"Caesar Must Die" and "Simon Killer" (Philadelphia Film Festival)

The Taviani Brothers' "Caesar Must Die" and Antonio Campos' "Simon Killer" are two films about bad communication, hopelessness, and predestination. However, in how they examine physical and mental prisons, the movies differ drastically. The Tavianis possess a sentimentality and belief in transformations that Campos almost completely veers away from. The Italians also maintain a distracting artifice that ultimately undermines their film's strengths, while the American largely strives for verisimilitude in depicting boredom, sexuality, violence, and heartache.

Berlin Golden Bear winner "Caesar" follows prisoners putting on "Julius Caesar" in Italian, which means that Shakespeare's language has been translated into a different tongue and (for our English-speaking benefit) back through the subtitles. This essentially turns the brilliant dialogue of this great play into bad, blunt screenwriting. Sure, certain sections are preserved, but for the most part it feels watered down. This diminishes the experience of watching the play, which is a shame, since the production itself is well-done and strongly acted. 

Another huge thorn in my side was the bothersome use of what appeared to be staged docudrama. A raw documentary style, though perhaps impossible, would have suited this film much better, as moments of transcendence are made trivial by their probable fabrication. The whole film would have felt like more of a revelation if it didn't feel scripted; this is especially true for the bits that are compelling nonetheless, such as Salvatore Striano's devotion to his role as Brutus and the grandeur of Giovanni Arcuri as Caesar. But unfortunately the Tavianis pour this artifice on, in hopes of hammering their thesis into place. The film peddles some interesting ideas and stunning images (courtesy of Simone  Zampagni's incredible B&W cinematography), but the whole is repetitive and scattershot, if enjoyable in certain moments. 

"Simon Killer," Campos' similarly cerebral follow-up to his haunting and successful "Afterschool," was a real handful while I was watching it, but after the final monologue ended, it came together to hit me, and hard. Simon (Brady Corbet), its main character (read: definitely not a hero, more of a total asshole), doesn't deserve any of what he stumbles upon, but due to his charms, he continues to end up in potentially worthwhile situations that he continues to squander. He's on a self-imposed exile outside of the US following the dissolution of a stable relationship. He starts out pathetically lonely, aimlessly wandering to Parisian museums, listening to the same few songs, writing notes to his ex, hitting on random French women, and videochatting with his mother. 

He ends up finding a beautiful and hopeful prostitute (Mati Diop) with whom he starts to spend his days. Though their first meetings seem full of good (intensely sexual) chemistry, one can sense a rift due to their disparity in terms of French. One scene, where "Victoria" (her real name isn't listed online) tries to share a horrible memory from her past and Simon (out of ignorance most likely) doesn't understand, is devastating, and kept me in the theater when I was close to walking out. The film often doesn't seem to be going anywhere, but on closer study it definitely is, and it eventually comes into the clear as a work of repetition. 

The setbacks are technical mostly, as Campos is too reliant on empty, common Dardennes-esque formalism when he's capable of much more (take the long take of the opening monologue, the stationary camera during the first sexual encounter between Simon and "Victoria," and the shooting of a disturbingly callous scene in a club set to "Dance Yrself Clean"). However, I really liked the "Enter the Void"-esque psychedelic transitions. The whole film feels pretty empty at points. But I give Campos credit ultimately, as he pushes all the way to a dispiriting, wrenching finish where a stuttering letter motif is repeated for a final time. I can see why this film has only played sparingly since its Sundance premiere, since it angers you, bores you, and eats at you in an uncommonly unsettling way. Yet I see those things as more valuable than most of what "Caesar" had to offer. 

"Simon Killer" is ingenious in its slow playing out of a previously doomed relationship in microcosms for all to see and gasp in horror at. Campos, in his provocative way, stresses how important good communication of various sorts is (stranger/stranger, lover/lover, mother/son, brain/eye), especially in this increasingly disjointed age. It's the kind of film that you might have to see again, even if you can't really muster up the courage to do that. 

Caesar Must Die: C+

Simon Killer: B

The Forgiveness of Blood

A downscaled look at a violent Albanian family conflict told through the eyes of the oldest boy and girl, Joshua Marston's "The Forgiveness of Blood" is less concerned with the specifics of the instigating situation than with the aftermath. We don't even know if those involved in the brutality are guilty, but we sure know what it's like to be an oldest son who can't go outside to school. This approach provides for an interesting but often unexciting film that at times hits its stride but at others only hints at development.

