1958, France, directed by Edouard Molinaro
I mostly know Edouard Molinaro for his 1970s and 1980s work in a comic vein, so his much darker debut feature came as a surprise (Molinaro also uses the generally light-hearted actor/director Gérard Oury in an unconventional role). It opens in arresting fashion, first with a single-shot credits sequence and subsequently with an extended (15+-minute) wordless segment that narrates the aftermath of a crime. There's a definite Poe vibe mixed in with the overall Gallic noir tone, and an astringent bitterness to the view of human relations. And there's Jeanne Moreau...
1956, France, directed by Henri Verneuil
A compelling, moody picture, from Henri Verneuil, one of the strongest directors to work with Gabin in the later period (the actor made plenty of weak films, but the Gabin-Verneuil pairing was a notable success, also yielding Un Singe en hiver and Le Président). Gabin is at the limits of the taciturn here, somehow managing to navigate life largely surrounded by silence despite his work and garrulous family. Indeed, on a number of occasions he refers to the (pleasing?) silence of his job, driving across France in a series of apparently interminable journeys (Verneuil's ability to convey the monotony without boring the audience is quite the trick -- reminded me, perhaps incongruously, of Raymond Bernard's extended dramatization of the pounding of artillery in Les Croix de bois). The film also struck me as being especially modern in the sense that it anticipates the nouvelle vague -- location shooting, characters who are not always admirable, a great deal of sensitivity to tone, even if structurally there's no innovation.
2015, US, directed by Denis Villeneuve
A fairly effective genre picture, with a fairly quick setup and a smooth visual style that's much more attractive than the shakycam aesthetic so prevalent in recent years. Roger Deakins's work is very fine indeed, including in the set-piece that uses at least three kinds of footage (aerial, night-sight, "normal"), with the transitions being used to ensure greater rather than less clarity, again at odds with much recent action direction style. Interesting to encounter the film so quickly after reading Robert Andrew Powell's fine book This Love is Not for Cowards, given the Juárez setting, though there's a certain moral queasiness in watching the filmmakers milk that city's pain for cinematic effect, even more so when it purports to be strictly contemporary while really representing a short-lived, especially bloody peak in Juárez's history.
2015, US, directed by Ridley Scott
While Ridley Scott's output seems to me uneven in the extreme, I rather liked this, not least because it does something I like a lot, setting up its premise with quite wonderful brevity, quickly moving the viewer to the meat of the story. To my mind, it also had some interesting solutions to some of the technical problems a story like this poses -- like whether or not to have the character speak or remain silent when alone -- while it also does a fine job of avoiding blocky exposition in favour of smooth narrative flow. That's a little harder in the second half, where more elements crowd together, but by then you've either bought in to the story or not. Plus, there's a nice seam of humour, something I don't always associate with the director.
1956, France, directed by Julien Duvivier
A successful reunion for Gabin and Duvivier, who had not worked together since 1936. Like most of Gabin's more successful post-war turns, he's in buttoned-down mode (at least emotionally -- the character is not an especially silent type). Gabin plays a chef in Les Halles whose life is upended by the arrival of a quasi-relative, resulting in a profound change in circumstances (and in tone). The restaurant scenes are especially enjoyable -- not only does Duvivier make terrific use of the restaurant set to stage deep-focus action, but there's a vivid sense of the running of the business, with a cast of regular customers and an agreeably brisk rhythm. The film blends sets and location work very successfully, too.
1959, France, directed by Gilles Grangier
Gabin was a remarkably busy actor in the 1950s, turning out an average of three films a year, not all of the first rank. Truffaut had a point when characterizing Gabin's level of influence over films as being "dangerous," especially when he is paired with a director of no particular strength, as is the case for Gilles Grangier, who made a dozen films with the star. Gabin plays the titular tramp, a "character" who objects to being imprisoned on a short sentence since he'd much rather spend the cold months in lockup. There's nothing subtle about Gabin's characterization, which is "big" in every sense, with drunken hijinks, rapid-fire patter, and even a little soft-shoe. The film's main interest comes from the support, even if it isn't always used to best effect -- Julien Carette as a fellow tramp, and Bernard Blier as a bar owner, in particular. There's a dispiriting cheapness to proceedings most notably in the pretty inept integration of location and studio footage in a sequence purportedly on the fringes of a big Parisian parade.
2015, UK/US, directed by Sam Mendes
The first time in a long while that I didn't see a Bond on the big screen, due to middling reviews, which turned out to be on point. It's a mediocre entry in the franchise, with perfunctory humanizing touches and a failure to use the chief villain to any great purpose. Indeed, Christoph Waltz's character seems to be conceived purely to speak lines in a Christoph Waltz manner, which has a relatively limited charm. The highlights: an excellent opening shot (or several, stitched together digitally), with a great deal of movement and self-conscious humour; and two or three atmospheric night-time sequences, wonderfully lit with chiaroscuro shadings.
