Archive for January, 2009

A Christmas Tale (aka Un Conte de Noel)

January 26, 2009

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Nearing the Christmas holiday, family matriarch Junon (Catherine Deneuve) learns she suffers from a rare cancer that requires an urgent bone marrow transfusion. The terrifying illness prompts a reunion with her four children over the titular holiday, and, soon, Junon’s home — which she shares with her much older husband Abel (Jean-Paul Roussillon) who, judging by his high-riding pants and suspenders, still thinks it’s 1933 — is inundated with family members, bearing gifts and baggage, emotional and otherwise.

Turns out, only two members of her family are blood matches and, hence, potential donors for Junon — her eldest son, Henri (Mattheu Amalric), a troubled, failed entrepreneur with whom she has a strained relationship, and Paull (Emile Berling), the mentally disturbed son of Henri’s uptight, domineering older sister Elizabeth (Anne Consigny). It doesn’t help that Henri is the black sheep of the family, and that Elizabeth wants nothing to do with him.

Junon and Abel’s younger son, Ivan, is there too with his wife Sylvia (Chiara Mastroianni) and Ivan’s painter-cousin Simon (Laurent Capelluto). A weird triangular psycho-sexual dynamic is at play among them, as Sylvia, it seems, harbors both a grudge and an attraction towards Simon that dates back to their more youthful days.

The major drawback, one that constantly distances us from the emotions at the heart of the material, is one of excess. Director Arnaud Desplechin is an adroit and talented craftsman; A Christmas Tale manages to keep us hooked largely on account of its generous style, mashing together classical and modern techniques, shifting gears and moods deftly according to whatever the scene calls for.

Yet you could throw all the style you want into a story and not come up with a decent film if the screenplay is not up to task. And with A Christmas Tale, Desplechin and co-writer Emmanuel Bourdieu try to stuff at at least four films into one — as the above description suggests. As the director, Desplechin seems determined to tell all of them, and, in the process, he does right by not a single one. A Christmas Tale is an endlessly busy and stylish film with a hollow emotional and spiritual core.

Everyone here has some beef with someone in this movie, but everyone in this famoily, it seems, is given to saying or doing ludicrous things. What they say or do may vex and puzzle us, yet Desplechin never unravels these moments, and what they might really mean for his characters and, as a result, for his audience. How are we to respond when, after Simon and Sylvia have slept together, she greets her smiling children with unfazed candor and her husband, Ivan, reacts to the infidelity with a bemused smirk? It’s one of the year’s most exasperating movie moments, because Desplechin’s filmmaking keeps us compulsively at a distance, never searching these moments for their implications, and this lack of curiosity on his part keeps us from sympathizing with characters whose only perceptible quality is self-absorption.

A Christmas Tale exists along its surfaces. It keeps itself preoccupied with the frenetic energy of its style and its characters’ simmering interplay, but Desplechin never succeeds in plumbing deeper. It’s a shame because Deneuve is excellent (as always) and one senses real potential in the storyline depicting her tense bond with the estranged Henri, a volatile failure of a man yet possibly her sole hope for survival.

With a richer and bolder screenplay, one that pared itself down to just one or two of the family’s key struggles, and more heartfelt direction, less devoted to style and more on human beings, we might’ve had a rich and involving family saga. As is, Desplechin’s film is just as dysfunctional as the family he depicts. And the only one who suffers in that scenario is the audience.
Grade: C

Directed by: Arnaud Desplechin
Written by: Arnaud Desplechin, Emmanuel Bourdieu
Cast: Catherine Deneuve, Jean-Paul Roussillon, Anne Consigny, Mathieu Amalric, Melvil Poupoud, Hippolyte Girardot, Emmanuelle Devos, Chiara Mastroianni, Laurent Capelluto
Rated: N/A
Runtime: 150 min.

The Lodger

January 26, 2009

Marie Belloc Lowndes’s serial killer novel The Lodger was first and most famously adapted by Alfred Hitchcock in 1927, catapulting the then-unknown filmmaker into the front ranks of young British directors of the era. Set in modern-day Los Angeles, David Ondaatje’s update doesn’t seem poised to launch a similarly legendary career, constituting as it does a series of baffling moments that elicits only unintentional chuckles and sighs, as in one peculiar scene in which the film’s murder suspect is asked by his landlady why he’s rooting around the backyard grill with a poker and he answers with deadpan gravity, “I was trying to dry my trousers…and they caught fire.”
Read it here…

El Norte

January 15, 2009

Gregory Nava’s El Norte has come to be regarded as the definitive portrait of the experience of undocumented Latin-American workers in the United States. Released in 1983, Nava’s film has lost none of its lyrical and thematic power as it follows two Mayan Indian teenagers, brother and sister, whose dreams of a better life in America belie the fact they are simply trading one form of dehumanization for another. The film’s direction and script — co-written by Nava and Anna Thomas — are spare yet purposeful. At times, Nava and Thomas’s work feels a bit clumsy with its jabs at broad cultural stereotypes (fatuous gringo employers, vulgar Mexicans, etc.) and liberal dips into melodrama, but El Norte is also lyrically eloquent, steeped in dreams and visual metaphors that allude to a portentous future for its protagonists.
Read it here…

Diamonds In the Rough — The Best Movies of 2008

January 6, 2009

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A handful of movies released in 2008 will stay in my mind for the forseeable future (and perhaps even beyond), movies that broke from the pack of mindless mediocrity pressed into our collective viewing experience between the months of January and December.

