course.

Sirk tells his tale in a multi-layered manner. First off there’s the surface story which is a multiple-hanky tale. The entire thing is told like an opera with each small event taking on monumental importance. Then there’s what’s bubbling under the surface, Sirk’s social commentary. For a viewer who is on the film’s wavelength Imitation of Life holds a spellbinding quality. The melodrama is simply fascinating in the way that television soap operas are fascinating, everything takes place within reality, and yet at the same time it is so far removed from reality that a viewer cannot help but be fascinated. At the same time though, Sirk is critiquing this desire that we have to escape reality. Throughout the film the characters are constantly trying to escape reality only to find its one step ahead of them. Annie is the only character who is really willing to accept the hardships of the real world while Lora, Susie, Sarah-Jane, and Steve all try to live up the good life. For a film so obsessed with surfaces its characters are strikingly realistic, and their conflicts are handled in a more subtle manner than the surface of the film would allow the viewer to believe. Underneath all of the suds, there’s still a human element to the story. These characters feel like real people and the situations are believable despite the fact that everything is played up for melodramatic effect. The reason why the film has aged so well is because Sirk doesn’t allow the film to loose sight of the human element or descend into kitsch.

Plus every scene has two or three different subtexts running through it. Take the scene where Sarah-Jane’s boyfriend discovers she’s white and begins to beat her. It’s a shocking scene, but at the same time the music is a very upbeat jazz soundtrack and the entire sequence is delivered with such style. Is one to laugh? Cringe? Or something else? On one level we feel bad for Sarah-Jane, but at the same time we see the irony in her situation, it was her own fault for getting into the situation she was in, or was it her fault? There are so many scenes in the film which will have you going back and forth between different emotions and ideas. This is what makes Sirk’s satire so great, that he’s able to create so many different reactions from a viewer while still managing to get his ideas across. At the heart of the film, Imitation of Life is both a satire and a document on the American experience

At the end of the film I was in tears because of all the emotion being pumped out from the screen, and yet at the same time I was laughing at the entire production. Sirk directs the entire film with such style and panache. His style manages to be both elegant and lurid at the same time in his use of skewed angles and elegant tracking shots. Also note the gradual buildup in the intensity of the cinematography as the film progresses. The beginning of the film uses mostly browns, greens, and reds with an eye level camera, but as the film progresses the colors become more intense and the camerawork more extravagant. Sirk’s technical mastery is so sumptuous that every shot and movement is perfectly in tune with the music. The film feels almost like a fever dream at times in its execution, and the effect is amazing. Sirk definitely knows how to tell a story cinematically.

The acting in the film isn’t great though. Lana Turner is one of those actresses that is more of an icon than an actor. Her performance is almost a bit too melodramatic and stilted, and yet when placed in with the rest of the film Turner fits in. The same goes for John Gavin’s wooden, pretty boy performance. He feels like a poor man’s Cary Grant, and he’s no replacement for Sirk regular Rock Hudson, but I can’t help but feel that his wooden performance works. The same goes for Sandra Dee and Juanita Moore. However Susan Kohner does an amazing job as the older Sarah-Jane, her performance is more natural and she brings a dose of unrestrained sensuality to her character. She’s sort of like the straight man in a comedy, her performance is more method than melodrama, but it still has that burning intensity especially in some of the later scenes. I feel that while the acting fits the film well, it could have been better, because aside from Susan Kohner I just wasn’t riveted by the performances, I was riveted by the actor’s ability to be intense.

Imitation of Life is a strange film, upon release it was loathed by the critics and loved by the audiences, but that seems to have changed now. Audiences today laugh at the Sirk films, while critics and filmmakers such as Roger Ebert, Todd Haynes, and Rainer Werner Fassbinder revere Sirk. His oeuvre is entertaining, intelligent, cinematic, and enthralling, and Imitation of Life stands at the pinnacle of the fifties soapers.

The Classics Corner #16: Rio Bravo

Genre: Western/Romance/Drama

Director: Howard Hawks

Producer: Howard Hawks

Writers: Jules Furthman and Leigh Brackett (screenplay); B.H. McCampbell (short story)

Cast: John Wayne, Dean Martin, Ricky Nelson, Angie Dickinson, Walter Brennan, Ward Bond, John Russell, Pedro Gonzalez-Gonzalez, Estelita Rodriguez, Claude Akins, Malcolm Atterbury, Harry Carey Jr.

