Andy Griffith in Elia Kazan's A Face in the Crowd

Dear Belcourt Theatre,

I hate you.

Your VISIONS OF THE SOUTH series is eating up every available moment of my spare time. Should I write a Film Talk blog or go watch THE PHENIX CITY STORY? Sorry, Film Talk.

Should I put out my weekly podcast or delay it for THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT? Productivity is overrated.

Against any opponent, you win. Because of you, I am losing sleep, dates, and spare time. Your new series is so masterfully-assembled that it compels me, draws me in like a Confederate veteran to the banjo-strummed notes of “Dixie.” I must attend.

. . .

Oh, I can’t stay mad at you, Belcourt!

Yours always,

Tony

As you can tell, I’ve had a pretty productive week in movie-going. The only new film in my crown is the indie, neo-new-wave, black and white, semi-musical GUY & MADELINE ON A PARK BENCH; and I can’t decide how I feel about it (certainly not enough to write a helpful review). The eight other films I’ve screened since my last post all belong to the Belcourt Theatre’s phenomenal VISIONS OF THE SOUTH SERIES. Those films are WILD RIVER, THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT, STEAMBOAT ‘ROUND THE BEND, STARS IN MY CROWN, THE PHENIX CITY STORY, NIGHT OF THE HUNTER, GOD’S LITTLE ACRE, and FACE IN THE CROWD. The series is surely a watershed moment in Belcourt’s estimable history, and I am quite the addict. In fact, I am putting a rush on this article so I have time to screen TOMORROW at the Belcourt in an hour. (UPDATE: I failed. Make that nine films now screened.)

Most of the films in the series thus far were produced in the 1950s. You can’t make a 50s Southern film without dealing with the topic of racism. In most of the cases, the white filmmakers meant well, exposing societies prejudices (some, like John Ford’s THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT in comfortable historic hindsight). But we also get a sense of the artists’ own prejudices. In every film that dealt with racism, it was the strong white hero who lifted his hand to the downtrodden black people. Never do we see strong black characters resolving their problems themselves. These characters are mere plot devices, existing only to illustrate the goodness and bravery of the white heroes. In the case of STARS IN MY CROWN, preacher Josiah Grey (Joel McCrea) staves off a lynch-thirsty KKK mob by reading the will of Uncle Famous, the accused black man (Juano Hernandez). In a very touching scene, the KKK are shamed by Uncle Famous’ words. He wills to many in the crowd his most-prized possessions, including his valuable mica-mining rights to the very man trying to steal them. But when the crowd disperses, we see that the pages were blank. Thus, it was the ingenuity of the white preacher, not the words of the black man, that defused the mob. In film after film, the black characters are spared shame, impoverishment, or death only by the grace of a white man’s benevolence. (A man in all cases. 50s sexism is another matter.)

After we screened THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT, my friend reminded me that I can’t hold films of the past by today’s ethical standards. I suppose I both agree and disagree. I think we can appreciate what the films were trying to do through the lens of the times in which they were made. Doing so only deepens our understanding. Perhaps the filmmakers were truly getting away with the absolute maximum progressiveness their society allowed. And we can still hold in high esteem movies with flawed ethics. THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT is now one of my favorite films, despite scenes such as the white sheriff protecting his black prisoner from yet-another lynch-thirsty mob through the barrel of a gun. That doesn’t mean we can’t criticize through the scope of our current understanding. Should we give a free pass to BIRTH OF A NATION or TRIUMPH OF THE WILL because the directors didn’t know better?

You might argue that nothing has really changed except the position of our blinders. We’re so in tune with our times that we can easily pick apart the flawed ethics of the past; but when it comes to modern cinema, we haven’t built up the moral hindsight. This series of films is making me want to think harder about modern cinema, and to open a dialogue about it with people from other cultures and ethnic backgrounds. When we watch an episode of MAD MEN, we smirk every time someone makes a quip about cigarettes not causing cancer or when a woman is marginalized in the workplace. We’re in the know. The injustice is obvious. But it wasn’t obvious at the time. At least not to those in power. What hidden injustices of today will a future tv show lampoon? What are our blind spots? How do we go about fixing them?

I’m looking forward to the rest of the series — which moves into the 60s, 70s and beyond — to see how later generations of Southern films dealt with the issues of race. And I’m especially interested to see how racism is handled by the black filmmakers Oscar Micheaux (BODY AND SOUL) and Raymond St. Jacques (BOOK OF NUMBERS).

This is all making it sound like I don’t like the films in the VISIONS OF THE SOUTH SERIES. That’s not the case. In fact, I’ve been pretty amazed by nearly every film  — the only exception being the tedious comedy/drama GOD’S LITTLE ACRE, a blot on Anthony Mann’s otherwise stellar directing career. The film tries to be five genres at once. The cast (headed by Robert Ryan, Aldo Ray, and Buddy Hackett) are all amazing. So are the shots. But nothing can save the picture from its aspirations of weight and importance. I’m a little surprised it made the cut.

I’ve seen two of the three Elia Kazan films in the series — WILD RIVER and A FACE IN THE CROWD. (Sadly, I missed BABY DOLL.) WILD RIVER is a gorgeous Technicolor epic about a Tennessee Valley Authority agent trying to convince an old women to sell her land that will be flooded for the coming dam. Tradition versus progress. You would expect the film to proudly stand in the camp of tradition. But as Belcourt programmer Jason Shawhan pointed out to me after the screening, the film empathizes with the old ways but still understands progress is necessary. You could almost call it “progress porn” when the symphonic score plays a majestic sweep during the movie’s parting shot of the finished dam.

A FACE IN THE CROWD was a highlight of the series for me. Andy Griffith plays a cantankerous drifter who talks his way out of a county jail into fame as a prime-time television show host. He leaves bits of his values and humanity along the way, eventually becoming a soulless monster. There’s a scene at the end which has been indelibly inked into my film-going consciousness: that of Andy Griffith performing to his empty high-rise apartment as his lackey triggers canned applause from a laugh-machine. The film is an important testament to power’s corrupting influence, especially fascinating in the light of Kazan HUAC testimony just a few years before.

The other two major highlights for me were John Ford’s THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT and Phil Karlson’s THE PHENIX CITY STORY. THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT tells the story of a small town sheriff in turn-of-the-century Kentucky. Doing the right thing may very well cost him the election. The movie skillfully patches several Irving S. Cobb short stories into one cohesive story line. The townsfolk feel like organs and appendages of the town as a living organism. THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT is quaint, stately, masterful, and easily my favorite film in the series.

