Gates of Hell's got more than its share of memorably macabre sequences, including a séance powerful enough to kill (or so it seems), a live burial, an army of maggots on the attack, and, perhaps most famously, an encounter between a drill bit and one man's skull. And, lest we forget, the dead are returning, thanks to some kinda hoodoo-voodoo involving a priest, suicide and the gates of hell.
Here's what to expect, courtesy of Grindhouse Film Festival's press release:
GATES OF HELL (1980) A surreal Italian gutmuncher from
gore-maestro Lucio Fulci! A
priest commits suicide and unwittingly opens the gateway to hell. The
rotting dead rise from their graves to feed on the living in gruesome
fashion, while a psychic and a journalist attempt to stop the rancid
carnage. This is Lucio Fulci at his finest, so prepare yourself for zombie killing, head drilling, intestine
spilling mayhem! Powered by Fabio Frizzi's creepy soundtrack and top
notch special effects.
Some might argue, though, that the real star of the film is the train;
its motions and movement drive the story forward throughout the
picture. Hitchcock certainly loved using rail travel as a device in his
films, borrowing their kinetic energy and confined spaces for numerous films throughout his career.
In The Lady Vanishes, the tension is focused around what befell poor Miss Froy (Whitty), where she possibly could have vanished to, given the limited options aboard the train, and--again, due to the confined space--how the threat might extend to the leads of the film.
It's a cracking, suspense-driven voyage and it's only playing twice this weekend, so don't miss out!
Lady Vanishes plays at the Hollywood
Theatre on March 24th & 25th at 2pm. More info available here.
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There's the temptation when watching Sound of Noise, the rhythm-heavy, feature debut by directors Ola Simonsson and Johannes Stjärne Nilsson, to liken it to a full-length version of the final episode of The Flight of the Conchords, where the Conchords play ordinary objects (drinking glasses, a lamp, etc.) , producing a ridiculously fun musical arrangement out of them. Turns out, Simonsson and Nilsson first played with this rhythmic conceit back in their 2001 short, Music for One Apartment and Six Drummers, featuring the same percussion ensemble that also stars in Sound of Noise.
The story centers around Amadeus (Bengt Nilsson), a cop from an exceptionally musical family. His parents were both classically trained musicians and his brother appears to be the most famous conductor in Sweden. Amadeus, however, has a tin ear, visibly suffering whenever he encounters music in any form, setting him up for the challenge that lies ahead.
A group of drummers, led by expelled music conservatory student, Sanna (Sanna Persson), and a composer, Magnus (Magnus Börjeson), begin perpetrating a series of illegal musical performances/acts of terrorism around the city, ranging from rhythmic attacks resembling a bank robbery to, most hilariously, the hijacking of a hospital operating theater.
The film playfully manipulates the conventions of the crime film genre. Amadeus is, of course, the only person capable of deciphering the crimes, thanks to his inability to bear musicality in any form. It even has a bit of fun with the oft-exploited dynamic between the hunter and the hunted, where an affinity is formed by virtue of the chase itself.
All in all, Sound of Noise an infectiously fun comedy infused with truly weird and wonderful musical performances. Just try and resist smiling, for instance, during the sequence involving construction equipment.
Sound of Noise will begin its run at the Living Room Theaters on Fri., March 23rd. More info available here.
As a bonus, here's Simonsson and Nilsson's short film, Music for One Apartment and Six Drummers. If you like the short, you'll love Sound of Noise:
A key moment in Luchino Visconti's (The Leopard) 1960 epic Rocco and His Brothers comes near the end when Rocco (Alain Delon) declares to his family that he dreams of one day returning to their land in Northern Italy. The film tells the story of five brothers who, along with their recently widowed mother, Rosaria (Katina Paxinou), make the transition from a rural setting to the urban environs of Milan. Although Visconti equally divides the film into a chapter per brother, the heart of the picture concerns the destructive rift that develops between Rocco and his brother Simone (Renato Salvatori), a downward spiral that Rocco (and the film itself) seems to believe has come about as a result of the move to Milan.
Rocco and Simone are torn asunder by their competition for Nadia (Annie Girardot), a prostitute who cynically hangs about Simone until he is no longer useful to her, only to be transformed by the affections of Rocco. Just when it seems possible that Rocco and Nadia's bond could neutralize their individual sorrows, Simone's violent jealousy rears its ugly head, prompting Rocco to make one of several bitter sacrifices for his callously unappreciative brother.
Visconti's film is said to have been a strong influence on the work of Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Coppola. Both directors have made films revolving around themes similar to those present in Rocco; the destruction of familial bonds, often featuring characters with mercurial temperaments. Scorsese notes in his documentary on Italian cinema, My Voyage to Italy, that the outsized emotions on display in films like Visconti's were a revelation upon first viewing.
It's easy to draw comparisons between the quickly shifting character dynamics at play in Rocco and His Brothers and those present in Mean Streets or Goodfellas. Likewise, Coppola seems to have taken note of Visconti's drama heightening use of Nino Rota's score, borrowing the composer for his Godfather trilogy; a choice perfectly suiting the analogous tragedy befalling the Corleone family.
It's worth mentioning how difficult it is to see Rocco and His Brothers as Visconti intended it. The current U.S. dvd edition is non-anamorphic widescreen, meaning that, if you own a modern 16X9 television display, the disc will force a compromise in quality to fill the screen with the image and, even then, the film was transferred in the wrong aspect ratio. Worse yet, it's the truncated cut of the film, missing twelve minutes of footage that were excised when the film opened in the U.S. in 1961.
Fortunately, the version playing at the NW Film Center this weekend restores Rocco and His Brothers to its original 180-minute running time. It's a rare chance to see the film as it was meant to be seen, on a large theater screen with its full story intact.
The newly restored, original 180min. cut of Rocco and His Brothers will
screen at the NW Film Center's Whitsell Auditorium (in the Portland Art
Museum) on Fri., March 23rd & Sat., March 24th at 7pm and again on Sun., March 25th at 4pm.
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As the title of this posting indicates, we've hit a modest milestone here at The Rain Falls Down on Portlandtown. One hundred posts in just over a year's time and it only feels like the blog is beginning to pick up steam.
Back when I lived in the SF Bay Area, it seemed like there were several film noir fests programmed per year. It's been a good long while since a theater in PDX programmed a series dedicated to the genre (was this the last time?), so this is truly exciting news!
The press release states: "Cinema 21 proudly presents… NoirVille!
One entire week of Film Noir’s Greatest Hits! Twelve films in all. And for you über film geeks, nine of them are on sumptuous 35mm!
The films speak for themselves; they’re classics all. But what should be stressed is that this is a very rare opportunity to see on the big screen, as they were intended, twelve quintessential examples of a style, a feeling, a mood of American films the French aptly named Noir. To borrow a phrase from Raymond Chandler, 'The streets were dark with something more than night.' And now so is Cinema 21!"
Last year, the non-fiction films Bobby Fischer Against the World and Senna both recognized that obsessive repetition is often the common thread amongst those we label as geniuses. This crucial concept lies at the heart of David Gelb'sJiro Dreams of Sushi, aportrait of shokuninJiro Ono, a man whose entire life has been given without limits to the betterment of his craft.
Ono practices his magic at Sukiyabashi Jiro, a small, 10-seat eatery snugly nestled in the corner of Tokyo's underground rail station. Belying the unexceptional location, the restaurant is the only sushi-based dining establishment in the world to have received a three-star Michelin rating, an honor extended to Jiro and his staff for five years running now. Fundamentally, Jiro Dreams of Sushi is an introduction to the world's greatest sushi chef, for those not already in the know.
The film emphasizes the focused repetition that drives Jiro's art. There's nary an interview subject in the piece who doesn't marvel at the chef's unyielding pursuit of perfection. Gelb uses food writer Masuhiro Yamamoto's extensive knowledge of and gushing enthusiasm for Jiro's work as an entry point into the intimate spaces of Sukiyabashi Jiro's kitchen and dining area.
From there, we meet Jiro's eldest son, Yoshikazu, who is expected to take over the reigns when Jiro finally steps down; a monumental task in the face of his father's legacy. As a veteran of Jiro's kitchen puts it, Yoshikazu will have to "make sushi twice as good as his father" to be seen as his equal, such is the esteem with which Jiro is held in the culinary world.
Everything about Jiro's philosophy is bent towards continual improvement. We're told that he asks that his apprentices make a ten year commitment, though only the truly dedicated survive long in his kitchen. Gelb's camera ventures outside the confines of the restaurant to meet the fish and rice vendors who supply Jiro with the quality of ingredients he demands.
Each vendor comes off as idiosyncratic and detail-oriented as Jiro himself; there's an entertaining discussion between a rice merchant and Jiro about who deserves (and is capable of cooking) the variety of rice he sells. The trip is a revelation, pointing to the collaboration that makes Jiro's work possible, something that Jiro himself broaches later in the film when discussing the support he receives from his staff.
There's an expectation that cinema tied to food will inspire hunger. Jiro Dreams of Sushi certainly fulfills that assumption while being surprisingly emotionally substantial as well. Gelb presents Jiro as a man with self-denying commitment to his passion. And his passion is contagious.
Fans of Koyaanisqatsi (1982) and Baraka (1992) should take note of the groundbreaking, Academy award-winning short film Organism (1975). Made over the course of fifteen years by experimental film director Hilary Harris, the short work pioneered many of the techniques at play in the aforementioned feature-length films.
Harris was given credit for additional cinematography on Koyaanisqatsi and Organism's influence on the post-production stage of that film, as well as the work of just about anyone working with time-lapsed and/or tilt-shifted imagery, looms large.
The film's title refers to its relational meditation based in scale between living organisms and the metropolis that is New York City. Harris intercuts microscopic footage of biological systems at work with moving images of the city as traffic flows through it, electric light replaces natural light and structures are destroyed and replaced, comparing and contrasting the movements in a manner that uncannily unites them.
And, finally, here is Organism in its entirety (you'll need to log into Fandor via Facebook in order to view the entire film--unfortunately the only way it's available on the web):
A dvd compilation of Hilary Harris' films, including Organism, is available for purchase here.
