Never been one to shy away from the
fact that I am a card-carrying fan of low brow B-movie fare, whose only
experience of world cinema had been, up until this point, Asian
exploitation cinema and a smattering of Euro gore, horror and sleaze
epics. But through this unashamed glorification of my cinephillic
shortcomings I realised I had a problem, a major malaise that affects
my life, my social interactiveness, and my conversational topicality
method. Basically I rant about movies nobody else has seen or
wants to see. Unfortunately it doesn't end there, another symptom
has reared its ugly pus filled head. I'm addicted to watching
crap intensive Hollywood product. Even worse, I like it. I enjoy
it. Now I know what you're thinking: everybody watches and
devours the platters of pap that Hollywood excretes on a regular
basis. But it's not the same. I'm trying to educate
myself. But no I'm settling down with munchies and beverages and
actively choosing to watch Gone in 60 Seconds (2000).
Again! I know this sucks skunk cock but I try to find something
good in this film (Well Angelina Jolie and an ass kicking soundtrack
were top of my list). That's how strong a grip this disease has
on my psyche. Try this for size, I'm a big John Woo fan (well of
his early stuff) but the ballistic bogosity that is Broken Arrow (1996)
defies you to like it in any way shape or form. But no,
fuck-knuckle here gets it down on VHS and chooses to watch it over the
likes of A Better Tomorrow (1987) or Hard-Boiled (1992). Am I out
of my fucking mind? What about the time I moaned about missing
Cut Throat Island when it was on TV or when I hankered for a viewing of
Jennifer Lopez's finest hour and a half, the sublimely daft Anaconda
(1997). How's that for building my intellectual prowess or
increasing my chances with the opposite sex.
ME: Hey how would you like to come back to my place and watch Anaconda
or, if you want Universal Soldier?
HER: Fuck off you sad wanker, if you had said Visconti's Death in
Venice, you might have been lucky.
ME: Vis.. who, Death in what?
HER: Piss off
ME: Sob Sob (walking away dejected)
I decided something had to be done. Maybe I could cure this filmatic
vegetative state that I had thoughtlessly put myself in, maybe I could
stop deluding myself that world cinema was just badly dubbed martial
arts movies, men in monster suits stepping on crappy looking models of
Tokyo or splatter packed zombie movies. Maybe, just maybe I could
turn myself into a knowledgeable, all round movie buff, an expert, a
cinematic know it all. Hell if Kim Newman can do it anyone can.
Right? Well we were about to find out. So instead of
treading lightly into the waters of more cerebrally challenging cinema,
I waded in and took in Italian, German and Japanese arthouse fare with
a smattering of Greek and French along the way. It wasn’t easy,
sometimes I lapsed, the need to watch Dungeons and Dragons (2000) was
so overwhelming it beggared belief, the need to re-watch Deep Blue Sea
(1999) was frighteningly real and totally inexcusable. But I did
manage to stave off the watching of more brainless bombastic behemoths
and watched classics that I only mistakenly read about while trying to
read about Godzilla or Lucio Fulci.
So where did I start in this journey around the cinematic world in
however long it took? Well Germany seemed like a good place to
begin. I hadn’t experienced much in the way of German Cinema,
exploitation or otherwise. The only movies of any interest to me
were the fun and clever Run Lola Run (1988) and the scary Anatomie
(2000, both coincidently starring the lovely and talented Franka
Potente.) Other than that, zilch. I had of course heard the
name Werner Herzog, but had never seen one of his movies. That
was about to change. Aguire, Wrath of God (1972) blew me away,
but truth be told, it took two attempts to get through it. It was
worth it in the end though. The majestic opening sequence is one
that only true film fans could love and the end sequence with a lone
Klaus Kinski on a raft chasing after a pack of monkeys is pure
poetry. Mention has to be made of the music that plays
throughout, it’s haunting, surrealness adds a magical quality to the
visuals and heightens the whole viewing experience. This was the
kind of stuff I was missing because of my blinkered small-minded
vision. After this synapse shocking revelation, I thought that
Herzog could do no wrong so I hastily put on his 1979 remake of the
classic Nosferatu. Whoops! I couldn't have been more wrong
if I'd bathed in a bath of incorrectness lathered up with soapy
stupidness and dried myself off with a towel of twatness. To say
that this film is boring is like saying that shit stinks. It's pretty
bloody obvious. What was Herzog thinking about? He was
making a vampire film not a cure for insomnia. This film bites
weasel dick and is not to be viewed by anyone, unless you indulge in
matters of a masochistic nature, then be my guest. I promise you
though; you'll regret it.
