THE DECAMERON (1971) - Review

The Decameron

Comedy/Drama/History
1 hour and 51 minutes
Rated: R

Written by: Pier Paolo Pasolini
Directed by: Pier Paolo Pasolini
Produced by: Alberto Grimaldi

Cast:
Franco Citti
Ninetto Davoli
Pier Paolo Pasolini

The World's First and Still the Greatest Erotic Masterpiece. Now brought to the screen with all the genius of Pier Paolo Pasolini

For his first entry into what would become known as his Trilogy of Life films, infamous Italian arthouse director Pier Paolo Pasolini would choose to adapt Giovanni Boccaccio's fourteenth century tale of sex, sin, and mayhem. And with the exception of transposing the stories within from Florence to Naples, Pasolini, to his credit, managed to keep a massive level of respect for the source material at hand by not altering the stories within to extreme degrees.

It would seem that Boccaccio's fourteenth century book of tales was tailor made for Pasolini, as would also seem the case for the other two sources for the second and third installments in Pasolini's Trilogy of Life: The Canterbury Tales and Arabian Nights. All three contain stories that swirl around and make excessive commentary about sex, love, religion, hypocrisy, poverty, deceit, and power - ideas that Pasolini attempted to explore profoundly in essentially all of his works. The Decameron, though, in particular, seems to set itself apart from the other two films by making great use of the director's ability to create moments that are undeniably funny.

It is the comedy of The Decameron that gives it a level of genius that while perhaps isn't on par with Pasolini's exploration of power in his later film Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom, it does make the movie enjoyable to behold. While unquestionably Pasolini was probably more interested in exploring ideas of sex and deception, his utilization of humor in these sequences actually tends to outshine any other motives he may have had. Because it is such a lengthy film, there are sequences within that fall short. But the ones that are funny are marvelously so. In fact, what is perhaps most brilliant is Pasolini's use of various types of humor throughout the film. There's humor that feels more slapstick in nature, such as a story's hero falling into a vat of excrement, then of course there's deceptive humor such as when a tricky gardener reveals to a convent of horny nuns that he hasn't been mute or deaf all along and is well aware of their scandalous secrets. By having the delivery of the humor change throughout, Pasolini is able to keep this otherwise ancient and stale content all the more engaging. He had essentially, and perhaps wisely, tapped into the very essence of what has allowed Boccaccio's text to survive and be read for centuries after its creation.

The film is absolutely stunning to behold. Cinematographer Tonino Delli Colli captures urban towns, and rural countrysides with extraordinary beauty. There's an overall washed out tone to the film, that gives it a feeling of ancient quality - allowing for what is being seen to really be believed as being the fourteenth century. Also contributing to this are the film's wonderful costumes created by Danilo Donati. Donati's creations range from the vibrant to the bland, and mirror the blend of individuals one would sure find passing each other on the streets of fourteenth century Naples.

Because the stories of The Decameron move at a very quick speed, never allowing us as viewers to spend more than perhaps five minutes or so with a particular vignette, the performances within never amount to anything that is profound or remarkable. That being said, none fo the performers deliver bad performances, and many remain memorable for their signature Italian mannerisms that are altogether extremely charming and add to the overall humor and good nature of the film. Perhaps the only performance within the movie that feels out of place is the director's own cameo as a painter. Pasolini is seen in a sequence that is returned to throughout the film, painting a fresco inside of a monastery. By the film's end his fellow artists and the priests praise him for his work - an unfinished mural. What is being said here seems confusing. Was Pasolini commenting on his thoughts that perhaps the film itself was unfinished, but in its unfinished nature had reached a state of completion? This sequence overall, again, feels out of place with the humor and good nature of the rest of the film.

As stated above The Decameron is a long movie, filled with a lot of small vignettes. Because of this, the overall pace of the film does feel slow and as if it is lagging. It'd be impossible for any viewer not to start getting antsy by the film's second act, no matter how entertained they are by the various vignettes. Another, perhaps shocking, downfall of the film is its score. Legendary composer Ennio Morricone is responsible for this, and it is by far and away quite possibly his most unimpressive work. Then again, this could just seem to be the case given the score of The Decameron failing to reach any sort of masterful levels that Morricone is more than capable of.

