ART 325, History of Film & Video: 1965 to the Present Darker than Dark: Love, Delusion &

Abuse (favorite psychological themes) ____________ RESERVED FILM: ____________ Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972) Directed By: Werner Herzog Screenplay: Werner Herzog Cast: Klaus Kinski, Alejandro Repulles, Cecilia Rivera, Helena Rojo, Edward Roland, Ruy Guerra Aguirre, der Zorn Gottes Werner Herzog, West Germany / Peru 1972 Werner Herzogs 1972 Aguirre: The Wrath of God opens with a prologue against a bright red background. The text describes the fictional account of a 1560 Spanish expedition, set to locate El Dorado the legendary city of gold. The image, white letters against red, foretells the ill fate of the journey. The films opening shots culminate in a magnificent sight: the view slowly zooms towards an Andes mountain face with an endless string of soldiers and slaves descending the impermeable terrain. They suspend their women above them in ornate thrones. They carry heavy cannons, supplies, and are hindered by steel armor that inhibits comfortable movement. As David Cook aptly states in his History of Narrative Film, it is the very image of futility. It is implicit that the primary appliance of filmmaking is fabrication. Realities are fashioned to tell fiction. Reality is essentially a foreign quality of film. Even Titanic the most expensive film ever made relies upon special effects instead of the arguably more affordable action of sinking a ship. Aguirre is a stark contrast to this traditional filmmaking tactic. The film is less about a treacherous journey than it is one, as the cast and crew repeat the fictionalized trek, lending the film a resolute truth. Gonzalo Pizarro leads this army, whose incongruity of transport exploits their vulnerability. He is driven, pompous, and partially ignorant traits mirrored in Herzog for leading his crew into identical endurances. His resulting work is one of rare audacity. Pizarros intentions are benevolent although inspired by the conformist tactics of

imperialism. Brother Gaspar de Carvajal, a monk, intends to spread the Word of God on this mission. His progressively desperate diary entries serve as the films narration. In the background, silent yet prominent, is Don Lope de Aguirre. He has a teetering walk and furious glare, dominating the frame with a festering intensity. He is invisibly subordinate, employing traits inspired by Hernando Cortez, whose nonconformist strategies resulted in the seizure of Mexico. As the missions futility becomes apparent (the film is paced by the progressive reduction of the initial Spanish team), Aguirre is sent under the command of Don Pedro de Ursua, along with Brother Carvajal, in a sub-expedition in search of food and, as it is inferred, direction. The team embarks on two rafts, each drifting with uncontrollable speed down a muddy, rapid river. Almost instantly, one becomes trapped in an eddy. The remaining crew assembles on the opposite side of the river; they are incapable of rescuing the other team without endangering themselves, and refuse to admit this failure. Gunshots awaken them during the night, and the following morning the trapped raft is strewn with bodies. The men pause in sympathetic interest and continue; there is no hesitation to discern the source of the violence as murder or suicide. Aguirre is the most disconcerting of the group, whose suggestion that they abandon the doomed raft the day prior went ignored. Aguirre is embodied by Klaus Kinski, marking the beginning of the infamous collaboration between the actor and Herzog. Though his performance is unusually tempered, Kinskis rumored off-camera outrages challenged the fate of the film. Kinski is said to have threatened to quit, and Herzog reportedly battled the threat by holding a gun at the head of his lead actor. There are four future collaborations between Herzog and Kinski, suggesting that there existed between them a codependency as well as hatred. Kinskis performance in Aguirre is the films cementing element. Aguirres drive remains indistinguishable from his madness. The missions impending failure becomes increasingly apparent even obvious and Aguirre implores the traits necessary in baiting his mens interest and collaboration. His presence both contextually, in the film, and existentially, in watching it commands attention. In the films characterizing sequence, Aguirre claims his title, The Wrath of God, in a powerful and domineering glare into the cameras lens. The image is powerfully affronting. Aguirre is driven by the sort of timeless fame that spans historys entirety, exclusively akin to other explorers. His narcissistic goals are shared by the team because they promise a bounty as rich as it is unreachable. The myth of the golden city holds many motivations for the team; All of us will gain something, remits a slave, And perhaps Ill even be free. El Dorado would rival any find, and the group fails to rationalize the enormous hype of its legend: it does not exist.

