ECSTATIC Gives Thanks
To The Movies That Made Me
Happy Thanksgiving, ECSTATIC readers! First and foremost, I’m thankful for YOU, and hope your screens are filled with great movies this holiday season. I thought I would take the opportunity of my ECSTATIC review schedule landing on turkey day to create a list of movies that spark my gratitude. Recently, I’ve been listening to “The Movies That Made Me,” a podcast hosted by Joe Dante (Piranha, The Howling, Gremlins 2: The New Batch) and Josh Olsen (screenwriter, A History of Violence), where they ask filmmakers and actors to list and discuss the formative films of their lives and artistic sensibilities. Since they haven’t yet called to have me on the show(!), here goes my attempt at culling up those movies that made me, moved me, and continue to make me thankful. And, since I’m using Olsen’s podcast as a touchstone, I have to first mention the David Cronenberg-directed A History of Violence as a movie that occupies a special place for me, and not just because I adore Cronenberg movies in general, but because it’s the first movie my partner Jen Salamone and I saw on our first date. What can I say…I’m a romantic at heart.
Aside from sending thanks to my readers and my brilliant partner, I hope this exercise also gives some focus as to how my critical lens (warped as it might be) was shaped. I try not to respond to films under the pretense of a “thumbs up/thumbs down” proposition, or that I could come anywhere close to discerning that one way or the other for anyone other than myself. And even though I love a film that seems to blow me away on a first viewing—this year, films like Céline Sciamma’s Petit Maman, Radu Jude’s Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn, or Cronenberg’s Crimes of the Future—I’ve learned not to assume that any film’s initial impact will remain, or that my enthusiasms are ever entirely accurate. David Lynch wrote in his book Catching the Big Fish something on this topic that rolls through my mind from time to time:
"I like the saying ‘The world is as you are.' And I think films are as you are. That's why, although the frames of a film are always the same--the same number, in the same sequence, with the same sounds--every screening is different. The difference is sometimes subtle, but it's there. It depends on the audience. There is a circle that goes from the audience to the film and back. Each person is looking and feeling and thinking and feeling and coming up with his or her own sense of things. And it's probably different from what I fell in love with."
Indeed, my experience is not the experience of another, and I’m always fascinated by why something works for one and not for another. I do what I can to avoid critical consensus, while still maintaining a steady diet of criticism and commentary, from more cineaste-focused publications like Film Comment to genre rags like Videoscope. The body of critical writing on social media can also be pretty incredible and inspiring, if you know where to look—check out my good friend Nathaniel Drake Carlson, posting consistently with one of the most unique critical voices on social media, discussing overlooked and underappreciated gems in a way that could take you down some serious movie rabbit holes. Nathaniel deserves a special thanks here, as he has introduced me to a number of films and directors over the years—Claire Denis’ Beau Travail, Abbas Kiarostami’s Koker Trilogy, Bela Tarr’s Werkmeister Harmonies—and he’s still introducing me to new work, as well as entirely shifting my critical view on a few occasions. I can certainly miss the access point to something, and appreciate someone being able to offer up the key to a film. Ideally, I can do that here from time to time. As the years pass and thanksgivings come and go, I consider being occasionally off in my readings as just another part of living a critical life consumed by movie screens. And I’m beyond grateful for the privilege to do so.
ECSTATIC Screen Notes is an extension of the free blog ECSTATIC Film that I’ve been publishing since 2011. The first post on ECSTATIC Film (8/8/2011) was on Werner Herzog’s 3D film Cave of Forgotten Dreams, and the title “ecstatic” is an homage to my favorite Bavarian’s perpetual pursuit of “ecstatic truth” in filmmaking. Indeed, the word “ecstatic” has been a critical keystone in my writing, a term I return to when a film’s images are creating that ideal radiation of meaning, like the most succinct word choice in a poem, or an edit that plays like a perfectly fractured line. When it comes to Herzog, so many images set the standard for the kind of connection and possible transcendence I’m looking for when any house goes dark—my mind most immediately goes to his film Aguirre: The Wrath of God (1972), and a scene where the doomed conquistadores expedition gazes with uncertainty upon the surreal vision of a ship lodged high in a tree.
