My Favorite Films/Texts/Things (1976) (upgraded)

From the November-December 1976 Film Comment, and exhumed now mainly as a telling time capsule of this period in the world of English film criticism. I’m still indebted to Laura Mulvey for introducing me to Zoo, or Letters Not About Love in her own list, which has subsequently become a touchstone for me.

For illustrations, I’ve selected the first film cited in each list whenever possible, even when there’s no particular significance to the order (although I couldn’t come up with one for The Nightcleaners, so I’ve accorded the late Claire Johnston two other stills instead)….Because of a scanning error and oversight, I’ve had to omit two entries, those of David Pirie and Paul Willemen, which I hope to go back and insert at some future date. (March 6, 2011: These are now inserted.) In the remaining 27, I’ve corrected a few typos for the first time. — J.R.

I recently conducted a survey which consisted of asking thirty-five people in the U.K., all connected in some way to film, to provide me with two lists: twelve film titles and six texts or authom relevant to cinema. Although, in order to narrow my scope, I deliberately refrained from including any of the local critics who published “ten best” lists in the Winter 1971-72 Sight and Sound or the October 1969 Cinema, my essential aim wasn’t to supplement these lists but to try something a bit different. I invited each participant to add a brief explanation or description if she or he wanted to, with the idea that many quite reasonably feel that the entire notion of a ten-best list is debatable. Being interested in individual lists rather than tabulations, I also encouraged idiosyncrasy and permitted cheating (via ties, alternate choices or whatever), generally promoting the notion that I wanted existential self-definitions of some kind.

I basically had three motives: (1) Recalling my early days as a cinephile, in Manhattan in the early Sixties. I acknowledge the important role that lists had in my early film education, when I began to use the results of an international critics’ poll in the Winter 1961-62 Sight and Sound as a casual guide to my explorations. All things considered, I suspect it probably wasn’t and isn’t such a bad method to start off with. It gave me certain initial hints about which critics to read, for one thing (in terms of which writers chose to stand by which films). And although its pedagogic value is undoubtedly limited, it does provide the impatient student with some potentially stimulating short-cuts.

I wanted to get a loose cross-section of English tastes in film, as a matter of pure documentary interest. Consequently I extended my inquiry to include not merely critics, but people related to film in various ways. I obviously can’t claim that the results are or could have been in any way comprehensive, but I did make a conscious effort not to make the range of people I asked unduly exclusive, specialized, or slanted in any particular direction.

Finally, and more tentatively, I was interested in discovering how many people I asked would be willing to commit themselves in so stark a manner. The answer to (3) is twenty-nine, myself included. Within the limits of space and format, I’ve tried to adhere to the “form” as well as the “content:” of the responses, letting them speaak for themselves. –- J.R.

Nigel Andrews (film reviewer, The Financial Times): L’ATALANTE, BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS, BROADWAY MELODY OF 1938 (Roy del Ruth), DREAMS OF A RAREBIT FIEND (Winsor McCay), GERTRUD, I KNOW WHERE I’M GOING (Michael Powell, KINGS OF THE ROAD (Wim Wenders), LONG DAY’S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT, THE MAN WHO LAUGHS (Paul Leni), A NIGHT AT THE OPERA, THE PASSENGER, LA REGLE DU JEU. “Strictly a desert island selection — i.e., the twelve films I could watch most often without getting bored. I have cheated on only one entry — item number four is a series of cartoons,” Books: Durgnat on Film, Jean Renoir (Raymond Durgnat), The Pleasure Dome (Graham Greene), Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Adventures with 0. W. Griffith (Karl Brown), Godard on Godard (ed. Tom Milne).

Brian Baxter (deputy director, National Film Theatre; author, The Films of Judy Garland): “The films are in no special order after the first six and are selected on a highly personal basis as works which have convinced me of the possibilities that cinema can attain. The books are those which stimulated me most (and it shows I do not like reading about non-American films).” 1. A MAN ESCAPED; 2 AU HASARD BALTHAZAR; 3. LANCELOT DU LAC; 4. ORDET; 5. GERTRUD; 6. AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON (Ozu); UNE SIMPLE HISTOIRE (Hanoun), ONLY ANGELS HAVE WINGS, THE SEARCHERS, VOYAGE IN ITALY (Rossellini), THE WIZARD OF 02 (LeRoy/Fleming), THE MUSIC BOX (Laurel and Hardy), MARNIE, MONSIEUR VERDOUX. Books: Agee on Film, The American Cinema (Sarris), Memo from David O. Selznick, Westerns (French), The Stars (Edgar Morin), The Immediate Experience (Robert Warshow).

Geoff Brown (contributor, Monthly Film Bulletin, Sight and Sound): “The movies I choose have all provoked very strong (and mostly pleasurable) reactions from my Short Trouser period onwards, and thus contribute to my psychological make-up: GENEVIEVE, the Popeye cartoon A DREAM WALKING, TOP HAT, LONDON TO BRIGHTON IN FOUR MINUTES (a television filler of the 1950’s, when it was shown thrice daily, or so it seemed), HALLELUJAH!, LOUISIANA STORY, RESCUED BY ROVER (seven-minute British epic made by Cecil Hepworth in 1905), IT ALWAYS RAINS ON SUNDAY, STREET OF SHADOWS (lunatic British B-feature of 1953), VOYAGE SURPRISE, FLASH GORDON’S TRIP TO MARS, MONKEY BUSINESS (Marx Brothers). Some of the following critical texts aren’t critical and aren’t concerned with cinema, but all provide constant stimulus: Pauline Kael’s article ‘Raising Kane,’ Raymond Durgnat’s A Mirror for England, Eisenstein’s article ‘Dickens, Griffith and the Film Today,’ the luminously comic writings of Robert Benchley, Albert E. McLean Jr.’s American Vaudeville as Ritual (studying the interaction between a popular entertainment medium and its audience), the work of Nathanael West (an artistic, rather than academic treatment of the same theme),”

Richard Combs (editor, Monthly Film Bulletin; contributor, Sight and Sound): BARRY LYNDON, DUEL IN ME SUN, THE IMMORTAL STORY/TEN DAYS’ WONDER, SIGNS OF LIFE (Herzog), MAJOR DUNDEE, SEVEN WOMEN, THE TARNISHED ANGELS, TOL’ABLE DAVID,/LAZYBONES, ULZANA’S RAID/DUEL AT DIABLO, VAMPYR, LES YEUX SANS VISAGE/HOTEL DES INVALIDES, WALKING DOWN BROADWAY. Texts: Films and Feelings (Durgnat), “King Vidor’ (essay by Durgnat in Film Comment), “Roman Polanski” (article by Tom Nairn in Cinema), “Celluloid Apocalypse” (Notes on THE BIRDS by David Rudkin in Cinema), Elia Kazan issue of Movie, Godard on Godard. “A list of personal prejudices which gives preference to Westerns and horror films over thrillers, and to films distinguished by a certain rawness and incompleteness, either of subject (BARRY LYNDON) or form (MAJOR DUNDEE, WALKING DOWN BROADWAY), rather than by a classical perfection. Texts mainly for those directors who didn’t make it into the films.”

Steven Dwoskin (filmmaker; author, Film Is): In chronological order, GENUINE (Wiene), EARTH, THE MAN WITH A MOVIE CAMERA, THE SEASHEI.I. AND THE CLERGYMAN (Dulac), ORPHEE, PULL MY DAISY (Leslie/Frank), KISS (Warhol), FLAMING CREATURES (Smith), WAVELENGTH, HISTORY LESSONS (StrauB-Huillet). Books: In no order, Cocteau on Film, Film Sense (Eisenstein), The Rise of the American Film (Lewis Jacobs), Experiment in the Film (edited by Roger Manvell), Film and Its Techniques (Spottiswoode), Film Culture Reader (edited by P. Adams Sitney). “All selected in the context of independent film expression.”

Andi Engel (editor, Enthusiasm; contributor, Second Wave): “I deliberately took only films made in the last two years by people who are still making films.” In alphabetical order, CRIES AND WHISPERS; DIARIES, NOTES AND SKETCHES (Jonas Mekas); EADWEARD MUYBRIDGE, ZOOPRAXOGRAPHER (Thom Andersen), IN THE REALM OF THE SENSES (Oshima); HISTORY LESSONS; LA MAMAN ET LA PUTAIN (Eustache); MOSES UND ARON; NESSUNO 0 TUTTI (NOBODY OR ALL.) (Agosti, Bellochio, Petraglia, Rulli); NUMERO DEUX; THE TRAVELLING PLAYERS (Angelopolous). Writers: Walter Benjamin, Jay Leyda, Dziga-Vertov.