In the films final movement Aguirre waddles about the raft as it meanders downstream, strewn with corpses. He is persistently intoxicated by the fleeting vision of his success and oblivious to his finality that his end, too, is made. The raft is overcome by small monkeys (an action that literally manifests the infestation of the crew by prohibitive natural forces). Aguirre speaks, addressing the animals, repeating the rites he will employ as emperor of El Dorado. He is incapable of being distracted from his convictions, even in this scene, his failure. The final shot of Aguirre is its tragic conclusion. It is a long take that circles around the raft, now a tomb, mimicking the brief suspension of water in a drain. Rumsey Taylor | 2004 notcoming.com

"Takes us into a visually stunning and surreal Heart of Darkness adventure." Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz Independent West German writer-director Werner Herzog's ("The Mystery of Kaspar Hauser"/"Heart of Glass"/"Even Dwarfs Started Small") most intense and powerful film takes us into a visually stunning and surreal Heart of Darkness adventure. It was filmed on location in Peru and is based on the journals of Brother Gaspar de Carvajal (whose credibility can certainly be challenged). The story resurrects the 16th-century megalomaniac dream of the conquistadores of Spain and their journey down a jungle river in Peru as they seek to find El Dorado: a mythical city of gold. It plays as a brutally odd footnote to the history of the Spanish conquests, as it follows with accuracy the historical events as recorded. The book from Herzog on Herzog as edited by Paul Cronin offers this comment from the filmmaker: "Most of the script was written on a bus going to Vienna with the football team I used to play for. We were a few hours into the trip and everyone was drunk already because we had some beer barrels to give to our opponents, but my team had drunk half of it before we had even arrived. I was sitting in my seat with my typewriter on my lap. Our goalie was leaning over me and was so drunk that he finally vomited over my typewriter. Some of the pages were beyond repair and I had to throw them out the window. There were some fine scenes, but they are long gone. That is life on the road for you." I guess from such humble beginnings, inspiration, madness and genius can only be around the next bend. It opens in December 1560 (its timeframe will run through to February 1561) in the heart of the Amazon jungle with a magnificent shot of the ant-like conquistadores descending a steep narrow path in the Andes. The expedition is led by Gonzalo Pizarro (Alejandro Repulles) who has come to find El Dorado for Spain and bring Christianity to the natives. He has brought with him canons,

caged chickens, Indians as slave porters and all the arrogance of his civilized world, as anyone not a Christian is looked down upon as a worthless heathen. Because of the rough terrain and need for food, Pizarro dispatches a group of about forty soldiers and slaves to go in several rafts for one week and bring back food and any word of El Dorado. If they do not return by that time, they will be considered lost and Pizarro will move on with the main expedition force. Don Pedro de Ursua (Ruy Guerra) is asked to lead this expedition, with Don Lope de Aguirre (Klaus Kinski) as second in command. Ursua brings his loyal wife Inez (Helena Rojo), while Aguirre brings his Madonna-like blonde daughter. Also in leadership roles will be Brother Gaspar de Carvajal (Del Negro), representing the interests of the church, and representing the interests of royalty will be the portly Don Fernando de Guzman (Peter Berling). Misfortune soon follows as one raft is lost and Aguirre sabotages Ursua's authority by giving countermanding orders. When Ursua orders the expedition to march back and join Pizarro, Aguirre rebels and tells the men that Cortez disobeyed his commander in Mexico and went on to conquer the country. Those soldiers loyal to Aguirre take Ursua prisoner and threaten execution to all who disobey them, and proceed down river looking for riches and trying to avoid the deadly arrows from the unseen Indians. To make things legal, the mutineers promote the indolent Guzman to be emperor of the territory and the delusional strongman Aguirre as his second in command. Guzman is ironically dressed in rags and is repeatedly shown to be the Emperor of Nothing Kinski's acting is one of showing a great presence without much talking (he falls in love with the camera), reflecting evil in just the way he slumps down and struts when walking aboard the raft. He characterizes an egomaniacal lunatic obsessed with wealth, power and fame, who plans on marrying his daughter and starting a new dynasty in these unexplored territories. It's a once in a lifetime role that Kinski inhabits with a sense of hypnotic primeval instincts. As the story goes, we are told Herzog at one point put a gun to his head to make the reluctant actor do one scene. Whatever...the results were stupendous, and the two must have ironed out their differences from their first of five future collaborations (the other films include: Woyzeck, Nosferatu, Fitzcarraldo and Cobra Verde). But none has reached the heights of Aguirre. Herzog's brilliant visionary film debunks the altruistic aims of the conquistadores as shams, as he shows without doubt their real intentions are based on greed, narcissism and empire building. The gutsy filmmaker does it in a manner that is not likely to be forgotten. Lively background music is provided by German rockers Popol Vuh, named after the Mayan creation myth. Just as the opening scene is legendary, so is the closing one. It has the madman Aguirre, already a doomed man, standing like a victor alone on a raft overrun with monkeys and still 'talking the talk' of a hateful dreamer. DENNIS SCHWARTZ _______________________________

