date watched: October 16, 2009 location: IMAX theater, Lincoln 13 AMC, NYC
I would be interested, first of all, to find out the specific demographics of this film. My best assumption would be that there may be more children for the opening week, who have probably been read the Caldecott favorite by their parents. They’re probably not as fascinated as their parents were when they were children in the 90s and earlier. It’s actually quite a violent film as well; the wild “animals” bump into things and get hurled at with sticks and stones and such, but are never really wounded. It reminds me something I was once told about the violence in Sunday cartoons: Tom is steam-rolled, burnt, and rammed into, but in the next episode, he re-appears to pick on his favorite mouse. It’s really the same case for Where the Wild Things Are.
This film is definitely not what the average spectator would have wanted to see, I would imagine. I saw it on IMAX, and the handheld camera motions were at times nauseating. I almost wish I hadn’t spent that extra money to feel so sick. In any case, there is also the somewhat slower pace that definitely produced some yawn waves throughout the crowd.
What the spectator is watching is essentially a puppet show, except it’s played out by large furry beasts in an unknown island somewhere. The monster couple in focus, K.W. and Carol, are reenacting what I imagine to be Max’s parent’s break-up. We have met the mother (played by Catherine Keener), who is a highly strung, stressed out single mother trying to juggle a job, two children, and a new boyfriend. Though we haven’t met the father, there are souvenirs scattered throughout Max’s bedroom that leads us to believe that he had been a loving father, before things went awry. A trophy dons a plaque that honors Max as the owner of the world, and when Carol later tells Max that he is the “owner of their kingdom,” the match is made explicit. Carol’s/the father’s problem is that he is much too possessive of K.W./the mother, and wants everything to be perfect. In order to displace their tensions, K.W. and Carol try to protect Max in their own ways, but Carol, who is much too dominating, loses control and Max is ultimately taken in by K.W.
I especially love the ending: if there’s something both adults and children need to function is sleep, and to the mother, it’s her way of expressing relief at finding her son, and also telling him that she is no longer angry enough to get mad at him. The trailer and posters mistakenly led me to believe that this was mainly about the childish sentiments we sacrifice and forget as adults. It also didn’t help that they chose “Wake Up” by Arcade Fire as the background music for the trailer. Though it is a component, it isn’t the main component. It’s about a child’s way of coping with loss, and how he understands now the sacrifice that is involved with a separation.
date watched: October 16, 2009 location: at the Lifetime Screening Room in Columbia Dodge Hall, part of the Carla Kuhn Series, and presented by FOCUS (Filmmakers of Color United in Spirit)
The film has already received a lot of press because of its ecstatic reception at both Sundance—it won the Audience Award, Grand Jury Prize, and Special Jury Prize—and Toronto, where it won the People’s Choice Award. Oh, and it goes without saying that the media standing of the main financial investors (Tyler Perry and Oprah Winfrey) did not hurt the reception, either. Although less influential, Mariah Carey and Lenny Kravitz’s presence probably heightened hype as well. The story revolves around a character who is, at first, hard to like at first: a self-loathing overweight teenager named Clareece Precious Jones. She is referred to mostly as “Precious,” which is ironic given the brutal treatment she experiences throughout the film’s narrative span. There isn’t a single type of abuse Precious has not been subjected to—physical, sexual, verbal—and though it is a nasty thought, it makes one wonder, “why the hell is she living?” Her mother (Mary, with a miraculous performance by Mo’Nique), who is the source of most of Precious’ unhappiness, throws glass at her, forces her to eat unwanted food, and discourages her from a better education. Mary’s former boyfriend, and Precious’ father, impregnated the sixteen year-old with not one, but two children, and the first child is severely retarded (they simply call her “Mongo,” short for “Mongoloid,” which is the politically incorrect term for Down Syndrome). The school principal places Precious in an alternative school, “Each One, Teach One,” and it is within this locus that Precious begins her so-called transformation. There is nothing special about this school, unless you count the pretty teacher (with the strange name of Blu Rain), and petty arguments that are tossed back and forth between the other GED students. The girls are so different from one another, one wonders whether they will ever make nice, but they are unified under the one belief that learning to read and write better can, and will, change their lives. Perhaps it would give the film more justice if I read the original novel by Sapphire. I withhold any critical judgments simply because I do not believe I am in the place to make any. Simply put, I cannot relate to the characters in the film in any way. If anything, I recommend any viewer ready to pour the eyes out, or to watch the performance of Mo’Nique, who really stole the show.
