by Oscar O’Sullivan

Thursday – The Silence of the Lambs

What do you even say about a film where everything has already been said? Silence of the Lambs is a cultural landmark, a franchise spawner, a Best Picture winner, a film that has been so heavily referenced and parodied that there are probably now more people who know it’s entire plot than have actually seen it. It’s one of those films that is almost inarguably perfect, the Platonic ideal of a psychological murder thriller. It’s gory without being disgusting, slow-paced without being dull, exploitative without feeling hateful, clever without being convoluted. It’s one of those films that is almost like a revelation when you finally see it, and it’s impact on everything that came after suddenly becomes clear to you. For example, practically every insane villain of the last three decades is following in the footsteps of Hopkins’ landmark performance, both in the way they’re acted and written (unknowable geniuses who are constantly three steps ahead of the heroes, almost invariably captured for part of the runtime, motivated seemingly only by violence for it’s own sake, British). There’s often the worry that modern context will make these originators feel dated or cliched, but The Silence of the Lambs is so masterfully done that it could truly be called timeless. An obvious 10/10.

Friday – The Birdcage and The Watermelon Woman

When I say that The Birdcage feels theatrical, I don’t mean it in terms of being overly dramatic or silly. What I mean is that this film is formally closer to theatre than any other medium, something more common in early films than today. There are still uniquely filmic techniques used here (shot choices, editing, score), but the focus is squarely on two things; dialogue and performances. Most every scene is set up like something from a stage play, a set amount of actors in a single location having long discussions. Action is secondary to dialogue, there are very few drastic changes of location within scenes, framing is generally limited to wide frames and shot-reverse-shot, many scenes run uninterrupted with the performers delivering dialogue in long, unbroken stretches. Director Mike Nichols, knowing that notorious improvisers Robin Williams and Nathan Lane would run away with the movie if left unchecked, made a deal that everyone would have to deliver one good take of the script as written before being allowed to improvise. The goal here wasn’t to prevent improvisation, but to give the editors options for what works best. Some of the film’s best scenes are spur-of-the-moment lines or mid-take accidents that the actors manage to incorporate into the scene without breaking. This also adds to the theatrical feeling of the film, emulating the feeling of watching a live performance where mistakes can and do happen. The Birdcage is outrageously funny, often touching, a joyous celebration of identity and acceptance, an absolute delight from start to finish. 10/10, simplicity as style.

The Watermelon Woman is a strange blend of fiction and documentary. It’s not a mockumentary, because there’s nothing absurd or winking about the subject matter, but it’s also too obviously artificial to be convincing as a serious fakery, outright admitting in it’s final moments that it’s central investigation of the titular character is entirely imagined. The why of it all is what makes the film interesting, the motivation behind blending fact and fiction to tell this clearly personal story. It doesn’t get much more autobiographical than casting yourself in the lead role, after all. The idea of inventing a history for a certain culture or demographic is an interesting one. Groups that have been marginalised have a right to their own history, and in a case like this where that history has been lost or suppressed, telling your own version of the past is a valid choice. The actual narrative of the film is disjointed, if well-acted at times, and the blending of mediums is interesting. It’s a shame that Cheryl Dunye’s career doesn’t seem to have taken off in the same way as other 90s independent creators. Glancing through her filmography, it seems that her subject matter may have remained too personal for the mainstream in the 2000s, but there’s clearly more of a market for these kinds of stories in the modern industry. She’s spent the last few years directing on popular shows like The Umbrella Academy and Bridgerton, so perhaps a comeback could still be on the cards. Her debut feature is still a rock-solid 7/10.

Saturday – Passion

We seem to have entered a golden age of elderly filmmakers proving they’ve still got it. Martin Scorsese, Stephen Spielberg, Paul Schrader, Michael Mann, Francis Ford Coppola, the biggest names of the 70s and 80s have been putting out some of their best ever work, sparking discussions about so-called “late style”. Of all the iconic auteurs who have come up as part of this discussion, one name that seems unlikely to make a comeback is Brian De Palma. One of the most legendary directors of the New Hollywood period, responsible for classics like Carrie, Scarface, Blow Out and even the first of the Mission: Impossible films, De Palma’s impact and influence on film cannot be understated, and what is he doing now? Seemingly, nothing. His last film was a direct-to-video action flop from 2019. His next project is a nebulous Brazilian thriller that’s supposedly been in some stage of development since then, and has a tentative 2025 release date. What happened? Did a string of controversial flops completely destroy his ability to get funding, or did he genuinely lose his magic touch? By looking at his last serious attempt at a mainstream production, 2012’s Passion, it seems to be a touch of both. Passion is a bizarrely bad movie, in it’s first half at least. It’s flat, dull, rote, with nothing approaching atmosphere or tension, like watching a rehearsal where actors who are seeing the script for the first time flatly deliver dialogue in cavernous, eerily silent rooms. It’s difficult to reconcile this dull production with De Palma’s earlier work, especially because the second half of the film feels much closer to what you’d expect from the director. The lighting suddenly becomes otherworldly, dull wide shots replaced with dangerously tilting close-ups, the interminable drama of corporate backstabbing giving way to a feverish psychodrama of desire and murder. It’s like an entirely new film, still not a great one, but so stunningly superior to the first half that it begs the question of why the film makes such an atrocious first impression. Why, if this was possible the entire time, are the first forty minutes of the film so utterly unwatchable? De Palma clearly remembers his old tricks, but if this is the best he can do with the resources available to him these days, maybe it’s better that we’ve gotten so few efforts from him since the millennium. This is a deeply disappointing 3/10, only to be watched for the sake of completing De Palma’s filmography, or I suppose if you want to see Rachel McAdams do a terrible adult impression of her Mean Girls performance.

Sunday – Zatoichi’s Flashing Sword and Fight, Zatoichi, Fight

Eight movies into my watch of the entire Zatoichi series, and the operative word is formula. The same basics beats and archetypes occur over and over with slight variations in scenario and order. Disregarding variance in style or budget, what really sets apart a great Zatoichi adventure from an average one? These two films, the 7th and 8th instalments, offer some insight into what I think separates the wheat from the chaff. Flashing Sword is a passably enjoyable 5/10 that sticks strictly to formula, which isn’t a failing in itself, but commits the cardinal sin of underutilising the star of the show, Zatoichi himself. Zatoichi, or Ichi as he often goes by, is entirely passive in this story, an interloper with no personal stake in the unfolding gang war. While this is a classic Zatoichi setup, the difference here is that he never really puts down roots in a believable way this time, never grows significantly close to any of the local characters, and ends the story as he started it, an outsider, unchanged, slaughtering wicked gangsters in a sequence that is visually gripping but emotionally hollow. By contrast, Fight, Zatoichi, Fight follows the less-used of the two standard formulae. Rather than coming upon a town and being drawn into it’s drama, this instalment follows in the footsteps of Zatoichi on the Road, seeing our hero moving from place to place pursued by an ever-shrinking gang of marauders. Rather than a passive being waiting to be drawn into the drama, this Ichi has a clear path from the start, and the burden of returning an orphaned baby home to it’s father, if he can even bear to part from the infant after growing close on their journey. If Flashing Sword was about Zatoichi the icon, the unknowable, dangerous force, then this story gifts us Zatoichi the joker, the samaritan, the good-hearted scoundrel who can match any man in a fight but would prefer not to fight at all. This is the Zatoichi that makes these films worthwhile, whose emotional interiority gives weight to the inevitable tragic endings. While series star Shintaro Katsu always gives his all to this very external, physically demanding performance, it’s when he’s given softer, more contemplative material like this that the character truly shines. Fight, Zatoichi, Fight gets an 8/10.

By the way, I also make a monthly video montage of every movie I watch. Check it out below, and I’ll see you all later.