coming up on TV – Dennis Hopper and Robby Müller make things weird in THE AMERICAN FRIEND

Bruno Ganz and Dennis Hopper in THE AMERICAN FRIEND

Dennis Hopper, in his Wild Man phase, brings electricity to the 1977 neo-noir The American Friend,  an adaptation of the Patricia Highsmith novel Ripley’s Game.   Highsmith, of course, wrote the source material for Strangers on a Train along with a series of novels centered on the charming but amoral sociopath Tom Ripley; her gimlet-eyed view of human nature, was perfectly suited for noir. You can catch The American Friend on Turner Classic Movies on July 29.

German director Wim Wenders had yet to direct his art house Wings of Desire his American debut Hammett or his masterpiece Paris, Texas.  He had directed seven European features when he traveled to ask Highsmith in person for the filming rights to a Ripley story.

In The American Friend, Zimmermann (Bruno Ganz) is a craftsman who makes frames for paintings and dabbles in the shady world of art fraud, making antique-appearing frames for art forgeries.   Here, Tom Ripley (Dennis Hopper) entangles him in something far more consequential – a murder-for-hire.

As befits a neo-noir, Zimmermann finds himself amid a pack of underworld figures, all set to double-cross each other with lethal finality.  In very sly casting by Wenders, all the criminals are played by movie directors: Sam Fuller, Nick Ray, Peter Lilienthal, Daniel Schmid, Gérard Blain, Rudolf Schündler, Jean Eustache.  Nick Ray is especially dissolute-looking with his rakish eye-patch. Sam Fuller, in his mid-60s, insisted on performing his own stunt, with a camera attached to his body on a dramatic fall.

Bruno Ganz in THE AMERICAN FRIEND

As the murder scheme unfolds, there is a tense and thrilling set piece on a train, worthy of The Narrow Margin.  Other set pieces include a white-knuckle break-in and the ambush of an ambulance.

Here’s one singular sequence.  After a meeting with Ray, Hopper walks away from the camera along an elevated highway.  Then Hopper is shown, still on the highway, in long shot from what turns out to be Fuller’s apartment, where Fuller interrupts the filming of a skin flick to deny having a guy shot on the Paris Metro.  Then we see Hopper on an airplane, and then Ganz on a train.  Finally, Ganz returns to a seedy neighborhood by the docks.  It’s excellent story-telling –  at once economical and showy and ultra-noirish .

Dennis Hopper and Nick Ray in THE AMERICAN FRIEND

Cinematographer Robby Müller pioneered use of fluorescent lighting in The American Friend. The nighttime interiors have a queasy eeriness that match the story perfectly. Müller, who died in 2018, was endlessly groundbreaking. He made the vast spaces of the Texas Big Bend country iconic in Paris, Texas. He was also responsible for the one-way mirror effect in Paris, Texas’ pivotal peepshow scene. For better or worse, he jerked the handheld camera in Breaking the Waves, spawning a legion of lesser copycats. Müller gave a unique look to indie movies from Repo Man to Ghost Dog; The Way of the Samurai.

Dennis Hopper in THE AMERICAN FRIEND

The American Friend was shot in 1977, in the midst of Dennis Hopper’s tumultuous drug abuse phase. He had just directed his notorious Lost Film The Last Movie and arrived in Europe from the Philippines set of Apocalypse Now!, where he was famously drug-addled and out of control. After getting Hopper’s substance abuse distilled down to only one or two drugs of choice, Wenders gave Hopper carte blanche to take chances in his performance, and The American Friend has the only movie Tom Ridley in a cowboy hat. It paid off in a brilliant scene in which Hopper lies on a pool table, snapping selfies with a Polaroid camera; it’s a brilliant imagining of a sociopath in solitary, with no one to manipulate. John Malkovich, Matt Damon and even Alain Delon have played some version of Tom Ripley. Hopper’s is as menacing as any Ripley, and – by a long shot – the most tormented. Wenders is interviewed on Hopper at the Criterion Collection.

The American Friend is not a great movie. Zimmermann is motivated by a grave health issue, but too much screen time is wasted on that element, causing the movie to drag in spots. Movie auctions come with built-in excitement, but The American Friend’s art auction is pretty ordinary. And, other than Fuller, Ray and Blain, the directors are not that good as actors.

