Irma Vep at AFA

She was the Catwoman of 1915 Paris. She was the leader of Le Vampires, which had nothing to do with the undead. Instead, they were a band of Parisian Apaches, who were completely unrelated to Native Americans. Credited with single-handedly launching thrillers as a cinematic genre, Louis Feuillade’s character and Musidora, the actress who played her, remain icons a century later. It takes guts to do her jumpsuit, but some have tried. The original Gaumont serial and subsequent films it inspired will screen as part of a mini tribute to Irma Vep and Musidora this week at Anthology Film Archives.

In contrast to the silent film programmed, series curator Michelle Handelman’s own short film Irma Vep, the Last Breath feels very installational. Starring transgender performance artist Zackary Drucker, Handelman literally puts Vep on the couch for a session of psychoanalysis that really holds a mirror up to the audience and our fascination with Vep’s fetish trappings. It should find an appreciative avant-garde audience when it screens this Thursday (10/22) at AFA—and you know who you are.

Not just anyone can slip into the catsuit and become Irma Vep, but Hong Kong action superstar Maggie Cheung is an icon in her own right. Casting her takes liberties with the character’s nationality, but it still makes sense. At least, that is what the past-his-prime auteur of Olivier Assayas’s late 1990s meta-riff thinks and it still makes perfect sense today. Fortunately Assayas was able to get Maggie Cheung to play Maggie Cheung playing Irma Vep in the 1997 Irma Vep (trailer here), which also streams on Fandor.

Thanks to cats like Tarantino, the West has just started embracing the films of John Woo and Johnnie To. Cheung is suddenly getting offers from around the world, including Rene Vidal’s ill-conceived comeback project, a remake of Les Vampires. Since Cheung speaks English, but not French, communication with be difficult. The under-funded production is in such a constant state of bedlam, Cheung has largely been palmed off on Zoe, the stressed out lesbian wardrobe specialist. One look at Cheung in costume and she falls for her hard. It is hard to blame her. In fact, Cheung herself seems to be falling under the influence of her character, or at least she gets a little methody slinking about the corridors and fire escapes of her hotel.

In addition to Les Vampires, Irma Vep openly engages in dialogue with Truffaut’s Day for Night, with Cheung serving as an analogue for Jacqueline Bisset, while also slyly commenting on her own action image of the era. Most fittingly, Jean-Pierre Léaud provides an apostolic link between the films. While he is unexpectedly restrained as the arrogant but anti-social Vidal, this still might be the funniest performance of his storied career.

However, Maggie Cheung is the uncontested star of the film, truly making the legendary role and outfit her own. Even in a secondary language, her presence shines through. She is smart and forceful, but also somewhat shy and hesitant, as one would expect from a famous stranger in a strange hipster land.

Cheung and Assayas would marry in 1998, divorce in 2001, and make the film Clean in 2004, so Irma Vep would clearly be the start of a significant relationship. It is also a heck of a star turn for Cheung. Along with Stanley Kwan’s Center Stage, it helped position Cheung as a serious screen thesp, beyond a mere action star. Although its grungy edges are a bit distracting at times, there is a freshness and vitality to it that still stands up. Recommended for fans of films about films, Irma Vep screens this Friday (10/23) as part of the Vep-Musidora retrospective at Anthology Film Archives.

Industrial Terror: Abby

The film collection at the J.B. Speed Art Museum is named in honor of scrappy Louisville exploitation filmmaker William Girdler, but it does not include any of his films. Arguably, a good print of his “Blaxploitation Exorcist” would be a rarity worth curating. Caught up in a studio copyright infringement case, it has only circulated in rather distressed formats. Nevertheless, Anthology Film Archives will make the best of what is available when they screen Girdler’s Abby as part of the Industrial Terror film series.

Since someone must necessarily get possessed, it makes sense that it would be Abby Williams, a sunny, upbeat marriage counselor, who happens to be the wife and daughter-in-law of ministers. Bishop Garnet Williams is a man of the cloth to be reckoned with, but he inadvertently causes all the trouble when he accidentally frees a spirit claiming to be Eshu, the demigod of lust, during a research trip to Nigeria. Eshu wastes no time possessing Abby Williams, turning her into a wanton harlot who constantly belittles her husband’s masculinity. Fortunately, her brother Cass Potter is a cop who can cover for the Williamses when she gets violent, but they will need the Bishop to perform the E word.

Rather than try to match the profound dread of Friedkin’s classic, Abby picks up on the sucking-you-know-what-you-know-where demonic dirty talk and runs with it. There is no question Eshu is evil and corrupting, but it saves on the special effects and gets Williams into swinging after hours clubs.

Actually, the mumbo jumbo backstory is not bad, particularly when the commanding William Marshall tells it. Cult famous as Blackula, Dr. Richard Daystrom in “The Ultimate Computer” episode of the original Star Trek, and at least half a dozen stage and television productions of Othello, Marshall has the authority and presence we need in a modern day Van Helsing.

Much like the film it admittedly ripped off, Abby finds its salvation in Christian faith. In a way, the Bishop sort of fortifies his Christianity with a little West African spirituality, but when you are going into an exorcism, you had better be loaded for bear. The enterprising Girdler (who tragically died at the youthful age of thirty while scouting what would have been his tenth feature) keeps it zipping along quite energetically, emphasizing funky attitude over gore. It is a lot of fun, even with beater prints, so it should be a real blast with an appreciatively rowdy audience. Recommended for fans of Blaxploitation, exploitation, and horror films, Abby screens tomorrow (10/25), Wednesday (10/29), and Halloween Friday (10/31) at Anthology Film Archives, as part of the Industrial Terror series.

Industrial Terror: Blood Feast

He evolved from a purveyor of nudie cuties into the “Godfather of Gore,” eventually transforming into an internet marketing guru. Herschell Gordon Lewis always had a good sense of where a buck could be made. Today, we’re here for the gore. Notoriously graphic in its day (be forewarned, a cow’s tongue will stand-in for the human article), Lewis’s groundbreaking Blood Feast screens as part of the Anthology Film Archives’ Industrial Terror film series (not safe for lunch trailer here).

