My goal: to see 100
movies in 2008
(The
90 films I saw in 2007 are listed here. The 95 films I
saw in 2006 are listed here. The 97 films I saw in 2005 are listed here. The list of the 115 films I saw in 2004 is here. The list of the 86 movies I saw in 2003 is here.)
Return to Michael K. Bourdaghs homepage
85). Yes Man (2008; dir. Peyton Reed). The film can’t figure out if it wants to be Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or Ace Ventura, Pet Detective, and instead ends up at a strange place
somewhere in-between, matching broad physical humor with social critique. Not entirely satisfying, but not awful
either. Nice soundtrack of songs by the
band Eels. (12/27/08
at AMC Rosedale Theater).
84). Son of Ranbow (2007; dir. Garth
Jennings). First-rate
coming-of-age comedy, with a keen understanding of the fantasies, politics, and
violence of middle-school life.
The child of a separatist religious sect and the school bully team up to
produce their own version of the Rambo
film series. The scene in which a group
of French exchange students arrive is simply priceless. (12/16/08 as in-flight movie).
83). Henry
Poole is Here (2008; dir. Mark Pellington).
A post-modern take on Frank Capra; my falling asleep an hour into it was
only partly due to jetlag. What sticks
most in memory about it, though, is its queer misuse of otherwise fine pop
songs. (12/16/08 as in-flight movie).
82). Wall-E
(2008; dir. Andrew Stanton). As sweet as
everyone says it is. I watched most of
it while grounded on a plane at Narita airport, awaiting repairs: it seemed a suitable context for the film. (12/16/08 as in-flight movie).
81). Shina
jihen gôhô kiroku: Shanhai「支那事変後方記録・上海」(Behind the front in the China
Incident: Shanghai; 1938; dir. Kamei
Fumio). A powerful propaganda film shot
in the streets of Shanghai soon after the battle there. You get the expected shots: captured Chinese prisoners talking about how
well they are being treated, Japanese soldiers playing with children and
puppies, victory parades in the streets by triumphant soldiers (though the
Chinese spectators in the crowd for those are distinctly unenthusiastic). You also get a fairly clear sense of how
fierce the fighting was. Perhaps the
most compelling parts are the dynamic camerawork throughout and the extended
section early on that focuses on the lives of the Japanese schoolchildren who
lived through the battle. (12/14/08 at
National Film Center, Tokyo).
80). Sugata naki sugata 「姿なき姿」(Form with form; 1935; dir.
Kamei Fumio). A 29-minute promotional
film made by the great documentary directory Kamei Fumio to celebrate the 50th
anniversary of Tokyo Electric Lights, it carries the spectator from the
electricity that powers his or her daily life through the power grid to the
massive hydroelectric plants that generate it.
Increasingly, as the film moves on, its focus becomes the heroic
struggles of the laborers who maintain the power grid in treacherous territory,
with the last shot capturing an accident as a worker is injured (and perhaps
killed) when tumbles down a mountain slope on skis while patrolling the
powerlines in the Japanese Alps. Supposedly, the sponsors of the film were not
happy with the results. The film also
features an attractive modernist soundtrack.
(12/14/08 at National Film Center, Tokyo).
79). Tokyo Sonata 「トウキョウソナタ」(2008; dir. Kurosawa
Kiyoshi). Kurosawa Kiyoshi is one of my
favorite contemporary directors, and the buzz on this new one was very, very
good. Perhaps my expectations were too
high, because I found myself mildly disappointed. It is a well-crafted work, one that makes a
serious statement about the contemporary world and its corrosive impact on our
daily emotional lives, and as usual Kurosawa dug up marvelously bleak shooting
locations, both interior and exterior, that express his themes almost as well
as do the characters and story. There’s
also a wonderful character-actor turn by Yakusho Kôji near the end. But parts of the film just didn’t work for me
-- for example, the subplot of the older broother joining the U.S.
military. Kurosawa is clearly trying to
say something here about nationalism, globalization, and the wounds they
inflict on the psyches of Japanese youth.
These are important and relevant topics, but the handling seemed a bit
clumsy. The finale, involving a lovely
rendition of Debussy’s “Claire de lune,” raised a glimmer of hope in an
otherwise bleak world: even the
intolerable alienation produced by the contemporary world can supply the
emotions necessary to produce meaningful art.
All in all, this is a very good film, almost a great one. But I’d rate it below, for example, Cure (1997) or License to Live (1998).
(12/11/08 at Kadokawa Shinjuku Theater).
78). GS Wonderland 「GSワンダーランド」(2008;
dir. Honda Ryûichi).
Entertaining story-of-the-band flick that recreates the delirium of the
Group Sounds boom in 1960s Japanese rock-and-roll. While the characters and storyline are
formulaic, the production team obviously made painstaking efforts to recreate
the details of the period: the costumes,
the props, the settings, and the songs (mostly new compositions written by
actual GS veterans) all give off an intense aura of authenticity. If we think of these as being the film’s “hooks,” then this is entirely appropriate to a
celebration of GS, that most formulaic, gimmick-driven of genres. So too is the reliance on sentimentality when
emotions have to be summoned up, and likewise with the flippant air that
predominates. In other words, the film
in its silly charm reproduces the atmosphere of GS at its best and worst. The camerawork is dynamic throughout, often
reproducing the psychedelic zooming and panning that 1960s and 70s tv programs
used in filming live band performances. I
enjoyed seeing Kishibe Ittoku, former member of GS titans The Tigers, in a key
role as a record company executive. At
one point, he mulls enviously over the sales figures for his competition: The
Tigers. (12/7/08 at CinemaArt Shinjuku
Theater).
77). Gake no ue no
Ponyo 「崖の上のポニョ」(Ponyo on the Cliff by the
Sea; 2008; dir. Miyazaki Hayao). The latest
by Miyazaki, the story makes no sense at all, but the visuals simply blow you
away. Incredible attention to detail
brings out the intense beauty of everyday objects and actions: the boiling of a pot of spinach, for example,
or the awful power of waves slapping the shore.
