By Kubrick's Beard

Tracks For Life

2011-11-18T18:00:00.000Z

Teenage Fanclub - The Concept (single version)
Bandwagonesque (1991)

Playing Catch Up - Best Films of 2009 - #46 Tales from the Golden Age

2011-11-16T18:00:00.000Z

As part of ongoing series I continue my countdown of the best films released in UK Cinemas in 2009.

#46 - Tales from the Golden Age (Constantin Mungiu/Cristian Popescu/Hanno Hofer/Ioana Uricaru/Razvan Marclescu)

"Humour is the absence of terror, and terror is the absence of humour."

Did you hear the one about the Romanian village committee that got trapped on a carousel, or the one about the doctored photo to make Nicolae Ceauşescu taller than the president of France? No? What about the one about the chicken farmer and the egg scam? Come on, you must of heard of the chicken farmer and the egg scam, it's a classic. Of course you would have to be Romanian and have lived through the despotic reign of Ceauşescu to totally appreciate the series of folk tales, myths and urban legends that arose throughout this tyrants reign, as a sort of rebellion, a joke that every one was in on, comedy as black as the regime that presided over it, as a way of coping and making sense of the insanity that prevailed.

Welcome to the world of 'Tales from the Golden Age' a reliving, a riposte to the days of the disastrous Ceauşescu era through the mediation of 'local legends' regarding the often quirky and far out acts people were reduced to in order to tow the party line or simply to survive its tyranny. Broken down into six separate chapters, short films, each chapter pre-fixed with the title 'The Legend of..' each story underscores the often irrational regime, the absurdness of it all and the sadness that defined an era, yet the tone of these stories never dwindles on the heaviness, abject seriousness of the consequences but rather laughs at it, pokes fun at the ridiculousness that the regime held itself, the way it made people act and the very fact it existed at all.

Overseen by Cristian Mungiu, the talent that brought wider attention to the 'Romanian New Wave' with his bleak but brilliant masterpiece and Palme d'or winner '4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days', he wrote the screenplay for all six stories and directed two of the segments, yet 'Tales from the Golden Age' is a different beast from his internationally acclaimed film, less austere, despite the context and lighter in tone. The structure of the chapters is to the films advantage, many anthology films suffer from the too many cooks dilemma, often with too many conflicting stories and styles that the whole gets lost in translation. Mungiu's anchorage is the important element here, at the helm he has managed to stamp his aesthetic on the entire project, all chapters follow the same sardonic, droll line with a deep dark humour punching through the pure absurdity of it all.

The styling of 'Tales from the Golden Age' is in keeping from one story to the next, all of them prevail with a twisted nostalgia, a baroque aesthetic that cuts to the core, exaggerated in style, reduced to parody in content but with all black comedy, it's the truth that makes us laugh and wince the most. However in it's strength also lies weakness, as one chapter passes into the next, stronger segments stand out and unfairly one can't help but compare and contrast, although all chapters revel in black humour some are more cohesive and funnier than others. Yet, despite length or impact, such as 'The Legend of the Zealous Activist' and 'The Legend of the Party Photographer' each segment remains a part of the whole, there are no wild cards here, each director pulls in the same direction, all point a finger at the regime and say 'Look at what you reduced us to and see how we laugh in your face'.

Probably the film that represents this 'laugh in your face' attitude the most is the films first chapter, 'The Legend of the Official Visit, which stands tall as a bastion of farcical comedy, akin to Milos Forman's 'The Fireman's Ball', where incompetence and the ludicrous expectancies of the regime meet head on. A motorcade is arranged and a village prepares in a fever of activity, painting houses, erecting banners, forming welcoming committees, only to be told their pigeons aren't white enough and that the motorcade is no longer coming. Angry and then hugely relived, the villagers get drunk and end up on the village carousel, only to realise that everyone got on at the same time and there is no one to turn it off, so they must remain on the carousel until morning, when at last the motorcade actually does arrive.

Whereas a chapter like 'The Legend of the Greedy Policeman', albeit farcical in subject; a policeman is given the gift of a pig from Christmas, when meat is hard to come by and his family face the problem of how to slaughter the animal in their small flat, without arousing the suspicion of their neighbours, the rage feels more palpable albeit muted, black comedy standing in for anger and the chapter feels more effective in its execution. Also 'The Legend of the Air Sellers' about a young couple, spurred on by a showing of Bonnie and Cylde con people out of their water bottle to sell on at local depositories, has the same mix and both tell of the absurdist levels people were reduced, committing crimes, in order to get around the bureaucratic nightmare of Romanian society. Air Sellers also demonstrates how any form of authority, even one as ludicrous as an air inspector, was adhered to and rarely questioned in fear of reprisals.

Each chapter follows the same lines and in amongst the black comedy, the ridicule and unveiling of the Ceauşescu regime, lies an open wound that the Romanians are beginning to explore in their films, their culture and in everyday life. In comparison with the gems already from Romanian shores, alongside Mungiu's Palme d'or winner, such as '12:08 East of Bucharest, The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, Police Adjective, Aurora', Tales from the Golden Age' can appear a lesser work when compared to those starlets. It may not have the punch of The Death of Mr. Lazarescu or the introspection of 12:08 East of Bucharest but a more intelligent and entertaining; whilst also managing to uncover the years of pain, disillusion, anger, resentment and tyranny with both grace and bold humour, you would be hard pressed to find anywhere else.

Snap-Shot #2 - One Movie, One Shot

2011-11-15T18:00:00.000Z

A Matter of Life and Death (Michael Powell/Emeric Pressburger, 1946)

"Position - nil, repeat nil. Age - 27, 27, did you get that? Very important. Education - interrupted, violently interrupted. Religion - Church of England. Politics - Conservative by nature, Labour by experience. What's your name?"

The Week Measured in Film

2011-11-14T18:00:00.000Z

If only...

So both Brett Ratner and Eddie Murphy have gone, surely that's a good thing? I can't see how either of those two misanthropes, one a throwback and the other a shock jock groupie, could have added anything of any value to Oscar night but what's this? The Muppets? Oh, wait a minute, no, it's a no go, Billy Crystal is doing it. Again. The old order is once again established.

There was an excellent extract from Roger Ebert's book 'Life Itself : A Memoir' in The Observer.

I can't get enough of the artist Scott Jason Smith and his excellent series sketching the auteurs - I want these on the walls in my house. Although a huge Roman Polanski may just give me nightmares.
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And Borat is the final link in Tarantino's Django Unchained - the film I'm most looking forward to and silently dreading at the same time. Weird.

New releases this week see Andrea Arnold's return with her uncompromising take on Emily Bronte's 'Wuthering Heights', which I happened to catch on it's opening day and you can see what I thought below this paragraph. Other releases see the return of Bruce Robinson with 'The Rum Diary', for which Johnny Depp has laid blame on the lack of intelligence in America's rural lands for it's lacklustre take at the box office, as well as Errol Morris' latest documentary Tabloid and Aardman have dropped the plasticine and gone all 3D with their latest offering, 'Arthur Christmas'.

Kaya Scodelario as Cathy in 'Wuthering Heights'

On the viewing front this week I caught J. Blakeson's debut feature The Disappearance of Alice Creed and despite starting out with some promise, two composed, robotic men, emotionless and driven with purpose, perform a series of tasks in quiet union: sound-proofing a basement, changing their clothes, buying utensils from a DIY store and so on, all done without a word and with a regimented discipline, it soon veers off in to farcical nonsense. The same applies to another debutant Gustavo Hernandez and his feature The Silent House, a well worked little horror, with long takes and real tension which is spectacularly let down by an ending to defy all bad endings, I can handle ambiguous, in fact I prefer it to be honest but when it makes no sense, well I pretty much get annoyed by that and it unfairly negates all that went before it.

I will be writing about Otto Preminger's film 'Laura' in an upcoming feature but what a moody, witty and styled gem of a movie, I'm pretty new to Preminger's work and this one sets him apart from the majority of peers working in Hollywood studio system of the 40's, highly recommended. I was really looking forward to Tetsuya Nakashima's latest offering Confessions, a film with much praise attached to it but one I found rather overcooked, substituting style for substance and taking itself way to seriously, however despite it's many flaws I can't help but admire it, much to my own chagrin. Mummuth, yet another film with flaws and a bit too loose by large can't help but generate smiles of both appreciation and joy at seeing Depardieu play his big idiot role again.

Andrea Arnold's new film, an adaptation of 'Wuthering Heights' is sublime, for my worth her best yet and has certainly sparked debate with her vision of Bronte's wild novel. Stripping the book to the bare bones, Arnold has caught the aesthetic; the brooding violence, the love/hate dichotomy of Heathcliff and Cathy, the raw and unforgiving terrain, the wildness of the moors and how wonderful, freeing, they appear to the young. It's been said that the second half is not as affecting as when the characters are young and there's some truth to that but it doesn't take from what proves to be a raw and unflinching piece of work.

George Harrison: Living in the Material World

Martin Scorcese's in depth and well researched documentary on the life of George Harrison: Living in the Material World was shown on BBC2 over two night. With a fair proportion of archival material, some of the backstage and in studio footage is incredible, talking heads, old interviews, letters and documents, Scorsese's team put together the life of a truly remarkable, flawed but ultimately beautiful human being. Recommended for fans and non-fans alike, of either Harrison, or Scorsese, for that matter

Finally but nowhere near least, Patricio Guzman's cinematic essay 'Nostalgia for the Light', set in the remote, barren lands of the Atacama desert lies astronomers wondrously gazing at the clearest skies the world has to offer and alongside the widows, relatives, of the political prisoners 'dissapeared' during the brutal regime of Pinochet. Guzman knits a world of memory, of past, of history, of wonder together into a superb easy on the search for truth whilst working in the past, the astronomers look at the past in the sky, the relatives look for the past in the sand but both seek bigger pictures, both want clarity and understanding. Using space and scale, Guzman ties this all together with beauty and humility, he forges a path of hope through understanding, through truth and it's in that message that the film will leave you reeling, elated and hopeful of a better tomorrow.

Have a good week everyone and check out the trailer for Guzman's startling film 'Nostalgia for the Light' below.

And on the 7th Day, God Created...

2011-11-06T18:00:00.000Z

...The Story of Film

Mark Cousin's epic 15 part film series has to be one of the finest TV series I have ever had the pleasure to watch. Put aside the fact that I am a film nut to the very bone, Cousins has managed to put across how vital and wonderful our film history is, how countries, people and eras have used film to represent, depict and capture the unique cultural, social, political, economical and emotional aspects of their time, space and place.

