The Taking of Power By Louis XIV

THE TAKING OF POWER BY LOUIS XIV (Rossellini, 1966)

Criterion Collection, DVD, Release Date January 13, 2009

Review by Christopher S. Long

Louis XIV’s transformation from a puppet ruler to the Sun King did not unfold as a grand dramatic arc, though there was drama along the way, but as a series of administrative decisions, conversations, and even a few strategic changes of clothing. In “The Taking of Power by Louis XIV” (1966) director Roberto Rossellini focuses on the details of daily living that led to the ascension of France’s most powerful king, minutiae piling up into the mountains of history.

The film begins with the death of Cardinal Mazarin in 1661. Mazarin, successor to the better-know Cardinal Richelieu, was the Chief Minister of France while Louis XIV was a child, and he wielded tremendous power. Mazarin’s death left a void that few people expected the 22 year-old layabout king to fill. Louis, fond of hunting and gaming, could easily have delegated authority to the usual suspects, but instead chose, in a halting, nervous, step-by-step way, to gradually invest more and more of the state’s authority in the monarchy.

Louis, acting in concert with some of Mazarin’s advisors, enacted a series of changes to law and ritual so modest on the surface that they don’t occupy a prominent place in history books. Constantly terrified of a return of the Fronde revolts of the 1650s in which the Parliament and the nobles briefly drove Mazarin out of the country, Louis decided that the best way to neutralize the threat was to make the nobility completely dependent on him. He began wearing ornate, foppish clothing (the kind we’re familiar with in period pieces today), forcing the court nobility to imitate him which, in turn, cost them a year’s salary or more. He also expanded the palace at Versailles to a virtual city-state unto itself and shifted the seat of government there, relocating the nobility from their estates to what was unquestionably the court of Louis XIV.

In Rossellini's words, “The slightest act of daily life contains extraordinary dramatic power.” Banal moments and dry rituals occupy the bulk of the film. Rossellini devotes an entire scene to Louis trying on his new clothing. The final fifteen minutes of the movie consist almost entirely of an elaborately served dinner which Louis eats while perched alone high on a platform as the crowd of courtiers looks on, a ceremony that asserts the king’s dominance over his subjects in no uncertain terms. 

Rossellini often preferred to work with non-professional actors. Office clerk Jean-Marie Patte was cast as the Sun King and proved to be a perfect model for the director’s idiosyncratic production style. Just as Louis was terrified of rebellion, Patte was terrified of the camera. He constantly looks as if he’s trying to swallow himself whole to hide from the lens’s gaze, and this awkwardness makes Louis’ false bravado both poignant and plausible. He was a boy playing at being a man, and he succeeded simply by faking his way through and relying on the trappings of the office to carry the day. Look like a king, and you will be one.

Louis often refuses to look at the people he is speaking to, staring off at some distant point instead. Is he contemplating his own grandeur? Perhaps. But Patte was struggling with his lines. Unable to memorize them, he read his dialogue off cue cards in most scenes. Trust Rossellini to turn an actor’s apparent weakness into one of the film’s defining stylistic features. It’s a truly marvelous performance that derives not from an acting class, but from the strategic placement of a body relative to the camera, the intersection of physical and optical.

With its restrained performances, de-dramatized narrative, and emphasis on gestures, “Power” plays much like a Bresson film which makes it even harder to believe that it played to such a large audience. Of course, Rossellini had one major advantage: he didn't open the film in theaters, but rather on French television. In 1962, the director had declared cinema to be dead and abandoned it for TV. He was true to his word and spent the rest of his career making historical dramas for the small screen. The change of medium did not cause the director to abandon his vision in the slightest. The historical films are just as much “Rossellini” as his epoch-shifting early work like “Rome, Open City” (1945) and “Voyage to Italy” (1954), films that quite literally changed cinema forever.

Video:
The film is presented in its original 1.33:1 full-screen ratio. The image quality is mediocre by Criterion standards, but more than acceptable overall. I’m not sure how much of this is attributable to the film being shot for television. The colors are a bit dull and there is more damage visible than on most Criterion transfers. It’s still a solid effort.

Audio:
The DVD is presented in Dolby Digital Mono. Solid, functional, no notable problems. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:
There is no commentary track included with the film, an increasingly common trend for Criterion.

Instead, we have a wonderful Visual Essay (25 min.) by Tag Gallagher, author of “The Adventures of Roberto Rossellini.” As he did on the Criterion release of “The Earrings of Madame de…” Gallagher takes advantage of the DVD format to offer an audio-visual critique that is enlightening and entertaining. I hope Criterion will include more of these, whether by Gallagher or other critics.