THE PHENIX CITY STORY is a hard-edged docu-drama about vice and corruption in a small Alabama town. Think of the most bleak, dire, and violent 50s film you’ve seen, and multiply it all by 2. A local lawyer runs for Attorney General of Alabama in order to clean up mob corruption. The film ponders our willingness to stand against injustice when the stakes are incredibly high. THE PHENIX CITY STORY was way ahead of its time and still feels cutting edge today.

Stay tuned for more coverage as VISIONS OF THE SOUTH rolls on.

Tony Youngblood is a film and music snob and producer of the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favoritefilms include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

So,  the 83rd annual Academy Awards happened. I think. The effort to revitalize the franchise for the “young and hip” demographic failed miserably. Twitter was abuzz with grand pronouncements of “most boring Oscars ever.” The historically-inaccurate THE KING’S SPEECH robbed the historically-inaccurate THE SOCIAL NETWORK of all the highest honors. The most entertaining part of the night came from the Auto Tune the News team doing an unintentional musicals mashup. Yes, the best part of a show all about movies was a web video. Speaking of web videos, James Franco iPhoned his opening entrance and posted it on his Twitter a few moments later.

Check out the video. Pretty cool seeing it from the host’s side, don’t you think? But sadly, his videos tweets became less interesting as the night progressed, culminating in a hand massage courtesy of Anne Hathaway.

Last week, the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville announced their new series for March and April: VISIONS OF THE SOUTH. And holy expl@t!ve, I’ve never been more excited about a film series! The show culminates in a rare screening of Oscar Micheaux’s 1925 silent film BODY AND SOUL, featuring the first appearance of legendary actor Paul Robeson. Micheaux was one of America’s first black directors and THE first independent filmmaker of any ethnicity. He was raised in Metropolis, Illnois only 40 minutes away from my home town in western Kentucky. Sadly, Metropolis celebrates a fictitious super hero (Superman by way of a giant statue and yearly festival) while they have completely forgotten their real national treasure.

I could gush full blog about every film in the VISIONS OF THE SOUTH series. Do yourself a favor and go check out the lineup. The series kicks off Friday, March 11th with Elia Kazan’s WILD RIVER.

Allow me one more tangent before my main review of KABOOM. Last night I saw ENTER THE VOID at the Belcourt with the censored reel restored. One day is not distance enough to formulate an opinion on the film’s merits; but rest assured, it is a film like no other. The film is shot in first person through the eyes of a young American drug dealer living in Tokyo. At times, I literally felt like I was in his head. It was not a pleasant place to be.

Is the film too long? Too indulgent? Maybe. No matter your opinion, you have to admire the craft and skill of the camera team who used the camera cranes and other rigs to remarkable effect. The same could be said for the visual effects team whose effects blend in (for the most part) so well that it’s hard to tell what is real. ENTER THE VOID is a crowning technical achievement, the APOCALYPSE NOW of drug movies. It will be discussed for years to come.

Gregg Araki’s KABOOM exists in a universe not too distant from ENTER THE VOID. Whereas EtV is a day-glo trip about young people destroying themselves in order to find solace, KABOOM is a day-glo trip about young people trying to have a good time and getting destroyed in the process. Actually, to be honest, I’m not exactly sure what it’s about. There’s the bisexual lead Smith who sexes his way through a campus mystery involving a cult of animal-masked creepy people. There are also mind controlling witches, sage-like sexpots, and secret agent hippies. The film sheds a level of credulity every reel or so, and I get the sense that we’re supposed to revel in the camp. I attended with friends who are diehard Araki fans, and they all had a ball. I’ve only seen one of his films — THE DOOM GENERATION — and since that viewing was when the VHS edition was a new release, you’ll forgive me for my spotty remembrance.

The bright spot is the arresting young actress Haley Bennett, who I am convinced is going to be a huge star. There, I’m calling it now. She steals ever scene she is in.

The movie was shot on video, which is certainly no strike against it in of itself; but the look is so garishly post-processed and color-amped that I couldn’t stand to look at the screen for more than a few moments at a time. That is an apt-metaphor for every other aspect of the picture.

I know what you’re going to say. ENTER THE VOID is also garishly post-processed. True. But whereas the color-timer on ENTER THE VOID can be likened to Van Gogh, the timer on KABOOM painted the white-ribbon-winning landscape at the state fair.

If I didn’t know any better, I would have guessed Gregg Araki to be in his early twenties instead of his early fifties. I say this because the film is full of all those young filmmaker urges that must be sowed before adulthood. There’s the standard “we don’t know it’s a dream until he wakes up” sequence, the one-dimensional college stereotypes, and the “cut from something gory to a close-up of food being sliced that looks like something gory.” The only thing missing is a “wake up and turn the alarm off” opening. But Gregg is no first-timer. I have to accept that these techniques are all intentional. What that intention is, I have no idea.

And then there’s the ending. I still haven’t figured out if it is intended to be a Donnie Darko “awwwww shit” moment or an irreverent thumb at the audience for taking everything so seriously. If latter, epic fail. I stopped taking things seriously after the first 15 minutes. The final shot was less a “WTF?!” and more an “Ummmm. . . okaaaaay.” If you’re already an Araki fan, you’ll probably be perfectly satisfied with KABOOM. If not, wait for the VHS release.

Tony Youngblood is a film and music snob and producer of the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

A great injustice occurred this week. This heavy blow strikes me breathless, but I must find within me the lung capacity to cry out! A leader has been ousted from his place of rule, leaving unrest, upheaval, and the ashes of what once were. No, I’m not talking about what’s been happening in Tunisia. No, not Nigeria either.

I have been ousted from the Foursquare Mayorship of the Belcourt Theatre!

I will give you a moment to let the terrible news settle.

I went to watch HIS GIRL FRIDAY and MARWENCOL at the Belcourt on Sunday and performed my customary Foursquare check in. But something wasn’t right. Instead of seeing my usual smiling thumbnail in the Mayor spot, there was an interloper! Who are you Kelli L. from Brentwood, Tennessee? Why have you done this to me?!

I know not what lies in the heart of this theatrical dissident. Did she oust me out of jealousy? Spite? Lust for power? The smoke has yet to clear and the psychological evaluations are still weeks away. Personally, I blame the Sam’s Myth posters decorating the Belcourt lobby with their vibrant images and beckoning typefaces, lulling innocent patrons into repeat visits.

So it is with great sadness that I remove my Belcourt Mayorship from my Film Talk biography. I can only replace it with a hole. A hole so deep and black and despairingly powerful that even unicorns and rainbows can’t escape.