Someone is killing and dismembering the young women of Miami. That would be Fuad Ramses, an Egyptian caterer, who is stocking up for the cannibalistic smorgasbord that will be the centerpiece of the resurrection ritual for his mistress, the goddess Ishtar. He is a sweaty, club-footed sad sack (bizarrely, he looks a little like Torgo in Manos: the Hands of Fate and has vaguely similar theme music), but Ramses is still lethal enough to keep Det. Pete Thornton working overtime. Fortunately, the copper can rely on the patience and understanding of his new girlfriend Suzette Fremont, whom he met through their weekly Egyptian Studies lecture series. They are both crazy about Egyptian culture. So much so, Fremont’s mother seeks out Ramses to cater a party in Suzette’s honor.

There is really no point in pedantically dissecting the narrative inconsistencies of Blood Feast. The whole point was the splattering gore. Yet, it is a strangely chipper film given the carnage it unleashes. While Carnival of Souls and Night of the Living Dead transcended their budget constraints, Feast really looks like it was made on the cheap and its ensemble is hardly professional grade, but it accomplishes everything Lewis set out to do, so there you go.

Without question, the best known cast-member is former Playboy Playmate Connie Mason. Ordinarily, the Playmate thespian does not inspire much confidence, but she is far from the worst offender when it comes to awkward line readings—far, far from the worst. You could even argue she adds an upbeat, appealing presence, but that is admittedly grading on a steep curve.

By today’s standards, the Godfather’s gore looks quite amateurish, but we had to start somewhere. This is a pretty bad film according to just about any rational criteria, but it has been truly influential, paving the way for every explicit horror film that followed. You have to laugh at it, but it is way too much for a show like MST3K to handle. Given Lewis’s cult following, any serious horror film cineaste will have to deal with it at some point, so the Industrial Terror film series is probably the perfect venue to bite the bullet. It screens with Carving Magic, a short Lewis whipped up for Swift & Co. teaching the proper technique for carving meat. That’s right, meat carving. What more needs to be said? For exploitation fans in need of some sleaze, they screen together this Friday (10/24) and Monday (10/27) at Anthology Film Archives.

Industrial Terror: The Night of the Living Dead

It was the very last film ever screened at the late, lamented Two Boots Pioneer Theater. Obviously, they had no intentions of going quietly. It was also one the few films broadcast on MTV at the height of its 1980s cool cachet and now holds a richly deserved spot on the Library of Congress’s National Film Registry. Yet, the auteur who would inaugurate the zombie genre spent years whipping up commercials for Pittsburgh television as one of the principals of the Latent Image production house. Rightly and necessarily, George A. Romero’s The Night of the Living Dead screens together with a selection of his commercial work as part of Anthology Film Archive’s Industrial Terror film series.

Somehow this film is just as potent the twentieth or thirtieth time around. As you really ought to know, at least according to the LOC, the original Living Dead follows the plight of a group of strangers stranded in a farm house during a mysterious zombie apocalypse. Yet, despite the peril outside, they end up turning on each other.

It is a simple formula many have tried to replicate, but never with the same success. Romero masterfully doles out information via the unreliable media, using zombies sparingly in the second act. Instead, he relies on human nature to build the tension. Of course, he delivers the zombie cannibalism when he is good and ready.

On yet another repeat viewing, a few things jump out about Living Dead. After witnessing her brother’s death, the character of Barbra spends the rest of the film in a state of shock, which we rarely see in horror movies, but it is a much more believable response than dropping a series of ironic pop culture references.

While it has been said before, Duane Jones really should have become a much bigger star. He immediately instills viewer confidence as Ben and the subtle manner in which he takes a protective interest in Barbra is quite touching. A few more of him and things might have turned out better.

Keith Wayne’s Tom also serves as an effective audience surrogate. He is the sort of conciliator you want in your life boat and he is handy with tools. Yet, it is probably Bill Hinzman who truly made the film. As the first zombie in the cemetery, his gaunt face has become an iconic image of cinematic zombies.

Decades later, Living Dead’s conclusion remains the same stinging slap in the face. Indeed, it all holds up remarkably well. You have seen it before, but this is the perfect venue to see it again, along with some apt commercial selections, including a groovy riff on Fantastic Voyage for Calgon and a racially-themed presidential campaign spot, which should scare the willies out of everyone with the prospects of a McGovern administration. Highly recommended under any circumstances, the original black-and-white (non-colorized) Night of the Living Dead screens this Saturday (10/25) and Tuesday (10/28) at Anthology Film Archives, as part of Industrial Terror.

Industrial Terror: Carnival of Souls

It must be the only film selected for both the Criterion Collection and the Rifftrax treatment. Rightly or wrongly, it was largely ignored when first released and would be the only feature narrative helmed by its producer-director. Yet, Herk Harvey remained a prolific filmmaker, releasing scores of educational shorts through his Kansas-based Centron Corporation. Like Harvey, many future horror auteurs honed their craft and bided their time making educational and industrial films that often strangely foreshadow their macabre work to come. Fittingly, Harvey’s Carnival of Souls with the Centron short None for the Road screen together during Anthology Film Archive’s before-and-after film series, Industrial Terror.

When reluctant street racing passenger Mary Henry manages to walk away from a fatal accident, it ought to be an occasion for some soul searching. However, she seems determined not to process it. Always temperamentally aloof, she simply proceeds with her prior plans, accepting a church organist position in Utah arranged by the owner of the local pipe organ factory. In her new town, Henry tries her best to cut herself off from social contact, even though she dearly needs an emotional support system.

Beginning during her lonely drive into town, Henry has been haunted by visions of a ghoulish man. Perhaps even more troubling, she experiences episodes of time-stoppage, during which the townspeople around appear oblivious to her freaked-out presence. Spurning offers of help from the kindly priest and concerned Dr. Samuels, Henry becomes increasingly obsessed with the darkly picturesque abandoned carnival outside of town.

That carnival setting is definitely creepy, but most of Harvey’s film is a rather Edward Hopper-esque take on the horror movie genre. There is no gore at all, but the lighting and shadows are all kinds of eerie. Refreshingly, this is the sort of film where priests and factory owners are good people. Unfortunately for Henry, there is also very real supernatural business afoot.

Granted, some of the line readings are a little stilted, but Harvey’s visual style is remarkably accomplished, particularly his smooth jump-cut transitions. He patiently builds an atmosphere of foreboding, rather than resorting to sudden shock scares, perfectly supported and emphasized by Gene Moore’s unnerving organ score.

