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Everyone is so eager to say the second Hunger Games movie ("Cathing
Fire ") is even better than the first. Why do they say that? Anyway
it's just assumed now viewers know the whole story, or at least saw
Part One, so we plunge in this time, with less introduction to this
ultra-popular young adults sci-fi tale by Susanne Collins. One may miss
Part One's introductory material, its glimpses of the impoverished
District 12, which Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) and Peeta
Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), the protagonists, come from, and the
gloriously absurd foppishness of the Roman Empire-inspired ruling class
who prance around when the games, designed apparently both to distract
and terrify the oppressed majority, are held.
In Part One, instead of following the Hunger Games rule of saving only one survivor of the dog-eat-dog competition, which is like an out-in- the-electronically-generated-force-field-infested-woods version of to-the-death Roman gladiatorial contests, two Tributes (contestants), Katniss and Peeta, get saved by cleverly posing as a romantic couple. Even maniacal dictators have a heart, or it just seems good public policy to celebrate love among the peons. (This new movie has much more hugging and kissing than killing, though it has a brutal whipping only 12 Years a Slave can outmatch, and of course killing does occur; it just doesn't seem to hurt quite as much as Part One's.) The "Victor," i.e., the Hunger Game annual winner -- the lowbrow mindset requires the word be explained -- normally gets to live an absolutely protected life from then on, his or her triumph saving him or her from future competitions.
Let's not fail to note that "him or her" is primarily "her," because this, like the "Twilight" series, is by and for primarily young adult females, and so the story has a strong girl-empowerment angle, for which everybody agrees the steely, glowing Jennifer Lawrence is the ideal central emblem.
But trouble is afoot. The year's ongoing public appearances of Katniss and Peeta in various Districts, when they stir things up by jettisoning their prepared spiels, show that a spirit of rebellion is afoot. President Snow (Donald Sutherland), who seems to have nothing much to do but drink tea and watch these displays, is very displeased at these hints of trouble afoot among the lower orders. After all he's basically a fascist dictator -- though, by the way, if you just watch the Triumph of the Will you'll see that real-life Nazis did all this grandiose spectacle stuff way better than the Lionsgate folks.
Snow decides to break the rules and bring back last year's double Victors to the annual life-and-death competition again. When they're dead, Snow figures the revolutionary spirit will fade, thought this is a dubious notion, since the people are leading their own revolt, not Katniss and Peeta, however much they may serve as inspiring symbols.
Anyway, off we go: Part Two is Part One with a new urgency, because the whole annual Hunger Games scheme of keeping the masses too terrified to revolt now seems to be failing. We have a new director for the film itself (a method used to freshen up the Twilight series too), Francis Lawrence instead of Gary Ross, not that that's part of the story line. We've got some new name actors. A puffy, uneasy-looking Philip Seymour Hoffman, not by any means at his best, is the master of the games (was there one before?). There's a new pair of "mature" Tributes (to attract the adult audience? -- played by Jeffrey Wright and Amanda Plummer) supposedly chosen for brain, not brawn. Wright hence wears nerdy glasses and Plummer, who might seem an odd choice, is proclaimed a "genius" for a nutty chant that tips off the others to how the island they're competing on is set up. There's also an old lady called Mags, played by an 80-year-old actress (Lynn Cohen), who must be pretty athletic to hold onto Finnick (Sam Claflin) as he races through the woods with her clinging to his back.
Woody Harrelson, who continues to be a welcome note, partly because his character Haymitch's over-the-top style hardly seems any stretch at all for him, hasn't done anything interesting in between Parts One and Two - - unless you think Seven Psychopaths and Now You See Me are great movies. But Jennifer Lawrence (no relation to the director, I trust) on the other hand returns with greatly increased luster, having become a regular with a David O. Russell at the top of his game, winning the Oscar for her turn in his Silver Linings Playbook and coming up in his promising but as yet unseen American Hustle. Other actors give us more of the same. Stanley Tucci (as the broadly parodic game show master of ceremonies Caesar Flickerman) deserves credit for being just as cannily manic and silly this time as last. But despite a lot of focus on Katniss' dazzling game intro wedding gown outfit -- she and Peeta were going to wed -- there doesn't seem to be as much spectacle this time, or as much dwelling on elaborate makeup and gear.
