It has some of Schrader’s trademark erotica fetishism, visually he deftly channels Visconti, Ozu, and Antonioni to deliver exhilarating cinematic style
If anyone thinks Schrader is merely a screenwriter this is as good a place as any to start to put an end that falsehood—this is actually pretty poorly written- I don’t know if its Ian McEwan’s novel or Harold Pinter’s screenplay to blame, but the intriguing premise, and brilliant visuals, are often let down by the mediocre dialogue
like Schrader’s Mishima, expressionist colors like this exaggerated blue neon sign and day for night
Ornate ceiling opening—stunning, tracking shot looking through interiors and camera gliding through doorways of an opulent residence—a tapestry bounced off a mirror
Ornate ceiling opening—stunning, tracking shot looking through interiors and camera gliding through doorways of an opulent residence—a tapestry bounced off a mirror
Venice- gorgeous establishing shots after the Walken voice-over (which makes a nice bookend). It’s a fascinating role and narrative form as we get the voice-over and then we don’t see Walken again for 20 minutes
Walken loves his monologue—and this one has a long one- but again the writing just doesn’t give you anyone to grab onto or admire in it
use of the archway here- Pawel Pawlikowski would do this decades later in Ida (a film Schrader would greatly admire and inspire him to make First Reformed actually) really strong
The crew assembled behind the camera is as good as it gets. Michael Mann’s go-to DP Dante Spinotti, Lynch’s go-to composer– Angelo Badalamenti, Armani does the clothes
The crew assembled behind the camera is as good as it gets. Michael Mann’s go-to DP Dante Spinotti, Lynch’s go-to composer– Angelo Badalamenti, Armani does the clothes
Mirren is ok, Miranda Richardson fine, I think Rupert Everett leaves a little to be desired—Walken is great. I don’t know what that accent is, but he’s perfect as a spine-chilling stranger
Shot through doorway with Walken in a Death in Venice-like white suite at 17 minutes- this is Ozu—even a teapot in it!
Schrader- an Ozu acolyte in practice– striking interiors
20 minutes a slanted overhead shot through the alley— this is Antonioni’s La Notte—gorgeous shot
20 minutes a slanted overhead shot through the alley— this is Antonioni’s La Notte—gorgeous shot
There’s an eerie golden orange lighting at night- really beautiful
There’s an eerie golden orange lighting at night- really beautiful
Again in spots the dialogue is just bad and the ciphers (Richardson and Everett’s character, and this is on purpose) have a lack of motivation for going and staying
the characters are empty vessels on purpose– its in the text here as they peer into a shop window
The green hue in the bedroom like Vertigo
The one spot of dialogue I absolutely love is at 91 minutes when we finally see the reveal, the collage of pictures in their room and Mirren delivers the perfect “We are on the other side of the mirror”- whoa
Gob-smackingly impressive slow-motion reverse crane shot murder- a triumph– at 96 minutes
Gob-smackingly impressive slow-motion reverse crane shot murder- a triumph– at 96 minutes
Shot of 100 minutes through the doors of Walken with police—this is Antonioni again—magnificent
Shot of 100 minutes through the doors of Walken with police—this is Antonioni again—magnificent
I have very conflicting feelings on this film. One one hand I’m addicted to its atmosphere, its lighting, Schrader’s direction, the perfect soundtrack, the Armani clothes. It’s aesthetic delight. And yet it leaves something to be desired. I am not certain of the extent to which the film’s inscrutability can be attributed to a conscious decision by Schrader. And it’s peculiar, because anything written by Pinter should be expected to work. Partly I feel it’s the writing to blame (though Mirren’s line is surely a high point – goosebumps), or the elliptical transition from book to film perhaps, but partly there’s something that Schrader does while directing this that completely wipes out the impact of the film’s climax. There is no catharsis. And there is no sufficient build up to it. That’s where I’ll place the blame. Because otherwise – Schrader directs the hell out of this and it takes us on a wonderful journey through Venice, primarily, and through the realm of the senses, of sorts (I watched that film too, by the way. Felt fairly disappointed). I was quite mesmerised by the Comfort of Strangers and it felt frustrating to see it not evolving to what it probably could have. On another note, I love Walken and Mirren (though she has nearly nothing to do here – she does great little nothings). Richardson and Everett I am quite indifferent towards, bordering on forgettable, even though they certainly look the part.
[…] The Comfort of Strangers – Schrader […]
I have very conflicting feelings on this film. One one hand I’m addicted to its atmosphere, its lighting, Schrader’s direction, the perfect soundtrack, the Armani clothes. It’s aesthetic delight. And yet it leaves something to be desired. I am not certain of the extent to which the film’s inscrutability can be attributed to a conscious decision by Schrader. And it’s peculiar, because anything written by Pinter should be expected to work. Partly I feel it’s the writing to blame (though Mirren’s line is surely a high point – goosebumps), or the elliptical transition from book to film perhaps, but partly there’s something that Schrader does while directing this that completely wipes out the impact of the film’s climax. There is no catharsis. And there is no sufficient build up to it. That’s where I’ll place the blame. Because otherwise – Schrader directs the hell out of this and it takes us on a wonderful journey through Venice, primarily, and through the realm of the senses, of sorts (I watched that film too, by the way. Felt fairly disappointed). I was quite mesmerised by the Comfort of Strangers and it felt frustrating to see it not evolving to what it probably could have. On another note, I love Walken and Mirren (though she has nearly nothing to do here – she does great little nothings). Richardson and Everett I am quite indifferent towards, bordering on forgettable, even though they certainly look the part.