Tag Archives: cinematography

Classic Film Review: Matewan (1987)

Classic Film Review: Matewan (1987)

Directed by John Sayles

Written by John Sayles

Produced by Peggy Rajski and Maggie Renzi

Main Cast: Chris Cooper, James Earl Jones, Mary McDonnell, Will Oldham, David Strathairn, Kevin Tighe, Gordon Clapp, Bob Gunton, etc.

Cinematography by Haskell Wexler

** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS **



For me, John Sayles represents almost everything that is admirable about independent filmmaking and is quite simply a phenomenal screenwriter. His best scripts never feel mechanically constructed. They breathe. Characters wander into scenes carrying entire histories with them, and seemingly casual conversations reveal class, politics, relationships, disappointments and decades of buried resentment. Films such as the magnificent, Matewan (1987), Passion Fish (1992), Eight Men Out (1988) and impressive, Lone Star (1996) demonstrate just how sophisticated his writing can be, yet there is rarely anything flashy or self-conscious about it.

Moreover, I also love the sheer pragmatism of the career he built. Sayles understood that being an independent filmmaker didn’t mean pretending Hollywood didn’t exist. He started out writing wonderfully entertaining low-budget genre pictures for Roger Corman — Piranha (1978), The Lady in Red (1979), Alligator (1980) and Battle Beyond the Stars (1980) among them — and went on to become a successful screenwriter and highly regarded script doctor on much bigger Hollywood productions. He could take the money and experience from those assignments and then return to the films that really mattered to him. Rather than waiting for the industry to give him permission to make his movies, he found a way of financing and sustaining them himself.

And perhaps that is why I find Sayles so inspiring. The Hollywood work didn’t dilute his independence — in many ways, it enabled it. Across decades of filmmaking, he retained his curiosity, his integrity and his belief that audiences were intelligent enough to engage with complicated characters and complicated ideas. For any filmmaker trying to make personal work outside the mainstream, John Sayles isn’t simply a great writer-director. He’s a genuine indie filmmaking hero — and proof that it is possible to survive within the film business without allowing the business to define the films you make.

I recently re-watched, Matewan (1987), having not seen it for years. It is a beautifully crafted, deeply humane piece of American cinema in which the personal, political and historical become inseparable. Taking the real-life Matewan coal conflicts of 1920 as his foundation, Sayles creates something far richer than a conventional historical drama. This is a film about miners and their families, immigrants and outsiders, union organisers and company men; about people discovering that their only real strength lies in standing together against corporate bosses prepared to use intimidation, exploitation and outright violence to maintain their power.



There is an incredible humanity running throughout the film. Sayles understands the divisions between these workers — racial, cultural, religious and economic — and therefore never makes their eventual solidarity feel easy or sentimental. The miners have to overcome suspicion and prejudice before recognising that the forces dividing them are also helping to keep them powerless. At the centre of it all is Chris Cooper, superb as union organiser Joe Kenehan: quiet, intelligent, principled and determined to prevent an already volatile situation from descending into violence. Around him Sayles constructs an entire community, allowing individual lives, marriages, friendships and rivalries to exist alongside the larger political struggle.

The film is also visually magnificent. Working with the great cinematographer Haskell Wexler, Sayles gives Matewan (1987) a rich, earthy, almost tactile quality. The mountains, forests, railway tracks, wooden houses and coal-blackened interiors don’t merely provide an interesting period backdrop; they seem to contain the history of the people living and working within them. There is mud, smoke, sweat, blood, tears and darkness everywhere, contrasted with the natural beauty of the West Virginia landscape. The mines themselves feel oppressive and dangerous, while the wider landscape can appear both beautiful and imprisoning. Further, while these people live among extraordinary natural beauty they are being economically trapped by the company that controls the coal mines.

Rather than building the film around conventional movie stars, Sayles assembled the kind of extraordinary American character actors who make every face and every voice feel as though it belongs in this world. Chris Cooper – in his debut feature – gives the film its moral centre, while James Earl Jones brings enormous dignity, warmth and authority to ‘Few Clothes’ Johnson. David Strathairn is wonderfully memorable as Sid Hatfield, and Mary McDonnell brings intelligence and emotional complexity to Elma Radnor. Then there is Kevin Tighe as Hickey, one of the Baldwin-Felts agents sent into Matewan to intimidate the miners and break their resistance. Tighe gives the film a genuinely menacing presence: smiling, controlled and utterly comfortable with the threat of violence.

