What's he filming in there?

Coraline - Trailer

2008-02-22T14:41:00.001+01:00

Into The Wild (Sean Penn, 2007)

2008-02-19T08:54:00.002+01:00

*SPOILERS APLENTY*

This is the first film I've seen with Sean Penn behind the camera. Even though I am dying to see his directorial debut, The Indian Runner (1991), I haven't had the opportunity of doing so as yet.

I liked Into The Wild. From the very first shot, Penn shows us that he means business. We see a vast expanse of white, peppered with the odd bare tree. At the extreme edge of the frame we see a pick-up truck, drudging slowly downwards along the width of the screen. It is almost painful to watch as the whiteness of the snow is overwhelming. But this is the entire film in one shot - the quest of one man who tries to edge his way into the vast realm of Mother Nature.

This young man's name is Christopher McCandless (Emile Hirsch). He is an idealist and a romantic who took one look at the world around him and opted out of it. He didn't like the ambition, the money, the drive to succeed, the alienation, the new car. He wanted to be rid of everything and everyone in order to get back in touch with the essence of his soul, that supposedly transcends the so-called trivialities that make up a normal, mundane existence. He wanted a tabula rasa and to start everything from scratch. Christopher came to the conclusion that in order for him to be able to do that he had to return back to nature. Specifically, Alaska.

The premise of the film is very hippiey and new agey, but Penn the cynic is everpresent to counterbalance the youthful naivete` of this idealistic view. He does not allow his main character to become an abstraction. McCandless, who has by now ditched his name and started calling himself Supertramp, finds refuge in an abandoned bus in the middle of nowhere. Despite his intention of ditching civilisation, he still looks for solace in something manmade. He carries a gun as well, and during springtime he builds a shower. Penn shows us that human beings, just like animals, evolve according to the dictates of their environment. Therefore, an anteater will grow a long and sticky tongue whereas a person will learn a skill. The principle is the same, as is the end result - survival. There is nothing good, bad, pure, caste or sacred about it. It's just an evolutionary thing. But McCandless believes that the neighbour's grass is actually greener, and that by jumping the fence everything is going to be alright. Unfortunately that was not the case.

Mother Nature is unforgiving, cold and silent. There are no middle ways about it and if you don't have the necessary skills to survive, you just don't. It is on very rare occasions that she gives a second chance. There is absolutely nothing romantic about floods hammering you in your car, or maggoty meat, or poisonous plants. All the good will in the world won't be of much help if you're dying alone and miserable.

The bleak irony is that Christopher is actually very good with people. The uncompromising determination with which he pursues his dream is genuine and inspiring. His enthusiasm is contagious and rubs off on anyone with whom he comes into contact. On hindsight, one can view Chris as a sacrificial lamb, whose innocence is there solely for the others to enjoy.

Favourite quote: Happiness is real only when shared.

TRAILER

Roy Scheider

2008-02-11T10:56:00.000+01:00

1923 - 2008

Death Proof (Quentin Tarantino, 2007)

2008-01-25T14:18:00.000+01:00

As far as I'm concerned, Quentin Tarantino is a good director because he did Jackie Brown (1997) and Kill Bill: Vol. 2 (2004). Although I have problems with the mall scene in the former, I find that these two films are the ones that are most representative of him at his best. There is no denying the man's talent - after all he is astoundingly gifted in writing dialogue and directing actors. However, at times I find that his obsessive drive towards iconising (if such a word exists) every single frame of his work is too self-conscious and buggeringly distracting.

This is exactly why I think that Death Proof is entertaining and well-made, but nothing more. I am not familiar with drive-in B-movies, of which Death Proof is an homage and a reworking. So I was very interested in the bits where the movie goes technically 'haywire': missing reels, scratched/torn film, crappy sound.

I also liked the fact that Tarantino once again ventured into his anachronistic mode. The film looks and feels like the 70s; nonetheless there are ipods and mobiles. The ambient and the gadgets should not go together and yet they somehow complement each other. Similar to Pulp Fiction (1994). Jules (Samuel Jackson) is so Seventies when the rest of the film is clearly not. It's a visual cut-and-paste technique that Tarantino is very good at.

But besides that, and the incredible stunts of Zoe Bell, there isn't much else to recommend. The characters are shallow and uninteresting, and any hopes of having a female reworking of The Wild Bunch (1969) (as the poster seems to suggest) are sadly unfulfilled. One might argue that lack of depth was a key characteristic of B-Movies, and this being a homage, aspires to craphood. Then again, why make a crap tribute? To celebrate crappiness? I don't think so. This movie certainly has style, but, as The Wolf had rightly pointed out:

Just because you are a character doesn't mean that you have character.

Best moments: the miles of leg that Tarantino photographs; Zoe Bell.

TRAILER

iPhone

2008-01-08T06:31:00.001+01:00

L'Amico di Famiglia (Paolo Sorrentino, 2006)

2007-11-06T07:54:00.000+01:00

aka The Family Friend

**SPOILER WARNING**

This year, as opposed to the previous one, I have engagements that prevent me from attending all the films being screened as part of The Malta International Film Festival. Therefore I have to choose amongst the titles on offer. Paolo Sorrentino's L'Amico di Famiglia would not have been one of them if it hadn't been screened on the particular day, as I was uncharacteristically free of commitments. Good for me.

The film is splendid. Commencing from the initial sequence, a staggering mosaic of images accompanying the heart-wrenching crooning of Antony and the Johnsons, the film is a relentless bombardment of poetry in motion.

Admittedly, I am not as familiar as I should be with Italian cinema; a crime seeing that I understand the language perfectly and was exposed to the culture all my life. Nonetheless, Sorrentino's film reminded me a lot of another great film by another great Italian director, Bernardo Bertolucci's La Strategia Del Ragno (1970). But that would be another post for another time.

Geremia de Geremei (a fabulous Giacomo Rizzo) is a small time loan shark who looks like the offspring of Quasimodo and Ebenezer Scrooge. He trots about (at one point he is described as 'un topo', a mouse) from one business transaction to another, perennially carrying an inconsequential white plastic bag in his plaster cast hand. He is a tailor, which profession he uses as a cover-up for his illicit activity. He lives together with his bed-ridden mother (Clara Bindi) in a filthy, run-down apartment. And he is rich.

Geremia is a hoarder. Just as a rodent stashes food for the coming winter, Geremia puts his money safely away. But for Geremia winter is constantly looming and fails to notice the blooming spring around him. He is cynic to the point that he does not enjoy the fruits of his labour. He is a man who refuses to dream; instead he covets, a poor substitute that raises hope only to have it mercilessly crushed.

In fact, if I had to pick one adjective to describe this film, it would be stagnant. There is bleakness all around, and the feeling is not unlike a slow descent into quicksand. Utter hopelessness is knitted in the very texture of the story, beautifully rendered by a repetitive soaring of the camera that gives one the illusion of flight, only to return abruptly back to the ground almost immediately.

Geremia is exactly in this kind of situation. He is not happy with his life but on the other hand is not willing to do anything to ameliorate it. His bed-ridden mother is ballast that keeps him firmly anchored to his miserable existence (reminiscent of Darlene Cates, in Lasse Hallström's What's Eating Gilbert Grape? (1993)); as is his ambition of bettering his father in the loan sharking business (his father abandoned him when he was a little boy). Geremia has a better-the-devil-you-know attitude that prevents him from taking risks and look for something better. He makes an effort to push people away, even the ones he likes.

Sex is shown in a dirty and vulgar light. Geremia longs for youth and abuses his position by making lewd advances on the young women who owe him money. He is incapable of having a consensual relationship with the opposite sex mainly due to his self-defeatist attitude (he refers to himself as ugly and hideous on more than one occasion.) Sex is experienced from a safe distance, with no involvement and commitment, such as in his peeping at the volleyball players or the nudist sunbathers. Geremia's sick soul is magnificently portrayed in the Felliniesque sequence of the burlesque overweight whore trying to imitate the said athletes.

No wonder Rosalba (Laura Chiatti) found it so easy to deceive him. She embodied his ideals: beautiful, young, submissive and caring. A trophy, a mother and a lover.

Gino (Fabrizio Bentivoglio) is Geremia's partner in crime. He is a dreamer, albeit a tired one. He embodies the American Dream's ideal of freedom. So he dresses up as a cowboy, lives in a camper in the middle of nowhere, and loves Country & Western music and line-dancing (a communal type of dancing even though Gino does not socialise). Sorrentino highlights his romantic yearning for something better by framing Gino in several poses reminiscent of the American Western.

Gino has all the ingredients to be just like Geremia, and in fact they have a lot in common. Very significant is the fishing scene where the two of them are discussing business. Geremia only manages to catch one paltry fish whereas Gino is pulling in one beauty after another. It is a beautiful scene as we have two people who are literally in the same sinking boat; however, one of them is looking at the stars (to paraphrase Oscar Wilde). Geremia's soul is a sad punchline to the joke that his life has become, whereas Gino's hopes are healthy and full of life.

This is merely the tip of the iceberg. Sorrentino's film is saturated with poetic images and imagery. At the expense of sounding repetitive, this is a beautiful, beautiful film and highly recommended.

TRAILER

Man Cheng Jin Dai Huang Jin Jia (Zhang Yimou, 2006)

2007-11-04T07:29:00.000+01:00

aka Curse of the Golden Flower

I am not very familiar with Zhang Yimou's works. All I've seen are his two latest sword epics, Ying Xiong (aka Hero, 2002) and Shi Mian Mai Fu (aka House of Flying Daggers, 2004), neither of which impressed me much. I found Ying Xiong a rushed and unoriginal effort at reinterpreing the myth of the hero, with very few good moments and too far in-between. Shi Mian Mai Fu just bored me to tears.

Therefore I was justifiably sceptic of Man Cheng Jin Dai Huang Jin Jia, ever since I saw the trailer months ago. It looked like a rehashing of his previous two efforts. Nonetheless I wanted to give it a chance. After all, Da Hong Deng Long Gao Gao Gua (Raise the Red Lantern, 1991), a film which I have not yet seen, has been hailed by many respected critics as the best film of the Nineties. But unfortunately, Man Cheng Jin Dai Huang Jin Jia didn't disappoint me.

The film's theme is pretty straightforward: questioning, and rebelling against, the status quo. The first half is in fact a (very) long exposition of rituals that are repeated ad nauseum. Individuality is suppressed to a point where one's personality ceases to exist and a human being is defined solely by the role he or she occupies.

Incestuous intrigue provides the basic structure of the plot: Empress Phoenix (Gong Li) has a sexual relationship with her stepson. Again, this underscores the idea of a system that has become obsolete and which is now feeding upon itself in order to survive.

The cinematography is garish. Loud pinks, greens and yellows shred the retina, and the few sequences filmed elsewhere but in the labyrintine corridors of the Royal Palace, are mercifully bleak. The colours reminded me of overripe fruit whose smell is initially nice but which soon loses its appeal when it becomes overpowering. Which is really the film's motif; but still, it is tiring and overdone.

Despite the good intentions, the end result is very dissatisfying. I couldn't help but recalling Robert Bresson's Lancelot du Lac (1974), a comparatively modest film that tackles similar issues in a much more powerful manner, and with a fraction of the budget. Where Bresson discusses (sometimes silently), Yimou hollers.

