Claire Denis's perverse Trouble Every Day (2001) really represents what I love in cinema: its simple premise, as a Jekyll and Hyde tale, is engrossing as an intense horror/genre picture; while its provocative and transgressive take on themes such as gender roles, sexuality, and the idea of the "outsider," move Trouble Every Day out of the sensational and commercial arena, exclusively, and into another. I imagine Denis's film sitting snugly on the shelf in between, on the left, Takashi Miike's Audition (1999) and Catherine Breillat's Fat Girl (2001), and, on the right, Walerian Borowczyk's Dr. Jekyll and His Women (1981) and Gerard Kikoine's Edge of Sanity (1989). Trouble Every Day truly is a captivating and divisive film with imagery often simultaneously beautiful and disturbing. 
Trouble Every Day opens at night with an anonymous couple kissing, as the soulful music from the Tindersticks plays as the soundtrack. The night imagery continues over the Seine to reveal at dawn a beautiful woman (Béatrice Dalle) at the side of the road. A trucker stops for her, and as night falls again, the cab of his vehicle is open and empty; his corpse lays in a field; and the beautiful woman sits covered in blood in a blood-red field. Above her, a newly-wed couple sits closely aboard a plane, with Paris as their honeymoon destination. Shane (Vincent Gallo) kisses sensuously his wife's (Tricia Vessey) arm, but feeling ill, Shane goes to the restroom to compose himself, where he has a vision of a blood-drenched female. Dawn breaks again over Paris, where Dalle is now in a bedroom, where her lover is meticulously locking her windows. 
With the opening night and day imagery, Denis presents her tale of Jekyll looking for Hyde. Shane is Dr. Shane Brown and he knows the identity of the beautiful woman, Core. Were they in love? "No," Shane says, "that's not the right word for it. I was attracted to her." Their initial meeting took place over a year ago in Guyana, where brilliant doctor Shane went hunting for a secret serum developed by Core's lover, Leo (Alex Descas). Core has been corrupted by the serum, and apparently Shane has been also. Leo keeps Core locked away as he attempts to develop a cure, but Core escapes frequently with dire results. Shane doesn't seem as if he searching for the cure but for Core, herself. 
The majority of Trouble Every Day's shocking imagery involves the coupling of sex and violence. Denis shares seemingly my own view of my current culture: while we have abandoned a lot of our traditional Puritanical views towards violence, we have retained quite a bit of those views towards sex and the belief that both genders have different roles and rules in regard to sex. Not surprisingly, then, Denis reverses the traditional roles in Trouble Every Day: Dalle's Core plays the sexual aggressor, locked up and kept away from the world; while Gallo's Shane walks free, tortured by his own repression of his sexual desires. Dalle, as the former, brilliantly executes her role: in arguably the film's most shocking sequence, Core seduces a young thief through the captive wooden planks of her bedroom. Denis films the seduction and the sex scene in shadows and close shots of the two caressing, until Dalle turns violently on her partner. Alternatively, Dalle's Core is beautifully sad in another scene where Leo softly bathes her. She quietly and hauntingly whispers that she doesn't want to live anymore. 
Gallo's performance is also praiseworthy. The most poetic and agonizing aspect of Core and Shane's affliction is the absence of any affection. Shane cannot make love to his new wife, so he takes myriad opportunities to hug her. He gropes ladies, unsuccessfully, in the bathroom and on the subway. In his saddest scene, he purchases a puppy and holds it closely and tightly. Shane's biggest obsession and one of Denis's most interestingly drawn characters is the young maid, who works at Shane's hotel. The two have several quiet and innocuous encounters which build to the film's climax. The young maid is often shown in her domestic attire, doing her cleaning. Occasionally, she will steal some lotion or soap from one of the rooms and once, she lays in Gallo's bed and smokes one of his cigarettes. Her transgressions are minimal and not enough to put her outside of normal acceptance. Her final encounter with Gallo is shocking and also leaves the viewer with Denis's metaphor about those who step outside of their traditional roles.
