I get a lot of requests to review short films and in the past I’ve rarely been able to get to many of them. However, having spent the last five months as a short film selection panellist for the Melbourne International Film Festival (I finished up a couple of weeks ago), I feel a renewed sense of obligation towards the artists working in this space. So I’m going to start showcasing some of the shorts sent to me here on CurnBlog. If you’d like me to take a look at a short film, let me know by posting a comment on the Curnblog Facebook page.
Bridges
Elizabeth (Joslyn Jensen), a babysitter who spends much of her time caring for an infant boy, finds herself trapped in the child’s family apartment by an unwanted visitor. Elizabeth manages to leave the apartment and wanders the streets to kill time. Alone with the child, Elizabeth reflects on their connection.
Christopher Bell does a wonderful job of directing this short film with a simple air of contemplation that allows the viewer necessary time and space to ask the questions that reside between the lines. Without a single moment of unnecessary exposition, Bell shows us the powerful bond between the woman and child; the lonely isolation that seems to come with her duty of care; and the way in which this loneliness only further serves to fuel her emotional investment in the young boy.
Afterglow
For those who are interested in film’s more experimental modalities, check out Alex Bowlin’s Afterglow. A beautiful fusion of abstract and every day imagery combines with a stirring score and ponderous narration to form a quite mesmerising experience. An ocular massage that will conclude with you feeling far more at peace than when you began.
Step 9
“Ray and Addison were once married, but have gone their separate ways. Ray asks for one last chance to set the record straight so he can move on with a clear conscience. Addison reluctantly agrees, but gets more than she bargains for in this short emotional drama.”
Scott W. Fitzgerald keeps the twists and turns coming in this tale of emotional betrayal, shattered dreams and redemption. Deceptively simple in its execution, Fitzgerald manages to keep the truth just out of reach until the final moments. You’ll need permission to view this one, so contact Scott W. Fitzgerald if you’re interested.
If you’re on Facebook I’d love it if you could drop by and Like the new page – and maybe make a comment or two as well. It would be great to see this become a forum for fun conversation about films.
I was recently asked to put together a post on films that deal with the experience of migration by a friend who is about to take the big plunge. Of course, this is a huge topic. People migrate for all sorts of reasons, and so the experience is hardly a unified one. The act of leaving behind what one knows for an entirely new frontier can be an act of hope that brings about fresh beginnings, a means of escaping from tyranny or oppression, or of course there is the ultimate final migration and whatever that might entail (depending on what you believe).
So without further ado, here are ten films that encapsulate some of the many incarnations that the migration experience can take.
1. The Immigrant (1917)
Where better to start than with Charlie Chaplin’s classic short on the difficult and yet hopeful experience of migrating to the United States? Chaplin is at his finest when he achieves a perfect balance of social commentary and comedic ingenuity and this film is certainly a demonstration of that. From the boat ride over, to the struggle to maintain dignity in a foreign (and not always welcoming) land, Chaplin’s film is a great window into the rewards and complexities of starting again without a cent to your name.
2. The Adventures of Barry McKenzie (1972)
Not so much a story of migration as that of a pilgrimage, this is the irreverent tale of an Aussie bloke (Barry Crocker) who finds himself unwillingly going on a trip to England with his aunt Edna (Barry Humphries). The film is loaded with a savage critique of both Australian and English culture at the time, and people offended by the coarser side of humour should probably give it a miss. The closest American equivalent would probably be South Park.
(And yes, Aunt Edna’s character carries on beyond the McKenzie films and eventually becomes Dame Edna.)
3. The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (2005)
When a Texan man’s best friend, an illegal immigrant, is murdered, he takes the culprit hostage and forces him to carry the body across the border into Mexico for a proper burial. A powerful film that shines a light on the indignity and disempowerment that comes with living in a place where your rights aren’t fully recognised.
4. Total Recall (1990)
Well before Phillip K. Dick’s short story, We Can Remember It for You Wholesale, was butchered in the 2012 version of the film, Verhoeven’s action masterpiece cemented itself as one of the seminal examples of the Hollywood action/sci-fi genre. Using Schwarzenegger to good effect, this is the story of a man’s inexplicable desire to migrate to the planet Mars and start afresh. Verhoeven artfully constructs a film that reflects Dick’s own discombobulating sensibilities: What is real? What is a dream? Is this actually happening? Does it matter? Big questions for a film comprised largely of machine gun fire, and yet they are asked more skilfully than in many films that choose to tackle the topic directly.