Perhaps some light escapes. I have just been informed from my Foursquare iPhone app that I am just two days away from regaining my Mayor-ship. Watch out, Kelli L! IT IS ON!

——–

Howard Hawk’s whip-smart, wise-cracking HIS GIRL FRIDAY from 1940 is one of my favorite comedies of all time. Cary Grant lies, thieves, and schemes to keep his ex-wife and star reporter Rosalind Russell from leaving the paper and marrying a corn-fed insurance salesman. The repartee is so rapid-fire and overlapping that it puts any Robert Altman dialogue to shame. I’ve seen the film many times before, but the thing that most struck me in my latest screening is the film’s inherent racism. An accused man, possibly insane but undoubtedly guilty, stands before the gallows in hope of a last-minute reprieve from the Republican governor. His crime? He shot a police officer. The officer was, “colored,” Cary Grant matter-of-factly observes, and the Democratic mayor needs “the colored vote” to win the next election. So the accused man’s fate is ping-ponged between the mayor who seeks the African American vote and the governor who seeks to deny the mayor of it. All the while, the implications of an out-of-work white man killing a black man in a position of power are brushed to the side for the sake of comedy, and none of the characters even pause to reflect why the African American population may very well want answers. That the film deals with these issues is not racist — the problem is that the film DOESN’T deal with these issues. The angle is purely a plot contrivance, something to be brushed aside and forgotten. A number of uncontroversial political battles could have replaced it with no loss to the comedy. In the ’40s, I wonder if the white audiences batted an eye.

At the credit roll, I exited the 1966 hall and immediately entered the 1925 hall to screen MARWENCOL, a new documentary about the backyard miniature-world created by Mark Hogancamp, a victim of a violent hate-fueled attack which left him brain-damaged. He slowly rebuilds his coordination and memories by constructing a World-War-II-era Belgian town in miniature, using Barbie dolls and other figurines made in likeness of him and his friends, playing out scenes of love and torture that echo his own life. The art world takes notice, and the film culminates in his gallery opening in New York City.

MARWENCOL’s subject matter is absolutely fascinating, and for this, I have to give it a ten out of ten. The film’s style and structure, however, only deserve a three. First-time director and long-time film editor Jeff Malmberg (whose editing jobs include such classics as the Paris Hilton vehicle THE HOTTIE AND THE NOTTIE) unveils major story details in small doses throughout the film. The material would have been far more fascinating had we learned the full details of the shooting up front. When a major character point was revealed halfway through the film, I had to stop and reprocess everything. By parsing the revelations evenly through the runtime, Malmberg misjudges our attention span and short shrifts the subject matter, leaving us no time to evaluate the story as a whole with all of its complications and subtleties.

Malmberg also divides the film into sections presented by title cards held by Hogencamp’s dolls. The effect is at best hokey and at worst a tampering with an artist’s work. Mark Hogencamp’s story doesn’t need a film to make it compelling — intrigue practically oozes out of every ball-joint — but the movie MARWENCOL has to do more than ride on the coattails of its subject matter to become its own work of art.

——–

I finally screened THE KING’S SPEECH last night, and I am looking forward to hearing Jett and Gareth’s thoughts on it on this week’s podcast. I enjoyed the film, especially the performances of Geoffrey Rush and Colin Firth. They received a Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor nomination respectively in Tuesday’s Oscar Nominations. The story of King George VI’s budding friendship with his speech therapist probably wouldn’t crack my top ten films of the year, but the film was fine on all levels. I do admit to being slightly puzzled by all the critical acclaim being heaped upon it. I have to be careful to not let that puzzlement disparage my assessment: well-done but not earth-shattering.

Tony Youngblood is a film and music snob and producer of the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

Buster Keaton & Charlie Chaplin together at last in Limelight

“Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness.” — Charlie Chaplin’s unnamed protagonist in THE GREAT DICTATOR.

There’s always been an air of humanism in Charlie Chaplin’s films. The sentiment is perhaps best summed up by the above quote from THE GREAT DICTATOR. Chaplin’s character was mistaken for a very Hitler-like dictator, and he was thrust onto the stage to deliver a grand summation. Instead of hate-filled fascist vitriol, he floored the crowd with a message of love and hope — not a prayer to some unknown god, but a plea to those in the here and now. If we want to change things, we have to do it ourselves. The audience of 1940 found the message corny .  . . and perhaps a little too close to home (Germany was still America’s ally). The movie flopped. But after decades of war — largely due to overconfidence in our gods and blind hatred of theirs — the message doesn’t sound so corny after all.

Chaplin’s spirituality was at best amorphous. He once told the famous composer Rachmaninoff that he was “not a believer.” Charlie’s son asked about his beliefs, and Charlie replied, “I’m definitely an agnostic.” He went on to allow for a possibility of a supreme force, but he never cemented an opinion on what that force was. [1.] Chaplin greatly admired science, but he also understood the need for a strong ethical foundation, lest our technical prowess evolve fasten than our ethics. [2.] MODERN TIMES best illustrated his awe of technology and criticism in how we wield it. [3.]

Charlie’s humanism has been on my mind because of two films I recently screened at the Belcourt Theatre’s Charlie Chaplin festival — LIMELIGHT and THE KID. The former was one of his last films; the latter, his first feature. Much had changed in the 31 year interim. Chaplin’s later direction was more assured, his self-composed scores sweeter, and, of course, the films talked. But a few things remained unchanged: Chaplin’s wide-eyed wonder; the sharp, insightful comedy; his love for humanity; and his hatred of injustice.

In 1921′s THE KID, Chaplin’s Tramp stumbles upon an abandoned baby boy and a note that reads, “Please love and care for this orphan child .” The Tramp reluctantly decides to raise the boy as his own, and he quickly develops a deep compassion for the child. 5 years later, his life has been totally recalibrated around caring for the boy. When the state threatens to take the child away, the pair do anything they can to stay together. In just his first feature, Chaplin was already championing the downtrodden and, “showing a deep compassion to those in a state of suffering.” [Core Principals of Secular Humanism.] This fascination with the underdog would inform his films to the end of his career.

1952′s LIMELIGHT is not just a summation of Chaplin’s humanist principles but a projection of his whole outlook on life, the closest thing to a biography he ever made. He plays the Great Calvero, a once-famous aging vaudevillian comedian who now can barely pay the rent. He spends his days in an alcoholic stupor and his nights dreaming of the glory days. Coming home from a bender one day, he smells gas in his apartment’s stairwell and discovers his neighbor unconscious in her room, gas pipe leaking. The doctor charges him to care for the girl, and he reluctantly agrees. He learns her name — Terry (played by an effervescent Claire Bloom) — and discovers she’s a ballerina whose illness was a suicide attempt. Calvero focuses his entire energy on curing Terry’s depression and espouses some infinitely-quotable wisdom that must have come from the pages of Chaplin’s idea notebooks. I wish I had a written down the best lines, but IMDB lists a few:

“Time is the best author. It always writes the perfect ending.”

