The Case for Global Film

Discussing everything that isn't Hollywood (and a little that is).

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Blood of the Condor (Yawar Mallku, Bolivia, 1969)

Posted by nicklacey on 18 July 2014

Blood Money

Blood Money

The 1960s were a decade of revolution; not least in cinema. Jorge Sanjines’ (as part of the Ukamau collective) The Blood of the Condor – he co-wrote and directed – is one of those rare films: it actually had a direct social impact as it led to the American backed Peace Corps being expelled from Bolivia. It was also a significant contribution to Third Cinema, an attempt to make films about the Third World in a non-western way.

Sanjines’ film was about, and for, the peasant Indians of Bolivia and was designed to be watched, and discussed in, communities without cinemas. Hence Sanjines thought he could afford to have a complex narrative structure, which interpolates flashbacks with the present quest of blood needed to save the village leader, Ignacio. Those who presented the movie could explain what was happening and so avoid any confusion amongst the peasants who were not used to complex film language. Despite this, the peasants weren’t sure about what was happening and Sanjines didn’t repeat such narrative complexity again. He realised that he’d fallen into the trap of imposing an unsuitable form upon the group he was trying to help.

Ignacio is initially presented as a drunkard, wife-beater, angry that she hasn’t produced more children. Hardly the way a western film is likely to present a heroic figure. After the credit sequence, which states the film includes the peasants of Kaata, Ignacio, and a few others, are marched away and shot by men under orders of the local police chief. Paulina, Ignacio’s wife, gets her husband to his brother, Sixto, in the city; however, in order to save him they must find blood or money to pay for a transfusion. The film then intercuts why Igancio was shot with Sixto’s quest for blood and money.

We discover that the Progress Corps, a thinly disguised Peace Corps, are actually sterilizing the Indian women, when performing operations, without permission; an attempt at genocide. When Ignacio finds out he declares that the same will be done to the Americans. Although Ignacio is a fictional character, and it appears the Sanjines was using sterilisation as a metaphor for the destruction of indigenous culture, the Bolivian government, after trying to ban the film under pressure from the Americans, eventually expelled the Corps.

Although Sanjines, and his collective, ‘failed’ formally with their narrative structure, they did succeed, in other formal ways, in communicating in a non western way. For example, the use of the long shot to emphasise the collective aspect of village life rather than the individualism of the close up. Given the Ukamau group’s academic training, it isn’t surprising that they too had been inculcated in the western way of filmmaking. Another way, apart from the subject matter, Blood of the Condor was undoubtedly revolutionary is in its ‘call for action’; as Sanjines stated:

“The work of revolutionary cinema must not limit itself to denouncing, or to the appeal for reflection; it must be a summons for action.” (quoted in Gabriel’s Third Cinema in the Third World: The Aesthetics of Liberation, incidentally this seminal book is available here).

The final shot of the film is of upraised rifles, which are freeze-framed; an undoubted call to arms against the imperialist aggressors. These are not just identified as the Americans, middle class Bolivians too, the descendants of colonialists, are in Sanjines’ sights as they define themselves against the Other of the Indians so they can feel more like the First World westerners. At one point, Sixto is forced to wait at a country club in the hope he will be given blood for his brother; however, the doctor is too full of his own importance to be bothered with Indians.

In 2005 Evo Morales was elected President of Bolivia, the first indigenous person to gain such elevated office in Bolivia. It would be nice to think that films of  Third Cinema sowed the seeds for such advancement. However, as the multinational corporations, and hedge funds, extend their tentacles everywhere they can screw some profit, maybe it’s time for a Fourth Cinema. This would take on the values of Third Cinema and use them to hold up a mirror to the whole capitalist world so we can see how economic and ecological disaster is on our doorstep.

PS the whole film is available, subtitled in English, on YouTube. It looks like a videotape TV recording but the quality’s fine.

21st July: the post was updated to correct the statement that the Peace Corps did actually sterilise Indians.

