The excerpt below was originally published as part of a larger feature “The Films Of Pedro Almodóvar: A Retrospective” on Indiewire blog ‘The Playlist’

”Kika” (1993)
After the drama of “High Heels”, “Kika” sees Almodóvar return to more familiar territory of oddball sex and death, mostly ditching the melodrama for a screwier-than-most comedy, with a dose of heavier social commentary that doesn’t really wash under it all.  The somewhat absurdist storyline of the well-meaning Kika (Veronica Forque), a make-up artist, and her involvement with the possible wife-murdering expat writer Nicholas (Peter Coyote) and his thought-to-be dead son Ramon (Alex Casanovas) (who comes back to life under Kika’s blush brush) is just the beginning of cluttered narrative. There’s also the lesbian housekeeper Juana (Rossy De Palma), and her maniacally perverse brother Paul, as well as Andrea “Scarface” (Victoria Abril) who hosts a reality-type show called “Today’s Worst,” who used to date Ramon, and is after them all in a bid to air their dirty laundry on set. Voyeurism and incest, are both given a turn in the kinky plotline—there’s even a seemingly comical yet graphic rape scene, the ever irreverent Almodóvar doing his best to turn the serious into slapstick—which caused massive public outcry in the USA and the usual NC-17 rating threats. The casualness of the rape perhaps is what caused the greatest offence – Kika complains she needs to pee and blow her nose, and all but slaps her forehead as her rapist heads into his 3rd orgasm, his record being 4.  “Kika” looks fantastically vibrant and whimsical, with not shortage of kitschy colourful sets and campy costumes—the best of which (dominatrix spycam onesies) are provided by Jean-Paul Gaultier. So it all works until it doesn’t, and that happens in the final third of the film, where it suddenly turns from offbeat sex and death laughs, into a cynical crime thriller, and winds up feeling flat and nasty. [C+]

I chose the two films I saw from the 2010 Japanese Film Festival – Flowers (2010) and Confessions (2010) – straight from program guide with relatively little research. Flowers had a stellar all-female leading cast in its favour, including Ryoko Hirosue (Departures) and Yu Aoi (Tokyo!), and Confessions was Japan’s entry for the 2011 Oscar’s Best Foreign Language Film (if it doesn’t win the nomination, the odds that it will screen in Melbourne again are pretty slim).

As it turns out, these films have more in common than just appearing in the 2010 JFF together: they share both subject matter and polished production values (possibly reflecting a rejection of the low-budget, handheld camera work that has dominated independent cinema in the last few years). I wish I could say the quality of both films was also on par, but here they differ quite extremely.

Flowers centres around the two-headed beast of female issues, motherhood and marriage, and manages to mishandle both. It follows three generations of Japanese women from the 1930s to 1960s/70s through to the 21^st century, carrying an outdated fantasy of a woman’s purpose – to marry and procreate – through the decades. It also celebrates the misguided notion that motherhood is a noble sacrifice that is best suffered silently, which is highlighted by one mother facing a “noble” death in childbirth.

The look of Flowers lies somewhere between a tourism and an SKII promo spot, so it came as no surprise when I discovered that that the film was produced Takuya Onuki, an internationally acclaimed creative director. The project was in fact was conceived by Onuki for Shiseido, and all of the actresses in the film regularly appear in the marketing for its Tsunaki shampoo – which makes sense because they all have great hair. One of the characters’ story arcs actually ends with a new haircut (while, sickeningly enough, Olivia Newton John’s ‘Have You Ever Been Mellow’ plays in the background).

Flowers not only offended me with its small-minded message and condescending delivery, it left me feeling browbeaten by conventional beauty presented as an ideal, as airbrushed woman after airbrushed woman trotted across the screen to deliver the hokey dialogue with a smile or a silent tear, on her way to finding fulfilment in her offspring or husband.

The film attempts to pay tribute to (or style bites, depending how you look at it) Japanese cinema over the decades, reflecting the timeline of the narrative. It’s a strategy that would work to the film’s favour, but the design is about as sophisticated as a McDonalds advertisement. It is films like this that give female-centric cinema a bad name, by not only being boring but also by perpetuating and propagating the most nauseating male ideas of femininity.

Confessions touches on similar subject matter to Flowers with regards to the mother-child bond and boasts equally slick production, which echoes both music videos and advertisements, but that’s where the similarities end. Based on a bestselling Japanese novel of the same name, Confessions spent 4 weeks at the top of the Box Office in Japan, which speaks to the excellent taste of the Japanese film-going community: this film is as devastating as it is beautiful-looking.

