The Mystery of the Creeping Cheeses!

At The Bioscope, a fantastic source for silent cinema news that I recently discovered, I was excited to learn of the release of a lavish new Georges Méliès box set coming out from Flicker Alley. Far more elaborate than the previous sets released, it will feature about 170 of his (very) short films. Here are the earlier releases:












The advertising says it's a comprehensive "survey", so even at five discs it doesn't seem to promise to include every one of his extant films, but I am sincerely hoping that one of my personal favorites, "Les Fromages automobiles," (1907) (aka "The Mystery of the Creeping Cheeses", I believe) will be included. I saw this at an Egyptian Theatre screening of very early cinema, and it had me laughing and my mind tripping at its unbridled absurdity.

Cross your fingers that Netflix carries this large Méliès set!

If you don't know Méliès yet, here is a good starter.
Cinema was about six years old when he made this, and you can see one of the early pioneers in action as he discovers cinema's unique magic. From 1901, here is "The Man with the Rubber Head":

Echo Park Film Center screening

Here's the flyer for the screening of Elements!

How Do You Find Your Movies?

How on earth do you find the movies worth watching in the sea of new and old DVD releases?
Are you gripped with terror about letting one amazing one slip by?!
Were you aware that the John Ford silent film DVDs from the Ford at Fox box set are available on Netflix? Had you even heard of the Fantoma Yasuzo Masumura DVDs mentioned in the post below?

One nifty way to keep track of at least new releases, if you are a Netflix customer, was to peruse their "releasing this week" page, which you had to surf one extra step to, past the initial "new release" tab, and which was conveniently categorized by genre, such as "foreign" and "classic". It was the equivalent of doing that walk down the Blockbuster new release wall. Now they've eliminated it completely and replaced it with an obnoxious scrolling bar of DVD covers that displays only four at a time, and the selections of which seem incredibly random and uninspired. I tried it once, scrolling vigorously in an attempt to see... I suppose something other than what they wanted to show me. Something interesting.

I didn't rely on this page, but it was a convenient tool that I occasionally used to find interesting foreign releases (like Tomás Gutiérrez Alea's The Twelve Chairs [oops, didn't watch it yet]) or obscure silent films that I hadn't realized were coming out on DVD. Now they only want you to see what they want you to see. They are hiding things. They make some earnest attempt to show you what they think you'll like based on your ratings or rental behavior, but that is horribly inaccurate, and what's more, if they'll have trouble delivering it to you within their famous one-day turnaround period (oh, say, if it's a popular new release title that they can't keep up with demand on) they just aren't going to show it to you.

For the complete brouhaha, visit their blog entry here, which is up to a whopping 1280 comments already! Another victim would be my recommendation Black Test Car, mentioned below, which I found out about by randomly visiting Fantoma's site and which was a Netflix "short wait" item that had to ship from a far-flung shipping center. This means it's on their "hide" list, so the only way you're going to find out about films like Black Test Car is if you stay tuned to this blog! :) In other words, you have to already know what you're looking for. (They haven't gotten so evil that they'll hide movies you directly search for yet.)

Now that the ability of important or fun films to slip through our fingers has been unnecessarily increased by Netflix's hiding techniques, the discerning movie buff has to be proactive about searching for films in other places. Does anyone have any suggestions they want to share of where you find your movies? (Not just new DVD releases, but old ones too.) For new releases, what I strongly desire is to read a fairly short list that I can scan in order to quickly spot the title of a long-awaited Buñuel film. I suppose the ideal list for me would be just the title, with the director in parentheses (and year of original release would be helpful).

One method I use is to check in with DVD Beaver's release calendar on a regular basis. This is a filtered calendar of what they consider noteworthy releases, geared towards cinephiles. I also bookmark important DVD companies' Web sites, like Kino, Criterion and Fantoma and check in with them from time to time. Or even Koch Lorber, although the latter's site does not invite friendly perusal like the former three, and it's more the quality of the directors they release than the quality of the discs. I used to also love Film Comment's section at the back of each issue, which spotlighted noteworthy DVD releases. But I don't pick that magazine up regularly anymore.

