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writ. and dir. Albert Lamorisse
feat. Pascal Lamorisse
The Red Balloon is a rare bit of magic, a short film without need for dialogue that illustrates the fantastic world of a child and his enchanted companion. The boy runs around Paris as though with his best playmate, the balloon alternately chasing, being chased, or joining him by his side. Lamorisse imbues the balloon with life and personality, making it playful, sneaky, coy and even brave. The playmates are inseparable, and their joy induces jealousy in the local young hooligans who can't stand to let them be. And tragedy befalls our dear balloon, but he will not be left to fall alone. The troops rally, and our boy is carried off like a hero in a breathtaking finale, the kind of the imagery that transforms movies into living dreams.
dir. Hou Hsiao-Hsien
writ. Hou Hsiao-Hsien & Francois Margolin
feat. Juliette Binoche, Simon Iteanu, Fang Song
It is a tribute to Binoche's charisma that this film holds the attention pleasantly enough for as long as it does. While intended as a tribute to the 1956 short film The Red Balloon by Albert Lamorisse, one can't help but wonder if Hsiao-Hsien paid much attention to that piece, either for its magic or narrative arc. Other than the occasional appearance by the mysterious red balloon, little comparison may be made. While Binoche's character's involvement with puppet theater may be intended to connect her more closely to her son's fascination with the balloon and his supposed boyish dreams, there is little evidence of this. Instead, we follow these characters through their daily lives, waiting for any of the suggested drama to unfold, for anything to actually happen. Perhaps the balloon of this picture is meant to represent the floating nature of life, how nothing truly matters, just as this film doesn't matter.
dir. Jia Zhang-Ke
writ. Zhang Ke Jia, Na Guan, Jiamin Sun
feat. Tao Zhao, Zhou Lan, Sanming Han, Lizhen Ma, Hongwei Wang
Still Life examines the lives of two different protagonists as they seek out lost loved ones along the Yangtse River. In every direction buildings are being destroyed, burying even more of the past than the Three Gorges dam project has already submerged underwater. Clearly, Zhang-Ke has this close in mind as he observes the quiet lives of his characters who seem to have awoken to recognize their alienation and wish to reconnect.
While Zhang-Ke's patient filming style and somber tone achieve a similar feeling to the work of Tsai Ming Liang, his disparate stories and occasional flights of fancy (most notably, a surprise alien spaceship) keep him from rounding the bend to arrive at anything but an assembly of ideas and images, without the subtle, yet notable turns that Ming Liang understands are required to puncuate those ideas, to tie the package together. The viewer is left with more than just a beautiful sense of longing, but also an emptiness, the movie lacking a greater substance.
dir. & writ. Albert Brooks
feat. Albert Brooks, Meryl Streep, Rip Torn
The concept behind Defending Your Life, proving your life's worth by trial held in a (naturally) funny purgatory with the hope of moving forward to a higher, more enlightened state instead of returning to our world to try again, appears to be a good vehicle for cleverly humorous Brooksian (yeah, that's right) musings on man's dreams, doubts and foibles. And the story moves along amiably enough as yuppy Miller (Brooks), self-conscious and full of angst, crashes his brand new BMW, instantly killing himself, and is quickly transported to Judgement City, a somewhat boring theme park with trams and places like the Past Lives Pavilion where everyone can eat all they want and never gain a pound.
Miller meets Bob Diamond (Torn), his defender, meant to argue his case for enlightenment. Torn brings great life to the quirky Diamond, and does his best to support Miller in the trial that follows, as amusing and often embarrassing moments from Miller's past clearly illustrate a man without backbone or nobility. Unfortunately, this routine distances the audience from Miller, and each return to the room where the prosecutor and judges preside brings with it increasing boredom, calling attention to this strict and limited storytelling device.
