War Photographer War Photographer Directed by Christian Frei (Fine ...
You may not know it, but James Nachtwey has broadened the horizons of our knowledge. The intrepid photo-journalist has spent the last 25 years journeying from one hot zone to the next, a constant presence at the front lines of hell. This 2001 documentary, directed by Swiss filmmaker Christian Frei, follows the American photographer as he travels from Kosovo to Rwanda, Indonesia to the West Bank, in search of the pictures capable of giving voice to the voiceless.
War Photographer is unusual and admirable in the opportunities it gives to practitioners of one of the most derided professions in the world, journalism, to discuss their work at length. What emerges is a portrait of dedicated, intelligent professionals who have given serious thought to the ethical fine line they all must walk between documentation of the stories at hand, and out-and-out exploitation of their subjects. Nachtwey in particular weighs in on the necessity of establishing a bond of trust with his photographic subjects, allowing him to intrude on their grief, anguish or daily routine in exchange for a fair-minded, generous portrayal.
Nachtwey is an unusual specimen of our fame-obsessed society: a genuinely shy, retreating person. Unrestrained about leaping blindly up a hill to photograph Palestinian rock-throwers, when faced with the interviewer's camera, he finds it difficult to meet its glance. Nachtwey takes advantage of the opportunity to discuss the philosophical underpinnings of his trade, but clams up when the topic veers too close to his own success. At a museum retrospective of his work, he appears more embarrassed than gratified.
Frei, having learned the crucial lesson of any good documentarian, waits; he patiently waits for Nachtwey, rather than prod him into commenting. Likewise, in the scenes shot while Nachtwey is at work, the cameras mostly leave him alone, allowing for an untarnished view of the photographer at work. Frei and his crew rigged up a tiny video camera to Nachtwey's camera, putting viewers in Nachtwey's viewfinder as he selects his images.
Ultimately, War Photographer wrestles with the question of how the relatively affluent and safe citizens of the West, immune to most of the sufferings of the world, should react to the images of horror that journalists like Nachtwey send back from their seasons in hell. No real solution is reached, although a number of the interviewees struggle with the notion that they may be making their living off the backs of countless suffering others. Yet Nachtwey and his compatriots are understood as our collective emissaries, sent to the blurry photograph that is our knowledge of the rest of the world in the hopes of bringing it into clearer focus.
?Saul Austerlitz
After Halloween II made it clear that Michael Myers was turning into a franchise, Carpenter (as producer) tried to grab the reins and get the series back to his original vision. The result was the much-loathed Halloween III: Season of the Witch.
Much loathed, at least, by the dimwitted teens who left the theater confused and angry, having just sat there for two hours waiting for Michael Myers to pop out of a closet to stab some of their peers. That never happened. What they got instead was a film with an actual plot?and a fairly complex and intelligent one at that?which I'm sure made more than a few heads hurt.
I think I love Halloween III so much because it reminds me of a Larry Cohen film, but one with a competent director (in this case first-timer Wallace). The screenplay concerns a doctor in Northern California (Tom Atkins) who stumbles upon an incredibly bizarre plot on the part of an evil toy company (Silver Shamrock) to kill most of the children in America on Halloween night using creepy masks, a chunk of Stonehenge, a bunch of murderous androids dressed like FBI agents and the most annoying commercial jingle ever written. When used together properly, these things will make most any tyke's head explode into a writhing mass of bugs and snakes.
The great Dan O'Herlihy plays the slick head of Silver Shamrock like a demonic George Plimpton, and the plot, though maybe not as intellectually savvy as some of David Cronenberg's early films, still effectively raises questions about surveillance and the power of the media in between all the exploding heads. In the end, it's a hell of a lot more interesting than watching some guy in a Capt. Kirk mask carve up a bunch of kids again. Sadly, there weren't too many of us who felt that way, and the series quickly became sad and boring again with Halloween IV: The Return of Michael Myers.
Universal has just started repackaging and re-releasing a number of Carpenter's out-of-print films. Sadly, they aren't putting much work into them. As far as extras go, as with They Live, all Halloween III has to offer apart from the film itself is a page recommending that you buy other John Carpenter (and John Carpenter-produced) films.
?Jim Knipfel
The film takes a while to get where it's going, needing to dispatch two kings before getting to the central conflict between the patriotic Suriyothai (M.L. Piyapas Bhirombhakdi) and the cunning, duplicitous Srisudachan (Mai Charoenpura), who has parlayed her position as consort to the king into a perch of unalloyed power after the king's untimely demise. Srisudachan has also elevated her previously lowly boyfriend, making him the new king until their infant son reaches adulthood. While Srisudachan is pleasingly nasty, a sexy schemer who injects a little life into this bland picture, the confusing narrative and bloated cast of characters sap whatever energy she can deliver. The bulk of Suriyothai is an onslaught of royal processions, court peons kowtowing and poorly edited battle sequences. The film sets up Srisudachan as the ultimate evil to be vanquished in order to restore stability to the kingdom, and when she finally is, Suriyothai spends another, totally pointless, half hour doing battle with the Burmese. Perhaps to someone more familiar with Thai history and culture, these artistic decisions would make more sense; to an outsider, they're merely frustrating.
Still, even with the relative artistic failure of Suriyothai, Sony Pictures Classics must be commended for having the courage to release a film from as cinematically unfamiliar a locale as Thailand. Easily confused art-house audiences, thrown by any foreign-language film that doesn't take place in Paris, have exhibited a particularly vivid fear of Asian films, leaving many distributors wary of pursuing works that don't star Jackie Chan or Jet Li. While this is not the film that will end such prejudices, it is nevertheless nice to see a new filmmaking culture make the leap to American screens. Perhaps next time, Thailand will send us something a little better.
?Saul Austerlitz