Music: Dimitri Tiomkin

Cinematography: Russell Harlan

Editing: Folmar Blangsted

Distribution: Warner Bros.

Release Date: March 18, 1959

Running Time: 141 min

The films of Howard Hawks remain some of the most accessible films of the classic Hollywood era because they remain as fresh and exciting when viewed today as they were for audiences when they were released. Hawks was a director who held a sense of fierce independence at a time when many directors found their work cut up by the long arm’s of the studio, he was also a meticulous craftsman who could work up a great script, get great performances from his actors and bring all of the elements together into one great movie. This is perhaps why his films have transcended cultural and generational barriers, they’re simply great entertainments, and no film shows off Hawks’ style more perfectly than his 1959 classic Rio Bravo.

Originally intended as a response to High Noon, a film reviled by Wayne and Hawks, Rio Bravo adapts the basic story of a sheriff defending his town from outlaws, but drops the overt political subtext that surrounded High Noon and instead focuses more on the characters and situations. At the center of things is Sheriff John T. Chance (John Wayne) who has locked up the brother of a powerful ranch owner for murder. Chance is a stubborn man who despite the danger of his situation refuses help from all but his closest friends, including his two sheriffs Dude (Dean Martin) and Stumpy (Walter Brennan). Dude is a flawed man with a penchant for drinking, and Stumpy is a cripple resigned to guarding the jailbird. Much of the film the plot is pushed into the background and instead the camera focuses on the characters and their struggles. In fact Rio Bravo is a film that could take place anywhere at anytime, it’s the characters and their struggles that matter. The suspense in the film isn’t derived from the impending fight, but rather the character’s struggles. One of Hawks’ great skills as a filmmaker was his ability to draw us into the problems and dynamics of his characters. Every character in Rio Bravo is richly detailed, and thoroughly human, and Hawks handles their dramas in a very mature manner. Take Dude’s struggle with alcoholism, a lesser filmmaker would have turned it into a preachy story arc, but instead it remains thoroughly dramatic. Notice how instead of intervening, Chance lets Dude overcome his own struggles, take for example when Dude and Stumpy get into an argument, Chance decides not to get involved. There’s also Chance’s relationship with the professional gambler Feathers (Angie Dickinson), revealed through energetic and sexually-charged conversations between the two. Hawks had such a way with dialogue, and Rio Bravo is filled throughout with memorable one-liners and great conversations. Hawks’ naturalistic dialogue has in fact been an influence on many filmmakers to come such as Quentin Tarantino.

Above all though, Rio Bravo is one hell of a fun western. It’s a film that has all the staples of a great western, but instead of merely relying on clichés it transcends them. The suspense, the action, the story is all superbly handled by Hawks who has a keen understanding of cinematic technique. To the naked eye, Hawks’ direction can appear theatrical, he preferred to shoot his scenes at eye level and rarely used close-ups, but Rio Bravo belongs specifically to the cinema. Hawks’ placement of all the elements in a scene, the way he edits, and places his actors is all distinctly cinematic. Take for example the wordless opening sequence, like most of the film it is shot at eye level and from a distance, save for a jarring cut when the camera cuts to an angle shot of Chance. Hawks uses devices like these such as shots of sunsets, and radical angles sparingly to give a sense of uneasiness. I also applaud his use of music, there’s a sequence towards the middle of the film where the band in the saloon is instructed to play a haunting melody that permeates throughout all of the other scenes, and the feeling it provides is so atmospheric. The action scenes are all tense and exciting, and the gunfight at the end is not to be missed. It’s exciting and well-directed, and a stunning conclusion to the film.

