Matty

With its content and outside interference, Contempt is a cynical deconstruction if the relationship between a man and a woman, and between reality and its artificial representations. Just as Camille and Paul’s marriage disintegrates, there is a dissolution of the line separating real life from fictional stories (Piccoli as Odysseus, Palance as Poseidon and Bardot as the faithful Penelope and treacherous siren – see her adaptation of the bathing scene from Lang’s film). The first shot, which ends with the camera looking into a camera, reveals the chosen approach: a film about filming oneself. It’s as if Godard defied the conscientious fulfilment of the task at hand (a widescreen colour co-production with international stars and based on a famous novel) by means of various subversions and attempted to delay for some time the inevitable end of film, which Auguste Lumière had called an invention without a future. He is not docile in his handling of the film’s main star. For no apparent reason, we see the nude Bardot, whose physical assets are first de-eroticised by a precise description, through a red filter, then yellow and finally blue. Later, the director makes her put on a black wig, thus underscoring the key idea of playing different roles. At the same time, we can see the dark-haired actress as Anna Karina and the whole film as Godard’s relationship therapy. In comparison with Godard’s other films, the style of Contempt is remarkably sedate, though the narrative structure is in some ways reminiscent of his unrefined debut, Breathless (suspension of the narrative through a long inner dialogue), to such an extent that I wonder if Godard was using extraordinarily long yet unexpected cutaways to make fun of intellectual relationship films such as those by upper crust Antonioni, for example. The arrangement of the inanimate mise-en-scéne (colours, spaces) often tells us more about the characters and how they relate to each other than the dialogue, which typically runs to more general themes or allusions to Godard’s favourite films and filmmakers. Perhaps in conflict with what he intended, Godard ultimately presents proof that real cinema, whose images are not entirely subordinated to the story or spectacle, isn’t dead yet. 80%

Demy’s celebration of life in the rhythm of jazz doesn’t leave all of the dancing to the actors. The camera also dances. Its upward, downward and circular movements are partially motivated by the characters’ movements and partially by musical excess. The intertwining of these two approaches occurs in one of the long opening shots, when the camera, using the characters as points of reference, sails into the room where a ballet lesson is taking place. ___ On the one hand, Demy mines the reservoir of classic Hollywood musicals (quotes from On the Town and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, the casting of Gene Kelly); on the other hand, he breaks the pastel idyll of the world of musicals with subtle subversion of genre conventions. The characters do not always dance in strictly symmetrical lines and in frontally composed shots. Demy doesn’t stick with one angle for long, as he constantly makes us aware of the three-dimensionality of the space, and respecting the centre of the shot is not mandatory for the dancers. On the contrary, the obsessive Berkeley-esque symmetry is parodied by the mirrored dancing of the Gemini twins. After all, the whole story is built on doubling and pairing (of characters, colours, musical motifs), the seeking of opposites that attract. ___ Contrary to Hollywood convention, a substantial part of the film was shot on location, thanks to which the mise-en-scéne of the scenes set in the glassed-in café, which Demy uses as a means of creating a refrain in the rhythmisation of the narrative, is very lively. The characters disrupt this harmonious world here and there with a line such as “He was an asshole” or “(...) so we want to sleep with you", and through the newspapers, Rochefort is touched a few times by rather heinous crimes (the victim of one such crime was supposed to be a woman with the artistic pseudonym of Lola, which is an obvious reference to Demy’s debut film). Between the lines, it is thus self-reflexively acknowledged that the levity of the presentation only draws attention away from serious issues, that it is a means of escape and that the film’s creators are well aware of this. The balancing between stylised and authentic settings strengthens the impression that fantasy and reality do not have to be mutually exclusive. They can coexist. ___ It’s up to the characters to decide when they will dance into the realm of dreams. The musical numbers, in which – following the example of early vaudeville musicals – the characters dance on stages intended specifically for that purpose, come across as being the most artificial. Freedom of choice disappears, because there is nothing to do other than to sing and dance in the defined space. ___ Despite the use of alienating effects, which is far less tiresome than in some films by New Wave directors, Les Demoiselles de Rochefort  is primarily a two-hour romantic reverie (cutting its runtime wouldn’t have hurt anything). Demy invites us into a city in which the hyper-realistic colours of the realistic setting adapt to the mood of the characters, in which no one ever has a more dangerous implement at hand than a musical instrument, in which every movement can easily be transformed into a dance, and for whose residents there is no (traumatic) collective memory, but only a (joy-inducing) collective song. A song that bridges the differences between generations, genders and temperaments. It is naïve. But it is also uplifting. 75%

