52 Pick-Up # 15 – Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970)

Welcome back to 52 Pick-Up, my year long, once-a-week dig into my cinematic to-do list, the titles largely left to random draw.

Initially I decided to choose these via shuffling to keep myself from getting into a rut – favoring certain eras or genres over others felt restrictive (give or take for certain cases where I will put a thumb on the scale, but still leave an element of chance.)

As a result, sometimes this leads to some strange shifts in tone (going from Costa-Gavras to John Waters comes to mind), but it's also made for an interesting challenge of trying to find the unexpected ties from week to week that occur. Sometimes they're obvious, sometimes they take a little digging.

This week in particular is one I wanted to point out because it was the main focal point I had for this movie and it only just now hit me how it dovetails off of Ponyo last week as two directors taking two very different dives into stories that have their origins in the world of fairy tales.

Where they each take those, of course, go in very different directions. So, now that we've seen what Japan did with jumping off of The Little Mermaid last week, time to see the direction Czechoslovakia went for Valerie and Her Week of Wonders.

Okay, let me be fair. Strictly speaking, this isn't quite where Czechoslovakia wanted to go for this one. Rather, this is where novelist Vítězslav Nezval and subsequently director Jaromil Jireš decided to go the latter adapting the work of the former) with the Czech government at the time feeling this was a little too arthouse for their liking.

So what is this about? Without getting too bogged down in the play by play, this concerns the titular Valerie (Jaroslava Schallerová), a young girl living with her grandmother (Helena Anýžová.) Her life is complicated with the arrival of two people – the young Orlik (subtitles referring by the name Eaglet) and the Constable, a mysterious man who may also be a vampiric being known as the Polecat. Soon, the Polecat's influence spreads throughout the town and it comes to Valerie to keep herself alive and find a way to stop him.

I actually feel a little bad for that synopsis, because it really makes this sound so minimal compared to what's in the actual movie. If I tried to go through the larger breakdown, however, this would probably be half a page just on summary.

Which is probably the point where I should take the moment to warn – this is not going to be a movie for everyone. Normally, when I say that, it's in reference to a movie's containing objectionable content. To be fair, there is certainly some of that here, most notably a very distinct 'coming of age' theme in the narrative with some sexual undertones that feels kind of off-putting given the age of the protagonist and the actress playing her. To give the movie some credit, it never crosses a line into feeling as gross as it could, but it is also something I wouldn't fault a viewer for deciding they'd rather sit this out for.

And then there's this.
As coming of age touchstones go, you're not likely to encounter
this in Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

Back to my initial point, the other aspect of this movie that might make this a 'this isn't for everyone' experience would be the narrative structure, which is definitely more free form care of the filmmaker's roots in the Czech new wave. There's familiar elements in the plotting and structure, but also several creative choices that feel almost designed to throw the audience off (interestingly, from what I can tell, this is actually accurate to the novel it's adapted from.) If you're big on having a tight, coherent storyline, this is one week you may want to sit out. If you're open to a more fantastical and dreamlike approach, I'd say keep this one on your radar.

It's still strange to think the movie I found myself comparing this to the most after finishing it wound up being Dario Argento's Suspiria. It's not necessarily that the two are especially similar in tone or structure, but there is a distinct thread in both of a very stylized director telling what are, functionally, horror stories with heavy fairy tale trappings laced throughout them. Valerie isn't as explicitly horror as Suspiria, but there are definitely aspects of it in the Polecat's role as a trickster vampire, even taking over the town in a way that evokes shades of Nosferatu (with less plagues and more hooking up.) The fairy tale element giving each a sort of heightened reality with regards to some of the plot mechanics – in the case of Valerie, best exemplified in the magic earrings she has that are said to shield her from harm. There isn't too much of an explanation as to how or why, you just roll with it as part of the kind of story we're telling.

I turned over a few ways to put my thoughts on this one. I'm glad I watched it, and there's elements in it to recommend if you can get on its wavelength (and aren't thrown off by some other aspects of it.) As much as I hate to use this because it feels like a classic hand-wave of a line, this really is a movie I would say can be best descibed as a vibes experience. One of those where you'll get a sense pretty early on if this is a movie you're going to want to keep watching or if this isn't your thing. It's not really one I can put too much into words. Just, if this got you curious enough, see if your library might have a copy. If not, no harm, no foul. There's still 51 other movies in this line up that may catch your attention.

Now that I'm thinking about it, there's enough points
that could be worth exploring a compare and contrast
between this and Nosferatu. Not a 1:1 by any stretch,
but certainly some interesting intersecting points.