The disc also includes interviews with the director’s son Renzo Rossellini (5 min.) who speaks about his uncredited direction of one of the film’s climactic scenes, and a 2004 interview, conducted by Allerton Films for MK2 with writer/artistic adviser Jean-Dominique de La Rochefoucauld and script supervisor Michelle Podroznik (14 min.)

The slim insert booklet features an essay by Colin MacCabe.

Film Value:
“The Taking of Power by Louis XIV” is history writ small, a layering of subtle (and sometimes grueling) details that accumulate a mysterious gestalt power. The final product is a masterpiece, one of Rossellini’s greatest achievements. Rossellini’s groundbreaking neo-realist films were undeniably more influential than his historical television work, but I think I like both “Power” and “Blaise Pascal” (1972) even more. “Blaise Pascal” is one of the three films included in the new Eclipse Set “Rossellini’s History Films: Renaissance and Enlightenment” which also includes “Cartesius” (1973) and “The Age of the Medici” and is thoroughly awesome.

The Friends of Eddie Coyle

THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE (Yates, 1973)

Criterion Collection, DVD, Release Date 5/19/2009

Review by Christopher S. Long

(Criterion is releasing “The Friends of Eddie Coyle” on Blu-ray this week. I am re-posting my review of the 2009 DVD release of the same title; the Blu-ray does not include any new extras. You might want to look elsewhere if you want to read about, like, the plot. Or other stuff.)

Consider this a tribute to George V. Higgins (1939-1999), author of the 1970 novel “The Friends of Eddie Coyle” on which the 1973 Peter Yates film is based:

The director sat down next to the producer and smiled.

“Robert Mitchum,” the director said.

“Robert Mitchum?” the producer said.

“Robert Mitchum,” the director said. “He’s the only guy who can play Eddie Coyle.”

“That crazy bastard can’t be trusted,” the producer said. “He'll piss all over you. Literally.”

“I can handle him,” the director said. “I think.”

“But Eddie Coyle’s a two-bit nobody. Robert Mitchum’s a big-time somebody,” the producer said.

“Mitchum can do it,” the director said. “Didn’t you see him in ‘Ryan’s Daughter’?”

“OK. I can get him,” the producer said. “I’ll get him for you. I know people. I’ll get him.”

The waiter brought them two beers. The producer sipped his. The director didn’t. He had ordered a gin and tonic, but the waiter didn't like him.

“And I want Peter Boyle as Dillon,” the director said.

“You want Peter Boyle,” the producer said. “The guy that played Joe?”

“This guy’s gonna be big some day,” the director said. “I just know it. He’s just right. Think about it.”

“Yeah, I can totally see that,” the producer said. “But we need to talk about this title. The Friends of Eddie Coyle. It’s not like these guys are his friends.”

“It’s ironic,” the director said. “A guy like Eddie Coyle doesn’t have any friends. Nobody cares about Eddie Coyle.”

“The audience might not either,” the producer said.

“They will if we cast Robert Mitchum,” the director said.

“I see your point,” the producer said. “By the way, I understand the ironic thing already. You think you’re a clever prick, don’t you? But I still don’t like the title. It doesn’t look good on a poster. It’s not sexy.”

“There’s no sex in this movie. Not even a romantic interest,” the director said.

“Yeah, but we don't want the audience to think that,” the producer said.

“Nobody’s going to see this movie anyway, Paul,” the director said.

“That’s not funny, Peter,” the producer said. He wiped the beer suds from his chin. “Fine, the title stays. But this thing’s a bitch to adapt. The book’s almost all dialogue.”

“And movies are all pictures,” the director said, “no matter how bad they are. That’s the beauty of it. There’s stuff that happens in between the words – you just gotta read carefully. And all of that will be in the movie. It has to be because it’s all pictures. Even when it’s dialogue, it’s still pictures. Which is why we need Robert Mitchum because nobody holds a camera like Bob Mitchum.”

“Bob?” the producer said.

“We used to play bridge together,” the director said.

“Then why are you asking me to get him?” the producer said.

“Fine, we never played bridge together,” the director said. “Can you get him?

“Yeah, yeah. I think,” the producer said.

“It really is a great book,” the director said, “You have read it, haven’t you?”

“I’m writing the damn script,” the producer said.

“That doesn’t answer the question,” the director said.

“Stop busting my balls,” the producer said.

“But I like busting your balls,” the director said.

“I bet you do,” the producer said.

The director slammed back his beer in one swift motion. He leaned forward.

“Trust me, it’s gonna be a great movie,” the director said. “It can’t miss.”

“I know. But I worry,” the producer said. “That’s my job.”

“It’s gonna be a great movie,” the director said.

The critic adjusted his chair. He sipped his Diet Mountain Dew.

“It's a great movie,” the critic said. “A really great movie. And Robert Mitchum is the only one who could do it. He really holds the camera.”