I don't entirely love DVD Beaver's calendar format, so does anyone have anything else out there? I guess it's probably fend for yourself: Pick a filmmaker, research their movies, and see which are on DVD or Netflix. But this is how we miss stuff!

I'll do my bit at least, with posts like the one below, to spotlight great films and filmmakers that are on DVD that might be below the radar. For the John Ford silents, just enter John Ford on Netflix and browse through his list to find the new silent releases, such as 3 Bad Men and The Iron Horse, amongst others. Still, any blogger's spotlighted DVD releases are going to be sporadic, and I'm really looking for something more comprehensive (yet only those films of interest to cinephiles). Also, any search I've done on Amazon has been horrible. Ugh. Anyone tried that? It's absurdly bad.

Yasuzo Masumura's Black Test Car (1962)

"In 1996, 84-year-old Michelangelo Antonioni left his sick bed to attend the 10-day retrospective of Masumura’s films in Rome. Antonioni told reporters that Masumura had always been one of his personal favorites among world-class directors." (from the Fantoma DVD bio).

If you're a film buff, you should have heard of Yasuzo Masumura by now. If you're a Criterion Collection fan, you should have heard of Fantoma DVD.

Fantoma DVD presents films with a level of quality and care (and extras) that consistently match Criterion's.

Yasuzo Masumura is a Japanese director from the same era as Seijun Suzuki and has in common his personal artistic approach to genre pictures. While Criterion (and their cousin Home Vision Entertainment) have championed Seijun Suzuki's films, releasing many on DVD, it is Fantoma that has championed the equally deserving Yasuzo Masumura, lavishing as much care on the releases of his films as Criterion has on Suzuki's.

Already a big fan of Masumura, I was excited to find a new Fantoma release of yet another Yasuzo Masumura film, Black Test Car (1962). Happily it's on Netflix, and I've already queued it up. So far I had seen all of Fantoma's Masumura films. I think Afraid to Die (1960) is the place to start, and if I haven't enticed you on Masumura, it features a lead-role performance by Yukio Mishima!

For me Red Angel (1966) would be up next, an incredible World War II film. After that I like Manji (1964), Giants & Toys (1958) (not quite as amazing as its fantastic premise, but still well worth watching) and finally Blind Beast (1969).

For the uninitiated, I highly recommend taking the Masumura/Fantoma leap now and rushing to watch Black Test Car with me, or start with one of the others! You can't go wrong.

Who is Louis de Funès?

If you've ever found yourself wondering, "Who is Louis de Funès?", watching this video will answer the question pretty definitively:

(No subtitles, but he's pretty mesmerizing even if you don't know a word of French!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZzgEwzYWfM

Merry Xmas from Seijun Suzuki and Jo Shishido!

The trailer for Detective Bureau 2-3: Go to Hell Bastards
(1963, Seijun Suzuki).
Sorry there are no subtitles.



The Xmas tie-in may be flimsy, but it's always a good time to post a Seijun Suzuki trailer, especially from a film with a title this fantastic!

Merry Xmas all!

World Premiere Movie!

My latest short film, "Slap," will have its world premiere on Dennis Cozzalio's Web site:

Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule
http://sergioleoneifr.blogspot.com/

It will premiere at exactly noon (Pacific time) on Monday Dec. 17th.

Please watch it there and leave a comment!

Official announcement on his site here.

A big thanks to Dennis Cozzalio for doing this, and also a big thanks to him for his influence on this site's approach and design (use of pictures, etc.)! I learned a lot about how to write about film on the Internet from watching his blog grow from its infancy.

ELEMENTS

Here's the 2nd film for my UCLA film class. This one has sound.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6kiw9GjBWg

Elements (2007, Andrew Blackwood)

The Young Mother

There have been no posts for a long time, but my excuse is I've been taking a filmmaking class!

Here's the evidence, my first film.

It's silent on purpose, and the assignment was to make a film in a single shot without moving the camera. (A crazy fabulous UCLA Extension class.)



