Hold Me While I'm Naked (1966)

Daisies (Sedmikrasky) 1966

Balthazar (1966)

 

Andrei Rublev (1966)

Seconds (1966) **1/2

Based on David Ely’s 1963 novel of the same name, Seconds (1966) is a disturbing science fiction—and, I would go as far as to say horror—film about a man who completely takes on a new identity to escape his meaningless suburban lifestyle.  Director John Frankenheimer, along with cinematographer James Wong Howe, depicts a stark vision of a world where lives can be created or taken by an underground company headed by a man who looks and sounds a lot like Harry S. Truman (Will Geer).  The story itself is so bizarre that it is frightening, and Howe’s voyeuristic cinematography and Jerry Goldsmith’s eerily haunting score only heighten the troubling plot. 

On his nightly commute from his New York banking job to his suburban home in Scarsdale, Arthur Hamilton (John Randolph) is given a scrap of paper with an address written on it. Later that evening he receives a phone call from a man claiming to be his dead best friend, Charlie (Murray Hamilton), who attempts to convince him to change his life.  What happens next is a series of shockingly matter-of-fact conversations between Arthur and the “Company”.  It seems that they can help him extricate himself from his empty existence, in which he no longer shares intimacy with his wife (Frances Reid), sees his married daughter, or enjoys his job.  All he has to do is set up a trust worth $30,000 to handle his transition—a cadaver must be procured for his “death”; extensive plastic surgery must be performed; and, his new identity must be established. Trust signed, Arthur goes under the knife and several weeks later Tony Wilson (Rock Hudson) emerges.  He chooses artist as his new career, and the company sets him up in a beach house in Malibu and assigns John (Wesley Addy) as his adjustment advisor (and servant).  When it appears that Tony isn’t transitioning as they would like, they send in a woman (Salome Jens) to help the process along, as well as some other “reborns” to monitor his behavior. Unfortunately, Wilson doesn’t adapt to his new life and returns to New York to see where he went wrong with his wife and to ask the Company for a redo, so to speak.  Without giving the ending of the movie away, I will say that the last five minutes of the story are startling and uneasy to watch.

There’s something about black and white film that makes psychologically disturbing movies even more frightening.  Howe’s cinematography creates a cold, austere atmosphere for Seconds, which expertly matches the disturbingly detached narrative.  Cinematically, the most important theme created by Howe and Frankenheimer is the distortion of reality. Their use of a fisheye lens to capture Arthur/Wilson’s distorted sense of being creates a mode of expression that a standard lens could not achieve. Additionally, the use of extreme close ups (so close you can see the character’s pores) elevate the tension/anxiety level and are almost jarringly uncomfortable to look at.  In one particular scene, after Arthur has spoken on the telephone to Charlie, Arthur is framed in a tight close up shot which depicts his unease and unhappiness. This shot is then followed, in rapid succession, by a medium and then a long shot, which emphasize Arthur’s isolation. Another scene that I especially enjoyed was when Wilson returns home and picks up a picture of Arthur, while standing in front of a mirror, and his face is reflected across the glass of the picture frame and the two faces of the same man are captured. 

Of course, such disturbing images deserved to be set to an equally disturbing soundtrack. While it has a sound all its own, Jerry Goldsmith’s soundtrack seems to pay homage to Bach’s Baroque style. Filled with imposing organs, melodic strings, and eerie 60s electronic music, the soundtrack is just as disquieting as the film’s subject matter.

Seconds did not do well at the box office or with critics.  Some found the idea ridiculous that John Randolph’s Arthur could be transformed into Rock Hudson’s Wilson. This is a valid complaint, as Hudson was nearly a half foot taller than Randolph and ten years younger, too.  Moreover, audiences weren’t quite prepared to watch Hudson in such a dark film—especially not after seeing him in a string of light romantic comedies.  Personally, I was equally impressed by Hudson and Randolph’s performances. Randolph expresses his character’s disillusionment and resignation quite effectively—so much so that you actually do feel sorry for him.  And, Hudson, for his part, is quite memorable in the last few scenes of the film, where he displays a gamut of emotions: regret, hostility, and horror.  

Overall, while I must admit that the story is a bit far-fetched, it is also so disturbing that I couldn’t help but be drawn into it.  It also helps that it was expertly filmed and that the soundtrack only enhanced the terror of the narrative. 

Blow-Up (1966) *

(There may be spoilers, if that’s possible, in this post.)

Somehow this 1966 film from famed Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni earned two Academy Award nominations: Best Director and Best Original Screenplay.  Obviously drug abuse was a huge problem for Academy voters in the mid-60s, because Blow-Up is a really bad art film gone horribly wrong.  I’m sure many a purist’s head is exploding as they read this, but I don’t care. For me, Blow-Up is painful to watch—sort of like another Antonioni movie, Zabriskie Point (1970), but only slightly better.

David Hemmings plays a famous London fashion photographer who spends his days surrounded by beautiful but vapid models and his nights taking vérité-esque pictures of men in flophouses (known as the doss house in England). The slight plot that there is comes about when the photographer happens upon a couple in a deserted park and starts taking photos of them.  When the woman sees (Vanessa Redgrave) him she demands he give her the undeveloped film.  Naturally he refuses—he thinks he wants to use the photos for the end of his upcoming book—and she shows up at his flat/studio and offers to sleep with him for the pictures.  We never learn if this actually happens (like so many other things we never learn in this movie), but we do know that after she leaves he develops the film and discovers that she was attempting to hide the fact that she was part of a murder.  Yes, I  know this sounds like an interesting plot turn, but believe me, it’s not. 

So, why didn’t I like this film? First, Blow-Up seems like a vanity project. Is the photographer a ‘complex’ and  ‘conflicted’ representation of Antonioni himself, who makes inane films about rich and beautiful people but longs to do bigger things? Maybe, but again, I don’t care. Watching Hemmings drive around in a Rolls Royce and roll around on the floor with two dimwitted groupies was not must-see cinema.  Rather, it seemed like a reflection of Antonioni himself and what he thought a successful artist should do to pass the time. 

And then there’s the acting. Oh, poor Vanessa Redgrave, why must you act like a jittery drug addict looking for your next fix in every scene?  Yes, she was complicit in a homicide, but her overactive eyes and fidgeting hands went way over the top.  Obviously Antonioni couldn’t coax a nuanced performance out of her and allowed her to play neurotic to the hilt.  And, then on the opposite extreme of Redgrave there is Hemmings—to be playing what one would assume was a charismatic and powerful man and yet be so boring must have been difficult. 

Finally, we must discuss the completely ridiculous ending (now is where ‘spoilers’ will appear).  Did I watch a film for nearly two hours about an assumed murder to find absolutely no resolution at the end? But wait…there’s more—did the movie truly end with a mime show and me asking WTF? I get ambiguity, but Antonioni’s version of it is beyond overboard. 

Overall, it was bad---really bad.  So many questions were left unanswered—and I’m not even talking about the film itself.  The biggest question I find myself pondering is how the hell did Antonioni and fellow screenwriter Tonino Guerra’s screenplay for this get nominated for an Oscar?  Was there really a script of insanely long periods of silence rewarded with such an honor?  Are we sure it wasn’t an outline?  Oh, the perils of “The Book”.

Come Drink with Me (Da Zui Xia) 1966 **

The protagonist of Come Drink With Me (1966) is a petite Chinese woman named Golden Swallow (Cheng Pei-pei…yes, the same lady from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). Based on this description, you might assume this is one of those Chinese teahouse stories where the main character is either a peasant or a princess who finds herself caught in a love triangle. You would be wrong, but at least you were right about their being a teahouse.  No, Golden Swallow is a sword-wielding badass who likes to lure her adversaries into a false sense of security by sipping tea before she uses her two daggers to slice them up. 

Director King Hu truly revolutionized the martial arts film genre with this 1966 classic.  The overall production standards and fight sequence designs were a great leap forward for Hong Kong cinema.  Concentrating on the areas of color and movement, King Hu creates a martial arts film full of grace and style. His lead actress’s ballet training no doubt helped with the overall gracefulness of her character’s deft movements. Watching her precise and fluid movements in the fight sequences is something to behold.  It is strange to say, but watching her engage in these acts of violence one is reminded of a beautifully choreographed Chinese opera. And she does all this wearing long gowns and large hats, which I suppose makes her seem even more skilled, as no doubt it was not easy to maneuver in such costumes. King Hu deliberately chose Cheng Pei-pei for Golden Swallow because of her ballet background. An admirer of Peking Opera, King Hu constructed his fight sequences based on the principles of dance.

In addition, King Hu benefits from his other star, Yueh Hua, who plays Drunken Cat, a drunken beggar who assists Golden Swallow in her quest to free her brother, a local government official, from a group of bandits. We first meet Drunken Cat when Golden Swallow meets with the bandits at a teahouse to negotiate the release of her brother. Things escalate when she refuses to trade the bandits’ leader for her brother—enter Drunken Cat as her secret weapon. More than ten years before Jackie Chan played a drunken master, it was Hua Yueh who brought this martial arts technique to the big screen. It is rumored that he consumed two bottles of wine before filming his fight sequences. It is quite comical to listen to him sing songs from famous Peking Opera’s to help Golden Swallow. 

Though they have completely different personalities, Drunken Cat and Golden Swallow work well together.  He serves as a wise advisor and capable accomplice. She’s a hothead who often acts before she thinks. It is through one of Drunken Cat’s opera songs that Golden Swallow finds the bandits’ hideout—a spectacularly designed Buddhist temple. The realistic-looking temple was entirely constructed on the Shaw Brothers’ lot. When Golden Swallow is injured there by a poisoned dart, it is Drunken Cat who nurses her back to health and helps her plan her assault on the temple.  Of course, Drunken Cat has his own debt to settle with his brother (Chan Hung Lit), who is both a criminal and an abbot at the temple.  As such, there is eventually a  showdown between the two brothers…and Golden Swallow has her own showdown with the bandits—but in an interesting twist she has a mini-army of female warriors who help her defeat them. 

Come Drink With Me might not be the best martial arts film of all time, but it certainly is one of the most important. King Hu truly changed the Wuxi genre by creating fight sequences that could be viewed as both artistic and powerful. A sequel, Golden Swallow, followed two years later, but it was not as good as the original and there is no Drunken Cat.  However, King Hu would score another hit in 1971, with his best film A Touch of Zen.