Millennium Actress (2001)

Directed by Satoshi Kon.
Starring Miyoko Shôji and Mami Koyama.

In a Nutshell: A reclusive actress relives her life during a documentary interview.

I hope this isn’t the only anime film I watch for my blog/journal. I have a great respect and adoration for Japanese animation, but when it’s done well. Most of the Saturday morning garbage and Adult Swim series lose me. Far too much of it is wrapped up in its own fiction and comes off as culturally unfamiliar (Argument for another day). That said, Millennium Actress is a very moving drama that plays with the fabric of reality and just happens to be animated. The movie centers on a fictional movie star named Chiyoko Fujiwara who retreated from the public eye for 30 years. One of her greatest admirers and his cameraman seeks her out for a documentary. Chiyoko treats him to a retelling of what led her to seclusion while the filmmaker and cameraman become immersed in her storytelling. Before becoming an actress, she talks of helping a man escape from Japanese right socialism. He leaves behind a key for safekeeping and her entire life has been to reunite with her love. It’s an innovative plot devise in traveling through time, with film and history, present and past all occupying the same plane.

The movie does get confusing since many of the scenes never distinguish whether we are experiencing Chiyoko’s actual life or a movie shoot especially when the two doc-makers also start living her fictional exploits. Her films cover even more of Japan’s history from the Edo (military government) and Meiji (westernized centralized government) periods to a futuristic space age (that also serves as her acting swan song). This narration lends itself to a compelling study on the nature of make-believe and the way it bleeds into our own lives. Anime should not be segregated to its own genre, which is why I would strongly recommend this movie to anyone with a sense for both romance and storytelling. To envision this film in any different medium would be unthinkable given the range of history, the scale of human drama, and the sweeping, line-blurring narrative. It’s a touching tribute to the past and present, our idolization of film, and the pursuit of lost love.

Children of Paradise (1945)

Directed by Marcel Carné.
Starring Arletty and Jean-Louis Barrault.

In a Nutshell: A mine, actor, thief and aristocrat vie for the affection of one woman.

There are many films that exist on a purely cinematic scale, lifted high above the flatness of the everyday. Characters shine with their vibrant eccentricities, the frame dazzles with excessively ornate sets and costumes and nobility shines through in the darkest of times. Children of Paradise is one of those films, a large-scale romance in the same spirit of Gone With the Wind. Though it exudes a similar ambition for storytelling, Children of Paradise showcases a darker depiction of its characters and its environment. Many are actors, and the film follows suit with its lovingly embellished performances and lavish soundstage sets. It may lack the grit that the New Wave was built upon, but it sincerely embraces the life-as-theater coda with style.

The film takes place in late 1820’s Paris, full of starving street actors, prostitutes, pickpockets, and other low-lifes. For a film of this time, it certainly reveled in the seedier side of society, but as a viewer today, everything seems very bright and dream-like. The cities are bathed in white light with even the most ancillary of characters busy with activity, bringing a worldliness to the smallest of details. Even when the characters start to tear their relationships apart, the movie looks magnificent as though it prides itself in showcasing these human dramas. The characterizations are fantastically done as well. Arletty, the woman who finds herself fought over by four men is a far more grounded variation on the classic temptress role. Arletty was in her early 40’s during filming, but her age works with for her; she displays a hard-earned experience that allures even the most depraved. The four men are a bit more varied in personality, but no man is too noble or immoral to make her decision easy.

This movie’s romanticism is the impossible type that can only exist in the movies, but revels in its theater style. Children of Paradise is able to support five richly defined characters in its story. Using Paris' theater as a backdrop gives Children of Paradise a unique soul that takes joy in its ungrounded flair. Equally impressive is the story behind the making, which involved making and releasing the movie around Nazi involvement. That such an arrestingly romantic movie could have been born from such circumstances is nothing short of miraculous.

Man Bites Dog (1992)

Directed by Rémy Belvaux.
Starring Benoît Poelvoorde and Rémy Belvaux.

In a Nutshell: A crew of filmmakers follows a serial killer’s exploits.

It isn’t everyday that a film comes along that gives me pause. And I’ve shuffled through a lot of films that would rank as controversy lightning rods without any issue. This probably isn’t a sign of my endurance, but more so just fatigue or a better perception on the difference between vision and voyeurism. I guess to cut to the quick, many films that try to satirize violence fall incredibly short for me. I have a hard time picking apart any sort of critique on the nature of violence apart from any actual violence, which only makes the filmmaker look like a psychopath. Man Bites Dog is an incredibly violent film (One particular break-in/rape scene made even my stomach churn, and that is a pretty hard thing to do). While it’s not shy, its focus is not necessarily on the nature of violence, but on the media’s affixation on it (as well as the authors and filmmakers who find it such a reliable benchmark for their works; the psychopaths in question).

