Landscape In The Mist (1988)

"In the beginning, was the darkness….and then there was light!"

For Voula (Tania Palaiologou), a girl approaching her teens and her little brother Alexandros (Michalis Zeke), about half her age, this profound snippet from the Genesis that she calls a bed-time story, serves as the ultimate mantra of hope and optimism, as the siblings embark on their rather unreasonable and perilous cross-country journey to reach their father! All they know from their mother (who we never seen on screen) is that he resides somewhere in Germany.

The naive children give little thought to it and decide to catch a train to Germany, never once suspecting that their mother, embarrassed from their constant questioning might just have fabricated the whole father story to withhold their illegitimacy from them. However, they believe that eventually there will be light, and the prospect of finding their father becomes a reason to carry out the journey, a reason to go on; a reason to break out of their comfort zone and step out into a world unknown.

Greek master Theodoros Angelopoulos' "Landscape In The Mist" (1988) may be described on some sites as a road movie centering around two children, but it would be a sin to reduce something so phenomenal, to something so concise and limited. Angelopoulos' film is a cinematic masterpiece that is beyond classification.

Even though it primarily chronicles the journey, as seen through the eyes of these children, "Landscape in the Mist" transcends from the literal to the lyrical in showcasing a journey that is not only physical but also spiritual. For the kids, it is an odyssey that, apart from covering physical distances,also traverses emotional heights, serving as an extraordinary rite of passage, a coming of age.

While the rather risky expedition the kids undertake provides the narrative edge to keep the viewer hooked, Angelopoulos packs in a lot of thematic material to ponder on along the way. "Landscape in the Mist" talks of a quest that is universal to all of mankind; a long, unpredictable voyage into the unknown, or a seemingly never-ending existential struggle to attain a far-reaching, unattainable goal. Fate, destiny, and a sense of purpose to life are predominant themes of the film.

As they travel from place to place, board trains, get evicted for lack of tickets, we hear Voula's voice-over narrating unwritten letters to her father, which sometimes spell hope and enthusiasm and at other times, express fatigue and the desire to give up their quest. And yet, something keeps them going, despite the apathy shown by an uncle and his disheartening comments about their father's existence.

The kids run into a kind soul, a young Orestes (Stratos Tzortzoglou) who works with the Travelling Players (a reference to Angelopoulos' 1975 film). They are a theater troupe, now reduced to wandering about, in search of audiences and a theater to perform their beloved play, "Golfo, the Shepherdess". For these artists, performing the play is their sense of purpose in life, but sadly their prospects are dwindling. They are steadfast however, and keep on, for they believe that theater is their only destiny.

Orestes himself struggles with an uncertain future and his unproductive journey thus far. "I'm a snail slithering away into nothingness", he says, for the time would soon come to end his association with the troupe and the kids in order to go into an inevitable Military service. He dreads this future in the army and fears being left to perish. And yet, his purpose in the story inadvertently becomes that of a protector for the kids, a guardian angel of sorts. Then could Military service actually be his vocation, his calling, a destiny chosen for him, for he is the one who protects?

A gifted filmmaker that Angelopoulos is, he manages to strike an unusual balance between the cold, distant and calculated and the melancholic and emotionally sublime. Slow, long takes dominate with accompanying silences, allowing the viewer to rest with every fantastic, mist-laden frame that lingers on screen generously, making a powerful impact. Sometimes the silence is broken to give way to a cathartic breakdown, courtesy the extremely moving score by Eleni Karaindrou.

The oft-mentioned dying horse/wedding scene is only one instance of the powerful imagery that contains the film's universe within it. One can't overlook that almost prophetic mad rambling of the senile old woman in the police station who keeps repeating "He tied the rope…"! It cannot be a coincidence that soon after, we see a dying horse tied to a rope being dragged on the street.