The power of a mother’s love gets very different treatment in Confessions. Instead of the silent, self-sacrificing death of Flowers, we see chilling psychological warfare conducted to protect or revenge a child’s life. The film also criticises a mother’s protective urges towards their brood when it is taken to extremes. Not quite the fulfilling family portrait that springs to mind when one considers reproduction, is it?

Confessions echoes many excellent films including Akira Kurosawa Rashomon (in structure) and Gus Van Sant’s Elephant (in both style andsubject matter), as well as the brilliant book We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver, who similarly flips mass media’s fantasy of procreation on its head. The film is both realistic and articulate in expressing its unconventional messages.

The pacing of the film is refreshing from the start, opening with a static 20-odd minute monologue (the first confession) from Takako Matsu, who plays a 7^th grade teacher. Her cool, even speech, which details a personal violent tragedy, is underscored by the boisterous shouts of her students – until they are suddenly silent. From there, the film jumps back and forth between the monologues/confessions of various students and their parents, building towards a climactic confrontation.

Every element, from the editing to the stunning visuals, works in beautiful harmony to support the tone and narrative of this film. The slick commercial style of the visuals combined with a grey colour palette reflects a moral wasteland, heightening the theme of cold revenge and the bloody release of violence.

The performances are also creepily believable; the actors take a monologue-heavy script and create lifelike characters that ring true, rather than projecting demonised caricatures of evil and wrong-doing. It is hard not to feel something for all of the characters during the film, as horrible as their actions are.

Though the soundtrack (including a track by Radiohead) was powerful when combined with some of the stylised, surreally beautiful slow motion shots of water, or droplets of blood, the feeling of watching a hyper-glossy advertisement or music video was a little jarring.

Confessions manages to be both disturbing and devastating because the emotions (anxiety, ennui, prejudice) and circumstances (school bullying, the rise of teenage violence, abuse of the child protection act) presented in the film seem incredibly real. Though it is a work of fiction Confessions feels unshakably true.

Originally published on Screen Machine

Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World seemed to be a film that everybody had an opinion on, but rather than whether it was good or bad it was more about who would like it and why. And it turns out I shouldn’t have liked it – even though I did.

According to a lot of film writers Scott Pilgrim was made for one or all of the following - gamers, comic book fans but, worst of all, for misogynistic (if geekier inclined) males. The misogynistic tag is what troubled me the most because even though I call myself a feminist – I really liked Scott Pilgrim a lot. I loved the pacing, the gags and thought the soundtrack was stellar. So I had another look.

For me, the most noticeable ”sexism alarm” when viewing a film is the presence of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl (MPDG), a term coined by Nathan Rabin of the AV Club and defined as follows:

that bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures… Like the Magical Negro, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl archetype is largely defined by secondary status and lack of an inner life. She’s on hand to lift a gloomy male protagonist out of the doldrums, not to pursue her own happiness.

Ramona Flowers (the love interest in Scott Pilgrim vs The World) is definitely not your typical Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Her demeanour is considerably less bubbly (and thankfully non-tap dancing) and she does appear to be seeking her own happiness somewhat (or at least a desire to get away from the drama of her exes). She is not “completely available” and she doesn’t necessarily “really like you” like most MPDGs – though she is “absolutely desirable”. On the flip side it does seem that it’s Ramona and all her baggage (in Evil Ex form) that is what allows Scott to find his own fulfilment in the end (firstly through love which doesn’t cut it and finally through self respect which does). She is also a character defined by her past and present love interests. Apart from her love life, her work and her ever changing hair colour is about all we know of her.  This leaves Ramona in the somewhat grey area of MPDG’s like Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind’s Clementine.

In 1985, Alison Bechdel’s comic strip “Dykes to Watch Out For” introduced what has become popularly known as The Bechdel Test, a type of litmus test for female presence in movies. The three basic requirements for movies are: (1) It has to have at least two women in it, and preferably characters with names (2) These women must talk to each other and (3) They must talk to each other about something besides a man. Does Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World pass or fail? Lets see: There are more than two named female characters.  These female characters do talk to each other. And yes, the female characters do technically talk to each other about something besides a man on a few occasions (though not for very long). To be fair most of the film is spent talking about relationships and not many of the male or female characters talk about much else. Welcome back to the fun grey area of feminist analysis, we hope you’ll stick around.

