JFL

This superbly cast and maximally enchanting European gem offers a very distinctive, bold and inventive variation on the popular motif of young protagonists’ sexual awakening. In this case, the narrative is enhanced with an unconventional form of the classic concept, which promises the voyeuristic pleasure of seeing behind the façade of refinement and seriousness that conceals sexual desire. However, the setting this time is a rich family’s spacious summer residence behind whose walls no traditional orgies of the upper crust take place. Instead, repressed desires paradoxically build up here. The catalyst of the tension is the passionate and impulsive maid Simona (Brigitte Lahaie) and her uninhibited colleague Gina (played by Lidie Ferdics, who for some reason is replaced by Marie-Claude Moreau in the hardcore scenes). Through them, the frustration of the central trio of characters – Luca (Dominique Saint Claire), the adolescent son of the house’s owners; Fanny (the captivating Julia Perrin), the daughter of family friends; and the strict aunt Martha (Jane Baker) – start to come to the surface. ____ Now, however, it is necessary to note that the film exists in three official versions, which differ substantially, as each contains something that the others don’t: the long 90-minute hardcore version (on Danish VHS), the 82-minute softcore version (released in Germany on VHS, DVD and Blu-ray) and the short 61-minute hardcore version (French remastered DVD). The most broadly distributed is the short version produced by Alpha France, which deserves credit for the meticulous remastering of its entire catalogue comprising hundreds of predominantly French porn films from the classic era, though unfortunately almost all of them (with rare exceptions) have been cut down to a runtime of roughly one hour so that two or three could be released on a single DVD. ____ The short version (61 minutes) retains all of the sex scenes in all their hardcore glory, but the narrative has been butchered and thus changed dramatically. It completely leaves out the depiction of the relationships between the characters and tells an utterly different and, unfortunately, disturbingly generic story that leads to the main protagonist’s expected copulation with Fanny. ____ Conversely, in its original form, the film does not come to a connection between the characters played by Julia Perrin and Dominique St. Claire. This happens in the first third of the film, though only in a dream sequence. Luca and Fanny don’t sleep with each other, because they actually have different desires and this sequence only hints at Luca’s horniness, which he himself hopes to satisfy elsewhere. Both the long hardcore and edited softcore versions provide an arousing and, for some, possibly controversial narrative about the  tentative discovery of one’s own sexuality and the repression of desires. The debauched and sexually manipulative maid Simona plays the essential role of an initiator who prompts the stagnating characters tormented by denial to take action. The narrative inventively raises the viewer’s expectations as to how the depicted web of relationships will ultimately take shape, with a surprising revelation at the mid-point of the film. Sexual attraction that had been repressed for years comes to the forefront and is confronted by the superficial and frigid world of Luca’s parents. This time, the wealthy bourgeois setting is not a place of debauchery, but of asexuality, which is characteristically defied by the young, the servants and forbidden love. In its original form, the film exhibits numerous similarities to the American classics Taboo and Private Teacher, but whereas those films were conceived as satires or comedies, Summer in the Country provides a wonderfully sexy, boldly open and multi-layered variation on the theme of repressed desires and sexual maturation. The result is a porn movie in which sex is not only an attraction, but an essential narrative device and a means of presenting the characters and outlining their psychological development. ____ The softcore version (82 minutes) is paradoxically the only one of the official releases that contains the complete narrative, though it leaves out the hardcore scenes. For some reason, the 90-minute hardcore version leaves out the aforementioned dream sequence. There is  also a rough, 106-minute fan-made compilation that contains all of the scenes, some of them even twice, probably because some of the scenes were shot twice, separately for the hardcore and softcore versions. ____ 61-minute hardcore version – three stars, the other two versions – five stars.

