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Book: Postnationalist African Cinemas
Release date: 17th March 2011
Author: Alexie Tcheuyap
Publisher: Manchester University Press
African cinema is not usually discussed among people who are not already cinephiles, and the films are not often selected for distribution or viewings in the West by mainstream cinema chains or distribution companies. Alexie Tcheuyap’s work Postnationalist African Cinemas offers an insight into the developing genres of African cinema, discussing critical analysis and putting forward his own argument that African cinema is no longer simply nationalist reactionism to the colonial past, but rather has a growing cinema industry with its own interpretation of classic genres.
In a very lengthy introduction, Tcheuyap sets out his objectives for the book and discusses the different concepts he believes are relevant when considering post-nationalist cinema. FEPACI, an African body set up to promote African values and tradition as a reaction to post colonial influences, is highlighted as a barrier to the creation of genre. Other obstacles to post-nationalist cinema are also discussed, such as funding, distribution, and cinema being seen as education rather than entertainment. Tcheuyap also quotes established critics (Diawara, Bartlet, Ouedraogo…) and both points out the traditional viewpoint that African cinema is mostly nationalistic and his wish to write critical analysis opposing this, showing that genre in African outside of nationalism does now exist.
The book is then divided into seven chapters, each discussing a genre, such as comedy, the epic production, unmasked sexuality, witchcraft and crime fiction, amongst others. In each chapter, Tcheuyap puts forward the critically established viewpoint, lays out his objectives in challenging it where relevant and discusses examples of African films where the genre has been developed in a uniquely African way. Continuing with an essay writing style, Tcheuyap concludes his work with a reiteration of the points he sees as the most valid and emphasises how African cinema has much to offer…
Postnationalist African Cinemas offers a complex analysis which combines different schools of thought versus the writer’s opinion. The argument for genre as evidence that African cinema has moved beyond pan-Africanism is convincing in its validity, however, the introduction is a little too verbose and difficult to absorb, sometimes necessitating re-reading some of Tcheuyap’s points in order to fully follow his train of thought, which although passionate and intelligent, moves rapidly along the different lines of argument. However, once the basic premise of his argument has been grasped, Tcheuyap successfully highlights the need for African cinema to be given credit for the development of genre and the evidence of increased popularity in areas such as Nollywood (the Nigerian slash bollywood type film scene) is used as testament to this argument.
Tcheuyap presents his argument skilfully in each chapter. In detailing, for example, how often in crime fiction in Africa the hero is often the criminal who is trying to work against corrupt modes of power, Tcheuyap not only demonstrates efficiently how African cinema has subverted the Western crime fiction genre (where a crime usually takes place and the viewers accompany the investigator solving the crime, thus making the investigator the hero figure), but also in describing a selection of films where this takes place provides insight into the great collection of work on offer and invites the reader to investigate this work for themselves.
There is a lot of detail covered in each chapter and Tcheuyap has clearly both researched and referenced the topics excellently. Despite the quantity of information to digest, there are some common threads running throughout which hold the book together: critics are discussed in each chapter; there is repetition of an organised structure of laying out objectives and then tactful argument against the traditional standpoints in a methodical manner; and the same films are often quoted in different genre categories.
As the introduction and conclusion are written in a very intellectual manner, with mostly conceptual analysis, readers who are new to African cinema will perhaps find the genre chapters more enjoyable to read as they have a less confusing pace, and provide more of a selection of African films available in each genre discussed. Having an introduction of almost forty pages could have perhaps have been reduced and more information kept for the conclusion.
Tcheuyap offers a balanced view in both providing evidence for his argument but also ensuring he discusses the critical standpoints which don’t necessarily agree with him. This in fact lends more validity to his argument in return.
Tcheuyap achieves what he sets out to and convincingly demonstrates that African cinema has moved beyond nationalism into creating cinema for entertainment over education. He shows that modern African directors are adding their own interpretation of African themes to classic genres successfully. Tcheuyap makes some interesting points on the roles of women in cinema, the preservation of traditional African culture, but also successfully places Africa in a global context. Tcheuyap can therefore be forgiven for having so much information leading to a complex read because, as the author concludes himself, Africa has so much variety to offer. It would be difficult to construct a work on a topic which covers a continent’s contribution to this industry in the modern age without having to cover a lot of ground. AT
Book: Avant-Garde To New Wave: Czechoslovak Cinema, Surrealism And The Sixties
Release date: 14th March 2011
Author: Jonathan L. Owen
Publisher: Berghahn
Although less famous than the French Nouvelle Vague, the cinema of the Czechoslovak New Wave boasts some of the most attractive and intelligent films produced anywhere in 1960s Europe. Jonathan L. Owen’s Avant-Garde To New Wave explores the influence of the avant-garde upon the Czechoslovak New Wave and the political implications of that influence.
Tracing the influence of the avant-garde in art and literature throughout the 20th century, Owen’s book examines the films of the Czechoslovak New Wave within the socio-political context of 1960s Czechoslovakia.
Divided into seven chapters, the first chapter provides an overview of the social and cultural context of the period, before taking a more in-depth analysis of some of the key films of the movement: Pavel Juráček’s Josef Kilián (1963) and A Case For The Young Hangman (1969), Jiří Menzel’s Closely Observed Trains (1966), Věra Chytilová’s Daisies (1966), Juraj Jakubisko’s The Deserter And The Nomads (1968) and Birds, Orphans And Fools (1969), Jaromil Jireš’s Valerie And Her Week Of Wonders (1970), and Jan Švankmajer’s short films…
It is difficult to make a generalisation about the Czechoslovak New Wave; there was no manifesto or theoretical writings underpinning the group - which was never ever a formal one in any case - and it’s hard to pin the movement down to a particular style. The main thing the Czechoslovak filmmakers of the ‘60s shared in common was that their films had been shaped by the cultural and political reforms the country had undergone since 1962. Known as ‘the Golden Age’ of Czechoslovak cinema, directors enjoyed state support of the film industry, a receptive audience both home and abroad (especially in the US, where two Czech films gained academy awards in 1966), and relative artistic freedom. The films of the Czechoslovak New Wave formed a movement, then, not because they shared stylistic concerns, but rather because they were a response to the historical and political reality of 1960s Czechoslovakia. The culmination of this period came during the Prague Spring of 1968 when Czechoslovakia’s leader Alexander Dubcek declared the emergence of “socialism with a human face.” By the summer of 1968, though, it was all over: the Soviets rolled into Prague, unseated Dubcek and imposed the most draconian social and political regulations since the Stalin era, effectively ending the Czechoslovak New Wave.