The powerful sense of flying found in Miyazaki’s other films is replaced
here with floating—and with the thrill of surfing. Most impressive to me is the way Miyazaki
captures one character perfectly: the
stressed-out working mother who is always on the verge of exploding into anger,
yet whose love for her child glows. It’s
a remarkable adult creation for a director more at home imagining the worlds of
the very young and the very old.
(12/6/08 at Shinjuku Piccadilly Theater).
76). Mama Mia! (2008; dir. Pylida
Lloyd). Unpretentious, enjoyable musical
comedy. I saw it on a lousy airplane
projector screen; there was a weird green line that appeared below the teeth of
the actors whenever they smiled, as if they were constantly brushing with mint
gel toothpaste. It was hard to make
things out, but as far as I could tell, in the end the French lieutenant’s
woman married James Bond. I’m doubting
my eyes and ears, though, because it also appeared that both were singing. (12/5/08 as in-flight movie).
75). Bottle Shock (2008; dir. Randall
Miller). A dramatized version of the
famous 1976 Paris tasting contest in which California wines bested their French
counterparts, this aims to be a quirky boutique label, ala Sideways, but as a film, it’s closer to being a cheap Gallo gallon
jug. The characters are all predictable
stereotypes, the cinematography is greeting-card-style picturesque, and the
plot never generates any sense of tension.
(12/5/08 as in-flight movie).
74). This Film Is Not Yet Rated (2006; dir.
Kirby Dick). A documentary in the fine
old muckraking tradition, shining bright lights into the shadows of a rather
ugly hypocrisy—the MPAA’s moving rating system.
A good job of analysis, as well:
figuring out, for example, that it is depiction of female pleasure that
repeatedly draws the ire of the ratings board.
And it’s all done with a game sense of humor. (11/21/08 on DVD)
73). An Ox’s Tale: The John Entwistle Story (2006; dir.
Steve Luongo et al.). Straightforward
documentary on the life and music of the late bassist for The Who—the man who transformed
the bass guitar from a rhythm keeper into a melodic (and harmonic) hurricane. Luongo was the drummer for Entwistle’s solo
band. (11/15/08 on Netflix live
streaming).
72). Brian Wilson: On Tour (2003; dir. John Anderson). Not quite as compelling a film as 1995’s Brian Wilson: I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times, but
probably that’s because Brian is much healthier and happier these days. Lots of reverential interview footage from
folks like Pete Townshend, Neil Young, Sheryl Crow, etc. (11/15/08 on Netflix live streaming).
71). Ringoen no shôjo (Girl of the Apple Orchard; 1952; dir. Shima Kôji). Another
Hibari flick, this one the film version of a radio serial drama she’s starred
in previously. This one was shot on
location in the Tsugaru region of Northeast Japan, with lots of good footage of
what the city of Hirosaki and surrounding regions looked like in 1952. Lots of documentary footage, too, of local
festival dances and songs. The jazzed-up
version of “Ringo oiwake” that Hibari sings at the end is a hoot. (11/10/08)
70). Futari no
hitomi (Girls Hand in Hand; 1952; dir. Nakaki Shigeo). I rewatched this as I work on the Misora
Hibari chapter for my new book. This is
the one co-starring Margaret O’Brien, flown in from Hollywood for the filming;
she even speaks a few lines of wooden Japanese.
What struck me this time through was how much of the film was shot on
location in Tokyo, giving a nice snapshot of the city at the end of the U.S.
Occupation. The film was supposedly also
released in the U.S. in 1953, and you can see how the producers aimed at
creating a solemn family film with Christian overtones: clearly they had the American audience in
mind. (11/9/08 on VHS).
69). Still Life (Sanxia haoren; 2006; dir. Jia
Zhang-Ke). An acclaimed work by the man
frequently declared China’s greatest current director, it’s a thoughtful
exploration that uses that destruction carried out in the process of building
the massive Three Gorges Dam in China as a metaphor for the lives of the two
central characters: each is trying to
recover in the present from a wasteful act of destruction in the past. The final shot of a man walking a tightrope
between two ruined buildings sums up the emotional lives of the
characters. As abstract as all this
might sound, what really struck me is the gritty sense of real, everyday life
that the film conveys. (11/2/08 at
DocFilms, University of Chicago).
68). The Devil Wears Prada (2006; dir. David
Frankel). Breezy comedy of the
naïve-young-woman-goes-to-the-Big-City-and-almost-goes-bad subgenre. Meryl Streep has a ball with her role, but what
struck me most about the film was the very commercial way it packaged its basic
message: that at heart we are above all
of that commercialism. (10/29/08 on DVD)
67). Private
Fears in Public Places (Couer; 2006; dir. Alain Resnais). Melancholic yet charming film about six
alienated middle-aged persons in Paris during a rather remarkable snow storm (I
think maybe, just maybe, the snow might be symbolic….). Their lives and desires keep crossing paths,
yet the connections they seek for love and community mostly remain beyond
reach. A fine cast brings out Alan
Ayckburn’s script to warm, breathing life.
Resnais uses one trick several times:
he films his characters from far above, as if the camera were mounted on
the ceiling of the room, thereby visually reproducing the sense of distance
that marks their lives. (10/20/08)
66). Tokyo no kôrasu (Tokyo Chorus; 1931;
dir. Ozu Yasujiro). Sharp silent film by
Ozu, one of his early explorations of the theme that would dominate his
oeuvre: the travails of middle-class
domestic life in the modern city. The
camera angles are all trademark Ozu, though with more energetic pans and other
movements than we find in his later work.
And as so often happens in his silent films, music plays an interesting
role, as if Ozu were straining against the limits of the medium. (10/19/08 on DVD)
65). Burn After Reading (2008; dir. Ethan and Joel Coen). A postmodern Hitchcock
film, in which the secret McGuffin is that there is no secret. At times brilliantly funny, the film also
draws links between our consumerist culture’s obsession with self-reinvention
and our governmental culture’s obsessions with secrecy, as if one were the
mirror image of the other. Stay through
the final credits to hear the wonderful “C.I.A. Man” by The Fugs. (10/18/08 at Southdale AMC Theater, Edina,
Minnesota)
64). Ivan’s
Childhood (Ivanovo detstvo; 1962; dir. Andrei Tarkovsky). Beautiful film,
Tarkovsky’s feature debut in which his fluid, lyrical visual style synthesizes
the dreams of a young boy with the harshest realities of life at the
battlefront in Soviet Russia.