As black as comedies can possibly get, the movie involves a film crew documenting Benoît Poelvoorde’s serial killer, Ben, as though his activities were commonplace. The casualness to his actions is darkly (and I mean darkly) amusing at first, but it makes sure the viewer never gets too comfortable (though most normal people should feel uncomfortable from the get-go). In between murders, Ben loves literature, film, architecture, all while displaying a boyish, gleeful zeal with his killings. All the while, the filmmakers try to reserve emotional detachment from Ben. But by the end of the film they’ve become close to his friends and family and participate in his crimes.

It’s sickening, but a clever statement on our own media’s obsession on violence. Most people wouldn’t describe themselves as violence-craving and yet serial killers and school shootings will be the stories that make the cover of TIME or dominate a news shows’ weekly content. People like Eric Harris, Dylan Klebold, Ted Bundy, and Charles Manson have become household names for the sake of viewership and satisfying viwer curiosity. The way Ben’s film crew become sucked into his homicidal ways is all too telling about the way media attempts a sense of distance from murderers while in actuality giving them the perfect spotlight for their doings. Man Bites Dog would not be so shocking if it wasn’t so accurate about the way media views violence. It is a true satire, but a hard watch.

Hard Core Logo (1996)

Directed by Bruce McDonald.
Starring Hugh Dillon and Callum Keith Rennie.

In a Nutshell: A self-destructing punk rock band is documented during a comeback stint.

Or probably more accurately, Unfunny Spinal Tap. True, this movie is not without a few dark laughs, but if you liked This Is Spinal Tap, you will not necessarily like Hard Core Logo. But it’s a bit unfair to make the comparison since both films are aiming to accomplish two completely different tones. The concept is the same; the film is a fake documentation of a band making a final gasp of a comeback tour. Though instead of the endearing Spinal Tap fools, trying to grab depth and meaning out of thin air, the band-mates of Hard Core Logo are the standard “rage against the establishment” sort. The band’s frontman Joe Dick (Hugh Dillon who, thanks to his experience in the band The Headstones, brings an untrained authenticity to his role) plans on roping back guitarist Billy Tallent (Callum Keith Rennie) for the tour to benefit one of Dick’s idols. However, Tallent is poised to be signed into an alternative pop band. Their relationship is far more hostile than ‘old married couple’ given Dick’s knowing insecurity (barely disguised by his coarse machismo) at fading away, unlike Tallent whose, well, talent will surely give him a life outside of HCL.

Too many critics felt this movie was too cringe inducing and never really went anywhere; none of the scenes build and the plot just meanders. Which makes me wonder if a documentary recreating a punk band’s exploits should be a labyrinth-plotted, light-hearted romp (I don’t think so, HCL’s style is more than appropriate). There we were many small details that I thought gave it an edge over other fake-docs. Particularly the way that Bruce McDonald (playing himself) and his camera crew were not just observers of the madness, but added to the band’s annoyance and had plenty of interactive moments (including one insane drug trip that may have stepped outside the documentary style). And the simmering anger between Dick and Tallent really gets under the skin; the movie’s progression makes it clear the payoff will be far more explosive than that between Nigel and David. I would recommend this movie, but maybe not to any Spinal Tap fans. Maybe fans of Apocalypse Now. Group dynamic destruction over an arduous journey into madness that nobody wants to be on? Maybe that’s overreaching, but in all, this is not a fun film. It is accomplished in its discomfort and makes itself impossible not to watch with horror. A fine, if incredibly squirmy piece of fauxdocumentary.

This Is Spinal Tap (1984)

Directed by Rob Reiner.
Starring Michael McKean and Christopher Guest.

In a Nutshell: A heavy-metal band is profiled during their American comeback tour.

The movie that launched the mockumentary genre, stripped away the empty self-importance of rock music and helped make Christopher Guest a cult comedy icon. So does it still go to 11 (sorry, unavoidable), even after the years of endless praise and almost predicable appearances on every comedy laundry list? Oh yes. As technically faultless as Zelig is, This Is Spinal Tap succeeds as a far greater comedy and study of the music industry. Its focus is on Spinal Tap, a fledging heavy metal band that gained their fame for being “one of England’s loudest bands.” The band mates are vacuous and show little grasp of cognition, but the film never ridicules them or forces us to feel disgust. We love them because their pursuit of rock star glory leads them into the black hole of musical careers; malfunctioning stage props, failed signings, Air Force performances and so on. But even as the misfortunes come one after the other, the band members’ optimistic sensibilities remain so that they can still stroke their brittle, attention-craving egos by continuing to reclaim the limelight. It’s never cruel and is respectable towards its targets, which is perhaps the reason why it has sustained such a long shelf life.

