In light of Roger Ebert’s latest inclusion of Sofia Coppola’s masterpiece Lost in Translation (2003) into his Great Movies archive, I have selected one of its best scenes with dialogue I hadn’t understood completely. Until now.

No, it is not the inaudible whisper before the movie’s end. I don’t ever want to know what Bob (Bill Murray) said to Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) before they parted ways. That is between them and it is none of my business.

The scene in question is the awkward taping of the “Suntory Time” commercial. Like Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt before him, Bob Harris is one of many American actors being paid big bucks for promoting a product strictly for Japanese television. Not knowing a word beyond “saki,” Bob is at the mercy of a hyperactive director (Yutaka Tadokoro) and his kookily incompetent interpreter (Akiko Takeshita). The director passionately delivers lengthy instructions while the interpreter summarizes. This is serious business, but their struggle to communicate is as funny as a misunderstanding between Abbott and Costello. They’re all floundering, but there is no condescension. The human comedy works because the characters are sincere. We really feel for them and laughter alleviates the tension.

I was intrigued to find out more about this tidbit that Ebert wrote about:

There is wonderful comedy in the film, involving the ad agency’s photo shoot for the Suntory Scotch commercial and Bob’s guest shot on the “Japanese Johnny Carson.” But Coppola remains firmly grounded in reality. The Japanese director seems to be spouting hysterical nonsense until you find a translation online and understand what he’s saying and why. He’s not without humor. The translator seems to be simplifying, but now we understand what she’s doing. There’s nothing implausible about the scene. Anyone who watches Japanese TV, even via YouTube, knows the TV show is straight from life. Notice the microscopic look Murray gives the camera to signal “just kidding.”

You can read his complete review here.

There’s a translation online! Why didn’t I think of Goggling it in the last seven years? I love this scene so much that it has become a infectious meme when I’m faced with either trying to explain something to someone or the other way around. My mind usually echoes Ms. Takeshita’s voice, “More… intensity!” The scene works just as well as any scene could without knowing what the Japanese are actually saying. However, discovering what they are saying is just as rewarding. A great deal of thought and wit went into their dialogue. Could we expect any less from Ms. Coppola? She is truly at the top of her game.

“Suntory Times” Scene with English Subtitles

What Else Was Lost in Translation

Motoko Rich originally published the translated text on September 21, 2003 in the New York Times.

(http://www.nytimes.com/2003/09/21/fashion/21LOST.html)

DIRECTOR
(in Japanese to the interpreter)
The translation is very important, O.K.? The translation.

INTERPRETER
Yes, of course. I understand.

DIRECTOR
Mr. Bob-san. You are sitting quietly in your study. And then
there is a bottle of Suntory whiskey on top of the table. You
understand, right? With wholehearted feeling, slowly, look at the
camera, tenderly, and as if you are meeting old friends, say the
words. As if you are Bogie in “Casablanca,” saying, “Cheers to you
guys,” Suntory time!

INTERPRETER
He wants you to turn, look in camera. O.K.?

BOB
That’s all he said?

INTERPRETER
Yes, turn to camera.

BOB
Does he want me to, to turn from the right or turn from the left?

INTERPRETER
(in very formal Japanese to the director)
He has prepared and is ready. And he wants to know, when the camera rolls,
would you prefer that he turn to the left, or would you prefer that he turn to
the right? And that is the kind of thing he would like to know, if you
don’t mind.

DIRECTOR
(very brusquely, and in much more colloquial Japanese)
Either way is fine. That kind of thing doesn’t matter. We don’t have
time, Bob-san, O.K.? You need to hurry. Raise the tension. Look at the
camera. Slowly, with passion. It’s passion that we want. Do you
understand?

INTERPRETER
(In English, to Bob)
Right side. And, uh, with intensity.

BOB
Is that everything? It seemed like he said quite a bit more than that.

DIRECTOR
What you are talking about is not just whiskey, you know. Do
you understand? It’s like you are meeting old friends. Softly,
tenderly. Gently. Let your feelings boil up. Tension is important!
Don’t forget.

INTERPRETER
(in English, to Bob)
Like an old friend, and into the camera.

BOB
O.K.

DIRECTOR
You understand? You love whiskey. It’s Suntory time! O.K.?

BOB
O.K.

DIRECTOR
O.K.? O.K., let’s roll. Start.

BOB
For relaxing times, make it Suntory time.

DIRECTOR
Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut!
(Then in a very male form of Japanese, like a father speaking
to a wayward child)
Don’t try to fool me. Don’t pretend you don’t understand. Do you
even understand what we are trying to do? Suntory is very exclusive.
The sound of the words is important. It’s an expensive drink. This is
No. 1. Now do it again, and you have to feel that this is exclusive.
O.K.? This is not an everyday whiskey you know.

INTERPRETER
Could you do it slower and…?

DIRECTOR
With more ecstatic emotion.

INTERPRETER
More intensity.

DIRECTOR
(in English)
Suntory time! Roll.

BOB
For relaxing times, make it Suntory time.

DIRECTOR
Cut, cut, cut, cut, cut! God, I’m begging you!

In an interview, Ms. Coppola said she wrote the dialogue for the scene in English, and then it was translated into Japanese for Mr. Tadokoro. The scene, she said, came out of her own experience promoting her first feature film, “The Virgin Suicides,” in Japan. Whenever she would say something, she said, the interpreter would seemingly speak for much longer. “I would think that she was adding to what I was saying and getting carried away, so I wanted to have that in the scene.”

In the scene, Ms. Coppola said, Mr. Murray never did learn what the director was saying. “I like the fact that the American actors don’t really know what’s going on, just like the characters,” she said.

Frankly, it’s not clear that even if Bob-san had understood what the director said, it would have helped.

Ms. Coppola said she purposely gave the director “lame directions,” adding, “He wasn’t supposed to be the best director.”

Lost in Translation would be out of place on the Comedy shelf, however, the “Suntory Time” scene as well as more than a dozen got more giggles and belly laughs out of me than most of the official comedies released that year. (Terry Zwigoff’s Bad Santa (2003) was one of the few proud contenders.) It is a compliment that a film rich with humour due to its wise human observations doesn’t just stop there. Lost in Translation is an acute human drama and a mood piece. It’s so bittersweet that it stings. My heart wells up over the rare, delicate connection that Bob and Charlotte make in this time and place. They can never replicate that ever again. Thank God for that fire alarm…

“Lost in Translation” Trailer

Sean Connery is pleased with Suntory Whiskey.

“Shaken, not stirred.”

More Films by Sofia Coppola:

“The Virgin Suicides” (1999) Trailer

“Marie Antoinette” (2006) Teaser

“Marie Antoinette” (2006) Trailer

“Somewhere” (2010) Trailer

These are such poignant films…

© 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

At last I am pleased with the look of the site. Being a bloody perfectionist is a torture for me. Nothing ever feels truly done. My head whispers incessantly, “It is never enough.” What’s worse about internal complaints are the echoes. With a blast of relief, I can look at Cinelation and not squint over a detail too inane for most to notice. Actually, I am more than pleased with the result. It really does look wonderful now. The joy of being a bloody perfectionist!

In the Spring of 2008, I began writing for a modest movie blog with only promises of being paid for all my work – once it became profitable. One year later, those promises turned more transparent as fewer e-mails about compensation were returned. This was after I went up and beyond to get their website promoted on the Synecdoche, New York DVD without so much as two nickles to rub together. I am a genuinely faithful man, but my patience went from creaking to dilapidation. This couldn’t be avoided any further. I would have to build my own website to house my reviews.

After a month of being saturated with HTML setups , CSS codes and WordPress, a rough version of Cinelation saw some light.

At the time, I felt some measure of pride between this versus no Cinelation at all. Soon enough, the dust from the battle of building something as foreign as WordPress began to settle. More and more, my artistic eye noticed the flaws. A variety of improvements were necessary for Cinelation to look genuinely unique and professional.

Then I experienced a terrible setback when I upgraded to WordPress 2.9. There was no turning back. My content had to be transported into a new version of MySQL5 on my server. All because MySQL4 could never love after WordPress 2.8. My server of choice (Cough! 1&1 Cough!) gave me a Catch-22: I could move only 10MB of files when I had 20 times more than that to input. They could do that themselves – easy(!), but they figured I could do it myself despite that I couldn’t. After a dozen lengthy calls to technical support, one had enough pity on me to do it with their computer in less than ten minutes. All good? That was child’s play!

Once my text and images were converted into the new MySQL database, my heart sank into my intestines. All of the glyphs and punctuation symbols in my written work had turned into unintelligible computer code. Every quote (“) was “. Every François Truffaut was François Truffaut. Every comma. Every dash. Every article. It was a dismal few weeks replacing replicating the text to its original form. I can’t emphasize the dull agony of alone inspecting the end of every sentence to make sure it was either a period or an ellipse.

The hurdle was behind me and it was back to tweaking Cinelation’s looks.

Experimentation was practiced with widgets, graphics and their placement on an exacting pixel by pixel regiment. The most fun I had here was making the new header image, a collage of faces from some of my most treasured films. A great deal of thought was put into the who following the whys. Each character carries more than just a few associations to encompass just a glimmer of the past century’s worth of film history. Much of which is very personal as it should be. There are 24 characters in total. Why 24? Because like the number 3, 24 is a magic number.

I keep beaming every time I look at this. In a word by Carrie White’s English instructor (Sydney Lassick), “Beeeauuuutifuul!” – minus the condescension.

With the help of this visual diagram, I will identify the following players along with some commentary.

The Cinelation Collage

1. Nana Kleinfrankenheim (Anna Karina)
My Life to Live (1962)
Directed by Jean-Luc Godard

How fitting to begin with a film by the man who said, “The cinema is truth 24 frames per-second.”

2. Linda (Linda Manz)
Days of Heaven (1978)
Directed by Terrence Malick

-

3. Lumiere (Voiced by Jerry Orbach)
Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Directed by Gary Trousdale and Kirk Wise

-

4. Harry Lime (Orson Welles)
The Third Man (1949)
Directed by Carol Reed

-

5. Olivier (Olivier Gourmet)
The Son (Le Fils) (2003)
Directed by Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne

-

6. Barry Champlain (Eric Bogosian)
Talk Radio (1988)
Directed by Oliver Stone

7. Anton Ego (Voiced by Peter O’Toole)
Ratatouille (2007)
Directed by Brad Bird

-

8. Albert Spica (Michael Gambon)
The Cook the Thief His Wife & Her Lover (1989)
Directed by Peter Greenaway

-

9. Monsieur Hire (Michel Blanc)
Monsieur Hire (1989)
Directed by Patrice Leconte

10. The Joker (Voiced by Mark Hamill)
Batman: Mask of the Phantasm (1993)
Directed by Eric Radomski and Bruce W. Timm

-

11. HAL 9000 (Voiced by Douglas Rain)
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
Directed by Stanley Kubrick

-

12. Count Dracula (Klaus Kinski)
Nosferatu the Vampyre (1979)
Directed by Werner Herzog

-

13. Ofelia (Ivana Baquero)
Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)
Directed by Guillermo del Toro

-

14. Anonymous Bystander (Unidentified)
Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance (1982)
Directed by Godfrey Reggio

-

15. Gloria Morin (Barbara Steele)
8 ½ (1963)
Directed by Federico Fellini

16. Marion Crane (Janet Leigh)
Psycho (1960)
Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

-

17. Jack Skellington (Sung by Danny Elfman, Voiced by Chris Sarandon)
Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Directed by Henry Selick

-

18. Charlie Kaufman (Nicolas Cage)
Adaptation. (2002)
Directed by Spike Jonze

-

19. Opal from The BBC (Geraldine Chaplin)
Nashville (1975)
Directed by Robert Altman

-

20. Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis)
There Will Be Blood (2007)
Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

-

21. Eliza Doolittle (Audrey Hepburn)
My Fair Lady (1964)
Directed by George Cukor

22. Emma Murdoch (Jennifer Connelly)
Dark City (1998)
Directed by Alex Proyas

-

23. Karin (Harriet Andersson)
Through a Glass Darkly (1961)
Directed by Ingmar Bergman

-

24. A Soot Sprite
Spirited Away (2002)
Directed by Hayao Miyazaki

© 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

I’m Lookin’ For A Fox!

Do you feel your greatest talents are being squandered? Like there is no demand for your gifts and all you can do is struggle with jobs you should never have had to perform? At the end of the day, your real work lingers in a foggy distance, incomplete. Time passes quickly. You feel drained, stuck in a hole underground, looking out to make your mark and redeem yourself. This is how Mr. Fox feels. In this disarmingly charming (and quotable) film by Wes Anderson, as the fable goes, Mr. Fox risks the lives of others to use his talent for stealing chickens.

For a couple of years (twelve fox years), Mr. Fox has been married to the love of his life, Mrs. Fox (Meryl Streep) and father to their prepubescent son Ash (Jason Schwartzman). To do this, Mr. Fox swore never again to risk his life stealing food from the murderous farmers who rule the land. His modest income as an opinion columnist — another detail not of, yet worthy of Roald Dahl — doesn’t stop Mr. Fox’s ambitions of moving from his modest foxhole underground to live in a more upscale neighbourhood — a large, healthy tree. Because working for a newspaper lacks the thrill of chicken burglary, Mr. Fox jumps off the thieving wagon when he finds a new partner in crime in Kylie (Wally Wolodarsky), a soft-spoken, pudgy — but gutsy — little possum.

Cocksure Mr. Fox is forever young — cocky and sure of his invincibility — and takes everything for granted. While on a crime spree, he shows more interest in how the latest fox trap works than his own safety. Brimming with confidence, Mr. Fox tends to hog the spotlight. Watch him turn the attention back to him during a toast over a sumptuous banquet. Part of the fun is committing his forbidden theft under his wife’s nose and then watching her enjoy his catch.

He doesn’t give her powers of observation much credit as he stores his loot in plain sight — not to demean her on purpose, mind you — he’s just full of himself to the point of obliviousness. Mr. Fox shares a slyness — minus the malevolence — with Mr. Grinch. He’s so crooked that he could straighten a hill. Oh, and he loves calling his schemes “Master Plans”!

Anderson collaborates once again with writing partner Noah Baumbach after their most segregating work The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004) on adapting the Roald Dahl novel Fantastic Mr. Fox. Their screenplay is stuffed with delightful quirks such as “a quick karate lesson.” Anderson and Baumbach incorporate many idiosyncrasies independent of Dahl’s prose, but are perfect to the author’s original vision, nevertheless. Surely Dahl could have invented the droll and convoluted outdoor game Whackbat.

As with all of Anderson’s films starting with Bottle Rocket (1996), his main characters are driven to break the law out of their naïve view of rebellion. They get a thrill out of playing adult, but must also face that being an adult is just a sad ordeal. Just because they’ve grown up doesn’t mean that they’re going to let their inner child down. As adults, they zealously follow their renegade dreams that are founded on that childhood peace made possible by Cops and Robbers. What a lark to commit a robbery!

Had Max Fisher from Rushmore (1998) built that aquarium institution over the baseball field, he’d have enjoyed the rush of getting away with it. Leads like Fisher and Royal Tenenbaum would be so disappointed if they couldn’t play “the robber”. And that’s exactly what it is — play! All of Anderson’s characters are simply playing wicked. For instance, the would-be burglars in Bottle Rocket are truly innocent — a realization that Luke Wilson’s Anthony comes to when it’s too late. Anyone who would want to play “the cop” would not get a Wes Anderson film.

Even the cunning Mr. Fox is an innocent. He intends no harm while indulging his greatest heist fantasies, except for the chickens. Seeing no need for further suffering, Mr. Fox makes a point of applying one fatal bite to the neck.

Mr. Fox’s vulnerable son Ash deeply resents his more talented and elegant cousin, Kristofferson whose athleticism wows everyone including Mr. Fox. Though, like most Wes Anderson characters, Kristofferson (Eric Anderson) takes little joy from his talents and accomplishments. He is worried about his ailing father and correctly feels snubbed by Ash. My favourite scene between the two takes place over their bunk beds. Poor Kristofferson cries himself to sleep and Ash reluctantly finds a quiet way to cheer him up. These two critters represent the filmmakers’ returning theme of brotherhood.

The farmers Walter Boggis (Robin Hurlstone), Nathan Bunce (Hugo Guinness) and their malicious leader Franklin Bean (Michael Gambon) are all real grotesqueries. The casting of Gambon, who played the Thief in Peter Greenaway’s The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1990) — one of cinema’s greatest villains, as Bean is truly inspired. He makes villainy sound so genteel and slithery. Bean then hatches a Master Plan of his own involving excavators, dynamite and an ominous title card “Chapter Six: The Shooting”. How much of a threat is Bean? Bean puts spite over his fashionable attire. Considering he’s in a Wes Anderson feature, that’s big time!

Overshadowing the wrath of the farmers is the disintegration of the Fox family. Both writers have each dealt with the subject of divorce. For Anderson, it was The Royal Tenebaums (2001). For Baumbach, The Squid and the Whale (2005). The coldest realization of this is when Mrs. Fox, a resolute but not unkind realist, tells her husband, “I do love you, but I should never have married you.” For Mr. Fox, losing his beloved wife is worse than death. At one point, he glibly refers to his next course of action as a suicide mission. The way he says this plays slyly like both comedy and as a coping mechanism. Anderson and Baumbach have an underhanded way of holding a grave scenario from an humorous and ironic distance that instills total sincerity.

Anderson frankly establishes his characters with an explicit personality, talents and hobbies. The flavouring of these characters is richer, for example, the fact that Boggis eats four meals of chicken every day makes him more slimy. As an exceptional landscape painter, Mrs. Fox is compelled to incorporate natural disasters on her otherwise calming canvases. Her mindset is that of a hopeful cynic — wishing the best, expecting the worst.

As the title character, George Clooney is relaxed, cool, and carries the wiliness of a prankster — the kind who plots for laughs, but would be shamed if anyone took offense. Meryl Streep, always in great form, makes the subtle nuances of Mrs. Fox sound easy. Her character glows effortlessly, but she despairs for her husband’s tomfoolery. Jason Schwartzman as Ash has an uncanny ability to be confrontational that wells up from deep insecurity to great comic effect. In fact, Schwartzman is very good at playing a twelve-year-old. Even when he spits rebelliously on the floor, he’s so cute. Listen to the deadpan sullenness when he says, “You’re disloyal.”

Bill Murray is very convincing as a Badger who works as an attorney and who has good reason to be angry with Mr. Fox. Owen Wilson deftly handles his one scene as Coach Skip, a badger who knows the rules of Whackbat by heart (the running joke is that everyone understands dense instructions instantaneously) and can say, “You’re improving” — meaning exactly that. Willem Dafoe plays The Rat, a lackey to Bean, who is not shy about his salacious feelings toward Mrs. Fox. All of the characters act low-key to a degree, but their attitude is a stark contrast to their life-and-death situation. Their deadpan dialogue is occasionally stamped with equally deadpan (Futura Bold) title overlays.

Most animated shows feature animals who act exactly as humans would. They walk on two legs instead of four. They dress, talk and live just like people do. All of the “animal” of the animals have been sucked right out except for physical appearance. Fantastic Mr. Fox deviates from this trend; allowing its mammals to struggle with their human and animal characteristics. The creatures lose their composure under either great duress or bouts of ravenousness and let loose, growling.

Then again, people lose themselves under those circumstances as well. From human nature to just plain nature, there is a delicate poignancy to these “wild animals” who go to such extreme lengths to be civilized. However, Fantastic Mr. Fox is just a few beats short of approaching the heartbreaking and needful dignity of the well-suited chimpanzee Cornelius from George Miller’s masterpiece Babe: Pig in the City (1998).

Along with this year’s stellar animated entertainments Coraline and Where the Wild Things Are, Fantastic Mr. Fox is by far an acquired taste. I consider these movies to be substantial magic. I like it so much more because I feel that the film and I are sharing a conspiracy. If it appealed to everyone, it wouldn’t feel so personal. As entertainment for children, these polarizing films will do much more to shape them into more interesting people. Because a film is more intense and adult, it can provide a stimulating work of imagination and intelligence for the young.

You don’t think I got this way watching only movies that cater to that loose and restrictive idea known as “appropriate for children,” do you? Kids enjoy a little danger. A fox that talks about a double standard in regard to his wife’s past is still a talking fox. Along with Spike Jonze, Wes Anderson is one of the few filmmakers who get the way a child thinks. In The Royal Tenenbaums, where do Margot and Richie as kids run away to? The Museum of Natural History, of course!

Composer Alexandre Desplat (The Queen (2006) and my personal favourite Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003)) reinvents himself by embracing the Country genre with Spaghetti Western influences in a fresh, threatening and kooky manner. However, Desplat never condescends to the material and commands his score like it were an epic. He enlivens it with nervy touches such as prominent flutes, stringy plunks and twangs, and marching band drumming that all feel at home with a vintage Danny Elfman album. Occasional chimes and heavy drumbeats to signify dread also reminds me of Carter Burwell’s signature.

The use of Beach Boys songs Heroes and Villains and I Get Around also complement the bizarre soundtrack. This is the same Wes Anderson who played “You Are Forgiven” from The Who’s 9-minute A Quick One While He’s Away over Max and Mr. Blumes’ “This Means War” montage. The best in-joke is the use of the Nancy Adams song Love, which was written for Disney’s Robin Hood (1973) — another animated film starring a fox. Only Mr. and Mrs. Fox don’t inspire a gag reflex like the following sacrosanct scene by Disney.

BEWARE: “Love” from “Robin Hood” (1973)

I don’t care if Robin Hood gave all his money to the poor, he’s still a cheap date. And those eyes…Ewwww!

The overall animation is a springy mixture of rawness and delight. There is something a little unkempt and rustic about the textures here. Imagine if Nick Park (Chicken Run, 2000) and Jan Svankmajer (Alice, 1988: a 5-minute oddity stretched out to 86-minute endurance test) were forced to work together. These animals are not cuddly in a generic sense, though they possess a matured cuteness. Their fur looks both prickly and soft. To touch them, you’d have to be very careful and delicate with them.

The fox’s figures are finer than one would imagine: more tall and slender. The naturalness of the animals also makes them more charming and sympathetic than a caricature would. When little Kristofferson is held upside down by his leg, he looks so pitiful and defenseless. Appropriately enough, it is the chilly humans that look grossly unapproachable. Having worked on Will Vinton films, the animation director Mark Gustafson has brought a great deal of that sickly, albeit fascinating influence into this film. Other liberties are taken to show bizarre and alternate take of characters’ most subconscious attitudes like the frightened face shown at full front and a literal glow on a character experiencing bliss.

Will Vinton’s “The Great Cognito” (1982)

Everything is so splendidly artificial. Some professional visual effects artists go to pains to be invisible; Fantastic Mr. Fox openly relishes the joy of being effects. The painted backdrops for the skies look just like painted backdrops because the illusion is only half the fun. Why go to the Uncanny Valley if you can look at an actual sky outside? The coveted apple cider in Bean’s basement is justly described as liquid gold. Just as clever are the small details like the Badger skull T-shirt worn by one of the toddlers.

It was only a matter of time before Anderson crossed over to animation. Animators have the luxury of transforming the space within the frame with the unrealistic specifics of a perfectionist. Thanks to cinematographer Tristan Oliver and production designer Nelson Lowry whose colour scheme is very Autumn, Anderson continues to make every composition adhere to an exacting and geometrical design founded on a grid. While watching the film, I felt the compulsion to start drawing up vertical and horizontal lines measured acutely across the screen.

Somehow, the compositions are so painstaking that they look rather peculiar. These aesthetics were fully formed in Rushmore and carried out from there. Within the landscape, a thin strip of space is usually reserved for a small train that passes by from a great distance. In a perfect world, wouldn’t all of our last names illuminate our properties so harmoniously? Since most of the action is framed from a distance worthy of a Buster Keaton feature — Keaton: “Tragedy is a close-up; comedy is a long shot.” — the filmmakers gleefully jar us with extreme close-ups of wide, frightened eyeballs and gnashing teeth.

Wes Anderson is one of the most romantic of filmmakers we have today. Mr. Fox is a model to those who respect an extravagant and genteel pride in oneself. It is for whoever swoons over wishing their wife well with the blow of a kiss followed by complimenting dinner last night as “exquisite”. You know who you are. How telling it is that the Tenenbaum Family Plot should be considered a character of equal value with the rest of the characters illustrated in their own chapters. Given the limited hours out of a day, it would be impossible for Max Fischer, despite failing his classes, to attend so many after school activities, clubs, and direct his extravagant plays. In Wes Anderson’s universe, Fischer can be as busy as he pleases.

For those who enjoy Anderson’s brevity and eccentricity, I say put on your favourite bandit hat and have fun staging a coup on the chicken coop.

“Fantastic Mr. Fox” Trailer 1:

“Fantastic Mr. Fox” Trailer 2:

UPDATE: January 13, 2010

Wes Anderson accepts National Board of Review (NBR) Award in stop-motion animation.

I’ve always wondered what Wes Anderson’s power animal is and now I know.

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Hard-Won Struggle Against Child Abuse

The odds are against Clarice “Precious” Jones (Gabourey Sidibe). How does she find the will to get up in the morning and go to school? It seems as though everyone is either punishing her or ignoring her. At 16, she is pregnant for the second time by her scumbag father. Her self-esteem is all but destroyed by her vicious mother (Mo’Nique). She is illiterate, but not stupid. As a poor African-American woman living in Harlem in 1987, her options are limited. If incest, racism, sexism and classism weren’t enough, Precious is also targeted for being obese. She can hardly bear to face anyone let alone speak in a guarded whisper. Her pain is so definite. Society and her parents have failed her, however, Precious is still holding on.

We never pity her because anyone would be devastated if struck with her afflictions. What fascinates me still is that Precious takes the time to brush her hair nicely and wears necklaces. She obviously has a fighting spirit. This is her rebuke to all who vilify her. It may be a small one, but it’s there. She is going to look her best, dammit. Her only other refuge is to fantasize. In a harrowing scene, she remembers how her father raped her in her bedroom one night. Her mother watches from behind the door frame with timidity and — oh dear God! — jealousy. It is so horrible that the ceiling cracks and in a faraway place, Precious walks up a red carpet to her own premiere looking gorgeous for the adulated crowd. Perhaps, I shouldn’t be so astonished to find Precious putting on such a brave front. People are notoriously stubborn to survive personal attacks.

The case of Precious is really about how deadly living in a toxic family is. It is also about how body image can ruin self-worth, which is a grave factor all by itself. However, the worst thing happening to Precious is the abuse she receives from her parents. An overweight and mentally-struggling person can still be happy with the support of loved ones. Precious is unloved and can only go so far alone.

Precious is told with the horror and uplifting tone of a fairy tale. Her father is never home, but his presence is always felt. He haunts Precious and her mother Mary, a woman whose insecurities have made her so twisted and self-loathing that she views her daughter as competition. She even treats her like a housekeeper, like Cinderella. It would just kill Mary to see Precious ahead of her own slothful level in life. She comes up with punishments like forcing Precious to eat copious amounts of burnt, fried food. Mary holds Precious hostage by keeping the girl’s firstborn hidden in the care of a relative. The name of Precious alone is such a irony to Mary that it deserves comparison in terms of sadism to Frollo naming the disfigured child he adopted Quasimodo — half-formed.

Precious’ life takes a radical turn after her high school principal encourages the pregnant teen to attend an adult GED program called “Each One Teach One”. Self-serving Mary forbids this and demands that Precious apply for welfare. Precious does both, sneaking to continue her education, and connects with two working women who become her saviors. One is a sunny teacher named Miss Rain (Paula Patton) who builds up Precious’ confidence and the other is Mrs. Weiss (Mariah Carey), a social worker who takes a vested interest in her. Learning to read and nearing the delivery of her pregnancy, Precious slowly begins to open herself up to people who could possibly help her. She also manages to form fragile friendships with her classmates.

Faithfully adapted by Geoffrey Fletcher, Precious was based on Push (1996), the only novel written by Sapphire. She was a highly regarded underground poet and writer who was no stranger to struggling for an education due to her family’s abandonment. Push uses its raw text (“I is ready. Ready for school. School gonna help me get out dis house.”) to convey Precious’ illiteracy from her point of view and demonstrates how she improves herself through her writing. Like Celie’s voice in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, this literary device is used effectively in the sparse titles in the film. From there, director Lee Daniels has crafted a very fine film. As producer of Monster’s Ball (2001) and The Woodsman (2004), Daniels makes Precious look more expensive than his tightly-budgeted independent film lets on. Daniels also shows his continued interest in portraying conflicted characters in a very humane way that does not shy away from the horror of their lives.

It is very astute the way Mary’s abuse toward Precious is depicted. Instead of spreading out the torture in little bits, we are confronted with the blunt, unforgiving force of Mary’s rage. As Precious stands frozen with fear and resignation at the top of the stairs, she absorbs a long and merciless monologue of obscene insults. Here’s a taste: “I should have aborted your ass!” A beating that follows is held off-screen where a fade to black settles the aftershock even further. Again, I am astonished Precious hasn’t killed herself after living with this monster for years. Perhaps she copes because this treatment is all she knows. When Precious is loved, she breaks.

There is one temptation that the filmmakers never succumb to and that is giving Precious a boyfriend. It’s so devastating that her father is the only guy to have touched her. This film is tough and expects the same of us as well. Whether Precious finds her prince is reserved for speculation into her unknown future. As a victim of incest, it’s a good question how she can ever trust another man to get close to her at all. The goal of this story is to see if Precious can achieve independence through her education. Perhaps the most heartbreaking observation Precious makes is, “Why should people who don’t know me are nicer to me than my mommy and daddy?” At least Precious has an opportunity to play matchmaker in a scene that ends with one of the funniest telephone hang-up I have seen besides in Ed Wood (1994).

For all of the truly dark places Precious ventures into, Daniels and Fletcher have the freedom and ingenuity to fill Precious’ journey with some great wit and warmth. Comic relief is such a bad word in stories like this, but it is used wisely here without diluting the seriousness. Laughter is a hell of a defense. Has there ever been a better scene of a mother tickling her baby? The welcome levity of the classroom scenes, those in a hospital as well as a surprising riff on Vittorio De Sica’s La Ciociara (1960) relieve us of Precious’ tragedies, but makes them even more wounding when the demons return.

The characters feel more extreme, but no one here is a caricature. They are founded on thoughtful motivation and detail. When asked to read aloud, Precious is completely vulnerable when perplexed by the letters. “They all look the same to me.” The character of Precious is such an approachable and sympathetic character to root for. This is one of the reasons mainstream audiences will gravitate toward Precious, a film whose horrific subject matter is usually reserved for more hardened moviegoers. No doubt the support that Oprah and Tyler Perry are giving Precious by signing as producers after it was made will expand the film’s limited release. Kind of ironic since Daniels’ family often bugs him why he doesn’t make popular movies like Perry’s Madea comedies.

Small details make the period convincing; for instance, watch out for a reference of a certain film about Charles Bukowski. Precious has the feel of a docudrama at times. The camera wavers a little and on rare occasions makes that jittery zoom-in to create a sense of spontaneity. Mostly images are fairly smooth or completely still. Some camera operators feel compelled to shake their camera as violently as though they were shaking the audience’s shoulders while screaming “This is REAL!” The cinematography by Andrew Dunn and Darren Lew avoids this tactic, opting for subtlety on the rough Harlem streets and the bare cubicles of the government agency. Interior spaces are given more theatrically to convey the drama. Inside the dingy apartment with Mary, black shadows scratches up the overly harsh oranges and yellow wallpaper like a tacky hellhole. The classroom where Ms. Rain teaches tends to glow coolly, like a lighthouse beacon.

The film penetrates our defenses and completely absorbs us. Because the circumstances are so dire, it would have been insulting to tone down the viciousness of Mary out of some pious sense of political correctness. I appreciate how fearless Daniels is in portraying Precious as a genuine victim of abuse as horrible and real as it is for the thousands of Preciouses living and suffering now. There are so many revelations among the performers. Newcomer Gabourey Sidibe is all the better for having no method or experience as an actor. Somehow, she accumulates great range with her powerhouse performance as a sad, defiant survivor. This fall, Precious joins Lone Scherfig’s An Education as another excellent film about a specific teenage girl’s coming of age.