The snowfall and its transfixed audience staring at the sky and the first sighting of the traveling players emerging from a corner, to eventually vanish in an eerily empty town street, replete with an abandoned, scattered vegetable cart, are sequences of unmatched brilliance. They render a surreal, mystical quality to the film's universe, thereby allowing the viewer to identify with Angelopoulos' world, compelling us to not rule out the possibility of anything unreal happening in it!

There are curiously placed, significant scenes of symbolic importance strewn across the film, accurately driving home the themes of the film. An unsuspecting chicken walks into an unknown territory as onlookers quietly watch it. It treads its steps with equal confidence and caution, and yet it is unaware of the danger that lies ahead. Within moments, a man grabs it and takes it away, presumably to make a meal out it. This situation directly mirrors those of the kids, especially Voula who is unaware of the risk she has taken, venturing out alone into the big bad world, solely responsible for the safety of herself and her brother. She walks into the trap of the wolf, the pedophilic truck driver, leading to a very unfortunate means to a sexual awakening.

It's only a matter of time before this pubescent girl, on the brink of adulthood, develops quiet feelings for the handsome Orestes, her sudden and tragic loss of innocence notwithstanding. Orestes notices this in her eyes when he asks her for that dance, and seems to back away. Theirs is an impossible love. It doesn't have a future. The spiral staircase leading to nowhere that stands next to them in this very scene, speaks volumes of the inner conflicts of Orestes and Voula regarding their future, as well as a relationship that isn't meant to be.

The three young souls make up the foundation of the film, and the film is about their journey, their destiny. A giant hand rises from the waters in one of the greatest scenes ever in the history of cinema, and soars above them, suspended from a helicopter, as some ubiquitous cyclists in yellow raincoats (who also appear in Angelopoulos' "Eternity and a Day" (1998), ten years later!) look on. Is it the hand of fate, or the hand of God? Are the yellow raincoats actually angels, overlooking their activity?

If the hypnotic moments leading to the jaw-dropping conclusion of "Landscape in the Mist", capable of making one skip a beat with their sheer leap-out magnificence and a realization of a prophetic revelation, are anything to go by, then it wouldn't be a stretch at all.

Score: 10/10

Mephisto (1981)

Life imitates art with a cruelly ironic twist of fate for a small-time German theater actor during the rise of the Nazi party in pre-WWII Germany. 

István Szabó's Oscar winning "Mephisto" (1981), adapted from the Klaus Mann novel is a delicious twist on the Deal with the Devil motif. Born to play the character of Mephisto in a stage adaptation of the legend of Faust, Hendrik Hoefgen (Klaus Maria Brandauer) is an immensely talented and ambitious Hamburg actor. As pure evil (in the form of Nazi dictatorship) spreads its dark wings and descends upon them, Hoefgen finds out the hard way, that his performance of a lifetime would end up being that of a weak, Faust-like puppet in the hands of a higher Mephisto, the ruling Nazi General (Rolf Hoppe). As the General dictates Hoefgen's every move, he tempts him into giving up his very conscience in return for a respectable position and unprecedented success. Individual freedom, thought and morality be damned, as long as stardom and social standing is guaranteed.

But in hindsight, what Hoefgen does is very human. As his wife leaves him to flee the country, and some friends and colleagues join the resistance, fearing for the future of theater and arts, Hoefgen sticks to his guns, more out of fear and a strictly apolitical stance. He always maintains that it's none of his business who comes into power, as long as he gets to pursue his first love, that is acting. It dawns upon him rather late, but he anticipates it anyway, that he may find himself at the juncture where he may have to choose between success and freedom. In the Nazi rule, an end to freedom means an end to everything. When one loses their right to speak out against what seems morally wrong to the sane mind, when one has to forego their conscience and be a mute spectator as their friends are taken away to be bumped off for only raising a finger in protest, isn't it indeed, but an act of selling one's soul?