For what it's worth, next week's entry will be a little less out there, though still one I wouldn't have considered without the outside nudge.

That's right – next week marks the second round for my wife invoking her tag-in privilege (and I'll just say this now – if this is used enough before December, I MIGHT dedicate the last month to tag out movies) to put in for something a bit lighter than I initially had pulled for next time.

So, with that said, we're going back to the states next week with a bit of a timely movie in a different sense as I sit down and watch The Devil Wears Prada for the first time.

Till then.

52 Pick-Up # 14 – Ponyo (2008)

Oh, hey there.

Sorry, I'll be right there. Just need to take a moment to finish eating this crow after the comments I made about the change in the weather in that last entry.

In hindsight, I should have known that would lead to snow. Not that it stuck around, but still a 'What are the odds?' moment to be sure.

Anyway, welcome back to 52 Pick-Up, the year long dig into my movie-going to do list. As the old saying goes 'You'll never watch/read them all', but damned if I'm not gonna try.

Going from last week to this week is making for an interesting contrast for me. Last week marked by second look into the works of director Jafar Panahi – and I'm fast becoming a fan – and conversely, this week I'm going into a director whose filmography I have already seen most of.

In hindsight, it's actually surprising I still had any gaps for Hayao Miyazaki, but here we are. On the plus side, that can also be read as saying 'Hey, I have a chance to see a Miyazaki movie for the first time' and those opportunities are rare for me now.

Which was the upside to the fact I'm only now getting to watching Ponyo (or Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea for the purists.)

Going into this, I only knew in the very general sense that this was Miyazaki doing his own variation on the story of The Little Mermaid. There is an element of that at play here – the underwater dwelling young girl meets a boy on the surface and decides she wants to see more of life above the water line. Past that, however, Miyazaki puts his own spins on it – rather than being a traditional mermaid, Ponyo starts as a fish-like being that ultimately turns herself more human as her desire to see this new world, and her human friend Sosuke, grow stronger. Her father, meanwhile, is against the idea both for the general reasons of not wanting to lose his child to the surface and also for the fact his daughter's newfound use of magic may be throwing the world into chaos. As Ponyo spends more time on the surface and the seas go more unchecked, the situation becomes clear that a choice will have to be made, in order to decide both the fate of the world and our titular heroine.

In terms of comparisons to last week, this is another movie where there's a strength in how it balances its elements, perhaps best exemplified in the depiction of Ponyo's father, Fujimoto. Presented as distrustful of humans and the surface world, there are moments where it would be very easy for a less deft hand to try and cast him as an out and out villainous figure, particularly as this take on the story does not present any sort of witch figure as the cause of Ponyo's change. What stakes there are come more in the form of the tsunami that dominates the second half of the movie, explained as a result of Ponyo's use of magic. Part of what makes that balance interesting is, while the storm is present and not simply brushed aside, the emotional heft remains more on Fujimoto's fear of letting go. When he tells Ponyo's mother that the universe is out of balance, it can just as easily be in reference to how he's feeling in the moment as it is to the genuine consequences of what is happening. In keeping with that personal focus, the resolution is not a grand, sweeping gesture, but more an emotional moment of choice and acceptance that, true to Miyazaki's form, feels very adult even as he keeps much of the rest of this movie in a lighter, more child-friendly tone.

And hey, this kind of times up with Easter nicely
Less so the religious part, more Ponyo's enthusiasm for ham.

That tone, to be clear, isn't a criticism. In fact, it's another of the movie's real charms in this case. Visually, this has a bit of a different style to it compared to some other Ghibli movies – besides a bright color palette, there's some clearer, crisper line work (this being inspired by the animation director's earlier short film) that, rather than looking cheaper, actually pops more for certain scenes, such as Ponyo's first times coming to the surface. That look also feels fitting given how many scenes are buoyed by her childlike sense of wonder at this new world she is discovering and all the people within it. Going back to that earlier point, it speaks to how well the movie can balance this with the emotional heft of Fujimoto's scenes, both for tone and art style without the movie feeling like it's suffering any sort of whiplash for it.

I have to admit, going into this, I was initially having that thought of 'what to say here?'. Not because there aren't good things to say, I've already said some, after all, but also just because with the combined pedigrees of Studio Ghibli and Hayao Miyazaki, singing the praises of their work almost feels like a, if you'll pardon the term here, 'water is wet' moment. At the same time, that was part of what led to those topics above. Miyazaki does consistently good work, but that where he excels can vary from movie to movie,. There is something to the balancing act at work in Ponyo that feels rather unique to it, even if it's with elements that Miyazaki has touched on in his other movies.

