The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS (Coen, 2018)

Netflix, Release Date Nov 16, 2018

Review by Christopher S. Long

The singing cowboy Buster Scruggs (Tim Blake Nelson) has numerous “nicknames, handles, appellations, and cognomens.” Some folks call him “The Harbinger of Death.” His own wanted poster dubs him “The Misanthrope” which Buster deems unfair; he greatly prefers to be known as “The San Saba Songbird” or, in a pinch, “The West Texas Tit.”

Buster, a murderous Looney Tunes character made flesh, is a crack shot, but there's reason to question his judgment in other matters, despite his sunny disposition and his impeccable white clothes. After he has disposed of the gambler Surly Joe (Clancy Brown) by “downright Archimedean” means, Buster entertains the entire saloon by celebrating Joe's death with a song and dance routine. Shortly after Buster belts out the prediction that his latest victim “won't be missed by anyone,” Surly Joe's brother (Danny McCarthy) appears on the scene to prove otherwise, cradling the corpse and sobbing “We've lost him!” Unmoved by this sincere display of grief, the crowd continues to hoot and holler at Buster's show-stopping number which, to be fair, is truly sensational.

Buster's faulty assessment plays to me like an oblique response to General William Westmoreland's infamous claim during the Vietnam War that “The Oriental doesn't put the same high price on life as a Westerner.” I'm not claiming that the Coens intended that, though I've heard tell that some critics have already interpreted Buster as a symbol of American military intervention.

I'd rather let the movie sit for a few months before making any similar claims, but what's clear is that the West depicted in the movie is no place for the sensitive or the vulnerable, for anyone who does put a high price on life. Surly Joe's brother, for example, doesn't last long after his genuine expression of sorrow, courtesy of Buster who dispatches him swiftly, though not painlessly. And Buster's the white-clad singing cowboy hero.

Structured as six short films (if you love Buster, better enjoy him before he's gone) with no direct narrative connection, “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” frequently underscores the plight of those who simply “don't belong” in this hardscrabble frontier. In “The Gal Who Got Rattled” segment, a single woman (Zoe Kazan, absolutely flawless) heading west with a wagon train must rely on the kindness of strangers for her very survival. Said kindness turns out to be surprisingly abundant and yet may still not be sufficient, not for someone who just shouldn't there in the first place.

A more haunting example of this theme manifests in “The Meal Ticket” segment. A gruff impresario (Liam Neeson) barnstorms tiny frontier towns with his star attraction, a quadruple amputee Artist (Harry Melling, delicate and ethereal, like an ancestor of Edward Scissorhands). Belted into a makeshift chair on a tiny portable stage, The Artist entertains crowds by reciting great speeches and poems: “I met a traveler from an antique land...” Crowds? Well, at first maybe, but Old West America is about as interested in culture as is 21^st century America. Once the new “freak” show loses his shock appeal, Neeson's businessman must decide how to best invest his money and time to adapt to fickle public tastes. The Artist, of course, will not be asked for his input.

An excessive focus on the commonalities risks ignoring the distinct pleasures of each stand-alone story. And there is perhaps no greater pleasure in the movie than watching Tom Waits embody the ultimate grizzled prospector, a near-solo performance of stubborn digging and cantankerous muttering, his eyes ever on the golden prize he calls Mr. Pocket. I've always loved Waits as an actor from his work with Jim Jarmusch, but he outdoes himself, and just about everyone else this year, in a virtuoso physical performance.

If forced to select the weakest of the stories, I'd probably choose the one in which James Franco plays a hapless bank robber. But this segment still offers some of the movie's best moments, including an eccentric turn by Stephen Root as a tough bank teller and perhaps the film's funniest line, when Franco, sent to the gallows for a second time (long story), turns to a fellow condemned prisoner about to get the noose, and, with a friendly smile, asks “First time?”

The Coens are, of course, masters of the medium by now, and “Buster Scruggs” showcases all of their usual strengths. Always adept at idiosyncratic dialogue and long-winded speeches, they are at complete ease with the quirky argot of the Old West. We witnessed that in “True Grit,” of course, but if you thought they were coasting on Charles Portis's words, well, they weren't.

