Black Angel: Third Thurdsay February 2009

Join the student committee every Third Thursday! This Third Thursday we will watch Black Angel at 8:45 pm at the PFA Theatre.

Based on the novel by pulp writer Cornell Woolrich, Black Angel is a complex murder mystery first released in 1946. Wronged wife Catherine Bennett strives to save her wrongly convicted husband Kirk for having killed singer Mavis Marlowe, blackmailer and seductress. If that weren't complicated enough, Mavis's former alcoholic husband joins Catherine on her quest to prove Kirk's innocence and in the process falls in love with her. Intoxicated by the numerous images of violence, sex, and murder, the audience feels as though in a drunken stupor. A "booze-drenched B movie" not to miss!

Don't forget, after the film we will head up to I-House for drinks!

Fellini and Imagination: Amarcord (1973)

"I WANT A WOMAN!!!!!" Uncle Teo bellows in desperation from a treetop in the Italian countryside. Really, don't we all?

From the depths of his imagination, Fellini portrays our deepest desires. In surreal images, Fellini paints a world of fantasy that treated the themes of the darkest realities. Fascism in 1930's Italy pervaded every aspect of life, from family to the economy. Central to Fellini's film Amarcord, fascism is both comical and brutal, sometimes personified and even portrayed in ridiculous dance sequences comparable to a Beyonce music video.

Dancing in the snow with imaginary women, the young men of this film fulfill their sexual desires only in their minds. With the beautiful and bright cinematography in this film, we are left wondering is it all but a dream for us too?

Amarcord will be shown at the Pacific Film Archive Friday, January 23, 2009 at 8:50pm.

Zoe Langer

Carnival Night: Screw You Stalin

Carnival Night is a good time, not just for the audience but the characters as well. For the characters, it is time to party like it is 1999. For us, it is an explosion of camp, over-the-top technicolor, outbursts of singing, and ridiculous dialogue. How could you not love that? On the surface, Carnival Night merely celebrates having fun. However, behind that fun there is something much deeper, perhaps an underlying and subversive social commentary. The film was made in 1956, several years after the death of Stalin. Although the film makes no direct reference and reaction to Stalin, a questioning and violation of authority consumes the film.

The young characters of the film spend the entire film doing what they want in complete disregard of authority. They turn the idea of authority into a joke, making fun of its traditionalist and regressive ideals. Sounds like a reaction to the oppressive totalitarian system of Stalin to me. The end of Stalin's power wasn't a tragedy, but rather a reason to celebrate, joyously and loudly. Carnival Night celebrates New Years Eve properly, but also the end of Stalin, in your face, on the big screen, with bright colors, jokes, and songs. The youth have its own plans, which do not involve any form of a hierarchical power structure. The kids just want to rock 'n' roll. Heaven forbid people want to have fun in communist Russia. Can a communist have fun? Aren't the communist supposed to sacrifice fun in the name of the State? Not here. Youth have taken over, running things on its own terms, without sacrificing anything, especially their fun, to the State. What has the State and Stalin ever done for them?

Questioning authority is great, but the film takes it another level with a handful of homoerotic scenes. A man and man kissing, which for us nowadays is nothing, but back then it was another story. Hinting to homosexuality in 1950s Soviet film? Could you even do that? Sounds like trouble to me. But, who knows and who cares? Carnival Night has done it all. Good fun reaches the level of subversive and perhaps even treason. It is refreshing to see these characters slap everything sacred in the face. 




Peter Bayuk

A Tale of Two Brothers and a Prostitute: Rocco and His Brothers

Two words: Alain Delon. The very definition of sexuality, Delon is sure to tickle your fancy if not make you swoon completely. Underneath his rugged yet classically handsome visage, exists a dynamic actor who brings emotion and complexity to every character. Such complexity can be seen in his role as the gentle and emotional Rocco in Luchino Visconti’s definitive Neorealist work, Rocco and His Brothers.

First released in 1960, Rocco and his Brothers is a dramatic and provocative film that constructs and deconstructs Italian society in a post-fascist era. Set against the sweeping and powerful music of Nino Rota, director Luchino Visconti depicts Italy’s transformation through the family dynamic, specifically through the relationship between two brothers Rocco and Simone. Presented in five distinct chapters, the film reflects the internal divisions that plagued Italy during the sixties, between north and south, between classes, and within the family itself. Visconti examines how each member of the Parondi family is affected by their translocation from southern Italy to the large city of Milan. Indifferent and cold, the urban landscape proves unsympathetic, so much so that a prostitute becomes the only vessel of solace.

