Blow-Up

BLOW-UP (Antonioni, 1966)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date Mar 28, 2017

Review by Christopher S. Long

“I didn't see,” repeats Thomas (David Hemmings), the London fashion photographer and protagonist of Michelangelo Antonioni's “Blow-Up” (1966). He's referring to a possible murder in the park that he didn't quite witness because he was too busy snapping pictures of the event.

With the lens serving as intermediary, Thomas is one step removed from the real; his refined pursuit of perfect framing pushes him even further from messy flesh-and-blood reality. However, the camera is a reliable recording device, and when he develops the pictures later, he gradually unearths evidence that points him to what was happening right in front of his eyes. But exactly what it all means is a different story altogether, because that requires the interpretive powers of the human brain, a much less reliable device.

The film's signature sequences are two prolonged stretches in which Thomas, ensconced in his posh London studio, examines the pictures with increasing interest, returning to his lab to blow up details within the photos as he gathers more clues to solve the mystery: a woman (Lynn Redgrave) looks off camera, a blurry hand grasping a gun gradually emerges into view.

Antonioni ratchets up the tension in these sequences by not tipping the viewer off, at least not at first, to what Thomas is in the process of discovering. We merely look at him looking and continuing to look, until finally he figures out what's going on, and why Redgrave's character is so eager to get the pictures back from him. Antonioni then spends the rest of the film methodically “unsolving” the case, leaving Thomas and the viewer knowing less than at the beginning. Events also reveal the stylishly disengaged young man, bored to tears by a daily routine which mostly involves beautiful young woman (including a young Jane Birkin) vying desperately for his attention, to be utterly impotent when he can no longer wield either a camera lens or his cultivated ennui as a shield against the real world.

For a director who often professed an interest in the image before plot, the focus on a photographer intently studying his images feel like an overdue, um, development (sorry about that). Viewers might want to follow suit as well, scanning the frame intently for the exquisite and enigmatic images Antonioni and cinematographer Carlo Di Palma have provided: the London homes painted in bold blocks of primary colors, the bodies of slim leggy models arranged in lifeless poses, the constant interposition of thick vertical and horizontal lines that partially obscure the actors. Like Thomas, you might get even more disoriented upon ever-closer examination of the evidence, but, man, what an aesthetic rush.

Somehow, this film with only the semblance of a plot (that hardly any of the characters care much about) and nothing resembling an explanation at the end became a commercial hit as well as a critical darling, making it a genuine international sensation. It's tempting to think audiences were just smarter fifty years ago, but it's possible they queued up because they heard they might get to see some pubic hair, and also because the film vividly captured the emerging Swinging London scene, so vividly it's difficult to think of another film as closely linked with this odd and enduring patch of youth culture. That's a pretty remarkable accomplishment for a 54-year-old Italian making his first feature film in English, but this is the man who had just directed “Il Grido” (1957), “L'avventura” (1960), “L'eclisse”(1962), and “Red Desert” (1964), all in a row. That's damn close to the most remarkable accomplishment by any artist named Michelangelo, so making a masterpiece in a foreign country and language was really no biggie.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Color is important in any color film, but rarely more so than in an Antonioni color film. It sure looks like this new 1080p transfer gets it right – those blue and red painted houses pop off the screen. Thomas's busily decorated studio is visible in all its sharp detail. Flesh tones are warm, everything looks great in motion. I'm told there's some controversy over the correct aspect ratio which, as usual, is of little interest. Overall, this is the best I've ever seen “Blow-Up” look.

Audio:

The linear PCM mono audio track is, like almost all Criterion mixes, crisp and free of any distortion or drop off. The film's score by Herbie Hancock, his first soundtrack, is an all-time great one and sounds fantastic here. The Yardbirds also drop in to perform a number. There are long stretches with minimal or no dialogue and only quiet sound effects (leaves rustling in the wind, a camera snapping, a tennis ball bouncing) and it's all clearly presented here. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:

This is yet another fully-loaded Criterion release.

