Bergman's The Life of the Marionettes, a retelling of the myth of Philemon and Baucis



Full of astonishment I look back on our lives, on our former reality and think it was all a dream. It was a game. Lord knows what the hell we were doing. This is true reality and it’s unbearable. I talk, answer, think, put on my clothes, sleep and eat. It’s a daily compulsion. A strange, hard surface. But under the surface, I’m crying. I’m crying for myself… because I can no longer be the way I was. What was, can never be again. It’s been destroyed. It’s gone… like a dream.’ (Katarina, From the Life of the Marionettes).

Philemon and Baucis, an old married couple, poor but devoted and therefore content, are the only ones in their town in Phrygia who show hospitality to two bedraggled strangers – who it transpires are Hermes and Zeus. The gods spare the couple as they destroy the town that repudiated them and offer them a wish; they choose to be together forever and that when one of them dies the other should die at the same time. Their wish is granted and when they die they are changed into intertwining trees.

A myth about the sacredness of hospitality, honouring the gods, global hubris, how poverty of circumstance need not lead to poverty of heart, fidelity, love and so on.

The idea of two people who have become inseparable, who have got to know and depend on each other so much that they have almost become one person, is an aspect of the Philemon and Baucis myth that appealed to Ingmar Bergman when he made From the Life of the Marionettes (1980) – except that in Bergman, Peter and Katarina’s inseparability and intertwining have bred hate, humiliation, torture, loneliness, perversion and a fervent desire to kill each other – repressed rage which the smallest detail – ‘a word, a gesture, a tone of voice’ – could release, and is eventually released, leading to shocking violence, to a murder or, as Bergman repeatedly refers to it in the film, to a ‘catastrophe’.

From the Life of the Marionettes – which I saw yesterday – is a dark and brutal film about being trapped – by our childhoods, families, lovers, desires, dreams, society, time and so on – about how, as Peter repeatedly states, ‘there is no way out’ – from the past, present and future; but it is not a depressing film, and this is because the film presents the truth – of our own vulnerabilities, suffering and chaotic existence – and the truth is always uplifting.

Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid: a Homeric Western

















‘Death is overcome when it is made welcome instead of merely being experienced, and when it makes life a perpetual gamble and endows it with exemplary value so that men will praise it as a model of “imperishable glory.” When the hero gives up a long life in favor of an early death, whatever he loses in honors paid to his living person he more than regains a hundredfold with the glory that will suffuse his memory for all time to come. Archaic Greek culture is one in which everyone lives in terms of others, under the eyes and in the esteem of others, where the basis of a personality is confirmed by the extent to which its reputation is known; in such a context, real death lies in amnesia, silence, demeaning obscurity, the absence of fame. By contrast, real existence – for the living or the dead – comes from being recognized, valued, and honored. Above all, it comes from being glorified as the central figure in a song of praise, a story that endlessly tells and retells of a destiny admired by all.’ (Jean-Pierre Vernant: A “Beautiful Death” and the Disfigured Corpse in Homeric Epic).

Legein's discussion of High Noon and tragedy prompted me to watch again one of my favourite Westerns, Sam Peckinpah's Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid. Of Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid I have this to say:

If there's a more beautiful, poetic and Homeric American film than Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid, a more relentless and uncompromising statement in American film of the tragic vision, in which life is brief, brutal and absurd, an American film more obsessed and haunted by mortality, in which death is portrayed as remorseless, beyond mediation or amelioration and from which there is definitely no return and that the only way to cope with death, let alone overcome it, is to embrace it, in which the nature of the kalos thanatos (beautiful death), as reserved for Billy the Kid, is demonstrated, then I haven't seen this film.

The above clip is of Slim Pickens (as Sheriff Baker) dying a Homeric death as Bob Dylan, who has a cameo role in the film as the knife-wielding Alias, sings Knockin' on Heaven's Door. Mama, take this badge off of me, I can't use it anymore. It's gettin' dark, too dark for me to see. I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door. Mama, put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is comin' down. I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door.

It doesn't get much better than this in American film.

Godard’s Le Mépris: a mediation on Homer and the Mediterranean



Jean-Luc Godard’s Le Mépris (Contempt), made in 1963, is, among other things, a meditation on Homer’s Odyssey, a celebration of Mediterranean landscape and culture and an exposition of the filmmaker’s love/hate relationship with America.