No real joke here, but I do also really enjoy the fact
the opening sequence of this movie is entirely dialogue free.

Even as any sort of criticism goes, it feels strange that the most I can think to say here is 'it's good, but he's done better.' That's not even anything to the fault of Ponyo, but simply to the strength of other Miyazaki movies. Just taken on its own, this has a lot to recommend in it – it's a very funny, charming, brisk movie that brings a lot of the Ghibli spirit to a classic story and turning it into their own spin.

If, like me, you have somehow gone through a good number of Ghibli's movies and missed this, I would recommend giving this one your time. That said, I am also going to break from my usual format here to also say I would recommend watching this paired with another acclaimed Japanese director's take on the Little Mermaid story – Masaki Yuasa's Lu Over the Wall. While there are elements of similarity, it is also genuinely fun to watch how these two filmmakers each take this same core idea and both take it in very different (but both enjoyable) directions.

Okay, points to the randomizer. After how this month has been so far, I think I needed this refreshing watch.

But, April keeps rolling and it's time to wrap up here and start gearing up for next time.

The fantastical will be continuing, though in a bit of a different tone next week. Next week marks the first foray into Czech film with the dark fantasy, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders.

Until then.

52 Pick-Up # 13 – No Bears (2022)

Huh. It took me this long to realize this entry is going up on April Fool's Day.

I'm trying to decide if that's a good or a bad sign. More so given this will be the thirteenth movie in the run on top of that.

Ah well, no sense dwelling on it too long. Best to just move on in and worry about the consequences later.

That's the lesson of this movie, right?

Right?

Oh. Oh dear.

ANYWAY.

Welcome back to 52 Pick-Up, my year long trip through my cinematic to do list.

March has come to a close in a suitably raucous fashion and as the weather starts to warm up, I'm changing gears again and kicking the month off with another movie from the 2020s.

Two in four months. Not too shabby.

Following up on my comment on this from last month, this title made it onto my list care of last year's It Was Just an Accident. That movie made it up to my #1 spot, in large part thanks to the impressive balancing act in tone that director Jafar Panahi accomplished, and it immediately raised my interest in checking out his previous feature, No Bears.

I went in knowing as little as possible, save for Panahi's involvement. What I got was an experience that reminded me of the strengths of his later movie, but also showed me more of his general style in a way that has me intrigued to see more.

The first thing that struck me was the very meta framing of this story. Panahi appears in this movie as a fictionalized version of himself, an embattled film director who has been barred from making movies in his home country of Iran. We see this Panahi is working around this by operating in a small town near the border with Turkey where he connects with his crew by remote. The story follows two threads in particular. The first with the subjects of Panahi's film, a couple trying to get papers to leave Iran. The other involving Panahi himself as his stay in the village where he has situated himself becomes increasingly more fraught as seemingly minor actions prove to have unanticipated ripples.

In both this movie as well as the subsequent IWJAA, Panahi demonstrates a keen sense for narrative escalation. In both cases, he starts the movies with what could easily be a minor incident – something that can happen to anyone on any day and be forgotten just as quickly. Except in Panahi's hands, these incidents become part of a larger context that causes these innocuous acts to trigger subsequent actions to greater and greater consequences.

In comparison to the later use of this in IWJAA, No Bears takes a different approach. IWJAA balances its entire escalating chain of events on an uncertainty – every action the lead makes after his first decision is spurred on by the lingering question of 'what if I've been wrong about all of this?' and his reluctance to make that final decision that can't be taken back unless he has certainty. In the case of No Bears, there isn't an ambiguity behind the way things spiral out of control. As this movie presents it, there is no 'what if', but simply that the die is cast and we, along with the fictional Panahi have to watch as the figurative dominoes all fall down, not sure where the chain of events will go until the actual damage is done. If there is any uncertainty, it is in Panahi being completely unaware of the full consequences of his actions until they are taken past that point of no return.

The decision by Panahi to make himself the protagonist – as a fictionalized version of himself – adds another interesting element to all of this. Particularly as the film presents his role in the events that unfold – while Panahi is the unwitting instigator, the audience can sympathize with things like his frustration over the traditions of the village he is staying in, in that he is not made aware his actions are seen as taboo until the lines have been crossed. Conversely, the movie he is filming secretly within Iran feels like it's taking him to task for his detachment from the story unfolding – particularly as it spirals to its ultimately tragic conclusion, which Panahi can only observe from the perspective of a director.

