skimpole

What struck me about my top 10 list for this year was that 7 of the movies were French.

The thing about this list is that most of the movies are in the future. I'm struck by the absence of Love and Friendship. Tom Bennett was hilarious in that movie.

Good taste. Shouldn't we be hearing about Canada's movie awards at about this time?

ISAO TAKAHATA: Grave of The Fireflies ALAIN TANNER: QUENTIN TARANTINO: Pulp Fiction ANDREI TARKOVSKY: Andrei Rublev BELA TARR: Satantango FRANK TASHLIN: Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? JACQUES TATI: M. Hulot's Holiday BERTRAND TAVERNIER: PAOLO AND VITTORIO TAVIANI: The Night of the Shooting Stars HIROSHI TESHIGAHARA: JOHNNIE TO: JAMES TOBACK: Two Girls and a Guy JACQUES TOURNEUR: Out of the Past JAN TROELL: Here's Your Life FRANCOIS TRUFFAUT: Jules and Jim FRANK TUTTLE: TOM TYKWER: Run Lola Run EDWARD G ULMER: Detour

I don't know if we've already done this, but perhaps we should clarify once more who is the lead and who's supporting in Bedazzled, The Producers and Far from the Madding Crowd

Perhaps. I wonder, though. Three of her first performances were under John Schlesinger. I haven't seen Billy Liar, because TCM Canada never shows it. But I would suggest the problem with Darling is Schlesinger's conception of the character. I myself am not the biggest fan of Schlesinger, and other directors (Lester, Losey, Altman) could get bigger things out of her.

I'm curious why, when posters look at A Man for all Seasons for possible supporting actor nominees, it's Welles and Shaw that they choose. Both men essentially get one big scene with Scofield, then a brief scene later, while McKern, Davenport and Hurt are present throughout the entire movie.

Actor Paul Scofield, A Man for All Seasons Donald Pleasance, Cul-de-Sac Richard Burton, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Jean-Pierre Leaud, Masculin-Feminin Eli Wallach, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly Runner-ups: David Hemmings (Blowup), Lino Ventura (Le Deuxieme Souffle), Toto (The Hawks and the Sparrows), Jozef Kroner (The Shop on Main Street), Vaclav Neckar (Closely Watched Trains), Actress Liv Ullmann, Persona Bibi Andersson, Persona Elizabeth Taylor, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Jitka Cerhova, Daisies Ivana Karbanova, Daisies Runner-ups: Anne Bancroft (7 Women), Alexandra Kluge (Yesterday Girl), Anna Karina (Made in the USA), Maya Bulgakova (Wings), Ida Kaminska (The Shop on Main Street), Mbissine Therese Diop (Black Girl), Francoise Dorleac (Cul-de-Sac), Jitka Bendova (Closely Watched Trains), Supporting Actor: Leo McKern, A Man for All Seasons Lionel Stander, Cul-de-Sac John Hurt, A Man for All Seasons Eric Emerson, Chelsea Girls Lee van Cleef, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly Runner-ups: Nigel Davenport (A Man for All Seasons), Jean-Claude Guibert (Au Hasard Balthazar), Walter Matthau (The Fortune Cookie), Jack Nicholson (The Shooting), Janos Gorbe (The Round-up), Robert Shaw (A Man for All Seasons), James Mason (Georgy Girl), Orson Welles (A Man for all Seasons), George Segal (Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) Supporting Actress Anne Wiazemsky, Au Hasard Balthazar Vanessa Redgrave, Blowup Mary Woronov, Chelsea Girls Wendy Hiller, A Man for All Seasons Chantal Goya, Masculin-Feminin Runner-ups: Margaret Leighton (7 Women), Marlene Jobert (Masculin-Feminin), Marianne Faithful (Made in the USA), Sandy Dennis (Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) , Hana Slivkova (The Shop on Main Street) Not seen: Alfie, The Russians are Coming, the Russian are Coming, The Sand Pebbles, The Professionals, A Man and a Woman, Morgan!, Hawaii, You're a Big Boy Now ------I haven't seen three of the Best Picture nominees, the first time since 1928-1929 that I haven't seen a majority of the nominees. Not coincidentally, these were the three that weren't nominated for best director as well. ------For once, the runner-ups for Best Actress are more impressive than those for Best Actor ------Just to clarify things Cerhova is the brunette and Karbanova is the blonde.

