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. 

Too Late for Tears

1949, US, directed by Byron Haskin

Lizabeth Scott is in very fine form as a very fatale femme -- stay well back. Like Woman on the Run, this is a modest film in its ambitions but the whipsaws of the plot and the performances are generally pleasurable (and Dan Duryea plays an entirely atypical Dan Duryea part -- when he's not the least sympathetic person in the movie you know you're in uncharted waters). 

Voyage à travers le cinéma français

2016, France, directed by Bertrand Tavernier

For anyone with even a passing interest in classic French cinema, this is a treasure -- Tavernier is an exceptional guide to the (French) films that marked him, while also setting them in their broader cinematic history. In addition to clips from pictures ranging from the iconic to the obscure (such as Jacques Becker's early film Dernier atout), there is some wonderful interview footage -- including a memorable sequence when director Henri Decoin performs a note-perfect impression of Jean Gabin, with whom he worked on two impressive films.

The Lion King

1994, US, directed by Roger Allers and Rob Minkoff

Lured

1947, US, directed by Douglas Sirk (aka Personal Column)

A film I last saw nearly thirty years ago, though Lucille Ball's performance lingered long in the memory, and her work captivated me anew here. By contrast, I had completely forgotten that a personal favourite, George Sanders, was also present, but then again Ball wipes the floor with pretty much everyone on this occasion. I didn't quite buy the picture, though, as an example of Sirk-as-auteur -- it comes across as an exceptionally competent 1940s film that has relatively little in common with the director's distinctive 1950s work. 

Mary Poppins

1964, US, directed by Robert Stevenson

I hadn't seen this since childhood, and watched it with my kids on a very rainy school holiday afternoon. They absolutely loved it, and I took great pleasure in hearing them ask, in this age of digital wizardry, how did they do that?! There's an unexpected, and perhaps underestimated, power in a little straightforward visual trickery. Personally, I also enjoyed the choreography, in particular for the marvelous chimney sweep sequence. I'm hardly the first to comment on it, but what on earth was going on with Dick Van Dyke's "accent"? Didn't they have dialect coaches in 1964?! 

Woman on the Run

1950, US, directed by Norman Foster

A modest but distinctive San Francisco-set noir; as with so many films in the genre there's plenty to chew on, in particular the location work (which occasionally evokes the feel of Charles Willeford's novel Pick-Up), as well as Ann Sheridan in strong form. The ending sequences struck me as a possible influence on the dockside section of Ida Lupino's The Hitch-Hiker -- in both films, an atmospheric location available at a low price for the budget-minded filmmaker. 

Police Story

1985, Hong Kong, directed by Jackie Chan

A film I hadn't seen since a UK TV outing 25 or more years ago, with an intro designed to educate the viewer as to the wonders of Hong Kong action cinema. The set-pieces are as jaw-dropping as ever, but the connective tissue is harder work, especially since Hong Kong humour is very much an acquired and/or locally-specific taste. Still, the chutzpah and Keaton-esque physical grace linger long in the mind. 

Deux hommes dans Manhattan

1959, France, directed by Jean-Pierre Melville

Melville at his loosest, and despite the cynicism and world-weariness on display, the picture is really rather fun by the director's astringent standards, with wonderful historical in the on-the-fly location work (though the incongruity between the actual New York exteriors and the obviously French studio scenes is amusing at times). Melville's own amusingly lugubrious presence in one of the starring roles recalls, at times, Renoir's highly effective self-casting in La Règle du jeu. 

Black Panther

2018, US, directed by Ryan Coogler

Blessed Event

1932, US, directed by Roy Del Ruth

Terrific pre-Code fun, with motormouth Lee Tracy as that most unscrupulous of columnists; it's not quite as strong or, ultimately, as committed in its cynicism as Five Star Final, but it's still a pretty heady early 1930s brew, delivered at an absolute breakneck pace. Glenn Kenny's 2011 capsule review is well worth revisiting, too. 

Coco

2017, US, directed by Lee Unkrich

Stunning animation -- especially on the big screen -- and a beguiling, often very funny storyline. One we've already watched several times with the kids.