The more I think back on this movie, the more I'm struck by the way it's constructed. Panahi presenting two stories that are both seemingly disparate but also quite similar, each effected in one way or another by his presence (or distance) from the action involved. It's an exercise in perspective that shifts from story to story and even from particular character as the scene shifts, even as it holds with our metafictional protagonist the whole time.

 

Looking back, this so far makes Panahi two for two on movies that I liked when I first watched them, but the more I think back and prod and pry at them, I become even more interested in what they're doing. Part of me wants to rewatch this soon, part of me wants to give it more time first and let myself come at it a bit fresher. Maybe something for after the project.

In the meantime, I'm going to be keeping an eye out for more of his movies, because this has further cemented my interest in what else this man has done.

With that as a welcome start to a new month, it's time for 52 Pick Up to move on as I hope from one prestigious director to another. Next week, I'm addressing one of the rare holes I still had yet to address in the filmography of Hayao Miyazaki (yes, I was surprised to remember there were gaps here too.)

52 Pick-Up will be back next week as I hope for warmer weather to properly go with writing about Ponyo.

Until then.

52 Pick-Up #12 – Streets of Fire (1984)

Man, where is the time going?

Welcome back for another round of 52 Pick-Up as I come to the close of the third month in this year long bid in the films that have been kicking around my 'I'll Get To It At Some Point' list. As March winds down, I come to a title that's been on the list for a while now.

And damn, do I regret sleeping on this one.

So, let's close out with Streets of Fire.

I'll start by saying it – this movie broke me in a way. As I've gotten older, there are certain phrases in describing films I have tried to strike from my vocabulary. This can be for any number of reasons from being overused or misused or just presented in bad faith.

One I have actively avoided for years is 'they don't make them like this anymore.' In this case, I will break and admit it – movies like Streets of Fire don't get made anymore. Or if they do, they certainly aren't at the level of weirdo ambition that Hill gets away with here on the back of his success from 48 Hours.

It's a mash-up of neon, biker gangs, a larger than life hero figure, a city that seems to be its own separate reality, all wrapped up in a rock and roll musical, populated with a murderer's row of a cast. It's the kind of style and genre mash-up that can be best represented by the famous multi-car pileup at the end of The Blues Brothers.

Let me be clear – this is a plus for me. For as strange as this combination is on paper, and I know it won't work for everyone, this one hit a spot for me I didn't know needed scratching.

For a description that gives this a little more of a 'what even is this' – the movie takes place in a city that seems equal parts throwback and slight future (the movie coins it 'another time, another place' not dissimilar from the semi-futuristic New York of Hill's earlier The Warriors.) The movie doesn't take too much time setting up the background before it plunges us into the action in the form of a concert for singer Ellen Aim (Diane Lane) who has her act interrupted care of a biker gang known as The Bombers. Their leader, Raven (Willem Dafoe with probably his most memorable villain look this side of Wild at Heart) takes an interest in Ellen and promptly kidnaps her. Immediately on the heels of this, witness Reva (Deborah van Valkenburgh) sends word to her brother, Tom Cody (Michael Pare.) Cody, a former soldier and Ellen's ex, rolls into town. After some initial reluctance, our hero has assembled a ragtag team involving himself, Ellen's manager (Rick Moranis), and a scrappy former army mechanic (Amy Madigan...excuse me, Oscar winner, Amy Madigan) to wander into the bad part of town and get Ellen back.

All this and Bill Paxton. Again, murderer's row of a cast.

I should pump the brakes for myself here before we go any further. There's a lot of things in this movie that work, and I will likely be hyping those up again before much longer, but I do want to be fair in some regards to this. 

So, let's start with that cast. In a way, the cast is kind of a good macrocosm for this movie's pros and cons – its leads aren't bad, but I can't really say they're the reason to see this. Pare can hold his own in a scene, and I'm glad he's stayed working consistently, but you can see why he wasn't carrying a lot of the bigger movies of the decade. Likewise, Diane Lane is in a thankless spot for this movie as its designated damsel in distress. Like Pare, she's doing what she can with what she's given, but it's not really the big draw for this one. 

 Having said that, for as much as the leads are kind of underwhelming, the supporting cast makes up for them in spades. As the movie's de facto sidekick, Madigan takes a role that was written with someone completely different in mind (for starters, the character was originally written to be a man) and makes it fit so well you'd think she was always who they had in mind for it. Likewise, Dafoe, who doesn't get to say a whole lot in this, makes a mark on viewers just from a combination of his aesthetic and the weird menace he brings to Raven. Paxton, meanwhile, with only a few scenes, brings a presence to a character who could have been completely forgettable that makes it so I kind of wish we could have gotten more of Clyde the bartender. Granted, that was a charm that just came naturally to Paxton, but it still carries into this role.

