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dir. Ron Fricke
writ. Constantine Nicholas & Genevieve Nicholas (treatment)
It's a slick trick to pull off a feature length film without actors, dialogue, narration, or a distinct narrative thread. Godfrey Reggio has his followers from his -qatsi films (Koyaanisqatsi being the first, much of it shot by Fricke) though they can smack of stock footage festivals. Bill Morrison's Decasia, a collection of decaying film clips with a score of slightly out of tune instruments meant to match the faltering visual imagery, has a more profound impact, repetition of certain images seeming to yearningly attempt to convey some mystical message impossible to translate into words.
Fricke manages a similar feat, passages of Baraka flowing into a parable of modern life, the distance between the spirit and the western world of work and city living. While the message may seem familiar from the -qatsi films, Fricke avoids preaching better than Reggio, frequently shifting gears and letting the images spread more thinly, permitting ambiguity.
That's not to say he isn't above editorial direction, though even then he gives more than guides. One of the more powerful sections shows a factory, following a conveyor belt of eggs that soon become chicks, rolled and shuffled, finally arriving in tightly packed cages of adult chickens, and cross cuts it with city folk packing in and out of subways, grimly commuting through life. Instead of just the obvious comparison and aroused disgust at the treatment of animals, the scene suggests that we should expect no better, for why wouldn't we mass-produce captive animals as food when we so willingly subject ourselves to the same conditions.
writ. & dir. Paul Greengrass
feat. James Nesbitt, Allan Gildea, Gerard Crossan, Mary Moulds, Carmel McCallion, Tim Pigott-Smith, Nicholas Farrell
Greengrass delivers an intense account of that pivotal Sunday in the history of the Troubles in Northern Ireland. Using his now trademark documentary style camera work, hand-held and constantly on the move, he handily captures the chaos and confusion of a mob scene and sudden military assault, keeping the film racing and breathless. In quieter moments, the camera flits anxiously, while also settling for needed moments of focus (something lost in the last Bourne film), the risk of the day's intended peaceful protest apparent to those pushing the plan forward.
Greengrass adds to the verisimilitude by using almost entirely non-professional actors from the area, some of them relatives of participants in the actual day back in '72. The chief exception, Nesbitt, performs stunningly as Ivan Cooper, the politician leading the protest, harried and well-meaning, knowing that he must proceed with the march despite the chance for violence. Through him, the frustration of the cause is brilliantly illustrated, in desperate attempts to calm both a violent crowd packed with stone-throwing boys and soldiers with itchy trigger fingers, eager to put down the protest once and for all. His devotion and failure portray a heroic character who is not a hero, the ideal leader (and film lead).
dir. Aki Kaurismaki
writ. Aki Kaurismaki
feat. Markku Peltola, Kati Outinen, Juhani Niemela, Kaija Pakarinen, Sakari Kuosmanen
Kaurismaki's tale of a man who suffers amnesia as a result of a brutal beating rambles along in typical dry indie comedy fashion with plenty of awkward moments, simple static shots that are cleverly framed and heavily saturated, and hands-off parable intentions, never quite putting a finger on a decisive point yet hinting at a list of reassessed life values. It strips the histrionics out of the lost amnesiac story, instead detailing the quiet plodding actions of a man with the need (and chance) to start over, the struggle to begin with nothing, and to figure out the simple things that make life worth living.
M (Peltola) faces the problems of rebuilding a life with gentle good nature, unflustered by insults or threats, weaving his way to better things. Unfortunately, in this calm plodding, the humor and pathos are kept on such a low flame, that though engaging, the film never bubbles over into something more gripping and transcendent. Though the picture may have set it sights lower, the delivery and action is so deliberately down tempo, the viewer is left wanting, in need of something more to give the story purpose.
dir. Bent Hamer
writ. Bent Hamer and Jim Stark from novel by Charles Bukowski
feat. Matt Dillon, Lily Taylor, Marisa Tomei, Fisher Stevens
Dillon pulls off a convincing Bukowski/Chinaski, smartly veering away from a direct impression of Bukowski's nasal delivery and nailing the swaggering drift between arrogance and humble self-loathing that seeps from his work. And the well-selected quotes dropped into the narration are some of the best examples of Bukowski's ethic, more direct and pointed than many of his ramblings.
