tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12284325430599776742024-03-05T15:40:36.071+00:00Film Ha HaA blog about cinema, ha ha!thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.comBlogger257125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-59763563846656487562016-10-18T22:38:00.000+01:002016-10-18T22:52:08.840+01:00'Manchester by the Sea' is a film haunted by absences<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Kyle Chandler and Casey Affleck in Kenneth Lonergan’s MANCHESTER BY THE SEA. Photo credit: Claire Folger, Courtesy of Amazon Studios and Roadside Attractions</span></div>
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<b>Kenneth Lonergan's magnificent third film, <i>Manchester by the Sea</i>, is dominated by what is absent as much as what is present.</b><br />
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For the audience, the extraordinary first hour is defined by the absence of information - more particularly the key revelation that recontextualises everything that comes before and after it. The characters in the film, meanwhile, are plagued by the absence of others - a father, a mother, a brother, a wife, a child. And ultimately it’s the absence of easy resolutions and happy endings that so emotionally devastating and dramatically bountiful.<br />
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The use of flashbacks, in less careful hands, can be a narrative crutch. At worst, it’s a haphazard way of filling in gaps that never needed to be filled in in the first place. <b>Manchester by the Sea</b>, though, uses the tool to extraordinary effect. When we first meet Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck) it’s abundantly clear something is amiss. Miserable and temperamental in the film’s ‘present’, his mood stands in stark relief to the happier, sociable figure we’re introduced to in scattered reminiscences. Where exactly is Lee’s wife Randi (Michelle Williams) and their children? Even the establishing shots of Lee’s hometown - the picturesque Manchester-by-the-Sea in Massachusetts - feel uneasy, the peaceful scenery disrupted by off-kilter angles and edits.<br />
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What Lonergan manages is to artfully but slowly fill the audience's’ knowledge gap between ‘now and then’ before masterfully revealing the trauma. It is a relatively simple dramatic trick, but it’s pulled off so elegantly here that when the reveal comes it flawlessly delivers the emotional knockout it absolutely must do. When the key flashback eventually plays out, it plays out in evocative detail - tiny little gestures (the awkward handling of a grocery bag stands out) communicate as much as the major revelations.<br />
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But even before that character (and film) defining trauma is revealed, it’s another tragedy that pulls Lee back to Manchester. It’s clear that the death of his brother Joe (Kyle Chandler) is a shock, but it’s doubly so when Lee becomes the de-facto guardian of Lee’s son Patrick (Lucas Hedges). Forced to at least temporarily resettle in Manchester, it’s a place that is familiar yet also alien for Lee - almost as if this lovely New England town is, for one man at least, haunted.<br />
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While the exact details are best left for the film itself to reveal, it’s no major spoiler to say this is a film about grief and mourning. With Lee, it’s an incomprehensible loss that’s also tinged with guilt, and the death of his brother is another suckerpunch when he’s already down and out. For Patrick, it’s much more raw - his attempts to carry on with life cruelly disrupted by the regular realisations that his father really is gone. The drama that occurs when these two emotionally volatile characters collide is the sort of grand yet intimate family drama one almost suspected American films didn’t really have to offer before - indeed, Manchester itself, despite obvious signs of modernity, feels like a place stuck out of time.<br />
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And yet, despite the inescapable role of tragedy, <b>Manchester by the Sea</b> is also a very funny and warm-hearted film. Patrick’s shambolic love life is a comedic well Lonergan regularly dips into, with Lee’s bemusement at his nephew’s multiple relationships proving both a source for bonding and conflict. It’s a tricky tonal balance, but it’s perfectly judged. Indeed, the film on-the-whole feels like a much more coherent, consistent film <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2012/02/review-margaret.html">than its predecessor <b>Margaret</b></a>. That film - which, in its theatrical version anyway, often felt like it was held together by good intentions, ambition and a smattering of pure luck - actually benefited from its unwieldy, novelistic approach. But there’s no doubt <b>Manchester by the Sea</b> has had its sharp edges smoothed down, and that’s necessary for the story being told. It cements Lonergan’s place as a shining light of American screenwriting and filmmaking.<br />
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For all the moments that earn genuine laughs, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that this isn’t the sort of film with easy, crowdpleasing resolutions. As the film segues into its final act, a jolly montage disregards Lesley Barber's somber original compositions and classical cuts that dominate the soundtrack. Lonergan and Jennifer Lame instead temporarily edit the images to the lively, optimistic<b> I'm Beginning To See The Light</b>. As tradition dictates, it appears Lee is finally overcoming his internal anguish and moving on with things, the freezing Massachusetts winter transition to an altogether more welcoming spring.<br />
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But then a chance encounter with Randi - Williams, it must be said, does wonders with less than a dozen scenes - serves as a heartbreaking reminder that no, it’s actually not that easy. Ella Fitzgerald’s final “I’m beginning to see the light” is very explicitly emphasised as a sort of cruel punchline, a potent counterpoint to the heartbreaking encounter the viewers and characters know is going to follow when the song fades out. While most plot details are wrapped up by film’s end, the characters cannot move on so tidily. <b>Manchester by the Sea </b>is one of cinema’s most beautiful, emotionally turbulent explorations of the messiness of grief, and how it can't be overcome in 140 minutes.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-64871214975625588912015-12-17T17:05:00.000+00:002015-12-17T17:09:49.676+00:00Star Wars: The Force Awakens - Old and new lovingly collide in a galaxy far, far away<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>There's a lot of the Star Wars you loved in The Force Awakens, but also a lot of the Star Wars you think you loved but never really existed.</b><br />
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<a name='more'></a>JJ Abrams has made the film he was always destined to make - the bold, brash, sweeping space opera that George Lucas never really had the skills - nor, at least initially, the technology and finances - to do full justice to. It's ridiculous, it's silly, it's shamelessly melodramatic - and it's glorious because of it. The 'big moments' - of which there are several - hit with the sort of wildly overdramatic weight I always imagined was present and correct in <b>A New Hope</b> as a kid, but adult revisits have found distressingly lacking. It has a contagious level of enthusiasm and passion, and while this is fundamentally still a big, dumb blockbuster, it’s the increasingly rare case where ‘big and dumb’ aren’t pejoratives.<br />
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<b>The Force Awakens</b> is up there with <b>The Empire Strikes Back</b> in the way the beats hit with the forceful, rattling impact they deserve. There’s danger, drama, excitement and tension. Quiet, extended reactions capture the artfully exaggerated emotions of the characters amid their wild adventures and unexpected revelations. Abrams and his cinematographer Daniel Mindel are well aware of the power of an extended shot - the ones that linger a few seconds longer than strictly 'necessary' - to emphasise a dramatic beat. In terms of pacing it’s almost in line with the relentless forward momentum of <b>A New Hope</b>, but this time there’s time to breathe even with the heavy demands of the simple but busy plotting. <br />
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Most of the images in <b>The Force Awakens</b> that are likely to boast staying power are the quieter, more poetic ones - a speeder cruising past a long-since crashed Star Destroyer; Rey longingly looking to the skies through an ancient Rebel visor; the stunning, dialogue-free aerial closing shots that feel like both a satisfying conclusion to one chapter and an exciting teaser for the next. There’s certainly plenty of lore and exposition to power through, but Abrams and his co-writer Lawrence Kasdan leave many motivations and emotions unspoken - allowing the performers and camera the space to do what they do. So much of the storytelling here is beautifully visual. The writers never give into self seriousness either: the melodrama is handled with the portent it deserves, but there’s rarely much of a wait for the next legitimately funny gag, playful flourish or swashbuckling thrill.<br />
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‘Earthiness’ is a strange word to use in the context of a galaxy far, far away. But from the off there's a sense of physicality that was entirely absent in the prequel trilogy, with its stoic, off-puttingly artificial world building. This new film is, it’s a relief to say, entirely different. The sand, the trees, the snow - they feel tangible in <b>The Force Awakens</b>, albeit modestly CG enhanced for epic storytelling licence (although more natural landscapes, especially the late appearance of Ireland’s Skellig Micheal, are presented with a pleasingly conservative level of SFX enhancement). The filmmaking falling back on more practical effects with encouraging frequency helps, but it's all enhanced by Abrams kinetic direction. His style here retains enough of what made the originals work well visually, while bringing his trademark swooping and restless camera maneuvers to the table (reaching an apex in a frantic, whiplash-inducing Millennium Falcon chase sequence Lucas would never have dreamed of pulling off). There's a confident balance struck between the more reserved, graceful imagery and the excitable and almost giddy camerawork employed elsewhere. Abrams is the best at what he does - the purest, showiest blockbuster filmmaking - and he’s mostly at his best here, all captured on a glorious 35mm widescreen canvas.<br />
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Oddly enough, if there’s one area the direction lacks in, it’s in the space flight sequences. Barring the Millennium Falcon chase, the gravity-defying action lacks a bit of punch, and the final assault in particular suffers from feeling too much like previous attacks on planet destroying vessels. It’s fine, for sure, but the more intimate action is where Abrams’ direction is stronger. And luckily he has it where it counts: the lightsaber fights. It’s refreshing to see a total amateur wielding the iconic weapon at length for a change, leading to a few pleasantly clunky brawls, But the final duel is the highlight - the violent lightshow across a snowy forest only equalled by the Luke and Vader face-off in <b>Empire</b>.<br />
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For a series that has always delighted in offering up a rogue’s gallery of imaginative aliens and robots (said gallery reaching an obnoxious peak in Return of the Jedi), <b>Star Wars</b> at its finest has had a loving humanity about itself. So much of the drama is built around friendships and romances; families and enemies. Indeed, the very very core of the series has been this outrageous but memorable family melodrama. Abrams and Kasdan understand that, and go all in.<br />
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<b><i>Ahoy! In-depth plot and character details discussed over the next few paragraphs</i></b></h3>
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<b>The Force Awakens</b> builds on what was there before, but drifts off in new directions too. On one hand, you have the previously established relationships and characters. Harrison Ford is the most valuable player in that regard - Han Solo’s very presence ensuring the film instantly forges a strong connection with the audience. But Ford is totally game anyway: he plays the familiar hero from the originals, but who has also very clearly aged and in some respects matured in the three decades between films. His interactions with Princess / General Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher capably portraying her as someone who has clearly seen a hell of a lot since we last saw her) are lovingly handled - the couple has had some very good and some very bad times since the Battle of Endor, and the performers elegantly relate that to the viewer with a minimal level of exposition.<br />
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But Ford is granted the best material of all when he confronts his estranged son Ben - now known as Kylo Ren, the film’s primary antagonist played by Adam Driver. I'm going to say this straight out, with no apologies whatsoever: Kylo Ren is the best villain the series has seen. Whereas Darth Vader felt awkwardly enigmatic until relatively late in the original trilogy (and doesn’t even feel that intimidating in <b>A New Hope</b>), Kylo feels like a fully formed individual already. Apart from it coming across as a wee bit silly when he first removes his mask to reveal Driver’s flowing locks, here is a character who feels much more fascinating, conflicted unhinged and damaged than Anakin Skywalker ever did (and the voice distortion is much more menacing). <br />
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The moment when Han steps on to the bridge to confront his son is shrouded in a spine-tingling aura of nervous dread and impending tragedy. What follows is, without question, the most emotionally charged and devastating incident in the saga thus far - ‘I am your father’ included. The original trilogy can be a surprisingly bloodless affair for all the betrayals and genocide contained within, but such a significant death here raises the stakes exponentially for what follows directly after, and indeed whatever follows in <b>Episode VIII</b> and beyond (given how Abrams is brave and cheeky enough to hold back Mark Hamill’s appropriately momentous entrance into the fray until the final shots, Rian Johnson’s effort cannot come soon enough).<br />
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A brief aside: <b>The Force Awakens</b> has literally the perfect amount of C-3PO, which is very little C-3PO.<br />
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As for the newcomers? The cast is large, so not all of them have the opportunity to make an impression - Domhnall Gleeson, Gwendoline Christie and a few others face a fairly hopeless battle for screentime. Nonetheless, the new leads fare wonderfully. Stormtroopers who are actually individuals are a surprisingly thrilling addition and reversal of expectations - when the camera drifts off in the opening sequence to actually follow a trooper, it’s more of a surprise that it hasn’t really been done before. John Boyega is having a ball, and while they share a relatively small amount of scenes all-in-all, the friendship he strikes up with Oscar Issac’s Poe Dameron feels like a legitimately meaningful one.<br />
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Boyega also shares no shortage of chemistry with <b>The Force Awaken’s</b> de facto lead Daisy Ridley. Rey very much promises to be a great action hero going forward, already showing the sort of confident badassery we only saw glimpses of in Luke. Impressively, while the film’s diverse cast is still a reasonably uncommon thing for sci-fi and especially this franchise (never forget some of the crude racial stereotyping of the prequels), the film does not boast about or dwell on its wholly admirable progressiveness. Things here as simply as they always should have been.<br />
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It should be noted that for all the lovable new characters introduced, it’s the robotic BB8 who steals the show - probably the most communicative, charming robotic sphere in cinema history (allowing for the fact it is a relatively underexplored character type). He is - and I’m very, very sorry for saying this - BB-great.<br />
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Am I gushing? I’m probably gushing, and I wouldn’t even consider myself a particularly big <b>Star Wars</b> fan (in fact, I believe the series had a hugely negative impact on mainstream filmmaking). There are, it feels a shame to say, rough edges here. For all the pleasingly grounded effects work, there are a few incidences of CG too far - the film’s ‘big bad’, for example, is preposterous, feeling more like something that has dropped in from a Marvel film that something from a <b>Star Wars</b> one. For all the breathing space, there’s definitely scope for a less jam-packed narrative, and at times the frantic pacing threatens to approach the messiness of <b>A New Hope</b>. The weaponised nostalgia is typically well played and well earned, but no question a handful of the explicit callbacks feel forced and threaten to break the diegesis by merely drawing attention to themselves. And, well, the wheel is certainly not reinvented - the world will not be changed, there’s no truly radical revisions to the series playbook, and for all the thrills here most of them are unashamedly dumb. One cannot forget that this film is the initial play in what will be the aggressive oversaturation of <b>Star Wars</b> by Disney - soon, new <b>Star Wars</b> content will be an annual occurrence, and will inevitably lose the feverish mystery and anticipation that has surrounded <b>The Force Awakens</b>.<br />
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But for now, strap yourself in. Imperfections and blemishes, a few there are. Maybe more than a few, and one can only imagine the debates that will be had over the film in the coming weeks, months and years will be lively. But this is vintage <b>Star Wars</b> - the sort of giddy blockbuster adventuring that is at risk of extinction. Original? Nope. Intelligent? Hell no. Thrilling, romantic, exhilarating? You're goddamn right it is.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-35039497476224840942015-09-23T20:43:00.000+01:002015-09-23T20:45:03.253+01:00This is the part where I review 'Me and Earl and The Dying Girl'<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<b>The concerns start with that darn title. </b><br />
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‘Earl’ shouldn’t be in there, for one. He’s too much of a cipher, just another supporting character among many. Then there’s the dying girl. The film’s relationship - and indeed the characters’ relationships - with the dying girl is problematic and worthy of analysis, but we’ll get back to that. ‘Me’, though? That’s totally accurate. It’s not as catchy - “One ticket to ‘Me’, please!” - but it more succinctly captures the message, themes and perspective of <b>MAEATDG</b>. Whether the film’s unquestionably intimate relationship is a productive or a destructive one? Let's have a chat about that...<br />
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<b>Me and Earl and the Dying Girl</b> has been received with both the exuberant praise and enthusiastic vitriol that reliably greets quirky indie films that are a hit at Sundance. Perhaps the finest illustration of this came in the form of a pair of well-argued articles from the now distressingly defunct The Dissolve - Scott Tobias’ scathing <a href="https://thedissolve.com/reviews/1639-me-and-earl-and-the-dying-girl/">review</a>, and David Ehrlich’s personal, in-depth <a href="https://thedissolve.com/features/exposition/1072-this-is-the-part-where-i-defend-me-and-earl-and-th/" style="vertical-align: baseline;">defence</a>. While consensus towards the film was ultimately positive, it is nonetheless a film that very much rubbed many the wrong way while easily working its charms on many others.<br />
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Yet <b>Me and Earl and the Dying Girl</b> makes a strong first impression. Director Alfonso Gomez-Rejon and cinematographer Chung-hoon Chung have put a welcome amount of imagination into the look of the film. Like Gomez-Rejon’s first film - the lively, lightly-meta horror remake <b>The Town that Dreaded Sundown</b> - <b>MAEATDG </b>can come across as formally shallow, where the dynamism of the camera feels showy as opposed to strongly motivated or consistent. Take, for example, a shot transition achieved by tilting the camera 90 degrees or so and tracking down a road - a neat, unusual visual idea that nonetheless draws a significant amount of attention to itself for little reason other than because it can. Still - there’s little denying the film can be quite visually striking, overblown though it may be on occasion.<br />
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The opening chapters of the film (and chapters they are, all prefaced with a variation of the ‘this is the part where…’) also benefit from a smartly removed perspective, reflecting the manufactured arrogance of the protagonist Greg (played by Thomas Mann). The film does not avoid clichés - a decent chunk of the opening act is given over to Greg walking us through the various high school cliques he is required to navigate through, to name but one - but they’re handled with a casually confident approach. And where the film embraces some clichés, it coolly avoids other - that a romance between Greg and Rachel (the ‘dying girl’, played by Olivia Cooke) is studiously dismissed as a possibility from pretty much the outset sets it apart from many other, similarly-themed works.The film manages to sneak in moments of sincerity without overplaying them, too. There’s a totally pointless bit where two characters take drugs accidentally, but we’ll ignore that.<br />
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The most noteworthy ‘quirk’ here is the characters’ and the filmmakers’ fondness for cinema history, or at least a select few Criterion Collection titles. Like <b>Be Kind Rewind</b>, there ultimately isn’t a whole lot to the 'sweded' movie remakes created by Greg and Earl (RJ Cyler) - although at least the film makes no effort to suggest they’re anything more than crude, one-note gags. It’s a shame they’re given as much prominence as they are given their shallowness - the first montage would have done the job. But the cinematic references more deeply and sometimes subtly embedded into the film's cinematography and soundtrack are a comparative joy to spot. I could be reading too much into it, but I definitely got the impression the camera angles became distinctly Ozu-like during a conversation about pillows. A clever one-shot scene almost feels like a surreal extension of a brilliant shot from <b>Taxi Driver</b> seen on a television within the room. A number of familiar music cues from classic cinema also nicely complicate the tone of several scenes. <b>Me and Earl and the Dying Girl</b> has a tendency to visibly and repeatedly highlight its cinephile credentials, but they’re most convincing when informing the very form of the film.<br />
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Then the second half happened. This is the part where I changed my mind. <br />
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Stylistically, the film seems to jettison almost everything that made it memorable. The tone morphs into something significantly more melodramatic, but the change feels inorganic and unearned. The filmmakers over-rely on their soundtrack - heavy on the ol' Brian Eno - as a crutch to tell us how to feel during emotional scenes and moments, which gives the sense that they’re forcing their way to their resolutions and catharsis rather than achieving them within the established tone and form of the film. There are legitimately - or at least potentially - affecting moments, undermined by the contrived script and the aforementioned brute force soundtrack. The vast majority of the supporting characters become more pronounced as the one-note gags or plot devices they actually are - talented players like Nick Offerman and Molly Shannon given little to do in particular. Jon Bernthal becomes a generically ‘inspiring’ teacher after initially appearing to be a strange satire of the same, while Katherine C. Hughes as a friend of Rachel / love interest of Earl has motivations that seem to change with every scene she appears in. One should note, though, that Even when the filmmaking feels machanised and unimaginative, <b>MEATDG </b>can be moving in spite of itself. The situations are, frankly, too loaded from them not to be,<br />
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You will notice I’ve said very little about Earl. Well, Earl could effectively be removed from the film for all the difference he makes, as if he was parachuted in from a different film altogether. This is no fault of Cyler, and instead a script (by Jesse Andrews, adapting from his own novel) that has very few ideas of what to do with the character who, lest we forget, is the only named one in the title. He is reduced to a broad stroke backstory and a few crude observations. He is a cipher. <br />
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But it’s the film’s handling of 'the dying girl' where it - arguably, it goes without saying - really stumbles. Rachel is given increasingly less screentime as the film advances, and more and more her suffering feels like a way to advance Greg's plot, not her own. Not quite manic pixie dreamgirl, not quite the <a href="http://www.avclub.com/article/coughing-radiant-and-disposible-return-consumptive-202880" style="vertical-align: baseline;">consumptive heroine</a>, but definitely strong hints of both. Cooke is a talented actress, regularly communicating Rachel’s state-of-mind through expressions rather than dialogue - particularly useful since the cancer’s progression is heavily illustrated through dialogue-free montages, and the climactic sequence relies on her non-verbal response to the experimental film Greg has made for her. The film, however, struggles to get underneath her skin. Until she dies.<br />