By his own admittance, Hoefgen is weak, as also pointed out by the General during their first meet. "It seems the secret of acting is to portray strength, yet one is weak", he remarks and laughs cheekily while commenting on Hoefgen's rather limp handshake and an undeniable kindness in the eyes of the man wearing the mask of Mephisto. Despite this, he makes his best efforts to save his friends of leftist tendencies and others, including the half German - half African girlfriend from being targeted for being racially impure. 

Acting is a central motif of "Mephisto" and its context and significance observes a shift through the film and through Hoefgen's gradual descent into hell. On a literal level, Hoefgen is this passionate actor, who regards his talent and art above everything else. It is interesting how his own viewpoint about his profession sees a marked change, from the beginning of the film, when at one point he asks "Do you know what it means to be an actor?" to a quote later (mentioned at the end of the review) in which it seems that he deems it a mere trifle in a drastic change of context.

"An actor is a mask", Hoefgen says. Sure enough, acting entails masking one's real self. In Szabó's film, acting also becomes a metaphor for conforming. With the Nazi party and its oppressive regime coming into power, individual thought and freedom is suppressed. Becoming a party to and complying with their authoritarian ways becomes the new role taken on by an individual, although not by their own accord. And this is where Hoefgen occupies the very center of the conflict between an individual and his/her actor counterpart, for Hoefgen is that passion-driven man who favours the actor in him more than anything else.

Acting is in his blood, and so when it comes to compliance, in return for success, it's merely a way of life for him; a transition, yes, but to a higher stature in the same profession, although it comes as a product of some degree of fear and the inability to uproot himself from his motherland. Aside from being a symbolic core of the story, Hoefgen is literally put in the center of two circles in two haunting scenes, one being a sort of Devils's dance, with a few guys wearing the masks of Mephisto encircling and dancing around him; and the other visually brilliant sequence, in which he is almost blinded by spotlights flashed from all sides, manoeuvring him like giant puppet strings.

Szabó balances the heavy thematic content of the film with an immaculately constructed screenplay that is quite detailed, but never skips a beat. A sense of foreboding and impending terror gradually makes its presence felt as the carefree mood of the beginning starts to dissolve into an air of fear and doom, and hints are sprinkled that the Nazis may come to power, threatening to change things for the worse. There are awfully bad things happening, but they are merely suggested and any instances of war-related or political atrocities are mostly kept off screen and out of the scope of the film, and yet the impact is never diluted. There is no room for any exaggerated melodrama and not a single wrong or awkward note is ever struck.

The theatrics are reserved only for the great Klaus Maria Brandauer, who delivers a heartfelt, electric performance to trump all performances. He showcases an amazing range, from going way over the top in his theater histrionics to shedding that silent, contemplative tear once in a while for a friend who may have lost his life for standing up against an autocratic system. Klaus takes on dual roles of Mephisto and Faust at the same time, an all-powerful actor, admired and sought after in the social circles for his titular role and also the meek pawn that is Faust, exalted or derided at the whim of his employer. And what a devilish employer too, with that cherubic face and yet an unmistakable malice evident from behind that sweet smile, a part played to perfection by Rolf Hoppe.

With immaculate casting and flawless writing and direction, this "Mephisto" (1981) casts a captivating spell 'til the credits start rolling. It has that rare ability to make us root for a very flawed hero, without itself taking any sides. And hence, we find ourselves simply nodding in agreement when Hoefgen breaks the fourth wall and exclaims, "What do they want of me? After all, I am only an actor!"

Score: 10/10

Diva (1981)

"Diva" (1981) was among the first of what they called the Cinéma du look movement, wherein a film was all about gloss, about style, and less about the substance. Despite the rather discouraging knowledge of this acquired definition of the movement, the plot summary was nevertheless, intriguing enough to give this one a shot.