Cousins covers 120 years of this unique and beguiling art form, his views are very much his own in many regards to favourite films and in the selection of archival footage but even if your pleasures differ to his, I admit I find some of his choices odd to say the least, his approach and reasoning for such films are valid, his structure supports such claims and his introduction to each film era, movement, director or location is second to none.

Each chapter is broken down in years and in chronological order he charts the rise of film making around the globe, we watch how countries like Russia, China, Iran, Japan, Sweden, Denmark, India, South Africa start picking up cameras and start pointing them inwards, charting and recording their lives, history and cultural differences. We follow the 'romantic' cinema of America; Cousins rejects the term 'classical', and how silent film took box offices by storm, how the studio system rose, prospered and died, the free independent spirit of the 60's ,the rise of the movie brats, the almighty takeover of the blockbuster, the digital era and so on.

It's the focus on film makers I know little of and film movements in places like czechoslovakia and Senegal that really stand out for me, Cousins has a way of explaining not only their importance and significance but also their beauty and uniqueness; as soon as an episode has finished I will have another dozen films added to my must watch list. Each episode is an hour long and focus is evenly split among the more well known cinema and their players as it is for lesser known countries, avant garde film-makers and independent underground spirits, quite simply this is a cinephiles love letter.

Beautifully crafted, lovingly made and educational to boot, this is a must for any burgeoning cinephile, I leave you with the excerpt above about one of Cousins heroes, Yasujiro Ozu. Enjoy

Snap-Shot #1 - One Movie, One Shot

2011-11-01T18:00:00.000Z

The Long Goodbye (Robert Altman, 1973)

"Yeah, I even lost my cat."

The Week Measured In Film

2011-10-31T19:32:00.000Z

The BFI London film festival came to a close this week with Lynne Ramsay's mesmerising and haunting 'We Need To Talk About Kevin'; a film I caught on it's opening Friday night, scooping the top prize for best film. Jury president John Madden said of the film it 'is made with the kind of singular vision that links great directors across all the traditions of cinema', having now seen the film I couldn't agree more with the statement. It's gratifying to see Lynne Ramsay back in the director's chair, ever since watching the magnificent Ratcatcher all those years back and then a couple years later Morvern Callar, there hasn't been a year where I haven't mourned her absence, a singular talent like Ramsey should never been hid away for too long. Nine years is a long time to wait but as 'We Need To Talk About Kevin' has shown she hasn't missed a beat and I can only hope she will once again be a more permanent fixture on the film scene.

At the UK cinemas this week we saw the release of the much hyped Steven Speilberg directed and Peter Jackson produced 'The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn' which has been met with nationwide indifference from the film critics of the leading broadsheets and journals with Peter Bradshaw's lambasting review from the Guardian being my favourite read. Elsewhere, new releases I will be watching include Gerardo Naranjo's 'Miss Bala', though I found his last film 'I'm Going To Explode' disjointed, Paul Julian Smith article for Sight & Sound has certainly whetted my appetite, George Clooney's thriller 'The Ides of March' and the intense German crime thriller 'The Silence' which offers 'no easy answers', as surmised by John A. Riley in his review for Electric Sheep Magazine.

It's been a slow week for me film wise, having just come back from a two week holiday I'm finding life back in the real world a bit sluggish, however I'm continuing my enjoyable box-set binge watching 'The Killing (Forbrydelsen)'; from the heaps of praise thrown at this show I sometimes feel as if I'm the last person to watch it and trying to avoid spoilers is proving stressful. I'm halfway through the epic crime saga and no closer to guessing the murderer, which makes it all the more enjoyable, and it has me pointing the finger at nearly the whole cast. It's certainly one of the most well-executed crime dramas, whodunnits, I've ever had the pleasure to see, from the underlying immigration issues that are rife in Denmark, the slow procedural jigsaw puzzle of Nanna Brik Larsson's final hours, right down to her grieving family who find their lives turned upside down by the murder of their daughter, The Killing is riveting stuff and highly recommended.

Films I did manage to catch include the disappointing 'Norwegian Wood' which despite some stunning cinematography, a real sense of space and time, brilliant understated acting with moments of real pathos and beauty can't help but feel a bit padded out, less than the sum of it's parts and therefore underwhelming. Tran Anh Hung does a fine job of catching the emotional and sensual connection between the two protagonists, the yearning and loss of a dear friend but it's at the expense of the viewer who feel very little for the pair and their lives. Then there is the other end of the spectrum with the almighty tour de force that is 'We Need To Talk About Kevin', I shall write more on this film another time but suffice to say that alongside 'Meek's Cutoff' this is the best film to come out of America in 2011, highly recommended. Lastly this week I got my first taste of Jacques Tati's world with the sublime 'Mr Hulot's Holiday' and it's a place I care to visit as often as I can, bring on Playtime. Enjoy your week folks and here's some Tati to start the working week with a smile.

Playing Catch- Up - Best films of 2009: #47 Where The Wild Things Are

2011-09-17T16:20:00.000+01:00

In this ongoing series, I continue my countdown of the best films released in UK Cinemas in 2009.

#47 - Where The Wild Things Are (Spike Jonez)

'Wild thing. You make my heart sing'

When it was announced that an adaptation of 'Where The Wild Things Are' was to be made into a film with man-child Spike Jonez at the helm, I suppose I went through the same kind of giddiness usually afforded to my fanboy friends whenever Batman dons a new cape, or Peter Jackson declares something interesting with Hobbits. It seemed the perfect coupling, Jonez, it appeared to me at least, had been directly influenced by the anarchy of Maurice Sendak's book, his whole career to this point seemed to have been shaped by the wild raucous ones, think the music videos (Walken dancing, bad break dancing in public places, Sabotage!), those Jackass stunts, his first forays into feature films (remember the sheer 'WTF' feeling you had when you first watched Being John Malkovitch?) and general personal demeanour spoke of a man shaped and defined by Sendak's Max and his child like obstinance.

Did the collaboration work however? The jury's still out on that one. To start with, how on earth do you turn a book, little under 40 pages long and blueprinted into most people's heads by the age of 5, who in turn have built Sendak's world again and again in their minds, to something on the big screen that would be able to please everyone in the process? The simple answer is you can't but Jonez must have known this; most people tend to know when they are asked to drink from a poisoned chalice, so never let it be said that he shirks from a challenge. Where does one take the source material, of what little there is ,and turn it into a feature length film? Where The Wild Things Are is so ingrained in the psyche of popular culture that the book means a lot to so many people in so many differing ways, which ever way you cut it, Jonez was never going to please everybody.

Jonez seems to have channeled the book directly in a way most studios would have cared to avoid, that's to say he focused on the bleak tone, the low energy droll, the greys and brown, the fear and loneliness rather than lighten the palate with more of Max's adventures and child like innocence in creating a world in that he is king to all he surveys: should he be celebrated or does it show a distinct lack of understanding one's audience? Who exactly was he making the film for? The obvious answer would be for adults (or kidults), those that grew with the magic of the book, those around Jonez' age when they first heard the story of Max and how they would now relate now to the emotive issues of loneliness and fear.

Jonez' focus on the emotive aspects of Sendak's book has its critics and the loneliness of Max seems to have spoken to the director and it's this, slightly depressive tome, that fuels the fires of his detractors. As the big Christmas holiday all family fun film, 'Where The Wild Things Are', fails miserably and overall it's quite a solemn piece of work, it certainly isn't the film most families would have expected and I doubt most would have liked. Yet for fans of Jonez it once again demonstrates a willingness to defy expectations and to keep chipping away in his own idiosyncratic manner, it also signifies that obstinance (like that of our protagonist) that he will do it his way, despite studio pressures to lighten the film to the contrary.

What 'Where The Wild Things Are' actually does is highlight and criticise the self indulgence of adults and the ways in which we are encouraged to be selfish, petty, delusional and forever youthful. For Max, reasoning with any of the array of monsters he's now king of becomes a task in itself, all seem to be preoccupied by their own inner angst, unreasonable desires and self-pity, every irrational behaviour, no matter how violent, destructive or just plain stupid is explained away in somewhat pseudo, psychobabble lifted from a best-seller self help guide. It's as if Jonez', with help from co-writer Dave Eggers, is using this beloved children's story as a mirror to his generation, a kind of 'stop the pouting. Listen, the world is bigger than you' fable, which is pretty radical when all he was meant to be doing was filming a kid's film for the Christmas market.

That's not to say this is a maudlin, navel gazing piece, Where The Wild Things Are may well look a little deeper than the average 'family film' but it still has its cake and wants to devour it too. For starters the monsters are a treat and lifted straight off the page, voice artist work is top notch (especially Chris Cooper and Catherine O'Hara as the dreary Judith) and there's some great black comedy, some great slapstick, as well as frolics, anarchy and loudness. It has all the markings of a straight 'A' box office 'crowd pleaser' but, like all subversives working the system, there is something different about 'Where the Wild Things Are' and that confuses and disturbs some people and, for not being what it was supposed to be, it gets kicked. I for one, although stating here and now that this is not his best work but an enjoyable distraction all the same, am glad theat Spike Jonez attempts to rocks the boat in his own understated ,weird little way and that he shall continue doing so for many years to come.

Fat City - Pulling No Punches

2011-08-18T14:00:00.000+01:00

(John Huston, 1972)

Whenever you hear someone telling people about the great run of films America made in the early 1970's, and they get to the list, and they begin to feel fatigue, just wait for a pause and say "And Fat City. John Huston's Fat City." At that point the kids frown, and they admit they've not even seen Fat City. "Right," you say, "and you never even heard of "Fat City"
David Thompson - Have You Seen?

I love the quote above for two reasons, one it highlights the thrill of finding those gems that may have escaped the praise, adulation and fawning bestowed upon their contemporaries and two it demonstrates that no matter how far you dig, no matter how much you watch, there is always something out there to challenge your perspective of a previously held belief. Cinema is simply more diverse, thrilling and robust than any canonical list or critic's all-time top ten would have you believe and as a cinephile the discovery that film extends beyond those hallowed chosen ones is a wonderful thing in itself.

So, take Fat City for instance, a little gritty boxing movie by a director that most believed had seen better days, adapted from a book which was pretty downbeat with no discernible happy ending, add to the mix the young bucks (Bogdanovitch, Friedkin, Speilberg, Penn, Altman, Ashby, Scorcese, Coppola etc) now re-shaping Hollywood in their own idiom and in hindsight it really shouldn't have worked so clearly as it did. Essentially a story of two boxers, Billy Tully (Stacey Keach) once a contender now is steep decline and Ernie Munger (a young, puppy dog faced Jeff Bridges) with his career going in the opposite direction, Fat City is character driven, following the parallel lives of Billy and Ernie as they take their separate paths and their continuous attempts to carve some sort of meaning out of their lives.