There is also the weakness that this time to make Katniss more admirable she fires only in self defense, and one doesn't feel the danger or the terrifying sense of attrition as participants are eliminated. Been there, done that. Spectacular effects -- lightening, explosions, holograms, shifting earth, falling sky -- can't hide the fact that it's all familiar this time, and you can make Katniss and Peeta almost die, but we'd have to be pretty dumb to worry. It's not that "Catching Fire" is better than Part One: it's just that more reviewers have drunk the Kool-Aid. That didn't happen to me; quite the reverse. Let's hope somehow the story will reengage me in the followup.
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire, 146 mins., opened in US theaters 22 Nov. 2013.
This dull yet extremely violent mythological western takes us to a
middle-of-nowhere version of 1880s New Mexico: space and locale aren't
very clearly established. Out in the desert, a pompous cleric-- who
more than that is power-hungry and totally mad and evil -- whose local
followers call him "Prophet Josiah" (busy and versatile English actor
Jason Isaacs) comes upon two young men camping on what he says is his
(and therefore God's) land. They are roasting a sheep, which he also
says is his. Though they say they're connected to the governor of the
state, he stabs one to death and shoots the other as he attempts to
flee. This is how things go in this movie, interlaced with scenes of
forced sex and verbal provocation. Like all the killings that are to
follow, these are shocking, but leave us unmoved. This film is stylish,
Later a similar fate befalls a Mexican-born farmer, Miguel Ramírez (Eduardo Noriega) whom Josiah, a thoroughgoing racist, also does not like, and therefore kills. Miguel's reformed prostitute wife Sarah (January Jones) comes looking for her husband, and eventually will realize Josiah's guilt but will kill not only eventually him, but a venial voyeur shopkeeper and various minions of Josiah. All this has been complicated early on by the arrival of the provocative, canny, also rather mad Sheriff Jackson (Ed Harris with long white locks and a long pale blue coat with plaid clown paints). In the end, there is a series of killings by Sarah mostly, with a traditional shootout, but not much suspense. Might it be that New Zealander Andrew McKenzie, whose story is the starting point, was under the sway of Cormac McCarthy's novels? The adapted screenplay is by the Marin County, California twins, Logan and Noah Miller, who worked with Ed Harris before on their debut film Touching Home, but Logan is listed as the sole director this time around.
Ed Harris has fun with his role, enjoying Prophet Josiah's good food and then stabbing his nice mahogany dining room table with his own big murderous knife to illustrate his suspicion that Josiah has killed the two young men; and every so often doing a sprightly dance that is quite nutty and belies the age suggested by his grizzled beard and silvery locks. January Jones, Don Draper's prim, then adulterous, wife in the Sixties advertising TV series Mad Men, brings a certain cool dignity to her role, but she seems too pure to have been a whore, and her wrath hath not enough fury in it.
In France where this was presented under the title Shériff Jackson, the theatrical release was "Forbidden to under 12 years." Figaroscope, whose critic liked it a lot (it got an overall Allociné press rating of 3.0), said it "refers as much to Tarantino as to Peckinpah." Actually despite some mildly ornate dialogue this lacks any of the verbal excitement or wit of Tarantino, the terror and suspense of Peckinpah, or the apocalyptic grandeur of Cormac McCarthy. Furthermore the individual scenes don't seem to link together very well and hence not much narrative drive develops. The abrupt ending makes little sense, and leaves one unsatisfied. Some moments are exploitative or vulgar. Prophet Josiah uses women sexually right and left; some scenes suggest the filmmakers are thinking of There Will Be Blood. In fact there are many influences, none integrated fully.
Sweetwater, 95 mins., debuted at Sundance Jan. 2013 and in the summer was released on DVD in the UK and Japan. Theatrical release in the US and France 9 Oct. and the US 11 Oct. It has done less well with US than French critics: Metacritic rating: 38. Todd McCarthy's assessment (no relation to Cormac) for Hollywood Reporter: "The Old West is portrayed as a venal loony bin in Sweetwater, a handsomely designed, occasionally funny but ultimately empty female vengeance yarn." Bill Graham's lead on twitch also rings true: "Sweetwater isn't easy to enjoy. For such a spare and tight film, there seems to be a lot of dead air. " He attributes that to a failure to integrate separate narrative lines. Screened for this review at UGC Odéon, Paris.