Coming from a theatre background, Daniels approached his film from that perspective. To get these performances, instead of rehearsing, Daniels revealed his deepest fears and lusts, which left everyone raw and open. Having established trust, he directed in a fashion he calls “primal”, and he also admitted to speaking in tongues. No egos were allowed on the set. Not even makeup. Pop celebrities like Carey, Patton and Mo’Nique not only look authentic in this environment, but this method set their acting chops on high. As the social worker, Carey is very compelling. Patton too is able to do just as much from a warm place. Also deserving a nod is Lenny Kravitz as a very kind nurse. This reminds me of the casting for Tim Blake Nelson’s merciless masterpiece The Grey Zone (2002). What are David Arquette and Natasha Lyonne doing in a brutal Holocaust film? Oh right! They’re talented actors making good on roles that their mainstream celebrity sabotages their chances of actually getting in the first place.

For me, the standout is Mo’Nique because she goes down into the most bleak place as Mary Jones. Mary is one of the best contemporary villains because she is such a very credible monster. What makes Mary all the more despicable is that she plays ‘the good mom’ when her welfare officer visits. She knows how to act lovingly and how to say he right things. Her cruelty is not based on ignorance. She chooses to inflict her family with base and gruesome torture. Precious doesn’t dare spread her wings because her mother has the clippers ready.

It is incredibly unnerving when Mary holds Precious’ newborn baby with one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. She makes a chilling observation, “He has your father’s eyes.” The whole time I was thinking about that cigarette. What Mary does next is just as shocking. An encounter near the end of the film has Mary, Mrs. Weiss, and Precious in a verbal standoff that unleashes relentless power. Mary is pushed to explain the moment where she came to resent her daughter. Where it comes from reveals such utter and astonishing depths of self-loathing. If Precious has chance, then Mary is at once irreparably damaged and unforgivable.

At the 28th Vancouver International Film Festival, Lee Daniels was in attendance for a Q&A. Asked why he made the film, Daniels told us about a shocking sight he saw at twelve years old on a hot Saturday afternoon at 3 pm. Four houses up from where he lived, he and his mother knocked on the door. It opened. A five-year-old girl stood before them. Naked. Bleeding out of her genitals. Crying. “My momma’s gonna kill me!” Daniels had never seen fear in his mother’s eyes until that moment. He felt nausea and anger. Years later he read Push and those feelings and memories came flooding back. By making the film, Daniels wanted to heal himself as well as others.

“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Trailer

“Black Pearl” (1969) | The Checkmates

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

No Free Passes

One of the many things Lone Scherfig’s An Education gets right is show how wisdom comes suddenly. Take Jenny (Carey Mulligan, who is simply wonderful), a schoolgirl who at 16 is the brightest in her class, and fancies herself mature, sophisticated and wise. She actually does know a great deal and sometimes she is right on the money. Feeling restless and stuck in the straitlaced, lushly coloured town of Twickenham, London circa 1961, Jenny yearns for novelty and passion. This is two years before four guys from Liverpool would have turned her disillusionment on its head. For now, she sings along with her Juliette Greco LP (Sous Le Ciel De Paris) amongst other French singers in her bedroom. Those reminded of the Mario Lanza craze of Pauline (Melanie Lynskey) from Heavenly Creatures (1994) should take comfort that they are not alone. When she decides to allow herself to be courted by a 35-year-old named David (Peter Sarsgaard), know that David isn’t the only one with ulterior motives beneath the designs to woo. But she still has so much more to learn. For starters, to stay away from baddies like David.

Jenny studies vigorously in hope of going to Oxford where she can escape the mundanity of her middle class upbringing, “I’m going to talk to people who know lots and lots.” One rainy afternoon, she comes across David, who looks smart, is exceedingly charming, and drives a burgundy Bristol sports car. He offers her a ride. Eventually, she accepts. He looks harmless enough. What does David do for a living? “Property. A little art dealing. Selling this and that.” Where did he study? “I went to the University of Life. I didn’t get a good degree there.” Plus he’s Jewish, an exotic find as rare as well…Bristols! From there, Jenny is instantly smitten with this well-to-do gentleman and renegade. Jenny is so indifferent to her country and wants very much to enjoy France. To such a bored Brit, Jenny thrives to consume the cool French delights of cigarettes, Jazz and the French New Wave — Resnais, Goddard, Truffaut and Varda.

Her father Jack (Alfred Molina), a middle-class immigrant, has little sympathy for her appetites. He goes on about financial realities, forever dwelling on practicalities and studying. When Jenny considers taking a year off from school after graduating, her father asks, “What for?” This is a time where a woman’s education meant finding a suitor, not a career. Jenny is good at playing the cello, however, Jack dismisses that strength as something she’ll put aside in the working world. He is even more tough on the boys she brings home. Softening the blow is her mother Majorie (Cara Seymour) who has different ways of being both knowing and clueless as her husband. Understand that they are truly proud of their daughter and love her so. They just make the mistake of making her future sound like work when it ought to be celebrated. No wonder Jenny is attracted to David, he can open high end doors and afford her expensive things like idealism.

Prepared with gifts, David eventually visits Jenny’s parents. Dressed in a good suit, he boasts about his Oxford education and name drops C.S. Lewis (“We just…got along!”). Why, he even uses the “Jenny’s sister” line on her mother and it works! Jack is taken by David’s appearance and reveals so much by saying “You’re not the sort of person I’d be against.” Jack and Majorie assume the relationship is platonic — a good connection to getting Jenny into Oxford. The idea, so obvious in these contemporary times, that David intends to deflower their daughter isn’t given so much of a spark. They are very much as victimized as their daughter, who relied on their protection. Later, it isn’t question of how much older this man is to their underage daughter. It becomes a question of whether he can provide a better life for her. “That’s what you need. Someone on the make.” It isn’t simple enough to sigh, “Those Europeans!” However, Jenny knows that David wants sex. She’d like to have sex with him too. It’s like discovering a new power. She is sensible enough to know 16 is too young to give up her virginity. 17 sounds right to her.

Director Lone Scherfig has made a gem of a film — a throwback to classy Hollywood romances made half a century ago that turns subversive. To showcase the attention brought to the production, there is a small period detail in An Education that the invaluable AMC series Mad Men also uses, which is that in the 1960s all of the fruit is much smaller. You’ll notice it when David makes an unwholesome proposition to Jenny late one night in their hotel room. At this point, Jenny is more concerned about David’s baby talk (“You’re my Minnie Mouse!”). A good argument could be made that Jenny would have caught on sooner if she wasn’t so willing deceive herself as much as David is. It is human nature to want to be part of a con so long as the consequences can be ignored. Look at Catherine Breillat’s Fat Girl (2002) where Anaïs (Anaïs Pingot) listens skeptically to Fernando and believes him anyway.

It is no wonder why audiences and critics are going gaga over newcomer Carey Mulligan. Her sublime performance in An Education announces that she is here to stay. Now everyone has been saying it so I will say it only once… Audrey Hepburn. Watching certain scenes, it is impossible not to recall Roman Holiday (1953) and Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), especially when Jenny is all dolled up like Holly Golightly. Yet I still feel that’s too small a box for Mulligan because she is very much her own woman. She is so convincing as a teenager in her mannerisms and using her petiteness for good measure that one almost forgets she is really twenty-four years old. Adult actors playing high school students are often unrealistic like when Anne Hathaway — who has proved truly accomplished in comedy and drama with last year’s Get Smart and Rachel Getting Married — played a gawky teen made over in The Princess Diaries (2001) as well as countless high school-centered sitcoms. Mulligan is completely in command as Jenny — engaging, funny, headstrong and worthy of our sympathy. Like Hathaway last year, it is a given that Carey Mulligan will be nominated as Best Actress.

Peter Sarsgaard, an American actor aptly affecting an European accent, has the challenge of making David attractive and charming in a way that makes observers nervous. This he accomplishes and then some. His character reminds me a little of Ewan McGregor’s Catcher Block from Down With Love (2003). The way he suggests “a spot of supper” is so swoon-worthy that he wins our admiration despite our misgivings. He’s so good at manipulation. This can’t end well, but at least the descent down is rather dreamy. For all of his dashing smiles, wit and bravado, he leaks out tiny drips of cowardice and sneakiness until everyone is up to their waists in deceit. As a villain we love to hate, his most insidious power is being so damned lovable at first.

David invites Jenny into his social circle that include his brother Danny (Dominic Cooper) and friend Helen (Rosamund Pike). They hit the clubs, art auctions and dog races. Helen, a socialite takes the most delight in making a show of Jenny’s pretensions: “Why would you say it in French?” Her insults are served with a ferocious smile. If Helen could, she’d drown the ocean if only to obliterate the clouds where Jenny’s head is. Danny keeps his opinions to himself and exchanges looks of worry with Helen. David is a hell of a chaperon though. He has the uncanny ability to find fun and invention on their excursions. What’s more, David genuinely enjoys Jenny’s company.

The screenplay is very sly. For instance, having Helen show what a snob she is only to reveal what her values really are. There are sneaky ways of revealing contradictions and hidden convictions. Another wise decision is to know when to use Graham (Matthew Beard), a nice boy Jenny’s age, and when to drop him. After inviting Jenny out, Graham is oblivious to the subtext when one of Jenny’s friends explains, “She doesn’t have time for boys!” Seeing Graham again in the last one-third would have muddied up the drama. The film parallels the winning charm of Jenny starstruck at the beginning of love as deceptions and foul undercurrents are slowly revealed. This isn’t some romp that is safely netted by dangers extending at most for a few months or a year. The stakes become extremely high because Jenny is in danger of ruining her life. Illusions of indestructibly come with a limit of years spent.

An Education was faithfully adapted for the screen by English novelist Nick Hornby on the short memoir of Lynn Barber, which you should definitely read. An excerpt from her book can be found at The Guardian’s The Observer.

“Simon took me to an Italian place in Marylebone and of course I was dazzled. I had never been to a proper restaurant before, only to tea rooms with my parents. I didn’t understand the menu, but I loved the big pepper grinders and the heavy cutlery, the crêpe suzettes and the champagne. I was also dazzled by Simon’s conversation. Again, I understood very little of it, partly because his accent was so strange, but also because it ranged across places and activities I could hardly imagine. My knowledge of the world was based on Shakespeare, Jane Austen, George Eliot and the Brontes, and none of them had a word to say about living on a kibbutz or making Molotov cocktails. I felt I had nothing to bring to the conversational feast and blushed when Simon urged me to tell him about my schoolfriends, my teachers, my prize-winning essays. I didn’t realise then that my being a schoolgirl was a large part of my attraction.”

This is Hornby’s second screenplay credit after the UK version of Fever Pitch. Hornby (High Fideilty (2000), About A Boy (2002)) is infamous for his tight, challenging comedies that center on young men trying to connect with women using or despite their vices. His works hold insights into human nature through a real confiding confidence. An Education isn’t so much of a stretch for Hornby because Jenny’s character is just as peculiar and hopeful as Will Freeman from About A Boy, a man who truly believes that every man is an island.

Nick Hornby is one of those enlightened few who know that writing for women is not a radical departure from writing for men. Predecessors like Paul Cox for A Woman’s Tale (1991), Stephen King for Dolores Claiborne (1995), and Mike Leigh for Happy Go-Lucky (2008) demonstrate this in spades. There is no adherence to stereotypes, nor lame generalizations that keep the sexes at odds with each other and late-night comics in business. Jenny is not merely written as “a girl” as transparently as so many screenwriters in Hollywood do. Jenny is a richly drawn character with qualities good and bad, who has the freedom to grow and screw up like everyone does. In fact, there are times when Jenny is downright nasty. The fact that I have to point this out should be as ludicrous as singling out Kathryn Bigelow for directing men so naturally in The Hurt Locker (2008). We live a society where the female perspective is treated with condescension and shallowness.

An Education begins jovially with one of the very best main title sequences of the year — right there with Moon, 500 Days of Summer, Nightwatching and Watchmen — an animated sequence of silly doodles, educational diagrams and dance steps done in chalk to the punchy jazz beats of Floyd Cramer’s On The Rebound. A very telling title relating to Jenny comes from Beth Rowley’s song You’ve Got Me Wrapped Around Your Little Finger. The filmmakers have a good sense of humour to include the theme from Percy Faith’s A Summer Place (1959). Paul Englishby’s romantic and wistful score, which is mainly based on flutes and strings, has good command of its subtlety and desire. The cinematography by John de Borman (Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, 2008 — Englishby also scored that film) has a subtle flavour of Old Hollywood. Everything looks natural, albeit richer. The English town possesses hues made only possible by sunlight after a light shower.

A round of supporting roles do a deft job with their characters in a limited amount of time. Lucy Bevan deserves an exquisite bouquets of flowers for casting this film. Alfred Molina is very good as a controlling father who means well. His obsession with classism is appallingly hilarious. Listen to how he says, “What are you? A teddy boy!” Cara Seymore, who deserves to be the lead in her own film someday, has small gestures that go a long way — notice the way she purses her lips. Olivia Williams is quite effective as Miss Stubbs, an ever-concerned teacher who tries to steer Jenny to safety. Williams is almost unrecognizable here, it took me four of her scenes to make me realize that she was Miss Cross from Wes Anderson’s Rushmore (1998). Emma Thompson, one of the most welcome actresses, makes short and effective work of the resolved headmistress whose tactlessness could be confused as heartlessness. Sally Hawkins — so great in Happy-Go-Lucky (2008) — has one crucial scene that is the most heartbreaking.

An Education is almost a folly of an entertainment. It is a wonder to watch a balance of enchantment and scenes that are dead serious. The most lighthearted and optimistic of its kind. It is on the opposite side miles from the creepy Joyce Chopra film Smooth Talk (1985). That film focused on the cruel disillusionment of a 15-year-old (Laura Dern) at the hands of a loathsome predator named Arnold Friend (Treat Williams) who “smooth talks” — threatens — the girl to come out of her house to play. The short story by Joyce Carol Oates Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been that Smooth Talk was based on had a much bleaker ending than the film. You’ll see what I mean that things could have been a lot worse.

The description of an adult man going after a teenage girl should lead you think it can only go into dark territories. Most filmmakers would be lead to similar conclusions. An Education doesn’t just work as a conventional cautionary tale like Little Red Riding Hood or Karen Moncrieff’s excellent Blue Car (2002) where an English teacher (David Strathairn) methodically seduces a trouble teen (Agnes Bruckner). Like Jenny, her story is more clever than that. We get why she would go out with David. He seems too good to be true, which is a good reason to find out what he’s hiding. After all, it’s fun to go on an adventure, depending that no bones get broken. Hearts are another matter. It is almost inevitable with first loves. Jenny is strong enough to endure heartbreak and everything else she must face. The reason An Education is so great is because it thrives on that very strength.

“An Education” Trailer

“On The Rebound” by Chet Atkins & Floyd Cramer (1965)

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

One of the many upsides to living in a beautiful city like Vancouver (besides the freshest tap water this side of the Pacific Ocean) is that it holds one of the five biggest film festivals in North America. The Vancouver International Film Festival opens today. About 640 screenings of the 360 films to come from eighty countries will be shown over the next sixteen days (October 1 – October 16). That means we Vancouverites and visiting film buffs can see movies as far as award-winners at Cannes, Telluride (TIFF), et al. to those that will never get distribution here. Without the interference of a ratings board, anything goes. Along Granville Street, and from Seymore to Howe, the cinemas are our roller coasters, our bumper cars, our Tilt-A-Whirls. It’s a good comparison seeing as how the line-ups won’t be any different.

I am still disheartened that Todd Solondz’s Life During Wartime (2009), a semi-sequel to his wonderful Happiness (1998), is not playing in the festival. After it played last month at Telluride to a very warm reception, Life During Wartime didn’t get distribution like so many others. Unless Solondz distributes it himself or keeps selling to those willing to take a risk (Hello Lions Gate Films!), it might be a long while to view. On the bright side, the Coen Brothers’ new film A Serious Man will have a Sunday morning sneak preview at the Park Theatre on October 11 before opening nationwide on October 16. The Coen film, unlike Telluride, will not be part of the VIFF. I am catching the Sunday screening so for me, it is part of the festival.

What I also find interesting is that Peter Greenaway’s lecture piece Rembrandt’s J’accuse (2008) is playing at VIFF, whereas its dramatic companion feature Nightwatching (2007), also by Greenaway, had a limited theatrical run in Vancouver last April. I am confident that Nightwatching will be among the very best films of my 2009 list. I initially thought that this release of Rembrandt’s J’accuse was flawed considering that both Nightwatching and Rembrandt’s J’accuse were available for purchase as a two-disc special edition two weeks prior. It just so happens that I had to send for the DVD set on Amazon because there were no copies available for purchase at HMV or Videomatica despite the original release date. No biggie. I just hope there is a bigger turn out for Rembrandt’s J’accuse than I saw for Nightwatching.

While scanning the film schedules for more screenings I could squeeze in between those I’ve ordered in advance, I noticed a number of film titles that are being recycled from past ones — even classics. Here are some trivial findings:

• Jean Luc Goddard’s Breathless (2009) | Yang Ik-Joon’s Breathless (2009)
• Luis César Amadori’s The Headless Woman (1947) | Lucrecia Martel’s The Headless Woman (2008)
• Anne Fontaine’s How I Killed My Father (2001) | Xavier Dolan’s I Killed My Mother (2009) — Close enough.
• Albert Brooks’ Mother (1996) | Joon-ho Bong’s Mother (2009)
• Alain Resnais’ Night and Fog (1955) | Ann Hui’s Night and Fog (2009)
• Rob Reiner’s North (1994) (Awful movie…) | Rune Denstad Langlo’s North (2009)
• Georg Wilhelm Pabst’s Pandora’s Box (1929) | Yesim Ustaoglu’s Pandora’s Box (2009)

I’m kicking off the VIFF tonight with Lars von Trier’s controversial and ultra-violent new film Antichrist. Hopefully, the intensity of the experience will border on the likes of Catherine Breillat’s Fat Girl (2001) and Cristian Mungiu’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (2007). Not only do I anticipate massive walkouts, but sprints for the exit! I find it somewhat ironic considering that the first film I ever saw at a VIFF was The Five Obstructions (2003), which was directed by both Jørgen Leth and, yes, Lars von Trier. For an hour, I waited in line with my fellow film buffs. Feelings ran high, from eager anticipation to confusion – what would the latest Von Trier film be like?

The light rainfall eventually took mercy on my trusty newsboy hat, which I bought that very night — the rain poured hard an hour ago. I am amused by how easy it is to get into a conversation with a ticket holder either behind or ahead of you. We’re all here for the same reason. Suddenly a cute brunette got in line behind me and before I could get drunk on endorphins, she asked if this was the rush line. It wasn’t. I told her so, then watched her cross the street and that was that. As Pepe Le Pew would say, Le sigh.

The night sky slowly turned from black to a greenish gray and my mind began to play a David Shire score as radio listeners were calling in about the Zodiac killer. Occasionally, a homeless person would offer to sing for loose change. One man played the spoons, slapping them on his knee – now there’s a lost art. The time passed quickly as I read chapters four and five of Our Cancer Year by Harvey “American Splendor” Pekar and his wife Joyce Brabner.

As I sat in one of the stiff yet cushy seats courtesy of Empire Granville 7 Cinemas, I noticed the bumps and winkles of my winter jacket laid inside-out against my back. I had only two consolations. One: I was pushed forward from my seat, sitting at complete attention and my spine was so vertically straight that a Gremlin could play fireman and slide down it. Two: Depending on how good the movie is, I would be oblivious to any discomfort.

Not that I need my jacket to tell me whether a movie is bad or not.

Every year, the VIFF and the agency TBWA\VANCOUVER have prepared a few new shorts to promote their sponsors and open each film. These spots have a weird and comical vibe to get the audience more relaxed for the (presumably radical) feature presentation. Here are 2009 editions:

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Disturbing”

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Subtitles”

My personal favourite.

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Sexuality”

I wished that this video was extended to show the obligatory sponsor logos (Visa, Rogers, etc.) to the sound of bedsprings and *YEE-ONN!*s.

Take a look at the “27th VIFF Openers” from last year.

I wonder out of the selected films I will see which ones will be my favourites from last year’s VIFF: Let the Right One In (2008), Wendy and Lucy (2008), Sita Sings the Blues (2008), and Happy-Go-Lucky (2008). I also shudder at the thought of enduring another Paruthiveeran (2008) — one of these days I’m going to write a review on Ameer Sultan’s mess of a movie and risk boiling my blood pressure. On my agenda, I’m looking forward to Michael Haneke’s The White Ribbon, Lucrecia Martel’s The Headless Woman, and Lee Daniel’s Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire amongst others.

Viva VIFF!

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Put Your Fibs Together and Blow!

People are usually very straightforward. While talking with someone, you have a good idea of what they’re thinking. And yes, it is very boring. That is why the title character Mark Whitacre as depicted in Steven Soderbergh’s The Informant! is cause for relief. The man has a two-track mind. His habitual expression is pleasant but blank. Just listening to his outrageous thoughts makes me wonder how exhausting it must be for him to keep a straight face. The thoughts — my God, the tangents! His brain must be covered with zigzag tracks. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to read the thoughts of others, if only for the entertainment factor. Then again, Mark Whitacre is a rare breed. Only such a character — emphasis on character — could inspire such a perceptive and infectious human comedy that hides under a corruption scandal thriller.

In the mid-1990s, Whitacre is a rising — beaming — star at Archer Daniels Midland (ADM), an Illinois-based plant that processes corn into food ingredients and distributes them worldwide. He looks like a stereotypical businessman — a paunchy, rug-wearing, spectacled dweeb in a cheap suit. Why, he could just as soon sidle up to you with a grin that says “Say ‘Hi!’ to your family for me” or “I’ve got something really juicy to tell you!” Don’t get me started on his mustache. Listening to him talk about corn and the difference he makes in people’s lives, I can’t help but hear Jim McAllister self-congratulatory tone from Alexander Payne’s Election (1999) when he says, “The students knew it wasn’t just a job for me. I got involved!”

Things get serious at the plant when Whitacre uncovers product sabotage, corporate blackmailing and tapped phones. He’s a straight arrow who loves his family and takes his future very seriously. He wants so much to believe in the best of people. He was an orphan, you understand. One minute he’s fretting about his home phone being bugged, the next he goes on a tangent about something as random as Saskatchewan — it always makes sense in a Whitacre sort of way. His high school sweetheart-now wife Ginger (Melanie Lynskey), who clearly sees his worry, encourages Whitacre to come clean to the FBI. Special Agents Brian Shepard (Scott Bakula) and Bob Herndon (Joel McHale) show up at Whitaker’s home never dreaming what their destinies hold. By the time Whitacre blows the whistle on some other illegalities his company is making, we’re off and running.

Why turn stoolie? He is doing very well at ADM — a horse stable for the kids is even being built across his mansion. The FBI takes Whitacre into their confidence, arranging tense situations where he wears a wire to exclusive meetings with his superiors. These scenes present the difficulty of obtaining what Harry Cole would call “a nice, fat recording.” At first, Whitacre has to be broken of his habit of narrating his every action into the wire like he was dictating for a sleuth novel. With the gleeful intensity of a Suzanne Stone, he goes about his business with strong sense of egomaniacal importance. Whitacre thinks “It’s just like a Crichton novel!” and he’s the hero of his story.

Whitacre is so ecstatic that he simply must show off his neat spy technology to his befuddled handyman. He goes back and forth between being gung-ho and then reasonably worried about his safety, not to mention his family’s. His boss has a funny idea about making “levity” out of a tense situation. The FBI corners Whitacre: You can’t volunteer and back out so easily. They hold his criminal immunity over his head whenever he doesn’t feel like playing anymore.

Like a juggler who can’t stop grabbing more plates, Whitacre then commits a stunning feat by revising his story again and again. As for keeping secrets, Whitacre is worse than a leaky faucet. He goes against good reason — and the FBI’s instructions — by blabbing to people he really shouldn’t be talking to. But because it’s Whitacre!, these jaw-dropping acts look like a method to his madness. For how long should we hold off slapping our palms to our foreheads? He’s a very likable dork. In a bad after-school special, Whitacre would have been a put-upon nerd who’d dream of becoming a millionaire and laughing. He is one smart cookie. Scary smart! On the other hand, he is so feckless that he is impervious to suspicion. But still, we worry that he’s flying too close to the flame. He just can’t stop while he’s ahead.

Matt Damon is one of our best and most versatile actors. He can jump from Anthony Minghella’s heavy drama The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) to Soderbergh’s less serious Ocean’s Eleven (2001) easily. Having gained thirty pounds to play Whitacre, this isn’t the first time Damon adjusted his weight for a role. In Courage Under Fire (1996), his first feature role, Damon lost forty pounds to play a soldier recovering from trauma and drug abuse. As Whitacre, Damon has the challenge of bordering happy-go-lucky zaniness on a bland facade. His interior monologues are delivered as though he were possessed. Out of so many of his fascinating brain spells, my favourite is his take on Polar Bears hunting for seals (“That’s a lot of thinking for a bear!”). The more I think of it, Damon’s Whitacre shares much more with Philip Seymore Hoffman’s Dan Mahowny, a compulsive gambler, in Richard Kwietniowski’s Owning Mahowny (2005) than appearance.

Playing Whitacre’s concerned wife Ginger, Lynskey keeps her adorability in check, which makes her very understanding character credible. It’s amazing how she has developed into such cherubic roles (most know her as Rose on the hit sitcom Two and a Half Men) since her feature debut in Peter Jackson’s best film Heavenly Creatures (1994) as a sullen teenager who plots her mother’s murder. Both Scott Bakula and Joel McHale each played their FBI agents with a subdued facetiousness that eventually leads to a tightly wound exasperation. However, Bakula is more expressive whereas McHale keeps his cards close to his vest. Also watch out for some surprise cameos at Whitacre’s hearing.

Based on the Kurt Eichenwald non-fiction exposé The Informant (2000), this film was adapted by Scott Z. Burns who also wrote The Bourne Ultimatum (2007), which also starred Damon in a film that operates in areas of grey. The absurdity of Mark Whitacre’s case didn’t escape director Steven Soderbergh when he read the book. The exclamation point added to the film’s title is a jovial and very ironic clue for what would otherwise be a boilerplate thriller about a whistle blower, the best example being Michael Mann’s The Insider (1999). Subtler is the topsy-turvy camera angle that introduces Whitacre’s SUV driving upside down into the targeted ADM.

This wacky quality is not surprising for anyone (who is anyone) who saw Soderbergh’s Schizopolis (1996), which began with Soderbergh coming onstage to inform us that this will be the greatest movie ever made and if you don’t get it, it’s your own fault — “Now I give you SCHIZOPOLIS!” Last year, Soderbergh made the four-hour roadhouse feature Che (2008), which chronicled Ernesto ‘Che‘ Guevara (Benicio Del Toro) from his victory in Cuba to his doom in Bolivia. With The Informant!, Soderbergh continues to follow an exhausting trek of an always elusive character. What is especially ingenious is how our understanding of Whitacre changes once his intentions are considered from another angle.

Maybe he doesn’t understand himself so well either.

The compositions of the shots always underscore the jokes without underlining them. Yet the shots, using colour filters and over-exposed location lights that threaten to bleed out so sharply, have a very high energy. They have Soderbergh’s smudge marks all over them — he also works as a cinematographer under the alias Peter Andrews. The images are at once self-conscious, off-balance, yet empowering. Damon’s short height is used wisely as he is framed against much taller men, kind of like Jodie Foster was as Clarice Starling, which is a very dramatic change from the Bourne movies. Each new city Whitacre goes to is introduced with sixties-inspired title cards that look more at home in a Quentin Tarantino film; my favourite establishes Tokyo. All of the retro interior design by Doug J. Meerdink work fitfully here. The inside of the corporate department look this side of Terry Gilliam — Soderbergh recalled seeing Brazil (1985) over a dozen times when it was released.

Another highlight is the zippy and very cunning score by Marvin Hamlisch. Because so much the film is played straight, the danceable score really sets it off the edge. Using an imposing array of rambunctious horns, kazoos, happy flutes, piano keys and a drum set. It gracefully goes from a pop espionage-type soundtrack a la James Bond that veers on parody and then surprises us with some disquieting horns and sad piano. Just imagine if Carter Burwell and Michael Giacchino had collaborated together. They perfectly complement the aggressively cheerful pathos and off-balanced mindset of Whitacre. These sounds could have come from a deranged cartoon elevator on uppers and downers. The most rousing on the soundtrack are titled “Sellout”. Interestingly enough, the scene with the polygraph switches gears to a Yee Haw-like western soundtrack that occasionally drips like acid.

Soderbergh (Out of Sight, 1998 and Bubble, 2006) is to America what Michael Winterbottom (Wonderland, 1998 and Tristram Shanty: A Cock and Bull Story, 2006) is to England. Never settling for one type of film, they explore a variety of genres and rarely repeat themselves. Like in 2000 when Soderbergh released his two films Erin Brockovich and Traffic in the same year, this year he made The Girlfriend Experience, which was very illuminating, as well as this one. Right along with this year’s In the Loop, a hot-blooded farce about the UK and US governments declaring war, The Informant! is skewers office politics just as successfully but with a much cooler poker.

Because most of the action takes place in the nineties, certain truths are not brought up, such as how corporations like ADM practiced overusing corn syrup in place of natural sugar, which resulted in an obesity outbreak on the American public in the coming years. Knowing what we know today, a slimy layer becomes visible across the film’s subject.

Given the economic climate and fury directed towards CEOs cackling their way to the bank, The Informant! is a very subversive and subtle film — not to mention hilarious — if wry dialogue and understated satire tickles you. It is also a strangely empathetic one as well. Getting us to relate to Whitacre is the most insidious blow. After spending so much time with Whitacre, I was still suspicious of him and wondered, “was that everything?” With Whitacre, it never is. You know that the guy with the mustache is always hiding something. Nevertheless, I imagine the real Mark Whitacre would eagerly take his family and friends to see The Informant!

“The Informant” Trailer

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

As of today, Alltop™ has accepted my film review blog Cinelation.com. In Movie News, you can find my link along with dozens of other sites such as Scanners, Aint It Cool News, Roger Ebert, and The New York Times.

One day, Rotten Tomatoes! One day…

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Here’s Looking At You, Kid.

At first sight, the couple walking and dining throughout Paris appear to be lovers. We are mistaken. Daniel, a trim and fortyish intellectual with a voice like Patrick Bauchau (The Rapture, 1991), is played by Jeremy Herman, the writer of Hardly Bear to Look at You (2009). Stella is a pretty performance artist in her early twenties, played by Anna Neil. A few years ago, Neil starred in a short film called The Yacht (2006), which was written and co-directed by Herman. The other director who also starred in The Yacht was Huck Melnick, who directed his first feature-length film, Hardly Bear to Look at You.

If you are enjoying the giddy sensation of your brain spinning, keep reading.

Daniel, an artist as well a connoisseur of fine food and wines, acts as a mentor to Stella. It’s questionable whether Stella realizes she is his muse — Sylvia to Daniel’s Marcello. Wandering the streets of Paris, he takes her out to restaurants and bars. Their relationship is one of flirtation, but never becomes one as intimate as in Guinevere (1999), though the Audrey Wells film took a more lacerating view of such a coupling. Daniel and Stella sleep in the same bed without sleeping with each other. Upon the description of this May-August romance, Daniel is surprisingly more sympathetic because Stella is never a victim and clearly has the upper hand here. Any advance made by him is either encouraged or vetoed. Director Melnick makes no judgment calls here, but I wish that Daniel had been scorched at least once. His feelings toward her are genuine, so why not challenge him?

He is utterly infatuated with her. The first two minutes of the film simply watches Stella sleeping in the morning light. Great concentration is made to the movement of her feathery collar as she inhales and exhales. Somehow, this does not feel perverse; it is a form of adoration in the sweetest sense. Known to savor the strong tartness of an olive, Daniel commits a silent declaration when he slides an olive into his pants pocket. More obvious is the shot of his jean-clad crotch after he has asked (read: directs) Stella to climb up three flights of stairs to ask her something. He admits to her that he has had sex with a number of women, including prostitutes. Stella claims to having had just a few lovers, but we suspect otherwise, considering how flirtatious and often she runs into other men she knew way back when. Sometimes she is cruel while feigning tactfulness. Being too close to Daniel’s perspective, his jealousy is infectious.

The subtext of sex and longing is sprinkled into their conversations. When playing with the word “genuflect”, Daniel suggests that it means going down on your knees. When he says that, is it merely as a form of prayer or is the suggestion of oral sex (on his part — meaning he wants to do the performing on her)? In a way, oral sex is a form of prayer in of itself. Pray or Prey? One waits while one waits for the other. It’s hard to say which body part of Stella’s in particular Daniel would worship. Perhaps like Marvell, Daniel would spend a hundred years on the eyes. Following the wistful proposition in To his Coy Mistress, it is a pity that living two hundred years is impossible. They play with words. Eventually, the “gen” of “Genuflect” turns to the French translation of Eric Rohmer’s Claire’s Knee (1970), Le Genou de Claire. That tangent of film recommendation was by Daniel, of course.

