Chik juk ging wan (1997)

Jade Leung is Inspector Cheng Hsuen; and one morning during a car escort of a criminal turned state witness, she and her colleagues are attacked by the criminal's former colleagues. Well-armed and armored, the criminal crew with a fury of bullets attempt to kill their former member. They succeed in killing many of the officers in the escort, while Leung's Hsuen keeps many of her assailants at bay, using her vehicle as a shield. While the sound of automatic gunfire keeps most passersby away, one gentleman (Mark Cheng), armed with a video recorder, creeps closer to the action. He moves dangerously close to Hsuen and the action and has become fixated with a sole attraction: Inspector Hsuen's legs stemming from her short skirt. Hsuen survives the shootout with a bruised wrist while many of her colleagues were slain. The curious gentleman with the video camera has ignited his psychotic obsession and now has targeted Hsuen in Chik juk ging wan (The Peeping Tom) (1997). Chik juk ging wan is a Category III film from Hong Kong, directed by Ivan Lai Gai Ming. For those unfamiliar with Hong Kong's rating system, here is a wonderful description:

Hong Kong films are divided into three rating categories. Each category is denoted by a roman numeral set in a simple geometric symbol, which grows increasingly angular as it becomes more restrictive. Nobody much cares about the difference between Category I (a single stick in a cute round circle) or Category II (two sticks in a less-friendly square). But the Category III rating (three sticks in a sharp-edged triangle) means under eighteen types are verboten. Public service announcements in HK depict teenagers unceremoniously ejected from theaters showing such fare, not to mention the life-sized cardboard cutout of a stern-faced police constable often present in the lobby. Most Category III films are cheap, rapidly made, soft-core ninety-minute wonders, usually featuring instantly forgettable starlets. These are manufactured and consumed with the fanfare of a bowl of instant noodles: boil water and scarf'em down. Sometimes gore is added to the mix to spice things up. Much as we salute the exploitative spirit--the "ghoulie, roughie, kinkie" mantra--most of these films are a waste of time. The catchall category also serves as an "NC-17" category, and some worthwhile films do end up with the stigma of the Triangular Triple-I, like Jacob Cheung's award-winning Cageman, a sensitive look at life in Kowloon's infamous Walled City. The film features no sex, violence, or nudity, but was rated Category III solely because of its inventive use of Cantonese slang! (from Sex and Zen & A Bullet in the Head: The Essential Guide to Hong Kong's Mind-Bending Cinema by Stefan Hammond & Mike Wilkins, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1996, pp.238-39.)While it does at times seem an arbitrary rating (Wong Kar-wai's Chun gwong cha sit (Happy Together) (1997) is Category III while John Woo's extremely violent Dip huet seung hung (The Killer) (1989) is Category IIB), most of the films that I've seen with the rating exploit the content restrictions (excessively sexual and/or violent) and go over the top. Within the category, however, there are some filmmakers like Herman Yau who push the limits of the film's content but also take advantage of creating more provocative and daring stories to match the action (his Bat sin fan dim ji yan yuk cha siu bau (The Untold Story) (1993); Gong Tau (2007); Tau chut (The First Seventh Night) (2009); and Tung moon (Rebellion) (2009) are stellar examples). From its first act, it appears that Chik juk ging wan has a daring and provocative story to match its content. The casting of Jade Leung in the lead role is essential: not only is Leung dead sexy but also capable of generating an amazing intensity with accompanying emotional performance (her riff on La Femme Nikita, Hei mao (Black Cat) (1991), opposite Simon Yam, is less conflicted and more focused: she appears a born assassin with a singular, violent intensity.). What the gentleman with the video camera fails to recognize as he obsesses over Leung's legs at the shootout (as does the viewer) is that there is a specific reason why Leung's Hsuen survives the incident: she's a stellar cop. It's a clever ruse on the part of director Lai: he masks Hsuen's capabilities by shaping her image through the eyes of both his killer and his viewer. The gentleman with the video camera is the "peeping tom," of the English-language title; and he is a nasty one: a serial killer/rapist with a leg fetish. Cheng's killer is off-kilter, methodical, and obsessive as he is able to subdue his victims quite easily with his tricks and brutality. However, his obsession causes him to appear to lose focus in his method: he actually shows at the crowded police station to confront Leung and play some mind games, but she immediately picks up his weird vibe and comes close to catching him right then and there. Cheng's killer sees Leung's character as nothing more than a beautiful woman, and when the two have a confrontation, she is far from a helpless victim. Chik juk ging wan, up until its first half, appears as if it is close to becoming a fascinating exploitation film that belongs to that rare class of its type: a film which engages openly in exploitation while also simultaneously commenting upon the nature of its exploitation: it creates a very hypocritical dichotomy yet can be fascinating and disorienting viewing.During its second half, however, the film falters and ups the ante on its exploitative content and loses focus of its main conflict between Leung and Cheng. Leung disappears for most of the second half while Cheng's character goes on the tear and performs some truly repellent acts against woman victims. It appears that those behind the camera of Chik juk ging wan just gave up: they chose to become conservative by focusing on depicting extreme behavior almost exclusively. This fails ultimately to be provocative or interesting. It should be noted that Chik juk ging wan is extremely well-shot and composed, and this makes the film all the more disturbing. It's obvious that it was made by creative people and it could have been more daring in its execution. Jade Leung is amazingly charismatic and is the attraction here, but she fails to save this one; and Chik juk ging wan would have faded further into obscurity without her presence.

