Blake Edwards RIP

Just got the news that Blake Edwards has died. He did some great films, and some less good films which still had amazing scenes in them. He combined slapstick with detachment, sometimes being vulgar, sometimes being sad. As I have written before, Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961) is probably my favourite, because it has all of the things that made him great. I also have a few films left to discover, some of which holds great potential. Will wrote more soon.

Archives

Since I have worked in an archive (the Ingmar Bergman Archives), it shouldn't come as a surprise that I feel very strongly about them. Many are badly looked after, and the space in which the material is being kept is not always suitable. But they should be nursed tenderly, because there are real treasures out there, waiting to be discovered.

Archival research hasn't always been considered really OK, not necessarily something film scholars should belittle themselves with. But there's something in archives for pretty much everybody. It's not only about the cult of the great artist, a comprehensive archive will have material of economic, cultural and industrial, as well as artistic, relevance. Letters between producers and financiers, between directors and censorship boards, between production companies and agents. Financial reports, salaries for actors and technicians, recording schedules, all of this things can help bring order and clarity to the history of cinema. It can also help answer many questions of authorship and influence, challenge some held notions and put a lot of conventional wisdom in perspective.

But there is no denying the fact that one of the biggest thrills in going through archives is the discovery of information about individuals, and their thoughts and comments, their behaviour and their struggles. Sometimes a particular letter might change your whole view of somebody. Background information might disappoint you, or it might enrich your experience of watching a particular film.

I cannot quote here from letters I've read, you'll just have to take my word for the potentials they possess. But students of film history and theory should at one point be introduced to the world of archives, and hopefully get the opportunity to visit one for a social call. In Scotland, there are for example the wonderful archives of Lindsay Anderson, John Grierson and Norman McLaren at University of Stirling. I was there last Thursday, having a wonderful time. I was mainly looking at the connections between Anderson and John Ford (since my love for Ford runs deep), but that was just the tip of the iceberg. I will go back soon. And there are many more archives out there, just waiting to be devoured.

Meet Me in St Louis (1944)

Meet Me in St Louis (1944) is in many ways a fantastic film. It's perfectly structured, wonderfully acted, has excellent music numbers, and, above all, the cinematography and the compositions are breathtaking and exhilarating. It's an early Vincente Minnelli, and the cinematographer is George Folsey, and even though it isn't Minnelli's best, it's still a prime example of what he does so brilliantly. Pitched emotions, lush mise-en-scène, elaborate and complex camera movements, and a touch of hidden darkness behind the merriments. I will soon write a longer blog post on Minnelli, who is one of my favourite filmmakers, but today, due to lack of time, I'll just provide some clips from Meet Me in St Louis. My favourite is a long take of Esther (Judy Garland) walking through her house, turning of all the lights, together with the object of her affections (Tom Drake). It's an astonishing sequence, from a technical point, and so very sweet and moving on top of that. But I couldn't find it, so you'll have to settle for this one instead. It hasn't the magnificent camera movements I love, but I like that it's reflexive, and acknowledges the fact that singing out loud might be annoying for some people, even if it happens to be a musical:

Here's another scene, which I can only link to, not embed. Here you get both the mise-en-scène and the camera movements. It begins with a long take, starting outside in the snow, moving in through the window, sweeping through the entire ball room, until it finds the main characters, Rose and Esther, after a minute or so. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsYazm2jzCw

African cinema

What do we mean when we talk about African cinema? Well, once upon a time it was perhaps something like this:

What's interesting about the trailer, apart from the weird tone of voice of the narrator, is that the selling point is Africa, with its animal and its people. The actors are mentioned more in passing, and even though the director is as famous as John Ford his name is not mentioned. But the setting is emphasised again and again, in spoken words, written words and in the images.

Today, African cinema thankfully means something different. For some, especially younger audience, it might still mean a Western film set in Africa, such as Blood Diamond (2006), but for most it would mean films made in Africa, by African filmmakers. But the questions then become, what is Africa, who speaks for it, and what are they saying? And why are films from Africa called "African films", instead of Senegalese, Malian or from whichever country they might come. We do after all, call Amelie (Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain 2001) a French film, and Police, Adjective (Politist, adjectiv 2009) is seen as part of the Romanian "New Wave", and not an European "New Wave". Well, perhaps it is, in non-Western countries. I don't know.

A case could perhaps be made that since African films are usually co-productions, it becomes only relevant to call them African, just as there is a term for European co-productions (Euro-puddings). To take one example, Ousmane Sembene's last film, the very impressive Moolaadé (2006), had at least five countries involved in the production.

Some say that films made by filmmakers born in Africa but making films in other countries, about Africans in that country, should be seen as African films. That too could be problematic though. If somebody from Senegal makes a film in Belgium about Senegalese people, what has that got to do with people in Egypt or Zimbabwe? And if you're a second, or third, generation immigrant filmmaker making films in France, are they still African films then? Are people with African roots "condemned" to always make "African" films?

It is of course always the case when you want to define something, at least outside hard science, that it is damn hard to do so. At best, it creates as many problems as it solves, and maybe it is unfair, or unnecessary, to focus to much attention on these difficulties. In any event when people talk about African cinema, it's relevant to ask the question, "Ah yes, but what do you mean by that?". In this blog post, when I use the expression "African cinema" I mean films made in Africa by people who see themselves as Africans, but only because it is convenient, not because I think that there is some kind of special African kind of filmmaking, that is true for all films made in Africa

African films do not get much distribution, neither in their own countries or around the world. Partly to compensate for this, there is now a number of African film festivals spread around the world. They usually have two laudable aims, to help spread African films, and to counter the image in massmedia of Africa as being all about crime, poverty, war and social strife. However, it becomes ironic since most films that they show are, well, about crime, poverty, war and social strife. You will not be as likely to see comedies about young, rich and successful people having cocktails in Lagos or Khartoum as you are to see films about rural people being oppressed. As much as I like Moolaadé, it could be argued that it caters to Western ideas about Africa, with its depiction of cruel ancient customs, harsh patriarchal societies and feisty, colourful women who sing and dance.

Most African films made outside Nigeria are financed in part or completely by France and/or the EU. Is it possible that it is easier to get funding for films which, as I suggested, caters to Western ideas, and that if these films were wholly independent, and locally funded, they might be very different, and deal with different concerns? I'm certainly not questioning the late Sembene's earnestness in wanting to address, in Moolaadé, the horrendous practices of female circumcision or genital mutilation. But if the film festivals were really interested in portraying a different aspect of Africa, then that is not the kind of film that will do the job, no matter how good it is.

I guess the main problem here is that, with these films and these film festivals, it is still mainly the outside world which gets to decided what is good, proper and worthy as African films. The people of Ghana, Uganda and Kenya and so on watch Hollywood films, cheap Nigerian films (from Nollywood), South American telenovelas and Bollywood films, the kind of films the (often elitist) audience of the African film festivals in many cases would avoid at all costs, instead going to watch films that make them feel good about themselves, such as films about those that are poor and suffering.

The point is not to discourage people to go to film festivals and watch what they've got to offer on African cinema, or to belittle the many great artists making films in Africa, it's just to point out some problems and possibly to some instances of hypocrisy. You should flock to the African film festivals, but not because the films are African, but because they are good.

To round things up, here's a trailer to a Nollywood film, Passions:

Tobacco Road

I saw a documentary once about amateur Iranian filmmakers, and at one point somebody said that what he wanted was to make films like John Ford. At a film festival in São Paulo I once met a young filmmaker from Argentina whose great idol was John Ford. Once in Canterbury I met an undergraduate who was studying film history and she complained about the fact that today there was no longer any art in filmmaking, just business, complaining that there was no one like Ford any more. "I'm sorry, who?" I said, finding it hard to believe that a young girl in Britain would have John Ford as a role model as well. But she actually meant that Ford.

There is no denying the tremendous global influence and importance of Ford, and he is one of those filmmakers of which I feel I need to see every single thing they have made, because even the lesser films have moments of greatness in them, and by not seeing them all, I will miss out on something. As far as Ford's sound films, I have covered most of them, but I still have many of the silent ones left to watch.

Last week I saw Tobacco Road (1941) for the first time, which is one of his lesser known sound films, and also one of his most idiosyncratic. It does not have a proper story, it is a mood piece, about a few days in the life of a desperately poor family in the countryside. It is not all that good, mostly because some of the characters are so obnoxious, and acted in a rather hysterical style. A comic style that does not work for me. But Ford is such a forceful personality, with such an immediately recognisable style and tone of voice, and was such an exceptional filmmaker, that even a small, cheap, eccentric film such as Tobacco Road has scenes that are extraordinary.

In one such scene the husband (played by Charles Grapewin) is being told by the man from the bank that he will be evicted from his house if he does not pay rent, and since he has no money he cannot pay. The old man just stands there beside the car in which the bank man sits, and is pleading with him, while his wife (Elizabeth Patterson) is seen in the background, her hand clasped.

But it is a later scene, the last day before they are being evicted, that is the true highlight of the film. Since they have to leave the woman is picking up some things in their ramshackle cabin, quietly, done with the camera at floor level, looking up at her, taking in the whole of the cabin, and the only sound is the song "Shall we gather by the river" playing softly in the background. Then her husband enters, looking at her. "I guess there isn't much to take with us." she says, while the husband is unable to speak. Then he just says "I'm sorry Ada." It is such a delicate, understated scene, it can bring tears to anybody's eyes. The combination of the music, the composition and the humbleness of it is both what makes it so beautiful and what makes it so essentially Fordian.

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That scene with her in the cabin has the camera at floor level, looking up, with the inner ceiling clearly visible, which makes it the kind of shot Citizen Kane is celebrated for. Tobacco Road was released before Citizen Kane, so it is perhaps yet another example of the profound influence Ford had on Orson Welles. And it was not the first time Ford had used such a shot in his films. It should also be remembered that the cinematographer of Citizen Kane, Gregg Toland, had worked with Ford on two films the previous year, The Long Voyage Home and The Grapes of Wrath. In 1941 though, Ford worked with Arthur Miller, on this one and How Green Was My Valley.

2015-07-31 Some corrections were made and some sentences amended. A photo was added.