Reviews and Comments by Ken Burke
I invite you to join me on a regular basis to see how my responses to current cinematic offerings compare to the critical establishment, which I’ll refer to as either the CCAL (Collective Critics at Large) if they’re supportive or the OCCU (Often Cranky Critics Universe) when they go negative. However, due to COVID concerns I’m mostly addressing streaming options with limited visits to theaters, where I don’t think I’ve missed much anyway, though better options may be on the horizon. (Note: Anything in bold blue [some may look near purple] is a link to something more in the review.)
9/13/2023 WARNING! My computer’s occasionally acting too funky again so if I disappear from a regular posting on an upcoming late Wednesday/early Thursday I’ll be back as soon as I am able (hopefully in regular schedule, but this damn machine—unlike a reliable camera—keeps me tense, so I may someday soon have a new computer to go with my new TV [see just below for the details]).
In my posting last week I explained (in probably vastly more detail than you cared to know) why I’d chosen to review a quite-old-film on DVD (actually, I had to use streaming after all) because none of what I was aware of in theaters (where I’m unlikely to go right now anyway) or on streaming interested me half as much as watching the German classic Wings of Desire (Wim Wenders, 1987) again, but I was confident I’d be able to access something worth exploring via streaming this week. However, last Monday late afternoon when preparing to watch Picnic (Joshua Logan, 1955)—yes, I know it’s melodramatic as hell but also a useful-indictment of gender and class limitations back in that era, and, besides, how many Labor Day-oriented movies are there to pick from to note the unofficial end of summer?—I managed to bump into my 49” LG TV, knocking it over which gave it the appearance of what looks like a shower curtain covering the screen’s left-quarter, leading me to Video Only the next day to replace the TV (delivered this week, so hopefully I’ll be back to those intended-streaming-options for you next week; watched Picnic anyway because after years of this annual tradition it was easy enough to mentally fill in the missing visuals). You might also note in the photo above stacks of pillows on both sides of the TV cabinet and screen which are there to prevent one of my cats, 2-year-old Layla, from getting behind the set-up once again which she did previously, then chewed through thin wires crucial for the functioning of the Roku box and the LG sound bar, both of which I had to replace (I also wrapped the wires back there in aluminum foil as a further deterrent to her chewing-choices; yes, the stuffed dog in the front is intentional too, to keep her out of the DVD cabinet so she won’t find anything there to feast on). All in all, the cost of my damage was considerably more than Layla’s (by several hundred dollars), but I do now have an upgraded video-viewing-device (and newly-functioning-attachments), so my minor version of a home theater is now better, with hopes that neither the cat nor I find it necessary to make any further improvements.
With my “shower-curtain-enhanced-screen” I couldn’t use streaming options due to the necessary alphanumeric search box in that lost-left-area, leaving me unable to access much. So, I turned to my DVD—although you can find Blow-Up on streaming for a mere $2.99 rental at Amazon Prime Video, Apple TV+, other platforms—for a return-trip to a favorite (#6 on my All-Time Top 10 list) even farther back than Wings of Desire, for me a fascinating exploration of the concept of reality although I admit it’s not for everyone (my marvelous wife, Nina, for example didn’t care much for it even as I tried clumsily to defend my opinion, but she admits she prefers stories about relationships [just human connections, not necessarily romances; she offers Best Picture-Oscar-winner Midnight Cowboy {John Schlesinger, 1969} as an example; I can’t disagree nor expect anyone to find much of anything positive about relationships in most of Antonioni’s films, with evidence to that effect in the So What? section of this posting, farther below]). However, it works marvelously for me (evidence of that also in So What?, where I’ll elaborate on my embrace of it in a bit), even though aspects of the mid-1960s Swingin’ London scene might feel dated for some, yet even there I contend what’s depicted is a critique of '60s misogyny and detached-hedonism rather than any celebration of such, attitudes that still need to be addressed in media and life today, so maybe that’s something we can find dialogue about. If so, then away we go, but first, if you’d like to read the short story by Julio Cortázar that serves as an inspiration (but not the sort of adaption we might traditionally expect) for this film I’d encourage you to do so as it’s truly short (9 pp.) and has its own degrees of fascination.*
*Originally titled “Las babas del diablo” (“The Devil’s Drool” [or “Spittle”]) in Cortázar's book, Final del juego (End of the Game [and other stories]), of 1959 (one source I’ve seen says 1964), in English in 1967, but with titles of short story and book changed to “Blow-Up” and Blow-Up and Other Stories.
