My first dabble with Kurosawa is with his breakout film, Rashomon, the one that put him on the map after winning The Gold Lion in Venice back in 1951. Most people first come across Kurosawa through his most well known film, Seven Samurai from the late 50's but I'm at a hotel room in New York with about two hours to kill so I don't really have time for three and a half hours of samurai action.
Rashomon is a jidaigeki, crime and mystery story (jidaigeki refers to a japanese story taking place in the Edo era of japanese history which is set between 1603 and 1868) which tells the tale of three men discussing a recent murder and the testimonies surrounding it. A man has been murdered but the suspected murderer, the wife of the man, and the man himself (speaking through a medium) all tell different stories of what took place during that fateful day.
I'll have to admit I first watched fifteen minutes of the film only to turn it off to do something else since the different narratives and lack of leads during the films opening left me disinterested and detached from the story, but this time I stuck it through.
I won't say that Rashomon blew me away or made me incredibly eager to watch the rest of Kurosawa's films. I still feel that Kurosawa might not be the director for me even if I am able to appreciate his different strong suits which I found to be quite apparent in this film.
First, there's the "lead", Toshiro Mifune, who came to be a long-time collaborator with Kurosawa and who's one of Rashomon's strongest suits. He portrays the devious bandit Tajomaru but he displays him with charisma and a cunning intelligence. From his out-of-breath body movements during the fighting scenes, to the spontaneous slapping of insects during his introduction, Mifune breathes life into a film with stale characters, becoming the only one who seems viivd and real in a world where the others seem robotic and scripted. Despite staying out of tune with the rest of the ensemble, Mifune never seems overplayed and always stays true to a certain acting-norm of the time.
While Rashomon is a solid film, it doesn't quite reach the levels I was hoping for it do. Maybe the fault mainly lies with me hoping for richer character drama while watching a film about a crime mystery but I can't help but feel slightly disinterested in Rashomon throughout the film. The different narratives makes me unable to fully immerse myself in the film and the jumps between characters telling other characters stories gives for a couple of quite harsh cuts that fuck with the flow of the film. It's not hard to appreciate Rashomon for what it is, there are a couple of beautiful shots aswell as several intriguing scenes but down the line, this just doesn't feel like a film for me and the issue I have with films set in similar time frames in Western society seems to transfer over to jidaigeki aswell. I truly hope this isn't the case and that I'll be able to enjoy Kurosawa just as much as other people seem to do. I feel that either Seven Samurai or Ikiru might be better at winning me over.
Rashomon [1950]
dir. A. Kurosawa
7
Anton Öberg Sysojev
Friday, October 30, 2015
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Film Review: The Thin Red Line [1998]
The Thin Red Line [1998]
Ever since seeing Terrence Malick's The Tree Of Life I had been eager to see what else the man could do. What kind of films does someone who takes on such an ambitious film project do?
I've never been big on war films. The setting of war and battle, aswell as medeival times are probably my two least favorite settings for any kind of film and I tend to mostly be disappointed in the films as a whole. With The Thin Red Line, that wasn't the case. Mainly because this isn't quite a war film, it lacks action packed scenes and focus more on philosophy and the people that actually fight the war instead of the war itself. It doesn't feel right to call it a critical war movie either, but that doesn't automatically imply that it is glorifying the battle of Guadalcanal, it merely puts us in the shoes of soldiers, who do what's considered right while philosphically questioning their actions.
As with The Tree Of Life, there's a sense of beauty in the way Malick portrays humans. The characters feel complex and deep, their thoughts and ideas are bold, interesting and clever. Normally I'd call Malick's characters naive for how perfectly crafted they are. You have Sean Penn's character risking his life through a hail of bullets to administer morphine to the wounded and dying medic, only to berate his superior who tells him he will make sure that Penn's character gets a medal for his actions.
