by Allan Fish
(France 1971 776m) not on DVD
Aka. Out 1: Noli Ma Tangere
L’Histoire des Treize
p Stéphane Tchalgadjief d Jacques Rivette w Jacques Rivette, Suzanne Schiffman ph Pierre William Glenn ed Nicole Lubtchansky m Jean-Pierre Drouet
Jean-Pierre Léaud (Colin), Juliet Berto (Frédérique), Bulle Ogier (Pauline/Emilie), Michèle Moretti (Lili), Michel Lonsdale (Thomas), Françoise Fabian (Lucie), Bernadette Lafont (Sarah), Eric Rohmer (Balzac specialist), Barbet Schroeder (Gian-Reto), Jean Bouise (Warok), Brigitte Roüan (Miss Blandish), Pierre Baillot (Quentin), Hermine Karagheuz (Marie), Karen Puig (Elaine),
It’s the great elusive sangraal to intellectual film buffs, one to give them heebie-jeebies of anticipation even to whisper of it. Rivette’s ultimate folly, his near thirteen hour opus, has a length that most critics called self-indulgent, but they were perhaps unaware of its history, unaware that it had been intended to be an eight part TV drama (if that’s the right word), but that, due to its very eclectic, undisciplined nature, none of the French TV networks wanted to show it. He was forced to release it almost in secret, and in the end only released a much shortened, barely four hour version, Out 1: Spectre, a year later. The title of that shortened version tells you exactly what Rivette though the shorter version was; a ghost of the original, a highlights package of a dream you can’t quite recall. Even the subtitle to this original version – the French for “hands off!” – tells you everything about Rivette’s plea for his baby. Please, please, show it uncut.
It’s easy to say there’s no plot and leave it at that, and yet there’s so much density to its non-plot as to make a little explanation not only necessary but good for the health. It’s essentially a series of tales, separate narratives that run concurrently much in the manner of the later Kieslowski masterpieces, but based – loosely as one might expect – around the works of Honoré de Balzac. At its centre are two separate theatrical groups each rehearsing a play by Aeschylus – one ‘Prometheus Bound’, the other ‘Seven Against Thebes’ – and around them spin the lives of two extraneous characters, like satellites in orbit. Firstly there’s the existentialist neurotic Colin who is obsessed with Balzac’s conspiracies of ‘The Thirteen’ and convinced the organisation not only really existed but still does, and the equally solitary Frédérique, somewhat of a thief, who unwittingly becomes owner to some evidence that may or may not refute Colin’s beliefs. (It could be argued that even the work’s very length – 13 hours – is a reference to the Balzac society.)
Certainly it’s not for the faint-hearted; several hours roll by in which we see little but rehearsals for the two respective plays, with interludes where cast members read aloud from Goethe or Shelley, gather for group exercises, and even get carried about on wheelbarrows. Early in proceedings, one of the characters murmurs the words “I found it hard to get into it”, and certainly many viewers will feel the same. But there’s something inherently revolutionary in the way we effectively see not a film but the creation of an illusion take place before our very eyes. It’s like a dramatised documentary of a theatrical rehearsal, much improvised and with a very real sense of spontaneity. And for all this existential behaviour there’s a great deal of humour to be had, most memorably in a sequence where Colin goes to get advice from a somewhat supercilious professor about Balzac as he tries to ascertain a hidden code as if it was the Book of Revelation.
At the centre, amongst the numerous sequences that many may describe as mad, there are suitably brave performances from his cast, including many icons of the then dying nouvelle vague, most notably Léaud (never better, better cast or more annoying) and Lafont (soon to reunite in La Maman et la Putain), while Lonsdale, Ogier and Fabian are always welcome. Most memorably of all there’s Berto, Rivette’s later Céline, who seems to be getting practice for that later film unknowingly. “Two paths lie open before me” Léaud soliloquises at one point. The same is true of potential viewers; the easy option is to give it a miss. But are you brave enough for what is, if not Rivette’s best film, his boldest.
