Lazy Blogger Repost: I Am Curious Giallo -- Thoughts on Argento's The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and Deep Red

This is another re-post. It's one of my favorite pieces (I'll re-post the piece I'm most proud of tomorrow), and for those of you that may have missed it when I initially posted it I hope you enjoy it. Plus, I haven't posted anything Horror related in a while. If this is your first time reading this, enjoy! If not, sorry for the repetition.

It’s interesting when one goes back and views Dario Argento’s early work. As a fanatic of the Italian Horror genre, it is unavoidable to feel nothing but nostalgia when talking about the films and their directors of this very specific, unique genre. They don’t make these kinds of films anymore, and there is no more solid proof of that fact than when you look at Argento’s early films and compare them with his recent attempts. It’s almost as if the director himself is fulfilling an obligation; trying to tap into that nostalgia so that fans of the genre will still pay money to see his films. I don’t want this to turn into a retrospective on the glory days of Italian Horror; rather, I’d like to focus on Argento, specifically his first feature as a director The Bird With the Crystal Plumage and a film he made a few years later, a more developed version of the same idea, Deep Red.

With Argento’s first film you see a director using the successes of Hitchcock’s Psycho, which came out a decade before The Bird With the Crystal Plumage, and using them to make a film that succeeds in not being a mere aping of Hitchcock’s classic. Darker themes lie within each of his films; themes that have caused some critics to rail against Argento’s work. Some critics think Argento is a misogynist – that he is like other Italian Horror directors (Lucio Fulci, Umberto Lenzi) who love to not just show women in peril, but love to linger on death and exploit the film’s female characters. The exhibitionism and voyeuristic elements are there, especially in these two films. In both films the “hero” of the film is an innocent man, a passer-by who has no connection to the murder victims (a classic Hitchcock theme). A man watches a woman get murdered; however, unlike recent Argento films (and the later gialli of Fulci and Lenzi) there is nothing misogynistic about the murders – they’re just really creepy.

The very genre lends itself to ruthlessness, though. Giallo (which in Italy means ‘yellow’ because a lot of the giallo novels were yellow paperbacks – this is also why you see lots of yellow in Argento’s giallo films) usually deals with a black-gloved killer stalking his prey. The viewer almost never sees who the killer is until the end, and all we ever see is from the POV of the killer. The only images in the foreground are the black gloves holding a razor or knife (Brian DePalma literally takes this idea and employs it in The Untouchables in the scene where Sean Connery is murdered). Gialli also love to explicate psychological issues. These often result in a convoluted or twisting storyline where we're never quite sure who the killer is or what their motives are. Like Psycho these films are concerned with attaching pseudo-scientific explanations to the reasoning behind the killer’s insanity.

Deep Red (the more “refined” version of the style's and themes experimented with in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and what many critics consider the greatest giallo ever made) is not as violent towards women, but definitely more violent in general, and really was the jumping off point for Argento’s glossy, highly visualized blood splattering. Also, with the films incredibly influential musical score by Goblin, Deep Red was the introduction to the more ethereal feel that we associate with Argento’s supernatural pictures (Susperia, Inferno, and Phenomena). This otherworldly feeling would later seep into the Italian Zombie subgenre, where it no longer mattered what was happening between point A and point B, it was the experience that mattered. What’s most interesting about Deep Red is how you can see the seeds of what I’m referring to as ethereal filmmaking trying to grow in a more conventional, mystery/suspense plotline – the murders may be gory, but they weren’t necessarily targeted at exploiting women (which sadly recent Argento films are guilty of, and it’s even doubly disturbing that most of his stuff from the 90’s dealt with him putting his daughter, Asia, through horrific murder scenes).

That being said, I don’t think there is anything exploitative or misogynistic about the murders in these Argento films. They are tame in comparison to what would follow for Argento in the late 80’s as he completely dumps the idea of giallo, and implemented a more conventional, Americanized form oh the genre (read: slasher film). However, with The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and Deep Red Argento was more interested in the psychological aspects of the genre, using the mind and pseudo-sciences to create a displacing atmosphere, an ethereal experience where everything is not what it seems; two films that when viewed one after the other are early proof of the evolution of Argento’s craft in the 70’s and 80’s.

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The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970) was really the transcendent film for the Italian Horror subgenre of giallo, or black-gloved-killer movies. The genre was put on the map with Mario Bava’s much homaged Bay of Blood (as well as Blood and Black Lace), which later American slasher films stole from ad nauseum (i.e. Friday the 13th, Halloween, etc.). Argento’s influences obviously came from the work he did while working for Sergio Leone (Argento and Bernardo Bertolucci both wrote Once Upon a Time in the West) as he employs a healthy dosage of close-ups, snap zooms, and multiple shots of eyes darting back and forth.

The film opens with the snap shots of what we presume to be victims. Here, Argento seems to be evoking the imagery associated with the Euro-thriller at the time (think Blow-Up and films of that ilk), and the effect is neat, even though it seems superfluous. As mentioned before, Argento isn’t really interested in setting up characters, so the first key event to the film is that of the American writer who is living with his model girlfriend in Rome. His name is Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante) and on the eve of him and his girlfriend leaving for home, he walks by an art gallery and sees two people struggling inside. As he approaches he notices the killer flee the scene and a women crawl towards him for help. She has been stabbed, and wants Sam to open the doors and help her. He can’t though because the doors are bulletproof, sound proof, and whatever else proof, and are operated on a timer. He realizes that the killer has locked him in between another set of doors. So all he can do is stand there and watch her plea for help. She eventually dies in front of him. It’s a tense scene that the first time director Argento handles to perfection, playing with the soundproof glass and creating an eerie moment where the victim’s screams are muted as Sam watches helplessly.

