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Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 12

I ask you...who can be more Fassbinderian than Fassbinder himself? Guesses for last week's quiz were all over the map, but a select few of you were able to recognize Hanna Schygulla from The Marriage of Maria Braun. For those who asked about the alt-text clue -- Mrs. Braun (Brown) has got a lovely daughter, or at least so sayeth Peter Noone from that twee 60s pop song by Herman's Hermits. Sorry. Mid-way into week two of NYFF press screenings, and at the moment Stellet Licht is easily the best film I've seen by far, with Redacted holding the honor as the worst. On Tuesday afternoon I had the opportunity to see the restored print of Leave Her to Heaven, a film I'd never seen on the big screen. Wow. Just....wow. And you know what? I realized for the first time that Jeanne Crain is every bit as beautiful as Gene Tierney. Well here we are at the end of Round 13. My, how times does fly. With Leave Her to Heaven still on the brain, I'll close out the round with another Gene Tierney film, but I warn you...this is a tough one. While the actors pictured might not ring a bell, take a close look at the portrait on the wall. Seem familiar? Name the film. Be sure to check back next week for the winners. Good luck! Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

NYFF Review: I Just Didn't Do It

Some years ago, while standing on a platform at Tokyo's busy Shibuya station during the height of the morning rush hour, I witnessed an event remarkably similar to the one that opens I Just Didn't Do It. A nondescript salaryman who had been accused of groping a student on the train was quickly surrounded and detained by fellow passengers. The fear on his face was unforgettable as he repeatedly denied the charges. Within minutes he was hauled off by the police, and the station quickly returned to its usual frenetic pace. I often wondered what became of the man, and if Masayuki Suo's film is any indication, I hope he didn't attempt to prove his innocence. In I Just Didn't Do It, Ryo Kase (dancing Takefumi from Funky Forest) plays Teppei, an alleged groper of a schoolgirl who finds himself up against a legal system that boasts a 99.9% conviction rate. So unlikely is an acquittal that most of the accused simply pay a fine and move on. Owing more to naiveté than defiance, Teppei simply can't reconcile admitting to a crime he didn't commit. Though shouted at and browbeaten by detectives and prosecutors alike (who significantly alter his statements), he still believes the truth will set him free. I'm hard pressed to think of another film that so delves into the minutia of the Japanese legal system, and Suo spares no details. From the police who are would rather obtain confessions than solve crimes, to useless public defenders who encourage guilty pleas, to the difficulty in obtaining proper council, it's a system seemingly built on guilty until proven guilty. Though the hard evidence in the case against Teppei is limited to the testimony of the groped student, the trial still consists of approximately fifteen hearings, all of which are given screen time in the film's 140 minutes. However, Suo isn't content with merely chronicling the draconian legal process and futility of standing trial – he strives to peel back the layers to reveal a system corrupt not only at the highest levels, but also at its very core. Judges who speak of their role as protectors of the innocent are mysteriously replaced. Defense evidence and eyewitness testimony is all but ignored, whereas prosecutors mount a successful prima-facie case around Teppei's unemployment, and possession of pornography. A not-guilty verdict is viewed as being in opposition of state power; an extension, perhaps, of Japan's collectivism that subjugates the self to society as a whole. It's interesting that Suo chooses the crime that he does. Public groping (chikan) is no small matter in Japan, and it's given rise to women-only carriages on many train lines, as well as a new set of criminal classifications based on whether the groping takes place under or over the undergarments. (Seriously.) Teppei's female attorney (Asaka Seto) at first refuses the case, for she feels that his being a man is motive enough. An understandable position given how rampant the particular crime is, but ultimately a dangerous one. That the victim is underage only strengthens the prosecutor's case, and her inconclusive testimony is given greater weight due to her willingness to testify. Though legally untenable, the fact that many crimes of this nature remain unreported (a recent survey reveals that 70% of high school girls claim they have been groped on the subway) explains the desire of the courts to prosecute. Yet Suo wisely avoids these socio-political factors, which would reduce the film to a standard courtroom drama. The outcome isn't what matters here, nor is it a question of Teppei's innocence or guilt. I Just Didn't Do It is strictly about the unyielding rigidity of the process, and the power system that allows it to be perpetuated. Back in 1996 I decried that the god-awful Shall We Dance (director Masayuki Suo's previous film) would result in the death of Japanese cinema as we know it. Fair enough, I was wrong. Still, it's wonderful to see what a difference ten years makes. I Just Didn't Do It is the antithesis of that film, devoid of the feel-good syrupy sentimentality that oozed from every frame. Exposé, cautionary tale, and procedural all rolled into one, I Just Didn't Do It is a study in the abuse of state power that no fan of Foucault should miss.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 11