Still, the unpredictability in the high-wire Dennis Hopper performance, the look of the film and the action set pieces warrant a look.

The American Friend will be aired by TCM on July 29th and can be streamed from Criterion, Amazon, AppleTV and Fandango.

Dennis Hopper in THE AMERICAN FRIEND

WITHOUT GETTING KILLED OR CAUGHT: her soul and her heart

Photo caption: Guy Clark holds his favorite photo of Susanna Clark in WITHOUT GETTING KILLED OR CAUGHT. Courtesy of Indie Rights.

The lyrical documentary Without Getting Killed or Caught is centered on the life of seminal singer-songwriter Guy Clark, a poetic giant of Americana and folk music. That would be enough grist for a fine doc, but Without Getting Killed or Caught also focuses on Clark’s wife, Susanna Clark, a talented painter (album covers for Willie Nelson and Emmylou Harris) and songwriter herself (#1 hit I’ll Be Your San Antone Rose). What’s more, Guy’s best friend, the troubled songwriter Townes Van Zandt, and Susanna revered each other. Van Zandt periodically lived with the Clarks – that’s a lot of creativity in that house – and a lots of strong feelings.

Susanna Clark said it thus, “one is my soul and the other is my heart.”

The three held a salon in their Nashville home, and mentored the likes of Rodney Crowell and Steve Earle. You can the flavor of the salon in the 1976 documentary Heartworn Highways (AppleTV, Vudu and YouTube). It features Townes Van Zandt’s rendition of his Waitin’ Round to Die. (Susanna was also a muse for Rodney Crowell, who, after her death, wrote the angry song Life Without Susanna.)

Documentarians Tamara Saviano and Paul Whitfield, have unearthed a great story, primarily sourced by Susanna’s diaries; Sissy Spacek voices Susanna’s words. These were artsy folks so there are plenty of exquisite photos of the subjects, too. It all adds up to a beautiful film, spinning the story of these storytellers.

Guy and Susanna Clark in WITHOUT GETTING KILLED OR CAUGHT. Courtesy of Indie Rights.

I loved this movie, but I’m having trouble projecting its appeal to a general audience, because I am so emotionally engaged with the subject material. I’m guessing that the unusual web of relationships and the exploration of the creative process is universal enough for any audience, even if you’re not a fanboy like me.

The title comes from Guy’s song LA Freeway, a hit for Jerry Jeff Walker:

I can just get off of this L.A. freeway

Without gettin’ killed or caught

There is plenty for us Guy Clarkophiles:

  • the back story for Desperados Waiting for a Train;
  • the identity of LA Freeway’s Skinny Dennis;
  • Guy’s final return from touring, with the declaration “let’s recap”.

There’s also the story of Guy’s ashes; the final resolution is not explicit in the movie but you can figure it out; here’s the story.

Without Getting Killed or Caught had a very limited theatrical run in 2021, but it’s now available to stream from Amazon and YouTube.

DISCREET: untethered to home or sanity

Jonny Mars in DISCREET photo courtesy of SFFILM
Photo caption: Jonny Mars in DISCREET. Courtesy of Uncork’d Entertainment.

The psychological drama Discreet is breathtakingly original. Within a revenge tale, writer-director Travis Mathews has braided threads of social criticism and political comment.  Most of all, Discreet is a compelling portrait of one damaged, very unwell guy and a thoughtful exploration of the alienating aspects of the current American zeitgeist.

Discreet is centered on Alex (Jonny Mars), who has drifted back through his Texas hometown to find that his childhood sexual abuser has re-surfaced.   Alex is untethered either to home or sanity.   Away from home for a long time, Alex has been roaming the country, oddly stopping to shoot videos of freeway traffic.   The most hateful alt-right talk radio plays incessantly from the radio of his van.  And, in a creepy juxtaposition, he’s obsessed with a New Agey YouTube publisher (the comic Atsuko Okatsuka).

Alex sets out to find and confront his abuser (Bob Swaffer), and Discreet takes us on a moody and intense journey, filled with unexpected – and even flabbergasting – moments.  Only the ultimate vengeance seems inevitable – and even that act is handled with surprising subtlety.  The catharsis is intentionally understated, and there is none of the customary splatter.

