The Garden of the Finzi-Continis [1970]

 Giorgio Bassini’s semi-autobiographical masterpiece The Garden of Finzi-Continis was as much a haunting Holocaust novel as a stirring ode to unrequited love, and through the titular Finzi-Continis – a wealthy, aristocratic and intellectual family who lived a life of cultured seclusion and went to their deaths without any resistance – a lamentation on the passage of a certain way of life. Vittorio De Sica’s adaptation echoed, with a touch at once tender and wistful, the book’s understated tone, melancholy, personal heartbreak, collective loss and doomed atmosphere. The narrative began in 1938, just as Mussolini’s fascist government starts enacting oppressive and restrictive laws against Jewish-Italian citizens, and ended in 1943 when the Jews started getting rounded up and herded to death camps. That fateful stretch was evoked through the Finzi-Continis family – with their huge mansion, refined manners, sprawling gardens, and cloistered existence within large walls – and especially the enigmatic Micòl (Dominique Sanda). They’re portrayed through the eyes of Giorgio (Lino Capolicchio), a studious middle-class guy, who’s hopelessly in love with the strikingly beautiful Micòl and enamoured with the family. When Jews are banned from the local tennis club, the family’s private tennis court is opened to them – though the ones who join include non-Jews too, like the left-wing Malnate (Fabio Testi) – and when the public library becomes off-limit, Giorgio finds refuge in the family’s huge personal library. Things, unfortunately, go further downhill rapidly, as he finds Micòl becoming ever more aloof and beyond reach, and the Jewish community in Ferrara being pushed towards annihilation. Beautifully photographed in soft-focus and washed-out colours, the film – initially supposed to be directed by Valerio Zurlini – became a late-career revival for the once pioneer of Italian neorealism.

Director: Vittorio De Sica

Genre: Drama/War Drama/Romantic Drama/Holocaust Movie

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

Il Posto [1961]

 Ermanno Olmi’s tender, low-key, delicately strung and achingly beautiful masterpiece Il Posto – shaped from his personal experiences – remains such an acutely evocative and vividly realized work despite hardly much happening during its runtime. Though it carried the legacy of neorealism – with its humanist story, on-location filming and non-actors – its exploration of urban loneliness in the backdrop of a rapid post-war societal shifts towards giant corporations and social mobility possibly placed it closer to similar examinations by Antonioni, Godard and Tati, even if this stood apart on account of its hushed, understated and bittersweet tone. I, instead, found it profoundly reminiscent of two Jiří Menzel masterworks – Closely Watched Trains and Larks on a String – in their shared poetic restraints while dwelling on mundane moments, blend of wry humour and absurdist irony with pathos, critiques of conformism, and muted comings-of-age of gauche, soft-spoken young guys. The said protagonist is Domenico (Sandro Panseri, whose perplexed demeanour, in turn, mirrored Václav Neckář from the two Menzel films), who follows his parents’ advice for a job at a big nameless organization. He travels from his cramped apartment in the outskirts to Milan, becomes besotted with the ethereal Antonietta (Loredana Detto, Olmi’s future wife), gets hired, is initially posted as a messenger and finally becomes a junior clerk in this vast bureaucratic setup. Gorgeously shot in grainy B/W – imbued with intimacy and melancholy – the film’s two most unforgettable segments featured the fleeting relationship between the two youngsters during the job interview, and a New Year’s Eve office event that transitioned from pensive to exuberant through droll humour and staging, and which reminded me of another Czech New Wave jewel, viz. Miloš Forman’s The Firemen’s Ball.

Director: Ermanno Olmi

Genre: Comedy-Drama/Coming-of-Age/Romantic Comedy/Social Satire

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

Ogro (Operación Ogro) [1979]

 Gillo Pontecovro – former chemistry student, anti-fascist partisan during WW2 and Marxist journalist after the war who was catalysed into filmmaking upon seeing Rossellini’s seminal neorealist work Paisan – is perennially associated with his blazing masterpiece The Battle of Algiers, that remains both landmark political cinema and formally daring exercise. Operación Ogro – his largely overlooked final feature – might’ve lacked in pulsating ferocity, but was no less a cinema of resistance that straddled between rigorous documentation of the eponymous operation and ideological discourse on revolutionary actions, and a compelling political thriller too. Shot in washed-out colours, it’s structured along two interweaving strands, thus covering the divergent routes taken by two comrades-in-arms due to deep dialectical divergences despite their shared love for Basque identity and detestation of Franco; this aspect – and how the death of the one whose choices were underpinned by a more violent method represented the end of a chapter – heavily reminded me of Ken Loach’s powerful IRA film The Wind That Shakes the Barley. The primary track, set in 1973, chronicles in riveting details the mission undertaken by four men and two women belonging to the far-left separatist group ETA – the methodical cell leader Izarra (Gian Maria Volontè), the hot-headed former priest Txabi (Eusebio Poncela), Txabi’s wife (Ángela Molina) and the rest – who relocate to Madrid with the plans of kidnapping Franco’s Deputy PM Carrero Blanco (aka ‘ochre’), but changes that to assassination when he becomes the PM. In the melancholic parallel tract, set few years after Franco’s death, ETA has come to the negotiating table led by Izarra, while Txabi continues to be a radical separatist. The music was scored by Morricone while Ana Torrent featured in a cameo.

