NOIR CITY 8: PITFALL (1948) / LARCENY (1948)—Eddie Muller's Opening Night Intro

Welcome to the City of Noir.
You stumbled, you fell; but, here you are.
But you'll never be stranded or—worse—caught red-handed
When you're riding along with the Czar.—The "Voice of Noir City" William P. Varney

Eddie Muller, the above-limericked "Czar of Noir", introduced the theme of this year's Noir City: lust and larceny. "Boy," Miller quipped, "was this a big reach in the world of film noir: the two motivating factors in all of human history, right? As Walter Neff said in Double Indemnity: 'I did it for the money. And I did it for a woman. And I didn't get the money and I didn't get the woman. Pretty, isn't it?' Damn pretty, I think."

Noir City's decision to open with a 1948 doublebill of André de Toth's Pitfall and George Sherman's Larceny was because these two films represented "two sides of the coinage" found so often in film noir. On one side of the coin you find films that are grim, despairing and fatalistic (Pitfall), and then you flip that coin over and noir can be chatty, breezy, and damn funny (Larceny).

Both films were written by screenwriter William Bowers, who was hugely in demand in Hollywood during the noir era, had an extraordinary gift for story structure and an unerring ear for great dialogue. "No one wrote better snappy patter in the movies than William Bowers," Muller asserted, "which brings me to my last point this evening: I noticed in some of the press a certain consternation over the behavior of the audiences at Noir City; reactions to certain things in the movies—that being laughter. So, in all seriousness, this has led to—I'm sorry to say—the first house rule that we have actually decided to implement at Noir City." Eddie then had a momentary lapse of memory regarding the house rule and called up to William P. Arney in the balcony: "Bill, are you there? Do you remember what the first house rule of Noir City is?"

Arney responded, "Sure boss. I've got it right here." Booming out: "Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think."

"You're in a movie theater, folks, not a museum," Muller reminded, "and it's fine to appreciate these films the way they were originally appreciated when they were first released: as entertainment."

Thanking his audience for braving the weather and coming out to the opening night of Noir City, Muller added with full sincerity: "This could only happen in San Francisco because you are the smartest, most sophisticated, sexiest moviegoers in the world! Enjoy the show!"

Of related interest: Noir City Index.

Cross-published on Twitch.

NOIR CITY 8—THE ENDLESS NIGHT: A VALENTINE TO FILM NOIR by Serena Bramble

Muller discovered Serena Bramble's Endless Night: A Valentine to Film Noir on YouTube and decided it was the best visceral distillation of film noir he'd ever seen in his life. He was happy about finding it because it restored his faith in the younger generation. He wanted to use it as an introductory trailer to each double-bill at this year's Noir City and—in lieu of an honorarium—offered to buy Serena Bramble a drink next time she was in San Francisco. "That's how I found out she was 20 years old!"

"Next year!" Serena shouted out in promise.

Made by this young psychology student from Santa Rosa—cut on the iMovie that came installed on her laptop—Bramble never once imagined she would see her iMovie projected onto the Castro Theater's huge screen. Muller had encouraged her to attend opening night because he was convinced that—once she saw the film projected on a large screen and witnessed the audience reaction—she would know her calling. Her response at the time was, "Darn. I have to take my driver's test."

Once Eddie situated her in the audience, Serena stood to receive her due applause. Sitting directly behind her, I can vouch that throughout the evening she was congratulated over and over for her shining accomplishment.

Of related interest: Noir City Index.

PSIFF10: BELGIAN CINEMA—Altiplano (2009)

Following up her performances in Claudia Llosa's Madeinusa (2005) and The Milk of Sorrow (2009) with her characterization of Saturnina in Altiplano (2009)—directed by the Belgian filmmaking team of Peter Brosens and Jessica Woodworth (Khadak, 2006)—the beautiful Magaly Solier confirms her position as the cinematic icon of indigenous resistance. It is also the only film I've ever seen to chart the organic (i.e., political) process by which a Black Madonna is born. Hands down, Altiplano was my favorite film from the 2010 Palm Springs International Film Festival and I'm hoping to have the opportunity to watch it again soon at a Bay Area venue.

