the lonely spectator

WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE (Spike Jonze, 2009)

2009-10-18T15:48:00.005-04:00

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.

PRECIOUS: BASED ON THE NOVEL 'PUSH' BY SAPPHIRE (Lee Daniels, 2009)

2009-10-18T15:45:00.003-04:00

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.

REFLECTIONS ON THE 47TH NEW YORK FILM FESTIVAL

2009-10-11T23:02:00.012-04:00

Location: Some press screenings at the Walter Reade Theater, and some in the new and shiny Alice Tully Hall at Lincoln Center First, 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.

L'ENFER D'HENRI-GEORGES CLOUZOT/HENRI-GEORGES CLOUZOT'S INFERNO (2009)

Directed by: Serge Bromberg and Ruxanda Medrea

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.

36th Annual Telluride Film Festival, STUDENT SYMPOSIUM

2009-09-10T11:45:00.020-04:00

Without any lengthy introductions, just gonna post my "Telluride Diary," just little notes jotted down after each day of amazing films, people, tributes, etc. Here goes...

September 4, 2009

This is a dream town, out of a 1930s Western: everyone nods hello, everyone has dogs, and there are creeks and bridges running everywhere!

Symposium:

Paolo Cherchi-Usai

It was strange to see people like Linda Williams (first group “leader”) and Cherchi-Usai appear before my eyes, since they were scholars I’d only read about in the classroom. He was this clean-shaven, thin Italian middle-aged man, who was very well-spoken, and a great listener as well. He seemed to be really passionate about film preservation, to say the least. It was interesting to hear that he’d make these short films made out of found footage, show them only in Catholic churches, and then burn them afterwards. So much for preservation. He was not only knowledgeable about silent film, but also of the new digital media—very impressive.

Ken Burns

I’d only heard about him when I read an interview on So Yong Kim, director of Treeless Mountain. I still have not watched his works, but feel strongly about them nevertheless, because of his great analogies and emotional anecdotes peppered delightfully throughout his discussion. It’s true, it’s all about subjectivity. Everyone has a right to their own truths, even though in the end, we’re all trying to tell a story. And yes, there is a beginning, middle, and an end, but I think he should’ve added the phrase, “not necessarily in that order.” He truly had a hopeful message for all film students, and alerted me to the fact that there are some films he hasn’t seen, and it’s okay.

Alexander Payne

Funny that he is the guest director for this year’s festival, especially since our Script Analysis class had the pleasure of speaking to his long-time collaborator, Jim Taylor. He was brutally frank about everything, which was a relief after the two very serious, very intimate conversations that preceded his. When he said, “I don’t know” multiple times, it wasn’t frustrating; quite the contrary, it was refreshing. It really confirms the notion that it can really be up to the film critics to analyze and interpret every filament, and the director has the liberty to make it and leave it, so to speak. He definitely seems confident and comfortable enough in his own skin. It was surprisingly easy to just go up to him and ask for a picture, then add the bit that I met his pal, Jim.

Vision (dir. Margarathe von Trotta)

After the short introduction by the lovely Professor Annette Insdorf, I started to get sleepy—blame the jet lag! I dozed off multiple times throughout the screening of Vision, but it was very much like a modern version of Dreyer’s Passion of Joan of Arc. This could be a good or bad thing. I will need to view it more thoroughly to make other judgments, I’m afraid.

The White Ribbon (dir. Michael Haneke)

Believe it or not, this is my first Haneke experience. I can’t say whether this was the best first Haneke film to watch, but it was certainly captivating and mind-bending. First of all, there is an absolute lack of a soundtrack. Yes, there are hymns and choir boys’ harpings, but aside from the “live” music, there is only the voice-over, the dialogue, and sounds of nature. It was very Bressonian, in my opinion, and it really showed in his proclivity for long takes and stretches of silence. There’s also the classic Ozu touch, of showing “empty spaces” or the Italian Neorealism style of showing a whole process without cuts and punctuations.

The subject matter is very bleak and pessimistic; and this is an understatement. It was all the more striking that Haneke did not choose to show any of the violent acts until Karli’s post-torture trauma. Someone in the gondola also made a good point about “unresolved chords” in the live music presented throughout the film. Not only the music seemed unresolved, each scene was the same: the scene in which the pastor father presents the kneeling children with the wine comes to mind; we don’t hear him finish his “your sins are resolved” with the last boy.

Haneke was perhaps trying to make the point that war is present everywhere. A label is just that, a label. We call this one World War I, and that one the Battle of Algiers, but in a sense, they were present in the peoples’ minds even before they actually declared it, and before the first gunshot was sounded. It’s also unsettling to know that the culprit is never clear, and the truth is not always revealed, despite tiresome investigations and bitter accusations. If violence is present in a small countryside in Germany, it is present anywhere. We must also ask ourselves, if cruelty is committed against the children of the sinful parents, who are we to blame? How can the matter be tackled?

September 5^th, 2009

Toni (dir. Jean Renoir)

This was shown as a part of the Manny Farber introduction, and is a film that he supposedly taught often. Thankfully, I was awake for the entire thing. My favorite bit was the live singing that took place every so often, with the wandering travelers. Instead of unnecessary dialogue or heavy reliance on comedic relief, the music dispersed throughout the film allowed for emotional release, and was far more graceful than if it were other visually stylistic devices.

Touching also were the book-ends—that is, the railroad tracks—that signal the beginning and ending, not necessarily in that order, and of the cyclical nature of the lives of the immigrants in this small town.

STUDENT PRINTS

Martina y la luna (dir. Javier Loarte)

This was a good way to start off the shorts: part little-girl fantasy, part technical experimentation extravaganza. The fact that her “prince” is a green paint-riddled vagabond who speaks Russian—Martina’s interpretation is that he is a green-skinned alien who speaks Lunarese—is ingenious.

The Last Mermaids (dir. Liz Chae)

Nice to see a Columbia M.F.A represented, as well as someone who is of the same ethnicity! Perhaps it was too short to tackle the history and nature and pain of the Jeju haenyos, but I’m still pleased with the underwater effects and the traditional Korean singing.

Firstborn (dir. Etienne Kallos)

This was perhaps the most disturbing, if not most poignant of the shorts, simply because it dealt with the touchy subject of incest, and one between brothers at that. It is an isolated town in South Africa, and I believe the family is of some Nordic descent. The reclusive nature of this family alone may be to blame for the horror that ensues throughout the film. It may also be an polarization of our fears of others—if I must use the word, of xenophobia—and the suspicion drives us to the point in which we’d rather hurt our own kind.

Sinkhole (dir. Eric Scherbarth)

Another Columbia M.F.A student graced us this day. I suppose it was a judicious choice on part of the curators to include this in the middle, but I don’t have much to say about it. A good scare/laugh was needed. End of story.

Kid (dir. Tom Green)

We often want so much either to be part of the adult scheme and story our parents are involved in, and at the same time so repulsed that we wished we were forever young. Just from looks alone, the adolescent boy who appears in this film is already too ashen for his age, his cheeks sunken in.

Carpet Kingdom (dir. Michael Rochford)

I must be so warmed up to the New York-style humor or way of life that Cali humor does not stimulate me in the least. Another student at the symposium mentioned that this was probably the most expensive short of them all. In addition, I think it was mainly placed as the last short because of the “obligatory happy ending” we often dislike to admit but desperately need.

Symposium:

Michael Haneke

Haneke’s appearance goes so well with his film style. I was also pleased to know that his favorite filmmaker is Bresson, something so evident in his own works. He spoke a little about engineering: how sound scares/effects more than images, and how the preparation and research is 80% of the finished work. The voice-over narration was employed to the effects of personalizing the narrative further; the schoolteacher admits from the get-go that he is not pretending to know anything.

Margarathe von Trotta

Maragarathe is strikingly beautiful, even for her years. Once again, I was pleased to hear that she had a lot of Leone’s images and Seventh Seal in mind for not only Vision but other works as well. To her, the memory of films affects the subconscious so much so that one may not even realize its surfacing until after a whole film has been completed.

A Prophet (dir. Jacques Audiard)

Suffice it to say that this was nothing like I’ve ever seen before: style, acting, editing, etc. It was unbelievable to me that the protagonist, played by Tahar Rahim, was cast in his very first role (the director and he had met in the back of the car, according to the Q & A session).

Prison is a microcosm, complete with betrayals, social hierarchy and brutal violence (again!). And the only reason is to survive.

Vincere (dir. Marco Bellochio)

In dealing with insane asylums, I was very much reminded of Samuel Fuller’s Shock Corridor. The portrait that we get of Benito Mussolini’s mistress is so sad that it is powerful. It makes me wonder how much a woman will go in order to protect her offspring and protect her pride. The heredity of insanity is also placed into speculation, since all three characters—the two Benitos and Ida—encompass a realm that we as audiences cannot even dare to imagine.

As always, Bellochio’s choice of actors and music was nothing short of miraculous.

On a personal note, I will never forget this night, because I was shivering in the cold for about an hour (or more). What a time to encounter the Telluride rain.

September 6, 2009

Second to the last day. Impossible.

Whether it was meant as flattery or not, it was nice to hear from Howie Movshovitz that we were the best group of students. Who knows what he’ll say next year, but I’m still blushing.

Room and a Half (dir. Andrey Khrzhanovsky)

Along with The White Ribbon, this is probably my favorite film thus far. It is just the right amount of poetry recitation, animation, cats, and conversation with the dead. And this was nine in the morning!

I am inspired to the point that I would research more about Khrzhanovsky, about Brodsky, and about Proust. Thesis?

Special Medallion: Serge Bromberg

I’ve never seen any live performances with such good taste for silent shorts in my life! I wish I can remember everything: the titles, the premises, and the names. Alas, I will try… the pig, the trip to the star (twice), the drunken man who sees naked women, the hen who can pop out chicks and absorb them again, the somewhat disturbing spaghetti commercial, and of course, Gertie the dinosaur.

I forget that there’s a whole science to film.

Symposium:

Jacques Audiard & Thomas Bidegain

It must be very convenient for Audiard not to travel with a separate translator, since Bidegain really knows his stuff. They took a total of about three years to complete the project, and they had a collection of about two to three notebooks that they used to research and plot the film. They relied on many non-actors, most of which had prison experience, and most of whom gave the tips to the director himself.

What I found most interesting about what Audiard said was related to his background/foreground way of filming. Instead of heavy reliance on the shot as a single unit, the idea of splitting it beforehand in the mind, and allowing that to govern the action that enfolds on the screen is really ingenious.

The constant appearance of Reyab’s ghost is what Audiard liked to refer to as Malik’s conscience: within this crazy shithole of a prison, this is the only thing he has to rely on, a reminder of his first guilty act committed on the inside, and his first and only friend, in many cases.

The most spontaneous image was the deer that crashed into the car, and “saved” Malik, and also earned him the nickname of “the prophet.” The title was problematic for the director, as he had originally wanted to use “Gotta Serve Someone,” an allusion to Bob Dylan’s music, but there was apparently no French translation for this, and the idea had to be scrapped. In French, “prophet” is also slang for gangster, which is very important to the film, obviously, but also dangerous for religious reasons.

Andrey Khrzhanovsky

Khrzhanovsky was probably the most lofty of the directors invited to speak to us, and as a true Santa Claus-like figure (he looks like one, too), gave us age-old words of wisdom. Firstly, we must read, feel, write, do anything to get the insides out into the world. He loves to observe different kinds of people in parks, and what-have-you, but found that it was difficult in Telluride. He said of the locals, “they are free, kind, and love dogs.” Very well put.

It was fairly apparent that his film was only a fragment of the many engagements he had with poetry, animation, and of life’s multitude of images. He said it took TEN YEARS to make the film, for goodness sake! I am truly inspired.

L’Argent (dir. Marcel L’Herbier)

This was the first time I’d ever seen a live orchestra accompaniment to a silent film, and the experience was phenomenal. This was, in any case, how it was meant to be projected when it was made. It was complete with an intermission mid-way.

I often forget just how expressive silent film actors have to be, and the man who played Saccard really was the paragon of this type of acting: he was creepier than any big-bellied corporate executive I’d ever seen on film, or in real life. I would say he was the creepiest man, period.