FILMS: ____________ 1. Mirror (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1974)* Andrei Tarkovsky's Mirror - A Landmark In World Cinema By Sacha Tarkovsky Mirror (Zerkalo) was made in 1974 and is the perfect illustration of Andrei Tarkovsky's genius as a director. Mirror provides the viewer with vivid images of unbelievable power and beauty and is an evocation of childhood, which is without equal in cinema. Tarkovsky said of Mirror: "There are no entertaining moments in the film. In fact I am categorically against entertainment in cinema it is as degrading for the author as it is for the audience. Dont let this put you off, Mirror may not be an easy film to watch, but has much for the viewer to experience and enjoy. The plot As with all Tarkovsky's films it is nostalgic and deals with innocence lost and the film focuses on the futile struggle to revisit, or hold onto to the past. Mirror is a gripping, beautiful and sometimes horrifying film. Mirror focuses on the regrets of a man that is dying in his 40's and the film changes time constantly between his harsh childhood in the war and the present. In fact, the viewer is never sure whether their in the present or the past. Mirror has no conventional plot; it is simply a collection of images strung together. The film effectively lets the viewer draw his own conclusions from what they have seen and there is no direction from Tarkovsky at all. In addition to the flashbacks between childhood and the present time, there are interludes of newsreel footage which serve as the narrator's silent commentary on the events influencing his life. Tarkovsky obscures time by using the same actors to portray the two separate phases of the narrator's life. For instance, Margarita Terekhova puts in a stunning performance as both the wife and mother of the narrator. To attempt to conform these images into some coherent plot or universal conclusion is pointless, but this does not detract from the film. What makes the film so special is the imagery and visual splendor of the film. Imagery Andrei Tarkovsky's films are all characterized by metaphysical themes and Mirror is a perfect example. Tarkovsky stated - "words cannot express a person's emotions". However, imagery can and does in Mirror. This is the true genius of the film and Tarkovsky's mastery of the camera is

unrivalled. The film features extremely long takes, and images of stunning beauty. Recurring themes in Mirror are dreams, memories and the innocence of childhood. Running water is always present accompanied by fire, rain, reflections, and characters reappearing in front of long panning movements of the camera. Tarkovsky developed a theory of cinema that he reffered to as "sculpting in time". By this, Tarkovsky meant that the unique characteristic of cinema as a medium was to take the experience of time and alter it. By the utilization of long takes and few cuts, he tried to give the viewers a sense of time passing, time lost, and the relationship at specific periods in time. Connection with the audience It is the intensity of the imagery that makes Mirror such a beautiful film and forms the connection between Tarkovsky and his audience. In many instances simple images are seen in way we have never seen them before, with an intensity that grips the viewer and draws them into Tarkovsky's world. Rain dripping from a window, a milk jug as it falls and shatters on the floor, wind gusting through a house or field, simple images; but, filmed in a unique way. The intensity of the shots reflecting perhaps how we would view these images if we were close to death. The film also makes simple scenes seem dramatic, such as the excitement of the children watching a burning house, or the joy of the fathers visit. The imagery while beautiful still reflects the isolation and the emotions of the characters. For example, the dacha of Tarkovsky's childhood stands in deep and brooding countryside and the camera lingers on the characters faces constantly throughout the film probing their emotions, and lingering on their pain and anguish. _____________________ Tarkovsky said of Mirror: The facts are so simple; they can be taken by everyone as similar to the experience of their own lives This is the power of Mirror; we can relate to the images in the film in our own way and also get an insight into the tortured genius that was Andrei Tarkovsky. It is no more than a straightforward, simple story. It doesn't have to be made any more understandable ----- Simple, complex, beautiful and haunting Mirror has it all and much more.