The pivotal scene depicts the rape of Nadia, the prostitute who captured the desire of both brothers Rocco and Simone. Simone having had Nadia first feels a claim to her and thus rapes her in front of Rocco. Rocco, who had genuine romantic feelings, becomes transformed at the site of such a display of utter brutality. What strikes me about this scene is how each brother undergoes a transformative process. Nadia is central to this transformation causing Simone to descend into complete bestiality, reduced to animalistic passions and having hardly retained his human essence, while cruelly converting Rocco’s idealism both about love and country into cold pragmatism having “seen” the reality of human desire.

Nadia becomes a metaphor for Italy itself, first looked upon with idealistic eyes but subsequently stirring disillusion in its admirers. Sexually defiled and stripped of its identity, Italy is portrayed as a place of ambiguity, uncertainty, and hopelessness, capable of reducing man to his most basic instincts and revealing his innate and inevitable bestiality. The image of Italy as a prostitute is nothing new, in fact Dante compares Italy to a whore in the sixth canto of Purgatorio “not a ruler of provinces, but a whore!” However, Visconti makes Italy so sordid it adds something new and other, forcing his audience to revaluate the supposed positive aspects of urbanism and modernity. This film is certainly worth watching, if not for its psychological realism and beautiful cinematography, then for Alain Delon who can easily be watched for two hours or more.

Rocco and his Brothers will be shown at the Pacific Film Archive Wednesday, December 10 at 7:00pm.

Zoe Langer

Take a peek into the "Cabinet of Dr. Caligari"

This was a really exciting German expressionist film that I viewed in class. I have to say, I was thoroughly creeped out by the murderous somnambulist and the psychotic doctor, but that’s mostly because I have a low tolerance for scary movies. This movie is full of crazy shot compositions and close-ups that demand your attention. The twist that awaits the audience in the end is completely unexpected.

Despite being creeped out, I thought the background for this entire film was interesting and at times, the characters blended in with the background. This was my first glimpse into German expressionism and gee, what a glimpse. Intense angles within the frame and dramatic acting all added to this eerie experience. I highly recommend this film for anyone who’s looking for a creepily good time. Did I mention I was creeped out? Get in the cabinet.

Tracy Wang

Blogger's Remorse: Musings on Art and Narcissism

Oh, the narcissism. You will have to forgive me. My opinion of bloggers has been decidedly mixed: why would I care enough to read your personal excrement-receptacle for self-interested musings about your not-so-thrilling life? You will have to forgive me, again; I am being overly critical. And, ashamed as I might be, my hypocrisy is about to become self-evident. This whole entry, for lack of a better topic, is going to be about me. Not only am I loose-lipped when it comes to discussion of yours truly, but I think this post will partially elucidate why a student like me would dedicate so much unpaid time to an institution like the Berkeley Art Museum & Pacific Film Archive. (If this last sentence doesn’t make sense, check out bampfastudents.org to learn more about the BAM/PFA Student Committee.)

A while back, I had a few people over to my house to share a bottle or two of wine. We were having a perfectly pleasant time, discussing politics, school, Britney Spears, etc. etc. when a friend of a friend, who I knew only in passing, commented:

“I really like your shirt. Where’d you get it?”

“Thanks! I’m a member of the BAM/PFA Student Committee, and we had these shirts made to promote one of our programs.”

“Oh, you mean BAMN, that affirmative action group?”

“No, no, the Berkeley Art Museum/Pacific Film Archive.”

….

“Aw, you work at a museum—isn’t that cute? I thought for a minute that you were actually part of something that made a difference.”

It’s safe to say we were not fast friends. Several issues immediately arose. First: I really don’t like being called cute. You better be my boo if you’re gonna go there. Second: I whole-heartedly believe that I am making a difference by being a part of the BAM/PFA Student Committee. While I am not fighting to reinstate affirmative action, I am working with the hope that I can expose more people to the inspirational power of art. Art has been a transformative force in my life and, given the benefits I have reaped, the least I can do is spread the wealth around.

My irritation with this oh-so-tactful acquaintance soon subsided. In retrospect, I realized that this person was exactly who I try to reach through the Student Committee. Here was a man who clearly did not believe art was a vital part of life. Here was a living example of why I volunteer my time at a museum. If I could alter his perspective, even just slightly, then I would consider my efforts to be worthwhile. With this, I end my first blog entry. After reviewing it, I realize that I have transformed into one of those aforementioned bloggers for whom I have little tolerance. I hope you’ll forgive me.