Herzog’s compulsion toward ecstatic imagery is somewhat related to surrealist technique, for me, with the perceptual collision of a ship in a tree echoing the “bicycle wheel on a stool” ready-mades of Marcel Duchamp. Not long after Aguirre, Herzog would go even bigger, displacing an even larger ship in Fitzcarraldo, this time in an attempt to move the vessel over a mountain. While Herzog often wrote his poetic juxtapositions in grand, risky flourishes, it has often been experimental gestures of films on a different scale that have driven my search for the ecstatic. I’m particularly fond of the early surrealists and dada-ists. Bunuel’s barbarous slice in the opening of Un Chien Andalou is a gesture of violence and liberation that still drives my quest, and once set the stage for all the other experimental masters that drew me into their waking dreams. Lilly Boruszkowski’s course in Experimental Film at SIU-Carbondale in the late 90’s was essential in shaping this appreciation: flicker films like Ernie Gher’s Serene Velocity, the Dada-ism of Fernand Léger’s Ballet Mécanique, the mythopoetic Dog Star Man by Stan Brakhage, and Maya Deren’s Meshes of the Afternoon—a movie that would pair perfectly with another of the most impactful movies for me in the late 90’s, David Lynch’s Lost Highway.
Film courses in college were crucial for me, and I was fortunate to have had great instructors who were incredible curators. Susan Felleman’s course on Jean Renoir is where I first saw La Bête humaine (which begins an obsession with Jean Gabin), and The Golden Coach (which begins an obsession with Anna Magnani). Jyotsna Kapur’s course on the Japanese New Wave introduces me to the unforgettable likes of Shōhei Imamura’s The Pornographers and Hiroshi Teshigahara’s Woman in the Dunes, and that experience still has me sifting through the incredible, endless well of films made in 1960’s Japan (only this year have I discovered the wonderfully warped and wild films of Koreyoshi Kurahara!).
Back in those college days, access to films was not what it is today, which would lead to some strange encounters, such as taking a class based on Paul Schrader’s book Transcendental Style in Film: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer, but only staying around long enough to see the Bresson films, since they were not easy to see at that time, and I had already seen the Ozu and Dreyer movies elsewhere. Concurrent to all this, the bizarre and bootlegged film selection at the local record store, Plaza Records, was it’s own kind of education—I remember the strange delight of Russ Meyer’s Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! in particular—and the local coffee/book store called Rosetta had an incredible, tiny closet of films that led me to too many discoveries to recall. One film I remember picking up on the recommendation of one of the owners was Michael Haneke’s Funny Games, the opening sequence striking me, once again, with the force of Un Chien Andalou.
One way to go about making a list of “the movies that made me”—though, perhaps, too systematic for what I want to get at here—is to take a look back at the yearly “Best Films” lists I’ve been posting on ECSTATIC Film since 2011 and simply pluck a couple of films off the top of each list. I’ve never been comfortable with numbering lists, so here’s a stab at grouping my favorite “ecstatic” films of the 2010’s: Titane Julia Ducorneau, France; Lover’s Rock Steve McQueen, UK; I’m Thinking of Ending Things Charlie Kaufman, US; La Flor Mariano Llinás, Argentina; 24 Frames Abbas Kiarostami, Iran; Parasite Bong Joon Ho, South Korea; Leave No Trace Debra Granik, US; Mandy Panos Cosmatos, US; Paterson Jim Jarmusch, US; Cameraperson Kirsten Johnson, US; Cemetery of Splendor Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Thailand; The Forbidden Room Guy Maddin, Canada; Goodbye to Language Jean-Luc Godard, Switzerland/France; Mad Max: Fury Road George Miller, Australia; The Act of Killing Joshua Oppenheimer, UK/Denmark/Norway; Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Innocence) Alejandro G. Iñárritu, US; Berberian Sound Studio Peter Strickland, UK; Spring Breakers Harmony Korine, US; Holy Motors Leos Carax, France; The Master Paul Thomas Anderson, US; Meek’s Cutoff Kelly Reichardt, US; Pina Wim Wenders, Germany.
