Billy Wilder once said he wanted everything in his movies to be obvious, including the subtleties. That credo is the utter reverse of the one behind this characteristically elusive comedy of mid-life crisis from Otar Iosseliani. Here everything -- subtleties and obvious things alike -- happens on the same level of un-obviousness. Tiny deadpan visual jokes and moments of emotional tumult both seem to occupy the same modest amount of space on the screen.
A hardworking, middle-aged guy called Vincent (Jacques Bidou) lives in a bustling village. He's thoroughly bored by his factory job where nobody's allowed to smoke: the stubbing out of the fag in front of the defense de fumer sign is a daily moment of chagrin. So one day he goes off to Venice to smoke as much as he wants.
But nothing in this story is entirely clear; Vincent's unhappiness, his decision to leave, his feelings about Venice and about being away from his family -- they are on the vanishing point of perceptibility. Iosseliani uses none of the film-maker's conventional techniques to point up the narrative. No close-ups, no punchy chords on the soundtrack, nothing to make sure we know what's going on. And not much in the way of dialogue either: it's like a silent movie with words -- filmed mostly in long shot, the framing often cluttered.
There can't be many movies which don't vouchsafe a single clear look at the leading man's face. But something in the movie's gentleness and the profusion of eccentric, comic detail causes a pleasant glow, especially a cameo from Iosseliani as a Venetian nobleman. Baffling it may be, but this film induced a wash of tranquility and good humor in me. Try it.
In late October of 1873 the government of Japan decided against sending a military expedition to Korea to force that nation to open trade relations. Across the government supporters of the expedition resigned immediately. The spectacle of revolt by disaffected samurai began to loom over Japanese politics. In January of 1874 disaffected samurai attacked a senior minister in Tokyo. A month later, a group of pro-Korea expedition and anti-foreign elements from Saga prefecture in Kyushu revolted, driven in part by high food prices stemming from poor harvests. Their leader, according to Edward Drea’s classic Japan’s Imperial Army, was a samurai
Located down a sideroad in old Wanhua District (萬華區), Waley Art (水谷藝術) has an established reputation for curating some of the more provocative indie art exhibitions in Taipei. And this month is no exception. Beyond the innocuous facade of a shophouse, the full three stories of the gallery space (including the basement) have been taken over by photographs, installation videos and abstract images courtesy of two creatives who hail from the opposite ends of the earth, Taiwan’s Hsu Yi-ting (許懿婷) and Germany’s Benjamin Janzen. “In 2019, I had an art residency in Europe,” Hsu says. “I met Benjamin in the lobby
April 22 to April 28 The true identity of the mastermind behind the Demon Gang (魔鬼黨) was undoubtedly on the minds of countless schoolchildren in late 1958. In the days leading up to the big reveal, more than 10,000 guesses were sent to Ta Hwa Publishing Co (大華文化社) for a chance to win prizes. The smash success of the comic series Great Battle Against the Demon Gang (大戰魔鬼黨) came as a surprise to author Yeh Hung-chia (葉宏甲), who had long given up on his dream after being jailed for 10 months in 1947 over political cartoons. Protagonist
Peter Brighton was amazed when he found the giant jackfruit. He had been watching it grow on his farm in far north Queensland, and when it came time to pick it from the tree, it was so heavy it needed two people to do the job. “I was surprised when we cut it off and felt how heavy it was,” he says. “I grabbed it and my wife cut it — couldn’t do it by myself, it took two of us.” Weighing in at 45 kilograms, it is the heaviest jackfruit that Brighton has ever grown on his tropical fruit farm, located