Film clips - takeaways from recent movie watching (and match the text to the pictures)

The Silent Partner (Daryl Duke 1978). As yes, the early heyday of Hollywood North, where all of Toronto was in a tizzy that Hollywood was making movies (for tax reasons) up in Hogtown. The media couldn’t get enough of the fact stars like Elliot Gould and Chris Plummer deigned to descend on the Big Smoke for the shoots. But this movie, made in the Eaton Centre (!), is just a bit cheesy.

A New Leaf (Elaine May 1971). Embarrassed to say I’d never seen a movie by or with Elaine May, the famous comedian and director. This film was a hoot, with Walter Matthau – master of personas – donning a misanthrope Richie Rich demeanor as he marries the incredibly diffident and clumsy May, all in an attempt to reboot his wealth. Absurdist supreme.

The In-laws (Arthur Hiller 1979). I will never miss a film with Alan Arkin, or Peter Falk for that matter. Here they team as the unlikely brothers-in-law who engage in an international spy plot. Arkin’s deadpan innocence is ensnared in Falk’s mastermind craziness. There are hints of Woody Allen’s Bananas (1971). 

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three: (Joseph Sargent 1974). I’d never seen the whole thing. Yes, a thriller. But I didn’t expect the comedy that peppers the plot, most of which is of the New York “Bronx Cheer” sort as bumbling city officials and cops try to track down the unlikely subway hijackers. Walter Matthau, again, as the top transit cop, is the only one on the ball. And now I know what “one two three” means.

A Quiet Place in the Country (Elio Petri 1968). Wow. Here’s a horror story about the art world. Franco Nero, a famed modern artist named Leonardo, buys a house in the country to clear his creative block. But strange things happen when his canvasses overturn. Vanessa Redgrave also stars as his saner enabler. A great modernist score by Italian master Ennio Morricone.

Metropolitan (Whit Stillman, 1990). Preppies live! This must be the last film where people in their Twenties sit around in each other’s (luxury) apartments talking philosophy and the way of the world, all the while wearing tuxedos and evening dresses. Grunge, unfortunately, was just around the corner. 

Golden Eighties (Chantel Akerman, 1986). My first reaction was to click this off when the staff of a hair salon in a shopping mall broke into song. Then I clicked it back on and let myself be lulled into this very different and sweet musical about love and consumer culture all dressed up in the bright colours and frizzy hairstyles of the 1980s.

What Happened Was (Tom Noonan 1994). Tom Noonan is one of my favorite actors/directors and here he is with Karen Sillas in his stage play remake about a dinner date where two people can’t connect. A probing psychological drama it’s anything but comedy.

Just shows low budget films can be the greatest

Of all the films I’ve seen over the past two weeks – and there have been 11 – two especially stand out. Both are low budget flicks and both date from the 1970s. The first was News from Home by the late great (suicide 2015) Belgium auteur Chantal Akerman. Akerman spent some of her early adult days scratching out an existence in New York City. And News from Home seems to reflect her life as an immigrant to the Big Apple. All it is, is a series of long still shots of life in Manhattan circa 1976. The camera dwells on individual locations – intersections, blocks, parking lots - several minutes at a time. Recognizable locations are the Lower East Side, Midtown, 10th Avenue in Hell’s Kitchen and various subway stations. Interspersed is voice over of her mother’s letters from home – a typical provincial mother who worries about her daughter in what was then considered a very dangerous American city. But the letters are typical of an overconcerned parent anywhere, dwelling on the little events that make up family life – “Sylvaine is taking her exams, I hope she does well” - and impatient for her daughter to write more often. What the film shows, however, is the stark grit that was Manhattan in the 1970s. The streets look moody, dim, buildings dilapidated and poorly lit, a type of mist – or is it pollution? – enveloping the sky, and the bleakness and indeed filth and anarchy of the subway. Trains pull into stations, each car a canvas of grime and graffiti, the passengers like walking dead, numb to it all. (This was Son of Sam time and before the infamous Bernard Goetz vigilantism). Todd Phillips’s 2019 Joker starring Joaquin Phoenix encapsulated the era……The second film was Alfredo Giannetti’s 1971 The Automobile starring the wonderful Anna Magnani. Magnani may be lesser known to North American audiences but she was a heralded star in Italy with descriptions of her as “volcanic” and “passionate, fearless, and exciting." Tennessee Williams wrote The Rose Tattoo for her. The Automobile is the simplest of stories, yet its magnificence comes from the great Magnani, who no doubt plays herself, a suffer no fools independent woman who brushes would-be pick-ups like dandruff off her shoulders. But she’s aging. “When you are at a certain age what is there but loneliness?” she muses. The solution? Getting a car! Perhaps its midlife crisis. But no one will deter Anna from learning to drive and purchasing a yellow sports car. This film is a quirky character study of a person who won’t conform to society’s rules, living life to the beat of her own drum. A genuinely  engrossing performance…..Both films are available on the Criterion Channel.