A legendary Opera singer, Cynthia Hawkins, popularly known as the Diva (Wilhelmenia Fernandez), who is against recording her music, delivers a grand performance, which is secretly recorded on some top-notch equipment by a young postman, Jules (Frédéric Andréi), who is a smitten fan. He is noticed doing this by a pair of Taiwanese bootleggers and/or record label mafia (?) who decide to pursue the young man to get their hands on this priceless recording so as to blackmail and coerce the singer into officially recording for them.

Meanwhile, another vital tape, a confession of a prostitute implicating the city police chief (Jacques Fabbri) in a prostitution racket, makes its way, unwittingly into the postman's hands; a tape which is badly wanted by the chief and a pair of pimps who will go to any level to keep the root of the racket a secret. And thus begins a chase like no other; with its share of mix-ups and misunderstandings, involving a motley bunch of people either trying to save the tapes, destroy the tapes, or use them to their advantage.

It's not an original premise - we have seen stuff like this before, and also after: A single object of great importance (known in the cinematic parlance as the Macguffin), or in this case, two (tapes), in the possession of a clueless young protagonist, being pursued by unrelated characters for various reasons.  We know what we are usually in for in cases like these. The main guy will be chased around town, wondering what the hell is happening, there will be a kingpin out to get the booty, and there will be opportunists waiting to take advantage of the situation. Bodies will pile up, the booty will exchange hands, and the plot will be driven to its exciting conclusion.

Not surprisingly, this is more or less how the story proceeds. And therefore, we begin to shift our attention to the treatment and also the how of it, rather than the what. We focus more on the handling, on the thrills, on the punches, rather than the direction of the plot development.

Jean-Jacques Beineix certainly achieves the look. Cinematographer Philippe Rousselot captures the seductive neon-lit charm of the streets of Paris by night; not to mention the great use of colours, overall. The strange abode of Gorodish (Richard Bohringer) is electric blue. He loves the sea and owns a secluded castle overlooking the sea. Hell, even his jigsaw puzzle features the picture of a deep blue sea! Jules' apartment is a fancy place converted out of what seems to be an old loft garage, with beautiful artwork comprising of cars and nude women.

The scenes in the police station are always filmed with a beautiful sun-shiny golden hue. The eclectic soundtrack of Opera, synth-pop and classic rock goes a long way in making these awesome pictures come alive. There's a very ethereal feel to the long walk taken by Jules and Cynthia across the city in the early hours of dawn. An ambience of a chaste romance and perhaps an impossible one is very aptly created.

Sadly, all its visuals, its colourful characters and style, are not enough to get past some of the awful contrivances, some illogical twists and predictably silly turns that begin to surface in the latter half of the film. We are soon brought into the archetypal action thriller territory with impossible chases, incompetent cops and nick-of-time rescues! The famous moped chase scene is one of the most ridiculous scenes ever, even if it has been lauded for the way it has been filmed; either it hasn't dated well or it is simply not digestible enough. There are various other instances of characters popping up at the unlikeliest of places at the most precise of instances to save the day, or ruin it - it is almost magical!

It's a cliché that plagues many a Hollywood and Bollywood films. All the cops are bungling nitwits and all the villains are ruthless caricatures who get away with almost everything; 'til the very end of course, while you keep rooting for the good guys.

Stuff like this still works with the right handling and the right comic punches and thrills delivered the right way. But "Diva" doesn't have that kind of an edge to it. It doesn't help matters that the dialog is mostly tepid and half-baked as well. "Diva" struggles to stay afloat and we await the end of this vapid circus, while the titular Diva and the bootleg recording get sidelined for the most part. Cynthia literally disappears in the final half. Whatever novelty this plot had to offer, about the purity of music and its preservation, gets sidelined as well, and we return to the same old drugs and prostitution business. The confession tape and characters involved in it become the focal point...the spirit of music takes a back seat.

It's a beautiful moment when Cynthia reappears in the end to listen to her own tape and exclaim "I have never heard myself sing".  Alas, by this time, we stop caring about her thought-provoking views on music.


Score: 6/10