Jeff Bridges (Ernie) in the ring

Fat City is the hope, the American Dream, and Billy having tasted it is now a shell of a man; drunk, day-dreaming, unable to hold on to a job with sentences going unfinished yet still believing he can attain those long gone glory days - the perfect Huston protagonist, Ernie has his world in front of him but who's to say that in the world Huston paints he'll turn into Keach before the decade is out. The world of boxing showcased here isn't the glorious Rocky-esque vaudeville act or the stylistic ballets of Scorsese's Raging Bull, boxing is shown for what it is, a slugger match, up close and shed of heroics or style, two men hitting the other but truly damaging themselves. The desperation of our characters to forge a world out of this devastating sport is the crux of Huston's direction, the vacant broken faces and broken aspirations at the whim of a cut eye, a bloody nose and age are all too prescient. On skid row you scrap for your living and taking a beating for some money, for the basics to live, is one hell of a brutish metaphor.

The fact is 'Fat City' is a city of the walking wounded, all are beaten before they enter the ring, right down to the trainer Ruben (Nicholas Colasanto) believing he's finally spotted the 'next great thing' in boxing to Susan Tyrell's scene stealing whirlwind as the bloated Oma, a wreck of a human being, red faced and beaten down, life has dealt her one too many jokers and she's no longer playing cards. Jeff Bridges adds another notch to those roles of blank-faced young men in which the world and it's worries seem to play no part (think The Last Picture Show - in fact it's almost as if Duane has basically packed in Texas for a life in the ring) yet even he can't escape Fat City's harsh realities, accidentally making his girlfriend pregnant and having to marry at a young age, in turn giving up any dreams for a world of mind numbing work.

Stacey Keach (Billy) and Susan Tyrell (Oma)

Looking as it reads, Fat City, beautifully photographed by Conrad Hall, feels like a world in despair, the city covered in a film of hopelessness, a place where dreams go to die. Authenticity is key, Huston surrounded the actors in boxers and real fighters, throwing them into the ring at certain intervals to keep the whole thing looking real, there's a sense that Bridges and Keach are actually fighting for real in parts. There's real insight to a world on skid row, nothing is blown out of proportion or for strict dramatic purposes, action is low key and dialogue sometimes lengthy or stilted, there are no 'I could have been a contender' soliloquies, albeit a few tall stories, just a quiet understanding that life has zipped by and left you with nothing. Keach is the key here, his face looks battered, a fragile giant akin to letting himself dream now and again about what he had, what he could have had and what he could achieve; the whole film could be told with just one still of that magnificent broken man. You never believe he can make it, although you hope he will, but the apathy is such that those scenes in the fields picking fruit for next to no money seem to be the limit of his possibility and ambition.

Apathy, giving in and a sort of unrealised acceptance permeates throughout Fat City, it's not so much that our characters fight against the life dealt out to them but how much they accept their fate without so much as a whimper that really devastates. Life in Fat City is harsh and through Oma's bitter rants at all those around her, Ernie's blank expression and Billy's refusal to accept he's past it, it has a way of grinding you down and keeping you compliant. Like much of that golden period in American Cinema and despite the harsh realities on show, Fat City is so watchable and rewarding it knocks most, if not all, modern American independent filmmaking out of the ball-park. Take for instance the infamous last scene, see the scene below, where the world stops for one moment of drunken clarity, where everything futile makes sense but resolves nothing for our protagonists, who would take such a risk these days? Cinema seems far less brave now.

'Maybe we're all happy'

Not long before the infamous climax we witness two old workhorses, Billy and, an out of town old pro, Lucero (Sixto Rodriguez, a former boxing champion), going at one another for the gratification of a baying crowd, both of whom are aware at some level of the absurdity and hopelessness of their predicament. Mirroring Billy's infamous 'Panama story' - in which he claims to have been cheated out of a great destiny in boxing despite evidence to the contrary, Lucero travels to California all alone, pissing blood and looking as if he would rather be anywhere but here, desperate for the cash. Their fight scene is one of the most humiliating of all boxing matches ever caught on camera and for what? Exit right, Billy makes $100, Lucero, maybe more but not much, exits the arena in the dark as the lights are turned off before he leaves. Fat City has built to that moment any yet it's almost too horrifying to watch, at one point we are shown an extreme close up of Billy's bloody eye, staring vacantly into the ring, whilst his corner go about stopping the blood, and he goes on waiting in silence, waiting for the pummeling to start again.

'Double Feature Theater' Blog-a-thon

2011-07-31T14:16:00.002+01:00

My contribution to 'Go, See, Talk's' excellent blog-a-thon, here's the blurb from the website:

Who doesn’t love a good double feature? Even if one movie turns out crappy you still get a good flick under your belt right? In this Blog-A-Thon I have assigned each of our participants a theater of their very own ans asked them to create a week’s worth of Double Features. The weeks worth of films will begin on Monday and end on Sunday. The bonus here is that on Sunday there’s a Triple Feature so it might allow for a more creativity and an interesting line up for the end of the week.

I've alwasys wanted to own my own cinema, however looking at my choices I doubt it would break even but who cares, I love these films and that's all that matters.

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MONDAY - I'm Not Paranoid! They're All Out To Get Me!

Cutter's Way (aka Cutter and Bone)
(Ivan Passer)

Night Moves

(Arthur Penn)

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TUESDAY- A Funny Kind Of Love

Harold and Maude
(Hal Ashby)

In A Lonely Place
(Nicholas Ray)

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WEDNESDAY - Lone Wolves

Point Blank

(John Boorman)

Le Samourai
(Jean-Pierre Melville)

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THURSDAY - 'It's A Shit Business'
(Note: It occurs to me that you would had to have seen the UK TV series 'The League of Gentlemen' to get the reference)

Gimme Shelter
(Albert/David Maysles and Charlotte Zwerin)

Slade in Flame

(Richard Loncraine)

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FRIDAY - Cry Yourself Blind

Ikiru
(Akira Kurosawa)

Sansho Dayu
(Kenji Mizoguchi)

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SATURDAY - The Media. Boo! Hiss!

Sweet Smell of Success
(Alexander Mackendrick)

Newtork
(Sidney Lumet)

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SUNDAY TRIPLE BILL - What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Rififi
(Jules Dassin)

The Killing
(Stanley Kubrick)

Reservoir Dogs
(Quentin Tarantino)

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Films I Can't Live Without - 1# The Killing (Stanley Kubrick, 1956)

2011-07-28T14:24:00.001+01:00

Welcome to the first film in my new ongoing series 'Films I Can't Live Without', this is simply a pure love exercise and each film in the series will be dissected, pawed over and discussed over several posts, so may I introduce my first choice: The Killing.

The Killing is noted for being the real start to Kubrick's career, at the tender age of 27, the first picture where the auteur came to the fore and his fastidious but protective nature are blueprinted and interwoven into the very fabric of the film. Written by Kubrick and Jim Thompson, adapted from Lionel White's 'Clean Break', The Killing centres around a race track heist that though planned and executed with pinpoint precision, human frailty and greed rears it's ugly head and the results are disastrous for all involved. Told through a innovative non-linear narrative device, a highly influential one at that for modern filmmakers, along with a complex editing structure that darts back and forth in time, Kubrick's paws are all over this hard boiled egg from the off.

With a eclectic and astutely assembled cast, more on the wonders of Sterling Hayden in a later post, we follow each character's role in the planned heist, chopping and changing between the time-lines. As a gruff voiced narrator keeps a firm eye on the clock, informing the audience of where and when these events occur, motives are made clear and desires unravel, treachery and greed raise their little head and the viewer is left with sweaty palms and shortness of breathe as characters converge and ultimately cancel each other out.

Kubrick summed up the allure of such a devise when he conceived an audience's preconvictions of watching a crime film:

'In a crime film, it is almost like a bullfight; it has ritual and a pattern which lays down that the criminal is not going to make it, so that, while you can suspend your knowledge of this for a while, sitting way back in your mind this little awareness knows and prepares you for the fact that he is not going to succeed. That type of ending is easier to accept.' Stanley Kubrick, 1960

Indeed The Killing works like an orchestration, a bullfight but more appropriately a game of chess with the pieces in place the narrative structure plays out like set moves; pawn takes knight, knight takes queen and so on, until the inevitable deadlock and the final move, check mate. In my next few posts I will be spelling out my love for The Killing, from it's cast: yes I will be getting to Sterling Hayden, to key scenes, from the man at the helm to it's unique storytelling structure, all of which I hope will convey and help to understand why I find this one of the most exciting films of the 50's.

Playing Catch Up - Best Films of 2009: #48 Home

2011-07-12T16:09:00.004+01:00

In this ongoing series, I continue my countdown of the best films released in UK Cinemas in 2009.

#48 - Home (Ursula Meier)

Home is where the heart is

It doesn't matter how much Isabelle Huppert and Olivier Gourmet smile, play games, frolic and generally enjoy, love, their idyll dwelling surrounded by a doting family, you know by their sheer presence that the whole thing is doomed (if you're not sure what I'm talking about then just check their back catalogue, especially the films of Michel Haneke). The veneer here is Ursula Meier's (with her debut feature, if you discount a previous TV film) intriguing, bizarre yet engrossing fable on the intrusion of modern life from noise pollution, the rat race and the go faster, faster, faster mentality of present day living. It seems that no matter where you go, to what ends you take the modern world will find you, engulf you, surround you and ultimately you either join it or let it swallow you up.

Living next to an abandoned motorway, a folly of a project some 10 years earlier that now stretches on for miles, closed to all traffic either end, Marthe (Huppert), Martin (Gourmet) and their three children Judith (Adelaode Leroux), Marion (Madeleine Budd) and Julien (Kacey Mottet Klein) may as well live on the surface of the moon for such as the isolation of their present day lives. As the film begins we join the family playing street hockey on the empty stretch, the tone is jocular, this is a happy united family unit, their lives are as they have strived them to be, the accumulation of planning and dreams. Their possessions, an armchair, a paddling pool, a sunbed, lay strewn out on the road for this is their land (I particularly love the idea of a satellite dish being attached to a crash barrier); one government's abandoned project is another man's ideal home so it seems.

