Come and See

Kilmov, 1985



War movies are an interesting breed because the subject they focus on is so universal - humanity has been plagued by war since the dawn of time, and we are no stranger to it. Yet war films still tend to fascinate us, despite how chillingly close we’ve become accustom to the subject. Granted, many are excuses for set piece action scenes, and others are nothing but expensive pieces of flag waving propaganda – but when a war film does it right, it can be powerful material. Some of the greats include The Thin Red Line, Cross of Iron, and The Cranes are Flying. But Elm Kilmov’s 1985 masterpiece Id ii smotri (Come and See) transcends every war movie ever made. In fact, it’s one of the best films ever made, period.

The thing that sets Come and See apart from most war films is that it doesn’t glamorize it. A lot of war films – even the good ones – tend to glamorize war, inadvertently or not. There are not very many that make you hate war. Come and See makes you hate war. It has purity about it in this way I’ve never experienced in a war film before. I’ve seen films come close to it, such as Cross of Iron, but no film has ever been as pure in its revulsion of war as Come and See. It depicts war as it is: a sick, twisted, grotesque animal. The very fabric of the film seems to detest the very idea of war. I know this seems like an exaggeration, but having watched the film twice, I still can’t shake the feeling. It’s nothing I’ve experienced before.

Come and See is certainly not for everyone, however. It could nearly be classified as a non-narrative film. The main character is a Russian boy named Flor who is eager to join a band of Belorussian partisans. His face is filled with anticipation of finally being able to join the struggle. The film follows Flor the entire time, and the film is told entirely from his perspective. There really is not much of a ‘plot’, as there is no ‘goal’ in the film. It just follows Flor around as he finds himself experiencing the war and drifting closer and closer to what can only be described as hell on Earth. It has a wandering, aimless feel – but in a good way. The audience, like Flor, never knows what’s going to happen next because Flor is lost, both physically and mentally. He drifts through the battlefields, the wilderness and the swamps. He meets a girl who travels with him, but as soon as they find each other they are separated. He decides to travel back to his village, only to discover the population had been massacred. He is alone, he is scared, he is angry, he is confused – and the brilliant thing about Come and See is the audience feels exactly the same way.

It should be mentioned that Come and See is also one of the more ‘abstract’ war films you’ve probably ever seen. But this is simply part of the brilliance of the film. The sound mix is completely unconventional. The score is a haunting, chilling mixture of sounds. A droning plane over the sound of distant tanks mixed with the screams and wails of a crowd becomes the music. Sometimes there will be a dim piece of Mozart mixed with the sound of birds, but it’s distorted and muffled because Flor is shell shocked - and therefore so is the audience. A lot of the sound in this film is distinctly distorted. It serves to create a feeling of uneasiness, and even of alienation. The music and the layered, frantic, disorienting sound makes your head spin and as the film progresses it gets more and more intense until the horrific, climatic sequence where the sound hits a crescendo and doesn’t let up. It lets you know you’ve arrived in hell. But there are very few films that have took such marvelous advantage of the artistic capabilities of sound. Instead of having sound just for the sake of dialogue and so forth, Come and See brings it to an entirely different level where sound is a key instrument in painting the horrific experience that the film is.

Visually I loved how everything was filmed on location and how there are no camera filters or crane shots or anything fancy. I wouldn’t say it’s done documentary style, but it is done in a frank and realistic fashion, and it feels like you really are wandering the scorched earth of the battlefield. Even the technical aspects seem eerily real, such as some of the firefights where tracers are flying just above the character’s heads. When I looked into it, I found out this is because in certain sequences, they used REAL ammunition. I even read that Aleksei Kravchenko – the actor who plays Flor – said he could actually hear bullets whiz just over him during filming. No wonder everyone looked so genuine. But back to the visuals, I really liked the muted colour pallet and the way nothing is tampered with. It’s like they set up a shot in the middle of a swamp, filmed, and just kept it like it is. They didn’t doctor anything up or stylize with the visuals. It just looks real and it’s all and all a very ‘gritty’ film, visually.



