The Saragossa Manuscript (Rekopis znaleziony w Saragossie)

One story creates another, and then another…

Ah, the Book. You are so ignorantly deceptive at times. I started The Saragossa Manuscript with the foreknowledge of it being only a couple hours, not the three-plus-hour opus I ended up watching. Seriously, I’m sure the editors of the Book know of our little blog club here; I could bet that they could happily hire some of us to proofread the book’s entries a little better than they currently are. Well, with that said, the second in my Poland-a-thon started off casually enough, with the framing device of a pair of enemy soldiers finding a manuscript in a house that tells the tale of one of the soldier’s ancestors, which is the film proper. But from there, The Saragossa Manuscript couldn’t help itself but weave a tapestry so tangled, especially in the second half, that even the Wikipedia article freaking gives up in its attempt to make a complete plot summary of the film halfway through.

It’s always interesting to note the differing techniques and visual styles of directors and cinematographers, even in the sophomore years of cinema, that make films look so much different from each other. That was the first thing I noticed about Saragossa; how different it looked, mostly thanks to the imperfect and unclear cinematography and top-notch art direction. What I especially liked about Saragossa was that there wasn’t a layer of fourth-wall suspension that seemed to be spread across the screen between me and the story; the screen was more like a window into an alternate world that was actually happening, rather than some fantasy that was merely being shown to me. Now, of course, I’m not saying that this is ultra-realistic, or that the fourth wall was somehow nonexistent, but the way the film was presented to me, it might as well have been, and it was a style of presentation that I hadn’t been used to, especially in older films. I also found the production value in this one to be second to none, from the costuming to the locations – everything was detailed to the nth degree, which is usually a good sign for me, and allows me to have some semblance of entertainment where there otherwise wouldn’t be any. Now, all this being said, I’ve said before how the number one focus of any entertainment film should always be, first and foremost, a good story that is well told. This story, to be frank, wasn’t very good, and indeed the film too too much time reveling in how to tell its meandering story than actually making sure it was a good one. There’s a cut in the middle of the film, dividing it into two parts. The first part, even with its occasional layering of a story-within-a-story, I was able to follow well enough, if only because I’d been forewarned of it by the recent review by fellow 1001 Blogger Steve. But then the second part started, and when it began its intricate layering of “a story within a story, that references another story, that ties into the first story by means of a character in a fourth story that is told by another character from a fifth story, etc etc”, I just wanted to throw my hands up in exasperation and call it quits. Not because I don’t like figuring out films like this, ones that reward repeat viewing as such, but because I didn’t care one iota about anything that was happening on screen enough to even bother with untangling the ball of Christmas lights that this film calls its second act.

I’d be a little worried if I were a publisher, and the manuscript for this book, which the film is adapted from, were plopped on my desk. There seems to be no real plot here; it’s mostly storytelling for the sake of storytelling, which can still be entertaining in its own right, but not from a narrative standpoint. What irked me about it was that it was so aimless in its storytelling; it delighted more in the various forms and literary devices used to tell the story, rather than actually telling a story worth listening to, which in all honestly, this wasn’t. There was no reason to care about anything that was happening, since it just seemed like the insane ramblings of some random writer of a century long passed. Then, of course, the second half of the film came along, and any direction I had going into the film was quickly lost. I would have a pretty hard time coming up with a legitimate reason for someone to sit down and watch this one, even one of the truncated edits that existed before the three hour version was restored over a decade ago. So, I guess I shouldn’t. This was an interesting little experiment of a film, but ultimately, it wasn’t worth what one would need to put into it, both in length and in cognitive effort. I can see how this made the list, quite easily, but it was just too much bother for too little gain for me.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

The Cool World

Stay cool!

