jürgen fauth’s muckworld

From highly enjoyable exercises in pop style (8 Women) to over-conceptualized constructs that left me completely cold (5×2), Francois Ozon’s films are hit-or-miss. Misgivings about his adaptation of the novel by Elizabeth Taylor arose the moment the snooty Berlin box office dude made fun of our choice of movie — was this really going to be “Rosamunde Pilcher hoch zehn,” a terrible melodrama that we hadn’t packed enough tissues for?

Yes and no. The story of Angel Deverell (Romola Garai), the precocious grocer’s daughter who transforms herself into a successful writer only to lose it all to love, war, and the unpredictable currents of taste is indeed what we used to call a Schmonzette, an overblown melodrama that should be the object of our ridicule, and that of ticket takers everywhere. Anybody with a hankering for rustling fabric, lavish sets, trembling bosoms and tragic turns of events is certainly welcome to enjoy Angel at face value.

But Ozon manages to keep a generally winking attitude even while he’s presenting a fully functional romantic epic. Through the use of rear-projection, a lush score, and especially Romola Garai’s finely tuned performance, Angel has its melodramatic cake and keeps its post-ironic distance, too. The movie itself very much resembles the preposterous stories with which Angel Deverell makes her fortune — and is thus also a target for the snide comments of smarter people within the movie. With the help of an editor’s wife played by Charlotte Rampling and grim painter Esmé (Michael Fassbender), Ozon provides sophisticated commentary on the film from within the film. As recreation of a (mostly) defunct genre, Angel feels less self-conscious than Todd Haynes’ faux-Sirk Far From Heaven; thanks to Romola Garai, it is also more engaging.

Angel does not have a U.S. release date yet.

Angel. Francois Ozon, 2007. ****

The trailer:

It sounded like a good idea: a retro Thai western, a pastiche of long-forgotten styles that’s part melodrama, part over-the-top gunslinging, all bathed in madly oversaturated colors. The tears of a waiting lover blur the inscription on a photograph; sad cowboys play forlorn melodies on their harmonicas; villains with pencil-thin mustaches laugh hearty belly laughs. Duels begin with Sergio Leone super close-ups, and then the gun barrels flare in staccato edits. Body parts go flying, and the heartthrob hero can shoot around corners. Even if you’ve never seen a Thai western in your life, most of this will seem mighty familiar from somewhere. (John Woo, Douglas Sirk, George A. Romero, and Lash La Rue have all been rightfully fingered as influences.)

But good looks and a wealth of allusions only get you so far. The pleasures of Tears of the Black Tiger lie exclusively in its winking, high-camp evocation of older movies and styles; there’s not much worthwhile beneath the ironic postmodern attitude. No matter how many lotus-decorated flashbacks and Bangkok beach walks the lovers take, their woes aren’t gripping enough, and scenes without emotional connection stretch out long past their welcome. The shootouts amuse but don’t thrill, and the few attempts at low humor fail–probably because everything is a meta-joke already. Opens Friday.

Fah talai jone. Wisit Sasanatieng, 2000. **

Rotten Tomatoes
[tags]wisit sasanatieng, film, thailand, western, pastiche, postmodern, 2 stars, melodrama, sergio leone, douglas sirk, george romero, lash la rue, john woo[/tags]

Whoa–I started to think of Fritz Lang as a bit of a hack who happened to be in the right place at the right time, but this 1921 flick (The Weary Death, usually translated as Destiny) restored some of my faith. The story, courtesy of Thea von Harbou, is great maudlin melodrama, but the images are fantastic. With Lil Dagover, Walter Janssen, Bernhard Goetzke and Rudolf Klein-Rogge.