1997's Best Scenes Some things, by fate or by choice, are distilled to essences upon which we lovingly heap our restorations. These scenes are those touchstones upon which the experience is recalled. While the bathroom mirror scene in CONTACT had me thinking about its mechanics, the opening pullback from Earth through space is the more purposeful one. As the camera speeds away from Earth radio waves can't help but fall silent in those spaces they have yet to reach, effectively communicating our isolation and insignificance against the vastness of the universe. If I were to give an award for Best Eye (and Ear) Candy of 1997, Martin Scorsese's KUNDUN would be the recipient. This is nutritious eye candy . Although bracketed by calm moonlit waves, KUNDUN is a fervid dream, a rapturous romp through Tibet and its Dalai Lama's slow fit into the shoes of a leader. Its most stunning scene among many is a nightmare indeed: a dream sequence pullback showing the Dalai Lama surrounded by dead monks. The Audacity Award goes to Emir Kusturica's UNDERGROUND, an audiovisual barrage even in whisper mode. Kusturica's passion and imagination are in full evidence. Two scenes stand out: the zoo bombing is horrific but happily UNDERGROUND ends with hope. When all the characters are reunited and their revelling commences once again in the final scene, the sense is that all is well. The preferred thought is that their new island suggests a heaven on earth rather than a peace possible only through clean break followed by isolation from the mainland. A heavy hand brushes clumsily over a moth resting on an unmoving arm. Surprisingly the moth seems not much worse for wear as it flutters its wings. Although grief colours much of MOTHER AND SON (Alexandr Sokurov), this scene affirms that it can be survived. In GABBEH (Mohsen Makhmalbaf), a man, perhaps made wise by his travels, stops by a makeshift school to provide a colour lesson. He asks the children, how does one make a desired colour? Simple. He points beyond the frame, to the green of the grass, the yellow of the blossoms, and reaches for them. When his hand returns, his hands are covered in pigment. What is one to make of exhausted director Rene Vidal's dailies which end IRMA VEP? Physical intervention of what sort? Frustration? Love? Continued fetishism over star Maggie Cheung? A call for abstraction? The seeds for the rebirth of French cinema? Probably the most, uh, striking scene in SICK: THE LIFE AND DEATH OF BOB FLANAGAN, SUPERMASOCHIST would be the one involving a close-up of Flanagan's self-induced penile mutilation. Also almost unwatchable, not because one flinches away but due to the tears it may jerk from your eyes, is his dissipation and death, over which director Kirby Dick plays a voice-over of Flanagan running over the reasons why he is a self-described supermasochist: (non-verbatim and from memory) "...because I was born this way, because God made me the way I am, because I wanted to take control of my body, because it feels good...." Chilling. For most, the preparation of a garden salad suffices for impressing a date, but dancer Pablo Veron's recipe in THE TANGO LESSON, an impromptu salad-and-dance act is a sure-fire charmer. While it is a recipe that the vast majority of us can only duplicate in our dreams, on film at least we have the luxury of following his steps with our eyes. |