Posted in Latin American Cinema | Tagged: | 2 Comments »

Ballad of a Soldier (Ballada o soldate, USSR, 1959)

Posted by nicklacey on 12 June 2014

A mother's yearning

A mother’s yearning

Grigoriy Chukhray’s (he co-wrote and directed) war film was made during the Russian Thaw, the Khrushchev years before Brezhnev re-froze culture, and was remarkable for the fact that it showed that World War II hadn’t been personally won by Stalin. Instead, Chukhray focused on ordinary people’s stories as a young man, played by Vladimir Ivashov, tries to get home, on a couple days leave, to fix his mum’s roof. The Private is an accidental hero, he destroyed two tanks when in a desperate situation, hence he is given a few days to go home. After the opening sequence there’s little fighting in the film; it’s more a picaresque narrative where he, warm heartedly, encounters soldiers and civilians. Central to the narrative is his meeting with Shura (Zhanna Prokhorenko) and the pair fall for each other.

So far so sentimental and I was afraid it might be too saccharine for my tastes as everybody, at the start, seems to be good. However, Chukhray, a veteran of Stalingrad, isn’t interested in painting a socialist realist scene (where things are as they should be rather than how they are) and we encounter the less admirable traits of humanity. The Private, though, retains his goodness and Ivashov’s performance shines with convincing naiveté. His relationship with Shura is beautifully developed and the moment, when they part, is brilliantly edited with her face superimposed on the passing landscape and his thoughts given to us in the voice over. This isn’t a spoiler, we learn that the young man is doomed from the start.

Chukhray, despite the Thaw, struggled to get the film made because, his critics on the artistic committee that had to pass the script, argued it was too frivolous a way to represent that giant sacrifices people made to win the war. However, as the Cannes Special jury recognised in 1959, it’s its humanism that makes it a great war film. It is noticeable, however, that all the authority figures are benevolent; an unlikely fact so probably a compromise that Chukhray had to make to ensure the film got made. This isn’t a Soviet issue, Hollywood films rarely question authority either in a meaningful way.

 

Posted in Soviet Cinema | Tagged: | Leave a Comment »

Daisies (Sedmikrásky, Czechoslovakia, 1966)

Posted by nicklacey on 28 May 2014

Nutty Czechs anyone?

Nutty Czechs anyone?

Vera Chytilová died in March and Daisies is probably her most celebrated film; it is brilliant. Two Marias (Ivana Karbanova and Jitka Cerhova) waltz through the film on an anarchic romp which starts off with them eating apples. The symbolism is obvious, as is the bananas, sausages and hardboiled egg that they snip at with scissors while a would-be lover claims he’s in love (by which he means lust). It’s slightly peculiar to say that the girls (Peter Hames in The Czechoslovak New Wave states they are 17) are trampling on bourgeois sensibilities in a so-called communist state, but the privileged middle classes obviously existed there too. In a nightclub, where the clientele are being entertained by the  Charlston, the Marias randomly drink others wine and generally make a nuisance of themselves. They allow themselves to be taken to restaurants by older men only to bail out before the men have their ‘wicked way’. They also decimate a banquet, evidently laid out for an audience listening to Wagner’s Twilight of the Gods (where the bourgeoisie meet their fate).

The film’s epitaph sums it up: ‘This film is dedicated to those whose sole source of indignation is trampled on trifle’. There’s plenty of trifle in the final scene, flying around in true slapstick fashion and the anarchic comedy of Max Sennett is clearly a touchstone for Chytilová as parts of the film are speeded up in the manner that ‘silent movies’ used to be. Czech surrealism, such as Jan Svankmajer (in scenes of pixilation – animation using live actors), is also evident as some of the art movements of the 1960s, such as ‘cut ups’. It’s a terrific brew of full of humour and brio and, most of all, feminism.

The film opens, and ends, with images of bombing. I took them to be a reference to the Vietnam war. The girls’ adventure starts by them deciding that everything’s spoiled in the world. Hence, their assault on bourgeois sensibility is an attack on the way the world was at the time; and it’s still like that. Clearly Chytilová was attacking more than trifles.