Swaffer’s physicality, along with his character’s condition, makes him a monster unlike anything I’ve seen in a movie before – a unique blend of the bone-chilling and the vulnerable.

Discreet is only 80 minutes long; keeping it short was a great choice by Mathews, allowing the film to succeed with a deliberate, but never plodding, pace.  We’re continually wondering what Alex is going to do next, and the editing by Mathews and Don Swaynos keeps the audience on alert.  Cinematographer Drew Xanthopoulos makes effective use of the static long shot and gives Discreet a singular look.  The idiosyncratic sound design, with its droning and its use of ambient noises, sets the mood.  It’s an effective package – and an impressive calling card for Travis Mathews.

Bob Swaffar (left) and Jonny Mars in DISCREET photo courtesy of m-appeal World Sales
Bob Swaffar (left) and Jonny Mars in DISCREET. Courtesy of Uncork’d Entertainment.

While he’s in town, Alex is on the lookout for secret – and sometimes very kinky – sex with other men.  It’s a comment on the repression in Flyover American culture that drives gay sexual expression underground. And furtiveness can make anything seem seamy.  Indeed, the movie’s title comes from the Craiglist euphemism for anonymous sexual hookups.

One critic referred to Discreet as “Travis Mathews’ latest queer experiment”.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s far too narrow a label.   True, Discreet definitely comes from the point of view of a gay filmmaker, and it addresses the repression of gay sexual expression. But this is a film, with its broader focus on alienation, that is important for and accessible to every adult audience.

Mathews previously collaborated with James Franco on Interior. Leather Bar., which is nothing at all like Discreet.   Interior. Leather Bar. is talky and centered on artistic process with a hint of sensationalism.  Discreet more resembles an experimental film such as Upstream Color.  Come to think of it, Discreet has more of the feel of a budget indie (and less languorous) version of Antonioni‘s The Passenger.

Jonny Mars is very effective as Alex, a character who is usually stone-faced, but whose intensity sometimes takes him completely off the rails.  In her one speaking scene as Alex’s mom, Joy Cunningham’s stuttering affect gives us a glimpse into both her past parental unreliability and her current clinging to sobriety by her fingernails.

But the heart of Discreet is Alex and his unpredictable path.  To what degree has Alex’s madness been formed by the childhood abuse?  To what extent has he been deranged by absorbing random and unhealthy bits of American popular culture?  Stylistically, Discreet is a near-masterpiece, and audiences that embrace the discomfort of the story will be rewarded with a satisfying, ever-surprising experience.

I screened Discreet and interviewed director Travis Mathews for the 2017 SFFILM. Discreet can be streamed on Amazon (included with Prime,) AppleTV, YouTube and Fandango.

MEDITERRANEAN FEVER: the depressed writer and the crook

Amer Hlehel and Ashraf Farah in Maha Haj’s MEDITERRANEAN FEVER. Courtesy of SFJFF.

In Mediterranean Fever, a depressive writer becomes friends with his shady neighbor and the two embark on a dark journey.

Waleed (Amer Hlehel) is an Arab Israeli living in Haifa, and he’s left his job as a bank clerk to write a novel. His wife’s job as a nurse supports them, and Waleed handles the laundry and schleps the kids to school. The novel is not going well because Waleed suffers from depression; he is so paralyzed with hopelessness that he wants to give up on the therapist that his wife sends him to.

Waleed initially disdains his new, less-educated neighbor Jalal (Ashraf Farah), who day drinks, smokes and, when Waleed is staring at his blank screen, listens to obnoxiously loud music. Jalal is a whiz at anything construction-related and is generous with Waleed’s family. But Waleed is finally drawn to Jalal’s sketchiness: Jalal owes well more than he can pay to some menacing gangsters, is comfortable with his own brutal means of informal debt collection, has a girlfriend on the side and knows his way around the underworld.

Waleed’s wallowing in despair is only brightened when he recognizes that Jalal is a crook (but for an especially morbid reason we learn later). And he sparkles when he finally figures out the cause of his young son’s gastrointestinal distress (the movie’s title is a play on this).

