Kwaidan
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Anyway, if you do a keyword search using the word "ghost" on IMDB, you get 3988 results. Add a genre filter to narrow by "fantasy," and the list narrows to 864. Sort the list ascending by year and entry number 98 is Kwaidan, the film I watched tonight.
"Kwaidan" is an archaic spelling of "kaidan," which translates into English as "ghost stories." This particular assemblage brings together four tales: "Black Hair," the story of a impoverished samurai who abandons his wife to seek his fortunes elsewhere; "The Woman of the Snow," the story of a woodsman's encounter with a Yuki-onna; "Hoichi the Earless," which reveals how the titular character came by his unusual nickname; and "In a Cup of Tea," a story within a story about a writer and the samurai who is the subject of his as yet unfinished tale.
These four stories are only slightly more frightening than the scariest episodes of Scooby Doo, and they're not particularly complex either. Nevertheless, they are interesting as examples of Japanese ghost stories in general and of the the work of Kobayashi in particular. Visually stunning, the works are highly poetic, and Kobayahsi uses sets, color, and economy to great effect. The backgrounds in "The Woman of the Snow," for example, look more like expressionist paintings taken from a stage production than anything you'd normally see in a movie, yet somehow they fit the vibe and are never distracting. And in "Hoichi the Earless, Kobayashi successfully evokes the intensity of the battle of Dan-no-ura simply through the use of repeated close-ups of a painting depicting the event. The repetition of scenes from the painting reinforce themes in much the same way as repeated motifs in a soundtrack.
So far as being ghost stories goes, the ghosts in Kwaidan are not so much haunting or competing with the living as they are simply coexisting. Much like the enchantress in Ugetsu, these ghosts have their own goals and interact with the living only inadvertently when chance encounters put them in each other's paths. There is desire, longing, ambition, and conflict, yes, but by and large, there is no malevolence. They aren't relentlessly out to get you the way they typically are in American films.
BLUF: If you're looking for jump scares, move along, but if a side of art house along with your ghost stories sounds intriguing, then this may just be your cup of tea.
Between Two Worlds
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Sideny Greenstreet was a character actor whose career spanned a mere eight years yet included such notable films as Casablanca and The Maltese Falcon. He makes his appearance in Between Two Worlds roughly halfway through the film and then exits again before its conclusion. The film in and of itself is tolerable, but just barely. The acting is hammy, the dialogue ho-hum, and the plot predictable. It feels more like an extended Twilight Zone episode than a feature film, and a run-of-the-mill one at that. Greenstreet's understated performance, however, lends the film some much needed gravitas, and he elevates the performances of those around him while he's on the screen.
The plot revolves around a group of individuals who find themselves travelling upon a curiously deserted passenger ship, which they believe is sailing for the United States. In truth, the ship is sailing much farther, to the hereafter in fact, for as it turns out these passengers have all passed, and the only thing remaining for them is to receive judgement from "the Examiner," played by Greenstreet.
It's and interesting premise that is realized in an unusual way. Heaven and hell are the ultimate destinations, but they are presented in a way quite outside a traditional Judaeo/Christian context. The film has this point and Greenstreet's performance to recommend it; otherwise, it is entirely forgettable.
Smilin' Through (1932)
Kenneth Wayne: Oh, darling, I love you so.
Kathleen: Is that all?
Kenneth Wayne: All?
Kathleen: Don't you want me, too? I want you. I'm not ashamed to say it. I'm your's. Your mine. I want that to be true, before you go.
All art is manipulative. Horror movies use jump scares to solicit a fight or flight response. Comedies use vulgarity and banana peels to make people laugh. And porn uses. . . . Well, never mind what porn uses. The point is that by and large we are willing participants in this manipulation. Except when it comes to melodrama. Saying you like melodrama today is like saying you like K.C. and the Sunshine Band would have been in Comiskey Park on July 12, 1979. Okay, so maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic, but clearly the genre is vilified simply for attempting to accomplish its aim. Of course everyone has their likes and dislikes. It would be insufferably boring if we all liked the same things, but it seems strange that an entire genre should take on a pejorative connotation. There are good and bad melodramas, just as there is good and bad disco. Smilin' Through, a 1932 pre-code film directed by Sidney Franklin and starring Norma Shearer, Fredric March, and Leslie Howard, is a good melodrama.