Director: Gillo Pontecorvo

Genre: Thriller/Political Thriller/Docufiction/Historical Thriller

Language: Spanish/Basque

Country: Italy/Spain

Sinners [2025]

  Ryan Coogler delivered sensorial overload with Sinners, a genre-defying exercise that was seductive, tempestuous, rip-roaring, political, bloody and bad ass. It’s that rare vampire movie that captivated three diverse viewer groups, viz. those searching for rollicking entertainment, those craving for grindhouse sensibilities, and those looking for subtexts and preoccupations which transcend genre thrills. Set in the 1930s, identical twins Smoke and Stack – the names serving as a tribute to the great Howlin’ Wolf, and played with thumping swag by Michael B. Jordon – return to Mississippi Delta, having earned money and notoriety with the Chicago Mob, to start a juke joint for blues music catering to the local Black community. There’re, however, two violent deterrents; it’s the Jim Crow era, with the Black populace largely poor and ghettoized cotton plantation workers trapped under oppressive laws, KKK’s atrocities and religious fervour; furthermore, there’s lurking in the shadows a diabolical primeval force – bearing rich sociopolitical metaphors – led by the feral Irish-immigrant vampire Remmick (Jack O’Connell). The film reached its ecstatic crescendo at the mid-way mark, with this standout section bearing the intoxicating vitality of Lovers Rock. It’s the joint’s opening night, and the packed crowd is brought to its feet – while both past lineage and future descendants of African-American music bleed into this electrifying sequence shot in glorious single-track – as blues prodigy Sammy (musician Miles Caton in an impressive movie debut) and local harmonica-legend Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) jam on “I Lied to You”. That and the uninhibitedly sultry “Pale, Pale Moon” were the two most pulsating compositions in the superb earthy soundtrack co-scored by Ludwig Göransson. The segment’s smouldering atmosphere was followed by a sinister mood build-up and a grisly carnage.

Director: Ryan Coogler

Genre: Horror/Musical/Period Film

Language: English

Country: US

Certified Copy (Copie Conforme) [2010]

 With Certified Copy, the great Abbas Kiarostami joined an exclusive group of non-francophone filmmakers like Buñuel, Kieślowski and Losey who made cinematic masterpieces in French. At once deliciously beguiling, seductively beautiful and disarmingly ingenious, this breathtaking exercise subtly channelled Rosellini’s Journey to Italy, the distinctive flavours of archetypal European arthouse cinema and his own marital disintegration, and echoed the futility of authenticity and originality, while ironically being a ravishingly original piece of work. It began like a dry essay – a form that Kiarostami had extensively partook in since his earliest days – with British writer James Miller (English opera singer William Shimell in a fine acting debut) introducing, at a gathering in Tuscany, the Italian translation of his eponymously titled book which posits the relevance of reproductions. After the lecture he meets the unnamed “Elle” (Juliette Binoche in an effortlessly triumphant turn) – a French woman and single mom who runs an antiques store selling replicas – and the two strangers decide to chat while exploring the charming locales. They initially drive and then stroll around, with their freewheeling and intelligent conversations bearing edgy undertones. The gently ambling narrative underwent a stunning pivot at a trattoria where they’ve stopped for coffee. The café’s matronly owner assumes that they’re a married couple, and they seemingly decide to participate in this charade. However, one soon starts wondering if they’re playacting or they’re indeed an estranged couple carrying years of differences, disappointments and bitterness. Magnificently shot in fluid long takes – a sequence where they’re driving with the gorgeous surroundings reflected on the windshield was especially captivating – this enigmatic and richly textured film delivered sharp reflections on both art and relationships over one sumptuous Tuscan afternoon.

p.s. This is a revisit. My earlier review of the film can be found here.