Glissements progressifs du plaisir (1974)

“There exists a material origin,” says Alain Robbe-Grillet towards the production of his film Glissements progressifs du plaisir (1974). “I was dining with a wealthy man who had produced fairly expensive films and had lost money on them. He knew that I made films that were not very expensive, and he asked if I could make a film for 500,000 francs. I said I could, so we reached an agreement.” (from The Erotic Dream Machine: Interviews with Alain Robbe-Grillet on His films by Anthony N. Fragnola and Roch C. Smith, Southern Illinois Press, Carbondale and Edwardsville, 1992, p. 70.)[Pete Tombs writes, “Eden and After gave a boost to Robbe-Grillet’s reputation as a man who made tastefully kinky movies for the intellectual set. Soon he was approached by the Boublil Brothers, who ran a successful chain of Paris sex cinemas. They agreed to finance his next film, Slow Slidings of Pleasure. (from “Oddball Kinkiness & Intellectual Conceits, The films of Alain Robbe-Grillet” by Pete Tombs, Flesh and Blood, No. 9, ed. Harvey Fenton, FAB Press, 1997, p. 69.)] Robbe-Grillet continues, “The project I had in mind was inspired by Michelet’s The Sorceress, as interpreted by Roland Barthes in his Michelet par lui-meme. That gave me the idea of making the character of the sorceress a young woman who upsets masculine discourse. The sufferings that the masculine order subject her to are described in Michelet’s text with a certain delight. The Sorceress is an ambiguous book. One the one hand, the sorceress is the spirit of revolution, while on the other, she also serves as a sexual object. Those conflictual drives can be discerned in Michelet’s style. I took up that conception in The Progressive Slidings of Pleasure, with the fundamental departure from Michelet that she upsets the masculine order not only with her body but also through her reasoning by which she undercuts the logic of a police investigation. “The third origin of The Progressive Slidings of Pleasure is a structural one: to make a film in which the narration is intercut with punctuation shots that serve to separate the scenes. Little by little, “slippages” occur from the punctuation shots towards the narration, from the narration towards the punctuation shots, and from one scene to another through the intermediary of punctuation. Punctuation shots, whose origins are ‘tailpieces’ in typography and ‘fades’ in film, are gradually integrated into the narration. There is a structural slippage from punctuation shots towards the diegesis. The structural idea was, in short, this concept of slippage.” (from Erotic Dream Machine, p. 70.) “It was filmed in an inexpensive little studio in Paris. We shot quickly, and then we all rushed to the railroad station…And it worked because I had an excellent rapport with that young girl [Anicée Alvina]. She was quite willing to do virtually anything that was demanded of her. When she was painting her body before pressing it against the wall, she would listen to me, and I would tell her, ‘Okay, a little lower on your belly.’ She carried it out, and one does not have the impression upon seeing the film that she is listening to instructions. Yet she certainly was not a professional actress. She simply handled her body with naturalness. “Catherine [Robbe-Grillet] had seen her in a film called Les Remparts des béguines (The Nun’s Ramparts), where a fifteen-year-old Anicée had a bit part in which she was really not too bad. We were driving through Cognac when Catherine saw a sign announcing the showing of Les Remparts des béguines. She said, ‘That is the girl you are looking for. You should go and see that film.’ I went to see it that evening. We returned to Paris a few days later, I contacted Anicée. Catherine had perceived that she could act without any of the problems that actresses generally have with nudity.” (from Erotic Dream Machine, p. 76.)“I did not pay myself a salary, while in general the filmmaker pays himself well from the outset. I did everything quickly, and I received a large portion of the returns. Since the film did well, my earnings from Slidings were considerable. The only expensive actor was Trintignant, and he played for free. He is like a well-known painter who cannot afford to sell his paintings for a lower price to a friend, so he performed without charge. That is why his name does not appear in the credits. One sees ‘With the participation of,’ and there is no name, only a shot of a smiling Trintignant.” (from Erotic Dream Machine, p. 127.)Glissements progressifs du plaisir is sensual, playful, and kinky. A lot of the intellectual allusions are also infused with eroticism. Robbe-Grillet states that, “Because red is the color of blood in the film, and blue is the color of the sky. [Yves] Klein is obsessed by the sky in his first paintings. But that young girl [Anicée Alvina] does not know Klein. She has fun with the paint, and you must not forget that her interlocutor is a nun, and the question of imprints is an important one in religion. She ends up by giving her a red cloth, saying, ‘Here is Veronica’s veil.’ ¶ For me, it was simply a nod at Klein. All I did was to think that since she looks so comfortable with her body, she could go ahead and do it, and, indeed, she carried it out the very first time. There was only one take of that scene. To make a film for 500,000 francs, one cannot have two takes of any shot.” (from Erotic Dream Machine, p. 75.) This scene that Robbe-Grillet describes defies both adequate description here and upon viewing. Alvina stands nude against the stark white backdrop of her room. At her feet is a basin filled with red paint and with a brush she paints the front of her body. She then presses her body up against the wall in various poses and leaves red imprints, creating a mural. While the scene is informed by Robbe-Grillet’s intellectual nod to Klein, its sensual nature is focal. The scene, like most in Glissements, is a fun game between the prurient and the intellectual.Robbe-Grillet is fond of games as motif and is also fond of playing them with his reader in his fiction and also with his viewer with his films. As in his previous L'éden et après (although in a different manner), Glissements is full of games. Just beyond the opening montage, Trintignant appears as a police inspector investigating a murder. He searches what appears to be one room by opening various doors and even a door in the ceiling. His character does not seem to leave the room, but the room, itself, is being altered. The space is either being manipulated by Alvina’s character or within the frame by Robbe-Grillet or both. The entire narrative of Glissements is both fractured and circular and certainly elliptical.Even if Robbe-Grillet is playing games for the sake of being playful in Glissements, he will hear no complaints from this viewer. After several viewings of Glissements, the imagery is far too seductive to not become weaved in its web. A beautiful film and a personal favorite.

