Mata-Hari

            

George Fitzmaurice's Mata Hari, from 1931, is one of the more turgid of MGM's vehicles for Greta Garbo. Garbo stars as the titular spy, but no effort was made to be historically accurate; which is a pity because it is quite a story. Four (listed) screenwriters concocted a hoary yarn with unmemorable dialogue. The espionage angle of the film is its weakest aspect, pure codswallop. What's left is your typical Garbo triangle with an older lover (Lionel Barrymore) and a younger one (Roman Novarro). Barrymore is pretty good as a wheezing donkey of male impotence. Novarro, born in Durango, is supposed to be playing a Russian flyer, but wisely doesn't attempt an accent. Though ridiculous in his role, he is good at shining his puppy love eyes at la Garbo. Garbo is great, natch, but I was disconcerted by her pronouncing the country, "Rush-ee-ah." Lewis Stone and Karen Morley are also good, but under utilized.

Classic Hollywood was often an echo chamber and Mata-Hari is a good example of this. It seems a response to Paramount's success with the exoticism of the Dietrich and Sternberg, nicking the cabaret sections from Morocco and the fatalistic spy shenanigans of Dishonored.

Mata-Hari, like Dishonored, ends with its heroine facing a firing squad. However, Fitzmaurice's static visual style is like flat beer compared to the bubbly champagne of Josef von Sternberg's play of light and shadow. This despite the striking work of cinematographer William Daniels whose credits include The Shop Around the Corner and many Garbo features. I did enjoy the wigged out costumes and Orientalist set designs, but their appeal is mainly to a camp sensibility. Garbo provokes more mystery when she turns her face into a mask, as during the finale of Queen Christina, than when she does a bump and grind around a pagan idol in a sheer outfit. Less is sometimes more. 

Nearly all copies of this film, including the Warners Archive disc I viewed, contain a truncated version of the film released after the institution of the Production code. A complete version has been found in Brussels with about three more minutes, mostly of Garbo shimmying lasciviously and seducing Novarro in a see-through negligee. Sounds great, but I don't think these sequences would ultimately redeem Mata-Hari. 

A mugshot of the real Mata-Hari

Hamnet

Chloe Zhao, Paul Mescal, and Jessie Buckley

My reactions to Chloé Zhao's Hamnet find me in a sea of relativity. It is a fine literary adaptation, but fine can be a limiting adjective. It is a better film than Train Dreams, at least the characters in Hamnet have dirt under their fingernails, but Denis Johnson is a superior writer and storyteller compared to Maggie O'Farrell. Ms. O'Farrell collaborated with Ms. Zhao on the screenplay and it hews closely to the novel. The only thing that I especially missed was the opening chapter in which a ship docks in London and a rat escapes to gift Britain with the plague, but I can certainly understand why it was dropped. The film is well cast, it is refreshing to see a Anne Hathaway (here called Agnes, as in her father's will) who is actually older than her mate. Mescal is good with his readings, but I would have preferred more of a hint of rascality in his portrayal of the Bard of Avon. O'Farrell's book centers on Agnes, as does the film, and Jessie Buckley is up to the challenge. She is always capable and intelligent in her choices. What has earned her awards this time is that awards are given not to the best performance, but to the most performance. Buckley gets to howl at the moon in pain and grief twice in Hamnet, but I am a little dubious of the notion of trauma being alchemized into great art. 

Countering the calumnies visited upon her by Frank Harris and others, O'Farrell and Zhao turn Agnes into an Earth Mother Courage roaming the forest searching for wild herbs and roots with her pet hawk. Zhao is able to derive a chthonic pull from Agnes' journeys into the forest primeval. On the whole, though, this is Zhao's least distinctive film. Most of the flaws of this film stem from the book which suffers from the misperception that the Elizabethans were just like us. The concerns of Hamnet owe more to 2020. The technological and moral latitude of the Elizabethan age was a world apart from ours. If you want to get an idea of what is missing in Hamnet's portrait of this world, I'd two Elizabethan novels by Anthony Burgess: Nothing Like the Sun (in which Shakespeare is the protagonist) and A Dead Man in Deptford (in which Christopher Marlowe is the protagonist).

All the Moons

Haizea Carneros

One of only a hundred or so movies in the Basque language, Igor Legarreta's All the Moons is a vampire flick that spans seventy years of Spanish history from 1876 to 1936. It eschews many of the tropes of cheesier vampire flicks, like fangs and stakes through the heart. Though there is a little body horror, the film hews closer to magical realism than outright gore. The young Haizea Carneros plays Amaia, a prepubescent girl who we first meet living in a Church orphanage. Soon, as a result of a stray cannon ball produced by the Third Carlist War, Amaia is buried under rubble and looks like a goner. Amaia is saved or, rather, changed into an immortal by a middle aged female vampire (Itziar Ituño) desperate for a daughter. She acts as a surrogate mother and schools Amaia on the diet and nocturnal proclivities of her fellow vampires. Madre and daughter are soon separated by the requisite angry townsfolk with torches. 

Amai lives alone in the forests of Northern Spain for a time, slowly ameliorating the physical limits of her vampiric state. However, she reconnects with humanity in the form of a kindly dairy farmer named Candido (Josean Bengoetxea). Amaia steps on a wolf trap set by Candido to protect his flock, but ends up living with him until his inevitable demise. Amaia is introduced to his fellow villagers by Candido and initially embraced, but the two have to head for the hills after Amaia upchucks the Host during Mass. Anyway, at film's end, Amaia confronts her cave dwelling Madre who is all too willing to sacrifice all for her gal.

The Spain of this film is one where all relationships have been upended by civil unrest.There is not an intact family in the flick. All the Moons has gorgeous photography, but Leggarreta gives the film a palpable tang. From having Amaia peel off her dead skin to ending the film with her first period, Leggarreta foregrounds the physicality of this fable. This prevents the film from seeming too genteel or picturesque. All three leads are superb, particularly Ms. Carneros who is in every scene of the film. It is a testament to Mr. Leggarreta's skill with his players the he could get such a memorable performance from one so young. All the Moons was released in Spain in 2020, but was never released theatrically in the US. I viewed the Shudder disc and it is a handsome product. A good but not great film, All the Moons is available on many streaming platforms.