Here’s the trailer:
(Use the full screen button in the image’s lower right to enlarge its size;
activate the same button or use “esc” keyboard key to return to normal.
If you can abide plot spoilers read on, but this blog’s intended for those who’ve seen the film or want to save some $ (as well as recognizing those readers like me who just aren’t that tech-savvy). To help any of you who want to learn more details yet avoid these all-important plot-reveals I’ll identify any give-away sentences/sentence-clusters with colors plus arrows:
⇒The first and last words will be noted with arrows and red.⇐ OK, now continue on if you prefer.
What Happens: Thomas (David Hemmings) is a successful fashion photographer in Mod-era-London, although he aspires toward greater acknowledgement (and “tons of money,” “to be free,” although he’s already rich enough to own a huge studio, drive a Rolls-Royce convertible) as an artist so he’s working with agent Ron (Peter Bowles) on a book of more-challenging-material, including secret images of indigent men in a flophouse where Thomas has spent the night undercover when we first see him leaving in the morning. As he drives back home he encounters a large group of college students dressed as clowns on their mission to raise money for charity so Thomas donates as he drives away. Back at the studio he’s late for a photo shoot with (actual) model Veruschka von Lehdorff which becomes quite erotic (1:22 clip, goes only to 1:12 for some odd, unknown reason), resulting in her lying on the floor, him straddling her as he shoots, the camera an obvious phallic substitute, with both of them exhausted as the session ends. However, he’s got another shoot right after with a group of models; this time, though, he rarely can get them to connect with what he’s after so he abruptly leaves in disgust, goes to see neighbor Bill (John Castle), a painter whose abstract works are consistently filled with dots, a few somewhat-identifiable-shapes Thomas prefers to ignore.
On the way back to the studio Thomas encounters 2 teenage girls (Jane Birkin, Gillian Hills) who want to be subjects for him, but he abruptly drives away (leaving the models in the studio unresolved also). He goes to an antique shop, probes around a bit, then walks into a nearby park where he first shoots photos of birds, then sees in the distance a woman and man so he lurks behind trees, takes pictures of them, with the woman, Jane (Vanessa Redgrave), hearing the shutter clicks (remember, in those days camera were small mechanical machines, not electronic/digital smartphones), racing to him, demanding to have the photos, but he refuses, even shoots a few more of her as she runs back to her lover (? We never really know for sure who he is.). After returning to the antiques shop, Thomas buys a wooden airplane propeller (to be delivered later that day), then back to the studio (after encountering peace protesters, accepts a “Go Away” sign, but it blows out of the car as he drives off) to get prints of what he’d shot the night before. Thomas meets Ron for lunch, talks of putting the flophouse photos throughout the book but ending on a more peaceful image from his park shots, although Thomas then becomes concerned someone outside their pub may be watching him.
He’s back at the studio again where Jane somehow shows up (maybe he's being watched and followed). She’s nervous, desperate for the film; he passes time with her drinking and smoking a bit, listening to music, she takes off her blouse implying sexual availability, he just takes off his shirt then gives her a dud film canister, keeping the real one for himself (she doesn’t know of the deception yet but counters anyway by giving him a phony phone number). He begins making large prints of the park photos (2:46 clip), gets intrigued by something, makes enlargements of some of the prints, finally seems to reveal a hand with a pistol in the bushes; Thomas is ecstatic, calls Ron to say he’s prevented a murder. Then the teens ring his doorbell so he lets them in, ultimately resulting in what we assume is a 3-way (never see any actual sexual activity except him pulling clothes off of them; apparently there’s a tiny view of Birkin’s pubic hair [scandal for MGM!]). Afterward, they still want him to photograph them to which he says “Tomorrow” (reminding me of the phrase “tomorrow never knows,” something I’ll get back to at the end of this review); he’s more focused on what he’s become intrigued by in his blow-ups, so he keeps enlarging, seems to find a dead body near the shrubbery (although by now the photo pixels have become so enlarged the print resembles abstract paintings).
