Revisiting Casablanca

Casablanca may seem like something of a cliché these days. Its reputation is so prevalent that for the viewer who rents a copy to take home, either for the first time or the thirty-first time, it may be a rather underwhelming experience. The film may seem dated and filled with overly familiar scenes, rendering the movie a sort of post-modern compendium of oft-quoted lines. 

But Casablanca on the big screen is an entirely different experience. The film will screen as part of the grand re-opening of the Cerrito Theater, El Cerrito's long dormant 1937 movie house.

To see the Casablanca projected larger than life in a room full of fellow moviegoers, and in an authentic theater from the era which likely showed the film in its original run in 1942, is to set aside the decades of lionization and all the baggage containing the myths of its now legendary stars, and immerse oneself in one of the most satisfying products of Hollywood’s regimented studio system. 

It’s an unlikely classic. The movie is often used as an example to undermine the auteur theory, the notion put forward by the critics and filmmakers of the French New Wave that a director is the sole author of a film. Casablanca is fascinating in that it was never meant to be a great film; in fact, many of those working on it at the time considered it something of a lemon, a contractual obligation they would be happy to put behind them. 

But what emerged was a film that embodied all that was best in the studio system, with excellent screenwriters reshaping the film until the last minute; a sure-handed director making the most of his sets and players; fine actors transforming two-dimensional characters with compelling performances. If you’ve only seen it on video, in the isolation of a private living room, Casablanca, like many great films of the past, can be underwhelming. There is something lost on the small screen, no matter how big that small screen may be. Movies of this era were meant to be seen on the big screen, not because they contained big action sequence or special effects, but because they contained big emotions. 

Humphrey Bogart’s talents are arguably better displayed in other films; he’s tougher and grittier in the Maltese Falcon; he’s darker and more sardonic in his films opposite Lauren Bacall and in the lesser known and underrated In a Lonely Place. But Casablanca is where Bogart truly made the big time, stepping up to play a complex romantic leading man after only having played thugs and tough-talking detectives. And Ingrid Bergman delivers one of her finest performances, conveying deep undercurrents of longing and regret even without saying a word. And the direction of Michael Curtiz and the photography of Arthur Edeson lends an evocative sheen to the melodrama, with dark shadows and probing searchlights piercing through the obfuscations of characters embroiled in a forlorn mix of politics, war and love.

The Cerrito opens Wednesday with Pulp Fiction at 5 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. and Casblanca at 6 and 9 p.m. The schedule will be repeated on Thursday. For more information, see www.picturepubpizza.com. For information on the restoration or to join the Friends of the Cerrito Theater, see www.cerritotheater.org. 

Restored Cerrito Theater Re-Opens After 40 Years

The Cerrito Theater opens Wednesday for the first time in more than 40 years, operated by Speakeasy Theaters, the same folks who run Oakland’s Parkway Theater. 

Speakeasy is kicking things off with a signature blend of classic and contemporary screenings: Michael Curtiz’s 1942 classic Casablanca and Quentin Tarantino’s 1994 breakthrough Pulp Fiction. 

The theater was built in 1937 by the Blumenfeld family, owners of a chain of Bay Area movie theaters. They built the Oaks Theater on Solano Avenue and operated Berkeley’s Shattuck Cinemas, as well as a host of other theaters in Marin, Solano, Contra Costa and Alameda counties. The Cerrito was designed by architect William B. David. 

The drive to restore and reopen the Cerrito Theater began in 2001. The theater had shut down in the early ’60s and had, for most of the intervening 40 years, been used as a storage facility for Keifer’s furniture store. When the building finally went on the market and locals were allowed into the vacated building, they found the original art deco murals still intact. An advocacy group, Friends of the Cerrito Theater, was formed and the group then persuaded the city to purchase the building. Soon after, Speakeasy Theaters, operators of Oakland’s Parkway Theater near Lake Merritt, were enlisted to run the venue. And thus began a community-driven restoration process that has seen the interior details restored, a second theater added upstairs, and the installation of a brand new marquee, lit for the first time last week. 

Catherine and Kyle Fischer, co-founder of Speakeasy Theaters, were excited by the opportunity to not only open a new theater, but to be part of a community effort to revitalize a long-forgotten treasure. Fischer says the partnership is a good fit. “We’re known for building community,” she says. “And we’re a lot of fun!” 

Fischer says the Cerrito will feature many of the same popular hallmarks as the Parkway: food and beverages (including alcohol), couches, table seating as well as traditional theater seats, and over the next few months, Fischer says, the theater will roll out some of its popular programming features, such as the Baby Brigade, a night for parents with babies. The Parkway bases much of its programming on community input, and the Cerrito will do the same, taking feedback from their customers in shaping a schedule that will likely include a blend of new and classic films, family films, and festivals. 