Paul Javal (Michel Piccoli) is invited by American film producer Jeremiah Prokosch (Jack Palance) to rewrite the screenplay of The Odyssey because he feels the version being filmed by the director, Fritz Lang – who plays himself – is too intellectual.

The American wants more sex in Lang’s Homer – and not just more sex, but more of everything, without being able to define what he wants more of, he just wants more – and although Paul is reluctant to undermine Lang, the money Jerry offers him for joining the project, which Paul thinks will please his beautiful wife Camille (Brigitte Bardot), overcomes his doubt and guilt.

In fact, Paul becomes so impressed by Jerry’s money and power, so enamoured with the glamour of filmmaking, so anxious not to alienate his benefactor, that he encourages his wife to go along with the advances of the voracious American, virtually offering her to him on a plate, prompting her to lose respect and love for her husband, to feel the ‘contempt’ which constitutes the title of the film.

Paul and Camille’s disintegrating marriage – revealed in an extraordinary 30-minute sequence of fighting, insults and arguing – encourages the writer to accept Jerry’s interpretation of The Odyssey as a tale of a poisoned marriage, of Penelope’s infidelity and Odysseus’ ennui.

For Jerry, Odysseus leaves Ithaca to fight the Trojan war because he is bored with Penelope, and stays away for so long because he can’t stand the prospect of returning to his wife, who far from being faithful and patient is, according to Jerry, resentful of Odysseus for abandoning her and cuckolds him with the suitors.

Lang, the personification of European sophistication and old world charm, always ready with a quote from Holderlin or Dante, hates this interpretation of Odysseus as a ‘modern neurotic’, but is impotent to impose his view on Jerry – the bullying, crude American film producer, who quotes trite aphorisms written on scraps of paper he keeps in his pockets, who expects the world to conform to his desires, and who ‘likes gods. I like them very much. I know exactly how they feel.’

When Fritz Lang defends his vision of The Odyssey – ‘it’s a story of man’s fight against the gods’ – and tells Jerry that in his film ‘finally, you get the feel of Greek culture’ – Jerry says: ‘Whenever I hear the word culture, I bring out my chequebook,’ echoing Gestapo chief Hermann Goering: ‘Whenever I hear the word culture, I reach for my revolver.’

The exchange is an early hint of the anti-Americanism which infamously characterises Godard’s films – though Le Mépris, infused with references to Rancho Notorious, Hatari, Bigger Than Life, Some Came Running, Rio Bravo, Griffith, Chaplin and United Artists, also shows how much Godard’s imagination has been shaped by American film and culture.

In Eloge de l’amour (2000) – in which one of the plot lines involves Spielberg Associates and Incorporated trying to buy the rights to make a French resistance movie – Godard has his protagonist Edgar say: ‘Americans have no real past… They have no memory of their own. Their machines do, but they have none personally. So they buy the past of others.’

But in Détective (1985), Godard shows his abiding love for American film and American culture by dedicating his film to John Cassavetes, Clint Eastwood and Edgar G. Ulmer.

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He who must die: Jules Dassin takes on Kazantzakis



I finally managed to track down and watch Jules Dassin’s He Who Must Die (Celui qui doit mourir), the American filmmaker’s (1957) version of Nikos Kazantzakis’ Christ Recrucified (aka The Greek Passion), which is about destitute Greek refugees fleeing Turkish persecution only to be refused shelter in a well-off village, which, ironically, is gearing up for its traditional Passion play.

The film’s not bad, a little tedious in places, and is hindered by such a quintessentially Greek story being shot in French, though the performances are mostly excellent – the Francophone actors make quite convincing Greeks and Jean Servais’ depiction of Papa Photis is particularly good and Dostoevskian. In fact, only Melina Mercouri (again playing a prostitute) is insufferable and indeed the film’s occasional descent into Dassin’s typically gushing philhellenism – exemplified by the inappropriate (to Kazantzakis’ vision) renditions, throughout the film, of the Greek National Anthem and patriotic folk songs, including Σαράντα παλικάρια and Πότε Θα Κάνει Ξαστεριά – is no doubt attributable to the influence of (Dassin’s wife) Mercouri’s own melodramatic and whimsical nationalism. All somewhat patronising – especially when you factor in the deployment and purpose of the Greek extras in the film, which is to die and keen and through their suffering become, for the leftist and McCarthy witch hunt exile Dassin, revolutionaries – but the film has its moments, and is as good and as bad as the other two efforts to film Kazantzakis, Michalis Cacoyiannis’ Zorba the Greek and Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation.

