Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Reincarnation of Stairs
Only in movies the lavish stairs of the legendary Glenn Miller's mansion in L. A. , as we see in The Glenn Miller's Story, may reincarnates to the Texan house stairs in Written on the Wind, made two years later. Look how the wallpaper, thick curtains and the camera lens have changed the nature of the place. The artificial pillars have been removed, so the architrave to achieve a more contemporary look (Glenn's story ends in 1942 but Written's events happen in the time that film has been made). Since red is a very elemental color in Written on the Wind's color pallet, the green carpets and stone floor of Glenn has been changed to red.
In both pictures art directors are Alexander Golitzen and Bernard Herzbrun, and Set Decoration is made by Russell A. Gausman and Julia Heron. Both pictures are made in Universal Studios, and that will explain everything.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Manny Farber in Tehran
This is a piece I originally wrote for the newsletter of The Library of America, and reportedly published last winter, though they have not sent me a copy yet. The reason was my posting of Manny Farber articles, long before they decide to publish his film writings (Farber on Film: The Complete Film Writings of Manny Farber). When somebody from The Library contacted me and was curious, or somehow amazed, about how I did those Farber posts on my blog, then it was my turn to become surprised by this fact that not long before starting to work on publishing the book, she has not been acquainted with the name in New York City! Well, in that case I must say if there is passion, it doesn’t matter that you are in New York or Mashhad, because it just calls you by your name.
In my early teens (early 1990s) there was only two film journal in Iran, one a yellow magazine and mostly about Iranian commercial films and the other, Film Monthly a more serious publication with a certain approach toward Iranian art films and western cinema. When I get interested in their magazine, I went back to their previous issues from 1980s (they had started publishing Film shortly after the revolution) and there was numerous translations of famous journalistic argument between Andrew Sarris and Pauline Kael (from 1960s of course). I think first time I heard Manny Farber’s name there, but I’m not so sure. Anyway, I knew the man’s name, but there was no sampling of his writings. I had only a brief survey of his critical approaches and his ideas about how a movie should be! It’s funny that auteur theory became a very popular in the 1980s Iran because simply in the 1970s everyone was too busy with the revolution to notice these things! And Film Monthly did a great job in bringing up some names and among them Farber.
His name was somewhere in the back of my mind till not long after my first encounter with Film Monthly I became a contributor at the age of 19 (in 2000). I believe I was one of the few people who started to explore American movies in a more Academic manner and not in the nostalgic love-letter kind of writings that was very common among the critics who had lost their magic lanterns during revolution (in those days screening foreign films became obsolete and all cine clubs were closed down).
There was a small library of foreign language book (mainly English) in Film Monthly office that became my Mecca. Whenever I was in Tehran (I’m living in northeast of Iran) I’ve spent a great deal of time in that library. All materials were from pre-revolution nevertheless there was lot of thing to read: all the past issues of Film Comment, Film Quarterly, Cahier du Cinema, Sight and Sound, etc. And by the way there was a ragged copy of For Now#9 edited by Donald Phelps from late 1960s and there comes my real introduction to the world of Farber. And when from last May I began to post Farber’s writing on my blog I used the very same source.
At the time of Farber’s passing I wrote a long piece (“a critic in the shadow”) about him in Film Monthly and I used it as a pretext to attack the disastrous state of film criticism in Iran. I focused on Farber’s stubbornness, his complicated mind, abstruse language and that kind of professional dignity that every critic needs. I emphasized on the way he praises American films of the golden age and the way he talks about them to remind to my colleagues how a great treasure is hidden in the past. In addition, underscoring Farber’s retirement from criticism was a basis for this argument that every critic needs a break. Talking about my colleagues, the speed of work doesn’t give a chance to make a balance between experiences of life and art. Long pauses make us to reconstruct our thoughts and ideas about the medium that we are dealing with, the medium that is changing every day. This part was my reaction to film critics of my generation which are practically everywhere, they are in daily newspaper, journals, radio, TV and web. Too busy with being around in all events just for the sake of being in. As I observe, even there is no time for watching films that used to be a critics main task! The response to that Farber piece was enormous and despite the obscurity of his name among film goers and film readers, most people were very excited about the passages of Farber work that I had translated for the occasion.
