Film No. 20. 13th film shown Thurs 7th June.
Philip French said "Edward Said called this dramatised Marxist essay the best film ever made about neo-colonialism. It stars Marlon Brando as a cynical 19th century English aristocrat who first arranges the overthrow of the Portugese rulers of a Caribbean island, then subverts the supposedly democratic government he's helped to create. Intelligent, articulate, beautiful looking, but due to Spanish interference and Hollywood cold feet it was first rewritten then half-heartedly released."
2 comments:
BACKGROUND: Perhaps Pontecorvo's best film, i.e. as an 'attempted political interpretation of history...' (Pauline Kael); specifically 'Queimada' is a marxist exposition on the dangers of neo-colonialism: This film makes it clear that, as long as there are empires, there will be revolutions: In the Napoleonic period, there was the real slave revolt against French/Spanish/British colonialism; When 'Queimada' was made (1969), the second Vietnam war - this time against American imperialism - had been raging for 4 years; it was 7 years after Algeria had won its independence from the French. In 1969-70 the anti-colonial struggle was at an important turning point. (With hindsight, the brave new post-colonial world was about to enter into the period of its systematic defeat at the hands of neo-colonialism. (Today we call this globalisation and unequal trade between states, the existence of corrupt and tyrannical failed states, etc. But essentially we are talking about the same 'beast'.) Thus the revolutionary road is now littered with the rotting corpses of failed nation-states; ranging from a post-Ben Bella Algeria, all the way down to Sadam's Iraq and Mugabe's Zimbabwe. Yet in 1969-70, in the west at least, marxism was still the dominant ideological current among the intelligentsia and the student milieu, if not the working class. The latter, unfortunately, was still under the hegemony of Stalinism, whose main role in history (along with Social Democracy) was to betray every revolutionary struggle; in particular, to deliver national liberation struggle into the hands of neo-colonialism. In Vietnam, for example, the Soviet bureaucracy deliberately under-armed the North Vietnamese, so that they had to fight American imperialism with one hand tied behind their backs; as a result 2,000, 000 people died. On the other hand, the North Vietnamese were forced into the Paris peace-talks, which were aimed at derailing the struggle on the battlefield. (But that is another story!) This is the background to 'Queimada.//
SIGNIFICANCE: As a revolutionary film-maker, Pontecorvo's aim in 'Queimada was to make up for a glaring omission in his (otherwise) brilliant earlier film, 'Battle For Algiers'. (N.B. Why this film contains such an omission deserves further scrutiny): In 'Algiers' we see only a revolutionary struggle for power in the capital, Algiers, which is actually defeated by an equally ruthless French counter-insurgency. (i.e. the terrorism of the insurgents is met with the counter-terror of the French occupiers, cf. Iraq today). But tacked onto the end of the film, we see the final revolutionary victory over the French. Not only is this victory not explained; more importantly, Pontecorvo merely hints at the key problem for all national liberation struggles - this is highlighted in an exchange between FLN leader, Ben M'Hidi and his revolutionary protege, Ali La Pointe. Ben M'Hidi (N.B. a thinly disguised characterisation of Ben Bella, the real revolutionary leader, who was murdered a few years after independence). Ben M'Hidi says:
'It's difficult to start a revolution, more dificult to sustain it, still more difficult to win it', but it is after the revolution that 'the real difficulties begin'.//
That is precisely what 'Queimada' tries to address.