1962 Lawrence of Arabia The Manchurian Candidate Jules et Jim Lolita Long Day’s Journey into Night Harakiri My Life to Live Salvatore Giulliano Le Doulos The Exterminating Angel Runners-up: Heaven and Earth Magic, The Trial, My Name is Ivan, L'Eclisse, An Autumn Afternoon, The Four Days of Naples 1963 The Leopard The Great Escape Winter Light The Organizer Contempt Vidas Secas High and Low The Silence Muriel Bay of Angels Runner-ups: The Birds, Charade, Le Joli Mai, The Big City, Les Carabiniers 1964 A Hard Day’s Night The Gospel According to Saint Matthew Gertrud Doctor Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb Band of Outsiders Shadow of our Forgotten Ancestors A Shot in the Dark I am Cuba The Umbrellas of Cherbourg Kwaidan Runner-ups: Black God, White Devil, Hamlet, Onibaba 1965 Help! The Flight of the Phoenix Charulata* Pierrot le Fou Le Bonheur Alphaville Chimes of Midnight Repulsion Doctor Zhivago The Brick and the Mirror Runner-ups: The Sound of Music, The Saragossa Manuscript, Not Reconciled, The Spy who Came in From the Cold 1966 A Man for all Seasons Persona Au hazard Baltazar The Good, the Bad and the Ugly Masculin Feminin Daisies Blow-Up The Hawks and the Sparrows The Rise to Power of Louis XIV Chelsea Girls Runner-ups: Le Deuxieme Souffle, Made in USA, The Round-Up, Yesterday Girl, Cul-de-Sac

SOHRAB SHAHID SALEES: Still Life HONG SANG-SOO: N/A NELSON PEREIRA DOS SANTOS: Vidas Secas CARLOS SAURA: Cria Cuervos… JOHN SAYLES: Lone Star FRANKLIN J. SCHAFFNER: Patton FRED SCHEPISI: The Chant of Jimmie Blacksmith JOHN SCHLESINGER: Midnight Cowboy VOLKER SCHLONDORFF: PAUL SCHRADER: Mishima: A Life in four Chapters BARBET SCHROEDER: Reversal of Fortune MARTIN SCORSESE: Goodfellas RIDLEY SCOTT: Blade Runner OUSMANE SEMBENE: Ceddo LARISA SHEPTIKO: The Ascent JIM SHERIDAN: In America HIROSHI SHIMIZU: M. NIGHT SHYAMLAN: Unbreakable DON SIEGEL: Invasion of The Body Snatchers BRYAN SINGER:The Usual Suspects JOHN SINGLETON: ROBERT SIODMAK: The Crimson Pirate DOUGLAS SIRK: Imitation of Life VICTOR SJOSTROM: The Phantom Carriage JERZY SKOLIMOWSKI: Deep End KEVIN SMITH: Clerks STEPHEN SODERBERGH: Out of Sight ALEXSANDR SOKUROV: Russian Ark FERNANDO E. SOLANAS: Hour of the Furnaces HUMBERTO SOLAS: TODD SOLONDZ SION SONO: STEVEN SPIELBERG: Schindler's List JOHN M. STAHL: GEORGE STEVENS: Swing Time MAURITZ STILLER: The Saga of Gosta Berling WHIT STILLMAN: Love & Friendship OLIVER STONE: JFK JEAN-MARIE STRAUB & DANIELE HUILLET: The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach JOHN STURGES: The Great Escape PRESTON STURGES: The Palm Beach Story SEIJUN SUZUKI: Branded to Kill JAN SVANKMEJER: Alice HANS-JURGEN SYBERBERG: Our Hitler: A Film from Germany ISTVAN SZABO: Mephisto

