Peter Rabbit

2018, US, directed by Will Gluck

Benji

1974, US, directed by Joe Camp

Watched as a holiday amusement with the kids, but a nice reminder of the days of regional film production -- this looks and feels every inch the local Texas production it proudly is, which gives things a nice, non-Hollywood distinctiveness.

Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone

2001, US, directed by Chris Columbus

The Grinch

2018, US, directed by Scott Mosier & Yarrow Cheney

Roma

2018, Mexico, directed by Alfonso Cuarón

Five Fingers for Marseilles

2018, South Africa, directed by Michael Matthews

Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted

2012, US, directed by Eric Darnell, Conrad Vernon, Tom McGrath

Maigret tend un piège

1958, France, directed by Jean Delannoy

The first of Gabin's outing as Maigret, and the strongest of the trio -- certainly more distinctive than Gilles Grangier's routine contribution, which used Gabin well but did little more.  Delannoy, by contrast, creates a strong sense of atmosphere, particularly emphasizing the claustrophobia of the corner of Paris being terrorized by the events of the film. More surprising is the mobility of his camera, especially in the early stages of the film -- elegant movements that create neat moments of visual shorthand, while also, on occasion, underpinning the sense of menace felt by the characters. The film's a fine example of Gabin's ability to seamlessly play both sides of the law in this period: there's not a great deal of difference between his Maigret and, say, Max from Touchez pas au grisbi, with both characters elegant, methodical, and willing to pause to savour a decent sandwich.

Belle de jour

1967, France, directed by Luis Buñuel

Voyage à Biarritz

1963, France, directed by Gilles Grangier

This is a contribution to the Late Films Blogathon hosted, as ever, by David Cairns at Shadowplay (I think this is the eighth year I've managed to put something together, despite the increasing competition of work and children...)

As is rather common with late films, Arletty's final cinematic performance was not among her most glorious, with a pretty thin supporting role in a routine Fernandel vehicle. It was one of four films The Great White Teeth of French cinema released that year -- and only one, La Cuisine au beurre, proved memorable. Indeed, Fernandel himself was on the wane, relatively speaking, soon to be eclipsed in the popularity stakes by late-bloomer Louis de Funès and His Rubber Face, along with longtime, less-rubbery, Bourvil -- and the contrast between the modest, black and white Voyage à Biarritz and films like Le Gendarme de St Tropez or Le Corniaud, with their impressive colour production values, seems to underline the changing of the guard. 

By the time of filming on Le Voyage à Biarritz, Arletty could barely see -- her vision had been in decline for some time, and she had suffered an eyecare accident of some kind earlier in the year, switching eyedrops intended for the left eye into the right and vice versa, which sounds vaguely comical if the outcome hadn't been so terrible. Given her limitations, many of her scenes have her sitting or standing in one place, or being gently escorted by her fellow cast members. Indeed, there's some suggestion that she was essentially hired as a kind of favour by old friends; she and Fernandel appeared together on stage and screen in Fric-Frac in the 1930s, while Gilles Grangier, another child of the Parisian streets, had directed her in the 1952 vehicle L'Amour Madame, in which she plays a version of herself. She relied on such gestures of kindness for most of her postwar life, dying in the most modest of circumstances in 1992. 

When the actress first appears here, you could be forgiven for not even realizing it was Arletty, so little does her character have to do. It's all a far cry from her indelible early performances, stealing scenes, indeed entire films, from more established performers in the  late 1930s. It's hard to believe now, but Hôtel du Nord, Arletty's real arrival on the scene, was designed around Annabella, a popular star of the time. Arletty waltzes in, wipes the floor with precious Annabella and, not incidentally, creates an entirely new type of female lead in French film (Louis Jouvet isn't too shabby either -- you ache for them to have worked together again). 

It was in that film that Arletty uttered what is probably the single most famous word in French cinema, atmosphère. A little of that quality wouldn't go amiss in her final screen appearance: the location shooting in Fréjus and Toulon can't hold a candle to the magic Marcel Carné whipped up on his sets. Grangier wasn't in the same league as Carné, of course, and while he's able to construct a fairly solid narrative, even by his standards this is a pretty thin affair. Grangier's collaborations with Jean Gabin are often much stronger; while it's often been suggested that Gabin dominated his directors as his career advanced, he may also have extracted better films from them on occasion. 