The performance of method-trained Candace Hilligoss (who bears some resemblance to Judith O’Dea in Romero’s original Night of the Living, another Industrial Terror selection) is almost too inwardly focused for the demands of the genre, but she is certainly convincingly brittle and standoffish. While the supporting ensemble is admittedly all over the place, Stan Levitt provides a solid anchor as Dr. Samuels and Harvey himself is effectively ghastly as the ashen apparition man.

Carnival will have its critical champions and detractors, but you can see its influence in scores of films, such as Adrian Lyne’s Jacob’s Ladder. It is a strong example of the greater efficacy of suggestiveness rather than splatter in horror movies. Thematically, it is also a good fit with None for the Road, in which a research scientist gets lab mice hammered and tries to balance them on metal dowels, while telling kids if they are going to drink and drive, get so blitzed the Highway Patrol is guaranteed to pull them over. Science is hardcore. Carnival of Souls is also weirdly potent stuff. Highly recommended, it screens this Friday (10/24) and next Tuesday (10/28) as part of Industrial Terror at Anthology Film Archives.

The Wooster Group At-Large, At AFA

Joan Jonas, Irving Pichel (with producer George Pal), and Paul Verhoeven have all adapted the work of science fiction novelist Robert A. Heinlein. However, one has to wonder what the SFWA Grand Master, Navy veteran, and god father of libertarianism would have made of Jonas’s highly experimental Double Lunar Dogs, inspired by his novella Universe. Traditional sf audiences might find themselves out to sea as well when it screens as part of the "At-Large" sidebar to Anthology Film Archives’ Wooster Group retrospective, featuring group members cast in outside productions.

Universe was one of the earliest incarnations of the “generation ship” motif, in which the presumably last vestige of humanity has come of age on a great spaceship, forgetting their origins on the long dead Earth. Jonas and Spalding Gray are two such interstellar travelers in Lunar, who try to impose some order onto the jumbled surviving images of Earth.

There is a lot of distortion and technical gamesmanship going on in Lunar that looks rather cheesy by contemporary standards. In fact, subsequent interviews suggest Jonas somewhat regrets her over reliance on these tricks, in retrospect. Ironically though, it makes it a real time capsule of early 1980’s video production technology. While experimental cinema connoisseurs will be able to relate to it in the context of Jonas’s full oeuvre, sci-fi fans will find it more interesting as a footnote than as a viewing experience in and of itself.

The Wooster sidebar collects a number of films across the narrative spectrum, including features helmed by Raúl Ruiz and Kathryn Bigelow. Somehow, Bruce & Norman Yonemoto’s Made in Hollywood manages to be both totally narrative driven and self-consciously post-modern. Riffing on the Wizard of Oz, it tells a Hollywood ingénue discovery fable, in blank-and-white and color, while including ostensive behind-the-scenes interviews with the cast.

Also interspersed with grocery store commercials, Hollywood recalls the vibe of watching a classic movie timer-recorded on an old VHS tape. It also boasts quite a well known cast, including Patricia Arquette, convincingly dumb as the innocent protagonist, as well as Michael Lerner, who actually gives a great performance as the last of the old school moguls.

The Wooster Group retrospective and particularly the At-Large sidebar represent the sort of programming only the Anthology Film Archives is bold enough to tackle on a regular basis. Indeed, several selections, like Made in Hollywood, are quite intriguing films well worth discovering. The At-Large sidebar starts today (2/24) and runs through March 1st, with Lunar screening as part of a short film double bill this afternoon and Hollywood screening this coming Monday (2/27).

Daalder at AFA: Hysteria

Patrick McGoohan will always be best remembered for championing the cause of individualism as Number Six in The Prisoner. Decades later he spearheaded the collective group-mind. Former Russ Meyer protégé Rene Daalder facilitated his defection in the strange psycho-thriller Hysteria, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives upcoming Daalder retrospective.

Dr. Samuel Fry likes to think he is still an idealist, yet he seems to have an unhealthy attachment to his patient Veronica Bloom, sound of body but not of mind. When economic difficulties close his sanitarium, he takes her with him to his next gig at Dr. Harvey Langston’s unconventional mental clinic. Unfortunately, not only is Langston rather insane himself, he has created a sort of networked consciousness with his patients.

As an aging mad scientist, Langston hopes Fry will succeed him as lunatic-in-chief. Even with the X-Files-style implant in his head, Fry tries to fight the power and maintain his individual sense of self. He has a glaring weakness though: Bloom.

Daalder has a talent for subverting exploitation genres while scrupulously maintaining their outward conventions. Again, there are enough bare breasts in Hysteria to satisfy the demands of late night cable. However, his story has considerable intellectual heft and a number of clever wrinkles. Down the stretch, it even approaches the surreal, which is not atypical of Daalder’s filmography.

Memorably playing against his Prisoner image, McGoohan (post-Braveheart) projects the perfect arrogantly erudite presence as Langston. As Myrna Malloy, the first-among-equals inmate, Amanda Plummer (post-Pulp Fiction) effectively keeps viewers off balance. Though his character is tad slow with his suspicions, Michael Maloney (post-Branagh’s Hamlet), nicely conveys Fry’s do-gooder superciliousness and self-delusions.

Though Hysteria was obviously a shoe-string production, it is far smarter than ninety-five percent of Hollywood tent-poles. While it periodically descends into gleeful madness, the meta-story is quite well conceived. Conversely, though Daalder’s Habitat from 1997 looks like a far more technically polished production, all the inventiveness seems to be reserved for the film’s CGI effects. Still, Daalder and frequent cinematographer Jean Lépine create a compelling nearly apocalyptic environment as well as a sense of ominous potential reminiscent of some of David Lynhc’s more grounded films. Highly recommended for cult movie enthusiasts, Hysteria screens this Friday (6/10) during AFA’s Daalder retrospective. For Daalder fans, Habitat also screens this Thursday (6/9).

Daalder at AFA: Massacre at Central High

It is sort of the anti-Beautiful Boy. There is no hand-wringing or soul searching over why a tightly wound high student starts killing his classmates. Kids, killing is always wrong, but just like in classic EC Comics, many of young David’s victims sort of have it coming in Rene Daalder’s Massacre at Central High (trailer here), which screens during the Anthology Film Archives upcoming Daalder retrospective.