My next port of call was Italy and several directors of note of which I
had managed to dodge were to serve me up platters of movie morsels,
which were pretty hard to digest at times. But when cut up into
smaller more edible chunks made the swallowing that little bit easier
even if it was still a bit rich for my ever expanding junk cinema
gut. Pasollini died after delivering one of the most shocking and
repulsive movies ever. Salo:120
Days Of Sodom (1975). I went to see it because I was a cocky
bastard who thought he could handle anything. I'd seen the Cannibal Holocaust (1979)
and Cannibal Ferox (1981 ) and came out relatively unscathed.
This was going to be a piece of cake. It's been a while but I
still can't shake this one. Not a pleasant film, but one that has
to be seen by anyone slightly interested in cinema. As an
antidote to that I thought I would try Pasollini's Arabian Nights
(1974). A dreamy sumptuous movie that is also chock full of
nudity (male and female), and some nasty scenes of dismemberment and
castration. A slightly better introduction to Passolini for sure,
but still an acquired taste.
After that it was a short stop over in Greece. Ulysses Gaze
(1995) by Theo Angelopoulos. It was four false starts before I
got through this humoungous movie. Was it worth it? Well I
got through it all, which is really good for me. But I was
expecting to see Harvey Keitel searching for some legendary lost reels
of film, instead we see him discovering himself and being lucky with
the ladies everywhere he goes. However there are some magical
moments in this film but at over three hours long and its slow pace it
demands a lot from it's audience.
Let me now take you all the way to Japan for a brief excursion into the
kingdom of Akira Kurosawa. Now before you all start shouting and
balling about how Seven Samurai (1954) and Yojimbo (1961) and The
Hidden Fortress (1958) etc shouldn't be included as part of my art
house cinema curriculum, just hold it right there coz I wasn't going
to. I was going to tackle three of his more personal
movies. Real brain busters for sure, pictures with pertinent
points to make and one of them featured Richard Gere. Was I able
to stand it? Or would it be a case of just taking on too much too
soon. Sometimes I think I learn best when I'm thrown in at the
deep end so to speak, so I didn't really think I was taking on too
much. Haha. Dersu Uzala (1975) is a long long movie where
fuck all happens and then it finishes. The title is the main
characters name and he is quite an amiable chappie. More
interesting than the deadly dull Ruskies that fill the movie.
There are some cracking panoramic shots, but they don't save this from
being a bore. This came from Kurosawa after his suicide attempt and it
kinda shows. It totally alienated his Japanese audience, but what
the fuck did they know (and me for that matter) it only walked away
with the Oscar for Best Foreign Picture in 1976. Having survived
this battering ram of boredom I wasn't that quick to put on
Dodes'ka-den (1970). This was the movie Kurosawa made before his
suicide attempt. This was because this was a monumental flop both
critically and financially. It's not hard to see why
really. It's a mega bore of mega proportions. Talk,
talk,talk,talk, talk. It may have been his first film in colour
but this is deadly dull stuff. Kurosawa is trying to say
something for sure but you can't get your message across when you're
audience is copping some Z's. So on to the Richard
Gere starrer. Rhapsody in August ( 1990) is all about the
long term after effects of the atom bomb attacks. Again it's a
talky film but this was the best of the bunch. The end scene with
the old woman walking in the storm and still standing while the grand
kids chase after her and keep falling all over the place is the most
perfect image of how society has changed.
