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Film: Who Can Kill A Child
Year of production: 1976
UK Release date: 23rd May 2011
Distributor: Eureka!
Certificate: 18
Running time: 111 mins
Director: Narciso Ibáñez Serrador
Starring: Lewis Fiander, Prunella Ransome, Antonio Iranzo, Miguel Narros, María Luisa Arias
Genre: Horror/Mystery/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Spain
Language: English/Spanish/German
Review by: Paul Kelly
Spanish horror is currently experiencing something of a golden age, with the recent international success of films such as the [REC] series and The Orphanage. The 1970s saw a similar boom period for the genre in Spain, matching the current rate of production, if not the worldwide acclaim of filmmakers such as Guillermo del Toro. From this period in Spanish cinema comes Who Can Kill A Child (no question mark according to this release’s cover), which is now available for the first time in the UK on DVD.
Who Can Kill A Child begins with grainy black-and-white footage which documents the impact of the various conflicts of the 20th century, from World War II through the Korean War to the Vietnam War, focusing particularly on the number of children killed or left in the clutches of famine and disease as a result of each. From this footage we are taken to a sunny beach on the Spanish holiday resort of Benavis, where an idyllic afternoon at the seaside is spoiled when a woman's body washes up on shore. All of this is unbeknownst to Tom and Evelyn (Fiander and Ransome), a well to do English couple who are spending the night in the town before hiring a boat to take them to the remote island of Almanzora.
When the couple arrive on the island, they are greeted by a group of children frolicking in the water on what seems like a typical lazy island morning. When the couple start to realise the town is deserted, Tom has to reassure Evelyn that everything is alright. His opinion soon changes when he witnesses an old man beaten to death with his own walking stick by a little girl, and it becomes clear that there is something very wrong with the children of Almanzora. Tom must now escape the island and its inhabitants and protect his pregnant wife at any cost…
Creepy children have been a staple of horror movies for many moons, from the influential Village Of The Damned to The Omen (released in the same year as Who Can Kill A Child). What makes Serrador's little terrors stand out is that they do not have any supernatural powers; their threat comes from their strength in numbers and the fact that, no matter what the situation, most adults will struggle to harm a child. That and the fact that they clearly weren't given the talk about playing with sharp objects. As far as psychotic children go, these are some of the most effectively creepy ever imagined. What makes them work is that they say very little, they carry out their business not with a growl or in a trance, but with a giggle and a mischievous smile on their faces. They behave, in short, like children, and it is the juxtaposition between the appearance of the children and their actions which leads to most of the film's memorable moments. These include a piñata unlike any you're likely to see at a child's birthday party, and a surprise towards the end that ranks amongst the most ingeniously twisted of all time.
The horror is helped along nicely by Waldo de los Rios' subtle and unintrusive soundtrack, which lends ‘70s electric sci-fi stylings only to the moments of greatest tension in the film, building the atmosphere superbly.
While the delaying tactics employed in terms of on screen violence help to carry the film to its well plotted ending, the lack of any real gore until the final act does mean that there aren't quite enough scares along the way, and it is hard not to feel that a more even spread could have made Who Can Kill A Child even more nerve shredding than it already is. Clearly, Serrador wanted to avoid making his film farcical, as there is a statement about the way our world is heading and the lack of regard for children in society at the heart of it, and this comes across well. Like most aspects of the film, it is not driven home with a sledgehammer but left to gently wash over the viewer, having been made abundantly clear by the effective if overly long opening montage.
In terms of performances, a finer example of 1970s English stiff-upper lip acting could scarcely be found than that of the leading duo, and, as a result, it takes some time for them to come across as likeable. However, once the audience is familiarised with Evelyn's constant moaning and Tom's ridiculously positive outlook in the face of obvious peril then eventually they do come across more favourably. Enough to hope for their escape and safe return home rather than death at the hands of the little rascals, at least. They're performances are enough to keep the film interesting, which is commendable in its own way as they are given nearly all of the dialogue. What their relationship, as well as the film as a whole, is lacking is a touch of humour, with Serrador eager to ensure his film did not come off as a black comedy, intentionally or otherwise. All things considered the decision to avoid the comic potential that the film's premise offered proved to be the correct one, making Who Can Kill A Child both intriguing and genuinely chilling.
Who Can Kill A Child may lack the kind of sustained attack on the nerves of many current day Spanish horror titles, but Narciso Ibáñez Serrador provides a well balanced picture which, in its subtlety and refusal to go over the top, leaves a lasting impression when the final credits role.
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Film: Henry Of Navarre
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 4th July 2011
Distributor: Showbox
Certificate: 15
Running time: 148 mins
Director: Jo Baier
Starring: Julien Boisselier, Joachim Król, Roger Casamajor, Andreas Schmidt, Armelle Deutsch
Genre: Drama/History
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Germany/France/Czech Republic/Spain
Language: German/French/Italian/Latin
Review by: Mark Player
They say it is always better to tell the legend than the truth when cinema is concerned. However, when it comes to the biopic, a delicate balance of showing the facts accurately and showing said facts in such a way as to make them script friendly is difficult to master. Director Jo Baier's epic Henry Of Navarre, then, has the unenviable task of depicting the life of one of France's most popular rulers, Henry IV, in a way that is both accurate yet entertaining. Does he succeed?
Starting in the mid 16th century, at the height of the French War of Religions, a young prince Henry is bred for battle from an early age. His mother has high hopes for him, believing that he will lead the Protestant Huguenots to victory over the Catholics, and his bravery even impresses the ageing apothecary Nostradamus.
Henry (Julien Boisselier) grows into adulthood and has become a formidable warmonger. Shortly before the mysterious death of his mother, Henry is arranged to be married to the Queen consort Catherine de' Medici's daughter Marguerite de Valois (Armelle Deutsch), with the intention of uniting the two warring factions and ending the violent disputes between Catholics and Huguenots once and for all. However, a backlash ensues and the Catholics murder Henry's Protestant wedding guests, as well as other Huguenots across the land; a moment forever dubbed the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre.
Although Henry survives, his problems are only just beginning; having to escape his Catholic captors and stay alive long enough to ascend to the throne and end the bloodshed...
Unfortunately, whilst Henry Of Navarre has more than enough interesting historical material to play with, the results don't equal an interesting story. The script is particularly weak, not because of lack of material, but because it tries to include too much; aggravated further by some very brutal editing. Henry's transformation from boy to battle-hardened warrior occurs through a single, hurried montage of overlaid battle clips and the odd bit of dialogue. Key characters are introduced and subsequently killed off or ousted from the script in such a speedy and inconsequential manner that all empathy is lost. So many principle roles die suddenly off-camera, with Henry finding out in the next scene via a flippant interchange – i.e. “oh by the way, so-and-so died last night” - that it feels like a terribly executed running joke (or a potential drinking game). Henry's rise to the throne, then, is not as sweet as it could be, as his struggle to the top is based on his ability to not die between scenes.