Rio Bravo is a well-acted picture. The central performance from John Wayne remains to this day one of his best. Just the way he carries himself throughout the film, the way he delivers his dialogue and his distinct mannerisms with an air of confidence is superb. Wayne though doesn’t allow himself to dominate the screen, and instead allows Dean Martin, Ricky Nelson, and Angie Dickinson to give strong performances. Dean Martin gave what I thought was the best performance of the film, and his portrayal of the alcoholic Dude remains so real and empathetic. I forget at times that I’m watching an actor and become fully caught up in the character he is playing. Angie Dickinson is one of the great Hawksian women. She plays her character with an air of confidence, but not without a bit of sex appeal, she plays so well off of John Wayne and their scenes together are some of the best of the film. Ricky Nelson is a bit, well, he’s good, he’s got energy, but his performance isn’t in the league of Wayne’s or Martin’s. The cast is rounded off by a wonderful performance from character actor Walter Brennan as stumpy and a colorful supporting cast.

Rio Bravo is one of the great westerns, and it’s one of the great films period. There are few other films that are so well directed, well scripted, and well acted. It’s entertaining, exciting, and above all human. It’s one of the last of the great Hollywood studio films before the sixties changed the way films were made, and it’s quite a swan song.

The Classics Corner #15: Black Narcissus

Genre: Drama

Directors: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

Writers: Rumer Godden (novel); Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger (screenplay)

Producers: Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger

Cast: Deborah Kerr, Flora Robson, Jean Simmons, David Farrar, Sabu, Esmond Knight, Kathleen Byron, Jenny Laird, Jenny Laird, Judith Furse, May Hallatt, Shaun Noble, Eddie Whaley Jr., Nancy Roberts, Ley On

Music: Brian Easdale

Cinematography: Jack Cardiff

Editing: Reginald Mills

Distribution: General Film Distributors

Release Date: May 26, 1947

Running Time: 100 min

Rising out of the ashes of WWII, Britain experienced a flourishing of creativity within its film industry. Filmmakers like David Lean and Carol Reed were spearheading this renaissance with visually invigorating and daring films. However it is the films of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, known as The Archers, who were responsible for the most creative and daring films of the period. Always working just to the left of mainstream, Powell and Pressburger created a body of work that consisted of highly stylized offbeat melodramas such as The Red Shoes and A Matter of Life and Death that continue to be discovered and cherished by cineastes worldwide. Perhaps their most well known work though is their 1947 Technicolor symphony Black Narcissus, a film which remains as exciting and shocking today as it had been to audiences back in 1947.

Black Narcissus follows a convent of Anglican nuns led by Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr) as they try to establish a hospital and school in a remote, old palace in the Himalayas. However the palace does not seem the ideal place to establish a nunnery as it is decorated in erotic art and the villagers are reluctant to accept the nuns. The nuns have a hard time adjusting to the harsh environment around them, and one in particular Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron) worries Sister Clodagh, in particular because her attention seems to be straying away from God and towards the handsome, but amoral land agent Mr. Dean (David Farrar). Each nun begins to grapple with repressed memories and desires in some way or another and their convent is slowly torn apart, but these desires, these all to human desires. Powell and Pressburger establish these challenges of the environment early on, not only is the palace not the ideal place to establish a nunnery, but they also face challenges from the villagers who are unable to accept the outsiders coming onto their land. In fact the General of the village (Esmond Knight) has to pay them to visit the hospital the Sisters have set up. However it’s apparent that there is something more insidious tearing apart the convent, the very atmosphere of the environment around them is not kind to those who try to fight it as the Sister’s are trying to do. The Sister’s face a spiritual challenge from the Holy Man who sits atop a hill ever silent to the world around him, and the villagers are more willing to accept the Holy Man than they are the convent. Powell and Pressburger use subtle pieces of symbolism, especially sense stimulated symbolism such as colors, sounds, and smells to create an atmosphere of dishevelment and dread.

Sister Clodagh is perhaps too young to take on the task of leading the convent as she struggles with repressed memories of a lost love. She tries to remain bold in the face of the challenges that await her, but she’s never able to keep things together. Because she was never able to control and overcome her own insecurities that she is unable to lead. It’s the battle of wills between Clodagh and Sister Ruth that is perhaps one of the most fascinating aspects of the film. Ruth and Clodagh both suffer from the same problems, but both nuns have a different way of expressing themselves. While Clodagh tries to repress her memories and desires, Sister Ruth announces them to the world, trying to control everyone and everything around her. It becomes apparent that both nuns express desire for Mr. Dean, but neither are able to come to terms with their own humanity in a healthy manner. Mr. Dean is perhaps the most sensible character in the film, he knows that the land is harsh and the Sisters desire him, and he tries to be subversive hoping that he can get the message across, but he fails to do so.

