A farm house lies amid a huge Spanish plain that has had its crops harvested. A barn-like structure that is dilapidated and appears to be unoccupied is nearby. Its doors and windows are missing. Two little daughters named Ana and Isabel, together with their parents, Fernando and Teresa, reside in the house as a family of four. He is a poet, scholar, and beekeeper who spends a lot of time in his book-lined office. She is a loner who writes unidentified guys letters of longing and grief. There are no significant conversations between the parents.

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The village is having a thrilling day. Scurrying kids yell "The movies!" as a dilapidated truck rattles into town. The cinemas!" Children and elderly women assemble in the public hall to watch "Frankenstein" on a screen that has been set up with a projector (1931).

The monster, played by Boris Karloff so memorably, might as well have been the only subject of the film for the kids. The creature finds a small daughter of a farmer throwing flowers into a pond so she can watch them float. The movie jumps right from this—possibly due to censorship—to the monster empathetically carrying the child's drowned body through the community. Perhaps due to censoring, we are unable to see that he threw her in with joy, believing she would float as well, rather than drowning her. This has a dramatic effect on the two females, notably Ana (Ana Torrent).

Her misinterpretation of the sequence in "The Spirit of the Beehive" (1973), often regarded as the best Spanish film ever made, will influence what happens next. Despite the lack of a time frame, it would have been obvious to Spanish viewers that the film takes place soon after the end of the Spanish Civil War, which marked the beginning of Franco's long dictatorship. In fact, it takes place the same day that a wounded opponent of the regime seeks refuge in the outbuilding that resembles a barn.

Despite the fact that Ana and Isabel (Isabel Telleria) are only a few years apart, they create the crucial gap where Ana relies on her older sister to provide light on riddles. The young girl carelessly roams the farmlands and finds the injured soldier in the barn. She asks Isabel to explain why the creature drowned the young child that night, her eyes wide open in the pitch-black. She is informed that "everything in the movies is phoney." "Everything is a ruse. And I've actually seen him alive. He is an angel. Naturally, Ana uses that as a rationale for the wounded guy, and the following day she slips him some food, water, and her father's coat.

It's not for me to make the connections, but what comes next is said to be a coded message regarding Franco's fascist government. I identify more with it as a literary piece about children's imagination and how it may sometimes get them into trouble and sometimes save them from it.

Erice has only directed three films and a short film, "The Spirit of the Beehive" (born 1940). It is a masterwork, similar to Charles Laughton's "The Night of the Hunter" (1955), which makes us question what we lost because he didn't put in more effort. It is straightforward and serious, and by using young Ana Torrent, it makes the most of those open, innocent traits. We can well believe her when she accepts her sister’s explanation, which goes far to account for her behavior later in the film.

 

One of the most gorgeous movies I've ever watched is this one. In the interiors of the family house, the film's cinematographer, Luis Cuadrado, conjures panoramas of vacant rooms where footsteps reverberate. The family doesn't appear to be living there very often. The girls frequently live alone. The parents, in their own rooms. The house's yellow-tinted honeycomb windows provide an unmistakable reference to beehives, which are frequently mentioned in the father's lyrics about the mindless churning activity of his beehives. This probably reflects on the Franco regime, but when detractors get more explicit about the similarities they detect, it makes me feel like I'm reading term papers.

Reading the film's surface is more satisfying. The misinterpretation of Ana's good intentions toward the "ghost" plus the fact that she is connected to the injured man via her father's pocket watch create a potentially hazardous situation for both father and daughter. We see how children's behaviour may get them into problems when they run away and spark a search with the help of volunteers' lanterns bobbing through the night. The older child learns how Ana's creation of myths has consequences in a later moment when she tricks Isabel.

"Cria Cuervos," a well-known Spanish film directed by Carlos Saura, had Ana Torrent as the lead (1976). Saura's "Elisa, My Life," his first movie following Franco's downfall, was one of her 45 hit films and TV shows. However, young actors frequently radiate a magic that no other role will be able to match.

