marino_touchdowns
Joined Mar 2006
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Ken Jacobs is an experimental filmmaker and theory teacher who is still making movies to this day. He was an art teacher to the monumentally influential Art Spiegelman and is sometimes credited for coining the term "paracinema" – though that changes depending on your source. Whether he invented the term or not, paracinema seems to be the wheelhouse in which Jacobs lives. It is a word that literally stands for any type of film that is outside the conventional genres in filmmaking. In Jacobs' personal favorite genre, experimental avant-garde, paracinema also means any film made without the standard equipment of the film medium. If this essay-like opening paragraph is boring you, I guarantee the subject matter of Ken Jacobs' 1963 Blonde Cobra will lighten the mood.
I almost feel strange referring to Blonde Cobra as an actual movie as opposed to a home video of two perverts talking about penises. See, I told you it would pick-up. It is set in a cramped apartment and shot with a single camera in grainy and unpleasant looking black and white. It "stars" a fellow experimental filmmaker, Jack Smith (Flaming Creatures), as himself in silly costumes while holding icky looking props. The motives for the movie are almost impossible to figure out. If I had to guess, I would say that these are two bored, eccentric homosexual filmmakers in the early 60s who are doing nothing more than looking for a way to torment the suits. There does not seem to be a point to anything in the film, rather Jacobs fills the half an hour runtime with controversial and offensive voiceovers behind strange images or completely blank screens.
There is no secular narrative presented in the film. Instead, Jacobs split his work into three short vignettes featuring Smith as different characters usually in drag or some other goofy costume. The first short in the film has Smith dressed in the manner of a fortuneteller and displays the behavior of someone with an intense oral fixation. This dialogue-less action includes Smith licking raw poultry and features a voice-over that describes cases of sexual molestation to children and necrophilia. The best I can do is say I THINK that is what they're talking about, but it is almost impossible to understand what they are saying. Most of these stories, including one particular moment in which Smith describes a female's use of religious statues for masturbation, are said over a blank, black screen. You'd think that a visual break from the action would be kinda nice, but the narration might even be more graphic. It is certainly more offensive.
The next "scene" has Smith and another man dressed as 1920s-esque gangsters as they dance to what sounds like (but don't quote me on it) the Ginger Rodgers and Fred Astaire version of "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off". I would think that this scene holds the key to Blonde Cobra even being on this list of films. Pop music in film was a brand new concept in the 1960s. And though many credit The Graduate for the use of a pop music soundtrack, Jacobs and Smith were using recordings in their films as early as 1957. Jacobs'Blonde Cobra, Smith's Flaming Creatures and, of course, Anger's Scorpio Rising were all released between 1963-64 and unknowingly serve as the first examples of unlicensed music in film.
And then, after all of that excitement, there is another vignette. This time we have Smith dressed as an explorer of some kind. He and another man rub themselves on all sorts of different apartment props. Smith can be heard saying that sex is "a pain in the ass". Other than that, nothing really happens.
Maybe the most famous line in the film is said in the first act. Mid-sentence, Smith stops and turns to the camera. With a completely serious demeanor you can hear him say – "I don't know if this makes sense to you". I can assure you that the film does not make any sense at all. Not in the way that a surrealist like Buñuel doesn't make sense, but more in the way that a sleep deprived, gay crack-addict probably doesn't make sense. I eventually came to realize that looking for a motive or a point in Blonde Cobra is an exercise in futility. The film is pointless.
It would be wrong to say that Blonde Cobra has absolutely no cultural importance. Jacobs and Smith are both very famous in the gay, New York underground film scene. Somebody somewhere likes this stuff. And like Tarantino makes movies for a niche of people – these men made their films for a much smaller sample of the same thing. If you are not part of the particular audience – Blonde Cobra will mean nothing to you. Honestly, it's a piece of crap.