The Cool World is a film not unlike Killer of Sheep, which it predates. It deals with life in a black neighborhood, and what it was like to live in such a place; The Cool World being focused on Harlem in NYC, while Killer of Sheep was set in L.A. The two films are very similar in many ways, which I’ll get to in a sec, which of course begs the question; why are both films on the list? Well, to be honest, I can’t come up with a good answer to that, even hypothetically. The two are really two sides of the exact same coin, and to have them both take up a slot on the list seems redundant in a major sense of the word.

As far as I could discern as to the plot of the film, it follows a young man named Duke Custis, who’s a member of a gang in the Harlem streets called the Royal Pythons. The film details his attempts to gain legitimacy on the streets and cement his reputation with the gang, while also providing a portrait of life amid the black culture of Harlem. It’s to that end that the film is much like Killer of Sheep, including in cinematography and mood. The film looks very washed out, and almost never in focus; if I were to guess, it was shot either on Super 8 or a very low quality 16mm film, and the equipment used to shoot the film most likely wasn’t of good quality. While the people directly behind the camera may not have been professionals, or even knew what they were doing half the time, the storytellers themselves at least had a pretty decent vision of what they wanted, even if that vision wasn’t really cohesive or finished. The film meanders a lot between vignettes of life in Harlem, framed with the character of Duke Custis, who is usually around to see or experience the various segments of the story, and while this means the film doesn’t have much of a narrative, I can forgive it that, since a narrative isn’t the intention behind this film; it is meant to convey what life is like in this colored neighborhood, and to that end it succeeded.

I couldn’t get into this film as much as I would’ve liked for many reasons. The poor quality for one, the lack of narrative for another, but mostly, as the film went on, I was just bugged by how similar it was to Killer of Sheep, and I got too wrapped up in why both films were on the list. I appreciated what The Cool World was trying to achieve (and, in my opinion, it largely succeeds), but the issues I had with it just didn’t clear up at all by the end of the film, and try as I might to ignore them, I could not; they were like brambles entangled in my pant legs. Unless you’re a list completionist, I’d advise you to pick either this or Killer of Sheep, but there’s very little other reason to watch both of them. I didn’t really know what I was going to get when I started this, but ultimately, I just ended up with an experience I had already had, which is an experience I am going through the list to pretty much avoid.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

Before the Revolution (Prima della rivoluzione)

Those who have not lived the years… cannot understand the sweetness of life.

Bernardo Bertolucci, I envy you. At 22 years of age, you made Before the Revolution, and thus accomplished more in the world of film than I did by that age. Way to make me feel inadequate. Now, that doesn’t mean I found this to be a great film, because I didn’t; well, in ways I did, but those same ways were taken from other films that came before this, so I can’t properly credit Before the Revolution with them. The story was rather hard to discern; from what I got, the main character Fabrizio, from a well off family, begins an affair with his aunt, Gina, in the face of a coming revolution ready to sweep the lands. That was about as much as I got, mostly because the film was so obfuscating, but also because I found myself at a loss in my attempts to care about the characters or what was going on; the film did very little to endear itself to me, and that coupled with the nagging feeling that this film was a stone’s throw or two away from being a ripoff meant that this one was likely going to be a tough sell.

Right from the opening seconds, I felt the influence of the French New Wave on this film. The skipping around; the saturated cinematography, even the style of storytelling all seemed like it was lifted directly from a French art film, as if this were a direct adaptation or remake instead of an original film. The camerawork was, for lack of a better word, claustrophobic; the camera, for most of the time, was right in the actors’ faces, excluding what was around them from the frame, and this made it especially difficult to watch when the actors were moving, which made the zoomed-in camera very jittery and all over the place. The script for this was one of the most opaque I’ve ever encountered in a film; aside from the dropping of some names in the beginning, I largely felt I was listening to a brick wall talk to me as the film’s narration and dialogue went on – that’s how much I got out of the spoken words in this one. Also, the soundtrack (or score, or whichever this might be considered as) was… very odd. Each song seemed to be randomly placed in the film, and often when I could start to get an inkling of immersion, the start of the music would take me right back out of the film again. That might be the best way for me to describe this film; a bunch of blunt and solid elements (ones that look vaguely familiar) stapled and welded together, so that you have a complete and whole finished product, but one that isn’t mixed or blended together at all.

