Once upon a time there were two Japanese directors having a quiet drink when an unusual challenge was presented to them. Each of them was to make a feature-length movie in one week, using a single set and as few actors as possible with the same theme: a battle to the death. This resulted in two very different yet equally interesting films released in 2003, Ryuhei Kitamura's "Aragami" and Yukihiko Tsutsumi's "2LDK". I wouldn't like to choose which is the better movie since both achieve interesting results within the confines of the challenge, but the latter proved to be the audience fave when the pairing made the festival rounds.
Kitamura remains the better known of the pair having had overseas breakout success with "Azumi" in 2003 and particularly with his 2000 film "Versus", a satisfying mash-up of the samurai and vampire genres done on a low budget. The title character's name Aragami translates as the 'raging god of battle''. He has nursed a gravely-wounded samurai back to health in his isolated Buddhist chapel; he is tired of the eternal round and seeks a worthy champion to end his immortality. Masayo Kato, as the demon, goads Takao Osawa to challenge him to a duel, dropping the tidbit of information that his recovery was hastened by feeding him body parts from his close companion lying dead in the next room. Observing this initially verbal battle is an inscrutable beauty who fetches food and drink, but who is more often to be found sitting between them as a cool observer. All of this builds up to a stupendous final swordfight between the two where we think at first that the samurai can never overcome his fearsome adversary; however (spoiler here) he is no longer completely human himself and ends up as the new demon of the temple, awaiting the swordsman who will release him in turn, and still watched over by the same strange beauty.
Kitamura does wonders with the one small set depending on atmospheric lighting to highlight the ornate (and slightly kitschy) carvings creating the illusion of space. He manages to stage the exciting cut and thrust of swordplay in this confined area by close filming and editing. It is all beautifully and excitingly staged.
"2LDK" on the other hand has a contemporary setting and manages to limit itself to only two players. The title is shorthand for small rental adverts offering 'two bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen'. Sharing this (to my mind) rather spacious apartment are two would-be actresses the wide-eyed virginal Nozomi, fresh up from the countryside looking for big-city fame and fortune, and the vampish, more-knowing Lana, with her dyed hair and beauty queen background. Both are reading for the same movie part and, as it turns out, both are involved with the same man. Building on the petty grievances of flat-sharing such as Nozomi's anally marking all of her food (including each egg) in the shared refrigerator and Lana's casually using whatever she wants at the moment, we become witnesses to the growing hostility between them. This is largely achieved by their verbalizing their real thoughts about each other direct to the audience as they fruitlessly try to preserve the niceties of conversation. Nozomi views Lana as an over-the-hill slut, while the slightly unstable Lana (whose last chance is the pending role) views her flatmate as a talentless wannabe.
The action soon escalates from slapped faces to more and more violent attacks with a variety of weapons, from everyday household appliances and cleaning agents through icepicks, flame-throwers, swords, and chainsaws. (It is probably best not to wonder why an apartment occupied by two young ladies should have such an assortment of weapons available.) In the end, setting us up for the film's final irony, neither of them need worry anymore about becoming a film star.
Both directors responded imaginatively to the challenge given them, even if both films are relatively short -- between 70 and 80 minutes. Kitamura has the larger cast, but uses his very small set brilliantly. Tsutsumi manages to hold our attention with only two characters spinning relentlessly out of control, but does cheat somewhat by having the girls' impossibly spacious apartment as his battlefield. He remains the less internationally-known of the pair with only his 2008 movie "Twentieth Century Boys" (the first film in his own franchise) making any dent in overseas markets. Kitamura continues his relative success, although I'm not sure that making the English language "Midnight Meat Train" in 2008 with Vinnie Jones amongst others is worthy of too many kudos.
Monday, 14 November 2011
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
Patchy Premieres
I'm back to having a wee moan about the weekly premieres on the main Sky film channel -- their other nine have a nifty line of repeats and more repeats. Unlike most weeks, there were actually a full five flicks this week that I'd not already seen, unlike last week when there were all of two, neither of which I particularly wanted to view. Of course, PPP being PPP, I did watch them both: "Africa United" a fairly sugary tale of three youngsters making their way the 3000-odd miles from Rwanda to South Africa to get to the Soccer World Cup (much of which I saw on fast-forward) and "Paranormal Activity 2". I can't begin to believe that this actually made money at cinemas -- which it did -- since the first film in this series was about as scary as corn flakes and this second one was a fine example of watching paint dry with absolutely nothing happening until the last five minutes. No doubt P.A. 3 is en route...
Anyhow, what about this week's five? As usual something of a mixed bag with not a lot to get excited about:
First up was a Hallmark Channel product called "A Dog Named Christmas". Given its origins, you would be right in guessing that it was a healthy, family drama with a feel-good punchline. A pleasant but somewhat intellectually-challenged young man living on a farm with his parents hears that the local animal shelter is urging the community to 'adopt a dog for Christmas' and not only manages to convince his folks to let him do so (father Bruce Greenwood has doggy-issues in his background), but also convinces the family's married offspring, their friends, and neighbours to do so as well. Naturally the chosen dog, whom he has promised to return to the shelter on December 26th, turns out to be a heroic charmer ultimately melting even Greenwood's hard heart. A totally watchable film, especially if you love dogs, but otherwise pretty yuck as cinema.
Then there was the "big" premiere of the week, director Tony Scott's "Unstoppable" starring the Denzel and Chris Pine. Based on a true incident from 2001 (but reminiscent of earlier movies), we have veteran train driver Washington and his novice conductor Pine risking their necks to stop a runaway train laden with dangerous chemicals from wreaking havoc on the communities in its path by preventing its derailing. To give Scott his due, there is no denying his skill at getting our adrenaline flowing and to make us savour the growing tension, but again it wasn't exactly brilliant film-making. Both leads did an adequate job, as did Rosario Dawson back in the control room, but there were a number of loose ends, especially with the subplot of a bunch of school kids taking an educational train ride, who were never actually in danger. Anyhow the end credits tell us that the Washington character who was working out his 90-days notice was told that he could keep his job. So there you go...another happy ending.
The week's third film was the one I actually liked best although it is something of an obscurity and a real mish-mash of talent: "The Warrior's Way", which advance reviews suggested would be abysmal. Produced and filmed in New Zealand, the movie is the first and only feature written and directed by someone called Sngmoo Lee (nor me) and stars a Korean, Dong-gun Jang, alongside Yanks Kate Bosworth and Danny Houston (as the big baddie), and Aussie award-winner Geoffrey Rush. Our hero is an invincible swordsman in exile with a small babe in America's 'wild, wild west'. He's hired by Bosworth as a laundryman but ends up teaching her fighting skills so that she can avenge herself on Houston and his murderous horde of outlaws who killed her husband and child. In this same small community we also have a stranded colourful troupe of circus artistes, amongst whom is Rush's perpetually drunken sharpshooter. What makes this movie so remarkable is the flair with which the director has staged the setting, with stylised sets reminiscent of von Trier's "Dogville" (2003), and his skill with the martial arts elements, especially with flocks of ninja warriors descending from the sky in pursuit of the rogue swordsman. In fact all of the action sequences are both brilliantly handled and exciting -- far more so than one would expect from this film's mongrel components.
As for films four and five, the fourth one "London Boulevard" was so forgettable that I had trouble remembering what it was called or what it was about within a day. Ex-con Colin Farrell is hired by David Thewlis as a bodyguard for Keira Knightley's actress superstar and must fend off the larcenous ambitions of Ray Winston's Mr. Big. Yawn... Number five, "Puncture", came across as a made-for-television effort, although with current flavour-of-the-month Chris Evans in the lead, this was possibly a 'real' film. Again based on a true story, it tells of Evans as hotshot lawyer Mike Weiss and his more grounded partner taking on the crusade of getting the hospital buying cartels to purchase a new type of life-saving syringes. Meanwhile druggie Weiss is fighting his own demons in the form of his uncontrollable drug habit (which eventually took his life) a la Gosling in "Half Nelson". Sorry...more yawns.
The annoying fact is that Sky manage to offer a pretty up-to-date selection of appealing movies on their pay-per-view Box Office, but many of these never make it to their regular subscription channels, where the weekly premieres tend to be padded out with made-for-TV dross. It's just as well that I'm not totally dependent on them for my viewing pleasures. Even if I do try to watch all of their new offerings, there is always a miscellany of non-Sky channels and the growing DVD backlog to enhance my choices. In fact, I never seem to catch up -- which is actually a good thing in this instance. Keeps me busy and off the streets!!
Anyhow, what about this week's five? As usual something of a mixed bag with not a lot to get excited about:
First up was a Hallmark Channel product called "A Dog Named Christmas". Given its origins, you would be right in guessing that it was a healthy, family drama with a feel-good punchline. A pleasant but somewhat intellectually-challenged young man living on a farm with his parents hears that the local animal shelter is urging the community to 'adopt a dog for Christmas' and not only manages to convince his folks to let him do so (father Bruce Greenwood has doggy-issues in his background), but also convinces the family's married offspring, their friends, and neighbours to do so as well. Naturally the chosen dog, whom he has promised to return to the shelter on December 26th, turns out to be a heroic charmer ultimately melting even Greenwood's hard heart. A totally watchable film, especially if you love dogs, but otherwise pretty yuck as cinema.
Then there was the "big" premiere of the week, director Tony Scott's "Unstoppable" starring the Denzel and Chris Pine. Based on a true incident from 2001 (but reminiscent of earlier movies), we have veteran train driver Washington and his novice conductor Pine risking their necks to stop a runaway train laden with dangerous chemicals from wreaking havoc on the communities in its path by preventing its derailing. To give Scott his due, there is no denying his skill at getting our adrenaline flowing and to make us savour the growing tension, but again it wasn't exactly brilliant film-making. Both leads did an adequate job, as did Rosario Dawson back in the control room, but there were a number of loose ends, especially with the subplot of a bunch of school kids taking an educational train ride, who were never actually in danger. Anyhow the end credits tell us that the Washington character who was working out his 90-days notice was told that he could keep his job. So there you go...another happy ending.
The week's third film was the one I actually liked best although it is something of an obscurity and a real mish-mash of talent: "The Warrior's Way", which advance reviews suggested would be abysmal. Produced and filmed in New Zealand, the movie is the first and only feature written and directed by someone called Sngmoo Lee (nor me) and stars a Korean, Dong-gun Jang, alongside Yanks Kate Bosworth and Danny Houston (as the big baddie), and Aussie award-winner Geoffrey Rush. Our hero is an invincible swordsman in exile with a small babe in America's 'wild, wild west'. He's hired by Bosworth as a laundryman but ends up teaching her fighting skills so that she can avenge herself on Houston and his murderous horde of outlaws who killed her husband and child. In this same small community we also have a stranded colourful troupe of circus artistes, amongst whom is Rush's perpetually drunken sharpshooter. What makes this movie so remarkable is the flair with which the director has staged the setting, with stylised sets reminiscent of von Trier's "Dogville" (2003), and his skill with the martial arts elements, especially with flocks of ninja warriors descending from the sky in pursuit of the rogue swordsman. In fact all of the action sequences are both brilliantly handled and exciting -- far more so than one would expect from this film's mongrel components.
As for films four and five, the fourth one "London Boulevard" was so forgettable that I had trouble remembering what it was called or what it was about within a day. Ex-con Colin Farrell is hired by David Thewlis as a bodyguard for Keira Knightley's actress superstar and must fend off the larcenous ambitions of Ray Winston's Mr. Big. Yawn... Number five, "Puncture", came across as a made-for-television effort, although with current flavour-of-the-month Chris Evans in the lead, this was possibly a 'real' film. Again based on a true story, it tells of Evans as hotshot lawyer Mike Weiss and his more grounded partner taking on the crusade of getting the hospital buying cartels to purchase a new type of life-saving syringes. Meanwhile druggie Weiss is fighting his own demons in the form of his uncontrollable drug habit (which eventually took his life) a la Gosling in "Half Nelson". Sorry...more yawns.
The annoying fact is that Sky manage to offer a pretty up-to-date selection of appealing movies on their pay-per-view Box Office, but many of these never make it to their regular subscription channels, where the weekly premieres tend to be padded out with made-for-TV dross. It's just as well that I'm not totally dependent on them for my viewing pleasures. Even if I do try to watch all of their new offerings, there is always a miscellany of non-Sky channels and the growing DVD backlog to enhance my choices. In fact, I never seem to catch up -- which is actually a good thing in this instance. Keeps me busy and off the streets!!
Thursday, 3 November 2011
The Private Lives of Pippa Lee (2009)
Many interesting flicks without big studio marketing bucks behind them struggle to get any sort of distribution, flicker brightly but briefly when discovered, and then are destined to fade into the misty realms of memory.
This movie written (based on her novel) and directed by Rebecca Miller -- daughter of Arthur -- is a good case in point. Since 1995, it is her fourth outing as a director of her own work; I have seen two of her three earlier movies, but I am pushed to recall much about them. She had an earlier brief career as an actress in bit parts and is also the co-writer of the screenplay for the rather dreary (and also non-memorable) "Proof" (2005). Taken with her first career outings in the graphic arts, she is something of a 'renaissance' women, but unlikely to be remembered as one of the cinema greats. I know it's early days yet since she is still under fifty, but her track record to date doesn't promise any sort of cinema immortality or any deep affinity for the genre.
In this film she has garnered a remarkably starry cast, many of whom have very little to do -- again burning bright in their small parts and then fading into the background. Stand up Julianne Moore in another lesbian role, Winona Ryder (getting hard to recognize) as the heroine's neurotic friend, Maria Bello as her hyperactive, speed-addicted mother, and the lush-bodied Monica Bellucci as a former wife of Mr. Lee (the always watchable Alan Arkin). However the movie belongs to Robin Wright (here still billed as Robin Wright Penn) playing Arkin's much younger wife and facing her own midlife crises as the couple downsize to a Connecticut retirement community after his three recent heart attacks. The screenplay focuses on the various traumatic events that have made her the woman she is today with her younger self played by Blake Lively (not really a believable young Wright). Bored by her new environment, with the height of excitement being pottery classes, and overly concerned with Arkin's health, she finds herself sleep-walking and sleep-stuffing-chocolate-cake-in-her-gob. She also has a slightly fraught relationship with her two grown children, especially her daughter who appears to hate her -- much as she grew to hate her own mother.
She finds some solace in the company of her neighbour Shirley Knight's ne'er-do-well son, played by a fairly competent Keanu Reeves, with a lifesized head of Jesus tattooed on his chest. Events come to a head when she discovers her supposedly devoted husband's ongoing affair with Ryder and his subsequent final heart attack. Part of the film's problems stem from combining the roles of mainly middle-aged players into a coherent whole. Wright doesn't seem quite old enough to have lasted through the best part of thirty years of marriage (to the extent that for a while I thought she was the stepmother of Arkin's kids), and we are asked to believe that Reeves is some fifteen years younger than she (when in fact he is all of two years older!). One is never bored in the company of these various characters and their self-absorbed problems, aided by some clever, sharp dialogue, but in the end one wonders if we really care about any of them. The simple answer is probably 'no'.
This movie written (based on her novel) and directed by Rebecca Miller -- daughter of Arthur -- is a good case in point. Since 1995, it is her fourth outing as a director of her own work; I have seen two of her three earlier movies, but I am pushed to recall much about them. She had an earlier brief career as an actress in bit parts and is also the co-writer of the screenplay for the rather dreary (and also non-memorable) "Proof" (2005). Taken with her first career outings in the graphic arts, she is something of a 'renaissance' women, but unlikely to be remembered as one of the cinema greats. I know it's early days yet since she is still under fifty, but her track record to date doesn't promise any sort of cinema immortality or any deep affinity for the genre.
In this film she has garnered a remarkably starry cast, many of whom have very little to do -- again burning bright in their small parts and then fading into the background. Stand up Julianne Moore in another lesbian role, Winona Ryder (getting hard to recognize) as the heroine's neurotic friend, Maria Bello as her hyperactive, speed-addicted mother, and the lush-bodied Monica Bellucci as a former wife of Mr. Lee (the always watchable Alan Arkin). However the movie belongs to Robin Wright (here still billed as Robin Wright Penn) playing Arkin's much younger wife and facing her own midlife crises as the couple downsize to a Connecticut retirement community after his three recent heart attacks. The screenplay focuses on the various traumatic events that have made her the woman she is today with her younger self played by Blake Lively (not really a believable young Wright). Bored by her new environment, with the height of excitement being pottery classes, and overly concerned with Arkin's health, she finds herself sleep-walking and sleep-stuffing-chocolate-cake-in-her-gob. She also has a slightly fraught relationship with her two grown children, especially her daughter who appears to hate her -- much as she grew to hate her own mother.
She finds some solace in the company of her neighbour Shirley Knight's ne'er-do-well son, played by a fairly competent Keanu Reeves, with a lifesized head of Jesus tattooed on his chest. Events come to a head when she discovers her supposedly devoted husband's ongoing affair with Ryder and his subsequent final heart attack. Part of the film's problems stem from combining the roles of mainly middle-aged players into a coherent whole. Wright doesn't seem quite old enough to have lasted through the best part of thirty years of marriage (to the extent that for a while I thought she was the stepmother of Arkin's kids), and we are asked to believe that Reeves is some fifteen years younger than she (when in fact he is all of two years older!). One is never bored in the company of these various characters and their self-absorbed problems, aided by some clever, sharp dialogue, but in the end one wonders if we really care about any of them. The simple answer is probably 'no'.
