Strange bit with the cop.
Pretty good film.
Strange bit with the cop.
Pretty good film.
Funny thing about Westerns…
Sometimes you seen ’em, but you done FORGET you seen ’em.
And this one is that type of affair.
Except that it’s a masterpiece.
This here film takes multiple viewings to fully appreciate the craftsmanship at work.
Because back in those heady nouvelle vague days, it seems that the Cahiers crowd were known as the Hitchcocko-Hawksians.
I may be borrowing a term from Richard Brody’s book on Godard.
But he may have been borrowing it from elsewheres.
I don’t rightly know.
But El Dorado is certainly the spitting image of another film…by the same auteur.
Yes, Rio Bravo was the first incarnation.
It’s the one that gets all the praise.
But if my eyes and heart don’t deceive me, Robert Mitchum is a better actor than Dean Martin.
[as much as I love Dino]
And James Caan bests Ricky Nelson as well.
But it’s hard to replace Walter Brennan.
Damn near impossible.
That said, Arthur Hunnicutt is pretty darn fabulous in El Dorado.
But let’s get back to those Hitchcocko-Hawksians.
The first part is probably pretty self-explanatory.
These Cahiers du cinéma film critics revered Alfred Hitchcock.
Above all else.
Before Truffaut did his book of interviews with Hitch (1967), Chabrol had written a monograph on the master (1957).
To be more exact, Chabrol cowrote the book with Rohmer.
Might as well say Rivette (“Rivette!”) just to round out les cinq.
Like the Mighty Handful (Balakirev, Cui, Mussorgsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Borodin), and one short of les six (Auric, Durey, Honegger, Milhaud, Poulenc, and Tailleferre), the Cahiers crew were the Hitchcocko-Hawksians.
But what of that second seme?
Indeed, it was Howard Hawks.
The director of our film.
And an auteur which Jean-Luc Godard has gone on about at length…in a profusion of praise.
But why are we even talking about these Westerns?
What do El Dorado and Rio Bravo have in common besides diagesis and director?
Ah yes: John Wayne!
In El Dorado, our villain is Ed Asner.
Quite rich when considering that he was one of the very few to be a true hero in America after 9/11.
Ed Asner was on the front lines of getting the truth.
And we never got the truth.
Not from any official source.
But that’s ok.
Because we have gathered the general gist of the situation.
And so Ed Asner’s most important performance was what he did in real life.
To try and honor those 3000 souls who perished and were draped in a lie.
But we’re in Texas.
And Texas is a lonesome land.
And we aim here to mainly talk about the examples of the silver screen.
“details…deliberately left out” says Wikipedia…
Ah yes…something David Ray Griffin spotted with his razor-sharp mind.
“Omissions and distortions”, he called it.
That is the beauty of film.
It gets deep.
And it fuses to what we have experienced as visceral verities.
Charlene Holt was actually from Texas.
And she is every bit the female lead here.
Charming. Strong. Sexy.
I won’t go comparing her to Angie Dickinson, but let’s just say that Ms. Holt fit the bill.
To a T.
T for Texas.
And Ms. Holt passed on (God rest her soul) in Tennessee.
We get horses and streams.
Rifles and pistols.
And a lot of earthy talk.
As you can tell.
Gets under your skin.
Say, was you ever bit by a dead bee?
[Oops, wrong funnyman. And Hemingway.]
Pound born in Idaho. And Papa H died there.
Because the pain was too much.
You can’t turn your back in these parts.
Gotta waddle out backwards.
On yer horse.
In high heels.
And keep your peripheral sharp.
Cardsharp, not shark.
Anyone missing Angie Dickinson likely ogled Michele Carey for the better part of El Dorado.
Though the appearances were brief.
John Wayne turns the other cheek.
Smears blood on the cowhide.
Get outta here.
Tough guy gets back on his horse.
Always guns in the river.
But you gotta retrieve it.
Dr. Fix (Paul Fix) isn’t up to the procedure.
Doesn’t wanna bungle a good man.
Tells him take care uh that whens you get tuh proper chirurgien.
Christopher George looks spitting Willem Dafoe.
But the real story is Diamond Joe.
It seems under the bridge.
Gotta git your own justice.
Around these skillet lickers.
Like the freaks from Octopussy, knife to a gunfight.
Had to saw off a holstered piece at the Swede.
