The Secret Knitter has registered his perspective on 2008 with a high-quality 52-item Archies list. If you haven't posted your own, why not take a moment to compile one? (And if you've done so but I haven't acknowledged it, be sure to leave word in the comments.)
Last night we watched A Matter Of Life And Death, a 1946 film by my favorite filmmakers, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger. Whenever I see a movie by the Archers (after whom we named our son), I am almost overcome with the exuberant, fearless belief in the power of art that is on display.
Why do I love these movies so much? I Know Where I'm Going!, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, Tales of Hoffmann, The Red Shoes. What is it about their construction, their vision, their rootedness in British convention and their wild, unrestrained phototropic reach toward aesthetic romance?
It's not anything in my natural constitution, other than an Anglophilia born of teenage worship of Agatha Christie and the Beatles. The strange thing about my passion for Powell is that the films themselves produced it -- that and the memoir I casually bought at a used bookstore decades ago. They're not necessarily the kind of movies I naturally gravitate towards ... although they are now, now that they've worked their magic on me. Or is it just that there is almost nothing like them, anywhere, and so there's no way for you to know whether you have a taste for them until they appear in your life, sui generis?
Under their influence, I became a person who responds above all to a sense of aspiration in works of art -- in film, music, literature. Whenever I am in the audience for something striving toward the ineffable, struggling to transcend its time and place (best of all, if it doesn't reject that time or attempt to slip the surly bonds of earth, but instead embraces it with fondness while seeking to plumb its unseen depths), I am lost to it.
Powell's movies are among the best and most complete examples of that effect on me, but they aren't just examples, I think. Without them, I don't think I'd be that person. The Archers' movies created my artistic sensibility, and I feel so fortunate to have encountered them when I did, and to be able to immerse myself in their images and cinematic music my whole life through.
Showing posts with label Michael Powell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael Powell. Show all posts
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
An Archers primer
On my review of the Criterion DVD of Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger's The Small Back Room, a commenter asked where he should start investigating their work. Noel offered some suggestions, and I facetiously opined that the A.V. Club should offer a primer on the subject. Since that's not likely to happen, I thought I'd provide an abbreviated one here.
Powell & Pressburger 101
One of the British duo's most accessible films is I Know Where I'm Going! (1945; Noel's review), a witty romance with Wendy Hiller's strong-willed, modern young lady falling under the spell of Roger Livesay's self-assured Scottish laird. In black and white and with far fewer of the artistic touches for which the pair is best known, the film provides one of the most charming and emotionally rich entry points into their work.
49th Parallel (1941) is a taut piece of action-adventure that is enhanced by its unusual Canadian setting. Many of the pair's favorite themes are here, but in a more conventional package than their later Technicolor extravaganzas
Of their most widely acclaimed films, I think Black Narcissus (1947; Noel's review) is the one to see first. Its color palette is more muted and natural, and despite its melodramatic plotline, the interactions tend to be equally contained and controlled. A viewer who falls in love with its colonial vistas and nationalist/religious critique is ready for the red meat of the catalogue.
Intermediate Work
The Red Shoes (1948) is without a doubt the Archers film that has been most widely seen. Yet its vision of the intersection of art and life is highly complex, rewarding multiple viewings. The melodrama is heightened, the colors are bright, the characters are theatrical. But the staging is so delicate and precise that nothing about it seems overbearing.
The Life And Death Of Colonel Blimp (1943; Keith Phipp's review) is probably my single favorite Archers film, thanks to the effortless magnetism of the magnificent Roger Livesay. This intimate epic portrays two world wars and several love affairs with versions of the same woman, and yet retains a wit and lightness that Powell and Pressburger never seem to lose, no matter how massive their stage.
Powell didn't direct all of The Thief Of Bagdad (1940; Scott Tobias' review), but his work stands out so sharply that the movie serves as a showcase for his style. The delight that he palpably receives from making magic with the camera is something that he never lost throughout his career. As he chases more and more transcendent artistic effects over the years, he retains a kind of stage performer's intimacy, a sense that we are going through an experience together that requires us both to keep our eyes open.
Advanced Studies
A Canterbury Tale (1944; Noel's review) is such an odd mix of village folklore and military drama that it's likely to throw all our attempts at characterization for a loop. But like so many of the lesser-known Archers films, it's so chock-a-block with inventive effects and down-to-earth energy that it's inimitable and well-nigh irresistible.
The Tales Of Hoffmann (1951; my review) represents the pinnacle of artistry in the Powell and Pressburger filmography, an elaborate filmed opera brimming with color, spectacle, and cinematic prowess. Yet even here, at the height of their attempt to blend high culture with film culture, Powell communicates with impressive clarity. He conveys his own enthusiasm and adventurousness in such an inviting way that we do not in the slightest feel condescended to. Hoffmann somehow manages to be thoroughly audacious without coming off as pretentious.
A Matter Of Life And Death (1946), known as Stairway To Heaven in the U.S. and not available on DVD, is a delightful fantasy with a barb hidden at the center, an extended philosophical meditation on the impact of war on unfinished lives. Its fantasy, like nearly every film on this list, comes with a small wry smile that conveys the essential groundedness of the story and themes.
Powell & Pressburger 101
One of the British duo's most accessible films is I Know Where I'm Going! (1945; Noel's review), a witty romance with Wendy Hiller's strong-willed, modern young lady falling under the spell of Roger Livesay's self-assured Scottish laird. In black and white and with far fewer of the artistic touches for which the pair is best known, the film provides one of the most charming and emotionally rich entry points into their work.
49th Parallel (1941) is a taut piece of action-adventure that is enhanced by its unusual Canadian setting. Many of the pair's favorite themes are here, but in a more conventional package than their later Technicolor extravaganzas
Of their most widely acclaimed films, I think Black Narcissus (1947; Noel's review) is the one to see first. Its color palette is more muted and natural, and despite its melodramatic plotline, the interactions tend to be equally contained and controlled. A viewer who falls in love with its colonial vistas and nationalist/religious critique is ready for the red meat of the catalogue.
Intermediate Work
The Red Shoes (1948) is without a doubt the Archers film that has been most widely seen. Yet its vision of the intersection of art and life is highly complex, rewarding multiple viewings. The melodrama is heightened, the colors are bright, the characters are theatrical. But the staging is so delicate and precise that nothing about it seems overbearing.
The Life And Death Of Colonel Blimp (1943; Keith Phipp's review) is probably my single favorite Archers film, thanks to the effortless magnetism of the magnificent Roger Livesay. This intimate epic portrays two world wars and several love affairs with versions of the same woman, and yet retains a wit and lightness that Powell and Pressburger never seem to lose, no matter how massive their stage.
Powell didn't direct all of The Thief Of Bagdad (1940; Scott Tobias' review), but his work stands out so sharply that the movie serves as a showcase for his style. The delight that he palpably receives from making magic with the camera is something that he never lost throughout his career. As he chases more and more transcendent artistic effects over the years, he retains a kind of stage performer's intimacy, a sense that we are going through an experience together that requires us both to keep our eyes open.
Advanced Studies
A Canterbury Tale (1944; Noel's review) is such an odd mix of village folklore and military drama that it's likely to throw all our attempts at characterization for a loop. But like so many of the lesser-known Archers films, it's so chock-a-block with inventive effects and down-to-earth energy that it's inimitable and well-nigh irresistible.
The Tales Of Hoffmann (1951; my review) represents the pinnacle of artistry in the Powell and Pressburger filmography, an elaborate filmed opera brimming with color, spectacle, and cinematic prowess. Yet even here, at the height of their attempt to blend high culture with film culture, Powell communicates with impressive clarity. He conveys his own enthusiasm and adventurousness in such an inviting way that we do not in the slightest feel condescended to. Hoffmann somehow manages to be thoroughly audacious without coming off as pretentious.
A Matter Of Life And Death (1946), known as Stairway To Heaven in the U.S. and not available on DVD, is a delightful fantasy with a barb hidden at the center, an extended philosophical meditation on the impact of war on unfinished lives. Its fantasy, like nearly every film on this list, comes with a small wry smile that conveys the essential groundedness of the story and themes.
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