Four Flies in the Ointment

In the Realm of the Senses has been called eroticism, a sharp political statement, an arthouse film, pornography, as well as a searing drama, and, it is likely that it has been defined as being so many other things as well. Like most boundary pushing pieces of art, it transcends the ability to label it as just one of these descriptive terms, combining all of them to create a unique and ever controversial piece of cinema. Released in 1976, it was only able to be made in the first place thanks to it being a Japanese/French co-production (listed as a French enterprise) – the unfinished film had to be shipped out of Japan and into France to avoid issues with strict Japanese censorship laws (it was processed and edited in Europe because of it). Banned in most countries upon first release (with many only lifting it completely in the 1990s and 2000s) – though it showed at numerous film festivals (the Cannes Film Festival had to orchestrate thirteen screenings due to demand), In the Realm of the Senses is still censored in Japan to this day.

Disaster movies live and die by their clichés. What brings people into the seats are the doom-laden spectacles, though it is precisely these over-the-top depictions that often overshadow the human element that is oh-so-important in every one of these genre pictures. It is a tightrope to walk, with features from the past decade or so like The Day After Tomorrow, 2012 and Pompeii wholly missing the point. A more realistic film that still delivers an intense natural disaster, but is rooted in the family that it portrays, is the 2015 Norwegian movie The Wave. Instead of ‘go big or go home’, writers John Kåre Raake and Harald Rosenløw-Eeg, along with director Roar Uthaug (who has been given the reigns of the Tomb Raider reboot starring Alicia Vikander) decide to take a more focussed, local, ‘home’ driven perspective, setting their story in a picturesque, almost otherworldly little fjord nestled in the heart of Norway. A small, tightknit community lives in the impressive locale; it takes in nearly as many tourists as the amount of villagers living there.

Though The Lady in the Car with Glasses and a Gun provides viewers with a pretty good idea of what the basic plot may be about, it is much more difficult to pin down. The French film, directed by Joann Sfar, is rather divisive, the type of love it or hate motion picture that is rarely made in this day and age. A beautifully visual dreamscape of a film, it pays tribute to surrealist movies of both the silent era as well as the sixties and seventies. Think Belle de Jour and Valerie and her Week of Wonders. It is also somewhat like a neo-noir, as well as an old school mystery thriller, à la Diabolique or Vertigo. Sfar utilizes a bevy of shots, angles, split-screens and other pieces of cinematic trickery to draw us in. It is like watching something made by Brian De Palma, Luis Buñuel and Alfred Hitchcock – clear aspects of each director can been seen, creating a certain visual aesthetic (we may have to throw in a little Guy Ritchie to boot). It bounces around in your head, bringing to mind horror (gothic and Giallo), fantasy, crime, drama, while also having a sort of fetishist vibe – on top of all of the other things mentioned above.

Maybe some of you have come across the term Giallo before. A type of Italian thriller that bubbled up in the sixties, it became very popular in ‘The Boot’ at the beginning of the 1970s. Filmmakers and screenwriters fused noirish murder mystery and tense thrills – usually with high doses of violence and more than suggestive nudity to create a crime or horror leaning story that could both scare and titillate its audience. Think of it kind of like when pulp fiction meets slasher film. One example that actually shows ‘some’ restraint in both of the above categories is Luciano Ercoli’s 1971 motion picture, Death Walks on High Heels. With definite connections to Alfred Hitchcock (Vertigo, Psycho) and many other thrillers of the past, as well as bringing to mind the 80's work of Brian De Palma (specifically Dressed to Kill and Body Double), the sordid tale follows a sultry stripper by the name of Nicole Rochard (credited as Susan Scott, a model who used the stage name instead of her original Spanish one, Nieves Navarro).

A violent dystopic vision of the future, Kinji Fukasaku’s 2000 feature film Battle Royale sets up a scenario in which adults do not trust children – as a lack of jobs, student protests and many other ominous happenings have led to the government passing the controversial BR Act. Selecting one class each year, the students will be transported to an uninhabited island where they will have to duke it out until only one teen is left alive. A more intense, visceral example of The Hunger Games, it is set up to quash the idea of rebellion, dissidence and youthful exuberance – a horrific example of a totalitarian government with no scruples when it comes to curtailing the behaviour of its people.

The saying ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’ is perhaps no better explored than in the Argentinian Academy Award winning (for Best Foreign Language Film) 2009 motion picture The Secret in Their Eyes. Though the face is often inscrutable, as many put on masks to hide their true feelings from those around them, the eyes truly show the love, hate, lust, passion, pain regret and confusion that lies just below the mysterious facade. Co-written, directed, edited and produced by Juan José Campanella, the story follows retired criminal investigator Benjamín Esposito (Ricardo Darín) as he contemplates the innumerable hours he spent on the Liliana Coloto (Carla Quevedo) murder case (it is his white whale) by way of writing a novel. Struggling with a proper beginning, he visits Judge Irene Menéndez Hastings (Soledad Villamil), who he worked with all those years ago (the murder took place in 1974).