Hold onto your tits guys, but until this viewing, I'd only seen Rosemary's Baby once before - and that was twenty-eight years ago. I persuaded my dad to let me watch it when it was shown on BBC2 when I was a kid. I thought it was part of Moviedrome, but a quick glance on BBC Genome tells me that it was actually part of Moving Pictures, which dates it to a Saturday in 1991. I would have been eleven years old. Not exactly the right age for the film.
All I can actually remember from that viewing though is Elisha Cook (wonderful as ever) showing them around the apartment, Ralph Bellamy and that scene. Not surprising that a '40s cinema obsessed kid would recall those two performers, whilst the conception is bound to stick in anyone's head. But everything else I know of Rosemary's Baby has come from popular culture I think, which makes me wonder now if I even stuck around until the end as a boy.
Why has it taken me this long to properly view it though? Well, as I say, it's a film that is so entrenched in popular culture, you don't really feel like you need to see it. It will hold no surprises after all. But the fact that I love the cast and the director does make it odd that I've waited almost thirty years to watch it again/properly. I've no excuses. I've had the DVD for years. But, this being Halloween and, on Letterboxd, Hooptober (something I don't really engage with), I thought I'd make the effort.
What I said there about it being a film that holds no surprises is absolutely correct. Not just in terms of it being so deeply ingrained in our collective consciousness and referenced elsewhere, but because Polanski lays all his cards on the table almost immediately. With that in mind, I can see why some people find Rosemary's Baby something of a disappointment when they finally come to it. The fact that it lacks in mystery or ambiguity puts me in mind of an episode of Columbo, where we, the audience, were always privy to the murderer and their crimes. Just like with Peter Falk's detective, we are invited to watch as Mia Farrow pieces together the jigsaw and confirms her suspicions and her worst fears.
However, to dismiss Rosemary's Baby as lacking in suspense because of this is to do it a great disservice. Suspense is deeply atmospheric, and you cannot deny that Polanski's film is that, with some of the most unsettling vibes and trippy dream sequences imaginable. Granted there's the familiar coldness that one always finds in Polanski's films, the sense of a filmmaker who refuses to afford his audiences a happy ending, but to dismiss Rosemary's Baby as a cold film would be similarly unfair. As with all Polanski films, there's a delicious irony, offbeat comedy and mordant wit to the proceedings. I love for example Rosemary's dialogue; "Shut up. You're in Dubrovnik, I can't hear you" cracks me up, as does the rote, trip-off-the-tongue way she routinely affords a summary of her husband's career to strangers; "He was in Luther and Nobody Loves an Albatross and he does a lot of television". I also love that the phrase "It's alive!" so unanimous with Universal's Frankenstein series of the 1940s, is ironically, playfully employed here in a very new kind of horror with a similar striking effect, and so subtly that audiences may not necessarily pick up on it. Eleven year old me certainly wouldn't have done, that's for sure.
I love Polanski's casting too. He doesn't go for the obvious, populating his coven with the likes of Bette Davis, Christopher Lee and Vincent Price. Instead he opts for the far more believable, seemingly innocuous and avuncular Ralph Bellamy, Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer. Perhaps best of all, there is Patsy Kelly; pure comic relief found in the most intense and evil of threats. You could compare the coven to the famous description of Eichmann on trial, 'the banality of evil'. But there's a banality to the daily New York life, the dreams and aspirations of its residents that Polanski plays with here. For example, John Cassavetes is memorably bought so cheaply, with the dream of making it big in showbusiness (hadn't he heard of Scientology?) but look too at Rosemary's materialistic dreamscapes of the Kennedy yacht and you'll see Polanski poking fun at venal suburban ambition.
Lastly, perhaps the greatest irony of all can be found in how the story puts the reality of witchcraft on its head. History tells us that those suspected of witchcraft were often the unfortunates of society, cast out on the fringes because of a variety of misfortune, mental illness, poverty or something that the wider society simply could not tolerate. As a result, they became persecuted by the Church, the local townsfolk and witchfinders to maintain some kind of security for the wider community. In Rosemary's Baby however, it is the titular healthy-minded, good-looking character who is targeted and persecuted for the coven's sake.