Aside from that, I can tell you that I really did like the most excellent sidekick cast. The “League of Evil Exes” be damned, I wanted more screen time for the “League of Super Sort’ve-Sidekicks” which are mostly women. Between Aubrey Plaza, Anna Kendrick Alison Pill, Ellen Wong (and token guy Keiren Cullkin) I would have trouble choosing a favourite character actor. It didn’t hurt that most of the support cast also got the best zingy one liners and hilarious gags - the two things which I liked best about this movie. Once again these characters were 2-by-4 in terms of “inner life”. They can mostly be summed up in one or two words: There’s the constantly acerbic Julie, fast talking sister Stacey, outspoken drummer Kim and the lovesick teen Knives Chau. Oh and the gay roommate Wallace. The actors gave these characters more heft but in a movie that’s based more around quips than real dialogue how much depth should we be looking for? Is it enough to say that though the female characters had only 1-2 personality traits turned up to 11 most of the male characters fared the same? In fact the only real, rounded character in this movie was the one played by Michael Cera. Which could be because his name was in the title? In the end rather than finding either Scott Pilgrim or Ramona Flowers particularly offensive to my feminist sensibilities, I just found the supporting cast of characters funnier and more engaging but it would have been great to see more movie minutes devoted to developing them into more rounded characters.

Originally published on Screen Machine

I didn’t see a female-fronted band until I was 19, after a year and a half of rabid gig-attending once I was of age – even though I saw literally every international band that came to Australia. ‘Life-changing’ would probably be underselling that particular experience for me. As soon as I saw the incredibly cool-looking girl jumping around the stage in insane outfits and a mile-wide smile I wanted to run out and start my own band.

Though my own band (Sheila and the Radicals for lyfe) never moved beyond two-and-a-half practices and the same amount of songs (zero shows RIP), it’s still one of my favourite early-twenties memories. The idea of three girls sitting in a bedroom translating individual experiences into words and lyrics that would theoretically be performed in public, for the world, was exciting and empowering, though for me the instrument-playing was always a tad mystifying – I didn’t quite get how people turned lyrics into actual songs.

After reading musician Kristin Hersh’s Rat Girl, which I read partly for the awesome cover art by Gilbert Hernandez and partly because Patron Saint of Riot Grrrl Kathleen Hanna told me via blogland it was awesome, I was reminded of my previous desire to front a band and that I love women who do it.

In Rat Girl, Hersh rewrites the diary from her eighteenth year. The way she talks about music in the book is unique and personal, as well as envy-inducing. Hersh describes seeing chords and notes in vivid colour, mixed together in song to make a whole rainbow, which sounds like the dream of artistic calling that all wannabe artists fantasise about. Then she goes on to describe songs as ‘devils … that grab your face and shout at it’,filling her mind with their noise until she writes them and burning her skin until she performs them – a.k.a. the downside.

I had never listened to Hersh’s band Throwing Muses or seen Hersh live prior to reading Rat Girl, and I didn’t until I finished the book. Hersh’s relationship to music and her description of it was such a unique and moving one that it felt completely relatable nonetheless. She describes her music as noise and as poetry (among other things) and I didn’t want my critical-music-fan mind to muddy up her descriptions – and I was just scared I wouldn’t like it.

Hersh’s rewriting of her diary is still diary-like – confessional, zig-zagging, with obvious gaping holes of history – focusing instead on feelings, experiences and thoughts that matter more to the writer than the reader. The best thing that Hersh’s book does, though, is give a true and honest picture of a less-than-normal teen incapable of being anything but true to herself, not unlike Patti Smith’s Just Kids.

The last third of the book covers Hersh’s bipolar syndrome and her pregnancy. She deals with both in her own way, matter-of-factly taking motherhood and mania in her stride, seeing babies as ‘so punk rock: bald and drooling, yelling and grinning’. The book finishes with her releasing her first album and giving birth to her first child, at what seems to be the official end of Hersh’s teens.

Marisa Meltzer’s book Girl Power is a part-historical, part-personal account ranging from the nineties music scene, Riot Grrrl to the Spice Girls, to now – from Avril Lavigne to Taylor Swift. Meltzer is a musician herself (she was in short-lived band The Skirts) but she reads more like a fan – as we all know, it’s hard to be a true fan and not try your hand at something!

Besides the similar subject matter, women in music, Rat Girl and Girl Power also talk about music in a similar way – as all-encompassing. They also discuss its importance to teenagers, specifically teenage girls, as this is the age when music is so important – when they are young and angry.

