If you’re wondering why the frequency of my posts has fallen victim to a sudden and unexpected drought it’s because most of my time has been occupied with an entirely different project. I’ve been working tirelessly for the past week and a half compiling a top ten list for the articles section at Stylus. The list will cover the ten best film chase scenes of all time and should be up on the site some time next week.
Throughout this time, I spent most of my time watching films in preparation for writing the article. For the most part I simply returned to films I had seen a while ago but had a vague recollection contained some sort of noteworthy chase scene. In a few rare instances, though, I took a chance on a film I hadn’t seen before in hopes that it might contain a scene that would qualify for the list. In some cases, my inclinations proved accurate, at other times, I came up empty. Well, I shouldn’t say that since a few of the films that didn’t yield worthwhile chase scenes still afforded me ample entertainment.
So, as a way of preventing this site from falling into disrepair and neglect while still carrying out my duties over at the main site, I’ve decided to offer up a brief overview of some of the films that didn’t make the cut in addition to a few others that I managed to slip in for my own personal enjoyment. In an effort to avoid dragging this entry out for too long, I’ve decided to split it up into two parts. I’ll try to have the remainder of my observations up later this week.
The Saragossa Manuscript
It should come as no surprise that Luis Buñuel absolutely loved this movie. You can see the germs of influence from this one run through the greater part of Buñuel’s surrealist work from the seventies, most notably in The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. Perhaps more interesting is that polish director Wojciech Has clearly borrowed elements from Buñuel’s own earlier films. How great it must feel to have your mentor return that favor and in turn incorporate elements from your homage into your own work. In that way, The Saragossa Manuscript serves as a pivotal anchor point between the silent era of surrealism and the later forays into that style.
The crux of the film rests on the idea of oral tradition and the art of storytelling itself. Beginning with a framed narrative in which two soldiers discover the manuscript of a Spanish Nobleman and precede to read excerpts from it, the film weaves its way through multiple levels of narration. Characters within the original story narrate stories of their own in which characters within their story digress into an entirely separate narrative, and so on and so forth. At one point the layers of narration build upon each other with such depth that you almost forget where it all originated. In addition, similar to a bold move instituted by Henry James in his classic Turn of the Screw, Has never returns to his original framed narration, thus losing the viewing in an additional surreal layer of his already twisted narrative that never yield a tidy culmination.
Day of the Jackal
On a certain level Fred Zinnemann’s Day of the Jackal works quite well. On others, not so much. One of the major flaws in the film is the decision to use an entirely British cast to stand in as French government officials. Fair enough since the vast majority of Hollywood films have been guilty of similar crimes (some worse than others), but in this one it proves entirely damaging since the assassin hired by the OAS to murder de Gaul happens to be British. Given the obvious similarities between the Jackal and his supposedly foreign employers, it becomes entirely distracting every time question concerning his nationality take center stage in the narrative. At the very least, it would have helped to simply have English-speaking actors use faux-French accents to help differentiate themselves from the Jackal, but in the long run, I suppose it’s of no consequence.
Day of the Jackal works on the same level as any given Bond movie. The Jackal faces some sort of adversity but always manages to discover some way to evade his pursuers and reach his destination. What makes it more interesting, however, than your typical Bond film is that the Jackal doesn’t embody the same moral integrity as James Bond. If a person stands in his way, no matter if they’re innocent or not, he does not hesitate to dispose of them. To that extent, I liked the unrelenting portrayal of a cold-blooded killer in the film, but felt that it dragged a little too much in building that character up. Interesting side note: before his death, Zinnemann apparently approached the producers of the Bruce Willis version of this story and requested that they change the name so that it would never be associated with his own version. If you’ve seen the contemporary version of this story (now simply called The Jackal) you’d understand why he would make this his dying wish.
Vanishing Point
It seems that once Tarantino’s name becomes associated with a film, that film’s popularity immediately skyrockets. Then, after all those rabid cinephiles tear into it only to discover a rancid product, its brief following tapers off only to leave the film mostly forgotten except by those die-hard geeks that cling to this sort of pop trash. At least, that’s what the case should be with Vanishing Point. Prior to Death Proof, beyond the typical enthusiasts of cult films, not many would confess to having seen Vanishing Point. But after Tarantino assuredly name checks one of his favorite films repeatedly, well, who wasn’t guilty of taking the time to track it down then just to see what the fuss was about?
Other than being a rather adept car chase film – one that features some surprisingly impressive direction in addition to finely executed stunts – Vanishing Point accomplishes little beyond that. Aside from the utterly phenomenal opening sequence, the film loses steam with every wasted moment of its uneventful screenplay. It meanders for way too long on pointless situations such as the naked biker woman, or a painfully melodramatic flashback to the main character’s former life. And, at times, it inserts scenes that simply defy explanation, such as the scene involving the homosexual hitchhikers who attempt to rob the film’s hero.
Tristana
Perhaps it suffers slightly from the impact that The Saragossa Manuscript had on me, but I wouldn’t consider this one of Buñuel’s finest. That isn’t to say that it represents a failed attempt. By no means at all. For even a mediocre film by Buñuel still boast impressive direction and a solid story. I suppose with this director I come to expect the unexpected. As clichéd as that is, that tenet defines surrealism and the more absent it is from his films, the less they feel like his work. I suppose that can be viewed as pigeonholing the director. An entirely plausible observation, to be sure. But even then one most note the ways Buñuel seemed to want to lean toward surrealism in Tristana only to back off abruptly. Although, I’m not sure that forms a solid argument against the film.
Either way you look at it, Tristana tells a thoroughly depressing story of an innocent girl (played by Catherine Deneuve) taken in by a lecherous man (Fernando Rey) after the death of her mother. As she is haunted by visions of her lustful guardian�s decapitation, he worms his way into her heart and, ultimately, bedroom as he takes her as a young lover whom he locks away from society. Catherine Denueve and Fernando Rey are typically impressive in their respective roles, but the film never really cuts to the heart of the matter as well as some of his others. Still, definitely worth seeing.
