Since Thursday, I have watched (all for the first time):
The Mirror (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1975)
One of the most gorgeous movies that I have ever seen. It's really effective at evoking the sensation of dreams and memories, and I love the way that it switches back and forth between black and white and color. This was actually my first Tarkovsky, which I now think was a mistake because of how personal it seems to be, but I loved watching it just the same.
Band of Outsiders (Jean-Luc Godard, 1964)
It's weird. I like Breathless the most of any of the French New Wave films that I have seen, but for the most part, I like Truffaut's films a lot more than Godard's because they feel more humane to me. Godard was a good director and artist, but for my money, his films have this coldness to them that makes them a little bit off-putting. I did like, it, don't get me wrong; I especially liked the deconstructive aspects of it (like the way the dancing scene played with the sound by letting the music fade in and out so that the narration could come in), and as usual, the crazy editing choices made by French New Wave directors in many of their films continues to excite me. Overall, though, I was somewhat apathetic toward this movie, though I do understand why Tarantino is such a big fan of it.
Touch of Evil (Orson Welles, 1958)
Visually, this movie is a masterpiece. The opening shot is, of course, deservedly famous for how well-conceived and executed it is, but even beyond that, I love the unity of the film's visual style; the ascending and descending crane camera was a very effective way to shoot this film, as it allows you to get drawn into the tale while simultaneously giving you moments to step back and breathe for a minute while you try and piece together what's happening. The script is also damn good, and Welles is his usual fantastic self; the man was a genius behind the camera, for sure, but he also had an undeniable screen presence (and due to his tendency toward cerebral, intellectual acting, is a personal idol of mine). Where the film loses me a bit is in the inherent silliness of having Charlton Heston playing a Mexican; in addition, I feel like the main relationship between Heston and Leigh is a little bit underdeveloped.. I'm willing to let those slide, however, because of how amazingly the movie is made in every other aspect.
Rashomon (Akira Kurosawa, 1950)
I love the shit out of most of this movie. The acting, cinematography, and design of the film are all top-notch (though the acting tends more toward the over-the-top, heavily stylized acting typical of some of Kurosawa's historical works). In addition, the fight between Mifune and Ueda is one of the best that I have ever seen in terms of staging and emotion; it is the sort of crude, realistic sword-fighting that George Lucas got very right in the original Star Wars trilogy and then got so very wrong in the prequel trilogy. The ending, however, is not very in the spirit of the film; for me, this films ends with the cynical listener leaving the priest, the woodcutter, and the baby standing under the shelter, left bewildered at the darker side of man's nature. The sappy tag at the end is completely out of the spirit of the movie, in my opinion, and should have been omitted.
The Spirit of the Beehive (Victor Erice, 1973)
Each shot of this film is like a painting; it is a sparse, carefully crafted work and avoids most of the trappings associated with films about children (and manages to turn one, the naivete and gullibility of young children, into an effective plot device). I was not versed in Spanish history prior to this film and thus did not pick up on some of the coded symbolism, but even without that, I think that it's a pretty little tale of a young child's fascination with the mystical and ethereal. The scene where she actually meets
is simultaneously one of the strangest and most beautiful scenes that I have ever seen in a film. I've heard that this film is an influence on Pan's Labyrinth, and I can definitely see it, though I would say that in more objective cinematic terms, this is probably a better film because it manages to do a lot of the same things with a lot less.
The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks, 1946)
It's strange; Bogie was not really much of an actor in terms of his range of expressiveness, but he is still one of the most compelling screen actors because of his distinctive look and perfect timing. He gives a fine performance in this film; it's the sort of performance that he has given in a number of films, but what sets it apart is the strange sort of sexual chemistry that he has with his future wife Lauren Bacall. Overall, I enjoyed it, but it's not something that I see myself revisiting many times in the future, if only because there are other film noirs that I like more.
8 1/2 (Federico Fellini, 1963)
After a few false starts over the last few months, I finally got through this. Man, it's a hell of a film. Fellini just throws everything onto the screen in this one; it veers into every conceivable genre, including just a pinch of sci-fi, and its over-abundant use of symbolism is at once pretentious and completely perfect. Mastroianni is, as usual, perfect; that sly tilting of the glasses is something that I don't think I will ever forget. Honestly, so many things happen in this film that I don't feel qualified to talk about it on a single watch; I'm really not sure what hit me.
A Woman Under the Influence (John Cassavetes, 1974)
Loved this film a hell of a lot. This is my second Cassavetes film, and thus far, I've been supremely impressed by his work. The acting in his films is absolutely spot-on, and I love the way that his characters talk like real people (though he achieves this in a very different way from Robert Altman, who also got realistic dialogue from his actors). The guy at the video store told me when I rented this that it took him 3 years to get through this film because of how hard it is to watch sometime, and though I did not respond to it as viscerally as that, I definitely agree that there are moments when Rowlands's performance is so convincingly unstable that I could not help but wonder aloud, "What the fuck is wrong with this woman?" Peter Falk was also great, and he had, to my mind, a tougher job because he had to create a character that was, in reality, just about as crazy as his wife but who revealed his insanity in less obvious ways. To my mind, Peter Falk's character is much more dangerous that Rowlands's unhinged loon because his problems are much harder to detect and are much more violent than his more showy but ultimately harmless wife's. Wonderful film.