There’s a subtle, quite lovely soundtrack composed by Vyacheslav
Ovchinnikov. (10/16/08
on DVD).
63). La Guerre Est Finie (1966; dir. Alain Resnais). Yves Montand plays an aging Communist
underground activist who shuttles between the safety of Paris and the dangers
of Franco’s Spain. The unfulfilled
revolution grows old and tired, and as an isolated part in a
vast political machinery, Montand’s character can never see the totality
into which he fits—an existential state that Resnais duplicates in viewers’
experience of the film. The director
fragments shots and uses jump cuts, never allowing us to feel comfortable that
we’ve grasped what is going on.
Genevieve Bujold has a fine turn as a sex-kitten lefty activist who is
more eager to resort to violence than the world-weary Montand. (10/8/08 on DVD)
62).
Attack the Gas Station! (Juyuso
seubgyuksageun; 1999;
dir. Kim Sang-Jin). Slapstick action movie from South Korea, with the usual dollop of
social commentary on the state of the nation. A gang of young rebels without a clue launch
an assault on a gas station, where they are confronted with the cynicism and
corruption of their elders and the social elite. The best line comes when one of the thugs
insists that Pepsi must be a Korean product, because its logo is a Korean
flag. (9/23/08 on DVD)
61).
This Sporting Life (1963; dir. Lindsay
Anderson). Anderson’s debut film, it’s a
masterpiece. A combination of gritty
sports film and late ‘50s British Angry-Young-Man cinema,
it also foreshadows the striking use of shot construction to mount social
critiques that would characterize Anderson’s later films. Richard Harris plays a hardscrabble rugby
player who falls for a young widow who can’t bring herself to love him. A powerful, engaging film, spiced with an
eerie modernist soundtrack composed by Roberto Gerhard. (9/18/08 on DVD)
60).
Take Care of My Cat (2002; dir. Jeong
Jae-eun). A
coming-of-age film following five female friends in Inchon, South Korea, during
the years after high school graduation.
The five come from wildly different class backgrounds with different
goals in life, producing strains on their friendships even as they are
sometimes still able to bond together.
The film includes a modicum of commentary on life in contemporary South
Korea, and it does some nice visual toying with the text messaging that is so
important to the five women: their
computer, typewriter, and cell-phone messages scroll across odd sections of the
screen as they input them. (9/10/08 on DVD).
59).
The Dark Knight (2008; dir. Christopher Nolan). Like much popular culture, this one tries to
have it both ways, overcoming real social contradictions by pretending it is
possible to please both sides. We can have our democracy and freedom AND our
state of exception when laws are suspended and raw power rules. It’s an old culture industry formula, but at
least it’s well executed here. (8/7/08 at the Grandview Theater, St. Paul).
58).
Flags of Our Fathers (2006; dir. Clint
Eastwood). A film that deconstructs the
propaganda narrative constructed to explain the famous photograph of the
raising of the flag at Iwo Jima, it of course shatters
its own narrative, jumping forward and backward in time and even repeating
sequences. Nonetheless, Hollywood
demands narrative coherence, and that is what the film delivers, despite its
pretensions otherwise. Of course, it’s
damn good Hollywood product…. (8/6/08 on DVD)
57).
Junebug (2005; dir. Phil Morrison). Well-acted and scripted
independent drama about deteriorating family life in the contemporary American
South. It calls to mind the
postwar films of Ozu Yasujirō, and in fact seems to pay direct tribute to
him with shots of empty rooms and other settings. A couple of nice songs by
Yo La Tengo on the soundtrack. (8/4/08 on DVD).
56). The Steamroller
and the Violin (Katok i skripka; 1960; dir. Andrei Tarkovsky). An early film by Tarkovsky,
and a good example of postwar humanism, Soviet-style. A boy violinist, the target of neighborhood
bullies, befriends a sympathetic steamroller driver. Sparse but stylish shot
construction throughout, with special attention to color schemes. Some nice visual effects,
too, including split screens and montage sequences. (7/30/08 on DVD).
55). March of
the Penguins (La Marche de l’empereur; 2005; dir. Luc Jacquet). A fine documentary capturing a slice of
everyday, real life that would have been better without the insipid English
narration—done silent with intertitles, in the fashion of an old Robert
Flaherty film, it would have been twice as effective. And if penguin child-rearing practices are
this fascinating, it makes you wonder what filmmakers could do with the Lawson
or Carter family living down the street, if they ever bothered to pay
attention. (7/26/08 on DVD).
54).
Once (2006; dir. John Carney). This fine film aims (as the title of the
“making of” bonus feature included on the DVD attests) to update an old genre,
to create a “modern” musical. It
succeeds, but how? The plot is a
variation on the oldest cliché in the book:
a star is born, mapped onto boy-meets-girl. The modern variation is that (spoiler alert)
boy doesn’t get girl in the end. Mostly,
though, modernity is connoted through the use of hand-held cameras, as if this
were a street documentary rather than a glossy musical. Using real singers in the leads helps, too,
of course. (7/11/08 on
DVD).
53).
The Game Plan (2007; dir. Andy Fickman). An acceptable family
comedy, with a good performance by Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson in the lead. As with so much mass culture of the last
century, the plot centers on restoring the family to wholeness by resurrecting
the patriarch—as well as on, it must be mentioned, cute animals acting in oddly
human fashion. (7/10/08
on DVD).
