My Happy Family is a quite brilliant melodrama predicated on a mother, Manana, who leaves her family that has three-generations living together, apparently common in Georgia. She gives no reason as to why she’s going and as the family descend upon her to demand an explanation, motivated in part by the suffocating fear of social embarrassment, it soon becomes clear why she needs to be free.
Nana and Simon, credited as directors, are Nana Ekvtimishvili (who also wrote) and Simon Groß, and My Happy Family is a follow up to their debut In Bloom (Grzeli nateli dgeebi, Georgia-Germany-France 2013). The visual style is primarily a mix of long takes with an immobile camera and a fluid handheld movement following Manana both in the home and on the street. The long take puts great emphasis on performance and all the actors are superb. The latter, in the home which is often crowded, relies upon skilful blocking (the position of actors in relation to one another and the camera) to allow the camera to carve a way through to keep up with Manana. Nana and Simon direct brilliantly and they prioritise showing over telling allowing the audience to pick up clues about the characters from their body language. At a school reunion one character, who insists Manana sings (the diegetic [in the film not the soundtrack] music in the film is quite fantastic), is succinctly characterised as a ‘dominant male’ through little gestures such as putting his hands on her shoulders.
I recognized Merab Ninidze, who plays the hapless husband, from the TV series McMafia (UK-US, 2018) where he had a mesmerising presence as a Russian mob boss. He’s similarly excellent in this more subdued role. Ia Shugliashvili, in the central role, is new to me and she plays the mother with a mixture of strength and resignation. There are many narratives were an unhappy woman leaves the marital home but there’s invariably a man who appears to reaffirm the need for patriarchy. My Happy Family avoids such cliches and ends with marvellous ambiguity.
Once again I have to thank Netflix for the opportunity to see this film which was feted at Sundance a couple of years ago. Up until recently Netflix seemed to be prioritising television series as a way to hook viewers but it has increased its slate of films. Many are Spanish speaking, which obviously has a wide audience across the world, but it’s great that nations who haven’t had much of an impact on western film culture get a look in too; the Georgian documentary short The Trader (2018) is also available. Apparently it has been argued that Nana and Simon’s films are heralding a Georgian new wave. I hope so as it’s great to see familiar tropes reworked in a different cultural setting.
At first I thought that everything is wrong with Interlude or perhaps it is that nothing is right. Douglas Sirk told John Halliday that it was the film in which he had little chance to develop the project or contribute to the script and none of the characters excited him. It was supposed to be an update of a John Stahl film and more surprisingly a version of the James Cain story Serenade. When the shoot began Sirk was still in a plaster cast after his accident on the Battle Hymn shoot and he had no time to research locations which were all covered by an assistant and the cinematographer Bill Daniels.
An American woman from Philadelphia, Helen (June Allyson), arrives in Munich to work for the American ‘cultural agency’, America House (which I think is a government body). She claims to be looking for experiences and trying to see something of the world. Her parents have discovered that an American doctor, Morley (Keith Andes), the son of friends, is also in the city. He calls on Helen but she soon meets a famous Italian conductor, Tonio Fischer (Rossano Brazzi). She is unaware that he has a sick wife and accepts his invitation to suddenly drive to Salzburg in the middle of a grand house party. A romance ensues.
June Allyson was nearly 40 when she made the picture but the character seems to be written much younger. Allyson plays younger but she just doesn’t seem right for the role. Brazzi however does seem right for his role, except that, as Sirk points out, he has no sense of musical timing which caused headaches for the crew when he is seen conducting the orchestra. I don’t mean to criticise either actor but in June Allyson’s case her character doesn’t seem to make sense unless she is a woman who is younger and less experienced. Otherwise we keep thinking, “What did she do in Philadelphia/Washington DC for the last twenty years?” Jane Wyman was only a year or two older than Allyson when she starred for Sirk in roles which suited her – perhaps this is just a function of the period in that women are the same age for twenty years then suddenly ‘past it’? Helen calls herself ‘a girl’ at one point. I should also point out that Keith Andes’ doctor is also fairly long in the tooth for a visiting ‘research student’. The script by Daniel Fuchs and Franklin Coen seems confused.
