Chicago Reader review: Elaine May’s 1976 film, dumped by Paramount on first release, is one of
the most innovative, engaging, and insightful films of that turbulent
era of American moviemaking. John Cassavetes is a small-time hood on the
run from a powerful syndicate boss; he calls on boyhood friend Peter
Falk to help him in his hour of need, but he can’t be sure of his
loyalties—Falk works for the same outfit. May allows the improvisational
rhythms of her actors to establish the surface realism of the film, but
beneath the surface lies a tight, poetically stylized screenplay that
leads the two characters, as they pass a fearful, frenzied night
together, back over the range of their lives, from infancy to adulthood.
At every step May tests the two men’s affection against the conflicting
demands of making a living and finding a measure of security in a
brutal, unstable world; what emerges is a profound, unsentimental
portrait of male friendship—and of its ultimate impossibility. Dave Kehr
This film also screns on November 22nd at the Prince Charles. Details here.
Time Out review: Shot at weekends on a shoestring, Christopher Nolan's 16mm b/w feature is more Shallow Grave
than Shane Meadows. Blocked writer Bill (Jeremy Theobald) takes to following
strangers through the streets of Soho, ostensibly to kickstart his
fiction. One day, one of his 'targets' bites back: Cobb (Alex Haw) introduces
himself as a burglar skilled at 'reading' people's identities from
rifling through their possessions, and he insists that Bill should tag
along to experience the thrill for himself. A complicated time structure
(the film flashes backwards and forwards) signals that more is going on
here than meets the eye. Sure enough, the denouement involves two
double crosses, a femme fatale, a murder and a crowning triple cross.
The generic pay off is a little disappointing after the edgy, character
based scenes of exposition, but the film is acted and directed
confidently enough to work well as a wry mystery thriller. Tony Rayns
Chicago Reader review: George Romero's gory, style-setting 1968 horror film, made for pennies
in Pittsburgh. Its premise—the unburied dead arise and eat the living—is
a powerful combination of the fantastic and the dumbly literal. Over
its short, furious course, the picture violates so many strong
taboos—cannibalism, incest, necrophilia—that it leaves audiences giddy
and hysterical. Romero's sequel, Dawn of the Dead, displays a much-matured technique and greater thematic complexity, but Night retains its raw power.
Dave Kehr
This film is part of the 'Rewriting the Rules: Pioneering Indian Cinema after 1970' season at Barbican Cinema. Full details here.
Barbican introduction: A visually stunning and poetic exploration of the inner lives of a
travelling circus trope in which old age, loneliness and regret becomes
magnified through Govindan Aravindan’s salient observation. In the dialogue-free opening to The Circus Tent, we
follow a truck as it meanders its way through the costal landscape of
Kerala, coming to a stop at a local town where the children come running
excitedly to greet the travelling circus. The arrival of the
circus feels ritualistic, celebratory, but more importantly an outlet
for the local people, an enthralling spectacle they can escape into for a
short time. The Circus Tent is hailed by many as Keralan filmmakerGovindan Aravindan’s masterpiece. The restoration of The Circus Tent in 2021 by the Film Heritage Foundation, India,
brings to life the extraordinary pictorial sensibilities of a film that
has thankfully been reclaimed and is now being rediscovered by a new
generation of filmgoers.
Time Out review:
When Gilda was released in 1946,
striking redhead Rita Hayworth had already starred in a series of
musicals that made her America’s pin-up, yet here she delivers the same
va-voom (in sundry shoulderpad-tastic Jean Louis outfits) while always
hinting at the anxieties beneath the ‘love goddess’ surface. It was
the defining role of her career, yet it says a lot about the rest of
the movie that Hayworth’s fire never overwhelms it.
There’s an element of ‘Casablanca’ exoticism in the Buenos Aires setting, where moody leading man Glenn Ford plays a drifter taken under the wing of casino owner George Macready
– a silky-voiced character actor who always brought an element of
sexual ambiguity to the screen. When the latter marries Hayworth on the
spur of the moment, Ford bristles because he has previous with this
femme fatale and is still feeling it. ‘Hate,’ as the pearly dialogue has
it, ‘can be a very exciting emotion.’ From then on, homoerotic
undertones, atmospheric black-and-white camerawork, Ford’s fight not to
let bitterness get the better of decency and Hayworth’s ever-present
heat combine in one of the great films noirs, softened just a little by
the moralising censorship strictures of the time. See it. Trevor Johnston
This is Hayworth's extraordinary first appearance in the movie.
This screening will be followed by Dr. Elena Gorfinkel and Stephen Thrower in conversation with BFI National Archive curator William Fowler.
BFI introduction: It was a surprising moment when, in the 1980s, long-term sexploitation legend Doris Wishman made a slasher. It’s just a shame things didn’t go better – the processing lab destroyed the film reels. As a solution, Wishman incorporated found footage to paper over the cracks. Released from hospital, back into the family home, psychotic Vicki struggles to resists the powers of a sinister ancestral curse. The public greeted the film with disinterest. But the public can be wrong! Jagged, cut-up, even post-modern in shape, the incredibly weird, psychotronic A Night to Dismember distils the core tropes of the slasher genre while appearing hallucinogenically avant-garde. Dr. Gorfinkel, Thrower and Fowler discuss Wishman, her film and the links between horror and experimental film as part of the event.
Chicago Reader review: Exploitation filmmaker Doris Wishman made her first foray into slasher flicks with this bloody, incoherent, but sometimes quite funny 1983 feature starring soft-core porn star Samantha Fox. Reportedly assembled from outtakes after a disgruntled employee destroyed the negative, it flirts with self-parody, incorporating every horror cliche from the not-very-scary graveyard scenes of Ed Wood to the unconvincing bloodbaths of Herschell Gordon Lewis. The story, recounted in flashback by a deep-voiced private detective, involves a great many knives, axes, and ice picks but never manages to be very frightening; the awful dubbing and numerous mismatched shots are hilarious, but whether that’s intentional is a matter of debate. Jack Heilberg
Chicago Reader review: This genre-busting 2003 debut feature by writer-director Jang Jun-hwan
flopped in his native South Korea, where it was misleadingly pitched as a
date movie. Convinced the earth is under siege by extraterrestrials, a
troubled young man and his acrobat girlfriend abduct a corporate
executive they believe to be an undercover alien and set about torturing
him at a mountain hideaway; meanwhile an over-the-hill cop and an eager
rookie are closing in. Punk graphics and a snaking camera add zest to
the story, which is alternately heartbreaking, suspenseful, and darkly
funny. Andrea Gronvall
The film will be introduced by season programmer Goran Topalovic.
BFI introduction:
Before he worked for the Shaw Brothers in Hong Kong, kick-starting the martial arts movie craze in the West with 1972’s The King Boxer, Chung Chang-wha laid the groundwork for Korean action cinema. A Swordsman in the Twilight tells the story of a mysterious swordsman in a lawless village during the Joseon Dynasty. The film’s action is marked by graceful and restrained action.
Tonight's screening will be introduced by season programmer Young Jin Eric Choi.
BFI introduction: The second Korean feature by a female director, the drama portrays the
struggles of a newly appointed judge, who faces mounting pressure from
her jealous husband and his family to conform to the traditional
expectations of a housewife. Considered lost for more than 50 years,
this story of a fearless woman who fights against societal norms
reflects the career of the director, who broke through many boundaries
at the time. It has lost none of its resonance or relevance.
This film also screens at Cine Lumiere on October 15th and November 8th. Details here.
Time Out review: Cast as the patriarch of a spaghetti-eating Sicilian family who are
crooks to a man, the once formidable Jean Gabin - stout, white-haired and now
a bit past it - mostly sits back and glowers while the younger members
of the cast squabble, lust and plot a caper involving the hijack of a
plane-load of jewels. He finally rouses himself from his lethargy to
defend his honour by executing Alain Delon, a Corsican who had the temerity to
play around with his daughter-in-law. Verneuil, not for the first time,
tries to direct like Jean-Pierre Melville and fails to make it, though
the action scenes are passable, and Henri Decaë's moody photography is rather more than that. Tom Charity
Rio Cinema introduction: To close Black History month celebrations across Hackney, Rio Cinema presents an in-house favourite with Franco Rosso’s Babylon
(1980). Banned on release in the US in fear of inciting riots and
originally rated X in the UK, Babylon follows Jamaican-British youngster
Blue’s day to day in Brixton. The young reggae DJ (played by Brinsley
Forde, M.B.E., Aswad) of the Ital 1 Lion sound system in Thatcher-era
South London pursues his musical ambitions while battling against the
racism and xenophobia of employers, neighbours, police, and the National
Front.
The film will be followed by a live on-stage Q&A
panel hosted by musician Nubiya Brandon. The conversation will take the
opportunity to hear the real-life experiences of those who grew up in
the Caribbean-British community of 1980s London.
Time Out review: Although Babylon shows what it's like to be young, black and
working class in Britain, the final product turns dramatised documentary
into a breathless helter-skelter. Rather than force the social and
political issues, Rosso lets them emerge and gather momentum through the
everyday experience of his central character Blue (sensitively played
by Brinsley Forde). A series of increasingly provocative incidents finally
polarise Blue and lead to uncompromising confrontation. Although the
script runs out of steam by the end, the sharp use of location, the
meticulous detailing of black culture, the uniformly excellent
performances and stimulating soundtrack command attention.