The above clip is the opening sequence to He Who Must Die. Go here or here to download the entire film as a torrent. The English subtitles are embedded in the film.

Kazantzakis scholar Peter Bien has written a short survey of the three attempts to film Kazantzakis, in which he is critical of Dassin, Cacoyiannis and Scorsese, who, Bien argues, each in their different ways, significantly distort Kazantzakis. Bien’s essay can be accessed here.

Ill Met by Moonlight: a rare Powell and Pressburger failure

 

Above is the 1957 British film, Ill Met By Moonlight, based on the book of the same name by W. Stanley Moss, which recounts the kidnap in 1944 of the senior German commander in Nazi-occupied Crete, General Heinrich Kreipe, by British SOE officers and Cretan resistance fighters. Moss was one of the British officers involved in the kidnap, another was Patrick Leigh Fermor, who in the 1930s was part of the Katsimbalis circle and, after the war, wrote extensively about Greece, particularly the Mani, where Leigh Fermor settled and continues to live. The film is disappointing – somewhat flippant and also patronising in its portrayal of the Cretans – even more so when you consider that it was made by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, who together were responsible for a series of films in the 1940s and 1950s which are the finest in British cinema. The film does have a good score from Mikis Theodorakis.

The Blue Angel: Gena Rowlands and Marlene Dietrich



Josef von Sternberg’s film The Blue Angel (1930), with Marlene Dietrich, is an extraordinary depiction of loneliness and humiliation, hubris and tragedy. (See the English-language version of the film in its entirety above).

Writing in Cassavetes on Cassavetes, Ray Carney reveals the influence of The Blue Angel on John Cassavetes.

Carney says of Gena Rowlands (John Cassavetes’ wife and star in many of his films):

‘It’s indicative… of many of her enduring attitudes that, after she saw The Blue Angel, Marlene Dietrich became her idol as an actress. Rowlands was fascinated with Dietrich’s blend of feminine sexual allure and almost masculine toughness and swagger. She watched the film over and over again… and even adopted a few of Dietrich’s gestures and mannerisms (sitting backward on a chair and such).’

Carney also tells us how The Blue Angel inspired Cassavetes in relation to his The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (1975):

‘Cassavetes and Rowlands were both fans of Sternberg’s The Blue Angel. Rowlands loved the toughness and unsentimentalilty of Dietrich’s performance. Cassavetes liked the film for a different reason – because it was about an artist-surrogate who creates an artificial, artful world in which to live. (The filmmaker once asked me to give him a rare photograph I had from it, as well as a photograph showing the set of Yen’s palace in [Frank Capra’s] The Bitter Tea of General Yen, another film with the same subject). It’s not accidental that there is a photograph of Dietrich visible on the mirror of the strippers’ dressing room in the first version of [The Killing of a Chinese Bookie]. Although none of Cassavetes’ interviewers picked up on the allusion, in several post-release statements, Cassavetes wryly implied that he had modelled the character of Mr Sophistication [picture above] on Professor Rath.

‘Another reason Cassavetes was fascinated by The Blue Angel was that the film focused on the situation of a scorned, humiliated stage performer, an emotional event that spoke to Cassavetes for personal reasons. Notwithstanding the macho-man image he so diligently cultivated (or perhaps because of it), he often thought of his own life as a series of public humiliations – from his grade-school, high-school, college and drama-school days; to his years of unemployment and unsuccessful audition experiences – like the time he was jeered off stage as an MC at a burlesque house (an event dramatized in Shadows in Hugh’s nightclub debacle); to the various and sundry fiascos associated with his appearances at screenings and on television shows; to his run-ins with directors when he was acting (some of which are dramatized with the character of Myrtle in Opening Night).’

Dark Odyssey: a tale of Greek America



I managed to find and upload to youtube Dark Odyssesy, a rarely seen Greek-American film (1954), which concerns Yiannis Martakis, played by Athan Karras, who travels from his village in Greece to New York in order to kill the man who he believes dishonoured his sister. While on his vendetta in New York, Yiannis becomes involved with a Greek American girl who tries to persuade him to abandon the traditions and values of the old country and embrace the modernity and liberalism of America. It’s a very good film, which you should watch before youtube takes it down.

