The Exterminating Angel: satire on bourgeois hypocrisy and human inability to overcome oppression

Luis Buñuel, “The Exterminating Angel / El ángel exterminador” (1962)

So far everything I have seen of Luis Buñuel has been supremely first class and “The Exterminating Angel” is no exception. The film is a surrealist fantasy that lampoons the behaviour of the upper class and reveals it as a bunch of cowards, idiots and hypocrites. The plot is simple enough: a wealthy man, Nobilé, invites twenty or so of his pals and their wives to dinner after a night at the opera; after an excellent meal, coffee, conversation and some piano entertainment, the host and his guests discover they are unable to leave the dining-room. (In the meantime, all the servants have fled the mansion.) Over several weeks, the dinner-party guests grow hungry, thirsty and tired, and descend into exactly the barbarous behaviour they decry in working-class people.

The filming technique looks conventional but the dialogue is typically Buñuelian: exchanges are loaded with irony and sarcasm and poke fun at Roman Catholicism and what passes for Catholic morality, and at the guests’ own expectations about their place in society and how the world should revolve around them, their needs and wants. As the days pass, and one hapless man falls into a coma and dies, the guests display moral hollowness (no-one shows any compassion towards the dying guest and his companion), fight over water, make bargains with God, try to kill another guest in a bizarre superstitious ritual and fall into childish ways of solving the problem of leaving the dining-room. Intelligence, logic, any semblance of rationality are all left at the front door (literally, as it turns out) as the guests turn on one another. Viewers discover that all they have in common is their wealth and apart from that, the guests actually loathe one another. There is a suggestion that for some of them, the wealth was not obtained legitimately or was inherited at the expense of other, more hard-working people. (In a later complementary film, “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie”, Buñuel follows seven dinner companions in search of a decent meal together; two of these companions are shown to be a corrupt ambassador and his friend involved in a drug-trafficking scheme.)

The film’s structure is perfect and builds up quickly: disquieting omens about what will happen (the servants feel they must leave the mansion as soon as they can; one of the waiters trips while carrying the first course and spills the food all over the floor; the real evening’s entertainment that revolves around a bear and two sheep must be cancelled) occur quickly and efficiently for comic effect without elaboration; once the guests discover their predicament, the film settles into an easy-going pace in which Buñuel repeatedly shoots satirical barbs at the bourgeoisie through the guests’ foibles and prejudices. In the meantime, citizens and police outside the mansion worry about the fate of the people within but apart from that, life goes on as normal, illustrating the uselessness of the trapped upper class twats.

Significantly the bear proves harmless to the sheep though the hapless ovines end up being slaughtered by the guests. One doesn’t need to wonder too much at the sort of crass entertainment the bear and the sheep were supposed to provide before it was called off.

The film’s climax comes at the very end when, after freeing themselves in a hilarious ritual that they don’t understand, the guests attend church to thank God for saving them, only to discover that they can’t leave the church buildings! The climax is shown as a series of visual collages: the fade-out / fade-in of successive scenes shows the passage of time; other scenes send up political repression as mounted police chase away and shoot at crowds who are either trying to help the trapped congregation or celebrating their freedom; and eventually a flock of sheep is released into the church to be ripped apart and eaten (and their blood drunk) in a mock parody of Mass.

Repetition, reiterations, contradictions and unusual juxtapositions are major themes in the film which may help explain why about the halfway mark the film starts to drag with repeating ideas for some viewers. There is a surreal dream sequence in which voices, representing deeply felt concerns for some guests, speak off-screen while the guests sleep. The repetition suggests that people, even when given the chance, prefer to stick to convention, ritual and habit even when these threaten to destroy them or any chance they might have of achieving happiness. We know what the problem is, who’s oppressing and destroying us, how the oppression is occurring and what to do about our destroyers … so what’s stopping us from taking control of our destiny?

 

 

 

Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up and Scald Myself with Tea: exuberant science fiction time-travel comedy with a subversive message about lost opportunities and possibilities

Jindrich Polak, “Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up and Scald Myself with Tea / Zitra vstanu a oparim se cajem” (1977)

One of a number of comic science fiction films made in the old Czechoslovkia in the 1960s – 70s, this film by the maker of “Ikarie XB-1” (a famous but more serious sci-fi film of a space migration) revolves around time travel and a set of identical twins, and what happens when you mix the two together and throw away a time-synchronisation equivalent of a GPS system. Sight gags and sci-fi slapstick make for a light-hearted film about a topic and themes that in the West would either call for a more po-faced, serious drama treatment or just wouldn’t be done at all. Though the plot becomes more bizarre as the film progresses, the pace is not so fast that viewers, even Western viewers with no knowledge of Czech – I saw this film without English sub-titles – can follow the shenanigans of central character Jan (Petr Koska) as he goes back and forth in time to thwart a dastardly plot to give Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany a hydrogen bomb from the future.

Kostka plays identical twins Jan and Karel: Karel is a spaceship pilot who’s also a womaniser and a drunk, Jan is his more sober and straight-laced brother. Karel gets a call to take some tourists on a trip to the past but before he can go to the port, he chokes on breakfast and dies. Jan has enough time to get his brother off to the morgue and into his uniform to impersonate him. Once aboard the ship, three of the tourists – they’re actually ageing Nazi crooks in disguise – hijack the craft and take it back to Berlin in 1941. There they greet Adolf Hitler and present him with the case containing the bomb – but it turns out they picked up the wrong case and it’s full of clothes. The crooks and Jan are bundled off to jail and must figure out a way of escape.

