Finishing School

From a modern perspective, it may not be immediately recognizable that the classic 1954 monster movie Godzilla was, in many ways, a product of its time. Highlighting the anxiety of the nuclear age at the height of The Cold War, the gargantuan reptile first appears after a hydrogen bomb test in the middle of the ocean. Even this occurrence that starts off the film is based on reality, as the United States tested a giant nuclear weapon on March 1st, 1954, under the code name Castle Bravo. Fishermen, who were outside of the radius, were hit by the fallout from the blast, being covered with copious amounts of coral and radioactive ash. One man died following the event, creating an onslaught of international press that questioned these tests (though, other articles impugned the men on the vessel, suggesting that they were spies).

Three weeks ago today, I reviewed Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, a 1989 film directed by Pedro Almodóvar that starred Antonio Banderas. I said that in some ways it was similar to another motion picture that features the iconic director and actor – 2011's The Skin I Live In, which will be reviewed here today. Feeling like a modern take on the Frankenstein story (or perhaps Bride of Frankenstein), Banderas plays Robert Ledgard, a plastic surgeon and scientist at the forefront of his field. He has been successful in developing a type of artificial skin that is resistant to burns as well as insect bites. Controversial in the scientific community, he claims to have only tested it on mice – though when he hints that he has used it on a human being, he is strictly prohibited from continuing his research.

Dealing with the unnerving and dangerously disturbing topic of the Stockholm Syndrome, Pedro Almodóvar uses deft humour, rich engaging (as well as flawed) characters and a solid story to concoct one of the more unusual romances in film history. The title of said motion picture is Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, released in 1989 to much fanfare and equally as much controversy. The winner of several festival awards (as well as being lauded as a superb film in Spain), it received an X rating in the United States (equal to that of a hardcore pornography film) – with the MPAA disliking two scenes as well as the crime aspect of the story (which they thought could influence young males to commit kidnapping much like the main character). To paraphrase Almodóvar, he humourously exclaimed that he does not make movies expecting that the entire audience will be psychopaths. In the end, it was this movie that led the MPAA to create the new rating of NC-17, which still exists today, and if given, usually kills a movie’s box office chances much like the X rating.

Considered one of the great films of the Czech New-Wave, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders takes the viewer on an unorthodox nonlinear journey through a bizarre, sensual, dream-like fantasy world where the lead character, Valerie (Jaroslava Schallerová), is just budding into womanhood. Seen through the eyes of the impressionable, pure, and innocent ingenue, we are not sure if what we are seeing is, in fact, reality, or whether it is dream (or perhaps more accurately – nightmare), or projections of what coming into adulthood is like, or some mixture of them all.

Vittorio De Sica’s 1948 classic Bicycle Thieves is a prime example of Italian Neo-Realism. The genre, which spanned a short ten or so year period during the 1940s and 1950s, highlighted life of ordinary, working class (and often impoverished) individuals who were dealing with the stresses of day to day life in Italy during or shortly after World War 2. Previously, Italian filmmakers had had their artistic scope and perspective limited by the fascist government of Benito Mussolini (for more than twenty years) and this style of motion picture was a reaction to it. Filmed in a semi-documentary fashion (typically on a low budget), the streets of Rome and other cities were used instead of the safety of studios to depict relevant social themes of otherwise common people.

I have always been fascinated by directors who utilize long takes in their films. By concocting a lengthy shot, filmmakers expect the most from their actors as well as the cameramen, and in so doing, make the audience feel as if they are walking the same path that the characters are journeying. Numerous directors have been successful at elongating the editing pace in which we are accustomed to, a few that immediately come to mind are Brian De Palma, Alfonso Cuarón and Martin Scorsese.