As Cherchi-Usai had mentioned in his discussion, the film may sometimes be “too much.” The elaborateness of not only the costumes and sets, but of the sheer money that can be heard and seen tinkling around the celluloid truly conveys L’Herbier as a perfectionist, one who cannot just rest with what’s “okay.”

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

I don’t think it would be too extreme to say that Terrence (played by Nicolas Cage) is possibly one of the most disgusting yet charming anti-hero and existential character seen in any medium.

Most of the time, I had trouble comprehending the pure evil of his acts, yet at the same time, it was clear that Terrence had something going on that was harmless and fun, and it definitely showed in his karma turn-around throughout the film, and especially at the ending.

Werner Herzog’s short, filmed in Africa, with the use of an Aria.

Sometimes, all it takes is a camera, a village, and some willing natives who will pose and stare into the camera. Something that was to be repeated in his sneak peek.

Short: Rahmin Bahrani’s A Plastic Bag (narrated by Werner Herzog)

This was the first time I had heard Herzog’s voice for an extended period of time, and I would honestly just want to contain it in a capsule and use it to have bedtime stories read to me every night.

It’s not only comedic, the film is also truly an ironic capture of plastic’s devastating presence in the modern world. The last statement (I think) made by the plastic bag says it all: “I wish I would die faster.”

My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done (dir. Werner Herzog)

I definitely don’t know enough Sophocles to get into the discussion of the film.

What I do understand is that Lynch’s mark was definitely in this.

Celebrity watch: Helen Mirren, Nicholas Cage, Laura Linney.

Nice long chat with Michael Lerner and Tecci in the line for L’Argent.

September 7, 2009 (last day)

In the breakfast discussion, it was fairly evident that film school isn’t everything.

Gigante (Adrián Biniez) – preceded by the super graphic and slobbery short, Scoring

It was interesting to hear from Biniez that although twenty-four days seems short, and the budget was considered low in this side of the world, it was pretty immense for a small town in Uruguay. It goes to show that it’s really not all about money, and the time that money buys. I think the two guests in the morning said that these days, Hollywood movie will spend just as much on marketing and selling a flick as it did to make it.

The honesty and humor contained in this film is not enough to pronounce simply as “sweet,” or “cute.” There is a lot going on with the idea of surveillance: Jara always watches Julia within his job post, but he also watches her outside of his occupational confines. Often, he gets into half-baked aggressions and predicaments, but even these encounters are delineations of a character that one cannot help but fall in love with, despite the fact that he is indeed a stalker. It is a very rare and interesting moment when Julia stares back at the camera, as if straight at Jara; also, when he is in the convenient store, and Julia watches him through the monitor, just as he had always done for all those days.

He has managed to get into her space so well (despite the physical distance he had always maintained throughout his pursuing) that by the end, it’s okay that his gigantic shadow invades her private space, and he merely sits down next to her—all one hundred kilograms, maybe, or more, of him—to embark on a conversation beside the not-so-wonderful beach of Montevideo (?), Uruguay.

Symposium:

Werner Herzog

It is difficult to place this man under any label. I will simply list some Herzog-isms:

Nicolas Cage’s character operates on what is called the “bliss of evil.” That is, there is no clear motivation for his actions.

The film took three weeks for pre-production, there was editing going on during the shooting, and it took all of ten days to deliver the final cut. Efficiency, in a word.

You do not want the “accountant’s truth.” He favors, above all, inventiveness, the “ecstasy of truth.”

Never underestimate the quality of sound. He even has a set radius in which all cellphones crossing such a border will be confiscated. He wants all ambient sounds, all silence, all croakings and cawings, etc.

What he feels about preservation: “Posterity can kiss my ass.”

He cannot stand for the “cameraman’s bullshit: stale aesthetics.”

“No man should date a woman who does yoga. I hate meditation, I hate yoga. Yoga was invented for bored California housewives.”

His egomania is not bothersome in the least bit. It suits him fine, and if he believes in his work, and others support him in the process, that’s what it is.

His advice for us is, above all, “read, read, read, read, read.” (I think he actually repeated it this many times.)

El Verdugo (dir. Luís García Berlanga)

It’s sometimes hard to believe that antiquated films (like this one, from 1960) can still touch the hearts of audiences today, and induce as much laughter as the director had intended. And nothing about the humor seems superfluous or coerced, just hints here and there, shy invitations for us to giggle or more.

I especially liked the legacy that will ensue with the executioner’s position: not only are we aware that as the father-in-law had practiced it for forty odd years, Rodriguez will most likely suck it up (after his horrific virgin experience) and live with it. This becomes clear since the baby is always in the frame as he discusses what he believes is the hopeless future of this new position (he wishes to resign as soon as he begins; no, even before he begins).

Interesting also is the stigma supposedly attached to those who work with the dead. They are not to be associated with, and anytime one comes close, they walk away, using the excuse “we are decent people.” It is only natural, therefore, that an executioner’s daughter and a grave digger unite. The church will not even roll out the carpet for them at their wedding!

The ending is rather curious: instead of focusing on the new executioner and his family, no doubt de-briefing after his first experience, the camera moves toward a boat, with dancing foreigners (I think they’re foreigners), all dressed in black. Does this mean that all of this is laughable? Does it also mean that this is merely the beginning of another era? With all the inserts of foreigners, I wouldn’t be surprised if the filmmaker were making a reference to the changing nature of the Spanish culture—of Americanization, to be precise—even under Franco’s regime.

Along with Godard’s Contempt, I must say that this film has one of the most beautiful opening credits I’ve seen.

UP (Peter Docter, Rob Peterson, 2009)

2009-08-04T10:53:00.002-04:00

date watched: August 4, 2009
location: Apgujung Cinecity

WHEN IN DOUBT, GO UP. :)

FINALLY. I was so upset that this came out in theaters in the States right about the time I left to come here. It was definitely worth the wait though.

I don't even know how I'm supposed to begin. There's SO MUCH going on in this animation.
First of all, the short that came before was ingenious. Pixar never ceases to amaze me with its cornucopia of creativity and originality.

Well. I had my doubts, since I was blown away by Wall-E and I didn't want anything to ruin such sublimity. Up is just about the most delectable yet heart-wrenching story you could imagine.

In the tradition of its predecessor, this animation also doesn't have much dialogue in the beginning. The montage sequences that follow Ellie and Carl's journey are just enough, and anything to tip the balance of silence would've been superfluous. I especially love how they had flashes of the different ties to show that Ellie tried to keep him somewhat "different" from the others, although judging by the repetition, it was not representative of the explorer in him.

Carl strings the balloons to his house--the final relic that ties him to Ellie--initially to escape the nursing home and the marginalization brought on by the massive construction flanking his sweet abode. When Russell tags along, the incitement is triggered, and thus the adventure begins.

Paradise Falls means many things for Carl: his childhood dream getaway, his first promise to Ellie, and the association it has with his role model, Charles Muntz. He eventually keeps his promise to Ellie by landing his flyaway house successfully atop the waterfall, but the other representations are sullied. Docter and Peterson may be making the point that so often we find our childhood role models flawed and unreliable, even after they may have guided us through all things large and small. In Carl's case, his childhood role model tries to take his life, along with several others'.

Dug reminds me of Brian in the television series, "Family Guy"; both are endowed with exceptional intelligence, but when it comes down to the root of things, they are still the furry four-legged companions underneath it all. This is evidenced by the dogs' propensity for tennis balls and squirrels. Epsilon may cook the greatest meals, but he will drop all cooking utensils in order to get his paws on Russell's hot dog.

Though an extremely simplified and dumbed down version of Ellie, Kevin is a reminder of Ellie's inherent motherhood, one that could not be realized during her living days. When Carl tries to push Kevin up the hill, it is very much like the image of Carl and Ellie climbing the precipice to get to their favorite picnic spot. Speaking of climbing, the "load" Carl carries is reminiscent of the one seen in The Mission. The Myth of Sisyphus also comes to mind.

Russell is the invitation that Carl did not ask for, an introspection into his lively past. After all, he too was once the goggle-clad youngster watching newsreels of Charles Muntz, applauding his hero's every move. Of course, Russell is a much more vociferous version of Carl. That's another detail I couldn't help noticing: when Carl and Ellie are wed, Ellie's family on the right pews clap and holler wildly, while Carl's family on the left pews clap demurely, remaining seated. Russell could very well be the son that Carl and Ellie never had.

I thought it was interesting that the leader of the canine pack was referred to as "Alpha." When his "voice" is reduced to a whiny, chipmunk-y one, his virility is undermined, as if being the "alpha male" isn't all it's cut out to be. He is figuratively emasculated in the end, with his head encased with the "cone of shame." Clever too, that Carl's furry friend is a golden retriever, as if Carl had been blind and needed a seeing-eye dog to lead him out of his misery and darkness. So convinced was Carl of the empty pages in Ellie's "My Adventure Book" that he couldn't stretch the meaning of "exploration" to fit the life he had shared with Ellie before she died; it isn't about the grand discoveries, it's about the details and daily laughter shared together.

HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE (David Yates, 2009)

2009-07-19T11:30:00.003-04:00

date watched: July 19, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul

This is possibly my favorite Harry Potter movie so far.
A lot of people who've seen it in the opening week have complained about its slow pace. Personally, the pace seems well-suited to the plot's development. It is much more thorough, and less action-oriented, which gives more attention to the emotions that were pregnant in the past ones.

I also didn't see the blatant efforts to show off with CG, which made the film more gentle. Think of the second Transformers: it is merely a 2.5 hour showcase of how much you can blow up and how many robots can transform in one viewing.

At the same time, I can't help but think that there were so many similarities to Lord of the Rings. For example, those dead spirits in the cave looked dangerously close to Smigol, no?

There was more attention given to Ronald Weasley in this one, and since he's my favorite of the trio, it was a nice change. He always gave the movies a comic twist, and he did not fail the audience again in this one. That said, the laughter in this one is more subtle, but enough to provide comic relief when necessary.

But poor Dumbledore.
And poor Ralph Fiennes, who didn't make a single appearance (except a flash, through Harry's eyes) in this one.

IRI (Zhang Lu, 2008)

2009-06-25T09:06:00.002-04:00

date watched: June 25, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul

I had no idea that this film was gonna be so depressing. And since the movie time was 11 PM, I definitely did not go to sleep with happy thoughts. Thought-provoking, yes; optimistic, not so much.

An important point about the director: Zhang Lu is a Chinese-born filmmaker who made many of his films in Korea, since he grew up here. That said, it's no wonder one of the themes of Iri deals with the often xenophobic, and even cruel attitudes Koreans adopt toward foreigners. Iri was the name of a town in the Jeolla province (southern part of South Korea), and now known as "Iksan." Possibly the most famous event that took place in what used to be Iri is the 1977 train explosion, which occurred when dynamite transported aboard caught fire. Jin-seo (after the name of the actress, Yoon Jin-seo) was conceived in the same year, and born the following year. Though not explicitly stated (as with most of the occurences in the film), the incident may have injurious effects on the female protagonist.

Jinsuh is the "babo" (meaning "stupid," or "idiot") of the town, and her ingenuous and kindhearted ways make her a well-liked neighbor, but many men also take advantage of the fact, and she is raped at least two times throughout the course of the film. We can assume that this happens more often than we'd like to imagine. Her boyfriend, Tae-woong (after the actor's real name, Eom Tae-woong) is an elusive character, overly protective of Jin-seo, and simultaneously appearing emotionally restrained and unsympathetic to his surroundings. He is often seen driving alone (he is a taxi driver), but even when he has passengers, they travel alone.

The most crucial element missing between the character is communication. More often than not, Jin-seo seems happier using her rudimentary Chinese skills, and her foreign friends (one from China, another from Pakistan) are more compassionate toward her than her fellow Koreans.

Possibly the most haunting scene in the film is when one of the old men in the nursing home Jin-seo works at commits suicide by hanging. In earlier scenes, he was portrayed as a deranged man, marked by impulsive behavior. In a previous scene, he had sniffed a supine Jin-seo from head to toe, then vanished as quickly as he has appeared. Without a means to effectively interact with his environment, he had tried yelling incomprehensible words, and even resorted to the seemingly animalistic sniffing of another human being; in the end, he was still utterly alone, which may explain his suicidal act.