Happy Halloween readers.
On the surface, Innocent Sorcerers doesn't seem much like an Andrzej Wajda film. Indeed, it doesn't even seem like a Polish film of that era. In detailing the lives of young bohemian people in late '50s Warsaw, it's not at all like the films Wajda was previously known for (his celebrated War trilogy, which detailed the experiences of Polish youth through extreme hardship and horror) and likewise, with its depiction of the modish milieu of jazz clubs, proto-hipsters, scooters and a fondness for all things culturally pointing West, it is not what we usually have in mind when we think of Poland. Innocent Sorcerers actually feels more in line with the contemporary French New Wave, or the similar British movement that lay just around the corner. It's certainly as knowingly self-referential as anything Godard created in the former; the film's own poster is seen in the background and later, as a jazz track concludes on the radio, the announcer reveals it to be a track from the film Innocent Sorcerers.
But delve deeper and Innocent Sorcerers (written by Jerzy Skolimowski and Ashes and Diamonds author Jerzy Andrzejewski) becomes an interesting and revealing, if somewhat stylised, look at Communist Poland and how its youth related to it. The title itself holds the key, originating as I believe it does from Adam Mickiewicz's metaphysical poem Forefathers, which refers to the 'innocent sorcerers...imprisoned against their will' who derive a formula which poisons their 'foolish hopes' to ensure their reality becomes more bearable. In their refusal to take their oppressive Communist reality seriously, their desire to live a more sophisticated Western world, the characters in Innocent Sorcerers have refused to accept a reality that doesn't measure up to their dreams or ambitions.
So much for the subtext, but what of the film itself? Well it's the story of Andrzej (Tadeusz Łomnicki) a bleached blonde mod who works as a doctor at a sports complex, tending to aspiring boxers and Olympic hopefuls by day and spends his nights womanising and playing the drums in a jazz band as 'Medicine Man'. His similar minded friends include Zbigniew Cybulski, Roman Polanski and Krzysztof Komeda (who also provided the film's score), but he meets his match one evening in the form of an enigmatic beauty played by Krystyna Stypulkowska, who gives only gives Andrzej the obviously false name of Pelagia (he in turn says his name is Bazyli) Intrigued by one another they spend the night in Andrzej's flat, chatting in a heightened, knowing and playful manner whilst partaking in games full of erotic/courtship subtext.
On its release, Innocent Sorcerers offended both the Communist regime and the Church authorities within Poland as neither establishment saw any of their respective ideologies on display in the narrative or the character. Fearing the decadence of youth, legislation soon put a stop to this blossoming Polish Film School Movement. It was not until the 1970s that Polish Cinema would truly break free once more of the ideological stranglehold to produce a host of innovative, groundbreaking films.
A Day At The Beach is a 1970 British-Danish co-production based on a 1962 novel by Heere Heeresma about a deeply unlikeable, pretentious alcoholic's access day with his young disabled niece who it is inferred is actually his daughter. It's worth noting that this novel was adapted once again in 1984 as Een Dagje Naar Het Strand by Dutch filmmaker Theo van Gogh, but I've not seen that or indeed heard of it until today. This original adaptation I have been aware of for many years because of two of its contributors; Peter Sellers (who, alongside his friend Graham Stark, has a cameo as one half of a gay seaside shopkeeper duo, credited - without subtlety - as A. Queen) and Roman Polanski who wrote the screenplay for the film and co-produced it with his partner Gene Gutowski. Polanski had originally intended to direct himself but retreated from the project, presumably in the wake of Sharon Tate's murder, and it subsequently became young Moroccan filmmaker Simon Hesera's sole dramatic credit . The film, shot in Denmark but seemingly set in the UK (despite the camera taking in signs, posters and train timetables in the Danish language) was released in Europe between 1970 (UK) and 1972 (Denmark) but was never released in America and was subsequently 'lost' by Paramount, only resurfacing with a DVD release in 2007 via Odeon's Best of British collection in the UK and Code Red in the US.
