6.11.11

Virginity (Otakar Vavra, 1937)

Le jeune Werther (Jacques Doillon, 1993)

Le jeune Werther and Virginity end on notes that, at first glance, seem virtually identical. The protagonists, having renounced their true love for some greater virtue, march on stoically as narration hints at some inner trembling. Hannah recounts what a friend told her about “getting used to” a bad marriage, and as Ishmael continues to compulsively stalk his crush, Miren, he remembers musings from The Sorrows of Young Werther. The ironies implied are opposite in nature: Hannah is virtually defined by coldness towards her future husband, and Ishmael is, on the whole, far too carefree and powerful for his self-concept to ring true.

But while Virginity engages directly with romantic notions of sacrifice, Doillon’s film is the more interesting movie for having Ishmael only experience romanticism through surrogates, such as Werther, or his fallen classmate Guillaume. Ishmael’s grief is real—as one classmate complains, he is “getting sentimental”—but the sly dominance with which he is introduced overshadows any attempts to make him a tragic figure. His rejection of Fay renders his own longings somewhat inert, but also makes for an oddly balanced, melancholy portrait. Ishmael observes the incompatibility between his identity and his tragic circumstances unfold right before his eyes. As many characters observe throughout the film, this stuff is sad, but it’s also normal.

5.17.11

Knife in the Water (Roman Polanski, 1962) - pro

A film of submerged emotion: a scenario that initially seems conceived to stimulate jealousy basically ends up quashing it altogether. But despite the off-hand look, the visual precision on display is Polanski's strongest asset. The intensity of his visual plan tends to depend here on momentary ignorance of the identification figure, such as the unflinching long take in which the hiker plays the knife game. Because undertones enter only to be dismissed, victimhood and sadism, as well as attraction and contempt, subtly intertwine amongst the characters. When a character has a moral epiphany, it coincides with panic. Goodness is a source of anxiety here.

Knightriders (George A. Romero, 1981) - mixed

Romero has dramaturgical intelligence to spare, and yet the visual messiness of his films makes them a tough sit for me. Harris's idealism is sympathetic by default, so the film has to tip the scales against him to generate tension, and it largely does. Romero's is a universe of moral chaos, in which hysteria goes both ways (but especially the way of the righteous): Tuck and Harris broach propriety in equal measure, the former disgusting and the latter idealistic to a fault. That Harris's passion is directed towards such a trivial endeavor makes the movie a hard sell, but that's why it works: it's like a Herzog film about high-functioning nerds rather than psychos, where declining to sign an autograph and a noble unwillingness to sell out are one and the same.

The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck, 1939) - pro

Flirts frequently with propaganda. If not for Joad's murderer status, there'd be little moral weight beneath the anti-capitalist monologues. One perceives Steinbeck's writing as painstakingly naturalistic first, a refined emotional experience second, thus not altogether vindicating him of didacticism charges. It's still a conflicted vision, albeit one oversaturated with purpose.