Viewing Journal - May 2016 #5

Love & Friendship (Whit Stillman, United Kingdom, 2016)

I'm now convinced that Whit Stillman was born to write and direct Jane Austen adaptations. While watching Love & Friendship I realized he's been making Austen stories all along - comedies of manners that are both satirical and affectionate - only in contemporary settings. His unique wit flourishes even more in the 1790s, and when matched with Austen's beautifully drawn characters. I haven't yet read Lady Susan, which Love & Friendship is adapted from, but in some ways it's an atypical Austen story. Lady Susan is a devious and cheerfully amoral character, a social climber with a genius for manipulation. She begins and ends the film unrepentantly horrible, but she is so witty and charismatic that we can't help but be impressed by her scheming ways. Kate Beckinsale clearly had a blast playing this character, delivering Lady Susan's politely wicked dialogue with virtuosic comic timing. Love & Friendship also has a welcome absurdist, irreverent streak, more reminiscent of Oscar Wilde or screwball comedy than Jane Austen. Yet, more than any other Austen adaptation I've seen, Love & Friendship captures her humor - her genius for mining comedy out of the gap between what people say and what they actually mean. It's one of the funniest movies I've seen in ages.

Enter the Dragon (Robert Clouse, United States / Hong Kong, 1973)

Despite considering myself a fan of Hong Kong kung fu flicks, I had never seen a single one starring the legendary Bruce Lee. Clearly I needed to correct this oversight. Enter the Dragon is a collaboration between East and West - made in Hong Kong with a local crew, but filmed in English with an American director and co-stars. It's a genre hybrid as well, both a martial arts extravaganza and a James Bond-style espionage thriller, with influences of so-called "blaxploitation" and psychedelia. About every B-movie genre popular in America or Hong Kong circa 1973 shows up in Enter the Dragon in one form or another. This democratic blending of East and West is typical of Lee, a citizen of both Hong Kong and the United States who was passionate about spreading the philosophy of martial arts across the globe. Enter the Dragon is also a total mess, though an exuberantly fun mess. I now see why Bruce Lee was such a star. He's not only an astonishing athlete but a magnetic screen presence. There's a mischief and wily intelligence in his eyes, and his lightning quick movements are mesmerizing. His body zigs when you expect it to zag; his bird-like shrieks in battle are amusing and terrifying.

The Most Dangerous Game (Ernest B. Schoedsack and Irving Pichel, United States, 1932)

I love these horror-thrillers made in the early 30s, before the Production Code clamped down on what Hollywood films could show. Though tame by today's ultra-violent standards, The Most Dangerous Game remains an entertaining thriller that must have shocked audiences of 1932. Based on a famous and influential short story (which I have yet to read) with a perfectly simple, sinister premise: a wealthy madman and big game hunter entraps shipwrecked people on his private island to hunt them. If they survive a single night, he will release them - but none have survived before! Though it's only an hour long, The Most Dangerous Game spends much of its runtime building up to the hunt, as shipwrecked survivors are trapped inside Count Zaroff's gothic castle. The evil Zaroff is played by an over-the-top Leslie Banks; his bug-eyed expressions and preposterous Russian accent are difficult to take seriously but quite entertaining, especially next to Joel McCrea's stiffly stoic leading man. The really good parts arrive in the final twenty minutes, in a cat-and-mouse showdown in the jungle. The Most Dangerous Game was filmed on the same sets as King Kong - Kong would use the sets during the day, and Game at night. It's clearly an artificial jungle, but with all the grandiose charm and dream-like exaggeration of Old Hollywood. It's the perfect setting for an action-packed climax, as our heroes set elaborate booby traps, flee from hounds across logs bridging canyons, and do battle at the edge of a giant waterfall. The final fight is unusually realistic for the time, with sweaty, flailing desperation that looks unchoreographed.

Flirting (John Duigan, Australia, 1991)

Ignore the frivolous title. Flirting is the rare teenage comedy that treats its adolescent characters with dignity, as intelligent and thoughtful people. In 1965 Australia, two boarding schools, one all male and one all female, face each other across a lake. Danny is a gawky kid, intelligent, not athletic, teased by fellow students, though he's mostly unfazed by them. Thandiwe has just arrived to Australia from Uganda, and stands out from her peers for her race, her sophistication and irreverent humor. Both are attracted by the rebellious qualities of the other, and over a series of awkward and charming encounters grow to love each other. Flirting is the kind of well-observed film where even minor characters come alive as real, specific people, where you will laugh and cringe with fond recognition at their behavior. Noah Taylor and Thandie Newton give sensitive, lively performances as the leads, while Nicole Kidman and a baby-faced Naomi Watts appear in small early roles. Director John Duigan brings to Flirting a quiet beauty unique for its genre - like when Danny sneaks out at night to meet Thandiwe, rowing across a shimmering starlit lake out of a fairy tale.

Viewing Journal - May 2016 #4

Breathless (Jean-Luc Godard, France, 1960)

Someone like Jean-Luc Godard is for me intellectual counterfeit money when compared to a good kung fu film. -Werner Herzog

There's no argument against Breathless being a trendsetter. Its fourth wall breaks, sporadic cuts, and meandering approach to a crime narrative - spending more time on digressive conversations and mundane moments than suspense or melodrama - showed the film world of 1960 that not all films need to be made the same way. Film could break free of adherence to classical literary or theatrical storytelling. Breathless was a phenomenon among critics and movie lovers. It has inspired many subsequent classics, among them Penn's Bonnie and Clyde, Malick's Badlands, Kar-wai's Chungking Express, and Tarantino's Pulp Fiction.

But trends fade, and stylistic innovations cease to be shocking if not built on a solid foundation. Once the initial buzz of its 60s chic-cool wears off, Breathless is a massive bore. Michel is among the most obnoxious protagonists I can think of. He's a try-hard poser and petty thief who whines when women don't immediately give him sex. Of course, great films can have unlikable main characters if they offer insight or hard-earned compassion, but I suspect I was supposed to be dazzled by Michel and his cynical affectations. I was not. Breathless flaunts its male chauvinism like a badge of honor. Women are persistently objectified, and Michel's sort-of girlfriend, Patricia, is a spineless "unfaithful woman" and a nonsensically written character.

I could forgive a lot if Breathless was fun, but despite all its spontaneous stylistic flourishes I found it insufferably tedious. Dialogue rotates between passive aggressive flirtations and inane philosophical non-sequiturs. The unconventional editing obliterates many rules about how to edit a film, but without much purpose beyond breaking the rules. Its random jump cuts and narrative elisions have little beauty or meaning in themselves. Indeed, Breathless as a whole seems intentionally devoid of meaning except when compared in a critical framework to other, more conventional films. I am uninterested in that approach to art. I would take a well-crafted generic film over this any day - or a non-generic film that actually has intrinsic meaning.

Regardless, I would never discourage a cinephile from watching Breathless. It is an important film for its place in the history of the medium, and my irritation seems to be the minority response. Jean-Luc Godard and I just don't get along. As far as French New Wave filmmakers go, I'll stick with Truffaut, Varda and Melville. Their films are every bit as clever as Godard's, but have real soul.

Carol (Todd Haynes, United States, 2015)

Todd Haynes strikes me as unique among contemporary filmmakers, in that his films are often just as influenced by artworks of different mediums as by other films. Carol, his latest, is set in the 1950s, but aesthetically shows less in common with melodramatic and romantic films made during the decade than it does with photography and paintings. Todd Haynes has cited 50s New York photographers such as Saul Leiter and Vivan Maier as inspirations, and even though I know next to nothing about photography, their influence on Carol's cinematography is apparent.

Many shots in Carol also reminded me of the paintings of Edward Hopper.

The influence of great photographers and painters of mid-century America gives Carol a unique visual appeal. There is little nostalgic sheen in its portrayal of 1950s New York, which looks grimy and grey, though enlivened by brightly colored women's fashions of the era. But Haynes and cinematographer Edward Lachman's borrowing of other artists' visual motifs is for more than just style. In both Saul Leiter's photography and Carol, people are often photographed behind reflective windows. These images show both the private world - individuals alone with their thoughts - and a bustling public world, separate but existing in the same place. And like in Edward Hopper's paintings, Carol often shoots characters from afar in public spaces, making us voyeuristic observers of people in moments of reflection. Through its cinematography, Carol shows private worlds existing within a public sphere; it also makes us aware that these individuals are always being watched by society at large, and must be cautious lest they reveal too much.

Carol is an adaptation of The Price of Salt, a 1952 novel by Patricia Highsmith. Highsmith was best known for her thrillers about sociopaths, such as Strangers on a Train and the Tom Ripley books. The Price of Salt is unique among her work because the thriller elements are minimized, and unique among 1950s literature because it is a forthright lesbian romance with a hopeful ending. Lesbian fiction did exist at the time, but usually was coded in its language and ended in tragedy, punishing the characters for their transgression and restoring moral order (or just appeasing censors). Highsmith published the novel under a pseudonym - she did not want to be labeled as a lesbian author, but she was gay and much of the story was veiled autobiography. Though I have not read The Price of Salt, it is clear that Carol's characters and insights are derived from lived experience.

Carol is a love story about Therese, a shopgirl, and the titular Carol. They meet at the department store and Therese is immediately drawn to this striking, intelligent woman, though it takes a while before she realizes why. Carol is among the most moving on-screen love stories of recent years for a variety of reasons, not least of all how well-drawn the two women are. The disparities between them are vast. Therese is younger, middle-class, inexperienced and uncertain of herself. Carol is middle-aged, wealthy, experienced and confident. One is hesitantly engaged, one is undergoing a divorce and custody battle of a beloved daughter. The initial stages of their romance are more of a one-sided seduction, the elegant and wily Carol drawing in the awestruck Therese with ease. But Carol's society lady manners hide vulnerabilities that slowly reveal themselves - and as Therese grows in confidence and discovers inner strength, it becomes apparent that Carol is the one with everything to lose. Carol beautifully captures the danger of falling in love - giving your self to another, for them to accept or reject. This is especially perilous in Therese and Carol's case, where they must keep a low profile within society or else their relationship will incur dangers other than heartbreak. It culminates in a lovely series of last shots, where they are finally on equal footing as their eyes meet.

Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara are wonderful. Mara communicates so much with only her eyes and gestures. I would say "Blanchett has never been better!", except she's been this perfect before - as Galadriel, as Bob Dylan, as Queen Elizabeth. What an insanely talented woman! Their performances, along with Todd Hayne's beautiful and sensitive direction and Phyllis Nagy's excellent script, made Carol one of the truly great films of last year.

The Films of Hayao Miyazaki: Part 1

Over the next few weeks, I will be re-watching and reviewing all the feature films of Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki, internationally acclaimed as perhaps the world's greatest animator and among my personal favorite filmmakers.

Lupin the Third: The Castle of Cagliostro (1979)

The Castle of Cagliostro was Hayao Miyazaki's first feature length animation, though he had been working in the medium for years creating television episodes. It's based on a pre-existing property - the Lupin III manga series, which had been popular in Japan since the 1960s, inspiring a television show and several films. All the Lupin III adventures center around a mischievous gentleman thief and his escapades, which unfold in a fantastic Eastern vision of continental Europe inspired by pulp serials and James Bond. The Castle of Cagliostro is less purely a result of Miyazaki's imagination than his later films - many of the themes and character types that would define his work are not present in this more generic adventure. It feels less like a deeply personal passion project than a job for hire from a budding animator. The animation, too, looks more cartoony than his later films, lacking their richness and painterly beauty.

Yet it's equally clear that Miyazaki gave his all to make The Castle of Cagliostro the best film it could be. The animation might be cheaper, but it's excellent considering the budgetary limitations. The backgrounds have real scale, depth and detail, and the simply-designed, caricatured characters are fun and expressive in a style unique to cartoons. The silly adventure story is generic, but in the best way - it revels in the most fun elements of its genre. The Castle of Cagliostro is restlessly action-packed and gleefully goofy. It is filled with all the most delightful cliches of swashbuckling adventure stories - trap doors and secret passageways, damsels in distress and nefarious henchmen, car chases and heroes dangling from great heights - all done with high-spirited style. It may look simple or unaccomplished compared to Miyazaki's more ambitious subsequent work, but taken on its own terms The Castle of Cagliostro is marvelous fun.

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind (1984)

Like The Castle of Cagliostro, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind is based on a pre-existing source - this time one of Miyazaki's creation, an epic manga series he wrote. He compressed and simplified his sprawling saga into one two-hour film, and the result, although not Miyazaki's first film, is the true introduction to his unique vision as an artist.

Nausicaa is set in a futuristic world that is equal parts Star Wars and Mad Max. A long-ago man-made disaster has poisoned the earth. Small pockets of civilization are threatened by ever-expanding toxic jungles, lethal to humans and inhabited by enormous insects. Our titular character is the princess of one of these human strongholds, the Valley of the Wind, an agricultural, utopian society amid the wastelands. The peaceful Valley is disrupted by an airship crash-landing in their midst, carrying strange cargo - an enormous beating heart. The ship belongs to the Tolmekians, a military state who are planning to grow a giant, a living weapon of mass destruction to wipe out the toxic jungle. We learn that these ancient giants were what destroyed so much of the earth in the first place.

Nausicaa is a big step forward from The Castle of Cagliostro in sophistication. It tells a complicated story on a massive scale, with urgently expressed environmental and pacifist themes. It struck me on this viewing that, in a certain sense, Nausicaa is the type of film Avatar wanted to be. It is both an action-packed adventure and an unabashed message movie. Yet Avatar swerved into annoying pontification in expressing its environmental, anti-colonial messages, and was simplistic and hypocritical in its us-versus-them violent conflict. In Nausicaa, Miyazaki's concerns arise organically out of the world and characters he creates. The reasons for warfare are not simple. The most villainous characters in Nausicaa have humanity and legitimate reasons for the beliefs they hold - their faith in the ends justifying the means is what leads them astray. Even the hideous giant insects are allowed to have dignity; they are never portrayed by Miyazaki as other than dangerous wild animals, but they have nobility in their animal natures. Many films preach non-violence while reveling in violence, but Nausicaa consistently upholds empathy and self-sacrifice over force and might.

Miyazaki protagonists are often brave, intelligent young women, and Nausicaa is among the most memorable. She is feminine and powerful, skilled but humble. Though an excellent fighter, she almost always prefers to be diplomatic - the one instance where she does erupt in violent anger nearly leads to disaster. Her vengeful fury would be presented as empowering by many a less thoughtful film, especially since the reasons behind it are entirely sympathetic, but Miyazaki is too conscientious a storyteller to make things that easy.

Hayao Miyazaki's imagination as a creator of worlds seems boundless. The animation, while it does not have quite the same painterly richness as Miyazaki films to come, offers up sequence after sequence of astonishing beauty and originality. I'm especially fond of the design of the Ohmu, enormous trilobite-like insects whose eyes glow blue when peaceful and red when enraged. Their scale and power is awesome in a way only a master animator could capture. Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind pulls me in to the world it creates with each viewing. This is a major work from a very special artist and storyteller, though even better was to come.

Viewing Journal - May 2016 #3

The Saragossa Manuscript (Wojciech Has, Poland, 1965)

Two soldiers in the Napoleonic Wars stumble into an old abandoned inn as battle rages around them. There they discover a huge ancient book, filled with enigmatic pictures. It's the tale of a Captain of the Walloon Guard (a title he pompously brings up whenever possible) traveling across the mountains of Spain to Madrid. He gets lost in a rocky wasteland and stops at another old abandoned inn. Staying at the inn are two Tunisian princesses, who claim to have never seen a man before and beg the flabbergasted Captain to marry them both. The princesses force him to drink from a chalice made of a human skull; he awakes the next morning under a gallows where two convicted thieves are hanging. The poor Captain then wanders unwillingly through some kind of purgatory, one where everyone he meets wants to either kill him or tell him stories. Yet no matter how many stories he hears, the Captain always ends up back at the gallows, underneath the corpses of the thieving Zoto brothers.

I've often heard The Saragossa Manuscript compared to a Russian nesting doll, which is as good a description as any. Like a Matryoshka doll, The Saragossa Manuscript is made of stories within stories within stories. "Let me tell you my story," is how it always begins, but within the story that one character is narrating, a different character they meet will start telling their own tale. There are monks and sheiks, noblemen and women, bandits and phantoms, cabalists and Inquisitors; their stories involve duels, affairs, hauntings and supernatural trials. Getting lost within The Saragossa Manuscript is the point. Over a runtime of three hours, it dives deeper into layers upon layers of digressions, then unexpectedly will work backwards and re-emerge into a story begun an hour earlier in the film. There are many subterranean connections between the stories, as occurrences in one story will impact another, characters reappear in different guises, and similar events reoccur in a circuitous fashion. The Saragossa Manuscript has a similar impact on the viewer as the befuddled Captain - it is dizzying and disorienting, and though already lengthy it feels as if it could spin on for an eternity, ever weaving tales that are both new and always the same.

Thankfully, it's not as difficult as it sounds. Despite all its macabre imagery, The Saragossa Manuscript is playful and knowingly absurd. It fluidly dances between horror and melodrama and slapstick, always with a sense of delight at the infinite possibilities of storytelling. Though its rambling structure requires patience, The Saragossa Manuscript always pays it off with satisfying "a-ha!" moments of sudden clarity - only to pull the rug out from under your feet again with a wink. And I was thrilled to get lost in the rich world it created. Every image is busy - packed with bones and skulls, animals and people, talismans and esoteric knick-knacks, each suggesting stories of their own. At the end of its wild three hours, I was dazed but delighted.

Pride & Prejudice (Joe Wright, United Kingdom, 2005)

Period piece adaptations of British literature are often the stiffest and stuffiest movies around. Even many good ones feel theatrical instead of cinematic, with great actors in dress-up, their period-appropriate dresses and suits looking like they've just been taken out of shrink wrapping. From its first shot, this 2005 adaptation of Jane Austen's classic is notable for its liveliness and its immersive, detailed sense of a certain place and time. The dresses look worn, the houses look lived-in. People talk over and around each other like in real life, not like actors waiting for their cue. Joe Wright's camera is always on the move, circling through the rooms of the Bennett household, weaving through dancing and gossiping crowds in ballrooms. Stunning long takes are an earthier successor to the fluid camerawork of Max Ophuls's films.

As an adaptation of Austen's masterpiece it's quite good. Joe Wright is a very romantic and sensual filmmaker, and his Pride & Prejudice is more swooningly romantic than the book, or at least my reading of it. His Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy seem destined to be together from the start, despite their misunderstandings. In one fantastic flourish, as they dance together everyone else in the ballroom fades away. Mr. Darcy's disastrous first proposal is re-envisioned in the pouring rain, where the romantic longing and sexual tension are just as vivid as the angry, haughty words spoken. In the novel, the proposal scene is hilariously pathetic and sad; it never feels guaranteed that Elizabeth and Darcy will grow to love each other, let alone tolerate each other. This makes it all the more delightfully surprising when Elizabeth's tender feelings grow against her will, and all the funnier when these two very intelligent, very decent people are rudely awakened to how stubbornly wrong they can be.

But I don't mean to sound negative. Joe Wright's more romanticized vision is still a valid interpretation of the book, and it works well in the context of the movie. Partially because of how beautiful it is. The cinematography and Jean-Yves Thibaudet's score are exceedingly lovely, and the images of the English countryside are breathtaking. A well-cast ensemble brings life to Austen's characters - I think this is Keira Knightley's finest moment as an actress, she embodies Elizabeth Bennett's fierce intelligence, and her quietly passionate, decent sensibility. Pride & Prejudice is also director Joe Wright's best film by a significant margin, and among the finest Austen adaptations I've seen.

Viewing Journal - May 2016 #2

To Live (Zhang Yimou, China, 1994)

Three decades in the life of a Chinese family, spanning the Chinese Civil War, the Communist takeover, and Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution. Fugui, Jiazhen and their children are not exceptionally heroic or important figures, they are entirely ordinary Chinese citizens. They're just trying to survive the tumultuous events of mid-20th century China, to raise a family and live quietly together, as happily as they can. It's all there in the title, they just want to live and nothing more. But even that was a dangerous, sometimes impossible task in their time. To Live shows bluntly how fearful and perilous a place Communist China could be, and how the people of China were misled by its utopian promises. The propagandistic language and groupthink insidiously sneaks into the private lives of families. The dictates of the Cultural Revolution destroys much of ancient Chinese culture - like Fugui being told to burn his beautiful, ornate puppets because they symbolize old feudal excesses, even though we have seen them bring so much joy to the community in his shadow puppetry shows. Mao claimed to be bringing about a true communal society, yet his rule weakened and outright destroyed the pillars of community, family and culture.

Unsurprisingly, the modern PRC government was not fond of To Live. It was banned in China and director Zhang Yimou, who had already gotten in trouble with censors for his earlier masterpiece Raise the Red Lantern, was banned from filmmaking for two years. Yimou protested this decision, saying that To Live was not necessarily anti-Communist. Indeed, To Live is not explicit in its criticisms or a political screed, it just portrays an era with honesty. But the PRC does not seem to encourage honesty about its country's history.

It's a shame, as Zhang Yimou no doubt made To Live primarily for Chinese audiences. It's an old-fashioned melodrama, and an exceptionally good one. The characters are relatable, likable and multi-faceted. And for all the tragedies and heartbreaks it contains, To Live is not at all hopeless or fatalistic. It's really a tribute to the everyday courage and resilience of one family, who find small but priceless measures of joy and happiness within the difficult situations they've been dealt. I hope that Chinese people have found ways to watch To Live regardless of its ban, it rightfully should be considered a national treasure.

The Brainiac (Chano Urueta, Mexico, 1962)

1661, New Spain. The Spanish Inquisition condemns Baron Vitrelius of Estara to be burned at the stake as a heretic and necromancer. While engulfed in flames, a bright comet passes overhead. The Baron cries out that, in 300 years when that comet passes by again, he will return and take his vengeance by killing the ancestors of those who have sentenced him to death. We flash forward to 1961 Mexico City. Astronomers are eagerly anticipating a rare sighting of a comet, but they are mystified when it appears then mysteriously disappears. In the desert a passerby notices a huge rock fall from the sky. A hideous, hairy alien beast steps out of the comet and sucks the poor guy's brains out with his giant forked tongue. He then transforms into none other than the Baron, back to enact his revenge! It will come as a surprise to no-one that the pretty lady astronomer is one of his intended victims.

The whole thing is too absurd to not be enjoyable. The Baron's alien form is hysterical. It's obviously a guy wearing a rubber mask. The death scenes show the monster licking the back of a victim's head with his big fake tongue while they shriek. My favorite detail - the Baron keeps his victim's brains in a goblet stashed in his living room, just in case he wants a quick snack. It's a pretty dreadful movie, without the spooky atmosphere or on-a-budget creativity of the best B-movies, but is utterly daft enough to be fun.

Viewing Journal - May 2016

Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer, United Kingdom, 2013)

An alien, in the form of a desirable woman, stalks the streets of Scotland looking for male prey. A basic plot description makes Under the Skin sound like a trashy sci-fi thriller in the vein of Species, that late night cable mainstay aimed at boys eager for a side of pin-up sexiness with the main course of B-movie alien action. The fact that said sexy alien is embodied by Scarlett Johansson no doubt brought much of the same crowd to Under the Skin in droves.

Many were probably disappointed, as Under the Skin is almost entirely lacking in sexy, gooey genre thrills. This is one of the strangest, most challenging science fiction films of recent years. It opens with an abstract animated sequence, reminiscent of 2001: A Space Odyssey, which might represent the alien being formed - circular shapes emerge from light and darkness to form an eyeball, a woman's voice pronounces syllables that form words. We then see a nameless woman (Johansson) driving the streets of Glasgow in a white van, picking up lonely men. She flirts with mechanical skill, but otherwise has a blank, impassive face. The men (whose Scottish accents are so thick that I only understood half of what they were saying) are amazed by their luck that this beautiful woman is interested in them. They fall into a lustful trance as she lures them into her inky black lair, where they slowly sink into a dark pool and disappear.

Under the Skin not only centers around an alien, but the film itself adopts her alien perspective. There's an unnervingly discordant, off-kilter rhythm to the editing, the sound design, and the soundtrack, which consists of shrieking strings and eerie droning synths. The scenes set on the streets of Glasgow are filmed with mundane realism and a coolly observant quality, similar to a nature documentary. But once we enter the alien's lair, Under the Skin becomes stylized and uncanny. When the alien witnesses tragedy - an entire family swept away by the seas on a rocky Scottish beach, a truly disturbing scene - she observes calmly, totally unaffected. The camera mimics her perspective, filming the horror from a distance, detached from their struggle.

We begin to wonder how much the alien knows and what she is thinking. Does she know what her victims want from her, or is she ignorant and merely programmed to complete a task? Can she even be called a "she"? Cracks begin to appear in the alien's facade. She observes herself in the mirror, lingering on her reflection with some sort of dawning awareness. She begins to watch people, with curiosity more than predatory intent. And she meets one victim who is different than the rest, in a moving and surprising scene. This causes a change of heart that perhaps not even the alien can explain. Considering her fame, it's amazing how quickly I forgot that I was watching Scarlett Johansson in the role. Under the Skin would not have worked if she could not convincingly play a non-human character, but she does - it's a quiet but unique and unearthly performance, free of any celebrity ego.

When I was a kid, I wrote a short story about an alien who visits earth and views humanity from a different perspective. My alien was a sentient blue glob and not a seductress, and the story probably did not add up to anything of insight, but I've always been fascinated by that idea. Under the Skin is the best take on that concept I've seen. As the alien becomes increasingly fascinated by humanity, she discovers its capacity for kindness and for hatred. She tries to become one of them, yet runs against her own alien nature. Her attempts to navigate this foreign place are bizarrely endearing, but ultimately pathetic and tragic. Under the Skin provokes many divergent reactions, often within the same scene. It is somehow compassionate while being pitilessly cold and cruel. It is frightening and disturbing, but exploratory and curious. As someone who loves both creative cinema and thoughtful science fiction, I found it exhilarating.

Watch trailer here

High Plains Drifter (Clint Eastwood, United States, 1973)

A nasty, brutish western with a supernatural twist. It opens like many a classic Clint Eastwood western. A Man with No Name rides into town, and his mysterious presence immediately causes a stir among the skittish townspeople. He is the meanest bastard Eastwood has ever played, a cold-blooded murderer and rapist. The town has a troubled history. We see flashbacks of its former sheriff being whipped to death by hired killers, while the townspeople stand by and do nothing. Without stating it outright, the film eventually makes it clear that Eastwood is the sheriff's spirit, returned from the grave to seek vengeance and expose the communal sins of this cowardly town. Despite his righteous anger, he's no hero, merely a vengeful agent of chaos. There's nobody good in High Plains Drifter, just the bad and the ugly.

High Plains Drifter is among Clint Eastwood's earliest efforts as a director. Stylistically, it's a classical all-American western, but ultimately little about it is comfortable or familiar - it is tinged with horror and black comedy, and has a subversive sting of cynical social satire.

Watch trailer here

Vampire's Kiss (Robert Bierman, United States, 1988)

The Cage is unleashed, and it's a glorious thing to witness. Vampire's Kiss is essentially a showreel for Nicolas Cage at his most deranged. The film is dominated by Cage's insanity - the inexplicable way he enunciates words, his unnatural body language and bugged-out eyeballs, his bizarre outbursts.

Sure, there's a story here. Cage is an 80s yuppie and businessman, and an obnoxious misogynist who harasses his poor secretary. After a bat flies into his apartment, he meets a woman who bites his neck. He begins to believe that he's turning into a vampire, though it's clearly a delusion. There's something like a social satire here, though it's never clear what the movie is actually satirizing. It's easy to imagine Vampire's Kiss as a dark psychological thriller, but in practice that's not what happens. In practice it's Nicolas Cage prancing around Manhattan yelling "I'm a vampaya! I'm a vampaya!" while wearing plastic fangs he bought at a novelty shop, chasing pigeons, shrieking at crucifixes and begging passerby to drive a wooden stake through his heart. And whatever the hell this was all about.

It is, legitimately, one of the funniest things I've ever seen. I am at a loss as to what Vampire's Kiss was trying to be, but I'm equally delighted that it exists and is so totally bonkers. A must-see for Cage cultists.

Watch trailer here