If the top is a high hat, Mississippi’s is low.
I think Tom Petty adopted one.
Mine never fit quite right.
From crown to gun butt…soft wobble with every bump.
But enough phrenology.
Only love can break your heart. Neil Young said that.
And I know all too well.
Stuck behind an 18-wheeler from Dallas.
And the rains set in.
And Górecki just makes you cry even more.
Feels like an addiction.
And sometimes you substitute one addiction for another.
Because you got an empty place there in your ribcage.
Friendship rides in least expected.
Professional killer don’t have no friends.
Can’t get too connected.
Stayed in Mississippi a day too long. Bob Dylan said that.
And I think maybe he meant Robert Johnson.
When the poison of whisky ain’t enough. I said that.
Not enough holes in the world get a rise outta me at Royal Albert.
But I’m not too worried about it.
Just modulating grammar.
Because El Dorado is filled with sine qua non dialogue.
Seeming hapex legomenon with every breath.
A lot of soap.
The others’ll come to me.
High low, do-si-do.
My uncle died with a stack of VHS Westerns on his TV set.
That smoking’ll kill you.
But only one owned a square dance barn.
So that no matter how Cahiers I get, I’ll always be from Texas.
Not even aware how much of a rube I really am.
It’s a concoction you gotta pinch the nose to force down.
A medicine resembling asphalt.
Alcohol, 4 days
I’m just lucky to never have done more’n cowboy tobacco.
But Texas is lonesome.
Unless you’re riding with John Bell Hood.
In which case you’re shitting yourself with fear.
Itch on the back of your neck.
But learn to play a good bugle.
Close quarters combat.
In the Wild West.
Two walk forward, two reverse.
To slap a RICO charge on a greasy bastard.
Like the goddamned Great Gate of Kiev.
And back to the five.
A gamelan of adobe marksmanship.
Deputy was just the courage. Pin on “I do”.
We think Pecos.
And to have a leg up.
Old wounds and creaky bones.
Been knocked down too many times.
Fallen off my horse.
We don’t negotiate with terrorists.
But do we terrorize negotiators?
Turns out the whole thing was about water.
When it’s dry.
And you gotta wake up.
And you didn’t just win the Super Bowl.
Why you can’t take a giant leap in chess.
Because your plan sucks.
Just showing up is pretty damned brave.
[And I didn’t even get to Edith Head and Nelson Riddle]
I consider it an auspicious sign that my survey of Indian cinema begins in earnest with the masterpiece Filmistaan.
Do not mistake this piece of cinema for a half-baked idea.
Do not even attempt to lower it by calling it a comedy.
And not least, do not think only of India.
I wanted to come up with a catchy pigeonhole.
But I have too much respect for the great traditions of Bollywood (and Lollywood) to do such a thing.
And so this is very much an Indian film.
And it is very much a comedy.
But it is touching in a way to which few films can ever aspire.
Filmistaan, like Roberto Benigni’s magnum opus La vita è bella, takes on a very serious subject with the best weapon of all: humor.
But instead of the Holocaust, we get the Partition.
And yet, Filmistaan is not some laborious period piece.
[leave that to the artless Spielbergs]
No, our film addresses the tension between India and Pakistan in the most deft, feather-light manner imaginable.
And for this we have to thank a new auteur on the world stage: Nitin Kakkar.
I say “new” because Mr. Kakkar has not been graced with the honor of his own Wikipedia page in English yet.
Well, he is wholly deserving of that honor (based on Filmistaan alone).
But Mr. Kakkar had to have magical actors to pull this off.
Luckily for him, he did!
Sharib Hashmi is undoubtedly the star of this picture.
His performance as Sunny goes from the highest highs of emotion to the lowest lows.
It is truly remarkable.
Mr. Hashmi is about one month older than me.
40 years old.
Perhaps that’s why I identified with his youthful optimism and passionate devotion to cinema.
But to understand our film, we must first locate Rajasthan on a map.
It is the biggest state in India.
It is northwest.
And it borders Pakistan.
To understand Rajasthan, we must comprehend the Thar Desert.
Most of the Thar Desert is in Rajasthan, but it extends somewhat into Pakistan.
These are all important details in understanding our film.
Rajasthan is arid.
Like the American Southwest, it’s a good place to get lost…or kidnapped.
But friends are to be found in the most unlikely places.
And the friendship of shared interest, such as two cinema devotees, knows no borders.
For Mr. Hashmi, the brilliance of his performance depends on the artful support he receives from fellow-actor Inaamulhaq.
But let’s examine the divide between India and Pakistan for a moment.
It is a fact that a man from Peshawar (if he speaks Urdu) can communicate with a man from Delhi (if he speaks Hindi).
Peshawar, of course, is in Pakistan.
Indeed, it’s so far into Pakistan that it’s almost in Afghanistan.
Delhi, of course, is in India.
It is in the north-central part of the country.
It is, further, not essential that the two talkers hypothesized above be men.
The salient detail is that Hindi and Urdu are essentially the same language (in their spoken forms).
This is vital to understanding Filmistaan.
But continuing, the two languages could not look more different once they are written down.
[Which is to say, the two hypothesized men might be at loggerheads were they forced to communicate with pen and paper]
Urdu looks similar to its written forebear Farsi (the language of Iran) [which is itself a descendent of Arabic script].
To put it quite simply, a neophyte like myself would probably have a difficult time telling the difference between Urdu, Persian (Farsi), and Arabic.
Hindi is in the wholly different Devanagari script.
You will not confuse written Urdu and Hindi.
It’s at least as obvious as Picasso to Pollock (if not Warhol to Rembrandt).
But enough analogies.
Why should you watch Filmistaan?
Well, for one…it’s currently on Netflix.
Yes, ever since I have joined the streaming service, I have ventured to be a more “worthwhile” film critic by giving you relatively-spoiler-free reviews of current titles to be found on the U.S. version of the site.
But that’s only the beginning.
Yes, there are wonderful performances from Kumud Mishra and Gopal Dutt (as well as a plethora of fine supporting actors).
But the real reason is that Filmistaan expresses the sublime.
The context is terrorism.
The context is border tension.
Indeed, on the Indian Subcontinent, the context is two nuclear states.
Pakistan and India.
But the context goes back.
To Jinnah and Nehru.
And the threads bind.
Cricket. Cinema. Music.
There is an excellent example in Filmistaan which illustrates the situation.
Now 94 years old.
Like my hypothetical man from earlier, born in Peshawar.
Then a part of “Pre-Independence India”.
Now a part of Pakistan.
In Filmistaan, Inaamulhaq knows him as Sir Yusuf.
Sunny knows him as Dilip.
Dilip Kumar was born Muhammad Yusuf Khan in Peshawar in 1922.
It’s like the World Wars.
fenêtre in French
das Fenster in German
fenêtre /\ Fenster
But when you look through a window (or a border), everything can look backwards.
You’re so close, in reality.
But you’re reading the word as if in a mirror.
Nitin Kakkar directed a masterpiece with Filmistaan because he put his heart and soul into evoking peace.
There are no winners in a nuclear war.
And peace is a rare commodity on the world stage.
But we must reach out that hand.
And shake it.
I congratulate Nitin Kakkar and Sharib Hashmi for their dedication.
It is evident.
Though I speak neither Hindi nor Urdu, I was able to watch.
I needed the subtitles.
But sublime emotions may be mutually intelligible across cultures.
What a film!
To get through life, you need grit.
I know of no tougher people than my parents.
And they have been an infinite inspiration to me.
So it is a pleasure to review what is one of my dad’s favorite films.
He always told me to watch this, but I guess I had some subliminal aversion to Westerns.
Well, dear friends, this here is a masterpiece.
I haven’t written much about Westerns (aside from the three Clint Eastwood spaghetti Westerns I reviewed long ago).
I know the genre is not everyone’s cup of tea.
Jean-Luc Godard commented once that his soulmate Anne-Marie Miéville really couldn’t stand this genre, whereas Monsieur Godard has been open about his admiration for John Ford and other directors of the American Western.
But here we have a film by Henry Hathaway.
Sure, John Wayne is in the movie (big league!), but it was Hathaway behind the camera ostensibly calling the shots.
You might know Hathaway from the film noir Call Northside 777.
Or perhaps The Desert Fox: The Story of Rommel (starring the inimitable James Mason).
But he also directed Rawhide and The Sons of Katie Elder (another flick starring The Duke).
But let’s bring out the big gun.
John Wayne was born Marion (!) Robert Morrison in Winterset, Iowa.
That’s right. Not Texas. Not Oklahoma.
So how did John Wayne become such a badass?
Much of it might be attributable to his attention to detail.
And just what (or who) was he paying attention to?
Deputy sheriff of Tombstone, Arizona.
But let’s get on to this fantastic film, shall we?
The real surprise is Kim Darby.
Sure, Glen Campbell is great here, but Darby is sensational!
And though this might be thought of as Kim Darby’s only significant film role of her career, it is timeless.
She knocked it out of the park as Mattie Ross.
All our actors are gritty, but the real toss-up is between Kim Darby (who was 22 at the time) and John Wayne (who was 62).
Toughness is the theme of the movie.
He or she who is toughest will overcome.
Sure, some obstacles are insurmountable.
But GRIT will get you through some harrowing situations.
It’s almost funny when a film (like this one) includes minor roles for the likes of Dennis Hopper and Robert Duvall. Duvall’s role is a bit more substantial, but the main focus is on the troika of Campbell, Darby, and Wayne (particularly the latter two).
Fans of the recent film Sicario will notice precursors to “rough justice” present all throughout True Grit.
But director Hathaway manages to make a G-rated film.
For that and other reasons, I am recommending this as a family film (though it may be unsuitable for particularly young ones).
The narrative device which keeps the film “all ages” is that Mattie is supposed to be 14 years old (though, as stated, Kim Darby [Mattie] was actually 22).
The action of our film centers around Fort Smith, Arkansas (at first) and later in the “Indian Territory” around McAlester, Oklahoma.
The film features prominently a Colt Model 1848 Percussion Army Revolver a.k.a. Colt Dragoon Revolver (.44 caliber).
Firearms aside, John Wayne is magnificent in the denouement when he takes on four armed horsemen.
That said, a Sharps rifle comes in particular handy for Wayne in a near-death imbroglio.
Glen Campbell’s greatest moment is just getting on the horse and setting the beast in motion.
It is this scene in which Campbell proves himself to be just as gritty as Darby and Wayne.
But the film is not over yet.
And we see John Wayne take action: as a leader!
Doing what needs to be done!
But the scene which brought tears to my eyes was when John Wayne bet on the toughness of Kim Darby.
And that is the message.
What great encouragement it is when people have faith in us!
When they say, “I know you can do it!”
We may not believe it ourselves, but their faith lifts us up.
We think, “Maybe they know something I don’t.”
When we’re at our lowest point.
Those who stand beside us with compassion are displaying that priceless characteristic of true grit.
The very end of the film is quite touching as well.
We see an actor 40 years younger than her leading man offer a hand of friendship with an act of love.
It’s not even romantic.
It’s just classy.
In truth, very poetic.
I wholeheartedly recommend this film for all doubters of John Wayne and the Western genre in general.
[THE TALE OF ZATOICHI CONTINUES (1962)]
I must admit that The Tale of Zatoichi didn’t leave a lasting impression on me.
But this film, The Tale of Zatoichi Continues, is a masterpiece.
This time out, we are treated to the direction of Kazuo Mori.
It is a very artful, weightless creation. Floating, as they say…
Entertainment…the fad of movies…with ever changing tastes.
But yet art, all the same…like Hokusai.
It seems that this was the last film Mr. Mori directed.
It’s a very special picture.
But we must return to the man who plays the blind, wandering masseur (!) Zatoichi.
Shintaro Katsu is so phenomenal here!!!
It all revolves around integrity.
But we find real cinema in the tickling massage of an eccentric lord.
Indeed, wandering masseur does not exactly translate to American genres such as the Western.
But Zatoichi is a swordsman of the highest renown.
His walking cane contains his sword (just in case).
He is a reasonable man.
Not to be bullied.
Karma will bring about one last shared laugh.
After stopping by the stream.
After Beethoven Symphony No. 6.
The underwater grass swaying with the currents.
And the three levels (worlds) about which M.C. Escher taught us.
A bug…or a pebble…polished stone…sinks…ripple.
Little blossoms of yellow.
We don’t know. 1962. We imagine.
Friendship has withered like fish left on their lines in the summer sun.
Yes, it is abrupt.
But not to be missed.
[IVAN THE TERRIBLE, PART I (1944)]
Have you ever used Russian Wikipedia?
Because you can’t just type Ivan the Terrible.
You can’t even type Ivan Grozny.
Not least, you cannot type NBaH rpo3HbIN yactb I.
No, certainly not.
But by that point, you are close.
Funny thing about the Cold War was that it was cold.
At least the big guns.
It was an economic war.
It would really be unfair to capitalism to claim that it didn’t win.
Ah, good old capitalism.
Capitalism is bad in a lot of ways, but it is an economic beast.
Communism is good in a lot of ways, but it got its butt kicked by capitalism.
But our story predates Marx and Lenin by centuries (even though it was commissioned by Stalin).
What we have here is a masterpiece of Soviet film: Ivan the Terrible (Part I).
It’s important. Part I. Часть I.
Because Часть II wouldn’t appear for another 14 years (Stalin was a fickle patron).
And Часть III would never appear. [It was destroyed after the director’s death.]
And what a director!
Sergei Eisenstein was a true auteur in every sense of the word.
When he died in 1948, Часть III more or less went with him.
Considering that, it’s amazing that Часть II itself even survived.
It was only the “Khrushchev thaw” which occasioned its eventual release in 1958.
But the year is 1944.
And the year is also 1547.
16 January 1547.
And Ivan (though he doesn’t look it in the film) is 16 years old.
It’s not Reims.
But it rhymes with…Bosco?
If it had a rhyme, Bob Dylan would have smacked it right down in the middle of The Freewheelin‘ or Another Side…
Good old Moscow! Москва́
Something like that…
And so we see a truly riveting coronation (this is not really a spoiler…1547).
We must remember what “the Terrible” meant.
As I understand it…it’s neither good nor bad.
Terrible as in terror…but also as in “fear God”.
Perhaps I have botched it.
grozny (miniscule). As opposed to the capital of Chechnya.
Let me just say this:
Nikolay Cherkasov (in this film) is the spitting image of Nick Cave.
[God forbid an iconoclast get ahold of a spitting image!]
Some might need a further clarification.
I mean the Nick Cave from Warracknabeal, Australia.
Not the one from Fulton, Missouri.
“2000 years of Christian history baby/and you ain’t learned to love me yet”
Something like that.
Ivan the Terrible “read that book from back to front”.
“It made a deep impression” (on his forehead).
But they didn’t have BBC Radio 4 in Russia in 1547.
So not even a gift of a chess set could cause Queen Elizabeth to beam a broadcast of Gardeners’ Question Time over to Ivan.
Alas, he was on his own…
Boyars be boyin’ [if you know what I mean].
I must admit, I’m rather proud of myself for figuring this out.
To wit, Михаил Названов looks like Gene Wilder as Jesus.
Tsk tsk, English Wikipedia.
Which is to say, Andrey Kurbsky is played by Mikhail Nazvanov.
Every epic needs a great beauty 🙂
And Lyudmila Tselikovskaya is no exception.
She is chaste (and chased).
English Wikipedia gives no hypertext love.
But there is an article.
She was from Astrakhan.
And here she portrays Ivan’s bride Anastasia.
Such a lovely word…tsarina.
And by Astrakhan we certainly don’t mean Canadian military fur wedge cap.
Ivan the Terrible is basically Donald Trump (for anyone needing a reference).
Which is why Stalin identified with Ivan.
Putin is another good reference point.
For that matter, Pavel Kadochnikov’s effeminate, moronic character is a good symbol for the past 16 years of American presidency. Imagine W. as a metrosexual in 16th-century Russia. You’ve got it! 16 & 16.
Marriage is the end of friendship (in more ways than two).
And so Philip II, Metropolitan of Moscow heads off to the monastery.
But at this time he was just Feodor Kolychev.
Family Glinski mentioned. Family Zakharin mentioned.
But the House of Romanov takes an extra effort.
Do you remember Kazan from Quantum of Solace?
I never properly expressed my admiration for that film.
Tosca in Bregenz. Exquisite!
Back to Kazan… Poor saps vs. rich saps.
And military strategy comes to the fore. That of Ivan.
Their strength was sapped. One letter from tapped.
That would be Operation Gold!
There’s a Tartar sauce of brutality (?) reminiscent of ¡Que viva México! (remember the horses and the buried guys???).
Same camera angles.
En plein air version of coronation. The doubters. Maybe Eisenstein took a thing or two from Welles?
Because Citizen Kane was 1941.
The Soviet Union joined the Allies in June 1941.
Citizen Kane premiered the previous month and would open in theaters across the U.S. the coming September.
So we wonder whether one of the first “chess sets” of understanding was a copy of Welles’ film.
Back to these Tartars. That’s just the Western version of Tatar.
An extra R (gratis).
You may need some tarragon as well.
It certainly wasn’t “Palisades Park” for these poor Tartars.
No Freddy Cannon sound effects to distract them before being picked off by (demonym-for-people-from-Kazan) arrows.
It’s almost a Thelonious goatee. Pharaonic. Sun Ra-nese.
Over and over we hear of Livonia.
Reval (which is today Tallinn, Estonia).
An iron curtain required iron men.
Oprichnina. A policy.
Oprichnik. Of the Oprichniki. Political police.
Oath of allegiance (starting to sound like Dale Cooper).
But lets not get caught up in bikeshedding.
This film is a masterpiece throughout.
My dear friends,
I wish not to trouble you,
but only tell you about this great film,
called Le Carrosse d’or in the French,
and La carrozza d’oro in the Italian,
because it is directed by the great Jean Renoir,
son of the Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir,
and starring the quintessentially-gorgeous Anna Magnani,
God rest their souls.
It is as much an Italian film as a French film,
yet it is largely in English,
which means no subtitles for dumb Americans,
this great epic is incomparable,
except maybe to the equally-vast Lola Montès of Max Ophüls,
which would appear a mere three years later (1955).
Imagine trying to tell the world a story in a foreign language,
not being able to use your native tongue,
because the natives don’t understand,
yet you crave that spotlight because of the exhilaration,
that double-edged sword of life vs. art.
But I have taken enough of your time today,
Something draws me to Eastern Europe. I blame Romania. Thank you Romania! Yes, there was something about the ambiance which director Cristian Mungiu conjured up in 2007’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (4 luni, 3 săptămâni și 2 zile) which has stayed with me for a long time.
Really, it’s a rather mundane part. Near the top of the film. The goddess Anamaria Marinca traipses down the hall to find some soap…and cigarettes. The scene is a college dormitory in communist Romania (pre-December 1989). Girls in one room chat about beauty products. There seems to be a good bit of bartering going on. Marinca is mainly uninterested. Looking for a certain kind of soap (if I remember correctly). On the way back to her room she stops off at the room of a foreign student (non-Romanian) who sells cigarettes and gum and stuff. The whole film she is searching for Kent cigarettes (a few mentions of this brand). Not surprisingly, there are no Kents to be had in the dorm. She settles for something else. Perhaps. I don’t know.
She stops and admires some kittens which someone has taken in.
It is astonishingly real. On par with Roberto Rossellini.
Indeed, it might be said that all New Waves (from the nouvelle vague to the Romanian New Wave) have their birth in the neorealist films of Rossellini.
But Mungiu added a new wrinkle.
Marinca. [The goddess of whom I spoke.]
Marinca is unglamorous. No one is glamorous in 4 luni, 3 săptămâni și 2 zile. We get the impression that it is the waning days of Ceaușescu’s reign.
Times are tough. The policies of the state haven’t worked out so well. It bears some resemblance to a prison. Material items take the place of money (reminiscent of cigarettes as currency in jails).
What I have yet to define in this article is “goddess”. What do I mean by that?
Well, I’m glad you asked! Marinca (particularly in this film) is a goddess to me because she represents the opposite of the typical American woman in the year 2015. Her beauty is her soul. Her beauty is her loyalty to her roommate and friend Găbița. Her beauty is her dedication to acting. She is completely immersed in her unglamorous role…and it is eye-watering.
I have mentioned a similar impression (which further solidified my admiration for Romanian films) I got from watching Dorotheea Petre in The Way I Spent the End of the World (Cum mi-am petrecut sfârşitul lumii). This masterpiece by director Cătălin Mitulescu preceded Mungiu’s Palme d’Or-winning film by about a year (2006). I was again struck by another goddess of film (Petre) who, with the help of her auteur, created a character also in direct opposition to the meretricious, vacuous ideal of American womanhood in the 21st century.
And so it is that we finally come to the film under consideration: Душан Макавејев‘s Love Affair, or the Case of the Missing Switchboard Operator. Dušan Makavejev is Serbian. Out of deference to his country I have listed his name in Cyrillic script. Likewise, the title of the film (at the top) is in Serbo-Croatian. It is a grey area about which I am not completely informed. Suffice it to say that Croatia seems to generally use Roman letters (as opposed to the Serbian usage of Cyrillic). It is a bit like the distinction (and writing differences) between Urdu and Hindi [which I have heard described as essentially the same language, but with two different writing systems].
I prefaced this article on Ljubavni slučaj ili tragedija službenice P.T.T. with my own backstory concerning Eastern European cinema because it is relevant to my approach going forward.
Before coming to this, my first Yugoslav (1967) film, I opened up the can of worms which is Czech cinema by reviewing Closely Watched Trains (Ostře sledované vlaky). Jiří Menzel’s sexually-charged film poem from the previous year (1966) was a major revelation for me. And so it is that Dušan Makavejev’s bittersweet confection shares more than just a communist framing with Menzel’s aforementioned erotic portrait.
Yes, Ljubavni slučaj ili tragedija službenice P.T.T. is about our old film-school standbys: sex and death. I can never combine those two words (in the context of film) without remembering the ridiculously funny scene of Jim Morrison at UCLA screening his student film in Oliver Stone’s The Doors (1991).
The fictional Morrison, then, would be trying to hop on a nonfictional bandwagon represented by the likes of Menzel and Makavejev. Morrison’s time at UCLA (1964-1965) not only coincided with the staggered births of “new waves” around the world (particularly in Europe), but also occurred while Morrison’s father (US Navy Rear Admiral [RADM] George Stephen Morrison) was the commanding officer of a carrier division involved in the Gulf of Tonkin incident.
Jim Morrison lived fast. Entered UCLA in 1964. Graduated with an undergraduate degree in film in 1965. Was dead by 1971. But those years in between… It’s no wonder Jim had an Oedipal complex (evident in the song “The End” [1966/1967]) when considering his father was involved in false-flagging the U.S. into a suicidal war against communism. What a disgrace…
No, the real hero in the family was not RADM Morrison, but rather Jim. He turned on the dream-switches of so many kids. To put it quite bluntly, he was part of the counterculture in America which caused kids to start giving a fuck about the world and politics and geopolitics and confirmed charades (frauds, shams, etc.) like the Gulf of Tonkin “incident”. Such a sanitary and slippery word: incident.
It fits perfectly, in that there was no incident.
But while Morrison the Younger had gone off into Brechtian pop-rock, Serbian director Makavejev was busy making Love Affair, or the Case of the Missing Switchboard Operator. It is equally stunning, for its medium, as “The End”.
Sex needs beauty. A really luscious film like this needed Ева Рас (Eva Ras). She is a bit like Jitka Zelenohorská’s character in Closely Watched Trains…mischievous, bewitching… But there is one great difference between Ras and Zelenohorska: Ras is a blond.
Though our film is in black and white, it is clear that Ras’ silky hair is rather fair (a detail which would not have escaped Hitchcock). It must be said, however, that Makavejev did not give in to the easy femme fatale portrayal when it came to filming Ras. Izabela (Ras) is a complex individual. The film tells us that she is Hungarian. She is different…other. She needs sex. She is passionate.
All the same, her portrayal by Ras is poetic and tender. Really, what we are seeing here is a tentative feminism expressed by Makavejev which would become a thundering symphony of women’s liberation in Mungiu’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days.
And it is good. It is good for men to see these types of films. We men idolize and reify women in the West, but we don’t often enough stop to really observe the trials of womankind.
In the best spirit of socialism, this film has something for everyone…men, women…ok, maybe not children.
Love Affair, or the Case of the Missing Switchboard Operator is really an intense film. If you have seen (and made it through) Stan Brakhage’s The Act of Seeing with One’s Own Eyes (a film I, incidentally, once made the mistake of showing at a party), then you’ll be alright. For those faint of heart (I generally fall into that category), there are a couple of rough moments in this film (in the context of criminology).
In all, I am very proud and happy to have seen my first Serbian movie. As a resident of San Antonio (and fan of the San Antonio Spurs), I feel it gives me a better glimpse into the life of one of my favorite basketball players Бобан Марјановић (Boban Marjanović). I highly recommend this film…and Go Spurs Go 🙂