But what of Arletty's final work, then? Fernandel stars as the master of a small train station in southern France, with a son who's an engineer in London. Arletty plays Fernande, the owner/operator of the local café, and with her mischievous tone and mildly exotic background, the locals are quick to believe Fernande and Fernandel might be having an affair, perhaps centered on their shared syllables.  Grangier does a nice job of conveying the lightning-speed spread of gossip among the townsfolk, and there's a definite glint in the Arlettian eye when she gets a sniff of the townsfolk's silliness, the one moment when you see the youthful zest emerge from under the accretion of the years. Even the old voice, that most beguiling of instruments, gets a dusting off, as she rolls a couple of Michel Audiard pearls around on the tongue. 

Sadly, once that segment of the plot is resolved, Arletty barely gets a look in -- the film whizzes off to London for a few quick shots of Fernandel in front of the tourist sights, and some awkward assaults on the English language. The cross-Channel comedy is supposed to stem from the fact that Fernandel, who has won an all-expenses-paid trip as part of a promotion, wants to see his son but can't give his publicity-minded handlers the slip. It's an awkward joke spun out far too long, and the film is more assured, and more funny, on French soil. The resolution -- spurred by a kind of train ex machina -- seems to have come in from an entirely different film, though, suddenly pouring a dose of cold water on the earlier hijinks, even if Fernandel's horselike features are put to good use in several long-faced scenes that precede the inevitable all's-well finale. 

There's no fanfare to play Arletty out, with Fernandel and his much-used smile taking us through the final frames. The actress did a little voiceover work in the following decades, but largely retreated from the world before blazing through the public consciousness once again in the aftermath of her death. I happened to be in France when she died, and all of the newspapers and magazines rushed tributes into press, sometimes dedicating entire issues to Arletty's place in French cinematic and social history. In death, at least, her postwar rehabilitation in the eyes of the public was complete, and many people assembled at the real Hôtel du Nord, a place that Carné had never sullied with his camera or his star, who was perhaps the one true, glorious discovery of his career.  

Incidentally, one person's late film is almost inevitably someone else's early-career gig: Anna Massey appears here in her first big-screen appearance after Peeping Tom, about as extreme a contrast as could be imagined, while Michel Galabru, about to hit the big time as a de Funès sidekick, has one of his early roles of substance after a decade of bit-part graft. 

French Cancan

1955, France, directed by Jean Renoir

Renoir reunites with Gabin after a fifteen-year gap, with the actor in a classic later-period Gabin role, roguish yet charming, and almost startling in the rich colours that Renoir employs. Though French in its frame of reference -- the songs, the locations -- there's an echo of classic Hollywood putting-on-a-show spectaculars, albeit with an air of melancholy that's entirely specific to Renoir's film (the wonderful scene where Gabin relaxes backstage, satisfied that things have come together but fully aware the public has no need to see him).

Les Enfants terribles

1950, France, directed by Jean-Pierre Melville

I had forgotten how intoxicating this film is at times, and that sensation grows as the movie unspools -- the final half hour or so really breaks free from reality at times, and yet Melville's mastery of tone ensures that it never acquires the oddball texture of, say, Chabrol's Les Godelureaux. I found myself completing forgetting my surroundings as the world of the film enclosed me, only to be shocked out of it again in the finale. There are some very interesting names in the credits, too, whether it's Henri Decaë shooting his second feature or future directors Michel Drach and Claude Pinoteau, with the former seeming rather closer to Melville in terms of his approach/output.

King of the Coral Sea

Australia, 1954, directed by Lee Robinson

A Chips Rafferty pic that also marked Rod Taylor's debut, and it's not hard to spot the nascent star quality. Very formulaic, and at times very wooden, but with a distinctive location in the Torres Straits, and some excellent marine photography. It was apparently a big hit in its home country back in the day.

La Fille inconnue

2016, Belgium, directed  by Luc & Jean-Pierre Dardenne

The Boys

1998, Australia, directed by Rowan Woods

An exceptional piece of work that stands up well after twenty years, and numerous gritty Aussie crime pics/TV series in the interim, clearly owing a considerable debt to this picture. The Boys seemed like a start of great promise for Rowan Woods, so his subsequent career trajectory has to be rated a relative disappointment by that standard (it's hard to see what's specifically distinctive in his episodes of  the TV series Rake, for instance); perhaps, in the end, the distinctive aspects were mostly there in the original play, even if the visuals certainly seem to add a considerable depth to the portrait of this particular, unpleasant milieu. 