In line with the change in social norms and with respect to the contemporary habits of porn viewers, porn today shows sex as something strictly private and as the antithesis of public activities and commitments. A number of the more inventive filmmakers base the effect of their films on voyeuristic pleasure, or on the excitement that comes with watching two people at moments when no one else should see them. In contrast to that, French Sex Lessons ranks among the films that were made after the sexual revolution and put sex on the level of social and public activities, or rather made sex a point of social interest among a broad spectrum of people. Though sex had been relegated to the realm of privacy, no one made it taboo or saw it as something shocking. On the contrary, the overarching principle of such films was naturalness and immediacy, which made sex the equivalent of a discussion over a glass of wine or a board game. Whereas in American porn in the late 1970s and early ‘80s the voyeuristic approach was already becoming more prominent (see the phenomenal look behind the façade of middle-class society in the legendary Taboo), on the old continent at that time they were still making films that presented sex as the be-all and end-all of society. French Sex Lessons is a playfully overwrought film in which a former madam opens a private sex school where young women – each of them for different reasons – learn how to be the best lovers. The story, which is similar to that of The Opening of Misty Beethoven, the iconic porn variation on Pygmalion and one of the leading titles of the porn style described above, mostly takes place in the space of a single house, but its concept of sex as a graded school subject makes the film a captivatingly exaggerated celebration of sexuality as an entirely rational act and a personal virtue ensuring a good standing in society. In this respect, the storyline involving the gradual elimination of chasteness and shame in one of the schoolgirls, who, unlike her more experienced classmates, is a virgin and was sent to the school by her boyfriend because he found her virginity unnatural, is magnificent. Besides the sequence with the teacher’s punishment of an extremely horny bisexual student, the highlight of the film is the grandiose sequence (taking up approximately one-third of the runtime) of the final school play, when the guys whose girlfriends study at the school and some patrons watch a demonstration of the skills that the individual schoolgirls have learned.

Romero’s zombie movies have always been thesis-driven, satirical and caustic, but this time the director, clearly intoxicated by the deserved positive responses to his previous film, abandoned those features in this unwisely overwrought film. Two years after Diary of the Dead, in which he proved himself to be an innovator not only in the zombie genre, but also in modern horror-movie trends, he has come out with a bombastic film that mostly comes across as an incoherent mess, even though it shows the breadth, ambition and multi-layered nature of the director’s vision in its constituent elements. In Romero’s five previous zombie movies, he succeeded in dramaturgically combining social criticism, a casually sophisticated vision of the world during the zombie apocalypse, genre attractions and presentation of the characters. Paradoxically for a filmmaker who, in terms of ideas and craftsmanship, towers over the dabblers and genre journeymen who cower in his shadow, this time it’s impossible to resist the same impressions that one gets when watching the cinematic attempts of various hacks. Instead of a complex and logically constructed world, Survival of the Dead gives viewers a gallery of characters who are stripped of their own will and are subordinated only to the logic of the formula. During sequences having multiple parallel conflicts or levels, it becomes apparent that the director doesn’t know which is happening concurrently outside of the shot – one can imagine how, in the middle of a dialogue scene or shoot-out between certain characters, the others are just apathetically hanging around off camera waiting for their turn to enter. For the first time in a Romero movie, even the gory zombie attack sequences seem like nothing more than attractions utterly unmotivated by the needs of the plot. However, the main problem consists in Romero’s attempt to combine heavyweight criticism of the patriarchy with bombast that isn’t satirical, but rather has the nature of parody and slapstick. Of course, all of this could be explained away as part of the concept of holding up a mirror to the absurdity of genre movies and the conventions of the glorified patriarchy, but in comparison with the highly cohesive Diary of the Dead and the dramaturgically balanced Land of the Dead, Survival of the Dead comes across as a half-baked and failed work. There is still also the possibility that the whole film is an especially caustic joke on viewers and their expectations. However, Romero doesn’t have the status of an artist who has fallen victim to pigeonholing at the hands of the audience like, for example, Takeshi Kitano, and would thus not consider doing such a thing, but there is nothing in the film that would suggest such an approach.