5. Bandit Queen (1994)
This is the true story (although its accuracy is hotly debated) of Phoolan Devi, an Indian woman born into social circumstances that she could not tolerate. At a young age, the unusually aggressive Devi finds herself married off to a man that she despises. When she goes too far in her open contempt of her situation, Devi is completely ostracised and must build a new life. She goes on to lead a group of bandits and eventually becomes something of folk-hero, and finally, after much struggle, a significant political figure. The savagery with which Devi contended (and eventually dealt out) is more than I could possibly articulate here, but this film about escaping oppression is worth a look. (Devi was assassinated in 2001)
6. The Godfather: Part Two (1974)
It would be crazy to have a list of films on the topic of migration without including this one. Coppola’s epic meditation on the corrupting potential of the American dream continues here, with the story now split between the ongoing expansion of Michael Corleone’s criminal empire and the tale of his father’s migration to the United States some seventy years earlier. A vivid depiction of late 19th and early 20th century America, this is easily one of the greatest American films ever made.
7. The Party (1968)
Peter Seller’s The Party is now quite regressive in terms of its depictions of race, but there’s no denying the brilliant comedic force of this one-man masterpiece. Seller’s plays Hrundi V. Bakshi, an Indian man who has moved to America to commence a career in Hollywood. Unfortunately, Bakshi’s bumbling ways have him fired from his job as an extra on a big budget film set. Luckily, a clerical error sees Bakshi invited to an exclusive Hollywood party. It is at this party where the vast majority of the film takes place, with Bakshi’s clumsy antics constantly thwarting his own mission to network with the Hollywood elite. Special stuff.
8. Les Visiteurs (1993)
In this French classic, a knight (Jean Reno) and his squire (Christian Clavier) make the ultimate migration when a senile wizard moves them 1000 years through time to the 20th century. Most of the comedic quality comes from watching the time travellers misinterpret the modern world at every turn. Lots of fun.
9. Night on Earth (1991)
Not so much a film about migration as a migrating film, Jim Jarmusch’s Night on Earth is a collection of five stories about taxi trips happening at the same time in five different parts of the world. A huge cast of actors come together to create this wonderful (if sometimes uneven) meditation on the consistency of the human experience. Worth a look.
10. The Seventh Seal (1957)
This masterwork from Ingmar Bergman is widely recognised as one of the great examinations of life’s ultimate act of migration, death. As the plague sweeps through medieval Sweden, its horrors force a knight (Max von Sydow) to start question the meaning of existence. When the Grim Reaper appears, the knight engages with him in a game of chess to secure his own life. Absolutely cannot be missed.
The cinephile is a unique entity, an individual who has failed to experience the entirety of the malaise that is adulthood. Or perhaps it is too harsh to refer to adulthood in such sickly terms? In that case, let it simply be said that the cinephile has not lost a certain sense of awe that most human beings see dissipate as the passage of time reveals each new moment to be decreasingly dissimilar from the last.
Why is this true? Perhaps this is an obnoxious question considering the lack of effort made to argue in favour of the contention. My claims are entirely based upon my own perceptions, and even as I write them I find myself doubting their veracity.
Perhaps I should start again and simply make this far more clinical statement: “The cinephile possesses an unusual level of sustained passion for the object of their affections – cinema. Such extreme levels of emotional investment in a non-organic object/subject are not the exclusive domain of the cinephile, but they are the domain of a certain breed of human whose interests generate far more enthusiasm than most people might be capable of directing towards a single (non-organic) topic.”
So, why is this true? A psychologist would no doubt provide some kind of explanation based on an innate lack within the individual. They might say – with a more scientific turn of phrase – that the cinephile finds security or comfort within the warm embrace of the moving image, a comfort they are incapable of finding in the real world. They might argue that the characters within a film cannot reject, criticise or attack the individual. They might even argue that the drive to watch endless amounts of cinema is not a passion but a compulsion – a prison of some kind. As for the choice of subject (cinema), the psychologist will probably claim that the object of obsession is solely symptomatic, it has no particular significance. The problem with such a reading is that (whether it contains truth for a given individual or not) obsessions, passions and compulsions have been the driving force behind the human race from its very beginnings. So let us assume that those who are obsessively passionate in their pursuits (from physicists to sculptors to cinephiles) are lacking and that such a lack is a core human strength rather than a weakness.
My question still remains fundamentally unanswered… or perhaps it has been answered and I have discovered that the question was wrong. We shall presume this is the case, and alter the question: “What do cinephiles see in cinema? Or more precisely, what do cinephiles see in cinema that they do not see elsewhere?”
I’ve certainly tried to answer this question before, albeit in a much more systematic mode than I am attempting to do here. But when I wrote I Believe in Cinema I was commenting on the capacity to read beyond the text into the cultural milieu from which it came. This is a huge part of what has drawn me to the medium, but it is not what drew my gaze as a child. Having said that, I’ve also questioned the beginnings of my passion for cinema as a child in an earlier piece, On the Couch, and this has not entirely answered the question.
