Close-Up (1990) - Directed by Abbas Kiarostami

Close-Up is Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami’s great masterpiece and is a transcendent and unique film experience from beginning to end. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen another film that works on quite the same level as this one does. Perhaps it’s because of the unique circumstances surrounding the film. Kiarostami’s subject in the film is a man named Hossein Sabzian. He was arrested in Iran for fraudulently portraying himself to the middle-class Ahankhah family, as the real-life Iranian filmmaker Mohsen Makhmalbaf, director of such films as The Bicyclist (1987) and Gabbeh (1995). Close-Up basically documents the events of the case as well as the court-room scenes involved in the trial. What’s so fascinating is that Kiarostami actually used the real persons concerned in the case, Sabzian as well as his accusers, to portray themselves in the story.

In trying to analyze the impact of this film, there are so many layers of the onion to peel back to fully grasp everything going on. In one sense, the film can be taken as a pseudo-documentary. I mean the film does depict actual events that took place in a style that could be interpreted as a documentary. One can especially look to the courtroom scenes, which are filmed in a grainy 16mm and everything has the aura of real-life, not the cinema. In fact, these scenes are so tense and lifelike that you sometimes forget that you’re watching a movie. These moments are that well portrayed. Additionally, Kiarostami himself appears in the film early on, interviewing certain key members of the case and getting the court’s permission to film the case, as well as asking the defendant if he would allow him to film the case in court. The continual presence of the boom-mike in certain scenes also lends us to intake this film as a rough-hewn documentary. Ah but it’s not that simple.

Other scenes in the film are clearly cinematic, not documentarian in their impact. In the opening prologue we’re introduced to a journalist who also has a few policemen in tow, taking a taxi cab to arrest someone. At this point in the film, of course, we have no idea of what is about to happen, but this sequence contains some brilliant overlapping dialogue and a long car ride, something that Kiarostami would employ in his later films as a sort of calling card. Another “cinematic scene” is one in which Sabzian goes through the act of introducing himself to the mother of the family on a bus. Sabzian and the woman have cinematic dialogue and the film has the polished look and feel of a “movie” as these scenes are recreated for us. Another brilliant scene done this way is the whole scene leading up to Sabzian’s arrest in the family’s home. Nearly Hitchcockian in its suspense level, we’re pulled into the game of cat-and-mouse as the family suspects that something is amiss, and we sense too that Sabzian knows his time is up.

Above all of this though, the film can be called purely cinematic throughout the whole thing. We know that this film has been put together, molded, crafted carefully by a director who loves to toy with the idea of cinema that oozes with art and artifice. We are to become at once lost in the whirlwind of cinema disguised as reality. This tug-of-war between cinema and reality within the film is what gives it its power. Of course the film has much to say on the role of actors and directors. Sabzian has pretended that he is a director and in one sequence in the court, he is asked if he would be a better actor than a director and he comments that yes he would be a good actor. There’s an interesting exchange during this sequence:

Interrogator – “Aren’t you acting for the camera now? What are you doing now?”.

Sabzian – “I’m speaking of my suffering. I’m not acting. I’m speaking from the heart.”

Interrogator – “What part would you like to play?”

Sabzian – “My own”.

Interrogator – “Haven’t you already done that?”

This important sequence highlights two key reference points. The first is internal to the film, in the fact that the interrogator is referring to the fact that Sabzian’s court case is being filmed. But the other layer is the external component in that Sabzian, through pretending to be a director, won himself an acting role in his own story, which is Close-Up. It's terribly ironic, but Sabzian gives a brilliant performance as himself. I’m not sure it can be said any other way, but it’s certainly a performance and I found him to be piercingly poetic onscreen. As the capstone to the film, there’s a brilliant denouement that is heartrending in the best sense of the word, as a haunting score plays over the action that finally and absolutely brings the cinematic brilliance of Kiarostami to the fore. Kiarostami has continued to gain acclaim over the years and this film is a great foray into the examination of a fascinating artist. Close-Up is an example of a film that transcends the limitations of cinema to bring us something that is unique, infused with life and enduringly challenging. It's also one of the very best films of the 1990's.

On the Town (1949) - Directed by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen

Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen’s first collaboration as directors yielded one of their finest creations. Although they would go on to helm perhaps the greatest of all musicals, Singin’ in the Rain (1952), we shouldn't overlook On the Town. Neither had directed a film before, but they took on an established hit in the Broadway smash of the same name that ran during the 1940’s. On the Town came featuring some wonderful songs by Leonard Bernstein, some of which were dropped in favor of new songs by Roger Edens. It is a film that strikes you first of all because it features some on-location shooting in NYC in color, which gives the film some real pizzaz and lifeblood. But there is also just a cavalcade of great song and dance sequences that elevate the film to the upper echelon of movie musicals.