The impeccably-cast film features great performances from top line names to veteran character actors: in the film's final and most mythic segment, Chelcie Ross may deliver the best monologue of all as an uncouth trapper sharing his life's philosophy (“People are like ferrets...”) In the space of six stories, “Buster Scruggs”covers the gamut from cartoon hilarity to classic tragedy, from quiet stretches to serial verbosity, from the wide open plains to the cramped quarters of a passenger carriage racing through the mist-shrouded night with a coachman who never stops before his destination.

“The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” is currently available on Netflix, and is playing in select theaters. Here's hoping Netflix will see fit to give the movie a proper Blu-ray release.

The Freethinker

THE FREETHINKER (Watkins, 1994)

New Yorker Video/Project X, DVD, Release Date Nov 6, 2007

Review by Christopher S. Long

Director Peter Watkins has spent a good portion of his career challenging media conventions. His films don't blur the line between fiction and non-fiction so much as they render the distinction irrelevant, at least for his work. When he employs documentary-like aesthetics in his historical fictions, he's not trying to pull the wool over anyone's eyes, but rather to create a unique mode of address that cuts through the artifice of mainstream feature filmmaking. Any technique is fair game. Watkins “interviews” working-class 18th-century soldiers as they prepare for the Battle of “Culloden” (1964) and invites the friends and lovers of “Edvard Munch” (1974) to address the camera directly. “The Freethinker” (1994) sees Watkins continuing to refine his idiosyncratic strategies in ever more complex and startling ways.

Watkins has never been shy about discussing the challenges he has encountered in getting his films produced and distributed. In order to shoot his script about the Swedish playwright August Strindberg (a project initially commissioned by the Swedish Film Institute in 1979), Watkins thought way outside the box, all the way to Nordens Folk High School in Biskops-Arno, Sweden, where the director and his students shot the film over two years as part of a video production course he taught. Watkins wrote the script, but encouraged his student cast and crew to improvise and collaborate, prompting this description in the closing credits: “The film is the result of collective work from 1992-1994... under the supervision of Peter Watkins.”

Even with the collective's contribution, “The Freethinker” still bears a striking resemblance to Watkins's masterpiece, “Edvard Munch.” Like that film, “The Freethinker” is nominally a bio-pic about a celebrated Scandinavian artist, in this case Strindberg. Like “Edvard Munch,” the film jumps around in time, has characters that directly address the screen, and employs virtually any technique needed to make each scene work. However, “The Freethinker” creates an extra layer of reflexivity beyond “Munch.” Anders Mattson, the actor who portrays Strindberg, functions on at least three narrative levels. First, he plays the character of Strindberg. Second, he acts as an odd kind of narrator as he reads excerpts from Strindberg's plays, referring to them as “Strindberg's” rather than “mine.” Third, he appears as a version of himself, an actor playing a role in a film.

The entire film also inhabits multiple narrative levels. In addition to more standard re-enactments of moments from Strindberg's life, we also see scenes from his plays performed as they would have been in late 19^th century Sweden. The movie goes fully navel-gazing by portraying details of its own production, as well as in sequences of a more indeterminate nature, such as when a crew member appears on screen to interview Strindberg... or perhaps Mattson. Further still, Watkins sometimes breaks with his own words as printed on screen, often railing against the injustices of the world's mass media (and quite persuasively, even at his most hectoring.) At some points, critics even take center stage to comment on the film's treatment of Strindberg. Add in the film's complex chronological shifting (Strindberg “dies” with an hour left to go) and you have a heady experience like few other films.

It's an experience not easily digested in a single sitting. The movie runs over four-and-a-half-hours, but as with the lengthy director's cut of “Edvard Munch” (220 min.), every scene feels essential. Watkins takes the road seldom traveled by bio-pic directors, refusing to portray his artist as a lone genius, but rather as a product, and a conduit, of the social and political forces of his time. Strindberg the artist is also shaped by his most intimate relationships, particularly by the original Miss Julie, his first wife Siri von Essen (played by Lena Settervall). Watkins's eye for socio-political detail can be downright exhaustive at times, perhaps to a fetishistic degree. If you've ever wanted to learn about the development of print journalism in 19^th century Sweden, then buddy, this is the movie for you.