In her second feature, Israeli Arab writer-director Maha Haj has created two memorable guys, and the story of Mediterranean Fever is entirely character-driven. Much of the humor stems from the odd couple of Waleed and Jalal.

I don’t want to describe the tone of Mediterranean Fever, as I do many films, as “darkly funny” because its tone is singular. Haj has written a story about that unfunniest of topics, depression, and keeps us watching with subtle, observational humor.

After a slow burn, Mediterranean Fever pays off with a shocking twist, followed by an epilogue with a character’s hilarious reaction to learning a new neighbor’s occupation. And, yes, that scene is darkly hilarious.

Most of the Arab films we see from this part of the world are about people living in Palestine and occupied territories. In Mediterranean Fever, we glimpse into the day-to-day life of Israeli Arabs – and middle-class Israeli Arabs at that. We also see a Haifa where middle- and working-class families occupy apartments right across the road from a glorious beach; (In the US, these would all be converted into short-term vacation rentals.)

Mediterranean Fever won the Un Certain Regard screenplay prize at Cannes. I screened Mediterranean Fever for the SLO Film Fest; it’s playing at the 2024 San Francisco Jewish Film Festival – July 19 at the Vogue and July 31 at the Piedmont.

I SAW THE TV GLOW: brimming with originality

Photo caption: Justice Smith and Bridgette Lundy-Payne in I SAW THE TV GLOW. Courtesy of A24.

The evocative psychodrama I Saw the TV Glow is unlike any movie you’ve seen and marks the emergence of gifted filmmaker. Set in 1996, in the last days of what we now know to be the pre-Internet age, two suburban teens are captivated by a very trippy, highly stylized TV show. The fictional show, The Pink Opaque, has its own internal mythology, and kid characters, Isabel and Tara, battle the the monster of the week sent by Mr. Melancholy. The teens, Owen and Maddy, follow The Pink Opaque with the devoted fervor of fans of The Prisoner and Doctor Who.

Both Maddy and Owen feel alienated by mainstream high school culture, and Maddy (Bridgette Lundy-Payne) is okay with that. She is comfortable with being gay and confident that the burbs have nothing to offer her. Unplagued by self-doubt, she’s is eager to leave for an environment with more excitement and diversity.

Two years younger, Owen (Justice Smith as the young man Owen) is a puddle of anxiety, hesitance and awkwardness. He isn’t confident about ANYTHING, let alone his identity. Maddy tells him that she likes girls and asks about Owen’s preference; he responds, “I think I like TV shows”.

Owen’s parents won’t let him stay up to watch The Pink Opaque at 10:30 pm Saturday night, so Maddy slips him VHS tapes. The show speaks to them in away that nothing else in their lives does, and they bond in their earnest devotion.

Suddenly, Maddy disappears without a trace, with only her TV burning in the backyard. And then, The Pink Opaque gets abruptly cancelled. Now Owen must navigate the harshness of life without his most pivotal supports, and it’s a rough ride. The story skips ahead eight years, and then twenty more, to the present.

I Saw the TV Glow is the third feature for writer-director Jane Schoenbrun (their first two films were credited to Dan Schoenbrun). I Saw the TV Glow is a mesmerizing slow burn that doesn’t spoon feed the audience, but requires active engagement. Masterful in tone, Schoenbrun spins their tale with the eerie and suspenseful fell of a horror film, but it is not horror – the only thing that gets slashed and splattered is a young man’s nostalgia.

Most of I Saw the TV Glow takes place at night, in darkness highlighted with vivid neon-like colors. The cinematographer was Eric Yue (A Thousand and One). The kids’ perspective, attitudes and speech resonate with perfect pitch; these characters are utterly authentic (in sharp contrast to Disney Channel sitcoms). Brimming with originality, Jane Schoenbrun is gifted with very special talents.

This should be a breakthrough performance by Justice Smith. Everything about his Owen telegraphs his discomfort in his own skin and his fear of doing something embarrassing. His voice quavers with hesitation. It’s a haunting performance, and the audience’s fear for what will happen to Owen drives the movie.

Lundy-Payne gets to deliver a remarkably chilling monologue as Maddy.

How popular will this film be with teens? Hopefully, teens will be attracted by the horror look-and-feel and seduced by the realism of the teen characters.