Location: Some press screenings at the Walter Reade Theater, and some in the new and shiny Alice Tully Hall at Lincoln CenterFirst, although this was part of THE LATIN BEAT, I figured I'd just put it here:
LA TETA ASUSTADA/THE MILK OF SORROW (2009) Written and directed by: Claudia Llosa
This was originally screened as part of the NEW DIRECTORS/NEW FILMS series earlier in the year, but I'm glad I was able to catch it this time around.
I walked in ten minutes late to the screening so I don’t really know what the opening was about.
The most noteworthy aspect of this film lies in its structure, or lack thereof. It proceeds more like an oral storytelling, if you will, more than a cinematic narrative with a clear beginning, middle, and end. The protagonist—who is stunningly beautiful, might I add—is our storyteller, who punctuates her stories with melodies of her own making, to take place of words she cannot or dare not utter. The heroine’s biggest problem is the potato tucked inside her womb. When her uncle has revealed this bit to her, she tries to cut the roots out herself, every night. This may be symbolic of her desire to cut ties with her uncle and his family, and get closer to her mother, who is now dead. She cannot get herself to transport the body into the village, where it will then be taken in by strangers to be buried, or cremated or whatever. She chooses instead to take it to the ocean, which directly corresponds to her song about the mermaids; this song was robbed from her by the woman she works under, who is a concert pianist. She was also promised a plate of pearls, but these were also denied, as soon as she recognized the tune in the piano melody. One of the most beautiful scenes is one in which the pianist and the heroine crawl on the carpet, picking up the scattered pearls: it could very well be a framed picture on its own.
I feel that I am missing a large chunk of the story behind the potato and its significance because I missed the beginning.
And now, for the Film Festival...
LES HERBES FOLLES/WILD GRASS (2009) Directed by: Alain Resnais
A critic commented that this film is never silly, but I have to disagree. But to Resnais’ defense, it’s tastefully silly.
The most glaring feature of this film is the colors and lighting, and the screen looks like a glossy neon sign most of the time. To add to this style, Marguerite Muir’s house is full of twinkling lights and neon bulbs. The music also adds to these effects: most of the time it’s a mellow tune, one that you may dimly hear in a quiet jazz club in New York.
Aside from the ice cream-like aspects of the film, another strong asset is the group of highly recognized actors: Sabine Azéma (who plays the red-haired gal, Marguerite Muir), André Dussollier (who plays the “brutish suitor,” Georges Palet), Anne Consigny (who plays Palet’s young and bleary-eyed wife), Emmanuelle Devos (who plays Mademoiselle Muir’s companion, Josepha), and even Mathieu Amalric (who plays the helpful officer). You may or may not recognize the last three from Desplechin’s A Christmas Tale (2008).
The film is adapted from a novel called L’incident by Christian Gailly, and it really is just that: an incident. This incident, seemingly insignificant, unleashes a whole host of events and forms an interesting link of relationships, none of which would have happened if it weren’t for this incident. The film, then, in large part, is about destiny.
I wonder if anyone remembers the voice-over montage in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, the one that cursorily flips through a series of events to point to the accident responsible for Daisy’s broken leg. You could call this film a blown-up and extended version of this montage, in a way.
It also highlights society’s rising suspicions about the most minor things, such as how appropriate it is to call the man who found your wallet.
