In the Hand of Dante

Oscar Isaac as Dante

Julian Schnabel's In the Hand of Dante has been derided as the biggest cinematic fiasco since Megalopolis, but, as with the Coppola flick, I found it to be intriguingly uneven. Schnabel adapted the film, along with Louise Kugelberg, from Nick Tosches' 2002 novel. The novel itself is an extremely haphazard affair, alternating from sublimity to self-indulgence. Both novel and film tell parallel stories. In one, a fictionalized Nick Tosches becomes entangled with gangsters wrangling over some original Dante manuscripts. The other, weaker half of the film gives a cursory sketch of Dante's life and spiritual quest. Oscar Isaac plays both Tosches and Dante. Some other members of the cast double up with different roles in each segment, but Schnabel does not go whole hog Wizard of Oz on us. The Dante episodes are shot in beautiful color and within the Academy aspect ratio. The modern segment is shot in widescreen black and white. Schnabel and cinematographer Roman Vasyanov present us with a series of gorgeous images, but there is little in the way of narrative coherence.

Most of this is due to the defects of Mr. Tosches' novel. In the Hand of Dante marks the point in his oeuvre where the self inflation of the author's ego starts to obscure his real gifts. I esteem Mr. Tosches as much as any modern American writer, but for an author to parallel his own life with that of Dante struck me then, and now, as artistic hubris. Furthermore, Mr Tosches' portrait of himself is comical in its self-regard. The Tosches' character in the book and film is ridiculously expert in the most varied circumstances imaginable. He's an erudite scholar (Ok, I buy that one), an irresistible lover, a stone cold killer with a gun, and a debonair man about the world. He can bust chops with wise guys or parse ancient wisdom with Italian scholars. The plot of the novel is perfunctory, but allows room for Tosches' lively and learned digressions on a host of topics. Some of the best moments in the film feature Isaac's beautiful narration of Tosches' prose. I have been a devoted reader of Tosches since he started out in music journalism. If you want to sample the best of this peerless writer, I'd recommend Country, Hellfire, Dino..., and his first novel, Cut Numbers. In the Hand of Dante ranks with Under Tiberius at the bottom of Tosches' barrel.  

Oscar Isaac as Nick Tosches

Schnabel was and is, of course, a painter, and the screen pulsates with visual beauty. I dug the gorgeous shots of the sky, but there are a number of moments when the film's audacity tumbles into ludicrous folly. The most egregious example is the vision of Gal Gadot (playing Dante's wife and Tosches' gal) as Botticelli's Venus on the half shell. It registers as inane rather than breathtaking. Luckily, Schnabel has assembled an interesting cast that helps to animate this grandiose folly. Oscar Isaac ably captures the saturnine intensity of Tosches. He is a much better fit to the role than Johnny Depp who was originally attached to the project. When Isaac as Tosches cranks up Jumping Jack Flash, ingests pills, and slurps bourbon, he is able to conjure the Dionysian fury that lurked inside of the writer. Schnabel is enough of a New Yorker to excel at casting his wise guys and goodfellas. Al Pacino has a cameo that contains his best acting of this century. John Malkovich is always an asset, especially when, as in this film, he is not taking the proceedings too seriously. Best of all is the very affecting Louis Cancelmi.

Gerard Butler

The big surprise for me of the film was how good Gerard Butler was as a Mafia hit man. Butler's brash machismo meshes perfectly with his role. He and Isaac have some good comic riffs as two sides of the same coin. Unfortunately, Schnabel neglects to shape the performances of the less talented members of his cast. Jason Momoa attempts to play a hit man with an undecipherable accent. Martin Scorsese is embarrassingly bad with a ridiculous beard affixed on him as if out of the old Steve Martin, Theodoric of York skits. Just because he is a visionary filmmaker doesn't mean Scorsese can play a visionary seer. Even worse is Gal Gadot. I spent half of the film saying to myself, "gosh, I don't remember Ana de Armas ever being this lousy" before I caught on. In the Hand of Dante is, overall, a mess, but, at least, might introduce people to a singular writer. The film also features Franco Nero, Benjamin Clementine, and Sabrina Impacciatore. In the Hand of Dante is available to stream on Netflix. 

