“Macbeth” (1971)
After Tate’s death led to Polanski abandoning the sci-fi thriller “The Day of the Dolphin” (Mike Nichols would make it instead), for which he had already been scouting locations, the film that marked his return to directing was, perhaps oddly, this adaptation of one of Shakespeare’s greatest works, “The Tragedy of Macbeth.” Polanski was well aware this controversial choice would come under close scrutiny for many reasons, and stated in his autobiography that he sought to be true to the violent nature of the work, critics and onlookers be damned; perhaps it was a strange form of cathartic therapy for the filmmaker. Either way, while certainly not known as one of Polanski’s best or most popular efforts, nevertheless, “Macbeth” is an engrossing picture, especially for fans of the classic tragedy about iniquitous ambition and its foul consequences. Starring Jon Finch as Macbeth and Francesca Annis as Lady Macbeth (the former perhaps best-known for starring in Hitchcock’s “Frenzy”), the film was not well-received upon its release, with critics apparently distracted by the graphic violence and brief nudity (incredibly tame by today’s standards). What they missed, it seems, are the great performances by Finch and Annis as they sink deeper and deeper into their immoral, murderous morass of treachery. At almost two and half hours, those with a low tolerance for ye olde speak might find the picture a little too burdensome, but as a psychologically realist adaptation of Shakespeare it’s first rate and decisively captures the the heavy price, toxic shame, guilt and horror the bloody and ill-conceived murders eventually bring. Odd footnote: Hugh Hefner’s Playboy financed the film and ended up deep in the red. [B]
“Che?” (aka “What?“) (1973)
Often described as a mordant absurdist comedy with a few screwball tendencies, the incredibly loosey-goosey “What?” is probably better characterized as an ill-conceived misfire that’s rarely funny and kind of pointless. Starring Marcello Mastroianni, Sydne Rome and Hugh Griffith, the disorderly and shaggy film is loosely based on Lewis Carroll‘s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” only it chronicles an American hippie (Sydne Rome, who spends most of her time gratuitously topless) being ogled, chased and groped by various depraved men in the unnamed Italian coastal city in Italy where she’s taken refuge after almost being raped. We honestly don’t remember too much of that happening in ‘Alice.’ The sea-side mansion she takes shelter in is owned by a millionaire and like Wonderland, we suppose, is full of oddball characters who convene at the end for one big decadent party. Questionable sexual humor pervades the film — like the aforementioned rapes, along with lots of non-consensual molestation, and basically a load of men trying to seduce this woman — but we’ll chalk that up to it being the free-spirited 1970s when sexual mores were not as restrained (Polanksi has no comment here). Marcello Mastroianni plays a retired pimp that enters a sort-of relationship with the American girl and Polanski himself plays a random pugnacious man with a harpoon. One could surmise that all the sexual hedonism is supposed to be some sort of commentary on a woman’s role in a male-dominated society, but frankly, that would be laughable (though still not funny). “What?” is too patchy and intentionally off-kilter to have much meaning or import, and so it’s less a forgotten Polanski than a tucked-away one; it’s scarcely available on any format, and with good reason. To think “Chinatown” would follow this throw-away “lark.” [D]
“Chinatown” (1974)
What to say about Polanski’s best film that hasn’t already been said a million times over? Maybe a fresh approach would be to list the film’s flaws…Well, that didn’t take long. Yes, we’re blinded by our undying passion for this movie, a true American masterpiece and one of the finest films from maybe the finest decade in cinema history. With a deserving Oscar awarded to Robert Towne for his sly, one-great-line-after-another script (though the legendary screenwriter disagreed with Polanski on the film’s eventual bleak ending and was, thankfully, ignored on that point), it’s the best kind of cinema: both artful and entertaining. The aforementioned ending really is the (rotten) cherry on top a near-perfect film; as sad and nihilistic as it is, it really is the appropriate way (and feels, in retrospect, the only way)for it all to end. What’s remarkable is how the bleakness never feels like a “fuck you” to the audience, but an entirely earned, tragic, minor-key gut punch, that is somehow exquisitely beautiful in its randomness and cruelty. Were it even slightly a lesser film, the temptation to draw neat parallels between its themes and the tragedies and tribulations of Polanski’s all-too-public private life would be overwhelming, but this is a film that transcends even his compelling biography. With a flawless, and arguably definitive, performance from Jack Nicholson (can you believe he and Al Pacino from “The Godfather, Part II” lost the Oscar to Art Carney for “Harry and Tonto”? Us neither) and Polanski’s deft handling of the complex narrative, everything you’ve heard and read about “Chinatown” is true. Unless you heard it was bad. [A+]
“The Tenant” (1976)
Made right off the back of his apex, “Chinatown,” and his last film before his disgrace and exile, “The Tenant” serves as both a spiritual cousin to “Repulsion” and “Rosemary’s Baby,” in terms of apartment-based horror tales, and a wryly funny comment on identity. It can’t be an accident that the director casts himself (uncredited) in the lead role, as a well-to-do French citizen who takes over an apartment, suddenly available after its previous inhabitant jumped out the window. He goes to visit the woman, who is swaddled entirely in bandages, becomes involved with one of her friends (Isabelle Adjani), and soon finds himself persecuted and tormented by his neighbors (a great collection of elder character actors, including Shelley Winters), who seem intent on making history repeat itself. Or did it happen at all? Or is the past happening right now? Polanski doesn’t give easy answers as to whether the events are real or imagined, whether his protagonist is real or fake, and it feels like a culmination of his work up to that point. And also an oddly prescient one; not just for its reflection, and prediction, of how the real estate world operates (who hasn’t had neighbors like this at one point or another?), but also for the way that Polanski, just a year later, would find himself pilloried by the world at large. In places, he goes too far; even given the dark streak of humor, there are moments that go over the top, and despite its personal touch, it feels slight in comparison to its apartment-bound predecessors. But nevertheless, it’s a fascinating pivot point in the director’s career. [B+]
