Lost Highway (1997)

Director: David Lynch

And Lynch gets Lynchier. If you're in the right mood, this is a very good thing.

This movie follows professional jazz saxophonist Fred Madison (Bill Pullman), who one day receives a mysterious VHS tape from an unknown source. This sets off a sequence of confusing and frightening events that lead to Fred's arrest for murdering his wife Renee (Patricia Arquette), a horrific act which is seemingly caught on tape but of which Fred has no memory. While in prison awaiting a death sentence, Fred inexplicably into a young mechanic, Pete Dayton (Balthazar Getty). A dazed Pete is released by the flummoxed prison warden and returns to his life at an auto repair shop. There, he restarts a relationship with an organized crime boss, the intimidating and brutal "Mr. Eddie" (Robert Loggia). Pete begins an affair with Mr. Eddie's mistress Alice, a platinum blonde lookalike of Renee Madison. At Alice's pleading, Pete begins taking revenge on Mr Eddie and others who Alice claims forced her into the pornography industry. Along the way, Pete transforms back into Fred, who completes the grisly task of killing Mr Eddie and his gangsters.

Lost Highway was David Lynch's seventh feature-length film, nearly all of which I've seen (except 1990's Wild at Heart). Of those first six films, I find Lost Highway to be the most distinctively his, featuring nearly all of the traits that film lovers associate with the eccentric filmmaker. There is mystery, murder, beautiful women, and at least one man stuck in the middle of sinister forces. There are also supernatural elements involving swapped personalities, possible doppelgangers, and even suggestions of time travel. In short, it's not a straightforward narrative or story in any traditional way. It's also the most sex-drenched of any of his movies, even the sometimes disturbingly graphic Blue Velvet. It can all be a bit much to take, if you're not in the right headspace for it. But if you are, it's a fascinating visual and narrative exploration of many primal, human forces that often seem to underscore Lynch's movies and shows. My attempts to unravel what, exactly, was happening with Fred Madison and his wife (?) had me pondering some deeper, more profound possibilities regarding sex and violence and how they can be intertwined. These are themes explored really well in the David Cronenberg classic A History of Violence, but Lost Highway offers us a dark, hallucinatory fantasy version of it. 

This creepy, mysterious figure appears to both Fred and Pete,
though his actual nature is unclear. Like most David Lynch 
works, there's more than a little that's left unsaid, leaving us
viewers to fill in the pitch-black blanks.

As much as any Lynch film, there's a sinister tone and undercurrent running through everything. It's more obvious here due to the visuals and music. Notably more than Blue Velvet, many scenes feature hard angles, deep shadows, and dark costumes and settings. This isn't to say that the movie is devoid of color; more that the vibrant visuals stand out even more in between the many moments and sequences shrouded in the darker elements. On top of this is a soundtrack dominated by hard-hitting, industrial heavy metal music, including genre icons Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson (who has a small role in the movie), and German band Rammstein. For my part, I enjoy this kind of music, so this is an enhancement for me. Others are likely to find it repulsive or grating, though they would have to admit that it certainly fits the mood and themes of the picture. 

Lost Highway is just a mind-bender. I could probably watch it ten more times, coming up with a new theory each time as to what is happening and why. But rather than find this frustrating, I actually enjoy it. For me, this is a surreal movie in all the right ways. It taps into a dreamlike (or nightmarelike, to be more precise) wavelength that defies simple interpretation, which is what some of the best works of art do. I've been on a monster David Lynch kick lately, having watched every Twin Peaks episode and movie, Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, and now Lost Highway. And I'm still eager to rewatch Mulholland Drive and maybe even see Inland Empire, one of the few of his I haven't watched before. As unusual and challenging as Lynch movies can be, I'm still on board. 

Twin Peaks (2017)

Spoilers Ahead! Fair Warning. 

Director: David Lynch

It's simple: if you enjoy David Lynch, you'll enjoy this show. If not? This one is highly unlikely to win you over.

I recently posted my reviews of the original Twin Peaks show and its prequel movie, Fire Walk with Me, as my wife and I worked through them. The original program was canceled after only two seasons and 30 episodes, then left in the ether for well over two decades. Then, lo and behold, it was resurrected by Showtime.

Sometimes referred to as Twin Peaks: The Return, this long-awaited continuation of the quirky, dark TV series does actually pick up roughly 25 years after the final episode of the original, which aired back in 1991. That final episode ended with a wild ride of surrealistic madness, capped off with buoyant, boy scout FBI Agent Dale Cooper seemingly getting trapped in another realm while an evil doppelganger had taken his place in our world. The 2017 resurrection series jumps ahead in time the same 25 years that had passed between the airing of the two series. In the strange "Red Room" limbo where Cooper was stranded in 1991, he is finally sent back out to reclaim his place in our world. The problem is that the evil version of Cooper has been there, long building and overseeing a criminal enterprise and planning how he will avoid being pulled back into the Red Room. In our world, a series of new, bizarre murders starts to bring back together many of the people in Twin Peaks and within the FBI who had previously known and worked with Cooper, especially dealing with the Laura Palmer murder.

Unless I wanted that summary to stretch into a 20-page exposition, I had to keep it laughably short and simple. Twin Peaks: The Return consisted of 18 episodes, all between 50 minutes and an hour, and it takes no end of strange, surreal twists, and is told in typically David Lynch, non-linear style. This makes any concise, clear summary all but impossible. At least, not one that conveys the show's distinguishing characteristics. This is a long, all-David Lynch production, and it contains pretty much all of the "Lynchian" elements that one might expect.

In short, my wife and I enjoyed watching it.

Andy and Lucy are among the many original characters 
to return. They're also part of several of the stranger,
stilted, and seemingly disconnected scenes and sequences
that we get over the course of the 18 episodes.

If you ever saw the original show, or a few of Lynch's more surreal films like Eraserhead, Lost Highway, and Mulholland Drive, among others, then you have a sense of what to expect. So many scenes and moments will leave you questioning what, exactly, is going on, especially in terms of the plot. Thanks to shifting perspectives, unclear identities, multiple identities, non-linear narrative, and outright surreality, Twin Peaks is far from a traditional narrative. Sure, it contains more than a few familiar mainstream elements of crime dramas - mysteries surrounding murders, some tense confrontations between hardened criminals, narrow escapes from death - but the precise combination and presentation of them in all uniquely David Lynch. Characters act and speak in strange, often stilted ways. The pacing of many sequences is bafflingly drawn out at times. Many of the odder elements are never clearly explained. Such non-traditional spinning of a story can be enjoyed, tolerated, or rejected. I actually enjoyed much of it, and was able to tolerate the rest. But I also understand why some people would reject the show.

Probably the most obviously bizarre elements are the supernatural/surreal ones. In Twin Peaks, David Lynch has created his own cosmology - one which we viewers are not meant to completely understand, in my view. It involves industrial machinery, electricity, deep space, atomic science, and several immortal beings that are able to move between alternate dimensions and planes of existence. I won't pretend to understand it all, but I greatly enjoyed the mental exercise of stitching together the images and implications presented in the show. While there are plenty of these supernatural elements to be found through the entire 18-episode series, the most mind-blowing and dazzling episode was Part 8, which is almost completely done in black and white, with sparing dialogue, and is a parade of images and settings which can only be understood as "not of this world." That is, except for some scenes at the beginning of the atomic bomb detonation in 1945, and some bizarre, ash-covered demon-like figures who appear later, in 1956. The rest is a hypnotic, dreamlike tour through alien landscapes and perception-altering imagery. Honestly, watching it was not unlike taking hallucinogenics, and I was transfixed.