With the exception of Menzel’s film, Owen is less interested in more obviously political New Wave films - works which drew on real historical events such as the Holocaust in Elmar Klos and Ján Kádar's The Shop On Main Street (1965), or post-WWII Czech-German tension in František Vláčil’s Adelheid (1969) - and more concerned with those films which were politicised through their engagement with avant-garde traditions. Particular attention is given to the Surrealism movement, synonymous with the country ever since André Breton first identified the capital Prague as “the magical capital of old Europe” and “one of those cities that electively pin down poetic thought,” leading to the founding of a Czech Surrealist group.
Of the directors studied in the book, only Švankmajer actually belonged to the group, but Owen argues convincingly that all the directors were shaped by the same undercurrent of Surrealist/avant-garde tradition. Some of the most interesting chapters cover the influence of Kafka on Juráček’s Josef Kilián, the blending of avant-garde with folk tradition in the films of Jakubisko, and the relationship between Jireš’s Valerie and Her Week Of Wonders and the bohemian surrealism of Vitězslav Nezval’s source novel.
The more abstract films associated with the movement were accused by (mainly Western) critics and filmmakers of being mystifying, exemplified in Jean-Luc Godard's censure of Vera Chytilova's Daisies as apolitical and cartoonish, even bourgeois. Yet, to imply that the films are apolitical is to fail to take into account the context of the Czechoslovak state and socialist realist aesthetics. Socialist realism was predominantly a Stalin-era aesthetic that employed a highly figurative method of realist depiction, and had been adopted as a prevalent aesthetic in Czechoslovakia following World War II. Czechoslovakia had basically been rendered a Soviet satellite state following the war and would remain so until the relinquishing of Soviet control and an impulse toward self-determination in the early 1960s.
In the 1960s, Czechoslovak art, film, and literature were working against this tradition, while also emerging from the same notion that propelled socialist realism: the notion that art was immediate and political. This context meant that art appearing to be devoid of political content (in the West) only appeared so because, unlike in the West, art itself was intrinsically politicised in its Eastern European context. It is difficult for Western audiences to fully grasp this element and the book’s main achievement is in placing the works in a comprehensible social and cultural background, describing the milieu and ideas which helped shape the works. Owen also convincingly argues that the avant-garde was in itself political, in that it offered a different viewpoint and interpretation of reality in opposition to state-defined realism. Thus, the feminism of Chytilova’s Daisies, the Otherness of Jakubisko’s films, the deviant sexuality of Jireš’s Valerie and Her Week Of Wonders all offered alternative interpretations of reality at odds with that put forward by the powers that be.
If there are some shortcomings in Owen’s book, it would be that there isn’t much sense of how the films feel. The Czechoslovak New Wave could be surprisingly moving and involving on a more visceral and emotional level, and Owen’s focus on the intellectual import of the films might give the impression Czechoslovakian cinema was more head than heart. Neither can the book be recommended to those looking for a way into the Czechoslovak New Wave; its focus being specifically on those films Owen feels best illustrate his main thesis. The overall tone - not to mention the £50 price tag - suggests Avant-Garde To New Wave isn’t really intended for a general readership, and it’s probably aimed at dedicated students of film. Many of these films have only recently been reissued through BFI or Second Run (whose design coincidently or otherwise is mirrored in this book’s cover), and, to be frank, you could probably buy most of the films covered here for the price of the book itself. That said, Avant-Garde To New Wave is a welcome addition to a far from overcrowded field of study.
Meticulously researched and filled with interesting insights, Avant-Garde To New Wave is an impressive work of film scholarship. The definitive book on the subject, for the time being, remains Peter Hames’s The Czechoslovak New Wave; but if you already have an interest in this corner of world cinema and wish to delve deeper into the fascinating world of Czechoslovak film then Owen’s book comes recommended. GJK
Book: Lars von Trier
Release date: 25th April 2011
Author: Linda Badley
Publisher: University Of Illinois Press
With his visually uncomfortable and often disturbing movies, it is evident that Danish director Lars von Trier is certainly an influential character in the current artistic climate. But behind his overtly constructed media persona, and his willingly risqué presentations, it is difficult to pinpoint who exactly the real Lars von Trier is. In this short overview of his works, Linda Badley analyses his more recent films, and explores the fundamental question: is Lars von Trier a genius or a fraud?
Lars von Trier is one of the latest releases in the Contemporary Film Directors series published by the University of Illinois Press. Beginning in 2003, the series has featured critical analyses on the likes of Pedro Almodóvar, Joel and Ethan Coen and Roman Polanski. Lars von Trier explores Trier’s films in their chronological order of production, giving the reader a progressive insight into the development of an internationally acclaimed filmmaker. Badley briefly introduces his earlier short films and his conception into the art world, subsequently focusing on his more modern productions via the use of literary criticism and her own theories and analysis.
Beginning with Trier’s ascension into the role of auteur, Badley explains his desire to shape his character before he had even found a creative outlet - he assumed the ‘von’ in his name whilst studying at the Danish Film School in the early 1980s, thus aiming to construct a particular image of himself in conjunction with his work. Badley uses Trier’s own words to explain how, as a David Bowie fan, he wanted to use the same technique of creating an “entire myth” around his persona and fuse this extension of himself with his elaborate art.
