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Search the AFA site Click on year for: 2005 Shows | 2004 Shows | 2003 Shows | 2002 Shows | 2000 Shows | 1999 Shows| 1998 Shows | 1996-1997 Shows _____ . _____ The purpose of this page is to give you an idea of the typical programming of a ciné16 show, and to provide you with details on films and filmmakers we've showcased. The following 53 programs, encompassing 184 films, are chronicled from most recent 2001 show backward to the first of the calendar year. 2001 Highlights: Noted documentarian Richard Leacock presented his classroom academic films at ciné16 on March 1. Ottawa filmmaker Lois Siegel joined us in person for a two-evening retrospective on June 14 and 15, showing six of her short films, plus documentaries 'Lip Gloss' and 'Stunt People'. On August 9th and 10th, Anna West hosted a two-evening retrospective of the art films made by her 85 year old father, Clifford West, featuring now-rare films from West's own collection. The program is a direct result of a preservation project conducted by AFA, which catalogued West's films, and assisted Anna in her efforts to become her father's archivist. _____ . _____ Thursday, December 27... Drama in Academic Film: Larry Yust’s ‘Long Christmas Dinner’ and Peter Werner’s ‘Barn Burning’ Films on literature were among the most important in the academic classroom genre, involving an amazing spectrum of talented actors, directors, and writers. Tonight, we feature films representing two series that set the standard for educational films on literary themes, those of Robert Geller’s ‘American Short Story’, and EB’s ‘Short Story Showcase’. 'Long Christmas Dinner' (1975) 38 m, dir. Larry Yust, from ‘Short Story Showcase’. In a remarkable adaptation of Thornton Wilder's The Long Christmas Dinner (1975), Yust uses elements of Japanese Noh Theatre to represent the passage of life over a dinner that spans years and generations. Entrances are made through a bright doorway, while departures --- indicating death --- take place through a pall-shrouded portal. To assist the actors and crew with the continuity of this extremely powerful story, Yust shot it entirely in sequence. An extremely powerful - and unnerving - film starring David Soul. Encyclopaedia Britannica’s twenty-film ‘Short Story Showcase’ was coordinated under Clifton Fadiman, with each film directed by Larry Yust, Bernard Wilets, David Deverell, or John Barnes. Ten of the films consisted of the stories themselves, and was augmented by a companion Discussion Of film, describing elements of the story, the philosophy of the writer, or cinematic facets. Fourteen of the films were directed by Larry Yust, maker of perhaps the finest body of literature films in the educational genre. Yust, whose father Walter was the editor of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, was exposed to films (and filmmakers) at an early age, when his father took him to Hollywood on a business trip for the purpose of collecting data on the film industry for the encyclopaedia. Later attending Stanford University as a math major, Larry became involved with the theatre department, developing an interest in set design, lighting, and directing. After military duty (television programming with Walter Reed Army Hospital as part of the Signal Corps' Army Pictorial Service), Yust further developed his craft at other television stations, most notably XETV, the ABC outlet in Tijuana. His films are superbly directed, written and edited, with exceptional cinematography, in most cases by Isidore Mankofsky. ‘Barn Burning’ (1980) 55m, dir. Peter Werner, from ‘American Short Story’. Racism and domestic violence are treated graphically in Horton Foote’s tale, starring Tommy Lee Jones in a terrifying portrayal of an ignorant and frustrated man consumed by hatred. As is the case with most of the films in the series, the ending is bittersweet. Here, a son attempts to reconcile his own increasingly conscious sense of morality with the immoral deeds of his father. In the end, his choice of physical freedom over the comfort of the familiar produces more questions than answers. A former literature teacher, producer Robert Geller wrote a proposal to the National Endowment for the Humanities to fund a series of films based on great works of American literature in honor of the bicentennial. Eventually encompassing seventeen films of up to 55 minutes in length, each film in the ‘American Short Story’ series boasted exceptional acting, directing and script, with hosted introductions by alternately Colleen Dewhurst and Henry Fonda. Although featuring the talents of many well-known actors, each film in the series had a total budget of under $250,000. The films gained additional exposure when later telecast by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Geller later went on to teach screenwriting at Columbia University, then moved on to Antioch College as Chairman of the English department. Also on the program: ‘Why Don't You Dance?’ (1990) 13m, dir. Steven Condiotti. From a story by Raymond Carver, filmed in El Cerrito. Here, a sad man puts his possessions on in his front yard to sell, and two strangers arrive as buyers. They remain, to become part of the tableau. A beautiful, touching film.
Thursday, December 20... Tribute to a Cad: an Evening with George Sanders ‘Death of a Scoundrel’ (1956) 119m. dir. Charles Martin.
It was his treatment of, and commentary on women that marked Sanders as a man for the ages. He spent $25 for the ceremony when he married Gabor in 1949, and spent his honeymoon night in a motel. He lived the next eight years in her Beverly Hills house, alternating his time with an apartment he stocked with a full-blown workshop (Sanders would take apart virtually every car he ever owned, and would modify the steering to suit his needs). He reveled in his opinions, and enjoyed their shock value when they appeared in the press:
He detested going to films ("I’m not qualified to comment on films because I never see them. I loathe movies") and plays (…and I loathe the theatre… there is the type of applause that is given grudgingly, as a form or largesse, a condescending, sneering, yawn-accompanied, insufferably patronizing applause. It is the kind of applause that I give"). Tonight’s film contains enough of the "real" George Sanders to give ciné16 viewers a taste of what move patrons of the 1940s through 1960s came to expect from a Sanders performance. Early in the film, he casually watches Yvonne DeCarlo snatch a man’s dropped wallet off the floor as he goes through U.S. Customs. He follows her, introduces himself to her at a bar, invites himself to her place, and, while she changes to a more elagant dress for the dinner to which he’s invited her, he slips the wallet out of her coat and departs, as she unwittingly continues her chatter. Later, he meets her again, and when she once more falls under his spell, he remarks "take off 3 inches of paint and you'd be quite attractive". Also appearing in the film was Zsa-Zsa, and scores of other women. Gabor was quite the bonne-vivante herself. In her book 'How to Catch a Man, How to Keep a Man, How to Get Rid of a Man', she describes her life with Sanders:
The relationship was mercurial, although this was marital bliss for Zsa-Zsa:
Eventually, they split up, although Zsa-Zsa continued to‘see’ him:
As for the film itself, the first three reels of 'Scoundrel' present a master at his craft, while the final reel descends to base moralizing. As is the case with other "scoundrel" films of the era, Hollywood wasn’t about to let the cad get away with it all, a shame, because in real life, he did. When it came time to leave the world, George Sanders was as matter-of-fact in his departure as he was in life. In 1972, having swallowed five tubes of Nembutal and a proportionate amount of vodka, he ended his life, leaving two notes. One, addressed to his landlord, contained $1500, enough for expenses. The other, he addressed to the world: "I am leaving because I am bored… I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool --- good luck."
Thursday, December 13... A Tribute to Mordechai Richler
(on the Canadian "brain drain")
(on Britney Spears)
We’ve shown two Richler films here at ciné16, and tonight we’ll repeat them, along with a third. If you’re not familiar with his work, you should be, and tonight’s films will explain why. 'The Apprenticeship of Mordechai Richler’ (1986) 58m, dir. Alan Handel. The writer suffered no fool gladly, offending talk show hosts, fans, and fellow alumni from his old secondary school alike. We see film clips from screen adaptations of his best-known books, "Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz" (starring with Richard Dreyfus), and "Joshua Then & Now" (James Woods), both directed by Ted Kotcheff. At odds with many in the Canadian Jewish establishment, Richler’s works were universal in nature, and the man, who spent 20 years in London before returning to Montréal, is portrayed here as an individual spoiling for a good literary or verbal fight. ‘Bambinger’ (1984) 24m, dir. Douglas Jackson. Set in WWII Montréal, we can sympathize with Sammy, and adolescent forced by his parents to give up his room to a refugee boarder, who lectures him with straight-laced moral platitudes, forged by a bittersweet European Jewish perspective. 'The Street' (1976) 11m, dir. Caroline Leaf. A terrific transformational animated film based on a Richler story of passage, utilizing the media of colors and oil on glass. Winner of the Blue Ribbon at the American Film Festival Awards, 1977. Also on the program: 'Crayfish' (1986) 11m, uncredited producer. We are in the process of producing a future ciné16 program on animal films for very young children, made by Asian filmmakers (yes! the genre exists). This film is an example, made by Video Japonica, and shows a crayfish eating and giving birth in close-up cinematography so terrifying, that you'd swear the filmmaker was in training for 1950's Japanese sci-fi.
Thursday, December 6... Nargileh Night at ciné16: Five Films from the Middle East It’s nargileh and middle-eastern hospitality night at ciné16! We invite all of you to bring your "equipment", whether you call it a nargileh, shisha, hubble-bubble, or water-pipe, your coals and Egyptian tobacco, and join us for an evening of middle-eastern culture (warning: get here early for best seating, because SJS middle eastern studies prof Mira Zussman is bringing her entire class for a fun end-of-semester evening). Not familiar with the nargileh? Visit http://www.geocities.com/enjabbour/lelias.htm and take a look… if you want to buy one before the show, there are plenty of local Arab and Persian shops that will sell you one. We’ve scheduled an evening of exciting films that represent the best of middle eastern academic cinema, as follows: ‘Jafar’s Blue Tiles’ (1978) 25m, dir. Deepa Saltzman. Canadian filmmaker Paul Saltzman crafted what are certainly the finest series of ethnographic films for adolescents ever made. Each film in his ‘World Culture & Youth’ series (known in Canada as ‘Spread Your Wings) was concerned with the transference of the arts and crafts of a particular culture from older to younger people. In making a film, Saltzman would travel to different countries, seeking young people who had already begun the process of learning the craft, and would film them at that particular stage in the process, at the same time documenting the older people from whom the legacy was being learned. In the final analysis, the filmmaker combined storytelling and ethnography in a beautifully photographed documentary-like pastiche that holds interest for adult viewers as well. For more information on this important filmmaker, please visit the Saltzman page on cine 16’s website: http://www.ciné16.com/saltzman.htm ‘Jafar’ was directed by Saltzman’s wife, who later achieved distinction as a feature filmmaker (‘Fire’, 1996) under her maiden name Deepa Mehta, this is the story of a boy involved with restoring the dome of a mosque in the Iranian town of Soltanieh. The firing and glazing of the tiles, as well as their application, is fascinating. 'Taleb & his Lamb' (1975) 16m, dir. Amiram Amitai. This wonderful film stars the young Taleb El-Oukhbi in a story of love and betrayal shot in the Negev desert. Hassan El-Afinish & family, also from the Bedouin Al-Rahmani tribe, appear as well. Exceptional music by Margalit Oved. ‘Family Life: A Kibbutz' (1970) 13m, dir. Yehuda Tarmu. The idea of one’s children being taken care of by non-family members has ever been a difficult one for most Americans to accept, yet the Israelis have been doing it for years without it, apparently, tearing apart the moral fibre of the youth. Tarmu’s interesting look into how it’s done combines interviews with birth-parents and descriptions of the processes that make a kibbutz viable, and is remarkably undated, although made over thirty years ago. This film may be pertinent in this country as well: as more American families adopt the two-parent income, we suspect the kibbutz model may indeed be re-investigated by many who may see the communal life as a welcome alternative to the challenges of traditional American child care. ‘Pioneers of Science’ (1978) 20m, dir. Richard Ashworth. In the U.S., it’s a shame that the Arabs never get their due as producing perhaps the intellectual light that shone brightest during what we refer to as the Dark Ages. These master scientists created magnificent devices such as wind towers that cooled whole cities, and subterranean water channels that stretched for miles under the scorching sands to bring life to otherwise remote cities. They still exist today, as evidenced by this terrific film from John Seabourne’s ‘Mideast’ series. ‘Bakhtiari Migration: The Sheep Must Live’ (1973) 27m, dir. Anthony Howarth. Here, we see 500,000 people and millions of animals on their twice yearly, 200 mile trek between summer and winter pastures. The Babadi clan faces six major challenges crossing the Zagros mountains from the Khuzestan Plain to Esfahan: among them are River Jobar and Monah mountain, 9000 feet high. in southern Iran. Persian folk-singer Shushu is featured.