L'Avenir

2016, France, directed by Mia Hansen-Løve (aka Things to Come)

Another fine, and attractive, recent French film, this time from Mia Hansen-Løve, and on the strength of this she's a very mature and assured filmmaker from the perch of her mid-30s, working with Isabelle Huppert in reliably strong form. Huppert plays a middle-aged professor dealing with a variety of familial upheavals, and Hansen-Løve astutely avoids the various pitfalls (though she does also set the viewer up to some degree); as with La Belle saison, the political backdrop is strong and there's an interesting, latter-day, riff on the city/country interplay that feels very much of the recent moment while also nodding to the 1960s/1970s back-to-the-land movement. The final shot is quite wonderful.

Le Million

1931, France, directed by René Clair

René Clair at his 1930s peak; the sudden eruptions of song are a particular delight, and its notable that the device has only rarely been used as effectively in the many years since. 

La Belle saison

2015, France, directed by Catherine Corsini (aka Summertime)

A fine film from Catherine Corsini about the romance between two women, one a Parisian sophisticate, the other a newly-arrived country girl. The backdrop, very well-evoked, is the social upheaval of the early 1970s, and the tension between the two modes of life; the depiction of debate and discussion by those engaged in social activism is especially fascinating. The obvious recent point of comparison is Blue is the Warmest Colour, including with respect to the directorial depiction of the physical relationship between the characters, though each film ultimately has quite different concerns (and each has its own strengths). The leads are both excellent, with Izïa Higelin especially convincing as the rural half of the central pair, while the evocation of the French countryside is utterly seductive in its own way. 

The League of Gentlemen

1960, UK, directed by Basil Dearden

Given my general love for the criminal caper film, this is a surprising omission from my prior watching, like Underworld for the American gangster film. The picture is a kind of ur-text for the many, many caper films that followed in subsequent decades, though Dearden's film is carried off with considerably more skill than most of what followed. The one (often very) unpleasant taste comes from the film's treatment of women, who are very much an after-thought, if not seen as an actively malign influence. Hardly inconsistent with the year of production, but no less unsavory for that. 

The Spy in Black

1939, UK, directed by Michael Powell

Powell & Pressburger's marvelous first collaboration is strikingly beautiful at times, as well as being noteworthy both for its fine suspense-management and for the daring of creating sympathetic, or at least not wholly antipathetic, German characters (presumably at least some filmgoers would have been familiar with Conrad Veidt's personal history, with the actor taking up residence in the UK after the Nazis came to power, which couldn't have harmed). It's not hard to see here the germ of ideas, particularly with respect to the depiction of German characters, that could lead to something as wondrous as The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp within a few years.

Falbalas

1945, France, directed by Jacques Becker

Despite the very different settings, Falbalas shares a great deal in common with Becker's previous film, Goupi Mains Rouges -- the confident sketching in of a very specific time and place, the mastery over multiple characters (with even the most minor among them having a sense of being people rather than plot devices), and the confidence in managing transitions of tone, though the blacker satire of the earlier film is absent here. One of the most fascinating aspects of the picture is Becker's insistent focus on the behind-the-scenes corps of women who transform the designer's work into actual garments -- it lends the film a striking political note, as well as a warmth that surely owes at least something to his work with Jean Renoir (perhaps not always to Renoir's benefit -- Becker was, after all, one of the behind-the-scenes personnel subjugated to the Renoir legend).

The Queen of Katwe

2016, US, directed by Mira Nair

The Emoji Movie

2017, US, directed by Tony Leondis

Seen at my child's school as part of a fundraiser.

The General

1926, US, directed by Clyde Bruckman and Buster Keaton

Having seen a variety of lesser versions, this beautifully restored print from Kino Lorber really allows you to appreciate the genius of Keaton's visual construction, particularly in gags like that  involving a moving train, a loaded cannon, and a key corner on the track, further explored by Kristin Thompson with copious stills. There's little for me to add to the many previous commentaries on the film, though I found myself far more aware on this occasion of the political components -- such as the brilliant gag involving Keaton's obliviousness to both advancing armies, and the concomitant commentary on the insanity of the entire tragedy. 

Underworld

1927, US, directed by Josef von Sternberg

I loved every minute of this, shot and edited with tremendous verve, and providing the template for many of the gangland riches of the 1930s, most obviously under Hawks's baton. The film's brevity also gives a preview of the quickfire Warner Bros ripped-from-the-headlines style, while the set pieces are handled with exceptional skill and drama. 