The strange thing is, Jin-seo, despite all her devastations, remains an insouciant young woman, unwilling even to undergo surgery to prevent further miscarriages and pregnancy complications. When Tae-woong tries to drown her, we cannot help but feel a tinge of sympathy, and even happiness, for Jin-seo, who seems to lead a life full of strife and unwarranted malice. It is thus impossible to despise Tae-woong, though he often appears to be more of a villain than Jin-seo's disparaging neighbors. When Tae-woong explodes his model of Iri, which he had worked on so meticulously, it communicates his deep-rooted hatred for his world, and his desire to obliterate it.

There is no explanation for Jin-seo's reappearance at the end of the film: is she a re-born Jin-seo, or did she simply not die? Or, perhaps, is she an illusion? With the words "Suo Yi laoshi, ni hao, wo de mingzi jiao Jin-seo," she may finally be asserting her presence to the rest of the world, making her voice heard.

THE BROTHERS BLOOM (Rian Johnson, 2009)

2009-06-23T10:51:00.002-04:00

date watched: June 23, 2009
location: Cinecity, Apgujung, Seoul

It's been a while.
Unfortunately, my comments for this movie will neither be enthusiastic nor rancorous, which will not make for the most interesting post. But it's short.

At first, it was fun to guess the brothers' mischief, whether this play was a con or not. However, by a certain point, it became TOO involved with the mind-playing that it overdid itself. It's truly exhausting, especially when there are already so many aspects that require your attention in a motion picture.

I applaud Rinko Kikuchi's performance, however. She said all but three words, two of them being "fuck me." I'm sure it's far more challenging trying to convey everything in gestures and facial expressions alone. Kudos, Rinko.

But to give the director a little more credit (he also wrote the screenplay), it seems to be a commentary on filmmaking itself. It's difficult to discern film and reality at times, and we are prone to believe that we too, have our lines and actions written for us. Once Steven (Mark Ruffalo) leaves his life as "unwritten," his little brother, Bloom (Adrian Brody), crumbles. The only way to live a life of reality means to destroy the writer and creator altogether--as shown in Steven's final sacrifice--but do so in the vein of play-acting, until the very end. Steven shows us that the final act is death itself, which plays out without the audience (he lovingly tells Bloom, "you're the only audience I needed."); and after death, there are no encores.

Aruitemo aruitemo/STILL WALKING (Kore-eda Hirokazu, 2008)

2009-06-10T01:18:00.002-04:00

date watched: June 9, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul, Korea

I mostly went to see this film (even though I had to strain my neck, sitting in the second row) because of my love of Kore-eda's most well-known work, Nobody Knows (2004). There were quite a lot of fans last night, as I could see from their Kore-eda DVDs in hand.

If Nobody Knows focused on childrens' perspectives, this film was more concerned with the elderly. But I wouldn't necessarily say that they are primary and sole voices of the film, since children also serve a great role.

One thing I know for certain is that the central figure is Junbei, though he is no longer alive. As he was the older son, his presence is sorely missed, though in different ways by each of the characters. The grandfather, for one, is left embittered: he considered his oldest son a good doctor, like himself, and he blames other people for his death, though nobody has actually killed him. The grandmother is more passive than her husband, but she too is desperate to hold on to his remaining imprints. She even tries to catch a yellow butterfly inside the house, believing it is her son's spirit. The brother cannot even mourn, for fear that it will overpower his parents' grief. Furthermore, he now has a family to take care of, and is especially concerned with winning the respect of his once-widowed wife's young son.

The piece, like many of Kore-eda's former works, is tender, and unsentimental. No tearjerking situations, no false emotion imposed. The movie itself feels like a walk, but one taken with family members, not the type involving pressured pumping of feet heading to work. It also is a celebration of the older generation, and their humor--they may be past the stage of working for a laugh, but because whatever shame they had in youth is now dissolved, they speak openly of their past. The laughter from the audience is thus not hearty, but consist instead of bubbling chuckles.

When Ryo (played by Hiroshi Abe) and his son accompany the grandfather on his walk to the beach, they walk down the stairs not side by side, but in a queue, from order of youngest to oldest. It's not much, but this scene is touching because of its ability to bring three different people from different walks of life through loss--they all have dealt with death of a loved one. We know that Ryo will have to remember what it was like to lose his brother, and be able to empathize with his son, who has lost his real father.

When Ryo and his wife come back to Yokohama to visit the grandparents' graves, in addition to his brother's, he repeats his mother's words and actions, as if they were his own: pouring water over the hot tombstone, and telling his daughter about butterflies. Just as he walked to the graves with his aged parents, Ryo's children will one day also walk alongside an older Ryo, and one generation passes onto the next...

LE SILENCE DE LORNA/LORNA'S SILENCE (Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardenne, a.k.a. the Dardenne Brothers, 2008)

2009-06-09T00:05:00.002-04:00

date watched: June 8, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul, Korea

This was my first Dardenne Bros.' film viewing! Their style is reminiscent of Truffaut, and sometimes Bergman, two directors I adore.
This film also won the 2008 Cannes Screenplay award, and was nominated for the Golden Palm award.

When the viewer follows Lorna (played by Arta Dorboshi) around Belgium, at her job, at the bank, in the streets--he assumes there is nothing too extraordinary about her. It is not the threats outside that bother Lorna, but the ones inside her home. She is basically paid to be married to a druggie, who struggles, mentally and physically, the pains of withdrawal. Lorna doesn't offer her warmest sympathies, and instead reacts coldly to his pleas. In fact, she won't even help him reject the drugs, when Claudy (her husband, played by Jérémie Renier) asks her to throw away the house key (in a later scene, she does, but the motivation is reversed).

Lorna's cruelty towards Claudy gives us the feeling that there are no emotions involved in this relationship, only a sense of duty. In this way, the movie reminded me a lot of Jean-Luc Godard's Vivre Sa Vie (1962), in which the female protagonist (played by Anna Karina), is merely a bridge and a prostitute (in both figurative and literal ways), to help the gangsters and pimps get their piece of the pie, so to speak. Nobody really cares about Lorna deeply, and yet they must all rely on her, and on the institution of marriage for each man to get what he wants. Lorna only starts to realize the kind-hearted man Claudy is, when he is stripped of strength, and commits himself to a hospital to be treated for his drug problems. I think Lorna started to fall in love with Claudy when she watched him sleep in the hospital bed, since he was just like a big baby, wanting attention and care.

Instead of breaking into hysterics after Claudy has mysteriously died (there is no explicit explanation, but we are to make out that it is Fabio's doing), she toughens up. She suddenly acts on her own, instead of following Fabio's instructions and supporting her boyfriend. She knows that she is pregnant with Claudy's baby, even though everyone else tells her otherwise (I think this is again Fabio's doing).

The film ends on an open-ended note: we know that for now, Lorna and the baby are safe, and that she is far from the controlling hands of Fabio & Co., but she has no money, and the only roof above her head is a tiny log house in the middle of the woods. She falls asleep in this make-shift shelter, and despite her worn-down surroundings, she looks safe, and much like the sleeping Claudy we saw earlier, innocent and peaceful.

THE KING OF KONG: A FISTFUL OF QUARTERS (Seth Gordon, 2007)

2009-06-06T07:13:00.003-04:00

date watched: June 6, 2009
location: at home. borrowed a friend's copy.

I first saw an excerpt of this film during last semester's Script Analysis class. The objective of showing the clip was to explain that even documentaries have a plot, and there are set characters playing different parts.

Right away, the manner in which Billy Mitchell is shown spells out "apprehension." He has hair that looks like Darth Vader's mask, and he's always wearing a shirt and tie. He exudes confidence, and never considers himself as less than the best. On the other hand, Steve Wiebe is your average nice guy: he smiles to all his students in science class, he diligently plays the piano, and keeps the promise with his wife of playing "Donkey Kong" only at night.

I honestly had no idea that Bill would turn out to be a jerk, at least within the documentary itself. Of course, it's clear that he has an obsession with winning, and rather than challenging the new winner to a public game, he merely keeps tabs on Steve through his minions. More and more, it becomes clearer that he's a coward, and that only Steve is man enough to keep his promise as a genuine classic arcade game player.

Of course, we're meant to scoff at the utter seriousness of some of these players. Also, most of these men look as if they jumped out of a bad 80s commercial. My sister commented, "Only Steve Wiebe looks normal." Next to Darth Vader Bill and frazzled Mruczek, her opinion cannot be denied.

The reason this film works for so many of us, though I doubt anybody plays these games anymore, is that we know how it feels to sometimes win and to sometimes lose. The perfect score is exactly that--perfect, and thus unobtainable. When the score for the game turns from 900,000 -something into six zeroes, you become an instant hero. All the hours of maneuvering the joystick between your fingers and the ache-y feeling behind your eyes from staring at the screen so long--they are worth it.

It doesn't necessarily have to be a passion for anime, or devotion to the Star Wars series, there's a geek inside all of us. What do YOU have the hots for?

4 luni, 3 saptamâni si 2 zile/4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS, AND 2 DAYS (Romania, Cristian Mungju, 2007)

2009-06-05T04:22:00.003-04:00

date watched: June 4th, 2009
location: at home. private copy.

This film won the 2007 Cannes Palme D'or, which is the highest award one can receive at the festival.

I think this is possibly the first (and best) Romanian film I've seen, so props to Cristian Mungju for getting recognized!

This is definitely not for the weak of heart. It isn't super violent or gory or anything, but the subject matter is rather controversial, and women (especially PREGNANT women, may I add) may not want to encounter a film dealing with abortion.
Note to the weak of heart: THIS IS A SPOILER--the aborted baby is shown (I know, right? I honestly didn't think they would include this POV shot)

The film style is rather simple, however. The majority of the film is comprised of long takes, and the ones that aren't are shaky (hand-held camera, no doubt).

Some of the most frustrating scenes take place at the Hotel reception desk. The protagonist, Otilia (played by Annamaria Marinca), who is the active counterpart for her pregnant roommate, Gabita (played by Laura Vasiliu), must haggle her way into obtaining a free hotel room. The trouble does not end with the haggling, however. The irresponsible Gabita has not followed the "doctor's" rules carefully: 1) she has not reserved a room at the hotel mentioned on the phone, and 2) she did not meet the "doctor" (facetiously named "Bebe") in person. To add to the complications, Gabita lied about the duration of her pregnancy, and about Otilia's identity ("my sister," she said).

If you weren't aware that this was a film about abortion, you would think it was about prostitution. But in a way, it is about prostitution. In order to ensure the abortion, the two women give themselves for Bebe. The tagline for the film on imdb.com, actually a question, captures the essence of this theme: "How far would you go for a friend?"

The title refers to three types of time: "four months" refers how long Gabita has been pregnant; "three weeks" is the amount of deliberation the two girls took to get to this point of no return; and "two days" refers to the time spent inside the hotel room.

One cannot help but feel a tinge of spite for Gabita. She seems so careless, as opposed to Otilia, who is only indirectly involved in this abortion. Otilia's characterization is rather brilliant. The audience follows her around everywhere, like a faithful watchdog: she buys goods from other dormmates; she meets her boyfriend; she calls Gabita; she stops by to celebrate her boyfriend's mother's birthday; she disposes of the aborted baby. She is constantly huffing and puffing, walking through dark alleys, and climbing flights of stairs, all to make sure Gabita is taken care of. Gabita, meanwhile, is only seen inside, and inactive: in her dorm room at the commencement of the film, and inside the hotel room. This film may thus be making a broad political claim, that while one individual may shout an order, there are always others beneath him to execute the order, to do all the dirty work.

Mungju certainly doesn't believe in doing "dirty laundry at home," it seems. I can imagine the horror of the Romanian public in reaction to this film. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it was banned, even. Everything in this film is illegal: the black market cigarettes, the abortion itself, and the prostitution.