Thursday, November 29... Bidniz as Usual In Aleppo, Syria a few years back, I engaged a shopkeeper in a conversation. Discovering I was a Yank, he blurted out "John F. Kennedy, one of my two favorite people". "Who was the other?", I asked. "Adolf Hitler", was his response. Puzzled, I asked what the two had in common. He replied: "Both strong leaders". This bizarre sense of duality may not be as strange as it seems. Take good old-fashioned business, for example. Here we have the magic of hand-worked manufacturing and artistic product and packaging design on one hand, and fraud, the cheating of employees, and rip-offs BY employees on the other. Part Upton Sinclair and part Zig Ziglar, the domestic business world is a minefield dispersing both piñata candies Ponzi schemes, that, when perfected, we export to our foreign friends, a practice as American as apple-flavored pie. I wouldn’t worry about our crazy business world doing damage to my Syrian friend, though. They’ve been diagnosing the issues for 3,000 years, through the fusillades of numerous Hitlers and Kennedys. Speaking of hardhats, let’s grab the clipboard and the labcoat, crank up the old business engine and see what’s under the corporate hood. On tonight’s program: ‘Face Value’ (1965?) 20m, prod. Walter Landor & Associates. Landor was a legendary packaging designer born in Munich in 1913, and influenced by the Bauhaus. In 1941, he moved to San Francisco and founded his design firm, which was located, for a time, aboard the ferryboat "Klamath", moored at Pier 5. In the mid-1960s his firm accepted the job of re-branding Falstaff beer. Focus groups indicated the beer was perceived as having the characteristics of "cool refreshment, masculinity, tradition, contemporary". Unfortunately, the new Landor label wasn’t as classy as the previous one, and the contemporary design was tacky (did Landor also work on "Burgie" of the same era?) Judge for yourself: there are two commercials from the era in the film. Did people "buy" it? Falstaff went out of business soon thereafter. For more on Landor, visit: http://www.landor.com/company/index.cfm?action=showPage&storyid=39 ‘Raymond Loewy: Father of Industrial Design’ (1979) 15m. prod. Suzanne St. Pierre. From a ’60 Minutes’ piece hosted by Morley Safer, the famed 85 year old designer here goes to the hardware store, and rates the packaging of roach poison and batteries. You’ve seen Loewy’s autos in photographs, perhaps rode the Greyhound Scenic-Cruiser bus, shopped at Filene's Basement, and still see his Exxon, Coca-Cola, Shell, logos daily. http://www.raymondloewy.com/ ‘Paper Bandits: Checks, Counterfeit, Credit Cards’ (1983) 14m, uncredited director. Here we get sucked in on con games, hosted by well-acted bad-check passers, short-change artists, counterfeit money folks, and credit card thieves. ‘Your Credit is Good’ (1972) 14m, prod. David Altschul. Some more good cons: a sleazy car salesman, and salescon lady at a health club, which shows ta go there ain’t nothin’ new, kid! 'Plant Pilferage' (1966) 30m, dir. Francis J. Rose. Boy, I sure wouldn't want to work at this factory! This film was meant to show 60's plant managers how to prevent employee theft. The plant is surrounded by barbed wire, and the good guys go around checking lunch pails (one of the employees is shown hiding a clothes iron in it beforehand). Right off the bat, you start pulling for the employees, taking glee in every theft. Terrible microphone placement is one of the hallmarks of this remarkable tribute to employee relations. ‘Cooperage’ (1975) 13m, dir. Phillip Borsos. This film draws rave reviews whenever we program it. The intricate craft of making of wooden-staved barrels at Sweeney’s Cooperage in British Columbia is shown in fascinating film made by a director whose feature film ‘Grey Fox’ is a landmark of Canadian cinema. Ars longa vita brevis: Sweeney’s has been demolished since the film was made, and in 1995, Borsos succumbed to HIV-related leukemia at the age of 41.
Thursday, November 15... High Art From Low Places: Three Artists from the Benelux In this day and age, there is little as unfulfilling as a book on the art of painting, with reproductions in black-and-white. One is tempted to apply the same standard to art films, and yet each of the three non-color films on tonight’s program brings something exceptional to the understanding of the world of art. Two of them were made during an era in which color stock was either largely unavailable (Rubens), or not used within the medium (Huntley), while Escher’s work was made originally in b&w. ‘Rubens’ (1947) 45m, dir. Henri Storck Unable to portray Rubens’ great sense of color in this black and white film, the famed Belgian documentarian instead concentrates on form and creative camera work. In this multiple award-winner, he describes balance by outlining forms, and turning paintings upside-down, juxtaposes similar themes as treated by earlier artists, and uses cinematic conventions such as masks and spinning cutouts. ‘Chet Huntley… Reporting (Sotheby's)’ 30m, dir. George F. Murray. In 1959, Rubens' painting "Adoration of the Magi" was auctioned at Sotheby’s to pay death duties on the Grosvenor estate on behalf of the Duke of Westminster. You had to be there: Lady Churchill, Ari Onassis, and auctioneer Peter Wilson were, and so were lots of other exciting people you wish you knew. The result? The largest amount ever paid for a painting up to that that time, £275,000, or $770,000. This strangely unsettling film was aired on NBC’s "outlook" series on June 28, 1959. ‘Adventures in Perception (Escher)' (1971) 21m. dir. Han Van Gelder. A beautifully crafted film relying on the two-dimensional drawings of M.C. Escher, master of perspective. A favorite of art school students everywhere, our print is a bit hacked at the beginning before it settles into sprocket-arms of the mighty (but temperamental) Bell & Howell 552 for a gentle glide to finish. Of the numerous prints we’ve seen, this is the most watchable. An Oscar nominee in 1971 for Best Documentary short. 'Paul Delvaux dans son Atelier' (1978) 10m, dir. Henri Storck. A poetic film, again by Storck, who was born in 1907 and worked as an assistant for Jean Vigo during the filming of 'Zero for Conduct', and who critic Georges Sadoul cited as being the "best Belgian filmmaker" of the course of his long career. Here, he visits the well-known Belgian surrealist in his studio, with his nudes. And, our special 'Holiday with Lee' film, with Mr. Showmanship, the amazing Liberace himself, and a special turkey guest (circa 1955).
Thursday, November 8... Robert Emmett Presents: Quilts, Canoes, Books, and Circuses. (notes by Robert) Tonight, ciné16 looks at a variety of handiwork. The
distinction between art and crafts has always been a fuzzy one, as Art is
usually defined as what one finds at a museum, while Crafts are what one finds
at home. We all know that the celebration of human expression can hardly be
limited that way. The individuals featured in tonight's program show how
ingenious simple things can be, or become. 'Calder's Circus' (1963) 17m, dir. Carlos Vilardebo. From his home in Saché France, the gruff and funny Alexander Calder hosts, in French and English, a circus consisting of his small wire, cork, and cloth sculptures. They perform to the tune of Mrs. Luisa Calder's Victrola, attended by a small-but raucous audience of friends. This documents some of Calder's finest work, which he stopped formally exhibiting "when it filled 5 valises".