So what makes a melodrama anyway? How is a melodrama different from "regular" drama? By definition it is simply the addition of music to accompany the action. Obviously, there's more to it than that though. Sidney Lumet, himself a director and fan of melodrama, provides a definition closer to the mark: "In a well-written drama, the story comes out of the characters. The characters in a well-written melodrama come out of the story." Take, for instance, Charlotte Bronte's novel Jane Eyre. There are elements of melodrama in Jane Eyre, sure, but the novel itself, if not the films based upon it, is much more than that. Jane is a beloved, lasting character because she is fully realized, and it would still be her story if the title and point of view were changed. The same cannot be said for the principle characters inSmilin' Through. The emphasis is on what happens to them rather than what happens because of them.
The film begins with the introduction of two of the principal characters. The first is John Carteret, a wealthy man who has spent his entire life pining for Moonyeen, his lost love who is accidentally killed by a jilted lover on their wedding day. The second is Kathleen, Moonyeen's niece who has shown up on John's doorstep as an orphan with no place else to go. Fast forward several years, and Kathleen, played by a very pretty Norma Shearer, is now of marriageable age herself and being courted by Kenneth Wayne, a dashing young man played by Frederich March, who is perfect for Kathleen in all respects save one--he just so happens to be the son of the man who recklessly killed Moonyeen all those years before. Darn the luck. Turns out this is a deal breaker for Uncle John, who threatens to abandon Kathleen if she chooses to go forward with the relationship.
Given this fun but fairly pedestrian plot and crazy character names, what makes Smilin' Through stand out as a cut above? For starters, there's some pre-code fun. Kathleen's attraction to Kenneth Wayne is overtly physical, and while fortunately there isn't a lot of overacting in the film, Norma Shearer has a lot of fun expressing non-verbally her physical attraction to him. The script follows suit in this regard as Kathleen makes no secret of her desire to get married specifically so they can consummate the relationship. Whether this makes for a feminist interpretation or not, I don't know. But it's fun to see at a female characterization that falls outside the Madonna/Whore dichotomy.
Additionally, there's a supernatural element that, when coupled with the opulence of John's house and garden, lends the film a sense of other worldliness that adds to its charm and provides a context for the theme of forgiveness versus separation via obsession and revenge. The ghost of Moonyeen frequents John several times during the film, and although he cannot see or her hear, he feels her presence, and she retains some ability to influence his actions. Seeing John through the filter of a sympathetic ghostly lens prevents him from simply becoming a villain.
Worth a watch for anyone with a tolerance for melodrama. And disco.
P.S.- Found this amusing tidbit on the TCM site. Shearer specified in the contract that "March's and Howard's names appear below her own, 'in type no larger than 75% of that used to display my name.'" Looks like the characters she played weren't the only ones with spunk.
Ugetsu
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When I think of Reggae music, I think of Bob Marley and Peter Tosh, just those two, and in just that order. Of course, I realize that for a true fan of the music, such a limited view must seem annoyingly ignorant. No matter how important those figures are, all of Reggae music can't come down to just two guys from The Wailers. Similarly, when I think of Japanese cinema, I think of Akira Kurosawa and Yasujirô Ozu. Fortunately here I am better off, for now having seen Ugetsu, I can add Kenji Mizoguchi to the list.
