The first 20 minutes of Zeitgeist: Addendum was a fairly interesting exposition of basic facts of contemporary economics: how money is related to debt. The rest of the film was at worst embarrassing and at best a series of obvious political statements ("we have to save this planet..."). The utopia conjured up by xx:s monotonous voice was a mix of technological engineering - that claims the obsoleteness of politics - and shallow mysticism ("we are all part of eveything"). The anti-religious message of the film was so embarrassing I had to bury my eyes in my hands for a moment. The film ends with a few glossy images ripped off The Matrix and bad ads (a businessman drops his suitcase and joins the Movement).
And then I have said nothing about the utopian possibilities inherent in maglev trains; trains propulsed by magnetism (the technological development of which the Movement people are involved) that will take you from Los Angeles to New York during a lunch break. As a documentary, the film is a total failure. Not only is it carelessly dropping a subject only to delve into the next, but it leans heavily on the dear old technique of treating the viewer as a full-blown idiot; when the word "sheep" is uttered in the film, let's show a sheep. Zeitgeist: Addendum provoked me in one single way: this movie is a mess.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Oleanna
Oleanna is based on a play written by David Mamet. The play premiered in 1992 and the film was released in 1994.
Oleanna might be flawed with shaky & stagey acting and heavy-handed dialogue, but besides that, it's a damn interesting film. An undergrad student sits with her professor in his office. The student asks questions. She claims not to have understood anything, not the course, not the professor's book; she is concerned about the grade she got/will get. The professor tries to explain. He is constantly interrupted by telephone calls. The discussion becomes more & more animated. They enter into a debate about the university as institution. That segment of the film ends with the professor's physical attempt to make the studen listen. In the next scene, we see them again, but now they are accusor/the accused. On behalf of an unnamed "group", she has initiated an investigation of possible sexual harrassment. His tenure position is then threatened.
I'm a little surprised to see that some reviewers understood this as being a film that wages a war against feminism. They would see the Professor as being a representative of Mamet's own views (that Oleanna is weak and "of questionable sexuality") and hold Oleanna to be an embodiment of Mamet's feminist ghosts. But I don't buy that. The Professor is depicted as self-indulgent, pompous and lacking insight into the power he holds. It does not seem to me that Mamet is interested in showing why Oleanna's accusation is outrageous, but rather, he shows the background of power dynamics locked at a standstill.
Mamet focuses on speech, and how speech is productive or non-productive. The two main characters, the Professor and the students, both become intermingled in institutional power. John is the man who gives grades and holds lectures - Carol is the person who files a seemingly off-target charge against John, supported by a "group". This seems not to be so much a film about sexual harrassment and feminism but rather a very cynical film about power struggles in which it is always unclear for whom a person is talking and what issues are at stake. The characters constantly complain that they don't "understand" - but it is always clear what understanding would be here.
Oleanna is also about our reactions; whose words are we to take seriously? What does the role of class, gender and position mean here? A bad interpretation of this is that we are asked to take "sides" and that this will depend on our gender etc:
"The most illuminating value of "Oleanna" is that it demonstrates so clearly how men and women can view the same events through entirely different prisms. With all the best will in the world, despite a real effort, I cannot see the professor as guilty. I see the student as a monstrous creature who masks her own inadequacies with a manufactured ideological attack; she is failing the course not because she is a bad student but because her teacher is a sexist pig."
Says Robert Ebert, critic. And I, with all the best will in the world, can't see how he sees only "a manufactured ideological attack".
Mamet's film is no masterpiece - not in the slightest - but the questions he raises here are important.
Oleanna might be flawed with shaky & stagey acting and heavy-handed dialogue, but besides that, it's a damn interesting film. An undergrad student sits with her professor in his office. The student asks questions. She claims not to have understood anything, not the course, not the professor's book; she is concerned about the grade she got/will get. The professor tries to explain. He is constantly interrupted by telephone calls. The discussion becomes more & more animated. They enter into a debate about the university as institution. That segment of the film ends with the professor's physical attempt to make the studen listen. In the next scene, we see them again, but now they are accusor/the accused. On behalf of an unnamed "group", she has initiated an investigation of possible sexual harrassment. His tenure position is then threatened.
I'm a little surprised to see that some reviewers understood this as being a film that wages a war against feminism. They would see the Professor as being a representative of Mamet's own views (that Oleanna is weak and "of questionable sexuality") and hold Oleanna to be an embodiment of Mamet's feminist ghosts. But I don't buy that. The Professor is depicted as self-indulgent, pompous and lacking insight into the power he holds. It does not seem to me that Mamet is interested in showing why Oleanna's accusation is outrageous, but rather, he shows the background of power dynamics locked at a standstill.
Mamet focuses on speech, and how speech is productive or non-productive. The two main characters, the Professor and the students, both become intermingled in institutional power. John is the man who gives grades and holds lectures - Carol is the person who files a seemingly off-target charge against John, supported by a "group". This seems not to be so much a film about sexual harrassment and feminism but rather a very cynical film about power struggles in which it is always unclear for whom a person is talking and what issues are at stake. The characters constantly complain that they don't "understand" - but it is always clear what understanding would be here.