Thursday, November 1... Our 5 year anniversary party: John Huston's 'Fat City' ‘Fat City’ (1972) 93m, dir. John Huston. Perhaps Roy Blount Jr., in the February 14, 1972 issue of Sports Illustrated characterized it best: "The Civic Auditorium in Stockton, Calif., where fight scenes were being filmed for the forthcoming movie ‘Fat City’, was one atmospheric arena. The on-camera seats were filled with about six ethnic strains of scroungy-to-genteel Stockton extras, and the air was heavy with fumes: fake smoke, from a machine that blows mineral oil over dry ice, and real smoke, from the Don Diego Dunhill Selección Supremas Director John Huston handed out to front-row spectators when he felt the air was getting too clear around them." We’ve chosen Huston’s epic film of a washed-up fighter as our 5th anniversary show, as a tribute to the California that’s slowly dying, plowed under by soulless tract homes and whitewashed outlet malls. Time was, you could go to San Jose’s Civic Auditorium, watch a card of wrestlers who never traveled east of Denver, and order a "big beer", which was served in an oversized popcorn tub. On another night roller derby would come into town, and Charlie O’Connell, Tony Roman, Ann Calvello, and Joan Weston would ply their trade on taped-up skates, flying through the mist of heavy cigar smoke like the spectral, tattered crew of the lost Flying Dutchman, rising and falling on waves forged from plywood and steel. You might meet a girl from Modesto or Turlock there, and the next day, drive into the central valley to pick her up at home, where you’d meet dad, sitting in a rocker in the wood-paneled living room, puffing on a pipe, reading the "Shotgun News". He wouldn’t say a word about your long hair, long ago having decided "live-and-let-live" was a pretty good policy, knowing his girl was old enough to make her own decisions. Ten minutes and five miles out of town later you and your girl were in a corn field, backseating it on a moonlit night, then suddenly, jarringly wondering how the hell the farmer on his tractor, headlights a-blazing, knew a red VW bug has snuck its way in between the rows. And you learned that you really could handle clutch, brake, and gas pedals with your pants tight around your ankles, butt-naked, as your girl screamed in fear and delight as you raced the damn tractor on a track where deep, mushy earth polished your hubcaps and sullied your brakeshoes. For a moment, I awaken from this reverie just long enough to reflect on this long gone world: the small-town arenas are pretty much boarded up or demolished, replaced by airplane hangar-sized structures where front-row seats require binoculars, and high-security hidden doors keep exiting performers safely away from their fans; a modern version of the carpetbagger has come into town, knocked down skid row, put up a parking lot and a convenience store, taxed the farmers into selling their property, and built tracts and freeways; smoking, guns, and big beers have been killed, or pretty near so, by something a friend once called "liberal fundamentalism"; the girl in the cornfield no longer serves midnight coffee down at the café on main street, she works at Wal-mart. Which, I guess, brings us back to the film. I’ll make it brief: Stacey Keach and Jeff Bridges mix it up on the mat, Susan Tyrrell learns ya how not to drink, and veteran boxers Curtis Cokes and Art Aragon add a well-lived-in verisimilitude to their roles as trainers and hangers-on. Probably my favorite is the character of Lucero, who arrives on the Greyhound for his bout, coughs up some blood the evening before, then leaves the shut-down arena after his victorious match alone, single bag in hand, to board the midnight bus back to L.A. or Tijuana. This is a film about a world that, in every way, no longer exists. Are we truly better for it? Blount’s article, describing the people and personalities surrounding the making of this film, really is terrific. Read it at: http://cnnsi.ch/features/2001/movies/reviews/fat_city/
Thursday, October 25... ...but is it "art"? Part II ‘New York School’ (1975) 55 m, dir. Michael Blackwood. Blackwood has an extremely impressive body of film work in the arts, specializing in the work of non-representational artists. What is most impressive about Blackwood’s films is their lack of pretense. The art world has long been cluttered with artbabble spoken among people having advanced art degrees who, unable to communicate ideas to the intelligent public simply, clearly, and evocatively, write to each other instead in code, through museum catalogues and wall placards. Blackwood’s got it right. The artists mostly care about conveying an emotional feeling on the canvas, and are quite capable of discussing the means of employing the medium, their influences, and how and why they paint the way they do. The filmmaker captures all that here in encyclopedic fashion, unfolding a world that evolved from surrealism (Bréton called Gorky "the last surrealist", while others credited him as the first abstract expressionist) to action painting, and beyond. In this film, we see an animated Jackson Pollock changing to his paint-encrusted work shoes, mad-scrambling over floored paintings, then peering through a clear horizontal "canvas" of Lucite, attacking the camera with a machine-gun of black paint. We hear the only recording of his voice ever made, and visit with his wife, friends, enemies, and unknowns: painters Adolph Gottlieb, Jack Tworkov, Philip Guston, Robert Motherwell, Al Held, Lee Krasner, Willem DeKooning, Joan Mitchell, Clyfford Still, Barnett Newman, and Ad Reinhardt. Critics Clement Greenberg and Harold Rosenberg describe the history and impact of the movement, including the importance of departed artists such as Franz Kline and Hans Hoffmann, and patrons such as Peggy Guggenheim. Crossing disciplines, composer Morton Feldman discusses his contribution to Mark Rothko’s chapel in Houston. The film is an important one, providing a historical context to the "big" paintings seen in every museum of modern art today, and saving the viewer from having to hack through interminable art treatises written by those who didn’t make the cut. ‘Look of a Lithographer’ (1966) 45m, dir. Jules Engel. How are lithographic prints made? Here we see the process of preparing the limestone, scrubbing, grinding, and polishing the surface, followed by the elaborate procedure involved in inking the leather roller. Artist Louise Nevelson is profiled here, ready to work the stone and supervise the making of a print, all the while batting her spider-like false eyelashes at the Tamarind Lithography Workshop staff.
Thursday, October 18... Pelé! Now, I’m gonna tell you how really REALLY different ciné16 is from every other film venue in the U.S. Film programmers, as a lot, don’t want to take risks. They don’t mind showing campy hygiene films from the 50s, because everybody from the Eisenhower years looks funny (will they say the same about us tatooers & piercers when we’re in our 80s?). They won’t, however, take the risk of showing John Barnes’ Shakespearean films, because they’d have to make take the affirmative position that an "educational" film can be good education. They’ll show 8mm home movies taken by a doctor on vacation in Zamboanga, or out-of-focus "experimental" films by Famous Experimental Filmmakers, showing their infants rolling around the floor crying: after all, genius is... simply genius! Here at ciné16, we pride ourselves on showing films that are remarkable in their own right, and cut against the politico-cinematic grain; we revel in showing the little-known treasures that seem to escape everyone’s notice. This week, I bought a few films that, frankly, I thought would be good to sell through our ‘Museum’ site. There are lots of sports nuts out there who will buy just about anything with favorite stars, our projectors are getting long-in-the-tooth, and I can sense more large repair bills… time to be revenuin’. I bought, therefore, five films on Pelé, the soccer king, and hold onto your hats because they’re so damn good, WE’RE SHOWIN’ ‘EM! This week’s show: 'Pelé: the Master & His Method' (1973) 60m, dir. Sal Lanza. Sports instructional films tend to be awful. The music always seems dated, even when the film is only a few months old, the athlete rarely ever appears to be having a good time, and there’s never a social context beyond athletics for athletics sake. This series of films, for a change, breaks all the rules. They are the greatest sports instructional films we’ve ever seen, rising above the mundane with terrific close-ups of Pelé’s techniques, followed by actual clips, many of them from World Cup matches, showing the technique applied in an actual game. Miss it? Now we get it returned, in slow-motion. The marvelous soundtrack is performed by the legendary Sivuça, complete with birimbau, accordion, flute, and percussion. What made these films truly extraordinary, though, are the charming, non-cloying scenes showing the great star playing with a rag-tag group of ordinary kids on the beach in Río, or in a bare-dirt country soccer field fronted by simple wooden homes. In one of these films, the point is made that Edson Arantes do Nascimento grew up just like these kids, with as little predictable opportunity. We suspect these films were made originally by an uncredited Brazilian filmmaker, with titular director Lanza reformatting these for North American audiences. We feel that the affective success of these films is largely due to the original filmmaker quickly reaching a sense of simpatico with Pelé, who seems to be authentically enjoying every moment. In terms of music alone, the choice of Sivuça proves there’s a Brazilian filmmaker behind this series, without a doubt; a Yank would have chosen the Tijuana Brass. Beyond being a series of instructional films, these episodes are historical documents indicating a ballet-like quality to the man who played for Futebol Club Santos from 1956-1971. The five 12 minute films that make up this segment of tonight’s show are: ‘Ball-juggling & Dribbling’ (he "juggles" a grapefruit in the air with his feet), ‘Shooting’ (the bicycle kick is remarkable), ‘Trapping & Heading’, ‘Passing’, and ‘Physical Preparation’. Also on the program: ‘Raft’ (1974) 30m, dir. George Sluizer. Now a noted feature filmmaker, Sluizer made memorable documentaries throughout the 1970s. Filmed in state of Maranhão, the caboclos of NE Brazil build raft of 8000 logs of balsa wood, then take it down the Balsas River. This 36x18 foot raft contains no nails, and becomes a floating compound, complete with livestock, for the workers and their families. They travel 700 miles in three weeks to the city of Teresina, to sell the wood which makes up the raft, as well as their animals, for under $20. ‘Brazil: People of the Highlands’ (1956) 17m, prod. John Bobbitt. From the naïve days of pre-1960 academic film. Here we wind back the time machine: old cars, buses of the cities, beautiful shots of the coffee and cotton fazendas, purchases made in the country store. Not much said about agrarian reform, the politics of the company store, or the conditions for workers in the mine. Beautifully shot.
Thursday, October 11... Barinda Samra Presents ciné16 Classics (great programs from our archives of previous shows) Tonight: Dueling Diaspora --- 'House on Chlouch Street'
Thursday, October 4... The Great American War Machine Tonight, we present two of the finer documentaries we’ve seen on the subject of war. The first film describes some of the processes the military has historically put in place to "sell" the public on defense spending, while the second is a sobering reflection of what combat is really like for the men and women on the front lines. ‘The Selling of the Pentagon’ (1971) 50m, prod. Peter Davis. This well-known documentary is reportedly the one that pushed the Nixon White House over the edge in calling for a full-scale investigation into the alleged subversiveness of the media, and served as a springboard for catapulting Spiro Agnew into the spotlight as public inquisitor. Here, CBS News' Roger Mudd accompanies a group of conservative taxpayers on an Army-sponsored field trip to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, where their visit culminates in a "mad minute" consisting of a blistering salvo of light arms fire. The manager of a shopping mall in Minnesota describes the military’s successful appeal to place marketing materials in a kiosk, just one of the many PR strategies divulged by Peter Davis and team, one of which involved the use of actors such as Jack Webb and John Wayne. Our favorite part of the documentary is a blistering tirade by USMC General Louis Walt, clearly angered by what he perceived as a lack of patriotism on the home front. Today, we see military PR as a given, its sales tactics as American as the Nash Metropolitan, and it may be difficult to see just what the military was so upset about. The military response to the film, however, was forceful: F. Edward Hebert, chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, filed a formal protest with the FCC, and eventually CBS News was subpoenaed to deliver all documentation surrounding the film. Eventually, CBS News was spared going through court proceedings, as the Senate carefully evaluated the investigation’s overall impact on First Amendment. ‘A Face of War’ (1967) 70m, dir. Eugene S. Jones. Let’s follow Mike Company of the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment on a search-and-kill mission. 'Face' is filmed without commentary, and constitutes what is possibly the most sobering and powerful example of war as it existed in Vietnam, complete with terrifying night firefights, medivac ops, and quiet walks through the village. This is an exceedingly rare showing of one of the finest documentaries ever filmed, undoubtedly among the most dangerous missions ever taken by a civilian camera crew.