It also brings up the wallet as an identity-indicator, and how much you can actually learn about a person through one’s personal belongings. I remember someone once told me that you can figure out a person based solely on what contents are in his/her pockets! We are sometimes offended by such simplistic characterizations, and additionally offended if someone can describe you in a neat sentence. But at the same time, we must somehow deal with the multitude of faces and names, and such is the psychology of snap judgments. They are sometimes inaccurate, but they are also surprisingly true in some cases. For Palet, Mademoiselle Muir was almost like his “fantasy ticket out,” and thus it surmounted to his disappointments—she was not exactly what he thought she was. Other traits proved to be pleasantly surprising, and these are the “hooks” that kept tracing him back to her, despite their multiple adieus. And so this is more a tale of irreplaceable bonds and the seemingly stupid yet disastrous event that led to them. It’s never too late to create relationships, especially if, like Palet, it leads to his childhood dreams of flying.
TATARAK/SWEET RUSH (2009) Directed by: Andrej Wajda
This is my first Andrej Wajzda film.
The most intriguing part of this film was its self-reflexivity: the viewer must always stay on guard, since there’s no knowing when the filmmaker will intrude upon the present screen, or when the actress will take off her Marta wig and expose her blonde do.
The most harrowing parts are when there is absolutely nobody in the frame except for the protagonist, in a room with wooden floors, a chair, and a bed covered with black sheets. The monologues that ensue within these confines appear to be unscripted, or at least straight from the horse’s mouth—that is, not Marta, but Krystyna Janda herself.
The film is about bereavement, of the pain that comes from the loss of a loved one, and of the pleasure that comes with finding someone to ease the suffering, however short.
The play that happens between Bogus and Marta is a realistic example of how the mentor-protégé relationship is often misconstrued as a relationship between lovers. The woman is so overcome with grief—over the loss of her sons, and in reality, the loss of her husband—that she jumps at the first chance of human re-connection. This begins as an actual physical encounter, when she literally collides with Bogus at the outdoor stage (which is a lovely sight, by the way).
Her disguised maternal love may have been too much for the simpleton, and he drowns while trying to get some sweet rush for the upcoming summer festival. When [woman’s name] first tries to save him, he does what any drowning person would do: that is, try to take her under with him. She resurfaces, which is symbolic of her survival, and it is this survivor’s guilt that is possibly contributing to her weight loss and possible illness.
The ability for Wajzda to use cinematic elements, then theatrical, and then turn them on their heads is truly a sight worth seeing.
ALLE ANDEREN/EVERYONE ELSE (2009)
Written and directed by: Maren Ade
This is a highly claustrophobic film; meaning, the camera focuses on anyone other than the couple of main interest, and when it does, it involves yet another couple. This inevitably calls for a very interesting 120-minute experience, and it is precisely this reason that you have episodes of frustration, in line with the couples’ own frustration. First of all, the couple is away from their home country on vacation. To be exact, they are on an Italian island (Sardinia?). For Chris, it is technically a home away from home, since the couple makes use of Chris’ mother’s home. Anyone that has ever been on a trip with a friend or a significant other probably understands very well the exposure of unpleasurable characteristics unseen before the trip.
The reason for Chris and Gitti’s clash probably happened before the film began, so to speak, but it doesn’t become identifiable until they meet the other couple, Hans and Sana. Hans and Sana are upon first glance, the picture-perfect pair: both are successful, beautiful, and well-mannered in front of guests. Gitti has problems with the last bit, and Chris thus dislikes bringing her to meetings with others, because she has a “behavior problem.” Perhaps she does; we especially recognize this point when she holds the knife to Sana and tells her to get out of the house. But one can’t help but hold slightly antagonistic feelings towards Chris, when Gitti is pouring her heart out, and bleeding for him (she jumps out of a window at one point). In some ways, we must always be cautious to understand that it is Gitti who always puts on performances for Chris, and not necessarily to get his attention—which is easier to believe—but to put a name to their feelings for each other. If it’s hatred, she is basically telling him to say, “I hate you” (as she had taught Chris’ niece at the beginning of the film), and if it’s love, then “Ich liebe dich” should suffice (kissing back, according to Gitti, is not an answer).
