Lost in the Movies: fairy tales
Showing posts with label fairy tales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fairy tales. Show all posts

Belladonna of Sadness as TWIN PEAKS CINEMA #12 (podcast)



An appropriate tie-in to my recent listener feedback episode of the Patreon podcast, which included a passage on the dark fairy tales themes coursing through Twin Peaks (specifically emphasizing Sleeping Beauty and the work of Anne Sexton), the Japanese proto-anime Belladonna of Sadness also kicks off the new three-month season of Twin Peaks Cinema. I'm calling this season's theme "Traumatic Transformations". These films all begin with characters haunted by trauma: loss of loved ones, abuse by powerful men, sometimes both. These traumas become wrapped up in fantasies of various kinds, some casually poetic (a fairy tale read to children when babysitting), some obsessively escapist (a UFO special sparking both avoidance of and a search for the more disturbing truth), and some literally manifesting in supernatural powers (an impoverished peasant evolving into a hypnotic witch whose magic threatens the very lord who raped her). Even the more realistic films suggest, in an offhand way much like Twin Peaks, that the tragedies unfolding across their communities may be connected on some deep, fundamental level with an individual's private crisis. This is certainly true of Belladonna of Sadness, a fascinating project mixing fable with social history, psychology with pornography, and static illustration with pulsating psychedelic montage. Connections to Peaks abound, perhaps most directly to The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer as our heroine Jeanne struggles with a BOB-like demon who is both a manifestation of her own personal defiance and a product of the assault which has become intertwined with her own identity.



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April 2022 Patreon podcast LOST IN THE MOVIES #90 - Listener Feedback (Twin Peaks subjects include Sleeping Beauty connections, was The Return a passion project?, Fire Walk With Me's subversion of intent, ironic vs. sincere responses, Cooper's identity in flux & more + Snow White & Sleeping Beauty archive reading) + Twin Peaks Conversations podcast


With this podcast - reading and sometimes responding to feedback I've received from my audience on Patreon, YouTube, and this site since last August - I'm finally caught up with the commitments of last summer (aside from the longer-term project of making the Lost in Twin Peaks podcast public). There was a lot to dig into from these responses - topics are listed below - but I especially wanted to highlight my patron Laurence's fascinating connections between Sleeping Beauty and Twin Peaks, which spurred larger digressions into Walt Disney vs. David Lynch, Anne Sexton's Transformations, and the explicit, experimental proto-anime Belladonna of Sadness (which I'll be covering in a public Twin Peaks Cinema podcast in a few days). This feedback also inspired an inordinate amount of time spent crafting a "Twin Peaks" font for the image above - sometimes the most ridiculous effort goes into the littlest things - as well as an archive selection in which I compared Sleeping Beauty to another work (in this case, Disney's own Snow White). Incidentally, "Opening the Archive" will continue month-to-month but aside from that, changes are on the way. I'm not exactly sure what my approach will be to patron podcasts in the coming months; my "Twin Peaks Reflections" approach to characters, locations, and storylines is complete, and my patron-exclusive "Twin Peaks Cinema" entries are done for the time being. Aside from keeping up monthly with brief comments on what I've been watching, reading, or listening to (as well as more consistently fielding feedback), I may offer a longer review in each episode, returning to the "Film in Focus" format. Above all, though, my main priority is to give myself the time for the three big Twin Peaks projects: the aforementioned public Lost in Twin Peaks; the long, long-delayed character series; and finally the last set of Journey Through Twin Peaks video essays.

See you in May...

November 2020 Patreon podcasts: LOST IN TWIN PEAKS #22 - Season 2 Episode 14 and LOST IN THE MOVIES #73 - Twin Peaks Cinema: Belladonna of Sadness (+ Twin Peaks Reflections: Norma, Vivian, Ernie, Red Diamond City Motel, Golf course, MT Wentz/The Final Dossier, The Devil's Bride & more)


In a radical departure from the cheeky, if at times apocalyptic, fun of Back to the Future Part II last month, November's "Twin Peaks Cinema" hones in on the dark psychological and avant-garde experimental aspects of Twin Peaks. When I selected it based purely on the Turner Classic Movies description, I was completely unfamiliar with Belladonna of Sadness, an explicit Japanenese mytho-psychodrama anime from the early seventies. The film tells the tragic story of a young peasant woman in France who survives a traumatic gang rape at the lord's castle, and the subsequent demonic visitations of a phallic creature who may be her own Id or Satan himself, in order to become a witch with healing powers. Full of psychedelic imagery and music evoking both earlier and later productions like Faust, Yellow Submarine, End of Evangelion, and The Witch, the film's biggest tie-in to Twin Peaks turned out to be literary, evoking Laura's struggles with BOB on the pages of Jennifer Lynch's Secret Diary.