The combination of historical detail, political conviction, memorable acting and direction, magnificent cinematography, beautifully observed characterisation and gripping storytelling is what makes Matewan (1987) such a remarkable achievement. Sayles takes a specific labour dispute in a West Virginia mining town and turns it into something both intimate and expansive: a story about solidarity, dignity, prejudice, exploitation and the terrible price ordinary people can pay when they challenge entrenched power. Yet for all its anger, Matewan (1987) never loses its compassion. Sayles remains interested in people first. It is muscular, intelligent, visually beautiful and deeply moving filmmaking, made with enormous integrity — and one of the finest examples of just how powerful American independent cinema can be.

Mark: 9.5 out of 11


Classic Film Review: The Master (2012)

Classic Film Review: The Master (2012)

Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

Written by Paul Thomas Anderson

Produced by: JoAnne Sellar, Daniel Lupi, Paul Thomas Anderson, Megan Ellison etc.

Main cast: Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Adams, Laura Dern, Jesse Plemons, Ambyr Childers, Rami Malek, etc.

Cinematography by Mihai Mălaimare Jr.

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***



Of late, I have been watching, as research to develop a feature film concerned with religion, faith and complex human behaviour, many religious themed films. Indeed, I especially love films and documentaries about cults. Especially where religion is used to control human beings and make them do crazy things. What possesses another person to want to control others? Power, lust, greed or all of the above?

Cult leaders are often extremely charismatic and talented people too. Further, they can be dangerous people who use their influence to make money, commit crime, manipulate and abuse others. Thus from a human and dramatic perspective, cults and religious characters are always fascinating to write about.

In Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master (2012), he explores the relationship between a lost soul drawn to a movement that may or may not be a reflection of Scientology. Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix), a World War II veteran is pulled toward Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a commanding leader of a cult known as “The Cause”. But, arguably, not much happens other than Quell having a series of breakdowns amidst post-traumatic stress and alcoholism, before taking his chaos and violence into Dodd’s church and family. Anderson is one of the great humanist and existential filmmakers working today, but The Master (2012), having watched it at least twice, I found it too impenetrable and alienating for me.

Yet, in my filmic research I have watched The Master (2012) a third time and have now identified a number of reasons why I have not connected with the film. They are both structural and thematic. My expectations were that this film would be a deep historical dive into the establishing of L. Ron Hubbard’s creation of Scientology. Albeit, it would be a veiled one to avoid the ire of the Scientologist organisation, who are known to attack people or companies that critique their ways. So, I am complicit there because ultimately one should not judge a work before watching it. Anderson’s choices and approach are way more personal than a traditional biopic and I should not be so arrogant to expect him to make a film just for me.

So, with my expectations on an in-depth analysis of the cult of Scientology quelled, structurally The Master (2012) further jars with me on a story level. Such narrative cracks appear all through the overall character arc of character Freddie Quell. If the film, as the first act establishes well, effectively delivered a character study of a sex-addicted, alcoholic, PTSD suffering, angry World War 2 veteran struggling to cope with existence, I could certainly have been compelled by that. Ultimately, The Master (2012) is a dramatic two-hander facing Quell’s out-of-control, human car-crash versus Lancaster’s intelligent and controlling patriarch. Anderson also once again, as he did in Hard Eight (1996), Boogie Nights (1997), and There Will Be Blood (2007), explores the father-son power dynamic between these two characters.



Yet, introducing Lancaster and “The Cause” to Quell’s character development has little or no effect on him. I understand Anderson may be saying Quell is a lost soul, but what emotional impact or feeling can the audience to take from this? Quell finishes the film relatively unchanged by Lancaster’s auditing, “spiritual” advice and fatherly tutelage. Yes, in real life, people often don’t change and behave the same throughout their lives committed to the same self-destructive behaviour. However, I felt that if Quell could not change for the better perhaps he could have gone even deeper into despair within his religious experience.

To conclude: Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master (2012) is, on a purely cinematic level, close to technically perfect. It contains some of the finest acting ever committed to screen, particularly from Philip Seymour Hoffman as Lancaster Dodd. Hoffman manages to make Dodd charismatic, ridiculous, paternal, threatening and strangely vulnerable, often within the same scene. His performance is matched by Joaquin Phoenix’s extraordinary physical transformation as Freddie Quell, but it is Hoffman who fascinates me most: the booming confidence of the public performer repeatedly giving way to flashes of insecurity, anger and desperation whenever his authority is challenged.