That’s your basic set up for what is a tense, near-perfect thriller considering it was made by a first time director. Like with most Argento (and gialli in general) pictures, the main character that happens to be the only person who may have seen the killer’s face is obsessed by the ever-elusive clue that will bring the entire jigsaw puzzle together. This almost always results in him putting himself and those he loves in danger. Argento also loves to toy with the psyche, as our hero always tries to re-imagine the murder scene (this is more prevalent in Deep Red) so that he can recall that one vital clue. With this film and with Deep Red Argento uses art, more specifically paintings, to piece the clues together. In The Bird with Crystal Plumage it's an eerie painting of a trench coat wearing murderer stabbing a woman in the park. Dalmas is obsessed with this picture, and when he pins it up on the wall of his apartment his girlfriends objects; it’s too scary for her. Argento then zooms in on the picture, and the black and white copy becomes the original colored picture as Argento pulls back and reveals the killer staring at the picture on his wall. It’s a minimal effect, but it is used brilliantly.

Argento’s control of some of the more tense scenes, not to mention the murders, is all pleasantly subdued. In one famous scene where a woman enters her apartment, the killer is waiting for her, and in what seems like is going to be a rape turns into an even more horrifying experience as the killer uses the knife to undress her, and then kill her. Argento wisely keeps his camera on a steady shot of the knife through most of this scene. The viewer is left watching the knife go down out of frame, then coming back up into the frame, each time with a little bit more red on it. The scene is chilling and far more affective than if Argento would have showed us the murder. The sounds of the scream are enough, and it’s rare for a first time director to have such restraint.

There are some shots that are beautiful to look at, too. It’s always the case with Italian Horror that its directors love to juxtapose its imagery with music or content. What is beautiful to look at may be the scene of a horrific murder, or a tense scene may be scored to childrens music (this is definitely the case with Deep Red). It is also the case with most Argento films that elaborate set pieces provide a great backdrop for these images. Here Argento uses the art gallery to great effect; the clean white walls evoke the feeling of a hospital, a location where both rescue and death meet. The red juxtaposed with the white of the art gallery is a striking image, and one that Argento would rely on in subsequent films.

The film’s cinematographer was the great Vittorio Sotaro, and he loves to linger on neat looking shots for long periods of time, almost as if were looking at a painting. One scene in particular that still stands out to me is a shot towards the end of the film where Sam chases the killer into a “secret room” (I dare not reveal the secret, because the way the plots mystery resolves itself is kind of ingenious), as Sam opens the door Argento cuts to a wide shot of mostly darkness with a lighted doorway. Sotaro just lets the camera linger on Sam in silhouette. It’s a beautiful shot that is eerie and affective at creating a feeling of displacement.

Argento’s film evokes themes of Psycho in the sense that Argento is very much interested in the use of pseudo-sciences in order to solve mysteries. And really, that’s what The Bird with the Crystal Plumage is more than anything, a mystery. Not a traditional Italian Horror film that we’ve come to associate with Argento. The film even has psychiatrists telling us why the killer did what they did (it reminded me of the famous line, horribly delivered by the doctor from Psycho when he says: “yes and no”). The film is incredibly restrained compared to his other works (arguably the works where he grew more assured of his abilities), and although the film is silly in its premise, it’s probably the lesser contrived of his gialli. (Especially the super-awesome, but super-convoluted Tenebre, which followed 12 years later after a hiatus Argento took from making gialli). It shows a master of his craft experimenting with his style and trying to figure out what it is he wants to say with his camera instead of his script. It’s actually kind of weird to go back and see such a subdued Argento. Five years later, however, Argento would make Deep Red a film that shows the maturation of the director’s skills, and gives the viewer a looser, less subdued; ethereal; and bloodier version of his first picture.

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Deep Red (1975) may very well be Argento’s masterpiece. I think I prefer Suspiria for the sheer audaciousness of that project, but as far as his one film that makes the most sense both visually and logically; it has to be Deep Red. The film, like his first feature The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, is a jigsaw puzzle. And the puzzle actually makes sense. Here is a film that isn’t confusing for the sake of keeping the viewer guessing; rather, it’s a film that upon multiple viewings enriches your experience. Subsequent viewings have only made my love for the film grow. The mystery, the oddness, the puzzle; they are all so fun to go back and revisit. Here is a film where you can see Argento’s trademark style firmly stamped upon film forever – it could be said that if you’ve seen a Brian DePalma thriller, then you’ve seen Deep Red.