 

"Veronika Voss" had its world premiere by Rainer Werner Fassbinder in February 1982 at the Berlin Film Festival. It was praised as one of his 40 films' greatest. He called his best friend from Munich to Paris late on the evening of June 9, 1982, to let him know that all but one line of cocaine had been flushed down the toilet. Fassbinder was discovered dead in his room the following morning with a cold cigarette in his fingers and a videotape player still running. The most well-known, infamous, and productive German filmmaker of the contemporary era was 36.

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Is this movie a foreboding of his own demise? It relates the tale of a German actress who, despite her hard work and success, started relying on drugs and alcohol. Eventually, she developed such a strong addiction that she was willing to sell her body and soul for narcotics. She started living as an inpatient in the clinic of a sinister Berlin woman who identified herself as a psychiatrist but was actually a Dr. Feelgood who kept her patients hooked on morphine and controlled them by removing their supply. Her fortune had been spent, her marriage had fallen apart, and she had lost both. They agreed that the doctor would inherit Veronika Voss' suburban home as well as its collection of priceless artwork after she passed away.

The movie begins in 1955 with Voss (Rosel Zech) studying one of her own pre-war masterpieces; Fassbinder himself is seated behind her, leaning on the back of the chair. She once received warm welcomes from producers, was greeted by headwaiters, and was known on the street. It hurts to hear her remind others of her past now that it is passed. She meets Robert Krohn (Hilmar Thate), a soft-spoken sportswriter, while drinking without money one night in a cabaret. Robert is old enough to fall under her spell.

She majestously declares that she will pick up the check, but "allows" him to do it before inviting him to accompany her home. She instructs them to light candles "because they are so much more flattering to a woman," covers all the furniture in her villa in white sheets, and has the electricity turned off. Without realising it, the star-struck journalist accidentally entered Veronika Voss's final performance.

Veronika abruptly ends their date and wants to be transported to the clinic of Dr. Katz (Annemarie Duringer), a fashionable lesbian character frequently seen in Fassbinder movies ("The Bitter Tears of Petra Van Kant"). One could picture this clinic as the stage for a strange Fred Astaire dance routine. Everything is dazzling white, including the furniture, walls, flooring, sweeping stairs, and everyone's attire. In a spooky flourish, a wall of windows overlooks a waiting area where other patients needlessly stare in. Katz shares a home with a woman who is ostensibly her lover, and an African-American G.I. and drug dealer (Günther Kaufmann) also resides there. This man was Fassbinder's occasional lover and an actor in many of his films; he frequently appears in the background of scenes, never says anything, and lurks when necessary like a security guard (including the one he made just before his one, "The Marriage of Maria Braun").

 

We watch Veronika's furious interaction with Katz, who scolds her cruelly, and learn of her time spent with Robert Krohn. Veronika is finally led to her cramped, cell-like chamber and given the medications she longs for. Unfamiliar American country and western music can be heard throughout the clinic, even in this room ("The Battle of New Orleans," "16 Tons"). Similar music is audible in "Maria von Braun," where Günther Kaufmann plays Maria's G.I. lover, most likely coming from Armed Forces Radio, serving as a reminder of the American occupying forces' presence in postwar Germany. Veronika sings "Memories Are Made of This" during her own "farewell" party in a low, throaty torch-song voice that may be meant to evoke memories of Marlene Dietrich. Fassbinder's emphasis on Rosel Zech's reminds me of von Sternberg's in this regard.

That day, when Robert Krohn gets back to his flat and sees his girlfriend Henriette (Cornelia Froboess), he nearly brags about telling her where he spent the night. She accepts this as a sign of his character because she is curious about Voss. Krohn, a hockey reporter, persuades his editor that he has stumbled onto a significant scoop regarding a star's collapse and decline.

We encounter such great stars, mannered, decadent, and in various degrees of decay throughout Fassbinder's work. This movie was based on the true story of Sybille Schmitz, a German movie star from the 1930s who also encountered a drug clinic. Many critics compare Veronika Voss to Gloria Swanson in Billy Wilder's "Sunset Boulevard" when they look at her. Maybe the connection was made on purpose.