Even though I’d be perfectly happy on a desert island showing only a rotation of those films listed above—one of those desert island cinemas with perfect sound, projection, and comfortable seating, preferably—the movies I’d like to express my gratitude for today are a slightly different lot, and not limited to the last decade. Many are movies that made me realize that movies don’t have to just do one thing, that they don’t have to just tell a story, or work like a three act play, or continually bombard my attention. The picture of me above with Wim Wenders is particularly special not because I get much pleasure from grabbing photos with celebrities—in fact, it’s often quite awkward and unpleasant, and this was no exception—but because Wenders’ movies taught me that movies could be poetry. Kings of the Road (In the Course of Time) (1976), particularly, was one of the first films where I recognized a distinctly poetic, visual language—long form, for sure, and patient, with a tremendous amount of space for contemplation, for self-reflection. Wenders ability to create an expansive, poetic space leads to a number of films on this list, but if there’s one binding element across these films (and I’m sure there’s not) it might be the element of strangeness, though not in any generic sense of the word. I’m usually turned off by films that attempt a deliberate strangeness. What I mean by “strangeness” has more to do with “newness.” I’ll return to Paul Schrader again, this time in an article attempting to re-define and critique the idea of cinema canons, who says:
“The concept of strangeness enriches the traditional notion of originality, adding the connotations of unpredictability, unknowability, and magic.”
The movies that made me are the movies that have that kind of magic—a strange magic that expanded/altered/ruptured my view of art and the world, that showed me new paths and ways of seeing.
In chronological, yet tangential, order:
The Golden Voyage of Sinbad Gordon Hessler (1976) - Harryhausen animation was one of my first cinematic loves, so all of the Sinbad movies, Jason and the Argonauts, and Clash of the Titans were essential in opening my eyes wide for the first time. I always flash on these hand-made effects (or Carpenter’s The Thing) when watching some flat, unaffecting CGI attempt to make the fantastical real.
Young Frankenstein Mel Brooks (1974) - Still my favorite comedy. Also a beautifully shot and acted movie. Wilder is genius and an ongoing inspiration. One of those movies that brought my family together. I will never see the stage musical because the film is too special to me. When will we realize that no musical-ization of a great film has ever done that film any favors?
Enter the Dragon Robert Clause (1973) - Bruce Lee was mesmerizing, and the film moves just as perfectly as Lee does. Maybe the film I’ve seen the most in my life. Set the stage for my appreciation of great fight choreography. So many quotable lines and words of wisdom: "It is like a finger pointing a way to the moon. Don't concentrate on the finger or you will miss all that heavenly glory.” Also, in martial arts as in acting: “Don’t think. Feeeeel.”
Scarecrow Jerry Schatzberg, 1973/Taxi Driver Martin Scorsese, 1976/Salvador Oliver Stone, 1986 - The movies that first got me thinking about the work actors do. My VHS copy of Scarecrow was a horrible “pan-and-scan” version that couldn’t mask how brilliantly Pacino and Hackman played off of each other. The movie still breaks my heart and is my favorite performance of both actors (and Schatzberg’s direction is gorgeous, now that I’ve seen the blu-ray). DeNiro in Taxi Driver was a different kind of performance for me, and, like James Woods in Salavdor, got me thinking about psychological acting for the first time. I was compelled by their utter mania, and couldn’t believe everything going on behind the eyes. All of those chops in psychological realism mean a lot less to me the farther down this list we go, but in the mid 80’s these performances were it.
The Hustler Robert Rossen, 1961 - Next to Enter the Dragon, the other movie I’ve viewed the most, even though it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen either. Another acting lesson from everyone involved—Newman, Piper Laurie, Jackie Gleason, and especially George C. Scott. Even though I also had a brief, VHS-era fascination with Scott in Patton, it’s this performance that most stays with me. Later, I would blatantly steal from Newman in this for a role I was playing on stage, because I had no frame of reference for the level of tragedy I was playing and was so impressed with how Newman reduced the most tragic moment in The Hustler to a simple, refined gesture.
Miller’s Crossing Joel and Ehtan Coen, 1990 - Speaking of movies that are burned into your brain, Miller’s Crossing is the only film I’ve ever (unintentionally) memorized front to back, sort of like that character in Barry Levinson’s Diner who recites The Sweet Smell of Success on repeat (another movie that could easily make this list). So, it made sense to me years later when the script of The Big Lebowski burrowed it’s way cultishly into the day-to-day lexicon of so many Coen fans, because I was already familiar with just how infectious their writing could be. Another curious aspect to this is that I didn’t really love Miller’s Crossing or Lebowski on first viewing, but…sometimes I got more hair tonic than brains.