Director: Abbas Kiarostami

Genre: Romantic Drama/Marital Drama/Avant-Garde

Language: French/English/Italian

Country: France

Wolfsburg [2003]

 Christian Petzold’s spare and chilling psychological thriller Wolfsberg carried the weight of Germany’s political history, even if that wasn’t explicitly laid out; the titular city’s past is intertwined with the Nazi era as, founded by Hitler in 1938 as the seat for Volkswagen’s massive automotive factory, it became a military-industrial complex during WW2 during which it produced armaments and freely utilized slave labour. Car as a symbol of modernity, class hierarchy and commodity capitalism, unsurprisingly, played a pivotal role, and the film’s themes of grief, guilt and moral crisis hinged around it. Additionally, like The State I Am In which preceded it and Yella couple of films later, it also culminated with a shattering car crash. The film began with an unsettling hit-and-run incident as Philipp (Benno Fürmann), an auto salesman having an argument with his fiancée over the phone while driving his luxury car, accidentally hits a kid on a bicycle. He leads an entitled life, but at the cost of tolerating his domineering boss – the owner of the auto dealership where he works – and his self-obsessed girlfriend who’s his boss’ pampered sister. The kid’s mother Laura (Nina Hoss), meanwhile, is a single mom and exploited supermarket worker. While Philipp is silently racked with contrition upon being unable to confess – more so when the kid dies – Laura is crushed to the point of contemplating suicide as well as seeking vengeance. Guilt, grief, secrecy and wrath make for a messy cocktail; consequently, when these two lost souls get drawn into a tender romantic relationship, it’s bound to lead to damaging repercussions. Hoss and Fürmann were both magnetic in Petzold’s icy portrayal of dread, three-way class conflict and societal alienation.

Director: Christian Petzold

Genre: Crime Thriller/Romantic Drama

Language: German

Country: Germany

Ghosts (Gespenster) [2005]

 Christian Petzold delivered haunting inquiries into the questions of individual and collective identity in reunified Germany, and underlying unresolved political and social fault-lines, in his remarkable ‘Ghosts Trilogy’. The trilogy delved into that through estranged outsiders who were left in the margins during this assimilation exercise. Ghosts, the trilogy’s moving central chapter – and much more loosely-strung vis-à-vis the two films it’s bookended by, viz. The State I Am In and Yella – had a particularly spectral and disenfranchised protagonist in Nina (Julia Hummer), an orphaned, alienated and pathologically shy teenaged girl whose job as a trash collector and stay at a public home are contingent on her ability to fit in. The isolated life of this intensely lost and lonely girl is briefly upended by two dramatic encounters. On one hand she befriends Toni (Sabine Timoteo) – a slightly older brash, impetuous and rebellious girl who snatches what she needs and lives outside the law – upon accidentally witnessing a violent attack on her by a couple of guys; they form a tender relationship as Toni temporarily takes Nina under her wings, while Nina becomes profoundly entranced by Toni. Meanwhile, Françoise (Marianne Basler), a beautiful, upper-class and grief-stricken middle-aged woman – who’s just been released from a mental hospital, as she’s been struggling with the trauma of losing her daughter who’d been stolen as a toddler many years back – starts aimlessly wandering across Berlin while her husband is tied up in business matters, and is convinced that Nina is her long-lost daughter upon bumping into her. Hummer and Timoteo were superb in revealing their emotional vulnerabilities and scars as social misfits in this bleak and melancholic tale co-written by the great Harun Farocki.

Director: Christian Petzold

Genre: Drama/Psychological Drama

Language: German

Country: Germany

The State I Am In [2000]

 Christian Petzold, having earlier made three TV features, made a striking theatrical debut with The State I Am In. With this first chapter in his “Ghosts Trilogy” – it was followed by Ghosts and Yella, two similarly glacial and elliptical inquiries into Germany’s complex and asymmetric reunification process – he boldly combined political cinema, formal exactitude and genre exercise wherein each informed the others. It began on a languid note as teenager Jeanne (Julia Hummer) selects Tim Hardin’s plaintive song “How Can We Hang On to a Dream” on the jukebox at a seaside café and sits down for a smoke; young surfer Heinrich (Bilge Bingül) approaches her for a cigarette, joins for a chat, and the two lonely souls strike a mutual chord. What seems like a coming-of-age love story gets a genre spin when we meet her edgy and secretive parents – Hans (Richy Müller) and Clara (Barbara Auer) – who embody archetypal lovers-on-the-lam. However, as we gather – even though the script was shrouded in ambiguity – the couple are former Red Army Faction members, the disbanded left-wing group which’d dreamt of violently reshaping Germany during the 1960s and 70s; they’ve been hiding under false identities for years now, hoping to escape to Brazil. When their covers are blown at a small Portuguese town, they decide to return to Germany with hopes of cajoling and coercing help from old comrades. Jeanne, however, craves for a different escape – hanging out with Heinrich and listening to pop music – increasingly oblivious of the fatal risks that pose for her parents. Co-written with influential political film essayist Harun Farocki, it delivered a wry jab at fading political memory through Resnais’ powerful Holocaust documentary Night and Fog.