Meltzer states in the book that her own life was partly defined by music, and I can say she’s not the only one. Why else would it be so important to me and so many others how many female artists there are in Rolling Stone’s ‘best of’ lists? Why else would there be so much outcry at Triple J’s ‘Hottest 100 of all time’ list, which, disappointingly, featured no female artists? In fact, for me it’s hard to talk about gender and not talk about popular culture, or music: from the subtler misogyny and racism in the rock band world – where every music festival line-up comprises mostly caucasian straight males – and the more obvious homophobia and misogyny in the pop charts, to the times I make someone a mix tape and they don’t like it because there are too many girl singers.

A fascinating aspect of Girl Power is female musicians talking about becoming female musicians. Unlike boys, who instinctively pick up guitars and drumsticks and make noise without thinking, girls may be more inclined to pick higher-pitch instruments like piano and harp and practice for years before even thinking about taking the stage. Khaela Maricich of The Blow is quoted as saying: ‘my experience of being a girl is that you don’t want to show off in front of people unless you really know what you’re doing. That’s a huge dividing line between girls and boys. Guys just do it without thinking. They’re so balls out, they just keep throwing shit out there.’ But what would the music scene look like if every girl got a guitar on her fifteenth birthday like Corrine Burns from Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains wanted? Would more girls be drumming if they didn’t have to go against the instinct to suck in their guts and not make stupid faces while playing, or deal with issues like the young, pregnant Hersh, who had to learn to play guitar over her pregnant stomach?

Meltzer also makes excellent points about the disadvantages of the Riot Grrrl 1992 media black-out, which followed one too many caricature stories of the movement, and the unfortunate elitism of the DIY lounge-room show circuit, which to Meltzer not only felt exclusive and cliquey, but also meant one had to be in the know to even, well, know about the shows (though the media and cultural elitism of the nineties, also known as the pre-internet-democracy age, is less relevant now). After all, there was a reason I had both Kelis and Alanis Morissette’s debut albums before I got Bikini Kill’s. For me Kaleidoscope and Jagged Little Pill were stepping stones to other female musicians that eventually led me to read feminist authors like Naomi Wolf and Germaine Greer. Though I know this is not necessarily the case for everyone, one would hope that modern accessible female musicians offer some sort of female empowerment to their listeners – as comedian David Walliams said – ‘Not everyone has read The Female Eunuch, but everyone’s heard of Geri Halliwell saying “Girl Power”.’

One of the best aspects of Meltzer’s discussion of women and music is how she generates a positive discussion about the helpful aspects of popular music instead of taking the easier and more obvious potshots. She looks at the vilified Spice Girls in a different light, considering that their songs were aimed at tweens and provided a tween version of feminism in the form of ‘Girl Power’. Rarely have the Spice Girls been praised alongside comparatively unheralded indie scenes like Riot Grrrl and Foxcore. I can say that I was just as devastated about the Destiny’s Child break-up as I was about indie rock band Sleater-Kinney’s, though Beyoncé never said anything as incendiary as Corin Tucker’s statement, ‘We’re not here to fuck the band. We are the band!’ in the nineties. You’d hope that, today, we wouldn’t have to.

Originally published on Killings the Kill Your Darlings blog.

The excerpts below was originally published as part of a larger features “When Celebrated Directors Lose The Plot: Interesting Left Turns And Failures In An Auteur’s Oeuvre” on Indiewire blog ‘The Playlist’

“Elizabethtown” - (2005) - Cameron Crowe
When Cameron Crowe made “Vanilla Sky” it seemed to fans that he had veered somewhat off course, and when the promos for “Elizabethtown” arrived 4 years later, it seemed that he had gone back to his roots. Music, kids in love, angst, road trips, and a great actress in the role of matriach (Susan Sarandon). Wrong! Instead, what we got was a watered-down version of the indie-hit-by-numbers of the year before, “Garden State”. “Elizabethtown” stars Kirsten Dunst as the Manic Pixie Dream Flight Attendant who’s seemingly waited all her life to save Orlando Bloom, the Braff-wannabe who is unable to forge a meaningful connection and whose life is totally going down the gurgler - aw, sad face. Throw in the family reunion, the aforementioned road trip, some Ryan Adams and Tom Petty on the soundtrack and it’s all downhill from there. “Elizabethtown” is barely a shadow of Crowe’s quotable and beloved hits “Say Anything” and “Almost Famous.” His attempts at quirk appear phony, there is so much music it becomes a distraction instead of a complement and his characters are little more than 2-by-4s. The only saving grace is Alec Baldwin’s brief appearance as Bloom’s boss at the beginning of the film—which is long forgotten once you’ve sat through Sarandon’s speech and dance number .

