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As someone who doesn't get out of town that often, the two September-October weeks of the Chicago International Film Festival (running October 4-17 this year) are usually the high point of my moviegoing year. Partly it's the gambler's game, the sometimes giddy (or is it only fraught?) calculation of deciding what to take a chance on and what not to and how to juggle two or three must-sees at different theaters on the same off-night Tuesday. Not being a guy with lots of disposable income, I have to make these choices count. On the other hand, it's no fun always playing the safe, sure bets—films with critical imprimaturs decked out in the metal regalia of other, more prestigious fests: Golden Lions, Silver Bears, Palmes d'Or, etc. Sometimes there's nothing to do but close your eyes and jump.
My own all-time-favorite CIFF leap into the void was a one-time-only screening of Nelson Yu Lik-wai's All Tomorrow's Parties at the 2003 fest. Terra incognita for the most part, since nobody bothered to review it (the Reader ran a descriptive blurb) and the only online commentaries I came up with gave it a classical one-finger salute (with "terrible" as pejorative of choice). But writer-director Yu had been chief cinematographer on all the features of critical darling Jia Zhang-ke (as he continues to be today), and the program notes' anonymous burble about a "Chinese Blade Runner" made it sound ... well, kind of inviting. How much recommendation does any unknown film need?
But Blade Runner it wasn't—though it probably was the sleeper of the fest, all those resourceful, elegantly stripped-down visuals, like dystopian dream time in Outer Mongolia or some other mysteriously forlorn place. And with expectations almost ratcheted down to zero—with an audience to match, just a dozen or so intrepid souls—it's as close to private epiphany in a public space as I've probably ever come. (OK, I'm exaggerating, but here's me in my seat: "C'mon, don't blow it now!"—like some nickel-and-dimer at Arlington or Sportsman's trying to coax his 50-1 nag home.) Do we live for that kind of experience or what?
Finally—also indulgently, except memory jogs do matter: as ritual incantations, as ways of keeping the inner discourse alive—my own top CIFF films in order of preference from each of the last five years (obviously 2004 was astonishingly packed!):
2002 Monday Morning, Otar Iosseliani, France; The Uncertainty Principle, Manoel de Oliveira, Portugal; Springtime in a Small Town, Tian Zhuangzhuang, China; The Happiness of the Katakuris, Takashi Miike, Japan 2003 Father and Son, Alexander Sokurov, Russia/Germany; Distant, Nuri Bilge Ceylan, Turkey; Madame Sata, Karim Ainouz, Brazil; Jesus, You Know, Ulrich Seidl, Austria 2004 The Basque Ball: Skin Against Stone, Julio Medem, Spain; Tropical Malady, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Thailand; Crimson Gold, Jafar Panahi, Iran; Kings and Queen, Arnaud Desplechin, France; Nobody Knows, Hirokazu Kore-eda, Japan 2005 The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, Cristi Puiu, Romania; Magic Mirror, Manoel de Oliveira, Portugal 2006 Summer Palace, Lou Ye, China; Comedy of Power, Claude Chabrol, France; Belle Toujours, Manoel de Oliveira, Portugal/France; Syndromes and a Century, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Thailand
For a full critical rundown of this year's fest, see the Reader's online sidebar at www.chicagoreader.com/movies (to be posted later on today).
But what else?
I figured the Rose-monster would have mentioned it in the "Reader's Guide to the CIFF" given his longstanding appreciation for Iranian film.
What's the potion, Moshen?
but: it's scary being so predictable--so maybe i'll have to see THE AERIALST and SCREAM OF THE ANTS (whoa!) just to throw you off the track * though actually i'd see SCREAM OF THE ANTS anyway: makhmalbaf's always been more my cultural flavor than, e.g., kiarostami, a ground-level operator rather than western academics' darling ... plus, how can anyone resist the title: what "populist" dada ought to be!