David is the classic lone wolf type, but the mid-year transfer student has entre into Central’s ruling clique through his friend Mark. Though we never get the details, the action-oriented David did him a major solid years ago. Now that Mark’s fortunes have reversed, he wants to return the favor. However, David is having none of his thuggish elitist gang. The instant dislike is mutual. On the other hand, Mark’s girlfriend Theresa recognizes David’s integrity. Trouble is inevitable. When David, an avid runner, is hobbled by the Mark’s running mates, he loses his outlet for his rage. Revenge will fill the void. At this point, Central gets a wee bit subversive.

It is no secret David is offing the campus bullies. In fact, his popularity soars as a result. For about ten seconds or so, Central becomes an idyllic community—and then it becomes Lord of the Flies. Clearly, Central argues human nature abhors a vacuum. Suddenly, there is an opening at the top of the social food chain, which many of the formerly tormented covet. Naturally, they try to form alliances with David, but he does not react well to their hypocrisy.

In between creative death scenes and the occasional skinny dipping, Central offers some shrewd commentary on the nature of power and those who desire it. It is worth noting one of Central’s most cravenly opportunistic power seekers is Spoony, the hippie dude, played by Robert Carradine. (Imagine this film on a double bill with Revenge of the Nerds.)

In a further irony of casting, Central features two future Eight is Enough alumnus in radically different high school contexts. Kimberly Beck (Nancy in the pilot only) is a bit awkward at times, but not terrible as Theresa, while Lani O’Grady (Mary) is convincingly spacey as the evil flower child Jane. Though he hardly looks physically imposing, Derrel Maury projects psycho intensity quite well. Yet, Andrew Stevens, later to specialize in naughty late night cable thrillers, probably shows the most complex dimensions as the thoroughly conflicted Mark.

There is a temptation to overstate the allegorical aspects of Central. Daalder certainly offers some psychological insights, but it still delivers for the drive-in market (indeed, the accompanying picture has been strategically cropped). Still, it is rather invigorating to see exploitation done with such ambition. An odd but entertaining combination of camp and existentialism, Central deserves its cult status. Adventurous film lovers should definitely see Central on the big screen while they can, as the centerpiece of AFA’s highly recommended Daalder series, this coming Thursday (6/9) through Sunday (6/12).

South Africa at AFA: Mapantsula

“Panic” is hardly a revolutionary role model. He is a thief and a professional snitch, but finds himself radicalized in spite of himself in Oliver Schmitz’s Mapantsula (trailer here), which was duly banned under Apartheid, making it a fitting selection for the United We Stand: South African Cinema during Apartheid retrospective currently underway at the Anthology Film Archives.

Mapantsula had two screenplays: the shooting script co-written by Schmitz (a native white South African) and lead actor Thomas Mogotlane and the dummy version shown to the state censors. They were both stories about a small time gangster (or mapantsula), but there the similarities end. The formerly footloose Panic has been rounded-up with group of politicals. As usual, he is expected to rat out his cellmates, but this time events do not follow their regular course. In Schmitz’s split time frame, the audience also witnesses the not particularly edifying events that led Panic to that holding cell.

Frankly, the Panic of a few days prior to his arrest exhibits nearly sociopathic traits. He is cool enough to rob a white business man at knife point and then brazenly count his take in front of the man. It is never political though. Rather, it is simply an act of unrepentant self-interest. Indeed, he regularly sells out his colleagues and shamelessly sponges off his miserable girlfriend Pat. When his spiteful behavior even gets her fired from her domestic employment, it hardly registers with the hustler. However, Schmitz and Mogotlane clearly suggest Panic’s hardboiled everyman-for-himself attitude is ultimately untenable for black South African living under Apartheid.

Arguably, Mogotlane succeeds too well creating a portrait of a remorseless street tough, making it difficult to feel much during his later ordeals. It almost seems like a case of karma being what it is. Still, there is no denying the intensity of his performance. It really represents rather brave work, both in terms of the guerilla style of the production shoot and the unsympathetic nature of his on-screen character.

After extensive television work in Germany, Schmitz returned to feature filmmaking with Life, Above All, which was shortlisted for this year’s best foreign language Oscar. Still, his international reputation largely rests on Mapantsula, which is probably best appreciated within the context of a retrospective like United We Stand. Mogotlane vividly brings Panic to life as a flesh-and-blood individual (albeit a decidedly problematic one) and the funky soundtrack by the Ouens adds a considerable spark. However, certain sequences do not hold together well, particularly during Panic’s interrogations. As a grim depiction of humanity, Mapantsula is certainly representative of dissident South African cinema of the Apartheid era. It screens today (4/7) and Sunday (4/10) as the United retrospective begins at the Anthology Film Archives.

South Africa at AFA: Land Apart

It is not hard to see why cinematographer Sven Persson’s feature docu-hybrid ran afoul of state censors during Apartheid. Frankly, it is difficult to understand how it was produced in the first place. Simultaneously angry and eccentric, the Swedish-born South African-naturalized Persson’s Land Apart is a truly odd time capsule of South African in the 1970’s, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ upcoming United We Stand: South African Cinema during Apartheid retrospective.

Gary Miller is a fictional nightclub singer, who wants to set the world straight on his South African homeland after feeling stung by European criticism during a recent tour. Brian is a white liberal “researcher,” who in turn, wants to set the crooner straight. In between their politically charged verbal sparring, Brian gives Miller a vaguely Marxian history of South Africa and the development of Apartheid. An established nature filmmaker who worked with Ivan (Daktari) Tors, Persson periodically cuts away to scenes of indigenous wildlife. He also includes generous talking head interviews with political figures, both black and white, from across the political spectrum, including advocates of Apartheid, who not surprisingly come across quite poorly.

Apart was only previously released in a print completely butchered by the government censors. Considering how much they must have had to cut, it must have been more of a short subject than a feature. Perhaps they kept the explanation of the Afrikaners’ tenacious battlefield fighting techniques during the Boers Wars and a few of the unconvincing defenses of Apartheid from various government mouthpieces.

While the dramatic framing device increasingly approaches outright camp, the soundtrack has some groovy funkiness that will prick up many discerning ears. In his rarely seen director’s cut, Persson displays a subversive visual sensibility, juxtaposing scenes of jackals scavenging dead flesh with unvarnished images of township life. Clearly, Apartheid is now a settled controversy, but Apart’s Cliff Note history of South Africa will still likely be informative for many viewers. Dated to be sure, but still strangely engaging, Apart is definitely worth checking out next Sunday (4/10) and the following Thursday (4/14), while the United We Stand series begins this Friday (4/7) at AFA.