Surprisingly enough, it is Chris who finally puts an end to their performance (by blowing on Gitti’s tummy to make farting noises, no less), and Gitti is free to be the wild spirit she was at the start of the film, the “prettiest girl at the disco.”
LIFE DURING WARTIME (2009)
Written and directed by: Todd Solondz
I remember overhearing a conversation at Telluride (where the film showed earlier this month) that Happiness is NOT a prerequisite to the viewing of Solondz’s most recent work. I would have to disagree; it is essentially a continuation of the lives of the Joneses, whom we have had the pleasure of meeting in Happiness. It is, however, all the more puzzling because the cast is newly implemented. They sport the same character names, but the actors of Happiness do not make reappearances. It is an indication of the vast changes the characters have either tried to make, or have desperately tried to make but failed.
The black comedy is still present, however. Clearly, this Solondz element is not going anywhere: sarcastic comments regarding pedophilia and perverse sexuality abound, and one cannot help but laugh at them. The laughter is, however, perhaps an expression of our discomfort in dealing with the subject matter so closely.
I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Michael Lerner and Rich Pecci (in the film, they appear as father and son, as Harvey and Mark, respectively) waiting in line for L’Argent at Telluride. Lerner admitted that Solondz isn’t the easiest guy to work with, although he is a very nice man. I wasn’t surprised to hear this. Although most audience members will just laugh throughout his films, it doesn’t take a wizard to see that a lot of planning went into every shot and sequence. Michael Lerner also commented that this was Allison Janney’s first time exposing her breasts on screen, and said she had a really hard time with the nudity. More than a break for Janney, it was definitely a break for Trish, who was, as Janney aptly noted, “wound so tight, but for this film was more medicated.” Though the characters seem at times so stereotypical, they are all people who we have met or known, which makes the laughter and recognition justified.
POLITIST, ADJ./POLICE, ADJECIVE (2009)
Written and directed by: Corneliu Porumboiu
I cannot help but recognize the visual similarities to another Romanian film I had seen earlier this year, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu, 2007). Both Romanian filmmakers were sticklers for “dead time,” which of course is a cinematic nod to Ozu, among others. It is a clear demonstration of what the filmmaker wanted, of depicting the waiting process, more than the action we are so accustomed to seeing in police dramas.
The most beautiful sequence took place in Cristi’s kitchen, as the camera observed him eat his dinner alone. In the background, a Romanian pop song blares loudly, which is streaming from the neighboring room where the missus resides, putting the song on repeat (on YouTube, no less). To me, this scene is a metaphor for the entire film: Cristi is observing this high school student daily—and as we can see from his reports—there isn’t much progress; the monotony of his “research” is like the flowing words from the song, but they don’t make any sense to him. The best he can do is to discuss the lyrics with his wife, who happens to be a teacher. It becomes further contrived when, in one of the funniest scenes in the film, the boss slowly drowns him in the mire of words, meanings, and the daunting presence of the dictionary. The argument the boss makes seemingly has no connection to Cristi’s original problem, that of his conscience. As the ending shows, however, one must often “play the game” in order to survive.
ANTICHRIST (2009)
Written and directed by: Lars von Trier
It is no wonder that this film was the most talked about at Cannes, and even before Cannes, now that I’ve seen it. For one thing, I haven’t walked out on the film. Believe it or not, there were a handful of squeamish spectators. Lars von Trier made it clear that this was one of his most personal films, because it was made while he was struggling with depression. The film starts out almost like a bad commercial: as a couple engages in coitus (Charlotte Gainsbourg as “the woman” and Willem Dafoe as “the man”), their child steps out of the open window, and plunges to his death.
