Errementari: The Blacksmith and the Devil [Paul Urkijo Alijo, 2017]:
Watched: Nov 10, 2019
Co-produced by the cult filmmaker Álex de la Iglesia, Errementari – subtitled The Blacksmith and The Devil – is
an excellent and atmospheric piece of cinematic phantasmagoria that feels as
rich in its storytelling and image-making as any of the great films by
Guillermo Del Toro, specifically The Devil's Backbone (2001) and Pan's
Labyrinth (2006). The tone isn't always cohesive, moving from historical war
atrocity, to dark horror, to broad slapstick, often on a whim. However, the
film remains a genuinely compelling and bewitching supernatural fable with a
rich tapestry of interesting characters, an authentic Basque Country setting
and strong performances, especially from Eneko Sagardoy, buried beneath layers
of special make-up effects as the devil-like Sartael, and the young Uma
Bracaglia as heroine Usue. I hadn't heard of co-writer and director Paul Urkijo
Alijo previously, but on the strength of Errementari, I'm hoping it's safe to
say he'll become an exciting new voice in contemporary fantasy cinema.
The Magnificent Butcher [Yuen Woo-Ping, 1979]:
Watched: Nov 21, 2019
Having helped launch the career of Honk Kong superstar
Jackie Chan with his previous films, Drunken Master (1978) and Snake in the
Eagle's Shadow (also 1978), director Yuen Woo-Ping here works his magic for
another of the Seven Little Fortunes, the iconic Sammo Hung. The Magnificent
Butcher effectively picks up where the director's earlier films left off,
combining broad slapstick comedy and loose historical storytelling with the
kind of extravagant prop-based martial artistry that Hong Kong cinema would
take to insane heights during the next two decades. Here, the fight scenes are
choreographed with the same care and attention as a Hollywood musical number,
as performers frequently indulge in jaw-dropping levels of physicality, turning
the presentation of the human body, its movements and the "dance"
between the performer, the camera and the cutting between shots, into a kind of
special effect. The action here is beyond words and the humour incredibly
funny.
A Bullet for the General [Damiano Damiani, 1966]:
Watched: Dec 07, 2019
This is a complex film, both emotionally and
politically, and as such is one that I would need to revisit in order to
provide any kind of definitive commentary on. An example of the Zapata Western,
director Damiano Damiani's film focuses on the friendship between a Mexican
bandit and an American counter-revolutionary, with the relationship between the
two men, their ideologies and ultimately their betrayals, defining the film and
its subtext. Co-written by Franco Solinas, a Marxist writer best known for his work
on the overtly political films Salvatore Giuliano (1962) and The Battle of
Algiers (1966), A Bullet for the General is considered to be the first Italian
Western to seriously deal with the Mexican revolution. As such, it sets itself
apart from a lot of other films from the subgenre that leaned more heavily on
the influence of the early Sergio Leone films, such as A Fistful of Dollars
(1964) and its follow-up, his first masterpiece, For a Few Dollars More (1965).
In those works the emphasis was more on the post-modernist deconstruction of
genre, enlivening and subverting the conventions and clichés of the American
western through the influences of Samurai films, pop cinema and the peasant opera,
but in A Bullet for the General we have a work that
engages wholeheartedly with themes of politics and revolution, creating in the
process a film that uses a depiction or recreation of a period of actual
history to provide a mirror to the turbulence of the 1960s. Led by two fearsome
performances from Gian Maria Volonté and Lou Castel, and featuring supporting
roles from Klaus Kinski and Martine Beswick, A Bullet for the General combines the
scale and grandeur of Leone's perennial The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (1966)
with the politics of filmmakers like Gillo Pontecorvo or Francesco Rosi.
Electra, My Love [Miklós Jancsó, 1974]:
Watched: Dec 15, 2019
If you recently saw Ari Aster's mind-numbing and empty
horror film Midsommar (2019) you might be curious to know where he "borrowed”
his visual aesthetic. Look no further. Based on a play by László Gyurkó, which
imagines the Greek myth of Electra through a lens of contemporary socialist
politics, Jancsó's film radically unfolds like a
work of live theatre that's been transposed to an open-air setting. The actors
recite their dialogues in long, unbroken, carefully choreographed takes that
give the film an immersive quality, in which the changes of light, from harsh
daylight to the ochre hues of the setting sun, become as much a part of the
unfolding drama as the interplay between characters and the combination of song
and voice. The setting, a vast wilderness of shrubs and grassland, allows the themes
and dialogues to transcend the contemporary politics of any geographical
region, instead highlighting a more universal message. The film could be set
anywhere, at any time in human history, as it mixes allegory and anachronism
freely, breaking the fourth wall to create a back and forth commentary on past
and present, text and subtext, and the self-reflexive relationship between reality
and fiction. It's an extraordinary work and one of Jancsó's great masterpieces.
Star Wars – Episode III: Revenge of the Sith [George Lucas, 2005]:
Watched: Dec 31, 2019
Last year, I wrote a
bit about George Lucas and his lasting influence on the contemporary
blockbuster cinema. At the time I wasn't necessarily I great fan of Lucas
or the "Star Wars" franchise, but as a die-hard contrarian I felt his
singular innovations and legacy were being denied him. In the course of writing
about Lucas, I effectively convinced myself to give his films a second look and
began a process of watching and re-watching his entire body of work. Having
balked at the experience of the earlier Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom
Menace (1999) on its initial release, I'd skipped the two subsequent
installments, Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones (2002) and the film
in question. What a mistake I'd made. Returning to these films as an adult and
seeing a work like "Revenge of the Sith" for the first time was a
revelation. For me, Lucas's prequel trilogy represents the absolute pinnacle of
the franchise. Watched in totality, the experience of the films is richer,
deeper, and more cohesive. They tell a story of politics, corruption, betrayal,
revenge, and the loss of innocence, while presenting themselves as
ultra-stylised experiments in form and aesthetics. In short, the films feel
like a reflection of Lucas's personal influences, from Kurosawa and Godard, to
Flash Gordon and John Ford. "Revenge of the Sith" is for me Lucas's
masterpiece. Brutal in its tragedy, but more so in how ruthlessly it implicates
the Jedi order as a negative force. Anakin's downfall is a result of emotional
repression forced upon him by his masters; unable to grieve or express
weakness, he turns to those that use his naivety against him. Political
machinations that run throughout the trilogy become clearer, but it's the
sadness of the various arcs colliding that makes this worthwhile.
Further reading at Lights in the Dusk: The Year in Film 2019 - Part One [6 February 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Two [9 February 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Three [21 February 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Four [24 February 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Five [22 March 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Six [28 March 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Seven [10 May 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Eight [17 October 2020], The Year in Film 2019 - Part Nine [18 October 2020]
