Bresson

Aside from Ozu, Robert Bresson has become the most redeemed director in my heart during my first year in Film Club. A filmmaker whose greatness previously alluded me, Bresson now resides at the summit of my estimation. I couldn’t possibly praise him highly enough, as his films are not only brilliant but absolutely miraculous. There is something veritably mind-boggling about his ability to achieve such profound interest and emotive response using so seemingly minimal techniques. How does he do it? Every time I watch one his films, I have to ask myself this question because I’m always so immersed in the simplicity of his aesthetic. You’d almost think I were constantly watching the finale to a thriller the way I can’t turn away from his films. They are thoroughly fascinating, yet they couldn’t be more simple on the surface. Seriously, how does he do it? I almost want to sit down and study each of his films frame by frame to find out how he is able to make me care so much about what I’m seeing. Perhaps someday if I have the time or desire I will. For now, I’ll try to explain why I think he is great and why he appeals to me so much (though truthfully my enjoyment of his films is as ineffable as that of Ozu’s–I almost don’t know why I am so enraptured, I just am). This probably won’t be insightful at all, and you are better off reading the many writings that already exist about the man if you are really curious to read something about him. But, personally, I gotta celebrate him in any way I can.

In all honesty, I didn’t understand Bresson’s films when I was younger. I had only seen PICKPOCKET and AU HASARD BALTHAZAR, but they were, perhaps, too elemental, too sparse to really catch my eye or pique my interest. I was watching them right around the time that I was discovering Kurosawa, Bunuel, Fellini, etc. I was being floored by the vibrancy and vitality of those directors, but almost dulled by Bresson. Perhaps it was just a lack of consideration or patience on my part, or perhaps it was merely the fault of being 17 and a film novice, but I completely overlooked the genius of Bresson in my younger days (granted I had only seen two of his movies).

I can see his genius now; it’s glaringly obvious in every single meticulously shot and edited frame of one of his films. Bresson is a visual master. He edits and strings shots together perfectly to create a lucid narrative that is easy to follow but elliptical enough that we can still use our imagination. The clarity of the narrative wraps us up completely in what we are seeing. We always know which person we are following, what environment they are in, and what details about the scene are important to us. It’s almost as if someone is very carefully giving you the clearest directions you’ve ever received and you are following along with keen interest because you are absolutely able to follow along. Some might find Bresson’s clarity to be dull (as I originally did), but it’s actually remarkably fascinating. Bresson achieves narrative simplicity with a sculptor’s precision. It’s fucking beautiful.

The clarity of his narratives essentially creates the thematic and intellectual richness that pervades his films. Everything is shown to us, very little is ever told, even with the heavy use of narration in some of his work. The openness of showing instead of telling is always going to be conducive to interpretation, which makes his films highly analytical, and I think Bresson gives us so much without making any judgments, so we are always left to wonder what kind of world his characters inhabit: do they live in a cruel, godless world? Is there a god? If there is, does he offer eventual grace or is he merely a passive observer to misery? Perhaps it’s truly a testament to Bresson’s agnosticism that one could come away from one of his films feeling either way or torn between both. We follow Bresson's films effortlessly, but we are never told what to ultimately come away with.

The films that really changed my mind about Bresson are THE DIARY OF A COUNTRY PRIEST and A MAN ESCAPED. Two completely essential masterpieces of cinema, in my opinion. I saw them and I was floored. More recently, I have watched MOUCHETTE and L’ARGENT. I, of course, adored them both. MOUCHETTE deals with the suffering of one improverished country girl as she tries to work her way through daily existence. There is nothing grand, highfalutin, or necessarily dramatic about her life. Like a rabbit caught in a trap, she is merely the object of suffering and misfortune and the agent of her own flailing. Like with the Priest in THE DIARY OF A COUNTRY PRIEST, Mouchette doesn’t necessarily do anything to evoke our empathy nor does Bresson give obvious cues as to how we should feel about her. Yet we do feel intense empathy for her (perhaps because she is only a young girl) just like with the Priest.

This brings me to another key aspect of Bresson’s genius (perhaps the most important): his ability to strip humanity down to its most elemental form (an animal capable of feeling pain). Bresson is notorious for using non-professional actors and grinding the slightest hint of “acting” off of them. They are almost robotic in the way that they emote or express nothing. Yet we feel something strong for them! It may be that I am oversensitive, and if my vegetarianism is any indication, that I am always looking to empathize with any living creature that can feel pain, but I watch Bresson’s robotic characters (he referred to them as “models”) and am full of pity and empathy for them. But honestly, I don’t just think it is me. I think Bresson deliberately strips down his characters to their most basic essence (almost infantile simplicity but without any shred of emotional response) to make us feel for other human beings (and creatures) on a sort of primitive level. It’s a natural reaction to feel for something that is suffering. Bresson gets this and he seeks this at its most elemental level possible. He’s not trying to manipulate us; he’s trying to engage us. He achieves this flawlessly.