In one of the best scenes in the film, Karras (a celebrated choreographer and exponent of Greek dance) performs a breathtaking tsamiko, which you can see below.



Below is a review and history of Dark Odyssey by Dan Georgakas who, as a film critic and student of Greek America, has been instrumental in the film’s rediscovery. Georgakas regards the film as ‘perhaps the best featuring Greek American characters ever made’. He praises Dark Odyssey’s authentic depiction of Greek American life and evocation of 1950s New York. (Georgakas’ article is taken from here).

Dark Odyssey: An Indie Classic Rediscovered   
Dark Odyssey (1954) is an early manifestation of independent filmmaking in New York City that went virtually unknown for more than four decades. Cowritten and codirected by William Kyriakis and Radley Metzger, the film’s theme largely reflects the ethnic insights of Kyriakis, a child of Greek immigrants who grew up in the then heavily-Greek area of New York City’s Chelsea district. The story of how Dark Odyssey was made and its exhibition history is as harrowing as the fate of the film’s tragic hero and reflective of the perennial problems facing independent cinema.

Dark Odyssey, perhaps the best film featuring Greek American characters ever made, was possible due to the new lighter cameras that enabled the filmmakers to shoot most of the film on location with natural light. This greatly reduced the need to rent costly studio facilities for first-time filmmakers Kyriakis and Metzger. Both directors were much impressed by Italian neorealistic films that used on-site shooting extensively and by recent Hollywood films with New York City locations such as The Naked City (1948), On The Town (1949), and Side Street (1950). Kyriakis thought on-site filming would be ideal in helping him create an authentic film about the immigrant culture in which he had been reared.

The plot revolves around Yianni Martakis (Athan Karras), a young Greek sailor who illegally leaves his ship when it harbors in Brooklyn. His mission is to find and slay the man whose sexual indiscretions caused the death of his sister in Greece. In the course of locating the man’s exact whereabouts, Yianni encounters Niki Vassos (Jeanne Jerrems), a wholesome Greek American who works at a waterfront diner. Not knowing the purpose of his visit, Niki guides him to Washington Heights, then a Greek enclave. Unable to immediately confront his prey, Yianni visits the Vassos home and is invited to stay in an extra room in the apartment while he is in New York.

Niki’s father and mother, played brilliantly by Ariadne and Nicholas Zapnoukayas, culturally connect with Yianni and are delighted at the bond they see developing between Yianni and Niki. Their other daughter, Helen (Rosemary Torri), is dating an American, a relationship the parents are trying to thwart. As the film progresses, we see the kindly parents eventually accept Helen’s suitor, but, until the final scenes, it is not certain if Niki’s love will deter Yianni from his rendezvous with murder. The broader theme at play is whether the better aspects of Hellenic culture melded with the opportunities in the United States will prevail over the destructive aspects of traditional Greek culture.

The Vassos elders in Dark Odyssey are very old country in their views and must struggle hard to understand their American-born daughters, but they are not foolish and in many respects are quite sophisticated regarding their ethical and social options. Particularly well done is a low-keyed family party which features Greek dancing performed informally in the manner Greek Americans have experienced in untold living rooms throughout the United States for decades. The apartment, a set built by Kyriakis and Metzger, has the physical size of a typical working-class apartment of the 1950s, rather than the incredibly outsized or simply tawdry New York apartments common to most Hollywood productions. The dress of the various guests, their speech patterns, their interests, and various social details are genuine. These portraits reflect ethnic culture and habits far more accurately than the incredibly popular My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2003) made some fifty years later.

Capping the family party scene is the most extraordinary Greek dance in American film. Choreographed and performed by Athan Karras, the dance physically expresses the struggle between the budding love and the abiding hate that consumes Martakis’s psyche. The Vassos family has placed a sword on the wall as a symbol of ethnic pride. Yianni briefly explains to some of the guests that the sword is associated with a variation of the ‘tsamiko’ style of dance that is extremely personal. Against his better judgment, he is prevailed upon to dance. The movements that follow are all the more dramatic in that Karras skillfully wields the sword as he moves, a reminder that many movements in Greek folk dances are far more meaningful when we understand they were first performed by men armed with rifles or swords who were wearing kiltlike skirts called ‘foustanellas’. The onlookers are awed by his performance, but only Niki knows the cause of the intense passion Karras has expressed.

