An Audio Interview with Legendary Actress Karen Black

Karen Black has enjoyed the successes of an extremely distinguished acting career. As one of the highest paid, most highly acclaimed actresses of the 1970's, Karen's roles in films like Bob Rafelson's Five Easy Pieces (1970), John Schlesinger's The Day of the Locust (1975), Robert Altman's Nashville (1975), Alfred Hitchcock's Family Plot (1976) and Jack Nicholson's Drive He Said (1971), among others, have made her legendary.

I am good friends with the great Ms. Black (we are working on a project together called Call Me Spoons to co-star David Proval, known a great deal for his work on The Sopranos), and the photograph you see above is me (in the wool cap) with her on a movie-shoot. So, to inaugurate this new podcast format with a bang, I sat down to talk with her and recorded our conversation. The interview begins with the two of us discussing music and the evolution of the popular song beginning in the 1950's (it's immaterial and totally irrelevant to the interview proper, but still fun...and you get to hear Karen sing). We then begin discussing the projects she has in the works currently. For the many Tim and Eric Show fans I know, she has recently become involved in one of their shows. We also take a look back at her lengthy career. It was truly an honor to have her as the first guest on the "show".

Unfortunately, I am extremely frustrated that I am very much an idiot when it comes to the podcast format, hosting audio online and getting it up onto iTunes and such. I visited a few hosting sites today, but all of them make you pay and the free ones are impossible to understand. It's so bad that I might actually need someone to sit down with me (want to volunteer?). Until I get all this stuff figured out, you can access the interview here.

Now for a catchy name for these things. I hand it off to you. I was thinking something like "ConfluCast" or something akin to that. Any ideas?

The 10 Best Film Performance Moments Involving Recognition

I was conflicted about what to call this post because this is not the easiest thing to describe. Recently, I have come to realize that some of my favorite performance moments in the films I have seen and admired involve some moment of recognition by a character at a pivotal point in the narrative. For me, the ten moments described below are some of the finest screen acting moments I have yet witnessed, and all of them are profound moments of recognition for a given character. These moments of recognition propel the stories forward in truly marvelous ways and resonate so profoundly in terms of our emotional intake of the given movie. Keep in mind that all the moments I intend to examine are nonverbal and be forewarned that spoilers lie below. Whenever possible, I have included a video clip of the actual moment to which I am referring.

City Lights: At the end, when the blind flower-girl lays her now-working eyes on the Tramp for the first time. ‘Nuff said. Very little else, if nothing, can top this moment of recognition. In the video below, drag the YouTube timeline cursor to around 2:50.




The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp: The ending of this classic Powell and Pressburger film is one of the most moving I can think of. We have followed the life of career-soldier General Clive Wynn Candy through three major wars. He has just been rebuked and insulted by a young, impetuous, firebrand officer and is adrift in a world gone mad, lost somewhere in between a long life and a looming death. He is an old man with methods that seem to be growing more and more antiquated in a war that requires enterprise and new ways of thinking about how to achieve victory. Amidst all these quandaries, he observes a single leaf adrift in the pond where his house once stood. He flashes back to an exchange between himself and his late wife. He utters to himself, “Now here is the lake, and I still haven’t changed.” This isn’t going to mean much until you have seen the film, but this moment, where Candy recognizes himself and the years that have passed him by (and years that, at the same time, have made him the great man he has become), gets me every time. It is hard to talk about this sequence. You need to see it to feel the depth of its emotion. In the video below, drag the YouTube timeline cursor to around 7:20.




Rushmore: In this film, I am referring to the moment when the lead character Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman), a compulsively lying teenage diletante, confesses to his friend Herman Bloom (Bill Murray), a friend more than thirty years his senior, that his father (Seymour Cassel) is not the world-class brain surgeon he has claimed him to be but is instead a simple, old-fashioned, Thermos-wielding barber. Throughout the movie, Max has gone to great lengths to describe his father as a doctor (“The old man’s on call”) in order to impress the Rushmore Academy population and to elevate his status — one might say to successfully blend in. The moment really marks the second plot-point of the film, the beginning of the third act and the beginning of Max’s moral awakening. But, it is the look on Bill Murray’s face upon hearing this confession and absorbing its truth that is simultaneously heartbreaking, exhilarating and, most of all, hopeful. He recognizes Max’s attempt to right the trail of wrongs he has strewn throughout the story’s duration, and he thus grows to really and truly understand the friend he simply thought he understood. He, for one thing, recognizes that he never truly did and that he is just beginning to. His verbal response, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fischer,” is, simply put, a perfect reading following a moment of viseral but gentle nonverbal acting. Look at Bill Murray’s reaction to the confession. “Dat’s ecting!”