Although I use the witch theme to connect to the archive reading of my Devil's Bride review, elsewhere the podcast tackles some relatively lighter fare - Norma Jennings' fraught relationship with her stepfather and (step?)mother, as well as how Mark Frost's later books further complicate this dynamic. In the Twin Peaks Reflections location studies, Twin Peaks' golf course and the Red Diamond City Motel (although I forgot to include that enticing "city" in the recording!) provide dual lens through which to view Leland's troubled consciousness, a theme I explore more deeply in another of this month's podcasts - my episode 15 coverage for Lost in Twin Peaks, opened to all patrons on the thirtieth anniversary of its airing. Meanwhile, the spear's tip of that rewatch (for $5/month patrons) advances to episode 21, which includes reflections not just on the troubled midseason material but also random tangents such as the American public's reaction to the ongoing Gulf War, a German left-wing terrorist group's idiomatic influence, and an abandoned cop show starring Rowdy Roddy Piper and Jesse Ventura. It's always fun to see where a particular episode leads us...







Podcast Line-Ups for...

Patreon update #6: Inherent Vice, Monkey Business & High-Rise (+ history of video essays, Donkeyskin/Fire Walk With Me & more) and preview of the TWIN PEAKS Character Series "Rules"


Rounding up the last of the January Film in Focus topics, I didn't think this triple feature would have a thematic or aesthetic throughline. In fact, however, all three movies are characterized by a narrative descent into chaos, disintegrating social norms until we are just as bewildered as the figures onscreen. I liked one of these films quite a lot, had a mixed but generally positive reaction to another, and didn't care at all for the third, but I had a good time digging into each first-time viewing.

Paul Thomas Anderson's Inherent Vice adapts Thomas Pynchon's Big Lebowski/Long Goodbye-esque tribute to the slacker-as-sleuth genre. Surprisingly, this is the first Anderson film I've reviewed on this site (the only other acknowledgement of his work was a #WatchlistScreenCaps image for The Master several years ago). Howard Hawks' Monkey Business is a madcap (or maybe not so madcap as you'd expect, initially) screwball comedy with some interesting subtexts about Hollywood, aging, and the generation that came to prominence in the thirties Golden Age. Ben Wheatley's High-Rise is another notable adaptation, this time of J.G. Ballard's iconic text of the seventies; the acidic satire opens with a calmly dystopian interior landscape and closes with a peculiar Margaret Thatcher quote and song from The Fall.

Additionally, I dig into the history of the video essay form over the past ten years, and how the desire to experiment with that form led to Journey Through Twin Peaks; I find some more Mark Frost-written Hill Street Blues episodes, and I receive some great feedback exploring Fire Walk With Me's fairy tale links, especially to the disturbing fable Donkeyskin by Charles Perrault. This is the longest episode yet - hopefully you find it enjoyable.

Finally, if you're thinking of becoming a 3rd-tier patron ($10 a month), I've just published a couple pages of the introduction to my revised Twin Peaks character series explaining (among other things) how I will cover the complicated characters of Cooper and Laura, and offering links to the timeline I'm using as a frame of reference for The Return.


Line-up for Episode 6

INTRO
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WEEKLY UPDATE/recent posts: creating Journey Through Twin Peaks
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WEEKLY UPDATE/Patreon: 3rd tier Biweekly Preview - intro to character series, February films in focus - suggest several titles
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WEEKLY UPDATE/works in progress: minor characters, Fire Walk With Me history
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FILM IN FOCUS: Inherent Vice
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FILM IN FOCUS: Monkey Business
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FILM IN FOCUS: High-Rise
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TWIN PEAKS REFLECTIONS: Making Journey Through Twin Peaks, pt. 1 - the history of video essays, form in the Journey videos
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OTHER TOPICS: 2 more Mark Frost-written Hill Street Blues episodes, Dario Argento on the Joe Franklin Show
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LISTENER FEEDBACK: Marie Antoinette, watching the Twin Peaks killer's reveal at 13, Fire Walk With Me as a fairy tale (comparison w/ Donkeyskin) and Christian martyrs' tales
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OPENING THE ARCHIVE: "Examining the Options" (June - October 2009), this week's highlight: Lawrence of Arabia

BECOME A PATRON

The Favorites - Red Hot Riding Hood (#30)


The Favorites is a series briefly exploring films I love, to find out what makes them - and me - tick. Red Hot Riding Hood (1943/USA/dir. Tex Avery) appeared at #30 on my original list.