Gabey (Gene Kelly), Chip (Frank Sinatra) and Ozzie (Jules Munshin) are three sailors who have 24-hours of shore leave in NYC. They of course want to see the sights of New York but mostly want to find some ladies to have some fun with. Gabey falls in love with Miss Turnstiles (Vera-Ellen), who is the featured “subway pin-up” of July and spends much of the film trying to track her down. Chip finds a cabbie, named Brunhilde played by Betty Garrett and Ozzie meets up with Claire, an "Anthropologist" played by Ann Miller. All of them meet at the top of the Empire State Building to begin their night on the town. It’s interesting to note here that sex plays an interesting part in the film. Sure, we assume that the sailors want to hook up with a lady for the night, but what’s amazing is that the women in the film are the aggressors, especially Betty Garrett and her continued come-ons toward Frank Sinatra. She repeatedly mentions “come up to my place” in a song routine with him. Even Ann Miller’s Claire is quite the animal as she seduces Munshin and explains to him that she had taken up anthropology to get over her obsession for men. Well apparently it didn’t work because she shimmies and shakes her way to his heart in her showcase tap routine.

There are some outstanding song-and-dance numbers in the film and of course the opening “New York, New York” number is probably the most memorable song as the fellas sing their way across Manhattan with several great iconic images of the city. What I was most impressed with though were the terrifically choreographed dance sequences replete throughout the film. As mentioned, Ann Miller gives a powerful tap dancing sequence in the museum in front of the dinosaur skeleton during “Prehistoric Man”. Vera-Ellen gets a great pseudo-dancing setpiece during the “Miss Turnstiles Ballet” as we’re introduced to her interests from ballet, to painting to football and track. All the while she is changing outfits and adjusting the dance to mimic the movements of the particular topics. I love the finale of this scene where she boxes, kicks and knocks out a bunch of guys. This exuberant scene is a great blending of dance and storytelling. Vera-Ellen and Gene Kelly also share two wonderful scenes together. One is the delightful dance during the “When You Walk Down Main Street with Me” scene where their courtship is played out on the dance floor and the other is the lovely shadow-enhanced dancing scene during the “A Day in New York” extended dance in three parts near the end of the film. Surrealist and notably artificial aspects of this scene, involving light and depth of field heighten the emotions of the dance and make the scene more tragic. It’s probably the film’s most beautiful moment.

Although it’s clearly not on the same level as Singin’ in the Rain (But what is?), there is a remarkable level of consistent excellence throughout the film. I think the acting and storyline feel like a good match too. It’s not too serious. Also, the running time of 98 minutes feels right. Kelly and Donen’s musicals were never too long, which is appropriate considering the plots of the films. With the Rogers and Hammerstein adaptation films, the running times of many musicals began to balloon, which began a tradition that would last into the 1970’s of creating epic musicals, some which I like (The Sound of Music) and some which I don't (South Pacific). Kelly and Donnen’s MGM gems are musicals for people who like their musicals fun, colorful and quick paced.  On the Town maximizes all of these to great effect.

The Set-Up (1949) - Directed by Robert Wise

Boxing movies have become so ubiquitous that I have a theory that the vast majority of people easily watch more boxing movies than they do actual boxing matches and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that at all. From Rocky (1976) to Raging Bull (1980) to Girl Fight (2000)to Cinderella Man (2005)  and beyond, Hollywood seems to release a boxing movie every other year of so, with mixed results. 2010's The Fighter came to great acclaim in some circles, although I didn’t care for it nearly as much as others did. I liked some of the performances, but I found the actual boxing scenes to be lacking a visceral quality and included an annoying commentary from Jim Lampley. At the other end of the spectrum, is Robert Wise’s taut and brutal masterpiece The Set-Up, which is not only a brilliant boxing film but a first-rate film noir, hovering precisely between the genres and ultimately transcending them both.

Robert Ryan, in perhaps the greatest performance of his career, stars as Stoker Thompson, a nearly washed-up boxer, who’s been hovering around mediocrity for what appears to be his entire career. He has always been hoping for that big break but is nearing the end of his career, both through his own age but also through the pressure of his wife Julie (Audrey Totter) who doesn’t want him to be turned into a vegetable. In nearly real-time, the film plays out with Stoker arriving at the arena, waiting his turn in the locker room with the other boxers in his troupe as he prepares for his match with a much younger boxer named Tiger Nelson. What Stoker doesn’t know is that his manager has struck a deal with Tiger’s manager for him to take a dive that night.