Well, I certainly was a blogger under the influence when I prepared last week's quiz, which of course came from John Cassavetes' wonderful A Woman Under the Influence. (Memo to self: no more binge drinking on Tuesday nights.) Though the quiz didn't stump nearly enough of you, it's perhaps interesting that the single most popular incorrect answer was Rosemary's Baby, which of course features the maverick director. Press screenings for the New York Film Festival began this week, and as of this writing I've already seen four films, including Julian Schnabel's The Diving Bell and the Butterfly and The Darjeeling Limited (I'll refrain from commenting on either). I plan to begin posting reviews later this week, as well as (possibly) recording several podcasts with some special guests. (More on that anon.) This week: speaking of Fassbinderian framing.... Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Sight & Sound's 75 Hidden Gems: Deep End

I'm a sucker for film lists, particularly those that cull the forgotten, overlooked, or otherwise unchampioned from the sea of cinematic ephemera. Sight & Sound's 75 Hidden Gems: The Great Films Time Forgot (August 2007) is (for the most part) precisely the kind of list that makes my mouth water, and it's led me on a quest to hunt down as many down as possible. As part of the magazine's 75th anniversary, the editors asked critics from around the world to choose a single film that is "unduly obscure and worthy of greater eminence." With few exceptions (both Stir of Echoes and Superstar are hardly lost or forgotten) the list is pretty darn solid, and of the 75 (76 if you count Editor Nick James' selection of The Moon in the Gutter) I've only seen a pitiful 16. I decided to track down some of the rarer titles, especially those I've had on my 'to see' list for some time. The first film I managed to locate was Jerzy Skolimowski's Deep End (1970), the selection of BBC critic David Thompson. My familiarity with Skolimowski is limited to his work as a screenwriter (Knife in the Water), and one film -- the also-forgotten Moonlighting from 1982, though I've been trying to locate his adaptation of Nabokov's King, Queen, Knave for years. Deep End, his second English language film, is a seedy psychosexual thriller set in London's East End. Mike (John Moulder-Brown) is a shy, awkward 15 year-old who lands a job at a public bathhouse. When not escaping from the lusty clutches of oversexed, oversized middle-aged women who would love nothing more than to rob him of his innocence (including Diana Dors, here more resembling Divine than the blonde bombshell of The Unholy Wife), Mike himself is lusting after fellow employee Susan (red-headed beauty Jane Asher) -- several years his senior, and having an affair with a swimming instructor although she's engaged. Mike's obsession with Susan will lead him on a downward spiral into the underworld of porno theaters, swingers clubs, and the consumption of too many hot dogs. Skolimowski's portrait of youth is decidedly bleak, with Mike thrust into the real world straight from school without the necessary psychological or emotional maturity. His obsession with Susan -- a calculating temptress who strives to possess all she can get -- is more tragic than frightening, but I'm not sure if the element of social criticism is intentional. If nothing else, the film is unbelievably sordid. Every adult figure is portrayed as selfish, corrupt, callous or simply sleazy, save for a hot dog vendor (played by Cato himself, Burt Kwouk) who is the lone possessor of something resembling a warm, human emotion. The line readings throughout are so flat, that I wasn't sure if the film was dubbed, or if Skolimowski was going after a Bressonian vibe. The lengthy set piece that leads to the film's tragic conclusion, while not at all surprising, is rather disturbing, owing to Skolimowski's refusal to apply even a trace of moral appraisal; there are no lessons to be learned here. Lodged somewhere between art-house and exploitation flick, and with an incredible soundtrack by Cat Stevens and Krautrock superstars Can, Deep End is a look at the darker side of swinging London -- where porno films feature Wagner scores, middle-aged women use boys as masturbatory objects, and a public bathhouse will sooner get you killed than clean.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 10

In his review of the film for the New Yorker, Brendan Gill concluded that the "infinitesimal moral" of Point Blank is that "the wages of sin is more sin." I still need to chew on that for a while, but at first glance it doesn't seem too far off the mark. What's remarkable about John Boorman's postmodern noir is that, even forty years later, its innovations are no less impressive than they were back in the 60s. Many have tried to capture/mimic its tone, style, and narrative tricks, but quite honestly, few have succeeded. This is the real deal -- forget that that Mel Gibson remake even exists. If you've never seen man's man Lee Marvin as Walker the unstoppable machine, you really need to. Right now. (The alt-text clue (Features pepper and a bunker) of course refers to the infamous TV roles that co-stars Angie Dickinson and Carroll O'Connor were best known for in the 70s.) Full disclosure: I'm positively soused at the moment -- with every tissue in my body soaked in a combination of Villa Barthenau Sant' Urbano Pinot Nero and Opal Nera Sambuca. Forgive any moments of slovenliness. Still....the quiz must go on! This week: one of the greatest films ever made (according to Filmbrain.) Staring at the shot in my current state, there's something about the composition and the use of tight space that is so very Fassbinderian. (Fassbinderesque?) Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Candy Colored Courtesans