I just finished L’ARGENT this morning, a film that reminds me most of PICKPOCKET within his oeuvre. It was Bresson’s last film, and it has all of his trademarks: simple, efficient narrative; immaculate editing; no traces of “acting”; ambiguous moral themes; characters who suffer and are caught by the whims of chance or predestination. L’ARGENT is completely absorbing, and it’s brutal. I won’t give anything away, but I’ll just say that it’s one of Bresson’s most scathing looks at hierarchy, injustice, and misfortune. It’s a challenging film and one I will have to think more about carefully, but also one that I would re-watch, like all the Bresson films I’ve seen, in a heart beat.

All hail, Bresson! It’s the day after Valentine’s day and I’m in love.

Sorry Ben

First, sorry for not watching and posting about INK sooner. But, hey, where's everyone else?

Second, sorry, but I have to be completely honest and say that I hated INK and couldn't stand watching it (what a jerk, I know). I almost don't want to get into the depth of my disdain for it because of how much you like it. I am curious to hear you defend it though. I'd like to know what specifically spoke to you in the film because seriously I got nothing out of it. And I don't say this last comment snidely but earnestly. I am interested to hear your thoughts and opinions on it.

I guess I can't say I hated it without mentioning a few reasons why. Again, sorry, this isn't meant to be mean, just honest. Let's see, I thought the acting and writing were both horrible for starters. This is one of the serious problems I have with certain indie films. I don't begrudge their lack of budget, but I do criticize their inability to focus on good, interesting writing and solid, believable performances. Honestly, with INK, all the flashy editing and showy camera techniques can’t make up for what is, in my opinion, an awful, unfathomable script. This filmmaker may know how to do cool tricks with his camera but he doesn't know how to direct actors and he doesn't know how to write. I have to completely agree with John and go even further: this film has poor delivery of heavy exposition, two-dimensional ideas, forced melodrama that doesn't earn our emotion, caricatures instead of rounded human beings, and just overall silliness.

And even the flashy stuff the filmmaker does with the camera isn't that great. Oftentimes, the editing is distracting and confusing, especially with the fight scenes, which suffer from the modern craze of choppy, over-editing, all done to dupe us into believing that the action is more exciting than it actually is. I wasn't at all impressed by anything the filmmaker did visually. It all kinda annoyed me.

Sorry for the brutal honesty, but I know you'll appreciate that more than me holding back or sugar-coating everything. I'm still very curious to hear your take on the film, and look forward to reading it!

And just so you don't think I've got it out for only you–I can say without any equivocation or hesitation that LADY IN THE WATER is one of the most unfiltered pieces of shit I've ever seen :)

Grrrr!

Hulk Jeff no like Brandon BLOW-UP bashing.

I knew exactly what you were doing and arguing, but I also sensed that you were trying to pick a fight or incite some anger through your casual dismissal of the film. Something I was only too happy to oblige you with post-VAMPYR fight lull.

It was this comment that really set me off:
"I would gladly go at this film because I'm interested to hear a defense from its fans. I get a feeling that it'll be a lot of mood and atmosphere vibes."

I'm glad you said this because I had been working on a deeper analysis of the film in my head since the moment I watched it again. It was almost a perfect setup for me to rant about why I find the film, particularly its ending, so thematically interesting. Sure, the mood and atmosphere vibes are fine in the film, but it's everything else that appeals to me. The suggestion that one couldn't form a defense for the film beyond its atmosphere or mood was the real instigator. You just had to provoke me into that, didn't you?

"Your accusations of me not giving it a fair shake are quite assuming." Absolutely, but that was only to provoke you back. Plus, it sounded nice to accuse you of not believing in the film after I had just expounded on my "belief" analysis of the film.