"The Russian bankers loved me, see, because I'm a Russian Jew," says
22- year-old Amy Winehouse in her London vernacular voice to the Irish
interviewer John Kelly. This terrific little movie about the brilliant
young singer who flowered swiftly and then died tragically does what
such a film should do. Maurice Linnane's Amy Winehouse: The Day She
Came to Dingle (2012) records the moment six years ago when the young
artist came to the unique Other Voices festival held in a church in the
remote Irish fishing village, interweaving a film of the entire concert
with images of the beautiful place. it also includes not only Amy's
modest, articulate, and information-filled interview with Other Voices'
series editor Philip King, but judiciously placed clips to show us the
influences and passions she mentions performing the music: Sarah
Vaughan doing "I got it bad and that ain't good"; Carleen Johnson's
"Don't look back in anger"; her favorite English jazz group Soweto
Kinch and "Doxology"; Thelonious Monk; Ray Charles doing "Unchain my
heart." Talking to Philip King, she vividly recalls her discoveries at
the ages of six, nine, ten, fourteen.
She explains how her brother was a source: he "had everything" on recordings, jazz, blues, soul, Madonna, gospel, the latter, she says, only an influence in the past eighteen months. The film shows Mahalia Jackson singing, you're instantly swept away, and you know why the influence has become central for her. There was also rap, R&B, and girl bands in her eclectic mix.
In between is Amy herself on the church stage with her two guitar backup, including longtime accompanist Dale Davis, bass: "Back to Black," You know I'm no good," Love is a losing game," then again "Back to black," and you hear all the influences cunningly interwoven, jazz, soul, blues, gospel, in that flexible and moving young voice.
"I love you much/It's not enough/You love blow and I love puff/And life is like a pipe/And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside
We only said goodbye with words/I died a hundred times/You go back to her/And I go back to
Black, black, black, black, black, black, black..."
It's the kind of quietly extraordinary concert where you can guess the audience members at the time probably pinched themselves, knowing they were lucky to be in that place at that time. It's quiet, offhand, yet remarkable musical portrait. Happily there is none of the public drunkenness and bad behavior that marred her later performances.
Amy Winehouse: The Day She Came to Dingle, 60 mins., was shown as an episode of the "Arena" BBC arts documentary series (1975-present), voted by leading TV executives in Broadcast magazine as one of the top 50 most influential programs of all time. Maurice Linnane is an Irish TV and film director who has done films about U2 and The Cranberries. Screened for this review as part of the 2013 San Francisco Jewish Film Festival.
Hilla Medalia is an award-winning 36-year-old Israeli documentary
filmmaker whose 2007 To Die in Jerusalem brought together in dialogue
(by satellite) the mothers of two teenage girls paired on a 'Newsweek'
cover, a Palestinian suicide bomber and an Israeli girl killed by her
bomb. Her new film is about a less grim effort by famous ballroom
teacher Pierre Dulaine to bring Jewissh and Palestinian kids together
on the dance floor, and we see some little friendships and
personalities bloom in his modest "peace process."
Jaffa, once a Palestinian town, is now a poor, mixed suburb of Tel Aviv. The intense 2009 joint Israeli- Arab feature film 'Ajami' focused on a rough part of Jaffa. In 'Dancing in Jaffa,' Hilla Medalia follows Pierre Dulaine as he goes back to Jaffa, where he was born in 1944, son of an Irish father and Palestinian mother. (In the film he never mentions that his mother was also half French, which explains "Pierre.") He has not been back since his family was driven out when he was a child. He comes to introduce to Palestinian-Israeli, Jewish-Israeli, and mixed schools in Jaffa his Dancing Classrooms, a social development program for fifth- graders that uses ballroom dancing "as a vehicle to change the lives of the children and their families" (Wikipedia). This time the primary "change" is the somewhat radical one of pairing Jewish and Arab girls and boys as dance partners.
In teaching gawky eleven-year-olds to dance, the pixieish Dulaine emphasizes etiquette, dignity, and respect from the get-go. He has to give up on one school because they boys won't dance. The more extreme Muslim males won't touch girls, or at first refuse. Things don't go that well at first, and for a while Pierre brings over from the States his (dancing, not life) partner of 35 years, Yvonne Marceau. Their dancing together for the kids inspires them: you can see the boys' eyes light up; they are charmed.
Medalia follows several of the kids more closely, notably Noor, a plump, dark Palestinian girl whose grief over the death of her father makes her sullen, depressed, and sometimes violent. Alaa is a small boy who lives in a shack with his poor fisherman father. Alaa, dark and all smiles, and Brenda, a curly-haired Jewish girl fathered out of a sperm bank, become partners for the upcoming dance contest, and their jaunt on Alaa's father's little rowboat heralds a budding friendship. But the real miracle is Noor, who shows rhythm and grace from the start, and whose selection for the competition is part of a reawakening and new happiness that you can't help being a little amazed by. Ah, fifth graders: this is the age when kids are most open and malleable.
