Posts Tagged ‘David Lynch’

In a recent Indiewire interview, director Peter Strickland requested that he not be compared to David Lynch. His reasoning? It was a limited reference for “strangeness” used, he felt, by the younger constituency of his audience. Strickland, not afraid of comparisons though, seems happy providing his audience is looking for a wider context in which to discuss his films. The Duke of Burgundy, out this week, is the most recent.

Amongst more experienced cinemagoers, the frame of reference used to describe Strickland widens with every film. When the Transylvanian set Katalin Varga was released in 2009, it was received very favourably. In his review, Peter Bradshaw drew comparisons with the Hungarian auteur Béla Tarr, citing the film’s environment and cast as similar (although he called Katalin Varga more “taut” and less “indulgent.”) At the time Strickland himself was very keen to highlight his reverence for Georgian iconoclast Sergei Parajanov, particularly the magical Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1965).

When dealing with an interesting first time indie director, such critical connections are not entirely unexpected. Less predictable is the way in which Strickland’s subsequent films seem to have revived a fascination with underappreciated directors of bygone subgenres. This is precisely what has happened with film number two and three. The story for his second film Berberian Sound Studio (2012) is set inside a 70’s Italian dubbing theatre, dedicated to churning out soundtracks for Giallo films; Giallo (Italian for Yellow) refers to the 1970’s Italian horror films, based on cheap paperback novellas.

That Strickland made reference to such a distinct and overly ‘cult’ genre like Giallo helped adorn him with a reputation as a film buff’s director. Owing to the film’s use of underexposure and a heavy sound design, the David Lynch references rolled out, but the key generic touchstones were Dario Argento, Lucio Fulci and Mario Bava. Strickland had traded-off the elegant poetics of Tarr and Parajanov for the visceral retro style of Giallo, meaning bold camera moves, prog rock soundtracks and baroque special effects.

Early on in the arrival of his latest feature The Duke of Burgundy, cinematic references were central to the discussion. The surprising name – less fashionable than the horror directors of the former film – was the late Spanish director Jess Franco. Franco was famed for his bold sex films, known for their exotic locations, stark nudity and unashamedly voyeuristic visual style. His filmography includes such outrageous titles as: Nightmares Come At Night (1970), Vampyros Lesbos (1971) and A Virgin Among the Living Dead (1973). Like Fulci his films reveal a visual flare, which is perhaps limited by the lowbrow genre in which he worked.

In these post-Tarantino years, there is a danger of treating a filmmaker like Strickland as one who exists exclusively inside a framework of intertextual references. This is a problem however, because found within each of his films is an intention not at all in line with that of their respective genre. While the Giallo genre’s major intent was to deal with spectacularly staged murders as Freudian outlets, Berberian Sound Studio is about becoming lost in a celluloid reality; tapping into the very modern theme of media overexposure. While Franco’s films primarily concern sexual stimulation, The Duke of Burgundy predominantly avoids exploitation, in favour of cyclical events that explore the dynamics of manipulation between two people; in fact the dynamic between the two female protagonists is much more reminiscent of Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s radical gay melodrama The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972).

But there is something else that has emerged consistently in Strickland’s films that transcends the subgenre trappings: the use of avant-garde film techniques (like those of Stan Brakhage – see Mothlight, 1963) to interrupt the film’s coherent language and assault the psyche of the viewer. Sometimes in Katalin Varga the sound design takes over from the visual narrative, zoning in on pure atmospherics, before proceeding with the story. In Berberian Sound Studio clips from the film that protagonist Gilderoy is working on (The Equestrian Vortex) interject into the story destroying the boundary between film and film-within-a-film. In The Duke of Burgundy there are stunning montages of Duke of Burgundy butterflies and their larvae, which forcefully invade the tense romantic plot between the two female lovers, creating a nightmarish first person experience.

In Strickland’s films there is room for fantasy of a bold and visionary kind too. The Duke of Burgundy is a film made up entirely of female characters that inhabit a lush and isolated world, with the plot revolving around two lesbian lovers. Like the largely male-dominated novels of writer William S. Burroughs (think 1959’s Naked Lunch or 1981’s Cities of the Red Night), the single gender dynamic creates for a reality of an entirely different nature – never banal, rich with conflict, yet somehow utopian. The film, like Burroughs’ books, asks us to look outside the heterosexual normalcy of society; this has a powerful, liberating and otherworldly effect.

Strickland’s films are very much inspired by the ideals of the radical artists of former decades. They may adopt generic blueprints of earlier styles, but only as a means of resurrecting a conscious expanding attitude towards art; an attitude that is often displaced in contemporary culture, by narrow, neat, satisfying entertainment value, which parasitically uses the facade of the ‘radical’ to repackage the familiar as something new (a staple method of advertising.)