“New York, New York” (1977) - Martin Scorsese
It is no great surprise that many of the directors on this list came of age career-wise during the 1970s ‘auteur is king’ period of Hollywood. “New York, New York” comes off the back of a hit for Scorsese (”Taxi Driver”), who was starting to feel pigeon-holed by his trademark ‘gritty realism,’ so to test his creative boundaries he made a 2-hour-plus musical with Robert De Niro as a jazz saxophone player. The shooting period was not a great time for Scorsese personally; he was splitting with his second, and very pregnant, wife and had begun an affair with his lead actress, Liza Minnelli. It was meant to be a tribute to the faux glitz of the ‘40s and ‘50s, and Minnelli’s doe-eyed, cherub-cheeked tribute to her mother, Judy Garland, is as subtle as a rock. Minnelli and De Niro are cast as a romantic couple, and their relationship woes take up much of the time between songs, but the only thing worse than watching Minnelli and De Niro pretend to be in love is watching them trying to improvise dialogue between the script’s potholes—and running at a long 155 minutes (for the 1981 recut, with added footage) there are quite a few. Scorsese and De Niro can’t escape what they are comfortable with and arguably best at, so De Niro keeps playing a half-assed Jake La Motta and Scorsese lets him. What could be seen as efforts to subvert the Old Hollywood musical genre just make it fall in on itself. Despite all the talent, Scorsese’s first big-budget picture was a resounding flop, financially and critically. Perhaps the only saving grace was De Niro got in some extra character practice for his next film with Scorsese, and Liza Minnelli got a great song to add to her repertoire.

The excerpts below was originally published as part of a larger features “The Playlist Informs On You: 16 Notable Whistleblower Movies” on Indiewire blog ‘The Playlist’

”On The Waterfront” (1954)
Long in the offing, Elia Kazan‘s film was based on a 24-part series of articles in the New York Sun by Malcolm Johnson called ‘Crime on the Waterfront’ which told of the corruption, extortion and racketeering in the Manhattan and Brooklyn dockyards. Originally written by Arthur Miller (at Kazan’s request) and called “The Hook”, Kazan and Miller were pressured to change the villains from corrupted union officials to communists—Miller refused and “The Hook” was never made. In the meantime, Kazan confessed to his communist ties and named names to House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) in exchange for his right to continue to work (a fact which makes him a controversial figure to this day). Budd Schulberg (who also wrote “The Harder They Fall,”—see below—and was another ‘friendly witness’) replaced Miller, added the Commies, and won one of the film’s eight Oscars for his trouble. Filmed over 26 days on location in Hoboken, New Jersey, the production encompassed the docks, the worker’s slum houses, local bars and rooftops, and several real-life boxers feature in the cast: all adding to the realism and believability of the finished film. Marlon Brando, in one of his seminal early roles, plays Terry Malloy, whose brother works for the mob-connected union boss Johnny Friendly. Not the brightest spark, Terry does what he’s told, including luring a witness into an ambush that ends in murder. Terry’s conscience starts to get to him and old grudges are aired, leading Terry to utter the film’s most famous line to shame his brother for getting him to throw a fight in his early days as a boxer—“I coulda been a contender.” After his brother ends up dead, Terry is talked out of violent revenge and instead testifies against Friendly and wins back the union and the docks for the workers. Thought to be Kazan and Schulberg’s explanation for being friendly witnesses themselves for HUAC, it was one of the first films that portrayed a heroic informer, but despite the tremendous performances, the repeated emphasis on the waterfront’s moral code of “D and D” (“Deaf and Dumb”) and the cost of remaining silent, are about as subtle as a rock to the head. [B]

