Too Absent Herald

note:I’ve found all the archives from the old site. I have to clean them up for UTF-8 this will be a test…. Only a test.

According to it’s description in the Criterion Collection, Liliana Cavani’s The Night Porter “is a provocative and problematic film.” True, the story of a surprise meeting between a former SS Colonel and one of his “subjects” in late 50s Vienna is bound to have more subtext than a Derrida round-table. And I’ll leave any film students to tell you that this is the attraction of the film.

I’ll also leave to them to deny they don’t tap their foot to Jackson Browne’s “Somebody’s Baby.”

No, the reason I rented the film is the box.

You can’t judge a book, or a DVD, by its cover. This was brought home when I decided to take a chance on Thief and found it to have rocketed to the near top of my favorite films. Trolling the racks of the beta (yes, beta) rentals in 1985, my brother and I would double over at the silver-coated box embossed with James Caan’s face.

So I had some trepidation at The Night Porter, especially because Netflix doesn’t let you have the box; only a dirty sleeve. The other point of worry is the fact that the SS Colonel is played by Dirk Bogarde. I can imagine Dirk Bogarde in power over me, and I can imagine him being cruel. But I could not find it possible to imagine him being attractive; not even in a slow, British-National-Socialist way. Of this sin I am guilty. But I remind you. . . the box.

That’s Charlotte Rampling, last and best seen being slapped across a bar by Paul Newman in The Verdict. How could this be? In fact, I suppose my thoughts were precisely that: How could this be the same person?

But go back to The Verdict. The same passion, and moreover, repression, are there. I realized that I had been suckered by the very thing I take pride in being immune to: Idolization of all things European.

Granted, The Night Porter has something the The Verdict could never have: the required Salome/Cabaret/dream/memory number, performed by Rampling for some dissolute SS boys (where the picture on the box comes from). But it’s also no La Strada, and certainly no Children of Paradise.

The problem with this film is that it doesn’t give enough of its individuals for any interest to develop. Unlike those two masterpieces (both far beyond crap like oh,… whatever’s playing now, here) Porter doesn’t make any real attempt to engage.

I have to stop this review. I simply realize that I’ve been too long too far from European cinema. Besides, my brother’s here with John Carpenter’s (1st film)Assault on Precinct 13, and he swears I’m gonna want to try and figure out why a 10 year-old girl is shot by the marauding zombies.

I’ll report back.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 31st, 2006 at 5:20 pm and is filed under the small stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.