There were only two releases — both American — that, to me, deserve to be ranked as the best of the bunch. Otherwise, I’d like to dispense with numbering the rest of the batch — all strong movies, all of which captured the beauty and power of the movies in their own singular ways.

You may not have heard of a few of the titles below (I only caught Late Fragment, Shot In Bombay, and The Matador at the SXSW Festival this past March, but none of them as far as I know received significant buzz theatrically). But do give them a chance on DVD or online. Nowadays, there’s always a way to watch:

THE TWO BEST OF 2008:

MILK
I wonder what it was like to be in the presence of Sean Penn’s performance while making Milk, Gus Van Sant’s valentine to the political rise of San Francisco’s Harvey Milk in the 1970′s. Penn’s work, his best since 1995′s Dead Man Walking, had a Brando-esque audacity and poetry about it, an immersion into a role so complete that you see it happen only rarely. Everything about this film, from the performances to the gorgeous evocation of the 70′s Castro, radiated pure love and conviction from a filmmaker in peak, purposeful form. Read my full review here.

THE WRESTLER
In Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, Mickey Rourke was not only re-born, but his masterful turn made him the King of All Cinematic Comebacks. The Wrestler could so easily have become an embarrasment for all concerned, but the results were just the opposite: Thanks to the daring and singular commitment of Rourke, Aronofsky and supporting performers Marisa Tomei and Evan Rachel Wood — both fabulous here — The Wrestler was a warm, soulful exercise in humanism and vivid proof that American cinema, when done right, is the best stuff on Earth. Read my full review here.

THE REST TO REMEMBER 2008 BY:

IN BRUGES
Bruges, Belgium, a medieval masterwork of a city was rendered as both hopelessly kitschy and spookily gothic in Martin McDonagh’s comic thriller In Bruges. McDonagh’s terrific writing and directing kept Colin Farrell at his lunatic best while his co-star Brendan Gleeson became the film’s center of gravity in this tale of thugs who think they’re hiding out when in fact they’ve made themselves sitting ducks for Ralph Fiennes’ deliriously evil mob boss. In Bruges was one of 2008′s most hilarious and refreshing genre surprises.

LET THE RIGHT ONE IN
Tomas Alfredson’s weird, wonderful coming-of-age vampire flick felt like an immaculately made Swedish domestic drama — intelligent, the yearings of its adolescent boy and girl only barely expressed until bursts of violence knocked us out of that reverie. You really weren’t sure what you were watching, yet you were enraptured by the movie’s strange friendship and Alfredson’s brooding tone, the sudden supernatural flare-ups of vampiric bloodletting, dismemberments and defenestrations. In 2008, the gallery of bloody good vampire cinema found a new inductee. Read my full review here.

THE MATADOR
The poetry of cinema was transfigured into the poetry of the bullring in this excellent documentary about the rise of one of Spain’s premier bullfighters. Directors Stephen Higgins and Nina Gilden Seavey captured the rigors and glory of the ring, but this wasn’t a paean to animal cruelty and primitive bloodsport. The Matador was also a skillful portrait of a culture’s modern reckoning with an enduring yet morally problematic aspect of its ancient history. Read my full review here.

SHOT IN BOMBAY
No slumdog millionaires here, only bigtime Bollywood ones in this funny, instructive, fascinating behind-the-scenes portrait of the making of a Bollywood thriller. Director Liz Mermin gets into the trenches of Bollywood filmmaking, along with the legal troubles of one of its heavyweight stars dogging the production, making for illuminating interviews and lessons in resourceful filmmaking. Read my full review here.

LATE FRAGMENT
From Canada arrived a unique experiment in interactive cinema and New Media filmmaking. The directorial trio of Daryl Cloran, Anita Doron and Mathieu Guez managed to craft an engaging exercise in eliciting audience involvement (we used a remote control to guide the course of their web-like narrative at key points) without losing the essentially mesmerizing nature of the unfolding narrative — intertwining dark stories of murder, abuse and guilt, all beautifully acted and executed. Read my full review here.

