Press Information May | June 2016 Sex and the City Warner Bros
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Press Information May | June 2016 From the permissive Pre-Code Cinema of the early 1930s, whose disdain for prevalent “moral standards” led to rigid self-censorship in the US film industry, to Paul Verhoeven ’s basic instincts : in the May-June program, the Film Museum presents two instances of cinema as a subversive art – where the breach of taboo is a necessary condition for realism in entertainment. Further programs in May and June focus on the films of Bill Plympton , Ludwig Wüst and Pablo Larraín – as well as on the Austrian historian Siegfried Mattl (1954-2015): his writings on film and history are gathered in a new FilmmuseumSynema publication. Sex and the City Warner Bros. before the Code In a famous scene from the pioneering gangster film The Public Enemy (1931), over the breakfast table, James Cagney shoves half a grapefruit into the face of his girlfriend in order to shut her up; in the classic musical Gold Diggers of 1933, Busby Berkeley presents a breathtaking arrangement of dancers scantily “clad” in coins, countering the Depression with the lilting refrain “We're in the money” ; in the overwhelming social drama Wild Boys of the Road (1933), hundreds of youths turned hobos by the economic crisis go into battle with the police; it takes Two Seconds to execute Edward G. Robinson on the electric chair and a frenzied 70 minute flashback for the eponymous film (1932) to disclose the entire tragedy of a life derailed by murder; in the scandalously cynical Baby Face (1933), the camera repeatedly climbs up the stories of an office skyscraper: an unprecedented metaphor for the rise of Barbara Stanwyck's hardened social climber, „screwing her way to a fortune“ (Richard Corliss). Five model images of the staggeringly dynamic, stirringly political and sexually provocative cinema of the early sound era in American movies which marks an absolute apogee in film history. From 1931 to 1934, while the unceasing economic crisis threatened to paralyze U.S. society, current social anxieties and urban upheavals erupted in energetic entertainments of unrivaled gall and vigor. Spearheaded by Warner Bros. with its “make it snappy” mode of production, many film producers placed their bets on an art of rousing condensation: in 60-80 minutes, these quick, brazen films rush through epic stories, the likes of which would take hours (if not whole TV mini-series) today. The historical moment of Pre-Code Cinema owes its moniker to the so-called Production Code, a moralizing system of self-censorship enforced by the major Hollywood studios from the summer of 1934 to put a swift end to the freedoms of the preceding years. The particularly objectionable films were put on ice, actively “forgotten” or even retroactively censored. However, in the last quarter- century this era has been rediscovered and recognized as a true cabinet of wonders : ever since, those in the know have been aware that the keyword pre-Code (almost as much as the popular sobriquet film noir ) stands for a special kind of magic – an exhilarating directness in cinematic storytelling and acting that often overshadows the subsequent, properly regulated “Golden Age” of the Hollywood studio system. The extensive 1996 retrospective organized by the Austrian Film Museum and the Viennale was the first presentation of Pre-Code Cinema in Europe. However, in the canon of film history, it remains (at least in our parts) relatively underrepresented. Therefore, over the next 18 months, a multipart Film Museum project will once again shine a light on the riches of this bloom. No longer beset by the rigidity and relative clunkiness of early sound cinema, these films burst into movement, speech and music in ways that are intrinsically tied to life in the metropolis. Translating the possibilities of popular music and the human voice into ambiguous choreographies and dialogue duels, they also speak up about social crises and injustices of the Depression era – like catchy headlines still dripping with printing ink. And they are chock-full with characters and deeds that cannot easily be designated as either “good” or “bad”: hustlers and cynical lawyers; brash journalists, PR agents and entertainers; and “gold-digging” ladies purposefully using their intelligence and sexuality to overcome social barriers. During the early 1930s, genres such as the gangster and prison film, the romantic comedy, the horror film and the musical came into their own. But there are also several important pre-Code films that reach beyond the confines of genre. Planting social and political commentary about current conditions in the U.S. right in the middle of the entertainment industry, these works often seem bewildered, oscillating in all directions, unable to make up their mind – the most famous case being Heroes for Sale , a harrowing tragedy of war returnees. I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang , a stirring