Simon Field (editor, Afterimage; contributor, Art and Artist): “Here are nine films that for varying reasons I consider indicate the directions of greatest importance within current filmmaking practice. have consciously limited myself to the period since 1972, thus keeping as near to the present as possible. Three can be considered parts of the English independent cinema: AFTER LUMIERE; L’ARROSEUR ARROSE (LeGrice); THE NIGHT-CLEANERS Part One; PENTHESILEA. The others are, in no particular order, INTRODUCTION TO ARNOLD SCHOENBERG’S ACCOMPANIMENT TO A CINEMATOGRAPHIC SCENE (Straub-Huillet), RAMEAU’S NEPHEW BY DIDEROT (THANX TO DENNIS YOUNG) BY WILMA SCHOEN (Snow), FILM ABOUT A WOMAN… (Rainer), WIDE ANGLE SAXON (Landow), INDIA SONG (Duras). As for important texts — again restricting myself to the last two or three years, and furthermore to those addressed to the current problems of an avant-garde cinema — I would cite those by Noël Burch and Peter Wollen (particularly their essays for Afterimage) and Annette Michelson.”

Joel Finler (author, Stroheim, All Time Movie Favorites; editor, GREED script): In no order, LA REGLE DU JEU, GREED, BELLE DE JOUR, PIERROT LE FOU, L’ATALANTE, INTOLERANCE, THE GENERAL, L*AVVENTURA, CITIZEN KANE, PINOCCHIO, Ozu in ther Thirties, THE GRAPES OF WRATH/MY DARLING CLEMENTINE/THE SEARCHERS. “Rather than twelve films, this is really a choice of twelve directors, with most of the films representative of a particularly fruitful period in their careers; i.e., Griffith during the Teens, Renoir during the Thirties, A necessary balance to this list is provided by my selection of twelve most underrated films: JUDGE PRIEST, THE DEVIL IS A WOMAN, MONKEY BUSINESS (Hawks), ROBIN HOOD (Dwan), BATTLING BUTLER, GERMINAL (Capellani), THE SHAME, LA NUIT DU CARREFOUR, TIRE AU FLANC (Renoir), BLIND HUSBANDS, YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, ME AND MY PAL (Laurel and Hardy. Books: Theory of Film Practice (Burch), Twenty-four Times a Second (Pechter) La Politique des Auteurs (interviews), Adventures with D.W. Griffith, Jean Renoir (Bazin), TV Movies (Maltin, 2nd edition),

Peter Gidal (filmmaker; author, Andy Warhol; contributor, Studio International): “The 2 lists below incorporate some of the films and books (& some plays) that have had a strong influence on my thinking, on my filmmaking, on my film theory.” In no order, Warhol: CHELSEA GIRLS, BLOWJOB, **** (silkscreens on paper and canvas); Eisenstein: STRIKE (OCTOBER); Vertov: ENTHUSIASM (sections of THE MAN WITH A MOVIE CAMERA); Gidal: ROOM FILM 1973/CLOUDS/CONDITION OF ILLUSION; Godard; Snow: WAVELENGTH/BACK & FORTH/CENTRAL REGION; Kren: TV/TREES IN ALTIUMN; Kubelka: SCHWECHETER; LeGrice: YES NO MAYBE MAYBE NOT/CASTLE 2/SPOT THE MICRODOT; Fuller: PICKUP ON SOUTH STREET; Bresson: MOUCHETTE: 2:45 (Raban)/FILM NO. 1 (Crosswaite)/ZORNS LEMMA (Frampton). “Books or essays (nothing on film as such): Althusser: For Marx, Lenin and Philosophy (anthologies); Beckett: How It Is/Molloy/Murphy/Watt/Dialogue with George Duthuit/Proust/ Imagination Dead Imagine/The Lost Ones; as staged with SB’s assistance: Not I (Waiting for Godot/Play/Footfalls/Come & Go/Endgame; Brecht; Gesarnmeite Werke (+ Kafka’s Betrachtungern, some stories) + Karl Valentin: Gesammelte Werke (written; and recorded on tape and film); Marx: Critique of the Gotha Program (with Engels’ notations), Mao: Four Essays on Philosophy, Engels: On Capital; some writings on Semiotics and post-Structuralism (about eight pieces) (& some Freud); Reading Finnegans Wake (record, with Cyril Cusack) (& Bellmer’s Die Puppe).”

Gillian Hannon (deputy head, Information and Documentation, British Film Institute): Inevitably a list of most valued films is apt to change with mood and circumstance, although a central core remains constant, it seems. Inevitably, too, there have to be many omissions. All the following films have given me great pleasure and continue to do so on repeated viewing, and they also ’stand in’ for other work by their directors and stars:* AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON, THE BAND WAGON, LA FEMME INFIDELE, FRENCH CANCAN, LIFE OF OHARU, MADAME DE…, THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, NOTORIOUS, OUT 1:SPECTRE, THE PRIVATE LIFE OF SHERLOCK HOLMES, THE SEARCHERS, THERESE DESQUEYROUX. The books are mainly those which I found particularly challenging and/or stimulating at the time of reading (in most cases, some years ago) and this omits books, which I value equally, that provided insights and information about particular films and directors or particular areas of the cinema. I have also included a book which greatly increased my appreciation of Japanese cinema by teaching me about Japanese traditions.” Theory of Film Practice, Nature of Film (Kracauer), The World of the Shining Prince (Ivan Morris), Signs and Meaning in the Cinema ( Wollen), Hitchcock’s Films (Wood).

Claire Johnston (editor, The Work of Dorothy Arzner: Towards a Feminist Cinema; co-editor, Frank Tashlin and Jacques Tourneur; contributor, Raoul Walsh, Screen): 1. The Berwick Street Collective’s THE NIGHTCLEANERS as read through Colin MacCabe’s essay “Realism and the Cinema: Notes on Some Brechtian Theses” (Screen, Summer 1974). 2. Raoul Walsh’s PURSUED as read through Paul Willemen’s essay “The Fugitive Subject” (EFF, 1974). 3. Laura Mulvey and Peter Wollen’s PENTHESILEA as read through Peter Wollen’s article ‘The Two Avant-Gardes” (Studio International, Nov.- Dec. 1975). 4. Ernst Lubitsch’s TROUBLE IN PARADISE as read through Stephen Heath’s essay “Film and System: Terms of Analysis” (Screen, Spring-Summer 1975). 5. John Ford’s YOUNG MR. LINCOLN as read through the Cahiers du Cinema analysis (No. 223, 1970). 6. Godard’s NUMERO DEUX as read through Walter Benjamin’s essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” (Illuminations). 7„ A combination of the London Women’s Film Group’s WHOSE CHOICE, Claudia Alemann’s THE POINT IS TO CHANGE IT, and Joyce Wieland’s RAT LIFE AND DIET IN NORTH AMERICA as read through Han Magnus Enzensberger’s essay “Constituents of a Theory of Media” (New Left Review, No. 64). 8. Chantal Akerman’s JEANNE DIELMAN, 23 QUAL DU COMMERCE –1080 BRUXELLES as read through Julia Kristeva’s essay “Signifying Practice and the Mode of Production” (EFF, 1976). 9. Dorothy Arzner’s DANCE, GIRL, DANCE as read through Laura Mulvey’s essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” (Screen, Autumn 1975). 10. A combination of Frank Tashlin’s ARIISTS AND MODELS and Nelly Kaplan’s PAPA, LES PETITS BATEAUX as read through Stephen Heath’s The Nouveau Roman. 11. A combination of Minnelli’s HOME FROM ME HILL and Fassbinder’s MARTHA as read through Freud’s essay “Family Romances”. 12. Tourneur’s ANNE OF THE INDIES as read through Joan Riviere’s essay “Womanliness as a Masquerade’ (in Psychoanalysis and Female Sexuality). “I have placed an emphasis in the listing on the reading of a film, not to underestimate the importance of filmmaking as a practice, but as a corrective to the assumptions underlying listings of this kind and traditional notions of film as an isolated artifact; instead, the act of filming and the act of reading should be seen together. I have chosen those readings which I think are important at the present time from the point of view of developments in film theory. My choice of texts reflects this approach: Marx as read through Althusser; Freud as read through Lacan; Brecht as read through Benjamin; Levi-Strauss as read through Juliet Mitchell; Lacan as read through Julia Kristeva; Enzensberger as read through Stephen Heath.)”