Director: Christian Petzold

Genre: Drama/Political Thriller/Road Movie

Language: German

Country: Germany

Todo Modo [1976]

 Elio Petri’s agitational and subversive cinema – and in turn Italian political cinema from its “years of lead” period, of which he was a leading force – reached a fever pitch with Todo Modo. This was a blistering and ferocious assault on the then political establishment – especially the Christian Democratic Party –, the Vatican’s ability to ensure their religious stranglehold through crafty manoeuvrings, and wealthy oligopolistic industrialists. In Petri’s hands – who could blend bravura experimental style with fearless left-wing lens – it was also a chilling examination of power, opportunism, hypocrisy, corruption and fascist tendencies, and the parasitic and chameleonic natures of the aforementioned troika. Adapted from Leonardo Sciascia’s novel of the same name, the feral satire is nearly completely set inside a stunningly conceived and designed Brutalist bunker – the cold, modernist and claustrophobic set design by Dante Ferretti gave the film an expressionistic and even sci-fi look, while enhancing its macabre tone – where the country’s most influential men have assembled for a few days, while a mysterious epidemic rages outside. They’re ostensibly there for a monastic retreat and spiritual cleansing; however, soon enough it’s clear that cunning machinations to further entrench their positions are what’s uppermost in their minds. Two men take centre-stage in this arrestingly orchestrated chaos – “il Presidente” (Gian Maria Volonté), a clear stand-in for Aldo Moro, whose religious fervour and sexual repressions are matched by his hunger for further consolidating his political position; and a creepy, hell-raising priest (Marcello Mastroianni) with skeletons in his closet – and this hilariously grotesque and anarchic setup attained surreal proportions as the men start facing violent deaths. Ennio Morricone composed the film’s score while the exceptional cast featured Michel Piccoli in a cameo.

Director: Elio Petri

Genre: Black Comedy/Political Satire/Ensemble Film

Language: Italy

Country: Italy

Property Is No Longer a Theft [1973]

 The title for Elio Petri’s blistering comedy Property Is No Longer A Theft can be taken both at face value and with a heavy dose of irony; that, and the droll ingenuity of its phrasing, readily recall the two preceding films in his ‘Trilogy of Neurosis’, viz. the blazing masterpiece Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion and the abrasive agitprop The Working Class Goes to Heaven. Though considerably underrated, it remains an unequivocally brilliant work thanks to the interplay of aesthetic ferocity and intellectual dare that the iconoclastic filmmaker brought in while blending radical politics and ferocious polemics with deliciously gonzo, sleazy, provocative B-movie aesthetics and even Brechtian splashes. The narrative is built around a farcical war of attrition between Total (Flavio Bucci), a young bank cashier who’s literally allergic to money and calls himself “Mandrakian Marxist”, and a wealthy, corrupt and glibly offensive businessman called “The Butcher” (Ugo Tognazzi). Upon witnessing the bank manager’s sycophancy towards the latter, Total quits his job, begins stalking Butcher – the very embodiment of the evils of capitalism for him – and starts stealing his belongings – inane things at first, before progressing to expensive objects and even his mistress (Daria Nicolodi). The Butcher, meanwhile, avoids reporting Total to the maniacal investigating cop (Orazio Orlando), as he’s massively over-reported his loss to the insurance. This anarchic film’s script was as unhinged as its characters, which also comprised of a vaudeville master thief (Mario Scaccia) and Total’s bemused father (Salvo Randone), and is bookended by three riotous sequences – a chaotic bank robbery where the clerks unleash vicious dogs upon the robbers; a salesman’s hilarious demo of anti-theft devices; and an amusing paean to thieves and robbers.

Director: Elio Petri

Genre: Crime Comedy/Black Comedy/Social Satire/Political Satire

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

We Still Kill the Old Way [1967]

