Skolimowski’s 11 Minutes

Suppose they had the apocalypse and nobody noticed. Actually, calling it Armageddon might be overstating matters. It might be more like a sudden outbreak of bad karma happens around a public square in Warsaw, between 5:00 and 5:11. Do not obsess over the time line, just try to keep up with the comings and goings of the characters in Jerzy Skolimowski’s multi-braided 11 Minutes (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The clock will not be ticking towards 5:11 in 24-style, because Skolimowski decided it was too confining. He made Moonlighting, so he is entitled to call a sudden audible. Regardless, we will not see the sun set on this large assembly of not necessarily inter-related characters. As we can tell from flashbacks, there was something portentous about the day. In fact, several rather offhandedly mention seeing something odd in the sky, and then go about their day.

For the actress Anna Hellman, it involves meeting a predatory, date-rape-drug-slipping producer in his hotel room to discuss a most likely bogus part. Simultaneously, her newlywed husband will tear through the hotel, ducking security and hoping intuition will bring him to the right room. Meanwhile, a hot dog vendor who most likely served time for pedophilia awaits a ride from his son, who just barely escaped from his lover’s bed before her husband arrived. Frankly, it was not a clean getaway.

But wait, there are many more subplots for Skolimowski cut to and from, including the alpinist lovers who scale their way into an empty hotel room for an awkward assignation. There is at least another disaffected youth as well, whose criminal scheming will come to naught, or worse. Unfortunately, emergency services will be needed, but Skolimowski’s team of first responders are bogged down with a blocked stairway that complicates their attempt to reach a pregnant woman and an ailing man.

Frankly, 11 Minutes is more a feat of juggling than cinema. Conceptually, it has all been done before, but Skolimowski’s approach is exceptionally frenetic. It is impressive watching him zip around like a pinball, even though we lose track of the characters not played by the blonde bombshell Paulina Chapko or the profusely sweating Wojciech Mecwaldowski, who both have real screen presence as Hellman and her intense husband.

There is some serious flash and dazzle in 11 Minutes, but what is most intriguing about the film is the open question whether something cosmically significant is afoot. The hints are deftly dropped, but the lack of resolution is frustrating. Still, on a technical level, Skolimowski, cinematographer Mikolaj Lebkowski, and editor Agnieszka Glinska surpass all the temporal-tampering indie gimmicks so prevalent in the 1990s and early 2000s. It almost feels fresh again. Recommended for those looking for style but not wedded to narrative substance, 11 Minutes opens this Friday (4/8) at the IFC Center.

Martin Scorsese Presents: Innocent Sorcerers

There was a brief and shiny moment during Poland’s tragic years of Communism when disillusioned youth could pursue Bohemianism. It did not last. Of course, many of those early 1960s musicians, artists, and would be drop-outs joined the Solidarity movement as fed-up adults. However, life still seems to have a lot of possibilities outside of politics for Bayzli and his associates in Andrzej Wajda’s Innocent Sorcerers, which screens as part of the Martin Scorsese Presents: Masterpieces of Polish Cinema film series that has made its way from the Film Society of Lincoln Center to the Denver’s SIE FilmCenter.

Bayzli (a.k.a. “Medicine Man”) is a sports doctor who moonlights as a jazz drummer, or vice versa. He takes nothing seriously, even including music, but least of all women. While doggedly avoiding his ostensive girlfriend Mirka, Bayzli reluctantly agrees to help his hipster buddy Edmund separate the Holly Golightly-esque Pelagia from her square boyfriend.

However, instead of steering her back into the club to wait for the exceedingly interested Edmund, the two somehow wind up back at the doctor’s flat. For the rest of the night, they engage in verbal parrying worthy of Eric Rohmer. Maybe it is significant, but perhaps it is all meaningless. Nonetheless, neither of them is ready to let go of the evening, despite their determined efforts to play it cool.

Although Sorcerers was Wajda’s immediate follow-up to his WWII trilogy, it is something of an anomaly in the director’s filmography. Unlike Man of Iron and Katyn, it almost never addresses political or historical controversies. However, there is a deep-seated skepticism informing the characters’ world views. They spend their nights partying and their days sleeping, because they clearly do not believe their contemporary society is offering anything worth sacrificing for.

Yet, the film is distinguished by a lightness of mood. On paper, this one-crazy-night story sounds largely interchangeable with any number of modern day indies, but Wajda, the young master, never lets the proceedings get too cynical, sentimental, or quirky. Rather, it all unfolds rather effortlessly and matter-of-factly.

