Hoarded Reviews
I’ve amassed so many capsule reviews (like, dozens) over the last months that I’ve never posted here that I’m just going to start posting them without a real rhyme or reason…
I think my boyfriend thought I was kidding when I sighed extravagantly after finishing Barbarella (1968) and instantly proclaimed that I loved it, but I honestly did. It’s like the cinematic equivalent of a lot of the 60’s French pop songs I’ve been devouring lately—fever-pitched adolescent fantasy carefully aware that it’s being naughty without pushing things too far, and above all, endlessly obsessed with its own self-absorption and unashamedly reveling in it. The major appeal now is the kitschiness, of course, but voluptuous young Jane Fonda somehow manages to give the film a subtle balance, and if sometimes the wide moon eyes seem a little too calculated, her expressions in a lot of the post-coital reaction shots are simply priceless (though they certainly seem warranted after a certain angelic encounter…), and I found myself laughing at most of her corny throwaway quips if only because her comic timing is, surprise, surprise, so spot-on.
Take Care of My Cat (2001) is one of the wispy contemporary Asian films that introduces its cast of characters at the beginning of the film and then lets the narrative wander about, content in simply observing quietly the characters as they go about living their rather mundane lives. Centered around a group of five girls as they embark in post high-school life, each finding different ways to grapple with the big “what next?” hanging over their heads, the film serves as a moving examination of how friendships fade away once the common denominator of shared location is stripped away, and how moving on with life almost inevitably means drifting apart and letting go. The gentle irony that runs through the film is how this natural phenomenon still manages to exist in a world where communication—via cell phones, the internet, text messaging—is more readily available than it ever has been, and a person is only a few buttons or keystrokes away. Very nicely observed in nearly every way.
Unfortunately, Robert Bresson’s chilly, fatalistic L’Argent (1983) brought to mind everything I dislike so intensely in Kubrick’s films. But even if the film so relentlessly bleak that I found it nearly unpalatable, I fully admit that within the confines of his very narrow worldview Bresson crafts an interesting portrait of how society swallows up and spits out the individual without a single trace of mercy, and considering that it’s his last film, it’s interesting to note how the film seems to lack even the slightest trace of sentimentality (as that is a common downfall of nearly every filmmaker in the final stretches of a lengthy career). Indeed, L’Argent is also a decisive demonstration that Bresson ended his career as a master of the form. Throughout the film there are little stylistic flourishes that shock in their brilliantly calculated effect, particularly during the moments where emotion and violence threaten to penetrate the film’s icy exterior and Bresson quickly, subtly cuts away to a single object—a hand, a dog—which somehow renders the unseen action all the more powerful and/or horrific. Much too cold for my taste, but I can’t help but (rather grudgingly) admire it.
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