What it is • We all know the story: a little girl goes romping through the woods to visit her grandma, while a sinister wolf lurks behind the trees ready to lead her astray. As Red Hot Riding Hood opens, a goofy narrator dutifully recites these familiar details, until the irritated wolf whirls around and stares straight out at the audience, lambasting the hidden storyteller. The credits roll again, in flashing neon, baring a subtitle "Something new has been added." That "something new" may be modernity - the new tale unfolds not in a rustic forest but amidst the urban jungle of Los Angeles with spotlights shooting from the skyscraper windows and a Hollywood and Vine street sign wrapped around the wolf's head after he takes a tumble. Or the "something new" might be sex, what was implicit in the original story now brought to the forefront - you'll lose count of the phallic symbols within about ten seconds of this new beginning. Little Red is now involved in a nightclub striptease and the wolf is her biggest fan, flipping between sleazy pickup artist, put-on Euro-sophisticate, and gawky goofball, depending on what he thinks will work. None of it does and as in the fairy tale, he races to Grandma's (some have read her as a bordello madam, awaiting the return of one of her employees) to intercept her and try again. Instead, the old woman who greets him is even hornier than he is, and has a stamina that ultimately defeats the exhausted canine, chasing him through rooms, knocking him out windows, reappearing in doorways when he thinks he's gotten rid of her. None of these descriptions convey the lightning energy of the short itself - it must be watched to be digested. Perhaps the "something new" that's been added is cinema: this is a fairly tale completely reconfigured for a new mass medium, a folk legend given new life by celluloid and the animator's brush.

Why I like it •

The Favorites - Snow White (#37)


The Favorites is a series briefly exploring films I love, to find out what makes them - and me - tick. Snow White (1933/USA/ani. Roland Crandall) appeared at #37 on my original list.

What it is • Not the Snow White you were expecting to see here? True, Betty Boop's version of the Grimm tale isn't exactly identical to the Disney feature, but there really are quite a lot of similarities! Both display the Evil Queen's jealousy when she discovers that Betty, er, Snow White is the "fairest in the land" by honing in on her face, with its wide eyes and bulbous nose, as it morphs into a frying pan with two sizzling eggs. The two Snow Whites also depict our heroine's escape from execution in similar fashion: the queen's knights destroy their weapons before brawling with the tree stump on which they were going to chop off her head, punching and kicking the scowling block of wood as it wraps its roots around them like tentacles. Most memorable of all is the music these films share - hallmarks of Sing-A-Long Song videotapes cherished by millennial children, in which the bouncing ball struggles to keep up with Cab Calloway in clown/ghost drag, lamenting his dead lover while his head detaches and becomes a giant bottle of "boooooze."

On second thought, maybe these two films are pretty different. Packing one hell of a punch at seven minutes and seven seconds (one for each dwarf), the 1933 Snow White beat its more famous companion by four years. Produced by the Fleischer brothers, it was largely the work of animator Roland Crandall who, according to Wikipedia, was given free reign to create this stream-of-consciousness cartoon by his own hand (which took half a year). The result is remarkable, every frame stuffed with hilariously random invention.

Why I like it •

Frozen


We begin on Coronation Day, when many other fairy tales have ended. In the isolated kingdom of Arendelle everyone has their role to play. Crowds gather to celebrate their new queen (whose parents died at sea in the extended prologue) while servants bustle around the castle opening the windows and doors for the first time in years. Younger Princess Anna falls for a foreign prince who proposes marriage within hours. And the new Queen Elsa, a beautiful but aloof and conspicuously gloved blonde, accepts her new responsibilities with a pronounced reserve. And no wonder: once shocked by her sister's impending engagement, Elsa loses control (and glove) and shoots ice from her fingertips before fleeing her horrified subjects and escaping to the mountains; a long-concealed secret has been revealed and the kingdom turned upside down. Winter hits in the middle of summer, the good queen forswears her monarchical prerogative, the sidekick princess emphatically steps in as our heroine, and now we know all bets are off - Frozen will be stuffed with welcome surprises.

