My Favorite Movies

L'Atalante is indeed one of the greatest films ever made. In fact, it's perhaps my favourite French film in general. It's a masterpiece of sheer genius and a love for filmmaking. It has moments of tremendous hilarity, romance, and heartbreak.
The film is about Jean, a barge captain, and Juliette, a couintry girl, who are married, despite doubts from Juliette's family. They then commence their voyage on Jean's barge, the eponymous L'Atalante, with his crusty first mate, Jules and an young boy. Right from when they get on the boat, the couple's love for each other is threatened by the conditions of a barge life, Jean's libido, and Juliette's longing to see Paris. When you look at it, the story is so simple that you would think it to be a generic 1930s romance. It takes more than one viewing (especially if you don't speak French) to grasp the artistry of how Vigo composes the film.
One could describe the film simply by listing its most beautiful shots. Among these are the opening shots of the barge itself, the wedding procession that seems intent on spreading gossip as Jean and Juliette seem to glide across the countryside, Juliette walking down L'Aralante, the crew first singing the "bargeman's song", Jules and his record, Jean's swim, the characters' night apart, and the final aerial shot.
One brilliant scene to point out is when we see Jules' cabin. The viewer is immediately awestruck with the the sight of this bizzare first mate's souvenirs taken from around the world over what must be decades. Then there are alternately bizzare, hysterical, and simply poetic shots, such as Jules' puppet dance, the camera peeking over his and Juliette's shoulders to observe the cabin, the hands in a jar, and Jules' tattoos. There is also the playful relationship between Jules and Juliette that makes them appear as family in a toy shop, which is then ravaged by the destruction brought on by Jean.
Unconventional angles and motions, courtesy of Boris Kaufman, mingle with the rigourously detailed mise en scene to bring out hidden meanings for the events of the film and build up each scene with glorious harmony.
But compsition is not all the film has to offer. The performances of the cast are incredible. The characters in this film feel like real people, whose decisions are polarized beween right and wrong. When they do something in the film, it is natural and liberated. Jean (Jean Daste) is aware of the extremes he sometimes goes to in order to maintain his marriage and the reliance of his crew. Juliette (Dita Parlo) is in constant struggle to affirm her love for Jean while realizing her indepedence. The boy is a silent and impartial observer who treats the crew as more than caretakers and no doubt learns from their challenges.
But, these characters do not compare to the force of nature that is Jules, played by Michel Simon. Here, we have one of the funniest characters to come from French cinema. Always taking the situation in his witty, sarcastic manner, he exemplifies the old man who has seen everything and wants to take it easy while keeping up his rough and tough image. Any scene with Jules is a joy to watch, you just have to do so.
What also has to be mentioned is Jaubert's musical score. Amazing when put beside the images of the film. It evokes the simple, breezy nature of travelling on a boat along the French coastline, the excitement of a working-class nightclub, and the pomp of the city life. Essentially, it adds to a state of mind the film gives you as you watch.
The tragedy of L'Atalante is that it was the last film Jean Vigo made in a meager but groundbreaking filmography. After its release, he died of longstanding tuberculosis. Legend says that he directed scenes of the film from a stretcher. True or not, L'Atalante was the product of a true calling that Vigo could not ignore. It is because of this persistence that his films have had a lasting influence on cinema which it ultimately deserved.

For a brilliant filmmaker who kept paring down his style throughout his career, Dreyer's final film is a masterpiece of minimalist drama.

Time goes by and cameras keep running all over the world, burning any bit of space in proximity onto film or memory cards for posterity. I believe that Jonas Mekas' diary films are among the purest forms of filmmaking to be discovered. This film in particular is a brilliant exercise in Mekas' own style. Walden resembles the spontaneous poetry of Beat-generation writers, forgoing narrative threads and moralistic messages in favor of a flow of images and a discordant soundtrack confiding a wealth of observation to the viewers - thoughts, places seen and people met, especially friends, their families, and fellow artists, are the film's momentum, all captured on old saturated 16mm color film.

Praise belongs both to Welles and his crew for making the film, and to Universal for restoring it to the incredible cut that's available today.
Welles' resourceful use of the cinematic medium and his pursuit of invention within the format can be fully viewed in Touch of Evil. The camerawork astounds, incorporating many haunting high and low angle images as it manuevers around the settings and chracters with bewildering fluidity while having a feeling of natural progression. LIght is utilized to capture the necessary features of each character and their surroundings as they are forced toward their fate. The towns, with their decaying Spanish-American architecture, the clutter and noise of their clubs, the cold, wasteland feel of the oil refineries, the overbearing simplicity of the motel in the desrt, and the warm, calm isolation of the desert itself - as on-location settings, they are beautifully presented in the aperture of the camera. And of course, the editing... just superb. Of course, the structure of the film is the work of editing done across decades, but the result is seamless, as the stories of Vargas, Susan, Quinlan, Grandi, and other characters blend exuberantly over a time frame of 24 hours and covering two sides of a border..
Perhaps what makes this film a great display of Welles' talents is that it is the film where Welles is able to balance the style and substance of the film. Even with the marverllous cinematography, it never distracts you from what occurs in the story. The characters are played with realism and compassion. Heston plays the striaight-lace foreign cop with equal charm and intimidation. Leigh is a true inversion of the femme fatale, always too innocent for her own good. And Welles manages to bring his monstrous crooked cop to life, showing constant menace and macho authority, while also appearing a little frightened when everthing is falling apart. As with the best film noirs, the bit characters are also believable and sympathetic. Perhaps the only drawback is the idea of Heston playing a Mexican; like the others, I don't buy it. Still, the input of the actors keeps their moments from feeling bland or hyperbolic. As well, the story, one that involves murder, drugs, corruption of justice, abuse of power, rape, and a number of other oddities, keeps you fascinated with its complicated happenings.
Basically, this is an essential film for anyone even remotely interested in Welles. In fact, you could learn a good deal about filmmaking just from what has been written and spoken about this alone.

Jacques Rivette is a rare breed of director. He makes films for his audience and yet they are contained within a personal understanding and imagaination. There is a reason why this is often pointed out as one of Rivette's defining works. The world in Celine and Julie does not have an inexorable structure, but seems to bend to the will of these two repressed women. They represent opposing sides of each other, struggling but still working in conjunction, as seen by two crucial moments where they take on disguises as the other. Their struggle is discovering the limits of reality and fiction as they navigate both during the film. Why the bizzare scenes inside the house take place is never clear. Once again Rivette presents life to us as an unsolvable, constantly shifting mystery. The director and the actors' penchant for improvisation gives the moments in Celine and Julie's world a constant air of unpredictability, and more importantly, liveliness. Labourier and Berto take pleasure in the situations they get thrown into, and Rivette characteristically doesn't want to condense these goings-on.

Consider that the only dog in the town is imaginary. Dogville is a masquerade of wholesome values and charity that wants to deny its base desires..But God knows what we're doing, and He is not pleased. The question is, who provokes the people to act the way they do? - do they just decide to, does Grace encourage them through her work, or did Tom want it to work out this way? In any case, everyone ends up where they should.
This is a fine film. Many people want to argue that the stripped down, theater-style sets do not work, but it both allows you to see more than you probably should, and it lets you pay attention to the many small and the immediate gestures and expressions of the actors, all of whom make characters of interest. I cannot imagine scenes like the window being opened in the blind man`s home or Tom and Grace`s talk on the Fourth of July being done in a different way. For a period of time, we are convinced that things can work out for the best. But the primal lust and brutality suppressed under social formality is too great. There is no question that the second half will disturb you beyond all hope for mankind.
Ignore the prejudice against this film. Trier knows what he`s doing here.

"What are we doing here?"
"I dunno"

That's basically what the film is about.There's no bullshit quirkiness or psychoanalysis thrown in to add depth. It's up to the viewer to figure out what must be going in the character's minds as they walk through the dilapitated East Village, snow-covered Cleveland, and barren somewhere in Florida, see a movie, watch TV, smoke, buy a dress, listen to , bet on dog races, etc. It's a quest of self-satisfaction that often ends in disappointment. When doesn't it?

Wavelength may be one of the greatest endurance tests cinema has to offer. There's no way to enhance the narrative. It's basically a composite of shots filmed inside a dilapitated apartment. Through Michael Snow's editing, the shots appear to be a single take. In this take, a camera placed on the far side of the apratment (maybe just above the door) zooms in on the wall at the other end. This goes on for almost 45 minutes. In that time, people occasionally show up and something happens, but mostly you are watching the camera try to close in on the other side of the apartment and reveal why it is so damn important that it accomplishes this.

Sombody could ask why it is so damn important that we stay to figure out why we are spending 45 minutes staring at an apartment. That is something Snow understands all too well. Because of this, he tries to make the event as complex as possible for the viewer. Snow uses different kinds of colour tints and exposures, and cuts at will to make us observe the apartment in conflicting ways. The soundtrack also hypnotizes as it deconstructs itself from the sounds of outside traffic to a single, blaring tone. The tedious exercise draws one in with its simplicity.

The moments where characters do appear could be Snow's idea of instilling false hopes in the viewer. One would expect the apperance of human activity to liven up the film, but when it does occur, the moments are mired in boredom and confusion. They are just as oblivious as to what is so special about the room.

On what the film's message could be, the final image in the film could be a clue as to the pont Snow makes. I see it as an encouragement to return to nature and leave the drab urban trappings that the aprtment stands for.

My opinion. If you must watch this film, watch it without stopping for anything. It's an utterly unique film-viewing experience, the kind that takes a while to grasp, one that challenges what a film can be about.

Wavelength is one of Canada`s greatest contributions to art film.