Eva [1962]

In Eva, Joseph Losey had one foot into the underpinnings of American genre movies from his past and the other in the vocabulary of European arthouse cinema which he was headed to. These parallel facets strikingly informed his decision to adapt James Hadley Chase’s novel Eve – a compulsive, racy and gleefully lurid tale – into an unabashedly European film, with the setting transplanted from LA to Venice, and the story’s bleak and seedy fatalism – which it mirrored – counterpointed with a style that was modernist, baroque and dazzling. The latter aspect thereby flamboyantly foreshadowed the expressionistic palette of The Servant which he made next year. The resulting film, which was cut by the producers without Losey’s permission, was as manic, delirious and exhilarating a work as Michel Legrand’s thrilling jazz score that flamboyantly accompanied nearly its entire length. At its core, of course, was Jeanne Moreau – at the pinnacle of her beauty, glamour and fame, and at her most irresistible and magnetic – as the titular Eva, a bewitching, coldly seductive and unapologetically promiscuous femme fatale who’s addicted in equal measures to money, gambling and Billie Holiday. Tyvian (Stanley Baker), an embittered Welsh author from working-class background, who’s suddenly become rich and famous with his bestselling first novel – albeit one harbouring a shameful secret – is attracted to her like a suicidal moth to a blazing fire. In the process, he alienates his loving fiancée (Virna Lisi), squanders his wealth, and irrevocably damages his shaky reputation. Venice, with its decadence and dilapidation, provided a poetic setting, and which – along with the self-destructive tale – was stunningly photographed in B/W by Gianni Di Venanzo through a mix of compelling single-takes and bold Dutch angle shots.

Director: Joseph Losey

Genre: Drama/Romantic Noir

Language: English/Italian

Country: France

The Go-Between [1971]

 The three films that Joseph Losey and Harold Pinter made together – The Servant, Accident and The Go-Between – were all piercing examinations of class, adapted from literary texts (in this case, from L.P. Hartley’s renowned novel), and amalgamations of formal and narrative bravura. The common grounds aside, however, they strikingly diverged in tones, styles, settings and structures, thereby underlining the duo’s artistic ambitions. Unlike the pitch-dark satire and dizzying expressionism of the first film, and the unsettling modernism of the second, this had the most overly classical palette, with its lush period setting, sprawling cast, lyricism and melancholy. Further, while the events take place in the past, they’re informed by a framing device set in the present, thus making it a quietly devastating exploration of memory and time. The story unfolds from the perspective of 12-year-old Leo (Dominic Guard) – and in turn his much older self, reminiscing about a fateful summer that continues to haunt him – who’s been invited to spend his vacation at the palatial country house of his wealthy school friend Marcus. That he’s from a lower social and economic class is readily apparent, which makes him a bemused outsider. He finds himself besotted with Marcus’ ravishing older sister Marian (Julie Christie), who’s engaged to a man of her social standing (Edward Fox) but is in a forbidden relationship with a raffish local farmer (Alan Bates). Upon being enlisted as secret messenger by the covert lovers, Leo transitions from tacit observer to active participant. Sumptuously mounted and photographed, the exterior sections were a series of sublimely lit, composed and framed images resembling French impressionist paintings, while the stirring score enveloped them with longing, lost innocence and blazing emotions.

Director: Joseph Losey

Genre: Drama/Romantic Drama/Ensemble Film

Language: English

Country: UK

Accident [1967]

 Four years after exiled American filmmaker Joseph Losey had joined hands with British playwright Harold Pinter for the explosive The Servant, they teamed up for Accident, the second of their renowned trilogy of collaborations (they’d work together again on the marvellous The Go-Between). A barbed, smouldering and formally rigorous examination of brittle masculinity, sexual rivalry, abuse of power and dysfunctional bourgeois relationships, this was Losey’s distinctive turn to the “arthouse” aesthetics associated with continental European filmmakers like Antonioni, Resnais and Chabrol. The duo constructed this adaptation of Nicholas Mosley’s novel through delicate interplay between formal exactitude and freewheeling progression, and between minimalist expressions and emotional tumult, while depicting midlife crises, repressed desires, simmering jealousies, and the way that these shockingly unfold (reminding me of Roeg and Saura). It begins with a fatal car accident, and the screenplay – clinically pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle – reveals what preceded that through intricate flashback sequences. Stephen (Dirk Bogarde) is an eerily composed Oxford tutor, living in an idyllic country house with his wife (Vivien Merchant), who’s pregnant with their third child. All’s not well, unfortunately, beneath their seemingly banal and contented life, as he’s become infatuated with his ravishing Austrian student Anna (Jacqueline Sassard), who’s being romantically pursued by a fellow student while having a furtive affair with Stephen’s colleague Charley (Stanley Baker). He’s envious of Charley’s adulterous fling as well as his TV appearances, that leads him to a former lover (Delphine Seyrig) and an ugly transgression after the said accident. This brilliantly photographed film, accompanied by a jazz score, carried a discomfiting “life-imitating-art” subtext as Merchant was then in a disintegrating marriage to Pinter on account of his open infidelity.