I was reminiscing about university with a friend and she remembered that she was part of the ’300 group’ that aimed to get 300 MPs into Parliament. That was over 30 years ago! This film’s nearly 50 years old and the battles for equality between the sexes still need fighting. Young women could do far worse than learn some attitude from these Marias.

Posted in Comedies, East European Cinema, Films by women | Tagged: , , | Leave a Comment »

I Am Cuba (Soy Cuba, Cuba-Soviet Union, 1964)

Posted by nicklacey on 18 May 2014

Poetry about exploitation

Poetry about exploitation

A few posts back I wrote about the extraordinary cinematography of Ivan’s Childhood (Soviet Union, 1962) and how Tarkovsky wanted it to look as if it had been shot by Sergey Urusevskiy. This one is and I’m sure this is the most sensational cinematography I have ever seen. Teamed with director Mikhail Kalatozov, with whom he made The Cranes Are Flying (Soviet Union, 1957), Urusevskiy shot this propaganda film celebrating the Cuban Revolution of a few years earlier. Many critics bemoan the narrative, with its focus on types rather than individuals, and suggest the politics are naive, but are united in their praise of Urusevskiy. For me the narrative, about American imperialism, is entirely satisfactory and reminds us, 50 years on, that the US penchant for interference in other countries, in the interests of US corporations, remains undiminished. Four stories, focusing on a prostitute, a student, and two farmers, show how the people were exploited under the US-backed dictator, Batista; while these are effective it is the cinematography that makes it one of the  greatest movies ever made.

In the 21st century we are spoiled by the effects that can be created by CGI. I mean spoiled in the sense that cinema can never be the same again because the fact that anything can be shown means that nothing is special. Okay, that may be an overstatement, I did find the streets of Paris folding over in Inception (US-UK, 2010) impressive, but that experience is increasingly rare. In watching the long elaborate takes that fill I Am Cuba I find myself constantly assuming that CGI must have been used to cover the ‘joins’ except, of course, there was no CGI in 1964. There wasn’t even the steadicam. And Urusevskiy somehow manages to, despite often extremely rapid movement, beautifully compose the shots! His penchant for Dutch (canted) angles give the Social Realist narrative an Expressionist sensibility that intensely portrays the characters’ anguish caused by their exploitation. To give an idea of the complexity of some of the shots I’ve pinched this from Wikipedia:

 the camera follows a flag over a body, held high on a stetcher, along a crowded street. Then it stops and slowly moves upwards for at least four storeys until it is filming the flagged body from above a building. Without stopping it then starts tracking sideways and enters through a window into a cigar factory, then goes straight towards a rear window where the cigar workers are watching the procession. The camera finally passes through the window and appears to float along over the middle of the street between the buildings.

Sample the opening five minutes:

Now get hold of the film.

Posted in Soviet Cinema | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »

California Dreamin’ (Endless) (Romania, 2007)

Posted by nicklacey on 14 May 2014

california-dreamin-nesfarsit-4

The debut director, Cristian Nemescu, along with his sound editor Andrei Toncu, died in a car crash before this film was completed; hence the ‘endless’ (i.e. ‘unfinished’).  The film world lost great talent because California Dreamin’ is a striking debut. It pits small town Romania against Americans, or specifically, NATO troops who are trying to get radar equipment, via train, to the Serbian border during the Civil War. However, the local station master, superbly played by Razvan Vasilescu) has a grudge against the US as they failed to liberate him, and his family, at the end of  World War II. He keeps the train ‘grounded’ for five days while the laborious government bureaucracy tries to catch up with him. Even when the Minister for Transport arrives, he remains implacable.

He’s also bleeding the village dry through his corruption. It’s something then, that we can have a grudging admiration for this character, Doiaru, as he fights a losing battle with his 17 year-old daughter, seductively played by Maria Dinulescu, who falls for one of the Americans.