There are other moments that feel oddly farcical. A scene where Henry gives the usual motivational pep talk to his army before the initial charge into battle is followed by a scene between the Commander of the opposing Catholic army and one of his officers: “Do you wish to rally the soldiers?” the officer asks. “Should I?” says the Commander. “It can't hurt,” replies the officer. The Commander takes a second to contemplate this before turning to address his men, as if the filmmakers are aware of their going through the motions.
The film's music also feels like it's jesting with the audience; with a cliché lute strumming its way into the mix as soon as Henry gazes upon the love of his life: a woman so randomly introduced into the film via descending some stairs that she may as well have been shoved into shot by a stage-hand. Other musical cues have the propulsion of a modern action movie, which for a film set in the 16th century is very distracting indeed.
Cinematography is solid, although it lacks variety. Interiors are lit with a heavenly hard light similar to Ridley Scott's Gladiator, whilst the film's battle scenes are characteristically and unimaginatively shaky. Some of the film's second unit photography stands out as being especially lazy: some badly framed, telephoto lensed shots of animals in the wild during the king's hunting excursion, for instance, are awkwardly spliced into more professional looking shots of the actors. It sounds like nitpicking, but these albeit minor blemishes soon add up and weigh down one's overall enjoyment.
The film is also let down by other technical failures. Originally shot by a multi-lingual (mostly German) cast and crew, dialogue was then re-recorded in French; a fact that is painfully apparent in certain shots that are infested with inadequately synched ADR, which, again, prevents a viewer from being fully sucked into the story.
Performances are decent enough but feel one-dimensional and lack pathos; partly due to the questionable dubbing and partly due to the film's overly brisk pacing. Boisselier makes for a competent lead who can handle both the reasonably violent battles and the occasional love scene, although this is love in the loosest sense of the concept. The sex is pretty rampant in some places, almost unnecessarily so. It's not overly explicit, but neither does it feel sensual, and you know that a film is in trouble when a steady showcase of breasts struggles to keep you interested.
Henry Of Navarre definitely feels like a missed opportunity. The film looks good but its mediocre script and uneven plotting hold it back. Its fast paced nature will prevent you from feeling completely bored but this slapdash hurriedness also means that you won't care. The results, while just about competent, are certainly not worth the investment.
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Film: Coeur Fidèle
Year of production: 1923
UK Release date: 27th June 2011
Distributor: Eureka!
Certificate: PG
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Jean Epstein
Starring: Léon Mathot, Gina Manès, Edmond Van Daële, Claude Benedict, Madame Maufroy
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: France
Language: French
Review by: Sarah Hill
With his 1923 film, Coeur Fidèle, director and film theorist Jean Epstein set out to create a simple story of love and violence which would win the confidence of those who believed that “only the lowest melodrama can interest the public.” He would create “... a melodrama so stripped of all the conventions ordinarily attached to the genre, so sober, so simple, that it might approach the nobility and excellence of tragedy.” Whilst the film may not have won favour with the general public in the way that he had hoped, in stripping back the conventions of the genre, Epstein created a melodrama which exhibited innovative uses of photography and editing techniques and makes a significant contribution to the style that would come to be known as ‘poetic realism’.
Marie (Gina Manès) works in a bar where she lives with the owner and his wife. She is the object of the desire of Petit Paul (Edmond Van Daële), a man who has only ever filled her with fear. Marie is forced to marry Petit Paul, even though she is in love with the gentle dockworker, Jean (Léon Mathot). Jean follows the couple to the fairground where the two men fight, which results in a policeman being stabbed. Petit Paul manages to get away but Jean is arrested and sent to prison.
A year later, on his release from prison, Jean tracks down Marie and discovers that she now lives with a perpetually drunk Petit Paul and their sick baby. Jean tries to help Marie with the assistance of her disabled neighbour (Marie Epstein). However, village gossips inform Petit Paul that Marie is planning to leave with Jean and he returns to the house for a violent confrontation, armed with a gun. During the struggle that ensues, the woman takes the gun and shoots Petit Paul...
Despite its narrative, Coeur Fidèle appears to be not so much a melodrama as an early social realist film. The characters inhabit a very working class milieu – Marie works in a pub owned by her family, where much of the early action takes place. Also, the idea that she is forced into and then trapped in a relationship with an undesirable man gives the film a very domestic feel. Not only does the film contain elements of social realism but it also arguably one of the earliest films to display characteristics of poetic realism, in which everyday sights acquire a transcendental form of beauty, which evokes comparisons with contemporary directors such as Pawlikowski. Each frame of Epstein’s film is like a photograph in which the characters are perfectly positioned. Nowhere is this more evident than during a scene in which Marie and her secret lover, Jean, sit on the cliff tops with their arms around each other, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes as the waves gently crash around them in an image of absolute serenity. The way that Jean looks at Marie with his eyes full of longing is in stark contrast to Petit Paul’s lecherous leer, and says more about the relationship between Jean and Marie than dialogue ever could.
What is most striking about Coeur Fidèle, however, is its innovative use of editing, which is all the more impressive when one considers the fact that the film was made in 1923. Epstein frequently cuts rapidly between mid-shots to sudden close-ups of a character’s eyes or an aggressive fist. When witnessing these rapid cuts and extreme close-ups, it is almost impossible not to think of Luis Buñuel’s 1929 film Un Chien Andalou, and it is, therefore, unsurprising to learn that Buñuel worked as an assistant director to Epstein on his film Mauprat in 1926. In addition, as well as highly rapid editing, Epstein also utilises superimposition to convey the main ideas within the film, such as when Marie’s face is superimposed over an image of the waves at Marseille’s dockside, conveying the idea that the love between Marie and Jean is natural and offers a sense of freedom that she does not possess in her relationship with Petit Paul, which mostly takes place indoors and gives the impression of stifling confinement. Furthermore, the love between Marie and Jean is conveyed more overtly when Jean’s face is superimposed over the shape of a heart.
The highlight of Epstein’s use of editing within the film is undoubtedly the scene during which Marie and Petit Paul ride the carousels at the fairground. Epstein cuts quickly between images of the couple whirring around on the horses to the soaring hill tops and back to the ground, as it spins below Marie who is looking down towards it. Whilst typically the image of a couple riding a carousel, complete with soaring camerawork, would be used to connote the giddy exuberance of love, here it is used to convey the complete opposite. The sequence creates the feeling of relentless, stomach-churning motion because however much Marie wishes to escape the clutches of Petit Paul in order to live freely with Jean, she knows that she will never be able to. This sequence builds towards a tense crescendo until Petit Paul finally manages to kiss Marie roughly on the cheek and, in doing so, claim ownership of her. She belongs to him now.