I Saw the TV Glow stands to become a cult film for all the right reasons – it’s unlike any prior movie and it resonates with anyone who felt like an outsider in adolescence. Trippy and spooky, midnight screenings await.

That being said, I Saw the TV Glow is not for everyone. Some viewers may become impatient with the pace or confused by the construction of the narrative. This isn’t conventional storytelling.

I Saw the TV Glow debuted at Sundance and was nominated for awards at the Berlinale and SXSW. After a limited release in the spring, it’s back in some theaters now; I Saw the TV Glow can be streamed from Amazon, AppleTV and Fandango.

DADDIO: intimacy between strangers

Photo caption: Dakota Johnson and Sean Penn in DADDIO. Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics.

In the absorbing Daddio, Dakota Johnson plays a woman who gets into a cab at JFK for the final leg of her trip to Midtown Manhattan. The driver (Sean Penn) engages her in chitchat. She is amused to find herself with one of those philosopher cabbies. He likes that she is a New Yorker, not a tourist, and that she doesn’t ignore him in favor of her smartphone.

He fancies himself an acute judge of people, and proves it by correctly guessing an important fact about her current relationship. As he probes about her personal life, she probes back, and soon they are revealing intimate secrets to each other.

It’s possible that a conversation can cause you to rethink your life – even if it with someone you’ve never met and will never see again. That relatively instant and profound bonding is the core of Daddio.

Their conversation is limited by the duration of the cab ride, but the 40-minute trip is extended when traffic is stopped to clear a major accident up ahead. Daddio is a story told in real time – a story of two people talking inside a car – and I was captivated the entire time. Daddio is the first feature for writer-director Christy Hall, creator of TV’s I Am Not OK with This.

Dakota Johnson in DADDIO. Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics.

It’s a good story, but Daddio is so good because the performances are superb. Their faces, in closeup and extreme closeup. tell us what they’re not saying – whether they are guarded, offended, surprised, hurt, annoyed, intrigued. Their eyes mostly meet in the rear view mirror.

Dakota Johnson is a very able actor, and has done excellent work lately – The Lost Daughter, Cha Cha Real Smooth and here in Daddio.

Penn’s cabbie is devilish, and enjoys being a provocateur. It’s been a long time (his Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High) since I’ve thought of Sean Penn as funny, but he sure is funny here. And, of course, Penn is unsurpassed in embodying profound sadness.

Sean Penn in DADDIO. Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics.

It’s really surprising how two actors in a car can make for such an engrossing experience. Daddio, with its penetrating humanity, is thoughtful and entertaining.

SORRY/NOT SORRY: revelatory, and posing the smartest questions

Photo caption: Louis C.K. photographed at the Toronto International film festival 9/17/17 for The New York Times’ article Asking Questions Louis C.K. Doesn’t Want to Answer by Cara Buckley. Photo Credit: Angela Lewis for The New York Times.

The unusually thought-provoking documentary Sorry/Not Sorry uses the Louis C.K. scandal to explore the issues of consent, cancel culture and #MeToo accountability while protecting survivors. Produced by the New York Times, Sorry/Not Sorry traces comic Louis C.K.’s ascendancy, his abhorrent behavior over a long period of time, its exposure by the NYT, his demise and comeback. That story is well-researched and comprehensive, but the real value of Sorry/Not Sorry is in its discussion of consequence for everyone involved – the perpetrator, the survivors and those who at least should have known.

This story, as have other #MeToo episodes, involved a power imbalance; in this case between C.K. and other comedy professionals who were not as famous as he was. In social situations, C.K. would ask if is was OK if he pulled out his penis and pleasured himself. Apparently, no one voiced the actual words, “I would ask you not to do that because it would offend me and make me feel unsafe“. But who can consent if they can’t imagine that it is a literal request for permission? It’s not consent if someone’s jaw drops and they fidget in their seat.

As icky as this was for women, men were also confounded. After all, heterosexual men generally seek sexual gratification in a woman’s body – looking at it, touching it, uniting with it. Louis C.K. wasn’t seeking a woman’s body to get off, just her presence. Who does that? What kind of sick power trip is that?

