Stress Is Three (1968) | Directed by Carlos Saura

 4/5

Carlos Saura’s Stress Is Three continues the Spanish auteur’s interrogation of machismo and masculinity. The black-and-white cinematography perfectly suits the film’s tone – especially as we see begin to see more of Fernando’s subjective perspective on the world around him. Like so many of Saura’s films up to this point, we have older men with younger women (this is commented on throughout the film as being unusual), and this is one reason for Fernando’s insecurity within his marriage. The editing is fantastic – quick cuts intensify and fragment the action, further pushing the couple away from one another. It’s extremely compelling to watch the ways that the husband’s petty jealousy and insecurity end up pushing his wife further away from him – his attempts to control her, to spy on her, his certainty that she is being unfaithful ends up being what causes a major rift in their marriage. Once again, Saura ratchets up the tension with his editing rhythms (short bursts of aggression, constant attempts at one-upping each other) until the explosive ending. While it may not have as much of the rich symbolism as earlier Saura films, it’s still quite strong.

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Peppermint Frappe (1967) | Directed by Carlos Saura

 4.5/5

Carlos Saura’s Peppermint Frappe is another incisive and biting interrogation of masculinity. You can easily see the influence Vertigo had on the film (especially in the way references are woven throughout its fabric), but it’s refreshing to see Saura explore the ways that this impulse in men to shape and control the women in their lives is so incredibly destructive, toxic, and perverse. There’s also an exploration of privilege in Spanish society under Franco, as well as the entitlement wealthy men feel toward women’s bodies, luxuries, and indeed, anything they want. There are different levels to this privilege, so while our nominal protagonist might have power in one setting, the husband of the woman he loves wields much more power in others. The use of color throughout is striking, with gorgeous bursts of green and red in tight compositions that stick with you long after the film has ended. Saura also uses long sequence shots that encircle the characters, placing us in the viewpoint of the menacing, roving, and hungry eyes of the film’s men. There’s only one way this film could end, and Saura keeps ratcheting up the tension until we reach its inevitable, gruesome conclusion.

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The Hunt (1966) | Directed by Carlos Saura

 4/5

Content Warning: The film contains several extended scenes of animal cruelty.

Carlos Saura’s The Hunt is a brutal portrait of toxic masculinity and class privilege. Existing as stand-ins for the corruption and decadence at the heart of fascist Spain, it would be all too easy to make each of the four men in this hunting party carbon copies of each other, flattening them each into caricature. It’s impressive seeing the ways that Saura differentiates each of them, giving them all fully developed and richly drawn characters. The use of voiceover throughout is exceptional – by handing the voiceover off between the four primary characters, it helps us drill deeper into their petty grievances, their hopes and fears, their insecurities. And all of this ramps up the always escalating tension that runs throughout the film. The rabbit hunt is a brutal and a difficult scene, but the repetition of images and quick editing rhythms conveys a grotesquerie and a decadence, a stomach-churning disregard for life that had taken hold among the elite within Franco’s Spain. Whether the men are drinking, shooting for sport, looking through their magazines at pinup models, or leering at underage girls, we’re constantly presented with their avarice and greed. The gut-wrenching finale is explosive – the logical outcome of this unchecked sense of entitlement and arrogance. It may be a brutal film, but it’s incredibly honest.

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Sierra (2022) | Directed by Sander Joon

 3.5/5

Sander Joon’s Sierra is a completely wild and unhinged work of animation about a son trying to connect to his controlling and manipulative father. The animation is playful, surreal, and chaotic – yet it’s always fun and engaging. There’s something so sad and truthful about the ways the son remakes and transforms himself to please his father but is unable to change back once he has fully become what his father has always wanted him to be. And it’s something of a small cinematic miracle that, in spite of how dark and tragic the film’s trajectory, it still manages to end on a somewhat hopeful note.

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Preparations to Be Together for an Unknown Period of Time (2020) | Directed by Lili Horvát

 4.5/5

Lili Horvát’s Preparations to Be Together for an Unknown Period of Time is a haunting and unsettling exploration of love, connection, and all of the unreasonable expectations we bring into each new relationship. Horvát brings in elements of noir and supernatural thrillers, playing with the ways that we all read and misread every gesture or missed phone call in a new relationship. Márta’s empty apartment becomes the perfect visual metaphor for her own aimlessness and sense of dislocation. The fluidity of time and space conveyed through the loose, handled camera and careful editing rhythms is another tool at Horvát’s disposal to show how Márta is cut off from connection and community. And while things appear to be moving toward wholeness and connection, the tenuousness of the final image leaves the ending appropriately ambiguous for a film that is this thoughtful and mysterious. This is a really beautiful, hypnotic film, one that will leave you eager to return to its mysteries.

