Lost in Criterion

The last of Pasolini's Arabian Nights betrays a director who is steadily on his way to making Salò, and he would begin work on that magnum opus just after he finished Arabian Nights. Like the previous two films in this trilogy, Arabian Nights adapts a well known collection of stories with a heavy focus on the most erotic ones. Pat argues that unlike the others Arabian Nights feels more dour, less fun. Adam's not so sure. But in either case Arabian Nights is filled with memorable and provocative images, like the dildo arrow.

Continuing through Pasolini's Trilogy of Life this week we have The Canterbury Tales (1972). Pasolini's adaptation of a a foundational English text includes many naked and British people, including Tom Baker. While the film's epilogue changes the book to make these tales "told only for the pleasure of telling", Pasolini's celebration of pre-consumerism sex comes with a certain growing darkness. We'll talk more on that next week, but for now let's enjoy medieval Charlie Chaplin.

Spine 631 is a boxset of Pier Paolo Pasolini's "Trilogy of Life", a collection of adaptations of collections of stories. We kick it off this week with The Decamaron, based on Giovanni Boccaccio's 14th century collection of tragic and erotic stories. Pasolini adapts these as celebrations of pre-capitalist, pre-consumerist sex, language, and dentistry. Pasolini's Decamaron is very horny, and very fun. We can't wait to see what he does in the rest of the Trilogy of Life

Roman Polanski adapts Ira Levin's 1967 novel into this 1968 film, though adapts may not be the right word. Transcribes, maybe? The original cut was a very faithful transference of the source material into the film medium, perhaps more faithful than any novel to film adaptation has ever been. Then he let someone else edit it down to a reasonable movie.

Mia Farrow is great in it, perhaps because her personal life married to Frank Sinatra was pretty close to Rosemary's story. John Cassavetes is great in it despite Polanski's best efforts to reign him in. And I know have a least favorite cinematic satan to add to the list.

John Schlesinger's Sunday Bloody Sunday (1971) is a deeply personal work, presaging New Hollywood while making something neither New Hollywood or the British New Wave would dare. We meet a middle-aged doctor, Daniel, and a 30 something divorced woman, Alex, who are both dating Bob, a young artist who makes them both feel alive even if he's a self-centered jerk most of the time. Like the average non-Lubitsch film about polyamory, this relationship is obviously doomed, but the exploration of Daniel and Alex's emotional journey in their final week with Bob is exquisite. Plus, we get to meet some of the most wonderfully precocious we've ever seen in a Criterion picture.

Joshua Marston's The Forgiveness of Blood (2011) takes a hard look at the effects of honor codes that get twisted into demanding blood penance. It's a fantastic familial drama, but also gives us a jumping off point to talk about (re)interpreting (para)religious texts to favor mercy and care, and also how both Sovietism and capitalism seek a hegemony that the state controls. That's right, Pat crosses to Adam's side and flirts with anarchism this week on Lost in Criterion

Jonathan Wacks' Powwow Highway (1989) takes a lot of trappings of a holiday road movie, but leaves them behind when needed as we explore the characters and relationship of two Cheyenne men struggling in to hold onto tradition in a world controlled by colonizers. This may be the first holiday film we've covered where the only person who says "Merry Christmas" is the villain. Christmas in Powwow Highway exists as a colonizers' holiday, but perhaps one held in tension as well.

Our dear friend Stephen G. joins us for as we celebrate another year in the books!

There are two David Fincher movies in the Criterion Collection, and The Game (1997) is the better one by a long shot, solely for not featuring the monstrous simulacrums of the human form that exist throughout The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008. Spine 476). The Game is mostly an interesting thriller that doesn't do enough with its San Francisco setting, but then in the last few minutes it jumps of a building and utterly fails to stick the landing.

Marcel Carné made Les Visiteurs du Soir (1942) during Nazi occupation of France for a Nazi-owned production company, and while one could argue that this is collaboration and one could also argue that Carné used his position to help Jewish artists keep working, that fact that this is a Nazi-produced film is somehow not the most egregious part of the production. We spend a lot of time on what the most egregious part actually was in this week's episode, actually. Carné was clearly a man in conflict during production, but it's still mostly a delightful film and another data point for my list of cinematic Satans.

Paul Bartel directs this black comedy that's "not Lubitsch—but it’s not quite John Waters either", according to Criterion essayist David Ehrenstein. Eating Raoul (1982), is a story of America, of the normally hidden and unpunished violence of wealth accumulation. Or it's a story of America, of two prudish weirdos punishing the people they don't like. Or it's a story of America. the dream of revenge against the managerial class.

Or it's none of these things completely, as we get into a discussion this week about just how strong the metaphor in Eating Raoul is. But hey, it's still a pretty fun movie.