MIRROR (Zerkalo) : USSR 1974 : Andrei Tarkovsky : 106 minutes b/w and color, 108 min. With Margarita Terekhova, Anatoli Solonitsyn, Ignat Daniltsev Russian with English subtitles Whatever happens, I must make Mirror - that is... a duty... I think constantly about Mirror. It could make a beautiful picture. It will actually be an instance of a film based in its entirety on personal experience. And for that reason, Im convinced, it will be important to those who see it. (Tarkovsky, 7th Sept, 1970) Whether or not Mirror is Tarkovskys greatest film is a matter for the viewer. Its undeniably his most accessible. Unlike everything else he produced after his debut, Ivans Childhood, Mirror isnt forbiddingly long, nor does it explore matters of challenging philosophy. Uniquely among his seven pictures, scenes take place in a recognisably modern, urban environment. But Mirror is hardly a straightforward watch. Theres no plot as such; single actors take multiple roles; we switch episodically back and forwards through time, switching between colour and tinted monochrome, often within the same scene. But you soon grasp whats going on. For perhaps the only time, Tarkovsky freed himself from conventional narrative altogether, and instead attempted something different - to recreate his own world of memories on celluloid. And it is a stunning success. Films can only really be validly compared with other films, but thats easier said than done with a picture like Mirror. Its as much a poetic and literary project as a cinematic one - Peter Handkes 70s diaries and notebooks published as The Weight of the World are a good parallel. Tarkovsky uses extracts from his fathers verse (Ill conjure up which century I like... to stitch together an intricate network of images and scenes, memories and dreams, colours and shapes and sounds. The cumulative effect is overwhelming, such is the directors absolute control over, and confidence in, his material. What we see may only make total sense to Tarkovsky himself - these are deeply personal shards of autobiography hes manipulating - but that doesnt mean his audiences will be in any way baffled or alienated. This is his triumph - to create a valid, personal universe into which others can step, sure of their path through the forest of his subconscious. It seems perverse to summarise or synopsise the events of Mirror, but, roughly speaking, its the result of a 40-year-old, lying ill in his Moscow flat, looking back over his life. He narrates the story, but we never see his face. Hes separated from his wife (Margarita Terekhova) and child (Ignat Daniltsev), and, when she pays a visit, admits that their relationship partly broke down because he never sorted out his relationship with his mother. Meanwhile Ignat forms future memories of his own. The past is always protruding, unbidden, into the present,

and we flash back to various episodes in the narrators childhood in the country, some momentous, some apparently trivial - Daniltsev plays the young narrator, Terekhova the mother - interspersed with newsreel footage of key events in recent Soviet history. While its often tricky to establish exactly whats going on, you dont care - Mirror is such a seductively watchable experience. This is partly due Terekhovas astonishing double performance as the mother/wife, at one point gazing hypnotically, full into the camera, as shes about to kill a cockerel. Its also because the film is studded with some of the most astonishing images in all cinema. Fire and rain are everywhere, curtains billow in mysterious darkened rooms, winds gust over fields and through forests (Tarkovsky must have used a windmachine for some of these effects). A man lies on a bed, picks up a wounded bird, cradles it for a moment before throwing it up, and it rises in slow motion through the air. There isnt a single bad shot in the movie, not a single offnote struck. Apparently Tarkovsky went through 20 cuts before he was happy, and it shows, it was worth it. What he ended up with was perhaps the ultimate example of what a supremely talented individual - an artist - can do with cinema. Compared with this, should we even call these other things films at all? I should like to ask you all not to be so demanding, and should not think of Mirror as a difficult film. It is no more than a straightforward, simple story. It doesnt have to be made any more understandable. (Tarkovsky, 29th April, 1975) 16th January 2001, by Neil Young ______________ 2. Blood Simple (Joel and Ethan Coen, 1984) Texas tavern owner Julian Marty (Dan Hedaya) hires unscrupulous private detective Loren Visser (M. Emmet Walsh) to tail Marty's two-timing spouse (Frances McDormand, in her big-screen debut) and then murder her and her paramour (John Getz). But events take a surprising turn when the gumshoe double-crosses his client, and before you know it a bad situation spirals out of control. Walsh steals this show in this stylish shocker. Blood Simple was the first Coen brothers movie and still one of their best. It's a film noir set in Texas: The world is full o' complainers. An' the fact is, nothin' comes with a guarantee. Now I don't care if you're the pope of Rome, President of the United States or Man of the Year; somethin' can all go wrong. Now go on ahead, y'know, complain, tell your problems to your neighbor, ask for help, 'n watch him fly. Now, in Russia, they got it mapped out so that everyone pulls for everyone else... that's the theory, anyway. But what I know about is Texas, an' down here... you're on your own. A typical noir love triangle, a ruthless rich businessman - Dan Hedaya, his