Philip Kemp on Charulata for the Criterion collection: Charulata: “Calm Without, Fire Within” By Philip Kemp Charulata, often rated the director’s finest film—and the one that, when pressed, he would name as his own personal favorite: “It’s the one with the fewest flaws”—is adapted from Tagore’s 1901 novella Nastanirh (The Broken Nest). It’s widely believed that the story was inspired by Tagore’s relationship with his sister-in-law, Kadambari Devi, who committed suicide in 1884 for reasons that have never been fully explained. Kadambari, like Charulata, was beautiful, intelligent, and a gifted writer, and toward the end of his life, Tagore admitted that the hundreds of haunting portraits of women that he painted in his later years were inspired by memories of her. ....of all his chamber dramas, Charulata is perhaps the subtlest and most delicate. The setting, as with so many of Ray’s movies, is his native Kolkata. It’s around 1880, and the intellectual ferment of the Bengali Renaissance is at its height. Among the educated middle classes, there’s talk of self-determination for India within the British Empire—perhaps even complete independence. Such ideas are often aired in the Sentinel, the liberal English-language weekly of which Bhupatinath Dutta (Shailen Mukherjee) is the owner and editor. A kindly man, but distracted by his all-absorbing political interests, he largely leaves his wife, the graceful and intelligent Charulata (Madhabi Mukherjee), to her own resources. The visual elegance and fluidity that Ray achieves in Charulata are immediately evident in the long, all-but-wordless sequence that follows the credits and shows us Charu, trapped in the stuffy, brocaded cage of her house, trying to amuse herself. (At this period, no respectable middle-class Bengali wife could venture out into the city alone.) Having called to the servant to take Bhupati his tea, she leafs through a book lying on the bed, discards it, selects another from the bookshelf—then, hearing noises outside in the street, finds her opera glasses and flits birdlike from window to window, watching the passersby. A street musician with his monkey, a chanting group of porters trotting with a palanquin, a portly Brahman with his black umbrella, signifier of his dignified status—all these come under her scrutiny. When Bhupati wanders past, barely a couple of feet away but too engrossed in a book to notice her, she turns her glasses on him as well—just another strange specimen from the intriguing, unattainable outside world. Throughout this sequence, Ray’s camera unobtrusively follows Charu as she roams restlessly around the house, framing and reframing her in a series of spaces—doorways, corridors, pillared galleries—that emphasize both the Victorian-Bengali luxury of her surroundings and her confinement within them. Though subjective shots are largely reserved for Charu’s glimpses of street life, the tracking shots that mirror her progress along the gallery, or move in behind her shoulder as she glides from window to window, likewise give us the sense of sharing her comfortable but trammeled life. The only deviation from this pattern comes after she’s retrieved the opera glasses. A fast lateral track keeps the glasses in close-up as she holds them by her side and hurries back to the windows, the camera sharing her impulsive eagerness. Under the credits, we’ve seen Charu embroidering a wreathed B on a handkerchief as a gift for her husband. When she presents it to him, Bhupati is delighted but asks, “When do you find the time, Charu?” Evidently, it’s never occurred to him that she might feel herself at a loose end. But now, becoming vaguely aware of Charu’s discontent and fearing she may be lonely, he invites her ne’er-do-well brother Umapada and his wife, Mandakini, to stay, offering Umapada employment as manager of the Sentinel’s finances. Manda, a featherheaded chatterbox, proves poor company for her sister-in-law. Then Bhupati’s young cousin Amal (Soumitra Chatterjee) unexpectedly arrives for a visit. Lively, enthusiastic, cultured, an aspiring writer, he establishes an immediate rapport with Charu that on both sides drifts insensibly toward love. “Calm Without, Fire Within,” the title of Ray’s essay on the Japanese cinema, could apply equally well to Charulata (as the Bengali critic Chidananda Das Gupta has noted). The emotional turbulence that underlies the film is conveyed in hints and sidelong gestures, in a fleeting glance or a snatch of song, often betraying feelings only half recognized by the person experiencing them. In a key scene set in the sunlit garden (with more than a nod to Fragonard), Amal lies on his back on a mat, seeking inspiration, while Charu swings herself high above him, reveling in the ecstasy of her newfound intellectual and erotic stimulation. Ray, as the critic Robin Wood observed, “is one of the cinema’s great masters of interrelatedness.” This garden scene, which runs some ten minutes, finds Ray at his most intimately lyrical. It’s the first time the action has escaped from the house, and the sense of freedom and release is infectious. From internal evidence, it’s clear that the scene involves more than one occasion (Charu promises Amal a personally designed notebook for his writings, she presents it to him, he declares that he’s filled it), but it’s cut together to give the impression of a single, continuous event, a seamless emotional crescendo. Two moments in particular attain a level of rapt intensity rarely equaled in Ray’s work, both underscored by music. The first is when Charu, having just exhorted Amal to write, swings back and forth, singing softly; Ray’s camera swings with her, holding her face in close-up, for nearly a minute. Then, when Amal finds inspiration, we get a montage of the Bengali writing filling his notebook, line superimposed upon line in a series of cross-fades, while sitar and shehnai gently hail his creativity. In an article in Sight & Sound in 1982, Ray suggested that, to Western audiences, Charulata, with its triangle plot and Europeanized, Victorian ambience, might seem familiar territory, but that “beneath the veneer of familiarity, the film is chockablock with details to which [the Western viewer] has no access. Snatches of song, literary allusions, domestic details, an entire scene where Charu and her beloved Amal talk in alliterations . . . all give the film a density missed by the Western viewer in his preoccupation with plot, character, the moral and philosophical aspects of the story, and the apparent meaning of the images.” ...Ray was always known as a skilled and sympathetic director of actors. Saeed Jaffrey, who starred in The Chess Players (1977), bracketed him and John Huston as “gardener directors, who have selected the flowers, know exactly how much light and sun and water the flowers need, and then let them grow.” Soumitra Chatterjee, who made his screen debut when Ray cast him in the title role of the third film of The Apu Trilogy, The World of Apu (1959), gives perhaps the finest of his fifteen performances in Ray’s films as Amal—young, impulsive, a touch ridiculous in his irrepressible showing off, bursting with the joy of exploring life in its fullness after his release from the drab confines of a student hostel. He’s superbly matched by the graceful Madhabi Mukherjee as Charu, her expressive features alive with the ever-changing play of unaccustomed emotions that she scarcely knows how to identify, let alone deal with. She had starred in Ray’s previous film, The Big City (1963); he described her as “a wonderfully sensitive actress who made my work very easy for me.” The other three main actors had also appeared in The Big City, though in minor roles. Shailen Mukherjee, playing Bhupati, was principally a stage actor; this was his first major screen role. Despite his professed inexperience (Ray recalled him saying, “Manikda [Ray’s nickname], I know nothing about film acting. I’ll be your pupil, you teach me”), he succeeds in making Bhupati a thoroughly likable if remote figure, well-intentioned but far too idealistic and trusting for his own good. Gitali Roy’s occasional veiled glances hint that Mandakini isn’t, perhaps, quite as empty-headed as Charu supposes; she certainly isn’t above flirting with Amal on her own account. As her husband, Umapada, Shyamal Ghosal expresses with his whole body language his envy and resentment of Bhupati—signals that his brother-in-law of course completely fails to pick up on...