Back in London, Daniel confides in his male collaborators including Leon (Alex Claus) and Hank (Huck Melnick, who wears garish pink hats throughout). Like all friends who give advice on romance, they encourage him at first and then change their tune to “plenty of fish” after a week or two of inaction. Many times Daniel is told the obvious: giving your heart completely to a twenty-three-year-old is foolish. At one point during a round of Daniel’s rumination, a superimposition of him searching his irritated eye for a contact lenses is enlarged and examined in excruciating detail. Walking under a tunnel one night, Daniel finds the gumption to tell Stella about how amazing the universe is to have created her: “You literally make me see the world differently.” Her response to this isn’t encouraging. In a moment of weakness, while Daniel is walking a close friend and her child through a park, she sees his need, gives him a kiss, then a hug, and bids him good-bye. Looking into his eyes watching the mother and child go off, we remember that the path not taken always stings. Perhaps Daniel should meet up with Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) from Marc Webb’s (500) Days of Summer and exchange horror stories over coffee, but I don’t think Tom would go for it.

What makes Herman’s work so engrossing is his sincerity and honesty. There’s little doubt that this story comes from personal experience. His heart is wandering, searching for answers and he doesn’t care how vulnerable that makes him look on screen and in our minds. Herman and Neil make their characters credible by being free of vanity and making their rapport feel natural. The characters are so smart and witty that I wished their conversations were extended like My Dinner with Andre (1981). Sometimes it’s like a falling under a warm spell. The best scene is when they ponder about the difference between “room temperature” and “body temperature” over red wine and pheasant. Just as the record playing Mozart’s Church Sonata no. 8 ends, the subject switches to work. It’s no accident that when Daniel’s heart breaks, Stella moves her head aside and we see a large microphone on the top-right corner of the screen.

Melnick is greatly influenced here by the Dogma Movement, a manifesto founded by Lars von Trier and Thomas Vinterberg in the mid-1990s to achieve what they considered to be “pure cinema”. They insisted on rules such as filming with hand-held cameras only on location using only sound at the time of shooting. Forget about using filters! Within the confines of this style, the thin-skinned presentation is at best authentic and at worst unpolished. It doesn’t mesh well with my tastes. I consider the works of Michael Powell, François Truffaut, Patrice Leconte and Alfred Hitchcock, to name a few, as pure cinema. Though I prefer current independent films to be presented with more lustre and care like the ones by David Gordon Green (George Washington, 2000) and Lynne Ramsay (Ratcatcher, 1999). Digital camcorders are a godsend for talented filmmakers who want to realize their visions outside of a studio. How good the final result is depends on treating camera less like a cocktail shaker. So far, Agnès Varda’s The Beaches of Agnès is the best shot film this year that uses digital camcorders.

However, Hardly Bear to Look at You comes fairly close to the best example of Dogma Movies (and also its first) set by the Danish film The Celebration (1998), a dark comedy of manners directed by Thomas Vinterberg. That film used its obstructions to discover exciting liberations in film language. There are quite a few times when Melnick does exactly that. There is a momentous shot that takes us from looking out a window over a snowy Parisian cityscape over to Daniel and Stella sitting in bed that is so quick that it’s like we’re peeling back the still frames like the pages of a book. Thankfully, we are safely distanced from the pretentious excesses of Harmonie Korine — I haven’t seen Mister Lonely (2007) yet, and I hope to like a Harmonie Korine film one day.

What I admire most is how upfront Melnick is with his jittery digital camera, bare production work and abrupt edits. Differing hues in a succession of shots hold continuity in contempt. Occasional spurts of half-heard conversations propel us to more substantial scenes. Sometimes the abruptness of the edits works and sometimes they are distracting. You can either handle it or not. There is no middle ground. It may skirt a little close to gimmickry, but Melnick should be commended as a calculating risk-taker. This is deliberate considering how much more graceful Melnick’s camera is in his short The Yacht. Most importantly, a purpose is behind this style. Like Herman’s story, there are no illusions of hipness and irony. Hardly Bear to Look at You is reminiscent of the work by Richard Linklater (Before Sunrise, 1994) and Jean-Luc Goddard (Pierrot Le Fou, 1965).

It isn’t safe to assume how close both Herman and Neil really are to Daniel and Stella’s relationship. How close are these alter egos to the performers off-screen? There is no doubt that their professional relationship is genuinely depicted here. The devices of Dogma are used to peer into the thirsty heart of an artist who earnestly believes that Stella (or Neil?) is his last chance at true love. To cope with his heartbreak, Daniel employs his art to tell this story. The reflections of the artist and the medium constantly remind us that we are watching a movie. Not in the sense that the artifice of the film is transparent, but that it exists as a film in a film. You can almost sense the celluloid racing through the projector is slowly peeling back to examine its backside.

We can always hear overlays of dialogue being inserted in shots, which is forgivable here, but a few times the use of natural location sound makes it difficult to hear what the characters are saying. For instance, the last few words of advice by Leon as he walks down the street are drowned out by traffic. One scene set in a real restaurant with a loud crowd, I found myself straining to hear Daniel and Stella’s dialogue. That’s too bad because it might have been interesting. I wished that Melnick had cheated those few times by committing a Dogma-No-No: dubbing their voices and controlling background noise. It’s amazing how naturalistic Ramin Bahrani (Chop Shop, 2008 and Goodbye Solo, 2009) makes his environments sound, yet he attains it by labouring in a sound studio.

Hardly Bear to Look at You is as playful as its title. It could have followed after “I Can”, but that personified directive is too afraid to peek outside. A smash cut from Daniel’s bereaved face to a yellow lemon growing outside is a coy simile met by sourness. Shots preparing the shoot of My Yacht (2006) at the Cannes Film Festival are cleverly integrated in the film. They showcase Stella in the role of Laura who dances on a large motorized petal dressed as a ballerina doll with a large, spinning key attached to her back. It takes Daniel some time to realize how this casting has ultimately imagined his object of desire into something as crude and lifeless as a toy. Stella claims that Audrey Hepburn is her role model, but she could have easily had said it was Mariel Hemingway. Perhaps Melnick and Herman felt that the game would have been given away too quick if either Daniel or Stella had cited Manhattan (1979). After all, Woody Allen has been playing in their backyard for the past few years.

Because the story resists a conventional conclusion and flirts with being a little open ended, we remain more invested than in most romantic comedies. The script is not on autopilot. The characters are so odd and liberated that anything could happen. While watching, the relationship seems doomed, but these people are a strange and funny lot. If Stella has no plans to make with Daniel, why is she still hanging around him? Daniel’s devastation possesses the spirit of Timothy Spall’s line of dialogue in Mike Leigh’s All or Nothing (2002): “I feel like a tree that’s got no water!” In one shot late at night, we linger on another man and woman making out against a building as Stella and Daniel walk right by. Over the last few minutes, when the film circles around itself in a whirling blend of its narrative and medium, ask yourself who is ultimately at the controls. If it’s not Melnick inside, is it Daniel? Stella? Both? More? Or is it just us?

You can watch The Yacht (29 mins.) here.

“Hardly Bear to Look at You” Trailer

Note: The watercolour paintings in Daniel’s apartment are by Tony Rothon.

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Moon (dir. Duncan Jones)
Goodbye Solo (dir. Ramin Bahrani)
(500) Days of Summer (dir. Marc Webb)
Nightwatching (dir. Peter Greenaway)
The Hurt Locker (dir. Kathryn Bigelow)
Coraline (dir. Henry Selick)
Gomorrah (dir. Matteo Garrone)
Polytechnique (dir. Denis Villeneuve)
Revanche (dir. Götz Spielmann)
Up (dir. Pete Docter and Bob Peterson)
Tokyo Sonata (dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa)
Knowing (dir. Alex Proyas)
O’ Horten (dir. Bent Hamer)
Lymelife (The Absolute Version, dir. Derick Martini)
Drag Me To Hell (dir. Sam Raimi)
Watchmen (dir. Zack Snyder)

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Renowned actress Natasha Richardson passed away this afternoon in Lenox Hill Hospital on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Last Monday, she suffered a head injury in a skiing accident that took place at Quebec’s Mont Tremblant ski resort. She is survived by her husband Liam Neeson and their two children Michael and Daniel. After learning about the accident, Neeson left the set in Toronto filming Atom Egoyan’s Chloe (also starring Julianne Moore) to be with his wife. She was hospitalized Tuesday in Montreal’s Sacré-Coeur hospital and was flown privately to New York. Natasha was also joined in the hospital by her children, her sister Joely and their mother, Vanessa Redgrave. Her father, Tony Richardson died in 1991.

Natasha Richardson was a generous and talented woman from England. Trained at London’s Central School of Speech and Drama, Richardson performed in a number of films, but was more committed to the stage. After starring in Gothic (1986) as Mary Shelly, director Paul Schrader cast her first major role in Patty Hearst (1988) as the title character who in 1974 was kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA) and joined her captors’ cause. Richardson earned The London Evening Standard Award for Best Actress of 1990 for her performances in Volker Schlöndorff’s A Handmaid’s Tale and Schrader’s The Comfort of Strangers.

In 1994, she met and later married Liam Neeson on the set of Nell, starring Jodie Foster and directed by Michael Apted (The Up Documentaries). She was also awarded Best Actress at the 1994 Karlovy Vary Festival for her work in John Irvin’s Widow’s Peak.

I initially saw Richardson in The Parent Trap (1998, a remake of the 1961 original) playing Elizabeth James, the lovely mother to the twin sisters. The movie is a blur, but I did remember that she made quite an impression. In that same year, she won Broadway’s 1998 Tony Award as Best Actress (Musical) for a revival of Cabaret.

The most recent films starring Richardson were Ethan Hawke’s Chelsea Walls (2001), David Mackenzie’s Asylum (2005), James Ivory’s The White Countess (2005) and Lajos Koltai’s Evening (2007). Her last film was Nick Moore’s Wild Child (2008). This December she was set to play Miss Julie on Broadway for The Roundabout Theatre. The production directed by David Leveaux is also starring Phillip Seymore Hoffman. I’m sorry for the loss Natasha Richardson has left in her family and her audience.

Jean from August Strindberg’s Miss Julie:

“Do you know how people in high life look from the under world? No … of course you don’t. They look like hawks and eagles whose backs one seldom sees, for they soar up above.”

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Pinocchio (2-Disc 70th Anniversary Platinum Edition) (1940)

Pinocchio is arguably the best animated feature film that Walt Disney Studios initially released. This beautifully rendered animation directed by Ben Sharpsteen and Hamilton S. Luske makes my heart go out to the immortal two-dimensional format. It’s true that Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) directed by David Hand was a revolutionary pioneer of animated features, but Pinocchio easily trumps Snow White as a compelling narrative.

About the video quality on Blu-Ray, David Boulet from dvdfile.com writes:

With Pinocchio, every brush-stroke, the rich texture conveyed by the surface of the canvas or paper, the consistency of the watercolor wash, or the density of the pastel chalk, is all displayed with dazzling purity. The effect is like being absorbed into a moving picture full of life and infused with the spirit of the artisans that crafted it together. Such nuance, which was obscured by the added artifacts of multi-generation film-print production for its original audience now breathes a new life of clarity for high definition viewers today. I can’t complain. I don’t think that Walt or his artists would either.

The DVD has a number of extras including documentaries, deleted scenes, and an indispensable audio commentary by Leonard Maltin, Eric Goldberg and J.B. Kaufman.

What do I think is the best animated feature to come out of Disney? It is the only one to be nominated for the Academy Awards’ Best Picture: Beauty and the Beast (1990) Back when I was too young to attend more mature fare and movie tickets were sold at $4.75, my wonderful sister Michelle took me to see it fifteen times. I have never seen a single movie in a theater more than that since.

Synecdoche, New York (2008)

In all of its glory, Synecdoche, New York was my favorite film of 2008. In the DVD included featurette Infectious Diseases in Cattle: Bloggers’ Round Table, I participated in a discussion about the merits of Charlie Kaufman’s directorial debut with Karina Longworth  (SpoutBlog), Walter Chaw (Film Freak Central), Andrew Grant (Like Anna Karina’s Sweater), and Glenn Kenney (Some Came Running). I was very fortunate to be in this company. If you want to engage with some of the best in professional film criticism, look to these four class acts.

A special thank you to producer Caddie Hastings (The Grossmyth Company).

Let the Right One In (2008)

Let the Right One In should be the set standard for all filmmakers wanting to make a horror film. So many first timers think horror equals easy. The result — shelves beyond shelves of junk. If only the quality of the genre were as intimidating and enriching as this. My only qualm is outside of Tomas Alfredson’s excellent production: the proposed American remark by Matt Reeves, which could never match the original here. Again, nothing could.

The DVD includes fascinating scenes on the cutting room floor — I wish that the Eli & Oskar Interior Scene was kept in the feature — and an informative featurette that is over much too soon. However, if you don’t wish to be exposed to the technicalities that made the swimming pool scene possible, avoid that feature. Those with a healthy appetite for the filmmaking process are going to eat this up. I also love the holographic cover here. Subtle and creepy. The designer who labeled the disc with only Eli’s silhouette deserves a cigar.

The only drawback on the DVD is on Magnet’s and Magnolia Picture’s part: The subtitles on the DVD are different from those originally from the theatrical cut by Ingrid Eng. Worse, the changes have dumbed down the dialogue. For those of you who haven’t bought this movie yet, wait until a new line has put the correct “Theatrical” version on the market. Unfortunately, I am displeased that Magnet has no plans to set up an exchange system for those who bought the initially flawed DVD without warning. It shows a lack of respect for their customers.

Editor and DVD commentator Bill Hunt of The Digital Bits reports:

In other news today, you might recall that we recently reviewed Magnet’s Let the Right One In on Blu-ray Disc. Well, it’s just come to our attention that the DVD and Blu-ray versions have English subtitles that differ substantially from those of the theatrical art house presentation, in that much of the subtle nuance has been lost and many original lines of dialogue are untranslated entirely. Unfortunately, having only seen the film once in theaters, I wasn’t familiar enough with the translation to spot the differences. But Icons of Fright has posted some examples of just how different the subtitles are. We contacted Magnet directly on this issue this afternoon, and they were quick to respond as follows:

“We’ve been made aware that there are several fans that don’t like the version of the subtitles on the DVD/BR. We had an alternate translation that we went with. Obviously a lot of fans thought we should have stuck with the original theatrical version. We are listening to the fans feedback, and going forward we will be manufacturing the discs with the subtitles from the theatrical version.”

We asked Magnet some follow-up questions, specifically how people will be able to identify the new discs, when they’ll be available in stores and if there will be an exchange program for those who have the existing version. Here’s what they said:

“There are no exchanges. We are going to make an alternate version available however. For those that wish to purchase a version with the theatrical subtitles, it will be called out in the tech specs box at the back/bottom of the package where it will list SUBTITLES: ENGLISH (Theatrical), SPANISH.”

The no exchange thing is going to upset many that have already purchased the disc, and understandably so. We’re at least encouraged to see that the title is being corrected. We’ll let you know when the discs are available, and rest assured we’re letting Magnet know that an exchange program might be a wise idea…

Milk (2008)

Of the selected nominees for the Academy Award Best Picture, Milk is the strongest film that resonates after repeat viewing. Watching it again today, I was moved as much as I was on my first viewing. If Mickey Rourke’s work in Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler (2008) had to be passed up, I’m glad Sean Penn got it for his amazing transformation into Harvey Milk. That’s exactly what it was — a transformation. In regards to Gus Van Sant, Milk is a close second to my favorite of the director’s filmography, To Die For (1995).

Happy-Go-Lucky (2008)

This picture is just wrong. Now people are going to think Happy-Go-Lucky is a romance. Happy-Go-Lucky is more than that, as is any film by Mike Leigh. From the perspective of schoolteacher Poppy Cross, finding love would be wonderful. But if there isn’t any love to find today, then surely there’s something else to be happy about. Not many films are that truthful.

For the DVD cover, this is a variation I whipped up of the illustrated poster of Happy-Go-Lucky would have been much better.

Alas, we live a world where ContentFilm took one of the best poster designs I’ve seen and did THAT to the DVD cover art of James Marsh’s The King (2006):

On the director’s commentary, Marsh complained that one of ContentFilm’s producers thought the good poster “belonged in an art museum, not in a video store.” This is the mentality that marginalizes the worth of cinema.

And don’t get me started about how the last two minutes of Bob Dylan’s song Cold Irons Bound over the end credits were cut out of the DVD. My two viewings of The King in theatres continued the haunting Dylan song after the credits had ended and the last two minutes of it played over a black screen. It was chilling and wonderful. Then some pipsqueak decided to fade out the song and stop The King as the end credits finished. Now you know why the theatrical cut on the IMDB is listed at 105 minutes whereas the DVD’s running time is 103 minutes. Oddly enough, the Tartan Video DVD release in the UK clocks in at 105 minutes supposedly.

Rachel Getting Married (2008)

What sold me here was how Kym, played by Anne Hathaway, blends in with a room full of recovering drug users. What makes Johnathan Demme’s demanding film Rachel Getting Married so rewarding is that Kym and her sister Rachel both have compelling reasons to be tended to by their loved ones these few days together. Kym has been to hell and back fighting her addiction and guilt. Rachel has been the “good one” and dammit this is her day! Rosemary DeWitt deserves as much credit as Anne Hathaway. They both complement one another as the most realized sisters I’ve seen since Nicole Holofcener’s Lovely and Amazing (2001). The dishwasher scene remains one of my favorites of 2008 because it is at once so exciting and then… I don’t want to ruin it for you.

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

A Grimm Girl Enters A Grim World…

When I say “The Nightmare Before Christmas”, what is the first name that comes to mind? Tim Burton. Burton invokes visions of dark whimsy, and promises tours into a world that is distinctly his own. From the visual style and original story based on Burton’s illustrated book to his entire filmography coined a word that solely attributes to the artist and his world — Burtonesque. Hell, his name is in the title: Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. It takes a few more synapses in the brain to remember that Henry Selick was the film’s director. Selick made Jack Skellington come to life. Even the association of Burton as a producer blurs Selick’s accomplishment for his 1996 film James and the Giant Peach, based on the Roald Dahl novel. Finally, Burton is absent working on his adaptation of Alice in Wonderland due 2010. Selick is all alone here with the adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Hugo Award winning novel.

Coraline is Selick’s baby.

11-year-old Coraline (Dakota Fanning) is an intelligent, waifish girl with dyed ink-blue hair. She has a bright, funky wardrobe including a loud, yellow raincoat and striped stockings. To her, the thought of attending a private school where she’d have to wear a grey uniform like everybody else is like opening her skull and smearing mud on her brains. Some may consider Coraline to be a little snot. She had my sympathies the second her face turned into a sour sneer. I could relate. I was easily peeved as a kid, and viewed authority skeptically. Most of my childhood felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for the smog to clear. I enjoyed my own pursuits, and had little interest in being “a good sport” about constantly being IT in games of Tag, among other childhood indignities. What gets Coraline through the day are her explorations outside on overcast afternoons, decorating with vibrant colours, and missing her friends after moving from Michigan into the deep woodlands.

Her precociousness clashes against the few eccentric denizens living in the rented levels of the Pink Palace Apartments. Mr. Bobinsky (Ian McShane), a blue-skinned, potbellied Russian vaudevillian trains mice for his small circus on the top floor. In the basement, one stout Miss Spink (Jennifer Saunders) and one very buxom Miss Forcible (Dawn French) are retired acrobats whose personalities might remind those Pushing Daisies fans of The Darling Mermaid Darlings. The designs of these two old crones were likely inspired by the characters Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker in Selick’s James and the Giant Peach (1996). The two provide Coraline with handy tea-leaf readings and decades-old sweets. The odd boy next door named Wyborn (Robert Bailey Jr.) – “Why were you born?” – is a motor-mouth whose steady steam of chatter rivals his own dirt bike. The poor kid’s awkwardness is amplified by his hunchback and skewed head. Unfortunately for him, Coraline isn’t a very empathetic person — a universal trait shared amongst most children. He just gets on her nerves.

Coraline’s pale and harried parents are forever consumed by their laptops as they collaborate together on a gardening book…in separate rooms. The constant dismissal of their daughter’s pleas for attention provide little reprieve from her lumbering exploration of the grounds. Baggy-eyed Mother (Teri Hatcher) wears a neck brace and wears her daughter’s expectations out even more: “Dad cooks, I clean, and you stay out of the way!” Father (Mole-Man Expert John Hodgman), a gangly, laid back man contorts his head and long neck like a painful L while hunched over his monitor, hammering at the keyboard.

Frustrated by the dank malaise of her surroundings, Coraline happens upon a small door resembling the one in Lewis Carol’s Alice in Wonderland and the Charlie Kaufman penned Being John Malkovich (1999). Once inside, she is lured into a vibrant portal seen only by her. At the opposite end is a mirrored version of her world right behind her shoulder that appears to be much improved upon. Here the gloom is exchanged with eye-popping magic. The garden outside miraculously sprouts with beautifully alien vegetation and flowers. Her neighbors are younger and mind-blowingly talented. The food is scrumptious. The house is spotless. Coraline encounters her substitute parents who introduce themselves as her “Other” Mother and Father. They are infectiously upbeat, generous, and fun. You can tell by their sunny smiles and the black buttons sewn into their eyes.

Night after night, Coraline visits this bizarro world and is seduced by her Other Mother’s gifts and attention. “Everything’s right in this world.” One of the “fixes” in this world is that the Other Wybie cannot speak. This revelation should chill your spine. Coraline is immediately pleased, but later asks the Other Wybie if it hurt. A smaller observation not commented on is just as troublesome: the Other Wybie doesn’t eat his cotton candy. Following the implacable nightmare logic of a genuine Grimm fairytale, Coraline gradually realizes with mounting horror what sinister truths lie behind the happy curtain. “They say even the proudest spirit can be broken…with love.”

The tension heightens through the cheerful deposition of the villains, which is more difficult to accomplish than discovering menace in very dark places. The brighter the picture, the darker the negative. This is reminiscent of the ominous tone in Peter Weir’s The Truman Show and The Twilight Zone episode Number Twelve Looks Just Like You by Rod Serling. Good, sparse dialogue like “We don’t remember our names” hammers the nail in the heart swiftly.

Coraline, well-played by Fanning, is a fascinating heroine to root for because she feels so relatable and human. Had I watched this film as a kid, I would have had a crush on Coraline. It is a joy to behold her personality and tastes because she confirms how frustrating it feels to be a kid. She is divorced from the thousand carbon copies of kid characters foisted onto us by conservative adults as merely “good examples”. There comes a point when smart, empathetic kids have learned all the obvious lessons from the How to Lead a Good Life Manual such as looking both ways before crossing the street and understanding the damning consequences of emotional and physical hurt. After they have graduated this (otherwise known as Kindergarten) and left behind the narrow-minded, the bigoted, the crippling literate, the half-wits, and the sociopaths who ruin everything for the rest of us, their minds thirst for the wit of Mark Twain, the irony of Roald Dahl, and the dark fanaticism of Neil Gaiman.

Teri Hatcher does her best work playing Coraline’s Mother and her Other Mother. Her performance is so subtle in the way she doesn’t change her voice intrinsically, but changes the inflection to create two very different and specific personalities. We believe there are two different characters. Like Madam Mim, the Other Mother loves games. Notice how Coraline’s mother is consistently true to herself throughout, just because she is low-key doesn’t mean she doesn’t love her daughter any less. Less sophisticated filmmakers would have been insultingly obvious and made Mom smother Coraline with kisses and tearfully beg her forgiveness for not understanding her. Thank goodness she doesn’t.

The designs of the character models are sharper and more diagonal than the occasionally rounded renderings. Shane Prigmore, Shannon Tindle, Damon Bard are among the number of character designers whose invaluable contributions to Coraline are showcased by the dependably drawn.ca in their blogs The Art of Coraline. Also worth examination are the blogs The Coraline Production Art by Chris Turnham and The Marketing of Coraline.

The costume design of the Other Mother is ingeniously creepy, the outline behind her dress resembles the backside of a wasp’s tail. As her demeanor worsens, her physique transforms into that of an arachnid. Also, the attire of the “other” aged acrobatic sisters is very cheeky. The outlining of the characters faces, even the pointy shape of Coraline and her Mother’s nose are somehow endearing. The facial expressions are a joy to behold. The utterly eerie main title sequence — in the same tradition of David Fincher’s groundbreaking sequence in Se7en with the making of John Doe’s many exhausted notebooks — showing us the reformation of the Caroline doll aptly named “Little Me” owes a hand to the Brothers Quay. One shot makes the doll’s stuffing look like moldy guts. When Coraline hits DVD, the freeze frame button is going to be exhausted.

The Hallucinatory Hospital Scene in Julie Taymor’s Frida by the Brothers Quay | Music by Elliot Goldenthal

The Main Title Sequence of David Fincher’s Se7en.

The fluid stop-motion animation has a delightfully herky-jerky quality when characters and objects move slowly. Look at the way Coraline squints as she looks into the blue and violet velvety portal for the first time. You can practically count the frames of film as her eyelids move. Watch how a hundred keys appear to scuttle when they are jerked forward by the opening of the drawer they are in. Even the bouncing circus mice look as though they are duplicating when they jump in the center ring. These moments feel more deliberate by the craft of human hands, rather than having the sleek and shine of a CGI effect suck the soul out of them.

My problem with the animation of Corpse Bride (2005), directed by Tim Burton and Mike Johnson, is that the slick perfection of its stop-motion made it look as though it was rendered on a computer. The little nicks of Coraline’s animation feel truly tactile. It twitches with the deliberate movements of a housefly. Selick and his animators are having a blast exploiting the tricks of the human eye, and the result is far more impressive. I look at Coraline and believe the sets and dolls were built, then meticulously photographed. The end credit sequence resembles the singular character interactions of the floating bunnies in Nick Park’s Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, also released in 2005.

The sophisticated tracking of the camera along the beautifully designed small-scaled sets makes the feature feel more cinematic — particularly an early shot of the camera tilting from behind and then above a rock overlooking Caroline playing “water-winch” in the woods. It’s amazing how the production design of the expansive forest and stark hills looks as though there is actually more beyond the horizon. Occasionally, skeletal hand-shaped clouds crawl across the moon. The swirling background of a child’s desolate hell, inside a warped closet and no doors, is inspired by Vincent Van Gogh’s The Starry Night. Another nice touch is the “Shakespeare Festival” banner hanging in the town square.

The creepy music by French composer Bruno Coulais is worthy of note here. My favourite of Coulais’ past work is for Microcosmos: Le Peuple de L’herbe (1996), a documentary about insects (Lyrics: “Open Your Eyes Before You Die.”). Highlighting the harp and strings score is The Children’s Choir of Nice, whose voices manage to chill and tickle the bones. A ghostly voice belonging to the composer singing “dreaming…” on the soundtrack is particularly unnerving. Coulais playfully suggests that something wicked this way comes…closer. Listen for the subtle organ when the “other” parents put Coraline to bed. Certain instruments are reserved for specific characters, for instance Mr. Bobinsky is heavy with horns. The tracks “It Was Fantastic” and “Ghost Children” on the soundtrack best convey the film’s enveloping gloomy despair.

“Microcosmos” Intro | Music by Bruno Coulais

Coraline is a rite of passage for kids coming of age to appreciate more extreme fare. All of the best films for children and adults alike are the ones willing to unsettle and even scare the kiddie-winks. Pinocchio (1940) is infamous for the frightening scene where the boys are transformed into donkeys, not to mention that hideous grin of The Coachman. The Great Mouse Detective (1986) has Ratagan’s lackey Fidget, a cackling bat with fangs, jump out of the shadows. In Hayao Miyazaki’s Spirited Away (2002), I was really disturbed by the sight of Chihiro’s parents having transformed into heavy, unintelligible hogs with chewed food dripping down their chins. That’s one of the reasons why I adore that film so much. The Disney masterpiece Beauty and the Beast (1991) has the menacing Beast hidden in darkness, silently stalking Maurice who had entered the haunted castle in a desperate bid for shelter from the storm.

The colour restoration of the Beauty and the Beast DVD was unwisely brightened so the Beast’s features can be made out in the dark shadow. In order to correct the picture of Beauty and the Beast, I advise you to turn down the brightness of your television screen to make the Beast’s piercing blue eyes the only things you can see against the blackened figure. When Belle requests that the Beast come into the light, he should emerge from black shadows for a greater dramatic effect.

Is Coraline too intense for kids? Yes — just wait until you see what’s left of the “Other” Wybie! — but that shouldn’t stop them from seeing it. As a kid, the alarming experiences at the movies were more compelling than the fare deemed safer. Darker children’s films that initially frightened me would still command my attention and I would keep them just as close to my heart as I grew up. It is better to be scared than bored. Upon my second viewing of Coraline, I saw the matinée showing with a young mother and her four-year-old daughter. I occasionally observed the little girl’s reaction during the scary moments and guess what, she was leaning over the edge of her seat, fascinated. The only time she jumped was when the witch was hungrily reaching for Coraline. I think she’s going to treasure this film as she grows up.

Make no mistake, Coraline may well be the first mainstream animated horror film – but it’s a real horror film of substance! It’s a shame that it has taken this long. Hopefully the first R-rated animated horror film is at the outset. I share Brad Bird’s complaint that animation is considered by many as a genre unto itself and walled off from transcending other genres like Drama and Horror. Animation doesn’t just belong to the kids. Only the naïve and the inattentive think otherwise. Animation is a medium that can explore as far (maybe farther than) live-action can. It is a train, not a destination.

Coraline is closer in spirit and tone with the Oscar-nominated, five-minute 1991 classic The Sandman, directed by Paul Berry. While peering tensely at an innocent little boy trying to sleep, a cruel creature commits an act as God made nature “bloody in tooth and nail”. Keep in mind that the kids have to be fed at the end of the day. It is very disturbing and, consequently, one of my favorites.

“The Sandman”

For the past couple of years, the month of February has adapted a trend of releasing one great surprise amongst a mediocre batch of movies. These surprises achieve staying power, the films themselves range from near-to-complete masterpieces that were high up on my list of the best that given year. 2007, it was David Fincher’s Zodiac, an ingenious police investigation of the allusive San Francisco serial killer. In 2008, it was Martin McDonagh’s In Bruges, a darkly comic drama about people who kill for a living. Though it isn’t as perfect as those last two; this year, it is Coraline.

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Before becoming the next best thing to the likes of film composer Danny Elfman, Shirley Walker made her mark as a conductor for a few renowned films such as Randa Haine’s Children of a Lesser God (1986) and Jonathan Kaplan’s The Accused (1988). Her greatness was matched by the production of Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) as her first gig in Hollywood. On the Internet Movie Database, Walker is listed as a synthesizer musician in the film’s music department. The original music credit goes to its director (listed as Francis Coppola) and his father Carmine Coppola. Coppola’s wife, Eleanor, was too busy documenting its production with stunning material that would later become Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse (1991), written and directed by Fax Bahr and George Hickenlooper who also made the wonderful film, The Man From Elysian Fields (2001). Like Werner Herzog’s Fitzcarraldo (1982) and its accompanying documentary Burden of Dreams (1982), Hearts of Darkness presents the production as harrowing an experience as Apocalypse Now.

2008 was a year to be a fan of Batman; not only did The Dark Knight raise the bar of action pictures involving anti-heroes, but after over a dozen years of waiting, some of the exemplary score from Batman: The Animated Series (1992-1995) was finally released on commercially sold CDs. This first volume is an accumulation of music by head composer Shirley Walker and collaborations by the equally good musicians Lolita Aitmanis and Michael McCuistion. Yes, I bought one of the three-thousand limited releases and it has a place of honor in my office. I investigated Shirley Walker’s 1979 case after reading this excerpt from the collectible booklet included with the soundtrack:

In the 1970′s, Walker began scoring industrial films and jingles while continuing to play as apianist with a variety of orchestras. With one of the Bay’s hotbeds of creativity being Francis Ford Coppola’s American Zoetrope Studios, Walker’s notoriety would see her join the musical team of the writer-director’s Apocalypse Now in 1979. Her synth playing was a major factor in helping Coppola’s father Carmine realize Apocalypse Now‘s acid rock groove, and Walker would re-team with Carmine that same year for The Black Stallion, charging to the rescue with additional music for the Coppola-produced family classic.