The director’s cameo in Family Plot perfectly captured the qualities of the film itself, which really contains only a shadow of Hitchcock’s genius. Other than the usual sexuality (with signs of masochism) and food, the master’s final film involves matters relating to death and the afterlife. At the same time, Hitchcock makes it clear that he considers spiritualism to be a load of nonsense whose purpose is to extract money from gullible people. Even the last scene, when there is finally something that looks like a demonstration of supernatural abilities, cannot avoid calling those abilities into question, and because there is no other character on hand, the conspiratorial wink belongs to the audience. Though probably not intended as such, it is a very stylish farewell. In terms of quality, Family Plot is not that far behind other late-period Hitchcock films: there are two or three scenes that you will want to see again, actors without charisma (who, furthermore, portray absolutely unbelievable characters) and a surfeit of words that often tell us what we don’t need to know. As unsatisfying value added, there is a soporific exposition and the strange feeling that Hitchcock would also like to leave all of those annoying, puzzled people behind as quickly as possible. 60%

Sex, lies and videotape. In Behind the Candelabra, Soderbergh takes the same ambivalent approach to the characters as he did in Magic Mike, his previous revealing commentary on the contradictory nature of the American Dream. He has sympathy for the emotional lives of the protagonists, who are rootless orphans in a certain sense. He doesn’t observe them from a distance as if they were two bizarre creatures, but rather delves into their private lives, taking an interest in the most intimate moments of their cohabitation, but without sensationalising (or ridiculing) the fact that he put Gordon Gekko and Jason Bourne in the same bed together. He raises his eyebrows at the extravagant lifestyle that Liberace represented in the 1970s and which today is regularly touted by many generally less talented celebrities. ___ The shots are bathed in artificial light and are dominated by warm colours, which recede only a few times when the “mask is removed” (a psychologically charged black-and-white flashback, scenes from the hospital and at the funeral of Liberace’s mother in shades of black and white). The excessively lighted mise-en-scéne in Liberace’s residence (unlike the more modest apartment of Scott’s surrogate parents) abounds with reflective surfaces, as if the same reflection of reality is also the life of Liberace, who hides his true identity behind outward splendour. Due, among other things, to the atypical (for an interior drama) filming in unbroken wholes, the characters literally get lost behind the props. It is necessary to point out that the jewellery and costumes, including the truly appropriate “peacock” shirt, are faithful copies of items housed in the museum of Liberace’s estate, so there is no exaggeration in the purely material sense. ___ The gleaming surface is a manifestation of the film’s self-aware campiness, which combines the extremes of 1970s fashion (i.e. the style of the Village People and David Bowie) with the glittery aesthetic of music videos by Madonna and Lady Gaga. Emotional turmoil on the inside, falsity and exaggeration on the outside. Altogether, a stimulating deconstruction of the phenomenon of camp. ___ The film also alludes to the 1970s with long Steadicam shots and the casting of the queen of camp, Debbie Reynolds, who began to shine on Broadway in the ’70s. We can understand this return to the “rebellious” period of New Hollywood as Soderbergh’s expression of disillusion over the direction of the current American film industry, which – like Liberace – is focused on the surface and short-term enjoyment, and is thus marked by a lack a genuineness. ___ Though the narrative has a less subversive structure than that of Side Effects, it is comparably sophisticated when it comes to drawing parallels (Billy as the first monster that Liberace created), using ellipses and changing the point of view, with the related redistribution of sympathies (the second half of the film, after a reprise of the Jacuzzi scene, this time with the characters sitting with their backs to the camera, is richer in subjectivising shots simulating Scott’s perception of reality). Mainly, however, Behind the Candelabra is a showcase for the magnificent acting of Michael Douglas, who after (or thanks to) his cancer performs as if his life depends on it. 80%