After escaping, the men go back to the present and their paths diverge: they go back to the period just before Karel dies and Jan then sets about changing the path of time so as to prevent Karel’s death and sabotage the crooks’ plan. This involves making another trip back to Nazi Germany but no-one has any proper sense of time so the second trip also slightly overshoots and the time-travellers arrive just before they arrived the first time. Don’t worry, it does sound very confusing – you just need to watch the movie to be able to sort out which Jan is which and how successfully Jan1 manages Jan2 and Jan3 and is able (or not able) to preserve family continuity!

Though made over 30 years ago, the film doesn’t look at all aged: the light is clear and the lines are sharp, men’s suits at least don’t look dated and even interiors and furniture look contemporary. The pace is brisk but the plot is straightforward if increasingly convoluted towards the end. The music soundtrack is a major highlight: light, a little humorous and sprightly with space ambient effects and much use of synthesiser-generated melodies that sound at once a little alien yet familiar and reassuring.

If I’d seen the film with English sub-titles, I’d have been able to appreciate more of its humour and jokes; there are many witty sight gags including creative uses of dishwashing liquid in dissolving dishes (and more besides!), the car with the back hood that flips up of its own accord at inconvenient times and the green spray that neutralises and zombifies people, all of which are important in advancing the plot and resolving it. The back-and-forth time-travel and its non-synchronisation (everyone comes and goes at times that are just ahead of when you think they should arrive or depart) are a running joke that might have a deeper meaning: what if certain important historical events could have been cut off or avoided had someone done something earlier rather than later? There is a subversive message in all the time-travelling that goes on: Jan foils an evil plot thanks to his being in the right spot five minutes (or 50 minutes at least) before the right time and ingeniously manages to cover up Karel’s untimely death as well. Now, if only he had gone back in time to try to stop the Soviets from marching into Prague in the 1940s or 1968 or whenever …

As science fiction movies go, the plot and characters, and especially Kostka’s clever timing as Jan who must be in several places at once, are prominent. There are no special effects at all: all the science fiction is in the plot and in one of the film’s running gags (the dishwashing liquid gag). “Tomorrow I’ll Wake Up …” is the kind of comedy I’d like to see more of and which has been sorely lacking in Western cinema (and still is) – fun, witty, exuberant and inventive with the possibilities offered by a science fiction standard – and with a bonus of a cutting comment on society about lost opportunities and the possibility of change.

L’Age d’Or: cheeky and hilarious attack on religious, social and political repression and corruption

Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dali, “L’Âge d’Or” (1930)

On the heels of “Un Chien Andalou”, a short film, comes this proper full-length surrealist feature by Buñuel and Dali in which they cheekily send up everything prim and proper in Spanish society. These days “L’Âge d’Or” gets plenty of laughs and is seen to be the comedy it is but over 80 years ago, it was definitely seen as subversive and dangerous and was banned not only in its native Spain but elsewhere. The film revolves around two lovers who try to get it on but circumstances, society, the Roman Catholic Church and ultimately their own inhibitions, drummed into them by their upbringing, prevent them from consummating their passion.

The gags are hilarious yet stinging at the same time: crippled soldiers hobbling on rifles for crutches rally to the war cause against the Majorcan enemy; an Imperial Roman delegation, dressed in modern clothes, pay their respects to four dead bishops (they died from total uselessness); and the male lover of the doomed pair hates dogs so much he’d rather kick them and send them flying long distances than pat them. The narrative divides into three unequal parts: the first part revolves around the soldiers on crutches; the second encompasses the delegation’s founding of modern Rome and saluting the bishops, and the male lover’s arrest by police whom he eventually outwits by handing them a map then hailing a taxi and kicking a blind man; the third part which is the major part takes place at a fancy high-society party. Strange things take place there: some peasants detour their ox-drawn cart through the dining-room and a maid flies from the kitchen and crashes onto the dining-room floor while a burst of flame rips out from where she’s just come. In scenes highlighting social hypocrisy, all too reminiscent of modern mass-media-directed selective attention-mongering, the guests studiously ignore her and the peasants but when a man in the gardens OUTSIDE the mansion shoots his young son for disobedience, the attendees hurry out onto the balconies to gawp at the scene. In the meantime, the lovers find each other at the party and sneak outside for a kiss, cuddle and maybe a quickie.

The male of the pair turns out to be a diplomat for the humanitarian International Goodwill Society; he shirks his duties in pursuit of the lovely lass and as a result several zillions of innocent children, women and elderly folk in distant parts die violently and his boss has to commit suicide out of shame. While the two men shout each other down the phone, the diplomat’s amour greedily sucks a statue’s toes and the camera hilariously shoots a glance at the statue’s face as if to check for a reaction! Later the diplomat discovers his love is unfaithful and in anger he storms into her bedroom and flings out through the window her pet objects: a priest, a giraffe doll and a giant Christmas fir on fire!