-Daniel Schweiger, a soundtrack editor for iFmagazine.com and Venice Magazine.

Exhibit A:

“You’re in the asshole of the world, Captain!”

My favorite twenty seconds of Apocalypse Now‘s entirety is comprised from 2:59 to 3:19 in the following Do Long Bridge sequence. Captain Benjamin L. Willard (Martin Sheen) and his acid-tripping soldier Lance B. Johnson (Sam Bottoms) march across the wire-protruding, burnt-black terrain erupting with explosions of hellfire. From the center of a shooting post, descending lines of light bulbs stretch beyond the inky background and toward the frame panning horizontally to the right. Accompanying the commands, screams and growls on the soundtrack, the surrealistic music kicks in and drowns out the noise, effectively smothering it. The best way to describe the music would be like a carnival pavilion vomiting bile and severed elephant parts. If I died and heard this music, then I will know that I am really in Heaven. I love this music!

Exhibit B:

At this point of The Clock King episode, Batman is locked in a bank vault rigged to suck all of the oxygen from the room. Nearly unconscious, Batman’s point-of-view reveals a digital read-out box from a distance going in and out of focus as opposed to the steel door of the vault. Starting at 4:21 of episode track (not included on the CD…the next one, maybe?), listen for blaring synthesizers from 4:26 to 4:31. Sound familiar? The achieved effect of those nauseous sounds is identical to those used for the Apocalypse Now track. My conclusion is that Shirley Walker is directly responsible for why I regard that scene of Coppola’s film so highly.

Listening to those inspired, sinister tracks from Batman: The Animated Series always brings me back to my childhood. Where else has a theme for Batgirl (4:22 – 5:11) sounded so celebratory, bouncy, rousing and yet threatening? Okay, that is the music I want to hear before those illusory golden gates open before me. What other music makes the Joker (1:43 – 2:35) sound like a balance between lunacy and satanic hedonism? I refer to this soundtrack release as Volume One because there is a big demand for the rest out of the sixty-five episodes of the series. I want to listen to a pure orchestrate of virginal tracks from episodes ranging from Read My Lips, Mudslide, and Shadow of the Bat to House of Garden, Harlequinade, and BabyDoll. Oh, and I haven’t forgotten about the music from The New Batman Adventures (1997-1999), like Over The Edge, Growing Pains, and Mad Love. Surely, about a dozen more volumes isn’t out of the question. So far the first release is an excellent start on part of its producers to do justice to the late, great Shirley Walker.

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

A Punishing Character Drama

One of the most painful moments in The Wrestler is when the doctor explains to Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Mickey Rourke) after his heart attack that he must not exert himself. The aging, muscular man is devastated and cries out, “Doc! I’m a professional wrestler!” The key word there is professional. He takes it seriously. It defines him. Being stripped of his identity, Randy feels worthless. He has never thought about the long term. His lost years of celebrity, drug use and promiscuity left him devoid of anyone who really care about him. Now, Randy is finally going to feel the emotional punishment he has spent his life numbing by punishing himself in the ring.

Why do I love Randy “The Ram” Robinson? Because after sleeping in the back of his van, he has the good spirit to humour the kids knocking outside his window with some horseplay. Because he is a good sport when he choreographs a wrestling match involving a staple gun being used on him. Because he really does love Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), that sweet woman who works at the strip joint he often frequents. Because he is a good sport when he choreographs having a staple gun used on him during a match. Because when Randy picks out a jacket with the letter “S” for his justifiably resentful daughter Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood), he really thinks she’ll like it. Because Randy hates himself for screwing up the good things that come his way. I can’t hate a man who already hates himself so much.

Mickey Rourke plays this character as if he atoning for sins for which he cannot forgive himself. Watch how Rourke has Randy force himself to smile and not cry when Cassidy swills the rest of her beer down. Sizing up Rourke, Marisa Tomei as Cassidy stomachs so much pain here, whether she exposes her body and is passed over by customers or how she just can’t bear to watch Randy punish himself. Rourke found his match with director Darren Aronofsky who has overseen some searingly painful depictions of human agony in films like Pi (1998) and Requiem for a Dream (2000).

Aronofsky tones down his trademark visual kinetics and opts for a documentary aesthetic. The scene where Randy gets treated for each injury and we double back to the previous fight to see how he got it was a gutsy inspiration. The Wrestler is well photographed by Maryse Alberti whose camera finds interesting angles like that establishing shot outside the supermarket with a parking lot lamp at the right side that looks too close for comfort. The camera work is mostly hands-on, deprived of luxuries like tripods and cranes, we become ingrained in the sluggish velocity of Randy’s days. The wavering framing of Randy leaving the hospital in long shot is the most prominent example here. As a loving tribute, from the finger-smudged photographs to the retro font of the main title sequence expresses vintage 1980s sensibilities when Randy was in his prime.

I am drawn to movies about people living close on the edge. The Wrestler is a demanding and devastating experience.

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

If I chose the nominees, none of that would have happened. Permit me to unlock this web page with the key of film obsession. Beyond it is another dimension- a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of liberties. You’re moving into a space of both shadow and substance, of crimes and misdemeanors. You’ve just crossed over into . . . the Beaubien Zone. In here, I am the sole voter of the 81st Annual Academy Awards. To make it more interesting, I will not recognize any of the existing nominees from that thing we’ll call reality, as much as it pains me to see the Best Supporting Actor category without the Michael Shannon nomination. Not only is the challenge more enticing, but it also works as a collection of those deserving – some even more – who were snubbed. Now this would have been a far more entertaining Oscar Night!

Best Picture

Synecdoche, New York (2008): Spike Jonze, Charlie Kaufman, Sidney Kimmel
In Bruges (2008): Graham Broadbent, Peter Czernin
The Dark Knight (2008): Christopher Nolan, Charles Roven, Emma Thomas
Revolutionary Road (2008): Bobby Cohen, Sam Mendes, Scott Rudin
Let the Right One In (2008): Carl Molinder, John Nordling
Special Mention: Wendy and Lucy (2008): Larry Fessenden, Neil Kopp, Anish Savjani

Best Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role

Philip Seymour Hoffman for Synecdoche, New York (2008)
Brendon Gleeson for In Bruges (2008)
François Cluzet for Ne Le Dis à Personne (Tell No One) (2008)
Lee Pace for The Fall (2008)
Michael Shannon for Shotgun Stories (2008)

I was very tempted to also nominate Philippe Petit from Man on Wire for Best Actor. True, he is just playing himself, then again, he is always performing. Plus he does his own stunts!

Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role

Kristen Scott Thomas for Il y a Longtemps Que Je T’Aime (I’ve Loved You So Long) (2008)
Kate Winslet for Revolutionary Road (2008)
Inés Efron for XXY (2008)
Lina Leandersson for Let the Right One In (2008)
Sally Hawkins for Happy-Go-Lucky (2008)
Special Mention: Michelle Williams for Wendy and Lucy (2008)

Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role

Eddie Marsen for Happy-Go-Lucky (2008)
Bill Irwin for Rachel Getting Married (2008)
Aaron Eckhart for The Dark Knight (2008)
Wally Dalton for Wendy and Lucy (2008)
Ralph Finnes for In Bruges (2008)

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

We were spoiled by last year’s Oscar telecast. It didn’t feel that way at the time, but after going through the slough of nominations deemed safe by the Academy of Motion Pictures, a year where No Country For Old Men (2007) took home the big kahuna is looking more lustrous. Amidst the categories is a rigid formula of regularity that just strengthens my conspiracy that the Oscar voters are in cahoots with The Sandman. Some of nominees are deserving, but many of them have been preordained by the death of a thousand cuts that film pundits call Oscar Buzz.

Mind you, I’m writing this with a little tongue in cheek. If the few deserving nominees were absent from the categories, it would be disappointing despite how much news preordained the suspense out like a strangled balloon. Looking at the Best Actor nominees alone, four out of five great choices is not bad. Other categories are not as kind. This is the first out of two think-pieces about the 81st Annual Academy Award Nominations.

Best Picture

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008): Ceán Chaffin, Kathleen Kennedy, Frank Marshall
Frost|Nixon (2008): Brian Grazer, Ron Howard, Eric Fellner
Milk (2008): Bruce Cohen, Dan Jinks (they won for American Beauty in 1999)
The Reader (2008): Anthony Minghella, Sydney Pollack, Donna Gigliotti, Redmond Morris
Slumdog Millionaire (2008): Christian Colson

Out of all the nominees, my favorite is this year’s dark horse: Milk.

The wasp in the honeycomb hairdo this year is The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. If those films represented a hand of cards in a poker game, then I would have dropped Benjamin Button faster than you can ask “Why in Hollywood is The Curious Case of Benjamin Button nominated for Best Picture?“

This year we lost two wonderful filmmakers who were also two of the four producers nominated for The Reader: Anthony Minghella (The Talented Mr. Ripley, 1999) and Sydney Pollack (Tootsie, 1982).

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Taken as a whole, the best films released in 2008 tasted just as sweet as those in 2007 did. Looking at only the titles There Will Be Blood (dir. P.T. Anderson, 2007) and Synecdoche, New York (dir. Charlie Kaufman, 2008), I would be immensely cheered at the state of American cinema. However, there were a number of films scattered and tucked away in corners of the film distribution that saw almost 650 films released in 2008. My impression is that at least twenty to thirty films of a given year should be of great quality. Within those hundreds of films released, it is a pity that so few are wonderful. Still, who can quibble about a year where Charlie Kaufman, Christopher Nolan, Hsiao-hsien Hou, Mike Leigh, Kelly Reichardt, and some triumphant newcomers such as Lucí­a Puenzo and John McDonagh performed so well from either the open or the outset?

I saw a number of films that made their way to Vancouver. There are a few lingering titles that might have been included on this list if I saw them such as Steve McQueen’s Hunger, and Pere Portabella’s The Silence Before Bach. I missed those films shown at the Vancouver International Film Festival that year. My excuse was being bedridden with a cold; I missed out on so much that week. Unfortunately, Portabella refuses to release his film through circuits outside the mercy of unreliable theatrical distributions, which I am taking personally.

Making a list of the best films of the year generally affords the critic an opportunity to collect preferred films as an artist would apply to a collage. Which titles that carry particular visuals and ideas are arranged by the same intellectual deliberation crossed with the finesse of emotional intuition a painter applies a brushstroke. These recommendations could be read as a chef’s deliberate, however liberal feeling, succession of entrées like: starting with Potage à la Tortue, then Quail in Puff Pastry Shell with Foie Gras and Truffle Sauce, following by Cheese and Fresh Fruit, and finally Baba au Rhum avec les Figues — the prize to the movie I am referencing is the prize itself.

The films themselves are so different from one another — not including the given works of formulistic hacks — that measuring a film about a vampire versus a film about a hermaphrodite often appears as a defeatist’s approach. I look at this as a collection of films that made a lasting impression on me, and not as a system of rank. Just because Gus Van Sant’s Milk or Jonathan Demme’s Rachel Getting Married didn’t make the top ten does not mean I think any less of them. I love them dearly.

Without further ado, here are the movies that made me sit up a little straighter than usual this year.

1. Synecdoche, New York

No other film this year has given me so much to think about after each of my four viewings. Every time it ends, I swear that my heart skips a beat. While avidly discussing this film, I said that if I had one week to live then I would have to watch Synecdoche, New York one more time. My praise for a film rarely takes such an extremist stand, but the sentiment reflects what a profound work that would make the absolving into oblivion a little more comforting. Roger Ebert holds the incomparable Ingmar Berman film Cries and Whispers (1972) as one of his lights against the darkness: “I feel profoundly grateful to my life, which gives me so much.” My feelings for Synecdoche, New York match this very spirit.

Synecdoche, New York, a darkly comic, absurdist Rubic’s Cube puzzle of a film about human consciousness, yearnings, foils and disillusionment. Philip Seymore Hoffman played Caden Cotard, a theatre director and self-appointed analyst of the human condition. His studies are performed on productions of stage versus life, including his own verbatim. Haunted by the inescapable postulation of death, he is wrung out by an onslaught of ailments, cruel reminders of eventual decay (“I don’t feel well.”). Doomed romances and a fleeting timeline endanger Caden’s well-being and creativity.

The scope of his latest theatrical production outmatches what he is humanly capable of delivering. The set is so ridiculously large that it could only function as an artist’s idea of Heaven. In denial, Caden is trying to coach himself to good health as though his artistic search for truth will cure him. Or at least make him a little happier. Perhaps his success as an artist would have insured his longevity, a rebuke against having to die. The conclusions he faces are that dreams and desires fleshed out must soon rot away. Fifty years ago, Marcello Mastroianni could have assumed the role of Caden Cotard.

At the time I wrote my original review, I listed very provocative and unique films out of reflex and love. Having some distance to analyze my choices, I found certain similarities between Synecdoche, New York and the following: Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmonies, 2000 (its apocalyptism), Lars Von Trier’s Breaking the Waves, (its terrifying interpretation of what God (re: Caden the Director) might ask one to prove their faith), Bill Forsyth’s Housekeeping, 1987 (its sweetly-haunted look into the unknown against conventional norms) and Robert Altman’s Three Women (its switching of characters’ minds). Hell, even Peter Greenaway’s near-masterpiece A Zed and Two Noughts (its obsession with twinship and decay).

In times where compelling female roles are scarcely encouraged in Hollywood, Synecdoche, New York displays an intimidating showcase of accomplished actresses: Samantha Morton, Catherine Keener, Hope Davis, Michelle Williams, Diane Wiest and Jennifer Jason Leigh. They all succeed at making immediate impressions of their own.

This film offers so much invention, such as the house that is always on fire, but never burns down; don’t we all afford a lifestyle that isn’t good for us? One of the many extravagantly surreal and poignant scenes married so deftly is where Caden burrows deeper and deeper into the recesses of his ever-expanding, breathing metropolis sound stage. Within the enormity of the world, we retreat into the structures made possible by our imaginations.

The achieved layers of its story structure and comprehensibility are matched by the mind-expanding creations manifested from the ambitious and rewarding directorial debut by screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, 2004). A polarized reaction from critics didn’t encourage an auspicious turnabout this film deserved from audiences and the Academy. Synecdoche, New York will certainly gain a cult following when more people discover this masterpiece on DVD.

2. In Bruges

In Bruges started a trend following David Fincher’s Zodiac in 2007 that at least one movie released in February was going to be a masterpiece. In New York, I remember not being impressed by the vulgar trailer shown before There Will Be Blood (2007), which was my favorite film of that year. After hearing good word of mouth, I took a chance and was floored by the debut of writer-director John McDonagh. What surprised me most about this gutsy film was how elegant it was thanks to poignant soundtrack by Carter Burwell and the script’s contemplative pacing.

Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson played two Irish assassins briefly banished to the purgatory on Earth: Bruges, Belgium. While keeping a low profile and doing some sightseeing, the two men have a crisis of conscious after a botched job that leads them into more trouble. The two struggle with their sense of selves, and reveal surprising pathos that their occupation would not allude to. I have more affection for flawed people who try so hard to play the hand they’re dealt with.

The film steers us fearlessly into very politically incorrect comedy (“They’re filming midgets!”) and maintains its devastating drama about guilt, loyalty and ethics. McDonagh achieves the sadist placement for embracing the film’s gallows humor and still recognizing its consequential tragedies. It is one thing to cross the line of good taste, but it is more difficult to be smart about it without apology. Farrell and Gleeson are assigned tough roles and accomplish them with great wit, pain and compassion.

The real villain of the piece is Harry Waters (played with gusto by Ralph Fiennes) who appears in the last third of the film. Carrying himself like a tall, satanic figure, Harry is fascinating as he reveals deep complications about himself and a warped sense of justice. One of the film’s highlights is a virtuoso five-minute take of Ken talking on the phone with Harry. Brendon Gleeson could afford a country with the double-take he makes after telling Harry, “He said, ‘I feel like I’m in a dream’”. The scene starts out funny (“That don’t mean he’s gone. Go check outside the door.”) and gracefully changes into something much dire.

The film is populated with actors who compliment this “fairytale place” including Clémence Poésy, Jordon Prendict, Jérémie Renier (from Le Enfant, 2005 — not to be confused with Jeremy Renner), Thekla Reuten, and Ciarán Hinds. This daring, uncompromised drama is at once plausible, and fantastical. These characters are forced into making hard choices and unthinkable actions and each of their personalities are carefully considered. Besides Synecdoche, New York, In Bruges was also the only film I saw four times in theatres. If I was asked what my favorite film of 2008 was, I would first warn in advance that I wasn’t carrying a bottle.

3. The Dark Knight

Last summer, waiting for this brainy blockbuster for me brought back memories of Christmas morning. Miraculously, the quality of the latest Batman film exceeded its hype and shamed its predecessors. Some have called it The Godfather (1971) to movies based on comic-book superheroes: At the point of the film’s running time it takes for Michael Corleone to bump off the Virgil “The Turk” Sollozzo and Captain McCluskey at the Louis Italian-American Restaurant, The Joker’s escape from the MCU is set in motion: “You have nothing to threaten me with!” The Dark Knight was the most stimulating and thought-provoking big-budget picture Hollywood has produced since Peter Weir’s Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003).

Christopher Nolan’s brilliant tour-de-force employed its graphic novel-influenced archetypes into a a dark Shakespearean tragedy. The exhilarating action scenes were motivated by characters that seemed more real and tangible than ever. It also helps that this story revolves around adults. Each member of the ensemble cast, including Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Aaron Eckhart, Maggie Gyllenhaal, et al. were given just enough screen time to do their roles justice. I still feel Aaron Eckhart deserves more credit for his work as District Attorney Harvey Dent, but the shadow that Heath Ledger casts here is so dark that it swallows the rest all up.

Batman is wily and almost as diabolical as The Joker: By appointing Dent as Gotham’s new protector, Batman could have finally folded his cape and cowl, and then woo Rachel back from Dent. “You know that day you once told me about when Gotham would no longer need Batman — it’s coming.” Two-Face would have appreciated the duality of that scheme. Consider the way Batman at one point says chillingly, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” as he presents a new gadget that surveys every citizen in Gotham. It is Lucious Fox, played by Morgan Freeman, who holds grave misgivings as the voice of reason against criminal acts cloaked in the well meaning vigilance of an extremist.

Here, the Joker’s heroes must have been Henri Poincaré and Stanley Milgram. The joy of Heath Ledger’s performance is the way he seems to take a second to think of what he’s going to say next and then make it sound more twisted. The Joker uses words like live insects being pushed into your ears. The only ones who use perfunctory cliché to communicate are the cops (ie. “Have a nice trip, see you next fall.” and “Lock and load”) The toothy criminal also dispenses some sound wisdom: “If you’re good at something, never do it for free.” He is a great manipulator who can lie with a straight grin when he asks, “Do I look like a guy with a plan?” The way things have been working in The Joker’s favor, he’s a mastermind who would rival Nostradamus. The only one-on-one scene he has with Harvey Two-Face is deliciously wicked. It was like eating a bloody sirloin dipped in battery acid.

The ending of The Dark Knight was genuinely moving; finally leaving me with a deeper appreciation and impression of what Batman really stands for — a truly lonely crusader. I haven’t seen these characters portrayed so justly since becoming a fervent admirer of Batman: The Animated Series in my youth (Question: Who here has spotted the Paul Dini reference in the above paragraph?). This film was like a tonic. At one point, The Joker proves what a great compliment Batman and he are together. “We’re destined to do this forever.” If only!

4. Let the Right One In

Let the Right One In is a vampire movie that is as sophisticated and thoughtful a horror film as you are likely to find. This film, like so few can, redeems the horror genre. It joins the ranks of great vampire films like Kathryn Bigelow’s Near Dark (1987), both the 1922 (dir. F.W. Murnau) and 1979 (dir. Werner Herzog) versions of Nosferatu, and its cunning companion Shadow of the Vampire (2000) by E. Elias Merhige. Let the Right One In is the real thing. Here, vampires burn when touched by sunlight — they do not sparkle.

New to the neighborhood, Eli encounters Oskar (Kåre Hedebrant) one night and she grows protective of him. They form a fragile friendship that could also be described as deathless. They are both tortured souls. Eli (Lina Leandersson) is a young vampire who looks like a girl, but should check out the Lucïa Puenzo film listed below. Poor Oskar is cruelly tortured by school bullies and seems destined in the opinion of others to grow up dysfunctional. Eli encourages him to fight back. This tale of revenge is tackled in shades of gray — very dark grays — that makes its moralistic point-of-view more compelling than usual. In a scene where Oskar does fight back, observe how it acknowledges the gruesomeness of his action and its sobering victory.

Director Tomas Alfredson takes this material seriously. The characters are fleshed out and they respond to a variety of supernatural events as real people would. The richly adapted screenplay by John Ajvide Lindquist was based on his book. Cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema is an asset using carefully planned single takes where the compositions are accomplished and essential.

There is no reason to wait for American version in 2010 because the original cannot be improved upon.

5. Man on Wire

The only complaint I have about this victorious documentary was outside of the filmmaker’s control. Why (Oh why!) didn’t anyone bring a film camera up to the roof of the World Trade Center on the morning of August 7, 1974? A wonderful fool (and I mean that in the best way because I love him) named Philippe Petit had dedicated his life to art of walking on a wire. Petit is a little wicked, but not mean, because how else can I approach a mind that envisions a tightrope between the two towers before they are even built! I wished there were more generous madcaps like Petit out there. I am aware there are Jackass shows out there, yet they lack the romanticism. Petit would die for his greatest stunt. He even admits that his death was eminent that morning. Perhaps the man is not of this world; he survives on oxytocin, never mind oxygen for his Elevation intake.

While cheering on Petit and his band of rogues from France as they infiltrate the top of the heavily guarded Twin Towers, the thought of a much more innocent time is captured. These ingenious criminals’ goal is to entertain and inspire the less adventurous to dream, or at least be in awe. Throughout Philippe Petit’s death-defying exploits, I could hear the faraway voice of Peter Falk reminding me, “He doesn’t fall off the Sydney Harbour Bridge at this time…”.

Leading up to the vertigo-inducing wire walk, white-knuckle suspense can still be felt even as Petit, older and agile, fills us in on the details (“Hide and seek!”). Perhaps it works the way we cringe at the memory of a personal disaster averted just in time; for example, I always freeze when I remember how I nearly knocked over (and saved) a six-thousand dollar painting one of my teachers had on display.

Apart from the stunningly realized black-and-white recreations and captured footage married so well together by director James Marsh, Man on Wire has an intimidating score by J. Ralph and poignant tracks by Pascal Rogé. Yes, My Dinner with Andre (1981) fans, that is the 3 Gymnopédies: Gymnopédie No. 1 that accompanied Wally on his taxi ride. That’s not all. This film is packed with music from the locomotive, baroque film scores of Michael Nyman! The first time I saw Man on Wire, I swore that that could not be Fish Beach from Drowning by Numbers (1988) playing, and Reader, it was.

Included on the DVD, the 2005 animated short The Man Who Walked between the Towers depicts Petit more soundly to a fanciful figure in a fairy tale as opposed to a mortal man of flesh and blood performing acts that would petrify others. To this day, no one has ever walked across a wire above 1,368 feet from the ground.

6. Happy-Go-Lucky

What a lovely film this is. Sally Hawkings gives a winning performance as an elementary schoolteacher named Poppy, a character so unique, witty and complex. Our good luck that this is a character-driven piece. Poppy is so lively that where she goes (re: where she takes the story) is always compelling. Happy-Go-Lucky is a great comedy because it is a deeper and unafraid of acknowledging the scary complications life is ripe with. The driving lesson scenes, for example, involving Scott (Eddie Marsen), an irate instructor and a perfect foil to goodhearted Poppy, alternate between hilarity and suspense. Sally Hawkings and Eddie Marsen are brilliant together, even when the reality of such personalities will lead to later scenes that are sad, even inevitable.

The love British director Mike Leigh has for Poppy is so obvious. Just look at the scene where Poppy gets her back fixed in a chiropractor’s office. She wears only her jewelry, underwear and fishnet stockings. There is nothing lewd about it. She is so comfortable that she cracks jokes and laughs. It is a beautiful moment. I felt refreshed watching this film. Mike Leigh gives shape and exercises his cinematic aesthetics to display his performers excellently on the screen. Using his theatrical sensibilities, after all the rehearsals, he is still a filmmaker throughout the rest of the day.

7. XXY

XXY was a very frank and mature story about a teenage hermaphrodite named Alex. Inés Efron deserves praise for bringing strength and vulnerability to her androgynous character’s body and soul. Because Alex’s puberty is just about over, she has to make a choice which hormone will dominate, and adapt her body to it. Man or Woman? Imagine having the choice of deciding which gender you’ll be for the rest of your life. Then again, being teenager is hard enough as it is.

Set in Uruguay, Alex is protected by her parents on a reserved beach front where the wood is painted turquioise, black shadows and white sand are the dominate textures. Bringing new meaning to that hoary cliché, “I was never the same after that summer”, Alex forms a bond with a teenage boy named Alvaro (Martí­n Piroyansky) accompanied by his visiting family who don’t know about Alex’s secret. The relationship between the teens is one of the most sincere and significant that I have seen in film.

Argentine director Lucí­a Puenzo takes these characters through very troubled waters and manages to maintain sensitivity in scenes most audiences will consider shocking. XXY is the first feature film to break the taboo of portraying hermaphrodites. Puenzo said “I was surprised to see there are almost no stories on this subject, there’s a strange cultural silence over it.” Her screenplay was based on the short story Cinismo by Sergio Bizzio.

Kraken (Ricardo Darí­­n), the father of Alex, is attentive, protective and loving toward his child. Usually, the father in such a story is unreasonable and prejudiced because it is a reliable source of conflict. Here, that prejudice is reserved for another father figure in the story. One of the strongest scenes shows Kraken confronting an adult man who used to be a hermaphrodite. They sit in the kitchen, and Kraken listens with great care and openness. Here is a good man who exercises tolerance with astonishing grace. It is very touching when he remembers his first thought when he first saw Alex when he/she was a baby.

I was worried by the misinformation of Amazon and other retail sites citing that the Region 1 DVD of XXY is presented in a pan-and-scan full-frame format. The careful compositions by cinematographer Natasha Braier in its original 1.85 : 1 widescreen aspect ratio deserve better than that. Film Movement, the American distributor of XXY contacted me back and confirmed,”XXY is in widescreen.” Class act.

8. Milk

A brave pioneer like Harvey Milk, the first gay politician to be elected in an American state in the late 1970s, deserves as astonishing an account as Milk. Sean Penn in the title role was so unserved in his warmth that it was a revelation for the long-proven thespian. Actors James Franco, Emile Hirsch), Allison Pill and Diego Luna were uniformly excellent. In a film rich with romance and comedy, the story of Harvey Milk was grim and alarming as he fought for gay rights when homosexuals were routinely murdered on the sidewalk, even in San Francisco. Milk’s great heart was set against those horrible injustices, which resonates just as much with today’s continuing battle with Prop 8 versus Prop 6 thirty years ago. Some progress has been made thanks to Milk, but there is still a long way to go before it gets better.

Has it really been twenty years since Gus Van Sant made Drugstore Cowboy (1989)? The exhilarating filmmaking by Van Sant here is born from a heedless energy and abandon more suited to a youthful talent. One of the best visuals I saw this year involved the close-up of a disposed whistle that reflected a murder scene. The element that brought great dread was the aforementioned assassination of Milk by his confrontational political colleague Dan White (played well by Josh Brolin). The build-up to this reminded me of a similar one in one of my favorite films Oliver Stone’s Talk Radio (1988) that was written and starred the incomparable Eric Bogosian. Some footage from the Rob Epstein documentary The Times of Harvey Milk (1984) was wisely, though seldom, used with the recreated scenes that achieved genuine emotion. Between this and Standard Operating Procedure, composer Danny Elfman has had a really good year.

9. The Fall

In one of the most grand gestures a filmmaker can do, visionary writer-director Tarsem put all of his finances toward a film of his that big studios were too timid to touch. The men behind the big desks just couldn’t fathom marketing a movie involving the dreams of a six-year-old. The Fall deserves placement along with another one-of-a-kind titled Playtime (1967), which broke the bank of its director Jacques Tati. I tend to root for filmmakers who strive for a personal vision all their own. The ones who don’t compromise their own needs. Filmmakers like Tarsem possess a romanticism that make their work invigorating. Otherwise, it is so boring to watch a film made by people who depend solely on “audience expectations”.

Lee Pace (Pushing Daisies) plays Roy Walker, a crippled movie stuntman turned suicidal because he has exhausted all of his love for an undeserving woman and has nothing left for himself. Wallowing in his hospital bed, a coy little girl with a broken arm named Alexandria (Catinca Untaru) befriends him. Roy enjoys her company and seizes his next suicide attempt by persuading her for “medicine” in exchange for telling her a story about “The Masked Bandit”. Alexandria’s imagination illuminates and embellishes a fantastical landscape as extraordinary as the one in the Guillermo del Toro masterpiece Pan’s Labyrinth (2006).

The drama centers on these two personalities torn over a make-belief world and sense of self. Their outlook on life is like a feud between the creator and his listener. While exploring the depths and beauty of their human imagination, the reality is dire because Alexandria, so innocent she can’t fully comprehend, that she is trying to save Roy. Roy is truly tragic if he can dream so well and still hate himself. Drowning in depressing, Roy is willing to shatter a vulnerable, little girl to his misanthropic vision by killing her heroes.

Here is one of the most heartbreaking exchanges between the two.

“Why are you killing everyone?”
“It’s my story!”
“It’s my story too…”

Using ingenious scheduling, Tarsem filmed the illusory landscapes in over two dozen countries in South America, Europe, Asia and Africa. The use of his special effects afforded me the opportunity to write about The Authenticity of Light™ in my original review. Also welcome is the use of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92, II. Allegretto. The Main Title Sequence is especially memorable. Four years in the making, The Fall stands out as a bold victory in the alter of cinema for its generous artistry.

10. Wendy and Lucy

Wendy and Lucy is a story of a Girl-and-her-Dog where sentiment is guarded and hard-earned. Michelle Williams (Brokeback Mountain, 2005) is almost unrecognizable here as runaway Wendy who is stuck in a desolate town in Oregon on her way to Alaska. Her dog Lucy is her best friend and the last remnant that connects her with some semblance of her old life. Writer and director Kelly Reichardt ruthlessly shows how an otherwise “worthy” member of society (she has a car) can be stripped to the bone of an unmarked drifter by one bad break too many. Accompanied by an award-worthy score by Will Oldham, Wendy and Lucy is a touchstone of the head-above-water American Independent Film Movement.

11. Tell No One

While skinny-dipping one night, Alexandre Beck (François Cluzet) chases his wife, Margot (Marie-Josée Croze) across the dock and is knocked unconscious. He wakes up in a hospital and is informed that Margot was murdered. Eight years later, Alexandre is still coping with his loss. It hasn’t been proven, but authorities still consider him their prime suspect. Then one day, Alexandre receives an e-mail… from Margot. I’ll stop right here because you deserve to see this one cold.

Here is a movie made with the discipline of a great film noir from the 1940’s; Out of the Past (1947) comes to mind. The premise would have appealed to Alfred Hitchcock who most favoured The Innocent Man Wrongly Accused theme. The whole plot entangles together with such a lean, ferocious finesse by writer-director Guillaume Canet based on the Harlan Coben novel. Like a knife, the story twists and turns using ingenuity that borders on diabolical. Worthy of David Mamet’s best work (ex. House of Games, 1987), the many revelations are handled with the deftness of a magician.

I haven’t seen an action-thriller this smart and riveting since Andrew Davis’ The Fugitive (1993). One of the highlights of this production is an extended foot chase on a freeway. The film is peopled with class acts like Kristin Scott Thomas, André Dussollier, Marina Hands, Jean Rochefort, François Berlé and, and Olivier Marchal. Mikaela Fisher is a stand out as a henchwoman with the endurance of the Terminator. By the end, no loose ends are hanging. It is bewildering to have followed a plot that is so tight that the screenplay must have been strangled nearly to death.

Incredibly, Tell No One took almost two years to be released in North America since its premiere at the French Film Festival. I agree that what happens in this movie should be kept a secret, but that is getting ridiculous. The best review of this exceptional thriller for those who have not seen it yet consist of three words: See it now.