Badley addresses Trier’s childhood uncertainties about his believed Jewish heritage (which was disproved on his mother’s deathbed as she revealed that she’d had an affair), his notorious tendency to abuse his female actresses into disturbingly intense performances, and the influence of early horror like The Exorcist and, more recently, Japanese horror. These various insights into the mind of the filmmaker are used to develop a legitimate and three-dimensional impression of Lars von Trier whilst also highlighting the intention behind his films…
Badley does not merely skip over details; this is a direct but abundant walkthrough of Trier’s life and artistic motives. Out of the book’s 214 pages, only 151 are allocated to Badley’s critique of Trier - the remainder is filled with notes, indexes and two interviews with the director himself. In such a small space, Badley manages to intricately investigate his films, touching on the development of Trier himself as a person and as a performance. There are endless opportunities for thorough discussions on such a distinctive character, and yet Lars von Trier is wonderfully concise. Badley seems to pick out the absolutely necessary ideas and build them into an invaluable outline of his entire career; you can open the book at any page and instantly land upon a fascinating perspective or debate.
Each chapter is freighted with plenty of valuable quotes; there is a constant connection to Trier’s own viewpoint and ideas. Films are discussed within allocated sections, marking a clear path through the director’s professional journey. Badley highlights areas where Trier’s style and ethics both overlap and develop: from his transition to focusing on the female in Breaking The Waves (1996) up to his now expected inducement of actress distress by the time of Antichrist (2009), and his regular adoption of a perpetually bleak and stark visual palette.
Literary criticism is used to analyse the theoretical aspects of Trier’s work; such as discussions in the fields of gender relations and religion, the psychoanalytical approach to assessing the role of the suffering female, and the influence of Nietzsche on Trier (particularly the title choice of Trier’s Antichrist, having kept a copy of Nietzsche’s The Antichrist with him since the age of 12). As Trier is intrinsically linked to repression and exploitation of the female role, it is uplifting to see his choices explained through his own words. He is not the sadist he is socially understood to be; Trier is in fact projecting these women as metaphorical self-portraits, not as real people. The informality and openness of the included interviews with Trier are useful in questioning the rumours of brutality in his creativity.
Trier’s prolific supply of emotional distress is observed rather than attacked, presenting an unbiased critique of his style. Chapters are organised with clarity, followed by a useful filmography and a clearly presented index. The book is aimed at scholars; it is not a light read, and it is linguistically sophisticated. However, the content itself is extremely interesting and informative, rendering it appropriate for an audience outside media students and other authors.
Linda Badley provides a succinct exploration of the Lars von Trier catalogue, omitting a ‘conclusion’ chapter in order to let the individual film analyses speak for themselves. ‘Genius or fraud?’ becomes irrelevant after reading of Trier’s ambitious ideas and challenging persona, not to mention his various awards. Anybody wanting to see deeper into the eyes of a modern cinema icon will definitely have something to gain from reading Lars von Trier. NM
Book: François Ozon
Release date: 25th April 2011
Author: Thibaut Schilt
Publisher: University Of Illinois Press
In François Ozon, Thibaut Schilt zooms in on the career to date of the famous French director of the same name, discussing his early life and family background, his qualifications and motivations, and analysing Ozon’s life work. From the short films of his early career as well as the internationally acclaimed 8 femmes and Sous le Sable, Schilt focuses on the many themes of this controversial director’s portfolio, projects such as homosexuality, adultery, murder, mortality and the fantastical.
Starting with Ozon’s early life, Schilt discusses the young director’s commandeering of his father’s camera and use of his family to make early films such as Photo de Famille. He also describes how Ozon mostly deals with taboos and “perversions” in his early career, the director later pointing out in his interview that he started out aggressively with something to prove.
Schilt then chronologically works through Ozon’s films up to the director’s current project, Pontiche. He discusses each of the films’ main themes, plot line and critical reaction; both negative and positive, switching between topics quickly with much thematic discussion. Schilt talks of the actors used, as well as camera technique and the use of music. Ozon’s cinephilia and the tributes to other films and directors through his own direction are also highlighted…
The interconnectedness of these themes is emphasised by the way Schilt jumps between each of the director’s films in each section as each theme is discussed, which Schilt divides into groups of roughly three in each section of the chapters. This can be quite confusing as you adapt to Schilt’s style of writing, as not much time is spent on each point before he moves back and forth between the themes under analysis. The chapters are quite long and Schilt often has a meandering prose.
The book is enthusiastically written and well referenced, and Schilt’s use of so many sources is admirable. Direct citations from screenplay, interviews with the director and quotes from the actors, including their views on their roles and the films in question are all used. Schilt also ensures each of his points are followed with the main critical view points published on each topic, including quotations from critics, which may not back up his own opinion, ensuring a balanced view.
Due to the heavy plot description given on each film, this is best read after having already watched Ozon’s work. Schilt only just holds back on some of the cinematic twists, or denouements (his preferred term). Schilt is very knowledgeable on cinematic theory, and the skills he has gained in the teaching profession are put to good use with his discussion of Ozon’s influences, such as auteur theory, and his contribution to New Wave cinema. This discussion comes across as well informed and easy to absorb, which is enjoyable to read.
Schilt writes intelligently and has clearly aimed to compose a well-researched biographical book on a director who he admires. Due to his obvious passion for Ozon’s work, and an almost eagerness to fit in the many opinions he has on the director, the book can seem cluttered and difficult to follow. At times, Schilt says, “as I have already discussed,” and this can seem the only link back to a point that was discussed but never summarised. This can come across as frustrating; meriting a pause in reading to catch up with the writer and let his points sink in. His passion has perhaps led to a haphazard approach, although it does succeed in drawing you back to the book after a brief respite, and certainly inspires to re-watch Ozon’s films with Schilt’s viewpoint now in mind.
By the point of the discussion of Sous le Sable, 8 Femmes and Swimming Pool, the text feels more coherent, however, perhaps this is just the length of time taken to accustom to the writer’s style, and may vary depending on the reader’s tastes. Shilt’s discussion of the ‘Lost In Translation’ idea (p.119) is interesting and utilizes the professor’s obvious language skills as he points out how Gouttes D’eau sure Pierres Brûlantes may have different significance, depending on whether the viewer is coming to the film in Japan, Germany or France.
