Polanski’s An Officer and a Spy

France just rewarded the mass murderers guilty of the 10/7 atrocities by officially recognizing the territory governed by the responsible terrorist organization. That should be shocking, but antisemitism is baked into French history. Over a century later, French antisemites are still trying to frame Alfred Dreyfus for treason. Sadly, the case remains timely, but Roman Polanski might be a flawed candidate to bring his story to the big screen (since he is a literally a fugitive from justice). Nevertheless, he is the filmmaker who collaborated with author Robert Harris, to adapt his fact-based novel. The result happens to be Polanski’s best film in years, which deserves consideration regardless of your judgement of the director. “Long awaited” by some, An Officer and a Spy (a.k.a. J’accuse), finally opens (after six years) this Friday in New York at Film Forum.

The film starts with the infamous “degrading” of Captain Dreyfus after his treason conviction, including the breaking of his saber. Col. Marie-Georges Picquart played a small, behind-the-scenes part in his conviction, which troubles him not, since he assumes Dreyfus is guilty. Shortly thereafter, he is appointed to lead the contemporary equivalent of military intelligence. In this new position, he soon learns the irregularities in the Dreyfus case were deliberately and dubiously irregular.

While investigating another potential traitor, Maj. Ferdinand Walsin Esterhazy, Dreyfus uncovers evidence that suggests his new suspect was in fact guilty of the crimes for which Dreyfus was convicted. However, his superiors in the army and the War Department close ranks, preferring a traitor like Esterhazy to remain free rather than admit Dreyfus’s innocence. Picquart refuses to lie, but he always follows orders, so the generals assign him to a whirlwind of dangerous foreign postings. Nevertheless, during a rare homecoming, Picquart consulted with Dreyfus’s defenders, including Emile Zola, who pens the explosive “J’Accuse” indictment.

At this point, French society cleaves in half, while both Picquart and Zola face criminal charges. In some ways, An Officer and a Spy plays like a late 19^th Century variant on paranoid 1970s political corruption thrillers, which makes sense, because that was largely Harris’s concept for the source novel. Indeed, he had plenty of historical material to work with, including assassination attempts and duels. Yet, it also a masterful mood piece, wherein Polanski captures the stuffy social restraint and suffocating hypocrisy of fin de siècle France.

Dreyfus himself only appears intermittently, mostly at the beginning and the end. Nevertheless, Louis Garrel’s performance is quite extraordinary. Harris and Polanski mostly concern themselves with Picquart’s campaign to expose the unjust conspiracy instead of the man who was their target, sort of like Kevin Costner in JFK, except the events of this film really did happen.

Jean Dujardin also disappears into the role of cerebral Picquart. (At times, he looks more like Gilles Lellouche.) Regardless, it is an unusually anti-heroic performance, despite Picquart’s typically heroic activities, like chasing assassins and clearing the name of an innocent man. Dujardin’s portrayal of the Colonel is deliberately hard to embrace (especially given his early anti-Jewish prejudice), but he conveys his intelligence and integrity, while staying consistent with the prevailing attitudes of his time.

Weekend of a Champion: When Polanski Went to Monte Carlo

It came between Macbeth and Chinatown, or in less edifying terms, between the horrifying murder of Sharon Tate and the infamous rape of an under-aged girl in Jack Nicholson’s Mulholland home. Even Formula One champion Jackie Stewart seemed rather surprised by Roman Polanski’s interest in the sport, but they got on famously in Frank Simon’s rarely seen documentary, Weekend of a Champion (trailer here), produced by on-camera super-fan Polanski, which opens this Friday at the IFC Center.

In 1971, it was debatable who was a bigger celebrity, Stewart or Polanski.  Stewart was looking to win his second Monaco Grand Prix as part of his march towards a second Formula One world championship.  However, this would be his first race in a brand new car.  Although unharmed, Stewart was still somewhat shook up from the accident that had totaled his previous vehicle.  Still, Stewart appears to have a natural affinity for Monte Carlo street course, explaining each twisty turn to Polanski in the drive-along that might be the film’s highlight.

If you are a fan of Jackie Stewart or Formula One racing in general, then Weekend is all kinds of awesome.  If not, the Polanski factor and the nostalgic vibe are just enough to keep non-fans invested.  Evidently, Formula One was a different beast forty-some years ago.  Having already lost most of his closest friends and colleagues to track related accidents, Stewart was arguably lucky just to be alive.  His tireless advocacy of safety reforms would dramatically improve driver mortality rates.  Yet, the sport was also considerably more intimate at the time.  Fans lining the Monte Carlo streets could practically reach out and touch the cars as they flashed by.

The newly restored Weekend adds a new postscript featuring Stewart and Polanski talking about how things used to be.  It is mostly forgettable mutual appreciation stuff, but when they revisit the road course, it really brings home that sense of how time passes.

In all likelihood, Weekend probably will not convert vast armies of Formula One fans, but viewers can easily see how Stewart smoothly segued into a second career as a broadcast commentator.  He has a way of explaining nuts-and-bolts details in clear and descriptive terms.  Frankly, Polanski is just along for the ride, but his rapport with Stewart seems genuine.