“Blow Up of 'Blow-Up'” (2016, 54 min.), directed by Valentina Agostini, is a documentary made for the 50^th anniversary of the film's release last year, and combines interviews with crew members along with visits to some of the film's locations.

The disc also includes several interviews, both old and new. New for this Criterion release is an interview with Vanessa Redgrave (2016, 44 min.) which is shot in B&W for some reason, and which records a Q&A with the actress after a recent screening of “Blow-Up.” It's a pretty extensive conversation considering how briefly she's actually in the movie.

We get an older interview with actress Jane Birkin (1989, 9 min.), who plays “The Blonde” with whom Thomas briefly frolics, and she tells an interesting story about her very odd audition for the film. Two older interviews with lead David Hemmings are also included. First is a short 1968 interview (5 min.) shot on the set of “Only When I Larf.” It's mildly amusing to see Hemmings try to squeeze in interviews between calls to set, but otherwise this is just about content-free. Hemmings' appearance on a 1977 episode of “City Lights” (20 min.) is much more interesting. A collection of excerpts from the 2001 documentary “Michelangelo Antonioni: The Eye That Changed America” (5 min. total of excerpts) includes a brief clip of Antonioni accepting the 1967 Palme d'Or at Cannes and a few short interviews with the director.

The menu selection “Antonioni's Hypnotic Vision” leads to two separate features. “Modernism” (2016, 16 min.) provides curator and art historian David Alan Mellor an opportunity to discuss some of Antonioni's influences from the world of painting, including a major shift in the director's work which Mellor attributes, at least in part, to Antonioni's first encounter with the work of Robert Rauschenberg. I liked this piece quite a bit. “Photography” combines separate interviews with historian Philippe Garner and Walter Moser, head of the photography collection at the Albertina museum in Vienna.

The extras wrap up with a Teaser (1 min.) and a Trailer (2 min.)

The thick, square-bound insert booklet includes an essay by film scholar David Forgacs, an on-set account by Stig Bjorkman, questionnaires Antonioni sent to London photographers while researching the film, and the short story from which the film was very, very loosely inspired, “Blow-Up” by World Hopscotch Champion Jose Cortazar.

Final Thoughts:

“Blow-Up” might not be one of my five favorite Antonioni films. It is also one of my favorite films. Criterion's release is surely the definitive one to date, and it's tough to imagine a significantly superior one. The transfer is strong, the extras voluminous, and even the insert booklet is impressive. It's only April, but this vaults to the top of the list for best Blu-ray releases of 2017.

L'Eclisse

L'ECLISSE (Antonioni, 1962)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date June 10, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

The poignancy and irony of “L'eclisse” (1962) stems from the fact that the lead character Vittoria (Monica Vitti) searches for something she not only cannot identify but almost certainly wouldn't recognize even if she found it. Her mantra is “I don't know” and it applies not only to answers, but even to motivations. Without a trace of humor, she asks, “Why do we ask so many questions?” She desires... something, and the inability to articulate her need only heightens the desperation to fulfill it.

“L'eclisse” is the third film of director Michelangelo Antonioni's so-called alienation trilogy (a trilogy formed in hindsight by critics and one that could easily find room for a fourth, the 1964 “Red Desert”) and probably its most disconcerting. That's saying an awful lot after the unresolved disappearance at the heart of “L'avventura” (1960) and the death of love in “La notte” (1961), but virtually every frame of “L'eclisse” oozes free-floating anxiety and radical dislocation.

The film opens at the end of the relationship between Vittoria and the vaguely-defined Riccardo (Francisco Rabal). Riccardo is partially obscured by an oversized obelisk-shaped bookend while a small rotating fan behind him spits out an unsettling buzz that dominates the soundtrack; across the room Vittoria reaches through an empty, ornate frame to rearrange tiny items on the desktop. She sighs. There's no point to the activity, but there's also nothing else to do. Nothing to say to each other either, but they'll still say something. Why? “I don't know.”