A twin city Jewish fest & Missing the theatre?

In these “interesting times” Windsor’s Jewish film festival is hooking up with Hamilton’s Jewish festival for a joint film event this week. Richard Kamen of the Windsor Jewish Federation told me the festival will be held, virtually, on one website May 2- 13. Usually the Windsor Jewish festival, which was supposed to celebrate its 18th year last year, is held in the spring at Devonshire Cineplex. But Covid cancelled it last year and the joint virtual festival is taking place this year. Kamen said Hamilton already had a small three-film festival and it was logical to hook up with Windsor’s 10 flick event, as the two Jewish federations had collaborated on other projects. “The films were chosen by Windsor but they were reviewed and approved by Hamilton,” he said. A website at eventive.org has been created to buy tickets and passes, watch trailers and “unlock” the films for viewing. (whjff.eventive.org/welcome). “It’s basically a one stop shop,” Kamen said. There will be 10 films, one released each night at 7 pm except for Friday and Saturday because of the Sabbath. But each film has 48 hours to be unlocked and then another 48 hours to be viewed. “So technically from the moment we release it you technically have 96 hours." The films have been “critically acclaimed” and shown at numerous other festivals. Among them are Fiddler - A Miracle of Miracles (Max Lewkowicz), a doc about the making of the iconic Fiddler on the Roof. Shepherd: The Story of a Jewish Dog (Lynn Roth), is an endearing drama about a boy separated from his dog by the Nazis only to rediscover the beloved animal in a concentration camp. And Love in Suspenders (Yohanan Weller), a romantic comedy about two septuagenarians who fall in love - will their budding relationship survive the scrutiny of their children?

Am I missing going to the theatre since Covid lockdowns began over a year ago? Well, yes. There was an experience in going to a bricks and mortar venue and sharing that with others. But it wasn't even that. Physically getting up and going to a scheduled film was, for lack of a better description, an event. And I think that's what we all miss. But it's very ironic. I subscribe to the Criterion Channel. At any given moment there is a retrospective - actually several - of the films of some of best names in cinema. Currently I'm watching films of the great French post-war actress Jeanne Moreau. It's wonderful to have at my fingertips more than a dozen of her films on offer. Yet part of me is blasé. Had these same films been offered as a retrospective at a Detroit art house (Detroit Film Theatre, DIA photo), I'd be excited as hell. I'd be crossing the border (when it was opened) every night to see them. On the other hand, each time I crossed the border and attended a film in the US it would cost at least $20 - $30 US ($25 - $35 Can), once bridge tolls, gas and sometimes parking were included. That's about a third what I pay to subscribe to Criterion Channel for a year! Despite that, I would have been immensely more excited by the theatre event.

Almost a Virtuoso

The Virtuoso (Nick Stagliano) (opening Friday at Emagine Canton 18 EMAX, MJR Southgate 20 EPIC, MJR Marketplace 20, MJR Westland Grand 16 as well as steaming on Digital on Demand with Blu-ray and DVD release May 4) is a slick absorbing story about an assassin for hire, played by Anson Mount. The film opens with our man spying a couple having sex in an apartment across the street. His job: assassinate the male target. Two shots and he’s done. After all, our man is a professional, a "virtuoso." So much so he thinks of all the ramifications and permutations that could occur on a particular job - the time it will take for the terrorized woman to grab a phone and call police, the seconds waiting for 411 to answer, the number of minutes for police to arrive “in that part of town.” Nothing, apparently, is left to chance. “You’re a professional, an expert, devoted to timing and precision,” the voice over narrator says. Except on his next assignment, he doesn’t see a couple of people coming out of nowhere with one collaterally killed when his target, as planned, crashes his shot-out car. Back at his “off the grid” wilderness cabin our man obsesses over this inadvertent murder. But he’s a professional, of course, so he’s up for the next assignment. That comes from his boss, aka The Mentor, played by Anthony Hopkins, avec sunglasses and leather jacket, of course. The new target is the cryptic White Rivers. Our man drives to a remote area, all the while trying to decipher who could be the plausible target. He winds up in a café with a rogue’s gallery of possibilities. From here the plot devolves into a series of blind alleys among various targets, their assassin worthiness questionable. But it’s here also that we find the narrative totally upended. And the reversal calls into question the previous underlying plot assumptions. This 110-minute film is good for an easy night out (or in, as the case may be).  Despite some unexpected turns towards the end the story is pretty straightforward; it won’t tax your whodunnit synapses. The score also creates tension even in calmer non-consequential scenes, and that's a good thing. The problems with the film are that our man assumes a too serious demeanor; he barely cracks a smile. There are other cliches: like wearing a white shirt and tie on assignment; I’m not in the biz but who does that anymore?  The darkened office of the mysterious Mentor is a staple from, oh, way back. And the plot is thin. But, hell, does it really matter? The Virtuoso is not deep but it’s entertaining enough. You probably won’t have thrown your Friday night entertainment money away.

Oscars. What Oscars?

I am usually not into the Oscars, or other award shows. But this year I’m REALLY not into them. In fact, I had to look up exactly when they’re scheduled. Whaddayaknow – it’s Sunday! It has been a desultory year for film thanks to the pandemic. And of those nominated I can’t believe I’ve seen as many as three – Mank (David Fiuncher), Pieces of a Woman (Kornél Mundruczó) and Hillbilly Elegy (Ron Howard). But I found Hillbilly so sickeningly disagreeable, about rural lower class family dysfunction - and disagreement and violence in almost every scene - I clicked it off (Netflix) two-thirds of the way through. Pieces of a Woman was the best, with a searing performance by Vanessa Kirby (nominated best actress). But this is not a light movie and hardly appeals to a wider audience. Mank’s best points were its devotion to period accuracy and sepia toned cinematography (Erik Messerschmidt nominated). Gary Oldman (nominated best actor) was convincing. But it’s a film of interest only to cinephiles about famed screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz. Even at that it was too long and stilted. (The director nominated.) I had no desire to see Nomadland (Chloé Zhao nominated) starring Frances McDormand (photo) (best actress). Nomadland, awash in publicity and having such a big star, and its alienation theme so appropriate for a wasteland Covid year, will no doubt take best picture. New York Post columnist Cindy Adams’s comments (below) were so delicious I just could't not reprint.

Are the Oscars over yet?

TODAY’S Tuesday. Five days left to not care about Sunday’s Oscars. Up for awards are downers. Anthony Hopkins is always great but, in a pandemic with death all around, watching an aged man dying of dementia is no knee-slapper. And for an uplift, although Frances McDormand is also always A-1, her “Nomadland” is the darkest dreariest dimmest dismal-est dung ever made. Its high spot is starvation, degradation, poverty and homelessness. “Mank,” about someone mostly nobody knows, mostly nobody saw. Wrote one reviewer: “‘Mank’ stank.” The review was better than the film. Michelle Pfeiffer in “French Exit”? I mean, please. The exit should’ve been in the theater. Hot on the awards list is “Judas and the Black Messiah.” Under 50 percent saw the thing. Forget “How the West Was Won.” The Hollywood West has now lost it. Last year’s Best Picture “Parasite” wasn’t even in English. And the director — not Spielberg, not Scorsese not Soderbergh. The industry favorite whose name is on everyone’s lips — Bong Joon Ho. Also — the show’s length covers three hours. Lucky us get to see best makeup person, best tweezer, best hairpiece maker. Few bladders make it to the finale. We not only got that Godzilla thrilla, we also got SAG Awards, Golden Globes, Grammys, Emmys, Tonys, BAFTAs, Country Music Awards, offBroadway Awards, People’s Choice Awards, MTV Video Music Awards, Billboard Awards — and almost everything’s been on TV. So who cares? Nobody asked me, but I think “The Trial of the Chicago 7” was the best. It maybe ran longer than the original trial, but it was great.