Truthfully, I think Chris' argument for the film being dull is valid. I think your reaction to the film is valid too. John didn't seem to like what he had seen, but I really can't imagine him liking the film anyway. I can already hear him telling me (or picture him writing) how cold the film left him. I won't even pretend like there is heart or emotion to this film. It's almost purely visual and intellectual, like all of his films. But sometimes I love visual and intellectual, as long as the film or filmmaker is successful at both. I love Kubrick because I think he's successful at both, and I love Antonioni for similar reasons. Kubrick's films are obviously more entertaining than Antonioni's (and can have heart–PATHS OF GLORY, for instance), but I don't think either man would deny that they made films primarily for the brain instead of the heart (Aren't you psyched for some Antonioni now that I've compared him to Kubrick, John?).

I was impressed by BLOW-UP's intelligence, but I can imagine that if you or anyone didn't find it all that intelligent or just purely cold, that it wouldn't be a positive experience.

I do think that, to speak for him, Chris found something intelligent or interesting about the film's specific open ending. I don't think he was given the film a pass merely for having an open ending but for having the invisible tennis match open ending it does have. This is his actual quote: "I loved the ending and its allowance for endless interpretation." It isn't "I loved the ending because of its allowance for endless interpretation." He's saying that he loved the ending and its openness, something you were quick to tell him he was wrong about (which in turn was something I was quick to come to his defense for). He's allowed to give a film points for something he thought it did well, right?

Onto John Wayne, I'm a big fan of him as an actor and love his movies. I've never been a fan of his politics or his unabashed HUAC support, but that has never diminished my esteem of his professional or artistic work since I've been exposed to it. I mean Jimmy Stewart was an arch conservative, and I still love him to death and think he was one the greatest actors who ever lived (who doesn't?). But, you also have to understand that Chris and I didn't grow up on John Wayne or his movies as kids. Before I ever saw one of his films, I knew from my interest in history that Wayne was a vocal supporter of ratting people out in Hollywood, just like Ronnie Regan. I hated him before I ever saw one of his films until I did see one of them and found him interesting and even charming. Chris is just getting exposed to Wayne now so I think he needs time to separate the image of Wayne the man from Wayne the actor.

I don't know if Bunuel was a homophobe or not, but I do know that Ernst Lubitsch used to sell poison milk to school children, and Robert Bresson used to kick puppies. The jerks!

Blown-up

Okay, Brandon, I'll bite.

BlOW-UP deserves zero credit for creating an ending that is both intellectually and thematically rich and conducive for discussion or multiple readings? That's bullshit. What you call leaving us in the dark I would call providing us with several points of light. Some films that create open endings do not deserve credit because they are awkwardly trying to compensate for not knowing how to end. However, BLOW-UP's ending is completely consistent with the rest of the film's thematic structure and it augments what has already been a highly intelligent and thought-provoking piece of filmmaking. Honestly, BLOW-UP has one of the most brilliant finales to a film that I've ever seen (another great ending being Tarkovsky's SOLARIS, which also allows for multiple interpretations and not because it's clueless but because it's very intelligent). I have my own interpretation of BLOW-UP's ending, but it could also be taken in several other ways. And yes, for my money, it deserves credit for even trying to engage your mind or spark your intellectual creativity.

Anyway, here's my defense and reading of the ending: Up until its ending, The film has been all about alienation within a specific environment, and the sort of meaning we seek through various outlets. Thomas is our alienated man who perfunctorily leads a glamorous and decadent and ultimately empty lifestyle, yet he only comes to life when: A). he is taking pictures and B). he feels himself being pulled into a mystery. Now, for anyone who likes film or fantasy or, like Don Quixote, just wants a taste for adventure by escaping into imagination, Thomas' pull towards the mystery is entirely relatable. And for anyone who thrives on doing the thing they love and struggles with anything else, Thomas' devotion to his camera is also relatable. The entire film has been about forming this connection between Thomas and the mystery he has found doing the thing he loves the most: he thinks he has photographed a murder. At the close of the film, Thomas goes to the location of the murdered man (we can imagine with hopes of solving the case or becoming more embroiled in the mystery), but the man is no longer there, and he has found nothing. Thomas is disappointed and confused, just as we are as an audience. We are interested in the mystery just like him because just like him we too also want to escape into fantasy or find connection to something alien to ourselves. If the film had ended here, we could say that Antonioni didn't know how to end his film and that he left us in the dark, but there is another scene! Seemingly disconnected from everything else we have seen (except for the opening shot), this final scene serves as the ultimate conclusion to our theme of alienation and connection. The mystery isn't important (something we have to deal with just like Thomas); what's important is this carrying out our main theme.