Sam hinted that this would be on your list, and I’m delighted to see it so, albeit with a twinge of regret that it isn’t somewhat higher. Beyond the temptation to spoil the surprise of that “supercilious professor” (lest any of your readers encounter this film someday, I will bite my tongue) and the assertion that this is one of the richest cinematic experiences I’ve ever had…maybe THE richest, I’ll let my original reaction speak for itself. This was posted on iMDb in a slightly bewildered, fairly elated, quite melancholy (for the experience was over, and there was an inevitable letdown) mood. Don’t read it unless you don’t mind having a bit of the film’s mysterious aura punctured, and you should mind, you really should:
“I just returned from a two-day screening of the film and feel the need to digest it publicly in this forum. An amazing and unique experience, but I can’t really sort out my feelings about the ending, or lack thereof. If anyone else has seen it, please jump into the discussion with your thoughts. I would say the sixth episode was probably my favorite…by this point the dynamics of the group were becoming clearer, particularly their mysterious but potent connection to May ’68 (the constant references to “two years”). The resonances were coming into focus, if that makes any sense…but the mystifications piled on in the seventh episode and then the eighth, although suggesting some new lines of thinking (especially that Pierre and his venture are surrogates for Rivette and the making of the film itself), ultimately left me stranded. I knew the film would never really resolve itself, certainly not in the manner of a conventional movie, and I didn’t want it to, but I did need some sort of closure. I kept dreading that the film would end suddenly, without any real synthesis, and eventually it kind of did. Yet at the same time, I can see the theoretical value of this unsettling dissolution. If the subject of the film is the buildup and subsequent collapse of meaning, structure, and purpose (particularly as these relate to the utopian ideals and adventures of May ’68) than it’s only appropriate the film NOT arrive at a synthesis. So I understand the intellectual value of the last chapter but was there another way, one that’s less of a letdown? Or would that be cheating?
Sorry to speak so obscurely and vaguely about the film, but it really sent me down the rabbit hole and it’s hard for me to sum up its effect (intellectual, aesthetic, or emotional) in clear terms at this moment. I’ll return to this board at another time when I can look at the film with distance – particularly if a discussion gets going – but I felt it was important to express my immediate reaction first, while the film is still somewhat raw in my memory.
A couple other thoughts (and read no further if you have yet to see the film, though I’m not sure why you have read so far already if that’s the case):
The sequence in the bedroom reminded me of Persona, and was the darkest and most unsettling part of the film. It did a good job setting up Leaud’s later references to passing through a nightmare and maybe Leaud is the best surrogate for the spectator. We’re forced by Rivette to get off the train before it’s really reached its destination, if there was one, and Leaud provides the explanation for this…he’s decided the whole thing was merely an adolescent fantasy, which it was and wasn’t. Just a thought. And also, I didn’t like Juliet Berto’s death. For the weight it should have carried it seemed rather light and playful, yet at the same time too violent for the film. Kind of like when the actors violate the “rules” of the improvisation by getting too aggressive. Maybe that was the point. Or am I letting Rivette get away with murder – literally and figuratively?
You wouldn’t think it possible after a 12-hour film, but I feel the need to see the film again. Maybe in a few years…”
All I would add is that 2+ years later, the film’s details grow hazy but the overall impression remains – and the mystery grows. You say that the 4-hour version is a “spectre” of the larger film, but even Noli me tangere is a sort of “spectre” of an offscreen film, a meta-movie, an experience that can only be alluded to and may not even have happened, and what the hell is it anyway!? Rivette’s film is one of the most “open” works I’ve ever experienced. It spills all over the place and races off into the distant horizon, yet it still has a vital pulse.
Fair to say that just about sums it up, MovieMan, just ignore the review, people, read MM’s response, far better…
Great piece Allan on a film that I’ve been trying to see for a few months but somehow haven’t found the time (no pun intended!).
Fantastic follow up by Movieman as well..