The greatest deficiency in The Curse of the Golden Flower is emotional. The film drudges along metronomically and at no point does it seem to aspire to take in the audience. The latter is constantly kept at a distance. The overall effect is not unlike that of watching two Grandmasters engrossed in a game of chess: you know there is much going on but watching them play is tremendously boring.

The acting doesn't help. Chow Yun-Fat has by now learnt this part by heart as he seems to be playing the same role over and over again in a number of similar films. The rest of the cast is simply not up to the unenviable task of roping in the audience against such gargantuan odds. The only actor who manages to somehow survive unscathed is Gong Li. Her portrayal of the Empress is mesmerising and thank God for that. But even this is way too little for a film and director that promised so much.

Favourite moments: Gong Li close-ups, especially when she is applying make-up or arranging her hair; the meeting of the Royal Family atop the raised structure in front of the palace door.
Most tiresome moment: The entire battle sequence.

TRAILER

Goya's Ghosts (Milos Forman, 2007)

2007-08-25T12:08:00.000+02:00

*SPOILERS ALERT*

Milos Forman is the kind of director who when not at his best still manages to deliver the goods. Goya's Ghosts is not a great film but still enjoyable and well thought out.

The plot revolves not so much around Francisco Goya (Stellan Skarsgård) than his models. The script picks on four main ones - Lorenzo (Javier Bardem), Inés (Natalie Portman), Queen Maria Luisa (Blanca Portillo) and Goya himself - to show us who the titular ghosts are.

People change, we are ephemeral. We are subject to age, choices, decisions, social situations and political upheavels, sickness, twists of fate, chance encounters, gossip, anger, hunger and a million other things that make us believe and behave the way we do. Our beliefs and behaviours accomodate our situation at a precise moment in a given location. Modify any one of these two tenets and you will most probably get a different response to the same stimulus. Volatile, just like ghosts.

Despite this, we also possess something that is undelible. Just as a speeding horse changes its outward appearance as it gallops along and yet we still manage to identify it as such, so do we have an inner matrix that retains its form no matter where or when we go. We are stuck with it. Like ghosts are stuck to a temporal dimension that transcends their physical existence, due to some unresolved event that refuses to let go.

This is what Forman's film is trying to say. Goya's paintings are mere images and yet they are the only permanent entities in an ever-changing scenario. Politically, Spain passes through a tumultuous period, first practically governed by the Holy Office, then the French and finally the British. On a microcosmic level, individuals follow suit, being jostled back and forth by the events happening around them. Father Lorenzo goes from being a respected monk of the Inquisition to a fugitive to a high ranking official in Napoleon's army and finally back to utter disgrace. His behaviour causes Goya to call him a whore, something which Lorenzo throws immediately back in his face by reminding him that he fares no better as he is willing to paint for whoever is willing to pay.

Inés is the ghostliest of all. After being released from prison she becomes literally a ghost of her former self. Her beautiful face has been corrupted by long years of neglect and abuse, as is her mind. In fact she obsesses on finding her daughter, who had been snatched from her at birth. Forman craftily gets Portman to portray the grown up daughter as well, thus reinforcing further the theme of ghosts; of a past that just doesn't want to let go.

The final sequence underlines further the above theme: a cart carries the corpse of Lorenzo as Inés holds his hand whilst with the other carries the baby. Trailing behind is Goya. These last few seconds are a masterpiece - a powerful and moving image that incorporates the main motifs of the film.

Favourite line:
Lorenzo, looking at his portrait for the first time: If I saw me on the street I wouldn't recognise myself.

TRAILER

Malizia (Salvatore Samperi, 1973)

2007-08-01T08:47:00.000+02:00

At first I thought that Salvatore Samperi's film is an overrated work that taken out of its context (1970s Italy), has very little to offer. But as I was writing the first draft of this review, I had to reconsider. So I highlighted, deleted and wrote this one.

Malizia is less a coming of age movie than a boy's fantasy about coming of age. There are two things that struck me as I was watching it: the first was the improbabilites of the story, and the second was the cruelty inherent in the narrative.

It is very unlikely that a young and attractive servant (Angela, played by a beautiful Laura Antonelli) would go to live with a recently widowed man and his three sons, two of which are adolescents. But this very unlikelihood is what makes it even more enticing for a young Nino (Alessandro Momo) that is in the midst of a hormonal hurricane. In fact, his friend Porcello (Stefano Amato) points out how very envious of Nino he is because of the good fortune bestowed upon him.

Nino is not simply lucky; he seems to be blessed. Besides Angela, there is Porcello's slutty sister who flirts with him; and a widow who lets him stroke her thighs even as they are going back home from his mother's funeral. Not bad.

Underscoring this highly unlikely scenario, is an extreme bitterness that Nino nurtures towards everyone in general and Angela in particular. He seems to believe that he has every right to grope and punish at will. His elder brother makes lewd advances towards the servant, but never backs them up; and even his father takes the occasional peek underneath Angela's skirt as she is dusting the library. However he keeps his distance. Nino, on the other hand, has no shame. More than anything else, he seems to be engaged in a power struggle. He is more keen on taking command than satisfying his urges. This is nowehere as evident as in the stripping scene, where he blackmails Angela into removing her clothes whilst he and Porcello watch. The camera hovers over Angela's body, mimicking the boys' enraptured gaze. But when Porcello puts his hands in his pants to masturbate, Nino calls the whole thing off. There is no apparent reason for this change of heart besides him wanting to be in control. He didn't do it to protect Angela, or because he was jealous of her. Nino did it merely cause he felt he could do it.

Such instances abound. There is the constant screaming for his dead mother (this aspect merits an entry on its own); his enjoying the fact that he could get Angela fired at any moment; Nino refusing his father's offer to buy him a scooter; the purchase of the gun; his father being bullied by his own mother. It is clear that Nino wants to be constantly in command.

The cruelty and improbabilities make sense only if one were to take the whole film to be the boy's fantasy. The creator is omnipotent - Nino can make things happen without having to worry about consequences. That is why everything seems to turn out right for him.

However the ending suggests that the fantasy was taking over Nino and he needed to be rid of it. In fact this is the only part of the film where Nino loses control. His father and elder brother are away, and his younger brother is asleep. The electricity goes off and Nino gets a torch (the ever-reliable phallic symbol). Angela strips, and runs off. He chases her. He wants her to stop but she (Angela/the fantasy) went berserk. The entire sequence is disorienting; the house is dark, the camera is handheld and the cuts fast. Angela turns from prey to predator. She manages to take the torch from Nino and pins him to the ground. The rest, as Angela fucks/rapes the boy, is shot in stroboscopic light. She forces him to "Fotti! Fotti!" ("Fuck! Fuck!") in a manner similar to telling someone to vomit as afterwards he/she would be feeling better. The sex scene is filmed entirely from Nino's point of view; we never get to see him. He finally becomes a spectator, thus detaching himself from his fantasy.

The fact that the scene immediately following the one described above is the marriage between Angela and Nino's father (who instructs his son to start calling her "Mamma" from then on), hints at unresolved conflicts regarding Nino's dead mother as well. Which would be an interesting standpoint to take. Some other time though.

Ingmar Bergman

2007-07-30T11:48:00.001+02:00

July 14, 1918 - July 30, 2007

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (David Yates, 2007)

2007-07-17T11:50:00.000+02:00

After the mess that was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Mike Newell, 2005) I was extremely wary of this fifth Harry Potter instalment. The fourth movie of the series tried to cram about 600 pages in two and a half hours, resulting in a patchy narrative that hinted at much but delivered little. It was a CGI-driven venture that ended up looking like a glorified, overlong trailer.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix avoids falling into the same trap. Although the original source is the longest book yet of the series (over 800 pages), David Yates's film uncompromisingly grabs the bull by its horns and focuses on the most important aspect of Harry's fifth adventure.

I remember discussing the book with some kids a few weeks after it was published. The youngest of them didn't care much for it as they were annoyed by the fact that Harry was angry most of the time. The elder ones, on the other hand, loved it from beginning to end because they could easily relate to what Harry was going through. Problems at home, at school, feeling misunderstood or underappreciated, sexual attraction, having doors slammed in one's face, added responsibility; these are issues that J K Rowling tackles in her book and the film makes it quite clear from the very start that this is what it is going to take on.

The mandatory initial clash between Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) and Dudley (Harry Melling) happens in a derelict playground in a barren neighbourhood that is more reminiscent of Se7en's (1995) head-in-the-box scene rather than London. The first time Harry appears is in silhouette, followed by a shot of his shadow, as he lies listlessly on a swing. The director thus alerts us immediately to what this film is going to be about: not just weird creatures and flying broomsticks, but Harry's dark mood. Far from mind-blowing filmmaking, but still, a breath of fresh air.

This approach is maintained throughout the rest of the film. The focus remains solely on Harry's inner turmoil. So much so that entire chunks of the book have been left out, including the Quidditch match. Yates also opted to assume that the audience flocking to see the film will already know who the secondary characters are (such as Sirius Black (Gary Oldman), Sybil Trelawney (Emma Thompson), Remus Lupin (David Thewlis), etc.), and therefore refrained from any unnecessary loitering on background information.

(Having said this, I believe that a film should stand on its own two feet without having to rely on the presumed knowledge that the audience brings with it. But what the heck. This isn't Citizen Kane (1941), it's Harry Potter!)

Favourite moments: the swooshing broomstick journey over London and the final battle between Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) and Voldemort (Ralph Fiennes).

Sunshine (Danny Boyle, 2007) - Part 2

2007-05-03T11:22:00.000+02:00

Paul's comment following my entry regarding Danny Boyle's film set me thinking. I was replying to his observations when I realised that my own comment was long enough to merit a post by itself; so here it is.

Admittedly, although it was right in front of me all the time, I completely overlooked the reality show scenario that Boyle's picture is seeped in. There is a group of individuals that are cut off from society; they have a confessional (the room from which they send messages to their loved ones); and they have a common mission.

However, whereas Paul views this as a fault, I see it more of a plus. Any work of art, irrespective of its aesthetic merit, is, to various degrees, a product of a particular moment in time. Alex Garland's script comes during a time when television has gone through a drastic change, from a radio with pictures to a CCTV. Up till a few years ago, owning a television meant having a window to the outside world; nowadays this has metamorphosed into a window to somebody else's living room, bathroom, bedroom, kitchen. The emphasis has shifted from the global to the personal, in its strictest sense. The world at large commands far less interest to the mass public than what A is doing to B whilst C is held at bay by D. This is what reality shows are about.

But this is a fake kind of reality. How can one act naturally knowing that there is a camera recording every single gesture, word and expression? How can one be genuine following year after year of similar shows that established character types? How can a person not act up when he/she knows that there is a beginning and an end to his/her present condition, and a prize at the end of it all?

Sunshine has one big difference: it has been conceived as fiction, and, ironically enough, looks more genuine than any reality show I have seen so far. Why so?

I believe it was Oscar Wilde who once said that "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." This is such a case. Whereas reality shows claim to be genuine and authentic, Boyle's film never does. The story is fiction, it never happened outside its creator's imagination and (hopefully) never will. Nonetheless, the dynamics which drive the story forward are very real and tangible. Envy, desperation, spiritual ennui, frustration, power/ego trips, existential void. Boyle took the reality show and shot it to a plane where things really matter. The stakes are not brief notoriety and a cash prize, but life or death; everybody's death.

