#237. Kwaidan (1964)

 

 

A.K.A. Ghost Stories

 

About halfway through this movie, I was convinced that I was going to give it an A+. Like, just the concept of a horror anthology made out of four folklore tales was enough to immediately win my affection, and then both "The Black Hair" and "The Woman of the Snow" absolutely floored me with their slow-yet-mesmerizing pace, eerie moods, and heightened, artificial backdrops.

 

Unfortunately, the final two stories bring it from "all-time masterpiece" to merely "extremely great" for me. I thought "Hoichi the Earless" lacked the colour and rhythm of the first two, and "In a Cup of Tea" lacked the weight. They're both decent segments in their own right, but I think it might've been a wise choice to subtract twenty minutes from the former and add twenty minutes to the latter.

 

Regardless, though, it's quite the accomplishment. Between the subject matter, the style, the scarce dialogue, and the slightly off-kilter movements, the whole thing feels like a weird dream. And the scope and imagery are just wonderful. Maybe I'll eventually come around to those last two stories, but, even if I don't, I can already tell that the first two are going to be more than enough to bring me back.

 

Grade: A

 

#236. Nickelodeon (1976)

 

 

Even when he's making a slapstick comedy like Nickelodeon, there's something about Peter Bogdanovich's style that I find strangely lifeless. The staging and stunts are solid, but there's not much visual flair to speak of (though I do concede that monochrome look helps), the story quickly runs out of steam, the attempts at sentimentality don't work at all, and the whole thing just comes off quaint and insignificant as a result.

 

I'm similarly not especially crazy about the comedy, but, funnily enough, it's for the exact opposite reason. There's simply too much excess. These hijinks never give you a chance to breathe, and there's rarely any room to react to anything. Combine that with the overbearing sound design that accompanies every single pratfall (like, maybe there's a reason why this subgenre worked best in the silent era), and it feels like sensory overload at times.

 

And, look, it's easy to appreciate Bogdanovich's obvious enthusiasm for the material. I like the desert setting, the period detail, and the way it captures the "innocence" of the era (Birth of a Nation looks a tad more respectable when you remove all the Klan stuff). But when everything else is bloated and/or bland, I just don't think it translates to a very wistful or even interesting product.

 

Grade: C+

#235. La Bête Humaine (1938)

 

 

A.K.A. The Human Beast and Judas Was a Woman

 

It's funny: for a movie that literally includes "Human" in the title, La Bête Humaine seems to be equally fascinated by train mechanics. But that's certainly not a complaint; trains are among my favourite movie settings/objects, and they'd be even more common if I had my way. So Jean Renoir definitely got off on the right foot with me by making the entire opening a near-wordless train sequence.

 

After that, we largely settle into a proto-noir (or Re-noir, if you will) story of plotting and guilt, the kind where every major character is a horrible person and where most of them end up even worse than they started. Some elements are a bit underdeveloped for my liking (like Lantier's homicidal outbursts, or Roubaud's descent into jealousy), but the tone makes up for that, with atmosphere so bleak and foreboding that it feels almost profound for 1938.

 

Otherwise, I think the strongest element here is the central relationship between Lantier and Séverine, precisely because the two have such little chemistry. It adds to Lantier's sense of isolation, it raises the question of whether Séverine was actually into him or simply using him (which is kept open-ended by Simone Simon's wonderfully vague performance), and it amplifies the shades of pessimism and fatalism throughout.

 

Grade: A-

 

#234. Frost/Nixon (2008)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Man, remember when American presidents could actually face the consequences of their actions? What a wild concept.

 

For the most part, Frost/Nixon is a safe and unadventurous historical drama (what else would you expect with Ron Howard behind the camera?), but the execution's smooth and direct enough that I find the whole thing really compelling. It just builds and builds in a way that feels both suspenseful and effortless, and it's not long before I'm gripped by a bunch of interviews that have already taken place.

 

Helps, too, that the movie humanizes these two people to the degree that it does. Nixon is correctly presented as a lying criminal, but there's a self-loathing loneliness to this depiction that gives the man some unexpected depth (and I like that Frank Langella does his own interpretation, rather than just an impression). And despite Frost coming off like a vapid playboy, you can sense his frustrations and inner turmoil at all times, and it lends that much more weight to the stakes of the story.

 

I don't know if I'm completely sold on the faux-documentary style (in my opinion, it detracts from the overall simplicity), and a few of the more sensational moments don't quite convince, but I think this is an otherwise impressive dramatization, with a strong central conflict, a good sense of rhythm, and a likeable team dynamic.

 

Grade: A-

 

#233. Steve Jobs (2015)

 

 

There's this thing that always happens to me when I watch a movie written by Aaron Sorkin. For roughly the first fifteen or twenty minutes, I'll roll my eyes at the breakneck pacing and all-too-witty dialogue, and I start to wonder if his charm has finally worn off. But then, without fail, I find myself slowly getting sucked into his story and characters, and I end the movie thinking "that son of a bitch did it again."

 

Steve Jobs is a heavily fictionalized biopic in the vein of The Social Network and Moneyball, and while it's not quite as flawless as those comparables, the strengths are pretty much identical: keen structuring (and I love that it's broken up into three distinct parts, all centered around press conferences), sharp back and forth, and an emphasis on emotional truth over facts. Once I was on its side, I was captivated the entire way - especially in the confrontational third act.

 

But it's not just Sorkin. Danny Boyle and cinematographer Alwin Küchler capture the screenplay's energy by implementing three different film formats (16 mm, 35 mm, and digital) to make each era unique, and Michael Fassbender, Seth Rogen, Jeff Daniels, and especially Kate Winslet bring these words to life with some killer performances. And the result is yet another in a long line of elegant-yet-complex products to carry the Jobs name.

 

Grade: A-

 

#232. Used Cars (1980)

 

 

Watching this one, it's clear to me that Robert Zemeckis always had an aptitude for cartoon zaniness. Used Cars might be a bit more raucous and inconsistent than much of what came later, but the energetic humour and chaotic set pieces (I'm starting to notice that car stunts peaked in the early '80s) showcase a young talent who's not afraid to get wildly creative with scripts and visuals.

 

This enthusiasm also allows the movie to remain dark and cynical without getting unbearably sleazy, which is a winning tone in my mind. And it of course helps that our hero is played by a post-Disney, pre-comeback (unless you count Elvis) Kurt Russell, who manages to turn a total sleazebag into a charming go-getter. In fact, the entire cast is able to keep things light and broad, and it enhances both the laughs and the satire.

 

On the negative end, though, the approach can get pretty unwieldy at times. There's too much plotting for my liking, and the pacing routinely feels uneven (while I enjoy the action-heavy third act, for example, it goes on for far too long). But I can easily forgive some messiness if it leads to more lunacy, especially when said messiness is arguably part of the charm.

 

Grade: B+

 

#231. Sayonara (1957)

 

 

It must've been exhausting to be a casual moviegoer in the late '50s. With cinema waging war on the new medium of television, pretty much every release was now two-and-a-half hours long (if not longer), subject matter had largely become weighty and self-important, and the entire concept of brisk pacing was basically thrown out the window.

 

For these reasons, I've always found it slightly daunting to go back and watch a movie from this era (especially because its brand of spectacle doesn't necessarily lend itself to smaller home screens), but I can get on board with an elongated runtime if, say, there's enough thematic depth and purpose to justify it. And that's where Sayonara mostly succeeds in my eyes.

 

Sure, the movie's needlessly bloated, with a presentation that can definitely feel preachy and drab, but this gives it the necessary room to explore some delicate topics in a way that would've been really progressive for the time (hence the Oscar nods). This, combined with the passionate performances, significant story/character developments, and immersive settings (there's something about Japanese architecture that I find incredibly soothing), was enough to keep me invested in the relationships.

 

Grade: B+