Archive for the MUSIC Category

The Orphic Triangle

Posted in FILM, literature, MUSIC, Mythology with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 20, 2020 by dcairns

I hadn’t seen LAST TANGO IN PARIS for a long time but remembered it being interesting. Fiona hadn’t seen it in probably an even longer time and remembered it being boring. We watched it together for the first time and I was right.

But it was a really good illustration of Time’s effects: Fiona now found Brando sexy, whereas before he was just a creepy old guy. She also now found the film really funny, mostly thanks to Brando, who may be trying to take the mickey out of everything, suspecting that Bertolucci wanted to expose his raw inner being on celluloid or whatever: Brando perhaps is half-trying to make the film collapse under an attack of ridicule from within, and walk away from the rubble whistling as he had from so many other films.

He’s met his match.

Hard to imagine what this must have seemed like at the time when we were five and six years old and wouldn’t have been allowed in. Not only would the feigned sex have been startlingly graphic, considering a real movie star was involved, but the level of obscenity Brando comes up with in his improvised dialogue must’ve been an eye-opener. Fantasising about a threesome with a dying pig is… not normal. I believe even Nancy Friday would frown in consternation.

Thing is, despite the grotesque elements, this is an extraordinarily beautiful film. I don’t know if Storaro had sorted out his unique personal colour theories yet, but the variations on golden-brown he produces here are just sensational, and the combination with Gato Barbieri’s sax score is somehow just perfect. I was trying to figure out how Bertolucci came across this Argentinian jazzman whose previous movies as composer are obscure, but it’s the Pasolini connection: Barbieri is in PPP’s NOTES TOWARDS AN AFRICAN ORESTES.

But now — discovering I own a copy of David Thompson’s BFI Classic monograph on the film, I learn also that Barbieri’s wife worked on BEFORE THE REVOLUTION.

Awkward extratextual comedy as Marlon bemoans his spare tyre and his late wife’s lover show him his exercise bar. Years later, Brando would get one of those with the special boots you hang upside down from, but he was very heavy by this time and reportedly almost smothered inside himself. This goes along the story about him padlocking his fridge and then hiring the local burglar to teach him lockpicking, and the story about him making his own hypnosis tapes (“You will still be able to eat all the things you like, but you will eat less of them”) and others. There seems to be a cruel delight in Brando fat jokes, as there was with Welles, because we love to see great talents brought low… on the other hand, Brando’s fat stories are genuinely surprising and interesting.

One of the things about this film is that MB is still incredible attractive but right on the cusp of decay. And fear of aging, embodied in the film’s revulsion at the crumbly tangoists, is some kind of theme of the film, I guess. Images of death and decay. And grief. Brando’s monologue to his dead wife’s body made Dustin Hoffman run and hide behind a pillar when he saw it. I told this to Fiona but I had to repeat it like three times. Something about the anecdote appeared to be ungraspable.

Though Brando and Schneider are incredible presences and sexy people, I don’t find the sex scenes sexy, especially THAT one. Bertolucci’s betrayal of Schneider — adding the detail of the butter at the last minute to humiliate her — probably resulted in her being unwilling to trust filmmakers later on, and I don’t blame her. I think she acquired pretty good radar for when something was going to be a Bad Scene and ducking out of CALIGULA was a good call. Getting fired from THAT OBSCURE OBJECT OF DESIRE wasn’t necessarily a tragedy either — who wants to play an object?

What’s strange is that a distressing rape scene turned into a smutty joke for decades, and nobody used the obvious word “rape” when talking about the scene (the character’s seeming acceptance of what’s done to her obviously confused people but isn’t necessarily unrealistic — responses to sexual abuse cover a wide spectrum).

The British censor originally cut a few seconds from this scene. Bertolucci in interview smiled sweetly and said he had the feeling they did this “just to show… someone cares.”

The film’s obscenity and profanity do serve a necessary balancing function because the film might be in danger of vanishing up its own arse, without the aid of a dairy product as lubricant, if not for its sense of humour, which is mostly supplied by Brando. There’s even an Inspector Clouseau French accent joke: “Do you theenk I am a whirr?” “A what? Do I think you’re a whirr?” Another joke, cutting from the lovers groaning to a duck quacking into a rifle mic, might be one of Bert’s famous homages, to the early porno LE CANARD, but is probably just a bit of silliness. The editor is the co-writer…

Thompson’s book doesn’t offer a definitive theory of what the film really means or is about or why it exists, so why should I? But he does offer up T. Jefferson Kline’s reading of the story as a version of the Orpheus myth, though he’s a bit dismissive of the book it comes from, Bertolucci’s Dream Loom: A psychoanalytic study of cinema, which he calls “convoluted.” This idea does open up interesting possibilities, and if Paul is Orpheus (his bongos tying in with both the Greek’s lyre and Brando’s own musical proclivities) then I may have figured out why the empty apartment is on Rue Jules Verne, which has puzzled critics including Thompson. The association with science fiction, adventure, exploration and impossible voyages seems vague and unhelpful, but if the specific reference is Journey to the Centre of the Earth, then a ready connection to Orpheus in the Underworld may be drawn.

