To the 8 cherished readers of this blog:by Jason Pyles
I love unusual films because they make such great conversation pieces. And in some sick, “I had no friends in high school” way, possessing a repertoire of obscure, filmic oddities like “Gerry,” “Freaks,” “Gates of Heaven” or “Yol” gives me some feeling of superiority over the common moviegoer. See? Just the fact that you haven’t even heard of those films makes me feel powerful …
But there’s another aspect of obscure films that I love: Watching them gives me that magical, near-euphoric feeling of being in 9th grade, eating Doritos and Mountain Dew on a Saturday at 2 a.m. and happening upon some bizarre, B-movie on a late-night cable network. The next morning you wake up and remember that viewing experience to have been a lot more interesting than it actually was.
Well, “Yol” is kind of like that. But technically, it’s not all that obscure, I guess, since it won best film in 1982 at Cannes. Then again, you could probably ask 1,000 people — in vain — if they’ve ever heard of it. Why? Because it’s a Turkish film from 1982, that’s why. It’s actually quite difficult to track down, even if you did want to watch it. Andy and I found a VHS copy from the Salt Lake City Public Library. It’s not available on Netflix or Blockbuster online. Find it and watch it and you, too, can join our elitism.
As best as I could tell from my research, “Yol” has one of three English translations: 1. “trek of life” 2. “the road” or 3. “the way.” … (Or if you’re Andy, you might interpret it as “Yo!”)
We learn from its deadly serious preface that “Yol” is a message movie whose filmmakers and cast put themselves at great risk just to be associated with the project.
A few inmates at a “half-open prison” are permitted a week-long leave from the prison. They embark on their journey and begin dispersing to various cities. Naturally, each inmate has his demons associated with his prison sentence, but some prisoners’ baggage is heavier than the others’.
Mostly, “Yol” is just a long, slow, passage-of-time film. Now, at first, this seems about right because, after all, it’s a film about inmates: A convict’s sense of time passing must seem really slow. But when you think about it, this one measly week must really seem to fly to these typically caged birds.
Anyway, the fact that “Yol” is subtitled and very slow will probably discourage most viewers from ever watching it. But there are rewards for those who do. There are revelations and occurrences in “Yol” that become progressively more and more troubling. Remember how the Brad Pitt character’s initial death scene in “Meet Joe Black” is jarringly startling? Well, there’s nothing immediately upsetting about “Yol.” Its alarming developments slowly become increasingly alarming as they echo in your mind. The more you dwell on “Yol,” the more haunting it becomes.
To keep this film and our elite status exclusive, I won’t reveal what these troubling developments are. You’ll just have to brave it for yourself. But if you read Andy’s exceptional review below (posted on July 6), he throws a bone and reveals one of the stories.
Just to be clear, I'm not saying "Yol" is entertaining at all. Watching "Yol" is akin to eating a worm: It's not overly pleasant while you're doing it, but after you've endured the experience, you have a singular accomplishment (that nobody cares about).
by Jason Pyles
“Brazil” was co-written and directed by Terry Gilliam. For those who are unacquainted with Mr. Gilliam, allow me to introduce you:
Somehow Terry Gilliam is simultaneously both the argument for — as well as the argument against — studios allowing a director to have free reign with his or her creative vision. Gilliam is a true artist, indeed, which is to say, his artistic passions often slide off the edge into madness.
Case in point: Among the special features of Gilliam’s “12 Monkeys” DVD, there is a making-of documentary titled “The Hamster Factor and Other Tales of 12 Monkeys.” This documentary’s segment about “the hamster factor” perfectly illustrates an artist like Gilliam’s paradoxical strength and weakness. There is a brief, simple scene that shows Bruce Willis sitting naked. The documentary indicates that this scene should have only taken a few minutes to shoot. But Gilliam insisted on having a hamster running inside a wheel during this scene.
What should have taken 15 minutes ended up taking several hours, thanks to an uncooperative hamster (and a scarily determined director).
Now, anybody who’s ever created anything knows that it’s often the little (unnecessary) details that can give an artist a feeling of satisfaction and ownership. However, the documentary shows us the final product of this scene from “12 Monkeys” and the running hamster is barely visible. If you weren’t looking for it, I believe the hamster would be totally invisible, or at least, indistinguishable. The documentary gives the definite impression that it’s not as important for Gilliam (or his audience) to see this detail as it is for him to simply know it’s there.
Greatness or madness? I think I know, but let’s just say it depends. The studio financing the project will give you one answer; the handsomely paid hamster wrangler would probably give you another. Hard to say. I guess it also depends on the artist: I mean, Orson Welles was basically given carte blanche, and he delivered “Citizen Kane.” Innumerable counter examples also exist. Sure, I lean toward letting the artist freely execute his or her vision, but then, it’s not my money, either.
“The Hamster Effect” documentary, as well as another called “Lost in La Mancha” (2002), shows us that Gilliam is not only obsessive, but he’s also very unlucky. Even the word “cursed” might be appropriate. His bad luck is a whole other discussion for another time and place.
I prefaced my comments on “Brazil” with this Terry Gilliam discussion about the hamster scene because I think it lends us insight into the place where Gilliam is coming from in his films. I’m suggesting that “Brazil” is more autobiographical than you might expect. Think about it — for those who have seen “Brazil” — the protagonist, Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce), envisions himself in a much more heroic light than the rest of the world sees him. In his fantasies, he’s a winged warrior of romance and passion, free to fly anywhere he pleases. This surely isn’t much different from how Gilliam must picture himself as a filmmaker.
And Lowry and his love, Jill Layton (Kim Greist), are ominously watched over, restricted and regulated by the Powers That Be, namely a suffocating and controlling government, which has its reasons, namely, counter-terrorism.
How parallel the above paragraph seems to the way Gilliam must surely feel that he and his love (the film in his mind) are ominously watched over, restricted and regulated by the Powers That Be, namely a suffocating studio and board of investors, which have their reasons, namely, financial viability.
…And so forth.
Yes, I agree with Andy that “Brazil” has unmistakable similarities to George Orwell’s book “1984” and to director Michael Radford’s filmic adaptation. So, anybody who’s anti-Big Government will probably love this movie in much the same way.
But to me, the biggest reason to see “Brazil” is to enjoy the chock-full richness of its mise en scène, which basically means everything the camera sees. The art direction and set design are truly something to behold, offering excessive eye-candy. Andy wondered if this film was low-budget, and I should say not. But if it was a low-budget production, that would make it all the more impressive — à la “District 9.”
Even the most casual moviegoer can recognize the look of a Tim Burton film, with all his typical, macabre weirdness. Similarly, Terry Gilliam’s films also seem to have a signature style that’s deeply rooted in mise en scène. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that Gilliam is a master of mise en scène, and I would cite “Brazil” first as evidence. In “Brazil,” even the scenery itself is a character. It carries forth the odd, tonal duality of humor and uneasiness.
So, the next time you’re feeling cinematically adventurous and arty, check out Terry Gilliam’s “Brazil.”