Thursday, September 27... ...but is it "art"? Part I No doubt about it, we don’t get to see enough art films. To develop an appreciation for the art of today, it’s important to understand where we were in the past, which enables us to put the unfamiliar in context. Without the historical background, we become the symphony goers who insist on Beethoven’s Fifth, the dance aficionados who are confused at anything beyond the ‘Nutcracker’, the museumers who cry for yet more Pierre-Auguste Renoir. As arts organizations race to lower their shows to lowest common denominator levels in order, as they say, to "attract new people", one wonders how, without educational programs to raise the bar, arts organizations will succeed in elevating their attendees to the point to where they will realistically be capable of appreciating cutting-edge anything. As an example of the kinds of films that both educate and enlighten, visit our little museum under the streets to try these two on for size: ‘American Art in the '60s’ (1971) 57m, dir. Michael Blackwood. Don’t you wish that a documentarian had been around to conduct face-to-face interviews with all the impressionist painters you know & love, showing them at work in their studios, and discussing their influences? Fortunately, Blackwood did it here, with the leading lights of the movement in art that immediately followed abstract expressionism, encompassing Pop Art, Minimalism, color-field painting, hard-edged abstraction, and "happenings", drawing a basic division between the east coast and est coast scenes. Hold your breath, as I’m going to run through the chronological order of artists (and others ) interviewed her: Bob Rauschenberg, John Cage, Leo Castelli, Jasper Johns, Larry Rivers, Roy Lichtenstein, George Segal, Claes Oldenberg, Donald Judd, Dan Flavin, Frank Stella, Ellsworth Kelly, Jack Youngerman, critic Clement Greenberg, Kenneth Noland, Helen Frankenthaler, Jules Olitski, Ed Kienholz, Ed Ruscha, Ron Davis, Sam Francis, Robert Irwin, Ken Tyler of Gemini, and Andy Warhol. Whew… ‘Running Fence’ (1977) 58m, dir. David/Albert Maysles/Charlotte Zwerin. It was a year after the used record store I started closed down, after the megastore opened down the street and, in offering whole catalogues of the same records we sold, managed to sell them for less money new, than we could used. Such is life. Somehow, some way, I’d cobbled enough money from selling our depleted stock, to go to Spain for 6 weeks, where I met the girl from Barcelona who soon moved back with me to California. I landed a job in a special ed classroom, working with children having communication disorders. The freewheeling days of doing anything I wanted, any time I wanted, had pretty much come to an end, I thought. Christo (in collaboration with his wife, Jeanne-Claude) was in the news: he wanted to put up a 24 mile running fence through ranchlands in Sonoma and Marin counties. 18 feet high and made of nylon, he’d won the battle with individual ranchers, battled coastal commissions, and now the damn thing was going up. I’ll admit, I couldn’t quite grasp the "art" element in all this, but I was willing to go along (after all, I grew up in dada, and believed that, just by calling it "art", you made it so). It would only be up for two weeks, and I took my beat-up red VW bug up there to see the fence. It was beautiful, in a way that was absolutely unimaginable unless you were actually there, and could get out of the car, and see this shining, translucent ribbon brilliantly outlining the breathtaking landscape. Fortunately, the Maysles and Charlotte Zwerin were there too, and their film, consisting of all of the arguments, meetings, and alliances, that made the fence as much performance art as monumental sculpture, is magnificent, historical, and as Californian as can be. Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s website is a kick (http://www.christojeanneclaude.net ), if a bit tricky to navigate. Here’s what I found, and liked:
Thursday, September 20... The Spoken Word Respoken If you don't think the value of the spoken word has been diminished in this society, try walking into any bar in the western hemisphere after 10 pm on a weekend night. There, instead of being able to engage in conversation and intelligent discourse, the sheer volume of the music forces patrons to communicate by guttural grunts, yells, and war-whoops. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a problem, as each individual theoretically makes his or her own entertainment choices. Today, however, establishments serving alcohol do not attempt to cultivate a clientele of people whose main objective is to discuss arts, letters, the human condition, romance, and those strange coffee beans that emanate from the intestinal tracts of Micronesian monkeys and command top dollar in the best dining establishments in Europe. Here in San Jose, with the departure of institutions such as Howard Buzick's Cafe Babylon, or Bob Mello & Joel Tansey's Upstairs at the Eulipia, there is no drinking establishment catering to the wild & barely manageable art and literature crowd that makes up a significant part of the night scene in any major, sophisticated city. It's tempting to say that people in the loud-volume bars of today have nothing to say anyway. But face it, unless they have an opportunity to practice the ancient, venerated, and nearly lost art of verbal communication, and thereby, in doing so, engage in the free exchange of ideas that is part and parcel to becoming an informed participant in an enlightened society, they'll forever continue falling into yet more insipid social fads, like drinking coffee mined from the bowels of primates. Which, when it occurs, will only drive up the price for the rest of us. Tonight, we revel in a program that elevates the spoken word to an art form, even if, in the case of 'Speak White', non-francophones will have to relate to it on passion alone. ‘A Visit with Carl Sandburg’ (1953) 30m, dir. Martin Hoade. Between 1952 and 1956, NBC embarked on a wonderful series of interviews with aging giants of the art world, called ‘Conversations with Elder Wise Men’ (ciné16 has already programmed two of these, Frank Lloyd Wright and Wanda Landowska). Here, the animated, 75 year old poet waxes profoundly on Republicans and hangings, discusses his arrest for riding the rails, reads from "Phizzog" "A Couple", and Sliphorn Jazz", plays guitar & sings "The State of El-a-noy" and "Before I’d Be a Slave". His sincerest passion, however is for Abraham Lincoln, as he discusses his life, and the joys of writing the biography of his beloved president. ‘Deserted Village’ (1970) 17m, dir. Howard Jensen. In 18th century England, common farmlands were ripped away from farmers who had diligently worked the land for generations, and given whole-hog to large landowners, leaving the small farmers destitute, and, to a large extent, indentured servants to the new landowners. Whole villages were plowed under in order to extend the fields of the very rich, destroying tradition and culture. Those who refused to works on lands they formerly tilled often went to large cities, where, unskilled, they were thrown into the maw of the excesses of the industrial revolution. "Sweet Auburn", the village of which Oliver Goldsmith writes in his epic poem, is the home of "the sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, the never-failing brook, the busy mill, the decent church that topped the neighboring hill", all of which were torn apart and plundered by the wealthy, emboldened by these Special Acts of Parliament. Goldsmith’s powerful poem turns excessively grim, as he tells the tale of a displaced people. The narrative is accompanied by enchanting watercolors from the brush of fabled set designer Walter Hodges. ‘Speak White’ (1980) 10m, dir. Pierre Falardeau/Julien Poulin. Michèle Lalonde's acerbic French poem attacks the KKK, wars, protests, and poverty. Brilliantly read by Marie Eykel, accompanied by Julien Poulin’s neat musique-concrète score. Proof that the power of the forceful spoken word, accompanied by pictures, can overcome one’s inability to fully comprehend an unfamiliar tongue. ‘John Jacob Niles’ (1976) 30m, dir. William Richardson. The noted composer ("I Wonder As I Wander," "Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair") and collector of folksongs here demonstrates his performance in high falsetto, and, more impressively, his extremely strange acting-out of lyrics. Although I wouldn’t except him to be performing in bib overalls, his insistence on black-tie is just plain bizarre. Niles (b. April 28, 1892, d. 1980) is an icon too revered for anyone but your review team at ciné16 to question, as you can see for yourself by visiting the moderately informative website at: http://www.uky.edu/Libraries/NilesCenter/jjn.html 'W.B. Yeats: a Tribute' (1950) 22m, dir. George Fleischmann/John D. Sheridan. His coffin rides on bow of ship, returning to Ireland. This beautiful, brooding film is a fairylike visit to Yeats' Irish haunts punctuated by examples of his prose & poetry, read in a wonderful lilting manner. Aye, there's a visit to his grave, too, with the poet's (1865-1939) epitaph carved into the cold marble: "Cast a cold eye on life, on death. Horseman, pass by."
Thursday, September 13... International Avant-Garde Filmmakers of the 1920s, Part III: Absurdist Ballet in the House of Usher ‘Entr’acte’ (1924) 15m, dir. René Clair. The film was commissioned by Les Ballets Suédois de Rolf De Maré to appear between two acts of the Dada ballet ‘Relâche’, with music by Eric Satie (who also wrote the film score to ‘Entr’acte’, unhappily not part of our print). The film is a loose collaboration between many of the leading lights of the Dada set, including Satie, Man Ray, Georges Auric, Marcel Duchamp, and Francis Picabia, the latter of whom Clair considers to be the genius behind the film, and who characterized the film by stating that it "respects nothing except the right to roar with laughter". Here, everything is absurd, from the camel-led funeral, to the chess players (Ray and Duchamp) being doused with water, to what is certainly one of the most marvelous endings in film history, disputed by one emphatic member of the cast. ‘La chute de la maison Usher’ (1928) 55m, dir. Jean Epstein. Epstein’s version of Poe’s ‘Fall of the House of Usher’ also contained elements of the same author’s ‘The Oval Portrait’. Our print is completely silent, and all titles are in French, a fact which diminishes the value of the film very little for discerning Anglophone audiences. Perhaps Henri Langlois of the Cinémathèque Française described this film best: "The cinematic equivalent of Debussy. An absolute mastery of editing and rhythm in which slow motion, superimpressions, moving camera shots, and the mobile camera combine to play a totally ungratuitous role. The lighting of the sets transforms them and imparts a sense of mystery. The actors were merely objects." The assistant director was Luis Buñuel. ‘Rain’ (1929) 13m, dir. Mannus Franken & Joris Ivens. An impressionist view of Amsterdam before, during, and after the rain, filmed over four months, utilizing a hand-held camera.
Thursday, September 6... International Avant-Garde Filmmakers of the 1920s, Part II: Ménilmontant to Chien Andalou ‘Ménilmontant’ (1924) 30m, dir. Dimitri Kirsanov. This marvelous film anticipates the work of Italian neo-realism by twenty years, and cinéma vérité by thirty, in a story that is told completely without titles of any kind. Here, two sisters from the country find city life to be challenging, as one becomes pregnant by a lover who pointedly casts her away, while the other works as a prostitute. Kirsanov’s rapid cutting is especially forceful in the fight scene toward the end of the film, as the moving camera, in close-up, darts acrobatically back and forth across the flying bodies. What we liked best was his emphasis on showing action and chaos though shots of rapidly moving feet, the wheels of autos and trains, and tracking over pavement. ‘Symphonie Diagonale’ (1924) 5m, dir. Viking Eggeling. Born in Sweden but of German ancestry, Eggeling moved to Germany at the age of 17, became a bookkeeper, and studied art. He moved to Paris, then Switzerland for the duration of the Great War, where he was introduced to the Dada movement, meeting Jean Arp, Tristan Tzara, and filmmaker Hans Richter. After the war, he returned to Germany, bought a camera in 1922, and finished ‘Symphonie’ in 1924. Here, paper cut-outs and tin foil figures are shot frame-by-frame, utilizing pixillated animation. The non-representational art deco/cubist images are rhythmically erased whole or in part, a precursor to the syncopated editing used by Norman McLaren a generation later (whether McLaren ever saw Eggeling’s film is another matter). The public debut of ‘Symphonie Diagonale’ in 1925 might have launched a brilliant career for the filmmaker, but he lived only sixteen more days, dying in Berlin at the age of 45, from complications derived from syphilis. ‘Ballet méchanique’ (1924) 10m, dir. Ferdinand Léger. The famed Cubist painter and technical associate Dudley Murphy utilized drawn, painted, and photographed forms, rhythmically producing a film of seemingly disparate objects and themes, some of which re-occur in continuous loops; the film is completely silent, without sound accompaniment. ‘Surrealism’ (1972) 24m, dir. Egons Tomsons. The surrealist movement in art wove threads of its psycho-mystical tapestry through virtually all avant-garde narrative films of the 1920s. Here, we provide a historical perspective on the movement as a preface to ‘Chien Andalou’. Tomsons’ fast-paced overview begins with the forerunners: Bosch, Breugel, Ensor Redon, Rousseau, De Chirico, and Chagall, who influenced Arp, Duchamp, Klee, Miró, Tanguy, Magritte, Dalí, and Delvaux. A bit too "catalogy" for our tastes, but a fine retrospective on the movement nonetheless. ‘Un Chien Andalou’ (The Andalusian Dog) (1928) 16m, dir. Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí. The quintessential surrealist film, ‘Chien’ was made by these two young Spanish iconoclasts as a means to shock viewers. By now, many of us are familiar with the eyeball-slitting scene; my own favorite has a woman nervously searching under her arm for hair that had mysteriously transposed itself onto a man’s face to become a beard. Of the film, Dalí suggested that it "ruined in a single evening 10 years of pseudo-intellectual post-war advance-guardism." (Pronounce that word "suedo", buster!)