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Bacurau (2019) | Directed by Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles

 5/5

Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles’s Bacurau is a glorious film that walks a delicate tightrope between high-minded, art-house, political treatise on the corrosive effects of capitalism and colonialism on the one hand, and deliriously pulpy, blood-soaked thriller borrowing elements from science fiction and horror on the other. The fact that this mash-up of tones and styles all works – and that each disparate piece serves to compliment the other – is something of a miracle. Filho and Dornelles’s use of wipes, crossfades, and slow dissolves harken back to the socially-conscious, near-future sci-fi films of the ‘70s – placing this film in direct conversation with many of the eco-minded, nuclear dystopias of yesteryear. The use of music inspired by (and even one track composed by) John Carpenter links the film to ‘70s horror, but Filho and Dornelles take all of these influences to make BACURAU their own sublime work of art. They take all of these pulpy elements to explore the ways in which western colonial powers attempt to erase Indigenous cultures and communities in order to get what they want from them. And yet, Filho and Dornelles haven’t made a two hour film where we watch a poor community suffer. Instead, it’s a stirring portrait of what it means to come together and unite for the common good. It’s an incredible film – vibrant, funny, violent, and one that has a whole lot on its mind.

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Sorry We Missed You (2019) | Directed by Ken Loach

 4.5/5

Ken Loach’s Sorry We Missed You is another fiery, angry film from the master of working-class British realism and an essential look at the ways modern capitalism dehumanizes the individual while pretending to be giving us more choice and greater flexibility. This time it’s the gig economy and contract work that call under Loach’s carefully researched microscope, and the film takes care to show how the options for regular, full-time employment have become more and more limited, pushing more workers into jobs with no protections, no benefits, no time off, and the illusory promise of “flexibility” that really mean lost wages and fines. The film’s rhythms are intentionally suffocating, barely giving us a moment to breathe before the narrative hurtles us to the next task, the next delivery, the next job, without a moment’s respite, leaving us as emotionally exhausted as the characters. And the film is carefully structured to show us the toll this type of work takes, not just on the individual, but on the family as well. It’s an angry, urgent film that cries out for better protections and safeguards for everyone forced into gig employment, demanding better from those in power.

Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948) | Directed by H.C. Potter

 3.5/5

H.C. Potter’s Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House is a delightful little comedy from classic Hollywood – narratively slight, perhaps, but delightful just the same. Cinematographer James Wong Howe’s long tracking shot that opens the film and introduces us to the Blandings family’s “cramped” apartment is exquisite – it’s the perfect way to set up the plot, especially after the quick succession of ironic clips about how idyllic life is in the hustle and bustle of New York City. Cary Grant is great, as always, as is Myrna Loy, and rounding out the trio leads is Melvyn Douglas with a fantastic performance as friend of the family and the sole voice of reason in the midst of all the shenanigans. I love that Loy is just as unreasonable and over-the-top with her demands as Grant – and there’s a touching moment toward the end where an honest contractor brings the film out of its deepest point of crisis. But the whole endeavor feels a little too slight at the end of the day – the stakes aren’t very high and the narrative is really just a series of building mishaps. A series of very funny building mishaps, but not much to string a feature film around. Still, it’s light, enjoyable entertainment, and you can do worse than to have a few hours with the Blandings.

Teorema (1968) | Directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini

 4/5

Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Teorema is an intricately constructed philosophical rumination about the consequences of encountering the uncomfortable truths behind the facades we wear in public. The threadbare plot is relatively simple – a young man is staying with a wealthy, bourgeois family and has a sexual encounter with each of them. When he leaves, the family is left to explore what they’ve learned about themselves. The bifurcated plot makes the film into a cinematic diptych, with the second half of the film serving as a mirror to the first in much the same way that the visitor in the film becomes a mirror for each member of the family. The narrative itself has a kind of fable-like quality, suggesting in the end that deep encounters with the holy or the divine can destroy our perceptions of ourselves – especially if we’ve been insulated by privilege and wealth and power. The precise geometric staging of certain creates an eeriness and tension as Pasolini juxtaposes this rigid formality with a loose, handheld camera to suggest the family’s unmooring from their own sense of self. Like many of Pasolini’s best films, Teorema is a film that rewards careful thought and contemplation. The ideas within are deeply challenging to our notions of faith, class, and even sexual identity. Even if you ultimately reject his premise, Pasolini has given us something here that worth wrestling with.

Blonde Crazy (1931) | Directed by Roy Del Ruth

 4/5

Roy Del Ruth’s Blonde Crazy is a completely surprising and thoroughly delightful pre-Code comedy that is filled with unexpected narrative twists and turns that will satisfy even the most jaded of viewers. Joan Blondell and James Cagney are wonderful leads and have such an easy rapport with on another onscreen – both turn in incredibly natural, compelling performances. The cons that they pull off together are fun to watch, and Cagney’s character is given a really lovely arc. Like many films from the ’30s, it’s refreshing to see classic cinema challenge the sexism of the day with such ferocity. It was a surprise to see just how blatantly the film shows the way men attempted to take advantage of women whom they perceived to be of lower classes. The film’s frank and somewhat brutal exploration of class – especially the ways that the upper class could insulate themselves from the consequences of their actions – feels like shocking thing to see in such an early film. It’s a reminder that I need to watch more films from the early ’30s.