Oleanna is also about our reactions; whose words are we to take seriously? What does the role of class, gender and position mean here? A bad interpretation of this is that we are asked to take "sides" and that this will depend on our gender etc:
"The most illuminating value of "Oleanna" is that it demonstrates so clearly how men and women can view the same events through entirely different prisms. With all the best will in the world, despite a real effort, I cannot see the professor as guilty. I see the student as a monstrous creature who masks her own inadequacies with a manufactured ideological attack; she is failing the course not because she is a bad student but because her teacher is a sexist pig."
Says Robert Ebert, critic. And I, with all the best will in the world, can't see how he sees only "a manufactured ideological attack".
Mamet's film is no masterpiece - not in the slightest - but the questions he raises here are important.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Address unknown (2001)
Kim Ki Duk's films are, I think, too interesting to be dismessed because of "gratuitous violence". But honestly, I'm not sure what his films do with me & whether I should watch them at all. You stare into the darkness & something stares back at you (a passage from Nietzsche that can be quoted in almost any context and still make sense). I am tempted to blurt the win-win relativist's "Well, it depends..." If not that, I'd be as tempted to say, "Sure, Address unknown was disturbing, but..." You haven't really said a lot about your reaction to a film by calling it "disturbing". The insertion of a "but" will always make sense.
Address unknown is a political film. Ki Duk grapples with US colonialism; commercial, and military. The film presents a village in which an American military base is settled. The year is 1970 and the Korea war still haunt the villagers' memories. The film dwells on a series of events that will eventually lead to bloody tragedy: a group of target practicing war veterans, an ex-veteran who is now engaged in killing dogs for their meat, a dog-loving girl is promised an eye operation by an American soldier, a boy who likes to watch. And there are several strands I haven't mentioned. From there, everything goes to hell.
The film captures an almost de-humanized world. Most people walk and talk as though they were human, but the film doesn't quite allow them to become anything beyond expressions of a sense of primordial fear and terror. There are almost no cracks in this world. It is totalitarian and the style of the film is very seamless in that way, too - very austere, very quiet, very short scenes intertwined with longer ones. That makes the film dangerously fascinating. A few days after the film, I still have a bad taste in my mouth.
The film explores several themes. One of them, obviously, is war & a militarized post-war dystopia. Another theme is watching & seeing. We are exposed to damaged eyes, restored eyes, secret peeping - as our own witnessing of the events become increasingly unbearable. A third theme is dogs. A fourth theme is the role of American culture (or dicks) in Korea.
Address unknown is a political film. Ki Duk grapples with US colonialism; commercial, and military. The film presents a village in which an American military base is settled. The year is 1970 and the Korea war still haunt the villagers' memories. The film dwells on a series of events that will eventually lead to bloody tragedy: a group of target practicing war veterans, an ex-veteran who is now engaged in killing dogs for their meat, a dog-loving girl is promised an eye operation by an American soldier, a boy who likes to watch. And there are several strands I haven't mentioned. From there, everything goes to hell.
The film captures an almost de-humanized world. Most people walk and talk as though they were human, but the film doesn't quite allow them to become anything beyond expressions of a sense of primordial fear and terror. There are almost no cracks in this world. It is totalitarian and the style of the film is very seamless in that way, too - very austere, very quiet, very short scenes intertwined with longer ones. That makes the film dangerously fascinating. A few days after the film, I still have a bad taste in my mouth.
The film explores several themes. One of them, obviously, is war & a militarized post-war dystopia. Another theme is watching & seeing. We are exposed to damaged eyes, restored eyes, secret peeping - as our own witnessing of the events become increasingly unbearable. A third theme is dogs. A fourth theme is the role of American culture (or dicks) in Korea.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Birdy (1984)
I expected Birdy to be the kind of movie I used to watch as a kid on late nights in front of the VCR; nostalgic & low-key movies about coming-of-age and how political & personal innocence went to hell for a boy or a girl in Mississippi at the time of the Vietnam war. It had some resemblance with that, true, but this is actually a film that challenges the notion that there is a state of the world we have to accept if we are to be eligible as full-blown "grown-ups". Al (a young Nicolas Cage) is a boy who takes an interest in the things that young boys are expected to take an interest in; fast cars, adventures, girls. He meets a strange young man who has a passion for birds. They become friends. Close friends. The story is told in flashbacks. Al was injured in the Vietnam war. Birdy, his friend, is locked up in a mental institution. That is where Al finds him, perching in bird-like position, refusing or unable to talk, becoming-bird.
That my thoughts were driven towards Deleuze & his conception of the subversive schizoid, human and animal and anything else at the same time, might actually not be such an over-interpretation as it first may seem. A psycho-analytic reading of Birdy - or a schizoanalytic one - is actually quite tempting in this case. Birdy is not going along with conventional life. He slips out of bourgeois fantasies about heterosexual love and family life. His parents and friends disapprove of the changes he undergoes.
Birdy is, in some sense, a film that shows compulsory heterosexuality in a light that is far from flattering. Birdy sits in his room, fiddling with his birds. His mom clamps into the room and tells him that a girl wants him to be her partner on the school ball. Defiantly, he says yes. He dances with her without much enthusiasm only to escape from the whole thing, greeting his janitor father who cleans a hallway ("those boys can't hold liquor"). The next frame is the classical, obligatory All-American mist & cars & romantic darkness. Doris and Birdy sit in a car. Doris knows that Birdy is not really interested in her, and she wants to thank him. Throwing off her bra, she suggests he can to her, "whatever he wants". But he doesn't.
