Category: Narrative

By Joe Bendel. Orson Welles really made his reputation staging Shakespeare, particularly the “Voodoo Macbeth” produced for the Federal Theatre Project. Unfortunately, it was another Shakespearean production that perfectly symbolized the auteur’s mid-1960s fall from critical favor. In retrospect, it is rather embarrassing that The New York Times was more preoccupied with Welles’ girth than his artistic vision. It is worth remembering the next time the editorial page decides to give us a lecture on civility. Still, a lot of people missed the boat on Welles’ Falstaff and rights conflicts made it difficult for more appreciative later generations to catch up with it. Happily, Welles’ under-heralded Chimes at Midnight gets a special, restored DCP limited engagement, starting exclusively this Friday in New York at Film Forum.

Don’t hold your breath for St. Crispin’s Day. This is Falstaff’s story, not Prince Hal’s. Never shy about reworking Shakespeare, Welles basically plundered Falstaff’s greatest hits for the Henriad cycle, throwing in a few lines here and there from The Merry Wives of Winsor. However, the guts of the film come from Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, focusing on Prince Hal’s competing loyalties to two father figures, the hedonistic yet strangely gallant Sir John Falstaff and his severe father, Henry IV. Falstaff is way more fun, but the King represents his future.

Aware the Lancasters’ claim to the throne is iffy at best, the King would be much relieved to see Prince Hal start to take his duties more seriously. Instead, he prefers to carouse in bawdy houses with Falstaff and the more polished but just as disreputable Ned Poins. Unfortunately, his profligacy only encourages rebellion among the nobility, who have rallied behind the dashing and popular Sir Henry Percy, a.k.a. Harry Hotspur, as their champion. Prince Hal cuts a poor figure beside him.

As for Falstaff’s figure, it is impressive, in its way. As the Times so brutally pointed out, you can’t spell Falstaff without an “f,” “a,” and “t.” Yet, there is more to Welles’ Sir John than the low comedy we associate with the reprobate. It is like he is a metaphor for Welles’ own career. Shticky on the outside, like the persona hosting Nostradamus documentaries and Paul Masson wine commercials, but he was heroic on the inside, like the director who labored for years to complete Don Quixote. Just like Falstaff, Welles was once the toast of Hollywood and a critical darling, but the establishment would turn against him in his later years, much like Prince Hal will inevitably renounce his friendship with Falstaff.

Whether Welles consciously identified with Falstaff on that level scarcely matters. It is still all there on the screen, in all its glorious pathos. Without question, Welles is the definitive Falstaff, puffed up with bluster, but achingly sensitive on the inside. His love for the Prince feels absolutely, painfully real.

Keith Baxter is also a minor revelation as Prince Hal. Probably better known for his stage work, Baxter is electric as the young prince. He might just be the coldest, most ruthless Prince Hal/Henry V seen on film, arguably bordering on the sociopathic. Yet, the great Sir John Gielgud might just upstage everyone, Welles included, as the ascetically noble and remorseful Henry IV. Even though most people automatically harken back to Arthur whenever his name is dropped, Chimes might be the best film to remember him by. Welles only had two weeks with Gielgud, but they made every second count. As a bonus, Jeanne Moreau also finds the earthy dignity in Dolly Tearsheet, Falstaff’s favorite “hostess.”

Chimes is a major Wellesian work that takes his signature visual flair to an even higher level. Every frame is a work of art, but the gritty grace and caustic wit of the ensemble performances remain incisive throughout. Wonderfully stylish and elegiac, Chimes at Midnight should be considered a worthy film in Welles’ canon. Very highly recommended, it opens New Year’s Day at Film Forum.

LFM GRADE: A+

Posted on December 31st, 2015 at 7:39pm.

By Joe Bendel. It is currently the #2 film at the global box office, nipping at the heels of The Force Awakens. It is also the second adaptation of the bestselling Chinese Ghost Blows Out the Light series of novels. In a weird distribution of rights, one consortium of film companies optioned the first four novels, and another group of partners bought the latter quartet. This is the one starring Shu Qi as American-born Chinese tomb raider Shirley Yang, which partially explains its brisk business. Yang and her associates will shimmy into crypts and flee hordes of zombies in Wuershan’s Mojin: the Lost Legend, which is now playing in New York.

Yang, the Byronic Hu Bayi, and the rubber-faced Wang Kaixuan are trained in Mojin, the art of grave “borrowing.” As per their time honored practice, they carefully light a candle in the corner of each tomb they visit. By blowing it out, the tomb’s ghost makes his displeasure known, forcing the trio to leave accordingly. However, if the candle still burns, then its all good. They are in for an exception to the rule. Things will get bad, but Hu and Wang have seen worse during their first subterranean excursion.