”Serpico” (1973)
Frank Serpico, whose story was the basis for the movie “Serpico” directed by the late Sidney Lumet, was the first New York City police officer to report on the widespread corruption in the NYPD. Amid shots of New York, from the towering Brooklyn Bridge to the dirty, grimy dirty streets that pay homage to the film noirs of the past, the story unfolds as Serpico goes undercover to expose the corruption of his fellow officers, learning first-hand the consequences of whistleblowing. First harassed, then threatened, and eventually shot in the face, he was real-life proof that one man’s crusading informer is another man’s traitor. The Serpico of the film is an idealistic straight-laced cop and an unconventional guy who is constantly exposed to corruption and illicit dealings within the force by a bunch of bad guys with badges. They want him to be one of them, but instead he retreats into himself, at first hopeful of simply keeping himself clean of the mess by being a good cop and refusing any involvement with the ringleaders. But the stress of constantly trying to identify the shades of grey between good and evil takes its toll on him, and he eventually appears to testify before the NAPA Commission about payoffs and corruption. The film sticks to the facts of Serpico’s life, with the ex-cop even supervising on set, before being sent away by Lumet, who was concerned he was making the actors self-conscious. It didn’t seem to adversely affect Pacino’s performance, however: it is one of his very best, winning him a Golden Globe, and an Oscar nomination, and now serves as a summary reminder of the amazing talents currently being put to use in Adam-Sandler-In-Drag movies.  [A]

”The Harder They Fall” (1956)
The movie adaption of the novel of the same name by Budd Schulberg, “The Harder they Fall” is a riff on the career of Primo Carnera, who, though freakishly large, apparently wasn’t that great a boxer, with rumors circulating that his career was forged out of fixed fights. “The Harder They Fall” is probably more known for being Humphrey Bogart’s last film before his death in 1957 than anything else, and yes, the role is pure Bogart: that of a cynical loner following his own set of rules of what’s right and wrong. Instead of his go-tp character of PI, in this film noir he plays sports reporter Eddie Willis, a character based on the boxing writer and event promoter Harold Conrad. Forced between a rock and a hard place financially after the newspaper he was writing for goes under, he’s forced to publicize a new giant Argentinian boxer Toro Moreno, for crooked promoter Nick Benko. After developing a bond with the slow-witted and untalented boxer, he sends him home with Benko’s dough, won betting against Toro in a fight in which he was brutally knocked out. In the end Willis confronts Benko and starts writing to expose him and widespread corruption of the boxing world. “The Harder They Fall” is an under-apppreciated behind-the-scenes boxing drama, and its worth extends beyond that of its leading man. [B+]

The excerpts below was originally published as part of a larger features “The Films Of Rainer Werner Fassbinder: A Retrospective” on Indiewire blog ‘The Playlist’

“The Marriage of Maria Braun”  (1979)
The first in Fassbinder’s BRD (Bundesrepublik Deutschland) Trilogy, which deals with three different women making their way in a post-WWII Germany, the script went through several hands and drafts from Fassbinder’s original unrealized TV project “The Marriage of our Parents”. Fassbinder was already working on the script for the epic “Berlin Alexanderplatz” when shooting began on “The Marriage of Maria Braun” and he continued to shoot during the day and work all night on the script for his next project. Rumour has it to sustain this work schedule Fassbinder consumed large quantities of cocaine, and this was the main reason the film went over budget—Fassbinder’s biggest but still under a million USD. Of course this caused problems with his financiers, producers and crew, causing rifts in many of his long-term creative partnerships including those with cinematographer Michael Ballhaus and producer Michael Fengler. Making “The Marriage of Maria Braun” was probably not the greatest period in Fassbinder’s life, but the film turned out to be one of his most successful and fulfilled his desire to make a German equivalent of a Hollywood movie. Starring Hanna Schygulla as Maria (she won the Silver Bear for Best Actress in 1979), a woman whose relationship with her husband, Hermann is constantly thwarted by circumstance - or rather desire, pride and greed which inevitably leads to violence, cruelty and destruction. Fassbinder paints a picture of an insatiable and unfeeling Germany, its inhabitants (the survivors) are damaged goods, both morally and emotionally warped from their experiences. Like any good Hollywood film it ends with a big explosion - like any good Fassbinder film the meanings and motives behind it are open-ended. [A]

”Ali: Fear Eats the Soul”  (1974)
Fassbinder met Douglas Sirk at the Munich Film Museum in 1971, where he also saw six of his films. That experience would change the way Fassbinder saw and made films. Sirk’s “All That Heaven Allows” provided the inspiration for “Ali: Fear Eats the Soul,” which today remains Fassbinder most famous film (not infamous for once), which went on to inspire Todd Haynes’ “Far From Heaven.” No Fassbinder film conveys its message of everyday social evils as eloquently as “Ali: Fear Eats the Soul.” The basic premise is simple: middle aged German widow, Emmi, randomly meets and, quite soon after, marries, Ali, an Arab man she encounters in a bar after taking shelter from the rain. The first half of the film focuses on how Emmi’s family, neighbors and workmates deal with her second husband and the colour of his skin, negatively at first and then shifting towards acceptance. The second deals more with Ali’s reaction to their sudden acceptance, which brings its own set of compromises for him, and conflicts with Emmi once hidden by their mutual solidarity against racism also emerge. Fassbinder, never one for concrete conclusions or easy answers leaves us with a bittersweet ending with lovers reunited but the problems that divided them unsolved. [A]