It was finally relieving to see Otilia sit at the hotel restaurant with Gabita, in relative silence. The silence is neither an awkward nor a tense one. The silence is more like a comma than a period, however: the abortion is over with, the fetus disposed of, but there are consequences to their illicit behaviors. And there is still the possibility that Otilia may be pregnant herself, based on the argument with her boyfriend. Perhaps the most horrifying aspect of the film was the amount of abortions that supposedly took place. Gabita received information on Bebe from a dormmate who got an abortion herself, and there are other multiple mentions of girls giving out similar information.

I can't say for sure whether I'm pro-life or not, but films like these certainly make the issue worth poring over. Debate, anyone?

Jigeum, eedaerogah joayo-roughly translated, "It is better now, this way" (Boo Jiyoung, 2009)

2009-06-02T10:47:00.003-04:00

date watched: June 2, 2009
location: Joongang Cinema, Euljiro, Seoul, Korea

I must say, the twist in this film is something that definitely came as a shock. But not in a good way.

Brief synopsis: Two sisters, Myungjoo and Myungeun, are reunited after what is assumed to be a considerable stretch of time. The reason for their reunion: their mother's death. They share the same mother, but have different fathers. Myungeun is successful, cold-hearted, and a tough career woman. She lives in the city, while Myungjoo slaves away everyday in a stinky fish market in Jeju (an island located at the southern tip of South Korea). Myungeun is perpetually bitter towards her sister and aunt; Myungjoo kindly accepts her sister's sour attitude, for the most part. Myungeun suggests the pair go on a trip for a couple days, and although she doesn't mention it at first, her objective is to find her long-lost father (He supposedly ran away when Myungeun was young; Myungjoo's father died earlier). During their trip, they quarrel often, and we get more glimpses of Myungeun's snobbishness and picky tastes. The trip reaches its climax when they get into a car accident: Myungeun must stay in the hospital due to a ribcage injury; Myungjoo is unscathed, as far as we can see. So they continue to fight and wonder--evident through multiple flashbacks--until Myungeun finally makes a grand discovery regarding her father. Or, shall we say, mother-turned father. Myungeun was conceived when her father was a man, but born when he became a woman. She remained in Myungeun's life throughout her childhood and much of her adolescent as "Aunt Hyunah."

I'm sure you get my drift now, when I said that the twist was shocking.

The title is rather apt on that point. It really was better before. Perhaps a better title is "Ignorance is Bliss."

And the FILM itself was better before that twist. It suddenly turned the drama into a comedy. And such a drastic shift was uncalled for. The flaw here is that there is no character motivation provided. For example, WHY does Myungeun's father suddenly get the sex-change surgery? And WHY does the mother decide to get pregnant again? It's all a big mystery.

The imagery is rather touching, however. The scenes on Jeju island, and the sisters' journey throughout the Korean countryside provide some marvelous visuals.
Also, the ties between Myungjoo's "fatherless" child and Myungeun are noteworthy.

The film also gives a better stage for the two main actresses, and especially for Shin Min-a, who is better noted for her glamorous commercials and less serious films. My sister commented post-screening, "I wonder how they remained so serious? It must've been so funny, thinking about the situation." I also wonder how the other audience members remained so silent. We started to laugh as soon as Myungeun figured things out. Does that make us evil? Narrow-minded, maybe?

LES QUATRE CENTS COUPS/THE 400 BLOWS (François Truffaut, 1959)

2009-06-02T10:01:00.003-04:00

date watched: June 1, 2009
location: at home. private copy, part of The Adventures of Antoine Doinel box set

In French, "faire les quatre cents coups" can roughly be translated to "to raise hell."
It is the title that Truffaut decided on after considering the following titles: "Antoine Runs Away," "The Awkward Age," "The Vagabonds," and "Adventures Playing Hooky," among others.

I first watched this film around 3 years ago. I really think it deserves three more viewings, at least. To tell you the truth, I can't agree with film critics that say Truffaut is a better critic than he is a filmmaker, only because I haven't really read any of Truffaut's writings in the Cahiers. The only thing I read was "Une Certaine Tendance of Cinema Française/A Certainy Tendency of French Cinema," and even that was a while ago.

Possibly the best aspect of the film is its reverential nod for André Bazin in the dedication. I often wonder why such few films have dedications. Granted it may not be possible in a Hollywood spectacle, but even auteur films have a dearth of dedications, it seems.

Jean-Pierre Léaud really is a gem. Though this is rather selfish of me to say, I almost wish he froze forever in that famous frame at the end, instead of growing up as a twenty year-old and older; that way, he could remain the best child actor there was forever and ever. In any case, he was a cute child, too.

Antoine Doinel is more of a cinephile here, but he grows up to be more of a musicophile, judging by his later films. Truffaut remarked that it was basically the same idea: Doinel was obsessed by music, just as Truffaut was obsessed with the cinema.

My personal favorite of Doinel's acting was the moment he juts out his chin to say "Elle est morte" ("She is dead."). You can tell that he regretted it as soon as he said it, but it was something so impulsive that it literally contorted his visage.

Truffaut loved working with children, and it's interesting to see the casting tapes in the "special features" section. He was so calm with the auditioners, and the children were so daring and inventive. One kid sang and danced, out of his own volition; he was eventually cast as one of Doinel's classmates (the one that got ink all over his notebook). It differs radically from the way de Sica dealt with Bruno in The Bicycle Thief (1948): de Sica had to coerce tears out of the child actor, by scolding him harshly. I'd like to think that Truffaut was so good with the children because he was essentially still a child himself when he made this film--at least, in the cinematic sense. This was, after all, his first feature.

To end, an excerpt from Truffaut's letter to Jean-Pierre Léaud's father:
"Your son Jean-Pierre struck me as very intelligent and sufficiently precocious that the few weeks during which we will make him miss school should not constitute an insurmountable handicap for his standing at school."
And thank goodness Jean-Pierre Léaud's father gave him the permission, yes?

CORALINE (Henry Selick, 2009)

2009-05-31T12:22:00.003-04:00

date watched: May 30, 2009
location: Apgujung Cinecity, Seoul, Korea

So this was the second time watching this movie. On Trial One, I had missed the beginning--the rather important beginning, may I add--and felt compelled to watch it another time.

I must also add that Neil Gaiman's book is rather eerie (Yes, more than the movie, even!), and I wish I had read it BEFORE I watched the movie the first time around. A couple of crying children left the theater, I kid you not. They probably thought it was a rather cheery kind of adventure film. Oh, those poor children. One kid kept saying "I'm scared" to his mother, but remained, probably out of curiosity. He will no doubt have nightmares tonight, poor chap.

Gaiman said that the eccentric name was a result of a typo: he intended to call the character "Caroline" but had typed "Coraline," but kept the latter because he felt even accidents were a necessary part of the writing process. The dedication to the book is rather endearing, since he had originally started to write this for his first daughter, but had finished it by the time his second daughter was born.

In any case, I must say that although I had great fun watching this Western version of Spirited Away (Hayao Miyazaki, 2001), Selick's earlier success, The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) is far more sensational. My mother, who watched it with me this time around, thought that computer graphics may make the appearance of this film look rather realistic, but it also deadens the "spirit" of the film. Although I wouldn't be able to explain her comment, I knew what she was talking about.

I recommend the soundtrack to anyone, whether or not he/she has watched the film. Bruno Coulais really knows how to carry the spooky effects, without overpowering the scenes. I was surprised that the album even included the short, albeit super charming "other father" song as well.

Oh, and whoever thought of Teri Hatcher as the voice of the mother/other mother is genius. Her scratchy yet high-pitched tone is perfect for both a workaholic mother and a metal-clawed, button-eyed witch.

On that note, I thought it was clever to use buttons as the central image. We are used to thinking about buttons as decoration, or we could even think of the phrase, "cute as a button." In the world of Coraline, however, buttons are neither embellishments nor cute. They are the first stepping stones to an abysmal world of domination, and of a love that kills, literally.

I could even sense hints of The Matrix (Wachowski brothers, 1999) when Coraline and the cat walk away from the Pink Palace, only to return to it again. The "other world" behind the door is almost like Neo's virtual world. It is also strikingly similar to one of my favorite stories of all time, Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland.

MOTHER (Bong Joon-ho, 2009)

2009-05-30T07:11:00.004-04:00

date watched: May 30, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul, South Korea

Most people know Bong through The Host (2006) and his recent participation in the triptych Tokyo! ("Shaking Tokyo," 2008), but he had originally worked as a column writer. His first feature, Barking Dogs Never Bite (2000) was not a big success (in fact, it's hard to find this movie in Korea, even online), but it was possible to see that Bong was a good writer.

The same can be said of Mother: it's more a tribute to his skills as a writer, than as a visual artist. Of the New Korean filmmakers, I would say that he is the best writer, and Park Chan-wook is the best visual artist.

The story is of a single mother who lives with her son, who is not particularly bright. One day, Dojun (played by Won Bin) gets drunk, and he tails a high school girl. She hurls at him the one insult Dojun despises hearing--idiot--and in a fit of rage, he hurls something back at her--a rock. Throughout the majority of the film, we are led to believe that Dojun is not the killer. Technically, he is not the type to kill, and everyone knows this. His mother then tries everything in her power to absolve him of this charge, and in the process, it is she who learns more than she bargains for. Her struggles are at times chilling and utterly suspenseful. But the whole thing is in fact a cover for the mother's relentless attempt at absolving her own guilt. In the end, it is not the mother who saves her son. It is he who frees her from her past wrongdoing.

The mother's "tour bus dance" is her way of showing us that she will forget, at least for the time being.

Although I said earlier that Bong isn't the best artist, there were several scenes that proved his bigger steps as a more visual director. For instance, the conversations between the mother and her son in jail are usually accompanied by the infinite regression of mirrors--there really is no end to this battle. One can also glimpse a moment of voyeurism, a favorite fallback theme for filmmakers, not unlike Jeff's peek-a-boo in David Lynch's Blue Velvet.

Bong is seemingly most fascinated with murder, and especially of the theme of "the wrong man." He seems to point out that nobody is innocent, and even if the true culprit is found, there is no victory gained. What begins as a search for the murderer ensues as a tail-chasing game, and you only end up with your hands dirtier.

In this film, the characters use their real names. It must have been rather effective for the actors to get themselves involved. It reminded me of Marco Ferreri's controversial film, La Grande Bouffe (1973), in which Michel Piccoli, Marcello Mastroianni, Ugo Tognazzi, and Philippe Noiret used their actual names.

I recently saw him walking in the neighborhood with his wife. He looks like a big teddybear, and seems incapable of writing such mysteries! It goes to show that one cannot tell just by looks alone.

EAST OF EDEN (Elia Kazan, 1955)

2009-05-26T00:40:00.003-04:00

date watched: May 26, 2009
location: at home. private copy.

Personally, I like Kazan's cooperation with James Dean a lot more than I did Kazan and Brando. This may have something to do with Dean's looks. It's really too bad he died so early. I don't know how greatly admired he'd be if he were still alive, however. That sounds cold and cruel, but there's a saying in Korean that roughly translates to "leave when they're clapping." I am a firm believer of this statement. It really is the hardest to do, though. Most of us just want to make more and more, do more and more when the going is good.

In any case, then and even now, we still love the Cain and Abel story. The drama that ensues from brotherly conflict never gets old. This film also has a lot to do with hereditary resemblances, too. It is clear that Cal (short for "Caleb," played by James Dean) is not like his father or his older brother ("Aron," played by Richard Davalos). The only member left to resemble is the mother, but she is not present, so the similarities remain unconfirmed. There is also Abra (played by Julie Harris), who understands Cal better than his family members, because she went through a rough patch herself.

It becomes difficult for us to determine whether the Aron and Mr. Trask are really "pure"; it is this idealism that drives Cal to his jealous rage and inexplicable tantrums. It is so important for Adam Trask to upkeep the purity, that he forgets how to love himself, and as a result, he also forgets how to love others. The tables turn, however, and it is Aron who is portrayed as weak, and turns to the war (the very war he condemned) as a means of escape. This momentary lapse of sanity on Aron's part will then restore family balance, as Cal can make up for lost time, and patch the family together, with Abra's help. Abra is a strange name, and to me, it seems like a tie to the magical phrase, "Abra Cadabra." She is thus the magic touch that slaps Cal back into shape, and the nursing hands to Mr. Trask.