Ugetsu, per the Wiki entry, is “a 1953 black-and-white Japanese film directed by Kenji Mizoguchi and based on stories in Ueda Akinari's book of the same name. It is a ghost story and an example of the jidaigeki (period drama) genre. Set in Azuchi–Momoyama period Japan, it stars Masayuki Mori and Machiko Kyō.” I wouldn’t so much describe it as a ghost story as I would simply a story with ghosts in it. The ghosts are presented so matter-of-factly they imbue the film with a magical realist sensibility rather than a fantastical or supernatural one. Their presence is incidental rather than essential, and while I can’t go into detail without spoilers, it’s instructive to compare the Ugetsu ghosts to Captain Gregg, the ghost from The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, which I covered in my previous blog entry. When Lucy Muir arrives at Whitecliff, Gregg is haunting it in the traditional (European) sense of the word and wants nothing more from Lucy Muir than that she should go away. The motivations of the ghosts in Ugetsu are decidedly more familiar and, odd as the word choice might be in this context, decidedly more down to earth.
The stories in Ugetsu are overtly didactic, and if there is a sore point against the film with modern audiences, I would guess this to be it. Genjurō and Tōbei, the anti-heroes of the film, are ambitious. Genjurō dreams of hitting it big in the marketplace with his pottery, while Tōbei wants to be a Samurai. Reckless in their pursuit of these dreams, they take dangerous risks for which, unfortunately, their loved ones will pay the price. The moral of this story can be viewed in at least two ways. On one hand, understanding the value of people over fame and fortune is a universal truth fundamental to the basic dignity of all human beings. On the other, it’s not difficult to see how the story of two peasants punished for trying to raise their station serves the status quo, particularly when we realize that, unlike Tōbei, Genjurō is not foolish in his pursuits. He has genuine talent as a potter, and his wares sell quite well at the marketplace. He may be subject to other failings, but there’s nothing wrong with his art or his business acumen. Compounding matters is the presentation of Tōbei’s and Genjurō’s wives. Clearly, Miyagi and Ohama have wisdom their husbands lack. Nevertheless, they are shown as completely helpless and dependent throughout the film. “You must protect your women!” is retained as a theme despite the likelihood that had their husbands been present they outcome would probably not have changed. Farmers, after all, whether male or female, are at a distinct disadvantage against soldiers. This does not excuse them from abandoning their families in a time of danger, but it does make the theme that Genjurō and Tōbei should have just been happy with what they had and left well enough alone a little more suspect.
If that analysis turns anyone away from the film though, I am doing it an injustice (okay, so that's not likely given the extent of my readership but, hey, it's my blog, and I'll say what I want!). In terms of simply watching an enjoyable film,Ugetsu is hypnotic and beautiful and more than the sum of its parts. Roger Ebert called it “one of the greatest of all films,” describing it as “elegant and mysterious.” It is elegant and mysterious. More than works I’ve seen by Ozu and Kurosawa, Ugetsu strikes me as a good gateway film for Golden Age Japanese cinema. Ultimately, the didacticism doesn’t matter. Dennis Washburn, in the Wiki entry for the book, argues that “through his highly literate style and developed narrative technique, Ueda avoids overly emphasizing the moral aspect, and the tales are first and foremost a literary exploration of human emotion.” Replace “highly literate style” and “developed narrative technique” with “highly visual style” and “developed cinematography technique” and the point applies equally well to the film. Highly recommended.
For the anit-Damsel Blogathon: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
This was my contribution to the Anti-Damsel Blogathon. Read more posts here. Topics span "the wonderful women of classic cinema, both real and fictional." Good stuff!
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| Immune to the Sirens |
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The scenes with Mr. Coombe, both in his office and in Gull Cottage, are the funniest in the film. Indeed, after these scenes, the humor is largely dropped. Film critic Matt Brunson provides a concise summary of the film simply be pointing out these deftly achieved tonal shifts: It "start[s] out as a charming comedy before segueing into a melodrama...and finally erupting as a deeply affecting tragedy capped by a redemptive ending." Mrs. Muir tours the house, discovering its haunted status in the process. Certain this revelation will have ended her foolishness once and for all, Mr. Coombe prepares to hustle her off to another property only to be confronted with the simple declarative sentence: "I want Gull Cottage." His response and hers in turn are priceless:
Mr. Coombe: In my opinion; you are the most obstinate woman I have ever met!
