All the President’s Men (1976)

When I was a young lad living in Canada in the 1970s, the word “Watergate” became a name that was at the same time important and incomprehensible. Everyone knew that it involved the White House and President Nixon, but not a lot of people in the public understood why or even what it was about. The scandal was disclosed by two Washington Post reporters in 1972, and it is a testament to Alan J. Pakula’s film, based on the novel written by the two journalists, that at the end of it, the severity of the crimes revealed, while still not made very clear, are understood as being important and worthy of discovery. In addition to that, Pakula’s “All the President’s Men” is a superb discourse on honest journalism and its importance to Western democracies. 

The two journalists are Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) and Carl Bernstein (Duston Hoffman). The movie begins with the break-in and attempted bugging of the US Democratic National Committee headquarters in the Watergate hotel complex. On the night of the break-in, a newly hired journalist, Woodward, is assigned to run the story. During the arraignment of the burglars, he notices some expensive, mysterious lawyers attending the proceedings. By connecting these lawyers to an employee of President Nixon’s White House counsel, Woodward has his curiosity peaked and starts to investigate. He is given an initial green light to follow up, and the more experienced reporter Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) is assigned to help him in the investigation. The movie then expertly tracks the journalistic investigation process, which in general requires long, tedious, repetitive work. It is to the movie’s credit that this process is not hidden but rather showcased in the film. It is also a credit to Pakula that his direction and eye for detail succeeded in making this process interesting. Since everyone in 1976 knew the result of the investigation, this is not a mystery in any sense, which made it that much more difficult to retain the interest of the viewer.

It is Pakula’s experience in directing thrillers and his success in instilling a thriller mood throughout the movie that prevent the movie from being boring. For example, there is one scene that has Woodward running from one side of the newsroom to the other that instills urgency and suspense while at the same time emphasizing the intellectual energy of a newsroom. I am not sure if it is factual, but placing Woodward’s desk not close to Bernstein’s desk also allowed for a lot of dramatic motion that helps punctuate a thrilling element to the art of investigative reporting. Today, with the internet and cell phones, this type of physical action within the stationary act of journalistic investigation would not have been possible, making the movie not only a depiction of how the scandal was discovered but an historic document on how newspapers worked during their glory days and before technology took over. The fact that Pakula and his set designers created a close duplication of the actual Washington Post newsroom is part of the fascination with this movie as a superbly made true-life story. It also helps that the movie tells a story that occurred only a few years before the movie came out, which allowed its topicality to be fresh with the audience. Today, that element is missing when watching the film.

Pakula was greatly aided in his movie by the all-star cast headlined by Redford and Hoffman’s understated performances. Their ability to instill in me a belief in what I was watching—real people—helped to build tension. Since it was obvious how the movie would end, it was vital for the movie to retain an important level of interest. It helped that both actors have charisma to spare and come across as being very likeable. However, it is the great actor Jason Roberts as the executive editor, Ben Bradley, who steals every scene he is in. Roberts is perfect in the role, as he initially becomes the enforcer of the need for iron-clad proof, who then, due to personal spite and great pride, gives the go-ahead to run the story. I am not sure if Bradley was such an impressive person in real life, but Robert’s impersonation of him honors him as an honest man instilled with authority and wisdom. 

It is a shame that Pakula felt that he had to include some sort of threat of physical danger in the story. The journalist’s greatest source was a mysterious informant cryptically named “Deep Throat.” The actual disclosure of who “Deep Throat” was was only made in 2005, so when the movie came out, he was a famous mystery. A mystery that is retained in the movie. Pakula’s use of dark shadows that never reveal his appearance was made to emphasize his secretive nature. This trick adds to the thriller element in the story; however, I never understood why, near the end of the film, “Deep Throat” warned Woodward that his and Bernstein’s lives were in danger. This revelation came after the first articles were published, and any physical harm done to them would just add to the pressure of revealing the truth. I am sure that they were never in any danger, and this element seemed to me to be a misstep made by Pakula and the script writer. It was also not clear to me why “Deep Throat” would initially give cryptic hints to Woodward in an almost joyous attempt to make him work hard instead of just telling him what he knew. Only when it seemed that all was lost does Woodward get angry at “Deep Throat,”  which forces him to reveal all his information. I thought that was a bit simplistic to be real. The reason for this could very well be that their interactions could not be truly revealed due to the need for “Deep Throat” to keep his identity secret. 

“All the President’s Men” ends in an iconic scene where the two reporters are banging away at their typewriters while a small foreground TV set is broadcasting the inauguration of Nixon’s second term as president.  The scene is without dialogue and illustrates perfectly what it is like to be an investigative reporter. While today phone calls and paper searches are replaced by computers and internet search engines, the ideas and processes being shown remain the same. This is a movie that superbly emphasizes how a free and honest press is one of democracy’s greatest achievements. With all the fake news being thrown around today, that is a very important and relevant message, making “All the President’s Men” an important and compelling movie. 

The Man who fell to Earth (1976)

I am and have always been a fan of science fiction cinema. It is an art form, if done correctly, that has no limits to its themes and approach. Unfortunately, most science fiction movies are made in a childlike action/adventure style that limits their ability to surprise. A few brave directors have used the genre to make philosophical statements about our society. Stanly Kubrick, with his masterpiece “2001,”  set the high-level benchmark for those films. Nicolas Roeg, in 1976, took Walter Tevis’s science fiction novel, “The Man Who Fell to Earth,” as a vehicle for his unique style of filmmaking. The result is one of those rare art films made in the science fiction genre. 