Godzilla meets Transformers. Pacific Rim is the most honest of this summer’s blockbusters, as it doesn’t pretend to be anything it isn’t and avoids narrative feints and overlapping meanings in straightforwardly bringing very clear content to the term “high concept” (Monsters! Robots! And they’re really big!). (With respect to the anticipated hurricane of merchandising, the fetishisation of technology present in the film deserves special analysis – the characters repeatedly marvel at the power and size of the robots as the camera revels in their design in long shots, which are in some ways reminiscent of the presentation of the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park). The plot puts us in familiar positions as viewers, as it is composed of popular sci-fi and military motifs (Earth in peril, neural linking, clones, male rivalry, the best defence is offence). All it requires from us is that we somewhat unthinkingly and completely contentedly watch modified versions of Top Gun, Cloverfield, Independence Day and Hellboy (for connoisseurs, there is a bonus in the form of the Blade Runner-esque neo-noir visual aspect of Hong Kong and a rather inappropriate reference to the famous “nose” scene from Chinatown). Given that its marketing campaign made it very clear what it was going to be about (and that it wouldn’t be about much more than that), Pacific Rim’s lack of originality did pose an obstacle to my enjoyment of the pure entertainment that it provided. The predictability of the plot twists and the restricting of the human element (manifested in the hunky actors who, with the exception of Elba, are interchangeable and uncharismatic) to the necessary minimum – after all, the concept of the Jaeger is based on the “transformation” of humans into a multi-ton steel monster (or an analogy for the cooperative playing of action-oriented games) – make room for a visual and visceral action experience. The heavyweight matches are clear and varied to the extent possible, but they are mainly huge. It’s a dream come true for gamers and comic-book fans. Guillermo del Toro plays like a little boy on a grand scale. I enjoyed the film – not intellectually, but intensely – especially because of its imaginativeness and the sensory experience provided by the combination of the film’s incredible visual aspect and its rock soundtrack. 75%

Judging from the date of its premiere, Hitchcock’s last silent film, The Manxman, was released to cinemas at producer John Maxwell’s behest after the sound version of Blackmail. The plot bears the obvious hallmarks of a thriller that would later probably be classified as “Hitchcockian”: a blonde damsel in distress, death by stabbing, escape from incompetent cops. The first seconds are reminiscent of the avant-garde urban symphonies by Walter Ruttman and Dziga Vertov – movement, the city, a rhythmic montage. There is no dialogue in the opening eight minutes, when the characters just idly open their mouths. The whole sequence of arrest, interrogation and imprisonment, accompanied only by non-diegetic music, arouses the impression that we are watching a silent film. It’s open to speculation as to whether Hitchcock is thus intentionally toying with viewers’ expectations and whether he is forcing us to wonder when the synchronised sound will finally be heard. In order for the director to make his dispassionate attitude to sound technology even more clear, the film’s first dialogue scene does not deal with anything crucial; rather it is merely unimportant, as if it’s the dialogue of two men recorded in passing. Furthermore, both of the men are filmed from behind, a technique that Hitchcock used to elegantly solve the problem of early talkies with imperfect synchronisation of picture and sound. This is only the first of a number of examples of ways to deal imaginatively with film sound demonstrated in Blackmail. Among other things, the film contains one of the first uses of a sound transition, or subjectively perceived sound (the famous scene with a “knife”). The lead actors didn’t manage to rid themselves of the expressive acting of silent films, but if their acting is more subtle at certain moments, that is primarily due to the use of sound. For example, whistling a cheerful melody is enough to express a good mood, and it’s not necessary to accompany laughter with exaggerated gestures. Whereas other directors considered sound technology a limiting factor with respect to possible camera movements, in Hitchcock’s work there are no apparent limitations given the multi-camera shooting, for example. For Hitchcock, film remains a primarily visual medium. Immediately in the introduction, the film offers an original point-of-view shot through the eyes of the criminal; the characters ascending the stairs are captured by raising the camera to an unusual height, and other shots are also enlivened by various camera movements. In the areas of editing and the mise-en-scéne, two key influences on early Hitchcock, namely Soviet montage and German Expressionism, are combined in Blackmail. Using quick cuts, developments in the Scotland Yard investigation are condensed into a few seconds, Anna’s state of mind during her night-time wanderings around the city is illustrated through deflected camera angles, and there is also some expressionism in the shot when the protagonist passes a crowd of laughing gawkers. Hitchcock didn’t let himself get carried away with the new technological possibilities. He realised the advantages and disadvantages of innovations without losing the narrative techniques of silent films that had been developed over the course of years. If only more directors of that era had followed his shining example. 80%