Eschewing the "light magical realism" observed by Variety critic Boyd von Hoeij in Llosa's first two features, Brosens and Woodworth opt instead for a provocative clash of naturalism and unabashed theatrical artifice. The term "magical realism" has, of course, been in steady evolution since its original coinage by art critic Franz Roh in the mid-1920s (who—as Gary McMahon states it in his recent Film International essay on "Magical Realism in New York" (Vol. 7:5, p. 18)—applied the term to visual arts to describe its fixation "on the mundane to give banality unnatural presence." One could argue that—because of its reliance on dramatization and the overtly fantastic—Altiplano's achievement is as a stylized hybrid of the mundane and the unnatural.

I find it intriguing that one of the most Latin American films at PSIFF is actually a Belgian concoction. In fact, when Variety's Jordan Mintzner caught Altiplano in the Critics Week at Cannes, he notedly complained that Altiplano felt "way more Euro-centric than Andean-authentic." This clash between cultural sensibilities, however—much like the friction between its mundane and unnatural elements—is precisely what lends Altiplano its defining flint sparks.

Thematically, Altiplano pursues the consequentiality intrinsic to the parallel narratives of Guillermo Arriaga (Babel, in particular). Two storylines are set up side by side as the film begins with two images of violence against faith. First, war photographer Grace (Jasmin Tabatabai) is forced at gunpoint to capture an image of her Iraqi guide's execution. The photograph earns her an unwanted celebrity—"It is a photograph that should never have been taken," she insists—and she refuses prestigious awards and recedes into depression. Meanwhile, in the Andean village of Turbamba, Saturnina (Magaly Solier) prepares for her upcoming wedding. A statue of the Virgin Mary carried out of the church in ceremonial procession is accidentally dropped and shattered as children excitedly run through the legs of the processioners to play with glittering puddles of spilled mercury, which is being mined at a local quarry. Contamination of the local water supply has tragic effects on the health of the Turbamba villagers, with Saturnina's fiance Ignacio (Edgar Quispe) being one of the first to succumb.

The connective element between these two narratives arrives in Grace's husband Max (Olivier Gourmet), a cataract surgeon assigned to an eye clinic in the high Andes near the village of Turbamba. His effort to communicate with his wife through video diaries proves to be a key element in the intersecting destinies of Grace and Saturnina. Max's death at the hands of the enraged villagers—Fabien Lemercier writes at Cineuropa—"leads Grace to embark on an initiatory and redemptive journey, during which her soul enters into symbiosis with that of Saturnina."

Of course, as Allan Hunter informs in his review for Screen, both narratives are stories ripped from the headlines: "Altiplano bears all the signs of Brosens and Woodworth's background in documentaries. The mercury spill in the Peruvian village of Choropampa in 2000 provides the guiding inspiration for some of the events depicted in their film. Brosens studied the impact of protest suicides whilst living in Peru and Ecuador. The photograph that Grace takes is strongly reminiscent of Eddie Adams' defining shot of the Vietnam conflict capturing a Saigon police chief shooting a Vietcong guerrilla at point blank range. Altiplano is a production with an impeccable sense of documentary reality allied to a more meditative style of filmmaking."

Lemercier likewise extols Altiplano's exploration of the subject of the power of the image: "Without an image, there is no story." "A photo has never stopped a war," Grace argues. "I won't die silently or invisibly," Saturnina cries in protest. In Altiplano, Brosens and Woodworth powerfully demonstrate the enduring capacity of image to contain contradictory and contrasting narratives of conflict. Variety's attempt to reduce the film to "latte-friendly arthouse fare" and Bernard Besserglik's dismissive review for The Hollywood Reporter—"Overblown ecology movie punctured by platitude"—pale into insignificance against worldwide critical acclaim (gathered at the film's website). Though, as Lermercier has fairly cautioned, the film doesn't seek to please all viewers—"who may be disconcerted by some of its dramatic choices"—Altiplano is certainly not afraid to take risks.