Between all of these events, there are other plot threads that serve to bring about the end of the convent, such as the affair between the Young General (Sabu) and the dancing girl (Jean Simmons) or the eldest nun Sister Philippa’s (growing doubts surrounding her once strong faith. Some viewers may find the melodrama of Black Narcissus to be off-putting, but I believe the melodrama creates a hypnotic atmosphere; it brings the film into the realm of heightened reality to the point of being almost a fever dream. The cinematography by Jack Cardiff only assists in creating these feelings. Every shot in the film is composed like a painting, making bold use of colors and lighting. The use of sharp camera angles and various sound effects create a powerful effect. However there are many small visual touches that go unnoticed, and it’s these subtle touches that elevate Black Narcissus from simple melodrama to Technicolor symphony. It’s hard to believe that not a single piece of the film was shot on location, because The Archers held complete technical control over every aspect of the film. Black Narcissus has a reputation of being one of the best films filmed in Technicolor, and it lives up to that reputation, there’s no doubt that the technical innovations The Archers used here were an influence on filmmakers such as Douglas Sirk and Nicholas Ray who would go onto make their own melodramas in a fashion similar to that of Powell and Pressburger.

The acting in Black Narcissus is as strong as the rest of the film. Deborah Kerr gives an astounding performance as Sister Clodagh, she often acts with her face, even when she’s delivering dialogue. Her scenes with Kathleen Byron as Sister Ruth are especially memorable because Kerr’s acting is much more subdued while Byron allows herself to descend into all out hysteria, and since much of the film is seen through the eyes of Kerr, Byron’s acting creates a powerful effect on the viewer. I thought David Fararr’s performance as Mr. Dean is often undervalued. He’s down to earth, but not without charm, and he interacts well with the other actors. Fararr, like his character, is the lynchpin that keeps the all of the other actors together, because he’s the voice of reason among so many mad people, and he plays the part well. Jean Simmons and Sabu make great turns as the Young General and the dancing girl, and Jean Simmons leaves quite an impression despite having limited dialogue and screen time. The supporting cast rounds out the film pretty well, some are better than others, but no one is bad in anyway.

Black Narcissus remains one of the most transcendent experiences I’ve yet had as a film-goer. The work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger has impressed me just as it has impressed countless other cineastes. For those yet unfamiliar with the work of The Archers, I recommend picking up a copy of Criterion’s restored re-release of Black Narcissus when it hits shelves in June, and prepare to be blown away by the sheer power of this masterpiece of melodrama.

The Classics Corner #14: Jules and Jim

Genre: Drama/Romance

Director: François Truffaut

Writers: Henri-Pierre Roché (novel); François Truffaut and Jean Gruault (adaptation and dialogue)

Producers: Marcel Berbert and François Truffaut

Cast: Jeanne Moreau, Oskar Werner, Henri Serre, Vanna Urbino, Boris Bassiak, Anny Nelsen, Sabine Haudepin, Marie Dubois, Michel Subor

Music: Boris Bassiak, Georges Delerue

Cinematography: Raoul Coutard

Distribution: Cinédis

Release Date: January 23, 1962

Love, I believe is something that is difficult to portray on film, because while passion is universal, love is different for each of us. Perhaps that is why Jules and Jim creates such polarizing reactions from viewers, because the film is very much director François Truffaut’s perspective on love. Though the film was based off of an autobiographical novel written during the days of World War I, the film doesn’t belong to the early twentieth century, but rather to the early 1960s in it’s depiction of love, passion, and existentialist angst. Truffaut’s vision of the novel on screen also belongs more to the cinema than to the literary world; such was the tradition of the French New Wave. When Jules and Jim was first screened in 1962 its cultural impact was undeniable. It’s impact on me was also undeniable, Jules and Jim is a film that changed the way I looked at how cinema was able to portray emotion and ideas, and it also changed the way I looked at my own life. This analysis will probably be more personal than the past reviews I’ve written, but that’s only because Jules and Jim is a film that means so much to me.