1934, France, directed by Jean Renoir
Unfortunately, I did not save the best for last when it came to my mini-Renoir festival. Obviously, even a longer film, never mind one reputedly butchered by its producers, cannot hope to include every nuance of a substantial novel, and that's not really my issue, more the fact that the visualization here tends to underline Emma Bovary's most unpleasant characteristics -- assuming that you accept that the book posits Emma as a kind of feminist heroine avant la lettre, this film seems to subvert those qualities, making her come across as merely obnoxious even considering the social strictures of 19th century bourgeois life. There are, of course, some pleasures -- specific scenes that are exceptionally well-constructed with respect to the use of space, fine set pieces, and the occasional moment of real emotional force. That said, I think one's mileage could be a good deal greater depending on how you react to the actors, especially Valentine Tessier in the lead role -- if you embrace Emma's onscreen theatricality as a reflection of her inner self, for instance, you might find the film more rewarding. Robert Le Vigan has yet another oily turn as the creditor who brings about Emma's downfall, and his delivery of the line "we're not Jews" in justification of his financial practices carries an inevitable charge given our knowledge of the actor's subsequent offscreen career.
1933, France, directed by Jean Renoir
Despite the substantial corpus of writing devoted to Renoir, there are few words on this particular film, a surprise as I found it generally charming and technically quite compelling. It occasionally reminded me of Die Koffer des Herrn O.F., especially in the second half, as an entire town buys into a particular obsession (complete with dream sequences). It was really the opening that grabbed me, though, with the first shot part of a long lineage of bravura openers, and the film is mostly made on a set that permits a great deal of easy movement, the camera peering behind corners, through windows, and generally keeping an eye on characters as they move around the space.
Chotard himself is played by Fernand Charpin, such a key presence in Pagnol's Marseilles trilogy, and he's a delight here, too. The plot is driven by the marriage of Chotard's daughter to an unpromising fellow, a writer played by Georges Pomiès, a name wholly unfamiliar to me, but from his movement it wasn't hard to figure out that he was trained as a dancer, and indeed that this was his primary vocation. He's not a great choice for the part but his background certainly adds an interesting energy to the character, granting him an unexpected and graceful physical presence. As a casting selection, it reminded me a little of the offbeat energy of Jean-Louis Barrault in Drôle de drame, though that's a more successful marriage. Which in turn reminds that I took a reflexive dislike to Pomiès when I discovered that he had won Louis Jouvet's lover Lisa Duncan away from the great actor (though of course she may have been the one who effected the change).
While the whole thing is based on a pre-existing play, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a reference to Simenon -- with whom Renoir remained friendly after the director adapted one of the Maigret novels -- when the characters discuss an industrial-scale production of literature, of a kind that Simenon himself would have had no trouble keeping up with given his book-a-month rhythm.
1931, France, directed by Jean Renoir
A film that Renoir by all accounts made to show his ability to film with sound on a budget, in order to impress potential producers. Obviously, though, he was already an experienced filmmaker and despite the film's pretty straightforward nature he clearly spent at least some time working on direct sound, use of diegetic music, and, from time to time, on the framing of actors' faces, although some of the film is shot in a theatrical format that underlines the picture's stage origins. The most interesting points, for me, were on the casting level -- an exceptionally early, blink-and-you'll-miss-it appearance from Fernandel, and, far more substantial, an amusing turn from Michel Simon, already cast in roles far beyond his years.
1935, France, directed by Jean Renoir
A very interesting on-location picture, clearly made under the influence of Pagnol in terms of the southern realism on display (Pagnol's company was involved with the film, but as distributor rather than producer). There's little optimism here in this deliberately circular tale -- the contrast between the larkish beginning and the pessimism of the conclusion is very stark, and in many ways the film has a modernity that Renoir may not have intended, at least with respect to the pointed commentary on immigration, something that's hard to push out of the mind in early 2016. If Pagnol himself had made this I'd expect it to be leavened with a little more comic relief, or even perhaps the more gentle acceptance of the vagaries of humanity that you find in much of Renoir's best work. I'm not all that familiar with Charles Blavette, who plays Toni, though he did appear in Pagnol's La Femme du boulanger among others; more recognizable to me was Andrex, whose apparently permanent cheeriness is used to good subversive effect in the conclusion.