TRANSIBBERIAN
Brad Anderson’s tribute to Hitchcock paid off handsomely in this far-flung thriller about an unwitting American couple caught up in drugs and murder while aboard the titular train barreling through Russia’s frozen wilderness. Woody Harrelson and Emily Mortimer gamely played the victims in Anderson’s underworld parable, but it was Ben Kingsley as a steely-eyed Russian narc (or so he claimed to be) who stole the show to make Transsiberian 2008′s noir to remember. Read my full review here.

THE DARK KNIGHT
The most intelligent, morally resonant and dramatically ambitious superhero film perhaps ever made (well, at least since Sam Raimi’s underrated Darkman from 1990). Heath Ledger deservedly got all the actorly attention (though Christian Bale did rock the cape, and Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman were a pleasure to watch as always) as The Joker in a towering performance that put Jack Nicholson’s lampoon in Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman venture in its cartoonish place. It was sadly Ledger’s swan song, but, paired with his achingly beautiful turn in Brokeback Mountain, the actor etched his place in the pantheon of our very best contemporaries.

The Wrestler

January 2, 2009

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Randy “The Ram” Robinson is an over-the-hill professional wrestler living in a trailer park, and scraping by on his earnings from weekend matches and from his shifts at a grocery store, where he’s lorded over by an insufferable weasel of a boss. Once the king of the ring, Randy (Mickey Rourke) still elicits the love and respect of his wrestling peers and his fans, all part of a culture on the fringes of American life.

Now a battered heap of a man, one senses that Randy’s ample humility and graciousness are the end result of hard knocks and decades of reckless living. He makes halting steps towards courting a woman, Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) — a stripper at a local club, herself a bit past her prime — but she resists, determined not to get attached to a “customer” and to put her stripping days behind her. A prime casualty of his rough-living years has been Randy’s relationship with his daughter, Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood). They haven’t spoken or seen each other in years, but when, after a particularly brutal match, Randy suffers a heart attack and nearly dies, he decides to seek her out and make amends. She isn’t so willing. And it soon dawns on Randy that the world is crueler and lonelier than he ever figured, and that it’s only in the ring where, ironically, he feels “safest,” and where he belongs in spite of risks posed to his own life.

On paper, The Wrestler is about as conventional a redemption story as there is. It’s the old chestnut about a social underdog who tries to repair all his missteps by doing what he does best one last time. But, having said that, The Wrestler is also about the most impassioned and sincerest film made in 2008, boasting a performance from Rourke that is the living embodiment of an actor’s absolute conviction to a role.

The script by Robert D. Siegel may trade in overly familiar “sports movie” tropes, but he and director Darren Aronofsky together prove that, regardless of its familiarity, a story lives in the details. The specificity of details — in this case, the details of Randy’s hand-to-mouth lifestyle, the often gritty and desperate world of professional wrestling — brings this story to life. There’s so much blood-and-guts vitality to The Wrestler, with its alternately exhilararting and heartbreaking details of life in and out of the wrestling ring, that it feels utterly original. So immersive is Aronofsky and Rourke’s contract with this material, rich with depictions of wrestlers’ backstage rapport, of steroid injections and bodybuilding, of skid-row strip clubs and trailer-park life, that to watch the film is to live this story alongside its characters.

There is one dominating shot in The Wrestler, a tracking shot that follows from behind Randy as he approaches and enters a new space. The effect is of an athlete or a gladiator walking through a corridor, about to enter an arena, bracing for the battle ahead. For Randy, all of life is a battle — whether it’s charging between rows of fans towards the ring, or through the aisles of the grocery store where he works, or up the path to his long-estranged daughter’s house — every destination presents a challenge and demands a hero’s courage. Life is a test, and Randy feels he’s at the losing end of it. It’s a brilliant motif, and Aronofsky employs it skilfully, even once for Cassidy as she readies to enter the stage to perform her routine. Indeed, both Randy and Cassidy are at the end of their ropes — The Wrestler finds each at the verge of taking a leap of faith, into the darkness that will be next chapters in their lives.

The Wrestler is unsparing. It’s violent and visceral on both physical and emotional levels. The scenes of wrestling are raw and direct; bodies slam onto canvas with convincing realism. And, likewise, the scenes of interpersonal confrontation — between Randy and Cassidy, and Randy and Stephanie pull no punches; characters wound each other out of self-defense, the need to survive. Aronofsky’s film demands much from its audience but, unlike the great majority of films, it repays with its tenderness of heart and soul, its wrenching and disarming sincerity. It’s that sincerity, the devotion of a filmmaker and an actor to their story that makes us look past the story’s conventionalities. Indeed, the conventions loom as large as billboards along a highway, but, with this caliber of talent guiding us, we’re grateful to take the journey with The Wrestler nevertheless.
Grade: A-

Directed by: Darren Aronofsky
Written by: Robert D. Siegel
Cast: Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, Even Rachel Wood, Mark Margolis, Todd Barry, Wass Stevens, Judah Friedlander, Ernest Miller
Rated: R
Runtime: 109 min.


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