Encounters at the End of the World

I see all of Werner Herzog’s documentaries eventually (from Grizzly Man to the most obscure), but I was surprised to see this turning up on some “best of the year” lists while the Netflix disk was already sitting on top of my tv. Werner always takes us to farflung places to watch man confront nature, and here he takes us to Antarctica, the south pole where one of the film’s subjects says every untethered person in the world eventually slips. You do have to be a little strange to get a kick out of scuba diving beneath the ice in search of new organisms, penetrating glaciers or volcanoes, rhapsodizing about seals or whatever object of study has brought you to the nether end of the world. Herzog’s seemingly random observations always do add up to something, at least in the labyrinth of his own mind, but I did not follow the thread in this as well as others. So to me it was just an amalgam of odd characters and striking photography, especially underwater, which was what interested Herzog in the first place. He embarks with a promise not to put any “fluffy penguins” in his Antarctica film, but winds up finding a completely Herzogian penguin, who treks off from all the others, headed for distant mountains and certain death, a tiny dot in a frozen immensity. (2008, dvd, n.) *7-* (MC-80.)

Iron Man

I usually eschew films about comic book superheroes, but intriguing reviews and a recommendation from my reliable daughter led me to give this a try, and you might want to as well, especially if you are susceptible to the roguish charm of Robert Downey Jr., really one of the more appealing stars in Hollywood. The film is fast and fun, and given a patina of relevance by the protagonist’s repentence over his arms merchant history. His antagonist is Jeff Bridges -- the Dude gone evil -- and his Girl Friday is Gwyneth Paltrow, blond and bland. Downey’s transformation into the title hero shows some technical ingenuity and flash, and the whole bobs along nicely on a current of wit. I glimpsed Jon Favreau (from Swingers) in a tiny role, and was thinking how he had come down in the world, until the final credits rolled and I saw that he was actually the director of the film, and not a bad one either. Personally I wouldn’t give a look to any film featuring Batman or the Hulk or any other Marvel character, but if you’re at all inclined that way, this is one you could watch without having your intelligence insulted or your senses assaulted. (2008, dvd, n.) *7-* (MC-79.)

Longford

Lacking any thread to my viewing other than queue management, I keep coming back to a given film’s life on my lists. This one languished on my TiVo “Now Playing” list for more than a year. I recorded it when it was first broadcast on HBO, then deleted it when I realized I am too much of a Sunny Jim to relish serial killer movies (aside from Zodiac), but recorded it again after it won a slew of Emmys. What finally drove me to watch it was a strong recommendation by David Thomson in “Have You Seen ...?” -- his new book of “personal introduction to 1000 films.” (Come to think of it, that’s just what Cinema Salon is as well -- not quite up to a thousand, but getting there.) Anyway, the cast was an attraction as well, with personal favorite Samantha Morton playing convicted child killer Myra Hindley of the infamous Moors Murders in the ’60s, and the always-impressive Jim Broadbent as Lord Longford, the dotty old Labor minister who led a decades-long campaign for her redemption in the face of public odium. There’s also a chilling portrayal of Myra’s partner in crime by Andy Serkis, much scarier than his Golem. I’m not familiar with director Tom Hooper, more than competent here, but I’m now on the lookout for anything by writer Peter Morgan, of The Queen and other recent inquiries into the public life of Britain. This film lets no one off easy, least of all the viewer, in its exploration of guilt and forgiveness, evil and the possibility of conversion. It’s really better not to know too much about the facts of the case, nor to have formed an opinion, because the strength of this film is the way it leaves questions open, and infinitely ponderable. (2006, HBO/T, n.) *7* (MC-88.)

Rachel Getting Married [etc.]