Interlude is a Ross Hunter production in CinemaScope and Technicolor and it takes Sirk back to Germany and in a sense to Schlussakkord (Germany 1936) a Sirk melodrama with a great conductor as the male lead. Yet somehow it feels more like those 1950s Hollywood films in which Europe is at once both the ‘old world’, full of palaces and grand houses to be admired but also the front line in the Cold War with attempts to demonstrate to Europeans the ideals of American democracy. (‘America House’, like the British Council, is an agency meant to provide education and an introduction to American culture.) On the other hand, the cinematography creates not just beautiful vistas but also very pleasing ‘Scope compositions for a melodrama – with matching music (but an unconvincing title song). At moments it seems like a rehearsal for The Sound of Music (1965). The second half of the film did work for me and I found it both sad and moving, so I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be.
I should mention two other aspects of the casting. The sick wife Reni is played by Marianne Koch (credited as ‘Marianne Cook’) who I first came across in A Fistful of Dollars (1964) as the German contribution to Sergio Leone’s first film in the trilogy of ‘No Name’ Westerns. Her aunt is played by Françoise Rosay, the veteran French actor who fled Nazi Occupation in 1940 with her husband Jacques Feyder. She appeared in two Ealing films in 1944. Her appearance in 1957 is as a formidable matronly figure from the Victorian era (she was born in 1891). These casting decisions alongside the Italian Brazzi seem to say something about the state of popular cinema in West Germany in the 1950s.
I’m trying to come to some kind of conclusion about this film. From the perspective of 2019 this melodrama does seem rather strange with Tonio’s sometimes quite brusque treatment of Helen and the latter’s difficulty in coming to terms with a sick woman as her rival. I’m wondering if women now would be more likely to react to Tonio’s behaviour and also more direct in dealing with what they discover about his circumstances. But perhaps I’ve got that all wrong? Perhaps I’m not giving June Allyson enough credit for representing a certain type of American woman in the 1950s credibly?
I’ve a feeling that Interlude is technically efficient as a romance/melodrama but I’m not sure that Sirk and his cast and crew were fully able to exploit its potential.
Trailer with French subtitles (includes SPOILERS) if you want to see the film first:
Crisis was the first feature by Ingmar Bergman as director after he worked as a scriptwriter and assistant director to Alf Sjöberg on Torment in 1944. It has just left MUBI’s streaming offer in the UK and is otherwise available from Criterion. Adapted by Bergman himself from a play by the Danish writer Leck Fischer this is a first film with several clear influences and as one critic noted, Bergman was still very much a ‘theatre director’ at this stage. I’m not a fan of Bergman’s later films in the 1960s and beyond, the ones that are usually most acclaimed, but I have enjoyed the handful of his earlier films that I’ve seen and in particular Summer Interlude (1951) and Summer With Monika (1953). I tried to approach Crisis with an open mind.
The plot outline of the film is very familiar and a staple of popular entertainment. The setting is a remote small country town by a lake in which Nelly (Inga Landgré), a beautiful young girl of 18, lives with her foster-mother Ingeborg (Dagny Lind) and a lodger, Ulf or ‘Uffe’ (Allan Bohlin), a dull veterinarian in his 30s. No sooner has the town been introduced via a voiceover narration than the ‘inciting incident’ occurs. Nelly’s mother, Jenny (Marianne Löfgren), returns from Stockholm to entice her daughter to join her in the city. That night at a local dance, Jenny will meet Jack (Stig Olin), a smooth-talking, street-smart young man who has followed Jenny from Stockholm. Is he Jenny’s ‘toy-boy’? Unaware, Nelly agrees to go to Stockholm. The country mouse goes to town and Ingeborg and Uffe are bereft.
If there is a ‘crisis’ in the narrative, it is most likely a ‘crisis of conscience’ as this is essentially a moral tale. Having said that, there is a dramatic climax in Stockholm which eventually leads to a conventional resolution back in the country town. I take the film to be a melodrama and apart from admiring the beauty and vitality of Nelly, I felt most strongly for Ingeborg. The interest in the film is for me in the mixture of stylistic devices. I’ve already mentioned the narration which begins and ends the film. There is also the use of some very loud and dramatic music at moments of drama and music is also a crucial factor in the crude distinction between generations at the dance when a recital in one part of the building is interrupted by the dance band next door – this is the moment when Nelly and Jack first get together. There are similar symbolic moments elsewhere using expressionist lighting and simple effects such as the criss-crossing of railway tracks in a dream. Trains feature heavily in the narrative and at first I thought it was an almost Ozu-like obsession. But the trains are used functionally as night trains transporting the characters between the city and the country town and also simply as dramatic mise en scène with clouds of steam, whistles and other sound effects.