The film opens with Goblin’s incredible soundtrack guiding us through the credits, which are then interrupted by a childrens song and the shadow of a figure stabbing someone. We see the knife go up and down, and then the shadow disappears and the knife is thrown to the ground. This is followed by two feet, presumably a little girl, entering the frame and staring at the knife; there are screams in the background. The horrible act juxtaposed with the childrens music is one of the most disorienting and haunting things about the film. Argento stays in long shot throughout the entire scene, never focusing on the gruesomeness of the murder, instead wisely allowing the music to evoke the eeriness and discomfort…the uneasiness of listening to something so innocent while something so horrific is occurring. Argento then cuts back to the opening credits and Goblin’s score. Immediately we are displaced. As a viewer, you don’t expect to be jarred like that in the opening credit sequence. It also is a perfect example of how Italian Horror films begin. There is no studio logo to usher you in, the music starts and the credits role and you’re off. This has always added to that ethereal feeling I attribute to Italian Horror. What are we to think of a movie that just begins? The immediacy of it all, the having to brace oneself from the onset is what makes this genre so fascinating, and fun.

The film has a similar premise (as mentioned before) as The Bird with the Crystal Plumage: an innocent man, this time a British composer who has set up shop in Rome, is witness to a brutal murder. In this case our hero is Marcus Daly (David Hemmings) who is standing outside of a diner and hears a woman scream, the friend Marcus is with (an important part of the story, again though, I dare not reveal its secrets) is drunk and jokes about it, proposing a toast to the screaming woman. This evokes the symbolism of Hopper’s “Nighthawks” -- isolated individuals in a big city. Argento films the two actors in front of a diner not unlike the one seen in Hopper’s famous painting. There is no entry way, and large panes of glass separate the people inside from what’s happening on the outside.

Daly’s friend seems content remaining isolated, but it is Daly’s curiosity and overall good nature that cause him to investigate the scream, upon which he finds a woman in a window being murdered. He rushes up to the apartment to investigate and thus begins Daly’s bizarre journey into the psyche of a killer.

Daly teams up with a spunky reporter Gianna (played by Daria Nicolodi, Argento’s wife at the time) to investigate the murder of the psychic. Daly remembers parts of the whole -- compartmentalizing the investigation -- piecing together the images from when he ran up to the apartment and walked through the house; a kind of funhouse lined with mirrors. As mentioned earlier, this is probably the first time Argento abandons any semblance of a linear timeline, and even though the mystery makes sense once you see all of the elements revealed, the film is like a dream upon first viewing. Daly and Gianna investigate further and find the house (the scene from the opening credits) that the killer may have lived in. Like the art gallery in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage the house in Deep Red is one of those Argento set pieces that is truly magnificent to look at. It contains one of the big secrets of the film, and Argento has a lot of fun filming some traditional Gothic style horror scenes within the house. It’s one of the most eerie set pieces in any Italian Horror film.

Argento has a lot of fun in Deep Red. One of his favorite toys (aside from having Goblin’s score to play with) is his use of a macro lens. Early on in the film we are introduced to the killer and their array of childrens toys, dolls, and various objects that lead us to believe the eerie opening to the film was the killer’s memory. There are series of image (mostly evil) followed by the close-up of an eye and the killer (we presume) putting on mascara. Argento succeeds at making this stuff creepy as hell, but this is also the first evidence of Argento thinking something would look creepy so he put it in his film, there may be clues there, but I think here the importance of the affect of the image was more important to Argento than the purpose of the image.

There is another scene that is evident of this when Daly’s friend is helping him investigate the murder. He is at his office after he has discovered some crucial clues from a murder scene. The camera switches to the classic giallo POV as we are now outside the office looking in. Then a figure bursts through the doors, and it’s nothing more than dummy. The scene is amazingly affective – it’s unsettling and eerie – really though the scene is nothing more than a reminder of the killer’s affinity for child’s play. Which we have seen numerous times thanks to Argento’s call backs to the toys that he shoots with the macro lens. Of course such a bizarre scene exists to scare us, displace us, and distract the characters in the movie so that the real killer can, of course, sneak up behind him and kill him.

Argento is seriously interested in psychics, too. The murder of a famous psychic (or medium) is the catalyst for Daly’s descent into the unknown. This coincides with Argento’s love of the pseudo-sciences found in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and it is here that the similarities between the two become much clearer. Both films involve innocent bystanders getting involved in a mystery that puts them and their loved ones in danger. They both also deal with the idea of the hero trying to remember exactly what happened on the night of the murder. In both films the heroes try their hardest to remember details about the murder, and they both have to return to the place where it all began in order to fully understand the mystery. And of course as is the case with any horror movie, nothing is what it seems, and when a killer is caught or killed by the police, it is almost never the case.

Argento loves to paint his film in red. Keeping with the psychological aspect of Argento’s films, this is an interesting ironical flip as red, psychologically speaking, is usually associated with confidence – a sense of protection from fears and anxiety. It also encourages action and stimulates energy. We get the opposite in a film entitled Deep Red, we are ensconced as viewers in colors that are supposed put us at ease, but they also stimulate action. Daly’s investigation into the murders and what he finds (especially when he runs across a caretaker and his daughter who seems to be a medium also, who lead him to the house with all the important information) is an apt representation of what red means. Like Daly, we are anxious about what lies in that house and behind that wall inside the house; however, we don’t feel safe, ever.

The film ends in another amazing set piece: an abandoned school. If you are a fan of horror you know that there’s just something disorienting about an abandoned school. This is also where Argento lays it on thick with the nonsensical editing techniques. One of the staples of Italian Horror is to use quick jump cuts that disorient and cause the viewer to do a double take. Often times you want to rewind because you think you missed something, and other times you are just left wondering: did I just see that?