As far as a science fiction story, “The Man Who Fell to Earth” falls under the category of present-day science fiction. Not being a story about the future, the movie deals with the arrival of an extraterrestrial alien named Thomas Jerome Newton (David Bowie in his acting debut), who crash-lands in New Mexico. He is searching for a way to bring water back to his drying and dying planet, but the ship he arrives on is no longer operative after the crash. His plan then consists of selling gold rings to start a business based on inventions created by the advanced technology of his home planet. His business becomes a hugely successful conglomerate, making him enough money to build a new ship that will either bring his planet’s population back to earth or carry Earth’s water back to him. The movie never makes it clear what the plan is, but either way, it did not seem to me that it was to the benefit of our planet. It is what appears to be the US government that stops him before he leaves, experiments on him, and keeps him prisoner until he is deemed non-threatening. Throughout this process, Newton succumbs to many of the vices of our modern world, such as greed, sex, TV watching, and alcohol.

Other characters in the film include a simple-minded waitress named Mary-Lou (Candy Clark), who falls in love with Newton and introduces him to TV, alcohol, and sex; patent lawyer Farnsworth (Buck Henry), who is hired to run the company; and former college professor Nathan Bryce (Rip Torn), who is hired to help him build his spacecraft. In addition, the US government agent who plays the villain in the film is played by black actor Bernie Casey, which was a revolutionary bit of casting that tries to raise awareness of racism in our society. 

The movie goes into detail on how the modern world will consume Newton until he becomes as apathetic as most of us humans. Using Mary-Luo as the catalyst for these vices is Roeg’s attempt at saying something about our dependent relationships. While we like to believe that love and companionship will heal and bring out the best in us, it is true that for many people, they do the opposite, exposing us to jealousy and various addictions. Roeg has a unique style of visualizing the actions in his film, using fractured and very disorienting quick edits that are perfect for this portrayal of Newton’s descent into alcohol, especially in the illustrated sex scenes with Clark. Like how he filmed his horror masterpiece, “Don’t Look Now,”  these scenes give a very intimate and realistic feel to the act of making love. As opposed to his previous film, in this movie there is a much colder, less warm feeling to the sex scenes. At one point in the movie, Newton admits to Mary-Luo that he never loved her. It is TV, sex, and alcohol that he succumbs to in his attempt to forget those he truly loves (his abandoned wife and children).

Interestingly, alcohol and sex are not the only vices that Newton gets caught up in. His introduction and subsequent addiction to television are not only the most interesting parts of the movie for me; they are also, in my opinion, very profound. Once hooked, he will not be content with watching one show at a time and creates a fascinating collage of 1970s-style TV sets that are all turned on constantly, each to a different channel. His extended, apathetic viewing of the TV further pushes him into wanting to be alienated from reality. Hal Ashby would further expand on this theme with his remarkable film “Being There,”  and that film’s protagonist also behaves and acts like Newton does in this film. At one point, Newton states that television shows you everything without ever explaining what it is that is being shown. That, of course, would result in confusion for an alien arriving on earth and help to explain the utter state of confusion in which Newton finds himself throughout the movie.

David Bowie is a superb performer, but he is not and never was a professional actor. At the time he made this film, he was deep into a cocaine addiction, which gave him a gaunt and spaced-out look that fit this role. Bowie admitted later that he never did any acting in the movie and that he just memorized each day’s lines and spoke them as himself. The fact that this comes across as a very convincing portrayal of an alien tells you more about who Bowie was in the mid-70s than his ability to act. Regardless of the reasons, it is his performance as Newton that holds the movie’s non-linear plot together. While he never ages, the other characters sometimes do and sometimes don’t, making it very difficult to decipher what period of the movie is being depicted at any given time. This is also very indicative of the Roeg style of filmmaking. David Lynch, Thomas Anderson, Terry Gilliam, and others would take notice, as this and other Roeg films greatly influenced their work.

It is the obscure, non-linear style of how Roeg moves the film’s plot that made it difficult for me to truly enjoy the movie. At many points in the film, I did not know what timeline was being shown. It is possible that the movie requires multiple viewings to truly understand everything. In addition, the scenes of Newton’s memory of his home planet look as if his family are the only surviving people and came across as amateuristic and unrealistic. I tend to think that those scenes only reflected his daydreams, as do other visions of the crashing of his spacecraft and some sort of bright light significance of a possible threat to our planet. The fact that these ideas were never even partially realized discouraged me from truly appreciating the movie.

“The Man Who Fell to Earth” is an ambitious artistic film that uses the science fiction genre to say something about our western consumerism-driven and faulty society. The movie contains an iconic David Bowie performance and is never boring. While not perfect, it is a movie well worth watching at least once.

1900 (Novecento) (1976)

On occasion, a great director will have enough credit to receive a blank check for his or her next project. Kubrick made a career of this, which is also why we would have to wait quite a few years between his films. When this happens, the result becomes something that is either egocentric or epic.  In 1976, Bernardo Bertolucci used an open wallet and artistic freedom to create his own version of his beloved Italy between the start of the 20th century and the end of World War II.  Aptly titled “1900,”  the movie showcases a class conflict between the rich and poor, nobility and peasantry, right and left. Shown through the lens of two men born on the same day in 1901, within the same estate, this is an Italy that will go through two world wars and a localized civil conflict that will almost tear the country apart.

Alfredo, the grandson of a wealthy landowner (Burt Lancaster), and Olmo, the illegitimate peasant grandson of the respected foreman of the peasants who work on the landowner’s farm (Sterling Hayden), were both born on the same day, minutes apart, in 1901. Even though Alfredo is raised as a privileged landowner, his grandfather (Burt Lancaster) takes the most interest in him and raises him to be a fair and decent man. His father (Romolo Valli) is a cruel and privileged aristocrat, and growing up, Alfredo is torn between the two completely different upbringings of the two men. Olmo, on the other hand, is raised totally by his own charismatic and idealistic grandfather, who is a proud socialist. They both are immediately drawn to each other, growing up and becoming best friends. Throughout the movie, there will be instances where both will play-fight each other, which is a symbolic mixture of pure love and class struggle. This is shown numerous times during the film and is used as the concluding message.