Still, Julia (Streep) infuses the story with some life, clearly a noble soul who has no worries in purgatory, having adopted children and saved them from a burning building. Her lighthearted attitude contrasts effectively with Miller's awkward, wary manner, and gives the story a much needed lift in spirit. She is also a believable source of inspiration for Miller, surely enough to kick him forward into bolder action, even if he's a bit slow in in catching up for the predictable conclusion.
dir. & writ. Carlos Reygadas
feat. Cornelio Wall, Maria Pankratz, Miriam Toews
Reygadas' tale of adultery in a Mexican Mennonite community seems to seek a new film language, perhaps one to suit the mix of German and Spanish spoken by the people of the film. From the endless opening shot of a starry night sky tilting down to show dawn breaking over the fields to children bathing in a pond to the sweat on the brow of Jonah and Esther, his mistress, after sex, there is an otherworldly quality to the cinematography, as well as a rich tactile quality reminiscent of the work of Sergei Urusevsky (I Am Cuba, The Cranes Are Flying).
This world, while familiar in its farmers and fields, offers up a slice of somewhere else, a spiritual detour. When Jonah asks for the advice of his father over what to do about his mistress, the expected initial reply of being true to his wife is deflected by his insistence that he has found the better woman for him, hinting at a religious right, or divine duty, to find and pursue this chosen mate. This conflict appears to be at the heart of Jonah's distress, plaguing him as he waffles between pleasant moments with his children and subtly more inspired stolen moments with Esther.
Marianne, Jonah's wife, suffers through in obedient silence, fully aware of the situation, awaiting Jonah's action on it. When she finally speaks up, recalling a happier time in their relationship, the sudden minimalist display of anger and resentment equates to a roar from the demure, devoted woman.
What follows is a confusing foray into symbolic redemption, a stretch for a film that doesn't seem to have earned the magic that it wishes to dole out. While there is an undeniable emotional power to Esther's visit to Marianne and her subsequent transformation, it is unclear to whom this gift is being granted and why.
dir. Darren Aronofsky
writ. Peter D. Siegel
feat. Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood
More than just the perfect combination of player and part that has been much raved about for the The Wrestler, is the timing of the release of this film about a man at the end of his rope. The formula isn't new but the delivery is so precisely on target, the terrain so familiar, and the pain so physical and real that it cooks down to something irresistible.
Randy's energy and resilience carry the picture, particularly his resistance to self-pity, never more evident than during his first day on the job at the deli counter. We know what to expect, having seen this before, primed to watch our hero suffer insults from disrespectful customers, reducing him to a blue collar prisoner or, more likely, provoking him to violence. But not this time. Instead, Randy charms the customers, cheerily serving them as he makes a few bucks to keep his life on track.
It is this kind of playful reality that breathes life into an otherwise typical tale. Randy's games of Nintendo with neighboring kids and jokes about 80s metal with stripper, Cassidy (Tomei) charm us just like those deli patrons, warming us up to the brutality of his wrestling life and earning our sympathy, not pity, for his difficult life.
And while Cassidy's believably rough life never quite mirrors Randy's as the filmmakers seem to hope for, and Randy's daughter, Stephanie (Wood), isn't convincing as either a family member or a fully functioning human, Randy brings enough life (and pain) to soothe over these faults, emerging victorious.
dir. Stephen Daldry
writ. David Hare from book by Bernhard Schlink
feat. Ralph Fiennes, Kate Winslet, David Kross
Grow up, Mr. Berg. I'm sorry your first sexual experience scarred you so deeply, that you never recovered from your much older lover's sudden disappearance. And how harrowing it must have been to find out that she was a heartless Nazi guard. But wait, she was also illiterate. How woefully tragic. If only she was better educated, perhaps she wouldn't have murdered her prisoners.
But you seem to have it under control. Sure, send her books on tape to fill the void that has become your life. Yes, pretend that it's the road to recovery, that it will help you mend the relationship with your largely ignored and absent daughter. Why not. Something has to happen in your boring story, might as well fake some kind of unwarranted progress.
And while on the topic of things not earned, let's toss awards at a one-note performance devoid of dynamism or purpose. Why not. Hell, it is vaguely Holocaust related and she does the old and ugly makeup routine so challenging for attractive actresses.