Ferrara at AFA: Mary

Abel Ferrara’s Passion of the Christ? Lord, have mercy. Actually, those prayers were partly heeded, if not fully answered. Despite his delicate subject matter and a proven willingness to offend, Ferrara’s Mary (trailer here) is nothing like the outrage one might expect. Perhaps that is why there has been so little theatrical love for the film, even with its Venice and Toronto festival credentials. Fittingly, it screens tonight as part of the Anthology Film Archives’ Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century retrospective of the director’s recent unreleased or under-distributed films.

Juliette Binoche plays actress Marie Palesi playing Mary Magdalene in risky new cinematic life of Jesus directed by and starring the self-absorbed actor Tony Childress. However, when production wraps, Palesi refuses to snap out of it. Since she already has a form of Jerusalem Syndrome, she sets off for Israel rather than returning to Hollywood.

Loving the sound of his own voice, Childress hits the publicity circuit hard on behalf of his film. He accepts an invitation to appear on Ted Younger’s television talk show, a Charlie Rose for liberal theologians and religious writers. Though he discusses faith every night, the TV host has lost his own, succumbing to a myriad of worldly temptations. Of course, this being an Abel Ferrara film, he is in for a long night of the soul.

Though there are potential warning signs all over the place, the ultimate implications of Mary are arguably not overtly hostile to Christian faith. In fact, Ferrara rather explicitly tackles themes of redemption and forgiveness. In a way, it is much like Bad Lieutenant without any of the creepy, disturbing parts.

Still, Ferrara hardly embraces Evangelical Christianity here. There are frequent references to the knuckle-dragging rabble protesting Younger’s film, though Ferrara often seems to conflate the very different controversies surrounding Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ and Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. There is also a fair amount of speculation about Mary Magdalene’s role as a privileged disciple supposedly covered up by the sexist early Church. Frankly, this might have seemed bold a few years ago, but after scores of Da Vinci Code inspired books and films, this seems like pretty ho-hum stuff today.

Befitting Ferrara’s style, Forest Whitaker’s work as Younger is emotionally raw and in-your-face immediate. It is a shoot-the-moon turn he thankfully pulls off. Also, his no-holds-barred on-camera take-down of Chisholm is just really good cinema. Binoche is perfectly cast as the Palesi, the ethereal paragon of awakened spirituality. Refreshingly, she conveys a sense of dignity through faith, never portraying the actress as a religious nut. Though often associated with wishy-washy parts, Matthew Modine actually does arrogant creeps like Chisholm rather well, entertainingly repeating his Freddy Ace shtick from Alan Rudolph’s Equinox here.

There is nothing shy about Ferrara’s go-for-the-throat approach to Mary, but cinematographer Stefano Falivene gives it a shockingly polished look. However, Francis Kuiper’s overly portentous score is somewhat counterproductive at times. It might be self-contradictory and messy, but Mary is probably ten times better than anticipated. For bold souls and curious heathens, it screens tonight (1/7), January the 11th and the 17th at Anthology Film Archives as part of its focus on the director’s largely undistributed recent films.

Ferrara at AFA: Mulberry St.

Why hasn’t anyone signed up Abel Ferrara for a reality TV show? Just watch this clip of the indie cult filmmaker on the old Conan show to get a sense of what it could be like. Indeed, Ferrara presents himself as quite a character in his documentary Mulberry St., which screens this Saturday as part of Anthology Film Archives’ Abel Ferrara in the 21st Century series of the director’s recent unreleased or under-distributed films.

If you had not guessed, Ferrara is Italian. He was also a resident of Little Italy. In fact, many of the nabe’s old school residents turn up in his early films. In Mulberry, Ferrara turns the camera on himself and his neighbors as they gear up for the annual Feast of San Gennaro. Of course, it is not like it used to be the old-timers tell us. They blame Giuliani for booting out the mob and the after-hours gambling. Reform is a drag.

Watching Ferrara kvetch and reminisce about his first film (a grungy porno that ironically was probably his most widely distributed) would be enjoyable television, but as a feature film, it is a bit thin. Still, Ferrara’s cronies like Butchie the Hat certainly have their charm. The frequent impromptu business confabs with Ferrara and his manager (and frequent co-star) Frankie Cee also go a long way toward explaining why so many of his films have such spotty distribution. Yet, that same eccentric Ferrara is evidently able to talk his way onto Danny Aiello’s label with only a brief cell phone introduction from the clearly bemused actor-singer.

Like Chelsea on the Rocks and to an extent Go Go Tales, Mulberry is Ferrara’s ode to the New York of yore, glorious in its grunginess. However, he never makes an overwhelming case for the superiority of the good old days. At least he is bizarrely watchable trying.

Obviously, Ferrara is wired a bit differently. Given his peerless indie cred, the IFC Channel ought to have their cameras follow him around the festival circuit. Frankly, Mulberry should be the pilot, not a theatrical documentary. Surely entertaining for his friends, but nothing resembling a breakout-comeback-whatever, Mulberry screens during AFA’s 21st Century Ferrara retrospective January 8th, 9th, 12th, 15th, and 16th.

Wende Flicks: Latest from the Da-Da-R

A small school of late East German filmmakers came to embrace the anarchic surrealism of dada as the only logical artistic response to life under Communism. After the fall of the wall, the movement’s leading light was not about to go bourgeoisie. Produced in 1990, Jörg Foth’s Latest from the Da-Da-R puts East Germany (pre- and post-Wende) into an absurdist blender, invoking Beckett and Brecht in equal measure. Highly political but resolutely anti-ideological, Foth’s Da-Da-R screens next Monday as part of the Wende Flicks retrospective of post-Fall of the Wall films from the East German DEFA studio at New York’s Anthology Film Archives.

The humor of Steffen Mensching and Hans-Eckardt Wenzel was always edgy. The poet-singer-actors had adopted the clown personae for their provocative stage shows. Their clear debt to Brecht might have been a reason the DDR authorities tolerated their act, but their friends in high places (with impeccable “anti-Fascist” credentials) surely did not hurt. Yet, their iconoclasm must have raised brows. In Foth’s film, they essentially reprise their stage roles, as Meh and Weh, two clowns recently released from prison, set loose on Wende-era Germany. Have white-face, will satirize.