In Iran there are uncountable film journals (when last winter an American friend was visiting Iran he was amazed by the variety of these magazine – a daily newspaper dedicated to cinema, like variety, “Film and Psychology”, “Film and social studies”, an special publication for film scripts that prints a classic and a contemporary screenplay each month, a kind of Iranian version of “cinematographer” and many more) And these journals are filled with Farsi translated reviews from American film critics (Roger Ebert, James Berardinelli, J. Hoberman, Peter Travis, Michael Wilmington and Jonathan Rosenbaum). One can verify the influence of these critics (especially those with a more popular taste like Ebert) on Iranian younger film reviewers. In this case my return to Farber was an attempt to evoke that lost seriousness and depth that was evident even in Farber’s short reviews.
Watching 40 mins of Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland
اين ديگر چه كوفتي است؟ تبليغ ديزنيلند است كه دادهاند آدم بيسليقهاي بسازد، دِموي يك شركت تازهكار كامپيوتري است يا تلاشي است براي نشان دادن بيتخيلي سازندگانش در روايت كردن يكي از خيالانگيزترين داستانهاي ادبيات غرب. از قرار اسم فيلم آليس در سرزمين عجايب است، ساخته تيم برتون، كه با تمام سعه صدر فقط توانستم چهل دقيقهاش را تحملش كنم. باور كنيد تماشاي جاني دپي كه به طرزي رقتباري تقليد لهجه انگليسي ميكند براي گوش و چشمم هر بينندهاي زيان آورست. اين همه هياهو براي چيست؟ اسم تيم برتون، مثلاً قرار است بنده را سرذوق بياورد. اسمي كه مثل تبليغ ماستِ شيرين پاستوريزه روي تمام در و ديوارها ديدهاي و بعدِ خريدن، ماستت ترش از كار درآمده.
تازگي فيلمي ديدم، به اسم هيولاهاي سنگي كه موجودات ترسناكش سنگهاي آذريني بودند كه وقتي آب بهشان ميخورد رشد ميكردند و خانه كاشانه آدمها را نابود. باور كنيد يك سكانس اين فيلم بينواي 77 دقيقهاي سياه سفيد خيلي بامزه و بسيار به درستي ميزانسن داده شده جان شروودِ ناشناخته به تمام اين چهل دقيقه سخيف آليس ميارزيد. هيچ وقت تصور نميكردم سخافت بتواند تا اين اندازه آدم را عصبي كند.
وقتي بعد از دقيقه چهل، جلوي كامپيوتر نشستم و مشغول تايپ شدم تا خشم به آرامش ختم شود و در حالي كه فيلم براي خودش جلو ميرفت، و قطعش نكرده بودم تا آتش ِ خصومت روشن بماند، صحنهاي خوب سر رسيد. صحنهاي كه گوياي حال خود تيم برتون نيز هست. خدايا مرا براي قضاوت زودهنگام ببخش. در اين صحنه، آليس كه اندكي بزرگتر از اندازههاي استاندارد انساني شده در قصر ملكه دارد ميرود كه مشاور و محبوب ملكه را ميبيند. يارو به آليس ميچسبد. آليس خشمگين ميخواهد يارو را از خود دور كند كه مرتيكۀ يكچشم ميگويد: I love largeness . فكر كنم مشكل تيم برتون هم همين باشد. اما راههاي زيادي براي تأمين اين نياز هست كه فكر كنم ساخت فيلم سهبعدي چندصد ميليون دلاري آخرين راه حل باشد.
Thursday, 17 June 2010
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
When Women Ascend the Stairs
Mikio Naruse, the George Cukor of Japanese cinema, eventually made eighty-nine films (forty-four of which have survived), though he was not discovered by Western audiences until years after his death in 1969, today he is recognized as one of the greatest Japanese filmmakers. He regularly chose to depict strong, working-class female characters. Naruse’s cinematic style, like Ozu's, is deceptively simple, clear and intelligent, informed by a sharp sense of logic. He occasionally allows himself small, poetic touches, such as the brief segments featuring the streets, traffic and bright, flickering signs of Tokyo, and unheard in Eastern cinema he has used a jazz score (playing mostly with Vibes) for his brilliant melodrama, When a Woman Ascends the Stairs. Mark Saint-Cyr calls this film "a mini-masterpiece of composition and a poignant encapsulation of Naruse’s melancholic vision. When a Woman Ascends the Stairs is a moving, assuredly-told tale of making ends meet and portrays a realistic, resolute breed of femininity."
