Monday, February 26, 2024

Jack Clayton | The Innocents / 1961

the perfect kiss

by Douglas Messerli

 

William Archibald and Truman Capote (screenplay, based on a story The Turn of the Screw by Henry James), John Mortimer (additional scenes and dialogue), Jack Clayton (director) The Innocents / 1961

 

After seeing the Los Angeles Opera production of Benjamin Britten's The Turn of the Screw, I determined to revisit Jack Clayton's 1961 film, The Innocents, based on the same James novella. Although I saw it the year of its release, I had not seen it since, forgetting almost all of its details.

      Although the plot remains the same as in the opera, with a new Governess, Miss Giddens (Deborah Kerr) coming to care for Miles (Martin Stephens) and Flora (Pamela Franklin) in Bly Hall, the effect is far different from the Britten piece, and significantly more focused on the psychological, more even than James, who was certainly a psychologically-focused author. Although it is often spoken of as a variation of a horror story—being named by Britain's The Guardian as one of the 25 best horror films of all time—I wouldn't describe it as having any real horror, and, perhaps, not even ghosts.

 

     It is apparent from the beginning that the young governess (Kerr, a not so young 40 at the filming), the daughter of a minister, is completely inexperienced with regard to worldly matters. Indeed, except for the fact that Kerr is always so capably in command, we might suggest the character is still a kind of child. And, for that reason, it might have been better to cast an ingénue in the role instead of the gifted Kerr. Nonetheless, Kerr works hard—and somewhat successfully—to convince us of her innocence.  If nothing else, we realize that she has no clue of how to deal with children and is far less sexually aware than they are.

     Of course, Miss Giddens has led a thoroughly protected life, while the children have come under the influences of Miss Jessel (Clytie Jessop) and Peter Quint (Peter Wyngarde), who, at least according to the housekeeper, Mrs. Grosse, became sexually involved, performing their sexual acts openly, perhaps even where the children might see them. Quint, moreover, was a close companion to Miles, as Miss Jessel was to Flora. Yet Clayton's film strangely resists any of the suggestion that pilots Britten's interpretation that Miles and Flora might themselves have been the subject of sexual abuse.

     Here, the ghosts of the past were apparently only bad influences upon the children, not perpetuators of horrors. In fact, Archibald's and Capote's screenplay strongly plays down the idea that there really are "ghosts." Every sighting of these figures is made by the Governess alone, while the children and Mrs. Grosse claim to not be able to see anything where Miss Giddens points.  Unlike the haunting ululations of Britten's Quint, these ghosts never speak.



     It is quite apparent, in this version, accordingly, that much of the surrounding "horror" of Bly belongs to the imagination of Miss Giddens, which narrows the possibilities of James' original significantly. By so clearly suggesting that it is all the product of a slightly hysterical woman, Clayton loses much of the richness and, most certainly, the true darkness of James' version. Cinematographer Freddie Francis does his best to hint at the "blackness" of the place by filming brightly lit objects against totally darkened backgrounds, and positioning objects at long distances from each other. Yet, in the end, these often seem like gestures towards something that we cannot truly believe is there.

     What the film does offer in place of the suggestion of child abuse is the children's eroticism, expressed in their constant whispers and strange outbursts—amid absolutely perfect behavior—of obscene language and violent acts, and, in Miles' case, a flirtatiousness that suggests experiences far beyond his years. The most notable of these is the long kiss upon the lips he gives Miss Giddens, and her inability to reject it demonstrates that it may be her first kiss, a kind of "perfect" kiss since it cannot be reciprocated, only enjoyed. There need not be nor cannot be any emotional commitment on her part, the perfect way for a potential old maid to enjoy that in which she is too frightened to participate.


      Nonetheless, Miss Giddens has, at least mentally, committed herself to Miles, and she is clearly jealous of the dominating past Peter Quint and Miss Jessel represent (even if they are specters of her own imagination). Her only way to free the children of that past, is to cast out the demons, psychologically speaking, by having her charges admit they are communing with the dead. 

     Flora goes into an absolute fit, spewing out obscenities, according to Mrs. Grosse, of which it should be impossible for her to have knowledge. Miss Giddens packs off Mrs. Grosse and Flora to her uncle, despite his command to leave him out of any family situation. Suddenly she is left alone with the focus of her misguided love, Miles.

     If she can only get him to say Quint's name, she muses—as if the saying of the name were a magic elixir that would free him from all former influences. Symbolically speaking, that would mean that he would have no past—in short, it would mean his death. Which, as he speaks out Peter Quint's name, comes to pass. She, at first relieved, goes to him upon his faint before discovering that his heart has stopped. Now there are no longer any consequences, and she can kiss him upon the lips as he had her. The abuser, so Clayton suggests, exists not in the past but in the present, trapped in innocence.

 

Los Angeles, April 17, 2011

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (April 2011).

Saturday, February 24, 2024

Enrique Telémaco Susini | Los tres berretines (The Three Amateurs) / 1933

tangoing between the divides

by Douglas Messerli

 

Nicolás de las Llanderas and Arnaldo Malfatti (screenplay), Enrique Telémaco Susini (director) Los tres berretines (The Three Amateurs) / 1933 [in Spanish only]


What is the somewhat prosperous owner of an Argentine hardware store, don Manuel Sequieros (Luis Arata) supposed to do in his later years, given that his children, his daughter Elena’s (Malena Bravo) fascination with cinema, his son Eusebio (Luis Sandrini) fascination with the tango, and his other son’s Lorenzo (played by a real soccer player, Miguel Ángel Lauri of Estudiantes de la Plata) infatuation with soccer. Can you blame him for turning to his third son, Eduardo (Florindo Ferrario), an architect whose career appears to be taking him into full success? His other children, in his mind, are all failures living their lives simply for their whims.


     The film begins, in fact, with Manuel’s wife, Carmen (Benita Puértolas) returning home from a movie she’s just attended with her daughter and her obviously effete homosexual friend Pocholo, who the lonely and argumentative unfed patriarchal Manuel almost immediately throws out of his house.

      Strangely, however, the film’s true outsider, and the center of its attention, is Eusebio, who as a would-be tango composer, floats in an out of his soccer brother’s massage sessions and locker room, his sister’s fascination with film, and his straight architecture brother’s worlds.



      Eusebio, does not know how to put his music to score, hiring an musician to write out his songs as he whistles them—only to discover one is already a popular tune—or, much later in the film, paying a drunken poet to put his newest tune into language, which, surprisingly, becomes a hit.

      It is Eusebio who discovers that his architect brother is in deep debt, and by borrowing from his soccer-playing brother and using his own earned funds from his new tango hit, is able to pay off his financial contracts. Lorenzo scores the winning soccer kick in his game, making him famous as well. 


     Eusebio, in fact, becomes in Susini’s film a kind a fluid, in-between character dancing his way through life, a sort of bi-sexual being who can join in his brother’s deep homoerotic sports massages and, in the next moment, realize the financial difficulties of his business-minded brother Eduardo. Moving in and out of the worlds which his father finds insubstantial—cinema, dance, and sport—Esuebio creates his own architectural space in order to create an imaginary world for which he has no particular facility, convincing his recalcitrant father to enjoy the very entertainments he has refused in his business-minded obsession.

    The film uses the tango, in this instance, to represent a sexual world in which Eusebio can at least imagine himself to intervene in a kind of multisexual relationship to the world in which he exits. He is an outsider, betwixt and between, who is able to insinuate himself into the worlds of his family member’s lives—Elena, Lorenzo, and Eduardo—in a manner that makes him almost a transgender figure, a man who can equally be at home in opposing societies.

 

Los Angeles, February 24, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (February 2024).

Károly Kurzmayer and Lothar Golte | Mysterium des Geschlechts (The Mystery of Gender) 1933 [Difficult to obtain]

gender shifts

by Douglas Messerli               

 

Dr. Abraham, Lotha Golte, Professor Peham, Hofrat Teilhaber, and Professor Vornoff (screenplay), Károly Kurzmayer and Lothar Golte (directors) Mysterium des Geschlechts (The Mystery of Gender) 1933 [Difficult to obtain]

 

This Austrian film of 1933 is almost impossible to find, although it seems to be still available in the Austrian filmarchiv, which, in a recent showing of it describes it as:

 

“The former ‘major film of sexual research’ – a remarkable contemporary document, even if it is difficult to endure today. The story about two medical students who are newly in love is loosely arranged around footage of various procedures on the human reproductive system. In between: a dark bar populated by drug addicts and ‘sexually abnormal people,’ medical recordings of the gender of intersex people, gender changes and transplants of animal genitalia. The medical perspective and the inserted explanations about improperly carried out abortions, contraception, and infant care put a thin educational veneer over a dramaturgy in which the appeal of the taboo seems to be the decisive factor.”

 

   A commentator on Letterboxd, with the moniker of “Ignaz” describes it as a film in which:

 

“Two Viennese medical students set off on an educational adventure to discover the "abnormal" and figure out the mysteries behind gender. Then they go on a joyful rollercoaster ride.

     …..An ape’s scrotum is cut open and a slice of its testicles is transplanted to an elderly man who is suffering from impotence.

       A mouse is injected with urine, killed and dissected to determine a woman’s pregnancy.

     A piglet is killed, cut open and part of its brain, kidneys, spleen and so on are transplanted into a human recipient’s leg to serve as some wonder cure, with male impotence being among the targeted ailments.”

 

     The stars of this strange “love story” are Elisabeth Gärtner (Renée Lansky) and Felix Werkmann (Otto Hartmann) and Lu, the Morphorsist (Morphinistin) (Traute Braun).

 

Los Angeles, February 24, 2024

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (February 2024).

Yves Boisset | Allons z'enfants (The Boy Soldier) / 1981

assigned to death without a life

by Douglas Messerli

 

Yves Boisset and Jacques Kirsner (screenplay, based on the novel by Yves Gibeau), Yves Boisset (director, assisted by Jean Achache) Allons z'enfants (The Boy Soldier) / 1981

 

Before I even begin this essay I want to make clear that its central figure, Simon Chalumot (Lucas Belvaux) is not necessarily gay—indeed his insistence to his school friends that he has a girlfriend who he describes as a fiancée and that he later falls in love with a nun nursing him after a suicide attempt support evidence that the boy is strongly heterosexual—and the movie makes no apparent refence to LGBTQ issues—in fact, does not even concern itself significantly with issues of sex, either heterosexual or homosexual.


     The reason why this film might be of interest to an LGBTQ audience is because, first of all, Chalumot is not even given the possibility of determining his sexuality or exploring his sexual desires—he dies a virgin—but yet is presented within the military school complex in which he lives from age 13 with all the tropes that define him as queer boy without ever openly expressing it as such. Yves Boisset’s 1981 film Allons z'enfants (literally meaning “Let’s Go Kids,” but titled in English The Boy Soldier) is fascinating, accordingly, because its character, openly described as an agitator for peace, but treated like a terrorist, is also presented by the director, through the implications of the boy’s father, military commanders, teachers, and general cultural stereotypes as a gay boy in the making, which, in part, is why everyone in his world—except for a few of his male friends, one teacher, and the nursing nun—perceive him as a queer outsider who needs to be saved from his afflictions.

      What this film shows us is how deeply embedded military and other educational institutions are in the stereotypical categorization of anyone who dares to challenge the status quo, which consists of brutal treatment of its students and trains them as fodder for the killing fields of war.

       We might more rightfully describe this film as a study in pacificism within the military itself, and how it struggles to rectify or destroy any anti-militarist attitudes while also facing the problem that the antagonist is one of the most intelligent and, at least early in the film, well-liked of its residents.

      The son of a rabid militarist who fought in World War I at the Battle of Verdun, Chalumot has been unwillingly shipped off to military school at Andelys at age 13. Simon loves film and theater, and wants to be a film director, but is never given the opportunity to study film or anything much outside of the prerequisites of a military education, a fact he deeply resents along with the inexplicable violence to which he and a few others are daily subjected.

      His outspoken rejection of such treatment and his resentment of having to daily participate in meaningly marches, and, later, in shooting sessions in which he absolutely refuses to participate quickly gains him the reputation of an agitator and the hatred of the school’s commander which is quickly filtered down the line to all the school’s authorities who describe his as a troublemaker simply for this logical refusal to give any significance to their often absurd commands. If he obeys them, it is without any conviction.


      Early in the film, Simon escapes one night, hitches a ride to Paris with two friendly truckers who provide him with breakfast, some money, and even advice. But the moment he meets up with his girlfriend Zézette (Florence Pernel) with the hope that she might provide him with some clothes that to change out of his military dress, he is arrested by her former policeman father, handcuffed, and shipped back to his parents. His father (Jean Carmet) berates him and returns him to the military institution from which he has escaped.

       Although their policy is not to accept him back, the father pleads for his son’s reinstatement, and the school accepts him, but only at further cost to the boy who is treated even more brutally and perceived as a dangerously resistant terrorist-like influence. A particularly brutal sergeant summarizes Simon’s and other’s treatment during military exercises where the boys are forced to crawl on the ground through barbed wire enclosures before they must climb a trestle and walk across it as fast as possible. When the boys are called to  climb, Simon stands up for a reluctant, heavy-set colleague, who suffers from vertigo. Simon, described as “Miss” Chalumont, is punished for his explanation by having to go first. He does the maneuver successfully despite the fact that abuse is hurled the entire time throughout his efforts; but when his friend is forced to climb and walk the high narrow structure, he becomes dizzy and falls to his death.


       Outraged by the petty meanness of the sergeant who has needlessly caused the cadet’s death, Simon attempts to arouse enough sympathy among his friends to sign a petition he plans to deliver personally to the Commandant. But it is at this point where the other boys also perceive him as a kind of agitator; afraid for their ranking and treatment at the school, they refuse, and when he attempts to report it, he is told it is simply a closed a case, an “unfortunate accident.”

       From then on it becomes clear that Chalumont will have no one to turn to. Even a young new officer who seems attracted to Simon is unable to save him from abuse.

     The only real “friend” the boy develops at school is his French teacher Brizoulet (Jacques Denis) who invites him to dinner,  introduces him to the pacifist novel of German writer Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front (a dangerous book in a French military academy which Simon innocently passes around to his school mates, one of whom reports its existence to the commandant), takes him to a Moliere play, and approvingly reads his film script, written despite the fact that Chalumont has never had the opportunity to even see a movie manuscript.


       These activities, obviously, only further promote the notion of Simon being a “soft” queer figure, who should be concentrating on mathematics, history (particularly that of living military heroes) and the other sciences. Clearly, to the community in which he is imprisoned, Simon does not represent a true soldier or a real “man,” despite the fact that in opposing the values of his school he displays a great deal of courage.

       During a visit from the outside authorities, Simon once again attempts to speak out about the school’s injustices; but they have placed him in the very back of a squadron, and when he attempts to raise his hand, fellow cadets knock him out.


       Recovering, he perceives that they are probably searching his rooms, and races to save his beloved possessions from destruction. They consist of only books and film magazines which the rummaging sergeant from who he retrieves them treats as if they were male porno magazines. Refusing to hand them over for destruction, the boy dares the soldier to come nearer, not only an illegal action, but which he warns him will end with his jumping from his high bedroom window. The officer takes the dare and lunges forward, Simon leaping to what might have been his death.

     He recovers in a nearby hospital, where even there he is threatened and lectured to by the head nun for reading Madame Bovary, the book impounded for destruction. A young nurse, Sister Beatric (Eve Cotton) retrieves it from the trash, Simon even further falling in love with her for her kind act. She is also attracted to him, but after a brief kiss, demands that he never see her again.


      His time in the two military institutions which the movie recounts would have led, no matter what, to further military duty since he has been indentured to it through his “free education.” He might have hoped for a special and removed position as one of the highest ranked of his class. But the outbreak of World War II steals even that tentative freedom from him as he is inducted and sent to the Maginot Line, the series of obstacles and bunkers built in the 1930s to supposedly protect France from invasion by Germany.

       There, as he notes, very little happens until they shoot at an approaching German tank, the young driver being thrown from the vehicle and almost killed as their own tank nearly runs him  over. In trying to rush him to a nearby hospital, Simon meets up with German air fire and is killed, a boy soldier who has never had the opportunity to experience anything but preparation for  war itself.

        One might argue, however, that the story itself, based on the novel by Yves Gibeau, is as resistant to allow its central figure to experience life as the institutions into which Simon Chalumot has been trapped since becoming a teenager. While the other boys later taunt him for never visiting the brothels, Simon readily admits he has been a virgin while imagining himself, through his romantic visions of life, has having been truly in love.

        But there is no evidence that he has ever even kissed his “fiancée” Zézette, and the work refuses at every turn to allow him entry into the sexual world around him. Although he seems to have a close roommate, there is no suggestion that the boys have a more intimate relationship than chitchat. The two truckers who agree to drive him to Paris seem more than a little interested in having a young boy at their disposal, but nothing happens except their fatherly attentions.

        When, just before beginning his higher-level school, Simon has a whole summer to himself, he understandably selects to spend time in the country with his uncle rather than return to his unloving father. And in the grape fields of France Simon seems to be physically and spiritually at home with the bronzed handsome men who work the fields. Yet no move is made on either the worker’s or the boy’s part to even enter into deep conversation.

        The new, quite handsome officer who takes an inordinate interest in his difficult student, never makes a move toward a physical encounter with the boy. Although both Sister Beatric and Simon feel sexual stirrings, religion and duty demand no further contact. His interested French teacher appears to be happily married.

        For all the brutal denial of life that the institutions impose upon young Chalumont, the writer and director themselves might almost be shilling for a US Hallmark Card production where good clean living is just as important as the message it delivers. Accordingly, The Boy Soldier, a story about how a young man has been denied his life itself works in tandem to deny its character any human interchange other than his imaginary characters of film and fiction.

        In short, this young hero, who the film keeps hinting may be either heterosexual or homosexual is, in fact, asexual. The story seems afraid of allowing the tropes of the paternal militarist world in which he lives to become something of reality, and leaves him instead without any sexual life. Even his pacifism seems to have been assigned to him rather than fully embraced by this reluctantly nonviolent kid.

 

Los Angeles, March 22, 2022

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (March 2022).

Jacques Rivette | Le Pont du Nord / 1981

the deep purse

by Douglas Messerli

 

Bulle Ogier, Pascale Ogier, Suzanne Schiffman, Jacques Rivette, and Jérôme Prieur (writers), Jacques Rivette (director) Le Pont du Nord / 1981 

The marvel of many of Jacques Rivette’s films is not only that they are, in part, actor generated—he often works in collaboration with his actors for his texts—but that they are willing to take strange, sometimes disjunctive directions that engage their audiences in a voyage on which few other films or even fictions are willing to embark. Combining fantasy with a kind of political thriller, a murder mystery with an imaginary children’s game seemingly based on the arrondissments of Paris, a travelogue with a love tale, Le Pont du Nord crams into its 129 minutes overlaying and even contradictory cinematic genres reminding one, somewhat, of Jean-Luc Godard’s Pierre le Fou of 1965.


      Yet in Rivette’s witty telling, it might be hard to identify the “fool.” Although it is Marie (the beautiful Bulle Ogier), a vaguely politically involved criminal recently released from jail, who is killed at the end of the film, she is less foolish and more in control of her destiny it appears than the young punk-karate-swinging, moped-riding girl who literally runs into Marie and refuses to let her go, Baptiste (Pascale Ogier). Although Baptiste appears to be strong and determined to protect her new acquaintance, she is ensnared in a large cocoon, haunted by paranoid visions of spies and terrified by surveillance of figures all named Max, and clueless of where to go and what to do in the women’s four-day voyage throughout the city. Although at moments it appears that her relationship with Marie is a kind of lesbian attraction, it is more likely that she (as the real-life daughter of Bulle), is the dependent in need of a kind of mother. Although neither woman has a place in which to live, let alone sleep, Marie has money to buy food and other things and a bag which seems to contain everything from different costumes, make-up, food stuffs, and any many other necessities. Baptiste has only her karate and paranoid suspicions of being watched, which forces her to take a knife to the eyes of even advertising posters.

      Together the women sleep on the streets or in late-night theaters, Marie claiming to be claustrophobic—perhaps understandable given her recent lock-up—and necessary in order to explain why most of this film takes place outdoors, since shooting was less expensive than if Rivette had been made to use inner spaces and sets. Despite hooking up with the demanding love of Baptiste, Marie is seeking out a former lover, Julien (Pierre Clémenti), who shows up from time to time unexpectedly, taking Marie into his arms. 



     But those arms seem no more protecting than Baptiste’s; Julien is attempting to quickly close a mysterious “deal” which, he assures Marie, will allow them to move away in order to lead a new life. Either out of jealousy or simple curiosity Baptiste steals Julien’s briefcase, replacing it with another, and thus bollixing up his clandestine deal. What the women discover within the briefcase is an odd assortment of Xeroxed newspaper clippings, various and unrelated lines marked in red—including a piece that mentions Marie. They return these to Julien on another of his sudden visits. They keep another strange document, seemingly a map of Paris but, according to Marie, is a little-known game she played as a child where in an apparently cabalistic pattern one arrives at various dangerous points in time and space: the inn, the tower, the bridge, etc, some resulting in imprisonment or death, others in the possibility of beginning the voyage again.

     So the two begin on an odd tour of Paris arrondissments, at each point entering spaces that seem to show the city being torn away, large cranes and other mechanical machines destroying the old presumably to build anew. Both Marie and Baptiste discover at these various desolate spots a manifestation of a Max, generally Jean-François Stévenin, who warns them away or sends them in another direction, the women moving through this mysterious but perhaps “patterned” series of spaces as if they might hope to discover a logic behind them. At one point, Julien shows up to tell her she is on a “hit” list, offering Marie a protective gun.


      Finally, at the bridge of the film’s title, Baptiste discovers a gigantic dragon, a marvelous construction that appears to be mix of a fire-spouting oil-derrick and a modernistic children’s ride, which Baptiste slays. Marie calls Julien, promising him the return of the map, while Baptiste, having stolen Marie’s gun, murders a man who had prevented her friend from entering the telephone booth. Finally confronting her strange shadow, Marie declares that her friend is insane, and marches forward to wait for Julien, who, when he encounters her, shoots and kills her, proclaiming “I loved you.”

     But even here, Rivette refuses to close down his narrative, as his camera focuses on the angry Baptiste attempting to face off with Max in her karate stances. Max, it turns out is a Black Belt karate master, and, it soon becomes apparent, could easily destroy the mad Baptiste. But, in seeming collaboration with this odd figure, he begins to affirm and teach her movements instead. Has Baptiste been a collaborator herself, a figure that has helped all the others to finally make their “hit” on Marie, assuring them that she will not reveal their nefarious plans? Might Baptiste even be a kind of perverse feminist prophet baptizing Christ’s mother in blood? Was Julien possibly her double?

      Of course, there is no answer. Rivette’s film is not a coherent narrative, ready to provide an easy summary to its often-obscure events. Rather, the director takes us on an exhilarating ride where, as he puts it, he “upsets people.” “The film must be, if not an ordeal, at least an experience, something which makes the film transform the viewer, who has undergone something through the film, who is no longer the same after having seen the film.”

     Once one has entered a Rivette film, all other films seem slightly ploddingly predictable, the script or story determining events. In Le Pont du Nord we do not know why things happen, or how they happened, or even if they happened. One might imagine, that like the magical game behind the character’s movements, that seeing this film again might allow us to create a very different perception of what we are witnessing—that Marie might just as easily dig deep into her purse and pull out another plot!

 

Los Angeles, October 12, 2012

Reprinted from Nth Position (November 2012).  

 


Index R-Z

Angelo Raaijmakers I, Adonis / 2021 Peeter Rabane Firebird / 2021   Tyler Rabinowitz Catalina / 2022 Tyler Rabinowitz See You Soon / 20...