As a pure boxing film, The Set-Up ranks up there with the best of them. Stylistically, the boxing match that makes up the centerpiece of the film is filmed in real-time, with entire rounds played out before us. This fight is infused with a heavy dose of realism. Many of the camera vantages are from the perspective of the audience. I also love the choreography of the boxing match itself. We realise that these boxers are not world beaters; they are tough guys making the circuit and their boxing reflects this. Thus, it feels brutal, desperate and utterly devoid of trumped-up heroism. Boxing here comes across as an ugly carnival show, and adding to this environment are quick asides to certain sadistic audience members as they encourage the boxers to kill each other. One other plus to this scene is that there is no side commentary from a broadcaster to the match. We’re smart enough to know what’s happening in the match and don’t need a "Jim Lampley" telling us what we already know. I can think of very few other boxing scenes in any other movie that are portrayed better than the one in The Set-Up.

What elevates the film is the moral complexity brought about from the fact that Stoker is not told of this deal to take the dive, providing the film with the existential crises that is so prevalent in film noir. It’s so suspenseful for the audience to know more than the Stoker character knows in this plot. As Stoker continues to perform better as the match goes on, there comes a point where Stoker knows more than we do, switching the suspense and leaving the audience in the dark. Film noir elements come to the foreground especially in the last 15 minutes of the film following the boxing match and it’s not fair for me to give certain key plot points away. Let’s just say that the brutal boxing match just completed is nothing compared to what Stoker faces once the match is over. Of course in film noir, shadows and mise-en-scene play a huge role in setting up the psychological fear facing the protagonist. There’s a great scene as Stoker wanders around the darkened and empty arena after the match is over. He disappears down a darkened corridor and returns, his face bathed in harsh white light while everything is shadow around him. Needless to say, I love everything about this film from its quick pacing, to great performances, cinematography, and boxing sequence. This is one of my favorite film noirs and favorite sports movies.

The Apu Trilogy (1955-1959) - Directed by Satyajit Ray

Satyajit Ray’s landmark trilogy about a boy named Apu who grows up to be a man across the span of three films, have been rightly called some of the greatest humanist films in all of cinema. They are referred to as The Apu Trilogy. Made in Bengal, Ray began the trilogy with his first film Pather Panchali (1955), followed by Aparajito (1956) and the last being The World of Apu (1959). At the time they were rightly recognized as the universally truthful films that they were and have held steady over the decades as incredibly important works both within the Indian film movement and across all of cinema as well. Ray is also, clearly, India’s greatest filmmaker and went on to great international acclaim following these films.

Pather Panchali is the story of a family. We meet a mother, a father, a sister, and a great aunt. Then comes Apu. He is born into a world of near poverty as his father and mother scrape by on little means. He and his sister find fun and adventure in whatever ways they can and they learn through the careful teaching of their parents how they should live and treat each other. This film contains such wonderful acting from all the main players. A standout is Karuna Banerjee as the mother, who does incredible acting with her eyes, conveying all the sorrow and regret of a woman who feels she has made some mistakes in life and is not able to correct them. A terrible tragedy strikes the family toward the end of the film, forcing them to move from their ramshackle home in the country to the city, as the father is forced to find better work. This might be my favorite film of the trilogy and is even more remarkable considering it was Ray’s first film. His triumph in this film is that of conveying an intense passion for the rhythm of life. What we are introduced to additionally, is the naturalness of the acting, the quiet and observant point of view and the pulse of everyday situations. So much natural beauty is found by Ray’s technique that much of the film feels documentary–like. This naturalness adds to the universality of the themes and family relationships.

In Aparajito, Apu is living with his family in the city, finding a different rhythm to life where everything is bigger and busier. His father takes ill and dies very early in the film. Apu moves with his mother back to the country and yearns to attend school as he gets older. Teachers find that Apu has a remarkable ability to learn and Apu scoops up every bit of knowledge he can gain. His perseverance and hard work allow him to graduate and Apu begins to step into manhood. This film again shows Ray’s uncanny ability to find actors who can convey incredible emotion without saying a word at times, but just by keeping the camera fixed on the eyes. It’s debatable, but this film might be the saddest and darkest of the three, with major tragedy striking Apu twice here. Apu though continues on with his schooling and is determined to persevere through all circumstances. It’s an inspiring film that in the face of such odds, Apu is able to achieve his goals.