The film’s outdoor scenes are as authentic as its interiors. A Greek ship owner allowed Kyriakis and Metzger to use a freighter docked in Brooklyn for the opening scenes. A Greek diner owner in lower Manhattan allowed the filmmakers to shoot in his premises on a Sunday morning. The owners of a Greek nightclub on Eighth Avenue allowed them to shoot several scenes, some involving actual customers. A Washington Heights resident allowed them to use a rooftop. A tugboat captain allowed his boat to be used in a long river sequence that shows the Manhattan skyline from the vantage point of the Hudson River. That particular sequence was interrupted when the tug had to assist in maneuvering the S.S. United States out of its pier on to a European-bound sea lane. Still other sequences were shot below the George Washington Bridge and around Grant’s Tomb. The result is a remarkable evocation of the Manhattan cityscapes and sounds of the 1950s.

The film took nearly five years to move from the first pages of a script to a full-length feature film. All the actors had donated their services, so shooting had to be done only a few hours a week as the cast became available. Erratic cash flow also created gaps at various stages of production. Once completed, the film faced new problems. Major distributors rejected the film as too ethnic to reach a mass audience in America. On the other hand, distributors dealing with the Greek American market felt it would fail if it was not presented in the Greek language. Thus, the usual pattern of a Greek-language film being dubbed into English was reversed.

Dark Odyssey opened at the Cameo Theater on 44th Street, with the English language version alternating with the Greek language version. The New York Times hailed the film as, ‘Thoughtful, unpretentious, and creatively turned… Messers Kyriakis and Metzger rate a warm welcome to the movie fold.’ Despite similar praise from other American dailies, there were no funds for advertising and the film did poorly at the box office. Later, it was shown at the Steinway Theater in Astoria for a week, but again without adequate advertising, the film failed to draw an audience. From that time on, Dark Odyssey remained unseen and forgotten. That circumstance only changed in 1999 when First Run Features made the film available as a low-cost video as part of a box set featuring the films of Radley Metzger. On its release in the new format, The Daily News compared the film to the work of John Cassavetes and judged it, ‘…a thoroughly warm and enduring drama that doubles as an evocative time capsule portrait of 1950s Manhattan.’ Since then, Dark Odyssey has taken on a second life as a feature in Greek film festivals in America and as a component of various university courses, most often in ethnic studies programs.

The subsequent careers of the filmmakers are of note as they indicate the various pathways opened to artists involved in independent filmmaking even in the 1950s. Rather than being discouraged by Dark Odyssey’s rapid demise, William Kyriakis went on to a long and fruitful career as a documentary filmmaker. He also worked on various Greek films released in America, most notably Michael Cacoyannis’s Stella. Codirector Radley Metzger built an international reputation as a cult director with a series of erotic films that were financial plums. As recently as September 2010, Metzger was honored for his film work by the Oldenburg International Film Festival in Germany. Laurence Rosenthal, who wrote the compelling musical score for Dark Odyssey, went on to Hollywood where he composed for major motion pictures such as The Miracle Worker, Requiem for a Heavyweight, and Becket.

Athan Karras left the Broadway stage where he had been working and moved to Hollywood where he became a much sought choreographer and dance instructor. Over the years, he became recognized as America’s leading authority on traditional Greek dancing. Hollywood producers often consulted Karras about films and television shows featuring Greek music. His prestigious dance studios attracted Hollywood luminaries such as Marlon Brando, Ginger Rogers, Telly Savalas, Bo Derek, and Omar Sharif. Ariadne and Nicholas Zapnoukayas continued to perform in Greek theatrical productions until the demise of those acting venues in the late 1960s.

Made at the dawn of American independent feature filmmaking that employed on-site locations, Dark Odyssey remains a notable example of what genuinely independent film production can accomplish. Despite the obstacles created by an extremely limited budget and resources, the film succeeded in creating a vibrant, visual portrait of New York at a time of great change without recourse to the dramatics of poverty-stricken lives or organized crime. Thematically, the film offers telling insights into ethnic life in post-World War II urban America. The specifics are Greek but the patterns fit experiences common to all immigrants and their immediate offspring.