I expect to get roundly mauled by Movie Man and Ed Howard, but after watching the first eight hours of this over the past week, I was bored, confused and perplexed at this work’s massive adulation. I LOVE Rivette, yet this cryptic confection dosen’t come togather. I have several hours to go, and Allan says it will all be clarified, so we’ll see. Magnificent capsule here though as usual.
You are too kind, Allan (bet you didn’t think you’d hear those words when you began your day!). Readers, do yourself a favor, read both of us, and then see if you can find the damn film, but good luck there! I caught it a few years ago, when it was being shown for the second time in New York – and I almost missed it. That’s a pretty good story, but will have to wait till later.
Sam, you have to turn yourself over to the movie completely. I think you said that you watched the film recently, so I assume it was on DVD or VHS. It helps immensely to see it on a big screen with an audience. I am not surprised that it’s more difficult to take on video – all I can say is that if one endeavors to see it this way, one must clear one’s day(s), and more importantly, clear one’s mind. This is more true of this film than any other I know of. It could be argued that you shouldn’t have to do this to enjoy a movie, but when the rewards are as great as those yielded by Out 1, it’s a worthy effort.
Yes, I know it was intended to be shown over installments on TV but I can’t imagine that format doing it justice…it really needs to be taken in all at once, without any distractions, and preferably in a larger-than-life format…
Well, I’m glad I have the film, that’s all I can say.
With respect, I can’t see where the accolades here provide any sort of ‘cinematic’ critique. It may be an intellectual puzzle for those who have the inclination and endurance, but it all sounds self-indulgent and pompous to me. Oblique reference to May 68, so what?
Tony, the other day you informed me that it was a bad idea to judge a film by its trailer. I agreed. Let me say it’s an even worse idea to judge a film by a few blog posts. The film is an intellectual puzzle, yes, but also a thrilling sensory experience. It make not be your cup of tea but the excitement it provided for Allan and I is genuine.
As for the accolades providing a “cinematic” critique, I would say Allan gives several examples of the film’s value, noting its humor, the intrigue of its spontaneity and improvisation, and the ingenuity of its narrative (as well as the quality of the performances). My own comments were not at all intended to be a conclusive critique of the film but rather an immediate documentation of my own feelings after seeing it.
Tony, though you often scold others for being judgmental of others’ taste, your “populist” streak sometimes leads you to closed-mindedness and borderline assumptions of bad faith! Just because something doesn’t appeal to you – be it the nihilism of No Country for Old Men or the obscurity of Out 1 – doesn’t mean there’s an aesthetic/emotional response to be had.
As for “the oblique reference to May 68” perhaps you are not impressed by evocations of dream states or paranoia (or perhaps you are, I don’t know); perhaps semi-mythic references to extrafilmic events, wound into a mysterious meta-narrative do nothing for you. Fine. They do something for me, and I think it’s a valid response, and furthermore, that it’s inextricapbly bound up with the choices Rivette has made and the qualities the film evokes – in other words, a measure of greatness, not just my own investment in it.
Not saying I blame you for thinking it sounds “self-indugent and pompous” (Sam DID see it and seems to agree); just sticking up for my end of it.
Mea culpa MovieMan. How many Our Fathers and Hail Maries?
Again with respect, I make it clear I have not seen the film. Unlike another post I won’t mention. My issue is with the accolades not measuring up as film criticism.
As for the myriad sins I am accused of, they are as relevant as last night’s fish and chips.
By cinematic, I mean just that. If you are going to argue some obscure film is great, you need to say more than “it’s the great elusive sangraal to intellectual film buffs” or note “its humor, the intrigue of its spontaneity and improvisation, and the ingenuity of its narrative”, all attributes that could easily be applied to a novel or a play. What distinguishes cinema from the other arts, and how does Out 1 achieve its ‘iconic’ status in those terms?
“or note ‘its humor, the intrigue of its spontaneity and improvisation, and the ingenuity of its narrative’, all attributes that could easily be applied to a novel or a play.”