Boyle is not just interested in the death of the body but also in the spiritual demise. These individuals whose mission is to reignite the sun are extremely good scientists. They have to be the best if they are entrusted with such a responsibility. However, when it comes to decision making that goes beyond their field of expertise, and which delves into moral and ethical issues, they are not that competent. They lack empathy as they have become automatons that follow orders or logic without taking into consideration the human element. The episode I mentioned in my previous post, where Cassie (Rose Byrne) refuses to agree to the killing of a fellow astronaut for the greater good of the mission is a case in point.

Therefore, Boyle manages to down several birds with one stone. He made a truly contemporaneous picture as it treats environmental issues that reflect spiritual ennui, in a format that has invaded the small screen. I think (and hope) that, in time, this film will gain the respect it deserves. It is a relatively small picture which has a lot to say.

From Dusk Till Dawn (Robert Rodriguez, 1996)

2007-05-02T06:58:00.000+02:00

I have always believed that Rodriguez is a better film editor than film director*. His visuals are stunning but subsequent viewings expose them for what they truly are: bravado shots with little or no meaning attached to them (Sin City (2005) is a notable exception).

However, this director knows how to make his films look cool. His images ooze fluently from one shot to the next, heavily punctuated by the assertive twangling of guitars. I love watching Rodriguez's films; unfortunately there is nothing much below the surface.

From Dusk Till Dawn is a case in point. The story tells of two thieving brothers, Seth and Richard Gecko (played by George Clooney and Quentin Tarantino respectively), who desperately need to cross the border to Mexico. The brothers are characteristically (for Rodriguez) shady and with a mysterious past. We know next to nothing about them, except that they are robbers and that Richard is a sexual psychopath.

Concurrently, there is another story of an ex preacher, Jacob (Harvey Keitel), who is travelling in a camper together with his daughter Kate (Juliette Lewis) and son Scott (Ernest Liu). The path of the two parties meet and the family ends up being kidnapped by the two brothers.

As soon as they cross over to Mexico, the film changes face completely. What looked like a thriller/road movie, transforms into a horrorfest. Vampires and gore rush in aplenty and everyone becomes a bona fide action hero.

All along there is the preacher's doubts that tie the two parts of the film together. However this is superficial at best and carelessly left undeveloped. It serves as a mere reminder that there is (or should be) more to this film than a horror picture with big names spouting cool dialogue. Well, barely.

*I haven't seen his entire oevre and therefore I am talking solely about the following films: Desperado (1995), Four Rooms (1995) - "The Misbehavers" segment, Spy Kids (2001), Once Upon A Time In Mexico (2003) and Sin City (2005).

Sunshine (Danny Boyle, 2007)

2007-04-29T05:50:00.000+02:00

**SPOILER WARNING**

I was never expecting this. My friend and I met for the usual mid-term stroll and decided to go watch a film. The titles on offer were few and none of them were on our must-see list. It was either Sunshine or 300 (2007). We opted for the former and it was mind blowing.

First of all, the premise. The sun is dying on us and a group of scientists are on a mission to reignite it. I have always believed that true contemporaneous horror falls under one or more of these headings: the environment, the media, emargination/alienation. These are tangible threats with which we identify and whose origins in films date back (mainly) to the Sixties. Classic horror rarely scares anymore. The monster, unless borne of any of these three tenets, will not elicit any dread. Norman Bates's warped mind and soul is still creeping menacingly on our doorstep.

Back to Sunshine. It is obvious from the very beginning that no member of the crew will survive. This is not just a mission in space but a journey to self-discovery, pretty much like Apocalypse Now (1979). These people are constantly being challenged by each other and by themselves. They chose to leave everything and everyone behind for the greater good. Their sole companions are the crew and their own image on the ship's monitors.

But the macro feeds off the micro and they cannot accomplish their quest unless they face their inner demons. In fact, what makes and breaks their mission are personal decisions that individuals have to make. During the scene where they are discussing whether or not to change course and go for the other ship, objective scientific and moral judgements lead them nowhere. Either option has sound arguments backing it and thus the decision lies solely on the shoulders of one man, Capa (Cillian Murphy).

Another brilliant moment is when the crew have to choose who has to live and who is expendable. Resources are scarce and someone has to be sacrificed for the greater good of the mission. They agree on taking a unanimous decision but when Cassie (Rose Byrne) refuses to comply they overrule her. It turns out that the astronaut in question was a step ahead of them as they find him lying in a pool of blood. He committed suicide. However this does not absolve them of guilt as they were still ready to execute him.

The line between fate and free will is left blurry. One effects the other but it is never clear in what manner or during which instance. One feeds off the other and trying to establish which catalyses what is a chicken-and-egg situation. Makes one wonder whether these two are actually one and the same thing.

This is Danny Boyle's best film. Luckily, it is a far cry from the director's previous foray in Alex Garland territory (The Beach (2000)). The film is extremely claustrophobic at times and this, coupled with his great sense of sampling music for the score, makes for some heart stopping sequences. Great great film.

A Life Less Ordinary (Danny Boyle, 1997)

2007-04-28T06:46:00.000+02:00

This film is bad. Most of the time it is predictable when it should have been original, repetitive when it should have been inventive, and silly when it should have been quirky. It has its good moments, such as the bank robbery scene; or the in-jokes, like when Robert (Ewan McGregor) is asked to dig his own (shallow) grave; or Ian Holm's over-the-top performance. Nevertheless, these instances are hard to come by resulting in a patchy foray into the romantic comedy genre.

And I love it. Despite its obvious faults I wouldn't change one single frame of it. I remember seeing it at the cinema and falling head over heels in love with it. I laughed loudly at all the jokes, being good or bad, and couldn't have enough of the characters, especially Robert, Celine (Cameron Diaz) and the two angels played by Delroy Lindo and Holly Hunter. If my memory doesn't fail me, I've seen it thrice at the cinema, once a week, until its poor run finished.

A Life Less Ordinary is a mystery. There was nothing going for it at the moment: I hadn't liked Trainspotting (1996), and Shallow Grave (1994) was ok but nothing to write home about. Besides Ian Holm, none of the other actors excited me as such. I went to see it literally because I was bored and given the choice at the time, this looked like being the least tedious film. Now, ten years after it was released, it still holds its charm on me, even though I know much of the dialogue by heart. It is an experience akin to following a favourite tv series, where you get to know the characters so well that you'd expect what they're going to say. And still enjoy it.

As I have said already, this film does have its brilliant moments. The bank robbery scene is perfectly executed by everyone concerned. The editing (visual and aural) complements and enhances the rapidly escalating menace, to the point where things seem to be getting out of hand, and culminating in the surreal shoot out. (The surreal moments in this film merit an entry of their own). Cameron Diaz's rendition of the William Tell legend is also stunning.

It is obvious that Boyle enjoyed this movie, and he enjoyed making it. The shots are lovingly staged, in a manner that allows the characters as much breathing space as possible. These are its main assets as, most of the time, the direction is rather anonymous.

Maybe the film's major fault is that the director loved it way too much.

Prozac Nation (Erik Skjoldbjærg, 2001)

2007-04-25T04:30:00.000+02:00

This film is as bland as it can get. I won't go into the merits/demerits of adaptation for two main reasons: first, I have read the book years ago and even though I remember liking it a lot I don't recall much else; secondly because this film is bad not in relation to the book, but as a movie per se.

Christina Ricci, admittedly, is not one of my favourite actresses. There is something about her that really bothers me. I haven't put my finger on it yet but surely it has to do with her impossibly round face and her manifest eagerness with which she pursues cultdom. Nothing personal here, but give me Chloe Sevigny any time.

Nonetheless, the major flaws with this film lie not on Ricci's doorstep but on the director's and scripwriter's. Elisabeth Wurtzel (Christina Ricci) comes across mostly as capricious, in the boring and annoying sense. Her crises add up to little more than tantrums and her rantings about the impossibility of writing are shallow at best. Eons away from any existential struggle.

Overall, there is not enough emphasis on her writing; unexplicably so, as this is the be-all and end-all behind Elisabeth's depression. It is the reason why this girl's odyssey merits exposure. Rolling Stone magazine is mentioned left right and centre but we never get to actually see what the fuss is all about.

The cast is very capable of delivering but unfortunately there is not much to work with. Jessica Lange does her utmost to give her character depth and reason, but ultimately loses the battle. Same goes for Michelle Williams. Pity.

The Human Stain (Robert Benton, 2003)

2007-04-02T08:09:00.000+02:00

This film is a two-man show. First: Anthony Hopkins is flawless in it. Coleman Silk, the character he plays, carries a burden that has been gnawing at his insides for years and years. Hopkins plays him with the right mixture of erudition, sensitivity and apparent bluntness that the character demands.

Despite Hopkins's great performance, I would definitely assign the kudos to Ed Harris who, in his brief appearances, manages to steal away the film from the two leads with seemingly effortless ease. He is simply from out of this world. The intense rage and thinly veiled menace that he expresses simply by looking is riveting. Lester Farley is a dangerous wounded animal and Harris conveys this in every frame.

On the other hand, Nicole Kidman is uncharacteristically subdued. She has her good moments, but as the cliche` goes, these are few and far in-between. When working with actors of the calibre of Hopkins and Harris when they're in top form, this is simply not enough. Having said that, her strip tease dance is one of the sexiest I've ever seen. Phew! (Well done to the director as well: he charges the dance with an equal measure of sensuality and emotion.)

The Human Stain is a very difficult film to make. It is character driven and the story revolves around the emotions that the characters go through. I call these internal films. There is not much happening on the surface of things, but if one cares to look at what is not being said and peer closely at small gestures or flitting expressions, he or she will surely be rewarded. It is a film that thrives on subtleties and nuances, and the details are what really make the difference.

I have noticed that in this kind of film the camera becomes almost invisible. There are no daring shots or unusual angles. The director wants to disappear from the set to allow the characters to go on with their messed-up lives. But he would always be on the lookout for that intimate moment that pushes the story forward.

Favourite moments: Any time Ed Harris is on screen. Madonna kemm hu tajjeb.

El Espinazo del Diablo (Guillermo Del Toro, 2001)

2007-04-01T14:14:00.000+02:00

aka The Devil's Backbone

Without any doubt, Guillermo Del Toro is a gifted horror director. He is well aware of the established iconography and what it means; but whilst acknowledging the genre he refuses to merely copy what has been done before. Instead he takes what have become standard image/symbols and reinterprets them in a way that complement and blend into his story. With El Espinazo del Diablo Del Toro tackles the ghost story.

From the very beginning, a voice-over makes it clear that this is a tale that has to do with an unresolved event that occurred in the past which is characteristic of almost every ghost story. The setting is a boys' orphanage in the middle of the desert and the story revolves around this group of boys, their guardians and a ghost that haunts the grounds. It is a sad ghost that feeds on the sadness of the main characters, whether it being unreciprocated love, the loss of one’s independence, the frustration of not being born elsewhere or the difficulty of keeping a terrible episode for oneself. There are a lot of pent up emotions in Del Toro’s film, beautifully allegorised by the huge unexploded bomb stuck in the ground in the middle of the orphanage’s yard.

