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Stranger on the Third Floor Review

September 29, 2016 by JD Hansel

This surely must be one of the most fascinating and strange films I have ever seen.

Stranger on the Third Floor is generally considered to be the first movie in the film noir genre, and yet it is very different from the standard conceptions that come to mind when most people think of noir (based on films like Out of the Past, Double Indemnity, or the Bogart films). The lead in this story is no stone-faced, stoic Bogart type – he’s an emotional basket-case – and the relative normalcy of the characters makes the film feel very different from how I’d come to think of noir based on what I saw in Out of the Past. It starts off like a simple enough old-timey Classical Hollywood story about two young lovebirds, but the second act takes a turn when it becomes an experiment in expressionism, before finally returning to reality for a third act that breaks Hollywood in the strangest way.

The second act features an elaborate and creative nightmare sequence, composed almost entirely of elements that were shown (or at least discussed) earlier in the film, now warped into something entirely unreal. This sequence is expressionism gone wild, blatantly stealing from German, French, and Russian artistic styles, but clearly forming a new style of its own at the same time that would be very influential in future film noirs (not to mention Tim Burton films – even if indirectly – and other dark dramas). Simply put, it all looks gorgeous, and its exaggerated theatrical style makes the whole nightmare scene explode with all the wild emotion that burns in the protagonist’s shredded heart. I’m not sure I can think of any other film that manages to be so vibrant without having color, so over-the-top without getting silly, or so animated without being . . . well, literally animated. Then comes the ending.

The final act is incredibly bizarre seeing as how the protagonist vanishes from the movie, leaving his girlfriend to take over the role of being a hero (of sorts). This is not so much a feminist move as a clumsy one, because this was not done to make any sort of statement about gender equality, from what I saw/heard in my repeated viewings and careful reading, but I’m not sure what exactly it really is supposed to be. This move seems to serve little purpose and just make the narrative awkward. Even more awkward is the conversation the leading lady has with the insane antagonist, which had so little logic to it that there were multiple moments of laughter in the screening room when I saw it. Then, at the end, the antagonist is randomly hit by a car and presumed dead, only for the police to look at him and start talking to him as his body lies in the street, revealing he is alive. This is finished off with one of the most forced “tag endings” in movie history, making for an overly cheery, cheesy conclusion that just doesn’t feel human.

On the whole, however, the film is very strong. The expressionist visuals are used not just for show, but to saturate the conflict, making the emotions of the protagonist that much stronger and the drama of the story that much more powerful. Its commentary on how flawed the American justice system may very well be is truly chilling. The performances by some of the actors, particularly the great Peter Lorre, served the film very well, making for a very special mood to the work overall. I recommend this film not only because it was inspirational for filmmakers historically, but because it is inspirational to me. It’s weaknesses may be absurd, but its strengths win me over, and I cannot help but have a massive crush on this gorgeous, gorgeous film.

Moolaadé Review

May 13, 2016 by JD Hansel

Warning – this movie is about topics of a highly sensitive nature, and potential triggers may appear in this review. Proceed with caution.

I feel as though it wouldn’t be right for me to review a film like this one – foreign to me both in terms of geography and experience – without prefacing my commentary with the concession that I am uncultured swine with virtually no knowledge of that which lies outside of my happy little bubble of interests. This means that I lack a proper understanding of the context of the final film of famed director Ousmane Sembène, Moolaadé, which concerns the matter of Africa’s traditions of female genital mutilation. While I do know a little bit about Islam, most of the context I have to help me better understand the film is knowledge of one of this director’s earlier works, Black Girl, which gives me a different perspective than other viewers might have. While there is obviously much in Moolaadé I feel I cannot comment on objectively, the subjective experience of how the movie made me feel is something that I, like all other viewers, am perfectly qualified to express. This will have to be my focus.

I must say that I was not much of a fan of his film Black Girl, and I was so unmoved by it that I never bothered to write a review, fearing I wouldn’t have enough to say. Moolaadé, by contrast, is a very gripping, moving film. Due to the bad subtitles that accompanied the copy of the film I was watching, I struggled to keep track of what was going on, which made it an experience that was not very enjoyable, but I still really appreciated the movie. I was still invested in some of the characters, amused by some of the humor, intrigued by some of the commentary, and very curious about how the story would end, which is enough to make it a good movie. When one then considers the reality and importance of the subject matter, and the way that it’s handled with drama, creativity, and empowering themes of liberation, it’s clear that this film is a special one. It may not be exactly my cup of tea, but I’d still recommend it, because any master of film like Sembène is considered to be would have to be proud to have this fine work of cinema as the finale to his filmography.

It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World Review

April 29, 2016 by JD Hansel

Given my immense appreciation for comedy, I cannot help but appreciate an ode to comedy. Comedy can be such a powerful force for good, making the burdens of life more bearable, and bringing important issues to light in a way that people can easily handle. The beauty of comedy is that, even at its filthiest, it is a pure art form, in the sense it exists simply to bring about happiness. When one considers the element of challenge in justifying the emotional investment required for film with the emotional reservation required for comedy (all on the part of the spectator, that is), it borders on miraculous when a good comedy film is released. This is why I consider comedies to be one of the greatest cinematic achievements, if not the very greatest, known to date.

. . . And I guess this one’s okay.

By gosh, does it drag on. I wouldn’t mind the run-time if I could enjoy any of the characters, but what the film lacks is a group of characters (even if it’s a very small group) that’s mixed in with these annoying, stubborn, loud, rotten, mercenaries. Give me a Ferris Bueller or an Alvy Singer who will look me right in the eye and guide me through the insanity – this way the chaos becomes something to bond over with the movie as opposed to something that isolates me. In spite of the presence of many great actors I usually enjoy (Milton Berle, Ethel Merman, Jonathan Winters, etc.), the closest that the movie came to having a character I enjoyed was the police chief. His life was so miserable that I was quite depressed during the scenes in which I had to hear his wife and daughter on the phone, so the part of the movie I found most uplifting was when it looked like he was going to get a new life. That would have made the whole movie worth all the trouble.

I really do have several big problems with this movie, although I can’t quite call it a bad film. Yes, I am bothered by how they wasted some great comedians (by using Stan Freberg, known for songs and voices, as a non-speaking background role). I’m bothered by the needless subplots that focus on characters who don’t matter to me. I’m bothered by how little I laughed during the movie, and by how few times they wrote halfway decent roles for women or those in minorities. It bothers me that the screenwriters somehow, almost unfathomably, managed to make me dislike the characters to the point that I didn’t want to watch them, but still sympathize with them to the point that I felt bad when things went wrong for them. There is much to dislike in this movie. However, as much as I’m tempted to give it a relatively low rating, I’ll go easy on it. Why? Because by the end of the film, one thing is made very clear – laughter is one of the most important, magical, and precious things we have in this life, and this movie won’t let us forget that.

Rashômon Review

April 5, 2016 by JD Hansel

I like stories. I especially like stories when they are delivered with the standard Hollywood three-act narrative. It’s a good structure for movies, and I think that’s because of the logical form at play in the medium. Nearly every film that’s ever been screened – or perhaps every fiction ever invented – has built its story, whether or not the writer(s) realized it, on the following idea: given this fascinating set of circumstances, these fascinating events are what would/could follow (or, to express it in propositional logic, “C → E“). It makes sense that the first act would establish the circumstances and the main character that will be used to express their consequences, followed by a second act in which several chaotic events take place as a result of the established circumstances, a climax with the culmination of all of the chaos thus far, and finally a conclusion that sorts everything out into some sort of inevitable, orderly result. Naturally, I always get nervous when a director decides to break this form in favor of his/her own idea of whatever would be interesting to present on film. For this film, however, Kurosawa somehow managed to use the same logical principles, but with a different form than Hollywood’s, that strangely works beautifully for this story.

From the beginning, the tone of the film puts the audience in a mood to hear a story, as we see what almost seems like an equivalent to a man walking into a bar our of the rain to tell a story to the bartender. We know right away that we’re about to hear a dreadful tale, and the flashbacks are no surprise. Flashbacks had been long-established by this point, so everyone knew what they were and how to “read” them. We also understand the cinematic grammar of a court hearing, so the way that the flashbacks are organized and presented makes sense. Ultimately, the form of this film still retains the basic concept of presenting circumstances and the events that would follow from them, but if Hollywood’s form is a bowling ball hitting the pins, Kurosawa’s form is a cue stick hitting the triangle of object balls – the point isn’t to push everything in one direction, but to scatter in every direction. In other words, Kurosawa uses a structure that shoots various mutations of a story in different directions, and we are meant to make sense of the general ideas running throughout all of them in order to make sense of the conclusion.

What is perhaps most impressive about this movie is that it offers satisfaction without answering the film’s main question. While I do not wish to give too much away, I will say that the ending is a hopeful response to the events of the film . . . in a way. Rather than having a conclusion that is set up directly by the events that take place in the story, this film ends with more of an Our Town ending by ending on an answer to the film’s theme, and even the film’s form. The form of the film is inseparable from the plot, so both the form and plot keep the audience curious about what’s to come. We can still play “the movie game” of trying to guess where the plot will go because the grammar of the film is intuitive enough, but the ending makes one realize that the game is not the point. The point, like with most stories, is the moral we learn from the fable, which makes Rashomon a very fascinating sort of fairy tale.

Out of the Past Review

March 31, 2016 by JD Hansel

In contrast to the western, film noir is more like my cup of tea. I’ll take the visual style of noir over the visual style of the western any day of the week. It’s so dark, smokey, dramatic, theatrical, and mysterious. How could a saloon girl compare to a deadly, spunky femme fatale? How could a singing cowboy compare to an eerie saxophone? Film noir has a special charm about it that I appreciate, but I haven’t actually watched many films in the genre (if any) all the way through, until I finally saw Jacques Tourneur’s Out of the Past. This picture is a good example of what film noir has to offer to the history of cinema, but what it presents is both the good and bad aspects of the genre.

This is, in its own way, a very interesting movie. It still strikes me as “tederesting” more than captivating, but it is very easy to get lost in the world of the film. The structure is surprisingly pleasant, because the first act or two is/are done almost entirely within a flashback. The plot does take surprising twists and turns, and it handles the twists and turns well . . . for the most part. Eventually, as can happen with noir, the plot becomes unintelligible. It gets too difficult to tell who’s who and why each of them is doing what he/she is doing. As it turns out, the characters are also unsure of what’s going on, and they are surprisingly struggling to know why they are doing what they are doing.

I wish to elaborate on the subject of motivation, because it is an important subject in art and philosophy that I have yet to address in a movie review, and this is the ideal motion picture for beginning this discussion. In fiction, deterministic fatalism is generally treated as a pleasant view of life – the good side is predestined to beat the bad side, and the chosen one simply must save the day because the prophecy says so. While I am not a fatalist, I am a determinist, which is to say that I stand by the evidence that our thoughts and actions are determined by subconscious brain activity we cannot control, which leaves us without freedom of will (in that we are not the source of our own intentions and desires). That being said, I would obviously much rather live in a world in which we do have free will, and the fact that this cannot be is troubling. This movie exemplifies how the genre of film noir uses this troubling predicament to make good drama.

Kathie is the femme fatale with a lot of bad habits, from shooting people without sufficient reason to being a compulsive liar. When challenged for her actions, she persistently claims that she didn’t want to do what she did – she had to, and she couldn’t explain why. In my film history class, the professor explained why. Noir is fascinating because it shows the consequences of living in a world with not only determinism, but fatalism, in that the characters have certain actions that they must commit regardless of their intentions, and they have no control over whether these actions will be good or bad. This is, when pondered, a rather terrifying concept, which brings all the fiction that celebrates “destiny” under serious scrutiny. As annoying as it was to repeatedly hear Kathie’s rejection of responsibility for her actions, this did make me realize that there is a certain kind of conflict that I want to see far more of in cinema: the struggle for freedom in a world that cannot have free will. This subject may very well be the most captivating concept that any work of art could discuss, at least in my opinion, and I wouldn’t have even thought of it if not for Out of the Past.

Overall, this movie is fine. It’s true that I couldn’t fully appreciate the characters, and it’s true that I found the ending a little unsatisfactory. I found it rather slow at many times, particularly in the last act, and I could not keep track of the chaotic plot-line (which was more of a plot-scribble) if I were well paid to do so. However, it does provide a bit of entertainment, and can even be surprisingly thought-provoking, so I give it a pass.

The Crime of Monsieur Lange Review

February 29, 2016 by JD Hansel

I certainly don’t know French cinema well – at all – but the name Jean Renoir did sound familiar, most likely because he’s a very important figure in the history of cinema. Being the globally-ignorant American teenager that I am, it’s hard for me to tell just what it was about Renoir that made him so unique or important. That being said, I was pleased by the one film of his that I’ve seen, The Crime of Monsieur Lange. Sadly, however, I would have to classify this film by a new term I’ve finally invented – tederesting – a combination of tedious and interesting. This describes a work of art that has many elements that peak the viewer’s interest, make the viewer curious, or impress the viewer just enough that he/she is willing to put up with how tedious or boring many elements of it are, and I think this new word is exemplified quite well by this movie.

If I may, I’ll go ahead and spoil the big twist in the movie, largely because it’s very predictable anyway. An evil businessman is reported dead, and the people in his publishing company come together to make ends meet, and while they end up making the company even more successful than before, it looks like their happiness is going to come to an end when it turns out that the businessman is still alive. Apparently, this is supposed to present a strong socialistic message, but I just see it as a standard “greedy man = bad, selfless friends = good” kind of story. Again, I do find the twist predictable, but the way Renoir reveals the twist (multiple times, actually, each retaining its dramatic effect) is certainly masterful. The story doesn’t seem quite focused enough for my tastes, but there are still many elements of it that I like, from the moral questions it brings up, to the perfect portrayal of the villainous Batala, and to the theme of an author becoming the hero he’s written. According the reviews I’ve seen on the internet, this film has a very good pace, but I must have missed that part while I was sleeping. The story simply doesn’t have enough surprising or suspenseful twists and obstacles to fill its already measly 77-minute running time, but that somehow doesn’t keep it from being remarkably fascinating.