#11: A World of Horror: Vampyr (1932), At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul (1964), Black Christmas (1974), The Plumber (1979), The Thing (1982), A Tale of Two Sisters (2003), Meokgo and the Stick Fighter (2006), and District 9 (2009)

This post is for the World in Film Blog-a-Thon.





I decided to participate in this blog-a-thon under the theme of horror. Let's start with the oldest movie first.

Representing Europe, and serving as a bridge from silent film horror to the sound era, is Vampyr, directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer. It was shot as a silent movie but had dialogue added in post-production. This film takes a Sheridan Le Fanu vampire story as the basis for dreamlike exploration of a setting where death seeps into place and mind. Vampyr is a prime example of the use of striking images in horror.


Picture via poisonedteacup.

At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul (À Meia-Noite Levarei Sua Alma), directed by José Mojica Marins, represents South America. It is reputed to be the first horror film made in Brazil. The director also stars as Zé do Caixão (Coffin Joe), a nihilist-leaning undertaker who is violently obsessed with finding an ideal mate. This first film in the "Coffin Joe Trilogy" shows how engaging execution of an extreme concept can help an obviously low-budget film endure as a cult classic.

Picture via elbergo.

North America is represented by the Canadian film Black Christmas, in which a sorority house is targeted by an unknown killer. It predates better-known Hollywood cousins like Halloween by several years, and its influence can be found throughout the slasher subgenre. The terror in this film escalates from start to finish, and the group of sorority girls under attack are livelier and better-defined characters than many of the victims in other movies.

For Australia, there is the made-for-TV film The Plumber, written and directed by Peter Weir. Some might classify it as more suspense than horror, but this battle of wills between a housewife and an intrusive plumber finds scares in the most realistic situation on this movie list. Though it doesn't attempt greatness, Weir fit some complexities into this small-scale story, such as various levels of socioeconomic conflict and the ambiguity over what is permissible in the classification and expulsion of an outsider.


Picture via The Criterion Mission.

 Antarctica is represented by The Thing, which focuses on a science team who finds an alien creature in the ice. Horror director John Carpenter keeps action and special effects grounded within an environment of  isolation and paranoia.

Representing Asia is A Tale of Two Sisters (Janghwa hongryeon), directed by Kim Jee-Won. It's a gorgeous puzzle of a film that blends both psychological and supernatural varieties of horror.

Picture found via The AV Club.

Finally, we have Africa. While it was difficult to track down available horror films from the continent, I remembered that Neill Blomkamp's sci-fi film District 9 has a very strong body horror element. The film's commentary on race relations and xenophobia may be undercut by its depiction of Nigerian immigrants, but the messy divisions between outer-space alien refugee and human are still powerfully illustrated within District 9's narrative.

The last film on this list is the short film Meokgo and the Stick Fighter, directed by Teboho Mahlatsi. It didn't seem right to represent Africa just with a film that features a white African protagonist, so I decided to include this short film, which features black African characters. Like District 9, it's not strict horror. This odd little film is probably best categorized as fantasy. However, I'm also including it to bring up the point that horror, sci-fi, and fantasy often mix. Genre borders are probably imposed more by the audience than the creators, and are determined not simply by story, but a film's particular treatment of a story in relation with other films. This bizarre (at least to mainstream Western audiences) but entertaining short is about an accursed stickfighter who fights evil with the help of his magical tiny accordion (concertina). It is awesome.

This list was created with the intention of not only covering different continents but different types of horror cinema as well. Each selection is not meant to be an encapsulation of the entire horror output of a continent - just an outstanding film that happens to be from that continent. It's also worth noting the various fears that these movies depict. Black Christmas functions on fears of the intruder within the home. Vampyr, The Thing, The Plumber, A Tale of Two Sisters, District 9 and Meokgo and the Stick Fighter also make antagonists out of the outsider while incorporating suspicions about the protagonists themselves. The protagonists of At Midnight I'll Take Your Soul and Vampyr are driven mad by their fear of death, while the sci-fi films The Thing and District 9 find horror within bodily transformation. The outsiders are either possibly ordinary folks -sometimes the protagonists- whose perceived traits are exaggerated by possibly irrational fears, or extraordinary beings whose existence seems impossible until asserted with violence.

While one can't expect all stories to fit neatly within established categories, I've found that stories that are declared "horror" can be pared down to tales of defending minds and bodies against forces of unknown potential for destruction. An audience is whisked away from mundane and complicated everyday life and dropped into a fight for life and sanity versus the undefinable. It is the heightened return to instinct that makes horror such a vital genre.

#10: The Ideal Woman: Peppermint Frappé (1967) and Pygmalion (1938)

Peppermint Frappé (1967), directed by Carlos Saura, and Pygmalion (1938), directed by Anthony Asquith and Leslie Howard, are two films in which men attempt to shape a living woman into their feminine ideal.

poster sources: top, bottom.

Peppermint Frappé follows the doctor Julián (José Luis López Vázquez) in his pursuit of Elena (Geraldine Chaplin), the glamourous new wife of his best friend Pablo (Alfredo Mayo). Elena proves to be a difficult prize to obtain, so Julián induces Ana, the shy nurse he works with (also Geraldine Chaplin, excellent in double roles), to become an imitation of Elena, feeding his obsession until he wins over the real thing.

Pygmalion, originally a stage play by George Bernard Shaw, was adapted for the screen by the playwright himself. Professor Henry Higgins (Leslie Howard), a master of dialect and accent, bets that he can transform the poor "guttersnipe" Eliza Doolittle (Wendy Hiller, in a star performance) into a society lady whose origins none would question.

The comedic drama of Pygmalion trots at fine speed, with dialogue and images flying fast until particular moments demand more settled, slow emphasis. The psychological tension of Peppermint Frappé creeps onto the screen, beginning with a title sequence set over fashion photos cut for collage. The action is set at a meandering pace; but judicious use of sharp cuts, soundtrack, and intense 360-degree spirals gently draw the viewer into unsettling emotional territory.

In Peppermint Frappé, the camera subtly blends Julián's stalker gaze with a distanced perspective that monitors his movements. If Julián cannot possess Elena's body, then he can possess her essence: through photographs, through her personal effects, and through Ana. These are visual and tactile ties to Elena. Julián's apartment is richly furnished, every object handled with meticulous attention to proper appearance and use. He also keeps a room in an abandoned mansion in the country, yet while the rooms he uses are clean and well-decorated, the rest of the home is left to ruin. Julián has an expert eye for crafting places and people into his idea of perfection, but has no care for what does not please him.

Shaw's reworking of the ancient Greek legend has the Pygmalion figure, Henry Higgins, craft his Galatea figure Eliza through speech instead of sculpture. This shift from a visual to verbal focus is an ingenious method of adaptation to the stage, where dialogue reigns. Though dress and gesture are also important in Eliza's transformation, words are Professor Higgins' forté, and serve as the entry point for his social experiment. Unlike Julián, Higgins initially embarks on this project with only his personal pride in mind. Higgins selects Eliza out of the challenge given by her low-class accent and place in society, not the looks and unapproachable aura of Elena or the desperate nature of doppelganger Ana. When Higgins realizes that he is falling in love with Eliza, it not the perfect society doll he desires, but the independent Eliza, who appreciates the skills she's gained but violently defends her status as an independent human being.

Both Julián and Henry are selfish and think little of the feelings of their female subjects. These men either overlook or never realize their own flaws, though both films present them as far from faultless. The intended audiences of the men's experiments differ: Henry holds his "improvement" of Eliza to his impossible standards but he seeks to make Eliza perform for those in high society. Julián's efforts are only for himself. (One makeup scene makes the viewer wonder if, as a balding and withdrawn middle-aged man, he ultimately jealous of the beauty of young women. His taste for something as sweet as the title drink suggest a little girl's tastes.) However, one can say that since only Henry and those close to him -who wager that he won't succeed- know the truth behind the elegant Ms. Doolittle, the project is ultimately for entertainment and pride of Henry. What makes Henry Higgins a more appealing protagonist than Julián is that, along with avoiding darker impulses, he is only obsessive about his work and does not seek to possess Eliza.

Elena is the embodiment of '60's mod style, taking her time to maintain her appearance even in private. Whether this effort is for herself or to please the eyes of others is not made clear. Yet her constant upkeep is not Julián's all-consuming devotion; she is a free spirit who enjoys life and her husband's company. Elena's husband may occasionally call her a "child," but they are both honest with each other and the relationship appears to be mutually beneficial. Some might think of Elena as a prototype of the "Manic Pixie Dream Girl" found in indie-oriented literature and film, but Elena's refusal to bend to Julián's will works against the wish fulfillment of that trope. Though Julián finds Ana a malleable stand-in for Elena, their personalities are drastically different, each frustrating Julián in an alternate way.  

Eliza, despite her lack of education, has a sound mind that Henry notices in their early meetings. She willingly agrees to take the free elocution and manners lessons Henry offers, and is the one who approaches Higgins after the initial chance meeting. She puts in a greater amount of effort into Higgins' experiment, for both personal pride and her dream of being a respectable owner of a flower shop. Though they live in restrictive societies -1930's England and Franco-era Spain- Eliza and Elena both exercise agency.

Another writer could further this comparison by investigating the films' settings and their varying qualities of the feminine ideal. Yet both films share the theme of pride: both the healthy pride in one's skills and attributes, and the harmful pride that blinds one to reality and to the feelings of others. Peppermint Frappé presents the male gaze as toxic, and serves as a surreal fable about treating women as objects. Pygmalion sets forth the notion that all people, regardless of gender or class, should be treated with respect.

 picture source.

#9 - The Maiku Hama Trilogy (1994-1996)

To participate in the Japanese Cinema Blogathon, I decided to abandon the double-feature format for a triple-feature:  the Maiku Hama: Private Eye trilogy. There isn't much written in English about these movies, and I hope that will change someday, because these movies are fun.

Named after the Mike Hammer character created by writer Mickey Spillane, Maiku Hama (played by Masatoshi Nagase) is a  private detective who's both comic and strangely cool, with unfashionable shirts and a beautiful yet malfunctioning American sportscar. He has connections all throughout Yokohama, though not all of them are happy to see him, and his office is located inside a movie theater - where the stingy owner demands you buy a ticket before entry.

This picture's source: This great write-up on The Most Terrible Time in My Life.

This trilogy is a pastiche of numerous film tropes and references. It's often described as a parody and homage to American gangster pulp, French New Wave, and Japanese yakuza movies. However, the trilogy forms an experience totally its own. Consisting of the films The Most Terrible Time In My Life (Waga jinsei saiaku no toki), Stairway to the Distant Past (Harukana jidai no kaidan o), and The Trap (Wana), it's a bizarre combination of quirky humor and dark detective drama. It also has a catchy jazz theme song..

The character, played by Nagase, was renamed Mike Yokohama in the somewhat-connected follow-ups Mike Yokohama: A Forest with No Name (directed by Shinji Aoyama) and the TV series Shiritsu Tantei Hama Maiku.

Though all three movies were directed by Kaizo Hayashi, each film has a strikingly different tone. The Most Terrible Time In My Life is shot entirely in black-and-white Cinemascope, and starts off as an offbeat comedy about a rough-edged good guy detective with an amazing streak of bad luck. A case brought by a Taiwanese waiter brings both budding friendship and the unwelcome attention of the New Japs, a gang formed by immigrant Chinese and Koreans. The movie segues into a noir-soaked tale of loyalty, and it surprised me by exploring the subject of immigrants trying to make a living amidst prejudice in Japan. The introduction of a femme fatale into the story is initially jarring, but during the last act I found myself riveted by what was happening onscreen.

The second film, Stairway to the Distant Past, is shot in color Cinemascope. It begins with the same light tone that introduced its predecessor. Then enters the stripper Lily (Haruko Wanibuchi), the mother who abandoned Maiku Hama and his sister. At the same time, Hama finds himself drawn into the escalating political and criminal conflicts over control of Yokohama's port interests. The use of color seems to usher in a sensibility that's both more romantic and more jaded than that of the first movie. Things aren't just black and white and grey; they're complicated across the spectrum. While the violence in the first movie was made up of brutal close-range attacks, this second film goes all-out into action territory, complete with multi-level gunfights and a high-speed chase down the waterfront. Don't let this dissuade you story-minded viewers - Stairway to the Distant Past is indeed bigger in scope than the first film, but it's also more personal, dealing with Hama's own family and memories instead of those of his client. There's also a haunting scene, set amidst mannequins in a deserted alley, that serves as a taste of the movie to follow.

The Trap is my favorite entry in the Maiku Hama trilogy. Just as Maiku seems to have finally found good luck in life -business going well, wonderful girlfriend, sister doing alright- a mysterious new case brings the series into the realm of psychological thriller. Four young women are dead, looking like department store mannequins with frozen expressions and no signs of harm. The police are baffled, and as Maiku investigates the case, he finds himself considered a possible suspect in the crime.
While there are some odd bits in this installment (for example, a major gangster boss villain in the past two films is suddenly a helpful Catholic priest in this one, with no explanation), the movie maintains a high level of suspense and terror that made me forgive minor faults. This film's plunge into horror reminded me of Takashi Miike's works in that genre, but what transpires here is a breathtaking and twisted creation all its own. With a clever use of parallels and one of the scariest killers I've seen on film, The Trap is a fantastic end to the Maiku Hama trilogy.

ETA: The Yokohama Nichigeki theater featured in the movies was closed in 2005.
- - -
This post was done for the Japanese Cinema Blogathon, created to aid relief efforts for those affected by the recent earthquake and tsunami that hit Eastern Japan.

The donation page is here.
More participating blogs here.

2010 in media

Music, movies, books, and more.
 

#8 - Nightmares of Mystery: Last Year at Marienbad (1961) and Carnival of Souls (1962)

Last Year at Marienbad (L'année dernière à Marienbad), directed by Alain Resnais, and Carnival of Souls, directed by Herk Harvey, are two movies you would not usually see mentioned together. However, they are both heavily stylized films from the early '60s with a protagonist who cannot figure out what is real.

Poster sources.

Last Year at Marienbad centers on an unnamed man (Giorgio Albertazzi) who meets a woman (Delphine Seyrig) at a European resort. He insists that they met a year before, at a resort called Marienbad, but she replies that they've never seen each other. The man spends his time trying to recall and relay his vague memories to her, and she may or may not start to remember things as well. Yet, as the connection may be a passionate one, the man must also contend with the presence of a man (Sacha Pitoëff) accompanying the woman at this resort.

Carnival of Souls opens with a car accident, killing all but one woman, named Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss). She escapes and tries to reintegrate herself into life, but disturbing characters follow her wherever she goes.

Both the unnamed man and Mary Henry are confused about the paths they are taking, and later on start to wonder about what actually motivated them on their journeys. The only people they manage some connection with are initially presented as possible romantic interests - the unnamed woman in Marienbad, and the sleazy neighbor John Linden (Sidney Berger) in Carnival. These relationships turn dark, and in each film,, the male character builds up to an aggressive pursuit of the female character. However, their actions may or may not be figments of a troubled imagination.
Carnival of Souls is, unmistakably, a B-movie, though it is one with enough qualities to endear it to many types of film fans. The ghastly people following Mary have faces caked with white makeup, eyes surrounded with black. Some of the townspeople seem to act normal, but their actions grow more odd every moment, and there is an eerie emptiness all around Mary.

In Last Year at Marienbad, the people at the resort are all elegant in dress and refined in manner. They stop moving and start moving, either accentuating the lead character's narration or illustrating the disjointed quality of his thoughts. The composition, beautifully photographed by Sacha Vierny, is sometimes harsh in its minimalism and rigid geometry. People and things becoming little more than shapes and echoed lines. Each films have the effect of a dream spinning into nightmare.

The soundtracks, and especially their use of organ music, add to this effect. Mary in Carnival is an organist, playing crazed, infernal compositions (by Gene Moore) when the mood strikes her. The rest of the soundtrack is also played on organ, except when tunes are played on a jukebox  Marienbad composer Francis Seyrig uses the organ to create a stately yet ominous atmosphere with his music, such as when the movie opens with the main character's musings on the fading resort. On that tangent, locations in these films have both a stark beauty and an air of decay to them, from the ornate decor of that European resort to the haunting appearance of a ruined entertainment pavillion.

Last Year at Marienbad and Carnival of Souls are understandably polarizing films. Their plots can be frustrating, their looks can seem too affected, and their characters are sometimes unsympathetic or even detestable. Even for those more inclined to like these movies, it takes some time for each film's particular rhythms to set in. Yet it is interesting to compare these films for their alternate "high art"-"low art" treatments of stories told through the eyes of unreliable, alienated protagonists trying to make sense of the world. Both films aim to display feelings that cannot be competely articulated in words. They aim to be honest, in their own way; by showing these experiences as fractured and surreal, compelling and frightening for what they reveal.

Picture source.

-- -

Carnival of Souls for Sample Theater is a blog covering a multimedia performance of the film's story.
For more on the sets and fashion of Last Year at Marienbad, here is a great collection of screencaps, as well as writings on the film.

Last Year at Marienbad can, at the moment, be found in its entirety on Youtube.
Carnival of Souls is in the public domain and can be viewed here.

#7 - The Detective as Mystery: "Cure" (1997) and "Insomnia" (1997)

Cure, directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa, and Insomnia, directed by Erik Skjoldbjaerg, are two mystery films from 1997. Each film begins with a murder, and ends with the consequences or implications of another murder. Both features consist of blues and grays hazy as the skies, or pristine clear like a blade's glare. This goes not only for the images on screen, but for the sentiments and choices of the characters.

Insomnia tells the story of Swedish investigator Jonas Engström (Stellan Skarsgård), who, with his partner, is called to Norway to help solve a murder. Engström is hampered by working where long hours of sun allows him little or no sleep each night. The case is further complicated when Engström must cover up his own crimes.

Cure follows police detective Kenichi Takabe (Kôji Yakusho) on the trail of deaths with only two things in common: an "x" carved in each victim's neck; and the killers near the crime scene, remembering nothing. Takabe is determined to find the catalyst for these shocking murders, but this catalyst may prove too dangerous for him to handle.

These detectives encounter suspects who are sly, manipulative, and sometimes enigmatically helpful. Engström's and Takabe's private desires compromise them in difficult moments.  Their relationships with women are troubled: Takabe has everyday struggles taking care of his sick wife, while the middle-aged bachelor Engström fumbles his interactions with attractive women.

Cure's psychological explanation for the catalyst's methods take on an almost supernatural aspect. The unclear tone and at times obscure details can bother those who prefer a more grounded mystery that doesn't edge so close to ridiculousness. The film is often called "dreamlike," and is elegant in its way, though the word "nightmare" better describes some of the horrific (and horror-like) events that occur.

The tensions in Insomnia center around men who wish to protect their self-interests; how these men use and abuse their skills to the benefit and misfortune of themselves and others. The film itself isn't misogynistic, but some of the characters are. Everything around the main male characters frustrates them - their living situation, the women around them, the jobs they perform. What's particularly hard for these men to admit is that it's their own faults that escalate frustrations into serious matters.

These films explore the destructive emotions seething under composed appearances. Much of each film is slow, quiet buildup, setting up shocks that are genuinely startling. Insomnia has more outright gunplay and action, while in Cure the violence -the murders are nearly all offscreen- has a lingering quality that still made me gasp several times.

Guilt and regret connect the detectives in these films, guilt for what they've done and regret for what they've failed to do.

Picture sources.

- - -


- A remake of Insomnia, set in Alaska, was directed by Christopher Nolan in 2002.

#6: Framing the Everyday: "Bicycle Thieves" (1948) and "Chop Shop (2008)

I'm sorry I haven't posted in so long! I also haven't been reading much of the blogs I follow, sorry. I've just found work after graduation, and that as well as family matters (along with my obsession over a little show called Lost) consumed much of my time. I'm going to keep this post short, because I'm quite tired at the moment.

Here is the sixth double feature recommendation I have for you: Bicycle Thieves (Ladri di biciclette), directed by Vittorio De Sica, and Chop Shop, directed by Ramin Bahrani. Though separated by sixty years and set on different continents, these two films share an interest in hardworking people, in the mundane details surrounding the plot. De Sica is seen as one of the pioneers of the neorealism movement, which fostered movies that sought to show "reality" by dramatizing but not glamorizing the struggles that middle- to lower-class people face in life every day. Bahrani's film can be seen as an extension of this movement into the twenty-first century.

Posters from Tinypic and here.

Both films focus on a family that scrapes up money from whatever job they have in order to survive. While Bicycle Thieves (or, The Bicycle Thief) centers on an adult father and a young son, Chop Shop follows the plight of a pair of teenagers, an older sister and younger brother. This difference in generations means that each film contains a particular variation on the themes of responsibility and lost innocence. The plots in these films emerge slowly, taking their time to rise out of the circumstances. As for visuals, Chop Shop manages to illustrate the grayish landscape of the titular setting with vibrant color, while Bicycle Thieves gives grace to the mundane settings through lighting and composition. I'd say watch Bicycle Thieves first, to see where particular filmic interests originated.