Sunday, 14 February 2016

Capital Celluloid 2016 - Day 73: Sun Mar 13

No1: Crash (Cronenberg, 1996): Rio Cinema, 4.30pm


This film screens as part of a JG Ballard afternoon to coincide with release of High-Rise. You can find all the details here.

Chicago Reader review:
David Cronenberg wrote and directed this 1996 film, a masterful minimalist adaptation of J.G. Ballard's 1973 neo-futurist novel about sex and car crashes, and like the book it's audacious and intense—though ultimately somewhat monotonous in spite of its singularity. James Spader meets Holly Hunter via a car collision, and they and Spader's wife (Deborah Kara Unger) become acquainted with a kind of car-crash guru (Elias Koteas) and his own set of friends (including Rosanna Arquette). Sex and driving are all that this movie and its characters are interested in, but the lyrical, poetic, and melancholic undertones are potent, the performances adept and sexy, the sounds and images indelible. If you want something that's both different and accomplished, even if you can't be sure what it is, don't miss this.
Jonathan Rosenbaum

Here (and above) is the trailer. 

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No2: Histoires du Cinema (Godard, 1998): BFI Southbank, NFT2, 2pm


This film is part of the Jean-Luc Godard season at BFI Southbank. Part two of this Godard production is being shown at 5.30pm and you can find all the details here.

Chicago Reader review:
Well over a decade in the making, this eight-part, 264-minute video (1998) is Jean-Luc Godard's magnum opus, but it's never been widely seen; Gaumont, which produced it, has never cleared the rights to its many film clips and artworks shown outside of France, and even there the commercial release has only monaural sound—a significant loss for a work that uses stereo so centrally. (Ironically, the proper sound track is available only in a CD set, accompanied by a translation of most of the text.) Daunting, provocative, and very beautiful, this meditative essay looks at the history of the 20th century through cinema and vice versa, mainly through a rich assortment of clips (sometimes superimposing more than one), sound tracks (sometimes paired with visuals from other films), poetic commentary (with plenty of metaphors), and captions. For better and for worse, it's comparable to James Joyce's Finnegans Wake in both its difficulty and its playfulness.
Jonathan Rosenbaum

Here (and above) is an extract.

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