Religion, the corruption of the Roman Catholic Church, authoritarian modes of bringing up children and the snootiness of high society all get a skewering here: these are themes that Buñuel would revisit throughout his career. The dinner party scene is a motif that repeats in other famous films like “The Exterminating Angel” and “The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie”. Dream sequences are important and make more impact against the conventional narrative than they do in “Un Chien Andalou”: in one early unforgettable scene the diplomat day-dreams about his lover, a toilet next to which something slithers up the toilet roll, and huge chunks of liquefied lumpy brown lava rolling and slurping against each other to the sounds of flushing toilets – lovely! Another important aspect of the movie is its use of overly melodramatic music especially during the party scenes in which the lovers scrap at each other without achieving much (the scenes are highly erotic even though no clothing is shed) and the passion and climax are provided by a garden concert: the climax turns out to be an anti-climax though as the conductor gets a headache!

The really blasphemous part of the film comes at the very end after a short retelling of the Marquis de Sade’s “120 Days of Sodom” (more famously represented in Pier Paolo Pasolini’s shocker “Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom”, reviewed elsewhere on this blog):  the figure of Christ is lampooned as a plaything of the depraved rich. This says something about religious hypocrisy among the wealthy and the corruption of religion itself, that its standard-bearers prostitute themselves before representatives of worldly power. There is no connection between this part of the film and what’s gone on for the past 55+ minutes but I say there’s no need to look for connection other than that this section expresses Buñuel’s low opinion of Catholic doctrine.

So many laugh-out-loud moments abound here that to absorb them all, you need to watch “L’Âge d’Or” (the title itself is highly satirical – who would associate a Golden Age with religious, social and political corruption?) at least twice; repeated viewings will also help you get a foothold onto what the narrative might be saying. There is no right way of viewing the film and seeing what its main issues are, so multiple interpretations of what’s really happening and what Buñuel might be saying are possible.

No wonder Alfred Hitchcock once named Buñuel as his favourite director: Buñuel dared to express his obsessions and hang-ups in direct ways that Hitchcock could only envy.

 

 

Where Evil Dwells: superficially slight and crude slasher flick packs a heavyweight wallop

David Wojnarowicz and Tommy Turner, “Where Evil Dwells” (1985)

Loosely based on an actual American court case in which 17 year old youth Ricky Kasso killed another teenage boy during an apparent Satanic ritual, this film is very unusual. There is a very loose and jerky narrative in which a ventriloquist’s dummy acquires a life of its own and either carries out its own murder projects or influences naive teenagers to gang up on lone innocents and rape or torture them in extreme ways. The film is silent save for a constant soundtrack of heavy rock / industrial music / screechy vocal babble (the end credits are accompanied by US singer Diamanda Galas’s distinctive glossolalic singing) that at times is deliberately sped up or slowed down to disorient viewers.

The hair-raising incidents don’t appear to have much in common other than that they’re performed by the same kids but Wojnarowicz and Turner might have had to compromise on the number of wannabe long-haired teenage serial nut-job actors and used some of the youngsters to perform different roles twice. The activities can be repugnant: in one scene, the kids throw a dead companion of theirs off the edge of a bridge onto traffic below them and in another, they are sitting around a camp-fire mutilating animals and beating up and killing a friend of theirs.

Watching the film the first time, I found the narrative jumpy but on second viewing, it started to make much more sense and I could see that beyond the violence and horror there is actually a moral message pointing to the hypocrisy of political, economic and cultural elites, the source of real evil, in our society who divide and rule the citizens and decree who is “evil” and who is not. There is a lot of jumpiness in the camera shots which viewers may not like. Editing looks adequate enough and one quite memorable section in the film’s first half (it can be seen on Youtube.com in two equal parts) is the juxtaposition of shots of a front-row rider’s viewpoint on a rollercoaster ride with shots of a man in a business suit with smoke and explosive flashes suggesting machine-gun fire coming out of his body. Throughout the film the rollercoaster sequences suggest rises and falls in people’s emotional states and scenes with a priest performing a ritual and a laughing business-man suggest that religion and the corporate world have a stake in encouraging and exploiting the youngsters in their debased behaviour.

Although less than half an hour long, the film does run out of puff in its second half, due perhaps to the relentless killing sprees in which the murderer or murderers have a particular taste in obtaining human eyeballs. There is satire in the film with Wojnarowicz perhaps taking the time to add private jokes: the ventriloquist’s dummy, exulting in the mayhem with his hammy raspy voice, is comic and sinister at once – he provides both relief from the violence and a commentary on it.  There’s a hilarious part where a slob in something that might be a Roman-toga outfit gorges himself on rich food and flings it around and this might say something about the corruption and wastefulness of Western political and cultural elites. This impression is reinforced by the Satanic mass sacrifice ritual that follows into which shots of a laughing cigar-smoking corporate type are inserted. If you can grasp the symbolism in “Where Evil Dwells”, then you’ll find this superficially crude-looking effort a worthwhile watch.

Starship Troopers: a hilarious send-up of US-style fascism and conduct of war

Paul Verhoeven, “Starship Troopers” (1997)

Loosely adapted from the Robert Heinlein novel of the same name, this film can be read as a caricature on several fronts: a send-up of the American cultural obsession with war on whatever US politicians declare war on; a satire on emergent US-styled fascism with its fetish for military technology, media sound-bites, slogans and appeals to patriotism; and a laugh at Hollywood action and war genre movies, Hollywood movie conventions and Hollywood’s own love affair with the military. Cunningly disguised as a brain-dead B-grade sci-fi “Alien” rip-off with a squeaky-clean cast of wooden though handsome actors, heavy slapstick symbolism and a meandering stitched-together plot that wanders through scenes of excessive gore, “Starship Troopers” cleverly combines action, romance and even high school hi-jinx through the eyes of its two main characters Johnny Rico (Caspar van Dien) and Carmen (Denise Richards) as they sally through their cartoon adventures in space and on an alien planet in service to the Federation, dedicating their lives to fighting bloodthirsty hordes of giant Arachnids and their arthropod allies.