Being There: There is a scene well towards the end of this film when Chance the Gardener, after a long run of being called Chauncey Gardiner by the chorus line of dignitaries, talk-show hosts, politicians and journalists he meets, is called once again by his real-name Chance. The doctor (Richard Dysart), who is perhaps the first and last to refer to Chance by his real name again, is the only one who knows that Chance is a simpleton. This moment comes directly after the death of Melvyn Douglas’ character Ben. Chance is very clearly mourning the death of his friend at the same time he . I have seen this film many, many times (it is something of a family favorite) and every time this scene plays, my emotions are titanic and they so easily overtake me. Peter Sellers’ excited nod as the tears well up in his eyes nearly brings me to tears. The moment is exquisitely simple and, at the same time, highly charged. By the same token, the moment very early in the film when Chance bids a laconic but nonetheless emotionally fraught farewell to the maid who has taken care of him throughout his life is another excellent moment of recognition well worth mentioning. For the first time, and very early in the film mind you, he recognizes (at long last) the gravity of a moment that will entail change, thus shattering much of the vision he has of his world. In the video below, drag the YouTube timeline cursor to around 7:30.




There Will Be Blood: I am referring to the scene in the middle of the film when Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) first realizes that the man who claims to be his brother is not his brother at all. Daniel and “Henry” Plainview have just finished chatting together at a beachfront. “Henry” has, in some way, given himself away and Daniel suspects something. Daniel leaves “Henry” on the shore and decides to take a dip in the ocean. The look that Daniel gives toward the shore as a wave arrives to ride him back to shore is among the most frightening I can recall in cinema. At the moment, Daniel recognizes that “Henry” is not his brother and we, in turn, recognize that what we the audience had originally perceived as a gifted thimblerigger with his eye on greed and Machiavellian ambition is instead a perversely deep-seated ruthlessness. It is at this moment that we begin to perceive our lead character, an anti-hero, for who he really is. The clip below immediately follows the moment I speak of. Unfortunately, I could not find the precise clip on YouTube.




Cruel But Necessary: This film might perhaps be slightly lesser known than the others on this list. Take my word for it and see it (it’s on Netflix, folks) because it is among the most original and fascinating films of the decade that I can recall seeing (I recently included it on my Best of the Decade list), and I am not just saying that because a friend of mine wrote and starred in it. The moment I am going to discuss is no less stirring than any of the other "well-known works" examined on this list. The scene in the film I wish to discuss captures the first ever moment of understanding between a mother and son, and comes at the film's denouement. The film is unique in that it is fictional but the family it portrays is played by a real family. Wendel Meldrum plays Betty Munson, her son Luke Humphrey plays her son Darwin and her ex-husband Mark Humphrey plays her ex-husband Doug in the film. Ostensibly, the film is about a recently divorced woman who takes to videotaping every moment of her waking life, sometimes in a David Holzman's Diary style (Betty's direct-to-camera musings about a wide range of topics are as provocative and intellectually compelling as they are humanly funny) and other times as an eavesdropping device. What is central to the story, it seems, is the extremely strained but still somewhat civil relationship she shares with her son Darwin. The film's final moment, an exchange of looks between mother and son, carries a great deal of emotional resonance because these are characters about which we have learned to care a great deal. To many, reflexive filmmaking is a conceit that is growing more and more tired with each passing year. This film transcends and defies that in innumerable ways. Do your best to see it...it's not hard to find!

Dear Mr. Wonderful: Yes, this film gets yet another mention on the blog. There is a moment towards the end of the film when the now wiser Ruby Dennis (Joe Pesci) is leaving his sister’s and nephew’s apartment. As he approaches the door to leave, about to forge an entirely new life, the look on his face is perfect, well-timed and beautifully acted in that his character, at long last, recognizes the beauty of his limitations in this world, as opposed to the drawbacks of those same limitations. There is also the look of appreciation of something he had always been numb to truly appreciating. As a yearning, disheartened man with big dreams who has long been immune to the inherent charms of his daily life as one of life's "little people", he awakens for the first time to experience life's smaller pleasures, recognizing them and reaching a self-acceptance.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest: “You fooled ‘em, Chief! You fooled ‘em! You fooled ‘em all!” By now, you probably know I am referring to the moment when R.P. McMurphy hands Chief (Will Sampson) a stick of gum as they both await electroshock treatment. The Chief, an alleged catatonic, replies “Thank you” when he accepts McMurphy’s offer of Juicy-Fruit. Nicholson’s confused and downright amazed wild-eyed initial reaction to the Chief’s unexpected verbal gratitude is classic. His double-take followed by a second accepted offer which confirms what he just heard is a priceless moment. He recognizes that he, after much ado, has a true “partner in crime” in the institution…someone else in there with him who isn’t really “crazy” but is a slickster very much like himself, and one who has fooled virtually everyone in the hospital, even the supposedly brilliant doctors. In the video below, drag the YouTube timeline cursor to around 3:15.