And what a wealth of imagery is offered in Altiplano (masterfully lensed by Francisco Gózon)! Whether the shifting of palette from black and white to color, or the stunning landscapes of the Peruvian Altiplano, or the amazing visual transition of Saturnina into religious iconicity (reminiscent of Solier's similar transition in Madeinusa), cinematographer Gózon "captures breathtaking images of piercing blue waters, snow-covered mountains and some of the religious rituals that are part of daily life in an area where spiritual values and community have a stronger grasp than the material urges of western cultures" (Allan Hunter, Screen). Altiplano's highly stylized usage of tableau vivant comes menacingly into play when masked moros with ice swords personify impending doom and destruction. Here, again, there is a striking clash between cultures as moros can be understood both in its Grecian mythic expression or in its syncretic reference to indigenous representations of Spanish conquistadors (as in the Mayan Baile de la Conquista ("Dance of the Conquest")).

Cross-published on Twitch.

TIMELESS SPIRAL—Jamie Lidell

I first turned on to Jamie Lidell exploring the Windish Agency's website and fell head over funk for his soulful pipes and nerdy but sexy rumpled bedhead look. Ever since then, I've been dancing to his music almost daily. Enjoy!

"Little Bit Of Feel Good"



"Another Day"



"Multiply"



"Rope of Sand" video directed by Crackerfarm's Leo Rome:



And as reported at Pitchfork today, for the latest episode in Beck's ongoing Record Club mission, he enlisted Jamie Lidell to lend his soulful croon to Skip Spence's funky "Books of Moses", from his 1969 album, Oar.

Record Club: Skip Spence "Books Of Moses" from Beck Hansen on Vimeo.

TIMELESS SPIRAL—The New Crooners

Spencer Day: "Movie Of Your Life"



Jamie Cullom: "Everlasting Love"



Peter Cincotti: "St. Louis Blues"



Michael Bublé & Jane Monheit: "I Won't Dance"



Spencer Day: "Love, What Have You Done?" (Live at the Kennedy Center, Washington, D.C.; 08/07/08)

NOIR CITY 8: CLEO MOORE—The Swimsuit Collection

The rain gods are cracking whips over San Francisco's rooftops this week as we gear up for this Friday's launch of Noir City 8 so I felt now would be the perfect time to entertain a beachside fantasy. Ms. Moore reveals her swimsuit collection. Unfortunately, no, there is no "itsby bitsy teeney weeney yellow polka dot bikini"; but, Cleo makes do with what little fabric she has, whatever the print.

The "Diamond" Bikini

The "Stripes Hug Curves" Bikini

The "White" Bikini

It is so important to wear your spike heels to the beach, don't you think? Doesn't that help with beach volleyball?

The Diary Of A Man Out Of Time Bikini

The "Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum" Bikini (with Joan Dixon)

The "Puss Print" One-piece

The "Going For the Gold" Swimsuit

Of related interest: Noir City Index.

PSIFF10: THE MILK OF SORROW (LA TETA ASUSTADA, 2009)—Two Evening Class questions and a Q&A With Claudia Llosa

Peruvian director Claudia Llosa's sophomore feature La teta asustada (The Milk of Sorrow, 2009) stars Magaly Solier—with whom she worked on Madeinusa (2005)—and addresses the fears of abused women during Peru's recent history. It won both the Golden Bear award and FIPRESCI prize at the 2009 Berlinale, as well as the award for best movie in the 24 Festival Internacional de Cine de Guadalajara in Mexico. It is Peru's official submission to this year's Academy Awards®. In that capacity, it made an appearance in the Awards Buzz program at the 2010 Palm Springs International Film Festival, with Llosa in attendance to address questions from her audience at the film's first PSIFF screening.