Cuadecuc, vampir

Christopher Lee gives us a reading

Pere Portabella's Cuadecuc, vampir (Worm's Tail Vampire) is an arresting oddity. Ostensibly a behind the scenes documentary of schlockmeister Jess Franco's 1970 release Count Dracula, the film stands as a deconstructed iteration of that film and Bram Stoker's source novel. Count Dracula is a color film, but Cuadecuc, vampir uses footage from it reprinted into high contrast black and white. This Portabella mixes with behind the scenes footage of the cast and crew of Count Dracula, also in black and white. Cuadecuc, vampir has an interestingly discordant score by Carlos Santos, the sound of pneumatic drills at one point highlight that the film is a construction, but the film is devoid of dialogue. The exception to this is a short scene in which Count Dracula's lead Christopher Lee reads the description of Dracula's destruction from the novel; a fitting finale.

Because it is silent and in black and white, Cuadecuc, vampir calls to mind such old horror pictures as Nosferatu and Vampyr. It is certainly as disjunctive and dream like as those two classics. Belying its avant-garde leanings, Portabella is closer to Stan Brakhage as a director than to Jess Franco, Cuadecuc, vampir hews closely to Stoker's narrative. The only significant omission is Klaus Kinski's rendition of Renfield. That said, the lack of dialogue from Count Dracula is a definite plus. Cuadecuc, vampir unspools like a dimly grasped nightmare in a scant 69 minutes.     

Cuadecuc, vampir received a festival release in 1971, but languished in obscurity for years. I saw the film on the Severin Films Count Dracula disc that was released a decade ago. For the record, Count Dracula itself is barely watchable. Lee, Kinski, and Herbert Lom do yeoman's work, but most of the other performances are execrable. Franco ping-pongs zooms at us to irritating effect. Like all of Franco's films, Count Dracula appears hastily and clumsily made. The Severin disc includes enough special features to please any vampire lover including a recording of Mr. Lee reading the complete Stoker novel. Cuadecuc, vampir is also available to stream on Hoopla.     

Les distractions

Claude Brasseur and Jean-Paul Belmondo

Jacques Dupont's Les distractions, released in the States as Trapped By Fear, is a slightly above average noir that is more interesting for its acting than its direction. Jean-Paul Belmondo stars in this 1960 flick as Paul Frapier, a feckless reporter who seems more interested in chasing the ladies than in chasing down stories. Claude Brasseur plays Laurent, a former army buddy of Paul who once saved his life in Algeria. We first glimpse Laurent racing a stolen car through Paris pursued by the police. An accident ensues and a cop dies, so Laurent is forced to flee. A chance meeting with Paul leads to Paul helping shelter Laurent and attempt to smuggle him to Spain. However, Laurent is forced to go on the run. He is even reduced to eating pig slop at one point. This is contrasted with Paul making time with pretty much every female in the cast. The police reunite the pair in the requisite tragic ending.

The part of Paul is made to order for Belmondo who is magnetic and adept in the role. The character is just rebellious enough to fit him to a tee: "Fuck the police," Paul exclaims at one point. Brasseur is equally effective, regarding his fate with mournful eyes. Alexandra Stewart is well cast, for once, as a fashion model. Belmondo is able to loosen up the usually stiff actress. Their scenes together have genuine chemistry. Sylvia Koscina and Eva Damien also make the most of their roles as Paul's more casual acquaintances. Dupont's background was in documentary work and his direction here is fairly unfussy. A sequence which shifts from a trained monkey to a caged bird, highlighting Laurent's sense of entrapment, is one of the film's few visual flourishes. The film works best when Dupont has a good location to prowl around, like the Spanish bar in an antique shop that Belmondo takes Stewart to.

Richard Cornu's score is sadly insipid, detracting from the gritty tone of the film. Dupont's handling of the film's denouement is likewise wan. Jean Bassan's source novel provides a crackerjack finale reminiscent of High Sierra, but in Dupont's hands the sequence fizzles rather than pops. Still, anyone seeking to see Belmondo in his prime could do worse than Les distractions.