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This is the part with the dividing line. This is the part that has likely helped led to the stark range of responses to the film. Because <b>Me and Earl and the Dying Girl</b> is about ‘Me’ (‘me’ being Greg). It is a study of egotism, or, if we’re willing to be a bit more sympathetic, one immature teenager’s response to an unfolding tragedy happening to somebody close to them. The film is steadfastly interested in Greg’s perspective, and from that conceited point-of-view it becomes somewhat understandable that his engagement with others is shallow and simplistic. He sees people in broad strokes, and through their connection with him.<br />
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The problem is the film struggles to convincingly portray all this. Only the very first scene - one of the few moments in the film featuring explicitly fantastical imagery - effectively communicates the blurry line between reality and Greg’s askew distortion of the same. Yes, there is a certain element of unreliable narrator here: one throwaway shot in a montage is given a startlingly different context when we’re reshown it from Rachel’s perspective a few minutes later. But for the most part it’s something the film struggles to formally or convincingly illustrate. It doesn’t help that in one noteworthy case Greg is less an unreliable narrator and instead a straight-up fucking liar: he assures the audience - twice - in voiceover that Rachel is not going to die, a statement which contradicts both the opening suggestion that she will die, and of course her eventual death. It’s a cheap, meaningless dramatic trick that has very little impact other than stand out as weirdly jarring.<br />
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When everything starts wrapping up in a neat little package, it all plays out disappointingly mechanically. The fairly sudden over-sincerity of both the drama and the film’s style don’t quite manage to keep pace with Greg’s more gradual character development, and there’s a few too many contrivances along the way to his eventual great revelation (the ‘premiere’ of his experimental film, which coincides with Rachel’s death, is a well-handled sequence, it should be said, heavily on the emotive music though it may be). When Rachel finally passes away, it’s only then that Greg and we viewers learn something more substantial about her. He learns more about her creative streak, her quirks, her childhood. Again, in a way it fits the film’s overall themes that Greg only learns all this when it’s too late, a reminder that he didn’t pay enough attention because he was, frankly, a selfish git. But the whole sequence left a strangely sour taste in my mouth, especially when it precedes a generally hopeful conclusion.<br />
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Rachel manages to basically ‘rescue’ Greg’s future from beyond the grave, by writing a letter to a college admissions board and encouraging Greg to take action and do the same. It’s a hopeful conclusion - while it’s not revealed whether the letters actually did the job and secured Greg his lost college space, we’re left on an unmistakably optimistic note that our protagonist will find his way in personal, academic and artistic life. In execution, however, there’s just something about it that feels like they have glossed over the tragedy. There’s a funeral and some tears, sure, and the posthumous discovery of Rachel’s personality (what a strange phrase to type). But here’s yet another story where it feels like a talented, charming girl exists primarily in relation to a boy, and she has to die to put said boy on the right path. The film, to be fair, acknowledges this cliché. But the real question is whether it manages to transcend and overcome it? This is the part where I’m not so sure.</div>
thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-44102024183410147792015-06-12T11:47:00.002+01:002015-06-12T11:49:02.821+01:00The conflicts, contradictions and hypocrisies of 'Jurassic World'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's hardly irregular for blockbuster films to fail to follow through on their ideas or high concepts – many films have surrendered depth as their budgets grew higher. Others simply struggled to make good on their deliciously promising, tricksy conceits. It is relatively irregular, however, for a blockbuster film to highlight and even critique its own limitations, while also failing to transcend the very traits it has expressed disdain towards. That's the unusual dissonance to be found in <b>Jurassic World</b>, one of the most self-aware and hypocritical Hollywood productions you're ever likely to watch.<br />
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From the off, it becomes clear <b>Jurassic World</b> is a film operating on two different wavelengths. The very first shot shows a hatching dinosaur egg, the creature inside slowly revealed. It's a homage to the convincingly clunky hatching sequence in Jurassic Park (which remains perhaps the greatest realisation of the modern spectacle movie), yet obviously rendered through unconvincing, cartoonish CGI – the shared burden of almost all contemporary spectacles. Yet with the next scene, director Colin Trevorrow (graduating from the charming sci-fi indie comedy <b><a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2012/11/safety-not-guaranteed.html">Safety Not Guaranteed</a></b>) changes tone. We see a young boy (Ty Simpkins) in a room covered with dinosaur stuff, feverishly anticipating a trip to the theme park where his favourite animals roam wild. In two scenes, then, we've had two conflicting registers: one of modern CG excess, the other of childlike and old-fashioned anticipation and wonder.<br />
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Over the next half hour or so, the film – unsurprisingly credited to four screenwriters – presents itself as a film comfortably in tune with what exactly it is. There are knowing attacks on marketing and corporate interference, and on-the-nose dialogue that articulates the need for ever bigger thrills to attract bored audiences. In one scene, <b>Jurassic World</b> visitors observe a giant aquatic dinosaur (well beyond the capabilities of an SFX team in 1993) with awe and joy – it's no coincidence that the angle chosen makes it look like they're staring at a cinema screen.<br />
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<b>Jurassic World</b> establishes itself, with unmistakable clarity ('subtext' would imply there's a 'sub' to it), as a film with a distaste for trends within mainstream filmmaking, and seemingly sets out to do something fresh while harking back to a better, more magical time for blockbusters. One character played by Jake Johnson wears an original <b>Jurassic Park</b> t-shirt while affectionately reminiscing about the park (and, with a wink, the film), while the early 1990s is frequently referenced as an altogether better, simpler time. Yet it's obvious the same old tricks won't totally cut it this time, either. Can the film play the nostalgia card while also bringing some fresh ideas to the table?<br />
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The answer is inevitably disappointing. After an extended opening act of self-reflection, everything goes to shit – both for the fictional theme park operators who foolishly thought they could contain their genetically engineered super dino, and for the filmmakers who dared to propose (promise?) potentially overcoming the limitations of a $150 million+ franchise sequel in 2015.<br />
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Where to start? The film is constantly highlighting the horror of corporate interference – even hiring Vincent D'Onofrio as a sneering InGen stooge up to no good - yet is concurrently littered with seemingly unironic product placement. It celebrates the wonders of science and reflects on the dark power of playing God (poor BD Wong, the one recurring cast member, is also reduced to corporate puppet by film's end, anticipating – the film teases – film number five). It is cynical towards empty, focus-grouped spectacle, and ultimately resigns itself to empty, focus-grouped spectacle. Depending on how much credit you're willing to give the creative team, it's almost as if they are actively making fun of the audience at times, albeit for no discernible or coherent gain.<br />
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The jarring dichotomy extends to the characterisation too. Bryce Dallas Howard plays Claire, a senior figure at the park who is meant to be looking after her visiting nephews when all hell breaks loose. She is the de facto protagonist of the film, surprisingly taking centre stage alongside or arguably even ahead of poster boy Chris Pratt. Over the course of the film, she develops into a more proactive hero, confident, assured and risk-taking after being a bit of a selfish stick-in-the-mud at the start of proceedings. Honestly, it remains a sad rarity to see a female character so prominent in a tentpole blockbuster, an especially encouraging sign so soon after the proudly progressive <b><a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2015/05/the-moderately-feminist-dystopia-of-mad.html">Mad Max: Fury Road</a></b>.<br />
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But that's not all there is to Claire in the film. Her character development is tied to her effectively surrendering to a more traditional gender role – her maternal and, well, sexual instincts the factors that encourage her to break out of her shell. And that shell is already one of a confident, career driven woman – something portrayed as a negative. Somewhat incredulously, the development of her character is also symbolised directly by her continued disrobing. For no good reason, the filmmakers draw attention to her slowly but surely removing her outfit, not least in one of the most gratuitous cleavage shots in recent memory. There is an argument to be made that the gradual removal of her work clothes is done in the name of practicality, or a physical manifestation of her character changes. But put it this way: why don't the male characters end up doing the same?<br />
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The dissonance is present elsewhere. For the most part Pratt does little more than growl and get shit done, but in one scene – that one controversially highlighted by Joss Whedon – he comes across as a wisecracking asshole / borderline sex pest. The central romance feels perfunctory and unconvincing. Yet in a witty scene elsewhere Johnson's character rushes to explicitly express his feelings for a co-worker (Lauren Lapkus) during a moment of high drama, only for Trevorrow to amusingly subvert our expectations and instead highlight the silliness and creepiness of such a thing. Again, it is clear that the filmmakers are conscious of the ludicrous tropes and conventions limiting much genre film, but they seem perfectly happy to indulge in them without irony while making fun of them elsewhere.<br />
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And so we get to the spectacle – the dinosaur action. That's where the constant homages to its predecessor (<b>The Lost World</b> and <b>JP3 </b>are wisely ignored) become least flattering. There are throwbacks like the economically utilised iconic music cues that suggest the filmmakers are intimately aware of what made Spielberg's film so successful. And a handful of moments do capture some sort of majesty, maybe even magic – like the first glimpse of a dinosaur petting zoo (a beautifully loaded image), or an impressive shot that comes across as a dark subversion of that unforgettable image of that first wide shot of a dinosaur plane in <b>Jurassic Park</b>.<br />
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Yet for the most part the comparisons are unflattering (even if, almost by default, it's still the most interesting sequel). There's no sense of tension or weight to the action - even the build-up to the park reveal is handled with brutal efficiency in the first ten minutes or so. A handful of sequences toy with being more intimate, but feel contrived in a way the original never did (safe to say an unsupervised tour through dino-town in a glass bubble would not make it past many health and safety inspectors). One shot sees Owen and Claire nursing what appears to be a wounded, animatronic Brachiosaurus – a pleasingly weighty shot undermined when the camera swoops to encompass a clearly CG body. This isn't to say the original was not full of computer manipulation because it absolutely was, but Spielberg always made sure to offset it with some of the best practical effects work in cinema history. That's sorely missed here, hardly aided by direction that is at times is clear and coherent, but mostly bores with unconvincing, flavourless spectacle - not least a preposterously realised climactic multiple-dinosaur brawl that concludes with a T-Rex and raptor effectively affectionately winking at the nearby humans before politely leaving them to their business. It's only slightly less silly than that in action.<br />
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All this from a film that spent much of its opening act decrying the sorry state of the contemporary blockbuster. Generously speaking, it could be considered the filmmakers highlighting the impossibility of doing something original within the confines of a big studio blockbuster with a dizzying budget, sneaking a message in however they. Perhaps a bold attempt at critiquing both the audiences and corporations that maintain the business model. But it's a film that never manages to transcend that which it criticises, instead coming across as if different writers were responsible for the film's first and second halves (Charlie and Donald Kaufman, maybe?). Even if we do give the filmmakers the benefit of the doubt, accepting that they were fighting against impossible odds – what a lousy, depressing message we're left with. </div>
thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-47124616963425012082015-05-16T01:12:00.000+01:002015-05-16T01:19:15.384+01:00The (moderately) feminist dystopia of 'Mad Max: Fury Road'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Relentless is almost the word. It's not an entirely accurate description as in <b>Mad Max:</b> <b>Fury Road</b> the motors do occasionally stop purring, and the characters do take moments to engage with each other in ways other than hyperviolence and generalised grunts. These moments are proudly fleeting, however, and for the most part the chase is also on, and the audience is advised to take a good deep breath when the Warner Brothers logo appears. Just in case.<br />
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Here be chaos, but of a controlled kind. It is unhinged yet gifted with directorial clarity. It is deranged yet blessed with something approaching gracefulness. It is an impressive realisation of cinematic anarchy within the confines of a big budget blockbuster. Fury Road is the work of a cult auteur, finally granted access to the technology and resources to make the film he always wanted to make – and a studio thankfully stupid enough to give them to him.<br />
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It's a complete work, the ultimate confluence of three earlier drafts. George Miller seems reluctant to leave the camera still for any more than mere moments, bar a handful of picturesque, almost David Lean-esque shot he loosely scatters throughout the narrative - seconds of poetry amidst the insanity. The camera otherwise moves with the restlessness of the film's many unnaturally twitchy characters, eager to disorientate and amaze – both at once, if possible. The editing finds some new angle of desert grit to probe every couple of seconds, and since we all know boring old reality moves with devastating slowness at the best of times, Miller and co rightly pump up the movement speed by around 33% or so from time to time to keep things rocketing along nicely, adding an unreal edge to an already surreal experience.<br />
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Max's journey there and back again demands a robust theatrical sound system to do justice to its gloriously symphonic sound design. During its highest octane moments – in essence a good two-thirds of the generous running time – the speakers blare out a propulsive soundtrack: barely audible dialogue, the frequent soothing sounds of explosions, and the near constant hum of engines being pushed beyond their limits. Don't mistake this for a cacophony: it's the perfect fit for a film this outstandingly busy. George Miller, totally aware of this, even has the diegetic and non-diegetic elements of the soundtrack explicitly overlap through an inspired recurring gag: a guitar player suspended on one of the motorcade's vehicles, backed by a wall of amplifiers and gang of drummers. His ludicrously distorted riffs not only cause flames to spew from the head of his guitar (while the camera crane swoops with reckless abandon), but they also seamlessly blend with the musical score – causing a pleasingly tangible relationship between the fiction and the score that earns a chuckle every time the joke recurs and raises its finger to conventional form.<br />
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Yet perhaps the capabilities of modern technology are not always for the best in the dystopian world of <b>Fury Road</b>. Miller colour codes the world with extreme saturation. For the most part, this is a fetching post-production flourish, emphasising the barely believable nightmare world Max finds himself travelling through (or at least helplessly tied to a pole being propelled through). During the day it works best, but at night the effect shows both strength and limitations. Choosing a pure blue hue is unquestionably an imaginative way of capturing those typically troublesome night scenes, while also highlighting how starkly artificial the effect is. It becomes doubly distracting when there's a light source in the frame, illuminating the surrounding area with much warmer tones. It's an ambitious but ultimately jarring decision, a simple example of a film that has completely abandoned the more grounded post-apocalyptic world and look of <b>Mad Max</b> and <b>The Road Warrior</b> (hereby retrospectively retitled 'Mad' and 'Madder' – with 'Maddest' reserved for <b>Fury Road</b>).<br />
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The film's relationship with modern technology is, in the parlance of our times, complicated: while the film piles on the CG to an almost aggressive degree, it also benefits significantly from the potential of the same, allowing for stunts and scenes that would otherwise be impossible. <b>Fury Road's</b> solitary (contractually obligated?) 'there's shit flying at the screen in 3D!!!!' scene could, however, be generously described as utterly superfluous, and looks beyond ludicrous in a film that otherwise benefits from the supreme clarity of a two-dimensional viewing.<br />
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It would be disingenuous to not emphasise at this point how pleasingly physical the film is in spite of the abundance of computer generated imagery. The brawling is brutal. The vehicles shunt each other, collide at insane speeds, are repeatedly penetrated with bullets and projectiles, and have their doors ripped off and tires burst. Weaponry feels appropriately weighty, and indeed the very clear shortage of ammunition is welcome in a cinematic landscape where heroes are often gifted with magically refilling magazines. And one of the film's most immense, dangerous and visceral scenes takes place in a computerised sandstorm – <b>Fury Road</b> is an example of a production where the technology of today is used for good as well as occasional evil.<br />
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'Max' has never been more appropriate description of this film's philosophy - yet at the same time there's a welcome economy to the film's storytelling. A fleeting prologue voiceover aside, little time is wasted on establishing lore, motivations, backstories, relationships and so on. The film's ideas and themes emerge nimbly – some sharply considered exposition aside - and the details of the world are dispensed at a pleasant pace instead of an immediate overload, perhaps considerate of the fact many viewers will already be in need of a mild sedative. It is a captivating world, and a brutal one. There is crossbreeding, brainwashed kamikaze troops lusting for Valhalla, slavery, corrupt & grotesque leaders, and many more horrors besides. The transformation that was underway in the original <b>Mad Max</b> films is complete – a dark future, although slivers of humanity still creep through.<br />
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The much-heralded / lightly-feared (by some) feminist subtext emerges as one of the film's most unexpected assets, especially in a genre and series that sometimes overdose on testosterone. The postergirl is of course Charlize Theron, whose Imperator Furiosa is a powerful, intelligence and sly character, perhaps more so than the titular character. A strong case could be made that she's even something of a secondary protagonist here, with a clearer emotional arc than Max himself. More interesting, though, is the film's approach to a hoary old trope. After introducing some deceptively stereotypical damsels in distress at an early point – in the dystopian equivalent of a gratuitous wet t-shirt scene - Miller and his co-writers spend the next 90 minutes challenging, exploring and mildly subverting those gender roles to quite pleasing effect.<br />
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The entire story hinges on the protagonist – Immortan Joe – pursuing the convoy in search of his 'stolen' property – i.e. these five fertile women. The film – and hopefully the audience – is clearly quite disapproving of this idea of women as 'objects', and does its best to articulate those disapprovals. As the narrative barrels towards its destination (and eventually back towards the point of departure), these women become more active participants in their own story. A further twist to spice things up sees a group of elderly women introduced, who turn out to be some of the most capable, accomplished fighters in the film – a welcome riposte to the stark age and gender divide in action films generally. <br />
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<b>Fury Road</b> doesn't go quite as far as it could - one or two of the damsels remain damselled, and a few men do step in to save the day from time to time - but nonetheless it's supremely satisfying to see male and female characters operating on a level playing field for much of the running time (although, in this violent world, that also inevitably means some of the women don't see the end of this high-stakes, bloody roadtrip). As a matter of fact, it's the women who ultimately literally ascend to a position of power and authority as the film cuts to black – an encouraging, hopeful closing image if ever there was one.<br />
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And it's not the lively gender politics of the film that minimise Max's role in proceedings, but rather Hardy's performance. His gruff accent doesn't manage to transcend its ridiculousness, and for that reason largely struggles to convince when he is speaking – thankfully, something of a rarity. Max is at his best, then, when keeping mum, and some of his straightforward gestures and nods make for some of the most effective, affecting and humourous character beats. At the start of the film, he has been dehumanised, the brutality of the world having worn him down, and he's running on fumes (aka survival instinct). He's also kind of an asshole. But as the story progresses he becomes the familiar Max of mythical proportions, re-calibrating his moral compass and becoming a righteous, unstoppable force for good instead of selfishness. He is in many respects reminiscent the ronin in <b>Yojimbo</b>, or The Man With the No Name – although, as he belatedly concedes as a friend hovers on the border of life and death, his name is Max.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-84706270653785119472015-04-16T14:51:00.000+01:002015-04-16T14:51:00.521+01:00Everything at Once: The Remarkable 'World of Tomorrow' <b><i>World of Tomorrow, Don Hertzfeldt, 2015</i></b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Image: Don Hertzfeldt / Vimeo</b></td></tr>
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Sci-fi and comedy are regular bedfellows, but rarely do they meet with the sheer unrivaled passions that they do in Don Hertzfeldt's radical short <b>World of Tomorrow</b>. But to limit this sort of film to a mere meeting of two genres is a disservice to a film that flirts with all manner of moods, registers and ideas, and all in the time it takes most films to start maybe considering a second act.<br />
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The seeds were sown in the director's exemplary debut feature (albeit a feature that consists of three shorts stitched together) <b>It's Such a Beautiful Day</b>, easily among the most audacious animated features of recent times. That was a film that married brutally honest, philosophical mediations on mortality and ageing with absurdist, deadpan humour, experimental visuals and a clear adoration for Terence Malick films. It was as bold a debut feature as they come, not only packing a punch but packing a variety of punches, jabs, headlocks and dummies to keep the audience on their toes.<br />
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So it is in World of Tomorrow, which is available to rent off Vimeo right now, so go and watch it immediately. From the very beginning, it's a short with a wicked sense of deadpan humour, from the adorably oblivious voice performance of young Winona Mae as Emily Prime to the Emilys' grandfather's correspondence to the real world after being uploaded as a 'digital consciousness' ('Oh God. Oh My God. Holy Mother of God. Oh oh oh oh oh oh God' – brilliantly delivered without discernible emotion by Julia Potts).<br />
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The wry wit is present and correct throughout the film, yet it soon becomes apparent that thematically the film is worth taking seriously. Its science-fiction conceits are often proudly ludicrous, yet also loaded with legitimately deep insights about the human condition – perhaps the defining feature of any great science-fiction work. Through its exploration of subjects such as uploading identity, cloning and eventually the apocalypse itself, <b>World of Tomorrow</b> is a film that subtly demands the audience to engage with such grand topics as contemporary isolation, identity, class divisions, the impact of technology on our lives and – like its predecessor – mortality itself.<br />
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The film's engagement with the hoary old fantasy of time travel is especially cogent. In the film, time travel is a luxury for the rich and famous, albeit with a riskier but cheaper variety available for those who can't afford the real deal. Here even a slight misjudgement in the equation sees people transported into unexpected time periods, or perhaps beamed to certain death in the Earth's upper atmosphere. In one scene, Emily and Emily Prime watch as those desperately trying to escape impending doom take the risk of the discount time travel burn up in the atmosphere, resembling shooting stars. What an image it is: blackly comic, yet elegantly melancholic at the very same time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Image: Don Hertzfeldt / Vimeo</b></td></tr>
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Hertzfeldt's visual style has evolved in extraordinary directions over the years. His 'breakthrough' hit <b>Rejected </b>was mostly shot in a crude stick figure style, but in the fourth-wall breaking finale the director illustrated a willingness to subvert that form in imaginative and surprising ways. <b>It's Such a Beautiful Day</b> made tremendous use of mixed media, and here the evolution continues. That trademark minimalism still serves as the core authorial signature, but from the first shot onwards – of young Emily approaching an urgently flashing console - it becomes clear this is a film with immense visual energy.<br />
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Embracing digital animation in earnest, Hertzfeldt's drawings here leap off the screen. There are images that are abstract, experimental, surreal, fantastical. Geometrical shapes are employed and distorted with utmost care, while other drawings abound with wilder, rougher and unstable sketches that enhance the film's nervous yet excited energy. It's the colour that stands out most, and not just in that wonderful scene where Emily Prime learns she can control the colour of the background by just shouting out her hue of choice. Throughout <b>World of Tomorrow</b> the colourisation is dynamic and bold, constantly shifting to offer up a wide range of memorable imagery. Even the stick figures themselves adapt to the ever-shifting shades – at one point their black outlines seamlessly segue to white as the characters poetically drift towards space.<br />
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Perhaps the most powerful scene in the film comes at the end, when Emily is mistakenly transported to some uncertain moment in the distant past. It's a great joke – a humourous callback to a concept mentioned earlier in the film. But there's also something devastatingly sad about the image (even if Hertzfeldt ultimately has her transported back to normality): this young girl, stranded and alone in some miserable, cold, almost certainly hostile location at some undisclosed point in history. What a loaded image, and not a word has to be said. It conjures authentic existential dread while also serving as a delicious punchline (or is that headlockline?). And that's what impresses about <b>World of Tomorrow</b> in just one image: not only can it be praised for many different things, but it's almost always many different things all at once.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhLGewPsHC2cTUx4AocBNTy1ozUE2n_aWADhPEwTxAKzCPpSpMh4v-VepA0lZOsfVulD8Uvf2u5aYqnaxvYjuzF3isbUWdLP1I5ws2LIUpEVPbpqrTUly_YzvewU38zVY-DHJTj3fVL9H/s1600/worldoftomorrow1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhLGewPsHC2cTUx4AocBNTy1ozUE2n_aWADhPEwTxAKzCPpSpMh4v-VepA0lZOsfVulD8Uvf2u5aYqnaxvYjuzF3isbUWdLP1I5ws2LIUpEVPbpqrTUly_YzvewU38zVY-DHJTj3fVL9H/s1600/worldoftomorrow1.png" height="325" width="570" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">Image: Don Hertzfeldt / Vimeo</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-24541714324127928802015-03-03T15:51:00.001+00:002015-03-03T15:52:26.775+00:00This Is (Not) A True Story - Notes on 'Kumiko, The Treasure Hunter'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>This is a true story.</b><br />
<br />
It's the text that opens Fargo, and it's the text that now opens <b>Kumiko, The Treasure Hunter</b>. But, obviously, it's text you shouldn't trust.<br />
<br />
While <b>Fargo </b>plays a hugely important role in shaping <b>Kumiko</b>, there's another text that equally plays into the Zellner Brothers' feature. That's Paul Berczeller's <b>La Jette</b>-inspired <b>This Is A True Story</b> - a short film that deconstructs an urban legend that sprung up following the tragic death of a Japanese woman in Minnesota. Certain media outlets reported that Takako Konishi had died while hunting for the briefcase full of cash buried by Steve Buscemi in <b>Fargo</b>. Berczeller convincingly dismantles that myth, examining how a simple misunderstanding and language barrier led to a widely misreported – albeit considerable more attention grabbing - take on what actually happened. As Berczeller explains, the 'true story' was “altogether more ordinary, easier to understand but harder to forget”.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><b>This Is A True Story</b> takes a myth and attempts to discover the truth. In <b>Fargo</b>, 'this is a true story' is little more than a wry gag, a cheeky punchline before the film has even started. In <b>Kumiko</b>, the opening 'this is a true story' gambit is considerably trickier and more complex than in either of those cases. The claim is presented at the outset with fuzzy, unstable VHS visuals – an early warning for the audience that reality and fiction are not going to be crystal clear here. <b>Kumiko </b>takes what started as little more than an ingenious little joke, and expands on it in ways that can be quite surprising.<br />
<br />
The first 'proper' sequence is one of two that are openly yet subtly ambiguous about how genuine what we're seeing actually is. It shows Kumiko (Rinko Kikuchi) following a treasure map to a seaside cave somewhere in Japan. Under a rock, she discovers a battered VHS copy of <b>Fargo</b>. It's a disorientating opening, barely referenced again when Kumiko and the filmmakers swiftly travel back to Tokyo. Yet even at that early stage, before we've been introduced to a more mundane status quo, there's something startingly odd and unreliable about the way the 'discovery' is made, almost like an arthouse subversion of the iconic opening of <b>Raiders of the Lost Ark</b>. Who put the tape there? How did Kumiko find it? Based on what is to follow, perhaps we're rightly encouraged to question whether the origin of the tape is something Kumiko invented entirely, but has convinced herself to believe.<br />
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Kikuchi is sometimes cast solely because an American film needs a young Japanese woman – the 'Ken Watanabe' effect - yet films like <b>Norwegian Wood</b> have shown she is an immensely talented performer when given the opportunity. And she does an extraordinary job as Kumiko, in what is a rather unromantic role. She is an insular, edgy and alienated character, with much of the characterisation communicated through awkward body language. She's an outsider in Tokyo, which the Zellners articulate simply but effectively by often having her bold, red riding hood style coat the only stand out element in their lovely but muted widescreen frames (this motif is retained during the American sequences, with some shots directly calling back to earlier ones, as you can see in the trailer above). When she's forced to don a grey uniform for work, she becomes even more uncomfortable – somebody who is in search of identity and meaning, but cannot find it in an overwhelming metropolis.<br />
<br />
In that context, having her become obsessed with the deluded goal of discovering the buried treasure in a fictional film is not only strangely believable, but also surprisingly poignant – and one that plays off the 'ordinary' real-world motivations that sent Takako Konishi on her tragic trip to Minnesota.<br />
<br />
Given the concept and the range of exaggerated characters Kumiko encounters in Tokyo and her eventual voyage towards Fargo – not to mention the cutsey rabbit 'sidekick' she decides to abandon before embarking on her trip to the States - one would almost be forgiven for assuming this is just another line in a line of quirky road trips in independent film. Yet a deep melancholy runs through <b>Kumiko, The Treasure Hunter</b>. While there are scattered chuckles to be had, the film is generally sombre and moody. Even when Kumiko is taken in by an overly friendly Minnesotan resident, or spends some time with a helpful policeman (played by director and co-writer David Zellner), again there's a surrealistic edge, almost as if our unreliable protagonist and her distorted perception of the movie <b>Fargo </b>- which of course is populated by many memorable caricatures - are subtly influencing events.<br />
<br />
This is most evident when Kumiko, misinterpreting the policeman's signals, moves in for a kiss. His surprised, discouraging response rattles Kumiko – and certainly this viewer too, given how most other films would surely have played up any sort of sexual or romantic potential. There's that line between reality and a 'cinematic reality', and it's a line that the Zellners seem eager to toe.<br />
<br />
Ultimately, the film distorts reality and imagination one last time. Growing increasingly desperate, Kumiko abandons the road to Fargo and aimlessly sets off across the desolate Minnesotan landscape, covered in a blanket for warmth (and visually isolating her in an environment that is often endless planes of snow). After an encounter with a wild dog, she eventually collapses – shortly after one powerful close-up captures her cold-battered but determined face.<br />
<br />
Yet the following morning we see her awaken, rejuvenated. Here the Zellners hint that Kumiko may have abandoned reality entirely. She trudges onwards, eventually finding the fabled spot and uncovering her treasure. And then who hops up beside her? Bunzo, the rabbit we had seen her abandon on a Tokyo subway carriage. The final sequence had been unconvincing up until that point, but the Bunzo's appearance eloquently underlines that untrustworthiness.<br />
<br />
The final shot, soundtracked by the cheery chants of the Yamasuki Singers, again shows Kumiko against an endless snowscape, walking away from camera. On a surface level, it's a celebratory image, a character having achieved her seemingly impossible goal. And yet the memory of that collapse – and indeed the knowledge of actual events – only grows more potent. It's an image that operates on two contradictory registers - a happy ending that is also extraordinarily sad. It plays on the details the audience knows, yet also deceives them with what is actually shown - although the sheer loneliness of the (almost) empty white landscape manages to pack one final punch.<br />
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This is a true story. Is it ever actually that simple?thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-34242254014037952622015-01-27T19:32:00.000+00:002015-01-27T19:32:12.590+00:00National Gallery (Frederick Wiseman, 2014)<b>Eye of the beholder</b><br />
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Objectivity is a lie. Loud people on the internet can cry for 'objectivity' in reviews all they want, but said cries illustrate a fundamental misunderstanding of how criticism and the creation of art works. All writers have their biases: some can disguise them better than others, but it's almost impossible to abandon them completely.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Documentary filmmaking has always had some of the most fascinating conflicts between impartiality and authorship. And, of all contemporary documentary filmmakers, Frederick Wiseman navigates his way through that conflict in perhaps the most accomplished and rewarding way.<br />
<br />
National Gallery, like his last film At Berekeley and indeed several decades of acclaimed documenting of institutions and society, is on a first impression an extreme example of 'fly-on-the-wall' storytelling. Scenes are presented in long takes. There are no captions. There is no explanatory text outlining who is who and what they do. There are no talking heads... actually, that's not entirely true, as there are several incidences of talking heads, but amusingly they're talking heads from another documentary being filmed in the grounds of London's National Gallery. I'd like to think Wiseman included these moments to cheekily highlight the valley between his style and the more artificial style being employed by the other crew.<br />
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But the inclusion of these scenes works in other respects too. It's a good opportunity for some of the gallery's most knowledgeable staff to articulate their ideas without shattering through Wiseman's signature verité style in the process. And it also shows the documentary crew are part of the fabric of the gallery when they're present, as much as the staff or indeed the paintings themselves.<br />
<br />
Indeed, when Wiseman and his crew are present, they might not be on screen, but <i>their </i>presence is certainly felt. For the most part, National Gallery captures tour guides guiding tours, administrative meetings, the restoring team painstakingly working on the gallery's priceless collection, the public studying the works, and - of course - much screentime and space is dedicated to the paintings themselves. But by merely being there, Wiseman and team become part of the environment.<br />
<br />
As the director himself is on record as stating, this is an inescapable truth of documentary filmmaking. But Wiseman negotiates his way through this all with enviable skill. His unobtrusive style still feels like it's capturing these moments in a way that is truthful and enlightening. Whether it's one of the heads of the conservation team telling a crowd how they have discovered a "hidden" painting beneath Rembrandt's Portrait of Frederick Rihel on Horseback, or the unashamedly elitist gallery director engaging the administration team in a lively debate over the potential perils of hosting a charity event on the gallery grounds, National Gallery is full of moments gifting the audience delightful insights into the sheer diversity of daily life inside this major institution.<br />
<br />
While the film definitely feels like it gives us as honest and 'real' portrait of the gallery as is reasonably possible, where Wiseman expresses more explicit authorship is in the editing. It's the moments he chooses to show us that allow National Gallery's themes to emerge and breathe. The film interrogates a number of issues related to both the creation and consumption of art. We hear at least two significantly different interpretations of a single work. Each guide we meet has their own opinions, readings and perspectives. They offer their thoughts on how artists' communicate their stories visually and technically - from their framing choices to what they choose <i>not </i>to include.<br />
<br />
National Gallery is ostensibly about paintings first and foremost, but it also feels like Wiseman is curious in how it all relates to filmmaking too. After all, what makes him such an extraordinary director is how he expertly navigates through hundreds or thousands of hours of footage and carefully edits them together to create films that are much more than just a random sequence of 'moments'. Definitely Wiseman manages to create films that feel more raw, trustworthy and candid than any of his contemporaries, but also feel like the work of an artist with so much to say himself. National Gallery proves that, well into his 80s, Wiseman still has plenty of pondering to do alongside the documenting.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-32034042567451538882015-01-09T14:59:00.001+00:002015-01-09T15:01:14.909+00:00 The Films of the Year - The Entirely Pointless Film Ha Ha Annual Review 2014<b>Just another end of year list </b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under the Skin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
2014 was a relatively quiet year of film writing at FilmHaHa - not for lack of watching films, but more due to lack of time. While I did not always have time to write about them as much as I would have liked, I made sure to watch as many as I possibly could. Surprise, surprise: it was another year of filmmaking that was imaginative, brilliant, provocative, surprising, moving, entertaining, experimental (and so on).<br />
<br />
You probably don't care, but here are some of my favourites from 2014, listed in no particular order. These are based on Irish releases, so a few technically '2013' films may have slipped in there:<br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
(Shameless plug: you can find my 'other', properly published end of year film article at the link below, which is focused on films that slipped under the radar for one reason or another: https://www.newstalk.ie/Ten-great-films-that-slipped-under-the-radar-in-2014)<br />
<br />
<b>At Berkeley </b>- How is a four hour documentary set pretty much
entirely on a university campus so compelling from first frame to last?
Frederick Wiseman allows the camera to soak up the sights, the stories,
the people, and offers a masterclass in documentary filmmaking in the
process. From what I'm reading, looks like a safe bet to reserve a place
on next year's list for National Gallery!<br />
<br />
<b>Boyhood / Girlhood</b> - Boyhood really needs no introduction - a
sprawling achievement on a truly unprecedented scale (certainly in the
realm of fiction film). But Girlhood deserves defending too as something
of a counterpoint - another honest, acutely observed tale of
adolescence from Celine Sciamma. Frankly, these two films are ultimately
very, very different stories in very, very different styles, but they’d
make one hell of a double bill.<br />
<br />
<b>Goodbye to Language</b> - I go to the cinema to see something new and
challenging, and Adieu au Langage sees a veteran director still
redefining the potential of the medium. Jean Luc-Godard, cinematic troll
extraordinaire, rips apart the rules of 3D and storytelling with equal
parts playfulness and complexity. It’s the only 3D film you ever need to
see - although you’ll need to see it again. And again. And probably
again after that.<br />
<b><br />
The Grand Budapest Hotel</b> - Wes Anderson manages to make a film even
more drowning in his own eccentricities. And thank god he did, because
The Grand Budapest Hotel is delightful cinema from one of the medium’s
most singular auteurs. Anderson concludes on the poignant reminder that,
for all the energy and vibrancy of the world portrayed here, it is
destined to remain an impossibly nostalgic dream. Luckily, we have Wes
Anderson to visualise that impossible dream for us.<br />
<br />
<b>Her</b> - Where other films treat technology with fear and suspicion,
Her is defined by its empathy and humanity. Simply put, it is a truly
thoughtful and beautiful, yet probing and bittersweet sci-fi romance.
It’s the brilliant film Spike Jonze has always had him.<br />
<br />
<b>Ida</b> - the visual presentation most stands out in this minimalist
yet powerful drama. Shot in black & white 4:3 (and making tremendous
use out of that old-fashioned aspect ratio), the compositions make
fascinating use of frame height and geometry. Through the
cinematography, Pawlikowski and his DP transmit a sense of unease, place
and often a grim sort of beauty. It's a film where every pretty much
every cut signals an inventive new shot, while the fascinating dual
character study at the film’s centre (dominated by incredibly evocative
performances from Agata Trzebuchowska and Agata Kulesza) also allows for
insightful exploration of the political and social contexts of
mid-century Poland (particularly the aftermath of the Holocaust) <br />
<br />
<b>Mr Turner </b>- an exquisite biopic that elegantly bypasses the
typical limitations of the form. With its painterly cinematography,
admirably episodic structure and towering lead performance from Timothy
Spall, Mike Leigh's film feels like a truly rich, engaging and
illuminating portrait of a complex and fascinating individual. The
painfully mediocre likes of the Imitation Game could take note.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Sunhi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Our Sunhi</b> - As ever with Sang-soo's films, Our Sunhi has a
captivating internal pace and rhythm that negotiates the thin line
between capturing raw, genuine emotions and reflecting on the artifice
of cinematic form. with Sunhi herself he continues to create strongly
defined yet endearingly elusive female protagonists. As ever, there's
great truth and honesty in Sangsoo's approach, even if the characters
themselves aren't always 100% genuine (well, at least until they've
emptied a couple of soju bottles). It's as effortlessly witty and funny
as In Another Country, making it a real pleasure to watch. Sang-soo
mightn't break with form here, but if the form isn't broken...<br />
<br />
<b>Snowpiercer </b>- the greatest cinematic travesty of the year was
that Bong Joon-ho’s dystopian masterpiece was denied a proper release
here (hopefully rectified in 2015). Those who sought it out were granted
a genre film of electrifying intelligence, grace, skill and style. Not
even the finest Hollywood efforts of the year came anywhere close to the
accomplishments of this weird and wonderful train journey, loaded with
hugely imaginative setpieces and bold social commentary.<br />
<b><br />
A Touch of Sin</b> - a truly magnificent 'state of the Chinese nation'
address from the renowned Jia Zhangke. The society portrayed here is at
odds to many of the images we see portrayed in most Chinese and Western
media, to the point where it seems like a near miracle Zhangke was
allowed make such a scathing film in his own country. It's a cynical
film, but one that seems genuinely concerned with some of the changes
taking place in China.<br />
<b><br />
Two Days, One Night </b>- The Dardennes manage a mesmerising feat here
as they explore the various ethical and moral dilemmas faced when a
woman named Sandra (Marianne Coutillard) is threatened with being let go
after her co-workers are put in a near impossible. position. It's sort
of an anti-parable, despite its seemingly morally loaded concept - this
isn't a story with one outlook, but seventeen of them. All this is done
in the typically economical way the Dardennes are experts at. The
visuals are unshowy and (deceptively) simple, but the long-takes in
medium and close angles capture with devastating clarity the reactions
and emotions of these characters<br />
<b><br />
Under the Skin</b> - Above all, this is a film about mood, and Glazer is
brave enough to supplement a stripped down, ambiguous narrative with
evocative and sometimes provocative delivery. The film is overflowing
with memorable imagery and fantastic effects sequences - including
several that are among the most disturbing yet strangely beautiful I
have ever seen in a cinema. Nothing I saw this year, if you’ll excuse
the lazy description, quite got under my skin quite like this one.<br />
<br />
<b>Whiplash</b> - really, it all boils down to that ending. If you want a
perfect example of raw cinematic catharsis, make sure you watch
Whiplash through to its impeccable cut to credits. Not that what
precedes it is any slouch - it’s an intense, blackly comic and
fascinating two-hander, with JK Simmons owning every single scene he
appears in.<br />
<br />
<b>Why Don’t You Play in Hell</b>’s complex layers and subtexts
ultimately elevate it above the more hollow genre thrills Quentin
Tarantino is often known to peddle. By the end, the characters have
descended into a heady cocktail of euphoria and delirium, living the
dream and expiring in a horrible nightmare - an apt description for the
film itself. It's a rush to experience, Sono showing a level of creative
freedom, punk attitude and sense of devilish fun that we haven't seen
in earnest since Love Exposure. Nothing is immune to attack or criticism
here, even Sono himself. Embrace the whiplash and soak up the
contradictions - Why Don't You Play in Hell? is a rush.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ida</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Honourable mentions (i.e. catch me on a different day and I might replace some of the above with some of the following):</b><br />
<b>12 Years a Slave</b> - emotionally devastating and immaculately made<br />
<b>Au Revoir l’ete</b> - <span class="st">Koji Fukada proves himself one of the most promising directors in Japanese cinema as he channels Rohmer in this acutely observed character study, with another star turn from young </span>Fumi Nikaido<br />
<b>Bastards</b> - Claire Denis drags us through a modern, living hell with discomforting effectiveness<br />
<b>The Babadook</b> - a brilliant debut from Jennifer Kent, where the real horror is more terrifying than the expressionistic monster of the title<br />
<b>Exhibition</b> - Joanna Hogg's portrait of a house and a marriage is potently melancholic and subtle<br />
I<b>nside Llewyn Davis</b> - The Coen Brothers hit the mark yet again with this evocatively unromantic study of a hopeless musician<br />
<b>The Kirishima Thing</b> - a compelling high school mystery with no easy answers from the up-and-coming <span class="_xdb"></span><span class="_Xbe kno-fv">Daihachi Yoshida</span><br />
<b>Leviathan</b> - <span class="st">Andrey Zvyagintsev's impressive film is incredibly bleak, but benefits from a blackly comic streak and some surprisingly lively storytelling</span><br />
<b>Manakamana</b> - those who commit to Manakamana’s uniquely sedate pacing and style will experience beautiful and insightful moments - and even some hilarious and lively ones too<br />
<b>Nightcrawler</b> - how refreshing to see a Hollywood film about an absolute asshole<br />
<b>Night Moves </b>- 'Eco-terrorism' thriller that benefits greatly from director Kelly Reichardt's at this point trademark restraint<br />
<b>Norte The End of History</b> - an epic that explores everything from class structure to political
systems, but perhaps the most intriguing theme in Norte is also the most primal - an
exploration of the conflict between good and evil<br />
<b>The Past</b> - another intense yet sensitive account of a domestic crisis from <span class="st">Asghar Farhadi</span><br />
<b>The Punk Singer </b>- a rich and visceral tribute to Kathleen Hanna as both an artist and an individual.<br />
<b>Short Peace</b> - an anime omnibus that benefits from the inconsistency of voices, yet is consistently imaginative and engaging<br />
<b>A Spell to Ward off the Darkness</b> - unashamedly inaccessible and experimental, this film builds to a final act that might be among the most transcendent musical performances ever committed to the screen<br />
<b>Stranger by the Lake</b> - a masterclass in quiet tension building and paranoia, wayward looks and
lurking figures employed to create this captivating sense of unease.