The ghost of the boy (Santi, played by Junio Valverde) is marvelous. Not only he is dead and sports the cause of his demise, but little Santi carries with him as well the location of his dead body. The flowing blood is a stroke of genius. This is what I meant by acknowledging the genre whilst reinventing it.

I always love watching Federico Luppi. His presence is powerful without being invasive and even though my knowledge of Spanish is rudimentary at best, his delivery always sounds right. Even Marisa Paredes delivers a strong performance, giving us a woman who is extremely proud and brave but whose soul has been dented.

Favourite moments: when Jaime (Íñigo Garcés) tells his story in flashback and the bit where the boys settle the score with Jacinto (Eduardo Noriega).

El Laberinto del Fauno (Guillermo Del Toro, 2006)

2007-03-25T08:01:00.000+02:00

aka Pan's Labyrinth

First of all... the English title of Del Toro's picture is a bad translation. Pan, the mischievious Greek satyr, is nowhere to be seen. There is the faun, yes; but calling him Pan is misleading. And he is far from being mischievous. Anyway.

This film is perfect. Wizardry is the word that comes to mind, whether you're thinking of its technical aspect or the narrative one. Because the story is so sweet and violent, engaging and multi-layered; and the visuals are there one hundred percent to complement and illustrate the story - hence my claim to its perfection. The alchemy between inspiration and execution is so perfect that it makes for one of those films that literally transport you to another world.

The story is pretty simple. Little Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) goes to live with her stepfather, Capitan Vidal (a glacial Sergi López), an officer whose sole aim in life is to destroy the rebellious faction that exists in the wood. Ofelia's mother, Carmen (Ariadna Gil), is pregnant with his child and is confined indoors, either to the bed or to a wheelchair, despite her being able to move around. Vidal has no intention of risking losing his son (he is certain of the gender).

On the way to her new house, Ofelia comes across a fairy. Upon arriving to her destination, she discovers a derelict labyrinth adjacent to the house. The rest of the story is a mesmerising blend of drama, fantasy and horror that weave together to make a splendid tapestry. This is what Labyrinth (Jim Henson, 1986) should have been.

The film is very bleak. Visually it is all desaturated greens, browns and dull greys (except for the very end) and the sun rarely, if it does, make an appearance. It is all pathetic fallacy as the environment reflects the bleakness of the context. The tension is palpable as the Capitan is ever ready to burst forth with unmitigated menace or violence. The killing of the rabbit hunters is gruesome (reminiscent of Irréversible (Gaspar Noe`, 2004)), as is the prelude to the torture.

Good old Del Toro is everywhere to be seen: Christian icons, bugs, Federico Luppi, embryos, stitches, Goya. His symbolic oevre is striking, not so much in the objects per se, but in their presentation. They stick to the soul. But more of this in the future.

Mary Poppins Robert Stevenson (1964)

2007-03-18T08:36:00.000+01:00

Mary Poppins is one of those movies that have always been there. I grew up nurturing moments of extreme pride at being able to read, write and sing supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. I loved the characters, I loved the songs, I loved the magic and, above all else, I loved Mary. And what's not to love? She was beautiful, she could fly and she could do wonders. However, the movie elicits the same impression that these first few sentences do: that of a checklist. I am no longer a boy and this film does not hold any magic any more. This is why sometimes I question the wisdom of revisiting movies that have meant so much to one's childhood. Once you grow up, most of the magic is sure to dissipate. As far as I'm concerned, the only exceptions till now are Cocteau's La Belle et la Bête (1946) and Cooper and Shoedsack's King Kong (1933).

There are moments of extreme bore in Mary Poppins. The film has a very thin plot (and not in a David Lynch good kind of way): in fact almost an hour passes before something actually happens. Otherwise it's song, song and more song. It's like watching Disney MTV. It is no wonder that the strongest segment of the movie is the latter one, seeing that the little story there is, is finally given its way overdue consideration.

Visually it is stunning. The colours are simply gorgeous, as are the costumes; and the undisputed highlight of the film is the Feed the Birds sequence. The said moment shows how this film could have been so much better.

Most pleasant moment: when I realised that Elsa Lanchester had a part in it.

St Valentine Ladies

2007-02-14T10:18:00.000+01:00

Inspired by Peter's post, here are women I've fallen in love with on screen:

Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast At Tiffany's (1961)

Yeong-ae Lee in Sympathy For Lady Vengeance (2005)

Liv Tyler in Stealing Beauty (1996)

Emma Thompson in Much Ado About Nothing (1993)

Scarlett Johansson in Lost In Translation (2003)

Naomi Watts in Mulholland Drive (2001)

Monica Bellucci in Malèna (2000)

Kate Winslet in Heavenly Creatures (1994)

Kirsten Dunst in Elizabethtown (2005)

Cameron Diaz in A Life Less Ordinary (1997)

Michelle Yeoh in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)

Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns (1992)

Liv Tyler (again) in Onegin (1999)

Judi Dench in Mrs. Henderson Presents (2005)

Broken Flowers (Jim Jarmusch, 2005)

2007-01-22T05:20:00.000+01:00

I just love Jim Jarmusch's short stories. I never tire of watching Night on Earth (1991) or Coffee and Cigarettes (2003). It is hours of endless fascination for me to watch how the same number of themes are explored and reviewed from different perspectives, all of which stem from seemingly trivial things like a taxi ride or a cup of coffee. Jarmusch really appreciates the meaning behind William Blake's words, that one can see the world in a grain of sand (something like that).

Broken Flowers can seemingly be viewed as an episodic film as well. Don Johnston's (Bill Murray) meetings with his former girlfriends are tackled in a pretty much straightforward fashion: they have a beginning, a middle and an end (sort of). The common motif is the pink flowers that he brings to each one of his former dates. Still, the narrative transcends the single stories. Whereas in the films mentioned above, one can easily watch a single episode on its own, in the case of Broken Flowers, this doesn't make sense. There is an overall theme that centres on one main character who bonds the stories together whilst constantly elaborating on each one as they unfold. In fact, I had the impression that Johnston's journey was a date in itself, and his visits were the various stages that this relationship went through.

Johnston's search for the supposedly mother of his supposedly son is the manifestation of that most human of needs, to leave your fingerprint on planet earth. We might not be here to stay but each and every one of us would like to leave his or her mark, whether it being a poem, a new brand of tinned tuna or a child. Don Johnston has everything - money, a big home, no cares in the world. However, there is a suffocating sense of emptiness in his life, which explains his involvement in the chaotic world of his neighbour Winston (Jeffrey Wright). Having everything means yearning for nothing; or, as is Johnston's case, believing that you have everything, only to repress the fact that you lack the thing you crave most (human contact).

With this film Jarmusch proved (if ever there was the need) that he is a great director of actors. The entire story revolves around Bill Murray's excellent performance. It is a very difficult part to do and Murray does it all with his eyes. Jarmusch milks the emotional landscape of Murray's face for all it's worth and the actor made sure that there was plenty there to be found.

(This entry is part of the Jim Jarmusch blog-a-thon to be found here.)

Buffy The Vampire Slayer - SEASON ONE (1997)

2007-01-10T14:35:00.000+01:00

I had seen random episodes from the Buffy series when they were being aired on Italian television. I remember being at first intrigued by an idea or concept; then disappointed by the execution to finally being left rather perplexed overall. Years later, and after having seen the entire first season almost at one go, these impressions of mine were reinforced.

Admittedly, it was not as bad an experience as I had first anticipated. After a while, I got to like the characters and I found them charming, in their own way, even when they were predictable. My favourite was (and still is, half way through Season Two [1997-8]) Willow, played by Alyson Hannigan. She is in turn shy, witty, bashful, nerdish and brave when the occasion arises. Hannigan is no great actress and her performance is far from being up to par; but her thespian clumsiness eventually becomes incorporated in her character and one does not mind it all that much.

My second favourite character is that of Angel, played by David Boreanaz and whose popularity generated a spin-off series with the same name. One can easily see why. Angel is a 'converted' vampire, sporting brooding good looks and oozing bad-boy anti-hero from every pore. The relationship he has with Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar) is one of the central themes of the series. The obvious conflicting emotions that a dating vampire and slayer have provide much of the series' momentum.

The episodes of the first series can easily be grouped into two: the mediocre and the terrible, and the former are especially frustrating to watch. They are written round an excellent concept, in a highly original manner; but towards the end it seems as though the writer or director got fed up with everything and proceeded to hastily (and criminally) wrap up everything in a haphazard/silly manner. Episodes that fall in this category are The Pack, Nightmares, I Robot - You Jane and Out Of Mind, Out Of Sight. Such a pity.

Orlando (Sally Potter, 1992)

2007-01-03T07:57:00.000+01:00

Orlando is an epic tale that wants to transcend time, space and gender. The main character, Orlando (Tilda Swinton) starts off as a noble young man living under the disciplined reign of Queen Elisabeth (played by a magnificently cast Quentin Crisp), and ends up being a mother during the early Nineties. The intention behind the script is to highlight humanity in its purest form, free from temporal and gender-related shackles that might be conveniently used as justification/explanation/scapegoat for a person's actions and attitudes. Director Sally Potter strives hard, sometimes forcefully, to drive her point home. People are people; deep down there is a humanity (soul) that transcends status, gender, social context and everything else.

Potter's attempt at exploring the texture of the soul is admirable though overall disappointing. The film is episodic, and despite the terrific portrayal of Orlando by Tilda Swinton, somehow the film does not blend well together. The recurrent underlying themes, though powerful in concept, are not rendered as interesting as they should have been, and therefore the film suffers from lack of stamina. It is ironic that the film is deficient in that which it purports to be about: a strong human touch. Even the humour suffers because of this. The jokes are good but their effect is diluted because of the overall lack of focus.

Some moments I liked: the fact that Queen Elisabeth was interpreted by a male actor, hence emphasising the main theme of the film; the costumes, especially the Elisabethan ones, are terrific - the restricting garb mirrors the restricted permissible behaviour at the time.

Marie Antionette (Sofia Coppola, 2006)

2006-12-28T21:15:00.000+01:00

This film left me indifferent. It is a collection of nice actors, nice costumes, nice set designs, nice soundtrack and nice ideas that unfortunately do not add up to much. It oozes with potential and it is obvious that Sofia Coppola had this project at heart; however the end result is patchy and, for long tracts of time, boring.

Marie Antoinette (Kirsten Dunst) is depicted as a 'typical' teenager. Whether 'typical' reflects 18th Century France, Coppola's own teenage years, or 2006, matters little; the point is that this fifteen year-old girl was treated as a diplomatic commodity during that period in her life when she couldn't as yet decide whether she was an old girl or a young woman. The initial journey from Austria to France illustrates this in a fascinatingly economic way. Marie Antoinette is in turn bored, giggly, awed, amused, curious; as soon as she lands in France she is stripped of her Austrian friends, clothes and pet dog; she has to start a new life as the future Queen of France. She was literally dragged from childhood to adulthood.

After this promising start to the film, nothing much happens. What we see is cliche`, it has been done a million times before and in a much better way. Coppola's direction lacks ideas and is many times repetitive. Her undeniable talent, so evident in The Virgin Suicides (1999) and Lost in Translation (2003), barely registers a blip during this film.

The actors did a fine job even though most of them were superfluous and their appearance did nothing to the story as such (Asia Argento's Madame du Barry is a case in point). Kirsten Dunst had the most difficult task being on screen for most of the time. She was good, but the part required a lot more than what she delivered. The film's axes is Marie Antoinette herself and as such her performance had to be a lot more engaging.