Trying to impose an ideology on their lunacy will result in migraines, but it is fair to say the old regime takes its lumps. Particularly cutting is a send-up of an old style Soviet medal ceremony that degenerates into a scene worthy of the Three Stooges. There are also pointed references to the extreme shortages endured under Communism. Yet, the new reality is also highly problematic. Indeed, Da-Da-R unmistakably questions whether it is truly merciful to free them from their apparently benign prison. All the while, Foth and cinematographer Thomas Plenert capture the DDR’s blighted landscapes and dilapidated public housing in all their depressing glory.

There are indeed moments when Mensching and Wenzel’s physical comedy is legitimately funny and some of their songs are actually quite catchy (albeit bizarrely so). Yet, Da-Da-R is hardly light comedy. There is a profoundly dark edge to their antics, which are clearly intended to disturb more than amuse.

Some interpret Da-Da-R’s journey and ultimate conclusion in hopeful terms. However, the most optimistic aspect of the film was probably the mere fact that it was allowed to be produced. Uncompromising in its Dadaism, it is a pointed summing-up of the DDR experience. Like most of the Wende Flicks selections, it is a film of tremendous historical importance that ought to be more widely seen and debated by cineastes. It screens this Monday (11/1) at the Anthology Film Archives, with an introduction from Foth, the filmmaker, who will also be in attendance for the screening of Miraculi.

Wende Flicks: The Land Beyond the Rainbow

Arthur Koestler and his fellow apostates from Communism called the ideology “The God that Failed.” One can see how apt a term that was in Herwig Kipping’s The Land Beyond the Rainbow, a scathing critique of the secular religious fervor mandated by Stalinism. A selection of the 1992 Berlinale, Beyond remains a scorching critique of Communism, which screens next Tuesday as part of the Wende Flicks retrospective of post-Fall of the Wall films from the East German DEFA studio at New York’s Anthology Film Archives.

It is hardly a coincidence Beyond takes place during the eventful year of 1953. Of course, that was the year Stalin died. Three months later, Soviet troops invaded East Germany to suppress an outbreak of strikes and demonstrations. However, life appears peaceful in the fictional provincial collective of Stalina. Both Hans and Rainbowmaker have eyes for Marie, the film’s ethereal narrator. However, Rainbowmaker’s grandfather, a strict Party leader, brings the isolated community to grief.

From his cowl-looking cloak to his prayer-like invocations to the recently deceased Stalin, Rainbowmaker’s grandfather is an unambiguous figure of orthodox faith. He also appropriates whatever he pleases from the collective and purges members at will. However, his greatest specialty appears to be encouraging children to inform on their parents. Unlike more allegorical films produced behind the Iron Curtain, there is absolutely no question what he represents. In fact, Stalin’s apologists are probably watching Beyond in Hell for the rest of eternity.

Yet, the blistering Beyond cannot be dismissed as mere post-Wall score-settling, given the eerie rendering of the hyper-Communist community and Kipping’s occasional flights of surrealist fantasy. This is an angry film, but an artful one as well. It also features some surprisingly compelling turns from the then young trio of Stefanie Janke, Thomas Ewert, and Sebastian Reznicek, as Marie, Hans, and Rainbowmaker, the pre-pubescent love triangle.

There may truly be no more viscerally anti-Communist film than Beyond. However, Kipping’s in-your-face Christ-like imagery might put off some Christian audiences. Indeed, there are strong visuals throughout the film, the cumulative effect of which is a damning indictment of the DDR. Accordingly, anyone with a scrap of interest in the Communist and immediate post-Communist eras should make a special effort to see Beyond when it screens next Tuesday (11/2) as part of Wende Flicks at Anthology Film Archives.

Wende Flicks: Miraculi

Filmmakers working behind the Iron Curtain had a natural affinity for the absurd and the surreal. Given their experiences under Communism, they could easily relate to such Kafkaesque cinemscapes. It also behooved them to keep their social critiques obscured by layers of allegory and symbolism. A passion project only made possible by the fall of the Berlin Wall (or the epochal “Wende”), Ulrich Weiß’s Miraculi represents the culmination of such cinematic strategies. Finally produced in 1991, Miraculi screens next week as part of Wende Flicks: Last Films from East Germany (series trailer here), a retrospective of the East German DEFA studio’s final years (1990-1994), presented at Anthology Film Archives in conjunction with the Goethe-Institut New York.

In the Czech Republic, one of the few annoying holdovers from the Communist era are the plain clothes transit inspectors looking to fine riders who cannot produce their appropriately punched tickets. Evidently, East Germany had these transit narcs as well. Through a series of chance circumstances, Sebastian Mueller, a mild mannered juvenile delinquent, joins the ranks of the volunteer transit inspectors. In truth, he is not very good at his duties, but he takes them very seriously, alienating his father, who labels him a traitor to the workers.

Episodic and trippy, Mueller’s story defies pat description. In a strange way, Weiß invests Mueller’s reviled voluntarism with strange and cosmic dimensions. Yet, one can easily glean the power dynamics at work. As one character explains, stiffing the tram is truly the only safe method of rebellion available to her, so who cares if she is caught.

Miraculi’s dense layers of meaning are thought to be fully grasped only by those who experienced the oppressive drabness of the GDR. That may well be so, but there are plenty of signifiers astute westerners should be able to catch. Indeed, the significance of an abnormal psychology lecture delivered to Mueller and his fellow inspectors is hard to miss, if viewers have any familiarity with the Soviet bloc’s record of institutionalized psychiatric abuse.

Undeniably both subversive and demanding, there is no possible way Miraculi could have been produced under the Soviet-dominated GDR regime. It is a world away from Soviet Realism, even though it scrupulously captures the depressed grunginess of industrialized East Germany. It is a rich, challenging work, recommended to viewers who do not have to “get” everything they see, to appreciate a film. It screens this coming Monday (11/1) at Anthology Film Archives as part of the remarkable Wende Flicks series. Truly a cinematic event, many of the Wende selections have never been subtitled or shown outside of Germany, until now. Yet, films like Miraculi are both historically important and fascinating in their own right. The Wende Flicks series runs in New York from November 1st through the 3rd.

