Archive for the ‘Hidden Treasures’ Category

  • 27 Feb

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    Hidden Treasures: Special Edition

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    This week, I bring to you an early, special edition of Hidden Treasures, one dedicated to three films that came to my attention by way of a fabulous organization known as Film Movement. Some of you may have heard of it, but for those who haven’t, Film Movement (located online at http://www.filmmovement.com) is a DVD-of-the-month club, one that caters to film enthusiasts, and not to the major studios.

    Taken from their web site, the following is Film Movement’s Mission Statement:

    “Film choices are dictated to us by a smaller and smaller group of major studios, which decide to release films based mostly on the stars in the cast and marketability. Many small but deserving films get squeezed out of theaters by Hollywood blockbusters and face skyrocketing marketing costs that make it daunting — if not impossible — to reach appreciative audiences. We created Film Movement because the system of releasing independent, foreign and documentary films needed to be changed. We believed that the only way to change the system was to reach out to film fans directly. Through our first of its kind DVD club our goal is to make these films more accessible. By supporting Film Movement, you are directly supporting independent and foreign film. We hope that you will join our movement of movie lovers”.

    I was fortunate enough to have been a member of Film Movement for the first 3 ½ years of it’s existence. As a member, I received a new DVD every month, each one a film that had been lauded at a variety of festivals, but which never saw the light of day beyond them. Thankfully, both Netflix and Blockbuster now offer the movies of Film Movement as on-line rentals, which gives me a chance to present to you three great titles you may never have heard of, but which you will almost certainly enjoy. I’ve also added a short ‘trailer’ for Film Movement at the bottom, which pretty much sums up what this great organization is all about (Note: Unfortunately, Film Movement subscriptions are currently available only to those residing in the U.S., however a large portion of their catalog is available for on-line rental).

    Ali Zaoua (2000)
    Through the years, many films have centered on the dreams of children, but Ali Zaoua, a Moroccan film directed by Nabil Ayouch, takes a singularly unique approach to this subject. The children at the center of Ali Zaoua are alone, abandoned by their families, and suffering a sad, poverty-stricken existence on the streets of Casablanca. For them, an active imagination is not so much a luxury as it is a means of survival. Ali Zaoua (Abdelhak Zhayra) is one such child, who dreams of traveling across the sea to live on a tropical island, one where two suns are always in the sky to keep him warm. Unfortunately, fate intervenes. As Ali and his three friends, Kwita (Mounim Kbab), Omar (Mustapha Hansali) and Boubker (Hicham Moussoune), waste away the hours playing at an empty construction site, a gang of kids confronts them. One of these kids throws a rock, striking Ali in the head and knocking him unconscious, leaving Kwita, Omar and Boubkar to care for their wounded companion. As he’s being dragged through the streets on a makeshift stretcher, Ali dies, and his three friends agree that Ali deserves a first-class funeral. Each will do what he can to raise money to give their friend a burial at sea, certainly a fitting burial for a ‘prince’ like Ali. As constructed by director Ayouch, Ali Zaoua is a fascinating cross between drama and documentary. The children who star in this film are not actors, but actual Casablancan street kids, and their performances are nothing short of amazing. Ayouch shows a great compassion for the plight of these children, with a tone that is always observant, and never strained or artificial. These kids, forgotten by their families, suffer through life’s pitfalls on a daily basis, and the only thing that gets them through it all is their dreams, their hopes for a better tomorrow. Ali Zaoua is a film you won’t soon forget; an account of the exuberance of youth played out on a stage decorated with society’s most abhorrent contempt.

    » Read the rest of the entry..

  • 22 Feb

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    Hidden Treasures – Week of February 24th

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    For this week’s Hidden Treasures, I take a look at three excellent films which also happen to be three excellent musicals. Enjoy!