The film divides into three parts: the first part is familiar all-American high school romance drama as Rico is torn between Carmen and Dizzy (Dina Meyer), Carmen is torn between Rico and Balcarow (Patrick Muldoon), and Rico is in friendly competition with Carl (Neil Patrick Harris); the second part sees Rico in boot camp training under various sociopathic instructors (Clancy Brown and Michael Ironside knowingly playing their parts straight-faced for laughs) to enter an elite mobile infantry unit while Carmen and Balcarow undertake pilot training and become close; and the third part throws our old high school crowd into the thick of fighting against the Arachnid armies, scathingly referred to as “bugs”. Interspersed into the film at intervals are propaganda shorts and news reels shaped as advertisements appealing for more youth to join the Federation armies and fight the “bugs”. Constant repetition of slogans like “I’m doing my part!” and “Would you like to know more?” – in a context where people don’t have a choice to say “No, I DON’T want to know more!” – cleverly and subtly inveigles both characters and viewers into supporting an ongoing war conducted by a future society that cynically throws hundreds of thousands of young people into a war like so many disposable cheap robots with inadequate gunpower. At one point in the film, a character breaks the fourth wall (that is, knowingly faces viewers) while hyping up soldiers to charge forth into battle against the bugs.

Many serious issues are addressed in the film in a light-hearted way: the preparation of young people through contact sports like football for military life; the glorification of violence through televised executions and the deliberate gore pornography; a culture brainwashing its young people to choose a military career and forcing them to die if they wish to enjoy the full benefits of citizenship; the incredulity of armchair experts and commentators that the bugs might have feelings and emotions and deserve to be treated with respect; and the government’s exploitation of fear, both human and bug, for military purposes and to control citizens and civilians (those who eschew the military life and so can’t be citizens but must be treated as hoi polloi consumers) alike. The futility of war and the cynicism of a society that uses war to control people are expressed in scenes in which soldiers are thrown straight into action after a few months of brutal boot-camp training armed with rifles that waste kah-zillions of bullets to no effect against the bugs even though better weapons like shoulder-held nuclear-powered rocket-launchers are available. After all, if you really want to get rid of the bugs rather than waste the humans which I suspect is the fascist society’s way of coping with over-population on Earth, why not just use a fleet of combat fighter jets to spray entire valleys and cave systems with chemicals that ignite on contact with living things and fry-y-y everything? It’s not as if the Federation cares about the bug planet’s environment and ecosystems.

The film itself is made in a style reminiscent of classic Hollywood action or drama films with lovingly filmed open spaces and swelling heroic orchestral music. The main characters are young, beautiful and buff with square jaws and clear eyes, and they’re clean-cut all-American Aryans though they play characters from Buenos Aires in Argentina (where Adolf Hitler is rumoured to have found sanctuary after WW2 instead of committing suicide): obviously this is a future BA that’s long succumbed to the seductions of whatever passes for future American or British culture – any differences between two sets of lowest common cultural denominators being hardly moot – and the English language. Jorge Luis Borges, Adolfo Bioy Casares and Carlos Gardel are spinning in their graves. Hollywood conventions are sent up in hilarious fashion: the film lovingly feasts viewers’ eyes on scenes of gore and gratuitous bloodshed but coyly blacks out scenes that might suggest sexual intercourse. The film apparently borrows many elements from Leni Riefenstahl’s famous Nazi propaganda documentary “Triumph of the Will”, a film I have yet to see in full. The grey uniforms and black leather coats worn in “Starship Troopers” look as though they were borrowed straight from a war museum housing Nazi German memorabilia. Special effects and scenes of space flight are often astonishingly well-done and even beautiful for a purported B-grade sci-fi flick; there are also of course schlocky scenes in which soldiers revel in pounding the bugs and getting sprayed with lime-green or day-glo orange bug blood as though they were merely playing paintball.

The film does drag during the long third section of the movie set on the bug planet as the plot bounces from one comedy skit to another. Viewers are cleverly set up for the climactic moment when the bugs obtain information about humans by drinking someone’s brain through a proboscis straw – at least some characters here know their manners! A refreshing change from most schmaltzy endings typical of Hollywood films is that once the dust has settled and the humans begin the job of obtaining information from a captured smart bug through torture, Rico and Carmen grimly continue their chosen vocations rather than sink into each other’s arms and this conclusion in itself is a comment on how fascist societies that constantly mine fear, suspicion and war to control people end up dehumanising them.

Surprisingly the film has become more relevant since the plane attacks on the World Trade Centers in 2001, with the bugs standing in for Iraqis, Afghans and Libyans. As long as the United States and its allies rampage all over the planet trying to kill more “bugs”, leaving destruction, pollution and DU radiation in their wake, we will need more eye candy satire like “Starship Troopers”.