Grow the fuck up America.
dir. David Fincher
writ. Eric Roth from story by Roth and Robin Swicord, loosely from F. Scott Fitgerald's short story
feat. Brad Pitt, Cate Blanchett, Tilda Swinton, Taraji P. Henson, Julia Ormond
Benjamin Button is a slippery film, a fable too complex to reduce to a simple challenge to the problems of aging and difficult love. While it straps on too many frames, both the wraparound story of a stormy hospital room with a loveless Ormond and the Amazing Stories introduction with the backward-running clock proving pointless and ineffectual, it still manages to exude charm, induce curiosity, and exhibit originality in its exploration of a truly unusual life.
Fincher has become an expert at creating beautiful films that don't need to scream epic, but feed the audience gorgeous images intermittently. He slips in a stunning shot of soldiers running backward on the battlefield, bullets rewinding out of their bodies, then waits patiently withholding the trully stunning followup shots for Benjamin's travels abroad. He also captures the intimate glow of private moments. Revisit the interrupted love scene at the begginning of Zodiac and compare it to the secretive nighttime relationship between Benjamin and Elizabeth (Swinton) in the old hotel, both bordering on voyeurism yet offering a bit of the magic shared by the characters in those moments for the audience to enjoy.
It's hard to call Button a great film, lacking the resonance a three hour picture ought to impart. While I'm pleased that it didn't hammer home themes of aging and how it's never too late to change course, a risk given Roth's previous credit on Forrest Gump, it does need something more, a greater purpose. However, I wouldn't have guessed it possible to have numerous valid complaints about a picture while simultaneously enjoying the ride so much, clearly in the hands of great storyteller.
dir. Leo McCarey
writ. Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby, additional dialogue by Arthur Sheekman and Nat Perrin
feat. Groucho, Harpo, Chico, Zeppo, Margaret Dumont
Grand insanity! Watching Groucho as Rufus T. Firefly lead his nation of Freedonia to war against neighboring Sylvania over the love of Mrs. Gloria Teasdale (Dumont) will test the mettle of anyone accustomed to a tight (or loose) sense of narrative. Becoming caught up in the chaotic rambling quality of the story, the viewer experiences a sense of release, freed from the normal trappings of a linear story, floating along from sketch to sketch.
Added to the absurd sendup of politics, warmongering, and love, is a playful element of existentialism, best demonstrated in the mirror scene. As Groucho tests his reflection, suspicious of Harpo as reflection but unable to trick him into giving up the truth of his ruse, the absurd escalates when Harpo fakes a spin. Finally we are taken through the looking glass as Groucho and Harpo circle one another, eyes locked, Groucho carefully waiting to catch anything amiss. This bending of the rules of reality and taking the audience along for the ride marks the height of the Marx Brothers powers, and may be their greatest scene on film.
dir. Gus Van Sant
writ. Dustin Lance Black
feat. Sean Penn, Emile Hirsch, Josh Brolin, Diego Luna, James Franco
While Penn convincingly immerses himself into the character of Harvey Milk, pulling off a faultless portrayal, one that certainly deserves the nomination he received for Best Actor, the film as a whole fails to achieve similar greatness. This is largely a result of the conceit of the biopic, the presumption that an important person with a life of dramatic moments and a tragic end warrants a movie.
This isn't to say there aren't some rousing cinematic turns in Milk. The simple concept of one fighting for his freedom, to live life as he chooses, is inspirational and well executed in the turbulent protest scenes. As Milk attempts to wrangle this crowd into a positive force, one that serves the cause without ruining their chance for legitimate gains with an easily threatened public, his skill and commitment is best showcased.
But outside of those scenes, the film feels like a string of vignettes, barely elevated above the level of a history channel reenactment, the supporting players prancing around, "being gay" for the duration (except Franco who maybe wore out all his gayness in the Spider-Man films). I suspect a lack of depth to the story as it is told is accountable, always a risk as one cuts a life down to filmable scenes. This also explains why Brolin's Dan White is so much more fascinating than the rest of the crowd, a true mystery, a character we don't understand but who's strange actions and reactions stir up earnest curiosity. His scenes, particularly near the end of the film completely change the feel of the film, suddenly far more engaging and compelling than before.
Sadly, we must return to a typical finale, heartbreaking metaphor jammed into the frame to alert the audience of the great loss being witnessed. I'd contest that Milk's love for opera doesn't make him a more sophisticated person, nor does his view of that house of overwrought tragedy as he dies make his story any more tragic.
