The film maudit - my favorite film genre!
J. Hoberman has a (mostly) terrific new piece in Sight & Sound on the film maudit, my favorite film genre ever! Translated literally from the French as a "cursed film," a film maudit is one that is "widely panned even as it is staunchly defended by a devoted minority." My real-time example of the film maudit process is Showgirls (Paul Verhoeven, 1995) which, as I never tire of proclaiming, I saw on opening night and deemed a masterpiece within ten minutes. But Hoberman dives into the long history of the genre including its origin in the Festival du Film Maudit, a counter-Cannes organized in 1949 by André Bazin and Jean Cocteau to showcase those films that in “their indifference to censorship and the demands of exploitation were cursed like the books of certain poets," as per Cocteau.
The gambit worked since many of the titles shown at the festival have long since passed on to masterpiece status: L’Atalante (Jean Vigo, 1934), The Long Voyage Home (John Ford, 1940), Les Dames du Bois de Bologne (Robert Bresson, 1945). But I know of no maudit energy surrounding The Flame of New Orleans (René Clair, 1941) beyond a brief, warm mention in Henri Agel's 1950 Hollywood Quarterly piece "What is a Cursed Film?" And I'm intrigued by the inclusion of Mourning Becomes Electra (Dudley Andrew, 1947), a three-hour adaptation of the Eugene O'Neill play that always seemed like a slog to me but has suddenly risen near the top of my must-watch list, especially since Bazin considered it “the film maudit par excellence.”
But here's where the messiness of generic boundaries seeps in because Hoberman loses me in trying to define this genre. To my mind, there must be something of the preposterous to a film maudit. Thus, Wanda (Barbara Loden, 1970) and Killer of Sheep (Charles Burnett, 1977), both masterful but sober, don't count, not even as rehabilitated films maudits just because they "suffer[ed] all manner of indignities before being hailed as national treasures." And then there's the matter of determining both the panning and the defending necessary for a film to become maudit. Hoberman claims Myra Breckinridge (Michael Sarne, 1970) "remains unredeemed." But he should check out David Scott Diffrient's 2013 Cinema Journal article "'Hard to Handle': Camp Criticism, Trash-Film Reception, and the Transgressive Pleasures of Myra Breckinridge" which details the film's redemption. And I know a vocal minority who hail Cats (Tom Hopper, 2019) as a masterpiece and "not just a titanic flop," even one Hoberman calls "ridiculous" as if such a designation weren't central to the maudit process.
Weirdest of all, Hoberman claims the genre is no more, a situation he blames on social media. Wondering if Southland Tales (Richard Kelly, 2006) might be the last film maudit ever, he concludes that "the net has fostered a cinematic counterculture capable of embracing, defending and blessing nearly anything." But that's always been true even during the era which Hoberman perplexingly labels "the great age of cinephilia (1945-2000)" (huh?). From "Charlton Heston is an axiom" to the Gay Girls Riding Club to the Psychotronic encyclopedias, plenty of energy has been expended on blessing all manner of cinematic detritus and it will continue to happen. Cats is proof of that. Cameron Crowe's 2015 fiasco Aloha might be too although I've yet to see it. I imagine there's a candidate ripe for mauditation among the nominees and winners of the Golden Raspberry Awards (there was a Basic Instinct 2??). For sure, M. Night Shyamalan has enjoyed the most maudit career of any mainstream Hollywood director this century with at least two fabulous films maudits, my beloved Lady in the Water (2006) and The Happening (2008), and one irredeemably awful movie, The Last Airbender (2010), to his name. His gripping new Apple TV series, Servant, is suffused with maudit energy, continually threatening to jump the shark but never yet doing so over the course of two seasons. As a panning and defending machine, the internet will keep all this maudit energy alive.
Still, Hoberman's essay is a fantastic repository for the cursed and the adored that put my mind in overdrive. I should finally get to that Shelley Winters/Liberace entry South Sea Sinner (Bruce Humberstone, 1950). Was Major Dundee (Sam Peckinpah, 1965) really maudit? I've never even heard of Kid Blue (James Frawley, 1973). And I should really watch my beloved Skidoo (Otto Preminger, 1968) again sometime soon.
Labels: Barbara Loden, Charles Burnett, film maudit, J. Hoberman, M. Night Shyamalan, Otto Preminger, Paul Verhoeven, Showgirls
posted by Kevin John at 3:24 PM
1 Comments:
Kid Blue is worth seeing if nothing else for Warren Oates, whose performance as Dennis Hopper's new-found buddy, forever prattling on about "those old-time-y Greeks" and hinting he wants to be more than just buddies with Hopper, is as good as any of his more celebrated roles: warm, funny, ultimately heart-breaking. The film itself was too self-consciously quirky for my taste when I watched it ten years ago - and Hopper too old for his character, though maybe that adds the touch of the ridiculous you mention - but I should revisit it.
My own favorite maudit is Angel Angel Down We Go, the missing aesthetic-chronological link between Skidoo and Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, and in truth I prefer it to both of them. It's so maudit not even Hoberman or Michael J. Weldon like it!
Thanks for suggesting some possible post-2006 maudits. My first thought was Gilliam's Tideland but that turns out to have been 2005. I wonder if My Blueberry Nights counts. Man, was there some incredible venom directed at that movie: you could tell some of the critics had been storing it up for years (probably hoping that 2046 would have been the bellyflop).
I may push back just a teensy bit against your belief that true films maudit need an element of the preposterous to qualify. I would classify Goodbye South, Goodbye as a key maudit of the 90s (it seems to have been redeemed as a bona fide Great Movie since). I remember being fascinated by the "shot by both sides" aspect of the criticism. The Hou-heads were appalled that the Great Chronicler of 20th-Century Taiwan History was stooping to make a gangster-buddy movie -- a Mean Streets retread no less -- while the haters who hoped that a simple gangster-buddy movie might prove more palatable were as bored and irritated as ever.
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