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VHLfQlqkg0Y

The Young Mother (2007, Andrew Blackwood)

Cast:
The Girl: Shauni Ray Weatherly
The Boy: Omar Chavez
The Woman: Luz María Utrera
The Man: Paul Damen
The Jogger: Paul Tifford, Jr.

Criterion vs. Bordwell - Time and a Frame of Film

There is a fascinating post up ("Reality at 25/24 Frames per Second") on the Criterion Collection's blog "On Five," in which Peter Becker discusses a problem with transferring Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980, Rainer Werner Fassbinder) because Fassbinder shot it at 25 frames per second for easier transfer to the European "PAL" television standard, which has a frame rate of 25 frames per second (instead of the theatrical standard 24 frames per second).

What would David Bordwell say, I wonder? Bordwell has written a fascinating article ("My name is David and I'm a frame-counter") about the care that some directors put into the exact timing of certain scenes, and how that pacing can be changed by the various home video transfer processes.

Criterion's concern is over DVD image quality, and I concur that I would not want to see the blurred frames or the unnatural movement that attempting to preserve the correct pacing would produce. However, I'm also a big fan of silent films, and I cannot stand when silent films are transferred at an improper frame rate, resulting in sometimes ridiculously faster movements, completely undermining the performances of the actors.

Not being technically informed enough to wade into this discussion, I'll give the benefit of the doubt to the decision Criterion is making here, because it is a single frame per second of difference, unlike when a silent film shot at 16 frames per second is outrageously presented at 22 or 24 frames per second.

But I really want to hear what David Bordwell might have to say about this perplexing conundrum (and enact the matchup promised in this blog entry's title!). I certainly know he'd like to see the correct pacing of the film footage at its originally intended projection speed, but would he give them a pass on this? Would he prefer some interpolated frames and blurring?! I can only guess that interpolated frames might be a higher crime, and that a 1-frame-per-second adjustment is probably a forgivable misdemeanor in David's book.

(Note: In David Bordwell's article, he mentions that this 25-frames-per-second film shooting rate is not uncommon in European productions because of the television transfer considerations. So this is not a unique problem. It just becomes more noticeable with especially long films like Berlin Alexanderplatz (15 1/2 hours), or Sátántangó (1994, Béla Tarr) that Bordwell mentions in his article (7 1/2 hours).)

David Bordwell, along with Kristin Thompson, writes an excellent blog here. Together they are also the co-authors of my indispensable film school book Film History: An Introduction as well as Film Art: An Introduction. A personal favorite blog entry by David Bordwell is "Shot-consciousness", in which he encourages everyone to look at how the shots in a film are framed, and how to appreciate shot composition as an integral part of the art of cinema.
(Since they are usually long, I recommend printing out Bordwell's articles for more leisurely reading and less online distractions.)

James M. Cain Tells It Like It Is

Perhaps James M. Cain's words below can serve as a partial answer to why the hope of the previous post is such a tall order. This feisty, fun quote is from the novel Serenade (1937) by James M. Cain (which, incidentally, is a fantastic book).

I didn't like Hollywood. I didn't like it partly because of the way they treated a singer, and partly because of the way they treated her. To them, singing is just something you buy, for whatever you have to pay, and so is acting, and so is writing, and so is music, and anything else they use. That it might be good for its own sake is something that hasn't occurred to them yet. The only thing they think is good for its own sake is a producer that couldn't tell Brahms from Irving Berlin on a bet, that wouldn't know a singer from a crooner until he heard twenty thousand people yelling for him one night, that can't read a book until the scenario department has had a synopsis made, that can't even speak English, but that is a self-elected expert on music, singing, literature, dialogue, and photography, and generally has a hit because somebody lent him Clark Gable to play in it.

Since we're having fun with quotes, here are two more, which are not about film, but espouse philosophies on art or literature that can be applied equally as well to any art:

Literature, as I see it, is good to the extent that it is art, and bad to the extent that it isn't, and I know of no other standard by which it may be judged.
- Dashiell Hammett, 1924, quoted in the introduction (by Robert Polito) of the Everyman's Library edition of The Maltese Falcon/The Thin Man/Red Harvest.