The film shows other things, like Dulaine approaching his family's original residence and beating a hasty retreat when the current occupants are not just unfriendly but apparently downright hostile. Dulaine mostly speaks English, but he also speaks Arabic to the kids who understand Arabic. For Hebrew, he has an interpreter or the teachers translate for him. The schools he visits are Israeli-Palestinian, Israeli-Jewish, and mixed Palestinian-Jewish. There are seven different dances in the lessons and final contest, though merengue and rumba seem to predominate. At the final contest, all the parents are as excited as you'd expect. Each dance couple pairs a Palestinian and a Jew. And nobody seems to mind. At least for the moment, Dulaine has achieved reconciliation and crossed barriers that earlier, seemed uncrossable.
All this will be vaguely familiar, because you've probably seen a couple of other movies Pierre Dulaine inspired, the 2006 musical drama 'Take the Lead,' starring Antonio Banderas as Dulaine, and 'Mad Hot Ballroom,' a heartwarming and popular 2005 documentary about New York fifth graders who learn dance and take part in a dance contest. However, Dancing in Jaffa prefers not to mention these, and alludes only vaguely to Pierre Dulaine's fame as a ballroom dancer when he partnered with Yvonne Marceau at Jacob's Pillow, on Broadway, and in London, or his having been on the faculties of the School of American Ballet, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, and the Juilliard School. This movie isn't about that. It's about little Jewish and Palestinian Israeli kids being polite and friendly and wiggling their hips gracefully together. 'Dancing in Jaffa,' a fairly simple and minimal film, isn't as priceless and cute or as proficiently made as Mad Hot Ballroom. But the gaps it bridges are, of course, more significant.
'Dancing in Jaffa,' 84 mins., in Arabic, English, and Hebrew with English subtitles debuted in NYC in January 2013, and was included in the Tribeca and Sydney festivals. It has been picked up by Sundance Selects. Screened for this review as part of the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival (July 26-Aug. 10, 2013).
As I watched Joss Wheedon's energetic yet flavorless black and white
contemporary movie version of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing I
found myself paying more attention to the set than to the actors. The
film was shot at Wheedon's own house in Santa Monica. Wheedon directed
Marvel Comics' The Avengers, which last year made $623,357,910
domestically, nearly tripling the production budget. Given that kind of
bankroll, you can't help wondering where he chooses to bunk down. And
this is a very nice house indeed, but quite free of conspicuous
display. It's big, airy, light, pretty, tasteful. It looks like a great
house for entertaining -- and indeed the play, as shot, unreels like a
party, with characters continually pouring each other drinks from
omnipresent wine bottles and bars. But the house also feels stripped of
anything personal, as if "staged" for showing by a real estate agent to
potential buyers. The pictures are bland, the chandeliers quiet.
Contents of bookshelves look uniform. It's hard to tell if they contain
books or DVD's. If they're books, does he read them, I wondered, or are
they just filler? Outside there's a little hill and what could be a
park beyond. It's luxuriously quiet. All very posh, understated -- and
This movie is bland and neutral too. The processed black and white images, "fifty shades of gray," typically for digital lack the voluptuous richness of classic black and white films. Wheedon has added bits of pop music and some energetic stage business, but not much excitement. The result has the feel like a dressy college or small town production -- the clothes don't look cheap -- with a few pro actors sifted in to help things going. Nevertheless at times the rhythm is gone (if there is any) and the action goes momentarily quite disconcertingly dead. The delivery of lines is generally fluent; an effort has been made. These are good looking people. Nothing extraordinary. Most of the cast are said to be Wheedon regulars, the whole production sort of a "stunt" or a "lark" executed in a couple of weeks.
Of course one can only admire Joss Wheedon for spending his spare time in such a literate manner. But as I watched I was haunted by a damning memory of Cate Blanchett in a trailer of the new Woody Allen shown just before this film came on. The intense comic spin she put on her one or two lines blew away all the dialogue of Wheedon's Much Ado. Perhaps in the effort to shape it to contemporary American rhythms foreign to their original tone, the Much Ado dialogue is made curiously colorless. Clever ripostes lose their punch; elaborate parallelisms are muffled. To liven things up, slapstick gestures are added. Somebody falls down. A man flops around outside a window in a pathetically overwrought effort to make his eavesdropping comical. Someone has a cocktail in a swimming pool wearing diving goggles. Alas, a swimming pool adds nothing to Much Ado.
Shakespearean texts aren't easy to follow at the best of times. They're full of words whose meanings have since changed. The comedies have tricky plots with a galaxy of curious Italianate names to learn like Benedict, Claudio, Borachio, Leonato. This time, it's even harder. The actors aren't very easy to distinguish. Color, and colorful costumes, would have helped, but are absent. All the visuals and action are bravely contemporary. But the dialogue, though trimmed, is still Shakespeare. Hence there is a disconnect. The look, the behavior, the intonations are so far from the Elizabethan world, the sensation is like watching a film while listening to an unrelated sound track. One can scarcely credit that these words are coming out of these mouths.
I don't mean to imply that Wheedon's Much Ado is a total failure. Its neutrality may be seen as a virtue compared to such overbearingly baroque extravaganzas as Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet. Its light touch explains how Anthony Lane of The New Yorker could choose to call it "a filigree of a film." Wheedon may take too much away, but he also doesn't add too much. In principle I would certainly totally agree with Lane in saying we should "laud the fact that this movie was made at all." Imagine the director of The Avengers, the violent high-concept horror film The Cabin in the Woods and TV series like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" bothering to make a movie, just for a lark, of a Shakespeare comedy. Lane is right, but quixotic, and doubtless tongue-in-cheek, in voicing the hope that "other large-scale directors will be inspired to launch similar ventures. Michael Bay does Congreve? J.J. Abrams blows us away with 'Lady Windermere's Fan'? Bring 'em on." Maybe. But it's not gonna happen.
Still it's hard to see how this movie has received so many good reviews. The mystery is partly solved by knowing that Joss Wheedon is a "cult" director, and that the Toronto debut of Much Ado had plenty of has fanboys and fangirls on hand, laughing uproariously at every effort to draw a chuckle, delivering a final ovation on cue. Once the ball gets rolling, critical acclaim tends to follow. And the critics' hearts are in the right place: they want to encourage "culture" on US screens. But American film goers in search of the best in stage-to-screen entertainment might do better to watch one of those UK import "National Theatre Live" productions.
Much Ado About Nothing, 107 mins., distributed by Roadside Attractions, opened in the US 7 June, with the UK release date 14 June 2013.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
The East is a thriller about a private intelligence firm that protects
large corporations from "ecoterrorist" groups by infiltrating them and
sabotaging them -- more or less the same thing the "ecoterrorists" do
to corporations, but with law enforcement backup. The story's focus is
confused; it takes no stand -- or does it? It gives rise to more
questions than it answers, and its screenplay, though clever, and
partly based on experience, feels improvised. But while the action is
going on and the music is surging, the movie, as a genre piece, firmly
holds our attention. It even has a touch of class, helped by some
stellar actors and by the handsome cinematography of Roman Vasyanov.
But it doesn't seem as memorable as some related movies, which is some
ways it also too much resembles.
The protagonist of The East is a risk-taking, driven, and -- this is surely important -- very pretty young woman with an FBI background, called undercover Sarah, real name Jane (Brit Marling, who co-scripted, her third time at that). Directed by Sharon (Patricia Clarkson), her coolly professional (read: amoral) company boss and handler, and seemingly falling in with it by chance after hopping a freight train with one of its members, Jane/Sarah penetrates a group called The East. Why it has this name is one of those unanswered questions. Getting its members' sympathy by cutting herself, Sarah is at once drawn into The East, and later unwittingly attracted to its lifestyle and anti-corporate views. In some ways it seems like a cult, rather like the one in Sean Durkin's Martha Marcy May Marlene, where Elizabeth Olsen resembles Brit Marling. But The East is cult lite: its members utter some mumbo jumbo, and engage in odd rituals like dining wearing straight jackets and playing a ponderous form of spin-the- bottle, but because they're "anarchists," I guess, they aren't under anybody's spell. The East's members eat Dumpster food, and squat in a large burned-out house, which turns out to have belonged to the family of one of their leaders, Benji. He is played by Alexander Skarsgård, who as usual is laid-back, appealing, and -- this is important -- handsome, making him a natural match for Sarah. Maybe the leader is Izzy (Ellen Page). She doesn't seem like a leader or ideologue either, but she is convincingly irritating and bossy -- the Ellen Page of Juno without the humor or the charm. She seems burdened with something: it turns out her father is an odious CEO.
Are anarchists (another label used) or "ecoterrorists" (a word I thought more usually related to environmentalism like Edward Abbey's) in groups that are like cults? Are there many of them? Are they successful? We don't know but hints are given out of the fact that currently the government, and not just private intelligence firms, is after them, and metes out severe punishments to them, one "terrorist" being much like another, in corporate and government eyes. Anyway, Sarah is involved with The East as a backup member when others disappear or are eliminated. But while her penetration may or may not be successful, her intention of blocking the group's "jams" seemingly isn't. These "jams" aren't surprise public sing-alongs; they're acts of corporate sabotage.
The East's first big "jam" with Sarah on hand involves the executives of a major drug company at a party. Infiltrating East members poison the corporate partiers by injecting one of their own medications into their glasses of champagne. This drug has caused brain damage, even though it's being administered wholesale to the people of Kenya. They know this because one of their own members with medical experience in Africa, known as Doc (Toby Kebbell) is himself a victim. (This is the same theme that The Constant Gardener treats in considerably more depth). Spin doctoring by the corporation follows when the sabotage comes out, but later also testimony indicating the drug's dire consequences on the brain have been made public. Fox News each time is the source. This is, by the way, a Fox Searchlight film.
The next "jam" is to personally capture and torment the heads of an oil company responsible for a different kind of poisoning. The water supply of a town has long been contaminated by arsenic and lead, causing deaths of children. It turns out The East has personal involvement here too: one of them is a member of the CEO's family. Benji, by the way, has no personal tie-in with corporate wrongdoing; he just became aware of the corrupting power of wealth by inheriting a lot of money.
And so it goes, with many emotional scenes, in one of which Sarah performs abdominal surgery, directed by Doc, whose brain damage from the drug he took has made his hands too shaky. Sarah and Benji (spoiler alert) kiss. Sharon reveals her chilly indifference to anything but the good of her intelligence firm's clients. Sarah seems ready to "turn," but she and Benji (spoiler alert again) "turn" in different directions.
In his NY Times review A.O. Scott hints that giving each key member of The East some purely personal reason for commitment to the "jams" loses any sense that "anarchists" or "ecoterrorists" have a shared ideology and common body of knowledge. Scott decides it's futile to wish that this movie "would frame the contradictions of contemporary capitalism more rigorously." What he means by "contradictions" he doesn't say but maybe the big one this movie ignores is how much the interests of corporations and government have become indistinguishable. Actually, what The East flirted with but couldn't do was endorse illegal anti-corporate activism. Or could it? Well, not in a commercial genre thriller distributed by Fox Searchlight.
The East, like Brit Marling's two previous writing-acting collaborations, debuted at Sundance. It opened in NYC and LA 31 May 2013; opens in the UK 28 June.
This 1972 black and white mini-series directed by and starring Mikiko
Niskanen, which consists of four hour-plus episodes, has been called
the crowning achievement of Finnish cinema, even by Aki Kaurismäki.
Why? It's showing in various film festivals lately (2013), including
Rotterdam, Seattle, and San Francisco, so a wider international
audience can find out. Eight Deadly Shots turns out to be a seamless
and immersive narrative of alcoholism, rural poverty, and the romance
of moonshine. Niskaken begins with a true event, not graphically
illustrated, however: a habitual drunk, Pasi (Niskanen) kills four
policemen after terrifying his family. What follow are scenes from a
marriage and a life as the fimlmaker imagines them leading up to these
killings. The use of non-actors, the humanistic directness, remind one
of the Italian neorealists; visually sometimes, with the use of
closeups, Eisenstein and the great silents come to mind. The "potential
for intimacy" of Academy ratio helps that emphasis on faces and
individuals -- though ensemble scenes of a prayer meeting and a wedding
make several of the most memorable set pieces. In other aspects of
technique there are doubtless much more contemporary influences too.
It's an intimate epic, a universal tragedy with pointed Nordic
relevance. This is an unmistakable classic and deserves to be on a US
Pasi is an alcoholic. It's a social disease and he draws others in with him, notably his cohort and drinking partner Reiska (Paavo Pentikäinen), with whom he secretly makes moonshine white lightening in one of the first prolonged sequences. Pasi has a small farm and they pretend to be working in a field, bury the still in the ground and cover it with hay. One sees the fascination of illegal enterprise feeding their favorite pastime of drinking, which must work similarly for pot growers in the American Northwest. When Pasi hands over his concealed bottle of moonshine to other men at social events, it's like he's proselytizing, and they're also sharing an activity that's more fun because it's forbidden, illegal. The secret sharers often smile and giggle and can't resist another shot and then another.