The film ends in red…a lot of it. It has one of the most surprising, innovative deaths I’ve seen in a horror film. It also just ends. Unlike The Bird with the Crystal Plumage where Argento was obviously interested in doing what Hitchcock did in Psycho and having psychiatrists explaining things, there doesn’t seem to be a traditional explanation in Deep Red. The proof is in the final image: Deep Red is an experience as the final shot of the credits remind us how we’ve spent the last two hours. This style of ending would soon become the norm for Italian Horror.

Even though Deep Red is the first film where Argento implements his ethereal style of filmmaking that is now associated with Italian Horror, it is also a clever murder mystery that ingeniously reveals all of its clues in unconventional ways (specifically a scene where the killer murders a woman by sticking her face in boiling hot water from a bath tub, when the woman is dying she writes something on the glass wall of her bathroom. The way the word is revealed later to Daly’s friend is, surprisingly, not contrived). It shows a director more in control of his set pieces, his camera, and his gore. The film is bloody and gruesome, but again, not exploitative like his later films in the 90’s.

It’s an otherworldly experience watching Deep Red and certainly is a prime example of Italian Horror as high art. In both films the witnesses see the murder through long shot. Argetno and other Italian directors love their long shots because they create uncertainty. How can we be so sure of what we saw if we were so far away from it? In both of the Argento films discussed here, that is one of the key stylistic elements that have been found throughout Italian Horror post-Deep Red.

And that’s Argento’s major contribution to the genre: American Horror films seek to disorient the viewer through claustrophobia (shaky-cam and close ups) and nihilism (think of American horror like Texas Chainsaw Massacre), where Italian Horror seeks to disorient through bizarre images, dream-like atmosphere, and murders witnessed through long shots. The Bird with the Crystal Plumage and Deep Red are essentially the same film, and it’s interesting to see what Argento did in 1970 with his first feature, and then five years later was able to master with Deep Red. It shows the incredible skill and influence he had not only on the subgenre of giallo, but also on American filmmakers like Brian DePalma who has used Argento’s tricks in numerous films like The Untouchables, Raising Cain, and Femme Fatale.

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It’s interesting revisiting these early Argento films as just a few years after Deep Red he would abandon the giallo for more supernatural pictures, plots and themes (and definitely style) that have their roots in Deep Red. With his “Three Mothers” trilogy (specifically Suspiria and Inferno) Argento threw down the gauntlet and claimed that the horror genre could be visual poetry. Suspiria contains one of the most gruesome deaths in film history, and yet it is shot with care, through a poet’s eye and a beauty not often associated with the horror genre. In the 80’s Argento returned to the more traditional style of Italian Horror he helped put on the map when he made Tenebre and Opera; the latter which he called a “horrible” filming experience, although it remains an influential piece of horror cinema…unfortunately it paved the way for the Hostel’s of the world.

Argento is an intriguing figure in film history. His recent slate of films is damning proof that he has indeed “lost it”. His films are more and more relying on the shock of gore to get his name mentioned as he seems to have abandoned all sense of style and atmosphere. I don’t know if he could have survived though, because in reality Italian Horror died in the early 90’s with Michele Soavi’s Cemetery Man. The genre worked best in the 70’s and 80’s and it seemed like it was doomed to move beyond those decades with the move to digital video and straight to DVD releases. However, Argento has left us these two early masterpieces to ponder his brilliance. His importance and influence in the film world cannot be denied, and these films certainly make a good case for that.

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Question of the Day: Most Underrated Scorsese Picture?

After viewing the trailer for Scorsese's newest film Shutter Island, and not really knowing what to think about it (although I will of course fairly save judgment until I actually see the film, not three second of clips strung together) I started thinking about some of the great American director's most forgotten films. Some may disagree with me, many will probably agree, but I think the man is one of the five best American director's of all time, and his films almost always have a certain energy to them that make them infectious. Take a look at The Departed, certainly one of Scorsese's lesser films, but he he almost tricks you into thinking it's really good because of the sheer energy displayed in the filmmaking. More thoughts after the jump.

So, my question is what do you think is his most underrated film? I love his brilliant 1999 film Bringing Out the Dead, which certainly has to rank up there as one of the best collaborations between him and screenwriter Paul Schrader. It's about as perfect a film that Scorsese has made, touching on all of the deep themes and religious allegories that make the films he makes with Schrader so damn great. I think it definitely qualifies as Scorsese's most underrated film.

A case could also be made for the wonderful, and not much talked about, The Age of Innocence. A film that shows Scorsese's range, making a PG-rated Victorian romance with the usual Scorsese themes simmering beneath the surface. He also masks the camera and uses iris shots to great affect, giving the film its much needed antiquated feel.

I'm sure there are others out there that people will claim are underrated. I'm a fan of his misunderstood comedy The King of Comedy, and I certainly think that is a good candidate for Scorsese's most underrated film. Perhaps it's his more recent The Aviator (which I think is the best of his post Bringing Out the Dead era of films), or perhaps Kundun...

So let me know what you think. Extra question: What is Scorsese's most overrated picture? My answer is either The Departed or Gangs of New York.

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Counting Down the Zeroes 2004: Undertow

This will be appearing in Film For the Soul's Counting Down the Zeroes project Saturday, August 1st. Enjoy.