There were some good moments though: I have already mentioned the carriage drive from Austria to France; then there's the mask ball and, my absolute favourite, the scene depicting the death of one of the Queen's children.

James Brown

2006-12-26T06:53:00.000+01:00

1933 - 2006

Wim Wenders on Giving Europe a Soul

2006-12-25T08:11:00.000+01:00

"What is Europe?"
"How is Europe?"

One has the impression
that Europe is a wreck,
fucked,
"foutue",
if you think back to the constitution disaster,
reflect on Europe's actual political influence
or on the lack of enthusiasm shown by its citizens
for "the European Cause" in recent times.
"The Europeans" have had it up to here with Europe...

On the other hand,
Europe is heaven on earth,
the promised land,
as soon as you look at it from the outside.
Over the last couple of months,
I have seen Europe from Chicago and New York,
from Tokyo and Rio,
from Australia,
from the heart of Africa, the Congo,
and, just last week, from Moscow.
I am telling you:
In each case, Europe appeared in a different light,
but always as paradise,
as a dream of mankind,
as a stronghold of peace, prosperity and civilization.

Europe:
Now you see it,
now you don't.

Those who have lived for a long time in Europe
seem weary of it.
Those who are not there, who live somewhere else,
want to get here at any price and join us.

What is it then
that some HAVE,
yet no longer want,
and for which others YEARN so much?

I can just as well ask myself:
Why is it that I find Europe so "holy",
as soon as I see it from a distance,
and why does it appear so profane, humdrum, almost boring,
as soon as I am back?

When I was young,
I dreamed of a Europe without borders.
Now, I travel back and forth
without ever having to show my passport,
and I even get to use the same currency all over,
(even if it is pronounced differently everywhere),
but where has that big emotion gone?

Here in Berlin, I am German,
in the meantime with all my heart.
Yet, hardly do you set foot in America,
than you no longer say you are from Germany, France, Italy or wherever.
You come "from Europe," or you're about to return there.
For Americans, this epitomizes culture,
history, style, "savoir vivre."
It's the only thing they feel strangely inferior about.
Even rather permanently.

And even when viewed from Asia, let alone other parts of the world,
Europe appears to be a bastion of human history,
dignity, and, yes, this word again: culture.

Europe has a soul, indeed.
No need to invent or create one for our continent.
It's there in plain sight.
It is not to be found in its politics or in its economy.
It is first and foremost embedded in its culture.

I am kicking open doors.
Two years ago, the President of the European Commission
stood here in Berlin and stated the matter quite clearly.
I quote from the end of his speech:

"Europe is not only about markets, it is also about values and culture.
And allow me a personal remark:
in the hierarchy of values, the cultural ones range above the economic ones.
If the economy is a necessity for our lives,
culture is really what makes our life worth living."

I could quote other sections of his memorable speech,
in fact I'd like to read it in its entirety,
so much he took the words out of my mouth.

But, I'm afraid,
reality looks quite different:
to the outside world, and especially to its citizens,
Europe continues to present itself first of all as an economic power,
insisting on using political and financial arguments
over cultural ones at any give time.

Europe is not taking advantage of its emotional potential!

Who loves his (or her) country on account of its politics or its economy?
No one!

Just next door, 100 metres from here,
you'll find one of the "showrooms" of the European Community.
There's one like that in every other European capital.
And what's on display there?
Lots of maps, brochures, mostly economic information,
all sorts of statistics and stuff on the history of the European Union.
What a drag!
Who can possibly feel represented there?
Who are these places trying to reach,
or boring to death?

We live in the age of the image.
Today, no other realm of culture displays so much power
than that of the image.
Words, music, literature,
books, newspapers, rock'n roll, theatre...
nothing comes even close
to the authority of moving images, in cinema and television.

Why is it that today, not only in Europe,
but all over the world,
"going to the pictures"
is synonymous with
"seeing an American film"?!

Because the Americans realized long ago
what moves people most
and what gets them dreaming.
And they radically implemented that knowledge.
The whole "American Dream"
is really an invention of cinema,
and it is now being dreamed by the whole world.

I don't want to discredit this,
but merely ask the question,
"Who is dreaming the European Dream?"
Or better: How are we encouraged to dream it?

A concrete, current example just occurred to me:
In the next 2 months or so,
some 20, 30, or even 50 million Europeans
will watch one and the same film.
It started the other day:
every channel up and down,
every programme and news show,
- and I've been surfing TV stations throughout Europe -
reported at large on a film premiere in London.
As you have probably guessed already,
all the racket was about James Bond,
that knightly British gentleman,
who has been saving the world from disaster for the last forty years.
Do you recall that magnificent Scotsman, Sir Sean Connery,
who used to embody this European hero?
Or that most elegant, cultivated Irishman, Pierce Brosnan?

Now, over Christmas and through New Year's Eve probably,
millions of Europeans will all be watching, at the same time,
somebody who looks more like a thug,
and whose resemblance to Russian President Vladimir Putin
can scarcely be denied.
This new Bond is supposedly quite ruthless
and not too particular when it comes to applying violence.
What is the message here?
What is this American production trying to tell us?

All right, I might be exaggerating,
but the heart of the matter remains pretty much true:
our own myths don't belong to us anymore.
Nothing forms our contemporary imagination so intensely,
so specifically
and permanently
as cinema.
But we are no longer in control.
It doesn't belong to us anymore.
Our very own and precious invention has slipped away from us.

European cinema
- and it exists, in spite of everything! -
is produced in almost 50 European countries,
yet in European theatres our own European stories
no longer play a significant role.

Those images of European cinema,
could help a whole new generation of Europeans to recognize themselves,
they could define what Europe is all about
in emotional, powerful and lasting terms.
These films could convey European thinking to the world.
We could communicate our most valuable asset,
our CULTURE, in a contagious way,
could spread the word of the "Open Society,"
which was so urgently invoked here by George Soros, only yesterday,
our civilization of dialogue, peace, and humanity…
But we have let this weapon slip out of our hands.

I intentionally say WEAPON,
because images are the most powerful arms of this 21st century.

There will be no "European consciousness",
no emotions and no attachment felt towards our home continent,
in brief: no future European identity,
if we are unable to project, and to absorb,
our own myths,
our own history,
and our own ideas and emotions!

Spain, for example, has no stronger and more influential ambassador
to the world than Pedro Almodovar.
For Britain that would be Ken Loach,
Andrzej Wajda or Polanski for Poland.
Although he died some 13 years ago,
Federico Fellini continues to define the Italian soul…
And that is exactly what European cinema does -
it shapes and forms our consciousness of ourselves
and of each other!
It creates a European belief,
a European will,
that very European "soul" that we"re talking about here.

However, have a look around
at the place we actually give to our TREASURE,
what a poor role it actually plays in the cultural life of Europe.
Yes, look at how European politics
continue to dismally neglect
not only cinema, but culture in general.
Yet, this is the CEMENT,
the glue that bonds European EMOTIONS!

All these countries yearning for Europe,
including all the new and future member countries from Eastern Europe,
could on one hand have the opportunity to introduce themselves,
tell us about themselves,
win us over,
and on the other hand be welcomed and embraced
by the European CAUSE
and the European SOUL…
… if only
we would provide more support for our mutual ambassadors,
if only Europe could be brought to believe in the power of images.

Mind you, a grave error is being made here.
Europe prefers to use political and economical arguments,
over emotional ones!
Next door, in the showroom,
the most boring maps are hanging on the walls,
while in our most important embassies,
in cinemas and on TV,
the superpower of imagery, America, is pulling people under its spell,
including our European citizens, of course.

These young people
now suffering from a "European withdrawal"
will one day turn against European policy makers
with the harsh and bitter reproach:
Why did you allow
a whole generation to get bored of Europe?!
Why did you just babble on about politics,
instead of SHOWING us how much our magnificent home continent
could have meant to us!

Europe HAS a cultural history,
it HAS its own culture of life, of conflict, of dialogue,
yes, it HAS an amazing political culture.
George Soros calls it "The Open Society."
And because, as he explained, America had failed in recent times
to exemplify and demonstrate its moral and political values,
Europe represents an even more important MODEL for the world.

BUT:
This model is invalid and weak
if it has no confidence in the power of its own imagery!
No one, esteemed Mr. Soros,
will be swept away, enthused and inspired by the OPEN SOCIETY,
as long as it remains an ABSTRACT IDEA.
Such a vision has to be attached to feelings,
to places, to memories.

These "European emotions" are right in front of our eyes,
you can almost grasp them,
the citizens of Europe are certainly yearning for them…
but politics is widely ignoring them.
The field of images
is largely being left to others.

I hope that Europe is not too late in recognizing
which crucial battlefield is about to be abandoned
with little resistance.

*

This speech was delivered on November 18, 2006 during the conference "A Soul For Europe" in Berlin.

Wim Wenders is one of Germany's foremost filmmakers. Having lived for many years in the USA, he has recently declared his intention to return to Germany and make films on the German reality today.

Translation: John Bergeron

Pilfered in its entirety from here.

Monster (Patty Jenkins, 2003)

2006-12-17T12:46:00.000+01:00

I found Monster a difficult film to watch. The overall ambiance is extremely bleak and the texture grainy, like a home-made video; and the characters are at times so realistically unappealing that it was like helplessly watching close relatives of mine making a mess out of their lives. A very disconcerting experience. Overall, it reminded me a lot of Boys Don't Cry (Kimberly Peirce, 1999).

The film is harrowing even though Aileen's (Charlize Theron) murder spree is not particularly graphic (except for the first killing). This woman has no hope whatsoever of a better life; her dreams of becoming someone special were shattered ages ago and the road that should have led her to fame, glamour and happiness took her to the dark alley of prostitution. Her meeting with Selby (Christina Ricci) revives some of these dreams and she decides to turn over a new leaf. But she has unrealistic expectations, and the scene where she goes to a law firm for an interview is painfully absurd.

I really liked the fact that director Patty Jenkins depicted Aileen's odyssey as an unfortunate blend of bad choices and adverse destiny. She explained without justifying Aileen's actions. The result is a realistic depiction of a character who deep down still believes in her childhood dreams, and acts accordingly (childishly). Her clinging to Selby is not just an opportunistic attempt at a better life (later on she does actually fall in love with her); but it is also a last, desperate dash at returning to that point in her life where everything seemed to start collapsing. When she realises that she is fighting a losing battle, Aileen goes back to the one thing she is good at. Bad chance wants that she discovers murder as another option in life. In fact, this was the thing that mostly made my skin crawl: her matter-of-fact attitude towards murdering as a means of earning a living. Ironically, this is the only point in the film where Aileen is really in control of her life, acting both as husband and breadwinner to Selby.

Charlize Theron did a tremendous job of portraying Aileen. She is unrecognisable, and I am not simply referring to make-up and the extra pounds. There is nothing of the glamorous actress in any of her movements or gestures, or tone of voice. I think that this was a piece of genius casting because whilst watching the film I had this constant image of Charlize in my mind, which I kept comparing to the actress on the screen. I felt like I was witnessing the demise of a former screen goddess, which, in a way, is the story of Aileen.