Simple Men Hal Hartley, 1992 - Did not understand this one at all on first viewing. Was it a parody of art films? Was it funny? What was the play here? As with the Coens, it wouldn’t let go, and I had to keep going back. I wrote a piece on the film for Marcus Pinn’s “Hal Hartley Month” a few years back on his great site Pinnland Empire.
My Own Private Idaho Gus Van Sant, 1991 - A revelation. A masterpiece of the new queer cinema of the 90’s, among a slew of others: The Karen Carpenter Story and Poison by Todd Haynes, The Living End by Greg Araki, Swoon by Tom Kalin, Bound by the Wachowskis. But, it was the experience of seeing My Own Private Idaho with an audience in the now sadly dark New Art Theatre in Champaign, IL that shocked me awake. I wrote about it here for The Big Picture.
Naked Lunch David Cronenberg, 1991 - Saw this one for the first time in Champaign, IL, as well, and on a first date. My dad once told me he saw John Huston’s The List of Adrian Messenger on a first date, but because he didn’t get to go to the movies as a kid, he was much more attentive to the movie than the date, and I feel like this scenario played out again for me when seeing Naked Lunch, since I was totally turned on to the book at the time. I only remember that my date was very nice and British, but I remember nearly everything about Naked Lunch. Seeing it again recently at the Mahoning Drive-In was an incredible pilgrimage back to this one. Every performance is brilliant, funny, and incredibly specific.
Stranger Than Paradise Jim Jarmusch, 1984 - A recommendation from the great Dr. Jerry Weston Mathis, my theatre and performance mentor, who would say he fell into the isle laughing at the ending of this film when he first saw it in New York. Eszter Balint listening to Screamin’ Jay Hawkins is still a useful touchstone of meditation for me. The film that comes after this, Down By Law, could easily make this list, too.
Sweet Movie Dušan Makavejev, 1974 - High on the list of movies that, well… aren’t for everybody. I actually prefer WR: Mysteries of the Organism, but it was Sweet Movie that really opened up a world of transgressive cinema for me (and was definitely summoned to great effect in Jude’s Bad Luck Banging this year). Makavejev’s collage technique is truly radical, and the risks he took with his actors unprecedented. One of the best Thanksgiving movies ever…if your desire is to make your guests vomit profusely.
Taste of Cherry Abbas Kiarostami, 1997 - The simplicity of the dark quest in this film is something I always return to when I sit down to map out a creative idea. Though I’ll likely never write anything so pure, I can always aspire. This film never released it’s hold on me, always tapping on my shoulder to remind me that the dramatic question can always be simplified.
La Belle et la Bête Jean Cocteau, 1946 - Particularly, the screening with live accompaniment by Philip Glass and his orchestra that I saw in Chicago with one of my best movie-going friends, Kris Murray. To this day, the thought of this experience stops us in our tracks. Though I have the Criterion edition where you can watch the film with the Glass score, I’ve never watched it—the memory of the live experience was just too implacable.
Band of Outsiders Jean-luc Godard, 1964 - The most memorable experience for me at the Music Box in Chicago (and I’ve had a few). I fall in love with this movie, with Anna Karina, and the dance of it all. I also understood a bit better the materials Hal Hartley was playing with. I’m still grappling with Godard, and recently even turned one off in frustration, but this one is just great fun.
Satantango Béla Tarr, 1994 - Saw this one at Facets Cinematheque in Chicago at the encouragement of my friend Nathaniel. Of course, Satantango takes up a day at the cinema, including two intermissions. Unforgettable and perspective-shifting. It’s difficult to believe this is from the 1990’s, since it seems like a movie that has just always been. Again, I have the DVD of this, but have never viewed it because of how strongly that day-long experience lingers.
Metropolis Fritz Lang, 1927 - Another great Music Box screening, though not the “complete” version that exists now. The visual spark of so much science fiction. Also a film that I would use continually in my film appreciation, performance, and theatre courses to discuss expressive framing and acting style. Later I wrote a short play called Brigitte Answers the Door about the lead actress, Brigitte Helm, which I hope to turn it into a full length, eventually.