52). Kyojin to
gangu (Giants and toys; 1958; dir. Masumura Yasuzô). The great over-the-top depiction of the dawn
of the consumerist age in Japan, as pressure builds on everyone to come up with
a PR campaign that will keep World Caramels’ sales figures ahead of those of
its rivals. Terrific montage sequences
that recall Soviet silent cinema align the industrial production of candy with
the manufacture of celebrities. There’s
a teeny-weeny taste of rockabilly, too, with a brief shot of what is clearly
meant to be one of the early Nichigeki Western Carnival shows. The most anxious fear expressed in the film
(clearly foreshadowing 1960 and the massive AMPO protests): that Japan is becoming just like
America. #10 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1958. (7/5/08 on DVD).
51). Solaris (1972;
dir. Andrei Tarkovsky). Goethe becomes
science fiction in this classic Soviet film of a space station gone awry, in
which the cosmonauts both desire and fear immortality (and, for that matter,
death), and a compliant planet obliges those desires and fears by manifesting
them in concrete form. Brilliantly filmed, of course, moving back and forth between
luminous color and arid black-and-white.
The sets are astonishing:
supposedly, Kurosawa Akira visited the studio while they were filming
and was blown away. And for some reason,
about a fourth of the way in, one of the characters takes a drive through
Tokyo. (7/5/08 on
DVD).
50). Harvey (1950;
dir. Henry Koster). One of Jimmy
Stewart’s defining roles, this starts out flat, but midway through the sheer
charm of his performance starts to carry the film—which is a good thing, since
it has few other supports underneath it.
Its suspicious stance toward psychiatry and its eagerness to medicate
eccentricities seems oddly timely today.
But mostly, despite its continuing celebration as a classic of the
Hollywood studio system, this feels like a lost opportunity. I find myself wondering what the results
would have been if it had been directed by, say, Frank Capra or Howard Hawks. (6/20/08 on Turner Classic Movies)
49). Meoto
zenzai (Marital relations; 1955; dir. Toyoda Shirô). Well-acted
tale of the inseparable, ultimately destructive bond that forms between a
self-sacrificing geisha and the ne’er-do-well son of a prosperous merchant who
abandoned his wife and child for her.
Set in the early 1930s and based on a novel by Oda Sakunosuke, this has
some nice comic touches that foreshadow the Tora-san movies, but melodrama
predominates. Usually considered
Toyoda’s masterpiece, it’s #2 on
the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1955.
(6/25/08 on DVD)
48). The Millionairess (1960;
dir. Anthony Asquith). Glossy but flat adaptation of the George Bernard Shaw play about
love between a self-centered, money-obsessed young lady and an equally stubborn
idealistic doctor who despises wealth.
Sophia Loren was at the peak of her sex kitten career, and so the camera
fetishizes her body throughout. Peter
Sellers plays the doctor in brown face, transforming the character into an
Indian (in fact, the depicted London seems full of immigrants and their
descendants). The most interesting parts
of this rather dull film are the sets and costumes, bizarre hybrids between
1950’s notions of elegance and 1960’s ideals of modishness. (6/23/08 on Comcast
On-Demand Movies)
47).
Nani ga kanojo o sô saseta ka (What
made her do it?; 1930; dir. Suzuki Shigeyoshi).
The legendary masterpiece of silent cinema and of the proletarian film
movement (and supposedly the top-grossing Japanese film of its day), this was
believed lost until a copy turned up in a Russian film archive several years
back. It’s missing the opening and
closing sequences, but the 80-plus minutes we have here are astonishing: the shots and editing are remarkably
artistic, and the story of a young girl driven to insanity and ruin by a
heartless society remains powerful.
Meals are portrayed with special care:
it’s when we break bread together, the director seems to be saying, that
our barely submerged tensions (class, sexual, familial) explode into view. Chosen as the best film of
1930 by Kinema Junpô. (6/22/08 on
DVD)
46).
The Golden Compass (2007; dir. Chris Weitz). My 11-year-old swears they ruined the book by
ending the film before what in the novel is the narrative climax; that didn’t
stop her from watching this twice. I
found myself intrigued by the nostalgic futurism: the film hearkens back to the view of the
future that people held a century ago.
The ending, too, kept reminding me of a James Bond film: they destroy the evil empire’s secret base of
operations in a huge battle and then the hero and heroine have a quiet little
talk while floating away in the sky. (6/19/08 on DVD).
45).
Die Büchse der Pandora (Pandora’s Box; 1929; dir. G.W. Pabst). Louise Brooks is stunning in the starring
role as Lulu, a sexy young woman whose free vivacity leads men – and
ultimately, herself – to ruin. The modernist sets and
costumes almost, but not quite, steal the show from her luminous performance. (6/16/08
on DVD)
44). The Darjeeling Limited
(2007; dir. Wes Anderson). Another quirky Anderson film about obsessive human relationships. It features a strong cast, lovely location
shots in India, and not one, not two, but three
Kinks’ songs on the soundtrack. What
more could I ask for? (6/8/08 on
DVD)
43). Watashi wa nisai (Being two isn’t easy; 1962; dir. Ichikawa
Kon). Charming, intelligent comedy about
family life in the early 1960s Japan, told largely from the two-year-old son’s
perspective. Ichikawa captures the
disorientation caused by the new urban lifestyle of massive apartment complexes
built on the suburban outskirts of Japan’s major cities. There’s a nice, subtle musical score by
Akutagawa Yasushi, as well as several striking animated sequences. A nice example of early 1960s humanism in
film, and one of Ichikawa’s better works:
he should have stuck with comedies, I sometimes think. They keep down his overly ponderous
side. #1 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list
for 1962. (6/4/08 on DVD)
42).
I’m Not There (2007; dir. Todd Haynes). Just as brilliant as everyone says it is,
this fiction/documentary blend captures the ineffable Bob Dylan remarkably
well. In a world where persona and invented
myth are the closest we can come to touching tradition and reality, Dylan spins
out new personae and myths every time he speaks: those are the real, he insists, and Haynes
gets it. Cate Blanchett is remarkable in
her turn as “Jude Quinn,” and I fell in love with Charlotte Gainsbourg all over
again. The Yo La Tengo and Sonic Youth
cover versions of Dylan tunes that play over the final credits are not to be
missed. (5/28/08 as
in-flight movie).