Vitti and Delon, being absurdly beautiful

First world problems, no doubt. Hunter-gatherers haven't yet adapted to the relatively new concept of leisure time, not even the prettiest ones. “L'eclisse” sure has its share of those, as do most Antonioni films. Vittoria eventually falls in with a stockbroker played by Alain Delon, and he and Vitti have two of the most flawless faces that ever shared a screen together. They are truly gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh.

This is both a source of fascination and frustration in Antonioni's universe. Pretty people have problems too, but it can be exasperating to spend two hours sharing the disaffected angst of the world's genetic lottery winners. Then again, you could argue that Antonioni needs to show that even the most exquisitely beautiful humans ever formed can't find meaning or happiness to emphasize just how dysfunctional the modern world is. Still, you suspect that as soon as the cameras stopped rolling, they all had one hell of an orgy.

In any case, Vittoria's relationship travails are more of an excuse than a narrative structure. Even more than the previous films in the sort-of trilogy, “L'eclisse” meanders along at odd angles and in unexpected directions. Vittoria disappears entirely during a lengthy virtuoso sequence shot at Rome's stock exchange where a moment of silence for a dead colleague consists of a chorus of ringing telephones that remind us that the sacred flow of capital will not be stanched for mere mortal reasons. As usual, architecture plays a role as prominent as the human actors at times, and Antonioni needs no plot-driven reason to linger on a building (particularly one that looks to this fanboy like the Legion of Doom headquarters perched high atop a tower) or a public space. The genuinely disturbing final sequence abandons the protagonists altogether to display the uncaring machinery of Rome lurching into life at night. If it doesn't rattle you, you're deader inside than any of Antonioni's beautiful drifters.

I'm often told that the once uber-fashionable Antonioni has fallen out of fashion somewhat today, though I'm told that exclusively by people who don't share the opinion so I can't judge the accuracy of the claim. I could live with two or three fewer shots of that damned bucket and the leak it springs at the end, but to me “L'eclisse” and all Antonioni films of this era remain as relevant and vital as ever. Exactly what modern cinema movement is supposed to have displaced Antonioni's piercing eye? Mumblecore? Make mine Michelangelo please.

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. The 2005 SD transfer was already a good one, but this transfer has been cleaned up a bit more and, of course, features the usual 1080p upgrade. The black-and-white contrast is rich and moody, and image detail is strong throughout. I spotted a hair or two in the gate along the way, but overall damage is minimal.

This is a dual-release format with two DVDs and a single Blu-ray. I only checked the DVD briefly and it looks as expected – same source as the Blu-ray but with less image detail in SD.

Audio:

The linear PCM Mono track is crisp but somewhat flat. Most Italian films of the time were dubbed (even the Italian-speaking actors) and I assume the same is true here; the dialogue sounds like it's all coming from the same plane no matter where the actors are in the frame, but that's just the way it was made. Optional English subtitles support the Italian audio.

Extras:

Criterion has imported all of the extras from its 2005 SD release.

The film is accompanied by a commentary track by film scholar Richard Peña (please read at the end of the Extras section for more detail), originally recorded in 2004. This is the kind of commentary critics should aspire to, informed and precise in its formal and contextual analysis but accessible to a wider audience. Peña is comfortable discussing Antonioni's framing and also Italian history, making this a fine supplement to anyone looking for a little help with a complex film.

“The Eye That Changed Cinema” (56 min.) is a 2001 documentary directed by Sandro Lai. It includes interviews with Antonioni cobbled together over the span of about forty years from his early work in documentaries to the 1990s dedication of an Antonioni museum in Ferrara, Italy. It's fascinating to see Antonioni's interview persona evolving over time, gaining in confidence over the years.