Vampyr (1932)

This is the most elegant description of a vehicle crashing that I have ever read. The words attempt to relate facts and give descriptions, yet it is quite obvious that another story is beginning and being told:

I knew what was coming. I covered my eyes, unable to see it out, and turned my head away; at the same moment I heard a cry from my lady-friends, who had gone on a little.

Curiosity opened my eyes, and I saw a scene of utter confusion. Two of the horses were on the ground, the carriage lay upon its side with two wheels in the air; the men were busy removing the traces, and a lady, with a commanding air and figure, had got out, and stood with clasped hands, raising the handkerchief that was in them every now and then to her eyes. Through the carriage door was now lifted a young lady, who appeared to be lifeless. My dear old father was already beside the elder lady, with his hat in his hand, evidently tendering his aid and the resources of his schloss. The lady did not appear to hear him, or to have eyes for anything but the slender girl who was being placed against the slope of the bank.

I approached; the young lady was apparently stunned but she was certainly not dead. My father, who piqued himself on being something of a physician, had just had his fingers to her wrist and assured the lady, who declared herself her mother, that her pulse, though faint and irregular, was undoubtedly still distinguishable. The lady clasped her hands and looked upward, as if in a momentary transport of gratitude; but immediately she broke out again in that theatrical way which is, I believe, natural to some people.

These words are from Sheridan Le Fanu's "Carmilla" from the collection of tales In a Glass Darkly upon which Carl Theodor Dreyer based his 1932 film Vampyr. Dreyer begins his film with these words:

This is the tale of the strange adventures of young Allan Gray, who immersed himself in the study of devil worship and vampires. Preoccupied with superstitions of centuries past, he became a dreamer for whom the line between the real and the supernatural became blurred. His aimless wanderings led him one evening to a secluded inn by the river in a village called Courtempierre.

Here is a description of what Allan Gray sees upon arrival at the secluded inn by the river:

A man is walking down the narrow riverside path that winds its way toward the spot where a ferry crosses to the other bank. It is a summer evening, after sunset. The traveler, Nikolas, is carrying a rucksack and, in his hand, a pair of fishing rods. He wants to spend his holiday in solitude, which is why he has come to this remote region in search of peace.

He arrives at the old inn and finds the door closed. The inn is lying in profound silence, as if all its occupants have gone to bed. Nikolas rattles at the door, but it is well and truly locked. At this moment he sees a reaper walking along with his scythe over his shoulder. He looks at the man curiously as he walks down the ferry. He shouts after him:

Hullo, you there!

But the reaper, not hearing his cry, continues on his way. The landscape is bathed in gray, dim twilight; every object has a tinge of unreality.