As synopsized at Wikipedia, between 1980 and 1992 Peru experienced a period of violence, particularly in the Andean region, because of the uprising of the Maoist group Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) and the actions of the paramilitary and state armed forces. By 1990 the conflict finally reached Lima, the capital city of Peru. Claudia Llosa claims in her film that the trauma experienced by women who were raped by members of Sendero Luminoso was passed on to their children through the milk from their breasts (although no allusions are made about rapes by other forces in the conflict). Thus, this period of violence continues to affect not only those who experienced it, but also the next generation. The film is inspired by the book Entre Prójimos: El conflicto armado interno y la política de la reconciliación en el Perú by Kimberly Theidon, Associate Professor at the Department of Anthropology at Harvard University. Theidon's study is a psychological as well as sociological approach to the 12 years of conflict, and is critical of the mass rapes used by the army as a strategy of war. In her book, Theidon documents a number of testimonies from women who were raped by as many as 30 men at a time, atrocities that oftentimes resulted in pregnancies. Theidon states that "when the survivors of the sexual violence speak of their experiences, they give the responsibility to the listener to respond to what they've heard." Llosa's film, too, is an attempt to respond to such testimonies.

Jet-lagged from having flown in from Barcelona with her two-month infant Alec, Llosa nonetheless charmingly responded to my questions.

* * *

Michael Guillén: The Milk of Sorrow is marvelously imagistic. In your process of writing and drafting the script, how strong were the images when you were writing the script and—when you went to translate your script to film—how closely did the images in your film adhere to the images in your script?

Claudia Llosa: Good question. I cannot separate. I know what I want to shoot. Some scenes might be totally literary. Some of the shots are just as I want to shoot them. I'm intuitive in that way. I don't try to have a process. I shoot as I feel. I don't know how to explain it. The initial process is to follow the script. To understand the emotional arc of the story. That's what is most interesting for me in the script. When I understand that movement, I start focusing on every image. I can almost draw all of the frames. I show them to my DP [Natasha Braier] because I need her to understand why I want her to shoot scenes in certain ways.

Everything is wrapped in the same idea. I work a lot with the concept of a labyrinth. All these corridors Fausta is trapped in. A labyrinth is not only a place of entrapment but also a place where you always return, a cycle that repeats itself and continues. I felt like my country is repeating its history in an infinite labyrinth.

Guillén: There were so many images in the film that captured my sensual attention. One of the most imaginative was the scene where Aída (Susi Sánchez) and Fausta are in the garden. Aída has been duplicitously encouraging Fausta to sing her Quechua melodies so that she can plagiarize them for her own musical compositions and—in that sequence—you shot her so that she was in the foreground with Fausta partially hidden behind her and slightly below her, so that her mouth appears below Aída's chin, in front of her throat, as if Fausta's voice has become Aída's voice.

Llosa: My intention with that image was to create a monster; to reveal that Aida was a monster.

On the Film's Title

La teta asustada was the name of the illness referenced in the narrative and so it was chosen as the name of the film; but, the crew was leery of it because it was a harsh term. Though the title worked in Peru, in Spain it didn't come across as well because they didn't catch the Quechua meaning and a literal English translation—"The Frightened Breast"—didn't cover its inherent poetry. They couldn't find a match to translate the title into English until the film's sales agent came up with The Milk of Sorrow, which Llosa liked. It worked for her and made it easier to sell the film. "It's smoother, sweeter, nicer," Llosa affirmed.