    Fiddler on the Roof (1971)
    Since when do hardship, oppression and stifling traditional values translate into a feel-good experience? The answer is…usually never. But Norman Jewison’s 1971 musical, Fiddler on the Roof, manages to be an exception. The story of one man’s attempt to hold onto custom in the face of a changing world, Fiddler on the Roof is one of the most heart-warming movies I’ve ever seen. Based on the long-running Broadway musical of the same name, the film is set at the turn of the century in the town of Anatevka, a poverty-stricken village in the Ukraine. Tevye (Topol) is a milkman whose three daughters, Tzietel (Rosalind Harris), Hodel (Michele Marsh) and Chava (Neva Small), are close to marrying age. Jewish tradition calls for the father to be involved in the selection of a husband for his daughters, but all three girls seem to have a mind of their own when it comes to choosing a potential mate. So what is it about Fiddler on the Roof that’s so uplifting? What’s to smile about when children are trapped by the strict traditions of their parents; when people are persecuted for their religious beliefs; when poverty, sadness, and violence are the rules of the day? The joy is found in the relationships, in the interaction of these well-rounded characters. It’s there when Tevye asks Golde (Norma Crane), his wife of 25 years, if she loves him, and noticing the spark in her eyes when she realizes that, despite their constant bickering, she does. It’s in Tevye’s internalized debates as his daughters, one by one, break with the tradition he holds dear. It’s even in Tevye’s heart-breaking goodbye to his daughter, Hodel, who’s about to catch the next train to Siberia to marry the revolutionary-minded Perchik (Paul Michael Glaser). In short, it’s the will to carry on, to smile in the face of oppression. Through the difficulties, there is always hope, and in the poverty and sadness, always life. These are the images from Fiddler on the Roof that stay with me: some happy, some sad, yet all very endearing. Drink La’chayim to life!

    Pink Floyd The Wall (1982)
    Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” is, in my humble opinion, the single greatest rock album of all time. I’ve been a huge fan ever since it was first released in the late 1970′s, and it continues to fascinate me to this day. “The Wall” is beyond haunting; it’s almost otherworldly, inhabiting both a time and place that is completely foreign, yet entirely absorbing. Thanks to director Alan Parker, what was, and is, an incredible rock album has become a breathtaking motion picture, one that remains entirely faithful to the brilliance of the original work. Pink (Bob Geldof), a world famous rock star, has been beaten down by life. As a boy (played by Kevin McKeon), Pink was emotionally devastated by the death of his father (James Laurenson), a soldier killed in battle during World War II. Due to Pink’s fragile state of mind, his mother (Christine Hargreaves), a loving yet overprotective woman, smothered her son, which did nothing but drive Pink deeper into his own troubled psyche. Things don’t get much better for Pink in his adult years, where he becomes trapped in a loveless marriage to a former hippie (Eleanor David). Abandoned by his sanity, Pink withdraws from the world and shelters himself deep within his own subconscious, building a psychological ‘wall’ that he hopes will protect him from the cruel world outside. Eventually, however, this wall, originally constructed to keep everybody else out, only succeeds in keeping Pink trapped within. Alone and confused, Pink must find a way to dismantle his inner prison before all the rage he’s been repressing over the years suddenly, and violently, breaks free. Visually, Pink Floyd the Wall is stunning, a perfect example being the schoolhouse sequence (which plays out over the album’s most famous tune, “Another Brick in the Wall, Part II”), in which a conveyor belts transports faceless children to their doom at the hands of a violent schoolmaster (Alex McAvoy). Throughout the years, Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” has succeeded in conjuring up many astounding images in my mind, images so incredible that I would have never believed for a moment a film could do them justice. In glorious fashion, director Alan Parker proved me wrong.

    Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)
    The brainchild of writer/director/star John Cameron Mitchell, Hedwig and the Angry Inch gives us the full history of Hedwig, a fictional female Rock star who began life as a young boy named Hansel in Communist East Berlin. We learn of Hedwig’s botched sex-change operation (which she used as the inspiration in naming her band the “Angry Inch”), her failed marriage to an American soldier (Maurice Dean Wint), and her whirlwind romance with a young protégé named Tommy (Michael Pitt), who would later steal her songs and make millions as a rock star. Hedwig and the Angry Inch exudes a spirit that I found entirely intoxicating, and another aspect of the film which is equally as intoxicating is the music. Each and every song is addictively over-the-top, possessing those qualities distinctive to other camp classics, such as The Rocky Horror Picture Show. My favorite tune has to be “The Origin of Love”, which relates a fascinating story of mythological gods, the splintering of humanity, and the ultimate creation of love. It’s a brilliant, life-affirming song, yet is just one of many brilliant, life-affirming songs performed throughout the movie. Hedwig and the Angry Inch is a wild, extravagant film that thumbs its nose at traditional ideologies as they relate to love, sex, masculinity, and even rock music. It shocks as it threatens conventionality, yet is constructed with such a fresh energy, and performed with such heart by John Cameron Mitchell, that it demands the undivided attention of even the most conservative minded audience members. With wry humor, a bit of pathos, and some great rock music, Hedwig and the Angry Inch will quickly melt away your inhibitions.