The movie is shot on analog video, and that look had a distancing effect for me at first, but once I became accustomed to it, I was completely drawn in, as I am to virtually any Peter Watkins project. The movie's treatment of Strindberg is so rich and so finely-layered it has few parallels in cinema, save perhaps for “Edvard Munch” or, in the realm of fiction, Fassbinder's “Berlin Alexanderplatz.” At the same time, I'm not sure I can say I really got to know Strindberg particularly well. “The Freethinker” offers so much it reminds the viewer of the impossibility of understanding a dynamic personality and vision in the space of a mere four or five hours.

Video:

The movie is presented in a 1.33:1 aspect ratio. “The Freethinker” was shot on analog video (Beta SP) so the transfer can't do much to make it look great. Bright spots sometimes look overblown, and there's a dullness to the image that can't be helped. It ain't pretty, but you get used to it.

Audio:

The DVD offers a Dolby Digital Stereo audio mix. Optional English and French subtitles support the Swedish audio.

Extras:

Hey, the movie's over four hours. Even on two discs, there's no room for extras. The set does include a 16-page booklet with another self interview by Peter Watkins that's definitely worth checking out.

Final Thoughts:

“The Freethinker” is another great entry in “The Films of Peter Watkins” series from Project X/New Yorker Video. These titles may be hard to track down nowadays, and I haven't heard a whisper about any plans either to upgrade or re-release any of Watkins' movies on disc, but I'd hate for this series to wind up forgotten. I think Peter Watkins is one of the greatest and, perhaps, most unfairly overlooked directors of the past half century-plus, and the only way I can provide evidence for that claim is to point you movies like “The Freethinker” and “Edvard Munch.” And “Culloden” (1964). And “The War Game” (1965). Oh, and “La Commune” (2000), which I would include as one of the ten best films of the 21^st century, if only I mistakenly believed that 2000 was the first year of the 21^st century.

Edvard Munch

EDVARD MUNCH (Watkins, 1974)

Project X/New Yorker Video, DVD, Release Date Nov 13, 2007

Review by Christopher S. Long

A distant cliff with thick ridges running vertically down its face looms large on the screen. Rough, shadowy indentations pockmark the surface of this rocky landscape. Are we in the Alps? Maybe the Pyrenees? No, we're in the Oslo studio of Edvard Munch, and this craggy hillside is actually a close-up shot of the canvas on which Munch has built thick layer upon thick layer of paint. This topographic image is the culmination of a startling series of shots in which the increasingly frenetic artist paints, scrapes away, re-paints, re-scrapes, and nearly bores a hole through the canvas as he constantly revises his work. I cannot recall an instance in which the tactile elements of a painting have been captured so vividly on film, the scratch of a palette knife flensing away the excess paint further enhancing the effect. Then again, I have never seen a film quite like writer/director Peter Watkins' magnificent “Edvard Munch” (1974).

The film primarily covers a ten-year period from 1884-1893 (Munch from age 21 to 31), though it often returns to Munch's troubled childhood. Nineteenth-century Christiania (now Oslo) was plagued by disease, both of the consumptive and venereal strands, and the middle-class Munch family was not spared its blight. Edvard's mother, brother, and his beloved sister Sophie died when he was still a child, crippling losses that would haunt him his whole life.

In 1884, the young Munch (played by Geir Westby, who, like the rest of the cast, is a non-professional actor) belongs to a Bohemian intellectual circle led by Hans Jaeger (Kare Stormark). Jaeger's radical philosophy (a volatile mix of nihilism and anarchy) influenced Munch greatly, though Watkins contends that the painter's long-running, tempestuous affair with the mysterious Mrs. Heiberg (Gro Fraas) proved even more crucial in shaping the painter's life. The story progresses through Munch's formative years as a professional artist, and details his battles both with personal demons and external demons: the art critics of 19th-century Europe.