He rushes back to the park, finds the dead body of a man where Thomas had earlier seen him in a meadow with Jane; However, when he returns to his studio all of the enlargements (except the grainy one, maybe of a body) and the negatives are gone. Thomas drives toward a party to find Ron, instead sees Jane, follows her into a nightclub where The Yardbirds (with Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck) are playing to a seemingly-comatose-crowd, but feedback from Beck’s amp angers him so he smashes his guitar against it, throws the broken neck into the crowd where Thomas grabs it but, afterward, just dumps it in the street as Jane eludes him. Thomas finally gets to the party, can’t interest Ron in seeing the dead body, lots of pot’s being smoked with Thomas joining in because we next see him waking up fully clothed the next morning. He returns to the park, but the body’s gone; as he’s walking away past a tennis court the truck with the clowns from the opening pulls up (they’re in mime whiteface now, completely silent), 2 of them begin to imitate a "tennis match" but with no ball or racquets as Thomas watches (7:10 clip; Spoiler). ⇒Despite there being no ball, the camera follows as if there is one, until “it” goes over the fence to where Thomas is standing. After he “picks up” the “ball,” “throws it” back to them we hear the sounds of ball on racquet, then Thomas is in a very wide shot but he dissolves away (the green field stays) before “THE END” comes on screen.⇐
So What? In that the original Cortázar short story also dealt with a photographer happening upon an event that he first thinks he’s stymied by the presence of his clicking camera but then finds an alternative cinematic experience happening within the confines of an enlargement he’s tacked upon his wall (along with commentary by the narrator [photographer] about the difficulty of using written language to express what has happened, then continues to happen regarding these events [attempting to be] described), it lends itself to comparison with Antonioni’s cinematic extensions of what’s depicted on the page, which I and a former Mills College (Oakland, CA; now Mills College at Northeastern U.) colleague, Mario Cavallari (Emeritus Professor of Spanish and Latin American Studies [just for the record, I’m an Emeritus Professor of Film Studies]), found fascinating enough to discuss in several conversations, so much so that we put them into a couple of academic journal articles some years ago which I’ll share with you here if you wish to indulge such esoteric (as some would say) explorations into these 2 works by famous artists of different media. (I also used the pairing of this short story and its related film as the beginning content in a course I taught at Mills for a few semesters on the larger concepts of adaptation, aided nicely by Mario in those presentations.)
I began these explorations at a 2005 conference (Mario's invitation), the Pacific Ancient and Modern Language Association, with my paper " ‘Blow-Up’ as Transformations: Culture to Culture, Medium to Medium, Reality to ‘Reality,’ " made into an academic article called “Intertexual Media Considerations on a Pair of Classics: ‘Blow-Up’ and Blow-Up,” published in the Journal of Visual Literacy vol. 26 (#2, 2006) pp. 15-30. You can locate that article at this site, but you’ll find that when you click the “Read this article” button that unless you can log in through an academic institution (I found that I no longer could, possibly because I’ve been retired for 10 years) or the Taylor & Francis organization that maintains the site you’d have to pay $50.00 to get access. (Yikes! Yeah, sure, I’m brilliant, but I wouldn’t pay that much for it.) Instead, however, you can go to this Research Gate site where, for free, you can find Part 1 of that academic conference paper (pp. 1-11) to either read or download, then you can scroll down to click on Part 2 (pp. 12-17) so you’d essentially see what I was also saying in the journal article, where I tried my best to decipher whatever Cortázar & Antonioni meant.