“That’s all any of us are: amateurs. We don’t live long enough to be anything else.”

“Life can be wonderful if you’re not afraid of it.”

“There’s greatness in everyone.”

In a theme at least as old as THE KID, Calvero becomes a better man in his friendship with Terry. He stops drinking and seeks work in the theaters again. The hope he gives to her rubs off on himself. Soon, she’s dancing at the opera-house, and he plays the part of a clown. I won’t give anymore away; but suffice it to say, drama unfolds. Calvero makes a decision that reveals the true height of his compassion for Terry. The penultimate scene is a brilliant vaudeville routine by Chaplin and Buster Keaton, the only time they appeared together on film.

LIMELIGHT drew heavily on Chaplin’s early days in the music halls. He intended it to be his last film, and I really get the sense he was laying his heart bare on screen. The film is not without some melodramatic moments, hammy acting, and over-moralizing; but these are minor issues in Chaplin’s great ode to courage, kindness, compassion, and the human spirit. LIMELIGHT is one of Chaplin’s great masterpieces.

Throughout his career, Chaplin made films about inalienable universal rights, intolerance of suffering, the wonder of life, the common good, the rights of the child, science and reason, and the celebration of the here and now. He was the screen’s first and greatest humanist, our ethical compass before we were ready to listen.

The Belcourt’s Chaplin Festival continues with A KING IN NEW YORK, MONSIEUR VERDOUX, A WOMAN OF PARIS, and CHAPLIN SHORTS.

Tony Youngblood is the current Foursquare Mayor of the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville, TN, a film and music snob, and producer of the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

Maybe I misunderstood Joaquin Phoenix’s I’m Still Here when I called it an over-privileged aping of Andy Kaufman and Borat. (See my The Film Talk review here.) As I watched the 1971 documentary The American Dreamer — about Dennis Hopper and the making of his ill-fated The Last Movie – I had an epiphany. Phoenix was aping 1971 Dennis Hopper. It’s all there. The scraggly beard, the idiosyncratic OCD beard-stroking, the lashing out, the fawning groupies, and the pretentious droplets of wisdom espoused to anyone who will listen (in fame’s bubble, apparently everyone).

I saw The American Dreamer double-featured with The Last Movie last week at the Belcourt. Harmony Korine and the critic Jim Ridley were in the audience. And, oh boy, what a ball we had! I don’t mean the films were particularly good — The Last Movie was a jumbled mess and The American Dreamer’s only inspiration was its subject matter. Rather, the rarely-screened films were beautiful artifacts of a time gone by, profiles in excessiveness, and a two-sided morality tale on what happens when no one ever tells you no.

Hopper made The Last Movie right after his breakout hit Easy Rider. Universal Pictures had no idea about this crazy new “youth market,” but they figured Hopper did. They gave him carte blanche and a million dollars to make his epic. Complete artistic and financial freedom can actually be a recipe for doom, even for a director of extraordinary talent like Henri-Georges Clouzot. (By any means necessary, see the haunting documentary Inferno about Clouzot’s abandoned epic L’enfer.) For Hopper, a former child actor with little directing experience, carte blanch was a death sentence. The Last Movie is a sprawling, disjointed, misogynistic,  muddled, excessive, and belabored mess. (Good soundtrack though.) I got the sense that Hopper adored Alejandro Jodorowski’s El Topo and wanted to make a film like it. And indeed, it turns out the two were friends and that Jodorowski goaded Hopper into a non-linear re-cutting. While that may have been an innovative choice for the time, it just makes the movie even more befuddling. The Last Movie is indeed a “passionate personal vision” as a friend of mine quipped in the film’s defense, but passion isn’t enough. The ideas, metaphors, and “scathing critiques of the Hollywood system” have to actually make sense onscreen and not just in the director’s head (which is another reason why I find the Hopper double-feature and I’m Still Here so similar).

L.M. Kit Carson and Lawrence Schiller‘s The American Dreamer is an all-access profile of Dennis Hopper during The Last Movie‘s post-production. Did you find it hard to swallow that Joaquin Phoenix would snort cocaine and solicit prostitutes while being recorded? Wait till you see what Hopper does! On-camera, he boozes, drugs, womanizes, and engages in at least one bathtub menage au trois. It is a sad record of an artist shielded from all criticism by success and fame. Playboy bunnies find eloquence in his pretentious babblings. He casually tells the directors his fantasy would be “three woman and hot springs,” and they magically produce a dozen fawning females in the strangest sexual powwow ever recorded. Dennis Hopper loves to hear himself talk, and his audience of adoring women are pure uncut heroin. I sat in awe of the words escaping his mouth; but I couldn’t turn away, similar to how I’ve watched the Christine O’Donnell 1st Amendment clip about a dozen times.

At this point you probably think I’ve got something in for Dennis Hopper. That’s not the case at all. He was one of the best actors of his generation and his 1980 film Out of the Blue is one of my favorite movies. An artist’s personal life matters little to me when it doesn’t reach the screen. But The Last Movie and American Dreamer ARE Dennis Hopper embodied — and sadly, at a time in his life when he was addicted to drugs, alcohol, women, and himself. Watching them is like watching Tom Cruise’s Epic Scientology Masterpiece ™ followed by the million dollar making-of.

Tony Youngblood is the current Foursquare Mayor of the Belcourt Theatre, a film and music snob, and producer of the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

To discuss John M. Stahl’s 40s Technicolor noir Leave Her to Heaven in any great detail would be to give too much away, and I don’t want to rob you of the film’s many pleasures. I’ll tell you this much: Fiction writer Richard Harland (Cornel Wilde) meets the beautiful and mysterious Ellen Berent (Gene Tierney) on a train, and they immediately begin a passionate love affair. But there are a few loose ends to deal with — Ellen’s fiance Russel for example (Vincent Price). Ellen quickly breaks it off with Russel and announces her engagement to Richard  — news to Richard. He agrees — after all, she’s his dream girl — and they marry, living happily ever after.

Not quite.

Ellen loves Richard. Deeply. Madly. Obsessively. She loves him so much that she finds she can’t share him. One by one she deals with his love’s competitors: His brother Danny, her sister, their unborn child. We can tell there’s something not quite right about her from the start, when she stalker-stares Richard on a train because he reminds her of her dead father. As the film progresses, we begin to see her obsession’s darker hues, ending in an unpredictable turn of events.

