Once again, MovieNight was left stunned by the work of German director Christian Petzold. We got off to a bit of a rocky start when I felt compelled to pause the movie and scold the texters  (I appreciate that it’s hard to go straight into serious watching mode after partying at the bar for an hour or so… this is the paradox of MovieNight), but there weren’t many dry eyes when the end credits rolled; indeed, some of us were sobbing inconsolably.

At the time of writing this, Phoenix is showing at the IFC Center, and Lincoln Plaza Cinemas. I beseech you to go see it.

To those quibbling over a key plot point (SPOILER ALERT) “a husband failing to recognize his wife”,  MovieNight “consigliere” Chris Norris said the following in an email:

But I think prompting that very question may be part of the film’s brilliance, more strategy than demand to suspend disbelief. (Though we definitely need to do that for a WW II-era plastic surgeon who offers the disfigured their choice of bold new looks.)

It’s amazing how well this plot serves a psycho-historical theme of denial, which is the one condition 1946 Berlin must have demanded from every single resident. You don’t breeze out of a death camp without it. You don’t live in central Mitte or Kreuzberg without it. You don’t stroll past the Reich Chancellery without some high-octane denial keeping you breathing. Denying the obvious is a life skill needed by everyone from survivors to collaborators to war criminals.

So In the face of staggering evidence, Johnny denies that the woman he betrayed is staring him straight in the face. Nelly denies that the man she loved used history as murder weapon. Even Lena, who says she can’t stand German music, loves Weimar king Kurt Weil. But she can barely manage that. Without a fantasy of running away to Haifa with Nelly, Lena can’t pull off the meagerest denial. That’s why she feels less connected to the living than the dead, and why she joins them.

Speak low if you speak of love, the song says. And of atrocity, don’t speak at all. Once that’s illuminated, the whole thing is so elegant, right down to the bitter irony of the bar name and film title. No Phoenix is rising from these ashes. Not today.

More of Chris’s thoughts at bychrisnorris.com

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For about the third time ever, we went out on a limb this week and shared a first-time viewing experience with our MovieNight audience. Something just felt right about Force Majeure and, for about the third time ever, this reckless gamble paid off. Big time. Good time. Great MovieNight time. Watch it if you weren’t here.

Ironically, I had first thought to show Boyhood, but was put off by the incredible deluge of Boyhood propaganda and its widespread, sudden availability (availability is a problem for me… I really want to keep surprising you). My initial viewing of Boyhood was enhanced by glowing reviews from people I love and respect, so I loved and respected it myself… perhaps a tear trickled down my cheek, even. That’s an interesting phenomenon. I watched it again a couple nights ago, and saw how incredibly bad it is. OK… you have to give props to Richard L for the vision, but every scene looks over-staged and over-acted. Nice idea. Probably impossible to pull off in a non-doc way. I recommend that you don’t see it, if you haven’t already, but if you have seen it, I recommend that you see it again. Then we’ll be on the same page, I bet.

*Not to leave an un-partnered asterisk… Force Majeure got overlooked for best foreign language film in the Oscar nominations (one of the contenders is from a place I’ve never heard of: “Argentinia”. You know what? The stupid fucks can’t even pronounce the name of the countries from which the nominees come… perhaps Sweedome was too much of a challenge?). Of course, we will this be watching this celebration of idiocy (just as we would slow down to look at a car crash on the side of the Thruway) on 2/22. Do I sound bitter? Bit ‘er? Never even met ‘er, your honor.

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We were all set to show this last week, but we shifted the schedule (if one could call it a schedule) around in order show Katyn as a tribute to the victims of the the Polish air crash. El secreto de sus ojos was full of twists and turns, and seemed intent on getting the last laugh on our enthralled audience.

And what about that football (call it soccer, if you must) stadium shot? Great modern film-making.

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