Wise Gals

One of the most iconic films showing off 1960s London (specifically 1966) is intriguingly written and shot by an Italian, Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blowup (which is sometimes hyphenated or has a space between the two words), an abstract vision of this most unique and swinging time. Seen through the eyes (or should I say camera – a sort of heightened reality) of famed photographer Thomas (David Hemmings), it is immediately noticeable that he is a walking juxtaposition. Both energetic and apathetic, he has more ups and downs than a roller coaster. Lacking passion or a proper plan, the story, like his unknown future aspirations, doesn’t follow a traditional plot pattern.

A pre-Code movie that by today’s standards might not seem all that controversial, but would not have made it to theatres just one year later (when the Production Code started to be enforced), 1933's Torch Singer, directed by Alexander Hall and George Somnes, provides an intriguing snapshot of the time. Centred on a strong female performance (something less rare than you might expect for the 1930s) by Claudette Colbert, she plays Sally Trent, a young woman who quickly slept with her first love. . . only to find out she’s pregnant. Pause!

A person with a past erased, no true present, and a future that is very much in jeopardy, the German film Phoenix (2014), written/directed by Christian Petzold and starring Nina Hoss (perhaps one of the best working director/actor teams outside of the United States – this is their sixth of seven movies together thus far), is an intimate historical character study revolving around one of the greatest atrocities in human history. Set just after the conclusion of the Second World War, Nelly Lenz (Hoss) has recently returned from a concentration camp. A singer who was shot through the face in the dying days of the war, she somehow survived, passed over by the workers who thought she had died from the bullet wound.

A film noir that flips the script (transforming into something very different in the second act), Nicholas Ray’s On Dangerous Ground (1951), written by A.I. Bezzerides (Kiss Me Deadly), follows the director’s penchant for looking at tortured, lonely individuals (think In a Lonely Place; Rebel Without a Cause), our main figure initially placed against the backdrop of a busy metropolis. Jim Wilson (Robert Ryan) is a hardened police officer on the beat, a man who is as serious as cyanide, as lonely as the night, as cynical as, well. . . a cop. Surrounded by lowlifes, dangerous dames, and violent criminals, sadly, it is the only thing he has seen for years, twisting his spirit into a near inhuman, Guantanamo Bay-like level of hatred (physical abuse is his first step in getting answers) . . . all this has him closing in on a breakdown.

There is no denying that Taika Waititi is one of the hottest directors in Hollywood right now. Just look back to his last four films. What We Do in the Shadows (2014) is a modern horror magic trick, an unexpected mockumentary that introduced many to his abstract and quirky sense of humour. Soon winning more fans with his Sundance darling Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016), it was yet another one of his features to receive universal acclaim. Jumping into a completely different realm, he took one of the biggest risks seen in the Marvel cinematic universe, somehow transforming Thor from sullen, dark, depressing and somewhat wooden, into one of the funniest post modern adventures imaginable with Ragnarok (2017). Jockeying into yet another unexpected realm, he next became Oscar respected film maker with 2019's Jojo Rabbit (a comedy set in one of the least funny places imaginable – World War Two Germany). A man who can find laughs in even the most unexpected places, it is quite rare to find someone in this modern movie landscape that is willing to take such chances with his career – and it is utterly refreshing. Likely unknown to some, he has actually long been an Oscar-nominated film maker. . . earning a nod all the way back in 2004 for his live action short film, Two Cars, One Night.

It is always an intriguing prospect to watch the one film that doesn’t fit into a genre film maker’s oeuvre. For The Master of Suspense – Alfred Hitchcock, it was the screwball comedy Mr. and Mrs. Smith (circa 1941 – no, he was not alive to direct the Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie vehicle in 2005), for Martin Scorsese, the master of the crime movie, it has to be the children’s film Hugo, and for Jesús Franco, the creator of stylish exploitation B pictures packed with sex and violence, 1984's Bahía Blanca fits the bill. The master of pumping them out fast, this was Franco’s tenth of ten movies made in 1984. . . a time when the independent industry was losing their avenue with exploitation flicks (and Franco’s famous touch of softcore was being eliminated by cinema being divided into either adult or mainstream), as Hollywood was learning how to create higher budget slasher flicks that blew these little pictures out of the water – meaning that, the writer/director found himself self-producing a lot of his own films (often disappearing or finding their way onto sub-par VHS – like this rarely seen picture).