A road, owned for years by one part of a large family prominent in a small town, gets blocked. A father gets very, very upset and brings his brother along with him to take of matters with this flagrant-seeming cousin. When this new owner winds up dead, the uncle gets thrown in jail and the father has to go on the lam. To avoid more blood spilling, Nik, his sister Rudina, and their two younger siblings are forced to stay indoors until a settlement is reached between the two sides.

Nik, used to chasing girls and riding around on motorcycles, is now forced into a father figure role and also into intense boredom (which he at times tries to escape). Rudina, due to unwritten rules about not being able to harm females, is elected to take on the job of selling bread to help the family out. Both are stifled by these limitations, and a lot of the movie is in observing how fortunes can turn so fast. One minute you're asking your father if you can go shopping with your friends, the next you're trying to sell your horse to make ends meet.

The ending comes as a mildly devastating shock but hits a note maybe a bit too flat. The whole enterprise isn't overwhelmingly strong, but the soft-focus-heavy cinematography (becoming a staple of Marston's films) and screenplay (a solid choice for the award at Berlin, though "A Separation" may have been better) help keep things together. B-

A Separation; Miss Bala (New York Film Festival)

Unable to catch "A Separation" by Asghar Farhadi at Telluride, I relished my second chance to see it, this time at the 49th New York Film Festival. I'm not sure if the film as a whole is quite as good as many have been professing it to be, as there are a few kinks that I wish were worked out. But I was definitely dazzled by the acting and the screenwriting. It took me a little while to get into, but once I was engrossed, it played superbly.

Simin (Leila Hatami) wants to leave Iran with her child Termeh (Sarina Farhadi), but her husband Nader (Peyman Moaadi) feels that his daughter should live with him. He sees his father (Ali-Agshar Shahbazi), though pretty far gone with Alzheimer's, as still worth building his life around, and thus he continues to stay rooted. However, with his wife gone, he has to find someone else to make sure his dad doesn't have problems while he's at work. He settles on Razieh (Sareh Bayat), who has a daughter named Somayeh (Kimia Hosseini) and another kid on the way. We see her as faithful to the job (despite her religious qualms that she calls a hotline to address), but also a little careless, and when Nader comes home one day, he gets extremely upset and ends up forcefully throwing Razieh out of his house. She ends up in the hospital for having a miscarriage, and Nader is charged with murder, at the behest of Razieh's troubled husband Hodjat (Shahab Hosseini), whom Nader tried to hire for his care-taking spot at one point as well.

The film examines how people, under pressure, do disagreeable things to help their loved ones. Nader is looking out for his daughter, and Razieh wants to support her husband get through his spot of trouble with creditors. It also shows the courts as black and white, stripped completely of respect for human emotion, and in incredible contrast to the fraught shouting matches at the center of the work.

It's a relentless piece of cinema. I can see what people mean when they say that it's hard to watch visually. However, that ultimately works to its advantage. The four spellbinding lead performances are among the strongest acting jobs this year, especially Bayat as Razieh. And, though I feel that the script sometimes takes easy ways out (the ending) and doesn't cover things as much as it should (Simin is left a little underdeveloped as a character), the dialogue grabs you and hits very hard. I think "The Turin Horse" should have maybe won the Golden Bear, but "A Separation" is a strong piece, overhyped but all the same worthy of attention. B+

Gerardo Naranjo's "Miss Bala" at certain points captured my attention entirely. At others it nearly put me to sleep (though it is worth nothing I saw it at 9 PM after a long day). It follows Laura (Stephanie Sigman), who sells clothing but who really wants to be Miss Baja California. Due a bizarre takeover of a nightclub, she loses her friend and also, since she's late to her rehearsal the next day, her chances in the competition. But, when she's tapped by a gang to do some risky jobs, she could get both back.