Saturday, 29 October 2011
London Film Festival - Part Three
As a postscript to my previous entry, I can not believe that I omitted mentioning the delightful dog in "The Artist". This Jack Russell terrier is as important a character as his master Dujardin, a crucial part of his screen persona and his best friend. His antics are incredibly amusing and ingratiating and he even gets the opportunity to display some Rin Tin Tin bravado when he saves the washed-up actor from his burning apartment. A more than worthy contender for the annual Cannes Dog (or d'og).
Now to the final four films or as it turns out the final three and a half -- explanation follows below:
First off, nothing but praise for the French film "The Monk" ("Le Moine") from the interesting director Dominik Moll. While his first two films were effectively modern thrillers, this one is a period piece based on Matthew Lewis' 1796 gothic novel. A well-cast Vincent Cassell plays the eponymous monk Ambrosio, a foundling raised by the brothers of an isolated Spanish monastery, renowned for his piety and unrelenting sermons. When a masked youth seeks the order's sanctuary, Ambrosio soon finds himself tempted by illicit love and the devil's growing mischief, until in the end he finds that evil is indeed more potent than godliness. Beautifully filmed in the stark desert wastes and with more than the occasional surrealistic touch, this film is not only well-cast but also impressively persuasive.
From there we went to the 'half-film' mentioned above. The Festival always features a so-called 'surprise' film in its programme and I have never been tempted to take my chances with their selection, although there have been some worthy UK premieres in the past. This year, as a membership reward, they offered a ballot for a free screening and I thought what-the-heck. After sitting in the auditorium for some thirty-odd minutes, my thoughts were more like 'why am I sitting through this rubbish?' The film in question probably sounded promising to the programmers, being the first movie for thirteen years from director Whit Stillman, who had a critical hit back in 1990 with "Metropolitan" followed by minor success with his second film "Barcelona". Thinking back these were both very 'talky' movies rather than plot-laden and his latest, coyly titled "Damsels in Distress" is more of the same with a vengeance. Set at a small college we are introduced to a group of friends and their rather uninteresting (and very talky) problems. The lead female is Greta Gerwig -- definitely an acquired taste from her mumbledore movies (or whatever they're called) and the lead male is the Australian actor Adam Brody. At roughly 28 and 32 respectively, they are both rather too old to play believable students and the balance of the completely unknown cast are only slightly more creditable. Boring, boring, boring to say the least -- so out we went and we were not the only walk-outs. Sometimes one feels that one should give a film a chance to see where it is going, but it was pretty obvious that this one wasn't heading anywhere of interest.
Number three was the fascinating Japanese film "Dendera". If you have seen either version of "The Ballad of Narayama" (and my pick would be the 1983 remake), you know the backstory of the small rural village that sends its old folk once they reach 70 up the mountain to die of exposure, thereby freeing the villagers from feeding and tending the elderly. Based on a novel by Yuya Sato, this film imagines an alternate scenario where the elderly women (but never 'scheming' men) are saved from death and incorporated into the all-female, self-sustaining settlement of Dendera founded some 30 years previously. The village's matriarch Mei, now over 100, dreams of the day when she can lead her people down to their old village to attack and kill the men in revenge for their harsh rules. The story begins for us when the 50th woman is rescued and Mei reckons she has sufficient womanpower for her plans. However she has not reckoned with the problems of a marauding ravenous bear and her cub which decimates their food supply and also decimates Dendera's numbers nor with a killer avalanche en route down the mountain. As the women's numbers decrease, each of the remainder attempts to find some solution to their problems and to guarantee Dendera's survival. All in all this was a fascinating tale, but I must admit some dissatisfaction with the film's rather abrupt and unclear ending.
Finally, number twelve, "Faust" from the director of the amazing "Russian Ark" Aleksandr Sokurov. This film won the Golden Lion at Venice this year and it was a movie that I really wanted to love -- but regretfully I was unable to do so. With a German-language screenplay, this is obviously a reworking of the Goethe masterpiece, forever immortalised to us in Murnau's silent film, but we found it nearly impossible to follow the ins and outs of the convoluted scenario as the impoverished and dour Dr. Faustus is seduced by the promises of the devil in the guise of a moneylender -- an interesting portrayal from Russian mime/clown Anton Adasinsky. The quasi-medieval world is mixed with some very modern CGI effects and the very long and very sinuous telling lost me along the way. This movie is the fourth in the director's tetralogy about the shortcomings of men in power and we had resolved to watch the first three movies which are coming up in the BFI's Sokurov season. These are "Moloch" (Hitler), "Taurus" (Lenin), and "The Sun" (Hirohito). However after the hard-to-watch "Faust", saved only by its majestic music, I'm beginning to wonder if I have the stamina to sit through those movies. Time will tell...
Now to the final four films or as it turns out the final three and a half -- explanation follows below:
First off, nothing but praise for the French film "The Monk" ("Le Moine") from the interesting director Dominik Moll. While his first two films were effectively modern thrillers, this one is a period piece based on Matthew Lewis' 1796 gothic novel. A well-cast Vincent Cassell plays the eponymous monk Ambrosio, a foundling raised by the brothers of an isolated Spanish monastery, renowned for his piety and unrelenting sermons. When a masked youth seeks the order's sanctuary, Ambrosio soon finds himself tempted by illicit love and the devil's growing mischief, until in the end he finds that evil is indeed more potent than godliness. Beautifully filmed in the stark desert wastes and with more than the occasional surrealistic touch, this film is not only well-cast but also impressively persuasive.
From there we went to the 'half-film' mentioned above. The Festival always features a so-called 'surprise' film in its programme and I have never been tempted to take my chances with their selection, although there have been some worthy UK premieres in the past. This year, as a membership reward, they offered a ballot for a free screening and I thought what-the-heck. After sitting in the auditorium for some thirty-odd minutes, my thoughts were more like 'why am I sitting through this rubbish?' The film in question probably sounded promising to the programmers, being the first movie for thirteen years from director Whit Stillman, who had a critical hit back in 1990 with "Metropolitan" followed by minor success with his second film "Barcelona". Thinking back these were both very 'talky' movies rather than plot-laden and his latest, coyly titled "Damsels in Distress" is more of the same with a vengeance. Set at a small college we are introduced to a group of friends and their rather uninteresting (and very talky) problems. The lead female is Greta Gerwig -- definitely an acquired taste from her mumbledore movies (or whatever they're called) and the lead male is the Australian actor Adam Brody. At roughly 28 and 32 respectively, they are both rather too old to play believable students and the balance of the completely unknown cast are only slightly more creditable. Boring, boring, boring to say the least -- so out we went and we were not the only walk-outs. Sometimes one feels that one should give a film a chance to see where it is going, but it was pretty obvious that this one wasn't heading anywhere of interest.
Number three was the fascinating Japanese film "Dendera". If you have seen either version of "The Ballad of Narayama" (and my pick would be the 1983 remake), you know the backstory of the small rural village that sends its old folk once they reach 70 up the mountain to die of exposure, thereby freeing the villagers from feeding and tending the elderly. Based on a novel by Yuya Sato, this film imagines an alternate scenario where the elderly women (but never 'scheming' men) are saved from death and incorporated into the all-female, self-sustaining settlement of Dendera founded some 30 years previously. The village's matriarch Mei, now over 100, dreams of the day when she can lead her people down to their old village to attack and kill the men in revenge for their harsh rules. The story begins for us when the 50th woman is rescued and Mei reckons she has sufficient womanpower for her plans. However she has not reckoned with the problems of a marauding ravenous bear and her cub which decimates their food supply and also decimates Dendera's numbers nor with a killer avalanche en route down the mountain. As the women's numbers decrease, each of the remainder attempts to find some solution to their problems and to guarantee Dendera's survival. All in all this was a fascinating tale, but I must admit some dissatisfaction with the film's rather abrupt and unclear ending.
Finally, number twelve, "Faust" from the director of the amazing "Russian Ark" Aleksandr Sokurov. This film won the Golden Lion at Venice this year and it was a movie that I really wanted to love -- but regretfully I was unable to do so. With a German-language screenplay, this is obviously a reworking of the Goethe masterpiece, forever immortalised to us in Murnau's silent film, but we found it nearly impossible to follow the ins and outs of the convoluted scenario as the impoverished and dour Dr. Faustus is seduced by the promises of the devil in the guise of a moneylender -- an interesting portrayal from Russian mime/clown Anton Adasinsky. The quasi-medieval world is mixed with some very modern CGI effects and the very long and very sinuous telling lost me along the way. This movie is the fourth in the director's tetralogy about the shortcomings of men in power and we had resolved to watch the first three movies which are coming up in the BFI's Sokurov season. These are "Moloch" (Hitler), "Taurus" (Lenin), and "The Sun" (Hirohito). However after the hard-to-watch "Faust", saved only by its majestic music, I'm beginning to wonder if I have the stamina to sit through those movies. Time will tell...
Sunday, 23 October 2011
London Film Festival - Part Two
Another four selections behind me now -- again producing some mixed reactions. In choosing which tickets to apply for, I usually opt for titles that are unlikely to obtain any sort of widespread release, films by one or other of my 'pet' directors like Takashi Kitano (absent), martial arts flicks, anything to do with cinema history, and films starring a favoured actor like Gerard Depardieu (nothing from him either this year). Maybe I should broaden my criteria, since for every 'gem', I usually manage to select a 'dud' as well, with the vast majority just falling into the 'pleasant enough' category.
First up was "Tales of the Night" (Les Contes de la Nuit) from the French modern master of animation Michel Ocelot. I'm not completely sure why I selected this which was showcased as the 'Family Gala' (i.e. suitable for the kiddies), but it sounded imaginative and I certainly liked his earlier animations "Azur and Asmar" and "Kirikou and the Sorceress" for their bright colours and very stylized design. This one had the added 'attraction' (?) of being made in 3D as well. Using a form of silhouette animation, not seen since the heyday of Lotte Reininger's 1926 "Adventures of Prince Achmed", against brilliantly and psychedelically-coloured backgrounds, this film is certainly a tour de force. However his telling of six different fairy or folk tales merged into much of a muchness after a while -- visually intriguing but dramatically lacking. I can certainly recommend this movie for its technique but not for much more for a mature audience.
"Let the Bullets Fly" is a joint China-Hong Kong production and apparently China's highest-ever grossing film. It is directed by and stars one of the country's most admired screen actors, Jiang Wen (see his 2000 film "Devils on the Doorstep"), who plays a ruthless outlaw nicknamed Pocky Zhang (despite his unblemished skin); he decides to pose as the new official for the hamlet of Goose Town with its high taxes and easy financial pickings, taking the place of conman Ge You whom he has ambushed en route, along with the wife of the now deceased real mayor-to-be. However they soon discover that the city is in the greedy, sticky hands of local ruthless warlord Huang, played by the one and only (coolest man in the world -- trademark) Hong Kong superstar Chow Yun Fat. Chow also plays his own body-double and great fun ensues as the three 'villains' strive to outbluff each other. It is all a lot of cheeky well-filmed fun, but at 132 minutes it begins to outstay its welcome being rather talkier than action-laden.
The third film of this quartet was the main disappointment. "Last Screening" (Dernier Seance), a French would-be thriller, should have been right up my street with its combination of a fanatic movie-buff as the hero who is also a deranged serial killer. Written and directed by Laurent Archard, it stars Pascal Cervo as the young repertory cinema manager made even more unhinged by its impending closure. We are given a certain amount of unhelpful backflashes to his relationship to his movie-obsessed mother, but little real explanation about why he goes about killing women, cutting off their ears with their dangling earrings, and sticking these on black-and-white photos of some of the screen greats. The film was poorly paced with some unnecessary longeurs, such as one of the victim's endless twirling routine, and even at 81 minutes felt ever so long and pointless. Something of a waste of time.
Had I been told that I could only choose one movie from the hundreds of films screening, it would have been the next one "The Artist", since I have been intrigued by it since I read about its Cannes premiere. It is a lovingly-crafted, beautifully shot in black and white, paeon to Hollywood of the silent era and its star, Jean Dujardin, walked away with the Best Actor gong at the French fest. I was first made aware of Dujardin, his co-star Berenice Bejo, and his director Michel Hazanavicius when I saw their "OSS 117: Cairo Nest of Spies" in 2006. I thought that spy-spoof of a movie a touch on the silly side and did not bother with its sequel. However, they are all delicious here. Dujardin plays silent movie idol George Valentin, undone by the coming of sound and Bejo plays young ingenue Peppy Miller, whose star rises as his crashes. It is not quite "A Star is Born" scenario, since there is ultimately an uplifting (and highly believable) happy ending. Despite its subject matter of the popularity of the coming of sound, the film is shot virtually as a silent with intertitles, apart from its score and the very occasional and very telling use of sound effects. Although it is a French film, it feels very American -- there are no subtitles anywhere, and well-known normally English-speaking actors like John Goodman, James Cromwell, and Penelope Ann Miller lend fine (silent) support. (Malcolm McDowell is also in the cast, but his scene lasts mere seconds). All in all this is a delightful concoction and having been taken up by the Weinsteins, its distribution is assured. Don't miss it!
The final four to follow anon...
First up was "Tales of the Night" (Les Contes de la Nuit) from the French modern master of animation Michel Ocelot. I'm not completely sure why I selected this which was showcased as the 'Family Gala' (i.e. suitable for the kiddies), but it sounded imaginative and I certainly liked his earlier animations "Azur and Asmar" and "Kirikou and the Sorceress" for their bright colours and very stylized design. This one had the added 'attraction' (?) of being made in 3D as well. Using a form of silhouette animation, not seen since the heyday of Lotte Reininger's 1926 "Adventures of Prince Achmed", against brilliantly and psychedelically-coloured backgrounds, this film is certainly a tour de force. However his telling of six different fairy or folk tales merged into much of a muchness after a while -- visually intriguing but dramatically lacking. I can certainly recommend this movie for its technique but not for much more for a mature audience.
"Let the Bullets Fly" is a joint China-Hong Kong production and apparently China's highest-ever grossing film. It is directed by and stars one of the country's most admired screen actors, Jiang Wen (see his 2000 film "Devils on the Doorstep"), who plays a ruthless outlaw nicknamed Pocky Zhang (despite his unblemished skin); he decides to pose as the new official for the hamlet of Goose Town with its high taxes and easy financial pickings, taking the place of conman Ge You whom he has ambushed en route, along with the wife of the now deceased real mayor-to-be. However they soon discover that the city is in the greedy, sticky hands of local ruthless warlord Huang, played by the one and only (coolest man in the world -- trademark) Hong Kong superstar Chow Yun Fat. Chow also plays his own body-double and great fun ensues as the three 'villains' strive to outbluff each other. It is all a lot of cheeky well-filmed fun, but at 132 minutes it begins to outstay its welcome being rather talkier than action-laden.
The third film of this quartet was the main disappointment. "Last Screening" (Dernier Seance), a French would-be thriller, should have been right up my street with its combination of a fanatic movie-buff as the hero who is also a deranged serial killer. Written and directed by Laurent Archard, it stars Pascal Cervo as the young repertory cinema manager made even more unhinged by its impending closure. We are given a certain amount of unhelpful backflashes to his relationship to his movie-obsessed mother, but little real explanation about why he goes about killing women, cutting off their ears with their dangling earrings, and sticking these on black-and-white photos of some of the screen greats. The film was poorly paced with some unnecessary longeurs, such as one of the victim's endless twirling routine, and even at 81 minutes felt ever so long and pointless. Something of a waste of time.
Had I been told that I could only choose one movie from the hundreds of films screening, it would have been the next one "The Artist", since I have been intrigued by it since I read about its Cannes premiere. It is a lovingly-crafted, beautifully shot in black and white, paeon to Hollywood of the silent era and its star, Jean Dujardin, walked away with the Best Actor gong at the French fest. I was first made aware of Dujardin, his co-star Berenice Bejo, and his director Michel Hazanavicius when I saw their "OSS 117: Cairo Nest of Spies" in 2006. I thought that spy-spoof of a movie a touch on the silly side and did not bother with its sequel. However, they are all delicious here. Dujardin plays silent movie idol George Valentin, undone by the coming of sound and Bejo plays young ingenue Peppy Miller, whose star rises as his crashes. It is not quite "A Star is Born" scenario, since there is ultimately an uplifting (and highly believable) happy ending. Despite its subject matter of the popularity of the coming of sound, the film is shot virtually as a silent with intertitles, apart from its score and the very occasional and very telling use of sound effects. Although it is a French film, it feels very American -- there are no subtitles anywhere, and well-known normally English-speaking actors like John Goodman, James Cromwell, and Penelope Ann Miller lend fine (silent) support. (Malcolm McDowell is also in the cast, but his scene lasts mere seconds). All in all this is a delightful concoction and having been taken up by the Weinsteins, its distribution is assured. Don't miss it!
The final four to follow anon...
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
London Film Festival - Part One
Four down; eight to go...and so far it's been a mixed bag indeed: two watchable obscurities, one hilarious oddball destined to do little business, and one major disappointment from the prolific Japanese director Takashi Miike.