It's also, in its way, a very modern cinematic romance, albeit one with a palatable sense of danger and
risk<br />
<b>Timbuktu</b> - solemn, intelligent and very 'human' filmmaking, and one that's a vital contrast to the
more alarmist, ethically dubious efforts that tackle similar subject
matter<br />
<b>The Wind Rises</b> - Miyazaki's (possible) swan song is one of extraordinary grace and mastery. A fitting bow for an all-time great thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-9131811457656494012014-12-03T16:45:00.003+00:002014-12-03T16:45:48.567+00:00Goodbye to Language (Jean-Luc Godard, 2014)<b>A film worth talking about</b><br />
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Jean-Luc Godard has always broken the rules, and in <b>Goodbye to Language's</b> most bravura sequences he breaks 3D. In a pair of scenes that have already justified much acclaim - and a reported mid-film round of applause at Cannes - he ignores the fundamental idea that stereoscopy uses two offset images to create the illusion of one, layered image for the viewer. This is partially achieved by having two cameras, side by side, shoot the same scene. Godard instead chooses to <i>separate</i> the cameras and have them follow two different actions. The audience then sees to different images, separate yet connected. Cover one eye, and you'll see one 2D image. Cover the other eye, you'll see another image. Both eyes open, you see both simultaneously. It's a mind-bending sight - an imaginative way of using aesthetics to tell a story, especially in a film as obsessed with duality and (a)symmetry as this one is. If you want to understand how 3D works, these two shots are an enlightening crash course.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>This act of daring works in Godard - his films are as much essays on cinema, deconstructions of form and active works of criticism as anything else. But this act of 'breaking' 3D in such an invigorating way can only happen in a film as self-aware as this is, as keen it is to explicitly draw the audience's attention to the limits and the possibilities of a three-dimensional image. In another film, it would be heinously distracting, shattering a carefully constructed immersion. In <b><span class="st">Adieu au langage</span></b>, it is brilliant. This is the definitive 3D film, and one that pushes the technology's aesthetic potential in a variety of startling ways. But it is so in a way pretty much impossible to replicate in anything other than an 'art film' or an incredibly brave experiment. On one hand, we have an exciting new frontier for 3D cinematography. On the other, we have a punctuation mark, a farewell, a firm reminder of the limits of the technology.<br /><br />
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You can almost hear Godard - who remains the finest of cinematic trolls (I mean that in the nicest way) - cackling when the realisation dawns that these boldly three-dimensional images are not suitable for widespread emulation. The fuzzy, restless look created by the handheld lo-fi cameras in certain sections of the film emphasises the 3D, but would be unavailable to a Hollywood cinematographer (even 'found footage' films often use higher definition cameras than is strictly speaking appropriate). Godard's penchant for placing objects - typically <b>NOT</b> the key subject, action or focus of the scene - in the foreground articulates depth in a very clear way, but again most cinematographers would not get away with emphasising a bollard over a ship. It has self-referential visual gags - most notably the letters '3D' hovering above the letters '2D' in one of the film's many text cutaways (this is late Godard, one will always remember) - that can only exist in a film that is so proudly self-referential.<br />
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<b>Goodbye to Language's</b> use of 3D is restless, aggressive and even hostile - constantly drawing attention to itself, and demanding the audience recognise and observe the artificiality of the images. Yet it also emphasises depths and image layers in a way that shames the 'best' 3D cinematography e.g. <b>Life of Pi</b>. <b>GTL</b> remains <i>starkly, obviously</i> 3D from beginning to end, whereas in most other efforts one's eyes acclimatise and the 3D effect is effectively redundant well before the credits roll, despite the best efforts of the camera team. This is <b>the</b> 3D film, and while it perhaps offers some degree of hope to those of us with no love for the technology (and indeed those who do), the delightful irony is that almost everything that makes Goodbye to Language's 3D stand out (in the literal sense) is what barely anybody will be able to adapt or build on for themselves.<br />
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I am surely not alone when I say, depending on my mood and the film in question, I have found several of Godard's films alienating, cold-hearted, perversely difficult and occasionally illustrating true disdain towards the audience. That is very often the exact point, naturally, and in the same film in a different day these characteristics could be perceived as positives. Nonetheless, Godard is frequently a director who dares and invites you to hate his films. Yet what is also obvious in many of his films - I'm thinking <b>Weekend</b>, my personal favourite in his oeuvre - is a wicked sense of playfulness.<br />
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This can manifest itself formally, through a spirited refusal to conform to norms. The use of 3D here is a perfect example. Godard is also keep to cheekily mess around with sound design. In <b>Goodbye to Language</b>, dialogue is often disconnected from the images on screen. Music splutters to life and then suddenly stops - never with the timing we have been programmed to accept. This is the rare film that uses surround sound in an inventive way - Godard chooses individual speakers to isolate individual sounds, or to create truly multi-layered soundscapes. Much of this serves thematic or narrative purpose, but on occasion it's clearly just Godard having a laugh, sometimes at the audience's expense (it is physically and mentally disorientating, sometimes exhausting). Other times, his playfulness is more overt - two scenes here take place when characters are taking a shit, with accompanying sound effects that would not seem out of place in a Farrelly Brothers setpiece. From socialist proselytising to toilet humour - such a sharp dichotomy could only exist in the work of a joker. <br />
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<b>Goodbye to Language 3D</b> is fractured and elusive in a manner far beyond other recent examples of 'challenging' film. The likes of <b>Upstream Color, The Strange Color of Your Body's Tears</b> and <b>Post Tenebras Lux</b> are reticent to concede all their secrets on first viewing to all but the most attentive viewers, but Godard operates on a more complex level entirely. A first viewing of <b>Goodbye to Language</b> will most likely reveal only some tenuous, maybe subconscious hints and links to the big picture. There's moments of subtle repetition, and copious references - visual, aural, spoken - to duality. The film embarks on tangents, but typically ends up back with one of two couples (through cheeky casting and camera angles that often exclude faces, Godard even makes it challenging to identify which couple is which). Much of the film focuses on a dog, seemingly a linking factor between many scenes and themes. There is a barrage of literary & cinematic allusions - <a href="https://mubi.com/notebook/posts/adieu-au-langage-goodbye-to-language-a-works-cited">here's a list, still in progress</a> - surreal asides and political / sociological musings / ramblings. The 'farewell to language' indicated in the title is explored in an characteristically strange, multifaceted, contrary way. To be perfectly honest, I feel ill-equipped to even attempt a reading of the film's themes and narrative based on a single viewing. Right now, I am not going to try.<br />
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<b>Goodbye to Language</b> is baffling, then, but it's baffling in a way that had me googling almost immediately in an attempt to get to grips with what I just watched. Happily, I was greeted by quite a number of informed, intellectually engaged critiques of the film, the charge undoubtedly led by <a href="http://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/category/directors-godard/">David Bordwell's exemplary interpretative efforts</a>. Even in the often dry Variety, Justin Chang offered some lively, enthused comment <a href="http://variety.com/2014/film/news/why-godards-goodbye-to-language-demands-a-wider-3d-release-1201346866/">within an article</a> on the film's distribution woes.<br />
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When mainstream film criticism is drifting in ever shallower directions - dictated, of course, by mainstream cinema itself moving in ever shallower directions - here were a selection of gushing, excited essays from cinephiles excitedly trying to come to work their way through a fascinating and difficult film. While watching and rewatching the film in an attempt to articulate their own response, their observations and readings can also inform and enhance their readers' thoughts, who then might have additional insights - perhaps even some dissent, which is just as important - to add to the discourse. Frankly, I wanted to rush to watch the film again after reading some of the fascinating responses, although sadly I must wait until a proper commercial release here.<br />
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This film, then, isn't just worth watching, although it's definitely that, and it's worth watching multiple times: it's a vital effort from a veteran director operating with youthful creative vigour, and demands a theatrical viewing or at least one in a damn good home theatre. Beyond all that, and after the abridged credits roll, <b>Goodbye to Language 3D</b> is a film worth talking about. That title, laced with intellectual curiosity and irony though it may be, is amusingly fitting for a film that demands and encourages such lively discourse.<br />
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Godard famously started as a print critic, and like almost all his work the film itself is an act of criticism. And that act of criticism has provoked intellectually engaged and provocative criticism of its own. For many people who love talking about, reading about and writing about film, then, <b>Goodbye to Language 3D</b> is likely to prove a gift that keeps on giving - and not just because it demands three, four, five viewings to start to even partially comprehend the damn thing.<br />
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When's that wide release again?thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-52413216331963639702014-11-20T02:21:00.000+00:002014-12-05T14:08:19.999+00:00Whiplash (Damien Chazelle, 2014)<b>Pushing or dragging? </b><br />
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<b>Whiplash</b> is an almost classical cinematic two-hander. It boasts a whip smart script, a fondness for mid-twentieth-century jazz music and a variety of deliciously viscous put downs - in those respects, it is not entirely removed from the world of screwball comedy despite adopting tones and modes far removed from the textbook examples of that genre. But like all two-handers, it is the two hands that elevate <b>Whiplash</b>, and puts the central pair in the same ballpark as your Grants and Russells, Bogarts and Bacalls, Lemmons and Matthaus.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Like the latter example, there's nothing explicitly romantic or homoerotic about the chemistry between Miles Teller and JK Simmons here. But it is fucking electric nonetheless. A blend of exemplary performances and astute direction assures that every scene between the pair sizzles with excitement.<br />
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Teller plays young drummer Andrew Neiman, studying in a prestigious musical academy in New York - 'the best in the country', Andrew insists on informing anybody who will listen. Simmons plays Terence Fletcher, the school's most revered teacher and conductor. It isn't long before Neiman is accepted into Fletcher's elite class / band, and thus commences psychological warfare that ranks as 2014's most engrossing cinematic battle (with advance apologies to <b>The Hobbit 3</b> and its battle-happy subtitle).<br />
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Neiman makes for a strong, offbeat protagonist. He is, to be frank, something of an asshole - a core trait that only becomes more pronounced as the film progresses (some only semi-successful attempts at third act redemption aside). His motivations are scarily believable, and the journey fascinating: he is driven to something not-far-off insanity by the need to be the best, and to impress his ever more demanding mentor. <br />
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Fletcher, brought to something larger than life by Simmons, is both a monster and a God. He is a character assassin extraordinaire, pushing his students physically and emotionally to breaking point and far beyond. He'll dangle a glimmer of hope and praise, and then tear them right back down again. A moment of kindness means a torrent of politically incorrect abuse is likely imminent (sample: "if you deliberately sabotage my band, I will fuck you like a pig. Oh my
dear God - are you one of those single tear people? You are a worthless
pancy-ass who is now weeping and slobbering all over my drumset like a
nine year old girl!"). He is so confident, so cruelly charismatic and so demanding that we have no reason to disbelieve the hushed silence and complete subservience he commands in his classroom.<br />
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Yet thanks to writer/director Damien Chazalle's writing/directing, and Simmons' immense interpretation, Fletcher is more than a caricature. Through Neiman, we are granted fleeting but telling glimpses of the man behind the dictatorial music conductor. Neiman only sees these moments when he spies or intrudes on his teacher - they are at odds with the carefully constructed public performer, but flesh out the reasons behind his cruelty. There's an intriguing ambiguity to the character, too. A running subplot subtly explores his response to the suicide of a former student. Does he blame himself for the death? Has he deluded himself to the point where he denies his demanding working methods could cause deep-seated psychological trauma in his wards? Is he simply disappointed that a potentially great musician has expired before his time?<br />
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Ambiguity pervades throughout <b>Whiplash</b>. Inspired by Chazalle's own experiences in the cutthroat world of drumming, the film-maker proves resistant to directly condoning or condemning Fletcher's methods. He highlights both positives (particularly during a confident monologue by Fletcher in which he decries mediocrity, laziness and wasted potential) and drawbacks (a subplot about Neiman's disastrous attempt at dating happily expresses exactly with it needs to in a mere handful of scenes) to this sort of obsessive training regime. While everything is exaggerated for potent dramatic effect, to Chazalle's credit the film never hectors. Befitting this artful neutrality is cool Fincher-esque cinematography. There's a brutal, clinical efficiency to the look of the film, yet the camera casually captures everything from bloody drumsticks and scabby hands to sweat-soaked cymbals. The images are often evocative and intimate, but always retain a well-judged critical distance.<br />
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<b>Whiplash</b> is not without sin. Aspects of the plot are contrived, and Chazalle conjures up one of cinema's most deplorable black magic tricks - a scene where a vehicle is hit by another, 'stealth' vehicle at a crossroads. This stunt has long since graduated from irritant to nuisance, and as memorable and pivotal as the scenes that follow the crash are - an injured, bleeding Neiman feebly attempting to perform at a crucial competition - this is a case of the ends not justifying the means.<br />
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The end, though... <b>Whiplash</b> builds to a final sequence of tremendous power and catharsis. Music is, of course, extremely prominent throughout the film - see it in a cinema to really feel those pounding drums - but Chazalle is brave enough to dedicate the entire finale to a musical performance that doubles as a culmination of the conflicts and tensions of the film. The cinematographer (Sharone Meir) and editor (Tom Cross) give it their all - including a visceral, inventive panning shot that lives up to the film's title. Everything sets up a frame-perfect cut to black.<br />
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In an act of extreme cruelty, Fletcher opts to exact revenge on Neiman for selling him up the river by humiliating him in front of an audience (a fascinating alternate reading could suggest that this is all part of Fletcher's plan to push Neiman to be a truly great drummer). However, Neiman opts to turn the tables on Fletcher in the most devastating way possible - by delivering the best fucking performance he can.<br />
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Again, all this is done with a bare minimum of dialogue, and it's all the more captivating for it. When the sequence really starts to sing (figuratively speaking) is when the pair come to an understanding to work <i>together</i> and deliver one hell of a drum solo. Suddenly the hate, the frustration, the deception, the mental and physical torture become meaningless as Neiman and Fletcher achieve a moment of mutual transcendence. The audience in the theatre and even the other musicians are relegated to the periphery - it's all about these two people, and their intoxicating spiritual and emotional connection in that moment. You know, maybe it's love after all.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-60094036559700152952014-06-16T21:29:00.001+01:002014-06-16T21:29:26.303+01:00Boyhood (Richard Linklater, 2014)<b>12 Years a Kid </b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ellar Coltrane in Boyhood (Universal Pictures / IFC)</i></td></tr>
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When we're talking about film, the word 'ordinary' tends to be typically uttered with a note of snark and condemnation. An 'ordinary' film is one that's shackled with familiarity, and one that struggles to say anything exceptional in a distinctive way. Sometimes though ordinariness can be a more complex trait, and in fact can be a wholly positive attribute. Sometimes there's a film - and I'm talking about <b>Boyhood</b> here - that's actually quite extraordinarily ordinary, oxymorons be damned.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Frankly, if <b>Boyhood</b> had have been a failure it would still have been worth a gander - the idea of a filmmaker following a kid growing up over the course of twelve years is fascinating, especially in a fictional context. Similar ideas have been done before - like the [ongoing] <b>7 Up</b> documentary series, or Michael Winterbottom's uneven <b>Everyday</b> (which I reviewed <a href="http://filmireland.net/2013/01/17/cinema-review-everyday/">here</a>). And many stars have grown up on screen - the <b>Harry Potter</b> franchise being perhaps the most extreme example. But the sheer scope of a single film filmed over more than a decade, with one young Texan boy (Ellar Coltrane, playing the fictional character of Mason) as the focus of attention, is a project of almost dizzying ambition. Cameras started rolling when Coltrane was six years old, and a final 'cut!' was called a whole twelve years later.<br />
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It's appropriate that the man behind the camera here is Richard Linklater, who has become one of cinema's great chroniclers of the passing of time thanks to his immense <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2013/06/before-midnight-2013-richard-linklater.html"><b>'Before...'</b></a> trilogy (the long gestation period for <b>Boyhood</b> suggests that Celine and Jesse's opus may not have evolved in an entirely accidental way). His cast here - including Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke as Mason's parents, and his own daughter
<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Lorelei Linklater as Mason's sister Samantha - came together for a few days every year. The sheer logistics must have been <i>the</i> obstacle to overcome, but thankfully overcome it was.</span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">One of the great things about <b>Boyhood</b> is how it emerges as a grand chronicle of the first decade (and a bit) of the new millennium. Audiences are witness to a rapid technological and cultural evolution in a comparatively short space of time - although the film is pretty epic, coming in just short of the three mark. Linklater thankfully seemed to be aware of this possibility from an early stage, and hence cleverly embeds the film with many period-specific signifiers: it's a tapestry of music, film, social media etc... During one scene we see Mason with a Gameboy Advance, later it's an Xbox, and then it's a Wii. A particularly adorable scene sees the kids giddily attend a midnight launch of H<b>arry Potter and the Half Blood Prince</b> - a familiar rite for probably millions of kids born between the late 80s and the early 2000s. There's also a very funny scene, filmed around 2009-10, where Mason and his dad discuss the possibility of future <b>Star Wars</b> sequels - a scene that is far more amusing now that <b>Episode VII</b> is imminent.</span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Even if you are a few years or a couple of decades off Mason's timeline, this is still one of the cinema's most acutely observed chronicles of growing up. This is where we get to that ordinariness - individual scenes and events resonate with great truth and in a very organic way. Excepting a mid-film subplot following the two or three years when Mason's mother marries a college professor (</span><span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Marco Perella) who turns out to be an abusive, alcoholic asshole (which, scarily, is probably a far more common experience than I'd imagine), there's nothing particularly dramatic or traumatic about Mason's childhood and teenage years. Yeah, there are several divorces and much moving from town to town, but both Mason and Samantha remain well adjusted despite the challenges faced. Linklater spends just as much if not quite a bit more time on the smaller moments than the more melodramatic ones - camping trips with dad, birthday parties, awkward conversations with mom etc... etc... are given a lot of time. Impressively, Linklater also avoids the temptation of visiting the 'easy' mainstays of coming of age stories: we don't see the first day of high school, the first kiss, the loss of virginity or the prom. These and other major events take place off screen, giving a nicely spontaneous feeling that we're dropping in a few times a year. It helps that there's no 'one year later...' cutaways or the like - years segue into each other from scene to scene, and we're trusted enough to catch up ourselves. It all leads to a structure that never feels less than a 'whole' despite the stop-start nature of the film's production.</span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">The highlight of the film is definitely seeing how Coltrane grows up, and how his performance evolves in parallel. It's a wonder to witness. Childlike wonder is replaced by adolescent awkwardness. There's the inevitable period of minor rebellion, and solace found in artistic expression (photography, in this case). During the last year or two particularly, Mason (and Coltrane?) becomes articulate, intelligent and philosophical - albeit in the happily naive manner of an 18 year old about to start college. It's the kind of naturalistic, nuanced performance that could <i>only</i> have emerged thanks to the specifics of the film's production, and honestly was in no way guaranteed - it would be fascinating to hear how much of the film's script was there from the start, and what emerged over the course of the lengthy production. It should be pointed out at this point, however, that Lorelei Linklater's performance is just as good, although Samantha is relegated to the background a little bit during the film's second half. Arquette and Hawke also hold their own, even if their performances simply cannot be quite as unpredictable and dynamic.</span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">To a certain degree, Linklater's style grows up along with his characters. While a coherent and fairly functional visual style is rightly employed throughout (there's nothing particularly remarkable about this visually, a few gorgeous shots aside), there seems to be small but important refinements along the way. Alarm bells went off at the start when there was a full on a assault of popular hits of 2002 soundtracking early scenes, which is a lazy and distracting way of establishing a time period (and one Linklater indulged in back in the <b>Dazed and Confused</b> days) - luckily, this is a temptation largely resisted from there onwards in favour of rarer music cues. It also seems as if scenes are allowed to play out more in their own rhythm and time, particularly conversations - Linklater perhaps encouraged by the success of his work on <b>Before Sunset</b> and <b>A Scanner Darkly</b>. </span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Although most scenes hit their mark, there's a few odd missteps. This probably annoyed me more than most, but there's a strange scene involving a pipe-layer that is revisited later on in a contrived way that clashes badly with the organic feel of the rest of the film. Linklater also bumps into a probably unavoidable problem: he doesn't seem quite sure where to stop. Indeed, the last half hour - full of graduations, reunions, departures and transitions - offers a plethora of moments that could have served as an appropriate, natural conclusion. Still, it powers on and reaches a very satisfying, poignant moment on Mason's first day of college. It's an ellipsis, and Mason's life is going to continue on after the fade to black (well, not literally speaking). But the final shot is hopeful and joyful: the kid we've gotten to know about to explore the great unknown of adulthood, and few viewers will be wishing him - and, by extent, Ellar Coltrane - anything other than the best of luck. </span>
thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-41184201612512646382014-06-05T00:25:00.002+01:002014-06-05T20:04:34.913+01:00The Punk Singer (Sini Anderson, 2013)<b>Rebel Girl</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo: Kathleen Hanna. Courtesy of Dogwoof (<a href="http://dogwoof.com/films/the-punk-singer">http://dogwoof.com/films/the-punk-singer</a>)</span></div>
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Even a cursory glance at the critical discussion surrounding the documentary <b>The Punk Singer</b> will highlight one recurrent word: <span class="st">hagiography. And it's not an unfair choice of vocabulary. This is a portrait of Bikini Kill / Le Tigre singer Kathleen Hanna where director Sini Anderson clearly has a deep rooted respect for her subject. The various talking heads - including Joan Jett, </span>Adam Horovitz (Hanna's husband), Kim Gordon and Sleater-Kinney's Corin Tucker & Carrie Brownstein - also wax lyrical about Hanna's talent and influence. Some time is allotted to sound out some of the criticisms Hanna's music, ideologies and even personal life have been subjected to over the years, but it's very much from a defensive, some might argue dismissive, perspective.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>In a lesser film, this sort of one-sidedness would be fatal: many documentaries have been rendered lesser by the filmmakers' personal connection with the subject matter, with many of the all time great docs illustrating an elegant ability to achieve some sort of critical distance even when the director's own allegiances are obvious (there are, of course, other cases where the film's one-sided perspective works perfectly). <b>The Punk Singer</b>, however, pulls off its near hagiography with aplomb: in fact, it makes for a richer film overall and a more appropriate tribute to Hanna as both an artist and an individual.<br />
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The thing is, Hanna has always been no-nonsense and in our faces, unafraid to say what she really thinks. Her shouted lyrics don't shy away from the topics they explore or hide behind metaphors. And confrontational subjects they usually are, often aggressively and very literally addressing everything from sexual abuse to the miserable state of politics, with feminist themes perhaps the most obvious driving force behind her art. In the early days of the riot grrrl movement she helped initiate, she and her fellow artists distributed makeshift zines that read like straight-up feminist manifestos. This was an attitude that transferred to her first band Bikini Kill's live performances, where Hanna would passionately urge everyone to allow women to come up near the front so they couldn't be injured by the men's moshing. It's this very bluntness and self-confidence that irked and continues to irk many of Hanna's critics - although some simply think her music is not very good, or her ideologies trite. Nonetheless, it's the attitude what allows Anderson's film to sing and feel like a true and honest portrait of Kathleen Hanna - if she doesn't try to tame her own viewpoint or pull punches, neither will the film.<br />
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It helps that Anderson has adapted a style that's perfectly in harmony with Hanna and her life story so far. Titles and text take are modeled and those aforementioned photocopied zines, and the whole film has a vibrant, devil may care approach to editing and visuals: observe, for instance, that many key interviews delightfully take place in the back of a rundown van decorated with fairy lights. Surely this stylistic energy was very consciously and painstakingly manufactured, but it comes across as endearingly ramshackle and handcrafted on screen. And this gels nicely with Hanna's music, which is very often rough and imperfect (her first solo album under the name Julie Ruin was recorded entirely in her bedroom) but rawer and more exciting because of it. While heavily adopting the tried-and-tested - and in most cases quite boring - documentary combination of talking head interviews and archival footage, the vibrancy with which everything is put together allows <b>The Punk Singer</b> to merrily rise above standard fare.<br />
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The first half of the film - briefly reflecting on Hanna's childhood & upbringing, but mostly focused on the Bikini Kill and riot grrrl days - pulsate with mosaic-style editing, the enthusiasm and ambition of Hanna and her friends (there's plenty of footage from the time, thankfully) and the vast amount of lively Bikini Kill cuts on the soundtrack. The style mellows around the halfway mark, but this reflects nicely the emergence of Le Tigre and its tighter sound, as well as Hanna's own path, not least her marriage to Horovitz (the irony of a famed feminist marrying one of the songwriters behind hits like Girls is not lost on our star, who amusingly comments on the fact in one interview segment). It's the final stretch that really surprises, though: Hanna's debilitating battle with Lyme's disease put her musical and artistic ambitions on hold for almost half a decade. Luckily, the cameras kept rolling to include her recent return to music with her new band <i>The</i> Julie Ruin (emphasis on the definite article).<br />
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At the centre of this all is Hanna herself: just about as captivating a subject as any documentary maker could hope for. It will be the rare viewer who isn't won over by her honesty, wit and intelligence. She is as down-to-earth as you could hope, equal parts confident and modest, and the impression is that she's on-the-level throughout. As you might have guessed, she doesn't hold back, but that leads in some unexpected directions. In one clip Anderson plays for several minutes straight, Hanna asks her husband to film her as she suffers from a medication related fit. It's an image she well knows is unflattering and intimate, but she shares it on screen her to highlight the challenges she faced (and the loving help she received) but more importantly to emphasise how serious and crippling Lyme's disease can be. Even at her frailest, Kathleen Hanna is still a powerful and influential activist, someone whose own artistic and personal ambitions are always motivated by a greater and very often selfless good. It might just be down to clever editing and my own personal fondness for many of the musicians featured herein, but <b>The Punk Singer</b> managed to completely convince me Anderson's ill-disguised respect and fondness for Kathleen Hanna is very well founded indeed.<br />
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In her most iconic song, Hanna yells "that girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood... that girl she holds her head up so high... in her hips there's revolution". It's an apt description for Kathleen Hanna herself, and <b>The Punk Singer</b> argues it incredibly convincingly. My main thought leaving the cinema was therefore a resounding 'fuck yeah!'. thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-71592687917286743162014-05-15T14:36:00.000+01:002014-05-15T14:38:48.973+01:00What's in a Zoom? - The films of Hong Sang-soo<b>Truth through zooming</b><br />
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Until late 2013, the films of South Korean director Hong Sang-soo were almost entirely unavailable in the UK & Ireland, with his work only procurable through DVD imports, downloads and film festival screenings. This regrettable situation was partially rectified with the theatrical and DVD release of <b>Nobody’s Daughter Haewon</b>, Sang-soo’s fourteenth feature. For some Irish viewers - this writer included - it was perhaps a first encounter with the filmography of this most idiosyncratic of contemporary directors. <br />
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<a name='more'></a>Having since caught up with several other Sang-soo efforts, it’s worth noting that <b>Haewon</b> is one of the man’s more accessible and emotionally generous films, albeit one that reflects many of his recurrent thematic concerns, narrative signatures and stylistic quirks. There’s the middle-aged male film director character - here referred to as Director Lee (Lee Sunk-yun) - stuck in a life of film-related academia and an unhappy marriage. There’s the lengthy scenes of eating and drinking and casual conversation - in this case, taking the form of an almost ten minute long uninterrupted shot of a group of students (and Professor Lee), dining and conversing at a table littered with empty soju bottles. There’s the awkward romance between Professor Lee and the eponymous Haewon (Jung Eun-chae). There’s the repetition of certain scenes, locations and images. Above all, though, there are camera zooms. <br />
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You’d struggle to miss them in any of Sang-soo’s recent films, but they’re particularly prominent in <b>Haewon</b>. Very often the only camera movement in an extended scene will be either a brief pan or a sudden zoom or two. The latter usually reframes the shot to cut out superfluous background information and focus on the characters themselves. It’s a simple - and some might suggest distracting - aesthetic decision. But those zooms, in mere seconds, summarise many of Sang-soo’s key ambitions as a filmmaker. <br />
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It’s almost as if Sang-soo is shaking the audience, telling them to “Pay attention! This is important.” The phrase ‘nothing happens’ is unfortunately tossed around a lot when it comes to discussing quieter, naturalistic cinema, but especially in Sang-soo’s films the drama and insight is in the nuances of the interactions. A zoom is an elegant and articulate way of drawing attention to this, providing a burst of energy and renewed importance to what should not be dismissed as ‘just’ people talking or getting drunk. Sang-soo expertly uses zooms to enhance the emotional intimacy of a scene - note the intense zooms when Haewon is hugging Jane Birkin (appearing in a brief cameo role as herself) or, later on, when Professor Lee embraces her as they stand under an umbrella in the miserable rain. <br />
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As well as amplifying the emotional intensity of any given scene by zooming in, Sang-soo also embraces the potential of the zoom out. If the zoom in focuses on a moment, Sang-soo also understands that the opposite can expand a scene’s perspective. We have to step away from <b>Haewon</b> for a moment to see a particularly memorable example of this. In Sang-soo’s 2008 film <b>Night & Day</b>, the lead character Kim Sung-nam (Kim Yeong-ho) - who has fled to France as he fears the South Korean police will arrest him for smoking a joint (you’ve got to love the comically low stakes of a Sangsoo film) - visits Montmarte hill and Sacré-Cœur Basillica in Paris. First we simply see Sung-nam approaching a viewing spot, but then the camera zooms out to reveal the stunning panoramic view of Paris that greets visitors who climb to Sacré-Cœur. In mere seconds Sang-soo has expanded from the intimate to the epic, stunningly capturing both the beauty of the view and Sung-nam’s uncertain, even lonely place in this sprawling, foreign metropolis. Sang-soo’s frequent commitment to ‘one scene, one edit’ remains unchallenged, and yet the viewer has been treated to a scene that encompasses both the micro and the macro. <br />
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Some of Sang-soo’s films - such as <b>Woman is the Future of Man</b>, <b>Haewon</b> and his most recent film <b>Our Sunhi</b> - are relatively straightforward albeit intelligent and subtle character studies, recalling films from the likes of Eric Rohmer or the directors involved in the movement I’m-pretty-sure-we’re-not-meant-to-call-mumblecore anymore. However, Sang-soo is also fascinated by the way cinematic stories work. <b>The Day He Arrives</b> plays out like an arthouse <b>Groundhog Day</b>, with events and days repeating without explanation. His subsequent film, <b>In Another Country</b>, has Isabelle Huppert playing three different characters, each of whom encounters the same people and situations with very different results. In neither case are the reasons behind these unusual cycles explicitly commented on, but they prove fascinating ways of exploring characters and provoking the audience to actively critique the standard ways in which narratives play out. <br />
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<b>Nobody’s Daughter Haewon</b> is not quite as structurally tricky as those two films. However, we can still see elements of formal playfulness here. The aforementioned Jane Birkin cameo sees ‘the real world’ and the film’s fictional characters collide, in a sequence that might be a dream. Later, Kim Ui-sung appears as a character (another university professor) who, Haewon informs us in voiceover, has to answer a phone call from Martin Scorsese. And, as ever, the fact that so many main characters are filmmakers or academics indicates that Sang-soo’s films are heavy in cinematic self-criticism and a carefully controlled ‘meta-ness’. <br />
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So how do those zooms fit into all this? Sang-soo’s films regularly highlight a contrast between naturalism and artificiality. This could prove dangerously contradictory in lesser hands, but Sang-soo pulls it off with characteristic elegance. A zoom by its very nature is a mechanical, unnatural camera procedure - a key reason why it’s very often sparingly used (and can be distracting in excess, as in the Duplass Brothers’ films). Sang-soo is smart enough to use them carefully, and as discussed earlier it acts as a way of tightening the intimacy of any particular moment. <br />
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However, the zooms also undeniably draw attention to themselves. Especially in Sang-soo’s more structurally offbeat efforts, the zoom can serve as a way of reminding the viewer they’re watching a film, even when the events on screen feel authentic and ‘real’. We even see this in <b>Haewon</b>. Sang-soo teases that a pair of sequences - the Birkin encounter and, ultimately, the entire third act of the film - are possibly Haewon’s dreams or taking place in her imagination. In fact, Sang-soo’s films often feature dream sequences, creating an unstable internal reality that keeps the viewer on their toes, as well as representing alternate versions of key situations. No prizes for guessing how Sang-soo often emphasises these unexpected leaps between ‘dreams’ and ‘reality’ (however uncertain those terms are in this context). Towards the end of <b>Night & Day</b>, for example, a zoom in utilised to indicate a sharp, sudden return to ‘reality’ following an extended ‘flash forward’ sequence that transpires to be one of Sung-nam’s nocturnal imaginings, or maybe even one potential future for his character. It could also be suggested that Sang-soo is articulating a newfound urgency and motivation for a character so often defined by his timidness.<br />
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A zoom reminds us to be untrustworthy: cinema is a manipulation. The zooms draw attention to the medium’s unavoidable limitations when trying to capture something genuine. <br />
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“This is important,” the zoom informs us, but the zoom itself is also important - a reminder that all this is a construction. Sang-soo’s films are certainly unique in the way he confronts this inescapable contradiction: fiction film can always attempt to reflect some of sort of recognisable truth, but by the very nature is something of a lie. Very rarely do characters in these films explicitly verbalise this strange fact, but it’s all contained and articulated in those zooms. Yes, Sang-soo uses zooms to augment his subtle, compassionate and credible drama & characters, but at the very same time he also draws attention to both the strengths and limitations of cinematic storytelling. <b>Nobody’s Daughter Haewon</b> is one of the gentlest, most engaging introductions to these concerns - concerns that recur throughout Hong Sang-soo’s fascinating oeuvre. <br />
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What’s in a zoom, then? In a Hong Sang-soo film there’s life, there’s cinema, there’s everything.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-73092774828690021172014-04-14T16:04:00.000+01:002014-04-14T16:04:20.665+01:00The Raid 2 (Gareth Evans, 2014)<b>Bigger and/or better?</b><br />
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I have to admire writer/director/editor Gareth Evans' ambition to up the narrative scale and ambition of <b>The Raid 2</b>. <b><a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2012/02/review-raid.html">Its predecessor</a></b> was a lean, efficient storytelling machine, spending just enough time developing the characters and conflicts to ensure it wasn't simply a meaningless jumble of visceral and brutal combat. It was hardly storytelling gold, but it did the job. So yes: aiming for something more epic is a worthy goal - escalating the claustrophobic events of film one to a citywide scale and encompassing a complex, spiraling gang war. In a genre like action films, where story is so often treated as a mere inconvenience, lord knows aiming for something more in-depth is something to be praised. Regrettably, Evans sabotages that goodwill with haphazard execution.<br />
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<a name='more'></a><b>The Raid 2</b> no doubt presents the audience with an epic gangster story, but it plays out like a poor homage to some of Takeshi Kitano's least interesting yakuza efforts. It's both simplistic and overly complicated. There's little flow, and too much time is spent on scenes that tell us too little in generally uninteresting ways. Themes threaten to emerge, but those looking for a scathing portrait of corruption in Indonesian society are best looking elsewhere (<a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2013/06/the-act-of-killing-joshua-oppenheimer.html"><b>The Act of Killing</b></a>, perhaps). It favours plot over a deeper story, ever pushing events forward with a minimal concern for pacing or characterisation. The latter is a significant problem. Even <b>The Raid</b>'s fiercest defenders would likely concede it offers little in the way of character depth, but it had strongly defined pro and antagonists, where the relationships between the various combatants existed under clearly defined parameters. There's little of that here. Lead character Rama (Iwo Uwais) returns, but his character tapes babysteps here - there's hints throughout of the grueling emotional and physical torture the film's events are putting him through, but they are rarely explored in an interesting manner. <br />
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Worse are the colourful bunch that he encounters as a newly appointed undercover agent. Arifin Putra's Ucok is a weak villain, acting more out of the script's arbitrary demands than any sort of internal consistency - it's not particularly believable that he can pull off the mutiny he eventually does. The mysterious Bejo (Alex Abbad) is vitally important to the plot, but never feels as menacing or mysterious as he should. As shit finally hits the fan towards the end, Oka Antara's Eka is suddenly spotlighted as Rama's key ally - a development that would have been more successful if he had have done anything more than just standing around up until that point, and wasn't casually dispatched as soon as his true motivations are revealed. A pair of baseball bat and hammer wielding assassins are easily the film's most memorable minions (they're instrumental to the success of two of the film's most successful setpieces), and Evans hints at an intriguing history and comradery between the two. However, they have nothing but a handful of scenes that fail to develop that proposed depth in a satisfying way - not even an establishing action scene to set them up as a partnership to be reckoned with. Then there's <span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Yayan Ruhian, returning as a completely different character after his memorable turn in the first film as the psychotic Mad Dog. Here he plays scruffy hired sword Koso, one of the few characters with well defined motivations and backstory. Yet, despite playing a role in the he still feels shoehorned in, and again bows out as quickly as he entered. </span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Koso's final scene highlights another problem facing the film - its settings can feel awfully contrived. His death takes place in a snowy alleyway - an unfortunate decision, since the sudden appearance of snow seems completely and distractingly random despite the pleasing visual contrast between white and blood red. Obviously picking locations because they look awesome is not the worst way to go in a film such as this, but it leaves <b>The Raid 2</b> with a confused and inconsistent visual signature. Much of the film looks disappointingly bland and murky, and the rare scenes set in bright rooms or sunny locations slot in awkwardly as a result. There's some fantastic locations chosen throughout - a neon nightclub, a cavernous dining room - but many of them feel excessively artificial and barely connected in this exaggerate Jakarta. The consistency of <b>The Raid</b> 1's gritty apartment block is sorely missed, despite a huge increase in the variety of locations. It's only later on - and I'll get to that 'later on' shortly - that Evans finds his feet visually.</span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">What of the action, which let's be honest is what we're all here there for. For the first half of the film and the scattered setpieces that are contained within, it's actually incredibly frustrating in terms of spectacle. Make no mistake: the stuntwork is exceptional, the fights truly intense and the impacts among the most brutal in all of action cinema: it's exactly what you'd expect from a sequel to <b>The Raid</b>, perhaps even more visceral than its exception predecessor. Sadly, Evans' aesthetic choices threaten to sabotage the assault of balletic carnage. Over-zealous editing gives the audience little room to appreciate the flow and rhythm of the performers' actions. Worse still is the abundant utilisation of shaky cam. Employed far more liberally than in <b>The Raid</b>, it damn near ruins several of the early fights. Again, it's very clear with Evans' is trying to do here - achieve remarkable spectacle on a low budget, and also put the viewer right into the middle of the brutal action (a cynic might also suggest partially to placate the censors in what is, by and large, among the most ultraviolent action films ever made). He has overcompensated. </span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">In fact, the jittery camera is even worse than other examples of the dark art of shaky cam, as there seems to be a post-production artificiality to it. It's as if the cameraman was trying to frame the action while shaking uncontrollably, and the editor still decided to layer a computerised earthquake filter on top of the footage. In a film where a key pleasure is bearing witness to immaculate choreography and astonishing physical feats, the restless camera borders on ruinous. In one memorable early sequence - a mudsoaked prisonyard brawl that echoes <b>Seven Samurai's</b> rainy climax (there's actually several nods to classic films throughout, and to directors such as David Lynch and Stanley Kubrick) - the hyperactive camera and editing makes it even harder to follow the action as the participants' faces become caked in thick layers of mud. It's a great scene rendered significantly lesser by its presentation. All the more heartbreaking is the fact that Evans shows himself more than capable of long, lingering shots. Even the opening shot is a magnificently framed one that lasts for the guts of an entire minute before cutting - that sort of camera stability would have been very welcome in many of the film's action sequences. Budget may have denied Evans such a luxury, but the compromise is an unfortunate one.</span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">I can actually pinpoint the moment when the film belatedly finds its feet. It's a trio of action sequences, elegantly crossedited with each other, including an inspired subway fight in which Julie Estelles' 'Hammer Girl' dispatches thugs with her weapon of choice. There's also the most bone crunching use of a baseball I've ever seen. Not only does this sequence up the scale, but it also sees Evans achieve more success in terms of his direction. He allows more light to highlight the action, which is <i>much</i> needed. The camera is still in nearly constant motion, but pared back that vital little bit to really highlight the more spectacular moments. The settings feel better utilised, with better use of space and props. Even the pacing of the fights feels stronger, with some epic build ups before the punches start being thrown. </span><br />
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<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">That sequence is swiftly followed by an extraordinary car chase featuring some truly visceral vehicular combat - it's also an opportunity to allow Iwais dispatch four fellow passengers in a car, with the camera perfectly capturing a giddily close quarters four-on-one fight scene. And the car chase segues very quickly into the film's extended climax, which could only be described as a gauntlet of bloodshed. Rama faces four rooms of fighting, one after the other. It's as grueling to watch as it is for the character to experience - when he finally emerges battered and bruised but just about alive, it's a genuine relief after a good twenty minutes of a relentless fight for survival. One of the most satisfying moments is when Rama and his fiercest opponents (</span>Cecep Arif Rahman) just stop in the middle of a hugely destructive brawl in a kitchen. Both injured and exhausted, they take a few moments to simply stare determinedly into each other eyes before continuing wailing on each other in their fight to the death. It's that kind of silent, intense moment that's sorely lacking in the film's exposition-heavy first half.<br />
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It also helps that, by this point, <b>The Raid 2</b> has more of a purpose and determination in storytelling terms. With most of the characters long since murdered, Evans is free to focus on Rama and the handful of enemies standing between him and possible freedom (an excellent ending teases that outcome might not be quite so easy). There's still some hangovers - it's difficult to really care about any of these people since they've been so poorly established early on, and there's a few lingering subplots clearly getting screentime lest <b>The Raid 3</b> ends up getting greenlit. However, in stepping back from being a largely uninteresting, convoluted gangster epic to zone in on its protagonist and his simple, clear goals of a) surviving and b) beating the shit out of anything that gets in his way, <b>The Raid 2</b> only in its final act matches the no-nonsense storytelling that made its predecessor such a ruthlessly efficient beast. When <b>The Raid 2</b> is great, it's pretty magnificent. Sadly, it's something of a chore before we get to that not inconsiderable payoff.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-66090944570382410172014-03-16T00:36:00.001+00:002014-03-16T00:36:43.521+00:00Veronica Mars (Rob Thomas, 2014)<b>Good work, marshmallows?</b><br />
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A long time ago, <strike>we used to be friends</strike> there was a little TV show called <b>Veronica Mars</b>. Merrily plucking choice elements from film noir, <b>Nancy Drew</b>, high school dramas, <b>Buffy the Vampire Slayer </b>and more, the cocktail of influences coalesced into a smart and compelling drama, thanks in no small part to Kristen Bell's stellar work as the teenaged private eye. A critical darling from the offset,<b> Veronica Mars</b>, however, struggled to secure a commercially-viable audience in the deeply unpleasant world of network television. Although it nearly miraculously lasted for three seasons - in stark contrast to the truncated single runs of its near-contemporaries <b>Firefly</b> and <b>Freaks & Geeks </b>(more on both those later) - there was still the sense that Mars' inevitable cancellation came too soon, that there was still life in the characters and setting of Neptune. A follow-up was particularly anticipated since the entertaining but uneven third series struggled to maintain the high quality of its predecessors, as it awkwardly shifted away from season long storytelling into a series of 'mini-arcs' (surely a last ditch attempt to appeal to a more casual audience). Some might say season three was evidence the show had run out of steam, but in this writer's opinion anyway it was only a tad disappointing because it was abundantly clear there was the potential for more A-grade <b>Veronica Mars</b>. Indeed, the quality still shone through during season three's best moments.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Here we are, just under a decade since the pilot aired and seven years after <b>The Bitch is Back</b> ended the series' run. Fans, as they're liable to do, campaigned for more, and as you've probably heard a feature version of <b>Veronica Mars</b> was greenlit on the back of a wildly successful crowd-funding campaign. 91,000 fans might not be nearly enough to sustain a network TV series, but they were willing to donate over $5 million between them, confirming to Warner Bros. that a modestly budgeted feature film would at least make <i>some</i> money. Now, a year after the record-breaking crowd funding campaign, that last episode's title proves precient. Veronica, who at the end of the last season vowed to leave the toxic Californian township of Neptune for good, semi-reluctantly returns after her former beau Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring) is implicated in the murder of his popstar girlfriend / Veronica's former classmate. Our intrepid heroine, who has a lucrative legal career lined up as soon as she (inevitably) passes her exams, only intends visiting for the briefest of sojourns (catching up with her father Keith and few remaining friends in the process) but Neptune has a horrible way of sinking its teeth into her...<br />
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Here's the perpetual question when it comes to big-screen revivals of serialised television: who is this for? Is it an affectionate send-off and/or extension of the existing story? Or an attempt to score new fans and a possible further continuation? Veronica Mars attempts a bit of the latter camp, but most definitely fits into the former more often than not. As much as I dislike second guessing other people's potential responses to any given film, I'd urge anyone who hasn't watched the series to track that down first. Even as someone who'd love to see the film perform well and lead to more <b>Veronica Mars</b> somewhere along the line, I'd say this is almost definitively a film for those familiar with the show. Whereas, say, <b>Serenity</b> did an elegant job pleasing both fans and newcomers, it's hard to imagine anyone watching <b>Veronica Mars</b> cold enjoying it on anywhere near the same level as those who've watched the whole series. This is a bit of a unique situation, given that the film was at least partially funded <i>by</i> its fanbase, but definitely a solid grounding in the backstory is close to a prerequisite going in, as much as series creator turned film writer/director Rob Thomas attempts to ease the barrier of entry (including a bare-bones primer-cum-prologue). Heck, having not watched the series in a good few years, even I was struggling to recall all the various links and faces.<br />
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Yes, this film would make even the anime industry blush with its abundance of fan servitude - although thankfully it's handled in a warm, affectionate and playful manner (albeit arguably overdone). There are countless callbacks to the show - from throwaway lines of dialogue to the fact that pretty much every surviving recurring character from the show's 64 episodes pops in to say hi - many of them during an extended school reunion sequence. When one character asks Veronica "I thought you were in the FBI?", for example, it's a knowing reference to the brief 're-pilot' for season four Thomas shot lest the show get renewed - it has been retconned out of existence for the purposes of this feature. There's even a reference to Kickstarter! Again, all this namechecking and callbacking is likely to alienate non-fans who might struggle to keep up with the barrage of names, implied history and relationships. But <b>Veronica Mars</b> undoubtedly reintroduced as much of the series' characters, subplots and themes as they could have while still retaining a generally coherent standalone narrative. (Interestingly enough, <b>Freaks & Geeks</b> enthusiasts - and I unashamedly count myself among their ranks - will note several appearances from that great show's alumni, including the brief appearance of Dave 'Gruber' Allen and an amusing cameo from James Franco as himself).<br />
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To Thomas' credit, he manages the aforementioned narrative coherency with something approaching aplomb. The film ultimately plays out like something of a brisk but tightly focused fourth season, containing a murder-mystery plot that manages to draw in a huge range of recognisable supporting characters naturally and believably - from Mac (Tina Majorino) to Gia (Krysten Ritter), from Wallace (Percy Daggs III) to Leo (Max Greenfield) and many more besides (Dick, Weevil, Vinnie, Madison, Piz and on and on). The core mystery is fairly standard fare in some regards - blackmail, murder, surveillance, deception, a climactic bout of cat & mouse - but it's also pacy, exciting and realised with the series' trademark combination of wit, darkness and intelligence. Indeed, what always made <b>Veronica Mars</b> so enjoyable was the way it repurposed many genre tropes while making them seem fresh and entertaining again, and the film is no exception in that regard.<br />
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The movie is a generally winning joining of the old and the new. Neptune remains an inspired setting. As we're informed in the opening narration, it would be ground zero if the class war ever broke out, and this town is rife with social tensions and police corruption. Suffocatingly sunny during the day and seemingly constantly on edge at night, it's a delightfully contemporary setting for a hardboiled detective story. Most of the actors slot back into the roles effortlessly - the excellent Enrico Colantoni still stands out as Veronica's kind but determined father Keith, but pretty much everyone is on form. Nine years has definitely passed in this fictional universe, though, and that's most apparent in Dohring's characterisation of Logan - still the same guy, but his smarminess has been toned down and his voice has a newly reserved, even tired edge to it.<br />
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And then there's Veronica, as ever the star of the show. She's also aged - a little rusty in technique, perhaps, but as cheekily focused as ever (although the years have given her an even more pronounced charismatic cynicism). Where the story takes her is pretty fascinating. An addiction theme runs through her characteristically no-nonsense narration, as she wryly comments on the fact that she hates to love her obsession with the people and mysteries of her profoundly corrupted hometown. She can try to escape Neptune, but the little shit will keep dragging her back - an idea that nicely complements the subconsciously self-destructive and almost obsessive actions that have frequently defined the character. The film's ending (spoiler!) indicates she's destined to stay in Neptune for good - abandoning her promising career and boyfriend Piz (Chris Lowell) in the process - and it's equal parts satisfying and sadly inevitable. There's no longer the teenage detective angle that made <b>Veronica Mars</b> such a novel idea in the first place, but it's barely missed thanks to Bell comfortably slipping back into Veronica's shoes. She's more than simply another sassy female protagonist, and it's a pleasure to see her back doing what she does best.<br />
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There are some notable issues. The film's visual style is stuck in a sort of purgatory between TV and film - it just about works (there's some strong use of shadows, and the widescreen photography helps) but aspect ratio aside it wouldn't look out of place as a high quality television episode. The relentless throwbacks may even get too much for enthusiasts. It features a 'stealth car crash', which is one of my biggest cinematic pet peeves (although there is more credible intent here). But honestly, as someone who is very often disappointed and cynical when it comes to belated returns of my once loved TV programmes (<b>Red Dwarf</b>, I'm looking at you), <b>Veronica Mars</b> provided plenty of convincing reasons for this return trip to Neptune. It will struggle to win over new fans, but will likely please existing ones even when the typical loyal fanbase hyperbole is removed from the equation. Roll out the welcome wagon and leave it to <strike>beaver</strike> Rob Thomas, marshmallows: the bitch is indeed back. thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-40489967450319011972014-02-27T21:57:00.004+00:002014-02-27T21:57:27.253+00:00Dublin Film Festival 2014 Report - 22nd and 23rd February<b>The Lost Weekend</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tracks</td></tr>
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<b>Tracks</b> (dir. John Curran) marked the third and final Mia <span dir="auto">Wasikowska starring film I saw during the festival, and this is the only one where she takes center stage. </span>It's another extremely strong performance from Wasikowska, here playing Robyn Davidson - a young Australian woman who traversed over 2,500 kilometres of Australian desert in 1977, mostly solo. Her companions are four camels (one a calf) and a dog. The increasingly ubiquitous Adam Driver plays the photographer who meets her at certain intervals, and she's also joined for a period by an elderly Aboriginal guide). Wasikowska and Curran manage to capture the character's almost stubborn drive in a consistently engaging way - there's a welcome element of vagueness about the motivations (perhaps because the motivations <i>were</i> vague), instead focusing on the various challenges Davidson faced over the course of her months traversing the difficult terrain. </div>
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<a name='more'></a>Being honest, it's not the sort of film I'd tend to warm to: a 'motivational'
true life story, told pretty conventionally. But I actually found myself
engrossed and quite moved by this story as its told here, and there's no shortage of beautiful imagery and moments. Curran also doesn't shy away from portraying the sometimes bleak reality of the adventure, and it's not quite the sort of film that will have you rushing out to train wild camels for your own journey through barren Australia. The film could, however, have benefited from losing of the more on-the-nose flashbacks
and voiceovers - as mentioned, the film is undoubtedly at its best when keeping focused on the journey itself. Overall, though, this was a welcome surprise.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Sunhi</td></tr>
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Hong Sang-soo doesn't really stretch himself with his fifteenth feature <b>Our Sunhi</b>, but I
still loved it (unashamed Sang-soo fanboy that I have recently become). The viewer encounter many if not all of his directorial trademarks: awkward romancing, speculations on the nature of
filmmaking (there's always a film director turned film academic), those wonderfully articulate zooms, the curious repetition of scenes and images, and of course incredibly long takes of people talking
/ eating / drinking. This actually pushes the latter to new extremes, with a pair of compelling compelling sequences taking in one bar, with Sang-soo filming two important, ten minute plus conversations without an edit. As ever with Sang-soo's films, the result is a captivating internal pace and rhythm that negotiates the thin line between capturing raw, genuine emotions and reflecting on the artifice of cinematic form.</div>
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The unique focus is here is the way we look at
ourselves and how others perceive us - here realised as three separate
male suitors attempt to woo the eponymous Sunhi (<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Yu-mi Jeong</span>) through perhaps disingenuous flattery and awkward flirtations. Certainly, Sang-soo is not a director unwilling to critique the contemporary masculine condition in unflattering detail, and with Sunhi herself he continues to create strongly defined yet endearingly elusive female protagonists. As ever, there's great
truth and honesty in Sangsoo's approach, even if the characters
themselves aren't always 100% genuine (well, at least until they've
emptied a couple of soju bottles). And it's as effortlessly witty and
funny as<b> In Another Country</b>, making it a real pleasure to watch. Sang-soo mightn't break with form here, but if the form isn't broken...<br />
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<b>Bad Hair </b>(dir. <span class="kno-fv">Mariana Rondón)</span><b> </b>is a peculiar little Venezuelan drama that plays out like a nightmarish, unloving portrait of a mother her young son, set in the housing projects of Caracas. Samuel Lange plays the son Junior - a 9 year old more interested in hair cuts and dressing up than traditional boyhood activities. His mother Marta (Samantha Castillo) fears he's gay, and over the course of the film seems to have less and less time and love for Junior. It's well made, diving down to depths many parents will surely consider almost horror film territory.
Tackling issues such as class inequality, gender confusion and
self-identity, there's interesting ideas but at same time the film itself didn't
quite set the heart a flutter in the way a truly special one does. Worth a watch, but <b>Bad Hair</b> left me a little
underwhelmed altogether - a film that's equal parts hard to hate and
difficult to love.<br />
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<b>The Gambler</b> (Losejas, dir. <span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Ignas Jonynas</span>) is, well... <i>ugh</i>. A rather grueling assault of grimness greets the viewer in this
pitch black Lithuanian-Latvian character study concerning paramedic Vincentas (<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Vytautas Kaniusonis</span>). He's deep in debt, bordering on alcoholic and is working on starting up a betting ring where punters can wager on which terminally ill patients will kick the bucket (indeed). Oona Mekas plays Ieva, Vincentas' love interest and the film's none-too-subtle moral centre. And the film itself is none-too-subtle altogether - Vincentas is sent down an improbable road to unlikely redemption, and there's nothing particularly nuanced about the way this plays out. Characters are more caricatures than credible human beings. To Jonynas' credit, the film is committed to its
horrible characters and almost cartoonishly repugnant world, so in that
way I guess it succeeded in what it set out to do. But it's an endurance
test as opposed to something I quote enjoyed unquote, and felt a lot of it felt deeply
contrived in its attempts to make us squirm in discomfort. Felt in need of a good shower afterwards to wash off the
layer of grime, but there was one film left to go on Saturday night. Luckily, it was a good one.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Touch of Sin</td></tr>
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<b>A Touch of Sin </b>is a truly magnificent 'state of the Chinese nation' address
from the renowned Jia Zhangke. Four vaguely interconnected stories manage to
encompass and critique the director's home country - migrant working (much of the film is set around Chinese New Year, when - as the wonderful Last Train Home informed us - workers travel home to their families for the holidays),
industrialisation, ideological hypocrisy, changing methods of
communication, corruption, shifting (degrading?) morals etc...The society portrayed here is at odds to many of the images we see portrayed in most Chinese and Western media, to the point where it seems like a near miracle Zhangke was allowed make such a scathing film in his own country. It's a cynical film, but one that seems genuinely concerned with some of the changes taking place in China.</div>
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There's a few ideas connecting the stories, which only occasionally have characters interact. For example, the first episode's protagonist - a miner (Jiang Wu) frustrated with the inactivity and corruption of his village elders - is not seen again after the film has switched perspectives. Each character could be seen as representing a certain section of Chinese civilian society, three of whom could be classed as migrant workers. However, most obviously each section is punctuated with acts of extreme violence. The type of violence differs in each chapter. The first chapter is a kind of revenge fantasy as the miner wields his shotgun to definitively teach the village elders a harsh lesson. The second character's motivations are perhaps the most mysterious - a migrant worker (Wang Baoqiang) who seems to engage in random acts of violence as much out of pleasure as necessity. Zhao Tao plays a sauna worker who is forced to defend herself following a humiliating assault at the hands of two male clients, while the final chapter focuses on a young worker (Luo Lanshan) driven to self-harm following his experiences working in a seedy nightclub and, later, a huge factory complex (an all too common situation in China). The violence itself, particularly in the first chapter, is almost unrealistically visceral yet highly cinematic. But Zhangke is committed to encouraging the audience to understand and critique the characters' actions and the reasons behind them, even if they're not always forgivable. There's not much empathy we can muster up for someone who engages in a killing spree, but this is a violent thriller with vast sociological and emotional depths.</div>
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It's a wildly
ambitious and wildly successful film, laced with moments of black humour. Expertly crafted and visually drowning in creeping, uncomfortable smog - oddly out
of focus in a few shots, though - this is one of the most
thought-provoking and thematically complex films I've seen in quite some
time. </div>
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Festival programmer Grainne Humphrey's nicknamed the final day 'happy Sunday', due to a day's worth of crowdpleasers dominating Savoy 1 (Dublin's most iconic cinema screen). However, joy was not the prevailing emotion down in the Lighthouse cinema, where myself and a small crowd were getting pummeled with the sheer misery that was <b>The Fake</b>.
Whereas <b>The Gambler</b> felt wrong, this felt just right in its
unrelenting bleakness.<br />
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From <span class="st">Yeon Sang-ho</span>, the director of the equally depressing <b>King
of Pigs</b> (which played<b> <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2013/02/jdiff-17th-and-18th-round-up.html">JDIFF 2013</a></b>), this Korean animation is the antithesis of Western animation in
both aesthetics and tone. It's a pretty much joyless account of a
village about to be flooded due to building of a dam, with the villagers
seeking solace in a new 'faith healing' church. The closest thing to a main character - Min-chul, the
only skeptic - is a violent, foul mouthed asshole who pretty much can't
get through a conversation without using the most obscene insults or
resorting to physical violence (including against his family). That gives you an idea of the level of
brutality here, but the film is a pretty devastating deconstruction of
organised religion and small town communities in which pretty much
no-one gets off easy. The film explores the darkest recesses of its
setup, leading to an inevitably dark conclusion (although with a surprisingly poetic epilogue). It feels forced at times - the subtitles are maybe even overlittered with expletives - but mostly the uncomfortable force of
the film further marks Sang-ho Yeon as an almost completely unique voice
in contemporary animation. Do not expect this in a multiplex near you
any time soon. <br />
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The surprise film this year was <b>Muppets: Most Wanted</b>. I'd say more, but for some incredibly silly reason all attendees had to sign an embargo form before entering. Suffice to say, however, it is a sequel to <b>The Muppets</b>. I find myself once again wishing this slot was reserved for offbeat, unexpected titles - films that would slot into the full programme comfortably, not whatever upcoming mainstream release a distributor is willing to offer (with a Dublin set chapter, however, this at least is a little more suited to JDIFF). You have a guaranteed roomful of viewers: what a wonderful opportunity to truly shock and surprise them and take them outside their usual comfort zone. <b>The Muppets</b> don't quite achieve that, but nonetheless a marked improvement over last year's dreadful <b>Welcome to the Punch</b>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Stag</td></tr>
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Unexpectedly, I found myself quite enjoying<b> The Stag</b> (dir. John Butler) - a predictable but entertainingly energetic comedy about a group of six men who head into the Wicklow Mountains for one of their bachelor's weekends. Alas, I was really disappointed that
the final act morphed into sentimental mush. I don't like second guessing or 'correcting'
filmmakers' intentions, but the extended wedding scene
should have been excised entirely as it added nothing of note and
gravely damaged the film's tone and characters. Which is a real shame as
elsewhere the film is genuinely funny (in its crude way) and there's some surprisingly
well handled story and character moments among the standard bromance. A powerful campside earlier on singalong
actually managed to communicate so much in an impressively cinematic way, all without resorting to the raw cheese that
came later. If it ended fifteen minutes earlier, I would have walked
out of <b>The Stag </b>with much more of a spring in my step and nicer things to say. But at least to its credit it
managed to step out of the 'Irish Hangover' realm for much of its
running time - in fact, I enjoyed it more than I enjoyed <b>The</b> <b>Hangover</b>
even with the deeply misjudged finale.<br />
<br />
One little thing though - the name The Machine (played by co-writer Peter McDonald in the film's Zack Galfanakis role)
might have sounded great in the script, but having every character use
'the' when referring to him felt awkwardly unnatural throughout.<br />
<br />
And that's it! 28 films, ten days, much frustrations at the repetitive sponsorship ads that played before every film. I had an absolute ball, although a couple days outside of a cinema was needed for a bit of a detox. Only a couple, mind.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-15110904308967684502014-02-25T17:59:00.002+00:002014-02-25T18:00:41.053+00:00Dublin Film Festival 2014 Report - 20th and 21st February <b>Many Stories of Film</b><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCY1N3jlxbIsbpJUsk1cO6gjjg1I6Xzm5LA5CO9rX5DCwI863FaNlsPhl6oIYDF-oFsOb5Uug8drXLlFeoU29oHdRyjskFqFn4aUMU8G4jNvRHbflC5mroRxxPa_lABInYZWww37Mgqw9/s1600/thereunion.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaCY1N3jlxbIsbpJUsk1cO6gjjg1I6Xzm5LA5CO9rX5DCwI863FaNlsPhl6oIYDF-oFsOb5Uug8drXLlFeoU29oHdRyjskFqFn4aUMU8G4jNvRHbflC5mroRxxPa_lABInYZWww37Mgqw9/s1600/thereunion.png" height="320" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Reunion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>A Story of Children and Film</b> sees critic turned filmmaker Mark Cousins explore some of the many, many ways childhood has been portrayed in cinema. As the title indicates, this is a sort of spin-off to Cousin's epic 15-hour documentary (and accompanying book) <b>A Story of Film</b>, which boldly and surprisingly successfully attempted to celebrate the vast history of moviemaking. <b>A Story of Children...</b> is a more focused affair, but this 'essay film' illustrates Cousins' impressive critical faculties and dizzying knowledge of the medium as he provides fascinating analysis of trends, themes and aesthetics over elegantly chosen clips from a wide range of films. At the outset Cousins explains he will largely stick to more obscure and forgotten greats - although there are a few pitch perfect inclusions like <b>E.T.</b> - and he provides all but the most avid cinephile with a range of fascinating looking films from around the world to seek out.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Tying all the clips together is footage of Cousins' own making - predominantly a single static shot of his young niece and nephew playing, and clips from his trip to the Scottish countryside. This helps create a compelling associative and expressive editing structure, making this a cinematic poem as much as an essay film. I'm still not the biggest fan of Cousins' unusually enunciated voiceover work, but this is a beautifully crafted ode to, yes, children in film, as well as a celebration of the boundless potential of the medium itself.<br />
<br />
<b>Finsterworld</b> (dir. Frauke Finsterwalder) initially suffers from many of the problems that inevitably plague any film that offers a dozen or so main characters. It's an assault of subnarratives and elusively characterised protagonists, and initially at least seems content to be a faintly quirky comedy-drama. But, as we adjust to the script's intentions (it's co-written by Finsterwalder's husband, novelist <span class="st">Christian Kracht), it opens up into something considerably more intriguing. As well as taking the characters' stories in notably darker directions as they progress, Finsterworld reveals itself as a film about critiques contemporary Germany, addressing many issues of national identity (the ruins of a concentration camp is one of the film's key settings) and social changes. This ties in with how the film explores characters in search of their own identity, with the film offering both optimistic and pessimistic endings - as well as some that exist somewhere in the middle - for its various protagonists. One of said protagonists is a policeman / 'closeted' furry - what at first seems like a fairly throwaway moment of quirk actually goes on to offer some of the film's most surprisingly poignant moments for both the man himself and his frustrated filmmaker girlfriend. Given its multi-perspective approach, the whole thing is undoubtedly uneven (one subplot that heavily features foot scrapings stands out as particularly awkward), but for the most part it's a surprisingly engaging and intelligently crafted film.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="st"><b>Återträffen / The Reunion,</b> from artist Anna Odell, is a film I've warmed to more in hindsight, although felt a tad underwhelmed actually watching it. The idea is absolutely inspired, one of the freshest I've come across recently. Odell stars as herself, and feels understandably spurned when she isn't invited to her school reunion. In response, she decides to stage a fictionalised version of the reunion itself, where she aggressively confronts her classmates about the isolation and bullying she experienced during her school days. The event gradually thrown into disarray, the whole thing plays out like an intense, uncomfortable and blackly comic riff on <b>Festen</b>. It makes for compellingly uncomfortable viewing.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="st">That's not the end of it, though, and the film goes in a unique direction when Odell opts to show the fictional reunion to her real-life classmates. This is an inspired decision, albeit one that feels a little awkward in implementation. The events, it seems, are based on the classmate's real-life reactions to the footage and Odell's attempts to contact them, but - for obvious reasons - they're recreated for our consumption. Naturally a documentary here would have basically shat on any ethical lines, but there's something underwhelming about seeing it all play out in controlled, recreated form. It lacks stylistic energy, barely ever leaping off the screen (the only overtly considered moment of cinematography - a lengthy aerial shot that marks the film's end - tellingly feels pointless and inconsistent after what we've just seen). It doesn't help that Odell herself is not the most natural or accomplished screen presence, her reserved, muttering performance meaning we lack a truly charismatic guide through this bizarre territory. It's perhaps for these reasons that, while watching, I felt removed from the whole experience, and I came out feeling as if the film's incredible potential had not been fully realised.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">But, as I reflect on it more, I do find myself having more respect for what Odell has managed here. The classmate's responses are regularly fascinating - some responding with confusion, others with thinly veiled embarrassment, some with desperate denial and - in the most interesting example, as Odell confronts a former classmate at his front door - one with undisguised indifference to Odell's confessed plight. Although I thought the film often danced on the border of excessive navel-gazing, Odell does admirably keep herself distant at times to allow the complexity of the responses speak for themselves. In the recreation footage particularly, she ensures that she's shown as aggressive and unreasonable as the most thuggish of her classmates, even if we're naturally inclined to side with her. It is considerably more than just an act of cinematic emotional vengeance. Mostly, however, the film serves as a thought-provoking indicator of how artists explore their own personal demons through art, with Odell confronting that vague territory head on and leaving much up to the viewer's own interpretations and conclusions. Perhaps that's precisely the reason why I appreciate <b>The Reunion</b> more after the fact.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Double</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="st"><b>The
Double</b> is Richard Ayoade's sophomore feature, and it definitively marks him as a very exciting up-and-coming filmmaker (who would have thought Dean Learner had a true auteur in him?). This, I must confess, caught me off guard as I wasn't that fond
of <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2011/03/review-submarine.html"><b>Submarine</b></a>. Less obtuse than early reviews had led me to believe it
was, <b>The Double</b> tackles often dark subject matter - it is, after all, a </span><span class="st"><span class="st">Dostoyevsky adaptation<i> -</i></span> with a knowingly playful
touch. But it is a genuine joy to watch, Ayoade and his art, camera and
lighting teams creating this giddily morbid, surrealistic dystopia - abstract in many ways, but with just enough familiarity to our own world to add an exaggerated contemporary relevance. With its almost robotic characters, steampunk machinery, intense yellow hues, absurd bureaucracy, overbearing shadows and eccentric rituals it's a deliriously oddball place to visit, but above all serves as an inspired setting for Ayoade's comedic stylings.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="st">There was something fairly predictable about the way it handled its
central concept of a timid man (Jesse Eisenberg) encountering his bolder, arrogant, more charismatic double, with the people around him failing to spot the similarity. However more than enough psychological peculiarity and wit to keep
us engaged. But then it was all realised with such visual panache and offers incredibly impressive
soundscapes (what a brilliantly odd flourish to have all the music cues
Japanese or Korean!). Eisenberg if not exactly stretching his scope
fits in perfectly, and Mia Wasikowska is becoming an increasingly
reassuring presence - has any recent young actress made such inspired
career and collaboration decisions? Above all, though, it was wickedly
deadpan and very funny.<br />
<br />
Despite Ayoade's assurance the only time the production team referenced <b>
Brazil</b> was so that they could distance themselves from it, it's a far
more successful successor to that film than the actual spiritual
successor <b>The Zero Theorem</b>. There's much to like or at least admire
about it - the wild cinematography and production design, the (sometimes) enjoyably cartoonish
and very physical film world, plenty of interesting themes and singular
delivery of the same. But, as has become sadly standard for Gilliam's
film output over the last two decades, it's so relentlessly zany,
haphazardly paced and insanely inconsistent that it frustrates as much
as if not more than it impresses. Also a shame that the characters are
so clinically presented for the first half of the film (that improves
later on, to the point where a sudden empathy and emotional core seems actively jarring). I still think CGI hasn't been Gilliam's friend (well, besides
financially) in realising his surrealistic visions - perhaps a result
of watching <b>The Double</b> beforehand, but Gilliam's visual style here lacks
coherence and is almost <i>too</i> artificial, even when the film is imagining
a full-on virtual reality (an impossibly perfect beach at sunset plays a pivotal role throughout) or attempting to satirise the visual and aural overload many of us are subjected too these days. It's telling that it's the more physical creations - most obviously the radically altered church where the bulk of the action takes place - feel infinitely more pleasing than the hyperactive CG evident elsewhere. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="st">The cast members, led by a bald Christoph Waltz, are mostly game for insanity, but sadly are fighting an uphill battle against Gilliam's removed and clinical stylings. The story, meanwhile, toys with big ideas, but is too madly paced to register much of a pulse. It ends up hitting some darker beats, but it's much too busy. A finale that riffs on <b>Brazil</b>'s iconic closing moments made me wish I was just watching that film instead.<br />
<br />
That said, Gilliam himself - like Ayoade, albeit in a very different way
- was a delight to hear and see speak in person, and is still overflowing with
enthusiasm and energy. Indeed, hearing him talk about the film so
passionately and insightfully afterwards I was disappointed that I
didn't enjoy it more than I actually did. But then, with only one or two
exceptions (mostly <b>Brazil</b>), I think I always like the theory and idea
of Gilliam's films more than I do actually watching them. </span><span class="st"></span>thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-56646813605229252202014-02-20T14:47:00.002+00:002014-02-20T14:48:45.120+00:00Dublin Film Festival Report - 16th-19th February<b>Stuck in the Middle</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPimvCVNWXa7hDjAlsgRHvOMQkBhAyetAWaZL5XWLDxsR0vTq7ootUSMnePCw434PpMW-he-zWthxbiYjyIcwhUZvoH7xxeksI7bnGgm6acrmrJEypri32NkNsqlHcPuhyy0K6UAM2jlxP/s1600/ida.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPimvCVNWXa7hDjAlsgRHvOMQkBhAyetAWaZL5XWLDxsR0vTq7ootUSMnePCw434PpMW-he-zWthxbiYjyIcwhUZvoH7xxeksI7bnGgm6acrmrJEypri32NkNsqlHcPuhyy0K6UAM2jlxP/s1600/ida.png" height="400" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IDA</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Is the mountain climbing documentary a legitimate subgenre yet? <b>Beyond the Edge</b> (presented in 3D, for whatever reason) follows in the steps of <b>Touching the Void</b> and <b>The Summit</b>, this time recounting the story of the first two people to reach the peak of Everest in 1953. Using a mixture of documentary footage and recreation (plus liberal voiceover interviews), the film explores the subject in bland, uninspiring detail. It's all a bit of a trudge, the story interesting but the delivery dull. There is a beautiful 360 degree pan when the pair finally reach the peak, but that's a rare highlight in a film that is predominantly bog standard documentary fare that does little artistic justice to a remarkable story.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>There are shades of <b>George Washington</b> and <b>Mean Creek</b> in Daniel Patrick Carbone's feature debut <b>Hide Your Smiling Faces</b>. In the aftermath of a death, two brothers in rural America confront issues of mortality, friendship and those dastardly adults. It's super serious and pensively paced, but it's a mostly well realised that has moments of poignancy and insight throughout. While ultimately not quite as effective as some of the films it reminded me of, it's admirable in its intentions. Carbone is clearly very passionate about the material, and this undoubtedly shines through.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Ida</b>, meanwhile, closed the festival's first weekend for this viewer, while also serving as its most welcome surprise. I'm not familiar with <span class="st">Paweł Pawlikowski's previous work (<b>My Summer of Love </b>being his best known), but I'll be making sure to track them down after being thoroughly drawn into this film about an orphaned nun's journey to discover her roots. The story itself is intriguingly sparse - lead actress </span><span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Agata Trzebuchowska is a wonderful screen presence (the eyes alone communicate a powerful sense of innocence and naivety), and her voyage of self discovery - aided by her alcoholic, cynical aunt (</span>Agata Kulesza) - is represented with subtlety and grace. There's a welcome ambiguity about the film's mid twentieth century Polish setting, but the political and social contexts of the period (particularly the aftermath of the Holocaust) are intriguingly explored throughout.<br />
<br />
Mostly, though, it's the visual presentation that stands out. Shot in black & white 4:3 (and making tremendous use out of that old-fashioned aspect ratio), the compositions make fascinating use of frame height and geometry. Through the cinematography, Pawlikowski and his DP transmit a sense of unease, place and often a grim sort of beauty. It's a film where every pretty much every cut signals an inventive new shot, and it's a feast for the eyes even if you're left cold by the purposefully pared-back narrative. For me, though, it was a delightfully complete package.<br />
<br />
<b>Circles</b> (<span class="st">dir. Srdan Golubović) is one of the most plodding, narcoleptic films I've seen at this year's festival. The idea sounds more interesting written down than it is in execution. The film kicks off in 1993, with a Serbian soldier named Marko (</span><span class="st">Vuk Kostic<b>)</b> interrupting a violent incident in a town square. Suddenly, the film leaps forward a decade and a half, and focuses three people - separated by new borders - who were deeply affected by said incident. There's some interest in seeing how the puzzle slowly reveals itself, and the production values are high (yet bland). But the rewards are few, the stories numbingly familiar and the whole thing self-important to the point of parody. A heavy handed tale of geographical dislocation and interconnectedness that goes nowhere sloooowwww.</span><br />
<span class="st"></span><br />
<span class="st"><b>Wakolda</b> (or <b>The German Doctor</b>, dir. </span><span class="st">Lucía Puenzo) is something of a contradiction: weird yet straightforward, serious yet ridiculous. And for some reason it kind of worked. Mostly, it caught me off guard (and maybe in a good mood): when the writer / director Puenzo introduced the film's setup - a mysterious vet (</span><span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Àlex Brendemühl) becomes involved with an Argentinian-German family, taking a particular interest in young Wakolda (</span><span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Florencia Bado) - I effectively had no idea where it was going. Was this 'doctor' a psychopath? A pedophile? The answer is actually stranger, the film instead tackling a pseudo-historical thriller that encompasses secret Nazi sects, genetic engineering and a certain real life mad scientist. It's an eccentric story that isn't exactly 'subtle' (a subplot about creating perfect dolls serves as a pretty blatant point of contrast), but it's strangely entertaining in its own quirky way.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnJ5HKNEWjDFqbiK-lye6PGpAHL9ZuRw7PQTBijo6T872HYhgktZ8PEEBKY1MUAwab7tpZztRnxUeEiIX6S2lJeki5vxCfEA9Q818wMEnhTech2uB4uKNpeZAW8oHe0HrAckMMm2BewvA/s1600/thepast.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnJ5HKNEWjDFqbiK-lye6PGpAHL9ZuRw7PQTBijo6T872HYhgktZ8PEEBKY1MUAwab7tpZztRnxUeEiIX6S2lJeki5vxCfEA9Q818wMEnhTech2uB4uKNpeZAW8oHe0HrAckMMm2BewvA/s1600/thepast.png" height="212" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Past</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name"><b>The Past</b> is a</span><span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">nother expertly crafted domestic melodrama from the great Asghar
Farhadi, who I have in the past listed as perhaps my favourite contemporary filmmaker. This director is simply working on a completely different level to
pretty much every other filmmaker these days - there's something so
beautifully naturalistic, compassionate and unpretentious about his
storytelling. He strips away the gloss to get to the powerful emotions at the centre of his dramas, and in the process explores his characters in a deeply intelligent and compelling way.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">The story is deceptively simple - Ahmad (Ali Mosaffa) travels to France to finalise his divorce with soon-to-be-ex wife Marie (<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Bérénice Bejo).</span> However, the scope of the film expands to include Marie's two daughters, her husband-to-be Samir (Tahar Rahim) and his son. The startling revelations and personal conflicts flow thick and fast
here, emerging naturally as the characters interact with each other. Most of said revelations pack a truly devastating punch, and I was completely drawn into this family's strife. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">I can see some viewers
suggesting it's too long and presents a pretty grueling number of
revelations within revelations, but to me it was all absolutely
necessary for Farhadi to take his characters and themes to
where they need to go. It's the rare sort of melodrama that earns its explosive emotional outbursts. The title couldn't be more appropriate - it's a
film about regrets, secrets, misunderstandings, mistakes and
commitments, and getting consumed by what might or might not have
happened once upon a time. Ultimately, it's about the challenges facing those who want to look forward and let go, with a final long take of Samir and his comatose wife being as articulate and heartbreaking as that unforgettable final shot from <b>A Separation</b>. <b>The Past</b> is intense and captivating viewing seeing
these characters address their demons and release their pent up
emotions, and it's flawlessly acted. Farhadi's films are, above all,
deeply and immensely human, and this is a further example of his
beautiful, peerless craftsmanship and empathetic storytelling.
</span><br />
<br />
<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">If <b>The Past</b> is about looking to the past and the future, Claire Simon's <b>Gare Du Nord</b> is about looking at what's around us - or, more specifically, what's around Paris' most iconic train station. Set pretty much entirely in the station itself, a quartet of main characters with their own stories serve as Simon's way of exploring the dizzying amount of characters and stories that briefly, anonymously intersect in this transport hub. The actual main dramas themselves can feel contrived and less engaging than the world that surrounds them - that the concept is more fascinating than the film itself is certainly a valid response here. However, as an example of 'one location' filmmaking that effortlessly encompasses a huge range of social contexts and personalities, <b>Gare du Nord</b> is often poetic and evocative.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7sJoSw-1lvFagX3IBSkphQrU85bKfje6Y7UfrevlfXpl-bOfAlFbb83RBobRHSxn0dNKDfRA6Jg5NdzopP16_h2f8HCKjIAmesVM1GJj17RtNZeqxOETJzrB4wOK36tXRbtx49MWZPAR/s1600/undertheskin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC7sJoSw-1lvFagX3IBSkphQrU85bKfje6Y7UfrevlfXpl-bOfAlFbb83RBobRHSxn0dNKDfRA6Jg5NdzopP16_h2f8HCKjIAmesVM1GJj17RtNZeqxOETJzrB4wOK36tXRbtx49MWZPAR/s1600/undertheskin.png" height="216" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under the Skin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Finally, looks and glances are also an integral element to <b>Under The Skin</b> (dir. Jonathan Glazer). </span>I'm at something of a loss to describe how creepy, mysterious and
effective the first half of this film is. I've barely seen anything like
it, although there are hints of Kubrick (of all the compliments!) about
it. From the slickly abstract prologue, it's an aesthetic treat and
then some. The sound design grabs you (as does Mica Levi's unsettling score), the visuals truly hypnotise. From
the uncomfortably intimate flirting sequences to a street scene that resembles
a cinematic kaleidoscope, it's a remarkable sensory experience. There's
a deeply dark and captivating sequence on a beach, that serves as a
brilliant way of further introducing us to our odd protagonist and her removed perspective of our planet. But then
there's a couple of scenes... I actually don't even want to mention
them in any detail, because they're just so spectacular. There's one SFX
heavy sequence that is pretty much unforgettable (and <i>that</i>
sound design): scene of the year candidate already, and it scared the
absolute shit out of me. <br />
<br />
If we take the narrative at it's most literal level, it's fairly straightforward (although both the visuals
and the events themselves intriguingly albeit ambiguously explore
aspects of sexuality and gender in society) but it's magnificently
crafted. It reminded me of <b>Upstream Colour</b> in a very good way - not in
terms of specifics, necessarily, but in the way they use the tools of cinema so
elegantly to tell their story. I believe the adaptation significantly
cuts down the stuff from the book: I haven't read it, but at the Q&A
afterwards Glazer said he only used the book as a starting point. So
it's that rare but wholly admirable sort of smart adaptation that
aggressively distills or even strips a literary source down to its most
cinematic elements, adapting ideas, themes and characters rather than
just lazily recycling the plot itself.<br />
<br />
There's very little in the way of
exposition or extraneous dialogue, and having the meaning and specifics
of key aspects left very vague is one of the film's strongest assets in
building its surreal and deeply mysterious tone. Scarlett Johannson in a very
often speechless role - the polar opposite of her <b>Her</b> performance, but no less memorable - is fantastic: managing to convey an alien figuring out the
rules of Earth, with an intense stare that's a key part of the film's
narrative and visual signature. Indeed, it's a film about 'looking' more
often than not - at others and at ourselves, albeit in this case
through a pair extraterrestrial eyes. In fact, one of the opening shots is tellingly an
eye, and many of the turning points of the film revolve around the alien
having her perspective altered by simply looking or examining
something. This isn't so much a male or female gaze being explored here (although it naturally touches on that), but something far richer.<br />
<br />
The second half is, well... different. The 'action' shifts from Glasgow to the countryside, and the tone changes. Our alien
begins to empathise or at least becomes increasingly curious about
humanity and herself. The change is a tad jarring at first, to be honest. I
wondered where this was going for a while, but I felt Glazer nailed the
landing. In many ways the film's second section further explores the ideas and themes
articulated in the first half through contrasting situations, leading to a powerful conclusion. There's
some fascinating scenes (including a seemingly tender sexual encounter
with a blackly comic punchline), although it's not until the final
minutes we get haunting imagery on par with the best from the first
hour.<br />
<br />
Above all, <b>Under the Skin</b> is a film about mood, and Glazer is brave
enough to supplement a stripped down, ambiguous narrative with evocative
and sometimes <i>pro</i>vocative delivery. It's going to be divisive, no
doubt about that. But it's one of the most captivating and distinctive pieces
of cinema I've seen in recent times.
thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-10557192177904888782014-02-18T14:58:00.001+00:002014-02-18T14:58:46.589+00:00Dublin Film Festival Report - 13th, 14th, 15th February 2014<b>Opening Gambit</b><br />
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One of the problems anyone will face when attending a film festival is simply trying to take the time to reflect on the films as they rush from one cinema to the next. Sitting down and writing about them is another thing again, and I don't envy the professional critics who have to watch five or six films a day and quickly turn around high quality, coherent reports at the same time. But hey, they're paid for the privilege.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>After a frantic five days of 'wake up, eat, bus, film, film, eat, film, film, bus, sleep', I haven't had time to write up much about this year's Jameson Dublin International Film Festival (thankfully Twitter and <b><a href="http://letterboxd.com/johnny_ultimate/">Letterboxd</a></b> are mobile friendly for some brief and quick thoughts, if only for my own sake rather than fooling myself into thinking anyone's listening). So today, taking a 'break day' in the middle of the madness (not entirely voluntarily - I have to miss <b>Mood Indigo</b> due to other commitments anyway) I have some time to catch up on thoughts from the festival's first couple of days. I won't be able to give as much time to some films as I'd like, but that's a regrettable reality when trying to cover a dozen films in a very short space of time!<br />
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The underwhelming <b>Calvary</b> opened the fest. A minor improvement over director John Michael McDonagh's first film <b>The Guard</b>, it nonetheless fails to shake many of the problems that dragged that film down. Mostly it remains a tonal mishmash - broad, pantomime comedy clashing awkwardly with heavy handed themes and philosophising. There's too many characters - most underutilised and uninteresting, with an impression that McDonagh is just using any and every Irish personality that agreed to take part. In Aiden Gillen's appallingly misjudged performance as a doctor with a morbid sense of humour, we might have an early contender for this year's worst supporting actor. But the excellent Brendan Gleeson as a priest confronting a faithless, cynical society has an engaging arc, and occasionally the film is a curious and provocative deconstruction of a post-Catholic Ireland. Alas, the moments of insight are in relatively short supply, and ultimately <b>Calvary</b> is an intriguing character study in search of a coherent film.<br />
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<b>The Militant</b> (dir. Manolo Nieto) is another film propped up by its central character. In this case, that's Ariel (Felipe
Dieste) - a Uruguayan student / activist who travels to his hometown following the death of his father. Navigating through characters and situations that illuminate a sort of social hypocrisy and apathy, Ariel becomes a more involved and independent individual as the film progresses. The film, to a fault perhaps, does possess the sort of sombre and at times clinical approach to the material that ensures it's almost inevitably destined to be relegated to festivals. But there's several poetic, evocative moments throughout the film, and Dieste's complex, enigmatic performance kept me interested.<br />
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Jim Jarmush's <b>Only Lovers Left Alive</b> is a blackly comic and expertly crafted antidote to the supernatural romances that have populated multiplexes over recent years. Tom Hiddleston and Tilda Swinton portray a vampiric couple (Adam and Eve) facing the challenges of maintaining a relationship and optimistic attitude while dealing with an immortal life and increasingly hopeless humanity. As strong as the two leads are (particularly Hiddleston), the fantastic Mia Wasikowska threatens to steal the show as Eve's wild sister, but Jarmush's deadpan tone and keen visual eye ensure everything is kept interesting. Particularly worth noting is the way Jarmush contrasts drinking blood with drug addiction - not a new idea in vampire fiction, but viscerally realised here. There's also an inspired use of music, including a tremendously disorientating opening shot that contrasts the stars (and credits) to a rotating record. Very funny at times, there is however something a little lightweight about <b>Only Lovers Left Alive</b> - the almost impossible to describe spark that differentiates a really good film from a great one.<br />
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<b>The Grand Budapest Hotel</b>, however, has that spark in giddy abundance. It's perhaps not the film to tempt Wes Anderson detractors to the other side, but as a loyal subscriber to the man's idiosyncratic worldview this was a complete delight. Less explicitly 'diorama' like than his previous films (although the titular hotel resembles an elaborate doll's house), it still overflows with visual imagination: very few other contemporary directors could cause a genuine spinetingle through character symmetry or movement alone. The dominant 1:33 ratio is a perfect fit for Anderson's obsessively symmetrical eye as well as the 1930s setting, with different aspect ratios serving as a smart, elegant shorthand for the trio of different eras portrayed. In some ways it's a touch darker than we might expect from Anderson - there's more sudden, cartoonish violence than usual (including an unexpected finger injury) - but it's always a joy to watch, with the jokes coming thick, fast and hilariously. The plot itself is excitingly hyperactive, and a compelling misadventure on its own terms. Anderson also has a lot of fun staging setpieces that affectionately parody many familiar tropes and genre trappings - most notably an inspired jailbreak and a vividly realised chase than a ski slope.<br />
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It's more than just a quirky action-comedy, though, and Ralph Fiennes is a big part of that: playing a <i><span class="st"><i>maître d</i>'hôtel </span></i><span class="st">who is a wonderful mix of proper and crude, it's perhaps the single most brilliant performance in a Wes Anderson film since Jason Schwartzman as Max Fischer. Schwartzman is one of many Anderson mainstays who pop up in a series of delightful cameos - nearly all his collaborators appear at some point, with Anderson miraculously keeping control of what could easily have been total anarchy. But above all that there's a nostalgia and bittersweetness at <b>Grand Budapest's</b> core, explicitly articulated in the film's moving final minutes. Anderson's films have always been proudly artificial, but here he reflects on an era of history as a conflict between fact and fiction. The film's 'story within a story within a story' structure illustrates this most obviously: the Europe portrayed here is a result of second and third hand recollections, of a time and place most of us will be most intimately familiar with through cinema. Anderson concludes on the poignant reminder that, for all the energy and vibrancy of the world portrayed here, it is destined to remain an impossibly nostalgic dream. Luckily, we have Wes Anderson to visualise that impossible dream for us.</span><br />
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<span class="st">From the sublime to the insipid: <b>Half of a Yellow Sun</b> </span>is a pitifully dull, pointless melodrama that wastes a dramatically potent
and historically fascinating setting with a dull domestic / family
drama. A capable cast futilely struggle against an inane script that
offers no intelligence, themes or anything else of interest. With the
look of a failed BBC drama pilot, the film shuffles along until it
mercifully yet haphazardly ends. I've had underwhelming bags of crisps
that packed more of an emotional impact.<br />
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<b>Miss Violence </b>(<span class="kno-fv">Alexandros Avranas) is a peculiar one. There's no question it's the product of contemporary Greek cinema: at times, it's incredibly visually and tonally derivative of </span><span class="st">Giorgos Lanthimos (there's even an odd shot that 'cuts off' the head off its characters that's effectively identical to a similar shot in <b>Alps</b>). It can also be hard to tell whether the film offers more shock for shock's sake - starting with an 11 year-old committing suicide, the film's plot goes on to encompass forced prostitution, pedophilia, incest, child abuse and other nastiness. But, these reservations acknowledged, there's still something strangely compelling about the film's creepiness and slowly unraveling horror show. As a blackly comic to the point of n portrait of a beyond dysfunctional family, it's memorable and metaphorically potent: given Greek's financial crisis, there's no shortage of things a viewer could read into what this film has to say about the country's current condition. It's bound to be divisive: not undeservedly and quite possibly intentionally. Even if it lacks a voice of its own at times, I found that it ultimately crept under my skin, perhaps in spite of itself.</span><br />
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<span class="st">That's enough for one post, so over the next 24 hours I'll hopefully get my Sunday and Monday reviews up - another varied bunch that ranges from the mediocre to the sublime (with two thankfully falling into the latter camp).</span>thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-48224471114995067962014-01-29T16:35:00.002+00:002014-01-29T16:35:32.058+00:00Wings (William Wellman, 1927)<span style="font-size: small;"><b>The Spectacular Then</b></span><br />
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If you blame Steven Spielberg and George Lucas for instigating the scourge of the spectacle movie, you’re not alone. But <i><b>Wings</b></i>, fifty years older than <i><b>Star Wars</b></i> (and in some ways not entirely incomparable), is one definitive indicator that the idea was around long, long before the phenomenon of galaxies far, far away.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Spectacular is the word that springs frequently to mind when watching this film - despite nearing its 90th birthday, the scale and ambition of <i><b>Wings</b></i> can still take one’s breath away. It’s a film that in many ways seems even more impressive today - in an age of prevalent computer generated imagery and mobile cameras, what <i><b>Wings</b></i> achieves would humble the most accomplished special effects teams. Director William A. Wellman and his team went to mind-boggling lengths to capture the experience of World War 1 fighter pilots, from inventing specialised rigs to mount & stablise cameras on rickety planes to teaching its lead cast to fly for added authenticity (lead Buddy Rogers is said to have vomited after every landing).<br /><br />The results speak for themselves. The dogfights and aerial sequences in <i><b>Wings</b></i> surely rank among the grandest technical achievements of early cinema. Giddily cutting between inventive camera angles (the cockpit view surely inspired the aforementioned Mr. Lucas), Wellman, his camera crew and stunt flyers managed to emulate both the electrifying rush and constant danger of WW1 aerial combat. Some shots border on vertigo inducing, while the director’s admirable obsession with waiting for only the most perfectly fluffy clouds before shooting pays serious dividends in terms of the epic aesthetics of these scenes. I’m not familiar enough with the reality of World War One flying to make a definitive statement, but <i><b>Wings</b></i> sure as hell feels authentic while also remaining deliriously cinematic in the way it captures the planes, whether that's a distant longshot of a formation or a visceral cockpit close-up.<br />
<br />On the ground too <i><b>Wings</b></i> is not shy of grand pageantry. The most obvious example is the climactic Battle of Saint-Mihiel. It’s a battle recreation on a dizzying scale, featuring thousands of extras, relentless gunfire, huge explosions and borrowed army vehicles: all while planes buzz overhead, perfectly cued to appear over a ridge at just the right moment. It’s a true feat of choreography: though it was undoubtedly chaos to shoot (involving almost twenty cameras rolling at the same time), it nonetheless edited together elegantly. Again, that famed beach storming in <i><b>Saving Private Ryan</b></i> has something of a precedent here<br /><br />What about beyond the spectacle? Well, here again we find something of a precedent for the modern blockbuster, for better and worse. The characters and stories tying all the action together are straightforward and undemanding. There’s two distinct but interconnected halves - a tale of brotherhood, and a wartime love triangle (actually more of a square, even though the individuals involved aren’t aware of the fact). The former, focusing on the friendship that forms between one-time rivals Jack (Buddy Rogers) and David (Richard Arlen) is fairly standard stuff, truth be told, especially after nine decades of similar cinematic tales. <br /><br />Filmed and produced largely by war veterans, <i><b>Wings</b></i>' portrayal of WW1 and the ‘heroes of the sky’ may strike many modern viewers as adopting a less nuanced, overly patriotic and even celebratory tone than the more removed, critical war films of subsequent decades. But it’s made with genuine heart, and to former pilot Wellman’s credit he does manage to fit in some poetic and even haunting imagery and sequences in there (a healthy 140 minute running time allows plenty of breathing space). <br /><br />There is, for example, the sudden, even casual death of a soldier resting at the side of the road: a moment that packs more of a punch than the inevitably tragic fate of one our lead characters. Similarly, Gary Cooper shows up for a single scene as a veteran pilot who meets a premature end during a routine practice flight. These scenes leave a strong impression, more sombre notes in a film that often vies for the audience’s adrenaline rather than their brain. And even the airfights themselves aren’t lacking in some critical depth. The pilots’ deaths are unexpectedly bloody. There’s also the curious case of the German flying ace with a strong moral compass. On that note, the film largely resists the temptation to caricature or vilify the enemy forces, despite some patriotic undertones. <i><b>Wings</b></i> not be the most nuanced portrayal of war ever captured on celluloid, but it’s also far from toxic.<br /><br />Then there’s the romantic element. Outside of <i><b>It</b></i> - the film that earned her her enduring nickname - Wings is the iconic Clara Bow’s most famed performance. And she is radiant, a boundlessly charismatic and lively screen presence who is almost the textbook definition of a silent movie star. It’s a bit regrettable that she’s shoehorned in, then, absent for massive chunks of the film and largely restricted to scenes that barely intersect with the main plot. This is most obvious during an extended sequence recounting Jack’s Paris furlough. A chance encounter inspires Bow’s character Mary to win the heart of her beloved next door neighbour (who has his heart set on another: the gal who is instead in love with David). Unfortunately, Jack is stupid drunk at the time. This leads to an overstretched gag where Jack imagines and chases after hallucinated bubbles - a strange choice that struggles to gel with the overall tone of the film, especially at such length. Bow’s presence makes this reel considerably more tolerable. Curiously - and provocatively for the time - she even has a topless scene here that provides a literally blink and you’ll miss it flash of flesh. It’s an unusual and unexpected moment, illustrating a sense of censorship baiting and audience teasing playfulness from Bow and Wellman.<br /><br />While watching the new Masters of Cinema Blu-Ray release of the film, I was bewitched by a near immaculate transfer, easily among the finest early cinema restorations I’ve seen. I assumed that, as the first big winner at the Academy Awards, the film had been afforded some special preservation treatment over the years. Not so, it seems: a supplementary feature outlines the process as painstaking, the restoration team working from a damaged, low quality nitrate print. Paramount went above and beyond for this one, not only committing the time to make the image almost flawless, but also restoring the original tinting and even occasional handrawn colourisation, as outlined by the original release plan (which had thankfully survived). <br /><br />Also welcome is a vibrant recording of the original live orchestral score by J.S. Zamecnik (there’s an additional soundtrack featured as well, if the bombast doesn’t appeal to you), and supplemented further by a sound effect track supervised by Ben Burtt. Before you yell blasphemy, large venues that originally showed <i><b>Wings</b></i> also incorporated many sound effects to further enhance the spectacle - after all, this film was released alongside the dawn of the talkie. All in all, it’s a glorious HD release, and an ideal way to appreciate the vibrancy and spectacle of the film.<br /><br />If <i><b>Wings</b></i> falls shy of the sheer artistry of some of its contemporaries - after all, it was made around the same time as the likes of <i><b>Sunrise: A Tale of Two Humans</b></i> and <i><b>The Passion of Joan of Arc</b></i> - it does represent a unique pinnacle of early cinema. Its straightforward storytelling, technical invention and breathless spectacle ensure a rollicking good time. It’s a reminder of true, borderline reckless cinematic action, when the ingenuity, risk and effort behind the scenes impresses as much as the images themselves. With modern tools offering filmmakers boundless possibilities to realise their vision (just look at something like <i><b>Gravity</b></i>), <i><b>Wings</b></i> is a study in intensely physical moviemaking, the likes of which we’re not likely to see again.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-30607075161597347502014-01-17T21:38:00.001+00:002014-01-17T22:44:06.114+00:00The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (Ben Stiller, 2013)<b>Corporate Compromise</b><br />
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<b>The Secret Life of Walter Mitty</b> is a film that with great regularity declares itself to be a film about escaping the drudgery of modern life and finding yourself as an individual. It's about taking risks and embracing chance. The narrative urges the audience to see the world and to not fear the unexpected. It's also about the incredible bonding power of a good Cinnabon. <br />
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<a name='more'></a>Most of us are probably semi-resigned to product placement - it's been around in various guises for decades, and while it's by its nature a cynical practice (albeit with sometimes understandable economic benefits for producers in the expensive world of film production) I for one am if not happy then at least willing to simply ignore or tolerate it as long as it's unobtrusive. For the most part, it really only tends to affect films that are already in some way compromised by corporate interference anyway. Which, with an alleged budget bordering on $100 million, a big name star / director, and the participation of many major Hollywood production houses, <b>Walter Mitty</b> already is.<br />
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But it's still a shock to see any film engage in placement as unashamedly as <b>Walter Mitty</b> does. Many of its characters and narrative focuses are in some way closely related to named companies. The most obvious one is that Mitty works in the now defunct Life magazine. That is mostly acceptable: while there is still the remnants of a Life online as a subsidiary of Time, its presence is clearly intended as an insanely unsubtle metaphor about - yes - real life and creativity as opposed to purposeful corporate skullduggery. Lacking in any sort of nuance though it is, the ideas at least thematically supports the publication's persistent presence. In the hands of a more artful director than Stiller or writer than <span class="kno-fh"></span><span class="kno-fv"><span class="kno-fv-vq fl" data-vq="/search?safe=off&client=firefox-a&hs=kWc&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=fflb&q=%22the+secret+life+of+walter+mitty%22+%22screenplay%22+%22steven+conrad%22&stick=H4sIAAAAAAAAAGOovnz8BQMDgwAHsxKXfq6-QZ5JuqGhkQPjnS2L-uym_f6uozX9tusiJhFNR1tOAFpFoO4tAAAA">Steven Conrad, however, it would have been possible to articulate these ideas without resorting to such blatantly obvious metaphorical tactics that are so in our face they go far beyond subtext.</span></span><br />
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The other examples of product placement are much less forgivable, and ultimately utterly hypocritical. The film opens with Mitty (Stiller) browsing E-Harmony, and one of the film's 'pivotal' supporting characters turns out to be a customer service representative for said dating site (played by Patton Oswalt). The narrative role here could have been served by any generic, fictional website, and instead of lending the film some real world credibility the regular presence of a named company comes across as distracting and condescending: a thinly veiled advertisement in lieu of anything that actually serves the story. Similarly, Mitty's character has a backstory heavily involving pizza franchise Papa John's. Again, it's a horribly written piece of <i>something</i> the screenplay tries to justify as a deep-rooted character motivation, but can't help but feel desperately shoehorned in for reasons that couldn't be deemed artistic.<br />
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Most grievous of all, though, is the scene where Mitty finally meets Oswalt's character in real life, having previously communicated exclusively through a series of inconveniently timed phone calls. Where does the encounter with this inspirational E-Harmony sage take place? A Cinnabon (a brand which thankfully hasn't made it to this Irish isle yet). It's a ghastly scene to witness, including several pornographically framed shots of Cinnabon products and the characters merrily discussing the deliciousness of their snack (actually referred to as 'frosted heroin'). It feels genuinely uncomfortable to be marketed at so directly in the middle of a feature film, although at this late point audience members will have learned to decipher and actively reject the film's troubling product placement trend.<br />
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As you might have gathered, what's so regrettable about the film succumbing to all this is that it so aggressively conflicts with everything the film seems to be trying to preach. For a story all about shaking off conformity and doing something different, it's hypocritically attached to celebrating several faceless corporations. If there was some sort of critical eye commenting on all this placement - and if we're being generous, the story's Papa John's references are bittersweet - we might forgive it. But no: if there's a subtext here, it's well disguised, and is more likely non-existent. That inspired <b>Wayne's World</b> gag seems more relevant now than ever.<br />
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Even if we removed all the E-Harmony talk, this reimagining of <b>Walter Mitty</b> would still underwhelm. It's crowdpleasing in the most unwelcome way, with a script and direction that don't earn what it clearly thanks are massively emotional payoffs. Every dramatic beat is scored to triumphant pop or rock music that attempts to drown out the audience's critical abilities. The use of gratuitous slow motion and 'epic' traveling montages wear out their welcome fast. The core philosophical and motivational points seem to be regurgitated from a poorly translated fortune cookie note. The characters are lazily stereotypical archetypes. Kristen Wiig is charming, but severely limited as a textbook example of the Manic Pixie Dream Woman. Aren't we over that trend yet? Adam Scott, meanwhile, plays a managing director so cartoonishly evil that we do not suspect even for a second that this 'person' is anything other than a lazy writer's creation.<br />
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And Mitty himself is nothing but a barely present (admittedly on purpose) blank slate straddled with strange, unconvincing backstory. We're told, as the plot demands it, that he was once a prodigious skateboarder, but it seems as if he hasn't picked up a board in the guts of two decades - in fact, much of the film's major character conflict is based on that implication. Naturally, when the plot further demands it, he's conveniently a world-class boarder that can expertly pull off a standing kickflip or manual, and can effortlessly and stylishly navigate his way down a several mile long Icelandic motorway on a longboard. Who needs internal credibility when there's drama to contrive? It also doesn't help that it's not the most convincing stunt double work in the world, with the camera distractingly out of focus during one particular skating effort. But hey, at least the exotic settings are lovingly framed in 35mm (the film's sole subtext worth rejoicing is it's affection for analog photography) by cinematographer Stuart Dryburgh, and made me wonder why other, better films have so infrequently utilised the gorgeous landscapes of Greenland and Iceland, the latter of which also subs for rural Afghanistan.
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There's a few scenes near the start of the film where, as in the original book and film, Mitty daydreams fantastical alternate realities. The best of which sees Stiller and Scott burst out of the office to engage in a citywide albeit heavily CGIed fantasy brawl. It's silly, but also a rare burst of energy and excitement in a film that almost always seems underwhelming and ill-crafted. For all its globetrotting, dramatic situations and emotional peaks,<b> The Secret Life of Walter Mitty</b> is a film that seems rotting and meek. Most depressingly of all, the aggressive product placement sees the film shamelessly contradict its own moral compass, committing a graphic form of artistic seppuku. It would almost be sad if it wasn't so miserable to watch.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-57534677850106622662013-12-31T15:10:00.002+00:002013-12-31T15:10:35.434+00:00Greed (Erich von Stroheim, 1924)<i>This article is part of a year-long feature - watching and blogging
about twenty acclaimed, cult, challenging and rare films over the course
of 2013. The full list of films (and links to other completed posts) can be found <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2012/12/twenty-films-for-twenty-thirteen.html">here</a>. This is the end: Erich von Stroheim</i>'s <i>epic tale of</i> <b>Greed</b>.<br />
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<b>Greed</b>, perhaps more than any other production in cinema history, is almost destined to be always defined by its incompleteness. Barring a miracle (and, in terms of silent film, we can't forget miracles <i>have</i> happened - such as the unexpected recovery of seemingly lost versions of <b>Metropolis</b> and <b>Passion of Joan of Arc</b>), the complete version of von Stroheim's astonishing achievement is almost definitely lost. The 'true' length is open to debate - some of the very few viewers lucky enough to see an early version suggested a running time just shy of ten hours, although that was likely a rough or assembly cut that would surely have been edited down before release. Nonetheless, even with a tough edit, <b>Greed</b> was certainly meant to be many times longer than the 140 minute version released into cinemas in 1924. von Stroheim vocally expressed his disapproval of the final version, his vision undoubtedly cut to shreds by an old rival who unluckily gained last minute control over the film's release by MGM.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>Watching <b>Greed</b> ninety years after release is a singularly strange experience, especially knowing the back story. What we have, and what has become the most widely circulated version of the film, is a so-called 'reconstructed' version. It is, to say the least, a compromise. Just over half the film consists of the commercially released <b>Greed</b>, while the rest of the four hour running time consists of vintage still photos used fill in excised scenes, including entire subplots and characters. Intertitles - which von Stroheim was not a fan of - are also used liberally to fill in the blanks, of which there are many.<br />
<br />
It's rather shocking looking at the content cut out. The almost complete loss of two major subplots - the tragic story of two desperate peddlers and the touching romance of two elderly tenants (well, <i>former</i> tenants from around the intermission onwards) of main character McTeague (<span class="st">Gibson Gowland) - are the most obvious omissions, some of these characters barely appearing in 'moving' images at all. These are the scenes that add great nuance to <b>Greed</b>, acting as fascinating comparisons and contrasts to the plight of dentist McTeague and his equally lucky / unlucky new wife Trina (Zazu Pitts). This is first and foremost a tale of fate, the corrupting power of wealth and the inevitable nature of human beings, and these two side narratives significantly enhance the core tragedy of McTeague. It's not just these subplots though: big chunks of that core story are also missing, including some of the film's key setpieces (an important brawl, for example, marking a turning point in one of the film's key relationships) and dramatic junctures. Frankly, it's a slight miracle that <i>any</i> nuances survive at all - such as the way von Stroheim visually links the main characters with animals, most notably a pair of pet canaries and the greedy cat willing to pounce on them at any given opportunity. </span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">So the reconstruction is imperfect then, a very odd way of watching what is generally regarded as one of the most brilliant and influential films ever made. But thankfully we have it, and the greatest praise on the people who put it together. It's not von Stroheim's director's cut, but it gives us some idea of the scale, scope and success of this incredibly epic production. For a film that, even incomplete, runs for four hours, it is impressively pacy, featuring a rich (and novelistic - which isn't surprising, given its a literary adaptations) narrative, vast thematic depths and mesmerisingly convicted characters. The Greek tragedy comparisons aren't far off the mark - these are people caught up in forces outside their control, but also struggling to do the right thing themselves. von Stroheim, shooting entirely on location, pioneers all the while, particularly through smart use of young techniques such as deep focus and montage editing. The film therefore achieves a naturalism and rhythm that differentiates it from so many of its contemporaries. </span><br />
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<span class="st">As you can tell by the 'tragedy' label, things don't go smoothly, and only the aforementioned elderly couple are granted something of a happy ending. The actual ending is, of course, one of the film's most iconic sequences - McTeague and his one-time best friend / now bitter rival Marcus (</span><span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">Jean Hersholt) stranded in the middle of Death Valley, handcuffed to each other and without water or means of escape. It's not just the characters that are physically exhausted, but also the actors thanks to von Stroheim's infamous insistence of spending two months on location in unbearable heat to shoot the scenes as he wanted to. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="itemprop" itemprop="name">The resulting sequence is genuinely mesmerising - one of the darkest, most poetic moments in silent cinema history, or indeed cinema itself. And it's all drenched in yellow. With many earlier scenes featuring hand-tinted yellow elements - most often used to emphasise gold or money - how cinematically powerful that these two people, driven near insane by their money lust, effectively drown in a sea of intense, debilitating gold. Many other of <b>Greed's</b> most effective scenes might not have survived, but let's be thankful this one, and many others, have.</span>
thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-24373942094813852102013-12-23T18:26:00.003+00:002013-12-23T18:27:25.418+00:00Shoah (Claude Lanzmann, 1985)<i>This article is part of a year-long feature - watching and blogging
about twenty acclaimed, cult, challenging and rare films over the course
of 2013. The full list of films (and links to other completed posts) can be found <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2012/12/twenty-films-for-twenty-thirteen.html">here</a>. A penultimate nineteen: Claude Lanzmann's landmark documentary <b>Shoah</b></i>.<br />
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I was going to leave <b>Shoah</b> until last. It's sheer size and reputation initially made it seem like a particularly appropriate punctuation mark to this mini-project, especially since the other 'long' film <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2013/01/satantango.html"><b>Satantango</b></a> served as the opening salvo. But after watching<b> <a href="http://www.filmhaha.com/2013/12/come-and-see-elem-klimov-1985.html">Come & See</a></b>, the little I knew about <b>Shoah</b> suddenly made it seem like a natural point of contrast and comparison with some of the observations I had there. They both attempt to represent World War II atrocities through the language of cinema - but, my word, the approaches are pretty much the polar opposite of each other.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>The experience, the sheer overwhelming force of viewing <b>Shoah</b> is near impossible to describe - appropriate, given the subject matter explored is one of the most shocking and incomprehensible chapters in human history. Its 550 minute running time (longer in some territories) is dominating, but the insights and depths hidden within make it worthy of the time investment.<br />
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Rarely has a documentary so rigidly adhered to the director's stylistic choices. There is no archive footage. There's no explanatory voiceover - although many scenes do have voices over them, albeit not of the omnipotent narrator sort. There's not even any music, bar a handful of diegetic moments (some of the most evocative in the whole film, it must be said). Lanzmann instead believes in the power of the viewer's imagination, the film instead consisting almost entirely of talking head interviews and contemporary (well, early 1980s) footage of several locations of areas where the Nazi's mass extermination of Jewish people took place - Auschwitz and Treblinka, most prominently. The results are startling, the finished film almost conclusively proving Lanzmann's thesis on documentary construction, at least in relation to this subject.<br />
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Taking in a wide range of voices - eye witnesses, survivors, perpetrators and an historian, among a few others - the film delves into the terrifying processes developed into the systematic genocide that was the Holocaust. From the early days when Nazi officers used jerry-rigged trucks as improvised killing machines, to the later years when the machines grew more specific and 'efficient' (what a horrible word to use in these circumstances) it's an at times uncomfortably detailed exploration of the reality of a deplorable era. Lanzmann gives space to voices discussing everything from the train controllers & drivers to the often futile resistance efforts that arose in concentration camps. In detailing in minute the systems and techniques developed in the 1940s for the 'final solution', <b>Shoah</b>'s matter-of-fact approach manages to be much more disturbing than any red dress jutting out of a sea of monochrome. <br />
<br />
Some of the testimonies are shocking, some rile the blood (such as the elusive responses of former Nazis, or the barely disguised apathy and indifference of the citizens of towns and villages near the camp), almost all deeply moving or affecting in some way. There are moments among the most devastating in all of cinema, documentary or otherwise. One survivor, a barber named Abraham Bomba, presents his testimony with a stony-faced resolve, until one particular line of inquiry causes him to breakdown and struggle to regain his composure. Another (Jan Karski) hasn't even been asked the first question before he needs to leave the room, the emotional impact of his dreadful memories of the Warsaw ghetto saying as much as the memories themselves.<br />
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It's difficult viewing for any number of reasons, and even when they go on for long stretches at time they inevitably lead to some sort of powerful catharsis. Lanzmann's occasionally persistent interview manner - albeit justified by his reportedly careful behind-the-scenes treatment of subjects - does sometimes come across as overly harsh, but the resulting responses are typically worthy of the risk. Interestingly, an essay accompanying the Masters of Cinema DVD release notes on one occasion, while surreptitiously filming a former Nazi, Lanzmann was actually assaulted. If ever a director's commitment to his art was absolute...<br />
<br />
The interviews form the backbone of the film, individual ones frequently being granted a half hour or more of uninterrupted screentime, particularly in the more solemnly paced 'Second Era' (the film being broadly divided into two halves). But there's more to <b>Shoah</b> than just talking heads. Of particular note are the tracking cameras that trace their way around the remains (literally and figuratively) of the concentration camps, evoking a spectral atmosphere that's equal parts disturbing and poetic. Abandoned railway lines are the film's most common visual motif, visualising the frequent remembrances of Jewish people being transported en masse via train. In another powerful directorial decision, the aforementioned barber recounts being forced to cut people's hair before they were sent into the gas chamber - an account made more provocative by the fact that Lanzmann chooses to have Bomba casually cutting a customer's hair. Accompanying the interviews, such sequences allow Shoah to become a film where history does not come 'alive' in the traditional sense, but certainly reaches deep within both the viewers' and interviewees' souls in a way more traditional documentary techniques could not possibly manage. It's impossible to fully comprehend the scale of the Shoah through a single film alone, and Lanzmann makes no claims of his film being definitive (indeed, he's even revisited the subject as recently as this year's <b>The Last of the Unjust</b>). But no film has ever communicated the horror, the scale and the specifics of the Holocaust in such an unforgettable way.<br />
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I can't add much more to the discourse surrounding <b>Shoah</b>, and honestly I probably shouldn't have to. Despite the fact there are many pieces of excellent writing on this remarkable cinematic achievement, <b>Shoah</b> is a film so bold, so distinctive, so powerful, that it speaks for itself. Clear a day: this is a film that needs your complete attention.thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1228432543059977674.post-24114214239831879652013-12-20T17:59:00.000+00:002013-12-20T18:10:52.697+00:00The Films of the Year - The Entirely Pointless Film Ha Ha Annual Review 2013<b>Listomania</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLudJouS_Qp3UnjQ47TUzHNn73K_kny6n0yuX8ndfzAh_D-o_1n4J_2evulTPrts_BhwYjtJlBua251nNM-5-8az58q0dJR37Plspbo6UZ5mr0VcjyA8YaEc4Wy5uUFmT135clWyN5BAz/s1600/upstreamcolour.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLudJouS_Qp3UnjQ47TUzHNn73K_kny6n0yuX8ndfzAh_D-o_1n4J_2evulTPrts_BhwYjtJlBua251nNM-5-8az58q0dJR37Plspbo6UZ5mr0VcjyA8YaEc4Wy5uUFmT135clWyN5BAz/s400/upstreamcolour.png" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upstream Colour</td></tr>
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Another year! Wow. Much fast.<br />
<b> </b><br />
I'm just going to let the long list that follows do the heavy lifting here, but just wanted to identify two exciting and promising trends this year:<br />
<b></b><br />
<a name='more'></a><b>A creative resurgence in American independent cinema</b>: Several established auteurs returned this year with films that could well signal their very best work yet - Shane Carruth, Andrew Bujalski, Noah Baumbach etc... Their films are among the most startlingly ambitious and successful of the year. <br />
<br />
<b>A year of documentaries: </b>To be perfectly honest, I always tend to be more appreciative of fiction than non-fiction, but this year helped show me the error of my ways. Several of the films mentioned below (and others like Sarah Polley's excellent <b>Stories We Tell</b>) mark inventive, illuminating<b> </b>pieces of documentary craftmanship, as well as being remarkably beautiful feats of cinema in their own right.<br />
<br />
But on to the list, which is what you clicked the hyperlink for (I'm guessing)! Without futher ado, in case you're even remotely interested, these are my films of the year. They're broken up into three weighted categories, but listed alphabetically rather than applying futile rankings.<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Top Three</b><br />
<br />
<i><b>The Act of Killing</b></i> - jaw-droppingly raw, provocative filmmaking. A
brilliant subversion of documentary form, using cinema itself to
achieve insight and radical historical catharsis. Unforgettable.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Upstream Colour</b></i> - Shane Carruth’s sophomore feature is a
cinematic tour de force: a breathtaking achievement in cinematography,
editing, sound design and narrative strucutre. No film this year showed as
much trust in the audience’s intelligence, and no film offered as many
rewards. <br />
<br />
<i><b>Wolf Children</b></i> - pure joy, distilled into an immensely
warm-hearted, compassionate and accessible film about the complexities
of parenthood and growing up. Wolf Children confirms Mamoru Hosoda’s
status as perhaps the most masterly director of animation working today,
and only the stoniest heart could resist its emotional peaks and
valleys.<br />
<br />
<b>(Rest of) Top Ten</b><br />
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</i>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before Midnight</td></tr>
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<i><b> Before Midnight / Frances Ha</b></i> - don’t make me choose! They’re two
wonderfully energetic and involving films about fascinating people. The
former was worth the wait as the latest chapter in a truly unique,
long-running relationship story. The latter sees Noah Baumbach and Greta
Gerwig finally live up their respective potentials, creating a film and
character simply overflowing with energy and humour.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Computer Chess</b></i> - I’ve always been a fan of Andrew Bujalski (this blog is named after one of his films, after all) and
Computer Chess is a thrillingly radical departure for him. Bizarre,
intelligent and - most importantly - absolutely hilarious, with the
old-school cameras an inspired choice to recount this strange, strange
tale of a computer chess tournament.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Leviathan</b></i> - shot on low quality digital cameras, the rough
visuals and sound ultimately prove the key ingredient in this memorable
and experimental portrayal of fishing trawlers. As much visual poem as
documentary, there’s as much beauty as terror in these wild seas, those
rolling waves a key part of the film’s unique rhythm.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like Father, Like Son</td></tr>
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<i><b>Like Father, Like Son</b></i> - Hirokazu Kore-eda once again makes his
storytelling and formal mastery look almost effortless, truly earning
those common Ozu comparisons. The director’s lightness of touch and
complete lack of pretension allow what could have been a straightforward
family melodrama come to vivid life, populated with lovable and
compelling characters. <br />
<br />
<i><b>Like Someone in Love</b> </i>- Abbas Kiarostami once again conjures up a
magical cinematic dreamscape. Equally elusive and rewarding, this
strange Tokyo story is captivating in its mysteriousness and hypnotic in
its rich themes & characters.<br />
<br />
<i><b>The Great Beauty</b></i> - one of grandest big screen treats of the year,
Paolo Sorrentino course corrects for a love letter to Rome and an
extraordinary character study. Toni Servillo proves more than a match
for the aesthetic richness.<br />
<br />
<i><b>This is Not a Film</b></i> - cheating here a bit, but a delayed home
release date meant I only got around to seeing it this year. Passionate
filmmaking (or is it?) from house arrested Iranian director Jafar Panahi
and his accomplice Mojtaba Mirtahmasb. A fascinating rumination on the
nature of cinema itself, as well as serving as a brave protest.<br />
<br />
<b>And the others particularly worth mentioning:</b><br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring Breakers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i><b>Beyond the Hills</b></i> - intense and miserable, but a startlingly visceral tale set in the Romanian hills.<br />
<i><b>Blue is the Warmest Colour</b></i> - a beautifully honest, striking love
story. Forget the controversy, the film’s most notable aspects were its
striking use of close-ups and a dominating performance from Adèle
Exarchopoulos. A timeless tale of all-consuming passion and first love.<br />
<i><b>Captain Phillips / A Hijacking</b></i> - two superb takes on similar
subject matter. No point getting weighed down on the pointless question
of which is better: they're both unique ways of representing their
respective stories, and we're richer with both of them.<br />
<i><b>Drug War</b></i> - Johnnie To’s wild crime drama is perhaps the most fun
film here. While the thriller and action setpieces are consistently
among the year’s best, the way it serves as a damning but intelligent
indictment of Chinese authorities’ attempts to tackle the country’s drug
problems by using brute force. Brawn and brains a plenty here.<br />
<i><b>Evangelion 3.0</b>: <b>You Can (Not) Redo</b></i> - A bit of a mess after the near perfection of 2.0, but a brave mess that makes me extremely curious where this endearingly disorientating tale is going next.<br />
<i><b>A Field in England</b></i> - ‘what the ****?’, in the nicest possible way<br />
<i><b>Gravity</b></i> - A most thrilling combination of effects work and
traditional cinematography that marks a tentatively promising future for
blockbuster form. I didn’t think it was as compelling a whole as I’d
have liked, but it’s without doubt a stunning technical and artistic
achievement that truly needs a big screen. Hopefully its success will signal to studios what a true auteur can do with a generous budget.<br />
<i><b>Land of Hope / Story of Yonosuke</b></i> - two excellent contemporary
Japanese directors present two ambitious films here: both a tad uneven,
but also manage to work wonders with their grand thematic canvases and
their emotionally generous world-building.<br />
<i><b>Nobody’s Daughter Haewon</b></i> - the first Hong Sangsoo film I’ve seen
(and the first theatrically released in the UK / Ireland, I believe)
this is a poetic and strange film that is completely compelling from
beginning to end, even when it’s difficult to explain exactly why. Jung
Eunchae is superb in the lead role.<br />
<div class="r">
<b><i>Pos Tenebras Lux</i> - </b>elusive masterpiece or maddening mess? The debate will wage, but for me <span class="st">Carlos Reygadas' difficult but rich film is a sensory <i>coup de cinema</i>.</span></div>
<i><b>The Selfish Giant</b></i> - Initially appearing to be another drab
British social drama, it slowly builds up to become truly devastating.
The final act is the kind that has you leaving the cinema shellshocked.<br />
<i><b>Spring Breakers</b></i> - Cribs meets Girls Gone Wild meets Gasper Noe
meets Terence Malick meets all manner of things that should by rights
have never met. Thank **** they did. The cinematography is possibly the
year’s best, and the ridiculous narrative manages to achieve a deeply
peculiar sort of transcendence.<br />
<i><b>Stoker</b></i> - perhaps not as complete as his early work due to an
uneven script, Stoker nonetheless sees Park Chan-wook burst on to the
English language scene with a visually inventive and extraordinarily
atmospheric slice of twisted gothic melodrama.<br />
<i><b>Zero Dark Thirty</b></i> - A rigorous, thought-provoking act of very
recent historical recreation. Unfairly demonised before release, it
transpired to be a moral tale of surprising depth and shades of grey.<br />
<br />
<b>Films not yet released here that I'm very keen to see in 2014</b>: Her, The Past, 12 Years a Slave, American Hustle, A Touch of Sin etc... thecynicalgamerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05638929508298208031noreply@blogger.com0