Somewhat later, Mario (my dear friend/film watching-partner [along with Nina and a couple of others over the years], sadly deceased back in 2016, still sorely missed) and I co-wrote another article on this pair of reality-bending-texts, “Julio Cortázar and Michelangelo Antonioni: Words, Images, and the Limits of Verbal and Visual Representation,” published in the online-journal Dissidences (some confusion here in that the website first says vol. 3, #6 [2009]—and verifies that when you search their site by issue, although when noting how to cite the article they show the date as November 2012—while at the bottom of each online-page [pp. 1-17] it says [I assume of vol. 3] #s 6 & 7 [2010] so I’ve always listed the year as 2010, not really knowing what else to do, but at least the article’s free for you to read whenever it actually first appeared [because it’s too far back for me to verify) where we focused on instability and indeterminacy; however, if academic jargon isn’t enough to put you off, there’s another distraction in that this journal is focused on Romance languages so Mario’s citations from the Cortázar short story are just in Spanish with no translation; still, if you read the story as I’ve indicated above I think you’d be able to follow the general flow of the context. If nothing else, you can use these articles as an aid for insomnia with no prescription necessary, as well as the existence of these earlier articles allows me to post this review without having to re-hash all I’ve previously said about this film so if you'd want to know more, feel free to dig into them at your leisure.
Mario and I were not the only ones fascinated by Blow-Up (in its original literary, then cinematic forms) as prominent critics have found reasons to celebrate it, such as Roger Ebert with comments from 1998, the year Rotten Tomatoes began (Metacritic followed in 2001): “The film is about a character mired in ennui and distaste, who is roused by his photographs into something approaching passion. […] Much was made of the nudity in 1967, but the photographer's cruelty toward his models was not commented on; today, the sex seems tame, and what makes the audience gasp is the hero's contempt for women.” In these comments Ebert also talks of his ongoing project of visiting college campuses to do frame-by-frame-analyses of legendary films, using an appropriate 16mm projector (maybe a DVD player as the years rolled along), including this Antonioni masterpiece (he also came to Southern Methodist U. [Dallas] when I was there in the early 1980s for such a venture regarding Ingmar Bergman’s 1966 Persona [#2 on my All-Time Top 10, following Citizen Kane {Orson Welles, 1941}], in preparation for Bergman visiting the campus to receive a high honor from the school, with my opportunity to meet him briefly); I can image Ebert’s analysis of Blow-Up was erudite, but, hopefully he gave the students in these lengthy ventures the option of saying something once in awhile because he clearly tended to dominate the process when I had participated with him.
It wasn’t easy to locate 1966/'67 responses to Blow-Up, but I found a few, including from often-acerbic Bosley Crowther of The New York Times (but you have to subscribe to access it): “It is redundant and long […] it is still a stunning picture […] How a picture as meaningful as this one could be blackballed is hard to understand. Perhaps it is because it is too candid, too uncomfortably disturbing, about the dehumanizing potential of photography.” I’m also including a backhanded-compliment from Richard Roud of The Guardian, seemingly an original from 1967 reprinted in 2017: “I always liked to think that even the worst film by Antonioni would be better than the best by almost any other director. Now I know that this is so, because I’ve just seen his worst film, and I was right: Blow-up (London Pavilion), starts tomorrow, is still an absolute must, such is the degree of visual and intellectual excitement of the film […] but it’s strange how naive a sophisticated film-maker can be.” I find it's fascinating Roud’s put off by what he sees yet still finds reasons for calling our attention to it.
However, if you want true negativity toward Blow-Up here’s a short version by Brendan Gill in The New Yorker from 1966 (sorry for the hassle, but you have to go to this site, then click on "Brendan Gill Full Review" in order to access it): “After a brilliant beginning, Michelangelo Antonioni’s ‘Blow-Up’ dwindles down and away into failure, and for a reason that would no doubt strike its maker as ironic […] What it amounts to is an unlucky mingling of true Antonioni with imitation Hitchcock, and the two parts cannot be made to seem one.” Then, if you wish to dive full-blown into the realm of negativity regarding this film, you can turn to Pauline Kael—easily the equivalent (if not better) with Ebert as a highly-respected-critic—for a lengthy (reminiscent of my seemingly-never-ending-academic-articles) dismissal of this film, published in 1967 in The New Republic: “Antonioni’s new mixture of suspense with vagueness and confusion seems to have a kind of numbing fascination for [self-assumed trend-setters] that they associate with art and intellectuality, and they are responding to it as their film—and hence as a masterpiece. […] But for reasons I can’t quite fathom, what is taken to be shallow in his hero is taken to be profound in him. Maybe it’s because of the symbols: do pretty pictures plus symbols equal art? […] Antonioni loads his atmosphere with so much confused symbolism and such a heavy sense of importance that the viewers use the movie as a Disposal for intellectual refuse. […] the artist does not create a frame of reference that gives meaning to the details; he simply exploits the ready-made symbolic meanings people attach to certain details and leaves us in a profound mess.” So, after citing these opinions, you might like to know why I find Blow-Up to be so significant.