Five Easy Pieces reconsidered

 I’m not sure if I’ve seen Five Easy Pieces (Bob Rafelson, 1970) since the time it originally came out. But it was quite the film in its day and is still considered one of the seminal films of the era, and in American movies generally. Why it was one of the seminal films of the era had to do with what that era was all about – disillusionment with American consumer culture, the anti-establishment counterculture and the rise of social alienation in an IBM world where individuals no longer counted. Well, in Five Easy Pieces, Jack Nicholson as Bobby Dupea is Mister Alienation Plus. The film (screened recently on TCM) opens with him on a drill rig. He’s a good ol boy, or acting like one, and pals around with his jocular friend Elton (Billy "Green" Bush) whose life on and off the job is One Big Party. Bobby also has a girlfriend, Rayette (Karen Black), whom he at turns can’t stand and is embarrassed by. Rayette, a waitress, aspires to be a country and western singer. And she’s a bit of a ditz. Bobby is perpetually brooding. He doesn’t like his job, is sick of life with Rayette (who gets pregnant), and obviously wants something else - but what? One day the phone rings and he's told his father has had a stroke. This offers Bobby a chance to escape. And he almost does, but conscience tugs and he asks Rayette to go along. They pick up a couple of hippie hitchhikers, one of them a bizarre early eco type who incessantly complains about the “filth” in the world. "Alaska,” where she's headed, “is very clean.” They head north to Washington State where Bobby’s family lives. Along the way there is the iconic restaurant scene – epitomizing America’s so called unwavering consumer culture, where Bobby confronts a waitress who won’t give him the breakfast he wants. Later, Bobby dumps Rayette at a motel and drives to a bucolic island where his family’s grand house is. Turns out everyone in his family is cultured, including him, who once had the makings of a great pianist. There he meets Catherine (Susan Anspach), with whom he has sex, despite her being engaged to his brother. But Catherine soon wants no part of someone “who has no respect for himself.” The moody, angry Bobby continues in his meandering ways at this sour family reunion of sorts, and later, as the film goes on. Okay, I get the alienation part. But the film never explains why Bobby is as he is. And the problem with the film’s plot is that most of it sinks into a cul-de-sac of a soap opera at the family house. I didn’t really care. Nicholson was heralded for his performance. After having done another seminal film, Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, 1969) the year before, with a similar theme, the accolades kept rolling in. But, for me, the best acting of the film was Black as Rayette, playing the unsophisticated rural gal to a T. And I was also pleasantly surprised to discover Lois Smith as Bobby’s sister Partita – a rather cute and endearing character. The last time I saw Smith was almost 50 years later as an octogenarian white haired mother in Michael Almereyda's 2017 Marjorie Prime!

The film which epitomizes London's 'Swinging Sixties'

To me, the film which most epitomizes Britain’s “Swinging Sixties” is John Schlesinger’s 1965 Darling (Criterion Channel) starring Julie Christie. And Christie, in turn, most personifies the archetypical “It Girl” of the period (both on screen and off). This movie has it all as a testament to its time – mid-Sixties pop fashion, social commentary in the age of Ban the Bomb, and an oh-so-bored rising sophisticate encircled by the height of self-satisfied post-war pop culture and its subsets in the London modelling, arts and media worlds. The movie opens with a billboard of an emaciated African child being postered over by the newly glamorous model-du-jour Diana Scott (Christie). Not long after Robert (Dirk Bogarde), host of a TV arts show, accidentally meets Scott doing a “streeter” and they fall in love, jettisoning their married households. From there it’s a tour of London’s elite art and fashion sets with parties and charity balls, one in particular descending into obscene farce by the hypocrisy of the over-the-top fat cats attending it. Robert, however, is bookish. Diana is not and becomes restless. She meets Miles Brand (Laurence Harvey), an advertising exec (Brand, get it?), and they begin a relationship. Miles exploits and backhandedly disparages her by starring her in a trashy B movie. Miles, a jet setter par excellence, takes her to Paris and a party filled by the avantgarde where bizarre dance rituals and cross-dressing take place. As the face of a chocolate company’s advertising campaign Scott is dubbed The Happiness Girl, ironic given her increasing descent into depression and loneliness. While on an Italian commercial shoot she meets a prince (José Luis de Vilallonga, perhaps best known for his role opposite Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (Blake Edwards 1961)) who proposes marriage. She rejects it and heads back to England, where she realizes the emptiness of her high-flying set and decides to seek stability. She marries Prince Cesare after all, and, like Grace Kelly who married the prince of Monaco, becomes an Italian princess and stepmother of the prince’s brood. But even the opulence in a Medici villa proves, well, unsatisfying. The princess dines all alone (her husband presumably with a mistress) in evening dress surrounded by impassive servants. In the end, modelling, glamour, elitism – it’s all a crushing bore and crashing nosedive into personal oblivion. Christie won the Oscar for best actress for the role and it’s obvious why – personifying a rebellious vacuous character who doesn’t know what she wants. And, oh yes, the louche score by John Dankworth beautifully underlines the theme.