This seems an intriguing film in many ways, because it’s taking that evergreen trope of lurid Americana — the serial killers — and stripping it of any of the glamour usually afforded them in cinema. It doesn’t make either particularly attractive and it doesn’t beautify their crimes, as the film grimly moves its story on from initial meeting to murderousness in slow stages of development, she no less instrumental than him in driving them to their end. Its black-and-white graininess and low-budget quality effectively recalls Sam Fuller’s 50s pseudo-exploitation flicks, those true-crime ripped-from-the-headlines type of films which could run as a B-movie in a grindhouse.
FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection Director/Writer Leonard Kastle | Cinematographer Oliver Wood | Starring Shirley Stoler, Tony Lo Bianco | Length 107 minutes || Seen at a friend’s home (DVD), London, Sunday 25 February 2018
A couple of years after Stolen Kisses, Léaud’s Doinel character is (somewhat) settled down, married to Christine and expecting a child, but he retains the comic insouciance and desperate inability to hold down a job that marks the character in the previous film (the earlier ones were more about his adolescence). There’s a sadness to his character now, as his age advances and he still dallies around in affairs (including with a Japanese women, which at least has the saving grace that I don’t have to lean too heavily on the ‘it was a film of its era’ excuse that’s so often required for such subject matters), and Truffaut livens it up with little visual gags like having Tati’s Monsieur Hulot character get on a metro train at one point. Léaud certainly is starting to become the character that he’s so recognisable as from much of his 70s and 80s work.
FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection Director François Truffaut | Writers François Truffaut, Claude de Givray and Bernard Revon | Cinematographer Nestor Almendros | Starring Jean-Pierre Léaud, Claude Jade, Hiroko Berghauer | Length 100 minutes || Seen at home (DVD), London, Saturday 30 December 2017
The first of several Maysles Brothers films in the Collection (and the brothers were always very good at crediting their, often female, collaborators in post-production as co-directors), this is a fascinating documentary, at once a band-on-tour film with some great concert footage, and also a dissection of a national psyche. It’s made in 1969 in a nation coming down from the post-Woodstock belief in love and peace, and that seems to be the spirit that suffuses its darker recesses. The film is framed by the Rolling Stones together in the studio watching footage of the negotiations that led to, and then the on-stage drama at, their chaotic 1969 Altamont free gig. The Maysles are deft at showing their faces, as we read on them the realisation of how completely everything got screwed up in the process. As such, this is somehow more than just a music documentary (though if you like the Stones, there’s plenty of that there), and more a ‘state of the nation’ type piece, and it certainly seems as if the 1970s being ushered in would be a darker place.
FILM REVIEW: Criterion Collection Directors Albert Maysles, David Maysles and Charlotte Zwerin | Cinematographers Albert Maysles and David Maysles | Starring The Rolling Stones | Length 91 minutes || Seen at a friend’s home, London, Friday 27 May 2014 (and earlier on VHS at home, Wellington, March 2002)
RE-RELEASE FILM REVIEW || Seen at Curzon Mayfair, London, Monday 27 October 2014 (and several times previously on VHS) || My Rating excellent
It’s fair to say that in the year 2014 one of the last things I expected to get a cinematic re-release would be a cleaned-up digital print of Michelangelo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point. After decades of critical acclaim for his brand of existential non-thrillers made in his native Italy, this film was his pitch to the American market, getting on-board with such contemporary topics as student activism and free love. Needless to say, it was far from either a critical or commercial success at the time, and has at best a cult reputation now (largely due to its soundtrack album, I suspect). Yet in many ways it’s a fantastic film and a successor to Antonioni’s earlier works in its sense of characters adrift in vast threatening landscapes, as well as a film rightly critical of consumerism and rampant property development (themes which are still very much a part of the world 35 years on). I can’t in all good faith, however, recommend it to people who like strong dialogue and witty repartee: the flat line delivery, period affectations and (somehow typically Italian) use of imprecise post-synching can easily come across as lazy screenwriting. But these are not characters who are able to enunciate their issues with the world: on the one hand, there’s Mark (Frechette), angrily adrift at university, listening to articulate Black Power activists and witnessing his friends’ radicalisation, able only to offer cheap jokes (he gives his name to a cop as Karl Marx); on the other, Daria (Halprin) is a PA at a property developers’ office, where a succession of identikit men in beige suits delivers boardroom presentations so dull that even the camera seems to prefer losing focus, drifting away to off-centre framing, and frequently reflecting the discussion in mirrors and through other surfaces. As characters, these two uneasily inhabit their own respective worlds of words, but only meet in the centre of the film, as Mark buzzes over Daria’s car in a light plane he’s stolen for a joyride, out in the middle of the desert. The two make love in dusty Death Valley, at the Zabriskie Point of the film’s title, as their bodies hallucinatorily multiply, after which point they return to separate narrative strands. It’s here that Mark’s story, which has dominated the first half of the film, cedes to that of Daria, as she travels on to Phoenix for a conference with her bosses. It doesn’t always work perfectly — whether the actors’ jarringly disconcerting delivery of the script, the modish alienation effects, or the sometimes heavy-handed symbolism — but when it does, it just seems perfect. The pulsating psychedelic drone of the soundtrack, the dizzying procession of vapid billboards in Los Angeles, the subtly interwoven and interleaving narrative strands, the long takes, and of course that apocalyptic desert dream of an ending, in which a materialistic world is beautifully pulled apart in the most visceral way. These are all things I continue to love about this overlooked classic of the American cinema.
CREDITS || Director Michelangelo Antonioni | Writers Michelangelo Antonioni, Fred Gardner, Sam Shepard, Tonino Guerra and Clare Peploe | Cinematographer Alfio Contini | Starring Mark Frechette, Daria Halprin | Length 110 minutes