Mark Le Fanu (co-editor and contributor, Monogram): “Cinema: VIVRE SA VIE, LE MEPRIS; obsession: MOONRISE (Borzage), HUMAN DESIRE (Lang); comedy TROUBLE IN PARADISE, TO CATCH A THIEF; dance: THE BAND WAGON, FUNNY FACE; marriage: DREAMS (Bergman), VIAGGiO IN ITALIA, LATE SPRING (Ozu); history: THE LIFE OF OHARU, LITTLE BIG MAN, BARRY LYNDON; violence: MERRILL’S MARAUDERS (Fuller), RED LINE 7000 (Hawks); death: AN ACTOR’S REVENGE (Ichikawa), THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI. Texts: Godard on Godard, Sirk on Sirk.

Malcolm LeGrice (filmmaker; contributor, Studio International): “Twelve films in no particular order. Another day I might well produce a slightly different list.” T.V., (Kren), RAINBOW DANCE (Lye), 2:45 SECONDS (Raban), THE MAN WITH A MOVIE CAMERA (Vertov), RETOUR A LA RAISON (Man Ray), STRUCTURAL STUDIES (Birgit and Wilhelm Hein), THE FLICKER (Conrad), BALLET MECANIQUE (Leger), ALPHAVILLE (Godard), ONE SECOND IN MONTREAL (Snow), FILM PRINT (Gidal), SIRIUS REMEMBERED (Brakhage). I can think of no film critic or theorist whose work has been of any use to me. All influences have come tangentially from other areas — art, science, philosophy, politics, psychology.”

Colin MacCabe (member of Screen editorial board and contributor): “I have decided not to submit a list of films for two reasons. Firstly while the compiling of such lists can be an enjoyable activity in certain circumstances, the publication of the results can only, given the history of such lists, constitute a new elitism giving rise to new varieties of film snobbery. Secondly the nature of these lists determines that the emphasis must fall on ‘great works’ in such a way that the occasional pleasures of film are implicitly derided. Consequently any list of great films is pretentious and falls into the most traditional kind of film criticism….I do, however, think that there is some point in providing a list of texts which may be of use in the attempt to theoretically analyze film. Such a list cannot constitute a hit parade but rather a possible program of work. Paul Willemen’s ‘The Fugitive Subject’ (on PURSUED) and Stephen Heath’s ‘Film and System: Terms of Analysis’ (on TOUCH OF EVIL) provide examples of the most advanced analyses of film in which there is a real attempt to understand the interplay of the spectator as spectator sitting in the cinema and the spectator as he or she ‘utters’ or ‘enounces” the film, that is to say, as he or she accepts or refuses certain types of identification on the screen. This kind of ‘psychoanalytic’ reading can be further investigated (in relation to literature) in Roland Barthes’ S/Z. The weaknesses of these film analyses arise at the point at which they touch, on the one hand the very nature of visual pleasure, and on the other the relationship between the interplay in the cinema and the heterogenous social determinations which fix the site of that interplay. In order to elaborate these difficulties starting points might be found in the analysis of vision given by Jacques Lacan in Le Seminaire XI (Paris 1973) in the section entitled ‘Du regard comme objet petit a’ and, with regard to the area of social contradiction, in Louis Althusser’s “Notes for a Materialist Theatre” in For Marx. In order to develop Althusser’s comments a theory of meaning would need to be developed such that on could analyze the conditions of discursive contradiction. Such a theory is the aim of Michel Pecheux’s Les vérités de la Palice (Paris, 1975).”

David McGillivray (scriptwriter, HOUSE OF WHIPCORD, FRIGHTMARE, contributor, Films and Filming, Screen International): “I never see films more than once. Except these (in no order): KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS (Robert Hamer), THE PICTURE OF DORIAN CRAY (Albert Lewin), ON THE TWELFTH DAY (Wendy Toy), SUNSET BOULEVARD. SEANCE ON A WET AFTERNOON, KNIFE IN THE WATER, PSYCHO, NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD), STOLEN KISSES (Truffaut), THE EXORCIST, DON’T LOOK NOW (Roeg), THE WIZARD OF OZ. The seminal influence on my career was F. Maurice Speed’s Film Review, which I received every Christmas from the age of nine. When I discovered in 1964 that Monthly Film Bulletin published even longer lists of credits, it was love at first sight,”

David Meeker (central program adviser, British Film Institute; author, Jazz in the Movies): In chronological order, LES VAMPIRES, Div, NIEBELUNGEN, STEAMBOAT BILL JUNIOR, A PROP()S DE NICE, LA SIGNORA Di TUTTI, CITIZEN KANE, RED RIVER, THE MEDIUM (Menotti), STRANGERS ON A TRAIN, FRENCH CANCAN, THE SEARCHERS, LOLA: “The twelve movies that have most influenced my way of thinking about the cinema and which continue to give me the greatest pleasure. As far as I am consciously aware, only one text has any decisive and continuing effect, Lindsay Anderson’s article ‘Stand Up, Stand Up’ (Sight and Sound, Autumn 1956).”

John Morgan (proprietor, National Film Theatre Bookshop): BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. LES ENFANTS DU PARADIS,THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, THE PUMPKIN EATER, ON THE WATERFRONT, A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE, LAST TANGO IN PARIS, DEATH IN VENICE, LA GRANDE ILLUSION, MEMBER OF THE WEDDING. MOMENT OF TRUTH (Rosi), THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER (Robert Ellis Miller). Writers: André Bazin, Pauline Karl, Robin Wood. “Simply, the sort of film I value most, the type of Cinema I hope for, is one which, unconsciously, rather than deliberately and defiantly, embodies an affirmative and celebratory spirit — although the latter are rare enough to queue in the rain for. In small doses, the films in this list contain this spirit.”

Movie: “When approached to participate in this exercise, we thought a composite list would make more sense than individual ones. However, in trying to compile such a list we realized that we were ending up with a very orthodox list which gave no sense of the range of thinking on the magazine (which has four other editorial board members apart from us: Ian Cameron, Douglas Pye, Mark Shivas, and Robin Wood). We decided therefore on individual lists. With one exception (Michael Walker), we have not listed favorites but, as teachers as well as critics, we have gone for movies and texts useful in representing a range of issues and interests, while wishing to point to a general connection between usefulness and richness. With the exception of Michael Walker’s list of movies (in ranking order), listings are in alphabetical order.”

Charles Barr: A CANTERBURY TALE, LES CARABINIERS, THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOISIE EUROPA 51, FORT APACHE, THE GOLDEN VISION (Loach, for TV), THE LADY VANISHES, ORDET, THE PIRATE, SANSHO DAYU. Texts: Qu’est-ce que le cinema? (Bazin), “Propositions” (Burch and Dana, in Afterimage No. 5), Raymond Durgnat on Vidor (in FILM COMMENT), Thomas Elsaesser on Minnelli (in the former Brighton Film Review), Film as Film (V.F. Perkins), Personal Views (Robin Wood).

Jim Hillier: L’ATALANTE, LOLA, THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS, ME PALM BEACH STORY. PSYCHO, LA RECLE DU JEU, RIO BRAVO, 79 SPRINGS (Alvarez), VENT D’EST, WILD RIVER. Texts: Qu’est-ce que Ie cinema?, Film Form (Eisenstein), Initiation a la semiologie de !’image (Guy Gauthier), Film as Film, “Counter Cinema/VENT D’EST” (Peter Wollen, in Afterimage No. 4), Hitchcock’s Films (Wood).

V.F. Perkins: ANGEL FACE, LE CRIME DE MONSIEUR LANGE, LETTER FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN, THE LUSTY MEN, ThE PAJAMA GAME, RIDE LONESOME, SANSHO DAYU, TO BE OR NOT TO BE, TOUCH OF EVIL, THE WRONG MAN. Texts: The World Viewed (Stanley Cavell), Eisenstein’s theoretical essays in general, various essays by E. M. Gombrich, Sirk on Sirk edited by Jon Halliday (to represent my sense of the importance of statements by and interviews with filmmakers), Film as Film, Hitchcock’s Films.

