I had already seen All Quiet on the Western Front, Lewis Milestone’s classic anti-war film that took the Best Picture at the 1930 Academy Awards, when I sat down to view it this weekend.  But my first viewing of it took place in… middle school… I think… anyway, it’d been a really long time so I felt I was due for another screening, given that I keep seeing it pop up on lists that I take perhaps too much stock in.

The film tells the story of a group of young boys in Germany signing up to fight in World War I (or The Great War as it then would have been known [woo history class!]).  The boys go through the difficulties of boot camp, but nothing prepares them for the struggles that await them on the battlefield.  They are unprepared for the hunger and fear that will soon threaten to paralyze them, for the sadness that comes with losing friends, and for the anguish that comes with taking somebody else’s life.

But I have to say that after my refresher course, I didn’t find it as good as I remembered.  Before I proceed, let me clarify, All Quiet on the Western Front is largely a phenomenal film, but as far as anti-war movies go, let’s just say I’ve seen better (Paths of Glory springs to mind).  It’s likely due to the fact that it was made in 1930 at the advent of sound, a time when the rules for cinema were up in the air, and the excitement over actually hearing words meant that a lot of exposition was told and not shown, a detriment to any film, regardless of its esteem.

And this film is held in high esteem, and not without cause.  It’s a well-acted, well-shot, well-directed film.  It’s an, at times, brutal, unflinching look at the horrors of war that doesn’t shy away from detailing the physical and mental damage that can occur in battle.  One of the key scenes involves the young platoon’s first taste of combat, but no actual fighting begins until after several days of being held up in a bunker while the enemy drops bomb after bomb.  With every wave of dirt that falls from the ceiling, the soldiers lose more of their hold on their senses, and as hunger tightens its grip, the squad begins to believe that their chance to die for their country is coming sooner, and with less dignity, than expected.

Then the bombs stop and a more tangible horror steps up.  As mini-guns mow down waves of oncoming soldiers, and bomb blasts reveal nothing but a pair of hands where a man was present just seconds before, the young platoon quickly realize that the heroic notion of fighting for their homeland that they so readily swallowed back in school is not as attractive a notion as they were led to believe.

But for all the scenes like that one, or the scene where an injured friend dies unceremoniously in a hospital amid a sea of likewise anonymous soldiers, there is still the lengthy sequence where one soldier, Paul (Lew Ayres) goes on leave and with not an ounce of subtlety tells a group of kids that war is hell, and then later wonders aloud why he has to lie to his mother about why he’s going back.  As I already mentioned, this film came out at a time when people were still trying to nail down exactly what made for quality cinema, so a few blunt sequences are to be expected. 

And it’s not as if an overly didactic scene or two somehow negate some beautifully artful touches like the famous last scene of Paul getting shot as he reaches for a butterfly, the war finally claiming him as he attempts to embrace a life outside of battle.  And of course my disappointment could also stem from the wave of films that debuted in AQOTWF‘s wake making it seem cliche by comparison (sort of like how, to a fresh viewer, Halloween might look like a rote slasher flick, even though it was the inspiration for every slasher flick that have since made it seem rote).

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t change the fact that despite a few hiccups and lapse in subtlety or two, All Quiet on the Western Front is a devastating, tragic, and ultimately human look at the ravages of war.  As the opening prologue states, the film tried “simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped its shells, were destroyed by the war,” and in that sense, they succeeded.

Posted under Kyle's Adventures in Pop Culture

I’m mildly ashamed to admit that, yes, prior to this past weekend, I had never seen Jim Jarmusch’s masterpiece Stranger Than Paradise, the film that shook the Sundance Film Festival and helped shape the way independent cinema would look for the ensuing decades.  I say mildly, because my film geekdom didn’t really kick in until about two years ago, so even if I had seen it prior to that, I kind of doubt I would have enjoyed it much.

And I would be really ashamed if this were my first introduction to the works of Jarmusch, but I’ve already seen Dead Man, Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai, Coffee and Cigarettes, and Broken Flowers.  But that still doesn’t change the fact that I hadn’t seen what is, if not his best, certainly one his most important films to date (at least in how it relates to his other works).

So I became set on making this film the next of his that I saw.  So much so, in fact, that I even denied myself chances to watch Down By Law and Night on Earth.  Eventually I got tired of waiting and bumped it up on my Netflix queue and finally took it in this past Sunday.  Straight away you can tell that this is quintessential Jarmusch.  Stark minimalism completely fills this film (which seems counter-intuitive, but shut up).  Filmed in merciless black and white and edited by laying whole scenes shot in one take end to end and eschewing transitions in favor of a few seconds of black between them, the entire movie works so very hard to further the theme set forth by the title.

The film concerns a man named Willie (John Lurie) who emigrated from Hungary years ago to fashion the perfect life for himself in America.  By his bombed out apartment and penchant for TV dinners it’s painfully evident that he hasn’t quite succeeded, but he perseveres.  When a call from his aunt informs him that his cousin Eva (Eszter Balint), fresh off the plane from Budapest, will be staying with him for a few days before moving to Cleveland, it makes him nigh apoplectic at the thought of an old world influence on the life he’s managed to carve for himself.

But after spending some time together, a mutual affection grows between Willie and Eva, despite her ever-present tape player constantly set to Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “I Put A Spell On You” that Willie claims to hate, perhaps because it reminds him of the spell America put on him that has since worn off.  But Eva is still fresh in this new world, so Willie’s spare apartment, New York’s barren streets, and the thought of living in Ohio are met with the wide-eyed optimism of a child going to Disneyland.

But a year later, when Willie and his best friend Eddie (Richard Edson) decide to get out of town for a few days, they head to Cleveland to find that the once bright-eyed Eva has been replaced by one that’s more appropriately world-weary.  It doesn’t help that Jarmusch films Cleveland as if it were some sort of snow-strewn, post-apocalyptic hellscape, but it adds a visual metaphor for the crushing despair that the midwest has brought upon Eva’s dreams.

So Willie, Eddie, and Eva decide to hit the road for Florida, and the promise of a new paradise, and with that marks the return of Mr. Hawkins, still to the chagrin of Willie, suggesting his hopes for a better life have been permanently dashed.  Once in Florida, Willie and Eddie head straight to the dog track to better their financial situation, leaving Eva in the hotel.  When the dogs fail, they change course and head to the horse races instead, again leaving Eva behind.

But Eva, tired of continuously being denied paradise, heads out on her own.  What she finds is less than she hoped for, the black and white cinematography adding a palpable ugliness to every lingering shot of all the strange corners of Florida Jarmusch could find.  So after a mix up involving her hat leads a mysterious man to give her a large payoff intended for someone else, Eva uses that as an excuse to once again head out in search of something better.

She heads to the airport with anywhere in Europe as the intended destination.  Unfortunately, the only thing available right then is a flight back to Budapest and the promise of continuing dissatisfaction.  Willie and Eddie show up at the airport to stop her, and are told that she got on the plane to Hungary.  Willie buys a ticket so that he can get on the plane to take her off it, but the plane takes off with Willie still on it.  As the film ends, Eddie is headed back to New York, Willie is returning to the place he shunned long ago, and Eva has headed back to the hotel.

Whether it’s to embrace her current paradise, or patiently wait for her next one, it isn’t revealed, but as Screamin’ Jay once again plays over the end credits, we can rest assured that a spell has once again been cast over the three of them, even if what they get is stranger than what they expected.

Posted under Kyle's Adventures in Pop Culture