But so what if they could? (By the way, this is not just a dig at you – if you notice below, I criticized myself for setting up the old canard dichotemy between film – theater. It’s always so tempting, yet ultimately something one should be careful about.) I don’t think it’s necessary to provide uniquely “cinematic” qualities which redeem a work; the dialogue in many 30s comedies is wonderful despite being taken – often verbatim – from plays, and is rightly held up as being a mark in favor of a given films’ greatness.
All that matters, really, is what’s on screen and how it works.
Which is of course neither here nor there as regards Out 1. It is very “theatrical” in parts but without ever losing its cinematic identity. At any rate, as I indicated in my follow-up, my own commentary was not intended as a comphrehensive critique, “cinematic” or otherwise so I will recuse myself from your criticism (though your inclusion of my “May 68” comment would suggest that you did not). I do hope someday to do a comprehensive piece on the film, but am not up to it right now. I do think Allan’s defense of it will do just fine, however, at least as an initial primer – “cinematic” or not as its praise may be.
Six Our Fathers and a dozen Hail Marys. And no skipping the “For thine is the kingdom, the power,” et al. on the former.
P.S. to quote the great Godard, “everything is cinema.” And on that note, I really should go to bed…
MovieMan, let me say I greatly respect you, particularly your willingness to explore your own arguments, something the rest of us don’t do enough.
Should of course read “doesn’t mean there is NOT an aesthetic/emotional experience to be had.”
As a succinct coda: Pretentiousness is tiresome, but one can also be pretentious about being unpretentious…
Movie Man:
To respond to your earlier observations, it is true that seeing this on a bootleg DVd set (sent to me from Allan) can’t match a big-screen experience, yet in view of my deep affinity for Rivette, I was rather surprised at how I felt. I will negotiate the rest of this in the upcoming days, so I don’t want to make any kind of a summary judgement as of yet. But yes, this is some head trip! When I’m done I’ll be better prepared to discuss specifics with you, and will do so.
Sam,
I would love to read more about your response & hope you do post more on the subject, particularly as you appreciate Rivette. I have only seen 3 of his films (this, Celine, and Paris Belongs to Us…though together they would equal the length of about a dozen of most other filmmaker’s work!), however it seems to me that Out 1 is a fleshing-out of the ideas and approaches present in his other movies, rather than a departure. So it will be interesting to see what you thought was overboard.
Heck, I’d like to see my reaction after viewing the movie for a second time, and on a small screen to boot.
As I said, Out 1 demands (and tends to reward) patience. Rivette, through his approach, tends to meet the viewer halfway I think…he can occasionally be maddening but there’s something about his style which opens the film up for you right away. I tend to be restless and distracted, unfortunately, and I regret to say that some great movies have probably slipped through my fingers because I watched them in too rushed or compromised a fashion. But I find myself, when tuning into Rivette’s work, immediately able to slip into the stream of his consciousness – which is a sure sign of an accomplished auteur.
Also, in response again to Tony (and to anyone else whose bs meter is ringing in regards to this film) I would say that, despite the heady literary and historical allusions and the mind-fuck puzzle quality of the film, it affected me more on a musical than on a literary or dramatic level – its appeal more intuitive than intellectual. This is why descriptions and accolades tend to sound vague; it’s much easier to describe a film’s narrative delights or even pictorial qualities than to sum up its rhythms and subtle moods, particularly for those of us who are accustomed (perhaps unfairly so) to describing cinema in terms borrowed from the theater or the book, rather than the concert hall or long-playing record…
Yikes, I can’t stop!
I’m not entirely satisfied with my previous post. In calling Out 1’s appeal “musical” I’m not entirely getting to the heart of the matter. After all, I set up a possibly false dichotemy with terms borrowed from “theater” even though Out 1 is quite theatrical in many aspects – its very subject, or a large part thereof, being theatrical rehearsals.
What I’m trying to allude to with the analogy to music is an irrational, emotional response to art. This is (ideally) present in our reaction to all works, of whatever form, but I find it to be especially so in this case. That’s why it ends up sounding so grossly self-indulgent or pompous in summary, and why – watched in the wrong mood – its attraction can seem elusive. But, in fact, I find this sort of experience – the complete immersion in a work, the living moment-to-moment, to be the highest kind of aesthetic experience I know.