Peter Boyle

2006-12-14T05:17:00.000+01:00

1935 - 2006

Love Liza (Todd Louiso, 2002)

2006-12-12T14:51:00.000+01:00

SPOILER ALERT

I was not particularly moved by this film even though it is well made and has its shining moments. The script is excellent and Philip Seymour Hoffman’s interpretation of Wilson Joel, a man who has recently lost his wife (Ann Morgan) to suicide, is engaging. However, given the subject matter, I found Todd Louiso’s direction a bit too rehearsed. Wisely enough, he allowed Hoffman and Kathy Bates (Mary Ann) all the space they needed to flex their undeniable thespian talents; but during those moments where he was called upon to complement story and performance, he resorted to film direction textbook techniques that looked out of place with the rest of the film.

One such moment that comes to mind is when Wilson discovers his wife’s suicide note under the pillow. The shot is impeccably composed; framing, lighting and all. So much so that it can easily be a painting. However, during the previous shot, Wilson had just told Mary Ann that he is sleeping on the floor, because it is as good a spot as any to lie down. We know that he is acting thus not to stay in the same bed he used to share with his wife; but Wilson is distraught, he is not thinking straight, leading a more or less serendipitous life and the Caravaggio-like shot really disrupts this feeling.

Despite this introduction, I found that the film has much to recommend it, and the plusses far outnumber the minuses. For instance I really liked the simple yet apt metaphor of the plane. It is very ironic that Wilson gets obsessed with planes, symbols of movement and freedom, when in fact he cannot/doesn’t want to move on and let go of the past. He burdens himself with his pain and obstinately keeps it within easy reach, just as he carries his model airplanes without ever attempting to fly them. There is an inspired moment where we see Mary Ann trying to fly one of the models but she cannot lift it off the ground. Rightly so. Wilson has to deal with the loss of his wife himself; he can be helped but the commitment to do so must stem from himself. (There is also the irony of him becoming a gas-sniffing junkie. He inhales the fuel, literally becoming an agent of movement; but all he ends up with are blackouts that get him nowhere.)

All this is underscored by his refusal to open the suicide note. He carries it around with him but doesn’t want to read it. He almost loses it a couple of times but it seems that this letter is attached to him (literally and metaphorically). And then, at the very end, he opens it and reads it aloud. I would have preferred not knowing what was written, being content just to see his wife’s signature (Love, Liza). But then again, that’s me.

Casino Royale (Martin Campbell, 2006)

2006-12-04T15:03:00.000+01:00

SPOILER WARNING

I was never a big fan of Bond. I might have seen four or five films in all but I never managed to catch Bonditis. Nonetheless, having read a number of fabulous reviews about the latest Broccoli production, I decided to give it a shot. And once again I was disappointed (though far from bored).

Ages ago I had read a review about The Living Daylights (John Glen, 1987) where the critic had commented that the Bond fare looks tame when compared to such action flicks like Lethal Weapon (Richard Donner, 1987) and Die Hard (John McTiernan, 1988). These two series have since expired (hopefully) but I still see the film critic's point. Both Lethal Weapon and Die Hard had a very strong script featuring very strong characters; a Bond film always seems to be lacking the latter.

James Bond himself is extremely shallow: a mean secret agent with a weakness for the fair sex. Any attempts at creating a more three dimensional character have to accomodate the above premise, resulting in a number of tableux that shift inconsistently from one trait to another. Casino Royale is a case in point. James Bond (Daniel Craig) is cold, resourceful and ruthless. In fact, at one point, M (Judi Dench) herself warns/comments that he is very detached. Then, all of a sudden, he falls for Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) and we see a different Bond. He gets all romantic and smoochy, which situation lasts for maybe ten minutes, until the next action sequence. There is no build up; everything is so sudden and therefore unconvincing. Martin Campbell seems to have included these scenes merely for the sake of checklisting the character depth option but was ultimately impatient to get it over and done with and return to the chasing and running.

On the plus side, the secret agent part is very believable. I am grateful to whoever decided to make do without all the annoying gadgets that had become an essential Bond feature. The mobile phone and notebook worked just fine. And the action scenes, devoid of anything but sheer physicality, are a joy to watch, especially the one involving the bomber. The poker game is excellently filmed as well. The atmosphere is so deliciously taut that the action sequences in-between prove to be quite a relief.

It is not a bad film; however it will still appeal mostly to followers of the Church of Bond.

Mrs Henderson Presents (Stephen Frears, 2005)

2006-11-28T12:49:00.000+01:00

I was literally blown away by the initial minutes of this film. There is a funeral and an old woman rowing on a lake; but director Stephen Frears allows his camera to go berserk, panning up and down and left and right, mirroring perfectly the internal state of Mrs Henderson (Judi Dench). She cannot focus on her present situation (or rather, doesn't want to) and the camera does likewise. There is a stunning moment on the lake, when Mrs Henderson allows herself to wail in pain at the death of her husband, but then recomposes herself immediately as she notices that there are other people nearby. And the camera moves slowly away from her; it doesn't want to linger on anything, especially her, and as Mrs Henderson is moving out of shot, the scene is cut.

It is apt that this woman who is so keen on hiding her true feelings chooses to devote her time to a derelict theatre. She buys it, she refurbishes it, she names it ("The Windmill") and she gets a very good manager, Vivian Van Damm (Bob Hoskins), to run it. At first it is a success but popularity eventually dwindles and thus Mrs Henderson decides to start including naked girls in the show.

Mrs Henderson is a socialite who lives amidst rigid modes of behaviour, propriety of dress and address, cocktail parties. In a way, her bourgeois way of life has everything rehearsed and choreographed, just like in the theatre. She wears a mask all the time. Mrs Henderson is also very blunt, one might say "naked", in her remarks. Just like the girls are naked on stage. But this nakedness/bluntness is yet another front. The girls are not allowed to move on stage; they are statuesque, cold, impenetrable and distant. Mrs Henderson hides behind her apparent frankness. She keeps people at bay and her feelings to herself.

But Mrs Henderson has been wearing a mask for so long that she starts to believe that this is in fact her true self; that the world inhabited by the mask is in fact the real world. No wonder she is hurt and disappointed when she begins to nurture feelings for Vivian only to discover that he has a wife. She is reminded that there are other people besides her, no matter how many masks she puts on.

Judi Dench is marvellous in her portrayal of Mrs Henderson. She can look impenetrable and vulnerable at the same time; hurt, frightened and fearsome. Bob Hoskins is a joy to watch as well, and once again proves that he is criminally underemployed in films.

Great great film.

Who's that woman buried out at Greenlawn Cemetery?

2006-11-15T15:52:00.000+01:00

The reason I like Alfred Hitchcock is that he is a master at raising a doubt, flash it for a couple of seconds in front of the audience and then ditch it. It might go unnoticed, or engulfed by the rest of the story; it might make you wonder, surmise and brood; it might frustrate you or enlighten you; and it might even not be that important. In fact I really do imagine the late Hitchcock giggling somewhere on his own as critics wax intellectual about the etiology of some puny detail that might mean jack. On the other hand, I can equally see Hitchcock eating his heart out because some important detail has been ignored. He was, after all, a glutton for attention.

I choose Psycho (1960): the macabre tale of Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) whose mother's suicide apparently drove him to insanity. Apparently. Hitchcock's film, together with Michael Powell's Peeping Tom (1960), is regarded by some to have heralded the era of the modern horror movie, where the monster is no longer a werewolf, vampire, alien/communist, hairy monster or whatever, but none other than the seemingly normal (Norman) guy next door. The horror was internalised without having to necessarily manifest itself in any physical attributes of the monster in question.

Some others claim that an important factor of Psycho was that Hitchcock ditched the supernatural aspect altogether. And it is here that I would disagree. Because I have a doubt: I think that the tale of Norman Bates is actually a ghost story.

If we were to take the script of Psycho and catapult it back a couple of centuries, there would be no psychiatrist talking of schizophrenia but a priest preaching of possession and the unresting soul of Mrs Bates (she did commit suicide after all). There would be no police towing cars out of ponds but an angry mob keen on torching the accursed house to be rid of the ghost of Mrs Bates. But apart from these instances, I think there would be the need to change little else (plotwise).

Norman Bates's "illness" stems from an horrific memory of his dead mother in bed together with her lover. Another way of putting it is that Norman is haunted by his past. Literally. Or is it? It might be a case of schizophrenia, after all.

And herein lies Hitchcock's greatness. He transformed a pretty straightforward pulp tale of murder and madness into a gripping story that refuses to be pigeon-holed. It fits Tzvetan Todorov's definition of "the fantastic" as it does not fully comply to either a natural explanation of events (schizophrenia) nor a supernatural one (possession). It can be both and none at the same time and makes a virtue of its ambiguous nature.

The fact that the psychiatrist's scene at the end was forced on Hitchcock by the studio seems to support the idea of him favouring the ghost story to the mental illness one. As does the superimposition of Mrs. Bates's skull on Norman's face as he eerily looks at us from within the padded cell. But who knows?

One last thing. If Norman kept his mum in the basement, who the hell is that woman buried out at Greenlawn cemetery? I wonder...

This entry is part of the Alfred Hitchcock Blog-A-Thon over here.

Paradise Now (Hany Abu-Assad, 2005)

2006-11-14T15:33:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 14

The International Film Festival was characterised mainly by films of a political nature. In fact, except for a couple of titles, all of them in one way or another addressed issues related to oppression, revolution, social injustice and class struggle, politicians, corruption, etc. Therefore there was no better way to end this festival than with Hany Abu-Assad's Paradise Now, a film whose subject matter is the daily fodder of newspapers the world over.

I want to make myself clear before I continue with my review. I am no Middle East expert, never aspired to be and never will. The following observations are based entirely on my impressions of the film. Nothing more and nothing less.

The story tells of two childhood friends who are recruited for a suicide mission to be carried out in Israel. A mishap occurs just as they cross the border and the two friends lose track of each other. One of them, Khaled (Ali Suliman), manages to return back to base immediately whereas the other, Said (Kais Nashif), gets momentarily lost.

At no point does the film enter into the blame game. The entire political situation is re-examined through a human perspective, stripped of all the bureaucratic/pseudo-philosophical jargon that covers what is essentially a human tragedy. As one of the characters says during the film, everyone involved is simultaneously a murderer and a victim so there really is no way out of the situation. Apparently the only hope is to change the rules of the game altogether, ditching once and for all the roles of murderer and victim.

At the beginning of the film there is a very sweet moment where the two friends are arguing with their employer regarding a car's mudguard. They say it is fixed on straight whereas the boss is saying that it is crooked. They realise that the ground is in fact sloping and therefore everything looks crooked. Khaled then grabs a heavy piece of iron and smashes the mudguard. He gets fired. I found this an extremely simple yet apt manner of displaying the conflict at hand. When disagreement reaches the magnitude it has in the Middle East, most probably both parties would be in the wrong, and the basis of their arguments would be the biggest problem of all. But instead of solutions you get retaliations.

Said represents everything that is abhorrent in this conflict. He is ruggedly handsome (right Karen? :P) but has nothing to live for. Until he is approached for the suicide mission, he doesn't do anything that betrays his extremist convictions. I found very telling the episode in which he admits to his friend Suha (Lubna Azabal) that he does not read, or go to the cinema, or do anything really, besides working at the garage. The impression I got is that Said does what he does not so much for "the cause" but because he has nothing else to do. It might sound a bit extreme, but try imagining a world without imagination. I would think it would be the exact copy of what is going on inside Said's head. And judging from the final extreme close-up of his eyes, it is not pretty.