The final description comes from Dreyer and Christen Jul's screenplay for Vampyr. In some sense, an understanding or an awareness of all this text is non-essential to Dreyer's film as its visuals are where its magic lies; or perhaps, all of the text is truly essential, as Dreyer's film also takes creative power in its hybrid nature of a silent film of recent past and a film of the burgeoning sound era. The opening text of the film which describes Allan Gray appears as exposition but also functions as a primer for viewing. Vampyr clearly adopts the sensibility of Allan Gray as Dreyer is depicting a "dreamer's" dream. The opening text allows an opportunity for the viewer, if he or she wishes, to adopt a detached or objective style of viewing, e.g. watching Allan Gray, the dreamer, and his adventures. I believe, however, this style of viewing is almost resisting the film. Having seen Vampyr numerous times, the visuals, the atmosphere, the music, e.g. its creative rendition, only allow for quick surrender. Seeing Vampyr through Allan Gray's eyes is far too seductive.A lot of the beauty in Vampyr comes from Allan Gray's smaller journeys within his his larger adventure. Upon his arrival at the inn, he does see the reaper but does not really have an encounter. He only witnesses the man call for the ferry at the river. The "unreality," however, is very much captured.The morning after Gray's night at the inn and his fateful encounter within, another "aimless wandering" occurs. This world is either Allan Gray's, Marguerite Chopin's, or Dreyer's. Once more, near the film's conclusion, Allan Gray leaves the manor after Gisele. As he runs, he trips and falls to then compose himself on a nearby bench. In an audacious move, Allan Gray never leaves the bench but has another small journey.Despite the interplay of written text within Vampyr (and playing with the outside texts which inform it), Dreyer's film is pure cinema. Dreyer's visuals and Wolfgang Zeller's score capture such beauty, making it timeless. The visuals and music defy description; or more appropriately, the visuals and music defy adequate description.
The Criterion Collection has released Vampyr in a stellar edition. Le Fanu's "Carmilla" and Dreyer's and Jul's screenplay accompany the disc (also from where the quotes above are taken). Criticism is also included in the form of an audio commentary and in a booklet. One of the more interesting reads are the notes on the film's restoration. It is difficult after viewing Dreyer's cinema to not recognize him as one of its masters. A personal favorite.

Umberto Lenzi's Il trucido e lo sbirro (Free Hand for a Tough Cop) (1976)

Umberto Lenzi's Il trucido e lo sbirro (Free Hand for a Tough Cop) (1976) begins as a Western. Literally. From a tight close-up shot of a movie screen, the camera pulls out to reveal a darkened movie theatre, full of patrons obviously not entertained by the film's action. Sitting in the back is Sergio Marazzi, aka "Monnezza" (Tomas Milian), who sleekly pulls a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket of the gentleman sitting next to him. Monnezza draws a cigarette from the pack for himself and then offers the gentleman sitting next to him a cigarette from his own pack. "Watch my seat, would you?" asks Monnezza. "I got to take a shit." Waiting in the hallway outside is Antonio Sarti (Claudio Cassinelli). "Are you Monnezza?" asks Sarti. Monnezza gives a smart-aleck answer, and Sarti coldcocks him. Sarti wants Monnezza, because Sarti is a commissario after Brescianelli (Henry Silva), a notorious and ruthless gangster who has kidnapped a young girl. Sarti believes Monnezza knows where he can find Brescianelli; and the clock is ticking, as the young kidnapping victim suffers from a kidney disorder which requires regular hospital visits. If she doesn't get to the hospital in a week, then she is going to die.

Il trucido e lo sbirro is a damn entertaining poliziesco, perhaps one of the decade's best: swiftly-paced, exciting and excessively violent, and well-written (by Lenzi and Dardano Sacchetti). By all means a soundly commercial, successful, and almost perfect poliziesco. Outside of its commercial genre and within its action, Il trucido e lo sbirro calls for questions. Here's an example: Monnezza is a street criminal; and pick-pocketing and small cons are his trade. Sarti coerces Monnezza into helping him by threatening to lock him up. However, whatever methods that Monnezza chooses to find Brescianelli and the young child, Sarti does not question them. Aboard a moving train, three armed criminals attempt to rob it. The police stop the train, surround it, and make an attempt to raid it. The three criminals escape on foot and take shelter in a moored boat. Enter Monnezza and Sarti who board the boat with an offer to help: Monnezza tells the gang that Brescianelli is the one who tipped off the police about their robbery. Would they be interested in teaming up to take down Brescianelli, as Monnezza also reveals that he and Sarti were double-crossed by Brescianelli? They agree. Now Sarti has three additional criminals to help him locate Brescianelli, but these criminals are not like Monnezza. These cats are seriously dangerous and violent criminals. Can Sarti keep these criminals in line, maintain his cover, or find Brescianelli and his young hostage?By the numbers, Il trucido e lo sbirro plays out like a Pyrrhic victory but it ain't. The entire premise of Il trucido e lo sbirro is predicated on the presumption that the state of law enforcement and its methods are wholly ineffectual in stopping crime. The kidnapping case becomes the police department's top priority when it occurs. Cassinelli's Sarti was brought into Rome to head the case. Sarti was demoted to a post in Sardinia away from his position in Rome because of his hard-lined intensity and unorthodox methods against criminals. The once-exiled policeman returns home, now embraced by those who put him exile: his methods are now necessary. In a particularly nasty and fascinating scene, Sarti and one of his violent criminal crew infiltrate the home of a promising suspect. A maid answers the door and Sarti pushes through. Sarti is going to raid the suspect's documents in his study, and would his criminal cohort mind watching the maid? No problem, he says. As soon as Cassinelli's character is out of the room, his cohort grabs the woman and rips her blouse. His intentions are clear and unequivocal. Sarti returns to his cohort when he has heard a gunshot. The suspect that Sarti needs to interrogate lays dead on the floor, a victim of Cassinelli's criminal associate. What the hell did you do that for? yells Sarti. He could have led us right to the little girl. Sarti knocks the shit out of the criminal and points his pistol directly at his head. Cassinelli (who gives another fantastic and emotional performance) has generated enough anger to appear that he is going to shoot the man directly in the head but he checks himself: as much as he wants to kill him, he realizes that he needs him.So what are Lenzi and Sacchetti saying about current culture and crime in Il trucido e lo sbirro? Here's a scene which may hide their intentions: outside of a movie theatre, two very young men enter its lobby. One is holding a box of tissues while the other appears to suffer from nasal congestion. After a toss of the tissue box, one of the young men wipes his nose with a tissue. "Has anyone ever told you that your face is lovely?" asks the young man to the woman behind the ticket counter. "Why no," she says. "No one is going to say so in the future," says the thug and Whack! He hits her directly in the face with the box of tissues (it's hiding something to charge it up). The two young men rob the box office and run out of the cinema. Sarti witnesses the fleeing criminals and begins to give chase. One of his criminal associates stops him: "Where are you going? What do you care? It's just kids having fun." Sarti again checks himself and maintains cover. The scene within the movie theatre is quite kinetic and exciting. It would appear that Lenzi had a bit of fun filming it and maybe wants to share some of that energy with his viewer.