In the last scene of the film, Thomas stumbles upon a gang of mimes recalled from the film's opening shot (I'll come back to this). The mimes start to play an invisible game of tennis. Thomas sees the mimes playing, but he isn't watching their game until the "ball" is hit over the fence and "lands" behind him. Right at this moment, Thomas has a choice between seeking the ball and throwing it back, thus buying into the reality of the game, or walking away and refusing to believe in the validity of the game. This choice right here is exactly the one we were given the moment the film started when we saw the mimes and the choice every filmgoer is given every time he or she sits down to watch a movie. It's the choice of believing in the imaginary world of the screen as if it were real or choosing not to do so. It's the cinematic equivalent of "Call me Ishmael" at the start of MOBY DICK. If you agree to call the narrator Ishmael then you have bought into the imaginary reality of the work itself; if you do not agree to call him Ishmael then you are rejecting the imaginary space of the novel. The mime bookending of BLOW-UP is the ultimate screen symbol for our choice to suspend our disbelief and embrace the fantasy of art or fictional storytelling.

And it completely works with the film's central theme of alienation and connection because Thomas chooses to "see" the ball and throw it back to the mimes. After he does this, we see his eyes following the ball (he believes in the game), and we even start to hear the sound of tennis being played (the ball has come to life!). The invisible game he is watching is exactly like his connection to photography and the mystery he thought he had found; he chose to believe in both and found meaning in them. They came to life for him just like the tennis ball. And just like the tennis ball, the film has come to life before us if we have chosen to believe in it from the start, just like any film comes to life for us if we are willing to believe, even for just 90 mintues, that its imaginary world exists as if it were real.

The film's ending lets us know that it is okay to find reality in fantasy, to believe in art, and to embrace meaning wherever we can find it. The only thing that matters is that Thomas believes in the game in the end. Fuck the solution to the mystery (just like fuck answers to questions sometimes or fuck straightforward endings sometimes)–what's important is that he connected to the mystery in the first place.

Brandon, your problem is that you never chose to believe in the film from the start, therefore, you weren't interested in finding its deeper meaning. You can call the film boring if you'd like, but please do not call the film worthless beyond its color or Yardbirdiness. There's a profundity, a richness, and even a beauty to it if you choose to believe in its right to exist.

Brandon's list

Great list, my man. Let's chat (or pretend to while you are off making us proud).

I've yet to see THE BAD SLEEP WELL, but I'm an enormous Kurosawa fan, as you know. He definitely excels at humorous and adventurous material like the great John Ford. But I'm also of a fan of his more solemn or humanistic works. You know I love IKIRU, but I've also never mentioned how much I love RED BEARD. I think that is one of his kindest and most beautiful films, and I'll be curious to see how you evaluate it in '65. Looking forward to seeing this one though. Any Kurosawa film is a treat.

THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN is a very worthy remake and a great stand alone film in its own right (Still nowhere near the original though, in my opinion). It's interesting that SEVEN SAMURAI and YOJIMBO were remade as westerns because they were both so heavily inspired by westerns to begin with. I think the samurai to western transition is just as ripe as say film noir to western. All three genres have serious overlaps and compliment each other very well. What a terrific idea to realize how nicely SEVEN SAMURAI would work as a western, and of course it is handled deftly by Sturges and infused with life by such a great cast. An awesome film that earns its popularity and lasting appeal.

Need to see LES BONNES FEMMES (nice that it's on NWI). As I mentioned to you, I watched my first Chabrol film recently as well: THE COUSINS from a year before in 1959. "One of the best things about these Cashier alum is their way of showing us the town they know so well." Absolutely. I would say the same for THE COUSINS, as I think one of its strong points is the sense of youth culture it captures. It gives you a strong sense of a specific time and place in France, and how it was influencing Chabrol to tell films about the people he knew or the places he was familiar with. It felt personal, like a lot of the best New Wave films. Looking forward to seeing this, as well.

THE APARTMENT is a great comedy, indeed. It's funny and sweet, and has some of the most beautiful cinematography of any comedy ever. I think it's a joy to watch like most of Wilder's films. He was a great writer, one of the best in Hollywood–efficient, intelligent, witty, and entertaining. And I think he brought these same sort of qualities to his films as a director. Regardless of how they varied in quality, his films were invariably entertaining. Personally, I've always found his films to be a blast, and don't understand his detractors either.

COMANCHE STATION was my first foray into the oft praised Scott/Boetticher partnership, and I can't say I was disappointed one bit. Gorgeous film to look at, but also just a consistent, lean, and enjoyable narrative. What more could one ask for from a western? As John would say, it delivers the goods. I agree with everything you wrote. The ending is lovely and might I even add moving. Our hero has reunited loved ones the way he wishes he could with his own; he looks on as a lonesome guardian, vigilant to save others from ever having to experience a pain he knows all to well. Great film.