One of the many striking and puzzling images from the
markedly surreal eighth episode. Some viewers would be
turned off by the strangeness of it, but I was dazzled by the
imagery and dreamlike nature of this chapter.

But what about the more grounded elements? What about Dale Cooper and the crime stories? This is where, I suspect, some viewers lost their patience with the show, which I can understand. During many of the periods on "our world," David Lynch often chose to draw scenes out to frustrating lengths. A ten-minute sequence of a few people trying to find a key to an apartment. Two full minutes of a guy sweeping up a bar floor. An interminable argument between Audrey and her husband that stretches out, piecemeal, over four or five episodes and ends up going seemingly nowhere. And there are plenty of other examples. For me, these were things that I tolerated, but I totally understand how some people found them infuriating. In my case, I found that they did somewhat fit into the overall off-beat vibe of the entire series. Or at least, they fit just enough that they didn't get on my nerves too much.

A significant part of the fun here is seeing which characters and actors return from the original show, and what their characters are up to. Amazingly, the overwhelming majority of the original actors were around and signed on for it. Some of them don't show up until much later in the season, and very few of them have any great roles. In fact, almost none of them have any more than maybe 30 minutes of total screen time, across all 18 episodes. I have to think that this was much more about David Lynch just wanting to show faithful fans of the original show that these characters are still around, even if most of them no longer have any real connection to the greater events swirling around Agent Cooper. Whatever the case, my wife and I certainly perked up when seeing an original cast member turn up, however inconsequential their presence may have been.

The alienness of the Red Room serves as a microcosm for how
a viewer might feel while watching this show. Familiar elements
mixed in jarring, inexplicable ways can both attract and baffle.

I do have to point out something which my wife initially noticed about the entire show, and which is hard to ignore once perceived, and that is the role of women. David Lynch is clearly an artist who has a deep passion for the styles and character archetypes of popular Americana from the 1950s and 1960s. This has long been a huge part of his style: blending those classic, romanticized elements of U.S. culture with the twisted, pitch-dark demons lurking beneath their surface. Unfortunately, he also seems to keep his female characters almost always restricted to the old, limited roles of popular stories from those bygone decades. With very few exceptions, the women in Twin Peaks are either victims, objects of lust, mentally unstable, or various combinations of those three. A few others may only be attractive window dressing, such as Agent Tammy Preston in The Return, who does little more than pose like a model for David Lynch's Gordon Cole character to gaze at from time to time. As our culture changes in its attitudes towards representation here in the 21st century, it becomes harder and harder not to notice such a clear imbalance in gender roles in TV and films like this.

As implied, this show is a tough one to recommend. I certainly can't suggest that anyone start with this revival of the show, before watching the original. The original program will give you a beginning sense of whether you care for David Lynch's general style or not. More than that, though, I would recommend also seeing one or two of Lynch's relatively more accessible films, like his neo-noir thriller Blue Velvet or even the aforementioned Lost Highway. Those two contain some of the challenging, surreal elements that the director uses more in Twin Peaks: The Return. If you dig those earlier movies, then you'll probably like the resurrection of Twin Peaks. 

Before I Die #642: Eraserhead

This was the 642nd film that I've seen out of the 1,222 movies on the "Before You Die" list that I'm gradually working through.

Director: David Lynch

A relentless work of disturbing film art. Enjoyable? No. The work of a master? Unquestionably.

No summary or synopsis of this movie does it justice, but I'll give you the basic characters and "plot," as much as such a thing is possible. Henry is a rather awkward, lonely man who gets his girlfriend Mary pregnant. Mary has the baby and moves in with Henry, but the baby's incessant crying drives Mary to leave Henry with it for a night. From that point, Henry's mind seems to break, and it becomes more difficult to distinguish Henry's reality from his panicked and lust-fueled delusions.

Honestly, that's about the best I can do, though one could even debate such a simple explanation of the plot of Eraserhead. There are countless ways to interpret what you're watching here, thanks to a level of surreality that would become a hallmark of director and writer David Lynch. The movie is all in black and white, which already creates a starker tone than a color film. But this movie goes light-years beyond that. With carefully-chosen shooting locations, meticulously-crafted props and sets, and masterful use of light and shadow, this movie brings you into a nightmarish landscape that is a thoroughly-realized world of its own. This may seem an odd thing to say, since a natural reaction to much of Eraserhead is, "What in the hell is going on here?!", probably quickly followed by the question, "How much more of this can I take?" The story of Henry is presented in such a dark, horrific, disorienting manner that it is disturbing, almost from its opening moments. At the very least, it is challenging, with very few aspects that are straightforward or easily interpreted. Just to give a simple idea, the film opens on Henry floating in space; we get closer to a planet superimposed over his head, then enter a building on that planet. In that building is a man pulling various levers. These images are followed by something that seems to be a spermatozoa moving along, eventually entering a pool. We are shortly after seeing Henry go about what passes for "everyday life" in this movie. Right away, we're being asked to put some serious thought into what we are seeing. And the movie never lets up in this regard. Every person, every location, and nearly every image suggests broken people in a broken world, with terror seeping into every fiber of all of it.

Even an ostensibly "normal" scene like sitting around the
dinner table is humming with a foreboding sense of
eerie alienation and isolation. As weird as these scenes are,
they are among the tamer ones in the movie.

If this sounds like a difficult viewing experience, it is. In fact, this was my second attempt at watching this. My first attempt - about 15 years ago - was a failure after getting about 40 minutes into it. My brain just wasn't up to the task, even though I had seen and even enjoyed a few of Lynch's later films (which I'll be rewatching and reviewing soon). If you're not ready to see this as a piece of art to be studied - if you're not ready to grapple with multiple disturbing, perplexing images and sequences, then Eraserhead will not be for you. I must say, though, that on this successful viewing, I was fairly compelled. I think I found a better, objective perspective from which to watch a movie like this. This is not a movie to be "enjoyed," in my view. At least, not in the same way that a mainstream action or adventure movie is. Not even in the same way that a drama is. Rather, Eraserhead is a film that you allow to pull you in, in order to ponder over what vision its creator is bringing to life. And I don't think anyone can dispute that David Lynch had a cohesive vision here. Not cohesive in an obvious, narrative way, but cohesive in terms of tone and mood. Once I locked into this, the film became more fascinating. I certainly didn't "understand" all of it. Not even close. But I enjoyed the mental exercise of theorizing what the story and images were representing, and what it was saying about its protagonist.

This is certainly one of the more challenging, least accessible movies that I've ever seen. I can only recommend it to people who enjoy surrealistic art, and who don't mind dark and disturbing energy flowing through a movie. In the coming weeks, I'll be watching more David Lynch and coming up with an overview of several of his films and TV shows. I'm fairly sure, though, that Eraserhead will reign as his strangest picture. 

Before I Die #622: Limite (1931)

This was the 622nd film I've seen out of the 1,199 movies on the "Before you Die" list that I'm gradually working my way through.

Translated English Title: Limit

Director: Mario Peixoto

An experimental, poetic film offering, I don't mind admitting that this one was a bit of a chore.

The "story" (a term which I use loosely) is that of three people - two women and one man - stuck on a small boat together, drifting on an unnamed body of water. The three are bedraggled and recollecting past moments in their lives. One woman is an escapee from a prison; the man's lover has died; and the third woman seems to have abandoned her husband. These stories are all told almost exclusively through slow, measured visuals, with very minimal dialogue. The characters have no names (they are credited only as "Man 1," Woman 1" and "Woman 2"), and no specific details as to time or place are offered. While the backstories of the characters are presented in what seems to be chronological order, even this is not completely clear, as several elements of the film are rather fluid.