 Elio Petri’s filmography can be roughly divided into two categories – relatively restrained films (albeit, not completely bereft of stylistic flourishes) during the first half of his career, and formally exuberant and politically outspoken works subsequently – with We Still Kill the Old Way squarely belonging to the former camp. This muted and moody political conspiracy thriller reminded me of the tone, build-up and oblique storytelling of Francesco Rosi’s superb film Illustrious Corpses. No surprises, perhaps, that both were adapted from Leonardo Sciascia’s novels, this one being from To Each His Own. It began with an audacious long-take – with a “flying” camera providing panoramic views of the Sicilian town in which it’s set – before dramatically diving into the narrative as an oddball Tati-esque postman, while on the way to delivering a letter, discusses about it with the town’s laidback but curious residents. The said letter is an anonymous threat to a womanizing pharmacist, which soon materializes into his murder by unknown assailants during a hunting trip with his friend Antonio. While this is treated as an open-and-shut case of honour killing, a mild-mannered but dogged leftist Professor (Gian Maria Volonté in a fine atypical casting) starts suspecting that Antonio was the real target instead, rather than an unlucky collateral. Sparked by his identification of the newspaper – read by political and religious conservatives – that’s used for composing the threat mails, he starts obsessively digging into the death that’s bound to be detrimental to his physical wellbeing. Along the way he finds himself falling for his dead friend’s widowed wife (a delectably inscrutable Irena Papas), as the plot increasingly thickens. Vivid cinematography and Luis Bacalov’s idiosyncratic score added to the film’s captivating atmosphere.

Director: Elio Petri

Genre: Crime Thriller/Political Thriller

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

The Assassin (L'Assassino) [1961]

 L'Assassino, Elio Petri’s solid if underrated debut, combined three aspects of his filmmaking that’d manifest more markedly in his later, better-known films. It introduced his love for genre cinema, B-movies and gonzo aesthetics; it underscored his disdain for unchecked consumerism and moral rot in contemporary Italian society (a theme in multiple landmark Italian films of the 1960s); and it provided teasing glimpses into how his left-wing politics was inseparable from his craft (he formerly wrote Marxist film criticisms for L'Unità). Then matinee idol Marcello Mastroianni, who Petri scored for the lead role (they’d collaborate thrice more), retained a soft corner for this film, even though he starred in some of the most seminal Italian films of that period. He was excellent as Alfredo, an antiques dealer of dubious standing, a lothario, a bon vivant and a scoundrel, who’s arrested from his posh apartment in Rome on suspicions of murdering his older ex-mistress Adalgisa (Micheline Presle), a wealthy socialite who was also his business sponsor and partner until recently. He owed her money, was one of the last persons to see her alive and had just switched to a younger girlfriend who’s a moneyed heiress, and therefore the suspicion. Additionally, the Commissario (Salvo Randone) – who’s heading the case and hopes to wear him down with interminable waiting and interrogations – hates his “type”. Scripted by the great Tonino Guerra, the film alternated the “present” – which occurs over 1 ½ days – with frequent flashbacks into Alfredo’s chequered past, thus making this as much an investigation into the protagonist as one into the case at hand. The sparkling B/W cinematography and smooth jazz score added to the fatalist atmosphere of this “anti-realist thriller”.

Director: Elio Petri

Genre: Crime Thriller/Mystery

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

The War Is Over (La Guerre est Finie) [1966]

 The War Is Over – the (translated) phrase with which Franco had declared the end of the Spanish Civil War – was as much its ‘Left Bank’ auteur Alain Resnais’ as it was screenwriter Jorge Semprún’s and actor Yves Montand’s. This landmark film, which comprised of a remarkable interplay of political discourse and actions with existential and moral enquiries, alternated between arresting 1960s zeitgeist and introspective memories. Resnais portrayed these contrapuntal elements by juxtaposing a classically structured narrative thrillingly laced with the here-and-now of the present, reflective voiceovers and dazzling montage sequences – including a nod to Godard’s magnificent A Married Woman – that fragmented the past while suffusing it with impressions, premonitions and déjà vu. Semprún, who wrote the nuanced screenplay, composed the film’s protagonist Diego Mora – an ageing Spanish Communist, anti-Franco resistance, career revolutionary and exile – based on himself. Montand, in one of his most celebrated performances, imbued the character – a person of many identities, no permanent home, and bouncing between his ideals and dilemmas – with such profound weariness that it exuded from the screen. Set over the course of a few days in Paris – he’s just about escaped getting caught while leaving Spain, but is determined to go back prior to a massive general strike being planned – he finds himself vacillating between his girlfriend Marianne (Ingrid Thulin), who he always returns to, and Nadine (Geneviève Bujold), a young leftist woman who’s part of an extremist group with political views radically different from his own; meanwhile, he also senses growing differences with his own party comrades. Shot in sensuous B/W by Sacha Vierny, this moody, poetic, understated and formally exhilarating work was therefore as politically engaging as it was profoundly personal.

