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| The Promise |
Chen Kaige's The Promise, from 2006, is a visually sumptuous storybook epic set in China during the Tang dynasty. Kaige's historical epics sometimes succumb to ponderousness, but this flipped out wuxia suits his operatic style. Kaige's most flamboyant and entertaining film.
Claire Denis' Both Sides of the Blade is the first of her films to leave me disappointed. The middle aged triangle at the center of the film is more torpid than torrid. The three leads were fine and I always welcome seeing Bulle Ogier, but the direction is listless and the attempts at topicality are poorly integrated. Perhaps the fault lies in Christine Angot's novel, but I thought Denis' Let the Sunshine In, her 2017 effort also starring Juliette Binoche, was feistier.
Paul Schrader's Dog Eat Dog is an ugly and repellant crime film from 2016. The spectacle of Schrader giving Nicholas Cage and Willem Defoe enough rope to hang themselves means that this is a livelier failure than either First Reformed or The Card Counter. Schrader casts himself as the fixer or deus ex machina of the film, monikered "El Greco". An act of immodesty and hubris perhaps, especially since he is not up to the demands of Edward Bunker's script, derived from Matthew Wilder's novel. Perhaps it was a matter of economic expediency. Give this to Mr. Schrader, when he films sinners, you witness SIN writ large.
Nicolas Winding Refn's Copenhagen Cowboy, currently on Netflix, is supernatural folderol, but it is still the most successful project he has put his name to since Drive. What plot there is evaporates in a miasma of pink, red, purple and blue lighting. A good chunk of the audience will find the film slow, with the camera indulging in long, deliberate pans. I thought the strategy worked because Refn's exteriors and interiors embroider the fairy tale narrative with malevolent intent. Refn has never been one for Apollonian architecture and structure in his films and this series' first (and only?) finale is especially vaporous.
John Byrum's Inserts, from 1975, is a one act, one set, five character film about a washed up director, played by Richard Dreyfuss, struggling to finish a stag film in 1930. The result is a predictable screed about the conflict of art and commerce in Hollywood. A good example of the obviousness of the project is that Bob Hoskins' thuggish backer, who dreams of helming a hamburger empire, is named Big Mac. The performances, however, are pretty good. Dreyfuss is well-cast as a self-pitying narcissist and Hoskins, Jessica Harper, and, especially, Veronica Cartwright make the most of what they can.
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