Mayerling (1936), directed by Anatole Litvak. This film may be based on the story of the doomed love affair between Rudolf, Crown Prince of Austria, and 17-year-old Baroness Maria Vetsera, but it is romantic hokum, a sort of Austrian court Romeo and Juliet with a slightly different, but no less melancholy, end. The production is lavish with extended scenes of ballroom dancing, and an evening at the ballet. The ballet being performed is, what else, Swan Lake, another story of lovers facing insurmountable difficulties. The lovers in the story are Rudolf (Charles Boyer) and Maria (Danielle Darrieux). Litvak does not overlook Rudolf’s dissolute activities, his drinking and womanizing. Nor does he overlook Maria’s young innocence. Sets, costumes, performances, the fluid camera, are all spot on, making this an impressive filmic turn. Having acknowledged this, I also admit to finding the proceedings just a bit wan. Charles Boyer kept reminding me of Prince Harry in his hang-dog barking about the constricted life of a royal. His early connection to the newspaper man, Szeps (Rene Bergeron), and student unrest deserved, I think, more fulsome treatment. However, the student protests and M Szeps appear only briefly early in the film. What we have is a sumptuous costume romance telling the story of two ill-fated lovers in snowy Austria in the late nineteenth century.

It Happened Tomorrow (1944), directed by Rene Clair. The penultimate of Clair’s Hollywood films, and in the vein of The Ghost Goes West (1935) and I Married a Witch (1942), It Happened Tomorrow is a silly romp that has ebullient performances by Dick Powell, Jack Oakie, and Linda Darnell. Powell plays Larry Stevens, an obituary writer for the Evening Standard who aspires to greater things as a journalist. His co-worker, Pop Benson (John Philliber), gives him tomorrow’s newspaper, allowing Larry to know what will happen tomorrow so he can write about it today.  Of course, the knowledge comes with a price when Larry reads in tomorrow’s newspaper that he will die at 6:25 p.m. Meanwhile, he meets Cigolini (Jack Oakie) and his niece, Sylvia Smith (Linda Darnell) who perform an act of clairvoyance. The plot moves along briskly, even cheerfully despite impending doom for Larry. We have mayhem and madness, all done in good fun. A prologue lets us know that events will not turn out disastrously. And how could they, this is a comedy! We have newspaper people, police, robbers, restaurant patrons, and others. As I say at the beginning, the film is a romp.

Act of Defiance (2017), directed by Jean van de Velde. This is a film about the South African lawyer and activist, Bram Fischer (Peter Paul Muller), who defended a group of resistance fighters, including Nelson Mandela (Sello Motloung), in what is known as the Rivonia Trial, 1963-64. I was reminded of an earlier film, A Dry White Season (1989), although here, the white lawyer is a leader of the resistance and a communist who tries to hide his affiliation with the defendants, whereas in the earlier film the protagonist is a middleclass suburbanite who has no interest in politics. In An Act of Defiance, the tension arises from the connection between lawyer and those he is defending. Will the prosecuting lawyer discover the truth about his courtroom adversary? If he does, what will he do? We know how the trial ends simply because it is a piece of history. Knowing this does not diminish the scathing account of injustice and brutality perpetrated by the government on people who just want to be free to live, work, and move where they wish to live, work, and move. As a courtroom drama, this film will not disappoint.