The Big City

1963, India, directed by Satyajit Ray (aka Mahanagar)

Ray's exceptional film is a warm, pragmatic depiction of the family dynamics that are cast into sharp relief when a young Calcutta woman elects to take a job in order to supplement her family's income. I had only previously seen Ray's Apu films, so this came as a welcome corrective to the idea that his focus is resolutely rural. Mahanangar provides a rich sense of life in early 1960s Calcutta -- the backdrop of economic precariousness is neatly summarized -- as well as a wonderful heroine (played with exceptional subtlety by Madhabi Mukherjee). 

Ray's particular skill here lies in sketching in each member of the family with a distinct and complex character; the refusal to over-simplify the characterizations creates moments of considerable emotional power (without ever leaving us in doubt who the centre of the story is). The film is also luminously beautiful -- there far too many striking and insightful shots to enumerate, though the effort would be a pleasure. 

(I was inspired to watch the film after it appeared in the Siren's end-of-year roundup of treasures). 

The Five-Year Engagement

2012, US, directed by Nicholas Stoller

Downsizing

2017, US, directed by Alexander Payne

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2

2017, US, directed by James Gunn

Churchill

2017, UK, directed by Jonathan Teplitzky

Going in Style

2017, US, directed by Zach Braff

So instantly forgettable it took me several weeks to remember that I had seen it.

Patti Cake$

2017, US, directed by Geremy Jasper

Logan Lucky

2017, US, directed by Steven Soderbergh

Certainly fun, and exceptionally well constructed, but you feel that Soderbergh could do a great deal more than revisit the one-big-heist territory that he seems to be so enamored with.

Hidden Figures

2016, US, directed by Theodore Melfi

Highly entertaining, and doing honour to the women whose achievements went unsung for too long, it's also a film that's quite interesting in terms of how it approaches the thematic material of race and gender, remaining serious yet allowing its characters an ebullience that is genuinely uplifting (the opening sequence, which ends with a terrific gag, is a fine example of this writ small).

Bringing Up Baby

1938, US, directed by Howard Hawks

There's little for me to add with respect to Hawks' wonderful film, which pairs Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn at their peak, except to note that I watched it on this occasion with a six-year-old and a four-year-old who remained rapt throughout, interrupting the film only to ask for occasional clarity regarding the identity of the titular leopard. The opening is so rapid-fire that I worried they would struggle to figure things out but my concerns were entirely misplaced, and they stayed with it through the final scene, aghast and delighted at the destruction on display.

The Man Who Knew Infinity

2015, UK, directed by Matthew Brown

Tasteful, visually attractive, and unfortunately deeply conventional in the British prestige picture tradition; both Dev Patel and Jeremy Irons are more than solid, but there's barely an unexpected note in the entire film.

The Trip to Italy

2014, UK, directed by Michael Winterbottom

Unsurprisingly, just as enjoyable as its successor.

The Trip to Spain

2017, UK, directed by Michael Winterbottom

I see a lot of bad films on planes, and every now and then there's a real surprise; The Trip to Spain, the third in an unlikely franchise, is charming and often hilariously funny, without ever excusing the characters' sometimes boorish behavior (the interplay of the two egos is at the heart of the picture: these men always need an audience, and in a pinch they'll accept an audience of one).

Retour de manivelle

1957, France, directed by Denys de La Patellière

One of those noirs where you find yourself wanting to advise the protagonists that their scheme may not go entirely to plan, though this in no way detracts from the pleasures of this bitter, often quite claustrophobic picture, scripted by Michel Audiard. Daniel Gélin is the patsy, who makes the rather critical mistake of trusting an icy Michèle Morgan; Bernard Blier has a relatively small, but enjoyably cynical, role as the policeman assigned to investigate the whole mess.

En cas de malheur

1958, France, directed by Claude Autant-Lara

Based on a novel by Simenon and scripted by the legendary Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost, though it's hardly a career highlight either in behind or in front of the camera (Jean Gabin and Brigitte Bardot, both of whom are barely stretched by their roles, are the focus on the latter side). The film comes across as something like a 1950s French version of The Woman in the Window or The Strange Affair of Uncle Harry, without the restrictions of the American Production Code, though the sourness of the end does suggest a more interesting film could have been crafted by a director less self-consciously provocative than Autant-Lara.