Visions of East Germany: DDR/DDR

It was not a god that failed in East Germany, but modernism’s promise of glories to come. Nothing better represents this decrepit futurism than Ulrich Muther’s flying saucer shaped life-guard station constructed during the years of the Deutsche Democratic Republic (DDR). Fittingly, it appears as a recurring motif in Amie Siegel’s DDR/DDR, a cinematic essay on the fundamental changes experienced by East Germany, which screened as part of the 2008 Whitney Biennial and now opens theatrically today at the Anthology Film Archives.

Combining elements of experimental collage and traditional documentary filmmaking, DDR/DDR is consistently meditative in tone, but provocatively connects many seemingly disparate elements of East German life. Siegel makes strong visual and historical analogies between guns and cameras, particularly the long telescopic lens developed for the Stasi, the East German secret police. While as a documentarian, she records a crash course in Stasi technology from a post-unification collector of Stasi surveillance technology, as well as the oral histories of two relatively unrepentant Stasi veterans.

Throughout DDR/DDR, Siegel lovingly pans East German interiors apparently frozen in time, like the Mies van der Rohe-looking office of the former Stasi director, as if hoping to capture a ghost haunting the once modernistic quarters. However, unlike Nina Toussaint and Massimo Ianetta’s chilling Stasi documentary Decomposition of the Soul, Siegel is not trying to recreate the experience of being in these chambers back in the day. Instead, they are more like samples mixed in to her composite for varying effects. Indeed, it is a high irony to watch a vintage uncomfortable-looking DDR-era chair as it shipped to a Soho gallery to be sold for a tidy sum.

As documentary, DDR/DDR is most successful when Siegel explores the torturous role played by psychoanalysis in East German society. Though officially proscribed, Stasi interrogators received extensive psychological training, in order to more efficiently break their subjects. Still, there were limited areas of legitimate psychoanalysis available to patients, yet even these were compromised by Stasi intrusion. Perhaps the most dramatic moment in the film occurs when an East German psychologist discusses her experiences as the target of a Stasi harassment campaign. Deliberately moving from her analyst’s chair to her patients’ couch, it is almost like a conscious role reversal on her part, as she revisits some distinctly painful personal history. As a result, her insights and honesty are the high points of the film, by far.

Still, DDR/DDR is more about its waves of images, than it is about straight-forward historical inquiry. Arguably, Siegel spends far too much time with visuals that strike her fancy, like the teepees and traditional garb of an East German subculture obsessed with Native American ways of life. Frankly, the real problem with DDR/DDR is there is too much of Siegel (and her politics), often seen in self-referential scenes recording narration or debating the best translation of “Wende,” the German shorthand term for the social transformation following the fall of the wall. In contrast, it is best when parsing and deconstructing the grainy surveillance footage and odd training films produced by the Stasi.

Tellingly, Siegel observes the Stasi archives are entirely analog, since the Wende revolution predated the digital revolution. Juxtaposing the ironic and the sentimental, DDR/DDR is an indeterminate elegy to an East Germany that never achieved the bold future it was pledged. Frequently fascinating, but somewhat thematically inconsistent, DDR/DDR is considerably more engaging than a thumbnail description would suggest. Recommended for adventurous audiences, it opens today (5/7) in New York at the Anthology Film Archives.

Garrel’s Frontier of Dawn

French auteur Philippe Garrel’s international following might stem as much from a voyeuristic fascination with his well-documented personal tribulations as from a regard for his critically acclaimed films. Indeed, his ill-fated relationship with pop icon Nico reverberates throughout much of his later work, including his most recent film, Frontier of Dawn (trailer here), an official selection of the 2008 Cannes Film Festival that screens this weekend at Anthology Film Archives.

It is always hard to untangle Garrel from his protagonists, especially with his son Louis Garrel cast as the lead. In Dawn, the younger Garrel plays François, a somewhat immature photographer assigned to shoot Carole Weissman, a beautiful but profoundly troubled actress. Though camera-shy, she easily seduces François, initiating a tempestuous romance.

Weissman is terrible girlfriend material for a number of reasons—the most practical being her marriage to another actor she hardly knows and rarely sees. She also happens to be an alcoholic and a relentless game-player, who proceeds to torture François, constantly pushing him away, only to reel him back in. Rapidly degenerating mentally, Weissman is eventually institutionalized, where she undergoes electroshock therapy in a scene directly inspired by director Garrel’s own notorious experiences.

Weissman’s self-destructive tendencies culminate in a long dark night of the soul, but even in death François is not free of her manipulations. Engaged to another fragile (but psychologically healthier) woman, François starts seeing Weissman’s apparition, in Ophelia-like funereal dress, literally through the looking glass.

Dawn is a strange film in many ways. While it has the unsparing intimacy that marks Garrel’s oeuvre, it takes an unexpected late turn into gothic territory, capped off by a finale sure to induce double-takes. There is also a sporadic Goddard-esque randomness to the film, as when François declares his Judaism to a drunken anti-Semite in complete dramatic non-sequitur. How this revelation is meant to inform our reading of the film remains obscure.

Still, despite the occasional stylistic indulgence, Dawn is a starkly beautiful film. William Lubtchansky’s black and white cinematography is appropriately haunting, while the classical soundtrack composed by Jean-Claude Vannier and performed by jazz violinist Didier Lockwood sets a truly eerie tone, effectively amplifying the turbulent emotions on-screen.

Laura Smet’s ethereal beauty, simultaneously alluring and forbidding, perfectly fits the troubled Weissman. She is also quite scary (in more ways than one), convincingly portraying her character’s precipitous mental dissolution. Louis Garrel also delivers one of his better screen performances, bringing believable dimension to an intentionally weak, malleable character. Together, they look right but feel wrong.

Dawn is a weirdly elegant film that might even alienate some of Garrel’s admirer’s with its supernatural overtones. Yet it might be his most accessible for the same reasons. Though deemed a revival engagement by Anthology Film Archives, it will be a first run film to most New Yorkers, having previously had a very limited theatrical run, in Brooklyn. Unsettling but affecting, it screens Friday (11/20) through Sunday (11/22) at AFA.