With the style of an ordinary made-for-TV documentary, Omnibus: The Last Moguls offers a valuable and fascinating look into the workings of the production company Cannon Films at the time when it was at its absolute peak. At the beginning, while the company is still being introduced, its management is referred to in plural, i.e. its owners, cousins Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus, are mentioned in the same breath. But in later sequences, it becomes clear who was really the boss in the company. The megalomaniacal mogul Golan is shown in the documentary not only through his self-promoting statements to the camera, but mainly in revealing recordings of his manipulative negotiations with the agents of directors and stars and with contractually bound creators. Another captivating aspect of the documentary is Cannon Films’ presentation of itself as a prestigious company that – on the one hand – takes great directors under its wing and finances ambitious projects, but – on the other hand – is concurrently built on absolute control over the flow of funding and keeping an eye on every penny. The promo spots for the company’s titles intended for film markets are symptomatic of this. Cannon Films and Golan had a fundamental influence on the nature of the film industry, as the success of their films was built on marketing, high concept and the principle of getting a lot for a little money, which was fulfilled not by saving on big names, but by scrimping on locations and production. At the same time, the testimonies of both the contractually bound creators and Golan himself suggest that Cannon Films represented a unique combination of the love of movies and strictly commercial motivations. One of the highlights in this respect was Golan’s own project, The Delta Force, which provides a personal, aggressive commentary on the hijacking of TWA flight 487 in June 1985, but was conceived as a lucrative spectacle whose cast accurately reflected Cannon Films’ policy – the critically acclaimed European actress Hanna Schygulla appeared in an essential role alongside B-movie star Chuck Norris and respected veteran actor Lee Marvin.

It seems that Johnnie To is making a comeback, not only in terms of form, as he established in the non-stop thriller Drug War, but also in terms of career milestones. After nine years, Blind Detective marks the return of To’s greatest concept with respect to box-office success, namely the casting of Andy Lau and Sammi Cheng. First appearing together in Needing You (2000), the two became the Hong Kong equivalent of legendary Hollywood duos and one of the pillars that financially underpinned To’s company, Milkyway Production. The decision to bring these famous faces together again is thus primarily a commercially safe bet on giving To a hit movie, which he hasn’t had for a long time. The project’s revenues cannot be called into question, but the rule about stepping twice into the same river still applies. Though Lau and Cheng act out quarrelsome situations with visibly parchment faces, this time the film relies more on the narrative escapades of To’s leading screenwriters. The overwrought screenplay is appealing mainly due to the fact that the crackpot narrative about a blind yet genial detective manages to incorporate the current trend of the glossy aesthetics of lifestyle ads that have captivated the Chinese and Hong Kong mainstream in recent years. Nevertheless, it is necessary to mention that, in comparison with the lifelessness of other recent films that are only an excuse for advertising a luxurious lifestyle, To manages to bring at least some energy and hype into this surreal world.

Frankenstein’s Army is a purely conceptual film, or even a concept art film. The whole project is built on Richard Raaphorst’s crazy designs, which combine the iconography of the Second World War with the Frankenstein myth, Japanese body horror, cyberpunk and ero guro aesthetics. Unfortunately, it is hopelessly obvious from the resulting film that even though Raaphorst succeeded in creating bizarrely imaginative set designs, costumes and effects, there is an utter lack of screenwriting, dramaturgical and directing skill. The film constantly highlights the found-footage form, which in this case isn’t used conceptually or imaginatively, or even as a purely formalistic device, but serves to excuse the filmmakers’ cluelessness. If the film’s creators didn’t know how to get the characters from point A to point B, they just teleported them there by obviously turning off the camera. The format is similarly supposed to disguise the fact that the film’s monsters are thoroughly incapable, which would be exceedingly obvious if standard filming techniques had been used. The overall concept – a found-footage film about the legendary Dr. Frankenstein’s deranged grandson, who manufactures biomechanical monsters using the bodies of Nazis and Red Army soldiers at the end of the war – represents the be-all and end-all of the whole project, as it serves not only as the starting point of the narrative, but also as the ultimate excuse. Given all of the screenwriting deficiencies, lack of internal logic, historical inadequacies and the fact that all of the film’s characters here speak English regardless of their nationality, it can simply be said that it would be a fool’s errand to look for any kind of meaning in such a harebrained film with the given concept.