Schilt increases his use of the personal tense as the book progresses, and his ideas come across as more developed, leaving more of an impression of his own views rather than a summary of the critical standpoint. This adds a welcome new dimension to what up to this point could have passed for more of a documentation of fact rather than a subjective analysis.
The lack of a final summary from Schilt means the ending of the book is quite abrupt. The fact you have come to the end comes as a shock, however, having the director’s interview at the end is perhaps a cunning move. It enables the reader to read the interview with Ozon after having heard submission of so many thematic standpoints, now hearing directly from the horses’ mouth what Ozon’s intentions are. Schilt’s lack of commentary on this interview (despite extracts being used throughout the book itself) suggests Schilt’s wish to remain impartial, and having already pointed out how Ozon’s films often allow the viewer to come to their own conclusion and take different aspects from each time they watch his work, perhaps Schilt has aimed to offer the reader the same opportunity, leaving you to ponder on the mass of information he has provided.
This book would be ideal for a fan of Ozon who has enjoyed the director’s films, looking for a more in depth view of how the films were received internationally, and wishing to find out more about the lesser known aspects of Ozon’s career and his motivations. The interview is invaluable in providing an insight into the director and confirms that Shilt has drawn the correct conclusions in watching the films as the director agrees with many of Schilt’s points of view on cinephilia, and wanting to offer insight into difficult subjects such as same-sex relationships, patricide and mortality. Although Schilt’s advanced knowledge leads to a complex reading experience, his enthusiasm is passed to the reader, and successfully educates on the life of a fascinating man. AT
Book: Film In The Middle East And North Africa: Creative Dissidence
Release date: 5th April 2011
Publisher: University Of Texas Press
If the question of how much do you know about the cinema of the Middle East and Africa was posed to most people in the Western side of the world, the likelihood is that they could at best name a couple of films, or perhaps would have seen one of the more successful award-winning creations, such as Days Of Glory or Paradise Now, but the chances of them having a detailed knowledge would be slim. Little has been broadcast or written in the West about this part of the world’s cinema, which is surprising given the wide range of themes that have been covered, and the colourful history and geographical variety of the countries which are discussed in this book. Film In The Middle East And North Africa sets out to change this by providing an educational tour around the cinema of countries ranging from Iraq and Iran to Tunisia, Egypt and Morocco.
This book is introduced by Joseph Gugler, who is both a contributor and editor, as he discusses the different aims of compiling the series of essays which make up the collection. The essays which follow have a range of contributors of different nationalities, and they discuss both the cinematic industry in a general sense in the countries covered, as well as focusing in on specific films produced and the work of the most well known directors.
There are twenty seven essays in total and many different themes are discussed, including the barriers that directors have come across with funding and censorship, the role of women, fundamentalism vs. liberalism, the development of cinema historically, the use of fantasy and musicality, the use of language and camera techniques, as well as the production and distribution of the films themselves. The essays are grouped into nine sections according to the country under discussion, or if they have a strong thematic link (for example, the conflict between Israel and Palestine).
A detailed index is provided, alongside the essays themselves being well referenced, and some photographs of the directors or cast are included, as well as some of the movie posters in black-and-white. There is also a section at the end of the book which gives detailed information about the contributors...
One of the main achievements of Film In The Middle East And North Africa is the contributors’ ability to comment on films that the reader will perhaps not have seen while effectively conveying the importance of cinema to the countries discussed. The impression given is that cinema, as cultural entertainment, has also been intrinsically linked to the history of these countries - at times, it is even suggested that it may have helped in putting pressure on governments to change, (Iran) while in other instances government has intervened directly and made the production of films a matter of the promotion of nationalism (Tunisia). By describing the movement of cinema chronologically, while providing dates of important wars and changes of government, the opportunity to learn a lot about the history of the Middle East and North Africa as well as cinema is given, providing a more in-depth basis to the arguments put forward on the importance of this industry.
Most of the themes discussed such as the role of women and the influence of Islam could have easily lent themselves to controversy, not to mention the fact that countries which historically do not get along, such as Egypt and Lebanon or Israel and Palestine, are being discussed in the same book. The opportunities for conflicting and argumentative views are plentiful. However, the contributors to the book have, by and large, given an objective and well balanced view. Both the films which argue an Israeli point of view and the films which argue on Palestine’s side are discussed with equal merit. When discussing Liberalism vs. Fundamentalism (Destiny – Joseph Gugler, or Closed Doors – Gugler and Kim Jensen), the writers point out that there are benefits to both the political standpoints, going as far (in Closed Doors) to say that by showing the attractions of fundamentalism, a better understanding and therefore a move forward politically and intellectually can be reached.
Likewise, by the discussion of the problems of censorship that the directors have faced in all of the countries covered, albeit some more than others, as well as the fact some directors have created films to have them completely edited or in some cases the distribution refused, will highlight to the reader the plight of a lack of free speech for many people. This book can almost be seen as a political statement in itself by its aim to educate people who have perhaps not looked into the detail of the problems in the Middle East and North Africa, as by getting this information out there, the chances of more international pressure being placed on these governments to reduce the severity of the laws of censorship is made greater.
The variety of themes discussed, and the fact that the essays are not grouped by contributor but by country, leads to a more flowing and easy to read collection. Some original and valid points are raised and the passion of the essay writers about the cinema they talk of, as well their support for the directors in trying to move things forward politically and bring important issues of government into the open, is plain to see. The problem of the divisions between the countries of the Middle East and North Africa is often highlighted as a topic, yet despite the countries covered by these essays being kept separate, many themes re-occur in each of the essays, and this serves to show that despite the geographical and historical differences, the countries discussed are all linked to a certain extent. This underlines the ability of film and cinema as an art form to connect humanity on a deeper level, as a director from Lebanon may have the same problems to work on in film production as someone in Israel, despite the historical conflict.