 

The Tenant: psychological study of alienation, paranoia self-repression and loss of identity and control

Roman Polanski, “The Tenant” / “Le Locataire” (1976)

A very good psychological study of a young man, bullied by others and trying to make his way in a society that is self-absorbed and indifferent to the needs and problems of individuals, this low-key flick is the kind of movie Polanski does best. Present in nearly every scene to the point of suffocation are claustrophobia and a strong sense of alienation due to the film’s spatial confinement to interiors with very few outdoor scenes. The plot revolves around main character Trelkovsky (Polanski himself) going about his daily activities and meeting with scorn, indifference, ridicule and people using him as a punching-bag for their neuroses nearly everywhere he goes. This blow-by-blow approach immerses viewers deep into Trelkovsky’s world so we feel and understand his paranoia and delusions even though we know there is no substance to them and many slights he experiences exist in his mind only; the situations that cause and feed his mental deterioration are so ordinary and ambiguous in nature that they are equal parts horror and comedy. The whole structure of “The Tenant” is of a series of black comedy sketches that build on one another to overwhelm their protagonist so that by the end of the film, his wacky behaviour is the only logical way of ending his nightmare.

Trelkovsky rents an apartment in an old building inhabited mainly by elderly residents who apparently have no other entertainment than to complain about the noise Trelkovsky supposedly makes, even though by nature he’s quieter than a mouse in a vacuum. The concierge (Shelley Winters) tells Trelkovsky the previous occupant of his unit – a girl called Simone – fell through the balcony windows and plummeted several floors to the ground. Trelkovsky tries to appease the landlord and other tenants and keep his head down at work but the constant grind of sniping attacks from his neighbours, teasing from co-workers, the indifference of police to a robbery and his entanglement with a kooky girl, Stella (Isabelle Adjani), and her bohemian friends wears him down. Add to that mix the mystery of Simone’s self-defenestration, which Trelkovsky comes to believe was a suicide attempt, and strange clues such as graffiti written in Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics in his bathroom(!) and a tooth found in a wall, and tension and suspense build up steadily and slowly to a bizarre climax.

Of course the plot makes no sense and Trelkovsky is over-sensitive to all incidents inflicted upon him. All support characters are deliberately exaggerated for effect: Adjani’s character in particular comes over as a concentrated amalgam of the kooky middle-class girls who populate Woody Allen films. Winters does a marvellous job as the insulting, sneering concierge. I have seen reviews elsewhere that comment on how Muppet-like the support characters are (Adjani as Miss Piggy and the landlord and the concierge as Statler and Waldorf) and they do indeed appear very puppet-like! – which suggests that Trelkovsky in his own deranged way constructs his reality to revolve around his apparent “helplessness” which enables him to control and cope with his victim status.

However Trelkovsky’s need to fine-tune and update his status leads him to obsess that the neighbours are trying to drive him to suicide; at the same time, he chooses to adopt Simone’s identity to the point where he wears her dress, uses her make-up and buys a wig and high-heeled shoes. At this point, you wonder how much in control of his fantasy world he really is and whether he is acting out a repressed sexual fantasy or memory; for all we know, Simone might simply be a useful tool for Trelkovsky to act out and embellish his anger and frustration. Viewers may be put off by Trelkovsky’s cross-dressing (it does look very self-indulgent!) but as a visual indicator of how Trelkovsky succumbs to his delusions and repressions, it’s very hard-hitting and serves to increase the film’s tension.

Visually the film is in thrall to Polanski’s vision: the window and camera are deliberately dissolved into one, the window / camera as peep-hole into one’s soul and desires and as symbol of repressed sexuality, and there are many repeating images of people looking through windows or being framed by window or door frames. The look of the film is superficially realistic but camera shots and the use of panning emphasise the plot’s voyeuristic aspects. The music tends to be sparing and large parts of the film feature no dialogue. The outer appearance of people and objects contrasts strongly with their inner “reality” in Trelkovsky’s world; even Stella and her dotty pals get press-ganged into the neighbours’ supposed conspiracy.

The improbable plot is played as much for laughs as for suspense and horror, and that in itself is true horror: viewers can’t help but laugh at the final indignity Trelkovsky heaps upon himself as, convinced that everyone is out to get him, he insists on torturing and degrading himself once and then twice. The mystery of Simone’s accident becomes completely irrelevant, a mere McGuffin device Hitchcock would surely have applauded. Trelkovsky’s humiliation is that he imagines everything to excess, and excess overcomes any doubt or skepticism he may have had about the things that have happened to him. Repetition forms part of this excess and itself is overdone with numerous images of windows and people looking through them.

As a portrait of one man’s isolation / alienation from a hyper-individualised society and how his past experiences and background as an outsider without known close social ties help him (or not) to cope with the daily difficulties and upsets of Western life, and how these feed into his fears and control over a fragile self-image, “The Tenant” is at once creepy, hilarious and devastating. Compared with “Repulsion” and “Rosemary’s Baby”, it’s not quite as scary or as subtly layered and it does sag in its middle section but it’s still a worthwhile look at how Polanski mines his favourite themes of isolation, alienation, paranoia, mental breakdown, lack of social connections and loss of control over one’s destiny.

Young and Innocent: a girl finds truth and wisdom through deception in light-hearted crime thriller comedy

Alfred Hitchcock, “Young and Innocent” (1938)

A plucky teenage girl aids a young man on the run from bumbling police who suspect him of murder by driving him in her police-chief dad’s car through the English countryside. Sounds like the kind of young adult crime thriller fiction Enid Blyton might have once wanted to write but in fact this is the synopsis of a light-hearted and entertaining film by Alfred Hitchcock. The original source material is a whodunnit by writer Josephine Tey but as was his habit Hitchcock reworked the story into another variation of the meta-movie running in his head in which an innocent man, falsely accused of a heinous crime, must prove his honesty and character by finding the real culprit with no help other than a feisty and resourceful blonde lady by his side. Whom he falls in love with, naturally. A link object – in this case, a raincoat – provides an implausible yet valuable clue to finding and identifying the murderer who conveniently gives himself away at the film’s climax.