The next stop on my whirlwind tour of world cinema was another visit to
Italy, this time to subject myself to a three course meal of movies by
Michelangelo Antonioni. For starters was his English language
film (it's not cheating it still counts) Blow Up (1966) starring David
Hemmings and Vanessa Redgrave. Set during the Swinging Sixties
it's basically about a photographer who inadvertently takes a
photograph of a murder, or did he? But in Antonioni's hands this
is smothered beneath a tonne of pretentious nonsense about seeing is
believing (or not in this case), fantasy (of a sort) Vs reality.
You sit through the whole film thinking that there will be a logical
conclusion were everything is explained, things like was there an
actual murder, who was or wasn't murdered. Hey wait a minute just
writing that has maybe cleared things up a little for me. Maybe
that's the point of the film. Anyway at the time of watching it,
I didn't get it. I tell ya those words are going to be on my
gravestone. Anyway it had my attention for its duration and
Hemmings is always worth a watch so I kinda liked it. A good sign
then for my next course in the Antonioni menu. La Aventura's
(1960) premise was equally as promising as Blow Out's. This time
it concerned a woman disappearing on an island while on a holiday with
some friends. Started off ok and then went completely over my
head. It took three attempts to watch this sucker! To make
matters worse this movie lasted over two, mind fucking, hours.
After it I was shattered and do you know what? You got it, I
didn't get it. I'm not even going to try and explain it but it
made me feel like a complete and utter nonce. All part of the
learning curve I guess. Anyway I had one more plateful of
Antonioni to get through. Zabriskie Point (1969) was his first
American film, so I thought it would be more accessible than his other
two. Shiiit! This was so over my head as to be in the
atmosphere. It had a real nifty explosion at the end (which
Antonioni must have thought too, coz he shows it again and again from
every bloody angle imaginable). Then he shows us other shit
blowing up. It pretty much ends like that. No prizes for
guessing that I didn't get this one. This triple dose of
Antonioni made me realise that as a story telling filmmaker he makes
them so dense as to be impenetrable but as a technical filmmaker he is
really good. His framing of people within landscapes whether they
are urban cityscapes or barren desert/islandscapes is quite
breathtaking at times
Next up was Bernardo Bertolluci's The Conformist (1969). No
prizes for guessing what happened next. Well, give me my due, I
did watch it till the end (I said that about the Greek movie but heck
these are real brain busting ass numbing movies so give me a
break). There was some real funky camera work on show and the
murder scene near the end is pretty harrowing. Also there was a
"floaty" ambience, a balletic quality that is quite hypnotic. But
in the main it just didn't float my boat. I quickly followed this
up with Fellini's La Strada (1954). No chance! I've never
been a big fan of Neo realism so this had a shit load stacked against
it right from the start if it was going to have any chance of winning
me over. Nope. Couldn't be done. I feel like a real shit for
writing this but I can't do these types of movies. I need zip and
kapow in my films not sitting brooding melancholy.
It was around this time that I decided to give up on my world cinema
tour or rather take it a little more slowly. I had supped from
the wineglass of taste rather than gulp from the mug of
tastelessness. I wasn't a changed man by any stretch of the
imagination, I knew I had taken that first crucial step in broadening
my rather limited movie mind. I had expected to come out numb and
dejected and to a certain extent I did but I also felt good, I felt
proud and most of all I felt stupid. Some I got some I didn't. These
movies made you think and even though I didn't get most of them,
something in my wasteland of a mind clicked. A small click to be
sure, but I was also confused and that is why I feel stupid and elated
at the same time. Some of these films I couldn't get through even
if you had held a gun to my head. But then I thought wait a
minute some art house film directors' work I really like. Take
Giuseppe Tornatore for example. A film with his name on it is
always worth rushing to see. I love Cinema Paradiso (1989) and
Pure Formality (1994) is a tour de force of acting and camera work and
has a doozy of an ending as well. But these films weren't jam
packed with car chases, shootouts and a parade of naked women.
The same goes for the early work of Luc Besson. The Big Blue
(1988) is a masterpiece and it's a quiet contemplative piece of
cinema. I really dig Kurosawas' classic Rashomon (1951). It's a
talky, thoughtful movie with a period setting and no samurai sword
swishing shindigs. I must be doing something right after
all.
