“Music is a bitch. I worship her”

CASA DE LAVA
Directed by Pedro Costa, 1995

I only recently encountered Pedro Costa, through his exquisitely shot, black and white O Sangue (out now on Second Run, kids!). Though I remember it as being quite remarkable – especially for a first film – I don’t recall it in any great detail, mainly because I was quite tired and kept falling asleep, so in my mind it's coupled with the slightly odd sensation of a waking dream. Never the less, I’m left with the impression of having been highly impressed by its concision and crispness, but not really remembering a great deal of detail.

Casa de Lava, his second film, is appreciably an extension of the same style, but also unavoidably reminiscent of Claire Denis - particularly Beau travail, with which it shares the dry heat and blasted locations of its North African locations. More broadly, it shares with Denis a spare and oblique approach to dialogue and incident, and opaque character motivations – not to mention the brilliantly implacable Isaach de Bankolé. The camerawork is similarly static and detached, but with a simplicity that is deceptive and not representative of its 'artistic' content.

The story, nominally, is about a nurse who accompanies a coma patient from Lisbon back to the Cape Verdeislands, but Costa’s approach is so detached that, though the story progresses chronologically, it never feels like you’re experiencing more than a fragmentary insight into his characters’ lives. There’s a realism in this kind of hard-to-decipher cause and effect and blocked communication, but it does make things seem slightly stilted, and effectively little actually happens, or at least, none of the events that occur are portrayed in an explicitly ‘dramatic’ way (as such, there’s little if any non-diegetic music here). The jumping focus between various characters (including one reminiscent of Isabelle Huppert’s coffee plantation owner in White Material) can at times be a bit jarring, yet, somehow, in spite of what might sound like an arduously impenetrable chore, as with Denis’ work the situation and interactions we’re privy to does become fascinating.

I think this maybe makes the film sound a harder sell than it actually is: the main character is severe but also quite gorgeous, and luminous against the volcanic landscape in her summer dress; and despite the economy of the cinematography, it’s a very beautiful film. Though there are plenty of intensely pared-down films which are almost unwatchable because of their complete lack of concessions to the audience (Claire Denis’ own debut, Chocolat – no, not the one with Johnny Depp – is arguably guilty of this), it’d almost certainly repay further viewings, and there’s something about the interactions of its characters that makes Casa de Lava more than just an exercise in the wannabe-arthouse school of sparring narrative. 

I don’t really judge films by budget or scale, but it’s notable that both O Sangue and Casa de Lava could almost be student films. Maybe that's what I find so compelling about them, in that they seem broadly (at least technically) achievable. They also share a cohesive and fully-formed style and sense of place which suggests that Costa simply has an affinity with the medium and doesn’t have any use for a more overwrought or florid approach. Given that, and because I enjoy things that are wilfully not easily digestible, and demand a certain amount of thought and attention, I'm definitely excited to check out his later films.

“Aren’t boys marvellous?”

CHRISTOPHER AND HIS KIND
Directed by Geoffrey Sax, 2011

This might seem an odd inaugural post as it’s not actually about a film, but indulge me. I’m all for the concept of QUALITY TELEVISION – eg, a large proportion of HBO’s output, von Trier’s Riget/The Kingdom – but this isn’t quality television. It’s when TV employs a cinematic style or approach that it is often at its most effective – in things like Six Feet Under, Carnivàle, or even Twin Peaks, which all have that kind of distinct, auterist voice. Ehh. Maybe it’s naïve to hope or expect that a mid-budget BBC TVM would in any way approach those sort of dizzy heights. Anyway, given that this is an adaptation of Christopher Isherwood’s autobiography, it essentially amounts to a knock-off of Cabaret in all but name.  


I like Cabaret. As it has the not-strictly-accurate ‘musical’ tag, it’s a film I ever particularly expected to enjoy, but as a slightly grotesque drama with some depraved songs thrown in, I can get behind that. Also, Joel Grey’s Emcee is brilliantly terrifying. By contrast, the ineptitude and self-satisfaction of this drama made me appreciate even more how impressive Bob Fosse’s film is. 


Everything here is monstrously simplified, to the extent of caricature - even down to seemingly every man in it being the exact same type of generic, gym-honed hottie. The casting director probably had fun with it, but the idea that all the boys on the game in pre-war Germany could have been Abercrombie & Fitch models demolishes what little sense of place there already is. Also, given that the backdrop of these events is the rise of Nazism, the prevailing tone is inappropriately and slightly bafflingly light and jaunty – even Isherwood getting to grips with his sexuality alone could have sustained a far fuller and more, I dunno, ‘emotionally honest’ drama, yet this production consistently plumps for a total lack of depth or insight. In spite of its slightly outré reputation, Cabaret is almost incomparably more sophisticated in its subtle handling of the broader situation - okay, maybe despite that scene of brownshirts meting out a beating intercut with a cabaret number, but at least that has some pizzazz.  


Cabaret’s iterations of the real life figures that we encounter here are surprisingly complex; in this though, Isherwood is just a slightly faffy ponce, and the Sally Bowles character is just a bit of an airhead, and… that’s about it. It’s like the director tried to cover up these shortcomings with full-frontal nudity and lashings of boys, but, contradictorily, it’s still all weirdly tame – all blow-jobs from an extreme distance and unconvincing sex scenes. Some wanky media types probably think they’re pushing boundaries, but it’s basically a Richard Curtis version of Nazi Germany, with twelve-men riots and unnecessarily CG’d cityscapes. It also includes the line, “Well, there you are – that’s what wars do; kill people.” No shit.


In the interest of balance, WH Auden talking about his rectal fissure is quite entertaining, and Matt Smith is good value, though, whereas in Doctor Who he seems naturally suited to the role, in his gangly, gawky, manic way, here his performance does makes me wonder whether like, say, David Bowie or Tilda Swinton, he just isn’t cut out to play normal people?


Maybe it didn’t help that I was recently reading Isherwood’s Goodbye to Berlin (or at least I was, until I lost it), which covers a lot of the same ground as the series, and makes the TV version seem even more flat and rote. Having said all that, one of my friends pointed out that as it irritated me so much despite featuring lots of semi-naked young men, maybe I’m just feeling out of sorts.

So, yeah. I’m unemployed, I watch a lot of films... Thought I’d review some films. I use the term ‘review’ loosely – some sort of personal/intuitive reaction is probably closer to it, as I’m not a great one for academic readings of thematic content.

I may just be avoiding all the other, more meaningful pieces of writing I could be working on, but as a concession to that, I’m going to try to limit these 'reactions’ to 500 words. Some concision wouldn’t do me any harm. Also, as I'm exactly the kind of person to get slightly obsessive about things like this, and as I don’t want to start watching films simply to write about them, rather than for their own sake, I’m only going to post about films that are new to me – otherwise I’ll just end up rhapsodising about Paradjanov and Vláčil and that way lies madness, particularly as I’m not especially good at qualifying why precisely I feel the way I do about the things I love.

Uhh, what was I saying about concision? Anyhoo - as long as there’s some kind of invention, creativity, or at least beauty to it, I don’t really care where or when a film is from, or who’s in it. So hopefully there should be a fairly broad range here. Among the ones I’ve watched recently that I’ve been impressed by (apart from modern usual suspects like Hunger, A Single Man, I am Love (so far, so predictable)) have been The Innocents, Le souffle au cœur, The Devils, Freaks, O Sangue...

So that's nice, innit? Onward!