The movie is divided into two parts; the first follows the birth of the two protagonists up until the deaths of their respective grandfathers. The second part revolves around their adult lives, starting with the breakout of the first world war, in which both are enlisted. Olmo (now played by the great French actor Gerard Depardieu) is a fighter in the trenches, and Alfredo (now played by the great American actor Robert De Niro) is a stay-at-home officer. This, again, as Bertolucci will throughout the movie, emphasizes the vast difference in life’s treatment of the aristocrat and the peasant, which is the main theme of this epic film.

Bertolucci had very left-wing leanings, and it is obvious that in his depictions of the different social systems effecting people, it was communism that held the most appeal to him. To his benefit in the film, he will also show the failings of communism as well as its attraction, and I felt that the film’s ending held a sort of maturation and satisfaction for him about how modern Italy developed into its present democracy. The Fascists are shown rightfully as  monstrous exploitative brutes and as a natural product of the previous feudal system that pitted the rich against the poor. The movie’s depiction of a tumultuous history reminded me of Angelopoulos’s “The Traveling Players” from the previous year. That film like this one spanned a European country’s rocky 20th century, beginning through the eyes of its people. Like here, the protagonists are not heroic, and the strength of Bertolucci’s film revolves around the weakness and humanity of the two main characters.

De Niro is once again superb in the role of Alfredo.    While, in the English language version that I saw he spoke with a New York accent, his character is unlike any other De Niro role I have ever seen.  Alfredo has the heart of his grandfather but also a lack of courage that characterizes his father. I saw this clearly in the performance, as Alfredo would, on one hand, stop the fascist police from arresting his best friend and, on the other hand, freeze while the same friend is being almost beaten to death. His inability to stand up to the sadist fascist foreman Atilla (Donald Sutherland in a stunning and frightening performance) hired by his father is the major catalyst that results in his downfall. De Niro is striking in his ability to portray Alfredo for who he is, as a man lacking conviction or charisma. If there was ever proof that De Niro could play every type of role, this is it.

Depardieu is one of France’s iconic movie stars, and he was at the start of his career when he made this film. With striking good looks and an impressive physique, Depardieu easily shows Olmo as an earthly, simple person thrust into a position of leadership that he could not handle. Since all his lines are dubbed, it was his physicality and body language that impressed in the performance. Olmo would, ever since he was a child, give the pretense of being tough while at the same time being in a constant state of fear, and Depardieu made that trait believable in his performance.

Mention must also be made of the beautiful Dominque Sanda, who portrays the liberal, free-spirited French beauty who marries Alfredo. She is a quirky character who believes in love, and she reminded me a little bit of a flower child from the 1960s.  Alfredo’s lack of courage eventually destroys her will to keep pretending to be the kind mistress of the house. Sanda is once again exquisitely beautiful in the role. Her ability to cause tension between the two boyhood friends at the center of the story is totally believable. 

Of all the good performances in the movie, it is the pure evil portrayed by Sutherland as the Nazi Attila that stands out. Sutherland is all-encompassing in his portrayal of a man who takes great joy in hurting others. He is a dangerous psychopathic killer who does not have any empathy in him. While some people may feel that the portrayal is a stereotype and overexaggerated, I for one believe that there are people like him roaming around us, and to those people, the feeling of powerful superiority encompassed by fascism brings out the worst in them. That is exactly what Attila is doing with his horrendous actions. Sutherland makes this monster his own, making him one of cinema’s greatest and scariest villains. Be warned; there is one scene of horror committed by him in particular that is very difficult to watch.

At almost five and a half hours, “1900” is not perfect, and there were times that it became preachy. Especially during the second section. I preferred the first section of the movie more than the second, even though the two main actors were not in it. The earlier childhood scenes are majestic, containing a melancholic feel to them within the glorious landscapes of an historical spectacle. The movie is shot in a sweeping, beautiful style that relays the country and history like a moving painting. There is a constant mist within beautiful trees swaying with the wind that color the countryside with pure elegance. If ever there was a film that could be called sweeping, this is it. This sweeping tone to the movie is retained throughout the movie, with its greatest impression made during the movie’s first coming-of-age section that concerns boyhood. Of all the characters in the movie, the ones I liked the most were the two played by Lancaster and Haydon during this earlier section, as they portrayed a lost sense of dignity that was Italy before the tumultuous events of the beginning of the 20th century.

Ultimately, Bertolucci’s long and impressive epic of an exciting and troubled period in Italy is not a complete success. It is a bit too long, I think, and has extended elements that are obviously political. However, it also contains stunning scenes of beauty and terrific performances that make you want to think about it after it is over. When Bertolucci makes mistakes, he makes them with style, and “1900” has enough impressive moments to make it well worth watching. 

Jaws (1975)

In 1975, Steven Spielberg was a fairly novice director, having previously made a few short films for TV (which included the superb “Duel) and one extremely entertaining crime-character study (The Sugarland Express). The author, Peter Benchley, at the time, hit pay dirt with his pulp fiction novel about a giant shark wreaking havoc on a summer island resort town. Titled “Jaws” for obvious reasons, Benchley’s simple story became a best seller, but it was the discovery of Spielberg as a directing talent to be reckoned with that made the movie version of the book one of cinema’s most iconic horror films. 

Around the time of the 4th of July weekend on the fictional New England island of Amity, a great white shark takes a claim to the island’s shores and beaches as its feeding ground. Since tourism is what brings money to this peaceful holiday island, it takes more than one attack to convince the mayor to close the beaches. Once closed, the Island Chief of Police, an ex-NY City cop named Brody (Roy Scheider in his most recognizable role), a young oceanographer expert on sharks, Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss), and a grizzled tough shark hunter, Quint (Robert Shaw in his greatest role), are called upon to hunt down the shark and kill it. The movie is divided into two sections. The first one revolves around the shark attacks and the political efforts to hide the danger from the public. The second section is the hunt for the killer shark.