Though if I'm giving anyone the big shout out here, it probably goes to Moranis, who takes a character that, on first glance, reads like it will be the sort of role he's played throughout his career, then turns it on its ear. Billy could have easily been another in the stable of endearing hapless characters Moranis got typecast into over his career, but instead, he is almost an antithesis of them – a man who knows he's not the hero of this story, but he also recognizes what value he does bring to this team, and he's not afraid to use it or stand up for his part of things. Watched in the shadow of a lot of his later work, this was a refreshing look and it's kind of a shame he didn't get more chances to play against type like this.

If there's one component that could be said to be the biggest MVP of this movie, it's the soundtrack. This isn't by accident – the movie literally introduces itself as a rock and roll fable, after all. Still, it is an area where, if the music had fumbled, it would have seriously hurt the film. Thankfully, it all works with its 'almost a musical' mix of several songs created for the movie's in-universe groups to perform. Two in particular are worth pointing out here. The first of these being easily the most famous song of the movie, Dan Hartman's I Can Dream About You, an earworm of the highest order that still makes regular play even if a lot of people may not realize it came from a movie. The other I have to give to the movie's closing number, Tonight Is What it Means To Be Young, one of two songs by Fire Inc, written by longtime Meatloaf collaborator Jim Steinman. As someone who grew up with Bat Out of Hell as an album in rotation, this end theme scratched a sweet spot for Steinman's signature bombastic power ballad style of songwriting, to the point I had a feeling it was him behind it before I looked up the music credits.

More than the kind of weak leads, if the movie can be said to have any particularly big weakness, it's the fact the script feels like an afterthought. As a complete product, the movie is INCREDIBLY heavy on vibes and atmosphere, and in that regard, it knows what it's doing. As such, the story mainly exists to move things from point A to point B and you don't really want to dwell on it too long, you just take its conceits as they are with the 'it's not quite our world' setting. The individual components are carried either on the cast, the music, the aesthetics, or the sheer audacity of some of the sequences (I'm still processing the fact this movie's climax involves a sledgehammer fight.)

Yes. I repeat - a sledgehammer fight.

In a weird way, the movie can almost read as the rambunctious, 1980s younger sibling to The Warriors. The set-up changes, but both are very stylized films to their decades about a ragtag team of heroes who wind up deep in the heart of an unforgiving city and have to fight their way out while being pursued by a leather gang led by a cold-blooded psychopath, all to the strains of a great soundtrack. Besides the era, the biggest difference between the two is that The Warriors finds a good balance of all of its different elements. Streets of Fire, in some ways, feels a bit more ambitious than The Warriors, but by comparison, it's also more of an uneven movie. The parts that work work VERY well, to the point where one can't really say they cover for the parts that don't work, but they also keep those parts from hurting the overall experience.

With that, we bid March adieu as 52 Pick-Up keeps rolling.

Kicking off April, we get a more recent title as I get an opportunity to follow up on the work of the man who directed my favorite movie of last year – which is my round about way of saying I'll be back next with Jafar Panahi's No Bears.

Till then.

52 Pick-Up # 11 – Multiple Maniacs (1970)

“I think Divine made drag queens hipper because they were really square before he came along. Van and I wanted Divine’s look to scare hippies, because those are the people who went to see underground movies. If you watch that documentary The Queen, all of those drag queens wanted to be Miss America. They were all trying to dress like their mothers back then, but Divine didn’t wanna be a woman—he wanted to be Godzilla!” – John Waters

Okay, so normally I don't start these with a quote, but given this movie and this quote, this one demanded it.

With that, welcome back for the 11th go of 52 Pick-Up, a year long dive into my cinematic to do list. After promising this two weeks ago (and again, sorry about that) we're back on track this week. Coming on the heels of last week's excellent but bleak political thriller, it's time to go back into Uncharted Waters and continue to explore the remaining parts of John Waters's filmography. For this month, that involves his 1970 sophomore effort Multiple Maniacs.

Last time I did a John Waters movie here, I had reflected that, if I came into it early into my journey into his filmography, I might have liked it more. I bring this up because, the more I think of it, I feel like Multiple Maniacs is the reverse of this idea for me. Coming into this near the end of the run through John Waters's movies enhances the appreciation of it for me as a milestone in his career. A milestone that led to me almost subtitling this entry 'Dawn of the Divine.'