By the way, in addition to the various film adaptations of his novels, Hammett wrote one original screenplay in Hollywood (I intend to check this out at some point): City Streets (1931, Rouben Mamoulian) starring Gary Cooper and Sylvia Sidney. (The IMDB gives Hammett a lesser credit than "original screenplay," so I'm not sure if the introduction that mentioned this is correct or not.)
























If the poet is pure in his habits, he will be pure in his verses as well; the pen is the tongue of the soul, and his writings will be as are the concepts engendered in his soul;
- Don Quixote (1605, Cervantes) Part II, Ch. XVI, pg. 589
(Just combine that with Alexandre Astruc's caméra-stylo theory and you get the idea.)

Zabriskie Point—When Will New Wave Cinema Live Again?

Zabriskie Point (1970, Michelangelo Antonioni, USA)

This is what it's all about. This is one of those rare trailers that captures the magic of the incredible film itself. It's unfortunate that this film isn't available on DVD yet. Very occasionally it has played on the big screen here in L.A., which is how I was fortunate enough to see it (twice). (Thank you to the American Cinematheque at the Egyptian Theatre and to the LACMA film department.) If you're desperate to see it, there is a VHS version, but it's panned & scanned, which is of course a horrible injustice to the widescreen 2.35 image, but hey, at least the amazing film can be seen.

When considering the gap in quality between filmmaking today and the filmmaking of other decades, this one film starkly illustrates the gaping chasm. I think you can tell even just by the trailer. It's firstly a work by one of the great European filmmakers, but, having been made in America, it also represents the era of late '60s, '70s American filmmaking—the belated New Wave that hit these shores long after the New Waves of France, Japan and other countries—that is conveniently summarized for the uninitiated in Peter Biskind's book, Easy Riders, Raging Bulls (although start by watching the films themselves, many of which are listed at the back of the book).

American films of the '70s seemed to be elevated almost wholesale by the heady atmosphere of creativity and the freshness of these "New Wave" approaches, all tied to and amplified by the zeitgeist of the times. Even filmmakers with less than stunning talent glommed on to the movement and produced pretty interesting films, while the truly great filmmakers thrived (Robert Altman being perhaps the most prodigious example). The lesser filmmakers become easier to spot (if you couldn't tell that something was lacking in their '70s films) by their swift adoption of the conventions and tendencies of the subsequent decades.

It's already obvious why this blog is called Cahiers2Cinéma: it's a vain hope that something approaching what was started in the original Cahiers du Cinéma magazine (the breeding ground of the French New Wave) could ever occur again. Has anyone read Eisenstein's incredible Film Form? Since it won't do to attempt a filmic revolution by too specifically attempting to repeat the past, perhaps starting fresh with some of the deepest thinking on film will point a new way. Maybe the New Waves of the '60s and '70s didn't go far enough.

Of course, there are great films being made even now, and there are master filmmakers working, as always, but it is undeniable that a movement akin to these New Waves is not remotely in existence, nor is there a widespread awareness of and engagement with overtly artistic films by audiences. The arthouse film circuit (and the arthouse crowds themselves), which should be where this is all happening, especially at times when it doesn't ooze into the mainstream, is itself bereft, and with few exceptions wallows in an unambitious Sundance-poisoned mediocrity.

Unearthing Buried Boetticher

While I don't intend to focus too much energy on sharing the buried treasures I've found on DVD (a subject of an earlier post), but rather to discuss films in a bit more depth, it's still fun and may be of service to some fellow film fans, so here's another one:

Universal's Classic Western Round-up Vol. 2 features two Budd Boetticher films on its second disc, making a nice double feature. Both are in staggeringly beautiful Technicolor, brilliantly restored to an incredibly high quality, which was a big surprise on a set like this, which features few big names or titles.