Spielberg understood, through the story and the film title, that he was not making a mystery. Instead, what he created was a non-stop, edge-of-your-seat vehicle of suspense. If Hitchcock taught us the meaning of suspense, it was Spielberg who took that suspense to a terrifying extreme. In making the movie, the producers build a very unrealistic mechanical model of a giant shark, and it was Spielberg’s brilliant decision to never show the entire shark or its kills directly until the movie’s conclusion that gives this movie a vision of a true monster that we, the audience, believe can and does exist. People were afraid to go into the ocean for a swim after watching this movie. This decision to not openly show almost all the kills also keeps the movie from being dated, as it is one of the few horror movies that retains its power to scare even today. I actually feel that Spielberg’s film has a lot in common with Tobe Hooper’s “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” from the previous year. One of the main differences between the two films is that Spielberg’s film, portrays the American Dream, and has a soft, human touch clearly stamped throughout its horror, while Hooper’s movie was dark and grim from beginning to end.

The movie begins with the first shark kill, where we never see the shark as it is nighttime. We are shown the pretty young and nude female victim, as she is violently swung left and right until dragged down to her demise. Her terror is palatable, and the opening sets us up for the tension-filled kills that were to come later. It is also here that we initially see the point of view of the shark, which was a revolutionary technique that Spielberg used that allowed our imaginations to believe this monster exists. In one attack, I watched through the shark’s eyes as he studied a large selection of prey from all the swimming innocents in the water before deciding on who to kill. In the end, this horrifying and thrilling style of filmmaking made me believe so much in the existence of the shark that when, at the film’s conclusion, we were shown the complete mechanical model used, I never even noticed how unrealistic it looked. To me, it was the killer I was enthralled by throughout the film. This is the great genius of Spielberg, and this is the movie that rightly thrust him into the superstardom of living directors.

There are other wonderful directorial touches in the movie that add to the fun. When the mayor forces the beaches to stay open on July 4, Chief Brody is sitting on the beach, searching for any signs of danger. In this scene, I saw what he saw: bobbing, snorkeling kids and others would get his heart pumping. Mine as well. In another scene during the hunt for the shark, Brody is throwing dead fish in the water, looking the other way, when the giant shark briefly shows itself in a quick looping dive, causing Brody, in a famous Spielberg close-up, to back up and then mumble to Quint that he’s going to need a bigger boat. It has since become one of cinema’s most famous quotes.

“Jaws” was the movie that not only started Spielberg’s magnificent career but also the career of soundtrack composer John Williams. The score here is especially famous for the “Shark Theme,” which was used in addition to the Spielberg first shark point of view shots to depict the shark when it was within the action being shown. The theme is a simple alternating pattern of two notes that are ominous and as iconic in horror movie music as Hitchcock’s shower killing score from “Psycho.”  In addition, the music during the shark hunt on the open sea has a classic Hollywood pirate adventure feel to it that worked to keep me off guard with its light, touchy feel until the shark appeared. 

Spielberg was helped by a superb cast throughout. Scheider’s Brody is likeable and self-aware. He is way over his head with what has happened to his quiet island town, and his inability at the start to overrule the mayor is telling. If a more heroic actor, such as Charlton Heston, played Brody, it would not have been as effective. Dreyfuss is, as he always is, superb in one of his early roles as a rich, smart kid who initially brings a lot of lighthearted humor to the proceedings. The person who steals the show, however, is Shaw, as his Quint is as colorful a character as there can be. He is first introduced in the town hall meeting, whereby he grabs everybody’s attention by scratching his nails on the blackboard. Then his New England accent and tough, no-halls barred demeanor utter fear into the hearts of everyone. During the hunt, he endears himself to Brody and Hooper by recalling his WW2 experience of surviving a shipwreck that had over 700 people eaten by sharks.

I have heard many people look down on Spielberg and “Jaws” as a glorified B-grade schlock movie, especially considering all the terrible copycat films that followed it. I beg to differ, as this is a superbly crafted, utterly suspenseful film that I will never tire of viewing, no matter how many times I have seen it. It is heart-stopping fun and wonderfully entertaining. If that is not the makings of a great movie, then I do not know what is. 

India Song (1975)

French cinema will sometimes baffle me. I am, in most cases, a huge fan of the in-depth search for humanity inherent in the movies coming from France. The new wave of cinema from France helped to reinvent the way we look at cinema and opened the door to very insightful art all over the world. However, the French will sometimes take their need for innovation too far, making what I feel are a lot of pretentious and boring movies that are made for the entertainment and whims of their directors rather than for an audience that has come to be enlightened and entertained. Marguerite Duras’ 1975 film, “India Song,” is a great example of the tendency for the French to make overblown arty movies made for the sheer sake of showing off. At least, that is how I see it.

Initially, this movie reminded me of Alain Resnais’ “Last Year at Marienbad,” except that movie was a beautiful rendition of a dream or ghost story, while “India Song,” try as it may to suck me in with its elegant cinematography, just left me cold and bored. “India Song” is probably the most boring movie I have ever seen. Similar to Resnais’ film, this movie has characters that move as if in a trance, but unlike the much better movie from 1964, this one never captured my interest through its visuals, no matter how beautiful its visual surface appears or how much the characters seem to move within its tango-inflicted score.

The movie follows the life of the wife of a French ambassador in India, who, through boredom, has many love affairs. The characters in the film are the main character (Dalphine Seyrig), her ambassador husband (Michael Lonsdale), and various lovers. One lover is the attaché from the Austrian Embassy; another is an old friend of her husband; and a third is an anonymous young guest. Most of the action, if one can call it action, occurs at the Embassy in Calcutta during a very restrained party. None of these characters speak throughout the movie, as Durras uses a completely objective narration to explain to us what is happening. The narration is also done in mostly poetic prose, as the characters move slowly to the rhythms of the long, languid shots and passive score. That is also not a constant in the movie, as in one particular case, as the disgraced ambassador is being thrown out of the Embassy, we hear his anguished thoughts as screams. During this scene, I felt a little bit more invested in the story, but only a little, as the rest of the movie continued at the same objective, slow, languid pace as it began.