Once the race starts, there is hardly any question as to the outcome, but Simon and the battery of editors nicely bake in a fair degree of suspense through sequences addressing the new car and uncertain weather conditions.  While not exactly a cinematic landmark, Weekend is a highly watchable as a sports documentary time capsule, with obvious novelty value to cineastes.  It is sort of mind-blowing that this even exists, but here it is (with fleeting cameos from Ringo Starr and Joan Collins).  Recommended for motor sports enthusiasts and compulsive Polanski apologists, Weekend of a Champion opens this Friday (11/22) in New York at the IFC Center.

Reza’s Carnage (Directed by Roman Polanski)

It is set in Brooklyn, but for obvious reasons, Roman Polanski’s latest film was not shot on location. As a result, it confines itself to the bourgeoisie-with-pretensions-of-hipness apartment of the Longstreet family. However, that staginess mostly works for Carnage, Polanski’s big screen adaptation of Yasmina Reza’s hit play, which opens this Friday in New York.

Penelope and Michael Longstreet are liberals, or at least she is. Alan and Nancy Cowan are conservative, or at least he is. There is no question who wears the pants in each family, but that does not mean Michael and Nancy do not resent their subordinate positions. They have gathered in the Longstreets’ remarkably spacious and idiosyncratic apartment to address a violent quarrel between their young sons. The Cowan boy (or “thug” as his father calls him) picked up a handy stick and knocked Master Longstreet alongside the head.

Both sets of parents want to resolve the incident, but clearly differ in their approaches. The Longstreets, meaning Penelope, want to bring the kids together for a healing moment, whereas the Cowans (both of them really) are more down-to-business and practical. At first, everyone wants to show how civilized and rational they can be, but the longer the Cowans reluctantly tarry in that apartment, the more nerves are frayed and simmering hostilities are bluntly expressed.

Cleaving first along family lines and then realigning according to gender, Carnage spares it characters nothing. Yet arguably the PC hypocrisy of the Longstreets (Penelope) takes it harder on the chin than Alan Cowan’s self-aware social Darwinism. Indeed, the whole premise of the film largely validates his world view.

Transferring Reza’s God of Carnage to the screen, Polanski embraces the one-set four-character verbal battle royale in all its theatricality. Indeed, it is easy to see why it was such a successful star vehicle on stage. Frankly, if Polanski were not Polanski, we would probably think of Carnage as a Reza film in much the same way we consider The Odd Couple a Neil Simon movie rather than a Gene Saks film. However, Polanski is most definitely Polanski.

All four cast members get a chance to behave badly in the spotlight and chew on some scathing dialogue. Once again, Christoph Waltz does Oscar caliber work as Cowan, making condescending arrogance enormously entertaining. Since John C. Reilly still does not have his own little gold statue though, he might be the focus of the film’s Academy campaign, even though it is the least showy performance. As for their better halves, Jodie Foster loses her cool outrageously as Penelope-not-Pen, while Kate Winslet is a bit more grounded, slowly breaking through Nancy Cowan’s icy reserve, eventually reaching a virtuoso state of manic aggravation.

In many ways, Polanski is undeniably an appalling human being. In a more just world, he would be sharing a cell with O.J. Simpson in California’s skuzziest prison. Those who want nothing to do with his work have every right to their contempt. However, they will miss a really darn funny film in Carnage. Though smaller in scope and talkier than most of his films, it is pointedly witty, performed with considerable flair by its all-star cast. Recommended for those who appreciate smart, politically incorrect humor, Carnage opens this Friday (12/16) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

NYFF ’11: Carnage

For obvious reasons, Roman Polanski did not appear at a festival press conference, nor will he be participating in post-screening Q&A’s. However, Carnage (trailer here), the 49th New York Film Festival’s opening night film, is still one of the most eagerly anticipated selections for New York cineastes, who have been packing to capacity the recently concluded Polanski retrospective at the MoMA. A nearly instant sell-out, patrons will have to decide whether they want to try their luck with stand-by tickets tonight, or wait for the film’s scheduled theatrical opening on December 16th, via Sony Pictures Classics.

Penelope and Michael Longstreet are liberals, or at least she is. Alan and Nancy Cowan are conservative, or at least he is. There is no question who wears the pants in each family, but that does not mean Michael and Nancy do not resent their subordinate positions. They have gathered in the Longstreets’ remarkably spacious and stylish Manhattan apartment to address a violent quarrel between their young sons. The Cowan boy (or thug as his father calls him) picked up a handy stick and knocked Master Longstreet alongside the head.

Both sets of parents want to resolve the incident, but clearly differ in their approaches. The Longstreets, meaning Penelope, want to bring the kids together for a healing moment, whereas the Cowans (both of them really) are more down-to-business and practical. At first, everyone wants to show how civilized and rational they can be, but the longer the Cowan’s reluctantly tarry in that apartment, the more nerves are frayed and simmering hostilities are bluntly expressed.