The Boetticher films are The Cimarron Kid (1952) w/Audie Murphy and The Man from the Alamo (1953) w/Glenn Ford. Once again, the information about who directed these films is not available on Amazon.com, nor is it even listed on the back of the DVD case! (The back can be seen at www.DVDEmpire.com.)

It's not for nothing that these are called buried treasures!

John Ford and Gary Cooper Silents

In reference to the below post begging for more silent films on DVD and about how some very interesting films are buried on packaged sets, here are two items of good news:

Fox will release a "Ford at Fox" box set with at least five silents:
http://davekehr.com/?p=195
(Came across that on DVD Beaver's main page.)

Hiding inside the Gary Cooper MGM Movie Legends Collection is the 1926 silent The Winning of Barbara Worth (1926, Henry King):
http://www.silentera.com/DVD/winningBarbaraWorthDVD.html

Sam Fuller's SHARK

Sam Fuller’s Shark is available on DVD from Troma Entertainment. The poor DVD transfer is a disservice, but not being able to see the film would be an even greater disservice. What is one to do in this situation? In an annoying intro to the film, the excitedly idiotic Lloyd Kaufman I believe said that they acquired the rights, meaning this was not a public domain situation. He seemed to imply in his frenzied delivery that the outtakes were not available so that a reconstruction of Sam Fuller’s original vision was not possible (the producers apparently interfered with this film, which is something I was vaguely aware of). That’s all well and good, but this seemed to me to be a transfer of a 16mm print of fairly poor quality. The sound especially was atrocious and sounded to me like a weak 16mm mono track. (This is supposition on my part.) The transfer of what is already a poor source seems only fair at best. Either the print itself is too dark or the transfer was not done properly to account for this, or a combination of both. In any case, many of the night scenes are unwatchable. The final evidence suggesting a 16mm print would be the 1.33 aspect ratio. This disservice to the film could have been avoided by hunting down a 35mm print and spending money on a proper transfer. My guess is they had this 16mm print in their closet and got the rights so they could make some money.
Is the film worth seeing anyway? Yes, it is good, solid Sam Fuller work. The interference by the producers (assuming it is true) has not taken away from Sam Fuller’s style. The fight scenes (although spoiled by this transfer since they take place at night) seem drawn from the same well as those in Pickup on South Street. The dialogue sounds clearly like Fuller’s throughout. The weakness is in the shark footage. Since this is just an Internet writing outlet, and since I need to remove excuses for procrastinating writing blog entries, I have not researched this, but I wonder what the quality of shark movies had been up to that point (1969). If it was breaking new ground, then perhaps some of the weakness of the shark scenes can be forgiven. In any case, whether it can be excused or not, they are in effect very weak scenes. Many times there are just lame shots of sharks swimming around with a big light shining obviously down on them. (It would be pure speculation to wonder if perhaps the likeliest interference by the producers was the insertion of as much poor shark footage as possible, especially since their movie is entitled Shark.)

The movie is undermined because these shark scenes, including the opening one, lack power, danger, thrills or scariness. Fuller often liked a grabber of an opener to set the movie hurtling into motion. In light of that it seems very likely story structure-wise that the opening was Fuller’s idea (it is certainly unconventional, opening with quiet, calm underwater scenes with no music, no credits, no story, no explanation or context for what we are seeing) and that the blame for the weakness of its execution this time must rest with him. (I’ll report back if I can research further the specific interference by the producers.) It prevents the movie from being great, perhaps even sinking it a notch lower than decent. But all the scenes of dialogue and plot are still excellent, high-quality Fuller to me, and would perhaps be even more engaging with a proper transfer of what appears to be some truly excellent cinematography and especially with the full and properly audible sound track. The cast is also pretty good with personal fave Arthur Kennedy and Barry Sullivan backing up a young and vigorous Burt Reynolds. (One other amateurish touch is Reynolds’ beard appears to change too much in thickness in some early scenes. Producers? I guess admirers of Sam Fuller will always want to blame it on someone other than Sam!)

I’ll have to hunt for an other-region DVD that may be of better quality (perhaps DVD Beaver knows of one).