Yet, unsurprisingly, this ideal does not last for long and the happiness the family once bathed in; the solitude and peace, the irony of the children having to walk to another road to get the school bus for instance, is quickly taken away when the government announces the road, albeit belatedly, finally open. Meier ratchets up the tension, effectively contrasting from child, Julien who views the whole thing as some sort of adventure to that of his parent's point of view about the oncoming construction team slowly making their way down the motorway, tarring the road as the go, emotionless, detached, removing their possessions from the road and putting the crash barrier back in place, sealing them off from their own land. The slow intrusion abates, white lines mark the road, the territory is no longer theirs as they stare hopelessly on the horizon as the hordes embark to pollute and populate their once golden garden.

Those horizons and landscapes are caught mesmerisingly by Agnes Godard (Claire Denis' go to cinematographer for films such as Beau travail and 35 Shots of Rum) and adds to give scope to the world we find ourselves in; the sense of another space, detached from the trappings of modern life yet surrounded in its familiar furnishings; I never knew the beauty of an empty endless motorway before Home. A flickering, belligerent, hope that the road will not open slowly evaporates as vehicles start to teem down the motorway, at first in dribs and drabs before finally an onslaught, a cacophony crashes into their lives and uproots everything they held dear. Godard's vistas, once empty and pristine, now populate whizzing cars, lorries and buses; in one captivating scene the traffic comes to a standstill and the ensuing masses populate their family life as they disembark their vehicles; a literal invasion. To escape the constant gaze of their invaders the family decide 'to go out' and Godard captures the true horror of their lives as they cross the jammed road, through the masses and the traffic as they try to find some semblance of before.

The invasion takes it's toll and the modern world traps our family, the tiny cracks in their domestic bliss manifest and fester, uncovering what lay beneath; heightened by the surreal circumstances they now find themselves in and ending in a desperate bid to keep the family together, away from the hordes. There is a distinct call of 'join us, join us' at the heart of Home, a call to conformity and Judith the eldest daughter, prone to doing her own thing for so long throughout, such as sunbathing by the open road whilst the cars race by, soon tires of being the outsider before succumbing, leaving the family unit to mingle with the 'progressive world.' The viewer is not asked to judge her decision, or that of those that stay behind, more acknowledge its existence and the limited choices we face as a society when it comes to branching out on our own. For what other choice do our family have? They found paradise albeit temporarily, only for it to be taken from them by progress and the machine, nature can only hold out so long before succumbing to the world of tomorrow.

Delishously surreal and exuding in confidence, Home is a bit of a treat for those looking for something different in our increasingly homogenised film landscape. Director, Ursula Meier, is another great hope looming on the horizon for both French and World cinema, expect her name to keep cropping up in the years to come.

#49 Frozen River (Courtney Hunt)

The Maid

2011-06-11T17:58:00.006+01:00

The Maid (Sebastian Silva, 2009)

A current theme running through much of contemporary South American cinema is the distinct class factor of them and us, of those that have and those that have not in a very class conscious continent. Lucretia Martel's haunting 'The Headless Women' and Jorge Michel Grau's satirical horror debut 'We Are What We Are' for example highlight the almost invisible underclass struggling in these growing economies, whilst Silva's The Maid takes a different approach on the same issue, focusing the attention on the repressed figure of Raquel, a live in maid to an upper middle class family in Chile.

Striking as it is to western audiences to note the house servant culture that still dominates in South America, Silva picks up the mantle from Luis Bunuel's Mexican films (Viridiana, The Exterminating Angel for example) and captures the inevitable problems that arise when one is in service of another under the same roof; in this case a live-in maid and the same family she has served, help raise, cook and cleaned for over the past 20 years, how they strive to live together and the crushing psychological affects such an arrangement can entail.

The tone is set from the very first scene beginning with Raquel's birthday for which, at the request of the families children, a muted and awkward surprise party is thrown in her honour. It makes for squirm worthy watching, presents are given, awkwardness abounds (who cleans up after a maid's birthday?) and formalities are still kept in this all too uncomfortable scene. All which makes The Maid sound like some sort of gritty social-realist diatribe about the oppressor and the oppressed which could not be farther from Silva's gentle character study and subtle interplay of hand gestures, muted emotions and repressed feelings. Raquel (wonderfully played by Catalina Saavedra, who incidentally has made a living of playing maids in film and television in her homeland) from the first moment we meet her; eyeballing the audience, in a scene from the film poster above, with a look that conveys her despair, confused and lost, represents a soul squandered and an identity in deep crisis. Her very character is non-defined, she lives to serve the family and her proximity to their lives have stunted her own identity, cringe worthy scene follows another as these boundaries are tested and explored, Raquel in denying herself her true self starts to feel the burden and makes herself ill.

In essence The Maid acts like a psychological thriller, Raquel becomes so obsessed by her standing in the household, seen by the family that employs her as some sort of distant relative that she starts to act out, in turn both needy yet resentful, making enemies with the eldest daughter, losing her temper and fighting everyone on all fronts as her surroundings become all the more confusing and oppressive. Meanwhile her employers, all too confused themselves at this predicament, try to placate the irritated Raquel by tiptoeing around her, naturally this highly strung ordeal brings about her illness and bound to her bed under doctor orders the family decide that the load is too heavy for Raquel and suggest extra help, a situation that sends her into manic overload.

Raquel is a woman missing in action and in Silva's decision to film her on handheld camera, following as she goes about her daily work, allows the audience to share her claustrophobia, to dwindle in the monochrome and beige surroundings, doing the same thing day in, day out. Her fixture in the household, sometimes off frame, as conversations and action happen elsewhere, signify her standing in the family home as she remains awkward and ill at ease, neither taking up space either physically or spiritually. The camera allows us to access the tragic figure and her fits between rage, pettiness and indifference, we watch it all unravel in the daily grind and start to understand those sorrowful facial expressions in all their agonised glory.

The Maid changes tone (from psychological thriller to black to comedy and back again) by keeping Raquel, during the first part of the film at least, in a state of panicked malevolence, an impulse of nerves and worry that makes her act territorial and offensive (the best form of defence) to the new additions of the household The other maids, the home helps are seen as foreign invaders hellbent on taking her family away from her and in a series of deep black comedy are slowly driven mad by Raquel's incessant meddling behind the scenes. The whole arrangement is a recipe for disaster and the family grow tired of her games, yet they are stuck in the very same game of quasi-family, as well as trying to be modern, liberal minded and fair, and have no idea of how to deal with the situation. Salvation however emerges in the guise of the latest addition to the maid roster, Lucy (Mariana Loyola) who simply holds out her hands, embraces the wreck Raquel, after attempting the same petty tactics she successfully used before, and asks 'how did they do this to you?'

In Saavedra's Raquel, Silva feels rest assured in exploring deeper facets of Raquel's character in the film's final third, which as they unravel bridges the gap with the viewer in understanding the hows and whys of Raquel's actions. Her shoulders lose their starch, a smile can be glimpsed and the warmth of Lucy's family, who unlike Raquel still holds on to those strong ties, start to chip away at the faux personality moulded by years of servitude. It's in these moments that Silva's work really packs the punch: family, identity, unity, Raquel has none of these left, abandoned by years of devotion to a pseudo family many miles away from her true roots. Watching Lucy's family in the throes of love, fun and laughter Raquel starts to realise all she has lost. It's what Silva believes his people have lost, what they are currently losing, whilst shackled to a life of servitude an identity has been quashed, slowly ebbed away, not only by the those that serve but to those that are served, in despite, as the case most certainly is in The Maid, of their intentions.

Quite suitably The Maid has won critical acclaim at festivals and with audiences worldwide and is nothing short of a triumph, Silva at the tender age of 30 has a lot to live up to after this subtle, cliche free and carefully handled film that could of so easily fallen into the dogmatic trap of message movie and I for one cannot wait to see what he delivers next. As for Catalania Seevdara, this is one of those performances that make the world sit up and take notice, much like Anamaria Marinca (4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days) a couple of years back and I would take it for granted that we will be seeing a lot more of her in the coming years. The Maid is certainly one of my top films of 2010, if such subjective things matter to you, and I advise all those that have placed The Maid on their 'must see' lists (or, heaven forbid, have yet to have added it) to put it at the very top, believe me that is where this little gem belongs.

Great Film. Terrible, terrible trailer. Do not judge by this trailer.....God, this is awful.

The Social Network

2011-04-27T21:03:00.002+01:00

The Social Network (David Fincher, 2010)

From the rapid fire beginning Sorkin's fingerprints are all over this tight knit, kinetic script. It practically oozes the quick wit, intelligence and ambition he showed time and again on the hit TV series The West Wing, from acid barbs to classic put downs, no line is left to chance and under the guise of Fincher's imposing, classic and bling, flash, wallop mise en scene, sepia tones, inferred pessimism and defined spaces; dripping with the atmosphere of status, back-stabbing and privilege, his dialogue is able to dazzle with a narrative that's as old as time itself; the betrayal of your best friend. However, The Social Network, is no Noam Chomsky diktat, 'old wine in new bottles', it's a living, breathing fresh take on a phenomenon that defines our generation, the birth of social networking, the rise of geek as power magnate and the way in which we live our very lives now. Not then. Not in the future. This is a film that defines us. How novel is that?

Yet, The Social Network works like a period piece set in 2003BF (Before Facebook), before our Internet addled lives, touch screen apps and i-pod dependence lifestyles kicked in and as such it's eye-opening to witness, to say the very least, the pace at which these things have changed. Taken from the source novel, The Accidental Billionaires by Ben Mezrich, The Social Network charts the rise of Facebook (or 'The Facebook' as it was known before a well needed re-brand) and all the reprisals, the allegations, legal rows and boardroom dramas that ensued over the invention of one most profitable Internet sites, games changers, life moulders, of all time. At most the synopsis of The Social Network looks dull - courtroom legal battles rarely make dazzling cinema time - yet this is Sorkin world and that just won't do, he finds his hook in the friendship of Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg, faultless as the bird nest haired automaton, driven by rejection and delusional self-importance) and Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield), their relationship and creation of Facebook, the inevitable lure of status, right up to the knife in the back and confrontations in the board rooms as they regurgitate their respective histories.

Before, however, there are the Harvard years and an opening scene so masterly executed that in one fail-safe swoop we have The Social Network spelled out to us as clinically as Zuckerberg's tact. As Zuckerberg sits in the bar, across the table sits his date for the evening, Erica (Rooney Mara), they throw, no that's not right, they volley words and sentences at such speed to each other it renders the like of His Girl Friday or Bringing Up Baby to the status of the silent era. It infamously took 99 takes to nail this scene to get the measure of Sorkin's words and Fincher's image to take shape from page to screen, with the aid of extreme editing and no doubt infinite patience on the behalf of everyone involved, this opening gambit plays out like a breakneck instant messaging board with social networking intensity. Zuckerberg's guard is down and you can imagine a keyboard in front of him as he says these things but the real world doesn't offer the barrier that a monitor does, no anonymity, it's here and it's real, Zuckerberg wasn't made for that.