I feel like if this had been one of my first encounters with Waters as a filmmaker, it might not have landed as much for me. I don't think I would have hated it, but the looser narrative and the flow of events might have just not landed as much. Watched now, especially seeing the films that came immediately after (including Female Trouble, which at the time of this writing is still my favorite Waters movie) I don't see as much the kind of less formed parts, but the pieces that would become more concentrated in the movies that followed.

On the other side of this in the timeline, this was the movie Waters made following this debut, Mondo Trasho. In the larger arc of Waters lore, Trasho is a movie that mainly holds value for the circumstances around it rather than the movie itself – i.e. it's his first movie, and one that will likely stay out of print due to the music rights issues. It's a movie I would really only recommend to someone who's going for Waters completism, because the movie as it is mostly just feels a very rough, unpolished movie that has occasional glimmers of the Waters we all know and love, not in such a capacity that it's worth the run time for much beyond saying you've seen it.

Coming on the heels of that, Multiple Maniacs feels like a big step up. There's a confidence and a clearer sense of style and the kinds of things Waters wants to do on screen here that makes for a much more enjoyable watch by comparison. Right at the center of that is – you guessed it – the elevation of Divine from a support in Trasho to the center stage in Maniacs. We get other notable names in the Waters canon as well – Mink Stole, Cookie Mueller, and David Lochary all have great appearances among others. In particular, shout-out for the late Lochary who kicks the movie off in a memorable fashion in full carnival barker more for 'Lady Divine's cavalcade of perversions' – a wild sales pitch intro I would happily try to crib for an audition in the future if I though I could get away with it.

I never would have imagined I'd see
a John Waters rendition of the Stations of
the Cross before, but it's there
and it is absolutely insane in all the right ways.

But again, Divine is what makes this movie shine. This first variation has parts of what we would see Waters later adapt into Babs Johnson and Dawn Davenport in later movies, and as the prototype, Divine (as Divine) is in full chaotic force of nature mode, going from a life of crime, to a foray into religion, to a rampaging finale that may be the closest thing John Waters will ever make to a kaiju movie. Even beyond just her role in Dreamland history, she is a lot of fun in this movie and gives it a pulse that the earlier movie doesn't quite have.

So I feel like I'm rating this movie on two levels. On its own, it's a very watchable, if genuinely weird, piece of the more gonzo early years of John Waters with some truly bonkers set pieces that need to be seen to be believed. Taken as part of the larger Waters canon, I really enjoy this as that first really clear statement of Waters as a filmmaker. So much of what comes after can be seen in its early stages here. Multiple Maniacs walked so Pink Flamingos could tear down the streets in a psychotic Weapons-style sprint.

Believe it or not, this isn't the part where the movie
goes full kaiju.
It STARTS here, but this isn't it yet.

As you can imagine, this was also a great mood lifter after last time (though again, DO seek out Z.)

Alas, with this, I have completed the journey into the early days of Dreamland and sometime next month it's time to journey into the late 90s and beyond for Waters.

But before we do that, March has one more movie in the queue and it's one I have been circling for years. In closing out March, 52 Pick Up discovers what it means to be young as the month closes out with the Walter Hill cult classic Streets of Fire.

Till then.

52 Pick-Up # 10 – Z (1969)

Welcome back to 52 Pick-Up.

And for anyone who's reading this because they read last week before the edit and are now thinking 'What the Hell? Where's Multiple Maniacs?', I will explain once again – simple human error. I mentally flipped which movie to which point in the schedule. Multiple Maniacs will be coming up next week, but I didn't want to skip this movie, because damn I'm glad I rolled it.

So, once again, as some may have missed it, I will recycle the set-up from before – if I had a nickel for every European movie from 1969 that I've watched this year that aged uncomfortably well, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice.

Without further ado, let's get into Costa-Gavras's political thriller Z.

While I'm falling on my sword this week, I have to take this moment, in discussing what this movie is about, to say it took me way too long to realize this inadvertently dovetails with last week's movie. Like In the Realm of the Senses, Z is its directors stylized take inspired by a true story – in this case, the assassination of Greek politician Grigoris Lambrakis and the events that came immediately after.

That origin in reality is a good place to start this review, especially as Gavras begins his movie with the statement 'Any similarity to real people or incidents is not coincidental. It is intentional.' Despite this, unlike Oshima, Gavras doesn't present this as the original Lambrakis story (adding to this, Gavras also took inspiration from other acts of political violence, such as the disappearance of Mehdi Ben Barka) but instead keeps many of the details in his telling ambiguous. We get some generalized names, but a country is not specified, and those characters who are named receive a first name only. It's a move that has helped add to how this movie has aged, as even while it can be compared to a single incident, the open nature of the place and time makes it feel relatable beyond just Greece of the 1960s.