Mark Burns stars as Bernie, a pathetic alcoholic prone to deeply self-destructive behaviour. What makes this side of his nature even more inappropriate and thoroughly reprehensible is the fact that he does so whilst being responsible for his caliper-wearing niece/daughter Winnie (Beatie Edney - Sylvia Syms daughter, now a star of TV's Poldark - in her film debut) who he has decided to take out for a deeply ill-advised, off-season and eponymous 'day at the beach' in the middle of a terrible downpour. What follows is a bleak and despairing narrative made up of a series of dysfunctional encounters with other people as Bernie spirals headlong into a selfish and devastating binge with little regard for poor Winnie, who loves her 'Uncle Bernie' unconditionally despite being aware of his flaws with a wisdom beyond her years.
A Day At The Beach is a really uncomfortable viewing experience. Unlike other films about alcoholism, there is no sympathy - or crucially, no misplaced romanticism - to be found in the character of Bernie whose cries of despair and pontificating, self pitying Shakespeare-esque monologues borne from his distaste for authority (as represented by Jack MacGowran's deckchair attendant, any number of barmen or cafe owners, or the loan shark he owes money too and whom he uses Winnie's polio-stricken disability as an excuse to shake him off) leave you under no allusion that this man is a complete and utter dick, and Burns' performance is certainly one of bleary-eyed alienation. No, what makes A Day At The Beach so unsettling is the danger the poor and trusting infant Winnie is consistently in whilst in this drunk's 'care'. I defy anyone not to watch this film and feel utterly depressed at the scenes featuring her sat outside pubs in the cold, wet evening or stranded in the dodgems because her selfish father didn't consider that she'd be unable to reach the pedals for herself. Unfortunately however, either Polanski in his script or Hesera in the direction, seem to forget where our sympathies should lie by depicting Bernie at one stage as a misunderstood, isolated and tormented figure seeking solace in drink because the society around him is so intellectually dead, humdrum and ugly. It doesn't work - his selfish pursuit to sate his addiction, ruthlessly ignoring Winnie's needs, has already repulsed us too much. There's no going back by this stage, and Bernie's tearful, hysterical desire to gain Winnie's forgiveness refuses to move us and only further serves to highlight his self-pitying nature.
Despite not actually being a Polanski film, the director imbues his screenplay with the touches that have become synonymous with his oeuvre. Disturbing paranoia stealthily creeps in, whilst our own anxieties for Winnie increases. There's also his unmistakeable perverse macabre humour, specifically aimed at the innocent Winnie; a polio victim whose calipers squeak with her every movement. It's notably telling that Bernie's so much of a heel that what are virtually his first words to his secret daughter are to do with the distaste he personally feels at seeing her leg brace, yet Polanski finds something to amuse himself with regarding it. But Polanski admits that something got lost from script to screen with him taking a backseat; "It’s not good. The problem is, I’m afraid, the director, and also insufficient funds. But the main problem is the actor. You can’t watch a man playing a drunk for one and a half hours unless he’s a really great actor and has some charisma. That guy had none. Other than that, I mean, the film, if there had been a great performance, the film is done well enough to work. What didn’t work was the casting. Simon was not a director, and, let’s face it, we were a little bit cavalier" With these words in mind, was Polanski hoping for a more redemptive approach to the character of Bernie? Whilst it would have made the film a touch more palatable, I still think that trying to gain our sympathy would have sent out the wrong signals. A Day At The Beach is a depressing watch, but its subject requires it to be, and - in the main - Hesera keeps it as a distinctly unromantic look at addiction.
Roman Polanski's full-length debut is a stunning existentialist exploration of sexual jealousy, social concern and powerplays. Collaborating on the script with the great Jerzy Skolimowski (of Deep End fame to name but one) and an uncredited Gerard Brach, Knife in the Water is almost like an intellectual, abstract version the 1989 popcorn chiller Dead Calm in its study of sexual possession and implied threat.