beautiful young wife - Frances McDormand and his employee - John Getz who loves her. M. Emmett Walsh, never better, plays the original VW driving P.I. hired by the husband to spy on his wife. I guarantee you will never forget his performance. -- (excerpt) posted by El Duderino at 3/01/2007 12:40:00 AM ____________ Blood Simple, Coen Bros. By Roger Ebert Jan 1, 1984 A lot has been written about the visual style of "Blood Simple," but I think the appeal of the movie is more elementary. It keys into three common nightmares: (1) You clean and clean, but there's still blood all over the place; (2) You know you have committed a murder, but you are not sure quite how or why; (3) You know you have forgotten a small detail that will eventually get you into a lot of trouble. "Blood Simple" mixes those fears and guilts into an incredibly complicated plot, with amazingly gory consequences. It tells a story in which every individual detail seems to make sense, and every individual choice seems logical, but the choices and details form a bewildering labyrinth in which there are times when even the murderers themselves don't know who they are. Because following the plot is one of this movie's most basic pleasures, I will not reveal too much. The movie begins with a sleazy backwoods bar owner's attempt to hire a scummy private detective to murder his wife. The private eye takes the money and then pulls a neat double-cross, hoping to keep the money and eliminate the only witness who could implicate him. Neat. And then it really gets complicated. The movie has been shot with a lot of style, some of it self-conscious, but deliberately so. One of the pleasures in a movie like this is enjoying the low-angle and tilt shots that draw attention to themselves, that declare themselves as being part of a movie. The movie does something interesting with its timing, too. It begins to feel inexorable. Characters think they know what has happened; they turn out to be wrong; they pay the consequences, and it all happens while the movie is marching from scene to scene like an implacable professor of logic, demonstrating one fatal error after another. "Blood Simple" was directed by Joel Coen, produced by his brother, Ethan, and written by the two of them. It's their first film, and has the high energy and intensity we associate with young filmmakers who are determined to make an impression. Some of the scenes are virtuoso, including a sequence in which a dead body becomes extraordinarily hard to dispose of, and another one in which two people in adjacent rooms are trapped in the same violent showdown. The central performance in the movie is by the veteran character actor M. Emmet Walsh, who plays the private eye like a man for whom idealism is a dirty word. The other actors in the movie are all effective, but they are obscured, in a way, by what happens to them: This movie weaves such a bloody web that the characters are upstaged by their dilemmas.

Is the movie fun? Well, that depends on you. It is violent, unrelenting, absurd, and fiendishly clever. There is a clich I never use: "Not for the squeamish." But let me put it this way. "Blood Simple" may make you squeam. Blood Simple, Director: Joel and Ethan Coen Cast: Frances McDormand, Dan Hedaya, M. Emmet Walsh, John Getz Under the Rock Though shot on a shoestring budget by first-time feature filmmakers, the movie encapsulates all that has come to typify the Coen brothers' style: engaging narrative, inventive direction, and the juxtaposition of grim violence with moments of sublime, sometimes surreal, human behavior. The film's repeated images of the abandoned oil pumps and desolate fields surrounding Austin are a fitting backdrop to this moody tale of a cheating wife and her jealous, murderous husband. This grim story stars perennial Coen brothers' heroine (and Ethan's wife after this film) Frances McDormand as Abby, the sweet, talkative southern girl who cuckolds her malevolent hubby Marty (Dan Hedaya). At the heart of the film lies Marty's diabolical eagerness for revenge against the wife who left him and the man she left him for. The film's brooding pace quickens after Marty hires a private detective named Visser (M. Emmet Walsh) to kill both Abby and her lover Ray (John Getz). The remainder of the film displays storytelling that is vintage Coen brothers: a two-timing wife avoids the wrath of a two-timing hit man who she believes to be her vengeful husband. The husband, in turn, actually spends the majority of the film dying from wounds inflicted by a series of murderous culprits, none of whom know about the other. Simple indeed. In addition to this tangled narrative, Blood Simple is also remarkable for its visual originality. Written while Joel Coen was working on Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead (1982), Blood Simple incorporates many of the athletic, erratic camera techniques that make all three of Raimi's Evil Dead films so stunning. In addition, Blood Simple employs stylish dissolves and scene changes that give the work a flare uncommon to most low-budget features. In one scene, Visser shoots through a wall into a darkened room, the bullet holes creating visually arresting bursts of light. Such striking artistry makes the film more than just a typical shootem-up. The eclectic cast of characters lends the film further substance and originality. The supporting backbone of any Coen brother story resides in the attractive quirkiness of its players. Blood Simple offers up its own menagerie of skewed individuals. For example, it's almost hard to keep up with Marty's many moods, which run from alternately brooding to violent to pathetic, as he faces the loss of his wife to another man. At one point, he breaks in to Ray's house in an effort to kidnap Abby, but his sadistic intent is undercut by a swift kick in the groin by Abby. Marty's many faces make him unpredictable and, ultimately, interesting to watch. The audience can't know if he will murder his wife in the next instant or

get himself killed in the attempt. As Abby, McDormand is alternately coy and oblivious, a seemingly carefree soul with a strong instinct for self-preservation. Abby changes from damsel-in-distress to an empowered, gun-toting woman during the film, all the while exuding a kind of bewildered charm that allows the audience to feel both pity and admiration for her. Walsh, however, steals every scene he's in. Whether hunched behind the wheel of his sinister, powder-blue Volkswagen bug or chasing flies from his sweat-soaked forehead, Walsh's Visser is at once jovial and creepy, a coldblooded killer who is infinitely likeable. Just like the barren fields outside of Austin, Visser is simultaneously seductive and repulsive, affably despicable. He conducts his dark business with a perpetual grin that could not be farther from sinister. Visser is just a happy-go-lucky hitman whose incongruous actions and attitudes make him, like Marty, unpredictable and fun to watch. Long before critical accolades, long before million dollar budgets, the Coens' work revealed a uniquely offbeat vision and engaging, entertaining storytelling that overturned the rock of human behavior and took a close look at all the lunacy and savagery beneath. ____________ 3. Blue Velvet (David Lynch, 1986) BLUE VELVET 1986, David Lynch Running Length: 120 minutes Cast: Kyle MacLachlan, Isabella Rossellini, Dennis Hopper, Laura Dern, Hope Lange, Dean Stockwell, George Dickerson Director: David Lynch Producer: Fred Caruso Screenplay: David Lynch Cinematography: Frederick Elmes Music: Angelo Badalamenti Blue Velvet (1986) is screenwriter and maverick director David Lynch's artistically bizarre cult film. It is an original look at sex, violence, crime and power under the peaceful exterior of small-town Americana in the mid-80s. Beneath the familiar, peaceful, 'American-dream' cleanliness of the daytime scenes lurks sleaziness, prostitution, unrestrained violence, and perversity - powerful and potentiallydangerous sexual forces that may be unleashed if not contained. A controversial film often criticized for its depiction of aberrant sexual behavior, the surrealistic, psychosexual film was a throwback to art films, 50s B-movies and teenage romances, film noir, and the mystery-suspense genre. Although highly ridiculed and disdained when released as an extreme, dark, vulgar and disgusting film, it also won critical praise - Best Film of 1986, Best

Director, Best Supporting Actor (Dennis Hopper) and Best Achievement in Cinematography (Frederick Elmes) by the National Society of Film Critics. It also received a sole nomination for Best Director from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The plot line of the nightmarish film, a combination of Marquis De Sade sexual fetishism and a Hardy Boys mystery story, is fairly sketchy. An innocent, smalltown college student (MacLachlan) in a sleepy town discovers a severed ear, and then finds himself embroiled on the dark side of town (beyond the white picket fence). He witnesses, first as a voyeur, a sexually-depraved, blackmailing relationship between a monstrous, loathsome, nitrous-oxide sniffing kidnapper (Dennis Hopper) and an abused/brutalized mother and fragile nightclub singer (Isabella Rossellini). In some ways, the two male leads represent the two dichotomous sides of life (e.g., light/dark, normalcy/aberration, attraction/repulsion, innocence/experience, perversion/love, virtue/base desires, etc.) that struggle for dominance. After the hideous crime of violated innocence is revealed, the vision of the innocent girl-next-door (Laura Dern) is restored - the "Blinding Light of Love."