Dance, Girl, Dance (1940), directed by Dorothy Arzner. “Go ahead and stare. I’m not ashamed. I know you want me to tear my clothes off so you can look your fifty cents worth. Fifty cents for the privilege of staring at a girl the way your wives won’t let you.” So says Judy O’Brien (Maureen O’Hara) when the male audience jeers her ballet dancing; they want Bubbles (Lucille Ball) who plays to their desire for titillation. This is a film about dance, high art and low art, women, and both the male and the female gaze. I confess I had never seen a Dorothy Arzner film before, although I have known about her for years. This first exposure to an Arzner film did not disappoint. Arzner was the first and only female director from the beginning of sound (1929) until the late forties when Ida Lupino began directing. Dance, Girl, Dance could have been a standard Hollywood musical romance, but in Arzner’s hands it is something else, something more interesting. Take, for example, the morning after Judy has spent the early hours with wealthy playboy Jimmy Harris (Louis Haywood). She returns home, looks longingly out her window at what we assume is Jimmy returning to his car, but is actually the morning star. She makes a wish on this star, not that she and Jimmy will find happiness, but that she will be a dancer: “Please make me a dancer.” Her mentor in her dance career is Madame Lydia Basilova (Maria Ouspenskaya) who dresses in mannish clothes. The one time she dons a fancy woman’s hat, she is struck down by a car! This is delicious. The plot follows these two women, Judy and Bubbles, and it takes turns we do not expect. Much of the action takes place in a burlesque hall. Arzner’s willingness to forego the familiar Hollywood fare is refreshing and important. Now to see more of her films.

Beau Travail (1999), directed by Claire Denis. Loosely based on Melville’s Billy Budd, Beau Travail is a film of bodies, mostly men’s bodies, faces, fences, lattices, and other signs of confinement, open vistas of desert and ocean, and seething emotion that, like a volcano, lies silent and hidden just waiting to bubble and boil over. The men are members of France’s Foreign Legion stationed in a former colony, Djibouti. We watch the men undergoing training exercises of various kinds, all looking arduous, but carried out by the men in dance-like fluidity. Dance plays a significant role in the film. Take, for example, the remarkable final scene in which the suicidal Galoup breaks into feverish, but intricately beautiful, dance. The sequences of men training are not only dance-like, but also machine-like. We also watch the men doing domestic work: ironing, washing clothes, preparing meals, sweeping, and so on. All of this takes place without much dialogue. What moves the narrative along is the voice over by Galoup (Denis Lavant), something that lessens as the film goes on. Galoup is a wolf on the prowl. He is also the pivotal character in this tale of envy, jealousy, and twisted loyalty. Galoup sets his sights on Gilles Sentain (Gregoire Colin), the Billy Budd character here. Much of what we understand is communicated by facial expression and camera angle, not dialogue. The cinematography is crisp and hard-edged and sensitive to colour, vibrant as well as muted colour. This is a remarkable film, so unlike the kinetic sort of films we are most familiar with. Anything kinetic in this film has to do with the motion of men’s bodies, not with the editing or furious action. There are nods to both Godard and Truffaut evident throughout.

 

 Some more Ishiro Honda films

Battle in Outer Space (1959), directed by Ishiro Honda. Special effects here are courtesy of Eiji Tsuburaya and they are pretty cool. The scenes in outer space and on the moon are effective in a 50s sort of way, clean lines and rocky moon surface with nicely done transportation vehicles that can act like hovercrafts. The miniatures used for trains and rockets and land rovers and so on are catchy, although the cardboard buildings used as stand-ins for New York and Tokyo are less impressive when we see them toppled and torn by the alien rays. The story here is thin and familiar: aliens have set up a moon base from which they attach earth, managing such nifty tricks as lifting up a huge train bridge and smashing lots of buildings, and earth fights back. The aliens, by the way, are something akin to minions. As for earth marshaling its defenses, we have a gathering of nations – including Canada with its red ensign – setting aside differences to coordinate the response to the alien threat. I like the cooperation here, something we see with less forthrightness in Hollywood films with a similar plot. All in all, this is a serviceable contribution to 1950s sci fi.