There's also the countless scenes where the American soldiers win a battle against the Japanese, and the rounding up of the defeated enemies after the battle. Wounded Japanese men are crying and screaming with blood soaking their torn rags, either in pain or in fear of what's to happen to them, but the message isn't the same as when Tom Berenger's Sgt Barnes murders innocent civilians in The Platoon where I can almost visualise Oliver Stone grabbing me by the shoulders and shouting "See! War is bad!". The Thin Red Line feels much more in a grey zone, there's a humanity in both sides and the way both sides are depicted makes me think of them more as pawns in a game of chess, expendable, miserable and worthless to the true players of the game. We see a wounded Japanese soldier weeping as he is holding his dead friend while the American victors are watching, he glares at them but not with a look of hate but with desperation.
The main weakness in the film, however, lies in the directionless nature that is easy to pick up on. It's a film that was intended to be far more expansive, with an original play time of about five hours. A lot of that material was cut unfortunately, leaving several A-list actors completely, or almost completely, outside of the film leaving actors like George Clooney and Adrien Brody in an almost cameo-like roll while Gary Oldman was completely cut from the film. This directionless comes in play almost immediately after the siege on the bunker on the hill which otherwise represents almost half the three hour long film. The segment about the bunker is the most action driven part of the film which actually does get quite tense at several moments despite the characters involved not being fully fleshed out yet and with very little names to easily put to the faces in the film.
After the bunker segment we reach the more philosphical part of the film. The different surivivng characters face the consequences of their actions and meet the nature of war through an entirely different lens which leads to lots of worried contemplation over what is right and what is wrong and many other deeper themes. While it definitely is interesting, it does get a bit hard to keep track of who says what when most of it comes from the characters voices dubbed over the silent action scenes. This also leads to an unsatisfying ending which doesn't quite pack the punch that I assume it was inteded to do.
The strongest suits of The Thin Red Line are its techincal achievements. It's a visual marvel and the filmed locations are stunning. The sound is infallable and especially the soundtrack adds another dimension to the film, perfectly complementing whatever is going on on screen aswell as closing the film of with a sense of frisson and on a high note as the film segues from the soldiers into credits. Usually I find that Hans Zimmer's scores are uneventful and merely acting as a note to the viewer on how they should feel regarding certain scenes but in the case of The Thin Red Line, it blends perfectly with Malick's intentions and puts the film in a completely different perspective.
The most gripping part throughout the film for myself wasn't the sad deaths of soldiers you'd come to enjoy, or seeing the suffering wounded soldiers not being able to stomach the hardships of a war that they had no reason to fight. For me the most beautiful part was the first fifteen minutes of the film, where we follow Jim Caviezel's character as he spends time with the native village people of some foreign, exotic place. They live in harmony, and there's a sheer beauty in seeing the army guys playing around with the kids who are wearing rags if they even own that much. I'm again filled with the same feelings that Jessica Chastain's character in The Tree Of Life gave me and there's a sense of beauty and hopefulness in how the people react and treat eachother. The idea of malicious actions is completely out of the window, it doesn't exist in the altruistic and caring world that Malick paints during these fifteen minutes, all accompanied by Zimmer's magical compositions. I guess I'm wishing The Thin Red Line to have been The Tree Of Life - War Edition but maybe I'm being ridiculous.
Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line shines in several aspects, but mostly I want to credit Hans Zimmer and Malick's eye for creating a humanity that I wish I could see more of which are the key forces to The Thin Red Line for it is yet another journey through places I didn't know I could visit through a computer screen. It's a shame we most likely will never see the 5-hour long uncut version, maybe it had been a far more realized film and maybe it could have reached the qualities of The Tree Of Life and placed The Thin Red Line on the pillar towering over other contemporary war films where it may deserve to reside.
The Thin Red Line [1998]
dir. T. Malick
7
Anton Öberg Sysojev
Ever since seeing Terrence Malick's The Tree Of Life I had been eager to see what else the man could do. What kind of films does someone who takes on such an ambitious film project do?