BAKJWI/THIRST (Park Chan-wook, 2009)

2009-05-25T04:49:00.006-04:00

date watched: May 25, 2009
location: Apgujung Cinecity, Seoul, Korea

I found out that this received the Jury prize at Cannes this year--go Korean cinema!

It really is a tough one, though. To watch, I mean. Park's violence probably reached its peak in his previous films, such as in Lady Vengeance (2005) and Oldboy (2003). So, no surprise there. But he definitely calmed down in the editing department and the film has less cuts than former works, and it's not as hectic. I don't know if this is such a good thing, but just something I noticed.

It is definitely one of the better vampire movies I've seen this year, along with the Swedish vampire flick, Let the Right One In (Tomas Alfredson, 2008). You have the give Park some credit for giving a priest vampiric qualities, yes?

Park is known to be a closeted Catholic, hence, the theme of original sin is evident in all his films. In this one, it is made even more blatant with the presence of a priest-turned-vampire, and his self-mutilating tendencies in the face of temptation. I think whoever came up with the English title did a good job, since this really is about insatiable desires and unending greed.

One of my favorite elements is the visual significance of the shoes. The relationship between the priest (played by Park's veteran actor, Song Kang-ho) and Taejoo (played by newcomer Kim Ok-bin) begins with the shoes, and it ends with them. It began with the unselfish need to protect Taejoo, and even after a strain of their repulsive behavior, they die holding each other.

The interesting thing though, is that Taejoo didn't need the shoes to begin with. She ran barefoot in the dark for many nights before she met the priest, and the only thing it did was add callous skin on her feet. She could've continued to live her life as a "dog," and have remained perpetually bored. Likewise, the priest could have shut himself away in the hospital, and lived off a comatose patient's blood. He changed her once, and then again when she joined his one-man vampire league. They could have lived together forever, but they chose to burn to death. This is where Guilt comes in. Taejoo continued to wheel her mother-in-law around, even though the only movement she was capable of was blinking and rolling her eyes, and tapping her fingers. The once drowned "oppa" (played by Shin Ha-kyun) continues to torment the new couple in their sleep, dripping water everywhere. I have a strong conviction, by the way, that Park must be terrified of drowning; I spotted it from his first "vengeance" film, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2002), and it continues to haunt his films today. Alas, it is this guilt that eventually consumes the couple. Perhaps we don't deserve such tremendous power in the first place.

STAR TREK (J. J. Abrams, 2009)

2009-05-25T04:36:00.003-04:00

date watched: May 24, 2009
location: Central City Cinus, Seoul, Korea

I start with a disclaimer: I know nothing about the previous Star Trek series. I will thus have no comparisons to share.

I guess I'm not nerdy enough or a lover of Sci-Fi enough to get into this stuff. Time-traveling is cool, I guess.

One thing that seems certain is that we'll still have wars in the future. And these wars aren't going to be about countries, but PLANETS and GALAXIES, etc. This terrifies me.

I really can't get myself to say anything more.
The sound was really good, though.

DARE MO SHIRANAI/NOBODY KNOWS (Kore-eda Hirokazu, 2004)

2009-05-24T03:22:00.003-04:00

date watched: May 24, 2009
location: At home. Private copy.

I first watched this when I was a high school student, and although it left a deep impression on me even then, it seems even more powerful the second time around.

Upon doing a simple Wikipedia search, I found that the true story that the film is based on took place in the 1980s. None of the children's names were ever released, and it is said that the mother was in jail for four years for child abandonment.

Yagira Yûya was awarded the best actor at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival, and is the youngest and first Japanese to receive such an honor. According to his mini biography on imdb.com, this was his first film role, and the first film he auditioned for. Although the film is a fictionalized version of the 1980s incident, I'm sure the role must have been a trying one for the young actor. The filming spanned over a year, and I cannot imagine how much personal strength and will power Yagira needed to play the part. A few years back, he was all over the news in Japan, for his alleged suicide attempt. He admitted to taking pills, but denied the suicide claim. It really is heartbreaking to see child actors growing up as broken adolescents and adults.

Anecdotes aside, Kore-eda obviously knows his Ozu. The "empty shots" left from the lingering camera and the close-ups of body parts and objects really echo the Japanese master, and I don't think it's done in a cheap way.

Although the audience members are clearly not all Akira's age, we mature and suffer with him, and we are almost like his shut-in younger siblings, relying on him for the vicarious escapades, even though they are only short trips to the convenience stores.

Surprisingly, the outwardly evil acts come from other children, and not the adults. For example, the part-time workers at the convenience store are willing to help Akira out, even if it just means giving away some snacks and writing New Year's cards. It is clear that the true nemesis is the childlike mother, who is seen running away from the children until she is no longer a part of their lives. The most haunting scene is when Akira phones his mother, only to hear her bright voice chiming "This is the Yamamotos!" (their actual family name is Fukushima) Whatever thin cord we thought the mother attached to the children is severed at that point, and we become aware that Akira is utterly alone.

No matter how much we want to escape the responsibilities and burdens that Akira has taken on, it is impossible to dissociate ourselves from him, since we identify with him from the very beginning. I really hope no child has to endure Akira's plight.

BOAT (Kim Young Nam, 2009)

2009-05-23T10:02:00.002-04:00

date watched: May 23, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul, South Korea

Honestly, purchasing the tickets for this movie wasn't so much for the movie as it was for the actors' introduction.
I don't really know the Japanese actor, but I'm a huge fan of Ha Jungwoo, who did a marvelous job as a psychopath serial killer in CHUGYEOGJA/THE CHASER (Na Hong-jin, 2008).

There really isn't a whole lot to say about the film, since it didn't leave a particularly strong impression on me; needless to say, it was not a first-rate movie.

But I do want to say one thing about co-productions involving two or more countries. It's one thing when the whole script is written in one language and then directed by a foreign filmmaker. And it is another thing when the script seems neither here nor there, and it is clear that too many cooks ruined the stew, so to speak.
So far, I think the best co-productions were those that gave the director "free reign," but was backed by foreign currency. For example, all, or almost all, of Jim Jarmusch's films were made with the help of Japanese investors.
There are, of course, exceptions. I would say that Jean-Luc Godard did a fine job in Contempt (1963) mixing English, French, Italian, and sometimes German (via Fritz Lang). It's true that Godard was more often than not satirizing the concept of co-productions, but it was artfully done, nonetheless.

JAL ALJIDO MOTHAMYEONSEO [roughly translated: "You Don't Even Know (Me)"] (Hong Sang-soo, 2009)

2009-05-20T20:28:00.002-04:00

date watched: May 20, 2009

location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul, Korea

Director Hong is truly a lover of chance and a master of spontaneity.

The way he works is (in)famous both here and abroad: he arrives on set around 2-3 hours before shooting begins; he writes the script within that time, i.e., the amount to be shot that day; they begin shooting right away.

The script is also not very telling. Many times he will just announce to the actors that a certain something must happen, but no more than the most minimal instructions. He believes this calls for more natural acting, and often the situation can become unexpectedly diverting.

Director Hong is also a lover of alcohol.

This is evident in many of the scenes of his films, and the characters will say the most absurd and refreshing things when they are drunk.

When he visited Columbia a couple months ago, it was clear that he had a little bit much to drink the night before. It was rather amusing, to say the least.

The answers to all the questions posed by the audience were reflective of his film style--ambiguous. For example, one audience member asked whether a certain object was symbolic of something else, to which he replied: "You interpret it in your own way." How can you argue with that?

In this particular film, I'd say that Hong is more conscious of his position as a director. Many times, his protagonist is a painter, writer, actor, or teacher. This time, Kim Tae Woo plays a director, who seems to know it all, but actually knows very little. Many of his answers parrot his colleagues' philosophies, what we all know as PLAGIARISM. Rather than criticize this tendency, I think Hong is rather neutral towards this human tendency. We all do it, and sometimes we do it without knowing.

The title owes itself to the last scene between Kim and Go on the beach. Go does not regret her sexual infidelity, but she also just wants to keep it as it is, no strings attached. When he complains about her past and her reluctance to keep the relationship going, she replies by saying, "Why would you say these things? You don't even know me that well." Too often we do the same thing, criticizing others when we aren't even aware of our own shortcomings.

ANTOINE ET COLLETTE/ANTOINE AND COLLETTE (François Truffaut, 1962)

2009-05-20T00:55:00.002-04:00

date watched: May 19, 2009

location watched: At home. Private copy of The Adventures of Antoine Doinel DVD Box Set

I had watched 400 Blows (1959) a long time ago, but through this "grown-up" version of Antoine, I was able to re-live the marvels of a little French rebel again.

Doinel and Jean-Pierre Léaud are often interchangeable, since it is Doinel that gave Léaud life, so to speak; Truffaut may have already seen Léaud in his dreams, and it was a miracle that he came to the auditions for 400 Blows. Many French people have told Truffaut that he and Léaud resembled each other, and still other people thought they were father and son! Although Truffaut never explicitly said that Doinel's character was based on his own life, the so-called resemblance may have given it away.

This box set is invaluable because of all the extra commentaries, footage, and booklet that comes with the DVDs. It's interesting to see the pre-screenplay writings, because they are so different from the treatments one sees today. Various screenwriting programs and conventions have changed scripts into uniform productions, but back then, they had a more free-reign quality to them. It really brought to light the writer and not the technician.

Antoine falls in love with Collette, only to find, disappointingly, that Collette's parents are more in love with him than Collette is. Truffaut claimed that he wanted to make a point about the two generations' interaction: just because our parents loved doing something, or just because they had plans for us, doesn't mean that we'll follow through; similarly, just because Collette's parents love Antoine doesn't mean she'll love him back. The only complaint Antoine can angrily spit out to his childhood friend, René (with whom Antoine exchanges "love stories"), is, "She talks like a guy!" I almost think that if Antoine hadn't moved across the street from Collette, their love story would have been realized. After all, we often do things just to spite or go in opposition to our parents' wishes, right?

NEVER LET ME GO (Delmer Daves, 1953)

2009-05-20T00:33:00.002-04:00

date watched: May 18, 2009

location watched: At home in Seoul, Korea. Private VHS copy.

Even though it's been a while since the Hays Code days, I can see why this isn't released on DVD yet. It's a pity, since Gene Tierney makes a good Russian ballerina, and Clark Gable makes a good American journalist/seaman.

The title is rather misleading, however. One would think that this is a love story that revolves around Tierney and Gable--playing Marya Lamarkina and Philip Sutherland, respectively--but the bulk of the narrative focuses on Gable's journey by sea, with two fellow shipmates. It's a lot like Lubitsch's 1939 masterpiece, Ninotchka, in some senses. I say this because it really de-romanticizes Soviet communism. I wouldn't go so far to say that it casts American democracy as the hero.

One of the most intriguing parts is when the three shipmates are anchored in a sheltered Finland cove, and they are found out by Russian seamen. They decide to place bets on which countrymen can take more alcohol. The Americans are confident that they can take them on with whiskey, until the Russian throws it overboard, and opts for vodka instead. Joe Brooks (Bernard Miles) then mimics his first vodka experience (during which he met his wife, Valentina Alexandrovna) by citing all the famous Russian inventors with each emptied shot. It is only when the Russians are unconscious that he claims it was Sir Francis Drake who discovered the potato, and not a Russian man.

During this time, Gene Tierney was still on the brink of depression, since it was not long after she gave birth to her severely retarded child, Daria. She was said to have trained for six long weeks to familiarize herself with ballet, and despite her unhappiness, still plowed through. In her biography by Michelle Vogel, she gives a lot of credit to Gable, who was gentleman enough to notice her ill mental health, but still cared for her as a co-star and friend. Agatha Christie actually wrote a book called The Mirror Crack'd, which is supposedly based on Tierney's life, and specifically dealing with her mental problems.

