Fuller. Imamura. Jodorowsky. Jireš. Tarkovsky. If those names ring a bell or at the very least create a distant ripple in your subconscious, you may have a pretty good idea of what my serial column will contain.

I was a poli sci major with an insatiable appetite for films. I’d work diligently at the university library in-between classes with my wages as an afterthought. Simply put: the defining reason for the monotony of processing inter-library loans was that I had limitless access to rare films in university libraries across the nation. Through this avenue I got to explore the esoteric world of Jay Rosenblatt. His art house short, Human Remains, branded the dark period of WWII in my mind – not for the visceral details of war footage, but more interestingly for its frank and mundane portrayal of evil.

What made this film so chilling was the banal manner in which these cold-blooded dictators recounted all the details of their life (whilst enacting the most heinous atrocities.)  The x-ray effect of Hitler’s profile paralleled the transparency of a personal life fraught with petty concerns, sexual issues and insecurities… as evil and mythic as his personage grew to be, he was ultimately bound to his twisted mortal coil. Rosenblatt also included other notorious dictators of the 20th century: Stalin, Mao Ze Dong and Francisco Franco.

Film Still from Luis Bunuel’s Los Olvidados (1950)

During my brief stint at the stunning Geisel Library (in remembrance of its patron saint, Dr. Seuss), I was exposed to the carnal desires and brutal violence of Nagisa Oshima’s oeuvre.  Like no other before him, he explored the lurid depths of forbidden passions in his films, In the Realm of Senses and Empire of Passion.

Through the same avenue, I became exposed to Luis Bunuel, the genius whose career in Spain was abruptly sabotaged by his irascible f(r)iend Salvador Dali soon after their masterpiece Un Chien Andalou. An unreasonable banishment from the bourgeois establishment compelled Bunuel to seek refuge in the cultural wilderness of Mexico, to explore the limitless and lawless environment of his subconscious. In the arid outskirts of Mexico City he helmed such gems as Los Olvidados and Susana; then upon his return to Europe, his anti-bourgeois statements with such classics as Belle du Jour and The Discreet Charm.

Film Still from Nagisa Oshima’s Empire of Passion (1978)

Soon my voracious appetite for films led me to crash the cherished film courses of J.P. Gorin, an aging French professor who in his youth ran with the hip political riff-raff of Jean Luc Godard.  To this day he held a youthful contempt for authority as he chain-smoked in the lecture halls and spouted the intriguing anecdotes of a seasoned cineaste. Sepia-tinted memories shrouded in the seductive quality of smoke. There, my love affair with cinema expanded to include the politically charged French New Wave movement and the wealth of beauty and symmetry found in post-war Japanese cinema.

From here on, my unabashed love of films will be a guiding force in traversing the broad subject matter at hand: from the careers of salient auteurs to the overlooked; of the prolific to the finite. My musings will entail hitherto little-known facts and weird coincidences; particularly the ways in which films whether (un)consciously on the part of the director, relate to a film from a different culture or cinematic movement. It is finding those moments in which different universes can converge on a single idea, obsession or philosophy that intrigues me.  As well as the way a film intertwines itself with politics, music and literature in holy matrimony.

Since I have an affinity for older films (from the 40s to the 70s), my posts will naturally entail: La Nouvelle Vagues, Italian neo-realism, Giallos, American Pulps, Yakuzas, Samurais, Comedies and everything in between.  If this piques your interest enough, please check out my weekly installation on vintage celluloid that predates the era of digital film. Borrow these films on Netflix or your local video store and please feel free to comment back with your own thoughts.

Film Still from Alejandro Jodorowsky’s The Holy Mountain (1973)

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To see more from Sylvia Adams, visit: http://evilmonito.com/author/sylvia/

Published on 2 November 2009 | 4 |