And then comes the erosion of the family. Pasi has a wife, Vaimo (Tarja-Tuuliki Tarsala) and four kids, three boys and a girl, strong presences in the film, and the family's passive suffering slowly grows from his disappearances, his hangovers, his incoherence or distractedness, all this worsened by the rural poverty of their situation, a farm that can't support them, odd jobs (extensively shown) that wouldn't suffice either, even if the drinking didn't erode the performance. And then come the scenes, particularly surrounding the prayer meeting and the wedding, when the family is shamed, disappointed and humiliated, all sense of security and safety shattered, and Pasi's wife bitterly rebukes him, to no effect. Some time past midway through the second episode Pasi becomes quite clearly frightening to his family. "You always scare me when you're drunk," his older son says. He works very hard through the winter (the early moonshine-making was in the summer): rolling big logs into the river, digging deep trenches for sewers, cutting down trees and splitting logs, then hauling them through the snow with his horse, Liisa. Poor Liisa! This log-hauling sequence in particular is gruelingly real, remarkable filmmaking. The work is all seasonal: in the spring comes fishing, planting, and moving the logs stacked in winter down to the river. Everything about all this shows direct knowledge of the life, passionate commitment by Niskanen and everybody involved, and remarkable use of non-actors. One can't help wondering if some of them weren't really drunk when they were filmed in the many boozing sequences. The camera-work is equally remarkable the way it follows the action and captures the beauty of the landscape and the seasons, and the editing maintains a steady hypnotic pace.
Niskanen knew whereof he spoke. He apparently came from poor, rural roots, and worked in forestry and as a car mechanic in his youth. "Everyone may have their own truth," he says in the opening statement repeated before each segment, "but this is the truth I have seen and experienced, having been born into these surroundings, having lived this particular life and having studied these matters." Niskanen is a magnetic personality, a force of nature, and also the most awarded filmmaker in Finnish history. Renowned Finnish writer-filmmaker Peter von Bagh made a three-part TV documentary about him, Director on the Way to Becoming a Human Being: Mikko Niskanen's story, which reviews his acclaimed oeuvre. The actual man who shot the police, Tauno Pasanen, went to jail in 1969, and was pardoned by the president in 1982, probably moved by the film's assertion of social causes. Fourteen years later, still a drunk, he strangled and killed his long-suffering wife, who had moved to be near him during his incarceration, but from whom he had been divorced. This time he served 13 years and was let out on parole.
Kahdeksan surmanluotia (Finnish title), 316 mins., released in 1972, won Best Actor and Best Director Jussi awards. Screened for the review in the four-part version as part of the San Francisco International Film Festival, May 2013.
The screenplay of "4" is credited to edgy contemporary Russian author
Vladimir Sorokin, and in case you think movies aren't serous business
any more, reportedly everybody who worked on making "4" was beaten by
angry viewers. It may be that Khzhanovsky went a little haywire in the
latter part of the 2-hour-plus film, losing some of Sorokin's structure
because he became a little too taken up with a lively and colorful
group of wizened crones who are the actual inhabitants of the remote
village to which protagonist Marina goes for the funeral and wake for
her (twiin?) sister. Did the crones actually get drunk on the vodka
they are shown swilling in the wake scene and thereafter? Was the
camera-work meant to grow increasingly sloppier? Warning to young
filmmakers: don't let colorful locations run away with your picture.
Nonetheless this is a humdinger. Dangerous to be so provocative with
your first big feature film. It made him famous (or notorious), but it
was six years till he finished another film (Dau, an epic biography of
the scientist Lev Landau, which is now in post-production).
The film begins slowly but intriguingly with a half-hour sequence of three people telling lies to each other at an after hours bar, inventing fantastic occupations. Marina, who is a whore, pretends to be in advertising. A stylish, somewhat effete man who is really a meat dealer claims to purvey spring water to the president. The other man, deadpan chain smoker with a crewcut who later admits to Marina he's a piano tuner, tells a preposterous and revolting story about being a geneticist involved in cloning of humans that he claims has gone on since the Stalin era. "4" refers to the habit of cloning double twins. When he gets into a tale of homosexual rape among black clones in a slum the meat broker goes off in a huff. His discovery of "round" piglets sold at a fancy restaurant is assurance, if needed, that "4' is bizarre and surreal. Everybody has written about it. The Times called it "mysterious" and "mesmerizing," and Jonothan Rosenbaum wrote about it favorably (though I can't access his review -- some of the online archives don't go back as far as 2005 or 2006).
