Selections from Mabee Library's Collection of Foreign Films in Four Parts

Part Two:


The Mystery of Kaspar Hauser (Germany)
PN1997 .M97 1993

Visionary New German Cinema director Werner Herzog's U.S. breakthrough, Jeder Fur Sich Und Gott Gegen Alle or The Mystery of Kaspar Hauser (1975) is a poignant, visually exquisite allegory of how civilization breeds despair. Based on a true story similar to the case in François Truffaut's The Wild Child (1970), Herzog's rendering of isolated, pre-verbal foundling Kaspar Hauser's release into the world as an adult reveals the perverse effects of "rational" thought and culture on natural, soulful innocence. While the painterly landscapes and lustrous dream images of deserts, mountains, lakes, and a golden, wind-swept field underline the beauty and wonder of the natural world outside his cellar, the limits imposed by language and the absurd urge to codify all experience become a "hard fall" to earth for the instinctually insightful and inadvertently threatening Kaspar. Along with Herzog's odd angles and compositions, former mental patient Bruno S.'s ethereal, evocatively affectless performance as Kaspar makes him both endearing and strange, emphasizing his impossible place in 19th century society. Enhancing Herzog's burgeoning reputation as an intense iconoclast after Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972), The Mystery of Kaspar Hauser won the Grand Jury Prize at the 1975 Cannes Film Festival and became an international success. ~Lucia Bozzola, All Movie Guide

The Shop on Main Street / Obchod na Korze (Czechoslovakia)
PN1997 .O23 1965

On its initial release, The Shop on Main Street contained several ingredients that would make it an instant classic: it was a heartfelt drama about the effect of the Holocaust on two humble individuals, and a film made by Czechs who were dealing with a totalitarian regime of their own. The film can't help but be affecting, but it has lost some of its luster with the subsequent release of more complex studies of some of the same issues, namely Lacombe, Lucien, The Conformist, and Divided We Fall. And at 125 minutes, this simple story of a peasant who comes to understand belatedly the complicity he shares in the persecution of the Jews in his village, seems over-extended. Tono's fretting in the button shop as the roll of names is called in the town square outside seems to go on forever, and there's a crucial dramatic inconsistency: He should feel relieved when the name of his elderly friend, Rosalie Lautmann, isn't called. However, the film shouldn't be casually dismissed; both lead performers are superb, especially Ida Kaminska as Rosalie, and there is one bravura piece of camerawork, when Tono retreats to the back rooms of the shop and the camera prowls around each room until it "finds" him and he bolts to another room, where the process is repeated. ~Tom Wiener, All Movie Guide

Double Suicide / Shinji Ten No Amijima (Japan)
PN1997 .S474 2000

A landmark of modernist cinema, Double Suicide brilliantly recasts traditional bunraku conventions to a cinematic form that is visually stunning and emotionally riveting. Using his trademark graphic sensibility, director Masahiro Shinoda never allows viewers to forget that they're watching an adaptation of a play. Just as the black clad puppeteers are visible during traditional bunraku performances, so are they seen throughout this film as they hand props to the actors, move sets, and -- as if agents of fate -- guide the characters to their inevitable bloody end. The sets turn and break down like a kabuki stage while the walls and floors, blow-ups of voluptuous Edo-period woodblock and abstract calligraphy, threaten to overwhelm the characters completely. Both through Monzaemon Chikamatsu's narrative and Shinoda's deconstructed style, the film seems to push the two doomed lovers toward their destiny while tragically hinting at a world beyond this fate. Shima Iwashita delivers the finest and most honored performance of her long and illustrious career as both the courtesan Koharu and self-sacrificing wife Osan. A masterful example of modernist filmmaking on every level, Double Suicide pulls off a rare feat: a film that wears its self-conscious theatricality on its sleeve while still creating a drama that is emotionally compelling. ~Jonathan Crow, All Movie Guide

Solaris (Russian)
PN1997 .S628 1991

Conceived partly as the anti-2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris (1972) weaves a hypnotic fable about love, humanity, and memory out of its science fiction premise. Reinstating the detritus of everyday existence absent from 2001's future vision, Tarkovsky's tracking shots and long takes reveal the space station's claustrophobia and decay; the beautiful early images of nature further underline the ugly, dehumanizing effects of technology. Shifts between color and black-and-white, an enticingly old-fashioned space station library, and the evocatively ambiguous ending interweave past and present, as pragmatist Kelvin's re-acquaintance with his dead wife, Khari, suggests the dramatic stakes of trying to erase the past . Regardless of the political message that could be inferred regarding the Soviet bureaucracy, Solaris was the rare Tarkovsky film that avoided extensive mandated edits and received a relatively normal U.S.S.R. release; it was, however, cut by 35 minutes by the American distributor in 1976. Restored to its original length in 1990, Solaris has garnered more and more fans for its cerebral yet rapturous inquiry into what it means to be human. ~Lucia Bozzola, All Movie Guide

The Spirit of the Beehive / El Espiritu de la Colmena (Spain)
PN1997 .E73 1988

Widely regarded as a masterpiece of Spanish cinema, this allegorical tale is set in a remote village in the 1940s. The life in the village is calm and uneventful -- an allegory of Spanish life after General Franco's victory in the Spanish Civil War. While their father (Fernando Fernán Gómez) studies bees in his beehive and their mother (Teresa Gimpera) writes letters to a non-existent correspondent, two young girls, Ana (Ana Torrent) and Isabel (Isabel Telleria), go to see James Whale's Frankenstein at a local cinema. Though they can hardly understand the concept, both girls are deeply impressed with the moment when a little girl gives a flower to the monster. Isabel, the older sister, tells Ana that the monster actually exists as a spirit that you can't see unless you know how to approach him. Ana starts wandering around the countryside in search of the kind creature. Instead, she meets an army deserter, who is hiding in a barn. The film received critical accolades for its subtle and masterful use of cinematic language and the expressive performance of the young Ana Torrent. ~Yuri German, All Movie Guide