Zuckerberg is never more open than in this scene, for all the triumphs and humiliations to follow, nothing leaves him as naked as this moment, his social ineptness, superior exterior and awkwardness betray him as he walks time and again into faux pas, insinuation and insults, quite unaware of how what he is saying is coming across; in the classical style of Sorkin's script this moment of rejection becomes Zuckerberg's sole raison d'etre, his focus point for the uber-success to follow but will forever scar him and also, up to a point, define him. A final insult towards Erica's education leaves him reeling as the slow realisation of what he's said may have caused offence, the look of dawning awareness shoots across his face and in putting out a hand he asks, is this real? From this refusal Zuckerberg, ignited by rejection and alcohol sets out the first Facebook prototype, after trashing Erica in his blog, he creates Facemash, a degrading, misogynistic site that allows guys to rate college girls against one another at the press of the button. All of this is neatly played to one of Fincher's ongoing juxtapositions, a motif device he constantly refers to; where young men of status and privilege are seen paying young women to strip (to the wonderful score by Trent Reznor), it seems money may open doors but it's totally devoid of any class.

With Fincher at the helm, The Social Network feels classic, played straight and crisp with neat lines devoid of acerbic and wild fanciful touches, everything is confined but allowed to breathe, everyone has their place and like a classic play, play their part on cue, on the dot and within their space. Though the subject matter is as modern as it gets, The Social Network is steeped in classic story-telling and Fincher matches this with a disciplined, stream-lined approach, shrouded in the same kind of haze that engulfed his previous films 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' and ' Zodiac', each scene is measured to exude the exact emotion, ambition and cold animosity projected by the script and it's players. It takes a tactician to film another tactician this intuitively and Fincher executes Sorkin's intelligent script with adroit panache and high technical skill, Zuckerberg doesn't grow, as with the usual bio-pic, there are no redeeming features, no facet of personality we can put hope in, he remains unengaged, anonymous, much like a mutual friend of a friend, and Fincher never once, much to his credit, makes us feel any differently towards him.

Zuckerberg, in securing financial backing from his friend Eduardo and successfully delaying his involvement in the Winklevoss twins (both brilliantly played as the 'All American' Harvard alpha males by Armie Hammer in extraordinary CGI wizardry) rather timid site idea 'The Harvard Connection', sets to work on the website that will make his fortune, if not many friends in the process. Eduardo's ease with people and with his money leaves a bitter taste with Zuckerberg, who resents those who he deems privileged and have an easy ride in life; he also finds the Winklevoss twins condescending and not worthy of his talents, when in fact it's his own inferiority complex mixed with a desperate need to be accepted by the cool kids that fuel his anger. Add to this mix the smooth Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake), inventor of Napster and something of an idol to the inspiring Zuckerberg; who will turn to Parker in favour of Eduardo and infamously cut him out of the deal, and you have the full rostrum of players and victims that tore ground anew.

Despite this being a film based around the creation of multibillion dollar business, The Social Network is never about the money, sure the Winklevoss twins and Eduardo want their share but The Social Network is commenting on more than the delusion of power, greed is good or loneliness at the top. At the very heart is the need for acceptance, the wanting to fit in and be appreciated by your peers, Zuckerberg is that kid being picked last for sports, the geek that never gets the girl and the lonely boy sat at the back of the school bus. All Zuckerberg espouses for Facebook is for it to be cool, something he never could be and that ultimately he invents a key device for him to friend, or defriend, with as many people as he wants without ever having to socially interact with them, without the messy in person part. Zuckerberg is a brilliant creation, a modern concept of something gone wrong within the human spirit, unable to communicate with another person without the medium in between, how app we leave him staring once again at the screen, typing away for another evening, all by himself.

Playing Catch Up - Best Films of 2009: #49 Frozen River

2011-04-19T17:25:00.004+01:00

In this ongoing series, I continue my countdown of the best films released in UK Cinemas in 2009.

#49 - Frozen River (Courtney Hunt)

For your consideration

Blue in collar and earnest in its portrayal of desperate people driven by economic hard times, you could be forgiven, if at times, you feel like you're watching a 70's American Indie complete with stonewashed skies, social fatigue and a bleakness that permeates throughout. That's not to say that Frozen River, Courtney Hunt's directorial debut (some 15 years in the making), is to be compared with the likes of Five Easy Pieces or Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore; it's a well made and executed low budget indie and, on the surface at least, it's a Sundance shoe-in, (where it won a Grand Jury Prize in 2008), however it does cover similar themes and issues that those 70's films stressed and captured, which suggests a cyclical pattern in American society now being caught by a new generation of film makers.

We follow the plight of Ray, played with understated panache by Melissa Leo, a stalwart television actress known for her star turn in Homicide: Life on the Streets, in a role that became her breakout moment, earning herself an Oscar nomination in the process, (fast forward several years later and another Oscar Nomination, for David O. Russell's 'The Fighter', bags an actual award, sending Leo's profile to superstardom), playing a mother coping against a plethora of troubles on the brink of Christmas. With a gambling addicted husband who's run off with the family savings, Ray is left to cope with two kids in a dingy trailer with mounting debts, a crappy part time job and the prospect of missing out on the families dream (and much needed) prefab house 'the double wide', Ray faces an unknown future with little money and escalating problems.

Enter Lila Littlewolf (Misty Upham), a Mohawk living on the Mohawk reservation, situated on a border crossing between New York and Quebec, also living a stark hand to mouth existence in the rough terrain, sleeping in a trailer that seems to be falling apart. In Ray's attempt to find her husband, she witnesses Lila stealing the family car and gives chase, in a confrontation at Lila's trailer she is tricked into helping her by being told that she could get a good price for the vehicle. It's the beginning a mutual relationship borne out of need and desperation, Lila in fact needs a car with a trunk (something she is banned on purchasing by the Mohawk council, which indicates that she's being doing this for some time and the power and influence the Mohawk's have over their own people) and dupes Ray into people smuggling across the huge St Lawrence river, frozen with thick ice, that acts as a border between the two countries.

It's the cold reality that these scenes are played which truly resonate in Frozen River, alongside the scenes on the inner workings of the Mohawk council, there is no room for moralising or debate within in these moments, Ray and Lila act, get paid and deliver the goods. On asking why some of the people she's smuggling in the car trunk have had their shoes removed, Ray is told that it's to stop them running off before they've paid their owners back for the smuggling fee, often a ludicrously high figure that most people would struggle to see in their life time, Ray seems to ponder this news before shrugging it off, it's of no real concern to her, morals won't bring in the money. Courtney Hunt's protagonists stare starkly into their respective broken lives (Lila is a widow and her only child is in the care of her in-laws who deem her responsible for the death of their son) amidst an overwhelming credit crunch, poor job prospects surrounded by harsh terrain which in turn drive them to extraordinary circumstances in order to fend off the inevitable, there is no room to question how money is made here.

Frozen River is a film of austerity with measured words and actions, short term goals such as your next meal, feeding your kids, making rent and ensuring all around you doesn't collapse at any possible moment become all encompassing and immediate; welcome to the America of 2008 for many people in Ray and Lila's position. Even the shots of the sparse and barren land are frugal, nothing is ever given away and we don't bask in the beautiful frozen lake either, this isn't something to admire and breathe in, Frozen River at every turn wants us to feel the smallness of life. From human smuggling, to despondent bosses (Ray's boss doesn't see Ray as a long termer, a reason he gives not to promote her despite working in the job for two years), gun toting gangsters and surly in-laws, the prevailing mode is one of pragmatism and all told with a minimum of emotion. It's only the ending which betrays the otherwise stoic stance, a veer to the melodramatic in a move that still has its finger set firmly on the side of cold logic.

So, a timely film and one of the first to show the current suffering in times of the credit crunch with its stranded and divided populous; Lila often refers to Ray as 'white woman' and knows of her worth if it happens to be Ray driving the car and not some 'Mohawk' when they pass a police car, taking whatever means they can to ensure they're not left behind. It's a film about skating on thin ice, hardened emotions, tough lives; you can feel the dirt under Melissa Leo's fingernails and could easily lie in one of her drooping eyelids, yet there is hope in making whatever connection you can with fellow sufferers. It's also a thriller and at times it's fist clenching, a night time job across the ice exposes some of the latent racism underpinning this part of the world, a bag belonging to a Pakistani couple may contain a bomb according to Ray, yet the contents are as far removed from explosive material as can be.

There may well be contrivance in the film's ending scenes, not to say some gaping plot holes, but it's far from a totally happy one, there's a real kinship between Ray and Lila and the audience come to care deeply about their respective lives and tribulations. All in all this is a fine directorial debut, one that leaves you waiting for Courtney Hunt's next venture, which stays well long in the memory, not only for Melissa Leo's near silent tour de force, her assertiveness never fully masking her quiet desperation, (of course she should have won but it was the year of the Winslet after all) but for refusing to axe grind any political grievances or to sentimentalise the predicaments of Ray and Lila. That's not something you can say about all Sundance Grand Prize Jury winners.

#48 Home (Ursula Meier) #50 Public Enemies (Michael Mann)

Stray Dog: A Country in Mourning

2011-04-11T21:33:00.000+01:00

This is a contribution to the Japanese Cinema Blogathon hosted by the cool guys at Cinematon! Cinematon!, who along with others in the blogsphere are celebrating Japan's contribution to the world of cinema. Please feel free to contribute to the week long celebration and share your favourite moments, directors and films from Japan and help to spread aid relief with every post for a country in need of global support.

(Akira Kurosawa, 1949)

The effects of an evident hangover subtly plays out in the background during Kurosawa's, detective procedural and noir styled, Stray Dog; a year before the international success of Rashomon (1950) and like the elephant in the room it's routinely ignored, best avoided and not to be mentioned, yet inevitably, can't help but to manifest, infect and permeate everything in comes in contact with. Kurosawa taps into a country's collective guilt, the consequences and moral questioning of its role in the Second World War, and where it turns now in the years of depression, occupation and shame without ever fully implying so. It takes 50 minutes for the word 'war' even to be muttered but ever since that unsettling close up of the craze-eyed dog, left out to boil in the mid-day sun, from the opening moments of the credit sequence, we've felt it's presence keenly, as if it never needed saying.

Set in the heaving metropolis of Tokyo in post-war Japan, rife with inner-city crime, a disaffected populous seeking solace in sake and cheap cabaret shows, jaded policemen and poverty, Stray Dog formally plays out like a police procedural drama playing with a film noir template. Murakami (Toshiro Mifune) plays the rookie cop who becomes victim to a pickpocket that easily steals his gun on a packed bus, ladened with shame and bound by the sense of honour so prevalent in Japanese culture, on top of his overwhelming guilt that still hangs heavy from his years of soldering, he offers his resignation which is swiftly refused by his bosses. Given this second chance he is teamed with Sato (Takashi Shimura, another Kurosawa regular) an older and wiser detective, in order to track down his missing gun which is now linked with a shooting of a young woman, sending Murakami into a frantic hunt weighed down by his own failings, history and guilt.

In trying to locate the gun, Murakami and Sato take a tour through the desperate social conditions of the country and the people that revel or sink in its murky waters. It's scenes, such as Murakami's montage through the black market that take Stray Dog to another level, not always reached by the generic film noir of the day, in which he brings the realities of this land into stark, bold focus rather than navel gazing at a rogues gallery of assorted low life, we get to feel that hardship on our back. Early into their investigation, a name is attached to the shooting, a young man by the name of Yusa, dressed in a white linen suit, an ex-soldier from the war who had his identity stolen from him (his knapsack) on his return; it soon becomes apparent that Murakami could easily have been this man, his doppelganger, his alternative self, if life had treated him differently.

The war hangs on Murakami like a bad smell, his face (as always) a grimace, a fixture of torment and anxiety, never lets up and rarely can he look you in the eye without turning away riddled with guilt and shame. He's been fighting those demons daily and not sure if he's winning the battle, there's a vague notion that he turned to police work in order to battle those thoughts, after admitting that, at his lowest ebb, when he too had his knapsack stolen, 'thinking I was at a dangerous point, I chose this work (policing)' rather than following the road of Yusa on the easier one of criminality. Or maybe he simply didn't want to be on the losing side again. He's one of the nation's stray dogs, fortunately bound by character and morality, Yusa, like the dog in the opening titles has slowly been driven mad by the elements, by nature, by society. Half-baked.

The palatable heat of Stray Dog knits the film together, suture like, with a tense, claustrophobic edge, its noir credentials safely entwined in the world of the bustling, underclass cityscape. The city is coated in a constant layer of sweat, the humidity bringing a lot of the action to a standstill, protagonists having to fan themselves or devour ice lollies in-between sentences. Hot on the heels of their man, the closer, the more oppressive it becomes, clothes hang heavy, brows drip with sweat until finally they are within yards of him and the heavens open with a deluge of rain. It's a brilliant use of weather to measure the frustration of a brooding and angry nation, as well as raising suspense, a particular recurring theme that one will come to see time and again in Kurosawa's work.

Weighing in with the humanity of neo-realism, Stray Dog , ultimately, strives for redemption, belief and a better future; the belief that one can make a go of life with application and hard work. Murakami and Yusa are separated by fate, the cop and the killer; ying and yang, Murakami understanding this predicament better than anyone, 'There are no bad people, only bad environment' he tells Sato, after they had witnessed Yusa's living conditions in the small outhouse of his sister's home, not that his elder colleague shares his viewpoint, one of the many differences that separate the elder and après guerreSato and Murakami's different understanding of the same person underlines this Japan, at this time, in crisis.

R.I.P Sidney Lumet (1924 - 2011)

2011-04-10T20:47:00.000+01:00

Here at By Kubrick's Beard we are saddened to learn of the news of the passing of Sidney Lumet and would like to take this moment to pay tribute to a very special director, writer and gentleman.

Quite simply there isn't much I can say except that the following clip, from the multi award winning and critically acclaimed Network, alerted me to Lumet's greatness when I first caught the film on late night television, purely by accident at a young age and well past my bed time.

So, baring in the mind the thousands of similar tribute across the globe right now, this is all I will say on this sad occasion and just let the following clip sum up my feelings for Lumet, for what he brought to the world of cinema, for the sheer joy he brought me and for helping nurture my love of celluloid; it seems like the right thing to do.

Thank you Mr. Lumet and may you rest in peace.

The Destructive Mrs Ibetolis

2011-03-30T11:15:00.000+01:00

In case you're wondering, no I haven't done another runner.

I'm waiting for a new router and am currently typing this at work.

You see, Mrs Ibetolis thought that by moving my previous router, albeit temporarily, she could rearrange a few things, however Mrs Ibetolis then forgot that said router had been moved and managed to walk into the cable, sending the router flying into a wall and thereby smashing it.

No router. No internet. No blogging. Unhappy Ibetolis. Apologetic Mrs Ibetolis.

I'll be back, hopefully this weekend, depending on when the router arrives. Catch you all soon.

Coming To A Cinema Nowhere Near Me - 18th March 11'

2011-03-20T23:14:00.122Z

After last weeks disappointing releases, this week oversees the release of a film by a considerable British talent, an old British stalwart, another past master whose glory days are far behind him and a Sundance winner from some years back that finally got a UK cinema release.

Submarine (Richard Ayoade)

Best known as Maurice Moss, the king of geekdom in the mighty British cult comedy 'The IT Crowd', Richard Ayoade's emergence as a burgeoning director will come as no surprise to those who have followed his wonderful music videos (Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Super Furry Animals being my particular favourites) and guest directing slots on the sitcoms he's best known to star in. What may surprise is the assurance, panache and skill he has brought to his debut feature and the praise that has followed since it's premiere at the Toronto Film Festival last year. I get a little too excited when a new British talent emerges, something that happens less and less with every passing year (McQueen, Ramsay Arnold and Barnard the exception) so let's hope that Ayoade is the real thing.

Route Irish (Ken Loach)

And speaking of 'the real thing', Ken Loach's dalliance with the light side, 2009's brilliant comedy drama Looking for Eric, seems to be over for the moment as we're back on familiar territory with his latest feature. 'Consciously political', as described by Observer film critic Philip French, Route Irish is Ken Loach's 'response to the war in Iraq', with the legendary director battling themes he's pursued on several occasions throughout his long career. Loach's films can be a mixed bag of hit and miss but they never fail to stimulate debate and as an old fan of his persistent rhetoric, I look forward to whatever the old master puts on the screen.

You Will Meet A Tall Dark Stranger (Woody Allen)

At some point, in the past couple of years, I have mentioned, more than once, that I will never, ever, as long as I so lived, watch another NEW Woody Allen film. Yet, I can't help myself, it's like the fascination you have with a car crash, you know what you're watching is awful but somehow you can't turn your head away from the ensuing carnage. However, there are moments when that Woody you loved, you adored, fleeting though it may be, shows flashes of the genius, of the man you once knew, it's there in the DNA and you hope and you pray that one day, that a spark of recognition, a moment of clarity will engulf him and the Woody of old will spark into life onto our screen. I know and you know it's not going to happen and this film isn't the one that you hoped it would be but....you never know.

Although, you really do.

Ballast (Lance Hammer)

Finally securing a release in the UK, Lance Hammer's 2008 feature film debut was met with critical acclaim and harboured the emergence of a promising new talent. Featured on many critics top 10 of the year, Ballast picked up several awards as it traveled the festival circuit over the course of the year but has had to wait a long time until it secured distribution over here, something I afraid I'm having to get used to. Why it has taken so long to get released I just don't know, considering some of the dross that finds distribution easily it beggars belief but I for one am glad that it's finally here.

So that's the lot for this week, is there anything on the horizon stateside I should keep an eye out for? Or, what should I expect from Ballast? Let me know.

Coming To A Cinema Nowhere Near Me - 11th March 11'

2011-03-11T17:45:00.000Z

After the buzz of the Oscars the good/bad movie ratio has certainly swung back in the favour of the bad, with that said there is at least one UK cinema release that I am looking forward to.

Norwegian Wood (Tran Anh Hung)

The adaptation of the huge international best seller by Haruki Murakami, (possibly his most straight forward work compared to the likes of the The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle or Kafka on the Shore), by Tran Anh Hung has been met with a mixed bag of reviews, although all were knocked out by Ping Bin Lee's photography and Johnny Greenwood's score and to be honest, that will be enough for me, but the prospect of Hung meets Murakami is far too intriguing for me to ignore.

I've been looking forward to Norwegian Wood since it premiered at the Venice Film Festival in September 2010 and as a big fan of Murakami's work, I'm not so sure if I'll be at an advantage or disadvantage, I think this is one film I won't be able to wait for until it's released on DVD.

Well, that's the lot this week, hopefully things will pick up soon, however over the course of the next couple of months we have all these to look forward to, so there's always hope:

Submarine (Ayoade), Route Irish (K.Loach), Cave of Forgotten Dreams (Herzog), Oranges and Sunshine (J.Loach), Source Code (Jones), Meek's Cutoff (Reichardt), Sparrow (To), 13 Assassins (Mike), La Quattro Volte (Frammartino) and, hopefully at some point this year, The Tree of Life (Malick)

That's all for now, are there any future releases I've missed and should keep an eye out for?

Short Reel : Condemned (Oren Shai)

2011-03-09T18:39:00.002Z

At a mere 14 minutes, I guarantee that you would wish 'Condemned', the latest short from emerging talent Oren Shai, was longer. It's my only criticism of this brilliant little gem.

With an obvious cinema lovers eye, Condemned plays homage to 1950 melodrama, women in prison movies, spaghetti westerns, exploitation cinema (minus the exploitation) and noir paranoia , all with an unique stylish voice of its own. What is so unique is that none of it is played for cheap thrills, shock value or nodding approval, at the heart of Condemned lays a story about a female prisoner's vulnerability and fear; real or not and a patience of mood, tone and execution.

Prisoner #1031(Margaret Anne Florence) waits lonely in her dank, dingy cell in a sleep deprived insomniac daze, the voice in her head acting as narrative, allowing us into her paranoia now made more manic by the lack of rest. A prison guard, brilliantly played by Ashlee Atkinson taunts her pleas to see a doctor, her claims she'll be dead soon, that she's snitched and everyone is in on it; as paranoid as she sounds, atmosphere, lighting, cinematography and that wonderful Spaghetti Western like music tell you otherwise, prisoner #1031 may well be on borrowed time.