Following this, the film becomes more conventional in style, and the focus is very much on narrative progression as Jean and Petit Paul fight, which results in Jean being sent to prison and Marie living with Petit Paul and having his baby. It is at this point that the film seems to become less captivating without the use of rapid editing to help maintain the pace established in earlier scenes. However, Epstein soon increases the dramatic tension once again as Jean attempts to rescue Marie with the help of her disabled neighbour. After her walking stick gets crushed as she tries to escape, the girl is forced to crawl up the stairs to the room where Marie and her baby are trapped by Petit Paul. The tension is unbearable as she slowly and painfully crawls up the stairs before finally managing to grab Petit Paul’s gun in order to shoot him.
In the film’s epilogue, Jean and Marie are shown to be reunited and are at the same fairground from earlier in the film. As Marie rests her head on Jean’s shoulder, the contrast between this scene and the previous fairground scene is remarkable; it’s as if the characters – and also the audience - are finally able to breathe. Coeur Fidèle closes with a title card that reads: “Love allows one to forget everything.” However, whilst Marie and Jean now appear to have everything they wanted, there is a weariness behind their eyes which suggests that too much has happened for them to simply forget.
Coeur Fidèle is a captivating film, despite the occasional lull. The simple story greatly facilitates the director’s experiments with camerawork and editing and it is visually very striking. Ultimately, the film is an early masterclass in film editing which contains some exquisite moments of poetic realism. It is a film which, today, appears to be quite ahead of its time. SH
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Film: Faccia a Faccia
Year of production: 1967
UK Release date: 20th June 2011
Distributor: Eureka
Certificate: 12
Running time: 107 mins
Director: Sergio Sollima
Starring: Tomas Milian, Gian Maria Volonté, William Berger, Jolanda Modio, Gianni Rizzo
Genre: Action/Adventure/Western
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Spain/Italy
Language: Italian/Spanish
Review by: Daryl Wing
His films never received the acclaim that two of his contemporaries, Sergio Leone and Sergio Corbucci, rightfully earned, but Italian auteur Sergio Sollima’s movies still deserve a wider audience. Faccia a Faccia (Face To Face), the second of his three westerns, speedily sandwiched between 1966 and 1968, is considered one of his best, and the gang-busting, gun-toting actioner is finally released in the United Kingdom.
Upstanding history professor Brad Fletcher (Gian Maria Volonte) is reluctantly forced into retirement by his poor health and decides to move west for the warmer climate.
Almost as soon as he arrives, however, he is taken hostage by famed bandit Solomon Bennett (Tomas Milian), who needs to escape the attentions of the local sheriff. By necessity Fletcher is forced to take up with his cohorts as they try to reunite the Wild Gang.
But the educated man's growing identification with the gang encourages him to stage a takeover from Bennett, and a crueler system of leadership is put into place just as Pinkerton Charley Siringo’s (William Berger) plans to rid Purgatory City of the gang appear to be succeeding…
If you don’t fight, you fail, and Brad Fletcher certainly isn’t the failing kind. On his death bed at the start of the film, along with Bennett who was shot in its opening exchanges, his transformation from teacher to tormentor is slick and convincing, even if the whereabouts of his illness gets lost in the baron landscapes of this intriguing western. His line, “you couldn’t have chosen a worse hostage, let’s just say I’m dying” to Bennett is slightly perplexing, at first, but in time it’s clear that only his lust for life is fading fast.
Any quibbles about his desire to help Bennett instead of running are quickly brushed aside by both the beautiful visuals and, most importantly, the talented personalities along the way, ranging from Berger’s clever turn as Charley Siringo, who convinces his nemesis to reunite the Wild Gang in order to rid them from the fantastically named Purgatory City once and for all; a beautiful woman called Maria (Jolanda Modio), who questionably falls for Fletcher after being beaten and raped by him; to Rusty Rogers (Francisco Sanz), an all too brief but welcome comedic turn as an elderly man clinging on to his pointless existence by insisting he is still a wanted man even after thirty years in the wilderness.
Sollima isn’t afraid to pepper the screen with unsettling imagery, as a rabbit is shot, women are treated as punch bags then raped, families are massacred (including a frighteningly fantastic shot of the vigilantes appearing over the sand dunes) and a child is silenced by a bullet for daring to tell the Sheriff about the bank raid as he sits snoozing in the sizzling sun. The resulting shoot-out is easily the best moment from the film, as the perfectly planned heist is turned on its head in bloody, exhilarating fashion.
It’s here Sollima ups the ante plot-wise, too, discarding of most of the Wild Bunch in order to concentrate on Fletcher’s creepy transformation, and Bennett’s disapproval of such, despite being solely responsible for turning the man into a monster. Fletcher, described early on as “from up North, he reads a lot of books,” and who at the midway point tries to guilt-trip the gang from stealing money from a mail coach by reading the accompanying letter, begins his slippery slope when he falls for the beautiful Maria. An excellent standoff against the lightning-quick gunslinger Bennett whets his appetite further, but it’s only when he realises what an intelligent man can do in a town like Purgatory that he truly discovers his lust for life again – a fascinating journey mapped out in jaw-dropping style.
Faccia a Faccia also has its problems, though. The search for final gang member Zachary is a little too long, and then brushed under the carpet, as the audience aren’t given enough time to bond with him, which is a disaster when Sollima decides it will be him who turns traitor and leads the vigilantes in the film’s finale. How Bennett gets to his comrades before the marauding mob is even less believable, whether he knows the dessert inside out or not, and his escape from jail, lazily, is never even explained. The final showdown also raises eyebrows, not because the odds of fifty being defeated by two mercenaries need to be shortened, or because Bennett remembers how bad to the bone he actually is, but because Pinkerton Siringo baffles us with another change of heart that sits as out of place as Fletcher’s mutation into a sex-starved rapist.
An effective combination of genuine thrills, traditional storytelling, lush imagery and an outstanding naturalistic performance from its lead helps make Faccia a Faccia a fun, likeable western. Despite its flaws, this film has been imitated by many but bettered by few. DW
Film: Der Tiger von Eschnapur / Das Indische Grabmal
Year of production: 1959
UK Release date: 18th April 2011
Distributor: Eureka!