Nemescu, who co-wrote the screenplay with Tudor Voican, is equally scathing, and sympathetic to, both his native Romanians and the Americans, embodied particularly by the ‘no nonsense’ Captain Jones (Armand Assante). He never fails to exploit the humour of the situation; the Elvis impersonator at the village’s 100th anniversary celebrations (which is a repeat of one they had a few months earlier) is a particular highlight. Monica’s (Dinelescu) whirlwind ‘romance’ with the soldier is well portrayed; she’s convincingly far more knowing than her 17 years.

Its two and a half hour running town could, and may have been, cut but it was right that the producer put the film out in the state it was at Nemescu’s demise. If Nemescu’s eye for the absurd is sharp I was less impressed by the Dogma style handheld camera, occasionally using telephoto lens which created a great deal of shake.

 

Posted in East European Cinema | Tagged: | 1 Comment »

The Wind Will Carry Us (Bad ma ra khahad bord, Iran-France, 1997)

Posted by nicklacey on 13 May 2014

A pastoral idyll?

A pastoral idyll?

Abbas Kiarostami shoots his subjects tangentially; that is, he doesn’t necessarily place the camera in the obvious position to tell the narrative. Behzad Dorani plays the ‘engineer’, which is what the villagers in a remote location of Iran think he is, and we come to know the place through his observations. On a couple of occasions Kiarostami’s favoured long take simply focuses, from the position of the mirror, on the engineer shaving. The narrative, at this point, is carried by his conversations with the rest of his film crew; they are in the village to secretly film an ancient sacrament. Similarly, the opening sequence watches them arrive (see above) in extreme long shot, with the telephoto lens flattening the landscape; it makes strange what we recognise. We here the men in car trying to navigate via agrarian directions such as ‘turn left at the big tree’. Dorani, by the way, according to imdb, has only appeared in one other feature, which is remarkable given how brilliant he is in carrying this film.

For much of the film we are not clear what the protagonist is after; he seems to be waiting for someone to die. He spends his time wandering the village and, increasingly hilariously, rushing up the mountain to get a mobile signal. Not a lot is happening in a village where not a lot ever happens; except it does. The film covers birth, life, marriage, death, friendship, education, childhood. All of life in an exotic location is there for the spectator and it is beautifully shot; the colours are quite stunning, both the village, and its surroundings, occasional look like an Impressionist painting.

Making films in Iran is difficult unless they are treading the party line. Kiarostami’s success, and this film won the Palme d’Or, is rooted in his ability to appeal to the western art house audience. There is a slightly uneasy opposition set up in the film between the ‘town’ (the ‘engineer’ is from Tehran) and the apparently simple ‘country’ of the village. Despite the fact the film-maker is indigenous I think we are still being offered an ‘orientalist’ portrayal of a society we know very little of. The place is portrayed extremely sympathetically but we are no more than tourists. To be fair to Kiarostami, he probably feels that way too. Hence the village is ‘strange’ to my western eyes and is shot in a strange (arty) way; but what we learn is that, essentially, the strange is very much the same.

It might not be the same, though, I cannot tell from the film.

Posted in Iranian Cinema | Tagged: | Leave a Comment »

Ivan’s Childhood (Ivanovo detstvo, 1962, Soviet Union)

Posted by nicklacey on 1 May 2014

Image as metaphor

Image as metaphor

Ivan’s Childhood is Andrei Tarkovsky’s first feature film and he started his film career running; unquestionably he is a ‘poet’ of cinema. He went on to make a number of masterpieces, such as Andrei Roublev (1967) and Solaris (1972), and his elliptical visual style is evident in his debut. But what does it mean to be a ‘poet of cinema’?