I almost feel strange referring to Blonde Cobra as an actual movie as opposed to a home video of two perverts talking about penises. See, I told you it would pick-up. It is set in a cramped apartment and shot with a single camera in grainy and unpleasant looking black and white. It "stars" a fellow experimental filmmaker, Jack Smith (Flaming Creatures), as himself in silly costumes while holding icky looking props. The motives for the movie are almost impossible to figure out. If I had to guess, I would say that these are two bored, eccentric homosexual filmmakers in the early 60s who are doing nothing more than looking for a way to torment the suits. There does not seem to be a point to anything in the film, rather Jacobs fills the half an hour runtime with controversial and offensive voiceovers behind strange images or completely blank screens.
There is no secular narrative presented in the film. Instead, Jacobs split his work into three short vignettes featuring Smith as different characters usually in drag or some other goofy costume. The first short in the film has Smith dressed in the manner of a fortuneteller and displays the behavior of someone with an intense oral fixation. This dialogue-less action includes Smith licking raw poultry and features a voice-over that describes cases of sexual molestation to children and necrophilia. The best I can do is say I THINK that is what they're talking about, but it is almost impossible to understand what they are saying. Most of these stories, including one particular moment in which Smith describes a female's use of religious statues for masturbation, are said over a blank, black screen. You'd think that a visual break from the action would be kinda nice, but the narration might even be more graphic. It is certainly more offensive.
The next "scene" has Smith and another man dressed as 1920s-esque gangsters as they dance to what sounds like (but don't quote me on it) the Ginger Rodgers and Fred Astaire version of "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off". I would think that this scene holds the key to Blonde Cobra even being on this list of films. Pop music in film was a brand new concept in the 1960s. And though many credit The Graduate for the use of a pop music soundtrack, Jacobs and Smith were using recordings in their films as early as 1957. Jacobs'Blonde Cobra, Smith's Flaming Creatures and, of course, Anger's Scorpio Rising were all released between 1963-64 and unknowingly serve as the first examples of unlicensed music in film.
And then, after all of that excitement, there is another vignette. This time we have Smith dressed as an explorer of some kind. He and another man rub themselves on all sorts of different apartment props. Smith can be heard saying that sex is "a pain in the ass". Other than that, nothing really happens.
Maybe the most famous line in the film is said in the first act. Mid-sentence, Smith stops and turns to the camera. With a completely serious demeanor you can hear him say – "I don't know if this makes sense to you". I can assure you that the film does not make any sense at all. Not in the way that a surrealist like Buñuel doesn't make sense, but more in the way that a sleep deprived, gay crack-addict probably doesn't make sense. I eventually came to realize that looking for a motive or a point in Blonde Cobra is an exercise in futility. The film is pointless.
It would be wrong to say that Blonde Cobra has absolutely no cultural importance. Jacobs and Smith are both very famous in the gay, New York underground film scene. Somebody somewhere likes this stuff. And like Tarantino makes movies for a niche of people – these men made their films for a much smaller sample of the same thing. If you are not part of the particular audience – Blonde Cobra will mean nothing to you. Honestly, it's a piece of crap.
The Red and the White is a movie that could have easily been named Gunshot. It purposely runs without any sort of central character, and almost everyone the audience meets is, at some point, shot to death. With very little important dialogue, it seems like Jancsó was more interested in letting guns do the talking. Which, considering the magnitude of his project, was a bold move.
Miklós Jancsó is a Hungarian filmmaker who was granted funding from the Soviet Union to make a tribute to the 1917 Russian Revolution. Rather than make a film that praised the Bolsheviks, Jancsó aimed his efforts toward a project that played no favorites. He wanted the audience to know that war is wrong, arbitrary and absurd.
The Red and the White takes place two years after the October Revolution, 1919, in the hills overlooking Volga. The "Red" Army is made up of Hungarians who support the communist movement. The "Whites" represent the Tsarist that is fighting to remain in power over Russia. There are no main characters in the film; Jancsó chose to show both sides represented through nameless men and women for the purpose of keeping the audience at the distance. It is a film without heroes, kind of like war.
As you might have imagined, a Russian-produced, anti-heroic film about the atrocities of war was not what the Soviet's had in mind. The film was quickly reedited before its release in the Motherland, and then eventually banned for several years. Outside of the Union, The Red and the White went on to become Jancsó's most praised and popular film.
The subject matter is grittier than your average war film from the time period. It features scenes of attempted rape, killing of innocent people, humiliation and death in abundance. In one scene, Hungarian men are forced, shoulder to shoulder, onto the ground and shot, one-by-one, in the head. Each time, the next person in line is forced to witness a comrade die. And that is just one example. Death is the theme. And for what? The audience never really knows .
One heavy criticism of The Red and the White is that it can be very difficult to follow at times. Characters are constantly being introduced, killed and replaced at an extremely rapid pace. It is impossible to become attached to anyone in the film because no person is alive long enough to develop an on-screen personality. For me, this is a perfect compliment to the feeling of despair that Jancsó was trying to achieve. I am of the anti-war sort. One interesting thing about war film is that, no matter how hard they try, a filmmaker will almost always make war look like fun. I highly doubt it is fun. The Red and the White looks awful, so it does its job. I do not need a hero, I need reality.
Aside from the daring concept, the film is also shot in a visually interesting style. The camera lenses get a hefty workout of quick-zooms in and out of focus. Some character's deaths are sharply detached from the audience after an unexpected fade or blur. The black and white is crisp and clean (though I would like to see a Criterion release) with well placed shading and emotionally appropriate shadows over hauntingly violent moments. The looming insanity of war is palpable from the overcastting darkness of the open hills.
If I have to admit a flaw in The Red and the White I would say that there is not enough (any) blood. I am not sure if this was an artistic choice, a budget restriction or if it had something to do with the Soviet's overhead – but with the amount of people being shot in the film, you'd think there'd be some blood.
Maybe I am a little too American in my taste for cinematic violence, but if you want to push the absurdity of wartime there is no better strategy than showing an audience exactly what happens during wartime. When a person is shot, their bones break, their muscles tear and blood spills out of the wound. There is a visible entry and exist wound. But not in The Red and the White. Rather, people merely grab their stomach in pain and fall to the ground. They kinda look like they have gas In terms of a "war film", The Red and the White is a unique look through the eyes of soldiers. It is a strong anti-war statement that hinds under the guise of a Soviet bandwagon film. Though it was dry at times, I still found it to be visually striking and emotionally compelling. It is black and white. It is in Russian/Hungarian. I recommend you watch it anyway.
Miklós Jancsó is a Hungarian filmmaker who was granted funding from the Soviet Union to make a tribute to the 1917 Russian Revolution. Rather than make a film that praised the Bolsheviks, Jancsó aimed his efforts toward a project that played no favorites. He wanted the audience to know that war is wrong, arbitrary and absurd.
The Red and the White takes place two years after the October Revolution, 1919, in the hills overlooking Volga. The "Red" Army is made up of Hungarians who support the communist movement. The "Whites" represent the Tsarist that is fighting to remain in power over Russia. There are no main characters in the film; Jancsó chose to show both sides represented through nameless men and women for the purpose of keeping the audience at the distance. It is a film without heroes, kind of like war.
As you might have imagined, a Russian-produced, anti-heroic film about the atrocities of war was not what the Soviet's had in mind. The film was quickly reedited before its release in the Motherland, and then eventually banned for several years. Outside of the Union, The Red and the White went on to become Jancsó's most praised and popular film.
The subject matter is grittier than your average war film from the time period. It features scenes of attempted rape, killing of innocent people, humiliation and death in abundance. In one scene, Hungarian men are forced, shoulder to shoulder, onto the ground and shot, one-by-one, in the head. Each time, the next person in line is forced to witness a comrade die. And that is just one example. Death is the theme. And for what? The audience never really knows .
One heavy criticism of The Red and the White is that it can be very difficult to follow at times. Characters are constantly being introduced, killed and replaced at an extremely rapid pace. It is impossible to become attached to anyone in the film because no person is alive long enough to develop an on-screen personality. For me, this is a perfect compliment to the feeling of despair that Jancsó was trying to achieve. I am of the anti-war sort. One interesting thing about war film is that, no matter how hard they try, a filmmaker will almost always make war look like fun. I highly doubt it is fun. The Red and the White looks awful, so it does its job. I do not need a hero, I need reality.
Aside from the daring concept, the film is also shot in a visually interesting style. The camera lenses get a hefty workout of quick-zooms in and out of focus. Some character's deaths are sharply detached from the audience after an unexpected fade or blur. The black and white is crisp and clean (though I would like to see a Criterion release) with well placed shading and emotionally appropriate shadows over hauntingly violent moments. The looming insanity of war is palpable from the overcastting darkness of the open hills.
If I have to admit a flaw in The Red and the White I would say that there is not enough (any) blood. I am not sure if this was an artistic choice, a budget restriction or if it had something to do with the Soviet's overhead – but with the amount of people being shot in the film, you'd think there'd be some blood.
Maybe I am a little too American in my taste for cinematic violence, but if you want to push the absurdity of wartime there is no better strategy than showing an audience exactly what happens during wartime. When a person is shot, their bones break, their muscles tear and blood spills out of the wound. There is a visible entry and exist wound. But not in The Red and the White. Rather, people merely grab their stomach in pain and fall to the ground. They kinda look like they have gas In terms of a "war film", The Red and the White is a unique look through the eyes of soldiers. It is a strong anti-war statement that hinds under the guise of a Soviet bandwagon film. Though it was dry at times, I still found it to be visually striking and emotionally compelling. It is black and white. It is in Russian/Hungarian. I recommend you watch it anyway.
Last Thursday night I was sitting in a tiny Amtrak station in Bloomington, Illinois waiting for my train to take me to my beautiful girlfriend in Chicago. As I sitting there, I was joined by a group of stereotypical sorority girls from Illinois State University. For almost an hour I was subjected to their countless stories about meaningless sex, Lady Gaga and the "pounding of shots" that they were so excited to soon be doing in the windy city. By the time we boarded the train, I had realized that I was alone in the car with these five exhausting females. I scurried to the far back to make sure that I could secure a seat by myself and far away from these strangers.
My efforts were in vain because one of them spotted my fraternity letters and found it necessary to try and sit next to me. "You're a frat boy, you may enjoy some of my stories". I could not think of any other way to make her leave me alone, so I whipped out my laptop and started watching my next film from the 1077. "What 'cha watchin'" she asked. I answered - "a black and white Japanese anti-war movie made in 1956". After hearing this, it did not take her long to jump out of her seat and rejoin her group of woo-girls. The Burmese Harp saved the day.
Little did I know that this movie would not only save me from two hours of annoyance, but it would also be an extremely rewarding viewing experience. Though I was watching it on my laptop, I was still in awe of the Criterion DVD quality and the flawlessness of the hushed black and white. The cinematography is simple and the landscaping of Burma is vast and magnificent looking. It was easy to see that the filmmaker was not interesting in a mass amount of dialogue. It was the striking subtlety in the visual style that properly denoted the overall theme of the movie.
The Burmese Harp is about a Japanese soldier stationed in Burma during the days immediately following the end of World War II. He has developed a love for playing the harp and uses it to signal danger to his troop. His playing is also used as a way to raise moral in the lonely mountains of Burma. Music, whether instrumental or vocal, plays a major role in the film. In fact, it seemed like the majority of the communication was presented through song. The sound of the harp is soothing and easy on the ears. It is a beautiful instrument that compliments the smooth visuals.
The story is also vividly entertaining in is simplicity. After retreating to the British, the soldier - Mizushima - is sent to try and convince another Japanese troop to surrender. He fails in doing this and the entire troop is eventually killed by British forces. This leads to Mizushima, and his harp, being separated from his fellow soldiers and he is now left to roam the countryside of Burma. As we walks, he meets a spiritual leader and realizes the devastatingly high amount of Japanese casualties caused by the violence of World War II. He sees the bodies of thousands of soldiers with his own eyes. He is traumatized and dedicates his life to giving them a proper burial.
The Burmese Harp is the first film by Kon Ichikawa to be seen outside of Japan. It is also one of the first Japanese movies to receive critical acclaim in the United States. What really makes it stand out is that it was the first example of an anti-World War II statement being made by the Japanese through cinema. We forget that everybody is hurt by war, and that the lines are not always as clear as good versus evil. The men in the Japanese army had families, kids and dreams of their own. They just wanted to return home - though they would find that home hardly existed as they knew it before the war.
Yes, I may be in debt to The Burmese Harp for saving me from the incoherent ramblings of a loud and proud party animal, but I also legitimately enjoyed it on almost every level. This is a great movie and could serve as an outstanding introduction into Japanese, Asian or world cinema. I am a big fan. I immediately bought the Criterion DVD. You should borrow it sometime...
My efforts were in vain because one of them spotted my fraternity letters and found it necessary to try and sit next to me. "You're a frat boy, you may enjoy some of my stories". I could not think of any other way to make her leave me alone, so I whipped out my laptop and started watching my next film from the 1077. "What 'cha watchin'" she asked. I answered - "a black and white Japanese anti-war movie made in 1956". After hearing this, it did not take her long to jump out of her seat and rejoin her group of woo-girls. The Burmese Harp saved the day.
Little did I know that this movie would not only save me from two hours of annoyance, but it would also be an extremely rewarding viewing experience. Though I was watching it on my laptop, I was still in awe of the Criterion DVD quality and the flawlessness of the hushed black and white. The cinematography is simple and the landscaping of Burma is vast and magnificent looking. It was easy to see that the filmmaker was not interesting in a mass amount of dialogue. It was the striking subtlety in the visual style that properly denoted the overall theme of the movie.
The Burmese Harp is about a Japanese soldier stationed in Burma during the days immediately following the end of World War II. He has developed a love for playing the harp and uses it to signal danger to his troop. His playing is also used as a way to raise moral in the lonely mountains of Burma. Music, whether instrumental or vocal, plays a major role in the film. In fact, it seemed like the majority of the communication was presented through song. The sound of the harp is soothing and easy on the ears. It is a beautiful instrument that compliments the smooth visuals.
The story is also vividly entertaining in is simplicity. After retreating to the British, the soldier - Mizushima - is sent to try and convince another Japanese troop to surrender. He fails in doing this and the entire troop is eventually killed by British forces. This leads to Mizushima, and his harp, being separated from his fellow soldiers and he is now left to roam the countryside of Burma. As we walks, he meets a spiritual leader and realizes the devastatingly high amount of Japanese casualties caused by the violence of World War II. He sees the bodies of thousands of soldiers with his own eyes. He is traumatized and dedicates his life to giving them a proper burial.
The Burmese Harp is the first film by Kon Ichikawa to be seen outside of Japan. It is also one of the first Japanese movies to receive critical acclaim in the United States. What really makes it stand out is that it was the first example of an anti-World War II statement being made by the Japanese through cinema. We forget that everybody is hurt by war, and that the lines are not always as clear as good versus evil. The men in the Japanese army had families, kids and dreams of their own. They just wanted to return home - though they would find that home hardly existed as they knew it before the war.
Yes, I may be in debt to The Burmese Harp for saving me from the incoherent ramblings of a loud and proud party animal, but I also legitimately enjoyed it on almost every level. This is a great movie and could serve as an outstanding introduction into Japanese, Asian or world cinema. I am a big fan. I immediately bought the Criterion DVD. You should borrow it sometime...