Flashing back to the Cultural Revolution, Hu and Wang are sent to Inner Mongolia as part of their re-education. Both fall in love with the comrade Ding Sitian. She is still adorable, even though she believes the revolutionary slogans far more than they do. Through a strange chain of events, they stumble into an ancient tomb. Of course, the cadres urge them to be “true materialists” and “smash the Four Olds.” Unfortunately, in this case, the Olds are not merely ancient. They are undead.

Hu and Wang carry the scars of their backstory. It is why Hu has never properly put the moves on the super-interested Yang. Similarly, the more impulsive Wang will sign up with a dodgy expedition financed Madame Ying, a Chinese born Japanese industrialist and cult leader in search of the mythical Equinox Flower, hoping he can use it to resurrect the late Ding. Putting aside their Tracy-and-Hepburn-esque differences, Yang and Hu set out to save Wang from his bad judgement. Frankly, they cannot completely blame Wang for the ensuing trouble. The whole deal was brokered by their dodgy agent Grill. At least he will quickly cone to regret it.

Believe it or not, Mojin’s narrative probably makes even less sense on screen, but it hardly matters. Wuershan maintains enough breakneck energy and the all-star cast exudes enough raw charisma to keep the film galloping forward, with or without logic. The special effects are Hollywood tentpole quality and the Inner Mongolian vistas are wildly cinematic. This is a big film, in many respects.

Yet, there were apparently risks involved, starting with its very premise. Tomb-plundering is not exactly politically correct in China these days, which reportedly caused more than a little uncertainty during the development process. The scenes set during Cultural Revolution are also a tad bit gutsy, especially when the Red Guards order the young Hu’s detachment to smash the Kitian artifacts.

Shu Qi is one of the few movie stars working today who can quietly kneecap viewers with a single look (this has been her specialty for Hou Hsiao Hsien, including the recent The Assassin). It must also be noted, Shirley Yang is quite the heroine, since it was Yao Chen filling her boots in Chronicles of the Ghostly Tribe, which American audiences have yet to get a good look at.

As Hu, Chen Kun puts his shaggy look and brooding manner to good use, much as he did in Snow Girl and the Dark Crystal. Bo Huang mostly keeps the shtick in check as Wang, but it is fair to say Xia Yu’s Grill lacks his reserve. However, Angelebaby is acutely cute as Ding, while also bringing some tragic depth to their ill-fated romantic interest. Yet, Cherry Ngan shows off some of the best action chops as Madame Ying’s henchperson, Yoko.

At times, Mojin feels like Wolf Totem with zombies in place of the wolves, which is a cool place to be. Some of the broader, more localized humor fails to land, but there is more than enough adventure, supernatural bedlam, and ironic historical references to keep subtitle readers on-board and invested. In fact, viewers will probably be primed for the competing Ghost Blows Out the Light film franchise and Mojin’s inevitable sequels. Recommended for action fans, Mojin: the Lost Legend is now playing in New York, at the AMC Empire.

LFM GRADE: B

Posted on December 31st, 2015 at 7:39pm.

By Joe Bendel. There is no crying on Everest. It could cause frostbite. Nobody understands that better than alpinist Um Hong-gil, the first Asian member of the fourteen highest summits club. However, he will return to Everest on a dangerously emotional mission in Lee Seok-hoon’s based-on-a-true-story The Himalayas, which opens this Friday in New York.

They don’t call Um “The Captain” because he can’t climb. He was already knocking on celebrity status before he notched Everest. However, he did not suffer fools on mountains gladly. Rather awkwardly, that initially includes Park Moo-taek and Lee Don-gyoo. When they first meet, the rookie climbers are schlepping the lifeless body of their fellow university expedition member down the Nepalese mountain face. Not a good first impression. Nevertheless, Park and Lee maintain their alpinist ambitions and successfully make the cut for Um’s Kanchenjunga expedition (peak #3). Things are indeed different this time, leading to some serious male bonding and a summit for Um and Park.

For a while, Um and Park become an inseparable tandem on the mountain. However, it all comes to a premature end when the lingering effects of a leg injury force Um into retirement. Now, Park is the Captain, but despite his experience with Um, he is still no match for the erratic wrath of Everest’s “Death Zone.” To provide some closure for Park’s young widow, Choi Su-young, Um and his old teammates will head back to Everest on a longshot recovery mission.

There has been a bountiful harvest of good mountaineering documentaries over the last few years (Meru, The Summit, Beyond the Edge), but narratives have been more hot-or-miss. However, you can count on the Korean film industry to incorporate plenty of tear-jerking into the budding genre. Frankly, the best comparison is the excellent but sadly under-screened Japanese film Climber’s High, but without the acidic portrayal of newsroom politics.

