Well it’s been far too quiet on this blog so I suggest a challenge for all you cinematic lurkers out there. Inspired by the Guess the Pic game – I have come up with a little game of my own. Now I do apologise if some other blogger has already been rolling along with this idea for many a happy years – I do not mean to hijack or monopolize and well what’s that saying about minds thinking alike?

Six Degrees of Separation is a theory which originated from a Hungarian scientist back in 1929 that any two individuals in the world could be connected through 5 acquaintances at the most. This also launched an infamous game in the early ’90s that any actor could link themselves to Kevin Bacon through their various film roles by 5 links or less. So here is my spin on this concept of the small world phenomenon.

You will see 6 screencaps from various films ordered in a chain link.
-The first screencap and last must clearly have an established shot of the actor.
-All screencaps cannot show the actor that links the previous film to the following.
-Only screencaps from the film can be used not promotional stills.
-The aim is to identify the actors in screencaps 1 & 6 (and the films they have been captured in) and then identify the other films screencapped and the actor that links the previous screenshot to the following. The first person to identify all correctly wins and can then submit their own six degrees of separation. The winner will need to email their screencaps to me at mvitti185@googlemail.com to post – however do not include the film titles or actor’s names/initials as I also want to participate and try playing the guessing game.

I fear this now sounds a little complicated – well I’ve started with a hopefully easy one to get the ball rolling – so join in!

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There’s a recurring joke in film critic Antonia Quirke’s autobiographical book ‘Madame Depardieu and the Beautiful Strangers’ in which the passing of time is signposted by the release of yet another Woody Allen film. Reviewers declare that this time Allen has finally returned to form and Quirke repeatedly refuses to go to the cinema to be disappointed. A bittersweet smile always plays across my face in recognition of Quirke’s hesitation.

Woody Allen is a certified institution, who since 1965 has released a film every year in which he has written, acted, directed and sometimes written the musical score for. His body of work is extensive and unmatched by any of his contemporaries. Nominated for 21 Oscars and winner of 3, Allen’s talent is so unique that he is in the enviable position of gaining instant studio backing without so much as submitting a script. He has been the great chronicler of relationships and of quasi intellectual Upper East Side New York. No-one does witty, insightful observations quite like Woody. And no-one is as amusingly neurotic as Woody. In other words, he’s a legend.

But dear readers, I have become incensed of late. Perhaps it’s due to the sudden incessant fawning of the media over Allen’s latest film offerings and the constant feed of paparazzi shots from the set of his latest ‘Midnight in Paris.’ Celebrities in interviews repeating the tired line that they just couldn’t say no when they were offered an opportunity to be part of a Woody Allen film. This slavish adulation that has been piling on since ‘Vicky Cristina Barcelona’ has been deafening – it has also been unwarranted. Everybody’s heard of Allen but some people have only ventured to see one of his films when it’s starring a celebrity (like the ever pouting Scarlett Johansson), yet they rarely venture into his back catalogue of superior films. Their ignorance ends up praising what is essentially the demise of Allen.

In protest I have been watching vintage Woody Allen back to back. I’ve been luxuriating in his wit and the man has seduced me all over again. There are so many elements to Allen’s films that make them such a pleasure. There’s something charming about the familiarity of his repertory of actors – Diane Keaton being a particular favourite. Working with the same actors builds a unique chemistry – one that is fun to watch (see the nervous kidnapping scene in the youtube video below from ‘Sleeper’.) His unabashed homages to his favourite directors and artists is endearing too – they can be affectionate but also teasing. ‘Stardust Memories’ is heavily influenced by Federico Fellini’s 8 ½, through the style of cinematography, the opening sequence where the protagonist appears to be trapped on train (whereas in 8 ½ the protagonist is trapped in car) . There’s also the theme of a director being hounded by film critics and his relationships with women. On the flipside of the same coin in ‘Everything you ever wanted to know about sex but were afraid to ask’ there’s Woody Allen doing an impersonation of Marcello Mastroianni, all Italian suaveness and nonchalance. Only suaveness doesn’t quite fit Allen’s puny frame and wild red hair. He is also deeply influenced by Ingmar Bergman and Groucho Marx. His adoration for them is that of a fanatic and his giddishness when slipping in a quick impersonation of Marx or Bogart is hilarious. There’s an amateurish zeal to them.