On the Production of the Script

Llosa had just finished her first feature film Madeinusa and was trying to think of what she wanted to film next. She came across a book called Entre Prójimos written by American medical anthropologist Kimberly Theidon. Theidon had compiled testimonies of women who were mistreated or violated during the war. In some of these testimonies the women spoke of an illness "la teta asustada". Llosa was inspired by these testimonies to research la teta asustada further, which proved difficult because nobody wanted to talk to her about it. But for her it seemed urgent. It was a long process. It took almost a year and a half to shape the script to a point where she could show it to anyone, let alone producers. Somehow, however, the difficulties proved to be a good thing because it caused her to follow her instincts, to not be derogatory, and to not be too attached to reality. She wanted to understand the emotions of what it would mean to have this illness. The delay, in a sense, gave her creative freedom.

On Working Once Again With Magaly Solier

Llosa felt that she and Magaly started a process with Madeinusa that was somehow not completed by that film. Madeinusa was a first experience in filmmaking for both of them; but, Llosa felt she could go further with Solier. She wrote the script for The Milk of Sorrow, wrote the songs, and knew intuitively that Solier had the soul necessary to contain the character of Fausta. At first, Solier didn't believe she could manage Fausta because she is herself quite a tough woman. Llosa explained that she could go anywhere with Solier because of her fearless strength. Solier couldn't relate to the fear that controlled Fausta and was reluctant to feel that fear in embodying the character. It was a long process and Llosa had to talk a lot with Solier to negotiate the characterization.

Partly, this involved reawakening in Solier memories she had purposely shut down and didn't want to open. Solier told Llosa that she wanted to return to her home town in Huanto, Ayacucho, which had been one of the red zones during the reign of the terrorists. While there, on her own, Solier read Llosa's script nearly 80 times, which served to open up her memories. She recalled a memory her mother told her once to explain the scar on her back, which she's had since she was little. Her mother told her that when Magaly was just a baby, her mother was running with Magaly in her arms, trying to escape the terrorists, when she stumbled over a corpse and fell in the dark of night. Recalling this memory was the turning point in helping Solier manage the character of Fausta.

On Using the Quechua Language

The Quechua language was important for Llosa to use in The Milk of Sorrow because for nearly 15 years during the '70s-'90s—one of the darkest periods in recent Peruvian history—much violence occurred in the Andean mountain range. The Quechua-speaking natives were the most victimized by this violence. They came to Lima to escape the war and tried to hide their language, their identity, because they didn't want to be related to the war and terrorism. They hid in silence. The language of Quechua is related to poverty, non-development, and something with which Peruvians don't want to be associated. Llosa wanted to change that. She wanted Peruvians to be proud of their Quechua language.

That was why Llosa had Fausta always speaking in Quechua, silently to herself at first, and finally outloud when Aída finally convinces her to sing. Then when Fausta hears the applause given Aída for the piano composition based on her melody, it energizes her and helps her to turn towards self-acceptance, even as she copes with Aída's cultural theft.

When Llosa won the Golden Bear at the 2009 Berlinale, Magaly Solier came with her to accept the prize and spoke proudly in Quechua, thanking everybody. It was the first time in Peru that Quechua was related to success. Little by little, people started admitting to her they could speak Quechua. They started becoming proud again in the beauty of their language.

On Shooting On Location in Manchay

Manchay is one of the many pueblos jóvenes (shanty towns) that sprang up on the outskirts of Lima when the Shining Path drove Quechua-speaking natives from their mountain homes. Llosa wanted to film there because the name "Manchay" is related to fear. Also, she was intrigued with their amazingly long stairways (depicted also in Heddy Honigman's Oblivion). When Llosa spoke with Lima's mayor after winning her Golden Bear, they discussed Manchay's stairways, which for her were loaded with symbolism, and he told her that he had constructed the stairs during his government. He said that people kept asking him after the stairs were built how the Quechua had managed to climb up to their houses before? Until then, no one had bothered to notice or care.