While it may have been one of Pasolini's most successful motion-pictures, The Decameron is a lengthy film that ultimately suffers in being too long for its own good. Various vignettes within will leave viewers scratching their heads and wondering what they had to do with the overall themes and ideas that are being explored. Still, Pasolini's grasp for what is humorous and the overall beautiful cinematography and costumes make The Decameron an all around entertaining film, that any movie lover - especially those who enjoy foreign cinema - will find endearing.

6.5/10

LADY SNOWBLOOD 2: LOVE SONG OF VENGEANCE (1974) - Review

Lady Snowblood 2: Love Song of Vengeance

Drama/Thriller
1 hour and 29 minutes
Rated: Not Rated

Written by: Kiyohide Ohara & Norio Osada
Directed by: Toshiya Fujita
Produced by: Kikumaru Okuda

Cast:
Meiko Kaji
Yoshio Harada
Juzo Itami
Kazuko Yoshiyuki

Following the enormous success of legendary Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa's samurai movies, such as Yojimbo, Sanjuro, and of course the epic Seven Samurai, Japanese filmmakers began churning out violent samurai films at an enormous rate to the point that these films earned a genre title all of their own: Chambara, a term which essentially translates into the process of adapting the fighting arts into films. Chambara films didn't necessarily have to pertain to swordplay, but again, largely following the success of Kurosawa's films, most of them did.

In 1973, Korean born filmmaker Toshiya Fujita released his masterpiece of cinematic, blood-soaked vengeance, Lady Snowblood, which performed enormously well throughout the world (better than most would expect a Japanese exploitation film would perform, anyway). The story was based on a popular manga and showcased an iconic performance by Japanese actress/singer Meiko Kaji as the titular figure. The story's simplistic plot of revenge, its enormously bloody sword fights, and of course its stunning cinematography all helped in its becoming an iconic piece of exploitation cinema. Perhaps it isn't that surprising then, given its success, that Fujita decided to follow up Lady Snowblood with a sequel in as little time as possible, in order to exploit and build upon the success of the first film.

Thus, Lady Snowblood 2: Love Song of Vengeance was born. Like with its predecessor, Fujita chose to utilize the already written manga again for inspiration regarding the story's sequel. This would prove perhaps to be an inconsequential decision for multiple reasons. The first Lady Snowblood was a straightforward revenge story, that's biggest strength was its plot's simplicity. While it undeniably had undertones of a political nature, none of those sentiments boiled up enough to permeate through the surface layers of the film, and merely helped to serve with the backdrop of turn of the century Japan that the film was set against. In Lady Snowblood 2, however, politics have taken over completely, and serve as the main catalyst to the film's "vengeance" that follows. Whereas in the first film, audiences saw violent acts of rape and murder springing revenge into action, in the sequel, Meiko's titular hero doesn't become inspired by vengeance until the violent politics of the era have caused those whom she cares about, or rather those she owes her life to, to be killed or hurt in some horrific and violent manner. Meiko's hero Yuki, in fact, at first joins forces with a self-proclaimed anarchist in order to attack the very corrupt government officials who freed her from the gallows. While perhaps this all made sense in the manga source material, over the course of the two films it seems completely preposterous. Yuki is a revenge driven figure in the first film with no affiliations to anyone but those whom she had loved - her family. Her desire to join forces with someone for their political motivations, no matter how just they are framed to be in the context of the story, seem totally out of character for her.

Equally uninspiring are the film's technical qualities. The first Lady Snowblood had brilliant cinematography that captured its violent sequences in an absolutely stunning and gorgeous manner. Sword fights played out like beautiful operas, with the crimson fountains of over exaggerated wounds spewing blood across white snowy surfaces and the walls of beautiful palaces. Here, in the sequel, cinematographer Tatsuo Suzuki, who did not photograph the first film, does nothing to replicate this. In fact, much of the sword fights in Lady Snowblood 2 feel dull in nature. They lack the blood and mayhem of the original just as much as they do the beauty. And as this is a politically driven plot, the sword fights feel few and far between. The film's final showdown does reach a closeness to the quality of the original film's, but it still falls short in the grand scope of things. The film's soundtrack by composer Kenjiro Hirose feels bizarre and again, completely different from what was in the first film. Perhaps the music would have been better suited for a spaghetti western, for there are moments that feel very Ennio Morricone-esque in nature.