One thing is certain, nobody could ever assemble a cast like this again, including co-screenwriter and future auteur Jerzy Skolimowski appearing as a punch drunk boxer. It would also be difficult to corral international fugitive Roman Polanski, who plays the bass-player leader of Bayzli’s band. Sadly, Zbigniew Cybulski (sometimes called “the Polish James Dean”) is no longer with us, but he brings plenty of manic method as Edmund. Likewise, the late and very great Krzysztof Komeda and the not quite as well known but still late and pretty great Andrzej Trzaskowski added some real deal jazz cred, essentially playing themselves.

In fact, Komeda’s score sounds fantastic. It swings hard, but still has a pensive character. You can real hear how he links early 1960s hardbop to the more open but emotional resonant music of his protégé, Tomasz Stanko. Indeed, it is a major reason why Innocent Sorcerers is such an enduring masterwork. You know it must be good, because it still managed to generate official flak for Wajda, even though he thought it was completely apolitical. Highly recommended, it screens this Monday (8/18) at the SIE FilmCenter, during the Denver run of the Masterpieces of Polish Cinema touring film series.

NYFF ’11: Sodankyla Forever

A film festival must be pretty secure in itself to program a four and a half hour documentary tribute to another festival. Such is the case with the 49th New York Film Festival. Though not exactly an international launching pad, like Toronto or Cannes, the Midnight Sun Film Festival in Sodankylä, Finland has drawn some of the most admired names in the history of cinema. Festival director Peter von Bagh interviewed many of them on-stage, eventually editing some of their most provocative recollections and insights into the four part documentary, Sodankylä Forever, which has a special two-night screening at this year’s NYFF.

Held in June when the Midsummer sun never sets, the festival might be patrons only opportunity for a brief respite of darkness. However, each day’s line-up begins with an in-depth discussion with a prominent filmmaker. In a way, von Bagh’s Sodankylä is particularly timely and appropriate for this year’s NYFF, because it includes several excerpts of interviews with Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi, who obviously will not have the opportunity to participate in Q&A sessions after the screening of his latest film, This Is Not a Film.

Indeed, many world class auteurs sat down with von Bagh, including Wim Wenders and Roger Corman, who are also represented at NYFF, as filmmaker and subject, respectively. Yet, for pure movie fans, the highlight of Sodankylä will be hearing Empire Strikes Back director Irving Kershner discus his initial reaction to a sneak peak at Star Wars (or A New Hope as we are now supposed to call it).

Arguably though, the best material comes from filmmakers who labored under the yoke of Communism. Most notably, Krzysztof Zanussi pointedly criticizes the festival’s special screening of Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin, explaining how the ideology it sought to promote caused such profound pain for his country. By the same token, von Bagh deserves credit for putting his comments into the film.

Although an entire segment is essentially devoted to picking desert island films, most of Sodankylä proceeds in a rather idiosyncratic fashion. Von Bagh frequently uses something an interview subject said (or almost nearly said) as a transitional hook into the next auteur, like a game of free association featuring the likes of Sam Fuller, Miloš Forman, Abbas Kiarostami, Claude Chabrol, Jacques Demy, Andrei Konchalovsky, Jerzy Skolimoski (who probably has the best one-liner), and John Boorman (who probably offers the funniest anecdotes).

It is important audiences understand Sodankylä is not That’s Entertainment. Throughout the film, the only film clips von Bagh shows are part of wider audience shots. However, (aside from some rather superficial axe-grinding from John Sayles) the collected reminiscences and commentary are all quite perceptive and engaging. One of the more ambitious screening events at the 49th New York Film Festival, Sodankylä is respectfully recommended for earnest students of cinema. It screens in two installments this coming Tuesday (10/11) and Wednesday (10/12) at the Francesca Beale Theater.

Jazz Score: Sounds of Komeda

Krzysztof Komeda is often considered a victim of the curse of Rosemary’s Baby, dying less than a year after the release the famous film he scored. He and producer William Castle were actually admitted to the same hospital, at the same time, but while Castle recovered, Komeda eventually succumbed to his injuries. He died prematurely young, but already one of Poland’s most influential jazz musicians and soundtrack composers. Saturday night, MoMA’s Jazz Score series showcased several films Komeda scored, and tonight, Tomasz Stanko, a former member of Komeda’s Quartet, will play his music at MoMA, backed up by the Marcin Wasilewski trio.

Komeda had a long association with Roman Polanski, which brought him to Hollywood in the late 1960’s. Though it is Polanski’s first full-length feature as a director, Knife in the Water hints at some of the psycho-sexual themes that would pre-occupy much of his later work. It also bears some slight similarity to Dead Calm, telling the story the arrogant, well-connected Andrzej and his trophy wife Krystyna, who pick up a young, un-named hitchhiker, and take him on their day cruise, evidently out of boredom and the challenge of his banter. However, that witty patter often gives way to darker expressions lurking below the surface, intensified by the claustrophobic conditions aboard the small yacht.

