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Feel-bad cinema

Gerald Peary's year in movies
By GERALD PEARY  |  December 21, 2006

This critic's been carping for decades about feel-good cinema, how lousy it makes me feel, and this year I got the misery I begged for.  In 2006,  director after director signed in with downer bummer movies, yet I felt no uplift at all. These were EMPTY downer bummer movies,  depressing and tortured tales signifying nothing, specious at the core, vacuous at the unhappy endings.  Yuck!

Can anyone out there explain how those creepy tales in Babel connect in any coherent way,  except that they're uniformly grim and unpleasant and go on forever? Ditto the private Idaho of David Lynch's Inland Empire.  Steven Soderbergh bragged he was making on old-time Hollywood studio flick of the Casablanca ilk with The Good German. Not! What his dreary movie foolishly stripped away is Casablanca's warmth and humanity.  

Here's a further list of seedy, depraved pictures, mostly by talented filmmakers, which sent me scurrying out of the theatre and up a wall in 2006: Stranger Than Fiction (Marc Forster), Lady in the Water (M. Night Shyamalan), Little Children (Todd Field), All the King's Men (Steve Zaillian), A Scanner Darkly (Richard Linklater), Art SchoolConfidential (Terry Zwigoff ).

The failure of Little Children was a particular disappointment, since it's from a fine novel by a friend, Belmont author, Tom Perotta, who also collaborated on the screenplay. But while Perotta's book is darkly comic, subtle of tone, the movie is drenched in tragedy and depravity.  I blame the director,  Todd Field,  for transforming a tiny story into a bombastic one, dripping with gravitas. Field can never forget he worked with Stanley Kubrick, by acting in Eyes Wide Shut. He's deluded to believe he's inherited Kubrick's genius.

What else was wrong with 2006? Robert Altman, America's greatest living filmmaker, is no longer living.  Nor is Betty Comden, one half of the immortal team (with the late Adolf Green),  who penned Singin' in the Rain and other musical masterworks. Nor is Gillo Pontecorvo,  the Italian director of The Battle of Algiers, the most incendiary of radical films, who also made, to my mind, the most underrated of all movies: the Marlon Brando-starring Queimada|Burn!  I'm consoled a bit to have met all the above. I brought Comden and Green to speak at BU,  I had breakfast with Pontecorvo in Istanbul, and I interviewed a very affable Altman several years ago in Boston, a conversation that rambled from Jacques Tati to the Red Sox.

And my final complaint about 2006, a serious one: where have all the foreign-language movies gone? They'll play quickly at the MFA, or the Boston Jewish Film Festival, or the Harvard Film Archive. But not since the 1950s have so few foreign-language films gotten distribution, and regular theatre runs. This is really awful: there's not one French or Italian or Russian filmmaker working today whose name carries box-office weight. Is Spain's Pedro Almodovar the only non-English-speaking European director whom people go obediently to see his films?

Finally, the laurels of 2006.

BEST FILM: Clint Eastwood's masterly diptych, Flag of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima, extraordinary revisionist histories, powerful cinema storytelling, and perhaps the most persuasive anti-war films ever. Separating them is as absurd as choosing among Aeschylus's Oresteia Trilogy or Shakespeare's Henry plays.

BEST DISCOVERY: Jean-Pierre Melville's Army of Shadows (1969), the first American screenings of this hardboiled masterpiece of the French Resistance.

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