The major theme of Birdy is fantasy and how that is related to escape. Birdy is not repressing his (almost erotic) fascination with birds. To the horror of the close ones, he lives his fantasy instead of, as they would have it, snapping out of the fantasy world. The beautiful thing with Birdy is that it allows for a very different image of what it may mean to be at odds with normal, suburban life. At first, I was worried that the bird allegory would lean too heavily on the F-word. And maybe it did, and maybe I should say that is too cheap. But for some reason, I won't. There was too much going on here for there to be a simple, propulsive idea of "freedom". Freedom from what, to what? The answers within the films are not easy
That this is a film that proves to be subversive even to the 21st century audience is suggested by a very strange reaction on film boards. When somebody asks why this film is labeled "gay interest", people responded very aggressively; "Al & Birdy were not gay! They were close friends! Brothers!" One of the things that make Birdy a special film is that it does nothing to live up to the ideas of what male friendship/love is supposed to be like.
Birdy is not a flawless film, but the more I think about it, the more I like it. But there is one feature of this movie that is absolutely unacceptable. The music. P-E-T-E-R G-A-B-R-I-E-L.
That my thoughts were driven towards Deleuze & his conception of the subversive schizoid, human and animal and anything else at the same time, might actually not be such an over-interpretation as it first may seem. A psycho-analytic reading of Birdy - or a schizoanalytic one - is actually quite tempting in this case. Birdy is not going along with conventional life. He slips out of bourgeois fantasies about heterosexual love and family life. His parents and friends disapprove of the changes he undergoes.
Birdy is, in some sense, a film that shows compulsory heterosexuality in a light that is far from flattering. Birdy sits in his room, fiddling with his birds. His mom clamps into the room and tells him that a girl wants him to be her partner on the school ball. Defiantly, he says yes. He dances with her without much enthusiasm only to escape from the whole thing, greeting his janitor father who cleans a hallway ("those boys can't hold liquor"). The next frame is the classical, obligatory All-American mist & cars & romantic darkness. Doris and Birdy sit in a car. Doris knows that Birdy is not really interested in her, and she wants to thank him. Throwing off her bra, she suggests he can to her, "whatever he wants". But he doesn't.
The major theme of Birdy is fantasy and how that is related to escape. Birdy is not repressing his (almost erotic) fascination with birds. To the horror of the close ones, he lives his fantasy instead of, as they would have it, snapping out of the fantasy world. The beautiful thing with Birdy is that it allows for a very different image of what it may mean to be at odds with normal, suburban life. At first, I was worried that the bird allegory would lean too heavily on the F-word. And maybe it did, and maybe I should say that is too cheap. But for some reason, I won't. There was too much going on here for there to be a simple, propulsive idea of "freedom". Freedom from what, to what? The answers within the films are not easy
That this is a film that proves to be subversive even to the 21st century audience is suggested by a very strange reaction on film boards. When somebody asks why this film is labeled "gay interest", people responded very aggressively; "Al & Birdy were not gay! They were close friends! Brothers!" One of the things that make Birdy a special film is that it does nothing to live up to the ideas of what male friendship/love is supposed to be like.
Birdy is not a flawless film, but the more I think about it, the more I like it. But there is one feature of this movie that is absolutely unacceptable. The music. P-E-T-E-R G-A-B-R-I-E-L.
Dodes'ka-den (1970)
Dodes'ka-den might not be Kurasawa's most famous film. The story features no samurais and it isn't the blueprint for an American Western movie either. Kurasawa is a good observer of modern Japan. The film is set in the slum. A young man ("the train fool") impersonates a train. A woman cheats on her husband. A poor man tells stories about luxury to his son while making him beg for food from the local restaurants. Two buddies indulge in after-work drinking binges to the nuissance of their wives. Dodes'ka-den was kurasawa's first color movie. And colors are actually one important element of what makes this film stand out. Depicting a landscape consisting of garbage and ash heap using vivid colors & naivistic drawings lends the film a flavor of cruel fairy-tale. This is, largely, a film about escapism & imagination. One might complain that some scenes (the one-dimensional drunken patriarch) are too schematic. But it is a rather likeable film all the same; just look how it takes time to ruminate on repetition, everyday routines & actions (the train impersonation, pouring of drinks, gossip).
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Isle (2000)
When starting to watch a Kim Ki-Duk film, it is very hard to predict what kind of movie one will see. Is it a drama film, a gruesome thriller, or a subversive horror movie? The same goes for The Isle. I suppose this movie is the horror movie Tarkovsky never made. Long shots / long takes / the tranquility of nature. Honestly - I am not sure what to say about The Isle. The contrast(s) achieved through very disturbing images set within a languid pace & a peaceful landscape is quite overwhelming in a sense that is hard to shrug off. The strange thing about it is that there are images of brutal physical cruelty that are filmed with a slightly evasive camera: we see something, but the camera does not linger, it pans away from the central action to focus on a patch of wooden floor or water. When the camera does linger, the effect is harsh, bordering on the unwatchable. Do I have one single conception about what Kim Ki-Duk is trying to tell us with this method? No. It does not seem like a metaphor for anything (becoming-dead-fish? the evil nature of females?), and if it were to be interpreted on that level - I would soon lose interest.