When I think of the great opening scenes in film history I think of Argento’s Suspiria, Scorsese’s Raging Bull, Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West, and of course, the greatest of them all, Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil. In addition to those masterpiece openings, I would add the more modern addition of David Gordon Green’s opening to his brilliant 2004 thriller Undertow. In six minutes Green gives us a narrator introducing the story in typical oral mythology fashion (“this is their story, as it was told to me”); his usual in-the-moment, painfully real dialogue ( We see two teenagers presumably in the middle of a tryst as the boy says: “We should disappear. Go someplace where we can see everything” And the girl replies: “Let me see your knife…can I carve my name in your face?”); and pretty much every editing trick in the Final Cut Pro bag of tricks. All while being accompanied by Philip Glass’ eerie score that sets the perfect mood for the rest of the picture. It’s a perfect way for Green to begin his film: he wants Undertow to be a myth, he sets us up the way a master storyteller would, and visually he gives us one of the best pieces of character development I’ve ever seen. It’s an incredibly entertaining, beautifully edited and orchestrated first six minutes, and it’s one of the best openings to a movie that I’ve ever seen (clip is supplied below).




The film plays as a myth, more specifically a myth about the Munn family and some gold coins that act as the catalyst for, what else, murder. Here Green’s Southern Gothic look is a perfect fit for the type of story he’s set out to make; his film exists in this fable (to borrow a word used to describe the film by the brilliant Ed Howard) world, and the allusions to Laughton’s Night of the Hunter are just as obvious as his allusions to the fables where children must set out on an odyssey of discovery, growing up too fast and alluding danger along the way.

Why are these kids growing up too fast and on the road? Because their estranged (and strange) Uncle Deel (Josh Lucas who plays the role with maniacal glee) is in town visiting their dad John (played by Dermot Mulroney) inquiring about a job on the new Munn family farm (Chris and Tim are the kids, and they hate the farm, but their dad insists on them remaining alienated from city life). We come to find out the history of the Munn family – a certain affliction that bothers Tim, the death of their mother, and we get some insights into why John prefers giving it a go at farming when it seems that he’s never done it before – but more specifically we begin to see the history between Deel and John, and why there is such bitterness between them. This all eventually boils over and leads to an intense, and ultimately deadly, confrontation about some gold coins that may or may not be hidden in the house. From that point on the film is an eerie thriller. It’s an unconventional one, too, especially in the way that Green stages most of the chases and scare moments in daylight, creating an unsettling feeling akin to what John Carpenter did in his boogeyman masterpiece Halloween.

SPOILERS FOLLOW:

The film is not just a thriller, there’s a lot lurking beneath the surface – the film is also about the Munn kids (Chris and his odd little brother Tim) and their journey, but more specifically Undertow is about forgotten kids. In their great series The Conversations, Ed Howard and Jason Bellamy talk extensively about this theme of kids just "wandering around" in Undertow. This gets at the larger theme in the film which is that kids need a home, and more specifically the displacement, and the fractures lives/journey of the Munn kids. When Chris and Tim construct their house in the junkyard Chris places a mug that reads “Home Sweet Home” on the dash of the car they’re sleeping in. Sadly, at that moment, that seems to be the most suitable house they'll find (they'll find themselves in other houses, too, along their journey). The junkyard, though, acts as a perfect Gothic setting for the film, it also acts as a nice metaphor, showing how displaced these kids are, seen as nothing more than bits to be sent to a scrap heap. This is later made even more obvious by Green when the Munn kids find brief refuge and friendship at a hideaway inhabited by other displaced kids.

The junkyard also acts as a metaphor for how “chopped-up”, or fragmented, their lives have become, and the affect that can have on two kids. The junkyard is just as compartmentalized as their lives, and made me think about the Munn kids and the stages of their life that is shown to the audience, or talked about by the characters. Chris (Jamie Bell) and Tim used to live in the city when their mom was still alive (one stage of their life), their mother dies (second), dad moves them to a farm (third), Deel comes into Chris’ life and reveals that his mom was actually his girlfriend first…hinting at the fact that Deel is probably Chris’ biological father (fourth), their dad dies (fifth), they go on the run and find a home at the junkyard…a momentary safe haven (sixth), they come upon a compound where other displaced kids live (seventh), their chase ends with Deel and Chris involved in an intense fight where Deel eventually is stabbed and left to die on the bank of the river (eighth), and the film ends with the both of them being rescued by their grandparents (ninth stage). My own arbitrary organizing there shows that they go through nine significant changes in their young lives.

Their journey is broken up into stages, or continuing with the myth idea, chapters of the story. So it’s apt that they take refuge midway through their journey at a place that is the epitome of compartmentalization. The ending is befitting of a myth, too, as Green ends his film with a deus ex machina, but we accept that as a viewer because we’re always aware that what we’re watching is myth. The stages of the film and the set piece of the junkyard also act as a reminder that Green’s film is a pastiche of some of the films that have certainly inspired him: Badlands, Days of Heaven, and the aforementioned Night of the Hunter. Green is above simple thievery, though, as each allusion helps punctuate his own ideas, making Undertow the best films of 2004.