The first thing that came to my mind when I saw the title, SCREAM OF THE ANTS, was the crazy Bunel/Dali ant hallucinations from BOYCOTT. Lets hope we get more of that action in the new flick.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0kXQzJD8JCU
We film lovers I guess should count our blessings that Zizek's a film lover too. He's one of the most important thinkers of our time. By the way, the first time I ever felt embarrassed for David Bordwell was when I read his well-self-publicized rebuttal to Zizek re: post-Theory. He did everything but contest what was at issue; instead he seemed so personally offended he tried to lash out at all things Zizek. Remarkably pathetic. I know the tendency now is to ruthlessly criticize Zizek due to his overwhelming popularity, but let's first consider - the majority of people that read and write about him really have no idea what he's talking about. Yet he still lifts things to another level - penetrates deeper - and carries us along with him. Brilliant.
I miss the Critics' Choice sidebar this year - I always go to one or two. (I wonder why they didn't ask Ebert to choose one, at least.) Bring it back next year, Mr. Kutza!
And btw, did CIFF not screen films for critics this year in advance? Do they usually? Seems like all the coverage before today has been based on Toronto (and Fest circuit) screenings.
Very lame!
what the movie does do, though--if only connotatively, through juxtaposed landscapes and attitudes (combinations of cynical and droll, but not always), and yes, even those incongruous baths in the ganges, which "enlightenment" demanders apparently find hard to take: "what's he doing? it's all so whimsical and vague ... "--is expose the myriad pre-"scientific" solutions to the problem of entropy that generally fall under the rubric of "traditional religion" * except some of the "solutions" seem worse than the problems they're meant to solve--like reincarnation, which in ANTS becomes more onerous than simple extinction could ever be--all with the built-in threat of possibly, just possibly, being "true" (always conveniently beyond literal proof or disproof--since arguably it's "if you haven't found x, you haven't looked hard enough") * anyway, i found the whole thing fascinating--the kind of ruminative, digressive ramble our skeptical "modernist" auteurs aren't usually inclined to take
on the other hand, tarr's long takes typically do nothing except run on--everything's in sub rosa semaphore, not the literal what or how, like "o, a long take, ergo: must be very very important," existing to be speculated on rather than actually experienced, minute by minute and second by second * as art-world analogue, think of the all-white canvases of rauschenberg and ryman: ryman's are to be looked at, as visual/textural sensoria: it matters IN PARTICULAR what each one of them does * but with rauschenberg you needn't pay specific attention at all (and may be better off if you don't), only talk about what the canvases theoretically do--in terms of conventional art history, as aesthetically "transgressive" acts, etc * which you can accomplish without ever having to view them
which mostly involve heading for the interstices, the gaps in the literal framework ...
but overall: hats off to LONDON, which i liked quite a bit ... and now it's back to the drawing board for me
Generally, though, I don’t see much connection between Angelopoulos and Tarr despite the length of shots. Perhaps one fairly basic distinction is that Tarr seems much more interested in stasis, mainly the stasis of his characters lives, their moral and ethical entrapments. Hence, Tarr will hold close-up for ages.
Angelopoulos, on the other hand, seems more about movements and progressions through landscapes that define the political and existential conditions of his characters. And so he tends to be the more visually grandiose of the two.
on the other hand, if it's tarr's idea to show stasis by being static (or boredom by being boring--not that he does either, but your argument seems to lean in that direction: literal representation with a vengeance), then better he find another kind of auteur's shtick * the idea (presumably) is to make films people can WATCH (and derive some kind of satisfaction from), not alienate audiences out of the theater * else we're back to the paradoxical notion of putative "masterpieces" that nobody can tolerate!
Also, I think Tarr does use his long takes in a far more literal fashion than Angelopoulos does. I think we can compare some of their most lengthy shots. Isn’t the opening shot of Satantango “literal representation with a vengeance”? I mean it could be shorter or longer, but as it is the texture of the setting comes through with a vengeance, not to mention what it is like to watch cows graze… I am not sure why this is something to be critical about….
When Angelopoulos pushes his shots to such a length, it tends to serve entirely different purpose. One that pops in my head (though probably not the best example) that is of comparable length is in Ulysses Gaze when “A” interacts with his mother and witnesses his father being taken away. The handling of time in the shot is far more metaphoric (and tied into “A’s” memories and hopes) than literal.