The scene's director (Volker Spengler) wears glasses and has his hat thrown back on his head in a Wilder-esque manner when Veronika finally, and after much struggle, wheedles a small role from her former agent. She only has two lines in her scene, yet she consistently fumbles them. She needs a fix because she's anxious. Robert Krone is keeping an eye on her, as is her ex-husband Max Rehbein (Armin Mueller-Stahl), who groggily informs the sports reporter that his ex-wife is a hopeless addict.

Importantly, two other Dr. Katz patients include: The Treibels are a kind old couple. You will discover that their terrible tale plays a significant role in Germany's history. In fact, the psychiatrist appears to be in the epicentre of a cynical web of postwar corruption involving drug enforcement and the police; when the web twitches, she immediately notices it.

Filmmaker Rainer Werner Fassbinder (1945–1982) was incredibly prolific. He directed 24 stage plays, two lengthy TV miniseries, and 40 movies throughout his 37 years of directing (notably "Berlin Alexanderplatz"). His passing seemed to have stopped this flow in its tracks. He may have worked at a frenetic pace, but his films always appear to have undergone thorough planning. He was greatly influenced by the highly stylized films of the German-Danish-American director Douglas Sirk ("Written on the Wind").

With a variety of wipe shots, iris views, pans, tracking, and the thoughtful placing of foregrounds, he, for instance, conjures vintage black-and-white in this movie. He frequently used zooms-in to emphasise dramatic points in other movies. His movies have mannered, formal, and far from unstructured visuals; "Veronika Vossvisual "'s approach implies he was getting even closer to the traditional Hollywood look.

What an impact he had while he was still living! He always appeared to have at least one film at Cannes, and you might often spot him at Le Petit Carlton, the renowned restaurant on rue Felix-Faure that is located behind the Hotel Carlton and behind the Palais du Festival. Close to the doorway, Fassbinder and his entourage would be gathered inside. looking just as unhappy as usual.

Fassbinder attended the 1981 Cannes Film Festival, nine months before his passing. I remember him at dinner, unshaven, defensive, always smoking, ignoring the food, and ordering a bottle of Cognac to be placed before him. This was in August 1983 at the Montreal Film Festival, where I was serving on the jury for the World Film Festival alongside his close friend, director Daniel Schmid.

Fassbinder frequently mentioned the same thing during his final weeks, according to Schmid, during those depressing phone calls at three in the morning. "How are you able to just sit there and stare out the window? he would yell at me. You can't, how? How are you able to just relax on a rock and observe the ocean? Why is everyone else so fortunate?"

Both Hulu Plus and the Criterion Collection offer "Veronika Voss" on DVD. Reviews of Fassbinder's "Ali — Fear Eats the Soul," a remake of Douglas Sirk's "All That Heaven Allows," and Sirk's "Written on the Wind" can also be found in my collection of great movies. This website offers reviews of at least a dozen additional Fassbinders.

 

In "Monsieur Hire," by Patrice Leconte, two lonesome individuals with no other things in common are the central characters of a tragedy about loneliness and erotomania. The opening shot is of a corpse and it is about a murder. A skinny, balding middle-aged tailor named Monsieur Hire lives alone. A 22-year-old blonde who lives alone across the courtyard from Hire in the same apartment building, Alice is stunning and kind-hearted.

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On the night of the murder, witnesses saw a small guy racing toward the structure. A police detective discovers throughout his probe around the locals that no one likes Hire. The first to concur is Hire. He acknowledges that some people find him strange. He says, "Want a picture?" as a neighbour across the hall peers at him through his doorway. White powder is thrown on his impeccable black suit as he enters his courtyard.

 

Everything about Hire (Michel Blanc) is perfect: his suit, tie, shoes' polish, and his perfectly cropped hair fringe. Alice (Sandrine Bonnaire) has an inviting grin and a sunny, open face. A man can be seen monitoring her from the shadows of the flat across from her during a thunderstorm one night. Hour after hour, night after night, Hire keeps watch on her as she sleeps, wakes up, dresses, undresses, irons her clothing, and makes love to her scumbag boyfriend, Emile (Luc Thuillier).