Certificate: PG
Running time: 201 mins
Director: Fritz Lang
Starring: Debra Paget, Paul Hubschmid, Walter Reyer, Claus Holm, Luciana Paluzzi
Genre: Adventure/Drama/Romance/Thriller
Format: DVD
Country of Production: West Germany/France/Italy
Language: German
Review by: Tim Molton
In 1921, Joe May, an Austrian-born film director took the reigns on a project titled Das Indische Grabmal (The Indian Tomb) for which the screenplay was co-written by Fritz Lang and his then wife, Thea Von Harbou. Almost forty years later, Lang himself returned to Germany to direct a more visually aesthetic and modernised remake of this production, dividing the film into two separate adventures, Der Tiger von Eschnapur (The Tiger of Eschnapur) and Das indische Grabmal (The Indian Tomb).
The film begins with the German architect Harald Berger (Paul Hubschmid) travelling through India en route to Eschnapur. On his journey, he meets the beautiful young dancer Seetha (Debra Paget). We soon learn that both Harald and Seetha have been commissioned by the ruler of Eschnapur, Chandra the Maharaja (Walter Reyer), for their differing skills. Harald has been requested in Eschnapur to build a temple for the Maharaja and Seetha to dance in the Maharaja’s presence.
When a tiger attacks the carriage in which Seetha and her servant are travelling, Harald’s heroics earn him the eternal gratitude and friendship of Chandra, and the love of Seetha. It soon becomes evident, however, that the Maharaja too has deep feelings for Seetha, and has invited her to the Palace in order to acquire her admiration and, subsequently, her hand in marriage.
When Chandra’s devious brother Prince Ramigani (Rene Deltgen) becomes aware of his intention to marry Seetha, he sees it as an opportunity to overthrow the Maharaja, and so begins his underhand scheming in an attempt to win over the support of the various disapproving factions within the Palace.
The Maharaja inevitably learns, however, that Harald and Seetha have been having a secret affair behind Chandra’s back. He consequently realises that despite his most humble and sincere efforts, Seetha’s heart belongs to Harald. Chandra’s love for Seetha, and indeed his admiration and respect for Harald, both quickly diminish upon this realisation, until all that remains is a deep and bitter hatred for both.
When Harald and Seetha flee the Palace in order to escape persecution at the hands of Chandra, a fleet of soldiers is sent to seek them out. Their instructions are to return Seetha to Chandra, and to kill Harald.
Harald’s sister Irene Rhode (Sabine Bethmann) and her husband Dr Walter Rhode (Claus Holm), also architects, arrive at the Palace to further assist the Maharaja with his plans, just as Harald and Seetha have escaped. Chandra informs them that the plans have changed and that they will now be building a tomb for Seetha. As Harald and Seetha escape into the desert, their demise is quickly sought by the bitter Maharaja, whilst Irene and Dr. Rhode try to discover their whereabouts, and save them both from execution…
When Fritz Lang took the decision to return to Germany in the late 1950s and direct the film he had co-written many years prior, it was evident that there would need to be some significant changes in order for the movie to be a success. Firstly, Joe May’s 1921 feature was a silent film; not a common characteristic of movies released in the 1950s. Secondly, the film lasted approximately three-and-a-half hours, which was no longer an endurable timeframe for contemporary audiences.
Lang, therefore, created the film as he had envisioned, by dividing the script into two separate features (now known collectively as The Indian Epic) and by using distinctive sound and music to compliment the beautiful, vibrant imagery. These decisions were, in reality, a necessity if the films were ever to be a success, but nevertheless Lang’s skill in executing these decisions should not be understated.
The screenplay itself, co-written by his wife Thea von Harbou, is comparable to many infamous Shakespearian plays, in that it contains all of the ingredients necessary for an enthralling adventure feature, including jealousy, betrayal, tragedy and, of course, love. Lang must be given a great deal of credit here for not only creating a brilliant storyline, but also for refusing to filter out any of the scenes in an attempt to reduce either the expense or the running time of the production.
The pace of the film is very much dictated by the tempo of the music, and whilst this may be an obvious way for viewers to predict the tone and even the outcome of each scene, it generally has the desired effect. Audiences may occasionally let their minds wander and lose interest momentarily when the music is slow and the scene apparently stagnant, but, likewise, they will find it very difficult not to feel a rush of excitement when the pace of music increases or the beat of the drum gets louder.
The imagery and backdrops used by Lang are as beautiful as the focal character herself. Whilst evidently studio sets are used for many of the scenes, the utilisation of palaces and temples in India provides the film with an almost other-worldly and enchanting feeling. Such settings contribute not only to the aesthetics, but also to the plot itself, as the continuing theme that magical things can occur in India becomes ever more convincing throughout.
The characters are excellently cast, and each is played to its full potential.
Hubschmid portrays the love-stricken and heroic architect brilliantly, and in such a way that audiences will take an instant liking to him. He is seen to be strong and brave, yet vulnerable to the charming and seductive Seetha.
Debra Paget, despite her lines being dubbed, is perfectly suited to the role of Seetha, the sensual dancer who falls for Harald. Indeed, the theme of eroticism, which is so ever-present in Lang’s work, is never more evident nor captivating than when Paget dances to the beats of the Indian drums. Although her acting is largely faultless throughout, it is her dancing that will be remembered from this feature, performing two of the most erotic and captivating dances seen on film during this period.
The film won’t be to everybody’s taste, purely because it was released so long ago - the quality of the feature is always going to be reduced, whether because of the special effects, the stunts or for many other reasons. However, Lang has directed a feature which relies not merely on special effects, but rather a fantastically compelling script, seductive arts and fine performances from the cast.
This is a very difficult feature to fault, particularly given that it was written prior to 1920, released in 1959 and still contains all of the ingredients which appeal to a modern day audience. It is not only visually engrossing, but also an intelligently woven script, which contains as much charm, seduction and edge-of-the-seat excitement as the Temple of Doom. Highly recommended. TMO
Fritz Lang returned to Germany on the eve of the 1960s to direct this enchanted penultimate work, a redraft of the diptych form pioneered in such silent Lang classics as Die Spinnen; Dr. Mabuse, der Spieler; and Die Nibelungen. Although no encapsulating title was lent at the time of release to what is, effectively, a single 3-hour-plus film split in two, the work that has come to be referred to in modern times as "the Indian epic" (consisting of Der Tiger von Eschnapur and Das indische Grabmal) proved to be one of the legendary director's most adventurous achievements. It was also one of the most popular successes Lang was to experience in his native land.
A German architect (Paul Hubschmid) is commissioned by an Indian maharaja (Walter Reyer) to construct a temple on his palatial grounds. After saving the life of a bewitching dancer (Debra Paget), on whom the maharaja has spousal designs, the pair are drawn into a hazardous maze of traps, perhaps the purest realisation of Lang's obsession with a labyrinthine 'house of traps' – that is, Man challenging Fate.