A Dozen Special Mentions:

1. Revolutionary Road (dir. Sam Mendes)
2. Chop Shop (dir. Ramin Bahrani)
3. The Wrestler (dir. Darren Aronofsky)
4. The Edge of Heaven (dir. Fatih Akin)
5. My Winnipeg (dir. Guy Maddin)
6. Standard Operating Procedure (dir. Errol Morris)
7. Ballast (dir. Lance Hammer)
8. Shotgun Stories (dir. Jeff Nichols)
9. Doubt (dir. John Patrick Shanley)
10. The Class (dir. Philippe Claudel)
11. Encounters at the End of the World (dir. Werner Herzog)
12. Sita Sings the Blues (dir. Nina Paley)

February 3, 2010: 2008 revised

Synecdoche, New York (dir. Charlie Kaufman)
In Bruges (dir. John McDonagh)
The Dark Knight (dir. Christopher Nolan)
Let the Right One In (dir. Tomas Alfredson)
Man on Wire (dir. James Marsh)
Revolutionary Road (dir. Sam Mendes)
Happy-Go-Lucky (dir. Mike Leigh)
XXY (dir. Lucí­a Puenzo)
Milk (dir. Gus Van Sant)
The Edge of Heaven (dir. Fatih Akin)
The Wrestler (dir. Darren Aronofsky)
Silent Light (dir. Carlos Reygadas)
Chop Shop (dir. Ramin Bahrani)
Tell No One (dir. Guillaume Canet)
My Winnipeg (dir. Guy Maddin)
Wendy and Lucy (dir. Kelly Reichardt)
Standard Operating Procedure (dir. Errol Morris)
Doubt (dir. John Patrick Shanley)
Shotgun Stories (dir. Jeff Nichols)
The Class (dir. Philippe Claudel)
The Fall (dir. Tarsem)
A Christmas Tale (dir. Arnaud Desplechin)
Ballast (dir. Lance Hammer)
Encounters at the End of the World (dir. Werner Herzog)
Wall•E (dir. Andrew Stanton)
Sita Sings the Blues (dir. Nina Paley)
Rachel Getting Married (dir. Jonathan Demme)
Iron Man (dir. Jon Favreau)
Kung-Fu Panda (dir. Mark Osborne and John Stevenson)
Che (dir. Steven Sodenbergh)
I’ve Loved You So Long (dir. Philippe Claudel)
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (dir. Woody Allen)
Burn After Reading (dir. Joel and Ethan Coen)
The Flight of the Red Balloon (dir. Hsiao-hsien Hou)
Slumdog Millionaire (dir. Danny Boyle)
Definitely, Maybe (dir. Adam Brooks)
Gran Torino | Changeling (dir. Clint Eastwood)
Troubled Water (dir. Erik Poppe)
Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired (dir. Marina Zenovich)
Momma’s Man (dir. Azazel Jacobs)
The Reader (dir. Stephen Daldry)

© 2009 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Vote for Harvey Milk (1930 – 1978)

The passing of Proposition 8 across the United States two weeks ago adds more urgency to the new Gus Van Sant film Milk. It is a red alarm crying out against the continued and criminal persecution of homosexuals. Denying the civil rights of an individual to legally marry a person of their choice is cruel. For decades, sanctimonious hypocrites have relentlessly imposed their prejudice on homosexuals, forcing them to live in the margins of society. Homophobia has always puzzled and irritated me. When I was seven, before I was aware of gays and lesbians, I casually wondered if there were men who loved men and women who loved women. Later I found out my musing was correct – and like looking up at the sky to see birds were flying up there — I was cheered by the prospect. As a level-headed straight man, I support and empathize with good people like Harvey Milk.

Keith Olbermann’s “Special Comment” from MSNBC Countdown

Gus Van Sant has made the most compelling biopic since Bennett Miller’s Capote (2005) – a close second is David Fincher’s Zodiac (2007) about Robert Graysmith’s obsessive investigation for an infamous serial killer. All of these films avoid the wearisome narrative trap that checks off the birth, the childhood a la Taylor Hackford’s Ray (2004). Close attention is paid to set us in this very specific time and place from 1970 to 1978 in Castro, San Francisco. For anyone unfamiliar with Harvey Milk (Sean Penn), the film reveals in its first few minutes that the man was assassinated in the late 1970s along with Mayor George Moscone (Victor Garber). The film seamlessly combines documented footage from the 1970s into the staged fiction with success much like Mary Harron’s The Notorious Bettie Page (2006). Even Milk, the first openly gay man elected in government as a city supervisor, realized his imminent death was soon approaching. Late one night, he recites his memoirs on a tape recorder in his kitchen. We come back to Milk and his mike throughout his story; his words illuminate events after the fact like an angel reminiscing until he has to stop.

Forty-year-old Harvey Milk, a closeted gay man working like a cog for a corporation, was dissatisfied with his life. Upon a chance encounter on the steps of a New York subway, Milk coyly picks up a thirtyish sweet-faced hippie named Scott Smith (James Franco, very good here). The two men light up as they fall comfortably in love. It is a great pleasure to watch their warm and attentive romance – these people are happy together. Eventually they immigrate to San Francisco where they still face open hostility and are not welcomed in stores. As a Goldwater Republican, Milk becomes vocal over homosexuals’ civil rights and initially reasons that it is against the free market for businesses to refuse service to a legal consumer just because they’re gay. For years, the police have rounded up, beaten, and sometimes murdered homosexuals for being seen in bars or simply strolling on sidewalks. There is an amazing visual of a blood-spotted metal whistle (gay people wore them as a precaution at night in case they were ambushed by thugs) lying on the road and its reflection shows us a dead man on a gurney being rolled away while Milk argues to no avail with a discontented cop at the site. Strange how something so incidental illustrates a bigger picture.

Milk is determined to take back the Castro neighborhood as a safe haven and work up to the nation state by state. Inside Milk’s modest camera store is substituted for his electorate office peopled with idealistic gays like Cleve Jones (Emile Hirsch), Anne Kronenberg (Allison Pill) and Dick Pabich (Joseph Cross) acting as Milk’s campaign staff. Scott plays the feminine role in their relationship; he vacates Harvey’s campaign staff from their apartment so he can serve his man dinner. Upon both my viewings in a movie theatre, Milk’s response after trying the spaghetti has always gotten the biggest laugh.

After Milk gets his first death threat while running for office, he glibly tells Scott that his death could win him “the sympathy vote.” One of his most vocal enemies came in the form of Anita Bryant, a wholesome-looking singer/celebrity who plugged Florida orange juice and spread hatred against the gay movement by masking it as Christian values. She even states that the Jews and Muslims are going to hell, but that doesn’t get much screen time. After years of campaigning, defeats, sacrificing, rallies and networking, Milk became the first openly gay politician to be elected into government: “Now that’s something to fear — a gay man with power!”

While Bryant’s hatemongering escalates, a sleazy conservative state legislator John Briggs (Denis O’Hare) joins her by sponsoring California Prop 6, a bill that would ban gays, lesbians and gay rights supporters from working in public schools. To discourage the threat of homosexuality by making it more socially unacceptable, Briggs argues weakly that it is to protect children from molestation. Milk (along with political activist Sally Gearhart, who is absent from the film) pops Briggs’s argument with statistics that heterosexual males are usually found out to be child molesters: “So you’re saying the state’s population is equal to the percentage of child molestation.” Then Briggs buries his case by admitting that child molestation cannot be prevented, “…so let’s cut our odds down! Let’s take out the homosexual group (5% of the state’s population) and keep the heterosexual group (95%)!” It is no surprise when they debate in Orange County, Brigg’s turf, that the audience members boo Milk’s brilliant counterattacks that turn Briggs into a sore loser. For audiences today, the battle over Prop 8 today will mirror the one over Prop 6 that took place thirty years ago.

The Greatest Unifier Is Greed | The Mini-Musical “Prop 8″

Milk sees how a segregated group of people suffer the most when hiding from public eye. One of these is of Jack Lira (Diego Luna), a Mexican American involved with Milk for a time, is so neurotically insecure in their relationship partly because his options both geographically and politically have been so limited. Lira hinges on desperation and does not have room socially to tend his own emotional well-being. Milk, alas, tries to convince Lira that he is loved.

Another strong demonstration of how claustrophobic the times were: When Milk gets a phone call one night from a sobbing young man from Minnesota considering suicide. He tells Milk that his parents want to admit him to a hospital tomorrow to “get (him) fixed.” Milk tries to convince the youth that there is nothing wrong with him, God does not hate him, and that he should get away to New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, anywhere. The next establishing shot of the young man (it’s not what you’re thinking) is heartbreaking.

There is even consideration for how willing Milk himself was to come out of the closet at his age while he was encouraging younger people to do so and risk standing with their family and friends. Again, the way to fight prejudice is to familiarize homosexuality with people they know. Standing out and being recognized is the saving grace that can change ignorant prejudice to open-mindedness — or at least tolerance. “Never use the elevator!” Harvey tells Cleve on the steps of City Hall, “You make such a grand entrance by taking these stairs!”

The most fascinating case study is of Dan White (Josh Brolin), a city supervisor who gambles political standing by attempting an alliance with Milk, which is tempered by his conservative upbringing and beliefs. Milk and his staff quietly speculate that White, a husband and father, might be a closeted homosexual. White argues with Milk about the sanctity of marriage, yet gladly invites Milk to his son’s christening – later his wife questions them about how “appropriate” it is to discuss homosexuality in a church. Tense scenes of Milk versus White are usually composed with an abundance of space surrounding the two overhead within the frame. At one point over professional jealousy, White belittles Milk’s crusade as an issue. On two different levels – politically and personally – Milk fiercely tries to overturn White’s accusation as being a matter of life and death. Josh Brolin, having an excellent year with this and his riveting lead performance in Oliver Stone’s W., does a commendable job playing White as conflicted, oblivious and unsettled by his own nature. There are layers revealed of White that Brolin rightfully downplays because his character lacks introspection and the willingness to look at himself more closely.

Curious how after the main title sequence, its credits are in small, meek and sans serif font, showing documented footage of gay men in bars being harassed by photographers and policemen. One patron, hiding his face with his hand, eventually throws his drink at camera’s lens. Another shot shows policemen forcing homosexuals into the back of a paddy wagon until there is no room to move. Just as Milk is about remember the past eight years, a title card blows up the screen reading “milk” in heavy white font (either Calvert or Memphis) on black. I think the second showing of the film’s title was done to change the overall tone between Milk then and Milk NOW, larger than life.

At one point, Van Sant blows up many of Milk’s campaign posters across the screen against vibrant colour with typeset so authentic you could smell the ink off the silk-screen press. Much later, a shocking moment is shown a little more warped by a framed curved mirror imaging violence from a distance. A recent collaborator of Van Sant’s is director of photography Harris Savides (Zodiac – David Fincher, 2007 – also shot in San Francisco) who soaks the images with an immediate grainy, brightness. Van Sant takes liberties with inspired camera angles when recreating scenes in the Rob Epstein documentary The Times of Harvey Milk (1984 – it was narrated by Harvey Fierstein, a gay, gravelly-voiced actor famous for The Torch Song Trilogy, 1988) such as when Harvey triumphantly rides on top of a convertible in a parade and where Milk and Briggs debate in a school gymnasium. Even small touches like the zoom-in on Dan White’s televised political running-bid make the film feel a little younger in spirit. Milk’s later recollections over the phone to Scott of an opera called Tosca may remind viewers of the best scene in Jonathan Demme’s Philadelphia (1993) where the Tom Hanks character Andrew Beckett explains his enthusiasm for his favorite Maria Callas operetta Madeleine.

In the Danny Elfman score, there are occasionally off-kilter guitar strings that provide tension against the soulful saxophones and violins (Yes, I own the soundtrack). On the track Gay Rights Now, there is a soaring, almost angry melody that makes me sit up a little straighter. When Anita Bryant is introduced, Elfman’s score sounds very much like Suzie’s Theme from To Die For (1995 – my personal favorite of all the Gus Van Sant films and one of 1990′s very best) with its loony cheer and chilly choir singers. Van Sant uses damning footage of Anita Bryant to play herself, a tactic used recently by filmmaker George Clooney with U.S. Senator Joe McCarthy in Good Night, and Good Luck (2005).

For Sean Penn, one of the most accomplished American actors working today, this is one of his most accomplished performances. Penn hasn’t been this on target since he played real-life thwarted terrorist Samuel J. Bicke, an insecure, emotionally-turbulent, divorced American salesman who attempted to hijack an airplane to crash into the White House, in Niels Mueller’s The Assassination of Richard Nixon (2004). Famous for his darker, angrier roles (Tim Robbins’ stellar Dead Man Walking, 1995), this attentive and happier one is a revelation that harkens back to his sensitivity from Woody Allen’s Sweet and Lowdown (1999). In Bicke, Penn portrayed excruciating agony within a soft, breaking shell. Here in Milk, Penn thrives with generosity, rage and joy as a rebellious spirit with the courage to uphold a watershed against bigotry. Those two roles are polar opposites, yet Penn excels at fearlessly embodying them with honesty. Like Philip Seymore Hoffman’s versatile turn as Truman Capote, Penn captures the essence of Harvey Milk without relying on an imitation of an earlier performance. Showcasing the wise casting and thoughtful performances before the end credits, archival footage presents first the actors and then their real life counterparts from the The Times of Harvey Milk, the people surrounding Milk, detailing what happened to them. With perhaps a little more stress on the voice than needed, Penn’s Milk comes scarily close to the real thing.

Funny story: After Penn kissed Franco for the first time, he called his first wife Madonna to tell her the kiss reminded him of her. What does that mean, Doctor Freud? I guess we’ll never know.

In the Epstein documentary, White was actually more intolerant of gay rights and gave speeches in that vein inside Orange County churches that the Van Sant film doesn’t show – the director just wants to keep the conflict between Milk and White at a personal level. Much of the documentary after Milk’s assassination focuses on White’s trial which was presided by a jury of White’s actual (read: white, heterosexual) peers because the court felt that inviting a homosexual into the jury box would be biased. Wait till you hear about the Twinkie Defense™! White’s recorded testimony over the day of the shooting is pathetic: “(Milk) just kind of smirked at me. ‘Too bad.’ I just got all flushed and hot and I shot him.” The jury really did weep for White and pardoned him with five years in prison for murdering two civil servants of the state. Sometimes, good things happen to bad people.

Eventually it struck me how much I missed Harvey Milk in the documentary. Van Sant keeps Milk on screen in his film for as long as he can. The limited time he uses afterward is to mourn. For a film that sounds grim and serious, Van Sant counters Milk with so much enthusiasm and comedy that his ultimate fate is even more tragic. One of the most astonishing pieces of footage is reserved near the end of the film to show how many people Milk had spoken for. You could almost hear Milk, like a phantom voice, calling aloud “My name is Harvey Milk and I am here to recruit you!” With Milk gone, he would have been seventy-eight years old today, those same people were more free to continue the revolution of making their own voices heard. They became an army of hope.

“Milk” Trailer

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

The Life Stages of Caden Cotard

Oh God, I feel alone. I feel so utterly alone having connected and clicked with a film that many people will reject. This being the directorial debut of the incomparable screenwriter Charlie Kaufmann: Sï-nêk’dõ-kë, Nyöo Yáwrk. For me, Synecdoche, New York is a tough sell — an unconventional film that I treasure where recommendation demands caution. It’s where I stand with Béla Tarr’s Werckmeister Harmonies (2000), Lars Von Trier’s Breaking the Waves (1996), Bill Forsyth’s Housekeeping (1987) and Robert Altman’s Three Women (1977). These films fly in the face of all the formulaic and commercial creeds of how a movie should work and gives pause for how many ways it could work best. A first impression might grimace, conclude “it’s weird” and close the investigation — that’s their right; however, Synecdoche, New York deserves better and an appreciative audience. The film works, not despite, but because of its extraordinary structure and function being mysterious, opaque, labyrinthine, yet emotional, accessible, and fully-formed.

What I love most about Charlie Kaufman’s exercises in the celluloid medium is how they exceed expectations throughout his most unorthodox and dizzying narratives. Throughout, there is apt teasing and suspense over where this story could go when driven by such a visionary. By the end, I feel as if he has exhausted every possibility from his premises with an attentive heart. Such as when the pitiable Craig Schwartz whose puppets of himself and Maxine, a distant female co-worker, kiss for the first time in Being John Malkovich (1999). Or when Joel Barish frantically races away from his evaporating memories with his ex-girlfriend Clementine at hand, trying to save her in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). Or how about when in Adaptation (2002), New Yorker writer Susan Orlean is struck by the awesome poetry of John Laroche, a toothless orchid thief, musing about the “little dance” between wasps and orchids — “How, when you spot your flower, you can’t let anything get in your way.”

In Synecdoche, New York, our hero tries to find meaning in his very existence by resurrecting an evolving metropolis in a gigantic sound-stage where a flock of birds fly off many miles down the structure. The seminal replica of Manhattan is a theatre set for an untitled play about its director and all of the people in his life. Since the play reflects life, so the play must reflect itself like a microcosm that expands, refracts, grows and deepens. It is a comic-tragic, universal illustration of a life that tries to manage its surrounding citizens in roles (wife, daughter, mistress, 2nd wife, etc.) the participant tries to contain. Of course, everyone else is the lead in their own story, so management of the play of one’s life becomes discombobulated.

Enter the world of theatre director Caden Cotard played with great nerve and without vanity by Philip Seymore Hoffman. At age forty, he is burdened with anxiety, bad health, failed relationships, and occasionally distracted by lofty goals that feed his great ego which barely hides his low self-esteem. Like an addict, he mercilessly prods, analyzes and compresses his failures; denying himself a much wanted recovery by purging himself deeper into a sea of emotional toxin. What hurts most is that he tries so hard to preserve what little he has left. While a doctor sews stitches into his forehead after a freak accident with an exploding sink faucet, Caden sheepishly remarks, “I’d rather there not be a scar.”

Ailments arrive and roost inside him at an alarming rate. Every checkup by one doctor leads to the discovery of another problem (“My pupils don’t work.”) and the recommendation of another doctor for it. Caden’s body with its cramps, bleeding gums, oozing pustules, and strange bumps consistently fails him with a vengeance. If his body were a temple, the city council would demolish it in favor of clearing the real estate for a shiny high-rise. A man this sick cannot be happy and cannot really live. But for all his flaws and succumbs to temptations, he keeps trying.

Life at home is just as damaging. Meet Adele, his wife, a moody and exacting painter who paints on canvases so small that she and her patrons require magnifying goggles to make out the beautifully rendered figures. Her proposed all-night task of packaging her work for her Berlin exhibition is a gut-buster. Catherine Keener (again opposite Hoffman in Bennett Miller’s Capote back in 2005) makes such a strong impression as Adele with her stringy hair, a tattooed breast, and a haggard complexion verging on desperation that her absence later is deeply felt. The character is richer because Keener manages to exude compassion and comfort within what a lesser actress would make one-note and abrasive. It makes sense why these two flawed and ambitious people would have tried to make a life together with their four-year-old daughter Olive (Sadie Goldstein).

Just about everyone is sick here. Adele coughs a lot, even in voice-over when a letter by hers is read. She ignores Olive’s frightened insistence that her feces is a strange colour. Caden and Adele’s flaky, stone-faced couples counselor Dr. Madeleine Gravis, played by scene-stealer Hope Davis (American Splendor, 2003 — Is Harvey Pekar around here?) — her feet are raw with angry red and white blisters irritated by her sleek, black high stilettos — even this leggy blonde is flawed. Deliberate attention is paid to the deterioration of the human body weathered by age and disease. Vulnerably and mortality is emphasized with the perplexing passage of time; months, even years pass within minutes. Going from the bathroom on September down the stairs to the kitchen; suddenly it’s October. Where did the time go? What happened with my life? Has it really been six months? Six years! Conversations with the Cotard family feel rushed, overlapping dialogue, even precious moments with Olive feel short-lived instead of cherished. Fasten your safety belt — this film will give you whiplash.

Madeleine commits the obvious scam that all best-selling shrinks must, bringing to mind Richard Dreyfuss’ Dr. Leo Marvin in What About Bob? (1991). It doesn’t help that Adele dismisses Caden as an artist since he works with previously adapted material, while overlooking his radical realization of the play Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. In an instant, Caden has lost his family abroad, romances sparks from the advances of Hazel (Samantha Morton, Morvern Callar (2002)), a 30-something buxom box-office girl to his young leading actress Claire (Michelle Williams, Wendy and Lucy (2008)), and Adele’s manipulative friend Maria (Jennifer Jason Leigh, Last Exit To Brooklyn (1990)) has sensationally corrupted Olive, and Caden wins the MacArthur Genius Grant along with surmountable freedom, financial security and infinite time pursue his most ambitious work of art! Such a grant would be evidence enough to place this film in the fantasy genre.

Then Caden’s next project gets personal.

Synecdoche, New York knows what it is to be so painfully conscious, so agonizingly aware of your circumstances that you feel belittled and judged; objectivity just gives you a better view of your own bad performance. There is something creepy, an almost sickly undercurrent throughout the film. Kaufman resists explaining away the strange materializations (eg. the fire house) and warped timeline as the result of Caden’s mentally unstable reinterpretation of the world. What Kaufman is suggesting is even scarier and more immediate than placing his story in the safety zone of “it was all a dream”. Yes, every surreal and miraculous thing that is happening before us on the screen is reality. If our perception is illusory and concrete, then it is possible for the real world to be represented with the weight barren in a dream, but nightmarish in its network of logic.

Yes, Caden can be self-absorbed (Claire is the one who figures out Hazel’s situation for him) and pretentious. Just look at Hazel’s expression as she awkward sips her drink while Caden talks about his play where “we are all in the same primordial bloodstream” (I’m paraphrasing here, I’ve only seen this movie once*). Everywhere he goes, he sees himself in advertisements, and as a character in a deranged cartoon Olive is watching. From a first-person account, doesn’t everything seem to be informing us — (read: ME!) — only more directly? Caden does not always do the right thing, but he is aware of his failures and genuinely regrets his mistakes.

A flawed protagonist is required as a launching pad for those who must identify with, but not idolize the subject. This is from someone who made self-deprecation look like fun in Adaptation: “Charlie Kaufman! Fat! Bald! Repulsive! Old! Sits at a Hollywood restaurant with Valerie Thomas!” Caden finds out later that Adele “wants joyous and healthy people (in her life)” in a way that is impersonal and devastating. Only a shallow, empty vessel trying to pass as a human being could dismiss Caden’s feelings — I’m looking at you, Ben Lyons! Appearing on the gutted remains of At The Movies, Lyons smiles like a greasy used car salesman when he calls Caden “The most pathetic individual to ever exist!” Has Ben Lyons ever left his bubble?

During a lunch outside with Hazel, one of the few times Caden is serene, she feeds him lines to woo her. He enjoys taking her dictation; playing his character instead of being himself. This scene foreshadows near the end of the film where Caden takes direction by the sound of a woman’s voice. Here, too, he is also serene. Kaufman again delivers a variety of role plays, bizarre transformations and comic scenarios including bravado turns by Tom Noonan (Snow Angels, 2008) as a sad-eyed stalker who is hired to play his stalkee and Dianne Weist (Edward Scissorhands, 1990) as an actress who plays the only character Caden has never met (translation: a fictitious person) and vice versa. There is a brilliant inside joke by casting Emily Watson (Hilary and Jackie, 1998), as arresting as ever, to play Tammy — the stage version of Morton’s Hazel. One time Samantha Morton auditioned for a role and the director complimented her performance in… Hilary and Jackie. Awkward.

Double entendres sparkle throughout the crisscrossing storylines. Caden is asked at one point by Madeleine “Why did you kill yourself?” Caden asks her to repeat the question and she asks “Why would you kill yourself?” Two versions of her question refer to two instances with technically different characters in a real place and the same place set in Caden’s warehouse. This scenario is like a decoder device that can be applied to a variety of loosely connected scenes that reveal greater understanding to the characters’ pathos. Caden’s relationship with Sammy, the faux Caden, emphasizes how competing with others for the heart of another is as bad as competing with oneself. Throughout the film, Caden’s worst enemy is really himself, whereas the older he gets, the lonelier and less significant he feels.

Women surround and sometimes dominate Caden who, in a very tender scene, admits to Tammy in private that he secretly wanted to be a woman: “Maybe I’d have been good at it.” We hear a little Kaufman himself inserting sparse commentary through his characters, particularly when Claire talks about the thrill of “working with so many strong, female actresses” in a play. Caden attempts to form a bond with the flirtatious Hazel to rebound from his failed marriage (“Can you help me forget my troubles?”). In the middle of sex, Caden breaks down and tries to let Hazel down gently and then the camera focuses solely on Hazel — from Caden’s pain to hers. In fact, Hazel may be the only character who has screen time where Caden is absent. Observe how unsentimental Kaufman is about his characters without politically correct conceits of gender; while Caden is suffering from PAS (Parental Alienation Syndrome), he psychically wrestles Marie down to the ground after being refused to see his daughter. From a sweet kid to adulthood, the case of Olive demonstrates how truthfully harsh circumstances can get for people outside the bubbled, idealistic depiction of children. Two later encounters between a much older Caden and his adult daughter are searingly painful to watch.

Coal-black social satire peels Caden’s materialistic and art-minded facade apart. In a toy store, having gotten indispensable information from Olive’s evolving diary that her favourite colour is pink, Caden purchases a large pink box with an illustration of a human nose that is titled “nose”. In the real world (re: every other movie that is not Synecdoche, New York), Caden is buying his daughter a Barbie House™. Kaufman consistently strips the layers of recognition and conventionality to expose the absurdness of everyday truisms. It is worth noting how Hazel’s answering machine never changes, which encapsulates her young self despite how the passing years have aged her. One particular phone call Caden makes to Hazel is awfully poignant.

The same twisted and delicious logic of Kaufman is on display here like the way in Adaptation, a screenwriter’s life is threatened at gunpoint by the very characters he rewrote and corrupted to make his script more commercial. For almost the past decade, Charlie Kaufmann’s scripts have turned into some of my most treasured experiences in a movie theatre. I was with Being John Malkovich every step of the way: “What happens to a man who goes down his own portal?” “We’ll see!” That directorial debut of Spike Jonze — who also played the fourth leg of a table called Three Kings that year — was a near-perfect comic-tragedy.

“Being John Malkovich” Trailer

Ministry of Information Scene from “Brazil”

The music used in the Being John Malkovich (and the WALL-E) trailer(s) is from the 1984 Terry Gilliam film Brazil; the track entitled The Office is by Michael Kamen. Come to think of it, Kaufman’s direction is rather Gilliamish AND Tatiesque (eg. Playtime, 1967). Synecdoche, New York is compacted with strange objects and idiosyncratic details — that pink Christmas present of Olive’s was not an accident — it’s memorable. The set design alone of the city spectacle with the indomitable blimp flying overhead inside the warehouse is a Terry Gilliam wet dream. The score for Synecdoche, New York by composer Jon Brion is high-strung and whimsical with occasional alien notes. There are some playful musical cues of angst near the beginning that pay homage to Brion’s edgy track Hands and Feet (instruments included xylophone, hammers and duct tape) from P.T. Anderson’s Punch Drunk Love (2002). Here We Go, a musical number by Brion for Punch Drunk Love is in the same vein as the sleepy piano ballad Little Person sung by jazz vocalist Deanna Storey. What a smoky and poignant song.

From Little Person:
Somewhere, maybe someday,
Maybe somewhere far away,
I’ll meet a second little person,
And we’ll go out and play.

There are visual clues throughout Synecdoche, New York, one of the most crucial shows us a digital read-out of 7:44 in the beginning of the film and a brick wall with spray painted clock-hands pointing to 7:45. Life is so fleeting that it could very well pass within a minute. We can’t trust our eyes, but feelings are another matter. Again, the best way to exercise this film is to take everything at face value. Synecdoche, New York shows us that the unexamined life is not worth living, but that a life worth living means enduring a great deal of pain. Because the grim subject matter is approached with an open and searing heart and a great sense of humor, the film is not depressing. I felt exhilaration and joy over the ambition, scope and warm intentions against the dying gray light.

Caden’s greatest sin is he has taken his life for granted. Proof is constantly before him — his decaying body and his deteriorating relationships with other people. The key line of dialogue early on is “I don’t feel well” and by the end, he won’t feel anything at all. Despite the realization of Caden’s extravagant metropolis stage, which is like a director’s Heaven, living in a world where everyone is constantly looking at (and like) each other, they are forever reflecting themselves. By leaps of artistic pursuit and/or madness, Caden as well as his actors can assume the role of someone else — the irony being that they are still their own selves and there is no escape from that. For better or for worse, death is being relieved of yourself.

*After a second viewing, I confirmed that Caden actually told Hazel “We’re all in the same water. Soaking in our very menstrual blood and nocturnal emissions.”

December 24, 2008:

“Harold Pinter won the Pulitzer. No, wait — he died.”

“Synecdoche, New York” Trailer

This is the best movie poster I’ve seen for the film. It’s cool how those cursed notes on the table resemble the windows of the city.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

No! This not another merger-bastardization of the Ridley Scott/James Cameron enterprise. It’s a CGI feature from Dreamworks that comes in ATOMOVISION! – correction – INTRU3D! Sigh, 3D is so overrated.

It is directed by Dreamworks devotees Rob Letterman (Shark Tale, 2004) and Conrad “Gingerbread Man” Vernon (Shrek 2, 2004).

Watching this reminds me of a Brad Bird feature that was “Bold! Dramatic! Heroic!” Let’s just hope Monsters VS Aliens isn’t another hobo suit. Another denominator is that the score sounds like a low-rent Beetlejuice score.

However, any movie that features a United States President that looks and sounds like Stephen Colbert has my vote — “Hail To The Cheese!”

Others lending their voices are Seth Rogen (Zach and Miri Make A Porno, 2008) , Paul Rudd (The Shape of Things, 2003), Hugh Laurie (House M.D. was in Spice World, 1997) and Reese Witherspoon (Freeway, 1996) as Susan the Fifty-Five Foot Woman — insert Shrinking Lover quip from Pedro Almodóvar’s Talk To Her (2002) here.

It oozes into theaters March 27, 2009.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

A Horror Movie With A Bloodthirsty Heart

First, I would like to single out a scene that is pivotal to the overall success of Let the Right One In. Oskar, a twelve-year-old Swedish boy (Kåre Hedebrant), whose parents are separated, is visiting his father (Henrik Dahl) over the weekend. Late in the night, the two are having a blast playing tic-tac-toe. They are interrupted by a visitor whose presence subtly changes the course for the rest of the evening. The last grim exchange between the father and son expresses so much hurt and understanding about the how and why. It doesn’t need to be explained. It is simply felt. This scene sounds like it belongs in a serious drama. It is, but Let the Right One In is also a vampire movie – as sophisticated and thoughtful a horror film as you are likely to find.

This film, like so few can, redeems the horror genre. So many cynical filmmakers belittle their horror films because they don’t believe the genre is worthy. You can browse shelves of horror titles and find only one success out of thirty failures. Thankfully, Let the Right One In joins the ranks of great vampire films like Kathryn Bigelow’s Near Dark (1987), both of the 1922 (dir. F.W. Murnau) and 1979 (dir. Werner Herzog) versions of Nosferatu, and its cunning companion Shadow of the Vampire (2000) by E. Elias Merhige. Let the Right One In is the real thing. Set in Sweden – 1982, it uses vampire logic in an environment as cold, cruel and recognizable to our own. There are moments of invention such as what happens when a vampire trespasses property where an invitation has not been given. Here, vampires get burned when touched by sunlight – they don’t (*shudder*) sparkle.

Living next door to Oskar is Eli (Lina Leandersson), a young vampire who looks like a twelve-year-old girl, but it is more complicated than that. There is an alarming shot of her behind a door that’s ajar — you know the one. She is sheltered by an older deviant (Per Ragner) who appears to be under a spell as he fetches her blood from victims he kills and drains. She would have been better off sending the Ice Truck Killer to perform this task. Upon further reflection, this character may be a possible outlook into the future of what Oskar will become when he reaches adulthood.

Eli encounters Oskar one night and she grows protective of him. They form a fragile friendship that could also be described as eternal. No matter how high the body count mounts, Eli remains sympathetic because she cares for Oskar and her cursed hunger is blameless. They are both tortured souls.

Poor Oskar is quiet and misunderstood. In class, a policeman asks the kids why a killer would use a peculiar method in a murder case. Oskar volunteers a clever, albeit logical answer that would have invited the policeman to propose that Oskar study to become a sleuth because there is a desk waiting at Homicide with his name on it. Instead, the policeman humiliates Oskar by insinuating that a brainy kid not intimidated by dark subject matter is a would-be felon who should be monitored carefully. Oskar sheepishly explains that he reads a lot. The policeman grills him, demanding, “What kinds of books?” Oskar repeats himself, “I read a lot.” No wonder smart kids keep quiet.