There were several films at this year's Berlinale that I never managed to catch up with, even though there were multiple opportunities to do so. Whether a case of simple intuition or lack of enthusiasm, these were titles that somehow fell short of being able to reel me in. One of those films was Sakuran, the debut feature from Japanese photographer Mika Ninagawa. Now that I've had the chance to see the film, I'm happy those 110 minutes were spent elsewhere. Based on a popular manga of the same name, Sakuran is set in the pleasure quarters of Edo-period Japan. It traces the ascension of Kiyoha from a street urchin sold to a brothel at a very young age, to her years as a hugely successful prostitute, to her finally becoming an oiran (highest-ranking courtesan.) On paper, Sakuran has so much going for it. Ms. Ninagawa is a talented photographer whose LaChapelle-like use of saturated color in her portrait and advertising work is remarkably effective. The film's lead, actress/model/singer Anna Tsuchiya, is quickly becoming one of Japan's finest young actresses; she stole the show in Kamikaze Girls, and was equally impressive in The Taste of Tea and Memories of Matsuko. Topping it off is the film's soundtrack, which was written and performed by Shiina Ringo, to my mind Japan's greatest female rock star. So what went wrong? Japanese cinema certainly has no shortage of films centered around prostitutes/courtesans/geishas, but few (if any) have been directed by a woman. Unlike the portrayal of prostitutes in the works of Suzuki, Imamura, or Mizoguchi (to name but a few), Ninagawa refuses to view them as an inevitable byproduct of a patriarchal society, nor are they merely fetishized objects of male desire. There's a three-dimensional quality to her characters that allows them to transcend the common stereotypes, resulting in 19th century working girls with 21st century sensibilities. Though it may be lacking in historical accuracy, its revisionist approach is a welcome departure from the usual (see: Memoirs of a Geisha). Ninagawa posits Kiyoha as a proto-feminist, and to that end I can understand why she decided to cast the gruff, raspy-voiced Anna Tsuchiya as the star courtesan. However, her rough-around-the-edges quality (which lent itself perfectly to her Yakuza-like biker role in Kamikaze Girls) is here too much of a distraction, and she's never quite convincing in the part. Equally stiff in both her layered kimonos as well as her performance, you keep expecting her to tear it all off, throw on a leather jacket, and ride off on a Harley. Ninagawa's desire to avoid cliché is admirable, but the casting of Tsuchiya, like the film's jazzy-rock score, is an anachronism that simply doesn't work. Kiyoha's pageant-like promenade down the street, set to a Shiina Ringo power ballad, has the feel of a truly awful music video. When Kiyoha first arrives at the brothel as a rebellious child, she is horrified by this world of women, and has no desire to be part of it. (A sequence of snap cuts set in a bathhouse consisting of about a hundred close-ups of breasts is unique, to say the least.) Her later success as a prostitute stems from her uncanny ability to fake it – to build a seemingly impenetrable wall around her emotions while at the same time mastering the movements and gestures that make her so popular with her samurai clientele. (An idea that's been done to death in everything from Crimes of Passion to Lizzie Borden's Working Girls.) From a young age Kiyoha has but one goal – to become an oiran, a position of supreme power, even if it is limited to the self-contained floating world she's spent most of her life in. Yet the riot grrrl spirit laid down in the film's first half all but vanishes in the second as Kiyoha realizes that all she needs is a good man to take her away from that place. Sure, true love is wonderful and all that, but in the context of the film it feels like a betrayal of everything that preceded it. Kiyoha learned at an early age how to work the system to her advantage, and though she bucks tradition at the end, the soppy romance comes off as a cheap and easy way out. The inconsistency of her character is what ultimately caused me to lost interest. One minute she's fighting and cursing and the next uttering lines like "The world is a vale of tears; there's nothing in it that doesn't bother me." Rebel, or 19th century emo-girl? Unsurprisingly, the film is gorgeous to look at, with Ninagawa successfully bringing her trademark rich, saturated primary colors to the screen, as well as incorporating one of her favorite photographic subjects – goldfish, which appear throughout the film. While in many cases the fish are clever bits of decoration (such as the crossbar of a tojii gate replaced with an aquarium full of them), they too often serve as obvious metaphor for the women in these brothels – forever on display in an enclosed space, but unable to survive outside of it. Yeah... Though some have drawn parallels to Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette, Sakuran never succeeds in bridging the old and the new, or managing to maintain its contemporary twist on an age-old tale. The promise of the film's opening minutes, full of distinct inventiveness and quixotic energy, soon devolves into a by-the-numbers period piece with all the emotional pull of a televised serial drama.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 13, Week 9

"I swear to god George, if you even existed I'd divorce you." I've tried, several times in my life, to play the Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf drinking game. That's the one where you watch Mike Nichols' masterpiece and have a drink whenever one of the infernal foursome imbibes. I've never made it anywhere close to the 131st minute. One of the worst date movies ever (I learned the hard way), Nichols' adaptation of the Albee play is, in my opinion, one of the greatest American films of all time. (Not least of all for introducing the expression 'monkey nipples' into the vernacular.) No matter how many times I've watched it, I never fail to walk away slack-jawed and brutalized. Elizabeth Taylor gained 30 pounds for the role, and that's her filling out those stretch pants cutting a rug with George Segal in a scene choreographed by none other than Herbert Ross. If you haven't seen it (I'm looking at you Cinephiliac and D+Kaz!), you absolutely must. Right away. This week: great hallway scenes #37. Another easy one to waltz us out of summer and prepare us for the ever-exciting fall season. Name the film. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!