I'd like to talk about The Brick and the Mirror, my runner-up supporting actress nominee. It's one of the first classics of Iranian cinema. It deserves more information, especially since there isn't a Wikipedia entry. You can see it on youtube here: The movie is an example of neorealism, with a conceit worthy of De Sica himself: a cab driver takes a female fear and he later realizes that she has left behind a baby. It's one of Jonathan Rosenbaum top 1000 movies (which is how I heard of it) Here is more from a 2008 post from the Film is love blog: I expect that my experiences with Iranian cinema have generally conformed to those of my fellow arthouse junkies. That is to say, I'm familiar with (and incidentally, a huge admirer of) the films of Abbas Kiarostami, and adequately acquainted with his New Wave contemporaries. Still, as far as I was concerned, the birth of the country's film industry coincided with its emergence onto the international festival scene during the 1990s. Imagine my surprise then, when I had the opportunity to acquire a pre-revolutionary film from 1965. Was this to say that Iranian cinema existed before Kiarostami? Before even Dariush Mehrjui's The Cow (1969) - widely credited with kickstarting the New Wave? A chance to outperform my comrades in the obscurity stakes is not a temptation that someone like myself can humanly resist, so naturally I snapped up the oddity - entitled Brick and Mirror - without a moment's hesitation, despite knowing approximately zero about either film or filmmaker Ebrahim Golestan. Cinema, in both its breadth and its depth, is a beast that will forever remain unfathomable to the 21st century enthusiast. Who knows just how many masterworks are currently lost in the annals of oblivion? How is it possible for even the most ardent devotee to comprehend the real gravity of everything that's preceded them? With over a century of history and a reach that's close to globe-spanning, this is a medium doesn't make life easy for its followers. Yet for all its innate futility, the disciple's mission is not one that's without its rewards. As a (budding) cinephile myself, I can claim with fair certainty that there are few greater (intellectual) pleasures than the joy of cinematic discovery. It's that sensation, that adrenaline rush, that abstract high that coursed through my veins during Brick and Mirror. Perhaps the element of surprise affected my judgment - in the Internet age where hype is impossible to escape (not necessarily a bad thing, but undeniably tiresome on occasion), it feels liberating to enter into a filmic contract without any expectations. Even so, upon further reflection and post-viewing scrutiny, I find myself arriving at the same conclusion that I formed immediately after film’s end: this is remarkable, essential filmmaking, which deserves far greater recognition than that which can be provided by a critical flyweight like me. Brick and Mirror offers us two leads: a taxi driver and his on/off lover. One night, after giving a cab ride to a mysterious woman, the former discovers a baby in the back of his car. Cue an episodic 24hr journey through a cross-section of Iran's urbania, where everyone he turns to - from bohemians and tramps to doctors and lawyers - stumbles in their attempts to find a feasible solution to his problem. Only with the appearance of his smart and worldly lover is he able to discover some sort of tentative peace. The couple's brief moments of harmony reveal their potential to forge a makeshift family with the abandoned child. But to do so would require a commitment that might be beyond their capabilities as struggling, blue-collar citizens who value their individualism. In essence, the baby is a catalyst for self-discovery. The real journey here is into their respective consciences, and it's one that doesn't necessarily provide comforting results. It's easy to see how Brick and Mirror could have influenced the New Wave features that followed in its wake. Golestan is a socially-conscious filmmaker, whose neo-neorealist direction creates a compelling discord against the more metaphysically-inclined analyses upheld by his screenplay. From a contemporary Western perspective, his approach to Brick's subjects grounds the film in an authenticity that invites the viewer's interest on a secondary level as historical document. With the lines between narrative and reality often blurred, Golestan's observational record of moral degeneration, spiritual stagnation and financial deprivation retains its ability to surprise and unnerve. We never get the sense that we're watching characters here - these are real human beings, facing up to the difficulties of everyday life in Tehran. It's these attributes that lend such credence to the work of many of Iran's later, more acclaimed directors. This is not to say that Golestan is without his stylistic flourishes, nor should one assume that the film is simply a record of poverty and hardship. Brick and Mirror's opening sequence takes place inside our protagonist's taxi as he slowly makes his way through the neon nightscapes of modern Tehran. (One wonders if Martin Scorsese had come across this prior to the making of a certain classic from 1976...) Soon afterwards, the film takes a sharp left turn into the world of expressionistic mysticism during an encounter in a dilapidated