It is no surprise that Oskar is targeted by bullies at school who know what little they do can scar. What they do later is much worse. Feeling alienated, Oskar is compelled to stab a tree with his knife (“Squeal!”) because he can’t punish his tormentors. Eli encourages him to fight back. What is most refreshing is how revenge is handled here and where it goes. Shades of gray, mostly dark, dominates the film’s moralistic point-of-view. One day, when Oskar is threatened of being pushed into a frozen lake, he does fight back. The way this scene is handled acknowledged how horrible violence can be, but knows in its heart how liberating it can be to inflict violence on a figure of hatred.

Director Tomas Alfredson takes this material seriously. The characters are fleshed out and they respond to a variety of supernatural events as real people would. The richly adapted screenplay by John Ajvide Lindquist was based on his book. This successful case is as familiar as Sam Raimi’s best feature A Simple Plan (1998), which was scripted by its author Scott B. Smith. Great care is taken to tell this story precisely while treasuring its foreboding atmosphere. There are occasional moments of levity to relieve the heavy grimness by relying on quirks and an appreciation for human nature. Some tense scenes become morbidly funny with the inclusion of a dog in one scene and many cats in another.

Cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema has fashioned a number of well-composed shots that are bleak, accomplished and essential. Some night scenes taken during snowfall have the purity of black-and-white films. The pictures manage to be vibrant as well as desaturated of obtrusive colours found in warm flesh tones. Here the heavy strings of blood look as black as oil. There is one particular establishing shot of gray, distant buildings layering over one another like a collage. There are so many windows that it is a joy to see one opened by Oskar, distorting the vocal point. Many other compositions are so symmetrical that they convey a scary power.

Tomas Alfredson is a superb and assured filmmaker because he takes the time to choose one great shot and keep it at length. Films with long shots have the ability to endure as the viewer explores the spaces and makes discoveries. The shot of Eli climbing a fourteen-foot tree is particularly ingenious because it gives us an impression – an idea – instead of weakening the act with unnecessary special effects that merely show us. Graphic violence is rarely used, but it makes an impression when it is shown. For example, there is a disfigurement that would make Two-Face blush. Alfredson exercises commendable restraint like with one long shot that shows the luring of a man and his murder from a distance. Instead of scaring the audience with loud music after a moment of silence, the film frightens on a deeper level. I can’t imagine another filmmaker doing a better job here.

Let the Right One In is so impeccably made that any attempt at a remake would be criminal. There is talk of Matt Reeves Americanizing Alfredson’s masterpiece for a 2010 release. What’s the point? Making these characters speak in English would only diminish the strange effect of listening to the Swedish language. Hearing “Are you a vampire?” in English sounds kind of funny. A foreign track is more surreal and appropriate for this material. Reeves was the director of the overrated Cloverfield (2008) where the end credits sequence scored by Michael Giacchino was the only enjoyable part. The chances are slim that this will reflect the case of Insomnia where Christopher Nolan made a stronger remake in 2002 from the 1997 Swedish film by Erik Skjoldbjærg.

Now this is a vampire film.

“Let The Right One In” Trailer

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

286 (R) | 252 (D): Shouldn’t Have Stayed At The Bus Station.

On the night before the 2004 presidential election, Michael Moore spoke with ferocity and vigor at the final round of his five-week Slacker Uprising tour across the country and visiting sixty cities. Despite being outnumbered by an enthusiastic crowd of Kerry supporters, many Bush pushers chanted “4 more years” voluminously. It was like a bad omen of things to come. New Orleans citizens abandoned for days in the Katrina flood. Nearly 4200 US soldiers dead in Iraq. Thousands of innocent Iraqi citizens tortured and killed. A damning deficit and a broken economy. You know the drill. What’s done is done. Four years after, we have another roll of the dice.

Some remember Bush’s second win back in 2004, his first legitimate one, and wondered if we’d still be alive next year. R.E.M.: “It’s The End of the World As We Know It”. It felt something like that. From the beginning of 2003, I discovered Michael Moore through his stinging documentary/political thesis Bowling For Columbine, which won the Academy Award. I sympathized with Moore’s views and followed up on his work. At the time I worked on tiling roofs, I remember after reading Dude, Where’s My Country? over the weekend in its entirety, I missed out on a Michael Moore signing at the same Chapters (the Canadian version of Borders) the day after I bought the book. The next year, I had seen all of his films, TV shows – TV Nation and The Awful Truth – and read all his books including the elusive copy Adventures in a TV Nation. Having followed Moore’s exploits closely, visiting his website weekly, watching Slacker Uprising now was like catching up with an old sitcom I was all too familiar with.

Moore has made an imprint in movie history by making his Slacker Uprising available for free on the Internet for North Americans. The point of this exercise is to energize the American public to turn out their own votes, electing the Democratic nominee in a landslide, thus keep the Republicans at bay while we clean up the mess they’ve made. That’s all Moore cares about now. With my headphones on in front of my Mac computer, I was bobbing my head to the beat of the guitar-raging montages of Moore traveling from state to state and being greeted by thousands of attendants cheering their throats dry. If I went the extra 136 miles, then I could have attended this “concert film” with an American audience sans the National Guard Join The Army promos. It just isn’t the same in Canada.

The film begins with a mournful rendition of When Johnny Goes Marching Home as clips of the Best of Kerry vs. Bush Campaign carries on. That same ominous diddy was used throughout the virtuoso Fort Knox robbery sequence in Die Hard with a Vengeance (1995). The two independent scenes still carry an undertone of thievery. There are also some hilarious faux television spots that satirize the Republican’s sleazy Swift Boat Veterans Attacks on Kerry (“He was only shot three times!”) Moore takes aim at the Bush administration and so-called liberal-media, taking them to task for not informing us about lies that led to invading Iraq back in 2003. I was also reminded of a complaint by independent filmmaker giant John Sayles that everything exposed by Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) should have been done on the evening news.

At Moore’s sold-out shows, sometimes he has a celebrity guest like Eddie Vedder, Monkey Bowl, Steve Earle and Tom Morello perform a patriotic and activist song for the audience. This is also the first film to finish up with a stand-up routine by Rosanne Barr, a comic with acidic wit here. The Right claims they God Almighty on their side, but the Left has a greater power, Viggo Mortensen. When approached by fans, Moore even has the class to deny buxom woman’s request to autograph her chest – an item I pray no one ever considers putting on Ebay. Things really pick up when American soldiers speak out against their president and his war. There are echoes from Fahrenheit 9/11: “(These Soldiers) gave their lives so we can be free. Will they ever trust us again?” A solemn tribute is made when Moore visits Fort Kent State in Ohio where the national guard opened fire and killed four out of many protesting students against the Vietnam War on May 1970.

There is a stirring episode that was also the subject of Kristian Fraga’s Anytown, USA when the state of Utah was involved in a political censorship battle over whether Moore could give his speech in a college. Pro-Bushians speak out against Moore, at times displaying staggering ignorance: “I think he’s a communist!” Considering that Bush and Co. supported the Wall Street Bail-Out just last month, Lenon and Marx must be so proud of them. Moore counterattacks young Republicans in favor of liberating the Iraqis by asking why they don’t volunteer for a war they are so passionate about: “You’d rather let poor people fight that war!”

Make what you will of Michael Moore: Truth Seeker. Muckraker. Anti-Christ. Why so many people not in the richest one-percent of the country up chuck such venom when encountered by Moore is a sad commentary. They scapegoat the filmmaker in the baseball cap who voices outrage over the continued exploitation of the poor. After all the feces the Right-Wing have been flinging at Moore, can you blame him for including so many testimonials from people around the country who treasure the big guy. Sure, he can be a showboat who soaks in the love. Here we are in 2008 and this time Moore doesn’t have to hand out clean underwear and microwavable noodles to get would-be voters’ attention turned toward exercising their own democracy. Slacker Uprising may not be Oscar worthy like Moore’s call-out for free health care for all United States citizens, Sicko (2007). I may be steered otherwise when I see Barack Obama get sworn in as President of the Unted States next January.

Michael Moore’s Modest Proposals to Barack Obama

Can you question his sincerity after watching this?

UPDATE:

Barack Obama won the presidency tonight! Congratulations to all who voted. Peace.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Compelling Take On A Girl And Her Dog

Quietly, slowly and efficiently, writer and director Kelly Reichardt observes Wendy (Michelle Williams), a young runaway disenchanted with her life back home and who is dangerously close to becoming a drifter. Invisible to those around her, she is accompanied by Lucy, her golden retriever. She also wants to find work in Alaska. Wise choice: the fish canneries do pay well. The two sleep in her car. Her budget is really tight. Now her car won’t start. Over the next few days, she is stranded in a nearly desolate Portland, Oregon town where she curtly explains to strangers: “I’m just passing through.” With many miles left to go and too far away to go back, Wendy is determined to stick to her plan.

In a wonderful shot early one morning, Wendy lugs out a nearly empty extra-large bag of dog food out of her car to fill Lucy’s bowl near a suburban curb. Under an overcast sky, the shot stays with Wendy and then she leaves the frame. From a low-angle, we observe a line of modestly kept homes at a distance. There is someone sitting in one of the porches looking back at us. Who is this person? Is this important to the plot? Where’s the movie star? This is a waste of money! The studio notes would have been endless had this not been an independent production outside the studio system. Wendy does come back into the frame. The means of losing her momentarily demonstrates just how easily she could slip right through the cracks and never be seen again.

Michelle Williams is a chameleon — she shreds all semblance of her earlier, more glamourous roles. All that’s left is Wendy, fresh-scrubbed, a haircut from home and eternally clad in plaid shirts and faded jeans. Is this really Jen from Dawson’s Creek? Now, Wendy is distraught and apologizes to her dog for the few crumbs she able to offer. Then she goes to the supermarket a few blocks down. When currency-conscious Wendy decides to steal a few items from the store, I was really touched by what she left behind in the store.

Now, I would like to single out the score by Will Oldman, who played the aged hippie Kurt in Reichardt’s previous Old Joy (2006). The most minimalist music here is also the most haunting. It consists of Wendy humming to herself a few bars of prolonged, wistful notes. What most people fail to recognize are a few omnipresent tones from a flute that play between the empty breaks. This score is like the zither music played by Anton Karas in Carol Reed’s The Third Man (1949). It’s simple, impressionable and the most economical due to Michelle William’s unforced vocal chords. Every time I hear it, my eyes sting a little. I know how lonely it can get when a few carefully placed hums can make one appreciate the poignancy of it all.

The cinematography by Sam Levy uses shadows and open space to present the chilly beclouded surroundings. Reichart joins forces with Mike Burchett in the editing department; they maintain the essence of their shots without imposing unnecessary cuts to impose their self-importance.

The most corrupt of the people Wendy encounters is Andy (John Robinson), a beefy teenager employed as a stocking clerk who catches her shoplifting. He goes too far manhandling her back into the supermarket, making her cry out, “You’re hurting my arm!”

His self-entitlement is sickening when he exposes Wendy as a thief to his manager behind the desk. Andy wears a cross around his neck that is so large and gold that it stops being a sign of his faith and only functions as bling. Continuing his tirade of black-and-white naiveté, a student of extremism, he just about bullies his boss into siccing the cops on Wendy: “We have a no tolerance policy on shoplifters!” Wendy, however, is concerned about Lucy tied to the bike rack outside. Here we get a crucial piece of dialogue by the sanctimonious Andy: “If a person can’t afford dog food, they shouldn’t have a dog.” So poor people don’t deserve the love of one of God’s noblest, least judgmental of creatures? That’s Andy the Christian, ladies and gentlemen. Wendy and Andy do meet again later in a scene that is so probable that’s it’s a wonder that it was written. The way Andy goes back home is priceless. It’s perfect.

Wendy is like the American descendant of that doomed, aimless drifter Mona Bergeron (Sandrine Bonnaire) in Agnès Varda’s Vagabond (1985). The beginning of Vagabond established that Mona (is that even her real name?) died anonymously of hypothermia in a ditch while the rest of the film recoils from reflections and recollections of strangers she met on her travels. Many of the people Wendy came into contact with would surely hold limited impressions of her like we would of Wendy and everyone else we come into contact with.

The act of forging relationships through happenstance, no matter how intimate they are, is crippled by how we can never truly know another person other than ourselves. Both of the 1972 Tarkovsky and the 2002 Soderbergh versions (the Soderbergh one even more so) makes this case successfully: The hallucination of the alive Rheya, the dead wife of Chris Kelvin (George Clooney), is suicidal because that’s what he thought she was. What Wendy will have to endure after the last few slides of rolling celluloid, we are not permitted to see.

Without forced contrivance, all Reichardt wants from us is to share the concern and care she has for her title character. We pick up little information along the way such as a phone call back home that tells us just enough. I suspect that some audience members won’t be sympathetic to Wendy; a similar case study determining an individual’s degree of empathy measured by my patented Kathy Nicolo Litmus Test. The title character played by Jennifer Connelly in House of Sand and Fog (2005) was a struggling, insecure Alcoholics Anonymous member who met devastating consequences for making trivial mistakes. Some people I have come across just loathe Kathy Nicolo whereas I am levelheaded in my heart: for the grace of God, go I. Yes, Wendy should not have shoplifted dog food that one morning but she did not deserve to lose her one companion. Yes, Kathy Nicolo should have opened her mail but she did not deserve to lose her home.

Circumstances get so bad that we witness Wendy spend her first night sleeping in the woods. What happens later that night is frightening. Thank goodness Wendy meets a couple of good souls such as the security guard (well played by Wally Dalton) who watches over a store nobody goes to because just about everyone else is unemployed. Watch how Dalton regards Wendy as she talks on the cell phone he lets her borrow: He studiously measures the amount of time he can look at Wendy as an acquaintance while avoiding the act of staring. The amount of money he gives her says much more about his poverty than his generosity.

The title Wendy and Lucy is a perfect marriage between the two protagonists. Together, all is not lost. They love each other unconditionally. Alone, that’s when it gets scary. Wendy arguably needs Lucy more because her dog is the last remnant of a life that was once grounded. Lucy is the only bright speck Wendy wants to keep in a dismal existence she wants so much to overcome. It’s worth noting that Reichardt employed her own dog, also named Lucy, in her film. This is Lucy’s second performance on film after playing a supporting character in Reichardt’s contemplative Old Joy about two thirtyish men, friends from college and now separated by class, who spend one weekend together finding a secluded hot springs. They listen to NPR while driving, talking serenely of the past and hesitantly about their futures. When the hot springs is finally discovered, it later creates enough space for the viewer to vicariously feel at peace for a little while. On the DVD commentary track, Reichardt confessed that she looks for stories that has a dog in it.

The purpose of independent film has been eroded for over a decade of new filmmakers making quirky, action blockbusters Hollywood regurgitates within a low-budget. An army of talent auditioning for the attention of producers promising the big bucks for making low-brow, escapist fare. It is rare to find members of the next generation of Cassavates; those who seek to make a film from out of their hearts and revile the compromises of greed and box office approval. Kelly Reichardt is like the kid who would rather make sand castles outside in drizzly weather while the others kids stay inside to text message each other. She rebelliously makes deliberately small-scale films that economize on staying power through simplicity, humility and nerve. The character Wendy is just as stubborn. She is frustrated by every single bad break that would convince believers that a wrathful God is dedicated to her destruction.

At the end of the film, we see just how great a heart Wendy does have when pressed so hard it hurts. We are left with one important question: Will she come back? I can’t know if she will, but I hope so.

“Wendy and Lucy” Trailer

“Old Joy” Trailer

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Driven Conversations About One Thing

Pauline ‘Poppy’ Cross, the title character of Mike Leigh’s winning comedy Happy-Go-Lucky, is a litmus test like determining whether a glass is half-full or half-empty. Is it so unreal for someone to be so good and so strong? In a world that seems to be over-populated with a bunch of sorry-sacks all too eager to pop the bubbles of others, the outcry is deafening. It is rare how a movie directly tells you who you really are. Some audience members will find her infallible sunniness grating, perhaps worthy of envy. Others will want invite her over to their house for drinks and laughs once the movie is over. I am in the latter category. It is important to first understand how and why you feel the way you do about Poppy. She is the key to how successfully the film will bypass all of your qualms and barriers guarding your heart. You may well find yourself grinning from ear to ear. I did.

What Mike Leigh most enjoys is playing with our perceptions of people. We are wired to make assumptions by the initial impressions of our casual acquaintances and strangers who enter our field of vision. Sometimes our hunches are right (to each his own) and most times we are mistaken. Notice what Leigh shows us about Poppy. She has a sense of humour. She’s earnestly social. She goes clubbing with her friends all-night on Saturdays. She’s not afraid to look silly. At the point she is making bird masks with paperbags and colourful felts and feathers, Leigh is practically goading us to see her as a “bimbo”, while giving those who are onto Leigh’s game just enough leeway to hold their verdicts. How this plays out reveals the real themes of Happy-Go-Lucky. What do we really know about one enough? How do we learn to see people for who they are? What makes a good teacher?

Character actress Sally Hawkins has a great challenge playing a woman who looks happy, is happy, and remains complex and wise. Some viewers may argue she deceives them with her depth. There is a prejudice against a smile; anyone who smiles appears shallow and light-minded. Deep thinkers are usually pictured as angst-ridden, haunted, and in great pain. It is a mistake to assume Poppy is a bubbly fool. A mistake that her sullen driving instructor Scott (Eddie Marsen), a Bizarro to her Super(girl), makes throughout. He can’t believe she is an elementary school teacher. He can’t stand how she wears those high-heeled boots while driving. Her insistent joking actually counterattacks his punishing personality. At one point he tells her, “You celebrate chaos!”

Eddie Marsen is brilliantly ruthless playing Scott as the kind of man who is forever blaming everyone around him. You’d almost pity him if he wasn’t so irredeemably clingy to his prejudice. He is resigned to his rut. What bitter irony that his job description tempers road rage. He even screams at his pupil. Mike Leigh has dealt with a similar character in his most bleakest film Naked (1993) — its title character Johnny, played by David Thewlis, was a scuzzy intellectual who aimlessly drifted into the lives of others only to hurt them. Scott has a way of revealing deep emotional scars with silence. One imagines he privately picks at his insecurities like a scabby wound that will never heal. Like Johnny, he uses his book smarts to conceal his hostility to others. Worse, he is set off with fright and hostility when he sees two black teens bicycling across the street. “Lock your door!” What a toxic man.

Why does Poppy keep coming back for another driving lesson when a sane person would change teachers? This and many other choices drives her character, demonstrating what indomitable force her unique point of view makes. One wonders how conscious she is of her spirit, despite how well she can read and navigate through a situation. Watch how superbly she negotiates with a very troubled child in her class. The way that episode develops shows just how much command Poppy has. She is never defensive. She is open and doesn’t accept defeat. Together, Poppy and Scott are dynamic foils. Their quick, incisive dialogue makes their rapport immensely entertaining and also very frightening. Perhaps pity isn’t out of the question for Scott. He hates himself so much, yet he hasn’t quite grasped that insight. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. Hawkins and Marsen are smart enough not to turn their counterparts into easy targets. They understand their characters so profoundly that what ultimately ignites their final confrontation is almost blindsiding, and inevitable.

Both of Hawkins and Marsen’s performances are stunning when you look back at their previous supporting work in the last two of Mike Leigh’s films. In Vera Drake (2004), Hawkins played a shy, soft-spoken daughter to rich parents who was later raped by her boyfriend and became more insular while trying to obtain an abortion in 1950s London. Marsen, famous in Britain as a comedian, portrayed a gravely timid and lonely man who reluctantly gets set up by sweet Vera (Oscar nominee Imelda Staunton) with her own daughter (Alex Kelly). One of the most poignant scenes in Vera Drake depicted in long-shot Marsen and Kelly, a couple in their mid-thirties, walking in an autumn park and they resemble a couple who has been married for forty years. In All or Nothing (2002), Hawkins played a sullen, lower class young woman who is angered easily by her alcoholic mother. Their range is phenomenal.

Leigh follows his characters to make up their stories, namely their own lives. Over a couple weeks, Poppy attends flamenco dancing lessons. The teacher teeming with passionate gravitas is played by Karina Fernandez. The presence of this character alone shirks away the inclusion of the scenes as a lark. “My space!” Stamp! Stamp! These scenes linger over great comic interaction but don’t resolve so much as a generic plot would demand. Like life, the most pressing matter at the moment sometimes dissipates away without a compact conclusion. Here, those flamenco scenes are too invaluable to dismiss because they are so much fun.

Another scene that seems to come from left field is when late one night, Poppy comes across a man, maybe a schizophrenic, who fervently chants gibberish. Poppy, so empathetic, foolhardy and brave, approaches the stranger in the shadows. She talks to him. He seems unsettled. We are worried about her. He excuses himself to urinate in private from a distance. At point she asks herself, “What am I doing?” He comes back. Their conversation continues awkwardly and becomes more relaxed. She asks if he has anywhere to sleep. He says he has a bed. It is never confirmed, but I suspect that maybe he does have a home where he rests. However strange and improbable the moment appears, it becomes important and inseparable from the film as a whole. Leave it Leigh to take a chance and like a magician reveal that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Leigh, now 65, takes a radical approach to filmmaking by employing actors of his choice and developing a script from there. For a six month period, Leigh works with his actors to build their characters up through improvisation and study. Leigh shoots the film in chronological order, keeping the finished script to his chest, and films the results. During the rehearsal period of this film, Leigh lay in the backseat of the Ford Focus while Hawkins and Marsen improvised and refined their scenes while driving in London traffic. Leigh’s last condition is final cut. Every film he has made employs this technique, despite the rewarding results, Leigh struggles to find backers to finance a film without a shooting script in the beginning.

I think what makes all of Mike Leigh’s films so emotionally volatile is because he always channels the hardships of the human condition so mercilessly. He never lightens his material unnecessarily. Secret And Lies (1996), for example, contains devastating moments where loved ones say things that make one reconsider the term “loved ones”. For such a quirky film like Happy-Go-Lucky, on par with Leigh’s comic Life Is Sweet (1991), being a comedy doesn’t mean there won’t be honest and harrowing moments. There are moments that feel so right, when one character protests, “I want to go home!” There is also a lovely scene that takes place in a chiropractor’s office; completely vulnerable in her underwear and fishnet stockings, Poppy is getting her back pains popped out. She is at such ease, ripe with laughter, and cracking jokes that she doesn’t feel nearly naked. The long lens aerial view of her body across the table simply shows a beautiful and happy woman.

The issue of happiness here reminds of an underrated indie that probed its mystery, Jill Spreacher’s Thirteen Conversations About One Thing (2002). That film focused on Gene, an insurance adjuster (Alan Arkin), who envied the beaming optimism of an employee nicknamed Smiley Bowman (William Wise). The Arkin character thought he finally found a way to wipe the grin from Smiley’s face…by firing him. What happens then and much later in the film underlines the central mystery of how some people always find the upside while others linger in a despond. There is a familiar dilemma in Happy-Go-Lucky when Poppy and her friends come over to visit her conservative and pregnant sister.

Not only are the performances so infectious, but the look of the film by Leigh collaborator Dick Pope is so sumptuous and vivid. Filmed using a newly-developed stock of Fuji film, the colours of the London flats, the blue sky, and Poppy’s colourful attire pop with a sparkling vibrancy. There is a shot where Poppy looks out a window; white, refined clouds slowly stretch across day-lit town below. It reminded me of a similar composition taken over a Grand Canyon vista early in Godfrey Reggio’s Koyaanisqatsi (1982). The composer Gary Yershon has made a simple, catchy score using horn instruments that’s reminiscent of High Hopes (1988) by Andrew Dickson, another Leigh regular.

I ask again, will Andrew Dickson’s haunting soundtracks alone ever be available to the public?

This year, Sally Hawkins has realized as great a lead performance this side of Melissa Leo in Frozen River and Kristin Scott Thomas in Il Y A Longtemps Que Je T’Aime (I’ve Loved You So Long). If anything, you’ll never look at chicken cutlet the same way again. Not only does this comedy succeed with wit and empathy, it has much richer undertones that lesser filmmakers would avoid out of fear of transcending genres. It is also the best film I have seen about women since Nicole Holofcener’s Lovely and Amazing (2002). Poppy never declares it, but she wants to make the world a better place – there is a lot to be angry about (ie. the economy), so that is no easy feat. I can’t wait to visit Poppy again because she is not merely a ‘happy person’. Poppy is able to perform the herculean feat of recognizing your losses, being blind to the offset of things to come and approaching it with enthusiasm. Happy-Go-Lucky deserves more than just three cheers.

This is one of the best films of the year.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

It is one of my missions in life to get people like this to watch “strange films”.

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Over-Analyzer”

Actually, the colour magenta carries the most saporous and truculent of feelings.

Vancouver International Film Festival | “First Question”

Announcer: “While some schmuck channels so much brain juice to come up with the holy of holies of questions — some other guy asks a variation of that question as easily as a bird flying into a windshield.”

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Seat Saver”

No, they never truly understand that sacrifice…

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Front Row”

Talk about a close-up.

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Rush Line”

Very anti-climatic!

Vancouver International Film Festival | “Die Hard”

Me in thirty years.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Q: How many Coen brothers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: They wouldn’t. It would be funnier to film Francis McDormand

and George Clooney do that.

A few months shy of a year, right after winning Academy Awards for best written, produced and directed film of 2007, Joel and Ethan Coen breathlessly churn out something completely different. Such confident, heady, speedy workmanship that is Burn After Reading makes me wonder if the Coens realize No Country For Old Men – a film full of Chigurh – actually won the Best Picture. For a comedy about government intelligence, it is curiously, though appropriately ominous. This coming from the Coen Brothers, I am not surprised. I am overjoyed.

Burn After Reading is not as broad and eccentric as Raising Arizona (1987) and O Brother, Where Art Thou (2000). Don’t get me wrong, it’s still eccentric. The comedy is more subdued like Barton Fink (1991) where the stuck up title character (John Tuturro) proclaims himself a writer of the common man (“The life of the mind. There’s no road map for that territory”.) while ignoring a bumbling insurance salesman (John Goodman) who often says “I could tell you some stories”.

Osborne Cox (John Malkovich from Being John Malkovich), an intelligent analyst for the CIA, is demoted due to his alcoholism. He doesn’t believe that’s the case because he personally examines how much liquor is in his first glass and then pours just a little bit back into the bottle. Such a conscientious act would never be perform by an alcoholic. Osborne quits to the immediate displeasure of his forever exasperated working-wife Katie (Tilda Swinston, who is having a ball here). Fed up with pointless bureaucracy, Osborne decides to write a book detailing his work history and Katie plots to divorce and bleed him dry.

Harry Pfarrer (George Clooney) is cheating on his wife Sally (Elizabeth Marvel) with Katie. Both women separately confide to Harry that the other is a “cold-hearted bitch”. He must be attracted to that type. Considering this, it’s funny which target audience both women’s careers aim towards. Being a notorious sexaholic, Harry is flexible toward the other women he meets online and eventually beds. He makes good company. What an adorable adulterer; he schemes rather lightheartedly and is genuinely surprised (and hurt) when those he trusts turn on him.

Over at the fitness club Hardbodies, we meet its motivational trainers Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand, Mrs. Joel Coen) and Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt). Chad is an aging hipster who tries to stay young by streaking his hair, keeping exercise priority number one, and occasionally breaking into dance when excited. Linda is sweet, lonely and pushing forty. She has resorted to finding a mate online. Desiring a man with a great sense of humor (who doesn’t?), she screens her dates with the same romantic comedy playing in theaters. She has (wrongly) convinced herself no man wants her because of her body and seeks modifications under the knife. Her plastic surgeon, mercilessly dotting her flesh with a felt pen, sells her on tummy tucks, breast augmentation, face lifts like a car salesman ticking off new features at a price inflation.

They both come across a burnt disc (“Mac or PC?”) holding Osborne’s secret files. This property could pad their accounts. Their scam is in the same spirit as the one in Waking Ned Devine (1998). To them it’s rather harmless. Chad is the kind of dope who thinks “Reward!” for going out of his way to return sacred government files instead of blackmail. Even after the issue of blackmail is made very clear, he still thinks “Reward!” because his own goodwill counterattacks any notion of perceiving himself as an exploiter. Whenever he’s found out of something wicked, he immediately smiles cheerfully, convinced that whatever trouble he’s in can be laughed off. Heck, he’d just as soon treat you to a large health shake and an afternoon of laughs to make sure bygones are bygones.

The richly experienced character actor Richard Jenkins is such a good sport after his rewarding lead work in this year’s The Visitor. Here he plays Ted, a middle-aged manager of the gym who secretly pines for Linda’s heart. He’s a sweet, uncomplicated man who has the disadvantage of loving her for exactly who she is. She is not attracted to that kind of guy (translation: loser). He knows this but that still doesn’t stop him from doing just about anything to make her happy. It helps the pain of unrealized expectations and actions to be good to someone whose opinion actually matters. However, Ted has his own way of being stupid. On her way out of the office, Ted cries out, “You’re changing, Linda. It’s very sad.” Please! How did she change? From his own ideal perception of her? Yes, the change is finding out who she really is as opposed to who he wants her to be. What’s really sad is the fact that he doesn’t realize this .

Most of the humor is in observing the way people speak. How people deep in conversation are oblivious to their art (“Appearances can be very… deceptive”.) versus the way smart people still sound dumb. Note how Osborne pronounces “memoirs”. He enunciates it so excruciatingly and dryly as if to say: “See! I am one of those rare exceptions on this planet who are naturally well-versed!” He’s like a stuck-up nincompoop who says “absolutely”, the four-syllable equivalent of “yes”, instead of just saying “yes”.

There are small and wonderful pleasures to be had in the crevasses and corners of this film. When Linda looks through the wallet of a one-night stand, she uncovers gift cards from 7-Eleven and Safeway (‘Ingredients for Life!’). The engagement between a father and son’s heart-to-heart on a drifting boat. How Chad approaches Osborne’s car for an important rendezvous and remembers to take off the headphones to his iPod before entering. The way a chirpy television morning host interrupts her guest, an author reading her children’s book, to show viewers at home “the illustration” – the book’s cover credits the writer with no mention of the illustrator.

The biggest gut-buster is the revelation of Harry’s secret project he’s building in his basement. The build-up carries a dark and mysterious tone. The payoff is in the vein as the Stonehenge prop in Rob Reiner’s This Is Spinal Tap – on a scale from one to ten, it’s an eleven. It had me howling well into the next scene. Once you get past how wrong and creepy it is, it is actually rather sweet. The purpose of the device is well-intentioned, especially given the means of Harry. Many men would be appalled and insulted if their partner were to use such a device. Harry is an exception. What a lucky woman to have such an endearing knucklehead for a husband.

The versatile Carter Burwell, as dedicated a musical collaborator to the Coens as Howard Shore to David Cronenberg, has scored Burn After Reading with an urgent, thumping, and somewhat melancholy soundtrack. It is a hybrid of his scores from the predatory chords of the underrated James Foley thriller Fear (1996) and the apocalyptic jungle-like tones of Spike Jonze’s Adaptation (2003). Earlier this year, Burwell committed work to magical Martin McDonagh’s In Bruges, a darkly comical and dramatic masterpiece that was my favorite film of 2008 for six months until The Dark Knight bumped it to second place (Between you and me, whenever I watch my In Bruges DVD, sometimes I’m tempted to put it back on top).

The Coens and their cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (Children Of Men, 2006) apply a very straight-forward, yet engaging visual approach to contrast with the labyrinthine, oddball events on screen. There’s even an intimating yet quirky sensibility in the framing as if the space around the characters make them more insignificant. Burn After Reading doesn’t look like a general comedy that’s over-lit as a ploy to make the audience happier and receptive to hysteria. It stays true to the look of its adult thriller, while letting the madcap characters themselves lighten their dark surroundings.

One striking image depicts Harry stranded and paranoid on a suburban road where he is back-lit by a yellow sunset and dark leafy trees create a shadowy frame around him. There are a few sensationalistic shots. A couple of Dutch angles are used when looking up a staircase from Harry’s basement where Sandy inquires what’s behind gated curtain and another looking downstairs at a very shaken Harry in a different house. A moving shot at floor level following an agent’s footsteps across the stark CIA hallway is a reverse homage to running dress shoes in The Hudsucker Proxy (1994), the one that starts the infamous Hula Hoop Montage – a worthy candidate for a Scene To Be Seen article. Much like déjà vu, one violent confrontation near the film’s end is a visual quotation including composition, action, and execution from the masterpiece Fargo (1996).