The cinematography is by Gösta Roosling who had experience of four or five features. How much of what we see might be down to Bergman’s ideas? The overall visual style appears to be an amalgam of German Expressionist ideas and French poetic realism alongside some deep-focus outdoor material with long shots that is more reminiscent of neo-realism (which at this time had barely been exported from Italy). Some scenes are nicely composed in depth and the melodrama use of mirrors and windows is noticeable, especially in Stockholm where Jenny runs a beauty parlour. The dramatic climax takes place on what I assume is a studio set with lighting that cries out film noir. Perhaps there is no clear defining style, but the film is always interesting to look at. One long shot shows Nelly in bed suddenly forced to rise when the door is opened (see above). We see her naked from the rear clutching the sheet to her chest. The inference is clear but I do wonder how such a shot would have been received by censors in the UK or US in 1946. I don’t think Bergman’s films came to the UK before the 1950s when they were sometimes cut for dialogue.
Given that this was a first feature, Bergman must already have built a reputation since there seem to be several official press pack photos from Svensk Filmindustri (SF) in circulation suggesting that there was expected to be considerable interest in the film. This joins the other early works by Bergman that I have enjoyed.
In the YouTube clip below you can see the scene including the image at the head of this post.It begins with the local dance before Jack and Nelly sneak off. I think it is supposed to be a ‘day for night’ sequence. The music at this point is more for the possible romance than the impending melodrama (indicated by the dialogue?). Nelly is wearing the dress Jenny brought her from Stockholm. (It’s worth watching the extract to the end.)
Since the start of 2019 just two French films have been on release in the UK but both have struggled to find cinemas in West Yorkshire. It’s good that the Hyde Park Picture House in Leeds has managed to screen Un amour impossible three times this week. La villa (The House By the Sea) has failed to appear in West Yorkshire at all as far as I’m aware. Foreign language films have been almost completely absent from our screens while the endless array of Anglo-American ‘awards’ films take over.
In these sad circumstances I’m pleased to report that I enjoyed Un amour impossible very much. I have a couple of quibbles, but I was very taken with the performance of the Belgian actor Virginie Efira in the lead role as Rachel Steiner in Catherine Corsini’s engaging melodrama. (Catherine Corsini’s best-known films in the UK are Summertime (2015) and Partir (2009).) An Impossible Love is a long film (135 mins) but I was entertained throughout. In fact, my main quibble was that the last section of the film seemed compressed.
Rachel Steiner is a young woman in the late 1950s who we first meet at a dance in Châteauroux in the Loire. A young woman is singing Paul Anka’s ‘Diana’. There is a narrator who we will soon realise is Rachel’s yet unborn daughter. Rachel left school at 17 and became a typist, eventually moving into a government office where she is still unmarried at 25 – despite being very attractive and personable. But then she meets Philippe, a young man working as a translator. He’s from a wealthy family and highly cultured. She is smitten and a physical relationship begins. But when Philippe’s translator’s job ends he returns to Paris and Rachel discovers she is pregnant. He has told her he will never marry and she accepts this, bringing up her daughter herself with her mother and sister in support. Occasionally, Philippe returns and Rachel begins to believe that he should at least ‘recognise’ his daughter so that she doesn’t have ‘father unknown’ on her birth certificate. I won’t spoil any more of the narrative which then extends over nearly 50 years and which in the final section includes one major shocking revelation.
The narrative is based on a 2015 novel by Christine Angot which in turn is based on a true family story. The Belgian actor Virginie Efira, who was 40 when the film was shot, is required to age from 25 to her 60s (or 70s – I wasn’t quite sure when the final scenes are meant to be set). Her performance is extraordinary. I believed she was 25 – and 65. It isn’t just a matter of the make-up which took six to seven hours to apply each day for many scenes but also Efira’s facial and bodily movements, her speaking voice and overall physicality. Catherine Corsini thought carefully about whether to use more than one actor for the role and I think she chose well.
The film’s title is ambiguous since there are several interpretations of both ‘impossible’ and ‘love’ in the narrative. In the Press Notes, Catherine Corsini suggests that there are three main sections of the film: the romance between Rachel and Philippe, the solitude of Rachel bringing up her child and then the section in which Philippe ‘recognises’ Chantal leading to the ‘reveal’. I think that really there are four sections with the last part being split into two. As Rachel gets older there are more significant jumps ahead in time and I found that this happened too quickly. Over these sections the narrative draws on generic ideas about romance, then melodrama and finally moves towards a form of thriller or mystery. (During the romance the couple go to see Jeanne Moreau in Louis Malle’s A Lift to the Scaffold (1958) – an odd choice for a date night?) Throughout these changes we watch the impact of events on Rachel and how she has the strength to carry on.
Philippe is an obnoxious character but it is possible to see why Rachel falls for him. Much of the time he is charming and when he utters an anti-semitic comment or expresses his snobbery and class hatred it comes as a real shock – I found myself almost crying out in anger. In a way Philippe’s behaviour is also a commentary on social history in France. There is a mention of the war in Algeria in the 1950s, some remarks about German women after the war who have lost their men, Rachel’s father left France for Alexandria to escape persecution – all references to attitudes and personal histories that underpin everyday relationships from the 1950s to the present.
If An Impossible Love hasn’t come your way in the UK, you can also catch it on the streaming service of its UK distributor Curzon. I recommend it for the performances, Virginie Efira in particular, Catherine Corsini’s direction, Jeanne Lapoirie’s ‘Scope cinematography, Virginie Montel’s costumes – and the entire hair and make-up team.
Films about airliners in peril are a staple of commercial cinema, but few of them are adapted from a novel by a qualified aeronautical engineer who also happens to be one of the most accomplished story-tellers of the mid-20th century. Nevil Shute wrote many novels and three of them became ‘major motion pictures’. No Highway is the first, followed by A Town Like Alice (US 1955) and On the Beach (US 1959). I’ve always admired Shute as a storyteller even if he was an anti-socialist Brit who eventually emigrated to Australia. In many other ways he was a staunch liberal and very strong on exposing racism. No Highway the novel came out in 1948 and the film in 1951 appeared just as the post-war British aviation industry was a world leader in both military and civil aircraft but also when worries about the safety of new aircraft were very much in people’s minds. The first jetliner, the Comet, flew as a prototype in 1949 and entered service in 1952. Major accidents were a feature of its operational life, especially in 1954. In 1952 David Lean’s film The Sound Barrier focused on the risks taken by test pilots in pushing prototypes to fly faster. No Highway was so close to the ‘cutting edge’ that some reviewers considered it as almost a documentary drama. The Reindeer aircraft depicted in the film is an unusual design with two sets of tail fins. The special effects photography and model work works well to convey to convey how a new aircraft might look.
Plot Outline (No spoilers)
Theodore Honey (James Stewart) is an American mathematician and scientist employed by the Royal Aircraft Establishment (RAE) at Farnborough where he is exploring a hypothesis about fatigue in new metal-bodied aircraft. In particular he is working on a new turboprop airliner the Reindeer, recently put into service with a transatlantic airline. Honey is convinced that after 1,420 hours of service, the whole tail section of the aircraft will break away. His new boss (Jack Hawkins) agrees to send him to Labrador to investigate the crash site of the first Reindeer in service, the accident assumed to be an example of pilot error. When Honey flies out on a Reindeer he discovers to his dismay that the aircraft has already flown 1400 hours. What can he do to prevent a disaster? On the flight he befriends the senior steward Marjorie (Glynis Johns) and Monica Teasdale a Hollywood star played by Marlene Dietrich. Both women become concerned about Honey, a man they quickly recognise is very much wrapped up in his own world and who lacks the emotional intelligence to deal with the situation he finds himself in. It has already been revealed that Honey is a widower and that his very bright 12 year-old daughter Elspeth (Janette Scott) acts as his housekeeper and companion and is perhaps missing out on her childhood. When Honey’s concerns are transmitted to the aircraft’s pilot, how will he react and what will the airline bosses and the RAE do?
No Highway (a.k.a. No Highway in the Sky in North America) is an example of Hollywood production in the UK, something very common now and equally so at various times over the last nearly 100 years. Twentieth Century Fox made several films in the UK around the late 1940s/early 1950s. MGM operated a studio in Borehamwood. Disney was active in the early 1950s. No Highway was made at Denham, the studio built by Korda and by 1950 part of the Rank empire. Henry Koster was a German exile in Hollywood and had worked with James Stewart on his previous film Harvey (US 1950). This pair with Marlene Dietrich make up the Hollywood contingent, everything else about the film is British and especially the remainder of the cast which is full of character actors and at least two stars of the future –Kenneth More as the co-pilot of the aircraft and Janette Scott (daughter of Thora Hird) as Elspeth.
The scriptwriters Oscar Millard and Alec Coppel were British and Australian respectively and both had experience of British and American productions. I note that the script misses out the religious/spiritual elements of Shute’s work but that was probably inevitable in this kind of film. The result is that the narrative develops a well-balanced triple focus which connects three worlds – Honey’s work in his laboratory at RAE, the drama aboard the aircraft and the domestic world of Elspeth. There is also a parallel developed between the possible fragility of the aircraft and that of Theodore Honey himself. It’s interesting that the two women on the flight respond to Honey’s mixture of earnest practicality and scientific rationalism – but also to the stories about his lost wife and his daughter at home.
It’s heartening to see that IMDb’s ‘Users’ comments recognise the film’s qualities, although many of the American comments fail to comprehend the complex relationship between the UK government, the private airline and the RAE. As I’ve tried to indicate, those relationships and the fourth element, the aircraft manufacturing companies themselves, were essential for the rapid development of aircraft design in the UK in the period 1945-50. It’s unfortunately rare now to see engineering narratives taken so seriously in mainstream cinema and so carefully interwoven with human emotional stories. As some of those ‘User comments’ suggest, it’s a shame there weren’t more film adaptations of Nevil Shute’s work.
Thanks as usual to Talking Pictures TV.
Many ‘subversives’ disappeared during the fascist dictatorship in Argentina in the late 1970s/early 1980s. From 1977 The Mothers of Plaza de Mayo ensured the missing were not forgotten and I was surprised to learn they are (at least two years ago) still having to protest. The Official Story, apparently based on a true story, is a gripping political melodrama focusing on bourgeoise wife, Alicia (a Cannes winning performance by Norma Aleandro), who suspects that her adopted five-year old daughter may have been taken from one of the ‘disappeared’.
Aida Bortnik’s and director Luis Puenzo’s script brilliantly draws together numerous strands: Alicia is a history teacher whose class is far more clued up to the way ‘assassins’ are the ones who write history; her husband, Roberto (Héctor Alterio), has close ties to the military but whose brother and dad all but disown him as he berates them as ‘losers’. Central is the relationship between Alicia and her daughter which is suddenly thrown into doubt when an old friend, Ana, returns from exile. The scene when the friends are drunkenly reminiscing and Ana tells Alicia the truth about why she went away without saying anything is extraordinary. At first Alicia is chuckling along but the significance of what Ana is saying clearly doesn’t immediately sink in but then she realises Ana is describing how she was tortured; Aleandro’s performance in this scene is enough to justify watching the film.
Alicia’s cosy, bourgeois is punctured and she then seeks the truth in the face of her husband’s cynicism and worse. In such a male dominated society as Argentina was at the time, it’s not surprising that it required women to join together to seek justice and how brave they were (and are) to do so in the face of male oppression.
In the UK we keep hearing from politicians that we shouldn’t upset the extreme right-wing or their violence will get worse. While this may be simple (in more ways than one) politicking because they want PM’s May’s mess of a deal to leave the EU to be voted through today, such appeasement is obviously dangerous. With the new president of Brazil threatening a return to the bad old days of fascist governments in Latin America (usually propped up by America), The Official Story is important in reminding us of the evil perpetrated against ‘the people’ in the region. The film won best foreign film Oscar and whilst those awards are often poor arbiters of taste I suspect they got it right in 1985, only two years after the dictatorship had fallen.
This is the first film I’ve seen by writer-director Alejo Moguillansky, an Argentinean independent, whose trademark, according to Hollywood Reporter is:
perhaps the playfulness with which he works up personal, social and political concerns into pleasurably offbeat and always distinctive items that balance subtle characterization, strong storylines and plenty of sociopolitical reflection.
As is my wont I watched the film cold (I had no idea what it was about) and was certainly confused by the opening that seemed to be a documentary about the staging of Helmut Lachenmann’s opera Das Mädchen mit den Schwefelhölzern based on Hans Christian Anderson’s story. However, the voiceover by María Villar states she’s playing Marie so there’s an immediate disconnect between the form of documentary and the soundtrack. Lachenmann plays himself, as does pianist and octogenarian Margarita Fernández.
The opera’s director Walter (played by actor Walter Jakob) is clueless on how to stage the avant garde masterwork. He shares a daughter with Marie, who is taking lessons from Fernández but is forced to take the youngster along who’s entertained watching Robert Bresson’s 1966 film, Au Hasard Baltahazar; I guess it’s the donkey that keeps the girl gripped.
‘Playful’ is the watchword; Lachenmann, who admits Ennio Morricone is his favourite composer, is clearly a ‘good sport’ as the piss is taken out of his music throughout. Of course the problem with playful, unless the film is a comedy, is that it can get in the way of actually saying something. The dread hand of postmodernism can reduce a text to facetiousness and although I think The Little Match Girl manages to avoid this (the committed performances gift it some heft) I can’t help feeling there’s a better film struggling to get out. Lachenmann’s anti-capitalist opera, being played in a state opera house during a strike, deserves more than being an ironic backdrop to the bourgeois shenanigans of the couple; a running joke is that Walter keeps ringing Marie for suggestions of how to stage the opera.
The film, however, is entertaining, the music (whether Beethoven, Schubert, Morricone or Lachenmann) is great so it is worth seeing. MUBI.
I’ve been laid low with a virus for a week and that seemed to be a perfect time to watch a five hour-plus film. Streamed on MUBI, I watched it in two parts and can seriously recommend it if you have five hours to spare. Director, and co-writer, Hamaguchi Ryûsuke takes his time laying out the lives and . . . well, not ‘loves’ because the four thirty-something friends are all faced with stupid men.
Some reviews have compared it to television narrative which, despite watching it in two ‘episodes’, it resolutely is not. If it had been made as an episodic narrative for television the whole structure would have been changed as each episode would need to be internally coherent and finish with a cliffhanger of sorts. Without having five arbitrary endings Hamaguchi is free to let scenes run for as long as necessary; and some are very long: one, for example, a sort of New Age workshop about communication, lasts about an hour. It becomes clear that communication is a key theme, alongside friendship, of the film. Apparently the film was released in France in three parts over three weeks. ‘Vive la France’ for distributing it as there would be virtually no audience in the UK for such a long film.
Unsurprisingly the film is resolutely Japanese. The British are often ‘famed’ for their reserve but we cannot compete with the Japanese. Their ingrained politeness means voices are rarely raised even when anger is at melting point; I imagine the screen would explode in equivalent scenes in telenovelas. Although this doesn’t facilitate over-the-top melodrama, the measured discussion, because it allows frankness (there’s little danger of being belted when telling someone a ‘home truth’) the issues between people can be laid bare. For example, Akari (Tanaka Sachie), the boldest of the friends, states she can’t stand being lied to and this causes ruptures between the four. In Britain, such feelings are probably more likely to fester unsaid.
Apparently the film was developed in workshops in Kobe, and the improvisatory quality shows through giving many of the scenes a vital immediacy. Astonishingly it is the first film of all the principals; they are superb. Only occasionally did I feel a drop in quality; on a couple of occasions bright light from windows in the background makes the foreground murky. Mostly, however, the direction is exemplary.
There is plenty of humour in the film; an overbearing live-in mother-in-law suddenly changes sides and thumps her son who is cowardly delegating a sensitive task to his wife. It is only rarely boring; I found the book reading irksome (indeed some of the audience appeared to be asleep). Overall it was well worth the effort of sitting in front of a television for hours. Hamaguchi’s representation of characters (and therefore people) as being not being as simple as we assume is engaging even if most of the blokes in the film need a rocket up their arses; some of them are self aware enough to know this. The failure to communicate properly in what would be ‘middle years’ (if it lasted) of a relationship, the deadening caused by routine, is superbly portrayed. MUBI.