And oh yeah, the freaking overdubbing. Yet again it rears its ugly head at me, taunting me, shouting at me; “Hey, you want to be engrossed and immersed in this film? Well, too bad! I ain’t gonna let you!” I have a feeling we have many more bouts to be had during my quest, and I am looking forward to none of them.

Considering his age when he made this, this is clearly one of Bertolucci’s early works, and it unfortunately shows; none of the cohesiveness of an experienced director or storyteller is present here. Instead, we get a hodgepodge of film elements, all wrapped around an Italian story, with no care as to how they should interlock with each other. The Book calls Bertolucci’s accomplishment with this film “miraculous”, but really, I can see how he was able to get this done at the age he did it; I’ve seen plenty of short films and other examples of early works of a filmmaker, famous or not, that are much like this one is. It is indeed a feat that Bertolucci was able to head this film at 22, but it really isn’t an impressive one. I’m not really sure what else to say about this one, because most of what it has to say is lifted from other films, so it has no real voice of its own. If you’re looking for more Bertolucci to be had, you might be inclined to give this a try, but only if you’ve burned through all his other, later, better works first.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

Heaven and Earth Magic

Regular readers might notice that this one has no quote from the film beneath the image up there. Well, that’s because there is no possible quote from this, this pure distillation of weirdness. I’ve seen Un Chien Andalou, I’ve seen Blonde Cobra, but even these absurdist pieces have nothing on what Harry Smith does with his films. While I was watching Heaven and Earth Magic, I couldn’t help but get the impression that I was watching the precursor to the Internet culture of today. I’ve seen numerous Flash animations and would-be mash-up music videos on Youtube that are structured along the same lines as Heaven and Earth Magic; a collection of cut-out images crudely animated to an almost incoherent smattering of sound effects and music (though this film does without the music). For some strange reason, those always entertained me; they were like a window into a bizarro world, where it wasn’t just that the rules were inverted or that they didn’t apply, but that the very acknowledgment that there were any rules whatsoever was a complete impossibility. Heaven and Earth Magic is exactly that, and the best part was, it didn’t pretend to be anything more.

This would normally be the part where I tell you what the film is about. Well, this film is about… um. Give me a minute… Okay, never mind; this film has no plot. You could literally go into your fridge or pantry, grab various types of foodstuffs, and pour and slap and throw them onto the floor with no degree of structure or intention, and the result would have more of a narrative than Heaven and Earth Magic. Now, this would be where I talk about the technicals, in order to give you a picture of what the film is like before you watch it yourself. Soooo… yeah, Heaven and Earth Magic doesn’t have that either. What it does have is a slew of images – random cutouts, really – that are thrown about the screen in a phantasmagoria of insanity. Here, though, the film really got me; there is actually structure here. The random images interact with each other, albeit through no discernible fashion, but they do interact; otherwise, you’d just have literal randomness on the screen, and that… why, that would be too easy. This is structured randomness, even if the structure is just the clang and clash of these elements slamming into each other, and it is that thin veneer that makes this actually watchable, and perhaps even (dare I say it) entertaining.

Here’s the thing, though; as weird and nonsensical as this was, I found myself liking it. Much like the Flash animations and Youtube videos I’d watch in the Internet’s waning days of pre-pubescence, this had a charm to it. There were no falsehoods to be had here, no airs to be put on, no intentions for us as viewers to put what we’re watching together into a narrative form so we can be entertained by it. This is just random, and because it is just random (and more important, doesn’t pretend that it is anything more than that), we can just sit back and watch the randomness as it unfolds, without a care in the world. To say that this is an experience unlike any that I have ever had in my life, film or not, is an understatement; I can certainly vouch for this so-called film’s place in a book of “must see” experiences in cinema – it is that ‘out there’. And me, personally, I enjoyed it. Who knows; as long as you don’t go into this expecting anything other than absolute pure randomness, you might end up enjoying it too. It was a bit long, though, even at 66 minutes; after about 20 or so, you’ve just about experienced all that the film has to offer, and yet it goes on for another 40. Still, even if you don’t finish it, try this one. I don’t think you have ever seen anything like it, and I doubt if you ever will again.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

The Mad Masters (Les maitres fous)

This violent game is only the reflect of our civilization.

Once again, I wasn’t up to taking on a full-length excursion today, so I opted for one of my remaining short films. Picking entirely at random, I landed on The Mad Masters, Jean Rouch’s “ethnographic” docudrama. The word “ethnographic” comes into play a lot here; the Book cites the film as being an “ethnographic masterpiece”, and the Wikipedia article for this film cites it, and Rouch as director, as the progenitor of the genre of “ethnofiction”. So, what exactly does all that mean; what indeed is an ethnographic film? Well, after seeing it for myself, I really can’t come up with a better word to describe just what I’ve seen.

The short documentary details the culture and arguably religious practices of the Hauka movement. From what I gathered from watching the documentary, this group of African laborers gathers once a year to undergo a spiritual experience, whereby they give themselves over to spirits of deceased British colonialists, becoming possessed by them in an apparent act of power attainment. They gather together, according to a stringent group of principles and rules for inclusion, before the main act begins; first one man stands, with jerky movements, as if he is not fully in control of the body he is moving around, then another, and another, each taking on personas of their own. Their eyes roll, they foam copiously at the mouth, and they pass torches around to burn themselves in order to show they are no longer human. I can’t lie, it makes for fascinating viewing, but there is definitely some stuff here that will not go down the right way with some people, in particular the sacrifice used for the ritual, which is filmed in complete detail.

A lot can be said about this film, and the ideas it presents. This is not a film to be watched for entertainment value; it is a study of a particular culture, meant to spark discussion and instigate theoretical rumination. You are meant to think about what you have seen here, and indeed I believe the imagery and acts I watched will stick with me for the remainder of the day, at least, if not longer. However, therein lies the rub; as I’ve said numerous times before, how I grade a film is primarily based on its entertainment value, and this is not meant to be an entertaining film. It is fascinating, in a very odd sort of way, and it gets points for that, but I can’t give it too many, lest I denigrate the slightly higher ratings I’ve given to more overly entertaining films. The best I can say is, this is only a half hour long, so it’s not exactly a time-waster, but if the subject matter might be too graphic for you (graphic might be the only appropriate word to use), it’s not a half hour you should be inclined to invest.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

Loulou

“She’s so in love. How do you do that?” “That’s how it goes.”

Man, whatever happened to Gerard Depardieu? He was a damn fine character actor and French sex symbol, then he went and gained some serious weight. I haven’t seen him in any of his recent films (though he is in Life of Pi, which as the cover of the next edition of the Book, I’ll be seeing sometime in the future), so I can’t attest to whether or not he’s still got the acting goods, but it’s a little surprising he went all Orson Welles on himself. Especially given that he used to make films like Loulou, an exploration of French ideals in the guise of a love affair between Depardieu’s roguish thief and Isabelle Huppert’s dissatisfied housewife. The Book seemed to have a bit to say about this one, about how it was a scintillating look into the sexual relationships between classes in France, and what-have-you, but for me, I’m not really seeing too deeply into it the way these professional critic types seem to be.

There’s really not too much to the plot, other than Huppert having an affair with Depardieu, pretty much in the face of her former husband, who comes into and out of the plot intermittently. There’s definitely some subtext between Huppert’s character intentionally foregoing the secure, upper-class lifestyle for the thieving, lower-class Loulou, but I didn’t really find too much more than that, and certainly not for a thesis essay or anything of the kind. The film comes across as a Dogme film before the Dogme had actually been laid out; handheld camera, natural lighting, realistic performances, whatever is the opposite of ‘the works’. Now, when a film goes this route, regardless of its intent in doing so, it had better be pretty darn entertaining and solidly written and performed in order to do the bare minimum of any film and hold the viewer’s interest. Loulou fails in this regard; the performances are bare (and well done for it) but nothing to get in a tiff over, the cinematography is just as naturalistic, and therefore just as unremarkable, and the script was nothing to be surprised about – it got the job done, and that was about it. Really, that’s what this film has to offer; it gets done what it wants to get done, and that’s that. The bare minimum.

I have a theory; when a film isn’t really as fully developed as it has the potential to be, critics like to fill in the empty spaces with presumptions and meanings behind things that most likely aren’t as there as they would like to think they are. In essence, this is a film that is so devoid of substance (i.e. the subtext and layers the Book’s quotation says about the film), that to justify its very existence, critics over-analyze it and come up with subtext and layers where there really shouldn’t be any. Loulou might be all that I’ve heard about it (which wasn’t much, and took some searching), but for me, I looked under the hood, and I saw very little under there. This is another one where pretty much all it has to offer can be found in other films, and in better form, so there’s really no reason to watch this, unless you’re specifically interested in a certain aspect of it. I wasn’t, and so I remained fairly detached as the film went on, and I suspect that will be the case with you as well.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

By the by, I’ve had computer troubles, which is why I haven’t posted in almost two weeks. All better now, though, so back to the quest for me.

Last Chants for a Slow Dance

I just received, sweetheart… your yellow roses…

No one film can conceivably be singled out as having invented the concept of “independent cinema”; it was a hodgepodge of films, all coming from various times and eras, that helped to shape what we know today as indie films. One of those films, I can say now having seen it, was unquestionably Jon Jost’s Last Chants for a Slow Dance, a little film that could that was shot on a pittance of a budget, and the film shows it. The story is about… well, it kind of meanders a bit, before revealing its cards near the end of the film. Really, it’s about whatever Jost wants it to be about at any given moment, which is kind of a conceited way to go about making a film, and as I’ll get to later, few have the talent to overcome such a self-constructed setup.

The film consists of a series of long takes of whole sequences shot in big hunks, most likely to economically conserve take numbers and film stock, while period songs play over the intermediate areas of the film to provide some context and mood for filler. Right from the opening, the film completely avoids any semblance of putting up pretenses about being a professional film. Over the opening credits, we hear the crew getting the camera and audio up to speed, calling action, and even having a moment of confusion as the main actor is unsure of when to start his opening monologue and has a brief argument with someone off screen, all while pavement and the roadway is whipping by the camera. From there, the opening monologue is delivered in a pickup truck, with absolutely no professional audio recording equipment at all; we hear every shudder of the vehicle, every hiss and pop of the microphone, as the driver spouts his pseudo-philosophical ramblings to his passenger. This is not a film that is putting on any airs about its production value; the camera is rugged and usually handheld, the audio is very low quality, and you can hear whatever room the actors are in. The script seems half-improvised; either that, or the screenwriter really did write so many curse words into the dialogue, something I’ve noticed is somewhat common with indie flicks, especially those that are basically one-man shows behind the camera. That’s pretty much what I noticed this film was; an average independent film all from a single mind, and it shows all over, from the creative decisions made with the acting and the editing to the very shooting of the film – it all belied that nobody had any other say in the film other than Jost. Not that that is anybody’s fault, though; independent cinema often has to get away with this sort of creative freedom cum reliance, and I should know. But it takes a talent to make the film surpass the singular vision put forth by that single person, and come off as more than just all the things that they wanted to put to film, and Jost didn’t seem to have it.

I’m probably going to catch hell from the cinema gods for denouncing Jost’s film in this manner, especially given the career choice I’ve made with my life, but if I said anything else it would be a baseless attempt at covering up what I really thought, and that’s not why I started this blog. But still, with all the disdain I felt for what Jost was doing, there is no way to avoid acknowledging what he accomplished and what he did to further the genre of independent cinema, so in a way, I should be thankful he made this film. He may not have been the best at what he did, but he was a trailblazer, and blazing trails is behavior that should be rewarded in my eyes, rather than scorned. This was much like Buffalo 66, in that it comes across so much as what the director wanted it to be that the air of pretentiousness is inescapable. I liked this a great deal more than I did Buffalo 66, but for me, it still wasn’t enough. I appreciated the hell out of what he did, especially for when he did it, but you can easily find more entertaining and less big-headed films out there.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!

Ladies and gentlemen… Welcome to violence.

There’s a lot more to the genre of exploitative films than simply the subgenre of blaxploitation. Here’s a prime example; Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! is a film by Russ Meyer about the literal exploits of a trio of badass car vixens with a penchant for violence and an even greater penchant for acting tough in the face of it. They take nothing from nobody, do as they please, and damned if you like them or dislike them because of it. They make for intriguing characters, at the least, or rather they would, if the film had any semblance of quality about it.

The production value in this one is second to none, and by that I mean on a scale of none to a hundred, it’s probably somewhere around two or so. The actresses read their lines as if they are literally reading their lines, with absolutely no delivery whatsoever, which only makes all the innuendo that much more provocative (“Wanna take a look under my hood?”). Really, everything that this film does is done with about as much professionalism as a tin can, from the grubby black-and-white cinematography, to the excessive and practically explicit soundtrack, to the blocky script so full of catchwords it is downright laughable. But, all in all, that’s pretty much the point; to laugh and chuckle at the bombastic qualities and campiness of the film. Now, why that makes this a must see, I don’t know, but it was one of the rare times I was able to legitimately enjoy a so-called “bad film” such as this.

Even with all I’ve said, I still can’t give this film a good rating; it’s just too poor in pretty much every single way for me to give it a genuine recommendation. But for those who enjoy a blatantly campy bad flick, or a purely exploitative piece of work, this will definitely be right up your alley, in more ways than one. Just don’t expect the next Citizen Kane or Gone with the Wind going into this one; as long as your expectations end up meeting the experience, you shouldn’t be too disappointed with this. And if you are, well, given the quality of the film, I guess I can’t blame you.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (Les parapluies de Cherbourg)

You do not just fall in love with a face in the street.

So, I wasn’t too keen on the idea of watching a foreign language musical; I wasn’t sure how easily I would be able to tag along with the foreign language while it was being sung to me, especially while also following with the translation, which was likely to not be in the same verse as the original dialogue and singing lines. That, and I had just never considered, that filmmakers in other languages would’ve wanted to make a musical; a somewhat stupid notion now that I think about it. Aside from a handful of foreign entries that are mostly, if not entirely, in English, there are two such foreign language musicals on the list, and both of them are by Jacques Demy, so that tells me there must be at least something special about the man and his films to warrant two of his musicals on the list. So, all that said, how much did I end up taking to The Umbrellas of Cherbourg? I don’t know if I can say; I liked the music, but disliked what it was singing. I’ll elaborate.

Almost as if to dissuade my reservations about not being able to follow the foreign language singing, the film decides to take the operatic route of being entirely “sung-through”, meaning there is no spoken dialogue; every line is sung, which meant that often the lines, even in French, did not rhyme, or at least as far as I could tell phonetically. However, while this made my reservations easier to handle, it also meant that the actors were essentially singing regular dialogue instead of just saying it, which was, to put it in one word, weird. The kind of weird I never got used to, even through the film’s short running time. This isn’t your typical musical, where numbers are interspersed throughout an otherwise regular film; the entire thing is one drawn-out number in and of itself, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it or not. The music was nice to listen to, but only the music, and not the dialogue that was being sung; that added an air of uncomfortability that never really went away. As for the rest of the film, it was very nice; the cinematography and art direction was very colorful, and this was Demy’s intention, to create an overly razzle-dazzle version of Cherbourg, one that could pretty much only exist in the movies. The actors, aside from the whole “singing dialogue” thing, were decent enough, and the plot was simple and effective, even if the music sometimes didn’t match the tone of the scenes; the film humorously opens with a group of mechanics singing about how they appreciate movies more than operas because, and I quote, “all that singing gives [them] a pain”, and one of the early scenes is the main girl Genevieve and her mother arguing about how to make an obscenely large owed payment to the bank on their umbrella shop, to the tune of probably the most upbeat music one could’ve processed for such a scene. It just seemed out of place, and most of the film was like this.

So, I sat thinking about this one for a short while after I finished it, considering whether or not it had gained my favor, for either the peppy and well-done score and the somewhat affecting story, or not for the abstract singing of the dialogue and the oftentimes melodramatic waves that would wash over me. Finally, I decided to swing in one particular direction, and I decided it wasn’t my thing; for everything that I did like, it was offset by something that I didn’t like, and the aspects I didn’t like often outweighed those that I did. There seems to be several things to enjoy about this one, and I’d imagine if you are fluent in French it might be a little more bearable for you, but I just couldn’t get over the singing of the dialogue. I’ve seen it done in other films and musicals, and while it was odd, it was at the very least well done; this just literally takes a regular film script, with regular dialogue, and puts it directly to music. I couldn’t help but have the feeling through the whole thing that the film would’ve been better off if they hadn’t sung all of the dialogue, but alas, they did, and so I’m left with my opinion of it. I wanted to like this one, I really did, and I tried to, but there was just too much that rubbed me the wrong way.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10

The Story of Women (Une affaire de femmes)

Rotten is the fruit of your womb.

I’m really unsure of how to tackle this one. The Story of Women (though the French title, Une Affaire de Femmes, translates more accurately as ‘Women’s Business’) deals with one of the last women in French history to be sent to the guillotine, and in that alone it seems it would make for a compelling enough story for a film. Well, it seemed it would; the end product seems to have no qualms about laying that expectation by the side of the road and simply leaving it there. Once again, I must say, it’s not because this is a bad film; it was just so… uninteresting. Bland. It never got me involved whatsoever; it was almost neorealistic, that’s how little I seemed to care.

Now, right off the bat, I should mention the one thing that was, in fact, rather exemplary; Isabelle Huppert, the lead of the film, gives a very naturalistic and expressive performance, that of the true story of a housewife in Nazi-occupied France, who beleagueredly becomes an abortionist, performing 27 of them, something that was illegal during the wartime era of the country, and for which she would be found guilty and guillotined for. Huppert, however, was the only thing that was even remotely interesting during the almost two hour running time of this one; there was quite enough plot for the whole thing, but none of it seemed all that… enticing. There was no real reason to watch the film, and the entertainment value was extremely flat, if it was even there at all, and both of those combined in one film meant that I had an especially rough time getting through this one. As such, and because the film is so neorealistic, I’m left with very little to say about it; other than its main star, there really isn’t anything that juts out enough at you for you to take notice, which while being a good thing in certain ways, also means it is essentially a featureless wall for you to just stare at.

Throughout many of the films I’ve watched from the list, I’ve been initially stymied as to why the film is seen as such a classic and must-see, but by the end of the film it has been made readily apparent to me; that “x factor” has kicked in, and I am ultimately thankful for the experience. The Story of Women was exactly like that, but without the concluding payoff; I spent the whole time wondering why I was watching this film instead of something more interesting, or hell, even something better, and the film never gave me an actual reason otherwise. As solid as the film was, it’s actually rather sad to say how disappointed I felt at the whole thing, and to say I saw no real reason for this to be on the list is to hammer one more unnecessary nail in the coffin. Huppert was very good, but other than that, there’s really no good reason to sit through this one.

Arbitrary Rating: 6/10