Oddly, even though this film does its best to provoke me into strong reactions - it is not entirely sucessful. That is because I am not sure to what I am supposed to react. I have a strong sense that lots of the violence showed here is placed within the story just because of the visual side of it. And what is Kim Ki-Duks relation to the visual?
Oddly, even though this film does its best to provoke me into strong reactions - it is not entirely sucessful. That is because I am not sure to what I am supposed to react. I have a strong sense that lots of the violence showed here is placed within the story just because of the visual side of it. And what is Kim Ki-Duks relation to the visual?
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Brief encounter (1945)
Brief encounter, directed by David Lean, is certainly not the most revolutionary film in the world; it is what one might call a subdued love story (or is it really a love story at all?). It's not melodrama exactly - it's too quiet and understated for that. The dialogue & style show an appropriate amount of restraint - in a very English manner the film keeps us at a certain distance, most of the storytelling taking place through voice-over. That is not unproblematic, but for all the problems about telling-not-showing, this is a good film that focuses on psychology, rather than story. The depiction of this unhappy story about a housewife's desire is interesting because it is open-ended; did Lean intend to craft a piece of social critique about the boring world of the house wife? - Very likely. How are we to describe Laura's feelings for the doctor, and what the heck was up with that guy anyway? It's a grown-up film about infidelity that opens up more questions than it provides answers for - what a relief. Not all scenes are believable but at some moments, the actors faces have a peculiar glow that makes this film feel relevant. Watching it is a lot like reading a Graham Greene novel. A very stylish film. I liked it.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Pierrot le fou (1965)
So - Pierrot le fou. Nothing in it surprises me. References to American culture - check. Blowing things up or shooting people (A GIRL AND A GUN!) - check. A man and a woman - check. Mort - check, check, check, check. Witty verfremdungseffekts - CHECK! Reminders to the viewer: this is a MOVIE - c-h-e-c-k.
A man and a woman (a dead body seen at the edge of a frame) and a few cars. Crime. Algerian gangsters. Philosophizing. "Don't call me Pierrot, my name is Ferdinand." Ferdinand & Marianne at play (vietnamese&american), on the beach, mulling over the essence of death and the essence of love. Falling out of love.
There were a couple of scenes which didn't irritate me as much as the rest. One of them was the scene in which Marianne & Ferdinand-I-am-called-Ferdinand sit in a car, talking pompously (as usual) while the streetlights are reflected on the windshield.
Arguably, this film is less sexist than, for example, Breathless. Godard toys with the notion of "a woman destroying a man" and the self-indulged intellectual - but also with images of unexpected violence that is not clearly gender-marked (the scene at the gas station).
My opinions on Godard might be too ardent. But really, I don't understand. What is supposed to be so great/subversive about this? Yes, there is innovation in how he uses off-screen dialogue, fragments, intertitles, self-mockery, chapters, colors, filters, pastiche, music - but all these things are employed in a shallow way, it seems to me. Godard makes some witty observations about film-as-experience, but I never feel deeply puzzled by his films, just, "awwright, he wants me to challenge the idea of fiction. Right-o." But Godard's "mastery of genres" leaves me cold.
Even though there are a few references to contemporary political events (mainly the Vietnam war) I fail to see how these references are to be understood (La Chinoise was more interesting, but only slightly so). The only thought that appears in my head while watching a Godard film is that gosh, this guy hates humanity. Sorry, but I can't for my life find anything interesting in that type of contempt.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Revue (2008)
A small boy is asked to recite a poem. In a dramatic voice, he recites a poem with a metaphoric message pointing towards the rottenness of capitalism. More questions are fired at the boy. What profession would he like to have? Would he like to study? Then: do you like to work? The boy stares in front of himself with a blank face and says nothing.
This is one amazing scene in Revue (2008), a compilation of Soviet propaganda movies. Most of the movies celebrate labor & technology. There are images of factories and machines, agriculture and railways. Interwoven with these themes are different forms of art; dancing, singing, poetry. The intimate connection between labor & art in this compilation of archive footage made me think of one point that some philosophers have made and been criticized for making: the development of community can be seen as a form of artistic work. Labor takes on a double meaning. Labor is not only the crafting of products but it is also the process of developing community. When watching Revue, the double meaning of work is very obvious: the images of hard labor (preferably manufacturing steel) and sophisticated technological innovations are supposed to be seen as the development of society, of a new Man. Community is thus understood as a form of (self-)production. This idea may have something to do with the idea that work is not only a concrete activity but also work as civilizing and domesticizing the world.
This is one amazing scene in Revue (2008), a compilation of Soviet propaganda movies. Most of the movies celebrate labor & technology. There are images of factories and machines, agriculture and railways. Interwoven with these themes are different forms of art; dancing, singing, poetry. The intimate connection between labor & art in this compilation of archive footage made me think of one point that some philosophers have made and been criticized for making: the development of community can be seen as a form of artistic work. Labor takes on a double meaning. Labor is not only the crafting of products but it is also the process of developing community. When watching Revue, the double meaning of work is very obvious: the images of hard labor (preferably manufacturing steel) and sophisticated technological innovations are supposed to be seen as the development of society, of a new Man. Community is thus understood as a form of (self-)production. This idea may have something to do with the idea that work is not only a concrete activity but also work as civilizing and domesticizing the world.
Friday, June 18, 2010
In the loop (2009)
If you liked the TV-series The thick of it, you'll probably appreciate In the loop, which is loosely based on that series. We're dealing with political satire that depicts the world of politics with a cynical, yet understanding, eye. This is not a film about a specific political issue - not even the war of Iraq which the politicians and bureaucrats portrayed in the film are making policies and statements about - but rather how bureaucracy and politics are linked within an endless loop of "policy-making" and committee-running. Actually, if you have seen the series or this film, the word "policy" is hard to say or see with a straight face. The style of In the loop is very similar to that of the series: a hectic cluster of scenes, hand-held camera, people rushing in & out of rooms, continuously firing off obscenities at each other.
The dark heart of the film is Malcolm Tucker, the PM:s Minister of Communication, whose armada of swearwords is seemingly endless. The story starts off when the Minister for International Development, Simon Foster, tells an interviewer that war is "unforseeable". The Minister, an insecure guy who hasn't grasped his place in the world (at one point, Malcolm calls him "a Nazi Julie Andrews" for having blurted out something about "climbing the mountain of conflict"), is sent off to Washington to gather information. Disaster, of course, ensues.
Arguably, this is not a film-film. It's more an extension of the series The thick of it. A harder question concerns what kind of humor the film trades in. How does it treat its cynism? Does my cynical stance become too comfortable? Well, I wouldn't say that. In the loop (and The thick of it) is a good satire of political language. In focusing on that, it stands out from other forms of satire.
In the loop is not a very original film. But it hell is funny one.
The dark heart of the film is Malcolm Tucker, the PM:s Minister of Communication, whose armada of swearwords is seemingly endless. The story starts off when the Minister for International Development, Simon Foster, tells an interviewer that war is "unforseeable". The Minister, an insecure guy who hasn't grasped his place in the world (at one point, Malcolm calls him "a Nazi Julie Andrews" for having blurted out something about "climbing the mountain of conflict"), is sent off to Washington to gather information. Disaster, of course, ensues.
Arguably, this is not a film-film. It's more an extension of the series The thick of it. A harder question concerns what kind of humor the film trades in. How does it treat its cynism? Does my cynical stance become too comfortable? Well, I wouldn't say that. In the loop (and The thick of it) is a good satire of political language. In focusing on that, it stands out from other forms of satire.
In the loop is not a very original film. But it hell is funny one.
Man tänker sitt (2009)
Farväl Falkenberg was a splendid film that captured a sense of sadness and nostalgia. Man tänker sitt, Henrik Hellström & Fredrik Wenzel's first feature film (they were part of the Falkenberg production & writing team), isn't as superb, but it sure is an original movie that gives you a lot to think about. It builds up a dreamy world of ugliness (a glowing Lidl sign, fences, well-pruned hedges) and as a contrast with that, raw nature.
Man tänker sitt has plenty of things in common with Falkenberg; gorgeous, almost sacral, music by Erik Enochsson, to mention one thing. But something went astray in the process. Thematically, the films are also very similar: Hellström & Wenzel take a sombre look at the enclosed life of suburbia, trying to formulate what lies beyond that kind of bourgeois setting. In both films, nature provides an escape (the English translation of the title: Burrowing). Open fields, lakes, forests conjure up another world, unbothered by neighbourly gazes and concerns. The civilization criticism of Man tänker sitt could even, with its explicit Thoreauan baggage, be said to have a romantic outlook on nature. And there my problems with this film begin. The characters' alienation from suburbia is, it seems to me, painted with too broad streaks. The dialogue & scene composition sometimes stray into the stereotypical. (I started to reflect on how authors & directors seem to have developed a special branch of the Swedish language to conjure up shallow small-talk.) On the level of ideas, the film is rather vague. What is it trying to say?
Still, there are lots of great scenes that work really well. In one scene, the camera seems to make a 360 degree movement around the boring surroundings consisting of family houses and fences - the effect is dazzling. The young boy's wanderings at the football field is another. That particular role is well acted (some other characters become a little too sketchy). The young actor has a peculiar presence. It is that actor's voice that provides the voice-over, quotes from Thoreau (I suppose) along with small observing comments about the community. The camera-work is mostly stunning and so is the music.
As another reviewer points out, Gummo and George Washington are apt points of reference. Tarkovsky, of course, is another.
Man tänker sitt has plenty of things in common with Falkenberg; gorgeous, almost sacral, music by Erik Enochsson, to mention one thing. But something went astray in the process. Thematically, the films are also very similar: Hellström & Wenzel take a sombre look at the enclosed life of suburbia, trying to formulate what lies beyond that kind of bourgeois setting. In both films, nature provides an escape (the English translation of the title: Burrowing). Open fields, lakes, forests conjure up another world, unbothered by neighbourly gazes and concerns. The civilization criticism of Man tänker sitt could even, with its explicit Thoreauan baggage, be said to have a romantic outlook on nature. And there my problems with this film begin. The characters' alienation from suburbia is, it seems to me, painted with too broad streaks. The dialogue & scene composition sometimes stray into the stereotypical. (I started to reflect on how authors & directors seem to have developed a special branch of the Swedish language to conjure up shallow small-talk.) On the level of ideas, the film is rather vague. What is it trying to say?