During a Q&A at the end of the film’s Belcourt screening, someone commented, “What exactly did the author have against women?” and I wondered that myself. Ellen is the perfect stereotype of the doting, spiteful, jealous housewife. Cornel West shuffles innocently (and naivley) from scene to scene, scratching his chin and throwing his hands up. Is Leave Her to Heaven a product of its time – a world where women were treated as second class citizens? (Woman had only gained the right to vote 25 years before the film was made.) And if the film spreads the biases of its male 40s creators, can we still enjoy the Oscar-winning cinematography, the beautiful outdoor scenery, the Frank Lloyd Wright style set design, and the Oscar-nominated performance of Gene Tierny?

Of course we can. But what if there’s more than meets the eye? The film is told in flashback. Richard’s lawyer spots him as he returns home from a 2 year jail sentence — for what crime, we won’t know until the film’s climax. The lawyer proceeds to recount the story of Richard and Ellen, beginning with the day they met on the train. How reliable is the narrator? Most of what he knows is second-hand, and most of that was told to him by Richard. If we treat the flashbacks as strictly the lawyer’s interpretation of events and not the be-all-end-all truth, then we’re only hearing one side of the story. Watching the film in this perspective completely opens up a fascinating way to interpret it. Perhaps Richard’s suspicions of his wife are unfounded. Perhaps the tragic turns of events really are just unfortunate accidents. (We see Ellen commit these crimes, but remember, this is how the lawyer is recalling the past.) Perhaps Richard has fallen in love with Ellen’s sister and is looking for any excuse to make his wife the victim. In this lens, the film could be viewed as a feminist masterpiece, illustrating how history is written by the oppressors.

Did John M. Stahl intend for the film to be viewed this way? Probably not. It took 5 more years for the unreliable narrator idea to be fully explored in Kurosawa’s Rashomon. But it’s still interesting to view the film in this lens. Christopher Nolan purposefully left open dual interpretations of his film Inception (listen to the Film Talk review here). Leave Her To Heaven was made 65 years earlier, and its mysteries are just as illusive. Did the top stop spinning? Is Ellen Berent a victim or villain?

Tony Youngblood is the current Foursquare Mayor of the Belcourt Theatre, a film and music snob, and producer of the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

More and more I wish for some sort of universal copyright/left system that would allow for easy re-use of existing material:

Why Not Re-Hab Films Like We Do Houses?

This occupied my mind yesterday when I screened the extremely watchable doc THE WILD AND WONDERFUL WHITES OF WEST VIRGINIA.

Documenting a year in the life of an ‘outlaw’ family in West Virginia, (though not nearly as ‘outlaw’ as the trailer for the pic would have you believe), the film is layered with music and graphics that sorta tell you what to think – this is not necessary – but it’s a stylistic choice that moves the pic along at a clip so I understand the compulsion to do it – but can’t help thinking about the raw material – the bags and bags of tapes that must exist after a year of shooting.

Wouldn’t it be a wonderful service to make those available for anyone to remix and reversion?  Because while the film itself is well-crafted, competent and done with obvious love for the subjects, the humanity on display is something special, it transcends the contemporary nature of the filmmaking – so much so that I watched the film through again with the sound off to just watch the faces – a much more powerful experience for me then the film with the sound turned on.

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Just a thought for this humid and wet Monday morning in Nashville;  THE WILD AND WONDERFUL WHITES OF WEST VIRGINIA is at The Becourt Theatre for three days only, July 13th to the 15th.

The pic is also available to watch on demand at home – click here to go the Official Site and find out how.

Toshiro Mifune in Stray Dog

Stray Dog
1949, Screening July 16th – 19th

This Toshiro Mifune crime drama is film-noir Kurosawa style and considered by many to be the director’s best pre-Rashomon film. In a plot that would be grifted time and time again, Mifune plays a rookie cop whose gun is stolen. He and his superior (Takashi Shimura of Ikiru fame) hunt for the thief.  Meanwhile, the gun is used in a robbery and murder, Mifune grows more and more discombobulated, and personalities collide. The sweat is palpable. With a brand new 35mm print, Stray Dog is one of Kurosawa’s first masterpieces and a must see.

Seven Samurai
1954, Screening July 24th-26th

Seven Samurai

Most of the films playing in the Kurosawa Centennial have not been show at the Belcourt in the last few years. The exception is Seven Samurai, a film commonly touted as one of the best films in history. “You can’t really ignore that one,” says Belcourt programming director Toby Leonard in the Film Talk interview. “It’s probably the fourth time we’ve played it in 10 years, but it is absolutely essential on so many levels.” If you’re like me, you’ve seen Seven Samurai so many times that it won’t be the end of the world if you miss it here; but for those who have been living under a rice patty, Seven Samurai is a must see.

I Live In Fear
1955, Screening July 31st-Aug 2nd

I Live In Fear, image courtesy of DVDBeaver

One of the most striking criticisms of war ever put to film, I Live In Fear stars Toshiro Mifune as an elderly man so afraid of a nuclear attack that he tries to move his family to South America. The film mixes the irrational fears of war with the very real threats that plagued post-war Japan. The film was released just 10 years after the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and only three years after bans on atomic bomb discussion in Japan were lifted by the U.S. occupation forces. A daring, reflective (and sometimes overwrought) statement that is only more prescient in today’s climate. A must see.

Drunken Angel
1948, Screening Aug 7th-9th

Shimura and Mifune in Drunken Angel

I was quite mesmerized by Drunken Angel when I saw it during its last Belcourt run, and I can’t wait to see it again. In a village caged by mob rule, an alcoholic doctor (Takashi Shimura) strikes an uneasy friendship with the young Yakuza firebrand (Toshiro Mifune) he’s treating for tuberculosis. Through sly tricks and sheer obstinacy, the doctor brings about an awaking in the young thug and helps transform the town in the process. In the guise of film noir, Kurosawa delivers another humanist masterpiece. A must see.

Ikuru
1952, Screening Aug 14th-16th

Takashi Shimura in Ikiru. Image courtesy of DVDBeaver.

There are two types of Kurosawa fans: those who prefer Seven Samurai and those who prefer Ikiru. That may be overly-simplistic, but no other Kurosawa film rivals the venerable samurai epic in its critical acclaim. While my favorite Kurosawa remains Red Beard (the Belcourt screening a few weeks ago cemented that), I’ll take the insight and compassion of Ikiru over the swashbuckling and style of Seven Samurai any day. Ikiru stars Takashi Shimura as an aging City Hall chief who develops cancer and must reevaluate his meaningless existence. He seeks the pleasures of night and the comforts of family; but nothing can fill the void until a few simple acts of kindness lead to a complete transformation in him and the people around him. A masterwork for the ages, Ikiru is a must see.

