Like Anna Karina's Sweater

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 8

Seemed too obvious, eh? Would I really dare to use, like, Anna Karina's sweater? Well, yeah. In fact, that's the very sweater from Bande à Part that this blog is named after. Update: The American whose world record is broken by Odile, Franz, and Arthur is Jimmy Johnson, who made it through the Louvre in 9 minutes and 45 seconds. Godard's trio beat him by two seconds. However, Colin sent me a 1984 Art Buchwald column from the Saturday Evening Post that claims the actual record is held by a Stockholm man known as the Swedish Cannonball who did it in 6 minutes and 25 seconds back in 1938. Guess Godard didn't do his research. As you can imagine, it's been quite an exhausting week here at chez Filmbrain. Between the DVD release and the various m________e-themed events here in NYC, there's been little time for anything resembling rest or relaxation. But after tonight's Quiet City party, I'm determined to do nothing but chill out until September with a stack of unwatched DVDs. Bliss. This week: there aren't many actresses who can fill out a pair of stretch pants quite like she can. Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

It is Accomplished

Well...it's taken over a year to get here, but LOL, Benten's first DVD release, finally hits the shelves today. Honestly, there were times when I felt this day would never arrive. The road here was often arduous, and I couldn't have navigated it successfully without the help and encouragement of many. (Check the DVD booklet for a complete list of names!) Both the film and the DVD itself have been receiving great reviews, which of course thrills us to no end. LOL is a terrific film, and I'm excited that it can now be seen by those who didn't catch it on the festival circuit. Buy it, rent it, borrow a friend's copy – but please do see it. You won't be disappointed. "Benten Films ... state on their website that they intend to put out "overlooked gems that deserve greater recognition" and that all of their releases will be "of the highest technical quality, each supplemented with enhanced features and artful packaging". That is certainly the case with their release of Joe Swanberg's LOL." – DVD Times "My expectations weren't exceptionally high but LOL is one of those rare film experiences that reinforces the hopefulness of indie cinema. The inability to 'connect' in today's environment is certainly not an original concept but Swanberg's unique vision exporting both pathos and satire is extremely refreshing." – Gary Tooze, DVD Beaver "LOL is treated as if it were Citizen Kane by newbie distributor Benten Films." – Ed Gonzalez, Slant Magazine