(This photo and a couple of others in this posting don't do the film justice in its visual impact,
but it proved to be more difficult than I assumed to find useful illustrations for this long-ago-classic.)
The problem for me in trying to explain the enduring value here is—like I’ve recently mentioned in my explorations of Past Lives (Celine Song; review in our August 31, 2023 posting) and Wings of Desire—there are films carrying a visceral impact more easily (at least for me) to be seen and experienced than to be written about (although surely Ms. Kael would have disagreed; I’ve never seen anything she’s written that occupies the realm of the concise, just as I consistently find myself rambling on in these postings about relatively-OK-cinematic-options but then I really have to push myself to say a lot about my extremely-rare 5-stars or 4½-stars-rated-films because my sense is that you just have to see these beauties to fully appreciate them no matter how hard any of us try to recapture them with words). Some analyses of Blow-Up focus on how it addresses the key element of most cinema since about 1900, the editing together of image-clusters to create a whole (Thomas’ point of view as he gazes at his enlargements, constructing a narrative of what seems to have happened in the park), along with the mysterious events at the end which remind us that watching a film isn’t truly looking into a window onto an alternate reality, although many films, including this one and a wide range of documentaries, use these techniques of wide-angle-imagery and long takes to allude to such observational-viewing, but rather what we see is a concise-construction which could be manipulated otherwise if the filmmakers involved so desired, to produce a notably different result.
There are other speculations positing that just about everything we see after the group-models-aborted-photo shoot (including Thomas’ tryst with the teenagers) is all inner-speculation or desire in Thomas’ mind, that none of it’s actually happening even though it seems to be concrete actions on the screen. (Another aspect of the ambiguous nature of how we see photography/cinematography—now further extended to near-infinity by the wonders of computer imagery—anything can be made to look tangible on screen no matter how much preparatory-creation had to go into it before/during/after the image was exposed on celluloid/videotape/computer files; therefore, in this premise, almost the entire film has been a clever hoax by Antonioni to dupe us into believing what we’ve seen just as Thomas is left wondering if he’s been duped as well by whatever dark forces are beyond his control.)
One element that could help support this manipulation-argument is the initial park scene is extremely quiet, so much so Jane can hear the shutter clicks of Thomas’ camera; yet, if the man she’s with has been murdered after all while Jane’s arguing with Thomas about the photos we’d certainly have heard the shot (in the one blow-up that seems to show a hand with a pistol there’s no silencer on the gun) so did Thomas really find a corpse when he returned to the park or has his imagination gone so wild he’s seeing things that don’t exist just as the next morning he’ll hear the whack on a tennis ball that doesn’t exist either—or do we know for sure it’s him (and/or the crowd of mimes) who hear the ball-to-racquet-sounds, or is this really an extra-diegetic-element intended only for our ears to further confuse us as to what’s going on here? It’s questions/considerations such as these that make Blow-Up even more fascinating to me, for as Cortázar begins his story: “It’ll never be known how this has to be told [… because] All of a sudden I wonder why I have to tell this […] For I imagine that no one has explained this, that really the best thing is to put aside all decorum and tell it.” But, once it’s been told, then what do we do with the transcript we’ve received to comprehend it?
