monsieurblob

like with late Pasolini, late Rossellini splatters one on the wall with such greatness. if he didn't have enough with descartes, Medici, pascal, Louis xiv, agostino, he went and made this enormous movie that put to ridicule the producers who gave him the money, who knowing what was at stake denied distribution it if it didn't have a god's omniscient narrator pasted upon. It wasn't distributed, naturally, and yet lies light years above politically correct (the dictionary meaning of 'political correctness') tripe like Gibson's or Zeffirelli's, even light years above Scorcese's and Pasolini's Evangelio.

I say all those churches, with all that money they've taken from what legitimately should belong to philosophy or science or enjoying life or socialism or whatever, should learn to keep their money in their own propagandistic institutions and companies, should keep to their Hannah Barbera cartoons through which we've all been through in their indoctrination sessions, should continue to illegally sum numbers to their entity through baptisms at age 0, communions at age 10 and 'confirmations' at age 13... Because they won't convince anybody on equal terms, without manipulation, or financing intelligent projects like this one, which blew in their faces.

this is rossellini at his best, like francisco giulare di dio, like Europa 51, like louis xiv...

never ceases to amaze me the double standards between literature and film; those who whine about this walser adaptation wouldn't dare complain if it were in a book. and those who walk out of the cinema, does it mean they never read? the statement has to be made; it's about the sublime, anything from kant to brakhage, contrasted with that perpetual lame mimesis, democracy and identification, most cinema is rubbish.

there are staggeringly beautiful interventions of image, the sky and roman murals, and sound (i can't remember exactly). we are left to imagine in the wilderness. the theater becomes as do we.

film ceases to be constrained to the human figure and to the pro-filmic space and in the glorious nature of modern cinema leaves the frame and allows the viewer a freedom that has not been equaled in other art forms or, in fact, in life itself.

that is why modern, next to avant-garde in this art form definitely (and mostly in other artforms) has been rejected by the majority; it's too much for them.

the three movies i've reviewed in IMDb, i've claimed they were the best movies of all time. that is hardly possible when this one beats them all.

spoilers within, but absolutely nothing can spoil this movie, so no spoilers in fact.

one can see why such a great movie inspired such another great movie like 'permanent vacation'. to think of what it's all become since this, now that order has returned. and wasn't this made the same year the apocalypses sounded with the star wars parade? it just stuns me to think how mediocre popular films are compared to something as hugely magnificent as this.

Menace comes to town and is under the constant threat of cat-women in an obvious homage to feuillade (and if it isn't an homage to feuillade, who cares and if they aren't cat-women, who cares too, though they sure look like them). the usual causality in ordered movies is made fun of and ridiculed and shattered in sequences like the one where we find two leathered women knocked on the floor, the lights having been lit up, the shot having emerged from a sea of night city lights.

the cinema has not ever witnessed a sequence as emotionally powerful as the one in which Menace tries to throw the kitten out of the window. both the montage before and after collide unto and away from this masterful kitten sequence, making it the most powerful in my long time as cineaste.

the love affair between Harlow and menace beats anything by bresson, and we all know bresson was great. but this is just sublime. pressing their faces against the wall, returning to the silent age of movie making.

Menace gets locked into an apartment by some weirdo dame and the dialog between the two reaches artistic heights unreached by anything ever or before, at least from what i've seen. if dialog in movies mirrors normal conversations in life, this movie testaments to the sublime nature of dialog in modern cinema, that which belongs to the loony bin mode, the cosmic, which we in our chronic mediocrity, pandering to the 'bitch-goddess', as d.h.Lawrence would say, continuously try to avoid. the sheer copy- mimesis- of normal people that cinema has returned to being. this, nah, this is a cinema of sheddin off layers of skin, discovering new languages and planets.

the conversation between the punks, organizing their offensive on Menace and banging their heads on walls, is sheer genius. the cinematic orchestration, even better, absolutely sublime.

the position of the camera is absolutely God-like, filming Menace's conversation from a distance in the beginning, with the river beyond them in an exemplary use of depth of the image both the conversation with that first agent and, as Menace walks away, the hilariously suspicious interchange of looks with some guy. these are truly amazing moments in the history of the cinema.

the conversation with the cab driver is of historical importance, light years in front of silly nonsense like collateral and night on earth, and yes, far better than Melville.

the first image of Menace, walking towards us down a well lit corridor is stunningly beautiful.

Menace starts out alright asking for help and some such stuff but ends in a bad patch, watching him walk down the street battered and drunk is yet another cinematic pleasure.

i dunno, it actually isn't that stunning, but it's still absolutely stunning. very recommendable stuff.

p.s. the grumpy gremlins at IMDb only allow 1000 word essays, so i'll stick the second part of my review in my blog: http://theblobarchives.blogspot.com/

'the other's don't have planes' as he wades through rubble, on his way to a mental hospital to find his mum, yet after having gone to see some woman (gf?, sister?)who strikes up a staggeringly beautiful pose (for some reason or other), waking up on some rooftop, meeting some loony bin woman hysterical, passing by a musician on the street, meeting his Parisian other, leaving that staggeringly beautiful woman behind, getting on the boat and leaving us with a beautiful portrayal of NY in the last image. it's an apolitical film- indeed, spiritual- far from the silly pseudo-intellectual tripe of a woody allen or of the silly paranoid-race one of spike lee. one to be treasured.