Hwang Jung-min is terrific as the gruff but soulful Um. We can definitely believe he has spent time freezing on mountains and absorbing the wisdom of the Himalayans. He has the right presence and the proper reserve for an old cat like Um. On the flipside, Jung Woo has the right earnestness and preternatural youthfulness for Park. Despite her problematically comedic first appearance, Yung Yu-mi also packs quite a punch in her later scenes as Choi.

Frankly, Yung is not the only one dealing with tonal inconsistencies. However, the first act humor is never as broad or shticky as the mugging that weighed down Lee Seok-hoon’s The Pirates. Most viewers should be able to deal with it, especially if they want to see some extreme mountaineering.

You had better believe Himalayas can be manipulative, but Hwang Jung-min masterfully sells the best of those scenes. Unless you are just a total scat-heel, there is one speech in particular (not even a climatic one) that will have you choked up like it’s Lou Gehrig’s farewell address. That’s pretty good filmmaking and absolutely first-rate work from Hwang. The Film will also make you welcome the unseasonably warm winter. Recommended for fans of Hwang and mountaineering pictures, The Himalayas opens this Friday (1/1) in New York, at the AMC Empire.

LFM GRADE: B

Posted on December 31st, 2015 at 7:38pm.

By Joe Bendel. Nothing is as satisfying on the big screen as revenge and nobody did it better than Yuki Kashima, a.k.a. Lady Snowblood. The Angela Mao vehicle Broken Oath is transparently based on her payback story, which also directly inspired Tarantino’s Kill Bill. As cool as Mao is, nobody can touch the original. Newly restored by Janus Films, the legendary Lady Snowblood streams for a limited time as part of Fandor’s Criterion Picks, just in time to make the season merry and bright.

At the dawn of the modernizing Meiji Era, a quartet of criminals killed Kashima’s schoolteacher father and brutalized her mother. Sayo Kashima takes care of one of her assailants personally, but is subsequently convicted of his murder. In prison, she gives birth to Lady Snowblood, mystically passing along her thirst for vengeance through her difficult, ultimately fatal delivery. Trained by Dōkai, a severe Buddhist priest to believe she is an Asura demigod of vengeance, Kashima develops a very particular set of skills.

With the help of Matsuemon’s underground beggar clan, Lady Snowblood starts tracking her three blood enemies. In the process, she crosses paths with tabloid journalist and novelist Ryurei Ashio, who starts telling her story in a popular serialized novel. Like Don Quixote, the telling of Lady Snowblood’s story becomes self-referentially part of her narrative, but with more spurting blood.

Lady Snowblood is sort of the Citizen Kane of Chanbara revenge morality plays. It is exquisitely stylish and relentlessly exploitative. It also just might be the greatest use of color film since Powell & Pressburger’s The Red Shoes. Cinematographer Masaki Tamura sure made those reds pop. It is a visual feast that will change how you think about umbrellas forever. Fujita clearly navigates the film’s tricky flashback-heavy narrative structure and stages some wildly cinematic fight sequences.

Meiko Kaji was already approaching cult legend status as the star of the Stray Cat Rock and Female Convict 701 series, but Lady Snowblood totally sealed the deal. She has tons of stone cold femme fatale cred and action chops, but as Kashima, she also happens to give a dashed subtle and complex performance. As Snowblood, she is the complete package. She is the one we watch, but Toshio Kurosawa’s Ashio is also intriguingly complex and appealingly disreputable.

In all truth, Lady Snowblood is one of those films everyone has to catch up with eventually, unless you are just hyper-sensitive beyond all hope. It looks terrific and Kaji remains an awesome icon of vengeance. Compared to Fujita’s classic original, Kill Bill seems rather shallow and shticky. Perfect for a holiday mini-binge, Lady Snowblood and its sequel stream as limited-time Criterion Picks on Fandor for the next ten days, with a Criterion DVD and Blu-ray release scheduled for early January.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on December 24th, 2015 at 11:05am.

By Joe Bendel. Zhang Xuejun, a.k.a. Mr. Six is the sort of old timer who is always around to deliver a lecture on manners. However, this semi-retired gangster can back up his words. Mr. Six always lived by a code, but the younger, nihilistic generation of thugs consider that a weakness. Still, he has character and that counts for a lot in Guan Hu’s Mr. Six, which opens this Christmas Eve in New York.

Mr. Six is a stabilizing, protective figure in his working class Beijing hutong neighborhood, but he gets along better with his not-so-talkative songbird than his son Bobby. Mr. Six has not heard from the twentynothing since he moved out several months ago. He assumed the kid was just sulking as usual, until he finally starts asking round. It turns out Bobby was kidnapped by the punky nouveau riche leader of a street racing gang as part of a dispute over a girl and a scratched up Ferrari. Mr. Six understands Kris can act with impunity as the son of a corrupt government official, so he arranges to pay Bobby’s debt/ransom. Of course, complications continue to snowball.