Thus ends my Kurosawa Centennial Preview part two.  To read about the films in part 1 (including the yet-to-screen Dodes-Ka’Den, Sanshiro Sugata and The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail click here.)

Tony Youngblood is the current Foursquare Mayor of the Belcourt Theatre, a film and music snob, and producer of the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

Nashville’s Belcourt Theatre has lived a long and fruitful life, first opening in 1925 as the silent movie house The Hillsboro Theatre.  Since then, the Belcourt has housed the Grand Ole Opry, The Children’s Theatre of Nashville, the Nashville Community Playhouse, and the Belcourt Cinema.  In 1999, the theatre was forced to close, and a grassroots group of Belcourt lovers formed Belcourt YES! to save the historic venue.   You can read all about the fascinating history on the Belcourt website here.

In years since, the Belcourt has slowly evolved from a historic placard into one of the most vital and respected art house cinemas in the country.  I can count the theatres I truly love on one hand, including the not-unworthy New Beverly Cinema in Los Angeles, The Tampa Theatre, The Paramount in Austin, and The Elgin and Winter Garden Theatres in Toronto.  But it is the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville that I love the most.

A big part of that is due to the staff’s gutsy, thoughtful, and original programming choices.  I chatted with Programming Directory Toby Leonard about the theatre’s summer schedule, its history, and its future.

TY: The Belcourt turned 85 this year, and it’s been 10 years since the formation of the non-profit organization which rescued it from bankruptcy.  How would you describe the last 10 years?  Do any particular memories stick out?

TL: The last 10 years? It’s been pretty wild.  I came in just after the theater opened, and those first few years could best be described as shaky.  It was certainly a learning process for everyone involved, from board to staff, and attendance wasn’t near what it is now.  We’ve had a lot of “angels” over the years, and most of them actually still are in a lot of ways.  We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the faith and pockets of a handful of key people and those folks know who they are.  Sometime around the middle of the decade, things started to really pull together.  Attendance was on the rise and the theater was being used by all sorts of people for all sorts of purposes.  It really went from something that the community wanted to stay intact to something that the community built, whatever that is…whatever it is now.  As for memories, the music theory major in me immediately recalls an afternoon and evening spent in the company of McCoy Tyner (the pianist from Coltrane’s most famous quartet), who played two sets that night.  Filmwise, Satantango was always thought I would have to travel to see, but a colleague and friend who programs the Cinema Arts Centre in Huntington, NY set up a tour of a print brought over from Hungary.  Also, I saw Ikiru for the first time here before I took over programming.  I came in early one morning before we had to ship it out and watched it alone, emerging 2.5 hours later tear-strewn and renewed.  I’m very much looking forward to seeing it again.  It’s one of my favorites.  The Anvil show comes to mind as well.  What a blast that was.

TY: One of my fondest film-going memories is seeing all 450 minutes of Satantango at the Belcourt.  My only screenings of Ikiru have been on 16mm and dvd, so I look forward to seeing it at the Belcourt during the Kurosawa Centennial going on right now.  The Belcourt is known for some pretty phenomenal retrospectives, and the Kurosawa Centennial is no exception.  You decided on some lesser known works over popular works like Rashomon and Throne of Blood.  How did you decide on what to screen and what to leave out?

TL: Why thank you!  With the Kurosawa, I was concerned as I always am of repeating things. We’ve run a bunch of his films over the last decade, a few numerous times and Rashomon is one of those. Films like Throne of Blood, High and Low, Yojimbo/Sanjuro, and Dersu Uzala had even played within 2-3 years of this summer, so that helped to thin the heard a bit. With Seven Samurai, you can’t really ignore that one. It’s probably the fourth time we’ve played it in 10 years, but it is absolutely essential on so many levels. Some of these like Ran, Dodes’ka-Den and Stray Dog are brand new prints. With these conditions, it allowed the opportunity to dig a little deeper. The one that we missed however was Scandal, which sadly had to go back to Japan before we could get at it. A surprising and rather timely film, actually.

TY: Are there any more retrospectives/collections in the works?

TL: Yes sir… There are three or four I’m bandying about at the moment and don’t want to give too much away, and there’s also a fairly large concept on the plate for next winter; but I will confirm a Tati Retrospective for mid-fall. The hardest part is carving out the right time and coordinating the prints. If a certain film is key but isn’t available when you need it, the whole thing has to move.

TY: Excellent news about the Jacques Tati series!  I’m keeping my fingers crossed for an Eric Rohmer or Frederick Wiseman retrospective.  What’s coming up for the summer that really excites you?

TL: Gotta be Winter’s Bone, my top pick from Sundance this year.  I’ve heard called ‘hixploitation’ by some in more northern regions, and I take exception. Everyone involved with the film was asked to read the book first.  Anyways…yeah, Winter’s Bone and I’m also looking forward this restoration of [Jean Luc Goddard's] Breathless that’s touring around.  We’ll play that in August.

Jennifer Lawrence in Winter's Bone

TY: That makes me happy to hear.  You selected this year’s wildly-popular Second Saturday outdoor screenings differently than years past.  You sent a ballot to Belcourt members asking them to vote on their favorites.  I was quite hoping Ernest Goes to Camp made the cut.  I’m very happy that The Jerk was picked (screening July 10th on the Belcourt outside wall at sundown).  What were some of your favorites that lost the popular vote?

TL: Yeah, The Jerk, right?  I hope everyone leaves the kids home for that one.  The dog is cute, but it’s name is Shithead after all.  I’m actually pretty happy with the results.  The list itself was comprised of mostly well-known titles, but I wouldn’t have minded if The T.A.M.I. Show or The Blob had made the cut.  The films were culled from a rather spectacular 16mm collection that resides here in town, so there’s always next year.

TY: So many great films, too few opportunities to screen them all.  If print availability and marketability were no objects, what director would you most want to do a retrospective on?

TL: Oh man…Bela Tarr?  Ozu?  Antonioni?   All would be very expensive.  We at the Belcourt have to live in the real world.  One of our staff is going to New York to see the Anthony Mann retrospective at the Film Forum and I’m suitably jealous.  There’s just no end to what you can and can’t play.