Director: Alain Resnais

Genre: Drama/Political Drama

Language: French

Country: France

The Eyes, the Mouth [1982]

 Expressions of grief and guilt evoked a feverish pitch and guttural howl in Marco Bellocchio’s emotionally turbulent and nakedly personal film The Eyes, the Mouth. His twin brother Camillo had committed suicide in 1969, which left a lasting impact on him. Made 13 years after that tragedy, it served as a means to reconcile with that traumatic memory. Giovanni (Lou Castel, serving as Bellocchio’s stand-in) is a washed-out actor – his unhinged turn in the director’s ferocious debut feature Fists in the Pocket is referenced as a past glory – who’s reluctantly returned to his hometown upon the suicide of his twin brother Pippo. Once actively involved in radical politics, he’s now disillusioned, self-hating and deeply troubled, forced to reconnect with his patronizing uncle (Michel Piccoli) and his devout mother (Emmanuella Riva) who’s been made to believe that Pippo died accidentally. Meanwhile he starts developing complicated feelings for Vanda (Ángela Molina) – the promiscuous and seemingly carefree daughter of an exasperated South American immigrant (Antonio Piovanelli) – as she refuses to display any grief for Pippo’s death, despite having been his fiancée. He gets drawn into a sordid and scabrous affair with her, and spinning a web of deceit for his tormented mother, as he must confront the anger and pain that he feels for his dead brother who, ironically, was considered the saner and the more grounded of the two. Castel and Molina were both astonishing and fearless in the way they physically and emotionally bared themselves in this tumultuous and melancholic work that was powerfully co-written by Catherine Breillat, sumptuously photographed in washed-out colours, and hauntingly scored. Bellocchio returned to his memories of Camillo 40 years later in Marx Can Wait.

Director: Marco Bellocchio

Genre: Drama/Psychological Drama

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

Slap the Monster on Page One [1972]

 Marco Bellocchio’s tour de force media satire Slap the Monster on Page One was a confluence of thrilling genre cinema and radical political filmmaking, with the pulpy title splendidly mirroring the film’s biting tone, incendiary theme and hardboiled form. Written by Sergio Donati who’s best-known for his collaborations with Sergio Leone, the film continued – with cutting fury – Bellocchio’s blazing and subversive streak from Fists in the Pocket and China Is Near, albeit with the polemic turned up a notch along the lines of Rosi, Pontecorvo and Petri. It began on a throbbing note as documentary footage – including a reactionary speech being delivered by Ignazio La Russa, a right-wing politician who’s presently Italy’s President of the Senate, to vilify surging left-wing rallies and anti-government demonstrations – segued into the narrative as a group of young rebels is seen pelting stones into the office of Il Giornale, a newspaper that peddles fascist agenda to its conservative readers. Its powerful and sleazy editor-in-chief Bizanti (Gian Maria Volonté) injects news items with nefarious slants and insinuations with aims of “indirect propaganda” aligned to the business interests of his odious boss (John Steiner); the sequence where he coaches a young reporter, while “fixing” his write-up, was both disturbingly prescient and savagely funny. When a beautiful college student belonging to a bourgeoise family is found raped and murdered, Bizanti laps up this “golden opportunity” to concoct a false narrative – and clinically frame a left-wing activist for the violent crime – to further the political machinations of his power-seeking boss ahead of upcoming elections. Volonté was frighteningly brilliant as the kind of rotten, self-serving and manipulative dealer in disinformation and fake news that’s infested today’s reactionary mainstream journalism.

Director: Marco Bellocchio

Genre: Black Comedy/Political Thriller/Political Satire/Social Satire/Media Satire

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

Good Morning, Night [2003]

 The kidnapping and assassination of former Italian Prime Minister Aldo Moro has been such an epochal moment for Italy and emblematic of its ‘Years of Lead’ that multiple directors, from Elio Petri to Giuseppe Ferrara to John Frankenheimer, have touched upon it. Marco Bellocchio stands out as he made two works on it twenty years apart, viz. the brooding and deeply elegiac feature-length film Good Morning, Night – where he delved into a semi-fictionalized interpretation of the episode through the psychological unravelling of one of the kidnappers – and the ambitious miniseries Esterno Notte, where he expanded the scope and chronicled that event from multiple perspectives. It began with a young couple appraising and renting a lovely, spacious apartment in Rome. As it turns out, they’re Red Brigades revolutionaries and part of the four-member team – led by a firebrand doctor – that kidnaps Moro (Roberto Herlitzka), hides him there for many days, and takes the terrible ultimate step when they realize that the government has no plans to negotiate Moro’s release. The occurrences are portrayed from the POV of Chiara (Maya Sansa), a luminously beautiful and emotionally conflicted young woman. She works as a librarian, is haunted by the memories of her late father who was a Communist partisan during WW2 – evoked through found footage – and is increasingly troubled by their kidnapping of the mild-mannered Moro. Bellocchio blended bleak realism with moral inquiries, and made seductive use of Pink Floyd’s songs, while Sansa stood out for her immersive turn. In the film’s most memorable sequence, aged comrades from the Old European Left gather over an alfresco lunch and rousing “partigiano” songs to remember Chiara’s father and celebrate their days as anti-fascist partisans.