With the opening night and day imagery, Denis presents her tale of Jekyll looking for Hyde. Shane is Dr. Shane Brown and he knows the identity of the beautiful woman, Core. Were they in love? "No," Shane says, "that's not the right word for it. I was attracted to her." Their initial meeting took place over a year ago in Guyana, where brilliant doctor Shane went hunting for a secret serum developed by Core's lover, Leo (Alex Descas). Core has been corrupted by the serum, and apparently Shane has been also. Leo keeps Core locked away as he attempts to develop a cure, but Core escapes frequently with dire results. Shane doesn't seem as if he searching for the cure but for Core, herself. The majority of Trouble Every Day's shocking imagery involves the coupling of sex and violence. Denis shares seemingly my own view of my current culture: while we have abandoned a lot of our traditional Puritanical views towards violence, we have retained quite a bit of those views towards sex and the belief that both genders have different roles and rules in regard to sex. Not surprisingly, then, Denis reverses the traditional roles in Trouble Every Day: Dalle's Core plays the sexual aggressor, locked up and kept away from the world; while Gallo's Shane walks free, tortured by his own repression of his sexual desires. Dalle, as the former, brilliantly executes her role: in arguably the film's most shocking sequence, Core seduces a young thief through the captive wooden planks of her bedroom. Denis films the seduction and the sex scene in shadows and close shots of the two caressing, until Dalle turns violently on her partner. Alternatively, Dalle's Core is beautifully sad in another scene where Leo softly bathes her. She quietly and hauntingly whispers that she doesn't want to live anymore. Gallo's performance is also praiseworthy. The most poetic and agonizing aspect of Core and Shane's affliction is the absence of any affection. Shane cannot make love to his new wife, so he takes myriad opportunities to hug her. He gropes ladies, unsuccessfully, in the bathroom and on the subway. In his saddest scene, he purchases a puppy and holds it closely and tightly. Shane's biggest obsession and one of Denis's most interestingly drawn characters is the young maid, who works at Shane's hotel. The two have several quiet and innocuous encounters which build to the film's climax. The young maid is often shown in her domestic attire, doing her cleaning. Occasionally, she will steal some lotion or soap from one of the rooms and once, she lays in Gallo's bed and smokes one of his cigarettes. Her transgressions are minimal and not enough to put her outside of normal acceptance. Her final encounter with Gallo is shocking and also leaves the viewer with Denis's metaphor about those who step outside of their traditional roles.Please bear in mind that it is my dumb ass which is overtly propounding underlying themes and not Denis. As I alluded to in the outset of this entry, Trouble Every Day is a seamless blend of thought-provoking drama, deeply-rooted also within the horror genre. Denis doesn't preach or push with Trouble Every Day: the film moves lyrically and leisurely with beautiful imagery and some very beautifully shocking imagery. The writing and the performances are stellar. See it.
Lucas (
Blanche is capable of seeing inside of people's hearts, often seeing both their virtues and their vices. In addition, she also feels from each an amazing amount of emotion and Marceau conveys quite a bit of it during My Nights. Her ridiculous entourage, composed of a would-be lover, her possessive older husband, and her indulgent mother, love the spectacle of Blanche performing and its cash potential. Blanche, however, is weary of the pain that she's enduring, while her hangers-on reap the benefits. She's also haunted by a violent childhood memory, presumably of her mother and father in a small apartment, which appears at the start of any of Blanche's visions. Lucas is also haunted by a childhood memory of his parents and over the course of My Nights and with extreme difficulty, he attempts to keep that memory and his painful feelings about it at bay. As the two are making love, in one of the film's most poignant and beautiful scenes, Blanche is able to look into Lucas's soul. She sees the pain hidden inside of him, which Lucas is so desperately attempting to control and failing miserably; and Lucas utters two words with a profound brevity, "words and body." 