As this is Bukowski, drink and destitution are always close at hand, but also bouts of sex, near-love, damaged beauty and strange brushes with wealth and success.
The film manages to vindicate without glorifying Bukowski's life, best illustrated by a scene in which he slips through his briefest held job, cleaning an enormous lobby statue at a newspaper where he'd hoped to be a reporter. As his consideration of his odd situation leads him astray, off to the bar to think it over, it becomes clear that he's more than a drunken lout with a penchant for the pen, but a confused yet driven man who can't escape his singular need to write, everything else falling by the wayside.
dir. Olivier Dahan
writ. Olivier Dahan and Isabelle Sobelman
feat. Marion Cotillard, Sylvie Testud, Pascal Gregory, Emmanuelle Seigner, Jean-Paul Roeve, Gerard Depardieu
While Marion Cotillard is stunning in the role of Edith Piaf (even when the caked-on aging makeup distracts) and Tetsuo Nagata's cinematography is wonderfully dark, dense and inviting, La Vie en Rose sadly falls into the same dull pitfalls of most biopics, with the filmmakers struggling to hammer a life into a dramatic movie arc.
It rolls by like a checklist from the biopic handbook -
Begin in sickly late life
Flash back to street urchin youth
Dash of bad parenting, but loving father, if not wholly responsible
Charming youth with show of great talent
Savior figure steps in, preferably a big star near-cameo
Training with a strict but well-meaning mentor
Success
Love story, preferably with conflict, perhaps married man
Tragedy - death, illness, etc.
Poignant return to old age, death, perhaps prophetic/ageless sentiment
It's all there, so hop on board. Try not to pay too much attention to the formula or the frequently uninventive way in which these familiar scenes play out.
Still, the film is decent entertainment, even willing to portray faults in Piaf's character (though her need to surround herself in luxury feels like a pat neediness of one who escapes poverty). However, it's hard to escape that checklist feeling and the complete lack of creative inspiration for Piaf. Perhaps, she merely sang her way out of the gutter, the music simply a means to an end, but one would think she had some love for the it, a connection that never surfaces in the picture.
dir. Gregory Hoblit
writ. Steve Shagan and Ann Biderman from novel by William Diehl
feat. Richard Gere, Ed Norton, Frances McDormand, Laura Linney, John Mahoney
Expectations endanger all movie viewing. On rare occasions they can work to one's advantage. I remember my impression that Lawrence of Arabia was going to be a Ben-Hur studio era epic and being blown away by how completely wrong I was. But this little picture, Primal Fear, had stayed on my radar since it came out, always toted as a decent flick with a notable Ed Norton performance. And anyone with an ever-growing list of films to see will understand the satisfaction in clearing a title from the memory by finally bringing it up on the screen.
And so it was that I permitted this disc into my home and player, only to find a heaping pile of garbage spewed out before me. If the ages of the actors weren't verifiable, I would have thought this was a mid to late-80s film with its symphonic soundtrack, douchebag lawyers, churchy sex scandal, and double identity clincher. Really?! People thought this was good entertainment in the mid-90s? And I suppose it wasn't predictable then either. Yes, Norton is convincing and enjoyable to watch, mainly for the 5 cumulative minutes when he plays the "bad guy," but I prefer there to be at least 15 watchable minutes in a feature film.
Gere is trademark arrogant obnoxious. Linney is ripening for her stock role as the aging, wronged, barely-sympathetic woman. And Mahoney is simply wasted as a single-faceted, ho-hum, politician-crook.
If you're lucky enough not to have seen this yet, consider yourself lucky and do not waste your time.