Ray’s final film in the trilogy is The World of Apu. Apu is now graduated from college and is seeking employment and searching for love. He has a difficult time finding both but in a fortuitous turn of events, winds up getting married on the spot to a complete stranger, in a marriage ceremony planned for someone else who backed out. This plot twist yields one of the greatest stretches of the entire trilogy as Apu and his wife get to know one another in a common struggle of bending their wills and their desires to meet each other’s. Ray's trilogy is completed following intense amounts of pathos and heartbreaking emotion as the story goes places that are incredibly inspiring. It’s at this point that I must bring up the brilliant and moving score composed by Ravi Shankar that weaves through each film. Ravi became internationally famous later on in his career as a mentor and sitar teacher to George Harrison of The Beatles. I would call his pulsing sitar scores in these three films to be some of the best composed soundtracks of all time. Furthermore, this trilogy might be the best trilogy of all time when you consider the quality and consistency of vision in all three films, without so much as a letdown from one film to the next. Ray’s greatly humanist portraits of Apu and his world are life affirming in the best way possible.

Funny Girl (1968) - Directed by William Wyler

William Wyler’s late career musical Funny Girl was also Barbra Streisand’s film debut, and what a debut it was for her. She went on to win the Academy Award for Best Actress in a tie with Katherine Hepburn for The Lion In Winter (1968). Funny Girl recounts the true-life story of Fanny Brice, who went from hamming around NY burlesque stages in the early 1900’s and ended up getting signed by Florenz Ziegfield to headline the Ziegfield Follies in 1910, which was a popular stage show on Broadway. Funny Girl reprises Streisand’s turn as Brice from the Broadway musical, which ran in 1964 and chronicles Fanny’s early successes onstage, her courtship by the wealthy gambler Nick Arnstein, played by Omar Shariff, and Fanny and Nick’s downward spiraling marriage in the latter third of the film as Nick runs into legal troubles. Overall, I was really impressed with the film: it has great songs, an engaging story, and one of the truly great tour-de-force performances by an actress.

Of course, for a musical to be great, there has to be some great songs and musical sequences in the film. For me, the two best ones are  “People” and “Don’t Rain on My Parade”. “People” became one of Streisand’s standard numbers throughout her career and it’s easy to see why. It’s a slow-build kind of song with changes in dynamics that seem to suit Streisand’s powerful tones. In the film, it’s an important transitional moment as she projects her vulnerability to Nick and emphasizes that she has a need for connection. Even more astounding is the sequence for “Don’t Rain on My Parade” as Fanny decides to go after Nick on his cruise to Europe but finds herself late to the boat. This sequence goes down for me as one of the truly great musical sequences in all of cinema. Not only is the song perfect for the moment, but the camera work during this scene is quite astounding. In one segment, a camera, presumably attached to a helicopter is eyeing a moving train. As the camera pulls in close, we find Fanny at a window seat singing the song in-sync. I thought to myself, “They can’t top that”. Oh yes they could! At the finale of the song, we see a tugboat leaving NYC and the camera swings alongside the boat, finding Fanny singing the song in-sync again as the boat speeds along. The camera pulls away leaving a breathtaking view over the water and New York City as Streisand hits the final note. It’s a wow moment.



Streisand has a lot of wow moments in this film though. She simply commands your attention every moment that she is onscreen. She totally gets this Fanny character and it can be seen in everything from the way she uses her New York accent to her Jewish heritage to the singing and comedic moments. One can see that all her work from the Broadway stage on this character paid off dividends in the film. Streisand’s timing is impeccable. I point us to the seduction scene between Nick and Fanny where Streisand continually hits the right jokes at the right moment. She’s delicate, funny and sexy when she needs to be and pulls it off with panache. There are times when you see a performance and you know it’s one of the great ones.  She’s just an incredible talent with her voice, her comedic timing and she wears her emotions on her sleeve in the best way possible. She is truly dynamic and all of this was utilized well by Wyler as he knew that she deserved all the screen time feasible. Streisand seems to connect to the viewer without a camera filtering the performance because of her ability to emote directly to the audience through a true, humble honesty. This feels like a vibrant and totally fresh performance even forty-three years later. Bravo to Streisand.



Although the film is set during the early 1900’s, one can feel the pulse of the 1960’s quite clearly in the outlook that is given to the relationship of Fanny and Nick. Fanny is clearly the breadwinner, bringing in the income, while Nick is up-and-down, making paydays on his gambling and then going long stretches without luck. He is riding on Fanny’s coattails. By the end of the film, we realize that Fanny does not need Nick at all from a financial standpoint and can support herself. Nick can’t handle this fact that the woman is the lead money-maker. One can feel the tugs of the women’s liberation movement in these scenes at the end of the film as she doesn’t need her man in the traditional sense and parts ways with him, singing the Fanny Brice standard, "My Man". It’s an interesting blending of the period setting of the film with a more modern outlook on women in the workplace. I appreciated this nuance and it gave the film some added dimension. One must remember though, that this is a musical, and to me, this a great one. Yeah there are a few lapses in continuity and story-flow toward the end, but I forgive it because it contains too many good songs, too many funny moments, and one brilliant performance. I think that’s in the end why it’s so good. Musicals are often wonderful vehicles for some of the greatest entertainers. Funny Girl is an example of that type of masterpiece, capturing the essence and talent of Barbra Streisand.