Beyond the significance of cinema as a cultural artefact and beyond the capacity of the moving image to cross boundaries that had once been impermeable, is the fresh and crisp sense of opportunity afforded by a new and total universe. Each universe functions according to its own laws, and when those laws are perfect and perfectly adhered to, a crisp slice of unfettered expression floats faultlessly within a four dimensional space. This is a new form of space that has been constructed by human minds. Within this space is the opportunity to ask questions, give answers, find escapes and sometimes… return people to reality. This is a space understood by most, but one in which the cinephile becomes hyper-literate.
Unlike theatre, this space is fixed in time upon completion (let’s put aside the contemporary tendency to release endless restructurings of a single film). There is no room for the thespian’s variations and experimentations – the text is set in stone. From the moment a film begins to roll, it is at the mercy of the viewer’s gaze. The viewer will find its truths, perfections, faults and meanings. People will come together and discuss this slice of temporal art and debate its merits. There are millions of these creations where a hundred and fifty years ago there were none.
The cinephile will go further than any other in pursuing a total knowledge of these millions of films, fuelled by a deep passion to have observed all that there is, despite the fact that what there is increases at a rate beyond the mathematical possibility of progress. For each second that the cinephile lives, they will fall two seconds behind. For each second the cinephile falls behind, their need to pursue the totality of the form’s offerings doubles. It is a secret fantasy of the cinephile that the world might end, leaving them alone with the chance to make headway in their goal of total cinematic literacy. A morbid satisfaction will often fill the cinephile when they examine the work of filmmakers long gone – such occasions allow a total knowledge of the artist’s creative output.
Have I answered my own question? Possibly not, although I’m not sure that there is an answer that could possibly provide satisfaction. After all, it is a clumsy truth that there is no experience that can be totally understood through mere description.
And is such a description necessary? The moving image in an intoxicating space in which all things might happen – real or otherwise – and it is quickly becoming apparent that this intoxication is no longer the domain of the self-titled cinephile. The world is filled with gamers, surfers, televisual enthusiasts, movie buffs, academics and smartphone-aholics who will happily defend their brand of choice to the death (or at least until the passing of the CEO). The moving image is well understood by all.
There is something incredibly fascinating about images of shattered masculinity on the big screen. The notion of testosterone fuelled hyper-men imploding into impotent puddles of muscular pulp and feminine tears seems to have fuelled the popular imagination of filmgoers since the medium’s earliest beginnings – most especially in the United States.
It seems that, even when these films are bad, there is something sadomasochistic about them that fascinates the viewer (or perhaps more commonly the male viewer?). Perhaps seeing an alpha-male disintegrate allows the male viewer a way of empathetically releasing emotions that he might otherwise feel it was inappropriate to display? Maybe it provides the potential for a more layered approach to masculine identity that might be more intriguing to a female viewer than the standard male targeted action film? Or is it simply that the (perhaps out-dated) notion of the alpha-male as superior leader provides the opportunity to demonstrate the greatest of falls?
It may simply be that creating a character whose self-destructive nature allows a slightly more complex portrait of masculinity, giving the viewer an excuse to be enraptured in a film’s depiction of brute force without feeling complicit. For example, one might joyously embrace the furious violence with which Taxi Driver concludes while also being able to conclude that this violence was the result of the protagonist’s insanity. But, without further ado, here are ten films that, whether they are awful or brilliant, have a fascinating relationship with shattered masculinity (I’ve attempted to dodge some of the more common choices where possible). It can be assumed that several of these clips will contain scenes of violence which may offend.
Chopper (2000)
Andrew Dominik’s masterfully directed biopic on the life of notorious Australian criminal, Mark ‘Chopper’ Read (played by Eric Bana), is a fascinating and entirely believable depiction of a man in total psychological free-fall. In Dominik’s vision, Read struggles to function as a kind of criminal strategist, only to be thwarted by his habit of exploding into bouts of unexpectedly violent behaviour.
In this (quite graphic) clip, Read is a prisoner in the infamous Pentridge prison, dolling out justice of his own to a rival criminal, only to immediately regret his decision.
The Wrestler (2008)
Mickey Rourke’s career is the perfect demonstration of man pulverised by his own masculinity. He quit acting in the early 1990s to become a professional boxer (and also because he was so out of control that nobody would hire him). While the diversion saw him succeed in little more than having his handsome face permanently pulverised, it did allow him time to meditate on his own failings and mistakes. It was with this film, about a steroid-addled wrestler with a long past as a negligent husband and father, that Darren Aronofsky provided Rourke with the opportunity to return to the limelight. The result is stunning – an emotionally obliterating depiction of a man with a passion for a profession that he can no longer pursue, and a love for a daughter that he constantly betrays. If you haven’t seen it, please do.