41). The Avengers (1998;
dir. Jeremiah Chechik). In making this
update of the cult British television series from the 1960s, they did a
reasonable job of casting, and loving attention was lavished on all the little
details: settings, accents, costumes (down to, of course, the kinky
boots). But they forgot something: the script, man, the script. (5/28/08 as in-flight
movie).
40). Nil By Mouth (1997; dir. Gary Oldman). Brutal story about life in
the dregs of contemporary British society. What can love mean in a world defined by
violence, addictions, and crime? Female
characters seem to understand and pass it along from generation to generation,
but the male characters can only bash in heads—their own and those of the
people around them—as they wrestle with the insoluble dilemma. And all of the depicted lives are utterly
saturated with mass media: tv, movies, songs. (5/25/08 at the British Film Institute, South Bank, London).
39).
Ginga tetsudô no yoru (Night of the Milky Way
Railroad; 1985; dir. Sugii Gisaburô).
When I first went to Japan as an exchange student in 1984-85, this anime was the film that all of my
Japanese classmates were talking about.
Now I finally see it, and it’s not half bad. The visuals are quite striking for this
period, although they’ve lost some of their luster in the wake of the
developmens in animation over the subsequent two decades. The soundtrack is by Hosono Haruomi, a nice
choice—though the results are somewhat disappointing and at times awkward. Miyazawa Kenji’s story still carries a charge
of wonder (and an unfortunate whiff of fascism, in its celebration of absolute
self-sacrifice). (5/17/08
on DVD).
38). Izu no
odoriko (The Izu Dancer; 1954; dir. Nomura Yoshitarô). A
better-than-average Misora Hibari vehicle, in which she is denied spoken lines
in many scenes and so actually has to act. She also sings a couple of numbers in this
adaptation of the much-filmed story by Kawabata Yasunari. The direction is mildly stylish, with at
least rudimentary care taken in shot construction and editing. (5/12/08 on DVD).
37). The Simpsons Movie (2007;
dir. David. Silverman). Yes, it’s better than the tv
show—mainly, I think, because of the care that went into the script. (5/10/08 on DVD).
36). Kamome
shokudô (Kamome
diner; 2006; dir. Ogigami Naoko). Three
middle-aged Japanese women run a friendly neighborhood diner in Finland,
solving the problems of the world by feeding people “Japanese soul food.” Don’t ask questions like “why?” or “how?,” simply enjoy.
Vaguely reminiscent of a Miyazaki Hayao anime film, this is charmingly
underplayed, subdued in visual tones, emotionally satisfying, and at times
extremely funny. And at the end, you
really, really want to eat onigiri. Inoue Yôsui’s 1980 hit
song “Crazy Love” plays over the closing credits. #9 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 2006. (5/9/08 on DVD).
35).
Richard Pryor: Here and Now (1983; dir. Richard
Pryor). A late concert film by the
comedian, one I’d seen several times before.
It didn’t strike me as being as funny as I earlier thought. Either I wasn’t in the mood, or the times
they are a changin’. It’s still cool to
watch him interact with the rambunctious New Orleans audience, though. (5/3/08 on streaming from
www.netflix.com).
34). Daisôgen no
Wataridori (Plains wandered; 1960; dir. Saitô Buichi). The fifth
installment in the Nikkatsu Studio’s Wataridori series, starring Kobayashi
Akira as a guitar-slinging, horseback-riding good guy who wanders the great
plains of contemporary Japan, shooting it out with the
bad guys and helping the local women and children. This one’s set in Hokkaido, and Kobayashi
helps protect a local Ainu community and the good mining company (???) from
evil gangster types who want to build a huge tourist resort. Basically, we have here the mirror image of Hula Girls: there it was an evil industrial economy being
saved by the rise of a moral postindustrial tourism economy; here it’s a moral
industrial economy being saved from the rise of an evil postindustrial tourism
economy. Shot in glorious widescreen,
of course. (5/3/08 at
University of Chicago Film Studies Center).
33).
Juno (2007; dir. Jason Reitman). Charming, witty, it allows teen-agers to show
off their energy and intelligence, and it features a Kinks’ song on the
soundtrack. What more could you ask
for? Well, perhaps a more realistic
version of Minnesota: the place names
are all taken from my home state, but the exterior shots look nothing like the
Land of 10,000 Lakes, and a great deal like British Columbia. (4/30/08 on DVD).
32).
Burden of Dreams (1982; dir. Les Blank). Documentary tracing the
extraordinary—and perhaps extraordinarily foolish—story behind the filming of
Werner Herzog’s masterpiece, Fitzcarraldo
(see #17 below). Everything
that can go wrong does, and yet Herzog madly carries on. The most intriguing bit may be the brief
snippet of footage shot with the original cast, including Jason Robards and
Mick Jagger (both dropped out of the production after about 40% had been shot,
forcing Herzog to start over from scratch).
I suspect that the final version with Klaus Kinski in the lead is
better, but I’d sure like to see a reconstruction of that original cast’s
version. (4/28/08 on
DVD).
31).
The Squid and the Whale (2005; dir. Noah Baumbach). Fine domestic drama about
divorce and its impact on the kids.
As one who grew up under somewhat similar circumstances, I thought it
rang true and wasn’t surprised to learn that the script was in part
autobiographical on the director/screenwriter’s part. Nice performances, nice soundtrack, nice
script. This is about as good as
Hollywood gets these days. (4/22/08 on DVD).
30).
Man with a Movie Camera (1920; dir. Dziga Vertov). Experimental silent
documentary from back when the Soviet Union was new and filmmakers its artists
of record. With remarkable
innovations in camerawork and editing, it presents a day in the (urban) life of
the nation. As its opening credits
declare, it is a bold experiment in authentic, pure film: no script, no intertitles, no actors, and
nothing borrowed from either theater or literature. It does have an unspoken source for borrowed
structure, though: music, as the film
works like a song, establishing a pattern, repetition of pattern, than
variation of pattern. It is also colored
by a marvelous self-reflexivity about the cameraman, his eye, his hand-cranked
camera and its machinery, the lens, the film stock and its individual frames. There is a wonderful sequence, for example,
in which we watch a camera mounted in a moving car film a group of people in
another moving car, and gradually are forced to realize that there is a third
unseen car next to those other two: the
one carrying the camera from which we are gazing at the kinetic scene. (4/20/08 on Netflix on-line streaming).
