La Notte (1961)

After visiting a dying friend in the hospital, successful writer Giovanni Pontano (Marcello Mastroianni) and his wife Lidia (Jeanne Moreau) separate to spend the afternoon on their own—he back home to rest, she to walk the streets where she grew up. They regroup to attend a party at a wealthy industrialist's estate, where both engage in flirtations as they confront their dissatisfaction with their lives as they stand. Ultimately, they have to confront the realities of their marriage, their station in life, and the meaning they're not finding in all of it.

For Giovanni, success doesn't seem to bring any sort of salvation from the mundane in his life. His passion is kindled by a wild-eyed patient just a few rooms down from Tommaso's at the hospital, which he initially succumbs to only to be thwarted by attending nurses. That afternoon, he's at a cocktail party, where he brushes off fawning admiration for his craft, bouncing around with little interest in the people there, while Lidia leaves unannounced to stroll through Milan. Both are affected by seeing their friend Tommaso's terminal deterioration in the hospital, and it casts a pall over their meanderings throughout the day. Lidia encounters a street fight, which she inadvertently breaks up by pleading with the combatants, only to run away when one shows an interest in talking with her. She finally phones Giovanni, and he picks her up.

They prepare for a party that evening that they resign to attend out of boredom with another night at home. The party brings opportunities for both Giovanni and Lidia to flirt, and they are both thwarted in their attempts to do so—he by the socialite daughter of the party's host (Monica Vitti), she by her own hesitation to cheat on her marriage. As the party wears on into morning and it comes time to leave, Giovanni and Lidia are left with each other.

Michelangelo Antonioni is a master of giving actors space to inhabit, and the leads do just that beautifully in La Notte. The film is one of small moments in which even successful people have to confront the trappings of their lives. Nothing particularly dramatic or eventful happens in the film, which takes place in a day that reveals very little and a great deal about our two protagonists. Instead, the space between people—the connections not made, the isolation enhanced—binds characters to their growing sense of distance between each other. Ultimately, it comes down to a failing marriage between the leads, and the desperation that breeds within Giovanni and Lidia.

Ink (2009)

It's rare enough, but still possible for a movie to knock my socks off. Such a movie is Ink, an amazing little indie from 2009 that defies easy categorization.

Ink tells the story of a widower, John (Chris Kelly), a high-power corporate raider with a raft of personal problems, and his estranged daughter, Emma (Quinn Hunchar), who has been abducted by a strange figure in a black robe—as it turns out, the title character himself. Ink is a being on a mission, and while his purpose in kidnapping Emma is far from noble, it is understandable as it is revealed over the course of their journey. It is no less dark for being understandable, however.

Fortunately for Emma, there are another group of beings trying to save her. From the get-go, these "angels" (they're not really, but they function that way) do all they can to stop Ink. The opening fight is well orchestrated by writer/director Jamin Winans and his talented crew; it goes on just long enough and features some solid fight choreography, a real surprise for a lower-budgeted film. Along the way a particular one of these beings, the storyteller Liev (Jessica Duffy), attempts to rescue Emma and becomes Ink's second captive intentionally. Her role in this unfolding drama is absolutely critical, and Duffy is up to the challenge every step of the way.

Ink is aiming to join a group of dark beings called the Incubi, and they require a sacrifice; thus, Emma. But Liev knows more about Ink than he knows.

Meanwhile, John is hard at work in the "real" world, trying to cement a major deal that will propel his firm to the next level—or break it, if it falls through. Kelly's performance as John is outstanding; he conveys the stress weighing down on this main character ably throughout, and made me feel his weight throughout. In flashbacks, we see that John lost his beloved wife to an auto accident, which sent him hurtling down a path of workaholism and alcoholism that resulted in his estrangement from Emma, their daughter.