Still, there are lots of great scenes that work really well. In one scene, the camera seems to make a 360 degree movement around the boring surroundings consisting of family houses and fences - the effect is dazzling. The young boy's wanderings at the football field is another. That particular role is well acted (some other characters become a little too sketchy). The young actor has a peculiar presence. It is that actor's voice that provides the voice-over, quotes from Thoreau (I suppose) along with small observing comments about the community. The camera-work is mostly stunning and so is the music.
As another reviewer points out, Gummo and George Washington are apt points of reference. Tarkovsky, of course, is another.
Domino (2005)
I've watched too many Hungarian and French movies about the Existential Void so I dig out a VHS tape containing a trashy movie about .... the Existential Void. Tony Scott is the person responsible for the quasi-experimental action flick Domino. No, it wasn't good at all and yes, Tony Scott directed Top gun. Though it was an inanely directed, messy film the story of which was ridiculously overwrought, Domino was quite fun to watch because of its visual over-the-top, music-video stylized voluminousness. Sadly, the "edge" of the visuals has a slightly dated feel already a couple of years after the film was released. Scott works with extremely short takes (2-3 seconds per take), processed images & filters, plus lots of slow-motion and other visual tricks. For all its visual inventiveness, this is pure zero-brains entertainment and the whole thing comes off pretty ... cheap. Be prepared for lots of cheesy, unintentionally funny lines.
Keira Knightley plays a tough bounty hunter. In the film, her role is limited to a pretty face and cool clothes. Mickey Rourke plays her colleague and his role is to have a rugged face. God damned Ian Ziering plays a former Beverly hills 90210 star (which is quite fun). And I won't even start talking about the Tom Waits cameo... The main learning from this movie is that people from Afghanistan are skillful in the art of blowing things up. Here's how Ebert ended his review: "Seeking guidance in understanding the movie's manic narrative, I poked around online, and discovered in one review the explanation that the movie "totally challenges the bourgeois notion of the nuclear family." Oh."
Keira Knightley plays a tough bounty hunter. In the film, her role is limited to a pretty face and cool clothes. Mickey Rourke plays her colleague and his role is to have a rugged face. God damned Ian Ziering plays a former Beverly hills 90210 star (which is quite fun). And I won't even start talking about the Tom Waits cameo... The main learning from this movie is that people from Afghanistan are skillful in the art of blowing things up. Here's how Ebert ended his review: "Seeking guidance in understanding the movie's manic narrative, I poked around online, and discovered in one review the explanation that the movie "totally challenges the bourgeois notion of the nuclear family." Oh."
Fish tank (2009)
Fish tank, directed by Andrea Arnold, is gut-wrenchingly good. Arnold knows how to make mundane landscapes, urban rubble, come to life. And her film handles its character very well - complexity & sometimes ambiguity are not refused. In contrast with many contemporary directors, she is interested in the medium of film making; there is not one sloppy image of this film - and there is no scenes that is added in the film only for its "information value". Taking into account the main character's interest in dancing, the film itself, and the handheld camera that lends a peculiar energy to the images, is driven by a steady rhythm. Sometimes that energy reminds me of greasy, American movies from the 70's (like Dog day afternoon). The very first frame has an amazing surge.
Lots of film makers attempt to make films that explore the theme of coming-of-age. Most of these films are terrible failures. Arnold's film features some real insight into young people's lives & how young people talk. In that way, her film doesn't come off as a contrived attempt at "authenticity". It's a story about Mia, who is in her element only when street-dancing by herself, her working-class family, and the drunken mum's boyfriend with whom Mia is infatuated. Despite its bleak story, the film is not worn down by moralistic tendencies. It's not trying to be bleak (except, perhaps, during a couple of scenes towards the end which are somewhat less accomplished than the rest of the film - but still great) and it's not trying to rub a message into your face either.
What makes Fish tank such a good film is that it takes a real interest in the world inhabited by its characters; a shady trailer park, grey apartment blocks, a deserted apartment, dichotomous suburbia. As one theme of the film is a young person's passion for dancing, it is only natural that, to a great extent, the film revolves around space; how space is made, inhabited, deserted. But the awareness of space also make the film politically and artistically interesting. The tension of many scenes builds upon the clash of one type of space with another: interiors & exteriors, grey apartment blocks & a quiet lake, a quiet forest & domesticized suburbia. And freedom is nowhere to be found.
For this particular reason, it is impossible to place Arnold's film in the "human interest" box. It is not a human interest movie the purpose of which is to make the viewer "empathic". If people tell you it's a film about "dysfunctional families" you might be led to think it is. But you can just as well say it is a film about dysfunctional space. And, anyway, Fish tank has more in common with the fierce realism of Mike Leigh or Ken Loach than with the very American style displayed in a recent films such as Precious.