Technically, the film is equally remarkable. Mihai Mălaimare Jr.’s 65mm cinematography gives the images an extraordinary richness and clarity, while the colours, period detail, compositions and use of light make virtually every frame feel meticulously constructed. There are moments when The Master (2012) is simply one of the most beautiful American films of the twenty-first century. And yet, for all that mastery, I have never enjoyed the film as much as its critical reputation suggests I should.

Its central problem for me is the almost broken-backed, water-and-oil combination of Freddie Quell’s under-nourished emotional journey and the film’s tantalising but ultimately limited exploration of Dodd’s movement, “The Cause”. The parallels with Scientology are obvious and fascinating, yet Anderson seems reluctant to investigate the psychology, mechanics and seductive power of cults with the depth the material promises. Instead, the film repeatedly retreats towards the relationship between Freddie and Dodd — a relationship performed magnificently but one in which Freddie’s emotional development can feel frustratingly elusive.

Mark: 8.5 out of 11


Classic Film Review: Woman in the Dunes (1964)

Classic Film Review: Woman in the Dunes (1964)

Directed by Hiroshi Teshigahara

Screenplay by Kōbō Abe
– Based on The Woman in the Dunes
by Kōbō Abe


Produced by Kiichi Ichikawa and Tadashi Ono

Main cast: Eiji Okada, Kyōko Kishida, Kōji Mitsui

Cinematography by Hiroshi Segawa

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***



I’d never seen Woman in the Dunes (1964) before, but after watching the director’s cut on the BFI Player, it has now catapulted into one of the best films I have ever seen. This could be first-watch bias, however, thematically, emotionally, philosophically and stylistically speaking, it absolutely touched upon, connected and spoke to me greatly about my life’s experiences and the human condition.

Niki Junpei (Eiji Okada), a frustrated schoolteacher and amateur entomologist from Tokyo, travels to a remote coastal village in search of rare insects. After missing the last bus home, he accepts an invitation to stay overnight with a young widow (Kyōko Kishida) who lives alone in a hut at the bottom of a vast sand dune. He soon learns that her husband and daughter were killed in a sandstorm and that she spends every night shovelling away the endless sand that threatens to bury her home. Though Junpei initially sees himself as a temporary guest, strange comments from the villagers hint that something more sinister is unfolding.

The following morning, Junpei discovers that the rope ladder leading out of the sand pit has been removed. Trapped by the villagers, he realizes he has been chosen to become the widow’s permanent companion and labourer, helping her dig sand that the village secretly sells for profit. As he struggles to escape, Junpei learns that the widow is also a prisoner of the community, both of them controlled through dependence on the villagers for food and water. What begins as an accidental overnight stay becomes a nightmare of confinement, survival, and the gradual erosion of freedom beneath the relentless weight of the sand.



Hiroshi Teshigahara’s Woman in the Dunes (1964) is one of those rare films where image, character, theme and performance become inseparable. Shot in pristine black and white by cinematographer Hiroshi Segawa, it is visually astonishing: every grain of sand, bead of sweat and shadow across a human body is rendered with an almost microscopic intensity. The beauty of the photography is deliberately juxtaposed with the darkness of Niki Junpei’s predicament. What begins as an innocent expedition to collect insects becomes an existential prison, as he finds himself trapped by commerce, a surrogate marriage and, most powerfully, the natural wall of sand that pins both him and the unnamed widow to their strange subterranean existence.

The sand is both physical and metaphorical. It shifts, pours, consumes and rebuilds itself, turning Junpei’s captivity into a distinctly Sisyphean struggle. Every attempt at escape merely seems to return him to where he started, yet what makes Junpei such a compelling character is his absolute refusal to surrender. He builds ladders, devises increasingly ingenious escape plans, attempts to train crows to carry messages and continually tries to outwit the villagers who have ensnared him. Each failure intensifies rather than diminishes his determination. Like Sisyphus pushing the rock back up the hill, Junpei is condemned to confront an obstacle that endlessly renews itself.

Yet Woman in the Dunes (1964) is far more complicated than a straightforward story of imprisonment. Junpei is trapped by the villagers, but also by economic necessity, social expectation and an enforced domestic relationship that gradually begins to resemble a marriage. The villagers need the sand removed; the widow needs a man to help her survive; Junpei needs water, food and eventually human companionship. Teshigahara transforms this bizarre situation into a miniature society in which freedom itself becomes increasingly difficult to define. The more Junpei fights against his surroundings, the more deeply he becomes connected to them.