Director: Marco Bellocchio

Genre: Drama/Political Drama/Film a Clef

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

China Is Near [1967]

 Marco Bellocchio’s second film China Is Near retained the wild farce and blasphemy of his astounding debut feature Fists in the Pocket. If it was slightly less feverish and feral, it was as unapologetically offensive and risqué, and upped the satirical ante and ribald buffoonery while delivering a Molotov cocktail aimed at political, social, religious and sexual mores. In a fascinating coincidence, Godard’s dazzling gem La Chinoise and this – which released in the same year – didn’t just share zany humour, anti-bourgeoise filmmaking, Maoist references and impudent nonconformity, they even shared the Special Jury Prize in that year’s Venice Film Festival. Its principle targets are three siblings belonging to a hideously funny family of affluence and aristocracy in a provincial Italian town – Vittorio (Glauco Mauri), the rotund eldest brother, has tried his hands with various centre-left political options and has presently settled for the Socialist party to escape his guilt, look progressive and attain power; Elena (co-writer Elda Tattoli), the middle-aged, promiscuous and still glamourous sister, loves taking young partners from lower social classes, while ensuring that they never stake claim to her wealth; and Camillo (Pierluigi Aprà), the repressed and unhinged youngest of the lot, has started a three-man hardline Maoist cell to combat his dilemmas with aristocracy and Catholicism. Meanwhile, Carlo (Paolo Graziosi) and Giovanna (Daniela Surina), former lovers and belonging to the working-class, begin a scheming journey up the class chain, as the former seduces Elena while the latter decides to succumb to Vittorio’s ogling, hoping to marry rich. Splendidly shot by Tonino Delli Colli in baroque B/W and idiosyncratically scored by Ennio Morricone, it featured public brawl, fratricidal assassination attempt, failed abortion and other assorted craziness.

Director: Marco Bellocchio

Genre: Comedy/Black Comedy/Political Satire/Social Satire/Romantic Comedy

Language: Italian

Country: Italy

The Color of Lies [1999]

 A sleepy, closely-knit provincial town in Brittany – a place that Chabrol has returned to multiple times across his career – is a bubbling hotbed of secrets, suspicions, deceit, intrigue and criminal tendencies in Chabrol’s smouldering, deftly underplayed and excellent thriller The Colour of Lies. The deliberately paced narrative is bookended by two violent events – the rape and murder of a 10-year-old girl, and a death by falling that could either be accidental or not – while there’re other misdemeanours that’re underway in parallel. The film’s languid atmosphere, however, belied these, as Chabrol was more interested in portraying the moral rot, the societal malaise and the psychological repercussions as opposed to making a regular crime and mystery movie. When the body of the girl is discovered, the cops – led by the new, young and gently tenacious chief of police Frédérique (Valeria Bruni Tedeschi), who’s also an outsider – immediately consider the embittered painter and art teacher René (Jacques Gamblin) as the primary suspect, as he was the last person to see her alive. Once a promising artist whose career crashed upon being wounded in the 1980s, he earns a pittance by teaching local kids and is largely dependent on the earnings from his vivacious wife Vivianne (Sandrine Bonnaire), who’s a professional physiotherapist. While she loves him and defends him against the growing rumours, she gets drawn into a sly affair with Desmot (Antoine de Caulnes), a slick, shady and highly successful writer who glibly collaborates with both left and right-wing establishments. Beautifully chiselled turns by the actors led by Gamblin and Bonnaire, the sultry restraint of its images, the gossipy amoral community, and the understated finale all added to the film’s sordid charm.

Director: Claude Chabrol

Genre: Thriller/Crime Thriller/Mystery

Language: French

Country: France

La Rupture (The Breach) [1970]

 Claude Chabrol’s stunning ‘Hélène cycle’ – La Femme Infidèle, Que la Bête Meure, Le Boucher, La Rupture and Juste Avant la Nuit – delivered barbed interrogations into the bourgeoisie through chilling crime thrillers, with all featuring the luminous Stéphane Audran as the eponymous heroine. The series’ penultimate film was among the darkest and definitely the most bonkers of the lot, operating simultaneously as fiendish psychological thriller, exploration into the rotten core of social entitlement, and black comedy veering towards absurdism and even surrealism. Its violent opening – Charles (Jean-Claude Drouot), the drug-addled and mentally disturbed husband of Hélène (Audran), injuring their kid son Michel in a moment of frenzy, which makes her retaliate by beating Charles with a frying pan – set the tone for what followed. She leaves home with Michel, admits him in a hospital, takes refuge at a nearby boarding house, and files for divorce. Her affluent father-in-law Ludovic (Michel Bouquet), insidiously drunk in his power and privilege, had always despised her for her “disreputable” past as former strip dancer; and now, intent on seizing custody of his prized “male heir”, he employs the sleazy Paul (Jean-Pierre Cassel) to tarnish her image. With no ploy – howsoever vile or grotesque – beneath him, he goes about doing just that with the help of his deliriously raunchy girlfriend (Catherine Rouvel). Audran was sublime as the unflappably moral and quietly defiant woman who refuses to bow down; Bouquet, Cassel and Rouvel were captivating in their varying shades of villainy; and the vividly bright photography accentuated the nasty undercurrents, in this nightmarish adaptation of Charlotte Armstrong’s novel, who he’d adapt again 3 decades later for the terrific Merci pour le Chocolat.