As dark and moody as Knife might be, Komeda’s score is not as dark as one might expect. It often swings nicely, capturing the bouncy of the open water with clear skies. At others times it is cool and laid back, almost languid like the placid sea.

Despite featuring some musicians associated with the avant-garde, including cornetist Don Cherry and tenor saxophonist Gato Barbieri, Komeda’s score for Le Départ is also a surprisingly swinging affair. The first film directed by Knife screenwriter Jerzy Skolimowski, it was actually filmed in Belgium, with a largely French cast, including Jean-Pierre Léaud, one of the most consistently annoying screen presences in international cinema.

To be fair, Léaud was often cast in roles demanding such performances, like in Last Tango in Paris and the great Day for Night. Again, here in Départ, he plays the immature dreamer. This Léaud character is Marc, a young hairdresser’s assistant obsessed with entering a motor rally, at the expense of his relations with real people, particularly a potential girlfriend he drags on a foolish, bordering criminal spree, in lieu of an actual date.

Départ is very much a continuation of the New Wave, crying out for comparisons to Godard’s Breathless. Skolimowski has a distinctly subversive eye, well matched by Komeda’s music. At times, his music undercuts the on-screen action, rather than reinforcing it, as when Marc begins a half-hearted attempt to seduce a middle-aged client at a fashion show. Komeda worked with Skolimowski on several projects, including Barrier, which often features the darker sounds frequently associated with the composer. Indeed, a Komeda retrospective would be a great follow-up series for MoMA.

Komeda was an important mentor to Stanko, who has often recorded his compositions. Tonight you can hear him interpret them anew at the MoMA. Tomorrow night, the Wasilewski Trio, mentored by Stanko, will play at Birdland, capping off a mini-festival of Polish Jazz in New York (but Knife and Départ will screen again on May 22nd).

Retrospective Love for Skolimowski

A director who critiques society in thoughtful ways (as opposed to clumsy didacticism) is certainly worth reviewing in a retrospective. Such is the case with Jerzy Skolimowski (henceforth abbreviated as JS), who is currently the subject of a retrospective at the Anthology Film Archive this week.

JS worked with the notable Polish directors Adrzej Wajda and Roman Polanski before directing his own films, several of which ran a foul of the Polish Communist authorities, most notably Hands Up!, which was produced in 1967 but not released until 1981 (and was included in the Anthology program). Also screening last night was Barrier (Bariera), a challenging film of the sort that calls into question what is real, what is fantasy, and what does it all mean anyway? A jaded student drops out of school, perhaps to get married the next day. Along the way, he walks through a dreamscape of weird imagery, carrying a suitcase and a saber.

Binding and unwrapping—physical barriers—are repeated motifs in Barrier. Skolimowski can convey a sense of menace in commonplace things, but for all its illusory imagery, he cuts the proceedings with an occasional flash of subversive humor. Barrier may refer to human boundaries, but it is significant to make such a film in Iron Curtain Poland, where barriers were a very real part of every day life. Certainly, Barrier was worlds away from the state-approved Socialist Realism of dedicated workers striving to build the Communist state of tomorrow.

JS was a one-time jazz musician and was an associate of Krzysztof Komeda, who scored Barrier. Komeda’s music at times blends jazz reminiscent of Miles Davis’ Elevator to the Scaffold soundtrack with a vocal choir, but also uses orchestral themes that bring to mind some of Georges Delerue’s work. In each instance, his musical cues underscore the dreamlike nature of the film.

Moonlighting, JS’s best known film (screening today), is different—an uncomfortably direct and personal examination of a desperate individual. Jeremy Irons plays Nowak, one of four Polish laborers set to London illegally to renovate a flat for their boss in the government. Nowak is given the burden of leadership as he is the only one of the four who speaks English and is not a member of Solidarity.

In a career making performance Irons portrays a man given responsibility, but no authority, powerless in a strange land, with their money running out and communication from Poland cut off by the declaration of martial law. In order to finish the project, Nowak keeps the news of crack down against Solidarity from his men, even stooping to destroying mail from their families. Though he considers them fools, crude men of mean circumstances, at least their souls are their own. Nowak however, is a knowing pawn.

The Skolimowki retrospective runs through Saturday, often with JS shorts preceding the films. They make for fascinating viewing, as they show a director dealing with some common themes in vastly different ways.