Ha-Ushpizin (Giddi Dar, 2004)

2006-11-13T15:31:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 13

Giddi Dar's film has its heart in the right place. It is a romantic comedy set in Israel where Rabbi Moshe Belanga (Shuli Rand) is doing his utmost to celebrate the holiday of Succoth in the best possible manner. However he is broke and his meanderings around the city, looking for money, prove fruitless. His wife Mali (Michal Bat-Sheva Rand) suggests that he needs to pray more in order for their luck to change. She is right. A thousand dollars come out of nowhere and the prospects of spending a good holiday are no more a distant fantasy. Then the Ushpizin (meaning guests) make an appearance, and what is meant to bring them good luck...

The film has its ultra-super-sweet-hard-to-digest moments (such as the ending); however there are inspired moments as well, like the aforementioned present of a thousand dollars, where the scene is edited in such a manner as to make you wonder whether this gift was really the result of a miracle or of an incredible coincidence (is there really a difference between the two?). The director does not shy away from showing the length to which the rabbi and his wife go in order to justify everything in religious terms. What Dar doesn't do, on the other hand, is to judge the characters. They are as they are; their belief is what it is; and they act accordingly. Their desire to live a simple life is genuine.

The issue of faith is never romanticised. Moshe has several moments of doubt. There are things which he does not understand and accepts begrudgingly. The scene where he collapses due to the awesome amount of pressure is magnificent, reminiscent of Christ's moment of doubt in the garden of Gethsemane.

And last but not least: the film is pretty much character-based, and the two main actors, Shuli Rand and Michal Bat-Sheva Rand, do a terrific job.

Chinjeolhan geumjassi (Chan-wook Park, 2005)

2006-11-12T21:53:00.000+01:00

aka Sympathy for Lady Vengeance
International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 12

This is the only film shown during the festival that I had previously seen. Twice. (Thanks Pete!) Therefore I knew that Chan-wook Park's third instalment in the revenge trilogy was a must-see on the big screen. And boy wasn't I disappointed.

The opening sequence, which looked a marvel on DVD, is simply haunting at the cinema. The thin strand of red trickling over the immaculate white sends shivers down my spine every time I see it. And the rest of the film, fortunately, does not fall short of the initial expectations.

The story is not mind-blowing: Guem-ja Lee (Yeong-ae Lee) is imprisoned for thirteen and a half years for a murder she did not commit, and upon her release she goes to look after the real perpetrator with the intention of killing him. Pretty straightforward. However Park opts for a fairly surreal approach to the story, slicing the narrative with fairly long moments of flashback. The director is an amazing storyteller. He never resorts to the facile black and white short-cut for the flashbacks; the texture remains the same but he still manages to keep you rooted to the main plot. (There is just a freeze with a small caption, telling us name of character and period spent in jail, but nothing else.)

Given it's brutal nature, there are surprisingly few moments of graphic violence. Park employs the tactic of telling without showing, leaving the viewer to fill in the gaps with his/her own imagination. The humorous bits are mostly dark or else verging on the farcical. The latter go down really well given the over-the-top nature of the film.

Some of the best moments include Guem-ja Lee's arrest in flashback, the opening sequence, (which I have already mentioned) and the sequence in the latter half of the film where a macabre parents' day takes place.

Excellent excellent excellent.

Good Night, And Good Luck. (George Clooney, 2005)

2006-11-11T15:33:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 11

George Clooney's film is about television, journalism and politics. He picks McCarthy during one of the most embarassing moments in recent US history and employs it to lay bare the dynamics behind investigative journalism and how this effects and/or is effected by the politics that feed it and try to strangle it simultaneously. In fact this love/hate relationship between the two comes at the forefront in more than one occasion.

Clooney's direction is almost anonymous, letting his characters do all the talking. Given the excellent quality of the script, this was a wise decision. I particularly liked how the film is divided into parts, each framed by a song being recorded in the TV studio.

Acting kudos go to all, but David Strathairn and Frank Langella deserve a mention apart. The former's character is determined to give his all in order to present the truth to the public. He shows commendable stamina when confronting political bullies and compromises that threaten to cover up the truth.

Frank Langella plays the part of the director of CBS, the TV studio where Ed Murrow (Strathairn) works. He is torn apart between his pet news broadcaster whose work he admires, and the station's trustees whose dirty laundry is displayed for all to see by Murrow. The scene where Strathairn and Langella confront each other is a joy to behold.

Unfortunately, this film was screened the day after Tsotsi (Gavin Hood, 2006) and seeing the emotional impact that the latter film left on me, I found Clooney's effort a bit too cold and distant. The idea/concept/opinion has been put in the spotlight to the detriment of the human element. Also the sound was a bit dodgy. I understand that Clooney might have wanted his film to sound like 1950s TV but at times I found the dialogue very hard to understand.

Tsotsi (Gavin Hood, 2006)

2006-11-11T15:27:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 10

Gavin Hood's film is a splendid tale of redemption. David (Presley Chweneyagae), aka "Tsotsi", meaning thug, is a hood who earns his living by stealing. He is morose, of few words and with a look in his eyes that would freeze hell itself. Inside Tsotsi there is a seething rage that is apparently waiting for the paltriest of excuses to burst forth.

But Tsotsi is not a bad person. In fact, at no point in the film I was expecting Tsotsi to be overcome by his anger and explode. Implode yes, but not explode. He wants to tame all the rage and frustration that he feels but he simply does not know how. The scene in which he confronts the handicapped beggar is nothing but a soul searching exercise for the boy. He really wants to understand, and do something about it.

A botched attempt at stealing a car puts a small, defenceless baby in his path. Tsotsi decides to take it and raise it as his own. He tries to atone for his past, and amend the hopeless present, by caring for this little baby. He seems to think that if he manages to provide a good life for this tiny creature, it will somehow ameliorate his (Tsotsi's) own condition. But events do not run as smoothly as anticipated.

Fortunately for Tsotsi, when faced with the moment of redemption, he has matured enough to see it for what it is. The past cannot be changed but has to be kept in mind in order not to repeat the same mistakes.

It is a fascinating film to watch. Over and over again.

Ondskan (Mikael Hafstrom, 2003)

2006-11-10T05:06:00.000+01:00

aka Evil
International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 9

The film starts with an extreme close-up of Erik Ponti (Andreas Wilson). His look is vacant yet menacing and we immediately realise that this young man is a time bomb. The camera zooms out slowly to reveal that the boy is at the table together with his mother and stepfather. Erik drops the fork for which he gets slapped in the face by the stepfather. After the meal, the man and the boy go in the bedroom where the former takes out a leather belt. He closes the door as Erik's mother, panicked, throws herself at the piano to drown the sound of the leather pelting her son's back. In the following scene we see Erik at school beating a student to a pulp. He is expelled and his mother enrols him in a boarding school.

Before expelling him, the headmaster tells Erik that he is the personification of evil. I found this quite strange as at no point during the film are we allowed to forget that the reason behind Erik's violent behaviour is continuous physical abuse. He is a rebel with a cause and we have been shown exactly why he behaves the way he does. Also, I have always associated the term 'evil' with the supernatural and in Hafstrom's film there is nothing of the sort.

In fact the film is more concerned with the issue of 'free will'. Due to his defiant and determined nature, Erik soon falls prey to the poshy school's bullies. They are constantly provoking him and he shows an incredible amount of self-control not to retaliate. At one time he accepts a sound beating (reminiscent of Fight Club (David Fincher, 1999)) without reacting. He is not passive to this abuse as he gets his own back several times, but always insists on playing by their rules.

Erik's character is a joy to watch. He is ready to explode any minute, and he would be justified to do so; however he opts for self-control and calculated revenge knowing very well that if he allowed himself to flip, he would be expelled. He is a good friend to his unpopular room mate Pierre Tanguy (Henrik Lundstrom) and does not snob the kitchen help. Erik is a good person after all.

If there should be a moral to this film, it's the following: you do not fight an injustice with another injustice, but with good people.

The Wind that Shakes the Barley (Ken Loach, 2006)

2006-11-09T08:04:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 8

Apparently Nietzsche once said that 'that which doesn't destroy you makes you stronger'. Maybe. However sometimes it just makes you harder. Ken Loach's film is a powerful and gruelling testament as to how brutal one can (or has to?) become when fighting for a cause. We've seen this in a zillion Vietnam and Second World War movies but rarely with such determined emphasis on the devastating effects that this has on the family and the community. In fact, even though there is ample mention from the protagonists that this is a war that they are fighting, the film is more reminiscent of The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972) rather than Platoon (Oliver Stone, 1986). This is not a battle fought in a foreign country but in one's homeland where when you least expect it you might find yourself beaten to a pulp in front of your own mother in your own house.

Given the subject matter there is very little graphic violence in the film. Alright, so the nail-pulling torture scene is painful to watch; but nowhere near as upsetting as the sequence where Damien (Cillian Murphy) and his companions have to watch helplessly as his girlfriend and her mother are beaten and their house set on fire. Or when Damien has to execute a friend of his. Or the final sequence. I could go on forever. The stomach-churning decisions that the protagonists have to make because of their cause are disturbingly palpable.

All this pain and suffering takes place against a mesmerising backdrop of glorious greens. Hence the blood we see is even more accentuated and the despairing irony of having so much violence happening amidst such beauty is even more so brought home.

After the film I thought that Loach's sympathies lay with the Irish people. However I had to reconsider. The presence of the English peppers the film with brief and brutal episodes; but the schism that occurs between the Irish people (those in favour of the treaty proposed by the British and those against it), is soul shattering. Loach shows us another kind of violence, directed towards one's own kind, after the outsider has craftily stepped back. He shows us individuals who have embraced the cause in such a manner as to waive their humanity aside and be blinded by principles that after all are beneficial to none. Not even to the cause.

Secuestro Express (Jonathan Jakubowicz, 2005)

2006-11-07T21:20:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 7

This is the first film of the festival that I thoroughly did not enjoy. It is all gratuitous Mtv-style visuals that are done amateurishly at best and consistently lacking in substance (ironic seeing that the protagonists have their fair share of drugs).

There is really nothing to recommend it because it fails in every department. The acting is bad, at times awful; the script is shabby; the characters are undefined and sketchy; the photography is bland.

Much of the blame lies on the script that tries to be a dozen films at once: Pulp Fiction (Quentin Tarantino, 1994), Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990), City of God (Fernando Meirelles, 2002), Requiem for a Dream (Darren Aronofsky, 2000), just to mention a few. There is a lack of focus that prevents the story from tying up in a whole. It is part social drama, part comedy, part thriller and an overall attempt to be ultra-cool. However it possesses neither the charm nor the heart or the passion it aspires to. It only succeeds in putting people off from ever setting foot in Caracas.

Just for the sake of it: The story is about a kidnapping gang in the Venezuelan capital. They target rich people, kidnap them and demand a ransom to be delivered in a couple of hours' time, after which the abductee is released. Hence the title of the film which would translate to Express Kidnap.