Video:
The film is presented in a 1.85:1 aspect ratio. The anamorphic, progressive transfer is crisp with only minimal signs of damage. The film’s color palette is muted and the director approved transfer doesn’t tart it up, giving it just the right look to capture the grimy Boston underworld that provides the film’s setting.

Audio:
The DVD is presented in Dolby Digital Mono. Nothing much to say here – crisp, clean, not too dynamic and not meant to be. Optional English subtitles support the English audio.

Extras:
This is a nearly bare-bones Criterion release. The only extra is an audio commentary by director Peter Yates.

The insert booklet includes an essay by critic Kent Jones and Grover Lewis’s 1973 “Rolling Stone” profile of Robert Mitchum, compiled on the set of “Eddie Coyle.”

Final Thoughts:

Like the George V. Higgins book, “The Friends of Eddie Coyle” is a lean, efficient crime drama, the kind of film that feels like it could only have been made during the '70s. Mitchum’s low-key performance as a total schlemiel is one of his finest. Contrast this with his phenomenal performances in movies like “Night of the Hunter” and “Cape Fear” and you’ll get an idea how much range this great and unique actor had.

Read the book. Watch the movie. You won’t regret either decision.

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.

Belle Toujours - Manoel De Oliveira Toujours!

Portuguese director/national treasure Manoel de Oliveira died today at the age of 106. By most accounts he was the oldest active filmmaker, and by any account the shape and span of his career was virtually unparallelled. His first film, “Douro, Faina Fluvial”(“Labor on The Douro River") was a silent movie released in 1931; a bit later, “The Strange Case of Angelica” (2010) employed digital animation to relate its exquisite tale of haunted love. Perhaps the only parallel to Oliveira's film career is that of film itself.

Oliveira was largely silenced in the middle of the 20^th century by oppressive censorship from the right-wing regime in Portugal. After 1942's “Aniki-Bóbó” he shot only one feature and several documentary shorts over the next quarter century. He was merely resting up for the greatest stretch run cinema has ever witnessed.

From the '70s on, Oliveira seemed to become more prolific with each passing decade. Oliveira released more than twenty films, a mix of features and shorts, in the 21^st century, a century he greeted a few weeks after his 92nd birthday.

Oliveira's output as a nonagenarian and centenarian certainly contributed to his beloved status among cinephiles around the world, but he was no aged trick pony. His films, often about doomed love (indeed he made a mini-series called “Doomed Love”), were sensitive, literary, meticulously staged works of deceptive simplicity that speak to an eye that saw clearly well past the century mark. They would be great and celebrated films from a mere lad of eighty, or thirty for that matter.

Below I have re-posted my 2008 review of Oliveira's “Belle Toujours” which I'm not even sure ranks as one of his top five movies made since turning 90, but which is still a modest gem. For other great Oliveira films on DVD and Blu-ray, I recommend the Cinema Guild releases of “Eccentricities of a Blonde-Haired Girl” (2010) and the aforementioned “The Strange Case of Angelica” which also includes that first short “Douro, Faina Fluvia.” And if you can find a copy of the Image Entertainment's release of “I'm Going Home” (2001), one of Oliveira's finest, pounce on it.

BELLE TOUJOURS (the great Manoel de Oliveira, 2006)

New Yorker Films, DVD, Release Date June 24, 2008

Review by Christopher S. Long

It’s rare that I get to write about a hundred year old director but, to be fair, Manoel de Oliveira was merely a lad of 97 when he made “Belle Toujours” (2006). Also to be fair, de Oliveira has to wait another 5 months before he officially makes it to 100, but considering that he has released two features and two shorts in the last two years and has one of each in production in the current year, he doesn’t appear to be slowing down any time soon. He made his first short film in 1931, and his first feature in 1942 after which his career was derailed for nearly 15 years, and he would not release his next feature film until 1963 when, at the age of 55, he finally got things cranking.

As if flipping off Father Time, Oliveira has been more productive in the past decade than at any other time in his career, releasing 18 films (features and shorts) since 1998, nearly half his lifetime output. Please note that it is old hat (pun intended) to discuss Manoel de Oliveira’s age these days, but since this is the first opportunity I have had to write about this remarkable director, I’m entitled. I promise not to say a word about it over his next hundred years.

With “Belle Toujours,” Oliveira has made perhaps his oddest film, intended as a sequel of sorts to Luis Buñuel’s landmark “Belle de Jour” (1967). Except that “sequel” isn’t the right term; rather it’s an afterword written long, long after the main text. “Belle de Jour” is one of Buñuel’s most perverse and perverted films (and I mean that in a good way), the story of a bored housewife named Severine (Catherine Deneuve) who loves her devoted husband but still chooses to spend her days working in a high-end brothel. She harnesses her inner masochist with the help of her husband’s best friend Henri (Michel Piccoli) and an array of twisted clients.