Peter Strickland is a director keen to transport us to a place where cinema is a powerful art form that challenges our way of seeing. It is interesting to note that so far he has resisted from setting a feature in Britain. Katalin Varga was set and filmed in Romania, Berberian Sound Studio in Italy (although it was filmed in London’s Three Mills) and The Duke of Burgundy in Hungary. Sometimes you have to travel beyond your own space and time to discover something truly enlightening and cinema is the appropriate vessel for that voyage.

Read our review of The Duke of Burgundy by Rob Arnott here.

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John Carter felt the impact of the critics and box office statistics. Like a faulty space ship it made a crash landing on its opening weekend in the US and has left a crater in the UK too. The film revolves around John Carter (Taylor Kitsch), a Virginian and former Army Captain in the midst of the American civil war, who is mysteriously transported to Mars (known to its natives as Barsoom) whereupon he discovers he can jump great distances. With his new superpower he becomes leader of a Barsoomian civil war and falls in love with Princess Dejah Thoris (Lynn Collins). Given its $250m budget and wacky premise perhaps the harsh reception is justified, but for this viewer the two hours flew by – ok perhaps they jumped, not flew.

Admittedly John Carter sets itself up for a hard fall at the outset. The film’s opening scenes are troublesome at best, establishing Carter’s space dwelling antagonists Sab Than (Dominic West) and Matai Shang (Mark Strong) first, as they set out to exert inordinate power over the Barsoomian people. Following this we leap to Richmond, Virginia (the year is 1881) where John Carter’s nephew Edgar “Ned” Rice Burroughs discovers that Carter has died and been put in a mysterious mausoleum. Edgar receives a document of John Carter’s life to read and thus we skip to 1868 whereupon Carter is in Arizona and on the run from the US army (and Apache Indians). It is here, hiding in a cave, where he finds a medallion which teleports him to Mars.

We can agree that this is not the most streamlined nor logical of opening sequences – Carter himself comes into the mix too late and the date and location hopping is almost maddening. When we reach Mars the film has already left most of the audience feeling baffled and alienated. Credit to director Andrew Stanton then, when he wins us back with a gloriously comic sequence in which Carter discovers the challenges of moving in the Mars atmosphere. A small contraction or expansion of muscles means Carter can catapult himself great distances. Stanton stages a sequence that sets the silent slapstick of Buster Keaton to the surrealistic scenery of Salvador Dali.

It is this big bold fun where John Carter feels at home and the relatively straightforward middle section delivers the goods. Taylor Kitsch performs Carter with a charismatic respect to the humour of the material, while maintaining an appropriate air of cynicism and a muscular physicality. Despite his relative status as an unknown Kitsch holds it together remarkably well, taking John Carter through a number of character phases from scholar/adventurer, prospecting army deserter and Spartacus-esque gladiator. The quality of Kitsch’s performance is particularly pertinent when we realise that we are dealing with a run time of two hours and ten minutes. For the bulk of the adventure the film stays on track structurally, with a few remarkable effects-driven scenes that have a rare ecstasy to them – one involves a giant animated plateau which resembles the roots of a tree.

It is when the film reaches the end that it reminds us of its troubled beginnings. Attempting to tie up the world cavorting nature of the story leaves us just as bewildered as we were at the outset, as Stanton is not able to reorientate the film with a sequence like the anti-gravity one. In its essence John Carter is an entertaining sci-fi romp, bookended with strong doses of confusion. It seems that translating Edgar Rice Burroughs’ wacky Martian tale, which was originally written in 1911, to film form is still something of a mountainous challenge. But I am left wondering, is John Carter with its intense reliance on exposition really a story ideal for the film medium? While Stanton may not have succeeded in making the leap to sci-fi classic, at least he has created a charming anomaly like David Lynch’s Dune.

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For me one of the most exciting pieces of news from the Cannes Film Festival, which came to a close yesterday, is the news that director Frank Pavich has set out to make the difinitive documentary on maverick Chilean director Alejandro Jodorowsky’s unrealised adaptation of Dune.

Dune, based on the novel by Frank Herbert was intended to be Jodorowsky’s most epic vision. In the trailer for the documentary he states his intentions: “I want to create a prophet, to change the young mind of all the world”.

Now at the age of 82 Jodorowsky still speaks with passion of this project. See the trailer below:

JODOROWSKY’S DUNEhttp://www.imdb.com/title/tt1935156/

On a related (and slightly shameless) note, I shot a short documentary in London, 2009/2010  exploring Jodorowsky’s work as presented in ‘A Season of Jodorowsky’, an event run but arts collective Guerrilla Zoo. I intend to have a trailer of the film online in the near future, but until then here is a still of Jodorowsky and his art work:

A SEASON OF JODOROWSKYhttp://www.imdb.com/title/tt1788982/

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