The Dark Crystal


The cinema, especially the fantasy cinema, dazzles us because of its reality. However artificial the construction - from in-camera trickery to indoor sets to old-school cel animation (convincing us that individual drawings represent perpetual motion) - movies are charged with a sense of the miraculous. Movies are ideas and imagination made particular and set in motion. This is the magic linking cartoons to special effects films to intimate dramas to documentaries and home movies - it is the sensation of delight which confronts us in a dark theater or an empty living room, stretching from the first black-and-white train arriving in a station to the hypercharged car chases over the course of a century, from Melies' charmingly crude moonshot to the zipping spaceships of a later generation.

Few films capture the wonder of the inanimate made animate as exuberantly as Jim Henson's lush and gruesome The Dark Crystal (co-directed with Frank Oz, co-written with David Odell, and designed by Brian Froud). It extends a delight conveyed in stop-motion animation, our knowledge that what we are seeing has been meticulously prepared fused with our instinctive belief that the fluid movement is real. Called (accurately or not) the first live-action film without a single human onscreen, the puppetry of The Dark Crystal takes carefully constructed creatures and sets them not just in the illusion of movement, but in actual movement. The results are astonishing and exhilarating.


The Secret of NIMH and The Last Unicorn



What is it about 80s fantasies, particularly animated fantasies, that fascinates me well into 21st-century adulthood? There's an aspect of nostalgia to be sure. I was born in 1983 and these movies reflect not just the era that shaped my early consciousnesses but also a form the world must take for everyone at that age: at three or four years old, reality itself seems mysterious, fantastical, dark - all that will later become familiar glows with the dangerous allure of magic. If this is nostalgia, it's an edgier, more unsettling nostalgia than is sold to us on TV commercials, a nostalgia rooted in the recognition that childhood is not merely a time of carefree happiness, but also of deep-rooted fear and disoriented confusion. At any rate, I didn't see The Secret of NIMH or The Last Unicorn, two offbeat animated films from 1982, until about a month ago - so any nostalgic chord they struck was generalized and indirect.

It's a Twister!


A short visual tribute to the tornado sequence in The Wizard of Oz (1939)

(In honor of the film's high placement in the musical countdown, and in recognition of its exclusion from my upcoming series "The Big Ones," due to an upcoming, extensive essay next year.)


For the rest of 2011, visual tributes will go up every Saturday.

The Story of the Fox





The Story of the Fox (1937/France/directed by Wladyslaw and Irene Starewicz)

stars the voices of Claude Dauphin, Romain Bouquet, Sylvain Itkine, Marcel Raine

written by Jean Nohain, Antoinette Nordmann, Roger Richebe, Irene Starewicz, Wladyslaw Starewicz from Johann Wolfgang Goethe • photographed by Wladyslaw Starewicz • designed by Wladyslaw Starewicz • music by Vincent Scotto • animated by Wladyslaw and Irene Starewicz

The Story: The royal lion seeks to punish Monsieur Renard (Mr. Fox) for eating his fellow creatures, yet the crafty animal tricks, manipulates, and fights his way out of every scrape.

_____________


“Animated Animals”: you’d be forgiven for picturing cute, wide-eyed little critters wandering through daisy fields and singing happy songs. Not so: this month there’s one cuddly creature (albeit too mute to sing), an amiable buffoon, a murderous yet still sympathetic monster, and then there’s Monsieur Renard (French for "fox"), the eponymous antihero of the brilliant stop-motion feature The Story of the Fox. Crafty, nasty, and carnivorous, Renard may have the least redeeming qualities of all the November beasts; unsurprisingly, he may also be the most human.

Watching as he assaults and semi-cannibalizes his fellow creatures, regarding us every now and then with an ambiguously conspiratorial twinkle in his eye, we titter nervously.  We recognize we aren’t really compatriots in crime but rather spectators in a show enacted only for the fox’s own benefit. Renard has the gifted performer’s contempt for the audience – and we’d probably be his next victim were we onscreen ourselves. Not only the fox but his master are winking at us with raw, mischievous relish.