Now I mentioned before the devastating sequence during the climax, and I’ve got to say more about it, because it’s one of the most overwhelming depictions of evil on film that I’ve ever seen. Basically, the Germans end up herding an entire village population into a church and lock them in. Flor ends up trapped inside as well, but so far no one is quite sure what is happening. The film begins to turn into a frenzied, manic, hellish nightmare. As mentioned before, the audio becomes thick, confusing, disorienting and terrifying. You begin to question if what you are watching even real? The German soldiers are like a band of thugs - dancing around, screaming, yelling, and singing. It’s like we are watching some horrible dream. Next thing you know the Germans start throwing grenades in the church, and before you know it they’ve set it on fire. They are laughing and enjoying themselves, it’s as if they don’t even think anything of it. They’re just going to burn 500 people alive and then go for a coffee break. It’s a difficult sequence to watch – both because of the subject matter and because of the way Kilmov was able to turn it into a surrealistic nightmare. It’s also interesting to note that even though it’s one of the most horrible, evil things I’ve seen depicted, you never actually see the violence. Kilmov was a master at horrifying his audience without having to use bloods and reaction shots, and this sequence can attest to that.

The final scene features a broken Flor standing over a picture of Adolf Hitler. The camera looks squarely on his face. At the beginning of the film his face was full of youth, vigour and enthusiasm. At the end, Flor’s face is weathered and wrinkled, like that of an old man. He aims at the depiction of Hitler and begins to squeeze off rounds into it. Every time he shoots stock footage of Hitler and the war cuts in and the manically edited music and sound kick in. Everything is moving backwards – the entire history of the war unfolds in reverse. Flor continues to fire and the unrelenting music, sound and frenzied editing continues until we finally rest on a picture of Hitler as a little boy. Flor stops, completely drained, his eyes empty and dull. His soul broken.

And that’s why Come and See is the masterpiece that it is. It is the most successful film I’ve ever seen that shows what war does to the very soul of a person. The film spits on war, it is disgusted by it. I’ve never seen a film before that made me so despise it. It uses sound, music and visuals to shocking effect. Kilmov disorients, frightens, and otherwise terrorizes us with his brilliant mixture of audio and visuals, and truly creates an atmosphere of sheer dread and horror. There are sequences in this film I will not soon forget, the images seared in my mind. Ultimately, Come and See is one of the best films I’ve ever seen because the audience can so closely identify with the main character. We feel his outrage, his anger and his broken heart. We feel hatred; we feel his loss of hope and humanity. When Flor is firing into the picture at the end, we are carried away in a torrent of raw emotion which has been building for two hours. All the wars, all the chaos, all the destruction, all the hate - Come and See is unique in that it allows us to experience it all, and by the end we feel drained and hopeless. An intensely emotional experience like no other; a masterpiece of film, and a horrifying looking glass into the horrors of what human kind is capable of.

Blow-Up - a short essay

Michelangelo Antonioni, 1966



What is reality? Is it what we can see? Is it what everyone agrees to? Is there even such a thing as a universal reality? There are all eternal questions, and ever since we began to have the time to think about these things, there has always been question as to the nature of what ‘reality’ is, or if it even exists. Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni’s first English film sets out to explore this complex subject with Blow-Up, a deceptively simple film that turns out to be a brilliantly visual, complex venture into the very notion of what ‘reality’ means.

The plot is simple enough, even sounding possibly boring. Yet there is enough intrigue in it to initially attract you to the film. It’s basically just about a hot shot photographer who takes pictures of a couple in a park, only to find that he may have accidently taken a picture of a murder in progress when he looks closer. The actual film is very linear, simply following the photographer through his simple journey, but beneath everything he does and everything encounters is a well hidden but startling undertone of the bizarre. The film opens with a group of mimes in the back of a truck riding through London, yelling and screaming. Huh? The photographer (never named in the film) takes photographs of a model who is sensually writhing her body while on the ground, and he climbs on top of her in a sort of mock sex scene, but nothing actually happens. Uh..? The photographer then goes to an antique shop, and is suddenly struck with an incredible urge to buy an... airplane propeller. As soon as he buys it he completely forgets about it, until it is delivered and he just throws it on the ground in his studio, forgetting about it, like a child who suddenly has to have that one toy, only to forget about it a minute later.

What does all this mean? Well I’m not sure that anyone really knows what it all means. It is open to interpretation. The thing about Blow-Up is that it is presented in a way that you can watch the entire movie and think you understand it without ever having to question very much about the movie. To a lot of people, I`m sure Blow-Up is a straight up murder mystery and don`t even stop to think that there is more to it. And the thing is, they aren`t wrong! Blow-Up is about the nature of reality, so it only makes sense that the reality of Blow-Up be radically different for different viewers.

But for me it seems the main theme is defiantly reality, and what better way to explore this with a picture. A picture is definite, an unblinking eye that you can`t argue with. You take a picture, and that picture is a snapshot of reality. Right? Maybe not, as Antonioni explores. The photographer takes a picture of a couple in a park, but notices something strange. One of the figures is looking towards a bush. The photographer thinks he sees something in the bush and `blows up` the picture (makes a section of it bigger) to get a better look. Oh my, is that a face hiding in the bushes? The photographer begins to look closer and closer at the photo and blows it up more and more, until he is convinced that he has uncovered a murder plot. Eventually, he thinks he sees a body obscured by a bush, and goes out to the park at night to see for himself...surely enough, there is a body! At this point the photographer tries to convince people to come see the murdered person he found, but is able to convince no one to come with him. When he goes back in the morning, the body has vanished without a trace.



So was there actually a murder plot? As humans, we have been conditions to see what we believe, but maybe seeing isn`t necessarily believing. Antonioni brilliantly demonstrates this with the entire blow up process which we become drawn into. Just like the photographer, we become convinced that there is a murder conspiracy from the photos. But if you look back at them, it`s rather foolish. That face we thought we saw in the bushes? Is it really a face, or is it just a blob of shadow and pixels? But because we want to believe something, our brains begin to trick us and we begin to actually see things that are not really there. And the more the photographer blows up the picture, the grainier it gets. The more he blows it up, the less clear the situation becomes until it reaches a point where we are just seeing blobs of white. But while you are watching the movie, you are convinced that those really are bodies, faces and guns! As I said, Antonioni was simply a genius for being able to draw us in like he did. As an audience, we become just as convinced of the murder plot as the photographer, and are just as sure that we see figures in the blown up pictures, when really they look more like blotches of white and black, which get progressively worse as the photographer blows up the picture again and again. But since we become more and more intrigued, we begin to accept and see things that our minds want to see. And then these theories become realities.

As mentioned before, the photographer goes to the park to see with his own eyes the body that he believes he found in the picture, and he finds it. But of course, the next day it has vanished without a trace. The grass doesn`t even seem to have been disturbed. Now why is it gone when we know we saw it!? Now the plot thickens, and begins to get scary. As an audience we begin to wonder if it`s possible that we didn`t see anything at all in the blown up photographs. Have we, like the photographer, been duped by them? And more over, did we actually see a body in that park? Now Antonioni is really getting heavy. Maybe it is possible for realities to exist within one another. Now we are getting existential and metaphysical, and at this point in the movie I`m loving it.

What the director is saying is basically that it is possible that simply from truly believing we see something that it becomes a reality in our world. The photographer and the audience both were convinced they saw a body in the photographs, and upon investigation, sure enough, one showed up! But is that only because we all convinced ourselves that there was one, thus creating one? As soon as the photographer fails to convince anyone that there is a body, as no one believes or cares enough to check it out, and since the photographs mysterious went missing in his studio, the body ceases to exist as it is no longer a private reality. As soon as the photographer tried to involve other people who hadn`t been tricked by the photographs into thinking and thus believing they saw something, the body stopped existing as there was now plausible grounds for it never having existed in the first place.

This is all just such fascinating stuff. Through the course of a simple story, the director manages to show us that reality can be both created and destroyed. It is not a fix entity, seen by everyone. Blow-Up­ is trying to make us realize that just because we see something doesn`t make it real. When the photographer is isolated, he is the only one who believes in the reality of a murder. He believes that because he can see it in a photograph – even though what he sees is just blobs – that it must be real. And when he goes to see it himself, he sure enough finds a body. He has created his own reality. First the reality is from the third person point of view of a picture, and then it is from a first person point of view when he sees it for himself. But Blow-Up shows us that just because we see something, doesn`t make it real, as in the end, the body simply vanishes, as if it never were there in the first place!



If you want to get even deeper, you could say that maybe the body really was real. There are quite a few instances in the film that suggest simply believing something is enough to make it a personal reality. The photographerer personally believes he saw a body, and then he actually saw one. Is it possible that maybe the body was real, from his point of view, only disappearing when he tried to involve outsiders not part of his separate reality? I think it is a possibility. An excellent example of this would be the brilliant ending; the photographer finds himself watching a group of mimes play a game of tennis, except they are not using an actual ball or rackets, they are simply pretending they have them, being the good mimes they are. But as the mimes play and others watch, the photographer becomes involved.

Soon it seems as if they are actually playing tennis, and everyone is following the ball through the air as if they could actually see it. Eventually, the photographer begins to hear the sounds of the ball hitting the racket, even though there isn’t a ball or racket at all. When the ball lands near the photographer, he purposely runs towards it and picks it up, carefully aiming and then throwing the invisible ball back into the game. Now we didn’t see a ball or racket, yet we began to hear it and everyone was interacting as if there was actually a game going on...is this because everyone watching that game believed they were watching the real thing, thus making it a reality? It begins fake enough, but eventually Antonioni actually involves us in it, and you don’t even notice yourself hearing the racket and ball. It just becomes real because we begin to believe that it is, and so does everyone else around the game. Seeing isn’t believing, simply believing is believing, and believing becomes reality.

But I could go on and on and on about the various ways Antonioni tackles the subject or reality, as well as many other sub concepts and even entirely separate ones, but I just decided to focus on those few main points. I simply find Blow –Up fascinating to no end, and could analyze it till kingdom come. Some things I didn’t mention, however, are the fantastic visuals and the performances. Visually, the film is a masterpiece, and if you know anything about photography you’ll love the visual in this. Instead of focusing on classic cinematography, Antonioni sets up all his shots much more like photographs, brilliantly taking advantage of colour, contrast and negative space. Since the film is about a photographer, this fits extremely well, and the end result is an amazing looking film, to go with everything else. David Hemmings should be commended for his great performance as the photographer, in which he depicts both a smooth, suave hot shot as well as a cruel, domineering woman hater, something I didn’t even touch base on but is still a major part of the film. The performances from the various sub characters who popup and disappear as soon as they’ve arrived also did universally great jobs with their characters. Blow-Up truly was a pool of talent.

Special mention also goes to the blow up sequence itself. With an almost total lack of music and dialogue, the sequence builds and maintains an incredible sense of tension and suspense with a beautiful flow and intensity to it. It gets you just as involved in the process as the photographer, and thus allows you to become as infatuated with the hints and clues he begins to find as he blows up the picture multiple times. Its a masterfully done sequence in a masterfully done film.

But what else can I say about Blow-Up without simply writing a book? There is just so much complexity and layers to it that you could watch it with someone and end up having completely different interruptions about what happened, or even if anything happened at all, as the last shot subtly hints. The first time I watched it I liked it, and saw it simply as a sort of murder mystery, yet the second time I saw it I basically watched a different movie. And when I watch it again I’m sure I’ll see entirely different angles. The philosophy behind it simply is fascinating to no end, and the execution is one of the most expertly done things I’ve seen in film. Without recapping my theories about illusion vs. reality, Ill simply leave it at that and add that the film also looks stunning, is deftly edited and features grade a performances all around. Blow-Up is ultimately not just a masterpiece; it is perhaps one of the best films I’ve ever seen, and look intently forward to seeing it many times again.

The Sacrifice

Tarkovsky, 1986



The Sacrifice, master filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky`s final film, feels like the summation of everything he had previously accomplished. It was meant to be his final masterpiece, and I think in a lot of ways it is his dying words to humanity, telling us what he thinks has become of humanity as well as warning us as to what is destined to come if we stay on our present course. Slowly and deliberately paced, the first shot after the credits is over nine minutes long, and much of The Sacrifice retains this slow pace – yet right away, you are drawn in, and you know this isn`t just any film.

Everything Tarkovsky does in The Sacrifice is for a reason, and the slow pace is no exception. It is used in brilliant effect to allow us to become completely immersed in the world; and then, when the end of the world arrives, we feel as shocked and terrified as the characters who we have slowly come to know. In one of the best scenes of any Tarkovsky film I`ve seen, the main character cries out to God, asking for deliverance from doom and the ``animal fear`` which infests him and his family. There are a couple other incredible sequences such as this strewn throughout the film, including the final sequence of frightening sensation and tears, but all of them are in their own ways emotionally devastating, and a testament to the power of Tarkovsky.

The film is not flashy, it`s not expensive, it doesn`t have an epic score or huge camera cranes; it`s very simple and minimalistic – almost bare bones in that there is no unneeded fat - yet he is able to take what he has and exploit it to maximum effect. You can really tell that Tarkovsky took painstaking time to set up every striking shot, right down to the colour of a wall. The film looks incredible. Even his use of music (or lack thereof) and the genius way he employed sound to terrify the viewer must be commended. The end result is a beautiful yet frightening film about love, sacrifice and ultimately humanity as a whole.

There are sequences that go on for up to fifteen minutes of people simply talking about spirituality, mortality and the human race – sometimes they feature someone talking to themselves about such things – but all these conversations are brilliant little fragments of Tarkovsky`s mind that he decided to leave with us. The Sacrifice, an incredibly beautiful, haunting, restrained, and transcendent film with complex and engaging subtext and themes as well as emotionally shattering sequences, all of which are threaded together to form a tapestry that can be considered one of his finest works.

The Cranes Are Flying

Kalatozishvili, 1957



One problem with so many romantic films, new and old, is that they are just so cheesy and predictable. Lean in for kiss, music swells, and you roll your eyes. It is so often unconvincing, as well, with actors who have no chemistry and screenplays just filled with clichés which really take you out of the experience. So you can imagine my delight to find a film that simply leaps over all of these pitfalls and even manages to run an extra mile! The Cranes are Flying is an overlooked 50s classic about a couple torn apart by war, and it is a tragic one at that.

One of the things I loved most about Cranes is that it was just really heart-warming without being manipulative or conventional. There are touching and moving scenes which simply involve the two lovers playing around and teasing each other. It’s very honest and down to earth. I’m not sure why, but there is a gift given to one of them to the other that just really got to me; it was just a stuffed toy, but because the movie allowed it’s audience to tap into the feelings of the characters, the present feels like the world, like it is something intimate and special. The simple stuffed animal really embodies Cranes’ emotional heart; simple and unpretentious yet touching and poignant. The love between the couple is genuine and when they are separated you feel like their link is never severed; and this is how Cranes turns to be an emotionally crushing film part way through.

Life seems to always get in the way of good things, and in this case, war pries the lovers apart; but because Cranes’ did such a good job at establishing their relationship and bringing us close to the characters, the reality of the lovers being torn away from each other feels just as horrible to us as it does for them. This is why Cranes’ is such a strong film during both halves – when they are together we feel their tenderness for each other, and when they are separated we feel their longing and desire for each other. It goes from being touching to almost depressing, it’s really a very sad story. Without giving away the last third of the film I will simply say it’s anything but a throwaway romantic film; it’s realistic, uncompromising and coldly goes against what you want to happen. An important thing to note that the film does not glorify war or Russia; many films from the USSR in the 50s were basically propaganda, but Cranes’ somehow side stepped this and simply sticks with the tender, transcending love story.

Last but not least, the visuals. While Cranes’ is a heart warming and later heart wrenching film at heart, it also has a particularly visual aspect. And when I say that, I’m talking about some of the best visuals of the 50s. I am shocked that more people do not talk about this film, even during cinematography discussions as it is simply an astounding piece of visual work. The camera is always doing fascinating things, is constantly framed in curious manners, and the lighting in simply fantastic, whether it be a face or a cityscape. There are some purely astounding crane shots, particularly one on a staircase which must have taken an age to set up, and contrastingly, there is startling use of handheld which is something I’ve never really seen from a film of Cranes’ age. One of my favourite shots sees a character rushing up a burning building only to swing open the door to find their apartment gone after a bomb destroyed it. The way the camera flowed with her up the building, moved in to reveal the scene and then the way it framed the carnage made me feel just as devastated as the person was to see what had happened to their home. It’s just breathtaking, Simply put, the cinematography is magnificently beautiful, elegant, gorgeous, and striking. I could go on and on, but basically, Cranes’ could be a textbook on what a beautiful film should look like.

So what makes Cranes’ such a fantastic film? It’s because it is a poem at heart. It has the almost lyrical beauty of the unadulterated and tender love story and the visual exquisiteness one would find in a painting by a master artist. It’s a cute film, it’s a touching film and at the same time it’s a heart breaking film. It even skilfully avoids a slew of potential clichés and other such dangerous traps, making for a much more genuine heart and soul. But ultimately what makes Cranes’ so memorable is that it is a transcending film, as if the love was real and someone captured it on every single one of the beautiful shot frames, as if it is in the fabric of the film. There is a real beauty to be found in The Cranes are Flying, and since so few people have seen it, I hope more go out to see it now that they know it exists.

Sunrise

Murnau, 1927



I once heard a film expert say that the birth of the ‘talkie’ was the worst thing to ever happen to cinema. When I heard that at first, I thought he was a bit crazy, but now I understand what he was getting at. Films like Sunrise show how lack of sound forced early filmmakers to innovate and rely on visuals to tell the story. The talkie virtually destroyed all progress that had been made, as filmmakers were forced to severely limit visuals just to have a bit of audio, thus compromising and usually destroying their own films. Sunrise, however, shows just how incredible visual cinema truly can be, and being one of the pioneers of cinema, it had almost nothing to look back on. Sunrise was a revolutionary piece of cinema.

I think what really stuck me about Murnau’s silent classic Sunrise is just how well it has aged after over the years. Sure, the actual film is grainy and scratched, but that’s all superficial; what I’m talking about is the content, the ‘soul’ of the movie, which even today feels fresh and undated. The story is simple enough, fairly linear, and there is not too much complexity on the exterior, but I like to think of Sunrise to be more of a fable on film than anything else, and I find many silent movies (and interestingly enough, many Italian neorealist films) share this trait. So therefore the simplicity really shouldn’t be seen as a fault, but more as a way for this fable to convey its moral message, and since Sunrise is an incredibly visual movie, the simple story also allows for the visuals to do the talking, and they literally do all the talking, being that Sunrise is a silent film.

Sunrise is indeed a sublime example of cinematography and the use of visuals to advance a story, but Sunrise is also a revolutionary example of this. I really think Sunrise was one of the pioneer films of cinema, and is virtually a textbook of visual and editing techniques. However, that’s not to say that it’s a boring manual, as it is a film that puts visuals to beautiful use and the 90 minute runtime is literally bursting at the seam with gorgeously done visuals, from lovely sunrises to deadly thunder storms - and they are all used to tell the story. Some scenes really take your breath away, such as the one in which the camera tracks across fast flowing traffic as the two lovers cross the street, almost ignorant of the danger, or the entire thunderstorm sequence. Simply by having the camera set up a certain way and skilfully utilizing light and shadow, Murnau was able to convey amazing amounts of emotion and easily advance the plot. If he wanted you to feel dread and know what a character was planning to do, he easily did so, and in the end did a wonderful job, making the movie both enjoyable to watch as well as morally relevant. As I said earlier, Sunrise has not really dated at all, and therefore is still a very entertaining as well as thought provoking film.

The two main characters are very well acted, a rare occurrence in silent films, and their chemistry is exquisite - the main girl was particularly cute, almost like a kitten! It even retains much of its humour, which is found largely in the happy midsection of the film as opposed to the dark beginning and end. Of course, Sunrise is just as good at illustrating terror and disaster, and like the humour, much of these other emotions or themes have not faded away with time either, and still feel very immediate and fresh. Thematically there is a lot going on with simple morals, such as temptation breaking love, or love breaking temptation. It is simple, as I said, fable like, and coincides extremely well with the rest of the structure of the film. It’s very interesting to see the stark differences in the main character from the beginning to end – and remember, all of this well developed with no words, just visuals!

I really love Sunrise because of how revolutionary it was, and how it has still managed to keep so much of its charm and beauty intact. The film was a flop at the box-office, and two weeks after it came out, Murnau died in a tragic car accident, but it has since proved to the world that it was obviously well ahead of its time. The use of magnificent and stirring images to illustrate the fable like story is impeccable, and the journey the characters go through is enjoyable, and easy to watch while at the same time able to become dark and cautionary. But at its center, Sunrise is always using the various arts of film to tell a story, to get across a message and to develop complex, relatable characters. That’s what’s so revolutionary and amazing about Sunrise; it’s one of the pioneering films to really understand how to take advantage of the then new visual medium which has unlimited potential. Perhaps that is why Sunrise still feels so fresh and new; it understood what it takes to make a remarkable film, and remarkable Sunrise is.

The Wages of Fear

Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1953



If someone were to ask you, ‘what is the most suspenseful film of all time’ was, what would you say? There are quite a few different answers one would expect to hear, but least likely of them all would be a relatively obscure French film from 1953: The Wages of Fear. Despite having nothing to do with serial killers, ghosts, car chases or action set pieces, The Wages of Fear still manages to grip its audience with an unnervingly tight grasp, and it doesn’t let go - even after the film has ended - because you are still cringing in fear and anxiety. Surprisingly, the plot is really very simplistic. An oil company hires four men to drive two trucks across 300 kilometers on a notoriously hospitable ‘road’ to deliver two truckloads of nitroglycerine. The catch? Its nitroglycerin… and normal trucks aren’t designed to carry it under even the best of circumstances, let alone on the arduous, pot hole ridden, oops-guess-they-forgot-to-finish-that-bridge path they have to take. Even one bump and they are blown into tiny pieces.

I’ll admit, the first hour of the film is maybe a bit slow, or rather; it is a bit too long. It sets up the destitute situation all the characters are in, which is one of poverty and a struggle just to get food on the table. Life is leading nowhere, and as one character explains, it is all you can do just to stay alive, and unless you have the money, there is no way of leaving the village – if you can even call it that. The film is also nice commentary on how big corporations can easily take advantage of the poor and needy, which is also set up in the first hour as well, but I still think we could have done with it being fifteen minutes shorter. A minor quibble though – in fact, it is probably the only problem I have with the movie at all, because once the four characters (including two who are named Mario and Luigi – I laughed!) set out on their journeys, the film does not relent or slow down.

Ironically, much of The Wages of Fear moves at a snail’s pace; since the trucks can’t go too fast - even the slightest jolt means instant death - there is not much fast paced racing against time, as you would find in most suspense thrillers. It’s a slow, tedious and careful journey. Yet at the same time, the suspense just kills you because director Henri-Georges Clouzot masterfully is able to put you right in that truck with the characters and you can feel the terror they are experiencing. Cheap tactics such as a race against the clock with exciting music and what not are not required because the suspense comes from the fact that they are literally driving in ticking time bombs. It doesn’t matter if they are driving at five kilometers an hour, because either way it is still suspenseful and petrifying. The characters faces gleam with sweat and their eyes betray their terrifying dread - fear itself literally oozes from the screen. They say fear is contagious, and this film is no exception. There are scenes where the characters will cringe in horror, believing they are about to die, and you literally find yourself cringing along side them.

Of course, for the one and a half hours which The Wages of Fears tracks the dangerous progress of the four men, it can’t all be driving at five kilometers an hour, so of course there are many obstacles which are encountered which simply magnify everything about the already hugely dangerous and nerve racking journey. There is a bridge that has not been completed and happens to be rotting. There is a section of the road where it is so bad that the only way to get through it is to move extremely fast, so as to ‘glide’ over the pot holes – but if you slow down at all, then your truck will hit them and it’s all over. There is a giant bolder which cannot be moved – unless they were somehow able to blow it up… It just doesn’t end. The perilous situations simply are relentless and continue to build the suspense as they encounter each one. Finally, there is the famous oil sequence near the end, which I can’t really describe without spoiling some plot points – but needless to say, it’s the harshest, cruelest most horrifying scene in the film, a sort of sick, morbid climax to all the terror that has been experienced up until that point. And during the entire time all the characters – and the audience – could think about was the truck loads of nitroglycerin in the back, just waiting the explode. A time bomb, except worse- there is no countdown, no warning… A dark, terrorizing splinter in the characters’ – and the audiences’ – minds. Haunting them. Torturing them. And the key to the suspense of the film.

In addition to the insane amount of suspense The Wages of Fear generates, there should also be mention of the great subtext the film has. I already mentioned that it shows how corporations shamelessly take advantage of the needy, but there is also the themes about fear and greed. Fear is a given, considering the plot of the movie, but I found it interesting how fear was represented in different ways between all four characters. It shows how everyone handles it differently and how it ultimately shows our true personalities and characters. You can know a man all your life only to find out he is really someone completely different when he is put to the test, and The Wages of Fear does a very good job at illustrating this, even featuring some dramatic character reversals. The other theme is that of greed, since the only reason the four men accept the job is so that they can get paid money. That is fair enough, but how far are they willing to go to get that money, and what are they willing to sacrifice? The answers are quite sobering, but they show that behind the suspenseful exterior of The Wages of Fear, there is a lot of well done subtext which says a lot about the human condition.

What else is there to say? The Wages of Fear is quite simply a brilliant film. It takes a simple premise and runs wild with it, creating what I believe to be the most suspenseful, tension filled film of all time. From a snail’s crawl to situations where if they slow down, they die – there is always something just around the corner waiting to bring them closer to death. You can see it in the four men’s performances, you can see it in their faces and in their eyes - and you can ultimately feel the fear, the suspense and the terror. The Wages of Fear: how much is man willing to dare fate? How much does fear pay? What sacrifices is man willing to make – who are they willing to sacrifice? The Wages of Fear: an overlooked piece of brilliant cinema which I urge you to get a hold of as soon as you can.

The Thing

Archived Review
November, 2004

The Thing
Carpenter, 1982



The reason The Thing is one of the most effective horror movies I’ve ever seen is that it has a perfect combination of genuine scares and haunting, terrifying atmosphere. From the very beginning of the movie there is a chilling sensation about it, something that makes you tense and uneasy. And then when ‘the thing’ begins to terrorize the Antarctic scientists, there are plenty of really effective ‘jump’ scares, making for a very frightening movie overall. Most horror movies are lucky to achieve even one of these two types of horror, but The Thing is an embodiment of both, and example by which all horror movies should strive for. I should also mention that this movie has some of the best pre-CGI special effects I’ve seen, and many of them are frankly disturbing. It was unfortunate that after this movie, films started to really mess with CGI, and gems like The Thing began to disappear to be replaced with the likes of Independence Day. Another interesting duality that I loved was the sensation of claustrophobia contrasted against the wide opened ‘nothingness’ of Antarctica.

There is a feeling of dread because they are stuck on a near lifeless continent, cut off from all communication. You look anywhere and there is only white. There is no police, there is no safe haven, there is no civilization. They are utterly alone in the massive expanse of the Antarctic. Yet, there is a very powerful feeling of cluster phobia throughout, both because they decide to hole up in their small research facility, and because you they can’t trust anyone. You see, the monster in this film takes shape of living creatures, including humans, so the band of scientists cannot even trust each other, also making for some very dynamic and compelling scenes, as you can imagine. Anyone of them could be the monster, ‘the thing’, and therefore it lends to the movie’s feeling of cluster phobia which ultimately lends to the entire films masterfully crafted atmosphere. The ambiguous ending also goes down in my books as one of my favourite horror movie endings ever. All in all, The Thing is a master of scares and atmosphere, and this dynamic horror movie is something that I use as a benchmark when comparing to any other horror movie.

The Conversation

Archived Review
December, 2004

The Conversation
Coppola, 1974



In return for direction the Godfather films, Coppola was allowed to make any film of his choice with no studio intervention. He chose to make The Conversation which he wrote and directed himself during his prime years as a director. He created a masterpiece character study while simultaneously producing a film whose use of visual and sound editing was a work of art.

The sound design was actually the most surprising element of the film for me. I had heard a bit of praise about the sound here and there, but wondered what was so special about the sound from a movie made in the seventies. However, in one of the best scenes of the movie, Harry Caul, the main character played by Gene Hackman, is trying to make audio surveillance tapes audible. While he is doing this Coppola cuts to the footage of a man and a woman in a park walking around (the one’s who were being recorded), but what we hear is the garbled audio that Harry Caul is trying to unscramble. As we see them walk around, we hear the tape which Caul is trying to unscramble. The movie will cut back to him playing with the dials, improving the quality, and then back to the couple as the audio improves. I thought the scene was simply brilliant as well as being very innovative – and this sort use of sound recurs during the entire film!

The script, written by Coppola as I mentioned, is equally fascinating for a number of reasons. It deals with a top surveillance specialist recording a conversation between a man and a woman in a park. He does not know who they are, and does not care. His job is just to record them. However, Harry Caul over hears something he shouldn’t have, and he is drawn into what his employer wants this tape for. What makes this script so unique is its relevance. This film was made in the 70’s, and took place in the 70’s, but it is so much more relevant now then ever. If they could do that back then, what can they do now? It’s scary.

But the fabric of the film is the frankly pathetic character of Harry Caul. His exposure to the capabilities of surveillance has left him shattered and paranoid. He doesn’t like talking to people and his life has essentially been ruined because of his job, and ironically his job is the only thing he has left. He is so alone and withdrawn; I can’t help but feel sorry for him. I particular like the sequence when he is on his little bed, and the tape is running; the woman says something about how she feels sorry for a homeless guy on the bench… about how he used to be someone’s baby with a mother and father and the camera is focuses on Harry Caul.

Gene Hackman is in one of his best roles for this film; his performance is incredibly restrained and feeble, and he is able to portray the gloomy character Caul with near perfection. Hackman is an excellent actor and has been in slew of films, but this is without a doubt one of his best, and most overlooked, performances.

I should also mention that the movie has one of the most shocking and brilliant scenes ever – the hotel sequence. I won’t give any of it away, but the scene is one of my all time favorites. The ironic and sad ending and final shot is also a classic. The camera simply pans back and forth…back and forth, with Caul’s broken character just sitting on the floor. Amazing.

The Conversation is another Coppola masterpiece. Everything about it is incredibly well crafted, but at the heart of it all it’s simply a very sad yet fascinating character study. It’s got just a classic gem of a script. Not only that, but we also get the incredible hotel sequence. The entire movie is just like a surprise that came out of no where. Everyone always talks about The Godfather movies and The Conversation is usually overlooked, but despite the brilliance of The Godfather, I feel this gems needs more exposure because it is a certifiable masterpiece of cinema.