bdpennington

"Stranger than Paradise" is a stark and beautiful film. It could almost pass for Kerouac on film: the loneliness of America and the quiet desperation that is so brutally obvious and ever-present in its silence. And there are very few filmmakers who would have the daring or the insight to include long moments of silence such as "Stranger" has. Leave it to the existentialists to break a film-school taboo.

This is obviously not a film to show your college drinking buddies. That's a good thing, though. It's a film that meditates, for lack of a better term. And it demands that the viewers meditate, contemplate the grey, endless skies and the endless layer of white that makes most life dormant or sluggish during winter.

And when the characters arrived in Florida, it almost took me back to my childhood days when my family and I would arrive, by car, to some small town somewhere in America during summer; it brought to me that same sort of mild despair and disorientation that returning home from the family roadtrip always inspired.

And, I dont know, there's something then altogether tragic about Florida in winter anyway. There's an eternal longing in these characters and I think we can feel it even more because of the landscapes Jarmusch used in this film. A Florida motel in winter, with the sun beating down; and Cleveland, during the same winter, soulless and icy.

Beautiful, beautiful film and it's hard to stop commenting on the feelings it brings out. Shame though that Jarmusch hasnt really made a film that is as daring or expressive as "Stranger."

Woody Allen has in many of his films made references to Ingmar Bergman. It was not until 1978's dark, haunting "Interiors" however that Woody pulled out all the stops. The film posters featured the Bergmanesque profiles of Diane Keaton and the other main players (whose names escape me). The textures were reminiscent of Bergman films such as "Cries and Whispers." Since I was sadly too young to see "Interiors" when it was released, I can only wonder if people might have been quick to call it a Bergman ripoff?

Well, I dont know what people said of the film during its release, but I do know that it is far from a ripoff. "Interiors" was at once a salute to Bergman and his art, and proof that Woody Allen was far from a one-joke man. "Interiors" is more-than-ample evidence to naysayers that Woody Allen is a filmmaker of depth and range; i.e., a serious filmmaker.

"Interiors" is to be sure a bleak film. Self-obsessed, yes. Some would say that these chilly characters inspire little or no sympathy.

This is however the very point of "Interiors." It is a story about isolation and despair; about people who dont see, or feel no desire to be a part of, an outside world. Geraldine Page, so brilliant in this film, tapes the outside world out.

Yes, it is very hard to sympathize with these chilly characters; that is the point. Woody Allen has never made it his job to paint characters who are saints. He is always critical of the characters that populate his films.

The film is also a great commentary on the society (& times) in which we live. We are a self-obsessed, destructive people. "Interiors," like "Crimes and Misdemeanors," shows us just how close we all are in this society to walking off an edge from which there can be no return.

We are also left asking ourselves the chilly, frightening question: Can we care that there is no return?

Rent this film, if you want to see Woody do something other than comedy. It's disturbing; but most Art should be.

Generally, either "Seventh Seal" or "Persona" is the film that a critic will name if s/he is stuck with the task of naming Ingmar Bergman's greatest achievement. A couple others might be named, but rarely do you hear a critic espouse the brilliance of "Autumn Sonata."

The first thing I noticed about this film is that it is, like "Cries and Whispers," nothing less than a painting. The textures, the warm reds and the close-ups of the faces of wounded souls, all combine to make the viewer realize that s/he is witnessing High Art.

Then there's the shot of Liv Ullman's wounded profile as she stares at her mother, Ingrid Bergman, while mother shows Liv how the Chopin piece should be played. It is an eloquent scene. Truly heartbreaking and unforgettable. One can feel Liv's pain begin to show itself: it is the painful shame of inadequacy and mediocrity made all the more shameful because it is mother inspiring these feelings in her.

Later, it's Liv's cruelty toward her mother in that unforgettable late night diatribe.

And finally, it's Liv's crippled sister and Ingrid's disgust at the thought that not only did mediocrity crawl out of her womb, but so did deformity and suffering.

The film is bleak (obviously) and the resolution is only slightly hopeful. It is however a masterpiece -- a film that reveals that what the world needs now is not Love, as the song proclaims, but Compassion and Grace. Liv Ullman is the only actress who can say these things without opening her mouth. Ingmar Bergman is the only filmmaker who can make a seemingly banal story into an eloquent prayer for redemption and reconciliation.

(CAUTION: Dont take mom to see it on mother's day ... unless...)