I imagine that Duras, who grew up in the far east, was interested in showing how alien western civilization is to the eastern world. The off-screen narrating voices often speak of a local beggar who lingers outside of the Embassy, and there seems to be some sort of social comparison made between this beggar and Seyrig’s main character. Both are driven to their doom through different types of boredom that fate has bestowed upon them. Is this philosophical theme enough to hold together two hours of people moving as if in a trance while some off-screen poet narrates their predicament? I do not think so, but some may beg to differ.

Duras does, along with her cinematographer, succeed in some very artistic slow-moving shots that, along with the restrained performances of her cast and the elegant costumes, succeed in portraying a feeling of watching a classic painting. In many scenes, it is as if the characters are posing for a picture. If that was what interested me, there are far better films that do this much better. Kubrick’s “Barry Lyndon,” for example. 

It does not surprise me to know that the entire movie was filmed in France rather than in India. As a movie, there is nothing authentic about “India Song.”  It is a movie that fails to capture interest, has a style that prides itself on being difficult to understand, and is made to make its director feel smart while completely ignoring its audience. If you succeed in staying awake throughout its two-hour viewing time, give yourself a pat on the back.

Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975)

In our modern world today, people, especially children, will sometimes disappear into thin air. We all assume the worst when this happens, and in a vast majority of the incidents, the answer as to what has happened to the missing is never found. Cinema, when dealing with this phenomenon, will mostly attempt to visualize what has happened to the missing. That is not always the case, and Peter Weir’s mythicized and eerie movie, “Picnic at Hanging Rock,” is an example of one such film that does the exact opposite.

The movie is set in the year 1900, in the outback region of Australia. Based on a popular 1967 novel of the same name, the plot is a fictionalized account of the strange disappearance of three schoolgirls and one of their teachers. On Valentine’s Day in 1900, a group of teenage girls from a strict boarding school situated in the middle of the Australian wilderness go out on a much-anticipated outing to a picturesque location called Hanging Rock. Three of them and one teacher climb above the picnic site and do not return, while one will be found a few days later unconscious and, upon waking up, without any memory as to what has happened to her. The rest of the movie revolves around how this terrible incident affects the rest of the school as well as two local boys who were at the site of the disappearance when it happened. 

The New Australian Cinema that began at the start of the 1970s would very often deal with the cultural clash between the civilized western or European world and the wild, ingenious world of the local Aboriginals. “Picnic at Hanging Rock” is no different but chooses to place its emphasis on the mystic aspect of the people from the land of which they have inherited. In the film, the school is this great Victorian structure surrounded by controlled gardens and oozing with structure and order. Its appearance in the middle of the outback seemed obscene to me. The school is contrasted greatly with the rising geological structure, which is “Hanging Rock.” Rising above the land, this geological outcropping becomes ominous, and Weir films it in such a way that it looks alive with eyes staring out at those who would defile it. 

In addition, the teenage girls at the picnic wear matching virginal white corsets and dresses along with elegant shoes that are so unsuitable for the landscape that they become symbolic in this clash of cultures. The girls will write fantasy love letters before the trip, and when the three girls decide to explore, they need to remove parts of their cumbersome clothing, including their shoes. There is a clear sexual suppression that I felt within their forced social behavior and their need to let loose. While climbing up the rock, there are two local boys who lustily watch them. Are those boys part of the mystery? I initially thought so, until later, when I found out that one of the boys went out desperately searching for the lost girls. The movie is full of hints as to what happened that will then be debunked later. It is an ultimate mystery, except that it isn’t, because if it were, it would be a failure.

What Weir does succeed with in his beautifully shot film is leaving me with a feeling of spiritual mysticism within the ancient land that these controlled girls have invaded. The eyes I saw in the rock and the fear inherent in the teacher who went missing were ingrained in the misty cinematography. For me, it became clear that something unearthly occurred at the picnic, but like everyone else, I did not know what it was. 

Weir’s decision to not concentrate on the mystery but rather on how the mystery effects its surroundings make this a very different and special film. Helping him out in creating his slow-burning, almost chilling atmosphere is the panpipe-driven folk music that drives the soundtrack. The music reminded me of the original “Wicker Man,” with its sinister-sounding feel. Especially during the scenes on the rock itself. In developing this style, the movie further emphasizes how some of the scariest threats are those enveloped in civility. Not only on the Rock, but even in the school, a girl who is a bit of a rebel and was banned from going on the trip is abused by the cold, hard headmistress. In fact, the spelled-out tragedy that does occur in the movie becomes something separate from the event of the missing girls, although Weir makes it clear that the tragic events are a direct result of the class of cultures. A class that is more spiritual, even sensual, than physical or sexual. 

Full of a mystic feel and sprinkled with suppressed tension throughout, “Picnic and Hanging Rock” fails as a crime mystery but succeeds gloriously as an unsolved tale that could or could not be a ghost story. It is a movie that lingers long after the closing credits and is a treasure from the rich new Australian cinema. 

Raise Ravens (Cria Cuervos) (1976)

Movies about childhood seen through the eyes of a child are some of the most difficult films to get right. This is mostly due to the struggle to find a convincing child actor. The Spanish director Carlos Saura had the advantage of seeing one such child actress perform in Victor Erice’s brilliant film, “The Spirit of the Beehive.”  Her name is Ana Torrent, and she is once again thoroughly convincing in Saura’s sad view of three girls who quickly become parentless during the final years of Franco’s fascist dictatorship in his poignant film, “Cria Cuervos.” 