Zulawski takes the most simple themes and grounds each in a profound reality. As a simple and deceptive motif, Lucas's creation of a new computer language becomes his raison d'etre: although he is able to create a new language, Lucas is unable to control his own nor is he able to create a way to fashion his reality beyond language. In a painful yet comedic sequence, Lucas rents the "Imperial" suite at the posh hotel, and in anticipation of Blanche's arrival, Lucas attempts to conform the surroundings to his ideas of suitability. As he goes about the room, speaking aloud the discursive thoughts in his mind, Lucas makes a complete wreck of the room. In a brilliant image, Zulawski shows Dutronc wrapped in sheets and a towel as the "king" of his new surroundings: 
Often speeches and conversations with Lucas fly into games which usually lead into painful subjects:
Lucas, the one with the power of creation of language, has no control, and the real power to gain, by the film's end, is to surrender: 
Blanche, as a clairvoyant or "seer," allows Lucas to surrender to his feelings and let go of control. In Marceau's most powerful scene and also most vulnerable, Blanche breaks down from all the emotion in the room; however, the most powerful emotion comes from Lucas. Blanche also realizes during this scene that she does not have to bear the burden of others' feelings and actions. The control that others believe that she has or forces her to use, she abandons. The painful memories within each are capable of being let go, and Lucas and Blanche are able to full unite.
More than likely, I've misread the film, but with certainty, I will revisit again and again. I am also confident in saying that Andrzej Zulawski is one of the last true and real iconoclasts in cinema. His films are always confrontational and often brilliant. My Nights Are More Beautiful Than Your Days awaits any viewer, night or day.
Keitel's Jerry, like Zeke, is a family man. In a scene that could come off as awkward, ridiculous, or even unintentionally funny, Keitel is having dinner with his son and wife ("How can you still be hungry? Look, this box says it feeds four people.") and he wonders where his daughter is. Jerry's wife intimates that she's upstairs and had a bad day. Jerry goes to the stairs to see his teenage daughter. He lifts his daughter's chin with his fingers, and she opens her mouth to reveal bloody teeth and gums. Jerry's wife tells him that she tried to make her own braces with wire. Sound bizarre? It does. However, upon viewing, the scene comes off as genuine, moving, and sad. From the teary look in Jerry's and his daughter's eyes to his wife's quiet whisper, Schrader in a low-key scene is able to convey the heartbreak of a family that's struggling. Only an adolescent would go to such lengths to be like her peers, and only her father would feel real guilt for not being able to provide such things for his daughter. 
Kotto, as Smokey, is a bachelor. He's smooth-talking with the ladies and a laid-back kind of guy. He hosts a party one evening at his apartment with three or four ladies and Jerry and Zeke unsuccessfully sneak out of bed from their wives to attend. With a mountain of coke on top of the table and a bunch of willing ladies, the three indulge themselves. In a series of wonderfully bizarre montage shots, Zeke chatters on about how the office security is loose and how all that money is just waiting to be taken. What did the union ever do for them? What about all those promises that each made to his wife? As dawn breaks behind the three from the window, they come down from their high: self-pity sets in and each believes they're never going to get any better. Smokey cares for his friends, and in one of Kotto's best scenes, he goes over to Jerry's house to dish out some punishment to the harassing union lackeys. 
Schrader's Blue Collar is his film on the "American Dream." It's not anti-Capitalist but rather it's a film about the recognition that capitalism has both its benefits and its ugly side. Like his social views, Schrader presents his characters the same way: no working-class heroes here, but rich characters with glaring flaws and equally shining attributes. There are three scenes in this film that I don't want to give away, but each made me choke up a little bit. In a general way, Blue Collar is about friendship and unity. Although he came close with the underrated Light Sleeper (1992), Schrader has never topped his directorial debut with any subsequent film. However, Schrader's Blue Collar is one of the finest films of the 1970s and few films have topped it.
Richard Frankin's Patrick (1978) is a wonderful oddity of cinema about a comatose psychokinetic patient causing havoc in his local hospital. Susan Penhaligon delivered an excellent performance as Patrick's nurse. Penhaligon carries the film, while the character Patrick never speaks a word. Patrick delivers odd scares and unique set-ups. I think Patrick is mesmerizing. However, Patrick doesn't scream universal appeal or box-office bang: it's quiet, odd, and quite bizarre. Nonetheless, Mario Landi's genre follow-up to his nasty Giallo a Venezia (1979) was made. Patrick Still Lives is a split-personality film: half slow and brooding a la Patrick and half super-sleazy gore and nastiness. 