Honestly, I feel like that's the part of this that stuck with me the most – despite the movie being over 50 years old, and the incident that inspired it even further back, Gavras's film still feels relevant nowadays. It's not even a single moment or element. Right from the start, there's a sense of how little has changed, as the movie begins with a scene of a government meeting which starts off talking about combating mildew on vines and then pivots to using the same language for ideologies they disagree with.

A sample of some of the 'mildew' they refer to needing to
eliminate.
Yeah, it's sad we keep letting these guys have power 50+ years on.

Many of these characters don't appear again for much of the rest of the movie, but this scene echoes through much of what follows. From the government offices where higher ups loftily speak of opposing views with the same degree of disdain as molds, we head to the other end of where their ethos takes hold in the form of protests against a government deputy (Yves Montand) who is advocating for nuclear disarmament. Cutting to specific figures among the crowd, it isn't long before Gavras shows us that these are people ready for violence and just waiting for the right opportunity to kick it off – even if they have to do so themselves.

That becomes the parallel that drives the movie – the 'civilized' disdain of the right wing leaders at the top and the antagonistic street violence on the ground, at first presented in contrast, are soon presented to all be part and parcel of the same larger political undertaking. The leaders can happily talk of their opponents as simply dirt or mold because their own rank and file people are the ones who will dirty their hands to deal with them (and, if necessary, take the fall for the cause.)

I'm trying not to get too into the details on this, because, despite the age of this movie, I don't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it. Especially because I would argue it is incredibly worth seeing. Not just for the relevance (though that is a big part of it), but also as this is in general a well made thriller in its own right. Besides the very palpable sense of anger Gavras imbues this movie with for the abuses those in power inflict with little to no meaningful consequence, it is also a genuinely tense, well made movie that keeps you engaged with seeing how far it will all go and to what end.

As an additional general note goes – the title of this movie comes from an actual political sentiment from Greece at the time, a shorthand referral to Lambrakis said to mean 'He lives.' It feels both encouraging and sadly appropriate as a title nowadays. Encouraging for the feeling that, even in death, the ideals of people like Lambrakis (or his fictional on-screen counterpart) continue on after their death. Sad as it also applies to the above mentioned feeling of anger Gavras works into this movie. Even over half a century later, the maneuvers in this movie feel sadly familiar, even as the technology changes, the plays remain the same. Even more familiar than the strategies, however, are the consequences – those in power see their opponents discredited, cast aside, or flat out killed, and suffer no real meaningful losses, save for the occasional resignation or a foot soldier who has to be sent to prison. They repeatedly get caught in abuses of their authority and are then left free to keep right on abusing them.

Tale as old as time, as it were.

Okay, that was a bit more of a downer note than I intended to go out on, but it's hard not to feel a bit gloomy with this movie (he said after endorsing people watch it. Hey, not every moviegoing experience needs to be about comfort.)

In all seriousness, this is a very worthwhile movie. Just, maybe have something light for a chaser afterward.

Speaking of which, next week, as promised it's back to Uncharted Waters with the movie that arguably ushered in the rise of Divine as a force in Dreamland lore – it's Multiple Maniacs.

Till then.

52 Pick-Up #9 - In the Realm of the Senses (1976)

 You know, its funny? We go into February light on the romance and then start picking up just as the month ends. Then we come into March with another story of--

Oh.

OH.

Well, this is certainly going to be a different take, but then this project is all about trying something different.

So, before we get into this movie, I'm gonna start with a disclaimer, both for the audience and to cover my own backside on this one. This week's entry, as stated last time and above, is on Nagisa Oshima's controversial 1976 movie In the Realm of the Senses. For anyone not familiar with this, it's a movie with a reputation for its rather frank depictions of sexual acts – most infamously scenes of unsimulated sex between some of the performers.

Okay, so TECHNICALLY the Japanese title
for this roughly translates to Bullfight
of Love

I'm going to be trying to keep this worksafe (or as worksafe as I can), but if this is something you'd rather not stick around for, I can understand on that. Feel free to come back next time if you step out though – in a rare courtesy for those checking out early, next week continues the journey into Uncharted Waters with his sophomore feature Multiple Maniacs.