Watching Limite was not unlike watching a couple of films from a little earlier in this era: the Bunuel and Dali collaborations Un Chien Andelous and L'Age d'Or. While Limite does not use anywhere near the amount of surrealism as either of those hallucinatory films, there is a dreamlike quality to it. There are plenty of long, slow shots of each of the three main characters as they stare into the distance and ponder their circumstances - circumstances which I could only assume are meant to represent more universal feelings of loss, longing, and desire. At times, I found the movie so measured in its pace that I was mentally drifting. Perhaps this is simply my late-20th/early 21st-century viewer's attention span at work, but I found that I wasn't being given quite enough narrative meat into which I could sink my teeth. The result was drifting attention.

There are plenty of scenes such as this - a lone figure, gazing
at the horizon, dwelling on some sort of existential crisis.

When things were in motion in the tale, however, there could be interesting aspects in terms of visual storytelling. I always appreciate any movie director who can tell stories without dialogue, and Limite shows this frequently. Granted, there's not exactly much of a "story," in the traditional sense. This isn't Sergio Leone brilliantly revealing characters' true natures through masterfully orchestrated, elaborate visual sequences. Rather, director Peixoto offers more subtle cues. A shared glance between people. A ring on a finger. A forlorn look at a tombstone. These moments are poignant and effective, even if less impactful because the characters are archetypes rather than "real" people.

For its time and place, it's easy to see why Limite made its mark. Like the aforementioned contemporary films by Bunuel and Dali, this was clearly meant as a work of art, rather than a mainstream story. It experimented with and pushed the boundaries of what the visual medium of film could do. For that, it is noteworthy, if not exactly enjoyable to watch for fans of more straightforward narratives.

That's 622 movies down. Only 577 to go before I can die. 

Before I Die #619: L'Age d'Or (1930)

This is the 619th movie which I've now seen out of the 1,199 movies on the "Before You Die" list that I'm gradually working my way through. 

"The Man" and "The Woman" - the archetypes who are mostly
at the center of this surreal film. This abandoned sucking of
each other's fingers is one of their many odd  and oft-
thwarted attempts at  finding sexual pleasure with each other

English Title: The Golden Age

Director: Luis Bunuel

Not long ago, I watched and reviewed the short silent film Un Chien Andelou, which was the work of the dynamically surreal dual minds of Spanish artists Luis Bunuel and Salvador Dali. It was every bit as challenging, bizarre, and unique as one would imagine. Well, a couple of years after that seminal piece of work, Dali and Bunuel collaborated again on L'Age d'Or, a longer film but one that still illustrates their hallucinogenic sensibilities.

Offering a summary of the movie is a tricky affair, given that it doesn't follow a traditional narrative structure. In general, though, it often follows a man and woman who are in love, or at least lust, and are constantly attempting to unite. To do so, they are often fighting against those who would keep them apart for various reasons - it may be a few police officers arresting one of them for unclear causes; it may be one's family and social circle placing demands upon their attentions; or it may be a government organization urging one of them to focus on a vague "mission" rather than individual desires. Details are never really given on any of these interactions, but the details are clearly not the point. In the end, the man is seen hurtling various objects out of a bedroom window, including pillow feathers, a burning tree, and religious icons. The entire story of the man and woman are bookended by first documentary footage on the behavior of scorpions, and in the end by an adapted depiction of the end of the Marquise de Saad's infamous novel 120 Days of Sodom.

I will admit that I wondered how well this film would be able to hold my attention for its 62-minute running time. Bunuel's and Dali's previous film, Un Chien Andelou, despite being only 28 minutes, was almost too mind-blowing and strange for me to maintain the intense focus it demands. In fact, L'Age d'Or is not quite as demanding, though it's certainly a challenging film. The fact that it does have a more accessible position as being anti-clerical and a reaction to right-wing, conservative values does make its through-line easier to follow. Of course, this is not to say that I was able to make heads or tails of every surreal image or sequence. Far from it. However, I was in the right state of mind to do some of the mental gymnastics required by such a movie.

An image early in the film of dead and decrepit leaders of the
Catholic church. This certainly implies the strong anti-Catholic
and anti-establishment message that Bunuel espoused. It also
got Catholics extremely angry, as one would imagine.

While the themes and strange narrative are obviously what set this movie apart, it is worth mentioning that the technical aspects of the movie are strong. Bunuel, who was barely 30 years old when he directed this film, already showed mastery of cinematic technique to convey his visions. As he had shown in Un Chien Andelou, he was completely at ease using overlap dissolve, an array of camera angles, fade outs, and all other sorts of film trickery to suggest narrative or thematic connections. Lovers of technique would likely enjoy the exercise of breaking down just what Bunuel was doing from scene to scene here.

For anyone considering this film, I would recommend taking the time for a second viewing with the audio commentary by Robert Short. Aside from an amusingly arrogant English accent, he offers some nice insight into the odder elements and unusual structure of the movie. He also offers some invaluable historical context about the time and place of the film's release, as well as its consequences for Bunuel. I don't often do audio commentaries, but for such an atypical movie, it can offer a nice education on the creators' visions and motivations.

That's 619 movies down. Only 580 to go before I can die. 

Before I Die #606: An Andalusian Dog (1928)

This is the 606th movie I've watched from the "Before You Die" list which I'm working my way through.

Probably the most (in)famous scene from the film. Yes, that
is a straight razor in his hand, and yes, he's about to do what
you are afraid he's going to do with it.

Director: Luis Bunuel

If you know a little something about painting and/or film history, then the names "Salvador Dali" and "Luis Bunuel" ought to evoke notions of oddity, irreverance and surreality. And once you know that, you get some idea of what you're in for with An Andalusian Dog, a 20-minute short film conceived and written by Dali and Bunuel, and directed by the latter.

How does one describe the story, such as it is? Frankly, it's virtually impossible. I could give a detailed synopsis of what happens, but it would probably take no fewer than 5,000 words and far too much of your time. In very broad strokes, this 20-minute film short connects seemingly incongruous images, such as a woman having her eye cut open with a razor blade, (perhaps?) the same woman assisting a man semi-dressed as a clown who has had a bicycle accident outside of her apartment, a man with ants literally crawling out of his palm, and plenty of other strange and unsettling visuals. While it takes great imagination to even attempt to piece any of this together into any cohesive narrative, the one connecting factor may be that nearly all of the images are likely to unsettle a viewer in one way or another.

Need a mental workout? Just watch some images like a couple
of dead mules on tops of pianos and try to make heads or
tails of them. That's what this film has to offer.

My viewing experience was such that I was only glad that the film wasn't longer than 20 minutes. I simply don't know if my brain could have handled it. I don't mind strange and bizarre. I've watched, found merit in, and even enjoyed films by directors such as David Lynch and Lars Von Trier, two filmmakers unafraid to challenge audiences for a full 90 to 120 minutes. But An Andalusian Dog? It truly is the stuff of the human unconscious. It is no secret that Salvador Dali drew much inspiration for his surrealist painting and sculptures from his own dreams and hallucinations. This film is the movie picture version of just such visions. The movie has that typically dream-like quality where the connection between one moment, scene or sequence to the next is nearly impossible to predict. It might be a visual similarity, a random thought or impulse, or a loose word association. One could probably watch the movie a thousand times and come up with completely different interpretations every time, given the elemental nature of many of the images. However one does it, it is likely to tax your mind as it works to find some sort of meaning in it all. For such a strange work, more than 20 minutes would likely have been asking too much of most viewers, including myself.

I understand that this was probably one of the first well-respected surrealist films, and one that inspired many later filmmakers to break certain rules and conventions of cinematic storytelling. That stated, I can hardly say that I "enjoyed" this little film. I can appreciate its artistry and just how wildly imaginative it is, but I can't see myself going back to it unless it comes with a manual.