1932, France, directed by Jean Renoir
The very first Maigret adaptation -- there was another the same year, and just one more during the 1930s -- and one of the strangest, with an almost abstract air at times, as well as a curious tendency to linger carefully over objects as much as on people. Although Maigret is as physically imposing a presence as on the page I still had the sense that he's operating here in a kind of existential haze, although this also captures the detective's ability to peer deep into the soul rather well. The film was made largely on location, in the kind of grim suburban setting so beloved of Simenon (that suburban setting was virtually a character in the novel of Monsieur Hire, for instance), and for the most part things are mud- and rain-soaked (foreshadowing, perhaps, the even muddier Une si jolie petite plage).
1946, US, directed by Robert Siodmak
Although Siodmak shows his usual sure hand with psychologically wacky material, this didn't draw me in nearly as much as his other work of the period. This may have as much to do with my being less than invested in the actors, Thomas Mitchell excepted, rather than any flaw in the filmmaking, which certainly made appropriate use of the twin metaphor as well as the inherent possibilities for contrasting dark/light. Perhaps a film I'll need to revisit in a different frame of mind (the print quality wasn't great, either, which may also have had an impact).
2015, US, directed by Quentin Tarantino
1938, France, directed by Jean Grémillon
A Grémillon film that apparently suffered due to its association with the German production company UFA -- the picture was made in Germany in 1937, although it tells an entirely French tale. Still, perhaps not the wisest move on the political front at the time. In any case, very much a rediscovered gem, with a quite wonderful sense of place despite being largely if not entirely a studio beast (von Sternberg would have loved the set design, I suspect). Raimu plays the affable, eponymous Toulon storekeeper who is not at all what he seems -- Grémillon does a fine job of detailing the carefully-maintained façade, which is punctuated in brutal fashion (and Raimu himself is terrific, switching back and forth between personas). The conclusion is quite neat in most respects, and you'd expect something altogether more cynical had the film been made a decade later.
1954, UK, directed by Robert Hamer
Alec Guinness stars as Chesterton's eponymous cleric, and he's generally quite endearing in the role (a little too eagerly so at times -- occasionally, his performance shades into mugging for the camera). The film doesn't showcase Robert Hamer at his peak, either, but there is some nice work from old English pros like Bernard Lee and Sid James, and I was amused to see French actor/director Gérard Oury turn up as a Gallic police inspector. A good deal of the film was shot on location in France, which lends a nice tang of overseas authenticity for the time period, especially in unusual locations like the Paris catacombs.
1947, US, directed by Henry Hathaway
Another wartime film from Henry Hathaway, who had a very good run for a few years in the late 1940s. The film purports to tell a sort-of true tale of espionage/counter-espionage, though its liberal attitude to the truth kicks in early since many of the locations presented as French are in fact Canadian. Nonetheless, the combination of procedural detail (including spycraft and combat training) allied to the tension of the central mission makes for compelling viewing, while the utterly downbeat ending seems to me characteristic of the postwar turn in Hollywood. Jimmy Cagney plays the lead spy/trainer and while he seemed miscast in the early going -- that rat-a-tat delivery never quite seems to mesh with the academic character he's assigned -- once he's plunged into a mission, the actor is entirely convincing as a seat-of-the-pants guy. There's also an early, uncredited Karl Malden appearance, as well as a decent turn from Richard Conte, another man who had a good run in those years.
2011, US, directed by Sam Jaeger
2015, US, directed by Tom McCarthy
A film of strong local interest for us, as it tells the story of the Boston Globe investigation into sexual abuse by members of the clergy in the Boston archdiocese. The film has an exceptional ensemble cast, and does an effective job of communicating a complicated story without indulging in too many narrative shortcuts. It reminded me in some senses of the original Law and Order, which so studiously avoided intrusions into the characters' private lives. That's pushed to the extreme here -- even where the film acknowledges a spouse's existence, she (usually she) barely appears, even in contexts where this might be natural). There's certainly nothing in director Tom McCarthy's back catalog that prepared me for a well-wrought picture like this (well-wrought, at least, on the levels of script, construction, and acting -- not much of great visual interest or experimentation).
1968, UK, directed by Dick Clement
Tom Courtenay at the height of his magnetism, in a breezy London romp that kicks off with a terrific shot on the Portobello Road, and which manages to mesh, among other things, a dose of the absurdity of The Knack and the self-conscious silliness of the Bond films (and their many knock-offs). Still, there's also room for a bit of satirical bite, such as the scene where Courtenay's Otley blunders into a "whites out" protest that gives a sense that not everything in 1960's London was carefree. As much as Courtenay catches the eye, the supporting cast is also quite wonderful -- Leonard Rossiter, Romy Schneider, James Villiers, James Bolan, Phyllida Law...
Index
List of all moviesMost of the images here are either studio publicity stills or screen captures I've made myself; if I've taken your image without giving you credit, please let me know.
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