One Sunday with Wilder, Ulmer, Zinnemann, Schüfftan and the Siodmak Brothers

Germany, 1929 – a period of relative calm and prosperity in the Weimar Republic. That brief period between the wars, when the market had not yet crashed, and the Nazis had captured less than 3% of the votes in the last election. Five young filmmakers, unknowns at the time, but who would go on to have illustrious careers in Hollywood, collaborate on an experimental feature – part documentary, part narrative, and starring a cast of five Berliners playing themselves. Dubbed "A film without actors", People On Sunday (Menschen am Sonntag) is a surprisingly modern work that is a major document in the history of German avant-garde cinema. The film originated from a reportage by Kurt Siodmak (screenwriter, The Wolf Man, I Walked With a Zombie) that became a screenplay by none other than the great Billy Wilder. It was shot by Eugen Schüfftan (cinematographer The Hustler, Eyes Without a Face) and Fred Zinnemann (High Noon), and directed by Robert Siodmak (The Killers) and Edgar G. Ulmer (Detour). With that much talent behind the camera, it's no wonder that the end result of this fortunate bit of happenstance is nothing short of fascinating. The film begins on Saturday, with a lengthy introductory sequence that brilliantly captures the hustle and bustle of Berlin and its working class. It's the concerto equivalent to Walter Ruttmann's majestic Berlin: Die Symphonie der Großstadt from two years prior. Like the city's inhabitants and its numerous forms of transport, so too is Schüfftan's camera always on the move (it looks hand-held – was that even possible back then?), pausing only long enough to introduce us to our five non-actors, cast as themselves: Erwin (a taxi driver), his girlfriend Annie (a somniculous model), Brigitte (a successful record store clerk), Wolfgang (a wine salesman), and Christl (a film extra.) Erwin and Annie's relationship is strained, and the two spend their Saturday night fighting (destroying each other's collection of celebrity snapshots in the process), triggered by a disagreement over how Annie should wear the brim of her hat. Come Sunday morning, Erwin leaves the sleeping Annie to meet Wolfgang for a trip to Nikolassee, a nearby lake resort that seemingly half of Berlin flocks to each Sunday. There they meet Brigitte and Christl and embark on a carefree day rife with flirtation, jealousy and erotic abandonment. Perhaps owing to its use of non-actors, People on Sunday has a remarkably modern feel to it, and the cast never employ the exaggerated gestures or acting style one tends to find in silent cinema. If anything, the film has more in common with the French New Wave than it does the New Objectivity (Neue Sachlichkeit) that was dominating German cinema at the time (Lang, Pabst, Jutzi.) The boyish playfulness of Erwin and Wolfgang combined with their romantic machinations (and partner swapping) is right out of Masculin Féminin or Bande à Part. Much of the narrative portion of the film is shot in close-up (Dreyer-esque at times), and Schüfftan's framing of the good-looking cast is nothing short of stunning, and fitting for the awkward intimacy of the foursome. This is in sharp contrast to the vérité style montages of Berlin that are interspersed throughout the film which aim to capture the breadth of the city. An unforgettable sequence of random faces from the POV of a portrait photographer makes use of the freeze-frame, which some credit as being pioneered by Schüfftan (though I believe Vertov may heave beaten him to it.) Though they obviously didn't know it at the time, the filmmakers involved with People on Sunday would go on to shape and transform the definition of American cinema, and hints of their future selves can be gleaned in the work. Sexual betrayal and distrust became a staple in many of Ulmer's films, and the romantic cynicism is pure Wilder. (Such as when Wolfgang and Brigitte flee into the woods to make love, and the camera slowly pans away from them, up into and through the trees, and then finally down into a pile of burnt trash.) Much more than a mere curiosity, People on Sunday is at once a final look at a great city that in a year's time would be forever changed, and a rare first glimpse into the minds of six artists who would leave a lasting imprint in the history of cinema. People on Sunday is available on a Region 2 DVD from the British Film Institute.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 7

I'm a sucker for those quasi-anarchic comedies of the 60s that co-opt elements of the counterculture in the pursuance of a few laughs. (Someone should curate a festival of said films.) Theodore J. Flicker's The President's Analyst is one of the better entries in the genre, and it set its satirical sights on everything from psychology, politics, the cold war, the FBI, the CIA, gun-toting liberals, and the greatest evil in the world -- the phone company. James Coburn is excellent as the titular analyst driven mad by the various organizations tracking his every move. Naturally, he winds up in a mini-bus full of hippie musicians, where he meets the lovely Snow White (Jill Banner), pictured in last week's quiz. Though obviously dated, it still holds up remarkably well. This week: I was recently introduced to somebody who reminded me of the lead actress in this film -- or rather, the character she plays. A pointless piece of information, but the inspiration for choosing this film. Perhaps it's a bit too obvious, but just who is that putting on her sweater? Name the film, and for a bonus point, tell me the name of the American whose world record is broken in the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

On Bergman, Xanadu, and that Scarlett Johansson album. . .

. . .or, everything you always wanted to know about team Benten but were afraid to ask. Karina Longworth of the SpoutBlog kindly invited Aaron and me to partake in the Media Diet, where "indie film movers and shakers" are asked "a bunch of stupid questions about their pop cultural preferences." As fun as the interview was, I'm most excited about being considered a mover and a shaker in the indie film world. I have indeed arrived. SPOUT: We start each installment of The Media Diet with the old desert island question: you’re packing your suitcase for life-long seclusion on a tropical island that happens to have a full entertainment system. What records, books, movies, video games, websites, etc do you bring with? ANDREW: I’ll try to keep this sensible, i.e., what I could reasonably carry in my backpack. The only book I’d need (the only book anybody needs for that matter) is William Gaddis’ The Recognitions, for it says everything there is to say about the human condition. I’d like to have every note recorded by John Coltrane, some Nick Drake, Brahms’ Ein Deutsches Requiem, and that Scarlett Johansson album of Tom Waits covers. (No, I haven’t heard it, but, come on…) Films, of course, are tough—give me complete box sets of Godard, Allen, Cassavetes and Imamura. Throw in The Big Lebowski, Lawrence of Arabia, and Xanadu and I’m set. Click here to read the complete interview.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 6