We're the Millers

2013, US, directed by Rawson M. Thurber

American Animals

2018, UK/US, directed by Bart Layton

Isle of Dogs

2018, US, directed by Wes Anderson

About Time

2013, UK, directed by Richard Curtis

Ocean's 8

2018, US, directed by Gary Ross

Malcolm

1986, Australia, directed by Nadia Tass

Very light, and interesting mostly as a time capsule these days, including of Melbourne's trams of the era, though the performances are generally quite pleasing (even if Colin Friels's character would likely be handled differently in 2018), and the set pieces mostly well-paced.

Quai des brumes

1938, France, directed by Marcel Carné (aka Port of Shadows)

A film I hadn't seen since college, and it blew me away to see it again now -- the intensity of feeling, the gorgeous photography, the use of sets with a judicious addition of location shooting, Gabin at his pre-war peak, the quite extraordinary support from Simon, Morgan, Brasseur, Le Vigan, and perhaps most of all the willingness to allow scenes to build and build (several of the sequences are exceptionally extended, quite rare in modern cinema except in something like Tarantino's deliberately affected approach). 

Baisers volés

1968, France, directed by François Truffaut (aka Stolen Kisses)

I blow hot and cold on Truffaut, but this, the third of the Antoine Doinel films, is generally very charming, and has a genuine feel for the time and place -- offscreen, it's clear that something is going on socially despite the occasional preciousness of the characters and their interactions, which is of course no accident given that it was filmed in the early months of 1968 and released after the events of May.

Hotel Transylvania

2012, US, directed by Genndy Tartakovsky

27A

1974, Australia, directed by Esben Storm

The story of an alcoholic detained under mental health provisions, this is a genuinely gritty affair, with Robert McDarra in the lead; he died the following year, which is perhaps why he looks authentically ill here, while Bill Hunter plays the primary orderly (needless to say, he's not a pleasant fellow). Several sequences are very hard to take -- there's an authenticity to the physical altercations that's quite unsettling and also an occasional Titticut Follies vibe. The whole thing looks quasi-documentary, too, as though the print was blown up from 16mm. 

Game Night

2018, US, directed by John Francis Daley & Jonathan Goldstein

Last Ride

2009, Australia, directed by Glendyn Ivin

Hugo Weaving as a criminal on the run, trying to bond with his son. Though the film makes liberal use of well-worn tropes, the bond between Weaving and the young boy (Tom Russell) has a sincerity and a realism that's quite affecting at times -- it's not hard to believe in the idea of them as father and son, however dysfunctional -- while the photography/use of the Australian landscape is excellent, without descending too far into clichés about the outback as a malevolent character in its own right. Indeed, right at the moment I assumed the film was going to proceed in that direction it creates a little victory for the characters and restores the focus on father/son. 

Die Hard

1988, US, directed by John McTiernan

The Death of Stalin

2017, UK, directed by Armando Iannucci

The consistency of tone is impressive, and among the large and distinguished cast, Steve Buscemi in particular is exceptional -- it feels like the first time in a while that he's really gotten into his groove (on film at least). You feel a little guilty laughing given the subject material, but that is, I'm sure, quite conscious on Iannucci's part. 

Shopping

2013, New Zealand, directed by Mark Albiston and Louis Sutherland

A very decent coming-of-age story: although this is well-trodden narrative ground, the juvenile performances are really excellent, and the storyline is careful to steer clear of sentimentality, with virtually all of the characters possessed of more than a few rough edges. There's also a very strong sense of the reality of lives in a particular place at a particular time -- the details of work and of familial relationships and dysfunctions are highly convincing, and set the stage for some moments of real emotional heft. 

