THE MISSION - CRITERION CHANNEL

This review was originally written for DVDTalk.com in 2010.

Roland Joffé's 1986 drama The Mission is a lush, if maybe slightly undercooked, historical epic about faith, exploitation, and redemption. It stars Jeremy Irons as Father Gabriel, a Jesuit monk who has traveled to the jungles of South America to build a church in a remote outpost. His assignment is up in the hills, above a massive waterfall that the previous missionary was dumped over. He was murdered and set adrift, lashed to a rudimentary cross, a sign of how much the Guarani tribe that lives there initially wanted to be converted to Christianity.

The Mission is set in 1750, at a time when foreign interest in this part of the world varied. In opposition to Father Gabriel's more humanitarian goals is Rodrigo Mendoza, played with a subdued fire by Robert De Niro. Mendoza is a slave trader, and it seems the only one bold enough to go that deep into the rainforest to kidnap the Guarani. After Mendoza kills his own brother (Aidan Quinn) in a dispute over a woman, the mercenary seeks his penance in Gabriel's monastic order, giving himself to God and helping to build the mission where the locals will worship.

Unfortunately, just because Mendoza has stopped rounding up the natives doesn't mean that the threat is gone. Both Spain and Portugal have interest in the slave trade and the natural resources found in this land, and they don't appreciate the missions creating productive farming communities that compete with their bottom line. The Papacy, hoping to secure the Catholic Church's position in the region while also maintaining power back home, sends a Cardinal (Ray McAnally) to sort the situation out. Though he presents himself as having an open mind and is even moved by the conversions he sees, he ultimately gives the land to Portugal and orders the various missionary outposts to shut down. The Guarani don't want to leave, and despite the threat of excommunication, the monks decide to stand their ground, as well. Only, the two men split once again. Gabriel will put his trust in his faith and stage a peaceful protest; Mendoza will pick up the arms he previously renounced and fight. Who will be more effective?

The Mission is a gorgeous movie. It was shot on location throughout South America, with actual indigenous people performing as the movie's extras. Joffé and cinematographer Chris Menges, who won an Oscar for his work, embrace the majesty of the rainforest and the mighty Paraná River. Their awe of the wild landscape is infectious, and the widescreen photography looks phenomenal in high definition. Watch it on a big TV, and you will feel as if you have taken an expedition to the Amazon. It's an immersive experience, particularly with the way Ennio Morricone's vibrant orchestration further envelopes you. This is a movie that dazzles the senses.

I didn't feel quite the same way about the characters, however. The script is by Robert Bolt, who wrote most of David Lean's more famous historical epics, and though The Mission matches those in scope and ambition, it lacks the soul of a movie like Lawrence of Arabia. I mean that in multiple ways, too. Not only did I not feel like I got to know the characters very well or understand exactly what made them tick, but I didn't feel Joffé was able to communicate the spirituality that was essentially the main motivator for everyone. In that kind of environment, and with cold-hearted capitalists serving as enemies to the pure intentioned, it should have been easy. Yet, while the villains are broadly drawn, the heroes seem like mere sketches.

The actors are not at fault for this. The two leads, in particular, inhabit their roles with convincing purpose. Jeremy Irons is soft-spoken and warm, and his expressive eyes carry many scenes, particularly as his communication with the Guarani is either silent or in the untranslated native language. The script fails Father Gabriel in the final portion of the movie, not giving enough attention to his crisis of faith, instead throwing the narrative support behind Mendoza. This rough beast represents the real arc of the movie, going from a calculating egotist to penitent and then somewhere more in the middle, when he must stand up and act with purpose. De Niro is fantastic, squashing most of the easily imitated mannerisms that he is known for, and delivering a cerebral performance. Mendoza is meditative--a thinker--and when you watch De Niro, you can see the wheels turning in his head. It may also be that I identify with his character more than I do Gabriel, who arguably shies away from his personal responsibility in the destruction of a people. Even if one accepts that he had good intentions, his presence in the jungle is as violent an invasion as the Portuguese marauders.

Which I suppose is where the real thematic resonance of The Mission lies: the rich political subtext. By being offered these two men as our identifying figures, Joffé and Bolt ask us to wrestle with our own conscience. Which would we be? The idealist who embraces nonviolent protest, or the one who acts when circumstances demand a response? It could be that neither option is ideal. The only thing that is sure is neither worked for those caught in the middle.

L'AUTOMOBILE - FILMSTRUCK

Originally written for DVDTalk.com in 2012:

If you've never thought to yourself, "Hey, you know, a woman in her sixties learning how to drive would make a great subject for a movie," you probably aren't alone. And now that the idea is planted in your head, if you think that such a thing actually sounds pretty boring, you're not half wrong either.

Surprise, surprise, such a film actually exists. The 1971 Italian feature The Automobile (L'automobile) stars iconic movie star Anna Magani (Rome Open City [review], Mamma Roma) as Anna, a well-regarded prostitute in her 60s who has never owned her own car. Despite having such high regard in her social circle that her friends and colleagues refer to her as "The Countess," Anna is bored with her everyday existence. Why should a woman of her age continue to schlep around on the bus when having her own convertible will grant her freedom to come and go as she pleases? As the idea grows, she realizes that this could be her liberation, and eventually takes the plunge.

The first third of The Automobile is Anna trying to decide whether she wants the little yellow car or not; the second third is her learning to drive and getting her license; the last third is her first trip as a woman with her own wheels. This outing to the beach introduces her to the new social possibilities provided by having a car. When she meets a nice family at a gas station, it gives them something in common to talk about; when she meets a couple of opportunists at the beach, it shows her how having transportation can get you taken advantage of.

The Automobile was written and directed by Alfredo Giannetti, best known for the screenplay to Divorce Italian Style. His visual approach has much in common with Italian Neorealism. He shoots on location, in the streets and cafes of Rome, photographing Magnani walking the pavement amongst genuine passersby. The narrative has the tangential flow of real life, both to the good and the bad. The movie is at its best midway when Anna is dealing with the frustration of learning to drive and dealing with the off-beat personalities that hold the keys to her dreams. When the older woman is alternately berating and charming the DMV employee taking her license photo, we are reminded of what a force of nature Magnani can be. Suddenly, all the men who have been hitting on her from The Automobile's very first scene make a lot of sense: Anna Magnani is a forceful personality, a woman used to being watched and admired, but who also gets her own way. Her comedic chops are particularly evident when she realizes the official giving her driving test is a former client.

Perhaps the movie's best touch, though, is the ongoing conversation Anna has with herself. This manifests as both a voiceover and Anna speaking out loud. At times, it practically becomes a dialogue. Giannetti shows impeccable timing for moving in and out of the interior and exterior. To capture an unbroken cut where Anna responds to her own thought processes aloud shows the director had an impressive command of the scene.

Too bad not everything in the movie works as well. Long stretches pass without much of interest happening. Too long is spent on the decision phase of the story, and the debate grows tedious. This isn't helped by the drab photography by Pasqualino De Santis (Lancelot of the Lake, Death in Venice). The downside of the realistic approach is that we're stuck with the unattractive early '70s fashion and the earthy color palette popular at the time. This aesthetic is only reinforced by Ennio Morricone's kitschy store. The music never maintains a consistent style, pinging between classic orchestration and contemporary noodling. It's amazing how a modern musical style, which can seem so cutting edge on release, can cause a movie like The Automobile to age so poorly.

I'll admit, I was mostly charmed by the middle section of The Automobile, and by the time Anna does finally hit the highway, I was happy for her achieving her dream. That said, I was nonplussed by the ending, which leaves Anna in a bad place. Gianetti has pulled a bit of a rope-a-dope on us, and what looked to be an uplifiting story about an older woman finding a new lease on life turns into a total bummer. Maybe had I enjoyed the build-up more, I'd also have felt this turnaround more intensely; instead, much like Anna, I am left wondering why I even bothered if this was all that was going to come of the endeavor.

TIE ME UP! TIE ME DOWN! - #722

Yet another film in the long list of titles I learned about through Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert on “At the Movies,” though one I had not seen up until now. I would have been a senior in high school or a freshman in college when Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! would have been released, and it would have likely been a little too perverse for me, farther off the beaten track than I was ready to go. I was still only dabbling in foreign films, had not seen a Pedro Almodovar picture, and was a bit skeeved out by the clip they showed of the toy scuba diver swimming between a woman’s legs. That’s, of course, the most infamous scene in Tie Me Up!, the one that tested the MPAA system and helped lead the way to the NC-17 classification.

Now that I’ve seen the film, that’s one of the least disturbing elements. At least in that little bit, Marina (Victoria Abril) is enjoying herself and having fun under her own volition. In fact, it’s the last moment of freedom, really, before a man of another kind will invade her life.

Marina is an actress who has just completed filming a movie. It’s a good time for her. Prior to this, she struggled with heroin addiction and starred in adult films. It’s these past issues that will give her friends and family cause to worry when she disappears, but also indicates the darker aspects of her personality. It was likely on one of her drug-fueled benders when she first met Ricki (Antonio Banderas) a year prior, himself on one of his many escapes from a mental institution. The 23-year-old is out again, but this time legally, having been cleared for regular life. His first order of business is to find Marina, follow her home, and trap her there, kidnapping her and holding her hostage long enough for her to see what kind of a guy he really is and fall in love with him.

Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! is a strange movie. Its subject matter is dark and serious, but its execution is practically frivolous. I suppose the best indication of what kind of genre Almodovar is attempting is signaled by the on-set scenes for when Marina is making her own film within the film. Almodovar is having a metafictional lark here, poking fun at himself and his reputation as a director who favors women, but he’s also calling attention to the odd, uncategorizable nature of Tie Me Up!. The film Marina is starring in is “a spin-off of the horror genre,” and so it is with Tie Me Up!. It is a sexualized Misery, with maybe Ricki channeling a little bit of Humphrey Bogart from The Desperate Hours. The fact that Marina escapes her would-be lover (and also killer) in the fake film by strangling him with a phone cord is a bit of misdirection. It’s Marina who will be tied up with a cord, and eventually she won’t be looking for revenge. Ricki’s plan works. Stockholm syndrome sets in, and Marina ends up loving her captor.

It’s hard to imagine Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! being made today. Or at least being released via any mainstream channels. There’s plenty of gross stuff ending up going straight to disc, but most studios would balk at a film that opens with its hero being released from a mental hospital, stalking a woman, and then becoming her lover with no consequence. Almodovar approaches the scenario with a macabre glee, teasing us with the trappings of a Hitchcockian psychological thriller but then going deep to really get down into the muck of it all. His trademark Technicolor fetish lends Tie Me Up! a bizarre surreality, almost as if Marina and Ricki are in an otherworldly wonderland where his sick fantasies lose their dangerous edge. In a similar fashion, the music by Ennio Morricone toggles between sinister Bernard Hermann-esque themes and more grandiose Hollywood swells. Are we watching a beautiful romance or Norman Bates being let lose to pursue his vision of Madeleine Elster?

The young Banderas is pretty incredible here, cat-like in his predatory movements, but then strangely sweet. He hints at the broken little boy that still lurks somewhere underneath all this grown-up desire. He also has a smoldering sexuality, the quality that had Madonna chasing after him in Truth Or Dare, which would have been shot around the same time. He’s handsome and charming but also just downright weird. In a way, his brokenness fills in the fissures of Marina’s own fractured personality. She exudes sexuality right from her first scene, when she decides to forgo wearing underwear because the lines will show; as a performer, Abril is absolutely comfortable in her own skin, and so she manages to show Marina as someone completely attuned to her own pleasure. As her anger dissipates--aided a little by her lapse back into drugs, it should probably be noted--we can see how she would come to crave the intensity of Ricki’s affection. Almodovar keeps her wrestling with her feelings right up until the end. She can’t make up her mind whether to go along with Ricki or to break out.

And as a viewer, you won’t always be clear on her intentions, either. Even up to the last shot, where for a second it appears Almodovar might borrow from The Graduate [review] and end on an ambiguous expression, I was ready to believe she had realized she had made the wrong decision. The momentary jitters help salvage a final sequence that is maybe a little convenient a turn of events, the director unable to resist giving in to his more melodramatic urges and tacking on a quick resolution.

Yet, it may also just be the act of a prankster. There are a lot of playful gags littered throughout the movie. Banderas outside the sweet shop window with the “O” in the sign over his face and looking like a diver’s mask, the S&M-like garb of the villain in the horror movie, Marina captured between Ricki’s spread legs when he’s standing on his head just before he turns her whole existence upside down--Almodovar’s subversion of conventional sexual imagery is key to subverting our own expectations of what makes a healthy relationship. Holding hands is replaced by handcuffed wrists, and a kidnapper might fix your plumbing (and not just metaphorically). If we were entirely comfortable with it, the trickster would be deprived of his fun. It suggests Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! maybe owes as much to John Waters as to Alfred Hitchcock. We should never stop laughing any more than we should stop guessing.

This is Criterion's first foray into Almodovar's filmography, and hopefully it won't be the last. With a crisp, colorful high-definition transfer and a well chosen selection of extras, including new interviews with the cast and crew, Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! is an excellent presentation, bringing the singular Spanish director into the fold of a singular company.

This disc was provided by Criterion for purpose of review.

INVESTIGATION OF A CITIZEN ABOVE SUSPICION - #682

The 1970 Oscar race saw Patton coming out in front. The portrait of the war hero, showing his successes and his foibles, snagged the Best Picture prize. Franklin J. Schaffner's biopic took an unconventional approach by both inflating and deflating the mythology of a great man undone by over-confidence in his own abilities and stature.

There must have been something in the air. The evening's winner for the Best Foreign Language picture, beating out efforts by Luis Bunuel, Maximilian Schell, and Raoul Coutard, was Elio Petri's Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion. While the Italian film may not be as well known today as its American co-champion, it is no less effective a depiction of the downfalls of hubris and authority. I'd daresay, Petri's political thriller is also just as pertinent today as it ever was.

Inspired in part by the work of Franz Kafka, Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion is a perverse mystery and a biting satire on the prevailing power structure and the cruelty of government systems. It opens innocently enough, with Ennio Morricone's ironically playful musical theme. With its nickel piano and comical mouth harp, it is the orchestral cue Carl Stalling might have written for Alfred Hitchcock had they ever worked together. Unlike a Hitchcock hero, however, the protagonist here is not the wrong man, he just wants everyone to think he is, if only to prove himself right. Gian Maria Volonté (Le cercle rouge [review]) stars as a Chief Inspector of the Italian police, whose hard-ass tactics have made him the star of the homicide bureau and earned him a new position in charge of political crimes. The Chief is a neo-Fascist whose lip service to democracy masks his true belief that the non-conformists (i.e. hippies, weirdoes, and communists) need to be monitored and manipulated with an iron fist. In one amusing scene, the first order of business for the Chief in his new position is to hear statistics about the fluctuation of graffiti in praise of foreign dictators. Mao is up, Stalin down.

Naturally, like many an uptight arbiter of moral decency, the Chief has his own kinks. The movie begins with the detective visiting his mistress, Augusta Terzi (Florinda Bolkan), a libertine of such wanton proclivities, she owns no underwear, an important detail in the forthcoming investigation of her murder. The rendezvous starts with Augusta asking the Chief how he plans to kill her today; he responds that he will slit her throat. This is their regular bedroom game--he has her re-enact the crime scenes that really turn him on--but today, it all becomes real.

Once he has done the deed, the Chief then proceeds to cover up his own crime. Yet, he does so in such a way that any smart investigator should be able to see right through it. He leaves his fingerprints everywhere, he steps in blood and puts footprints all over the house, and he calls the police himself. Hell, he even leaves in full view of the woman's upstairs neighbor (Sergio Tramonti), another of her lovers and a known radical. The Chief is essentially daring anyone to see through and disprove his obfuscations. The real sign of power is that despite his being the obvious choice, no one will have the guts to accuse him, no matter how many clues he gives them.

This is the main point of Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion, though the plot is more knotted than it might seem. As the movie unravels, and as we see more flashbacks to the Chief's relationship with Augusta, we begin to doubt his true motives. The script, written by Petri (The 10th Victim [review]) and Ugo Pirro, is intentionally mocking the warped way of thinking that would cause anyone to seek political power and also the way that power corrupts. In a bizarre twist on Poe's “Telltale Heart,” the memory of the dead woman taunts her killer in much the same way she apparently taunted him in real life. She pushed him to flex his manhood, not just in response to her, but as a challenge to his colleagues. It's classic super-villain pathology: he believes everyone is too stupid to match wits with him. He cruelly creates new red herrings, drawing innocent citizens into his trap only to discredit and ruin them.

There are many chilling parallels between Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion and modern-day abuses. The Chief's desire to crush any opposing point of view is given action through wire-tapping and surveillance and emboldened via manipulation of the press. His barbaric interrogation techniques required little innovation when the Bush Administration adopted similar tactics. It's uncomfortable watching the Chief force a political prisoner (Vittorio Duse) to choose between maintaining a stress position or drinking an entire pitcher of salt water. His intention is to have the man finger his friend, Augusta's neighbor, the one who saw him, in a terrorist bombing. The prisoner relents, but we never know for sure if he is telling the truth. As has been argued time and time again, torture yields the results the torturer is looking for, but that doesn't mean those results are valuable.

The harshest critique in Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion is not for the Chief's approach to police work, but for the man himself. He is a vainglorious bully who can't sustain his own lies. Volonté is terrific in the lead, puffing up his chest when on the offensive, but crumbling like a baby at the most insignificant slight. His pathological hiding of the truth reveals more about who the real man underneath than he covers up, embodying the usual cliché that what a zealot most denies, that's what he truly is.

Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion has long been out of circulation. Criterion has struck their new Blu-Ray/DVD combo from a gorgeous 4K restoration, making for a lovely high-definition picture that preserves the look of the original film, delivering a clean, colorful image. The set is likewise loaded with extras, including lengthy documentaries on both Elio Petri and Gian Maria Volonté. There is also a recent interview with Ennio Morricone specifically about the film, as well as standard some archival elements.

This disc was provided by the Criterion Collection for purposes of review.