Andrzej and Krystyna are a sophisticated well-to-do couple en route to a weekend's sailing trip when they come across a young drifter on the road, hitching for a lift. Andrzej not only gives the young student a ride, he also insists that he join them on their yacht. From there, a macho competition takes place between the two men as Andrzej is immediately aware that their guest is attracted to Krystyna.
Andrzej game as host to this captive prey is to exert his power and mark his territory, undermining the nameless young drifter with his possessions, education, athleticism and wealth. However these are all met by the drifter's sheer indifference. The younger man contents himself with playing aimlessly with his pocket knife (complete with Freudian connotations) and, when given a task to perform, more or less excels. In refusing to rise to the bait, he manages to both spoils the older man's game and increase a sexual interest in Krystyna.
From that moment on, this battle of the generations and class (the nihilism and nonchalance versus the materialism and seniority) is scuppered and Andrzej sees it is not going to plan. A physical conflict inevitably ensues in which the drifter's knife goes overboard, soon followed by the drifter himself. Earlier, the young man had claimed he could not swim, putting himself at a disadvantage over the preening athleticism of Andrzej. However, this disadvantage quickly turns to an advantage as it is revealed he lied about his (in)ability.
Andrzej is forced to go in after the younger man both by Krystyna and his own conscience, but the drifter has tricked the older man and returns to the yacht and Krystyna, who informs him that he and her partner are two of a kind and surprises him by showing him he knows more of his frugal, aimless existence than he originally imagined, before succumbing to his embrace and returning to the jetty, without Andrzej.
The film concludes with the drifter disembarking before Krystyna moors the yacht at the jetty, where Andrzej is waiting for her. Their reunion is silent and terse as he busies himself with securing the yacht and returning to their car. Andrzej has justifiably sullen - he failed to best the drifter who he believes has drowned from playing his game, and cannot even find the young man's body. His macho pride wounded as much as his conscience dogged by guilt, Andrzej and Krystyna find themselves at a literal and metaphorical crossroads as the car halts at a T-junction as Andrzej considers his next move; whether to believe Krystyna, who has told him that the drifter tricked him and returned to the yacht whereupon she cheated on him with the youth, or to accept his guilt and hand himself into the police station up ahead. He'd like to believe the former to spare himself the hardship of the latter, but to do so would accept a greater loss at the game and the realisation that he no longer is enough for Krystyna than the accidental death he believes he has caused.
As a debut, this is certainly arresting and stylish stuff. Knife in the Water feels more like a seductive, psychological French thriller or Pinter with its jazzy score and sparse delivery, but the preoccupation with class and generational warfare marks it out as Polish, expressing perhaps more of Skolimowski's concerns than Polanski's. A tense, unsettling affair and thought provoking affair, the cast consists of just the three characters (Leon Niemczyk as Andrzej, Jolanta Umecka as Krystyna and Zygmunt Malanowicz as the nameless hitch-hiking student) who play their parts brilliantly.
As previously reported here, the great Polish filmmaker Andrzej Wajda died earlier this month at the age of 90. The voice of Poland, the director turned out scores of films, many of them masterpieces, so I decided to have a season of his films starting with his first.
A Generation, or Pokolenie to give it its Polish title, was also the first film in what was to become Wajda's 'War Trilogy', a loose series of films exploring Poland's experiences of WWII and the underground resistance movement which Wajda had been a part of as a youth. The rightly celebrated masterpiece, Ashes and Diamonds, was the film to close that trilogy and it did so on a note of some disillusionment, but here in A Generation the story starts with a sense of optimism.
The film follows Tadeusz Lomnicki's Stach, a disaffected young apprentice from the slums of Warsaw who is turned on to communism by his colleague at the factory, Sekula (Janusz Paluszkiewicz) and, in turn onto the resistance movement against the Nazi occupation by Dorita (Urszula Modrzynska) a beautiful resistance fighter with whom, somewhat inevitably, Stach falls in love with. Playing one of Stach's comrades-in-arms in the resistance is a very young Roman Polanski.