house. And Golestan, free from cinematic conventions as we know them, liberally alternates between handheld camerawork and static long-takes, whilst frequently defying the 180 degree rule that's such a staple of continuity editing. Meanwhile, his journey into the night takes the audience into a vibrant café where alcohol flows freely, where women can dance in Western attire, and where (presumably) homosexual men exist as equals. Needless to say, this is worlds removed from the portrait of Iranian life that many of us have become accustomed to in recent years. Indeed, the film's strongest presence is the female lover who, at one point, struts around like a sex kitten in her undergarments. Golestan maintains too much distance to venerate any of his characters, but he clearly values the forthright emotional honesty of the woman over the commitmentphobic, responsibility-shunning man. Nevertheless, the director takes pains to portray his character's malaise as symptomatic of a much wider condition plaguing masculinity during the era. Brick and Mirror reverberates on an allegorical plane, as a cinematic treatise on the resounding failure of government and establishment to provide for their people. A prolonged discussion between a police chief and a doctor exposes the exasperation and anger that even respected pillars of the community feel towards their society. Yet neither feels the need to act upon it. This is a trait that one finds in all of the film's men: there is much talk, but when it comes to genuine action, they wilt. An external, presumably malevolent spectre instills a paranoia that no doubt affects their mindsets - an ominous radio plays underscores the aforementioned opening sequence by discussing "anguish", "fear" and the "thousand-eye perils"; and our protagonist spends a lengthy amount of time worrying about the judgments of his unseen neighbours after taking lover and child home for the night. The nature of this implacable fear is never quite clear to us, though its enfeebling effect upon his mentality (and, consequently, his decison-making process) is painfully apparent. Against this context, the film's most significant female characters morph into beacons of strength, better-equipped to tackle social problems than their male counterparts. For all his feminist tendencies and institutional critiques however, it appears that Golestan is first and foremost a humanist. He remains forever attuned to the intimate dramas that define his emotional content. In this director's view, both personal and political are as fundamental as one another, and Brick and Mirror is at its core a desperate plea for the reconciliation of these increasingly divergent modes of thought. His film reaches its absolute zenith by achieving just that during the unforgettable finale at an orphanage. Actualizing his promise as a documentarian, Golestan dispenses with his narrative trajectory altogether and instead focuses in on the faces and bodies of Iran's forgotten children. His seamless montage confronts the viewer with the uninhibited joy and purity of blameless innocents. Their figurative weight is astounding, demanding a call to action. How can we live with ourselves if the world inherited by the next generation is one that's in complete disarray? And yet, damningly, it turns out that our two leads can do just that. The film ends ironically: another taxi ride intimating technological progression despite the abiding feeling of moral immobility. Brick and Mirror undoubtedly appears even more striking today when one notes Iran's path through history since 1965. Bear in mind that I was subjected to an abysmal copy of the film, that required the utmost concentration even to make out the characters. It was worth it. I wouldn't be surprised if this was the most sexually frank and overtly polemic Iranian film ever made (not that it's particularly indulgent in either category). But what do I know? If a film as accomplished as Brick and Mirror can remain neglected for so long, then who's to say that there aren't other, more critical, more damning and daring Iranian masterworks out there waiting for reappraisal? And why stop at Iran? How much cinema have we, even in the West, supposedly lost to the hands of time and misguided distributors? As cinephiles, we spend so much time adhering to the canon and listening to what other, apparently more distinguished critics have to tell us. How else have Citizen Kane and La règle du jeu - both superb films - retained their virtual monopoly at the top of Sight & Sound's Top Ten lists for the last half-century? It's too easy to think "the buck stops here" when it comes to this most infinitely rewarding of art forms. It doesn't. There is no objective truth in so subjective a medium, so why place limitations on the potential gifts that it can bestow upon us? Granted, accessibility is an issue - though it shouldn't prevent us from searching, from seeking, from fighting. I realize that Brick and Mirror could have been a stinking mountain of dog ****. But isn't this a chance that we have to take? Perhaps I feel too great a sense of duty here. Perhaps one should exercise some restraint with one's devotion. I don't know. I guess I just love adventures. And thanks to this one, I hope that at least a few more individuals will be aware of Brick and Mirror's existence.