Unlike some of his later films, Ivan’s Childhood has a straightforward narrative. The titular boy acts as a scout for the Red Army toward the end of the war. Although there is very little action, and there’s a tender middle section, without Ivan, where the young medic Masha is courted by Captain Kholin, the story is straightforward. There are, though, four heavily symbolic dream sequences; however, because these are dreams the poetry of the sections are motivated by the narrative. The reason, I believe, ‘poetry’ is an appropriate metaphor for his films is because the mise en scene isn’t simply at the service of the narrative. Takes will extend longer than necessary revelling in the extreme beauty of the image. These images do contribute to the narrative but break out of Hollywood’s hegemonic idea of ‘narrative economy’. This is aided by the extraordinary cinematography of Vadim Yusov, who was mimicking Sergey Urusevskiy’s work in the seminal film of the ‘Russian Thaw’, The Cranes are Flying (Soviet Union, 1957). In the second dream sequence Ivan suddenly finds himself in a well, his mother is standing next to the opening when she falls suddenly and water splashes over her (see above). Proof that Tarkovsky uses the techniques of cinema brilliantly is the astonishing impact of the sequence that sounds bizarre in words.

Tarkovsky’s films are full of such moments and it is possible that Ivan’s Childhood benefits from its brevity (around 90 minutes); he later went for three-hour long epics that have their longuers (which, I hasten to add, are worth it). As it stands the compactness of this film makes it a devastating experience. If the stunning beauty, of often devastated landscapes, isn’t enough, the film ends with documentary footage concerning Goebbel’s suicide and poisoning of his children. Afterwards I needed to put my head in a bucket of ice.

Love in desperate times

Love in desperate times

A note on the ‘tender middle section’. I’ve seen it suggested that the Captain is on the verge of sexually harassing Masha. He asks how many boyfriends she has had called ‘Lennie’. She says ‘none’; in reply he says you have one now. On the face of it he is being over-bearing but the performances bely that simplistic reading. They are soldiers ‘on the edge of death’ and so sex was, no doubt, something that was urgent (it may be the last time). Masha isn’t simply a victim of the Captain’s forwardness; she is interested. The scene ends, in a shot that last about 10 seconds, in the clinch (see above) that is shot from a ditch, almost as if it is a grave. Once again, I felt my breathe exhaling at the beauty and dramatic impact of the shot and narrative.

Posted in Soviet Cinema | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment »

Brotherhood (Taegukgi hwinalrimyeo, South Korea, 2004)

Posted by nicklacey on 22 April 2014

Brothers at war

Brothers at war

Although this was the most expensive film ever made by the South Korean film industry at the time, it was only budgeted at $13m. It looks a considerable amount more with numerous impressive set pieces both in Seoul and Pyongyang and on the battlefield. Its release just after the 50th anniversary of the Korean war’s end no doubt contributed to its box office success. It’s clearly influenced by Saving Private Ryan (US 1998) with a framing device set in the present and visceral battle sequences that have an immersive quality.

Dramatically the film works well by focusing on two brothers who, unsurprisingly, end up on opposing sides. It’s a powerful metaphor for the particular circumstance of a country at war with itself. The leads Jang Dong-gun and Won Bin are excellent and, despite the on-going hostility within the partitioned peninsula, the film doesn’t whitewash South Korean atrocities. Indeed, the most chilling scene in the film is when so-called Communist collaborators in Seoul are being rounded up and executed on the flimsiest of evidence.

The influence of Hong Kong’s ‘heroic bloodshed’ is apparent in a number of the superhuman battles that the older brother engages in. Clearly we are not in realist territory here and it is interesting the degree to which it seems necessary that the male body be bloodied in the action genre. This is certainly not limited to the East; Paul Willeman argued that such violence on the male body, in the westerns of Anthony Mann, was a way of repressing the erotic component of the male look on the male body.

Ultimately I found the sentimentality of the film slightly off-putting. However, as a film about a war that is under-represented, in the West at least, it is certainly worth watching. Whilst the brilliant American sitcom M.A.S.H. (1972-83) was set in Korea, it wasn’t about that particular war.

Posted in East Asian Cinema, Korean Cinema | Tagged: | Leave a Comment »

 
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