TY: When I lived near Paducah, Kentucky, I helped a local art house theater program a few films.  I convinced the manager to screen Ousmane Sembene‘s Moolaadé just after its release; and I was so happy with myself.  I had this feeling that if we booked really great, engaging, meaningful films, people would come.  For the weekend run, we sold three tickets.  Later, we screened the Kirk Cameron fundamentalist vehicle Facing the Giants, and it sold out for weeks.  Are you ever disappointed in the turnout for a film that’s close to your heart?  How does it affect your future programming?

TL: Funny you should mention Sembene.  We ran Moolaade too.  It was at a time where we’d do a panel for anything.  If there was an angle, we’d have a panel.  Our marketing girl at the time put one together from a female empowerment point of view, jumping off of the theme of the film with regards to mutilation.  A lot of people showed up!  When Sembene died, I decided to give a month of our Weekend Classics program over to him and it was definitely a disappointment.  It was a lot to ask of an audience to take a chance on these quirky yet unheard-of films, but at the same time, seeing Black Girl and Borom Sarret on 35mm was just amazing.  I’m glad that I got to share that with ten or so people.  It might affect future programming in some way, but I try to think of it as a community service and just move on because there will always be something completely unexpected that balances it out…like the 200+ people who turned out for The Mother and the Whore a few weeks back. I didn’t see that coming.

Mbissine Thérèse Diop in Black Girl, still courtesy of DVDBeaver.com

TY: I was one of those ten people at Black Girl and Ceddo, and while the turnouts weren’t great, the impact the films had on us few WAS great.  That really reaps benefits in the long run for the Belcourt.  As a film programmer, you have some of the best instincts in the business.  I almost without exception find that if there’s a film making waves on the circuit that I want to see, the Belcourt will eventually screen it (or already has).  How do you find your films?

TL: I get a whole lot out of Sundance and the Toronto International Film Festival, each for different reasons. They are the two festivals I attend yearly and together they can cover much of what winds up being released theatrically in first-run art house world. I track a lot of other activity online as well or, as Bush the First would say, “on the Google”.

TY: The Belcourt midnight shows are quite popular.  The Rocky Horror Picture Show screenings always sell out, but that’s really a given.  But I never would have expected the little Japanese horror film Hausu to pack the house two weekends in a row.  You were quick to book the cult-classics-in-making The Room and Birdemic: Shock and Terror.  And now the Belcourt is screening what some consider to be the worst movie of all time — Troll 2 –  double-featured with the new documentary about it Best Worst Movie.  Are the midnight shows particularly fun to program?  More risky?

TL: Well…yes and no.  The most frustrating aspect of programming the midnights is the fact that I’m a single father and can rarely even make it down for them.  It’s like living vicariously through my own job!  Truthfully, I think I’ve been able to come to one in the last year and it was probably the one that I was least interested in seeing.  The fact is that we do get a lot of requests via e-mail and social networking for Midnight Movies, but I’ve also found that some of the more requested films don’t actually yield the highest turnout.  Jason Shawhan, who hosts the midnights, is always yielding requests as well and I also solicit input from my co-workers who can and do come out for them, whether working or not.  Things like Hausu? All of the stars aligned on that one.  Most of us (the staff) had seen it and were heavily evangelizing for it.  We had Sam Smith design a poster for it and next thing we knew, Janus Films adopted it for their national release.

TY: It’s a pretty kick ass poster.  Speaking of The Room, Birdemic, and Troll 2 . . . Entertaining “bad” films are very popular nowadays.  Plan 9 From Outer Space took a while for people to discover, but now it seems that these films are being churned out almost as a new genre.  There’s a real danger that directors will make intentional “bad” films in order to achieve cult status.  But do you think people would see through it?  Is the sincerity behind films like The Room and Birdemic what make them so appealing?

TL: There certainly is sincerity behind it; but there is a real difference between The Room, which is actually bad, and Birdemic, which is intentionally bad and really didn’t take off the same way.  At the same time, I think that the appeal of something like The Room is that it genuinely makes people happy.  It makes a lot of people happy all packed in a room at the same time.  It’s a genuine cinematic experience that transcends its own, um, qualities when viewed with a large group.  Therefore, it can’t really be bad.  You can think of it and laugh.  Maybe Tommy Wiseau doesn’t see it that way, or didn’t originally.  The documentary Winnebago Man perfectly illustrates this dilemma of laughing at other people’s expense.  When someone like that guy, or Tommy Wiseau, or George Hardy from Troll 2 has or will come to terms with their cinematic follies, they will share in that laughter and maybe even laugh the hardest, hopefully all the way to the bank.

TY: Winnebago Man is the new documentary about Jack Rebney — made famous by the Found Footage Festival (which screened for the last two years at the Belcourt).  Any chance you’ll book Winnebago Man?

TL: It will be part of our August lineup, but I haven’t set the date yet. Probably early-mid August.

TY: Good to hear.  I just noticed today that you’re screening the complete Metropolis in July, truly the crown jewel in any art house belt.  This is something that wasn’t even possible two years ago.  [Link about lost footage discovery.]  And now it will be screening in Nashville.  Do you think people will appreciate how big of a deal this is?

TL: I certainly hope so.  It’s a long time in the coming.

TY: The Belcourt is also home to plays, burlesque shows, and music events.  You’ve had artists as prestigious as King Crimson, Lucinda Williams, Leon Redbone, Loudon Wainwright, and Bill Frisell play there.  How do you secure these performers?

TL: We work with local promoters on those shows, who actually rent the facility.  We consider doing it directly from time to time but find that it’s enough just to concentrate on what we do full-time, which is film.  We’re happy to host the shows though.  There really have been some great ones to come through here.

TY: Along with Drag City, you are distributing Harmony Korine’s new film Trash Humpers.  At the sold out premiere, an old man with a cane stormed out of the theater within the first 15 minutes yelling, “Garbage! Pure garbage!”  I’m still unsure if it was real or staged.  What is it about the film that made you take it under your wing?  While it undoubtedly did well in the director’s home town of Nashville, is it a riskier bet in other cities?

TL: That was Dave Cloud’s dad!  [Dave is an actor in the film and local rock legend.]  Not sure what he might have been expecting. Maybe Dave told him it was about seniors.  Working on Trash Humpers is a lot of fun. The film, for what it is, is doing quite well. It’s appeal is pretty limited (of course), but then again so was its budget so it kinda works. We’re getting close to 40 cities booked, and Harmony’s been appearing at some and doing Q&As via Skype at some others when he can.  He told me recently that he thought that it’s the widest theatrical release that any of his films have received, even more so than Mister Lonely, a much glossier affair for certain.

