Inspired by several brief encounters (and one quite lengthy afternoon) with an elderly cinema aficionado, I began to track down the works of directors like Bergman, Antonioni, Godard, Truffaut, Kurosawa, etc. Mostly, I loved the movies I watched. I at least liked almost all the rest. Some, I only respected. But I ALWAYS got something from them. I viewed them as snowy cinematic peaks ripe for the conquering. I kept exhaustive lists of ones I had seen and ones I wanted to see. And the little money I had invariably went to help pay for one VHS or another. I was young, energetic, mentally curious, and blessed with an abundance of time.
Now I am old, tired, with a shortage of time. Now I like big farts, men get balls crushed, lady boobies, exploding, cars, poop.
My list of world cinema classics to see has become a sort of homework. These movies I used to so energetically seek out I now approach as I would a root canal. Every night with clouds in my brain and the sandman blowing logy grains into my eyes, I find it easier and easier to think, "I'll get to that Bunuel tomorrow night. Tonight, I think "Reno 911: The Movie." Which actually DID, as it turns out, have all six of the above mentioned criteria for what I now enjoy in a movie. I've even found myself thinking that most abhorrent of complaints - "Shit got subtitles. I ain't gonna READ no ding-dong movie...shoot!"
Now that I've realized my tastes have drifted in this direction, it really bothers me. So much so that, this past weekend, I resolved to knock two movies off my cinematic bucket list - Ingmar Bergman's "The Virgin Spring," and Vittorio De Sica's "Bicycle Thieves."
I started with "The Virgin Spring" because I knew it was the basis for the gritty Wes Craven horror classic "The Last House on the Left," and I recognized elements of the story from other movies as well, including "A Clockwork Orange." I knew the movie was a relatively brutal and passionate outing for the usually chilly Bergman. Sounded like a good way to get my feet wet.
As I was watching the movie, it reminded me of what I found so invigorating about such movies when I was a teenager. International cinema of decades ago was notorious for tackling darker subject matter far more explicitly than anything Hollywood would have dared touch, and "The Virgin Spring" is no exception. A lovely young woman, the pride and absolute joy of her parents, is sent through the woods to deliver candles to her local church. Along the way, she is stopped by a swarthy trio of brothers, who attack, rape, and then kill the girl. The trio later seek shelter (unwittingly) at the home of the girl. When her father makes the connection, he becomes hell-bent on revenge.
A simple story, the film is rendered harrowing in the hands of a true cinema master. Shots are perfect, the acting is sublime and naturalistic, and the intellectual conceits heavy and stimulating. The film contains some of the most haunting, arresting images I've seen in some time. If it weren't for the fact that Bergman directed so many masterworks, I'm sure "The Virgin Spring" would loom larger in his legend. As it is, it's a lesser known classic from one of the greatest cinematic voices of all time.
"Bicycle Thieves" is even simpler than "The Virgin Spring." A down on his luck man barely scraping by with his family in depressed, postwar Italy finally lands a lucky break - a job. The only catch is he must have a bicycle, and he pawned his to buy food for his family. His wife pawns the bedsheets so he can get his bike back. Everything is looking up, but on his first day the bicycle is stolen. What follows is a long masterpiece of slow burn and steadily escalating desperation.
Life just plain sucks sometimes, and "Bicycle Thieves" is willing to explore that theme and the nuance of how it can whittle away at a person's resolve and sanity over time. Even though I knew a bit about the movie's story (the title alone gives a major plot point away), I suppose the Hollywood influence in me is what caused me to continually expect some sort of happy turns of luck, or some sort of positive resolution. But life doesn't always work like that.
Famously cast with non-professional actors, "Bicycle Thieves" greatly benefits from the primal, unstudied acting of its leads. One's heart breaks for the son as he tries to remain upbeat for his father's sake. And one can relate to the father even as his increasing desperation makes him less and less pleasant to witness. While the pessimism of the movie hit me like a bucket of ice water and left me cold, further reflection has caused me to warm significantly.
I loved "The Virgin Spring," and I enjoyed "Bicycle Thieves." I respect them both. More importantly, though, my sleeping affection for world cinema classics has been reawakened. These movies are not homework, after all, but popular entertainments that have since been elevated to the status of art. Art with heart, soul, and things to say. Art that can move me, make me think, and perhaps even make me a better person for having witnessed it.
Onward and upward - I've put off cracking into my copy of "Seven Samurai" long enough!
No comments:
Post a Comment