The educational outreach branch of Mid Century Cinema is developing a new class, which will be taught in the coming fall semester: “A Cinema of Resistance.” This of course raises the musical question, “What the heck is a cinema of resistance”? Well, most narrowly, the phrase refers to films made in dissent of a prevailing conventional wisdom, especially one backed by power, ideally in the context of censorship or at least under the watchful eye of some menacing authority (typically but not necessarily the state). That would be the sweet spot—but many of the films will fall under a larger umbrella of movies that express active opposition against established power or broadly and deeply held social norms – and which invite controversy, contestation, and discomfort.
Given the house style, as always the movies to be screened are not chosen to be illustrative (or even, necessarily, informative) of specific events. Rather we will look at politically charged films, understood in their distinct social-political-historical contexts, with an eye towards uncovering universal themes and enduring ideological dispositions. And, crucially, all of the movies screened will be taken seriously as films—that is, as expressions of an art form that can reward close scrutiny and study, and which invite interrogation and debate about the political and philosophical questions they engage and express, both explicitly and, better still, implicitly. As such, and again as always, moral ambiguity is a must; moreover, and in a similar vein, a film that does not lend itself to competing reads is not a film much worth discussing. (Movies that tell us that Nazis or slavery or racism or robber-baron capitalism or colonialism or the slaughter of the innocent are . . . um . . . bad aren’t actually telling us anything—and certainly offer little by way of discussion beyond what Indiana Jones had to say about such things.)
The course will go something like this. Movies will be screened the night before each session. The first half of class will feature a background lecture on the filmmaker (or the film movement) of the week and the politics and context of the historical moment of that film’s production and setting. And from there we will discuss, analyze, evaluate, and, by far most important, debate and disagree, about what the film is saying and what the implications are of those sentiments.
As the syllabus is still in pre-production, comments and suggestions are welcome. But this is the current working lineup:
A Most Wanted Man (Corbijn, 2014). This might seem like an odd choice, but it’s a good one to start off with—it’s even in color! Censorship did not impede this film’s production, but John Le Carre’s novel was written in a fit of pique about the American conduct of its “Global War on Terror,” and this adaptation is smartly shot, cunningly complex and subtly provocative. It also features the last major performance of Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Le Corbeau (Clouzot, 1943). Filmed in Nazi-occupied France—upon release it was attacked by the vassal Vichy regime, trashed by the underground resistance, condemned by the Catholic Church, and then subsequently banned after the liberation. Oh, and it’s a masterpiece. Who could ask for anything more?
Ashes and Diamonds (Wajda, 1958). Cold War Eastern Europe was at the epicenter resistance cinema, and Poland’s Andrezj Wajda was, across four decades, one of its leading lights. This is our favorite of his films, about the murderous rivalries between competing factions as power was being contested and consolidated after the Second World War.
La Guerre Est Finie (Resnais, 1966). To our eyes Alain Resnais’ greatest film. The War is Over features Yves Montand as a middle-aged, burnt out exile of the long-lost Spanish Civil War, but one who is nevertheless still going through the motions of the struggle, as a younger generation calls for a more violent strategy against the entrenched Franco dictatorship.
The Battle of Algiers (Ponticorvo, 1966). Former French military heroes torturing their way to winning the battle and ultimately losing the Algerian War. Legend holds that on the festival circuit in 1967 western audiences cheered the bombing of a civilian café—probably you had to be there (at the festival, that is), but the film, an unflinching look at all sides, is timeless. Read all about it here:
The Ear (Kachyna, 1970). Well described as Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf meets 1984, this is our favorite Czech New Wave film. Immediately banned, it was not officially released until 1989.
Medium Cool (Wexler, 1969). Shadowed by the FBI, saddled with an X-rating, and virtually disowned by Paramount Pictures, Haskell Wexler’s film is a reminder that 1968 witnessed not only the Soviet crushing of the Prague Spring, but also the blood-soaked “police riot” outside the Democratic National Convention in Mayor Daley’s Chicago. A key contribution to the New Hollywood movement.
The Confession (Costa-Gavras, 1970). The middle film of an informal trilogy—and we’ll be taking about all three in class. But we prefer the relatively discomforting Confession to Costa-Gavras’ celebrated Z (1969) and his searing State of Siege (1972), two brilliant films that quite bravely take on evil but easier targets: the Greek military junta, and American-abetted dictatorships in South America.
The Conformist (Bertolucci, 1970). A classic interrogation of Italian fascism, this film pairs extremely well with Bernardo Bertolucci’s other 1970 effort, The Spider’s Stratagem, a rumination on the manipulation of heroism and historical memory. As for the visually stunning Conformist, we’re with Susan Sontag (and this movie) in suspecting that there is a non-trivial relationship between the lure of fascism and sexual insecurity.
The Lost Honor Katrina Blum (Schlöndorff and von Trotta, 1975). An enduring film with pressing contemporary relevance regarding terrorism, police power, and the media, Lost Honor also offers an invitation to explore the politically charged (and often radical) films of its co-directors, including Volker Schlöndorff’s Circle of Deceit (1981) and The Legend of Rita (2000) and Margarethe von Trotta’s biopics Rosa Luxembourg (1986) and Hannah Arendt (2012).
One Sings the Other Doesn’t (Varda, 1977). One of the great postwar French filmmakers, Agnes Varda’s movies were also, invariably – and without pausing to lecture – inflected with a deep-seated political sensibility. In most of her films, those politics are implicit. But a handful were more overt: her documentary short Black Panthers (1968) remains essential and alive to this day; One Sings, at the feminist barricades in its moment, was controversial then and remains so now.
Blind Chance (Kieslowski 1987). This is not one of our top five films from the legendary Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski. It’s probably not even our favorite resistance film from Mr. K (probably No End (1985) or Short Working Day (1995) would get that nod). But Blind Chance – even though available prints remain marred by the absence of some material redacted by censors – is nevertheless brilliant, and throws down this gauntlet: what if “they” are “you” in other circumstances?
Three Faces (Panahi 2018). Iranian filmmaker Jafar Panahi has now made five movies . . . since he was served with a twenty-year ban from making films (one of them was smuggled out of the country on a flash drive hidden in a birthday cake). Not surprisingly, any number of his productions would be appropriate for a course on A Cinema of Resistance; we considered the feminist inquest The Circle (2000) before settling on Three Faces, which, closing with house style, raises more questions than it answers.