29).
The Red Balloon (Le Ballon Rouge; 1956; dir. Albert Lamorisse). Lovely short film about a small Parisian boy
who is adopted by a red balloon and the adventures they share. An example of postwar
liberal humanism at its most generous and hopeful. This somehow managed to win the Academy Award
for best original screenplay despite being a). a short
film, b). French, and c). almost
entirely wordless. (4/19/08 on Turner
Classic Movies On-Demand Service).
28). Osaka
Story: A Documentary (1994; dir.
Nakata Tôichi). Low-key
yet gripping documentary as Nakata temporarily returns home from film school in
London to profile his family in Osaka:
his resident-Korean, a successful businessman father who also happens to
have a second wife and family in Korea; his long-suffering Japanese mother who
wonders why she stays in the marriage, even as she finds herself confronting
the possibility of her own death; his younger brother, a former Moonie who is trying
to learn the family business; and Nakata himself, who after facing constant
hints that it is high time he marry and settle down finally comes out as gay
near the end of the film. The film
captures many things, not least of which is the feel and tone of the city of
Osaka. (4/7/08 on
DVD).
27). Kôhî jikô (Café
Lumière, 2003; dir. Hou Hsiao-Hsien). Commissioned by the Shôchiku Studio to produce a film commemorating the 100th
anniversary of Ozu Yasujirô’s birth, Taiwanese
director Hou produces a wonderful film in Japan with a
Japanese cast. The film is
largely shot in Ozu’s style, meaning it’s all about trains, unvoiced domestic
turmoil (here, the daughter reluctant to marry also happens to be pregnant),
and interior spaces shot from a camera set way down low near the floor. It’s also about capturing the past in the
form of sound (be it the concert music of Taiwanese composer Jiang Wen-ye or
the incidental noises of Tokyo train stations) and, in a nice Ozu-like touch,
umbrellas. (3/29/08 on DVD).
26). Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End (2007;
dir. Gore Verbinski). We saw this last
year in Tokyo in the Japanese-dubbed version, so decided to catch the original
English. It turns out the Keith
Richards’ English is almost as good as his Japanese. (3/25/08 on DVD).
25). Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (2008;
dir. Bharat Nalluri). It’s nice to see
Frances McCormand get a plum role, but basically this was an old Carol Burnett Show skit stretched out to
feature-film length. The bit about the difference
in 1940 between the generation old enough to remember WWI and those too young
was nice, and the sets and the music are swell, but the director’s big trick is
basically to revolve the camera around the characters to produce an artificial
sense of sweep. Nostalgia for nostalgia
(but awarded brownie points for being filmed at Ealing Studios). (3/25/08 at the Grandview Theater, St. Paul,
Minnesota).
24). Around the World in Eighty Days (2004;
dir. Frank Coraci). You know, I really,
really hope Jackie Chan gets to make one more great movie before he gets too
old to do his thing anymore. Something
with a great script, first-class acting talent (I mean, Steve Coogan?), and a
real director. Unfortunately, this one
isn’t it. (3/22/08 on DVD).
23). Nihon no yoru to kiri (Night and fog in
Japan; 1960; dir. Ôshima Nagisa).
Filmed in the wake of the failure of the anti-AMPO demonstrations of
1960, this foreshadows the tangled factional and sexual politics that would
unfold on the left over the next decade in Japan. As if it to literalize the ideological
struggles of the New Left, the camera swerves left and then right in long, long
takes, as wedding guests bitterly accuse one another of failing the movement. Shostakovich’s 5th Symphony is the
entirely appropriate choice for the soundtrack here, but like so many of Ôshima’s works, this one becomes a bit tedious despite
(or perhaps because of) the fireworks. (3/17/08 on DVD).
22). Ninjô to
kamifûsen (Humanity and paper balloons; 1937; dir. Yamanaka Sadao). One of the great jidaigeki (samurai drama) of all time, foreshadowing Kurosawa’s
works in the genre. It’s a remarkable
episodic narrative of life among the down-and-out in Edo-period Japan. Showing the clear influence of the
proletarian arts movement, Yamanaka brings out the humor and community of the
lower classes even as they face a world marked by violence, corruption, and
injustice. I last saw this many years
ago at the old Namikiza Theater in Ginza, and the final shot of the film burned
itself into my memory then. (3/15/08 on
DVD)
21). It Happened One Night (1934; dir. Frank
Capra). Great Hollywood studio product, a jewel from the Golden Age. Clark Gable is Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert
is Claudette Colbert, and so we the audience get to be we the audience. It makes you wonder, too, what made Capra go
soft in his later films: there is a
satisfying hard edge to this comedy that is missing in Capra’s later masterpieces,
where even the great Jean Arthur ends up a soft touch. (3/14/08 on Comcast On-Demand service).
20). Sans Soleil (1983; dir. Chris
Marker). The now-legendary documentary
that weaves together images from Japan, Guinea-Bissau, San Francisco, Iceland
and elsewhere in pursuit of elusive memory.
Distorted images of the past at the very least remind us that the object
of our longing has vanished forever, and time is what exists between the splice
of two shots, not in the shots themselves.
The Tokyo metropolis is a manga, or even better, a complex musical score
continually unfolding in unexpected directions.
The film is utterly mesmerizing.
(3/14/08 at University of Chicago Experimental Film Club, Film Studies
Center).
19). Wings of Desire (1987; dir. Wim
Wenders). Wenders’ best known work, an
elusive film about stories and how we willingly fall to get into them: children fall into adulthood, trapeze artists
fall in love, angels fall from the sky, and movie stuntmen fall when
punched. The old storyteller (echoes of
Walter Benjamin) claims that no one needs him anymore, but fallen angel Peter
Falk acts otherwise. A good love story
wins out over war stories and detective stories, but just barely, and perhaps
then only in the movies. (3/13/08 on
DVD).