It’s just damn hard to write about!
Tonight I was browsing through my copy of Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference (Silver & Ward), and a commentary by editor, Alain Silver, struck me as a vivid illustration of what I was saying here earlier today regarding a cinematic critique.
Silver provides a commentary on a b-noir made by Robert Aldrich in 1954, World for Ransom, set in Singapore. The next year Aldrich was to direct Kiss Me Deadly.
In his commentary on the film, Silver discusses how in the opening scenes Aldrich’s direction establishes the persona of the noir protagonist, a PI, Mike Callahan played by Dan Duryea, and the story’s underlying dynamic:
“The first black-and-white frame triggers associations with mystery and exoticism, with opium rings and knife-wielding assassins bringing sudden death, with all the clichés of the inscrutable and perilous Orient. From this typical film noir background of sleazy bars and wet, shiny streets, the thin, white-suited figure of Mike Callahan detaches itself. The opening conflict contained within this first sequence and first frame is a profoundly archetypal one: East (milieu) versus West (hero), Galahad (white-suited purity) versus the forces of darkness (the shadowy, low-key aspect of the city). Like heroes of noir fiction, Callahan is caught in a struggle to survive. For Aldrich this basic concept motivates and justifies an expressive exploration of the forces that threaten the hero: the confining structures—the trap—and the compelling factors that precipitate the entrapment.
The initial discovery of such an exploration in World for Ransom is of an underlying determinism. From the establishing long shot of the street banked with flashing neon the cut-in is to a medium close shot of the woman Mai Ling selling fortunes. The tout is to “take a chance”; but the talk of inherited luck, of a hereditary fate, seems to contradict the notion of chance. The ambiguity of the fortune teller’s line is really a formula of words chosen for their come-on value and uttered by rote. The audience can appreciate, after these introductory shots, that the preoccupied Callahan must and will “take a chance”; but their understanding of Callahan’s position remains nonspecific. They sense that some conflict is present but do not know the details. A clarifying medium shot follows, isolating Callahan against a dark building as he turns up an alleyway. Visually, the conflict has now been fully stated: high angle of the entire street (milieu), emergence of a figure from a background (hero), and finally situation of the hero in graphic opposition to milieu.
Callahan moves up the alley, goes through a doorway, and starts up a flight of stairs; the camera, as if under the power of a predestined pull, travels in behind him. As the angle narrows, the wedges of light on each side of the doorway disappear from the frame. The blank diagonal walls siding the stairwell focus the converging lines of perspective on a corridor at the top of the stairs. A figure steps out into the vanishing point. For a moment, the point-of-view of Callahan and the viewer merge, as they share the sudden perception of a dark form at the top of the steps. A reverse angle looking down at Callahan reveals another figure blocking the doorway to the alley. A trap has, literally, closed on him, a trap that the components of the shot imply hold him in its grasp halfway between top and bottom, between polarities.”
Tony, the point you have raised bypasses Out 1 and goes right to the heart of criticism – and indirectly, the blogosphere. What you are advocating is, loosely defined, formalism – the approach to a film which examines, concretely, what it is and, somewhat less concretely but strengthened by the concrete analysis, what this “means.”
I have endeavored to take this approach from time to time and, perhaps surprisingly, it is my preferred method of analysis. I say surprisingly because my own writing more often than not does not take this approach. It’s one of the things I’ve faced and been ocassionally troubled by since I began blogging.
Before I had to – metaphorically – “put pen to paper” I would consider myself primarily a formalist, and primarily an auteurist. This came in part from some provisional filmmaking experience, with a particular affinity for montage though this was began shifting into an appreciation of mise en scene a few years.
Well, I have not made anything – even the amateur video camera “movies” of the sort I composed week in week out as a kid – for several years now (my last “narrative” video short, a brief if byzantine and bizarre exercise shot in a night and edited the following afternoon; I do feel I’m on the verge of plunging into filmmaking again, but so far have stalled and delayed, which is neither here nor there but might as well be mentioned). This has, I think, had an impact on the way I view, and hence write or talk about, films.