In Sorry/Not Sorry, three strong women – Jen Kirkman, Abby Schachner and Megan Koester – give first-hand accounts of what transpired. The NYT investigative team of Jodi Kantor, Cara Buckley and Melena Ryzik explain how they ran down the story. C.K., with remorse, confirmed what had happened, and ceased performing.

You probably already knew these facts, but now Sorry/Not Sorry takes the story further. C.K.’s exposure made Kirkman, Schachner and Koester relive the unpleasantness and subjected them to torrents of hate from anonymous internet trolls; their careers were certainly not helped by the publicity, and were probably hurt. Remember – all they did was to be present when someone else behaved transgressively, and to be truthful when asked about it years later. (Plus, they were mocked by Dave Chappelle, who is more the villain of Sorry/Not Sorry than is Louis C.K.)

In stunning contrast, C.K. revived his public career, albeit at a much lower level, within less than a year. Sorry/Not Sorry raises the question of, at what point should a disgraced transgressor be able to re-enter the mainstream? And just what is the so-called cancel culture?

It’s pretty clear that, in the case of a serial rapist like Harvey Weinstein, the offender should be incarcerated to protect the public and never be allowed to enjoy a public career again. But, as #MeToo offenses go, Louis C.K. presents a somewhat unique case in two ways. First, he didn’t physically hurt or violate the women; he disgusted and appalled them. Second, he honestly and contritely answered the charges with “These stories are true“, which is a long way from the standard #MeToo response, which is more like “I never met the woman in my life, and it was all her idea“. So, in this case, it doesn’t seem like justice requires his permanent exile, public silencing and unemployment.

But, if not permanently, for how long?

Louis C.K. did endure public disgrace, had his career sidelined for most of a year and lost the ability to earn TENS of millions of dollars. But he has resumed making mere MILLIONS of dollars and being idolized by his diehard fan base. Given the relative situations of the women involved, it doesn’t feel right.

These questions are pondered in Sorry/Not Sorry by an array of talking heads, the most sensible being Parks and Recreation creator Michael Schnur and comedian Aida Rodriguez.

This is a smart and revelatory film. Sorry/Not Sorry releases on July 12th, both into select LA and NYC theaters and digitally.

CONFESSIONS OF A GOOD SAMARITAN: of course, wouldn’t you?…WHAT?

Photo caption: Penny Lane in her CONFESSIONS OF A GOOD SAMARITAN. Courtesy of Sandbox Films.

Documentarian Penny Lane is known for her choice of offbeat subjects (Nuts!, Hail Satan?) and her unexpected takes on the familiar (Our Nixon, Listening to Kenny G). In Confessions of a Good Samaritan, she turns her camera upon herself as she decides to donate one of her kidneys to a person that she doesn’t know and will never meet. An in-depth exploration of both kidney transplants and altruism ensues – all from the very personal perspective of a person about to go under the knife herself. Lane herself is a delightful subject, and she courageously shares her most intimate feelings, making Confessions of a Good Samaritan ever more engrossing.

I screened Confessions of a Good Samaritan for the SFFILM; this week, it opens at Laemmle’s Royal, NoHo and Monica Film Center in LA and the Roxie in San Francisco.

PERFECT DAYS: intentional contentment

Koji Yakusho in PERFECT DAYS. Courtesy of NEON.

Wim Wenders’ quietly mesmerizing Perfect Days is an ode to those who can identify the beauty in everyday life. Sixtyish Hirayama (Koji Yakusho) works cleaning public toilets in Tokyo’s urban parks. He lives a simple, even spartan existence, within the parameters of a firm routine. Others might be ground down by a life of drudgery, but Hirayama is a happy man.

Hirayama finds beauty in the parks, his massive collection of audiocassettes of 70s and 80s rock, dramatic cityscapes, his friendship with a restaurant owner, a little gardening and reading William Faulkner and Patricia Highsmith. Hirayama isn’t a blissed-out simpleton – he is deliberate in seeking and garnering pleasure from bits of beauty. It’s as if he frames his job, not as cleaning toilets all day, but as working in Tokyo’s most serene urban oases. Hirayama lives within a complete absence of envy and has long since discarded any need for striving. Hirayama lives a life of intentional contentment.