As in most of his other films, Watkins employs a pseudo-documentary style to recreate historic events, but “Edvard Munch” does not “blur” the lines between documentary and fiction so much as it ignores them altogether. Watkins narrates in a dry, formal voice that provides historical and political context, and all of Munch's dialogue is drawn from his diaries and correspondence. But the film is hardly a staid “just the facts” historical report. Indeed, “Edvard Munch” is one of the most stylistically innovative films I've ever seen, radical enough to stand alongside any avant-garde project.

The film leaps back and forth through time. The elliptical editing conveys Munch's emotional state rather than simply connecting events in a standard biopic structure. As Munch scrapes frantically at his canvas, we return to a moment when his sister Sophie is dying of tuberculosis. Sometimes characters talk directly to the camera, either speaking on their own or answering the questions of an off-screen female voice. This disembodied voice has no diegetic source, but it doesn't matter. The actors sometimes improvise their lines, responding with their own opinions rather than from Watkins' script.

All of these creative tools (discontinuous editing, direct address to camera, etc.) have been used in other art-house films as Brechtian devices, but Watkins isn't trying to distance the viewer. Though the film has a certain reflexive quality, this hodge-podge of techniques creates the eerie sense that we are peering in on events as they are happening, 20th-century eyes directly witnessing the previous century, and the movie has an immediacy and a sense of physicality that lend it great affective power. Watkins has created a unique cinematic point-of-view that I struggle to describe even a decade after I first watched it. A free-associative, semi-omniscient perspective which leaves open all possibilities at all times? Eh, I'll keep trying. Any shot needed to convey the subtlest nuance is fair game. In Watkins' art, there are no rules save those meant to be broken.

No subject is off-limits either. Though the film centers on Munch's life, sometimes its scope expands to cover life in 19th-century Christiania where the bourgeoisie thrive, but the working class suffer from wretched labor conditions and rampant disease. Watkins is too politically engaged to romanticize Munch as a solitary genius. The artist is not just a product of his mentors (including August Strindberg as well as Jaeger), but also his society. His lingering melancholia is not an artistic indulgence, but the logical response of a sensitive intellect to the squalor and inequity he witnesses every day (some scholars have suggested Munch suffered from bipolar disorder, a subject not touched on in the film).

Munch had a restless mind, and frequently transformed his style, leaping from impressionism to naturalism to expression and most points between; he also experimented with multiple media including lithography and woodcutting. His paintings were aggressive and shocking, and agitated viewers didn't quite know what to make of them. All of this alienated the staid art critics of the day who derided Munch's work, prompting him to move to Paris and later to Berlin, though we wouldn't find acceptance anywhere until later in his career.

I don't know how much Watkins identifies with Munch, but he has previously described himself as a marginalized director whose politically-charged films have been suppressed by media and corporations who prefer tamer, more familiar fare. At the very least, it seems likely that Watkins takes keen pleasure in depicting Munch's critics as preening dullards who treat any deviation from the norm as evidence of incompetence, dementia, or even moral perversion.

“Edvard Munch” is the best film I have ever seen about an artist or the artistic process. Unlike most art biopics, Watkins does not rely on cheap epiphanies (Jackson Pollock watches a toppled paint can drip on the floor and, voila, he's fully realized his new vision!) to neatly explain a messy story. Instead, we see that Munch achieved inspiration by three primary methods: work, work, and more work. Painting, scraping, painting, scraping, Munch never stops pushing on and on. And while Munch's story is inevitably one of anguish, the film also expresses the joy and pride a dedicated artist can take in the process of creation. “Edvard Munch” is nothing short of a masterpiece. 

Video:

First, a brief explanation. Project X and New Yorker Video released “Edvard Munch” in two separate versions. The first single-disc release (from 2006) includes a shorter cut of the film (174 min.) and few extras. They later released (in 2007), a two-disc “Special Edition” (reviewed here) which includes the original full-length two-part cut of the film (220 min., an extra 46 min.) and several extras. One part is included on each of the two discs. For you real sticklers, the cover image I include below is of the first release. I couldn't find an image of the “Special Edition” cover but the only difference is that the cover includes the words “Special Edition 2-DVD Set.”

