Todd McCarthy's Deep Focus

One of the most amusing bits of celluloid I've seen all year was an enthusiastic confession by Quentin Tarantino, in a documentary about Cannes Film Festival president Gilles Jacob, that his earliest erotic stirrings were prompted, at the age of six or so, by the sight of Claudia Cardinale in a love scene in---"Circus World!" Despite the presence of both Cardinale and Rita Hayworth in that affably silly 1964 John Wayne Cinerama extravaganza, I'm quite sure neither producer Samuel Bronston nor director Henry Hathaway intended "Circus World" as an erotic picture. But if it worked for Quentin, it only proves how extra-powerful were Cardinale's charms, in that they could assert themselves even under such homogenized, wholesome circumstances. But random anecdotal evidence suggests that, among men of a certain age, Cardinale enjoys special status as, variously, a primal inspiration, a breathtaking vision and an earthy turn-on. We know Federico Fellini felt that way, having exalted her as the film director Marcello's artistic muse in "8 1/2." It was therefore interesting to hear Cardinale admit over the weekend that, since Marcello Mastroianni felt a love for her she did not reciprocate, she had trouble looking him in the eye in the several films in which they costarred.

Just taking the charter flight from LAX to Montrose, Colorado, then the hour-plus shuttle bus from there to Telluride, provides more direct and relaxed interchange with filmmakers than two weeks in Cannes, Sundance or Toronto, where the talent is always courdoned off in hotels or surrounded by publicists and minders. At LAX, I immediately ran into Olivier Assayas and Edgar Ramirez, the director and star just beginning their North American tour with the great "Carlos." I first met Olivier when he was a babyfaced 20-year-old come to L.A. to interview filmmakers for Cahiers du Cinema, so it's very moving for me to see how far he's come to be able to create a work as extraordinary as "Carlos."

Resembling a “Red Shoes” on acid, “Black Swan” takes the idea of giving one's all for art to a morbid extreme. Applying the gritty handheld technique he successfully employed in the working class environs of “The Wrestler” to the rarefied domain of classical ballet, Darren Aronofsky swooningly explores the high tension neuroses and sexual psychodrama of a ballerina on the brink of simultaneous triumph and breakdown. With Natalie Portman, in the demanding leading role, equaling her director in unquestioned commitment, the central issue for the viewer is how far one is willing to follow the film down the road to oblivion for art's sake.

They've figured out a pretty clever way to make Russian commies the bad guys in a contemporary thriller in “Salt,” with the long arm of red ruthlessness reaching from the grave to hammer Washington, D.C. where it hurts. Although the relentlessly paced spy vs spy story glosses over how a lone woman, no matter how lethal a weapon, can repeatedly take out a dozen or more armed men, the set pieces are exciting and Angelina Jolie is shown off at her action-figure best.