I wasn’t sure at first if I wanted to review White Mane (DVD WHI), a 1953 French film about a white stallion and the boy who befriends him. For one thing, it’s in black and white, and, also, there are subtitles. As a modern moviegoer, accustomed to vivid color, twitchy editing, and hyper-realism in films, I definitely had to adjust my brain to watching something so much smaller, cooler, and slower. But for those willing to brave the “negatives” of this short movie (it’s only 47 minutes long), it has much to offer, and its conclusion may haunt you.

Set in a wild, marshy area of France called the Camargue, the story tells of a magnificent stallion named White Mane, who leads a herd of wild horses. A band of ranchers attempt to capture White Mane and to tame him. He is captured, and then escapes. A young boy named Folco sees the horse escaping, later dreams of him, and asks if he can have him if he can capture him. The ranchers laughingly agree.

Part of the magic of this film is that at a certain point you stop seeing a white horse, and start seeing a free spirit. The black and white images of the horse and his world become ghostly. Film critic Pauline Kael wrote that White Mane is “One of the most beautiful movies ever made,” and I can see why.

Cruelly, the men set the marsh grass on fire to stampede the horse to them. Folco rides the horse out of the burning world the men have created, and he and the horse are pursued by the men to a suddenly transcendent conclusion that really jolted me.

White Mane is usually described as a children’s movie, and while it has some of the elements of a children’s story, to me, it’s a fable for adults. Filmed so soon after the horrors of World War II, director Albert Lamorisse asks: Why are men so cruel? This movie has no answer, but it will have you thinking about its question for a long time.

Lamorisse went on, in 1956, to make The Red Balloon (DVD RED), the classic story of a little schoolboy who finds a big red balloon--a balloon with a mind of its own. Filmed in Paris, we follow the bobbing red balloon through monochromatic back streets and neighborhoods. The Red Balloon is so charming that it is almost possible to miss that its plot is the same as the rather melancholy plot of White Mane (The mob must destroy the free spirit.). Again, this movie is for both adults and children, though adults will see the dark shadows that children may miss. This movie is also subtitled, but as there is little dialogue, it’s easy to follow.

Both White Mane and The Red Balloon are newly restored, and have long been a classic duo at children’s matinees. They are short—why not make an evening of it? Bake some pain au chocolat, brew some café au lait, and settle in for a magical evening.

franm

Posted by Readers Services at 02:26 PM | Permalink

Film critic Roger Ebert has said that movie watching is a way to meet new people—cinematic people, that is. Through the documentary The Monastery: Mr. Vig and the Nun, I have met Mr. Jorgen Vig, an 82-year-old Danish recluse. With his long, stringy white hair and a long, stringy white beard, in appearance Mr. Vig is a cross between the Ancient Mariner and Ebeneezer Scrooge. Mr. Vig owns a castle, and is obsessed with the idea that someday it becomes a monastery. In his eighties, apparently aware that time is a-wasting, he contacts the Russian Orthodox church, in Moscow, asking them if they would use the castle for a monastery. A party of nuns is dispatched to check the castle out. These are the bare parameters of a story that is both humorous and thought-provoking, the humor arising from the many collisions of the eccentric Mr. Vig’s thought processes with the nuns, who are in every way orthodox. The skeptical nuns, noting that the leaking stone roof is crushing the walls of the castle, creating cracks and fissures, and also noting that the castle’s boiler is a rust-encrusted ancient hulk barely capable of heating a cup of tea, much less a castle, try to determine if the castle can be made habitable. One nun, in particular, Sister Ambrosija, spars with Mr. Vig, and they come to a mutual and touching admiration for one another.

There is much to enjoy in this movie. As well as the charismatic Mr. Vig, who wears a different hat in every scene, there are the many nooks and crannies of the decrepit castle for the camera to explore; the beautiful Danish countryside in all seasons; and the life of Russian Orthodox nuns, their every waking hour a scheduled round of prayer and work.

In the end, Mr. Vig, who is a self-described “emotional cripple,” who cringes in horror when embraced by a nun, who could barely bring himself to embrace his mother (once), and who has a host of other neuroses and fixations and is emotionally isolated beyond what most people could imagine, leaves behind him a community of believers, and herein lies the mystery of the life of Mr. Vig.

The force of Mr. Vig’s odd personality was such that when the movie was over I had that bereft feeling I get when I must finally turn the last page of a wonderful novel, exiled from the embrace of the novel’s world forever. In the case of The Monastery: Mr. Vig and the Nun, however, I made a cup of tea, settled down, and immediately watched the movie again.

Posted by Readers Services at 09:35 AM | Permalink

Great World of Sound is a comedy that inhabits the precise place in the American dream where the desperate are barely clinging to the bottom rung on the ladder of success. Martin (Pat Healy) and Clarence (Kene Holliday) have been hired by a record production firm named Great World of Sound (GWS). Their job is to scour the American hinterlands for musical talent. GWS will produce and distribute CDs for the performers, though they ask for an “in faith” payment of money before doing so. When Martin and Clarence find they have to sign up everyone who auditions, talented or not, a light bulb switches on: this is a scam, though it takes Martin longer than Clarence, who has lived a tough life out on the streets, to catch on. Clarence points out that “nothing is fair,” in this world, and you have to do what you have to do to survive. For Martin and Clarence, all that stands between them and their slice of American pie is their conscience.

A motley array of hopefuls audition for Martin and Clarence in skuzzy motel rooms. The lame, the halt, and the completely clueless are paraded before us, which is either painful or funny, depending on your state of mind. I found that many of the performers had a certain dignity—yes, they may be awful as they flail guitars, and screech and whine about the pain of love, but their faith in themselves and their dreams is touching. The movie takes a turn when a young woman with actual talent lands in their net, like an unsuspecting butterfly. Will they scam her?

If you have ever found yourself at 6:30 in the morning making your bleary way to the complimentary breakfast at a Motel 6, somewhere in Nowheresville, USA, you are familiar with the rather bleak terrain of this movie. But the movie is saved from darkness by Martin and Clarence, who remain human as they gamely do their best in a losing proposition, and much of the quirky charm of this movie arises from their likeability and banter. The performers have their dreams, and small kindnesses illuminate the movie like emergency flairs. I laughed throughout the whole movie, but sometimes tears sprang to my eyes—as some critics have noted, Great World of Sound is more of a “dramedy,” than a comedy.

Great World of Sound is rated “R” for language.

Fran M.

Posted by Readers Services at 03:08 PM | Permalink

The 2002 film “Waiting for Happiness,” by African film maker Abderrahmane Sissako, takes place in a seaside village in Mauritania, under a dome of turquoise sky. If you don’t know where Mauritania is (on the bulge of the west coast of Africa), you are not alone. This is just the movie to fill in that gap in knowledge with its vivid collage of color and music. The story is about Abdallah, a student stopping back home for a brief time before he leaves for Europe, perhaps forever. He feels alienated, and is no longer part of village life. He no longer can speak the language, and feels constrained from dancing the local dances. If the theme of alienation seems bleak, the movie itself is full of life: We watch as a little girl pays rapt attention while learning to sing traditional music; we walk through the lively market of the town; and we watch joyous dancers at a party, their colorful robes billowing and rippling. Change is coming to the village as inexorably as the sand dunes from the Sahara blow in, but tradition also takes root and flowers in the hearts of the young. This seemingly nondescript village is a crossroads between the past and the future, the traditional and the modern. Is the blue-robed electrician named Maata actually an electrician or is he a sorcerer? In this world, he could be either.

If I could describe the nature of this movie in one sentence, it would be as follows: Light as a steady desert breeze, luminous with color, ornamented with grace notes of charm and humor, and haunted by an undercurrent of sadness and dislocation. As long as you don’t come to this movie looking for an action thriller, but rather a delicately nuanced vision of a faraway world, with each scene unfolding and revealing fascinating vignettes, you will not be disappointed. There are subtitles, which are clear and easy to read. Also, listen for the haunting soundtrack music of female Malian singer Oumou Sangare. If you enjoy her singing, you can hear more on her CD “Worotan,” which is in the library collection.

Fran M.

Posted by Readers Services at 11:38 AM | Permalink