“Elements of Landscape” (2004, 22 min.) combines two separately recorded interviews with film critic Adriano Aprà and Antonioni friend and collaborator Carlo di Carlo. They cover the usual bases in discussing the director's focus on modern alienation, but this feature could be a good introduction for viewers new to Antonioni's work.

The insert booklet includes an essay by critic Jonathan Rosenbaum, an essay by critic Gilberto Perez about Antonioni's multi-film collaboration with Monica Vitti, and two excerpts of Antonioni writing about his work, one from a piece originally published in the Spring 1962 issue of “Film Culture” and another from the 1963 collection “Screenplays of Michelangelo Antonioni.”

This is a dual-release format which includes two DVDs (with film and extras) and a single Blu-ray. The content should be identical. However, due to an error, the commentary track on the DVD is actually the commentary track from Criterion's recent release of Don Siegel's “Riot in Cell Block 11.” Due credit to Chris Galloway at CriterionForum.org for pointing this out because I admit I would not have checked it on my own, but I can confirm that it wasn't just his copy.

Film Value:

“L'avventura” remains my favorite Antonioni, but “L'eclisse” isn't all that far behind. This Criterion Blu-ray upgrade looks great and features substantive if not extensive extras. The mistake with the DVD commentary track (see Extras above) is worth noting, but since it's a dual-format release you still have access to the correct commentary on the Blu-ray.

L'avventura

L'avventura (Antonioni, 1960)

Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date November 25, 2014

Review by Christopher S. Long

Let us pretend for a moment that Michelangelo Antonioni's “L'avventura” (1960) adheres to the tenets of Hollywood storytelling as handed down by holy scripture, or at least by every screenwriting book published in the last twenty years.

The story establishes its initial equilibrium. The rich, beautiful Anna (Lea Massari) and her equally rich, beautiful friends enjoy a lazy boat ride among the Aeolian Islands near Sicily. It is a trip like many they have taken before until the inciting incident disrupts the equilibrium: Anna disappears. This introduces the main tension that will guide us through the second act: Will they find Anna? Every action the characters undertake will, of course, answer that central question in some fashion. Because that's what characters in properly-structured narratives do. It's the only way to escalate the action which is, of course, the only way to keep viewers involved.

 Anna's friend Claudia (Monica Vitti) appears to be down with the program. She searches the rocky island where Anna vanished and vows to visit every other island in the chain until she finds her. Alas, the rest of her party doesn't share her fervor. Just a few minutes into the search, lovely young Giulia (Dominique Blanchar) frets over how her boyfriend treated her rudely. A bit later, Patrizia (Esmeralda Ruspoli) admonishes a social gathering that they should be ashamed for joking about Anna's fate; they disperse out of a sense of embarrassment for Patrizia who should know better than to think them capable of shame.

Anna's boyfriend Sandro (Gabriele Ferzetti) initially joins the search but he deals with his grief expeditiously, quickly turning his attention to Claudia who has the undeniable benefit of being present. Claudia resists his advances. She doesn't want to get distracted from... wait, what was that central tension again? Supposed to be looking for someone or maybe something. Maybe it was Sandro.

The film's portrait of the elite class isn't flattering, but hardly anyone comes out looking great. A working-class pharmacist allegedly has a lead on Anna's whereabouts, but his wife is consumed entirely by jealousy. It's OK. Nobody was really following the lead anyway, just going through the motions. Still, for all of its hollowed-out protagonists, the film is even more notable for its acknowledgment that the center no longer holds.

This is a world without design, where characters can no longer single-mindedly pursue goals and resolve problems. They pursue their own agendas and devote most of their effort to coping with whatever happens next, often with events that have nothing to do with that increasingly elusive goal. Claudia is constantly looking, not for Anna, but simply looking, through windows and over balconies, trying to make sense of her environment. Sensation is all she's got. Claudia repeatedly insists that Sandro say that he loves her not because she believes it for a second, but simply to hear the words that maintain a cherished pretense.