EDIT - Okay, it hit me at work earlier that I realized I made a mistake in the schedule. Multiple Maniacs is coming, but it won't be for another week. My apologies, as we all know, this year has been a lot.
Which is kind of fitting in light of what next week actually is - to borrow the oft-used internet paraphrase: If I had a nickel for every international feature from 1969 that feels hauntingly relevant to watch 57 years later, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice. Next week will be the Costa-Gavras political thriller Z.

So, to recap - Z next week, Multiple Maniacs the week after.

Okay. Now you know for next time. Hopefully will see you then. Not looking to change this format so much in the future.

Now then – on with the main feature.

Like I was saying above, this is a fairly controversial movie for this selection, particularly with regards to its depictions of sex. Watching it I was getting flashes of some of the recent discourse in some circles of the internet regarding the question of necessity for sex scenes in film and it felt like as good a jumping off point as any for this particular title.

First, as a general thought on this question, I frequently find myself at odds with this topic. Partly because this question seems to be predominantly raised towards sexual content, nowhere near as often is it applied to questions of language or violent content, creating a weird question of what has artistic merit vs what doesn't. Which comes to the much larger part of why I tend to take exception to this question – it presents a scenario where art is treated as an algorithmic formula. The question of 'necessary' basically presents a scenario where everything exists only to serve a particular need. Now granted, there's times I'll look at something in a movie and say, for my part, it feels excessive or needless – but that's all in execution. One movie's overkill is another movie's effective hammering of a point, and it's all a matter of context and how it's done, and the idea that there's a universal standard here feels antithetical to the whole undertaking.

Okay, now just let me take a moment to climb off my soap box and we can get back to how this ties in to today's movie.

This isn't quite as caption iffy as The Damned,
but damn, I can't find a safe word joke here
I don't come away from thinking 'This is a little much'

For context for anyone not familiar with it – In the Realm of the Senses is Nagisa Oshima's own stylistic telling of the real story of Sada Abe – a geisha in 1930s Japan who began an affair with her employer, Kichizo Ishida. Their relationship culminated in her murder of the man, after which – to put it politely – she removed his wedding tackle and carried it with her. In the years since, the case has been subject of no shortage of art and speculation, with Oshima's being but one of many pieces inspired by the story.

With that context, and in regards to the above question, I would say that yes, In the Realm of the Senses can be argued to be a movie where one can argue the sexual content is necessary. It certainly won't be to everyone's tastes, but one would be hard pressed to say it has no narrative significance, both in terms of the on screen facts of the story as well as thematically.

Oshima focuses his telling specifically on the relationship between Sada and Kichizo (often shortened to just Kichi in the movie) and how their relationship is defined primarily through the sex they experience together. Thematically, this becomes one of the most interesting elements of the movie, because throughout the movie, Oshima has characters using sex as a way of conveying power. Kichizo, for example, is presented as someone who frequently engages in sexual activities with geishas or hired help. In most cases, he is the one dictating the actions in what's being performed.

Operative word most – enter Sada. Sada is presented by Oshima early on as a character who uses her sexuality as a means of power. This is established even before she begins her relationship with Kichizo with a set of scenes involving a vagrant that apparently knew Sada from her past as a prostitute. He is presented as ultimately powerless and begging her for attention. When she finally does grant him that audience, to her amusement, he is utterly unable to perform. It's an effective way of helping really convey that sex is how Sada wields power, and she is aware of it and not afraid to use it.

...and then there's this scene.
Just...again, this kind defies captions.

It's that confidence, and awareness of it, that makes it so when she and Kichizo meet, she clearly becomes the more dominant of the two. It's not explicitly presented in their relationship like that wording would suggest – it's in the broader sense that Sada doesn't simply comply with Kichizo's various proposed experiments, and instead approaches them first as his equal, then as the one leading the relationship.

This all leading to the final act, where Sada is the active component in their sexual activities as Kichizo becomes more and more passive. By the time he comes to his end, he is literally just lying there as Sada carries out the fateful final activities that make up the movie's finale.

I'm sure someone could still try to argue the sexual content of this movie as unnecessary, but I would continue to disagree. You could, in theory, make a sex-free version of Sada's story, but it wouldn't be remotely the same movie, save for coming from the same point of inspiration.

If you've not seen this before, and aren't put off by what's been said here so far, I would recommend seeking this out. It's definitely not a movie for everyone, but Oshima makes this truly engaging without feeling like he's just trying to shock or titillate. It's present, and often graphic, but in the service of a larger theme.

With that, I can't help but be amused that I'm going from a defense of a very sexual, but artistic movie, into another round in John Waters's earlier transgressive phase of filmmaking.

So, once again, Multiple Maniacs, Z. Next week.

Till then.