Bertolucci may have been hopelessly optimistic in assuming anyone in the audience would make this leap, but it’s better for this kind of reference to be obscure, provoking thought, rather than obvious, provoking smugness. Now excuse me while I go off and feel smug.

 

Paris when it Sizzles

Posted in FILM, literature, MUSIC, Politics with tags , , , , , , on August 13, 2020 by dcairns

I’m not sure why I held back on immediately seeing Bertolucci’s THE DREAMERS when it was new, but I know I got a bad report of it from my friend and yours David Melville Wingrove, which may have put me off. David adores the book, The Holy Innocents, and felt the film betrayed it completely. Since writing the novel, Gilbert Adair had taken an odd turn, and agreed to adapt it to the screen only if he could make certain changes. Then Bertolucci seems to have developed cold feet about the gay content and pruned that right back.

I’m not sure if those changes constitute a total betrayal of the book, but they don’t help it. The wad of VO at the beginning is anti-cinematic in the extreme. I love narration but this one is pure info-dump and things improve immeasurably when it goes away. The ending is a return to the plodding and literal as our hero makes a speech against violence to his chums during the ’68 riots. In reality, Adair was right in there throwing rocks at les gendarmes. I don’t disagree with the anti-violence stance, but it doesn’t work as an ending: it doesn’t relate to the film before it. And it utterly lacks the poetry Bertolucci once brought to his endings — the time twists of THE SPIDER’S STRATAGEM, 1900 and THE LAST EMPEROR, for instance, could have worked wonderfully here, since it’s a film that’s about THEN but wants to be relevant to NOW. In particular, the end of THE SHELTERING SKY, bringing in the author to quote from his work, might have worked better here than it did there.

If this had been an original work, I supposed we’d have been impressed by the sexual daring, but although it’s pretty explicit, it’s inescapably a conservative, heterosexual dilution of the source.

I liked the actors — Michael Pitt is saddled with the worst material but he’s good in the role and Eva Green is a delight with her facial expressions going all over the place — nobody’s told her you’re not supposed to do that in the film and the result is she’s lively the way film actors usually aren’t — Louis Garrel is very cool. The parents had too much screen time and I wished the kids’ arguments could be smarter. Chaplin vs. Keaton and Clapton vs. Hendrix — I guess a lot of sixties cultural arguments WERE like that, but here’s a case where rose-tinted glasses could have made the film more intellectually stimulating…

 

Red Frag

Posted in FILM, MUSIC with tags , , , , , , , on July 25, 2020 by dcairns

ATTACK, or, according to the title sequence on my DVD, “ATTACK”, but also known in some territories at some times under the infinitely preferable ATTACK!, is a Robert Aldrich WWII pic which gets namechecked in the Bordwell-Thompson Film History: An Introduction which I just picked up for a song now that a few of Edinburgh’s charity shops have reopened, right next to KISS ME DEADLY (which, according to its own title sequence may actually be called DEADLY KISS ME). If that isn’t a recommendation, I figured, what is?

And indeed, some of the same pulpy energy is present, plus a Fullerseque sensorial assault, tabloid gonzo raving and sweaty manliness… the titles start as a slain grunt’s helmet bounces down a hill, coming to rest by a pretty flower. “You see the symbolism of it?”

The story plays out a lot like CROSS OF IRON, with Eddie Albert as coward/incompetent/psycho and Jack Palance as his opponent on the same side. While the Peckinpah is bold in telling the story from the German side, it’s MUCH braver to have an American officer as coward/idiot/maniac who needs to be snuffed for the sake of the war effort.

A typically, um, muscular perf from JP: at one point, having been shot in the leg and parked on by a tank, he slumps against a wall and raises himself up it, inch by inch, using only his head and neck. Meryl Streep can’t do that.

Greasy streak on wall from previous takes.

There’s also some backstage politics with Lee Marvin’s colonel protecting Albert’s captain due to personal connections back home in the South. It’s quite a good film to watch right now, since the southerners are the baddies. Feels timely.

Any consideration of Aldrich as a major figure, I find, has to reckon with the animated blood splash in THE LEGEND OF LYLAH CLARE, a bit of cinematic “technique” that might otherwise mark him out as an utter clown. I feel like I need solid proof that wasn’t his idea. But this grimy potboiler does indeed have much of the same pulp frenzy as his Spillane adaptation. “Overwrought” doesn’t begin to cover it, but even with bum notes like Frank De Vol’s score playing Deutschland Uber Alles when the Germans appear, and an off-key London Bridge is Falling Down when Albert loses all the marbles, it’s quite bold politically and punchy as hell.

ATTACK! features Jesus Raza; Warden Barrot; Irving Radovich; Liberty Valance; Sgt. Stanislaus ‘Animal’ Kuzawa; Sheriff Kip McKinney; Jed Clampett; Hans-Dieter Mundt; Dr. Rudolph Frankenstein; Goff; & Coffer.