Fringes

Emotion In The Ocean

Dream Boat City

Once In A Lifetime

ONCE IN A LIFETIME

The other day I was catching up on Roger Ebert's always entertaining blog, when I came across something that I've been thinking about ever since. In the first of his Cannes updates, he wrote, "Fifty years ago, the Palme d'Or winner at Cannes was Fellini's La Dolce Vita. More every year I realize that it was the film of my lifetime."

There is something so haunting about these two sentences to me. But also something so dramatic, so stately, and so poetic. Aside from the way in which he said it, let's think for a minute about what he said. The film of my lifetime. This is what I have been thinking about off and on (a/k/a nonstop) ever since I read it.

What is the film of my lifetime? What is the film of yours?

I still don't have the answer. Maybe because there are many I haven't seen or because they haven't been made yet. Or maybe because I tend to change my mind so much about things like this (but who doesn't?). Or maybe because a lot of the films I would immediately want to list are not from my lifetime. I would want to say Last Year At Marienbad for its endless and inexplicable mysteries. Or A Time To Live And A Time To Die for being entirely flawless and showing us what life is really like. Or Fanny And Alexander because it is that one film that you want to jump straight through the screen and live inside of. Or One From The Heart (this blog's namesake), for its impossibly gigantic and unmatched neon sense of magic, romance, and big dreams. Or Red Desert for its sad factories, overt modernity, and industrial beauty. Or Ordet because there is nothing more pure in all of cinema.

But my lifetime?

There are certainly a handful of films that come to mind that excited me or changed me or made me forget about everything else. The more I think about it, I'm pretty sure Roger was not referring to his favorite film or even what he considers the greatest. I think what he means are those films that come along and leave their mark on you, that stay with you for hours, days, months.. even years after seeing them. Films on such a grand scale that do nothing short of take your breath away, make you forget who you are, or where you came from. Those that change everything: erasing the past, obscuring the present, and igniting the future. With that being said, here are ten that come to mind.. from my lifetime.

















ANTICHRIST, dir. Lars Von Trier, 2009
















สัตว์ประหลาด (TROPICAL MALADY), dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2002

















WERCKMEISTER HARMÓNIÁK, dir. Béla Tarr, 2000













ÜÇ MAYMUN, dir. Nuri Bilge Ceylan, 2008
















SHIRIN, dir. Abbas Kiarostami, 2008















YI YI: A ONE AND A TWO, dir. Edward Yang, 2000


















LOST IN TRANSLATION, dir. Sofia Coppola, 2003




















STELLET LICHT, dir. Carlos Reygadas, 2007

















طعم گيلاس (TASTE OF CHERRY), dir. Abbas Kiarostami, 1997


















花樣年華 (IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE), dir. Wong Kar-Wai, 2000

Untitled

UNTITLED

I think one of the most underrated aspects of a film is the title screen. It is often the first thing we see in a film and goes a long way in forming our first impressions of what we are about to see. But not always.

In Apichatpong Weerasethakul's 2002 release, สุดเสน่หา (Blissfully Yours), the title and opening credits are not shown until an astonishing 45 minutes into the film. In his next film, 2004's unforgettable สัตว์ประหลาด (Tropical Malady), the titles show up a little sooner, after about 9 minutes or so. And then, there they are: simple white letters on screen in the most subtle way, reminding you that you are in fact watching a movie.

Until the '70's most films only had opening credits. Closing credits came after. Citizen Kane was notable for showing only the title and no credits whatsoever. Francis Ford Coppola also forewent titles in 1979's Apocalypse Now: the film's title did not appear until late in the film as graffiti.

Some of my favorite opening titles are those by Rainer Werner Fassbinder. His 1979 masterpiece, Die Ehe Der Maria Braun, uses red scripted letters, flashing and flickering, that eventually fill the screen. 1982's Die Sehnsucht Der Veronika Voss (my personal favorite of his) is equally gorgeous- with shadowy letters slowly fading, scrolling in and out diagonally across the screen.

Jean-Luc Godard is a master of titles, often using them throughout his films. Pierrot Le Fou's opening titles appear alphabetically, letter by letter. His 1967 film, Week-End, has my favorite titles of his. The opening titles tell us: "Un Film Égaré dans le Cosmos (A Film Adrift in the Cosmos)" and "Un Film Trouvé á la Ferraille (A Film Found on a Scrap-Heap)." The ending is just as beguiling, declaring: "Fin dé Cinema (The End of Cinema)." Godard is still using titles, as in his latest, Film Socialisme, which is sadly said to be his last. If this is true, then his final words to the world through cinema are "No Comment."

The images below are not the necessarily the greatest opening titles, but they are all very beautiful to me and represent each film perfectly.

The End

THE END

Six films that end so perfectly, so tragically, and so romantically.


THE UMBRELLAS OF CHERBOURG

Flash forward to Décembre 1963. A snowy night, Esso Service Station. Christmas time. Guy is inside with his wife and son, François. Legrand plays. His wife leaves. Outside, a car pulls up. It's her, Geneviève. That glance, true love's stare. A chance meeting on a snowy night. She goes inside. She wipes her eyes while he lights a cigarette. They talk about the weather. She looks radiant. She tells Guy that her daughter Françoise is a lot like him. Are you alright? Yes, I'm fine. She steps outside, looks back for a moment, and gets into the car. He stands in the doorway. As the music swells, she drives off. His wife and son return. The camera zooms out to a shot of them all together as if nothing ever happened.


THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY

The pouring rain can only hide Francesca's tears so much. Outside in the rain, Robert stands across the street next to his truck- he takes a few steps toward her, drenched, heartbroken, and they share one final gaze. Her husband returns and they pull out of the gas station. For a moment I didn't know where I was, and for a split second the thought crossed my mind that he really didn't want me, that it was easy to walk away. Now they are behind him at the stoplight- the longest red light in history. All that is left is a rear-view mirror and that red light that just won't change. Robert waits, Francesca grips the handle of the car door, but stops. The light changes, the sight of a left blinker is the final sign that the affair is over. The tears won't stop, thoughts run back and forth across her mind. The memory is all that can remain.


BRIEF ENCOUNTER

Dr. Harvey: I do love you so very much, I love you with all my heart and soul.
Laura: I want to die. If only I could die.
Dr. Harvey: If you die, you'd forget me. I want to be remembered.

Then, the sound of the train arriving. The train that will take Dr. Harvey to Africa, away from Laura forever. With one last touch of his hand on her shoulder, Dr. Harvey walks away without looking back to the platform. Laura hopes he'll return, something must go wrong, he must change his mind. But the wheels screeched on their tracks, the whistle blew through the night air. Laura runs outside only to catch the breeze of the train leaving the station. She stops herself from death, turns, and disappears back into the station, back into a life now full of feelings of what could have been but will never be.


LOST IN TRANSLATION

Bob is leaving for the airport. From his car window he sees Charlotte walking, lost in a sea of pedestrians. He calls to her, she turns around, her eyes wet. They share a hug in the middle of a crowded street, and then Bob whispers something into Charlotte's ear- something we will never know and aren't meant to. A kiss, some tears. She tries to smile. Short goodbyes, backward glances, and those heart attack Be My Baby drums. Charlotte keeps walking, turns back, and disappears into the blurred out expanses of Tokyo. Bob goes back to his car. Walking back to you is the hardest thing that I could do. Like a dream, no: better.


IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE

The ruins of Angkor Wat. What once was now lies broken. He remembers those vanished years. As though looking through a dusty window pane, the past is something he could see, but not touch. And everything he sees is blurred and indistinct.


CLIMATES

There is a knock on Isa's door. Bahar returns. It's snowing outside, and windy. She lays down on the bed. He sits down on the floor next to her and wraps himself around her legs. Silence. He touches her hair, there is so much love in his touch. He lays his head on hers. Breathing. He lights a cigarette, looks at his watch. Still silence. Bahar sits up against the headboard with her eyes closed. A deep breath to cover up the words that won't come out. Still snowing. A music box melody. Bahar wakes up and sits on the side of the bed. Good morning. They sit at the table. Bahar talks about her dream. Beautiful meadows, and she could fly. She flew down toward a cemetery and could see her mother waving at her. This makes her smile. Isa asks her what time she has to be on set. Her face drops. Isa looks serious, he's just the same as he was before. She loves him. Again, silence. On set, more snow. His plane flies overhead going back to Istanbul. Tears in the snow, fade to white and then black. This is the end that comes after the end.