I half-expected Philip and Marya to run into more unfortunate circumstances. I even though one of them would die. But if there's one thing storytellers know about pleasing spectators, it is the obligatory gratification granted after all the twists, turns, and inconveniences the characters are subjected to. I felt very much the same way when I was watching Slumdog Millionaire (Danny Boyle, 2008): I thought Jamal would get run over a train before he reunited with Latika.

MY FAVORITE WIFE (Garson Kanin, 1940)

2009-05-14T13:04:00.006-04:00

date watched: May 13, 2009
location: At home, courtesy of Netflix.

And yet another "comedy of remarriage." Always a delight :)
I must say that this has to be one of my favorites! I think the greatness should be attributed mostly to the writing, and the humorous music, more than the directing itself. No offense, Kanin.

Pearl Harbor (Michael Bay, 2001) also posed us with the question: do you move on after your beloved spouse is assumed dead? Of course, My Favorite Wife is oodles better because of the comedic element, and nobody actually has to die.

Some of the scenes are designed so perfectly. For example, after Nick (Cary Grant) has seen his wife's "Adam," he cannot get him out of his mind. He tries to carry on a conversation on the phone, but keeps seeing images of Burkett (Randolph Scott) swinging and flaunting his well-toned body all the while.

The scenes in the courtroom mirror cinema spectatorship: there is an audience seated behind the four men and women, and they laugh, as if cued from an unseen director. This audience within the screen and the audience outside coordinate their laughter, and the judge can only look on disapprovingly, unable to control them.

Even after Ellen (Irene Dunne) mentally tortures Nick, he still can't get himself to confess his unchanged love for her. But how can you refuse lovable Grant in a Santa Claus costume? I know I would have taken him back IMMEDIATELY. It's this Grant that we all know and love--clumsy and muttering things under his breath. He's not as intriguing when he's poised and winsome, like in some of Hitchcock's films. I think I will need to check out more from the Dunne-Grant duo! Note to self: watch The Awful Truth, and Penny Serenade.

LA VENTANA/THE WINDOW (Carlos Sorin, Argentina, 2008)

2009-05-12T20:58:00.003-04:00

date watched: May 12, 2009
location: Film Forum, NYC

Many people wonder whether life examination in old age is beneficial, and whether it helps in acceptance of death. Our dear abuelo in La Ventana is more fixated on a dream he has, than the overall meaning of his life. If Umberto D. (Vittoria de Sica, 1952) and Wild Strawberries (Ingmar Bergman, 1957) are like dissertations on growing old, then Le Ventana is more like a thesis. It only shows us a slice of this man's life, and the duration is not even a full day.

Hollywood blockbusters give us rapid cuts, explosions, and close-cut action sequences; but there's been a recent interest in the slow-paced, Ozu-like, meditative films. I daresay that we are even dealing with the posterity of the cult classic, Jeanne Dielman (Chantal Akerman, 1975). The scenes are "empty," and the camera is more interested in lingering on frames. It echoes Don Antonio's baby steps through the country fields, as his octogenarian limbs no longer swing the way they used to. I particularly like the poignant scene in which he sits on the grass, waving and yelling to the young boy who has just caught a hare and walks home with his two hounds. It is as if everyone is moving but him.

By the way, the film was shot on location in the Patagonian countryside, and the visuals are are pretty as paintings. Great work, Julián Apezteguia! (the cinematographer)

There is also a Persona (Ingmar Bergman, 1966) element to the film, seen in the beginning and ending, when Don Antonio's memory is likened to a faded celluloid reel. This film-within-a-film is one of the more poetic aspects of the film, and it definitely works well as an intro and conclusion to this "thesis."

The piano tuner's presence is also an ingenious choice on Sorin's part: like the old piano that must be cranked and tweaked to regain its voice, Don Antonio wracks his brain trying to fine-tune his images of his childhood babysitter. It's ironic that in his (supposed) last moments, the only one in the room is his son's girlfriend, who seems to be more interested in her phone's reception than the ill man in front of her.

Like the film, San Juan (the estate in which the narrative enfolds) and its varying inhabitants must be dealt with patiently. The only means of contact is through a radio (Alberto sounds like he's at a military base, ending every word with "over." VERY serious.) and all food is cooked over the fire, not in the microwave. In a world so overwhelmed with choices, we need to all take a moment to be Don Antonios and Isak Borgs, and sift our memories--manually, not automatically--before they become an indistinct pulp.

ONLY ANGELS HAVE WINGS (Howard Hawks, 1939)

2009-05-12T04:08:00.005-04:00

date watched: May 12, 2009
location: At home. My private copy of the "Cary Grant Box Set."

1939 was certainly a good year for Hollywood. Among the achievements are Gone With the Wind (Victor Fleming), Ninotchka (Ernst Lubitsch), and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (Frank Capra). By this point, Hawks was already an established director, with works like Scarface (1932) and Bringing Up Baby (1938) to his credit. According to Todd McCarthy's book on Howard Hawks, Only Angels Have Wings was one of twelve titles to represent the United States at the first-ever Cannes Film Festival, set to upon on September, 1939. Who knew Hawks was an international player from early on!

Unlike the original story, which spans a few weeks, Hawks's film takes place over a little over twenty-four hours. Hawks is able to edit judiciously, and to my eye, there's nothing that could have been left out or added in.

The interesting thing about this film is that the love story between Geoff Carter (Cary Grant) and Bonnie Lee (Jean Arthur), and to add, his past with Judy MacPherson (Rita Hayworth), are only secondary to his real "love story" with "the kid" (Thomas Mitchell). Even though Geoff never carries his own matches (possibly a defensive act), he still gets burnt twice, something Bonnie has the guts to point out. First, he lets the love of his life, Judy, take off with another flyer (MacPherson, played by Richard Barthelmess). Next, he makes the mistake of letting his devoted friend and "brother," Kid, take the reigns of the plane on a unauspicious night. These same sacrificial acts will be echoed three years later, in Curtiz's hit, Casablanca. As a Cary Grant fan, I'm sorry that Bogart got to be so heroic, as Rick Blaine--after all, Grant is number two on American Film Institute's "Greatest Male Star of All Time," AFTER Bogart. Tant pis.

Hawks, knowingly or unknowingly, had taken a jab at the "male weepie," which, in my opinion, reaches its dramatic height in John Woo's A Better Tomorrow (1986). If ever you want to see the second greatest male star of all time cry (or at least BEGIN to cry), just watch Only Angels Have Wings. It's actually quite unsettling, to tell you the truth.

THE PHILADELPHIA STORY (George Cukor, 1940)

2009-05-11T14:50:00.006-04:00

date watched: May 10, 2009
location: At home. My own copy of "TCM's Greatest Classics: Romantic Comedies" version.

Man. I just had a whole post ready to go, and then the server crashed on me.
Let's try this once more.
It'll be in the theme of the "comedy of remarriage," anyway.

Stanley Cavell is accredited with the phrase, used to categorize films like It Happened One Night (Frank Capra, 1934), Bringing Up Baby (Howard Hawks, 1938), and The Lady Eve (Preston Sturges, 1941). It may seem silly to us now, but the genre allowed for extra-marital affairs to exist under censorship. Of course, it's technically legal, since all the affairs take place once the divorce has been settled.

But really, what better way to relax after finals with a nice romantic comedy starring my favorite stars of Hollywood? (i.e., Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn)

Katharine Hepburn was considered "box office poison," believe it or not, and nobody wanted to take their chances with her. Thank goodness Cukor did, because I don't know who else could've played a better Tracy Lord. I don't know how she gets those tears to well up, without having it run over. Amazing. Tracy is a woman who is torn between her image as goddess, and her soft-shelled interior. With the appearance of ex-husband C. K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant) and writer/journalist Macaulay Connor (James Stewart) to put the spotlight on her mushier insides. They do it in the nick of time, too, before she makes the mistake of getting hitched to "the man of the people," George Kittredege (John Howard).

I was rooting for Dexter all along, but it was still thrilling to watch her consider the bumbling yet endearing Connor (he truly deserved the Best Actor Oscar--what a cute drunk he was!). With the right amount of distraction, and so long as you don't wander too far, you'll come back right to where you belong.

I thought that the girl cast as Dinah Lord (Virginia Weidler) was exceptional. I was sad to learn that she died of a heart attack at the early age of 47, befor she got a chance to bloom, professionally speaking. I think the author of "The Class Act" (http://www.classicmoviemusicals.com/weidler2.htm) was right in his conjecture that studios focused too much on Shirley Temple and Judy Garland to notice Weidler. Better luck in the next life, Weidler. But you did get to act with some of Hollywood's best. And for that, I envy you.

FORBIDDEN CATALAN CINEMA UNDER FRANCO, PROGRAM II: Countryside and the City: The Struggle to Make a Living

2009-05-11T14:09:00.005-04:00

date watched: May 10, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center, NYC

(1) Largo Viaje Hacia La Ira/Long Journey to the Rage (dir. Llorenç Soler, Spain, 1969)
I don't know what I was expecting, but I was surprised by the meticulous planning that was evident in these documentaries. It was really a testimony of how art can flourish even in the most despairing and limiting of times.
Although the film was black and white, it was possible to see the elegance of the matador's costumes. To those young boys, it really was worth aspiring to, not just for the glitter and glory, but what it would mean for their future and their family's future.

(2) 52 Domingos/52 Sundays (dir. Llorenç Soler, Spain, 1966)
I often forget how influential Italian Neorealism was in film history. Though this is an oversimplification, its impressive progeny includes the French Nouvelle Vague, the Brazilian Cinema Novo, the Czech New Wave, and many others. The neorealist signatures are also apparent in Soler's works, along with Cinéma Vérité, since he intended these works to be documentaries. I loved how he began and ended this segment with the names of Catalonian workers. These bookends really puts the documentary into perspective: these workers wake up, go to work, and go back home, only to repeat this grueling process the next morning. Soler's heroes, it appears, is not the political rebels, but these everyday workers, who can only hope for a brighter future--their own future, their children's future, and the country's future--without directly partaking in the action.

Szegénylegények/THE ROUND-UP (Miklós Jancsó, 1966)

2009-05-07T21:57:00.005-04:00

date watched: May 7, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center, NYC
Shown as part of "Jancsó Classics"

"For my own sake." These words perhaps best encapsulates the theme of the film; that is, the inborn greed and selfishness of mankind.

When some of the Hungarian inmates are faced with a dilemma--treason or survival--they pick the latter, out of sheer desperation. What the Hungarians do not have the power to discern, however, is that once they are involved in the "multiple choice" process, there is no end to the test. The "picker" becomes "the picked" as soon as he turns around, and there's no guarantee that your own comrades will save you, even if it is your family member. The scene involving the father and son--Kabai senior and Kabai junior, respectively--is especially haunting: will the father sacrifice his neck for his son, or will they both be hanged anyway? In a strange way, it reminded me of the scene in Disney's Lion King, when Scar is reprimanded for playing with his food, when it will end up in his belly anyway. Prolonging torture for an individual to the enjoyment of another--this is truly evil in its highest level.

When the father and son are separated to think about their choices, it was as if they were illustrating the game theory (Economics) in physical practice; instead of "the prisoner's dilemma," this was a matter of life and death.

The "chosen three" are given a chance to redeem themselves as military members, and even give an impressive performance on hand-picked cavalry horses. Their attempts are futile, however, when they are grouped with other prisoners to take responsibility of being former rebels, when their rebel leader is ironically released, leaving them to their doom.

I remember when my mom told me about the vicious cycle in prisons: once you are in, you will commit more crimes, all in order to survive the other rapacious acts within prison walls. The more crimes you commit, the more years you spend in prison, and so the pattern goes.

If Antonioni were a Hungarian, I imagine he would be Jancsó. Their long takes and perturbing landscapes are unforgettable, especially in today's era, when MTV-style flash-cutting is the norm.

Csillagosok, katonák/THE RED AND THE WHITE (Miklós Jancsó, 1967)

2009-05-06T21:38:00.005-04:00

date watched: May 6, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center, NYC
Shown as part of the "Jancsó Classics" series at the Walter Reade Theater.

Miklós Jancsó is often referred to as a master choreographer, and it really takes flight in this film. I can't imagine how much planning and attention must have gone into all the details to get the marches and battle scenes the way Jancsó wanted them.

As much as I wanted to sympathize with the Hungarians and censure the Red Russians, and play the good guy/bad guy game, it was difficult when the so-called Hungarian heroes were courageous, but had horrible timing. In one scene, when a surprise attack on the Reds is carried out successfully, an old man in the audience started clapping enthusiastically, as though he were paid to do it. But I partially understood his fervor, because by that point, it had become frustrating how unlucky the Hungarians were.

Intended by Jancsó or not, the film pays tribute to the beauty of the male body, also. When the Hungarians are captured, they are forced to take their shirts off, to further magnify their collective shame. When the Hungarians are on their own, they are sometimes shirtless, and in this case, it represents their honest yet vulnerable passion for their country. On the other hand, women's bodies become a target for objectification, whether you're on the "right" side or not.

I think I'll check out another Miklós Jancsó film tomorrow.

SHALL WE DANCE (Mark Sandrich, 1937)

2009-05-06T00:35:00.006-04:00

date watched: May 5, 2009
location: at home, thanks to Netflix Instant!

This is a confession: Shall We Dance is the first Astaire-Rogers musical I've seen. (To add to my embarrassing film knowledge deficiencies--don't laugh--there are Hitchcock's Vertigo (1958), Renoir's La Grande Illusion (1937), Rocky (1976), Silence of the Lambs (1991)... Oh, and so much more.)
And boy, was I wrong, to condemn the musical movie all this time.
It's true that there isn't much room for modern musicals on the DVD shelves nowadays, but there's a reason why we keep going back to Singing' in the Rain (Stanley Donen & Gene Kelly, 1952) on a gloomy day (like NYC today, for instance).

Now that I've said all that, it's hard not to compare Astaire and Kelly. If Astaire were still dancing in movies today, he would be called "metrosexual" for sure. His hair is always sleek and combed, his face is wrinkle-free and smooth, and he always looks so sharp in his tailcoats. On the other hand, Kelly is the paragon of male machismo, musical version. There are always two or three too many buttons left unopened, and his muscular movements and cheek scar spells M-A-N. Thank goodness he has that endearing beam, else he'd sound/look like a gangster.

Truly the best sequence in Shall We Dance is the skate-tap dancing number in the park. YouTube has it, conveniently:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdH2ODFYV5s
We're so used to buildings being blown up and other forms of mass destruction in mindless blockbusters that we forget the spectacle of the pure human form. And of course, dance is the pinnacle of that form. And Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are the Titans in the Land of Dance. As I showed my sister this, she remarked, "I didn't know you could tap dance with skates!" Well, if you're Astaire and Rogers, you can. I shouldn't even bother wasting words describing the miraculous phenomenon. Just click and watch.

I imagine Rogers didn't have time to gain weight, even if she wanted to, what with all the practices and the multiple takes while shooting these musicals. Her sheer energy demonstrated in all these numbers is hidden underneath her smile, and Astaire's ease. But that was Rogers in the 30s. Come 50s, and Rogers is obviously too old to tap dance on heels and skates, much less flats alone. I almost didn't recognize her in Monkey Business (Howard Hawks, 1952), if it weren't for her voice! I guess that's what happens when you retire from a job that requires so much locomotion. Let's all take this as a warning to our future selves and stay in tip-top shape!

TSIRK/CIRCUS (Grigori Aleksandrov, 1936)

2009-05-02T23:59:00.003-04:00

date watched: May 2, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center
part of the "Red Diva" series featuring films of Soviet actress, Lyubov Orlova

The film obviously owes more to its silent film predecessors: the use of slapstick comedy, musical numbers, and circus performances, for example.

Back then, and even now, filmmakers always had this fascination with the circus. I can think of Wings of Desire (1987), many of Fellini's films, and Lola Montès (1955), all of which featured the circus setting. I guess it's the one place we can all relate to, having been there as children, and the sense of awe and fantasy related to it. It's the one place that freaks and beauties co-exist, and has a surrealistic quality, which always makes for a good movie.

The funniest thing about this film is its obvious propagandistic slant, which comes unexpectantly at the end. The film follows Marion Dixon (played by Lyubov Orlova), who escapes the United States and finds herself in Moscow. She is under the tyranny of a cruel circus manager, who uses her only weakness to control her and use her as his main featurette. She falls in love with another circus participant, and in order to prevent further development in their relationship, the evil circus manager brings to the crowd her black child, which was the reason for her escape from America. The audience does not react in the way the circus manager wanted them to--with ease. They all exclaim, "what's the tragedy?" and passes the child from member to member, singing lullabies to him and cradling them in their arms. The circus owner remarks, "Here, we don't care whether the child is white, black, or red, striped like a zebra, or with polka-dots. We accept everyone." Clearly, this is the "U.S.S.R good, America bad" campagin that was required in order for the film to be released. Then the entire cast goes out into the streets, carrying pictures of Stalin and singing about how great their country is. It was really quite funny, as you can imagine.

Aside from the unintentional comedic aspect, I imagine a lot of money and time went into the sets and costumes, which were very fancy for its time. I even witnessed a moment in which the rain on the outdoor glass lamps melted into rain hitting the window--experimentation without being too over-the-top, I'd say. All in all, it is one of those films that will remain in your memory, despite its blatant propaganda. I especially liked the way it ended with letters hanging from hot-air balloons. I have a penchant for dirigibles and hot-air balloons.

DAS LEBEN DER ANDEREN/THE LIVES OF OTHERS (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, 2007)

2009-05-01T01:14:00.004-04:00

date watched: April 30, 2009
location: At the comfort of my own home, thanks to Netflix :)

One word: WOW.

Now, for the pseudo-film critic talk...

It's hard to believe that this is von Donnersmarck's debut feature. It is loaded with profound symbolism and its meditative style is breathtaking. Generally speaking, this film is about surveillance, but I honestly believe it's about cinema: its voyeurism, (perverse) pleasure, and the dangers of personal investment in spectatorship.

I haven't watched the other Oscar nominees of the 2007 Best Foreign Language Award (After the Wedding, Water, Pan's Labyrinth, and Indigènes), but I don't doubt the judgment of the jury one bit, now that I've watched The Lives of Others.

I can't even begin to analyze all the deep-rooted cinematic allusions in this film.

When Wiesler (played wonderfully by actor Ulrich Mühe) types out the reports, they are like scripts. But in this world, the actors are playing out the scenes as you are typing the words. There are countless instances when we catch ourselves cursing the screens' villains or when we root for the hero. The film pervades our very being for the moment, and although they are moving images projected on to a screen, we forget the ersatz nature. Likewise, Wiesler begins to break the walls little by little, until they are no longer "the other." At one point, he tells Crista-Maria (played by Martina Gedeck), "I'm your audience." She takes this to mean he is a fan of her acting. But we know the real meaning behind those words, and it is almost too chilling to register.

I don't want to go on and on, so I will conclude this post with one of my favorite lines from the film:
"What is a director if he can't direct? He's a projectionist wthout film, a miller without corn. He's nothing. Nothing at all."

Hopefully, it'll be no sophomore slumps for von Donnersmarck, and forward march into more blazing features.

VALS IM BASHIR/WALTZ WITH BASHIR (Ari Folman, 2008)

2009-05-01T01:01:00.005-04:00

date watched: April 30, 2009
location: In class (course title: "International Cinema After 1960")

Yes, it has long been taken down from theaters, but it deserves a few words.
Upon second viewing, I really got to appreciate the film beyond its mere images.
It was also neat to have it shown in 35 mm in class, since the DVD isn't due until June.

I don't want to say too much about this film. For one, I know very little about the Lebanon War, and don't want to taint the work with my ignorant remarks.

I do want to say something about the genre, however. According to the professor, director Ari Folman got 38 rejections out of the 40 he submissions he sent out. The main reason for the rejections was documentary companies rejected the film because it was an animation, and animation companies rejected the film because it was a documentary. What they weren't aware of was that the two can exist on the same plane.

The modern eye is overloaded with quick cuts, flashing images, and dizzying stunts. Waltz With Bashir really slows down human action, partly due to its animation technique of using traces and cut-outs, a kind of combination of stop-motion plus 3-D animation. It's a nice change.

With the plethora of information available today, it's hard not to see pictures of this and that catastrophe, and though it is a cliché to say it, we really are desensitized to such images as a result. In a way, although animation is not "flesh and blood" on screen, there's no right or wrong way to use animation, which includes its uses for documentary effect. I felt myself relating more to these images than I would to news images, as sad as it sounds.

The soundtrack by Max Richter really is amazing, too. It's available on iTunes, by the way.

IL DIVO: LA STRAORDINARIA VITA DI GIULIO ANDREOTTI (Paolo Sorrentino, 2008)

2009-04-29T23:09:00.005-04:00

date watched: April 30, 2009
location: Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, NYC

I think the only reason this film got distribution in the United States is because of its subject matter (Andreotti), and the references to the Mafia (Cosa Nostra, as they call it in Italia). Not to mention that the film got the 2008 Cannes Jury Prize.

*Signore Giulio Andreotti (the real Andreotti)

The title refers to one of Andreotti's (many) nicknames, and also an allusion to Divo Julius ("Divine Julius"), what Julius Caesar was called. Let me just say right now that I'm not going to pretend to know politics, because I really don't know politics. And I know almost nothing about Italian politics. All I know is that among his many positions in Italy, Andreotti is most well-known for his work as Prime Minister, and he was part of the Christian Democrats (Democrazia Cristiana, or DC).

I was happy to see Toni Servilo on screen, playing "the hunchback," since there are not so many great deadpan-faced actors like him nowadays. Sorrentino also continued to use his signature styles: switching abruptly from a loud soundtrack to silence, using extreme close-ups, and displaying hallways. He carries on Fellini and early Bertolucci's tradition of interlacing the real and fable.

I'd really like to get my hands on the soundtrack, but alas, an "Il Divo" search in iTunes only returns albums of the Italian male popera ensemble. Perfetto.

I highly recommend his 2004 film, Le Conseguenze Dell'Amore (The Consequences of Love), if you can get your hands on it.

THE EXPLODING GIRL (Bradley Rust Gray, 2009)

2009-04-28T21:16:00.007-04:00

date watched: April 28, 2009
location: LOEWS VII, NYC
Screened as part of the TriBeCa Film Festival in New York

Here it is, my first negative review in this blog:

Luckily, I didn't pay for this ticket, so I didn't lose anything, monetarily speaking.
And the movie was short, fortunately.
Let me just say, it truly is hard to make a movie, and impossible to make a good movie.
This guy can definitely learn a thing or two or more from his wife, whose Treeless Mountain (So Yong Kim, 2008) was beautifully crafted.

The coolest feature was Zoe Kazan's performance, not because of her acting per se, but for who she is. For those of you who don't recognize her last name, she's the granddaughter of the great Elia Kazan, director of On The Waterfront (1954) and Splendor in the Grass (1961), among other works. Her most recent appearance was in Mendes's Revolutionary Road (2008) as Maureen Grube.

This film really allowed me to contemplate the importance of the genre-character match. It's often disconcerting to have immature characters (I say immature here because these kids are college-age, and still growing up) act in a mature genre (in this case, the "serious" coming-of-age). Of course, there are films like Adventureland (Greg Mottola, 2009) that used the same cohort, yet was successful because of the careful weaving of comedy and bildungsroman genres.

Towards the later part of the film, during a scene in which Ivy (Zoe Kazan) talks with her boyfrriend on the phone, an audience member shouted, "Who the fuck cares, man. C'mon!" I dare say this was the most refreshing moment of the screening. This kind of "rupture" was badly needed by that point. It really drove home the Heineken slogan in its advertisement for TFF--"In New York, everyone's a critic." So Bravo, New York critics. And an extra Bravo for you, crude young man.