Seventeen-year-old actor Nova Pilbeam, boasting past childhood acting experience, steals the show as the determined Erica who is unwillingly drafted by Robert Tisdall (Derrick de Marney) into helping him but who ends up taking charge of the search for the real criminal. The character of Erica could have been very one-dimensional jolly-hockey-sticks / senior high-school prefect and while Erica does veer very closely to that stereotype, Pilbeam works into the character spunk and warmth and not a little desperation at times. Tisdall on the other hand is blank and isn’t much help to his own cause even when the couple fetch up at a pub and a fight breaks out there which traps Erica; Tisdall’s attempt to rescue her ends up with her rescuing him. The romance which develops between the two is very fleeting and not at all convincing, and one has the impression Hitch himself was rather uncomfortable with it due to Erica’s very young age (she’s 16 years old, Tisdall is over 30 years of age) and the circumstances in which Erica and Tisdall are thrown together.

The adults in the film are laughable stereotypes: there’s a kind-hearted tramp who could have easily taken advantage of Erica when they’re alone together; Erica’s suspicious aunt and easy-going uncle are a comic couple; the police chasing Erica and Tisdall get into all kinds of silly scrapes; and the crook himself turns out to be a nervous wreck who undoes himself by overdosing on tranquillisers when he sees police surrounding him. (He does not know that they’re actually after someone else which is part of the situation comedy in the film’s ballroom scenes.) The only adult who comes out looking sensible is Erica’s father, a benevolent and comfortingly patriarchal presence.

The film has impressive technical chops as well with a tracking camera shot gliding across the huge ballroom scene to focus on the crook playing drums in a jazz band. While Hitch at the time was not very good with co-ordinating and filming crowd scenes generally, the same can’t be said for his mass ballroom-dancing scenes which are well done and include some slapstick comedy. Quick camera shots here and there and a rescue scene in an abandoned mine herald similar scenes in future Hollywood works like “Vertigo”, “North by Northwest” and “The Birds”.

The film is well-named: Erica, initially innocent in the ways of the world, becomes aware of its injustices in her effort to prove Tisdall’s innocence and by film’s end, she is a very knowing and transformed character while Tisdall has barely changed. Erica has learned that to get to the bottom of things to find the truth, one must practise deception and practise it better than everyone else in the film does. Familiar motifs running through the film include trains, distrust of police, resistance to authority, and birds and seascapes as heralds of disaster caused by human sexual jealousy and violence. Although “Young and Innocent” goes easy on the suspense and menace, and often overdoes the comedy especially in its later ballroom scenes, it’s an enjoyable comedy crime caper that even young people today might thrill to. Enid Blyton might well have wished she had scripted this flick.

 

A Ninja Pays Half my Rent: fun and hilarious student film about finding the perfect partner … and being the perfect partner

Stephen K Tsuchida, “A Ninja Pays Half my Rent” (2002)

Hilarious student short about finding the perfect room-mate (which could be extended to include the perfect tenant, the perfect boarder, the perfect spouse, whatever), this has punchy gags timed and edited well and the silliness is cleverly turned into fun and not a little sympathy for its hapless and hopeless main character. Barry (Timm Sharp) has to find a new room-mate after his pal (Anthony Liebetrau) tragically dies at breakfast: the poor sod pokes his grapefruit and a stream of juice hits his eye and penetrates and burns his brain through the optic nerve. A ninja (Shin Koyamada) answers Barry’s ad and the usual problems of getting used to each other’s dirty habits, schedules and other eccentricities, and working out who puts out the rubbish on rubbish nights and who will buy the milk and groceries follow. The two guys amicably settle into a routine but it’s not long before Barry is tangled up in a personal feud that can only end tragically.

The story is ingeniously constructed in a way that the full details of Barry’s recruiting process happen off-screen and only the more amusing aspects of Barry and the ninja living together are highlighted: everything we see occurred in the distant past and Barry is relating the events to his jogging partner (Steve Yager). The plot only goes into the present tense close to the end when Barry gets home and starts talking about lunch. The beauty of the flashback approach to Barry’s narration is that viewers see what Barry never notices: a conflict between his ninja flatmate and the ninja’s enemy (Tsuchida himself). Close-ups of the actors and of Sharp in particular demonstrate character and parody the ninja lifestyle stereotype.

The pace is generally quick though it drags a little through one skit in which Barry asks for the syrup while the ninja is deep in contemplation over his pancakes. This particular skit shows excellent editing, clever alternation of close-ups and framing of the dining-room scene, and panning in the shot where Barry repeats his request and suddenly finds the syrup right beside him though the ninja has not appeared to move but is instead communing with the pancake. Another memorable skit, and one that introduces a new tension and direction into the short, is where the ninja flatmate takes up his duel while Barry is engrossed in watching a nature documentary. The shot where Barry continues to watch TV, oblivious to the activity on the back couch behind him, is sure to become a classic for film students and audiences alike for its careful set-up and the perfect framing.

The climax is quick, tragic and comic as well: Barry finds himself in demand as the perfect flatmate among the (unseen) ninja community in his town (he’s not very bright and never notices anything much unless it’s an issue of personal hygiene) and it looks like he won’t want for future room-mates. It seems that to find the perfect room-mate, you have to be a perfect room-mate too.