Allen began as a stand up comedian which you can clearly see in his earlier works with the onslaught of witty one-liners. He also revelled in visual gags and slapstick, which were surreal and silly. His style later developed into great observational insights into the complications of relationships (such as Manhattan). The personal and intimate quality of his films makes it almost impossible to tell apart Woody Allen and his onscreen persona. That is why when he directs someone else as the protagonist (such as Michael Caine or Larry David) – the character jars because they are speaking Allen’s words but they don’t look like him, have his mannerisms or his verbal patterns. It’s a large reason why to me his most recent films don’t work – because his onscreen presence is so essential. Allen is not an actor, he’s certainly not polished but no-one else can play his role. He is this mess of neuroses with a Jewish complex.

He once said to Martin Scorsese that Scorsese’s influence over filmmakers can clearly be seen in the films of his generation whereas Allen mimics the various styles of his favourite directors. Allen was being harsh on himself – his style of filmmaking is unique and influential. There are two directors in the new generation of filmmakers where it is most apparent to me – Julie Delpy’s ‘Two Days In Paris’ and Andrew Bujalski’s ‘Funny Ha Ha.’ Allen has created a unique voice with his films but it’s gradually weakened over the years and it’s sad to observe. So like Quirke, I will continue to ignore his latest releases and indulge in my dvd collection of the films of his that I adore – that reduce me to tears of laughter and pathos every single time.

Check out Allen’s interview on Stardust Memories

Sequence from Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask 1972 – watch out for the black sperm

Sleeper 1973 Allen and Keaton having joined the underground resistance have gone undercover and having been mistaken as surgeons they are forced to perform a cloning procedure whilst trying to steal the nose of the dead leader they are tring to clone. Utterly hilarious!

The characters are restrained but Wai Wong’s camera magnifies their inner longings. Cheung’s cheongsam clings seductively to her curves and then the camera goes into slow motion as we watch her sashay down an alleyway to a street noodle bar. The camera lingers over the trail of smoke that Leung has blown up into the air above his head slicked back with brylcreem. The attention to detail is astounding – 1960s Hong Kong is evoked through the latin music blaring on radios, fashion trends and other pop culture references. How is it possible that one can feel nostalgic for a time and place they have never experienced before? Everything in this film is alluring and chic. In my opinion, In the Mood for Love is one of the most sensual pieces of cinema ever to grace the screens.

Now that you’ve checked out my stills – check them out in motion – simply breathtaking!

There are a few things that I never tire of seeing up on the screen. There is the intimate moment when a woman is applying her makeup and there are the moments of pure exertion like running and dancing. Both of these actions tend to be unselfconscious and genuine. It is often difficult for an actor to mask their natural facial reactions when physically exerting themselves – and bizarrely it’s impossible to apply mascara without opening your mouth – ask any woman, or curious guy.

What I really get a kick out of seeing though is audiences. Audiences in the cinema, with the projection light flickering across their faces; audiences at the show with their transfixed faces twitching. It’s a mirror being held up to us and sometimes we are as entrancing as what we are watching. Everyone with their upturned faces watching the same thing, yet reacting entirely differently.

Below is a clip from Francois Truffaut’s ‘The 400 Blows’ in which our truant protagonist Antoine Doinel (played by Jean-Pierre Léaud) goes to watch a Punch & Judy show with his partner-in-crime.

Henri-Georges Clouzot was a formidable auteur and a master of suspense who created the commercially and critically successful Le Corbeau, The Wages of Fear and Les Diaboliques. His reputation was so strong that when he penned the screenplay for Inferno ( a tale of a newly married hotelier who suspects his wife of being unfaithful ) he was able to secure the huge bankable star Romy Schneider to play the part of Odette, the wife, as well as international funding from Colombia Pictures. 1964. Everything was set for Clouzot to exploit his unlimited budget, his three camera crews and hundred technicians, actors of his choosing and 18 weeks of filming. By week 3 it was all over.

In 2009, Serge Bromberg and Ruxandra Medrea painstakingly sifted through 15 hours of footage from the abandoned film and created a part documentary and part reconstruction. It’s a dazzling accomplishment. Through interviews from members of the original film crews and reels of his experimental trials, Bromberg and Medrea piece together the circumstances that led to the abrupt end to the film project and offer a painful close-up of a genius at work and a man simultaneously falling apart.

Influenced by the recent exhibitions in Paris of kinetic art, Clouzot pushed his technicians to experiment with image, perspective, lighting and colour. The results of the test shots are spellbinding. Kaleidoscopic lighting twirls over Schneider’s face transforming a smirk into a snarl and then back to a flirtatious smile. Her sensuous face taunting her husband. Closeups of eyes are refracted. There are stunning sequences in which a specially made 30 foot piece of glass is placed between the camera and a crowd scene in which through a blur of people suddenly a face in a crowd is magnified and quickly melts back in the crowd. These extraordinary visual scenes were to be used as symbolising the husband’s mental deterioration. His jealousy distorting his wife into a seemingly shameless, insatiable woman.

[Henri-Georges Clouzot]

[Romy Schneider & Henri-Georges Clouzot]

[Serge Reggiani, Romy Schneider & Henri-Georges Clouzot]

Through the documentary we learn how incredibly difficult and demanding Clouzot was during filming. He expected extreme preparation from his technicians and camera crews. The scale of the film was unparalleled. He essentially was a conductor with three fully functioning orchestras awaiting his baton to start swaying. Everyone would be ready and set up but Clouzot would become fixated on one particular shot and would continue trying to capture his vision of that shot for the rest of the day. There were outside time pressures such as the fact that they had shots to film on the lake which the French authority were due to drain within 3 weeks. However since Clouzot was producer, as well as director and writer, he had no-one pushing him along and so he was allowed to indulge his perfectionism.
He was also an insomniac who thought nothing of waking someone up at 2am in the morning to talk through an idea. His crew grew weary and so did his cast. Clouzot drove his actors to the edge so far that Reggiani walked out on the set after 1 week and Schneider threatened to follow suit. Clouzot hastily tried to replace Reggiani with Jean-Louis Trintignant but after three days the stress and strain had got to Clouzot and he suffered a heart attack. The studio incensed by the lack of progress in filming shut down production and refused anyone to continue the project unless they could match the amount of money they spent on filming as well as payout for insurance.

The documentary Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Inferno is a portrait of a genius who, consumed and obsessed with his art and his vision, is he unable to complete it. It is reminiscent of Fellini’s 8 1/2, which reveals the struggle of the artist to create. The saddest element of this whole saga is the fact that from the fractured remnants that have been recovered it is possible to glean that Clouzot’s masterpiece would have impacted cinema. One is left wondering how audiences of 1964 would have reacted and how films would have changed as a result. Would abstract art form become more mainstream? And would cinematic history have been fast forwarded by 5 years? Maybe a decade? It is like the butterfly effect.

But thank God for power cuts – otherwise a certain young man and a certain old lady may never have said more than ‘Bonjour’ as they shared a ride in an elevator and Clouzot’s reels of Inferno would have continued gathering dust in a French Archive.

I cannot recall the date or how I came across it – all I know is that one day I sat down and watched ‘Blue’. It was my introduction to art house films and world cinema and it hit me like a revelation. Many years later, it’s impact on me still holds a strong resonance. The Polish director Kieslowski had a vision to create a trilogy centred on the French Republic principles and using the French Tricolor as a connecting theme. In the hands of any other director this could have been a trite concept but Kieslowski really transformed the tripartite motto away from the political towards the personal. He purposefully used different technicians and directors of cinematography for each film to avoid any stylistic similarities and continuity. He did however interlink these films by having previous characters make cameo appearances.

The first installment of the trilogy is ‘Blue’ and is based on the theme of Liberty. The film begins with a horrific car crash in the French countryside of which Juliette Binoche’s character Julie Vignon de Courcy is the sole survivor. When Julie learns that both her daughter and her husband, a renowned composer, both died in the accident, we watch her struggling to cope with her grief. It is a grief which Julie internalises – unable to cry for them. A journalist that visits her in hospital calls her rude and cold – but her face and body subtly show how affected she is. Her mouth quivers as she watches the funeral on her television set and sees her daughter’s casket. But still she is numbed by her loss which leads her to inflict self-harm, forcing her to feel again, even if it is only pain. She slams a piano lid on her hand and drags her hand along a rough wall to tear at her skin. Still she does not cry but now she hurts physically, proving to herself that if she can feel pain than she is human.

We watch Julie furiously trying to eradicate her family and her past. After being discharged from the hospital and returning home she empties the handbag she had with her in the car. Out tumbles a sweet with a blue wrapper, the same one we had seen her daughter wave out the car window before the crash. Binoche’s face is heart-breaking as she takes a sharp intake of breath, closes her eyes tightly and turns her head away from the sweet. Then she turns back and feverishly tears at the wrapper and eats the sweet, driven to destroy memories. She sells the house and renounces everything that belonged to her husband, his manuscripts and even his surname (she returns to using her maiden name when she moves to the city.) The only item she retains from her past is a blue crystal mobile that used to hang in her daughter’s bedroom.

Kieslowski is a master at character studies and cleverly submerges the audience into Julie’s world, he allows us to observe her intimately whilst maintaining a slight distance. It is as if he is protecting her, according her a dignified respect, as we never fully understand all her actions (such as when she gives her home and money to her husband’s pregnant lover). Kieslowski uses many close-ups of mundane objects, such as watching a passing light, casting shadows across a cafe table that Julie is sat at. There is also the famous shot of a sugar cube absorbing coffee that Julie has dangled over her cup. This is Julie’s viewpoint – only focusing on what is near to her. She wants to limit her world and block out all intrusions such as the lover sat across the table pleading with her.

No matter how hard Julie tries the outside world keeps forcing itself upon her. Kieslowski illustrates this best by using Zbigniew Preisner’s extraordinary score. There’s the scene when Julie has been swimming and just as she pulls herself out, she freezes as Preisner’s music blasts out. It is the music from her husband’s ‘Unification of Europe’ symphony, slowly she slides back into the water, floating and with her fingers in her ears trying to shut out her husband. It is the one thing of his that she can not escape. Sat at a cafe, she hears a tramp playing a theme from her husband’s music on a recorder. The music is a character in itself – constantly interrupting and haunting Julie.

The colour blue is used throughout the film as a manifestation of Julie’s state of mind – it is the colour of grief and sadness. Sometimes the blue is used as an accent, for example a blue manuscript folder or a blue beaded mobile. At other times it is a lit up swimming pool or a flood of light filtered through, casting shades of blue on Julie’s face. Kieslowski also used ‘fade to black’ technique in a unique way. Usually a fade to black is used to signify a change of time or the end of a scene. However Kieslowski used this technique only 4 times in the film, all in the same style. In one scene Julie is sleeping at the hospital, suddenly a shadow of blue light plays upon her face. Her husband’s symphony begins to play. She is jolted awake and stares at the camera in horror as the screen fills up with blue light. The camera pans away and then draws close again towards Julie’s face. The music ceases and Julie hears someone say ‘Bonjour.’ The music plays again and the screen fades to black, there’s a slow fade back to Julie who then replies ‘Bonjour.’ In this period when the screen is black, everything is suspended apart from the music which continues to play. It is as though Julie is unable to confront the thoughts that are going on in her head and is desperately trying to block them. It is a clever technique and works wonderfully.

Slowly, Julie begins to find closure. She gives her old home to her husband’s lover and she completes her husband’s unfinished symphony. Kieslowski has used Julie’s situation as an example of cathartic liberation. With the death of her husband and daughter she no longer has the role of ‘mother’ and ‘wife’ to play. Julie not only slowly liberates herself from her suffering and grief but also embarks on creating her new life, her own freedom. The first time we ‘see’ Julie is when we are in the hospital bed observing the doctor though Julie’s eyes. Not only is this a technically advanced shot but it’s also a powerful subjective viewpoint. Kieslowski then counterpoints this at the end of the film by showing Julie’s naked body perched at the end of the bed observed through her lover’s eye.

As Carl Jung said ‘ We cannot change anything until we accept it.’ At the end of the film, after having made love, Julie is lost in thought and slowly tears fall from her eyes. It is probably the only time we observe her crying. Finally she has found release by experiencing the grief she has been hiding from and if you look close enough a slight smile plays across her face. It is a smile of hope.

Not many films have the ability to draw you down into what feels like a dark, infinite space filled with overwhelming sadness and ends elevating you to an appreciation of life. Watch ‘Blue’. It will never leave you.

The climatic 5 minute montage, showing all the lives affected in the film. This is utterly devastating – even without seeing the whole film and knowing the symbolism of the characters shown, this ending cannot fail to give you goosebumps.