exposé of the penal system in the South, incarnates another tendency: the notion that popular cinema, in the guise of genre, can directly effectuate political change. All of the above-mentioned films and all those included in the retrospective were produced by Warner Bros., the studio that epitomized the “cinematic spirit of the time.” With their outstanding narrative drive, their smart, “authentic”, erotically charged protagonists and their insistence on topicality and urban realism, they give us the most pleasurable record of U.S. mentality in the transition from Hoover’s to Roosevelt’s era. Unlike at Paramount or Fox, those setting the tone at Warner Bros. (under the guidance of production chief Darryl F. Zanuck ) were not the individualistically sensitive “art film” makers, but the self-confident tough guys, delivering 5 to 6 films of an unusually high standard to the cinema per year – social issues always in their sights: William A. Wellman, Mervyn LeRoy, Roy Del Ruth, as well as emigrés like Michael Curtiz and William Dieterle – and, naturally, Busby Berkeley , whose spectacular cinematic choreographies opened whole new worlds to the musical. Actors under contract to the studio were just as important for the Warner style – especially James Cagney, demonstrating enormous vitality and quick-wittedness in ten films of the retrospective. Further stars from the pre-Code Warner forge include Barbara Stanwyck, Bette Davis, William Powell, and Edward G. Robinson, surrounded by equally distinctive (if practically forgotten) performers such as Joan Blondell, Ann Dvorak, Lee Tracy – and that one-of-a-kind master of cheerful salaciousness who best embodies the era: Warren William, the King of Pre-Code. The retrospective presents 38 films. Along with Warner Bros. Austria, the Film Museum’s main collaborator in this project is the Library of Congress. Thanks to the enormous restoration efforts of our Washington colleagues, many pivotal works of the era are once again available in their original pre-Code versions. May 6 to June 19, 2016 2 Premiere heimatfilm by Ludwig Wüst and El Club by Pablo Larraín heimatfilm (2016) sums up 18 years of Bavarian-Austrian filmmaker Ludwig Wüst’s guerilla cinema: “The family album opens, letters are written to the dead and the disappeared. Images of the siblings, the mother and the extended family create room for the more remote, fictitious figures who set similar questions in motion: the quest for one’s identity, the missing sense of belonging and the redefinition inevitably take imaginary paths.” (Dominik Kamalzadeh & Michael Pekler, Der Standard ). On May 18 , The Film Museum will host the Viennese premiere of Wüst’s fascinating heimatfilm, first shown at the Diagonale in Graz. El Club is another special kind of “Heimatfilm”, celebrated at the 2015 Berlinale – and still without theatrical release in Austria. Chilean director Pablo Larraín has already gouged deep into the more recent history of his country with Tony Manero (2008) and the Oscar-nominated No (2012). El Club , to be shown on June 9 , is set around a remote house on the stormy northern coast of Chile, where Catholic priests found guilty of pedophilia and other crimes have been banished to. “Not since Polanski’s Cul-de-Sac or Tarkovsky’s Stalker has desolation looked as mighty or as chastening. Even in that dankness, though, the film’s compassion is strongly felt, its mordant humor glinting like a blade.” (Ryan Gilbey, The Guardian ) May 18 and June 9, 2016 In Person: Bill Plympton “I could do a minute of animation a day, so theoretically, I could do a film in three months without any interruption,” claims Bill Plympton, born in Portland, Oregon in 1946. His animated film oeuvre, stretching from the late ’70s to the present day, seems to prove him right: countless shorts, among them cult classics such as 25 Ways to Stop Smoking (1989), the Oscar-nominated Guard Dog (2004) and couch gags for The Simpsons (2012–16), stand alongside seven hand-drawn, for the most part independently produced, feature films, as well as commissioned works for Madonna and Kanye West, MTV, and Volkswagen. At 14 years of age, Plympton sent his debut to Disney. While he was turned down and reprimanded due to his age, many years later he was offered to work on Aladdin . This time it was Plympton’s turn to refuse: out of concern for his independence. “We don't need any more children's stories,” says another of his premises (not coincidentally, Plympton’s work can be considered an important inspiration for The Simpsons and Family Guy ). His films are politically incorrect, filthy, brutal – and yet characterized by a tender love for detail. They provide us with bizarre, “forbidden” fantasy images and rough pieces of life advice, without ever missing their actual goal: making us laugh with the sweep of his lines. Throughout these 40 years, his style has often changed but, as is the case with the coarseness of his settings and subjets, always remaining recognizable as “true Plympton” at the core.