The obscurities both come from the "Treasures from the Archives" strand of the fest ('lost' and newly restored or 'rediscovered' classics) and it is a little unusual for us to watch two of these two days in a row. The first was "The Goose Woman", a silent feature from 1925 with impeccable credentials. It was directed by Clarence Brown who went on to direct a string of 30s and 40s classics and starred Louise Dresser (already into middle age when she made her movie debut a few years earlier), Jack Pickford (brother of Mary and not overly charismatic), and rising star Constance Bennett (sister of Joan who both were memorable in films of the next two decades). The story concerns an erstwhile famous opera singer who lost both her career and her voice when she gave birth to an illegitimate son many years earlier and who has become a drunken slattern on her run-down farm. She sees an opportunity to regain her celebrity when a rich neighbour is murdered and fabricates a story which unfortunately implicates her estranged son (who is of course romancing the successful actress Bennett). Dresser's version of the events is supported by the state prosecutor -- the wonderfully named actor Gustav von Seyffertitz, until true but long-suppressed mother love breaks through. The film as you may guess is something of a pot-boiler but a stand-out turn from Dresser just about saves the day. Showing with this 83-minute movie were two Vitaphone shorts featuring former vaudeville stars and each more embarrassing than the next.
The second 'treasure' was a little-known, obscure feature from neo-realist Italian director Roberto Rossellini, completely at odds with his other films called "The Machine that Kills Bad People" (1952). One just doesn't think of this director as being able to handle satirical fantasy which is what is on display here. Set in a small seaport town south of Naples where a broadly-drawn group of yanks have recently arrived to develop a hotel on the land of the communal cemetery, a photographer is visited by a strange old man who teaches him the secret of using his camera to kill those who just don't deserve to live. Taking a picture of a picture in his studio, the subject suddenly expires (in the same unmovable pose) in another part of town -- these range from the bumptious village policeman, a very noisy donkey, a rich old woman and her greedy relatives, and an assortment of corrupt town officials who wish to divert a recent windfall of funds from the government to their own selfish ends. The whole thing plays like some sort of peasant farce, striving to make its points about the deserving poor of the town (very Rossellini) versus the rich folk who live up the town's many steep staircases. It certainly had its moments of comic mayhem along with its attempts to make some serious points from the director's personal credo; its rediscovery is very welcome -- if only as a palliative to Rossellini's more humourless films. Showing alongside this was the newly remastered and re-colored Melies short, the familiar "A Trip to the Moon" which has been making the festival rounds, starting as the opener at this year's Cannes -- worth seeing for its historical importance, if in fact rather silly and crude.
Next up was the hugely enjoyable and nearly impossible to categorize French film, "The Fairy", written and directed by three of its four leads: Dominique Abel, the Australian-born Fiona Gordon, and Bruno Romy. I have not seen the team's two earlier films, but will certainly seek them out if this one is anything to go by. The tall, skinny and gawky Abel plays the night clerk at a small seaside hotel, beset by interruptions as he tries to watch TV and eat his ketchuppy sandwich, particularly from a weird Englishman with his beloved Sealyham hidden in a plaid carry-all. In walks the equally tall and long-limbed Gordon who announces that she is a fairy and that she will grant him three wishes -- two of which he requests immediately but the third of which is still pending by the film's end. Romy's contribution is that of a more-than-short-sighted bar owner who keeps walking into the walls. The main delights however come from the characters 'Dom' and 'Fiona' as they pursue their weird attraction and love affair in a series of acrobatic dances and Keatonesque set pieces, including Fiona's magically giving birth to six-month old child virtually overnight. Hovering in the background are three black illegals who want to get to England and a pair of comic Keystone-ish cops. The innocent silliness is strangely infectious and while I do not see this movie doing much box office, I can certainly see it becoming a cult favourite.
On to "Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai" from Miike. His early films had a certain weird appeal in their crazy takes on the yakuza genre, but his later works were largely long-winded and rather tedious affairs. Last year's historical romp "Thirteen Assassins" seemed to imply a return to form and this movie, shot quite unnecessarily in 3-D, promised more of the same. Set during a peaceful period in the l7th Century and based on an earlier film, this opulent but slow-moving saga tells of the clash between traditional 'honour' and humanity. Out of work samurai have been approaching noble houses, asking their permission to commit ritual suicide in their courtyards, in the hope of being bought off with either work or a few coins. In this box within another box storytelling, an older ronin has come to the House of Ii to make such a request; there he is told the story of another younger man who foolishly did the same and who was forced to try to kill himself with a bamboo sword (having been forced to sell his real one) and who is then beheaded by the stern clan lord. Then he tells his own story -- turns out the youngster was this man's son-in-law whose death also resulted in those of his grandson and daughter, and he has come to seek revenge. While beautifully shot, with only the very occasional effective use of 3-D effects in the shallow and dark interiors, the story just creaked along and proved more exhausting than entertaining, with virtually no action at all before the final minutes.
More and hopefully a little more entusiastic reviews to follow in due course...
The obscurities both come from the "Treasures from the Archives" strand of the fest ('lost' and newly restored or 'rediscovered' classics) and it is a little unusual for us to watch two of these two days in a row. The first was "The Goose Woman", a silent feature from 1925 with impeccable credentials. It was directed by Clarence Brown who went on to direct a string of 30s and 40s classics and starred Louise Dresser (already into middle age when she made her movie debut a few years earlier), Jack Pickford (brother of Mary and not overly charismatic), and rising star Constance Bennett (sister of Joan who both were memorable in films of the next two decades). The story concerns an erstwhile famous opera singer who lost both her career and her voice when she gave birth to an illegitimate son many years earlier and who has become a drunken slattern on her run-down farm. She sees an opportunity to regain her celebrity when a rich neighbour is murdered and fabricates a story which unfortunately implicates her estranged son (who is of course romancing the successful actress Bennett). Dresser's version of the events is supported by the state prosecutor -- the wonderfully named actor Gustav von Seyffertitz, until true but long-suppressed mother love breaks through. The film as you may guess is something of a pot-boiler but a stand-out turn from Dresser just about saves the day. Showing with this 83-minute movie were two Vitaphone shorts featuring former vaudeville stars and each more embarrassing than the next.
The second 'treasure' was a little-known, obscure feature from neo-realist Italian director Roberto Rossellini, completely at odds with his other films called "The Machine that Kills Bad People" (1952). One just doesn't think of this director as being able to handle satirical fantasy which is what is on display here. Set in a small seaport town south of Naples where a broadly-drawn group of yanks have recently arrived to develop a hotel on the land of the communal cemetery, a photographer is visited by a strange old man who teaches him the secret of using his camera to kill those who just don't deserve to live. Taking a picture of a picture in his studio, the subject suddenly expires (in the same unmovable pose) in another part of town -- these range from the bumptious village policeman, a very noisy donkey, a rich old woman and her greedy relatives, and an assortment of corrupt town officials who wish to divert a recent windfall of funds from the government to their own selfish ends. The whole thing plays like some sort of peasant farce, striving to make its points about the deserving poor of the town (very Rossellini) versus the rich folk who live up the town's many steep staircases. It certainly had its moments of comic mayhem along with its attempts to make some serious points from the director's personal credo; its rediscovery is very welcome -- if only as a palliative to Rossellini's more humourless films. Showing alongside this was the newly remastered and re-colored Melies short, the familiar "A Trip to the Moon" which has been making the festival rounds, starting as the opener at this year's Cannes -- worth seeing for its historical importance, if in fact rather silly and crude.
Next up was the hugely enjoyable and nearly impossible to categorize French film, "The Fairy", written and directed by three of its four leads: Dominique Abel, the Australian-born Fiona Gordon, and Bruno Romy. I have not seen the team's two earlier films, but will certainly seek them out if this one is anything to go by. The tall, skinny and gawky Abel plays the night clerk at a small seaside hotel, beset by interruptions as he tries to watch TV and eat his ketchuppy sandwich, particularly from a weird Englishman with his beloved Sealyham hidden in a plaid carry-all. In walks the equally tall and long-limbed Gordon who announces that she is a fairy and that she will grant him three wishes -- two of which he requests immediately but the third of which is still pending by the film's end. Romy's contribution is that of a more-than-short-sighted bar owner who keeps walking into the walls. The main delights however come from the characters 'Dom' and 'Fiona' as they pursue their weird attraction and love affair in a series of acrobatic dances and Keatonesque set pieces, including Fiona's magically giving birth to six-month old child virtually overnight. Hovering in the background are three black illegals who want to get to England and a pair of comic Keystone-ish cops. The innocent silliness is strangely infectious and while I do not see this movie doing much box office, I can certainly see it becoming a cult favourite.
On to "Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai" from Miike. His early films had a certain weird appeal in their crazy takes on the yakuza genre, but his later works were largely long-winded and rather tedious affairs. Last year's historical romp "Thirteen Assassins" seemed to imply a return to form and this movie, shot quite unnecessarily in 3-D, promised more of the same. Set during a peaceful period in the l7th Century and based on an earlier film, this opulent but slow-moving saga tells of the clash between traditional 'honour' and humanity. Out of work samurai have been approaching noble houses, asking their permission to commit ritual suicide in their courtyards, in the hope of being bought off with either work or a few coins. In this box within another box storytelling, an older ronin has come to the House of Ii to make such a request; there he is told the story of another younger man who foolishly did the same and who was forced to try to kill himself with a bamboo sword (having been forced to sell his real one) and who is then beheaded by the stern clan lord. Then he tells his own story -- turns out the youngster was this man's son-in-law whose death also resulted in those of his grandson and daughter, and he has come to seek revenge. While beautifully shot, with only the very occasional effective use of 3-D effects in the shallow and dark interiors, the story just creaked along and proved more exhausting than entertaining, with virtually no action at all before the final minutes.
More and hopefully a little more entusiastic reviews to follow in due course...
Wednesday, 12 October 2011
Skyline (2010)
As forewarned, it is now over a week since my last entry and while I am not exactly experiencing withdrawal symptoms, I thought I had better touch base before my marathon London Film Festival viewing commences tomorrow. Since you ask, St. Petersburg provided a great if exhausting weekend. It was one of the very few cities remaining on my wish-list of destinations; I am happy to have finally been able to visit The Hermitage -- overwhelming in scope and size, even if the art collection itself was a little disappointingly underwhelming. As predicted I saw no movies during my stay, but did satisfy another passion: In a city where even a simple snack is wildly expensive, DVDs (and I am not talking about pirate copies of recent releases which are apparently a thriving industry there) are ridiculously cheap -- well under £4 each. Moreover, I was able to find copies of "Volga Volga". "Happy Guys", and Kin-Dza-Dza (all recently reviewed on this blog). So Pretty Pink is a happy bunny indeed.
The above load of rubbish is only one of two movies that I have seen since my return and I've already forgotten the title of the other dreary mess -- something about a deaf girl beloved by a young musician who is dying of cancer. (How do I sit through these?). "Skyline" on the other hand was not a disease-of-the-week flick but purportedly a mainstream cinema release from 'The Brothers Strause' (Colin and Greg) whose only previous feature was "Aliens vs. Predator -- Requiem" (2007), which may give you some idea of the level of their idea of entertainment. Both brothers have a long string of special effects credits from "The X-Files" forward and it is clear that whatever budget they had here went totally into the F/X in this alien invasion saga.
The money certainly didn't go into the non-existant script or acting talent. You can tell that a movie is scraping the bottom of the barrel cast-wise when the leads' main claims to fame are television series of varying degrees of popularity. Now I watch very, very little regular television, although I do get hooked by the occasional series, but I recognised the leading man (and I use the term very loosely), Eric Balfour as the druggy boyfriend from "Six Feet Under" many moons ago and the other semi-major male role as David Zayas, the Cuban detective from "Dexter". The three female leads Scottie Thompson, Brittany Daniel, and Crystal Reed obviously scraped beneath my TV radar as did the third male lead Donald Faison.
And they, Folks, were the core of the action, a pretty uninteresting little group of friends, plus Zayas as the building's 'security' serving as some sort of microcosm of what was presumably meant to be happening throughout the city, country, or world. The aliens have invaded without warning and we have little idea what they are after -- although sucking out brains seems to be part of the exercise; it is nigh impossible to avoid being drawn by their hypnotising little blue lights, as increasingly sizey aliens search the environment for more people to absorb. At one point 'the army' or something send in a fleet of planes which are swiped down like so many annoying little gnats. The message gets across: humanity is doomed, although we have not the slightest idea why. There is some totally unintelligible action at the end which may or may not suggest that Balfour and his pregnant sweetie Thompson may actually survive, setting up the possibility (God help us) of a sequel.
To give credit where credit is due, the special effects were generally pretty superior and I particularly liked Faison getting smashed with a heavy metal thump when he tries to escape in an open-topped car. Obviously, given the brothers' technical expertise, they spent their budget in a way to give us a showy spectacle. However we could have done with a more clear-cut storyline, some vague indication of hope for humanity, and some characters that we might actually care about.
The above load of rubbish is only one of two movies that I have seen since my return and I've already forgotten the title of the other dreary mess -- something about a deaf girl beloved by a young musician who is dying of cancer. (How do I sit through these?). "Skyline" on the other hand was not a disease-of-the-week flick but purportedly a mainstream cinema release from 'The Brothers Strause' (Colin and Greg) whose only previous feature was "Aliens vs. Predator -- Requiem" (2007), which may give you some idea of the level of their idea of entertainment. Both brothers have a long string of special effects credits from "The X-Files" forward and it is clear that whatever budget they had here went totally into the F/X in this alien invasion saga.
The money certainly didn't go into the non-existant script or acting talent. You can tell that a movie is scraping the bottom of the barrel cast-wise when the leads' main claims to fame are television series of varying degrees of popularity. Now I watch very, very little regular television, although I do get hooked by the occasional series, but I recognised the leading man (and I use the term very loosely), Eric Balfour as the druggy boyfriend from "Six Feet Under" many moons ago and the other semi-major male role as David Zayas, the Cuban detective from "Dexter". The three female leads Scottie Thompson, Brittany Daniel, and Crystal Reed obviously scraped beneath my TV radar as did the third male lead Donald Faison.
And they, Folks, were the core of the action, a pretty uninteresting little group of friends, plus Zayas as the building's 'security' serving as some sort of microcosm of what was presumably meant to be happening throughout the city, country, or world. The aliens have invaded without warning and we have little idea what they are after -- although sucking out brains seems to be part of the exercise; it is nigh impossible to avoid being drawn by their hypnotising little blue lights, as increasingly sizey aliens search the environment for more people to absorb. At one point 'the army' or something send in a fleet of planes which are swiped down like so many annoying little gnats. The message gets across: humanity is doomed, although we have not the slightest idea why. There is some totally unintelligible action at the end which may or may not suggest that Balfour and his pregnant sweetie Thompson may actually survive, setting up the possibility (God help us) of a sequel.
To give credit where credit is due, the special effects were generally pretty superior and I particularly liked Faison getting smashed with a heavy metal thump when he tries to escape in an open-topped car. Obviously, given the brothers' technical expertise, they spent their budget in a way to give us a showy spectacle. However we could have done with a more clear-cut storyline, some vague indication of hope for humanity, and some characters that we might actually care about.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
The English Patient (1996)
I can recall not being overly taken with the lengthy adaptation of Michael Ondaatje's equally sprawling novel when I first viewed it. However since it managed to capture nine Academy Awards out of its twelve nominations, making it one of the most successful movies in Oscar history, I decided to take a fresh look to discover what made it so award-worthy.
It might be useful to first examine the three categories where it did not win, namely best actor for Ralph Fiennes, best actress for Kristin Scott Thomas, and somewhat surprisingly best adapted screenplay. I have not read the original novel which I gather had been considered unfilmable, since it is apparently a collection of random thoughts and impressions. From this the film's director Anthony Minghella managed to script a coherent scenario of doomed, forbidden love between Fiennes' Hungarian Count Almasy and Scott Thomas' adulterous wife of poor old Colin Firth. Almasy was a real person who was indeed part of the loose group of colleagues exploring the desert in the 1930s, but since he survived World War II, dying in Austria in 1951 and was quite probably homosexual, the film's story is at best a piece of highly romanticized fiction -- not that it is any the less interesting for that. It was Fiennes' second Oscar nomination and there is no denying that his part is well-acted, especially as he lies horribly burnt and dying under Canadian nurse Juliette Binoche's tender care; however the award that year went to Geoffrey Rush for his much showier role as the mad yet talented pianist in "Shine". Scott Thomas lost to Frances McDormand in "Fargo" and I would not dispute the fact that she quite probably did not deserve to win for what was largely a mechanical and somewhat wooden portrayal.
The one acting Oscar went to Binoche for best female support, although I would argue that her role was as important, if not more so, than Scott Thomas'. This win was a colossal upset since the odds-on-favourite was Lauren Bacall for her first-ever nomination for "The Mirror has Two Faces"; everyone and especially the likeable Bacall expected a shoo-in as being 'her turn' (and I can still picture her teeth-gritting losing face), but there is little doubt in my mind that Binoche's dynamic turn was a worthy winner.
Of course the film won best picture and best director for Minghella, easily beating "Fargo", "Jerry Maguire", "Secrets and Lies", and "Shine". Considering these films in retrospect, I could picture "Fargo" -- a wonderfully entertaining flick from the Coen Brothers -- being the victor, but the overall impressive production values of "The English Patient" do on balance outshine the loser's. No doubt this is why the film also won for art direction, cinematography, editing, sound, and original dramatic score. The movie is brilliantly filmed, capturing the expanse and mysteries of the Sahara, with a majestic score to match. "Fargo" may well be the more enjoyable watch, but this film captures the epic scale required for romanticized storytelling, and one can admire the skill that went into its production without necessarily 'loving' the movie.