  • 15 Feb

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    Hidden Treasures – Week of February 17th

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    Here’s this week’s Hidden Treasures. Enjoy!

    The Last Laugh (1924)
    The Last Laugh, a 1924 silent film from German director F.W. Murnau, is the heartbreaking story of a hotel doorman who loses the only thing he holds dear: his job. The doorman of the Atlantic Hotel (Emil Jannings) takes great pride in his work, and always does his best to see that the hotel’s guests are treated properly. When the Hotel Manager (Hans Unterkircher) decides the Doorman’s too old to continue at his present position, he reassigns him to the basement, where he’s to function as the hotel’s new washroom attendant. Shocked by this turn of events, the former doorman struggles to maintain his dignity, and must do his best to cope with a position of much less importance. The Last Laugh is a rarity in that it doesn’t rely on title cards to further its story (title cards were traditionally used in silent films as a means of expressing dialogue or bringing the viewer up to speed with what was happening on screen). It was Murnau’s assertion that his film, so powerful emotionally, didn’t need title cards. Everything that the viewer required to follow the story was right there on the screen, from Murnau’s sharp direction to Emil Jannings’ deep, soulful eyes. No words, either spoken or written, could have possibly communicated this film’s intentions any better. Through total silence, The Last Laugh’s message rang out loud and clear.

    All The Real Girls (2003)
    It’s nighttime. A boy and girl are standing outside, locked in an embrace, and talking to one another. She says she likes talking with him because she can say exactly what’s on her mind. He asks what’s on her mind. She, in turn, asks why he’s never kissed her. He says it’s because he really likes her, and therefore doesn’t want this relationship to be like all the others. She lightheartedly suggests that he kiss the palm of her hand. That would make this ‘first kiss’ different from the others, wouldn’t it? This opening shot from director David Gordon Green’s All the Real Girls runs for nearly four minutes, never once cutting away from its initial framing. The camera remains perfectly still, focusing entirely on the young lovers, resulting in a scene that is not only very romantic, but also very genuine. The boy is Paul (Paul Schneider), a young man in his early twenties who floats through life in his small southern town, and the girl is Noel (Zooey Deschanel), who has just returned home from boarding school. Before meeting Noel, Paul had been a bit of a wolf, sleeping with many girls in town, but he feels that Noel is special, and different from the others. However, when Noel goes on a weekend getaway with some friends, it leads to an event that forces Paul to reflect not only on his relationship with Noel, but the insensitivity he himself exhibited in his past. All the Real Girls flows smoothly, almost effortlessly, and as a result, not a single moment from the film hits a false note. Each character, conversation and relationship seems as real as they come.

    Pit and The Pendulum (1961)
    No actor was better suited for Edgar Allen Poe than Vincent Price. He embodied both the gentle sophistication and deep-seated despair that a Poe character demanded, and when it came to depicting a slow descent into madness, Price had no equal. In this Roger Corman-directed film, Price plays Don Nicholas Medina, who is stricken with grief at the recent death of his wife, Elizabeth (Barbara Steele). When the family’s physician tells Elizabeth’s brother, Francis Barnard (John Kerr) that his sister died of ‘shock’, Don Nicholas is forced to reveal the truth, and leads Barnard into a secret torture chamber hidden deep within his castle, a chamber that Elizabeth had grown obsessed with during her final days. Director Corman brought a great style to his Poe adaptations (which included films such as House of Usher and The Masque of the Red Death), constructing an atmosphere of foreboding doom by way of elegant period costumes and sinister set pieces. Showing a flair for color and an understanding of what it is that makes people squirm, Corman breathed new life into the great writer’s chilling compositions, with Vincent Price mixing in the proper dose of the macabre for good measure.