The discussion of globalisation and colonialism are important issues both for a reader in the West or reader in the Middle East and North Africa, and by showing how, for example, the funding of film in Europe can be for political gain, such as funding from France being more likely if the film has French-language subtitles or audio, serves to bring to the attention of the reader how film and politics are often linked more than is obvious. Film In The Middle East And North Africa makes many subtle points which raise important philosophical questions, such as how much the Western world has influenced their history, without giving the impression of having an aggressive standpoint in any sense, which although difficult to do, has been done successfully.
Film In The Middle East And North Africa succeeds in providing a balanced and detailed guide to the film industry and issues which directors of film still face today. With the recent turbulence in the Middle East and North Africa, this book has even more relevance in showing how film can be a voice for the people, and lead to the shaping of politics in subtle ways, as the directors continue to try to push barriers in censorship in the cause of artistic expression. Well written and referenced, Film In The Middle East And North Africa offers a fascinating insight into the films which have already been created, as well as the common barriers which still remain for those trying to work in these countries today. AT
Book: The Faber Book Of French Cinema
Release date: 17th March 2011
Author: Charles Drazin
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Last year, The Faber Book Of New South American Cinema was published to great critical acclaim. Now this series of world cinema titles turns its attentions to France, a country with a rich and varied film legacy, and where cinema is tied to the national identity. In this book, Charles Drazin, a prolific film historian, covers the major directors and films throughout the ages, and charts France's turbulent cinematic history to discover what it is that makes it so unique.
The book moves in a largely chronological order, beginning at the start of cinema history with figures such as the Lumière brothers and Georges Méliès. It progresses through to the ‘Golden Age’ of cinema in the 1930s, where the focus is on some of the most famous French directors, such as Vigo, Renoir and Duvivier. Here, a few chapters reflect different perspectives on the same films and time period. A similar approach is taken slightly further on in the book with the next major movement: the New Wave, with directors such as Truffaut, Godard and Bresson discussed. Finally, we hit the current era and Drazin discusses the place of French cinema within a global context today.
This is a broad history of the major events in French cinema, intended as a reference text. There is a comprehensive index to help the reader find the information they need quickly and there is an extensive bibliography for each chapter for further reading on a particular area of interest…
A book covering such a broad scope could be very dry and difficult to read, but Drazin manages to inject life and enthusiasm into a subject he is clearly passionate about. He includes many contemporary quotes which break up the text and make it an interesting read. There are also relevant pictures to give visual examples of the films he discusses. He covers the key directors, films and movements of each era and puts this into the wider historical context. While it may be largely aimed at students, teachers and those with a keen interest or specialism for the topic, it is written in a way which is accessible to anyone and is best to dip in and out of. The index makes it easy to look up a specific topic, while the chapter headings also provide appropriate signposts.
Drazin writes knowledgeably about his subject but does not patronise the reader. He clearly outlines the various relationships and connections in the world of cinema; between people, eras and countries, making it easy to understand. The book does presume some prior knowledge of French cinema, but it is by no means obscure, so it is well-suited to its target audience. He explains the various ideals and values which have driven the development of French cinema at various stages, as well as that most elusive of notions: that certain je ne sais quoi which makes French cinema unique.
However, this book does have a very strong bias towards the 1930s and ‘40s. Admittedly, this is an important era of French cinema: the Avant-Garde era and so-called ‘Golden Age’, but Drazin dedicates a total of nine chapters – approximately half the book – to these two decades. In comparison, there are only two fairly short chapters covering the entire cinema history between 1970 and the present day. This makes it a bit frustrating because the reader can feel stuck reading about the same directors and films.
At the other end of the scale, the more recent cinema history feels very rushed, almost list-like. This gives the impression that it is not as important, which is an injustice to some of the groundbreaking work which has taken place in the last few decades. This is not to say that directors such as Duvivier, Carne and Renoir do not deserve to be recognised as key figures in the history of French cinema, but in this book, the picture is rather unbalanced.
It is particularly noticeable that Drazin has given almost no time whatsoever for the cinema of the last decade, save for passing mentions of a few films at the end of the book. This seems like a major oversight which would suggest to the reader that it is less important than in previous decades, when actually the popularity of French cinema has been more far-reaching than ever in recent years. Given the amount of time Drazin has dedicated to the relationship between France and the USA, it is strange that the phenomenal success of films such as La Vie En Rose, for which Marion Cotillard won an Oscar, is not even mentioned, neither is actor/director Guillaume Canet who has achieved international acclaim for his award-winning films, including Tell No One. These are just examples, of course, and Drazin does not have the scope to include everything, but it does show that this is heavily biased towards one time period at the expense of others.
Nevertheless, there is enough on each time period to function as a basis for further research if the reader is interested, aided by the chapter-by-chapter bibliography. Drazin clearly had to make some choices about what to focus on in a book of this scope and overall it is useful. It is very readable, which is an achievement for this type of book, although the sheer length of it makes it better to look up certain things or leave or have as a coffee-table read, rather than to read from cover-to-cover. If the early days of pre-war cinema are not of great appeal, then this particular text will not be of much interest; however, for a reader looking for a general overview with plenty of information on the ‘Golden Age’ of cinema, then it fits the bill very well.
A good introductory text for any Francophile with a love of cinema, as well as those with a more specialist interest. The Faber Book Of French Cinema is an informative and enjoyable read. KS
Book: À L’Écran: Short French Films And Activities Manual
Release date: 31st January 2011
Publisher: Heinle
Heinle, an arm of the educational resources giant Cengage have produced À L’Écran; a combination of a DVD of short French films with an accompanying activities manual. A variety of directors have contributed with several of the films having won awards at an international level.
The activities manual is divided into seven sections, each corresponding to one of the films on the DVD provided. The films are in French with the availability of French subtitles only. The films themselves range from a young girl discussing emotions usually associated with adults, such as love and suffering, to a Canadian animation about a boy’s dreams of wearing his hockey idol’s jersey being crushed, to an actress rehearsing for an audition with an apparent stranger, as well as a ground hog day style nightmare as a commuter befalls a series of unfortunate events and others.