Harmony Korine's Trash Humpers

TY: That was Dave Cloud’s dad?  Priceless.  Dave was on the episode of my WRVU radio show Theatre Intangible that got me banned from the station for life.  But it was totally worth it!  One of the dangers of Trash Humpers getting such a high-profile release is that it may alter people’s perception of what it is.  Korine has said that it’s not really a film; it’s something that should be found in a bin at Goodwill or unearthed in a trash dump.  I get the sense that it was sort of a fun side project that kept growing.  Will putting a red rope around it detract from its appeal?

TL: A theatrical release, if you can get it, is still the best way to launch anything in a viewable feature-length format, whether it fits the acceptable notion of a “film” or not.  Some might argue that traditional IMAX spectacles, etc. aren’t actually films either, but it sure beats the hell out of watching it on a computer.

TY: How do we keep from becoming the jaded cigar-chomping studio executive going for the least common denominator?

TL: We ignore them. Life’s too short for crappy films.

Toby Leonard currently serves as the Program Director of the Belcourt Theatre in Nashville. In 1999, he was part of a small group that saved the city’s last historic neighborhood theater from the wrecking ball. Since then, he has dedicated the past 10 years to making the Belcourt a nationally recognized venue for challenging cinema and a model of community pride and involvement. He serves on the leadership committee and as co-chair of the programming committee of the Sundance Institute’s Art House Project, a unit of 12 nationwide cinemas established to keep the arthouse vital to local and national film culture. He has also served as a consultant to other film-based organizations including The Documentary Channel, a growing cable channel as well as Chicago’s venerable indie music label Drag City via the theatrical release of Harmony Korine’s Trash Humpers.

Tony Youngblood is a pretentious film and music snob who produces the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.

Nashville’s historic Belcourt Theatre continues to impress with astute scheduling choices.  Consider last Sunday’s rare screening of Jean Eustache’s 3 1/2 hour The Mother and the Whore, Bela Tarr’s nearly 8 hour Satantango screening from a few years back, and the upcoming Akira Kurosawa 12 film retrospective.

If Kurosawa were alive today, he would be 100 years old; and that is reason enough for the Belcourt to screen 12 of his films.  There’s nothing necessarily astute about a Kurosawa retrospective   –after all,  he’s the undisputed king of art house cinema.  What makes the Belcourt’s summer-long retrospective so special is the films they selected. . . and the films they left out.

Noticeably absent are a few of the heavies: Rashomon, Yojimbo, Throne of Blood, and Dreams.  The Belcourt understands that out of all Kurosawa’s films, these are the ones Kurosawa fans have probably already seen in the theatre (and Seven Samurai, which is in the retrospective — I suppose because you can’t have a Kurosawa show without it).  Rashomon has played the Belcourt on at least two separate occasions in the last three years.  By deliberately leaving these films out, the Belcourt has made way for some of Kurosawa’s lesser known works, his overshadowed masterpieces, and some truly rare screening opportunities.  Here’s part one of my guide to the retrospective:

Mieko Harada in Ran

RAN
1985, Screening Fri-Mon, June 11-14

Kurosawa’s color-infused 16th century epic based on Shakespeare’s King Lear sports a brand new 35 millimeter print, and what a perfect way to kick off the retrospective.  Along with Powel & Pressburger’s The Red Shoes and Kurosawa’s own Kagemusha (which sadly isn’t in the retrospective), Ran contains some of the most brilliant color photography ever exposed.  Frequently tops “best film ever” lists and is among my favorite Kurosawa films.  A must see.

THE HIDDEN FORTRESS
1958, Screening Sat-Mon, June 19-21

Perhaps because it inspired Star Wars, The Hidden Fortress actually gets screened quite regularly in art house cinemas.  Luckily, the 16th century adventure film about two gold-hungry peasants helping smuggle a princess and her guardian across enemy lines bears repeat viewings.  This is the first in the series that stars the inimitable Toshiro Mifune.  The Hidden Fortress may be my favorite adventure film of all time.  Unless you’ve seen it projected on 35mm recently, this is a must see.

Toshiro Mifune in Red Beard

RED BEARD
1965, Screening Sat-Mon, June 26-28

Many critics grant Ikiru the honor of Kurosawa’s most humanist film, but my money goes on Red Beard.  The film follows a naive young doctor’s experiences in a 19th century public health clinic under the watchful eye of a demanding and matter-of-fact senior doctor (Toshiro Mifune).  Often overlooked because of its lack of samurai battles or gangster shootouts, Red Beard is a deeply moving film on the value of human life and the importance of kindness.  The most humanist film ever made and easily my favorite Kurosawa.  A must see.

THE BAD SLEEP WELL
1960, Screening Sat-Mon, July 3-5

Predating American corporate dramas by more than 20 years, The Bad Sleep Well thrusts Hamlet into the late 50′s corporate boardroom.  Seeking revenge for his father’s work-driven suicide, Toshiro Mifune changes identity and marries the boss’s daughter, methodically compiling information to take the company down.  I have yet to see this film and am very excited for my first time to be on the big screen at the Belcourt.  A must see.

Dodes-Ka’Den

DODES-KA’DEN
1970, Screening Sat-Mon, July 10-12

Kurosawa’s premiere color film takes a macro-cosmic looks at the poorer-than-dirt inhabitants of a post-war Tokyo slum.  Kurosawa was enduring personal and financial struggles during the production, and the film’s box office failure was too much for him.  He attempted suicide by slashing himself over 30 times with a razor.  Luckily, he survived and went on to make some of the best films of his career: Kagemusha, Ran, and Dreams.  Dodes-Ka’Den will play the Belcourt in a new 35 millimeter print and will be my first screening of this important work.  A must see.

SANSHIRO SUGATA and
THE MEN WHO TREAD ON THE TIGER’S TAIL

1943, 1945, One screening only Wednesday, July 14th, 7pm

The true gems of the retrospective, here we have a double feature of Kurosawa’s first and third films, screened on 16 millimeter.  Sanshiro Sugata and The Men Who Tread on the Tiger’s Tail are not often listed  among Kurosawa’s best films, but they can tell us so much about where the young artist was headed.  Screenings of the two films are practically unheard of; do what you can to be at the Belcourt Wednesday, July 4th.  A must see.

Here ends the first half of my guide to the Kurosawa Centennial.  Stay tuned later in the summer for part two including entries on Stray Dog, Seven Samurai, I Live in Fear, Drunken Angel, and Ikiru. (Update: Check out part two here.)

Tony Youngblood is a pretentious film and music snob who produces the experimental improv music blog and podcast Theatre Intangible. His favorite films include Eric Rohmer’s The Green Ray, Abbass Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us, Ingmar Bergman’s The Magician, Lee Chang Dong’s Oasis, and Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap.