Newsbites: Apocalypse! Majesté! Taxes! Truth!

Time for a few more quick updates.

1. Will Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse (1991), the documentary on the making of Apocalypse Now (1979) that was sorely missing from the recent so-called “complete dossier” edition of that film, finally come out on DVD next month? It seems that way, but co-director George Hickenlooper is annoyed that he was left out of the loop — and he fears that Francis Ford Coppola may have made changes to the film “so he would look better”.

2. Variety says Jean-Jacques Annaud’s “mythological comedy” Sa majesté Minor — translated His Majesty Minor in this story, but Her Majestic Minor when I first mentioned it here over a year ago — has turned out to be “a major box office flop in his native Gaul.” Annaud is reportedly blaming the critics “for the thorough pan they gave his first French language film in more than a decade.”

3. Reuters and the Globe and Mail report that British Columbia is extending the tax credit it offers to film producers from its current expiry date of 2008 to 2013. Ordinarily I wouldn’t mention such a boring bit of business here, but I was at a press conference in the late ’90s where then-premier Glen Clark announced either the credit itself or an earlier amendment to it, and these stories jogged that memory. (Also, the Reuters story claims that the American dollar is worth 97 cents Canadian right now, but on Friday I got only 94.75 cents for each American dollar that I cashed.)

4. What would be left of Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth (2006) if we removed the nine scientific errors that a British judge recently identified in that film? Not much, beyond “Gore personal drama and cinematic fluff”, asserts Steven Milloy at

5. The Globe and Mail profiles Ansel Yamamoto Mitic, a toddler whose abstract art is currently on display at the G+ Galleries in Toronto. I wonder how it compares to that of Marla Olmstead, the controversial pre-school subject of My Kid Could Paint That.

The Milky Way — nuances in translation

I saw Luis Buñuel’s The Milky Way (1969) for the first time ever last night, and I liked it a lot, though I will definitely have to see it again and do some reading — on both the film and the various theological debates that it refers to — before I can comment on it in any detail. In the meantime, I was amused to see that I remembered just enough of my high-school French to catch a play-on-words that is missed by the subtitles. Near the end of the film, the beggar-pilgrims Pierre and Jean — two modern blokes who have been traipsing through various periods in Catholic history on their way across Spain — meet a prostitute who asks them, “Got any money?” Jean tells her, “We even have gold.” The striking thing about this exchange is that the French word for money, as used by this prostitute, is argent, which literally means “silver”. So the dialogue refers, essentially, to “silver and gold”, a metallic duo that come up frequently in the Bible. I wouldn’t want to read too much into that reference, but it is kind of cute.

Did Persona inspire The Exorcist?

There are lots of great links at the Close-Up Blog-a-thon, hosted by the group blog The House Next Door. One that jumps out at me is this post by Tim Lucas at the Video WatchBlog, on a couple of shots in Ingmar Bergman‘s Persona (1966) that are eerily similar to a couple of shots in William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973).

Both films feature subliminal glimpses of a demonic figure:

And both films feature close-ups of a face, half of which belongs to one character and half of which belongs to another character:

In the latter case, though, I think the image from The Exorcist may be unique to the digitally enhanced “writer’s cut” that came out in 2000; I haven’t checked my DVDs yet, but I don’t recall seeing that particular image in the original version of the film.

At any rate, after posting these images, Lucas writes:

To the best of my knowledge, this relationship between PERSONA and THE EXORCIST has not been previously explored or detected. It certainly isn’t noted by Bergman biographer Marc Gervais in his audio commentary for PERSONA. I would find it hard to accept that these shared images could have happened unconsciously on Friedkin’s part; they are too studied. To me, this discovery does nothing to detract from Friedkin’s brilliance as the mastermind behind the film of THE EXORCIST; any director could have taken William Peter Blatty’s script and made a more straightforward film of it, but Friedkin had the sensitivity and the panache to recognize that PERSONA, too, in its own way, was a story of demonic possession. I not only accuse him of using this imagery knowingly, I also congratulate him for intuiting that PERSONA’s extreme, nerve-flaying visual vocabulary was precisely what THE EXORCIST needed to rattle audiences — a primary and wondrous instance of the commercial American cinema being secretly pollenated by the international art cinema.

And of course, The Exorcist co-starred Max von Sydow, who often starred in Bergman films — though admittedly not in Persona.

The Seeker — the interview’s up!