His face is wrinkled, his movements are comical and his methods are inhuman. They call him Bobo. Unfortunately, this collaboration between two action legends (one in the director’s chair and the other in front of the camera) didn’t turn out to be a major comeback for either of them. From the very beginning, Walter Hill’s uncompromising directing, which goes from one extreme to another without a single wasted minute, leaves us in no doubt that Bullet to the Head is a comic book brought to life. The killing happens so frequently and with such indecorous matter-of-factness that it becomes a rhythmising element of the narrative. I welcome the fact that the protagonist’s amoral nature is not in any way condemned, which is a clear reference to classic film-noir together with the (underused) voice-over and the retrospective narrative structure connected with it, as well as the dominant type of setting (neon-lit bars) and the prevalence of night-time scenes. The noir cynicism doesn’t go entirely well with the more laid-back buddy-movie level of the narrative, which for a change brings to mind some of the coarser action comedies of the 1990s. The film lends itself to a comparison with The Last Boy Scout, whose protagonists, however, found it easier to believe that they had given up on all ideals. The incompatibility of Stallone’s straightforward type of action with his assigned role, which requires a more layered approach to acting, is one of the film’s weaknesses, as the frantic editing of the action scenes detracts from the film’s likable old-fashioned nature. That said, Bullet to the Head is still a solid action flick, though – like The Expendables – it is most entertaining when it refers back to the time when Sly was a much bigger presence (see the photographic recapitulation of his criminal career). 65%

Great summer entertainment. It’s just a shame about those two unentertaining hours that precede it. Gore Verbinski is capable of building a more or less clear, gag-laden action scene, but he is incapable of combining the individual attractions into a sensibly cohesive whole. The entire film oscillates between paying tribute to and ridiculing classic westerns (from Ford to Leone, from whom the screenwriters stole the most), which leads to jarringly sharp transitions between affected heroism and infantile humour along the lines of Mel Brooks’s weaker parodies. The film doesn’t manage to find a balance between sentimental and grotesque; no idea taken from any distant genre is too bizarre (the eating of a heart, bloodthirsty rabbits) and no joke is too cheap (horse dung). The stringing together of various western motifs, which are derived either from individual films or from the conventions of the genre in general, lacks any higher order and comes across as being rather random. The film thus seems tediously long, or rather seems like it’s long only for the sake of being long. Because it lacks a coherent narrative that constantly refers to something, The Lone Ranger fails to draw the viewer into the story. It also isn’t helped by the fact that it follows a four-act structure with a gradual piling-up of obstacles to overcome and goals to be achieved (hunt down Butch; capture Butch and save Rebecca; catch Butch, save Rebecca and bring the other villain to justice). The protagonists do not undergo any character transformation, the motifs are either repeated so frequently that they lose their comedic value (e.g. the running gags with the mask and feeding a bird), or they serve solely for momentary amusement, and you don’t have to have the tracking skills of an Indian scout to figure out far in advance what “twist” is coming at any time in the course of the film. Though the climax is excellent in and of itself and recalls Buster Keaton’s best moments, it snuffs out all of the storylines with pointless action that doesn’t resolve anything and that could have been placed anywhere else in the film (ideally right at the beginning, so you could leave the cinema feeling that you had already seen the best part of the film). The film establishes an alibi for its excessive ambition and capricious disjointedness by constructing a flimsy retrospective narrative framework (whose benefit to the narrative is best expressed with the word “gimmick”). The type of listener (a young boy fascinated by western legends) and the narrator’s inability to sustain an idea correspond to the film’s flitting between humility and belittling of the genre. Due to the infrequent and unoriginal inclusion of metatextual remarks, I don’t believe this was a premeditated plan, but rather a desperate attempt to retroactively build a cohesive a story that didn’t really hold together. Tonto’s cleaning up among the other fairground attractions at least captures how the once-revered western genre is perceived today. The western legend has become a relic recalling the Wild West era. The fairground-attraction nature of Tonto’s new role logically requires that what he had experienced be reduced to the most distinctive features of the given period. Tonto’s story can thus be understood as a "best of" compilation of what makes a western a western, but that was previously covered by the story of Little Big Man, which had a much better screenplay and a protagonist who underwent much greater development, and whose narrative was motivated by the revision of certain western myths. Conversely, The Lone Ranger is a regressive (the woman as a beautiful, passive and defenceless object) and incoherent exhibition of what some people in Hollywood think of when they hear the word “western”. 55%