Torrent portrays Ana, an 8-year-old girl who also has two sisters, Conchi (11 years old) and Maite (5 years old). Recently, their mother died in the house from cancer, and the movie’s present time is set in the year Saura made the film (1975). The story is set inside their large and gloomy house outside of Madrid and opens as Ana is awakened by the sounds of love made by her father and his married lover. It seems that Ana blames her mother’s death on her father’s infidelity, as she sneaks outside their bedroom door when suddenly the lover screams, rushes out of the door, and runs away from the house as Ana discovers her father’s dead body on the bed, apparently from a heart attack. From there, her mother’s unmarried sister Paulina (Monica Randall) takes over the house and the responsibility of the three girls. The movie will then follow how life and coming of age occur for Ana, while intertwining Ana’s dream visions of her mother and flashbacks of when her mother and father were alive with futuristic foreshadowing interpretations of Ana as an adult. Portraying Ana’s mother in a dual role with the foreshadowed future adult Ana is Saura’s lover and friend, Geraldine Chaplin. Since the mother is an Englishwoman living in Spain, Chaplin, who is English, uses her own voice as the mother but has her voice dubbed when portraying the adult Ana.

Since this is a movie told from the perspective of a small child, the fantasy elements with Ana’s dead mother fit elegantly within the story, as children are always daydreaming, and a child who lost a loving parent will tend to daydream that the parent is still with them. Especially during times of pain and trauma. The fantasy mother first appears right at the start of the movie when Ana is washing a half-drunk glass of milk that she removed from her now-dead father’s night table. While in the kitchen washing the glass, the mother appears as a loving and tender comfort to the little girl. At this point in the film, I did not realize that the mother was already dead and that Ana was being comforted by her imagination. The scene sets the tone of the entire film, and once I was informed that the opening scene had made Ana an orphan, everything else fell into place. 

Seeing a future Ana speaking about her childhood, as that is all the future Ana does in the movie, was also a clever way for Saura to interpret how this childhood effects and creates the adult. I felt pain in the face of the adult Ana while seeing how her childhood continued as an orphan. All of these separate elements between reality, fantasy, the past, present, and future are not presented in a linear fashion, giving the entire film a surrealistic and poetic feel. 

Symbolism is used throughout the movie, and Saura used various clever props to instill mystery. For example, the glass of milk is imagined in Ana’s mind as being poisoned by her, and the weapon used is the death of her father, for whom she blames her mother’s death in a way that only a child can assign blame. The poison, of course, is in her mind and is used in other clever ways of showing childish empathy in the wonderful child that is Ana. Living in the big house is Ana’s invalid grandmother, whom everyone looks at with annoyance and treats like another piece of furniture. Except Ana, of course, who will speak to her grandmother and ask her what she wants. When she asks the grandmother if she wants to die, the old lady nods yes, and Ana will give her a glass of milk containing her imagined poison. Other symbolic elements of the movie, such as the men being military men, being cold and selfish, and the prison-like feel of the great house, were elements that did not leave that much of an impression on me. I was more interested in the world of the little girl.

While Aunt Paulina is a sad and cold person, she is also shown as having a heart and seems to truly care about the children. I appreciated the way that she was not portrayed as a villain. Her becoming the guardian of three girls was not her doing, and Saura shows her difficulty. Also, as an unmarried woman, she is depicted as a woman who is set in her ways, which makes a lot of sense. Through the eyes of Ana, she is not her mother, and as such, she is resentful of the little girl. Showing her as a real person and not a villain helps to add depth to the story. 

“Cria Cuervos is a sad movie, although within its sadness there are many spurts of childhood joy. Most of the joyful scenes are combined with the playing of Ana’s favorite (or only) music record. Ana’s mother was once a very promising pianist before she got married, and music was dear to Ana. The record is the pop song from 1975, “Porque te vas,” which is a delightfully catchy tune that children love. Ana plays the song to cheer herself up and dances with her sisters to its chirpy tune in one delightful scene.

While many people see “Cria Cuervos” as a metaphor for the end of Franco’s Spain, it is the sadness of a wonderful little girl’s exposure to reality that took me in and swept me away. As a movie made through the eyes of a child and as an interpretation of a child’s resilience over tragedy, it is a movie of extraordinary grace and power.

Salo, or the 120 days of Sodom (Salo o le 120 giornate di Sodoma) (1975)

Pier Paolo Pasolini was one of the new Italian cinema’s more intellectual directors. He was a director who saw poetry in almost everything he did, and his acclaimed cinematic version of the New Testament (The Gospel according to St. Matthew) is probably the Catholic Church’s best-loved version of the good book. Just before his violent death, Pasolini completed his personal indictment against fascism and the dangers of the human condition. The completed film, Salo, has been described as the most obscene movie ever made and as unwatchable. While I do not agree with it being the most obscene film, I did find the movie barely watchable and was forced to turn my gaze from the screen on numerous occasions while watching it. 

The movie is set during the waning days of World War II in the town of Salo, which was the headquarters at the time for Mussolini’s puppet Italian Social Republic. Four powerful men, the Duke (Paulo Bonacelli), who represents royalty; the Bishop (Giorgio Cataldi), who represents the church; the magistrate (Umberto P. Quinatvalle), who represents law; and the President (Aldo Valletti), who represents the political leadership, hold hostage a group of young men and women for the express purpose of having complete and unhindered power over them. Throughout 120 days, these four men, along with four teenage boy guards called the collaborators, four young soldiers chosen for their enlarged penis size called blackshirts, and four middle-aged prostitutes who recall daily stories concerning the worst things that happened to them in their profession, will torture and assault the 18 victims up until a horrific ending that is too terrible to describe here. 

The number four plays an important part in the plot, as in addition to its separation of the different protagonists into groups of four, Pasolini also divides the movie into four segments that are apparently inspired by Dante’s “Devine Comedy.”  The first segment, called Anteinferno, has the 18 victims being gathered and taken into custody. The second segment, called “The Circle of Manias,”  concerns the sexual tortures inflicted on the victims, which are devised daily based on the stories told by the prostitutes. The third segment, “Circle of Shit,”  while continuing with the sexual torture, has added to the obscenities forced consumption of human feces.  The final segment, called the Circle of Blood, shows in horrific detail the final fate of all the surviving hostages. 