The excerpts below was originally published as part of a larger features “The Films Of Otto Preminger: A Retrospective” on Indiewire blog ‘The Playlist’

“Angel Face” (1952)
“Angel Face” sits in what is generally agreed upon as Preminger‘s peak period of filmmaking while he was under contract for 20th Century Fox, but was shot for RKO. Howard Hughes, who owned RKO, requested Preminger specifically for the script, which at the time had the inventive title of “Murder Story” – based on real life murders where two young lovers were charged with blowing up the girl’s parents. Preminger was unimpressed but Hughes characteristically persisted, resorting finally to getting Preminger out of bed at 3 am to walk around the streets of L.A. to discuss the project. Jean Simmons (the “Angel Face” to be) was only under contract to RKO for another 18 shooting days, also Hughes and Simmons had recently fought – a memorable argument that resulted in Simmons chopping off all her hair. This film was Hughes’ way to get even – he gave Preminger carte blanche on the film (including the script), stipulating only that he didn’t hire any “commies” to do re-writes and that Simmons had to wear a long black wig throughout the picture – and Preminger agreed. Though various versions of stories filtered back from on set of fights continuing between Robert Mitchum, Preminger and Simmons, it was Simmons and Hughes who came out winners in the end – “Angel Face” is one of the best performances of her career opposite Mitchum, who went to star in another Preminger film “River of No Return”. A seemingly forgotten noir classic “Angel Face” features Simmons in the role of Diane Tremayne,  the characteristically ambiguous sort of femme fatale, and Mitchum as our equally ambiguous charming anti-hero, Frank Jessup. Their failed love affair based on misconceptions of each other’s better-off-ness ends up in a battle of wills, but Tremayne’s bid for control over Jessup ends up killing both her father and her stepmother. The film’s highlight is its ending where Tremayne suddenly and dramatically takes both herself and Jessup over the cliff so they’ll finally be together forever. Though it retreads old ground, it’s still an all around quality noir flick. [B]

“Bonjour Tristesse” (1958)
Preminger‘s disastrous first film with his discovery Jean Seberg, “St. Joan,” was both a critical and financial failure that saw much of the critical vitriol heaped upon Seberg’s performance. Preminger offered her a second chance with “Bonjour Tristesse,” based on the French bestseller by Francois Sagan of the same name. Shot in the relatively new format of Cinemascope combined with long takes, the film presents five characters and their shifting relationships and desires, examining the potentially devastating whims of the idle rich. Preminger intercuts color and black and white with the nostalgic flashbacks on the French Riviera with hyper real vivid Technicolor, markedly contrasted with the dreary black and white presentation of the present day reality. It also contrasts between the past vibrancy of its lead and narrator Cecile (Seberg) and the lifeless numb Cecile that recounts her story to the audience. Also featuring winning performances by David Niven, Deborah Kerr and Mylène Demongeo, “Bonjour Tristesse” famously brought Seberg to the attention of Jean-Luc Godard, who cast her in his debut feature “Breathless.” He has been quoted as saying Seberg’s Patricia in “Breathless” picks up where Cecile left off in “Bonjour Tristesse”—“I could have taken the last shot of Preminger’s film and started after dissolving to a title, ‘Three Years Later.’ “ [B-]

The excerpts below was originally published as part of a larger features “The Complete Woody Allen: A Retrospective Pt. 1 (1966-1990) and Pt. 2 (1992-2011)” on Indiewire blog ‘The Playlist’

“Stardust Memories” (1980)
“Stardust Memories” has been called an homage to Fellini‘s “8 1/2,” though as Tony Roberts says in the movie—“Homage? We outright stole it.” Allen breaks a number of social (and filmmaking) conventions before the film ends. He talks about the emptiness of success and celebrity (which is the ultimate American taboo) and the futility of romantic love. These are, of course, subjects Allen has touched on previously in his other films but never with such a heavy hand. “Stardust Memories” is tinged with a feeling of tired despair from Allen—despair with his fans, the critics, his work and the world in general. Though he is still trying to answer some of the big questions, the usual quips and punchlines don’t hold the same lively charm.The dream (or nightmare) feel of the film owe a lot to cinematographer Gordon Willis, who easily turns the black-and-white footage from lush to surreal to stark, with surprising fluidity from shot to shot. The flashbacks that we aren’t sure are flashbacks are equally as fluid, while the Godard-ian jump cuts and self conscious script all add to the dizzying feel of the meta film-within-a-film narrative. The characters are like caricatures, or more likely two-dimensional memories brought to life, lacking depth but overflowing in significance. “Stardust Memories” (despite Allen’s frequent denial) feels personal and revealing. However the futility of searching for meaning within a movie is also one of the last jokes of the film—‘‘What do you think was the significance of the Rolls-Royce?’’ someone asks. ‘‘I think it represented his car,’’ is the answer. [A]