Patrick (
The first forty-five minutes or so of Patrick Still Lives treats the viewer to a slow (and mostly boring) insight into unnecessary character exposition and plot lines: there's all this freaky wind blowing through the trees; Meg's telling David to run far from the villa; someone's blackmailing Lyndon and that's why he's at the resort; Cheryl's overstimulated; Lydia is a good worker but she's not allowed in the basement; and Stella and Peter make idle chit-chat. The film feels more like its stalling than setting the viewer up. Landi attempts to channel the atmospheric slow build-up of Franklin's Patrick, by dropping subtle psychokinetic flourishes, such as objects moving around and the various "wind" that builds up and plagues poor Lydia. Landi does not have the patience or the cinematic talent to pull off the tone. I believe that it's more the former that Landi lacks, as the final half of the film is full on straight-up sleaze, no chaser.
After the first well-orchestrated yet bloodless murder in a swimming pool, the first scene to grab the viewer is of Stella busting through the door, drunk, donning an open gown with only her panties on, to disrupt dinner. Landi leaves his camera stationary on his tripod and just lets Giordiano let it all hang out: she berates all of the characters and gets into a nasty cat fight with Cheryl on the floor. Giordiano's character makes a one-hundred and eighty degree turn: Stella becomes an aggressive seductress and indulgent drunk. In one scene, she makes her best attempts to seduce David, which ends with both characters repeatedly slapping each other. Stella's wardrobe becomes thin see-through nightgowns or no wardrobe whatsoever. Her death scene, to put it mildly, is completely offensive, gory, and repellent. 
In fact, all the ladies in Landi's film pretty much favor their birthday suits for the final half and gruesome gory kills become the norm. Sweet Lydia, who appeared initially as a diligent and quiet assistant to the Professor, becomes the sexual desire of Patrick. He summons her from his bed with his mind powers to have Lydia undress and pole dance for him around his bed. Lydia puts on quite the peepshow for not just Patrick but for any aroused viewer. Not much substantive dialogue happens; the would-be sub-plots of the first half fall away, as if they didn't even exist. This half of Patrick Still Lives is most reminiscent of Giallo a Venezia, and this is Landi I know. The first half feels like an Ed Wood cast-off: cheap lighting, poor framing and pacing, and very bad acting (all of which I really love, by the way). By the end of the film, the whole mystery is revealed behind the motives for the murders and it really doesn't matter. Landi's film is a sleazy, exploitive, and offensive film made in the shadow of Richard Franklin's Patrick. Who would have thought that I never saw that one coming?
What follows in The Big Gundown is an exciting cat-and-mouse chase that culminates in one of the most satisfying and intense finales in all of Western cinema. While the plot and Sollima's execution is amazing alone, Sollima fills the running time with his socio-political views, especially of the power relationship between the rich and the poor. 
As he was in the ranch episode, Cuchillo is poor, misunderstood, and often exploited. Cuchillo is also extremely resourceful and exuberant. Milian portrays his character amazingly, imbuing Cuchillo with a sharp wit and an endearing sympathy. It would be an understatement to say that Van Cleef's performance is also amazing. Over the course of the film, Corbett comes to the realization of the true nature of Brokston's intentions. By the end of the film, everyone is revealed as to whom he really is. The characters of Cuchillo and Corbett become the most reluctant yet totally united brothers at the end of The Big Gundown. Sergio Sollima and 
Gudrun Ensslin is young, beautiful, a mother, and angry. Gudrun is informed about the state of her world and is ready to take action. Her lover is Andreas Baader, who's equally passionate and angry, but angry at exactly what is unknown. Baader wants to live life, like right now, and nothing is going to stop him. Gudrun and Andreas's lifestyle and attitude is attractive to Ulrike and she joins the two. Together they become the titular group in 
Uli Edel's The Baader Meinhof Complex is a chronicle of the origins of the 
Beyond the historical chronicle, Edel attempts to punctuate his film with intimate portraits of each of the main three characters. Some sequences are brilliant, and the performances are overall extremely well-done. Unfortunately, the balance between historical chronicle and intimate portrayals is uneven and unsuccessful. The final result is The Baader Meinhof Complex is a beautiful but flawed film.
