Remember back in 1988 when you could just run on down to the local video store and rent a movie or three? New releases like Willow, Big, or Young Guns. Or maybe Cocktail, Die Hard, or Who Framed Roger Rabbit got your heart racing. How very 80s of us.
Say what you want about the evolution of cinema distribution, and now the streaming platforms, but there are many movies that were not as easy to access back in the day. The following seven are among the very best motion pictures of 1988 and you probably hadn’t even heard of them then. Please do let us know what you think when you do watch them – or if you have already.
The Bear (Jean-Jacques Annaud)
French director, Jean-Jacques Annaud, was flourishing after Black and White in Color (1976) and Quest for Fire (1981) before he embarked on what would be a seven year journey to make The Bear. Adapted from James Oliver Curwood’s 1916 novel, The Grizzly King, The Bear utiilizes an astonishing mountainous backdrop largely in Italy and Austria to portray a 19th century North American wilderness (breathtaking work from Philippe Rousselot). Armed with the hard-driven message that no animals where harmed.
The Bear has a heavy fictional flavour, and you could label this a wildlife film, but hardly a documentary. Forgoing dominant human presence and hefty dialogue, Annuad’s exquisite picture has two actual grizzly bears, one adult and one cub, as the stars of the show. From the opening moments, so much personality is given to this giants of nature. The cub mimics his mother’s face scratching as she digs for honey amidst bees; interacting with various creatures likes frogs and a butterfly; and soon taking it upon himself to befriend a grown-up male bear.
Conflicts are inevitable, as such with an audacious depiction of nature, when two human hunters cross their paths. With the spine of the story comes various bouts of violence, notably between the bears and attack dogs. There’s clearly an unavoidable emotional core too – the cub whimpering with a quivering paw, for instance, is only part of the film’s agonising morality. Themes of nurturing, mercy and the respect of all walks of life in The Bear ought to be as poignant and relevant in today’s world.
Wàngjiǎo Kǎmén / As Tears Go By (Wong Kar-wai)
To see the blueprints of an astonishing international filmmaker in hindsight is still a beautiful thing to behold. Even the deft Wong Kar-wai started somewhere, with his debut film As Tears Go By showing in a creatively chaotic way what visual delights were to follow. Appropriate for its time, this one is dripping with 1980s panache, across the neon Hong Kong streets, operatic action scenes, and that funky score and song choices.
As Tears Go By has a familiar feel within the crime genre. Our anti-hero, Wah (Andy Lau), is a debt collecting hoodlum with an aura of good guy about him. While his partner in crime, Fly (Jacky Cheung), is a little out of control and an accident waiting to happen. Once Wah is visited by cousin, Ngor (Maggie Cheung), his layers of conflict increase, between his wayward buddy and new romance.
The Martin Scorsese connections are blatant, of course, with the eruptions of brutality and street life reminiscent of Mean Streets. Not to mention, the guy holding the camera amidst this frenetic bedlam is Andrew Lau, who would direct Infernal Affairs, thus inspiring Scorsese to remake it as The Departed. That said, Wong Kar-wai demonstrates a vast mastery of visual story-telling. Throwing in set-pieces at a moment’s notice, alternating through slow motion sequences, effective shifts in the sound design, and some rather snappy editing. Thought its the passionate kiss in the phone booth that you, and our protagonist, will like remember most.
Dom za vešanje / Time of the Gypsies (Emir Kusturica)
Sandwiched between two Palme d’Or wins (While My Father Was Away On Business, 1985; Underground, 1995) for Serbian director Emir Kusturica, Time of the Gypsies ventured off to the Cannes Film Festival in 1989 and landed him the Best Director prize. Truth be told, this bizarre, poignant and unquestionably magnetic fable is likely the best film in competition that year. And that music from Goran Bregović is a marvel too.
Time of the Gypsies carries with pride the unique personality, charm and grit of the Serbian / Yugoslav lifestyle that Kusturica is so well renowned for. His main character here, Perhan, is a young Romani chap, living with his loving grandmother, ill sister, and nuisance uncle in a shabby little village. Perhan falls in love with local girl, Azra, but is faced with her hostile mother, before being lured into a road trip leading to petty crime.
With Time of the Gypsies, you can’t really lead with the notion that Perhan has some form of telekinetic powers (inherited from his healing grandmother it appears). This character trait in inconsequential for the most part, and that is a huge aspect of what makes Kusturica’s film so magical. Iconic moments of mid-air birth and fork attack play second fiddle to the story’s core elements. Being dragged into adulthood and landing with a thud provides so much melancholic and liberating power, the tale of Perhan and his life adventures is cinematic bliss.
Une affaire de femmes / Story of Women (Claude Chabrol)
Sometimes, life is pretty normal, what with the second world war, depleting finances, and a husband absent in more ways than one. That is until part of your soul, your instinctive human nature, aids the plight of one woman – and then several more. In an already extensive film career, director Claude Chabrol tackles the struggling mother-come-abortionist in Nazi occupied France in the harrowing Une affaire de femmes.
Having stumbled into a new, illicit venture, when Marie (a superb Isabelle Huppert, again) is asked if she has done this before, she doesn’t give an answer. The film paves open separate lives for the mother of two, an increasingly lukewarm wife, and a kind of saviour to those that are usually marginalised. Marie is not a perfect woman, of course not, but her journey demonstrates her split lifestyles – shrewd, affectionate, efficient – all when she needs to be.