Oddly enough one category where the film was not nominated was best make-up and one might have expected some recognition for the face-distorting make-up that Fiennes must have suffered during large stretches of the scenario. It must have been good preparation for his hideous physiog as Lord Voldemort (although no doubt that was all CGI!)
By and large I am glad that I decided to watch this film again, although some of the smaller pleasures come from its supporting cast, particularly from Naveen Andrews as a Sikh bomb-disposal expert (and Binoche's unlikely lover) and a shifty-looking Willem Dafoe as a crook seeking revenge on Almasy's possible traitor. The screenplay is well constructed constantly moving between its now and then scenes, drawing the viewer into the motivations for the not-at-all-English patient's supposed memory loss, creating sympathy for him where possibly little is due.
A word to the wise: Entries will be rather sporadic over the next few weeks as I am going away for my birthday this long weekend and I don't think I'll be watching many movies in St. Petersburg -- not the one in Florida! When I return, I then have twelve sets of tickets for the London Film Festival beginning next Thursday. I promise to cover all of the fest's undoubted delights, but will need to do so when I am able to grab a few spare hours. Watch this space...
It might be useful to first examine the three categories where it did not win, namely best actor for Ralph Fiennes, best actress for Kristin Scott Thomas, and somewhat surprisingly best adapted screenplay. I have not read the original novel which I gather had been considered unfilmable, since it is apparently a collection of random thoughts and impressions. From this the film's director Anthony Minghella managed to script a coherent scenario of doomed, forbidden love between Fiennes' Hungarian Count Almasy and Scott Thomas' adulterous wife of poor old Colin Firth. Almasy was a real person who was indeed part of the loose group of colleagues exploring the desert in the 1930s, but since he survived World War II, dying in Austria in 1951 and was quite probably homosexual, the film's story is at best a piece of highly romanticized fiction -- not that it is any the less interesting for that. It was Fiennes' second Oscar nomination and there is no denying that his part is well-acted, especially as he lies horribly burnt and dying under Canadian nurse Juliette Binoche's tender care; however the award that year went to Geoffrey Rush for his much showier role as the mad yet talented pianist in "Shine". Scott Thomas lost to Frances McDormand in "Fargo" and I would not dispute the fact that she quite probably did not deserve to win for what was largely a mechanical and somewhat wooden portrayal.
The one acting Oscar went to Binoche for best female support, although I would argue that her role was as important, if not more so, than Scott Thomas'. This win was a colossal upset since the odds-on-favourite was Lauren Bacall for her first-ever nomination for "The Mirror has Two Faces"; everyone and especially the likeable Bacall expected a shoo-in as being 'her turn' (and I can still picture her teeth-gritting losing face), but there is little doubt in my mind that Binoche's dynamic turn was a worthy winner.
Of course the film won best picture and best director for Minghella, easily beating "Fargo", "Jerry Maguire", "Secrets and Lies", and "Shine". Considering these films in retrospect, I could picture "Fargo" -- a wonderfully entertaining flick from the Coen Brothers -- being the victor, but the overall impressive production values of "The English Patient" do on balance outshine the loser's. No doubt this is why the film also won for art direction, cinematography, editing, sound, and original dramatic score. The movie is brilliantly filmed, capturing the expanse and mysteries of the Sahara, with a majestic score to match. "Fargo" may well be the more enjoyable watch, but this film captures the epic scale required for romanticized storytelling, and one can admire the skill that went into its production without necessarily 'loving' the movie.
Oddly enough one category where the film was not nominated was best make-up and one might have expected some recognition for the face-distorting make-up that Fiennes must have suffered during large stretches of the scenario. It must have been good preparation for his hideous physiog as Lord Voldemort (although no doubt that was all CGI!)
By and large I am glad that I decided to watch this film again, although some of the smaller pleasures come from its supporting cast, particularly from Naveen Andrews as a Sikh bomb-disposal expert (and Binoche's unlikely lover) and a shifty-looking Willem Dafoe as a crook seeking revenge on Almasy's possible traitor. The screenplay is well constructed constantly moving between its now and then scenes, drawing the viewer into the motivations for the not-at-all-English patient's supposed memory loss, creating sympathy for him where possibly little is due.
A word to the wise: Entries will be rather sporadic over the next few weeks as I am going away for my birthday this long weekend and I don't think I'll be watching many movies in St. Petersburg -- not the one in Florida! When I return, I then have twelve sets of tickets for the London Film Festival beginning next Thursday. I promise to cover all of the fest's undoubted delights, but will need to do so when I am able to grab a few spare hours. Watch this space...
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
A bit of this, a bit of that...
It's been another one of those fallow periods since I last wrote where I have seen the usual number of movies but haven't found one amongst them to tickle my fancy. (I know that statement could be made to sound rude.) So let's have a look at some of the 'offenders':
It's been what could be described as "Deficient Dad Week" on Sky Movies Premiere. For a change they have actually screened five films new to satellite rather than the scant four they've been getting away with, but by and large they were a sorry lot. What was meant to be the best of the bunch was award-winner "The Kids Will be Alright", where Mark Ruffalo was the deficient father, being the sperm donor trying to get to know his progeny after being contacted by the offspring of a happy lesbian couple, Annette Bening and Julianne Moore. Bening of course won an Oscar for her role, but Moore as the flakier of the pair and the one who succumbs to shagging Ruffalo was every bit as good. The two teenaged sprogs were also fine, but I always have a hard time warming to Ruffalo who may be a decent enough actor but whose scruffy looks always manage to turn me off. This drama from lesbian/feminist director Lisa Cholodenko was certainly worthy, but frankly not particularly involving or for that matter entertaining.
Then there were what I would label the 'kiddies' films: Do the powers that churn out the schedules for Sky truly believe that the peak-time premiere of the week should be something like "Marmaduke", an oversized great dane voiced by Owen Wilson? Here dad's job forces the family to relocate to a dogocentric petfood park, and I ask if we are meant to be entertained by a plethora of CGI-created talking pooches plus one token pussy? I suspect the answer to both questions is a resounding 'no'. I like doggy-pix as much as the next chap, but this was beyond feeble. Then there was "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" (which has alreadly spawned a sequel, God help us) and "Ramona and Beezus" based on a popular children's book. Steve Zahn (enough said) was the wimpy kid's ineffectual dad and John Corbett, another actor who makes me grind my teeth, was the father in the latter -- not a hopeless dud-dad but rather worryingly out of work. My inner child often finds something to amuse in many movies intended primarily for kids, but both of these were not remotely aimed at an adult audience. Still I do know one little girl (stand up Lucy) who occasionally seems to watch the 'wimpy' movie on what seems a continuous loop.
Finally Sky 'treated' us to "The World's Greatest Dad" which has been reasonably well reviewed as a sparkling black comedy from director Bobcat Goldthwait (now there's a comic name!) It is probably labelled a comedy because it stars Robin Williams who will forever be thought of as a comic actor -- when he is not just being nauseatingly twee - but there was nothing remotely funny about this film. Williams, an uncharismatic high school teacher and would-be but unpublished author, is the single dad to bolshy and pretty obnoxious teenager Daryl Sabara. When his son accidentally dies during some autoerotic experimentation, Williams stages a false suicide scene and writes a heart-rendering suicide note to cover the situation. Lo and behold, suddenly Williams is the popular man of the hour and his awful son, whom nobody much liked, is the centre of a what-a-wonderful-misunderstood-genius-he-was cult. Of course it all falls apart when William eventually tells the truth. I suppose there is some latent satire here about society's false values, but there was little that was comic in the telling. Tragic more like.
Of course there is plenty of viewing outside Sky. This week's included a couple of oriental period pieces which were OK if not thrilling and a 2008 French flick called "Mark of an Angel" (or its UK title "Angel of Mine"). This one was fairly involving and starred Catherine Frot as a slightly neurotic woman undergoing a divorce from her husband of twelve years and contesting the custody of their son. Some seven years ago she lost her newborn daughter in a hospital fire and hasn't exactly been stable since. When collecting her son from a friend's party she spots a lovely seven-year old girl and decides there and then that she is her lost daughter. (How one is meant to recognise a child last seen as an infant is anyone's guess, but probably many mothers would think this feasible). So she begins to stalk the girl's family who are about to relocate to Montreal, turning up wherever they are and even pretending that she is interested in buying their house. The girl's mother is played by Sandrine Bonnaire, another fine actress -- even if she was looking terribly anorexic here. We are led to believe that Frot really is an obsessed nutter, until we gradually become aware that perhaps there is more to Bonnaire's protective behaviour than meets the eye. Supposedly 'based on a true story' this movie doesn't just stop dead in its tracks like so many French films, but actually proceeds further than necessary with its resolution, past the point that we need to know. As an acting masterclass the film was fine, but it's not one that is likely to become a classic.
Finally what should have been the highlight of the week was actually something of an anticlimax: a reconstructed 1922 silent "The Pharaoh's Wife" from the great Ernst Lubitsch before he left Germany for the States. The trouble is that much of the original nitrate print seems to have been lost forever and great chunks of the film were merely stills and title cards covering the story. What has been saved was lovingly restored and one can see the odd example of the famous "Lubitsch-touch" in the faces of some of the characters and the luscious and ornate Egyptian settings. The Pharaoh is hammingly overplayed by the great Emil Jannings, his maudit love of a Greek slave is actually attractive by modern standards, but her own love interest was unfortunately embodied in a kohl-eyed nerd. The Pharaoh is about to be betrothed to the hideous daughter of the Ethopian king (portrayed with his Court as a pack of fuzzy-wuzzies), and his rejection of her for a slave leads to war and ultimately tragedy all 'round. Although I am being at best lukewarm about this film, in truth I felt privileged to be able to view any cinema remnants from such a great director. I only wish they had been able to save rather more.
It's been what could be described as "Deficient Dad Week" on Sky Movies Premiere. For a change they have actually screened five films new to satellite rather than the scant four they've been getting away with, but by and large they were a sorry lot. What was meant to be the best of the bunch was award-winner "The Kids Will be Alright", where Mark Ruffalo was the deficient father, being the sperm donor trying to get to know his progeny after being contacted by the offspring of a happy lesbian couple, Annette Bening and Julianne Moore. Bening of course won an Oscar for her role, but Moore as the flakier of the pair and the one who succumbs to shagging Ruffalo was every bit as good. The two teenaged sprogs were also fine, but I always have a hard time warming to Ruffalo who may be a decent enough actor but whose scruffy looks always manage to turn me off. This drama from lesbian/feminist director Lisa Cholodenko was certainly worthy, but frankly not particularly involving or for that matter entertaining.
Then there were what I would label the 'kiddies' films: Do the powers that churn out the schedules for Sky truly believe that the peak-time premiere of the week should be something like "Marmaduke", an oversized great dane voiced by Owen Wilson? Here dad's job forces the family to relocate to a dogocentric petfood park, and I ask if we are meant to be entertained by a plethora of CGI-created talking pooches plus one token pussy? I suspect the answer to both questions is a resounding 'no'. I like doggy-pix as much as the next chap, but this was beyond feeble. Then there was "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" (which has alreadly spawned a sequel, God help us) and "Ramona and Beezus" based on a popular children's book. Steve Zahn (enough said) was the wimpy kid's ineffectual dad and John Corbett, another actor who makes me grind my teeth, was the father in the latter -- not a hopeless dud-dad but rather worryingly out of work. My inner child often finds something to amuse in many movies intended primarily for kids, but both of these were not remotely aimed at an adult audience. Still I do know one little girl (stand up Lucy) who occasionally seems to watch the 'wimpy' movie on what seems a continuous loop.
Finally Sky 'treated' us to "The World's Greatest Dad" which has been reasonably well reviewed as a sparkling black comedy from director Bobcat Goldthwait (now there's a comic name!) It is probably labelled a comedy because it stars Robin Williams who will forever be thought of as a comic actor -- when he is not just being nauseatingly twee - but there was nothing remotely funny about this film. Williams, an uncharismatic high school teacher and would-be but unpublished author, is the single dad to bolshy and pretty obnoxious teenager Daryl Sabara. When his son accidentally dies during some autoerotic experimentation, Williams stages a false suicide scene and writes a heart-rendering suicide note to cover the situation. Lo and behold, suddenly Williams is the popular man of the hour and his awful son, whom nobody much liked, is the centre of a what-a-wonderful-misunderstood-genius-he-was cult. Of course it all falls apart when William eventually tells the truth. I suppose there is some latent satire here about society's false values, but there was little that was comic in the telling. Tragic more like.
Of course there is plenty of viewing outside Sky. This week's included a couple of oriental period pieces which were OK if not thrilling and a 2008 French flick called "Mark of an Angel" (or its UK title "Angel of Mine"). This one was fairly involving and starred Catherine Frot as a slightly neurotic woman undergoing a divorce from her husband of twelve years and contesting the custody of their son. Some seven years ago she lost her newborn daughter in a hospital fire and hasn't exactly been stable since. When collecting her son from a friend's party she spots a lovely seven-year old girl and decides there and then that she is her lost daughter. (How one is meant to recognise a child last seen as an infant is anyone's guess, but probably many mothers would think this feasible). So she begins to stalk the girl's family who are about to relocate to Montreal, turning up wherever they are and even pretending that she is interested in buying their house. The girl's mother is played by Sandrine Bonnaire, another fine actress -- even if she was looking terribly anorexic here. We are led to believe that Frot really is an obsessed nutter, until we gradually become aware that perhaps there is more to Bonnaire's protective behaviour than meets the eye. Supposedly 'based on a true story' this movie doesn't just stop dead in its tracks like so many French films, but actually proceeds further than necessary with its resolution, past the point that we need to know. As an acting masterclass the film was fine, but it's not one that is likely to become a classic.
Finally what should have been the highlight of the week was actually something of an anticlimax: a reconstructed 1922 silent "The Pharaoh's Wife" from the great Ernst Lubitsch before he left Germany for the States. The trouble is that much of the original nitrate print seems to have been lost forever and great chunks of the film were merely stills and title cards covering the story. What has been saved was lovingly restored and one can see the odd example of the famous "Lubitsch-touch" in the faces of some of the characters and the luscious and ornate Egyptian settings. The Pharaoh is hammingly overplayed by the great Emil Jannings, his maudit love of a Greek slave is actually attractive by modern standards, but her own love interest was unfortunately embodied in a kohl-eyed nerd. The Pharaoh is about to be betrothed to the hideous daughter of the Ethopian king (portrayed with his Court as a pack of fuzzy-wuzzies), and his rejection of her for a slave leads to war and ultimately tragedy all 'round. Although I am being at best lukewarm about this film, in truth I felt privileged to be able to view any cinema remnants from such a great director. I only wish they had been able to save rather more.
Friday, 23 September 2011
Gainsbourg (2010)
I really had no preconceptions about this biopic of the multi-talented French musician-artist-writer-singer Serge Gainsbourg and like most 'foreigners' I was really only familiar with his scandalous "Je t'Aime" duet with Jane Birkin. However, after sampling a selection of his other songs during the course of this movie, I am not surprised that his musical style did not translate well outside France. and I did not emerge a converted fan. However, I was quite taken with the film itself, especially for the first half, before it seemed to peter out. Much like Gainsbourg's career I suspect.
A first feature by writer-director Joann Sfar's from his own graphic novel, it strives to give the viewer a shortcut into the mind of a man with something to prove, without giving us much idea of the timeline or much understanding of any real accomplishments. It starts in wartime Paris when young Lucien (as he was then called) and his Russian-immigrant parents manage to survive relatively unscathed, despite the anti-Jewish laws in force. The child actor Kacey Mottet Klein does a fine job of portraying the young boy as a precocious, yet charming troublemaker. He is sexually aware for his age and brags to his schoolmates of greater expertise than was probably the case. He has an alter-ego cum imaginary friend to protect him, called La Gueule (the mug) a larger than life Jewish caricature with an oversized semitic nose and huge ears, an externalisation of his own concerns about his appearance. This shadow accompanies him throughout his life, urging him on to greater and greater excesses and is an imaginative externalisation of his own conflicted mind. Parenthetically, La Gueule is played by Doug Jones, who has given us a fine line in fantastic creatures in films like "Hellboy" and "Pan's Labyrinth".
The adult Lucien-now-Serge is played by Eric Elmosnino who is appropriately homely in appearance, but who does not let his looks stop his ambitions as a lady's man. Unfortunately he does not project much personality and I found his portrayal less sympathetic than young Master Klein's. I rapidly lost interest in his affairs with Juliette Greco (Anna Mouglalis), Brigitte Bardot (Laetitia Casta -- far too overblown), and Jane Birkin (Lucy Gordon, rather better looking than Birkin and an unfortunate young suicide during the film's editing). The man with something to prove managed to charm a number of women, but we have little insight as to why he pursued so self-destructive a course with his smoking, drinking, and womanising and even less insight into what talents he may have squandered along the way.
Sfar's film starts off like a house on fire, enchanting the viewer with his fanciful presentation, but he loses his way half way through and the movie tails off, losing our attention and interest as well. Had he been able to maintain the style of his novel throughout, his subject might have been far better served. As it is, we are left with a not too flattering portrait of an apparently not too nice man.