So that's now 606 movies down. Only 582 to go before I can die. 

Film #78: Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980)

Director: Rainer Werner Fassbinder

Initial Release Country: Germany

Times Previously Seen: none

Teaser Summary (No spoilers)

Former thug gets out of jail, tries to go straight, fails miserably, goes crazy, embraces crime, goes crazy again, and then gets well. Sort of.

Extended Summary (Relatively more complete pot synopsis, including spoilers. Fair warning.)

* This film is reeeeaaaally long, so I’m giving you a very short version of the plot. If you’re really curious about the little details, check out this more complete synopsis at wikipedia.

Berlin, 1928. Germany is in the middle of a horrible economic depression. Franz Biberkopf (Günther Lamprecht) has just been released from prison, where he has spent the past four years for the involuntary manslaughter of his prostitute girlfriend. After an initial period of confusion about how to reintegrate himself into society, Franz decides to leave his criminal past behind him and live a straight life, free of illegal activities.

It doesn’t take long for Franz’s plan to fail. Despite trying to go straight by taking menial jobs selling newspapers and hawking various wares on the streets and going door-to-door, he starts to be taken advantage of. One business partner robs one of Franz’s clients, sending Franz into a manic depressive bout of heavy drinking, away from any friends or associates.

When Franz emerges from his bender, he finds one of his old criminal associates, the kindly Meck, who introduces him to the highly unsavory Reinholt. Franz begins a bizarre scam with Reinholt, who is a compulsive womanizer, to take Reinholt’s girlfriends off of his hands after he inevitably tires of them. Franz eventually ties of these strange deceptions, though he maintains his friendship with the warped Reinholt.

Franz Biberkopf, the man at the middle of this massive, swirling tale.

Franz then takes up with a local crime gang. He is initially taken on a night robbery, without his knowledge, and forced to be the lookout. Franz reluctantly goes along with it, but as the gang is driving away, a car begins to follow them, merely by chance. Reinholt becomes suspicious and soon pushes Franz out of the back of their vehicle. Franz has his arm run over by the following car. The arm is so badly damaged that it must be amputated.

Franz, now without his right arm, rejoins a pair of old friends to recuperate. One is a former prostitute who was under his control in his days as a pimp – Eva, who still has deep affection for Franz. The other his Eva’s lover, Herbert, who is also involved in various petty crimes. The two take in Franz and tend to him carefully, seeing Franz as a decent person who is prone to bad decisions, bad luck, and strange fits of emotion. Eva and Herbert even find a young woman to be Franz’s new lover – the prostitute whom Franz names Mieze. The two instantly fall in love with each other.

Franz and Mieze move in together and they continue to adore each other, though their relationship is not without difficulty. The one-armed Franz begins pulling robberies with the local gang again, and Mieze’s job as a prostitute leads Franz to become severely jealous at times. The worst is when Mieze admits to an unplanned affair with a client’s younger son, whom she claims to have fallen in love with. Franz goes into a rage and beats Mieze bloody, stopping just short of killing her. Despite the brutal attack, the two make up with each other shortly afterwards.

A few days later, Franz brings Mieze to their local bar to introduce her to Meck, Reinholt, and the rest of the gang. The compulsive Reinholt immediately blackmails Meck into setting up a meeting between him and Mieze. Meck does so, and he brings Mieze out to a forest retreat to meet with Reinholt, Mieze hoping to learn more about her beloved Franz from his friends. Instead, when Reinholt brings Mieze out to the woods, he tries to force himself on her repeatedly. Mieze teases some information about Franz out of Reinholt, including the fact that Reinholt was responsible for Franz losing his arm. This disgusts Mieze and she repels Reinholt. Reinholt, in a fit or rage, strangles Mieze to death and leaves her in the woods.

The utterly twisted Reinholt, attempting to seduce his "friend" Franz's girlfriend, Mieze.

Back in the city, Franz grows worried after not hearing from Mieze for several days. Meck, who had helped Reinholt bury Mieze’s body despite not knowing that Reinholt would kill her, decides to inform the police. When Mieze’s death is reported in the newspaper the next day, Franz breaks into a crazed laughter, deliriously happy that Mieze’s absence was due to her death and not due to a willful abandonment of Franz.

Franz goes into a complete daze. We start to see his tale from a bizarre perspective, including two angels following him and commenting on his confused state. Franz walks along in an odd dreamlike realm in which the dead are strewn about. Back in reality, Franz is taken to an asylum, and Reinholt is being held in prison under and mistaken identity. In the asylum, we see inside Franz’s tortured mind. He sees himself interacting with various characters from his life in the past year, both dead and alive. He shifts perspectives with many of them, and even faces off with the specter of Death. Franz seems to see himself as deserving of any punishment he receives, as he and others are butchered in an abattoir.

We snap back to reality, at a court hearing for Reinholt, who is on trial for Mieze’s murder. Franz testifies to Reinholt’s good character, which helps Reinholt receive a relatively lenient sentence of ten years in prison. Franz takes a job as an assistant gatekeeper at a car factory. He is attentive to his work, but seems utterly detached from anything happening in the word around him.

Take 1: My Gut Reaction (Done after the viewing, but before any further research.)

Looooooooooooong.

Berlin Alexanderplatz is fifteen and a half hours long. Fifteen. And a half. Hours.

I watched it over the course of about three weeks, and by the end, I was ready for it to be over. Perhaps I would have been better served to spread it out more, but hey, I have nearly 30 more of these reviews to do, and I want to get on with it.

It’s not really the length itself that it a little tough to take. Some people might be able to watch all of this show in a few days, but I would find it rather tough. However, this is not because it is bad in any way. It’s merely that the tone and look can be a tad monotonous.

That said, this is a haunting humanist story. This itself was a bit surprising, as I was expecting a more epic tale that connected one man’s journey into the Third Reich. I expected to see plenty of direct references to the rise of the Nazi party and their growing control of Germany. Such is not the case at all.

This may seem odd, by I couldn’t help but think of Henry Miller’s novel, Tropic of Cancer. That novel was a lightning rod for being so honest and frank about the human experience, including the most sensual (some thought indecent, at the time) elements. The difference is that Tropic of Cancer had a relatively rosier tone and outlook; Berlin Alexanderplatz takes a hard look at the mental degeneration of a man who has slipped right through the cracks of a failing society.

Franz partakes in one of his favorite vices to escape - binge drinking on a level that would would make even a German (maybe even an Irishman) blanch. [note: I'm of Irish descent, so don't get up in arms.]

Berlin Alexanderplatz tells the story of a man who is, in many ways, highly unsavory. And yet, it’s impossible to dismiss Franz Biberkopf as a purely despicable villain. Unlike the titular protagonist of Barry Lyndon, Franz actually has several admirable traits. With his close friends, he has incredible loyalty and enthusiasm. His emotions are on his sleeve for all to see, and he is generally a social creature. His vices are, at root, ones that most people who are honest with themselves can understand – booze and women. Franz is at his most despicable when he is in the throes of passion or rage, or when he is victim to his own mental instability. Not long into the massive film, you start to see him as pitiful as much as anything. This is not unlike another film character that I will be seeing soon on this blog – the very real Jake LaMotta as depicted in Raging Bull. Both can be destructive, though Biberkopf is easier to like.

Most of Franz Biberkopf’s tale is easy enough to follow, in basic terms. He gets out of prison, he tries to go straight, he fails, and he suffers several brutal losses. However, there is a reason that the director chose to use over fifteen hours to tell the story and not two. Franz is complicated, and some of his actions are plainly irrational. To make any sense of them, we need the time to see how his more reasonable friends react to him. This gives us a better compass to navigate with. When characters like Eva, Herbert, and Meck show up to help Franz, we viewers need them just as much as Franz does. When the narrative of Franz’s life loses direction, they give us some semblance of meaning.