Claude Chabrol and Isabelle Huppert have clearly struck up a bond in forming clandestine on-screen morality from the point of view of women forced into a corner. You’d do well to visit Violette Nozière (1978) and La Cérémonie (1995) as bookends to their 1988 tale of social injustice and relatable misdemeanours. Une affaire de femmes is a dark film, more controversial to some than others, still allowing a range of empathy for the women (and men) invited to deal with life’s disturbing dilemmas. Chabrol has proven once again that he somehow values the code of his characters with all their flaws in the bleakest of times.
A World Apart (Chris Menges)
One of the hidden wonders of 1988 was not just an anti-apartheid picture, but also a rich, inflicting drama of family being pulled at the seams. A World Apart is so fitting a title as it portrays not only the enduring troubles in South Africa in 1963, but also the consumption of such a culture from the points of view of the children and the adults – as well as the thread-pull of bond between a mother and a daughter. Hard-biting journalist, Barbara Hershey, somewhat allows her role as mother to play second fiddle to the intimidating social campaign she is embroiled in. Leaving the daughter, Jodhi May, to fathom such hardships at an impressionable age.
The drama is so finely composed and blistering throughout – capturing that sticky heat of Johannesburg too – that its a huge thumbs up to the director, Chris Menges. This was the Englishman’s debut, though not from behind the camera. Menges was best known as a cinematographer, winning two Academy Awards, for The Killing Fields (1984) and The Mission (1986). In A World Apart, Menges hands the camera duties to Peter Biziou this time around, who also won Best Cinematography the very same year, except it was for Mississippi Burning. A BAFTA was awarded to Shawn Slovo, for his screenplay, and A World Apart made the biggest impact at the Cannes Film Festival – Chris Menges was honoured with both the Grand Prize and from the Ecumenical Jury.
Also in Cannes, Barbara Hershey, Jodhi May, and Linda Mvusi – who played the family’s maid – shared the Best Actress prize. Thirteen year-old May is inch-perfect, playing a kid whose father has fled, whose mother is largely absent, and whose best friend drops her like a bad smell. Her initial open-minded view of the world paves the way for a child’s understanding and eventual participation against racial injustice. The magnificent Hershey was on fire at the time, having won the previous year in Cannes also for Shy People (1987). Her role as a mother might not be ultimately nurturing or hands-on, but there is an uncompromising nobility in her ferocious rallying – one which you want on your team in such tough times.
Camille Claudel (Bruno Nuytten)
The brittle line between creativity and madness is painstakingly portrayed in Camille Claudel. Set at the dusk of the 19th century, the near three hour film follows the illusive sculptor, Camille Claudel, from her aspiring young days as an artist, and slap bang into the turbulent relationship with the older sculptor, Auguste Rodin. Based on the book by Reine-Marie Paris, the film is an enthralling, enduring reminder of the breadth offered by a flourishing French cinema in the 1980s.
The art of cinema, too, is well accounted for here with folk at the top of their game. Marvelously visualised by cinematographer, Pierre Lhomme, giving life to every chip of clay and stone, as well as utlizing various methods of natural light beautifully. And indeed, it was cinematographer-turned-director, Bruno Nuytten, in the hot seat. Known for his stunning recent work shooting with Claude Berri 1986’s Jean de Florette and Manon des sources, and stellar work on Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession.
Gérard Depardieu (also excellent in Jean de Florette) and Isabelle Adjani (mesmerising in Possession) provide heart-pulling chemistry as the tortured artists, though it is Camille Claudel’s story and ultimately her downfall we experience. An Academy Award nominee, and Best Actress winner at the Césars and Berlin, Adjani’s range from an ambitious, stubborn artist, through an intense mental downward spiral, is simply electrifying. So often has this writer gushed at her melodramatic passion, in Camille Claudel, Isabelle Adjani is compelling as an important women of history, proving herself again as one of the very best actresses of her time.
Τοπίο στην ομίχλη / Landscape in the Mist (Theo Angelopoulos)
For Alexandre (Michalis Zeke) and his big sister Voula (Tania Palaiologou), the world may not seem so much a scary place as they embark on their journey. Landscape in the Mist brought Greek filmmaking maestro Theo Angelopoulos international acclaim – finally – in what might well be his finest work in an uncompromising, distinguished collection of pictures. A poetic journey nonetheless, even with the grim encounters of a nation’s cultural struggles.
Following on from Angelopoulos’ similar-stranded Voyage to Cythera (1984) and The Beekeeper (1986), the travelling players of Landscape in the Mist approach the brink of youth and the candid disconnection from the whole reality. Voula and Alexandre appear to remain hopeful as they canter across Greek landscapes – their smaller frames set in front of the larger, bleak backdrops like factories, vast empty roads and cargo trains. It absolutely packs a punch both visually and emotionally. Eleni Karaindrou’s oboe and Giorgos Arvinitis’ canvas play a huge part too.
In an early scene as they finally hop a train, their hug can almost be felt. And later, amidst the strangers they meet, not totally dissimilar to what Angelopoulos did with his Palme d’Or winning Eternity and a Day (1998), the children, and us, are invited into moments right out of a fable. A bride and groom come and go; bystanders are halted in the street by snowfall as the kids run on by; a floored horse; that large stone hand that emerges from the water. To see is to believe. Just as that final shot, which is pure cinematic perfection in all its melancholy and innocence.
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