Daily Archives: Saturday, September 19, 2015

  • Frances Ha

    Noah Baumbach (2012)

    A friend of Frances’s friend Sophie is surprised to learn they’re the same age – ‘You seem a lot older’, the woman says, ‘but less grown up’.  Even though the remark is meant to hurt, it’s a shade too cruel in the circumstances.  It’s also true.  There’s something of the overgrown adolescent about Frances physically; emotionally, she seems reluctant to move away from the time when she and Sophie were best friends at school.   Frances is pretty possessive about this friendship – angrily so in one scene, after Sophie has paired up with a boring financier.  (It’s not particularly convincing that he would pair up with her.)   Frances is trying to make a life in New York.  That’s a long way from her native California but adult life – with its expectations of a progressing career and developing personal relationships – would be a matter of playing away from home for Frances wherever she happened to be.  Whatever she does, doesn’t work – whether she sticks at something (like trying to dance for a living) or acts on impulse (she goes to Paris for a weekend and spends it in continuous solitude).   It’s not easy to describe the protagonist of Frances Ha without making her sound like a cliché – an eccentric whose wacky humour is a front for her unhappiness – but Frances Ha comes over as fresh and individual, thanks to Greta Gerwig, who plays Frances and who co-wrote the screenplay with Noah Baumbach.  He and Gerwig are now both writing and life partners.  Perhaps it’s because Baumbach is to some extent celebrating the woman he loves that the tone of Frances Ha is more good-natured than that of his previous movies.  Even so, he’s too good a film-maker not to be also fascinated by Gerwig as a presence and performer in a less personally partial way.

    Greta Gerwig, whose early work was in Mumblecore, has proved herself a skilful and distinctive actress in Damsels in Distress as well as Greenberg, but you’re bound to wonder as you watch Frances Ha how autobiographical the piece is.  (Gerwig’s own parents, who are not actors, play Frances’ parents.)   Whatever the answer to that question, it’s clear that she and Baumbach are also channelling Woody Allen movies.  (Gerwig was likeable but couldn’t be much more than that in the unremarkable role that Allen wrote for her in last year’s To Rome with Love.)   When Frances breaks into little bursts of impromptu dance, the effect is charming but the movement also suggests an inability to express herself fully – it connotes Diane Keaton’s la-di-da moments in Annie Hall and the black-and-white cinematography of Frances Ha (by Sam Levy) naturally brings to mind Manhattan.  Greta Gerwig shares too with Diane Keaton a natural, radiant warmth and the precision you need to play dither convincingly.  Gerwig, who has terrific physical dynamism, is well supported by Mickey Sumner as Sophie.  (At the start of the movie, Sumner’s Sophie looks more of a misfit than Frances so her conventional progress is a bit of a surprise to the viewer as well as a shock to Frances.)   Others who register in the mainly youthful cast include Adam Driver, Michael Zegen and Grace Gummer.

    It took me some time to get into Frances Ha. I didn’t feel (or wasn’t conscious of feeling) envious of or nostalgic for the lives of young people starting work or trying to get somewhere doing something more or less artistic.   But I felt a resistance to their lifestyle and Baumbach isn’t lampooning these youngsters or their values.  (When Frances goes to a dinner party with thirty-somethings, the tone is more satirical:  this is where the ‘You seem a lot older’ barb occurs.)  It was only once Frances’s failure to get onto the same wavelength as her contemporaries became clear that I was able to engage with the film.  The heroine’s Christmas at home in California was the turning point for me.  Because it’s so rapidly done and so full of emotion the effect is rather overwhelming – Frances is vivid and smiling but evidently unhappy, especially when she waves goodbye to her parents, distraught both that the time she’s had with them hasn’t been enough to make her feel better and that it’s now over.  In company, Frances says ‘ha’ and ‘ha, ha’ nervously every so often;  the other explanation for the film’s title is a lovely joke near the end which it wouldn’t do to spoil for anyone who happens to read this note and hasn’t seen the film.  At the very start, Frances is ending a relationship of sorts with a boy who likes cats.  There are some photos of kittens at this point but, unusually for a Noah Baumbach film, no dogs or felines in peril later on.

    27 July 2013

  • Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

    Ieri, oggi, domani

    Vittorio De Sica (1963)

     It’s unbelievable that Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film (in 1965) but it’s better than the following year’s Vittorio De Sica-Sophia Loren-Marcello Mastroianni effort, Marriage Italian Style.  This is an anthology comedy, with the stars appearing as different characters in each of the three episodes.  The primacy of the women played by Sophia Loren in these stories – and, no doubt, of Loren in the international marketing of the picture (produced by her husband, Carlo Ponti, and Joseph E Levine) – is reflected in their titles.  In ‘Adelina of Naples’ (written by Eduardo Di Filippo and Isabella Quarantotti), the title character supports her unemployed husband Carmine (Mastroianni) and their child by selling black market cigarettes.  When she’s threatened with jail, Adelina gets pregnant since the law of the land proscribes the imprisonment of women who are either expecting or have a baby less than six months old.  The same stratagem is repeated until Carmine, after fathering seven children, is exhausted and Adelina chooses prison in favour of impregnation by the couple’s mutual friend (Aldo Giuffrè).  When the whole neighbourhood collects money and petitions for her release, she is freed and reunited with her large family.  In ‘Anna of Milan’ (adapted by Cesare Zavattini, Bella Billa and Lorenza Zanuso from an Alberto Moravia novella), Loren plays a tycoon’s wife, who decides that her husband’s Rolls Royce is more important to her than her lover Renzo (Mastroianni), with whom she’s driving in the car when they have an accident.   In ‘Mara of Rome’ (written by Zavattini), the heroine is a high-end prostitute, working from home; Mara’s clients include Mastroianni’s Augusto, the avid but twitchy son of a(nother) wealthy industrialist.   A young seminarian called Umberto (Gianni Rodolfi), staying with his morally conservative grandparents in a neighbouring apartment, is smitten with Mara and threatens to join the French Foreign Legion if she rejects him.  A desperate appeal from Umberto’s distraught grandmother (Tina Pica) determines Mara to set the boy back on the path to righteousness.  The increasingly frustrated Augusto is persuaded to assist in bringing her virtuous plan to fruition.

    Vittorio De Sica does a fine job of animating the life of the Naples community in ‘Adelina’ and the basic joke of the story is a good one – but not good enough to justify its running time of around forty-five minutes.  At the start, I was hopeful that De Sica was going to treat the slender material playfully, almost fantastically – as when the local women and schoolboys take up in turn the chorus ‘She’s breeding!’ and it becomes a peripatetic, quasi-musical number.  Accomplished as Loren and Mastroianni are throughout, the later stages of ‘Adelina’ are desperately protracted.   It’s as well that ‘Anna’ is by some way the shortest segment.   A Christian Dior-dressed Loren may be meant to make the protagonist irresistible but Anna’s rich, bored selfishness is rebarbative.  As Renzo, Mastroianni achieves a decent characterisation, against the odds, moving from being sexually compelled by Anna to laughing at himself.  It probably helps that, once ‘Mara’ begins, you know you’re in the home straight but this is the most entertaining part of the film.  Sophia Loren is especially amusing when Mara takes her religious vow to restore the young priest to his celibate vocation.   (Gianni Rodolfi, much more effective here than as the eldest of the Loren character’s illegitimate sons in Marriage Italian Style, is graceful and rather touching as Umberto.)   The best-known bit is Mara’s concluding striptease for the sex-starved, sulking Augusto.  Loren, although she was supposedly nervous about doing this scene, carries it off with great aplomb.  Sitting taut with anticipation on the bed in Mara’s boudoir, and yelping occasionally, Mastroianni is extremely funny.   The first part of Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow is set in 1953; since the second and third parts both appear to happen in the present day, the ‘today and tomorrow’ distinction in the title doesn’t mean a lot.  The print we saw at BFI, although the result of a recent restoration job, was still not in great visual shape and the sound level was unsteady.

    29 August 2015

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