Mrs. Muir: Thank you; I’ve always wanted to be considered obstinate.
If The Ghost and Mrs. Muir were a video game, at this part in the game she would have succeeded in defeating the first two enemies. Now comes the boss monster. It's one thing to stand up to your in-laws, and another to stand up to a self-righteous realtor, but what about a ghost who has been scaring away renters for the last four years, none having lasted past the first night? Captain Gregg, the sea captain who haunts Gull Cottage, is a formidable ghost, but Mrs. Muir, he will soon discover, likewise is a formidable woman:
I say I know you’re here. What's wrong? Are you afraid to speak up? Is that all you’re good for? To frighten women? Well I’m not afraid of you! Whoever heard of a cowardly ghost!
At these words, Captain Gregg shows himself, and slowly but surely they work their way
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Mr. Coombe referred to Mrs. Muir as "obstinate." This theme of stubbornness recurs in the film and is an interesting comment on how a woman in the early 1900s (or rather 1947, when the film was made) might be regarded for being insistent on determining her own self interest. When Lucy's now grown daughter, Anna, returns home with a young man to seek her mother's approval, Martha remarks, "don’t matter what you say; she’ll have her own way same as her mother." But in regard to what things, exactly, has Lucy insisted on having her own way? A grown woman with a child of her own, she decides to leave the home of her mother-in-law to make her own way a year after her husband's death. A renter paying a realtor for his services, she insists on being shown the property she wants to see. A woman experiencing the exhilaration of independence for the first time, she refuses to be turned out by the ghost of a curmudgeonly sea captain. In this light, it's clear her stubbornness is defined entirely in the context of gender expectations.
Lucy may not be stubborn, but she is fallible. About halfway through the film, Miles Fairley, a suitor
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Speaking of stiff, Gene Tierney's performance might seem a little wooden, but it strikes just the right balance given that she had to portray her character as sensitive in a 19th century cult of femininity prim and proper sort of way while at the same time being self-possessed, strong, and determined enough not only to strike out on her own, but to turn around and walk back into a house she fully realizes is haunted and tell the ghost of the salty old sea captain who is haunting it to knock that crap off. A more animated approach would have created too much of a dichotomy between this Mrs. Muir and the one who can barely bring herself to write, much less say, the naughty word Captain Gregg dictates for his memoir. Rex Harrison, too, for his part, is spot on, and as an onscreen couple, they meet the mark of any successful love story--we want to see them together. For while the dynamic of a young woman in the early 1900s resisting various pressures to live life on her own terms makes The Ghost and Mrs. Muir interesting, it is the interaction between her and Captain Gregg, her soul mate, that makes it so repeatedly view-able. It is one of my very favorite films of all time.
Sullivan's Travels
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"There's a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that that's all some people have? It isn't much, but it's better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan."--John L. Sullivan
What is the most valuable contribution of art, its ability to entertain, thereby helping people momentarily escape from the toils and troubles of their daily lives, or its ability to reveal fundamental truths about the human condition, thereby potentially changing the way we view others and conduct our lives? The answer seems obvious. No reasonably mature, educated person would choose Predator over Citizen Kane for inclusion in the National Film Registry. Its cultural, historical, and aesthetic value clearly put it on a different plane. But what about sheer entertainment value? Guilty pleasure is still pleasure, and simple pleasures help dull complex pain. This, essentially, is the lesson John L. Sullivan learns on his journey.
Sullivan's Travels is the story of a film director who longs to leave behind the comedies he has made in the past in order to make something more serious, namely, a film adaptation of a (not real) book about the great depression titledO Brother Where Art Thou? In order to gain credibility, Sullivan goes on the road, dressed as a hobo and carrying only a dime in his pocket. One of the first people he fools is a down-on-her-luck actress played by Veronica Lake, who befriends him and becomes his traveling companion for the rest of the film. Having decided he has experienced enough, Sullivan returns to his privileged life, intent on assuming the hobo role one last time to distribute $5 bills to the homeless as a thanks for the school of hard knocks education he has received. Little does he know, he is about to jump from the frying pan into the fire and experience the life of the downtrodden again, only this time without a safety net.