L'Armoire volante

1948, France, directed by Carlo Rim

After enjoying La Maison Bonnadieu, I went in search of more by Carlo Rim. This feels very much like a Gallic Ealing picture, or at least Ealing on its more macabre days (there are, though, some very non-Ealing touches, such as the setting in a hotel which does a roaring trade in the short-staying customer). Fernandel, in unusually toned-down mode, features as a civil servant who is due an inheritance on the death of his aunt but needs her body in order to make his claim, and said corpse is notable mainly for its absence. There's a quite brilliant sequence in which the legal eagles outline the difference between a mere death -- of little consequence -- and a good, clean, legally-approved death with all its attendant paperwork.

Le Septième juré

1962, France, directed by Georges Lautner

Yet another Bernard Blier film. Like the previous picture, it pairs him with Danièle Delorme, though the film could hardly be more different. It's also a very out-of-type role for Blier, but one of his strongest performances, and the sense of existential disarray is profound -- it reminded me at times of Chabrol's Que la bête meure, perhaps for that sense of bourgeois claustrophobia that is such a strong feature of the later film. It's far stronger stuff, too, than the average Georges Lautner picture and hard not to speculate that the presence of Blier fils as an assistant director had a positive impact on the picture, which is of considerable interest on the visual level, too. 

Sans laisser d'adresse

1951, France, directed by Jean-Paul Le Chanois

Another entry in the Bernard Blier filmography, the actor playing a cabbie who ends up getting more than he bargained for when he picks up a young woman at the Gare de Lyon. Directed by Jean-Paul Le Chanois, very much a middlebrow fellow, though the use of extensive location shooting here lends a surprising pre-nouvelle vague sensibility to Paris's streets (Pierre Granier-Deferre was one of the assistant directors, though I didn't detect too many signs of his more astringent presence). There's a quite wonderful verbal joust between Blier and Danièle Delorme, with Julien Carette, no slouch with a good line himself, watching on with a wry smile, and there's also a brief, early appearance from Louis de Funès, testing out his grimaces and his hand gestures (the latter are always much more amusing to me than the former). 

La Maison Bonnadieu

1951, France, directed by Carlo Rim

An enjoyable satire of bourgeois mores, with Bernard Blier as the head of the aforementioned house, dealing with his wife's infidelity. The comic aspects are generally to the fore, though as James Travers notes the (very fine) photography seems to owe more to dramatic, even noir, territory at times -- and several sequences, including those snapshotted here, are very nicely staged from the visual perspective. The direction is by the unfamiliar-to-me Carlo Rim, though on the strength of this film he bears further attention. 

Blier is, predictably, excellent, though Yves Deniaud steals several scenes as his right-hand man, while Berthe Bovy makes a delightful appearance as that rarest of plot devices, the grande-mère ex machina. It's also very interesting for its period in that the film places women squarely as the center of domestic power, without also implying that they are to be feared; Danielle Darrieux sparkles much as one would imagine, with both her wit and her beauty. 

Non coupable

1947, France, directed by Henri Decoin

A deeply cynical postwar film -- a category in which there is much Gallic competition -- about getting away with murder, with Michel Simon, playing a doctor, in especially fine form (as was the case with his very different part in the same year's Panique). While not directly about the recently-concluded war and its aftermath, it's hard not to draw inferences about the impact of those events on the French psyche, while Decoin also infuses a hearty dose of Simenon-esque commentary on the bourgeoisie, most obviously in the evening routine of the (male) notables in the local bar. Decoin's work behind the camera provides further evidence that he's a worthwhile addition to the postwar canon. 

Le Camion

1977, France, directed by Marguerite Duras

Duras, Depardieu, a truck. That's about it and yet this is an utterly compelling piece of work -- the visual juxtaposition of small, older woman and hulking young man is of course amusing and eye-catching, but so too is their studied verbal pas-de-deux, and the camerawork, especially in the interior scenes, has a lovely warm, limpid quality. Duras comes across as a fierce intellect, in addition to her unmistakable voice.