This is a movie that shows what human beings are capable of if given all-consuming power over another human being. Its horrendous and depressing message is, sadly, not far from the truth. Even today, there are over 100 hostages who are under the same terrifying control as their captors, similar to the hostages shown in this movie. The obscenities shown in the film include both heterosexual and homosexual rape, crucifixion, hanging, tearing of tongues, the forced consumption of glass and shit, as well as much more. 

Pasolini uses mostly non-actors to portray his victims, and their campy performances allowed me to keep a safe distance from the torture instilled in them. Otherwise, the movie would be even more unwatchable than it is. In addition, the actors playing the four main torturers bring a certain glee to their roles. Some scenes are so outlandish that they actually reminded me of a bad Monty Python sketch.  For example, there is a discussion between the four men when looking at the hostage boys lying naked, regarding which of them has the most perfect ass. If the previous scenes were not so vile, I may have found this an attempt at humor. It is not, however, as it is just another attempt by Pasolini to show the levels of human depravity and insensitivity given to those who have ultimate power over others. 

Pasolini was a very talented director, and his filming of the decorative villa where these obscenities take place has a classic painting feel to it.  This makes sense since many classic paintings from the Italian Renaissance were violent and depicted torture. He also depicts the final and most horrific of scenes through the perspective of binoculars from above, through the eyes of the four tyrants, which reminded me a little bit of Hitchcock’s “Rear Window. Only in style, and unfortunately, not in content. 

Personally, I do not understand the people who find this movie somehow enlightening or important. I do not need Pasolini to tell me that people, uninhibited by any moral code, can be monstrous to each other. Watching this movie, I believe, is akin to watching a snuff film or a geek show at a carnival. Those who search it out are not looking for a message they can identify with. For this reason, I believe that Pasolini failed in his attempt to say something about the human condition. I chose to believe that human beings can also be good, and this movie ignores that truism completely. “Salo” is not a movie that I would recommend anyone watch. 

Nashville (1975)

With his 1970 film, “M*A*S*H”, Robert Altman created the ensemble cast movie style in which an ensemble cast replace lead characters in movies.   In 1975, he went one step further by using the same premise to portray an epic mosaic of interrelated characters five days before a political rally in Nashville, Tennessee.     Since Nashville is the country music capital of the world, music, or more specifically, the country music industry becomes an important aspect to the themes of the movie.  Themes that portray the dark sides of American culture and politics, such as greed, ambition, politics and most particularly, celebrity.

Taking place in Nashville, a few days before a large political rally of a radical and surprisingly successful third party candidate for the US Presidency, the plot includes the actions of 24 main characters, ranging from famous singers, up-and-coming stars, a chauffeur driver, a political publicist, aspiring singers both talented and not talented, a British documentary filmmaker, a celebrity lawyer, a celebrity manager who is married to a celebrity, an elderly man dreading the death of his sick wife, a psychopath and many more.    The movie begins in a recording studio where a major and established star played by Henry Gibson is recording a new song and ends at a large political rally that features a concert with the same singer.   In between, all the characters intermingle and react to each other, as they all end up at the rally in the movie’s powerful ending.   

Every single one of the 24 performances is terrific and special mention needs to be made to a few.  Gibson who, before this film, was a minor comedian, swings between narcissism, cruelty and sympathy without missing a beat.   His character at the outset seems selfish and vindictive, but he succeeds in creating a character arc that allowed me to feel empathy for what it is like living within the established music industry, which is shown to be cutthroat and insensitive.   There is also nothing humorous about his character, making his performance that much more surprising.   Another even more established comedienne is Lily Tomlin, and she is terrific in an equally somber, unhumorous role as the gospel singer who is not only the mother of two deaf children, but also the husband of the uninterested celebrity lawyer (Ned Beaty).   Tomlin shows terrific range in the movie and has two of the most poignant scenes in the film.  One where she listens to a swimming pool story told in sign language by her son and another when she sits transfixed and sad in an audience watching the handsome and promiscuous up-and-coming folk singer (Keith Carradine) sing a song that she thinks is directed only at her (which it is not).   The first scene is one of the most heartfelt in the movie and the latter one of the saddest.    Tomlin’s character, while short on dialogue, is rich in expression, and she knocks it out of the park.    Also of note is the standout performance of Ronee Blakley as the most successful of the famous singers who has just recovered from a tragic accident and is neurotic.    I thought it was very clever for Altman and his screenwriters to make the most famous and successful character also the least stable.  There are many other well-thought-out characters that make this one of the most colorful of movies.   

Robert Altman was the most European of all the American directors who came of the new Hollywood from the 70s, and his movies remind me a lot of the French new wave.   This movie, especially, as, “Nashville”, is a character-driven rather than plot-driven film that uses its camera to follow not one particular person during each scene, but a group of characters that exist seemingly to create the reality that is the country music capital of the world.   This is the movie that finally took Altman’s famous use of overlapping dialogue to its highest level.   With so many different characters to be interested in, and only 2.5 hours to show, the vast depth of dialogue is essential here, and Altman hits his stride with his ability to allow his camera to follow the important pieces of what is being said.   This allowed me to be invested in each of the 24 main characters, which is an amazing feat.  The movie owes a great debt to the musicals of Jacques Demy with the way the camera follows a character and then abruptly takes its aim at another one going in a different direction.    The movie also has the heart of Truffaut with its ability to make me care about so many characters.    Truffaut’s, “Day for Night”, while much kinder than this film, immediately comes to mind while watching this movie.   There, as well as here, there were numerous characters within one framework who never behaved the best, while retaining their humanity, making me care about each of them or at least empathize with each of them.   

Altman has said that at least one hour of the movie’s 2.5 hour running time is made up of musical performances.   He also asked each of his singing actors to write and then perform their own original pieces.  It is hard for me to give an honest critical opinion on the music, since country and Western is probably one of the two musical styles that I dislike the most.   If there is only one song within the movie that truly stands out, that would be Keith Carradine’s “I’m Easy”, which won him a surprising Academy Award for best song.  That was something that the academy finally got right in that category.   The reason for this is that I believe a best song movie award should always be a song that helps to promote the narrative of the movie, which is exactly what Carradine’s song does.   While performing it he is singing about the unfaithful way that he conquers women, while in the audience there are four separate women that he took to his bed during the movie, and each one of them believes that he is singing to them.  Alongside the almost stargazing looks of those women while he sings, the words take on a whole different meaning.  The scene would be funny if it was not so sad.  