The Hula Hoop Montage From “The Hudsucker Proxy”

The Coens transcend their targeted genres; improving upon the espionage thriller, the social satire, and the romantic comedy. Like Paul Thomas Anderson’s Punch Drunk Love (2002), Burn After Reading applies tension and danger in its romantic comedy, a genre generally treated as passively light where tension is needed to be more effective. Both films examine the lonely heart yearning for a compassionate partner in a way that is painfully real and delightfully zany. ‘Here We Go’. The Coens could have easily made a devastating drama about the dead ends of Internet Dating, the temptations and consequences of adultery, and the dire cover-ups made by a calmly, sanctimonious government agency. The screwball elements just make these compelling issues easier to digest.

Somehow, while reminiscing about Burn After Reading, it is at once so thoughtful and yet it seems like such a lark. This film is so smart that it doesn’t resort to having a dimwit like Chad pick up on the crude connotation of Osborne’s surname. However, they are not above naming the intelligence expert Cox. There is a difference between celebrating crudeness — it is human nature, after all — and wallowing in it. The Coens, like all good comedians, don’t coach you to laugh at their jokes. They remain stone-faced and quietly relish the joy when people laugh of their own accord. You can’t hold hands with wit.

People deserve the movies they choose. So many movies are made to cater to those with lowered expectations. A laugh track is welcomed by those who tense up at being challenged after paying the price of admission. So many movies are merely okay. They are rolled and doled like dough; geared toward the lowest common denominator with lame story lines that logically feature very stupid characters. Burn After Reading is about stupid characters. This is what happens when the filmmakers are as bright as a professionally-manned film projection bulb. We really deserve Burn After Reading.

“Burn After Reading” Trailer

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

The Kids Stay In The Picture.

The new Nanette Burstein documentary American Teen observes and even tampers with a senior class’ transcendence through a high school (“Total caste system”) in Warsaw, Indiana, a small American town that’s labeled “Red State all the way”. To set the stage, the filmmakers all but steal the compact and diverse grouping of stereotypes from the influential John Hughes cult film The Breakfast Club (1985). We are introduced to five main players attending Warsaw Community High School: Colin Clemens (The Jock), Megan Krizmanich (The Princess), Jake Tusing (The Geek), Mitch Reinholt (The Heartthrob in place of The Criminal), and Hannah Bailey (The Recluse — that’s the trailer’s version — The Rebel). Any moment in American Teen would have been appropriate to play ‘Don’t You (Forget About Me)’ by Simple Minds.

This film is really about the fear that stems in adolescence and stirs into oncoming adulthood. The fear of being defined by your vices and insecurities brought up by those vicious, maddening years of being a teenager. The fear of realizing your idealistic youth spent in middling, regretful pastimes that are glibly called ‘the best years of your life’. It is dominated by the fear that things will not get better while the present is eaten up by internal bitterness. High school can really suck. Thankfully the clouds clear and the sun comes out on graduation day.

Colin, a self-described jock, is a nice enough guy. He plays High School Basketball, which in this town is a populist blood sport. Adults actually wear all-body painted team colors in the gym stands. Its citizens are about as obsessed as the Massillon, Ohio populace was with high school football in the Ken Carlson documentary Go Tigers! (2001) where it is customary to hold back boys to repeat the eighth grade because they’ll be older and bigger as football players in senior year.

The stakes are considerably higher for poor Colin. If he does not get a scholarship to play basketball for a college, he will have to join the army and go to Iraq. His dad says “get the rebounds or it’s the army with a smile”. That’s like when the Romans threw Christians to the tigers! However engaging this subplot is, it pales in comparison with Steve James’ masterful Hoop Dreams (1993), the pedestal of documentary filmmaking that showed us the hardships and brimming humanity of two inner-city Chicago teens playing high school basketball and dreaming of making the NBA. There were scenarios in that three-hour movie that were laced with deep ironies and great joys.

Samantha stands in as the princess who many speculate in awe over her dulled beauty. Her personality is as lazy as Paris Hilton’s facial features. Samantha, for the most part, teeters between indifference and vindictiveness. A scene of her using a firearm in target practice is an appropriate metaphor for her lethality. Early in the school term, she displays a sociopathic mean streak. First she is instrumental in sending an image of a female classmate topless to every other student and then leaves cruel remarks in the victim’s voice-mail. After laughing hysterically, Samantha comes to her senses long enough to suggest “…leav(ing) her a message not to kill herself”. She has the makings of a Sgt. Charles Graner.

Samantha’s repugnant acts escalate until she gets caught, which is her only regret: “It’s horrible to be backstabbed at the last minute”. Very late in the film, a tragic event revealed around Samantha’s troubled family history isn’t enough to garner her sympathy. Finally, Samantha pines for a future where she will be surrounded by healthy, like-minded people. She simply exhausts my versatile ability to empathize. I make it a point to keep away from people like her.

Justin chastises himself harshly for his band participation, his awkwardness, his monotone, his acne-riddled cheeks, and the fact that he plays Warcraft. With the upcoming student dance approaching, he bemoans, “I wish I had a girl to dance with”. He has a pixelated dream sequence where he is virtual warrior who battles monsters and saves the damsel-hobbit in distress. The short remains faithful to that most irritating cliché where the pretty girl’s smile reveals, of all horrors, braces.

Rising above his insecurity, Justin occasionally gets girlfriends who don’t stay for very long and for good reason. Perhaps being the subject of a documentary is a likely attraction considering the YouTube-posting, fifteen-seconds-of-fame mentality. When Justin is dumped in a food court, his ex’s eyes never rise away from her Blackberry. Justin becomes downright pitiful as he lays his cheek against the table and remarks how much grease he has left. Much of Justin’s antics and eventual spiral into excess drinking and kissing strangers in Mexico is off-putting. Justin gives geeks a bad name.

Hanna, the brightest star here, is a rebellious and funky artist who aspires to become a filmmaker: “I want people to remember me. Not work nine to five and die”. It’s a no-brainer. She inspires guys who developed crushes for Juno – that snarky, pregnant goddess immortalized by Ellen Page. Despite her eccentric and lively demeanor, she has taken some very hard blows. After being emotionally pulverized by her then-boyfriend in a very vulnerable position, she is so devastated that she cannot go back to school with him there. Her lengthy absence is called on by the uncaring school administration threatening to deny her graduation if she avoids another day at school.

Exasperated with living in this suffocating town, she talks to her parents about moving to California and is told coldly told by her conservative mother that “(she) is not special”. Hanna is the most likable and most sympathetic and deserving of a better future. She has a stand-off near the end of the film that inspired cheers from the audience and yours truly. Hanna redeems and glorifies the geek title.

Mitch is a guy who plays basketball, likes to socialize, yet isn’t a very interesting person. Midway he has an epiphany about his feelings for Hanna, a girl outside his social circle. She is struck by the surface. After her previous break-up, Hanna embraces her good fortune that a popular hunk would even consider her. While “Love Is In The Air” is sung by John Paul Young on the soundtrack, the two even hold hands while driving in her car. In my notes, I referred to Mitch as a “lucky bastard” and the next page reads “worthless anus-scum” for what he does later. Forget being a heartthrob — Mitch is a criminal.

While watching American Teen, you might find yourself tempted to hum Mountain Town by Trey Parker and Matt Stone. There are some keen details depicting the routine of a middle American high school. There are updates from lame student news videos that are broadcast on thirteen-inch televisions in each classroom. The National Anthem is uniformly pledged every morning. From a Canadian point of view, this seems rather excessive. The parking lot in front of the school building looks more like a shopping mall. Would it be rude to observe that the all-white basketball team has a token black guy? The most chilling observation is a marine and army memorial shrine dedicated to past students who were killed fighting in Iraq.

Director Nanette Burstein has made a moderately entertaining documentary that doesn’t measure up to her previous works On The Ropes (1999), a powerful account about a group of boxers that follows one innocent, Tyrene Manson, into an unjust criminal trial, and The Kid Stays in the Picture (2002), a fascinating memoir depicting the rise and fall and semi-rise of Hollywood producer Robert Evans (The Godfather, Chinatown). The visual flair that drive these stories is well exercised by Burstein; however, The Jeff Danna score for The Kid Stays in the Picture is infinitely more memorable and effective than anything music editors Chris Douridas and Jim Schultz have contributed to American Teen.

Frankly, the material in American Teen isn’t as consistently compelling, but despite a few lags, is rarely dull. Much of it looks as if it were shot like a fictional film with conversation set pieces and double-takes that seem too good to be true. There is a contrivance mostly throughout that feels staged rather than spontaneously captured. I doubt that montage depicting each of everyone’s reaction to a scandalizing image by computer and cell-phone was not rehearsed. Though there are moments I am tempted to forgive, such as Colin’s father sending off his son in a get-up I would never reveal here. Each of the main characters has an animated sequence that visualizes their deepest thoughts. My personal favorite was a piece of stop-motion depicting “Hanna’s Depression” that is like a cross between Caroline and Clive Barker.

American Teen is worth seeing at least once; however, it is not in the same league as this year’s most prestige documentaries Standard Operating Procedure and Man On Wire. Watching these teenagers graduate, I wonder if Burstein would revisit them in ten years in time for the reunion. The update could be in the same vein as Michael Apted’s Up documentary series. American Teen may not be Oscar worthy, but it obliterates any fond nostalgia from your own high school experience. Outside the theatre on my way out, there were ushers giving out buttons depicting whose team of the five one would like to belong to. Given a choice, I’d have jumped on the Hanna bandwagon in a second. I hope to see a film of hers one day.

“American Teen” Trailer

“The Breakfast Club” Trailer

“Don’t you forget about me.”

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Alexandria (Catinca Untaru) In Wonderland.

Once Upon A Time, Six-year-old Alexandria (Catinca Untaru), one of the injured patients in a Los Angeles hospital circa 1920, wanders the limey and creamy walls looking for something to help pass the time. She has a doughy and lovable face that is genuine, animated, and suggests a definite sharpness of thought. She comes across Roy Walker (Lee Pace), an American stuntman working in the Hollywood “flickers”, who is now being treated for his paralyzed legs from an occupational hazard. He is welcoming and befriends the little Romanian girl. Her presence distracts him from an inky cloud of depression.

Their bond grows when he tells her an epic story that is silly yet strong, perplexing yet straight-forward, fantastical yet damned. Her own imagination manifests, reinterprets, and even edits his words into a hodgepodge of visually radical planes, structures, and characters. A whole new universe takes us away from the confines of the hospital and into a land of eye candy.

The Fall is not the best film of the year, but it is one of the most special. While watching it, I realized that I have never seen this movie before. What I mean is that most of the movies I’ve seen are a variation on other films I have seen. Out of the cookie-cutter machine a la Edward Scissorhands, a strange butterfly-shaped cookie has escaped the line: The Fall is a genuine original. What a fresh breeze it is to have a filmmaker throw out that unwritten book that rules out exploration and approaches deemed too strange and melodramatic for mainstream expectations. Here is a work by an artist who exercises his liberties selfishly in the best sense of the word, but not without purpose.

I did, however, come up with a few films that vaguely resemble its surface. One is Rob Reiner’s The Princess Bride (1987) where a guardian entertains a sick child in bed with a fantasy story. The exotic, foreign and colorfully vibrant environments of The Fall reminded me of the Arabian fantasy The Thief of Baghdad (1940), an Alexander Korda production. The most recent one is Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), one of the very best films of this decade, resembling The Fall in spirit but not emotionally. The Guillermo del Toro masterpiece (the adult equivalent) has different motives than The Fall (the child equivalent) and should not be felt the same way. Ophelia comes to conclusions about human nature that Alexandria is too young to even conceive.

For seventeen years, Tarsem traveled the world playing location scout for his dream film – a seed growing inside his mind. In that time he worked with great success as a director of music videos and commercials for large conglomerates, earning millions of dollars for his visionary talents. Many directors in advertising would often muse that they would personally finance their own feature film (always a would-be masterpiece) until time caught up to snuff that claim from becoming a reality. Not Tarsem. After losing his long-time girlfriend and potential family, he turned his savings into making art. A movie will substitute a child for now. David Fincher (Zodiac, 2007), one of the film’s producers and no stranger to advertising, told Tarsem “You happen to be the fool that has done it”.

David Fincher’s Anti-Smoking Advertisement

A year after appearing at the Telluride Film Festival back in 2006, every distributor was too timid to pick it up. It was Roy Andersson’s Songs From The Second Floor (2002) all over again. When released (more like saved) by amigos Fincher and music video-turned-wunderbar filmmaker Spike Jonze (Being John Malkovich, 1999), The Fall was granted a limited theatrical release last Spring. Living in Vancouver wasn’t much fun where no screening of The Fall was held. I know people who were looking forward to it and are still traumatized by the experience of Tarsem Withdrawal.

The make-believe story involves a band of unique men who each have just cause to seek out and destroy the near-omnipresent villain Governor Odious (Daniel Caltagirone). Our heroes include The Masked Bandit who leads The Indian (Jeetu Merma – perceived by Alexandria that he is from India in place of Roy’s Native American), Otta Benga (Marcus Wesley) the Ex-Slave from Africa whose expertise is archery, Luigi the Italian Explosives Expert (Robin Smith – who reminds me of the ruler of the Moulin Rogue! played by Jim Broadbent), and would-be evolution theorist Charles Darwin (Leo Bill) and his pet monkey Wallace. There is snide play with the characters for those familiar with the rival-collaboration between Darwin and Alfred Russell Wallace.

Throughout the told story, the characters are loosely perceived as looking like people Alexandria has seen before. The ominous henchmen are in a guise similar to the darkly glad X-Ray engineers who roam the hospital corridors. The Masked Bandit is originally played by Alexandria’s father (Emil Hostina) who is gap-toothed (Fun Fact: In Chaucer’s time, a woman with a gap-tooth possessed a sexy attribute.) until she informs Roy her dad is dead. For the duration of the story, the role of The Masked Bandit is played by Roy. Governor Odious, when revealed later, stands in as a rival of Roy’s, an otherwise humane man, whose depravity is greatly exaggerated.

Back in reality, about midway into the movie, it becomes clear that Roy’s cliffhangers are motivated by his need to persuade Alexandria to fetch him enough medicine to commit suicide with. Not only is Roy a handicap, he is trapped in the private hell of being deliriously in love with a woman who has given her heart to another man. Roy’s bouts of depression and utter pessimism first occasionally and then ultimately influence his fantasy world into darkness. There is a funny-sad scene where Roy is cobbling down Morphine pills, while Alexandria innocently picks up those he dropped so he can consume them.

Vivid and luridly odd costume design by Eiko Ishioka (Mishima, 1985) marks her second distinguishable collaboration with Tarsem after The Cell (2000). The fantasy sequences were shot in over two dozen countries in South America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Tarsem and cinematographer Colin Watkinson realize phenomenal visuals with wise framing and subtle dissolves placed creatively in strange architecture and landscapes. There is so little in the way of computer rendering that what looks gorgeous beyond reason is actually just photographed. The Voodoo of Location, a philosophy by German maverick Werner Herzog, is played out fruitfully as opposed to the tiresome green screen approach.

The Fall demonstrates my philosophy of The Authenticity of Light™, a means of achieving visuals effects by hand and controlling real light while filming. The reality of the shot is grounded; manipulated before the camera and not after. The use of CGI, a reworking of pixels that carries no weight subconsciously, is an exercise of The Inauthenticity of Light™. It is more exhilarating to realize an image that carries weight and is actually tactile in the real world. A stone is more valuable than a dream.

Tarsem and his composer Krishna Levy get great mileage out of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A major, Op. 92, II. Allegretto. This instrumental score hasn’t been used so effectively since its placement over the near-devastating finale of Gaspar Noé’s Irreversible (2002). It can also be heard over the scene in Stephen Herek’s Mr. Holland’s Opus (1995) where Mr. Holland (Richard Dreyfuss) lectures his class about Beethoven continuing to compose masterfully despite the loss of hearing. Meanwhile Mr. Holland can’t help but tearfully contemplate the loss of his own newborn son being deaf: “Well… Beethoven wasn’t born deaf”.

That music introduces and bookends The Fall beginning with a lusciously photographed sequence in black-and-white depicting the horrific aftermath of a stunt turned tragic. The compositions, its heightened values, and dreamy slow-motion capturing a rescue on train tracks suspended high over a body of water. The steam-engine train blows a long puff of bright white smoke against the warm gray sky like a man-made cloud. The last sequence is a poignant montage of death-defying stunts accumulated from silent pictures starring Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd whom Alexandria figures it must be Roy doing all that work.

The Main Title Sequence of “The Fall”

The Fall is one of those rare films that doesn’t come to you, but you must come to it. It doesn’t fulfill the conventional needs we usually come to expect from a feature film. It comes bearing gifts you might not have prepared for. Remember that trailer for Julie Taymor’s Across The Universe that promised us “the most original, exhilarating, spectacular, groundbreaking motion picture of the year!” The Fall, for the most part, actually capitalizes on that promise this year. Most people will turn away from it, the same who demand more originality in film and are shocked when they see something like The Fall. Even if Tarsem made The Fall for himself, those looking for a soaring adventure under an enveloping scale of visual delight can reap the benefits. This one isn’t meant for everybody and that’s more reason to treasure it.

“Across the Universe” Trailer

“The Fall” Trailer

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Bias Alert: This news comes just I have recently finished Michael Moore’s Election Guide 2008, thus having read every published word he has ever written including those from the obscure Adventures in a TV Nation.

That waskly old Liberal Michael Moore is rocking the vote (and the boat) with his new film Slackers Uprising. Much like in The Big One (1997) which chronicled Moore’s book tour for Downsize This!, this documentary follows Moore across the country’s universities and colleges. With young adults in attendance months before the Presidential Election of 2004, Moore beseeched the Slackers of America to find their shorts, scarf down their Fruit Loops sans milk and VOTE! The race was between Bush and Kerry and arguably over half the country felt the stakes were near-apocalyptic over four more years of the Sitting Duck in Office.

This caused some ridiculous controversy by the right-wing pundits who spoke out against Moore’s tactic. Now Moore didn’t outright demand to the twenty-somethings which candidate’s name they had to puncture in the ballot. What did Bill O’ “DO IT LIVE!” Reilly and the gang have to fear of young voters participating in their right to democracy. They could very well have stuck it to old man Kerry and gone back to suckling the warm, freedom-flavored teat of Dubya.

Starting September 23rd, Michael Moore is generously releasing his new film Slackers Uprising as a free download for three weeks in North America. As a Canadian, this cheers me greatly. Usually downloadable media from the US is unavailable to your Neighbor of the North – I’m looking at you NBC (30 ROCK), CBS (Swing Town) and Comedy Central (The Daily Show + Colbert Report)! Being the first mainstream film to reach personal computer screens for the admission of bupkis, Michael Moore is not only a pioneer but truly appreciates his fortune in turn by his audience: “This is being done entirely as a gift to my fans. The only return any of us are hoping for is the largest turnout of young voters ever at the polls in November.”

This may very well tip a close presidential race away from the Republican Party’s John ‘Hot Head’ McCain and that media-trashing, earmark-embracing hockey mom Sarah Palin.

A DVD of the said film will also be released. It’s Special Features include:

• Special Guest Joan Baez — America the Beautiful
• Diplomats and Military Commanders for Change
• Why People Like George Bush?
• My Pet Goat
• The O’Reilly Factor for Kids
• Oh, Canada (Oh, My!)
• Just Add Water and Heat – More Ramen and Clean Underwear
• A Letter from a Soldier in Iraq
• MM Dance Machine

Last week, Michael Moore guest starred on the web-based show “Meet the Bloggers”.

“Meet the Bloggers” with Michael Moore

Go Obama/Biden 08′

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Two years ago, Hungarian filmmaker György Pálfi made a darkly comic familial splatter film based on the short stories of absurdist writer Lajos Parti Nagy. A vomtorium that dissects the inner workings, obsessions, and gluttonous fetishes of the Kálmán’s past three generations. A timeline laced and dripped into the warm, spent human ooze from Dante’s Circles of Hell. This film Taxidermia (2006) sounds like John “Se7en” Doe’s cup of tea.

The three generations syndrome by German novelist Thomas Mann follows the scheme that the grandfather starts the family on its course, then his son, the father, raises the family to the pinnacle of success so that the last generation’s son would waste it and start anew.

Dutch, once upon a time English, filmmaker Peter Greenaway applied this three generation scheme to filmmaking and concluded that the bold grandfather of the cinema was Sergei Eisenstein, the revolutionary Russian Soviet director who fashioned the immutable and much imitated Battleship Potemkin (1925)*. The renegade father of the cinema was Orson Welles who perfected the medium with the towering Citizen Kane (1939). Then the mutinous son of the cinema being Jean-Luc Godard broke and rearranged cinematic conventions by way of the French New Wave Breathless (1960).

“Taxidermia” Trailer

Fair Warning: This One Gets Pretty Freaky.

I really dig that smash cut with the crying rooster.

“Taxidermia” International Trailer

A round of applause for the sickly fascinating website with the droning music and the decadently gruesome images. When you get to the spinning pin wheel, click on the same image twice to navigate to a new link in the site. Montreal-based Brazilian musician/DJ Amon Tobin scores the film and it sounds subterranean.

Taxidermia was Hungary’s official entry for the Academy Awards’ Best Foreign Film. I wonder how long before its judges walked out of the screening room to get a bucket. Roger Ebert, after watching it at the Cannes Film Festival wrote, “I am sure Taxidermia is an important film and certainly a brave one, but I doubt if I know anyone who would thank me for recommending it”. European art critic Boyd van Hoeij called it the best film of 2006.

I have not seen this film just yet, not for a lack of stomach mind you. I’d have gladly bought a DVD released by Tartan outside of North America had I not found out about the Hungarian produced two-disc special edition. It is packaged like a slab of meat wrapped in cellophane — “Cause you can look right through me. Walk right by me” (couldn’t help myself!) — sold in supermarket.

Disc One features the film in an anamorphic widescreen transfer with Dolby 2.0, Dolby 5.1 and DTS 5.1 soundtracks. Optional English subtitles are included. Supposedly there is a DVD version that includes a director’s commentary but is not included here.

Disc Two has a 42 minute production, 30 minutes of deleted scenes, with optional director’s commentary, 8-minute visual design and concept gallery, 3 minute stills gallery, Hungarian and International trailers, two music videos by the band Hollywoodoo, Taltosember vs Ikarus — a 20 minute short film by György Pálfi, storyboards, and an interactive game.

Unfortunately, the Hungarian retailers are keeping this DVD edition a secret from the rest of the world. Anyone who knows how I can get a copy of this special edition would be greatly appreciated.

*I originally wrote “…the bold grandfather of the cinema was D.W. Griffiths who made the first narrative-sophisticated feature film Birth of a Nation (1915) – a pity it is irredeemably racist.” Whether Eisenstein or Griffiths is the real grandfather of cinema has the makings of a blood-on-the-walls debate between cinites.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Calling all agnostics, come November 5th, have plenty of body armor on because the unapologetic documentary Religulous is hitting theaters.

“Religulous” Trailer

That all heart, brainy and quick-witted political commentator, Bill Maher, takes us around the world to prod people about that hot button called God. There’s already some right-wing evangelist backlash against it. One wonders if there will be a boycott for the likes of Kevin Smith’s underrated Dogma (1999). Thank (insert your diety here) there are people out there willing tackle the bully boys that ram literal readings of the Old Testament down our collective throats.

Kevin Smith Joins The Protesters of “Dogma”

Kevin Smith Laughs At The Protesters of “Dogma”

It’s funny how defensive some (er… most) people get when you even suggest plausible doubt that takes them out of their theological comfort zone. That’s what Maher is doing and I applaud him for it. Questioning is good for achieving a moderate and curious society. This keeps the threat of evangelical movements that want to conquer and not listen at bay. I know people who think that world peace would be realized had everyone become a devout Christian as well those (like John Lennon) who believe there would be no wars without religion. I think people will use any excuse to find prejudice and make enemies whether religion is existent or not because it is the easiest to exploit.

Now I believe in a healthy open mind. I’m willing to entertain the plausibility of a conscious and omnipresent being surrounding our wacky universe so long as others don’t deny that our surroundings are governed by scientific means. It would be just as depressing to have worldly people obliterate their personal beliefs and histories for a unified one decided by a majority as would the option of obliterating them altogether. What appeals to me about all religions, popular as well as obscure ones, are the imaginations and the varied identities made possible for individuals around the world. It would be downright boring to be so certain about one outcome. It only becomes a problem when others are harmed in the name of an idea.

Lions Gate is distributing Religulous. No surprise, this studio often releases heady and controversial films like Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), The Passion of the Christ (2004), American Psycho (2000), Shadow of the Vampire (2000), Hard Candy (2005), as well as Repetitive Vomitoriums and Spoofs For The Lobotomized.

Throughout Maher’s theological search, I’ll have time to muse why I find atheism so sexy.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Watch His Step!

Watching a great movie that clicks in all of the right places assures me that there is harmony in the universe. It is like marveling at a perfectly symmetrical design like the Eiffel Tower or a spider web. Life is really random chaos with no point. It is a relief that our human intellect stubbornly seeks and finds safety, reason and occasional serendipity in the face of an abyss. Without a sound mind, sanity is lost. To perform well, the struggle between genius and madness is universal. The endeavor of Philippe Petit is one of the most memorable…and balanced.

The documentary Man on Wire recounts a French tightrope walker’s obsession to tread while suspended between the void of the World Trade Center Towers 1,368 feet from the ground. That’s the height of 228 six-foot men. Having trained for most of his life to perform this feat, he masterminded a plot with an adventurous team of experts and thrill-seekers to infiltrate the towers’ rooftops to get the wire across them. The illegal operation was as dangerous and complex as a robbing a heavily guarded infrastructure like in Jules Dassin’s Rififi (1954) or, if you haven’t seen that one, Steven Soderbergh’s 2001 remake of Ocean’s Eleven. My only complaint about the break-in was that they didn’t pack a video camera to film the spectacle from such an awesome perspective view.

The scenes of the controversial incursion are narrated by the present interviewees while documented footage and dramatically staged footage bring us intimately to experience it. The black-and-white footage (always timeless) is integrated so well that documentary and the fictional realization become seamless. The director James Marsh has made an exceptional thriller and a visual poem about great dreamers whose vision threaten to capsize them unless they rise to act upon their desires.

This is a superb follow-up to Marsh’s 2006 directorial debut titled The King, a chilling docudrama about an estranged son (Gael Garcí­a Bernal) who goes to depraved lengths to integrate himself into the new family of his born-again father (William Hurt – “How does that feel?”). The King was between Julia Kwan’s Eve and the Firehorse and John Hillcoat’s The Proposition on my Best Films of 2006 list. This year, Marsh is almost neck-to-neck with magician/filmmaker Errol Morris who too has made another invaluable documentary called Standard Operating Procedure.

Philippe Petit is a charismatic and animated character in his own right. “I have this childlike rebellion against those who say that I can’t do something, which is something that I felt very early in my life. I have more wisdom now than I did at the time, but when most of the world tells you that you cannot do something, what an incentive to prove them wrong.” Before this daunting venture, he had walked between Notre Dame and the Sydney Harbour Bridge where some photographs taken look like he is floating in the sky.

One of Petit’s memories — and certainly the most loveliest — involves Annie Allix, his then-girlfriend: They both walk a wire suspended a few feet from his backyard together; relying on one another to gracefully cross this delicate bridge suspended in the midair. The romantic in me was immensely moved by the sight. Allix then mused, “We both look like we’re plotting our next mischief”.

Reflecting on Petit’s stunt above the World Trade Center, no mention in the film is made about the infamous tragedy that took place twenty-seven years after the fact. There is footage early in the film that depicts the building of the World Trade Center which looks hauntingly like Ground Zero today. What an irony, considering the still-troubled political climate a few years ago in New York (re: Freedom Fries) that in the early 1970s; New Yorkers looked agape and in wonder at a Frenchman’s daring.

The other star of this film is the composer Michael Nyman (The Piano, 1993), one of most exceptional and prolific in the past few decades. He is so distinctive that Hollywood studios unwisely dilute his work or stay away from him altogether. Thankfully his collaboration with such cinema rebels like Peter Greenaway, Jane Champion, and Michael Winterbottom have contributed richly to celluloid.

His score for Man on Wire is an accumulation of reworked film scores he has done. Nyman loyalists will recognize segments from “Chasing Sheep Is Best Left To Shepards” (The Draughtsman’s Contract, 1982), “Sheep and Tides” (Drowning By Numbers, 1988), “Time Lapse” (A Zed and Two Noughts, 1985), and “Stroking, Synchronizing” (Water Dances, 1985). The last time I heard Nyman tracks incorporated in a motion picture was two years ago. The film in question was Michael Winterbottom’s Tristram Shanty: A Cock and Bull Story (2006), which also made my list of Best Films that year.

“Tristram Shanty: A Cock and Bull Story” Trailer

What an inspiration it is to play Nyman’s “Memorial” from Peter Greenaway’s masterpiece The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, And Her Lover over Petit’s highest walk! How fitting that it was Nyman’s music that Petit actually practiced his wire act in his backyard to. I often listen to Nyman’s jazzy scores when I illustrate. Nyman’s Baroque-affected work is so locomotive and minacious that it stirs up the most mishandled of hearts. “(Nyman) has one foot in the 1600s and the other in contemporary times”. You can never go wrong overlaying a Nyman piece over your own movie (I should know!). Nyman has recently held an exhibition of his photography work and influences called Sublime with the assistance of the design firm Volumina.

“Chasing Sheep is Best Left to Shepherds”

“Sheep ‘n’ Tides”

“Time Lapse”

“Stroking”

On August 7, 1974, Petit realized his dream and conquered the Twin Towers. His stunt was split between potential suicide and artistic liberation. Petit claims he was at peace with the thought of dying that day should he have slipped. His actions suggest that a life lived without the realization of one’s most radical aspirations is a moot one. We only get one trip around so we might as well put aside trivial safety measures and make the best of it.

I related with Petit’s romanticism and his need to dream boldly. I was cheered by the extreme measures and unapologetic grand gestures he made to realize the unthinkable. To walk across the clouds. Take a moment and ask yourself if you would actually like to perform a similar feat? Having gone up the Empire State Building to scream out loud from the top of the world, over the exquisite yearning to truly live. It was a minor gesture in the same vein. I was in complete sympathy with Petit when he accepted an invitation by a slender brunette to make love to her after having achieved his death-defying stunt.

What can I say? Petit and I are French.

“Man on Wire” Trailer

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Poor, poor Dubya. With only half-a-year of his presidency left, Oliver Stone has him in the cross hairs and is ready to fire October 29th.

Two months since we have gotten the all-type Bushism poster, now here is the trailers that have official hit.

“W” Trailer #1:

“W” Trailer #2:

Looks like we’re going to see Dubya as all too human here. Much like how Stone saw Nixon in his excellent 1995 feature as a tragic figure worthy of Hamlet.

Hamlet
A man may fish with the Bush that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that Bush.

Just don’t skimp on the flaws, Oliver!

Switching faces from tragedy to comedy, here is the new trailer for Mike Leigh’s upcoming Happy-Go-Lucky. This one is made for the North American audiences so be sure to take a shot of Insulin Glargine.

Now this trailer is just dying to make this bittersweet British comedy come across as a sweet-and-low Julia Roberts vehicle. A desperate attempt turning indie gold look like mainstream schmaltz. It has the banal Disneyesque-pop music cues, the kid-friendly editing wipes (swooshing sound effects are not optional), the garishly bubblegum-polished graphics, and the voice-over narration of Don LaFontaine in syrupy mode. Is Miramax really stooping this low for a Best Picture nom?

News Flash: a dozen years ago Mike Leigh’s Secrets and Lies (1996) got the coveted nomination, so have a little faith!

The international trailer that I wrote about 3 months ago is far superior and actually feels like it has the fingerprints of Mike Leigh on it.

The Real Happy-Go-Lucky Trailer

The sophisticated animated graphics with the cute and gritty edge – check! An editing aesthetic that does not condescend – check! The quirky yet somber soundtrack by Gary Yershon – check!

Question: Am I the only one waiting for the melancholy soundtracks of composer and Mike Leigh regular Andrew Dickson (High Hopes, 1988; Naked, 1993; All or Nothing, 2002; Vera Drake, 2004) to be released?

Happy-Go-Lucky will speak for itself (in limited release) on October 10th.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

How Much Equality Is There Between Him And Her And Him?

