24 Frames is a major new series focusing on studies of national and regional cinema that offers a unique way of considering the particular concerns, styles and modes of representation of numerous cinematic traditions around the world. Each volume considers 24 seminal films that best represent the artistic, industrial and technological history and development of that territory's cinema.
Current volumes include Italy, Japan and Korea, Latin America and the Low Countries. Forthcoming titles include Scandinavia, Great Britain & Ireland, Central Europe, Spain & Portugal and France.
The Cinema of Italy
Edited by Giorgio Bertellini, June 2004
1-903364-98-1 £16.99
Part of Wallflower Press's 24 Frames series, The Cinema of Italy looks at 24 seminal Italian films, through the minds of 24 specialist film academics. The essays emphasise the political, historical and cultural aspects of the films, and the tone is sometimes a little dry and self consciously erudite. But for a book aimed mainly at film students it is highly readable, and most importantly conjures an enthusiasm for the films that will encourage readers to track down and view any that are unfamiliar.
Beautifully designed, this is a weighty textbook, and should last well even if it is too cumbersome for reading on the tube. The introduction is excellent giving an overview of the history of Italian cinema and setting the context and breadth of the writing. Starting with Mario Camerini's Men, What Rascals in 1932 the films are covered in chronological order ending with Gianni Amelio's Lamarica in 1994. Understandably the focus is on the Neo Realist period and recent Italian films including Academy Award winning critical and commercial successes such as, Il Postino , Cinema Paradiso , Life is Beautiful and Mediterraneo are conspicuous by their absence. Most of the important names are covered though; Fellini, Vittorio De Sica, Rossellini, Antonioni and Pasolini and what makes this selection unique is the serious attention given to spaghetti western master, Sergio Leone's A Fistfull of Dollars and theatrical horror maven Dario Argento's Deep Red.
Each chapter opens with an accompanying still from the film, but unfortunately there are no captions and some of the images aren't full frame. Reading endless descriptions of a visual medium can get frustrating and the writing would be complimented perfectly with more stills peppered throughout, particularly as many of the films covered in The Cinema of Italy will be hard to track down, existing only on the fringes of the cinema going public in this country. Many were popular and sensational when first released and it is a shame that the rarefied approach of academia with its leaning towards cold objectivity is in danger of turning what are vibrant films into artefacts and turning audiences away with fears of elitism. More focus on the music, sound, style and cinematography would help make up the balance. For the student or anyone already familiar with Italian cinema this book will make a handsome addition to their library. Gavin Bush
The Cinema Of Japan And Korea
Edited by Justin Bowyer, April 2004
1-904764-11-8 £16.99
The twenty-four essays in this volume combine historical, theoretical and critical writing in attempt to give an all round picture of the cinema of Japan and Korea. The book begins in Japan with Kinugasa Teinosuke's 1926 silent film A Page Of Madness and works its way chronologically through the films of both countries, ending with Pak Chan-Wook's Joint Security Area (2000). At first glance the selection of titles discussed seems eclectic, but the emphasis here is on those films that paint the most comprehensive picture of their country's cinema rather than a collection of the most successful or critically acclaimed.
The cinema of Japan takes the majority with essays on thirteen Japanese films ranging from Akira Kurosawa's detective-noir Stray Dog , Inoshiro Honda's apocalyptic Godzilla , and ending with Kinji Fukusaku's violent epic Battle Royale . The essay on Kurosawa's film is perhaps the best example of how the writers have not targeted the most obvious films. Magnus Stanke highlights how this story of a detective tracking down the thief who stole his gun contains many of the themes that Kurosawa would later use in the period samurai epics that made him Japan's most internationally recognised film-maker. Despite the visual contrast to his more famous films Stanke uses Stray Dog to successfully summarise Kurosawa's career. However, not all the selections achieve the same goal. While Miike expert Tom Mes writes an interesting essay on both the film itself and its international success, Audition is hardly representative of the director's body of work. Similarly, while Battle Royale is clearly one of the most important Japanese films of recent years its inclusion means that Fukusaku, director of some of the most famous and influential yakuza films such as Battles Without Honour and Humanity and Graveyard of Honour , only has this one mention. Despite the editor's intentions it seems that in some cases the more popular choice has overshadowed the more representative.