During the course of watching this whole thing, I often found myself pondering just what such an environment would be like. I can only imagine what it is like to live in the middle of a true economic depression, and how this affects one’s life choices. It would be hard enough for a person of decent means, but I believe Berlin Alexanderplatz gives a very real and disturbing view of how such a depression affects the already downtrodden. Those at the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder begin to engage in strange, irrational, short-term gain behaviors. A lot of people will watch this film and find the actions in it too distasteful to stomach, and to be honest, I did at first, as well. However, once I thought about it some more, I couldn’t help but feel that there was a disturbing authenticity to the entire tale. The corrupt actions of the characters reflect the polluted environment they are in, as they do whatever they can to survive and find any sort of solace that they can.

Franz and Mieze, a criminal and a prostitute, find some measure of happiness together. Their relationship may seem perverted to some, but it makes far more sense within their constraints.

There are some rather strange elements to Franz’s tale, though. Some are ones that I found a bit perplexing. Throughout the show, we have a disembodied and unknown narrator offering commentary that sometimes includes observations about the characters, but also Biblical verse, song lyrics, and readings from philosophical treatises. The connections are sometimes clear, but other times simply baffling.

Related to this is the final Epilogue episode, which is right out of surrealist left field. The previous 14 hours of the show are quite straightforward, with only occasional lapses into the aforementioned narration. The final episode, though, goes right into the realm of mind-blowing oddity. At least, that’s how it seems at first. When I thought about what all of the stunning and wild images had to do with Franz, most of them became clear. It didn’t make them any less shocking, though.

Just one of the many dark, disturbing images that we see in the Epilogue. This shows the tattered, tortured state of Franz's mind after losing his beloved Mieze.

Aside from the story itself, the other elements of the film are not ones that I would call spectacular, though they are very strong. The acting is very solid, all around. Günther Lamprecht is outstanding as Franz. Considering the incredible range of emotions and attitudes that he needs to show, it’s remarkable how he pulls them all off naturally – he can be charming, funny, pathetic, crazed, manic, depressed, or meditative at nearly any moment. Among the rest of the cast, there are really no weak links.

The visuals are rather intriguing. There is a somewhat dreamy, soft glow to most of the shots. This also often leads to an unusual halo effect that reminds me of the look of Sergio Leone’s 1984 gangster epic, Once Upon a Time in America. Beyond that, the several scenes in the forests outside of Berlin, where Mieze is killed, look eerily like the woods used in Miller’s Crossing. Some of the scenes even seem to be set up the same way. I will have to check on whether the Coen Brothers in fact used this show as inspiration.

While the technical merits are all there, this show is really all about where this one singular character, Franz Biberkopf, fits into his own strange sub-society – a sub-society that exists in shadows that most of us don’t want to think about or acknowledge.

Take 2: Why Film Geeks Love This Movie (Done after some further research)

Researching this massive film is filled with peaks and valleys. I watched a documentary that got behind the scenes and had a few good interviews, but didn’t add much to my understanding. There is a lack of information in my normal go-to places for this sort of thing, as well.

Then, there is Peter Jelavich. Jelavich is a professor of European history, especially German historical culture. I watched an amazingly concise, 25-minute documentary in which the man clearly answered my every question about Berlin Alexanderplatz.

The novel, by Alfred Döblin, was a masterpiece of its day. Written in 1929, it was one of the very earliest “metropolitan” novels that effectively depicted life in a modern mega-city, such as Berlin. Jelavich likens it to the contemporary novel Manhattan Transfer, by John Dos Passos. I haven’t read that novel, but having read Dos Passos’ U.S.A. trilogy, I know exactly what he means. The narrative is an enormous, sometimes dizzying, literary montage of sights, sounds, and images as perceived by an individual living in those days.

A major theme of these works is the rise of mass media. In watching the movie, this was something that confounded me; I did not understand the narrator giving me little snippets of songs, advertisements, articles, political treatises, and so on. Now knowing the intent, it all makes perfect sense. All of these little phrases are the straggling pieces of information that Franz has inadvertently picked up simply by living in Berlin. On top of that, I realize how genius Döblin was, and just how much foresight he had. When I think about my own mental state, and how much information and little, random tidbits flow through my mind on a daily basis, it’s amazing to think that Döblin saw it all coming long before its impacts were fully realized.

The original cover for the novel. It conveys the life Franz Biberkopf, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of text and information.

The other significant thing that Jelavich confirmed for me is just how to take Biberkopf the character. He is, as I felt, meant to be seen as a sympathetic figure. He essentially has a good heart and wants to do the right things, but he is incapable of it. Sometimes this is due to the endless social pressures around him, and sometimes it is because of his own lack of abilities. Either way, you want to see him find some sort of happiness. This makes it more tragic when he fails.

Believe it or not, there was a film version done shortly after the novel, back in 1931. Despite having Döblin himself working as a writer, it was far shorter and had a much sunnier ending. When Fassbinder took on the project in 1979, he was already established as something of an eccentric genius of film. He was given a lot of latitude, and he had been an incredible fan of Alfred Döblin’s novel. Wanting to do it justice, he stayed very close to the source material. The only personal touches he added were some aural references to 1960s and ‘70s pop culture, drawing a parallel between the 1929 novel and his own world in the late 1970s.

There is also a 2007 essay here by Tom Tykwer, which seems very thorough and probing. However, it dives into elements and connections with German culture that fly right over my head, in most cases. For anyone who can get something out of it, though, check it out.

The reception of the film was fairly positive, especially among critics. As you can imagine, some viewers weren’t sure what to make of the gargantuan film. Many complained that the visuals were too dark, but this was really the only common gripe. Overall, people saw it for an amazing piece of work.

That’s a wrap. 78 shows down. 27 to go.

Coming Soon: Raging Bull (1980)

 This is one of my all-time favorites. I love several of Scorsese’s movies, but I think I put this one at the top of the list. Come back and see how I break down the sad but entrancing life of the very real Jake LaMotta.

Please be sure to pick up all empties on the way out.

Film # 77: Mon oncle d'Amerique (1980)

Title for us English-speaking Types: My Uncle from America

Director: Alain Resnais

Initial Release Country: France

Times Previously Seen: none

Teaser Summary (No spoilers.)

In 1970s France, three people’s lives intertwine in ways that give each of them anger, joy, confusion, frustration, and depression. Not all in that order.

Extended Summary (Longer plot synopsis)

In 1977 France, Rene Ragueneau (Gerard Depardieu) is a manager of an agricultural company, which is a subsidiary of a larger corporation. He was raised on a farm, but studied hard and broke away from his conservative, close-minded family. He is married with two daughters. One day, his corporation informs him that he will be observed and assisted by someone from the corporate office. This new supervisor watches Rene like a hawk, criticizing the many outdated methods that his factory and warehouse use. The criticism leads to anxiety and ulcers for Rene. The main corporation decides to move Rene to a different branch of the company, one that will create ready-to-wear fashions and be far away from his family. With little choice, he must move away from them and pursue this field in which he has no experience.

Rene, frustrated by his family's conservative, narrow-mindedness, vents his frustration before he leaves them for good.

In Paris, Jean Le Gall (Roger Pierre) leads his life as the head of the news branch of the government. Raised by stern, educated and driven parents, Jean is quite successful and has plans to climb further up the political ladder and run for office. He is married to a passionate and devoted wife, though his own passion for her has waned. He coldly leaves his wife one day to begin an affair with Janine Garnier (Nicole Garcia).