Unfortunately, Edel doesn't portray Gudrun Ensslin nor 
Andreas Baader is an enigma. For someone who was so integral and important to the RAF, Edel, as with Gudrun Ensslin, gives little insight into the make-up of such a complex character. In the majority of the scenes, 
Seemingly, Edel's The Baader Meinhof Complex respects the historical background of the film and, for posterity, wants to cover as many of the events and its players, as possible. Edel also wants to imbue the film with as much emotion and tragedy that surrounded the original events. Giving an intimate look inside the characters is admirable, but unfortunately, Edel sacrifices characterization for history. Many collateral characters, who are important for historical accuracy, populate The Baader Meinhof Complex and they really burden the film. Edel's intentions are good, but his execution suffers from their inclusion. Even with the myriad of characters, Edel almost completely omits a perspective from the victims of the RAF. For a film that strikes an interesting and even balance of history and intimacy with its characters see David Fincher's Zodiac (2007). Focusing on one character, like Ulrike Meinhof, perhaps would have been the better course instead of such a strict adherance to history.
Finally, the rich history of the actual events of this film are beyond the scope of this entry. Beyond what is written here, I express no opinion towards any cultural criticism of the actual events.
Satan looks like a freaky-deaky version Schreck's or Kinski's Nosferatu: 
Both God and Satan are battling for souls: Satan wants a collection of corrupted ones, provided by servant Flit (
However, the final third really redeems the film and is worth waiting for, as Reverend Ma and Flit literally battle for the soul of Bruce. Woo's camera flies into motion and the film shifts oddly in tone and design. God bless him for it. The action is relentless, and the battle between Flit and Reverend Ma takes on an old school arcade flavor with the awesome accompanying arcade sounds. 
Hui's terrific as Bruce. Two of his more notable roles are in Ricky Lau's Mr. Vampire (1985) and Jeff Lau's wonderful 
The plot of Bless This House is a mixed bag, but Yu's visuals are something else. The most notable is Yu's use of the wide-angle lens combined with sweeping camera movement. The camera moves closely into characters' faces and with the wide-angle lens the characters' expressions become polarized and bigger-than-life. Raimi used this technique in Evil Dead and Jackson used it well in the The Frighteners (1994). Alternatively, Yu uses a wide-angle lens combined with a still shot and has his characters fall into the camera. Just by keeping the camera still and moving the actors, Yu creates a different, yet still disorienting, effect. Like Robert Rodriguez in El Mariachi (1992), Yu will shoot sequences with three to four camera angles, then edit them together, instead of one long camera shot. This technique hides a lower-budget, but it also makes innocuous and mundane actions seem interesting. Quick cuts are also employed when the camera is sped up, so the characters are looking as if they are flying across the room. This technique also hides the lower budget of the film, but it also adds to its kinetic nature. Like Tsui Hark in The Butterfly Murders (1979), Yu is not content with traditional close-ups and medium shots: faces and characters are framed arbitrarily and normally, characters walk into the still frame from the right or left, rise from the bottom into the frame, or fall from the top. To top it off, Bless This House also has wire work and animation and some seriously cheesy make-up effects.
All of the filmmakers mentioned in this entry went on to become successful directors and all have in common their exhaustive use of creative visual tricks. Bless This House is certainly dated and weak in a lot of spots, but it also shows an extremely talented director near the beginning of his career. Recent low-budget filmmakers could take lessons from Bless this House, and viewers looking for excitement in the CGI age can discover this small treasure.
As such and as I always do, the majority of the plot should remain hidden and also the choices the characters make in the film, which will undoubtedly divide viewers. F. Javier Gutierrez's Before the Fall's (2008) rendering of the character Ale composes the majority of the film's interest beyond the fantastic story of impending doom. Following Ale's spiritual journey lays the heart of Before the Fall. Ale feels like a victim his whole life (a feeling both merited and exaggerated), stemming from the shadow of the cement factory. Over the course of the final days, Ale finds value in life. Whether its a definite three days or an indeterminate amount of time, the actions which humans make reflect their essential values. Before the Fall shows the negative side of life: what's the point of anything, if it's all just going to be over soon. Ale quickly abandons his friend, in one scene, shouted from a window. His friend needs protection from a group of thugs, but any protection would mean nothing. Protection from what? Ale walks away from his window and lays in his bed in his shadowed room. Ale over the course of Before the Fall abandons this position and eventually learns what he values in life. Before the Fall also speaks to the notions of one's past, present, and future. Ale's past is what makes up his character, and when he learns that the future is limited, the present and the ones that he loves become important.