18).Broken
Flowers (2005; dir. Jim Jarmusch).
Another offbeat road movie from Jarmusch, albeit one that features real
movie stars and more conventional camerawork and editing than usual. The lesson that Bill Murray learns as he sets
out to meet the women he’s wronged over the years is all set up in a shot that
Jarmusch likes so much he uses it three or four times: the camera is in the car with Murray, looking
ahead down the road into the future, but the driver’s side mirror is central to
the composition, and in it we see the past inexorably recede farther and farther
away from us. I give it an extra star
because it features (quite subtly) a Kinks’ song on the soundtrack: Holly Golightly’s cover version of “Tell Me
Now So I’ll Know.” (3/12/08 on DVD)
17). Fitzcarraldo (1982; dir. Werner
Herzog). I’d wanted to see this one
since it was first released a quarter-century ago. I think it’s Herzog’s best work—his
characteristic themes of obsession, struggle, and partial redemption all come
together quite brilliantly. As the
fool’s project of an opera house in the Amazon jungle lurches forward, you
realize that Herzog is also saying something about modern desire: be it for riches, conquest, or
celebrity. Klaus Kinksi and Claudia
Cardinale illumine the screen, as usual.
Next, I have to see Les Blank’s Burden
of Dreams, documenting the incredible struggles undergone in the making of
this film. (3/7/08 on DVD).
16). Sanshô Dayû (Sansho the Bailiff; 1954; dir. Mizoguchi Kenji). A classic melodrama from Mizoguchi, and like
his Ugetsu monogatari a reflection on
the trauma of wartime memories in the guise of a historical period piece. Based on a short story by Mori Ôgai, it follows the travails of a family of
aristocrats determined to uphold humanistic principles in the benighted society
of late Heian Japan, circa the twelfth century.
The film features strong performances but seems lacking in some of
Mizoguchi’s characteristic formal qualities—e.g. I didn’t spot any of his usual
elaborately constructed shots in which the camera works its way through the
architecture of the set. An effective
score by Hayasaka Fumio (Kurosawa’s
right-hand man), with just a touch of gagaku to it. #9 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list
for 1954.
(3/6/09 on DVD)
15). Easy Rider (1969; dir. Dennis
Hopper). The last time I saw this was
twenty-some years ago at Mac Cinema (Macalester College Film Society), a
scratched and faded 16mm. print. Seeing
it again this time on fully restored DVD, the sheer visual beauty of the images
struck me: all the remarkable, colorful
landscapes that Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper bike through. So, too, did the intense moralism: from the deployment of Steppenwolf’s “God
Damn the Pusher” in the opening sequence to Peter Fonda’s summation, “We blew
it,” the film condemns as a tragic flaw American restlessness and yearning
after the cheap thrill. (3/2/08 on DVD)
14). Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959; dir. Alain
Renais). Resnais’s other meditation (see
#13 below) on war, trauma, and memory.
Here, a French actress travels to Hiroshima to play a nurse in a film; while
there she has a one-night-stand with a Japanese man whose family was there in
the atomic bombing. In the course of
their love-making and talk, it turns out that she as a teenager had a
love-affair with a German soldier during the war. In many ways the French New Wave began
here: the film consists primarily of an
extended conversation between the two lovers transposed over footage of
Hiroshima and wartime France. (3/1/08 on
DVD).
13). Nuit et brouillard (Night and fog; 1955;
dir. Alain Resnais). The legendary
documentary about the Holocaust. It
juxtaposes contemporary (early 1950s) shots of the concentration camps with
archival footage, confronting viewers with their present-day responsibility to
remember. I was curious about how I
would respond, at this distant point in time and after having seen so many
Holocaust films and documentaries: were
my own sensibilities blunted? The
result: the film still packs an
enormous, punch-to-the-stomach wallop.
(2/29/08 on DVD).
12). Summer Soldiers (1972; dir. Teshigahara
Hiroshi). Interesting documentary-style
tale of an American G.I. who, disgusted with the Vietnam War, deserts while on
leave in Japan. The film’s political
leanings are clearly sympathetic to the soldier, but he isn’t depicted solely
in a heroic light: the tensions between
him and the Japanese who try to help him frequently flare up, and he sometimes
displays less-than-attractive American traits.
Shot in that clunky ATG-style (including the obligatory shots of naked
women) that so enthralled artistic filmmakers in 1970s Japan. It was quite nostalgic to see copies of the
old English-language leftist Japanese newsletter AMPO scattered across the set in several shots. #9 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list for 1972. (2/28/08 on
DVD).
11). Fearless Freaks (2005; dir. Bradley
Beesley). Nice straightforward
documentary on the Oklahoma rock band the Flaming Lips, keeping the focus less
on the music itself than on the remarkable personal histories of the band
memories—luckily, someone kept a video camera going through much of Wayne
Coyne’s childhood. And how many times
have you watched someone shoot up on heroin as they all the while explain the
ups and downs of addiction to you?
(2/16/08 on video stream from Netflix.com).
10). Kûchû teien (Hanging Garden; 2005; dir.
Toyoda Toshiaki). A bit slow in getting
off the ground, but halfway through this really takes off, building up to an
emotional wallop. Koizumi Kyôko turns in a brilliant performance as a suburban
housewife who battles down the demons in her life by insisting on total honesty
and a warm smile, even in the midst of chaos.
The most striking peresonality is the grandmother (played by Ôkusu Mitsuyo), but the film is fill of complex
characters and powerful (and sometimes very funny) scenes. The camerawork often calls attention to
itself with bizarre shots that reflect the inner turmoil of the characters; the
preferred device is to have the camera swing back and forth, like a hanging plant
in the wind. Nice soundtrack as well,
with music from UA and Zak. #9 on the Kinema Junpô Best Ten list
for 2005.
(2/9/08 as part of the Japan Foundation’s
Midwest Japan Film Festival at Docfilms, University of Chicago).
9). Tokyo-Ga
(1985; dir. Wim Wenders).