Ian Birch
This screening will be preceded by the famous Kenneth Anger short Scorpio Rising. Time Out review: The
first British Hell's Angels pic, and just about the blackest comedy to
come out of this country in years. It features a bike gang called The
Living Dead, whose leader (Nicky Henson) discovers the art of becoming just
that. So he kills himself and is buried along with his bike, until he
guns the engine and shoots back up through the turf; two victims later,
he drives to a pub and calls his mother (Beryl Reid), a devil worshipper
ensconced in her stately old dark house with George Sanders as her sinisterly
imperturbable butler, to say he's back. This level of absurdity could be
feeble, but director Don Sharp knows how to shoot it straight, without any
directorial elbows-in-the-ribs. Consequently, much of the humour really
works, even though the gang as individuals are strictly plastic. David Pirie
This delicious cult classic features in the Horroctober season at the cinema. Details here. Here is the excellent Geoffrey Macnab's article in the Independent on the movie.
Chicago Reader review: Harry Kumel's stylish Belgian vampire film with a cult reputation (1971)
is worth seeing for several reasons, not least of which is Delphine
Seyrig's elegant lead performance as a lesbian vampire who operates a
luxury hotel. The baroque mise en scene is also loads of fun; with
Daniele Ouimet and Andrea Rau. Jonathan Rosenbaum
This film is part of the Barbican's excellent 'Rewriting the Rules: Pioneering Indian Cinema after 1970' season. You can find the full details here.
Barbican introduction: 27 Downfollows
the story of Sanjay, a young man whose life is irrevocably altered by a
train journey from Bombay to Varanasi. As a ticket collector, his
monotonous existence takes a turn when he meets Shalini, a compassionate
teacher. Their relationship unfolds against the backdrop of the train's
rhythmic journey, symbolizing the passage of time and life's transitory
nature. Beautifully shot in noirish monochrome and with striking production design, 27 Down
strives for a semi-documentary feel that is amplified by naturalistic
on location shooting at various train stations and compartments. A key work in the foundational years of Parallel Cinema, 27 Down
draws much of its emotional resonance from the understated interplay
between Sanjay and Shalini’s transient but forlorn characters.
This screening, presented in partnership with the National Film & Television School, ispart of Gynophobia: A Film Season Exploring the Monstrous-Feminine. Gynophobia is dedicated to exploring representations of monstrous women in horror, inspired by Barbara Creed’s concept of the ‘Monstrous-Feminine’. This season looks to embody the specific formal and stylistic properties of 70s horror, with introductions before each film prompting analysis and questioning of the societal attitudes inherent in their production and exhibition. Gynophobia is both an appreciation of the horror genre and a feminist retrospective, examining the roles and representations of women in this pivotal era of film history. The season aims to highlight how these films reflect and challenge the cultural shifts of their time, offering a thought-provoking experience that celebrates and critiques the portrayal of the monstrous-feminine in horror cinema.
Try not to miss this ultra-rare screening of a key early Brian de Palma film which the late, great critic Robin Wood described as “one of the key American films of the 1970s”.
After ten years and a number of ambitious works (commercially successful and critically controversial) such as Carrie, Dressed to Kill and Blow Out, Sisters arguably remains Brian de Palma's most completely satisfying film. Like Dressed to Kill, it is an elaborate variation on Psycho; unlike it, its attachment to the feminine viewpoint is much less compromised. Like all de Palma's films, it invites a psychoanalytic reading (‘the wound' as symbolic castration). Few Hollywood films (and perhaps no other horror film) have explored so rigorously the oppression of women under patriarchy and its appalling consequences for both sexes. Robin Wood
ICA introduction: A young boy (Raizo Ishihara) in Okinawa searches for an outlet for his spirituality, encountering the magical force of Nature and the history behind the creation of a place that is not quite American yet not Japanese. The boy, who seems to live on the outskirts of an already outsider society, likes to get a cola float and watch the American soldiers get their tacos. People around the town prepare for summertime festivals, welcoming ancestors and ghosts. A gang of abandoned children, barefoot and homeless, wreaks havoc amid the ruins of the once prosperous city. As reality seems to melt and drift, the boy sips his cola float and waits for the end of the world.
The screening on 22 October will be followed by an in-person Q&A with filmmaker Maiko Endo, hosted by curator, Hyun Jin Cho.
New Yorker review: In their first major movie roles, Al Pacino and Kitty Winn star in Jerry Schatzberg’s 1971 drama, as a pair of drug addicts drifting through Manhattan’s horror holes in a state of mutual self-destruction. The overheated Bobby (Pacino), a crook since childhood, is a bundle of jitters and motormouthed sass from the city streets. He cools down with the heroin that his girlfriend, Helen (Winn), a torpid artist from Indiana, uses to thaw her emotional core (frozen solid by an illegal abortion). The city seems rotted by the schemes of hustlers in need of a fix and by the law’s corrupting force (embodied by Alan Vint, as a soft-spoken, hard-nosed detective). Schatzberg doesn’t romanticize the addicts’ troubles; with a tender but unsparing eye, he spins visual variations on shambling degradation and on fleeting relief, and makes the sudden lurch of moods, ranging from bad to worse, his subject. Briskly panning telephoto shots, with their tremulous mysteries, reveal a city within a city, a second world of experience that shows through New York’s abraded surfaces. Richard Brody