Snow White and Sleeping Beauty


For whatever reason, I’ve been re-watching a lot of Disney lately. It didn’t hurt that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was playing on TV this Thanksgiving; yet even well before the holiday I was immersed in several books about Walt Disney (throughout this piece I'll be referring to Disney as "they" not "he," i.e. the collective studio not the individual man). And I've been renting or borrowing all the old standbys, some of which I hadn’t seen since childhood. Two films I found myself watching several times – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Sleeping Beauty; I’m not sure why, though the two films do have striking similarities (and, as is always the case, the similarities serve to highlight major differences as well). Both appear to represent different phases and new directions in the studio’s enterprise, a timely topic given that Disney’s latest attempt to reboot its brand is hitting theaters right about now. I must confess I’m not particularly enticed by Tangled, between the slick CGI (well-servicing a story about robots, but princesses?) and the shampoo ads. And what’s with the dopey name-change – were they afraid “Rapunzel” would be too much of a mouthful? If the studio debuted Pinocchio today, it'd be retitled No Strings Attached with a tie-in to Minwax.


The video introduction to Fairie Tale Theatre

Eventually I'll return to this blog with a full-fledged piece; I have quite a few ideas brewing but they'll take a little while to pull together. For the time being, take a look at this - it's certainly a childhood flashback for me, and I'm wondering if it brings back memories for anyone else. When I was in preschool, I rented all the videos in this series (originally a 1980s HBO show hosted by Shelley Duvall and featuring stars from Robin Williams to Mick Jagger, a sort of kiddie "Masterpiece Theatre"). They served as my introductions to the classic stories, which I became obsessed with for years. I even "wrote" a book - dictating the stories to my parents and then illustrating every page myself. (I also forced the members of my family to concoct their own versions, for which they were all game. My aunt's favorite was my father's interpretation of "The Emperor's New Clothes" which featured the nude monarch strutting his stuff in the street while a couple cynics lampooned him from a balcony, sneering, "What a pompous buffoon!".)

Both Elliot Gould's giant in "Jack and the Beanstalk" and especially Joan Collins' witch in "Hansel & Gretel" gave me nightmares - in fact, I was so traumatized by Collins' scenery-chewing I refused to include "Hansel & Gretel" in my own book and suffered from a severe phobia of cannibalistic old women for years. Anyway, here's the promo which opened each videocassette. It brings back more fond memories than the episodes themselves, which are available on instant Netflix and You Tube but seem a little rusty (though I suspect "Hansel & Gretel," of which I've only re-watched a few moments - in order to capture that still-terrifying picture above - will hold up). As I said, I hope to deliver some more ambitious posts later this fall, and if you want to follow my writing on a more regular basis, I'm keeping up a steady stream on the Examiner, including a lengthy (and timely) piece on Roman Polanski, an upcoming review of the fascinating if shaky Baader-Meinhof Complex (about the left-wing German terrorists of the 1970s), and the twice-a-day, every-day short review approach which should be starting in the next week or two. Meanwhile, enjoy (after the jump):

Free-form Fairy Tales - A Tex Avery Trio

If Three Little Pigs contains some elements of subversion, then Tex Avery is around-the-clock, nonstop subversion, without relief. First at Warner Brothers, then MGM, Avery brilliantly demolished all the cliches of fairy tales and animated shorts with anarchic, randy panache. You can find a very thorough analysis of all Avery's fractured fairy tales at Bright Lights Film Journal, but I want to take a look at three in particular: his sublimely clever The Bear's Tale, the propagandistic bombast of Blitz Wolf, and of course the infamous Red Hot Riding Hood, a distillation and perfection of Avery's manic energy and subversive touch. I've got a few things to say about each, but the cartoons speak loudly and proudly for themselves, so I'll follow my comments with You Tube feeds of each. Ahem...

Once upon a time...

Three Little Pigs

Blessed with one of the catchiest songs ever sung, Disney's Three Little Pigs asks, "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" a message that resonated with Depression-era audiences. Perhaps it will resonate again with our own. In fact, Three Little Pigs has elements even more relevant to our financial conditions than those of 1933, when it first came out. For one thing, it's a movie about a housing crisis. Those homes of straw and stick, like the homes paid for through bad mortgages, prove flimsy in the face of Big Bad Mortgage Collectors who come looking for the bill. Actually, Three Little Pigs proves a very Republican reading of economic hard times, appropriate since Walt Disney was an anti-New Dealer, but its "lazy and fun-loving people get what they deserve" message is undercut by various elements of subversion.

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