A lot of films have been made about how adults don’t understand their children and vice versa. However, few films about intergenerational misunderstanding have been “written” with such sympathy for rebellious young adolescents (perhaps not even Truffaut’s short The Mischief Makers and Vigo’s Zero for Conduct, which is directly quoted in The 400 Blows), and probably none is such a beautiful paean to film and its use as a means of “escapism”. The scene in which Antoine, in a large rotating drum (which not incidentally resemble a zoetrope), untethers himself from the ground, or rather from reality, must be moving for every cinephile (for whose pleasure the film also features a cameo by Jeanne Moreau as the lady with a dog). ___ The fact that Truffaut himself spent part of his childhood in a juvenile detention centre as punishment for his misbehaviour makes The 400 Blows (in French: Les Quatre cents coups, part of an idiom that could be loosely translated as “making mischief”) a film of a very personal nature with a psychotherapeutic dimension. Like Antoine, little Francois immersed himself in films and literature to escape from his dysfunctional family environment. It’s no wonder that he was later so glad to describe himself as the adopted son of André Bazin (to whom the film is dedicated), who saved him from the military prison where the anti-authoritarian Truffaut was locked up for desertion. ___ Truffaut never even met his biological father and the story of the film involves the search for the missing authority figure, a person who would have empathy for the boy and whom the boy could respect in turn. The mother, to whom the boy is connected by an oedipal bond, shows more emotional warmth to her lover. The betrayed father is unable to establish order and assert his own opinion. ___ Just as the adult characters are not one-dimensional caricatures, Truffaut’s understanding for the protagonist does not slide into uncritical sentimentality. Antoine is not blameless, which is made abundantly clear by his answers during his interview with the psychologist. The style of the film does not romanticise the situation. On the one hand, the shot composition stands out for its consistent sophistication (the alternation of confined interiors and liberating exteriors is emphasised by the widescreen Dyaliscope format), while the filming of everyday tasks is reminiscent of a neorealist attempt to capture the immediacy of the given moment. The result rings true above all. 85%

"Shit happens." Forster previously demonstrated his inability to direct clearly arranged action scenes in Quantum of Solace. Despite its misleading marketing, however, World War Z fortunately is not built on a foundation of action attractions. The most powerful weapon in its arsenal is its consistent use of the zombie genre’s social dimension in the manner of Romero. The constant switching between micro and macro perspectives shows that, when chaos breaks out, the individual knows just as little as the institutions, which realistically do not subordinate their interests to the individual’s personal safety (you are either with us or you’re on your own). The fact that the narrative is not limited to what one person or group of people knows makes it impossible to describe World War Z as a film that uses a video-game narrative structure in a well-thought-out way. Despite that, Gerry’s approach corresponds to the narrative model that game studios call “string of pearls”. Only after the storytelling potential of one setting has been fully exhausted (and the notional end of the level has been reached) is it possible to move on to a different setting. But this isn’t merely a matter of monotonously collecting information that leads to more information. On the one hand, the film defies expectations in how it humorously handles the element of (blind) chance and, on the other hand, it continuously changes the context in which it addresses the zombie contagion. It works its way from the dominant family context through the military, political and medical contexts back to the family context (whose supremacy is pointed out to us with varying degrees of emotional aggressiveness throughout the film). Not only does this confirm the use of the melodramatic formula that forms the basis of most Hollywood blockbusters (really, seeking out melodrama in everything is just one of my quirks), but the chosen narrative arc also nicely serves the film’s humanistic message encouraging us to not be ashamed of our weaknesses (our humanity, which makes us vulnerable, but which is also our most powerful weapon). Thanks to Brad Pitt’s solid performance, the film’s emotional level is not completely superfluous and I unabashedly admit that I was touched by Gerry’s written plea shortly before the end. In terms of distributing information and drawing parallels between the current political situation and the fictional zombie contagion, the clever entertainment ultimately pays a price for the film’s attempt to please too many different groups of viewers. As I have already mentioned, the action scenes are chaotic, the scenes resembling survival-horror games lack original ideas and atmosphere (because we know that there will be running and biting in a few moments anyway), some scenes lack logic (the rusty bicycles were supposed to be quieter than walking?) while forced product placement is prevalent in others (unless you want to see the vending-machine scene as a caustic commentary on consumerism). At any rate, World War Z hums along nicely, has the potential for an even better sequel and, among other films in today’s zombie genre, it is also exceptionally likable due to its tastefulness (which may be a contradiction in terms, but I personally didn’t mind that the crisis also impacted artificial brains, intestines and other delicacies). 75%