Virtually all of the scenes with the young kidnapping victim truly tug at the heart strings. It is rather difficult to envision a viewer who is not touched by a child victim, suffering from a debilitating condition, held hostage by a truly nasty human being (it is truly amazing how Henry Silva can appear almost like the Devil himself in his villain roles). Despite the numerous victims of criminal carnage in Il trucido e lo sbirro, the viewer is still behind Sarti and his pursuit. The little girl character more than anything is a symbol for Sarti, Lenzi and Sacchetti, and the viewer: she represents an ideal of justice. While it is intimated that Sarti is as violent as the criminals who he is pursuing, Sarti differs only in the fact that his goals are different. A noble and just cause? or perhaps Sarti has not yet lost his faith in humanity. The viewer of Il trucido e lo sbirro can pick either. What is clear is Lenzi portrays his culture in a state of chaos, and the characters left standing are not only its survivors but its winners.

For all of my pontificating, Il trucido e lo sbirro is most famous for Milian's performance as Monnezza (the name roughly translates as "Trash" and he is called "Garbage Can" in the English dub). Not only is the character the most richly-drawn (and not incidentally making everyone around him look more like an archetype or a stereotype), but Milian's performance as Monnezza is the most richly-detailed. Antonio Bruschini and Antonio Tentori, authors of Citta' Violente: Il Cinema Poliziesco Italiano Volume Primo, see Milian's character having its origins in Milian's "Cuchillo" character from Sergio Sollima's masterful The Big Gundown (1966) (p.90, Mondo Ignoto, S.R.L., Rome, 2004). The authors write, "Nel 1976 Lenzi da vita al primo, mitico, personaggio quasi totalmente farsesco interpretato da Tomas Milian, il vero precursore del successivo marresciallo Nico Giraldi." (p.89) Milian's Nico Giraldi character is phenomenally popular, beginning with Bruno Corbucci's Squadra antiscippo (1976) and spanning almost a decade with numerous films. It is difficult to describe how excellent and intricate Milian's performance is: from his facial expressions, to his body language, to his character's charming vulgarity, Monnezza floats through this violent world with a smile on his face, little money in his pocket, and behind all appearances, has a very good heart. Milian is so good that he instantly becomes focal in any scene. Milian drives the narrative of Il trucido e lo sbirro and its investigation. Monnezza is a survivor of this world and his energy is perhaps borne of its chaos. Regardless, Il trucido e lo sbirro is very much worth seeing for Milian's brilliant and landmark performance. Two other interesting facts: the Western playing at the beginning is Tutto per tutto (1968) (Citta Violente, p. 90), directed by Lenzi; and Henry Silva's character, Brescianelli was "the real name of a gangster who otherwise operated in the Milan area within the Marseilles clan." (p. 56, Tomas Milian Il Bandito, Lo Sbirro, e Er Monnezza, Mediane S.R.L., Milan, 2007, text by Pierpaolo Duranti and Erminio Mucciacito with English translation by Pat Scalabrino.)

See it.

Andrei Tarkovsky's Stalker (1979)

