As an avowed Marxist, homosexual,
and, frequently, atheist, Italian director Pier Paolo Pasolini may seem
to some a dubious choice to have made one of the most realistic,
faithful, and, more than anything else, best films about the life and
death of Jesus Christ. But, with The Gospel According to St. Matthew, from 1964, that's exactly what the acclaimed filmmaker, poet, novelist, and theorist did.
This gritty, unpolished depiction of
the life of Christ contains many of the narrative hallmarks featured in
other film versions of the same topic: the virgin birth, the early
miracles, the apostles, Christ's persecution and, ultimately, the
crucifixion. No other cinematic depiction of this story looks, sounds,
or feels quite like this one though.
Before making this film, Pasolini had directed his first feature, Accattone!, in 1961, followed by Mamma Roma,
starring the astonishing and incomparable Anna Magnani, in 1962. He
next directed the short segment, "La ricotta," for the 1963 compilation
film Ro.Go.Pa.G. "La ricotta" was about a film crew, led by its
director (played by Orson Welles), who are making a film about Christ.
One of the members takes a position on a cross set up for the
crucifixion scene, where, due to all of the food he just ate (including
large quantities of cheese - hence the title), he unbeknownst to
everyone else dies, from apparent indigestion. This short film, coupled
with some of his past writings - much of which was heavily condemnatory
of the Catholic church - led to charges of blasphemy and defamation of
religion against Pasolini.
Nevertheless, one day Pasolini was
preparing to leave Rome. As it so happened, the Pope was in town as well
and was also departing. Roads were closed and traffic was at a
stand-still. Pasolini wasn't going anywhere, at least not until the Pope
made his exit. With nothing else to do to kill time, Pasolini found his
hotel room bible. He began reading and was inspired. He found his next
film subject - however unlikely. It was, as he would jokingly tell his
Christian friends, part of their "delightful and diabolical
calculation."
It took much convincing, but
eventually Pasolini received the blessing and the assistance of the
church. He argued that, aside from being well-versed in Catholicism, as
much of Italy at the time certainly was, he also had a profound
compassion for marginal figures, those neglected, those on the fringes
of society, those, in other words, whom Christ would have embraced.
Having spent considerable time in the poor slums of Italy, Pasolini said
he saw scavengers and hustlers literally as "fourteen-year old
Christs." He also understood, due to his political, sexual, and
ideological inclinations, what it was like to face persecution. It's
little wonder then that his Christ would be strongly shown as a
revolutionary figure. He was, as Pasolini saw him, "an intellectual in a
world of the poor, available for revolution." There was also the issue
of maternal relations. The Mary and Christ relationship is obviously
well-known, but Pasolini too had a notable bond with his mother, and she
would always play a crucial role in his life. It's probably no
coincidence that his own mother would portray the older Mary at the end
of the film.
With economics student Enrique
Irazoqui cast in the lead, Pasolini's aim was to "follow, point for
point, the gospel according to Saint Matthew, without making any script
and without any reduction." He added, "I will faithfully translate
images, without omissions to or deletions from the story. Even the
dialogue must be strictly that of Saint Matthew, without even a line of
explanation or feeder lines: because no images or words inserted can
ever be of the poetic height of the text.… I want to make a work of
poetry. Not a religious work in the current sense of the term nor a work
of ideology. In words both simple and poor: I do not believe that
Christ was the Son of God, because I am not a believer – at least not
consciously. But I believe Christ to be divine and I believe there was
in him a humanity so great, rigorous and ideal as to go beyond the
common terms of humanity.”
The film premiered Sept. 4, 1964 at
the 25th Venice Film Festival, where it was awarded the Special Jury
Prize. It would go on to also receive the Catholic Film Office Grand
Prize. Critical reception, as one would expect with this subject matter,
and with this filmmaker, ran the gamut. It was called, "A religious
film and religious propaganda beneath the facade of a faithful
transcription of the Gospel made by a Marxist..."; it was "A fine film, a
Christian film that produces a profound impression." "The author -
without renouncing his own ideology - has faithfully translated, with a
simplicity and a human density sometimes moving, the social message of
the Gospel - in particular the love for the poor and oppressed -
sufficiently respecting the divine dimension of Christ," wrote one
critic. "The fact is that this film is an authentic preaching of
Communism, using the words of Matthew maliciously interpreted ... to
have given this work a prize, and even in the presence of Fathers [of
the church] was a humiliating concession to error ... to confusion,"
wrote another.
It's hard to imagine that today this film could stir the sort of contentious reaction of Hail Mary (1985), The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), or even The Passion of the Christ (2004) - make no mistake though, King of Kings
(1961) it is not. As with many movies dealing with religious topics,
views on the film are going to be heavily swayed by personal belief,
usually before quality of filmmaking can be assessed. But if one is able
to wipe aside spiritual sensibilities and focus on craft, The Gospel According to St. Matthew
surely stands as one of the best films to undertake this sensitive
subject. Indeed, it is simply one of the great works of world cinema.