  • 08 Feb

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    Hidden Treasures – Week of February 10th

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    This week, I’m offering up three titles that appear on my list of the greatest films ever made

    All That Heaven Allows (1955)
    In All That Heaven Allows, director Douglas Sirk paints a disturbing mural of small-town America, one that reveals a side of suburbia often overlooked by his contemporaries. Cary Scott (Jane Wyman), a recently widowed middle-aged mother of two, falls in love with Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson), a landscaper who also happens to be much younger than she. Cary is very happy with Ron, despite the fact that her children (Gloria Talbott and William Reynolds) and the rest of her upper-class society disapprove of the match. Before long, Cary’s feeling pressure from all sides to end the love affair, and finds she must decide whether or not she will remain true to herself, or appease those around her by sacrificing happiness for social acceptance. In crafting All That Heaven Allows, director Sirk went to great lengths to make Cary’s community appear as picture-perfect as possible, with large houses lining the streets and perfectly manicured lawns as far as they eye can see. Like everything else in this closed-minded society, however, such appearances are merely artifice, a supposed perfection that hides an outright contempt for individuality and change. At its most basic, All That Heaven Allows is a story of the soul, a spirit that longs to break free of its invisible bonds, but cannot. By exploring the underbelly of a closed society; the gossip and rumor, the unwritten rules of a community, and the consequences if these rules are not strictly adhered to, Sirk successfully deglamorizes what many Americans in 1955 believed to be the ideal way of life.

    The Enigma of Kasper Hauser (1974)
    Director Werner Herzog’s filmography is littered with both dramatic tales (Aguirre Wrath of God, Stroszek, Rescue Dawn) and documentaries (Lessons of Darkness, Little Dieter Needs to Fly, Grizzly Man). What’s truly fascinating about this body of work is that, thanks to Herzog’s unique, observant style, it’s difficult at times to determine which of his films are the dramatic, and which are the documentaries. The setting is 19th century Germany. A young man named Kasper Hauser (Bruno S.) is found standing alone in the middle of a village, unable to speak and barely able to walk. In fact, prior to this particular morning, Kasper had spent his life locked away in a basement, where a strange benefactor (Hans Musaeus) fed him regularly, yet never bothered to teach the boy to read, write or speak. Released suddenly into the outside world for the first time ever, Kasper must rely on the kindness of strangers to help him adapt. With the help of Professor Daumer (Walter Ladengast), Kasper learns the intricacies of society, and is soon considered an upstanding member of the community. Yet, as Kasper’s astuteness sharpens, he realizes that society is as cold and empty as the small cell he used to call home, and wonders aloud if he will ever find fulfillment in a world such as this. In The Enigma of Kasper Hauser, Herzog takes a long, hard look at society from the outside, through the eyes of a man who is both inspired by its intricacies and frustrated by its structure. Locked away from the world for many years, Kasper Hauser nonetheless saw things much more clearly than most, even if he was the only one who knew it.

    Alice’s Restaurant (1969)
    Based on a popular song by Arlo Guthrie, Arthur Penn’s Alice’s Restaurant is a veritable time capsule of the late 1960’s, when the counter-culture challenged societal norms at every turn. A young man (played by Guthrie himself), looking for a place he can call home, travels to Massachusetts to live in an abandoned church run by his good friends, aging hippies Ray (James Broderick) and Alice (Pat Quinn). Yet the film is far from a rallying cry for the “Tune In, Turn On and Drop Out” movement. In fact, what’s most appealing about Alice’s Restaurant is that it gives us both sides of the coin, convincingly offering up the argument that not all of life’s problems are solved when you leave society behind. Guthrie is surprisingly good in the lead, and director Penn injects a nice blend of frivolity and high drama to ensure Alice’s Restaurant is engaging form start to finish.