“Everybody asks me what things mean in my films. This is terrible! An artist doesn’t have to answer for his meanings. I don’t think so deeply about my work—I don’t know what my symbols may represent. What matters to me is that they arouse feelings, any feelings you like, based on whatever your inner response might be. If you look for a meaning, you’ll miss everything that happens. Thinking during a film interferes with your experience of it. Take a watch to pieces, it doesn’t work. Similarly with a work of art, there’s no way it can be analyzed without destroying it.” (“Tarkovsky’s Translations” Sight and Sound 50, no.3, Summer 1981, 152-53, Reprinted in Andrei Tarkovsky Interviews, ed. John Gianvito, University of Mississippi Press, Jackson, Mississippi, 2006, p.71) I didn’t like the looks of that cover. Its shadow wasn’t right. The sun was at our backs, yet its shadow was stretching towards us. Well, all right, it was far enough away from us. It seemed OK, we could get on with our work. But what was the silvery thing shining back there? Was it just my imagination? It would be nice to have a smoke now and sit for a spell and mull it all over—why there was that shine over the canisters, why it didn’t shine next to them, why the cover was casting that shadow. Buzzard Burbridge told me something about the shadows, that they were weird but harmless. Something happens here with the shadows. But what was that silvery shine? It looked just like cobwebs on the trees in a forest. What kind of spider could have spun it? I had never seen any bugs in the Zone. The worst part was that my empty was right there, two steps from the canisters. I should have stolen it that time. Then we wouldn’t be having any of these problems now. But it was too heavy. After all, the bitch was full, I could pick it up all right, but as for dragging it on my back, in the dark, on all fours…If you haven’t carried an empty around, try it: It’s like hauling twenty pounds of water without a pail. It was time to go. I wished I had a drink. I turned to Tender. (Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, 1977, Macmillan Publishing Co., 2007, Great Britain, p.25)“What does ‘Stalker’ mean?”

“It’s a made-up word that comes from the English verb ‘to stalk’: to approach furtively. In this film this word indicates the profession of one who crosses the borders and penetrates a forbidden Zone with a specific objective, a bit like a bootlegger or a smuggler. The Stalker’s craft is passed on from one generation to the next. In my film, the forbidden Zone represents the places where desires can be satisfied.
“The spectator may doubt its existence or see it merely as a myth or a joke…or even as the fantasy of our hero. For the viewer this remains a mystery. The existence in the Zone of a room where dreams come true serves solely as pretext to revealing the personalities of the three protagonists.” (From “Stalker, Smuggler of Happiness” Telerama, no. 1535, June 13, 1979, Translated by Deborah Theodore, Reprinted in Andrei Tarkovsky Interviews, ed. John Gianvito, University of Mississippi Press, Jackson, Mississippi, 2006, p. 50)"The perception of colour is a physiological and psychological phenomenon to which, as a rule, nobody pays particular attention. The picturesque character of a shot, due often enough simply to the quality of the film, is one more artificial element loaded onto the image, and something has to be done to counteract it if you mind about being faithful to life. You have to try to neutralize colour, to modify its impact on the audience. If colour becomes the dominant dramatic element of the shot, it means that the director and camera-man are using a painter’s methods to affect the audience. That is why nowadays one very often finds that the average expertly made film will have the same sort of appeal as the luxuriously illustrated glossy magazine; the colour photography will be warring against the expressiveness of the image.
“Perhaps the effect of colour should be neutralized by alternating colour and monochromatic sequences, so that the impression made by the complete spectrum is spaced out, toned down. Why is it, when all that the camera is doing is recording real life on film, that a coloured shot should seem so unbelievably, monstrously false? The explanation must surely be that colour, reproduced mechanically, lacks the touch of the artist’s hand; in this area he loses his organizing function, and has no means of selecting what he wants. The film’s chromatic partitura, with its own developmental pattern, is absent, taken away from the director by the technological process. It also becomes impossible for him to select and reappraise the colour elements in the world around him. Strangely enough, even though the world is coloured, the black and white image comes closer to the psychological, naturalistic truth of art, based as it is on special properties of seeing as well as of hearing.” (from Sculpting in Time Reflections on Cinema, by Andrei Tarkovsky, translated by Kitty Hunter-Blair, University of Texas Press, Austin, 1986, 2008, p. 138) “Redrick walked in his bare feet to the entry hall, took the basket and brought it to the storeroom. Then he looked into the bedroom. Monkey was sleeping peacefully, her crumpled blanket hanging on the floor. Her nightie had ridden up. She was warm and soft, a little animal breathing heavily. Redrick could not resist the temptation to stroke her back covered with warm golden fur, and was amazed for the thousandth time by the fur’s silkiness and length. He wanted to pick up Monkey badly, but he was afraid it would wake her up—besides he was dirty as hell and permeated with death and the Zone. He came back into the kitchen and sat down at the table.” (Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, 1977, Macmillan Publishing Co., 2007, Great Britain, p.59)“What matters to me is that the feeling excited by my films should be universal. An artistic image is capable of arousing identical feelings in viewers, while the thoughts that come later may be very different. If you start to search for a meaning during the film you will miss everything that happens. The ideal viewer is someone who watches a film like a traveler watching the country he is passing through: because the effect of an artistic image is an extra-mental type of communication. There are some artists who attach symbolic meaning to their images, but that is not possible for me. Zen poets have a good way of dealing with this: they work to eliminate any possibility of interpretation, an in the process a parallel arises between the real world and what the artist creates in his work.
“What then is the purpose of this activity? It seems to me that the purpose of art is to prepare the human soul for the perception of good. The soul opens up under the influence of an artistic image, and it is for this reason that we say it helps us to communicate—but it is communication in the highest sense of the word. I could not imagine a work of art that would prompt a person to do something bad…Perhaps you have noticed that the more pointless people’s tears during a film, the more profound the reason for these tears. I am not talking about sentimentality, but about how art can reach to the depths of the human soul and leave man defenseless against good.” (“Against Interpretation: An Interview with Andrei Tarkovsky “, Framework, no. 14, 1981, Reprinted in Andrei Tarkovsky Interviews, ed. John Gianvito, University of Mississippi Press, Jackson, Mississippi, 2006, p.68-69)While I am typically long-winded in writing about films, I felt that writing about Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979) was, at least for me, an exercise in futility. I began with the intention of writing a very academic post, detailing production history and the like, before realizing that I was heading into the Dissertation Zone before I knew it. Instead, I thought a collection of some thought-provoking quotes from Tarkovsky and from Stalker’s source novel would be far more interesting. I selected them, and the images from the film, based upon primarily the emotions that they elicited from me. Stalker is a cinematic masterpiece from one of cinema’s masters. Here’s a final quote from Roadside Picnic (also a beautiful work of art), and quite possibly my favorite:“He had never experienced anything like this before outside the Zone. And it happened in the Zone only two or three times. It was as though he were in a different world. A million odors cascaded in on him at once—sharp, sweet, metallic, gentle, dangerous ones, as crude as cobblestones, as delicate and complex as watch mechanisms, as huge as a house and as tiny as a dust particle. The air became hard, it developed edges, surfaces, and corners, like space was filled with huge stiff balloons, slippery pyramids, gigantic prickly crystals, and he had to push his way through it all, making his way in a dream through a junk store stuffed with ancient ugly furniture…It lasted a second. He opened his eyes, and everything was gone. It hadn’t been a different world—it was this world turning a new, unknown side to him. This side was revealed to him for a second and then disappeared, before he had time to figure it out.” (Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, 1977, Macmillan Publishing Co., 2007, Great Britain, p.67)