Janine is somewhat younger than Jean, and she is from a very different background. Raised by parents with strong communist leanings, she eventually had yearnings for the stage. She got a break and performed the lead role in a hit play, which is how she met Jean. She and Jean continue their affair for a short time, though Jean has bouts of crippling kidney stones. Eventually, Jean’s wife shows up at Janine’s apartment and demands that she allow Jean to return home to his family. Janine relents and has Jean leave, though her complete reasons are not totally clear.

Two years pass. Jean takes a brief trip to a small island that his family owns, just off the French coast. He runs into none other than Janine. In catching up, we learn that Jean’s wife had told Janine that she was deathly ill, in order to get Janine to let Jean go. Janine embraces Jean, at first hoping to renew their passion, but leaves frustrated when Jean does not return the sentiment.

Jean and Janine, two years after their initial tryst. Janine attempts to rekindle the flame, but is snubbed.

Not far away, two years into his “new” position, Rene is once again in a bit of a bind. While he has had some success in the fashion branch of his corporation, he is flagging a bit. Two corporate executives come to see him, one of them being none other than Janine, who has found a steady job in fashion after leaving the stage. Rene is informed that his management has been lacking and that his responsibilities will be lessened. Taking this as a great insult, Rene storms off into his room and attempts suicide.

Just after Rene’s suicide attempt, Janine races off to confront Jean’s wife about her lie. In finding her, it doesn’t take long for Janine to realize that she has no great argument, as Jean’s wife did what was necessary to keep her family together. Still frustrated, she runs off and finds Jean. He, too, agrees that his wife did the right thing, which leads to more helpless agitation from Janine. Jean and Janine begin to grapple in a wrestling match of frustration.

Back in a hospital room, Rene recovers to find his wife and children there. His wife embraces him, merely glad that he is alive.

Spanning the entire course of the stories of Rene, Jean, and Janine, is the running commentary of real-life behavioral psychologist Professor Henri Laborit. Through exposition and interspersed visual experiments, he describes evolutionary psychology in ways that are exhibited by the three main characters’ stories.

Take 1: My Gut Reaction (Done before any further research on the movie)

I had to sleep on this one a bit.

After watching Mon oncle d’Amerique and then sleeping through the night, allowing the film and its many facets to sink in, I realize that I think it to be excellent. If you were to simply read the plot summary, it would probably seem rather boring. One could see the three interweaving stories of Rene, Janine, and Jean as such, but it is the telling of the tale through the cinematic medium that is the wonder of the film.

Firstly, the three stories of the main characters are actually plenty engaging. Rene’s struggles to maintain his family and self worth, Janine’s attempts at following her youthful passion and attempts at rebellion, and Jean’s quest for social renown and sexual satisfaction are all very real and human dramas. These dramas are portrayed brilliantly by the actors, so that every bit of their pain, happiness, and confusion comes through.

The dutiful and loving Rene, suffering from ulcers. His physical and emotional pains, along with those of the other two main characters, are cast into a scientific light within the context of the film.

However, this film’s revolutionary power comes from things far beyond the personal dramas and acting. The entire framework and telling of the tale gives this movie a highly intellectual quality that may turn off many viewers, but which others will find incredibly absorbing. The movie starts with short, still images of abstract shapes from nature, such as rocks, bricks, and water. A narrator introduces the three main characters, giving brief biographies of each of them, starting from the circumstances of their births while beginning to explain certain basic evolutionary principles of the natural world. These initial minutes seem like the absolute worst and most pretentious aspects of the type of snooty, pretentious European movie that many audiences love to ridicule and parody. But, if you hang in there, a brilliant structure beings to emerge.

Within about 20 minutes, we have a solid understanding of Rene’s, Jean’s, and Janine’s backgrounds and see some of the seminal moments in their lives. As this goes on, the narrator beings to add more general, modern discoveries about human psychology, citing experiments with lab mice and their reactions to pleasure and pain stimuli. When you start to pay close attention, the behaviors exhibited by the mice can be seen in the behaviors of Rene, Jean, and Janine during the two year period that consists of the bulk of the movie. And the similarities between the tiny rodents and the humans grow clearer.

Once the primary tale is in full swing, the psychologist/narrator steps back quite a bit, and we are allowed to immerse ourselves in the three protagonists’ lives. Their interactions further demonstrate that, as complex as the human mind is, there are still some very basic mechanisms at work. Now, some might write it all off as very reductionist, and this argument may have merit, but it doesn’t make the movie any less interesting to me.

Regularly throughout the movie, we see experiments with mice, looking upon how they react to pain stimuli. It's not hard to see the correlation with the reactions of Rene, Jean, and Janine.

In watching the movie, two films in particular came to mind. The first was a predecessor, the 1966 Ingmar Bergman film, Persona. In construction and themes, Mon oncle d’Amerique seems to borrow from Bergman’s very personal tale about people’s basic mental states feeding into and off of one another. Persona also opened and closed his movie with choppy, vague visuals that only make more sense once the entire film is viewed. The other film that came to mind is the much more modern Adaptation, written by Charlie Kaufmann and directed by Spike Jonze. This is another film that creatively and artistically draws connections between the fundamental rules of natural order and the most basic human physical and psychological needs and desires.

Comparing and contrasting these three similar films is an interesting exercise. The earliest, Persona, is dead serious in its presentation. It was an exorcism of pain and frustration by Ingmar Bergman, and it comes across as such. Adaptation, on the other hand, is as much comedy as human drama. Its message is still deep and heartfelt, but there are plenty of great laughs along the way. Mon oncle d’Amerique splits the difference a bit, leaning much more towards the serious end. There are, however, several great humorous moments and visuals, including scenes in which human-sized mice re-enact some of the actions of Rene, Janine and Jean, even wearing their clothes at times. These little moments do take the edge off a bit, and prevent the movie from becoming too overbearing.

One of several surreal and blessedly funny depictions of the human characters as their rodent counterparts in the lab experiment. The only thing is, the lab is actually their lives. 

I would recommend this movie to anyone who enjoys thoughtful, somewhat challenging films that can hold your attention and make you think deeply. If you go in realizing that you will see something akin to a documentary, you will be well-served. Mon oncle d’Amerique is fiction, but it does something that really cannot be done in reality – an observational study of the most key moments in the lives of a few people.

Take 2: Why Film Geeks Love This Movie (Done after some further research.)

Somewhat unsurprisingly, there’s not a ton of analysis to be found out there in the World Wide Web. Even though this film has been roundly praised by critics ever since its release (it won the Grand Prix at Cannes), we over here in U.S. tend not to embrace high-minded French movies that don’t follow standard film conventions. At least, most of us don’t. So, it’s not surprising to find that, not only is this movie not available on Netflix, but it is also out of DVD print and relatively difficult to get. For all of these reasons, very few people have even heard of it. It’s a shame, really.

Of course, we can rely on professional film critics to be up on any film of note. As I often do, I found a solid write-up done by Roger Ebert at his site here. He brings up some of the things that I noticed, and of course points out several things that I either missed or did not include in my review. The interesting thing is that, in the middle sections of his review, Ebert himself almost gets lost in the grander philosophies and ideas in the movie. This is a good thing. Ebert knows this is a good thing, and credits the film with inspiring such cogitations.

I have to say that, like very few movies in the world, Mon oncle d’Amerique is one whose merits are best observed and not merely read about. One can grasp the basic academic themes from reading reviews like this one, but until the movie is seen, it is all but impossible to see just how skillfully the different parts link together. Just heed this caveat: if you do not like high-minded films that force you to think far beyond the human drama tale that plays out on-screen, you probably won’t enjoy this one. If you’re into somewhat demanding films that will stay with you for days, months, and probably years afterwards, you will not be disappointed with this one.