A first feature by writer-director Joann Sfar's from his own graphic novel, it strives to give the viewer a shortcut into the mind of a man with something to prove, without giving us much idea of the timeline or much understanding of any real accomplishments. It starts in wartime Paris when young Lucien (as he was then called) and his Russian-immigrant parents manage to survive relatively unscathed, despite the anti-Jewish laws in force. The child actor Kacey Mottet Klein does a fine job of portraying the young boy as a precocious, yet charming troublemaker. He is sexually aware for his age and brags to his schoolmates of greater expertise than was probably the case. He has an alter-ego cum imaginary friend to protect him, called La Gueule (the mug) a larger than life Jewish caricature with an oversized semitic nose and huge ears, an externalisation of his own concerns about his appearance. This shadow accompanies him throughout his life, urging him on to greater and greater excesses and is an imaginative externalisation of his own conflicted mind. Parenthetically, La Gueule is played by Doug Jones, who has given us a fine line in fantastic creatures in films like "Hellboy" and "Pan's Labyrinth".
The adult Lucien-now-Serge is played by Eric Elmosnino who is appropriately homely in appearance, but who does not let his looks stop his ambitions as a lady's man. Unfortunately he does not project much personality and I found his portrayal less sympathetic than young Master Klein's. I rapidly lost interest in his affairs with Juliette Greco (Anna Mouglalis), Brigitte Bardot (Laetitia Casta -- far too overblown), and Jane Birkin (Lucy Gordon, rather better looking than Birkin and an unfortunate young suicide during the film's editing). The man with something to prove managed to charm a number of women, but we have little insight as to why he pursued so self-destructive a course with his smoking, drinking, and womanising and even less insight into what talents he may have squandered along the way.
Sfar's film starts off like a house on fire, enchanting the viewer with his fanciful presentation, but he loses his way half way through and the movie tails off, losing our attention and interest as well. Had he been able to maintain the style of his novel throughout, his subject might have been far better served. As it is, we are left with a not too flattering portrait of an apparently not too nice man.
Sunday, 18 September 2011
Jitterbugs (1943)
The comedy team of Laurel and Hardy has entertained generations of children and adults and will probably continue to enchant many generations to come. Theirs was a simple world of affection and gentleness, strikingly at odds with the brash humour of modern times. Their antics and mishaps will carry on raising smiles as viewers continue to succumb to their special brand of silliness. From their early shorts back in the silent days to their classic features of the l930s, they are undoubtedly cinema greats. It is therefore a little unfortunate that their later movies do not consistently showcase their great talents, lumbering the boys with a miscellany of distracting co-stars. From 1941 when they did a production deal with 20th Century Fox for the fairly pedestrian "Great Guns", six of their last eight Hollywood features were produced under that studio's auspices and it is fairly clear that the aging team had lost much of their incentive for zany comedy. As for their very last movie "Utopia" made for a French studio in 1951, the less said the better. Still there is so much of their output for us to cherish.
"Jitterbugs" is one of their last movies to showcase them at their best with memorable bits of shtick and a relatively reasonable supporting cast. Despite the nominal 'romantic' lead of one Bob Bailey -- a very minor mainly radio actor, there are excellent turns from "The Maltese Falcon's" Lee Patrick as a would-be femme fatale, an early showcase for the then fresh-faced singer Vivian Blaine (who shall forever be the somewhat harder Miss Adelaide of "Guys and Dolls"), and in one of his 326 (!) film roles hissable villain Douglas Fowley. The boys play a travelling two-man jitterbug band with a Rube Goldberg assortment of instruments, who are roped into fronting for con-man Bailey's 'magic tablet to turn water to gas' during wartime rationing. They, of course, are far too innocent to work out that he might be a fraud. When Bailey becomes enamoured of small-town beauty Blaine and discovers that her dear old mum has been conned out of her house by a band of tricksters, he vows to help expose the villains and drags the boys into his scheme. Ollie is passed off as a wealthy Southern gentleman (a role not unlike his own background) to set up a situation where the baddies will be hoist with their own petard.
So we are treated to a scene of Ollie dancing with and romancing George, ever so beautifully graceful for a large man. We have the supposedly teetotal Stanley getting more and more sloshed as he hides under the lovers' chaise lounge, catching the seat of his trousers on a dislodged spring when he springs to escape. We also have one of Stanley's classic turns in drag as he poses as Blaine's 'rich aunt from Boston'. The film is far from Laurel and Hardy's finest, but it has enough memorable moments to make it worthwhile viewing. There is perhaps one number too many of Miss Blaine's warbling padding out the 70 minutes running time, but one advantage of DVDs is that you can fast-forward through the dross to get back to the misadventures of our sweet mismatched pair.
"Jitterbugs" is one of their last movies to showcase them at their best with memorable bits of shtick and a relatively reasonable supporting cast. Despite the nominal 'romantic' lead of one Bob Bailey -- a very minor mainly radio actor, there are excellent turns from "The Maltese Falcon's" Lee Patrick as a would-be femme fatale, an early showcase for the then fresh-faced singer Vivian Blaine (who shall forever be the somewhat harder Miss Adelaide of "Guys and Dolls"), and in one of his 326 (!) film roles hissable villain Douglas Fowley. The boys play a travelling two-man jitterbug band with a Rube Goldberg assortment of instruments, who are roped into fronting for con-man Bailey's 'magic tablet to turn water to gas' during wartime rationing. They, of course, are far too innocent to work out that he might be a fraud. When Bailey becomes enamoured of small-town beauty Blaine and discovers that her dear old mum has been conned out of her house by a band of tricksters, he vows to help expose the villains and drags the boys into his scheme. Ollie is passed off as a wealthy Southern gentleman (a role not unlike his own background) to set up a situation where the baddies will be hoist with their own petard.
So we are treated to a scene of Ollie dancing with and romancing George, ever so beautifully graceful for a large man. We have the supposedly teetotal Stanley getting more and more sloshed as he hides under the lovers' chaise lounge, catching the seat of his trousers on a dislodged spring when he springs to escape. We also have one of Stanley's classic turns in drag as he poses as Blaine's 'rich aunt from Boston'. The film is far from Laurel and Hardy's finest, but it has enough memorable moments to make it worthwhile viewing. There is perhaps one number too many of Miss Blaine's warbling padding out the 70 minutes running time, but one advantage of DVDs is that you can fast-forward through the dross to get back to the misadventures of our sweet mismatched pair.
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Room and a Half (2009)
Had you told me in advance that I would be spellbound by a two-hour plus Russian language film by a director I don't know, starring actors unfamiliar to me, and being a biopic of a Nobel Laureate for literature whose name only rings vague bells, I probably would have told you to 'sit on it'. To prove how wrong preconceptions can be, this is one hell of a fascinating movie.
It's the first feature film from 70-year old director Andrey Khrzhanovskiy, better known as an animator and documentary filmmaker, who brings all of his skills to creating the world of poet/essayist Joseph Brodsky. It ends with the warning: "This film is fictional. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental". However this is something of a conceit, since Brodsky was a very real person, constantly at odds with the authorities; he was first exiled within Russia, sentenced to 5 years' hard labour and then 'invited to leave' Russia at the age of 32. The authorities refused to recognize him as an 'officially-registered' poet and he was charged with 'social parasitism' (and the great crime of being Jewish as well). He went to the States where he was a visiting professor at various universities, became a naturalized citizen, won the Nobel Prize for his book of essays in 1987, and died in New York in l996 at the age of 55.
The film is 'fictional' in the sense that the director has taken certain artistic liberties in recreating his childhood and his relationship with his doting parents, his prurient teenaged and young adult 'bohemian' years, and the yearning of his later years. Khrzhanovskiy has done this by mixing black and white real footage and colourful dramatic reconstructions, with monochrome silhouette and conventional animation. Brodsky is represented as a lascivious cat (meow-talk was a running joke with his father) and his parents as two black crows, such as the two that he says suddently appeared in his garden after each of their deaths. The actors playing his parents (both of whom give wonderfully warm performances) do not age throughout -- since this is obviously the way he remembered them during his long overseas exile in America. In his childhood on his walks through St. Petersburg, his father would regale him with the histories of each elegant building and the stories of the families who lived there before the revolution. At the same time, his family is forced to move from their bourgeois flat to a communal apartment (the room and a half of the title), and threatened as Jews with iminent deportation to the Far East. An animated fantasy of their piano and other cultural musical instruments floating away to the East, as the barbarians flourish, is brilliantly conceived.
The adult Brodsky, again embodied as an unchanging middle-aged man, always wrote and dreamt about returning to St.Petersburg, but never did. He wrote, "Poets always come back, whether in flesh or on paper. I like to believe both." His parents, who claim never to have understood his poetry, can only watch the Nobel prizegiving on their small black and white TV (normally tuned to ice skating); they have tried in vain to get permission to visit him overseas, but are constantly told that "your journey is inappropriate". There is a touching scene near the film's end when the three of them are reuinited around the small table in their old flat in what is now obviously contemporary Russia, long after their respective deaths. They catch up on all the news and gossip, but they do understand that they are all dead -- or they could not be sitting together. The film's final dedication is "In Loving Memory of Our Parents".
This is a wonderfully warm and witty film and a bravura example of the filmmaker's art.
It's the first feature film from 70-year old director Andrey Khrzhanovskiy, better known as an animator and documentary filmmaker, who brings all of his skills to creating the world of poet/essayist Joseph Brodsky. It ends with the warning: "This film is fictional. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental". However this is something of a conceit, since Brodsky was a very real person, constantly at odds with the authorities; he was first exiled within Russia, sentenced to 5 years' hard labour and then 'invited to leave' Russia at the age of 32. The authorities refused to recognize him as an 'officially-registered' poet and he was charged with 'social parasitism' (and the great crime of being Jewish as well). He went to the States where he was a visiting professor at various universities, became a naturalized citizen, won the Nobel Prize for his book of essays in 1987, and died in New York in l996 at the age of 55.
The film is 'fictional' in the sense that the director has taken certain artistic liberties in recreating his childhood and his relationship with his doting parents, his prurient teenaged and young adult 'bohemian' years, and the yearning of his later years. Khrzhanovskiy has done this by mixing black and white real footage and colourful dramatic reconstructions, with monochrome silhouette and conventional animation. Brodsky is represented as a lascivious cat (meow-talk was a running joke with his father) and his parents as two black crows, such as the two that he says suddently appeared in his garden after each of their deaths. The actors playing his parents (both of whom give wonderfully warm performances) do not age throughout -- since this is obviously the way he remembered them during his long overseas exile in America. In his childhood on his walks through St. Petersburg, his father would regale him with the histories of each elegant building and the stories of the families who lived there before the revolution. At the same time, his family is forced to move from their bourgeois flat to a communal apartment (the room and a half of the title), and threatened as Jews with iminent deportation to the Far East. An animated fantasy of their piano and other cultural musical instruments floating away to the East, as the barbarians flourish, is brilliantly conceived.
The adult Brodsky, again embodied as an unchanging middle-aged man, always wrote and dreamt about returning to St.Petersburg, but never did. He wrote, "Poets always come back, whether in flesh or on paper. I like to believe both." His parents, who claim never to have understood his poetry, can only watch the Nobel prizegiving on their small black and white TV (normally tuned to ice skating); they have tried in vain to get permission to visit him overseas, but are constantly told that "your journey is inappropriate". There is a touching scene near the film's end when the three of them are reuinited around the small table in their old flat in what is now obviously contemporary Russia, long after their respective deaths. They catch up on all the news and gossip, but they do understand that they are all dead -- or they could not be sitting together. The film's final dedication is "In Loving Memory of Our Parents".
This is a wonderfully warm and witty film and a bravura example of the filmmaker's art.
Thursday, 8 September 2011
The Skin I Live In (2011)
Pedro Almodovar's eighteenth film is a more than watchable fable, but one that finds the flamboyant director in a more solemn mode. Reuniting with his favourite 'chico', Antonio Banderas, twenty years after their last collaboration (of five), l990's "Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down", Almodovar revisits his familiar themes of sexual identity, passion, and revenge, but with a new and unfamiliar restraint. Gone are the gaudy colourways and histrionic performances; in their place are opulent but cold settings, underplaying, and overly-controlled hysteria.
The film is purportedly based on the French novel "Tarantula" by Thierry Jonquet, which I am about to read, but noting the back-cover blurb plus Almodovar's own comments on his film's source, it would appear to be a totally different tale to the one that he has written for the screen. The only common factor is that Banderas' character, Dr. Robert Ledgard, is an eminent surgeon, obsessed with finding a synthetic skin, even if this involves Frankenstein-like tampering with animal/human fusions. His initial motivation was brought about by his beloved wife's severe and life-threatening burns after a motor accident, which ultimately led to her suicide when she became aware of the full extent her disfiguration. In an upstairs locked bedroom we have the 'good doctor's' latest project -- the lovely Elena Anaya's Vera, in a full bodysuit covering up her creamy perfection. We learn that she has been there for six years since the suicide of his fragile daughter after a would-be rape, but to reveal Vera's true background would be too much of a spoiler here. It is enough to mention that what began as straightforward, if twisted, revenge by Dr. Ledgard has evolved into irresistible sexual yearning for the object of his tampering, especially after she has been raped by his criminally-sociopathic half-brother (decked out in a tiger suit for the local carnival).
Both the doctor and the 'tiger' are the illegitimate sons of housekeeper Marilia, portrayed by an Almodovar regular from earlier movies, now older and less glamorous, Marisa Paredes. Incidentally, she is not a character in the original novel. She loves both of her sons and tries to overlook the fact that both have become madmen in their separate ways. Talking about 'less glamorous', Banderas too is not the fresh-faced lust-object from the director's films of the l980s, but rather now an aging, leather-faced psychological cipher. Apparently, at the director's urging, he was instructed to play his part as expressionlessly and unemotionally as possible; unfortunately the net result of this underplaying is that his motivations become less and less understandable. His chosen life and work remain much of a mystery to us. As for Anaya who may be Almodovar's new muse after his five films with Penelope Cruz, she is the perfect choice for the captive Vera, lithe yet sensual; Cruz would have been a too lush-bodied presence for the role.
In many ways this is a cold film; while certainly an interesting one, taking its place in the canon of 'mad doctor' movies, it is difficult to get overly enthusiastic about it. Almodovar has made better and more entertaining movies and I am not too certain about the change of pace that is manifested here. However I suspect that it may grow on me -- like a second skin?
The film is purportedly based on the French novel "Tarantula" by Thierry Jonquet, which I am about to read, but noting the back-cover blurb plus Almodovar's own comments on his film's source, it would appear to be a totally different tale to the one that he has written for the screen. The only common factor is that Banderas' character, Dr. Robert Ledgard, is an eminent surgeon, obsessed with finding a synthetic skin, even if this involves Frankenstein-like tampering with animal/human fusions. His initial motivation was brought about by his beloved wife's severe and life-threatening burns after a motor accident, which ultimately led to her suicide when she became aware of the full extent her disfiguration. In an upstairs locked bedroom we have the 'good doctor's' latest project -- the lovely Elena Anaya's Vera, in a full bodysuit covering up her creamy perfection. We learn that she has been there for six years since the suicide of his fragile daughter after a would-be rape, but to reveal Vera's true background would be too much of a spoiler here. It is enough to mention that what began as straightforward, if twisted, revenge by Dr. Ledgard has evolved into irresistible sexual yearning for the object of his tampering, especially after she has been raped by his criminally-sociopathic half-brother (decked out in a tiger suit for the local carnival).
Both the doctor and the 'tiger' are the illegitimate sons of housekeeper Marilia, portrayed by an Almodovar regular from earlier movies, now older and less glamorous, Marisa Paredes. Incidentally, she is not a character in the original novel. She loves both of her sons and tries to overlook the fact that both have become madmen in their separate ways. Talking about 'less glamorous', Banderas too is not the fresh-faced lust-object from the director's films of the l980s, but rather now an aging, leather-faced psychological cipher. Apparently, at the director's urging, he was instructed to play his part as expressionlessly and unemotionally as possible; unfortunately the net result of this underplaying is that his motivations become less and less understandable. His chosen life and work remain much of a mystery to us. As for Anaya who may be Almodovar's new muse after his five films with Penelope Cruz, she is the perfect choice for the captive Vera, lithe yet sensual; Cruz would have been a too lush-bodied presence for the role.
In many ways this is a cold film; while certainly an interesting one, taking its place in the canon of 'mad doctor' movies, it is difficult to get overly enthusiastic about it. Almodovar has made better and more entertaining movies and I am not too certain about the change of pace that is manifested here. However I suspect that it may grow on me -- like a second skin?
Saturday, 3 September 2011
FrightFest 2011 Part Two
Alright, Pat, take a deep breath and get on with the second half of this report -- although it's actually rather more than half, since there are still thirteen films left to plough through:
Compendia: There have always been worthwhile examples of multi-part horror movies going back to the superb 1945 "Dead of Night" and including a number of scary horror compilations from the 1970s. However the conceit of asking a variety of directors to contribute shortish sections to a single movie too often results in a severe case of the Parson's Nose -- the non-horror film called "Aria" (1987) being a good example. FrightFest scheduled two of these films this year, both in late, late night slots, and neither worth the effort to stay awake: "The Theatre Bizarre" and "Chillerama". The former was the brainchild of seven (!) directors including Richard Stanley, Buddy G, and F/X maestro Tom Savini, all held together by a weird framing narrative featuring the iconic Udo Kier as a human puppet. It was something of a mishmash and only the eerie story of a tourist being seduced by a lusty witch in provincial France could be described as 'not too embarrassing', while the final tale of death by gross overeating verged on the nauseating. The other film 'boasted' only four directors and was potentially the more imaginative example of bad taste. However after the idiotic story of a giant spermatazoa terrorizing the neighbourhood and a silly beach-party musical featuring gay lust, I gave up in the middle of the black and white, holocaust-set, 'Diary of Anne Frankenstein'. Sometimes enough is too much -- especially at 2 a.m.