After writing the above paragraphs, I watched the DVD’s bonus materials, which did a pretty good job of explaining some of the background of the film and what exactly happened to it. (Unfortunately, I delayed writing this for some time after watching these pieces, so I apologize for any inaccuracies.) It seems Fuller did finish the film and deliver a cut, but that the producers (independent Mexican ones) recut it, editing scenes by chopping parts up to tighten them up, or something to that effect. In any case, from what was said in the bonus interviews, it doesn’t sound like the studio was responsible for the poor shark scenes that undermine the film. What I mention above as being the strong Fuller aspects seem to have shone through despite what editing was done to them. Perhaps they would have been even stronger without the interference. (The main informative interview on the DVD was with Jerome Rudes, one of the collaborators on Fuller’s posthumous autobiography, A Third Face.)

More Digging

Just a quick addendum to the previous post, regarding how some works by great directors can get buried on packaged DVD sets.

I was delving into the filmography of Andre de Toth and watching all his titles that were available on DVD (on Netflix specifically). When I had finished, I went through his filmography on the IMDB and clicked on each title I hadn’t heard of to learn about some of his other films. Lo and behold I stumbled upon two Andre de Toth-directed westerns on a Randolph Scott triple feature DVD set from no less than Warner Brothers: Man Behind the Gun/Thunder Over the Plains/Riding Shotgun. The first film is by Felix Feist, and the second two are by Andre de Toth. Since I had recently watched some excellent Andre de Toth-directed Randolph Scott westerns, this was quite an exciting find. (It’s not on Netflix, though, so I haven’t been able to watch them yet.) Warner Brothers also has one other Randolph Scott triple feature set: Colt .45/Tall Man Riding/Forth Worth; and two John Wayne triple feature sets: The Telegraph Trail/Somewhere in Sonora/The Man from Monterey and The Big Stampede/Ride Him Cowboy/Haunted Gold. There were no tremendously exciting surprises for me amongst the directing lineups of these sets.

In all the sets, browsing on Amazon did not yield the directors’ names. The only options were to check each title in IMDB individually or go to www.DVDEmpire.com, which allows you to view the back of a DVD case clearly enough to see directors’ names (although many sets won’t have that information there). Individual titles on IMDB do indicate if they are on DVD, although I’m not sure how reliably (perhaps a distributor may operate below IMDB’s radar or do a bad job of listing the contents of their package). In the case of these two Andre de Toth westerns, the IMDB link to the DVD was how I stumbled upon this set.

Just another revelation that there are some potential buried treasures out there on these packaged DVD sets. (Perhaps I’ll build up to a more meaningful post sometime soon!)

More Silent Films on DVD, Please

Well, that certainly was a feeble commitment! But now I'm back.

I've realized I have to set aside specific time for blog writing and will do so.

In the meantime, let me say I watched an excellent silent film by John Ford, called The Blue Eagle (1926).

Here is the fabulous original poster:

I was watching a VHS copy of an airing from an AMC Film Preservation Festival from way back when. Although a significant naval battle sequence is missing, and occasionally in early scenes a 16mm film print had to be used, this held up as a stunning example of top-drawer Ford. (All the more so when the scenes were in 35mm.)

With the recent success studios seem to be having in packaging films in box sets organized by stars (Robert Mitchum Signature Collection, Tyrone Power Swashbuckler Box Set) or themes (Film Noir Classics Collection, Literary Classics Collection), it would be amazing if they could start doing this for silent films. There are certainly enough surviving films to justify a John Ford silent film box set. I know more than enough exist just from the bunch that I taped off the AMC Film Preservation Festival. There is a Hitchcock box from Lionsgate with several silents, so the ball may already be rolling. However, I remember my disappointment upon listening to the audio commentary for Warner Brothers' DVD of The Racket (1951, John Cromwell) (part of the Film Noir Classic Colleciton Vol. 3) and hearing repeated references to the Howard Hughes silent original (1928, Lewis Milestone) that the commentator (Eddie Muller) had obviously had the good fortune to see! What a shame that wasn't shoehorned onto the same disk.