For a while I was unable to slip as seamlessly into the cinematic world as I had in childhood – I knew the magic tricks and, for example, when I sat down to watch Forrest Gump after my first provisional experiences working with a dolly I could virtually “see” the crane off-camera in that opening shot and was supremely conscious of every decision that went into composing that first scene.
Now, this is not an entirely unpleasant way to engage with a work, but one also wants to retain an element of the illusion. Well, this illusion has been somewhat restored, partly due to the aforementioned break from filmmaking, partly due to the sheer number of films I’ve watched (along with the fact that many of these are older, their techniques different – and thus maybe more “invisible” to me), but also I think in large part due to the act of writing itself.
As you’ve probably noticed, it’s much easier to write about film in an impressionistic way than a concrete one. I’ve heard the contrary – that formalism gives you something firm to grasp – but as I try to avoid plot summaries and summaries of action, which I find to be redundant (unless, like Silver, one weaves the formal analysis in with the description – though even in his case, I wish there was even more weaving), I find myself sometimes falling out of contact with the formal elements.
In short (too late) I value what you’re asking for, but recognize that all of us – you included – generally do not reach or perhaps even pursue this line of inquiry. Certainly, the in-depth formal analysis does not lend itself to the daily grind of blogging. It’s one reason I’ve attempted to move away from the pressue to constantly put up a post – though I’ve yet to fully take advantage of the opportunity to dive deeper into a film.
Tony, I have not seen WORLD FOR RANSOM, but yet this is quite the definition of “critique.” Of course, this is hardly a surprise as Silver rates among the best in the business (in any genre) and there isn’t (literally) a camera movement or positioning that escapes his scrutinizing, watchful eye. Apart from that, this is as descriptive a piece of film writing anyone could hope to find anywhere, as it peels away the gauze and does (as you rightly note in paraphrasing Silver) “establish Callahan’s persona” and it superbly deliniates the “underlying dynamic” right from the opening frames, where the sense of “mystery” and “exoticism” are firmly established. The clarification of “entrapment” and “determinism” there is splendid, and with writers/film scholars like Silver to examine, it’s no wonder that noir as a cinematic form has always been as fascinating as it is. I mean, not a SINGLE camera movement is left undefined. Amazing piece here, I don’t blame you for marveling at it. I haven’t even seen the film and I was riveted reading it. I bet Dee Dee will find much here too.
Movie Man: I will be back later today (it’s our final day of school, before the summer program kicks in on Monday, a program I will be again be involved with) to examine your ‘burning the midnight oil’ submissions on OUT 1, which typically look stunning. I will respond to you.
One last night on formalism and blogging: I find that when I do use it it’s in unexpected areas – a TV show (Twin Peaks, where I analyzed how each director – along with what each writer – used the material) and also, as planned, my upcoming series on adaptations of Wind in the Willows (though here analysis of form will deal with narrative decisions as much as stylistic ones). This could mean two things, at least as far as I’m concerned, but also perhaps by wider implication: a formal analysis can arise out of novelty – i.e. be used when it’s an unconventional method more often than when it’s to be expected, and also that formalism makes the most sense when comparing like objects, whose underpinnings are the same but whose details differ – like the episodes of a TV show, or the various adaptations of the same source material.
MovieMan, talking about formalism as a category or approach makes sense, but it is limiting to the extent that our understanding of a predominantly visual medium requires some analysis of how what we see has been constructed and its impact on our perceptions.
In most of my longer reviews at FilmsNoir.Net I tried to illustrate my perceptions by reference to at least once scene where I talked about the mise-en-scene, the placement and movement of the camera, the lighting, the type of shot and so on.
I agree that being on the lookout for technique can interfere with one’s immersion in a film, but this is not a valid reason to not pursue such an approach. Ideally, we should see a film at least more than once, or at the very least, if possible, revisit particular scenes and seek to understand how our response has been shaped by the ‘dancing image’ on the screen (forgive the pun).