I've never been big on war films. The setting of war and battle, aswell as medeival times are probably my two least favorite settings for any kind of film and I tend to mostly be disappointed in the films as a whole. With The Thin Red Line, that wasn't the case. Mainly because this isn't quite a war film, it lacks action packed scenes and focus more on philosophy and the people that actually fight the war instead of the war itself. It doesn't feel right to call it a critical war movie either, but that doesn't automatically imply that it is glorifying the battle of Guadalcanal, it merely puts us in the shoes of soldiers, who do what's considered right while philosphically questioning their actions.
As with The Tree Of Life, there's a sense of beauty in the way Malick portrays humans. The characters feel complex and deep, their thoughts and ideas are bold, interesting and clever. Normally I'd call Malick's characters naive for how perfectly crafted they are. You have Sean Penn's character risking his life through a hail of bullets to administer morphine to the wounded and dying medic, only to berate his superior who tells him he will make sure that Penn's character gets a medal for his actions.
There's also the countless scenes where the American soldiers win a battle against the Japanese, and the rounding up of the defeated enemies after the battle. Wounded Japanese men are crying and screaming with blood soaking their torn rags, either in pain or in fear of what's to happen to them, but the message isn't the same as when Tom Berenger's Sgt Barnes murders innocent civilians in The Platoon where I can almost visualise Oliver Stone grabbing me by the shoulders and shouting "See! War is bad!". The Thin Red Line feels much more in a grey zone, there's a humanity in both sides and the way both sides are depicted makes me think of them more as pawns in a game of chess, expendable, miserable and worthless to the true players of the game. We see a wounded Japanese soldier weeping as he is holding his dead friend while the American victors are watching, he glares at them but not with a look of hate but with desperation.
The main weakness in the film, however, lies in the directionless nature that is easy to pick up on. It's a film that was intended to be far more expansive, with an original play time of about five hours. A lot of that material was cut unfortunately, leaving several A-list actors completely, or almost completely, outside of the film leaving actors like George Clooney and Adrien Brody in an almost cameo-like roll while Gary Oldman was completely cut from the film. This directionless comes in play almost immediately after the siege on the bunker on the hill which otherwise represents almost half the three hour long film. The segment about the bunker is the most action driven part of the film which actually does get quite tense at several moments despite the characters involved not being fully fleshed out yet and with very little names to easily put to the faces in the film.
After the bunker segment we reach the more philosphical part of the film. The different surivivng characters face the consequences of their actions and meet the nature of war through an entirely different lens which leads to lots of worried contemplation over what is right and what is wrong and many other deeper themes. While it definitely is interesting, it does get a bit hard to keep track of who says what when most of it comes from the characters voices dubbed over the silent action scenes. This also leads to an unsatisfying ending which doesn't quite pack the punch that I assume it was inteded to do.
The strongest suits of The Thin Red Line are its techincal achievements. It's a visual marvel and the filmed locations are stunning. The sound is infallable and especially the soundtrack adds another dimension to the film, perfectly complementing whatever is going on on screen aswell as closing the film of with a sense of frisson and on a high note as the film segues from the soldiers into credits. Usually I find that Hans Zimmer's scores are uneventful and merely acting as a note to the viewer on how they should feel regarding certain scenes but in the case of The Thin Red Line, it blends perfectly with Malick's intentions and puts the film in a completely different perspective.
The most gripping part throughout the film for myself wasn't the sad deaths of soldiers you'd come to enjoy, or seeing the suffering wounded soldiers not being able to stomach the hardships of a war that they had no reason to fight. For me the most beautiful part was the first fifteen minutes of the film, where we follow Jim Caviezel's character as he spends time with the native village people of some foreign, exotic place. They live in harmony, and there's a sheer beauty in seeing the army guys playing around with the kids who are wearing rags if they even own that much. I'm again filled with the same feelings that Jessica Chastain's character in The Tree Of Life gave me and there's a sense of beauty and hopefulness in how the people react and treat eachother. The idea of malicious actions is completely out of the window, it doesn't exist in the altruistic and caring world that Malick paints during these fifteen minutes, all accompanied by Zimmer's magical compositions. I guess I'm wishing The Thin Red Line to have been The Tree Of Life - War Edition but maybe I'm being ridiculous.
Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line shines in several aspects, but mostly I want to credit Hans Zimmer and Malick's eye for creating a humanity that I wish I could see more of which are the key forces to The Thin Red Line for it is yet another journey through places I didn't know I could visit through a computer screen. It's a shame we most likely will never see the 5-hour long uncut version, maybe it had been a far more realized film and maybe it could have reached the qualities of The Tree Of Life and placed The Thin Red Line on the pillar towering over other contemporary war films where it may deserve to reside.
The Thin Red Line [1998]
dir. T. Malick
7
Anton Öberg Sysojev
Film Review: Sátántangó [1994]
I've been meaning to write since I last posted here but I haven't been able to. My life isn't quite as busy as it was when I took the break back in August but despite having time and having things to write about I've never been able to fully get my thoughts out in words. It's something that has been troubling me and it's the main reason for the lack of updates on my progress through the RateYourMusic Top 100 albums aswell as my lack of reviews for films that I've watched (because believe me I've watched a bunch). I've got a bunch of drafts that we're finally scrapped after spending hours on them just lying around, mocking me, taunting my ability to actually write reviews but I decided to wait until it finally felt natural to write, when it finally felt good again. This was the film that brought my passion back and hopefully it will stay that way for many days to come.
Sátántangó [1994]
If you scroll down just a bit, you'll find my review for A Torinói Ló (The Turin Horse) which was my introduction to the films and the universe of director Béla Tarr. Now I didn't quite enjoy The Turin Horse as much as I expected to, but I came to be fascinated by the neat little world that Tarr explored in the film. The long takes, the repetitive almost drone-like pace, the misery and the bleak, emotionless world was something right up my alley despite being a bit hard to swallow.
The Turin Horse is probably the film where Tarr takes his style to an almost satirical level as if it was a parody of the what people already thought of his films. It was slower than ever before, even more repetitive, with less dialogue and a story which could be summarized in a sentance (Spoiler, the family horse gets sick and the father and his daughter starve to death) and frankly, it was quite boring. However despite being a slow and boring film, The Turin Horse still somehow fascinated me and I came to want more from Béla Tarr's films.
My next step was naturally to find a cinema that screened Sátántangó, Tarr's 7-hour long masterpiece, which didn't prove to be difficult since several of the Hungarian director's films where to be screened this Autumn at a cinema here in Stockholm. So I falled a bag with sandwhiches, brought a bottle of water and left to spend the day with the bleak, depressing life of a village of Hungarians.
Viewing Sátántangó is not only an enormous project due to its length but also because of how heavy the film is, through themes, characters, setting and overall atmosphere. The film has us following a pair of characters from some village somewhere in Hungary. We know very little of where and when it takes place which adds to the time less nature of the film. Is it taking place in 1994 or is it maybe not even in this decade? The film could even be futuristic, all we know is that the village is in some almost apocalyptical place where it constantly rains over the empty and torn houses.
The film begins with Futaki waking up to the sound of bells, which is explained to be odd since there are no place close by where the sound may have originated from. Futaki is later to be informed about the reapparance of a past villager who has presumed to be dead. The mysterious Irimiás is introduced by word as this mythical man that the villagers seem to fear. At one point Irimiás is referred to as The Wizard, leaving us to believe that this mythical man has some kind of power over the poor common people in the village.
Going on and digging through the plot almost feels redundat since this is a Béla Tarr film and the plot isn't really all that relevant as it is merely yet another tool in Tarr's repertoir where the more important elements of the film lies in the cinematography, the acting, the camera work, the atmosphere and maybe the most important one, the characters. The plot tells the story of how Irimiás returns to the village and tricks the population into giving away all their hard earned money to him throughout the course of seven hours, but if you came into this film hoping for an exciting plot then you've done wrong somewhere along the line.