Thursday, August 30... International Avant-Garde Filmmakers of the 1920s, Part I: Caligari and ‘Fièvre’ The new wave of filmmakers whose iconoclastic films swept over Europe in the 1920s were a group whose previous successes had been achieved primarily in other art forms, from painting to collage, photography to literary criticism. The new films would eventually be classified under such disparate terms as Impressionism (completely unrelated to the painting movement of the same name from the late 19th century), Dada, Surrealism, and Expressionism. What they all had in common, regardless of stylistic differences, was a sense that what had, heretofore, been "cinema" was hackneyed and predictable; it needed change in order to progress, whether it be toward the non-representational, the absurd, the abstract, or, as was the case with Impressionist film, a shift in thematic direction toward the perspective of the working class, where leisure was anathema, and tales did not always result in happy endings. For the next three weeks, ciné16 will explore these significant and little-shown films, whose influence helped to chart the direction of world cinema for the following three decades. A note about the prints: the films in this series are from the silent era; some of them have recorded orchestral soundtracks, but most of them have no sound whatsoever. Several of them have very little in the way of titles (one is completely in French), frustrating for some viewers, but rewarding to the astute filmgoer, who, free of the burden of words and music, will revel in the artistry of a filmmaker who tells a story through cinematography and editing alone. We invite you to share in these treasures of our cinematic past, and perhaps enjoy a new perspective and approach to viewing a film. ‘The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari’ (1920) 53m, dir. Robert Wiene. Originally inspired by the case of a brutal sex slaying in Hamburg, the film was first offered by producer Erich Pommer to Fritz Lang (‘M’, "Metropolis’), who turned down the directing job due to a scheduling conflict, leaving the job to Robert Wiene, whose expressionist credentials would, after ‘Caligari’, be further enhanced by his 1923 film ‘Raskolnikov’. Often cited as the foremost example of Expressionist cinema, ‘Caligari’ is the tale of a mad carnival somnambulist, and takes place in a small German town of fantastically angled streets and buildings, cast in stark, diagonal shadows. Frankly, the story of a murdering sleepwalker (here played by Conrad Veidt, Major Strasser of ‘Casablanca’ fame), and real, or imagined madness, is not the strong point of the film. Rather, the sets themselves, created by artists Hermann Warm, Walter Röhrig, and Walter Reimann, built to mirror the terror and psychological distortion of the characters, described by historian David Cook as "exaggerated dimensions and deranged spatial relationships --- an unnatural, sunless place in which buildings pile on top of one another at impossible angles, jagged chimneys reach insanely into the sky" are the film’s strong point. To increase the netherworldly appearance of the characters, a thick impasto of makeup, scored by heavy black greasepaint, was applied to the faces of the cast, to purposeful excess on Veidt and Werner Krauss (as Caligari). ‘Caligari’ is mentioned in every standard text on film history, and is a must-see for everyone with an interest in Weimar cinema and/or German Expressionism. ‘Fièvre’ (1921) 30m, dir. Louis Delluc. French Impressionism, from a film perspective, revolved around writer, critic, and filmmaker Louis Delluc, who, in rejecting previous French films as being too melodramatic, advocated films dealing with earthy subject material. French Impressionist film also utilized working class surroundings, such as docks, whore bars, and street culture; its thematic material was based on stories about common people, their daily lives and tragedies. The loose-knit group, which included Jean Epstein and Abel Gance among its members, was considered to be the first French "avant-garde" film movement, sowing the seeds for the next wave of French filmmakers such as René Clair, who, inspired by dadaism and surrealism, began making their mark in the latter half of the jazz decade. Can a silent film, through superior acting, directing, and editing, convey a viable plot even though the subtitles are lost to time? The Museum of Modern Art thought so when it acquired this print of ‘Fièvre’ from actor Léon Moussinac, and tonight, you can be the judge. Delluc’s tale, which takes place in a Marseilles waterfront bar of easy virtue, concerns the emotional conflict surrounding a sailor and two women, which eventually involves the entire bar. The tight editing and amazing characters (we liked the pipe-smoking prostitute) are infinitely more memorable than the over-reliance on iris shots, which Delluc uses early-on to annoying excess. There apparently was more "atmosphere" in an original version, which, according to critic Georges Sadoul, Delluc wanted to call ‘La Boue’ (‘The Filth’), before French censors forced him to change the title and several scenes.
Thursday, August 23... ‘The General’ (1926) 75m, dir. Buster Keaton/Clyde Bruckman Joseph Frank Keaton VI (1895-1966), who first appeared onstage at the age of three in his parents’ vaudeville act, is considered by film historian David Cook to be Charlie Chaplin’s equal as an actor, and superior to him as a director. His first films were made in 1917 as a supporting actor in Fatty Arbuckle’s Comicque Studios, and in 1919, producer Joseph Schenck formed Buster Keaton Productions, which resulted in twenty short films made between 1920 and 1923, considered classics in the slapstick genre. Believing that verisimilitude was an essential element of comedy, Keaton took pride in ensuring that his plots flowed logically and his characters were believable. His trademark deadpan facial expression was perhaps the most immediately recognizable facet of an actor who conveyed great emotion and performed all of his own stunts. His sequences were elaborately planned, and frequently dangerous; one of his best known was the spectacular plunge of a stream locomotive off a thirty foot bridge in the film that is the focus of tonight’s program. ‘The General’, was his sixth feature film, a Civil War dramatic comedy filmed on the picturesque, narrow-gauge railroads of Oregon, in which Keaton plays the part of a Southern locomotive engineer unjustly accused of cowardice by friends eagerly enlisting as soldiers in the war against the North. Much of the action takes place on his engine, "The General", as he attempts to shepherd it back through Northern lines after it had been highjacked by Union troops. Keaton’s timing is superb, and the film is edited so well that the directors used only 50 title cards in the finished print. Considered by critics to be the thirty-year-old Keaton’s best film, it has been suggested that this film, along with Chaplin’s ‘Gold Rush’, is one of the two greatest comedies of the Silent era. Two years after the film was made, in what would ultimately be a disastrous career move, he agreed to sell his company to the MGM Studios, where he became increasingly frustrated by the disbursal of his crew throughout the studio to work on the projects of others. His subsequent talking films were mostly unsuccessful, and he began a period of heavy drinking and spotty professionalism. He continued performing sporadically for the next two decades, but his career entered a resurgent phase after James Agee’s ‘Life’ magazine cover story on him ran in 1949. Also on the program: ‘The Railrodder’ (1965) 25m, dir. Gerald Potterton. This National Film Board of Canada production appears to be a thinly-disguised promotion of the Canadian rail system, featuring Keaton in a starring role, a year before his death. The film has some merit as a historical document, although the usually-reliable Eldon Rathburn’s hokey musical score is a thorn in the side that many viewers will find annoying. We feel the film lacks the logical plot development and cohesiveness for which he had become justifiably famous, but serves as an interesting programming counterpoint to ‘The General’.
Thursday, August 16... Weimar Revisited, Part II: Josef von Sternberg’s ‘Blue Angel’ (1930) 94m. Born Jonas Stern in Vienna, Sternberg began his cinematic career making training films with the US Army Signal Corps in WWI. He was invited to Germany by producer Erich Pommer to make this, Emil Jannings’ first talking picture, in which the actor played the part of a strict school teacher who falls in love with cabaret dancer Lola-Lola, played by Marlene Dietrich, a little-known actress who Sternberg chose for the part. Here, Jannings’ Professor Rath leaves his career to become the husband and servant to his younger wife, and is shamed into performing in her show as a clown. Eventually, the traveling show returns to his city, where Rath is encouraged to crow like a rooster while his wife visibly engages another man in the stage wings. ‘Angel’, which offers a fascinating glimpse into the cabaret life of 1920s Berlin, is a story of sexual domination, greed, and humiliation, the latter characteristic played to extremes by Jannings, who insisted that the egg broken over his head in the final sequence be an authentically rotten one. After 'Angel', Sternberg returned to the U.S. along with Dietrich, where they collaborated on several more films, elevating the androgynous Dietrich to star status. Also on the program: 'Lion's Den' (Dr. Doolittle) (1928) 10m, dir. Lotte Reiniger. Jean Renoir’s chief assistant on his classic ‘Rules of the Game' was Carl Koch, whose wife, Lotte Reiniger, was one of the early giants of animation. Her style consisted of elaborately staged silhouettes, and ‘Lion’s Den’ is a ten-minute excerpt from her 65-minute ‘Dr. Doolittle’, which she edited for the school market in the early 1950s. For more on this outstanding animator, read William Moritz’ bio and filmography at: http://www.awn.com/mag/issue1.3/articles/moritz1.3.html
Thursday, August 9, and Friday, August 10... The Florentine Films of Clifford West, with Anna West in Attendance Note: this week, visitors to ciné16 will not only see some interesting films, they will become participants in a film preservation project. The films of Clifford West are being given their first retrospective in the United States, and many are seeing "the light of day" for the first time in years. They are all from the original collection of the filmmaker, who has graciously donated them to ciné16. This has been a challenging, difficult, interesting, and rewarding program to develop; you might enjoy reading the story of how it came about, and why we’re so happy to have Anna West, Clifford’s daughter, as your co-host this week. The Story Behind This Weekend’s Program and Preservation Project My discovery of Clifford West’s films was accidentally borne out of a desire to get to the farthest corner of the U.S, away from films, so I could concentrate instead on writing my book, a project which has taken a good chunk out of my life for the past six years. I picked Enfield, New Hampshire, a tiny town on the edge of Lake Mascoma, where an abandoned Shaker village has been taken over by a small local company that has turned the Shaker meeting house into an austere inn. Every room has Shaker furniture, no pictures on the walls, no television; it’s the perfect writer’s hideaway. Early one afternoon, I decided to take a break and drive to Lebanon, a few miles away from Enfield, to get a cup of coffee. An art gallery appeared on the town square, and I stopped to take a look. The woman who ran it was friendly, she asked what I was doing in town, and after telling her about my project, she announced: "oh, my husband was a maker of educational art films, and his name is Clifford West". After admitting I’d never heard of him, she suggested I meet him. "He’s on the third floor, you can walk up there right now." Thus began a three year involvement with Clifford West, wife and Edvard Munch scholar Bente Torjusen, and their family. Increasingly, as my travels took me to Boston, I’d make the three-hour drive to Enfield, watch a few films with Clifford and Bente, and continue my writing. The Clifford West Archival Project Clifford West made a number of outstanding films, focusing primarily on Florentine art of the Renaissance, but also creating gems such as his kinetically powerful tribute to the work of his good friend, sculptor Harry Bertoia. Although his films never achieved the distribution they deserved, they are important historical documents, and, with their "camera-as-paintbrush" moving camera technique, are unique. West, who is now 85 years old, had a desire to preserve his films for future historians, but did not have a record as to whether he actually owned prints of each of his own films (in some cases, if so, possibly the only prints in existence), among the hundreds of reels, film cans, and boxes scattered over two floors of a three-story gallery/warehouse in New Hampshire. Among West’s wishes were to develop a means of keying filmed outtakes of important Florentine art works (many of which were destroyed in the 1966 flood) to specific films, a project he wanted to supervise himself, negating the possibility his donating his films and outtakes to us here on the West Coast. We played with a number of ideas; I suggest he contact nearby Dartmouth College, develop a relationship with a scholar there, and arrange a donation that would result in a renewed research on his work. Dartmouth wasn’t interested, the standard state of affairs, unfortunately, when it comes to the fortunes of classroom academic films. One day, Bente mentioned to me that Anna, one of the two West daughters, would shortly be returning from college in Boulder, Colorado. Would she, I asked, be interested in becoming a film archivist? A conversation with her confirmed it: she was excited at the prospect of seeing her father’s films, and desperately wanted them preserved. I suggested that on my next trip, we attempt to document and catalogue as much as possible. I developed a matrix that Clifford could use to list his film properties, then together, worked with the West family to identify and document all of his existing prints, outtakes, and miscellaneous rolls of film, which involved carrying many decaying, dusty boxes up three flights of stairs before the important work began. Over two days, we meticulously catalogued, viewed, and repacked films for more effective preservation. We found a total of 50 usable prints, and Clifford suddenly had a clear picture of his life’s work in film. Among the boxes of film, Anna, a photographer herself, discovered old picture albums she’d never seen before, chronicling her father’s life as a young man. Our showing that night was a bit more emotional than usual, as doors from the distant past were suddenly, and occasionally jarringly, unlocked. I found Anna to have superior organizational skills, and her background in photography has given her a keen interest in the minutiae of preservation. We welcome her to the world of film preservation, delighted that Clifford West’s important films will not vanish from the scene. A recent photograph she took of her father is on ciné16’s Clifford West webpage; for a filmography, pictures, and brief explanation of his work, visit: http://www.cine16.com/west1.htm My own philosophy with ciné16, and our new Academic Film Archive of North America is to, when possible, keep the work of filmmakers in the hands of passionate and interested family members who wish to become archivists of the work, but aren’t necessarily sure where to begin. We are convinced that donations to universities aren’t always the best thing; given the overall lack of appreciation for academic film shown by the scholarly community at large, I believe that, in most cases, trusting the work of academic filmmakers to the caprices of university storage processes leaves them at best open to abuse, at worst, to discarding, and loss. It is apparent that new archivist Anna West will contribute significantly to the knowledge and understanding of her father’s work over the next several decades. Anna will join us for two nights, Thursday, August 9, and Friday, August 10. Both shows start at 6:30, in order for her to describe some of the events surrounding the films, and to answer your questions. Thursday will focus on films of the Renaissance, Friday on more modern work. Please note: the program might change slightly, as I will be reviewing more Clifford West films this week. I will email the final, exact schedule next Wednesday. - Geoff Alexander The program for Thursday, August 9 at 6:30 pm: ‘Michelangelo and the Medici Chapel' (1964) 22m, dir. Clifford B. West. In 1519, Pope Leo X authorized the 44 year old sculptor to begin a series of seven funerary statues in the Medici Chapel, adjacent to the Church of San Lorenzo. In 1534 he left angrily, and never returned to completely finish them. West’s camera caresses these forms, examining hands, faces, folds in clothing, first looking at one sculpture, then another, then returning again, mirroring the way many of us look at these sculptures when we visit the Medici chapel, back, forth, sideways, backwards, settling for a few moments on one element, while another across the room beckons. ‘Basilica of San Lorenzo’ (1964) 25m, dir. Clifford B. West. Here, in the edifice built by Brunelleschi as the Medicis’ parish church, we explore the work of Donatello, from his bronze pulpit, to his massive doors of the sacristy. ‘Romanesque Churches in Northern Italy’ (1970) 27m. dir. Clifford B. West. A breathtakingly beautiful film, focusing on Sant' Atimo, near Siena, and San Mineato al Monte in Florence, marred somewhat by the didactic, halting narration of Gilian Ford Shallcross.
The program for Friday, August 10 at 6:30 pm: ‘Harry Bertoia’s Sculpture’ (1965) 23m, dir. Clifford B. West. Born in Italy in 1915, Bertoia eventually moved to Michigan, attended Cass Technical High School, where he was introduced to metals, and moved on to the Cranbrook Academy, where he met fellow student Clifford West. Shortly after his marriage in 1943 (West was his best man), Bertoia moved to California at the behest of his friend Charles Eames, and collaborated on the design of the famous ‘Eames Chair’ produced by Knoll Associates. In the 1950s, he set up his own studio in Bally, Pennsylvania, where he designed the well-known ‘Bertoia Chair’, also for Knoll. Soon, he was experimenting with sculptures of different alloys and patinas, and would create ‘musique concrète’ soundscapes utilizing his sculptures. He died in 1978, a victim, says West, of heavy metal poisoning, acquired as a result of his constant proximity to metals and chemicals. ‘Harry Bertoia’s Sculpture’ is, from a cinemagraphic and sound perspective, West’s most progressive film, as abstract in filmmaking technique as the sculptures themselves. Opening with the camera slowly moving over what appears to be the surface of the moon, it suddenly falls back to reveal instead the texture of a sculpture. The film is one of constant motion, resulting from the vertiginous movements of West’s camera, or the movement built into the sculptures themselves. The music, played by Bertoia, utilizing various objects alternately hammering or caressing his sculptures, is reminiscent of the work of Xenakis. From the perspective of West’s career, the film marked the beginning of a new, bolder approach to camera movement, as seen in later films such as ‘Bronze: River of Metal’ (1972), and ‘The Art of Rolf Nesch: Material Pictures’ (1972). Visit http://skybusiness.com/bertoia2/index.html for additional information on the sculptor. ‘Bronze: River of Metal’ (1972) 25m, dir. Clifford B. West. Here, West looks at the art of casting Renaissance bronzes as a historian, appreciator, critic, and craftsman. The film begins with historian Bruno Bearzi showing Donatello's modifications, and his 14 separate castings, on the colossal bronze of St. Louis of Toulouse at the Museo dell'Opera. Then, a visit to the Hades-like Fonderia Ferdinando Marinelli, where four workers prepare casts for the lost-wax process, then laboriously hoist the heavy, molten bronze crucible, and carefully pour off its terrible contents, to a soundtrack of ambient noise made by sculptor Harry Bertoia. Finally, the director turns to the past, through the doors of Ghiberti in the Baptistry of Florence. ‘Edvard Munch: Graphics, Watercolors, Drawings, and Sculpture’ (1968) 27m, dir. Clifford B. West. Born in 1863, the Norwegian artist watched his mother and sister succumb to tuberculosis by the time he was fourteen, leaving him with a deep foreboding of death, which colored his early canvases and works on paper. Munch was also haunted by the spectre of beautiful women, who he portrayed as vampires or dominant sexual forces, and characterized his perspective on new artistic technology by stating: "The camera cannot compete with the brush and the palette so long as it cannot be used in heaven or hell." Here, West looks at drypoints, etchings, engravings, lithographs, and woodcuts, providing examples from the artist’s oeuvre, and, just as importantly from the perspective of the learner, explains how, mechanically, these works are created. Most impressive are the woodcuts, and the four-stone, four color lithographs. Of the 700 or so graphic images created in the artist’s lifetime, we explore some of the more significant, including ‘The Scream’, ‘ Madonna’, ‘Three Stages of Women’, and ‘Vampire’; West juxtaposes different versions of the work, often transposing one version over another. During the making of this film, West was guided by Munch scholar Bente Torjusen, who collaborated with him on the making of several other films, as well as two daughters. For further information on the artist, and for a preview of some of the images central to the film, visit http://www.edvard-munch.com/gallery/litho/index.htm 'The Art of Rolf Nesch: Material Pictures' (1972) 20m, dir. Clifford B. West. Rolf (Emil Rudolf) Nesch was born in Germany in 1893, but fled to Norway in 1933 as a result of Nazi persecution, remaining there until his death in 1975. In this film, one of a trilogy of films made by West on the artist, we see Nesch's work evolve from welding ribbons of material onto metal plates, resulting in bas-relief prints, to the integration of three-dimensional forms of ceramic, glass, and metal with paint, to form a "material picture". West's camerawork on the massive 'Herring Catch' is a tour-de-force of art-vérité, climbing in, out, over, and around the picture, dizzying and electrifying. For more on the artist, visit: http://www.norwaypost.no/NP/culture/musnesch.html
Saturday, August 4... ciné16 in San Francisco: 'George Bernard Shaw' and the 3 part 'Shaw vs. Shakespeare' by John Barnes. Sorry, this evening is sold out. Thursday, August 2... Weimar Revisited, Part I: Fritz Lang’s ‘M’ Perhaps Otto Friedrich, author of ‘Before the Deluge’, said it best: "Berlin in the 1920s represented a state of mind, a sense of freedom and exhilaration. And because it was so utterly destroyed after a flowering of less than fifteen years, it has become a kind of mystical city, a lost paradise." It sung, for a brief time between the wars, the siren song of art, literature, film, sexuality, and some might say decadence. Certainly the latter was the word the brown-shirts would use as they began a systematic march to destroy it in the first of its long line of prohibitions, persecutions, and assorted horrors. The excitement of those pre-Nazi days has left a legacy of exceptional writings and powerful films that remains undiminished, and, in fact, probably has become greatly magnified in what may be the strongest element of German culture of the 20th century. For two of the next three weeks, ciné16 conducts a cinematic tribute to those years with two films that helped to define the extravagant beauties and gut-wrenching excesses of the Germany ruled by the ill-fated Weimar Republic. If you have seen Fritz Lang’s ‘M’ and Sternberg’s ‘Blue Angel’, we invite you to revisit and re-evaluate these films; if you haven’t, you must take advantage of the opportunity of seeing two films rarely screened in San Jose, and among the best examples of German cinema ever made Tonight: ‘M’ (Murderer Among Us) (1931) 90m, dir. Fritz Lang. Lang’s film was based on the real-life case of child-killer Peter Kürten, the "monster of Düsseldorf," whose crime spree of 1930 resulted in near mass-hysteria in which the police followed up on over 12,000 leads, and over 200 people turned themselves over to the police, bragging to be the killer. Kürten attacked 41 people, 9 of which died, and bragged about his crimes in two letters to local newspapers which prompted additional copy-cat letters to newspapers, further confounding the police. Witnesses described him as well-dressed, friendly, and, from appearances, trustworthy. He was finally arrested on May 24, 1930, and executed July 2, 1931 in Cologne. When word of Lang’s film reached the public, he received a series of threatening letters from individuals concerned that the film would provoke others to commit similar murders. ‘M’ presents Peter Lorre as the murderer who prefaces each crime with an eerie whistling of a well-known tune from Grieg’s ‘Peer Gynt’ (the bug-eyed, hang-dog look exacted by Lorre was later used by the Nazis in a poster describing the look of "typical Jews"). The quiet, unassuming Lorre proves difficult to apprehend, and eventually, frustrated by their inability to solve the series of crimes, the police bring pressure upon the underworld, who, spurred onward by the twin reflexes of self-preservation and loathing for those who would harm children, sets about finding the killer, to bring the individual to summary justice. Lang chooses to juxtapose the similarities of the police and criminal worlds through an often dizzying display of intercutting between the two, and in doing so, provides an intriguing insight into the power structure of a citywide crime network Lang’s ‘Metropolis’ was a favorite of Hitler, and after ‘M’ was released, Goebbels offered the director a lofty position within his new film organization. Responding that, being partly Jewish, he would be ineligible, Goebbels replied that his excellent WWI military record would solve the problem, and Lang asked for 24 hours to consider. He then arranged for a ticket on the Paris overnight train under an assumed name, and left Germany before the 24 hours had elapsed. His wife Thea von Harbou, who wrote the script for ‘M’, was a staunch Nazi supporter and elected to stay in Germany, where she was appointed an official scriptwriter for the party. Lang eventually ended up in the States, divorced his wife, and made several more films, among them ‘Fury’ (1936), based on the Hart lynching in San José’s St. James Park. Also on the program: ‘Rennsymphonie’ (1928) 5m, dir. Hans Richter. This well-known edited trailer for Richter's feature ‘Ariadne in Hoppegarten’ is a finely edited film in its own right, detailing the events surrounding the day of a horse race.
Thursday, July 26... Focus on Wayne Mitchell, part II: Eastern Hemisphere Tonight, we offer the second in a two-part retrospective highlighting the work of Wayne Mitchell, maker of over 80 social science films over the past 45 years. For a complete biography/filmography, visit his AFA page: Wayne Mitchell ‘Early Civilizations’ (1979) 20m. A history film, describing early communities and cultures from the Tigris to the Mediterranean. ‘Japanese Handicrafts’ (1967) 11m. How objects of beauty are made from straw, pottery, paper, and other materials. ‘Food, Clothing, and Shelter in Three Environments’ (1989) 20m. People from the mountains of Japan, tropics of Samoa, and desert of Pakistan are juxtaposed. ‘Food of Southeast Asia’ (1966) 20m. A fascinating look at the Thai fishing culture, focusing on canal life, and traditional meals of rice, fish, and vegetables. ‘Slums in the Third World’ (1983) 20m. Mitchell battled with film company executives over the use of the word "slums", which he felt provided a non-glossy description of life as it was. Here, in a film that has a UNICEF-like perspective on social conditions, we examine living conditions in the Philippines.
Thursday, July 19... Focus on Wayne Mitchell, part I: Western Hemisphere Tonight, we offer the first in a two-part series highlighting the work of Wayne Mitchell, maker of over 80 social science films over the past 45 years. Born in Detroit, Michigan on 5 April, 1926, the young Mitchell had set his sights on becoming a park ranger, eventually becoming one in Wyoming's Grand Teton National Park. Soon, he embarked on a career as a successful still photographer of wildlife and nature subjects. Eventually, he pursued cinematic studies at the University of Southern California, which led to his first film National Park Rangers, in 1955. In 1959, together with sound technician Sven Walnum, he followed candidate John F. Kennedy on the campaign trail, where his footage was used for election promotional spots. He also found work as a cinematographer in the Indo-Pakistani and Viet Nam wars, taught photography for two years at Miami University, and worked briefly in the feature film world. Beginning his educational film work in 1961, Mitchell specialized in international, ethnographic, arts, and economics films, made primarily in South America, Africa, and Asia. While in Japan, he married his Japanese interpreter, Yasuko Hanada, resulting in fourteen films on Japan, and two sons. Mitchell, an auteur who wrote his own narration, selected his own shots, and chose music and voiceovers, compiled an extensive library of ethnic music on ¼" reels, yet didn’t shirk from occasionally beating a drum, chanting, or playing an ocarina as musical accompaniment to his films. He eschewed strict anthropological interpretations of his subject matter, and thus, knowing that elementary schools were not about to adopt films containing images of bare-breasted women, he provided Choco Indian women subjects with wraps. He is extremely opinionated as to the impact of imported ideas, from technology, to the dubious value of many of the missionaries plying their trade in developing nations:
As of this writing (2001), Mitchell, who has won numerous festival awards, is one of the few educational filmmakers still working in 16mm, carrying a customized portable sound and editing unit to remote locations. A multifaceted individual who now makes his home in New Zealand, Mitchell lives in a Japanese-inspired house he designed and built, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The two evenings of films will be divided according to hemisphere. Program I: Western Hemisphere ‘Eskimos: a Changing Culture’ (1971) 17m. A fine exploration of new cultural realities for the villagers in Mekoyuk, Nunivak Island, Bering Sea. ‘Rainforest Family’ (1971) 17m. The Choco people who live in the Darien rainforest along the Panama-Colombia border are isolated from markets and transportation. Here, children are taught the skills necessary for survival. ‘Archaeologists At Work’ (1962) 13m. Mitchell shows the process by which archaeologists search for Basketmaker artifacts along San Juan River, New Mexico. ‘Central America: History & Heritage’ (1985) 20m. All too often, academic school films described Central America as little more than a series of banana republics, happily contributing exported goods to the United States. One of the first films to address the concerns of these nations as separate from those of the large neighbor to the north was this, describing the merits of imported Cuban teachers, the goals of the Sandinistas, land reform issues, the role of reformers within Catholic church, and the presence and danger of right wing death squads. ‘Central America: an Introduction’ (1989) 20m. A good, post-Somoza, digest of the culture and geography of the region. ‘Cuna Indians: Island Exiles’ (1983) 20m. On the island of Achutupu in the San Blás group off the Panamanian mainland, live a group of people traditionally suspicious of others. Since their island contains no food, drinking water, or soil, they canoe it from mainland, one mile away.
Thursday, July 12... Eric Sjostrom Presents ciné16 Classics: Three Who Dared: Burke, Wills, and Amundsen Tonight, Camera Cinemas' Eric Sjostrom presents two of his favorite films from ciné16's past. Again, for those who are new to ciné16, please consider joining us for this show, which originally screened March 23 of last year. The BBC and Westdeutscher Rundfunk co-funded producer Michael Latham’s series ‘Ten Who Dared’ (1976, distributed in the U.S. by Time-Life, known as "The Explorers" in the U.K.), consisting of ten dramatized adventures of various explorers dating from Columbus to Amundsen, each approximately 50 minutes in duration. Characterized by outstanding location cinematography using hand-held cameras, ethnographic elements, and narration based on actual diaries, the series consisted of a chronicle of travels in difficult-to-film areas on several continents. ‘Ten Who Dared’ stories rarely have happy endings, as evidenced by the death of the protagonists in the desolate and beautiful ‘Burke and Wills’, and the series is far better, in both cognitive and affective senses, than many other historical ed films of the period. Unlike many films available for distribution to schools, ‘Ten Who Dared’ was originally developed for prime-time British audiences, and indeed, at a budget of roughly $10 million, was the most expensive series produced at the BBC at its inception. And then, there is Anthony Quinn. In the original British version, David Attenborough served as the host, happily ensconced in a set consisting of rich, walnut bookcases amidst leather-bound tomes. But Attenborough was, at the time,. little known in the U.S., and therefore Mobil Oil, who had licensed the series for its "Mobil Showcase" television program, scouted about for a more familiar face. In addition, the luxurious library set was also canned, Mobil feeling that American taste would be offending by such highbrow leanings. Quinn as host, directed in these new sequences by David Hoffman and Harry Wiland, projects his larger-than-life persona whether putting on a tie for "the lady" (‘Mary Kingsley’) or gesticulating wildly while describing the wanderings of ‘Charles Doughty’. Rather than detracting from the Latham-produced films, Quinn’s introductions are an entertaining foil that essentially make each work two films in one. A year ago, almost to the date, we showed David McCallum’s ‘Charles Doughty’ and ‘Alexander Von Humboldt’ directed by Fred Burnley, who died from a lung disorder caused by exposure to bat guano in an enclosed cave while making the film. Tonight’s film were made, again, under trying circumstances. ‘Burke and Wells --- 1860’ (1976) 50m, dir. Tony Snowdon. Erstwhile stills photographer Tony Armstrong-Jones, and lately husband of Princess Margaret was also a filmmaker, and here, teamed with master cinematographer Gary Hansen, he captures the fanciful and awful story of these two legendary Australian explorers on their ill-fated expedition from Cooper's Creek to northern ocean, filmed in the glorious outback. Starring Martin Shaw as Robert O'Hara Burke, John Bell as William John Wells. ‘Roald Amundsen --- 1911’ (1978) 52m, dir. David Cobham. Damn cold, and striking, with Per Theodor Haugen (speaking Norwegian much of the time) as the explorer.
Thursday, July 5... Robert Emmett Presents ciné16 Classics: one of the Stuttgart series, 'History as Interpreted by the Educational Film' Join KFJC's Robert Emmett this week as he selects a program from ciné16s repertory. This show was one of four programmed for Stuttgart's Küenstlerhaus in November of 1999, and represents what I thought were among the best historical films ever made. If you're a recent convert to ciné16, we encourage you to be here tonight to get a taste of one of our more popular programs. - Geoff Between 1900 and 1990, approximately 103,000 educational films were distributed in the United States. A great number of these were based on historical subjects. Tonight, we’ll investigate different approaches, themes, and genres of the historical film. Choice of films: An effective educational film must contain two elements, superior cognitive content (information that includes facts, as well as the reasoning behind the facts), and affective value (in which the learner adopts new attitudes and motivation in relation to the content). Thus, the viewer learns something, and at the same time is motivated to continue his or her studies by individual learning, whether by choosing to read more on the subject, visiting a museum, or traveling to a destination relating to the subject material. An important characteristic of affective presence is entertainment value; each film on tonight’s program is a rich example of how content and cinematic quality work together to produce an outstanding example of the educational film experience. ‘Mesa Verde: Mystery of the Silent Cities’ (1975) 14m, prod. Bert Van Bork. Few could argue that this film sets the standard for historical films based on the Anasazi (an ancient Indian culture of the southwest U.S.) Flying within impossibly narrow canyons to achieve dizzying shots of cliff-dwellings, Van Bork burned through two pilots, one of whom quit in the middle of the shooting out of fear for his life. Van Bork’s masterful shots were accomplished by removing the helicopter door, mounting the camera on a fixed mount, then directing the pilot through headphone microphone to fly in various trajectories. As if the breathtaking displays of the terrain and dwellings aren’t enough, Van Bork also begins some pan shots with abstract architectural designs abruptly jutting out from behind incomplete shadowy formations, resembling more a German expressionist painting than an ancient, deserted town built into the rock. The filmmaker tells an interesting story about the narrator of the film, Jack Palance. Contacting the actor by telephone, Palance agreed to do the narration provided the script was acceptable, and, after reviewing it, suggested they meet at one of Hollywood’s finest restaurants to discuss the project: Bob’s Big Boy (the MacDonald’s of its day). With Palance’s dramatic interpretation of the text accompanied by the haunting percussion ensemble musical score by Hans Wurman, the film transcends the didactic historical and dry anthropological, and transfixes the viewer instead by offering an in-motion armchair view of the extreme location these long-forgotten people chose as home. Van Bork’s personal history is amazing as well: Born in 1928 in Augustusburg, Germany, his art studies included stints in the Academies of Fine Arts in Berlin, Leipzig, and Dresden. He soon began producing stark two-dimensional woodcuts, often made from the pine remains of destroyed buildings and old furniture, of intense and terrifying beauty, depicting a Berlin struggling with an uncertain future. In 1954, he moved to Chicago by way of New York, working in oil on canvas as well as drypoint, displaying an influence of German expressionism in his portrayals of the landscapes of the American Southwest, and cityscapes of Chicago. By this time, Van Bork had become an accomplished stills photographer as well, and received the National Award for Outstanding Photography in Germany in 1954. In 1957, Van Bork was hired to produce films for Encyclopaedia Britannica, and soon became famous for both his stunning geological studies, and infamous for his daring in obtaining footage under extremely arduous volcanic conditions. ‘Face of Lincoln’ (1955) 20m, dir. Edward Freed. Abraham Lincoln is considered by many Americans to be its greatest historical figure, and every visitor to the U.S. who carries a penny or ten dollar bill carries a picture of Lincoln with them wherever they go. Lincoln, who was born in a frontier log cabin and was assassinated in Ford’s Theatre, was President of the United States during the Civil War in the mid-1800s, and signed the Emancipation Proclamation which outlawed the ownership of slaves. The decade of the 1950s was a dismal one for historical films, but one of the few gems was this exceptional film, which features sculptor/professor Merrill Gage creating a clay bust of Lincoln, evolving the sculpture to age with the events of the life of the president, which he narrates. This film is an example of the "host-scholar" being the focal point of the film, generally unsuccessful if the host is boring or speaks in monotone. Gage, who had performed this lecture many times to students at the University of Southern California, is funny and engaging, as he slaps the ears on the head with abandon, changes hair styles with a flourish, and merrily adjusts the tie. The filming took place over three weeks, in which the crew was continually challenged by the hardening of the clay. 'Centinelas del Silencio' (1971) 18 m, dir. Robert Amram. The real star here is the late aerial photographer James Freeman, whose breathtaking helicopter shots of Mayan and Aztec ruins at sunrise and sunset won an Academy Award for this film in 1971. Although the English version was narrated by Orson Welles, the Spanish version we’ll show tonight features narration by Ricardo Montalban, is in better keeping with the ethnic aspect of the film, and no knowledge of Spanish is needed to appreciate his dramatic impact. Don’t be put off by the heroic musical score: this film is memorable, the last word on spectacular ruin cinematography. ‘Taxes: the Outcome of Income’ (1975) 10m, dir. Veronika Soul. Is it possible to make an interesting, funny, yet informative film about the history of a tax bureau, and the minutiae surrounding the manner in which it collects taxes? Soul’s visually stimulating short about Revenue Canada makes the case that any subject can be entertaining in the hands of a motivated and creative filmmaker. ‘Middle Ages: A Wanderer’s Guide to Life & Letters’ (1973) 30m, dir. Piers Jessop. One method of presenting a historical period is to allow the information to be presented by a fictional, contemporary host. The quality of such films often rested on the shoulders of the host-actor, and perhaps the best of all was Nicholas Pennell’s ‘Robert’, a fun-loving, arty, bawdy, and roguish guide to the culture, politics, and mores of the year 1350. Athletic and erudite, Pennell stole kisses, ran from pursuers, and leapt obstacles as he engaged the viewer by proving that old times may not have been all that different from newer ones, as the human condition allows us to reward individuality while conversely at the same time striving to crush it. Pennell, who for the following twenty years would be one of the Stratford Theatre of Canada’s leading actors, was born in Devon, England in 1939, and died in 1995 in Ontario, writing a witty, touching, and wistful farewell letter (http://www.canadiantheatre.com/p/pennellletter.html) from his deathbed to his fellow Stratford actors, giving anyone having seen Wanderer’s Guide the impression that the character of Robert was, indeed, Pennell playing himself. He died two days after the letter was read to the company. One of the truly great educational films ever made, Wanderer’s Guide also features a magnificent reading of Chaucer’s "Wife of Bath" by Jessie Evans. ‘Gallery' (1971) 7m, dir. Ken Rudolph. Throw out your art history books: here’s the entire history of art in one painless lesson.
Thursday, June 28... American Gothic Revisited: Tom Smith's 'Farm Family' series Tom Smith, who would later achieve his greatest critical success as the General Manager of George Lucas’ Industrial Light and Magic, was the creator of probably the most moving portrayal of American farm life in the classroom academic film genre, with his ‘Farm Family’ series of 1967-1968, comprising four films comparing the impact of seasonal changes upon the Red Markham farm and family of Whitewater, Wisconsin. Each film chronicles daily and seasonal life of the family and farm, contrasting the seeming simplicity of daily chores with the impact of major events, such the birth of a calf, the harvesting of a crop, or the coming of the summer county fair. With the exception of 'Summer', each film is narrated in first person by a different family member. We think these are important films that are almost ethnographic in their approach to documenting the life and work of a rural family unit, and present them here consecutively, in a unique viewing context (we're not sure these films have ever been screened together, in one sitting). The films are: 'Farm Family in Summer', the only film told in 3rd person narrative, offers a fascinating look at the rural county fair culture, from preparing exhibits to friendly country huckstering, to harness races, to carny rides. 'Farm Family in Autumn' is son Steve’s first-person story of going back to school, sneaking a taste of mom’s fresh-made jam, carving jack-o-lanterns, and the arrival of the tanker truck which collects the dairy farm’s output. 'Farm Family in Winter' is told by Grandpa, who wrestles the hard-starting, gas-powered "snow-buggy" into action, then fetches the vet, who is prevented from reaching the farm road due to adverse conditions, in order to doctor a sick calf. 'Farm Family in Spring', narrated by son Dale, describes a trip into town to buy feed in country store, and a LaGrange 4H club meeting in which the children discuss the progress of their respective projects. The affection that the filmmaker had for the family is apparent, and seems to be evident in the family’s approach to the filmmaker as well, who made four visits to the farm to make these films, and who remains in touch with Dale Markham. The easygoing attitude the family has toward the camera is largely responsible for the charm of this series, a fascinating and refreshing look at a subject that was all too often didactic in the hands of other filmmakers. Tom wrote to us in early June, reminiscing about the events surrounding the making of these films:
Also on the program: 'The Golden Lizard: A Folktale from Mexico' (1977) 19m, dir. Tom Smith. The director also tried his hand at 'magic realism', in one of the more unusual films distributed by Encyclopaedia Britannica Films. 'The Story of Peter & the Potter' (1953) 20m, dir. Donald Peters. This is a beautiful, innocent film about a boy who buys a present for his mother, then goes to his potter neighbors, the Deichmanns for a bowl. The film is both a precautionary tale about the perils of running too fast, and a wonderful time-machine window to New Brunswick, 1953.
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Chronology and Filmnotes of 
The cad has been so long gone from the public scene that we barely know what
the word implies anymore, but we can see just what we’re missing in viewing
the films of the late George Sanders, who didn’t really have to act, just
merely be himself. The affected humor, the sneer, impeccable dress, and
high-class manners were all Sanders really needed to pack in the suitcase that
accompanied him on the journey from his native St. Petersburg, Russia to
Hollywood, by way of England. He collected women along the way, probably the
most famous of whom was Zsa-Zsa Gabor, who he married, and started on her acting
career in 'Scoundrel'. Ultimately, she realized she couldn’t
afford him; this did not in any way offend Zsa-Zsa’s mother, who Sanders may
have romanced as well, a tidbit around which he deftly tread in his autobiography, ‘Memoirs
of a Professional Cad'. "I was beastly, but I was never course",
he stated, "I was a high-class sort of heel".
Somehow, 70 was too
young an age for Mordechai Richler (rhymes with "mitch-ler") to die. I
awoke one morning in July at an unfamiliar hotel, opened the New York Times
that had been left outside the door, and found mention of his passing in the
obituaries. Not surprisingly, mention of his passing didn’t strike the editors of our
local San Jose paper as being worthy for publication, but it stuck a chord here
at ciné16. Richler was far more than a chronicler of Jewish life in Montréal:
he was a story-teller of the first rank, and a funny, insightful man with an
infectious, impish sense of humor. His films have been favorites whenever we’ve
shown them, but many of us haven’t taken the time to visit Richler in print.
If we had, we might have found: