STAR TREK
Dir: JJ Abrams
2009, U.S.A
19/05/09
The plot is unimportant in a franchise reboot of this size but here it is anyway. The U.S.S. Kelvin stumbles upon a strange electrical storm from which emerges a Romulan ship of superior technology. The captain is killed by the Romulan Nero (Eric Bana) and the first officer saves the lives of his crew including his pregnant wife. This man is the father of James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) who is born moments before his father‘s heroic death. Flash forward through two decades or so and we see Kirk and Spock (Zachary Quinto) on their respective planets. Kirk is rebellious and arrogant and after a bar fight is convinced by Christopher Pike (Bruce Greenwood) to join Starfleet. Spock on the other hand is intelligent yet bullied because he is only half Vulcan. After a remark from a teacher which amounts to little less then racism he shuns his home planet and instead heads to earth to join Starfleet. Once here all the regular characters from the original series including Uhura (Zoe Saldana), Leonard “Bones” McCoy (Karl Urban), Sulu (John Cho), Chekhov (Anton Yelchin) and Scotty (Simon Pegg) gather aboard the Enterprise and get to know one another whilst stopping Nero from destroying the Federation.
The aim of writers Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman was to create a story that has plenty of action and chances for all the characters to get their introductions (only Scotty can do the transporter stuff, Sulu is the expert fighter, only Uhura can understand Romulan etc). This means the plot feels like a late addition, with things such as ’red matter’ added just to move things along and conflicts, such as different opinions on courses of action, added to develop the friendship between Kirk and Spock which is the films central relationship, and even Leonard Nimoy pops up in a cameo as the original Spock to help the two overcome their differences and become the familiar partnership The way that developing friendship is played out is one area in particular where Abrams should be championed. When Kirk asks the older Spock who he is, his first reply is “I always have and always will be your friend”. As is usually the case in developing friendship storylines, the two begin at loggerheads after Kirk becomes the first person to beat Spock’s Kobayashi Maru programme (which is intended to be unbeatable, and something Trek fans will know about), but does so by ‘cheating’. It is Spock who is the captain of the Enterprise and Kirk trying to wrestle command from him provides the opposition between the two. We get to see Kirk and Spock fighting but the two come together to destroy Nero, and whilst not great friends at the end, are at least comrades with respect for each other. Their interaction is well played, even it if is sometimes on the over-aggressive side, but this isn’t distracting in the context.
Most the characters look similar to the classic roles which helps, and the performances are good, especially Zachary Quinto who’s Spock secretly usurps the film, and although we see the death of Kirk‘s father at the beginning, if feels like Spock oddly enough has more emotional background and depth. Kirk grows up a cocky and petty criminal with an eye for the ladies and a tendency to for brawls. It’s the down-and-out losers that Americans may warm to in their cinema but can feel a bit tedious elsewhere, which is simply a cultural discrepancy. Spock on the other hand is bullied because he’s different (half-human), something no doubt many Trek fans can relate too. His father is quite cold as you would expect from anyone without emotions (although Vulcans do have emotions but they learn to repress them when young), and he is belittled by his superiors. As he goes through the film he has to overcome a tragedy and sacrifice far greater then that of Kirk’s, and learn to accept the role of second in command to the brash young Kirk, and all this makes him a far more rewarding screen character.
Unlike the original series which had the triumvirate of Spock, McCoy and Kirk, here McCoy is pushed more to the background, becoming instant friends with Kirk so there’s no need for development, and Uhura is more central, probably because of the lack of a female lead, and she plays Spock’s love interest although Kirk makes several unanswered passes. All the actors play their roles fine, and they have the recognisable characteristics without being carbon copies, (Sulu had more of a sense of humour, Chekhov wasn’t so excitable, Uhura never seemed as agressive) with McCoy being the best of the lesser characters since he has the best catch phrases, and plays up the anxious side rather then the grumpy side, whilst Simon Pegg is the most wayward as Scotty, not nailing the accent and trying too much to be funny rather then anything like the original character.
It’s not to spoil anything to say that Nero’s time-travelling changes history meaning the franchise can be taken in any direction Abrahams wishes, and technically meaning that the film isn‘t a prequel. The film ejects the intelligence and politics of classic Star Trek in return for a loud action film that is basically here to place the characters of the upcoming films (all main actors have signed on for three films). The problem is Abrams seems to have little respect for the ethos of the original (I wonder if Rodenberry had made it whether their would be middle Eastern characters and maybe some openly gay ones: most probably). However the reception from the fans has been favourable since the series themselves had already dealt with alternative realities so none seem offended, and as action films go it’s perfectly well directed, Abrams having Produced Lost, Alias and Cloverfield and directed Mission Impossible III.
The special effects are remarkable. A lot of Hollywood films are actually let down by there effects but Abrams pulls it off, probably because in scenes with actual actors he uses sets instead of blue screen like say, George Lucas, and the effects are saved for the ships in space with no flesh and blood to compare them next to. In some shots Abrams uses his camera to fly upside down over the ships to give us unusual angles and viewpoints and whilst they can sometimes feel a bit nauseating the images are still breathtaking, and add to the sense of action and otherworldliness.
It’s been hailed as the first blockbuster of the Obama era, something Abrahms as denied had any effect on the film. But if we take every film as a product of it’s time then Star Trek has some very interesting factors. Nero makes a point of telling Captain Pike that he is a miner, a simple labourer who’s home was destroyed by the federation (America?). Nero then catches Spock and takes the Red Matter, a weapon that the Federation was intending to use to save the Romulans and they proceed to use it to destroy Vulcan/Federation planets in revenge. The similarities between America and the war on terror is clear. There’s also the connotations in the opening scene of suicide bombing and whilst it is possible to read too much into things there is still a lot to consider behind the action (although I feel on Abrams part, unintentional).
It is a mindless, enjoyable film with great action set pieces and visuals. The humour lets it down (Simon Pegg trapped in a tube of water is just too adolescent), which is an often overlooked part of the Hollywood blockbuster package, but is enjoyable none the less, merely because of the respect it pays the characters. The mindless part may be a bit disconcerting for some Trek fans, but many feel the big brash action treatment is what the brand needed, and Abrams deserves full credit for his treatment. I had a good time, and although a part of me expected more (especially in regards to the plot) another part of me was worried I would get something truly awful. Needless to say I came out relieved, if not entirely satisfied, but a sequel probably isn’t a bad idea if they can continue at this standard.
Showing posts with label Film Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Film Review. Show all posts
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Is Anybody There? (Film)
IS ANYBODY THERE?
Dir: John Crowley
U.K, 2008
17/05/09
Written by Peter Harness about his childhood, Is Anybody There? is about a young boy called Edward (Bill Milner) growing up in his parents old-people’s home in the 1980’s. He’s obsessed with death and records the final moments of the homes inhabitants, but his parents have their own marital issues and their son’s preoccupations go unnoticed. Then an old magician, Clarance (Michael Caine) comes to stay at the home and after initial reluctance they become friends.
The film is awash with fine performances, even if the character arcs are slightly run of the mill. David Morrisey and Anne Marie Duff are particularly good as Edwards’ parents. They are growing apart and Edward’s Dad has an infatuation with their young employee, feeling himself growing old, out of touch and obsolete; all the while his mother is doing her best to attend to the elderly residents, feeling she has no help from anyone. The Old people themselves are an all star line-up of famous British faces, including Leslie Phillips as a retired General with a penchant for coarse jokes. But it is the two leads who are sensational. Michael Caine excels at playing Clarence, a proud man with a guilty past forced into what he sees as a demeaning existence. It’s his scenes of quiet emotional revelation that he really shows his true skill, but he is outshone by the young Bill Milner as Edward who is sensational as he manages to be funny, angry, sad and extrovert without ever letting on that he’s acting.
The relationship between the two is fun and tender. When they first meet Clarence nearly runs Edward over and he bursts from his van in a rage looking like a wild animal. There next confrontation comes after Edward accidentally kicks his ball into Clarence’s van, only this time Edward ends up being the aggressor and Clarence’s reaction shows a deeply sad man and it is here when Edward makes more of an effort to bond with him, perhaps out of loneliness or maybe out of guilt. Clarence in turn, after seeing Edward bullied at school, tries to encourage him to make friends, teaching him some magic tricks.
Edward also introduces Clarence to his fascination with death, something Clarence is a little uncomfortable with considering he is coming to the end of his life, yet he humours the boy and at one point holds a séance with him in the basement where there questions of “Is anybody there?” are greeted with knocks, an obvious fabrication from Clarence which nevertheless excites Edward. This is where the title comes from, being a film about death and the dying. When Edward’s mother tries to explain to him how everything dies and he shouldn’t be afraid Edward replies that he isn’t afraid, he just wants to know what awaits us after we have passed over.
The film is extremely funny. Much of the humour is dark and morbid but never insensitive, such as a scene where Clarence picks Edward up from school and teasingly plays along with the suspicions of the waiting mothers about who exactly this strange old man is waiting for a child, or a scene at the beginning where a stair lift is used to get a body down the stairs. The Humour is the saving grace of the film because despite the black comedy it does have it’s sentimental bits that are gratefully reigned in before it gets too mushy (though it also has bits of real tragedy such as Clarence visiting his dead wife’s grave - but with a twist).
Much of the sentimentality comes after Clarence is stricken with Alzheimer’s and he begins to loose his memory. If the film has one major failing it is in the presentation of the disease. It’s name is never mentioned and Edward seems to completely accept it without asking what is happening. Maybe he’s seen it in other patients but one gets the feeling that he probably never engaged enough with any of them to notice intimate things like memory loss. It also comes, without warning whilst Clarence is driving with Edward forcing him to crash. I’m not an expert but I figured that it was something that happened slowly not in waves of large attacks like Clarence seems to get. It’s much better when done with subtlety, such as when Clarence can’t remember where he is with a magic trick which leads to an accident at Edward‘s party, and one that has the audience cringing knowing full well what’s coming.
So the second half of the film becomes about revealing Clarence’s past, but never taking the viewpoint away from Edward. He opens up about his failed marriage poignantly surrounded by all the props of his past. Edward’s parents then begin to see how much Clarence has replaced them in Edwards’ life and that’s where their healing process begins, especially after Edward accidentally tapes his father’s digressions. It’s also warming how the recording device Edward uses to tape the last fleeting moments before death is later given to Clarence so that he can record the moments of his life he wants to remember, and it shows an accepting and understanding on the part of Edward.
At the end everything seems to be going back well again, and it is a little generic in it’s story structure, although it doesn’t tell us how much time has passed between scenes. Clarence could be ill for a month or a year, no doubt relating to the subjective passage of time on his part, but this is Edwards film so that seems unlikely. But none of this is to discredit it, it’s a warm and funny film that has a laugh at the morbidity of death without ever disrespecting it. It’s yet another great little British film to pop up recently. The period detail, as would be expected is so good it draws you in; they watch One Man And His Dog on the TV, the furniture and wallpaper are all browns and light boring colours and a lot of the colour is drained from the picture to give us the sense of boredom and inevitable aimlessness that surrounds most of the characters. It’s a nice little piece that Michael Caine (and the rest of the cast) is right to feel so proud of.
Dir: John Crowley
U.K, 2008
17/05/09
Written by Peter Harness about his childhood, Is Anybody There? is about a young boy called Edward (Bill Milner) growing up in his parents old-people’s home in the 1980’s. He’s obsessed with death and records the final moments of the homes inhabitants, but his parents have their own marital issues and their son’s preoccupations go unnoticed. Then an old magician, Clarance (Michael Caine) comes to stay at the home and after initial reluctance they become friends.
The film is awash with fine performances, even if the character arcs are slightly run of the mill. David Morrisey and Anne Marie Duff are particularly good as Edwards’ parents. They are growing apart and Edward’s Dad has an infatuation with their young employee, feeling himself growing old, out of touch and obsolete; all the while his mother is doing her best to attend to the elderly residents, feeling she has no help from anyone. The Old people themselves are an all star line-up of famous British faces, including Leslie Phillips as a retired General with a penchant for coarse jokes. But it is the two leads who are sensational. Michael Caine excels at playing Clarence, a proud man with a guilty past forced into what he sees as a demeaning existence. It’s his scenes of quiet emotional revelation that he really shows his true skill, but he is outshone by the young Bill Milner as Edward who is sensational as he manages to be funny, angry, sad and extrovert without ever letting on that he’s acting.
The relationship between the two is fun and tender. When they first meet Clarence nearly runs Edward over and he bursts from his van in a rage looking like a wild animal. There next confrontation comes after Edward accidentally kicks his ball into Clarence’s van, only this time Edward ends up being the aggressor and Clarence’s reaction shows a deeply sad man and it is here when Edward makes more of an effort to bond with him, perhaps out of loneliness or maybe out of guilt. Clarence in turn, after seeing Edward bullied at school, tries to encourage him to make friends, teaching him some magic tricks.
Edward also introduces Clarence to his fascination with death, something Clarence is a little uncomfortable with considering he is coming to the end of his life, yet he humours the boy and at one point holds a séance with him in the basement where there questions of “Is anybody there?” are greeted with knocks, an obvious fabrication from Clarence which nevertheless excites Edward. This is where the title comes from, being a film about death and the dying. When Edward’s mother tries to explain to him how everything dies and he shouldn’t be afraid Edward replies that he isn’t afraid, he just wants to know what awaits us after we have passed over.
The film is extremely funny. Much of the humour is dark and morbid but never insensitive, such as a scene where Clarence picks Edward up from school and teasingly plays along with the suspicions of the waiting mothers about who exactly this strange old man is waiting for a child, or a scene at the beginning where a stair lift is used to get a body down the stairs. The Humour is the saving grace of the film because despite the black comedy it does have it’s sentimental bits that are gratefully reigned in before it gets too mushy (though it also has bits of real tragedy such as Clarence visiting his dead wife’s grave - but with a twist).
Much of the sentimentality comes after Clarence is stricken with Alzheimer’s and he begins to loose his memory. If the film has one major failing it is in the presentation of the disease. It’s name is never mentioned and Edward seems to completely accept it without asking what is happening. Maybe he’s seen it in other patients but one gets the feeling that he probably never engaged enough with any of them to notice intimate things like memory loss. It also comes, without warning whilst Clarence is driving with Edward forcing him to crash. I’m not an expert but I figured that it was something that happened slowly not in waves of large attacks like Clarence seems to get. It’s much better when done with subtlety, such as when Clarence can’t remember where he is with a magic trick which leads to an accident at Edward‘s party, and one that has the audience cringing knowing full well what’s coming.
So the second half of the film becomes about revealing Clarence’s past, but never taking the viewpoint away from Edward. He opens up about his failed marriage poignantly surrounded by all the props of his past. Edward’s parents then begin to see how much Clarence has replaced them in Edwards’ life and that’s where their healing process begins, especially after Edward accidentally tapes his father’s digressions. It’s also warming how the recording device Edward uses to tape the last fleeting moments before death is later given to Clarence so that he can record the moments of his life he wants to remember, and it shows an accepting and understanding on the part of Edward.
At the end everything seems to be going back well again, and it is a little generic in it’s story structure, although it doesn’t tell us how much time has passed between scenes. Clarence could be ill for a month or a year, no doubt relating to the subjective passage of time on his part, but this is Edwards film so that seems unlikely. But none of this is to discredit it, it’s a warm and funny film that has a laugh at the morbidity of death without ever disrespecting it. It’s yet another great little British film to pop up recently. The period detail, as would be expected is so good it draws you in; they watch One Man And His Dog on the TV, the furniture and wallpaper are all browns and light boring colours and a lot of the colour is drained from the picture to give us the sense of boredom and inevitable aimlessness that surrounds most of the characters. It’s a nice little piece that Michael Caine (and the rest of the cast) is right to feel so proud of.
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Pickpocket (Film)
PICKPOCKET
Dir: Robert Bresson
France, 1959
14/05/09
Robert Bresson’s Pickpocket, with it’s story based on Dostoyevsky’s Crime And Punishment follows young Michel (Martin Lasalle)as he embarks on a life of petty crime whilst playing cat and mouse with a police inspector (Jean Pelegri), all the while hiding affections for a young woman named Jeanne (Marika Green).
Made in the same year as A Bout De Souffle (Godard, France, 1960) but released earlier, Pickpocket has many of the hallmarks of the French new wave before it officially broke. Similar in style to Bresson’s earlier masterpiece A Man Escaped (France, 1956), he takes his minimalism to new lengths when considering that this film takes place in wider society and not in a prison. The interior sets are stripped down and bare, Michel’s small room reminiscent of Devigny’s cell with it‘s lack of defining features except the odd book and a bed. The same can be said of Jeanne‘s flat, with only the place were Michel’s mother resides having anything approaching a homely feel, and the scene lasts barely a few seconds. The exterior shots are on location on the streets of Paris and were filmed before Godard’s famous scenes on the Champs-Elysees. But whilst Bresson obviously admires Paris, it is nothing more then a over-elaborate, if not beautifully constructed cage for Michel.
There are three main places where the action happens: Michel’s room in an apartment block, a local bar where Michel engages in philosophical conversations with the police inspector, and the train station where Michel finds most of his success as a pickpocket. The lack of locations adds to the sense of the small world that could so easily close in on Michel, with nowhere to hide. It’s similar in essence to his vocation, so easy to get caught or seen. He only plies his trade in two places, trains and the train station or the local racetrack. It shows Michel’s lack of aspirations that he refuses to leave the confines of his comfort zone and it is only when he leaves Paris that he manages to grow as a man and widen his horizon even if he hasn’t entirely banished his old self.
Bresson, unlike Godard, is interested in his characters and Lasalle may play Michel with realistic coldness but this isn‘t a chic rebel without a heart who aspires to Bogart cool in the mould Jean-Paul Belmondo in Godard‘s early films. He’s not adverse to stealing money from his dying mother or his friend who sticks by him (yet commits a far more devastating theft himself later on), but it is an emotional indifference shared by Raskolnikov in Crime And Punishment and it allows Bresson to comment through the character rather then being a mere target for showing off the director’s flair.
Michel’s feelings of exposure are expressed brilliantly by having the lock on his door broken so it is always open, also showing his lack of care for anything he possesses. The only things he keeps hidden are whatever he’s stolen. The only emotional connections to the world he has is his mother and he refuses to see her out of guilt, often getting Jeanne or his friend to go instead. All the while the camera watches Michel with careful scrutiny, catching every movement of his criminal deeds. We often get close ups of his face but it is always as expressionless as the last time we saw it. In typical Bresson style it‘s all simple yet effective.
Michel’s coldness is further identified by his philosophy that if a man is a master at a certain task he should be left by society to engage in it, even if it is crime. It’s more a philosophy in progress aimed at getting himself off the hook and justifying his actions by putting himself on a pedestal, mirroring the arrogance and indifference of his youth, especially since he states it to a police inspector, a sure case of showing off, and he‘s desperate for people to see that he‘s read books so as not to be categorized as something he feels he isn‘t as he feels trapped emotionally, as well as physically, by people’s opinions of him. There is a great scene where Michel shows the Police Inspector a book to show he is well read and intelligent only fro the Police Inspector to point out it is about a Pickpocket, something Michel then has to disregard.
Michel’s only real emotion comes from his voiceover, narrating a letter he is writing to Jeanne where he retrospectively analyses his actions after having gone through a maturing chain of events. Despite Michel’s emptiness Bresson has empathy for the character, and it is tragic when Michel, after attempting to go straight for Jeanne finds himself enticed into one more act of crime that lands him in trouble, and even though he may not be physically free by the end he still finds spiritual redemption. Indeed the overall message of the film is how long the journey can sometimes be for someone to get where their soul wants (or unknowingly needs) to be.
The scenes of theft, especially in the train station, are utterly captivating and tense, especially when Michel acquires two accomplices (One of whom is French cabaret star Kassagi). If this was made now you would be almost certain that much of it was done with special effects to make the items disappear, but this being the fifties is done with clever editing and actual skill, showing us the acts in almost voyeuristic detail, and it is Bresson’s talent as a film-maker that takes Pickpocket to another level. It may leave one unengaged at times emotionally, at least until we become more accustomed to the characters’ apathy, but stylistically is immensely fulfilling, Bresson preferring functional yet understatedly poetic direction to suit the mood of the story and it‘s inhabitants. It speaks volume’s that he can express so much in the short space of seventy-three minutes, zipping things along with no desire to bog his work down with pointless digressions.
The music is also perfectly chosen, an extract from a piece by Jean-Baptiste Lully that Bresson only uses fleetingly yet is extremely expressive and effective, especially over the ending shot. It sounds like the build up to a crescendo, multiple instruments conveying a multitude of emotions and reveals Michel’s state of mind, when used, better then any shot in the film. Alas the film had no credits so I don’t know which piece it was and have now purchased some Lully but am yet to find it.
It’s not without it’s imperfections. Some scenes, especially early on, are difficult to grasp hold of, especially involving the police inspector (we aren’t immediately told who he is) and I wonder if this is unintentional as maybe Bresson expected his audience to know it was based on Crime and Punishment and have prior knowledge of that book (which I have read, but didn‘t become aware of the comparison til later on). Also, some scenes are perhaps on the short side and it requires after-thought to fully comprehend it’s meaning, but maybe this is true of all great works. I wouldn’t declare it a masterpiece (unlike A Man Escaped), yet I could see why some people might argue otherwise. It is nonetheless a fantastic poetical work and it’s restraint and immediacy and to reiterate is all more magnificent for just how much Bresson expresses using so little.
Dir: Robert Bresson
France, 1959
14/05/09
Robert Bresson’s Pickpocket, with it’s story based on Dostoyevsky’s Crime And Punishment follows young Michel (Martin Lasalle)as he embarks on a life of petty crime whilst playing cat and mouse with a police inspector (Jean Pelegri), all the while hiding affections for a young woman named Jeanne (Marika Green).
Made in the same year as A Bout De Souffle (Godard, France, 1960) but released earlier, Pickpocket has many of the hallmarks of the French new wave before it officially broke. Similar in style to Bresson’s earlier masterpiece A Man Escaped (France, 1956), he takes his minimalism to new lengths when considering that this film takes place in wider society and not in a prison. The interior sets are stripped down and bare, Michel’s small room reminiscent of Devigny’s cell with it‘s lack of defining features except the odd book and a bed. The same can be said of Jeanne‘s flat, with only the place were Michel’s mother resides having anything approaching a homely feel, and the scene lasts barely a few seconds. The exterior shots are on location on the streets of Paris and were filmed before Godard’s famous scenes on the Champs-Elysees. But whilst Bresson obviously admires Paris, it is nothing more then a over-elaborate, if not beautifully constructed cage for Michel.
There are three main places where the action happens: Michel’s room in an apartment block, a local bar where Michel engages in philosophical conversations with the police inspector, and the train station where Michel finds most of his success as a pickpocket. The lack of locations adds to the sense of the small world that could so easily close in on Michel, with nowhere to hide. It’s similar in essence to his vocation, so easy to get caught or seen. He only plies his trade in two places, trains and the train station or the local racetrack. It shows Michel’s lack of aspirations that he refuses to leave the confines of his comfort zone and it is only when he leaves Paris that he manages to grow as a man and widen his horizon even if he hasn’t entirely banished his old self.
Bresson, unlike Godard, is interested in his characters and Lasalle may play Michel with realistic coldness but this isn‘t a chic rebel without a heart who aspires to Bogart cool in the mould Jean-Paul Belmondo in Godard‘s early films. He’s not adverse to stealing money from his dying mother or his friend who sticks by him (yet commits a far more devastating theft himself later on), but it is an emotional indifference shared by Raskolnikov in Crime And Punishment and it allows Bresson to comment through the character rather then being a mere target for showing off the director’s flair.
Michel’s feelings of exposure are expressed brilliantly by having the lock on his door broken so it is always open, also showing his lack of care for anything he possesses. The only things he keeps hidden are whatever he’s stolen. The only emotional connections to the world he has is his mother and he refuses to see her out of guilt, often getting Jeanne or his friend to go instead. All the while the camera watches Michel with careful scrutiny, catching every movement of his criminal deeds. We often get close ups of his face but it is always as expressionless as the last time we saw it. In typical Bresson style it‘s all simple yet effective.
Michel’s coldness is further identified by his philosophy that if a man is a master at a certain task he should be left by society to engage in it, even if it is crime. It’s more a philosophy in progress aimed at getting himself off the hook and justifying his actions by putting himself on a pedestal, mirroring the arrogance and indifference of his youth, especially since he states it to a police inspector, a sure case of showing off, and he‘s desperate for people to see that he‘s read books so as not to be categorized as something he feels he isn‘t as he feels trapped emotionally, as well as physically, by people’s opinions of him. There is a great scene where Michel shows the Police Inspector a book to show he is well read and intelligent only fro the Police Inspector to point out it is about a Pickpocket, something Michel then has to disregard.
Michel’s only real emotion comes from his voiceover, narrating a letter he is writing to Jeanne where he retrospectively analyses his actions after having gone through a maturing chain of events. Despite Michel’s emptiness Bresson has empathy for the character, and it is tragic when Michel, after attempting to go straight for Jeanne finds himself enticed into one more act of crime that lands him in trouble, and even though he may not be physically free by the end he still finds spiritual redemption. Indeed the overall message of the film is how long the journey can sometimes be for someone to get where their soul wants (or unknowingly needs) to be.
The scenes of theft, especially in the train station, are utterly captivating and tense, especially when Michel acquires two accomplices (One of whom is French cabaret star Kassagi). If this was made now you would be almost certain that much of it was done with special effects to make the items disappear, but this being the fifties is done with clever editing and actual skill, showing us the acts in almost voyeuristic detail, and it is Bresson’s talent as a film-maker that takes Pickpocket to another level. It may leave one unengaged at times emotionally, at least until we become more accustomed to the characters’ apathy, but stylistically is immensely fulfilling, Bresson preferring functional yet understatedly poetic direction to suit the mood of the story and it‘s inhabitants. It speaks volume’s that he can express so much in the short space of seventy-three minutes, zipping things along with no desire to bog his work down with pointless digressions.
The music is also perfectly chosen, an extract from a piece by Jean-Baptiste Lully that Bresson only uses fleetingly yet is extremely expressive and effective, especially over the ending shot. It sounds like the build up to a crescendo, multiple instruments conveying a multitude of emotions and reveals Michel’s state of mind, when used, better then any shot in the film. Alas the film had no credits so I don’t know which piece it was and have now purchased some Lully but am yet to find it.
It’s not without it’s imperfections. Some scenes, especially early on, are difficult to grasp hold of, especially involving the police inspector (we aren’t immediately told who he is) and I wonder if this is unintentional as maybe Bresson expected his audience to know it was based on Crime and Punishment and have prior knowledge of that book (which I have read, but didn‘t become aware of the comparison til later on). Also, some scenes are perhaps on the short side and it requires after-thought to fully comprehend it’s meaning, but maybe this is true of all great works. I wouldn’t declare it a masterpiece (unlike A Man Escaped), yet I could see why some people might argue otherwise. It is nonetheless a fantastic poetical work and it’s restraint and immediacy and to reiterate is all more magnificent for just how much Bresson expresses using so little.
Monday, 11 May 2009
State Of Play (Film)
STATE OF PLAY
Dir: Kevin MacDonald
U.S.A/France/U.K, 2009
11/05/09
Adapted from the much loved and praised BBC television series of the same name written by Paul Abbott, State of Play is the latest Hollywood movie to be morphed into a Russell Crowe vehicle at his addition to the film (his role was originally intended for Brad Pitt). The Story follows Cal McAffrey, a reporter for a Washington newspaper as he looks into the murder of a black youth and attempted murder of a pizza delivery man. It coincides with the death of a young researcher who worked for Cal’s old friend Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck), now a Senator. Stephen asks Cal for help and as he looks into both cases with headstrong young blogger Della Frye (Rachel McAdams), the two cases converge and point to a terrifying conspiracy.
The transference of the story from England to America is done quite well, but somewhere in the screenplay the whole focus of what the series was about got lost. In it’s original form it was very much a two hander between John Simm playing the reporter and David Morrissey as the politician, but here it is Russell Crowe’s film, as he puts on weight, grows his hair and takes up most the screen time in a film which creates the façade of being better then it is.
The plot looses much as it condensed from six hours to two, and cracks appear where before they weren’t noticed. The relationship between Cal and Anne Collins (Robin Wright Penn) is inferred as having already happened instead of developing through the film which means there is less intensity between the characters. The reporting which was detailed fantastically in the series is here just going from point A to point B with no real investigation. In fact the main clue that leads Crowe to the final conclusion is discarded by him earlier in the film whereas if he paid attention when he first got it lives could have been saved, an unfortunate backlash of trying to find a way to condense the clues and push the story forward quicker, and undermines one of the films claims to be a return to good ol‘ reporting ala Woodward and Bernstein.
Such quibbles would be unimportant in the context of most Hollywood thrillers but unfortunately State Of Play takes itself too seriously, and if it held my attention better it‘s shortcomings would have remained unnoticed, or simply wouldn‘t have bothered me. Humour is virtually non-existent and it thinks it has more to say then it actually does. The revelation that a company can have a monopoly on homeland security is interesting which makes it more of a shame when it foregoes the big conspiratorial payoff in favour of a more dramatic ending. The same can be said of the series, but there the main essence was the relationship between Cal and Stephen which meant the ending was moving and shocking whereas here, because the Stephen Collins character is pushed to the background it falls a little short of the potential offered by the conspiracy, which is why Macdonald shouldn’t give it as much importance as he does (and therefore the plot ends up feeling more like a rehash of the dire They Call Me Mister Tibbs! (Gordon Douglas, U.S.A, 1970) then of the State Of Play television series).
Even though Ben Affleck’s role is greatly diminished, he is still the one with the more emotional role as his mistress has been murdered, he’s estranged from his wife who had an affair with his best friend and he is on the cusp of a massive corporate takedown. Yet all this is lost on Affleck who seems to wander around in a daze and in the end scene especially is a bit flat. Crowe is fine when he’s running around doing reporter stuff and the only emoting he has to do is in scenes where he decides if the story is bigger then his friendship, in which he expresses this moral conundrum by gazing into space looking like someone’s just eaten his bacon sandwich. Helen Mirren is fine as the ball-busting editor who’s only there to threaten Crowe with his job in order to add potential consequences for failure but it’s not much of a stretch for someone of her calibre (plus Bill Nighy, who‘s role she usurped from the series was not only as threatening, but immensely funny). The only real stand out performance is Rachel McAdams as Cal’s reluctant partner, but since Crowe wants to be seen as the great reporter, her character seems pointless to the story as she doesn’t really do anything.
Macdonald’s direction, whilst perfectly competent sometimes seems unsure. Throughout most the film the killer is shown as your typical psychopath; he has a distant stare, blank face and a scar next to his left eye, yet at the end tries a half-hearted attempt to present him as someone with a mental illness in order to make the film seem more mature, in which case it’s quite insensitive for Macdonald to spend the whole film painting him as a psychotic nutter. Also attempts at action are made such as a scene where Cal is chased by the killer in a garage but even this lacks the tension of the Hotel scene in the series which no doubt could have been done rather well if Macdonald had chosen to use it. There’s also an overuse of montage on the scenes of plot exposition which can leave one unsure of what is going on
It is by no means bad but I think if it wasn’t for the engrossing nature of the cinema I would have been quite bored. As American adaptations go, it’s deeply respectful of the original as most the scenes are lifted entirely, but it’s too self-important and sadly empty because of the lack of the a complex driving relationship. It zips along at a good pace, and Macdonald is a good director, it’s problem is not stylistic but that throws weight around it doesn’t have.
There are worse films to be seen at the cinema, and this is a worthwhile way to pass two hours with a mindless little a thriller, just don’t go in expecting something as intelligent, thoughtful and well constructed as the television series, which I bought on DVD for less then it cost me to see this film, and I would highly recommend that. State of Play U.S.A is worth it’s ticket price, but it isn’t a bargain.
Dir: Kevin MacDonald
U.S.A/France/U.K, 2009
11/05/09
Adapted from the much loved and praised BBC television series of the same name written by Paul Abbott, State of Play is the latest Hollywood movie to be morphed into a Russell Crowe vehicle at his addition to the film (his role was originally intended for Brad Pitt). The Story follows Cal McAffrey, a reporter for a Washington newspaper as he looks into the murder of a black youth and attempted murder of a pizza delivery man. It coincides with the death of a young researcher who worked for Cal’s old friend Stephen Collins (Ben Affleck), now a Senator. Stephen asks Cal for help and as he looks into both cases with headstrong young blogger Della Frye (Rachel McAdams), the two cases converge and point to a terrifying conspiracy.
The transference of the story from England to America is done quite well, but somewhere in the screenplay the whole focus of what the series was about got lost. In it’s original form it was very much a two hander between John Simm playing the reporter and David Morrissey as the politician, but here it is Russell Crowe’s film, as he puts on weight, grows his hair and takes up most the screen time in a film which creates the façade of being better then it is.
The plot looses much as it condensed from six hours to two, and cracks appear where before they weren’t noticed. The relationship between Cal and Anne Collins (Robin Wright Penn) is inferred as having already happened instead of developing through the film which means there is less intensity between the characters. The reporting which was detailed fantastically in the series is here just going from point A to point B with no real investigation. In fact the main clue that leads Crowe to the final conclusion is discarded by him earlier in the film whereas if he paid attention when he first got it lives could have been saved, an unfortunate backlash of trying to find a way to condense the clues and push the story forward quicker, and undermines one of the films claims to be a return to good ol‘ reporting ala Woodward and Bernstein.
Such quibbles would be unimportant in the context of most Hollywood thrillers but unfortunately State Of Play takes itself too seriously, and if it held my attention better it‘s shortcomings would have remained unnoticed, or simply wouldn‘t have bothered me. Humour is virtually non-existent and it thinks it has more to say then it actually does. The revelation that a company can have a monopoly on homeland security is interesting which makes it more of a shame when it foregoes the big conspiratorial payoff in favour of a more dramatic ending. The same can be said of the series, but there the main essence was the relationship between Cal and Stephen which meant the ending was moving and shocking whereas here, because the Stephen Collins character is pushed to the background it falls a little short of the potential offered by the conspiracy, which is why Macdonald shouldn’t give it as much importance as he does (and therefore the plot ends up feeling more like a rehash of the dire They Call Me Mister Tibbs! (Gordon Douglas, U.S.A, 1970) then of the State Of Play television series).
Even though Ben Affleck’s role is greatly diminished, he is still the one with the more emotional role as his mistress has been murdered, he’s estranged from his wife who had an affair with his best friend and he is on the cusp of a massive corporate takedown. Yet all this is lost on Affleck who seems to wander around in a daze and in the end scene especially is a bit flat. Crowe is fine when he’s running around doing reporter stuff and the only emoting he has to do is in scenes where he decides if the story is bigger then his friendship, in which he expresses this moral conundrum by gazing into space looking like someone’s just eaten his bacon sandwich. Helen Mirren is fine as the ball-busting editor who’s only there to threaten Crowe with his job in order to add potential consequences for failure but it’s not much of a stretch for someone of her calibre (plus Bill Nighy, who‘s role she usurped from the series was not only as threatening, but immensely funny). The only real stand out performance is Rachel McAdams as Cal’s reluctant partner, but since Crowe wants to be seen as the great reporter, her character seems pointless to the story as she doesn’t really do anything.
Macdonald’s direction, whilst perfectly competent sometimes seems unsure. Throughout most the film the killer is shown as your typical psychopath; he has a distant stare, blank face and a scar next to his left eye, yet at the end tries a half-hearted attempt to present him as someone with a mental illness in order to make the film seem more mature, in which case it’s quite insensitive for Macdonald to spend the whole film painting him as a psychotic nutter. Also attempts at action are made such as a scene where Cal is chased by the killer in a garage but even this lacks the tension of the Hotel scene in the series which no doubt could have been done rather well if Macdonald had chosen to use it. There’s also an overuse of montage on the scenes of plot exposition which can leave one unsure of what is going on
It is by no means bad but I think if it wasn’t for the engrossing nature of the cinema I would have been quite bored. As American adaptations go, it’s deeply respectful of the original as most the scenes are lifted entirely, but it’s too self-important and sadly empty because of the lack of the a complex driving relationship. It zips along at a good pace, and Macdonald is a good director, it’s problem is not stylistic but that throws weight around it doesn’t have.
There are worse films to be seen at the cinema, and this is a worthwhile way to pass two hours with a mindless little a thriller, just don’t go in expecting something as intelligent, thoughtful and well constructed as the television series, which I bought on DVD for less then it cost me to see this film, and I would highly recommend that. State of Play U.S.A is worth it’s ticket price, but it isn’t a bargain.
Saturday, 9 May 2009
Eureka (Film)
EUREKA
Dir: Shinji Aoyama
Japan, 2000
09/05/09
Shinji Aoyama’s Eureka (Yurika) opens with two children (Aoi Miyazaki as the young Kozue, and her real life brother Masaru Miyazaki as her fictional older brother Naoki) getting a bus to school which is then high jacked and after a fatal shootout with police only they, and the bus driver Makoto (Koji Yakusho), remain alive albeit heavily traumatised. Two years later Makoto returns home from drifting around Japan to try and restart his life but finds he is still not over the incident, much to the indifference of his family, and there’s a spate of killings of which he is the prime suspect. When he discovers that the two children from the bus are living alone because their mother has left and their father has died, he moves himself in and along with the children’s cousin, Akihiko (Yoichiro Saito), they proceed to try and help each other overcome the mental wounds they are suffering from.
Filmed in black and white (which sometimes looks sepia, although that may be the DVD transfer), it offers itself as an elegy to the human soul searching to discover itself. Aoyama wants to show us every detail of the process, from devastation to the healing that his three main characters go through, hence a running time of three-and-a-half hours which never seems contrived or forced. It is almost a fairytale in terms of the dark horrors that fairytale’s used to embody being as they were metaphors for the cruelties of real life. The main trauma the leads are suffering from may be the unsettling bus high jacking but that is not the end of it; instead it seems that was just an opening of the floodgates, and the devastating events seem to pile up and becomes an overwhelming and seemingly endless tidal wave for all the characters as the children loose their family, and Makoto is suspected of murder by his.
The children are abandoned by their mother, which is never explained but hinted that it may be an inability to deal with the children’s state of mind as they no longer speak. After their father dies they are left to fend alone. They stop going to school and lay about the house all day living off the insurance cheques that come through the post. They are aimless and almost lifeless as if stricken by some debilitating disease. It’s something that’s also infected Makoto and when he comes back from his wanderings he is given a chilly reception from his family. Unable to explain himself he finds his kin confused, the monotony of their life meaning they are lobotomised to such mental suffering as Makoto is undergoing. He gets his old job back with his childhood friend but it always feels as if he is simply passing the time and his damaged soul needs to be somewhere else, and so eventually they all come together.
Aoyama’s major social comment is the role of the family in modern Japanese society. None of the main character’s receive any form of emotional gratification from theirs, only exacerbation and suspicion. Makoto’s family may accept him back but it seems as if it is more out of rigid duty then out of affection, which is maybe Aoyama‘s main point; the family is emotionally obsolete and only exists out of mutual financial/housing needs and only survives because of being an ingrained social facility that people aren‘t developed enough to let go off. It‘s a bleak point of view but Aoyama’s philosophy is developed enough for him to offer an alternative; sometimes it is better if people choose their own family, as then they can choose based on feelings and shared experience instead of having ties forced upon them. It is Makoto’s childhood friend who is the only one that seems to unquestionably welcome him back, and it is only Makoto who can speak to the now mute children as his shared experience means he knows how to communicate without using words, instead using a series of knocks that has no intention of conversation but simply the knowledge that a loved one is there. He develops the technique whilst in prison, exchanging knocks through a wall with someone who has no doubt undergone a similar traumatising experience. This confounds Akihiko, the children’s cousin who has come to stay with them for the summer as a spy for the children’s aunt and uncle who want the children to come live with them so that they can have the insurance money. Akihiko though is on the side of the children and undermines his parents. Although he struggles to communicate with them the kids begrudgingly accept him into the fold as he too has suffered a life and death situation, though the circumstances are dissimilar.
It is also the family who immediately cast suspicion upon Makoto for the murders, as they coincide with his return to the town. He befriends a woman from work who has had an equally cold upbringing and they begin to bond as Makoto walks her home each night, but after she is murdered he comes to the attention of a local cop who happened to be at the bus high jacking. He tells Makoto that he knew from the start that the events would turn him into a killer but Makoto protests his innocence.
Aoyama is implying throughout the film that the traumatic events the characters went through unleashed innate desires to kill, maybe for a better understanding of their experiences on the bus, and this is one of the things his characters most overcome, but also that outsiders don‘t understand. It is a theme that is presented well for the first part of the film but once the characters are on the road and the strands start pulling together, it gets a bit lost as Aoyama seems unsure of how to presents the heart of the matter and instead has his characters state specifically their states of minds when previously they were presented through mise-en-scene and poetic images, and it seems forced and unsophisticated whilst the rest of the film is intelligent and paced. Yet what Aoyama is trying to say is no less diminished, it is simply the crescendo that is scuffed slightly and then we are back to the slow elegiac movement we had previously. The blame that the three characters feel is better presented, with Makoto always apologising, mostly needlessly, and the children making mock graves for the victims of the high jacking, and their lethargy seeming to be the physical effect of the weight of self-imposed guilt.
For the last part of the film, it is a road movie as the characters leave their fixed address to find themselves on the road. It ties back to Makoto’s childhood. He’s talking with his friend abut how they used to dream about being bus drivers and that it wasn’t as good as he had thought it would be because you just drive the same route, but now he is free to go whichever way he wants and wherever the healing process takes them all.
It is a film that is carefully photographed, the camera seeming to float along with the characters soul, so more often then not it remains still. It is a film that tries to find tranquil beauty in the emptiness of the lives it explores. It helps that the town is situated amongst picaresque fields and forests, the children’s house in particular set back from everywhere else, a large house on top of a hill, much like the evil characters from a fairytale and like those evil characters these children are misunderstood and shunned.
All the performances are superb, especially that of Koji Yakusho as Makoto, one scene in particular where he meets his wife to accept a divorce packing a strong emotional punch. Aoi Miyazaki as Kozue also stands out, managing to seem damaged yet more emotionally expressive then her brother, and it is her who bonds the most with Makoto, though the mental relationship the two young siblings share is well expressed. The rest of the cast are equally excellent, doing fine performances without so much as a proper frontal shot, never mind a close-up.
Aoyama also edited and co-composed the music. The main theme is melancholy jazz, played slowly and without any main tune that suit’s the characters inner turmoil perfectly, but seems out of place on the revelation of the ending, which ends with a breathtaking aerial shot. The rest of the music, usually heard on the radio (there isn’t much place for technology in the film), is usually a quiet cacophony of noise and feedback which is equally expressive.
It is a magnificent piece of art that isn’t undermined by it’s few less sophisticated scenes and plot questions (no social services for the children?). Aoyama deserves full credit for attempting, and to an extent succeeding at exploring such a difficult subject, and it falls on the right side of pretension. It is justifiably slow, to the films betterment, yet can still be overwhelming and requires contemplation as it offers half-answers but no real conclusions. Aoyama uses the editing and cinematography to his advantage to create a respectful dissection of human despair and emptiness, as well as being blessed with a great cast. It may have several flaws but is still a masterful piece of film-making.
Dir: Shinji Aoyama
Japan, 2000
09/05/09
Shinji Aoyama’s Eureka (Yurika) opens with two children (Aoi Miyazaki as the young Kozue, and her real life brother Masaru Miyazaki as her fictional older brother Naoki) getting a bus to school which is then high jacked and after a fatal shootout with police only they, and the bus driver Makoto (Koji Yakusho), remain alive albeit heavily traumatised. Two years later Makoto returns home from drifting around Japan to try and restart his life but finds he is still not over the incident, much to the indifference of his family, and there’s a spate of killings of which he is the prime suspect. When he discovers that the two children from the bus are living alone because their mother has left and their father has died, he moves himself in and along with the children’s cousin, Akihiko (Yoichiro Saito), they proceed to try and help each other overcome the mental wounds they are suffering from.
Filmed in black and white (which sometimes looks sepia, although that may be the DVD transfer), it offers itself as an elegy to the human soul searching to discover itself. Aoyama wants to show us every detail of the process, from devastation to the healing that his three main characters go through, hence a running time of three-and-a-half hours which never seems contrived or forced. It is almost a fairytale in terms of the dark horrors that fairytale’s used to embody being as they were metaphors for the cruelties of real life. The main trauma the leads are suffering from may be the unsettling bus high jacking but that is not the end of it; instead it seems that was just an opening of the floodgates, and the devastating events seem to pile up and becomes an overwhelming and seemingly endless tidal wave for all the characters as the children loose their family, and Makoto is suspected of murder by his.
The children are abandoned by their mother, which is never explained but hinted that it may be an inability to deal with the children’s state of mind as they no longer speak. After their father dies they are left to fend alone. They stop going to school and lay about the house all day living off the insurance cheques that come through the post. They are aimless and almost lifeless as if stricken by some debilitating disease. It’s something that’s also infected Makoto and when he comes back from his wanderings he is given a chilly reception from his family. Unable to explain himself he finds his kin confused, the monotony of their life meaning they are lobotomised to such mental suffering as Makoto is undergoing. He gets his old job back with his childhood friend but it always feels as if he is simply passing the time and his damaged soul needs to be somewhere else, and so eventually they all come together.
Aoyama’s major social comment is the role of the family in modern Japanese society. None of the main character’s receive any form of emotional gratification from theirs, only exacerbation and suspicion. Makoto’s family may accept him back but it seems as if it is more out of rigid duty then out of affection, which is maybe Aoyama‘s main point; the family is emotionally obsolete and only exists out of mutual financial/housing needs and only survives because of being an ingrained social facility that people aren‘t developed enough to let go off. It‘s a bleak point of view but Aoyama’s philosophy is developed enough for him to offer an alternative; sometimes it is better if people choose their own family, as then they can choose based on feelings and shared experience instead of having ties forced upon them. It is Makoto’s childhood friend who is the only one that seems to unquestionably welcome him back, and it is only Makoto who can speak to the now mute children as his shared experience means he knows how to communicate without using words, instead using a series of knocks that has no intention of conversation but simply the knowledge that a loved one is there. He develops the technique whilst in prison, exchanging knocks through a wall with someone who has no doubt undergone a similar traumatising experience. This confounds Akihiko, the children’s cousin who has come to stay with them for the summer as a spy for the children’s aunt and uncle who want the children to come live with them so that they can have the insurance money. Akihiko though is on the side of the children and undermines his parents. Although he struggles to communicate with them the kids begrudgingly accept him into the fold as he too has suffered a life and death situation, though the circumstances are dissimilar.
It is also the family who immediately cast suspicion upon Makoto for the murders, as they coincide with his return to the town. He befriends a woman from work who has had an equally cold upbringing and they begin to bond as Makoto walks her home each night, but after she is murdered he comes to the attention of a local cop who happened to be at the bus high jacking. He tells Makoto that he knew from the start that the events would turn him into a killer but Makoto protests his innocence.
Aoyama is implying throughout the film that the traumatic events the characters went through unleashed innate desires to kill, maybe for a better understanding of their experiences on the bus, and this is one of the things his characters most overcome, but also that outsiders don‘t understand. It is a theme that is presented well for the first part of the film but once the characters are on the road and the strands start pulling together, it gets a bit lost as Aoyama seems unsure of how to presents the heart of the matter and instead has his characters state specifically their states of minds when previously they were presented through mise-en-scene and poetic images, and it seems forced and unsophisticated whilst the rest of the film is intelligent and paced. Yet what Aoyama is trying to say is no less diminished, it is simply the crescendo that is scuffed slightly and then we are back to the slow elegiac movement we had previously. The blame that the three characters feel is better presented, with Makoto always apologising, mostly needlessly, and the children making mock graves for the victims of the high jacking, and their lethargy seeming to be the physical effect of the weight of self-imposed guilt.
For the last part of the film, it is a road movie as the characters leave their fixed address to find themselves on the road. It ties back to Makoto’s childhood. He’s talking with his friend abut how they used to dream about being bus drivers and that it wasn’t as good as he had thought it would be because you just drive the same route, but now he is free to go whichever way he wants and wherever the healing process takes them all.
It is a film that is carefully photographed, the camera seeming to float along with the characters soul, so more often then not it remains still. It is a film that tries to find tranquil beauty in the emptiness of the lives it explores. It helps that the town is situated amongst picaresque fields and forests, the children’s house in particular set back from everywhere else, a large house on top of a hill, much like the evil characters from a fairytale and like those evil characters these children are misunderstood and shunned.
All the performances are superb, especially that of Koji Yakusho as Makoto, one scene in particular where he meets his wife to accept a divorce packing a strong emotional punch. Aoi Miyazaki as Kozue also stands out, managing to seem damaged yet more emotionally expressive then her brother, and it is her who bonds the most with Makoto, though the mental relationship the two young siblings share is well expressed. The rest of the cast are equally excellent, doing fine performances without so much as a proper frontal shot, never mind a close-up.
Aoyama also edited and co-composed the music. The main theme is melancholy jazz, played slowly and without any main tune that suit’s the characters inner turmoil perfectly, but seems out of place on the revelation of the ending, which ends with a breathtaking aerial shot. The rest of the music, usually heard on the radio (there isn’t much place for technology in the film), is usually a quiet cacophony of noise and feedback which is equally expressive.
It is a magnificent piece of art that isn’t undermined by it’s few less sophisticated scenes and plot questions (no social services for the children?). Aoyama deserves full credit for attempting, and to an extent succeeding at exploring such a difficult subject, and it falls on the right side of pretension. It is justifiably slow, to the films betterment, yet can still be overwhelming and requires contemplation as it offers half-answers but no real conclusions. Aoyama uses the editing and cinematography to his advantage to create a respectful dissection of human despair and emptiness, as well as being blessed with a great cast. It may have several flaws but is still a masterful piece of film-making.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Let The Right One In (Film)
LET THE RIGHT ONE IN
Dir: Tomas Alfredson
Sweden, 2008
28/04/09
Oskar (Kare Hadebrant), a young boy living in Sweden in the early eighties lives at home with his mother, has no friends and is bullied at school. He starts to befriend a girl, Eli (Lina Leandersson) who moves into the apartment next door with her ‘father’ and she helps him to deal with the bullies and realise his fantasies for revenge, but her arrival also coincides with a spate of killings that are making the townsfolk suspicious.
It may have only been around for a year but already so much has been written about Let The Right One In (Lat Den Ratte Komma In). Maybe it’s the constant dirge of mindless horror films that has led to this being embraced so much, and that it has reinvigorated one of the most clichéd and boring of horror genres, the vampire film. It’s based on a hugely popular novel by Swedish author John Ajvide Lindqvist, but Tomas Alfredson deserves full credit for his adaptation because it would be easy to take the premise and make a generic, gory horror flick. Alfredson avoids familiarity by making the vampire a supporting character that aids Oksar’s development, and making it thematically closer to a coming of age film then about sex or lust or whatever vampire films are usually meant to be about. It also refuses to revel in it’s own mythology, presenting Eli’s vampiristic traits as the character and story develops and they are never dwelled upon, except for her hunger, which is no more a driving force for her then Oskar’s urge for revenge is for him.
When Oskar and Eli first meet Oskar is acting out his revenge fantasies by stabbing a tree. Eli immediately indicates that they can’t be friends but it’s obvious that she is as desperate for companionship as he is. They bond and Eli drops more hints about her true nature, such as her not having any parents and that she has been twelve “for a very long time”. Oskar learns Morse code so that they can communicate between a wall and they become infatuated with one another, and after a succession of murders Oskar confronts Eli, already knowing that she is a vampire. It’s slow and awkward, and sometimes life interrupts (such as Oskar having to visit his father) but this means that the development of their friendship is incredibly believable when taking into consideration their states of minds.
There’s no hint of schmaltz in the relationship; it is dark, obsessive and incredibly intense for their age. Whilst Oskar is a sympathetic character we see several hints of a damaged child that dams complete empathy, such as his predominance towards knives, and a scene where he goads Eli into entering his flat without being invited which is particularly unsettling for the cold-heartedness of the action and his expression. But this adds to their complexities, and it is in it’s fleshing out of the Oskar and Eli that the film really succeeds with both actors performing astutely, especially Kare Hadebrant as Oskar who has to stump up a huge emotional palette for the role.
The direction is subtle, immersing Oskar in particular amongst the snow filled streets of the Swedish town which is the pathetic fallacy of the towns inhabitants, their lack of any real warmth to each other, mainly just drinking their days away. One of Alfredson’s successes is creating a group of realistic eccentrics and losers out of little screen time. The woman who is infected by Eli is given remarkable depth by the simple fact that she refuses to accept what she is becoming and instead chooses a drastic fate. The friends of the bully also, being weak, are made interesting by their ambiguity and the simple hint that maybe without the bully they could be friends with Oskar. All the characters wander about innocuously, almost like they are simplified by the harmlessness of their environment, or maybe they are just too naïve to think anything could be lurking in their small Swedish town, and because of this they are easy prey to whomever may be waiting to pounce. It’s interesting how in most films a murder can happen in dark alley without anyone seeing whereas here Alfredsen turns that on it’s head and points out that even in the wilderness it’s difficult to do anything without somebody seeing something (Alfredson shoots most the set pieces from a distance so it seems as if we too are we are observing from a hidden position).
Sound is also vital and one could say it is Alfredson’s trump card. Every movement of Eli and Oskar is amplified and twisted to make whatever connotations Alfredson sees fit, so when they two first meet every turn of Eli’s head or limb movement sounds like the cracking of ice as Oskar slowly gets underneath her unfeeling exterior and she melts to him. We also hear every movement of Oskar’s lips throughout the film, coming to a crescendo when Eli kisses Oskar, the sound almost unnatural as she leaves traces of blood on him, implicating him in her crimes.
Another of Alfredson’s strength lies in his use of dark visual humour. There are no jokes per se but much of what would normally constitute as horror is shown at a distant and in a somewhat lighter tone, yet it’s power no less diminished. One such scene is when Eli’s guardian, after and enquiry by a jogger, shows his potential victim the equipment he is about to use to debilitate him.
However, despite all the hails of masterpiece surrounding it, Let The Right One In is by no means free of flaws. The relationship between Eli and her guardian isn’t well presented. In the book he is a paedophile which adds effective depth but Alfredson understandably ejects this (feeling it was a sensitive subject he couldn’t do full justice to) but fails to offer any kind of alternative so instead we get a man who is seemingly fearful of Eli who goes out and gets caught both times he tries to procure blood for her, leaving one wondering how long he has actually being travelling with her. Also the relationship between Oskar and his parents is obscure, his mother seems to love him, as does his father, and Oskar in turn seems to get along with them (he is happy when he visits his father until a scene where one of his father’s friends joins them for a drink and there is an underlying tension that the viewer has no bearing on). Because of this, Oskar’s indifference to his parents feelings makes little sense.
It’s also not as much a deconstruction of genre convention as say The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, U.K.,1973) which defied the clichés of Hammer Horror to create something far more terrifying. It twists our expectations more then reversing them, but this leads to some nice little touches such as Eli sleeping in a bathtub covered with towels and sheets rather then a coffin, and sweets making her sick. There is also a thankful lack of sex, the eroticism of vampire‘s being lost on me, and replaced instead with Oskar’s underlying sexual awakening that’s never dwelled upon (It‘s implied that Eli, whilst not overtly sexual, is probably far more knowledgeable on the subject than Oskar) .
It probably will deservedly become a classic (it is already number #192 on IMDB.com’s Top 250, not bad for a year old Swedish art house film), but I worry people’s expectations may be too high, as mine probably were. Still, it’s flaws are far outweighed by it’s inventiveness, it’s depth and respect for the characters and they way Alfredson presents the story, using calm and restraint. It is intelligent, original and quite remarkable in it’s way and one can go as far as to say it has to be seen.
Dir: Tomas Alfredson
Sweden, 2008
28/04/09
Oskar (Kare Hadebrant), a young boy living in Sweden in the early eighties lives at home with his mother, has no friends and is bullied at school. He starts to befriend a girl, Eli (Lina Leandersson) who moves into the apartment next door with her ‘father’ and she helps him to deal with the bullies and realise his fantasies for revenge, but her arrival also coincides with a spate of killings that are making the townsfolk suspicious.
It may have only been around for a year but already so much has been written about Let The Right One In (Lat Den Ratte Komma In). Maybe it’s the constant dirge of mindless horror films that has led to this being embraced so much, and that it has reinvigorated one of the most clichéd and boring of horror genres, the vampire film. It’s based on a hugely popular novel by Swedish author John Ajvide Lindqvist, but Tomas Alfredson deserves full credit for his adaptation because it would be easy to take the premise and make a generic, gory horror flick. Alfredson avoids familiarity by making the vampire a supporting character that aids Oksar’s development, and making it thematically closer to a coming of age film then about sex or lust or whatever vampire films are usually meant to be about. It also refuses to revel in it’s own mythology, presenting Eli’s vampiristic traits as the character and story develops and they are never dwelled upon, except for her hunger, which is no more a driving force for her then Oskar’s urge for revenge is for him.
When Oskar and Eli first meet Oskar is acting out his revenge fantasies by stabbing a tree. Eli immediately indicates that they can’t be friends but it’s obvious that she is as desperate for companionship as he is. They bond and Eli drops more hints about her true nature, such as her not having any parents and that she has been twelve “for a very long time”. Oskar learns Morse code so that they can communicate between a wall and they become infatuated with one another, and after a succession of murders Oskar confronts Eli, already knowing that she is a vampire. It’s slow and awkward, and sometimes life interrupts (such as Oskar having to visit his father) but this means that the development of their friendship is incredibly believable when taking into consideration their states of minds.
There’s no hint of schmaltz in the relationship; it is dark, obsessive and incredibly intense for their age. Whilst Oskar is a sympathetic character we see several hints of a damaged child that dams complete empathy, such as his predominance towards knives, and a scene where he goads Eli into entering his flat without being invited which is particularly unsettling for the cold-heartedness of the action and his expression. But this adds to their complexities, and it is in it’s fleshing out of the Oskar and Eli that the film really succeeds with both actors performing astutely, especially Kare Hadebrant as Oskar who has to stump up a huge emotional palette for the role.
The direction is subtle, immersing Oskar in particular amongst the snow filled streets of the Swedish town which is the pathetic fallacy of the towns inhabitants, their lack of any real warmth to each other, mainly just drinking their days away. One of Alfredson’s successes is creating a group of realistic eccentrics and losers out of little screen time. The woman who is infected by Eli is given remarkable depth by the simple fact that she refuses to accept what she is becoming and instead chooses a drastic fate. The friends of the bully also, being weak, are made interesting by their ambiguity and the simple hint that maybe without the bully they could be friends with Oskar. All the characters wander about innocuously, almost like they are simplified by the harmlessness of their environment, or maybe they are just too naïve to think anything could be lurking in their small Swedish town, and because of this they are easy prey to whomever may be waiting to pounce. It’s interesting how in most films a murder can happen in dark alley without anyone seeing whereas here Alfredsen turns that on it’s head and points out that even in the wilderness it’s difficult to do anything without somebody seeing something (Alfredson shoots most the set pieces from a distance so it seems as if we too are we are observing from a hidden position).
Sound is also vital and one could say it is Alfredson’s trump card. Every movement of Eli and Oskar is amplified and twisted to make whatever connotations Alfredson sees fit, so when they two first meet every turn of Eli’s head or limb movement sounds like the cracking of ice as Oskar slowly gets underneath her unfeeling exterior and she melts to him. We also hear every movement of Oskar’s lips throughout the film, coming to a crescendo when Eli kisses Oskar, the sound almost unnatural as she leaves traces of blood on him, implicating him in her crimes.
Another of Alfredson’s strength lies in his use of dark visual humour. There are no jokes per se but much of what would normally constitute as horror is shown at a distant and in a somewhat lighter tone, yet it’s power no less diminished. One such scene is when Eli’s guardian, after and enquiry by a jogger, shows his potential victim the equipment he is about to use to debilitate him.
However, despite all the hails of masterpiece surrounding it, Let The Right One In is by no means free of flaws. The relationship between Eli and her guardian isn’t well presented. In the book he is a paedophile which adds effective depth but Alfredson understandably ejects this (feeling it was a sensitive subject he couldn’t do full justice to) but fails to offer any kind of alternative so instead we get a man who is seemingly fearful of Eli who goes out and gets caught both times he tries to procure blood for her, leaving one wondering how long he has actually being travelling with her. Also the relationship between Oskar and his parents is obscure, his mother seems to love him, as does his father, and Oskar in turn seems to get along with them (he is happy when he visits his father until a scene where one of his father’s friends joins them for a drink and there is an underlying tension that the viewer has no bearing on). Because of this, Oskar’s indifference to his parents feelings makes little sense.
It’s also not as much a deconstruction of genre convention as say The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, U.K.,1973) which defied the clichés of Hammer Horror to create something far more terrifying. It twists our expectations more then reversing them, but this leads to some nice little touches such as Eli sleeping in a bathtub covered with towels and sheets rather then a coffin, and sweets making her sick. There is also a thankful lack of sex, the eroticism of vampire‘s being lost on me, and replaced instead with Oskar’s underlying sexual awakening that’s never dwelled upon (It‘s implied that Eli, whilst not overtly sexual, is probably far more knowledgeable on the subject than Oskar) .
It probably will deservedly become a classic (it is already number #192 on IMDB.com’s Top 250, not bad for a year old Swedish art house film), but I worry people’s expectations may be too high, as mine probably were. Still, it’s flaws are far outweighed by it’s inventiveness, it’s depth and respect for the characters and they way Alfredson presents the story, using calm and restraint. It is intelligent, original and quite remarkable in it’s way and one can go as far as to say it has to be seen.
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
The Damned United (Film)
THE DAMNED UNITED
Tom Hooper
UK, 2009
01/04/09
The Damned United tells the story of Brian Clough's (Michael Sheen) success as manager at Derby county and subsequent tenure at Leeds United that ended after only forty-four days. It's a film that probably won't do as well as it should at the box-office due to many mistakenly taking the plot to mean it is a film about football, but this is a shame as it is actually a study of Clough's friendship with Peter Taylor (Timothy Spall) and his vicious obsession with Leeds United and their manager in particular, Don Revie (Colm Meaney), who's shadow he prophetically puts himself in.
The film's narrative switches between Clough's 1974 stint at Leeds and the previous six years at Derby which chart the rise of the club and Clough's rivalry with Revie. It all starts with a cup tie in which Derby are on the receiving end of the Leeds team's infamous dirty tactics and Don Revie, in Clough's eyes, refuses to shake his hand. This leads to a determination that, the film argues, lays the foundation for Clough dragging Derby up the Football league by the scruff of the neck.
But all that is merely background because in truth this could be based around any competing personalities in any sport or any kind of competitive enterprise within life. Clough is a cocky young upstart who will not be bettered and his personality is as much to blame as any other person for the turmoils he suffers. He's like a hero from Greek tragedy; a brave noble man, yet he has his fatal flaw and in this case it is his arrogance and that leads to his major downfall; his sacking from Derby and estrangement from Peter Taylor. Yet this arrogance that fuels his dry wit is what makes him indelibly charming and it is a personality that has as much worth to be on the big screen as any other.
Sheen's portrayal of the man is remarkable: the way he curls his tongue or his little winks that are barely noticeable yet bring the spirit of the man to the screen. But this is not an impersonation; instead it seems as if Sheen has chosen only the gestures that relate to the man's emotions. He isn't throwing around those mischievous little smiles simply because it was Clough's habit, he does it because it reveals something inside his head at that moment, some fleeting emotion that's all to quickly gone. In fact it's a blessing that this film has Sheen because it wouldn't succeed without him. The script (written by Peter Morgon) doesn't devote much time to the psychology or feelings of Clough and it is left to Sheen to convey this in silence when the camera lingers on him, and it's something he does effortlessly, one particular moment being the mixture of anger, embarrassment and shame when sat in an empty t.v. studio after a surprise interview alongside his nemesis Revie where it's all there in his eyes. In fact all the performances are superb. Spall, who probably out of all the actors looks the most unlike the character he is portraying, is a good polar opposite to Clough, and the man many saw as the real genius behind his success (and to this day is still regarded as one of the finest talent scouts in the history of English Football), as well as Jim Broadbent's Derby chairman who seems to embody the typical unadventurous and boring seventies man so well.
The late sixties and early seventies are evoked well and all credit should go to the production design and the photographers. Tom Hooper, fully aware that his film is a period piece frames his characters at every opportunity in the typical seventies landscape that surrounds them (Cinematographer Ben Smithard has some experience of shooting period pieces having worked on the BBC's recent Cranford series), thus we get a film that trades closeups for medium shots, showing the characters as a product of their time. When Clough is on the training pitch before his cup match we can see rows and rows of council houses behind him, kids play in typical working class, wet and muddy streets and all the stadiums look worn and dilapidated, the paint peeling and the pitches basically a deluge. There's also the little things too like the drab colors of the furniture, the anachronistic patterns on the wallpaper and fish and chips being served in newspaper. It is difficult not to be fully immersed in the era for the duration of the film.
This isn't the only way in which the photography succeeds. Care is taken to show Clough in space, usually to one side of the frame to emphasize his loneliness with the world, or at least his trouble in getting on with people. It gives us a sense of how the Clough's desire for glory meant he had trouble fitting in anywhere, and it is probably a style forced on by the scripts lack of depth, but if you can express all these emotions in the acting, photography and scenery then it is maybe a blessing to scriptwriters who can then concentrate on a tighter and more condensed script.
But then again, an extra ten minutes wouldn't go amiss, and these could probably be found by wringing a bit of time from the distracting intertitle sequences from which the information could be presented elsewhere quicker. We aren't really shown much of either Clough's nor Taylor's family life except that it sometimes exacerbates their wives, and we only get a fleeting look at his relationship with the Derby players. There are also several contrived sequences such as how Clough always manages to hear what the Leeds players say behind closed doors and a late night drunken phone call to Don Revie which no doubt never happened. But real life is more dramatic then cinema and for us to be able to know what it felt like to be there sometimes the story needs to be exaggerated for the screen; the film after all is never trying to imply it is anything beyond entertainment.
And it's very good entertainment at that. The script may have a few faults but one of it's successes is that it is extremely funny, and it doesn't feel the need to pander to fans of football. There aren't many jokes, instead most of the humor comes from the personality of the characters, Clough's wit meaning much of this was pre-written, but all the other characters have their moments, one such moment being when Broadbent's chairman discovers Clough has signed a new player: "£300 pound!" he says alarmed, "You can't pay players that!" This humour and heart leads to a pleasurable viewing experience that is highly recommended which i personally look forward to seeing again.
Tom Hooper
UK, 2009
01/04/09
The Damned United tells the story of Brian Clough's (Michael Sheen) success as manager at Derby county and subsequent tenure at Leeds United that ended after only forty-four days. It's a film that probably won't do as well as it should at the box-office due to many mistakenly taking the plot to mean it is a film about football, but this is a shame as it is actually a study of Clough's friendship with Peter Taylor (Timothy Spall) and his vicious obsession with Leeds United and their manager in particular, Don Revie (Colm Meaney), who's shadow he prophetically puts himself in.
The film's narrative switches between Clough's 1974 stint at Leeds and the previous six years at Derby which chart the rise of the club and Clough's rivalry with Revie. It all starts with a cup tie in which Derby are on the receiving end of the Leeds team's infamous dirty tactics and Don Revie, in Clough's eyes, refuses to shake his hand. This leads to a determination that, the film argues, lays the foundation for Clough dragging Derby up the Football league by the scruff of the neck.
But all that is merely background because in truth this could be based around any competing personalities in any sport or any kind of competitive enterprise within life. Clough is a cocky young upstart who will not be bettered and his personality is as much to blame as any other person for the turmoils he suffers. He's like a hero from Greek tragedy; a brave noble man, yet he has his fatal flaw and in this case it is his arrogance and that leads to his major downfall; his sacking from Derby and estrangement from Peter Taylor. Yet this arrogance that fuels his dry wit is what makes him indelibly charming and it is a personality that has as much worth to be on the big screen as any other.
Sheen's portrayal of the man is remarkable: the way he curls his tongue or his little winks that are barely noticeable yet bring the spirit of the man to the screen. But this is not an impersonation; instead it seems as if Sheen has chosen only the gestures that relate to the man's emotions. He isn't throwing around those mischievous little smiles simply because it was Clough's habit, he does it because it reveals something inside his head at that moment, some fleeting emotion that's all to quickly gone. In fact it's a blessing that this film has Sheen because it wouldn't succeed without him. The script (written by Peter Morgon) doesn't devote much time to the psychology or feelings of Clough and it is left to Sheen to convey this in silence when the camera lingers on him, and it's something he does effortlessly, one particular moment being the mixture of anger, embarrassment and shame when sat in an empty t.v. studio after a surprise interview alongside his nemesis Revie where it's all there in his eyes. In fact all the performances are superb. Spall, who probably out of all the actors looks the most unlike the character he is portraying, is a good polar opposite to Clough, and the man many saw as the real genius behind his success (and to this day is still regarded as one of the finest talent scouts in the history of English Football), as well as Jim Broadbent's Derby chairman who seems to embody the typical unadventurous and boring seventies man so well.
The late sixties and early seventies are evoked well and all credit should go to the production design and the photographers. Tom Hooper, fully aware that his film is a period piece frames his characters at every opportunity in the typical seventies landscape that surrounds them (Cinematographer Ben Smithard has some experience of shooting period pieces having worked on the BBC's recent Cranford series), thus we get a film that trades closeups for medium shots, showing the characters as a product of their time. When Clough is on the training pitch before his cup match we can see rows and rows of council houses behind him, kids play in typical working class, wet and muddy streets and all the stadiums look worn and dilapidated, the paint peeling and the pitches basically a deluge. There's also the little things too like the drab colors of the furniture, the anachronistic patterns on the wallpaper and fish and chips being served in newspaper. It is difficult not to be fully immersed in the era for the duration of the film.
This isn't the only way in which the photography succeeds. Care is taken to show Clough in space, usually to one side of the frame to emphasize his loneliness with the world, or at least his trouble in getting on with people. It gives us a sense of how the Clough's desire for glory meant he had trouble fitting in anywhere, and it is probably a style forced on by the scripts lack of depth, but if you can express all these emotions in the acting, photography and scenery then it is maybe a blessing to scriptwriters who can then concentrate on a tighter and more condensed script.
But then again, an extra ten minutes wouldn't go amiss, and these could probably be found by wringing a bit of time from the distracting intertitle sequences from which the information could be presented elsewhere quicker. We aren't really shown much of either Clough's nor Taylor's family life except that it sometimes exacerbates their wives, and we only get a fleeting look at his relationship with the Derby players. There are also several contrived sequences such as how Clough always manages to hear what the Leeds players say behind closed doors and a late night drunken phone call to Don Revie which no doubt never happened. But real life is more dramatic then cinema and for us to be able to know what it felt like to be there sometimes the story needs to be exaggerated for the screen; the film after all is never trying to imply it is anything beyond entertainment.
And it's very good entertainment at that. The script may have a few faults but one of it's successes is that it is extremely funny, and it doesn't feel the need to pander to fans of football. There aren't many jokes, instead most of the humor comes from the personality of the characters, Clough's wit meaning much of this was pre-written, but all the other characters have their moments, one such moment being when Broadbent's chairman discovers Clough has signed a new player: "£300 pound!" he says alarmed, "You can't pay players that!" This humour and heart leads to a pleasurable viewing experience that is highly recommended which i personally look forward to seeing again.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Le Cercle Rouge (Film)
LE CERCLE ROUGE
Dir: Jean-Pierre Melville
France, 1970
25/03/09
Made a few years before his death at the age fifty-five, Le Cercle Rouge is usually considered in the pantheon of classic gangster films that Melville made in the latter part of his career. It certainly is a stylish display of fate and inevitability, that like the best film noirs that influenced it seems to play fast and loose with coincidence and fleeting connections.
The film follows four main protagonists as they all converge around a jewelry heist. First we have commissioner Mattei (Andre Bouvril) escorting his prisoner, Vogel (Gian-Maria Volonte), on a train, but after Vogel escapes Mattei finds himself under intense pressure to put things right. Then there's Corey (Frequent Melville collaborator Alain Delon), who on the day of his release is given a job offer by a prison guard. Corey says he wants to go straight but is easily enticed into the job. As these three stories are expertly woven together by Melville we follow the meeting of Corey and Vogel, seemingly by pure chance, but the two help each other through several scrapes and Corey lets Vogel in on the job. The final character is Jansen (Yves Montand), an alcoholic ex-cop who is needed by the robbers for his sharpshooting skills.
It's obvious that Melville doesn't mind the slow build up to bring his pieces together (Jansen isn't introduced until an hour into the film, yet is no less fleshed out then any of the other characters), but this is to the films credit. We are shown the little details that inhabit the criminals, and police officers lives such as Vogel having to strip off his clothes and then put them back on to cross a river whilst being chased by dogs (modesty is not a particularly good trait to have as a fugitive. These are not suave and cool gangsters in the mould of Scorsese, they do what they have to to get the job done). We also see such things as Jansen tediously making bullets, and the robbery itself, which is shown in minute detail as we watch Vogel and Corey ascending a building and clambering across rooftops for several minutes before they even get to their destination. This of course is intended. The inevitability of these characters' downfall is never in doubt, yet Melville wants to show us the pointlessness of their actions; no matter how much preparation they make, they can't escape their fate.
There are many tense moments in this film, dealt by Melville with expert precision. Keeping in line with the films style, he creates the tension out of small moments. In the near silent robbery for example, it is the creaking of a pane of glass whilst a security guard decides whether to recheck the toilet, or a security system that doesn't seem to turn off when the switch is flicked that gets out hearts racing, one of the best of all being when Vogel, breaking free of his handcuffs on a train must move slowly and silently whilst holding his handcuff up, so as not alert the attention of Commissioner Mattei sat up on the bed below, only inches away.
The films actors, besides the seemingly overconfident Mattei, play their characters with a stoic like determination, seemingly possessing a psychic connection with each other. This is the style of acting Melville liked (because, it is said, it reflected his own personality), but it gives the characters a sense of depth and intrigue, something deep inside that the camera can't penetrate. These traits are best embodied by Alain Delon's Corey who manages to express emotions without ever changing his face, such as when he visits crime boss Rico (Andre Ekyan) to take some money. He is no less restrained then in any other scene, yet the hate and potential violence he emanates is easily felt (In fact this scene, which is one in which we see anything resembling feelings from Corey's character, can perhaps in part be blamed for his downfall later). The cinematography therefore is left to reflect on the characters' quiet exterior by being restrained and unobtrusive, it does what it needs to do and does it well.
Melville knows how to use this acting style to his advantage to get genuine surprise from the audience, such as Corey's reaction at Vogel shooting two gangsters or when during the robbery Jansen lines his gun up carefully on a tripod aiming exactly at it's target, and then, without any warning removes the gun from it's stand to take the shot without any aid. The shocked reaction of the usually laconic Corey and Vogel can't help but create a brief moment of panic in the audience.
The theme of the film seems to be an almost original sin style philosophy, embodied particularly by the Chief Of Police (Paul Amiot). "All men are guilty, They are born guilty, but it doesn't last" he says to the shocked Mattei with a seriousness that is almost humorous. Mattei later seems to accept the philosophy when pimp and bar owner Santi's (Francois Perier) son is arrested on trumped up charges which turn out to be true. Melville ties this in with his theme of fate by quoting Buddha at the beginning about how certain men are destined to meet in a red circle (Le Cercle Rouge). It seems that Melville wants us to believe that the fate awaiting all men is not only inevitable, but deserving.
It has been said elsewhere that Melville's use of zoom is somewhat dated, but i think it suits the film fine, and is used sparingly or unknowingly, usually to emphasize something, though i think dated could be applied to the editing. One scene in particular, which adds to the theme of pointlessness is when Jansen makes bullets. The use of several wipes here is quite tedious, as is a shot of Corey going down in a lift as the camera raises upwards, which is a perfectly good shot (emphasizing the feeling that Corey is about to meet his fate) but doesn't need to be shown twice in a matter of seconds. But these are small matters that were noticed once or twice in a film clocking in at over two hours.
It seems to me that whilst Melville was undeniably influenced by American cinema of the forties and fifties, this film, which maintains much of that look (the costumes, the cars, the downbeat mise en scene), feels far more like the kind of film we would see coming out of America in the proceeding years. The emotional void of it's characters and pessimism of it's story echo just as much in films like The Conversation (Coppola, USA, 1974), Chinatown (Polanski, USA, 1974) or Network (Lumet, USA, 1976). These films seep in the darkness that was inherent in the old American film noirs but given a more fatalistic and paranoid essence by the French directors who took the genre and moulded it into their own vision, influenced much more by the memories of the second world war. Melville, who like many of those future directors saw himself as a loner, fills his film with this sense of embitterment. The sometimes intense, and other times desolate scenes these create make for an ultimately satisfying and absorbing experience.
Dir: Jean-Pierre Melville
France, 1970
25/03/09
Made a few years before his death at the age fifty-five, Le Cercle Rouge is usually considered in the pantheon of classic gangster films that Melville made in the latter part of his career. It certainly is a stylish display of fate and inevitability, that like the best film noirs that influenced it seems to play fast and loose with coincidence and fleeting connections.
The film follows four main protagonists as they all converge around a jewelry heist. First we have commissioner Mattei (Andre Bouvril) escorting his prisoner, Vogel (Gian-Maria Volonte), on a train, but after Vogel escapes Mattei finds himself under intense pressure to put things right. Then there's Corey (Frequent Melville collaborator Alain Delon), who on the day of his release is given a job offer by a prison guard. Corey says he wants to go straight but is easily enticed into the job. As these three stories are expertly woven together by Melville we follow the meeting of Corey and Vogel, seemingly by pure chance, but the two help each other through several scrapes and Corey lets Vogel in on the job. The final character is Jansen (Yves Montand), an alcoholic ex-cop who is needed by the robbers for his sharpshooting skills.
It's obvious that Melville doesn't mind the slow build up to bring his pieces together (Jansen isn't introduced until an hour into the film, yet is no less fleshed out then any of the other characters), but this is to the films credit. We are shown the little details that inhabit the criminals, and police officers lives such as Vogel having to strip off his clothes and then put them back on to cross a river whilst being chased by dogs (modesty is not a particularly good trait to have as a fugitive. These are not suave and cool gangsters in the mould of Scorsese, they do what they have to to get the job done). We also see such things as Jansen tediously making bullets, and the robbery itself, which is shown in minute detail as we watch Vogel and Corey ascending a building and clambering across rooftops for several minutes before they even get to their destination. This of course is intended. The inevitability of these characters' downfall is never in doubt, yet Melville wants to show us the pointlessness of their actions; no matter how much preparation they make, they can't escape their fate.
There are many tense moments in this film, dealt by Melville with expert precision. Keeping in line with the films style, he creates the tension out of small moments. In the near silent robbery for example, it is the creaking of a pane of glass whilst a security guard decides whether to recheck the toilet, or a security system that doesn't seem to turn off when the switch is flicked that gets out hearts racing, one of the best of all being when Vogel, breaking free of his handcuffs on a train must move slowly and silently whilst holding his handcuff up, so as not alert the attention of Commissioner Mattei sat up on the bed below, only inches away.
The films actors, besides the seemingly overconfident Mattei, play their characters with a stoic like determination, seemingly possessing a psychic connection with each other. This is the style of acting Melville liked (because, it is said, it reflected his own personality), but it gives the characters a sense of depth and intrigue, something deep inside that the camera can't penetrate. These traits are best embodied by Alain Delon's Corey who manages to express emotions without ever changing his face, such as when he visits crime boss Rico (Andre Ekyan) to take some money. He is no less restrained then in any other scene, yet the hate and potential violence he emanates is easily felt (In fact this scene, which is one in which we see anything resembling feelings from Corey's character, can perhaps in part be blamed for his downfall later). The cinematography therefore is left to reflect on the characters' quiet exterior by being restrained and unobtrusive, it does what it needs to do and does it well.
Melville knows how to use this acting style to his advantage to get genuine surprise from the audience, such as Corey's reaction at Vogel shooting two gangsters or when during the robbery Jansen lines his gun up carefully on a tripod aiming exactly at it's target, and then, without any warning removes the gun from it's stand to take the shot without any aid. The shocked reaction of the usually laconic Corey and Vogel can't help but create a brief moment of panic in the audience.
The theme of the film seems to be an almost original sin style philosophy, embodied particularly by the Chief Of Police (Paul Amiot). "All men are guilty, They are born guilty, but it doesn't last" he says to the shocked Mattei with a seriousness that is almost humorous. Mattei later seems to accept the philosophy when pimp and bar owner Santi's (Francois Perier) son is arrested on trumped up charges which turn out to be true. Melville ties this in with his theme of fate by quoting Buddha at the beginning about how certain men are destined to meet in a red circle (Le Cercle Rouge). It seems that Melville wants us to believe that the fate awaiting all men is not only inevitable, but deserving.
It has been said elsewhere that Melville's use of zoom is somewhat dated, but i think it suits the film fine, and is used sparingly or unknowingly, usually to emphasize something, though i think dated could be applied to the editing. One scene in particular, which adds to the theme of pointlessness is when Jansen makes bullets. The use of several wipes here is quite tedious, as is a shot of Corey going down in a lift as the camera raises upwards, which is a perfectly good shot (emphasizing the feeling that Corey is about to meet his fate) but doesn't need to be shown twice in a matter of seconds. But these are small matters that were noticed once or twice in a film clocking in at over two hours.
It seems to me that whilst Melville was undeniably influenced by American cinema of the forties and fifties, this film, which maintains much of that look (the costumes, the cars, the downbeat mise en scene), feels far more like the kind of film we would see coming out of America in the proceeding years. The emotional void of it's characters and pessimism of it's story echo just as much in films like The Conversation (Coppola, USA, 1974), Chinatown (Polanski, USA, 1974) or Network (Lumet, USA, 1976). These films seep in the darkness that was inherent in the old American film noirs but given a more fatalistic and paranoid essence by the French directors who took the genre and moulded it into their own vision, influenced much more by the memories of the second world war. Melville, who like many of those future directors saw himself as a loner, fills his film with this sense of embitterment. The sometimes intense, and other times desolate scenes these create make for an ultimately satisfying and absorbing experience.
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Quantum Of Solace (Film)
QUANTUM OF SOLACE
Dir: Marc Foster
UK/USA, 2008
(24/03/09)
There is little doubt that Casino Royale (Campbell, UK/USA/Germany/Czech Rep, 2006) was a return to form for the bond franchise with Daniel Craig throwing himself full throttle into the role. It was received to rapturous reviews and many fans were calling for director Martin Campbell to helm this film, which is a direct sequel(he also, incidentally, directed the best Bond film of the nineties, Pierce Brosnan's pilot Goldeneye (U.S.A/U.K, 1995)). This may have been a better idea as it seems everything they got right in the first film, which was more then they got wrong, they mess up in this one, the only real improvement being the plot.
Whereas Casino Royale consisted of a story extended around the gimmick of a poker tournament, this one encompasses more of a large conspiracy theory featuring a huge organization (QUANTUM, an attempt to create a new SPECTRE) that is more suitable to the Bond canon. There are some nice little attempts in the screenplay to tie it in with modern events, such as Dominic Greene (Mathieu Amalric, playing the villain with the relish that all bond villains should be played with, despite lacking any defining eccentricity besides eating an apple too enthusiastically), trying to convince a CIA operative that his plan for the Bolivia is good for America as they are losing control of South America whilst being distracted in the Middle East. In fact his character being an environmentalist with a hidden motive is a nice touch. Industrialists used to be hailed as the saviors but became corrupt, are the new wave of environmentalists any different? There's also dashes of clever dialog, such as when Bond is talking with Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright) in a bar and bonds says "I like the way you [the Americans] carved this place [South America] up". "I'll take that as a compliment coming from a Brit." Replies Felix. Sadly, these little nuances which improve the script (and feel like one of the contributions of Paul Haggis) are lost by the immediacy of which chases and shootouts have to occur, and there lies the real problem of the film.
Setting itself a few minutes after the climax of Casino Royale, it opens immediately with a car chase through the streets of an Italian city. The problems that betray this film throughout are glaring straight away; the action scenes consist of some of the worst editing seen in a big-budget blockbuster in my memory. The editing is so incoherent that the numerous chase sequences seem to have footage missing and make very little sense, and for the sharper eyed viewer, there are several continuity errors to do with positioning of people and vehicles, one such being when a car goes careening off the edge of a road to the left of Bonds car when half a second earlier in the previous shot it was on the right side if his car. I was just about able to work out that there were some vehicles (be it boats, planes or cars) chasing each other and that someone was being shot at. The opening chase made almost no sense with bonds car door getting ripped off without us seeing, trucks coming from no where, confusing scenery changes and no sense of where any of the cars are in relatio to each other. After this sequence when Bond pulls his battered, bullet strewn car to a halt, he pulls Mr. White (Jesper Christian) out of the boot which miraculously escaped bullet-hole free. The fighting and close combat scenes fare slightly better but are still somewhat erratic, and this squanders some potentially great sequences such as Bond and Camille (Olga Kurylenko) on a battered old plane up against a modern fighter jet and a combat helicopter. The action scenes are central to the Bond franchise and after some brilliantly choreographed fighting in Casino Royale (especially the scene on the cranes which took my breath away) this is a huge disappointment.
The film also tries to show Bond as a man out for revenge, trying to fight the organization that led to Vesper Lynd's (Eva Green in Casino Royale) death. This isn't portrayed satisfyingly enough for us to feel that this is the real Bond having these feelings. At times he seems childish, and elsewhere plain cold hearted, as in the way he treats Rene Mathis (Giancarlo Giannini, reprising his role from the previous film) which is harsh and difficult to sympathize with. There are other plot inconsistencies: why exactly does Bond save Camille from the boat she is on with General Madrano (Joaquin Cosio) when she seems in no immediate danger and of no help to him? Is her role particularly necessary in the film at all, other then a scene similar to the one in Casino Royale where Bond comforts Vesper in a shower, except this time in a burning room, the flames, like the water, representing a purge.
It's certainly not the worst of the twenty-two Bonds films, and perhaps expectations were too high, but it is still a let down. If only the personal bits were as well written as the central plot, or ejected altogether, and the action scenes better constructed, this could have been much better. Daniel Craig certainly should carry no blame, he plays Bond as he is asked to, but i think some of the criticisms from the previous film, that he is less suave and sophisticated and more middle class thug have more baring here. In one scene, agent Fields (Gemma Arterton) takes Bond to a small hotel. Bond immediately leaves and relocates them to a far glossier and more expensive one, which can't help but raise the thought that Bond is wasting British taxpayer's money, simply because he has an ego to maintain. The screenwriters also make the British and American governments complicit somewhat in QUANTUM's plans, which is a good move that makes the film more modern and believable, but all of this added together left me wondering exactly who or what Bond is fighting for, as he seems more interested in showing off and jet-setting then Queen and country.
Dir: Marc Foster
UK/USA, 2008
(24/03/09)
There is little doubt that Casino Royale (Campbell, UK/USA/Germany/Czech Rep, 2006) was a return to form for the bond franchise with Daniel Craig throwing himself full throttle into the role. It was received to rapturous reviews and many fans were calling for director Martin Campbell to helm this film, which is a direct sequel(he also, incidentally, directed the best Bond film of the nineties, Pierce Brosnan's pilot Goldeneye (U.S.A/U.K, 1995)). This may have been a better idea as it seems everything they got right in the first film, which was more then they got wrong, they mess up in this one, the only real improvement being the plot.
Whereas Casino Royale consisted of a story extended around the gimmick of a poker tournament, this one encompasses more of a large conspiracy theory featuring a huge organization (QUANTUM, an attempt to create a new SPECTRE) that is more suitable to the Bond canon. There are some nice little attempts in the screenplay to tie it in with modern events, such as Dominic Greene (Mathieu Amalric, playing the villain with the relish that all bond villains should be played with, despite lacking any defining eccentricity besides eating an apple too enthusiastically), trying to convince a CIA operative that his plan for the Bolivia is good for America as they are losing control of South America whilst being distracted in the Middle East. In fact his character being an environmentalist with a hidden motive is a nice touch. Industrialists used to be hailed as the saviors but became corrupt, are the new wave of environmentalists any different? There's also dashes of clever dialog, such as when Bond is talking with Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright) in a bar and bonds says "I like the way you [the Americans] carved this place [South America] up". "I'll take that as a compliment coming from a Brit." Replies Felix. Sadly, these little nuances which improve the script (and feel like one of the contributions of Paul Haggis) are lost by the immediacy of which chases and shootouts have to occur, and there lies the real problem of the film.
Setting itself a few minutes after the climax of Casino Royale, it opens immediately with a car chase through the streets of an Italian city. The problems that betray this film throughout are glaring straight away; the action scenes consist of some of the worst editing seen in a big-budget blockbuster in my memory. The editing is so incoherent that the numerous chase sequences seem to have footage missing and make very little sense, and for the sharper eyed viewer, there are several continuity errors to do with positioning of people and vehicles, one such being when a car goes careening off the edge of a road to the left of Bonds car when half a second earlier in the previous shot it was on the right side if his car. I was just about able to work out that there were some vehicles (be it boats, planes or cars) chasing each other and that someone was being shot at. The opening chase made almost no sense with bonds car door getting ripped off without us seeing, trucks coming from no where, confusing scenery changes and no sense of where any of the cars are in relatio to each other. After this sequence when Bond pulls his battered, bullet strewn car to a halt, he pulls Mr. White (Jesper Christian) out of the boot which miraculously escaped bullet-hole free. The fighting and close combat scenes fare slightly better but are still somewhat erratic, and this squanders some potentially great sequences such as Bond and Camille (Olga Kurylenko) on a battered old plane up against a modern fighter jet and a combat helicopter. The action scenes are central to the Bond franchise and after some brilliantly choreographed fighting in Casino Royale (especially the scene on the cranes which took my breath away) this is a huge disappointment.
The film also tries to show Bond as a man out for revenge, trying to fight the organization that led to Vesper Lynd's (Eva Green in Casino Royale) death. This isn't portrayed satisfyingly enough for us to feel that this is the real Bond having these feelings. At times he seems childish, and elsewhere plain cold hearted, as in the way he treats Rene Mathis (Giancarlo Giannini, reprising his role from the previous film) which is harsh and difficult to sympathize with. There are other plot inconsistencies: why exactly does Bond save Camille from the boat she is on with General Madrano (Joaquin Cosio) when she seems in no immediate danger and of no help to him? Is her role particularly necessary in the film at all, other then a scene similar to the one in Casino Royale where Bond comforts Vesper in a shower, except this time in a burning room, the flames, like the water, representing a purge.
It's certainly not the worst of the twenty-two Bonds films, and perhaps expectations were too high, but it is still a let down. If only the personal bits were as well written as the central plot, or ejected altogether, and the action scenes better constructed, this could have been much better. Daniel Craig certainly should carry no blame, he plays Bond as he is asked to, but i think some of the criticisms from the previous film, that he is less suave and sophisticated and more middle class thug have more baring here. In one scene, agent Fields (Gemma Arterton) takes Bond to a small hotel. Bond immediately leaves and relocates them to a far glossier and more expensive one, which can't help but raise the thought that Bond is wasting British taxpayer's money, simply because he has an ego to maintain. The screenwriters also make the British and American governments complicit somewhat in QUANTUM's plans, which is a good move that makes the film more modern and believable, but all of this added together left me wondering exactly who or what Bond is fighting for, as he seems more interested in showing off and jet-setting then Queen and country.
Gran Torino (Film)
GRAN TORINO
Dir: Clint Eastwood
USA, 2009
(24/03/09)
Clint Eastwood’s latest film (and rumoured to be his last lead acting role) sees him doing what he does best; deconstructing the American Psyche as well as the machismo that he spent the first part of his career playing. This time he’s yet again reinterpreting a genre role that made him famous, as he did with the western as William ‘Bill’ Munny in Unforgiven (Eastwood, USA, 1992), by playing a character in the mould of ’Dirty’ Harry Calahan and other such types in his urban thrillers, albeit a lot older and domesticated. But unlike the rogue super-cop in those films, Eastwood’s character, Walt Kowalski, is more of an everyman set in his traditional ways; he considers fixing cars, DIY, and drinking beer the manly things to do and gardening women’s work. He buys American and berates those who buy Japanese cars, and he loves his dog. Also, he embodies many of the feelings in America today that come to the fore less often under the presidency of Barack Obama, but are none the less still there, such as racism, tied in particularly with the disintegration of community. Kowalski voices his politically incorrect opinions of the neighboring Hmongs (Gooks or Zipperheads as he likes to call them) that have now moved into all the houses around him, but a masterstroke of Eastwood's direction and performance is he manages to make these moments funny without loosing their impact, indeed much of it is played for comedy, but we are never made to feel guilty for seeing it as such (unlike many directors who would try to make the audience complicit) mainly because Eastwood manages not to laugh directly at a different culture, but to poke a little fun at the differences and misinterpretations when two different ones collide.
The film opens at a church for the funeral of Kowalski's wife. Eastwood stands next to the coffin, playing to type by growling at the wrongs in the world, only this time it isn't ruthless killers or cold hearted thugs, it's his granddaughter coming to the funeral in casual clothes, piercings bared, and texting on her phone. The film doesn't just start with this tragedy in order to build sympathy for Eastwood's character (it is later said he is better at dealing with death then with life), but more as a turning point as there is little doubt that the upcoming route the film takes would have been different if Kowalski had his wife, as loneliness and desire for a role ("I fix things...I once fixed a door that wasn't even broke yet") leads him places even he can't really grasp, such as a Hmong party. It is even said by one of sons "Don't you think the old man will get in trouble in the old neighborhood by himself?"*, but neither of them have any time for him. Trouble does soon arrive when a gang trying to recruit young Thao (Bee Vang) into their ranks spills onto Kowalski's lawn; "I used to stack fucks like you five feet high in Korea, use you for sandbags." he says, shotgun aloft. The gang-bangers leave. But from then on he is a hero to his neighbors and an enemy to the gangs and there is no going back.
The films central relationship is between Kowalski and the clever, but shy, Thao as he forced to pay back Kowalski for an attempt to steal his Gran Torino and eventually bonds with the old man whilst doing a selection of neighborhood DIY jobs and getting 'manned up', which leads to more comedy. The implication that all Thao needs is a father figure to avoid a life in gangs is possibly true for that character, but maybe a bit simplistic when applied to other gang members, one of which tells Thao he used to shy and bullied until he was in a gang, but he obviously lacks Thao's intelligence and good nature. But Eastwood is a good surrogate, and it helps his character grow just as much as he feels somewhat haunted by his failed relationship with his sons and is given a chance to do things right. Of course this relationship with his Hmong neighbors begins to flirt with sentimentality, but Eastwood cleverly veers away as it would of spoiled the feeling of this particular film and it's themes.
The other main character in Kowalski's life is the local priest, Father Janovich (Christopher Carley), who continuously forces himself upon Kowalski in order to fulfill a promise to his dead wife and get him to confess his sins. It's a subplot that could easily feel contrived, but is well played, and the priest gets somewhat involved in the central plot in a believable way. His character is really there as someone to open Kowalski's shell and give us an insight into his dark soul, as he isn't going to open up to Thao, or his sister Sue (an excellent performance by Ahney Her, as the one who conducts Kowalksi into the community), as they are both children, yet the only Hmongs that speak English. Eastwood does eventually open up somewhat, but it doesn't get weepy. A moment when he admits his guilt for killing a young man in Korea presents the possibility that all his racism is simply an attempt to undermine his guilt by demeaning the foreigners as less then human.
Obviously the conflict with the gangs crosses a line and Kowalski's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Again Eastwood flirts with another cliche, the gung-ho shootout (which leads to another 'please don't' moment), but this is just toying with expectations ala Dirty Harry, and in the end he goes with the more suitable adult approach that does once and for all with the genre stereotypes and circles back around to Kowalski's relationship with life an death. The ending also leads to the passing of a community from the hands of one ethnicity to another. Although Kowalski is an American born and bred, with a name like Kowalski he his obviously not a native and his parents probably moved into a polish neighborhood before he was born. But Kowalski is an American. He was born there, fought for his country and worked in the Ford factory. But it's time for the cycle to come around and now the Hmongs are doing exactly what the poles did before them. The adults may be foreign but the children are American, and Kowalski gets Thao a job on an American building site, not dissimilar in theme to the job at his old Ford factory. The end shot is Thao driving down the road in Kowalski's sacred Gran Torino, the message seeming to be that America is people of different ethnicities working together to create a distinctive culture, all of which Eastwood presents, thankfully, without being preachy. One such moment that seemingly pokes fun at the American tendency for self-masturbation is after Sue describes her father and Walt asks what's different about himself. She answers "You're different, you're American." Walt asks what that means. "I don't know." She says.*
An interesting switch towards the end is how Kowalski still calls the Hmongs by the stereotypical names such as gook etc. (and, seemingly on purpose, mispronouncing names such as turning Youa into yum-yum), but these cease to have racist connotations and instead become nicknames used with fondness, a sensibility that is perhaps too mature for modern society. It is interesting how this film comes not long after Eastwood was criticized by Spike Lee for having no black actors in his Iwo Jima double bill. Eastwood has now done a grand study of white middle-America equal with any of Lee's studies of the black counterpart, and has presented some interesting ideas into circulation whilst at it, not bad for someone who is eighty this year.
The performances are excellent as can be expected from any Eastwood picture, with Clint himself especially shining. Much has been said that he missed out on an Oscar nomination due to the familiarity of his role, but this is to misunderstand the character. Yes he's a war veteran, but more then that he's a lonely old curmudgeon nostalgic for the past who learns to accept the present, and it is well gauged, especially with the comic elements (it is far funnier then any recent comedy coming out of America) juggled well with the seriousness, which gives the film a coating of reality and in the end leads to a great final result.
*I did not take notes in the film so whilst these quotes may be inaccurate, the are correct in essence.
Dir: Clint Eastwood
USA, 2009
(24/03/09)
Clint Eastwood’s latest film (and rumoured to be his last lead acting role) sees him doing what he does best; deconstructing the American Psyche as well as the machismo that he spent the first part of his career playing. This time he’s yet again reinterpreting a genre role that made him famous, as he did with the western as William ‘Bill’ Munny in Unforgiven (Eastwood, USA, 1992), by playing a character in the mould of ’Dirty’ Harry Calahan and other such types in his urban thrillers, albeit a lot older and domesticated. But unlike the rogue super-cop in those films, Eastwood’s character, Walt Kowalski, is more of an everyman set in his traditional ways; he considers fixing cars, DIY, and drinking beer the manly things to do and gardening women’s work. He buys American and berates those who buy Japanese cars, and he loves his dog. Also, he embodies many of the feelings in America today that come to the fore less often under the presidency of Barack Obama, but are none the less still there, such as racism, tied in particularly with the disintegration of community. Kowalski voices his politically incorrect opinions of the neighboring Hmongs (Gooks or Zipperheads as he likes to call them) that have now moved into all the houses around him, but a masterstroke of Eastwood's direction and performance is he manages to make these moments funny without loosing their impact, indeed much of it is played for comedy, but we are never made to feel guilty for seeing it as such (unlike many directors who would try to make the audience complicit) mainly because Eastwood manages not to laugh directly at a different culture, but to poke a little fun at the differences and misinterpretations when two different ones collide.
The film opens at a church for the funeral of Kowalski's wife. Eastwood stands next to the coffin, playing to type by growling at the wrongs in the world, only this time it isn't ruthless killers or cold hearted thugs, it's his granddaughter coming to the funeral in casual clothes, piercings bared, and texting on her phone. The film doesn't just start with this tragedy in order to build sympathy for Eastwood's character (it is later said he is better at dealing with death then with life), but more as a turning point as there is little doubt that the upcoming route the film takes would have been different if Kowalski had his wife, as loneliness and desire for a role ("I fix things...I once fixed a door that wasn't even broke yet") leads him places even he can't really grasp, such as a Hmong party. It is even said by one of sons "Don't you think the old man will get in trouble in the old neighborhood by himself?"*, but neither of them have any time for him. Trouble does soon arrive when a gang trying to recruit young Thao (Bee Vang) into their ranks spills onto Kowalski's lawn; "I used to stack fucks like you five feet high in Korea, use you for sandbags." he says, shotgun aloft. The gang-bangers leave. But from then on he is a hero to his neighbors and an enemy to the gangs and there is no going back.
The films central relationship is between Kowalski and the clever, but shy, Thao as he forced to pay back Kowalski for an attempt to steal his Gran Torino and eventually bonds with the old man whilst doing a selection of neighborhood DIY jobs and getting 'manned up', which leads to more comedy. The implication that all Thao needs is a father figure to avoid a life in gangs is possibly true for that character, but maybe a bit simplistic when applied to other gang members, one of which tells Thao he used to shy and bullied until he was in a gang, but he obviously lacks Thao's intelligence and good nature. But Eastwood is a good surrogate, and it helps his character grow just as much as he feels somewhat haunted by his failed relationship with his sons and is given a chance to do things right. Of course this relationship with his Hmong neighbors begins to flirt with sentimentality, but Eastwood cleverly veers away as it would of spoiled the feeling of this particular film and it's themes.
The other main character in Kowalski's life is the local priest, Father Janovich (Christopher Carley), who continuously forces himself upon Kowalski in order to fulfill a promise to his dead wife and get him to confess his sins. It's a subplot that could easily feel contrived, but is well played, and the priest gets somewhat involved in the central plot in a believable way. His character is really there as someone to open Kowalski's shell and give us an insight into his dark soul, as he isn't going to open up to Thao, or his sister Sue (an excellent performance by Ahney Her, as the one who conducts Kowalksi into the community), as they are both children, yet the only Hmongs that speak English. Eastwood does eventually open up somewhat, but it doesn't get weepy. A moment when he admits his guilt for killing a young man in Korea presents the possibility that all his racism is simply an attempt to undermine his guilt by demeaning the foreigners as less then human.
Obviously the conflict with the gangs crosses a line and Kowalski's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Again Eastwood flirts with another cliche, the gung-ho shootout (which leads to another 'please don't' moment), but this is just toying with expectations ala Dirty Harry, and in the end he goes with the more suitable adult approach that does once and for all with the genre stereotypes and circles back around to Kowalski's relationship with life an death. The ending also leads to the passing of a community from the hands of one ethnicity to another. Although Kowalski is an American born and bred, with a name like Kowalski he his obviously not a native and his parents probably moved into a polish neighborhood before he was born. But Kowalski is an American. He was born there, fought for his country and worked in the Ford factory. But it's time for the cycle to come around and now the Hmongs are doing exactly what the poles did before them. The adults may be foreign but the children are American, and Kowalski gets Thao a job on an American building site, not dissimilar in theme to the job at his old Ford factory. The end shot is Thao driving down the road in Kowalski's sacred Gran Torino, the message seeming to be that America is people of different ethnicities working together to create a distinctive culture, all of which Eastwood presents, thankfully, without being preachy. One such moment that seemingly pokes fun at the American tendency for self-masturbation is after Sue describes her father and Walt asks what's different about himself. She answers "You're different, you're American." Walt asks what that means. "I don't know." She says.*
An interesting switch towards the end is how Kowalski still calls the Hmongs by the stereotypical names such as gook etc. (and, seemingly on purpose, mispronouncing names such as turning Youa into yum-yum), but these cease to have racist connotations and instead become nicknames used with fondness, a sensibility that is perhaps too mature for modern society. It is interesting how this film comes not long after Eastwood was criticized by Spike Lee for having no black actors in his Iwo Jima double bill. Eastwood has now done a grand study of white middle-America equal with any of Lee's studies of the black counterpart, and has presented some interesting ideas into circulation whilst at it, not bad for someone who is eighty this year.
The performances are excellent as can be expected from any Eastwood picture, with Clint himself especially shining. Much has been said that he missed out on an Oscar nomination due to the familiarity of his role, but this is to misunderstand the character. Yes he's a war veteran, but more then that he's a lonely old curmudgeon nostalgic for the past who learns to accept the present, and it is well gauged, especially with the comic elements (it is far funnier then any recent comedy coming out of America) juggled well with the seriousness, which gives the film a coating of reality and in the end leads to a great final result.
*I did not take notes in the film so whilst these quotes may be inaccurate, the are correct in essence.
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