Need to see THE YOUNG ONE badly and for exactly the reason you gave. You've been reading my mail.

A terrible shame what happened to Michael Powell after the brilliant PEEPING TOM. One of England's finest directors reduced to a pariah for what is actually one of his most creative and bold visions, and one of the best horror films around. It's creepy, beautiful, and opens with that ingenuous POV sequence. An operatic horror film that ranks among the great director's best and most dazzling work. Thanks for your help again, Marty. Always great to have him in your corner.

Can't disagree with anything Chris said about PSYCHO or with your placement of it. Love it unconditionally, and have been itching to watch it again.

I can, however, disagree with whatever idiot provided that write-up for THE VIRGIN SPRING. What a douche.

Can't disagree with your esteem of SHOOT THE PIANO PLAYER. It's brilliant work and Truffaut's best film. I first heard about it as a teenager when I read that it was Bob Dylan's favorite film, and then saw it and loved it. It's been too long, so it's probably worth a revisit sometime. Solid choice, of course though.

I definitely recommend watching LA DOLCE VITA again. It's one of my favorite movies. I think there is a lot there to appreciate and enjoy, even if you aren't a huge Fellini fan. I think it's the tops.

I would also recommend seeing Luchiano Visconti's ROCCO AND HIS BROTHERS. It's incredible and also one of my favorites. Been a while since I last saw it, but it's really great and worth seeing for sure. Get your Alain Delon fix.

Again, great list! Looking forward to the rest.

Leave her to hell

Brandon, thanks for your response. The burn-out from watching too many movies in a short period of time is apparent, but you're right, I feel revived after a days rest or so. Because I definitely want to watch so many movies; it's not that I'm forcing myself ever. I enjoy using any free time to myself to watch a movie. Making lists is just a great excuse to watch a bunch of awesome movies.

I definitely respect and appreciate RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES for all the reasons you gave and the reasons John gave as well. I'm not knocking it. It's good for what it is (and better than a lot of the shit blockbusters one could have seen this past summer). Like Chris said, I wasn't bashing it by calling it ridiculous, just describing it.

Is one of the long takes in LETTER FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN you are thinking of the stairwell crane shot at the opera? I guess I didn't spot any specific long takes because I'm so used to them in his films. Everything stood out. I know that Le PLAISIR has that elaborate crane shot of the front of the brothel, LA RONDE has that opening tracking shot, and THE EARRINGS OF MADAME DE... has too many insanely complex shots of movement through seemingly confining interior space, so maybe I did miss the big ones from this. Which shots are you thinking of? Agreed completely on Ophüls here though. Calling him a visual genius is an understatement, but he also knew how to use his peerless talent to match the story.

Anyway, before I get to LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN, I forgot to mention in that roundup that I had watched two of your favorites recently as well: GUN CRAZY and THE SECRET LIFE OF WALTER MITTY.

GUN CRAZY is incredible. A doomed romance about our obsessions and the strange places they can lead us. The only thing that Bart is more obsessed about than guns is Annie and the only thing that Annie is more obsessed about than guns is a man who isn't afraid to use one. The mixing of sexual desire with violence, crime, and danger must have seemed shocking at the time (if anyone even saw it much then). Lewis directs the thing with lots of style and energy; it's exciting, highly sexual, and always compelling. We care about Bart. He's basically a good, moral person who is bewitched by Annie's handling of a gun (Hey, get your head out of the gutter!).
Ah, the things one will do for sex and love. Great film.

I first heard about THE SECRET LIFE OF WALTER MITTY right after I joined film club. I was searching through your blog history and found a post you had on it from 2009 under the "my essentials" heading: http://poopnoises.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-essentials-secret-life-of-walter.html
Anyway, I've been wanting to see it since then, but it's not on netflix at all (and TCM hasn't shown it all year) so I never thought I would. Luckily, I happened to be searching youtube for old movies the other day and found the whole thing in superb quality on there. Which I'm really glad about because I loved it. I think your post on it is awesome, and I really couldn't add anything to it. I loved the idea of a guy using fantasy and daydreams to escape the reality of everyday life; it's almost a metaphor for how we watch movies. As someone who frequently daydreams, I thought the film was a really fun and hilarious look at how we imagine ourselves in various roles. Kaye is wonderful as Walter, Virginia Mayo is gorgeous as always, and the rest of the cast does terrific comedic work (some of the best scenes involve Walter's interaction with people around him once he's been caught in some ridiculous situation or other). All of the fantasy sequences are really inventive and beautifully realized. The whole movie is basically a blast as there are so many different elements and genres at work. A joy to watch. Let's hope that Ben Stiller remake falls through.

