No one has ever asked me what my top five movies are. It’s a difficult choice to pick from so much cinematic excellence, and my parameters of what impacted me will not be the same as the reader’s. And there will always be certain titles and artists that top the lists of nearly everyone. Who with the slightest knowledge of Hong Kong cinema isn’t in love with the vividly saturated cinematography of Wong Kar-wai? Who with the slightest knowledge of the English language will not at least claim The Godfather as one of, if not the greatest film ever made, and if nothing else a stunning portrayal of gangsters with considerable psychological complexity and depth? Nevertheless, I love oversharing my filmic opinions, and the favorites I talk about here are the ones that I would be glad to rewatch in no particular order at the moment of writing (this will surely change many times before and after publication).
The Sound of Music
As I have referenced it in my title, The Sound of Music will be my first victim. I first watched this as a much younger girl, though I distinctly remember being horrified as Maria (Julie Andrews) walks down the aisle and becomes a “solved problem” upon marrying a man who had previously driven the seven children in his household into a silent gloom. I was also struck by the scene where the Captain (Christopher Plummer) returns from his honeymoon and rips up a Nazi flag with his bare hands, and the group of nuns who vandalize Nazi car engines remain the icons of my heart to this day. Austrian Catholic nuns who strictly adhered to tradition, but then revealed as anti-fascist and capable of bending the rules for a good purpose? I was more delighted by them than any early von Trapp antics. Hitting the town in recycled curtain fabric as a group? You could not pay my family to do so, especially not while singing and cycling, but that is why I found that scene charming. Scaring away governesses with pranks in a hazing ritual as a way to cope with your mother’s death? As a former international school student, let me tell you that sad rich kids can and have done worse. And, yes, the ending is physically and geographically impossible in real life, but through sheer guile and humor (and extraordinarily catchy, evocative songs) I found myself deeply impressed by this movie. The hills are still alive with the sound of music. I, for one, am perfectly fine with that.
Elegies
A subtly melancholy documentary on the contemporary poetry scene in Hong Kong
The second film I want to discuss is Ann Hui’s Elegies, which I was fortunate enough to watch during a London screening. A subtly melancholy documentary on the contemporary poetry scene in Hong Kong, Hui foregrounds and maps out the topography of writing on and of the city and the many difficulties faced by its writers, whether that be financial, cultural or political. There is an expectation that the viewer has at least a cursory knowledge of the city’s literary scene and linguistic evolution; when Hui focuses on two specific poets on both the technical and the personal, they begin talking about past memories interspersed with scenes of daily life in a shifting political landscape. Blinking back tears when I left for the train, for once in my life I was cursing myself for feeling the need to leave in order to write. This made me just like the documentary’s subjects, in a way; the literary-inclined Hui’s unwavering respect and love for the unique rhythm of poetry that once filled the streets and her conscious link to a wider poetic tradition is a careful remembrance. If home as we know and love it will soon be unrecognizable, at least the words will remain.
White as Snow
The darkly playful fairy-tale retelling by Luxembourgish director Anne Fontaine
A scene-stealing character with a track record for behavior worthy of condemnation, portrayed by a famous European actor dressed head-to-toe in red, dramatically puffs on a vape while plotting the downfall of the main character. No, I’m not talking about Sergio Castellitto in Conclave, though you would be forgiven for assuming that. I am instead referring to Isabelle Huppert in White as Snow, the darkly playful fairy-tale retelling by Luxembourgish director Anne Fontaine. In this iteration, the wicked stepmother, Maud (Isabelle Huppert), is a fashionable and imperious hotelier who has her heart darkened with jealousy when her emotionally distant lover falls for her young stepdaughter, Claire (Lou de Laâge), forcing the girl into an exile in the mountains. Not that this Snow White minds, as Claire meets seven men who all have something to hide and yet collaborate to break her from her role as the ingénue. Her proactive pursuit of these sexual liaisons is painted as a celebration, not an exploitation, of her budding sexuality. There is a scene, late in the movie, where the reunited stepmother and stepdaughter dance together in an overt competition for male attention; this surprisingly sensual sequence shows more of their complicated dynamic than any previous dialogue. As a defence of female sexual freedom, it holds strong in places but still holds room for improvement. And yet perhaps I am taking it too seriously: this is a movie where squirrels become knowing voyeurs. Or maybe I am simply not French enough to appreciate the sexual norms presented here.
An Easy Girl
Another French movie I am very fond of is Rebecca Zlotowski’s coming-of-age comedy drama, An Easy Girl. Working-class teenager Naïma (Mina Farid) has her summer plans overturned by the arrival of her glamorous older cousin, Sofia (Zahia Dehar), who leads her on a whirlwind exploration of the world of super-wealthy entitlement. They laze on sunny beaches and hazy melancholic scenery, and earn matching Chanel purses for offering their company to older men (not in that way, in Naïma’s case). There are long, gorgeous shots of the French coast. Sofia memorably quotes Marguerite Duras before shrugging to reveal an ample amount of her chest. She proves herself intellectually formidable, socially even more so, and startlingly kind even to those that are hostile to her. She is not your typical femme fatale. Instead she is shown to carefully maintain her own sultry mystique and presents herself as a patient guide to her little cousin, instructing her to break from social inhibitions to find her own kind of happiness. And, of course, who can forget the clip of Martyrs playing during a scene where the cousins bond? A light and pleasing watch, it is a more gently compassionate film than you would expect from the taglines.
The Death of Stalin
A brilliant satire that sees a group of aging sycophants turn into malicious power players as they gun for the vacant throne
I am aware that The Death of Stalin really shouldn’t be called a comfort movie, but it certainly served as one when I was a high school student in the throes of a debilitating mental breakdown. I kept renewing a dog-eared copy of Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar from the school library while learning about how he maintained control over an undoubtedly authoritarian state. His rule fascinated me, but my textbook had glossed over the sheer chaos that ensued in the power vacuum that formed after his death. Director Armando Iannucci skewers the dictatorial, power-drunk Soviet bureaucrats in a brilliant satire that sees a group of aging sycophants turn into malicious power players as they gun for the vacant throne. Jason Isaacs steals the show as a bombastic, foul-mouthed Marshal Zhukov but my personal favorite portrayal was Andrea Riseborough as a wanly, kind but politically impotent Svetlana Alliluyeva, daughter to the late dictator. Despite the visually accurate sets and costumes, no one tries to sound remotely Russian. Stalin with a Cockney accent was not something I thought I’d want to witness, but here we are. Now, this movie is a gleefully grim parable of political bloodshed that I cherish for the reminder of the humor in the awfulness that it offers me.
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