The movie manages to push the humor as far as it can go without completely breaking the reality (spontaneous combustion not withstanding), particularly with the music, which sounds generally bad enough to be the real deal. But the movie’s true durability is not just in the comedy but in the way it has made a punchline of every self-important rock band since. Having been embraced by the industry it’s mocking, no longer can any band inflate their egos without the inevitable comparison to Spinal Tap. In the end though, This Is Spinal Tap is a classic. Delusions of grandeur, limited I.Q.’s, fading celebrity, and the music industry’s mechanisms are ripe for satirizing and the film hits every mark. It never settles for gentle laughs, but never seeks to wound. There’s not too much else I can discuss without going to into a retelling of my favorite scenes, but it’s a gem and deserves its legacy.

Zelig (1983)

Directed by Woody Allen.
Starring Woody Allen and Mia Farrow.

In a Nutshell: A psychiatrist tries to understand the nature of a human chameleon.

Not one of Woody Allen’s better known features, but worthy of mention. Zelig is a near perfection of the mockumentary format, though perhaps not the best overall example of the genre. The plot involves a man named Leonard Zelig (Allen) who can take on the characteristics of any person he is in the presence of (and not just physically). He takes the nation by storm during the 20’s and 30’s prompting a psychiatrist (Mia Farrow) to cure him of this abnormality. The film’s strength lies less in the comic premise itself (which is a bit one-note, albeit a slight commentary on identity struggle) but the technical detailing. Thanks to old newsreel footage, blue screen technology and a variety of cinematography techniques, Leonard Zelig is seamlessly integrated into early America. Even when the premise begins to wear out its welcome, Allen’s insertion of himself into bygone American is incredible. Taking full advantage of the flaws and limitations accompanying early media (as well as his recreation of American doctor testimonials) the film works mostly through the presentation itself.

But given that Allen took such care to make Zelig look as authentic as possible, it’s too bad he chose himself to star. I would doubt that an unknown taking on black, Chinese, obese, etc. characteristics would be as funny as seeing them on the Allen. And since Allen’s performance is mostly in small grabs of archival footage (much of it dialogue-free) and photographs, so it’s not like an actor of great depth or gravitas was needed. But that does show the limit to the Zelig character. Allen doesn’t give the character much more personality beyond the concept, and the role is very easy for him to play. In keeping with the documentary feel, the movie could have had a greater life with an unknown (or at least someone not as recognizable) that could give a more chameleon-esque performance, doing away with the more overt dialogue from the doc’s commentators. I did not dislike Zelig, but by Allen playing to his limitations, too much of Zelig is explanation over performance. The format is brilliantly deadpan and well perfected the mockumentary format before Christopher Guest and makes it a quickly enjoyable movie. But it is just too bad Zelig couldn’t have offered more Zelig.

Alphaville (1965)

Directed by Jean-Luc Godard.
Starring Eddie Constantine and Anna Karina.

In a Nutshell: A secret agent must destroy an oppressive computer in a dystopian future.

Boy, is this a strange, strange movie. I should mention to not make this your introduction to Jean-Luc Godard, preferably start with Band of Outsiders or Breathless, even if you are twice the sci-fi nut I am. It takes some time to settle into the film’s style (including lots of seemingly inapt music and bizarre shots), but the end makes Alphaville a very fascinating riff on noir pulp and Americanized science fiction. According to my Netflix sleeve, it was filmed entirely on the streets of Paris, and though Godard has effectively transformed it into a dark, absorbing futuristic setting (and not with a bunch of robots or policemen in Robocop style outfits). Eddie Constantine as secret agent Lemmy Caution from the Humphrey Bogart mold. His mission; to destroy a supercomputer that has controlled or eliminated free thought and emotion from the city of Alphaville. Basically, Godard’s commentary against technology, predating both the novel and film of 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Despite all the absurdity, Godard has a given a haunting tale on technology’s control and the incessant need to apply logic to everything. Shots such as the citizens flaying around without their computer overlord are particularly powerful (as well as a sequence at a diving board that would take too much time to explain without context). What really gives it that punch was Godard’s refusal to make the film too futuristic. The post-modern buildings and neon signs wouldn’t seem all that special without the cinematography and the dead, controlling mood of the future. We don’t feel disconnected from this society because it is all too familiar (or at least it was back in the 60’s in France).

It is too bad that much of the comedic, comic strip-esque moments can conflict so much with the dystopian noir. It’s creative, but it does jar the viewer out of being sucked into the movie like a good movie should. Brazil had moments of even greater absurdity, but never acted as though they were not integral to that universe. Alphaville may have been too movie-ish for some likings, but Godard’s message about technology control still resonates. And future filmmakers would do themselves good to study Godard’s methods at stylizing the future from modern-day Paris. Sure, it’s far more retro than 2001:ASO, but no less captivating. Still a strange, strange movie though.