 

Matango (Attack of the Mushroom People – 1963), directed by Ishiro Honda. Thanks to John and Cole Boivin, we got to see this gem last evening. As soon as I read the blurb on the DVD case, I recognised “A Voice in the Night,” a terrific short story by the inimitable William Hope Hodgson. Hodgson’s story tells of a lonely man floating on the ocean seeking food. Two sailors see him, send him provisions, and listen to his story. The story he tells involves a ship coming across another vessel abandoned and covered with a strange fungus. Soon this fungus has taken hold of everyone on board, and the man telling the story is the only one left. He is in the process of turning into a living fungus. Honda’s version is much the same, only updated to the mid-century, and we follow a group of survivors as they try to stay alive on a strange island. Think Gilligan’s Island with giant mushrooms tempting and threatening our merry band of stranded people; some of these mushrooms lumber about colourfully. The colours are appropriately toned to reflect both the exotic nature of these fungi and the sense of decay and rot in the atmosphere. Both the interior sets on the abandoned ship and the exterior sets on the island are cleverly and impressively designed. The story here is less engaging than the look of things. We see just enough of the mushroom people to want to see more.

 

King Kong Escapes (1967), directed by Ishiro Honda. This is the one with the bad teeth! The villain, Dr. Who, and our hero, King Kong, both are in the need of a darn good dentist. The film also sports a Kong replica, the Mecha-Kong robot who dukes it out with our hero atop a Tokyo tower. The special effects here are rudimentary, at best. The plot has the nefarious Dr. Who (Hideyo Amamoto) attempting to extract Element X from the frozen Arctic so he can sell it to the slinky Madame Piranha, also known as Madame X (Mie Hama). All of this has the distinct flavour of a James Bond film. Indeed, Mie Hama was a Bond girl in the same year’s You Only Live Twice. So we have a Bond villain kidnapping King Kong because Kong will prove to be better at digging Element X than the robot Kong is. Meanwhile Commander Carl Nelson (Rhodes Reason) and his intrepid sidekicks Lt. Commander Jiro Nomura (Akira Takarada), and Lt. Susan Watson (Linda Miller), float about in their submarine, get cornered by Kong, do battle with Dr. Who’s minions, and generally try to save the day. As things turn out, it is Madame Piranha who saves the day; she has a change of heart and forgoes her evil ways. Ishiro Honda has made slicker films, but this one is lots of fun precisely because it is so cheesy.

A few recent films.

 The Limehouse Golem (2016), directed by Juan Carlos Medina. Here is another Jack-the-Ripperesque murder mystery, a film reminiscent of a number of earlier films such as the Hughes Brothers’ From Hell (2011). In this one, the detective is John Kildare (Bill Nighy) who is unliked by his colleagues and superiors because he is not “the marrying kind.” He strikes up a relationship with the Music Hall star Lizzie Cree (Olivia Cooke) who is on trial for poisoning her husband. Meanwhile a series of grisly murders has taken place in the Limehouse district of London. Kildare thinks Lizzie’s husband, John (Sam Reid), is the Limehouse Golem, as the murderer styles himself, and he sets out to prove this and find an extenuating circumstance for Lizzie’s poisoning her sinister husband thereby getting her off from the gallows and proving himself capable of solving an unsolvable mystery, unsolvable because there appears to be no motive or pattern to the random murders. The plot is convoluted, just like the last sentence. I found the film a bit tedious, but it does have its moments. It also has a subtext of sexual tension, abuse, and repression that is important. Oh, and it has Karl Marx and George Gissing as two suspects in the unpleasant murders. 

Bombardment (2021 – The Shadow in My Eye), directed by Ole Bornedal. This Danish film is timely in that it recounts the story of an air raid gone wrong late in World War Two. Instead of bombing Gestapo Headquarters, some RAF planes drop their bombs on a school killing many children, teachers, and civilians. The planes saw smoke from a plane that had clipped a tower, lost a tailpiece, and crashed into the school. Anyway, the film presents this incident carefully. We get to know a few of the people involved from a trio of children, to a nun questioning her faith, a young Danish policeman who has collaborated with the Germans, the children’s parents, and a couple of British pilots.  The scenes after the bombing are excruciating. The devastating effect of war on the innocent is in full view here, reminding us, perhaps, of what is happening every day in present-day Ukraine. The children here are very good. I especially like their visits to the bakery where a Brothers Grimm-like shopkeeper terrifies the children because of the way she looks. The opening of the film is also powerful and distressing. This scene, in which a plane mistakenly shoots a car filled with women going to a wedding, sets up what is to come.