“Belle Toujours” kicks off at a concert in which the much older but not necessarily any wiser Henri (played again by Michel Piccoli) spots the much older and possibly wiser Severine (played this time by Bulle Ogier) in the audience. He stare at her as if trying to mesmerize his former object of desire, but she proves elusive and disappears in a limo before he can speak to her. Henri is nothing if not dogged, however, and he soon tracks her down at her hotel. She has no interest whatsoever in catching up with her “old friend,” but he persuades her to have dinner with him. While killing time, he also stops in a bar to recount his story (the story of “Belle de Jour”) to an easily impressed bartender (Ricardo Trêpa, the director's grandson and star of some of Oliveira's later films) which isn’t really intended as exposition for the viewers, but further confirmation of Henri’s vanity.

You might be thinking this is a reunion story of sorts. That is, if you know nothing about Buñuel or Oliveira which, apparently, is true of whoever wrote the summary at Rotten Tomatoes which ludicrously describes the film as “a short and sweet elegy on aging, sexuality, and the power of cinema.”

“Belle Toujours” picks up right where “Belle de Jour” left off, digging perhaps into even more perverse territory. Henri’s patrician façade has no doubt fooled many a socialite into thinking him quite the gentleman, but his intentions to Severine are anything but honorable. Severine, we discover, has “redeemed” herself in the ensuing four decades, devoting herself to her husband and to God. Henri cannot let this affront to nature stand, and plays sadistic mind-games with her, and the real mystery for us to confront is whether Severine, despite her protestations, is every bit as much into humiliation as she ever was. Indeed, what else could she possibly expect when she (not so?) grudgingly accepts his invitation to dinner? Oliveira’s subversion of the need for the closure one might expect from a reunion narrative is his slyest, and cruelest, touch. Buñuel would be proud.

Indeed, the film is permeated by the spirit of Buñuel, not just in its direct references to “Belle de Jour” (a picture here, a gift there) but in its relationship to his entire work. Viewers unfamiliar with Buñuel might be puzzled when the film appear to continue one scene “too long” after the main characters have exited and the servants are talking to each other, but it’s the sort of moment that cropped up again in again in Buñuel’s work, most notably in his masterpiece “Exterminating Angel” (1962).

Piccoli, as usual, is brilliant. Though a mere whippersnapper next to de Oliveira, Piccoli has been a screen star for sixty years now, and has done some of his best work in recent years, especially with Oliveira (Piccoli was also phenomenal in 2001's “I’m Going Home”), and he relishes his opportunity to re-visit one of his best-known roles. Here, Henri Husson makes the leap from supporting character to protagonist with Severine as more of a fringe character who flits about the edges of the screen until the climactic dinner sequence. Bulle Ogier cannot match the screen presence of Catherine Deneuve, but she isn’t called on to do much here except to simply be Severine.

Will you be unable to enjoy “Belle Toujours” if you aren’t a Buñuel aficionado? No, though it’s fair to say you won’t necessarily be fully in tune with de Oliveira’s project. Even on its own, the film is an ambling, amusing psychosexual cat and mouse game which proves that the march of time doesn’t mean you have to be any less of a sick bastard. That’s a theme we can all identify with.

Video:
The film is presented in a 1.78:1 anamorphic transfer. Though the transfer is interlaced, it’s unusually strong by New Yorker’s standards. The color saturation is just right (sometimes a problem with this studio) and the image quality is fairly sharp. Still, it would be nice if they could offer progressive transfers in the near future.

Audio:
The DVD is presented in Dolby Digital 2.0. Optional English subtitles support the French audio.

Extras:
With such a short film, it would have been nice to get a few more extras. What we get isn’t bad though. There are four interviews, the best of which, of course, are the ones with de Oliveira (23 min.) and Piccoli (9 min.) Interviews with Bulle Ogier (5 min.) and

Ricardo Trêpa (2 min.) provide a few brief perspectives on working with the veteran director.

Also included are a Trailer, a Photo Gallery and a Press Kit which can be accessed as a PDF file on your PC.

Film Value:

At 65 minutes (not counting the end credits), this strange coda to “Belle de Jour” is over almost as soon as it starts or, more accurately, speeds away after its lightning-strike hit and run job. I suppose you could consider this film to be a meditation on aging (as many critics have written), but it’s a pretty pervy one and surely not a “sweet elegy” of any kind. In all honesty, I like this film more than “Belle de Jour” which, I admit, is not one of my favorite Buñuels. Long live Michel Piccoli! Long live Manoel de Oliveira! Well, I guess they’ve already done that. But you know what I mean.