Bottom Line Final Comments: Back when Blow-Up was in its initial release—which also has brought me to some confusion because a normally-trustworthy site for such data, Box-Office Mojo, says it first came out on January 9, 1968 in Portugal, only made about $42,900 worldwide while the Wikipedia page for this film cites a source saying it debuted in its domestic (U.S.-Canada) run on December 18, 1966, ultimately made about $20 million in box-office receipts (about $120 million in 2021 dollars), while another source at that site says the domestic take in 1967 was $5.9 million (about $37.1 million in 2021 dollars), although when I check some other sources I find no mention of it at all in the tallies for 1966, 1967, or 1968, so I’ll just have to accept that I know I saw it in Austin, TX in late 1966 or early 1967 and, while I can’t cite definitively how much it raked in, I’ve read several sources that say it was a major success for MGM (if it did gross $20 million that would have been quite respectable in those days) whenever it played in theaters in those mid-‘60s years (I’d say more so mostly ’66 and/or ’67, with the latter being a proper connection to the culture-defining Beatles album, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, released in late May of that year).
Trying to determine an accurate response by the current CCAL isn’t too easy either because while the Rotten Tomatoes positive reviews are at 87% that’s based on 54 of them, all of which were published between 2000 and 2022 so they’re extremely retrospective, as are my comments in this posting, while the supportive Metacritic average score of 82% is based on only 15 reviews, most of which are from 1998-2023 although I did find a couple from 1966-‘67, so I don’t have a clear enough idea of how the film was received when first released although I did find a few from then I’ve noted in this review’s previous section (the Wikipedia site cites several specific commentaries, but most of those also come from much later years). One thing I can be sure is it was nominated for the Best Director and Original Screenplay Oscars (didn’t win either, but the National Society of Film Critics gave it their awards for Best Film, Best Director) with the 1967 Cannes Film Festival awarding it their Grand Prix du Festival so it did achieve respect back then, also gets lots of positive response in those many recent retrospective writings, such as explored by Anthony Quinn (not the actor; he died in 2001) in a 2017 article in The Guardian (where he connects it to the Zapruder film of the JFK assassination): “[…] in the sequence from which it takes its title, that rapt attention to the photographer’s art really is something to behold.” and Dr. Josh Matthews in a video (12:35 [ad interrupts at 2:35]; Spoilers) with his analytical-focus on death, plus the purpose of life and art here.
Speaking of art, that brings me to a final comment on my connection with this film. When I first saw it I was an undergraduate Art major at the U. of Texas at Austin where I was struggling in my freshman studio classes (1966-’67), realizing I wasn’t the great artist I’d seen myself as in my high-school years, not fully comprehending what my talented instructor (Gibbs Milliken [died in 2007, some of his imagery at this site]) was trying to get me to comprehend until I saw some of his work at the Faculty Show that fall, then saw Blow-Up somewhere in that time as well, finally understanding in this film’s compositions the crucial interactions of positive and negative space, the unexpected-but-effective use of wide-angle-shots (especially where Jane and her companion in the park are so tiny in the overall environment with revelations about them only coming out in the later ambiguous blow-ups). This film helped me immensely in better understanding what contemporary art is all about, helped me become a better artist in my later years at U.T., helped me look for and appreciate the hidden beauties in all of the visual arts even if my fate was more to teach about them than to be recognized as a noted image-creator myself (with some successes in that realm back in college as well with a huge painting of mine in the prominent location for the spring 1967 U.T. Student Show).
Blow-Up may be dismissed as weird, dated, patriarchal (again, I think it’s more intended to critique that last aspect more so than embrace it), but for me it’ll always be something special (along with that fascinating Cortázar short story), something that explores what so much of commercial cinema prefers to ignore. To finish up, we need to indulge in my usual trademark of a Musical Metaphor which will take me from this post's opening with Ringo to a mysterious compilation by all of The Beatles, “Tomorrow Never Knows” (on their 1966 Revolver album) at https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=O58ouPdjgo0 because I think it evokes what Thomas hopefully learns in his precise-24-hours-of-adventures (how Aristotelian in its use of those classical dramatic unities of time, place, and action): “Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream / It is not dying, it is not dying […] Or play the game ‘Existence’ to the end / Of the beginning, of the beginning.” If this learning has occurred for Thomas (we can only speculate), maybe that would explain what happens in the last shot of the film, but even if not I still find this song and Blow-Up to be uniquely interconnected (and maybe all this verbiage has led you in that direction as well … huh? huh? … or not, God damn it all!).
SHORT TAKES
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