Showing posts with label Austrian Cinema. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Austrian Cinema. Show all posts

Sunday, 1 October 2017

I've Just Seen: Funny Games (1997)

 Director: Michael Haneke

Most horror films deal with some sort of supernatural idea, be it monsters or spirits. Or if it is a human character, they are painted as monster-like themselves, and we usually get some kind of explanation for their behaviour. What makes Funny Games one of the most terrifying films I have seen is that the "evil" of the film is unexplained, and it is dealt by two young men who seem, on the surface, pleasant and even helpful.

Haneke's film falls into the category of admirable but not enjoyable. It is hard not to admire it. Haneke uses extremely lengthy shots to allow the story to unfold in a slow-burn way that ratchets up the tension. Two in particular really standout: the first is the one where the mother Anna is trying to give Peter some eggs, which he breaks, then ruins her phone, then drops some more eggs. What starts out as slightly comic becomes threatening, and you start thinking "Get him out of the house." The second one comes right after a horrifying death, and holds on Anna as she, and we, try to overcome our shock at what has happened.

The story is a clever one, defying our expectations, and even breaking film rules as a scene is re-wound to change its outcome. The central question of "why" regarding all the violence and horrible games is never answered, leaving us with little closure. All this is incredibly admirable, but is also used to deliberately make the film really unlikeable.

Like with Requiem For a Dream, I won't be watching this again anytime soon. I don't think I can take the tension all over again, especially knowing what is to come. Haneke's films are never easy or comfortable, but you will never forget them.

Thursday, 15 June 2017

I've Just Seen: The Piano Teacher (La Pianiste) (2001)

 Director: Michael Haneke

This film is not an enjoyable watch. It deals with an incredibly difficult character in Erika Kohut; the titular piano teacher whose oppressive relationship with her mother has ruined her ability to relate to anyone else. Her world is thrown into chaos when Walter Klemmer, a young musician, takes a romantic interest in her. Her previously hidden sexual proclivities, which are hardcore, come to the surface, as does her jealousy at others' musical skill. As I said, the unpleasantness of the characters makes this hard to watch, but I also couldn't helped being impressed by the film.

Most of that comes down to Isabelle Huppert's performance as Erika. The character is one of extremes, going from almost icy stillness to strong desire. Huppert shows us these changes with the smallest of gestures - sometimes it is just with the intensification of a stare. For the first part of the film she is largely cold, though you feel sympathy for her because of her overbearing mother. Then you discover her desire for hardcore sex, and feel slightly repulsed. I was hoping that her relationship with Walter would be a positive thing, but it being a Haneke film, Erika's vulnerability is rewarded with yet more pain and humiliation.

The hardest part of watching this was the violence that lurks in several scenes, the worst for me being the self-mutilation scene. If you've seen it, you will understand why I felt light-headed and crossed my legs, recoiling at what I saw. Even thinking of it now makes me queasy.

I didn't 'like' this per se, but I couldn't help but admire Huppert's skill, and Haneke's overall direction. The flatness of the light throughout the whole drains the colour from this world of competition and repression. The passion and beauty of the music played throughout is made ironic by Erika's own particular passions, which are not beautiful, nor is her understanding of human relationships. This is one of those films I would not recommend to everybody, or to most people, but if you think you can withstand the pain at its centre, it is worth watching.

Tuesday, 30 May 2017

I've Just Seen: The Sissi Trilogy (1955-57)

 Director: Ernst Marischka

This trilogy of films follows the early career of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, known to her family as 'Sissi.' The first film, Sissi, is about Sissi meeting and falling in love with the Emperor Franz Joseph I, her cousin, and coming into conflict with her aunt and subesequent mother-on-law, Sophie. The second film, Sissi -The Young Empress, is again about further problems between Sissi and her mother-in-law over who looks after Sissi and Franz's first child. Sissi - Fateful Years of an Empress sees Sissi suffer from TB, while also helping her husband forestall war with Hungary.

The plot for each film are not that different; each features a plotline involving Sissi and Franz renewing their love for each other after separation, and Sissi and Sophie disagreeing about something, with Franz in the middle. The real draw with this trilogy is the look of the films. They were filmed on location in Austria, one of the most beautiful countries in Europe, both in terms of its buildings and its landscape. Winter barely features in any of the films; everything is so summery and lush. The costumes are also gorgeous to look at.

Romy Schneider is a very pretty, sparkly and even sparky empress, and the actor's real mother Magda Schneider plays Sissi's mother Ludovika, adding extra sweetness to their scenes. I recognised the man playing Franz, then realised it was Karlheinz Bohm, who I knew from Peeping Tom. He is a much happier man here.

Marischka had planned to make more films in the Sissi series but Schneider was sick of playing the character, so the story doesn't go into the more interesting parts of her later life. While I really enjoyed these, I do understand Schneider's wishes to leave off being Sissi: it is not the most meaty of roles, and she risked being type-cast.

If you like period dramas or romances, you will enjoy this. And if you want to watch them at the right time, see it at Christmas, along with Germany and Hungary where the trilogy is its a Christmastime staple.