Blue Velvet A Film Review by James Berardinelli 1986, Running Length: 2:00; R (Profanity, violence, nudity, sex) Cast: Kyle MacLachlan, Isabella Rossellini, Dennis Hopper, Laura Dern, Hope Lange, Dean Stockwell, George Dickerson Director: David Lynch Producer: Fred Caruso Screenplay: David Lynch Cinematography: Frederick Elmes Music: Angelo Badalamenti Blue Velvet is David Lynch in peak form, and represents (to date) his most accomplished motion picture. It is a work of fascinating scope and power that rivals any of the most subversive films to reach the screens during the '80s. For Lynch, the sometimes-auteur, sometimes-illusionist, Blue Velvet was the movie that cemented his credentials as a filmmaker in a way that none of his previous efforts were able to. When pundits refer to something as "Lynchian," they are typically referencing the themes and stylistic approach that is on display in this movie. Blue Velvet is one of Lynch's more coherent movies. The storyline is challenging, but not obtuse. It's linear and easy to follow for someone who cares to pay attention. This is not the case with some of Lynch's recent efforts the television

series "Twin Peaks" and movies like Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive have led to much head-scratching and groping in the dark for decoder rings. Compared to them, Blue Velvet is straightforward. Lynch's trademark weirdness is very much on display, but, in this outing, he has channeled it for a purpose other than merely shocking and confusing an audience. Blue Velvet opens in a small-town setting (the generic community is called "Lumberton, U.S.A.") that would be at home almost anywhere in suburban America. The protagonist is Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan), a college student home during summer break to visit his ailing father, who is in the hospital. While wandering through fields near his home one day, Jeffrey discovers a severed human ear. He takes it to the police station, where Detective Williams (George Dickerson) bags the evidence and opens the case. However, instead of leaving things to the professionals, Jeffrey becomes obsessed by the ear and discovering to whom it belongs. Along with Detective Williams' helpful daughter, Sandy (Laura Dern), Jeffrey decides to do a little detective work on his own. His investigations lead him to the apartment of nightclub singer Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini). Dorothy is involved in an abusive S&M relationship with a psychopath named Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper), who has kidnapped her husband and son Ostensibly, she allows Frank to brutalize her in order to keep her loved ones safe, but the reality is that she is a masochist and gets off on being beaten and raped. Jeffrey discovers this first hand when he begins an affair with Dorothy and learns that she likes her sex rough rougher than he is initially willing to provide. Before long, however, Jeffrey is being dragged deeper into Dorothy and Frank's world of violence and depravity. Watching Blue Velvet is not pretty, and requires a strong constitution. Lynch is a demanding director, and some of the scenes in this movie take an unflinching look at the darker side of human nature. Frank is a monster without redeeming qualities who destroys, either physically or psychologically, everything he touches. Dorothy is diseased, but perhaps not beyond redemption, although Frank has corrupted her soul and stolen her happiness. Lynch does what he needs to do to show these things, and much of it is ugly. One of the most controversial scenes in the film involves a bruised, completely naked Isabella Rossellini stumbling around outside. Some critics have found this scene to be degrading. But degrading to whom? Surely not Rossellini, who, as an actress, was required to do her job. To the audience? Perhaps, but that's the point. The scene is not gratuitous or exploitative. Lynch included it for a specific reason. Its ability to disturb is a testimony to its power. It is neither forgotten nor easily dismissed. By causing us to flinch, it displays its effectiveness by depicting the level of despair to which Dorothy has descended. She has hit rock bottom. The storyline is not what it initially appears to be, although there is a clue early in