Sam Blodgett

My Love/Hate Relationship with Jean-Luc Godard

Looking back at the Jean-Luc Godard series at the PFA, "Movie Love in the Sixties," I feel partially guilty for not having attended all the films. It is a rare opportunity to see films, especially "classics" on the big screen, in gorgeous and preserved form. Who doesn't love going to a movie theater and sitting in those comfortable purple seats? Yet at the same time it is a major relief not having attended most of the series. I went to Contempt and Breathless and that is probably all I could have handled before losing my mind. As the title of this entry explicitly states, this series has reinforced my love/hate relationship with Godard. Part of me loves his style, how it simultaneously violates narrative codes and creates a captivating energy. We can feel the fresh and innovative nature of his work even today, despite how jaded we have all become with the excessive amount of films readily available.

As a film studies major, I am supposed to appreciate Godard as an "auteur," a cinematic artist who invested a great deal of thought and intellect into his work. He helped changed film, this cannot be denied. However, at the same time, I find his work tiring and tedious, at times reaching a level of extreme pretentiousness. Godard gets so caught up in making references to everything intellectual, from classic films to poetry to philosophy. Very quickly my head starts to hurt. References are great, but how much is too much? I can only take so much such intellectualism. His films deconstruct our traditional relationship with cinema, but he pushes it to a point where it just becomes too exhaustive and monotonous. He moves so far away from narrative conventions, from the orthodox and traditional, that many of his works become almost unwatchable.


I would argue that Contempt is his greatest work and Breathless is an undeniable classic. Band of Outsiders is fascinating to an extent, dealing with characters and scenario, which create an energy, perhaps similar to that of Breathless, but it just never ends up succeeding. In the end, it just falls flat and leaves you wanting so much more. And then there are the rest. They bring up necessary and interesting topics for discussion on the level of content and form, but who can actually stand them? Alphaville was interesting, but enough was enough. Film noir that meets sci-fi is irresistible and a clever play with genre, but yet again Godard’s intellectualized style makes the film intelligible. Masculine Feminine became more painful the further you entered into it. There was nothing to truly captivating with everything existing in such fragmented and detached terms. I know it is meant to be art, but whatever happened to accessibility? Do I need to be French to be able to adore everything he has ever made? Godard asks a lot of his audience, leading me to the final question: can a film be too intellectual?

Peter Bayuk

When you’re smiling the whole world smiles with you? The faces of Yue Minjun

A laugh can be inviting, it can be derisive, it can also be contagious. Laughter loves company, because there is always a part of us that wants others to laugh with us. Laughter usually inspires positive connotations: laughing with friends over drinks, laughing at a hilarious episode of The Office (the British version, of course), or engaging in witty repartee. But what happens when laughter becomes sinister, mocking, or even grotesque?

I asked myself these questions when looking at the oeuvre of Chinese Contemporary artist Yue Minjun, whose works are currently displayed at the Berkeley Art Museum. Yue’s works form part of the Cynical Realist movement, a modern art movement that developed in the 90’s in Beijing. Works associated with Cynical Realism have a pragmatic, humorous, and ironic tone that often comment on on the pursuit of the individual within a collective society. Yue’s work can almost always be identified by a multitude of widely laughing faces, usually representing the artist himself, against looming and bright backdrops. I can’t help but wonder: what does this incessant and excessive amount of laughter mean? There is something eerie and disturbing about its seriality and obsessive repetition, almost as if laughter becomes ubiquitous and devoid of intimacy.
La Liberté guidant le peuple (1995) is a particularly fascinating work that plays on Eugène Delacroix’s famous painting of the same name painted in 1830. Rather than depicting Liberty as a voluptuous and bare breasted female, Liberty undergoes a complete transformation becoming a lanky male in a white t-shirt and brown leather sandals. There is no distinction between leader and subject. Does this indicate that liberty is absent, overly present, or a mere non-entity? What does it mean to make liberty among the mass collective? Eyes closed to the uncertain future, smiles are nevertheless plastered across each identical face. Seemingly looking forward to change, figures raise their arms in triumph. What is the real meaning of triumph here? In the Delacroix, revolution marks the end of monarchical rule, thus evoking a real sense of victory and sacrifice. Yue’s portrayal of revolution is much more ambiguous. During the Cultural Revolution, artists were obligated to portray peasants content in their surroundings and bearing a white smile. Clearly, Yue makes a parody of such paintings, with the clear connotation that sacrifice and triumph are illusory.

Within modern China sacrifice even seems unnecessary and devalued. In the face of modernization and westernization individual identity is lost. However, Yue’s work is not simply a discussion of individuality versus collectivity. Hidden beneath the immediacy of his works is a political commentary that reveals the all too rapid shifting of identities, landscapes, and values intrinsic to modernity. Urbanization threatens to impose itself onto populace, depicted as non-descriptive skyscrapers that menacingly seep into the foreground. Reflected in the water without windows, the architecture is just as anonymous as the subjects of the painting. Just as in his other important work Everybody Connects, people are reproduced and discarded like objects on a conveyor belt.