Murder on the Orient Express

2017, US, directed by Kenneth Branagh

The Post

2017, US, directed by Steven Spielberg

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

2011, UK/France, directed by Tomas Alfredson

Thor

2011, US, directed by Kenneth Branagh

Set It Up

2018, US, directed by Claire Scanlon

Mission: Impossible -- Fallout

2018, US, directed by Christopher McQuarrie

Winter of our Dreams

1981, Australia, directed by John Duigan

A mixed bag of a film, with the central drama perhaps less interesting today than the Sydney backdrop, with Bryan Brown trying to retrace the life of an old flame in the aftermath of her suicide, and connecting with a mutual friend, played by Judy Davis. Brown's character is frustrating in his emotional closure (some critiques appear to fault the actor for this, and perhaps he and Davis didn't hit it off, but his character's affect is clearly motivated by the plot), a contrast to his usual garrulous charm of the period, whereas Davis is much more engaging even if her character lacks nuance. The sense of characters reliving and re-evaluating their youthful enthusiasms is at times quite sharp, as is the sketch of Sydney politics/development of the time, however much in the background.

Mother

2009, South Korea, directed by Bong Joon-ho

L'Eau froide

1994, France, directed by Olivier Assayas

A formative film for me, one I saw originally on the big screen in November 1994, and it was as impressive as I recalled, the large screen really enhancing the immersive experience, particularly in the lengthy, and quite extraordinary, party sequence. It's interesting, though, how the memory plays tricks -- that sequence looms so large in my mind that I had forgotten just how much of the film precedes it, and how much additional detail we get on the lives of the protagonists. I had forgotten entire sections, too, such as the extended scene in the police station where Virginie Ledoyen speaks with Jean-Pierre Darroussin (indeed, I had no recollection that the actor was in the film). The film is incredibly rich in detail, feeling very much of that post-1968 moment in which it is set -- the challenge to parental and social authorities (schools, doctors), the integration of various immigrant populations, the hints at the desirability of a return to the land, the apparent hopelessness of youth in the Pompidou years, etc. There are details of performance and filming structure, too, that make a big impression -- the repetition of the motif of handing something from one hand to another (records, money, a hash pipe), the way that Jackie Berroyer fretfully holds his hands together, even the contrast between how young and old dress and interact, as well as the bone-deep chill of the weather (people putting on coats even inside, never mind in the frigid final sequences). 

120 battements par minute

2017, France, directed by Robin Campillo

A fascinating fictionalized counterpart to the American documentary How to Survive a Plague; both films look at the early years of their respective countries' Act Up movements, combating official indifference or indeed active malfeasance in relation to those with HIV/AIDS. The film doesn't hew strictly to the historical record, but is deeply invested in depicting Act Up's unique, tension-filled internal debate process, never sugarcoating the robust discussions. It also gives an exceptionally strong sense of how the realities of the time period impacted gay identity (gay men are the most prominent activists, though part of the French debate was to ensure adequate representation of all affected constituencies), with the suggestion that this is very different for subsequent generations. 

Le Roi du coeur

1966, France, directed by Philippe de Broca

Madame de...

1953, France/Italy, directed by Max Ophuls (aka The Earrings of Madame de...)

There's not much for me to add to the thousands of words already written on this wonderful film, featuring perhaps the most significant object in cinema, around which Ophuls constructs an exceptional human drama.

Kiss Me Deadly

1955, US, directed by Robert Aldrich

A deeply cynical, and ultimately exceptionally bleak, film -- though of a piece with much pulp writing of the 1940s and 1950, this must have felt like a real cinematic slap in the face in 1955, with its generally anti-heroic characters, easy betrayals and casual violence, and the pall of broader threat. The location work is also striking -- some fascinating shots of mid-century LA.

Das letzte Schweigen

2010, Germany, directed by Baran bo Odar

L'Homme de Rio

1964, France/Italy, directed by Philippe de Broca

White Material

2009, France, directed by Claire Denis

Isabelle Huppert in is top form here, while Claire Denis's work is typically strong, and less elliptical than in some of her 2000s work -- which is perhaps the more effective for this particular film. The sense of societal collapse is cogently and succinctly sketched in, and if I still have some vague sense of discomfort about the depiction of the African continent, Denis is trying to tease out something very challenging, including in her critique of the role of white settlers, about both her own relationship with Africa and cinematic depictions thereof.

Un Condamné à mort s'est échappé

1955, France, directed by Robert Bresson

My first viewing of the Criterion Collection restoration of this remarkable film -- and as much as the visuals are striking, it was the soundscape that came across even more strongly on this occasion (particularly in the tension of the titular escape). I still find Bresson to be tough going at times, primarily for his unique and uncompromising approach to performance, but this is one of the key texts. Bresson's star, François Leterrier, went on to a career as a director in his own right, though in a very different register, helming several scattershot popular comedies in the 1980s.