One of the film's strengths is the story strand involving Tadeusz Janczar's Jasio, an ambiguous and richly fascinating character who loathes both Nazis and communists alike. He reluctantly joins the movement and, without authorisation, assassinates the local Nazi officer who uses particularly brutal, bullying methods upon the local workforce. This impulsive bloody action earns him a rebuke from Stach, who dismisses him as little more than 'a cowboy', but he is oblivious to Jasio's own remorse for his actions. There's significantly more depth to this secondary character than to Stach or anyone else, and it's clear he feels disgusted by the realisation that he is now a killer. His story concludes with Wajda's most powerful and brilliant sequence in this, his debut film; chased into a tenement by the Nazis, Jasio clambers up a spiral staircase battling his pursuers at every turn. Cornered and with nowhere left to turn, he dives from the top flight to his death - a moment worthy of Hitchcock and Vertigo.
A Generation bears all the hallmarks of a director's first film in that it is far from being an instant classic and is a good deal amateurish in many places, but it shows enough glimpses of promise that Wajda would deliver upon time after time from this moment onwards. One of the things that hampers your viewing experience is the rather murky quality of print on this Arrow DVD; exterior scenes filmed in daylight are bleached and pale, whereas interiors or scenes at night are almost unwatchable. There are several scenes where all I could see is the noses of the cast, their features and bodies were shrouded in darkness.
Though it's not perfect, A Generation is definitely worth your time, and you'll want to watch it either to see a master developing his craft, or because you're a completist and you'll want to see the whole trilogy.
There's little original in The Ghost - also known in some territories as The Ghost Writer - especially when its big reveal harks back to the work of Frederick Forsyth (specifically the stuff about then leader of the GLC Ken Livingstone in his novel The Fourth Protocol) and the paranoid delusions of Peter 'Spycatcher' Wright - albeit with a 21st Century, Post Cold War twist, but regardless of its familiarity this remains a strong outing for director Roman Polanski in the twilight of his career.
In Robert Harris' novel (which he co-adapted with the director for the big screen), Polanski finds themes much in keeping with his previous work; the intrusion into troubled domestic relationships, the likeable and intelligent innocent being caught in a web of lies and murky mysteries, and the flexible nature of identity. All are present and correct in this story of an unnamed writer (Ewan McGregor, on fine form) who is hired to ghost write the memoirs of Adam Lang, a Blair-like charming yet highly controversial former British PM, played by Pierce Brosnan, after the previous writer has died in mysterious circumstances. Travelling to a wintry, off season Martha's Vineyard, where Lang lives in a forbidding looking bunker like structure in self imposed exile, 'the Ghost' immediately finds himself in the eye of the storm when the former PM's decision to join the US in the war on terror comes back to bite him on the arse via a warrant for his arrest for war crimes by the International Criminal Court.
And so the scene is set for a brisk and efficient thriller with a good deal of suspense and logic which sees the Ghost trying to piece together the exact nature of his predecessor's death and exactly how and why Lang rose to power and prominence so swiftly when he appeared anything but a political animal.
I've never been a great fan of Pierce Brosnan's work but I must admit to finding him more satisfying when he plays slimy little shits - which is why I will always prefer his turn as a spy in John le Carre's Tailor of Panama to his extremely poor depiction of Ian Fleming's James Bond. He's on similar odious form here playing a thinly disguised Tony Blair, but it's worth mentioning that whilst he displays many of Blair's characteristics, the film goes to great pains to make Adam Lang a figure in his own right. As a result he manages to come across as both arrogant and pathetic.
His Cherie is Ruth Lang played by Olivia Williams, an actress whom I feel never gets enough credit for her work. She's brilliant here, delivering a performance of great complexity, cynicism and danger. Sex and the City's Kim Cattrall also pops up as Lang's aide and (it's alluded) mistress but she fails to make much of an impression, whilst Tom Wilkinson delivers an enjoyable cameo as a secretive American academic.
A recommended watch for fans of intelligent intelligence based thrillers and of Roman Polanski, who invests the piece with some delightful sly humour and that eerie sense of eavesdropping and being spied upon that he excels in. But it is also for those people - such as myself - who could never consider themselves a fan of Tony Blair, destroyer of the Labour Party movement and hypocrite.
Time for another Deneuve picspam