Cleaving first along family lines and then turning on each other, Carnage spares nobody. Yet arguably the PC hypocrisy of the Longstreets takes it harder on the chin than Alan Cowan’s self aware social Darwinism. Indeed, the whole premise of the film largely validates his world view.

Adapting Yasmina Reza’s hit Broadway play God of Carnage for the screen, Polanski embraces the staginess of the one-set four character verbal battle royale. Indeed, it is easy to see why it was such a successful star vehicle on stage. All four cast members get a chance to behave badly in the spotlight and chew on some scathing dialogue. Once again, Christoph Waltz does Oscar caliber work as Cowan, making condescending arrogance enormously entertaining. Since John C. Reilly still does not have his own little gold statue though, he might be the focus of the film’s Academy campaign, even though it is the least showy performance. As for their better halves, Jodie Foster loses her cool outrageously as Penelope-not-Pen, while Kate Winslet is a bit more grounded, slowly breaking through Nancy Cowan’s icy reserve, eventually reaching a virtuoso state of manic aggravation.

In many ways, Polanski is undeniably an appalling human being. In a more just world, he would be sharing a cell with O.J. Simpson in California’s skuzziest prison. Those who want nothing to do with his films have every right to their contempt. However, they will miss a really darn funny film in Carnage. Though smaller in scope and talkier than most of his films, it is pointedly witty, performed with considerable flair by its all-star cast. There are four sold-out screenings tonight, divided between the Walter Reade and Alice Tully Hall. Good luck getting in.

Halloween Revival: Rosemary’s Baby

Ever feel uncomfortable on the Upper Westside? Maybe it’s all the Satanists on CPW. Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (trailer here) might be the all-time classic Upper Westside film, but it is far from a valentine to the Manhattan neighborhood. Forty years after its initial release, it still ranks as one of the great fright films. Starting today (Halloween), Film Forum celebrates Rosemary’s anniversary with a weeklong screening of a new 35M print of Polanski’s classic.

Rosemary is probably Polanki’s most subtle and insidious directorial work. The horrors we don’t see are scary as all get out. Unlike contemporary splatter fests, Polanski masterfully plants unsettling seeds which get under the audience’s skin to sprout in our imagination.

Polanski sets the disconcerting tone from the beginning, as Rosemary and Guy Woodehouse tour what will become their new apartment. The former tenant died rather suddenly, making this spacious rent-controlled beauty available at relatively affordable terms. If you are familiar with the distorted New York real estate market, you will understand why the Woodehouses snap it up, ignoring the early clues Polanski drops for us. For some reason, the recently deceased blockaded one of her closets with a heavy armoire. We also glimpse a fragment of an unfinished document which reads: “I can no longer associate myself . . .”

Rosemary and Guy, played by the seemingly mismatched but surprisingly credible Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes, seem to subscribe to very different values. Guy professes atheism and expresses scorn for the Catholic Church. Rosemary bitterly clings to her religion. She yearns for children—Guy, not so much. These are the sort of differences that are often rationalized away, but persist, causing deep-seated fissures between people. It is such fundamental differences between the Woodehouses that their weird neighbors, Minnie and Roman Castevet exploit for their evil purposes.

It seems Rosemary is not the only one interested in seeing her pregnant. When Guy finally agrees, what starts as a romantic evening descends into the realm of nightmare, with Rosemary hallucinating a ravaging by Old Scratch himself, as Guy leers on. In a famous line, she cries out “this is not a dream, this is really happening.” Though alienated and increasingly isolated during a difficult pregnancy, the audience maintains reasonable confidence in Rosemary’s point of view. Polanski has already set down too many markers for us to lose our way—problematizing reality is not a game he is looking to play here.

In fact, Rosemary is pretty unique in the genre, holding up quite well in retrospect. Though a little over two hours, Polanski’s story-telling is quite economically, with all the pieces fitting together snugly. The stately but foreboding Dakota (a.k.a. the Bramford) apartment building makes quite an eerie backdrop. The performances have aged well too, particularly Oscar winner Ruth Gordon as the funny-scary Minnie Castevet and Sidney Blackmer as the ingratiatingly evil Roman.

Rosemary is also another fine collaboration between Polanski and Polish jazz musician and film composer Krzysztof Komeda. Sadly, it would be their last. Soon after the film’s release, Komeda and Rosemary’s infamous producer William Castle were admitted to the same hospital for emergency treatment. Castle would eventually check-out. Komeda did not. Encompassing both creepy mood-setters and groovy swingers, Komeda’s music for Rosemary always perfectly compliments the on-screen action. Years later, Komeda’s lullabye for the film, “Sleep Safe and Warm,” would become a staple for his protégé Tomasz Stanko.

Rosemary stands head and shoulders above the gory low-budget dreck churned out on conveyer belts today. Rosemary is scary because it depicts the seductiveness of evil. A film like Hostel is frightening because its sicko filmmakers are walking around loose in the world. Seeing Rosemary on the big screen is a legitimate Halloween treat. It runs at Film Forum through Thursday.

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).