My interview with David L. Cunningham, director of The Seeker: The Dark Is Rising, is now up at BC Christian News. The article may seem a little past its sell-by date, since the movie opened two weeks ago, but the interview took place several days after the film came out — a fact that is reflected in the interview itself — and this was the soonest that the paper could post the article online.

What else can I say, Dumbledore is gay.

Seriously. Only a few days after she revealed that her books were always meant to have a Christian subtext, Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling has revealed that Albus Dumbledore, the beloved Hogwarts headmaster, was gay. Quoth the Associated Press:

Harry Potter fans, the rumors are true: Albus Dumbledore, master wizard and Headmaster of Hogwarts, is gay. J.K. Rowling, author of the mega-selling fantasy series that ended last summer, outed the beloved character Friday night while appearing before a full house at Carnegie Hall.

After reading briefly from the final book, “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows,” she took questions from audience members.

She was asked by one young fan whether Dumbledore finds “true love.”

“Dumbledore is gay,” the author responded to gasps and applause.

She then explained that Dumbledore was smitten with rival Gellert Grindelwald, whom he defeated long ago in a battle between good and bad wizards. “Falling in love can blind us to an extent,” Rowling said of Dumbledore’s feelings, adding that Dumbledore was “horribly, terribly let down.”

Dumbledore’s love, she observed, was his “great tragedy.”

“Oh, my god,” Rowling concluded with a laugh, “the fan fiction.” . . .

Rowling told the audience that while working on the planned sixth Potter film, “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,” she spotted a reference in the script to a girl who once was of interest to Dumbledore. A note was duly passed to director David Yates, revealing the truth about her character.

Rowling, finishing a brief “Open Book Tour” of the United States, her first tour here since 2000, also said that she regarded her Potter books as a “prolonged argument for tolerance” and urged her fans to “question authority.” . . .

The books have come to an end, but there are two more movies to go — so it will be interesting to see if they address this. And it will be interesting to see how the series’ Christian fans — and there are quite a few of them — respond to this latest announcement.

OCT 20 UPDATE: Entertainment Weekly‘s Popwatch Blog has its own report on the event where the “outing” took place.

OCT 21 UPDATE: John Granger has some excellent comments on the Dumbledore-is-gay brouhaha at

The Purple Rose of Cairo — how close-ups bring us face-to-”face” with the movie screen

This post is my contribution to the Close-Up Blog-a-thon hosted by Matt Zoller Seitz at his blog, The House Next Door.

Warning: There be spoilers here.

The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985) concludes with a close-up — indeed, arguably, an exchange of close-ups — that brings Woody Allen’s finest film to an interesting and ambiguous end.

The movie is set in New Jersey during the Great Depression, and it concerns a woman named Cecilia (Mia Farrow) who frequently escapes from her dreary job and her abusive, cheating husband by going to the movies. Indeed, she loves movies so much that, one day, a character named Tom Baxter (Jeff Daniels) steps right off the movie screen to be with her. This sends the people who made the movie into a panic; if Tom were to commit any crimes while running around in the real world, the studio that created him and the movie in which he appears might be held responsible.

Gil Shepherd (also Daniels), the actor who played Tom, comes to New Jersey and woos Cecilia away from Tom by promising to take her away with him to Hollywood. Cecilia, believing that Gil represents the “real world” while Tom is only imaginary, falls for this and breaks up with Tom. Tom, heartbroken, returns to the movie that he had left — presumably unaware that the studio will destroy all copies of the film once he is back on the screen, to ensure that something like this never happens again.

Cecilia goes home to pack her bags, tells her husband she is going to Hollywood, and runs to the movie theatre to meet Gil. But there, she learns that Gil has already left, and left her behind. Her “real world” solution was, itself, an illusion. Saddened, she does what she always does: she steps into the movie theatre — where she watches the scene from Top Hat (1935) in which Fred Astaire sings ‘Cheek to Cheek’ while dancing with Ginger Rogers.

And there, Cecilia falls in love with the movies all over again.

The scene hinges entirely on the subtle transformation in Cecilia’s face as she watches Top Hat. When she enters the theatre, at the back of a long-ish shot, she is pretty sad and dejected. Within that same shot, she walks down the aisle until she is fairly close to the camera, at which point she picks a seat and settles into it. The rest of the scene is shot from this angle, looking at Cecilia’s face.

Or is it? I said above that this scene is an exchange of close-ups, and what I mean by that is that the scene alternates between Cecilia’s face and the movie that she is watching. But Woody did not shoot Top Hat himself; surely he is just splicing in archival footage here? And the clips we see consist entirely of medium or long shots; in what sense can they be called “close-ups”?