Everything works well thanks to Tsuchida’s almost ninja-like approach to filming his baby: the clean and precise editing; the neat settings with their sharp lines; close-ups of Sharp’s face that capture every shade of expression; the contrast between Sharp’s likeable if clueless Barry and Koyamada’s wary and vigilant ninja, which the short plays up for comic effect; and the minimal script which quietly and artfully builds on its skits, along with the soft tinkling piano soundtrack that plays throughout the film, have something of the Zen Buddhist philosophy that initially informed the practice of ninjutsu in Japan.

The Trial: brave and visually striking attempt to bring classic Kafka dystopia to screen

Orson Welles, “The Trial” / “Le Procès” (1962)

This film is a visually striking adaptation of the famous Franz Kafka novel. Welles’s directorial approach tries to incorporate as much of the spirit of the novel and its themes if not exacting faithfulness to the novel’s plot and the result is a work that is very heavy on dialogue which can seem mumbo-jumbo at times with much symbolism and not a little humour that can be missed by viewers. The style of the film is film noir / thriller: the plot proceeds as straight drama and lead actor Anthony Perkins plays the unfortunate anti-hero Josef K in a near-heroic, tight-jawed way while other actors play their roles in styles that may be called comic or parody. The look of the film is formal and stylised with an emphasis on over-imposing office or public buildings in modern brutalist, neo-classical or Gothic styles and exterior scenes empty of pedestrian and vehicle traffic that give the world where Josef K lives the appearance of a 20th-century police state relying on technology and bureaucracy to bolster its rule.

Josef wakes up, as if from a dream, in his apartment and is immediately apprehended by police on charges of having committed a crime of which details they don’t inform him. They then leave him and he embarks on a series of adventures to find out what he’s been accused of and to clear his name. Each incident in which he tries to get information ends in vain though he has quite memorable sexual encounters with various women. His uncle and guardian Max takes him to the family lawyer Hastler (Welles himself) who’s of no help whatsoever and Josef sacks him from his case. In the meantime the case proceeds through secretive layers of the court system and Josef is informed by a priest (Michael Lonsdale) and later by Hastler that he has been condemned to death.

The episodic nature of the film, in which Josef’s encounters with the legal system appear as more or less self-contained skits, contributes to the lack of tension and the impression that a plot as such doesn’t really exist. The climax appears as just another skit that conveniently ends the story. Welles could have added other skits not in the original novel or left out skits and the movie could have been 90 minutes or even 3 hours long without changing the general thrust of the plot. The comedy aspect is too subtle for a general audience and the potential for absurdism, for commenting on the craziness of society, especially one governed by techno-bureacratism, remains mostly unrealised. The timing of the film is unfortunate: made in the early 1960s when society was repressed and repressive, the sexual comedy is very muted; had the film been made a few years later with the same actors in a different and more relaxed social climate, able to look back on its past and realise how stultifying it had been, the sexual comedy with Hastler’s nurse Leni (Romy Schneider) and Josef’s neighbour Ms Burstner (Jeanne Moreau) seducing our hero might have been more open and a lot funnier with the characters in various states of undress in situations that could have segued into further embarrassments for Josef.

Another problem with the film is the way Welles tried to shape the character of Josef into something more heroic and positive for a general audience, standing as a lone defender of truth and justice in a corrupt society, than leave him as a distracted everyman while at the same time throwing him into an existential hamster-wheel to remain true to the novel as he (Welles) saw it. Perkins never seems to settle down into any particular interpretation of Josef: by turns he is nervous, scared, discomfited, full of bravado, malicious and righteous. At times he seems to be channelling US actor James Stewart in his more assertive scenes and not succeeding well at all, otherwise in scenes where his character is out of his depth, especially with women and young girls who represent aspects of the system, Perkins becomes touchingly vulnerable. Swinging from one behavioural extreme to another, and not fitting in completely, the actor is more brave than effective but then that’s the point: Josef is condemned to die because he never fits into his society but insists on sticking out like a sore thumb.

The oppressive yet perplexing society is portrayed well with staged Expressionist scenes that highlight contrasts in light and shadows and the skilful deployment of unusual camera angles, long tracking and deep focus that Welles had used in “Citizen Kane”. In particular interior scenes which take place inside abandoned buildings, in buildings where furnishings appear to have been ripped out to expose pipes and frameworks or in places of disarray or where structures have been set up in haste convey the chaos behind the façade of order strenuously maintained by police and legal authorities. (This of course suggests that the passage of Josef’s case through the courts doesn’t proceed smoothly or logically and the decision to execute him itself is irrational and based on a line of reasoning riddled with errors, false assumptions and plain malice.) Overall the look of the film and the way the camera is used complement the straight film noir drama genre approach Welles used though perhaps using film noir as straight drama doesn’t quite suit “The Trial”; a more ironic and parodic film noir approach, such as was used by Jean Luc Godard in “Alphaville” which looks very similar to “The Trial” in its use of modern office buildings as the setting for a similar technocratic dystopia, might have been more appropriate. Nice to see Amir Tamiroff appearing in minor roles in both films too!

