Why We Watch: The Bell Boy (1960, directed by Jerry Lewis)
This might be the most successful sight gag among many in Lewis’ masterwork of minimalism, which offers the physics-defying visual elegance of Jacques Tati, Buster Keaton, and countless Warner Bros. animated classics. Haskell Bogg’s deep-focus camera adds to this picture’s marvelous style and technical mastery, while Lewis (who speaks barely two dozen words) indulges himself with the extended take and the extra gesture.
Why We Watch: Ingmar Bergman
As the son of a stern Lutheran minister whose disciplinary measures made Bergman’s childhood a time of fear and resentment, and as a resident of a country in which the very climate itself can induce a lifelong depressed state, the widely acclaimed director was perhaps not well suited for a career in the entertainment industry. But then, the definition of entertainment must be broad indeed if any of Bergman’s work is to fall into that category, unless being mesmerized, inspired, or deeply troubled by a motion picture means we’ve been entertained.
It wasn’t that the themes of his pictures (death, pain, isolation, fear, God, doubt, damnation) were in themselves inherently grim; the dour, downbeat nature of those films derived from Bergman’s resolute, formal, and direct manner of exploring those themes. The most obvious manifestation of his directness was the close-up shot, and casual viewers might mistakenly (but understandably) remember, for example, Persona, as nothing but a series of close-ups of Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann. (The two actresses, most assuredly worthy of close-ups, were members of what amounted to Bergman’s stock company). Less obvious at first, but quite moving and memorable over time, is the quiet, deathly still atmosphere of certain scenes. The effect doesn’t lend itself to description, but some quality of that stillness results in immediacy, creating the illusion we are somehow in physical proximity of what transpires. This subtle fly-on-the-wall approach makes many scenes rough going, as nobody wants to be up close and personal during forays into the metaphysics of alienation and anguish.
Then viewers realize that they’ve been tricked into an investment in the proceedings, and not merely because the photographic splendor of these films, usually compliments of cinematographers Gunnar Fischer and Sven Nykvist, has seduced them. What’s going on is a creative feat that for decades countless critics, scholars, and filmmakers have attempted to grasp and/or emulate: the creation of a boldly expressive cinematic style that conveys utter detachment, and the presentation of alienation, inner conflict, and human suffering that is highly engaging and ultimately life-affirming. On paper, these elements should not work together toward those results, but in Bergman’s films they do because, against all odds, the most depressed artist in Sweden found a way to connect with us.
Attempts to fully explicate how that is so are exercises in futility. In fact, it’s extremely hard to definitively state that a particular Bergman film is intriguing, off-putting, engaging, boring, funny, sad, tedious, or scintillating. They are all wholly personal, phenomenal visual experiences with universal impact, and they are usually impossible to ignore. That brilliant sunlight filtered through a forest in The Virgin Spring, the expressionist cinematography that recalls medieval woodcuts in The Seventh Seal; the eerie blending of faces in Persona—those are reasons alone for going to the theatre, purchasing the DVD, or updating a Netflix queue. To that end, see Silence,The Seventh Seal,The Virgin Spring, and Hour of the Wolf.
Reposted for 100th birthday
“You are a town man; you do not know the dark ways of the country.”
Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) Directed by Piers Haggard
I have even more reasons why this marvelously restrained picture remains the gold standard for ghost stories played out on the screen.
The source material from a master of syntactic precision and narrative ambiguity, Henry James; Georges Auric’s haunting (pun intended) score; Freddie Francis is behind the camera and Deborah Kerr is in front of it.
This is a graceful, stunningly effective picture that can put a chill on the most jaded viewers, although it ought to be seen alone on a quiet evening in order to appreciate its delicate spell.
#Funlet’s do it
New camera, new videos <3
it’s actually just my phone but you get the jist
Busty Nerd + Quiver =
