[Date Prev][Date Next][Thread Prev][Thread Next][Date Index][Thread Index]
CYCLO
Vietnamese film by Tran titled Cyclo. I had seen his previous one
"Scent of Green Papaya" which i enjoyed. It was calm, slow, and allowed
us to indentify the characters, their situation, location (there was
only one) and excellent photography.
Now I'm neither a Siskel nor a Ebert nor even a Vinh, but I can give
you my personal impressions of Cyclo. Perhaps an equally fitting title
would have been Psycho. This was not at all like the first one. It
was fast, frantic, confusing and troubling. At times I think the camera
man must have had attacks of Parkinson's. The camera was jumping,
swirlilng, flashing, fast zooming, so that you became dizzy and
eventually left with a splitting headache. The editing was such that
it was difficult to follow the locations, identify the characters,
unterstand their relationship. After a while you just gave up and
simply watched the action as it flashed on the sreen. There were some
home scenes, gang "mafia type" scenes, brothel scenes (talk about
bizarre fetishes), mob secenes, a lot of violence, gushing gore galore
and baths of blue paint.
The film did win the "Golen Lion" award at the Venice Film Festival and
got a multi column favorable review in the Los Angeles Times. It just
goes to show that I'm not a connoisseur of esoteric art. I always
marvel while strolling thur a museum of "modern art" when I encounter
somone gazing in rapture contemplating a canvas simply painted black
with a tiny white dot in some corner. I'm definetly missing something.
Just one more example of my pedestrian level. Some time ago my friend
Ron invited me to a concert of "contemporary music", conducted by Essa
Pekka Salonen no less. We had good third row center seats. AS we
waitead for the start, suddenly a large blond, disheveled woman
sawntered onto the stage from the wings looking lost and bewildered. I
was waiting for the men in white jackets to come out and grab her. She
had obviously escaped from the loony bin. She grabbed the mic and
bellowed a loud primal scream followed by gurgles, giggles and more
eviscerating noises. Actually that was the opening number. I burst out
into laughter only to have two prim and proper ladies turn to me with
stern disapproving glares. Obviously they were"gnostics". I'm sure
they would love that black canvas with the white dot. The concert goes
on. At some point the members of the orchestra drift in and take their
seats along witht the conductor. The "music" starts. It sounded as if
each person was playing from totally different scores in different
keys. The conductor wildly chopping the air with his baton while the
noise mounted into a cacophonous crescendo abruptly stopping into a
deafening silence, except for an unusual sound made by a man on a ten
foot step ladder urinating on a tambourine below. (his aim was worthy
of a circus act) At the end was thunderous applause. Between my
fits of laughter and yawning and the disapproving looks of the
"gnostics" i realized that i was hoplessly lacking something essential
to appreciate such elevated art form. (maybe it's genetic). Ron had
brought two friends visiting from Japan. They politely gave their
impression of the concert as "interesting and unusual">
Coming back to Cyclo. Usually I would tell my friends "miss it if you
can", but this time I would suggest you go see it and perhaps you can
enlighten us with your deep perception and understanding. After the
film we all waited in the lobby for Minh, who stayed to read the last
credit. We thouoght he would explain it all to us. He was as baffled
as the rest of us.
Talking about surrealism, we are now in the midst of the Republican
Convention here in San Diego and Ross Perot in Long Beach. My brother
tells me there will be a special on Bob Dole on PBS titled "Dead Man
Walking". Thanks, I'll go back to see Cyclo.
Apelo
-------------------------------------------------------------------