Director: Claude Chabrol

Genre: Thriller/Psychological Thriller/Marital Thriller

Language: French

Country: France

Les Biches [1968]

 Claude Chabrol decided to take inspiration from Patricia Highsmith’s legendary and fabulous novel The Talented Mr. Ripley for Les Biches. He, however, went for a saucy gender reversal and delectably ambiguous interpretation of the book, and using it as a launchpad instead for his caustic examinations of existential ennui, class and sexual power games, and mutually destructive ménage à trois among the bourgeoisie, while retaining the book’s languid atmosphere and amorality. Stéphane Audran was captivating as Frédérique, a bored, wealthy, attractive and therefore the archetypal Chabrol woman. She picks up the oddly named Why (Jacqueline Sassard), a young street artist and hustler, in Paris, and they embark on a casual affair. Frédérique brings Why along to her villa in Saint Tropez, and the story’s delicious amorality takes full bloom in the enchanting, lazy environs of the Riviera. Both, incidentally, are bisexual, as the young Why first has a short fling with the handsome architect Paul (Jean Louis Trintignant), and the older Frédérique then swoops down on him and they begin a steadier relationship. That sparks the unravelling of Why’s repressed jealousies and vengeful sociopathy, and she starts reimagining herself as her mistress’s doppelgänger; before long, she wants to usurp the latter’s place. There were clear parallels that Chabrol drew with Bergman’s Persona in how the two women engage in a dangerous game of interchangeability and one-upmanship, reminiscent of Liv Ullmann and Bibi Andersson in the celebrated Bergman classic. Shot in muted colours, and with a dash of silly irreverence thrown in thanks to the two goofy gay friends housed by Frédérique (Henri Attal and Dominique Zardi), this remains a strangely fascinating if decidedly weird entry in Chabrol’s rebellious canon.

Director: Claude Chabrol

Genre: Thriller/Romantic Thriller/Psychological Thriller

Language: French

Country: France

La Cérémonie [1995]

 Claude Chabrol had impishly quipped that La Cérémonie – one of his greatest accomplishments, and which I’d been craving to revisit ever since I read A Judgement in Stone, the terrific source novel by Ruth Rendell – that it’s a “Marxist film”. This deliciously insidious tour de force work wasn’t just a cutting dissection of class structures, dynamics and conflicts, it literally culminated into a violent class war. He transplanted the novel from the British to the French countryside, retaining the unnerving interplay between a provincial locale’s overly tranquil environs and its sordid undercurrents with sinister possibilities, while replacing the author’s faux-reportage prose with a venomously ironic tone that made this an icily controlled domestic thriller. The malevolent tale is spearheaded with stunning aplomb by two of the most fabulous French actresses – Sandrine Bonnaire, as the taciturn, eerily withdrawn and inscrutable Sophie who’s pathologically ashamed of her illiteracy, and Isabelle Huppert, as the chirpy, eccentric, borderline unhinged and devilishly volatile Jeanne. A ticking bomb is planted the day the wealthy, cultured and deeply snobbish Lelièvres – comprising of the ravishingly beautiful Catherine (Jacqueline Bisset), her quietly arrogant second husband Georges (Jean-Pierre Cassel), his gently condescending college-going daughter Melinda (Virginie Ledoyen), and her gauche adolescent son – hire Sophie as resident maid in their isolated mansion, and the fuse gets lit when the latter ends up befriending Jeanne, an impetuous postmistress who loves prying into people’s secrets and holds a smouldering grudge against the family for their privilege and indifference. Further, the feral pair are subconsciously craving for delayed vendetta against the social order for their disreputable pasts, and their roiling resentments erupt into a shockingly manic climax that Chabrol must’ve especially relished filming.

p.s. This is a revisit. My earlier review of this film can be found here.

Director: Claude Chabrol

Genre: Crime Thriller/Black Comedy

Language: French

Country: France