The activities manuals are all of a similar lay out, containing options to discuss the themes of the film prior to the viewing, some useful and basic vocabulary, questions on the themes of the film and your interpretation of the subject matter. Depending on the film, exercises to test verb structures and options to replace missing words, testing oral ability, are also available. In addition there are tasks you can carry out in groups which are tied in either directly to the film that you have watched, or to topics loosely tied to the film’s plot…
The use of quite artistic themes in the films is a novel approach to what is in essence an educational tool, and it succeeds in making this combination of short films with related activities feel more refreshing than the traditional format, where usually material is gathered by filming basic conversation or using material sourced from a shop floor for filming people in a train station, for example. Due to the films being respected in the genre of short films, as seen by the collection of awards they have obtained, this collection represents great value as you are not just watching material for the sake of education but also for enjoyment in itself.
Some films succeed in being as comprehensive and moving as a full-length feature film. Gratte-Papier is about two strangers who meet on a train, find each other attractive and use a novel means of communication. It is a romantic idea and comes across as well rounded and light-hearted. The discussion questions for this film invite the student to consider their own view points, asking what they would do in this situation. Students are also invited to analyse the actor’s work; such as why certain facial expressions were used and what they think the character’s internal monologue is. This will have an added benefit with younger students in not only improving their French language but also in developing their own view points, and learning more about how to express their opinions in a group.
Due to the fact that in each of À L’Écran’s films professional actors have been used, and that each film has a strong and clear thematic basis, the impression is one of a lot of time and thought having gone into the creation of the work, even if some come across as being over-emotive (Le Temps) or having been written in a slapdash comedic style (Rien de Grave).
The structure of the questions in the manual is excellent, testing both the ability to debate issues in French, comprehension of complex themes, and provision of useful vocabulary. In having a varied range of questions, both oral and verbal ability is tested well. The questions are set at an intermediate level, somewhere around A-Level standard.
The vocabulary sections are well matched to the films, with the colloquial phrases and more difficult terminology explained. By having a section dealing with ideas to discuss before the film, students will be able to focus their minds on the topics as well as the added benefit of assisting understanding of the French quicker as you know which area will be focussed on.
Considering the fact that the activities manual is quite short, the material in each section should still easily provide a lengthy amount of discussion time, which would be useful to perspective teachers who are most likely to want to use this, however, of course, someone who is interested in brushing up on their French while also treating themselves to some short films will also find this a stress free way to do so.
The solutions to the questions and tasks are available on the publisher’s website, so internet access will be needed. With modern resources, this shouldn’t pose a problem, however, it perhaps would have been a beneficial addition to have the option to select English subtitles as well as the French, but this again depends on the user’s preferences – arguably immersing yourself in just French without the ability to ‘cheat’ will have better lingual benefits.
This activities manual and series of films should succeed in keeping students engaged, and will reveal easily the areas which they may need more assistance on to the instructor or teacher, so this would be a valuable resource to own. AT
Book: Directory Of World Cinema - Japan
Release date: 15th February 2011
Publisher: Intellect
Following the Directory Of World Cinema’s Russian and American Underground issues, and with forthcoming books dealing with Italy, Iran, Australia and New Zealand in the pipeline, the series turns to Japan. Edited by John Berra, Volume 1 covers a number of significant genres within Japanese cinema, and examines the films within the national and social contexts which shaped them.
The directory divides the movies into various genres: Alternative Japan; Anime; Chambara (Samurai); Contemporary Blockbusters; Jidaigeki and Gendaigeki (Period & Contemporary Drama); J-Horror; Kaiju Eiga (Monster Movies); Nuberu Bagu (Japanese New Wave); Pinku Eiga (Pink Film); and Yakuza (Gangster). In each case, a general overview of a specific genre is followed by individual critiques of films that exist within that generic framework.
With in-depth analyses of Takeshi Kitano, Satoshi Kon and Akira Kurosawa, the book also includes chapters on the Nippon Connection Film Festival, the influential Arts Theatre Guild, an interesting take on the cultural crossover between art and film, and an extended review of Kitano’s Achilles And The Tortoise as the directory’s chosen film of the year.
With individual articles and critiques by contributors from the fields of academia and film journalism, the work seeks to offer an insight into ‘Japaneseness’ as seen through the medium of film...
That all this is crammed into barely 300 pages might suggest the directory is merely skimming the surface, but this illuminating book manages to cover a great deal of ground. This is only the first in a projected two volumes dealing solely with Japan. Anticipating that any attempt at a comprehensive overview of all of Japanese cinema is doomed to failure, it’s intended as informative rather than exhaustive. A generally egalitarian approach ensures B-movies like Mothra are given just as much respect and attention as more critically-acclaimed works, with analyses largely concerned more with cultural significance than simply listing the ‘best’ Japanese movies.
Arguably the most fertile and varied industry in world cinema, approaching Japanese cinema can be a daunting task. Even within the directory’s limited remit, it contains more films than any sane person could hope to watch in a lifetime. Cultural differences can also be a barrier, and the book acknowledges the difficulty for non-Japanese audiences in fully understanding genres such as Japanese New Wave, which may contain very cultural specific meanings. Still, the ‘alien’ is an aspect which always seems to get played up more with the Japanese than anywhere else. One of the book’s achievements is debunking Western assumptions of what Japanese cinema is, and lazy attempts to categorise it as weird and outlandish.
Berra, in his editor’s introduction, attributes much of the West’s association of Japanese cinema with strangeness and extremity, largely due to the J-Horror boom, which somewhat obscured both the burgeoning independent sector of contemporary Japanese cinema and its legacy. It illustrates the way in which the character of a country’s cinema can be condensed or plain misrepresented by market forces, culminating in recent fare like Machine Girl or Tokyo Gore Police. These are movies aimed primarily at international audiences, having little impact in their native country, and yet generally viewed in the West as somehow typical or representative of Japanese cinema.