Disconcerting in the least, Yue provokes his viewer to question his or her place within modernity and the inevitable grey area that we have inherited from an overly modernized world. Too cynical for you? Keep in mind Yue is a Cynical Realist.

Zoe Langer

Teuvo Tulio: The King of Finnish Melodrama. Who the hell is he?

Melodrama needs no translation. Raw human emotion and drama makes sense in any language. When there is that much intensity on screen, who needs language? Melodrama is a genre that transcends not only history but also language barriers. We have classic melodrama from Almodóvar, Fassbinder Sirk, and even Finnish director Tulio. I know what you are asking yourselves: Who the hell is Teuvo Tulio? It is rare to find a director who is virtually unknown to sophisticated modern audiences, but Tulio is such a case. Teuvo Tulio is worthy of our attention, a director of wild melodramas during the 1930's and 1940's. His influence can be felt in the films of melodrama masters, ranging from Sirk and Fassbinder to even Buñuel. Tulio was born in Latvia, then moved to Finland became an actor in silent films, earning the name of "Finland Valentino." Soon, he shifted to film making, bringing to his films an erotic passion he developed from the silent films. His spectacular cinematography, coming-of-age stories, embellished orchestral music, and editing even rival Eisenstein. We'll let you be the judge of that. All these elements merged to create intense, captivating melodrama, which brought a needed sexual frankness to only to the genre but also to film overall, dealing with premarital sex, prostitution, sexual inequality, and female objectification. Looks like the root of good drama. Who could ask for more?

Peter Bayuk

Yves Saint Laurent @ the De Young

Stepping off the bus at Golden Gate Park, I was excited to see an admirable fashion designer’s collection at a museum I have never visited before. Walking up the staircase I saw a plaque outside the door with the initials “YSL,” I took a breath and stepped inside. The mere sight of the collection takes that breathe away. The first piece I laid eyes on was a Fall-Winter 1970’s evening gown. The mannequin was sitting down with it’s back towards the audience to show off the large cut out in the back of the rich black gown that stretched from the nape of the neck to the small of her back. What made the dress so special was the black lace that stretched across the cut-out, so her back was not bare but still alluring.

Yves Saint Laurent pushed the limits of sensuality throughout his career. He was not afraid to show the curve of a woman’s bare back or a bit more leg from a wide slit. He made exposing the woman’s chest from a completely sheer blouse incredibly tasteful. Pairing the risqué top with a pant was revolutionary for the time as well. Women could now wear pants during any time of the day and to challenge gender lines even further, he created the first tuxedo for women. Though some of his pieces could be considered androgynous, the perfectly tailored pantsuit was paired with some the most incredible, decadent jewelry. The gems and stones did not only adorn the clothes in his collection, but rather a necklace, brooch, pair of earrings, ring, or bracelet appeared on all 130-pieces of the exhibit.



The exhibit was not organized chronologically, but rather according to various themes throughout his fashion history. The various parts of the exhibit showed off different collections throughout Saint Laurent’s 40 years of creativity which included inspiration from nature, other cultures, and other designers. The pieces that formed a tribute to famous artists in history was one of my favorite parts. YSL’s depiction of Vincent Van Gogh’s sunflowers appeared on a cardigan instead of canvas and on accessories such as beads, sequins and ribbons. As I kept walking, I saw pieces with Russian influences, made with hand-woven wools accompanied by high-heeled boots. Pieces inspired by Africa—raffia, wooden beads, and small pieces of wood were crafted to make couture gowns.

I came across what I consider to be my favorite: the Flora and Fauna collection. The flowers on the dresses appeared three dimensional from the detailed bead and sequin work that covered fabrics like velvet, satin crepe, and silk charmeuse. By the end of the exhibit I learned that Yves Saint Laurent was a true revolutionary in the fashion world. Whether that be making the tuxedo a staple for women, mismatching bold colors together, or using unconventional materials like vulture feathers, galvanized copper, and lacquering panne. Everything seemed to push the boundaries of fashion. Attempting to pick out a favorite ensemble is a difficult task—it might have been the black velvet dress with the signature gigantic pink bow blossoming from the back with a crystal choker around the mannequin’s neck. But perhaps that is too girly for my taste. Maybe it was the high-waisted tan trouser pant paired with a cropped suede vest and jacket. But perhaps that is too masculine.

All I know is the Yves Saint Laurent collection is not an exhibition to miss. Even if you’re not a believer in fashion, you’ll walk out as one.

Steffi Morrison