On the Film's "Bizarre" Wedding Rituals

The reality of the wedding scenes grew by accretion and amplification. Though Quechua weddings aren't really like that, they are somewhat like that. Working on a low budget, Llosa approached wedding parties to ask if they could use the hired effects and asked if they would be willing to bring them to the shoot. Almost unanimously, the wedding parties were so willing to be part of the film that they basically repeated their wedding ceremonies intact. Llosa only changed colors to match the color themes of the film. In the instance of the group wedding—what they call "a popular wedding"—Llosa and her crew attended a genuine popular wedding a month before the shoot and from that event solicited the brides and grooms who were willing to show up to replicate the sequence on film. They showed up wearing the same clothing. Brides, especially, were happy to do so because—as they often told Llosa—"I don't have an opportunity to wear my bridal gown more than once."

Writing for Slant, Andrew Schenker astutely observes: "Since Fausta's aunt works as a wedding planner and since her cousin is preparing for her own wedding, Llosa employs several iterations of that ceremony to educe the ethos of village life, illustrating the unique rituals (the bride peeling a potato as an act of fortune telling) and joys (a nuptial dance) that adhere to the citizenry as well as the darker remnants of sexualized aggression (a particularly insistent young man makes a play for Fausta during a pre-wedding ritual) that remind us that the attitudes that allowed for the guerilla violence of the '80s rest latent in the country's population." Variety's Boyd von Hoeij offers: "Llosa insists on marriage and natural death as normal parts of the cycle of life—and as a contrast to the chaos that preceded the period in which the pic is set."

Critical Overview

Though I place The Milk of Sorrow among my favorite five from the Palm Springs International—admittedly acknowledging that I am a great fan of Latin American magical realism—the film has met a polarized critical reception despite its major win at the 2009 Berlinale. Reviewing the film for Variety at that time, Boyd von Hoeij concedes that the film is an "ultra-arthouse item" which "will need passionate support wherever it goes." But he assesses (quite fairly): "At first, the pic seems a slow-moving, particularly well-framed ethnographic study of life in the big city in Peru; it only gradually becomes clear that Llosa's second feature perfectly aligns form and content. The film never shows the crimes committed against women before the 1990 regime change, though the violence, rape and torture they suffered inform every frame. By keeping them offscreen, Llosa underlines the fact they are unspeakable crimes, not even talked about today—though their aftermath is still felt even after the women directly concerned have passed away."

At Screen, Lee Marshall—who likewise reviewed the film at the 2009 Berlinale—is strikingly more ambivalent. "Arthouse audiences will find themselves dipping in and out of engagement but the story is too contrived in the long run to resonate much beyond its own four walls," he complains. "Despite a controlled performance by Solier, we are held back from committing to Fausta by the contrived allegorical arc of the script." He does allow: "For those who can keep a straight face a great deal of beauty remains, however, not only in the poised photography but also in the soundtrack of lilting, melancholic guitar melodies and songs."

When The Milk of Sorrow showed up at New Directors / New Films 2009, Slant's Andrew Schenker's review comported with Variety's: "As potentially sensational as the film's subject matter may be, Llosa treats the material with an appropriate restraint, employing medium and long shots to hold the action at a coolly observational distance—a strategy perfectly in keeping with her lead character's reserve—and leaving all lurid details pointedly off screen." He adds: "Setting aside her mostly static camera (which serves to lock down her characters in their immovable situations), Llosa commemorates her character's progress with one final tracking shot taken from the back of a moving truck as it zips through a mountain highway, the deliriousness of forward motion suggesting at last a breakthrough in Fausta's generationally inherited impasse."

At the Village Voice, Ed Gonzales responded to the film's appearance in New York's Lincoln Center Latinbeat Festival: "Though perched on the brink of allegorical overload, the film is less sensational than most descriptions of its subject matter imply. This is a tribute to Llosa's style, which illuminates the indignities of emotional inheritance and internalized racism through its artfully gritty fixation on the rituals and superstitions of village life. From self-imposed subjugation to liberation, the aptly named Fausta's trajectory throughout the film becomes an affront to the neocolonialist forces of imperialism that persist within—and are supported from outside of—Latin America."

Cross-published on Twitch.