Although at the one-hour mark, with the film half over, things only are beginning to happen, and that's not very good, the opening sequence at the bar, even if over- long, is atmospheric and intriguing. One excellent and admiring review by Ty Burr of the Boston Globe described the scene as a surreal, futuristic Russian version of Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks" "come to life with a script by a post modernist prankster"(and Burr identifies Sorokin as "one of the more controversial voices in post-Soviet literature"). But it's scary and provocative rather than dreary. It's interesting to begin with three characters who are quite mysterious. Unfortunately the film delves into the meat broker's life only briefly, and the pretend geneticist piano tuner not at all. Perhaps it was best to stick to one of the three, to give the film unified focus, but it still makes things feel structurally left dangling. Doubtless the round pigs, the shaggy-dog bar conversations, the Stalin-era meat preserved in a vast freezer at 28º (below?), the large dolls whose heads are made of chewed bread, are all products of the fevered imagination of Vladimir Sorokin. So too are the repetitions of doubling, doubling scenes, twins, the fantastic clone tales, hinting that the world has gone mad and gone bad. Unfortunately the barking dogs, the endless trek cross-country to a wake peopled by colorful locals already had the quality of déjâ-vu, maybe because I've recently seen similar sequences in Ceylan's Once Upon a Time in Anatolia and the Bulgarian Konstantin Bojanov's Avé, and I think I've seen it before that. I'll bet Emir Kosturica did some sequence like this somewhere. This movie is accomplished, ambitious in its eccentricity. Some of it nonetheless reminded me of Harmony Korine's Trash Humpers. And it made me appreciate Sokurov and Zvyagintsev even more, and, in a more popular vein, Bekmambetov, who's an entertainer and a technical dazzler, and no slouch in the surrealism department. Certainly, though, "4" is very much in the Russian vein. The sound design, though typically grating and overblown, is technically the film's most original aspect.
*** This review may contain spoilers ***
Luminaris, shown as part of the Best of Annency program of the San Francisco Film society in January 2012, is a surreal 6min Argentinian film by Juan Pablo Zaramella using stop motion and other devices. It appears to be set in Paris in the Fifties (or is it a period Buenos Aeres?). The chief actors are Gustavo Cornillón, María Alche and Luis Rial. Gustavo Cornillón also collaborated in the screenplay. A man works in a lightbulb factory. He puts little balls of glass in his mouth and a bulb pops out, and he sends it to a woman next to him who gives it light. A whole wall of men and woman in compartments do the same. Meanwhile the man is stealing the balls of glass and trying to hide the secrets of light. He gets caught and fired but he and the woman come away with the secret of combining many glass balls to make a giant bulb that they ride over the city like a balloon. The charm of the film is an unusually fluent use of stop motion to create a cartoonish world out of real people. The people don't walk, they slide across the sidewalk without moving. The theme is stated as "In a world controlled and timed by light, a common man has a plan that could change destiny." As with many short films it's not altogether clear what all this means, but you get what you bring to it, I guess. Anyway the technique and the design are very fine. The film won both the Audience and Fipresci Awards at Annency in 2011.
Kamil Polak's (21min) "Lost Town of Switez" was shown as part of the 2012 Best of Annency program put on by the San Francisco Film Society. It began the set. Its images are real and vast, but they have the quality of hand drawing. The innocent 19th-century male protagonist is drawn into a maelstrom. The summary tells us that this is about "An accidental traveller" who is "drawn by mysterious forces, discovers the secret of a ghostly town which lies at the bottom of a forgotten lake." This is based on an epic poem by Poland's most famous poet, Adam Mickiewicz,and concerns, the summary here tells us, "a ghostly town deluged after a bloody massacre in medieval times." The story might make a lot more sense to you if you knew the poem and were Polish, but we can get that this is an "apocalyptic tale of destruction, religious miracles and spectral visitations." The version I saw didn't show how the film "imports paintings into digital 3D combined with both CG animation and visual special effects to create a mesmerizing aesthetic experience, set to a specially-commissioned full choral and orchestral score" and "dramatically merges literature, painting, music and animation." The effect was grand, but too condensed, and being wordless, was mysterious to an outsider. Some of the closeups of faces were surprisingly folkloric and simple, given the grandeur of the sweeping landscape sequences; perhaps the poem has both qualities. In any case the grand moments were awesome, and used a suitable wide aspect ratio that made the epic scale visually real. "Lost Town of Switez" won the 2011 "Jean-Luc Xiberras" Award for a first film at the famous annual animation festival at Annency, France. Certainly a work full of promise.
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