Lots of film makers attempt to make films that explore the theme of coming-of-age. Most of these films are terrible failures. Arnold's film features some real insight into young people's lives & how young people talk. In that way, her film doesn't come off as a contrived attempt at "authenticity". It's a story about Mia, who is in her element only when street-dancing by herself, her working-class family, and the drunken mum's boyfriend with whom Mia is infatuated. Despite its bleak story, the film is not worn down by moralistic tendencies. It's not trying to be bleak (except, perhaps, during a couple of scenes towards the end which are somewhat less accomplished than the rest of the film - but still great) and it's not trying to rub a message into your face either.
What makes Fish tank such a good film is that it takes a real interest in the world inhabited by its characters; a shady trailer park, grey apartment blocks, a deserted apartment, dichotomous suburbia. As one theme of the film is a young person's passion for dancing, it is only natural that, to a great extent, the film revolves around space; how space is made, inhabited, deserted. But the awareness of space also make the film politically and artistically interesting. The tension of many scenes builds upon the clash of one type of space with another: interiors & exteriors, grey apartment blocks & a quiet lake, a quiet forest & domesticized suburbia. And freedom is nowhere to be found.
For this particular reason, it is impossible to place Arnold's film in the "human interest" box. It is not a human interest movie the purpose of which is to make the viewer "empathic". If people tell you it's a film about "dysfunctional families" you might be led to think it is. But you can just as well say it is a film about dysfunctional space. And, anyway, Fish tank has more in common with the fierce realism of Mike Leigh or Ken Loach than with the very American style displayed in a recent films such as Precious.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
La peau douce (1964)
If it wasn't for the very last scene, I would have rated The soft skin very poorly. The last scene is redeeming, but it doesn't save the film from being yet another French new wave film that makes you despise humankind (that's so deep). Truffaut's movie might not have been as sexist as it initially appeared to be, but it does revolve a lot around the tired old schema of "war of the sexes" (trading in stereotypes & dichotomies). What I intend to say is just that Truffaut's film is a bloody mess when it comes to how he deals with gender.
You know what I think about Nouvelle Vague? I think it is overrated. I might change my mind someday, but right now - I am so fed up with sexist & self-indulgent movies directed by auteurs admired for their technical skills but mostly for their existential depth. (I managed to watch 20 minutes of Jules et Jim.)
Truffaut has some interesting things going on here. The treatment of sound is excellent - how some random sound (the rumbling of an aeroplane, for example) suddenly dominates the viewing experience and interrupts the story. The fascination with "modernity" works well, too. What about the genre-hopping? That works to some extent, too.
The story is nothing to write home about. Truffaut studies the psychology of adultery and a seedy affair that goes nowhere because the man, a succesful academic, is too reserved to be dragged along into a love affair and because the woman, a young stewardess, seems not to be attracted to this guy anyway. Poor Pierre.
You know what I think about Nouvelle Vague? I think it is overrated. I might change my mind someday, but right now - I am so fed up with sexist & self-indulgent movies directed by auteurs admired for their technical skills but mostly for their existential depth. (I managed to watch 20 minutes of Jules et Jim.)
Truffaut has some interesting things going on here. The treatment of sound is excellent - how some random sound (the rumbling of an aeroplane, for example) suddenly dominates the viewing experience and interrupts the story. The fascination with "modernity" works well, too. What about the genre-hopping? That works to some extent, too.
The story is nothing to write home about. Truffaut studies the psychology of adultery and a seedy affair that goes nowhere because the man, a succesful academic, is too reserved to be dragged along into a love affair and because the woman, a young stewardess, seems not to be attracted to this guy anyway. Poor Pierre.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Le couperet (2005)
Le couperet is yet one of those films to digest an interesting theme, but that tries too hard in satisfying the viewer's cravings for "interesting story". A middle-aged man loses his job at a paper manufacturing firm due to outsourcing. Embittered by being let down by his employer, he looks for a new position, but with no success. The world of work is no utopia and the man goes to some lenghts to secure his position: he kills off his competitors. As a critique of capitalism, Le couperet makes some good points, rediculing some elements of work that are usually glorified; "to be ambitious", to show that one "cares about finding a job". For the man, Bruno, work is everything. He explains that losing his job means losing the essence of himself - and even his family. There are a couple of scenes in the film in which the ruthlessness of modern work is displayed to a great effect. But mostly, Le couperet bores me with its attempt at being a "thriller" and "black comedy". Even when dealing in "critique", it tends to miss the mark by clinging to a scale of black & white.
Jose Garcia's blanked-faced acting is excellent, though.
But yes, I agree with the sinister message of Le couperet: capitalism does not create healthy ambition - it moulds its own character trait: psychopathy.
Jose Garcia's blanked-faced acting is excellent, though.
But yes, I agree with the sinister message of Le couperet: capitalism does not create healthy ambition - it moulds its own character trait: psychopathy.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Delta (2008)
Delta seems to be one of those films that is shown on a couple of film festivals and is subsequently sent off to mould in movie archives. Then again, Finnish TV showed it a few months ago. To my pleasure, because this is a quite good film.
The young director, Kornél Mundruczó, is mostly in charge of what s/he does here. It's an artistically successful movie: visually stunning, great scenery (the Danube delta), great work with colors, mostly unostentatious acting (but maybe not through-and-through convincing). Interestingly, Mundruczó is the person responsible for the horrendous Johanna, which I reviewed a while ago. Arguably, his work has an inclination towards the controversial. In Johanna, that proved to be a bad thing. With regards to Delta, I'm not sure what to say.