Enter Prisoner #1059, Laura (Aprella), a blonde bombshell, all teeth and as sweet as pie, her new cell mate, to stoke the fire of desperation further and to add to Prisoner #1031's growing paranoia. Who is #1059, her executioner? Her saviour? Her guardian? Just another prisoner? Keeping it simple, Condemned offers no easy answers, dialogue, due to the nature of Prisoner #1031's plight, is unreliable to say the least, our protagonist so far gone that she's hardly credible, the cinematography, atmospherics and set design are at contrast to Prisoner #1059's sweet nature and Prisoner #1031's reasoning to her cell mates motives. Who's to be trusted here?

It's a wonderful film of the moment made by a rare stylish talent that has the depth and real cinema knowledge to back up the technique, make no mistake Oren Shai is one to watch for the future. I look forward to tracking his career as it bounds along, which it surely will on the back of something as grounded, mature and unique as Condemned, which I'm pleased to announce, you can now watch the whole film below.

CONDEMNED from Oren Shai on Vimeo.

Whilst you're at it, be sure to check out Shai first short, Heavy Soul.

Another Year - Life's not always kind, is it?

2011-03-07T23:03:00.000Z

(Mike Leigh, 2010)

Ah, Another Year, if ever there were a title ripe for mocking it would be Mike Leigh's accomplished , intimate and craftily assembled drama about the slow movement of time, the disappointments, the assembly of those nearest and dearest, the aching chasm of life not turning out as you hoped and the relentless way every year folds into the next. The minutiae of everyday pointless chit-chat (the workings of a car engine, the weather, how the allotment is doing...) whilst drinking tea from a flask or around the family kitchen table; the lamentations about missed opportunities, dreams of new possibilities, the planning of holidays, the nostalgia of old photos, is of course Mike Leigh's bread and butter, the little things said/unsaid which carry more weight than at first glance.

It's this detail to the mundane that stoke the fire of his detractors, that mocking group who fail to grasp this attention to the little things, who will view Another Year as Another Mike Leigh film, which to do, I think, is to miss one of his quietest yet boldest films to date. To temper the pain, the loneliness, the quiet resentment for the life that fate has dealt, Another Year has at its nucleus a happy, solid and loving married couple in the guise of Tom (Jim Broadbent) and Gerri (Ruth Sheen); another of those thrown away witticisms that Leigh is want to do to juxtapose with the all too serious surroundings. With their home acting as a safe zone, Another Year has a grounded turf for which those encircling Tom and Gerri's contented lives, friends and family, who's lives are less self-assured, have somewhere to rest before walking out into that world again.

So far, so common territory for Mike Leigh; after all Leigh is not known for his wide departures form the themes and worlds he helps to create in workshops with his ensemble cast, but there is a grounding here, in character, in tone, in pacing that hasn't always been present and, (has it come with age?), Another Year is all the more bewitching for it. The sensation of the film sneaks up on you, from the oust we're given a haunting, tight-lipped, anxiety filled cameo from another Leigh stalwart, Imelda Staunton, playing out Another Year's key theme, that of middle aged depression - "on a scale of 1 to 10, how happy would say you are?" asks Gerri, in her role as a medical counsellor, "one" comes the curt reply. There is something uniquely Leigh about this scene, who else would decide to open a film thus?, and its bluntness sets the tone for this involving, intelligent and compassionate drama.

Of those surrounding the world Tom and Gerri is an array of characters in desperate need of something equating stability, guidance and compassion; there's a hope of whatever Tom and Gerri have got may just rub off on them. Amongst the gallery is Ken (Peter Wight) Tom's old friend from his childhood home of Hull, who's reliance on booze, food and cigarettes to numb his life seems certain to shorten it. Ronnie (David Bradley), Tom's older, now widowed brother, who's mute, lifeless presence speaks volumes for a life missing a heartbeat and then there's Mary in what turns out to be the films stand out performance by Lesley Manville, a tidal wave of a wreck, a guiding beacon for all those that make wrong decisions and take the wrong exits of the motorway of life. Add Joe (Oliver Maltman), Tom and Gerri's son, who seems to have inherited his dad's sarcastic relaxed look at the world, who doesn't worry his parents in the slightest that he's still not married at the turn of 30.

While the film chapters the seasons, each segment beginning with a laconic, well framed shot by cinematography Dick Pope over Tom and Gerri's beloved allotment, we observe this dynamic over the year, how it works, doesn't work, infests, feeds and collaborates, how lives are governed and relationships fostered by the choices we make or by the chances we ignore. Through Tom and Gerri's contentment we see how easy it is to find yourself on the other side, Mary's wild and out of control mania becomes Another Year's defining tragedy, hopelessly bounding from one mistake to the next; her infatuation with Tom and Gerri's son, Joe, in another misleading attempt to bound herself to the comforts of their world, leads to a scene so excruciatingly embarrassing that you'll be hard pressed to make it through the scene without gritting your teeth.

No scene better conflicts with Tom and Gerri's world than the funeral of Ronnie's late wife back in Lancashire, whereas Tom is assured, comfortable and alive with possibilities, Ronnie and that of his bitter son, Carl (Martin Savage) are dormant, stifled and estranged. Ronnie just stares as his son throws accusations and insinuations at him during the wake, it's left to Tom to fight back, Ronnie having given in years ago. It's a truly violent scene in terms of what has gone before, whilst at once being extremely moving; the masked tears in Ronnie's eyes, Tom's attempts to control and temper the situation, Gerri's insistence that there is plenty of food and the lack of people at the wake. It's one of those scenes that Leigh may have been inclined to have gone bigger in the past, (see Timothy Spall's outburst in Secret & Lies or Eddie Marsan's breakdown in Happy-Go-Lucky), here, in keeping with the film, it's grounded, controlled and any sort of resolution is quickly forgotten.

This is a new benchmark for Leigh, and let's admit it the benchmark was pretty high to begin with, Another Year is a small slice of a realised, observed world, better than he has done before. There are times in the past where caricature would overtake character, where shrill voices and diluted worlds didn't quite fit, Another Year feels casual in comparison with say Secret & Lies or All or Nothing, this is a restrained jewel from a director, at the tender age of 67, who seems to have crafted his most complete film yet.

So Another Mike Leigh film then? Oh, most definitely, and they try and make that sound like a bad thing.

Coming To A Cinema Nowhere Near Me - 4th Mar 11'

2011-03-05T13:41:00.002Z

A weekly rundown of the must see UK Cinema Releases

Archipelago (Joanna Hogg)

Again Joanna Hogg gives us a middle/upper class family holiday from hell which, just like her directorial debut Unrelated, has polarised critics and audiences alike in the UK. For the likes of Anthony Quinn in 'The Independent', Archipelago lacks bite, ' As a study in strangled English politesse this film has something to say; I only wish its voice carried a little more vigour' whilst for Peter Bradshaw of 'The Guardian', states that although ' It's a difficult watch and a difficult sell' Joanna Hogg's follow up feature 'is quietly outstanding.'

As a fan of Unrelated I can only state how much I'm looking forward to this and since I've waited 9 years for Lynne Ramsay to release another film ('We Need to Talk About Kevin' is slated for a September release), I'm just glad there's someone alongside Andrea Arnold to fly the flag for female British directors.

Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Eliot Spitzman (Alex Gibney)

I will purely watch this on the strength of Alex Gibney's previous documentaries 'Taxi to the Dark Side' and 'Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson'.

Client 9, as the subtitle suggests, centres on Eliot Spitzman, the New York State Governor who attempted to get tough with Wall Street 'fat cats' but was thwarted by own meteoric rise and belief that he was somehow impenetrable to scandal. Once Spitzman's sexual peccadilloes were exposed the enemies he made on the way up converged to take him down; a political hit or self-destruction? I can't wait to watch to find out.

That's two more films for the must see list, how about you? How about elsewhere in the world, anything coming to the UK across the channel that I should keep an eye out for?

Oscar Predictions 2011

2011-02-27T15:26:00.001Z

Here are my predictions for all the Oscar winners for tonight's 83rd Academy Awards ceremony, I'm going out on a limb with this one, my gut is telling me that The King's Speech won't make the clean sweep it's expected to make and the winners will be spread evenly throughout the night. I have to say, I have a pretty bad record when it comes to predictions and I'm hoping this year that will change but I'm not holding my breath.

Best Picture Nominees: Black Swan, The Fighter, Inception, The Kids Are All Right, The King's Speech, 127 Hours, Social Network, Toy Story 3, True Grit

Who will win: The Social Network

Who should win: The Social Network

Actor in a Leading Role Nominees: Javier Bardem (Biutiful), Jeff Bridges (True Grit), Jesse Eisenberg (The Social Network), Colin Firth (The King's Speech), James Franco (127 Hours)

Who will win: Colin Firth (The King's Speech)

Who should win: Javier Bardem (Biutiful)

Actress in a Leading Role Nominees Annette Benning (The Kids Are All Right), Nicole Kidman (Rabbit Hole), Jennifer Lawrence (Winter's Bone), Natalie Portman (Black Swan), Michelle Wiliams (Blue Valentine)

Who will win: Natalie Portman (Black Swan)

Who should win: Jennifer Lawrence (Winter's Bone)

Actor in a Supporting Role Nominees: Christian Bale (The Fighter), John Hawkes (Winter's Bone), Jeremy Renner (The Town), Mark Ruffolo (The Kids Are All Right), Geoffrey Rush (The King's Speech)

Who will win: Christian Bale (The Fighter)

Who should win: Geoffrey Rush (The King's Speech)

Actress in a Supporting Role Nominees: Amy Adams (The Fighter), Helena Bonham Carter (The King's Speech), Melissa Leo (The Fighter), Hailee Steinfeld (True Grit), Jacki Weaver (Animal Kingdom)

Who will win: Melissa Leo (The Fighter)

Who should win: Hailee Steinfeld (True Grit)

Directing Nominees: Darren Aronofsky (Black Swan), David O'Russell (The Fighter), Tom Hooper (The King's Speech) , David Fincher (The Social Network), Joel and Ethan Coen (True Grit)

Who will win: David Fincher (The Social Network)

Who should win: David Fincher (The Social Network)

And the rest:

Animated Feature Film: Toy Story 3
Art Direction: Inception
Cinematography: The King's Speech
Costume Design: Alice In Wonderland
Documentary Feature: Waste Land
Documentary Short Subject: Poster Girl
Film Editing: Black Swan
Foriegn Language Film: Biutiful
Makeup: The Way Back
Music (Original Score): The King's Speech
Music (Original Song): Toy Story 3
Short Film (Animated): Day & Night
Short Film (Live Action): The Confession
Sound Editing: Inception
Sound Mixing: The Social Network
Visual Effects: Inception
Writing (Adapted Screenplay): The Social Network
Writing (Original Screenplay): The King's Speech

Final Oscar Tally:

4 - The Social Network, The King's Speech
3 - Inception
2 - Toy Story 3, Black Swan, The Fighter
1 - The Confession, Day & Night, Poster Girl, Waste Land, The Way Back, Biutiful, Alice in Wonderland

Coming To A Cinema Nowhere Near Me 25th Feb 11'

2011-02-25T19:22:00.003Z

Now, what follows is a rather nerdy admission but one that is completely necessary for both myself, in order to keep on top of the numerous amount of films being released in the UK cinema week after week, and for the point of this post.