Burnt by the Sun / Utomlennye Solntsem (Russia)
PN1997 .U84 1995

By the early '90s, it was finally possible for filmmakers working in the former Soviet Union to deal honestly with the horrors of the 1930s, when Stalin and his regime "reassessed" the contributions of many heroes of the Revolution, resulting in mass imprisonments and death for many millions. Nikita Mikhalkov's brilliant film about those dark days is ironically set at a sunny summer retreat where Serguei Petrovich Kotov (Mikhalkov), an officer who has been honored for his contributions to the success of the state, and his family are enjoying an idyllic summer's day. The film's deliberate pacing for a full half-hour (we might think we're watching the Russian equivalent of Renoir's Partie De Campagne) lulls the viewer into a false sense of serenity. When Dimitri, an old lover of Kotov's young wife and now a government official, arrives, Mikhalkov allows our suspicion that Dimitri's visit isn't merely personal to accumulate slowly. The film flirts with sentimentality, especially in casting Mikhalkov's real-life daughter as Kotov's irresistibly cute little girl, but after all, the filmmaker's goal is to show the toll that a repressive political regime can exact on the lives of individual citizens. ~Tom Wiener, All Movie Guide

The Young and the Damned / Los Olvidados (Mexico)
PN1997 .O58 1996

Luis Buñuel was little more than a footnote in motion picture history for his two early surrealist films with Salvador Dali, Un Chien Andalou and l'Age d'or, when Los Olvidados boldly affirmed his status as a major international director. A brutal and unflinching look at the ugly circumstances of life for juvenile delinquents and runaways in Mexico City, Los Olvidados seems like the model for many "socially responsible" films about financially and spiritually underprivileged youth that appeared in the 1950s and 1960s, as it also looks back toward the Italian neo-Realism that had begun in the second half of the 1940s. But this is unmistakably the work of Buñuel, the arch cynic and surrealist, and if he casts a relatively kind eye on several of his young protagonists -- most notably the tragic Pedro (Alfonso Mejia), cast off from his family with nowhere to turn -- his view of the adult world is jaundiced beyond redemption (significantly, the most sinister and least sympathetic of the film's delinquents, Jaibo (Roberto Cobo), is also the oldest). In Buñuel's universe, mothers turn their backs on their sons and sleep with their friends, blind beggars play sexual games with young girls, wealthy men proposition young boys, and cripples are so venomous that one feels little or no sympathy for them when they're attacked. The film's sole compassionate adult, the warden of a juvenile home, is decent and caring but ineffectual, an easily surmounted obstacle to the corruption of the outside world. Punctuated by beautifully troubling dream sequences, Los Olvidados was first released in the United States as The Young and The Damned, and the title was apt, though Buñuel makes abundantly clear that if these young men have been condemned to hell, it is one that the adult world (and, implicitly, ourselves) have helped to build and maintain. ~Mark Deming, All Movie Guide

Volga, Volga (Soviet Union)
PN1997 .V662 1996

First released in 1938, Volga Volga is typical of the escapist musical comedies churned out by Russian filmmaker Gregori Alexandrov. As usual, the film's star is Alexandrov's talented wife Lubov Orlova, here playing a blonde physical culturalist named Strelka. The hero is Byvalov (Igor Hinsky), an intinerant musical-instrument manufacturer who dreams of forming his own orchestra. The storyline leads hapharzardly to a climactic boat race on the Volga, during which Stelka and Byvalov pledge eternal love to one another. Most critics noted that director Alexandrov's principal inspiration seemed to be Mack Sennett's Keystone comedies. ~Hal Erickson, All Movie Guide

Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears / Moskva Sljesam Nje Jerit (Russia)
PN1997 .M77 2004

Moscow of the late '50s is the initial setting for this movie of three young girls out for love -- the upwardly mobile Lyuda (Irina Muravyova), the secure Tonya (Raisa Ryazanova) and the head-over-heels Katya (Vera Alentova). The film re-engages the trio 20 years later, focusing on their varied life changes. Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears received the Oscar for Best Foreign Film in 1980. ~John Bush, All Movie Guide

The Promise / Das Versprechen (Germany)
PN1997 .V478 1995

Two star-crossed lovers, separated by the Berlin wall for thirty years are reunited. The major events in their separate lives become the focus in this German political drama. The story begins in August 1961 as the Wall is being built. In Eastern Berlin a group of young adults plans their escape. Included in the group are Konrad and Sophie who has an aunt on the other side. It is the aunt who will sponsor the escapees. Escape will be the only way Konrad and Sophie will be able to stay together. Konrad is involved in a mishap en route and must remain in East Berlin. In 1968, the lovers at last get a chance to briefly meet in Prague. There they express their frustration and pain. At least there, in Prague they can find occasional happiness. Suddenly Russian tanks appear and destroy their new dream. 1980 comes. Sophie and Konrad have since married other people. Their next meeting is bittersweet as they look back upon their promise which was broken by circumstance, and by the decisions each lover had to make. ~Sandra Brennan, All Movie Guide