Caught

CAUGHT            C               

USA  (88 mi)  1949  d:  Max Ophüls

A somewhat downbeat and dreary take on the American Dream, filled with a nightmarish pessimism about the corrupting influence of money, and considering when this was made, it’s a prescient comment on the otherwise sunny decade of the 50’s in America, a decade of supposed optimism and promise, an era when Americans pulled themselves out of the doldrums of the post-war trauma of the 40’s and moved to the suburbs, building new lives for themselves and their Baby Boomer children.  Clashes between Communism and Capitalism were just beginning, and German director Max Ophüls was driven out of Europe by the Nazi’s, emigrating to the United States where he was fired from his first job by Howard Hughes.  This film may be the director’s revenge, taking aim at the huge ego and tyrannical style of Hughes who surrounded himself with Yes men, throwing around directives and always telling others what to do, but leaving himself isolated and alone in the process, much like Charles Foster Kane living alone in his massive estate of Xanadu at the end of CITIZEN KANE (1941).  After Kirk Douglas and Ginger Rogers dropped out for what were considered script differences, Robert Ryan and Barbara Bel Geddes were borrowed from RKO to make this picture, where Ryan as international business tycoon Smith Ohlrig (modeled after Hughes) is a ruthlessly impatient man used to getting his way, but also subject to heart ailments when he doesn’t, momentarily turning him into a panicked weakling in desperate need of his life saving emergency medicine.  But this is a starring vehicle for Bel Geddes as Leonora, who is seen initially in her cramped apartment paging through magazines, picking out extravagant jewels and minks that in her eyes define success.  Saving her money to attend a charm school learning manners and etiquette, her idea of femininity is modeling fur coats in a department store, hoping to catch the eye of a rich millionaire who will sweep her off her feet at the perfume counter.  For many women in the 50’s this aptly describes the American Dream, as going to college and choosing a career was never the first option, which always remained finding a wealthy husband. 

Despite receiving an invitation to an exclusive party on Ohlrig’s yacht, Leonora spends most of the day pouting instead of primping, ending up going at the last minute where she misses the ride, left alone at the pier waiting in the darkness for someone to pick her up.  When a man arrives from the yacht, she asks for a ride, but he has important business to take care of, but brings her along, eventually driving her to his mammoth estate on Long Island, but she refuses to come inside.  Bel Geddes is a nice girl, perhaps overly sweet and naïve, and a bit mousy, always second guessing and questioning herself, while Ryan is bluntly direct and to the point, icy cold, never mincing words, refusing to ever let anyone, even his doctors, make decisions affecting his life, where on the spot he decides to get married just to prove his psychiatrist wrong.  When he picks Bel Geddes, you’d think she’d be the picture of happiness and bliss after their marriage, but instead she mopes around in a gloom of self-doubt, rationalizing that it was never about the money, when it was obviously about the money, then convincing herself  “he wasn’t like that before we were married,” when in fact he was exactly like that from the moment she met him, a dictatorial control freak who always has to have it his way.  Adapted from the Libbie Block novel by Arthur Laurents, who also wrote Hitchcock’s ROPE (1948), the problem is a weak script, as all the characters, including the leads, come off as too one-dimensional, where none of them are that interesting, where Curt Bois (who calls everyone “darling”) as Ohlrig’s assistant, was apparently hired to play the piano 24 hours a day, so everytime Ohlrig arrives home, he reminds Leonora that it’s time for them to go to work, playing the same tune over and over again to the point of near madness.  They fall into predictable patterns, become mired in their own delusional traps, where all Ohlrig wants is some eye candy on his arm who waits on his beck and call, like a hired employee, but when he discovers he can’t order her around like the rest of the staff, she bolts the first chance she gets.

Making a new life for herself, she finds another small, cramped room and a job as a receptionist for a pair of young doctors serving mostly poor kids, which is where she meets James Mason (in his first American picture) as Dr. Larry Quinada, who hires her, though after a few weeks he questions her disorganization, as her desk is a mess, and she continues to hold onto her idealistic views on marriage, advising women patients in the waiting room on the art of marrying a rich husband, even after discovering what a sham her own life has become.  But instead of motivating her to improve her skills and make better choices, Leonora ends up running away in shame, where Ohlrig sweet talks her back to the mansion, but she quickly discovers ulterior motives behind his actions, as he’s already orchestrating her life again as if nothing’s changed.  Running back to the good doctor, things improve momentarily, expressed in a dizzyingly choreographed dinner sequence between the two of them as they end up doing the waltz on a crowded dance floor, where Lee Garmes’ camera swoops around walls peering in and out of the rooms, creating an idyllic moment when he asks her to marry him.  Complications ensue, however, as she’s already married and pregnant, and neither one to the good doctor, so rather than tell him, she again drops out of sight until the doctor tracks her down, where Mason and Ryan have a mano a mano talk, as Ryan lowers the hammer and sadistically reveals the facts of life.  Despite the conservative nature of the times, being cooped up in the mansion of a man who has no interest in her, who in fact openly despises her, does not seem to be the right environment to live or have a baby, especially when she’s met someone who actually cares about her.  But in this film, that’s not an option, where instead there’s a contrived ending, where Mason gives a long involved speech to Bel Geddes in the back of an ambulance, an ominous picture of melodramatic destiny and gloom, where one finds freedom and hope in the ultimate tragedy of their lives, pulling success out of failure, which may as well be an answered prayer to “lead us not into temptation (money), but deliver us from evil (corrupted power).” 

Undertow (1949)

UNDERTOW  C+                  

USA  (71 mi)  1949  d:  William Castle 

A rarely seen film from schlockmeister William Castle, a B-movie director who spent his career making forgettable features, whose real claim to fame was his Barnum & Bailey flair for self-promotion, often appearing in the trailers revving up the fear factor in his films, psyching up the audience to expect to be scared, where his most audacious stunt was wiring selected seats in the theater with electrical buzzers and administering a mild shock during heightened moments of THE TINGLER (1959).  In addition to being an uncredited screenwriter, a second unit director, and an associate producer for Orson Welles’ THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI (1947), perhaps his biggest claim to fame, however, and certainly his most lucrative, was buying the book rights to Ira Levin’s novel Rosemary's Baby (1968), which became a monster hit.  But in 1949, little did the director, or anyone else connected with the film, know that 60 years in the future audiences would be sitting quietly and actually paying attention to this film, which was always intended as a second reeler.  Opening in Reno, Scott Brady (Lawrence Tierney’s younger brother) as Tony Reagan has just completed his second stint in the Army and is in a celebratory mood, having recently invested his entire Army savings on a Lake Tahoe resort sitting on a pristine location, owned by the father of a fellow soldier who died in the war, but always spoke highly about this property being the most beautiful place on earth.  Having seen it and meeting with the father, Tony has to agree, thinking this would be the perfect place to make a new start in his life.  Having come from a troubled past where he had extensive trouble with the law, Tony was looking to go straight.   But he’s hit with two major coincidences before he can set foot out of town, one is meeting Danny Morgan (John Russell), an old con artist working for the casino’s, and the other is accidentally running into a beautiful woman, Peggy Dow as Ann McKnight, where they coincidentally meet again on an overnight flight to Chicago.  By her look, she has more than a passing interest in him, but he rather clumsily announces his plans to meet his future bride in Chicago and bring her back out to live in Lake Tahoe, which takes the sizzle out of their obvious chemistry. 

In Chicago, he’s met by the cops and warned to get out of town, as they’ve received news he’s planning to get revenge on Big Jim, a local mob boss, as they had plenty of run-ins together 7 years ago.  Using plenty of Chicago location shots, they arrive at Midway Airport before he takes a taxi to the Palmer House, where there’s plenty of street shots down Wabash Avenue as Tony has to shake the cop that’s following him, which he does at the Wabash/Adams el stop which looks exactly the same today as it did 60 years ago.  Tony’s in Chicago looking for his girl, Sally (Dorothy Hart), whose uncle is Big Jim, who disapproves of their impending marriage, but Tony thinks he can change his mind, especially if they’re going to be family.  But before he gets a chance, Tony is blindsided and coldcocked, where he awakes later with a gunshot wound on his hand placed in a car containing a gun that can be traced to Big Jim’s murder.  The radio announces his description as a killer on the loose, where he’s immediately on the run, trying to outrun chasing cops, leading to a shootout scene at a factory warehouse where he climbs up a gigantic storage tank, similar to James Cagney in White Heat (1949), a film released 3 months earlier that same year.  You’d think it might be the same set, but this is a Universal picture, while Cagney’s is Warner Brothers.  With police canvassing all his known friends, he has no options left and nowhere else to go except to call upon Ann, the friend he met in Reno who was coming to Chicago to be a schoolteacher.  Having heard the radio description, where he’s considered armed and dangerous, Ann is a bit suspicious, but once he announces he didn’t do it, that he’s been framed, she immediately breaks into a trusting smile and fixes him breakfast - - only in the movies.

Knowing there is no way out except to clear his name, Tony calls upon an old friend from the neighborhood now working for the police, Bruce Bennett as Detective Reckling, something of a straight shooter, in real life a silver medalist in the shot put for the 1928 Olympics under his actual name Herman Brix, holding both the indoor and outdoor world records at the time.  Due to his athleticism, he was being considered for the Tarzan role by MGM pictures, but he broke his shoulder making another film, opening the door for Olympic swimming champion Johnny Weissmuller.  Nonetheless, Bennett lived to be a hundred and did complete one Tarzan picture, completing all his own stunts, including a fall to rocky cliffs below in THE NEW ADVENTURES OF TARZAN, Pt’s I and II (1935), also TARZAN AND THE GREEN GODDESS (1938), which was largely put together from previously shot footage.  Though Reckling is unable to prove Tony’s innocence, where there is a brief first time film appearance by a young Roc Hudson as a fellow detective, he does begin to believe the alleged murderer has been framed.  The film packs a punch, cramming a huge amount of story detail into the highly condensed 71 minutes, where Buckingham Fountain is used as a favorite meeting place, showing the Chicago skyline, including what was the Conrad Hilton Hotel.  Certainly a crowd pleaser moment for anyone from Chicago has to be when Ann pulls up to the fountain in her slick convertible car and parks directly in front of the fountain on Columbus Drive in what is a notorious tow zone.  Another is a secret meet with Sally outside the Adler Planetarium down a few stairs while Ann stands guard at street level, where the two women may as well be at opposite ends of his life, morally speaking, one above and one below.  There’s a stellar hallway sequence down a long corridor near the end, an unforgettable scene that is exquisitely filmed, also the interesting presence of unsung black actor Daniel Ferniel, perhaps the most unusual role in the film, a small part with major consequences, where he represents the surviving moral voice of the murdered victim, Big Jim, who interestingly is never seen onscreen.

Shakedown

SHAKEDOWN           B-                  

USA  1950  (80 mi)  d:  Joseph Pevney 

Noir City Chicago 4 ( 3rd Night)  Dan in the MW from a film noir discussion group, The Blackboard, August 19, 2012:            (excerpt) 

Thus far, the audiences have been enthusiastic and the ticket sales have been quite good overall. This is my fourth such festival and I was able to recognize many repeat customers in the audience from prior years. One of the nicest things about Noir City Chicago is that, when time permits, the Film Noir Foundation hosts have been approachable and patient in terms of answering questions and holding conversations with theater patrons. The Music Box, which opened its doors in the late Twenties, has always been a neighborhood theater, but it does have a fairly large lobby area that allows people an opportunity to do a bit of casual socializing. I am not certain that such intimacy would be possible in Los Angeles or San Francisco where the audiences are oftentimes much larger.

There is an interesting aspect to film noirs in the way they exaggerate masculinity, which is particularly noticeable in this film where Howard Duff as photographer Jack Early, in his shoulder padded suit, walks confidently into a San Francisco newspaper office looking for a job, turning women’s heads standing at every door.  Even more dramatic is the support and admiration he receives from a newspaper executive Ellen Bennett (Peggy Dow), who after a flirtatious introduction drops all moral standards and not only goes to bat for him with her editor David Glover (Bruce Bennett), but agrees to go out on a date with him, inviting him to her place for dinner.  These kinds of mixed signals are rarely received in real life, especially from an intelligent, well balanced, good looking and independent woman.  But the film’s introduction gives the audience a clearer picture of the man’s moral character, as we see him get the snot beat out of him at a vacant waterfront pier, apparently for taking a picture of a gangland beating—but he persists, using the photo to get his foot in the door at the paper, claiming he just happened to be in the neighborhood at the time, weaseling his way into a one-week trial period.  While Glover distrusts him from the outset, Bennett has other ideas and quickly turns into his love interest, despite her claim that her real love is a dentist living in Portland.  Duff is a fairly wooden actor, but he gives a maniacal performance here as a man ruthlessly driven to step over anybody to get what he wants.  Wearing his ambition on his sleeve, he’s little more than a cynical opportunist, which is particularly evident in the next two photos he provides, where he basically instructs accident victims in peril to pose for his camera, always getting the shot he wants. 

With Bennett leading the charge, Early is hired full-time as a photo editor, all but ignoring the others at the newspaper, where he’s continually driven to get an “exclusive,” quickly making a name for himself, but also boosting newspaper sales.  In something of an ironic twist, Glover decides to have a little fun at Jack’s expense, sending him to the criminal courts building to photograph a criminal, Nick Palmer (Brian Donlevy), who notoriously refuses to show his face to photographers.  The film takes on a different air when Jack strikes up a distinctly inappropriate conversation with Palmer’s wife sitting in the waiting car, Nita, Anne Vernon, easily the best thing in the film, a French actress in her only American appearance, perhaps best known as Catherine Deneuve’s mother in THE UMBRELLAS OF CHERBOURG (1964).  Not only is she gorgeous with a distinct French accent, adding a touch of class and sophistication to what is otherwise a rather crude depiction of an overzealous craving for the American Dream, but she takes no guff from the guy, showing she has the balls to stand up for herself.  After promising Palmer a positive newspaper slant if he’d stop hiding and come clean, showing he has nothing to hide, Jack surprisingly gets that exclusive photo, which is little more than a pose, where Palmer invites him to his house with a proposition.  Early often comments how Ellen’s living room, with a picture window view of the city, or Palmer’s lavishly decorated home, is exactly what he’d like, including the woman (Nita) sitting on the sofa.  She, of course, encourages his foreplay, more likely curious what kind of deep shit it will get him into.  

Palmer promises to offer tips on the criminal underworld, knowing where they will strike before it happens, where Jack can get his exclusive photos, which Palmer figures is a way to get rid of some of his rival enemies, but Jack has other ideas, playing each side against the other, as he gets his photo of men coming out of a heist, but rather than take it to the newspaper, he decides to blackmail Palmer’s ex-partner, Harry Coulting (Lawrence Tierney), who committed the department store robbery, which is a much more lucrative, though dangerously ambitious con, which nearly gets him killed, but instead they only make him sweat in a beautifully constructed scene at a bowling alley where as he cautiously exits Coulting’s office with a bag full of money, you can hear the sound of the pins explode with each strike, a suspenseful reminder of the fearful anticipation pounding in his head.  Jack’s head swells with his apparent success, turning down the regular gig at the newspaper, despite Ellen’s protestations, believing the sky’s the limit for him now that he’s made a name for himself, where as an independent photographer he can sell to the highest bidder.  While playing such a dangerous game, Jack’s amorally loathsome character comes into question, as even Ellen decides he’s a callous opportunist where it’s only a matter of time before he falls from grace.  What’s interesting is the way the war plays on Jack’s post-war noir character, as a guy who witnesses the devastation of war comes home numbed by the experience with his values altered and disoriented, where his ambition erodes any personal integrity, developing an insatiable appetite for sordid sensationalism, which brings him a quick buck, but likely an early demise, as he continually flaunts and disparages the wrong kind of people.  The finale is more comical irony, as it’s hard not to root *against* this guy. 

Good Men, Good Women (Hao nan hao nu)

GOOD MEN, GOOD WOMEN (Hao nan hao nu)      A                    

Taiwan Japan  (108 mi)  1995  d:  Hou Hsiao-hsien

I walked out of the theater thinking I could kiss the guy that made this film.  It was an honor to be able to see it, made in the same year as my daughter Eva’s birth – hopefully, an auspicious sign – a brilliant, deeply felt tribute to all those political victims of the 1940’s and 50’s.  What might be propaganda in someone else’s hands is instead one of the most moving and affectionate political films ever seen, with very little actual politics coming into play, instead it pays a loving tribute to those unsung heroes that lived and died in the past, who are all but forgotten now, as a country’s future has been steered into a different direction, resembling the decadence of an American consumer society.  As Taiwan was under Japanese occupation for 51 years up until the end of World War II, a few Taiwanese Socialist freedom fighters in the 1940’s joined the Chinese Mainland Communists who had already been invaded by Japan.  These individuals came under suspicion both by the Chinese Communists, who felt they were Japanese spies, and then later during the anticommunist “White Terror” of the 50’s they were tried by the Taiwanese Nationalist forces, who were themselves forced to retreat in exile to Taiwan in 1949, executing many of them for fighting with the Communists.  Taiwan’s fate as the frontline against Communism was sealed when America sent in the 7th Fleet to protect the Taiwan Straits from the Communist North Koreans during the Korean War in 1950, saving Taiwan from Communism, but also eliminating any real political opposition in the process.  The Taiwanese Nationalists imposed martial law in 1947, which lead to The February 28 Incident of the same year where over 20,000 Taiwanese were massacred by Nationalist troops, who covered up their own malicious acts and continually blamed the Communists for this revolt.  Covering the period of 1949 to the present, this is the third and final film of the Trilogy on 20th century Taiwan, which began with A City of Sadness (Bei qing cheng shi) (1989), which covers the end of World War II through the retreat of the Kuomintang to Taiwan in 1949, followed by The Puppetmaster (Xi meng ren sheng) (1993), set during the Japanese occupation, covering the years 1909 to 1945, and is based on a novel by Chiang Bi-Yu, who followed her husband to Mainland China to fight the Japanese, only to see him executed later by his own countrymen.  

The editing and visual mastery of this film is stunning, as is the evidence of such formal control by the director himself, whose amazingly personal and complex film structure is reminiscent of Tarkovsky’s THE MIRROR (1975).  The film movingly opens in black and white as several men and women, with the look of peasants, are walking through the countryside singing songs.  They are a group of socialist-leaning professionals who have left Taiwan to join the anti-Japanese resistance movement on Mainland soil, an act immediately questioned by the Chinese Communist military command, believing they are Japanese spies.  The film then shifts to the present, in color, as an actress, played by Annie Shizuka Inoh, who, herself, has her own flashbacks, is re-enacting the part of Chiang Bi-Yu from the 40’s in a modern day play, so she actually plays triple roles of the present, flashbacks from her life that represent a possible future, and the past.  Living in a darkened apartment where little moves except the fish inside the fish bowls, an apt reference to her own life as well, she receives phone calls from someone who has stolen her own diary, and throughout the film he sends them back to her piece by piece on her fax machine, which leads to one of the more emotionally gripping scenes at the end, recalling to this silent, anonymous caller, who may as well be her own conscious, powerful feelings for her dead lover, where in a haunting confession she reveals the past is never past, but remains strikingly real.   

The film moves back and forth in time from modern day color to this sumptuously beautiful black and white of the past as impressively as any film seen, brilliantly filmed by Chen Huai-en.  The present is represented by garish colors and wild night-club-style fashions, filled with over-indulgent, superficial people who can think only of themselves.  There is an exquisite scene of the girl talking to her gangster boyfriend, Jack Kao, about getting an abortion or having his baby, while she effortlessly puts on her make up in front of a mirror, and little glimpses of light seem to be trying to find their way around this mirror.  No scene in the film provides a better contrast, as the real-life Chiang Bi-Yu is then seen pregnant, working in a labor camp, where she was forced to give up her children to be able to fight for the causes she believed in.  There are extraordinary prison sequences, contrasting images of long, empty corridors to the women huddled together in a tiny cell, only the backs of the guards are seen as they unlock the doors and one by one call out their names, telling them it is time for them to face their judgment.  It’s an unseen, faceless power that has ruthlessly gained control of their lives.  This is contrasted by the hauntingly beautiful music of Chiang Hsiao-Wen that plays during the black and white pastoral sequences, where people can be heard chatting happily among themselves off-screen, or seen working together, eating together, cleaning their rooms, helping one another in such effortless, normal settings, yet it is strikingly poetic in its magical power to remind us of a world that could have been, that never came to be.  This film is really a requiem to a lost freedom movement, to a country’s failure to live up to it’s hopes and aspirations of being a free society, suggesting now they are on a wayward path where their future has been bartered and sold, where instead of fighting for social justice, they are left to squabble over meaningless petty indulgences.  The final sequences of the film are as moving and as heartfelt as anything in the Hou Hsiao-hsien repertoire.

The Puppetmaster (Xi meng ren sheng)

THE PUPPETMASTER (Xi meng ren sheng)          A                   

Taiwan  (142 mi)  1993  d:  Hou Hsiao-hsien

Hou Hsiao-hsien:

Taiwan has inherited a legacy of influences from Japanese culture….  During the Korean War, we drew closer to America and imbibed its culture and influence.  I feel our generation has a responsibility to conserve the beauty of our own traditions, and to disseminate them using the tools of our age and from our own perspective.  In this way, the best and most worthwhile of our traditions will be passed on to the next generation.

The second installment of Hou Hsiao-Hsien's historical trilogy, which also includes A City of Sadness (Bei qing cheng shi) (1989) and Good Men, Good Women (Hao nan hao nu) (1995), THE PUPPETMASTER is based on the life of famed Chinese puppet master Li Tien-Lu. Spanning the years 1909 to 1945 and covering major historical events in China's occupation by the Japanese, the film is epic in scope, yet highly personal in focus. Influenced by Chinese painting and the aesthetic concept of "liu-pai" (the idea that what is visible within the frame can open the mind to the world that extends beyond its parameters), the PUPPETMASTER is visually stunning.  Hou's use of deep-focus composition, long fixed shots, and lack of close-ups create an onscreen tableau evocative of a puppet stage.  It is on this stage that Chinese history unfolds, interwoven with the simple narrative of Li's life, which is performed by various actors and is related anecdotally by Li himself, who appears onscreen as a humorous and engaging raconteur.  For Hou fans, Li is a familiar presence, having acted in several of the director's previous films.  Through this quietly complex film, Hou offers a slow meditation on the relationship between man, his art, and the world around him.

China ceded Taiwan to Japan after the First Sino-Japanese War (1894-95) and it remained in Japanese hands until the end of World War II.  A City of Sadness (Bei qing cheng shi) is the first film of this trilogy of historical films on Taiwan and covers the period from the Japanese surrender at the end of World War II in 1945, including the massacre of Taiwanese by government troops in 1947, and the failure of Chiang Kai-Shek’s Nationalist troops in their attempt to regain the Mainland, retreating to the island of Taiwan in 1949.  THE PUPPETMASTER covered the earlier period 1909 to 1945, the time from the Japanese occupation to Japan's surrender, and the third, Good Men, Good Women (Hao nan hao nu), covers the period of 1949 to the present.

Perhaps most unique of the three, as there’s really nothing else in cinema history to compare, the film is based on the memoirs of celebrated Taiwanese puppeteer Li Tien-lu, who narrates directly to the camera in this biographical film, which at the same time reveals a country’s history of 51 years under Japanese occupation.  Now in his eighties, the film follows the story of his life, as he joins a traveling puppet theatre as a teenager in the first half of the century and subsequently makes a career as one of Taiwan's leading puppeteers.  During World War II, the Japanese rulers of Taiwan shut down the puppet troupes and use the traditional Chinese puppet theatre exclusively for their own war propaganda, which Hou uses to considerable humorous effect.  Only after the war do street theatres start playing again, and the population’s appetite is ravenous, as they consider it a style and culture that is uniquely their own.  Despite the dramatization of life under foreign rule, the film is notable for its non-judgmental restraint, for filming entire scenes in long takes, for its motionless camera and lack of close ups, but also for its painterly visuals and deeply humanistic style.  The film celebrates, in such a theatrical way, the beauty of a vanishing culture, a time filled with harshness and death, but without a hint of artifice or nostalgia.  In fact, what is especially unique and inspiring about this film is its warmth and humor, much of it based on the charm of myth and folk tales learned from the times Li spent with people in the mountains, yet always what stands out is how surprisingly human this man is.  To conceive a film around Li’s all-too-real autobiographical accounts is astonishing.  Li is like everybody’s grandfather, the one we wished we had, as he is a remarkably skilled storyteller, cigarette butt in hand, down to its last dregs, taking a swig afterwards.  His stature as a performing artist was so revered that he was on the same social status as a Japanese officer, higher than all the other Japanese troops who considered other Taiwanese “third class citizens...colonized islanders.” This film pays homage and a particular reverence to his elder statesman stature, as in this film, he is used like an African griot, continuing the tradition of oral history passed down through the generations, as it has been done before, probably for centuries.  

In an interview Hou has stated that in this film he is “exploring the values of traditional culture which we have lost…. We have distanced ourselves from nature and man has become like a puppet—he has lost his power to be his own master. THE PUPPETMASTER…represents the lament which I feel for the loss of our culture.”  Li narrates the story in the tradition of professional Chinese storytelling, a popular form of entertainment in which a story is told by a single performer in daily installments over an extended period of time.  The film intersperses Li's narration with indigenous music and with examples of performances and theatre, including Peking Opera, musical skits, puppetry and propaganda plays written for the Japanese, usually preceded by the crackling noise of firecrackers.  Hou utilizes long static shots to convey the experience of distance, as if the viewer is watching a theatrical performance from the audience.  As the film so accentuates the life of a single character, with the history of the country paralleling that of the unforgettable Li Tien-lu, he comes to personify the identity of that nation, as he is someone who has survived the brutal past with his wits and his dignity intact.

A City of Sadness (Bei qing cheng shi)

A CITY OF SADNESS (Bei qing cheng shi)      A                    

Taiwan  (158 mi)  1989  d:  Hou Hsiao-hsien

Jonathan Rosenbaum:

It’s also worth remarking that City of Sadness, one of Hou’s more difficult films for Westerners in terms of plot, was his biggest hit in Taiwan; by broaching historical and cultural issues that couldn’t be discussed when the island was under martial law—that is, for the entire century until 1987—it caused a major sensation.

A devastating, densely constructed, and complicated film that unravels very much like a novel, set in 1945 with the surrender of the Japanese after 51 years of colonial rule in Taiwan, while at the same time a child is being born into the Lin family, a name that means “light,” and the film follows the travails of that family, which coincides with true references to historical events.  While the Taiwanese celebrated their liberation from Japan, there was a national upheaval when it became clear that the Mainlanders intended to continue the colonial structures of exploitation, only with Chiang Kai-Shek's Nationalist Chinese as the sole party in control.  When the Taiwanese rebelled against the Nationalist's implementation of martial law in 1947, effectively turning the country into a police state in what is known as The February 28 Incident, anywhere from 18 – 28,000 or more Taiwanese were massacred by Nationalist troops, the same party currently ruling the country, which effectively banned any reference to this subject until martial law was revoked in 1987, allowing, for the first time, a film like this to be made.  So this is considered a highly significant nationalist work, using an exceedingly complex plot reconstructing the nation’s history as a backdrop for following the daily routines, personal dramas, and eventual destruction of a single family, something resembling The Brothers Karamazov.  Much of the film’s power comes from placing so much of the violence off in the distance, or even off-screen, heightening the internal experience of the viewer.  The film ends in 1949 when the Chiang Kai-Shek Nationalist’s attempt to regain the Mainland fails and the Kuomintang retreat to the island of Taiwan. 

    

Headed by the humorously candid, always-wonderful father, Li Tien-Lu, so extraordinary in The Puppetmaster (Xi meng ren sheng) (1993), he was an acknowledged gangster who spent much time during the war in and out of the Japanese jails attempting to sabotage the Japanese rule.  His family consists of 4 sons, 1st brother is another low-life gangster who turns his Japanese-style bar into a restaurant called “Little Shanghai,” largely a front for his own proclivity for gambling, while 2nd brother has disappeared in the Philippines fighting the Japanese, 3rd brother (Jack Kao) returns from the war mentally unstable, yet collaborates on the black market with drug smugglers, requiring the rescuing intervention by the 1st brother that nearly leads to the entire family’s demise, while the 4th brother, a photographer played by Tony Leung, is deaf.  Nearly everyone in the family is either arrested or attacked in this film, as after defeating the Japanese, Taiwan becomes a brutal police state that coincides with the corrupt rule of the gangsters, so after fighting the Japanese as well as the Mainland Chinese, they still have to fend off wave after wave of more Taiwanese Chinese.  There is a beautiful extended sequence early in the film where a happy group of friends and brothers drunkenly sing “A Song of Exile” out the window, which seems to represent an obvious theme of displacement.  

Xin Shufen, who played the young girl friend in DUST IN THE WIND (1986), is nothing short of heartbreaking in this film as Hinomi, the quiet, beguiling sister to the 4th brother’s best friend, Hinoe (Fang Wou Yi), a girl who works tirelessly as a nurse at the hospital.  She actually narrates the film and can frequently be seen writing her thoughts in her diary.  She is the closest companion to and secretly loves the deaf 4th brother, played with complete understatement by Tony Leung, whose character was changed to a mute as he didn’t speak Mandarin, so the couple communicate by handing each other written notes.  Their quiet sensitivity is stunningly contrasted against the violence of the gangsters and the soldiers.  And if anything, that is the heart of this film, intermingling the deeply personal interior world with the deeply disturbing exterior political world.  Hinoe is repeatedly arrested for secretly spreading his Socialist beliefs on the island, a belief shared by the 4th brother, believing that is the best way to repel outside colonialist forces.  The deafness of the youngest brother becomes a metaphor for the muted voices of opposition.  In one of the most shocking scenes, he is jailed, awaiting his name to be called, but he hears nothing, while off-screen, execution shots can be heard.

Of note, Hou seems to be more comfortable with his film style, which uses poetic innertitles to reflect appropriate philosophical thought and also several repeated static shots from a distance, each with moving objects or people in the foreground while something entirely different is happening in the rear.  One is at the local hospital, as patients or family members arrive, others are seated waiting, someone is mopping the floors, something is happening outside on the street, but everything is choreographed into this small, restricted space.  Also, there are multiple table shots at the restaurant, so much so that this familiar scene actually becomes a symbol for the family, as people are eating in the foreground while others are in a room in the back, and people move easily in and out of the scene.  There is an interesting use of still photographs, 4th brother’s profession, each of which places the story of the events being shown in a deeper historical context.  As usual, the music is carefully interwoven into the emotional fabric of the film.  Probably the most stunning sequence comes at the end, the last 15 minutes of the film, where the sadness of the family becomes the mourning of the nation, and where the life cycles of death-rebirth and death again are so poetically rendered.

A Simple Life (Tao jie)

A SIMPLE LIFE (Tao jie)            A-               

Hong Kong  China  (118 mi)  2011  d:  Ann Hui

One of the more thoughtful and lyrical films on the subject of aging, told without an ounce of condescension or pretense, where the director herself is about the exact same age as actress Deannie Ip, coming out of retirement, as she hasn’t made a movie in over a decade.  Much like Lee Chang-dong’s Poetry (2010), where Korean actress Yun Jung-hee performed in over 300 films in her career, coming out of retirement after sixteen years of living in Paris to be in nearly every scene of the film.  While this doesn’t have the novelesque density of that movie, Ip dominates this film as well, though the writing is more quietly observant, paying attention to small details, where many sequences during the opening half hour are near wordless.  In an innertitle following the opening credits, the audience quickly learns about Ah Tao (Ip), whose father died during the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong, while her mother gave her away to a wealthy Chinese family in Hong Kong, making her an orphan, where she served that same family as the household maid through 4 generations for the next 60 years, where all but one have moved away, either to Mainland China or to the United States, where the seventyish Ah Tao remains the servant of Roger Leung (Andy Lau), a middle aged bachelor otherwise living alone, a successful movie producer with a knack for reading financial records.  The circular choreography of the elderly Ah Tao serving meals to the young Master is a sight to behold, as they needn’t utter a word to be on the same wavelength, where she serves the various courses of the meal exactly as he desires.  Earlier we see her shopping in the market, asking the price, checking each item for freshness until finding the very best vegetables in the marketplace, which are the only ones she’ll use.  Based on the real life of co-writer and producer Roger Lee, Ah Tao is a perfectionist in the kitchen, as is Roger, both extremely picky about what food they’ll eat.

The film takes a turn when Ah Tao suffers a stroke, losing muscle control on one side, relying heavily upon a cane to walk, announcing she’s retiring and intends to live out her years in an old folk’s home, insisting she pay her own way, nothing fancy, just something practical, as she refuses to be a burden.  Roger offers to pay but complies with her wishes, where despite his busy schedule which requires extensive travel throughout Asia, he discovers he misses her, as she may be his best friend, as the two have shared their lives together, perhaps never realizing how important they are to one another.  When he finds a place for her, it’s little more than a storefront operation, where it’s hard not to believe seniors are warehoused in the cheapest manner possible, fitting them into tiny cubicles with no ceilings, where it more likely resembles a prison, as at night it’s impossible not to hear the uncontrollable sleep noises of everyone else.  The initial experience is something dreadful, but over time, she comes to know each and every one of the residents and the staff, including their interests and their eccentricities, making no judgments, offering them what help she can, as initially she’s one of the more able bodied, where she soon has the run of the place.  All the other residents take an interest in her regular visits from Roger, calling him her godson (ironically mimicking their real life relationship), instead of her former employer, a mistake neither one ever attempts to correct, where he’s one of the few to make regular appearances.  Soon his mother shows up to visit as well, each time offering respectful gestures and a host of presents, more than Ah Tao can handle, so when her visitors leave, all the other residents are salivating over the sumptuous food dishes left behind, where her visitors have a way of improving the group morale.  One of the more delightfully amusing sequences is when Roger takes Ah Tao to a dress-up gala movie premiere, where cameo appearances by real life Hong Kong director Tsui Hark, tough guy actor Anthony Wong, martial arts producer Raymond Chow, and fight choreographer Sammo Hung only add to the enjoyment of the event, especially seeing Roger work a room filled with important dignitaries.  

Born in Manchuria, Ann Hui came from mixed parents, a Chinese father and a Japanese mother, first working with acclaimed director King Hu, but her films have taken a special interest in the role of Asian women in contemporary society.  With few embellishments, using a near documentary style, Hui establishes a precise rhythm of life which she sustains throughout, continually keeping her focus on Ah Tao’s daily routines and her generosity of spirit, where her relationship to the characters around her are allowed to evolve, developing into a clearer picture of their significance to one another over time.  Deannie Ip is remarkably appealing, literally inhabiting the role with complete understatement, always deflecting to others, never seeking out attention, never seeing herself as any better or worse than anybody else, where she understands her unique role in being a part of so many lives, where she knows better than them what kind of kids they were or how difficult they may have been.  The family always shared things with her they might not have expressed to their own parents as she was more accessible, less harsh or judgmental, and always supportive.  She was the one who made sure they got to eat their favorite meals, prepared exactly as they preferred, and when others tried to emulate her, they’d forget a key ingredient or lacked her sense of grace, getting teased by others afterwards as they couldn’t live up to her high standards.  But Andy Lau, one of Asia’s biggest stars, the distant romantic interest in Wong Kar-wai’s lushly impressionistic DAYS OF BEING WILD (1990) or the ever vigilant police inspector in the high powered action flick INTERNAL AFFAIRS (2002), tones down his performance here, becoming a highly intelligent, but somewhat loner character, who discovers after her stroke that Ah Tao, like him, both carefully guarding their secrets, may be the most directly plain speaking and honest person he knows, and probably had the most influence in his life, but never took any of the credit for it.  An extremely low key and humble woman in a world full of people who more often think only of themselves, she’s singularly unique.  For a director to paint such a complex and fully developed portrait through a series of what feels like very ordinary moments is no small task, but this is a meticulously drawn and deeply heartfelt testament to a woman who lost her family, yet ultimately made the lives of everyone around her feel greater appreciation.