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