Ben Gazzara on John Cassavetes: ‘He wasn’t a filmmaker; he was a poet’

 

It breaks my heart to have this era come to an end. Ben meant so much to all of us. To our families. To John. To Peter [Falk]. To have them gone now is devastating to me.’ Gena Rowlands

Sadly, the actor Ben Gazzara has died. He was involved in many notable films but was defined by his collaboration with John Cassavetes, for his roles in Husbands (1970); Killing of a Chinese Bookie (1975) and Opening Night (1978).

Above is the documentary the BBC made on the filming of Husbands, which starred Cassavetes, Gazzara and another (recently deceased) Cassavetes’ stalwart, Peter Falk.  The documentary captures something of Cassavetes’ intensity as an artist and his working methods, though these are wrongly described in the introduction to the programme as relying on improvisation.

In fact, rather than improvisation, Cassavetes’ method was to revise and rewrite his scripts during rehearsals in light of things he and his actors discovered about the characters and story. Other directors would approach their films having already decided what lines their actors would speak and made up their minds as to how and where they expected actors to move and behave. But for Cassavetes’, film – all art – was not a technical endeavour; it was a process of exploration, an odyssey, a way of life, so that the film was shaped and emerged only in the making of it.

The myth of Cassavetes’ improvisational style – only his first film Shadows was properly improvisational – obscures his brilliance as a writer; his ability to convincingly convey the impression of spontaneous speech and deeply-embedded emotion – the inarticulate outpourings of men and women struggling to fathom their lives or the world. His characters often appear to be improvising, to be making it up as they go along, because Cassavetes wrote it that way and because this is what Cassavetes believed people do in real life, make it up as they go along. A lot of Cassavetes’ genius, as well as the hostility with which mainstream critics and audiences reacted to his films, can be attributed to his determination to show, against Hollywood, that people don’t know what they’re doing, that they can never make sense of themselves no matter how hard they try and that we all make it up as we go along, with all the danger, awkwardness and inevitable failure this implies. In other words, for Cassavetes, echoing another Greek: all that we can know is that we know nothing, and that, not unlike Socrates, Cassavetes pokes and prods – even tortures – his characters, takes them apart (always sympathetically, never cynically) to reveal to them their flaws and weaknesses and make them think again about who they are.

Below is a clip of Ben Gazzara talking only last year about working with Cassavetes on Husbands:

Scorsese, Kazan and American ideology



Above is clip from A Letter to Elia, Martin Scorsese’s tribute to Greek-American film-maker Elia Kazan, most known for Panic in the Streets, Viva Zapata!, On the Waterfront, East of Eden and America, America; the latter being a reincarnation of his family’s journey from Anatolia to America, a journey that Kazan mythologises as one taken from slavery to freedom. Kazan’s espousal of this central myth of America, that it is a land of liberty and progress whereas the ‘Old World’ is a place of oppression stifled by tradition, is problematic and, in his work, only really affects America, America and, I suppose, to some extent, On the Waterfront; and, indeed, it’s difficult to know the degree to which Kazan believed in American ideology – in the documentary Kazan says criticism of America makes him ‘bristle’ – or whether he adopted it in order to justify, to himself as much as anyone else, his notorious decision to name names during the McCarthy communist witch hunts. For all its noisy championing of individual liberty, America places a higher value than Europe on conformism and a lesser one on dissidence and radical critique, which you would have thought a country as weird and destructive as America badly needs, especially from its thinking film-makers. 

See entire film here.

Takeshi Kitano and Zeno's Paradox



I’ve been watching Takeshi Kitano’s recent film, Achilles and the Tortoise, which uses Zeno’s paradox of the same name as a metaphor for artistic and human failure. The film is an extraordinary combination of comedy, tragedy, pathos and so on, which in its depiction of frustrated desire and thwarted endeavour reminded me very much of Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. Kitano has been a truly great artist for a long time, and Achilles and the Tortoise confirms that he is a man that remains at the height of his creative powers. My admiration for this genius knows no bounds.
The above clip is from the start of the film, which explains Zeno’s paradox of Achilles and the Tortoise while, just in case you thought the film is an animation or set in ancient Greece, the clip below is more illustrative of the film and one of its themes, which is the insane and self-destructive lengths people will go to for the sake of art and self-expression.