Soldier of Orange: I am referring in this film to the “tango scene”. Rutger Hauer has escaped Nazi-occupied Holland to the safety of England and has returned to Holland in the film's last third for a bit of cloak-and-dagger work. In a crowded dance hall, he spies upon an old, dear college friend and Nazi sympathizer (Derek De Lint) tangoing with another man as onlookers watch. As his friend's face tango-turns, he sees Hauer in front of him. This moment of recognition is played entirely without dialogue, but you can see the look that comes over De Lint's face. Oh, the wonders of YouTube! There is a clip of just the isolated "tango scene" below. The scene must be better known than I had originally deduced.



Midnight Cowboy: Joe Buck's moment of recognition comes towards the end of the film when he pitches his cowboy get-up in the trash while en route to Florida. He has shed the pretense of assuming this other persona and is now to free to shed the illusion.

The Best Films of the Decade

For the longest time, I was resolved not to do this. A decade best list? Ugh! Too many movies have been made, most of which I haven't seen, for me to act brazenly enough to put together such an ambitious best-of list on so little. However, upon recently viewing Paul Harrill's Self-Reliant Film blog, I found a format I like for composing such a list. Below are the films that I found to be the most outstanding efforts of the aughts, listed in order of release (and then alphabetically) and not in any order that quantifies quality. I am not going to provide write-ups and explanations of my choices because I'd be sitting at this computer forever doing so. This is just a list. If you want rationales for why specific movies were included, e-mail me or write a comment. Like I said, these kind of lists are dialogue-starters if they function as nothing else. There was no set number or quota for the list. If the movie was exceptional to me in any way, I included it. Also, some of the movies you can't really "like" but can nonetheless acknowledge their importance to the development of the filmmaking art in this decade, and/or for bravely testing the boundaries of the form.

Almost Famous (Cameron Crowe, 2000)
Bamboozled (Spike Lee, 2000)
Eureka (Shinji Aoyama, 2000)
Mysterious Object at Noon (Arpichatpong Weerasethakul, 2000)
Platform (Jia Zhang-Ke, 2000)
Werckmeister Harmonies (Bela Tarr, 2000)
Gambling, Gods and LSD (Peter Mettler, 2001)
Mulholland Drive (David Lynch, 2001)
Va Savoir (Jacques Rivette, 2001)
Ataranjuat: The Fast Runner (Zacharias Zunuk, 2002)
24-Hour Party People (Michael Winterbottum, 2002)
Y Tu Mama Tambien (Alfonso Cuaron, 2002)
The Best of Youth (Marco Tullio Giordana, 2003)
Elephant (Gus Van Sant, 2003)
Laissez-Passer (Bertrand Tavernier, 2003)
Saraband (Ingmar Bergman, 2003)
Downfall (Oliver Hirschbiegel, 2004)
Lost in Translation (Sofia Coppola, 2004)
Broken Flowers (Jim Jarmusch, 2005)
Cache (Michael Haneke, 2005)
Cruel But Necessary (Saul Rubinek, 2005)
Live and Become (Radu Mihaileanu, 2005)
Match Point (Woody Allen, 2005)
Regular Lovers (Philippe Garrell, 2005)
The Yacoubian Building (Marwan Hamed, 2005)
The Free Will (Matthias Glasner, 2006)
Syndromes and a Century (Arpichatpong Weerasethakul, 2006)
Volver (Pedro Almodovar, 2006)
Into Great Silence (Phillip Groning, 2007)
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (Andrew Dominik, 2007)
Margot at the Wedding (Noah Baumbach, 2007)
No Country for Old Men (Joel Coen, 2007)
There Will Be Blood (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2007)
12 (Nikita Mikhalkov, 2007)
Zodiac (David Fincher, 2007)
Man on Wire (James Marsh, 2008)
Waltz With Bashir (Ari Folman, 2008)
Inglourious Basterds (Quentin Tarantino, 2009)
A Serious Man (Joel Coen, 2009)
The White Ribbon (Michael Haneke, 2009)

THE BEST MOVIE YEAR OF THE DECADE: 2007

First of the 2009 Best Lists

List-making is a tiresome exercise for me. I dislike the act of quantifying my enjoyment and/or appreciation of films, music, literature, et al. However, if lists do nothing else or function as nothing else, they are at the very least dialogue-starters. I look at lists I've composed from years back and gawk at how much they run counter to my current tastes, but it is often an accurate gauge of a person's tastes and a person's radar at a particular time. So, without further ado, I am inaugurating the best-of 2009 lists with the DVD and Repertory Screenings reviews. I am still in deliberation over the best films of 2009, but until then, you can nosh on these.