Like Lang's following final work, Die 1000 Augen des Dr. Mabuse, the Indian epic charts new territory for the director, as it strikes out into the über-melodramatic tenor of his early silents while instigating the colours of his emulsion into adopting a lurid, sometimes gaseous palette. Arriving in the wake of The River (Renoir), India matri bhumi (Rossellini) and Black Narcissus (Powell & Pressburger), it also stands among the remarkable mid-century contributions of the greatest Western filmmakers who have explored India.
This release features beautiful, newly restored transfers of the films in their original 1.37:1 aspect ratio; two soundtracks: the native German-language track, and the English-language dubtrack made for overseas distribution; newly translated optional English subtitles; and is packaged with a lengthy booklet containing an essay on the films by Lang scholar Tom Gunning (The Films of Fritz Lang: Allegories of Vision and Modernity); excerpts from interviews with Fritz Lang about the film; and more!
Film: Der Tiger von Eschnapur / Das indische Grabmal
Release date: 18th April 2011
Certificate: PG
Running time: 203 mins
Director: Fritz Lang
Starring: Debra Paget, Paul Hubschmid, Walter Reyer
Genre: Adventure/Drama/Romance/Thriller
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD
Country: West Germany/France/Italy
DVD Special Features:
•
New and exclusive feature-length audio commentaries, for both Der Tiger von Eschnapur and Das indische Grabmal, by film scholar David Kalat
•
20-minute documentary on the making of the Indian epic
•
Three minutes of vintage 8mm footage shot on location by actress Sabine Bethmann
•
The original French trailers for both Der Tiger von Eschnapur and Das indische Grabmal
Film: Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari
Release date: 18th September 2000
Certificate: U
Running time: 71 mins
Director: Robert Wiene
Starring: Werner Krauss, Conrad Veidt, Friedrich Feher, Lil Dagover, Hans Heinrich von Twardowski
Genre: Horror
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD
Country: Germany
A highly influential piece of 1920s German Expressionism, Robert Wiene's Das Cabinetd des Dr. Caligari is heralded by many as one of the definitive early horrors. It's thought to be the first film to use a certain twist ending which is now found frequently in cinema, though this was not the writers‘ original intention. It is also believed that the film's expressionist style helped influence the invention of the film noir genre. Today, the film has a strong cult following in Germany and around the globe.
The narrative is told as a flashback by main protagonist Francis (Friedrich Feher), as he tells his tale to a disturbed, seemingly elderly gentleman.
This was one of the earliest uses of the Frame Story convention in cinema, and was added to the script by the producer after the start of production. Francis tells his story to explain the trauma suffered by his beloved, Jane, who is also present and acting hauntingly. He describes how his friend Alan and he encountered a Dr Caligari (Werner Krauss) at a carnival, flaunting his somnambulist Cesare (Conrad Veidt) as a sideshow. A somnambulist is, literally translated, a sleepwalker, explained in the film as a person who spends most of their life in a state of trance-like sleep. The strange Caligari can bring Cesare out of this sleep and claims that the man can predict the future.
When Cesare’s predictions of death come true, it causes Francis to grow suspicious, and he begins his tragic investigations into Dr Caligari…
It is easy to see why this film has stood the test of time. Instantly, it grips the audience with its opening scene; the misty graveyard in which two traumatised men exchange competing tales of woe, shortly followed by the entrance of a beautiful but disturbed girl. She mutters to herself with troubled, dark-rimmed eyes, dressed in white - the perfect image of Gothic horror. Unlike F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu, which starts lightly and descends into darkness, this commencement scene reveals the darkness which the characters are headed towards, whilst still keeping the reveal hidden. This draws us in with a sense of foreboding hanging over every following scene - excellent application of a technique, which was new to cinema at the time.
The plot itself, however, is simplistic to a modern audience. It travels from A to B without much in the way of twists and turns – except, of course, for the ending. Interestingly, the end was supposed to be straight forward, but was deemed “too dark” to be released, and so a new ending had to be invented and tacked onto the end. This sudden new ending, fortunately, makes sense with the plot (unlike, say, the proposed alternative sugar-sweet ending for Brazil). It also comes as completely unexpected, as there were, of course, no clues about it seeded throughout the plot. This comes as especially unexpected due to the simplistic, un-subtle nature of the rest of the narrative – if the ending had been intended from the start, it may have been far too obvious. As it is, it shocked audiences who had never seen this happen before, and started a popular trend. There is much debate over the symbolic significance of these additions to the film, and how they affect the original messages; that of mind-washing and corruption in a time when the Nazi party were starting to gain power and favour. Some believe it added to, and others believe it detracted from this message. The only way to form your own opinion is to watch it!
The most notable achievement of the film is the art direction. Hermann Warm’s almost cartoonish sets are creative and expressive; perfect examples of German Expressionist art. Their off-kilter nature reflects that of the film, keeping the audience unsettled with small details, like a crooked door or slanted window. The style has influenced many directors since, such as the personal art and earlier films of American director Tim Burton, as well as many lower-budget cult directors. Richard Elfman’s 1980 cult hit, The Forbidden Zone features very similar sets, and is just one of many. The makeup used can also be seen to have influenced both these men. It is used effectively in the film to exaggerate expressions, particularly in the cases of Caligari and Cesare, where eyes are sometimes painted on top of closed eyelids to emphasize staring.
Whereas the art techniques have only been carried over into more cult or surrealist films, Willy Hameister’s striking use of lighting helped set a bar for later films of many genres. In black-and-white, the use of shadows and light are particularly important, and the bold choice of such drastic contrasts helped set a tone that was adopted by noir as the genre developed. It helps the sets appear surreal, but more importantly keeps the tone edgy and dangerous, which is what made the style so befitting to noir film. Black and white lines were painted on sets to imitate lighting, combining with the actual lighting to warp the images and seemingly bend the laws of physics. One would almost expect the sets to move like a Sally Cruickshank cartoon, fluid and dream-like. In fact, in one moment of distress, animation is used to convey a character’s troubled state of mind, but even without this, the scenes are nightmarish, engaging and memorable, making up for the occasionally slow storytelling.
The camerawork is a weak link in an otherwise strong chain. Stage-like sets and milling marketplace scenes put one in mind of a play more than a movie, and the static camerawork adds to this sensation. Film was still a new art, and it took several decades for moviemakers to fully drop the theatre mentality (later expressed through large musical set pieces), but with such interesting shapes and images on screen, more dynamic and experimental camerawork would have helped bring the potential to life.
Still, this is a product of the time, as is the acting, which, of course, seems over the top to us now. However, it is still highly enjoyable, and we mustn’t forget that there was nothing hammy about it to its original audience. With that considered, some of the acting is very strong, particularly that of Francis, a likable protagonist, and Cesare, a powerful performance from German legend Conrad Veidt. This was one of Veidt’s defining roles, and his presence left a lasting impression on many minds. Again a source of inspiration in the film, his influence can be seen in characters such as Tim Burton’s Edward Scissorhands.
Though not believable by modern standards, Werner Kraus’ performance also left a lasting impression, expressive and deranged. The damsel in distress, Jane (Lil Dagover), is less convincing to us, but her over-the top use of bold poses convey her distress and fear with strength, in the same way Greek actors would project emotions in an amphitheatre.
The film is available from several distributors, with a choice of optional musical soundtracks. The best quality restoration available in the UK seems to be from Eureka Entertainment.
A modern audience may no longer find this film frightening, but it isn’t one you’ll forget. An art show come to life, it’s worth a viewing purely to feast on the visuals. It is a must-see for historical value, as it has greatly influenced cinema in all areas, from scripting to cinematography. Occasionally campy, but ultimately tragic, Caligari entertains as well as plays on your sympathies, and once viewed, it will change your perception of cinema forever, for its fingerprints are everywhere to be found. AIB
Film: Mad Detective
Release date: 3rd November 2008
Certificate: 18
Running time: 89 mins
Director: Johnnie To & Wai Ka-Fai
Starring: Lau Ching-Wan, Andy On, Lam Ka Tung, Kelly Lin, Lee Kwok-Lun Lee
Genre: Action/Crime/Thriller
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong
Prolific director Johnnie To (Election, Exiled) collaborating with Wai Ka-Fai delivers an inventive spin on the police crime thriller in the form of a raving mad detective who can see inner personalities and endures mental and physical extremes in order to solve cases in the highest grossing Hong Kong film of 2007.
It is clear from the very beginning of the film just how mad our ‘mad detective’, Bun, is. The opening scene shows him tackling a homicide in which a student was stabbed to death and stuffed into a suitcase. Bun stabs the carcass of a pig repeatedly with a knife as colleagues look on before instructing new recruit Ho to hurl him down three flights of steps in a suitcase. He then leaps out of the case and solves the crime on the spot. In the following scene, as the boss is applauded by colleagues at the police station upon his retirement, Bun slices off his own ear and offers it to him as a token.
Jump forward eighteen months, and Bun has been discharged for his crazy behaviour. The main plot of the film then revolves around the disappearance of a detective named Wong, and consequent armed robberies and murders carried-out with his gun. The main suspect is Wong’s partner, Chi-wai, who was with Wong on a stake-out the night he disappeared. The detective put in charge of the case, Ho, turns to disgraced ‘mad detective’ Bun to help him find out the truth.
While at first he admires Bun’s subversive methods, as he gets closer to the truth, Ho becomes suspicious and scared, and thinks Bun is just imagining everything and putting his career at risk. By now Bun has his teeth into the case - and refuses to let go…
Mad Detective could have so easily been just another of the formulaic police crime thrillers that Hong Kong churns out by the dozen. Instead, Bun’s ability to see inner personalities provides freshness and originality, as the audience is never quite sure what he is going to see or do next. He is a highly likable character brilliantly played by Lau Ching-Wan, who gets the delicate blend of madness and pathos just right. He wears the same grey suit in every scene, with trouser legs that come down to the top of his ankles, and sports scruffy black hair and a bandage on his head. He looks like the misfit he is. As a spectator, you can’t help but like him and pity him, while all the time thinking what a total loon he is.
Bun’s madness doesn’t end there. It transpires that Bun is able to see the inner personalities of other people, or thinks he sees them. The more complex and conflicted a person is, the more inner personalities he or she has. Bun sees seven personalities within suspect Chi-wai, including a cowardly fat man and an attractive, intelligent woman who tells Chi-wai what to say. There is a flashback seen in the film showing how these personalities affect the behaviour of the character, and this is a constant theme in the narrative.
Bun also sees and hears his former wife, argues with her at home, and takes her out for dinner at a restaurant, even though no-one else can see her. Bun is a tortured soul who appears crazy to the outside world, which is no surprise when his behaviour is about as barking mad as it gets. A shot of Bun’s reflection in a shattered bathroom mirror in a restaurant scene perfectly captures the fractured mental state of the protagonist.
Unlike a number of To’s previous films, the emphasis is less on style and more on character, and thanks to the impressive central performance this works well. That said, and as with all To’s films, Mad Detective looks stylish with first-class cinematography. There are some very effective, well thought-out shots and compositions, such as the use of shattered glass in the climatic shoot-out to show the multiple personalities. The production values are very good, as are the performances, and direction is tight and inventive. The film has a low-key aesthetic with a dominant grey tone. Music is used unobtrusively and effectively.
There is little wrong with Mad Detective. That said, it does require the audience to work, and does not spell everything out. It is a film which is thematically multi-layered and asks questions about who we are and what we will do for self preservation. This is not a criticism but it might alienate some viewers who could find it frustrating. Dramatically, the film never fully explodes and, while the ending is good, you do feel that there should have been something more in the final third to elevate the film to the classic status it very nearly reaches.
A highly original and satisfying film which deserves the success it has achieved both commercially and critically. It is rare to be surprised by this type of genre film but Mad Detective comes across as completely fresh. It is also worth seeing for the excellent performance of Lau Ching-Wan as Bun who steals the show. Recommended. LM
Film: Le amiche
Release date: 21st March 2011
Certificate: PG
Running time: 104 mins
Director: Michelangelo Antonioni
Starring: Eleanora Rossi-Drago, Gabriele Ferzetti, Franco Fabrizi, Valentina Cortese, Yvonne Furneaux
Genre: Drama/Romance
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD
Country: Italy
World renowned filmmaker Michelangelo Antonioni will forever be remembered for his masterpieces of the 1960s, most notably L’Avventura and Blow-Up, among others. Before then, the 1950s saw Antonioni developing his style and moving away from neo-realism. An example of this period is Le amiche (1955), an adaptation of the 1949 novella Tra Donne Sole by Cesare Pavese. The result is both moving and alluring.
The film centres on Clelia, who has moved to Turin from Rome to manage a dressmaking store. Through chance, she becomes involved with a group of rich women after finding one of them, Rosetta, in a neighbouring hotel room attempting suicide. Friendship blossoms between Clelia and the women, including Momina (separated from her husband), Nene (a talented artist, engaged but unhappy) and Mariella (flirty and fun-loving).
We follow the ladies, first as they investigate the reasons for Rosetta’s attempted suicide, and then as they all struggle with their relationships, marriages, affairs and unrequited love…
Though Le amiche (The Girlfriends) follows the (mis)fortunes of five women, it would be a mistake to think of it as feminist cinema. Antonioni masterfully portrays a period in the lives of these women, and the struggles they face with their relationships (or lack thereof), but at no point does a male audience feel alienated. It’s true that it is the female characters in Le amiche that are truly three dimensional and the men could be interchangeable, but it feels as though this is intentional, and it doesn’t make the drama any less compelling.
The girlfriends of the title are all superbly cast, perfectly drawn characters. Clelia is as confident in her career as she is unsure about love, particularly with the working class Carlo. Momina devours every scene she is in with her cynicism, wit and masked insecurity. Nene is vulnerable but talented, eclipsing her husband-to-be. Rosetta is weak and naive, and possibly manipulative. Mariella is beautiful and fun loving and despises boredom. Each of them adds layers to the unfolding drama, and their similarities and differences are perfectly portrayed by a truly excellent cast.
The men in the film are portrayed almost as archetypes, each one weak in his own way, and never fully developed as a character, but played to perfection. The notable male roles are the alpha-male Cesare, architect for Clelia’s dressmaking store; Carlo, the working class assistant; and Lorenz, an artist who doesn’t know who he loves, which has tragic consequences.
This mix of archetype and fully rounded characters makes for some truly compelling drama, and they all seem to dance with their dialogue, offering some wonderful on-screen chemistry and tense exchanges.
Character driven as Le amiche may be, Antonioni is still a tangible presence behind the camera. It is as elegant a film as you’re likely to see, with long takes allowing the interaction between characters to flow and draw us in, as the camera moves almost imperceptibly around the scene, giving the whole film a casual pace. The movements of the characters themselves are very deliberate and never does any one character eclipse another during a scene, with subtle shifts and changes of position occurring almost without being noticed. Every shot is very densely populated, either by people or scenery - whether it is a social gathering, an art studio or simply two people in a room, there is plenty to look at with each shot lovingly framed so the characters are not drowned out by the crowded background. The opening titles, appearing over a slow pan of the whole of Turin, are beautifully contrasted with the final, bare and empty shot of a train leaving for Rome. It’s easy to see Antonioni is in the early stages of his career, and developing his style with moments like this.
That said, the subtle camera work and dialogue-heavy scenes do not always make for a very cinematic film. There are times that one can imagine the drama unfolding on a stage, so reliant is the film on dialogue rather than cinematic technique to drive things forward. It is only a minor complaint, however, as Antonioni affectionately handles each character, and allows the drama to unfold in such a way that we follow them all without really missing any groundbreaking behind-the-camera flair or any moments of breathtaking visuals. With Le amiche, what we can see is a truly unique talent in development, and to watch the film after his later works, such as Blow-Up, is a very interesting experience.
Le amiche is a rich and enthralling drama which deals with relationships and the problems faced by very ordinary people, where class and background are as much an issue as whether or not two people are truly in love. Clelia and Carlo’s story is one that is never portrayed as tragic, merely a consequence of the fact they come from different social backgrounds. While this is still relevant today, albeit far less of an issue, there are some themes and moments in the film that definitely feel a little old fashioned, particularly Momina’s declaration that any woman who outshines their man is a “wretch.” This is not so much a complaint as an observation that Le amiche does not stand up to the test of time in the way other Antonioni films have, and neither is it a perfectly captured period piece, which holds the film back from being a classic in the same way we think of Blow-Up and L’Avventura as classics. It is a great film nonetheless, and deserves attention from anyone who wishes to know more about this influential director.
The casual pace and the lack of any truly distinctive flair make Le amiche a bit of a strain, at times, but the excellent performances, superb script and Antonioni’s masterful handling of the drama make for a beautiful and moving statement on relationships. For fans of Antonioni’s later work, it’s definitely worth watching to see where he started. For those who have never seen an Antonioni film, start here and work forwards. You won’t regret it. RM
Film: La signora senza camelie
Release date: 21st March 2011
Certificate: PG
Running time: 105 mins
Director: Michelangelo Antonioni
Starring: Lucia Bosé, Gino Cervi, Andrea Checchi, Ivan Desny, Monica Clay
Genre: Drama
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Italy/France
Having already released two of Michelangelo Antonioni’s films onto DVD, Il Grido (1957) and La Notte (1961), the Masters of Cinema series has now endeavoured to showcase his earlier works, including 1953’s La signora senza camelie. Long before the days of Oscar nominations and Jack Nicholson, Antonioni was busy building a career by making films about women thrust into social circles that they aren’t familiar with. This is particularly true of La signora senza camelie, which follows the career of a shopgirl-turned-actress propelled into the enticing new world of Rome’s Cinecitta film studios.
Shop Assistant Clara Manni (Bosé) has been handpicked by movie executive Gianni (Checchi) for his new film, ‘Woman Without Destiny’. When test screenings reveal that the public are enamoured with Clara, but less enthusiastic about Destiny itself, producer Ercole sees an opportunity to take advantage of his actress’ shapely presence and spice the film up a bit, with less attention to detail and more overt displays of passion.
Clara becomes compromised when she marries Gianni, who subsequently gets jealous at how provocative the marketing for her film is, and categorically states that he doesn’t want her involved with it anymore. She reluctantly agrees, and after requesting a more serious avenue of filmmaking, they set about on a new version of the daunting trial of Joan of Arc, with Gianni in the director’s chair. Suffice to say, the film fares terribly when premiered at the Venice Film Festival, and with both their reputations in tatters, Clara is forced to evaluate their marriage and the career that she has embarked upon…
La signora senza camelie actually begins as a more brisk, satirical jibe at the movie business in its opening act, as the producer commands his bewildered director to change the feel of the film with very little regard to authenticity. A year after Hollywood’s own insular critique, The Bad And The Beautiful, it is as scathing a depiction of art versus commerce – if much more comic and resigned about the whole enterprise. Filmmaking is promoted as a fun but altogether shallow experience, defined by money, jealousy, and other trivial external factors that have nothing to do with artistry. If nothing else, Antonioni feels contemptuous of this brand of cinema – a suggestion to film on location is lambasted despite neo-realist cinema being presented as an example of how it can work – and La signora senza camelie represents a commentary on the regressive and opportunistic nature of the film world.
The opening shot of the film stalks Clara as she tentatively waits outside a test screening of the film for a general reaction, unsure of herself, questioning whether this is the right path for her. We feel her pressure and her uncertainty even at this early stage, weighing up the situation as if to say: can things really be this easy? It’s remarkable how Antonioni evokes an era in order to expose the emotional solitude of his characters; whether that takes the form of the espionage revival of the 1970s, the voyeuristic sexuality of the ‘60s, or the cosmopolitan distraction of the ‘50s. He’s so in touch with how these worlds can engulf and impress upon people, create a faux sense of belonging, and cajole them into giving too much of themselves.