The film is divided into three chapters, following the presence of the three beggars: grief, pain, and despair. They are conveyed pictorially by three different animals: a deer, a fox, and a crow.
Von Trier described this film as a thriller, and though I don’t disagree, it is not a conventional thriller, to be sure. The writhing human body is the most common image in this film, and it is utilized to express both pleasure and pain—sometimes separately, sometimes as a combination of the two. The nudity (and the sex scenes, may I add) in the film are possibly some of the most explicit, yet somehow not arousing in the least. It may help to note at this point that of the genital exposure sequences, there exists one in which the woman snips off her clitoris, and another in which the man’s penis spurts blood. Reading this alone is enough to keep you out of the theaters. I’m not quite sure how I stood it myself, especially since I was still nauseous from heavy drinking the night before.
The haunting images unfold when the couple enters the woods, appropriately (or inappropriately) referred to as “Eden.” The man, who is a psychiatrist by trade, tries to help his wife overcome her debilitating grief. As a therapist should, he begins by behaving in the most professional manner possible, even though the woman is his wife. The grief envelops him eventually, and reality does not puncture it until he is literally pierced (here, “pierced” is quite an understatement) with a drill. The only way he can ensure survival is to perform an act of hatred against the woman—meant to represent misogyny as a whole, I’m sure—elsewhere referred to as “gynocide,” so that he can leave Eden for good.
When the epilogue rolls around, we see, once again, the same dragged out slow-motion sequences with the identical classical music that preceded the three chapters. This may signal a new beginning for the man, but it may very well be an indication that the madness is only making its second comeback.
The clever foil of Serge Bromberg’s experimentation with an experimental film (by Clouzot) could easily be mistaken for a lesson in op-art and its dizzying illusions. Clouzot was commonly known as “the French Alfred Hitchcock” for his affinity for crime thrillers and suspenseful images.
The film combines a multitude of material, including takes from Clouzot’s original reels, his interviews, recitations of the original script (by two modern-day French actors, who were purposely picked not to look like Romy and Serge), interviews of people who had known/worked with Clouzot at the time, and still photographs.
More than anything, the film really is a tribute to how much you can extend the work of a well-known director to make it something your own, while choosing not to detract from the original spirit. It is a process translators are often involved in, I’m sure.
BARBE BLEUE/BLUEBEARD (2009)
Directed by: Catherine Breillat
If I had to sum this film up in one phrase, I would say the following: “A fairytale à la Catherine Breillat.”
It’s not easy to film a fairytale without the apprehension that it will appear childish. With Breillat, it’s possible to make a perfectly mature fairytale film. This may sound gruesome, but some of the moments I “enjoyed” most depicted blood and violence. In some respect, you’re waiting for Bluebeard to unleash his monstrous side (“I’m a monster,” he tells Catherine in the woods, while everyone else is dancing in the castle yard), since all along he has been much like the gentle Beast in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast.
The two sisters seen reading the story are the most charming children I have seen on screen, and especially the younger one has a genuine mischief that is directly perceived; their presence often overpowers the rest of the images, more so because of our immediate familiarity with the time (as opposed to the medieval glitz of Bluebeard’s world).
Bluebeard’s severed head dangerously resembled Catherine and Anne’s father, when he was laid out before his burial. I cannot help but include a Freudian reading of this, specifically the Electra complex. Just add a bit of sibling rivalry, and you have just enough of the stern Austrian psychiatrist in this film.
I am amazed at the number of senses titillated while viewing the film: the tastes and textures of the roasted duck dinners, the smell of the girls’ corpses and clotted blood in the room beneath the stairs, the sound of Bluebeard’s heavy breathing, and the sight of the headless bird before the feast (I just realized now that this has ties to the image of the headless Bluebeard in the last frame, and that the image of Catherine stroking the head is not unlike the last frame in the ever-so-difficult cult classic, Jeanne Dielman.).
To tell you the truth, if this film lasted more than 78 minutes, I might have had a completely different experience and a more spiteful response.