 

The Good Nurse (2022), directed by Tobias Lindholm. This film reminded me of Michael Mann’s The Insider (1999). Both films are thrillers without flash, without dramatic turns of violence, and both are about corporate malfeasance. The difference lies in focus. The focus in The Good Nurse is on the two main characters, Charlie Cullen (Eddie Redmayne) and Amy Loughren (Jessica Chastain), and the acting is subtle and effective. The low-key performances work well until Charlie’s burst of maniacal shouts of “I can’t, I can’t,” etc, etc. and so on and on. The examination of for-profit medical care is muted, but insistent. Much of the action takes place during the night shifts in a hospital, the characters stalking (well, at least one is stalking) dimly lit hallways. Perhaps the most precise word for the film is “procedural.” The insistence of the two detectives to carry out an investigation against obstacles stemming from the stonewalling hospital officials to the detectives’ bosses on the force is a welcome relief from the crooked cops we have in so many films. The two detectives are Danny Baldwin (Nnamdi Asomugha) and Tim Braun (Noah Emmerich). The story is, as they say, based on a true story. Conclusion: stay out of hospitals.

 

Belfast (2021), directed by Kenneth Branagh. Sentimental and nostalgic, yes; effective and even compelling, yes. This is a film about the early days of the Troubles in Northern Ireland told from the point of view of nine-year-old Buddy (Jude Hill). Buddy is a bright innocent wide-eyed kid who loves the movies – Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, One Million Years B.C., High Noon, and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance all appear in snippets here. He also has an eye for schoolmate Catherine (Olive Tennant). Buddy’s family are Protestant and live in a neighbourhood where most families are Protestant. There are, however, a few Catholic families. Trouble begins when some young thugs attempt to burn out the Catholic families, and then barricade the street to keep the unwanted other away. Buddy finds all this somewhat bewildering, and he begins to be drawn in to the growing melee when the thugs loot a local grocery story. Buddy comes away with a box of soap and confusion. Meanwhile his parents begin to debate whether they should leave their country for somewhere else safer and calmer. The film begins in colour with shots of contemporary Belfast, but soon the colour drops away leaving us with a vivid monochrome courtesy of cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos. The monochrome is a stroke of genius. The hint of black and white underlines the ”either you are on our side or you are the enemy” mentality of the two sides of the conflict, but the muted quality (almost surreal) of the monochrome gives us the sense of mixture, of something soft amid the hardness of things happening in this Belfast neighbourhood. As a film about childhood in a place of troubles, this is absorbing.

 

Miss Meadows (2014), directed by Karen Leigh Hopkins. This is a distaff version of Michael Winner’s Death Wish (1974) and its clones. It is also cloying. Katie Holmes plays the eponymous Miss Meadows who clips through her suburban neighbourhood on tap shoes, talks to a blue bird, skips over a young girl’s hopscotch design, does a twirl or two, and shoots a bad guy in a pick-up (literally) truck. This is, mostly, the first scene. The film begins with a quirky sense of the surreal, but it cannot maintain this sense despite trying its best. Ultimately, what we have here is another valorization of gun culture and championing of the vigilante. Pass on by this one.

 

 Some Ishiro Honda to start the year!

Rodan (1956), directed by Ishiro Honda. This is the first of Toho Studio’s “Dai Kaiju” series shot in colour and it looks fine. The film is short on character development and it re-uses footage several times, but the special effects are attractive. The insect-like Meganurons are suitably hokey, and the pterodactyl-like Rodan (actually there are two of them) that eat the Meganurons are just great. They fly and swoop and whip up wind storms with relish. This is all good fun, except that this is all the result of humans creating nuclear weapons and using them. The early scenes in the coal mine before Rodan turns up are handled well and give us a sense of the life of these workers. I like the notion that human ingenuity and science produces such a primitive, visceral, and shocking reaction. The final scene is actually poignant. You will have to see the film to take in what I mean.