Might I suggest Daisies to pick up the slack?

http://www.rogerebert.com/far-flung-correspondents/andrzej-wajdas-ten-best-films

Andrzej Wajda just died within the last couple of hours. Best known for his war trilogy A Generation, Kanal, Ashes and Diamonds as well as his pair of movies Man of Marble and Man of Iron. Other films include Danton and Katyn.

I saw six movies this week. When Salman Rushdie commented on Gandhi back in the eighties he sarcastically commented that it was a great idea to have Jinnah played by Count Dracula. So actually making a movie called Jinnah and have the title character played by Christopher Lee, the Dracula of his generation is not the most promising way to start. Unfortunately the movie is much worse than that. It starts with the odd idea of having Jinnah in the afterlife and the question raised of whether Pakistan was a good idea in the first place. But the debate doesn't get beyond the cant of nationalist piety. It doesn't even mention East Pakistan. One would think that having a country separated on two opposite sides of the sub-continent was not a good idea. And the fact that Pakistan split in a bloody and cruel civil war less than a quarter-century after independence only emphasizes the problem. Jinnah makes some speeches but there's no explanation of exploration of whether he or Pakistan kept those high ideals. Spite Marriage was Buster Keaton's last silent comedy. It's not as held in high regard as the three he made before this, and that judgement isn't unfair. (Much of the last third is similar in plot to The Navigator). But it is amusing in its own right. Thoroughly Modern Millie has two major problems for a musical. None of the songs are particularly memorable, and the male leads are such drips, so much less interesting than the women. Also there's the racist white slavery plot. But on the other hand Julie Andrews does have energy and presence and Mary Tyler Moore is cute and sweet. Mix-Up is an OK french documentary about two families who found their daughters were switched at birth. It''s interesting. The Maze Runner is better than I thought it would be, about teenagers caught in a strange maze. It's reasonable effective, though the CGI mechanical spider is not much to speak of, and there's an increasingly unstable authority figure who makes you wonder how he got the position in the first place. Finally, Mistress America is the most likeable of the five Noah Baumbach movies I've seen. Greta Gerwig is so engaging as the slightly daft potential stepsister of the young college protagonist, that most of the movie is an enjoyable experience, except for a climax that shows Baumbach's general sourness towards his character that almost, but not quite, upsets the whole movie.