I wonder how Joe Mantegna would feel if he knew that approximately fifty people mistook him (from behind) for Walter Matthau. What do you think -- flattered, or horrified? Regardless, that's Fat Tony himself next to Mia Farrow from Woody Allen's quasi-remake of Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits, 1990's Alice. As with all of Allen's films (up until the DreamWorks years) I was there on opening day -- December 25, in fact -- freezing my ass off on line with the rest of the die-hard Woody fans. I disliked the film tremendously at the time, and was angry that I had queued up for so long for something so....twee. Now, years later, I think it's one of the Woodman's most charming, albeit flawed, films. It's full of wonderful moments that never quite converge to form a satisfying whole, and a tremendous let down after the brilliance of 1989's Crimes and Misdemeanors, but an interesting experiment nonetheless in the art of the remake. This week -- with the joyous news that MC Rove is about to cut and run, I felt a political-themed film was in order. Name it. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

A Boy Named Soo

I received an email about a week ago from a reader who asked, "Why don't you write about Korean films anymore? Are they 'so 2006', or have you just set your sites on teh [sic] next hip country whose films dominate the chatter at your fancy New York dinner parties?" Snarky comment notwithstanding, it is true that there has been a dearth of Korean film coverage of late, yet it has nothing to do with a loss of interest; the simple fact is that many of the Korean films I've seen this year have been less than inspiring, to say the least. The Korean film industry is in a bit of a slowdown this year – with only 48 feature films having been released thus far (source: KOFIC), it's unlikely that the industry will come close to matching the 108 titles released in 2006. After the phenomenal success of both King and the Clown and The Host, studios are striving to come up with the next big thing, and as a result it's become increasingly more difficult to find funding for titles that aren't high-concept. In an attempt to increase ticket sales, several films this year tried to blend genres, which perhaps explains the wacky time-traveling RomCom Project Makeover, or the extremely poor Miracle on 1st Street which combines the RomCom with the female boxing movie. Yawn. Many of the 2007 titles have been instantly forgettable, and I've not been interested in writing about third-rate melodramas (Herb), not-terribly-funny comedies (Highway Star), and lousy sequels (Mapado 2). But then along came Soo. Born and raised in Nagano, Korean director Yoichi Sai (whose disappointing Blood and Bones I wrote about not long ago) had, until now, never made a film outside of Japan. Soo, his first film produced and shot in Korea is a fascinating, noirish take on the vengeance film, a genre not uncommon in contemporary Korean cinema. Ji Jin-hee (Bewitching Attraction, The Old Garden) stars as the Tae-soo, a hitman who has spent the last nineteen years searching for his identical twin brother, Tae-jin (also played by Ji), after the two were separated as children owing to an unfortunate encounter with a gangster. A near-reunion is the catalyst for a series of events that soon escalates into a complex, multi-layered tale of deception and revenge. Soo firmly roots itself as a film noir from its opening scene, which finds anti-hero Tae-soo driving through the empty night streets of Seoul, set to a Travis Bickle-like first-person voiceover. With its hard-boiled dialog, lack of sentimentality, and a handful of shady characters on the sidelines (including a blind junkie accordionist, and a knife-wielding pre-teen), there's hardly a noir trope that Sai doesn't employ. At the same time, he strips down the vengeance theme to its unrelentingly raw essentials, leaving no room for moral/ethical dilemma or discussion. Sai treats vengeance as a purely instinctual drive, on par with hunger or thirst. While there's much about Soo that feels vaguely familiar (there are thematic parallels to Infernal Affairs), there's enough originality in both its narrative approach and its aesthetics to prevent it from slipping into the conventional. Still, Sai wears his influences on his sleeve, and there are obvious nods to Scorsese, De Palma and even Leone, particularly in its Morricone-esque score which bears more than a passing resemblance to Deborah's Theme from Once Upon a Time in America. As with Blood and Bones, there's an overwhelming, almost clinical fascination with the human body, and the amount of beating, stabbing and shooting it can withstand before finally succumbing and admitting defeat, particularly when one is driven by a self-righteous cause. Soo is extremely violent, though unlike the highly stylized set pieces is Oldboy or Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, Sai's camera doesn't turn away from the more gruesome aspects. The extended bullet and knife ballet that closes out the film would make Peckinpah proud. In his well renowned trilogy, Park Chan-wook studied the causality behind acts of vengeance, be it social, political, or personal. In Soo, Sai treats vengeance as purely instinctual; a human drive on par with hunger or thirst. He's not trying to evoke sympathy for Tae-soo, nor is he sitting in judgment of his character's motivations and actions. Soo's cold, distant approach will no doubt be off-putting to some, and while it doesn't quite hit all its high notes, it remains one of the most original genre films to come out of Korea this year.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 5