Nicknamed La Manni, Carla’s newfound fame turns the heads of many men, but particularly Nardo, who comforts her after Joan of Arc is trashed by Venice critics. Although key in Carla’s grand journey of discovery, her romance with Nardo represents the dullest portion of the film – largely because there’s very little chemistry between them, and partly because it feels so far removed from the rest. This section of La signora senza camelie is more attuned to the feel of later Antonioni films, but doesn’t really sit well amidst the more biographical elements. This is not a compact narrative by any means. But while it lulls somewhat, there’s always a lingering curiosity towards Carla; why she’s acting so recklessly different to her earlier, studious outlook on romance. Bosé charts Carla’s self-awareness deceptively astutely through the film’s second half, to the extent where the more sudden, bleaker realisations of the character feel like a natural culmination of where this woman has been heading.
The resounding success of La signora senza camelie is in the impact of its heroine’s Ophulsian arc, and Antonioni, in his ability to show how the movie business uses people, colours their sense of self-worth, and exploits their aesthetic qualities to pigeon-hole them into archetypal signifiers. Antonioni has made a film that’s largely understated yet remarkably effective. Joan of Arc may be used as an example of a legacy leagues ahead of the fickle talent in this filmmaking world, but the final shot of La signora senza camelie is one that almost references the Maid Of New Orleans in its harrowing indictment of male regulation of the female form. It’s hard out there for an actress. CR
Film: The Burmese Harp
Release date: 21st February 2011
Certificate: 12
Running time: 117 mins
Director: Kon Ichikawa
Starring: Rentarô Mikuni, Shôji Yasui, Jun Hamamura, Taketoshi Naitô, Shunji Kasuga
Genre: Drama/War
Studio: Eureka!
Format: DVD
Country: Japan
Based on the bestselling book of the same name, The Burmese Harp is the story of one Japanese army unit’s experiences at the tail end of the Second World War, retreating through war torn Burma. The film was the first of director Ichikawa’s works to be shown internationally, garnering an Oscar nomination and awards from the Venice Film Festival. The film gave Western audiences one of the earliest depictions of the Second World War from the point of view of the Japanese forces.
The soldiers make their appearance in the film picking their way through South East Asian jungle, a familiar war film motif which swiftly develops into something atypical, as the soldiers are led by their captain in a sentimental song of home, with one soldier accompanying them on a Burmese harp. The narrator, one of the unit’s soldiers, explains that “we often sang...these songs lifted our spirits in times of sorrow and pain”.
The company’s attempt to retreat across the border from Burma to Thailand is curtailed by an encounter with the British army, when they discover that the Japanese war command have surrendered and the war is at an end. Taken prisoner by the British, they are told that they will be taken 200 miles south to a POW camp, to await transport back to Japan. But one of the soldiers will be making this journey alone.
Mizushima is asked by the British to help them persuade another Japanese unit who are holding out in a mountain stronghold to surrender. Here he encounters the Japanese code of honour that is familiar from many war movies – that surrender is shameful and, when faced with capture, death is the only acceptable recourse.
Unable to dissuade the soldiers from their imminent destruction, Mizushima nevertheless manages to survive the British attack. A Buddhist monk offers him food and shelter, but Mizushima is keen to rejoin his comrades and steals the monk’s cloak in order to adopt a safe disguise for the long and lonely journey south. The journey is a physical ordeal as, close to starvation and with bleeding feet, he traverses harsh landscapes under the sun’s unremitting glare. But the journey’s emotional impact is even more harrowing. Over and over, Mizushima encounters the slain bodies of his countrymen, left in the open air to rot and be picked over by birds of prey. The experience causes him to undergo a profound change.
Among his friends at the camp, Mizushima achieves a semi-mythical status, as they fret over the possibility of his survival and catch unconfirmed glimpses of him in the vicinity of the camp. Mizushima reaches his physical destination, but a spiritual chasm has opened between his former and present life, and the film’s purpose is to illustrate how this comes about, and the manner in which Mizushima feels he must resolve it…
The Burmese Harp is a curiously unwarlike war film, with various factors contributing to this. The film’s music plays a major part. Cutting into the film almost from the very start, its music instils a tone of mournful reflection which immediately signposts that contemplation rather than action is paramount to the film’s message. The Burmese Harp was overdubbed with a western pedal harp, while the choral harmonies of the Japanese soldiers are reminiscent of a Welsh male voice choir, giving a curiously European feel to the music. The soldiers repeatedly sing Home Sweet Home, a song which makes explicit the nostalgic significance of music for the soldiers. Far from belligerent, they are disarmed by a melancholic yearning for the simple, lost pleasures of a long disappeared past.
Another aspect of the film which imparts it with a philosophical quality is the way director Ichikawa composes his shots. Perhaps betraying his original background as an artist rather than a director, the light and almost metaphorical anguish of the subject matter of some scenes suggest the devastation of battle as painted by Delacroix or Picasso. The figures of the strangers Mizushima encounters on his journey seem tiny against the monumental landscapes he crosses. When he reaches the shore of a vast river, you could believe him to be at the edge of the river Styx or Jordan, so otherworldly does this landscape appear. Ichikawa frequently frames his shots so that they alternate between the whole group of soldiers and a sudden focus upon a single face, a technique which conveys an impression of how war is experienced by the soldiers both as a collective unit and on a more human, individual level.
Most of the action of The Burmese Harp was filmed in Japan, with only the crew and the lead actor, Shôji Yasui, travelling to Burma to film a limited number of scenes. The Burmese location appears to most powerfully affect towards the end of the film, as Mizushima stands solemnly in his monk’s robe by the worn stones of an ancient stupa, mist drifting among the smoky leafiness of the surrounding trees. For the film to be at all convincing, Ichikawa needed to cast someone in the part of Mizushima who would be believable both as a soldier and as a sensitive man undergoing a profound spiritual crisis. Yasui possesses that quality, which the director identified in Javier Bardem, the lead actor of his film Biutiful, of a “profound and complex inner life.” This quality makes Yasui fascinating to watch, so that the absence of action – and the film does make slow-moving progress – is compensated by the fascination of trying to discern and interpret the inner struggle that Yasui subtly portrays.
Among all this solemnity and emotional longing, the film is lightened by some comic scenes featuring an old Burmese lady who visits the camp to trade goods with the soldiers, providing a link between them and the outside world. These more humorous scenes heighten our awareness of the divide between Mizushima and his comrades, and make his story all the more dramatic in contrast to the more everyday experience of his friends.
The Burmese Harp delivers its pacifist message through the medium of gentle reflection rather than the shock and blood tactics of Oliver Stone or other Vietnam film directors. With modern hindsight, it may seem to skirt the realities of the Japanese campaign in Burma, but there was still relatively little awareness of this at the time of the film was made. Its perspective is humanistic rather than nationalistic, and its images continue to haunt long after the closing credits. KR