Stalker Andrei Tarkovsky, 1979 - At the top of my list when it comes to great movie theatre experiences. I’ve seen it three times at the Gene Siskel Theatre in Chicago, and one time the cinematographer was there to tell the incredible story, which I rarely hear recounted, of how the film was shot three times in it’s entirety because of problems at the lab developing the film. To think that there were two other ENTIRE versions of Stalker that never made it to screen is mind-boggling. The way the film plays with space and time is still unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and genuinely creeps me out in the best way.
A Woman Under the Influence John Cassavetes, 1974 - Faces was the movie I was always told I should see as a young cinephile, but it wasn’t until I saw this that I tapped into Cassavetes. I also love Killing of A Chinese Bookie, Opening Night, and Love Streams. But, A Woman Under the Influence, almost unlike any other film, takes me to a place that I feel like I shouldn’t be watching in the most thrilling way. The spaghetti dinner scene is one I put on occasionally, without even watching the whole film. The ending is likely the most delicate, beautiful filmmaking I’ve ever seen.
Wanda Barbara Loden, 1970 - A more recent discovery that really got under my skin. Loden only made this one full-length feature, but it’s a masterpiece. A sort of commentary on Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde from a few years earlier, but far more my kind of movie. Loden is also the lead in the film, and gives one of the great, unaffected screen performances of all time. There are few performances where you can truly see none of the seams, but this is one of them.
Goodbye Dragon Inn Tsai Ming-Liang, 2003 - Here is where my sense of acting is completely upended. Tsai’s relationship with actor Kang-sheng Lee throughout multiple films is a lesson in performance and observation that gradually pulled me away from seeing performance through the psychological realist lens that captivated me in films like Taxi Driver. It’s an amazing body of work, including Rebels of the Neon God, The Hole, What Time is It There?, The Wayward Cloud, Stray Dogs, and the most recent of their collaborations, Days. Goodbye Dragon Inn is my favorite though, a sort of haunted homage to the cinema with the most patient sense of humor.
Right Now, Wrong Then Hong Sang-soo, 2015 - I’ll finish off this list with another director who has captivated me across multiple films in the last few years: Hong Sang-soo. To focus in on one film might not be sufficient, because it’s impossible to get a sense of what Hong is up to with a small sample. But, if you get hooked, prepared to be truly hooked. As with Tsai Ming-liang, there is a similar premium placed on not knowing when it comes to performance, as opposed to the “homework that you throw away on the day” approach to acting. With Hong, you come on the day knowing nothing, with a couple of outfits, and let the story unfolding in front of you be the guide. Often, when the results are at their best, it makes the Western, psychological approach seem needlessly overwrought. Hong’s relationship to actors like the great Kim Min-hee is a particular highlight, and even though I list the bifurcated narrative of Right Now, Wrong Then as my favorite here, it’s exploring this lovingly handmade body of work that I adore more than any particular film, from Night and Day to Hill of Freedom to his most recent, and one of his best, In Front of Your Face. I can’t wait for more.
A slew of others that fell away in the edit: Two-Lane Blacktop Monte Hellman, 1979; Killer of Sheep Charles Burnett, 1978; Detour Edgar G. Ulmer, 1945; Medium Cool Haskel Wexler, 1969; Magnolia Paul Thomas Anderson, 1999; Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Take One William Greaves, 1968; Days of Heaven and The Thin Red Line Terrance Malick, 1978/98; A Clockwork Orange Stanley Kubrick, 1971; Sex, Lies, and Videotape and Schizopolis Stephen Soderbergh, 1989/96; Once Upon a Time in the West and Once Upon a Time in America Sergio Leone, 1968/1984; Good Time Josh and Bennie Safdie, 2017.
Of course, the film I’m focused on the most is the one in front of my face at the next screening. I’ll keep you updated, as usual. Thanks again for subscribing, reading, and sharing ECSTATIC Screen Notes with the movie lovers in your life. I hope you find something exciting here to seek out this holiday season. Until next time, remember to look up.
And remember to subscribe for regular reviews on the second and fourth Thursday every month!
Special thanks given to all my movie-going partners over the years—Brian, Elyse, Jerry, Paul, Marcy, Mel, Alex, Rebecca, Michael, Chris and Laura, Jerz and Amanda, Craig and Jonny—and a special shoutout to the old after-hours AMC crew!