I made one short silent movie in my early 20s using a std-8 movie camera, and through this limited experience I came to understand that pointing the camera and shooting does not cut it. You quickly realise that what you want to express visually requires decisions on where to place your camera etc… So as a visual understanding is essential to making a good film so should it form part of all film criticism.
“I made one short silent movie in my early 20s using a std-8 movie camera, and through this limited experience I came to understand that pointing the camera and shooting does not cut it….”
Tony, what was the subject of the film if I might ask?
It was obviously no big deal, Sam, and ran for 8 minutes. Two actors, my younger brother and I, in a story about identity and illusion. A guy thinks he sees another guy he knows and the tension is that, the other disappears and appears again, he chases the phantom and never finds him. It was filmed at abandoned warehouses on wharves at Sydney Harbour – the sort of place you would have a noir chase and shoot-out. We filmed each other with the hand-held camera, and had to wait 3 weeks for Kodak to process the reels. I then edited by hand… It was fun and I still have the film and the camera, and projector.
While acknowledging that formalism is an important approach and possibly my favorite one, I don’t think it’s the only way to deal with a film. Ideally, all film critiques should contain some element of it, but I would hesitate to call myself a critic – at least in my capicity as a blogger. Rather, I’m a writer on film – sometimes my writing is criticism, from a formal or a thematic or a holistic approach (which I believe is the kind of criticism you hold up as the ideal, and not unwisely so), sometimes it is more impressionistic, more about my responses to the work or tangential thoughts the work raised than about approaching the work head-on from a critical, analytical perspective.
But I do think it would behoove all critics and, in fact, all writers on film to have at least passing knowledge with how a film is constructed. Sitting in your chair as a passive, or even a critical, viewer is quite different from having an appreciation of the often scattershot and compromised, yet highly conscious, way a movie is made. Even Pauline Kael, whose criticism was very impressionistic, set in on the making of a movie – though her scathing attack on Sidney Lumet and “The Group” ensured that the experiment would not be repeated too frequently in the future.
Well said MovieMan. Let me make it clear that I also don’t make any claim to being a film critic… far from it.
Well Tony, a story about “identity” and “illusion” at that age is most impressive. And what a setting there–the “abandoned warehouses of Sydney Harbor!” Those are the kind of experiences never forgotten through life! It’s great you’ve held on to it too.
My friends as I made a “horror” film when we were 17, called “The Stella Doro Murders” which involved zombies who at one point sat down as an outdoor table to have tea and stella doro cookies, all to classical music, like Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. Ha!
Your flic sounds like more fun, Sam!
Hi! Sam Juliano,
Sam Juliano said, “Tony, I have not seen WORLD FOR RANSOM, but this is quite the definition of “critique.”
I have to agree, with you Sam Juliano, what a nice “critique” because Tony’s critique of this film sent me in the direction of a film noir collector (I bet you, know who I’am talking about…hmmm) in order to seek this (baby) film out!….Yay! 🙂
Sam said,”I bet Dee Dee will find much here too.
Well, Sam, I do not know about much, but I just acquired a copy of the film World for Ransom.
Because I have never watched or even heard of this noir-tinged, film called World of Ransom. Wot?!? Get out!
By the way, when it comes to Silver’s books only his book with James Ursini (The Noir Style) sit on my bookshelf. I wonder if Phillipe and Jerri’s ears are burning.
Take care!
DeeDee
LOL Dee Dee!!!!!!
I know just who you are talking about there! His initials are G. M.
As far as Silver, I’ll admit his stuff is essential. That excerpt that Tony wrote (paraphrasing him) was fantastic. Thats why I responded as I did.
By the way, Sam, I sent you an email yesterday pertaining to this film, but of course!
Take care! 😉
“I have to agree, with you Sam Juliano, what a nice “critique” because Tony’s critique…”
Oops! 😳
Sam said,”That excerpt that Tony wrote (paraphrasing him (Alain Silver) was fantastic.”
Right you are!
DeeDee 😉