Wednesday, October 16, 2024

Alexandria Lane | Hot Sheet Motel / 2024

the good book

by Douglas Messerli

 

Alexandria Lane (screenwriter and director) Hot Sheet Motel / 2024 [12 minutes]

 

An elderly semi-truck driver, Merle (Ned Van Zandt) hauling what looks to be large container of oil or natural gas, finishes eating his carry-out Chinese meal, pulling out a fortune from a cookie: “You want it? Take it.” He decides to call it a day, pulling off into cheap trucker motel.

      The crude bar with a few scruffy drivers, a straight couple, a single pool player, and a young bartender (Jon Edward Cook) who doesn’t seem too happy with his job is all the place has to offer. Not even a shot of whiskey is available.


      Yet there sits a long-haired driver, Ed (Ed Hattaway), about the same age as Merle. His face lights up when Merle enters, obviously a long-time acquaintance who he’s run into along his routes several times over the years.

     The two begin chatting, not about anything important. The last time they saw one another was El Paso, about a year before, as Ed declares, “The worst food on the planet.” As Merle orders up a beer, Ed comments, “You want it, take it,” echoing Merle’s Chinese fortune cookie message, as they toast to “New beginnings.”

     Merle wonders what a new beginning might be for him, Ed suggesting retirement. “Why you’re old enough to be somebody’s grandpa.”

     In what we begin to perceive is a deeply coded language, Merle answers: “I ain’t nobody’s grandpa,” Ed assuring him that he believes it. No woman would want him.

     They proceed to tell each other what you might describe as fantasy tales, made-up stories about haunted houses, and a piano player who keeps appearing in Ed’s dreams, and a disappearing bar owner in Merle’s tale. Both are stories of empty and haunted lives, imaginary tales—screenwriter and director Alexandria Lane herself describes them—by “cowboys who know what’s expected of them in their lonely, isolated life.” Yet, for one night, she queries, what if life could be just a little bit different?

    Carefully, touching one another from time to time, moving their knees just a little closer, they clearly reveal that they both would love to “take it” for just one night.

   But these men, living and working in the deep south, know they need to remain closeted for their own protection. When Ed asks what Merle’s last name is, he won’t even tell him.

    The men, who in their gentle conversation, have perhaps grown too personal even in their impersonal bar talk, decide head off to their rooms on different levels of the motel. Even if they might “want it,” neither can offer it, let alone “take it.”


     Yet Merle does climb the stairs to where Ed is sleeping, almost daring to knock on his door, with Ed spotting him through the window. Neither dares break through the cold ice of societal sexual protocol.

      Well, not quite. We see Merle pull out the Gideon Bible that appears in hundreds of such drab US hotel rooms. He rips out one of his pages, and in the morning slips the paper under Ed’s door. It reads Merle Dunlap, his full name. Ed chuckles. Perhaps next time they can truly get to know each other better.

 

Los Angeles, October 16, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (October 2024).

Quentin Jabelot | Fauvre / 2021

blowback

by Douglas Messerli

 

Quentin Jabelot (screenwriter and director) Fauvre / 2021 [31 minutes]

 

Léo (Quentin Jabelot, also the writer and director) lives alone, and is also clearly lonely, hooking up mostly with Grindr guys. He’s a drama student, and meets up in the first scene of the film with his friend Léa (Lina ben Zekri) and with Alex (Antoine Chassagny)—who, it appears, have been past lovers—along with Alex’s friend, Mathis (Robin Monange) who, after studying elsewhere, is joining the company. Alex, we discern, would like to restore his relationship with Léa, but she refuses.

     One can see that there is something immediately in the looks exchanged between Léo and the new friend Mathis, but Léa quickly sweeps him away, asking him to read with her from the play she’s been asked to perform for class. It is apparent that Mathis is attractive to women.

     The friends plan an outing at a local pub that evening.


     Meanwhile, we see phone messages being sent to Léo from his family, which increasingly plays a role in his relationships with these friends since, having been divorced, his parents are planning to sell his childhood home and want him to travel and help pack up any of his possessions. Throughout the film, the event distracts him from focusing on personal relationships or perhaps puts any personal relationships he may seek into a slightly estranged context. If he were to meet someone whom he loves, he obvious fears that it might it end in the same way as the relationship between his father and mother. A pictures suggests he also has other siblings, but we never meet them or the parents themselves. Yet they hover over the entire drama.

      One of the fascinating aspects of this short work is that we see the central character interacting also through the plays they perform in front of their class. Early on we see Mathis reading to Léa’s recitation. He reads well regarding his love for her, but when the time comes for the scripted kiss, he doesn’t proceed, the teacher suggesting he go home and learn the lines before acting them.

     At the bar Léa continues to flirt with Mathis, getting somewhat drunk. When she asks Léo what he thinks of him, having observed that he keeps staring at him, Léo insists he’s just looking at his “bushy eyebrows,” besides Alex has told him that Mathis had a girlfriend and he doesn’t look gay; she laughs, arguing that Léo doesn’t “look gay” either. But she too is convinced that Mathis is straight and believes it might be interested in her.

      These 20-some youths repeat the conversations of so many of their age, at a time when they are all literally “sounding out” everyone they meet to determine not only whether they might be sexually interested in them but in this world, what gender they prefer. But Léa, in this case, plays the role of the usual straight man, presuming that anyone to whom she’s attracted is naturally heterosexual. Her conversation with Léo is only a casual check, a sought-after confirmation of her rights. And Léo’s passiveness in this scene, his easy acceptance of his friends predetermined definitions is somewhat curious. If he is this film’s “fauvre,” the wild beast, he seems particularly unable to perform the role.

       And, indeed, “performance” is operative word here, since everyone in their small set of friends is judged on how they “perform,” how they appear to behave rather than any discussion of what they truly feel and desire. They are, after all, actors who can easily portray surface emotions other than those they feel inside. These French students are quite obviously not studying “method” acting.


      As Léo stands alone broodingly looking out over the harbor, Mathis greets him, surprised to see him at the place. Mathis wonders why he’s there since he usually walks through the park on his way to the classes, the others had told him where Léo lived. Obviously, Mathis has been asking questions, but Léo doesn’t pick up on the scent, choosing instead his own line of inquiry about Léa, wondering how they have been getting on. Once more, the linguistic clues are missed: Mathis states the obvious, that they have been hanging out a lot together as they study the play they are to perform, but he’s a “bit embarrassed for Alex,” “I don’t want him to be imagining things.”

     Léo gets to the point, ”Don’t you like her?” But Mathis feels he still must obfuscate, suggesting that’s she fine but that he wouldn’t “do that to a friend,” meaning presumably he wouldn’t have sex with Léa since Alex still seems to be in love with her. But he carries the question a bit further in asking Léo, “What about you? Don’t you like her?”

       Finally, Léo has to explain that he is gay, surprised that that he hadn’t realized, Mathis responding just as Léo has about him: “But you don’t look gay.”

       I relate this particular conversation simply to demonstrate how truly dramatic Jabelot’s dialogue is: each person wants information which they are afraid to ask while expressing information about themselves that the other refuses to pick up on for fear of being mistaken. Somehow they can never simply ask or tell each other what they most want to know. A moment later, for example, there is another possible breakthrough as Mathis suggests it’s great that Léo is so “cool” about being gay, Léo asking “And how about you?” but quickly amending the real question with “Are you cool about being straight?” Even then he might have received an honest answer, but Alex suddenly appears, closing down their communication.


     The day before Léo is to leave for a week to help close down his family house, Léa insists he throw a party instead of dutifully packing as he claims is necessary. At the party, the three of them, like the younger friends in so many of the other films I’ve written about in this grouping, these young adults play “Truth or Dare.” This time Alex intrudes upon what we sense was about to be a revelation. Léa quickly pulls him into the other room. Strangely Mathis suggests they continue the game and since it’s his turn to ask, he “dares” Léo to share a “blowback,” that is the totally unhealthy sharing of cigarette smoke when a smoker blows the smoke he has just consumed from a puff back into another’s mouth. Such a gestural act can only lead to a deep kiss, but even that is again interrupted by Léa’s and Alex’s return just as the two lean in to enjoy the pleasure. And the next day Léo is off to visit his separated parents and close down his childhood house. So, it appears, any possible revelation of Mathis’ feelings have come to an end as well, despite his new fantasies.

       Léo returns from the country, arriving in the drama classroom suitcase in hand. Whispering while Léa and Mathis are about perform, Alex indicates that he and Léa may be a couple again. And during the break Mathis again tries to communicate with the lone lion, even asking if he has ever been in a relationship, Léo answering that it has not. Mathis suggests it may be difficult to find someone who is gay, and Léo responds that friends keep trying to match him with someone else who just because he also is gay Léo is expected to like.

      This time, however, Léo gets the chance to turn the conversation back on his inquisitor. “What about you? Your love life?”  Mathis assures him that there was never anything between them and apologizes for their last meeting when he run off “like a thief.” But once more he covers over his tracks, suggesting that he was high and didn’t know what he was doing. “I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea?” And before they might get the right idea, they are again joined by Léa and Alex, their well-meaning but always intuitively intrusive friends.

       But what is the right idea in this world in which no one is allowed to speak the full truth? Certainly it cannot be the lesson his character teaches Camille: “All men are liars, fickle cheaters, hypocrites, proud or cowardly, despicable, sensual; all women faithless, tricky, vain, inquisitive, and depraved.”

     It is now time for his reading, and Mathis does not even show up on time, arriving late. Léo’s character speaks of having been deceived in love, wounded, hurt.

      It is break again, and everyone leaves but Léo—and, we soon, discover Mathis. He observes Léo in tears, which he claims are on account of his allergies. But this time Mathis will not be  misled, suggesting that for an actor he is not a very good liar, and this time offering him, now as a friend, to listen to anything he wants to talk about.

     But now it is clear Léo feels that he has been toyed with, that Mathis has deceived him. Obviously, the blowback suddenly has come to mean something else, and in a short series of angry accusations, Léo makes it clear that he has fallen in love with a friend and feels betrayed by that friend who either is apparently not gay or at least won’t admit it. He himself feels, like the character Mathis has been playing, that he is now in “a cloud of smoke,” unable to find love and yet asked to perform speeches about it.


       He has, in fact, taken up Mathis’ offer, “talked,” spoken up for the first time about his own feelings which, in turn, permits Mathis to express his own confusion and lack of strength, which inevitably results in a kiss, another, and a final intense expression of their lips that doesn’t involve the dissolution of language.

       Throughout the film we have seen Léo soap up and shampoo his hairy body, and in the final scene he returns to his shower, the shampoo bottle finally empty; but the shower, we suddenly realize is full, since as the camera pans over we see Mathis standing in the corner waiting for his friend to join him in lovemaking.

 

Los Angeles, June 2, 2022

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (June 2022).

Thomas Raoul | Bonhomme / 2020

playing the game

by Douglas Messerli

 

Thomas Raoul (screenwriter and director) Bonhomme / 2020 [19 minutes]

 

If you believe in the reality of short gay films, you surely will be convinced that most gay boys, whether aware yet of their sexuality or not, have close girlfriends and perhaps a straight friend or two with whom they constantly play “Truth or Dare,” no matter which country in which they live.

    In France, Anthony (Hugo Manchon), a stunning, drop-dead hunk of a rugby player, and his friends Chloe (Camille Bechone), and Louis (François Chatbi) play the game, the boys having dared Chloe that if they win their rugby game, she must lift up her blouse and show her ample tits to the entire team.


    They win; she reveals. And they all go for a drink. This time it’s Anthony’s turn to be dared to do something the others are sure he won’t be able to act on. Observing how attentive the new waiter, Clément (Vinicius Timmerman) is to the beautiful Anthony, and how Anthony’s eyes seem to also return the admiration, Chloe dares Anthony to kiss the waiter.

      Anthony uses a silly compliment of the man’s bracelet as a warm-up maneuver; obviously he’s nervous. But, as they are about to leave, he returns to attempt to fulfill the dare, which they’re convinced he will never be able to do. Amazingly, he accomplishes the task, the waiter seemingly not at all taken aback and certainly not offended about the event.


     Afterwards, however, Anthony seems somewhat troubled as the other two, making dinner, chatter and laugh. And the next morning he goes to the café, presumably to apologize, but actually makes a date with Clément for the next day.

      The two go to Clément’s place, have a drink or two, and passionately come together for a kiss, and for Anthony, who admits he’s never “done it” with a girl, his first fuck—although Clément fucks him.


       Not only does Anthony, as he later admits to his friends, enjoy it, but he has fallen in love at the very same moment of discovering that he must be gay.

        Raoul’s film doesn’t even attempt to take in all the emotional impact of the self-revelation of one’s sexual difference, the joy of sex, and coming out to friends at the very same moment, which I should imagine would be nearly impossible for any one person to easily assimilate, but focuses instead on the issue of “first love.”

      In this case, in trying to meet up with Clément again the next day, our lovely young hero discovers that his new lover has a girlfriend—the owner of the bar—and is not at all interested in continuing a gay relationship with a young suddenly love-smitten rugby player. He nicely apologies, but obviously for Anthony, totally crestfallen and emotionally distraught, that isn’t sufficient.

       Fortunately, so the director rather cavalierly argues, he has his friends who quickly help him to laugh it off.


       Surely, however, this film isn’t being honest with the issues it has brought up. What will his relationship now be with his friends, Louis being a solid straight boy, and with his fellow rugby players? Will Anthony shake it off as a kind of one-time experience, determined, now that he is no longer a virgin, to go straight? Or will he now have an urge to visit the nearest gay bar? If bisexual men treat others as he was treated, how might gay men treat him? Will he be able to find someone again who can recreate the marvel of that first time? Or Anthony be able to quickly put his hurt behind him and move ahead in his search for others to love.

    But even if Anthony is the “bonhomme,” we know he has some hard knocks again, surely some locker room teasing or even bullying. Surely, Anthony will soon discover that if it is difficult sometimes for his friend Louis to pick up women, it will be even more difficult, despite his great beauty, to find gay men given that there are far fewer homosexuals in the world that heterosexual women. Sorry Chloe, but kissing a boy is not at all as simple has showing off one’s boobs. The last words out of Anthony’s mouth recognize the stakes: “I quit the game.” And despite the cute charm of this film, the reality behind it will certainly throw some viewers for a loop. As one Letterboxd commentator, named Andy, railed: “I feel hustled, scammed, bamboozled, hoodwinked, led astray…Fuck the ending; Fuck the other guy.”

 

Los Angeles, April 15, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (April 2024).

Olivier Lallart | PD (Fag) / 2019

brutal kisses

by Douglas Messerli

 

Olivier Lallart (screenwriter and director) PD (Fag) / 2019 [35 minutes]

 

For 17-year-old high school student Thomas (Paul Gomérieux) it all begins at a teen house party where he sits with two of his best friends dishing their classmates as they enter in and out of their couchbound sights. One of the class Romeos is chatting up a good-looking girl—not, Thomas admits, his type—when suddenly the couple’s conversation alters as they begin to fight, the boy voyeurs laughing over the all-too public event. As the former young courtier stalks off, one of the friends goes over to introduce himself to the girl they’ve been observing, hoping to interlope, one imagines, on the immediate rebound.

      A few moments later a handsome, tall young Spanish-looking boy, Esteban (Jacques Lepesqueur) enters with a highly attractive young female classmate. The friend notices that Thomas’s eyes immediately follow the movements of Esteban as he enters the room and even comments to Thomas, almost as if they were two young gay men evaluating the hunks that come into their purview, that perhaps Esteban is Thomas’ type. It is a fairly innocuous statement, one of many such inquiries that young people pose to each other in attempting to discover each other’s inner desires. But Thomas immediately throws the metaphorical ball back into the heterosexual court, saying that he was really eyeing the beautiful woman who Esteban is dating. Both agree, however, that Esteban and his date are out of their “league,” so to speak.


      As in many such teenage gatherings, we observe the stragglers playing a kind of “Truth or Dare” version of “Spin-the-Bottle.” With the first bottle spin two women are asked to kiss each other, which they do, quite seriously, some young boys responding that it’s so “hot” to see two women kiss.

      When another woman spins and “dares” the chosen one to kiss the person of the second spin, the bottle pairs up Esteban and Thomas, the former of whom almost reneges on the act before being forced to carry out the game’s rules; after all, the girls argue, if men can be turned on my women, why can’t the girls see two boys engage in an intense kiss. The two boys finally offer their teenage audience the pleasure of their inter-locked lips.

      Later, having gotten quite drunk, as his head lies on his friend’s shoulder, Thomas admits he actually liked Esteban’s kiss. But he’s not gay he reassures his buddy.

      Denials hardly matter in this homophobic world, and by the next morning Thomas observes nearly all of his classmates turning away from him as he enters into their space, whispering to others with their eyes darting to catch a side glance of Thomas’ visage, some actually engaging in cat-calls or uttering the school’s favorite slur, “fag.” We see Esteban, obviously the recipient of similar insinuations, slugging another boy in the distance, after which the handsome tall youth grabs hold of his girlfriend almost as if she were a life raft.

      Thomas’ friend admits to having shared the boy’s previous night’s admission, arguing that it was just something to laugh at; yet he too does not now dare to be seen talking too long to Thomas without also being labeled as a queer. A shower after track is torture for Thomas as the other boys not only shun him, but make rude remarks about his desires to fuck them.


     With an eerie accompaniment of a high-pitched electronic music by composers MEKIAS and J-Zeus, French director Olivier Lallart reveals the terror of suddenly finding oneself in high school isolation by focusing his camera on side, shoulder-and-head shots of Thomas as if he were being cast for a role of a leper for William Wyler’s Ben Hur, Gomérieux’s naturally pouting-lips pointing to his disappointment with his former friends and his entire life. But we also recognize that in his sudden ostracization, Thomas must now face his own questions about sexuality. As one of his acquaintances reminds him, he has never asked the girls out for a date. And his eyes do give him away as he gazes at his new enemy, Esteban, with sudden longing and now fear.

       So, we perceive, we have entered the murky territory of yet another lecture, for better or worse, on homophobia, a crucial subject to which young men and woman must repeatedly be exposed, but for an older viewer such as myself, a theme so threaded into the narrative of LGBTQ cinema that one can only wonder what in a 35-minute film Lallart can contribute to the topic.

       A lecture by the high school history professor (Marc Riso)—occasioned by overhearing one student call another “PD” (pédé) or, in English, “fag”—attempts to provide a précis of the history of “homosexuality” from the ancient Greeks and Romans, for whom he argues there was no concept for and no imaginative separation between homosexual and heterosexual acts, to the rise of religious values and the Industrial Revolution’s hierarchies which demanded that men and women contain themselves in the structures of family units in order to produce consumer children. Explaining to young listeners that what they are expressing in their hurtful terminology is a cultural invention which they’ve learned but does not truly exist nor need to be perpetuated. Along with revealing his own homosexuality, what he expresses appears to be enlightening to this young student body. And by the end of the film they are finally able to turn their attention away from something they see as the “other”—and therefore “monstrous” in the sense of a “warning” or “demonstration” of its queerness—in order to attend to their own normative desires. But it all seems too easy and simplified in this movie, as if all one has to do to stop the fear of sexual difference is to attend to one’s own sexual interests, no empathy or even curiosity required. After all, these are modern day youths, gymnasium students who all claim they are LGBTQ friendly, whatever that might individually mean to them.

       Fortunately, Lallart does not focus on the normative aversion to queer individuals, but on Thomas and Esteban themselves, revealing that despite all of his macho bluffing, Esteban is truly attracted to Thomas, using the threat of verbal abuse to actually plant kisses of desire that he pretends that “fags” are always seeking. It’s it a wonderfully strange scene in which Thomas, almost totally passive is seemingly tortured by Esteban’s intense love-making mockery. It reminds anyone who has seen the coming-out British film Get Real (1988) of school jock John Dixon’s beating of his lover Steven Carter in the men’s locker room, outside of which wait his sports buddies talking pleasure in Carter’s screams of pain, while within the audience witnesses John’s slugs entering his school bag while his friend performs a dance of howls upon the floor. Esteban’s brutal kisses in PD are intended to be interpreted as a punishment that salves the sufferer’s symbolic pain with the balm of love—a representation of just how perverse gay love is in a world that nourishes self-denigration and hate.     

     Who wouldn’t be confused in such a closed society? Thomas even stalks down two gay men whom he observes touching each other and holding hands in a local pub to ask them his  inexpressible question....”How to....” After inquiring whether he attends the lycée, they rotely answer, “It gets better,” but recognize quickly that it is no answer at all, and that perhaps it never truly does get better but, as one puts it, “you come to ignore it.” Or, hints his friend, it never truly does get better. What changes is the way you come to see yourself. They suggest that whenever he becomes the subject of their stares that instead of turning away, he look directly back at them into their eyes, almost as a kind of challenge. Yet, as we all know, that too can be dangerous. 


     Nonetheless, Thomas finally does accomplish something similar to that when, at the school prom, he pulls away from the girl (the very same woman that he and his friends first observed in the earliest scene of this movie) and moves across the floor to where Esteban is dancing with his girlfriend, moving his friend’s arm from where he holds his date and placing it to encircle his own waist. As if intoxicated with Thomas’ bold move, Esteban takes up the dance with his gay lover, as all the other dancers stop in place, openly staring with wonder. The two challenge them not by looking back into their stares but deeply looking into each other’s eyes as they glide across the floor. A few seconds later, the others, as if released from an ancient curse, turn back to their partners and continue their dance.

      If it’s a bit difficult to believe that “that’s all there is” to it, it’s a very lovely fairy tale which is worth holding onto as long as one can.

 

Los Angeles, January 30, 2020

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (January 2020).

Sam Langshaw | Amsterdam / 2017

party treats

by Douglas Messerli

 

Sam Langshaw (screenwriter and director) Amsterdam / 2017 [11.32 minutes]

 

Someone will have to explain to me how two nice guys can be friends with such a completely self-serving and obnoxious woman as Jess (Claudia Coy), who begins this film about a birthday party celebration for herself by thanking everyone for coming, mocking some of their costumes, and endlessly chattering on while she opens her parents’ gifts to her, consisting of items so insignificant that she tosses each of the trinkets over her shoulder as her guests sit in a stupor impatiently waiting for the jabber to come to an end.     


    It is even difficult to imagine that anyone who had agreed to attend such a party might possibly be interesting, let alone, as the film’s hero, Matt (Luke Bawja) admits, being “best friends” even if he grants to the stranger, Joe (Thomas Crotty) who has been pushed in his direction by Jess simply because they are both gay, that she can be “a bit of one.” If Jess is a “bit” of anything I can’t imagine what Australian author/director imagines is “more than a bit.” A typhoon on two legs?

     Nonetheless, we somewhat forgive the host’s coarse behavior for the opportunity to discover two shy and sweet boys who basically use Jessica’s rude greeting of Joe, pointing out Matt in her presumption that as two gay guys at the party it which would mean that they naturally would “immediately become best friends or get married,” as Joe puts it. Indeed, Jess might be described as the “dare” these boys have to endure in order to have the opportunity to meet one another, their conversation centered for some time on the host. Matt has met her in high school and they work together at K-Mart, where he is temporarily employed. Joe has met her in relation to a trip they are soon both taking with others to Amsterdam. Joe claims he doesn’t really know her, but has turned up to the party nonetheless, and surely he will have to learn to endure her on their trip.



    At just that moment Jess intrudes once more to ask if they have realized if they’re perfectly matched yet, but Matt quickly sends on her way. He also seems to have another appointment, so there is evidently little chance of the two even discovering if do have anything other than Jess in common.

      Yet they do manage to find a quiet place to sit and talk. When Joe asks who else Matt knows, his answer is that he knows pretty much everyone, but that none of them are friends, at least not anymore, most of them having throwing around words like “fag” at him they discovered he was gay.. Joe confesses that he too endured the name-calling of his classmates in high school, desperate to change schools but afraid to share with his mother the names by which they had described him.

      When Joe finally begins to flirt, discerning that Mat is single, Mat reminds him that he is leaving for Amsterdam in two days. In short, that can be no possible relationship. Besides Mat keeps getting a phone call which he refuses to answer, and when he finally does take it he realizes he has to go.

      What hasn’t been said of course is that these two boys, in their brief moment of being dared to share a few moments together have found a great deal in common, or at least are attracted to each other enough they clearly would like to explore each other a bit more. Obviously neither of them gets many such opportunities.

       Nonetheless, Matt leaves Joe at the party of horrors. Fortunately, Matt doesn’t get far, just halfway down the block before he realizes that he may never have another such chance, returning hopefully for the kiss in which Jess has dared the two to engage.

 

Los Angeles, June 4, 2022

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (June 2022).

My Queer Cinema Index [with former World Cinema Review titles]

Films discussed (listed alphabetically by director) [Former Index to World Cinema Review with new titles incorporated] (You may request any ...