David Pirie (contributor, Time Out; author, A Heritage of Horror): ” ‘In a word . . . emotion.’ Twelve films, in order, validating the cinema for me.” PEEPING TOM, SPLENDOR IN THE GRASS, QUATERMASS 2/ENEMY FROM SPACE (Guest), ALICE IN THE cities (Wenders), queimada! (Pontecorvo), LA COLLECTIONEUSE (Rohmer), something evil (Spielberg, TV movie), BIRDS ANONYMOUS (Friz Freleng “Sylvester” cartoon), MESSIAH OF EVIL/THE SECOND COMING, STRANGER ON THE THIRD FLOOR, THE HARDY GIRLS (director anon. - U.S. hardcore), BREEZY (Eastwood). Reading: Manifesto of Surrealism (1924, André Breton), V.F. Perkins editorial in Movie No. 1, Hitchcock’s Films, interview with Roger Corman by Chris Wicking and Vincent Porter in MidiMinuit Fantastique Winter 1964, Peter Wollen, La Mort du cinéma by Gerard Lenne, Variety.

Michael Walker: MADAME DE…, LETTER FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN, SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE, A TIME TO LOVE AND A TIME TO DIE, SANSHO DAYU, UGETSU MONOGATARI, THE GOLDEN COACH, LE BOUCHER, BEFORE THE REVOLUTION, WILD RIVER. Those critics I have found to have the most consistent quality: Andre Bazin (Qu’est-ce que le cinema?), John Belton (especially on Borzage, in The Hollywood Professionals, Vol. 3), Charles Eckert (especially “Shirley Temple and the House of Rockefeller,” in Jump Cut No. 2), Thomas Elsaesser (especially “Tales of Sound and Fury”, in Monogram No. 4), V.F. Perkins (especially Film as Film), Robin Wood (especially Personal Views).

Laura Mulvey (filmmaker; co-editor, Douglas Sirk; contributor, Screen): “Films that have influenced my thought: WRITTEN ON THE WIND; VERTIGO; MOROCCO; MADAME DE…, 2 OU 3 CHOSES QUE JE SAIS D’ELLE; JAGUAR (Jean Rauch); MACHORKA-MUFF (Straub); LIVES OF THE PERFORMERS (Yvonne Rainer); REASON OVER PASSION (Joyce Wieland); JEANNE DIELMANN, 23 QUAI RUE DE COMMERCE - 108O BRUXELLES (Chantal Akerman).” Two essays by Althusser (”Freud and Lacan,” in New Left Review, and “The State and Ideology”); reading Freud in a women’s group; Penelope Slinger’s 50%: The Visible Woman; Joyce Wieland’s True Patriot Love; Viktor Shklovsky’s novel, Zoo, or Letters Not About Love; Screen Autumn 1974 (with translations from Lef); Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space.

Lynda Myles (director, Edinburgh Film Festival; contributor, Roger Corman): In no order, LE GAI SAVOIR (raises problems); PENTHESILEA; QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS (raises questions); RED RIVER (formative experience); PURSUED (cf. texts); DANCE, GIRL, DANCE (feminist cinema); FILM ABOUT A WOMAN WHO… (uninhibited feminist cinema); THE SHOOTING (aberrant no. 1); the latest genuine New World production (aberrant no. 2); STRIKE (classical political cinema); QUEEN KELLY (?); THE GIRL CAN’T HELP IT (fun and foreground); THE SUN SHINES BRIGHT (disappearance of narrative). Reading: The American Cinema (formative no. 1), Movie No. 1 (formative no. 2); Wollen’s “Counter-Cinema” (modernism and the avant-garde); “Young Mr. Lincoln” (the problem of the text); Willemen’s “The Fugitive Subject: PURSUED” (a classic text); Johnston’s “The Place of Women in the Cinema of Raoul Walsh” (a key feminist text).

Chris Petit (film reviewer, Time Out): “Twelve unknown quantities that took me by surprise.” In no order, THE WONDERFUL COUNTRY (Parrish), LES YEUX FERMIS (Santoni) MESSIAH OF EVIL/THE SECOND COMING (Hyuck), TENSION (Berry), TRACK OF THE CAT (Wellman), STRANGER ON THE THIRD FLOOR (Ingster), LIGHTNING SWORDS OF DEATH (Misumi), THE FIEND WHO WALKED THE WEST (Douglas), DON’T MAKE WAVES (Mackendrick), THE SMALL BACK ROOM or AGE OE CONSENT (Powell), THE MAN WITH THE X-RAY EYES or NOT Of THIS EARTH (Corman), THE CAREY TREATMENT (Edwards). Texts: Script of PIERROT LE FOU, Godard on Godard, Signs and Meaning in the Cinema, Negative Space (Manny Farber), A Mirror For England, The Stars (Morin).

David Pirie (contributor, Time Out; author, A Heritage of Horror): ” ‘In a word . . . emotion.’ Twelve films, in order, validating the cinema for me.” PEEPING TOM, SPLENDOR IN THE GRASS, QUATERMASS 2/ENEMY FROM SPACE (Guest), ALICE IN THE cities (Wenders), queimada! (Pontecorvo), LA COLLECTIONEUSE (Rohmer), something evil (Spielberg, TV movie), BIRDS ANONYMOUS (Friz Freleng “Sylvester” cartoon), MESSIAH OF EVIL/THE SECOND COMING, STRANGER ON THE THIRD FLOOR, THE HARDY GIRLS (director anon. - U.S. hardcore), BREEZY (Eastwood). Reading: Manifesto of Surrealism (1924, André Breton), V.F. Perkins editorial in Movie No. 1, Hitchcock’s Films, interview with Roger Corman by Chris Wicking and Vincent Porter in MidiMinuit Fantastique Winter 1964, Peter Wollen, La Mort du cinéma by Gerard Lenne, Variety.

Jonathan Rosenbaum (assistant editor, Monthly Film Bulletin; contributor, Sight and Sound): “Films and texts which have contributed most to my present grasp of what is possible (and desirable) in cinema, and which I expect to learn the most from in the foreseeable future. The order is a rough, tentative estimate of how instructive and inexhaustible I currently believe them to be.” PLAYTIME (Tati); GERTRUD; TIN MINH (Feuillade); ZANGIKU MONOCATARI, SAIKAKU ICHIDAI ONNA, SHIN HEIKE MONOGATARI (Mizoguchi); IVAN THE TERRIBLE; WAVELENGTH; SPIONE (Lang); HITORI MUSUKO (Ozu)/THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS (Welles footage); LA NUIT DU CARREFOUR/BOUDU SAUVE DES EAUX/CHARLESTON (Renoir); MONSIEUR VERDOUX/LANCELOT DU LAC; 2 OU 3 CHOSES QUE JE SAIS D’ELLE, A BOUT DE SOUFFLE, ALPHAVILLE (Godard), To HAVE AND HAVE NOT/SUNRISE (sound Version)/IVAN (Dovzhenko)/VERTIGO; DUELLE, OUT 1: SPECTRE, CELINE ET JULIE VONT EN BATEAU, L’AMOUR FOU (Rivette). Texts: Burch: Theory of Film Practice, “Propositions” (with Jorge Dana), “To a Distant Observer Towards a Theory of Japanese Film” (in October No. I); “Dickens, Griffith and the Film Today’”/Russian formalist texts in Screen Autumn 1964 and Cahiers du cinema Nos. 220-221; The Pleasure of the Text (Roland Barthes)/The Worlds of Jazz (Andre Hodeir)/Cover to Cover (Michael Snow); “Preston Sturges: Success in the Movies” (Manny Farber, W. S. Poster); Godard on Godard, interview with Godard in Cahiers du cinema No. 194/Jean-Andre Fieschi’s texts on Tati; “Montage” (Narboni, Pierre, Rivette) in Cahiers du cinema No. 210/interviews with Rivette in Cahiers du cinema No 204 and La Nouvelle Critique No. 631, interview with Jean-Marie Straub and Daniele Huillet in Cahiers du cinema No. 223.

Peter Saintsbury (chairman, British Film Institute Production Board; co-editor, Afterimage): “A close association with cinema builds in the mind strata of influence, memory and reflection irreducible to notions of ‘ten best’: likewise one’s reading on the subject. So what follows is a selection from what is currently on the surface, a concern with the development of a modernist aesthetic in the cinema attended by the work of Jean-Luc Godard but especially ALPHAVILLE, 2 0U 3 CHOSES QUE JE SAIS D’ELLE, LE GAISAVOIR, VENT D’EST, NUMERO DEUX; all the work of Michael Snow; all the work of Jean-Marie Straub and Daniele Huillet; the work of Yvonne Rainer; Jacques Rivette’s OUT 1: SPECTRE; Marguerite Duras’ NATHAN GRANGER and INDIA SONG; Stan Brakhage’s DOG STAR MAN; Paul Sharits’ “S:STREAMS:SECTIONS…”. Hollis Frampton’s ZORNS LEMMA and HAPPAX LEGOMENA; Dziga Vertov’s THREE SONGS OF LENIN and MAN WITH A MOVIE CAMERA; Eisenstein’s STRIKE and OCTOBER; Ken Jacobs’ TOM TOM THE PIPER’S SON.” Signs and Meaning in the Cinema; Theory of Film Practice; Screen (Vols. 12-17); Afterimage (Nos. 4 & 5 especially); Annette Michelson’s writings in Artforum.

Paul Willemen (member of Screen editorial board and contributor; coeditor, Frank Tashlin, Jacques Tourneur): “Twelve pivotal texts in no particular order. NOTE: The following series is premised on the fact that there is no distinction between ‘a film’ and the way that film is read, i.e. that ‘film’ and ‘reading’ form part of the same textual space. The following titles must therefore be seen simultaneously as outlining the boundaries of such spaces and indicating the network of signifiers extending across it. The ‘titles’ themselves are not particularly important, only their conjunction, their imbrication, their interweaving. Young mr. Lincoln as read through the analysis by the editorial board of Cahiers du cinéma and the comments by Peter Wollen and Ben Brewster in Screen Vol. 13 No. 3 and Vol. 14 No. 3; TOUCH OF EVIL as constructed by Orson Welles and Stephen Heath in Screen Vol. 16 Nos. 1 and 2; a text I am tempted to entitle ‘The Inscription of the Look’ which consists of an interweaving of DYN AMO, GIRL, PURSUED, THE REVOLT OF MAMIE STOVER, Instincts and their Vicissitudes, Le Séminaire Vol. 11, Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema, celine et julie vont en bateau, De la Méconnaissance: Fantasme, Texte, Scene, Hitchcock’s Vision (authorial names marking this text are S. Dwoskin, R. Walsh, Freud, J. Lacan, J. Rivette, L. Mulvey, CB. Clément, Hitchcock, and Peter Wollen); THE NIGHTCLEANERS, constructed by the Berwick Street Collective, if read together with or through Brecht’s theoretical writing on the theater and the analysis of the film in Screen Vol. 16 No. 4; NORTH BY NORTHWEST as read through P. Wollen’s analysis in Film Form No. 1; RAMEAU’S NEPHEW BY DIDEROT (THANX TO DENNIS YOUNG) BY WILMA SCHOEN in conjunction with Chapter 10 of C. Metz’s Language and Cinema; TARNISHED LADY (credited to G. Cukor) read in conjunction with Helga Gallas’s account of Lukascsian aesthetics in her book on Marxist theory of literature; ‘PEACE MANDALA, SEVENTH HEAVEN, and STREET ANGEL’ (a space marked by the names of P. Sharits and F. Borzage) when read through Freud’s Contributions to the Psychology of Love, CB. Clement’s De La Méconnaissance: Fantasme, Text, Scene, and the passages of Maud Mannoni’s books dealing with the primal scene and the threat of psychosis; VENT D’ESTas put together by Godard, Gorin, and Wollen; NUMERO DEUX and PENTHESILEA (constructed by Godard, Wollen, and MuIvey) read through J. Kristeva’s La Revolution du Langue Poétique; ‘CHRISTOPHER STRONG, MERRILY WE GO TO HELL, and CRAIG’S WIFE’ (all under the sign of D. Arzner) read through Claire Johnston’s ‘Dorothy Arzner: Critical Strategies’ (in D. Arzner, Towards a Feminist Cinema).” The work of Barthes, Wollen, Metz read through Jakobson and Benveniste; Freud/Lacan, Marx/Engels/Mao read through Althusser; Screen since 1971.

Ken Wlaschin (director, National Film Theatre and London Film Festival; author, A Bluffer’s Guide to the Cinema; contributor, Films and Filming): “Twelve films with mythic and personal value to me: THE PASSION OF JOAN OF ARC (my first and most shattering experience with film as great art), Laurel and Hardy in WAY OUT WEST (the funniest and gentlest of comedies), L’ATALANTE (for creating a new understanding of cinema as poetry), AN AUTUMN AFTERNOON (the most sublime achievement of its kind), THE BIG SLEEP (favorite film, director, and writer), BREATHLESS (for heightening my consciousness about film), Tarkovsky’s SOLARIS (for proving that the SF films can create the same extraordinary sense of wonder as SF writing), MY DARLING CLEMENTINE (most mythic and moving Western by the master), Cottafavi’s HERCULES AGAINST ATLANTIS (for proving that peplum can be art), Angelopolous’ THE TRAVELLING PLAYERS (for turning politics into epic art), AN AMERICAN IN PARIS (for encouraging me to leave Nebraska), Robert Duvall’s WE’RE NOT THE JET SET (for showing that Nebraska wasn’t that bad after all, or at least had cinematic qualities). Six critics with a special value for me: Andrew Sarris (The American Cinema, etc.), Manny Farber (”Underground Films”), Raymond Chandler (for his writing about film), James Agee (the poet as film critic), Parker Tyler (the mythologist as film critic), Arthur Knight (for the first book on the cinema that I read and learned from).”

Published on 20 Nov 1976 in Notes, by jrosenbaum

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Truffaut & Me & Bazin (a memoir, a review, and three letters)

The first and last parts of what follows are taken (and in a few cases adapted) from my book Discovering Orson Welles. — J.R.

In spite of my five years of living in Paris, my grasp of French has always been mediocre — a weakness that over the years I’ve come to regard as a sort of disability, because I’ve made many efforts to overcome it. That François Truffaut had a similar (and similarly embarrassing) problem with his English set the stage for a rather awkward and uncomfortable afternoon in London between the two of us — with his assistant Suzanne Schiffmann often serving as mutual interpreter – after I’d signed with Harper & Row to carry out a translation of Bazin’s book on Welles, as well as a new Foreword to that book that Truffaut was writing. Truffaut undoubtedly came away from that afternoon with some understandable skepticism about why I’d been hired to do this job, while I emerged, somewhat defensively, with the impression that he was closer to being a nervous and irritable businessman than the sort of critic and director that I had formerly revered.

I hasten to add that I wasn’t bluffing when I’d praised in print Bazin’s 1950 monograph on Welles in 1971 as the best criticism published about him —- or at least not entirely. (This was a few years before I encountered James  Naremore’s The Magic World of Orson Welles, the first edition of which was published in 1978.) Like many other American film buffs of that era, I’d spent long hours reading it and many other French critical texts with what I’d retained from my college French courses and a French-English dictionary. During my years in Paris, I also read such books as Noël Burch’s Praxis du cinéma and Roland Barthes’ Le plaisir du texte and paged through countless issues of Cahiers du Cinéma, Positif, and other magazines and film books in the same manner.

So when I received an offer from Harper & Row to translate Bazin’s Orson Welles —- specifically, the posthumously published book of that title brought out by Editions du Cerf in 1972, which I knew less well than the 1950 Chavane monograph — after I moved from Paris to London, I was faced with a quandary: the job was too appealing to turn down, but I also knew that I could perform it adequately only with enormous effort, as well as help from some of my more bilingual friends in London. I also rationalized that here at last was the sort of challenge that could hopefully force me to master the language once and for all. So with a queasy mixture of optimism and resolve, I gritted my teeth and plunged in.

Ultimately, I used all the possible means at my disposal. After protracted stretches of wrestling alone with the text, I commissioned literal translations of some chapters from the late Jill Forbes —- a fellow film buff in Paris who taught French literature in London —- and spent many hours revising them, then annotating or correcting many of Bazin’s factual errors, which proved to be far more numerous than I’d anticipated. (I also commissioned my Paris friend Gilbert Adair, a passionate Cocteauvian, to translate Jean Cocteau’s charming Preface, and credited him for it.)

Finally, and most importantly, I benefited from the generosity of my flatmate at the time, Tom Milne — a superb translator who had already tackled Godard’s criticism and regularly subtitled French films for the BBC —- who went over my drafts line by line with the original and made many revisions and suggestions.

During the same period, I wound up having a much easier time corresponding with Truffaut, especially once we hit on the logical procedure of writing one another in our respective languages. While he was working on his own excellent Foreword and both soliciting and following most of my editorial suggestions (such as my arguments on behalf of  THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI, which he had treated somewhat dismissively in his first draft), he was also furnishing me on a regular basis with other texts of Bazin about Welles and encouraging me to incorporate the most interesting passages from them as footnotes. I was nevertheless a bit put off by a couple of details in his Foreword, which appeared towards the beginning and at the very end. He concluded the essay with the line, “On the plane between Paris and Los Angeles,” which was sheer invention (if memory serves, he was on Guernsey, one of the Channel Islands, at the time, shooting L’HISTOIRE DE ADELE H.) —- not a serious fib, but still slightly perturbing to me at the time. What bothered me more was the sentence concluding his third paragraph: “This little volume, superbly prefaced by Jean Cocteau, quickly went out of print and became a collector’s item, and in 1968, shortly before his death, sparked by enthusiasm for TOUCH OF EVIL, Bazin prepared a revised and expanded edition, published here in Jonathan Rosenbaum’s translation.”

Though I was ridiculously slow to realize this, this sentence was not only a fib —- in this case an unwitting one – but one that revealed that Truffaut hadn’t bothered to read or at least reread the two Bazin volumes in question, because the 1968 book wasn’t at all a “revised and expanded edition” of the 1950 one but a completely different text. It was also a markedly inferior one — written in obvious haste, and in some cases copying out passages from a poorly translated French version of an already not very reliable book in English by Peter Noble. But given my embarrassment about not having spotted this sooner, and my even greater sense of intimidation about confronting Truffaut with this discovery, I kept silent about it.

This led in turn to a growing resentment against Truffaut that eventually found expression in a brief diatribe in a “London and New York Journal” for the July-August 1976 Film Comment, reprinted on pages 26-27 of my collection Placing Movies: The Practice of Film Criticism (California, 1995):

“THE STORY OF ADELE H. , or GIDGET GOES HEGELIAN. Truffaut’s pretty, nonobsessive postcards about obsession are a gift to the eye in Nestor Almendros’s photography, but a dull bromide to the mind. Apart from offering a veritable film festival to the spectator who wants to wallow in self-pity and call it literary, the camera’s habit of cutting away to another quaintly posed setup every time the heroine’s perversity starts to become interesting only underlines how steadily Truffaut has been veering away from any serious risks. A crowd pleaser in the tradition of Chaplin, he has yet to make his MONSIEUR VERDOUX or A KING IN NEW YORK because he always looks for the easy way out.

“Much as his collected movie pieces . . . exclude all his polemical writing, and his editing of Bazin has tended to follow suit — with comparable implications of historical whitewash — this movie takes the tang out of its heroine’s madness by giving us a healthy, talented ingenue in place of an actress. Of course, one can understand Pauline Kael believing this to be a great work of art, just as one can understand many American intellectuals believing that Kael is a great aesthetician. Given the right sort of climate and training, anything’s possible, even the Nixon administration and snuff movies.”

This over-the-top outburst provoked the following exchange of letters with Truffaut. Both of Truffaut’s letters were written in French; the English translation here is Gilbert Adair’s, reproduced from Truffaut’s Letters (Boston/London: Faber and Faber, 1989, 461-464), which is now out of print:

9 Nov. 76

My dear Jonathan,

Thank you for your last letter and your kindness with regard to the book on Othello [Put Money in Thy Purse].

I would be a hypocrite and would feel ill at ease if I did not tell you how sad I was when I read an article of yours in Film Comment two months ago.

You don’t like Adèle H. That is your privilege as a critic, as it is not to admire Isabelle Adjani. Except, why, when I asked nothing of you, did you say such nice things to me about Adèle in a letter written when you returned from New York?

With regard to my book, Les Films de ma vie, it contains several negative pieces: on Albert Lamorisse, Anatole Litvak, Jacques Becker (Arsène Lupin), Mervyn LeRoy and René Clément….Moreover, if I decided against publishing my negative criticisms of Yves Allégret, Jean Delannoy, Marcel Carné, etc., it is because these directors are now old men […] and it would be needlessly cruel of me to hamper their efforts to continue working. It’s a situation you will understand better when you are a little older. That said, I accept your criticism of the book.

The writings of André Bazin: there, I really don’t understand what it is you object to. The choice of texts? That was determined by what the publishers would accept or refuse and by the fact that Bazin himself had made a selection of his best articles for his book, Qu’est-ce que le cinéma?. As I think I already told you in a previous letter, my aim in publishing Bazin’s articles was a twofold one: to acquaint British and American film students with his work and also to help Janine Bazin who found herself in difficulties when French television canceled her series of programmes Cinéastes de notre temps.

If I had written you you two months ago after reading your article, my letter would probably have been violent and unjust. Since then, my anger has subsided, but not a certain sadness, since I continue to feel that there was an incompatibility between the spirit of your article and the friendly tone of your letters. Dr Jonathan and Mr Rosenbaum?

In any event, I remain grateful for the care and attention with which you translated the Bazin-Welles; I hope the publishers conduct themselves in a more satisfactory fashion during the final stage of the project and I wish you the very best of luck,

Truffaut

P.S. I’ve been detained in Montpellier by the shooting of my new film, The Man Who Loved Women, it will therefore be impossible for me to come to the London Film Festival.

***

12 November 1976

Dear François,

I’m very sorry about the distress that my remarks in Film Comment have caused you. They have brought home to me Faulkner’s remark that the critic addresses himself to everyone except the artist. My anger was chiefly directed against a particular critical climate in America, which included the reception of L’Histoire de Adèle H. and Bazin — what I believed to be an essentially unreflecting attitude that overlooked too many things and accepted too much too easily. Frankly, I did not expect that you would read these remarks, and feeling relatively powerless, I did not believe that they would have much effect on anyone: they were a kind of protest against a myth — or what I believe to be a myth — that will surely outlast me.

I’ve just re-read my letter to you of last April 22nd, which ended by saying that I admired many things in L’Histoire de Adèle H. (and was written about a month before I wrote those two paragraphs for Film Comment). I do admire many things about the film, and was not being insincere when I mentioned this in a letter. I admire it enough, in fact, to feel a very strong disappointment that it did not pursue some of its obsessional aspects further — something that I didn’t mention in my letter because I felt it would have been rude in that context for me to say so. Whatever my misgivings about your recent work, the fact that I connect it with Chaplin’s is — for me, at any rate — very high praise indeed. When I saw L’Argent de poche last week, I was struck by this relationship again, above all in the teacher’s speech at the end, which reminded me a great deal of Chaplin’s speech at the end of The Great Dictator – above all, because of its sincerity.

Perhaps the split that you see in my behavior — Dr Jonathan and Mr Rosenbaum — is based on what seems to me a kind of split in your own work. In much the same way, the ‘real’ Bazin for me is the Bazin who wrote the original Chavanne edition of Orson Welles more than the one who revised it by eliminating much of the theory and polemics and largely replacing it with information (much of it incorrect) taken from the French translation of Peter Noble’s Welles book. And my misgivings about your publication of Bazin’s texts — which I support in all other respects — is that it completely avoids problems of this kind, as if they didn’t exist. In spite of your admirable desire for me to incorporate other writings by Bazin on Welles in the book, I feel that the book still represents Bazin’s contribution incompletely, and I regret the absence of any acknowledgment in your introduction that much of what he eliminated in the Chavanne edition remains very important, theoretically as well as historically. In this respect, I felt that you were ‘passing on’ the book but not presenting it in the way that you present Welles’ own work — which I feel that you do very well and effectively. Perhaps I should have written to you about this at the time; shyness prevented me from doing so.

None of this, I should add, has anything to do with the help, encouragement and kindness that you have shown me in relation to the Welles book at every stage, all of which I continue to appreciate. And I can only express my regrets that my instinct as a critic conflicted with our own relationship, for whatever my misgivings about certain aspects of your work, I bear you no ill will. As someone whose own early criticism once led him to be barred from the Cannes Film Festival, I’m sure that you know a great deal more than I do about the perils and consequences of being an aggressive critic, but lately I’ve been discovering quite a few of these on my own.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Rosenbaum

***

Montpellier, 29 November 1976

My dear Jonathan,

Thank you for your letter of 12 November, I was very touched by it. My only regret is that we didn’t write to each other more often about Bazin’s book on Welles. It was André S. Labarthe who put together the French edition, and my sole involvement was finding an American publisher, who accepted the book only on condition that I write a lengthy preface.

Bazin himself had revised the text of the Chavanne edition for a chapter on Welles in a book that was to be edited by Pierre Leprohon, and the project fell through.

If I had known that you regarded the Chavanne edition as superior, Janine Bazin and I would have given you the go-ahead to combine the two editions. Now it’s too late.

I am unable to write at greater length, as I am shooting a film, but I remain

yours truly,

françois

***

Truffaut and I met again only once after that, some years later — briefly and cordially, at a New York Film Festival party, after I’d moved back to the states.

I take no pride in this whole episode, since it seems to me that Truffaut and I were both to blame for what finally emerged as Orson Welles: A Critical View (Harper & Row, 1978) —- the product, I now conclude, at least in part, of our mutual paranoia stemming from my poor grasp of French (even though it still includes a mainly first-rate Foreword by Truffaut, and some passages of considerable interest by Bazin). But I’ve recounted this story in such detail because it seems to me emblematic of the kind of misapprehensions and misunderstandings that sometimes yield what we call film history, which includes the history of film criticism. And the degree to which Welles and our view of him have often been casualties of this kind of carelessness shouldn’t be underestimated.

Published on 09 Nov 1976 in Notes, by jrosenbaum

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FOOLISH WIVES (1976 review)

From Monthly Film Bulletin, November 1976 (Vol. 43, No. 514). –- J.R.

Foolish Wives

U.S.A., 1922                          Director: Erich von Stroheim

Cert—A. dist–BFI. p.c–Universal Super Jewel. p–Carl Laemrnle. asst. d–Edward Sowders, Jack R. Proctor, Louis Germonprez. special asst. to Stroheim–Gustav Machaty. sc–Erich von-Stroheim. ph–Ben Revnolds, William Daniels. illumination and lighting effects—Harry J. Brown. ed–Erich von Stroheim, (release version: Arthur D. Ripley). a.d—E. E. Sheeley, Richard Day. scenic artist—Van Alstein [Alstyn]. technical d–William Meyers, James Sullivan, George Williams. sculpture–Don Jarvis. master of properties–C. J. Rogers. m—[original score by Sigmund Romberg]. cost–Western Costuming Co., Richard Day, Erich von Stroheim. titles–Marian Ainslee, Erich von Stroheim. research asst-J . Lambert. l.p—Rudolph Christians/Robert Edenson (Andrew J. Hughes), Miss Du Pont [Patsy Hannen] (Helen Hughes), Maude George (“Princess”Olga Petschnikoff), Mae Busch (“Princess” Vera Petschnikoff), Erich von Stroheim (”Count” Sergei Karamzin), Dale Fuller (Maruschka), Al Edmundsen (Pavel Pavlich, the Butler), Cesare Gravina (Signor Gaston), Malvina Polo (Gaston’s Daughter [Marietta]), Louis K. Webb (Dr. Judd), Mrs. Kent (Mrs, Judd), C.J. Allen (Albert I, Prince of Monaco), Edward Reinach (Secretary of State of Monaco). 2,765 ft. (at 24 f.p.s.) 77 min. (16 mm.) Original 35mm footage–l4,l20 ft.

Monte Carlo, 1919. “Count” Wadislas Sergei Karamzin, living in a luxurious villa with “Princesses” Olga and Yera Petschnikoff, who pose as his cousins, receives a visit from Signor Gaston, a lower-class counterfeiter who supplies him with fake banknotes, accompanied by his retarded and attractive young daughter. After reading in the paper about the arrival of the wealthy Mr. Hughes and his wife Helen from America, Karamzin contrives to meet the latter on the terrace of her hotel while her husband is being received at the palace by Prince Albert, and a flirtation ensues. On a country outing during which Olga comes along as chaperone, Karamzin and Helen are caught in a storm; after he finds shelter for the night in a hut belonging to a crippled old woman, Karamzin sends one of Olga’s two dogs back to the inn with a note asking Olga not to leave until they’ve returned. Karamzin secretly watches Helen change into the crone’s dry rags with the aid of a pocket mirror, and then tries to seduce her, but is interrupted by the arrival of a monk. Returning to Monte Carlo the next day and leaving Helen at her hotel, Karamzin is reminded by his maid Maruschka of his proposal of marriage to her; faking tears with the aid of a finger bowl, he persuades her to give him all her savings. That night, at the casino, he helps Helen win an enormous sum of money and makes a date with Mr. Hughes for a poker party. Later, he entices Helen to his villa with a love note and tells her he must pay off a gambling debt of 95,000 francs by morning. She offers to give it to him; but Maruschka, watching the couple through a keyhole, becomes enraged and sets fire to the villa. After fire-engines arrive, Karamzin insists on jumping into the net ahead of Helen. Maruschka kills herself by leaping from a precipice into the sea. In his hotel with Helen, Hughes discovers Karamzin’s love note; he rushes to the casino and knocks him down. Later that night, Karamzin climbs a trellis into the bedroom of Gaston’s daughter. Leaving the villa, Olga and Vera are intercepted by the police, presented with their criminal records, and stripped of their wigs. Karamzin, now dead, is dragged outside by Gaston and deposited in a sewer.

“This print, although fragmentary, is the most complete in existence today”, reads the title introducing this edition of Stroheim’s masterpiece, reconstructed by Arthur Lennig at the American Film Institute by editing together footage from the Italian and American versions (which are substantially different in many respects — vide Jacques Rivette in Cahiers du Cinéma No. 79). Astonishingly, it is the only Stroheim film in distribution in this country, and like all his other surviving films (excepting only Blind Husbands, the first) it represents merely a fragment of his original work. “They are showing only the skeleton of my dead child”, he remarked after the film’s release in 1923; by then, the 21,000 feet of his own ‘final version’ — an 11,000-foot reduction of the film he first edited — was pared down by a third for the New York premiere (which reportedly ran for 210 minutes, with a 5-minute intermission), and then by another 4,000 feet for national release, before a group of censorship bodies proceeded to make further ravages. Considering all these reductions, it would perhaps be only a slight exaggeration to call the Foolish Wives that we have today just a few of the bones left in the skeleton, as magnificent as these relics might be. Like a palimpsest, this version bears traces of interference not only in its gaps but in what remains: ‘Signor Gaston’ is the name in the Italian version for a character originally known as ‘Cesare Ventucci’, and the wealthy Andrew J. Hughes — prophetically known as ‘Howard Hughes’ in the complete Italian version — who started life as a “special American envoy” and ambassador to Monaco, now appears in the film “on a commercial mission from America” which is never clarified. (As far as possible, the above credits and synopsis reflect the film’s present condition; one should add that Rudolph Christians — the actor playing Hughes — died in mid-production and was replaced by Robert Edenson, who apparently figured only fleetingly as a double in the remaining scenes.) Yet what survives is still so formidable on its own terms that it leaves no doubt about Stroheim’s brilliance as a director and actor; no other work offers as much evidence of his talent in both capacities. Half a century later, the multiple ambiguities concerning Stroheim’s own legend and public persona serve to enhance the plot of Foolish Wives on so many different levels that it remains as difficult now as it was then to isolate the film from its maker. During production, Universal put up an electric sign on Broadway reporting the film’s cost at weekly intervals, with the director’s name given as o’$troheim”. Coupling this with Karamzin’s extravagance as ‘actor’ and’ director’ (wheedling money out of Helen and Maruschka alike with fake tears, ’staging’ any number of grandiose scenes to further his designs) and Stroheim’s own presence in the plot as author –- Helen is seen reading a book called “Foolish Wives by Erich von Stroheim” when Karamzin first meets her, and the same book reappeared in oracular fashion at the end of the original version to counsel Helen on the folly of her ways — one realizes that the film’s pleasure is predicated on the audience’s recognition of artifice and pretense throughout. Insofar as Karamzin’s monocle suggests a camera lens and his counterfeit money provides the fictional counterpart of Stioheim’s ‘precise reproduction’ of Monte Carlo in studio sets, the entire film can be read as an autobiographical account of how much an ‘imposter’ can get away with — and how much, indeed, we want him to get away with it. (“Here is a real trip to Monte Carlo”, reads one of the film’s original ads. “Go! Gamble, make love, talk French, be a devil of a fellow… $6000 worth of almost wicked thrills a minute”.) Teasingly ambiguous from the word go, the film introduces us to Karamzin doing target practice — firing towards the camera, as if to give us fair warning — before he settles down to a sumptuous breakfast of caviar on his villa terrace, which is lovingly enclosed within an iris. But the action is set only three months after the Armistice of November 11, 1918, and emblems of the War providing a bitter counterpoint to this opulence are never far away: Monte Carlo is teeming with veterans, and even at the country inn, a little boy in an oversized army helmet is seen picking his nose next to Karamzin’s café table. For the most part, Stroheim keeps such evidences of deprivation tucked into the margins of the plot, which makes their appearances all the more striking — particularly in the running motif of the supposedly rude veteran who fails to pick up Helen’s dropped book and purse at her hotel on separate occasions, and who subsequently proves to be armless, cruelly implicating the spectator’s own earlier assumptions along with the heroine’s. An equal measure of contrast is offered by the slum where the counterfeiter lives with his daughter and where Karamzin eventually perishes (although it is never made clear why the counterfeiter chooses to live in such impoverished circumstances). In the original version, Katamzin’s corpse was last seen “floating out to sea with other rubbish”, and his rape of the daughter (completed in Stroheim’s synopsis, but ‘attempted’ in most accounts of the original version) and subsequent death at the counterfeiter’s hands were apparently visible as well. But just as crucial an element in the plot’s dark underside is Karamzin’s passionate and homely maid Maruschka; perhaps the film’s most electrifying moment is the extended close-up of Dale Fuller behind a bed-rail after discovering Karamzin’s deception, where one can actually observe the revenge being hatched in her eyes. In a movie where the looks that characters give one another define the central terms of evaluation — Karamzin’s ‘inventory’ of the daughter is no less an ‘estimate’ than Helen’s sizing up of Karamzin — it should be noted that the extraordinary photography of Ben Reynolds and William Daniels captures the varied textures of Stroheim’s world in such vivid detail that the spectator’s eyes are given a comparable workout. Invited to explore the density and diversity of an obsessive imagination, one finds it difficult not to become as implicated in the ambiguity of its charms and postures as the director himself.

JONATHAN ROSENBAUM

Published on 07 Nov 1976 in Notes, by jrosenbaum

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THE LAST WOMAN (1976 review)

From Monthly Film Bulletin, November 1976, Vol. 43, No. 514. — J.R.

Ultima Donna, L’ (The Last Woman)

ltaly/France, l976

Director : Marco Ferreri

Cert—X. dist–Columbia.Warner. p.c—Flaminia Produzioni Cinema

(Rome)/Les Productions Jacques Roitfeld (Paris). p—Edmondo Amati.

p. managers–Maurizio Amiti, Roberto .Giussani. asst. d—Enrique

Bergier, Bernard Grenet. sc–Marco Ferreri, Rafael Azcona, Dante Antelli.

story–Marco Ferreri. collaboration on dial–Noël Simsolo. ph—Luciano

Tovoli. col—Eastman Colour. ed–Enzo Meniconi. a.d—Michel de Broin.

m—Philippe Sarde. m.d—Hubert Rostaing. cost—Gitt Magrini. sd. ed—

Gina Pignier, sd. rec–Jean-Pierre Ruh. l.p—Gérard Depardieu (Gérard),

Ornella Muti (Valérie), David Biggani (Pierrot), Michel Piccoli (Michel),

Renato Salvatori’ (René), Giuliana Calandra (Benoîte), Zouzou (Gabrielle),

Nathalie Baye (Girl in Shopping Mall), Soulange Skyden (Girl at Night-club),

Carole Lepers (Anne-Marie), Daniela Silverio (Jane), Vittorio Ganfoni

(Policeman with Dogs), Guerrino Totis. 9,799 ft. 109 mins. French dialogue;

English subtitles.

French titleLa Dernière Femme

Gérard, a young engineer whose wife, Gabrielle, has recently left him, meets

Valérie, the attractive teacher at the factory nursery where he goes to collect his

thirteen-month-old son Pierrot, and invites her home with him; she agrees, and is

assured by her lover Michel that he won’t interfere. After they make love, Gérard

leaves Pierrot with his friends Valérie and Benoite so that he can take Valérie to a

night-club. Valérie calls Michel from the night-club and goes off to see him;

when she returns to Gérard’s high-rise flat, he jealouslv insists on masturbating

instead of making love to her. In the morning, Gabrielle visits with her friend

Anne-Marie and Gérard tries to throw them out. Valérie’s trunk is brought

to the flat, and Gérard opens it in her absence to examine its contents; when

Valérie returns and discovers this, she phones Michel in disgust and says she wants

to leave. Gérard tries to pick up another woman at a shopping mall; returning home,

he finds Michel there with Jane, a newly acquired lover, and learns that Michel

is unwilling to take Valérie back. Valérie decides to stay temporarily with

Gérard. Building a toy cannon for Pierrot, Gérard argues that male dominance and

a man’s penis is everything, and scoffs at Gabrielle’s feminist activities. After

telling Valérie that he’ll refrain from having sex with her to prove his love, he

tries unsuccessfully to seduce Benoîte; Valérie agrees to make love with him,

and they stay briefly at an expensive hotel. After a heated quarrel, Valérie hits

Gérard with a hammer and he slaps her. Later, after repeating Valérie’s

accusation that he’s one of the patriarchs of families that no longer exist, Gérard

cuts off his penis with an electric knife; he cries out in pain while Valérie, who

holds a wailing Pierrot, also screams.

An honest and deeply felt expression of psychic imprisonment, Marco Ferreri’s

The Last Woman — hampered somewhat by subtitles that are rather interpretative

and approximate — is at once enhanced and restricted by the director’s intuitive

methods. Enhanced because his loose improvisational manner habitually opens

up the apparent subjects of his films into sprawling behavioural frescos, granting

his characters and plots all the elbow-room they need to stretch out comfortably

and creatively inside a thesis; restricted because the theses themselves usually turn

out to be somewhat confused and shallow. In La Grande Bouffe, it was the

ambivalent parable about consumer society consuming itself to death, which an

audience was invited simultaneously to condemn and giggle at; in Touche pas la

Femme Blanche (still unseen in the U.K.), it was the false good idea of staging

a Third World Western parody in the wreckage and craters left by Paris’ dismantled

dismantled wholesale fruit and vegetable market — a conceit enlivened only by

the spirited acting, which suggested the frolics of children in a sandbox. Gérard

in The Last Woman, inventively played by Gérard Depardieu, is no less

childish and oafish than many of Ferreri’s other earthy heroes as he rants and

raves about his obsession with his and his infant son’s penis, lording over his flat

like an overgrown baby himself’. If the director sees to it that Valérie (Ornella Muti)

feeds Gérard all his key lines (“You’re the patriarch of a family that no longer exists”),

it is none the less apparent that he is the only one in the film who can properly be

called a character; everyone else serves as a foil to his manic self-absorption. Yet

thanks to Ferreri’s own obstinacy in pursuing this monotonous phallocratic theme, the

film conveys a powerful sense of bearing witness to itself; even the dogged literalness

with which this theme is ‘fleshed out’ — the emphasis on Depardieu’s nudity

throughout, the graphic self-immolation at the end – clarifies the degree to which the

film’s overriding sensibility can be couched only in terms of pure physicality. And it

is on the physical rather than the intellectual plane that the film achieves something;

on the sheer tactile level of settings (plastic French suburbia in a high-rise wasteland)

and characters (man, woman and child), it carries a raw assertiveness that is rare in

modern cinema, a kind of candour whose ultimate expression can perhaps be found

only in Pasolini’s remarkable Salò. Ironically, this physicality in both films is

permitted to exist only by assuming the form of a parable in a world defined by its

isolation from the one we usually know: is significantly never seen at work, and the

various time ellipses suggest that the narrative follows an inner logic not bound by

the usual requirements of plot. “I don’t understand women, I have a masculine

vocabulary, I was formed, brought up in a masculine culture”, Ferreri states in a

recent Cahiers du Cinéma, voicing much the same circular solipsistic argument that

Gérard advances. In Dillinger is Dead, a similar sense of frustration led to casual

murder and dream-like escape. Here it comes face to face with its own contradictions,

Which it is then incapable of going beyond, so that the hero’s removal of his organ

becomes merely one final, desperate way of asserting its importance. But the film’s real

tragic absence is the family, which is kept perpetually out of reach; the three cries at the

end remain painfully separate.

JONATHAN ROSENBAUM

Published on 03 Nov 1976 in Notes, by jrosenbaum

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