All right, let's get one thing straight: Gene Tierney is completely beautiful and seeing her in THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR or HEAVEN CAN WAIT you just imagine her as one of the loveliest and sweetest women around. So boy was I surprised to find her as an insane monster in LEAVE HER TO HEAVEN. Brandon warned me that she was indeed ugly in this one, but I was still shocked by how truly horrific she was. She's absolutely repulsive in this film, which only makes me appreciate her as an actress so much more. What a transformation. The first time Richard gets an idea of her wild jealousy, the camera cuts to a close-up of her face and she looks absolutely demonic. Who would have thought those green eyes could look so terrifying? Amazing performance by Tierney, and an absolutely chilling and shocking noir in general (could probably qualify as a horror film actually). The use of color is remarkable as well and the interior lighting often looks deep orange as if the sun were constantly setting; it's highly effective and unsettling.

1960 list! Can't wait.

Another roundup

I've been watching too many movies. This roundup only covers some of the movies I've watched in the past week or so. I'm too lazy to write more. Hopefully all that January posting didn't burn me out. I don't really have anything insightful to say about any of these. Sorry:

The Descendants - Better than I expected it to be, if only because it tries to give most of its characters a fair shot instead of just painting them with one brush and leaving it at that. At times too cliched, but with a few surprising moments of actual pathos/tenderness that make it rise above being merely Dan in Real Life 2. It won’t crack my top 10, but I at least liked it, which I guess is a victory for the film considering I thought I’d hate it. If anyone wants to talk more about it, we certainly can.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes - Ridiculous but earnest. Wisely tries to limit its scope (unlike most modern blockbusters) and doesn’t feel like the money-grubbing, soulless venture it could have been. Suffers from being too cliched and poorly written at times, but like I said it mostly feels genuine, and for that it gets a pass.

Gilda (Vidor, 1946) - Is there anything more beautiful than snow in black-and-white? Rita Hayworth in this movie.

I Was Born, But... (Ozu, 1932) - Terrific silent comedy from Ozu about the clash between the young and the old and the differing forms of hierarchy they find themselves trapped in. Good Morning is supposedly a loose remake of this. There are certainly similar elements between the two, but they are completely distinctive I’d say. The scene where the boys have to watch their father’s antics for his boss is wonderful. The horror on their faces says more than any words ever could.

Early Spring (Ozu, 1956) - Another miracle from Ozu. A film filled with sadness and tenderness for nearly all the characters involved. The wife who is cheated on gets the most sympathy and deservedly so. We sense the growing distance between her and her husband and the empty space he leaves through his constant absence. It’s terribly sad. Luckily, the affair isn’t treated as a necessary or amusing fling but something of guilt and failure, which is exactly what the film needs.

The Talk of the Town (Stevens, 1942) - A fun and funny political comedy, that I’d say is one of Steven’s best efforts. I’m not a huge fan of him as a director (like Brandon and John), but I can get on board when he makes a charming film like this and has a talented cast to work with. Grant, Arthur, and Colman are a joy together.

Letter From an Unknown Woman (Ophüls, 1948) - Complete masterpiece of technique and storytelling. Complex, intricate, emotional–it stands alongside The Earrings of Madame de... as Ophüls' finest work.

The Naked Spur (Mann, 1953) - Mann and Stewart made a great team, and this is perhaps my favorite of their movies together (that I've seen). A little like The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, which is a wonderful thing. Mann does a lot and tells a lot with seemingly so little; it’s almost like a great stage play. Beautiful locations too.

Pursued (Walsh, 1947) - Another incredible Noir-Western from Raoul Walsh. Just as good if not better than Colorado Territory, in my opinion. A complex story that only gets more involving as it goes along. At one point I tried counting how many layers of vengeance the film was working on but I started to loose track. A brilliant film, I’d say, as well as being exciting and emotionally involving. Plus, Robert Mitchum is the coolest. Highly recommended.

Hiroshima Mon Amour (Resnais, 1959) - When it focuses on being a documentary or philosophical musing on the unspeakable crime that was committed on Hiroshima, it’s fantastic and haunting. The love story feels empty though. A beautifully shot and staged and highly intellectual film, but one that spends too much time asking us to care about the wrong thing.