I think two shots from When a Woman... explain the situation of most eastern women in postwar world. Where you must live and pay heavy dues for that.
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Cowboy, Wonderland, History and Myth
Monday, 14 June 2010
Dailies#10: The Hurt Cannot Be Much
[1] This week was significant because eventfully I get accustomed with the works of the Canadian experimental filmmmaker, Guy Maddin. As Jonathan Rosenbaum points out, "Guy Maddin’s work testifies to the notion that the past knows more than the present and that silent cinema is a richer, dreamier, sexier, and more resonant medium than what we’re accustomed to seeing in the multiplexes." Jonathan later adds " [Maddin] offers a feast of rapid editing, fast lap dissolves, fade-outs, whiteouts, blackouts, tinting, superimpositions, irises, slurred motion, stop motion, and slow motion, along with the delectable textures of light, mist, snow, human flesh, vegetation, and Victorian upholstery. Yet it isn’t so bound by the technical parameters of 20s pictorial film art that it can’t make fruitful use of Super-8 footage and digital effects."
[2] An interview with the great Dede Allen, the editor of The Hustler , Bonnie & Clyde, Serpico and so many key films of the 1960s and 1970s who passed away last April, could be found here in two parts: Part I and Part II.
I also wrote a piece about her for Iranian Film Monthly, which is the first in a series of article, regarding women in motion picture industry. My next subjects/person will be Dorothy Arzner and Shirley Clarke.
[3] If you're living in Iran, these passages from William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet (Act 3, Scene 1) will always make you laugh, whilst you're taking it too seriously, too:
Mercutio is stabbed in a swordfight by Tybalt, Juliet's cousin:
- Romeo: "Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much."
- Mercutio: "No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man."
Thursday, 3 June 2010
William A. Fraker (1923-2010)
William A. Fraker one of the greatest cinematographers of the 1960s & 1970s passed away last Monday (May 31, 2010) at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Los Angeles after a battle with cancer. He was the cinematographer of 60s landmarks like Bullitt and Rosemary's Baby, both from 1968. Among his works, my favorite is an one hour documentary/interview, photographed in black & white, for director William Friedkin in 1974. The interviewie is Fritz Lang and the simple, but very effective camera set ups have been arranged in Lang's home. Inserts and shots from details of Lang's sitting room (a clock, for instance) incarnate the dark world of German director and a sense of doomed fate that was evident in most of his Ameraican films. All the time we only see the back of Friedkin that gives this notion, like Lang is talking to a shadow. Though there are lots of technical innovations and broadening of generic boundaries (horror in Rosemary and action films in Bullit) in Fraker's career, this interview is still the one I remember most.
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Grinning Max Schreck
He was the evil. Half beast, half human. Rodent-like fangs and ears like those of a bat. Long claws, a beaklike nose, and hollowed-out eyes. Wearing a long black coat and tight pants that give the impression of skeletal limbs tightly wrapped in funereal clothes. He was Max Schreck.
That’s the way everyone mystifies the performance of Schreck, the incredible Nosferatu of F. W. Murnau’s adaptation of Dracula story, made in 1922. Even Shadow of the Vampire (2000) fictionally suggests that Max was in reality a vampire, a creature of darkness. Like Maria Falconetti in The Passions of Joan of Arc who never appeared in another film and became the true martyr of the screen, the same thing has been heard about Schreck. But the truth is he was a professional actor and had a long career with 38 films, four of them before Nosferatu, and in demand till his sudden death from a heart attack at the age of 57.
Of course Schreck wasn’t his real name, because in German it simply means ‘terror.’ He was a member of Max Reinhardt's progressive theater and later married to popular actress Fanny Norman and enjoyed a lengthy stage career before entering films in 1921. It was Reinhardt who introduced Schreck to Murnau. Murnau saw talent in Schreck and hired him to play Orlok in Nosferatu. Murnau’s film was an unauthorized adaptation, and changing the name of its principal character - Count Dracula to Orlok - was a solution for protecting the production company from being sued by Bram Stoker’s widow.
As far as I know, beside Nosferatu, the only commercially available of his films is Finances of the Grand Duke (1924), again under the direction of Murnau, and this long prologue was an excuse to see a shot of a non-Nosferatu Max Scheck in this minor Murnau film: