Tokyo Story (1953)

The canon of great movies can sometimes feel imposing. During the first twenty minutes of Tokyo Story (1953), as the elderly couple settle into their eldest son’s home during their visit to Tokyo, I did think, “This is one of the most acclaimed movies?” Less a reaction to the film being boring or bad, but more just a reaction to continued exchange of polite pleasantries between people (barring the little boys acting rude). This is the second film I’ve seen of director Yasujiro Ozu (Late Spring being the first) so I knew his style was slow and that this was an accumulation, beginning with the ways in which people put on good manners and small talk, particularly within an extended family. By the end of the two hour and twenty minute film, I had tears welling up in my eyes. This is one of the most acclaimed movies, and deservedly so.

Even though Tokyo Story speaks to specific aspects of Japanese culture and the post-war transition to commercial growth, the film still remains very human and empathetic. It doesn’t stop at the obvious melodrama of an elderly couple being palmed off between their adult children during their Tokyo visit. As the narrative progresses, further details are revealed, shining new light on the relationships, from the history of the family and even that the elderly couple are not idealised, with the husband often being rude to the wife in private moments. Even with a film that ends on two characters agreeing that life is disappointing, the film doesn’t feel depressing or dispiriting, just complicated and nuanced, allowing for tenderness and kindness to remain even as characters remain alone in the frame. Great performances, particularly the transcendent Setsuko Hara as Noriko, the daughter-in-law, and Chieko Higashiyama quietly heartbreaking as the unassuming mother.

A beautiful film which gave me a certain warm glow of satisfaction – that I’d finally watched Tokyo Story and that it was as great as they say. Watched a copy on Kanopy. Recommended.

American Harmony (2009)

As a documentary about barbershop quartet competitions, you can file American Harmony (2009) under the sub-genre of “I can’t believe it’s not a Christopher Guest movie!” I can’t say barbershop quartet is my favourite type of music, but you get all the different people devoted to the ole timey stylings, from the fans to the vocal coaches to the performers, all of whom take it very seriously indeed. A lot of the humour comes from the sense of competition and athlete-level attitude to harmonising old standards like ‘Powder Your Face With Sunshine’ or ‘When My Sugar Walks Down The Street.’ We follow two groups. There’s Max Q, the acclaimed and beloved favourites, a crew of all-stars who are driven to take the top prize after coming second for several years in a row. Then there’s OC Times, the young hotshots who believe they bring “sex appeal” to the form; when they bust out a tune together to a waitress who’s serving them, that’s an ultimate CRINGE moment. Another team, Vocal Spectrum, perform ‘I Wanna Be Like You’ from The Jungle Book in the finals and we see one of the seasoned old dogs from Max Q ruefully shake his head, “How things have changed.” My favourite scene is a passionate vocal coach advising a member of Vocal Quartet that when he momentarily closes his eyes while singing, “you shut us off” and then proceeds to use a “shadowbox” analogy about connecting to an audience (“You’ve got to pow, pow, pow..” mimes boxing). I would have never heard about American Harmony except for Tom Scharpling and Jon Wurster recommending it (one of Wurster’s character on The Best Show, Zachary Brimstead Esq, is a barbershop singer) – the closing credits bit feels like one of their ‘list’ comedy routines. Available to stream on Kanopy. Welcome to a world of gelled-tip hair and big satin suits. Very entertaining. Recommended.

Scarlet Street (1945)

When a movie is in the public domain and is available everywhere, I often think that makes people less likely to check it out, particularly when there are some shocking versions in poor quality or if its a black-and-white movie that’s been colourised. Scarlet Street (1945) is in the public domain and I was also reluctant to seek it out, as I remember Martin Scorsese examining it in his Personal Journey Through American Cinema, and showing a key murder scene from it. Basically I had the impression of what type of film noir Scarlet Street would be, a poor sap cashier (Edward G. Robinson) giving over to dark impulses when he rescues a dame (Joan Bennett) walking home through the late night streets of Greenwich Village. His attraction is returned, but only because the dame’s seedy boyfriend (Dan Duryea) wants to bilk the cashier for money, effectively pimping her out for a potential blackmail frame. Directed by Fritz Lang, Scarlet Street was what I expected but was surprisingly more than what I expected. I love film noir for its archetypes and conventions, but you can always feel a master’s hand at the wheel when the characters are given more shading and the plot makes strange detours, such as where Robinson’s love of art and painting intersects in this whole set-up, or how the movie continues on past where you think it might end, opening itself up to an Edgar Allan Poe type gothic psychodrama. Robinson is great as the straight-arrow gent who ruins himself over a mid-life crisis, Bennett complicates the femme fatale role by being brashy and fed-up, playing a role as the character is also an amateur actor, and Duryea effectively portrays the sleazy and unpleasant operator. With how the camera moves in at certain points, or the framing of scenes, or just the inclusion of certain details that help make moments come alive, Lang and his collaborators make sure the film delivers more than you might have bargained for. Available to stream on Tubi and Kanopy, as well as rent/purchase on iTunes. Recommended.

The Iron Rose (1973)

The Iron Rose (1973; La Rose de Fer) is the third film I’ve seen from French director Jean Rollin, and along with Spanish filmmaker Jess Franco, their names represent a quintessential arty Euro-horror milieu. Rollin is known for low-budget genre flicks, usually concerning vampires, where there’s nudity and blood, and actors wandering around castles and shorelines. While offering some exploitation thrills with the sex and violence (and are often marred by dodgy moments), the films I’ve seen of Rollin’s are also marked by a dreamy atmosphere, usually generated by long takes and a static pace; even though his films never clock past 90 minutes, and are usually under that, they always lull me into a narcoleptic state. Some would argue that’s a flaw, but for me, and many of his fans, that’s part of the experience. That these films feel like a waking dream, accentuated by the locations and misty weather, and the potential for blood, poetic reverie and off-kilter theatrics. There’s something innately compelling about watching figures emerge slowly out of a foggy mist. The Iron Rose is apparently a rarity in Rollin’s work in that it doesn’t involve vampires. The plot is quite simple: a man (Hugues Quester) meets a woman (Francoise Pascal) at a wedding. They agree on a date. Wandering a deserted train track, they look for a more quiet location for their picnic and the man suggests visiting a graveyard. A morbid site for a date, and they pay the price for wanting to make it in a crypt, becoming lost and delirious as night comes and they cannot seem to find their way out amidst the graves. Yet there’s a deeper pull to the unfolding fear and panic, as the young lovers become tense and argumentative, and the woman becomes possessed with the dead and the beyond. There’s symbolism and portent, particularly in the title object of an iron rose, and Pascal is fantastic in conveying their character’s fateful transformation. The use of primary colours in the costuming – the man’s red sweater, the woman’s yellow top – stand out within the darkened landscapes, the gravestones and (purportedly real) bones. Self-financed, a strange passion project for Rollin that was not a critical or commercial success, but has now become a cult object within his overall output of erotic horror films. Available to stream on Kanopy. Recommended.

Un Flic (1972)

Grey buildings standing imposingly on a French coastline. An incoming storm whips the ocean and rain washes over deserted streets. A car moves slowly with four men in trench-coats and hats. They stop on a street corner and through the mist is a bank with its lights on, just about to close for the day, and the street lights turn on in the distance. This is the eerie opening to Un Flic (1972; A Cop), the last film directed by Jean-Pierre Melville. I love his masterpiece, Le Samourai, and only recently caught up with Le Circle Rouge; Un Flic is his third collaboration with actor Alain Delon, though this time he switches from playing a cool, silent criminal to a weary, silent cop (named Coleman). Melville’s trademark cool and elegant approach to the crime genre becomes emptied out here. There are empty streets in key scenes and empty people for protagonists. As Delon does the rounds, visiting crime scenes in his car with his subordinate, we observe Richard Crenna as Simon, leader of the thieves who rob the bank and are planning a further elaborate heist. Quite a thing to see Rambo’s colonel in the Le Samourai trench-coat, dubbed into French, and his youthful yet craggy face blends right in with the jaded looking criminals. The third part of this triangle is Catherine Deneuve as Crenna’s girlfriend, a nightclub hostess, who is also having an affair with Delon’s character. Yet Melville doesn’t seem to care about any emotions exchanged; everything is another empty transaction. Hard to tell if the artificiality on display – such as the painted backdrops of certain scenes and the very obvious models during its sustained, wordless second act heist involving a helicopter dropping Crenna onto a train to steal precious cargo – is part of the intended aesthetic? Or is simply an older filmmaker not bothered that a real helicopter is intercut with a wide shot where it looks like a child’s toy? Films like Le Samourai and Le Circle Rouge have an artistic tension in their bored observation, watching process and having characters say less with words and more through precise actions. There is similar tension in Un Flic but also a resigned nihilism, emphasising the law side of the coin as a hollow proposition. There’s a drained, blue-grey early-morning ambience to Un Flic, and the result is that it feels much more alienated than the Dirty Harry inspired Euro-cop movies that would follow in its wake (some of which would star Delon). I also loved the striking editing of people exchanging looks, head-on close-up shots cutting back rapidly between each other, indicating more emotionally and visually than the few words said. Available to stream on Kanopy in Australia. Recommended.