The Favorites - God's Country (#69)

The Favorites is a series briefly exploring films I love, to find out what makes them - and me - tick. God's Country (1986/France/dir. Louis Malle) appeared at #69 on my original list.

What it is • In 1979, Louis Malle was on the road, crossing the American Midwest with a PBS production crew. Apparently the original object of his documentary was going to be a Minneapolis shopping mall but the irritating Muzak of the location drove him out into the countryside, where he stumbled across a town fair in a small farming community, Glencoe, Minnesota. Taken with the down-home charm, friendly nature, and cultural idiosyncrasies of the town, Malle decided to stay, recording interviews with bankers, cops, lawyers, clerks, retirees, lots of farmers, and at least one cow inseminator. The job descriptions only go so far, because what Malle really captures is humanity in all its manifestations. Some of his conversations subtly hint at deep emotion beneath the cordial, colloquial surface while others go so deep that we almost forget what we're watching, the backdrop of the specific time and place falling away completely (the most obvious example is the young woman who speaks about love, loneliness, sexuality, hypocrisy - and whose expressive face conveys even more emotion than her frank words). Malle was never able to cut this footage together as originally planned and then in the mid-1980s he returned to Glencoe to follow up with these folks. The last half-hour of the documentary has a more depressed feel than the rest of the film (which also contains melancholy stretches), emphasizing that the Reagan administration, for all its talk of "Morning in America," is actually hastening the downfall of the heartland. But even here, Malle and his subjects find hope and comfort. I only wish we could return now, thirty years later, to see how everyone (who remains) is doing. In ninety minutes, God's Country makes you feel like you know these people and the town they live in, and at the same time it keeps them slightly mysterious (much as you can know your neighbors for years, only to discover you were barely scratching the surface). The film offers us a perspective that is both a peek and a revelation.

Why I like it •

Six Years in America: Louis Malle's God's Country (video)

This past weekend, my "7 Facts About Fire Walk With Me" video was shared on Indiewire's Press Play, with a great little write-up from Max Winter. Check it out! (There's also some discussion on Facebook, via Indiewire and also Twin Peaks Worldwide.) Indiewire will also be sharing another of my 2014 videos soon, so stay tuned.

This video's side-by-side approach (especially its split stereo soundtrack) is influenced by Kevin B. Lee's study of Hoop Dreams and it is consistent with the work I've recently done on Neon Genesis Evangelion and Twin Peaks as well as a video coming soon (I won't say the subject but here's a clue: I'm hoping to have it ready before October 21, 2015 at 4:29pm). Here is the description published on Fandor Keyframe:

In 1979, Louis Malle visited Glencoe, Minnesota, for PBS, recording interviews with various townspeople. Six years later, he returned to film short follow-ups, checking up on the progress and/or decline of the town and its populace. The two trips were combined in the documentary God’s Country (1986), with the later interviews appearing as a short epilogue at the end of the movie. “6 Years in America” uses split-screen to directly juxtapose these two sections  of the film, allowing us to observe two eras simultaneously and reflect on what the passage of time has wrought.

The video, as well as some additional images, follow the jump:

The Favorites - Place de la Republique (#88)

The Favorites is a series briefly exploring films I love, to find out what makes them - and me - tick. Place de la Republique (1974/France/dir. Louis Malle) appeared at #88 on my original list.

What it is • We open with an old man wandering slowly through a public area in Paris, the Place de la Republique where all the "action" of the film will take place. As the camera and microphone follow closely behind, his expression registers no recognition - finally, director Louis Malle asks if he knew they were filming him. Nonchalantly, only vaguely bemused, he shrugs and shakes his head...then goes on about his business. It's a perfect little opening for two reasons: because the rest of the documentary will continue this easygoing, playful sense of engagement with it subjects, but also because this sets up an ironic counterpoint to the rest of Republique. For the next ninety minutes, all of the everday, real-life passerbys Louis Malle follows or chats up will be hyper-aware of the camera and microphone, often becoming quite conscious performers. We meet old pensioners, young shopgirls, worn-out immigrants, middle-aged philanderers, and a chic wig saleswoman who defly turns the tables on director Malle. "I know who you are," she slyly remarks, before wishing him a happy 40th birthday.

Why I like it •