Pasolini's distinct style, a modern, art-film blend of neorealism and
documentary, is rugged and unadorned. The performers, though competent
enough here, particularly the engaging Irazoqui, are all
nonprofessionals; and the settings (in Italy) and costumes are
remarkably authentic, yet notably peculiar.
Pasolini would continue to make films
throughout the 1960s and into the '70s. This would include three
extraordinary trilogies: those of his "mythic" period - Oedipus Rex (1967), Teorema (1968), and Medea (1969), and those of his "third path," the films that comprise his "Trilogy of Life" - The Decameron (1971), The Canterbury Tales (1972), and Arabian Nights (1974). His last film, the brilliant Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom
(1975), based on the Marquis de Sade's infamous work, would not be his
final film by design. After completing this immensely powerful and
extremely unsettling movie (maybe the most disturbing I've ever seen),
Pasolini was found brutally murdered, under what are still mysterious
circumstances. Pasolini, one of the greatest of all filmmakers, died
November 2, 1975, at the age of 53.
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“A sort of Adam from whom we are all descended.” – Federico Fellini on Charlie Chaplin
With The Artist and Hugo
both released last year, it appeared that there may be a sudden return
of interest in cinema's silent era. But, now that the novelty of these
new releases has worn off, it seems we're back where we were with a vast
majority of audiences placing little to no significance on films made
prior to 1927 (if not prior to 1970!). However, there has always been
somewhat of an exception to this. There is one holdover from the silent
period that still warrants attention, admiration, and unadulterated joy,
and one that undoubtedly still stands the test of time. That is the
work of Charlie Chaplin.
There's still something about
Chaplin's endearing and enduring little Tramp that maintains a special
place in the hearts and minds of movie lovers of all ages. Taking a walk
down Hollywood Boulevard, there are people dressed as superheroes, as
Johnny Depp's Jack Sparrow character, as Marilyn Monroe, and as Darth
Vader; but there amongst these popular, rather contemporary movie
figures is another, the lone representative of the silent era – it's
Charlie … and everyone still knows who he is.
What better way to celebrate this legendary film comedian than to watch one of his best, The Gold Rush, from 1925? On the heels of their recent releases of The Great Dictator (1940) and Modern Times (1936), the Criterion Collection's remastered Blu-ray edition of The Gold Rush hits shelves June 12.
With the possible exception of The Kid (1921), one could easily make the case for The Gold Rush
as being Chaplin's best film until the 1930s, and this counts his
shorts (he has more than 50 to his credit, the first of which were
released in 1914). It also stands as a sort of preview of what was to be
an enormously accomplished string of films to follow: City Lights (1931), Modern Times, The Great Dictator, and, later, Limelight (1952), where he shared the screen with fellow cinematic legend Buster Keaton.
Chaplin conceived of the idea for The Gold Rush
based, in part, on some streoscopic slides he viewed at "Pickfair," the
home of Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks. These were images of the
Klondike and of lines of hopeful prospectors anxiously seeking to stake
their claim. The other part of Chaplin's inspiration came from a more
unlikely source: the tragic Donner party and its gruesome conclusion.
The Gold Rush, certainly by
comparison to the films Chaplin made previously, was a massive
undertaking, with hundreds of extras and its fair share of behind the
scenes drama, namely the relationship trouble Charlie had with his
original leading lady in the film, Lita Grey. Just as filming was
underway, the 16-year-old Grey got pregnant … by Chaplin. Much to
Chaplin's chagrin, the two were forced to marry. Grey would be replaced
by Georgia Hale, with whom, so it has been reported, Chaplin
subsequently began having an affair with. (In a tantalizing Hollywood
case of what could have been, the stunning Carole Lombard tested for the
temporarily vacant role).
Scandalous anecdotes aside, there can be no denying the comic genius at play in The Gold Rush.
It is a veritable clip-show in and of itself of classic silent comedy.
There's the stalking bear that won't leave the hapless Tramp alone;
there's Charlie dangling from the cabin as it too teeters on the edges
of a cliff; there's Big Jim McKay, played by Mack Swain, hungrily
imagining Chaplin to be a man-sized chicken, and Chaplin consequently
donning a chicken suit strutting and flapping about; and then there are
the two most famous dining scenes: In one, Charlie, after having cooked
his shoe, twirls the laces as if they were spaghetti, then he delicately
licks the nails of his shoes clean, as if they were bones. Later, there
is the hilarious, if not totally original, dance of the rolls, a bit so
popular that some exhibitors, at the request of the audience, would
actually run the reel again just so they could see this sequence a
second time.
In the film, The Tramp treks off to
the Yukon to test his luck and stamina during the Klondike gold rush.
His efforts are thwarted by harsh weather conditions and his life
threatened by the burly and surly Big Jim, a perfect physical contrast
to the meek Chaplin. In a neighboring town, The Tramp meets and falls
for a dancehall girl, who does not (at first, of course) share his
adoration. Eventually, he joins back up the Big Jim, who, due to
amnesia, has forgotten where he had hidden away his riches. The Tramp
and Big Jim finally retrieve the gold and, in the end, become wealthy
men. All that’s left is for Charlie to get the girl….
The Gold Rush, one of
Chaplin's rare productions planned with a fully developed script, would
be the film he himself hoped to be most remembered for. It was
successful enough upon its initial release, but Chaplin chose to
re-release the picture in 1942, now with sound effects and a new musical
score, which Chaplin helped to compose, and a narration, which was
spoken by Chaplin. In what must be a singular instance, the re-release
would actually be nominated for two Oscars for its sound work.
Chaplin’s life was chock full of
fascinating personal stories and artistic endeavors, some not always
successful. There was his troubled childhood, his miraculously
successful start with Keystone and Essanay, his achievement of
phenomenal global stardom, and his reluctance to make the transition to
sound. And then there were his politics. Perhaps the saddest chapter in
Chaplin’s story was when, in 1952, he was returning from England and his
reentry permit was revoked by the FBI, a result of his supposed
“un-American activities.” Eventually, all was seemingly forgiven and he
was allowed to return to America in 1972 to accept an honorary Academy
Award. He passed away five years later.
Today, Chaplin is one of the
preeminent figures of motion picture history. He’s an icon for the
movies themselves. It’s arguable that The Gold Rush is his finest achievement, and that’s saying something.
“The only genius to come out of the movie industry.” - George Bernard Shaw on Charlie Chaplin
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Following the Ingmar Bergman double
feature previously discussed, for this entry we'll stick with another
combination of two movies, but this time with the theme of New York City
in the 1970s.
From 1969's Best Picture winning (and at the time X rated) Midnight Cowboy, through films like The French Connection (1971), The Godfather (1972), Serpico (1973), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Annie Hall (1977), and Manhattan (1979), and including movies of the so-called Blaxploitation cycle like Shaft (1971) and Super Fly
(1972), the Big Apple was well represented in the 1970s, arguably one
of the greatest decades for American cinema. And two films, Martin
Scorsese's Mean Streets (1973), and The Taking of Pelham One Two Three
(1974), starring Walter Matthau, are classic examples of the period's
predilection for urban drama and depictions of unrefined authenticity.
The former, Scorsese's look at
violence, religion, relationships, and redemption inside a group of the
city's lower echelon hoods, and the latter, about a group of gunmen who
hold a subway train and its passengers hostage, convey the best and
worst of the city in the decade. There was the rough nature of the city
streets, the grime and garbage, the insular, isolated melancholy of some
of the inhabitants, and the vibe of the bustling conglomeration within
the city's melting pot society. In addition, it being the 1970s, there
was the distinctive clothing, the hair, the unique cars and language,
the music, and the aesthetic of the cinematography, a gritty, unpolished
realism that went as far away as possible from the Hollywood gloss of
decades previous. There's no mistaking where and when these films were
made.
Mean Streets, just Scorsese's third feature, after the student film Who's That Knocking At My Door? (1967) and the Roger Corman produced exploitation picture Boxcar Bertha (1972), not only heralded the emergence of one of America's best rising young filmmakers (this would be further certified with Taxi Driver
three years later, itself another '70s New York essential), but it also
brought further attention to two actors who would become among the
world's greatest: Harvey Keitel and Robert De Niro. In the role of
Charlie, Scorsese's autobiographical stand-in, Keitel plays a man torn
between his ambition, his love for a girl he cares for but tends to feel
ambivalent about, and his obligations to his dangerously erratic friend
Johnny Boy, played with gusto by De Niro. Throw in Charlie's
Catholicism and all the guilt and sense of moral responsibility that
that entails, and you have a film of immense power. Then add to it
Scorsese's penchant for sudden, realistic violence, rock and roll music
in just the right style played at just the right moment, as well as his
keen sense of cinematic technique, and you have a masterpiece.
The Taking of Pelham One Two Three,
on the other hand, is not so much a personal work of auteurist art (its
director, Joseph Sargent, would mostly stick with television movies
from here on out, many, however, widely acclaimed), but it is a prefect
example of a tension filled, wonderfully constructed, and extremely
entertaining thriller. It's just another day for Lt. Zachary Garber of
the New York City Transit Police, when suddenly he is forced to deal
with a group of armed criminals who have taken control of a subway car
and threaten its entire board of passengers. Garber, played with
delightful cynicism and weariness by Matthau, contends with the
bureaucracy of city management while doing his everyday, working man's
best to negotiate with the hijackers, attempting to determine how they
intend to reach their ultimate desired outcome. The film was recently
remade with Denzel Washington and John Travolta, but this original is by
far the superior picture. You can count among its biggest admirers
Quentin Tarantino, who borrowed the color-coded nicknames of the
villains in the film for his band of thieves in Reservoir Dogs (1992).
Mean Streets will be released for the first time on Blu-ray July 17 and The Taking of Pelham One Two Three
will air June 11 on Turner Classic Movies (set your DVRs though – it
plays at 2 a.m. Arizona time). Taken together, these two New York City
gems are shining examples of the type of superb movies made during the
1970s. They're imbued with a strong sense of naturalism and earnestness
of emotion and character that was unique to this period of America
cinema. The directness of their storytelling and the unadorned quality
of the performances make them both touchstones of the era.
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