Eve's Bayou

 

Jurnee Smollett

Lynn Whitfield

Debbi Morgan

Debbi Morgan and Samuel L. Jackson

Writer/director Kasi Lemmons

EVE’S BAYOU                     A                                                                                                    USA  (109 mi)  1997  d: Kasi Lemmons

A poignant coming-of-age mood piece, this film has the feel of a literary adaptation, beginning as a series of short stories written by this first-time director, set among well-off black Creole families in Louisiana in 1962, descendants of Jean Baptiste, a free black man from slavery days.  This film is a search for the hidden truths among the Creole folklore, music, French influence, and voodoo spirit, led by Samuel L. Jackson who plays a highly respected country doctor who is also a notorious womanizing father, Louis Batiste, the reserved, long-suffering, “perfect” beautiful mother, Lynn Whitfield as Roz Batiste, and three children, the middle child named Eve Baptiste, played by Jurnee Smollett, an intuitive, not always understanding ten-year old narrator who thinks she may have killed her father because she wished it so, because she hated him after her older sister told her of his incestuous advances.  The best thing in the film, however, is daytime soap opera star Debbi Morgan (the first black actress to win a Daytime Emmy), the wise, straight-talking aunt, Mozelle Batiste Delacroix, in what has to be one of the strongest and uniquely compelling black performances ever, a woman who can see other people’s future by laying her hands on theirs, who has lost three husbands but decides to try for a fourth in an attempt to overcome her belief that she is cursed.  This film takes us into the realm of Tennessee Williams and a family’s deep, hidden secrets, filled with dreams and poetry as seen through the vulnerable eyes of a child, showing us how deceptive memory can be, a visually powerful, hauntingly beautiful film, where the director offers her own comments about the control needed on the set in order to realize the extreme degree of stylization, Kasi Lemmons on EVE'S BAYOU YouTube (1:25).  Speaking a mix of Creole French and English, Eve reveals a startling revelation in the opening narration that immediately sends our collective heads spinning, “Memory is a selection of images, some elusive, others imprinted indelibly on the brain.  The summer I killed my father I was 10 years old.  My brother Poe was 9, and my sister Cisely had just turned 14.”  The beauty of this film is in its powerful storytelling, having the childlike feel of a Disney film, with no discussion on matters of race, but with adult subject matter, as it deals openly with incest, adultery, and murder, the kind of murky territory you’d expect in a swamp.  Yet because it’s seen through the eyes of a child, she may not be a trustworthy witness, which is called into question almost immediately when their home opens up into a raucous Cajun dance party, featuring classic 50’s and 60’s R&B songs, Bobby Bland - Turn On Your Love Light (2:37), Geno Delafose’s C'est Pas La Peine Brailler (3:26), James “Sugar Boy” Crawford’s Sugar Boy and his Cane Cutters - "Overboard" (2:27), RAY CHARLES "Don't Let The Sun Catch You Crying ... (3:46), Etta James - A Sunday Kind Of Love (3:21), and JOHNNY ACE - "ANYMORE" (1955) (3:02), with Louis causing a spectacle dancing first with an overly flirtatious family friend Matty Mereaux (Lisa Nicole Carson) before dancing with his oldest daughter Cisely (Meagan Good), which sends Eve flying out the door in a fit of jealousy, hiding out in an old carriage house, where she witnesses her father having sex with Matty Mereaux, a traumatizing moment, as she places her father on a pedestal.  When she shares her secret with Cisely, a Daddy’s girl who is even more enamored with her father, her sister places doubt in her eyes, suggesting it may have been something far more innocent, demonstrating how easily memory can be reconfigured, and how a change in perspective may alter the way viewers understand existing truths. 

Among the most financially successful independent films of the year, part of the film’s popularity was the heavy endorsement of Chicago film critic Roger Ebert who placed it #1 on his Best of the Year lists for 1997, Roger Ebert: 1967-2006, with film executives surprised to discover that more than half the audience was white for what was essentially a black film, featuring well-developed characters often overlooked in movies, creating a successful crossover effect, playing in both arthouses and mainstream theaters alike, transcending the idea of a “black film” with no white characters.  The central focus is Eve’s relationship with her mother, father, and her siblings, yet perhaps the most intriguing is her close relationship with her aunt Mozelle, the spiritual center of their world and the anchor of the family, drawing independent parallels between the kindred spirits of Louis and his sister, both consumed by an emancipating free spirit, yet Mozelle has unusual sensitivity and insight, which manifests itself in the “gift of sight,” as she’s a psychic reader who can predict the future, spending her time healing the wounds of others in need, drawing upon her mythical ancestral heritage, which is outside the traditions of Western society, as black women are entrusted guardians of their family stories, reaching into southern black folk traditions that are being passed on to Eve.  While she’s able to see into the lives of others, she’s blind to her own deficiencies, feeling cursed, as all three of her husbands have suffered violent deaths, yet she stands in stark contrast to Elzora (Diahann Carroll), who is something of a carnival sideshow, telling fortunes for a dollar, viewed by Mozelle as a cheap stereotypical caricature of a voodoo priestess.  The beauty of Mozelle’s dynamic character is that she’s not exoticized, instead she’s part of the family legacy, an integral part of the landscape, part of the memory, and part of the surrounding community culture, bringing a unique artistic sophistication to the forefront, willingly sharing her experiences while commiserating with Eve, Eve's Bayou (1997) - Life Is Filled With Goodbyes Scene (8/11) | Movieclips YouTube (3:11).  While the film follows the female-centric traditions of Julie Dash’s Daughters of the Dust (1991), creating a provocative narrative around strong female characters in a rural setting, beautifully shot by Amy Vincent, edited by Terilyn A. Shropshire, where women have important roles behind the camera, yet it’s largely a performance-driven film, with a constantly curious Jurnee Smollett holding her own against more seasoned veterans, showing early signs of the actress she would become.  The child vantage point recalls Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter (1955), where truth has a way of remaining elusive, often disguised in various forms with deceptive vantage points, including a constantly shifting narrative, yet particularly for a 10-year old the essential drama surrounds Eve’s ability to unravel the truth.  The uncertainty and unreliability of memory remains a predominant theme, while the narration suggests she’s looking back at her life as an adult, recalling a series of impactful events that evolved into an indelible memory that changed the course of her life.   

Told in a Southern Gothic tradition, evoking the cultural heritage of backwoods Louisiana with hanging Spanish moss, Cypress trees, and water everywhere, where lies are woven into the fabric of the family, each seems to hold their own fabrication of the truth, largely covering up for the sins of the father, who ignores his familial obligations with his own wife, where that neglect leaves her a nervous wreck, alone and isolated, as her husband spends late night hours away from home as a serial philanderer.  In compensation, the oldest daughter Cisely sits and waits for her father to return home at night, receiving the affection usually reserved for the wife, while Roz overcompensates by heaping affection on their only son Poe (Jake Smollett).  Left out of the equation is Eve, confused by the moral ambiguities in the adults surrounding her, unable to see through the lies and deception.  She seeks refuge in Mozelle, sharing a psychic ability to see things before they happen, as Eve dreams about the death of Mozelle’s most recent husband shortly before he was killed in an accident.  Mozelle is simply one of the most fully realized characters in cinema, defiantly individualistic, emboldened and beautiful, never afraid to speak her mind, but she’s overprotective of her brother, knowing full-well the disgrace and disrespect he shows his own family, hiding his weakness and moral shortcomings, while both young daughters look up to him with unabated reverence, afraid their mother will drive him away.  But Mozelle has to face her own demons, especially when she meets a new man in her life, Julian Grayraven (Vondie Curtis-Hall, the director’s husband), a black Indian, where a spark of love is in the air, yet her track record is abysmal.  The story she tells Eve about the fate of one of her husbands is simply chilling, both in what it reveals about her and the awesome and mesmerizing power of a beautifully told story, Eve's Bayou (1997) - Mozelle, Hosea and Maynard Scene (7/11) | Movieclips YouTube (3:28).  Among the more eloquent scenes is a walk out on a country road by the side of the lake on a gorgeous sunny day with Mozelle and her sister-in-law Roz, being honest and open with each other, which has a way of opening doors, allowing a sliver of honesty into what seems like tragic lives.  What becomes more evident, as time goes on, is that each character has their own vantage point, seeing the same things, but in different ways.  This confusion leads to a spiral of self-delusion, as Eve grows protective of her sister, who comes to her with a horrible secret that brings tragic consequences, wanting to save her from the incestuous betrayal of her own father, looking to use spells and powers to eradicate what she perceives as evil, certain her father is to blame, looking to cast a magic spell upon him, even wishing he was dead.  The scenes between the sisters are fraught with power and emotion, but grow heart-wrenching at the strange turn of events, where the truth of what really happens remains ambiguous, with different outcomes depending on who you listen to, as every action has a ripple effect, yet in the end what stands out is a sisterly love that endures, uncertain about everything else in their future, but they still have each other, leaving audiences to grapple with the deeply complex moral implications. 

Mystery Train

 

Director Jim Jarmusch

Jarmusch with Joe Strummer (left)

Actor Masatoshi Nagase

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MYSTERY TRAIN          B                                                                                                       USA  Japan  (113 mi)  1989  d:  Jim Jarmusch

A film to live in. A film in which I can spend evenings and afternoons smoking, reading and sleeping. I’ve tried a hundred times to remake a Jarmusch tracking shot, I’ve never gotten close. They move at a speed that belongs only to him. Jarmusch is the metronome of a precious melancholy.                                                                                                                                 —French filmmaker Christophe Honoré on Jarmusch’s Mystery Train, listed at #9 of his Criterion Top Ten films, Christophe Honoré’s Top 10

Filmed in Memphis during the summer of 1988, Jarmusch mixes three interconnected stories depicting the city more as an idea than an actual place, viewed through an outsider’s lens, with two young Japanese tourists making a pilgrimage from Yokohama, viewing the city as a rock ‘n’ roll Mecca, a grounded Italian traveler visits from Rome to collect the dead remains of her husband and return him back to Italy, but a flight delay leaves her stranded overnight, while the third tracks a trio of friends as they make their way through a boozy night of misadventure, all connected by the music of Elvis Presley, a few other early rockers, and a bluesy guitar soundtrack written by John Lurie.  Much of this is viewed through miscommunication and alienation, offering racial diversity in the lead characters, where strangers in a foreign land view America with a mixture of weird fascination and curious befuddlement, as a central theme is just how much is lost in translation, ostensibly a film about loneliness, missed opportunities, and a longing for connection, with some feeling deceived by the America they find, including some that live there all their lives.  Unlike most filmmakers, Jarmusch’s primary interest is in the soon-to-be-demolished, rundown part of town, where they had to clear hookers from the streets each night before filming, according to Linn Sitler, the city’s former film commissioner, suggesting Jarmusch was one of the first to express an interest in filming there.  Much of the film takes place at the corner of South Main and what was then Calhoun (now G.E. Patterson), not exactly an area the city’s officials wanted showcased, a blighted landscape of vacant lots, boarded-up storefronts, broken down movie theaters, cheap rundown hotels, all-night diners, lone liquor stores, and dimly lit dive bars, all crumbling signs of an empty and abandoned ghost town, with little sign of street traffic or pedestrians, yet Jarmusch found a distinct character there, including clever graffiti on the walls paying homage to Stax records (which according to Jarmusch was already there).  It has now been cleaned up and is the most filmed area of the city, placing a plaque in the film’s honor, as it helped revitalize the neighborhood.  Near the opening, we see two Japanese tourists arrive in Memphis, Mitzuko (Yûki Kudô), an Elvis enthusiast, and Jun (Masatoshi Nagase), hair slicked back like the 50’s, preferring Carl Perkins, who is later seen gazing out the hotel window and uttering, “It feels cool to be in Memphis.”  This follows a long walk from the train station through the seedy neighborhoods lugging their bright red suitcase balanced on a stick they carry on each end, not encumbered by distances, obviously quite comfortable walking for hours, literally stumbling upon the Sun Records studio founded by Sam Phillips, little more than a hole-in-the-wall establishment, yet the home of so much early rock ‘n’ roll history that originated there, as Phillips launched the career of Elvis Presley in 1954, while producing the recordings of Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, and Howlin’ Wolf as well.  Their tour of the studio, however, is a complete waste of time, as the guide races through the material to the point of complete incomprehension, speaking almost no English, knowing exactly what they knew going in as they did going out.  Undaunted, they continue on their journey afterwards, marked by a continuous tracking shot through the city streets set to a bluesy theme, finally resting in front of a statue to Elvis, each arguing over who is their favorite rocker. 

As night creeps in, they find a fleabag hotel known as the Arcade, manned at the desk by R&B legend Screamin’ Jay Hawkins as the manager in his flame red suit and Spike Lee’s younger brother Cinqué Lee as the bellhop, in faded purple uniform and cap, the spitting image of Tony Revolori, the Lobby Boy in the Wes Anderson comic satire The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014).  The room has a giant portrait of Elvis hovering over the bed, no TV, which is an obvious disappointment, with Mitzuko tending to her Elvis scrapbook that finds traces of Elvis in Madonna, the Buddha, and even the Statue of Liberty.  Mitzuko is overly friendly with a bubbly personality, while Jun is stoic and near silent, rarely changing the expression on his face, identified throughout by a near magical choreography of his lighter, with Mitzuko at one point using her feet to show her lighter dexterity, but both are tuned into their own wavelength.  When a gunshot is clearly heard, neither one seems surprised or particularly affected, though Mitzuko asks if what she heard was a gun?  Jun answers unenthusiastically, “Probably.  This is America.”  Both are completely unphased, heading out the next morning to see Graceland.  Next we see a distraught young Italian woman at the airport, Luisa (Nicoletta Braschi), having to absurdly sign a dozen documents to transport her recently deceased husband’s body back to Italy, calling home to report a delay in her flight, leaving her free time on her hands, wandering through the same city streets we saw earlier, buying a newspaper, which is itself an ordeal, with the vendor pushing every available magazine, eventually settling in at the Arcade all-night diner.  Minding her own business, she’s immediately hit on by a stranger (Tom Noonan), offering an elongated story about discovering Elvis in Memphis purely by accident.  Unimpressed, she gives him money to go away, but runs into him on the street afterwards, looking around for a safe haven before taking refuge in the Arcade Hotel.  But just as she enters the lobby, another disgruntled woman is rushing out, the hyperactive Dee Dee (Elizabeth Bracco), where the collision knocks her down, with her magazines spilling all over the floor.  Eying up the situation, Luisa offers to share the room, as she doesn’t really want to be alone, which suits Dee Dee fine, more than happy to let Luisa pay, expecting to settle up in the room, which like the other one, has a giant portrait of Elvis.  While Dee Dee can’t shut up over her personal problems, talking nonstop about breaking up with her boyfriend, we are transported back to a similar point in time through the radio, with the voice of Tom Waits as the DJ talking the same rap and playing the exact same tune we heard earlier with the Japanese kids, a vintage Roy Orbison recording of “Domino,” The Teen Kings - Domino - YouTube (2:08).  With this understanding, Jarmusch has done a time synchronization, with other recurring events happening before as well, including the gunshot, which Luisa identifies as “maybe a .38,” while Dee Dee can’t exit this “dump” fast enough.  Once Dee Dee falls asleep, however, a very much awake Luisa has visions of Elvis Presley in the room literally talking to her, wearing a gold lamé jacket with slicked back hair, but once she frantically wakes up Dee Dee, the ghostly image disappears, grumpily turning back to sleep, while Luisa appears thunderstruck, unable to close her eyes all night long, seen hurriedly racing for the gate at the airport the next morning. 

The final sequence takes place in what appears to be a black neighborhood bar called Shades, with some guys playing pool, but an irate Johnny (British rocker Joe Strummer from The Clash, the only white guy in the joint, affectionately called Elvis for his retro hair style) is upset over losing his job and his girlfriend all in the same day, having a drink with his friend Ed (Vondie Curtis-Hall), unleashing his troubles and wallowing in his collective miseries as we hear Otis Redding, Bobby “Blue” Bland, and Rufus Thomas (who makes an earlier cameo appearance at the train station) playing on the jukebox, eventually pulling out a gun, causing instant commotion in this otherwise laid back atmosphere.  Calling him crazy, Ed calls his brother-in-law to come get this troublemaker, none other than Steve Buscemi as Charlie, arriving together with his friend Will (Rick Aviles), with Charlie voicing his concerns about the type of neighborhood, suggesting maybe he should wait in the car, but Will has to remind him that white people are allowed inside.  Johnny is a basket case, already loaded from drinking, so they decide to stop at a liquor store, getting a couple bottles, but when the cashier makes a racist remark to Will, Johnny shoots him, thinking he’s got it coming.   Not knowing what else to do, they drive around in Will’s truck all night drinking before finally arriving drunk and exhausted, looking for a room to remain invisible at the Arcade, given the most dilapidated room on the premises, where they simply drink themselves into a stupor.  Once again, we hear synchronized cues from earlier episodes, with the DJ playing familiar songs, including Elvis singing “Blue Moon,” Elvis Presley - Blue Moon - YouTube (2:41), only 19 when he recorded it.  This song connects with personal losses, experienced differently by Luisa, Dee Dee and Johnny, even by Mitzuko, who feels the need for an embrace.  By now we’ve figured out Dee Dee is Johnny’s lost girlfriend, and all three sequences are happening simultaneously, all of them staying at the Arcade for a single, fortuitous night, each viewing things for a differing perspective.  Filmed in a leisurely pace, with mood and atmosphere dominating any developing storyline, the characters are defined by their small eccentricities, like the lighter routine with Jun, or his habit of photographing hotel furniture, where their dreams of what Memphis would be kept getting smaller in their eyes, drearier and emptier than they imagined, where it’s the music that continually sustains their passion.  We’re never able to penetrate Luisa’s interior world, having just lost her husband, yet she’s incredibly kind and gracious to everyone she meets, including the tremendously wound-up Dee Dee, who is a handful.  The guy with a gun sequence reveals just what nitwits guys can be sometimes, overly concerned only about themselves, as if they’re all that matters in the world, paranoid about constantly eluding the police, even when they’re not being chased.  Linking all these sequences together are the two guys at the hotel desk, who perform their own deadpan routines, slightly different with each group of new customers, perhaps the closest thing to stability in the film, as they’re the only ones not in motion, not heading anywhere, but content to be where they are, developing a natural ease with one another.  In addition to musical motifs, other architectural landmarks reoccur as well, sprinkled throughout the film, yet in a seemingly aimless pattern, having no real rhyme or reason.  As in all Jarmusch films, the dialogue is sparse, scenes are filled with wry melancholic silences, while Robby Müller’s camera mostly remains stationary, though interestingly the film was shot in color, always lighthearted and amusing, feeling at times like a musical travelogue, featuring some extraordinary cuts of music, bookended by Elvis Presley and Junior Parker versions of the entitled song, becoming a love letter to the city of Memphis, using just a few stragglers passing through to offer just a taste of the city’s rich cultural traditions.