The film is presented in its original 1.33:1 aspect ratio. The film was originally shot on 16 mm. This digitally-remastered transfer inevitably looks very grainy and since the transfer is interlaces, you will see some instances of combing (boy, there's an old term from the pre-Blu-ray days). However, the image quality is solid enough, though I'd dearly love a high-def upgrade of this masterpiece.

Audio:

The DVD is presented with a Dolby Digital Mono audio mix. The sound quality is adequate. Optional English and French subtitles support the audio, which is mostly in Norwegian, though it some German, and Watkins' narration is in English.

Extras:

I suppose the 46 additional minutes could count as an extra compared to the first DVD release of the movie, but I strongly recommend viewers simply watch this complete version first before checking out the previous one.

The “Special Edition” includes three short extras about Edvard Munch. “Moments in the Life of Edvard Munch” (1957, 11 min.) and “The Munch Museum in Oslo” (1963, 10 min.) are short informational films that don't really add much to the main movie. “From Ekely, The City and the Artists” (1953, 12 min.) is much more interesting, providing a romanticized portrait of the artists' community in the suburbs of Oslo. It was filmed just seven years after Munch's death, and before construction of the Munch Museum.

A fourth short feature cuts together some of Munch's own silent-film recordings (6 min. total). They were shot on a 9.5 mm Baby Pathe and are quite blurry and probably of interest solely because Munch filmed them.

The “Special Edition” comes with a 56-page insert booklet. It includes a self-interview with/by Watkins as well as a full chapter from Joseph Gomez's book “Peter Watkins.”

Final Thoughts:

I think “Edvard Munch” is not only Peter Watkins' best film, but one of the greatest films ever made. I was even placed it in my all-time Top Ten. Your mileage may vary, but I suspect you'll at least agree that you've seen few movies like it, aside from other Peter Watkins movies, that is.

Project X/New Yorker Video released several Watkins films under the series “The Cinema of Peter Watkins” back in the mid-2000s, shortly before the Blu-ray revolution. I think it's one of the most exciting DVD series ever released, though more than a decade later, I now wish for Blu-ray upgrades for all of them. “Edvard Munch” is the crown jewel of the collection, but it includes many strong releases such as “The War Game and Culloden”, “Punishment Park”, “Privilege”, 'The Freethinker”, and more. They're all worth checking out.

Punishment Park

PUNISHMENT PARK (1971, Watkins)

Project X/New Yorker Video, DVD, Release Date Nov 22, 2005

Review by Christopher S. Long

“Punishment Park takes place tomorrow, yesterday, or five years from now. It is also happening today.”

That's how writer/director Peter Watkins described his 1971 film on its release, so if you find the film disturbingly predictive of whatever time you first encounter it (for me, it was 2005, the rotten nadir of the W. Bush era), consider it evidence of Watkins' success.

In “Punishment Park,” released in the aftermath of the Kent State shootings, President Nixon has enacted emergency legislation that permits anyone deemed a threat to national security to be detained indefinitely at an undisclosed location where they will be tried by a military tribunal granted special powers during this temporary (i.e. permanent) time of crisis. The population is hyper-polarized, and tensions between authoritarians and so-called radicals threaten to tear the social fabric apart.

The film primarily follows the stories of two groups of prisoners: Corrective Group 637 and Corrective Group 638. The first group has already been tried, while the second group awaits trial. To be tried under this emergency tribunal is, of course, the same as being found guilty, but there's some good news! The government has kindly granted each convict a choice: face a lengthy sentence in a military prison, or spend three days in Punishment Park.

What is Punishment Park? According to the government, it's a training course essential for law enforcement to prepare to battle the ever-growing threat of domestic terrorism. For the members of Corrective Group 637, Punishment Park is simply hell. They must cross a course through fifty miles of California desert to reach an American flag at the finish line, all while being pursued by police who, allegedly, will arrest them peacefully and remove them from the course if they are captured. Things don't quite work out in such a (law and) orderly fashion.