The film's much-praised bravura cinematography, which involves a lot of ostentatious long takes, feels more thought out than the story. Laura could save herself easily, but instead makes a lot of tiresomely silly decisions (albeit for friends and family) so that the film continues. The film is mostly about her being manipulated, and I was less than enthralled. But certain moments do indeed pack a punch (when Laura is caught in the middle of firefights) or sicken (the first driving sequence, when light is shed upon it). "Miss Bala" isn't all for naught, but I can't help wishing that I was a little more satisfied. C+

Telluride 2011, Day 1: The Turin Horse; Pina

Though many (including myself) arrived a day early to the 38th Telluride Film Festival, it didn't really get started until today. The first films were projected, the middle of the town was converted into an enclosed dining area, and the jovial atmosphere of the day before was infused with a shot of festival adrenaline. Today is the only day where breathing room is alloted; Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, it'll be full speed ahead.

It appeared when I was first looking over the details of the festival that programming would begin after the celebrated Opening Night Feed, which would mean further possible scheduling conflicts when it came to planning what I would see. Luckily, this was not the case, and I was able to catch Bela Tarr's "The Turin Horse", one of the films to which I was most looking forward, before events really got under way. I'd never seen one of Tarr's films all the way through, but what I caught from "Satantango" and "Werckmeister Harmonies," plus Tarr's great reputation, plus the fact that Tarr is supposedly never going to make another film, was more than enough to convince me that this was going to be something.

Seeing any black and white picture on the big screen is a captivating experience, but especially when the film is one that takes an emotional toll on the viewer. I remember vividly viewing Michael Haneke's punishing "The White Ribbon" and feeling as though all color had been drained from the world. Yet, however exhausting and affecting that movie was, its overall impact ultimately doesn't hold a flickering lantern to Tarr's suffocatingly evocative work.

Over the course of 146 minutes, Tarr brings us palpably into the world of Ohlsdorfer (Janos Derzsi, a Tarr regular) and his daughter (Erika Bok). They own the titular horse, who, as the subject of abuse at one point, deeply affected Fredrich Nietzsche (enough to spur him to never speak again). We watch as the two struggle with sustenance during an extremely harsh gale. Life for them has no pleasures anymore; it's now just a series of chores, each one shown by Tarr many times. Even eating potatoes and drinking alcohol are things done simply to keep going.

The film, from one of the earliest shots (of which there are apparently 30), establishes a parallel between the humans and their animal counterpart, from their windblown appearances to their fruitless labors. It also pits many different philosophies against each other about the storm at the center of the story, from the literalism preached by the narrator and Ohlsdorfer, to the Christianity evident in the daughter's reading of a bible, to the atheistic, eternal-cycle belief of a third character named Bernhard (Mihaly Kormos). Tarr gives his views the most screen time, and I'm pretty sure I know from outside knowledge that this is the philosophy with which Tarr seems to sympathize most. However, Ohlsdorfer's waving off of this talk makes me think that Tarr might be trying to voice his contempt of theorizing about and trying to find a point in what's happening in his film. Still, I think the film does purvey a stark message (although many will think otherwise), and I feel like this is the movie that I wanted out of Bresson's "Au Hasard Balthazar." Also, unlike "Balthazar," the film displays a very admirable dedication to its tone, and I find that an attribute essential to its success.

Also big is Tarr's use of nuance in sound design. According to the producers, much of the short script was devoted to how the wind in the background would sound. One can see why. It plays on the soundtrack throughout the film, alongside a orchestral snippet that Tarr employs in a way that reminds me of William Basinski's "Disintegration Loops." Since these sounds are such a given, they act as a sort of canvas, giving the noises of the characters and their actions a far more striking impact than usual. We learn a lot about the characters from how they manifest themselves in these moments.

One always knows the cinematography in a Tarr film will be special. The opening shots are quite attractive (especially the first one, where Fred Kelemen's camera pulls back and makes the scene look as if it is animated), but later on Tarr has us empathize with the characters by almost totally de-romanticizing and dulling the photography. This makes the film borderline unendurable (some people left early, some checked out audibly from their seats, and everyone exited as soon as the film ended), and I almost wanted to turn away from the screen as it drew towards its close. However, there is so, so much here. "The Turin Horse" is probably going to be one of the most thoughtful and empathetic movies to be shown in the next couple of years. I felt my patience tested, but it was worth it. If you couldn't deal with "The Tree of Life," though, this one's definitely not for you. A-

I came out of "The Turin Horse" spilling my theories out to all who would listen, assuming (as one of the festival directors said might happen) that the next film I would see would be meaningless in comparison. Not so. I found Wim Wenders' "Pina" as riveting as he said he found Pina Bausch's performances. It uses 3D in lovely ways, fully absorbing you in the startling set pieces that Bausch put together (before she died). It's hard to believe that someone could come up with dances so outlandish yet so resonant and enjoyable.

The film draws from four main performances and sprinkles in asides of individual or duo dances. Some of them are viewed as if you are watching over the heads of an audience; others are set in places where only a camera could take you. The aforementioned artifice of the play-within-movie often creates a few annoying anachronisms: for example, how can actors just change into other actors? This, along with including pointless interviews with dancers talking about what it was like to being around Pina, is the film's biggest mistake. I wish Wenders had elected to just show the dancing and allowed us (through them) to draw our own conclusions about the person behind them. Alas, the film is prevented from the heights it's perfectly capable of reaching, though it's definitely worth seeing for the mind-blowing and satisfying acts on display (don't let them get spoiled for you). B+

I will be seeing more in the next couple days. Stay tuned.

The Robber (Der Rauber)

"The Robber" by Benjamin Heisenberg follows a man who simultaneously strives for recognition and wants to stay anonymous. He's a runner-cum-bank robber, Johann Rettenberger, and when he's released from prison on parole (after serving a sentence for armed robbery), he continues to be both of those things. He ascends in the sport out of nowhere (making his parole officer happy), and seems as if he could be poised for great things. But he is tied down by his theft, which leads him to steal cars (sometimes right under their owners' noses) and sometimes, rather sadistically, to leave people stranded in random locations for safety's sake. Yet, in retrospect, these events are pretty much inconsequential to the film and the character's arc. This goes to show how disconnected the film is; it really has little clue what it's about with a name like "The Robber."

The film is centered around Andreas Lust's performance in the lead. His sense of desperation helps the film out quite a bit, but at the same time, his insecurity in the role can be seen, especially in the scenes with the parole officer, where he verges on histrionics. This is a role where the actor has to be impeccable, and Lust, despite being strong, falls short. But he doesn't have the best support in the world, either: Heisenberg, working from a fictionalized novel by Martin Prinz (who collaborated on the screenplay), can't do much with banal plot developments, like a subplot with an obligatory love interest (Franziska Weisz) who obviously ends up causing a bit of trouble for Johann, and the film thus takes its place alongside the other films of the genre.

That's not to say it doesn't have its perks. There are some quite disarming moments. For example, one scene, set in a movie theater, does a lot by going "Shirin"-style and not showing the film playing, but only focusing on Johann and his girlfriend, and the effect is nicely curious. And, in general, the film's cinematography and lighting are stunning. There is bravura motion photography, and there are also more than a couple striking images, such as a follow shot that creates an extremely disorienting effect. Much of the film looks like it was painted. But that only partially makes up for the film's narrative fumbling, and the final shot is nowhere near as powerful as it could have been. Maybe remaking the film in America, with a younger actor (Andrew Garfield), will lead to greatness, but the parts will probably not be in order, and I think we'll have to simply regard "The Robber" and long for what could have been. C+

How I Ended This Summer

Alexsei Popogrebsky's "How I Ended This Summer" has a shaky, underwhelming plot with good doses of emotional manipulation. While watching, I was hung up by the bewildering way the film was developing. However, it at least partially transcends this with incredible, incredible cinematography that should not be missed. There are certain shots in this film that really sum up for me what cinema can do. To describe one: Pavel (Grigoriy Dobrygin) has just tried to flag down a helicopter with a flare. He drops the flare to the ground in front of a wall of fog. The camera lingers on the scene for at least a minute, as Pavel heads towards the background and the fog clears to reveal a green backdrop. It's remarkable, one of many great shots that utilize composition, landscape, and (somewhat desaturated) color in great ways.

The film concerns Pavel's internship at an Arctic weather establishment, where he and Sergei (Sergei Puskepalis) take down esoteric data again and again and report it people in some place that's probably nowhere near as cold. Why Pavel decided to come is beyond me; he seems consistently lonely, bored, and tired, listening to music to relieve the difficulty of living there.

One day, Pavel receives a transmission that Sergei's family has been killed in some accident. Since he feels that Sergei will be terribly upset, he withholds the information, much to the chagrin of the people who gave it to him. The film makes an obvious attempt at evoking dread when it has Sergei, unknowing of the deaths of his loved ones, tell joyful personal stories. It works on some level, but seems somewhat cloying.

I wish there had been more to this film. I guess there is other action (frantic dashes from one side of the island to the other; hiding in remote places; the proverbial gun in the first act being, if mutedly, fired later on), but its all not terribly well thought out. Pavel Kostomarov (interesting coincidence) definitely deserves plaudits, though, for shooting the film in the way that he does. It's a "technical achievement" that sometimes feels as if it breaks out of being labeled solely as such. It hasn't the strength to quite do that, in my opinion, but it may qualify for some viewers as a nice finding (sitting as it is On Demand). B-

If I Want to Whistle, I Whistle

"If I Want to Whistle, I Whistle" works and falters much like other genre films that I've enjoyed, like Ben Affleck's "The Town" and Matthew Vaughn's "Kick-Ass," in that it collapses underneath itself. It seems to offer more than it does, which comes as an unfortunate realization for the viewer at the end. However, the film would not be the same without the huge gamble that it takes, which is astonishing despite the fact it doesn't quite pay off. It jumps from a relatively easygoing first hour to a final, heightened 34 minutes from which there is no return.

Adapted from a play by Andreea Valean (but not feeling truly stagy until the very end, my guess being that they were more lenient in the transposition of the beginning), the film (the Best Foreign Film Oscar submission from Romania) follows Silviu (George Pistereanu), who's been stuck in a juvenile penitentiary for 8 years. He's apparently not caused too much of a fuss and has even helped out the head in naming names when the time was right. As the film opens, Silviu is left with under a month until he's set to be let go and seems to be cruising along. That's until his younger brother shows up telling him that he's going to be taken away to Italy by the two's absent mother. We learn (through a pretty excellent confrontation scene that signals that a change is coming) that Silviu's childhood was ruined by his mother's careless promiscuity and see that Silviu fears that his brother will experience the same neglect (and may end up in jail like he is).

The screenwriters' (and by way of virtue playwright's) command of exposition is superb. With (I believe) not ever naming the crime that Silviu committed (which is a common MO for crime movies, but still), nor giving away too much about his pre-prison life, the film is able to keep what comes from not drifting entirely into the surreal (which it threatens, and at some points manages, to do). But the film's observation of Silviu is not always impeccable. Florin Serban and Catalin Mitulescu sometimes make him do weird things for the plot to advance. The film also presents him as having limited skill in dealing with those of the opposite sex. I understand that it's tough for someone who was shut off from the outside world before he was an adolescent to carry on with a woman. But the film may push a little too far, presenting him as essentially insane when he desperately tries to court Ana (Ada Condeescu), one of the people who interviews the soon-to-leave prisoners. How his relationship with her plays out I will leave for you to see. I will only comment to say that it's pretty harrowing.

Another interesting uncertainty is how Silviu is perceived by the other inmates. They at first seem to be happy with him, but there also appears to be conflict regarding what he reveals to the superiors about illicit activity and also his incessant demanding to use one guy's phone. Silviu is seen to only have one true friend, a quiet one who listens to him and who at one point springs himself from the prison. But what Silviu does at the end inspires some degree of awe from everyone. I guess that's what happens when something out of the ordinary occurs and when one man steps out from the rest. (On a side note, these characters are apparently played by people who go through the same experiences that they do.)

The cinematography by Marius Panduru must be mentioned here. Dabbling a bit in crime-cinema technique (i.e. follow shots, utilization of the photogenic decaying buildings) but also doing some extremely impressive compositions and some eye-capturing one-takes, Panduru boosts the film during the down-time. Also significant is the work by Pistereanu, making his debut. Out of the gate, the script doesn't do him a lot of favors, but in the aforementioned confrontation scene as well as the climax he excels.

The film has a tight resolution may be off-putting to people. It was and still is for me. An argument can be made that it highlights the bizarre psychology and limited ambitions of Silviu. "If I Want to Whistle, I Whistle" is provocative enough for it to be tempting for me to make that rationalization and excuse it. It deserves a small recommendation, but as a whole, I find it too flawed for my taste. B-