The relationship between Junpei and the widow, played with extraordinary physical and emotional commitment by Eiji Okada and Kyōko Kishida, gives the film its human core. Their intimacy moves between hostility, dependency, tenderness and desire without ever becoming conventional romance. Although sex is an important element of the film, Teshigahara rarely needs explicit imagery. Bodies appear as silhouettes, fragments and outlines; Kishida’s naked form is often suggested rather than displayed. A shoulder, a curve, a shadow or sand clinging to skin can communicate more than an explicit image ever could. One sees more from less throughout.



That principle extends to the entire film. Teshigahara makes the smallest details monumental. Sand resembles water, skin resembles landscape and the walls of the pit sometimes appear infinite. Extreme close-ups turn grains of sand into an entire universe, while wider compositions emphasise just how insignificant these two people are against the enormous shifting landscape surrounding them. The immaculate monochrome photography makes the film simultaneously beautiful and suffocating. The sand can look almost luminous in one shot and utterly threatening in the next.

There is also a wonderful irony at the heart of Junpei’s predicament. He arrives as an entomologist searching for insects, only to become a specimen himself: captured, observed and contained within a pit from which he cannot escape. The collector has become the collected. Teshigahara never labours the metaphor because he does not need to. It exists naturally within the imagery and situation, allowing the audience to discover its implications rather than having them explained.

Woman in the Dunes (1964) is virtually flawless in character, theme, cinematography, direction and performance. More than sixty years after its release, it remains startlingly modern and visually unlike almost anything else. Its central image — two human beings endlessly shovelling away a mountain of sand that will simply return tomorrow — is cinema distilled into an unforgettable metaphor for existence itself.

The only negative? Why didn’t I watch it sooner?

Mark: 10.5 out 11


SIX OF THE BEST #30 – FAVOURITE FILM MONTAGES!

SIX OF THE BEST #30 – FAVOURITE FILM MONTAGES!

Who doesn’t love a film montage!? The passage of time edited and set to a memorable soundtrack is fine cinematic tradition. Not only is a montage a great way to tell a story visually, it can also give pace to a narrative, provide a perfect cinematic bridge to the final act or even supply emotional impetus at the start and middle of a film.

Here I choose six of my favourite movie montages. All have been selected due to both the style and content of the sequence, plus the music accompanying the montage. Of course, I could have chosen a more artistic aspect to montage by including examples from Eisenstein, Kubrick or the incredible editing in the The Godfather (1972), when Michael Corleone wipes out his rivals during his nephew’s baptism. That I will save for another day.


ROCKY (1976)

No film franchise has exploited the fight montage and training sequence to the max like Rocky. I could have chosen others, but the original remains the best. I love the urban locations and the Philadelphian streets are just so gritty as Stallone’s down-on-his-luck boxer gets a crack at the championship of the world! That music just soars too!

SCARFACE (1983)

With a combustible screenplay written by Oliver Stone, Scarface (1983), is a cocaine driven and incendiary viewing experience. Everything is ramped up to eleven, including: the violence, shouting, swearing, shooting, politicking, drug-taking, sex, killing, avarice, cocaine, money-making, decadence and corruption. It is an epic film with many classic scenes, but the 80’s pop-synth-driven montage here adds real pace to the brutal proceedings.


THE KARATE KID (1984)

Another fighting film and another John G. Avildsen pick! More than just a teenage Rocky rip-off, The Karate Kid (1984) is a terrific rites-of-passage drama that incorporates a love story and a boy overcoming bullies with the help of a wise mentor. Joe Esposito’s song, “You’re the Best” was originally chosen for Rocky III, but ultimately ended up here in the fantastic fighting tournament montage.


FERRIS BUELLER’S DAY OFF (1986)

John Hughes fast-paced-set-in-one-day-comedy-classic has some brilliant dialogue and is anchored superbly by Matthew Broderick’s cocky lead performance as mischievous Ferris Bueller. For all the craziness on show one of my favourite scenes is when Hughes slows the pace down at the museum. Here we get some wonderfully framed shots, sly humour and a beautiful instrumental version of The Smiths’ song, “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want!”


UP (2009)

So many films struggle to establish empathy for their characters either through bad writing or poor creative choices. Pixar, however, are masterful at establishing both character identification and motivation. None more so than in this classic montage featuring the mostly blissful life of Carl and Ellie Fredericksen. With Michael Giacchino’s iconic score called “Married Life” providing energetic and poignant emotional support, this is one of the most moving four minutes in movie history.