The Cerrito opens Wednesday with Pulp Fiction at 5 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. and Casblanca at 6 and 9 p.m. The schedule will be repeated on Thursday. For more information, see www.picturepubpizza.com. For information on the restoration or to join the Friends of the Cerrito Theater, see www.cerritotheater.org. 

Photo by Richard Brenneman for the Berkeley Daily Planet.

Schultze Gets the Blues

Last year Schultze Gets the Blues, a German film, played in Berkeley theaters for just a week and to generally small audiences. After one matinee screening, a group of women walked out casting sideways glances at each other and rolling their eyes. “What did you think?” one asked another. “I don’t knowwwww…..” was the response. 

Taste is subjective of course, but I couldn’t help but feel that an opportunity had been missed, for Schultze is a film of rare intelligence and grace, the sort of film that is not often made in America today. It is not only an excellent film and a far deeper one than may be first evident, but a superb opportunity for the film novice who is just beginning to take an interest in the possibilities of cinematic language. Schultze is full of simple, subtle visual cues—composition, lighting, editing and juxtaposition—expertly used to reveal character, plot and subtext. 

And now that the dust has settled around the first anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, having been kicked up by the media rushing back into the beleaguered city for a series of breathless updates, it seems a good time to revisit the image of New Orleans that we had before disaster struck; a chance to look back, with affection, nostalgia and sadness, at the myths and legends of the city, myths and legends that we once believed in and hope to one day believe in again. 

The story itself is simple: Schultze, a staid, unadventurous man, retires after a life spent working in the salt mines of Germany only to find that he has little to occupy his time. Until, that is, he discovers Zydeco music, a happy accident that leads to a life-altering journey. 

Our first glimpse of the man comes in the film’s opening shot. A solitary windmill turns slowly above a flat horizon as Schultze, in silhouette, traverses the frame on his bicycle. We then get a series of scenes with little dialogue that establish Schultze as something of a non-entity. His two friends do most of the talking while Schultze sits silently and watches. He is merely a sidekick to more charismatic men, a mute witness to the lives and passions of others. He is inscrutable, distant, dutiful and bland, his face often concealed by the brim of his hat, and expressionless when not. Director Michael Schorr composes his frames carefully, often keeping the horizon and his characters low in the frame to show that it is a big world and Schultze is just one small part of it, an inconsequential figure amid a vast landscape. 

It is a good 25 minutes before we finally get a good look at his face. When Schultze discovers Zydeco he comes into the foreground for the first time and finally looms large before us, his face illuminated by the glow of the golden light of the radio dial: the magic of Zydeco by way of a magic Philco. He has finally become a presence, a personality rather than a mere figure occupying space. 

And suddenly life begins to take shape for him. He immediately picks up his accordion to play his usual polka, but soon begins playing faster and faster until he has achieved something resembling Zydeco. He is no longer merely a vessel for the continuation of his traditional polkas and waltzes; Zydeco has transformed him. 

Eventually Schultze makes his way to America to play in a Texas music festival, but Texas doesn’t have what he’s looking for and he soon heads for New Orleans. The fact that he manages to secure himself a boat and sets off down the Mississippi River is the cue that the film has now taken another direction. This is no longer a simple road trip but a hero’s journey into a mythical city. Schultze becomes a sort of Huck Finn, or even a Marlowe perhaps, but he is not venturing into some dark and brooding heart of darkness but deeper into his own dreams and hopes in search of the joy and love and music and passion that has lain dormant within him for so many years. He has risen from the dark of the mineshaft into the golden light of music, and is finally releasing himself into the lowdown, muddy swamps of pleasure and camaraderie. 

Once the river journey begins it may it may seem that Schorr is indulging in stereotypes, as Schultze is taken in by an earthy black mother of a fatherless child, a woman who welcomes him without question and cooks him soul food—the very picture of the spiritual African-American so often idealized in trite Hollywood movies. But bear in mind here, this is no longer a trip through the American South or through the Louisiana Delta as it truly exists, but rather through the delta as seen through the prism of folklore. We are witnessing the South as seen through the eyes of a man who has never before left his German homeland and who has only vague and romanticized notions of what he may find. Whether his vision is true is hardly the point; it only matters that it is true for him, that he has found a world in which he wants and needs to believe, a sort of final reward for a life of duty, hard work and quiet diligence. 

Schultze’s stay in New Orleans concludes with a wistful closing shot of silhouettes dancing in silence to the joyous rhythms of Zydeco and fades out with a gentle sigh, the contented exultation of a man who has seen the promised land and found peace. It is a glimpse of the myths and legends of the New Orleans we believed in until the levees broke and reality came flooding in. Schorr then finishes the film as he began it, with the steady, timeless whirl of the windmill above a landscape as silhouetted figures continue on their way, a quiet reminder that life goes on, and that the gentle, impish spirit of joy and passion will endure. 

Schultze Gets the Blues (2003). Written and directed by Michael Schorr. Starring Horst Krause. In German with English subtitles. Paramount. 114 mimutes. $29.98.

Berkeley Video and Film Festival 2006

The Berkeley Video and Film Festival makes its annual appearance this weekend, starting today (Friday) and running through Sunday evening at the Oaks Theater on Solano Avenue in Berkeley. This year’s program features more than 50 works, from brief clips by budding filmmakers, running just a few minutes in length, to full-length features by established directors. 

Festival Director Mel Vapour says this is their best and biggest yet. The festival has expanded over the years to include films from beyond the East Bay, and perhaps the most notable national product in this year’s program is The Big Buy, directed by Mark Birnbaum and Jim Schermbeck and produced by Robert Greenwald, who also produced last year’s Wal-Mart: The High Price of Low Cost. The Big Buy tracks the spectacular rise and fall of former House Majority Leader Tom DeLay, from his early days as an apparent no-count in the Texas legislature to his ascent to national power as Newt Gingrich’s right-hand man, to his successful—and illegal—battle to gerrymander the Texas redistricting process, a move which helped send George W. Bush to the White House. 

If you’ve been following the news, you know the rest of the story. But what The Big Buy adds to the tale is the behind-the-scenes machinations of the investigation into DeLay’s organization. Along the way, we hear from the usual suspects when it comes to commentary on all things Texas: Molly Ivins, Jim Hightower, etc., names sure to find a welcoming audience in Berkeley. The Saturday evening screening will be followed by a question-and-answer session with Birnbaum. 

Other films in the festival have roots a little closer to home. Festival Director Vapour has watched director Hoku Uchiyama grow up, from a young, talented kid who took part in youth programs at Vapour’s East Bay Media Center to a film school graduate and accomplished filmmaker. Uchiyama’s 34-minute film Rose is an engaging short subject with a compelling story and evocative photography. In the film’s first few minutes, Uchiyama clearly and effectively delineates his characters with a series of shots of the young protagonist and just a few lines of dialogue, drawing the viewer immediately into young Travis’ world and setting the stage for a tale that seamlessly blends the mystic with the mundane. The compositions, camera movements and polished style demonstrate the young director’s confidence and control over his craft. 

Two other films concern Berkeley itself. Double-Spaced: A Berkeley Comedy has that “Hey everybody, let’s make a movie!” feel to it. The movie is about students and feels like it was made by students as well, almost as a lark. It features plenty of shots of the city, from downtown to Telegraph Avenue, and of course plenty of shots of the UC campus. It even contains a brief shot of the student protagonist reading this very newspaper, but before you have a second to ponder this stark breach of realism, a close-up reveals that he is fact reading the comics page. 

It’s an amateurish film that wears on its sleeve its aspirations toward Wes Anderson-style preciousness, with a wayward protagonist caught up in a loony bit of intrigue, a soundtrack consisting of light, catchy pop songs, and an optimistic ending meant to reinforce the humanity of all involved. It has an awkward feel to it, and most of its punchlines are oversold. But then there’s Meghan Kane, an actress who, in just two scenes totaling probably just 60 seconds of screen time, steals the show with a hilarious and uncanny depiction of a student many will recognize: the glib, patronizing, utterly self-satisfied graduate student, so taken with her own fabulousness that she must focus her every word and gesture on the never-ending effort to make all around her aware of their comparative lack of fabulousness. It’s just a few seconds, but it’s worth the price of admission. 

Another film takes on the Berkeley theme as well, this one with slightly higher aspirations and budget. Berkeley concerns a young man who comes to town as a freshman in the late ’60s and has his life transformed by what he finds. The film stars Nick Roth as the student and Henry Winkler as his father. The film attempts to capture the experience of Berkeley during the Vietnam War era, but doesn’t quite pull it off. For many viewers the film will probably be a moving evocation of the experience; for others, it may seem to merely trivialize it. The Saturday night screening will be followed by a question-and-answer session with director Bobby Roth. 

These examples only hint at the breadth of the festival’s offerings. For a complete schedule see www.berkeleyvideofilmfest.org. Day passes for the festival are just $12. 

Berkeley Video and Film Festival. Friday, Saturday and Sunday at the Oaks Theater, 1875 Solano Ave., Berkeley. www.berkeleyvideofilmfest.org. 

The Up Series: True Human Drama

Often the most compelling dramas are not found in novels or Hollywood movies, but in everyday life. This is the charm and allure of The Up Series, an extraordinary documentary film project now in its fifth decade. 

Begun in 1964 as a program for England’s Granada Television, the first film in the series, 7 Up, featured interviews with a group of 7-year-old children in an effort to catch “a glimpse of England in the year 2000.” 

Michael Apted worked as a researcher on the first program and, with the second program, 7 Plus 7, broadcast in 1971, he took over the project, directing another film every seven years to follow up on the lives of the original 14 participants. The latest film in the series, 49 Up, opens today (Friday) at Shattuck Cinemas in Berkeley. 

The project was begun all those years ago with very definite ideas in mind. The children were selected from various strata of English society with the intent of showing how one’s background may determine one’s future. “Give me the child until he is 7 and I will give you the man,” the narrator intones, and far more often than necessary. 

The premise may have been a bit contrived—even the 14-year-olds ridicule it for its simplistic approach in 7 Plus 7—and often it seems that Apted is far too determined to make the subsequent films conform to the expectations of the first. It might have helped to have had a sociologist involved with the formulation of the questions in order to give them a little more weight and validity; and perhaps someone with a background in therapy or counseling could have posed the questions in place of the director, someone with a better sense of how to communicate with people, to demonstrate the necessary curiosity and compassion. For Apted is often incapable of keeping the questions neutral or of phrasing his queries in such a way as to invite discussion. There are moments where his clumsy comments reveal as much about his own perceptions as those of the participants. In 7 Plus 7 he asks a trio of 14-year-old girls if they worry about the “danger” of finding themselves married and homebound with children when they’re in their early 20s. In 28 Up he asks a man if he’s worried about his sanity, and seven years later, when the man is 35 and still struggling to find his way in life, Apted asks if he has given up, to which the man snaps back “My life’s not over yet!” 

Perhaps this is a deliberate technique on Apted’s part, but if so it sometimes comes across as insensitive and rude, even if it now and then produces a valuable insight. At other times Apted seems too intent on validating the project’s original premises, attempting to draw definitive cause-and-effect links between the circumstances of childhood and adulthood. In effect, Apted, though he keeps himself off-camera, becomes a character in the drama, his leading questions often belying his own prejudices and preconceived notions. 

But these are minor flaws. Taken as a whole, the series is probably among the greatest documentaries ever made. And yes, there is much truth and value to the film’s premises, and to its aspirations toward sociological significance, and often its hypotheses are validated as children who seemed destined for a particular line of work or station in life indeed end up fulfilling those expectations. But the series is full of surprises, and overall it works best as simple human drama: Shamelessly cute 7-year-olds grow into awkward, gangly 14-year olds; budding, passionate adults of 21 become 28-year-olds settling into careers and families. The participants are honest, intelligent and interesting and their stories invite compassion; we take pleasure in their triumphs, we shed tears for their tragedies. We see them face rejection, take on new jobs and careers, search for love and companionship; we see them start families, raise children, and deal with the deaths of their own parents; we see them struggle to maintain marriages and face the setbacks of divorce; we see plans laid and hopes dashed, and then we see them rise again to rebuild their lives. 

The project itself has been something of a mixed blessing for its participants. One man even describes it as a bit of poison he is forced to swallow every seven years. Some opt out of later films, sometimes to return later, sometimes not. We don’t get the impression that any of them are participating in the project for the pleasure of being on television or on the big screen; they seem to participate out of a sense of duty, and not to the filmmakers, but rather to their fellow Englishmen. For even when they question the value of the project, they seem to evince a knowledge that their stories may in some way shed light for others on worthwhile issues. 

All the films leading up to 49 Up (2006) are available on DVD from First Run Features. But you don’t necessarily need to have seen every film to appreciate the drama of the later productions. Each film features plenty of footage from the previous films to at least present the arc of each life. 

It must have been a wonderful experience for the original audiences to see this series begin and watch as these lives unfurled over the decades, to have grown up with these men and women and checked in with them every seven years. Undoubtedly many have found kinship with these 14 people as they have made their way through life. But to see the entire series, in sequence and all at once, is a revelation; full and rich human lives unfold in one film after another, the participants aging 40 years in just a few days’ time. The haughty are humbled, the meek gain confidence, the lost become found, the pampered lose everything. These are true human dramas, moving and fascinating, and unfolding in real time.