Top 70 Musicals Countdown at Wonders in the Dark



I want to make sure to acknowledge the massive effort going on over at Wonders in the Dark. They have just begun the Top 70 Musicals countdown, put together by a voting panel of resident experts. It should be a fun and educational undertaking that I will be checking on every day. In honor of this, I will be posting a few reviews of musicals over the coming months here at Films Worth Watching, and will be a guest blogger making an appearance during the countdown.

Dodes'ka-den (1970) - Directed by Akira Kurosawa

Kurosawa made Red Beard in 1965, which was a massive critical and financial success. At the end of 1965, it was in fact Japan's highest grossing film, but for many reasons, Kurosawa would not finish another film for 5 years and would enter into the darkest period of his career. Kurosawa suddenly had a difficult time getting funded for his projects, as they were usually expensive endeavors. So, he turned to Hollywood and became involved in the production of Tora! Tora! Tora! (1970) and was slated to direct the Japanese section of the story, but this turned into a huge debacle and Kurosawa left the film to work on something else. He decided to begin a new project, one which would not contain his longtime collaborative actor Toshiro Mifune. It would also be in color, something that Kurosawa had never used before. This film would be shot in only 9 weeks and would go on to be one of his biggest box-office failures. During the following year after the film's release, after health and mental problems, Kurosawa attempted suicide. He would miraculously recover and would go on to have a late bloom to his career. But this central film to this difficult period in his life is one that cannot be easily digested or ignored. It is Dodes'ka-den.

Kurosawa’s Dodes’ka-den is the darkest film of his that I’ve seen and I can’t quite think of a close second, although I Live in Fear (1955) might be a candidate. Here, the story is boiling over with sadness and regret, abuse and social impotence, addiction and all manner of sadness and injustice. This is the closest that Kurosawa ever came to Bergman-esque territory. Kurosawa’s story revolves around a ragtag assemblage of people living in a garbage dump. There is a boy with mental development issues, who pretends he is a trolley driver and runs around the dump all day making noises mimicking a trolley. There is a girl who lives with her abusive uncle who works her night and day tying flowers together to make a living. Another thread follows two very poor individuals, a man and boy living in an abandoned car barely scraping by, begging for food at restaurants. Several other stories are told as well, involving infidelity between a man and wife, an attempted suicide by a man at the end of his rope, among many others. All of this is very dark and the depressing atmosphere is truly enveloping. Life is cruel in Dodes’ka-den.

In perhaps the most compelling moment in the film, the man and boy who live in the car become food poisoned and are subject to intense stomach pains and sickness. One can almost feel the pain and suffering they are going through. Even the color of their faces takes on a surreal green pall to it. This is due to the makeup, but also the lighting, which strikes at odd angles and bathes them in this repulsive green color. Kurosawa makes excellent and continued use of color at fascinating moments, highlighting the toxic environment these people live in with neon colors, both in the clothing palette but also in the background colors. The sunlight glows with an otherworldly orange-yellow at times and swirls of color appear in the background as if out of a Van Gogh painting. These moments are beautiful and memorable both for their expressiveness and surreal qualities. It's amazing that it took Kurosawa so long to use color in his films, but his use of color here is one of the film's most striking and memorable aspects.

All the stories have very dark elements that are punctuated at times by slight attempts at grace or persistence in the face of adversity. However, there generally is an endless cycle of disappointment and heartache at the center of these stories. These people can’t rise above their ramshackle dump and move themselves out of it, precisely because they can’t bring conclusion to their internal emotional and psychological suffering. They persist and subsist because they can’t bring themselves to do anything else. It’s hard to say whether Kurosawa is calling this a noble venture or not. This is the question at the heart of one of Kurosawa’s most challenging and rewarding films: is life worth living under these circumstances? He wouldn’t make another film for five more years, and following his suicide attempt it would take a special project to get him going again. His Dersu Uzala (1975) is essential viewing following Dodes’ka-den in that it portrays a healing, humanity, and companionship that is in direct contrast to the continued suffering and struggle in Dodes’ka-den. These two films together constitute the psychological breakdown and recovery of one of the true masters of cinema.