Unfurling in the years before and after World War I, Jules and Jim tells the complicated story of the friendship of the Austrian Jules (Oskar Verner) and the Frenchman Jim (Henri Serre) who meet in Paris before the war and the love for Catherine (Jeanne Moreau). The film does tell a story, but it’s driven purely by emotion. The characters of Jules, Jim, and Catherine exist outside of time, they’re driven by human emotions, and their actions and needs are always shifting and changing. Jim is shy and awkward with women, while Jules is outgoing and exuberant, though both men are compassionate and passionate about life.. But it’s Catherine that’s the most fascinating character. She’s woman incarnate, an intellectual, emotional creature who is never sure what she wants, and though she manipulates her friends to get what she wants, she never quite does, and only winds up with guilt. Perhaps this is why the film feels so spontaneous. The plot feels as if it is an unwritten narrative unfurling itself in all sorts of exciting directions. The film at once resembles a farce not unlike a Charlie Chaplin film or a screwball comedy, and at other times its drama enters a land of romantic melancholy that reminds one of Jean Vigo’s L’Atalante, a film which greatly influenced Truffaut as a young boy.

As viewers we are swept up in the character’s emotional hurricane. Watching the film I was excited by the spontaneity of the lives the character’s led, the way the allowed their pure emotions to dictate them and how they faced the future on unknown, and despite the tragic consequences of their actions, perhaps no other film captured for me my own emotions at the time of watching the film. I admire the characters in the film, but I often wonder how I will view this film five, ten, twenty years down the road when I am older and not so susceptible to my teenage mood swings. Though perhaps it is my demographic that Truffaut intended the film to be seen by, Truffaut after all was young himself at the time, but steadily getting older. If The 400 Blows depicted his childhood, perhaps Jules and Jim was meant to depict his younger years and the relationships he embarked on. That is after all what the author of the novel Henri-Pierre Roché intended. I think it’s because of this my aunt and uncle who are approaching middle age were not able to fully appreciate Jules and Jim, their young years of spontaneity had left them behind and though the remember those years, they cannot remember the way they felt during them. And although Truffaut is a romantic, he isn’t a sentimentalist, the tragedy in the film is on the characters own doing, and we should pity them not fawn over them.

There is a purely cinematic way with which Truffaut manages to trap so much emotion. One is his sprightly direction which skips through the years like a pebble on water creating an atmosphere of time lost. However through collaboration with cinematographer Raoul Coutard and through his own innovative devices Truffaut creates so much visual poetry. He uses all of the devices at his disposal such as jump cuts, long takes, tracking shots, still pictures, stock footage, narration, etc… to weave his poetry, and he makes no effort for there to be consistency in his use of cinematic technique, though the film takes on a slower and more somber appearance as it progresses. The visual style though captures so much; Truffaut has this uncanny ability to capture raw emotion on film in a distinctly cinematic manner. How fortunate we are the Truffaut shot the film in black and white, it’s so soft and poetic, and though the events in the film are complex, the visuals remain in pure black and white, and the images he captures with them stir so much up in the viewer.

The acting in the film is fantastic throughout. Jeanne Moreau casts a fiercely sensual presence. She is the archetypical New Wave female, a woman who seduces with her intellectual ability rather than with her body (though I don’t think anyone is denying that Moreau is a beautiful woman). She is able to speak so much using her face, and she delivers her dialogue in constantly shifting tongues. Oskar Werner and Henri Serre are both fantastic as Jules and Jim themselves. Oskar Werner always has this sad, wistful look on his face, he slips into the role of the awkward Jim quite comfortably. The supporting cast is all fantastic, they really bring their all into the film especially the little girl Sabine as Jules and Catherine’s daughter, and she’s just so adorable.

Jules and Jim is a film that remains after almost fifty years as fresh and exciting as it did when it came out. It’s a film that exists outside of time, and with the ability to tap into the consciousness of any generation. Truffaut never did anything this masterly again, but maybe he knew Jules and Jim couldn’t be topped. It remains one of the few perfect films I have seen, and one of the few films that I feel a part of emotionally, because I am made a part of the story. See this movie and experience these feelings for yourself.