Ink leads us through John's journey, and Ink's, as parallel paths, and the two storylines overlap and intertwine in a consistently compelling way. Credit the creative minds, Jamin and Kiowa Winans (who handled art direction and costume design, both highlights of the film), for developing a thoroughly engaging story that is every bit as earnest as it is well constructed. Its fantasy elements are credible within the story's logic, and only once did the dialog slip to snarky patter in a way that detracted from the film as a whole. It's more than made up for by the heart-on-sleeve storytelling (no pun intended) that makes Ink a wonderful experience, with an impact that reminded me of the Brad Anderson film The Machinist and a bit of the old Powell and Pressburger classic, Stairway to Heaven. The closing scenes of Ink ring of truth—make that Truth, the big-moment kind. And it is the perfect conclusion to one utterly satisfying movie experience.

For all its low-budget slip-is-showing moments, Ink registers powerfully with the heart, something movies manage only on the rarest of occasions these days. For that alone, it's highly recommended.

The Soviety Story (2009)

Nothing need be written about this: It speaks for itself, and it is damning in its indictment. Outstanding documentary on the Soviet crimes, and the indifference of the rest of the world.

The Wilhelm Scream

You've no doubt read or heard about the Wilhelm Scream by now, but the link will take you to the Wikipedia page if you're not familiar with it. Great compilations on YouTube, including this one:

The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)

As we're learning anew in the United States, the awful toll war takes on human beings isn't always measured in lost lives and lost limbs. Much of the damage is invisible, until it rears its ugly head. It's a difficult reality, most of all for those who are living through it as veterans or as loved ones. And it's those difficulties that make families stronger—or tear them apart. As dramatized by the great Hollywood director William Wyler, that's the theme of one of the finest movies to come out of the Dream Factory, Wyler's 1946 powerhouse drama, The Best Years of Our Lives.


The story revolves around three returning vets, coming home to the same small town. One, Homer (real-life vet Harold Russell), has obvious injuries—two prosthetic arms—to go with the silent damage he shares with an Army Air Force pilot, Fred (Dana Andrews) and an officer, Al (Frederic March). On their flight home, we learn that Fred got married just before he left for Europe and can't wait to finally spend time with his new bride, while Al has a family and a job at the bank awaiting his arrival. Homer is more tight-lipped about what he's returning to, but we learn that there is a girl in the picture.

The reunion scenes are all poignant. Al attempts to ease back in to being dad again, and everything is marvelously underplayed until the emotion seizes him and he grabs his wife Milly (Myrna Loy) in one of the more memorable embraces I've seen on screen. The swirl of emotions surrounding Fred includes a distinct unease; his wife (Virginia Mayo) is more of a stranger to him now than when he left. She wants to party; Fred wants to settle down and make a home. Meanwhile, Homer shows his family how to help him manage with his permanent injuries, fitfully avoiding his girl next door Wilma (Cathy O'Donnell) in fear of her reaction to his predicament.

Homer's injuries are plain to the eye, but the physically unmarked Fred and Al have deep wounds all their own. The horrors of combat have driven Al to alcoholism, while Fred is wracked with violent dreams from what was then called combat fatigue, and is now known as post-traumatic stress syndrome. The adjustments each man makes to his new civilian life are not easy, either. Al finds that the hard decisions a banker must make about financing the dreams of very fallible men don't sit so easily with a man of conscience; Fred returns to the soda fountain where he worked, but loses his temper over comments a customer makes, and winds up jobless, with a marriage on the rocks. Homer struggles to hold a glass, battling shame over his newfound dependence upon others and the shattered dreams the war has laid claim to.

And yet ... well, I won't spill the beans. There are too many moments of raw emotional power in this movie to spill the beans; suffice it to say that this is one movie you simply must see. It's special. It was critically hailed upon its release, and went on to win seven Oscards, including a Best Actor award for March (richly deserved), Best Director for Wyler (ditto), Best Script for writer Robert Sherwood (again, ditto), and Best Supporting Actor for Harold Russell, who also received a special Oscar for the courage he displayed in bringing the problems of veterans to the screen.

Simply put, The Best Years of Our Lives is Hollywood at its very best, a drama of real emotional satisfaction, with outstanding performances throughout, and writing and direction as assured as can be found. Truly a monumental achievement, and a must-view for the upcoming Memorial Day weekend. It'll be in my DVD player, that much I know.