Like many of Watkins' other films, “Punishment Park” is constructed as a pseudo-documentary. A British film crew, represented periodically by Watkins' off-screen voice, interviews both prisoners and officers. The crew is ostensibly on scene to serve as impartial recorders, but inevitably wind up enmeshed in events that spiral out of control. Cinematographer Joan Churchill deserves credit for a nimble, athletic performance as the camera zooms across the uneven desert landscape to keep up with the hectic action; keep in mind that was the pre-digital era and Churchill was toting a 16-mm handheld camera through the blazing heat day after day.

With the stated goal of providing a forum in which all sides could be heard, Watkins cast the film with non-professional actors who were encouraged to speak their minds in a largely unscripted affair. Passions burn hot, and the untrained actors sometimes reach a shrill pitch that allows for little to be heard aside from cries of “Pig! Pig! Pig!” but Watkins' choices allow for the venting of authentic anger that remains potent today, a record of a polarized nation that is both timely and timeless.

Watkins may have provided everyone a chance to speak, but he isn't shy about picking a side. The trial of Corrective Group 638 is revealed as a farce from the outset, with a ranting judge denying all objections and even ordering one defendant bound and gagged in court, a reference to Bobby Seale's treatment during the Chicago Seven Trial. Out in Punishment Park, the authorities resort to brutality so abruptly and so vigorously, it's difficult to view them as anything but the “fascist pigs” that protestors claim them to be.

Many critics at the time derided “Punishment Park” as absurdly alarmist, perhaps even irresponsibly so. Certainly, parts of the film seem overwrought, exacerbated by some amateur performances that feel awkward and stilted. As far as being absurdly alarmist or too over-the-top, well, I mean, I'm writing this in 2018, and literally while I was working on this paragraph, the president proudly proclaimed himself a “nationalist” to a cheering crowd, so, uh...

Video:

The film is presented in its original 1.33:1 aspect ratio. This low-budget film, produced for about $65,000, was shot in 16 mm and later blown up to 35 mm. Because of the blow-up, the image on this standard definition transfer from Project X/New Yorker Video is grainy and sometimes missing sharp detail, but the overall image quality is solid though, of course, a high-def upgrade would be welcome.

Audio:

The film is presented with a Dolby Digital Mono audio mix. The sound is efficient, if not very dynamic. Optional English and French audios support the English audio.

Extras:

The film is accompanied by a full-length commentary track by author Dr. Joseph A. Gomez.

In the lengthy Director's Introduction (27 min.), a deadly serious Peter Watkins discusses the production history of the film, and describes in crystal clear terms what he intended to accomplish with “Punishment Park.”

“The Forgotten Faces” (1961, 18 min.) is one of Watkins's earliest short films. He re-enacts the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 with an amateur theatrical group in Canterbury, and the finished product shares a lot in common with “Punishment Park.”

The disc also includes a text essay by media critic Scott MacDonald taken from the Spring 1979 issue of “Film Criticism” and you can also access the original 1971 press kit for the movie.

The thick insert booklet includes a lengthy excerpt from Dr. Gomez's 1979 book, “Peter Watkins.”

Final Thoughts:

In honor of Peter Watkins's impending birthday, I'm declaring this Watkins Week at DVDBlu Review. I'll be posting several reviews of DVD releases from the ProjectX/New Yorker Video series “The Cinema of Peter Watkins.” He's one of my favorite filmmakers, and he's certainly a unique voice in world cinema. I hope you'll get the chance to check out some of his work.

I wouldn't rate “Punishment Park” as one of Watkins' top movies (like the extraordinary “Edvard Munch” and “La Commune”), but it showcases his signature pseudo-documentary style (a description that fails to do justice to one of the few genuinely unique voices and visions in world cinema) and packs quite a force even at its most strident moments. “Punishment Park” was controversial enough in its day that it never secured a proper theatrical release, and was mostly shown on college campuses before all but disappearing from the public's attention. This 2005 DVD release was the first chance many American viewers had to see Watkins's work, and it's well worth tracking down if you can still find it.