Welles departs significantly from the novel in two scenes: the first such scene is one where Hastler screens an animated film, “Before the Law” to Josef and the two then talk about the film (which viewers have seen already in the prologue to “The Trial” proper in pin-screen animation format), at the end of which Josef defies Hastler and Hastler then appears to make his mind up about Josef; we may infer that Hastler plays some part in sentencing Josef to death. The other scene is Josef’s execution which, unlike the novel, gives Josef a chance to escape death while allowing his executioners an excuse that they are not directly responsible for his death. The implication is that Josef would prefer to die while being true to himself and his values rather than continue to live in a dysfunctional society with others who don’t share his desire for an honest life.

“The Trial” is a brave if not successful attempt to bring Kafka’s novel in its thematic entirety to the screen. Other adaptations of the novel including a 1993 film version starring Kyle MacLachlan and Anthony Hopkins have been even less successful so any faults in Welles’s film are as much due to the novel being all but unfilmable in its structure and characterisation. If Welles hadn’t tried to force the film into a form agreeable to mainstream audiences but instead made the kind of film he and only he plus a few close friends wanted to see, “The Trial” still wouldn’t be perfect but it would have come closer to “perfect” – the black comedy might have been more obvious and that in itself might even have made the film a celebration of a brief life in a depressing dystopia.

Birds of a feather, let’s flock together: four film shorts about birds illustrate something universal about human behaviour and social life

Pierre Coffin, “Pings” (2 shorts, 1997)
Ralph Eggleston, “For the Birds” (2000)
Dony Permedi, “Kiwi!” (2006)

All four films are about birds obviously but they’re also about some universal aspect of the human condition and can be understood by all except the very young due to their short, simple plots and duration (less than 4 minutes for each). French animator Coffin made two short films under the “Pings” which feature cute baby penguins dying horribly if deservedly for their silly behaviour. In one film, some chicks follow and bounce a green blob about and share their plaything with a polar bear. The polar bear sits on the green blob and squashes it. One of the babies offers itself as a replacement blob. Wooh, instant candidate for an avian Darwin award! In the other, an adult penguin patiently babysits three yelping youngsters who annoy him so much that he pops one chick into the ocean. The other chicks fall silent as a killer whale homes in on the unexpected dinner. Do the chicks learn their lesson about annoying Dad?

These are thin little pieces that make their point quickly and exit just as fast. The plots rely on surprise and black humour and make the most impact the first time you watch them; as a result, they don’t bear repeated viewings. Compared to Coffin’s later work, the CGI animation looks simple and parts look hand-drawn. The interesting thing about the little stories is that in the world of the Pings every chick is on its own and all are equally dumb and dispensable. No need to feel sorry for any of the little buggers as there are probably plenty more where they came from! And we must admit … we did really enjoy those little shorts for their deliciously sly humour.

The next two animation shorts are more sympathetic to their subjects and have deeper messages. “For the Birds”, in which a flock of little tweeters sitting on an overhead telephone line are joined by a gawky critter of a different species who upsets their little party, brings us a moral about discrimination. The goofy gatecrasher has the last laugh when, forced to drop off the line, he sees it zing up catapult-like causing his tormentors deep humiliation. Actions and behaviour are shown to have important consequences for both perpetrators and recipient. Made for Pixar, the animation is typical of the company’s style in featuring highly individual and comic characters and very bright colours.

“Kwi!”, made as a student project by Permedi, is a touching story about a kiwi with ambitions to fly. He spends Herculean effort and time in dragging and hammering large trees to the side of a tall cliff. Our little friend becomes quite adept at roping conifers into place and hammering them hard into the granite with just his two feet grasping the hammers and nails. At the top, he puts on his aviator’s cap and glasses and jumps off to simulate the effect of flying. The film rotates sideways to show him in full flight over the trees, flapping his feeble wings. He passes into the distance and disappears into the mist. Admittedly the story is simple to the point of banality – we all know what happens at the end – but what stands out is the kiwi’s stubborn and determined nature in achieving his lifetime goal. Doubtless his relatives and friends have called him a fool and told him to get a life and be happy staying on the ground, pecking and rooting away like everyone else. Yet the dream is not only near-impossible, but when achieved, it brings only short-lived happiness. As the kiwi flashes past us, a tear falls from his eye and the mix of emotions is obvious: he’s proved the impossible really is possible, he’s having the most exhilarating flight of his life, he never knew flying could be so much fun, he’s lost for words … but sudden, violent death will claim him all too soon.

The CGI animation is nowhere near as detailed as for “For the Birds” but its simplicity is actually a bonus as viewers have their work cut out reading the kiwi’s face and the emotions it might be feeling. Changing perspective by rotating the film’s focus creates an epic feeling during the flying scenes and plunges viewers deeply into the kiwi’s world so that we experience what he feels and experiences; it also deftly takes us out of the kiwi’s world as he flies on ahead to spare us the agony of what awaits him down below. Of the films under review here, this short features no simulated bird vocals; the other films have twittering birds or chicks. In all four films, some human emotion or behaviour is highlighted for comic effect; “Kiwi!” uses emotion to structure and pace the film from puzzlement (on the viewers’ part) to wonder, anticipation, expectation and finally joy and ecstasy edged with sadness.

These are not very profound films though some viewers will become very attached to the hero of “Kiwi!” and wish beyond hope that he has actually passed onto a better plane of existence where he is accepted for wanting to be more than his ratite heritage gave him and can fly freely with his tiny little flappers. It’s likely that as more people watch “Kiwi!”, it will become a beloved little cult classic and acquire more layers of meaning that include the desire for and intangibility of freedom from a restrictive headstart in life.