Oh boy here we go. Buckle up everyone.
Also I'm telling you up front that there are Buster Scruggs spoilers ahead.
213. British Sounds (AKA See You at Mao, 1970, Dir. Jean-Luc Godard & Jean-Henri Roger) - Another propaganda film that is mercifully short at 51 minutes. Actually, this one isn't as bad as it could be. There's a tracking shot in the automobile factory segment that recalls the traffic jam shot in Weekend which is kind of funny. A later part of the movie has some kids trying to make a political parody of the Beatles song “Hello, Goodbye".
A less successful segment of the movie has another hot naked girl walking around a house doing nothing in particular while some voiceover reads from a feminist essay. There's even an extended shot of the naked girl's vagina at one point as the feminist voice over continues and it's like. Okay Godard. Just make a damn horny movie if you want to. I know you could argue that this segment fits into Godard's other interests about the dichotomy between image and sound, but I really get the impression that the voiceover not only doesn't accomplish this very well, but that it's more of an excuse for Godard to film another pretty girl.
Anyways this movie is entirely in English, like Sympathy for the Devil. That could also make the movie a little easier to watch for people like me whose first language is English.
214. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018, Dir. Joel Coen & Ethan Coen) - The Coens not only return to the Western but have also made an anthology film containing six segments.
I feel like this is a difficult for a variety of reasons for me. The brand of postmodernism filmmaking that the Coens embrace always makes it a little difficult to read their films. With Ballad, there is an immediate nihilism in the plot that would suggest, will, life is meaningless chaos, nothing matters, we might as will just die because death is coming to us anyways…but the curious final entry of Ballad has me questioning this.
The next major reason Ballad was difficult for me is that anthology films are just not something I've seen very many of. I'd have to go back and count but I may have only seen like four or five before this one. A lot of them seem more like an excuse for short films from multiple directors to just be strung together (New York Stories being the most obvious example to me. Is anyone seriously ever going to argue that Francis Ford Coppola's short in that film pairs well with the ones made by Martin Scorsese and Woody Allen?) but other anthology films like Roberto Rossellini's Paisan have all of their entries made by a single director. Ballad is more like the latter.
Anyways there's a level of artifice to the whole film. The anthology here is specifically presented as a book.
You can actually freeze frame the book before the movie even really gets going to get a fictional origin story for several of the stories.
My screengrab isn't really good enough to clearly read it though, but watching it on Netflix in HD on a big enough TV, you can actually read the entire passage here.
In the first story (And only the first story), Buster Scruggs directly talks to the audience (And like a fourth-wall breaking
movie character specifically).
He looks directly into the camera, follows it at times. He's really larger than life, while none of the characters of the other stories really are at all like this. It only makes the entire film being named after him really more strange to me, since in a lot of ways it and him are not representative of the overall piece.
Again, upfront its just emphasizing the artifice but I can't quite see the reason for the choice, especially since in the final story at the end of the film
the nature of storytelling itself is discussed and why people relate to stories, but its done in a much more contained matter. No such blatant fourth wall breaking as in this first story or arguably even the very nature of the detailed framing device.
There are several parts throughout the film where you can do this to get more details about the various stories. For example the, ending of the first story gives (Also called "The Ballad of Buster Scruggs") gives some more detail about
the man that murdered Buster and what his own fate would be.
I wonder how much of this is a choice that the Coens would have done in a normal theatrically released movie anyways, and how much is because it is released through Netflfix, where you can pause and take your time to examine any frame to your heart's content. You could do that anyways through DVD releases so IDK.
Anyways this is only really talking about the framing device the movie used. I still need some time to think about the six stories, what I got out of them, how I'd rank them, what the Coens are saying, so in a lot of ways this whole post is bad and worthless. I did enjoy all six of the stories though.
If anyone else sees this I'd love to dig into some more through discussion and try to come to grips with it.