The strong suits of this film lie in other places. You have the mesmerizing and immersive long takes which might seem pretentious when they're not really contributing anything other than a sense of immersion and atmosphere to the film instead of being relevant to the plot or story. One could argue that Sátántangó could probably be shortened by quite a lot by removing several of these long shots but the film would not be the masterpiece it is known to be if one where to gut it like a fish. Add to that an incredible sense for cinematography, which has created this world and even this universe if we want to take Tarr's other works into consideration of this run down village in the middle of nowhere where the sun never shines and the rain pours in excess.
Sátántangó is the ultimate Béla Tarr experience and I very well do believe that it is one of the greatest films of all time. It's a simple story which yet can be picked apart in many different ways in a discussion of deeper themes and symbolism in the film (does Irimiás represent Satan and the doctor God?) and its the most expansive work Tarr has done, with riveting, deep characters which add enough to depth to the film that a majority of them has a whole hour dedicated to their handling of Irmiás return. The atmosphere is as expected in any film of Tarr's, with bleak and dark landscapes with depressing run down houses, poor people who seem to survive despite barely owning the clothes on their bodies, and it is all realized through Mihály Vig's phenomenal soundtrack (if you even can call it that) or random assortment of compositions, from the tango at the bar, to the repetitive joyful accordion tune from the dance at the pub.
When I viewed Stalker I knew I had seen something phenomenal. A piece of film that, for me, stood above everything I had previously seen to that day. I have not felt that feeling regarding Sátántangó, but I instead know that what I've seen is so far above everything I've experienced that it feels wrong to lump it into the same category as Stalker, Persona or The Tree Of Life. Sátántangó is vast and expansive, it sucks the energy out of you and only leaves a certain emptiness, a void which you yourself have to fill with your own interpretation of what it is that you have viewed. It is a fully realized masterpiece which I don't think quite compares to anything previously created with similar intent.
Am I saying that Sátántangó is the greatest film of all time? Definitely not. What I am saying is that this is a work of art that can't be compared to other films out there, not even the other works of Béla Tarr. It's so different and so unique that it can't really be appreciated the same way you approach films but it does what it sets out to do in a phenomenal fashion.
You often hear people talk about having these check lists for things they want to see and visit before they die. Maybe they want to swim amongst the coral reefs, maybe they want to visit Times Square and see the lit up skyscrapers, or view The Grand Canyon. But amongst all those human experiences I definitely believe that seeing Sátántangó front-to-back with as few pauses as possible at a huge screen at a cinema somewhere, is one of those things that every human owe it to themself to experience.
Sátántangó [1994]
dir. B. Tarr
10
Anton Öberg Sysojev
Sátántangó [1994]
If you scroll down just a bit, you'll find my review for A Torinói Ló (The Turin Horse) which was my introduction to the films and the universe of director Béla Tarr. Now I didn't quite enjoy The Turin Horse as much as I expected to, but I came to be fascinated by the neat little world that Tarr explored in the film. The long takes, the repetitive almost drone-like pace, the misery and the bleak, emotionless world was something right up my alley despite being a bit hard to swallow.
The Turin Horse is probably the film where Tarr takes his style to an almost satirical level as if it was a parody of the what people already thought of his films. It was slower than ever before, even more repetitive, with less dialogue and a story which could be summarized in a sentance (Spoiler, the family horse gets sick and the father and his daughter starve to death) and frankly, it was quite boring. However despite being a slow and boring film, The Turin Horse still somehow fascinated me and I came to want more from Béla Tarr's films.
My next step was naturally to find a cinema that screened Sátántangó, Tarr's 7-hour long masterpiece, which didn't prove to be difficult since several of the Hungarian director's films where to be screened this Autumn at a cinema here in Stockholm. So I falled a bag with sandwhiches, brought a bottle of water and left to spend the day with the bleak, depressing life of a village of Hungarians.