Discussing “L'avventura” entirely in terms of narrative would be a crime. It is one of the most exquisite films ever made with brilliant black-and-white photography by cinematographer Aldo Scavarda. Vitti's perfect face plays its a major role, but witness also the stark beauty of the island where Anna disappears, a massive featureless rock that bursts angrily out of the sea. From atop that rock, Claudia gazes out at the placid ocean, standing out sharply against a drab overcast sky. As usual with Antonioni, environment is spotlighted as a character of its own, not just nature but also the architectural details (walls, doors) characters constantly study while biding time.

With its beautiful imagery and its eternally unresolved mystery, “L'avventura” would become the film that placed Antonioni astride the international art-house circuit alongside Ingmar Bergman. However, its legend was only secured with its extraordinary final scene. Standing behind a weeping Sandro, Claudia extends a hand to touch him then retracts it. After a quick but fierce internal struggle that plays out in Vitti's eyes, she reaches out once again, completing perhaps the most significant gesture in the history of cinema, yet another moment that plays like a Rorschach blot for viewers. Does the film end with a meaningful connection or in desperate resignation? A last shot situating a blank wall on the right and Mt. Etna glowering in the distance on the left hint at both possibilities, but interpret meaning only at your peril. 

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Criterion released “L'avventura” on DVD in 2001 (it retains Spine #98) from a restored print. It looked pretty neat then, but we're spoiled 13 years later and this 4K high-def transfer renders the old DVD obsolete. This movie full of white and gray in its vast negative spaces looks magnificent in 1080p with a rich grain structure and superb image detail throughout. Of the many films in the Criterion Collection, this rates near the top as far as movies you'd want to see in the most immaculate version possible. Short of a 35 mm print, this qualifies. Fantastic.

Audio:

The linear PCM mono track is crisp and distortion free. The dialogue (recorded after production) sounds slightly disembodied and many effects sound like they're recorded a bit “too loud” but that's all part of the original audio design, though sometimes it's hard to be certain. The sound design is evocative but not particularly dynamic. Optional English subtitles support the Italian audio.

Extras:

This is the only disappointing part of the review.

Though Criterion released the film on DVD 13 years ago, they have only added one new feature for this Blu-ray release. And that isn't really new, rather a 2004 interview with director and critic Olivier Assayas who provides a three-part analysis of the film running 27 minutes. He describes the movie as “a turning point in the evolution of film” and I'm not one to argue.

The other extras have been imported from the 2001 DVD, starting with the commentary track by critic Gene Youngblood. It was recorded way back in 1989 for a laser disc release which surely makes this one of the very few quarter-century old commentaries in current circulation. Mr. Youngblood, you are a pioneer!

“Antonioni: Documents and Testimonials” (1966, 58 min.) has the distinction of being the first documentary on Antonioni that was officially approved by Antonioni. I didn't know these needed to be approved. Directed by Gianfranco Mingozzi for the Film Board of Canada, it captures Antonioni at the height of his popularity.

Jack Nicholson reads two essays by Antonioni: “L'avventura: A Moral Adventure” (10 min.) and “Reflections on the Film Actor” (6 min.) The latter is fascinating and reminded me of why I love Antonioni's approach so much. However, Nicholson deflates some of the bold claims in his own commentary about “Working with Antonioni” (5 min.), noting that the director was prone to contradict himself frequently.

We also get a Trailer (2 min.)

The fold-out insert booklet includes an essay by critic Geoffrey Nowell-Smith (orig included in the 2001 booklet), a reprint of Antonioni's comments upon the film's 1960 Cannes premiere as well as a short statement from the Cannes film jury addressing the controversy the movie generated (people wanted their comfortable meaning and structure) and defending the film's quality.

Film Value:

“L'avventura” is one of the movies that me want to study and write about movies. I love it more with each viewing and it is pretty darned exciting to see it in such stunning clarity. The lack of new extras is a disappointment, but the high-def transfer is easily worth an upgrade all by itself.