I use spreadsheets. There I've said it. Lots of them. I find out what films are being released, jot down the ones I want to watch, add them to my Lovefilm queue (that's if I can't see them at the cinema and believe me 90% of the time that has to be the case) and I feel like my world has order.

So, Friday is new film day and basically these are the latest films to be added to that ever expanding list. Have I mentioned how much I like lists? It's starting to become a worry.

Animal Kingdom (David Michod)

Winner of a Grand Jury prize at this years Sundance Film Festival, David Michod's debut feature about a dysfunctional crime family on the verge of imploding has me rather excited; Peter Bradshaw's 4 star review in the Guardian has only whetted my appetite:

It is a tense, violent and supremely watchable crime drama, set in the bluecollar-gangland of Melbourne and starring Guy Pearce and Ben Mendelsohn, reviving memories of Eric Bana in Chopper and Scott Roberts's Australian heist thriller The Hard Word.

Sounds like just my cup of tea.

Waste Land (Lucy Walker/Karen Harley/Joao Jardim)

This Oscar nominated documentary has recently been shrouded in controversy with questions being asked about who really directed the feature, check out this article at Salon for the full debacle.

It does sound a bit like Oscar fodder, An uplifting feature documentary highlighting the transformative power of art and the beauty of the human spirit...but hey, maybe that's what I need on a Sunday afternoon

Howl (Rob Epstein/Jeffrey Friedman)

Now, I admit, this one I wasn't so sure about for a long time until I relented and I just know I'm going to be disappointed. Howl, the poem that is, meant so much to me as a young, moody teen and I've probably got blinkers on when I read some of the negative comments coming out about this film...la la la not listening.

Ah, who knows, maybe I'll be surprised.

So, that's my lot this week. Anything coming out in your neighbourhood that you may venture out to watch?

Playing catch up - Best Films of 2009: #50 Public Enemies

2011-02-23T23:30:00.005Z

The first part in an ongoing series, my countdown of the best films released in UK Cinemas in 2009.

#50 - Public Enemies (Michael Mann)

'it was the golden age of bank robbery'.

The gangster movie, that bastion of the American film industry which came out of the silent era straight into the talkies, earmarking the golden era of Hollywood filmmaking. An era that as a young boy I was so innocently wrapped in, the myths it built and the players it starred; Jimmy Cagney, Humphrey Bogart, Edward G.Robinson and, Scarface himself, Paul Muni, to name but a few, what a dignified cheap thrill it all was. Tommy guns, cool cars, gangsters in hats with good looking molls on their arms, how was I to know as a young boy that what the studios were mythologising happened to be a very real and very violent chapter in America's deep depression?

Those 30's gangster flicks and the revisionist gangster filmmaking of the 60's and 70's, think Bonnie and Clyde (Arthur Penn) and The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola), have more than a baring on Public Enemies and how could they fail not to? The gangster film has an unique identity in Hollywood, up there with the Western, and to ignore comparisons or influences prove to be impossible. Michael Mann brings an ambivalence to the proceedings, a gangster film where there are no glorious deaths or martyrs, Johnny Depp's, playing John Dillinger, vacant face and haunted eyes are the polar opposite to that of Jimmy Cagney's larger than life villain. There's an inevitability in the way Dillinger walks, mumbles and postures, he's a dead man walking and the perpetual motion of Public Enemies, of John Dillinger, means that he's not sitting still and waiting for death to come to him.

Taking up the story from Dillinger's (Johnny Depp) infamous jail break from Indiana State Penitentiary in 1933, we follow Dillenger in the last year of his life, incorporating more bank robberies, violence and the slow disintegration of his gang and fellow outlaws by the newly enforced g-man conceived by J.Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup) and led by FBI agent Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale). Told in an almost vignette style we jump from bank robbery to shoot out to jail break, evading Purvis at every turn until Hoover realises that his new bureau, now a public laughing stock, need to enlist some actual experienced police officers if they're ever to catch Dillinger and co.

Public Enemies is a deliberately low key affair, the antithesis of the summer blockbuster and as a result won't win over many a floating audience, it does however rewards fans of Mann's work with the usual mix of the stylish and detached, of pop and art, of men versus the established order. Dillinger is the perfect Mann character for instance, his strict code of honour and life outside the mainstream kicking against those he feels repress his freedom hark back to any Mann protagonist (Tom Cruise in Collateral, Robert De Niro in Heat, Will Smith in Ali) who embody the world of men against men. Yet Depp doesn't register like those men who have gone before, neither does the man he's pinned against in the guise of Melvin Purvis, both men seem to move on regardless, Mann deliberately keeping them at arms length.

Despite the relentless constant motion of moving on, plus the use of cinematographer Dante Spinotti's digital camera, which gives Public Enemies its immediacy, a nowness that juxtaposes with the period setting and makes you feel as if sometimes you're just sitting in the corner of the room, Public Enemies stutters from time to time. Character seems like a second concern for all involved and this is probably the choice Mann had to make to get the feel for his film, however it confuses several passages in the film and infuriates in others; some characters are dropped in with next to no introduction and feels like a missed opportunity to establish a connection with these men, no matter how sparse. Dillinger's love interest, Billie Frechette (Marion Cotillard) is also given short shift, there is hardly time to establish a feeling between the two and it's only Elliot Goldenthal's luscious score that reminds us there's anything between them.

Mann's discipline to detail and structure are ultimately what makes Public Enemies satisfying, yet in being smitten by the period, the decor, the world (and what film of Mann's doesn't fully incorporate the world in which it inhabits?) he takes his eye of his players and though sounding, looking and playing the part we know nothing of their motivations or anything of how America related to these people in a depression hit land. Of course, this is probably the point and what does it matter why Dillinger became the man he did? Or how a thorough psychological background would help us to understand a time and place now alien to the vast majority? Mann has simply attempted to capture a place and time in America where farm boys who robbed banks were the stuff of celebrity, legend and folklore, nothing more.

#49 - Frozen River (Courtney Hunt)

Festival Update: Berlin hands Golden Lion to Iranian Drama

2011-02-21T13:00:00.011Z

Iranian director Asghar Farhadi picked up the Golden Bear at this years Berlin Festival for the film 'Nader and Simin, a Separation', charting the aftermath of a 15 year marriage. At his acceptance speech Farhadi paid tribute to Jafar Panahi, his jailed countryman who was due to sit at this years festival as part of the jury.

Other prizes such as Best Director went to Ulrich Kohler for 'Sleeping Sickness' which centres on a corrupt western aid programme in Africa and the Silver Bear, the runner up film, went to Hungarian stalwart Bela Tarr for his new film 'The Turin Horse' with the director claiming it to be his swansong.

for further reading on the highs and lows of Berlin try here

Ten for 2010 - so far

2011-02-19T12:08:00.002Z

I know it's a little late in the day for all this and I know it's February but hey, I've been out of the loop for a real long time so I hereby give myself permission to make this little list, ok? Good, that's settled then. Anyway, here are my picks of films released in the UK in 2010; note that due to my geographical disadvantage, cinema wise, I have missed several critically acclaimed films (see list at bottom of page for omissions) and therefore this list should be taken as it is intended: a work in progress.

So what was there in 2010 to love? Well amongst the sequels, vanity projects, debunked star vehicles, dour Hollywood 'product', whimsical introverted independents and some timid world cinema 2010 still offered us a bounty of cinema, enough I believe the keep the most jaded of cinephiles happy in the belief that the future of cinema is in good hands and is vital as much as it ever was. Anyway, that's quite enough from me, here are my 10 for 2010:

The Headless Woman (Lucrecia Martel)

Still Walking (Hirokazu Koreeda)

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall Past Lives (Apichatpong Weerasethakul)

White Material (Claire Denis)

A Prophet (Jacques Audiard)

24 City (Jia Zhange)

I Am Love (Luca Guadagnino)

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (Werner Herzog)

The Maid (Sebastian Silva)

The Ghost (Roman Polanski)

For the hell of it, here are my films ranked 11 - 20

11) Dogtooth (Yorgos Lanthimos)
12) The Killer Inside Me (Micheal Winterbottom)
13) Wild Grass (Alain Resnais)
14) Mother (Bong Joon-Ho)
15) Breathless (Yang Ik-Joon)
16) Lourdes (Jessica Hausner)
17) Double Take (Johan Grimonprez)
18) Samson and Delilah (Warwick Thornton)
19) Winter's Bone (Debra Granik)
20) Inception (Christopher Nolan)

Ommisions :
The Social Network (Fincher), Another Year (Leigh), Exit Through the Gift Shop (Banksy), Revanche (Spielmann), Vincere (Bellocchio), The Time That Remains (Suleiman), Ivul (Kotting), Gainsbourg (Sfar), The Illusionist (Chomet), I'm Still Here (Affleck), Enter The Void (Noe),
Police, Adjective (Porumboiu), The Arbor (Barnard), Carlos (Assayas), Monsters (Edwards),
The Kids Are Alright (Cholodenko), We Are What We Are (Grau), Of Gods and Men (Beauvois), Somewhere (Coppola)

The above films will probably change my official top 20 as I slowly catch up with the back log, I will keep a constant reminder of the ranking on my blog sidebar.

Stray Dog: A Country in Mourning

2011-02-17T00:01:00.000Z

Weighing in with the humanity of neo-realism, Stray Dog , ultimately, strives for redemption, belief and a better future; the belief that one can make a go of life with application and hard work. Murakami and Yusa are separated by fate, the cop and the killer; ying and yang, Murakami understanding this predicament better than anyone, 'There are no bad people, only bad environment' he tells Sato, after they had witnessed Yusa's living conditions in the small outhouse of his sister's home, not that his elder colleague shares his viewpoint, one of the many differences that separate the elder and après guerre generations. In an occupied country, striving to make sense of its identity, cultural heritage and psychological mindset, Sato and Murakami's different understanding of the same person underlines this Japan, at this time, in crisis.