Director: Joseph Losey

Genre: Drama/Marriage Drama/Psychological Drama

Language: English

Country: UK

The Servant [1963]

 The Servant bruises its viewers like red-hot iron with its trenchant and subversive dissection of class and power, its electrifying blend of flamboyantly baroque aesthetics and coolly modernist form, its unsettling homoerotic undertones, and the way it tantalizingly occupied the subliminal space between tar black satire and psychological terror. The first of three remarkable collaborations between Joseph Losey – the great American exile who’d been blacklisted from Hollywood for his left-wing politics – and Harold Pinter – an exciting young British playwright then, in his first tryst with screenwriting – this remains the most acclaimed directorial venture of Losey (even if his greatest film was Monsieur Klein) and screenplay by Pinter. If the former’s simmering and spectacularly caustic evocation of barely contained hysteria, anarchy and violence, and the latter’s virtuoso script (adapted from Robin Maugham's novella) – filled as much with complex confrontations as with precision, silences, inflections and wry asides – were two stunning sides of this meticulously balanced triangle, undoubtedly the anchoring third side was Dirk Bogarde’s deliciously unfolding and implosive turn as the titular manservant Hugo – at once slippery, scheming and sinister – who cannily usurps the role of his employer Tony (James Fox), a callow and dandy man-child; incidentally, he’d also played a role in getting Losey and Pinter connected. Interestingly, aside from the servant turning the tables on his master, Hugo – over the course of the film – also seems to represent Tony’s nagging wife, jilted mistress and possessive mother; no wonder, both women in their lives – Tony’s snobbish fiancée Susan (Wendy Craig) and Hugo’s coquettish “sister” – are eventually pushed out of their claustrophobic house, magnificently photographed in expressionist B/W, and accompanied by a haunting bluesy melody and gloriously discordant jazz score.

Director: Joseph Losey

Genre: Thriller/Black Comedy/Psychological Drama

Language: English

Country: UK

Marx Can Wait [2021]

 Marco Bellocchio has used cinema as a weapon for political and psychological investigations throughout his formidable career. In his intensely personal documentary essay Marx Can Wait, he used it as a therapeutic and confessional vehicle instead; the latter aspect, incidentally, came laced with irony as unlike his mom, who was zealously Catholic, he’s been a firebrand apostate since his youth. In 1968, he was one of the most exciting young Italian directors, having already made two films, including his celebrated debut feature Fists in the Pocket, and was ferociously engaged with left-wing politics which mirrored the revolutionary fervour of that period. It was also the year when his fraternal twin brother Camillo committed suicide at the young age of 29. While he has tried delving into this guilt and trauma, and the broader familial underpinnings, through his movies – as evidenced by the footages that he interspersed the talking head interviews with – the octogenarian filmmaker decided to finally confront that tragic memory more than half a century later, including the realization that Camillo had tried reaching out to him for help in futility. He made use of a gathering of his surviving siblings – who’re all older to him – to re-live, understand, and hopefully reconcile with what continues to remain a gaping wound, and which they never discussed openly, rather allowed it to be quietly buried in the sands of time. Camillo was incessantly plagued by deep existential crisis and a catastrophic sense of directionless, leading to growing depression and which ultimately precipitated in disaster. The film’s evocative title, incidentally, was something that Camillo had quietly remarked in response to Marco’s political pronouncements, and which has remained with him ever since.

Director: Marco Bellocchio

Genre: Documentary/Essay Film

Language: Italian

Country: Italy