Cassandra Lewis

“The power of imagination makes us infinite.” -John Muir

Schmap has included one of my photos in their new travel guide of Dublin.

Sanjay, the photographer of the picture above, took us out for the best Easter ever. Check out his flickr page for other great photos.

Drew posted some hilarious footage and descriptions of the earlier events of the day (which I missed out on–I came out just in time for evening beverages).

“A guy can’t even get shot in his own apartment by a dame without the whole town starting to buzz…” from Jacques Tourneur’s 1947 film noir classic, Out of The Past.

Out of the Past has just been added to my list of top ten favorite film noir movies. The writing is sharp and witty and the storyline is perfectly crafted. You can see how contemporary Hollywood films have tried to copy the shape of this film’s plot. The 1947 classic is about how a former private eye, played by Robert Mitchum, can’t escape his shady past, even when he creates a new identity and life for himself in small-town America. The story moves through Bridgeport, California, to Lake Tahoe, to Acapulco and San Francisco. Cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca illuminated each frame with a stunning contrast between light and dark. You can look at this film as you would a Caravaggio painting.

For the past few years I’ve been hooked on film noir. I hope to see every film noir classic at least twice before I turn thirty. Luckily, I have plenty of time and film noir only spans a period of eighteen years: 1940-1958.

The gateway film that provoked my addiction was Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Circle Rouge, which is technically considered neo-noir because it was made in 1970. This film has complex characters and raises philosophical questions about the darker side of human nature: Are we destined to do bad deeds simply because we’re human? And what is the meaning of justice if we’re all criminals? It’s the most layered heist film ever made. It has everything you’d ever want in any style of film: surreal story sequences, emotional intrigue, believable yet surprising characters, along with the suspenseful acts of crime.

Sometimes it’s best to return to the past for answers and inspiration, especially for great films.

From the two-paragraph synopsis I was given before a pre-release viewing of Black Book, it sounded like it would be my kind of film. It’s a thriller set in Holland during World War II about a beautiful Jewish singer, played by Carice Van Houten, running from the Gestapo and seeking revenge for her family’s murder. But within the first half hour it became painfully obvious that this movie was made by Paul Verhoeven, the same director who made Robocop and Showgirls.

The storyline was flat, predictable, and chronologically ambiguous. It was too long (and, yes, I say that about everything, even pieces I admire). But really, the movie was 145 minutes and it was 145 minutes too long. It wasn’t only the gratuitous violence that bothered me. I found it offensive that Verhoeven glamorized the suffering of Holocaust survivors by inventing a Mata Hari-like character who shrugs off the genocidal world along with her clothes in every scene.

I felt sorry for Ms. Van Houten. Her role was reduced to being groped and squeezed and violated by every male character she encounters. At one point she’s singled out by a mob of people, brutally stripped and beaten, and as if that isn’t too much already, a large vat of excrement is dumped on her and she is left exposed, crawling around, covered only by filth.

I’m shocked that this movie was awarded in the Netherlands for Best Director and Best Film. I think our friend Verhoeven should stick to making Hollywood B movies of topless women having mudfights and leave the gravity of history to the professionals.