Watcher (2022)

Watcher has a good premise and a good start, as our main character Julia (Maika Monroe) finds herself in Bucharest, Romania, with her husband Francis (Karl Glusman). Both were raised in the US and both have Romanian roots, but only Francis can speak the language, and he is there for a demanding job in marketing with long hours. Julia’s isolation is near complete, as she spends most of her time by herself in their excellent apartment, frustrated by the language every time she goes out. Then, actually almost right away, she notices a man in the building across the street, standing in his window. She gets the feeling he is looking at her. She gets the feeling he is following her. She thinks she sees him everywhere she goes. Maybe—we only catch glimpses of him if that. We see a couple of the events she reports to her husband and skeptical police. A man sits directly behind her in a movie theater in one, but we never get a good look at him. He might be some other creep. She might be overthinking the guy in the window (though we doubt that given that we know the chosen genre of our show). Her overworked husband starts to wonder about her. The police plainly think she’s a little kookoo. There are nice notes here of paranoid classics like Rosemary’s Baby and Rear Window. It’s never entirely clear whether it’s all not Julia’s imagination, though the movie gets noticeably more predetermined to an agenda as it goes, particularly in the last third. When Julia waves at the figure in the window and it waves back the picture is all in as a serial killer Psycho kind of show with some strange ins and outs and, ultimately, explaining every last blasted thing, complete with twists and turns that are not that unexpected. The first half is better, creepy and sneaky with uncertainty. We feel Julia’s isolation keenly. The language barrier is done really well. Director and cowriter Chloe Okuno never gives us subtitles for the Romanian and not many Romanians have even passing English. Monroe puts on a good show as someone who might be cracking up from culture shock. Then, well, you might as well stay for the end. It’s not a long movie.

Easy Riders, Raging Bulls (1998)

I had a lot of fun with this account of the “New Hollywood” movie industry in the 1970s. Author Peter Biskind had access to dozens of main players and people who knew them. There are so many characters quoted, in fact, that it can get to be hard sorting them out. Some, including Robert Altman and Steven Spielberg, later claimed indignantly that Biskind got it all wrong, which is possible. But I’m pretty sure a lot of these characters are fabulists themselves so take it all with due caution. It took me so long to get to the highly entertaining (and, yes, gossipy) Easy Riders, Raging Bulls that I found myself wondering which came first—the cemented-in legends of the New Hollywood, or this book. At any rate, the ‘70s was approximately my coming-of-age time and, from, say, 1968 on, I was a dedicated moviegoer. I had no idea I was living through such exciting times, though I noticed later how anemic Hollywood fare seemed to become in the ‘80s and later. I still think it’s fair to blame that on Jaws and Star Wars, but Biskind is not blind to that. The most puzzling story for me remains Francis Ford Coppola—responsible for some of the greatest movies ever made, and just as suddenly a nonfactor after the ‘70s. Go figure. I had forgotten about Peter Bogdanovich who, according to Biskind’s portrait, made a couple of good movies and then became as insufferable as the memorable character he played on The Sopranos. Biskind’s treatment of Dennis Hopper is hilarious—this utter incompetent who somehow drew the director credit for Easy Rider. I already knew the general history under consideration, but Easy Riders, Raging Bulls is packed with delicious details and anecdotes. There are some weird gaps. Biskind uses Oscars results as one of his metrics along with revenue figures, reviews, and general consensus. But Woody Allen is barely mentioned. That’s likely because Biskind couldn’t get him or his tribe to talk. But Woody Allen, however reprehensible he appears now (certainly no worse than Paul Schrader and other notable rats here!), is an obvious model of a film auteur, plus he won big in Hollywood for Annie Hall. Strange omission. But an always interesting and entertaining book.

In case the library is closed due to pandemic, which is over.

Celine and Julie Go Boating (1974)

Céline et Julie vont en bateau: Phantom Ladies Over Paris, France, 193 minutes

Director: Jacques Rivette

Writers: Juliet Berto, Dominique Labourier, Bulle Ogier, Marie-France Pisier, Jacques Rivette, Eduardo de Gregorio, Henry James

Photography: Jacques Renard

Music: Jean-Marie Senia

Editor: Nicole Lubtchansky
Cast: Juliet Berto, Dominique Labourier, Bulle Ogier, Marie-France Pisier, Barbet Schroeder

Given the surreal rambles of Celine and Julie Go Boating, along with a release date not far past the 1960s, you have to wonder if psychedelic or something like it was the intention here. There are references here to Lewis Carroll and Alice’s adventures with big rabbits and clocks and such. Hard candies falling in the laps of Celine and Julie in dream-like situations (falling literally into their mouths) and provoking visions bears some suggestion of LSD, whose doses at one time were famous for coming on sugar cubes. Today’s viewers may be more likely to think of cannabis edibles, which were largely unheard of in 1974 as far as I know. That works too. I haven’t seen much by director and cowriter Jacques Rivette, but he seems to have some penchant for going long. La Belle Noiseuse (1991) is four hours, a pair of Joan of Arc pictures from 1994 run nearly five hours together, and of course the 1971 Out 1 famously goes nearly 13 hours.

Not until the very end of Celine and Julie is any kind of literal boating seen. The boating in the title is more like the boating found in the Beatles song “Tomorrow Never Knows”: “Turn off your mind relax and float down-stream / It is not dying.” There is a recurring title card in Celine and Julie that in a way tells the story of the whole movie: “But the next morning...” Black screens of a few seconds are used as transitions, sometimes the usual matter of “later that day,” but sometimes mere seconds or less, suggesting powerful epiphanies of some kind to the brain. From over here it looks like a pretty good time, as Celine (Juliet Berto) and Julie (Dominique Labourier) bop about on somewhat mystifying adventures in an alternate reality—looks like they’re having a great time. But merely watching it is not the same thing.