215. Ben-Hur (1959, Dir. William Wyler) - The 1959 Best Picture winner. The religious angle of this movie doesn't mean much to me, but as a piece of classical Hollywood epic filmmaking I think this is pretty fun example. I certainly enjoyed it more than the previous Wyler movie I watched (The Best Years of Our Lives) and the previous Charlton Heston movie I watched (The Greatest Show on Earth).
For a four hour movie I don't have a whole lot to really say about it, though the big chariot race was as good as I had heard it was for years.
Also I wonder if this shot shortly afterwards was inspired by John Ford's movies. It looks like it came straight out of the ending to The Searchers.
216. A Man for All Seasons (1966, Dir. Fred Zinnemann) - The 1966 Best Picture winner. Actually I was planning on watching Tom Jones instead for this, but the version I had downloaded had ugly windowboxing going on. I decided I might do My Fair Lady instead but sadly it seems I didn't have a copy of that. Next in line was Man for All Seasons which I did have so I'll have to go back to the other two later.
Anyways, Seasons is another middling BP winner. It's not really great but not exactly bad either. Good performances from those involved- is great as Thomas More, Orson Welles (Who I hadn't even realized was in this before I watched it) was good in his brief role, but Robert Shaw as Henry VIII absolutely steals his scenes.
Other than that…good set design, good costumes, that's about it. Looking up a bit about the movie, Andrew Sarris had a pretty critical review which is a little harsher than I am, but is pretty close to how I feel.
Andrew Sarris wrote: A Man for All Seasons is the most edifying experience to hit the screen since The Life of Emile Zola. It seems that almost every year at this time some film or other inspires me to play Horatio at the Bridge. It was Lawrence of Arabia in 1962, Tom Jones in 1963, My Fair Lady and Dr. Strangelove in 1964, and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? for most of 1966. Does pure perverseness play a part in this reviewer's reactions? Not as much as most nonreviewers suppose. Even the most captious critics have a hankering to come in from the cold, and it is generally much easier and more 'Tiuman" not to resist the rape of the click film, the hit play, the runaway best seller, the bandwagon bonanza, the "of course" complacency of the success story. Even in moments of maximum hysteria, however, there is a place for the long view, and in this corner at least, there is grave doubt that A Man for All Seasons is a film for all time.
Actually the film version of A Man for All Seasons will probably follow the same cultural path as the play. The daily reviewers, surfeited with sensationalism, spoofery, and just plain silliness, are primed to endorse the slightest semblance of seriousness. Then along comes Robert Bolt, England's answer to Arthur Miller, both men monstrous mouthers of rhetorical redundancies. And what is Bolt's message? Simply that every individual must preserve his integrity. Fortunately, Sir Thomas More's martyrdom is remote enough and hence abstract enough to serve as allegory for covert nonconformists from Madison Avenue to MacDougal Street. Barry Goldwater will be edified. So will Norman Thomas. After all, Sir Thomas More doesn't go around burning draft cards or babbling about Black Power. Such contemporary confrontations of authority might offend much of the audience that now applauds More's steadfastness in a world of King-Pope intrigues to which the modern religions of nationalism are relatively indifferent. In fact, the film, even more than the play, tends to subordinate historical facts and ideological issues to abstract arguments about personal conscience. The Spanish ambassador disappears as a character, and with him the information that Spanish troops are terrorizing the Pope in Rome. More's theological arguments in the film actually smack of a rigid medievalism, against which Henry VII's capricious sensuality seems almost sympathetic. What validates More's position is his sufferable moral superiority. Like Jesus Christ and Joan of Arc, he is simply better than anyone else around at the time, but this situation is more the stuff of dogma than drama.