  • 01 Feb

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    Hidden Treasures – Week of February 3rd

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    Here’s this week’s Hidden Treasures, with three films I’m sure you’ll enjoy

    The Day of the Jackal (1973)
    The Day of the Jackal, a police thriller directed by Fred Zinnemann, is downright obsessed with the particulars. The O.S.S., an organization bent on assassinating French President Charles DeGaulle, has thus far been unsuccessful in every attempt on the leader’s life. In one last-ditch effort, they bring in an outsider, a British assassin known only as the Jackal (Edward Fox), to finish the job. A pure professional, the Jackal’s extreme level of secrecy has caused mass confusion within the ranks of the French police, who have thus far been unable to learn either the would-be assassin’s true identity or his current whereabouts. Enter Claude Lebel (Michael Lonsdale), considered the best detective on the French force. With time ticking away, Lebel must stoop to extreme measures to locate the elusive Jackal and prevent him from carrying out his murderous plan. In relating this tense story of political wrangling, The Day of the Jackal essentially explores two separate, yet equally intriguing plotlines. On the one hand, we follow the Jackal as he sets his plan in motion, from acquiring an assumed identity to the purchase of his weapon, a specialized rifle that is virtually untraceable. We also tag along with the police, specifically with Lebel and his partner, Caron (Derek Jacobi), who must request assistance from outside organizations such as Scotland Yard in order to piece together the identity of this mysterious assassin. This is where the film truly sets itself apart. So often, in a movie of this nature, we spend most of our time following one plotline, while the ‘other side of the coin’, so to speak, is either completely ignored or, at the very best, under-explored. In The Day of the Jackal, both sides garner equal attention, and we the audience are treated to a real bargain when watching this well-crafted thriller. After all, it isn’t often one’s given an opportunity to see two films for the price of one.

    Exotica (1994)
    “I wanted to structure the film like a striptease, gradually revealing an emotionally loaded history”. This is how director Atom Egoyan described his stylistic approach to 1994’s Exotica, a film that’s main setting is a high-end gentlemen’s club, where women take off their clothes for a wealthy clientele. Much like a striptease, director Egoyan moves Exotica along slowly, peeling away one layer of an emotionally charged story at a time, all the while luring us in with a singularly enticing tone. The Club Exotica, a sophisticated gentlemen’s nightclub, offers adult entertainment to men of discerning tastes. Francis (Bruce Greenwood), a professional accountant with a tragic past, is one of the Club’s many regulars. Every night, Francis requests that the same dancer perform at his table. That dancer is Christina (Mia Kirshner), beautiful and alluring, whose act is to dress like a schoolgirl. Christina was once romantically involved with the club’s DJ, Eric (Elias Koteas), and over time, Eric has grown jealous of Francis and Christina’s ‘professional’ relationship. What none of them realize, however, is that they share a very special bond, one that, once revealed, will force each of them to re-examine their lives. At the heart of Exotica lies a complex tale of betrayal and loss, yet we remain in the dark to most of it for quite some time. The film reveals its intentions gradually, circling the outermost boundaries of its story in wide motions before gradually narrowing itself, coming closer and closer to the tragedy that serves as the film’s center. We are tantalized, teased and excited in much the same way the dancers work on their patrons at the Club Exotica, and, like them, we’re more than willing to wait for the payoff.

    Ratcatcher (1999)
    Director Lynne Ramsay’s debut feature, Ratcatcher is the story of James (William Eadie), a twelve-year-old Scottish boy who faces a number of problems in his life, not the least of which is the knowledge that he was personally responsible for the death of a friend. That friend was a neighbor named Ryan (Thomas McTaggart), also twelve years old, and the tragedy occurred near a dirty canal as the two jostled back and forth in the murky water. James gave Ryan a playful shove, and Ryan fell into the canal, never to resurface. Scared and confused, James ran off. Ryan’s body was eventually discovered, yet with no witnesses as to what actually happened, James keeps silent about the whole ordeal. He will spend the next few weeks hanging out with older kids, falling in love with a fourteen-year-old named Margaret Anne (Leanne Mullen), and dreaming of the day he and his family will move into a house in the suburbs and escape their meager environment once and for all. Set in the slums of Glasgow, at a time when a garbage collector’s strike left trash piling up in the streets, you might conclude that this film is a real downer. Yet for all its tragic trappings, the main thrust of Ratcatcher is seeing the world through the eyes of a child. Like Morvern Callar, Ramsay’s sophomore effort, Ratcatcher opens with a tragedy, but where Morvern Callar was a study of how its tragedy changed one woman’s life forever, this film is about overcoming misfortune, moving beyond reality to a place where a child’s dreams can run wild. Through the darkness of the world it has created, Ratcatcher provides a glimmer of hope in an endless sea of despair.

  • 26 Jan

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    Hidden Treasures – Week of January 27th

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    For this week’s Hidden Treasures, I present three films from the Far East; two from Japan (each one directed by a legendary filmmaker from that country) and one from Vietnam. Check them out if you can. I promise you won’t regret it.

    Rhapsody in August (1991)
    Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky once said, “Relating a person to the whole world, that is the meaning of cinema”. In fact, this is one of the aspects of motion pictures that I find most appealing. Seeing as I don’t have the means to travel as much as I would like to, I must rely on films to “broaden my horizons”. In essence, movies are my window into the world. What I saw through the window of Akira Kurosawa’s Rhapsody in August really started me to thinking. Kane (Sachiko Murase) is an elderly woman who lives on a small farm just outside Nagasaki. When she learns that her long-lost brother, who had moved to Hawaii years before the outbreak of World War II, is dying, it stirs up a deep, personal conflict within her. The horrible memories of the Atomic bombing of 1945, in which her husband was killed, remain fresh in Kane’s mind, as does her dislike of anything American. Her nephew, Clark (Richard Gere), himself an American, is sent to escort Kane to the United States so that she may visit her brother, but she remains apprehensive. Torn between her obligations to her brother and her unresolved emotions towards Americans, Kane searches for an answer, bringing the horrors of that hot August day in 1945 to the surface once again. With Rhapsody in August, Kurosawa addresses one of the most disturbing of human characteristics; the tendency to overlook the events of the past, no matter how horrible these events may be. I myself learned very little about the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki during my school days. Yet where my history books failed me, Rhapsody in August was able to pick up the pieces, revealing the emotions, the deep resentments, and the unspeakable devastation that befell the everyday lives of Nagasaki’s residents. It has succeeded in broadening my horizons, and I trust it will broaden yours as well.

    Floating Weeds (1959)
    The films of director Yasujiro Ozu are at their best when tapping into the traditions and customs of Post-War Japan, and there is no better example of this than his 1959 classic, Floating Weeds. A traveling troupe of actors, under the leadership of longtime performer Komajuro (Ganjiro Nakamura), has just arrived at a quiet fishing village, where they will stage their next performance. As members of his troupe post notices around town, Komajuro pays a visit to Oyoshi (Haruka Sugimura), a former lover who now owns a sake bar. Years earlier, Komajiro and Oyoshi conceived a child together, a now-teenage son named Kiyoshi (Hiroshi Kawaguchi). Fearful that the truth will lead to unnecessary heartache, Komajiro has decided that his son must never know he is the father. His secret is threatened, however, when Komajuro’s current lover, Sumiko (Machiko Kyo), a fellow performer, learns of the boy’s existence, and jealously seeks to expose the truth to the unsuspecting Kiyoshi. As was Ozu’s style, Floating Weeds is very straightforward in its approach. The camera rarely moves from a still position, and even the colorful stage shows of the acting troupe are presented with little pomp or fanfare. For Ozu, the camera was simply the means by which he could capture interactions, conversations, and emotions. Whereas cinema is considered by many to be the ultimate forum for exploring one’s imagination, Ozu chose a more cerebral approach to film. For him, two characters with something to say to one another was all the imagination he required.

    Vertical Ray of the Sun (2000)
    Director Ahn Hung Tran’s Vertical Ray of the Sun is a beautiful film, not to mention a beautiful experience. In Hanoi, Vietnam, three sisters are preparing for a banquet in honor of their deceased parents. Suong (Nguyen Nhu Quynh), the eldest sister, owns the small café where the memorial will take place. Khanh (Le Khanh), the middle sister, has recently discovered she’s pregnant, and both she and her husband, Kien (Tran Manh Cuong), are thrilled by the news. Their younger sister, Lien (Tran Nu Yen-Khe), is unmarried, and shares an apartment with their brother, Hai (Ngo Quang Hai). All three are dealing in their own way with the recent discovery that, years earlier, their mother may have had an extra-marital affair. As they delve deeper into their parents past, each sister must also confront varying levels of deceit in their own relationships as well. In conjuncture with these complex, yet well-established, interrelationships, Vertical Ray of the Sun also features the artistic cinematography of Pin Bing Lee, whose exquisite use of imagery is the perfect match for the story at hand. Alive with poetry and the energy of performance, Vertical Ray of the Sun is pure beauty played out over 112 minutes.

