Belle du Jour (Luis Buñuel, 1967)
Seeing the French blonde bombshell, Catherine Deneuve play a frigid housewife unshackling her hidden inner slut, is the stuff cinema was made for. Is it real, or is it fantasy? Who cares? I consider this film heaps of entertainment, not just for Deneuve's character transition, but for the hilariously depraved weirdo clientelle that comes calling; one of which is a rich perv knocking one out while Deneuve is pretending to be dead in a coffin above him.
The Iron Rose (Jean Rollin, 1973)
Great example of a film maker receiving a posthumous revisionist revival after being dismissed as an exploitaive eurotrash film maker is Jean Rollin. Can't say I'm a fan of all his films that I've happened to see, but The Iron Rose is one that I enjoy most of all. Partly because the idea of a couple winding up in a creepy cemetery overnight is something I can relate to; while the other, is Françoise Pascal, aka Danielle the French student from Mind Your Language, getting her kit off in it. All seriousness though, I love the atmosphere in this film and it's one where I don't roll my eyes with cringe whenever artsty-fartsy types delve about it's poetic beauty, as I shockingly agree with it.
In the Realm of the Senses (Nagisa Ōshima, 1976)
Art or pornography? Who honestly cares? It's an excuse for pretentious folk to get their rocks off, regardless. Oshima's film based on an apparently true story dealing with the destructive affair between a concubine and her master, is anything but arousing for this blogger. It's the humour that makes this film largely watchable between all the graphic unsimulated sex scenes. One scene in particular where an old codger catches a whiff of Sada the concubine's rotten crotch and says, "You don't smell very good today, like a dead rat or something", is laugh out loud hilarious. Critics praise it for its daring while Radley Metzger doesn't get a look in, but that's ok, since I dig them both and that's all that matters.
Suspiria (Dario Argento, 1977)
Possession (Andrzej Zulawski, 1981)
1981 was arguably a great vintage year for horror film. One film which won over critics and fans alike was Zulawski's marriage story starring Sam Neill and Isabelle Adjani. The latter invested so much emotionally into the film, it took several years for her to recover, allegedly. Both Neill and Adjani deliver intensely powerful and disturbing performances, that it becomes incredibly draining for the viewer to watch, that it becomes difficult to revist again any time soon.The subway miscarriage scene is the stuff nightmares are made of for even the most seasones of horror film veterans.
Blue Velvet (David Lynch, 1986)
Always love it when films show a dark sinister side beneath the veneer of a vintage Americana aesthetic. Right from Blue Velvet's opening sequence, it's very evident. The grotesquely erotic and intentional humour are the film's biggest draws for me. Dennis Hopper using a breathing mask and screaming, "Mommy!" while staring in between Isabella Rossellini's legs isn't exactly a scene you're ever going to erase from your mind anytime soon. Although, I don't consider it his objectively best film, Blue Velvet is subjectively his most appealing to me. It's the gateway into Lynch's twisted body of work that I previously felt was obstructed by Eraserhead (1977). Also, Roger Ebert slated it; which is another reason why I always considered him an overrated film critic.
Crash (David Cronenberg, 1996)
The number one film on the BFI's 90 Great Films of the 1990s list. A dark drama involving an underground culture erotically attracted to car crashes. The film was so controversial here that it made the news headlines, but the film to me was really fascinating and somewhat funny having to watch people getting off on cart wrecks, injuries and even death, that they're compelled to recreate Jayne Masfield's car crash. Cronenberg is usually a cold and calculated director, it's especially applicable here, but he gets props from me since this film was the fittest Deborah Ungar ever looked, and even Rosanna Arquette was rather tasty, despite the fucked up leg braces and flesh scarring.
Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer, 2013)
Hard to believe that one of the best science fiction films to spring so far in the twenty-first century is one where an alien Scarlett Johansson would prowl the rain-soaked streets of Glasgow in a white van picking up drunken chavs, but here we are. It's a return to seventies era sci-fi where the concept and atmosphere do much of the story telling; something that's sadly mostly missing in many contemporary films in this genre. I feel like Glazer's film belongs in the same British off-kilter sci-fi horror box as Prey (1977) and Xtro (1982), which really adds to my appreciation of it. Not a sentiment that critics and other film heads would share with me, in my opinion.
Going to end it here. This is my second attempt creating this post and I don't want to tempt fate and accidentally delete it again while attempting to format it. You get the gist of it anyway.
4 comments:
One thing I've always liked about Kermode is that he's always rode for The Exorcist and The Devils as being as great as Citizen Kane and It's A Wonderful Life.
Agreed about Ebert. He's a movie critic for people who've never read any other movie critics.
Kermode's ego has gotten the better of him over the years, to the point where he's comfortable vocalising his influence over issues which stretch beyond just film criticism. Made the mistake of checking out his Twitter page; never again. Would be more productive if he spent that time with the skiffle band instead.
Ebert still trolls from beyond the grave, with hacks writing for his site.
Just peeped his Twitter. British blokes with strong opinionz about Yank politics 🤮🥱
His substitute critics (aka, Kermode's Algorithm Support Team) while he's off on holiday are even worse.
Wouldn't be surprised if Sight & Sound's G.O.A.T films list turns out to be terrible because of them.
Post a Comment