Comparing A Hijacking to the new Tom Hanks project Captain Phillips provides a clear illustration of the difference in the approaches taken by American and Danish productions, not only at the level of films, but also in the making of television series. The American entertainment industry primarily focuses on stories that have the potential to be made into flashy spectacles that will constantly provide stimuli for viewers. Conversely, the Danes focus on continuously building drama, as they use the viewers’ awareness of the context of the sequences and intensify the effect through the duration of those sequences. The real drama of the crew of a cargo ship hijacked by pirates, a situation that lasted for four months, is exactly the ideal material for the storytelling and dramaturgy as described above. Some might say that nothing happens in most of the film, but the duration of the impasse is an essential element of the narrative for which the film meticulously lays the groundwork so that it can absolutely devastate viewers in the climax.

A standard rise-and-fall gangster story, this time enhanced with the social setting of Danish suburbia and an unusually rendered motif comprising the  polarity of a mafia family and an actual family. The film is also elevated by the cast, led by two real-life non-actor brothers, who give the film an atmosphere of authenticity and immediacy.

Whereas the Avengers movies are targeted at nerds and the Batman movies appeal to a broader audience that otherwise doesn’t go for comic-book flicks, Man of Steel is a superhero movie that tries to tread a path that is entirely atypical of the genre. The new Superman is conceived as a chick flick. In addition to the expected shots in which the handsome hero appears topless, this is demonstrated primarily by the narrative, which focuses exclusively on relationship motifs (the family and the hero’s roots, protectiveness, responsibility and sacrifice, as well as the relationship with Lois Lane starting on the basis of mutual respect and transforming into love). Lois Lane herself was characteristically conceived as a truly professional reporter, so this time she isn’t a fragile beauty waiting to be rescued, but an emotionally engaged character representing the ideal role model for today’s girls. The film’s targeting at a female audience is further evidenced by the form of the usual blockbuster shots, which have the purpose of confirming the appropriateness of the target audience’s reaction to the events being shown. Whereas in Transformers we have a boy who comments on the battle between giant robots by shouting “wow”, in Man of Steel we find a number of shots in which Lois Lane and, in particular, Air Force officer Carrie Farris dreamily gaze at Superman and comment directly on his attractiveness. The narrative is basically not arranged chronologically, but thematically, and Snyder’s opulent advertising aesthetics, with which he stylises every shot in order to have the maximum emotional impact on viewers and to stimulate their senses, which corresponds to the targeting of women, transform the comic-book story into an impressive spectacle aimed mainly at the heart.

A PR project of the company Deutsche Telekom, Move On is an obviously poorer and less conceptual cousin of the celebrated PR project The Hire. In the case of The Hire, the carmaker BMW came up with a series of short films loosely connected by the character of a mysterious driver hired to carry out difficult tasks, played by the then internationally unknown Clive Owen, with the basic attraction being the involvement of established directors with distinctive styles, who gave each short episode a unique atmosphere. Though the people at Deutsche Telekom evidently watched The Hire, they evidently didn’t have as much money, or they were bound by the corporate concept of uniting Europe. The result is thus a project in which Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen, known for a number of supporting roles in Hollywood blockbusters, plays a nameless courier who transports a mysterious package across various countries, mainly in Eastern Europe. The whole thing is directed by the undistinguished craftsman Asger Leth, but always using a different production crew. The project was perhaps meant to be something between the Jason Bourne movies and the French Courier franchise, but its main drawback consists in the fact that the film/series doesn’t actually have a plot. Each episode takes place in a different country, which is primarily an excuse to show local historical sights and culture. Besides that, it is of course necessary to regularly demonstrate the multifunctionality of mobile telephones. In the few minutes that remain to the story, the filmmakers are strictly limited to piling up standard clichés. Therefore, the result is also more of a tourism promo for Eastern Europe than a cohesive narrative, let alone a thriller. Move On is simply just an illustration of the attractiveness of the spectacular form of advertising that can at least entice viewers to the screen to some degree, though there is absolutely no idea or meaning behind it.