- through the central relationship between British Admiralty agent/mercenary, Sir William Walker and the ex-slave, Jose Dolores. In one scene, Williams is only too happy to point out to Dolores, that without the resources, education, organisation and ability to combat the capitalist world market, then it is actually very hard to end colonial exploitation. The latter does not cease with the mere absence of the coloniser's army; it is maintained by alien external interests, via intermediaries (such as the agents of the sugar monopolies or Mobile Oil, etc. today); the newly independent country is independ -ent in name only. Thus neo-colonialism is shown to be a far more invidious and clever enemy.//
QUEIMADA AS CINEMA: Many would argue that it might be an interesting film from a marxist perspective, but it fails miserably as cinema. Grant said that it was incomprehensible. Whereas, this is a film with a difficult plot and narrative form, which makes the audience work hard; but surely this is a good thing; we are being made to think and by so-doing, along with the protagonists, we are forced to confront/challenge the status quo. It is the sort of film that requires at least a second viewing and then we will find that it does make sense! Jonathan says that Queimada might be an interesting film politically, even a worthy effort to transpose a marxist analysis of history to the screen; but the film is a complete failure aesthetically speaking. Therefore, I would assume he thinks that this is not a great film, let alone a 'lost movie classic'. Whatever, I beg to differ.//
Firstly, he and I (and probably everyone else) just can't agree about one fundamental issue, vis-a-vis the debate about form and content - and how this applies to cinema: I have to reiterate that, from the the standpoint of marxist aesthetics, content comes before form: For a marxist, the artist is obliged to critique existing reality, i.e. the capitalist world order. But a suitable form must be found, as the best possible means to express this content. On the other hand, form is of the utmost importance to a marxist work of art. Without it, what we get is a mere political tract and bad art. Therefore how can we achieve a balanced integration of the two? That is the dilemma for any artist who is also a marxist. Whereas from the standpoint of the bourgeois formalist, the opposite is the case: For the latter, form comes before content. Therefore a film which is highly innovative in terms of its form or the various techniques which are used in order to make it, is more likely to be considered a 'good' or even a 'great' film, on those grounds alone. The fact that in terms of its content, such a film lacks a critical edge, is superficial in character, or even reactionary, is considered to be of secondary importance. As long as it is well-made, especially in terms of its use of those techniques which are unique to film-making, then such a film is likely to be rated more highly than a 'failed' or 'flawed' film like Queimada.//
My response to this is, firstly to point out that Marlon Brando is outstanding as the Walker character. (He would later describe this as one of his best performances.) Not only does he articulate the methodology and even the ideas of Marx himself, he also demonstrates great psychological insight. By the end of the film, we see a character, who is already destroyed by his own self-loathing, even before he is murdered by an angry ex-slave (possibly a future leader of the struggle?) It is unfortunate, both for Pontecorvo and the film, that Evaresto Marquez, the unknown actor who plays Dolores, does not measure up to the illiterate peasant, Brahim Haggiag, who plays the Ali La Pointe character in 'Agiers'. Despite his sympathetic physical presence, Marquez's performance as the revolutionary Dolores is extremely wooden. (In this regard, Pontecorvo did not strike it lucky twice in succession!) Secondly, Queimada does strive to achieve a formal aesthetic: This is despite the fact that the existing film appears to have deteriorated phsyically: Overall it seems to be out of focus, apart from frequent cuts to close-ups, e.g. of the suffering people or of Walker and Dolores, which are excellent. The visual style is altered with the changing fortunes of the hero, Dolores: Upon Walker's arrival, birds chatter overhead and the camera pans to a lush green island. But with Walker's second arrival, this time to betray the new revolutionary regime and especially the ex-slaves, the island appears under fog and mist, as if 'under a cloud'. Then in the final chapters of the film, when the revolution has been defeated and the hunt for Dolores takes its cruel and remorseless course - whereby the island is burnt once again by the colonial troops - all colour is bleached out, the sky is not blue, but white; we see vultures and smoke above, the blackened bodies of men below. 'Pontecorvo demands of his camera that it finds its visual equivalents for the emotions of his people.' Then there is the way in which Pontecorvo uses Morricone's powerful sound-track. This is given greater emphasis, because there are scenes in which we hear only natural sounds, such as gunfire or the cries of the vultures. But repeatedly we hear the central musical motif of the film, associated with Dolores. It is introduced right at the beginning, when the captain of Walker's ship points out the island in the harbour where the bones of the slaves who died en route to Queimada are said to have been thrown.. 'The music thus is interested not in Jose Dolores as an individual alone,...but as a symbol of his suffering people. In the same way Walker, who shows Dolores' executioner's how to tie the noose, ('See...this is how they do it') personifies the vicious culture [of the colonial power].' Pontecorvo uses zoom very effectively (more frequently than he does in 'Algiers). But he does this for the same reason - as a means of conveying a rapidly changing state of consciousness in a character'; e.g. when the camera zooms in on Brando's eyes as he looks through the bars at the funeral of the dead revolutionary. He thinks that he has just lost his future rebel leader. But later when Walker sees that Dolores as the successor to the dead Santiago, Pontecorvo freezes the frame. It is the equivalent of musical punctuation: 'just as a musical theme can begin and cease, only to start up again later, completeing the motif, the freeze frame can punctuate the visuals.' //
I could go on, but this is already too long! However, I hope that I have done enough to redress the balance, to show that this is not just a marxist tract, but also a very fine piece of cinema. Indeed Queimada goes further than Eisenstein's earlier masterpieces, such as 'Battleship Potemkin'; because Pontecorvo gives us a blend of marxist discourse, deep characterisation, combined with a sophisticated cinematic form. It is truth through fiction. 'There are few films as passionate or as uncompromising about the real workings and nature of imperialism as a world order, nor a film which identifies so feelingly with the victims of neo-colonial rule. Not since Eisenstein has a film so explicitly and with such artistry sounded a paen to the glory and moral necessity of revolution... had United Artists not attempted to sabotage 'Burn', it would be a film deserving wider viewing and critical attention.' (Joan Mellen)
I'm neither politically nor historically qualified enough to detect or debate at length the ideology of the Marxist film essay that is Queimada. I tried to watch it, decipher it and appreciate it on its own filmic terms, like every other film we see. I think this is the fairest I can be, so that one film never automatically takes preference over another just because its themes appear to be more overtly worthy. The recent "Babel" springs to mind as an example of such an error.
I felt Queimada held my attention very well, and was certainly unique in its story and setting, in the Lost 50 List.(It being a non-english language production also makes it illegally unique!!)
The first immediate impression made is by Morricone's music over the opening credits montage. I thought his score here strongly holds its own against the rest of his vast impressive oevre.
Like a Godard trailer, or High Noon's opening song, the entire story of Queimada is condensed into the credit montage, using the actual footage we will later see. So, in a way, we do actually watch the film twice! The credits are probably too long, no doubt due to trying to fit in the whole story, but it does allow us to digest the full Morricone score, whose parts are recalled throughout the film.
I thought Brando was terrific, completely mesmerising on screen, just as his character memerises all those around him. The dubbing effect on all other actors weakens their roles and makes Brando inadvertantly stand out further. The casting of Marquez as Dolores is a particularly unfortunate weak point, although I sometimes found his rather confused looking silent moments added to Dolores' moral crises!
Other highlights for me were: the editing of scenes where the rebels are hounded out of the burning sugarcane fields; the birds at once representing freedom of flight, and vultures patiently awaiting their prey's inevitable death; reportage-esque shots through the markets and villages; white man's 'black' whiskey versus black man's 'white' rum; the garrotting scene as stranglehold metaphor.
As I said on the night, what let the film down for me was its harsh, amateurish lighting and some lazy unfocused scenes. The whole film looked like a bad american made-for-tv film. A lot of scenes really looked like discarded outtakes. We know that the film was hacked and recut by the studio, so we could be nice and assume these flaws are a clear victim of that. However, when such flaws are so numerous and consistent, it can't fail to undermine any decent subject matter.
As a flawed but fascinating and little known/seen film, I do think it qualifies as a Lost Film, perhaps not rightfully within THIS Lost 50 list though.
I'd like to address a couple of points Rex made, but I'll do that in a separate commment, after this one.
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