Not that Bolt isn't entitled to write a play about Sir Thomas More, but there is something wrong when the noble hero gets all the best lines, with a veritable stuffing of staircase wit. The bad guys in good westerns get a better break than do the bad guys in A Man for All Seasons. To make matters worse, Leo McKern is cast as the arch villain. McKern is effective when he plays hysterical bullies in Losey's films because Losey has a flair for lyrical love-hate scenes in which characters flail at each other with their uncontrolled feelings. Under Fred Zinnemann's tight direction, with Bolt's tight script, opposite Paul Scofield's tight-lipped ironies, McKern is reduced to stock villainy. The one high note of the film is struck by that wondrous wailing banshee, Wendy Hiller, in the defiance scene in More's dungeon. This is the only scene in the film in which a character is able to shut up Thomas More, and it takes his wife to put her hand over his mouth to do it: "S-s-sh . . . As for understanding, I understand you're the best man that I ever met or am likely to; and if you go, well, God knows why, I suppose —though, as God's my witness, God's kept deadly quiet about it!" Wendy Hiller has only one more sentence to go in her one big scene, but anyone who has ever seen her in The Heiress or Moon for the Misbegotten knows that it takes her only an instant to bring the heavens crashing down on the stage. Lifting her arms, and looking upward in a slow, clumsy, aged, earth-laden movement, this gruff tradesman's daughter and cleric's wife discards the prudence of a lifetime to defy all the universal power arrayed against her poor husband: "And if anyone wants my opinion of the King and his Council they've only to ask for it." The line really isn't that good, but in Hiller's hands it becomes the stuff of sublime theater. "Why, it's a lion I married! A lion! A lion!" Scofield quips fatuously, and as he puts his stage arms around his wife, the mood is muffled by a return to rhetorical display. From frenzy we descend back to forensics, and Scofield takes us the rest of the way to the chopping block with one or two good one-liners, most notably: "For Wales? Why, Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world . . . but for Wales!" The foregoing line is so good that Zinnemann resists nudging the audience with a reaction shot of period extras chortling at More's wit in the courtroom. Would that Zinnemann had altogether resisted this vulgar method of telling audiences in Topeka that grammatical English prose can get laughs, but then A Man for All Seasons would not be the successful middlebrow enterprise that it is.
In all fairness to Zinnemann, his direction is about as effectively expert here as it was ineffectively expert in Behold a Pale Horse. Every frame is etched and chiseled in terms of the most precise placement of characters, colors, costumes, and period decor. As an academic exercise, A Man for all Seasons will probably be snapped up by the 16-millimeter catalogues unless there are purists who still object to filmed stage plays. The film will probably look better in 16-millimeter. Zinnemann avoids close-ups and sweeping camera movements like the plague, and some of his imagery with stone lions evokes Eisenstein's October. On the whole, Zinnemann's visual style is recessive in that everyone is always seen at a safe distance. I don't like this style particularly. It's safe, tactful, and tentative for a director who doesn't want to get too involved with his characters. Yet it is probably wise for this project. Scofield and Bolt don't really take close-ups. They lack feeling and empathy. Scofield is a virtuoso on the stage, where the dry inflections of his voice can ripple across the footlights with layers and layers of expressive irony and biting cynicism. When you look at his face on the screen, however, you get a guilty desire to look somewhere else. Actually, it's hard to remember what Scofield looks like from one performance to the next. I can't think of another actor of comparable skill with so little physical presence.
A Man for All Seasons is blessed with an extraordinary supporting cast—Wendy Hiller, Susannah York, Orson Welles, Robert Shaw, and Vanessa Redgrave in an unbilled appearance as Anne Boleyn. All I can say is wow! There was Orson Welles down in Spain shooting Chimes at Midnight which will have trouble finding a theater while A Man for All Seasons rolls on and on. Despite such coups as getting Gielgud and Richardson and Moreau, Welles had to make do with such eminently dubbed Shakespearean actresses as Marina Vlady, whose perfect English diction led one wag to dub the film Singin' in the Reign. Chimes at Midnight has all kinds of technical deficiencies, and Welles makes many more mistakes than Zinnemann ever could, and yet I wouldn't trade one shot from the Welles for the entire oeuvre of Zinnemann. With all the faults of the Welles, and all the virtues of the Zinnemann, I firmly believe that the massive passions of Chimes at Midnight will long outlive the miniature pageantry of A Man for All Seasons.