Ironically, the chapters dealing with the more exotic corners of Japanese cinema are some of the most interesting, especially the chapter which covers Pinku Eigu, or Pink Cinema. Essentially sexploitation, these were films which were strictly forbidden by the censors from showing pubic hair or genitalia but often included actual penetrative sex between the performers. The most well-known Pinku Eigu in this country is Nagisa Oshima’s In The Realm Of The Senses, although its explicitness and deliberate provocation of the Japanese moral film code means it’s not generally representative of the genre. In fact, it’s difficult to make generalisations about Pink Eigu as a whole, a genre that could be both shockingly misogynistic and also used as a vehicle for subverting patriarchal attitudes. It’s a fascinating chapter which includes such luridly evocative titles as Entrails Of A Virgin and Violated Angels, as well as a cameo from notorious cannibal-murderer turned celebrity restaurant reviewer Issei Sagawa (yes, really).
The writing throughout is of a consistently high standard, incorporating a range of analytical approaches (be it social-political, aesthetic, or genre-based) according to the writers’ preferences. By focussing mainly on the cultural import of films within specific genres, the directory presents a very catholic selection. Admirably un-snobbish in its treatment of all the covered films, the articles are always marked by the sense that those writing are genuine fans. That said, quality will always rise to the top and the major directors (specifically Takeshi Kitano, Takashi Miike, Nagasi Oshima and Yasujiro Ozu) have the most films critiqued (although strangely only one Shohei Imamura film, despite his importance being acknowledged throughout).
But it is the films of Akira Kurosawa which inevitably dominate, just as the great director towers over the landscape of Japanese cinema. His influence on Sergio Leone and George Lucas has been well documented, but less acknowledged is his influence on his close friend Francis Ford Coppola. The book highlights the debt owed by the American director to Kurosawa’s The Bad Sleep Well, particularly the first thirty minutes which Coppola used as a template for the opening sequences in all three of his Godfather films. When one article examines the recurring motif of opening and closing doors in High And Low, you don’t need to be told that all those doors constantly shutting in the faces of female characters in Coppola’s trilogy are also distinctly Kurosawa-inspired.
The directory is particularly fine at finding new angles like these within well-trodden ground concerning Japanese cinema’s relationship with Western models. Be it Jean-Pierre Melville’s American film noir influenced films refracted via a European sensibility into a Japanese one in certain yakuza movies. Or even anime, that most quintessentially Japanese genre, having its roots in American early animation, which in turn had much in common with early Japanese woodcuts. It makes for a far more interesting and nuanced take on the cinematic exchange between Japan and the West than Hollywood’s recent predilection for rehashing films like The Ring might suggest. What this latter tendency also demonstrates is that the exchange is becoming increasingly one-sided, something that says as much about the ongoing vitality of Japanese cinema as it does about the moribundity of Hollywood.
The general consensus is that the Japanese film industry consciously modelled itself on Hollywood, with the formation of major studios and a reliance on particular genres and narrative forms, such as Yakuza and monster movies, and the development of ‘star’ identities. But, as Berra points out, this also coincided in the post-war period with the rise of the auteur-director, who was able to mould their particular artistic vision both within and on the edges of the mainstream. The only comparison to be drawn with US cinema would be the ‘70s heyday of the auteur, a short-lived period of relative freedom that came to an end following the huge financial failure of Michael Cimino’s Heaven’s Gate. Japan also had these spectacular box office failures (Imamura’s Profound Desires Of The Gods springs to mind), and though it may have curtailed a particular director’s career, the industry never seemed to react in quite the same way as its American counterpart. No doubt this has a great deal to do with the high number of independents which make up the Japanese film industry, creating a milieu in which the mainstream and the innovative are not mutually exclusive - an industry quite unique in its willingness to take risks and thereby allowing its artists to do likewise.
While acknowledging the position of Japanese film within worldwide cinema, what emerges most is the singularity as well as the breadth and scope of Japanese cinema as a whole. The book’s main strength is in placing that nation’s cinematic output in a context that is accessible and comprehensible for Western audiences. With mainstream cinema in the West increasingly dogged by endless prequel-sequels and pointless remakes, the continuing rude health of Japanese cinema remains a cause for celebration.
As well as providing an insight into Japanese cultural life and history as expressed through the medium of film, this directory works equally well as a conventional film guide. Containing a mixture of the well known and obscure, there’s much to recommended for newcomers as well as those already well versed in the many delights of Japanese cinema. A worthwhile read and highly recommended. GJK
Book: Directory Of World Cinema: Russia
Release date: 1st October 2010
Author: Birgit Beumers (Editor)
Publisher: Intellect
The newly emerging Directory Of World Cinema series of books is an ambitious strategy to document all manner of international films and their filmmakers with a single concise voice. It’s a burgeoning franchise with a total of four volumes on release (at the time of this writing), each looking at a different national cinema. So far, there is an entry for Japan, Australia & New Zealand, American Independent and Russia, with the prospect of many more to come.
It may be worth pointing out straight away that while Directory Of World Cinema: Russia is an interesting read for both budding film student and seasoned scholar alike, it is far from a one-stop-shop definitive text on its subject. Intellect plan to release numerous, region-specific volumes at two year intervals as a means of expanding the directory into a fully fledged database, both in print and online, with and emphasis on academic validity.
Content and structure are at the whim of that particular edition's editor; in this book's case, it’s Birgit Beumers, a published author who specialises in Russian culture, film and theatre and is a Reader at the University of Bristol. After an introduction from the editor, the book moves into a section that celebrates/analyses Russia's 'Film of the Year' that appears to have been either peer-selected or chosen by the Beumers herself. The choice is Wolfy (2009), written and directed by Russian playwright-turned filmmaker Vasilii Sigarev. Adapted from one of Sigarev's plays, it focuses on the estranged relationship between a mother and her daughter. This is then followed by an interview segment with Sigarev and the film's leading lady Iana Troianova.
The book then opens up its focus to look at the history of the industry via essay writing as well as profiles on select directors. The usual acknowledgements are made to well recognised masters such as Sergei Eisenstein (one of the pioneers of Soviet Montage) and Andrei Tarkovskii (director of Andrei Rublev and Solaris), as well as filmmakers perhaps not as well known to western audiences, including Evgenii Bauer – perhaps Russia's most important pre-revolution filmmaker – and Nikita Mikhalkov.
