La Danse
Director: Frederick Wiseman
The Manchurian Candidate
Director: John Frankenheimer
Crying With Laughter
Director: Justin Molotnikov
Beeswax
Director: Andrew Bujalski
The subterranean bowels of the Paris Opera – celebrated in fictional form by Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber – are the starting point for La Danse, the latest opus by America’s octogenarian doyen of documentary film-makers, Frederick Wiseman. But in every sense bar geographical, the film is a very long way from the elaborate grotesqueries of The Phantom of the Opera.
For almost half a century, Wiseman has rigorously adhered to the principles of cinéma vérité which he helped to establish and maintain in the United States from the likes of Titicut Follies (1967) through to Domestic Violence (2001). This means no narration, no interviewing of participants and no explanatory text Whereas so many documentaries are routinely described as “fly on the wall” studies, few approach Wiseman’s level of detachment.
His filmography comprises, almost without exception, baldly-titled anthropological and sociological studies, usually running three hours plus. His 2007 State Legislature clocked in at 217 minutes. Needless to say, this
isn’t “commercial” film-making – most of Wiseman’s projects are funded by American television’s Public Broadcasting Service – and it’s very unusual to them obtaining a release in this country. So while La Danse may not rank among his best work, it’s encouraging that such a major voice in 20th century American cinema is obtaining such exposure at all.
Wiseman has visited similar territory before. Now he’s obtained what looks like all-areas access to the 19th century splendours of the Palais Garnier, home of Le Ballet de l’Opéra National de Paris and whose 12-year refurbishment was completed in 2006. The management presumably wanted to inaugurate the new era by inviting the esteemed documentarian onto the premises.
What results is, predictably, more celebration than investigation. We explore various crannies of the building, from those bowels in the opening shots to the rooftop apiary, though the bulk of the 159-minute running time, punctuated with somewhat drab Paris panoramas, consists of rehearsals and, finally, performances.
Audiences conversant with ballet’s current trends will be delighted with this emphasis ; the rest of us will have to content ourselves with the knowledge that ballet is “a gift to the public that they can feel without any explanation.” “Some things”, we’re told, “are unexplainable” – as Jean Cocteau is quoted here. “Sometimes, it’s up to the public to figure it out.”
That’s all very well – and it’s clear that, as previous ballet films have shown, from The Red Shoes to Billy Elliot, this particular form of artistic endeavour is physically punishing, requiring incredible skill and commitment. But whereas, say, Robert Altman’s The Company (2004) was a ballet picture even non-aficionados could appreciate and enjoy, La Danse – for all its virtues – ends up something of a slog.
The contrast between the rarefied “front of house” activity and the “backstage” goings-on – laundry, cookery, costuming – is fascinating, but Wiseman seems much more interested in the former than the latter. And his self-imposed restrictions prevent us from really getting a thorough understanding of how such a complex institution functions in the 21st century.
John Frankenheimer’s 1962 minor classic The Manchurian Candidate is a welcome reissue. Based on the novel by Richard Condon, it pivots on a figure evidently inspired by real-life Commie-hunting Senator Joe McCarthy. Except this time the McCarthy figure, John Iselin (James Gregory), is little more than a hapless George W Bush-ish front man for extreme right-wing machinations and plots, many of them involving his own wife (Angela Lansbury.) The “candidate” of the title isn’t Iselin, by the way, but his step-son Raymond Shaw (Laurence Harvey) although, confusingly, the latter isn’t running for any kind of public office.
The “Manchurian” element refers to events during the Korean War – from which Shaw came home a hero, along with his comrade-in-arms Bennett Marco (Frank Sinatra). Years later, Marco is plagued by a recurring nightmare. His subsequent attempts to find out exactly what really happened in Korea lead him directly to Shaw and his powerfully-connected family, and a plot (by pantomime baddie Russkies and Orientals) to create the perfect, conscience-free assassin…
Although informed by specific Cold War concerns, and dealing with internecine squabbles within the Republican Party, The Manchurian Candidate retains such boldness, irreverence and vigour to indicate it must have been years, even decades, ahead of its time. The initial release came just before the start of a wave of assassinations which was to alter the US political landscape irrevocably, and whose reverberations continue to be felt to this day.
Technically, The Manchurian Candidate is something of a marvel: inventively off-kilter monochrome cinematography by Lionel Lindon combines engagingly with the deadpan off-the-wall dialogue of George Axelrod’s complex screenplay, handled with consistent, controlled aplomb by the terrific cast. Incidental pleasures abound: Harvey, making zero attempt at an American accent, is hilariously icy as the unpleasant, perpetually sneering Shaw. But this is very much Lansbury’s show – she was rightly, Oscar-nominated for her turn as one of the greatest, sexiest villains in screen history.
Adventurous audiences should seek out a low-budget British thriller that will surely rank as one of the year’s finest domestic offerings. Crying With Laughter is a most entertaining and engaging affair from debutant writer-director Justin Molotnikov. And whereas so many British films founder on grounds of unnecessary melodrama, contrivance and coincidence, this one manages to turn those exactly elements to its advantage.
That’s because the whole film is, in effect, the illustration of a stand-up routine by its protagonist, Joey Frisk (Stephen McCole), an Edinburgh comedian on the brink of the big time. But while he’s successful and confident on stage, away from the spotlight it’s another matter. When he makes an ill-judged crack about a former school friend, he ends up knee-deep in blood-spattered trouble.
A synopsis of Crying With Laughter’s plot developments would make it sound like a typically convoluted, over-dramatic Brit-pic. But by putting all of this in the context of Joey’s act, barrelling the story along with frenetic gusto and building the whole thing around McCole’s terrific performance, Molotnikov more than gets away with it. McCole’s achievement is partly to be so utterly convincing as a stand-up (it’s no surprise to learn he trod the boards for real as part of his research) and partly because of how he socks over Joey’s charisma, vulnerability and cockiness – so that his progress from obnoxious, solipsistic schmuck to something resembling decent-bloke normality keeps us watching at every juncture.
Beeswax is the third feature from Andrew Bujalski, a 32-year-old Bostonian writer-director hailed in certain quarters as the saviour of American independent cinema after Funny Ha Ha (2002) and Mutual Appreciation (2005. Like that pair, this is another rough-edged, noodling affair in which genial but frustratingly self-absorbed 20- and 30-somethings chatter on (and on) about their lives, loves and finances.
Set mainly in a kooky Jane Austin vintage clothing boutique, Beeswax (focuses on twin sisters: blonde, brittle Jeannie, and brunette, easier-going Lauren (real-life siblings Tilly and Maggie Hatcher.) Jeannie is manager/co-owner of the store, while Lauren drifts between teaching jobs. Jeannie is also involved in a long-simmering dispute with Amanda (Anne Dodge), the shop’s co-owner and receives informal legal advice from her law student boyfriend Merrill (Alex Karpovsky). Minor mishaps ensue.
The Hatchers are fresh and appealing screen presences, while Beeswax at its
best captures the semi-articulate flow of conversation among a certain social stratum. Given Bujalski’s reported discomfort at being so closely associated with the no-budget, relationships-focused mini-genre known as “mumblecore”, however, one might have expected him to distance himself from such labels here. But while they’re educated and intelligent, nearly everyone has somewhat contrived communication problems. The result is OK as it goes, but Beeswax is perfectly content to burble along through 100 minutes without ever threatening to come up with much that’s surprising, troubling or unpredictable.