Jokey horror: For some bizarre reason this sub-genre of gross-out splatter tickles my funnybone. "Deadheads" was amusing, but the least appealing of the three examples; we follow the cross-country roadtrip of a 'zombie' who is able to talk and reason, together with his new also-rational zombie bestfriend, and their strong-armed mute zombie muscle, as they go to find the sweetheart that he left behind. A second American entry in this category was the very clever and extremely chuckleful "Tucker & Dale vs. Evil". This film took the premise that all country bumpkins must be homicidal, redneck murderers and turned it on its head. Two relatively bright hicks, who only want to enjoy their new fixer-upper vacation cabin in the boonies, have to contend with a bunch of smartass college kids who fear the worse from these tame hillbillies and who largely end up as dead meat through their own stupidity. The third movie was the British "Inbred", which was not actually meant as a comedy; however the story is so far over the top in its gross-out effects that it squarely belongs in this grouping. Four teenaged offenders and their two care workers head out to the countryside for a community service weekend in a remote hamlet. So remote that most of the denizens appear to be their own grandpas and are largely inbred mutants, deriving their local entertainment from mutilating passers-by in gorily inventive ways. They congregate at the local pub called The Dirty Hole (the sign reads 'NOT meals served here') and one can foresee the dire consequences likely to follow. We're led to believe that there will be the usual survivors, but...
Miscellaneous American nasties: "Rogue River" was an effective bit of Grand Guignol as our heroine who only wants to spread her late father's ashes at a scenic beauty spot is waylaid by an apparently helpful local who offers a lift after she find that her car has been towed away. Since this kind samaritan is played by The Devil's Rejects' Bill Moseley we just know that she is in for some torture porn. She goes home with him and meets his equally 'normal' wife but soon discovers the various half-dead earlier victims kept in trunks in the basement. Still I prefered that film to "The Divide", a post-apocalypse tale of a group of miscellaneous survivors holed up in the basement apartment of their building's caretaker. It rapidly descends into an adult version of "The Lord of the Flies" as their quest for survival takes less humane turns. A lot of viewers rated director Ti West's "The Innkeepers" as one of the best of the fest. It tells of the last weekend before closing forever at a historic and possibly haunted New England inn. For my money it was such a slow-burner that the anticipated scares, when they finally did arrive, came solely as an anticlimax. The best of this lot was Lucky McKee's "The Woman", from the fiendish mind of author Jack Ketchum whose "The Girl Next Door" (2007) remains one of the most disturbing movies I have ever seen at FrightFest. It is the story of a seemingly upright family man (but actually a tyrant to his submissive wife and kids) who comes across a feral female while out hunting, captures her, takes her home, and chains her up for his own fiendish ends. Scottish-born actress Pollyanna McIntosh gives a remarkable performance as this 'uncivilised' creature who can only communicate in her own language of meaningful grunts but who retains all of her animal cunning in dealing with her abusers.
The British contingent: Quite naturally the fest's organisers feel obliged to showcase new British productions, but traditionally these have been something of a mixed bag. We often choose to watch one of the 'Discovery' offerings rather than another amateurish version of zombies taking over the countryside. The four we did view were by and large intended to be the most commercial and professional offerings, but I just can't bring myself to enthuse over any of them. "The Glass Man" starred Andy Nyman as a man who has lost his job, but who can't let his wife into that secret, and who pretends that everything is normal despite his increasing financial concerns. One night hard man James Cosmo appears at his door threatening all sorts of dire violence if he does not come out and help him with his nefarious plans for the evening. Fine up to that point, but then it becomes just a wee bit too far-fetched and too draggy to really care what is actually going on in Nyman's increasingly unhinged mind. "The Wicker Tree", only the fourth movie from legendary writer-director Robin Hardy who gave us 1973's classic "Wicker Man" was a complete disappointment. Even reuniting him with that film's classic villain Christopher Lee (in all of a 90-second cameo) didn't make this new story of the 'old religion' in rural Scotland a patch on his first film. What next for him? The Wicker Shrub? The Wicker Bedding-plant? Then there was the most over-hyped movie of the fest "Kill List", which has just opened here and which has been garnering rave reviews as a 'new British cult classic'. Balderdash, says PPP; this muddled story of two buddies, supposedly ordinary suburban layabouts who are actually vicious hitmen, rapidly descends into a totally unbelievable satanic denouement. Apart from anything else, the film is unlikely to make ten cents in the States unless it comes with subtitles. I've lived here for most of my life and couldn't make head nor tail of the thick Yorkshire accents. Which brings me to the closing movie this year "A Lonely Place to Die", starring Melissa George, and I'm sorry to report another overdone and generally unbelievable thriller. It starts with her and her buddies climbing in the Scottish Highlands and discovering a foreign little girl trapped in an underground chamber. We later learn that she has been kidnapped for ransom and that two vicious killers are on the trail of George and her friends, gradually picking them off. Also in pursuit is a negotiator and his tough bodyguards employed by the girl's probably criminal tycoon of a father. It descends into a major bloodbath, but the screenplay's leaps of logic hardly kept this viewer on the edge of her seat. Then again, we all know that I'm something of a fusspot.
So, that's all folks, for another year -- although at this stage I am seriously considering giving the next marathon a miss. However a lot can happen in twelve months...
Compendia: There have always been worthwhile examples of multi-part horror movies going back to the superb 1945 "Dead of Night" and including a number of scary horror compilations from the 1970s. However the conceit of asking a variety of directors to contribute shortish sections to a single movie too often results in a severe case of the Parson's Nose -- the non-horror film called "Aria" (1987) being a good example. FrightFest scheduled two of these films this year, both in late, late night slots, and neither worth the effort to stay awake: "The Theatre Bizarre" and "Chillerama". The former was the brainchild of seven (!) directors including Richard Stanley, Buddy G, and F/X maestro Tom Savini, all held together by a weird framing narrative featuring the iconic Udo Kier as a human puppet. It was something of a mishmash and only the eerie story of a tourist being seduced by a lusty witch in provincial France could be described as 'not too embarrassing', while the final tale of death by gross overeating verged on the nauseating. The other film 'boasted' only four directors and was potentially the more imaginative example of bad taste. However after the idiotic story of a giant spermatazoa terrorizing the neighbourhood and a silly beach-party musical featuring gay lust, I gave up in the middle of the black and white, holocaust-set, 'Diary of Anne Frankenstein'. Sometimes enough is too much -- especially at 2 a.m.
Jokey horror: For some bizarre reason this sub-genre of gross-out splatter tickles my funnybone. "Deadheads" was amusing, but the least appealing of the three examples; we follow the cross-country roadtrip of a 'zombie' who is able to talk and reason, together with his new also-rational zombie bestfriend, and their strong-armed mute zombie muscle, as they go to find the sweetheart that he left behind. A second American entry in this category was the very clever and extremely chuckleful "Tucker & Dale vs. Evil". This film took the premise that all country bumpkins must be homicidal, redneck murderers and turned it on its head. Two relatively bright hicks, who only want to enjoy their new fixer-upper vacation cabin in the boonies, have to contend with a bunch of smartass college kids who fear the worse from these tame hillbillies and who largely end up as dead meat through their own stupidity. The third movie was the British "Inbred", which was not actually meant as a comedy; however the story is so far over the top in its gross-out effects that it squarely belongs in this grouping. Four teenaged offenders and their two care workers head out to the countryside for a community service weekend in a remote hamlet. So remote that most of the denizens appear to be their own grandpas and are largely inbred mutants, deriving their local entertainment from mutilating passers-by in gorily inventive ways. They congregate at the local pub called The Dirty Hole (the sign reads 'NOT meals served here') and one can foresee the dire consequences likely to follow. We're led to believe that there will be the usual survivors, but...
Miscellaneous American nasties: "Rogue River" was an effective bit of Grand Guignol as our heroine who only wants to spread her late father's ashes at a scenic beauty spot is waylaid by an apparently helpful local who offers a lift after she find that her car has been towed away. Since this kind samaritan is played by The Devil's Rejects' Bill Moseley we just know that she is in for some torture porn. She goes home with him and meets his equally 'normal' wife but soon discovers the various half-dead earlier victims kept in trunks in the basement. Still I prefered that film to "The Divide", a post-apocalypse tale of a group of miscellaneous survivors holed up in the basement apartment of their building's caretaker. It rapidly descends into an adult version of "The Lord of the Flies" as their quest for survival takes less humane turns. A lot of viewers rated director Ti West's "The Innkeepers" as one of the best of the fest. It tells of the last weekend before closing forever at a historic and possibly haunted New England inn. For my money it was such a slow-burner that the anticipated scares, when they finally did arrive, came solely as an anticlimax. The best of this lot was Lucky McKee's "The Woman", from the fiendish mind of author Jack Ketchum whose "The Girl Next Door" (2007) remains one of the most disturbing movies I have ever seen at FrightFest. It is the story of a seemingly upright family man (but actually a tyrant to his submissive wife and kids) who comes across a feral female while out hunting, captures her, takes her home, and chains her up for his own fiendish ends. Scottish-born actress Pollyanna McIntosh gives a remarkable performance as this 'uncivilised' creature who can only communicate in her own language of meaningful grunts but who retains all of her animal cunning in dealing with her abusers.
The British contingent: Quite naturally the fest's organisers feel obliged to showcase new British productions, but traditionally these have been something of a mixed bag. We often choose to watch one of the 'Discovery' offerings rather than another amateurish version of zombies taking over the countryside. The four we did view were by and large intended to be the most commercial and professional offerings, but I just can't bring myself to enthuse over any of them. "The Glass Man" starred Andy Nyman as a man who has lost his job, but who can't let his wife into that secret, and who pretends that everything is normal despite his increasing financial concerns. One night hard man James Cosmo appears at his door threatening all sorts of dire violence if he does not come out and help him with his nefarious plans for the evening. Fine up to that point, but then it becomes just a wee bit too far-fetched and too draggy to really care what is actually going on in Nyman's increasingly unhinged mind. "The Wicker Tree", only the fourth movie from legendary writer-director Robin Hardy who gave us 1973's classic "Wicker Man" was a complete disappointment. Even reuniting him with that film's classic villain Christopher Lee (in all of a 90-second cameo) didn't make this new story of the 'old religion' in rural Scotland a patch on his first film. What next for him? The Wicker Shrub? The Wicker Bedding-plant? Then there was the most over-hyped movie of the fest "Kill List", which has just opened here and which has been garnering rave reviews as a 'new British cult classic'. Balderdash, says PPP; this muddled story of two buddies, supposedly ordinary suburban layabouts who are actually vicious hitmen, rapidly descends into a totally unbelievable satanic denouement. Apart from anything else, the film is unlikely to make ten cents in the States unless it comes with subtitles. I've lived here for most of my life and couldn't make head nor tail of the thick Yorkshire accents. Which brings me to the closing movie this year "A Lonely Place to Die", starring Melissa George, and I'm sorry to report another overdone and generally unbelievable thriller. It starts with her and her buddies climbing in the Scottish Highlands and discovering a foreign little girl trapped in an underground chamber. We later learn that she has been kidnapped for ransom and that two vicious killers are on the trail of George and her friends, gradually picking them off. Also in pursuit is a negotiator and his tough bodyguards employed by the girl's probably criminal tycoon of a father. It descends into a major bloodbath, but the screenplay's leaps of logic hardly kept this viewer on the edge of her seat. Then again, we all know that I'm something of a fusspot.
So, that's all folks, for another year -- although at this stage I am seriously considering giving the next marathon a miss. However a lot can happen in twelve months...
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
FrightFest 2011 Part One
I know I said I would be back on the blog yesterday, but I was just too weary and bleary-eyed after this latest marathon of horror viewing; I needed the extra day to collect my thoughts. Of a possible 27 viewing slots, we took in 24 films out of the thirty-odd available. Over a four and a half day period, I reckon that is pretty good going, especially with all of the added and often unexpected short films, trailers, and sneak-peaks that preceded some of the showings and the Q and As that followed them. (We skipped most of the latter, prefering to use the downtime, such as it was, for hurried nourishment -- no leisurely meals this year.)
The fest has now been running for twelve years and this is my seventh summary since I started blogging in 2005, although we were regular attendees before that. Where does the time go? Don't answer that! Anyhow, rather than report my reactions chronologically film by film as I have done previously, I shall try to group the features into several categories in the hope of getting through the reviews in two extended blog entries:
The kick-off opener: "Don't be Afraid of the Dark" came with a lot of baggage in tow since it was produced and co-written by genre fave Guillermo del Toro, who claims that the original 1973 television movie scared him rigid and deserved a big screen resurrection. If I ever saw the TVM, I certainly don't remember it, so I came without any preconceptions. What we have is divorced architect Guy Pearce (phoning in his performance) and new squeeze Katie Holmes (in her secondary role as an actress rather than her main role as a celebrity wife) renovating a 19th Century New England mansion in the hope of making a financial killing. His young daughter -- a fine performance from youngster Bailee Madison -- comes to stay and soon unearths the fearsome miniature, malevolent gremlins that lurk behind the grate in the basement. These hobgoblins want her for their own, as they claimed the house's previous inhabitants, and are vicious in their pursuit. While the creatures are very well-done with the CGI tools now available, the movie itself is something of a drag and a little short on shocks and starts. Only the heightened sound effects manage to contribute to the occasional foreboding. First-time feature director Troy Nixey tries his best, but I can't help thinking that it would have been a better film if Del Toro had taken over the reins.
3-D horror: Like too many other recent American releases, this technology, now beginning to fade in its audience appeal, has been brought to the horror movie: "Final Destination 5 - 3D" and "Fright Night 3D". These two movies actually showcase 3D's strengths and pitfalls. Its use in the fifth 'Final' film has actually revitalised the franchise; the splatter and pointy weapons are displayed with verve and humour. The set pieces of Death catching up with those who have cheated him are as inventive as usual, but all the more effective with the dangers literally 'coming at you'. The remake of the 1985 classic however would have been no better or worse in the usual two dimensions. The original featured two timeless performances from Chris Sarandon (given a cameo in this version) and Roddy McDowell, but Colin Farrell as the vampire next door and David Dr. Who Tennant as the would-be vampire killer do not quite cut the mustard, while the young lead Anton Yelchin is only adequate. His nerdy ex-best friend Christopher Mintz-Plasse, vampirized early in the procedings, is pretty good value. The movie was too dimly lit in places for the 3-D to be effective. As for the 're-imagining' itself Farrell's is a far nastier and less charismatic vampire than Sarandon's and all the flashy special effects in the world do not make up for the differences between the two films.
Foreign Horror: One of the treats of FrightFest is the culling of suitable movies from around the world. There was a dearth this year of entries from the Far East, but there were interesting selections from Norway ("Troll Hunter"), Germany ("Urban Explorers"), Holland ("Saint"), Switzerland " (Sennentuntschi: Curse of the Alps"), and Israel ("Rabies"). It is particularly interesting that the last two films are the first-ever genre productions from these two countries and that even 'foreign' horror films have never previously found an audience in Israel. The Norwegian and German movies were passing fair but not great, although the formidable trolls in the first film's 'found footage' were well conceived; the German film started off as English-speaking as some adventurous tourists pay to explore Berlin's underground tunnels, but then moved into German dialogue (and the production company omitted to send a print with subtitles!). The Dutch movie from Dick Maas, the man behind "The Elevator" and "Amsterdamned", turns the Netherlands Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, into a murderous fiend, a bishop-turned-pirate, who kills adults and abducts children when there is a full moon on his December 5th Saint's Day, aided by his zombiefied Black Peters. Well done gory fun! The Swiss film was something well out of the ordinary based on folklore. When lonely mountain men crave female companionship, they can build their ideal woman from a straw broom and some rags. Lo and behold, a desirable beauty appears, but they find that she will take her murderous revenge for the crimes against her kind over the years. As for the Israeli entry, the story has nothing whatsoever to do with rabies, but rather with the rabid and irrational behaviour that can manifest itself in the most ordinary of folk; most of the ten main protagonists (two yuppie couples, a park ranger and his girlfriend, an incestuous brother and sister, two mismatched cops) meet bloody and unexpected ends, while the local maniac-at-large is not responsible for their deaths and is one of the few characters to walk away from the debacle.
The Israeli film was actually one of the alternatives from the fest's small 'Discovery' screen and proved so popular a selection that a third screening had to be scheduled for the first time ever. We watched three other movies at this venue for independent cinema and they were a mixed bag, although all had something going for them. "A Horrible Way to Die" should have been subtitled 'A Horrible Way to Make a Movie'; its director took what was actually a very clever premise of an escaped serial killer's ex-girlfriend trying to build a new life under the witness protection programme and Alcoholics Anonymous, but finding that there are those who actually revere the prowess of her former boyfriend, and weakened the narrative by employing some artsy-fartsy camera shots through fairy lights. "My Sucky Teen Romance" was an accomplished bit of mayhem comedy written and directed by an 18 year-old Texan gal; while obviously extremely low-budget filmmaking, she successfully captured the yearning and traumas of teenaged infatuation, especially if your crush is on a newbie vampire. "The Caller" was an an interesting American indie set in Puerto Rico of all places (home of dengue fever -- in joke!). Strongly cast with Rachelle Lefevre, Stephen Moyer, and Luis Guzman, the newly-divorced heroine moves into her new apartment and starts receiving threatening phone calls from someone's past; we gradually discover that it is impossible to work out what constitutes her reality and what is the product of her overstressed imagination. All well done -- but why Puerto Rico for a largely non-ethnic cast?
Guess what...I've run out of steam. I had intended to include two compendium movies in today's digest, but will hold these for my second summary, along with three jokey horror movies, and the remaining eight assorted American and British premieres. In the words of you know who, I'll be back...
The fest has now been running for twelve years and this is my seventh summary since I started blogging in 2005, although we were regular attendees before that. Where does the time go? Don't answer that! Anyhow, rather than report my reactions chronologically film by film as I have done previously, I shall try to group the features into several categories in the hope of getting through the reviews in two extended blog entries:
The kick-off opener: "Don't be Afraid of the Dark" came with a lot of baggage in tow since it was produced and co-written by genre fave Guillermo del Toro, who claims that the original 1973 television movie scared him rigid and deserved a big screen resurrection. If I ever saw the TVM, I certainly don't remember it, so I came without any preconceptions. What we have is divorced architect Guy Pearce (phoning in his performance) and new squeeze Katie Holmes (in her secondary role as an actress rather than her main role as a celebrity wife) renovating a 19th Century New England mansion in the hope of making a financial killing. His young daughter -- a fine performance from youngster Bailee Madison -- comes to stay and soon unearths the fearsome miniature, malevolent gremlins that lurk behind the grate in the basement. These hobgoblins want her for their own, as they claimed the house's previous inhabitants, and are vicious in their pursuit. While the creatures are very well-done with the CGI tools now available, the movie itself is something of a drag and a little short on shocks and starts. Only the heightened sound effects manage to contribute to the occasional foreboding. First-time feature director Troy Nixey tries his best, but I can't help thinking that it would have been a better film if Del Toro had taken over the reins.
3-D horror: Like too many other recent American releases, this technology, now beginning to fade in its audience appeal, has been brought to the horror movie: "Final Destination 5 - 3D" and "Fright Night 3D". These two movies actually showcase 3D's strengths and pitfalls. Its use in the fifth 'Final' film has actually revitalised the franchise; the splatter and pointy weapons are displayed with verve and humour. The set pieces of Death catching up with those who have cheated him are as inventive as usual, but all the more effective with the dangers literally 'coming at you'. The remake of the 1985 classic however would have been no better or worse in the usual two dimensions. The original featured two timeless performances from Chris Sarandon (given a cameo in this version) and Roddy McDowell, but Colin Farrell as the vampire next door and David Dr. Who Tennant as the would-be vampire killer do not quite cut the mustard, while the young lead Anton Yelchin is only adequate. His nerdy ex-best friend Christopher Mintz-Plasse, vampirized early in the procedings, is pretty good value. The movie was too dimly lit in places for the 3-D to be effective. As for the 're-imagining' itself Farrell's is a far nastier and less charismatic vampire than Sarandon's and all the flashy special effects in the world do not make up for the differences between the two films.
Foreign Horror: One of the treats of FrightFest is the culling of suitable movies from around the world. There was a dearth this year of entries from the Far East, but there were interesting selections from Norway ("Troll Hunter"), Germany ("Urban Explorers"), Holland ("Saint"), Switzerland " (Sennentuntschi: Curse of the Alps"), and Israel ("Rabies"). It is particularly interesting that the last two films are the first-ever genre productions from these two countries and that even 'foreign' horror films have never previously found an audience in Israel. The Norwegian and German movies were passing fair but not great, although the formidable trolls in the first film's 'found footage' were well conceived; the German film started off as English-speaking as some adventurous tourists pay to explore Berlin's underground tunnels, but then moved into German dialogue (and the production company omitted to send a print with subtitles!). The Dutch movie from Dick Maas, the man behind "The Elevator" and "Amsterdamned", turns the Netherlands Santa Claus, Saint Nicholas, into a murderous fiend, a bishop-turned-pirate, who kills adults and abducts children when there is a full moon on his December 5th Saint's Day, aided by his zombiefied Black Peters. Well done gory fun! The Swiss film was something well out of the ordinary based on folklore. When lonely mountain men crave female companionship, they can build their ideal woman from a straw broom and some rags. Lo and behold, a desirable beauty appears, but they find that she will take her murderous revenge for the crimes against her kind over the years. As for the Israeli entry, the story has nothing whatsoever to do with rabies, but rather with the rabid and irrational behaviour that can manifest itself in the most ordinary of folk; most of the ten main protagonists (two yuppie couples, a park ranger and his girlfriend, an incestuous brother and sister, two mismatched cops) meet bloody and unexpected ends, while the local maniac-at-large is not responsible for their deaths and is one of the few characters to walk away from the debacle.
The Israeli film was actually one of the alternatives from the fest's small 'Discovery' screen and proved so popular a selection that a third screening had to be scheduled for the first time ever. We watched three other movies at this venue for independent cinema and they were a mixed bag, although all had something going for them. "A Horrible Way to Die" should have been subtitled 'A Horrible Way to Make a Movie'; its director took what was actually a very clever premise of an escaped serial killer's ex-girlfriend trying to build a new life under the witness protection programme and Alcoholics Anonymous, but finding that there are those who actually revere the prowess of her former boyfriend, and weakened the narrative by employing some artsy-fartsy camera shots through fairy lights. "My Sucky Teen Romance" was an accomplished bit of mayhem comedy written and directed by an 18 year-old Texan gal; while obviously extremely low-budget filmmaking, she successfully captured the yearning and traumas of teenaged infatuation, especially if your crush is on a newbie vampire. "The Caller" was an an interesting American indie set in Puerto Rico of all places (home of dengue fever -- in joke!). Strongly cast with Rachelle Lefevre, Stephen Moyer, and Luis Guzman, the newly-divorced heroine moves into her new apartment and starts receiving threatening phone calls from someone's past; we gradually discover that it is impossible to work out what constitutes her reality and what is the product of her overstressed imagination. All well done -- but why Puerto Rico for a largely non-ethnic cast?
Guess what...I've run out of steam. I had intended to include two compendium movies in today's digest, but will hold these for my second summary, along with three jokey horror movies, and the remaining eight assorted American and British premieres. In the words of you know who, I'll be back...
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
Kin-Dza-Dza (1987)
Every time I look in despair at what's showing at my local multiplex or what is forthcoming on television -- finding nothing that I am in any particular hurry to view, I need to remind myself that there is a whole world of worthwhile cinema experiences out there. One just needs to find them. This Russian film is apparently a cult item in its native country, but it is relatively unknown in the West. I believe discs have previously been available Stateside and clips are available on You-Tube and the like, but this is a supreme instance of a movie that deserves to be better known.
From a popular director Georgi Danelia and starring a quartet of well-known actors (Stanislav Liubshin, Levan Gabriadze, Yevgeni Leonov, and Yuri Yakovlov -- no, me neither!), this is a hugely imaginative and enjoyable sci-fi/comedy romp. Its 135 minutes running time passes swiftly, despite what appears to the Western eye as cheapjack movie-making. It is a futuristic, post-apocalyptic fantasy achieved with little recourse to the special effects which dominate our films today. It is also, if one can picture oneself in the pre-glasnost/perestroika era, a brave satire on communist society of the day; it's a wonder that the movie wasn't banned.
Two strangers on a busy Moscow street try to help a barefoot man who is either lost or drunk and accidently find themselves teleported to the barren planet of Pluk in the Kin-Dza-Dza galaxy. They are temporarily befriended by two untrustworthy natives in a primitive flying machine, whose sole dialogue consists of two words: Koo and Kyoo (the latter is their expletive). However the planet is technologically evolved and they can read minds and converse in Russian. Pluk has become the slum area of the universe; all of its resources have been exhausted -- its rivers have dried up, its terrain is one sandy waste, and its cyberpunk inhabitants live largely in holes in the ground. A wrecked sailing ship and a totally incongruous skeleton Ferris wheel are the few remaining hints of a once flourishing culture. The land is moribund and its population faces extinction.
While our two mismatched heroes (a family man and a student trying to return a valuable violin to one of his professors) try to find a way home, they are exposed to the rottenest of class systems. They are of course considered part of the lower caste; they must wear distinguishing nose-rings, must address their so-called superiors from cages, and must bow extravagantly whenever addressing one of the 'masters'. Only their possession of a box of matches gives them any bargaining cachet. Mysteriously these vitually inexpensive items from our world are treasured in Pluk's strange society, a world without hope or a future. The most its lesser inhabitants can look forward to is to be transformed into plants on an adjacent planet, which is potentially better than being boxed up in a bed of nails should they fall foul of the planet's lazy and inept superiors. To raise funds in the local currency to ease their journey, the two attempt to serenade the locals with their versions of popular songs and the odd American pop standard., accompanied by the now semi-destroyed and glued together violin.
I think you get the idea. This is one very weird movie and one that could be recommended to the pickiest of sci-fi fans. Unfortunately, however, it is not that easy to find, but well worth the search.
It's that time of the year again! We are off to our FrightFest weekend running this Thursday through Monday, so there will be nothing from me until Tuesday the 30th at the earliest. However I promise you then a thorough report on what's new and exciting in the realms of horror and fantasy and what to watch out for over the coming months.
From a popular director Georgi Danelia and starring a quartet of well-known actors (Stanislav Liubshin, Levan Gabriadze, Yevgeni Leonov, and Yuri Yakovlov -- no, me neither!), this is a hugely imaginative and enjoyable sci-fi/comedy romp. Its 135 minutes running time passes swiftly, despite what appears to the Western eye as cheapjack movie-making. It is a futuristic, post-apocalyptic fantasy achieved with little recourse to the special effects which dominate our films today. It is also, if one can picture oneself in the pre-glasnost/perestroika era, a brave satire on communist society of the day; it's a wonder that the movie wasn't banned.
Two strangers on a busy Moscow street try to help a barefoot man who is either lost or drunk and accidently find themselves teleported to the barren planet of Pluk in the Kin-Dza-Dza galaxy. They are temporarily befriended by two untrustworthy natives in a primitive flying machine, whose sole dialogue consists of two words: Koo and Kyoo (the latter is their expletive). However the planet is technologically evolved and they can read minds and converse in Russian. Pluk has become the slum area of the universe; all of its resources have been exhausted -- its rivers have dried up, its terrain is one sandy waste, and its cyberpunk inhabitants live largely in holes in the ground. A wrecked sailing ship and a totally incongruous skeleton Ferris wheel are the few remaining hints of a once flourishing culture. The land is moribund and its population faces extinction.
While our two mismatched heroes (a family man and a student trying to return a valuable violin to one of his professors) try to find a way home, they are exposed to the rottenest of class systems. They are of course considered part of the lower caste; they must wear distinguishing nose-rings, must address their so-called superiors from cages, and must bow extravagantly whenever addressing one of the 'masters'. Only their possession of a box of matches gives them any bargaining cachet. Mysteriously these vitually inexpensive items from our world are treasured in Pluk's strange society, a world without hope or a future. The most its lesser inhabitants can look forward to is to be transformed into plants on an adjacent planet, which is potentially better than being boxed up in a bed of nails should they fall foul of the planet's lazy and inept superiors. To raise funds in the local currency to ease their journey, the two attempt to serenade the locals with their versions of popular songs and the odd American pop standard., accompanied by the now semi-destroyed and glued together violin.
I think you get the idea. This is one very weird movie and one that could be recommended to the pickiest of sci-fi fans. Unfortunately, however, it is not that easy to find, but well worth the search.
It's that time of the year again! We are off to our FrightFest weekend running this Thursday through Monday, so there will be nothing from me until Tuesday the 30th at the earliest. However I promise you then a thorough report on what's new and exciting in the realms of horror and fantasy and what to watch out for over the coming months.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Disappointments
If you scroll down to my 29 July entry, you will find that I was disappointed in my attempt to see Rutger Hauer's "Hobo with a Shotgun" (2011). So when it eventually reappeared at the Prince Charles, off we went -- to find that it was even more disappointing to actually see this Canadian-made rubbish. Unfortunately even Hauer's screen charisma is not enough to save this splatterfest. He plays the hobo of the title who rides the rails into a corrupt and lawless town where even the Chief of Police is a baddie. The town is run by a sadistic Mr. Big, who with his two amoral sons (looking like overgrown Tom Cruise clones) delights in decaptitating his enemies, amongst other jolly tortures. Good old Rutger is himself mutilated and especially horrified when the local women (most of whom seem to be prostitutes) are threatened. He grabs a shotgun (with a neverending supply of ammo) to mete out his idea of justice and revenge, becoming some sort of local hero in the process. All he really wants, mind you, is an electric lawnmower so he can start his own grass-cutting business! The screen runs red with the gore effects, but the film is so amateurishly made with so hopeless a supporting cast that the net result is waste of time.
So once again in the hope of compensation and loftier film-making, I turned to two foreign-language films which have been loitering on my hard-disc. Both appear to be extremely well-thought of, but I found both to be over-rated disappointments, easy enough to watch but strangely unfulfilling. Could be it's me! Anyhow here goes:
Still Walking (2008): This Japanese film received numerous Asian filmfest awards for its director Hirokazu Koreeda and other gongs for some of its ensemble actors, but it was rather slow-going and uninvolving. The film tells of one day in the life of a family; a surviving son and daughter, together with their respective spouses and offspring, have reluctantly come to visit their elderly parents to commemorate the death of the eldest and favoured son some fifteen years earlier. Grandpa, a retired doctor, sulks most of the time that no one has followed in his medical footsteps. Grandma fusses over the food, her children, and her rather noisy grandchildren. The daughter wants to move her family back to her parents' home to supposedly look after them in their dotage -- a suggestion that fills her mother with despair. The son is an art restorer who barely scrapes a living and he has married a widow with a young child -- none of which sits well with the elders. Then the now very fat and gormless young man, whom the beloved dead son drowned whilst saving, arrives to pay his respects, adding to the air of gloom in the household. It is all very Ozu-y in feel, but not a movie to lighten one's heart and it is too pedestrian an effort to enchant.
Mid-August Lunch (2008): I was quite looking forward to seeing this Italian film whose supposed charm preceded it. Written and directed by and starring Gianni Di Gregorio (the screenwriter for the much better "Gomorrah" of the same year), it is not exactly a vanity piece but it is an ever-so-slight confection. He plays a middle-aged man called Gianni who lives with his aged mother (a grotesque played by 93-year old Valeria DeFranciscus) and who pursues a shiftless hand-to-mouth existence. His landlord threatens eviction for non-payment of rent unless he agrees to look after his aging mother and aunt over the holiday weekend when everyone wants to leave Rome. He is then lumbered with another old dear foisted upon him by his doctor. The film focuses on his attempt to feed and accommodate the various ladies, their gripes, and their interaction. The raw material was there to create a charming and amusing scenario, but somehow it didn't seem to mesh, and even at a scant 75 minutes, I had a surfeit of their company. I gather DiGregorio has just released another movie "The Salt of Life" where he plays a different Gianni and again co-stars with the now even older DeFranciscus. It's had mildly lukewarm reviews, but I won't be queuing up to sample its probably dubious attractions.
I hope to be more positive next time!
So once again in the hope of compensation and loftier film-making, I turned to two foreign-language films which have been loitering on my hard-disc. Both appear to be extremely well-thought of, but I found both to be over-rated disappointments, easy enough to watch but strangely unfulfilling. Could be it's me! Anyhow here goes:
Still Walking (2008): This Japanese film received numerous Asian filmfest awards for its director Hirokazu Koreeda and other gongs for some of its ensemble actors, but it was rather slow-going and uninvolving. The film tells of one day in the life of a family; a surviving son and daughter, together with their respective spouses and offspring, have reluctantly come to visit their elderly parents to commemorate the death of the eldest and favoured son some fifteen years earlier. Grandpa, a retired doctor, sulks most of the time that no one has followed in his medical footsteps. Grandma fusses over the food, her children, and her rather noisy grandchildren. The daughter wants to move her family back to her parents' home to supposedly look after them in their dotage -- a suggestion that fills her mother with despair. The son is an art restorer who barely scrapes a living and he has married a widow with a young child -- none of which sits well with the elders. Then the now very fat and gormless young man, whom the beloved dead son drowned whilst saving, arrives to pay his respects, adding to the air of gloom in the household. It is all very Ozu-y in feel, but not a movie to lighten one's heart and it is too pedestrian an effort to enchant.
Mid-August Lunch (2008): I was quite looking forward to seeing this Italian film whose supposed charm preceded it. Written and directed by and starring Gianni Di Gregorio (the screenwriter for the much better "Gomorrah" of the same year), it is not exactly a vanity piece but it is an ever-so-slight confection. He plays a middle-aged man called Gianni who lives with his aged mother (a grotesque played by 93-year old Valeria DeFranciscus) and who pursues a shiftless hand-to-mouth existence. His landlord threatens eviction for non-payment of rent unless he agrees to look after his aging mother and aunt over the holiday weekend when everyone wants to leave Rome. He is then lumbered with another old dear foisted upon him by his doctor. The film focuses on his attempt to feed and accommodate the various ladies, their gripes, and their interaction. The raw material was there to create a charming and amusing scenario, but somehow it didn't seem to mesh, and even at a scant 75 minutes, I had a surfeit of their company. I gather DiGregorio has just released another movie "The Salt of Life" where he plays a different Gianni and again co-stars with the now even older DeFranciscus. It's had mildly lukewarm reviews, but I won't be queuing up to sample its probably dubious attractions.
I hope to be more positive next time!
Saturday, 13 August 2011
The Bedroom Window (1987)
Somewhere I accumulated a DVD of this movie which I had not watched again in over twenty years, since from memory there was nothing particularly amazing about it. Viewing it again was not an unpleasant experience in any way -- in fact it was moderately enjoyable, but it did get me thinking about the transient path of so many acting careers. It is the story of a love-struck executive having an affair with his hot-shot employer's wife. On the night the relationship begins, she witnesses a brutal attack in the park opposite his bedroom window and her screams and the sight of her naked body cause the culprit to flee, saving his immediate victim but priming him for another murderous attack soon thereafter. The mistress has had a good view of the assailant, but is too concerned with her marriage and infidelity to contact the police, so our feckless hero pretends that it was he who had witnessed the outrage and who could identify the perp. Of course nothing goes as intended and he soon finds himself the main suspect in several related murders. It is a kind of sub-Hitchcock farrago with its themes of voyeurism and an innocent man on the run, desperate to clear his name as the evidence against him mounts. The film was the first mainstream feature from writer-director Curtis Hanson, whose career has continued an upward trend, although possibly it peaked with "L.A. Confidential".
The three leads are Steve Guttenberg, Isabelle Huppert as the adulteress, and Elizabeth McGovern as the attackee in the park. How very different the courses of their respective careers have been. Guttenberg first came to one's attention as part of the ensemble in "Diner" (1982), and went on to headline the first four "Police Academy" movies, the reasonably entertaining "Four Men and a Baby", and the geriatric fantasy "Cocoon". However his career since the late eighties has gone rapidly downhill and while still in evidence in disposable TV movies, he has done nothing to write home about since. In the above film, however, while no Cary Grant, he plays a likeable enough romantic leading man trying to become an action hero in fraught circumstances just beyond his control. It is quite possibly the only role that has stretched his acting chops in his long 'career' and it might even be his best.
French actress Huppert, on the other hand, has had an increasingly illustrious career both in film and on stage, and is the most-nominated actress for France's Cesar award. She has occasionally dabbled in American movies since her appearance in 1980's "Heaven's Gate". She had an interesting role in Hal Hartley's "Amateur" (1994) and an incomprehenisble one in "I Heart Huckabees" (2004). Why she agrees to these overseas roles when she is such a venerated art-house darling in her native country is a very good question, which probably has little to do with financial rewards given the movies in which she has featured. Oddly enough her role in the film under consideration here was really nothing special and could just as well have been played by a number of American actresses of the day, but nowadays she seems to go from strength to strength.
As for McGovern, she was a fine young leading lady throughout the 1980s, starting with her debut in "Ordinary People" and giving memorable performances in "Ragtime" and "Once Upon a Time in America". However she is rarely seen on the big screen nowadays, although she is still working, having married a British television producer/director in 1992 and relocated to London, where she has appeared in numberous TV offerings. She does take an occasional small part in mainstream movies (most recently "Kick-Ass"), but the superstar potential seen in her earliest features has been shelved for the possibly more fulfilling role of wife and mother. In this film her feisty and brave performance complements Guttenberg's, making him look all the better.
This movie is far from one of the world's greatest contributions to cinema, but it holds up reasonably well these twenty-odd years on. So why, I ask you, is it being remade for 2012 by Kevin Williamson? I can't begin to imagine how he plans to revamp this relatively pedestrian thriller or how in the world he thinks he can improve upon it. Answers on a postcard, please.
The three leads are Steve Guttenberg, Isabelle Huppert as the adulteress, and Elizabeth McGovern as the attackee in the park. How very different the courses of their respective careers have been. Guttenberg first came to one's attention as part of the ensemble in "Diner" (1982), and went on to headline the first four "Police Academy" movies, the reasonably entertaining "Four Men and a Baby", and the geriatric fantasy "Cocoon". However his career since the late eighties has gone rapidly downhill and while still in evidence in disposable TV movies, he has done nothing to write home about since. In the above film, however, while no Cary Grant, he plays a likeable enough romantic leading man trying to become an action hero in fraught circumstances just beyond his control. It is quite possibly the only role that has stretched his acting chops in his long 'career' and it might even be his best.
French actress Huppert, on the other hand, has had an increasingly illustrious career both in film and on stage, and is the most-nominated actress for France's Cesar award. She has occasionally dabbled in American movies since her appearance in 1980's "Heaven's Gate". She had an interesting role in Hal Hartley's "Amateur" (1994) and an incomprehenisble one in "I Heart Huckabees" (2004). Why she agrees to these overseas roles when she is such a venerated art-house darling in her native country is a very good question, which probably has little to do with financial rewards given the movies in which she has featured. Oddly enough her role in the film under consideration here was really nothing special and could just as well have been played by a number of American actresses of the day, but nowadays she seems to go from strength to strength.
As for McGovern, she was a fine young leading lady throughout the 1980s, starting with her debut in "Ordinary People" and giving memorable performances in "Ragtime" and "Once Upon a Time in America". However she is rarely seen on the big screen nowadays, although she is still working, having married a British television producer/director in 1992 and relocated to London, where she has appeared in numberous TV offerings. She does take an occasional small part in mainstream movies (most recently "Kick-Ass"), but the superstar potential seen in her earliest features has been shelved for the possibly more fulfilling role of wife and mother. In this film her feisty and brave performance complements Guttenberg's, making him look all the better.
This movie is far from one of the world's greatest contributions to cinema, but it holds up reasonably well these twenty-odd years on. So why, I ask you, is it being remade for 2012 by Kevin Williamson? I can't begin to imagine how he plans to revamp this relatively pedestrian thriller or how in the world he thinks he can improve upon it. Answers on a postcard, please.
Monday, 8 August 2011
Departures (2008)
There has been an official Oscar category for best foreign film since 1956 when the winner was Fellini's "La Strada". Between 1947 and 1955, a foreign language film was selected for an honourary Oscar. I have seen most of these sixty-odd movies and have copies of quite a few that I particularly liked, although there have been several that were watchable but not 'keepers' in my book, like the soppy "Life Is Beautiful" (1998). Then there have been a number that have eluded me: "Walls of Malapaga" (1950), "Gate of Hell" (1954), "Black and White in Color" (1976) to name a few. However while I don't bend over backwards to find showings for all of them, I am always happy to tick off another one from the winners' list.
This recent Japanese winner seems an unlikely choice in a year with crowd-pleasers such as "Waltz with Bashir", but since the eventual winner can only be selected from those Academy members who have actually seen the film, the voting numbers are potentially low. One reason that it seems a surprise winner is its theme of death -- and the very Japanese way of dealing with it. Our hero, Masahiro Motoki, (an actor unfamiliar to me) is a cellist in a second-tier symphony orchestra which plays beautifully but which attracts a scant paying audience on its provincial tour. When the owner disbands the orchestra, Daigo knows he is unlikely to find another musical position and moves back with his young wife to the small town where he was raised and into the house left to him by his recently deceased mother. He sees an advertisement in the local paper for an inexperienced young man to assist with 'departures'. Thinking this is some sort of travel agency work, he applies and is immediately hired by the firm's boss who explains that there was a typo in the want-ad and that the work involves the departed. He reluctantly accepts the position since the money is good, but is ashamed to tell his wife what he is doing, since there seems to be a widespread prejudice against dealing with the deceased -- as if death were contagious.
It is a Japanese custom to wash and prepare the dead body in front of the grieving family, being careful to expose no flesh, as a way of helping them accept their loss. This is not done by the undertakers but it is a niche market into which Daigo has fallen. At first the movie appears to be a comedy and is played for occasional laughs, such as the scene when our hapless hero reaches under the shroud of a young female suicide and discovers that 'she' is a 'he' or when he is instructed to play the corpse in a training video. However it takes a more serious turn as the film progresses. Having discovered the nature of his work, his ashamed wife leaves him and his friends in town jeer at his occupation. However when she discovers that she is pregnant, she returns and gradually realises the tenderness and compassion in what he does when a family friend dies. Finally he prepares the body of the father who deserted his mother when he was six and who has not been in touch over the years, finding a reconciliation with his past that has previously escaped him.
The movie is very chokey without being depressing, but the subject matter is unlikely to lift the audience in any 'feel-good' way. Although it is all very tastefully done, it is not a film which would encourage multiple viewings. I'm glad to have seen it, but once is enough. The film's director, Yojiro Takita, has had a long career which includes the recent movies "The Yin Yang Master" (2001) -- a fantasy and "When the Last Sword is Drawn" (2003) -- a samurai saga, so this Oscar winner is something of a complete change of pace. Some might find the film slow and the subject matter a little offputting, but one must acknowledge the genuine sincerity with which this unusual story is told.
This recent Japanese winner seems an unlikely choice in a year with crowd-pleasers such as "Waltz with Bashir", but since the eventual winner can only be selected from those Academy members who have actually seen the film, the voting numbers are potentially low. One reason that it seems a surprise winner is its theme of death -- and the very Japanese way of dealing with it. Our hero, Masahiro Motoki, (an actor unfamiliar to me) is a cellist in a second-tier symphony orchestra which plays beautifully but which attracts a scant paying audience on its provincial tour. When the owner disbands the orchestra, Daigo knows he is unlikely to find another musical position and moves back with his young wife to the small town where he was raised and into the house left to him by his recently deceased mother. He sees an advertisement in the local paper for an inexperienced young man to assist with 'departures'. Thinking this is some sort of travel agency work, he applies and is immediately hired by the firm's boss who explains that there was a typo in the want-ad and that the work involves the departed. He reluctantly accepts the position since the money is good, but is ashamed to tell his wife what he is doing, since there seems to be a widespread prejudice against dealing with the deceased -- as if death were contagious.
It is a Japanese custom to wash and prepare the dead body in front of the grieving family, being careful to expose no flesh, as a way of helping them accept their loss. This is not done by the undertakers but it is a niche market into which Daigo has fallen. At first the movie appears to be a comedy and is played for occasional laughs, such as the scene when our hapless hero reaches under the shroud of a young female suicide and discovers that 'she' is a 'he' or when he is instructed to play the corpse in a training video. However it takes a more serious turn as the film progresses. Having discovered the nature of his work, his ashamed wife leaves him and his friends in town jeer at his occupation. However when she discovers that she is pregnant, she returns and gradually realises the tenderness and compassion in what he does when a family friend dies. Finally he prepares the body of the father who deserted his mother when he was six and who has not been in touch over the years, finding a reconciliation with his past that has previously escaped him.
The movie is very chokey without being depressing, but the subject matter is unlikely to lift the audience in any 'feel-good' way. Although it is all very tastefully done, it is not a film which would encourage multiple viewings. I'm glad to have seen it, but once is enough. The film's director, Yojiro Takita, has had a long career which includes the recent movies "The Yin Yang Master" (2001) -- a fantasy and "When the Last Sword is Drawn" (2003) -- a samurai saga, so this Oscar winner is something of a complete change of pace. Some might find the film slow and the subject matter a little offputting, but one must acknowledge the genuine sincerity with which this unusual story is told.
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Good Intentions
Foiled again! I had planned to write a learned dissertation on John Huston's 1970 flop, "The Kremlin Letter", which has only now belatedly been released on DVD. All that I could recall of my television viewing of this movie some many years ago was that George Sanders appeared in drag. Well, yes he does -- very briefly -- before reverting to a somewhat camp character in what is actually a throwaway role in his penultimate film. However having seen the film again yesterday, I am at a loss to frame a positive review. It is a very dense, nearly literal interpretation, of Noel Behn's political Cold War thriller, very hard to follow, understand, or get caught up in. You might think that with a cast that includes Max von Sydow, Orson Welles, Bibi Andersson, and a bleached blonde Richard Boone, to say nothing about Nigel Green, Dean Jagger, Lila Kedrova, Raf Vallone, Michael MacLiammoir, and nominal leads Patick O'Neal and Barbara Parkins, that the acting alone might redeem this movie. Unfortunately it doesn't, with few of them given the opportunity to shine. Perhaps it is one of those films which demands another viewing to start getting into the hopefully involving intrigue, but I can see it being a while before I can face this dense screenplay again.
Something's Gotta Give (2003): So once again for a change of pace I shall revisit this Diane Keaton/Jack Nicholson rom-com. I would have taken bets that I had reviewed it previously in my old blog -- but can't seem to find it; nevermind, let's look at it afresh. This confection from writer/director Nancy Meyers, a follow-up to her 2000 breakthrough "What Women Want" and a precursor of 2009's charmer "It's Complicated" is not just a movie for the 'older woman' but more generally a rib-tickler for mature viewers of either sex. Keaton is a divorced, self-sufficient, and highly thought-of dramatist whose 30-year old daughter, Amanda Peet, turns up with her latest beau, a 63-year old Nicholson -- playing the perennial bachelor well-known for his flings with young women. When a near heart attack lands him in Keaton's care at her beach house, sparks begin to fly and they end up in bed together. However after a few days' idyll, Nicholson returns to his erstwhile life as a swinger in the Big Apple, and Keaton having found room in her life once again for both sex and love, reacts like a heartbroken teenager at his apparent rejection. If anything she over-reacts and therefore slightly over-acts. In the meantime the young heart surgeon played by a relatively mature and non-doofus Keanu Reeves is smitten with Keaton and makes his move, despite the vast difference in their ages. Without going too far into spoilers (although it doesn't take much nous to guess how things resolve themselves), one actually begins to feel sorry for nice Doctor Keanu and his puppy-like devotion.
Keaton's next Broadway hit is a 'comedy' about the disastrous results of a woman falling for her daughter's boyfriend, killing off the swine at the end of the second act. Nicholson realises that he has become a mockable figure of fun and that his has been a full but unfulfilling life, causing further medical 'episodes'. His new doctor tells him to avoid stress and to re-evaluate what is really important. Part of the denouement revolves around his seeking out old girlfriends to discover what has gone wrong with his life (a plot device stolen in toto by Jim Jarmusch's 2005 showcase for Bill Murray, "Broken Flowers".) His growing insight into what really matters is handled both cleverly and skillfully by the actor, even while it plays upon Nicholson's own playboy rep. Apart from Keaton's brief OTT heartbrokeness, her comic timing remains superb, and there are also some nice turns from Jon Favreau, Paul Michael Glaser, Rachel Ticotin, and Frances McDormand, but the acting honours belong mostly to Nicholson.
One small detail that puzzles me. When I first saw the film, in the scene where Nicholson inadvertently wanders into Keaton's bedroom and finds her in the nude, the focus of his attention was her unmaintained and bushy lower parts -- a symbolic difference between many older women and the bimbos that he has been dating. In the version I just watched, this is missing and the emphasis is on her bare breasts -- almost certainly a body double's. It seems a strange bit of re-editing! But if Spielberg can delete the guns from "E.T.", all sorts of political correctness can abound, most of it for no good purpose.
Something's Gotta Give (2003): So once again for a change of pace I shall revisit this Diane Keaton/Jack Nicholson rom-com. I would have taken bets that I had reviewed it previously in my old blog -- but can't seem to find it; nevermind, let's look at it afresh. This confection from writer/director Nancy Meyers, a follow-up to her 2000 breakthrough "What Women Want" and a precursor of 2009's charmer "It's Complicated" is not just a movie for the 'older woman' but more generally a rib-tickler for mature viewers of either sex. Keaton is a divorced, self-sufficient, and highly thought-of dramatist whose 30-year old daughter, Amanda Peet, turns up with her latest beau, a 63-year old Nicholson -- playing the perennial bachelor well-known for his flings with young women. When a near heart attack lands him in Keaton's care at her beach house, sparks begin to fly and they end up in bed together. However after a few days' idyll, Nicholson returns to his erstwhile life as a swinger in the Big Apple, and Keaton having found room in her life once again for both sex and love, reacts like a heartbroken teenager at his apparent rejection. If anything she over-reacts and therefore slightly over-acts. In the meantime the young heart surgeon played by a relatively mature and non-doofus Keanu Reeves is smitten with Keaton and makes his move, despite the vast difference in their ages. Without going too far into spoilers (although it doesn't take much nous to guess how things resolve themselves), one actually begins to feel sorry for nice Doctor Keanu and his puppy-like devotion.
Keaton's next Broadway hit is a 'comedy' about the disastrous results of a woman falling for her daughter's boyfriend, killing off the swine at the end of the second act. Nicholson realises that he has become a mockable figure of fun and that his has been a full but unfulfilling life, causing further medical 'episodes'. His new doctor tells him to avoid stress and to re-evaluate what is really important. Part of the denouement revolves around his seeking out old girlfriends to discover what has gone wrong with his life (a plot device stolen in toto by Jim Jarmusch's 2005 showcase for Bill Murray, "Broken Flowers".) His growing insight into what really matters is handled both cleverly and skillfully by the actor, even while it plays upon Nicholson's own playboy rep. Apart from Keaton's brief OTT heartbrokeness, her comic timing remains superb, and there are also some nice turns from Jon Favreau, Paul Michael Glaser, Rachel Ticotin, and Frances McDormand, but the acting honours belong mostly to Nicholson.
One small detail that puzzles me. When I first saw the film, in the scene where Nicholson inadvertently wanders into Keaton's bedroom and finds her in the nude, the focus of his attention was her unmaintained and bushy lower parts -- a symbolic difference between many older women and the bimbos that he has been dating. In the version I just watched, this is missing and the emphasis is on her bare breasts -- almost certainly a body double's. It seems a strange bit of re-editing! But if Spielberg can delete the guns from "E.T.", all sorts of political correctness can abound, most of it for no good purpose.
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