Tickets (Ermanno Olmi, Abbas Kiarostami, Ken Loach, 2005)

2006-11-06T22:39:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 6

I have many a times looked at people on the bus or strolling down the road and wondered what their history is. Who are the people they meet, what jobs they have, hobbies, preferred vocabulary, skeletons in the closet, regrets, embarassments. Wondered what being consciously them actually feels like. This film reminded me of these musings I sometimes have.

It is divided in three parts, each of them connected with the other. One film, three stories linked by a common factor, in this case a train. In true Jim Jarmusch style. However, unlike Jarmusch (with the exception of Broken Flowers, 2005), the three stories blend together fluently, having the characters participating in more than one episode. There is the elderly pharmacologist (Carlo Delle Piane) infatuated with the beautiful and much younger assistant (Valeria Bruni Tedeschi); the bossy widow of the general (Silvana De Santis?) and her helper Filippo; and finally the three Celtic fans on their way to the Champions League match. Each part of the film focuses on these particular characters but then again there is the Albanian family whose presence recurs in two of the stories, as does the the ticket inspector. This tactic sort of blurs the beginning and end of one story from the other.

If plotwise the three stories blend together, they far from do so stylistically. The first episode concerning the pharmacologist is by far the best of the three. It dismisses chronology in favour of emotion and at times elicits the same feeling of a Leonard Cohen song. The second story, that of the bullying widow, is cleverly filmed, continuously shifting the point of view from Filippo's to that of the bossy woman by employing the simple yet effective strategy of off screen dialogue. The third story, involving the football fans, is filmed in a straightforward fashion even though it is arguably the most entertaining.

Overall a good film but very inconsistent.

Kakushi ken oni no tsume (Yoji Yamada, 2004)

2006-11-05T22:59:00.000+01:00

aka The Hidden Blade
International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 5

I find it incredible how refreshing samurai films can be. Given that they more or less tackle the same issues over and over again, particularly the challenges of living an alternative lifestyle to the traditional one, and the difficulty of adapting to the new discoveries of the West, it's amazing. I find myself awestruck at the many hues that the filmmakers manage to conjure within these limited confines. It's like painting an amazing number of amazing landscapes using just two colours.

Surely, the credit goes to their incredible sensitivity towards the human condition. Nothing is trivial. Nothing is irrelevant. Eevrything happens for a purpose and therefore deserves to be perused and given its due attention.

In Yamada's film, change is the main protagonist. The wind of the West cannot be held back and it is making its presence felt in Japan. The samurai are slowly but steadily becoming obsolete, even though in many instances we get the impression that the process of deterioration commenced long before the advent of the much maligned/admired firearms. The soul of the samurai is rotten. The only one still believing genuinely in this noble code is Katagiri (Masatoshi Nagase). For him, being a samurai is all about honor, discipline and duty. There is Kie (Takako Matsu) who embodies the ideal traits that a traditional Japanese woman should have. However these are abused of by her husband and she ends up going back to her former employer's (Katagiri) service as a maid.

The relationship between Katagiri and Kie remains platonic even though it is obvious that the two are attracted towards each other. But their belief in doing things the proper way keeps them from taking the relationship too far. Nonetheless, the village people gossip as they (hypocritically) deem the situation of having a bachelor and a divorced, young woman living together as inappropriate. The samurai and the maid do not give a toss. Therefore, in their own way, Katagiri and Kie are being subversive. Maybe being true to oneself is the most radical stance of all.

This is splendidly portrayed during a walk the two of them take on the beach. There is a brief moment when the camera pauses to block them next to each other, with their backs turned towards the audience as they watch the waves rolling in. After a couple of seconds they move on.

Die Fetten Jahre sind vorbei (Hans Weingartner, 2004)

2006-11-04T22:12:00.000+01:00

aka The Edukators
International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 4

The fourth film shown hails from Germany. It tells the tale of Jan (Daniel Bruhl) and Peter (Stipe Erceg), two friends who break in the houses of very rich people, move everything around and leave. There would be a note, warning the owners that their days of plenty are over. Nothing is stolen or damaged - the aim of the exercise is to elicit fear in the capitalist bourgeois.

Of course there is also a girl, Jule (Julia Jentsch). She is Peter's girlfriend and soon becomes involved in the two youth's crusade. However things don't take that long to turn awry and what was a relatively harmless exercise soon turns out to be a pretty serious affair.

Weingartner's film takes the protagonists' mission to heart and at no point does it look down upon them. There are shortcomings to what they do but these stem from lack of maturity rather than the three friends' ideology per se. The idea to move location from the dull, claustrophobic city to the open countryside in the middle of the mountains is brilliant. It is the perfect backdrop for the much-needed introspection and self-exploration that the characters need to mature further. Out there in the middle of nowhere they have next to nothing but themselves to contend with.

Towards the end, the film has ample opportunity to patronise, belittle or dismiss the friends' ideology. However, by means of a clever though far from original twist, it turns the tables on the many compromises that past revolutionaries succumbed to at the expense of polluting their beliefs.

Volver (Pedro Almodovar, 2006)

2006-11-03T15:40:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 3

Pedro Almodovar is like chocolate cake: I can see why he's good but I just don't get him. His films (not that I have seen a lot of them, three or four at most) leave me cold. I won't be bored or annoyed, just flatlined. And despite the hype surrounding Volver, my keeness to like this film, the prospect of seeing Penelope Cruz larger than life on the cinema screen, the super-duper reviews I came across; despite all these, Almodovar did not disappoint and I came out of the cinema raving about the end-credit sequence and nothing else.

The story is engaging even though harping about the plot twist is missing the point entirely. A relatively alert spectator will figure everything out twenty minutes into the film. What Almodovar is really interested in are the ghosts that the female protagonists carry around with them. Very Hitchcockian. In fact, during the scene involving the dead man, there is more than a passing nod to the Master of Suspense, including a Bernard Herrmann-like soundtrack.

Anyway, in a film full of regret, secrets and half truths, the actors' performance plays a very important role. They make it or break it. In this department, hats off to Mr. Almodovar who is a great director of actors. Although Penelope Cruz has received rave reviews and accolades seemingly the whole world over, my favourite was Lola Duenas who played her sister Sole. It wasn't easy to share the same space with the charisma, beauty and passion of Cruz; but Duenas managed and passed the test with flying colours.

Besides the aforementioned end credit sequence, for me the highlight of the film was at the other end, the very beginning. The scene with the women cleaning the graves amidst a very annoying East wind sets the pace splendidly for everything that follows.

If only the rest of the film lived up to its own expectations.

Machuca (Andres Wood, 2004)

2006-11-02T14:31:00.000+01:00

International Film Festival - Malta 2006
Day 2

Flabbergasted is the way I felt after watching this film. It is as near a perfect cinematic experience as I could ever hope for. The film is flawless in every department. It is a masterpiece, and I have no qualms in claiming it even though I've seen it just this one time (something that is going to be remedied soon enough after I visit play.)

Nothing whatsoever prepared me for this. The film delivers passion and emotion in spadefuls. The story revolves around two children: Gonzalo (Matias Quer) who comes from a poshy neighbourhood and a relatively high standard of living, mostly thanks to his mother's (Aline Kuppenheim) calculated whoring; and Pedro Machuca (Ariel Mateluna), a boy who comes from the slum area of the province and who is permitted to attend the same school as Gonzalo due to a special concession granted by the headmaster. There's also Silvana (Manuela Martelli), Pedro's cousin, with whom Gonzalo falls in love. Her influence simultaneously creates and assuages tension between the two boys.

The story has coming-of-age written all over it and director Andres Wood exploits the children's maturing process to underscore the rotten core of the society they are living in. The country is in shambles, divided between the rich and the poor, with no space for grey areas. Black market prospers, whether it is for cigarettes, meat, chocolate or books; and you get to get stuff depending on who you know or, as is the case of Gonzalo, whom your mother sleeps with (in this instance Federico Luppi, whom I had lost touch with after Cronos (Guillermo del Toro, 1993)). As the film progresses, the children mature whereas the country immerses itself in murkier waters.

The children strive to make sense of all this confusion, and when they do not, they just move along guided by their instincts. In fact we only get to see snippets of the revolution as such, and most of them towards the end of the film. Andres Wood is more interested in the children's perspective and how the political upheaval is effecting their point of view. (It would be interesting to look up some information about the revolution per se, as I have the feeling that Wood projected the dynamics of the country's political division on Gonzalo and Pedro.)

The highlight of the entire film is a scene where Gonzalo, Pedro and Silvana are sitting in a junk yard drinking condensed milk. The scene shifts from the playful to the erotic to the maternal with such an ease as to leave you dumbstruck. It literally creeped me out; so simple yet so beautiful, as all poetry should be.

Le Promeneur du champ de Mars (Robert Guediguian, 2005)

2006-11-01T09:43:00.000+01:00

aka The Last Miterrand

This is the first film screened as part of the International Film Festival - Malta 2006. I was at first reluctant to go and watch it as I have an aversion for anything political whose aim is merely to chronicle a historical period and/or figure without having a good dose of poetic license. I have my Discovery and Biography Channel for that, thank you very much. However, the film turned out to be quite different from what I thought it would be. Much of my prejudice stemmed from the English title given to this film. The French original is much more intriguing and faithful to the spirit of the film.

Guediguian's main focus is Miterrand the human being as opposed to Miterrand the politician. Nonetheless the distinction is not that clear cut as the French president's outlook on life is (obviously) very much influenced by his politics and vice versa. Politics taught him about life and life taught him about politics. Michel Bouquet is mesmerising as Le President and, as my friend Peter remarked during the film, seeing him on screen is like conversing with a wise old man who has gone through a lot in his life and who learnt that the most important thing is to call a spade a spade. And when circumstances call for compromises it is no big deal to disguise the said implement as something else as long as you keep it constantly well in focus.

Of course one chooses to agree or disagree with this, but that was Le President as given to us by Guediguian. I know nothing about the historical figure (have to keep an eye on the Biography Channel schedule). But the director was very careful in maintaining an impartiality to all this. He showed us a charming man who could be incredibly blunt and hard-headed. As in most films where you have a strong historical figure occupying the main role, the main story would really be about the secondary character who in this case is Antoine Moreau (Jalil Lespert). Antoine has been hired by Miterrand to chronicle his life. In true French fashion we get numerous shots of Antoine moving deep inside the frame of the picture, forever searching inside himself to try and distinguish between the illusory windmills and his real meaning in life, through the perusal of this man's life. There are numerous references to Don Quixote and one can say the film is Sancho Panza's (in this case Antoine's) voyage of discovery.

In fact the truly great moment in this film is when Antoine goes to a bookshop to buy a birthday gift to Le President. The shopkeeper suggests a very old copy of Don Quixote whose price turns out to be prohibitive for the humble journalist. Therefore Antoine goes for another book. When he gives the book to Miterrand, the latter describes the author of the book as being a visionary, but somewhat blind. Miterrand is grateful for the gesture but does not really appreciate the gift. Some people are meant to be a Don; to have a vision and do their damnedest to achieve it. But others are destined to glimpse this vision without ever having the opportunity to experience it themselves. Some are meant to be Sancho Panza. However even the Sancho Panzas of this world have a purpose, and an important one at that; they are the messengers of this vision.

Some other memorable moments: when Le President gives Antoine some advice on the ideal woman; when he tells him that he must sneer at adversities; and not to confuse mankind for himself.