Sergio Martino's Morte sospetta di una minorenne (Suspected Death of a Minor) (1975)

It was the time when lots of films of the action/poliziesco genre were produced in Italy. I already had several big successes with my films, e.g. Violent Professionals. And after a short break during which I shot some movies of other genres I shot this film whose original title was "Milano violenta." "Milano violenta"--when was the film shot?--in 1976, 1977 or was it 1975?--the genre was nothing new anymore and it was my very last poliziesco. Before it was released, however, the distributor Titanus changed its title from "Milano violenta" to "Morte sospetta di una minorenne," because they feared that the film, since the genre was already past its peak wouldn't be very successful. But that was a huge mistake because only a short time later, a film was released that was called Roma violenta or Violent Rome and which was a big hit. That shows the intuition of the distributors wasn't always the best...The title was misleading because with "Morte sospetta di una minorenne" the audience expected an erotic touch, which just wasn't there, since it wasn't an erotic film. I think the attempt to attract the audience with a title that deviated from the poliziesco genre, led to a lesser success...Consequently, the movie lured people into the cinema who actually didn't want to see it.

"Now take your hands off my butt, asshole, and bring me to the exit." The hands from this line belong to Paolo (Claudio Cassinelli), and the butt belongs to Marisa (Patrizia Castaldi); and they are a dancing couple. Paolo is flirting with pretty Marisa and asks for a dance; and Marisa reluctantly agrees, because she is scared of the mirrored-sunglassed party guest who has taken an intense infatuation with her. Marisa bolts from the party, knocking Paolo's eyeglasses from his head, and rushes to safety within a seedy boardinghouse. She is killed, and after the police discover her corpse, two police officers chat about the case outside of a cafe. Paolo, playing a game of pinball, overhears the two police officers and decides to begin an investigation, himself, of Marisa's murder.Since there was a lack of actors those days who represented the poliziesco genre except for Giuliano Gemma, Franco Nero and few others maybe--I had the idea to cast Claudio Cassinelli who had shot several movies to that date but no poliziescos. He was an actor who didn't fit the current beau ideal but who embodied a certain sympathy and who was very believable. Claudio was a very versatile and good actor who, in my opinion fit himself into the role very well. I remember that he was in great shape, and when I watch the film today I can't see any failing in his performance or a non-identification with his character. In the following years, we shot several films of other genres together and therefore I consider him as a friend who became very dear to my heart--unfortunately he passed away--and who I hold in high regard especially from a human factor standpoint and because of his delicacy of feeling.Cassinelli as Paolo is the biggest attraction of Morte sospetta di una minorenne (1975). In a representative sequence of events, Paolo arranges a meeting with a young prostitute (Barbara Magnolfi) at a hotel in order to uncover the source of the prostitution racket. Paolo plays it cool, but she's even cooler and blows him off. With the help of his young associate, Cassinelli's Paolo is able to follow the young woman through the city to a dilapidated tenement across town. In a bolder move, Paolo walks directly through its front door and is forced into a violent confrontation with its inhabitant. The confrontation does not go well, but Paolo regains his composure and patiently waits at the building. His patience is rewarded with a big score and huge lead in his investigation. The sequence of the narrative events are familiar, yet its Cassinelli who is unique. His character lacks the complete tough-guy quality of the typical poliziesco and also the obsession of the amateur sleuth of any giallo. There is a lot more humility to his character. Martino has Paolo wear eyeglasses in Morte sospetta di una minorenne, and they become his signature. Whenever Paolo gets into an intense situation or when a character remarks upon his eyeglasses, these motifs are subtle symbols of Paolo. Cassinelli's performance follows suit: his character is certainly unorthodox and quirky but very sympathetic. Despite a strong narrative (another well-written script by Martino and Ernesto Gastaldi) in Morte sospetta di una minorenne, it is Cassinelli's performance which stands out.Adrian Luther-Smith, author of Blood and Black Lace: The Definitive Guide to Italian Sex and Horror Movies, writes:

Too Young To Die [English title for Morte sospetta di una minorenne] is an odd combination: part police thriller, part giallo, and part comedy. Its cynical central theme--teenage girls being sexually exploited by [spoilers edited]--was a background motif for several gialli. But rather than merely providing the basis for a number of sleaze scenes (some brief nudity) and violent deaths (two of which are gratifyingly nasty), the exploitative elements are intertwined with the unorthodox enquiries being undertaken by Cassinelli [spoilers edited]. Had the film remained a cop/giallo thriller hybrid it might have found an audience but because Gastaldi's script audaciously attempts to incorporate humour it fails to satisfy fans of any individual genre. The comedy works well during a high-speed car chase but seems out of place elsewhere. Thankfully, it's dispensed with in the later scenes which include a gun battle on a rollercoaster, the penultimate rooftop encounter between [spoilers edited]. When providing lightweight accompaniment to the comic episodes, [Luciano] Michelini's score imitates Gaslini's Deep Red opus. (p. 120, Stray Cat Publishing Ltd., England, 1999.)

It is really Cassinelli's performance and character within Morte sospetta di una minorenne which does not fit within either strictly a poliziesco or a giallo. There are giallo elements within the film, primarily the murder scenes: these are not prominent yet are very evocative of Argento's Profondo rosso (1975) (the scenes are also less intricate and orchestrated). During Marisa's murder, the viewer gets treated to a loving shot of the killer holding his knife, and Martino shows the blade in close-up (with the Argento signature "flash" of the blade). Another murder in the film is eerily similar to a famous one with in Profondo rosso. Sergio Martino in his interview included as a supplement on the Region 2 DVD from Sazuma (from where the first paragraph and third paragraph are taken and are direct quotes) never refers to his film as a giallo and always as a poliziesco (and offers his alternative theory to Luther-Smith as to why the film did not find a strong audience base). I agree with Martino that it is a poliziesco (and placing it in a specific category, however, is not really necessary in my opinion). Morte sospetta di una minorenne is an obscure film but really shows Martino's talent again and showcases how fine of an actor that Cassinelli truly was. Like most of Martino's cinema, it is irreverent and satisfying for those seeking something different from the traditional.

Meme Fun

I got tagged by Jeremy at his blog, Moon in the Gutter, with a meme originally started by Stephen at Checking on My Sausages [edit on 7/18 this meme has its origin at The Dancing Image.] The inspiration for the meme is "a gallery of images chosen by you to stand for so much of what makes Cinema such a rich and exciting medium." Here are the rules (cut and pasted and slightly altered from Jeremy's post):

1. Pick as many pictures as you want - but make them screen-captures. These need to be moments that speak to you that perhaps haven't been represented as stills before.

2. Pick a theme, any theme.

3. You MUST link to Stephen's original gallery and the gallery at The Dancing Image.

4. Tag five blogs.

The theme that I have chosen are complimentary/contradictory themes/images from four films. I always believe no matter how serious the subject matter of a film that there is always opportunity for a creative artist to be playful with his/her images. Artistic inspiration and creation and rendition are three complimentary/contradictory ideas for the truly playful.

Anthony Steffan as Django in Django il bastardo (1969), directed by Sergio Garrone, looking like Death in front of the cross.

Django about to meet Death with the cross behind him.

In Chungking Express (1994), directed by Wong Kar-wai, Takeshi Kaneshiro as Cop 223 has cleaned the shoes of the Woman in the Blonde Wig (Brigitte Lin), because she has been running around all night and her feet are tired.

Tony Leung Chiu Wai as Cop 663 who is messaging the feet of Faye (Faye Wong), because she got scared standing still and her feet went to sleep.

Party host Angela (Amelia Kinkade)who is watching her expected party guest show off her rockin'-hot body in Night of the Demons (1988), directed by Kevin Tenney; and

Angela whose rockin'-hot body is host for an unexpected party guest.

Andrei Tarkovsky capturing natural scenery on Earth and making it look alien in his Solaris (1972).

Characters in Solaris who are trying to capture natural scenery in an alien setting with man-made material.

For the following writers, consider yourself tagged:

1. Neil at The Agitation of the Mind.

2. Jay at The Lucid Nightmare.

3. Didier at Shoot First, Die Later.

4. Drew at The Blue Vial.

5. Kevin at Hugo Stiglitz Makes Movies.

Have fun.;)