That’s a wrap. 77 shows down. 28 to go.

Coming Soon: Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980)

This one will take a while. It was a made-for-TV adaptation of a rather large novel. The thing is over FIFTEEN HOURS LONG!! By the time I actually post this review, I hope to be a good ways into it, so come on back in a week or so to see what I make of it.

Please be sure to pick up all empties on the way out.

Film #69: Le charme discret de la bourgeoisie (1972)

Title for us English-Speaking Types: The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie

Director: Luis Bunuel

Initial Release Country: France

Times Previously Seen: once (about 3 years ago)

Teaser Summary (No spoilers)

Sextet of middle-classers try to get some grub repeatedly. Fail repeatedly. Have weird dreams between each failure.

Extended Summary (Slightly longer plot synopsis. Spoilers included. Fair warning.)

Actually, my little caveat above is more pointless than normal. It's all but impossible to “spoil” this movie, given the story.

In early 1970s Paris, four middle-aged, middle-class people arrive at a pleasant home for an evening dinner, only to surprise the supposed hostess, who tells the four that their dinner date is for the following evening. This also explains why the hostess' husband is not there. The five improvise and head out to a nearby inn for some dinner. Their effort is thwarted, however, when they enter the inn to find a funeral service being given for the recently-deceased owner.

The next day, the three men, two of them French government officials and the other a diplomat from a South American country, meet in the diplomat's office. The three are involved in drug smuggling. The two Frenchmen's wives and single sister-in-law are clueless to their doings.

Just one of the many soon-to-be interrupted attempts at dinner. If you look closely, you can almost see the arrogance and entitlement radiating off of all six of the "friends".

Over the next several days, the sextet repeatedly attempt to have a meal or a drink together, only to be thwarted at every turn. Whether they are in pairs, trios, or larger groups, every time they are about to be served, something interferes. Some interruptions are mundane: the first evening's schedule mix-up, or a restaurant being out of basically everything. Others are far more bizarre, such as being interrupted by strangely forthcoming soldiers barging in and unburdening themselves with odd tales. Still others take the form of dreams begun but unfulfilled.

Most of the six people get lost briefly in a dream of theirs. Some include the embarrassment of being caught on a theater stage, having forgotten one's lines. Others have dreams about being in a duel, or being arrested with all of their friends for their illegal drug smuggling. Whatever the dream or interruption, not one of the person's tales, or even tales within tales, is completed.

One of the more violent dream sequences, with the Senechal gunning down a man who has offended his honor.

Interspersed throughout the menagerie of unfulfilled narratives are occasional looks at the entire group of six, walking along a desolate road in the middle of the country, with no clear goal in sight.

I would offer a link to a more detailed, complete plot synopsis, but finding one it rather difficult. Read into that what you will.

Take 1: My Gut Reaction (Done after this most recent viewing of the film, before any research.)

When American comedians make fun of “weird European movies”, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie is almost certainly what they have in mind. As you may be able to tell from my rather vague plot synopsis, this movie does not fit into any standard categories. There is no main story arc (aside from six people trying to get some food), and virtually no standard cohesion from one scene to the next. The mad hopping between dream sequences and quirky occurrences can be dizzying, and I think any viewer can be excused for uttering “Whaaahh...??” more than a few times while watching.

Did I like it? Actually, yeah. More or less.

I felt like I had a pretty good handle on what director Luis Bunuel was doing with this movie. I had seen it before, and I felt like I “got” the point. And then, after watching, my girlfriend articulated it far better than I could. She explained that she'd never seen a film that captured the “unfulfillment aspect” of dreams so well. Every single little story, of which there are no less than a dozen, leaves the viewer wanting, just as the characters in the movie are constantly left wanting. This is, for many people, much like their own dream experiences.

One of the more universal dream fears is revealed in the dinner-on-stage scene. The main players almost all flee due to self-consciousness or nervousness at having "forgotten their lines".

When dwelling on it, I can't help but compare it to a recent blockbuster film dealing with dreams, Inception. In that much more recent movie, the hyper-organized Christopher Nolan deals with the malleability of dreams, but keeps the story air tight, almost to the point of snapping the seams. In The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, Bunuel was clearly going for the true dream-like experience: the tighter you grasp for the meaning or a sense of closure, the more you're going to lose them. Once you figure this out, it's easier to sit back, stop wondering about the point, and enjoy the bizarre spectacle.

Lest you think the movie is just a cluster of peculiar scenes thrown against a wall, I need to clarify. There is a rather loose narrative that holds things together. The six middle-class main characters are rather self-absorbed and not exactly likable. For this reason, I didn't mind seeing them spun about and tormented by their own mildly warped circumstances or inner thoughts. It also brought to mind the wonderfully strange Flann O'Brien book, The Third Policeman. In it, a young thief and murderer is sent to hell, but doesn't know it. As things go from familiar to strange to absolutely torturous, he never realizes exactly where he is. Every time he comes close to getting a handle, the entire situation shifts, leaving him even more confused, frustrated, and dejected than before. Bunuel's film isn't as disturbing as all that, but the general feel is similar.

The film also keeps a nice level of humor throughout. The oddity of many of the situations is humorous, if in a wry way. More than this are the dead-pan performances of most of the cast. Weirdness is at its funniest when it's played straight, and the actors got it right on in this movie. This isn't a gut-busting, laugh-fest by any means. Still, I found plenty to smile and laugh at, from the attempts to eat plastic stage prop food in the “theater dream” scene, to the clever little evasions about exactly where the fictitious country “Miranda” really is, and even to the oddly open soldiers’ tellings of their private dreams. Added to it all is the acceptance of every other character of the quirkiness of all of these things.

The second of two wryly humorous scenes in which soldiers simply show up, interrupt, and tell bizarre tales about their own dreams of horror and death. A contrast with the pithy concerns of our egocentric sextet? Possibly.

This is yet another movie that you need to be in the right frame of mind to deal with. If you take each scene at a time and don’t attempt to judge the whole by the standards of most narrative films, you should find it enjoyable. I certainly did, though this isn’t a movie I see myself running back to anytime soon.

Take 2: Or, Why Film Geeks Love This Movie (Done after some further research on the movie):

In reading up on this film, I realize that my Take 1 missed mention of the obvious – the social commentary. This is not something that is difficult to miss in the film, though other commentators have done a far better job analyzing it than I could.

What gives The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie an even greater helping of food for thought is what gave most, if not all, of Luis Bunuel’s movies the same: the revelation of hypocrisy. I’ve only seen a few of his other films, but the theme is clearly there. Politeness, manners, and fashion are a thin façade behind which lurk the basest animal desires and fears. Lust, humiliation, and death are all represented in this movie, filtered through the self-interested viewpoints and subconscious of the main characters’ dreams. These things might be presented as horrifying by many other directors, but Bunuel always had a different approach.

The Senechal, almost escaping notice and capture, reveals his own presence to the police by reaching out a taking a sandwich from the table. One example of some common visual humor blended into other moments of a dryer comic type.

In this review of the film, Roger Ebert does a nice job explaining some of the subtleties of Bunuel’s themes, and how he used humor to reveal the human psyche. The interesting thing to me is that Bunuel never really took a side in his commentaries on social classes. His works seemed to attempt to reveal the hypocrisies at work in all people. Some of these revelations are humorous, while some can be highly disturbing.

In this 1973 essay by Carlos Fuentes (done shortly after the release of Discreet Charm), a much broader and deeper look is taken into Bunuel’s life’s work up to that point. It’s an interesting read, in which Fuentes ties together not only the themes mentioned by Ebert, but also the visual techniques that Bunuel employed to convey his messages as an artist. It’s a good little read for anyone who has seen a handful or more of Bunuel’s films.