the film where Lynch is heading. Blue Velvet opens with images exported from the American Dream: perfect little houses with white picket fences and impeccably manicured yards. A man collapses while watering his lawn, and the camera, after following him to the ground, burrows into it, parting the blades of grass to reveal a colony of swarming bugs. The message is clear perfection often hides deeply-rooted rot. Dreams can easily turn into nightmares. Corruption is everywhere, even in places that seem immune to it. These themes, and others about the pernicious influence of evil, are explored in some depth throughout Blue Velvet. For a while, Blue Velvet appears to be a mystery. And, with two such allAmerican, clean cut detectives, it could be mistaken for something out of the Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew series. But, as much as Jeffrey and Sandy might be at home in a simplistic adolescent story, Dorothy and Frank are film noir refugees the femme fatale and the terrifying killer. By cross-pollinating the genres, Lynch is able to satirize Americana while making a grim statement about human nature. The movie contains humor, albeit of the blackest sort. Although the plot is relatively uncluttered, there are numerous examples of the offbeat stylistic quirkiness for which the director has become known. Two instances stand out. The first occurs when Frank and some friends take Jeffrey and Dorothy on a joyride to the place where her son is being held captive. This visit has a nightmarish quality to it, with all of the characters acting in a strange way, as if they are half-asleep or stoned. It's a peculiar, disquieting scene, a sance for the living damned. Equally disturbing is the tableau that Jeffrey walks in on late in the film when he goes to Dorothy's apartment. He discovers two bodies, one of which is standing upright. It's intentionally difficult to pinpoint the time frame in which Blue Velvet transpires. Some clues indicate that events may be happening in contemporary or nearcontemporary times (the early 1980s). Others, such as the abundance of older cars, the styles of clothing and hair, and the use of Bobby Vinton's "Blue Velvet," evoke an earlier era, perhaps the '50s or early '60s. By juxtaposing the '80s with the '50s, Lynch takes the movie out of time, ensuring that it will never become dated. He also manages to remind us that, while many things have changed since the "Father Knows Best" generation, the essence of humanity has remained constant. Other movies have argued the same thing, but they generally do so from a more positive perspective. Lynch supplants nobility with depravity. The four main actors could not be more perfectly chosen for their parts. Kyle MacLachlan, who would go on to play Agent Cooper in "Twin Peaks," is the perfect clean-cut boy. MacLachlan brings a sense of innocence to this part that serves him well. Because of that quality, we can identify with Jeffrey as he begins his downward spiral into Dorothy and Frank's hellish world. Laura Dern portrays the good girl prim, proper, and much different from her character in Lynch's Wild at Heart. Isabella Rossellini captures the full breadth of Dorothy's complex

personality her vulnerability and degeneracy, her desperation and longing, her hatred of Frank and need for him. The role demands much of her that goes beyond the nudity. Finally, there's Dennis Hopper, who, in a lifetime of playing vicious creatures, has never essayed one as sinister and purely evil as Frank, one of the most horrific villains ever to grace the silver screen. There is nothing redeemable about this man. Hopper recognizes it and embraces it as only he can. The only hint of optimism comes at the end of Blue Velvet, when the sun emerges, the sky is blue, a robin appears, and everything seems right in the world. Once again, we are presented with the veneer of perfection. Then we notice that the robin has a beetle in its beak, and we realize where that beetle comes from. The movie has gone full circle. The American Dream is alive and well, but the rot and corruption are still there, concealed beneath the blades of grass, ready to emerge. ------- 2002 James Berardinelli

Blue Velvet (Sight and Sound, Winter 1986/87) excerpt OUT OF THE BLUE Blue Velvet (is) a film so rich that it seems to include and (almost) justify everything that has been happening in American movies in the last ten years. It's set in a fictional small town and is about an innocent's education in the darker human impulses. It is also a compendium of styles, with elements drawn from teenage mysteries, porn films, coming-of-age movies, Caprastyle family comedies, films noirs, Hitchcockian psychosexual thrillers, horror movies, all combining with the elusive rightness of a bad dream. There is nothing calculated or intellectualized about Lynch's approach. We simply feel, in every frame, how deeply pop culture imagery has penetrated his imagination, see the dark colours it has added to his nightmares. His adolescent hero, Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan), who lives in the placid mill town of Lumberton, gets involved in his mystery when he stumbles on a severed human ear in a vacant lot near his home. Jeffrey's boy-detective investigations lead him on a perilous tour of the seedy side of his hometown: he gets to know-first voyeuristically, then more intimately-the nightclub singer Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini), who's being threatened and abused by a sadistic thug named Frank (Dennis Hopper, at his most alarming). The boy`s descent into the hell that Lumberton becomes when the sun goes down and all the doors are closed is like a teenager`s nightmare projection of the dangers of adult experience: everyone is a criminal or a victim, sex is sordid and brutal, the solution of every mystery is the revelation of an unimaginable perversion. This vision is so extreme that it is often deliberately funny, but it`s also genuinely horrifying, because Blue Velvet`s strange world really feels like home ground-for

Jeffrey, for Lynch (who is returning to Eraserhead territory after his unproductive detour into outer space, Dune) and for us. The heightened tawdriness of Lynch's style, evoking the B-movie and jukebox nightmares that insinuate themselves into the real, remembered traumas of our lives, is somehow truer to our experience than anything that has been seen American movies in a long time. For Americans at least, the artifacts of junk-culture - genres and B pictures- are home. No matter how badly we want to get out, the stuff sticks to us, like gunk from some special-effects monster.