Wenders’ loving tribute to the imaginary world created in the films of
Ozu Yasujirô. He travels to Japan,
camera in hand, to see if he can find any traces of “real” Tokyo behind his
mental image – and launches into a fascinating meditation on the relationship
between images and reality. He spends a
day, for example, following the people who make the plastic foods that are
displayed outside restaurants. The
closest he gets to the “real” is talking with people who worked with Ozu,
asking about how the films got made.
Watching this was quite nostalgic, for reasons having nothing to do with
Ozu: Wenders shot the documentary in
1983, and I first arrived in Japan in 1984.
It was like stepping into a time machine: all the women still wear skirts, and all the
young boys still wear short pants.
(2/7/08 on DVD)
8). Kamyu nante shiranai (Who’s Camus,
anyway?; 2005; dir. Yanagimichi Mitsuo).
Nice post-modern exploration of the emotional tensions involved in
movie-making. A university film circles
tries to make an independent film based on a murder case reminiscent of Camus’ The Stranger, and all of the tensions of
violence, love, and motivations echo back and forth between the film-makers and
their work. It opens, for example, with
a discussion between two students about movies that open with bravado
single-take long sequences—and of course all of this happens in a bravado,
single-take long sequence. Shot
construction is magnificent throughout, calling to mind such past masters as
Mizoguchi Kenji (who is name-checked in the spoken dialogue). Kuroki Meisa is breathtakingly beautiful as
the object of a film professor’s obsession.
#10 on the Kinema
Junpô Best Ten list for 2006. (2/2/08 on DVD).
7). The Aristocrats (2005; dir. Paul
Provenza). This is another one I’ve
wanted to see ever since I read the reviews when it first opened. A documentary about the dirtiest joke in
history, a private routine that comedians usually perform only for one
another: here, we get 100 different
comedians’ take on the piece. Very funny
and very foul, of course. As my wife
noted, the whole thing is a bit like classic rakugo in Japan: the routine comes with the bare outlines of a
story that isn’t by itself particularly entertaining. The way the individual performers make it
come to life, though, transforms it into a fount of hysterical laughter (and
seriously disturbing mental images…).
(2/1/08 on DVD).
6). Happy Together (Chun
gwong cha sit; 1997; dir. Wong Kar-Wai). I like
this one better every time I see it—it’s a film that not only rewards multiple
viewings, it demands them. The emotions
of the love-hate relationship between the central characters, two gay men from
Hong Kong who’ve headed for Argentina to “start over,” hit harder this time, as
did the allegorical dimensions: the film
was released just as Hong Kong was being “returned” to China, so that those two
lands too could “start over” again. As
always, Christopher Doyle’s camerawork is dazzling, and the music sizzles. I’m going to be hearing tangos in my head for
the rest of the week. ( 1/29/08 on DVD)
5). Paprika (2006; dir. Kon Satoshi). I’m convinced that Kon is the most important
director of anime in the world, and
I’ve been wanting to see this one since the day it was released. I wasn’t disappointed: it may well be his best film yet, and that is
saying something. This is after all the
man who has already given us Perfect Blue,
Millennium Actress, and Tokyo Godfathers. Stunning visually: the first five minutes had my jaw dropping. The plot is tangled, but that is appropriate
since the film is about the logic of dreams:
an experimental device that allows psychotherapists to enter the dreams
of their patients falls into the wrong hands, becoming a deadly tool for
manipulation. Dreams are the stuff that
we are made of, and Kon’s story unfolds an allegory about life under conditions
of mass media, consumerism, and technology.
It all ends with one of the main characters buying a ticket to see a
film directed by Kon Satoshi. I can’t
wait for the director’s next film! (1/19/08 on DVD).
4). Ong-Bak (2003; dir. Prachya
Pinkaew). Terrific martial arts film
from Thailand. A pure young man (Tony
Jaa) from a rural village heads to the big city to rescue the stolen head of
the main statue from his hometown’s temple.
The villains are delightfully evil, the fight scenes spectacular (and
following the genre’s rule of thumb, every major stunt is shown several times
from different camera angles), and Jaa shines with charisma. (1/19/08 on DVD).
3). Superbad (2007;
dir. Greg Mottola). Funny film, and like
any good product in the teen exploitation genre, it winds things up on a moral
message. I also note something I’ve seen
in other similar movies (e.g., Wayne’s
World): an attempt to have their
cake and eat it, too. Visually, the film
proclaims its loyalty to today’s teen-agers, but aurally (that is, musically)
it sides itself with those who grew up in the 1970s and 80s. In other words, it sends out a doubled
message to signal its compatibility with two audience segments, those who are
in high school now and those who are nostalgic for their long-off high school
days. (1/12/08 on DVD).
2). Cabeza de
Vaca (1991; dir. Nicolás Echevarría).
Based on the true story of Alvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, a Spaniard
shipwrecked in Florida in 1528. He is
first taken slave by a local Indian tribe, but then over the course of eight
years becomes a respected member of the community—only to see it wiped out when
the conquistadors return. This film
version of Cabeza de Vaca’s written account of his adventures does a good job
of conveying the disorientation that must have marked his experience. In the absence of a shared language, Cabeza
de Vaca and we in the audience continuously struggle to make sense of what we
are seeing—and yet we are able to garner enough to keep traveling alongside
them until the tragic conclusion.
(1/6/08 on DVD)
1). Shrek the Third (2007; dir. Chris Miller and Raman Hui).
I am quite partial to the first two films in this series, primarily
because they both made me laugh. This
one’s a dud, though: only a handful of
chuckles scattered throughout. As usual,
the roster of voice talents is astonishing, but the script feels like it is
driven by marketing concerns rather than, uhm, writing. I give it an extra star, though, for
featuring the music of the Eels on the soundtrack. (1/5/08 on DVD).
(The
90 films I saw in 2007 are listed here. The 95 films I
saw in 2006 are listed here. The 97 films I saw in 2005 are listed here. The list of the 115 films I saw in 2004 is here. The list of the 86 movies I saw in 2003 is here.)