The Chase (1966)
In Arthur Penn’s underappreciated classic, Marlon Brando plays a stooge sheriff in a town that thrives on the successes of a local oil-magnate. When a series of events reinvigorate the apathetic cop, placing him in the position of having to protect a criminal from the horrific brutality of the local community, his efforts are not appreciated. A very special film that thrives on the kind of shattered masculine identity for which Brando was already very well known – you might just need to excuse the out dated trailer.
JCVD (2008)
This film is a rather brave attempt to create a kind of crime-thriller cum introspective meditation on the life of action star, Jean Claude Van-Damme. Playing himself in what will probably always be considered the only convincing role of his career, Van Damme gets taken hostage during the robbery of a post office in Belgium, only to be mistaken for the perpetrator by the local authorities. As he becomes the unwilling line of communication between his captors and the law, Van Damme meditates on the many personal mistakes he’s made during the course of his life. In a moment of undeniable power, Van Damme turns to the camera at one point and delivers a ten minute monologue on his life. Solid stuff.
The Wild Bunch (1969)
This epic western, from the brilliant but fascistic Sam Peckinpah, is set not in the old west but just prior to the First World War. The film follows a rag-tag bunch of morally bankrupt criminals on the run from the law, heading towards the Mexican border. From the first scene, it becomes clear that these men, however charismatic they might be, are quite willing to murder any man, woman or child that gets in their way. When they do finally make it to Mexico, they are not greeted with the peace that they had hoped for, but only with the opportunity to fulfil the horrible destiny that their warped code has made inevitable. Forty-odd years on, this is still one of the most brutal westerns ever made, and oddly enough, is also one of the great melancholy works that present the horrific poetry of the old west.
Warrior (2011)
I went into this one with my red pen handy, ready to put a big giant cross on the film that dared to present a narrative around that most deplorable of sports, the Ultimate Fighting Championships (UFC). Instead, what I discovered was a truly great film about traumatised men and their desperate attempts to use violence to control and compensate for the pain of the past. Tom Hardy, Nick Nolte and Joel Edgerton are absolutely flawless. This film will hurt, but it’s worth it.
The Dirty Dozen (1967)
I don’t know what they were putting in the water in the late 1960s, but whatever it was, it was nasty stuff. This depiction of a dozen murderers, rapists and other scumbags, assembled together for a suicide mission to wipe out Nazis (as an alternative to death row), is about as hard-core as it gets. At no point does this classic steer in the direction of sentimentality or attempt to provide relief from the brutality of its narratives or characters. I’ve rarely seen anything as disturbing as when one of the twelve “heroes” (a psychopathic Christian rapist) is distracted from his end goal by an oblivious German woman who catches his eye. One of those occasions where you can’t help but feel a little sorry for the Nazis by the end of the third act. Another of those stunningly produced fascistic films that is too serious to not take seriously. Problematic stuff, but an interesting insight into a kind of hyper-grim depiction of masculinity in the late 1960s.
Copland (1997)
Stallone appears to have dedicated this last part of his career to films about broken men trying to keep on moving (Rambo, Rocky VI, The Expendables), but the film that most successfully addresses these themes is the rarely considered Copland. Stallone plays the stooge sheriff of a town just across the bridge from Manhattan, populated entirely by New York cops. He’s lazy, a bit slow and deaf in one ear, and the first time we see him he drunkenly crashes his patrol car into a tree. But when the level of corruption in his town gets so bad he can’t ignore it any longer, this deadbeat sheriff decides to regain some of his long lost dignity and start doing his job. An absolute stunning cast (Robert De Niro, Ray Liotta, Harvey Keitel etc.) plays second fiddle to Stallone’s perfectly realised loveable loser. Worth a look.
Wake in Fright (1972)
This Peckinpah-esque nightmare-vision (originally a novel of the same name by Kenneth Cook) presented an alternative Australia, littered with aimless, uneducated ockers endlessly drowning themselves in incompressible amounts of beer while engaging in acts of extreme violence towards each other AND the local wild-life.
The story, so far as it goes, concerns a school-teacher who finds himself stuck in an outback town (or perhaps small city) on his way to a holiday in Sydney. Having lost all his money in a local game of Two-Up, this teacher finds himself equally horrified and enthralled by the grotesque lifestyle of the locals. Things escalate, as they often do, leading to a night of incredible debauchery, much of which concerns horribly sadistic behaviour towards kangaroos. The greatest film about men devastated by alcohol and isolation that you’ll ever see. Check out an earlier review here.
Raging Bull (1980) & Taxi Driver (1976)
Of course, it would be impossible to avoid Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese in a list of films about shattered masculinities, but I’m counting them as one. These films are so deeply embedded in the canon that I’m not even going to discuss them beyond saying that they set the standard for exploring the complex and horrific results of masculine inadequacy.