Corman at AFA: Bucket of Blood

Jazz is not usually thought of in conjunction with genre films, but it does turn up in the odd (or very odd) sci-fi or horror picture. British tenor star Tubby Hayes appeared as himself and played on the soundtrack for one story in the Amicus horror anthology film Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors, which co-starred the sophisticated gruesome twosome of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee (in separate story arcs). Moon Zero Two, a rare Hammer Films foray into sci-fi, has not aged well, but at least it boasts a pretty cool Don Ellis score. Add to their ranks some of Roger Corman’s more distinctive camp classics, including Bucket of Blood (trailer here), which screens at Anthology Film Archives during their upcoming Poe and Beyond retrospective of the ultra-low budget auteur's films.

Bucket is probably most notorious for facilitating Corman’s immediate follow-up film, The Little Shop of Horrors, than its own on-screen chills. According to disputed legend, after wrapping Bucket, Corman realized his sets were paid-up through for next two days, so why not crank out another picture in that time? Still, Bucket has its own cult following, having even inspired a mid 1990’s remake produced for Showtime.

Both comical horror films also feature a score by jazz cellist Fred Katz. The onetime musical director of the Chico Hamilton Quintet, with whom he is seen in Sweet Smell of Success, the cerebral Katz might seem an unlikely associate for the Corman, the king of grade Z genre fare, but he scored several of director’s pictures. Katz’s Bucket score often swings in a crime jazz mood, while at other times it reflects the goofy whimsy of Charles B Griffith’s beanik spoofing screenplay. Katz’s fellow Hamilton alumnus Paul Horn (before his defection to New Age music) also appears in the opening scene, accompanying an over-top pretentious poetry recital, in the spirit of the jazz-and-poetry performances of the era.

Cult actor Dick Miller plays busboy Walter Paisley (a sad sack character he would revive for future Corman productions), slaving away for unappreciative beatniks in a hipster coffee house. By accident, he kills his landlord’s cat, which he conceals by disguising the body as a statue. When his “Dead Cat” is received as a work of genius, he logically starts escalating with humans.

Many Corman enthusiasts prefer Bucket to its more famous offspring. The story might be ridiculous, but it has its moments of sly dark comedy. In particular, Julian Barton is spot-on as the pontificating poet Maxwell Brock, looking like an unkempt Theodore Bikel, while Katz and Horn, perhaps the greatest talent attached to the film, lend it a touch of class. Clearly a product of its time and budget, Bucket still has an undeniable charm. AFA’s Corman retro starts on October 28th, just in time for Halloween, with Bucket screening on November 2nd, 5th, and 8th.

Loznitsa at AFA: Revue

Much of the old school 1950’s Soviet propaganda could be called timeless, because it is as convincing today as when it was first broadcast—not very. Yet, it had a distinct aesthetic which continues to inspire misguided alternative rock bands to this day. Russian documentary filmmaker Sergei Loznitsa returned to the vaults for his latest film, Revue, which cannily juxtaposes clips of Soviet-era propaganda films, while prompting little nostalgia for the system that produced them. This shrewd window into the age of glorious five-year plans begins its premiere New York run this Wednesday as part of the Anthology Film Archive’s Loznitsa retrospective.

Like Loznitsa’s previous film Blockade, Revue avoids telling viewers what to think through either narration or talking head interviews, striving instead to recreate the milieu of a certain historical experience. While Blockade might have had a troubling moment or two, it is in fact a respectful portrayal of the conditions endured by the people of St. Petersburg, who unquestionably suffered and died during the War. In contrast, Revue is much more subversive in its approach, evoking the experience of consuming images scrupulously selected and carefully refracted through a political prism to serve the interests of the Party.

Loznitsa’s editorial decisions clearly illustrate the fleeting and contradictory nature of these party-line films. Obviously, the official imprimatur would expire for comrade Khrushchev’s address shortly after it was filmed. At different times, we also hear of two recognized community leaders both described as take-charge kind of leaders. One is a private citizen, likened to the Czar for his supposed arrogance in a woefully didactic stage play. The other is a policeman, celebrated as a hero for the same qualities of intelligence and decisiveness in a state news broadcast. In a glaringly unfortunate scene, he takes an accused criminal into the Katyn woods of all places, to give him a good talking to.

In Revue, Loznitsa shows a fondness for footage of traditional folk music troupes, which still have a certain charm, and highly politicized theater productions, which remain largely unwatchable. The exception is the finale: a huge, bombastic production of the glorious revolution lumbering across the stage like a Communist version of Les Miz. At least that was a real show.

Loznitsa’s archival films are intriguing time-capsules from a dark period in history. While Blockade has the more dramatic imagery, Revue is a more inventive work, attempting to deconstruct Soviet propaganda with its very words and images. Both films should fascinate Russophobes and Russophiles alike, during AFA’s Loznitsa series starting Wednesday (5/13).

Loznitsa at AFA: Blockade

The early 1940’s were not a fun time to be Russian. Even if you survived your own government, there was still a war going on with Germany. From September 9, 1941 to January 18, 1944, the National Socialists had what was then known as Leningrad effectively cordoned off in hopes of starving out the city. Life was indeed hard for Leningraders, as can be seen in Sergei Loznitsa’s Blockade, which screens at the Anthology Film Archives next week as part of a retrospective dedicated to the director.

Eschewing many of the traditional techniques of documentary filmmaking like voice-over narration and interview segments, Loznitsa assembled Blockade entirely from clips of rare Soviet films languishing in the vaults of the St. Petersburg Studio of Documentary Films. Although all the footage was originally silent, Loznitsa created a soundtrack designed to recreate a sense of life at that time, under those circumstances. It was not always pretty.

While Loznitsa starts with scenes of the fortification process, we soon see more disturbing sights, including the parading of German POW’s down Leningrad’s boulevards to facilitate their public humiliation. As the siege continues, corpses become a common sight, literally piling up in the street, necessitating disposal in mass graves.

Even in this scarcely seen footage unearthed by Loznitsa, the aesthetics of Soviet propaganda remains pervasive. The average Soviet Russians are frequently seen dramatically dwarfed by the Soviet monuments, military hardware, and the ever-present propaganda posters. Of course, there is a war on, so most of the diminutive figures we see are the stereotypical matronly Russian women and withered old men.

Blockade is an eerie film of starkly beautiful images. It conveys an impressionistic sense of a city enduring conditions of war, starvation, extreme need, and bitter cold. While it might have been a miserable time for the individual, it proved quite amenable for an oppressive regime whose authority could not be questioned. It screens at AFA as part of their Loznitsa retrospective from Wednesday the 13th through the following Tuesday.