The first half of the movie, for me, was an interesting and enjoyable introduction to all its moving parts, but it is in the last hour that the movie really takes off.   Once I found myself surprisingly taken in by so many different characters, seeing them set themselves up for the epic ending was a pleasure to watch.    The movie ends with a prophetic and harsh societal criticism that I will not ruin for those few who have not watched the movie.  However, I will say that the ending includes one character of a married lady trying to escape her husband while pleading for someone to allow her to sing a song she had written, who finally gets to perform the song.  This scene is so powerful that it reminded me of Kubrick’s poignant ending to, “Paths of Glory” when the poor French girl sings a song of love that brings tears to a crowd of leering soldiers.  In, “Nashville”, this closing song evokes a similar feeling as it transfixes the world and stops a feeling of tragedy, if only for the moment that the song is in the air.   

As a vehicle for powerful ensemble acting, Altman’s, “Nashville” is second to none.   It is, however, even greater than that commendable feat.   This is a movie about American culture and it’s not a pretty sight.   Almost all the characters in the film use somebody else to that person’s detriment and for their own benefit.   They bring about behaviors that are driven by the need to be heard, whether through politics or entertainment.   Why do so many Americans want to be famous, and why are they seeking out such callous fake love?   That is the question asked by Altman in his movie.  This is a great director at his peak and “Nashville” is not only his masterpiece but one of the greatest movies ever made.  

Fox and his Friends (Freedom’s Law of the Jungle) (Faustrecht der Freiheit) (1975)

LGBT Cinema are movies that either deal with LGBT topics or are concerned with the lives of people inside the LGBT community.   Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s, “Fox and his Friends”, is the latter of those two types of movies.    It is also one of the best of its kind.     Dealing with a melodramatic story of love and betrayal, the movie works more as a conflict between the class cultures in Germany than anything else.    By the time the movie ends, I was so caught up in the story, that the fact that it is set entirely within the German LGBT community in the 1970s, became an almost unnoticeable aspect of the film.    

“Fox and his Friends” is a tragedy that concerns the rise and fall of one Franz Bieberkopf (Fassbinder himself who proves that he was no slouch when it came to acting).   Franz works in a carnival under the synonym of, “Fox the talking head”, and the movie opens as the creator of this carnival act, who is also Franz’s lover, is arrested for tax evasion, leaving France unemployed.    France is a lottery addict who needs to consistently purchase lottery tickets each week and when his last bit of cash is stolen, he reverts to prostitution so that he can buy the current week’s ticket.    Due to time constraints, he still needs to steal money to buy his ticket and does that at a local florist.      Franz is introduced as Fox by his well to do trick Max (Karlheinz Bohm).     It turns out that the lottery ticket he purchased was the winning ticket with a 600,000 German Mark prize.      One of Max’s friends is Eugen (Peter Chatel) who, while initially showing his disgust at Franz’s lower-class sensibilities, changes his attitude once he realizes that France won the lottery.     By seducing France, Eugen uses deceit and dishonesty, and works to psychologically destroy Franz’s self-esteem, taking advantage of his kindness in attempting to slyly steal all his newfound wealth.  

Once France and Eugen are a couple, Eugen will slowly and with cold intent work to first make France feel like he is entering an equal world within Eugen’s own world of money and manners, while at the same time making him feel inept at every turn.   This emotional manipulation was very clear to me from the beginning, which made it equally sad to watch how Franz did not realize what was happening before it was too late.    Interestingly, when they initially meet, Franz is shown as a confident free soul, as if he is in control of the situation.  His slow sad transformation into a victim was utterly believable.   The fact that I saw it coming a mile away did not ruin the authenticity, as Franz’s lack of intelligence was never in question.   Within this relationship, Fassbinder gives an insightful critique of German society that differentiates people through class and money.   Love, which is the strongest of emotions, gets purchased here for money.    Franz has no qualms about prostituting himself when he is poor, which is a characteristic of his that Eugen takes full advantage of.  Franz is now more than willing to use his money to attain what he once thought was an unattainable love and lifestyle, while at the same time, it is Eugen who becomes the prostitute.   Love, social standing and money have never been more cynically interwoven than how they are portrayed in this movie.

It is quite interesting that, as a very liberal and freely showing LGBT film, “Fox and his friends”, is in a way a little conservative with its view on the German LGBT community in the early 70s, all the while retaining a universal story of love and betrayal.    There are depictions of bathroom sex, bath houses, and promiscuity, yet the story is so beautifully laid out and expressed, that the background of where it takes place becomes less significant.    

Similar to many of Fassbinder’s movies, “Fox and his Friends” revolves most of its drama within closed interiors that feel almost prison-like to its characters.    When Franz purchases a fancy apartment, he is made to feel immediately like an uninvited guest, through the personality of Eugen, who controls not only the living schedule of the flat, but also its complete design.   It would be made quite clear to Franz that his lower-class sensibilities would not allow him to make decisions in his new life.   He becomes a prisoner in the short-term luxury created by his sudden and unexpected wealth.   I remember being struck by stories of suddenly successful athletes who become extremely wealthy and just as quickly lose their wealth to others.   “Fox and his Friends” is a great example of this exact repeated social phenomenon.  

Other than Franz’s poor alcoholic sister and some boring spouses, who are married for money, all the characters in the movie belong to the LGBT community, making “Fox and his Friends” not only a terrific melodrama, but also a great example that, no matter who you are, we as human beings are pretty much all the same.      Not only is that a great message, but the movie it also comes from is an excellent slice of life from post-war Germany.