The answer lies in the fact that, throughout this film, Woody has used a mixture of angles when depicting the moviegoers and their relationship to the movies that they are watching. Consider the shots below, taken from the scene where Gil and the studio bosses have their first “meeting” with the characters who have been wandering aimlessly on the screen ever since Tom abandoned them there. A wide shot shows the characters in the theatre, as well as the various bits of interior decoration — the seats, curtains, exit sign and so forth — that surround the screen. Another shot consists simply of the image that the studio bosses see, cropped at the top and bottom because Woody Allen is shooting his movie in a wider aspect ratio than a 1930s movie would have used; this serves, in effect, as a close-up on the “face” of the screen. And sometimes Woody uses what we might call an extreme close-up, when he focuses on portions of the movie-within-the-movie.

I have never seen The Purple Rose of Cairo on the big screen, but I have long wanted to, just so that I could see these “close-ups” on the big screen, just like the studio bosses and the other characters do. Would it seem like the characters were looking out at me, I wonder? Throughout The Purple Rose of Cairo, we become so used to the “real” people interacting with the “movie” characters that, when Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers turn up at the end and fill the screen as they do, we almost expect them to step out of character and address Cecilia, too — or maybe even address ourselves.

In fact, when Tom first noticed Cecilia, we were observing each of them from a distance — a series of wide shots which quickly became close-ups after a connection between the characters had been established through their dialogue. (Close-ups also express the alarm felt by bystanders on both sides of the screen.)

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The fact that the final scene keeps our focus on Cecilia’s face and the “face” of the movie screen makes us more intimately involved in the relationship between Cecilia and Top Hat than we were in the relationship between Cecilia and the movie featuring Tom Baxter. We have been primed to expect bigger things. And as the music swells to its climax, we feel that anything can happen.

A side note about the music. The lyrics we hear run like so:

Heaven, I’m in Heaven
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we’re out together dancing cheek-to-cheek

Heaven, I’m in Heaven
And the cares that hung around me through the week
Seem to vanish like a gambler’s lucky streak
When we’re out together dancing cheek-to-cheek

Oh I love to climb a mountain
And to reach the highest peak
But it doesn’t thrill me half as much
As dancing cheek-to-cheek

Two points. First, the middle verse resonates with Woody Allen’s own belief — expressed most recently and uncompromisingly in Match Point (2005) — that it is luck, rather than fate or design, that steers our lives, and that blind chance can be very capricious indeed. It is striking how Astaire compares his good fortune to a gambler’s loss, without drawing any sort of obvious contrast.

Second, there is a theological subtext to this film as a whole, and to this scene in particular. The song — and its refrain of “Heaven, I’m in Heaven” — is heard at the beginning of the film as Cecilia stares transfixed at a movie poster, and it is heard again here at the end as Cecilia rediscovers her faith in the movies. In between, she takes Tom to a church and they stand beneath a crucifix:

Tom: It’s beautiful. I’m not sure exactly what it is.

Cecilia: This is a church. You do believe in God, don’t you?

Tom: Meaning…

Cecilia: The reason for everything, the world, the universe.

Tom: Oh, I think I know what you mean. The two men who wrote The Purple Rose of Cairo, Irving Sachs and R.H. Levine. They’re writers who collaborate on films.

Cecilia: No, no, I’m talking about something much bigger than that. No, think for a minute. A reason for everything. Otherwise, it’d be like a movie with no point, and no happy ending.

Having ditched Tom Baxter and inadvertently sentenced him to oblivion, and having been ditched by Gil Shepherd and left behind in Depression-era New Jersey, Cecilia has lost not just one possible happy ending but two. In this way, Woody Allen draws a contrast between “real life” and the movies — and, implicitly, between “real life” and the promises made by religion.

But he still needs, or at least wants, the illusion of those promises. Everything we do will end in death; even movies end, and when they do, the projector is turned off, which prompts one of the “movie” characters in the clip above to say, “You don’t understand what it’s like to disappear, to be nothing, to be annihilated.” And because he believes everything will end in death and oblivion, Woody is skeptical of the efforts made by art and religion to help us believe that there is some sort of meaning to this life.

The best we can do, he suggests — here and in other films — is to create the illusion of meaning. Hence the final close-up on Cecilia’s sad, subtle smile, as she once again comes under the spell of an escapist movie. Someone once asked Woody why he didn’t give his film a happy ending. He replied, “That was the happy ending.”