While postwar British cinema and the British new wave have received much scholarly attention, the misunderstood period of the 1970s has been comparatively ignored. Don’t Look Now uncovers forgotten but richly rewarding films, including Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now and the films of Lindsay Anderson and Barney Platts-Mills. This volume offers insight into the careers of important filmmakers and sheds light on the genres of experimental film, horror, rock and punk films, as well as representations of the black community, shifts in gender politics, and adaptations of television comedies. The contributors ask searching questions about the nature of British film culture and its relationship to popular culture, television, and the cultural underground.
An original collection of recent interviews with filmmakers whose works represent the trends in the film industries of their respective countries. Preceding the interviews, the author provides an introduction delineating historical information regarding the film industries of the countries included in the book.
Each interview comprises of stills from important films discussed and a bio/filmography of the artist. In addition to creative concerns, the focal point of the interviews is to position the filmmaker within the social or political context of their respective country. The striking variety in approaches towards each interview creates a rich diversity of tone and an overwhelming impression of animation within the text. Cinemas of the Other offers a carefully researched and detailed first-hand account on the developments and trends in specific regional film industries.
The lives of a man, a cat, and a goldfish intersect in unexpected ways.
Quote:Pauline et François contains little in the way of emotive revelations or garment rending histrionics. Its dramatic climax, if one can call it that, is a relatively minor moment of moral weakness thatâs quickly discovered and rectified. The film is neither artfully minimal nor flashily intense. But it is a haunting and compelling construction, built only with the most rudimentary of filmmaking tools. And Felyâs honest labor rewards his viewers with a memorable perspective of one familyâs drift down the meandering river of time.
Again, it is a portrait of a woman and it gives us another glimpse of an exceptional figure. Mézières comes across as an outstanding actress, offering her body and her sufferings with a rare and profoundly moving abandon. Although the action of the film unfolds over five years, charting the development of a painful relationship between a mother and her daughter, the basic principle is to draw it all together rather than follow a psychological chronology. The relationship is apprehended as a single entity: the cracks are evident, but there is not too much emphasis on the process of disintegration. The story divides into two distinct time periods, first with mother and daughter together in the same bohemian setting, then separated by society, each facing her own choices and wanderings. However, the purpose of this time division is not so much to answer the predictable question “What will become of them?” in preparation of a pointless debate on “How can a girl live without her mother?” (and vice versa), as to show the metamorphosis of a single body, a dual mother-daughter identity, which is treated in the film less as a social couple going through ups and downs than as a single female figure with two faces. The beauty of the film lies in this constant blending of the two personalities, an on-going role-play in mother/daughter boundaries resulting in a disturbing tension between incestuous bond and transfer of identity. Continue reading
Likely to cause a stir because of its explicit scenes of orgies and coke snorting, what really separates The Principles Of Lust from the crowd is its edgy, dark atmosphere that combines conventional Hollywood thrillers about sociopaths – eg. Fight Club, Bad Influence – with a distinctly British, rough and ready feel.
Firing on all cylinders, debut feature director Penny Woolcock – who once made waves with the Channel 4 drama Tina Goes Shopping – delivers a film that’s too insistent on being distinctive and dream-like to really hold together as a coherent drama. Instead, it joins a select group of recent low-budget British cinema – from The Last Great Wilderness to This Is Not A Love Song – that dares to say no to the conventions of Hollywood filmmaking while damning the consequences. Continue reading
“Never my soul” is a phrase taken from the cliche sentence the good-Turkish-girl character says to her rapist in many old Turkish movies – “You can have my body but never my soul!”.
The film has at its centre a transsexual who is pretending to be Türkan Şoray, the real-life super diva of the Turkish Cinema. The transsexual’s true life is similar to the melodramatic plot of a Türkan Şoray movie. She was born a boy, beaten up by her military father throughout her childhood for exhibiting “effeminate” behaviour, taken to psychiatrists at the age of thirteen to cure her of her sexual “deviance,” and later beaten and tortured by a notorious Istanbul police chief. Now living in Lausanne, her kidneys have failed and she is on dialysis. She has to make her living through prostitution. Continue reading