Actor Jean-Paul Belmondo, Pierrot le Fou Orson Welles, Chimes at Midnight 1964 movie nominated in 1965 Rod Steiger, The Pawnbroker James Stewart, The Flight of the Phoenix Richard Burton, The Spy Who Came in From the Cold Substitute for Steiger Christopher Plummer, The Sound of Music Runner-ups: Soumita Chatterjee (Charulata), Zackaria Hashemi (The Brick and the Mirror), Sean Connery (The Hill), Michael Caine (The Ipcress File), Jean-Claude Druot (Le Bonheur), Omar Shariff (Doctor Zhivago), Steve McQueen (The Cincinnati Kid), Terrence Stamp (The Collector), Peter O'Toole (Lord Jim), Eddie Constantine (Alphaville), Zbigniew Cybulski (The Saragossa Manuscript), Laurence Olivier (Bunny Lake is Missing), Marino Mase (Fists in the Pocket), Toshiro Mifune (Red Beard) Actress Madhabi Mukherjee, Charulata Catherine Deneuve, Repulsion Julie Andrews, The Sound of Music Anna Karina, Pierrot le Fou Julie Christie, Doctor Zhivago Runner-ups: Madhabi Mukherjee (Subarnarekha), Giulietta Massina (Juliet of the Spirits), Claire Drouot (Le Bonheur), Hanna Brejchova (The Loves of a Blonde), Samantha Eggar (The Collector), Tura Satana (Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!), Rita Tushingham (The Knack...and How to Get it), Hayley Mills (That Darn Cat!), Claudia Cardinale (Sandra/Of a Thousand Delights) Supporting Actor Leo McKern, Help! Hardy Kruger, The Flight of the Phoenix Alec Guiness, Doctor Zhivago Rod Steiger, Doctor Zhivago, The Loved One James Mason, Lord Jim Runner-ups: Sailen Mukherjee (Charulata), Tom Coutenay (Doctor Zhivago), Victor Spinetti (Help!), Liberace (The Loved One), Richard Attenborough (The Flight of the Phoenix), Peter Finch (The Flight of the Phoenix), Lee van Cleef (For a few Dollars More), Ossie Davis (The Hill), Edward G. Robinson (The Cincinnati Kid), Patrick Cargill (Help!) Gian Maria Volonte (For a few Dollars More), Ralph Richardson (Doctor Zhivago), Ronald Fraser (The Flight of the Phoenix), John Gielgud (Chimes at Midnight), Richard Haydn (The Sound of Music) Supporting Actress Gitali Roy, Charulata Taji Ahmadi, The Brick and the Mirror Marie-France Boyer, Le Bonheur Claire Bloom, The Spy who Came in From the Cold Peggy Wood, The Sound of Music Runner-ups: Eleanor Bron (Help!), Geraldine Chaplin (Doctor Zhivago), Sophia Loren (Operation Crossbow), Yvonne Furneaux (Repulsion), Kym Karath (The Sound of Music), Rita Tushingham (Doctor Zhivago), Charmian Carr (The Sound of Music), Jeanne Moreau (Chimes at Midnight) Not seen: A Thousand Clowns, Othello (thanks a lot TCM Canada), A Patch of Blue, Inside Daisy Clover ----For the first time, an Iranian movie gets an oscar acting nomination.

BOB RAFELSON: Mountains of the Moon SAM RAIMI: Spider-Man HAROLD RAMIS: Groundhog Day NICHOLAS RAY: Johnny Guitar SATYAJIT RAY: Pather Panchali ROBERT REDFORD: Quiz Show CAROL REED: Oliver! KELLY REICHARDT: Wendy and Lucy ROB REINER: The Princess Bride NICOLAS WINDING REFN: Drive KAREL REISZ: Saturday night and Sunday Morning JASON REITMAN: Up in the Air JEAN RENOIR: La Grande Illusion ALAIN RESNAIS: Last Year at Marienbad CARLOS REYGADAS: TONY RICHARDSON: The Entertainer MARTIN RITT: Norma Rae JACQUES RIVETTE: Celine and Julie Go Boating GLAUBER ROCHA: Black God, White Devil ROBERT RODRIGUEZ: From Dusk to Dawn NICOLAS ROEG: Walkabout ERIC ROHMER: The Green Ray GEORGE A. ROMERO: Dawn of the Dead MIKHAIL ROMM: HERBERT ROSS:Pennies from Heaven ROBERTO ROSSELINI: Journey in Italy ROBERT ROSSEN: The Hustler PAUL ROTHA: JEAN ROUCH: Chronicle of a Summer RAUL RUIZ: Time Regained DAVID O. RUSSELL: I (Heart) Huckabees KEN RUSSELL: Tommy MARK RYDELL:

G.W. PABST: Pandora's Box MARCEL PAGNOL: The Baker’s Wife ALAN J. PAKULA: All the President's Men JAFAR PANAHI: The White Balloon SERGEI PARAJANOV: Shadows of our Forgotten Ancestors ALAN PARKER: Mississippi Burning GORAN PASKALJEVIC: PIER PAOLO PASOLINI: The Gospel According to St. Matthew IVAN PASSER: Cutter’s Way GIOVANNI PASTRONE: ALEXANDER PAYNE: SAM PECKINPAH: The Wild Bunch ARTHUR PENN: Bonnie and Clyde D.A. PENNEBAKER: Don't look back FRANK PERRY: The Swimmer WOLFGANG PETERSEN: Das Boot ELIO PETRI: MAURICE PIALAT: Van Gogh JINDRICH POLAK: ROMAN POLANSKI: Chinatown SYDNEY POLLACK: Tootsie GILLO PONTECORVO: The Battle of Algiers SALLY POTTER: Orlando MICHAEL POWELL & EMERIC PRESSBURGER: The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp OTTO PREMINGER: Anatomy of a Murder ALEX PROYAS: Dark City CRISTI PUIU: The Death of Mr. Lazarescu

Does anyone know why Ian Bannen, of all the 11 members of the cast of The Flight of the Phoenix, was the only one to get an oscar nomination? I can understand Stewart being passed over since he already had one and it was a competitive year. Kennedy and Duryea play minor roles, and maybe they found Borgnine hammy. But I don't think they thought Attenborough was a lead, and that still leaves Kruger, Finch, Marquand and Fraser.

From Eric Henderson's review of Gertrud: Gertrud tells the story of a romantic young woman whose promising singing career was cut short by her marriage to a successful lawyer. Played by the tranquil Nina Pens Rode, Gertrud has a seemingly clear vision of a perfect, totally idealized love, and has made it her life’s passion to realize that vision without compromise. Spinning through her journey are four suitors—husband Gustav (Bendt Rothe), poet and former lover Gabriel (Ebbe Rode, Pens’s real life spouse), musician and current lover Erland (Baard Owe), and psychologist bon vivant Axel (Axel Strøbye). Based on a turn-of-the-century play by Hjalmar Söderberg (reportedly written after he had lost his own real-life object of affection), Dreyer’s adaptation emphasizes the exaggerated faults that Gertrud finds in each of the men in her life: Gustav is too focused on his career; Gabriel was too focused on conveying his own vision of love to pay attention or respect to Gertrud’s; and Erland cross-pollinates with other women, though Gertrud is more disturbed by his indifferent unresponsiveness toward her romantic joy... Though his perfectionism was limitless (look to his direction of clouds in Ordet or the fact that the Parisian headache pills Axel takes in Gertrud were actually from Paris), and his ability to cast “faces” (as he described this process during the filming of Joan of Arc) is predictably faultless in Gertrud. He always put incredible emphasis and, consequently, burden on the eyes of his leading female actors, and up until Nina Pens Rode, those eyes were spectacularly clarified. Master of the House succeeded marvelously on the beady, judgmental glare of Mathilde Nielsen’s Mads. Day of Wrath‘s very core of sensuality and terror is to be found in the wide eyes of Lisbeth Movin and Anna Svierkier. (One assumes that nothing more needs to be said about Falconetti’s Joan of Arc.) But Nina Pens Rode’s eyes don’t have the same easily readable quality. They seem to hide behind her eyelids, holding her vast reserve of disappointment, except for those rare moments when she is overcome with reverie that her eyes seem to threaten to leave their sockets to catch a closer glimpse of that vision that, judging from her glassy gaze, is in a complete other dimension. When they do come alive, as when Gertrud bids farewell to the young composer Erland after a midnight tryst and her face goes through roughly two score emotions in five seconds, it’s a marvelous sight to behold.

Chantal Goya in Masculin-Feminin: charming supporting or ineffective lead?

I saw five movies last week. Caged! is the sort of movie that has been destroyed by decades of parodies and soft-core porn. I can't say it started well with the focus on how unfairly pretty Eleanor Parker was treated, as if it would be all right to treat someone less pretty that way. One can see a more serious movie whenever Agnes Moorhead makes an appearance, but in the end it's not enough. The Gumball Rally and Strange Brew are two mediocre comedies which barely held my attention as I watching them. I didn't like the "Bob and Doug" sketches when I was a teenager watching them on SCTV, so a full length movie held no charms for me. James White is about a loser who faces his mother dying of cancer. Having seen close relatives of my own die, I can't say I really warm to this as an ultimately maturing experience. Finally Day of the Dead does mitigate the genocidal frisson of much zombie movies. The acting isn't much to speak of, although the events have some power. One can imagine people cracking under the strain. But surely by now trained soldiers would know only head shots work against zombies.

One more award: BEST JAMES BOND SEQUENCE EVER The beginning of A Hard Day's Night. SPECIAL BONUS AWARD Best sound: Red Desert