Grade: B. Worth watching for its deft mixing of comedy and drama and for Veronica Lake, who is gorgeous as "the girl," but it lacks the charm of the better screwball comedies, such as It Happened One Night (another road movie) or Sturges' own The Lady Eve.
Sartre Reviews Citizen Kane
Anyway, the point is I probably get more excited about reading movie reviews than your average Joe, so when I came across this article title from Open Culture, I was pretty stoked: "Jean-Paul Sartre Reviews Orson Welles’ Masterwork." So what did the premier French intellectual of the 20th century have to say about the greatest movie ever made? No need to post the link, I can quote the whole thing here:
Kane might have been interesting for the Americans, [but] it is completely passé for us, because the whole film is based on a misconception of what cinema is all about. The film is in the past tense, whereas we all know that cinema has got to be in the present tense. ‘I am the man who is kissing, I am the girl who is being kissed, I am the Indian who is being pursued, I am the man pursuing the Indian.’ And film in the past tense is the antithesis of cinema. Therefore Citizen Kane is not cinema.
Ummm, okay. That's it? Really? First some hoity toity condescension, can't say there's a big surprise there, and then what? What's all this crap about tense? He doesn't like flashbacks I guess? Whatever. They can be campy, sure, just like voice-overs, but I hardly think this automatically reduces the film to the antithesis of cinema. What a dumbass. I can't believe that's all he had to say. Even though I did not read any reviews before watching Citizen Kane, I knew--could not help but know--that's it's widely considered a masterpiece; therefore, it's no longer possible to approach a film like Citizen Kane without any baggage. That's part of the reason I didn't write an entry for it. Maybe I should though. If I can judge the quality of my commentary based on a juxtaposition with this, I think I missed my calling. I should have founded existential philosophy instead. (That would make you Simone de Beauvoir, Wanda!)
Love Story
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According to Box Office Mojo, Love Story is the 36th biggest domestic grossing movie of all time. American Graffiti, Lawrence of Arabia, and Rear Window are just three of the sixty-four movies that trail it in the top one hundred. The film was nominated for seven Academy and seven golden globe awards, winning best score at the academy and winning five golden globe awards, thereby tying Doctor Zhivago, The Godfather, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and A Star is Born for most Golden Globe wins.
The film today is still on two AFI lists--100 Greatest Movie Quotes and 100 Greatest Love Stories--but to say it's fallen out of favor would be an understatement. It has a 57% critic rating on Rotten Tomatoes and has been adopted by the Harvard Cimson Key alumni association as a freshman orientation ritual to be viewed "in the manner of a midnight viewing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show." Acerbic reviews abound, and the few positive ones sheepishly claim it as a guilty pleasure.
I must say, I don't really get it either way. Clearly, the film is not Oscar material, and that it should have beaten out The Godfather or One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest for ticket sales or anything else is ludicrous. It's still an enjoyable film though, for those who like that sort of thing. Anyone who watches a film called Love Story and then hammers it for being schmaltzy is either being disingenuous or deserves exactly what they get. There's no false advertising here. If the title alone doesn't give it away, the trailer, poster art, and nonsensical tag line are all dead giveaways. So if this is in your Netflix queue, and you've already got your box of tissues and maybe a bowl of ice cream ready to go, fear not, you won't be disappointed, and no apologies are needed. Ryan O'Neil is serviceable enough, as is the plot and dialogue, and Ali McGraw is sassy, adorable, gorgeous, and most importantly believable as a woman who gets what she wants and clearly makes her own choices, even when that means sublimating her own ambitions for the sake of her relationship, all 1970s the patriarchy is alive and well style. And if it's not in your Netflix queue and you're not sentimental, you should probably just move along. This poor film's been beat up enough already.