When she learns this, what does she do? The screenplay is based on Georges Simenon's Monsieur Hire's Engagement, but it differs greatly from his Inspector Maigret police procedurals in terms of meticulously observed behaviour and details. Simenon, like Leconte in this instance, was interested by the quirks of human personality and wrote about them in exquisite, straightforward prose.

The world of Hire is in black and white, despite the colour of the movie: He keeps white mice in a little cage at his tailor business together with his suits and shirts. His complexion is so pale that he might never leave the house during the day. On the other side, Alice prefers red: She "drops" her belongings—her clothes, her lipstick, and the supermarket bag of delicious tomatoes—on the stairs so that they roll toward Hire as he opens his door. Does he run to help her? No, he just stands there staring at her. What does she hope to achieve with this scheme?

She knocks on his door again, but he doesn't respond. Since he never receives visitors and she just left her own apartment, he must know it's her. The following day, when she knocks, he offers to take her to a restaurant that is located in a train station, which may provide some insight into his thoughts. He eventually admits that he did see her and her boyfriend having a sexual encounter. And he saw something else, which, in his opinion, explains why she suddenly and unexpectedly became friendly with him.

So it might initially. But when his relationship with Alice deepens, she is moved by his proclamation of love. On the other hand, her boyfriend Emile is a crass physical type who thinks that taking her to a boxing event while he ignores her is the ideal date. Later, when he had to hurriedly sneak out of a window, he first steps in a cradle made by her hands before stepping on her shoulders. Alice is the recipient of Hire's secrets. He admits to using prostitutes frequently, and as he describes the activities at a bordello, she expresses fascination—possibly at the idea that a man like Hire could have such erotic experiences and describe them in such a sensual way.

 

A man with many secrets is Hire. The regulars who have witnessed this before praise him as he rolls strike after strike beautifully, even sideways between his legs and while wearing a blindfold, one evening while the police inspector is conducting an investigation. He receives money from the proprietor, joins the officer at the bar, downs a shot, and declares, "You see? Not all places despise me."

What is occurring between Alice and Hire? What about her sentiments for her boyfriend Emile, for that matter? This connection appears to be quite typical of a film noir; he appears to be a stupid little criminal who can only be saved by her loyalty. As far as we can tell, her dedication to him is senseless and unwarranted, and even though they have had sex in the past, she is too complex for it to be the only explanation for anything. She has never met a man who had a deeper, more passionate, and more obsessive love for her than Hire. Even Emile wouldn't be able to comprehend it.

The main grief in this movie is depicted in a late fast-motion frame that briefly slows down to reveal a detail that was dwelt on in agonisingly slow motion. The conclusion then brings everything to a close, albeit not everyone is happy with it.

French director Patrice Leconte, born in 1947, is one of the most adaptable. You might not even be aware that you're a fan of him because of the way he shifts techniques and genres from picture to film. He had his first significant success with "Monsieur Hire" (1989), which I saw at its Cannes premiere.

He also made "Ridicule" (1996), about a provincial landowner during the reign of Louis XVI, who seeks to win the favor of the court by practicing the quick wit much loved by the king; "The Widow of Saint-Pierre" (2000), about a condemned killer awaiting death on a French-Canadian island until an executioner can be imported from Paris; "Man on the Train (2002)" with Jean Rochefortand Johnny Hallyday as a suave provincial gentleman's chance encounter with a thief; and another of my Great Movies, "The Hairdresser's Husband" (1990), again starring Rochefort as a man so enraptured by a small town hairdresser that he marries her, buys her a beauty parlor, and requires only that he be allowed to sit in it, day after day, adoring her.

Leconte told me at the 2002 Toronto Film Festival, "I don't think that a filmmaker is controlling puppets. "Instead, I think a filmmaker is more like to a chemist. You combine items that are unrelated to one another to see what results. The encounter of the two performers served as the catalyst for "The Man on the Train." Look what happens when you add a few drops of Jean Rochefort and a few drops of Johnny Hallyday. It can backfire on you at times."

I had to ask him about the French New Wave, and he responded, "Well, I had zero knowledge of Truffaut. He probably passed away too young, so I never got to meet him. The fact that Truffaut loved cinema was one of the traits I admired most about him. This man liked to make movies, and I would like that to be written on his tomb."

 

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