Green’s pretty comfortable, as I mentioned earlier, at throwing every trick in the book in that opening six minuets, but he allows the film to pretty much play out without barely any camera trickery at all. He still adds in some nice editing touches, but nothing as overt as the opening. He also continues to showcase those great scenes he's known for where the viewer happens upon a conversation in medias res, and we hear all kinds of interesting things that real people would say; however, Green isn’t going for the affect his George Washington or All the Real Girls went for, he’s content keeping Undertow within the boundaries of the thriller and myth. Whether or not that hurts his film is an interesting debate as I think this is Green’s best film, and is his most underrated (or overlooked), and I think too often, and unfairly, people omit Undertow when talking about Green’s triumphs as a director.

It’s no surprise Terrence Malick produced this film. His influences are just as evident here as the influence of Night of the Hunter, and it’s refreshing to see another filmmaker, who like Malick, doesn’t just film something beautiful for beauty’s sake. There is a purpose to cinematographer Tim Orr’s shots, and even though they are beautifully framed and conceived, they aren’t showy, blow-away shots that exist only to draw attention to how good the filmmakers are. These are shots that are designed to evoke mood – visually-poetic conceits that conjure up the danger and horrors found in the original Brothers Grimm stories – shots that always tell us something about the narrative, and help move the story along.

Undertow sits comfortably at the top of my list for best films of 2004. It’s a refreshing thriller that embraces the ethereal qualities found in myths or fables, giving the viewer great locations (the opening six minuets of the film, the junkyard where Chris and his brothers seek refuge) that are feasts for the eyes, and scenes of surprising warmth (the scene where Chris finds out that two waifish girls have tried to steal his coins, and instead of lunging at them in anger, he looks upon them with empathy as if to say: “we come from the same place”.) that showcase Green’s narrative skills in addition to his extremely creative and poetic eye. Undertow is David Gordon Green’s masterpiece, and the best film of 2004.

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Revisiting 1999: The Top 10 Films of the Year, an Introduction

Hallelujah! The top 10 is near!

Here's what I've covered so far:

Intro: My Year at "Film School"
The (sorta) Forgettable Films
The Films That Just Don't Hold Up
When Bad Movies Happen to Good Directors

The Forgotten Gems of 1999:
The War Zone (Tim Roth)
Sunshine (István Szabó)
Beyond the Mat (Barry W. Blaustein)
Galaxy Quest (Dean Parisot)
Mumford (Lawrence Kasdan)
Bowfinger (Frank Oz)
Cookie's Fortune (Robert Altman)
Sleepy Hollow (Tim Burton)
The Iron Giant (Brad Bird)
October Sky (Joe Johnston)
Election (Alexander Payne)

So, here we are. Finally we’re at the end of this long journey. Yeah, it’s been long, but so worth it. I’ve really enjoyed revisiting these titles from 1999 (I did re-watch all but a few of them that weren’t available on DVD), and this project has only cemented the fact that I think 1999 is the best year for film that I’ve ever experienced. Almost all of these movies I got to see in the theater, and whenever you have a year where movies by the likes of Sydney Pollack (Random Hearts), David Fincher (Fight Club), and Stanley Kubrick (Eyes Wide Shut) range from terrible to forgettable, then that’s a strong year. Now I know I’m in the minority on the Kubrick, but my hope is that you’ll share your lists for the best films of 1999 in the comments section. I am obviously inspired here by my good friends Sam Juliano and his partner in crime Allan Fish of the phenomenal blog Wonders in the Dark, and Ric Burke who also has had great success compiling lists from fellow bloggers with his wonderfully entertaining Counting Down the Zeroes project. So…see what’s on my mind after the jump…

I’m curious what your list is for the ten best films of 1999, and what you think of this particular year in film in general. Just go ahead and post your lists in the comments section, and go tell all your friends to participate too…it should be a lot of fun.

Here’s where things get tricky as they tend to be with any year-end list…I’m talking about release dates. Go by whatever criteria you go by. I tend to think of masterpieces like The Thin Red Line, Rushmore and Gods and Monsters, which are sometimes thought of as 1999 films, as 1998 films. Other great films associated with 1999 like Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai and The Virgin Suicides I consider 2000 films. So, my list may look a lot different than yours, but that could also be due to the fact that I live in a rather small city, so we don’t get smaller films until they’re well into their theatrical runs.

I’ve explained already why this year resonates so much with me, but I think it’s more than just the amount of quality films that were released…this is the year I attribute to me becoming a really serious filmgoer…a cinephile if you will. This is where the seeds were planted and my passion for film has been growing ever since. I’m always learning something new, and when I re-watch these films for the second or third, or sometimes tenth, time in the next month I am sure that I will look back with great fondness, because the films that occupy my top 10 list are the perfect metaphor for the beginning stages of my cinephilia.

1999 saw fresh young faces in Hollywood, young directors like: David O. Russell (Three Kings), Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia), Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich); faces that weren’t necessarily fresh, but were relatively new like Steven Soderbergh (The Limey) and the Dardenne Brothers (Rosetta); and old masters like Martin Scorsese (Bringing Out the Dead), Paul Schrader (Affliction), Michael Mann (The Insider), and Anthony Minghella (The Talented Mr. Ripley); and finally Chris Smith (American Movie), who made one of the most memorable documentaries about the passion needed to accomplish your dreams.

All of these filmmakers are the perfect metaphor for what I’m talking about…and what do I mean by that? Well, the young filmmakers were offering up something different, something Hollywood hasn’t seen since the glory days in the 60’s and 70’s when directors were given creative control. Hollywood's output had become banal (with exception of some of the older names on this list like Scorsese, Schrader, and Mann), and people were seeking the Indies to give them what they wanted; however, in 1999 filmmakers like David Russell and Paul Thomas Anderson were all working within the studio system, infiltrating that system with the Indie mentality, and by doing so were creating some of the most innovative and memorable films that I’ve ever seen.

I had just started becoming a cinephile, and as a senior in high school it only seemed apt that my new found passion for studying film – I mean really looking at what film says and how it can make us look at our world differently – coincided with this resurgence in Hollywood. That is why I look back at 1999 so fondly – not just because there are insane amounts of brilliant films, but for nostalgic reasons too – for reasons that are totally subjective, and thus make my whole journey here selfish. I just hope that you’ve enjoyed these reviews and re-thinking about some of these films as much as I have. Now the hard part begins…


This is where the whole ranking thing becomes so arbitrary…I mean how in the hell do I justify placing Magnolia, a film that speaks to my soul like few films have, over Bringing Out the Dead, a misunderstood masterpiece from a master of American cinema? How do I place one of the best films from one of my favorite filmmakers, The Insider, over the Palm d’Or winning Rosetta?

I could go on with example after example from this incredible year in film. It’s impossible to justify any of these choices being above the others, so just know that I would gladly take these ten with me to a desert island. Forget the numbers, in fact, and focus on the sheer amount of Quality found in each of these films, and stop and think and see if you conjure up another year in cinema within the last 20 years that compares to 1999. Also, all of these films hold such a special place in my heart – it’s almost impossible to think that I could pick one as being better than another.

But so it is with list-making…yes, it’s an arbitrary exercise, but a fun one. So what will follow starting at the end of August will be the same formula that I used for the “forgotten films” project. Every Monday I will post a new entry in my top 10. I am really excited about re-watching these films, and I hope you’ll share my excitement as perhaps a film I highlight here will prompt you to revisit some of these modern classics.

Here’s a list of other films that I liked from 1999 that I haven’t yet mentioned in this project: All About My Mother, The Big Kahuna, In Dreams, The Matrix, Office Space, Run Lola Run, Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace, The Straight Story, The Thirteenth Floor, Topsy-Turvy, The Winslow Boy.

In case you didn’t notice, I strategically named 10 films (plus one for fun which was Burton’s Sleepy Hollow) as the “Forgotten Gems”. These are ten films I would consider a worthy addendum to the list I’m about unveil over the next couple of months: Beyond the Mat, Bowfinger, Cookie’s Fortune, Election, Galaxy Quest, The Iron Giant, Mumford, October Sky, Sunshine, The War Zone.

So...Starting August 24th I will post the first entry for my top 10…I hope you all stop by for that. As for now…what are your thoughts on the year 1999? What are your top 10 films for 1999?

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Question of the Day: Brian DePalma, innovative auteur or lazy aper?

I've always struggled with DePalma's films. I can probably count on one hand the films of his I really, really enjoy -- and the funny thing is I only enjoy them because I count myself lucky enough to understand his references. I've always wrestled with DePalma's place in the pantheon of filmmakers. On one hand I like that his allusions are for cinephiles, filmgoers who will feel like part of a special club for "getting" the reference. It's kind of like how I feel when I see a Judd Apatow film. Sure, the scene may be funny, but I know why it's funny. And so it is with DePalma...yes the scene is beautiful, but to fully enjoy it must you know why it's beautiful? Do you need to know where that scene came from and what films DePalma is constantly paying homage to? More thoughts after the jump...

And then there's the flip side to that coin...Ryan Kelly of the wonderful Medfly Quarantine and I had a brief discussion in one of his blog threads a while ago about the merit of DePalma. Sometimes I feel like he uses his famous line "the camera lies 24 frames a second" as a crutch, a means to just simply ripping off better directors than himself, and Ryan elequently defended the polarizing director. However, no matter how many valid opinions I hear from respected sources I think I will always wonder if DePalma has an original thought in his brain? But then I watch a film like Femme Fatale or Body Double and my mouth is agog at how brilliantly this guy can direct a scene.

It's a constant dilemma that I don't see being resolved anytime soon (at least in my own brain)...so then I leave it up to those of you smarter than I...is DePalma an original, an auteur; or is he just really good at taking other people's ideas and making them look good in his own way? (Obviously there's a middle ground in there somewhere, but I figured I would set up the two extremes to see which side people stand on.)

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My Top 10: 2003

It’s time to submit your top 10 for Film for the Soul’s Counting Down the Zeroes project. So head on over to Film for the Soul and submit your list in the comments section here. Then Ibetolis (the blog’s author and organizer of this massively impressive project) will place the lists on the Counting Down the Zeroes blog, which acts as an archive for all of the reviews and lists associated with this fun project. My list comes after the jump...

This list wraps-up the year 2003 and looking back on the releases from that year, I have to say that I quite shocked by how many quality action films there were. I count four (Open Range, Kill Bill, Master and Commander, Lord of the Rings) in my top ten.

