Salt Of The Earth (1954)

There are many different reasons why a movie is a ‘cult movie’. I haven’t read Danny Peary’s write up of the film Salt Of The Earth (1954) in his book Cult Movies 2. I presume it has to do with the fact that it was pulled from release and difficult to see for a long time. The reason being the Hollywood Blacklist. The creative people involved in Salt Of The Earth were on the blacklist for accusations of being tied to communism – director Herbert J. Biberman, screenwriter Michael Wilson, producer Paul Jarrico and composer Sol Kaplan. So they decided to make a blatantly socialist movie in response. Salt Of The Earth is quite amazing to watch in how it is so strongly pro-union, pro-feminist and stridently socialist for a 1950s American movie. The downside is that as strongly political movie, it feels like a didactic “news of the world” documentary newsreel at times – this is the issue, here is an illustration of it. Based on a real incident involving miners striking for safer conditions, the film is narrated by Esperanza (Rosaura Revueltas) who is the central character and spirit of the movie. Her husband Ramon (Juan Chacon) is a miner and a key figure in the stop-work motion after their demands for safer conditions are not met. With no running water or plumbing for their family, Esperanza wants better conditions at home. The movie is more about the struggle for the wives to be heard at the union meetings and for their domestic requests to be recognised by the movement, particularly Ramon who continually reduces Esperanza to a wife and mother rather than as someone with agency and a political voice. The story advocates for collective action to have any power against big business and management. Filmed in black and white, cast with non-actors amongst the professionals and influenced by the neo-realist movement, it is a stridently message movie. Yet loud and clear messaging is no less galvanising, even more so in the here and now. It’s also staggering to see something so bold without having to ‘smuggle’ in its politics; the obvious price paid was that it was pulled from theatres and blacklisted for its ‘communist’ messaging, and even the main actor Rosaura Revueltas was deported back to Mexico for being a communist. Available to stream on Kanopy but it’s also in the public domain, so you can find it on YouTube. Recommended.

The Basilisks (1963)

I’ve only seen one Lina Wertmuller movie and that was Love And Anarchy, which was great. Wertmuller’s debut film The Basilisks (1963; I basilischi aka The Lizards) was featured in the Mubi library in a remastered new edition. One sleepy Saturday morning, I decided to take a gamble on it and after the five minutes, I was glad that I did, as it opens with a sequence narrating the afternoon siesta where the entire town is practically asleep after eating lunch. Set in a small town in Southern Italy against a scenic mountainside and made up of brick and stone lanes of apartments and flats, it is apparently similar to a place Wertmuller grew up in; she was inspired by a recent visit where she realised nothing had really changed. Filmed in black-and-white by cinematographer Gianni Di Venanzo (right after he shot Fellini’s 8 1/2), it is a neo-realist drama with moments of humour and melancholy observations about such a place where nothing happens. Focusing on three young fellas – Tony (Antonio Petruzzi), Francesco (Stefano Satta Flores) and Sergio (Sergio Ferrarino) – who try to chase women (who are not let out or only accompanied by family), avoid being married off by their families for economic benefits, and dream about the fast life in the city of Rome. Even within the provincial area, there are still pressures for wealthier people like shop owners to not hang out with the children of farmers. A socialist initiative beckons farmers to work together to own a stake in their livelihood while others get nostalgic – both farmers and landowners – over the iron rule of the fascist parties. I thought this was an observational, entertaining yet sad coming-of-age story, backed by a score from none other than Ennio Morricone, which moves from oddball tones to operatic flourishes. Great small moments showing the post-war influence of pop culture such as a young guy sitting in a club silent and still, a dejected expression on his face, while listening to an upbeat record of ‘Let’s twist again.’ Specific to its location but relatable in its focus on place and people, this was well worth seeking out (and at 85 minutes running time as well). Available to stream on Mubi. Recommended.

Pather Panchali (1955)

The images in Pather Panchali (1955) directed by Satyajit Ray, have a quality like classic silent cinema – there’s something so luminescent and glowing about them, helped by the remastering and restoration of the film in 2015. A beautiful and quietly devastating movie, it focuses on a family living in rural Bengal during 1910. The father, Harihar (Kanu Banerjee), is a priest but dreams of being a writer and goes off on trips to sell his services, while the mother, Sarbajaya (Karuna Banerjee), worries about money, how she will feed her children, repair the dilapidated house, pay back debts. All the while, young Apu (Subir Banerjee) runs around and plays, taking everything in, alongside his oldest sister, Durga (Uma Dasgupta), who steals fruit for their cheeky Auntie (Chunibala Devi). Observational in its narrative and beholden to the neo-realist movement (Ray was inspired to become a filmmaker after having seen Bicycle Thieves, is what I’ve read), there are so many great moments and images; the montage of Apu when we are first introduced to him as a boy, the close up on his face hearing about the train in the distance, the stillness of nature before an incoming rain storm, etc. The use of silence, pulling Ravi Shankar’s wonderful sitar score at key moments, had such impact. I wasn’t sure what to expect aside from the high acclaim that Pather Panchali has received in film studies and the history of cinema; it was a very wonderful and ultimately moving viewing experience (available to stream on Kanopy). I look forward to seeing the other two films in the Apu trilogy – if anyone else is a fan of Ray’s films, please let me know any other titles to see. Recommended.

Bicycle Thieves (1948)

Ever since the writer character Vincent D’Onofrio played in The Player went to a screening of Bicycle Thieves (1948; Ladri di biciclette aka The Bicycle Thief), championing it as true cinema, I always felt guilty for never having seen it. After copping a DVD copy, and letting it sit on a shelf for a long time, I finally sat down and watched this classic, an example of the Italian neo-realist movement. Directed by Vittorio De Sica, it’s an observational look at the working class in post-war Italy with Lamberto Maggiorani as the man desperate for a job, needing to support his family. He’s able to work for the postal office, putting up posters across the city, but only on the requirement of owning a bicycle. Selling a wedding gift to afford the bike, his first day goes awry when it is stolen from him. So begins a day long quest to find it, along with his plucky son (Enzo Staiola). Clocking in a little bit over ninety minutes, I knew the basic shape of the story, after having read reviews about it and all the allusions to it from subsequent film and television. Yet I still found myself very moved by the heartbreaking finale. Great performances (and captured faces) from the cast, with a docu-drama style to the locations and extras.