The selection of Korean films was obviously heavily restricted by the fact that many of their films were destroyed during the Korean War. The first to be mentioned is Choe In-Gyu's Hurrah! For Freedom (1946) with Peter Harry Ris's essay provided an extensive background summary of the Korean film industry leading up to that point. Ris's history is continued in his essay on Shin Sang-Ok's 1961 film The Guest And My Mother giving a complete overview of the lost years. This provides a useful background for the later essays on films such as Lee Myeong-Se's Nowhere To Hide and Nam Gee-Woong's imaginatively titled Teenage Hooker Became Killing Machine In Daehakno which chart the recent box office and critical success of Korean films both in their country of origin and internationally. The theme of a national cinema fighting back against the all-consuming Hollywood blockbuster features in much of the writing on the films of both countries, but has particularly strong presence in the essays on more recent Korean films. Again, the selection of films is slightly flawed, a good example being Je-gyu Kang's Shiri , which is discussed so many times in other films' essays that the absence of its own chapter seems inconsistent.
With the current popularity of both Korean and Japanese cinema this is both a relevant study and a useful companion for those interested in the films. However, the eclectic and inconsistent selection may exclude those new to the films, particularly as many of them are not readily available to this country. Chris Regan
The Cinema Of Latin America
Edited by Alberto Elena & Marina Díaz López, 2003
1-903364-83-3 £16.99
In his preface to this thorough and engaging study of Latin American cinema, Walter Salles suggests that all filmmaking is a projection of cultural identity. "Unlike Europe ," says Salles "we (Latin America) are societies where the question of identity has not yet crystallised". With that backdrop, this chronological journey through a continent's films is a very interesting one. We are not just reading about the evolution of cinema in Latin America, but the struggle for and development of national and cultural identities throughout a turbulent period.
It's a tough task to summarise a hundred years of cinematic output, but Elena and Lopez have made some judicious editorial decisions. As part of the 24 frames series, they are limited to twenty-four films to study. Beginning right back in 1931 with Mario Peixoto's Limite , the book looks at landmark films, and some hidden gems, using them as reference points for key developments in style and ideology. Movements can be summarised by one or two films, such as the iconic Glauber Rocha's Black God, White Devil as a marker for the Brazilian Cinema Novo of the sixties. The study on Solanas' The Hour Of the Furnaces is a good in-road for anyone interested in the confrontational politics of Third Cinema, a conceptual theory that could be applied in some respects to modern films such as Fahrenheit 9/11 . It is perhaps this period, with its idealistic zeal for social change and formal experimentalism that is most fascinating, and arguably the continent's most fertile cinematic era. This is essential reading for any filmmakers inspired by Glauber Rocha's maxim: "A camera in your hand and an idea in your head"
With further studies on Luis Bunuel and Innaritu's recent smash-hit Amores Perros , there is much to digest here for fans of Latin American cinema. The style may tend to be more for serious study, and at times is almost dully theoretical, but as an overview of the films of a highly imaginative and productive region of the world, it is a very worthwhile read. Paul Mallaghan
The Cinema Of The Low Countries
Edited by Ernest Mathijs, April 2004
1-904764-00-2 £16.99
It's been a while since there has been a book on film that informed and entertained as much as The Cinema Of The Low Countries did. You will most probably only see films from the Low Countries when the shelves at the local video stores are empty. The Cinema Of The Low Countries peels eyes back to a very under appreciated and oh so interesting type of cinema that normally is only seen once or twice a year. This book abandons the confines of national filmmaking and explores Film culture without the 'europudding connotations'.
Films from the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg have long been regarded as isolated texts. The Cinema Of The Low Countries points to the interconnectedness between these national cinemas, covering genre, language, and format. Lecturer in Film at the University of Wales, author Ernest Mathijs focuses on twenty-four key feature films and documentaries from Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg, and probes deep into the importance -- locally and internationally -- of Low Countries cinema.
Structured around a collection of essays by renowned writers, The Cinema Of The Low Countries is a surprisingly good read. Mr. Mathijs's book has opened up a world of insight into films like Turkish Delight, The Vanishing, Daughters of Darkness, Rosetta, Soldiers of Orange and Man Bites Dog.
There is a great urge to see Films from the Low Countries as disinteresting, lacking expertise, reeking of politics, and suffering from aesthetic failure. This may explain why previous books have placed more importance to context instead of content. Pleasantly, The Cinema Of The Low Countries does the opposite. It makes you care, and seek out, the little and neglected brother of the Film industry. It's easy to see how we come to under appreciate films of the Low Countries . Often in the face of stringent financial limits, films of the Low Countries do have a great craft and themes that bypass our homogenised entertainment. If nothing else, it demonstrates that great films can and do erupt from the most unexpected of places and reminds us that film is about the most important thing - character. Us.
Presented in a semi-gloss large format book, The Cinema Of The Low Countries has a handful of black and white stills. Each chapter runs approximately 10-20 pages long; long enough to be thorough; short enough to be fast and entertaining. You don't need to read this book from cover to cover. It's a delight to just skip through it. Hyan Thiboutot
Other recommended title from Ernest Mathijs : Alternative Europe: Eurotrash and Exploitation Cinema Since 1945
|