Viewing Sátántangó is not only an enormous project due to its length but also because of how heavy the film is, through themes, characters, setting and overall atmosphere. The film has us following a pair of characters from some village somewhere in Hungary. We know very little of where and when it takes place which adds to the time less nature of the film. Is it taking place in 1994 or is it maybe not even in this decade? The film could even be futuristic, all we know is that the village is in some almost apocalyptical place where it constantly rains over the empty and torn houses.
The film begins with Futaki waking up to the sound of bells, which is explained to be odd since there are no place close by where the sound may have originated from. Futaki is later to be informed about the reapparance of a past villager who has presumed to be dead. The mysterious Irimiás is introduced by word as this mythical man that the villagers seem to fear. At one point Irimiás is referred to as The Wizard, leaving us to believe that this mythical man has some kind of power over the poor common people in the village.
Going on and digging through the plot almost feels redundat since this is a Béla Tarr film and the plot isn't really all that relevant as it is merely yet another tool in Tarr's repertoir where the more important elements of the film lies in the cinematography, the acting, the camera work, the atmosphere and maybe the most important one, the characters. The plot tells the story of how Irimiás returns to the village and tricks the population into giving away all their hard earned money to him throughout the course of seven hours, but if you came into this film hoping for an exciting plot then you've done wrong somewhere along the line.
The strong suits of this film lie in other places. You have the mesmerizing and immersive long takes which might seem pretentious when they're not really contributing anything other than a sense of immersion and atmosphere to the film instead of being relevant to the plot or story. One could argue that Sátántangó could probably be shortened by quite a lot by removing several of these long shots but the film would not be the masterpiece it is known to be if one where to gut it like a fish. Add to that an incredible sense for cinematography, which has created this world and even this universe if we want to take Tarr's other works into consideration of this run down village in the middle of nowhere where the sun never shines and the rain pours in excess.
Sátántangó is the ultimate Béla Tarr experience and I very well do believe that it is one of the greatest films of all time. It's a simple story which yet can be picked apart in many different ways in a discussion of deeper themes and symbolism in the film (does Irimiás represent Satan and the doctor God?) and its the most expansive work Tarr has done, with riveting, deep characters which add enough to depth to the film that a majority of them has a whole hour dedicated to their handling of Irmiás return. The atmosphere is as expected in any film of Tarr's, with bleak and dark landscapes with depressing run down houses, poor people who seem to survive despite barely owning the clothes on their bodies, and it is all realized through Mihály Vig's phenomenal soundtrack (if you even can call it that) or random assortment of compositions, from the tango at the bar, to the repetitive joyful accordion tune from the dance at the pub.
When I viewed Stalker I knew I had seen something phenomenal. A piece of film that, for me, stood above everything I had previously seen to that day. I have not felt that feeling regarding Sátántangó, but I instead know that what I've seen is so far above everything I've experienced that it feels wrong to lump it into the same category as Stalker, Persona or The Tree Of Life. Sátántangó is vast and expansive, it sucks the energy out of you and only leaves a certain emptiness, a void which you yourself have to fill with your own interpretation of what it is that you have viewed. It is a fully realized masterpiece which I don't think quite compares to anything previously created with similar intent.
Am I saying that Sátántangó is the greatest film of all time? Definitely not. What I am saying is that this is a work of art that can't be compared to other films out there, not even the other works of Béla Tarr. It's so different and so unique that it can't really be appreciated the same way you approach films but it does what it sets out to do in a phenomenal fashion.
You often hear people talk about having these check lists for things they want to see and visit before they die. Maybe they want to swim amongst the coral reefs, maybe they want to visit Times Square and see the lit up skyscrapers, or view The Grand Canyon. But amongst all those human experiences I definitely believe that seeing Sátántangó front-to-back with as few pauses as possible at a huge screen at a cinema somewhere, is one of those things that every human owe it to themself to experience.
Sátántangó [1994]
dir. B. Tarr
10
Anton Öberg Sysojev
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