GOOPY GYNE BAGHA BYNE/THE ADVENTURES OF GOOPY AND BAGHA (Satyajit Ray, 1968)

2009-04-26T16:58:00.004-04:00

date watched: April 26, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center
This marks my last viewing of Ray's films in the "First Light" series at Lincoln. How sad :(

I could tell Ray was having a lot of fun with this film, compared to his more serious Apu Trilogy and the other two films mentioned in this blog. It's no wonder this was his most popular film, as it was a domestic box office hit. I almost thought he was experimenting with some recreational drugs at some points, especially during the Ghosts' dancing sequence and the appearance of the Ghost King. It reminded me of the drunken revelries of Dumbo in the Disney movie, when he sees all kinds of elephants dancing. Some of those ghosts looked like teletubbies, and this was 1968!

The portrayal of the kings were most intriguing: the corpulent King of Amloki who chases out bad musicians on gaunt donkeys; the good-natured King of Shundi; and the King of Halla, brother to the King of Shundi, who was under the evil spell of Borfi and his own Prime Minister. I would also add the Ghost King, who speaks like one of Alvin's chipmunks and has a visage filled with so many sequins you can hardly focus.

It is the Ghost King who grants Goopy and Bagha three wishes, and being simple men, they ask not for riches, but for a voice and a rhythm, some food, and easy transportation. I suppose the ability to paralyze the audience through song was a bonus.

When the King brothers reunite, they bring with them their only daughters, as wives for Goopy and Bagha. Here, Ray borrowed a little of Fleming's magic, as the image transforms from grays to Technicolor, like the moment Dorothy steps into the colorful land of Oz. Like Oz, the colors seen on the screen are almost too much for the eyes. Especially since Indian culture values color so much, the abundance of hues seem fake, even. But this splash of color was an unexpected gesture of Ray's, since all of his films (the famous ones, anyway) are in black and white. Sometimes, surprises are necessary, even in the world of cinema, right?

MAHANAGAR/THE BIG CITY (Satyajit Ray, 1963)

2009-04-25T23:55:00.005-04:00

date watched: April 25, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center
This film was a part of the "First Light" series in FSLC on Satyajit Ray's films

Our heroine in Charulata/The Lonely Wife returns in Mahanagar/The Big City (techincally, it's not a "return," since Charulata came after Mahanagar), and I don't blame Ray for wanting to cast her again. She has the types of brow-furrows and stares that allow spectators to know her thoughts. Plus, she has the strength to freeze those expressions in front of a camera, most likely glued to her face.

I like to consider myself a forward-thinking woman, and the limitations posed on the main character, Arati, were at times frustrating for me. This frustration was a necessary component, however, and it really gave Arati a lot of power throughout the movie, as we saw the family slowly fraying at the edges without her presence in the house. Especially haunting is the Father's tenacity: he visits his former students, using their skills as credit to his work as a professor; these visits are nothing short of panhandling, despite his external dignity.

I thought the biggest strength of the film was the foil that Arati's husband, Subrata Mazumdar (played by Anil Chatterjee), and Arati's boss, Mr. Mukherjee (played by Haradhan Bannerjee), made up. In the last part of the film, the shadow cast by Subrata on the curtains curiously splits into two (I take this double as the presence of Mr. Mukherjee), as he seriously ponders his wife's new job and its imbrications. The next day, he meets Mr. Mukherjee, who humorously says that they are "two birds of a feather," coming from the same town.

It takes Subrata some time to realize what a great wife he is living with, but the moment of his revelation is truly rewarding. Instead of his earlier statement of "exit husband, enter wife," they will undoubtedly work under the healthy slogan of "enter husband AND wife."

EARTH (Alastair Fothergill & Mark Linfield, 2007)

2009-04-22T23:57:00.005-04:00

date watched: EARTH DAY! (April 22, 2009)
location: Lincoln AMC 13, NYC

Brought by Greenlight Media AG, BBC Worldwide, and Disneynature

Earth is essentially made possible by two elements amalgamated: technology (the photography often has the "realer than real" aspect) and mother nature. Without the former, we wouldn't be able to see the wonders of the latter on the silver screen.

It's always humorous to give animals human qualities. I can't believe how many times I laughed during this movie. And yet we are surprised time and time again by animal behavior because it is so close to ours. Eating, sleeping, child-rearing, attracting love interests--they all belong to both animal and human realms.

One of the key ingredients in this shimmering documentary about our planet is the soundtrack. Original music was composed by George Fenton, and he certainly has the Ennio Morricone touch of bolstering the images, and yes, often overpowering them too.

The human race is truly set apart by brain power, but we are simultaneously the weakest species. I don't know how confident I would be without all my gadgets out in the wilderness. That being said, kudos to the cast and crew of Earth! I can't imagine how much time and effort must have gone into capturing everything, especially since they were working with non-actors, incapable of being directed.

It is a G-rated picture, however. We only get a glimpse of the seal tail hanging out of the great white shark's mouth, and there are no sequences of carnivores feeding on herbivores. But the chase sequences hopefully make up for the lack of violence.

17 AGAIN (Burr Steers)

2009-04-22T02:10:00.003-04:00

date watched: April 21, 2009
location: Lincoln AMC 13, NYC

I guess I don't have to talk about who the main actor in this movie is. He is only the hottest teenager out there since High School Musical, right?
It is reported that he decided to take up this role because even he's been through all the teenage ups and downs, he was never the father of teenagers.
That's all I'll say about Efron. But that is truly why I envy actors: they are given the chance to be anyone else, to live another life, albeit briefly.

Overall, the movie was not too poorly structured, but the ending could have been done with more class, in my opinion. According to imdb.com, the director seems to have more experience in television, which may explain the struggle in the resolution. With some more experience with the medium, he could probably be a noteworthy director of comedies.

Personally, I have a yen for movies dealing with reliving the past. Wild Strawberries is one of my favorite films of all time, and I still enjoy listening to the story of Ebenezer Scrooge (though nobody reads it to me anymore). I liked that Mike O'Donnell still made the same choice, even though he got a second shot. It's as if you come back from a superb trip abroad, only to realize how much you missed home. Hence, our utterances of "home sweet home" as we lay down all our bags in the foyer.

IS ANYBODY THERE? (John Crowley, UK)

2009-04-19T17:52:00.004-04:00

date watched: April 19, 2009
location: AMC 13 in Lincoln Sq., NYC

More than anything, I liked the visual texture of the film. It's as if a dusty sheet had settled on the celluloid, which seems highly appropriate for a film that takes place in a nursing home. Maybe because the geriatric population is on the rise, or simply because we are looking for more emotional stimulation, old people in film are popular topics nowadays. As I've once heard, if you want to get any emotion from the audience, all you need is an old person and a puppy--which brings us movies like Is Anybody There? and Marley and Me. Even middle-age romance is a commonplace genre, as you can see with Last Chance Harvey (definitely one of the better ones) and Nights in Rodanthe (which I didn't even see). Even The Curious Case of Benjamin Button conducts many of its scenes in nursing home.

The most valuable achievement of Is Anybody There? is Michael Caine's performance. I don't know about anyone else, but even in the new series of Batman, I consider him the #1 hero, and NOT the man in the black leather bat suit. He can make any old tearjerker classy, and this film is no exception. So, my advice is, go watch it for Caine, if anything else.

Charulata aka The Lonely Wife (Satyajit Ray, 1964)

2009-04-19T00:20:00.005-04:00

date watched: April 18, 2009
location: Film Society of Lincoln Center
Part of the "First Light: Satyajit Ray from the Apu Trilogy to the Calcutta Trilogy" series

Ray is truly one of the 20th century's best film auteurs. He seems to exemplify Alexandre Astruc's notion of the caméra-stylo* flawelessly.
The imagery is that of the cadence of a well-written poem, and Ray, coming from a long line of artistic intellectuals, wields the same power his ancestors had with the pen, except he does it with the camera.
The swing scene is, I daresay, one of the most beautiful scenes in film I have ever seen thus far.
I found a clip in youtube, but it cannot do the scene justice, since the quality is so horrible:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcUHbTBElO0

Madhabi Mukherjee's performance as Charulata is mesmerizing: she has so much control over her facial expressions, and it is difficult not to identify with her.
The ending is hauntingly poetic, also. The three or so freeze frames of the wife, the husband, and the servant really places the spectator within the household. We are thus given the opportunity to be the patriarch, the lonely but intelligent wife, and the senile servant, all at once. Additionally, the heading of "Ruined Nest" appears, it is suggestive, but not in a manipulative way whatsoever. It merely invites the spectator to imagine the life beyond the frame, but simultaneously suggesting that this is where the film ends, and has gone as far as the frame can reach.

I am truly excited to watch other Ray films that aren't widely shown thanks to the Walter Reade theater.

*French film critic Alexandre Astruc first coined the term caméra-stylo, or "camera-pen." To use the helpful SAT analogy tool to practice (sadly, analogies are not part of the exam anymore):
writer : pen :: filmmaker : camera

Luo Ye Gui Gen/Getting Home (Zhang Yang, 2007)

2009-04-17T02:06:00.005-04:00

date watched: April 16, 2009
location: at home, thanks to The Global Film Initiative's Global Lens 2009 and Laura de Toledo at the Chapin School

Getting Home follows a middle-aged man's journey to China's Three Gorges, where he must arrive to fulfill his dead friend's wish of being buried there.
Despite the paucity of dialogue, the film was in no way lagging or boring. On the contrary, the excellent performance of Zhao Benshan and the breathtaking rural landscapes make up for "lost time," so to speak.
The film really made me wonder about the meaning of home, and the homelessness that the modern man often feels due to displacement and disorientation from reality.
There are some chilling scenes that reveal the sheer vileness of mankind, and yet the director offers an uplifting message of hope: there is always someone on your side, and no matter how abject the situation, help is on the way.

Many similarities could be made with Preston Sturges' Sullivan's Travels (1941), Charlie Chaplin's Modern Times (1936), and Sisyphus, the character in Greek mythology.

My favorite scene was in which the protagonist appears to have given up, and digs a hole in the ground for his friend to lie peacefully. When he crawls into the hole himself, he decides to end his journey, saying, "Brother, I'm going with you." He even ties a rope around a stone to bang himself with, only to find that he is not ready and too scared to die. A truly honest portrayal of man's psychology.

I'm not sure when this will get a wide DVD release, or if it ever will. Hopefully.
For more information, go to globalfilm.org

Valentino: The Last Emperor (Matt Tyrnauer, 2008)

2009-04-16T00:25:00.007-04:00

date watched: April 15, 2009
location: film forum, nyc

Although a documentary, Valentino is more like a love story, with a complete narrative. And sorry, Mr. Valentino, but I think the star of this film is Giancarlo Giammetti. It goes without saying, however, that Valentino is truly the last of the era's haute couture geniuses, and one of the most entertaining personas in fashion/art history, along with Karl Lagerfeld and Salvador Dalí.
According to director Matt Tyrnauer, one of the reasons Valentino liked the film was because his dresses came to life, since they are "meant to move." This really is a tribute to his Valentino Reds, and documents all the hands and minds that breathe life into the flowing creations he will always be remembered for. In addition, Giammetti also comes to life, not just as Valentino's "shadow," but as a figure all on his own.

Possibly the best scene is in which Giammetti reveals his honest comment in the back of a car, post-awards celebration: "You look a little bit too tan."
The biggest understatement of the year, certo.

Sugar (Ryan Fleck & Anna Boden, 2008)

2009-04-14T18:15:00.003-04:00

date watched: April 11, 2009
location: Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, NYC

The hot trend in American Independent Cinema seems to be the mockumentary. Mockumentary styles are seen in films like Sin Nombre (Cary Fukunaga, 2009), and Goodbye Solo (Ramin Bahrani, 2008). And Sugar, I would say, belongs to this emerging "genre" as well.
This film was one of the better ones I saw so far this year, and the co-directors definitely are NOT suffering from a sophomore slump, even after a great film like Half Nelson (2006).
I had the privilege of seeing clips of Sugar before going to theaters, since I attended "Teaming Up" at the Film Society of Lincoln Center, in which the co-directors talked about their experience of working together.

In the casting process of Half Nelson, Shareeka Epps was the second contestant they met, which made it fast and easy for them. For Sugar, Algenis Perez Soto was the 452nd one they met. This goes to show just how backbreaking casting can be; but I would say that he turned out to be a great Sugar.