 

Varan the Unbelievable (1958), directed by Ishiro Honda. Of the several kaiju films we have seen, Varan the Unbelievable is the least interesting. Yes, we have a guy in a monster suit, a monster that has a passing resemblance to Godzilla, a gathering of ships, tanks, planes, cannon, rockets, and soldiers, and a futile attempt to stop the rampage of the monster as it stomps huts, houses, and sundry other things. It never does get to Tokyo or any other large urban centre. We have no back story for the monster. Where did it come from? Why is it so angry? Why does it not knock down any famous buildings? We have no back story for the few characters we follow as they attempt to deal with the emergency brought on by Varan. The thrashings and crashings are okay, as far as such things go, but the whole affair is rather tepid. Reviews, however, do compliment the film's score by Akira Ifukube.

 

The H-Man (1958), directed by Ishiro Honda. Think “The Blob,” the American film that came out the same year, except that his one is far more colourful, pulpy, and neon-soaked. Perhaps “adult” is a pertinent description. The nightclub sequences and the gangster angle made me think of Seijun Suzuki’s films of the 1960s. The plot has the Tokyo police looking for some nasty drug dealers, but finding themselves following the trail of a strange series of melting persons. It seems fallout from H-Bomb testing mixed with rainfall is melting a few people and turning them into a green gelatinous substance that seeks out other humans to melt them. The film is curious, but effective. The final sequence in the Tokyo sewers has to be seen to be believed. The garish nightclub sequences with their erotic dances are also noteworthy. The not so savoury influence of America seems evident here. In short, we have a hybrid, a mix of monster movie with film noir. The mixture, although odd, is deftly handled by the director Honda. The special effects by Eiji Tsuburaya (Godzilla and many in that franchise) are masterful, with melting people and oozing slime. 

 

Mothra vs Godzilla (1964), directed by Ishiro Honda. This is the one about the clash between Godzilla and a giant moth, and also the giant moth’s two larvae. This is an example of the Japanese kaiju film, most famous for Godzilla (1954). The plot has something to do with the environment, big business, and human stupidity (except for a trio of good guys). Most appealing to me are the Shobijin, twin small girls (fairies?) who often travel about in a box. These twins come from an island in the Pacific that is also home to Mothra, and to a people who dance and chant and dress in extravagant ways. As usual with these films, the surface fun contains serious matter beneath, most obviously the threat of nuclear damage to the planet. The monsters have camp charm, and the battles are furious. Godzilla does manage to destroy a few buildings, but not as many as in some of his appearances. This is a pretty good outing for the big guy, and his expression in this one is particularly menacing.

 

Frankenstein vs Baragon (1965), directed by Ishiro Honda. Imagine a Japanese monster flick that sports Nick Adams as a central character and “Frankenstein” as one of two large creatures duking it out, and you have this film. Really. It seems that during the Second World War, the Germans secretly give the Japanese the beating heart of “Frankenstein” (Dr. Frankenstein’s creation, not the zany doctor himself). Years later this heart is the focus of research at a laboratory that specializes in radiation. Somehow, this heart becomes a boy who escapes and runs about as a large feral child, large and growing larger. The authorities capture the boy and place him in a cage; soon he is outgrowing the cage. Meanwhile an earthquake in another part of town unearths a burrowing creature with a radioactive breath and glowing horn. This is Baragon. We all know that Baragon and the wild boy are fated to clash. They do while Nick Adams and his two cohorts look on with worried expressions. We have much rushing about and much thrashing and tossing of trees and boulders. Young Frankenstein is smart enough to make fire and this he uses to his advantage. Behind all this is, of course, the nuclear past that Japan has experienced. The German/American/Japanese connection is a reminder of the war that resulted in unleashing the nuclear nightmare, and that collectively these countries are responsible for the state of things as Baragon and Frankenstein battle. Thanks again Cole and John for passing this gem along. Baragon spitting feathers and the pig-on-a-rail scenes are worth the price of admission.