Rather than a chronological summation of the evolution of Russian film that points out the nation's key movements, films and filmmakers along the way, the Directory Of World Cinema opts to break down Russian cinema into varying categories/genres – Literary Adaptations, War Films, Melodrama, Animation, etc. Each section is introduced with an essay that establishes the contextual framework in which that particular category/section should be viewed, followed by a series of critiques on the key films that qualify for said category. Every film critique contains a synopsis, analysis and technical information including cast and crew listings...
This system bears mixed results. On one hand, it’s interesting and useful with regards to charting the development of a particular strain of Russian cinema as well as to see the inter-textual knock-on effect from one example to the next. However, the book becomes increasingly difficult to navigate, especially if one is looking for a particular film. Although the films are arranged chronologically within their given sections, there's no list present in the book detailing which films are included and what sections they are in - there isn't even an index, making it pretty much impossible to jump straight to areas of the book where information about your particular subject might be lurking.
Despite the book's many film reviews having been supplied by various contributors (mostly associate professors and PhD holders), Beumers enforces a strict uniformity and a very easy to read house style for novice and seasoned scholar alike. Also, film reviews are not bogged down with subjective opinion and colloquial rhetoric, making each analysis clear and ideal to quote from if required. However, there is a potential deal-breaking caveat in the form of Intellect's accompanying World Directory Of Cinema website, where all of the film reviews found in this (and other) editions can be accessed for free.
While the book promotes healthy inter-linking between films, filmmakers and genres, wider film theory attributed to Russia is left twisting in the wind. Lev Kuleshov's pioneering 'Kuleshov Effect' – which demonstrated the importance and effectiveness of film editing to convey various emotional responses pending on the combination of images – is largely ignored here, despite it being a fundamental building block in the development of common film language. However, such omissions may be addressed in future instalments.
Directory Of World Cinema: Russia is a difficult one to judge as it’s a single piece of what will surely become a huge and complex printed database; only time will tell if Intellect's ambitious endeavours will pay off and it will be interesting to see how the series develops. If you are looking for extended essays, director profiles and research resources, as well as to indulge in more generalised reading of Russian cinema history and film-by-film development, Beumers’ book is not a bad place to start. MP
Book: Mushroom Clouds And Mushroom Men
Release date: 16th October 2009
Author: Peter H. Brothers
Publisher: AuthorHouse
If you know the name Ishiro Honda, you’ll have a fair idea on what to expect from this book. If you don’t know the name Ishiro Honda, you’ll almost certainly recognise his most famous gift to cinema. After all, Honda is the man who gave us one of the most iconic movie monsters of all time – Godzilla. Between 1954 and 1975, Honda directed several Godzilla features including the original Godzilla and the fantastic King Kong Versus Godzilla. He was also responsible for over twenty-five other sci-fi/fantasy films, making him not only the “Godfather of Creature Features” in Japan, but perhaps the most prolific director of sci-fi/fantasy movies of all time. So, while Godzilla may be the official “King of The Monsters”, perhaps the title could equally apply to Ishiro Honda.
Mushroom Clouds And Mushroom Men is a specific study of Ishiro Honda’s career in the sci-fi/fantasy genre. While this wasn’t the be all and end all of Honda’s work, it by far encapsulates the majority of his work, and certainly includes his most enduring contributions to cinema. This is the man who, aside from Godzilla, also brought to life monsters like Mothra and Rodan.
The book begins with a brief, but no less interesting biography of Honda himself, and what stands out most here is the sheer longevity of Honda’s career. This is a man who truly loved film and was involved in it from 1933, when he worked as assistant director on Just An Average Kid until his final interview at 81 years of age. A writer, contributor, assistant director, director, lecturer, working in TV and film, his output is simply awe inspiring.
Honda’s life is another book in itself. The bulk of this book is concerned with Honda’s cinematic output, and understandably so…
As mentioned, the biography is brief, but it is fascinating and illuminating. Honda’s military service is mentioned - several tours of duty – and it’s easy to see how these interruptions had an effect on his life and career. It also touches on his lifelong marriage to Mimi, and his relationships with (and standing among) his peers, from sometime collaborations with greats like Kurasawa to his long standing cinema partnerships with people like Tsuburaya, who designed the visual effects for many of Honda’s films. It is filled with interesting stories and throwaway tales - including one particularly poignant anecdote where, after his death, as a mark of respect and affection, his photo is used in the film Samurai Kids.
After the biography, the book changes gears and goes from being a diverting and interesting tale about the man himself to an encyclopaedic text book on his sci-fi/fantasy films. Each of his sci-fi/fantasy pictures is studied, dissected and discussed in a manner that manages to be both straightforward and informative. A full cast/credits list is provided for each film, before the ‘nitty gritty’ of discussing the film itself. These are more than just a brief synopsis, though. Recurring themes and motifs are pointed out and analysed. Key scenes are emphasised and discussed, and performances are highlighted. The importance of the special effects (as comical as they may seem to some today) is remembered, as well as things we may be tempted to take for granted – the score, the lighting, etc. Every aspect of the film is mentioned and investigated. This continues for the rest of the book. Each film is looked at in chronological order, given its own separate essay, and all are crafted with the same amount of care and attention.
Mushroom Clouds And Mushroom Men is, quite obviously, a labour of love. It is a mine of interesting information gleaned from a dazzling array of texts and sources. Brother’s has spent years writing and talking about Honda and his cinematic achievements, and it certainly shows in the authoritative and informative manner in which he presents each film here.
The text book style of presentation makes it easy to skip between those films that hold most interest and, as such, it makes an excellent reference book on the work of Honda. It is also very well suited to non linear or ‘short burst’ reading.
For those with a passing interest in the director and his work, Mushroom Clouds And Mushroom Men is an excellent introduction, listing films you may not be aware of, alongside old favourites. The downside of books like this, though, is that they can make excellent ‘bluffers guides’ - it’s important to remember that this is a book written by an expert in the field and not a book that will make you an expert! PD