Adolescence is a trial no matter what gender one is. The conflict can be so crippling that it damages and ultimately defines one as an adult. There have been many films, some good, about experiencing teenage angst and the need to break free or remain grounded. Either way can produce regret later in life. This film XXY has tread new ground by presenting a teenager whose entire identity, both internally and anatomically, is unusual to a majority of people. Funnily enough, the uniqueness of this case makes the experience all the more universal. The teenager is named Alex and is fifteen years old. Alex has a choice this summer that boggles one’s mind toward fantasy. The choice is whether Alex should resume the rest of life as male or female.

Alex is a hermaphrodite. Alex looks like a teenage girl but possesses the make-up of a boy that he/she has deluded with pills of estrogen. Alex is cared for by her parents Kraken (brilliantly played by Ricardo Darí­­n) and Suli (Valeria Bertuccelli) who live, for their child’s sake, in a wooden turquoise cabin near the seaside in Uruguay after moving from Argentina. Her father works as an oceanographer who possesses a protectiveness, even for the wounded sea turtles he studies. The key for observing this challenging and brave film is by possessing the empathy that Kraken has. He is quiet, smart, unobtrusive, and lashes out only when someone endangers his child. Rarely has a father been portrayed on film with such loveliness.

There is an astonishing sequence late at night where Kraken seeks out a frank older man who presents pictures of himself as a child — pictures of girl! Kraken listens calmly and curiously to the difficult experiences of this struggling hermaphrodite. He is so involved with understanding his “daughter” that he is simply removed from prejudice: “Making her afraid of her body is the worst thing you can do to a child”. This character was so easy for me to gravitate towards.

Inés Efron portrays Alex with bravado and great vulnerability. She instinctively performs her character’s struggle with tendencies ruled by her intersex. Alex’s struggle is made more difficult by the arrival of Ramiro (Germán Palacios), his wife Erica (Carolina Pelleritti), and their teenage son Alvaro (Martí­n Piroyansky). Ramiro is a trusted surgeon who has been invited over, whether Kraken and Suli decide to inform him at all, to perform corrective sex surgery in secret. Alvaro and Alex form a fragile friendship as their lazy days on beach pass by. The dialogue between the two teenagers is startlingly frank:

Alex: “I’ve never fucked anyone. Want to now?”
Alvaro: “With who?”
Alex: “With me.”
Alvaro: “You’re too young.”
Alex: “I’m only fifteen.”

Eventually there is a confrontation midway into the film where Alvaro and Alex are caught up in one another’s sexual crisis. They are compelled by their need to connect with each other as well as their own confused and highly guarded urges. For anyone who felt uneasy watching the emotionally mature Brokeback Mountain (2006), will probably suffer a Scanners moment when they witness how the tables turn in an act of mounting. The tone of the picture achieves the right balance of sentimentality and a hardened sense of reality. The characters are well rounded and respond realistically to their circumstances. They remain true to their human nature. Rawness is ubiquitous. The nakedness of the performers both emotionally and viscerally approaches the tact of Cathrine Breillat’s brilliant Fat Girl (2001).

Natasha Braier’s desaturated cinematography and its conscious color palette throughout the film is very effective. The picture ranges from black shadows and rich sepia hues at night to the daylight’s gray roads, near white sand, harsh blue sky with occasional splashes of green foliage. The main titles takes place underwater where strange alien-like creatures pulsate and blow bubbles amongst the web-like reefs. The intimidating tone of the film is more creepy than most of the generic suspense thrillers that came out this year. The music by Andrés Goldstein and Daniel Tarrab complements the atmosphere by being subtly somber.

This film, winner of the Critics Week Grand Prize at Cannes 2007, marks the directorial debut of Lucí­a Puenzo, daughter of Luis Puenzo (Oscar nominee The Official History, 1986). She adapted her screenplay from the short story Cinismo by Sergio Bizzio. After much writing for TV and feature films, Puenzo arrives fully formed as a consummate and visceral storyteller. How the characters deal with the aftermaths and revelations of their actions are executed without negligence while maintaining some ambiguity that they are reasonably unable to capture at that age. Somehow, Puenzo’s film bares resemblance to Kimberly Peirce’s searing Boys Don’t Cry (1999) and achieving a niche of its own.

This is one of the best films of the year.

“XXY” Trailer

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Gotham’s Finest! Consequently, Also Its Bleakest.

I wept throughout the last two minutes of The Dark Knight and applauded rapturously throughout the end credits. This is the Batman movie I have been waited for ever since I discovered the Batman comics at the age of five. It is unrelentingly grim; however, it is also very optimistic because the power of good, slight as it is, glows against the darkness. When hopelessness engulfs its victims, true heroism at its most intangible and mysterious can shine in the corridors of the heart. Here, sacrifice is the key to combat such harrowing evil. I love exhilarating tragedies. This film has a prominent place on my list of the best films of the decade alongside the Dardenne Brother’s Le Fils (2003), Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood (2007), Nicole Holofcener’s Lovely and Amazing (2002), Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) and Mike Nicols’ Wit (2001). I love this movie so much that, despite the obvious legalities attached to this proposition, I want to ask Christopher Nolan’s permission to marry his movie.

In terms of on-screen performances, I’d like to do something rather radical, and focus on the work of Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent first. My first confrontation with Eckart was as Chad, the all-too-credible venomous charmer in Neil Labute’s In The Company of Men (1997). In that film, Chad persuades his pal Howard (Matt Malloy), an earnest lemming, while on their business venture out of town to play a cruel joke on a pretty, deaf woman (Stacy Edwards). It was a small masterpiece about how a sterile, corporate environment breeds nihilistic alpha males, nebbishes and their victims. Eckhart’s work was phenomenal in depicting misanthropy with such unnerving — in the worst sense of the word — humanity. This was a character actor to watch out for.

Throughout the last ten years, I’ve seen him shine in the corners of Your Friends and Neighbors (1998), Nurse Betty (2000), The Pledge (2001), and Conversations with Other Women (2005). Finally, Jason Reitman cast Eckhart as an earnest tobacco lobbyist in Thank You For Smoking (2005), which launched him into the mainstream as a leading man who could dive in the taboo stream (“It is in our best interest to keep Robin (Cancer Boy) alive and smoking!”) and retain his likability – he could smile his way through manslaughter if he wanted.

As Gotham City’s new White Knight, District Attorney Harvey Dent, Eckhart has finally delivered an astonishing performance in a mainstream blockbuster. Eckhart is so good that he deserves nomination talk along with Heath Ledger, who I will write about later. Throughout the first half of the picture, Eckhart is perfect as the passionate, though moody D.A. with his brooding forehead and easy smile. So eager to hang up the cape, Batman (Christian Bale) looks to Dent as a fearless crusader, his equal minus the mask, who could take down the mob and return Gotham to form. They both give one another strength like yin and yang: “You can’t quit!” Dent is a man who would rather face on powerful criminals in court (“I haven’t finished question him, your honor!”) than hobnob alone with stuck-up socialites at his re-election fund raiser. He simply prefers to make his own fate.

Now that Dent has become a symbol of heroism, it becomes increasingly difficult as a human being to remain pure and without flaws. Harvey Dent encapsulates a truth that courteous people are capable of monstrous deeds, much like the Brendon Gleeson character in In Bruges (2008). Batman supports Dent as they work with Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman), who has finally embraced Batman since their last encounter in Batman Begins (2005). There is a wonderful shot up on the roof of police headquarters that circulates around the three defenders next to the beaming bat-signal post all in one take. Dent and Gordon argue loudly about apprehending a money embezzler linked to the mob, while Batman stands opposite, observing them. Batman has become so integrated in this world that the suits don’t even blink at a man dressed as a bat.

The only problem Batman’s alter ego Bruce Wayne has with Dent is his infatuation with his legal partner Rachael Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal – she owns this role) before his life was tarnished by the murder of his parents. Having realized himself as Batman to combat the corruption in his city, the criminal element has escalated to extremes both theatrical and insane. Enter the Joker (Heath Ledger), a disfigured and greasily made up sociopath who takes great pride as a showman inflicting anarchy and death. “This city deserves a better class of criminal.”

Batman must exhaust all of his resources to take down the clown prince of crime. His allies are indispensable making the symbolic feat of Batman more effective. Morgan Freeman gives Lucius Fox, a Gotham version of James Bond’s M, a cool delivery and a powerful stand against an abuse of moral power in dire times. This time Batman actually flies. Michael Caine is graceful as Alfred who gives voice to Batman’s conscience. Usually on hand for welcome comic relief, Alfred’s own back story presents a cynical alternative to take down a powerful enemy: “We burned the forest down.”

The music by Hans Zimmer (a David Cronenberg favorite) and James Newton Howard (Signs, 2002) excels at balancing urgency, dread and despair. At key points, particularly the opening sequence, they heighten the frequency on an electric guitar to create a tense stringing sound like a violin being brutally tuned. The emphasized string theme for Harvey Two-Face (yes, I own the soundtrack) is unforced, sad, and even — dare I say it — noble. There are many musical cues that were lifted from their own score for Batman Begins. Close listeners will recall the music that plays over Joker’s getaway as he leans out the window of a moving automobile, relishing the cold wind blowing in his face, is the same as when Alfred proposes “a little supper” to a devastated child. The music of the series makes its own fantastic niche amongst the unique, rich and haunting scores from past Batman adaptations by Danny Elfman and the late Shirley Walker. The music for Batman the Animated Series as a CD collection remains criminally out of reach. Warner Bros. – what are you waiting for?*

Christopher and Jonathan Nolan are not afraid to stray away from the technicalities of the batman universe in order to engage their own personal imaginings of their own excitably dense and layered, though always coherent and logical, means of storytelling (re: Memento, The Prestige). Just look at what they did to Barbara. Another example is of their substitution for the Batcave: an underground concrete-walled box with a gridded light-screened ceiling that extends for hundreds of feet. Its cold and ordered spaciousness suits this Batman rather than the elaborate black-rocked cavern warped by centuries that we’ve come to expect.

This choice is coherent with where we left Batman last – Wayne Manor was burned to the ground at the end of Batman Begins – and the Nolan brothers rightfully figure that its reconstruction would be proceeding at this time. This example show how meticulous and adventurous Nolan brothers are in constructing every facet evident throughout the production. Imagine how it could look in the third Batman installment!

Based on a story by David S. Goyer (Dark City, 1998), the film is briskly paced thanks to the economical editing of Lee Smith. To Christopher Nolan’s credit, he knows when to savor a good thing (for example: Heath Ledger’s performance). Halfway into the picture, a very nerve-wracking countdown that demands an impossible choice and a high speed pursuit is so exciting that a lesser filmmaker might be content to leave it as a climatic denouncement. Christopher Nolan is so generous he’s concocted the means to raise the stakes even higher. The arduous mile taken to film twenty minutes of establishing shots and action sequences using the 70mm IMAX camera is revolutionary for feature films. The clarity of these shots makes the illusion on screen seem strangely tangible.

The look of the film by cinematographer Wally Pfister (always employed by Nolan) and production designer Nathan Crowley (The Lake House, 2006) is stellar. Gotham City, filmed again in the windy city Chicago, is gothic and beautiful with an emphasis of yellow, green, and blue hues at night. The futuristic atmosphere is toned down here compared to Batman Begins with its obvious Blade Runner influences. The camera choices by Nolan are tasteful and exciting. There are deft tracking shots that prove time and again that a moving camera is an involving one.

The make-up and visual effects that helped transform Harvey Dent into Two-Face made me grin ear to ear. I love how the suspended bloodshot eyeball twitches and how the jaw and cheek muscles slide behind the burnt flesh. The lead up to the revelation of his face is well handled with a well-timed tease that cuts away to Gordon’s double take (if you’ll pardon the expression). Two-Face is everything I wanted from the deranged, tragic character since I saw his excellent origin story written by Alan Burnett and Randy Rogel in the apt two-parter Two-Face in Batman: The Animated Series. He inspires a walking nightmare – an angel who got too close to the flame.

Scenes from “Two-Face: Part I”

They Don’t Make Em’ Like This Anymore.

I was struck by the love triangle because the romance genuinely looks like it’s populated with adults. As Rachel Dawes, Gyllenhaal is so striking and lovely with her crooked smile, her laugh-lines, and her empathetic eyes. It’s a real improvement over the baby-faced Katie Holmes who did her best in the first Batman film. Christian Bale is the man – the definitive Batman who interrogates thugs suspended by dizzying heights (I love what happens to a mobster’s ankle) and growls his dialogue with such deep-throated authority. Yes, that’s my Batman.

The use of viral marketing over the past year has integrated the film sublimely. For example, those who signed up for news regarding this superhero epic have had e-mails of ‘I Believe in Harvey Dent’ calls to action for re-election. When Wayne criticizes them without displaying a single one in the film, I felt more connected in this world. Having pointed out Harvey Dent’s Win for D.A. and Gordon’s Ambush via Phone. Here, I feel most compelled to point out the coolest plug for my guiltiest pleasure.

Pizza Delivery In Gotham City

Finally, the Joker. I love the Joker. I am intoxicated by the essence of this villain. Some of my personality and my artwork has been inspired by this all-knowing character with the sinister grin. Jack Nicolson’s version amused me as a toddler. One of my fondest memories is when I was nine, when my sister took me to a local comics convention and I got to meet Bruce W. Timm and Paul Dini, the creators of Batman: The Animated Series, arguably the best superhero-inspired animated show ever made. When Bruce W. Timm asked me which character I wanted him to draw for me…well, the Joker is framed on the wall to the left of my computer.

We’ll just ignore Michael Goguen’s The Batman – the alternative to an aborted fetus – and maybe it will go away.

Mark Hamill’s voice work as the Joker in Batman: The Animated Series was my favourite for years. I can do a mean imitation of that version. This Joker, as penned by the great Paul Dini, was at his best when he tortured specific people as a hobby or when he threw his poor lovesick henchwench Harley Quinn out of a window and later sent her a Get Well Soon card at the hospital. The Joker’s relationship to Batman is a zealous one driven by ego. When the Joker thought Batman was dead, he held a ghoulish funeral where he mused, “For it was the Batman who made me the happy soul I am today. How I agonized for the perfect way to thank him for that. Perhaps with a cyanide pie to the face!“

The Joker’s Eulogy in “The Man Who Killed Batman”

Not only has Christopher Nolan and Heath Ledger tapped into the spirit of that wonderful Joker, but their reinvention of the character is truly brilliant. The happy bracket scars around this Joker’s sadistically grinning lips brings to mind an image from Ichi The Killer. This Joker was not dropped into a vat of chemicals. He was never the Red Hooded Man or Jack Napier. His origin is lost to an abyss of torture. The fact that this Joker actually applies the white make-up, dyes his stringy hair green, and applies slashes of blood-red lipstick to himself makes him even creepier. His warped identity is driven by choice.

Tragically, we have lost the late Heath Ledger as well as the chance to see him in dozens more unrealized roles, has created a Joker that will be revered for decades. If the Academy chooses to honor the dead, he will be nominated this year, but it is deserving of the lead and not the supporting one. This Joker speaks in a Chicago accent, licking his lips, chewing his words like they were steak. The intent of his diction differs from the trailer so most of the real takes weren’t spoiled. I’ll never forget the way he roars “LOOK! AT! ME!” at an abducted Batman copycat. What’s more is that the Joker is a brilliant terrorist. The Joker’s mind isn’t just screwy, it’s labyrinthine. I love the shot where the camera rotates on the Joker suspended upside-down, just as he finishes explaining his true victory to Batman, he is right-side up but the city behind him is topsy-turvy. The best and most surreal image of the whole film depicts The Joker bombing a hospital in broad daylight and then boarding a school bus.

Let’s face it, only the real thing can speak for itself.

How exhilarating it is to see a vision so personal and tragic in a multi-million dollar studio picture. Especially in times where studio execs aim for what they dubiously calculate to be the public majority; the lowest common denominator. The Dark Knight delivers such soaringly smart drama and action using a comprehensible film aesthetic. Audiences are sending a strong message to the studios by their attendance and returns. For the time being, The Dark Knight is currently one of the largest grossing films of all time. The IMDB website records it within the top three films having tallied a public poll, beating Francis Ford Coppola’s long-standing champion The Godfather (1972). Whether a cash-devouring blockbuster can be measured by its economical value for its artistic value is another essay for another day. The demand for quality in future motion pictures is deafening.**

The comic-book movie genre has crossed swiftly to the elevated acres of great pulp drama. Kudos Warner Bros. It’s a pity that Bob Kane couldn’t have lived another ten years to see this film. Take a bow, Christopher Nolan, and wow us with a great finale in your Batman trilogy. I think Josh Lucas would make the perfect Riddler, a slithery mastermind with a sinister grin. And who’s to say it’s not too late to throw Harley Quinn into the mix. I’d love to see Amy Adams (Junebug, 2005) in clown make-up turn sociopath.

Funny, I always knew that the one to get Batman right would be named Christopher.

“The Dark Knight” Trailer

*February 23, 2009:

Looks like the team behind the soundtrack for Batman: The Animated Series was waiting until December 2008. The first volume of Shirley Walker’s score was finally released on limited edition CDs. I write more in depth about it in my piece entitled Shirley Walker’s Contribution To “Apolcalypse Now” (1979).

**July 30, 2009:

While re-reading this review, I was struck by how the euphoria of The Dark Knight (2008) made me so… optimistic. The truth is that the commercial revenue a film earns is no way to evaluate its artistic quality. Just look at how moviegoers are rewarding Michael Bay’s witless eye-crunch Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. Last year’s The Dark Knight had more respect for its audience, which seems to have been wasted this year considering where audiences could be going to see instead. There’s Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker, Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds, Agnès Varda’s The Beaches of Agnès, Armando Iannucci’s In the Loop, and Duncan Jones’ Moon — my overall favourite this year. The Summer of 2009 isn’t suffering for a lack of great movies. Unfortunately, those attending the movies based on action figurines are getting their full on a spoiled crop.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Only eleven more days left…

“Normal criminals usually have logical motives, but the Joker’s insane schemes make sense to him alone.”
—Batman in The Laughing Fish by Paul Dini.

FUN FACT:

The Joker was inspired by Gwynplaine, the title character with the deformed grin, in The Man Who Laughs, who was played by Conrad Veidt.

Smile everyone!

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Our Special Tonight Is A Sexual Tryst Behind A Gangster’s Back.

This sumptuously lurid play, by Peter Greenaway, on depravity, sexual oblivion, and Jacobian revenge remains the most accessible and compelling of his filmography. It is also one of the few films I hold closest to my heart. The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, And Her Lover (1990) is simultaneously simple and deceptive beginning with the film’s title. The main characters could stand for an angry allegory about greedy Thatcher-inspired bullies exploiting the working class citizens of Britain. Then again, perhaps this tale of excess, rape, and cannibalism is a heightened account about deeply wounded souls.

Le Hollandaise is a grotesquely bourgeois restaurant where the thief Albert Spica (Michael Gambon, Gosford Park, 2001), his wife Georgina (the indispensable Helen Mirren, Gosford Park and Last Orders, 2001), and his goons (Tim Roth and Ciarán Hinds) dine every night. We are introduced to Albert as he force-feeds a lowly member of the kitchen staff owing money his excrement, and elaborating on its value: “I eat the very best and that’s expensive!”

The cook, Richard Borst (Richard Bohringer, Diva, 1981; Rembrant, 1999) stands up to the thief’s boorish threats concerning his offered “protection” with a collected reserve that masks deep rage – “If you button your expensive jacket, Mister Spica, you feel less…empty inside, Mister Spica.” Seated in the center of the operatic dining room, Albert’s hostility extends toward everyone around him, including the patrons. Georgina, who Albert crudely dubs, “Georgie”, often berated and beaten by her husband, is quietly defiant. She makes eye contact with Michael, a quiet intellectual (Alan Howard, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, 2003) as he eats and reads in the corner. Their infatuation leads to many excuses for a rendezvous in the opulent lavatory, where she and tender, love-handled Michael make desperate, explicit love as a means of escape.

Their sexual escapades take them behind closed doors in the kitchen, a secret quietly kept by the restaurant’s workers. Albert, obvious to being a cuckold, continues displaying his virtuoso nastiness with loud, arrogant (and darkly hilarious) commentary punctuated by violence: “I think Ethiopians like starving!” and “Human milk should be considered a delicacy.” Everyone around him is reduced to frightened submission. One night, he invites Michael to his table where he picks on his reading habits, “Does this stuff make money?” After having badly-bruised Georgina dictate how wonderful her life is (“Tell Michael you live in a big house and you spend a thousand pounds a week on clothes!”), she retaliates with news about her gynecology appointments (“Being infertile makes me a safe bet for a good screw.”) Albert drags her across the parking lot for that one.

The thief eventually discovers his wife’s deception is consumed by jealous rage. Searching for them, he invades the ladies’ lavatory and trashes the kitchen while screaming under satanic lighting, “I’ll kill him and then I’ll eat him!” Georgina, having been pushed beyond all measure, is transformed from tragic victim to arresting seducer, to tortured lunatic, and finally to avenging mastermind. There’s much to savor when the cook offers to prepare Georgina’s proposed meal for her husband. Albert’s comeuppance is satisfying and extreme, though perhaps not excruciating enough.

Every actor performs excellently with their given roles. In particular, Michael Gambon’s portrayal of the thief remains one of the most criminally overlooked performances of a great villain. He could stand alongside the likes of Hannibal Lector; after all, they have some things in common. Helen Mirren and Alan Howard exhibit astonishing bravery and tact in playing nude and suggesting real human depth with roles that might not initially suggest.

Sacha Vierny’s fantastical and painterly cinematography captures a surreal and heighten reality. The nightmarish sets include a large dining space saturated with blood red walls, furnishings and dominating curtains along with the towering, sickly-green industrial kitchen. The panoramic widescreen capitalizes on the vast stage-like compositions, panning from the parking lot, the kitchen, and the dining room in one deceptively continuous take. The color of the characters’ clothing changes to match the given settings. Costume designer Jean-Paul Gaultier fuses seventeenth century sensibilities along with warped contemporary ones. The unreality of the film’s look utilizes the melodramatic and farcical elements of the story. There are visual quotations of the painting The Banquet of the Officers of the St. George Militia of Haarlem (1616) by Frans Hals as though the oily aristocracy are staring at their more uncouth counterparts centuries later.

Michael Nyman’s thunderous music suggests decadence and savagery. Hellish chorus howls, shrieking violins, and saxophones dominate the exceptional soundtrack. Rarely have saxophones sounded like they have slobbery, wet tongues inside.

When released in 1990, the film was given the NC-17 rating that rallied a demand for a working adults-only rating reserved for more serious and sophisticated films. Helen Mirren spoke up against the ludicrousness of the MPAA ratings system. After eighteen years, it is still an uphill battle against maddeningly vague, studio-influenced hypocrites who keep films like this from the mainstream cinema. Peter Greenaway, who began his career as a serious painter and a student of anatomy, is uninhibited about regarding the naked human form of both sexes before the camera. Written with exacting intelligence and perversion, Greenaway’s portrayal of violence and sexuality is a conscious indictment of it. The extremity of the film is not without merit or thought, as it is not for the faint of heart. Order wisely from the menu, this is uncompromised satire of the highest order.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

A couple months after the UK’s take on Gremlins, Film4 has paid homage to Stanley Kubrick (“You haven’t a dook of an idea how to comport yourself public-wise, O my brother!”), one of the most studied and revered filmmakers. To kick off the Film4 channel’s seasonal tribute to the highly guarded auteur, their production house Channel 4 Creative Services concocted a TV spot in homage to The Shining (1980). The following promotional clip takes you through The Shining set in one continuous 65-second tracking shot, a film aesthetic long favored by Kubrick since Paths of Glory (1957), from the director’s point of view.

Channel 4′s “Kubrick Season” Advertisement

The attention to detail is absolutely terrific from the recreated sets that look exactly like the original Overlook Hotel corridors and hedge maze from thirty years ago to the lighting and lens choice — a 25mm Cooke lens that was favored by Kubrick. The amount of visual in-jokes will have die-hard Shining enthusiasts viewing it several times before none have escaped their close attention. I marvel at the prospect that the filmmakers even cast Kubrick’s crew to look like the real-life counterparts including John Alcott, Kubrick’s longtime director of production before his death in 1986. Watch out carefully for a half-dozen dead ringers of The Shining’s most prominent characters. Oh, and the tricycle that appears at the end is the real deal. This is the type of work ethic that makes me beam with joy.

Citizen Kubrick, a new documentary by Jon Ronson will first head off ten of the selected movies from Kubrick’s generous filmography. The chosen films range from the most famous (Lolita, 1962; 2001: A Space Odyssey, 1968; Barry Lyndon, 1975) to the most obscure (Killer’s Kiss, 1955; The Killing, 1956). After watching the documentary Stanley Kubrick: A Life in Pictures (2001) by Jan Harlan, one of Kubrick’s closest producers, I’m still very curious about the secretive genius. I am also relishing the published 304-page diary by Matthew Modine (Short Cuts, 1993) on the making of Full Metal Jacket (1989).

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

June 23, 2009: This article works best when regarded as a contingent whole from a distance rather than one meant for scrutinizing. By recognizing the existence and length of “Woe, Originality, Woe!”, the point is made as sharp as a slashing celluloid projector — fingers and palms are cautioned.

Have you recently felt waist-deep in the remakes that Hollywood is churning out at us? Those suits are approving them faster than a greasy teenager can wrap up and deliver an equally greasy feces-spotted burger. Now you have to understand, the execs are timid and frightened of green-lighting anything new and original. After all, anything untried could fail and cost them their job.

So far this year we’ve seen Peter Segal helmed Get Smart, The Eye, Shutter, Prom Night, One Missed Call, Funny Games, etc. With the exception of the Steve Carell flick, they all sucked, but that didn’t stop future Idiocracy members from making them profitable, which ensure more and more remakes…

Get ready to duck and cover because here they come!

TRAIN (2008) by Gideon Raff < Terror Train (1980) by Roger Spottiswoode.

The Echo (2008) by Yam Laranas < Sigaw (2004) by, you guessed it, Yam Laranas. It will be like George Sluizer remaking his chilling masterpiece Spoorloos (1988) into the Americanized (re: shitty) The Vanishing (1993).

The Valet (2008) by Bobby and Peter Farrelly < La Doublure (2006) by Francis Veber.

Star Blazers (2008) by producer Josh C. Kline < The Japanese anime series Star Blazers (1979). The upcoming movie will be live-action; just think Thunderbirds (2004) — question: did that hurt?

Race with the Devil (2008) by Chris Moore < Race with the Devil (1975) by Jack Starrett.

It’s Alive (2008) by Josef Rusnak (The Thirteenth Floor, 1999) < It’s Alive (1974) by Larry Cohen.

Anguish (2008) < Angustia (1987) by J.J. Bigas Luna. It involves a serial killer who collects eyeballs by force for his mother’s keepsake. For some odd reason, this reminds me of the surreal Alejandro Jodorowsky masterpiece Santa Sangre (1989).

Possession (2008) by Joel Bergvall and Simon Sandquist < Jungdok (2002) by Young-hoon Park.

The Host (2008) < Gwoemul (2006) by Bong Joon-ho

It’s a Ferrara twofer: The Driller Killer (2008) by Andrew Jones < The Driller Killer (1979) by Abel Ferrara.

Bad Lieutenant (1992) by Abel Ferrara > Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (2009) by Werner Herzog. Nicolas Cage takes on the infamous Harvey Kietel role. This is the only one I’m looking forward to.

Battle Royale (2008) by Kinji Fukasaku < Batoru rowaiaru (2000) by Kinji Fukasaku

Oh Gawd! They’re even remaking Oh, God! (2008) from the 1977 George Burns semi-classic by Carl Reiner.

Sharky’s Machine (2008) by Phil Joanou < Sharky’s Machine (1981) by Burt Reynolds.

Crossing Over (2008) by Wayne Kramer < Crossing Over (1996) by Wayne Kramer. The 1996 version is a 35-minute short that’s being adapted to feature-length and is starring Harrison Ford, Sean Penn, Ray Liotta, and Ashley Judd.

Coffee break time! | INTERMISSION | I’m back.

Flirt (2008) < Flirt (2005) by Jaap van Eyck. Not the 1996 Hal Hartley one.

Bangkok Dangerous (2008) by Oxide Pang Chun and Danny Pang < Bangkok Dangerous (1999) by the same Thailand directors.

Revenant (2008) by Randy Robinson < Le Revenant (1903!) by Georges Méliès. This is officially the oldest remake of all time by 105 years. “Florence, get Guinness on the phone!” “Right away. Genghis Khan Capone.”

My Sassy Girl (2008) by Yann Samuell < Yeopgijeogin Geunyeo (2001) by Jae-young Kwak.

The Day the Earth Stood Still (2008) by Scott Derrickson < The 1951 Robert Wise classic.

Brothers (2008) by Jim Sheridan < Brødre (2004) — an excellent drama by Susanne Bier.

Harry and the Butler (2008) by Steve Bing < Harry and the Butler (1961) by Bent Christensen.

Strangers on a Train by Noam Murro < The 1951 Hitchcock classic. I remember how well received Gus Van Sant’s Psycho (1998) was.

Even India is doing a remake with Kurbani (2008) by Feroz Khan < Qurbani (1980) by the same director. But we can forgive India just this one.

And here’s what to be remade in 2009: The Evil Dead, The Seven Samurai (NO!), The Wolf Man, The Birds, Friday the 13th (what do the suits do after ten sequels, they just renew it!), Death Wish, Hellraiser, Rififi (NO!), Mute Witness, Kiki’s Delivery Service (!?!), Piranha 3-D ,yes you just read Piranha 3-D, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes (by the guys who brought us the Ask A Ninja webisodes – might be fun.), The Last House on the Left, Fame, Magnum P.I., The Tingler (I wonder if they’ll bring back the electric seats!), and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, which is based on the James Thurber short story.

Wow! Hollywood has turned into a real ouroboros. (“I don’t know what that means?” – Donald Kaufman) Oh, if only Donald Kaufman hadn’t gotten into that lethal automobile collision than we’d be getting more original fare like The Thr3e (re: Identity (2003) by James Mangold).

We live in sad times. Have you scalded your eyes yet with the new Disaster Movie trailer? Those Hollywood anus-lickers Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer have made another lame-brained parody movie. Not only does Disaster Movie make fun of such “disaster movies” as Enchanted, Juno, Sex and the City, and Hancock…Hancock!? What the hell, Friedberg and Seltzer? Hancock hasn’t even been released yet!

I yearn for the quality parody movies like Top Secret (1984) and The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad (1988).

Word to anyone even considering buying a ticket to Disaster Movie: Don’t be a Idiocracy member. Do me a favor come August 29th, just spend your Friday night watching clips from Ask A Ninja. It’s better than watching a remake.

© 2008 – 2010, CINELATION | Film Reviews by Christopher Beaubien. All rights reserved.

Comedian. Teacher. Bullshit-detector.

The Irish-American who tried the FCC by delivering the Seven Dirty Words You Can’t Say on Radio or Television on broadcast radio is gone. At 71 years of age, George Carlin, one of the very best and radical stand-ups, died of a heart failure on Sunday the 22nd in Santa Monica, California.

“Seven Dirty Words You Can’t Say on Radio or Television”

Carlin was extremely influential. I am reminded of Lewis Black, one of his descendants who decreed that “there is no such thing as bad language” because we need those words to convey all the shit we go through. Through his comedy, Carlin channeled important issues like women’s rights, race, religion, and sports.

Another of Carlin’s obsessions is how the English Language is used and abused. Here’s a taste:

“The phrase sour grapes does not refer to jealousy or envy. Nor is it related to being a sore loser. It deals with the rationalization of failure to attain a desired end. In the original fable by Aesop, The Fox and the Grapes, when the fox realizes he cannot leap high enough to reach the grapes, he rationalizes that even if he had gotten them, they would probably have been sour anyway. Rationalization, that’s all sour grapes means. It doesn’t mean deal with jealousy or sore losing. Yeah, I know you say, ‘Well many people are using it that way, so the meaning is changing.’ And I say, ‘Well many people are really fuckin’ stupid too, shall we just adopt all their standards?’”

Carlin did a handful of supporting roles in such films as Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1990), and John Lasseter and Joe Ranft’s Cars (2006). He was a favorite of Kevin Smith in Dogma (1999), Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001), and Jersey Girl (2004). For me, I will beam with joy whenever I recall Carlin as Cardinal Ignatius Glick when introducing Catholicism Wow’s Buddy Christ – “He was a booster!”

Here’s a short Bob Kurtz animation