DJANGO UNCHAINED (2012)

Tarantino’s epic Western runs the gamut of action, violence, comedy and drama, even throwing a buddy-buddy dynamic in there for good measure. While often known for his quotable dialogue, Tarantino’s films always feature crisp editing and a powerful visual storytelling too. I love this montage in Django Unchained (2012), with Django and King Schultz framed against the wonderful snowy vistas as Jim Croce sings his catchy tune.


1917 (2019) – CINEMA REVIEW

1917 (2020) – CINEMA REVIEW

Directed by: Sam Mendes

Produced by: Sam Mendes, Pippa Harris, Jaybe-Ann Tenggren, Callum McDougall, Brian Oliver

Written by: Sam Mendes, Krysty Wilson-Cairns

Cast: George McKay, Dean Charles-Chapman, Mark Strong, Andrew Scott, Colin Firth, Claire Duburcq, Benedict Cumberbatch etc.

Cinematography: Roger Deakins

Music by: Thomas Newman

**CONTAINS HISTORICAL SPOILERS**


Image result for 1917 film

If Roger Deakins doesn’t win every single award for best cinematography in the world, I will be completely shocked! Together with Sam Mendes’ and their respective creative and production teams they have delivered a barnstorming, aggressive and beautiful work of pulsating cinema with 1917 (2019). In fact, the whole project is such a feat of technical brilliance, I think Sam Mendes will probably win best direction and the film will most likely win best film at the 2020 Academy Awards.

The form and style of the film are dictated by Mendes and Deakins audacious decision to film in one long continuous take. Set, as the title states in 1917 during World War I, we open with a long tracking shot and from there the shot never ends. Establishing the main protagonists Lance Corporal Will Schofield (George MacKay) and Lance Corporal Tom Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman), the camera glides along as they make small-talk, creating humour, warmth and calm before the storm to come. That storm derives from their mission to carry a message through perilous territory and prevent 1,600 British soldiers falling into a German trap. Immediately the stakes are high and these two brave men set out to achieve this dangerous task.



The choice to film in one continuous shot is a fascinating one and here it is executed brilliantly. Of course, there are occasions where a cut has occurred, but this is masked by darkness, water, camera movement or CGI. I personally am not a massive fan of longer takes though. They can be seen as a stylish, but empty process and usually work best in opening scenes. Moreover, by not cutting or using montage techniques I feel you can lose suspense, impact and pace from a film. However, that is certainly not the case with 1917 (2019). Here it works perfectly with the camera following, tracking, running, falling and stalking the characters, so much so, the audience becomes the camera. We are right in this war with them!

As we track Blake and Schofield through bunkers, trenches, fields, farmhouses, derelict buildings and villages, the stench of death and destruction surrounds them. Mendes and his writing partner, Krysty Wilson-Cairns, also create some heart-sweating and explosive set-pieces for the soldiers to overcome. Indeed, the pace with which they regularly find themselves under attack, married with the filmmaking style, puts you in the heart of the action and fight. The final battle where Schofield valiantly strives to reach his final destination and relay the message is utterly exhilarating and spellbinding cinema.



As the two everyman soldiers, George MacKay and Dean-Charles Chapman give convincing performances. MacKay is especially memorable as his tall frame, hollowed cheekbones and haunted eyes dominate the screen. Furthermore, the two leads are supported ably by a “who’s-who” of British actors. The likes of: Mark Strong, Colin Firth, Benedict Cumberbatch and Andrew Scott puncture the action throughout with their quality. Scott is especially excellent as a cynical officer, drunk and bereft of hope. The two heroes ignore his jaded battle worn persona, but soon find themselves surrounded by corpses, quickly coming to understand this character’s despairing heart.

Like Dunkirk (2017), the film is arguably thin on characterisation and character development, but stylistically impressive in it’s rendition of the horrors of war. Indeed, when the events switch to night, Deakin’s lighting skills dominate as he paints images with darkness, moonlight and fire with majestic results. Thus, overall, one could argue this is just one long chase film; an extended version of the climax of another World War I classic, Gallipoli (1981). However, the cinematic marvel that is, 1917 (2019), overcomes it’s narrative and thematic familiarity with an amazing technical achievement in both form and style. Awards glory beckons for all involved; and more importantly the film pays fine tribute to the gallant soldiers who served in an ultimately senseless war.

Mark: 9.5 out of 11