Besides all of its problems, Lady Snowblood 2 does manage to maintain some captivating and engaging moments. As previously stated, the film's final showdown is a worthy conclusion and is absolutely brilliant in execution. The gore effects are astounding, especially in two particularly nasty moments of eye-gouging that will make all gore-hounds and exploitation fans cheer with joy, and would undeniably bring a tear of happiness to the eye of someone like Lucio Fulci - the king of eyeball torture in cinema. Meiko Kaji is terrific as the film's hero again, and it is perhaps all too unfortunate this badass woman of cinema isn't as world renowned as she ought to be. The other performers are equally engaging, with the film's capitalist-driven villains being the most entertaining to watch perform. 

While Lady Snowblood 2: Love Song of Vengeance can't manage to live up to the amazing qualities of its predecessor, it still remains a fun chambara film with enough engaging qualities that it will undeniably give those who adore this kind of film an overall sense of satisfaction with the end product. It fails in ambition, it fails in beauty, and it fails in grasping onto the knowledge of what made the first film so brilliant - but nevertheless, you'll still have a blood-soaked good time with the end product.

6.5/10

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN (2007) - Review

No Country for Old Men

Crime/Drama/Thriller
2 hours and 2 minutes
Rated: R

Written by: Joel Coen & Ethan Coen
Directed by: Joel Coen & Ethan Coen
Produced by: Joel Coen, Ethan Coen, and Scott Rudin

Cast:
Tommy Lee Jones
Javier Bardem
Josh Brolin

There Are No Clean Getaways

The Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan, seem to have been as intrigued by westerns - both the American westerns of the 1930s and 1940s, as well as the Italian-made spaghetti westerns of the 1960s and 1970s - as far back as the starts of their careers. In fact, it can be argued, that no other genre or movement in cinema has played a bigger influence on them as filmmakers. Their films are riddled with tributes and homages to various films within the genre, so much so that it's enough to give Quentin Tarantino a run for his money. Raising Arizona, Fargo, The Big Lebowski, and O Brother, Where Art Thou? are all films that are deeply indebted to the westerns of the past. But nowhere does their love for this genre accumulate more into a near-perfect homage than it does in their film No Country for Old Men.

The story, based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy, is on all surface levels a textbook western, despite its 1970s setting. A working man stumbles upon a pile of money, of course takes it, and is then thrown into jeopardy when the outlaws who feel the money is rightfully theirs come after him. But the Coen's take this rather basic western plot and take it to some new and ultimately deeply nihilistic levels of storytelling. From the beginning, we are introduced to the outlaw who will be hunting the story's protagonist as being a psychotic and deranged killer, who conjures up as many nightmares just from wearing socks and carrying an air-gun that Michael Myers achieved by brandishing a knife. We understand that it may very well be a hopeless task for our hero to compete with such a silently deranged adversary from the story's beginning. This lays the further groundwork that unfolds with the story's progression. Then of course square in the center you have the film's lawman, who is now at the brink of retirement and has seen and heard about so much monstrosity in the world he is losing interest in the duties of his job. And because of all of this, No Country for Old Men does not end on a pristine or satisfying note the way that most westerns, and even most spaghetti westerns, conclude. No Country for Old Men dives deep into hopelessness without any sort of care for the way one may feel regarding what is right and what is wrong. It is, again, a deeply nihilistic reflection of the world it represents - and it is a brilliant spin upon what could otherwise be conceived as being stereotypical western tropes.

The film is gorgeously shot by cinematographer Roger Deakins. The desaturated tones and earth-colored qualities of the sets devoid the picture of any sense of hope or comfort. Like the desert, No Country for Old Men is a dry and dusty film devoid of much sustenance - and I mean that as an extreme compliment. Most of the shots captured are still, and even those that are fluid are captured via dolly or crane. There is only one moment that Deakins noticeably utilizes handheld camerawork, and it reflects the jarring nature of the sequence in which it captures. Ultimately, No Country for Old Men is as gorgeous a movie as it is brilliant. The film's editing, by Roderick Jaynes, should also be praised. Quick cuts are utilized in very low frequency, but are placed where they are needed. By allowing most of the shots to run longer than most other editors might opt for, Jaynes does a terrific job in helping this film create the tension it desires and ultimately achieves.

And that is the most brilliant quality of No Country for Old Men, is its ability to build and create bombastic tension, and in some cases, not delivering upon its builds. Taking a play out of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, the Coen brothers opt out of utilizing a soundtrack or score for this movie. Instead, they allow for silence to be the ultimate driving force of the film's tension, and boy oh boy, does it ever work. Sequences of pure noiselessness create levels of dread that are absolutely palpable. The directors made excellent decisions in instructing their performers to fill the space with their performances in more ways than just their dialogue. And in fact, because of this, moments of extended dialogue in this film feel easy and comforting. This is most noticeable with Tommy Lee Jones's character, who can't seem to stop talking. We as an audience welcome the noise, because we have been conditioned by the film to fear the silence. The silence promises horrors, even if it doesn't always deliver on those promises.

The performances, as just stated, are all brilliant. Jones's aging sheriff is a joy to behold, and he conveys purely from the start that his overall disinterest in the lack of humanity that surrounds him indicates that he won't be riding in on a white horse to save the day the way that John Wayne or Henry Fonda might have. Josh Brolin is an admirable hero, and is completely believable as the southern, working-man type who just happened to stumble upon something in the right place at the wrong time. Similarly, we learn just enough about his character to find his heroics both understandable and believable. The supporting cast of Kelly Macdonald and Woody Harrelson are enjoyable as well, but their screen time is much too brief to amount to anything as terrific as what the film's leading men achieve. Then, of course, there is the film's crowning jewel - Javier Bardem as the sinister Anton Chigurh. Bardem's blank stares and deep-throated mumblings are so unbelievably terrifying to behold one can't help but think the man will never be able to achieve a performance as brilliant as this ever again in his entire career. It is quite literally lightning in a bottle.

With its gorgeous cinematography and competent technical aspects contributing to the overall brilliant direction of the film, No Country for Old Men remains a motion-picture fraught with tension in the most masterful ways. With this homage to the westerns of the past, filmmakers Joel and Ethan Coen achieve what is quite assuredly their most brilliant film to date.

9.5/10

THE RUSSIA HOUSE (1990) - Review

The Russia House

Drama/Romance/Thriller
2 hours and 3 minutes
Rated: R

Written by: Tom Stoppard
Directed by: Fred Schepisi
Produced by: Paul Maslansky & Fred Schepisi

Cast:
Sean Connery
Michelle Pfeiffer
Roy Scheider
James Fox
John Mahoney
Klaus Maria Brandauer

A Spy Story ... A Love Story ... A Story to Cross all Boundaries.

If the above tagline for Fred Schepisi's 1990 adaptation of novelist John le Carré's bestseller The Russia House were to serve as any indication regarding the quality of the film, it would mainly be suggesting that it is a jumbled and confused mess. Formulaically speaking, The Russia House has everything working in its favor. A bestselling novel as its source, a dynamite cast including a then-recent Academy Award winner in its leading male role, a more than capable filmmaker helming the director's chair not to mention its incredible talent filling out the rest of the crew (which I'll get to in a moment), and of course the entire resources of the USSR at its disposal - something that previously was completely unheard of in western cinema. So why didn't The Russia House live up to these promises?

For starters, there's le Carré's novel. While a bestseller and a completely engaging novel full of thrilling espionage dialogue, le Carré's material is problematic when it comes to the medium of cinema. Not all great novels are destined to make great movies. This is only natural since one is an artistic medium of words and another a medium of images. And le Carré's novel is exactly that: wordy. This wordiness is translated over to the film, and while sometimes dialogue driven films can and do work, The Russia House is not a film that succeeds in this capacity. A complicated, dialogue driven, espionage novel is thrilling to say the least. A complex, dialogue-driven, spy film is about as dull as a winter in Moscow.

These problems extend much further when considering the film's screenplay, adapted by playwright Tom Stoppard. Stoppard seemed to be adapting le Carré's novel for that medium he knew so well, the stage, rather than for the screen. The film moves from stuffy apartment interiors, to stuffy office interiors, to stuffy car interiors, to stuffy business interiors, etc. etc. to the point that the only breath of fresh air comes from the external shots meant to fully exploit the film's utilization of Russian locations. And even these exterior moments feel stuffy and cramped too. Why is that? It's largely due to the endless barrage of dull, bureaucratically driven, espionage dialogue that ceaselessly perpetuates from one scene to the next. These dialogue sequences dominate the film so much that it's nearly impossible to find moments of humanity within, and even the sequences where human emotions are expressed by its characters - mainly at the end of the film between Connery's and Pfeiffer's characters - one is already so bored with what they have seen it's hard to care.

Director Schepisi does the best he can with what he has, and granted, he did manage to pull some great performances out of his leads - although, even these are forgettable in the vast canon of their respective filmographies - the film still feels as if he over romanticized the whole thing from the start. Perhaps he had fallen so in love with le Carré's novel that he was blinded by it and had told himself over and over again that it would work on film despite the technical knowledge as a competent filmmaker that it couldn't. Cinematographer Ian Baker managed to capture some gorgeous shots of the Russian exteriors, but after a while, the overall gray and dull qualities of the interiors bleed into the overcast exteriors and do nothing to help liven up the film in any sort of sense. Similarly, editors Beth Jochem Besterveld and Peter Honess are completely guilty of allowing lengthy sequences of monuments and buildings to linger throughout the film for far too long. As an audience, we can see the splendor of the USSR in sequences with the characters in them. These included "filler" shots are unnecessary and unwarranted, and make this already too long motion-picture feel longer than it is. The one shining star of its technical qualities is its score. Legendary composer Jerry Goldsmith is responsible for orchestrating the music behind The Russia House and despite the unique Russian locations and the inclusion of Miss Pfeiffer, the music proves to be the most beautiful thing to take away from this movie.

The film's leads are fantastic as to be expected, and even Pfeiffer donning a Russian accent is completely convincing. But they can only do so much to drive this dull and uninteresting "thriller" forward, and unfortunately the resources for them to make this a majorly redeemable motion-picture aren't present within its script, nor are they given to them by its director. The supporting cast is virtually wasted, including Roy Scheider who was such an underrated talent. His talents here mount to nothing more than shuffling papers in stuffy offices and swearing enough so that the film can earn its R rating. Legendary British filmmaker Ken Russell has an interesting cameo, but one can see why Russell earned the bulk of his money by staying behind the camera.

If there is one thing to say in defense of The Russia House it is perhaps this: it was a motion-picture that dared to do something bold and different. The late-1980s became another dull era of Hollywood, with studios churning out John Hughes films and their various imitations at a rapid rate. The Russia House tried to stop that. It tried to engage its audience on a much more intellectual level, by turning the motion-picture into an artistic medium that could resemble the novel as best and as closely as it could. It wove its story in various circles, taking us backward several times before moving us forward again. It counted on us as viewers to pay close and careful attention to every piece of dialogue uttered by its characters in order to understand the mechanics of its complex story. And it promised something that maybe would not fill our hearts by its story's conclusion, but instead our heads. It was bold in that one regard. 

Unfortunately, that boldness did not pay off. Films are not novels. Audiences don't want all plot points delivered through stuffy dialogue, especially if the plots are as complex as the plot of The Russia House. And a story about a then-already dead arms race proved to be as intellectually stimulating as ... well, the already-dead real life arms race it was set against. Despite all its boldness and qualities it should have had working in its favor, including a terrific cast and crew, unique locations, and a beautiful score, The Russia House manages to be what is probably the most insipid espionage film ever made.

4.5/10