L'Avventura (1960)

What exactly did happen to Anna?

That's the central question in Michelangelo Antonioni's haunting masterpiece, L'Avventura, a film uneasy with answers and so much more than a missing persons case.  Like Anonioni's later film, Blow Up, it builds suspense, not with the shock and action of a modern-day thriller, but what we--and the characters--think has happened, or might happen.

The plot is deceptively simple: A group of wealthy socialites on a leisurely yachting expedition decide to spend the afternoon exploring a remote island chain.  They dock near an islet that could be called desolate, if that weren't such an understatement: the place is a rock, covered in nothing more than sparse scrub; waves crash all around it violently.  Sitting atop it all, ancient and lonely, is a small stone building, long abandoned.

Wings of Desire (1987)

Regarded by some as an inscrutable poetic masterpiece, I can't help but think that Wings of Desire, despite all its beauty, falls into the category of pretentious arthouse cinema. The film follows two angels, Damiel and Cassiel, through a series of images and setpieces, as they regard the modern world around them--always observing, pondering, helping.  The angels have existed since the beginning of time ("it took a long time for the river to meet its bed") and watched the progression of God's creations with a mix of sympathy and wonder.

Beauty and the Beast (1946)

I am unfamiliar with the work of Jean Cocteau, and Beauty and the Beast was not the place to start.  Or maybe it was.  Regardless, after reflecting on the film, as well as the review I posted this morning, I realize I am presently unequipped to fairly judge the work--which is odd, since I rarely lack judgement on anything.  At the core, I feel I may have passed over a few salient points that would have quelled some of the more vociferous objections I had to the film on first viewing.

The Virgin Spring (1960)

"God...I don't understand you!"

So Max von Sydow, as an anguished father, cries out in the closing scene of Ingmar Bergman's great The Virgin Spring (1960).  The moment, when it comes, is inevitable: the end of a path paved by torment and loss of faith.

I've long suspected that Bergman (1918-2007) was the cinema's greatest director; after my second viewing of The Virgin Spring, I'm sure of it.  And if Bergman was the greatest director, then so too was Sven Nykvist (1922-2006), his long-time collaborator, the best of all cinematographers, a master lensman who understood better than anyone else the awesome power of light and shadow.

The Night Porter (1974)

Highly stylized, depthless in its perversity, and shockingly pretentious, The Night Porter, like Onibaba and Last Year at Marienbad, will stick in my memory.  I'm unsure what to make of it.  Am I to be offended by the disturbing premise?  Aroused by the overt sexuality?  Left ambivalent by two characters who clearly deserve one another and little sympathy?  I'm all of those things right now, and think a second viewing of the film is in order--after I've taken a shower, of course.

Mon Oncle (1958)

My penultimate film of 2009. Jacques Tati (who also directed) stars as Monsieur Hulot, an unemployed vagabond who seems to find mischief with alarming frequency. Nearly silent, the movie comprises a series of set pieces for the hapless Hulot: a blind date attended by a party of one; a factory job that ends in disaster; a lunch party that goes from formal to frantic; a children's game that would be cruel if it weren't so funny; and a running joke with a fountain fish that somehow gets funnier with each shot.

Pickpocket (1959)

The last film I saw in 2009. Robert Bresson's classic about a professional pickpocket who becomes so good at his job, he fears he'll never be able to stop.  A powerful story of one man's compulsion, helped by the fact that Martin LaSalle has probably the most haunting eyes I've ever seen on screen; they define the movie. Extraordinary choreography and camera work as a group of thieves descend on a train station to steal every wallet, bauble and bangle that isn't nailed down. Presently unreliable ending.

1959; starring Martin LaSalle, Marika Green; directed by Robert Bresson; 75 min; Not Rated; in French w/ English subtitles; available on Criterion.