He is kind, but not a naive pushover. His younger work partner is a slacker who is shallow, impulsive and lazy; Hirayama disapproves of his lack of work ethic, but doesn’t let it ruin his own day. Hirayama doesn’t seek social interaction, but is available to emotionally support his runaway niece and a cancer-ridden acquaintance.

There are characters who do not get Hirayama’s ethos, like his estranged sister. The annoying younger co-worker is not affected by Hirayama’s cassette of Patti Smith’s Redondo Beach, and doesn’t notice that the woman he is dating is entranced; we know that it’s going to be his loss.

Hirayama catches the eye of a young working woman as each lunches on a sandwich on a park bench; she looks back, not understanding how he can find a sandwich in a tranquil setting to be so rapturous.

Wim Wenders first directed a movie in 1967 and became an acclaimed international auteur, his masterpiece being Paris, Texas. Now at 78, Wenders still has something to say, and it’s about contentment and beauty.

Perfect Days is not for everyone – some may be bored by the repetition in Hirayama’s routine – getting up, commuting, cleaning toilets, dropping in a public bath before bed, rinse and repeat.

Koji Yakusho won the best actor award at Cannes for this performance. You may remember him starring in the arthouse hits Tampopo (1985) and Shall We Dance? (1996), in Alejandro Inarritu’s international ensemble in Babel (2008), as the lead assassin in 2010’s 13 Assassins and as the oddball confessed murderer in Hiroyuki Koreeda’s 2018 The Third Murder.

This is a beautiful little film, sweet, without being cloying or sentimental. Perfect Days can be streamed on Amazon, AppleTV, YouTube, Fandango and Hulu (included).

KINDS OF KINDNESS: disgustingly indulgent

Photo caption: Jesse Plemons in KINDS OF KINDNESS. Courtesy of Searchlight Pictures.

Yorgos Lanthimos (Poor Things) probably enjoyed writing and directing his disgustingly self-indulgent Kinds of Kindness, but there’s no reason for an audience to waste three hours on it. There are three separate stories – equally bizarre fables in Kinds of Kindness. The same ensemble of actors play different roles in each of the three stories: Jesse Plemons, Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Margaret Qualley, Mamadou Athie, Hong Chau and Joe Alwyn.

I like absurdism in cinema (see this week’s Mother Couch), but to SOME end; Kinds of Kindness is just an unremitting sequence of outrageously transgressive behavior in weird circumstances. Lanthimos has been quoted that we was exploring relationships and memory, but all we get is a torrent of provocations. So much is being thrown at the screen, including cannibalism, that, at least, it’s not boring.

  • In the first story, Jesse Plemons plays a corporate lackey who owes everything to his nightmarishly micro-managing boss (Willem Dafoe), who decrees what he wears, what he eats and drinks, when he has sex with his wife. He’s finally baited into saying “no” to th boss for the first time in eleven years, as his life dissolves.
  • In the second, Plemons plays a cop devastated by the disappearance of his wife (Emma Stone, a marine biologist on a research mission. When she is miraculously rescued, he is convinced that it’s not really her, but some malevolent double. There are two extremely funny moments in this chapter – a stunningly ineffectual psychiatrist and a riotously inappropriate home movie. And, then, there’s cannibalism on the menu.
  • The final episode involves a cult with a weird fascination for water purity that has sent out scouts (Stone and Plemons) in search for a prophesied young woman who can raise the dead. Stone’s character is kicked out of the cult, and she goes to great lengths to get back in.

Jesse Plemons is exceptional in each of his three roles, and he’s by far the best element of Kinds of Kindness. There’s isn’t a bad performance in Kinds of Kindness, just the finest of screen actors trapped in a bad screenplay. Margaret Qualley continues to act unclothed in what seems to me to be a high proportion of her films.

Lanthimos co-wrote Kinds of Kindness with Efthimis Filippou, as he did with his most off-the-wall work – Dogtooth, which I loved, and The Lobster and The Killing of a Sacred Deer, both of which I hated. (Filippou also co-wrote Athina Rachel Tsangari’s hilarious skewering of male competitiveness, Chevalier (which I REALLY loved). )

Unfortunately, Kinds of Kindness is really just Lanthimos’ exercise in devising outrageous behavior for his characters, just because he can. We don’t need to watch.