Spring
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Truth tell, I wanted to like Spring much more than I actually did. An indie horror/fantasy film from Drafthouse Films, Spring is described as, "Richard Linklater meets H.P. Lovecraft"--what's not to like, right? This is the kind of horror movie I want to support.Thoughtful, ambitious--an antidote to torture porn, gross out garbage. Unfortunately, while the film certainly has its moments, it eventually collapses under its own weight."What Evan discovers about Louise," says Simon Abrams, "feels like an after-thought that frustratingly overwhelms the film once it gets to where it's going."
Yeah, what he said. It reminds me of a bed and breakfast Wanda and I stayed in on our honeymoon. The foundation of the place was well built and gorgeous, but the finishing touches were all wrong, as if it had been taken over en medias res by someone completely tone deaf to the original inspiration. After a great start, it simply loses its way.
The 89% critic rating is generous. The 70% audience score is closer to the mark. Worth seeing but doesn't live up to its potential.
Kumiko, The Treasure Hunter
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"I only need page 95. It is my destiny."
From this genesis, the Kumiko film makers depict Kumiko as a sort of Kafkaesque anti-hero while developing a back story and filling in the details of her personality sufficiently to function as a character study. The brilliance of the film is that it does so with an extreme economy that puts the entire weight of the film squarely on Rinko Kikuchi's shoulders. Rinko Kikunchi plays the title character, Kumiko. The only film I had seen her in previously is Pacific Rim, and whilePacific Rim is a great movie, and she does a fine job in it, after seeing this film, I can't help thinking, wow, who knew? She's given very little dialogue, has limited interaction with the other characters in the film, and is shown for the most part simply moving from one place to the next. In the hands of a lesser actor, this movie would have been impossibly boring, and the film is worth watching for her performance alone.
So previously I called Kikunchi's character a Kafkaesque anti-hero. The "Kafkaesque" part comes about from her situation. Muck like Gregor, Kumiko has been de-humanized and reduced to a state where she is simply a burden to those around her. Her boss reminds her that most office girls who have reached her age (she's twenty-nine) will have either gotten married and started a family or advanced to a higher stage in their careers. He treats her contemptuously, sending her to complete menial tasks and bringing in a young, fresh-faced replacement to illustrate who exactly she is standing in the way of. Kumiko's mother reinforces this shame, calling her on the phone to ask whether she has gotten a promotion yet or been dating anyone and offering not the slightest bit of encouragement. Even her old friends, who appear well-meaning, only serve as a painful reminder of her inadequacy as they have achieved the things Kumiko herself has not.
Unlike Gregor, however, Kumiko finds in her watching of Fargo a purpose that, as illusory and absurd as it is, nevertheless motivates her to embark on a long and difficult journey requiring a dedication and resourcefulness that in itself is admirable. She finds a way and manages to keep going much further (and farther) than one would have expected, and lest we judge her too harshly, it's worth remembering that none of us in fact can know with certainty that the things motivating us have meaning beyond a scene from the movie Fargo; we can only hope and/or rely on faith.
I have to admit, this theme resonates with me a lot. If it weren't for my family, I basically am Kumiko, except (hopefully) less delusional. I've never felt so much inadequate as simply unfulfilled, unmoored, and unable to be content and at peace with a life and set of circumstances that clearly are blessed. Everyone needs a sense of purpose, a reason to get out of bed in the morning--something to motivate us to continue the monotony and repetition of our daily routines, whether it is simply through the acceptance of those around us or through the will to power that drives people to become leaders of nation states. Those who lose that sense of purpose or find it is lacking will look for ways to fill the void, be that searching for non-existent treasures in the barren, frozen wastelands of Minnesota or writing blog entries for a non-existent readership. They are all delusions, but some have significantly higher consequences than others. I would recommend this movie to those who have ever felt the pang of existential angst (and really, who hasn't). I would also recommend finding someone who can help you fill your own void by, you know, playing board games with you or reading your blog entries. (Thanks, babe.)
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