If there's a silver lining to be found in last week's cloud, it's this -- the death of both Bergman and Antonioni resulted in some great (and some not-so-great) dialog and prose about the two directors on just about every corner of the Web. Hell, we even got an Op-Ed piece in the Times from Jonathan Rosenbaum. I personally engaged in no fewer than half a dozen "Bergman vs. Antonioni" discussions -- pointless, perhaps, but lots of fun. It also led me to reconsider the film used in last week's quiz, Vargtimmen (The Hour of the Wolf). In college, I thought it was one of Bergman's best, but now I don't think it would land on my Ingmar Top-Ten. It has some wonderful moments in it, and it still works as an effective depiction of descent into madness, but it somehow feels really, really dated. There have been rumblings from some that this round is far too difficult. It's not intentionally so -- I find myself with less time to prepare, so perhaps the choices aren't as lovingly selected as they were in the past. However, for this week's quiz I combed through the entire film to find the perfect shot: a wonderful view of Times Square, before it turned into a family-friendly shopping mall. Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Orson Welles on Ingmar, Michelangelo, and potato peeling peasants

It's amazing what you stumble across at 4:30 in the AM, when the battle to find sleep has been lost. From Barbara Leaming's grossly subjective, Orson Welles: A Biography: "I have this terrible sense that film is dead – that it's a piece of film in a machine that will be run off and shown to people. That is why, I think, my films are theatrical, and strongly stated, because I can't believe that anybody won't fall asleep unless they are. There's an awful lot of Bergman and Antonioni that I'd rather be dead than sit through. For myself, unless a film is hallucinatory, unless it becomes that kind of an experience, it doesn't come alive. I know that directors find serious and sensitive audiences for films where people sit around peeling potatoes in the peasant houses – but I can't read that kind of novel either." Oh, Orson. . .

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 4

"They're selling hippie wigs in Woolworths, man. The greatest decade in the history of mankind is over. And as Presuming Ed here has so consistently pointed out, we have failed to paint it black." Bruce Robinson's screenplay for Withnail & I is an undisputable masterpiece. There's not a single unnecessary line, and the whole thing reads like poetry. So what happened? His follow-up, How To Get Ahead In Advertising, had flashes of brilliance (thanks to Richard E. Grant's delivery), but after that....nothing. Works for hire like Return to Paradise and In Dreams were forgettable, and his own directing career died with the not-terribly-awful Jennifer 8. But there's good news. It was announced this week that Robinson will write and direct the film version of The Rum Diary, based on Hunter S. Thompson's 1959 novel. Here's hoping this is the return to form we've been waiting for. What a week so far, eh? Turned on the computer Monday morning and read about Bergman. Tuesday morning, Antonioni. Maybe I'll keep the computer off on Wednesday. Obviously, this week's quiz comes from one of the two masters, and while the landscape should leave no question as to its director, guessing the film might pose a bit of a challenge. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!