08.30.10 | guest-blogs | FanFare GuestsPrint this Post
Guest blogger Scott Nye writes:
A lot has been made about this year being the 50th anniversary of Psycho and Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless, especially with the latter embarking on a cross-country tour, courtesy of a newly-struck 35mm print. But two other incredibly important, immeasurably influential films are also celebrating their golden anniversaries – Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura and Frederico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita. And what all of this has stirred in me is not a sort of wistful yearning for movies of this caliber to be made today, nor a desire to trace the many, many ways these four films changed cinema (though I won’t be considering Psycho for this), but rather a simple question – what happened to all the cool art films?
After all, art took off in the 1960s in a major way for a lot of reasons, but one of the less-discussed, far more “base” reasons, but I would argue incredibly important reasons is that even the stuff proclaiming itself as art was just flat-out cool in a way nothing coming out of art house cinema today is.
Breathless, for all its innovation and artfulness, is a jazzy riff on Hollywood gangster films that’s a load of fun to watch, and I’m so glad Rialto is focusing on this aspect for their ad campaign. Featuring the coolest of the cool, Jean-Paul Belmondo (who defines in his own special way the “men want to be him, women want to be with him” paradigm), Breathless is set amongst a community of semi-employed intellectuals, the kind of crowd us hipsters ache to be and who must have even made its contemporary beat generation jealous.
Meanwhile, Antonioni meditated on alienation and loneliness, but he did so with the stunningly beautiful Monica Vitti, the Italian countryside, and black-and-white photography that is still so far beyond anything that came before or since. And Fellini? His image of Rome is still the one in the cultural consciousness, and his own meditation on isolation was done against the backdrop of Roman nightlife – whereas Claudia’s environment matched her emotional state, Marcello stands in stark opposition to his. A journalist specializing in gossip, Marcello’s natural habitat is wherever the party is, or sometimes, in quiet moments, just down the street.
Is there any wonder people were drawn to these films? One need only see a few frames from any of them to be hypnotized. The imagery they crafted was meant to stand the test of time; to be instantly alluring and, it seems, consciously iconic. You couldn't dispose of these pictures if you tried. They work by drawing us in with a simple image of someone you would want to be – the aloof gangster, the disaffected society girl, the man about town – then subtly undermining and eventually exposing it bare.
It’s also a tradition that died with its era. Fashion magazines and travel agencies have adopted many of the modes these films birthed, but there’s no question that foreign films have just become a lot less cool over time, not just in how they're received but in how they're made. Those that received the highest praise over the last few years include 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and Two Days, an intense drama about abortion, and Cache, a meditative thriller about a man coming to terms with his violent past. Naturally, there should be room for these sorts of films, but on thinking about where art house cinema was 50 years ago, it’s not hard to see why the audiences just aren't there anymore
Scott Nye loved movies so much, he spent four years at Emerson College earning a career-free degree in Media Studies. Now living in Portland, OR, he's trying to put that to some sort of use. For more information, visit his blog The Rail of Tomorrow.
The change is really more in the moviegoer than the moviemaker. Your article couldn't come at a better time with "The American" just in release. It is a combination of both "Breathless" with George Clooney for Belmondo and back again to Italy and beautiful Italian women and a totally different style of living.
Coming out of the movie three of us last weekend were enthralled: the story was sparse and not a thing revealed that was not necessary to know. The shots were telling and yet never revealing too much: is that woman in the corner of the frame important or simply in the corner of the frame? The suspense seldom ebbed and the slower pace and lingering shots only created more suspense when we tried to answer "why" does the camera hesitate.
But modern moviegoers don't know how to enjoy that any more. It means "nothing happened." It means "it was boring." But how can they be blamed when they rarely have to think for themselves in a film. Everything is spelled out and all emotions are hyped, startling, and rarely felt except for anger or sadness.
I read the reviews of "The American" this weekend in People Magazine and Entertainment Weekly. Both gave the movie a middle-of-the-road grade: two stars and a "C." Clooney was faulted for tuning down his charm, but never noted for deepening his characterization. When the plot was explained it was minimized to what was obviously shown in the movie; and in this movie, the real plot is never obvious.
And at first, I wanted to complain of these reviewers and how little they know. But I realize they are children of their time and their time is of explosions and actions, obvious plot steps and plain explanations. Actors can't simply show it anymore. Some action or line must make it obvious and as a result the audience doesn't go into the movie as much as the movie comes to them.
Really thoughtful American movies must be independents more and more. And without the big bucks, the big blowups, the big hype, these indies run less and less chance of being seen on the big screen. Thank heaven for DVDs, IFC, and Sundance on the small screen.
Oh, I take a modest exception to movies of this nature being referred to as art films. The foreign films you speak of were often shown in theatres referred to as "art houses," (as were many porno theatres back then). And I think the term slid onto the films themselves. But every good movie is art.
Last week there were comments on the best ballet movie. I just saw "Mao's Last Dancer" and it is stunning. A very close second to "Red Shoes" Li Cinxum is supreme in the dance sequence. The story is true and very accurately portrayed. For bqallet lovers the movie is a must see.
During the '50s and '60s the only "art" theatre in the area drew me across town every week. The movies were usually black and white, had casts unknown to me, and sometimes with sub-titles, but they were distinguished because they were more influenced by the thought in them than the investment. No million dollar stars but actors, people playing characters you believed in. Plots that involved you and didn't rely on sex, technicolor blood and gore, or graphic violence to keep you awake. "Cool"? You better believe it!
How about "Les Amants de Verone", with Anouk Aimee and Serge Reggiani? Does anybody have this wonderful film (with its opening scenes in a glass-blowing factory on Murano --- unforgettable !) ? I have been trying for years to find it.
The "cool art films" are actually still around. Sometimes it just takes "time" for these films to be sorted out and there reputation to be increased.
If you look at Hong Kong you see two auteurs that fit that category quite well. You have Wong Kar-wai's work which is brilliant in its use of cinematography, set-use, dialog, musings and more. Then you have the ultra-cool work of Johnnie To who is one of my favorite auteurs. Even if you do not like his constant use of triad/cop themes he still has the great Sparrow from 2008 which is influenced from French New Wave.
Here is a quote I use from Jonathan Rosenbaum on why we should not dismiss old film (and a dig at Nick James). It also includes mention of several directors that might fit your description of "cool art":
"This makes me wonder how a contemporary critic as sophisticated as Nick James can still make claims such as the following (in the Spring 2009 Film Quarterly): “The wonderful golden run of great international cinema in the 1990s that brought us the best of Edward Yang, Wong Kar-wai, Takeshi Kitano, and Abbas Kiarostami, among many others, petered out several years ago.” But if we were already oblivious to so much important stuff being made in the ‘30s, ‘40s, ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s, what gives Nick such confidence that we can be on top of these things today, when the task of following everything that’s going on is arguably even more impossible than it was then? Does he really think that critics are so prescient that they no longer need to worry about missing any of the important films being made—which, thanks to the uniform brilliance and prescience (and, presumably, the absolute reach) of festival programmers and distributors, are readily apparent? And if not, what kind of sense are we supposed to make of his statement?"
Also what about the work of Bela Tarr as well? He might overuse the long take, but there certainly has been some brilliant cinema from him.