“Husbands and Wives” (1992)
If “Husbands and Wives” has a moral, it’s that marriage is not the happily ever after—just the “after.” It’s Allen’s usual cast of Upper East Side residing, bundle of neuroses, waxing lyrical about relationships. The film follows two married couples and best friends—Gabe and Judy (Woody Allen and Mia Farrow) and Jack and Sally (Sydney Pollack and Judy Davis)—the latter of which have decided amicably to separate, or at least they say it’s amicable. Jack and Sally test the dating pool and the limits of their own independence and dependence on each other. Meanwhile Gabe and Judy find the base of their relationship shattered, as Gabe finds himself attracted to a young precocious student (Juliette Lewis) and Judy develops feelings for a man in her office (Liam Neeson). The ensemble all perform brilliantly, in particular Davis, as the brilliant and uber-neurotic Sally who was nominated for a Best Supporting Oscar for her excellent turn in the film (Woody was also nominated for his writing). The film, shot in documentary style with seemingly few lights and effects to pretty things up, does nothing to endear you to the “ugly” characters, but aesthetically it’s a very inspired move and a breath of fresh air and B-12 shot to the creative energy of the film. The dialogue as always is on point, and lightens the heaviness of watching relationships decay because they refuse to change. [B+]

The excerpt below was originally published as part of a larger feature “TV Vs. Film: Ten Shows Worth Skipping The Multiplex For” on Indiewire blog ‘The Playlist’

6. “Eastbound & Down”
“Eastbound & Down” was conceived in a kiddie pool by filmmaking alums Ben Best, Jody Hill (“Observe and Report”) and Danny McBride, who also stars. After working together on their breakout comedy “The Foot Fist Way,” they got the attention of partners in comedy Will Ferrell and Adam McKay, who signed on to produce ‘Eastbound’ for HBO. The series centers around Kenny Powers, an egotistical, mullet-sporting ex-major league pitcher who spent his earnings on coke and steroids and burnt bridges everywhere he went. Powers finds himself washed up, homeless, broke and alone in his hometown of Shelby, North Carolina. Dirty, dark hilarity ensues as Powers tries to reconcile his hometown self, the sports star he became and whatever shit is happening now. Powers is the show, his obnoxious and self centered antics as he strives for his comeback tempered with the occasional self revelation: an ‘awwwww’ for every ‘ewwwww.’ “Eastbound & Down” is shot like a three hour movie, with each 30-minute episode picking up where the last one left off, making it seem like a better quality version of a summer comedy jam. Except every time you think Powers has had a touching yet uncharacteristic change of heart, Hollywood style, he turns around and punches you in the gut, seemingly just for laughs, making him one of the most surprisingly complex characters around. Of course, a comedy as boorishly boundary pushing as “Eastbound & Down” isn’t going to be for everyone, although the 1.7 million viewers for the second season opener almost tripled that of the first. This snowballing of viewers is likely indebted to the cult following of the first season, and the release of it on DVD prior to the second season airing. The decision in the 2nd season to leave North Carolina for Mexico and with it most of the first season characters behind ensured that “Eastbound & Down” wasn’t retreading the same “coming home” material, and helped keep it fresh. Fortunately, they’ve kept the essential ingredients—a Kenny Powers in crisis, the same down-and-out asshole trying to make good - and the killer soundtrack, including the awesome Freddie King classic “Goin’ Down” for the titles. The season ended with Kenny Powers looking down the barrel of parenthood, and Season 3 is likely to be the show’s last according to McBride—last chance to say you saw it when it was first on.
Must-Watch Episode: “Chapter 6”— The first season finale sees it all come together and fall apart again for Kenny Powers, features the typical Hollywood ending speech ‘EB&D’ style, a cameo by Adam Scott and the whole thing plays like a crass comedy take on “Five Easy Pieces”.