Mihail returns to the village where his mother, new boyfriend & half-sister lives. He has saved some money to build a house on the river delta on land owned by his late father. His sister goes to live with him and it turns out the bond between them is not limited to the Hegelian/Platonic purity of brother/sister relationship. There are some twists along the way and right from the start, I have a hunch something bad is bound to happen. There's a heavy feeling of tragic foreboding in these images, regardless of what they depict: beautiful landscapes, the peaceful ploddings of a turtle.
There are weaknesses in how the story unfolds & in how it is developed. Some scenes are ingeniously shot with long, swirling takes, but not complex enough in terms of content. But that doesn't bother me too much. It was an interesting film that managed to stick to its aesthetic ideas - even though it is clearly inspired by the great Béla Tarr, it didn't end up being intrusively derivative. Mundruszó doesn't play in Tarr's league with this film but the visual poetry it creates is still quite marvellous.
Some things bother me, though, and, as in Johanna, it concerns Mundruczó's interest in female sexuality. To some extent, he shows awareness of patriarchal society & the kind of repression and violence it exerts. But maybe the problem is that the elements of violence runs the risk of becoming a mere visual shock disrupting the languid pace of the film - that Mundruczó is more interested in scenery and people end up being mere dramatic prop? But that is not entirely true.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The man from London (2007)
I regard Béla Tarr as one of the most interesting contemporary directors. The 7 ½-hour long Sátántangó is a mysterious exploration of greed and decay - and so is the marvellous Werckmeister harmóniák. These themes are not discarded. In The man from London, he re-builds the world of gloom and shadows for which he is known. Somehow, it makes perfect sense that the present film, shot in dazzling monochrome, is a take on 40's film noir. The cynism and alienation is there, for sure, along with disquieting moments of fear and paranoia.
The story is of a familiar kind: a railroad worker called Maloin (with a standard noir-ish haggard face) witnesses a possible murder in an anonymous dock area. A briefcase is dropped into the water. Maloin retrieves the briefcase, in which there is money. Some time into the film, we find out that Maloin gains knowledge of who murdered the man, and that a detective (whose talks more slowly than any actor heard on film - ever) is looking into the case... But this would not be a Béla Tarr film if the story was the primary source of interest.
Once again, Tarr challenges his audience with long takes and stunning camera work. The scenes from Maloin's watch tower are simply stunning. The movement of the camera, the play with light and shadow, evoke a truly eerie atmosphere. The sudden moments of humor (mainly represented by nods to the noir genre) work to great effect. And the last 25 minutes of the film, which contains a longish take of the murderer's wife that (as my sister said) is on a par with a Carl Dreyer moment, ties the film together in a beautiful way. But there are some problems. Tilda Swinton is a great actor, but her character in this film is bizarre in the wrong way and does not work in the context. The rest of the actors (especially Ági Szirtes as Brown's wife) are very good. Another problem concerns the role of the images. In Tarr's other work, I have never felt that there was a gap between the meticulous composition of the images and the few strands of "story". His images encourage me to contemplate over what I see, what is it I see? But in A man from London, there is not the same sense of mystery or wonder, even though that is what he seems to aim at. The question "what did I see?" is posed differently, in a more conventional way. On some moments, the images lapse into being just ... stunning - in the desolated and dreadful way that has come to be the Tarr trademark. It's just that most images lack the depth of his previous work. Disappointed? Yes, maybe a little.
The story is of a familiar kind: a railroad worker called Maloin (with a standard noir-ish haggard face) witnesses a possible murder in an anonymous dock area. A briefcase is dropped into the water. Maloin retrieves the briefcase, in which there is money. Some time into the film, we find out that Maloin gains knowledge of who murdered the man, and that a detective (whose talks more slowly than any actor heard on film - ever) is looking into the case... But this would not be a Béla Tarr film if the story was the primary source of interest.
Once again, Tarr challenges his audience with long takes and stunning camera work. The scenes from Maloin's watch tower are simply stunning. The movement of the camera, the play with light and shadow, evoke a truly eerie atmosphere. The sudden moments of humor (mainly represented by nods to the noir genre) work to great effect. And the last 25 minutes of the film, which contains a longish take of the murderer's wife that (as my sister said) is on a par with a Carl Dreyer moment, ties the film together in a beautiful way. But there are some problems. Tilda Swinton is a great actor, but her character in this film is bizarre in the wrong way and does not work in the context. The rest of the actors (especially Ági Szirtes as Brown's wife) are very good. Another problem concerns the role of the images. In Tarr's other work, I have never felt that there was a gap between the meticulous composition of the images and the few strands of "story". His images encourage me to contemplate over what I see, what is it I see? But in A man from London, there is not the same sense of mystery or wonder, even though that is what he seems to aim at. The question "what did I see?" is posed differently, in a more conventional way. On some moments, the images lapse into being just ... stunning - in the desolated and dreadful way that has come to be the Tarr trademark. It's just that most images lack the depth of his previous work. Disappointed? Yes, maybe a little.
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