The MacGuffin

One of my contributions to the horrible festivities for October is a discussion of Benjamin Christensen’s  (1922). As we’re still relatively far from the main event on the 31st, it feels apt to look at a film that rests at the edges of the horror genre, not fully committing itself to blood, gore or psychological tension, though never entirely breaking away.

In the latest episode of Mark Cousins’s The Story of Film: An Odyssey, a TV show airing here in the UK at the moment, it was suggested that sight—the fulfillment that comes from seeing something—is one of the key underlying themes of the Hollywood films of the 1920s. More specifically, he notes that the studios briefly and tantalizingly delay the desired object. Ultimately, of course, we do see, and our wish is joyously fulfilled. In a scene in Raoul Walsh’s The Thief of Bagdad (1924), for example, we’re made to want to see the Princess (Julanne Johnston) clearly. It’s a simple and unambiguous pleasure when our desire is satisfied.

I want to celebrate Werner Herzog’s voice, one of my favorite noises in cinema. I don’t speak metaphorically here: I don’t mean his cinematic “voice,” revealed through things like his shooting style, editing technique or any recurring themes. Instead, I’m more concerned with actual sound: his tone (almost always monotonous), an idiosyncratic lexis (“erotical,” for example) and his use of his voice in his films. I’m sure, though, that there’s only so much talking I can do: I’ll provide only a few words and, instead, let him speak for himself.

As I finished some exams a few weeks ago, I’ve been able to watch a lot more films recently. In fact, I’ve probably seen more pictures over the last couple of weeks than I caught over the preceding couple of months. Here, then, are a few of the things that I’ve seen this week.

It began, perhaps, the moment the deer flew into the air. Upon impact, when car and flesh collide, we move from within the cabin to a view outside. Shot in slow motion, the carcass rises with a lightness, unexpected because of its weight, and we’re allowed to watch each muscle move through ranges of motion that feel orchestrated (though we’re not sure by whom) before the deer slams—conclusively and ungraciously—to the floor. There’s a feeling of importance, maybe even mysticism, and it’s the result of exceptional cinematic craft.

To continue the MacGuffin’s discussion of film noir, I’m looking in detail at Nicholas Ray’s In A Lonely Place (1950), a classic picture with a couple of cracking performances from Humphrey Bogart and Martha Stewart and a drunk man who recites Shakespeare.

I’m sure that most readers of this film blog hoped that Father Christmas would have delivered at least one DVD to them for the 25th of December. A few may have gone to the cinema on Christmas day, watching the latest release as part of their celebrations. At home, over the holiday season, many enjoy the luxury of being able to sit in front of the TV without guilt. To watch a film from start to finish without moving—reaching for a chocy brazil or a different treat before another begins—is, presumably, quite a common routine. But what to make of this passive digestion of the film in front of us?

This is a post in celebration of Shane Meadows’ This Is England ’86. It finished earlier tonight in terrific style.

The thing that’s so impressive about Akira Kurosawa’s Throne of Blood (1957) is that he takes an already great story and produces a new work of art that is entirely his own. In his interpretation of Macbeth (1606), Kurosawa is not afraid to alter Shakespeare’s design if the result is a more effective piece of cinema. He goes beyond a good screen version of the play and simply creates an exceptional film: to use Hitchcock’s phrase, we see Kurosawa remove a highly-praised piece of drama out from under ‘the proscenium arch’ and use all the techniques unique to cinema to recast it convincingly and powerfully in celluloid.

Something’s not right in Brazil (1985). While the quirky characters that fill Terry Gilliam’s oddly backwards future-scape cling to an appearance of efficient normality, these same people repeatedly reveal that they can’t be put in a numbered box and ticked off.