The give and take of art and commerce is never-ending. Either can be seen as a necessary evil for the other. This is especially true for the state of Hollywood, where major studios shoot tentpole-size circus attractions at the expense of arthouse features. Sometimes one might luck into having a small title or film festival acquisition become a crossover hit with both critics and the public. None of what you are about to read are commercial enterprises; the films are art for the sake of art. One is an examination of a filmmaker’s apparent obsession with the magical world depicted in Victor Fleming’s 1939 classic The Wizard of Oz. Another is a coming-of-ager about an orphaned Iranian boy fascinated with fast-moving vehicles and running as fast as he can. The last is a film quartet often lauded for its dialogue but not necessarily its pacing.
Where to begin?
Let’s start with Eric Rohmer’s Tales of the Four Seasons. Prior to watching the four films that comprise this cycle, I had never watched anything from Rohmer. Not even when perusing my subscription to the Criterion Channel. Maybe I was wearing blinders, but such can be the case when you grow up watching American films. Having become disenchanted with the current state of cinema, sometimes it’s best to follow Walt Whitman’s advice and be curious and not judgmental. I did, spending 446 minutes watching Rohmer explore new friendships, romantic indecision, and matchmaking. What I found is that Rohmer truly is one of kind in telling stories that would be traditional love stories or romantic comedies in Hollywood. Rohmer is about immediacy and specificity in putting us in a place with just a few characters and us flowing along over the course of a few days or weeks. Shot and released between 1990-1998, the films are thoughtful, philosophical ruminations about love as friends, strangers, and liaisons try to make the right choices from all the possible outcomes. (Sidenote: If Marvel Studios ever made its own Rohmer flick and it starred Doctor Strange, it would be a disaster.)
One of the great things about this set is you can watch the films in different order. Rohmer didn’t mean to shoot them out of sequence – it starts with A Tale of Springtime, followed with A Tale of Winter before seasonal tales in summer and autumn – but he is on record saying the tetralogy begins in spring and ends in winter. But in the order of release, Springtime and A Tale of Autumn are perfect bookends about new and old friendships. The middle two offer indecisive protagonists flummoxed in choosing the right guy or girl. All four tales offer a mix of intellectuals (philosophy teacher, librarian), creatives (musicians), and city and country workers (hairdresser, waitress, winemaker) engaged in trivial pursuits while espousing on a myriad of subjects related to love, life, and happiness. The closest comparison in American cinema is what Richard Linklater accomplished with his Before Trilogy (Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight), where a singular romance is told over the course of three films released every nine years (1995, 2004, and 2013).
For the uninitiated, Rohmer’s films are stuffed with words. Characters talk so much my eyes were going up and down from the subtitles to the interactions like I was playing Pong on an old Atari. The characters are not always still, either. Sometimes they’ll be seated, but more often they are walking on a beach, in the woods, or within a flat, and conversations continue to float around like a leaf falling from a tree. Nonetheless, as a palate cleanser from traditional Hollywood romances, Tales of the Four Seasons is a different kind of love potion that ages like fine wine.
The four-disc box set sports new 2K digital restorations, new interviews with cinematographer Diane Bratier, producer Francoise Etchegaray, sound engineer Pascal Ribier, and editor Mary Stephen. From the archives are excerpts of radio interviews with Rohmer; a documentary on the making of A Tale of Summer; two early Rohmer shorts (A Farmer in Montifaucon and The Kreutzer Sonata); and a booklet containing an essay from film critic Imogen Sara Smith and special production notes and acknowledgements.
Of Rohmer’s four tales, A Tale of Summer is the one that draws the most from his own life. The same is also true of Amir Naderi’s The Runner. Naderi, as Ehasan Khoshbakht writes in his essay “Cycles and Circles of Desire,” was orphaned at the age of six and lived with aunt in Abadan, a southern port city in Iran. The film’s protagonist, Amiro (Madjid Niroumand), is an orphaned nine-year-old living alone in Abadan, working odd jobs to survive. At the onset, Amiro is standing on a beach yelling at the ships as they leave for other parts of the world.
“TAKE ME WITH YOU!” he repeats.
Amiro’s calls go unanswered, so he takes to running. First, it is for fun. He is no match for the older boys who can run harder and faster. As the days draw long, Amiro finds himself in awe of the airplanes that take off from a nearby airfield and the plane magazines he purchases in the city square. Then, there are the moving trains Amiro and the other boys run behind. The tracking shots during the runs are compelling and one of The Runner’s major highlights. The way Firouz Malekzadeh photographs the final race as melting ice as oil-field fires rage in the background, it puts you in a trance. The camera zoom and pull effect are reminiscent of what Alfred Hitchcock accomplished with Vertigo. Impressive as the cinematography is, the cutting is more important to the film’s rhythm. Movement is the key – a symbol, really – and Naderi allows for repetition in his subject’s actions, including learning the Persian alphabet, to shape his life and the film as a whole.
Watching The Runner I was fascinated by its simplicity and how it evokes imagination through simple pleasures and images. Even the incorporation of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” seems like an unattainable dream for Amiro until the very end when he accomplishes his own pursuit of happiness and his life defined.
For the Criterion release, Naderi supervises a new 2K digital restoration, which was created from the 35mm original camera negative. The disc includes a conversation between him and filmmaker Ramin Bahrani (Man Push Cart, Chop Shop); an audio interview from 2022 with Naderi and actor Madjid Niroumand; the early short Waiting (1974); and booklet with the already-mentioned essay from Ehsan Khoshbakht and special thanks.
From Amiro being a hair’s width away from reaching his dreams to the dream factory that is The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. More precisely, filmmaker David Lynch’s fascination with the 1939 film classic. I previously wrote about Alexander O. Philippe’s 2022 documentary Lynch/Oz when it played that year’s Fantastic Fest, so I’ll keep my thoughts brief. Philippe is a man who loves to make movies about movies, and his cinematic obsession with our very own has allowed him to be a fan, a critic, and a historian for more than a decade. My entrance to his style came as Janet Leigh made her exit in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. Philippe’s 78/52: Hitchcock’s Shower Scene went beyond the infamous scene and how it framed the cultural zeitgeist. He would make similar video treatises about Alien and The Exorcist.
Lynch/Oz is his most abstract critical examination. And because it involves David Lynch I find it rather fitting. Philippe gets to act as the wizard while different narrators take turns covering a specific theme. The list of participants includes Amy Nicholson (the lone film critic of the bunch), directing duo Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead (TV’s Loki; Spring); Rodney Ascher (Room 237); John Waters (Hairspray); Karyn Kusama (Jennifer’s Body); and David Lowery (The Green Knight).
Their words and a continuous montage of movie clips – with the occasional Lynch soundbite – is a pinwheel kaleidoscope of sound and imagery. Not bad for a box office disaster that matured into a bonafide classic. While there may be no place like home, there is no place like the Criterion Collection. Lynch/Oz is an added addition to the label for Lynch lovers and film scholars.
Blu-ray Grades:
Eric Rohmer’s Tales of the Four Seasons: B+
The Runner: A-
Lynch/Oz: B