(Village Voice, December 22, 1966)
I think history has shown him right that Chimes at Midnight has ended up being the more interesting film, though I'm entirely sure the comparison is completely warranted even with Welles attached to both films.
217. Likely Consequence (1992, Dir. Edward Yang) - A recording of a one-act stage play that Yang co-wrote and directed shortly after finishing A Brighter Summer Day. In a kind of Hitchcock-ish esque plot, a young husband comes home to his apartment to find his wife with a dead man. In trying to deal with the situation though, fractures in the relationship are revealed.
For a quick 45 minute play I enjoyed it. If I'm understanding right, the guy's ultimate story he made up to defend his wife
with the “story" about how she was actually cheating on the husband with the man, and the man only died from slipping and falling was coincidentally the truth, right? The wife's reaction to the story seemed to suggest that to me but Idk. Maybe the guy actually was some kind of rapist and she's also just sad from even needing a story like that to explain why she had to kill (Even if only accidentally) such a guy.
218. Ladies of Leisure (1930, Dir. Frank Capra) - An early Capra film AND an early Barbara Stanwyck film. An artist meets a party girl (Stanwyck), wants to paint a portrait of her, they fall in love, artist's parents don't approve, drama ensures. It meanders a bit and suffers from being an early sound film, though you can see the basis here for better movies that Capra would quickly soon go on to make, like It Happened One Night.
219. A Star is Born (1937, Dir. William A. Wellman & Jack Conway) - I hadn't seen any version of this before, so I figured I might as well start here. It's another solid bit of classical Hollywood filmmaking (The payoff of the star on the Hollywood walk of fame at the end of the film being the best example of this and also one of the film's strongest moments). It was fun, I'm curious to see how the actual musical versions compare to this.
Side note: I've seen like five Wellman movies at this point and I'm a little surprised he doesn't get talked about a little more, even in a Michael Curtiz “You're probably not an auteur but you still have some classics under your belt" kind of way. This movie, Wings, The Public Enemy, and The Ox-Bow Incident are good, dammit!
220. The Living Daylights (1987, Dir. John Glen) - Another Bond film, and one I surprised to see that generally has a low reputation if the average rating on IMDb is to be believed. I think it's pretty fun- Dalton is a great Bond- in some ways he strikes me as a proto-Daniel Craig. More ruthless than Roger Moore though not quite the heartless assassin he sometimes can be.
All of the stuff revolving around airplane setpiece in particular was fantastic.
221. Expelled from Paradise (2014, Dir. Seiji Mizushima) - Something of a mecha anime that is also a detective film? Kind of? Anyways in the future most of humanity has been digitized and live in a virtual realm contained within a space shuttle called DEVA. Someone from the outside world of the regular Earth has been hacking into this virtual reality though to compel people to leave the digital world and journey with them into outer space. The government that runs this virtual world sends out their agent Angela, a busty skimpy blonde (Of course), to find the source of the hacking in the outside world (By growing a body in a vat or something and digitally uploading her consciousness into it so she can explore the physical world). She teams up with up "Dingo", a world weary man skeptical of the life provided by DEVA, but is willing to work for them and investigates with Angela.
I enjoyed this a straight genre work. I think when it tries to make grand statements about the world its not that interesting. This is likely because Gen Urobuchi (Most famous probably for writing Puella Magi Madoka Magica) wrote this, and this is consistently a problem I have with him and his work. I still enjoyed this more than anything else I've seen from him, but I still don't quite see where the Anno-like praise he gets from some are coming from.
Speaking of Anno, while Mizushima is probably most well known for making Mobile Suit Gundam 00 and the 2003 adaptation of Fullmetal Alchemist, he also was an episode director on Evangelion, specifically episodes 9-12. Go figure.
Las thing to mention is that the animation here is kind of weird too. I think it's 3D that's also supposed to look like 2D but it's a little odd. It kind of reminds me of the anime Godzilla films on Netflix (Which also have Urobuchi attached to them, come to think of it), though I think this is a little better looking in all honesty.