BEST DVD RELEASES OF 2009

1. Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai de Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (Region 1) Pound for pound, Criterion’s release of Chantal Akerman’s masterpiece is the best DVD package of the year. The transfer looks crisp and vibrant, and the extras, which include interviews with the cinematographer (Babette Mangolte as of late has become my favorite cinematographer) and the director’s mother, which is an extraordinary interview with an extraordinary woman and justifies being a film in and of itself. I will be among the first to line up for Criterion’s release of the Chantal Akerman in the 70’s Eclipse set. If the transfers are anywhere near as good as the one for Jeanne Dielman, I am in for a very big treat. I can’t wait!

2. The Whole Shootin’ Match (Region 1) Watchmaker Films’ release of Eagle Pennell's recently resurrected independent classic of regional filmmaking is compulsory viewing for anyone who has made or wishes to make a movie on the cheap, to make it good and to live to tell about it. The release of this film on DVD inspired its own article on the blog many months ago. To read it, click here. The 2-disc special edition also features Pennell's first short film, A Hell of a Note, along with a rare interview with the director and a soundtrack for the film. Rumor has it that a Watchmaker Films DVD release of Pennell's Last Night at the Alamo (1983) is in the works. One can only hope that they do as fine a job with that one as they've done with this one.


3. The Human Condition (Region 1) Long available only in three separate heavily compressed barebones Image Entertainment releases with poor transfers, the Criterion Collection saves the day once again and delivers not just an excellent transfer of this nine-hour-plus Japanese masterpiece but also rare interviews with its filmmaker Kobayashi and the actor Tatsuya Nakadai. This is epic filmmaking to say the very, very least.



4. A Time to Love and a Time to Die (Region 2) Douglas Sirk has long been a contentious director for me, causing many a heated debate between me and his staunch defenders who say I’m either crazy or am missing something, or both (I was and am still outnumbered). This film, however, one of the few of his not currently available in the United States, held up due to American rights issues, is not just my favorite Sirk film, but also one of my favorite films period, and certainly the best melodrama to come out of the Hollywood machine at that time. It comes to DVD from Eureka!’s “Masters of Cinema” Collection, known to video-monsters stateside as the British Criterion Collection. It also may be one of the most ambitious war films on record.


5. Yentl: The Director’s Cut (Region 1) Some call it a vanity project (honestly, what Streisand-directed film has not been a vanity project?), and the DVD comes complete with wall-to-wall Babs, not just in the film itself. She introduces every single featurette, every single making-of doc and every single deleted scene as if the very fate of the world hinged on their inclusion on the DVD. Despite Streisand’s unmistakable hubris (for example, she is insistent about and constantly reminds us of the alleged “fact” that Spielberg called her film “the best since Citizen Kane”), that does not take away from the fact that Yentl is a strong, visually impressive, emotionally impactful film. I still cannot buy the movie’s central conceit that anyone, much less an entire community of the most mentally agile Talmud scholars and yeshiva buchers, would believe Streisand to be a boy. However, there’s this thing called suspension of disbelief, I guess. Test how deep yours is by seeing this film. The second disc is jam-packed with extra materials, including the original test film-rolls that were shot in order to convince the backers that the film was a viable project.


6. Inglourious Basterds: The 2-Disc Special Edition (Region 1) One of the most popular films of 2009 gets an excellent DVD treatment in both the one-disc and two-disc releases. My advice is to go for the two-disc because you can get a full sense of how fun it must be to be on a Tarantino set. Just from interviews of the likes of Rod Taylor, Enzo Castellari, Bo Svenson and other veterans, this is worth the little extra you pay over the price of the one-disc version. "Oooh, that's a bingo!"

7. L’Important c’est d’Aimer (The Important Thing is To Love) (Region 1) It would seem that Polish auteur Andrzej Zulawski’s work is a rare delicacy in both America and England. This 1975 film, which some say is his masterpiece, was one of the almost deified works profiled in the documentary Z Channel: Magnificent Obsession. I had been kicking myself for years after I had missed taping a few showings on the film on the IFC Channel years ago. That feeling has subsided now that I have this gorgeous DVD from MondoVision, featuring a commentary track and video interview with Zulawski, as well as a 24-page booklet and a whole featurette on the remastering of the film alone. It does my heart good to know that people care about movies like this, and providing extra materials for such obscure works. The cover package for the disc looks pretty deluxe. It’s a beautiful and toweringly difficult film (I mean that in a good way), and the DVD of it is something truly awesome.


8. Lookin’ to Get Out (Region 1) Hal Ashby biographist Nick Dawson resurrected Hal Ashby’s never-before-seen director’s cut of this originally panned 1982 box-office disaster from the UCLA vaults from a print that Ashby willed to UCLA Film School just before his death in 1988. The film can now finally be seen the way Ashby originally intended it to be seen. Warner Home Video gets faulted only slightly for not releasing the original theatrical cut in the same package. Just because I can access it (on my aging VHS) doesn’t mean that others will be able to do the same in an effort to see how the director’s cut differs from the version exhibited in 1982. It would have been a most valuable lesson for people on the power and importance of movie editing, and how just a little cutting makes for a completely different motion picture.


9. The Other Side of the Underneath (Region 2) The British Film Institute has, in the past year, taken to engineering the re-release and resurrection of the films of Jane Arden (who sometimes co-directed her films with filmmaker Jack Bond). Whereas I am not the biggest fan of their Anti-Clock (despite the BFI’s DVD of that being up to this same standard), The Other Side of the Underneath is a truly fascinating film, and an extremely disturbing one as well. You cannot shake this film off very easily. It lingers with you, almost as if you yourself had the mental collapse the movie depicts.


10. Comrades (Region 2) Here is yet another great BFI DVD release. It’s been a great year for them, what can I say? Bill Douglas’ bold, rugged and beautiful epic about the exile of the Tulpuddle Martyrs to the Australian Outback in the 1830’s. This is one of the hard-to-describe films. It is three hours in length, it is toweringly ambitious and yet it also seems very little known and discussed. I will say that a special badge of valor is awarded to BFI this year for resurrecting films like this and many others.


BONUS DVD:
11. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button: The Criterion Collection (Region 1) I am by no means an admirer of the film and, in fact, have a great many problems with it. Criterion’s two-disc DVD set of the film, however, is perhaps one of the best video releases I can think of which offers a comprehensive look at the making of a given film. The making-of featurettes and behind-the-scenes material, the interviews with all those involved, accounts of the epic history of the project (its evolution throughout a more than twenty-year timespan, throughout which time it was in turn-around) is alone worth the price of purchasing this.




HONORABLE MENTIONS (A.K.A. THE “I’M-HAPPY-THEY’RE-FINALLY-RELEASED” LIST): Generale Della Rovere, My Dinner With Andre, Wise Blood, Palermo or Wolfsburg (R2), Sometimes a Great Notion (R2), Herostratus (R2), Zabriskie Point, Nous Ne Viellirons Pas Ensemble (R2), The Adventures of Werner Holt, Anti-Clock (R2), Grin Without a Cat, the other Chris Marker films that are now reasonably priced for the first time, every title released on the Warner Archive label, all releases from Eureka!’s Masters of Cinema Collection


CONFLUENCE’S BEST DISCOVERIES/REDISCOVERIES

1. The Free Will (Matthias Glasner, 2006)
2. Margot at the Wedding (Noah Baumbach, 2007)
3. The Arrival of Joachim Stiller (Harry Kumel, 1976)
4. Model Shop (Jacques Demy, 1969)
5. Goin’ Down the Road (Donald Shebib, 1970)
6. 12 (Nikita Mikhalkov, 2007)
7. Events (Fred Baker, 1970)
8. New York Story/Hotel New York (Jackie Reynal, 1981/1984)
9. Charlie Bubbles (Albert Finney, 1968)
10. Billy Two Hats (Ted Kotcheff, 1973)


BEST 2009 REPERTORY SCREENINGS IN NEW YORK

1. Elia Kazan’s America America (1963) at Film Forum, Hosted by Foster Hirsch, who facilitated a Q&A with two of the films stars, Stathis Giallelis and Linda Marsh, following the screening of an extremely rare, beautiful print loaned to Film Forum by Martin Scorsese (a piece of privileged information I received after the film was shown). There is a funny story involving this particular screening experience. I arrived at the theater to discover that the show had been sold out. Somewhat dejected and only somewhat consoled that I owned the rare Warner VHS from the 90’s, I decided that I would use the theater’s bathroom and go home. On the way out, almost as if it were fated, I bumped into Foster Hirsch, whom I had met some time ago at a Preminger retrospective at MoMA. He remembered me by name, and asked if I was there to see the Kazan. I told him the situation. “No, no, you can’t give up,” he told me excitedly, after which he enthusiastically informed me that he believed America America to be one of the most important American films ever made. A few minutes later, he single-handedly managed to get me into the filled-beyond-capacity screening, so here is a special thanks to Foster Hirsch for an amazing night, and for the wonderful Q&A that followed the film. Film Forum gets additional kudos for an excellent Elia Kazan retrospective of which this was part.
2. Ivan Passer’s Born to Win (1971) at Museum of Modern Art A packed theater for an obscure, gritty black comedy about a heroin addict and his scraping-bottom $100-a-day drug habit? Yep, we’re must be in New York City! This is one of those nights upon which I said aloud to myself, as a cineaste, “I love living in New York!” What shocked me more, though, was just how jaw-droppingly gorgeous and pristine the print of the film shown was. It was almost as if the film had been made yesterday. No scratches, hardly any specks, sterling sound, super smooth reel-changes. At a few moments during the screening, audible “wow”s escaped my lips. I informed my friend, actress Karen Black, one of the film’s stars, about the screening of the film. She connected me with the film’s director Ivan Passer, who was tickled to learn about the conditions of MoMA’s print, the size of the audience of the recent reception of a film he made almost forty years ago. If MoMA were to screen it again in an hour’s time, I’d pick and leave for it right now. Ivan Passer’s Law and Disorder (1974, also featuring Karen Black) and Intimate Lighting (1965) were screened before this film. This screening was also the impetus for a blog-article I wrote in April, and its presence is felt in the first big article I wrote for the blog, on the topic of New York on film.
3. Ulrike Ottinger’s Johanna d’Arc of Mongolia (1989) at Anthology Film Archive, which featured a Q&A with Ulrike Ottinger herself following the screening of another beautiful print. The film itself is an underappreciated and little-screened mix of social satire, Noel Coward comedy of manners, feminist drama, magical mystery tour, ethnographic documentary and sweeping epic a la Lawrence of Arabia (you got that…can you picture it?). The audience for this screening was meager compared to the audience sizes for the top two listed above,
4. Carol Reed’s Odd Man Out (1947) at Film Forum. Film Forum screened one of my favorite films in mid-2009 and I was there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to see it with a good friend of mine. I’m not so sure there is another film quite like it, although in my e-mail correspondence with a well-known filmmaker the following day, I was met with derision when I informed him that I found Odd Man Out to be a better film than The Third Man. To each his own, I guess. That opinion still stands.
5. Milos Forman's Taking Off (1971) at Film Forum. Officially part of Film Forum's "Madcap Manhattan" series, this screening of Taking Off was introduced by Milos Forman himself, who stayed for Q&A after the film ended. The film's producer Michael Hausman was also in the audience. The print was in pristine condition and, although I had little doubt that the film still played well, the enthusiastic audience reaction proved its status as a real "audience picture".
6. Robert Kramer's Milestones (1975) at Anthology Film Archives. It seems that there is at least one Kramer retrospective a year in New York. I had already seen his Ice (1970), which was the first film ever funded by the American Film Institute. I had heard a great deal about Milestones and Anthology's July 2009 Kramer Retrospective was my first real opportunity. It blew me away, but then again, movie examinations of 60's radicalism are most certainly my cup of tea.

The Curious Case of Hugo Stiglitz: Points of Reference in Inglourious Basterds

Here we have Round 1 in our Guest Writers Series at the ConFluence-Film Blog. Our first guest writer, Sunrise Tippeconnie, is a filmmaker and writer currently living in Oklahoma City who dabbles in film criticism and history. You can read more of his work in Sooner Cinema: Oklahoma Goes to the Movies and on The Candler Blog. To view Sunrise's original response to Inglourious Basterds, click here.


With the release of Inglourious Basterds for home viewing, I’ve culminated some suggested cinematic links to aid any Basterds study, and allow the film’s conversation to continue, and allow for a means of navigating some of the referenced materials.

While discussion about Basterds often results in it’s definition as a “war movie,” we must be specific, and just as Tarantino observers are quick to correct with definition of the film’s concept as propaganda analysis as well as a lover letter to “grindhouse” grade war-fare, we should be specific about what issues of these types of cinema are being discussed. While most war films about a squadron have a tendency to place the concept of manhood during war beneath the microscope, Basterds does not.

Robert Aldrich’s The Dirty Dozen (1967) is very clearly referenced through the initial framings in which we begin to learn about the assumed title roles, the men under watch by Lt. Aldo Reine. While this implies a connection to Aldrich’s film, what normally follows reference is thematic homage. This is where Tarantino severs the tie and we do not come to understand how these men develop a camaraderie, a code of honor among themselves, nor do we see them grow beyond their social status as “bottom of the barrel” expendables like The Dirty Dozen. While the initial response to these omissions is runtime and viewer completion, these elements are quite important in understanding the film’s satiric nature and would introduce problematic identification with these men, one that could destroy the film’s ending effect and film’s final messages.

As important as the development is of these themes, their removal allows for a better understanding of propaganda’s ability to instill pride and inspiration. Without such identification, these men appear ruthless and slightly unjustified. The introduction of “The Bear Jew” opens an opportunity for violence to be inflicted upon a Nazi soldier. This sequence also omits, and in this case it omits any context for the violence. There is no back-story given about the Nazi party, the war in Europe, nor the background histories of Raine and his collected rag-tag group of misfit soldiers. Just as audience completion requires the accessing of Aldrich’s film to understand these men might have learned to work as a group, learned the necessary war-survival skills and can be successful in their collected attempts, the film also assumes the audience will access their knowledge of history to complete the context of this violence. This is where the strength of the film’s narrative allows for the satire to plant its seed. While the violence in this section of the film feels justified, because of the Nazi agenda and tactics during the war, the mistake in assumption is what allows the satire to grow without notice until the final reel of the film. The justification for the violence comes from a specific assumption that these men have learned to develop camaraderie and honor instead of blind patriotism, which is perhaps something that we have missed between the scenes –and in omitting such moments allows for the film to play out a hidden narrative, one in which the men do not learn a value of life, nor question the meaning of war, thus becoming merciless vigilantes bent on winning in the name of patriotism. This ultimately becomes what feels like maniacal terrorism, the frightening reality of the film’s final moments of violent outburst. This is what makes Tarantino’s film diverge from most films in the war genre: without the compassion towards life on either side of the war zone there is no hope in cinema and thus such works are Tarantino-ized as propaganda.



It is important to look at the final moments of Aldrich’s film, which allows for this moment to come quite successfully when Jim Brown falls from Nazi bullets. At this moment the disheartened survivors see the fall of a man, who at the start of the film would have been seen as a less than a man because of his color. What is most incredible about this moment is twofold in the compassion for the death a fellow man as well as their ability to see beyond the limits of their racism. While this moment does not erase the possibility for future racist tendencies for these characters, and thus not suggestive of a solution to such tensions, what is important is the ability for these characters to put aside prejudices to mourn for the fatality and mortality of humanity.

What seems like a conscious response to this moment results in the fascinating introduction of “Hugo Stiglitz”. Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz serves as a means to understand the vigilante wrath of a propagandized hero; he is the only Jewish solider to look like an action hero, while others in the squadron look scrawny, disheveled, and un-muscled. Sgt. Stiglitz is further presented as an extreme assassin who’s Nazi SS officer death count is unrivaled, and Tarantino ignites an adrenaline rush through a flashback sequence that depicts intense infliction of violence upon Nazi officers while we hear the theme from Jack Starrett’s Slaughter (1972). The audience is again asked to access their own knowledge of both history and cinema via the Brechtian device of a Samuel L. Jackson voice over. While accessed history implies associations of World War II, it is most important to acknowledge contemporary associations of the recent Iraqi War and the violence of Iraqi ground forces and prisoners held within Guantanamo Bay. Cinema associations recall Jim Brown, and thus a connection is made between an action hero and the real horrors of violence in the name of patriotism. This connection suggests the actions of characters portrayed by Jim Brown are just as heroic, and perhaps justified at this point within the context of Basterd’s narrative since the satiric nature of the film has yet to completely unspool. Looking at this point closer, Jim Brown’s cinematic nature is not just implied by Slaughter and The Dirty Dozen, but through another musical reference of Dark of the Sun (1969), and further implicit connections to Pacific Inferno (1979).

All of these films contain Jim Brown as heroic protagonist that utilizes violence to overwhelm an oppressive force, justified by the sides of war. While these films reinforce the issue of humanity as the true victim of war, and those that find a bond beyond the confines of political allies are those that truly learn from the atrocities depicted on screen. Clyde Peterson, in Pacific Inferno, throws the final switch that explodes the Japanese prison camp, yet the film attempts to humanize his actions through the relationship he develops with one of the camp leaders who is indebted to Clyde for saving his life. The honor of code and a reverence for life allow Clyde (and thus, the audience) to define the elements that are in opposition of these humanistic concepts allowing justification for the violent end of the Japanese soldiers as part of the prison camp. While these seems acceptable, it is only so because of the propagandistic nature of the narrative elements, as Tarantino ultimately delivers. While experiencing such heroic tales with Jim Brown, the ultimate question is whether these violent responses are appropriate.



As Basterds comes to its close, non-historical events take precedent and allows for the accessing of history to halt with a sudden error, meanwhile the accessing of cinema remains un-severed. This disconnect springs a sudden question of legitimacy. While cinema history serves the moment as possible, world history states the moment is fictive, unbelievable, and absurd. These audience threads don’t simply separate, they open the door wide for a sudden reassessment of one’s allegiance to American cinema history in its entirety: have we been lied to? Why would the actions of Jim Brown’s characters be dishonorable since his position against such oppressive forces is justified. While Slaughter’s anger (as well as Clyde Peterson’s) is justified by racism, oppression, and exploitation, the means of his violent reparations and retaliations are what is questioned.

What makes this moment of Hugo Stiglitz more complex is the nature of this character’s name, which is a direct association with a caucasian, Mexican actor of the same name. While Stiglitz is associated with the “grindhouse” aesthetic with which Tarantino has made his name, the context of his cannot be overlooked in comparison to the referenced Jim Brown roles.

Within the range of Stiglitz’s work, a good consistency of roles portray a confident, imposing character that takes charge and gets things done, often resulting in the kind of antagonist strong enough for a climactic battle. The work that Basterds seems to reference most strongly is Counterforce (1988), in which Stiglitz portrays a world-class assassin that races an American counter-terrorist squadron to a targeted Middle Eastern leader. Stiglitz is constantly out maneuvering the team with disguises, weaponry, and most notably through a surprise attack upon a theater audience during the leader’s address.

With such an antagonistic character actor serving as reference through the name for a Jewish war hero, the resulting conflict between Jim Jones and Hugo Stiglitz implies more than just race or audience identification. What results is a complicated identity that implies the real nature of a war hero: one side is an honorable man that fights against the injustice of oppressive forces and ideals, while the other side in a dishonorable man that will do whatever is necessary to stay atop of his game, and eliminate all others in the way. While Basterds eliminates the Stiglitz character after a game of deception, the violent tactics of Counterforce’s surprise attack remains. Humanity becomes a casualty that cannot survive such moments of deception within the games of war, and any character that holds the possibility of the human integrity of Jim Brown’s Clyde Peterson will not see the sight of the third act, which would imply that all those alive at the end of the film are in fact the Basterds of the film’s title. What remains is a request for audience identification removal from cinematic material that requests joyous participation in violence as an acceptable means for accomplishment. Even if American Aldo Raine obtains the upper hand in the end, the reality of this situation completes the absurdity of the actual political nature of America’s contemporary international relationships, allowing Tarantino to strongly suggest a change in allegiance to vengeance over patriotism.

A final thought, before anyone comes to the conclusion that Jim Brown is a good guy, Hugo Stiglitz is a bad guy, and therefore a racial divide occurs between “good” and “evil,” this critical analysis of the “suppressed” taking vengeance upon their “oppressors” is further paralleled by Aldo Raine’s brief comment about his moonshine exploits that mirror the plot of Burt Reynold’s Gator in White Lighting (which is also musically referenced). Although Raine’s back-story implies an empathy with Jim Brown’s Slaughter, he is not capable of completely understanding the racial tensions because of his privilege as a Caucasian male during the fifties. Raine’s own name is similar to character Aldo Ray, who played a rough mixture of Brown and Stiglitz character descriptions. The reference that serves best here is Raoul Walsh’s The Naked and the Dead (1958). In this film, Aldo Ray plays tough Sgt. Sam Croft who heads a Pacific reconnaissance squadron behind enemy lines when his tactics of leadership are questioned by his men. The film deconstructs the morality and integrity of war’s catch-22 nature, where successful leadership takes no prisoners, disregards individual humanity, and often appears murderous as a means to save lives. Failure to comply with Sgt. Croft’s hard edged and crazy rules results in what feels like negligence with life. The Naked and the Dead treads a really thin line between moral decency and reckless murder when conveying that war sometimes necessitates a clear line of division between sides for survival. When placed within the context of Tarantino’s Raine, the development of the character excludes such dichotomies that are more likely developed within the parallel character in The Dirty Dozen. This exclusion implies that Raine lacks the internal moral responsibility of Croft while maintaining the murderous exterior, which allows for the most two-dimensional character of the major cast. This vapid character further perpetuates the myth of the American hero so that there is a point for comparative analysis with Jewish war hero Hugo Stiglitz. Without such a comparison point there is no way to understand the complicated satire implied through character actions and intentions when the film’s violence comes to full climax, otherwise belief within the actions of these heroes would be misrepresented as appropriate.


Epilogue

Two more films that serve as subtle reference points for comparison films for further dialog on the themes of race, violence, and the war genre: Lee Frost’s The Scavengers (1969) and Umberto Lenzi’s Desert Commandos (1967). Also a strong satire, Frost’s film follows a troop of Confederate soldiers that continue the war against the North after the Civil War has ended, and their maniacal leader holds nothing back when he retaliates against supposedly freed slaves. Lenzi, whose film Bridge to Hell (1986) also serves as a visual reference for Basterd’s violence, helms Desert Commandos’s similar plot with a clever approach towards breaking down audience identification without satire nor irony, and yet remains just as strong as Basterd’s analysis and critique.