Three foreign language films find their way into the top 10 this year – one was two of the best filmmakers working today (The Son), and the others were by two old pros (The Man on the Train and Saraband) one of those masters, Ingmar Bergman, is the greatest filmmaker of all time in my humble opinion, and sadly 2003 would mark the final time he would release a movie – and another three foreign films find their way onto the honorable mention list.

Two really good horror films (May, Oldboy) were released in 2003, but couldn’t quite make the cut. I think this marks the first year I don’t have a slot open for a comedy…although Christopher Guest’s lovely A Mighty Wind, and the very warm and funny (not to mention manic) Jack Black vehicle School of Rock, came awfully close to cracking the top ten.

One of the most wonderfully bizarre film experiences I’ve ever had was watching the Polish Brothers’ Twin Falls Idaho upon its release in the late 90’s – and their 2003 follow up, Northfork, was one of the most beautifully photographed films of the year. Another indie darling, David Gordon Green, made quite possibly his "worst" film in 2003 (All the Real Girls), and that’s not a knock on the film, because it’s a beautiful film…it’s just proof how high the bar has been set by the North Carolina director. From indie darlings to an old master: Peter Weir proved once again why he’s one of the best filmmakers we have working today (Master and Commander)…I just wish he would release more stuff.

Billy Ray made a phenomenal debut with the extremely tense and always interesting biopic about “journalist” Stephen Glass (Shattered Glass). Sofia Coppola followed up her 2000 masterpiece The Virgin Suicides with a wonderfully genuine and sweet, unconventional comedy (wisely removing the romance) starring Bill Murray in a career performance (Lost in Translation).

The best film of the year was a film that elevated my soul to new heights…a film that had me thinking about it long after I walked out of the theater. I still remember the day I first saw it, and the many subsequent viewings haven’t lessened the power of the Dardenne’s film. The Son is a rare film that, as Roger Ebert so eloquently said in his review, “needs no insight or explanation. It sees everything and explains all. It is as assured and flawless a telling of sadness and joy as I have ever seen.” The Dardenne’s are a treasure, and in 2003 you will find their most prized jewel in The Son.

On with the list…

Honorable mention (AKA “the other ten”): All the Real Girls, American Splendor, The Dreamers, Elephant, House of Sand and Fog, May, A Mighty Wind, Oldboy, School of Rock, Whale Rider

10. Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (Peter Jackson)
9. The Man on the Train (Patrice Leconte)
8. Open Range (Kevin Costner)
7. Northfork (The Polish Brothers)
6. Saraband (Ingmar Bergman)
5. Master and Commander (Peter Weir)
4. Shattered Glass (Billy Ray)
3. Kill Bill Vol. 1 (Quentin Tarantino)
2. Lost in Translation (Sofia Coppola)
1. The Son (Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne)

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Question of the Day: How Do You Define Quality?

Yesterdays post got me thinking about Quality. Yes, "capital q" Quality. For those of you that don't know me, I enjoy my philosophy from time to time, and one of the best books I've been re-introduced to over the last year is Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. There is a section in that book (and really the whole book is a mediation on the Quality) that got me thinking about yesterdays question about assigning star ratings/grades to films. Troy mentioned in the comments yesterday that he liked the letter grade system, but the hardest part for him was deciding on a system where the grade or ranking meant something to him. More thoughts after the jump...

This is interesting because it gets me thinking about how each of us define quality, or as Pirsig refers to it: Quality. Allow me to take detour into the field of education for a moment: As a teacher (getting my masters in teaching right now, but I'm technically already a teacher) I seek to rid the classroom of rankings -- of invented letter grades and hierarchical structures that do nothing but make the students think that if they get an A, they must be "getting" the material. An "A" doesn't always prove that they are turning in quality work -- their work may not have any Quality at all -- it may just mean that they are fulfilling the requirements to get an A grade. Of course, a lot of this falls on the teacher and how they can get their students to think outside of grades and more in line with what they are learning instead of what they need to do in order to get the A.

Quality, and what it does or does not entail, is an interesting thing. In the passage I'm about to share with you Pirsig is talking about a teacher named Phaedrus who taught in the ancient hills that Pirsig and his son have just passed through on their motorcycle journey. He speaks of Phaedrus’ two distinctions of quality: the first being a more organic, creative phase that could not be defined. This was, to no surprise, the most fun and enjoyable idea of Quality because there was no rigid attempt at defining the term. The second idea of Quality is more due to rigid critical thinking, and because of this Phaedrus created a hierarchical listing of Quality. But I want to return to what Pirsig pontificates in the chapter prior to this…his musings on the topic of Quality are precisely the type of thinking that seems relevant to what some critics try to pin down as "quality films" with star ratings or letter grades. Pirsig writes:

Quality…you know what it is, yet you don’t know what it is. But that’s self-contradictory. But some things are better than others, that is, they have more quality. But when you try to say what the quality is, apart from the things that have it, it all goes poof! There’s nothing to talk about. But if you can’t say what Quality is, how do you know what it is, or how do you know that it even exists? If no one knows what it is, then for all practical purposes it really does exist. What else are the grades based on? Why else would people pay fortunes for some things and throw others in the trash pile? Obviously some things are better than others…but what’s the “betterness”?...So round and round you go, spinning mental wheels and nowhere finding anyplace to get traction. What the hell is Quality? What is it?

Well...what the hell is Quality? What elements help you identify what a Quality film is? When we watch a film how is that we know what we're watching is Quality?

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