Feng Xiaogang is one of China’s most commercially successful directors, who has occasionally turned up in front of the camera for relatively small roles. However, those brief appearances will not prepare fans for the heavy soulfulness of his performance as the title character. He hardly needs to speak a word (even though he delivers some stone cold dialogue with earthy flair)—the aching dignity and regret just radiates out of him. Thanks to his flinty presence and Guan’s reserved approach, Mr. Six might just be the definitive aging gangster.

He is also surrounded by a top-notch ensemble, starting with the kind of awesome Zhang Hanyu as Mr. Six’s slightly younger, hardnosed crony, Scrapper. He is probably worthy of his own film. Kris Wu also defies all expectations, bringing elements of humanity in his initially reckless and entitled namesake. Ironically, Li Yifeng hits a more consistent, less nuanced note as the resentful Bobby. Still, his shortcomings are redeemed by Xu Qing’s heartfelt but intelligent performance as Mr. Six’s patient lover, Chatterbox.

Mr. Six is a tremendous film that levels a potent critique of China’s contemporary social attitudes and government corruption. Thematically, it might sound a lot like Takeshi Kitano’s Ryuzo and His Seven Henchmen, but it is much closer in tone to the Michael Caine vehicle Harry Brown. Feng displays none of the bombast he unleashed in films like Assembly and Aftershock, giving a gritty, utterly real, street level performance. Even though it is not exactly inspirational, per se, Mr. Six is a great film to end the cinematic year with. Very highly recommended, Mr. Six opens this Thursday (12/24) in New York, at the AMC Empire.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on December 24th, 2015 at 11:05am.

By Joe Bendel. In National Socialist concentration camps, Jews who served as “Sonderkommando” were afforded modest privileges and allowed comparatively free movement within the confining walls. Yet, it was undeniably hellish duty. Charged with escorting prisoners into the gas chambers and cleaning up after the mass executions, their first order of business was often to dispatch their predecessors. The new Sonderkommando’s families frequently followed soon thereafter. Consequently, they had no illusions about their ultimate fate. It is rather understandable why the most significant uprising at Auschwitz-Birkenau was planned by the Sonderkommando. Saul Ausländer is part of the rebellion’s inner circle, but he will be distracted by an even more profound crisis in László Nemes’ Son of Saul, Hungary’s official foreign language Oscar submission, which opens this Friday at Film Forum.

Frankly, Son of Saul might be most effective if viewers are not fully briefed on what to expect. It is safe to confirm, this is indeed a Holocaust story, incorporating a very real event, executed with unusually personal immediacy. The resulting viewing experience is not merely bracing. It is sort of like being Tasered. However, judging from some colleagues’ reactions, it may well be that the more forewarned you are, the less potent Nemes’ approach will be, so proceed with caution.

It starts as just another day in the National Socialist death factory for Ausländer, until he sees a body that cracks his defensive shell. Like Ausländer, we see him only after his death. While not strictly adhering to Ausländer’s as-seen-through-his-eyes POV, Nemes largely limits his shots to what would easily be within his field of vision. As an experienced Sonderkommando, he is somewhat desensitized to the horrors that would have been horrific centerpieces of other Holocaust films. Instead, we get a sense of the kinetic maelstrom of death he must navigate.

To further emphasize its restrictive scope, Son of Saul was composed expressly for the pre-widescreen Academy aspect ratio. The audience is immediately aware just how much they are not seeing, necessarily feeling disoriented as a result. Nemes forces the audience to figure out Ausländer’s relationships to other Sonderkommando through the dramatic context of what follows. This is a remarkably physical film that is just as choreographed as any musical or martial arts extravaganza.

Evidently, Ausländer reluctantly agreed to help scrounge supplies for the revolt, because he understood how little he had to lose. However, when he thinks he recognizes the body in question, he starts recklessly improvising a scheme to prevent the requisite autopsy and find a Rabbi to say Kaddish. He will knowingly jeopardize the imminent uprising, but his mission is equally defiant in its way.

For most of the cast, simply surviving the non-stop bedlam constitutes quite a performance. However, Géza Röhrig is quietly devastating as Ausländer. Essentially, he shows us the stirrings of a long dormant soul struggling to assert itself. It is a painfully honest, desperately lean performance that will shame this year’s histrionically indulgent award-seeking performances (we’re looking at you, Carol).

Son of Saul is not exactly immersive, but it gives the audience a visceral sense of the confusion and dehumanization necessary to make the gas chambers run. This is an exhausting film, but also a uniquely powerful one, unlike almost any other well-meaning holocaust narrative. Highly recommended, it opens this Friday (12/18) in New York at Film Forum.

LFM GRADE: A

Posted on December 16th, 2015 at 7:02pm.