After this reviewing of the movie and a little bit of research, it is now no surprise to me why The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie is on the TIME 100 list. It truly is a different species of film, and piece of art that may very well be a part of the artistic landscape for decades, if not centuries, to come. Like an abstract Picasso painting, you may not always “understand” every little thing about it, but it certainly does catch the eye and stimulate the mind.

That’s a wrap. 69 shows down. 36 to go.

Coming Soon: Aguirre, The Wrath of God (1973):

Another one that I watched a number of years ago, but probably didn’t appreciate very much. I’ve come to like Werner Herzog quite a bit, so I expect to get more out my second viewing of this early work of his.

Please be sure to pick up all empties on the way out.

Film #56: 8 1/2 (1963)

Director: Federico Fellini

Initial Release Country: Italy

Times Previously Seen: once (about 5 years ago)

Teaser Summary (No spoilers)

Star film director attempts to balance the manic production process of his current project with his own flights of fancy and real personal problems.

Extended Summary (A more complete plot synopsis, spoilers included. Fair warning)

Star film director Guido Anselmi (Marcelo Mastroianni) is surrounded by chaos. He is in the midst of producing his latest movie – a high-budget monster that has his creative team scrambling to and fro, trying to meet their distracted director's insufferably vague demands. Wannabe actors and actresses constantly badger Guido for parts in the movie, financial backers seek to know more about the mysterious project, and critics, religious figures, and journalists from all over the world nag him for his views on everything from love to politics to religion. In the middle of the maelstrom, Guido, suffering from poor health, goes to a spa, bringing the entire circus with him.

In his mind's eye, Guido dreams himself a balloon about to be brusquely yanked back to earth.

Added to all of the hoopla surrounding the movie itself are Guido's personal problems. He asks his mistress, the pretty but hopelessly dense and materialistic Carla (Sandra Milo), to join him. She offers a bit of escapist comfort, but only for a short while before the pressures of the film start to weigh down on Guido once more.

Throughout the dizzying tap-dance, Guido often finds his only respite in his own fantasies. He recalls past loves and scenarios, painting them with the exceptionally vibrant palette of his revisionist imagination. From floating above the crowd as a balloon, to interactions with past lovers, to conversations with his dead father, Guido loses himself in his own mind as easily as he lights up a fresh cigarette. However, just like the cigarette, each fantasy burns down to its end, leaving him back in reality.

The ever-chic looking Guido, taking in the world around him. What the mind behind the shades does to that world is anyone else's guess.

His reality becomes even more muddled when, after his desperate plea for mature companionship, Guido's wife Luisa (Anouk Aimee) comes to visit him at the spa. The reunion is amiable enough at the start, but soon turns sour as Luisa realizes that her husband is still the same immature dreamer who has cheated on and left her many times in the past. Their 20-year marriage seems completely destroyed when, at a set of screen tests, Luisa sees that her husband has used their most intimate conversations as fodder for his movie script. She storms out of the screen tests, with only marginal protests by Guido.

By this time, the pressures on Guido to become more active in the filming process, respond to critics, and answer to his financial backers finally get to him. At an ill-conceived tea party at one of the movie sites (with scaffolding for a massive rocket ship), Guido is put on a dais and commanded to give answers. In his mind, he escapes by imagining himself crawling under the table, pulling a gun and shooting himself. In reality, he merely cancels the entire picture and sends the entire hoipaloi packing.

In his final waking dream, Guido stares at the now-useless scaffolding and imagines an entire carnival of characters being led about by a little boy in all white, with a flute. The boy directs everyone off of the stage, remains for a few moments more, and is the last to leave.

My Take on the Film

This is a movie that will divide viewers into 2 clear camps: those who find it incomprehensible, Eurotrash nonsense, and those who find it a phenomenally skillful, humorous and entertaining look at the life and mind of an artist. When I first watched this movie about five years ago, I was probably more in the former group, but I am now with the latter.

If you are a movie viewer who demands a plot-driven story that follows the classic hero/heroine overcoming obstacles to prevail for truth and justice, Federico Fellini is not the director for you, and the film 8 ½ is probably the ultimate Fellini film. This is not least of all because it is certainly the most auto-biographical of his many films. I suppose some may say that a film director making a film about a film director making a film is the height of narcissism and self-aggrandizement. This thought did occur to me, but I dismiss it. For any person who has ever attempted any artistic endeavor, it is not hard to understand the character Guido Anselmi's desire to leave behind the trappings of the material world and vanish into any number of fantasy worlds of our own making. Therein lies the emotion of 8 ½ – the desire of escapism. After all, what are most of us looking for in films but to escape?

That attempt at intellectual analysis aside, the most striking thing about 8 ½ is the portrayal of Guido's daydreams. On my past viewing, I simply wasn't paying enough attention to see how they were related to everything else going on in the film. Now, however, I see the very clear connections and why each and every one of his flights of fancy are touching and/or hilarious. This is part of what is captivating about this movie – the viewer is waiting to see just when Guido will warp the world around him into his own vision, and exactly how he will do it. From the very beginning, in which he imagines himself drifting out of his car stuck in traffic and up into the air like a balloon, to the very end in which he sees his role as director symbolized by the little boy leading around thousands of strange characters, it all points to the absurdities that swirl around the world of art.

This is not to equate the absurd with the useless. Absurdity is the ocean in which many comic treasures can be found, and Fellini was the Jacques Cousteau of finding such. He had a such a great eye for the strange, silly, and wonderful moments in life that entertainers can provide. From the little, insensitive comments towards babbling actors to the hilariously ridiculous visions of Guido as the head of his own harem, 8 ½ runs a spectacular gamut of humor.

The ocean-side prostitute, Saraghina - One of the countless indelible images in the movie.

Not only could Fellini find this great variety of humor, but he could present it in such an appealing, eye-catching way that his films are often a pleasure to watch. Even someone who has no time for the fanciful nature of 8 ½ has to admit that the film is captivating to look at. From the cast, all striking either for their beautiful or singular looks, to the sets, locales, and shot framing, everything is in its proper place in the movie. It all further reinforces the notion that art can provide the order and pleasure that real life rarely offers.

A final merit to be pointed out is that Fellini cut himself no breaks in this movie. While the character who represents him, Guido, is fairly likable and, but the accounts of the ancillary characters, an artistic genius, his failings as a man are made plain for all to see. Once his wife, Luisa, and his sister show up, it becomes clear that, emotionally, Guido is nothing more than a scared and selfish little child. He lies to cover up his infidelities and uses his and his wife's most intimate moments as little more than fodder for his own movie script. What you get is a man who represents many a great artist – brilliant in his medium but sorely lacking when it comes to the quieter, closer moments of life.

I suppose if I can knock this film at all, it is that it ran out of just a little bit of steam by the end. Coming in at over 2 hours and 15 minutes, I found myself flagging a little bit by the time the end was near. I felt that I had received a near overdose of Guido Anselmi's perpetual mental fluctuations and just wanted the end to come. However, I must say that this may have been because it was late at night, and I was probably just tired. Turn my experience into a cautionary tale – set aside the right time to watch this movie.

The final image of the movie, with the little "band leader" boy symbolizing the director himself.

That's a Wrap. 56 shows down. 49 to go.

Coming Soon:Charade (1963)

This one may be a bit of an effort. Despite having some kick-ass actors in it (Cary Grant and James Coburn, to name a few), it also contains one of my least favorite leads – Audrey Hepburn. Come an back to see if I can stomach it.

Please be sure to pick up all empties on the way out.