  • 19 Jan

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    Hidden Treasures – Week of January 20th

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    This is a continuation of a weekly posting I did for Film Grotto. Each week, I’ll throw the spotlight on three films that have not received the level of attention they deserve. All of these movies are available on DVD, and I highly recommend each and every one of them.

    Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind (1984)
    Any week where I have a chance to present a Hayao Miyazaki film is a good one! Thousands of years of global war have nearly wiped mankind form the face of the earth. The Valley of the Wind, the home of young Princess Nausicaa, is one of the few habitable lands that remain. A young girl gifted with a special understanding of the world around her, Princess Nausicaa longs to uncover the secrets of the toxic jungle, a poisonous wilderness that feeds off the pollution left behind by the war. Unfortunately, the war that created this jungle continues to rage throughout the rest of the world, and even the Valley of the Wind is no longer safe from its devastation. Like many of Miayazaki’s films, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is at its best when it takes to the skies. The scene where Nausicaa is flying through the air on her glider, saving a band of travelers who have wandered too close to the toxic jungle, is breathtakingly beautiful. The magic of flight has always been a trademark of Miyazaki’s best works, and he uses it to wonderful effect in most of his films, including Castle in the Sky, Kiki’s Delivery Service and Spirited Away. Whenever a Miyazaki character is soaring through the air, the excitement swells, the tension builds, and something quite extraordinary usually follows close behind. Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is no exception.

    Mystery TrainMystery Train (1989)
    Of all director Jim Jarmusch’s films, I would have to say that Mystery Train is my favorite. Named after a popular Elvis Presley song, Mystery Train relates three separate Memphis experiences, all of which share a common bond. Jun (Masatoshi Nagase) and Mitsuko (Youki Kudoh) arrive in Memphis from Japan, armed with both an extensive knowledge of Rock Music and a strong desire to see where Elvis got his start. Luisa (Nicolette Braschi) is also in town, having just flown in from Italy to claim the remains of her late husband. She ends up sharing a motel room with Dee Dee (Elizabeth Bracco), an energetic young woman who has just walked out on her husband, Johnny (Joe Strummer). Nicknamed Elvis for his resemblance to the King of Rock and Roll, Johnny is in a deep depression. Aside from losing Dee Dee, Johnny also lost his job, and his friend, Will (Rick Aviles), and brother-in-law, Charlie (Steve Buscemi), do their best to help Johnny snap out of his funk. All of these characters check into the same motel for the night, a third-rate joint that boasts a portrait of Elvis in every room. Even in this rundown area of town, the spirit of Elvis Presley lives, and his spirit will touch the lives of some of them before the night is out. I enjoyed everything about this offbeat little movie, from its narrative style, skillfully tying together a three-part story, to its depiction of Memphis, long considered the birthplace of Rock and Blues music, yet shown here in a way it has never been shown before. I believe it’s safe to say that this is not the Memphis made popular by Elvis Presley, Roy Orbison or Sun Records. In Mystery Train, we see a side of Memphis that the city’s Tourism Council would sooner forget exists.

    Barfly (1987)
    Based on the life of noted writer Charles Bukowski, Barfly sticks out like a sore thumb in the early filmography of actor Mickey Rourke. Barfly tells the story of Henry Chinaski (Rourke), an alcoholic writer who spends his time drifting in and out of a local bar, normally annoying bartender Eddie (Frank Stallone) to the point of rage. One day, Henry meets fellow drunk Wanda Wilcox (Faye Dunaway), who he hears is a bit touched in the head. In her, Henry believes he’s found a soul mate. The two enjoy a life of drunkenness, until Henry receives a lucrative offer for his writings from publisher Tully Sorensen (Alice Krige). Having relied on his good looks and charm in films such as Diner, The Pope of Greenwich Village and 9 ½ Weeks, Rourke took his screen persona in a completely different direction in Barfly, playing one of the filthiest, grungiest drunks in cinematic history. The character Rourke created was so complete that it even impressed the real-life inspiration for the role. “Mickey doesn’t just imitate me”, Bukowski said in an interview, “he’s improved upon me”.

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