Though I hadn’t been to a movie theater in a coon’s age, when Images Cinema reopened after a period of refurbishment, I felt moved to go to the first screening in the new space and renew my expired membership. The new entrance, direct from Spring St. instead of through a side alley, looked great (and reminiscent of the olden-days arrangement), and the new seats were a major upgrade. The film itself wasn’t bad either. I happened to be talking with two couples in succession recently, and one had said Jonathan Demme’s latest was terrible while the other recommended it. Me, I was glad to see it but I wouldn’t urge it upon the unwary. Basically, it’s Demme does Dogme -- handheld camera in long, roaming takes; no music except live within the action; in-your-face familial confrontation -- with a nod to Robert Altman’s Wedding as well. Anne Hathaway plays an addict released from rehab to attend her sister’s wedding, and she makes for a convincingly impossible person. (If you know her only as Disney’s diarizing princess--gag!--or the “smart, fat girl” in The Devil Wears Prada, this role seems totally out of character, but not so much if you’e seen Havoc.) The set-up is more than a little like Margot at the Wedding, but these two difficult sisters are somewhat easier to take. Rachel is well-played by Rosemary DeWitt (who was Don Draper’s first girlfriend in Mad Men), but the real delight to see is Debra Winger as their absconding mother, looking great and playing lots of subtle notes in her brief portrayal. The sororal relationship is believably complicated, and so is the sense of being present at the event, in all its joy and embarassment. Some people like all the live music and some people don’t, but it’s certainly justified in that the groom is in the music business, as well as many of the guests, not to mention Demme’s own concert work from Stop Making Sense to Heart of Gold. Being non-social myself, I found much of the film to be as excruciating as a wedding in the flesh, but as a fly on the wall it wasn’t too painful to observe. (2008, Images, n.) *7-* (MC-82.)

For one reason or another, I’ve been re-watching a variety of films on which I simply want to renew my recommendation. The Real Dirt on Farmer John (2006, MC-78) is definitely a documentary worth seeking out, working on a variety levels from personal portraiture to advertisement for Community Supported Agriculture. John Peterson is a fascinating amalgam of true son of a midwest family farm and countercultural fantasist. Through the vicissitudes of decades he loses and finds his vocation, obsessively observed first in home movies and then by his longtime friend Taggart Siegel, who is the director of this witty, moving, and informative film.

The Madness of King George (1994) got queued up in a Helen Mirren moment a few years ago, and it’s something I’ve thought of showing at the Clark. And it’s well worth a second look. Lady Helen is predictably excellent as the Queen, but Nigel Hawthorne as George III rules all. For a filmed play (written by Alan Bennett, and directed from stage to screen by Nicholas Hytner), the on-location spectacle of palaces and pageantry is very well handled, with plenty of humor and intrigue and even poignancy.

El Cid (1961) was an historical epic remembered fondly from my youth and highly praised in surveys of Anthony Mann’s directorial career, so reviews of a new Collector’s Edition led me to leap it to the top of my queue. Unfortunately Netflix, as is typical, sent an earlier DVD, widescreen but not digitally restored, so the viewing was not optimal. Still, it’s an impressive example of the overblown spectacles of its time, with Charlton Heston giving an unusually persuasive performance as the semi-mythical 11th-century Spanish knight who brought Christians and Muslims together to repel a Moorish invasion from Africa. Sophia Loren is a spectacle in herself as the love interest. As an independent producer, Samuel Bronston made a series of epics in Spain, but this one makes the most of Spanish landscapes, castles, and cathedrals, with scenes of combat escalating from a well-staged joust to an immense seaside assault on a walled city. Especially notable to me was the seeming authenticity of period art and decor -- this was not Malibu medievalism.

Also less than optimal was the disk of The Man from Laramie (1955), last of the celebrated Anthony Mann-Jimmy Stewart Westerns, quite an advance on The Furies and not just because it’s widescreen and technicolor. The story is familiar but not overly so, with plenty of surprises in both the action and the acting, with the feel for landscape that Mann is noted for, psychological instead of mythic in the Fordian vein. The retrospective elevation of Mann’s reputation seems justified, and his direction offers some guarantee of quality for those looking for oldies but goodies. Now that I’ve matched a Ford film series to a Remington exhibiton at the Clark, I will definitely behold the Mann if I ever do another series of Westerns.

The Color of Lies (Au Couer du mensonge)

Claude Chabrol turned out to be the most prolific director of the French New Wave, finding his method and material early and working it year by year to the present day. I may have seen ten of his films, but that just scratches the surface. Widely declared the French Hitchcock, his films all seem to show bourgeois life opening up a vein of violence. A sense of suspense drives the story, but the point is always psychological probing of ordinary people, families, and communities. I must have queued up this film because one of the characters is a painter, and his painting is taken seriously, so I might show this at the Clark one day, if I ever get around to a series on “Artists Behaving Badly,” to include Scarlet Street and others. I might also have been trolling for Sandrine Bonnaire films, since she seems to me the most interesting French actress of her generation. So here she’s the wife of an artist who falls under suspicion for the murder of one of his young drawing students. The plot is highly convoluted and basically beside the point. The setting in a village on the coastline of Brittany, however, is all important, as are the various interrelations among the inhabitants. The film is full of intelligent and interesting observation, if not visceral or conclusive. (1998, dvd, n.) *6+*