Review #1,410: 'All That Heaven Allows' (1955)

German-born film maker Douglas Sirk grew up watching the ground-breaking expressionist films his country pioneered in the 20's and 30's, when movies like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Nosferatu were making full use of shadow techniques and angular sets that were as wonderfully warped as the minds of their characters. After fleeing the Nazis with his Jewish wife, Sirk - born Hans Detlef Sierck - worked in Europe before arriving in Hollywood, where he would ultimately become remembered for his ravishing melodramas. One of his most popular, All That Heaven Allows, saw Sirk fully embracing the expressionist pictures of his birth country, adapting these techniques for 1950's Americana, and employing them to expose the ugly underbelly of a Technicolor world he would make equally as beautiful.

The middle-aged Cary Scott (Jane Wyman) is still trying to make sense of life after the death of her husband. Her children, who insist she purchases a television to fill up her spare time, are all grown up and pursuing careers of their own, while her friends at the stuffy country club seem unhealthily invested in finding her a new husband. There's no shortage of men lining up to declare their interest, but the only man to truly catch her eye is the dashing Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson), the gardener who tends to the neighbourhood's shrubs and bushes. He's certainly handsome and charming enough, but Ron is below Cary's social status, favouring a care-free life with close companions and building whatever he needs with his own hands. This doesn't bother Cary, and if anything is the reason she falls completely in love with him. But everybody around her takes offence at a widow shacking up with a younger man, and look down their noses at a man who doesn't fit in with their ideal social balance.

Wyman is superb as a woman who knows her heart's desire, but hesitates at the idea of upsetting those holding up the foundations of a privileged life. It isn't that she doesn't want to leave a life of dull conversations and social gossip - on the contrary she is profoundly bored with it - but it's all that she knows. Having been ushered into this world by her late husband, the thought of a life without assurances is simply terrifying. Her own children even turn their backs at the thought of a younger man seducing their mother, and see Ron as a threat to their inheritance. Sirk brings this conflict to life with lashings of vivid reds and blues, reflecting both mood and temperament, as Cary desperately struggles to contain the waves of uproar lapping through her community. As the gossips bicker and the older single men puff out their chests, Sirk dissects the seemingly harmonious and postcard-perfect family unit of the Eisenhower-era, and finds an ugly heart beating beneath. It's the kind of thing David Lynch would explore more overtly a couple of decades later, employing the same soap-opera sheen as Sirk does here to give the world an even more vacuous feel. All That Heavens Allows is also a gorgeous and engrossing love story, lending joy to what is otherwise a damning social commentary.


Directed by: Douglas Sirk
Starring: Jane Wyman, Rock Hudson, Agnes Moorehead, Conrad Nagel, Virginia Grey, Gloria Talbott, William Reynolds
Country: USA

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,253: 'French Cancan' (1955)

Jean Renoir is quite rightly remembered as one of the greatest directors of all time, having been responsible for the likes of La Grande Illusion and La Regle du Jeu, two movies that regularly feature highly on many 'greatest films of all time' lists. His most popular films were made in the 1930s, before the outbreak of World War II, and before he fled to Hollywood when France fell to the Nazis. After struggling to find any projects that suited him in the U.S., Renoir eventually returned to his native country where he started work on a project seemingly out of his comfort zone: a trilogy of bright and bouncing musical comedies. These films were The Golden Coach, Elena and Her Men, and, sandwiched between them, French Cancan.

French Cancan is filmed deliberately to evoke the paintings of the great Impressionist painters, including Renoir's own father, Pierre-Auguste. Set in 1980s Paris, this is the (fictional) origin of the Moulin Rouge, and, like Baz Luhrmann's spectacular Moulin Rouge! released 46 years later, the tale is told with elements of fantasy and lashings of colour. With his failing cafe about to fall in the hands of the creditors, the womanising Henri Danglard (Jean Gabin) hatches a plan whilst out one night in Montmartre with his rich colleagues and belly-dancing mistress Lola (Maria Felix). He will bring back the cancan, re-naming it the 'French Cancan' in order to sound more exotic to visiting Russian and American sailors. He eyes the beautiful Nini (Francoise Arnoul) and offers to pay for her to have dance lessons, enraging her jealous boyfriend. With chaos growing all around him, Danglard calmly tries to hold it all together in time for the big opening night.

Clearly indulging his love for theatre, Renoir really goes for broke with French Cancan, infusing the many love triangles and business arrangements going on with a bawdy, almost slapstick quality. Jean Gabin, the terrific actor Renoir employed on a number of occasions, manages to express so much by doing so little, and always with a sly grin on his face. It is a far better performance than is even required for such a character, and he offers an extra dimension to the work-horse who cares as much about putting on a dazzling, memorable show as he does for the leggy girls he employs. The titular dance at the climax is as eye-catching and fantastical as anything produced by Hollywood during the genre's Golden Age, and perhaps this was something Renoir picked up from his time there. Of the musical trilogy, French Cancan was the only hit, and it isn't difficult to see why this whimsical re-telling of the origin of one of the most iconic locations of its time struck such a chord with audiences at the time.


Directed by: Jean Renoir
Starring: Jean Gabin, Françoise Arnoul, María Félix, Anna Amendola, Jean-Roger Caussimon
Country: France/Italy

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,206: 'Revenge of the Creature' (1955)

In 1955, with interest having waned in their other monster-based franchises such as Dracula, Frankenstein and The Wolf Man, Universal tried to capitalise on the success of their brand new monster - the Gill-Man - from the year before. Jack Arnold's Creature from the Black Lagoon was a rather sophisticated creature-feature: creepy when it needed to be, and effortlessly entertaining for the remainder. Arnold returned for directorial duties on Revenge of the Creature, but fails to inject the same level of excitement that saw Black Lagoon become a genre classic. It does what most sequels do and treads on familiar ground. Once again, the creature is set on a murderous rampage by the actions of humans, eventually falling in love with a beautiful woman it will inevitably kidnap.

After surviving the events of the previous film, the Gill-Man is rendered unconscious in his native swamp by some well-placed dynamite and transported back to the Ocean Harbour Oceanarium in Florida. Before he is even resuscitated, he becomes an instant media sensation, with flocks of sandal-wearing tourists arriving to catch a glimpse of the oddity. The Gill-Man is studied by square-jawed animal psychologist Clete Ferguson (John Agar) and student Helen (Lori Nelson), whose scientific methods include chaining the poor creature to the bottom of a water tank and zapping it with a cattle-prod any time it shows signs of aggression. It's not long before Clete and Helen are falling in love, and the envious Gill-Man gets to watch it all unfold through a tiny window. Naturally, events see the creature see free to stalk and terrify the surrounding areas.

Revenge of the Creature is an obvious retelling of the King Kong story, with a mystery of nature kidnapped from its habitat to be gawked at by humans. Despite his barbaric treatment, it never feels like the film is trying to generate sympathy for the Gill-Man. I certainly did feel sorry for him, but there was no sense of any of the characters involved acknowledging their error. It's hugely inferior to its predecessor, with little fun to be had with the charisma-free actors when the action is away from the monster. There are only two things of note in Revenge of the Creature: the costume for the Gill-Man is fantastic and is performed well underneath the prosthetics by both Ricou Browning and Tom Hennesy; and a cameo from a goofy, comic-relief character named Jennings, played with no suggestion of the legendary career to come by Clint Eastwood. The film was followed the next year by The Creature Walks Among Us, although Arnold didn't return.


Directed by: Jack Arnold
Starring: John Agar, Lori Nelson, John Bromfield, Nestor Paiva
Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #1,121: 'Tarantula' (1955)

One of countless 'big bug' features to come out of the U.S. during the 1950s, Jack Arnold's Tarantula is one of the most enjoyable of its kind. After Gordon Douglas' Them! really kicked off the fad in the previous year, Tarantula has everything audiences came to love about the genre; a dusty, middle-of-nowhere Arizona setting, the handsome yet charisma-free hero, the screeching love interest, the shady doctor who certainly knows far more than he is letting on, and, of course, the giant, 'terrifying' monster. What makes this film slightly more interesting than others of its ilk is the fact that it doesn't blame radiation on the deformed beast, but actually attempts to tell a story.

After renowned biological research scientist Eric Jacobs (Eddie Parker) is found dead in the desert, apparently suffering from a rapid form of acromegaly, Dr. Matt Hastings (John Agar) is called in from a nearby town to investigate. When Hastings suggests an autopsy to figure out what brought on such a rare disease and how it killed Jacobs so quickly, Dr. Gerald Deemer (Leo G. Carroll), one of Jacobs' colleagues, refuses his request and signs the death certificate himself. Back at Deemer's isolated desert research lab, it is revealed that the doctor has been experimenting on animals in a bid to save the future planet's food shortage, and has increased the size of a number of his subjects, including a tarantula. After a fire destroys Deemer's lab, the Arizona landscape is soon overshadowed by the giant, hungry arachnid. 

While a radioactive isotope does crop up at one point, the 50 foot spider is purely the handiwork of a scientist with good intentions rather than government nuclear tests, and therefore Tarantula creates an interesting and conflicted character in Caroll's Deemer. Caroll certainly chews every scene, but proves a far more appealing male lead than the bland Agar. Yet the real star of Tarantula is the creature itself. The combination of matte effects and the use of a real spider, which would later be used on The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) have aged spectacularly well, only failing to convince during the brief close-up shots of the last thing a few poor (and seemingly blind) souls see before they're gobbled up. While the climax is over before you know it, there's fun to be had in trying to spot a young and uncredited Clint Eastwood as a fighter pilot. It's no longer scary (was it ever?), but it has charm by the bucket load.

Directed by: Jack Arnold

Starring: John Agar, Mara Corday, Leo G. Carroll, Nestor Paiva, Ross Elliott

Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #808: 'Richard III' (1955)

Very few actors and director's have the skill to bring William Shakespeare's work to life. The transition from stage to screen can prove difficult, especially when wrestling with the Bard's complex word-play and trying to make a movie that feels like a movie and not simply a filmed stage performance. No-one has succeeded as well as Laurence Olivier, here trimming one of Shakespeare's most wickedly entertaining plays to it's bare necessities, and delivering a fascinating performance to boot. Despite his high esteem, I've always found Olivier's acting to be somewhat hammy. But his hunchbacked, sneering monster is the definitive Richard III, combining his character's heinous acts with a devilish smirk.

A lot has been written about Olivier the actor, but clearly not enough about Olivier the director. Though his Shakespeare adaptations can often feel stagy, he wasn't afraid of taking narrative risks. His magnificent Henry V (1944) began with actors preparing to perform the play in front of a theatre audience, before go into full-movie mode. Richard III begins with Olivier breaking the fourth wall and delivering his gleefully atrocious plans to camera, boasting of his strategy to usurp his brother King Edward IV (Cedric Hardwicke), but not before ridding himself of his other sibling George (John Gielgud). He seduces the widow of the man he slew during the War of the Roses, Lady Anne (Claire Bloom), and conspires with his cousin the Duke of Buckingham (the astonishing Ralph Richardson).

Shot in wonderful Technicolor and opting for minimalist set design, Richard III is a treat for the eyes. But the true delight is the cast - a smorgasbord of British thespian talent - who deliver Shakespeare's poetic prose as if they talk it in their sleep. This is a tale of greed, paranoia and blood, told with a jet-black sense of humour, and Richard is one of Shakespeare's greatest creations. Disgruntled at being born lame and deformed without being compensated for his sufferings - you just have to sit back and marvel as he tricks and murders his way to the throne, turning to regicide and infanticide with a smile on his face. Olivier is clearly having a ball, and this is truly his show. I never realised Shakespeare could be so much fun.


Directed by: Laurence Olivier
Starring: Laurence Olivier, Ralph Richardson, Claire Bloom, Cedric Hardwicke, John Gielgud
Country: UK

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #694: 'The Quatermass Xperiment' (1955)

After the enormous success of the BBC mini-series of the same name, Hammer Studios, which at the time were specialising in supporting features, swooped in to action a feature film adaptation. This being the first horror film they produced, The Quatermass Xperiment can be labelled as the birth of Hammer horror, and for that we are truly thankful. The surprising thing is, for all it's B-movie clunkiness and 1950's science-babble, Quatermass has stood the test of time. It's a serious, occasionally thrilling, and undeniably entertaining little picture.

After a rocket ship holding three astronauts crash-lands in the English countryside, Professor Quatermass (Brian Donlevy) arrives with his troupe of investigators and fellow scientists. After they open the hatch, they find two of the pilots vanished, and only one - Victor Carroon (Richard Wordsworth) - barely survived. He is taken in for treatment, and watched over by Dr. Briscoe (David King-Wood), who notices his skin taking an oily form. But Carroon's wife wants her husband back and smuggles him out of the hospital, where he escapes into London, absorbing any lifeforms he comes across.

Writer Nigel Kneale apparently disapproved of Donlevy's rather prickly performance as Quatermass, but I feel Donlevy (who was apparently sozzled throughout the entire shoot) is the reason Quatermass works so well. Rather than simply being your average scientist, Quatermass is a subtle madman, waving away procedure and safety in the name of science, playing God because he has the brains to do so. The film also works thanks to some impressive special-effects work, and a stoic Wordsworth in a performance and role that surely became the framework for Christopher Lee's Monster in Hammer's The Curse of Frankenstein (1957).

It's a short, snappy piece that moves along nicely, never getting too caught up in the science and wholeheartedly embracing the fiction. There's also a fine humour that prevails throughout the film, especially in the scenes involving Jack Warner's brilliantly sarcastic Inspector Lomax. It seems silly now to think that the film received the dreaded 'X' certificate back in 1955, but Hammer deliberately aimed the have the film stamped with this rating (as reflected in the 'Xperiment' of the title). This willingness to dare the audience to be scared had them flocking to see it, and, of course, the rest is history.


Directed by: Val Guest
Starring: Brian Donlevy, Jack Warner, Richard Wordsworth, David King-Wood, Margia Dean
Country: UK

Rating: ****

Tom Gillespie

Review #689: 'Killer's Kiss' (1955)

In 1955, a young man of seemingly limitless - but as of then unrecognised - talent, wrote, produced and directed a short B-grade film noir called Killer's Kiss. The film, apart from some excellent technical aspects, is relatively average, and would probably be all but forgotten had the young man not been Stanley Kubrick. Killer's Kiss only really shows glimpses of the greatness that would come from the much revered director, but no doubt this was down to - as Kubrick's many roles behind the camera would indicate - a lack of backing from the film industry. But Killer's Kiss proves to be a snappy little noir, with a truly thrilling climax.

Over-the-hill boxer Davey Gordon (Jamie Smith) has just been beaten by young, up-and-comer Kid Rodriguez. He decides that he's done with being a human punch bag and prepares for a life of farming with his uncle. Sharing his apartment block is the beautiful Gloria Price (Irene Kane - who passed away just over a month ago), a taxi dancer who, on the night of the fight, was being groped by her sleazy manager Vincent Rapallo (Frank Silvera), who she knocked back. While resting after the fight, Davey hears a scream from Gloria's apartment when Vincent attacks her. After chasing him off, Davey and Gloria start a relationship, yet they both need to collect the money owed to them by Vincent before they can move away and start a life together.

This ticks all the juicy boxes for your typical B-movie noir - a dangerous dame, a bum who is in way over his head, cynical narration, a case of mistaken identity. The film makes up for it's pretty bland plot and dull leaning man with an exciting rooftop chase that comes at the climax, and a well choreographed fist-fight in a room full of mannequins. While the film as a whole shows little of Kubrick's unparalleled talent, it does display his eye for visuals. Kubrick was a painter with his camera, and here we get some glorious German Expressionism-inspired moments, as well as showing us the real New York in the 1950's in a scene outside Vincent's club. It's a pretty forgettable movie overall, but no doubt an important stepping-stone in Kubrick's journey to becoming a cinematic master, as The Killing came the next year, which was the first in a long line of masterpieces from the director.


Directed by: Stanley Kubrick
Starring: Jamie Smith, Irene Kane, Frank Silvera
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie

Review #516: 'Dementia' (1955)

Dementia is a relatively short (originally running at 61 minutes, but cut to 56) noirish mood piece that begins and ends with the camera slowing zooming into the hotel room window of a damaged woman, the Gamin (meaning street urchin - played by director John Parker's secretary Adrienne Barrett). She is stirred to awakening from unsettled, possibly nightmarish dreams, and begins a late-night descent into the more lubricious elements of modern city life. Through the hidden dirt alleyways and the jazz dens of '50's America, her night intertwines with a drunk hobo, a lascivious pimp, and a rich man (played by producer Bruno VeSota) whom she travels round with as he consumes the fruits of his wealth. The Gamin's mental state, and implied madness are signified by flashback's of a traumatic event with her parents; she kills her father in retaliation of his murder of her mother.

Shot largely with static, black and white shots by cinematographer, William C. Thompson (who worked extensively with legendary Edward D. Wood), each frame is imbued with a strange tension, and are incredible compositions of beauty and expressionist horror. An effective musical score by George Antheil is significant within the context of the film, which uses no dialogue, and minimal sound (we occasionally hear laughter, cries, and sound effects such as breaking glass). These elements, including some very expressionistic acting styles, has led to the film being often compared to Robert Weine's silent masterpiece, Das Cabinet Des Dr Caligari (1920), and whilst Dementia is certainly a competent little shocker, and has some visual flares of insanity, it doesn't really hold up against the German predecessor. 

It is easy to compare the stilted visual style of the film to the film noir cycle that was prevalent in the '40's and '50's, which shows the underbelly of the city in all of its muddied repulsion. An antidote to the predominant film style of the time, which falsely portrays the Eisenhower-era complete with the technicolor façade  With a cyclical narrative, the Gamin finds herself in the same hotel room, waking from a possible nightmare at the end of the film, leaving the mystery of her true identity and a questioning of her level of insanity: Are these visions and city excursions simply a trip through her almost-linear nightmare? Whilst the film has been largely forgotten, it is most famous for being the film shown in the cinema in The Blob (1958), it is still a very interesting "dream-narrative", and one which undoubtedly had influence on later film makers.


Directed by: John Parker
Starring: Adrienne Barrett, Bruno VeSota, Ben Roseman
Country: USA

Rating: ****

Marc Ivamy

Review #351: 'Ordet' (1955)

Family patriarch Morten (Henrik Malberg) lives in rural Denmark with his three sons - faithless father Mikkel (Emil Hass Christensen), the deranged Johannes (Preben Lerdorff Rye) who after going crazy studying theology, now believes himself to be Jesus Christ, and youngest son Anders (Cay Kristiansen). Anders is in love with the daughter of the leader of a strict religious sect, Anne (Gerda Nielsen), and asks both his own father and the father of his love, Peter (Ejner Federspiel), for her hand in marriage, who both refuse. Morten eventually agrees with the help of Mikken, but comes to loggerheads with Peter over their religious beliefs.

I don't know much about the work of the great Scandinavian director Carl Theodor Dreyer, as the only other film of his I've seen is the fantastic gothic 'horror' Vampyr (1932). I do know that his films are notoriously bleak, and is a favourite amongst Lars von Trier and his Dogme troupe. Ordet is no exception to the rule, as Dreyer films his interior scenes with minimal props, and allows the actors and their voices to fill the screen instead. The result is a beautiful and humanistic study of religion and the miraculous.

The main crux of the film focuses on the two fathers' views on religion, with Morten's beliefs allowing him to embrace life, while Peter lives a stricter, more sacrificial life. All the while Johannes, their apparently demented son, wanders the dunes and condemns the now faithless world they live in and the fact that they are ignorant to the fact that he is indeed Jesus Christ, and all they need is faith. The family's beliefs are tested when Mikkel's pregnant wife Inger (Birgitte Federspiel) goes into premature labour, and the local doctor fights to save both the her and the baby's life. The film builds towards an inevitable climax, but Dreyer's execution is that of elegance and beauty that allows one of the most moving, uplifting, and satisfying final scenes I've seen in cinema.

The film is slow moving, but the subject matter warrants such an attention to detail. There is also an underlying coldness to the film (this is also a Dreyer trait), and all the characters seem emotionally hesitant. Dreyer himself was adopted and experienced a lonely childhood, with his adoptive parents constantly re-enforcing the fact that he was lucky to now have a family and a home. Although these childhood memories clearly influence his work, including Ordet, he also sees hope and promise in humanity, which makes comparisons to the Dogme movement unfair, as there is real human emotion here. A true masterpiece, cementing Dreyer's reputation as one of cinema's most innovative, visionary and intelligent film-makers.


Directed by: Carl Theodor Dreyer
Starring: Henrik Malberg, Emil Hass Christensen, Preben Lerdorff Rye, Birgitte Federspiel
Country: Denmark

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie

Review #131: 'This Island Earth' (1955)

This 1955 cult sci-fi 'favourite' first came to my attention whilst I was watching Mystery Science Theatre 3000: The Movie (1996) back in my University days. The clips accompanied by the sarcastic comments of the MST robots was hilarious, and I had to see the film. So, five or so years later, I did. And I realised without added hilarity of Mystery Science Theatre, the film isn't so much funny, as jaw-droppingly awful and frustratingly timid. 

Square-jawed, opera-voiced, vanity-ridden cheeseball Dr. Cal Meacham (Rex Reason) is one of the best in his field, and when he starts receiving machine parts that he didn't order, he begins to build the 'interociter' along with the arse-sniffing colleague Joe (Robert Nichols). When it's built, a strange being appears on the monitor and invites Cal to join his academy that boasts a collection of top-rated scientists. Upon arrival, Cal suspects that things aren't as they seem, as the reason they are there is kept top secret. Or perhaps it's because the head the academy, Exeter (Jeff Morrow), has the forehead the size of an airport runway, and the skin tone of a used teabag. 

Apparently the special effects were ground-breaking in their day, and perhaps they were. But I felt it actually lacked bad special effects, which at least would have given the film a bit of charm. Don't get me wrong, I usually love these kind of awful films, but the film was played so straight-faced that I just found it a bore. My lack of interest also led to me getting confused about the plot. But there are funny moments, mainly involving the obnoxious alpha-male Cal and his assistant, who follows him around like a dog, and a scene where an embarrassingly crap alien insect attacks Cal and his love interest Ruth (Faith Domergue). For some quality cheesy sci-fi, I would recommend Robinson Crusoe On Mars (1964) instead, and give this one a miss. 

Directed by: Joseph M. Newman

Starring: Rex Reason, Jeff Morrow, Faith Domergue

Country: USA

Rating: **

Tom Gillespie

Review #107: 'Night and Fog' (1955)

Whilst this is a 'short' film, running at only 30 minutes, it packs an incredible and potent image of the abuse of power; the abuse of ideas which were perpetuated at the beginning of the 20th century, and interpreted for sinister and horrific purposes. Night and Fog displays the horrors of the holocaust, and leaves indelible images that will never leave your mind.

The film opens with the derelict remains of 1950's Auschwitz. A narrator (Michel Bouquet) poetically describes the haunted emptiness of the area, a place were no person enters, but the ghosts of genocide still hang in the air, putrefying the very essence of place. Night and Fog mixes both the contemporary images of Auschwitz with documentary footage filmed by the Allied troops as they entered the grounds where thousand of malnourished, dead people lay strewn about; haunted death masks of anguish, hunger and desperation. The film shows the perversion of the Nazi's, with their seeming obsession with collecting every single element left by all the Jews, homosexuals and disabled dead. We see mountains of glasses, shoes, clothes, and even hair, kept for the records of a moment in history most would like to forget.

But, this is a moment in human history that we should never forget, for as we are told, this is something that happened and therefore it can happen again. (Which of course it did in both Cambodia and Bosnia in the 1970's and 1990's respectively). Toward the end of the film, the narrator poses the significant question - after we are shown Nazi officers in the dock stating that they are "not responsible" - 'who is responsible'? No single person can be held accountable for systematic torture, humiliation and ultimately death on people not seen to fit into a socio-political ideology of racial 'purification'.

Another film released 30 years later, also used the haunting images of the derelict concentration camps, but did not documentary imagery of the starving, abused prisoners. Claude Lanzmann's landmark film Shoah (1985) used interviews with survivors, members of the public who lived around these camps, and even Nazi officers to encapsulate a similar amount of pathos for the 'horrible' history. At a mammoth 9 and a half hours, it is quite surprising to find the 30 minute Night and Fog contain as much (perhaps even more) power to disturb and to (in a way) educate the spectator.

It really drives home the message that this is something that has happened before, and will certainly happen again. We are left with images of death. The camera pans across piles of dead people - something that clearly influenced Stan Brakhage's film of death and pathology, The Act of Seeing With Ones Own Eyes (1971). We are left with a strong message. One that we should heed. For, if we were to see such horrors on our own doorstep, would we turn a blind eye, as so many did during this period. Of course we should not. But it seems to be human nature to glance the other way when horrors occur. How many of us can say that if we see someone in distress in the street at the hands of human violence, would get involved? And if this were turned into violence on a mass scale, would we intervene?


Directed by: Alain Resnais
Narrator: Michel Bouquet
Country: France

Rating: *****

Marc Ivamy

Review #30: 'Pather Panchali' (1955)

Part one of Satyajit Ray's Apu Trilogy which concludes with Aparajito (1956) and Apur Sansar (1959), Pather Panchali (literally translated as 'Song Of The Little Road') is a Bengali masterpiece and the film that introduced the master filmmaker to the world. Made on a shoestring budget, it focuses on the struggles of a poverty-stricken Bengali family seen through the eyes of their smallest child Apu (played by Subir Bannerjee). The film came about when Ray was illustrating a new edition of Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay's novel, and the idea of writing a film script occurred to him as he admired the lyrical writing and honest depiction of a struggling family. Ray assisted Jean Renoir as he shot his film The River (1951) and suggested the idea to him, to which Renoir reacted with enthusiastic encouragement.

The film follows the Ray family as they go about their day-to-day lives in a small, rural village in Bengal. The mother Sarbujaya (Karuna Bannerjee) carries the weight of the burden, seemingly forever cleaning and working and living off the land. The father Harihar (Kanu Bannerjee) helps out doing odd jobs and mostly working away, chasing back payments he has not received from his landlord boss. Durga (Uma Das Gupta) is the teenage daughter who seems to have a weakness for petty theft and has something of a reputation in the village. The grandmother Indir (Chunibala Devi) spends her time stealing food from her daughter and wandering the village. Watching over everything is the most recent arrival Apu, who sees everything with a wide-eyed innocence and remains generally silent throughout the film. By the way, the mother, father and Apu are all played by actors with the surname Bannerjee, although they are not related.

One of Ray's key influences to filmmaking are the great films of Italian neo-realism, such as Vittorio De Sica's masterpiece The Bicycle Thieves (1948) and Roberto Rossellini's Rome, Open City (1945). It is evident here, as the film has the same visual poetry and social realism, as well as the ability to transport the viewer into a world that they most likely have never, and will never, experience first hand. It is a fascinating insight into how some people of Bengal had to live during this period, and their social attitudes. When Durga is accused of stealing a necklace from one the village children, the women of the village form a kind of posse to confront her mother, accusing her of being unable to raise her children correctly. The family have conflicting attitudes to the rogue-ish grandmother who spends her time almost begging for clothing to keep her warm; the mother looks down on her as a leech, yet the children, especially Durga, look upon her as a loveable character, and someone they can always seek comfort in.

It's a film dominated by outstanding performances. Devi was discovered by Ray living in a brothel, having previously starred in two films in her heydey. She is loveable and tragic, and her performance here would become her swansong, at the age of 80. Tragically she died of influenza before the film was released but she will be immortalised for her portrayal here. Karuna Bannerjee is also a standout, switching from sadness to joy to tragedy with effortless conviction, especially during the third act of the film where the family struggles to hold out during monsoon season, where her home risks being ripped apart by the torrential rain and wind. The biggest star of the show, however, is Ray himself, creating a multi-layered film of visual poetry and gorgeous cinematography, with very little funding for his project. He would go on to be one of world cinema's most creatively successful and critically acclaimed directors, making over 30 features in a 35-year career. At the start of filming, Ray had never directed anything in his life, the camera had never shot a film, and the majority of the actors has never acted in front of the camera. Absolutely outstanding stuff, and deserves it's place amongst the world's greatest films.


Directed by: Satyajit Ray
Starring: Kanu Bannerjee, Karuna Bannerjee, Subir Bannerjee
Country: India

Rating: *****

Tom Gillespie