Shoehorning may be a stroke of luck for the more esoteric film enthusiasts, as studios can wedge films they consider unreleasable as standalone titles into combo sets with other more popular movies. I just had the good fortune to see the 1933 Mystery of the Wax Museum (Michael Curtiz) on the flip side of Warner's House of Wax (1953, Andre de Toth) DVD and, even though I know it did exist on VHS in the past, I couldn't help but think that I was very fortunate to even be laying eyes on this 2-strip Technicolor rarity, obviously included mainly because of its relation to the more famous remake.

I had similar feelings about the TCM/Warner Bros. DVD "Forbidden Hollywood Collection Volume One" that contained Baby Face (1933, Alfred E. Green), Red-headed Woman (1932, Jack Conway), and Waterloo Bridge (1931, James Whale). Probably the latter was the toughest standalone sell, having no bankable classic star. You can find your own examples, but one other I watched recently was the Cary Grant Screen Legend Collection from Universal which is comprised of five films that I couldn't see ever being released standalone, yet here they are presented in pretty good quality by a major studio. I bought this one and so far have only watched Thirty Day Princess (1934, Marion Gering), but I had the pervasive feeling that I was lucky to be seeing a Sylvia Sidney vehicle from her prime that was something other than Hitchcock's Sabotage or some of her Fritz Lang films.

Obviously there are still countless films of interest that they haven't figured a way to shoehorn into more salable packages or groupings, but the trend may be of help. (It goes without saying that, like the explosion of TV-on-DVD, the more manageable and more versatile DVD format itself makes this all possible.)

One of the few negatives is that when the films are not standalone releases, you sometimes have to dig or be looking for something specific, otherwise you only come across certain important films as a stroke of luck. (If you're a Raoul Walsh enthusiast, there's one of his in the Cary Grant Screen Legends Collection. There's a Douglas Sirk film in the Rock Hudson Screen Legend Collection.) Universal's Screen Legend Collections are particularly troublesome in that even on the back of the sets you can find neither the year the films came out, nor the directors. Even on Amazon.com or DVD Empire the information is not readily available, and one is reduced to researching the titles individually on IMDB.

But going back to the desire to see a John Ford silent film box set, and more silent films in general packaged together and released, one name that pops into my mind is John Gilbert, who would be well worth a silent film box set or two—or even three—since many of his silent films survive—and that's just counting the major star vehicles from his prime. Although I have a feeling if I poke my nose into one of the Garbo collections I'm going to find at least one Gilbert there.

semi-feeble commitment to try again

Obviously I wandered away from this new attempt at blogging (good thing no one is watching-- excellent foresight on my part), but I'm now going to give it another go. I don't have any substantive entries prepared, thus this quick, silly entry to merely announce my intentions.

I would like to clean up this blog and remove this entry and the first entry and leave only the "real" entries like the Malle one. These kind of blog explanations, apologies and self-analyses probably won't interest readers when and if there are some. But as with other blogs I've read, they sometimes help to get the blog rolling (no pun on "blog rolling" intended).

Entries I had been formulating but may never come to fruition were an entry on my very negative encounter with the film work of Mark Sandrich and his philosophy on film, for which Astaire and Pandro S. Berman also share blame. I saw the movie Top Hat and was disappointed and found it empty and lacking a soul. Then in the bonus materials on the DVD I learned that these three musketeers had this "blueprint" theory of filmmaking where they mapped out for every Astaire/Rogers movie where funny moments, musical moments, sad moments and dance moments should occur (i.e., about 20 minutes in, we need this sort of thing to happen). Seemed very contrary to the interests of art, but I guess I was holding off on this scathing post until seeing more Sandrich films. Difficulty there is I'd already been put off seeing more.

Another entry I was formulating was on DVD bonus materials or something. Or it might have been on the annoying practice of including the music or key dialogue from the films in the DVD menus before you've seen the movie ("priming" you to have a recognition/fondness for themes that ought to be introduced to you [and maybe surprise you] at the point in the film at which they are first used-- even Criterion does this in their menus). In any case, the passion seems to have waned on that issue for now, but perhaps will return and be followed quickly by a substantive entry on the subject.

Louis Malle

Louis Malle continues to disappoint. Or at least underwhelm me. I just viewed Elevator to the Gallows. It is a beautifully shot (D.P.: Henri Decaë) film and has a beautiful score (Miles Davis). But the film has no curiosity about the medium or about life whatsoever. You could perhaps say this is not fair for someone's first film, but when there's not even an inkling it does not bode well for the future.

While I am well schooled in many of the great directors, especially those of the nouvelle vague, I have seen almost no Louis Malle, and there is a reason. Every time I see one it puts me off seeing any further ones for quite a while. (And I am not trying to knock him down from any pedestal of "the great directors" since I believe very few venture to place him there anyway. Nor is he generally regarded as a member of the nouvelle vague.)

The first I saw, which it is impossible for me to judge, was Au revoir, les enfants (1987). Well, I can judge it, but I can't recall it very well, as I saw it in school, but it made a fairly negative impression on me at the time. (Although I was not interested in film as an art at the time.) In any case, it seemed a pretty straightforward, mainstream weepy-entertainment-- the sort that is palatable and easy for AMPAS to nominate--oh, yeah, and of course, it did. (While quality films like 8 1/2 have been nominated, they are the exception to themediocrityy that rules the Oscars foreign film section.) A constant aversion to the Oscars and my association of Louis Malle with that sort of filmmaking caused me to steer clear of his films from an early age (however unfair that may have been, given the youthful state of my mind when I saw it!).

The next encounter with Malle was in viewing a bootleg of his film Black Moon, a horrifically bad attempt at an "experimental" film, that showed again that Malle just doesn't get it. He doesn't understand film (as an art), and he doesn't understand art--at all, it would seem. Perhaps this is why he's most comfortable in the world of the cinéma de qualité because he sure didn't seem comfortable in the idiotic dreamlike world of Black Moon. That film is an unqualifiable disaster from beginning to end. It will bore you to tears. The basic root of the problem is he has translated a dream (perhaps a specific dream of his) into film and tried to represent a dream as accurately as possible--but unanalyzed (and with no success or even attempt in communicating the "non-concreteness" inherent in all dreams). Approaches like "pure cinema" would interest me far more (abstract association of images without an attempt at divining or creating meaning). I guess anyone could make the mistake he did, but I think a decent director would have seen how horrible and boring this all was and dumped it, reworked it, saved it somehow. But he's just sort of like a mindless robot, seemingly incapable of self-analysis, as his films are incapable of a self-analysis of their own medium, which interests in filmmakers like Godard.

But now Criterion is shoving him in our faces by finally getting a few of his previously unavailable films out on DVD here in the U.S. (Even if I may hate certain films, I want them to be available on DVD-- otherwise how can one evaluate for oneself?) They've released Au revoir, Lacombe Lucien and Murmur of the Heart, but I finally took the bait, wanting to start at the beginning, with their release of Elevator to the Gallows. This was a much more tolerable outing for me than the previous two, but all the emptiness of this filmmaker's vision is there to behold from the beginning. You can almost see it visualized in the endless wandering scenes of Jeanne Moreau where nothing perhaps is going on in her head. And this would serve for me as the representation of Malle's mind: wandering about aimlessly with nothing going on in it. He seemed to recognize this and was compelled to add internal thought voiceover to illustrate her "thoughts." But these thoughts he added were all the self-evident things we would expect her to be thinking, and thus are entirely redundant. And so it is here that we see the inner workings of Malle's mind: he is never thinking anything beyond what you expect him to be thinking. Here, where there could have been something interesting added to the film, there is merely redundancy, meaningless reinforcement. No self-analysis, no meaningful self-reflection. The fact that he couldn't leave it blank either is another indication of his poor artistic instincts.

I've only seen three, so I'll leave it there-- a kind of premature condemnation.